Wuffamute largest knot
A "wet" navy in space warfare
2024.05.14 21:51 CptKeyes123 A "wet" navy in space warfare
In a lot of sci-fi, people often dismiss surface defenses, or make them overpowered or ridiculous. And in another direction, orbital bombardment's effectiveness is quite overstated when we look at the history of warfare. In particular for surface defenses though, wet navies at sea get overlooked. Certain writers will fight tooth and nail to keep infantry, tanks, planes, and artillery in a story, even with fleets of starships, then laugh at the idea of a space marine ever setting foot in water. But why? Submarines are naturally stealthy, and theoretically can avoid getting shot from orbit by diving. Yet they'll be dismissed or ignored. A surface vessel has 71% of the globe to maneuver in, potentially more on another planet, and it can carry a large reactor and plenty of weapons of any kind. Yet it is generally taken for granted that all surface vessels would be sunk immediately in any conflict, and are worthless. Other criticisms abound, yet the most common threads are presumption or omission. There is an undercurrent that consistently believes the ability to destroy a planet will make all enemies submit, when that hasn't stopped us since Trinity. I submit that naval vessels are underutilized, and could be more useful than expected, as a mobile source of energy and firepower that's bigger than anything ever put on land, and through their maneuverability have an advantage no stationary installation can match in terms of survivability and strategic deployment.
The arguments generally made against naval vessels are that a wet navy ship can't hide. You can't throw a tarp over it like you can infantry, tanks, or planes. Critics will insist that a seagoing vessel will be instantly lit up, it will be a target that will immediately be destroyed. If a submarine pops up to fire, they'll get nuclear depth charge'd or shot with a laser. Here's a few questions; what's the difference between that and infantry? Why have ground forces at all? Some critics will ask that exact question. In some circles it's presumed that space warfare makes all other kinds of conflict obsolete, or that significant firepower does the same thing. The ability to destroy a planet has done nothing to dissuade us from having conventional war. But that's what we've always said with any new weapon. The Templin Institute video on planetary invasion had a great description of this.
https://youtu.be/XgN5yq362_s
Before WWII, strategic bombing was seen as a game ender. It's effects on breaking the enemy's will to fight is dubious at best. Strategic bombing and nuclear weapons did nothing to end war, or force the enemy to surrender. Even with Hiroshima and Nagasaki, that was a country at its breaking point after fifteen years of near-constant conflict, and five years of a global war. And still, some holdouts tried to stage a coup to prevent the emperor from surrendering.
After WWII, there were those who believed the nuclear age put an end to conventional war. The air force insisted the Navy and Marines were obsolete. This was part of a conflict that would be known as the Revolt of the Admirals. Air Force General Frank A Armstrong was quoted in Nathan Miller's "The US Navy: A History":
"You gentlemen had better understand that the Army Air Force is tired of being a subordinate outfit. It was a predominant force during the war, and it is going to be a predominant force during the peace, and you might as well make up your minds whether you like it or not, and we do not care whether you like it or not. The Army Air Force is going to run the show. You, the Navy, are not going to have anything but a couple of carriers that are ineffective anyway, and they will probably be sunk in the first battle. Now as for the Marines, you know what the Marines are, a small bitched-up army talking Navy lingo. We are going to put those Marines in the Regular Army and make efficient soldiers out of them."
This was accompanied by:
"In the age of atomic warfare, the fast carrier task force was regarded as an anachronism, and such a massive concentration of ships was seen as being more vulnerable to the bomb than any other weapon system...some strategists doubted that the navy would have an important part to play in the future...Admiral Nimitz, then chief of naval operations, pointed out the same thing had been said about the navy when the submarine, the torpedo, and the airplane were introduced. 'While the prophets of naval doom are shouting themselves hoarse, the Navy will be at work to make the changes needed to accommodate American sea power to the new weapons,' he declared..."
They can't think of a war without nuclear weapons. Then the very first war we came across after WWII, Korea, they could not use nuclear weapons at all. Political, economic, or military reasons could all make orbital bombardment less than desirable in certain situations. The situation might prevent it politically. There's limited wars, there's rules of engagement, there's resources you need, there's stuff you want. On the other side of the equation the weapons might not show the results you expect. They might not be accurate, they might be affected by some new flaw, they're just not what you hoped. Or the enemy is more capable than you expect.
Heinlein said in Starship Troopers that "War is not violence and killing, pure and simple; war is controlled violence, for a purpose." Clausewitz once said that "War is a mere continuation of policy by other means". And I say that the ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of "why on earth would you do that". If your goal is to conquer a planet, simply glassing it won't get you anything. If you wish to conquer and seize land, you need to send troops. You need someone to hold it and die for it.
So why in the world must this apply to everything but the wet navy? You will see people with big garrisons, you'll see Bolo cybertanks with megaton-per-second firepower, you'll see infantry doing guerilla warfare, you'll even see aircraft. Why is the wet navy seen as so obsolete in sci-fi circles? The largest vehicle ever built in the real world is the ship Seawise Giant, nearly twice the size of the Hindenburg, the largest flying machine ever built, and longer than the largest aircraft carriers ever. This means that a future battleship, carrier, or other vessel could be just as big and carry enormous weapons. Yet still folks insist that because surface ships can't throw a tarp over themselves, that they'll be sitting ducks.
Submarines I've noticed in some circles are a solution. They are small, sneaky, and can use lasers as much as missiles. Others say that they're vulnerable when launching, hence the laser idea. One cool idea I've seen is a boat that extends out big laser arrays on the surface connected by a tether to the sub hiding deep underwater, so that if the laser is shot the submarine is safe beneath the waves. Yet just as often when this idea is proposed, it is claimed that if a submarine pops up, they'll be bombed, insisting that satellites have advanced too far. I don't know enough to speak to that, but there's a lot of ocean. What do you gain by wasting ammo dropping rocks on 71% of the planet just to be sure they don't have a submarine hiding? Wouldn't that be an excellent reason to have submarines, just so the enemy has to waste ships patrolling and not hitting the land targets? That would mean fewer ships to the front line, if the defender has multiple planets, and force the enemy to expend resources.
The arguments eventually circle around to "we can nuke it". First of all, the ocean is big and it is deep. You'd trash the environment, including things you might want to conquer, if you vaporized thousands of square kilometers of sea water to kill a single hundred-meter sub. As I must repeat, the ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of "why on earth would you do that?" During the Cold War, despite having the ability to glass the planet, we still built tanks, ships, and artillery, because there are certain kinds of war, certain modes of operation, certain things that don't involve total annihilation, because so often that's not what war is about. If you want to conquer a planet, you have to take it. The Soviets being able to annihilate Washington didn't magically alter the fact that they didn't have the ships to move any troops to hold it.
A submarine is one thing. If that can survive, why not a surface ship? Again, that tarp thing would be the answer. "They're sitting ducks!" One must ask why? During the Cold War, carriers were vulnerable, sure, but we still built them, and they can carry nukes too. And they can do a lot more things than a battleship can, from disaster relief to moving the crew's cars. A surface ship can be stealthy, just not as much as a sub. They can carry larger weapons than a sub, with more power to put through them.
While it's said a surface ship can't hide, neither can a starship, it's sitting up there shedding heat like mad. A surface ship has the whole planet to play with.
http://www.rocketpunk-manifesto.com/2009/06/space-warfare-i-gravity-well.html
One scenario pitched to me recently is a bunch of corvettes and frigates loaded down with missiles and lasers that shoot their wad in the opening salvos like a lot of Cold War plans. But does it have to be that small?
Let me be clear. Current generations of naval vessels likely wouldn't stand a chance. But they create an interesting precedent, because there exist multiple anti-satellite(ASAT) weapon projects that we could extrapolate for use on a surface vessel. We have a ton of projects, from the MIRACL directed-energy weapon, to the ASM-135 air-launched missile, the YAL-1 Airborne Laser(ABL), to the RIM-161 Standard Missile 3(not technically anti-satellite, it's an anti-ballistic missile that has been used in ASAT roles). These are ground-based, air-launched, and sea-based. We also can think about space guns, i.e. weapons used to launch projectiles into space. Project HARP in the 1960s used modified 16-inch naval guns to launch projectiles high into space. They succeeded, and a mass driverailgun would likely be able to get the same performance out of a smaller package. Keep in mind, these weapons don't need to achieve orbit, they just need to hit something in orbit, so they can be much smaller. They were flawed, and less than accurate, but they do exist. So this means that we can speculate on the future of these weapons if they were more mature. And all of these could be mounted on relatively conventional platforms. Size isn't everything, yet a war machine's power isn't in just its armor, but in its ability to deliver offensive power as much as defensive power.
The MIRACL was ground-based, and not mobile; they tried to use it to shoot at a satellite. It didn't work well, they ended up using a smaller less powerful weapon for the job. The YAL-1 ABL was a 747 modified with a weapon of the same output as the MIRACL, only airborne. The ASM-135 was attached to a squadron of unmodified F-15s that would go into supersonic zoom climbs to launch the missiles. The RIM-161 is an anti-ballistic missile mounted on standard AEGIS VLS cells that has successfully intercepted satellites. 16-inch guns have been used on battleships for years. And with newer technologies, you don't need anything that dramatic, or that big. In the 1970s, the US experimented with an eight-inch gun mounted on a destroyer. That project didn't go very far, but it did function, and it means big guns can be mounted on small ships.
So, let me lay it out. F-15s(which people have considered using for aircraft carriers), conventional VLS cells, and cannons have precedent for being able to intercept spacecraft. Modern stealth systems do exist even for surface vessels, they can't hide as well, but they can carry a larger variety of weapons, and more powerful reactors than a sub. This creates precedent that modern destroyers, or something similar, and aircraft carriers, could serve a role in space warfare. As for surviving orbital bombardment? Super-cavitation is a process for reducing drag on a ship or a weapon's hull as it travels through the water. We also have hydrojets, hydrofoils, and other technologies that are deployed or in the works. Increasing the speed of a surface ship could be the difference between life and death for it.
A futuristic carrier group might consist of a carrier, smaller than ours perhaps, equipped with futuristic air-breathing aircraft, protected by destroyers and submarines. These destroyers are armed with energy weapons, missiles, and cannons capable of firing at targets in orbit. The submarines can do the same thing. The carrier can provide air support to land-based units and fire at the enemy in space without having to worry about needing specialized runways or that they might get hit in a first strike. The escorts can shoot at the enemy, provide gunfire support when needed, and light out at a hundred knots to escape the blast of an orbital bomb.
Now, there are certainly challenges. What warrants posting a large force like this on a planet that might not have any fighting? I'm not sure that is easy to answer, though one thought is to ask what's the point of the Kansas National Guard? They're not likely to see any combat anytime soon. On the other hand, navies in our world exist to fight potential threats. Depending on a setting, your colony world might only have one faction there. Having a trained naval force might be very useful for disaster relief and keeping the peace. EDIT: this could be useful to factions who don't have many ships, or are prepared for an eventuality where they are caught with their orbital defenses destroyed or driven away.
There's also reason for water-based Marines, with amphibious assault ships and all the bells and whistles therein; big transports, air cushion landing craft, helicopters, etc. What if the enemy lands across the continent? Or across an ocean? Might you need sea transportation? Imagine if you didn't have surface defenses. You have militia to play guerilla, and orbital defenses, and your colony only settled on one of two continents on the planet. The enemy blows up your orbital defenses, then steals some mining equipment and sets up a whole operation on the other side, eating up your planet's resources, sending them off to the war effort, while you're completely helpless because the biggest boat you have is a yacht. You can't fight back without being bombed, but you can't even fight back without that because you don't have any missiles, lasers, or any other weapons capable of hitting their ships, and more than that, you can't even get your four thousand militia over there to destroy the mine. A futuristic carrier group would make all the difference here, with access to amphibious assault equipment and other gear that can move in one go what could take months by helicopter.
One thing that keeps coming back in this debate is "but they could get bombed, why bother investing in them?" In the Cold War, trillions were invested in technologies they knew would get annihilated in any conflict. That a first strike could wipe out all our bombers and missiles in one stroke. And that is what second strike capability is about, the ability to hit back even if they hit you first. No matter how much you destroyed, no matter how many ships you sank, missiles you found, or bombers you shot, you could never ever be sure the enemy couldn't drop a hundred more nukes on you hidden somewhere. If even a single plane, a single fighter jet, with a single pilot, got through, millions would die. So much of modern warfare is based on the idea that this advanced weapon could easily be wiped out in a master stroke. EDIT: A surface navy could be used in an environment where friendly space vessels have been drawn away or otherwise incapacitated.
I submit that wet naval vessels are underutilized in sci-fi circles and could be more useful than expected even to factions who utilize starships, as a mobile source of energy and firepower that's bigger than anything ever put on land, and demonstrate strategic mobility and survivability their maneuverability have an advantage no stationary installation can match. They can respond to threats all over a planet, and engage with the enemy in space. Like how nuclear weapons didn't end the age of the carrier, I doubt orbital bombardment would put an end to the sea.
Let me know your thoughts, or suggestions you have for using sea vessels in the context of space warfare!
submitted by CptKeyes123 to scifiwriting [link] [comments]
The arguments generally made against naval vessels are that a wet navy ship can't hide. You can't throw a tarp over it like you can infantry, tanks, or planes. Critics will insist that a seagoing vessel will be instantly lit up, it will be a target that will immediately be destroyed. If a submarine pops up to fire, they'll get nuclear depth charge'd or shot with a laser. Here's a few questions; what's the difference between that and infantry? Why have ground forces at all? Some critics will ask that exact question. In some circles it's presumed that space warfare makes all other kinds of conflict obsolete, or that significant firepower does the same thing. The ability to destroy a planet has done nothing to dissuade us from having conventional war. But that's what we've always said with any new weapon. The Templin Institute video on planetary invasion had a great description of this.
https://youtu.be/XgN5yq362_s
Before WWII, strategic bombing was seen as a game ender. It's effects on breaking the enemy's will to fight is dubious at best. Strategic bombing and nuclear weapons did nothing to end war, or force the enemy to surrender. Even with Hiroshima and Nagasaki, that was a country at its breaking point after fifteen years of near-constant conflict, and five years of a global war. And still, some holdouts tried to stage a coup to prevent the emperor from surrendering.
After WWII, there were those who believed the nuclear age put an end to conventional war. The air force insisted the Navy and Marines were obsolete. This was part of a conflict that would be known as the Revolt of the Admirals. Air Force General Frank A Armstrong was quoted in Nathan Miller's "The US Navy: A History":
"You gentlemen had better understand that the Army Air Force is tired of being a subordinate outfit. It was a predominant force during the war, and it is going to be a predominant force during the peace, and you might as well make up your minds whether you like it or not, and we do not care whether you like it or not. The Army Air Force is going to run the show. You, the Navy, are not going to have anything but a couple of carriers that are ineffective anyway, and they will probably be sunk in the first battle. Now as for the Marines, you know what the Marines are, a small bitched-up army talking Navy lingo. We are going to put those Marines in the Regular Army and make efficient soldiers out of them."
This was accompanied by:
"In the age of atomic warfare, the fast carrier task force was regarded as an anachronism, and such a massive concentration of ships was seen as being more vulnerable to the bomb than any other weapon system...some strategists doubted that the navy would have an important part to play in the future...Admiral Nimitz, then chief of naval operations, pointed out the same thing had been said about the navy when the submarine, the torpedo, and the airplane were introduced. 'While the prophets of naval doom are shouting themselves hoarse, the Navy will be at work to make the changes needed to accommodate American sea power to the new weapons,' he declared..."
They can't think of a war without nuclear weapons. Then the very first war we came across after WWII, Korea, they could not use nuclear weapons at all. Political, economic, or military reasons could all make orbital bombardment less than desirable in certain situations. The situation might prevent it politically. There's limited wars, there's rules of engagement, there's resources you need, there's stuff you want. On the other side of the equation the weapons might not show the results you expect. They might not be accurate, they might be affected by some new flaw, they're just not what you hoped. Or the enemy is more capable than you expect.
Heinlein said in Starship Troopers that "War is not violence and killing, pure and simple; war is controlled violence, for a purpose." Clausewitz once said that "War is a mere continuation of policy by other means". And I say that the ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of "why on earth would you do that". If your goal is to conquer a planet, simply glassing it won't get you anything. If you wish to conquer and seize land, you need to send troops. You need someone to hold it and die for it.
So why in the world must this apply to everything but the wet navy? You will see people with big garrisons, you'll see Bolo cybertanks with megaton-per-second firepower, you'll see infantry doing guerilla warfare, you'll even see aircraft. Why is the wet navy seen as so obsolete in sci-fi circles? The largest vehicle ever built in the real world is the ship Seawise Giant, nearly twice the size of the Hindenburg, the largest flying machine ever built, and longer than the largest aircraft carriers ever. This means that a future battleship, carrier, or other vessel could be just as big and carry enormous weapons. Yet still folks insist that because surface ships can't throw a tarp over themselves, that they'll be sitting ducks.
Submarines I've noticed in some circles are a solution. They are small, sneaky, and can use lasers as much as missiles. Others say that they're vulnerable when launching, hence the laser idea. One cool idea I've seen is a boat that extends out big laser arrays on the surface connected by a tether to the sub hiding deep underwater, so that if the laser is shot the submarine is safe beneath the waves. Yet just as often when this idea is proposed, it is claimed that if a submarine pops up, they'll be bombed, insisting that satellites have advanced too far. I don't know enough to speak to that, but there's a lot of ocean. What do you gain by wasting ammo dropping rocks on 71% of the planet just to be sure they don't have a submarine hiding? Wouldn't that be an excellent reason to have submarines, just so the enemy has to waste ships patrolling and not hitting the land targets? That would mean fewer ships to the front line, if the defender has multiple planets, and force the enemy to expend resources.
The arguments eventually circle around to "we can nuke it". First of all, the ocean is big and it is deep. You'd trash the environment, including things you might want to conquer, if you vaporized thousands of square kilometers of sea water to kill a single hundred-meter sub. As I must repeat, the ability to destroy a planet is insignificant compared to the power of "why on earth would you do that?" During the Cold War, despite having the ability to glass the planet, we still built tanks, ships, and artillery, because there are certain kinds of war, certain modes of operation, certain things that don't involve total annihilation, because so often that's not what war is about. If you want to conquer a planet, you have to take it. The Soviets being able to annihilate Washington didn't magically alter the fact that they didn't have the ships to move any troops to hold it.
A submarine is one thing. If that can survive, why not a surface ship? Again, that tarp thing would be the answer. "They're sitting ducks!" One must ask why? During the Cold War, carriers were vulnerable, sure, but we still built them, and they can carry nukes too. And they can do a lot more things than a battleship can, from disaster relief to moving the crew's cars. A surface ship can be stealthy, just not as much as a sub. They can carry larger weapons than a sub, with more power to put through them.
While it's said a surface ship can't hide, neither can a starship, it's sitting up there shedding heat like mad. A surface ship has the whole planet to play with.
http://www.rocketpunk-manifesto.com/2009/06/space-warfare-i-gravity-well.html
One scenario pitched to me recently is a bunch of corvettes and frigates loaded down with missiles and lasers that shoot their wad in the opening salvos like a lot of Cold War plans. But does it have to be that small?
Let me be clear. Current generations of naval vessels likely wouldn't stand a chance. But they create an interesting precedent, because there exist multiple anti-satellite(ASAT) weapon projects that we could extrapolate for use on a surface vessel. We have a ton of projects, from the MIRACL directed-energy weapon, to the ASM-135 air-launched missile, the YAL-1 Airborne Laser(ABL), to the RIM-161 Standard Missile 3(not technically anti-satellite, it's an anti-ballistic missile that has been used in ASAT roles). These are ground-based, air-launched, and sea-based. We also can think about space guns, i.e. weapons used to launch projectiles into space. Project HARP in the 1960s used modified 16-inch naval guns to launch projectiles high into space. They succeeded, and a mass driverailgun would likely be able to get the same performance out of a smaller package. Keep in mind, these weapons don't need to achieve orbit, they just need to hit something in orbit, so they can be much smaller. They were flawed, and less than accurate, but they do exist. So this means that we can speculate on the future of these weapons if they were more mature. And all of these could be mounted on relatively conventional platforms. Size isn't everything, yet a war machine's power isn't in just its armor, but in its ability to deliver offensive power as much as defensive power.
The MIRACL was ground-based, and not mobile; they tried to use it to shoot at a satellite. It didn't work well, they ended up using a smaller less powerful weapon for the job. The YAL-1 ABL was a 747 modified with a weapon of the same output as the MIRACL, only airborne. The ASM-135 was attached to a squadron of unmodified F-15s that would go into supersonic zoom climbs to launch the missiles. The RIM-161 is an anti-ballistic missile mounted on standard AEGIS VLS cells that has successfully intercepted satellites. 16-inch guns have been used on battleships for years. And with newer technologies, you don't need anything that dramatic, or that big. In the 1970s, the US experimented with an eight-inch gun mounted on a destroyer. That project didn't go very far, but it did function, and it means big guns can be mounted on small ships.
So, let me lay it out. F-15s(which people have considered using for aircraft carriers), conventional VLS cells, and cannons have precedent for being able to intercept spacecraft. Modern stealth systems do exist even for surface vessels, they can't hide as well, but they can carry a larger variety of weapons, and more powerful reactors than a sub. This creates precedent that modern destroyers, or something similar, and aircraft carriers, could serve a role in space warfare. As for surviving orbital bombardment? Super-cavitation is a process for reducing drag on a ship or a weapon's hull as it travels through the water. We also have hydrojets, hydrofoils, and other technologies that are deployed or in the works. Increasing the speed of a surface ship could be the difference between life and death for it.
A futuristic carrier group might consist of a carrier, smaller than ours perhaps, equipped with futuristic air-breathing aircraft, protected by destroyers and submarines. These destroyers are armed with energy weapons, missiles, and cannons capable of firing at targets in orbit. The submarines can do the same thing. The carrier can provide air support to land-based units and fire at the enemy in space without having to worry about needing specialized runways or that they might get hit in a first strike. The escorts can shoot at the enemy, provide gunfire support when needed, and light out at a hundred knots to escape the blast of an orbital bomb.
Now, there are certainly challenges. What warrants posting a large force like this on a planet that might not have any fighting? I'm not sure that is easy to answer, though one thought is to ask what's the point of the Kansas National Guard? They're not likely to see any combat anytime soon. On the other hand, navies in our world exist to fight potential threats. Depending on a setting, your colony world might only have one faction there. Having a trained naval force might be very useful for disaster relief and keeping the peace. EDIT: this could be useful to factions who don't have many ships, or are prepared for an eventuality where they are caught with their orbital defenses destroyed or driven away.
There's also reason for water-based Marines, with amphibious assault ships and all the bells and whistles therein; big transports, air cushion landing craft, helicopters, etc. What if the enemy lands across the continent? Or across an ocean? Might you need sea transportation? Imagine if you didn't have surface defenses. You have militia to play guerilla, and orbital defenses, and your colony only settled on one of two continents on the planet. The enemy blows up your orbital defenses, then steals some mining equipment and sets up a whole operation on the other side, eating up your planet's resources, sending them off to the war effort, while you're completely helpless because the biggest boat you have is a yacht. You can't fight back without being bombed, but you can't even fight back without that because you don't have any missiles, lasers, or any other weapons capable of hitting their ships, and more than that, you can't even get your four thousand militia over there to destroy the mine. A futuristic carrier group would make all the difference here, with access to amphibious assault equipment and other gear that can move in one go what could take months by helicopter.
One thing that keeps coming back in this debate is "but they could get bombed, why bother investing in them?" In the Cold War, trillions were invested in technologies they knew would get annihilated in any conflict. That a first strike could wipe out all our bombers and missiles in one stroke. And that is what second strike capability is about, the ability to hit back even if they hit you first. No matter how much you destroyed, no matter how many ships you sank, missiles you found, or bombers you shot, you could never ever be sure the enemy couldn't drop a hundred more nukes on you hidden somewhere. If even a single plane, a single fighter jet, with a single pilot, got through, millions would die. So much of modern warfare is based on the idea that this advanced weapon could easily be wiped out in a master stroke. EDIT: A surface navy could be used in an environment where friendly space vessels have been drawn away or otherwise incapacitated.
I submit that wet naval vessels are underutilized in sci-fi circles and could be more useful than expected even to factions who utilize starships, as a mobile source of energy and firepower that's bigger than anything ever put on land, and demonstrate strategic mobility and survivability their maneuverability have an advantage no stationary installation can match. They can respond to threats all over a planet, and engage with the enemy in space. Like how nuclear weapons didn't end the age of the carrier, I doubt orbital bombardment would put an end to the sea.
Let me know your thoughts, or suggestions you have for using sea vessels in the context of space warfare!
2024.05.14 02:22 AdJolly2857 Knot Broke on my Biggest Fish
I started fishing recently and go to my local pond for largemouth, caught a decent 3-4lber and a bunch of dinks but hooked an absolute hog, never surfaced and pulled some drag ~10-12lb set and about halfway through my knot broke. I feel bad for the fish having a big swimbait stuck in him and was also looking for knot suggestions for fluorocarbon. Im running trilene knot on 15lb fluoro and it caught a dink before, then broke on the big fish. Is polamar better for fluoro or did i just tie something wrong? (i actually feel bad for the fish and a fat ass swimbait stuck in his mouth and he was probably the largest in the pond)
submitted by AdJolly2857 to FishingForBeginners [link] [comments]
2024.05.09 02:13 Zhule88 Black water buccaneers
So I was hoping to get some eyes on this, and see if anyone has suggestions. Also just hoping to get general thoughts on the whole thing.
Groth, the White Death, The Walking Blizzard, let out a low growl and gingerly dabbed at his head wound, as he made his way towards the ship’s bridge. With XO Gwip, and Chief Security Officer Diroon, still stuck in medical; after the events of the most recent raid. It fell to him as Captain, to shut off the ship’s proximity alarm. In his haste, and still half asleep, he had once again smashed his head into the low doorframe of his quarters. He was unsure if a piece of metal had finally worked its way free from the constant blunt force trauma of skull meeting metal; or if he had simply slammed into the door with enough force to cause his skin to split open. Either way, he now had a streak of magenta blood staining his otherwise pristine white face fur.
Groth was by no means the smartest or most friendly looking Aolthundian; which said quite a bit, since the Aolthundians as a race were not well known for their intellects or charming visages. Aolthundians were known for their massive frames, immense strength, and durability/resistance against most forms of small to medium caliber weapons. These traits made them some of the most sought-after mercenaries within the Galactic Union. It also made them some of the most dangerous pirates, that the GU had to contend with.
Groth was a prime example of his race, standing at a massive 30 Galactic Standard Units [12.835 feet] when bipedal, and a still respectable 11.3 GSU [4.83451667 feet] while quadrupedal. Groth was descended from one of the largest and most powerful sub-species of his race. Hailing from the farthest northern cotenant of Aolthun, his ancestors had evolved to both blend in with their frozen environment, while also having grown massive to better fight against their ancestral opponents, the Bif. While it had been several millennia since the Aolthundians had gained sapience, and the Bif had long since died off, some ancestral traits still manifested within the bloodlines of families like Groth’s.
Groth didn’t know many things, he’d left much of that “big picture” stuff in the hands of his XO, and lifelong friend, Gwip. The only things he knew for sure at the moment; was that he absolutely hated being stuck on this third hand shoebox sized Nimean1 rust bucket; he absolutely despised the high pitches screaming of the proximity alarm; and that the last four [weeks] were somehow all Gwip’s fault.
Groth could still hear Gwip’s words from all those [Years] ago. “Man, screw fighting and dying for someone else’s petty squabbles. Let’s become privateers! Think of the fame and fortune... What are you stupid? Don’t buy new. Might as well throw your credits into the void? Save some chits, and get a used ship... No, no! Not an Aolthundian frigate, they’ll turn most of the ship to slag before risking getting within a light hour of us if they think they’re up against Aolthundians. Our best shot is to catch them by surprise, as they say “No one expects the Aolthundian Inquisition” ... Get this one, no one’s going to except a bunch of Aolthundians to be on a Nimean freighter. It’s the perfect cover”
Groth had to begrudgingly admit that at least some of that advice had proven correct thus far. Every single ship they had encountered, had vastly underestimated them. But who could blame them? A ship design so old, that it hadn’t seen production in over 30 [years]. No doubt crewed by a group of Nimeans. Nimeans who were so strapped for cash they couldn’t even afford to hire a security corvette, despite needing to travel through such a dangerous patch of grey space. Clearly, the Nimean captain had to be up to their eyestalks in debt if they were risking not only their own life, but also the lives of their crew, on an “all or nothing” run like this. Traveling through grey space, could often cut [weeks] off your travel time. It also meant one could avoid the costly travel permits, and toll fees, you were required to pay if you used the GU controlled space lanes. Surely such a run meant a ship filled to the brim with easy to move loot. Or perhaps it was a group of Nimeans who were running illegal goods. They hoped that the age of their ship, and their race’s pacifistic reputation would shield them from being accosted. Either way, the whole thing screamed “easy score” to the pirates who trolled these back alley short cuts. It was also well known that Nimeans went for a high price on the slave markets of the Outer Rim.
Everything had been going great for 4 [years]. Near constant raids by pirates, slavers, and the other low lives of the galaxy, meant that the crew wanted for little in regards to food or entertainment. The bounties Groth collected from dealing with these groups, along with the profits from selling off their illegally gotten goods, allowed for an immense amount of custom work to be done on the freighter. Modified smuggler hatches, enhances shield arrays, retrofitted heavy armor that doubled as prevention against internal scanning, not to mention the upgraded ‘asteroid defense system’ were but a few examples of the modifications Groth and Gwip had made since buying the rust bucket. All the upgrades meant that the ship could punch well above its weight class. Not that all those upgrades had mattered during their last raid.
It had all started off as it normally did. The enemy ship had “caught them by surprise”, Groth’s crew had hidden away in the modified smuggler hatches. The enemy boarded the ship and began to fight their way through the automated defense system. Once they were a good distance into the ship, Groth and the crew exited their hiding spots. Gwip and his team would flank the enemies from behind, while Groth and his team would secure the enemy ship.
Everything was going like clockwork; at least until the enemy’s combatants decided to self-detonate rather than be captured. Groth had lost half a dozen crew in the blink of an eye, as their prey literally exploded underneath them. Another dozen, including Gwip and Diroon, where only critically injured during the chaos. Saved the worst of it by either being further away from the detonating invaders, or simply happening to be behind a crew member who bore the brunt of the explosive force and super-heated shrapnel.
The enemy ship had tried to flee, only to find that when they had latched onto the freighter; the freighter had latched onto them as well. High intensity Grav-beams made sure that no ship could escape once they docked, at least not without tearing a massive chunk out of their hull and superstructure.
Their hopes for escape dashed, the enemy captain had chosen to do the unthinkable. Rather than surrender or even go down fighting, the cowardly bastard had scuttled his ship. The resulting explosion, coupled with the proximity of the two ships, had caused massive damage to the Nimean freighter. The containment fields on the FTL engines where cracked, meaning the ship risked catastrophic system and structural collapse anytime it made a jump. The weapon systems were FUBAR. Even the impulse engines were down to sub 50% efficacy. The only silver lining was that by some miracle, the electronic warfare suite (EWS) had managed to come out of everything relatively unharmed.
Groth finally reached the bridge, and turned off the alarm. As he scanned the incoming data, the rest of the crew, most of whom had been hibernating, slowly check in. It seemed there was a ship that had just come into sensor range. It wasn’t broadcasting any identification signal, and its make doesn’t match anything Groth had seen before. Preliminary scans indicated that the ship was damaged, but still held multiple life signs. Given the damage reports and the ship’s current location, it stood to reason that it had recently been engaged in a raid. Though if it had been the aggressor or victim remained unclear.
Taking a risk, Groth hailed the ship using a high end Nimean VI/VR program he had installed to mask who was really on the freighter. Seconds seemed to pass like hours as he waited for a reply. Eventually the opposing ship responded, seeming to finally acknowledge the presence of the Nimean ship. The creature that responded was not one that Groth was familiar with, it appeared to be bipedal with two arms that sprouted from near the top of its chest. The arms were neither overly long nor stubby, seeming to have a joint about half way down. Each arm ended in a five-digit grasping appendage. They were clearly of mammalian ancestry, but for some reason lacked almost any hair. What limited hair Groth could see, seemed to be focused around the top of their skulls and for some around their primary consumption / communication orifice.
Doing a quick data search, Groth was finally able to pull up a species name. Apparently, the beings had many names for their race, but the two most common ones seemed to be Human or Terran. Apparently, their race had only recently, about 15 of their [years], made contact with the Union. The data logs held little information about the race; only some basic anatomy charts, a rough translation of a few of their more prominent languages, and some rough design documents about Terran ship styles.
As the human captain greeted the Nimean avatar Groth used, it spoke of happiness at having found another friendly ship in this sector. The EWS sent a silent message to Groth’s screen, it had managed to break through the, frankly juvenile, security protections that the human ship had used. The EWS had identified that the “human” ship was using their own form of VR overlay. This revelation set Groth on edge, a feeling made worse when a moment later the EWS identified that ship was not actually being piloted by humans. The EWS informed him that it detected no human life signs still aboard the ship. Groth pressed a button, and the EWS projected the image of the ship’s bridge onto a new screen.
The sight that met him, caused him to thank the Ancients for his own VR overlay. The bridge of the enemy ship was splattered with dark crimson blood. Dozens of human corpses still floated where they had been shot. Scattered around the room were various Anstenii2, Groth watched as one of them tore the arm off a human corpse, before shoving the bloody limb into its toothy muzzle.
Groth had no love for the Anstenii, hell he doubted anyone loved the Anstenii. Groth could understand pirates and slavers. He didn’t agree with what they did, but he could understand why some of them did terrible things. When you had no other options, you’d do damn near anything for money or simply to survive. The Anstenii though, no, those monsters didn’t attack ships out of need or even greed. They raided ships for the sheer enjoyment they found in ending other sapient life.
A small part of Groth was happy they had found this group of Anstenii. Groth was not a good person; one does not become a privateer if they are a “good person”. The job required its practitioners to be willing and able to kill at the drop of a hat. Those who did this job needed to be able to end dozens of sapient lives, and still go to sleep with a clear conscience. No, Groth was not a good person, that said he could at least make the universe a little better by purging some true evil.
The “Human” ship had begun to approach the freighter, by some twisted luck their engines seemed to have been damaged when the Anstenii had assaulted the craft. With the human ship moving at limited impulse, Groth was afforded precious few extra minutes to prepare. While Groth had never been a “big picture” or “plan for the future” kind of guy, he had always excelled at combat and battle planning. With his crew already down more than half their numbers, he would have to be extra careful engaging the Anstenii. Sure, the little bastards could never hope to match him or his boys in one-on-one combat. However, he highly doubted the Anstenii would call for honorable single combat; no, the monsters would use their numbers. Hell, even a group of Nimeans had been known to take down an Aolthundian before. All they had to do was swarmed their opponent with enough beings, and be willing to suffer heavy losses.
Groth made the call, all able hands to the hatches, double time. Anyone too injured to move freely, needed to grab a weapon and report to medical. If his plan failed, they would be the last line of defense between the Anstenii hoard and their comatose companions. Anyone not in their assigned position after 5 [minutes], risked being marked as a hostile by the automated defenses or suffocating as Groth sealed bulkheads and depressurized several sections of the ship. He specifically left a path that led deeper into the ship under ‘minimal’ defense. Careful to balance ease of access, with enough mechanical defenses to give the illusion that the crew had fled down the twisting corridors. Too much defense, and the enemy were like as not to simply cut their way through the bulkheads, as they made a direct line for the mass of life signs deeper in the ship. Too little defense and even a fool could smell this for the trap it was.
It ended up taking the “human” ship about 15 [minutes] to finally reach the Nimean freighter. Time Groth was happy to use moving around what various defense systems he could. He had just finished setting up a particularly devious trap when the sensors informed him of the imminent arrival of his “guests”.
Before heading to his personal hatch, he had the system send out a wide band sensor pulse. such pulses were common procedure when ships docked with each other. It allowed for the automated systems of both ships to sink up and calculate an optimal connection solution. The pulse however had another effect, due to proximity, it allowed each ship to scan the other much more thoroughly. Such a deep scan would have been enough to alert the Nimean captain, that the “human” ship was infested with Anstenii. The problem was, that at such a close distance there was no way to cancel the docking program. Groth knew that the human ship would report the use of the pulse, thus alerting the Anstenii captain that the ruse was up... But if luck was on Groth side, it would not make the enemy captain question the lack of resistance he and his crew would face at the docking bay.
Groth had just made it to his hatch when he felt the docking claps latch onto his ship’s hull. Slipping inside he shut the door as he heard the telltale sounds of the airlock cycling. Moments dragged by as he waited for the airlock to finish. Then he was forced to wait as the Anstenii flooded into the cargo hold. Taking deep breaths, he slowly counted down from 300. As he reached 89, the system begun to send him reports about the automated defense system opening fire on the invaders. 40 seconds passed, and the system sent him an updated report; the Anstenii had managed to clear the first 4 compartments. 40 more seconds and the system reported that the Anstenii had cleared an additional 2.5 compartments. Only 3.5 more compartments till they reach medical.
They were moving way too fast; the defenses shouldn’t have fallen so quickly. Had he made the path too easy? No, the data was clear, a normal assault force would not have had the numbers to make this kind of progress. It took only a moment for the thought to form.
“Computer, how many hostiles are there compared to projected calculations?”
“Accounting for losses among the enemy, hostile force deployed 237% more troops then originally projected.” came back the cold voice of the ship’s VI.
Groth both winced and cheered at the news. His projection had been wrong, he had expected the Anstenii leader to send a normal amount of his people to claim the freighter. If he had, the defenses should have stopped them by the 3rd or 4th compartment. The assault leader would have then called for back-up. Instead, the crazy bastard had sent damn near every one of his people in the initial assault. Something deep in Groth’s gut told him that the Anstenii leader would not be the kind of Captain to lead from the front. No... Attempting to hide behind the VR overlay and trick Nimean merchants, said that this Anstenii wasn’t the type to risk his own hide. But committing this many troops also meant he was sure of his inevitable victory and was simply impatient to reap the spoils of conquest. A plan took shape in Groth’s mind.
Groth issued new orders to his men. He would infiltrate the enemy ship by himself, while the rest of the crew pincered the enemy force. The increased size of the enemy assault force had allowed them to puncture much deeper than expected into the freighter. But it also meant that the enemy’s troops were likely exhausted from the speed of the push, bogged down by the worst of the defenses, and lacked reinforcements to threaten the Aolthundian flanks.
As Groth made his way through the human vessel. As he hurried through the human storage bay, he couldn’t help but notice how little sign of struggle the humans seemed to have put up. Wall after wall was coated in the thick dark red blood of the humans. Human corpses littered the floor, most of whom looked like they had been killed from behind. All of the bodies were without weapons. As the passed through storage and followed the direction towards the bridge, he noticed the strangest thing. Despite the general lack of Anstenii corpses; the few times he did find them, there was always a pile of at least half a dozen. Always in close proximity to a human or small group of humans that looked like they had gone down fighting.
As he rounded a corner, Groth run straight into the object of his search. An Anstenii who was flanked by a pitiful two lackeys; the same Anstenii Groth noted, that he had seen using the human VR avatar. The subsequent fight, if one could even call it that, was a one-sided bloodbath. Groth used his massive size and strength advantage, along with his [5 inch] claws, to rip and tear the Anstenii scum limb from limb. The Anstenii fought like cornered [rats], but their plasma bolts and energy blades barely broke Groth’s skin, mostly they just burned his fur.
Groth made sure to cripple the leader by crushing one of his legs, before he turned and mauled the lackeys into a fine violet paste. The chaff dealt with, Groth took his time with the sniveling captain. [Section redacted due to graphic nature of events]. The monster’s punishment was unfortunately cut short as Groth received a message from his crew. They had just finished mopping up the Anstenii invaders. They enemy assault team had decided to fight to the last. Not that it had mattered much. While an Anstenii could make quick work of a Nimean; they had been ill equipped to deal with even a single Aolthundian, much less the tidal wave of tooth, claw, and kinetics that had crashed into them.
This message was shortly followed by the EWS informing him that it had managed to finally gain complete control of the human ship. Groth waved away the message, opting to finish playing with the Anstenii, but stopped when a follow up message appeared. Apparently, there were unaccounted for life signs that had been hidden in the captain’s quarters. Due to various security programs and the reinforced design of the cabin, the EWS had been unable to identify the life signs. Even with its control of the human ship, it could not manage to get a proper sensor reading of the beings inside. It was however, 98.756634% sure that the readings were not those of an Anstenii.
A couple [minutes] later, and Groth was standing in front of the locked door. Its face was pot marked with various plasma and laser burns, Groth was pretty sure he also noticed the remnants of a breaching charge where he expected the hinges should be; despite that, the door looked none the worse for wear. He sent a mental command to the EWS to open the door. With an almost silent hiss, the door depressurized and swung open to reveal a lavishly appointed room. Sitting on a couch on the far side of the room, facing away from him, sat what Groth assumed to be a human in a pink space suit. On a table just behind it, sat some sort of space helmet. The helmet was strange though, Groth was pretty sure that humans didn’t have massive ears that grew up from the top of their head like a Plaxian3. He was also pretty sure that Plaxians were not a common occurrence on this side of the galactic arm.
His unease lessened, as the human bobbed its head from side to side and its real ears poked through the long auburn hair of the human. Groth decided that the ‘ears’ on the helmet were simply a strange astatic design choice, instead of one aiming for functionality. Stranger still however, was the small fluffy creature that sat upon the human’s lap.
The human just sat there lightly spanking the strange small creature, singing to the beat of a ‘song’ it had made up. “Big man. A big big man. A big big stinky man”. The creature, for its part, just swished its tail back and forth. Groth could not for the life of him, tell if it was doing so in a display of anger or contentment. Having somehow caught sight, or perhaps smell, of him before the human; the creature turned and stared at Groth with a look stuck somewhere between boredom and displeasure. After a few moments of tense silence, as Groth stared at the creature and the creature stared back at Groth, it let out some kind of yowl. The noise hadn’t translated, but it had managed to shock the human out of its stupor, as if the small creature just used actual words.
“Stinky boy,” the human said, in the same sing song voice it had been using with the creature. The creature again yowled in the direction of Groth, swishing its tail with added intensity. Following the creature's eyes, the human finally noticed Groth standing in the doorway. The breath caught in her throat. At least Groth was pretty sure it was a female human; enlarged mammary glands were rare on male mammalians.
“Oh, looks like we have even more friends come to visit.” the woman commented in an offhand manner.
Groth wasn’t totally sure, but he thought he picked up a combination of confusion, fear, and... was that lust in the human’s words? No, he must have been mistaken with that last bit. He was not ugly, by his people’s standards, but that was by Aolthundian standards. Sure, he had met a few aliens he might have called aesthetically pleasing, but it was unheard of for one race to be attracted to another. At least outside of a few freaks.
“Are the other aliens still here?” the woman inquired. “I was just getting ready to go greet them, when the system glitched and I got stuck in here.” She got up, which caused the small fluffy creature to leap from her lap and start padding its way over towards Groth. “God, I’m glad the crew finally managed to get the door fixed; it’s been hell trying to relax, much less sleep, with them constantly trying different ways to force it open.” The small fluffy creature finished its slow trek over to Groth and began to rub its face and body against his leg. The human for her part looked towards her helmet and seems to decide against it, if this alien didn’t need a helmet, she shouldn’t either. She slowly began walking towards the massive Aolthundian; rolling her shoulders as she tried to work out the aches and pains of being cooped up for the last couple days. An audible *CRACK* and *pop* could be heard as she finally managed to work out a particularly nasty knot.
“Since you’re standing there, instead of any of the crew, I assume they must have eventually given up and called a professional. I suppose I should say thank you, Mister...” She let the question hang in the air.
“Groth,” Groth replied sheepishly. He silently thanked the fact that his massive frame was taking up so much of the door way. As he thought about how to break the news of what happened to her crew, something she had said bubbled to the surface of his mind. The way she talked about the Anstenii, it almost sounded like the humans had welcomed them aboard. But that was ridiculous, everyone knew that the Anstenii were sadistic sapient murderers. Then he remembered that humans had only joined the Union a scant 15 [years] ago. It was not beyond reason, that none of their people had encountered an Anstenii before. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly, lest he say something to traumatize the young woman.
“I’m sorry Mrs...?” He let the question hang in the air, trying to imitate the human’s calm demeanor.
“Oh god, how rude of me.” the woman flushed as she realized that she hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself yet. “I’m Tori Perez, but please just call me Tori.” She replied in a chipper tone. “Oh, and it’s Miss, not Mrs.” So distracted by each other, neither Groth or Tori noticed the small furry creature as it paced around their feet, until it yowled up at them. “Oh, and this is [name redacted due to copyright claim]. Also known as my Big Stinky Man.”
“If I may ask you some quick questions Miss Perez” she shot him a glare. “Sorry, Tori. If I could ask you a few questions Tori. Are you familiar with the other race of aliens that were on your ship? You see, they have a bit of a reputation; so, I'm curious how they ended up here.”
“What kind of reputation?” Tori looked mildly concerned at this reviolation. “As for how they got aboard, we found them stuck adrift and brought them on to the ship. From the reports I heard, once people got a good look at them, everyone simply fell in love. Who would have guessed that evolution could produce such an adorable hybrid of so many friendly Earth creatures.”
Groth sharply sucked in air, before letting out a sad groan. “Tori, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but those beings are known as the Astenii. And they are as far from friendly, as one can get.”
“But if they aren’t friends, why are they friend shaped?” Tori asked. Groth could see her mind starting to make connections.
“Tori... I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I don’t think you got locked in here by a glitch. The Anstenii appear to have taken advantage of your people’s generosity, and friendly disposition. From what I saw, I think your crew knew what was coming, and decided to lock you in to keep you safe... I’m sorry, but sensors say that you are the only human left on this ship.”
She turned away from him as teardrops streamed down her cheeks. “Those bloody idiots.” Several [minutes] slowly ticked by as Tori bawled her eyes out for her fallen crew. Groth did what he could to comfort the small human, holding her against his soft fur and awkwardly stroking her head with his massive paw. Eventually she managed to choke out a question.
“D... Did... Did they at least die well?” she finally managed to ask.
“The few not struck down in the initial ambush, managed to take down at least half a platoon between them. Looks like one of the crew even managed to sabotage the engines and distress buoy. Even knowing their end was coming, they must have wanted to protect anyone else from falling victim... The crew were eventually overrun, but they made those Anstenii bastards pay.” Groth replied in a somber growl.
“Good... Good.” she was silent for a while as she tried to process the new information. After what felt like an eternity of silence, Tori finally spoke again. “Groth? If the engines and distress buoy were down, then how did you manage to find the ship?”
“Honestly? Dumb luck. Our last raid went wrong and my ship has been limping along for the last couple [weeks] on impulse. Proximity system woke up the whole damn crew. With the lack of a signal at first, I thought I'd just found some wreck I could salvage to pay for repairs.” Groth chuckled at the absurdity of it all.
“Raid?” Tori scoffed. “Did I just get saved by a bunch of pirates?”
“I prefer the term ‘Privateer’, thank you very much.” He scrunched up his face in his people’s version of pride. “Anyway, after our EWS figured out that the ship was infested with Anstenii, I figured we could just kill them and take whatever booty the ship had.”
“Oh? The big space pirate wants to plunder my booty, does he?” Tori asked in a sultry voice.
submitted by Zhule88 to HFY [link] [comments]
Groth, the White Death, The Walking Blizzard, let out a low growl and gingerly dabbed at his head wound, as he made his way towards the ship’s bridge. With XO Gwip, and Chief Security Officer Diroon, still stuck in medical; after the events of the most recent raid. It fell to him as Captain, to shut off the ship’s proximity alarm. In his haste, and still half asleep, he had once again smashed his head into the low doorframe of his quarters. He was unsure if a piece of metal had finally worked its way free from the constant blunt force trauma of skull meeting metal; or if he had simply slammed into the door with enough force to cause his skin to split open. Either way, he now had a streak of magenta blood staining his otherwise pristine white face fur.
Groth was by no means the smartest or most friendly looking Aolthundian; which said quite a bit, since the Aolthundians as a race were not well known for their intellects or charming visages. Aolthundians were known for their massive frames, immense strength, and durability/resistance against most forms of small to medium caliber weapons. These traits made them some of the most sought-after mercenaries within the Galactic Union. It also made them some of the most dangerous pirates, that the GU had to contend with.
Groth was a prime example of his race, standing at a massive 30 Galactic Standard Units [12.835 feet] when bipedal, and a still respectable 11.3 GSU [4.83451667 feet] while quadrupedal. Groth was descended from one of the largest and most powerful sub-species of his race. Hailing from the farthest northern cotenant of Aolthun, his ancestors had evolved to both blend in with their frozen environment, while also having grown massive to better fight against their ancestral opponents, the Bif. While it had been several millennia since the Aolthundians had gained sapience, and the Bif had long since died off, some ancestral traits still manifested within the bloodlines of families like Groth’s.
Groth didn’t know many things, he’d left much of that “big picture” stuff in the hands of his XO, and lifelong friend, Gwip. The only things he knew for sure at the moment; was that he absolutely hated being stuck on this third hand shoebox sized Nimean1 rust bucket; he absolutely despised the high pitches screaming of the proximity alarm; and that the last four [weeks] were somehow all Gwip’s fault.
Groth could still hear Gwip’s words from all those [Years] ago. “Man, screw fighting and dying for someone else’s petty squabbles. Let’s become privateers! Think of the fame and fortune... What are you stupid? Don’t buy new. Might as well throw your credits into the void? Save some chits, and get a used ship... No, no! Not an Aolthundian frigate, they’ll turn most of the ship to slag before risking getting within a light hour of us if they think they’re up against Aolthundians. Our best shot is to catch them by surprise, as they say “No one expects the Aolthundian Inquisition” ... Get this one, no one’s going to except a bunch of Aolthundians to be on a Nimean freighter. It’s the perfect cover”
Groth had to begrudgingly admit that at least some of that advice had proven correct thus far. Every single ship they had encountered, had vastly underestimated them. But who could blame them? A ship design so old, that it hadn’t seen production in over 30 [years]. No doubt crewed by a group of Nimeans. Nimeans who were so strapped for cash they couldn’t even afford to hire a security corvette, despite needing to travel through such a dangerous patch of grey space. Clearly, the Nimean captain had to be up to their eyestalks in debt if they were risking not only their own life, but also the lives of their crew, on an “all or nothing” run like this. Traveling through grey space, could often cut [weeks] off your travel time. It also meant one could avoid the costly travel permits, and toll fees, you were required to pay if you used the GU controlled space lanes. Surely such a run meant a ship filled to the brim with easy to move loot. Or perhaps it was a group of Nimeans who were running illegal goods. They hoped that the age of their ship, and their race’s pacifistic reputation would shield them from being accosted. Either way, the whole thing screamed “easy score” to the pirates who trolled these back alley short cuts. It was also well known that Nimeans went for a high price on the slave markets of the Outer Rim.
Everything had been going great for 4 [years]. Near constant raids by pirates, slavers, and the other low lives of the galaxy, meant that the crew wanted for little in regards to food or entertainment. The bounties Groth collected from dealing with these groups, along with the profits from selling off their illegally gotten goods, allowed for an immense amount of custom work to be done on the freighter. Modified smuggler hatches, enhances shield arrays, retrofitted heavy armor that doubled as prevention against internal scanning, not to mention the upgraded ‘asteroid defense system’ were but a few examples of the modifications Groth and Gwip had made since buying the rust bucket. All the upgrades meant that the ship could punch well above its weight class. Not that all those upgrades had mattered during their last raid.
It had all started off as it normally did. The enemy ship had “caught them by surprise”, Groth’s crew had hidden away in the modified smuggler hatches. The enemy boarded the ship and began to fight their way through the automated defense system. Once they were a good distance into the ship, Groth and the crew exited their hiding spots. Gwip and his team would flank the enemies from behind, while Groth and his team would secure the enemy ship.
Everything was going like clockwork; at least until the enemy’s combatants decided to self-detonate rather than be captured. Groth had lost half a dozen crew in the blink of an eye, as their prey literally exploded underneath them. Another dozen, including Gwip and Diroon, where only critically injured during the chaos. Saved the worst of it by either being further away from the detonating invaders, or simply happening to be behind a crew member who bore the brunt of the explosive force and super-heated shrapnel.
The enemy ship had tried to flee, only to find that when they had latched onto the freighter; the freighter had latched onto them as well. High intensity Grav-beams made sure that no ship could escape once they docked, at least not without tearing a massive chunk out of their hull and superstructure.
Their hopes for escape dashed, the enemy captain had chosen to do the unthinkable. Rather than surrender or even go down fighting, the cowardly bastard had scuttled his ship. The resulting explosion, coupled with the proximity of the two ships, had caused massive damage to the Nimean freighter. The containment fields on the FTL engines where cracked, meaning the ship risked catastrophic system and structural collapse anytime it made a jump. The weapon systems were FUBAR. Even the impulse engines were down to sub 50% efficacy. The only silver lining was that by some miracle, the electronic warfare suite (EWS) had managed to come out of everything relatively unharmed.
Groth finally reached the bridge, and turned off the alarm. As he scanned the incoming data, the rest of the crew, most of whom had been hibernating, slowly check in. It seemed there was a ship that had just come into sensor range. It wasn’t broadcasting any identification signal, and its make doesn’t match anything Groth had seen before. Preliminary scans indicated that the ship was damaged, but still held multiple life signs. Given the damage reports and the ship’s current location, it stood to reason that it had recently been engaged in a raid. Though if it had been the aggressor or victim remained unclear.
Taking a risk, Groth hailed the ship using a high end Nimean VI/VR program he had installed to mask who was really on the freighter. Seconds seemed to pass like hours as he waited for a reply. Eventually the opposing ship responded, seeming to finally acknowledge the presence of the Nimean ship. The creature that responded was not one that Groth was familiar with, it appeared to be bipedal with two arms that sprouted from near the top of its chest. The arms were neither overly long nor stubby, seeming to have a joint about half way down. Each arm ended in a five-digit grasping appendage. They were clearly of mammalian ancestry, but for some reason lacked almost any hair. What limited hair Groth could see, seemed to be focused around the top of their skulls and for some around their primary consumption / communication orifice.
Doing a quick data search, Groth was finally able to pull up a species name. Apparently, the beings had many names for their race, but the two most common ones seemed to be Human or Terran. Apparently, their race had only recently, about 15 of their [years], made contact with the Union. The data logs held little information about the race; only some basic anatomy charts, a rough translation of a few of their more prominent languages, and some rough design documents about Terran ship styles.
As the human captain greeted the Nimean avatar Groth used, it spoke of happiness at having found another friendly ship in this sector. The EWS sent a silent message to Groth’s screen, it had managed to break through the, frankly juvenile, security protections that the human ship had used. The EWS had identified that the “human” ship was using their own form of VR overlay. This revelation set Groth on edge, a feeling made worse when a moment later the EWS identified that ship was not actually being piloted by humans. The EWS informed him that it detected no human life signs still aboard the ship. Groth pressed a button, and the EWS projected the image of the ship’s bridge onto a new screen.
The sight that met him, caused him to thank the Ancients for his own VR overlay. The bridge of the enemy ship was splattered with dark crimson blood. Dozens of human corpses still floated where they had been shot. Scattered around the room were various Anstenii2, Groth watched as one of them tore the arm off a human corpse, before shoving the bloody limb into its toothy muzzle.
Groth had no love for the Anstenii, hell he doubted anyone loved the Anstenii. Groth could understand pirates and slavers. He didn’t agree with what they did, but he could understand why some of them did terrible things. When you had no other options, you’d do damn near anything for money or simply to survive. The Anstenii though, no, those monsters didn’t attack ships out of need or even greed. They raided ships for the sheer enjoyment they found in ending other sapient life.
A small part of Groth was happy they had found this group of Anstenii. Groth was not a good person; one does not become a privateer if they are a “good person”. The job required its practitioners to be willing and able to kill at the drop of a hat. Those who did this job needed to be able to end dozens of sapient lives, and still go to sleep with a clear conscience. No, Groth was not a good person, that said he could at least make the universe a little better by purging some true evil.
The “Human” ship had begun to approach the freighter, by some twisted luck their engines seemed to have been damaged when the Anstenii had assaulted the craft. With the human ship moving at limited impulse, Groth was afforded precious few extra minutes to prepare. While Groth had never been a “big picture” or “plan for the future” kind of guy, he had always excelled at combat and battle planning. With his crew already down more than half their numbers, he would have to be extra careful engaging the Anstenii. Sure, the little bastards could never hope to match him or his boys in one-on-one combat. However, he highly doubted the Anstenii would call for honorable single combat; no, the monsters would use their numbers. Hell, even a group of Nimeans had been known to take down an Aolthundian before. All they had to do was swarmed their opponent with enough beings, and be willing to suffer heavy losses.
Groth made the call, all able hands to the hatches, double time. Anyone too injured to move freely, needed to grab a weapon and report to medical. If his plan failed, they would be the last line of defense between the Anstenii hoard and their comatose companions. Anyone not in their assigned position after 5 [minutes], risked being marked as a hostile by the automated defenses or suffocating as Groth sealed bulkheads and depressurized several sections of the ship. He specifically left a path that led deeper into the ship under ‘minimal’ defense. Careful to balance ease of access, with enough mechanical defenses to give the illusion that the crew had fled down the twisting corridors. Too much defense, and the enemy were like as not to simply cut their way through the bulkheads, as they made a direct line for the mass of life signs deeper in the ship. Too little defense and even a fool could smell this for the trap it was.
It ended up taking the “human” ship about 15 [minutes] to finally reach the Nimean freighter. Time Groth was happy to use moving around what various defense systems he could. He had just finished setting up a particularly devious trap when the sensors informed him of the imminent arrival of his “guests”.
Before heading to his personal hatch, he had the system send out a wide band sensor pulse. such pulses were common procedure when ships docked with each other. It allowed for the automated systems of both ships to sink up and calculate an optimal connection solution. The pulse however had another effect, due to proximity, it allowed each ship to scan the other much more thoroughly. Such a deep scan would have been enough to alert the Nimean captain, that the “human” ship was infested with Anstenii. The problem was, that at such a close distance there was no way to cancel the docking program. Groth knew that the human ship would report the use of the pulse, thus alerting the Anstenii captain that the ruse was up... But if luck was on Groth side, it would not make the enemy captain question the lack of resistance he and his crew would face at the docking bay.
Groth had just made it to his hatch when he felt the docking claps latch onto his ship’s hull. Slipping inside he shut the door as he heard the telltale sounds of the airlock cycling. Moments dragged by as he waited for the airlock to finish. Then he was forced to wait as the Anstenii flooded into the cargo hold. Taking deep breaths, he slowly counted down from 300. As he reached 89, the system begun to send him reports about the automated defense system opening fire on the invaders. 40 seconds passed, and the system sent him an updated report; the Anstenii had managed to clear the first 4 compartments. 40 more seconds and the system reported that the Anstenii had cleared an additional 2.5 compartments. Only 3.5 more compartments till they reach medical.
They were moving way too fast; the defenses shouldn’t have fallen so quickly. Had he made the path too easy? No, the data was clear, a normal assault force would not have had the numbers to make this kind of progress. It took only a moment for the thought to form.
“Computer, how many hostiles are there compared to projected calculations?”
“Accounting for losses among the enemy, hostile force deployed 237% more troops then originally projected.” came back the cold voice of the ship’s VI.
Groth both winced and cheered at the news. His projection had been wrong, he had expected the Anstenii leader to send a normal amount of his people to claim the freighter. If he had, the defenses should have stopped them by the 3rd or 4th compartment. The assault leader would have then called for back-up. Instead, the crazy bastard had sent damn near every one of his people in the initial assault. Something deep in Groth’s gut told him that the Anstenii leader would not be the kind of Captain to lead from the front. No... Attempting to hide behind the VR overlay and trick Nimean merchants, said that this Anstenii wasn’t the type to risk his own hide. But committing this many troops also meant he was sure of his inevitable victory and was simply impatient to reap the spoils of conquest. A plan took shape in Groth’s mind.
Groth issued new orders to his men. He would infiltrate the enemy ship by himself, while the rest of the crew pincered the enemy force. The increased size of the enemy assault force had allowed them to puncture much deeper than expected into the freighter. But it also meant that the enemy’s troops were likely exhausted from the speed of the push, bogged down by the worst of the defenses, and lacked reinforcements to threaten the Aolthundian flanks.
As Groth made his way through the human vessel. As he hurried through the human storage bay, he couldn’t help but notice how little sign of struggle the humans seemed to have put up. Wall after wall was coated in the thick dark red blood of the humans. Human corpses littered the floor, most of whom looked like they had been killed from behind. All of the bodies were without weapons. As the passed through storage and followed the direction towards the bridge, he noticed the strangest thing. Despite the general lack of Anstenii corpses; the few times he did find them, there was always a pile of at least half a dozen. Always in close proximity to a human or small group of humans that looked like they had gone down fighting.
As he rounded a corner, Groth run straight into the object of his search. An Anstenii who was flanked by a pitiful two lackeys; the same Anstenii Groth noted, that he had seen using the human VR avatar. The subsequent fight, if one could even call it that, was a one-sided bloodbath. Groth used his massive size and strength advantage, along with his [5 inch] claws, to rip and tear the Anstenii scum limb from limb. The Anstenii fought like cornered [rats], but their plasma bolts and energy blades barely broke Groth’s skin, mostly they just burned his fur.
Groth made sure to cripple the leader by crushing one of his legs, before he turned and mauled the lackeys into a fine violet paste. The chaff dealt with, Groth took his time with the sniveling captain. [Section redacted due to graphic nature of events]. The monster’s punishment was unfortunately cut short as Groth received a message from his crew. They had just finished mopping up the Anstenii invaders. They enemy assault team had decided to fight to the last. Not that it had mattered much. While an Anstenii could make quick work of a Nimean; they had been ill equipped to deal with even a single Aolthundian, much less the tidal wave of tooth, claw, and kinetics that had crashed into them.
This message was shortly followed by the EWS informing him that it had managed to finally gain complete control of the human ship. Groth waved away the message, opting to finish playing with the Anstenii, but stopped when a follow up message appeared. Apparently, there were unaccounted for life signs that had been hidden in the captain’s quarters. Due to various security programs and the reinforced design of the cabin, the EWS had been unable to identify the life signs. Even with its control of the human ship, it could not manage to get a proper sensor reading of the beings inside. It was however, 98.756634% sure that the readings were not those of an Anstenii.
A couple [minutes] later, and Groth was standing in front of the locked door. Its face was pot marked with various plasma and laser burns, Groth was pretty sure he also noticed the remnants of a breaching charge where he expected the hinges should be; despite that, the door looked none the worse for wear. He sent a mental command to the EWS to open the door. With an almost silent hiss, the door depressurized and swung open to reveal a lavishly appointed room. Sitting on a couch on the far side of the room, facing away from him, sat what Groth assumed to be a human in a pink space suit. On a table just behind it, sat some sort of space helmet. The helmet was strange though, Groth was pretty sure that humans didn’t have massive ears that grew up from the top of their head like a Plaxian3. He was also pretty sure that Plaxians were not a common occurrence on this side of the galactic arm.
His unease lessened, as the human bobbed its head from side to side and its real ears poked through the long auburn hair of the human. Groth decided that the ‘ears’ on the helmet were simply a strange astatic design choice, instead of one aiming for functionality. Stranger still however, was the small fluffy creature that sat upon the human’s lap.
The human just sat there lightly spanking the strange small creature, singing to the beat of a ‘song’ it had made up. “Big man. A big big man. A big big stinky man”. The creature, for its part, just swished its tail back and forth. Groth could not for the life of him, tell if it was doing so in a display of anger or contentment. Having somehow caught sight, or perhaps smell, of him before the human; the creature turned and stared at Groth with a look stuck somewhere between boredom and displeasure. After a few moments of tense silence, as Groth stared at the creature and the creature stared back at Groth, it let out some kind of yowl. The noise hadn’t translated, but it had managed to shock the human out of its stupor, as if the small creature just used actual words.
“Stinky boy,” the human said, in the same sing song voice it had been using with the creature. The creature again yowled in the direction of Groth, swishing its tail with added intensity. Following the creature's eyes, the human finally noticed Groth standing in the doorway. The breath caught in her throat. At least Groth was pretty sure it was a female human; enlarged mammary glands were rare on male mammalians.
“Oh, looks like we have even more friends come to visit.” the woman commented in an offhand manner.
Groth wasn’t totally sure, but he thought he picked up a combination of confusion, fear, and... was that lust in the human’s words? No, he must have been mistaken with that last bit. He was not ugly, by his people’s standards, but that was by Aolthundian standards. Sure, he had met a few aliens he might have called aesthetically pleasing, but it was unheard of for one race to be attracted to another. At least outside of a few freaks.
“Are the other aliens still here?” the woman inquired. “I was just getting ready to go greet them, when the system glitched and I got stuck in here.” She got up, which caused the small fluffy creature to leap from her lap and start padding its way over towards Groth. “God, I’m glad the crew finally managed to get the door fixed; it’s been hell trying to relax, much less sleep, with them constantly trying different ways to force it open.” The small fluffy creature finished its slow trek over to Groth and began to rub its face and body against his leg. The human for her part looked towards her helmet and seems to decide against it, if this alien didn’t need a helmet, she shouldn’t either. She slowly began walking towards the massive Aolthundian; rolling her shoulders as she tried to work out the aches and pains of being cooped up for the last couple days. An audible *CRACK* and *pop* could be heard as she finally managed to work out a particularly nasty knot.
“Since you’re standing there, instead of any of the crew, I assume they must have eventually given up and called a professional. I suppose I should say thank you, Mister...” She let the question hang in the air.
“Groth,” Groth replied sheepishly. He silently thanked the fact that his massive frame was taking up so much of the door way. As he thought about how to break the news of what happened to her crew, something she had said bubbled to the surface of his mind. The way she talked about the Anstenii, it almost sounded like the humans had welcomed them aboard. But that was ridiculous, everyone knew that the Anstenii were sadistic sapient murderers. Then he remembered that humans had only joined the Union a scant 15 [years] ago. It was not beyond reason, that none of their people had encountered an Anstenii before. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly, lest he say something to traumatize the young woman.
“I’m sorry Mrs...?” He let the question hang in the air, trying to imitate the human’s calm demeanor.
“Oh god, how rude of me.” the woman flushed as she realized that she hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself yet. “I’m Tori Perez, but please just call me Tori.” She replied in a chipper tone. “Oh, and it’s Miss, not Mrs.” So distracted by each other, neither Groth or Tori noticed the small furry creature as it paced around their feet, until it yowled up at them. “Oh, and this is [name redacted due to copyright claim]. Also known as my Big Stinky Man.”
“If I may ask you some quick questions Miss Perez” she shot him a glare. “Sorry, Tori. If I could ask you a few questions Tori. Are you familiar with the other race of aliens that were on your ship? You see, they have a bit of a reputation; so, I'm curious how they ended up here.”
“What kind of reputation?” Tori looked mildly concerned at this reviolation. “As for how they got aboard, we found them stuck adrift and brought them on to the ship. From the reports I heard, once people got a good look at them, everyone simply fell in love. Who would have guessed that evolution could produce such an adorable hybrid of so many friendly Earth creatures.”
Groth sharply sucked in air, before letting out a sad groan. “Tori, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but those beings are known as the Astenii. And they are as far from friendly, as one can get.”
“But if they aren’t friends, why are they friend shaped?” Tori asked. Groth could see her mind starting to make connections.
“Tori... I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I don’t think you got locked in here by a glitch. The Anstenii appear to have taken advantage of your people’s generosity, and friendly disposition. From what I saw, I think your crew knew what was coming, and decided to lock you in to keep you safe... I’m sorry, but sensors say that you are the only human left on this ship.”
She turned away from him as teardrops streamed down her cheeks. “Those bloody idiots.” Several [minutes] slowly ticked by as Tori bawled her eyes out for her fallen crew. Groth did what he could to comfort the small human, holding her against his soft fur and awkwardly stroking her head with his massive paw. Eventually she managed to choke out a question.
“D... Did... Did they at least die well?” she finally managed to ask.
“The few not struck down in the initial ambush, managed to take down at least half a platoon between them. Looks like one of the crew even managed to sabotage the engines and distress buoy. Even knowing their end was coming, they must have wanted to protect anyone else from falling victim... The crew were eventually overrun, but they made those Anstenii bastards pay.” Groth replied in a somber growl.
“Good... Good.” she was silent for a while as she tried to process the new information. After what felt like an eternity of silence, Tori finally spoke again. “Groth? If the engines and distress buoy were down, then how did you manage to find the ship?”
“Honestly? Dumb luck. Our last raid went wrong and my ship has been limping along for the last couple [weeks] on impulse. Proximity system woke up the whole damn crew. With the lack of a signal at first, I thought I'd just found some wreck I could salvage to pay for repairs.” Groth chuckled at the absurdity of it all.
“Raid?” Tori scoffed. “Did I just get saved by a bunch of pirates?”
“I prefer the term ‘Privateer’, thank you very much.” He scrunched up his face in his people’s version of pride. “Anyway, after our EWS figured out that the ship was infested with Anstenii, I figured we could just kill them and take whatever booty the ship had.”
“Oh? The big space pirate wants to plunder my booty, does he?” Tori asked in a sultry voice.
2024.05.08 09:07 SkyAnimal Timeline of Human Evolution.
Earth's orbit experiences an “Orbital Eccentricity”, 100,000 year cycle orbit and inclination variation, going from circular to elliptical, the hemispheres experience more or less sun or exposure to the sun for extended periods, causing ice ages. Scientists estimate we are near the minimum, a 6% change in solar energy. At peak, the earth experiences a change of 30%.
Modern Day Primates, in the wild and captivity, are able to communicate, near and far, using verbal and gesture components, even to other species. Have been observed using wood as tools, and in using medicinal plants to treat wounds.
44 million y a - Hominid ancestors acquire Herpes virus.
10 million y a - Primate ancestors develop genes to digest alcohol.
6 million years ago - Primate ancestors split from Chimpanzee/Bonobo line (15 million DNA mutations have occurred since then; each person born today has 100 mutations distinct to them, most don’t survive.)
5.3 m y a - Mediterranean Sea experiences the Messinian Salinity Crisis, for 600,000 years the Straight of Gibraltar closed off, causing the Mediterranean to shrink down to two inland seas with Italy and Greece separating them. Ends in the Zanclean Flood, a river of Atlantic sea water flows thru Gibraltar and fills the Mediterranean in 2 years.
5 m y a - Arabian-African continent reconnects with Asia. Land based Turtle species start going extinct.
4 - 3 m y a - Hominid ancestors acquire pubic lice from Gorillas (genetic evidence).
3.6 - 2.58 m y a - Considered the Neogene Period.
3.3 m y a - Stone tools found in Kenya and Ethiopia.
2.6 m y a - Mode One Stone Tools found in Ethiopia, would subsequently spread. Flourished to 1.7 million y a in southern and eastern Africa. Paleolithic (Old Stone Age) Era (2.6 m y a till end of last Ice Age, 11,000 y a). Subdivided into the Early- or Lower Paleolithic (c. 2,6 million years ago - c. 250,000 years ago); the Middle Paleolithic (c. 250,000 years ago - c. 30,000 years ago); and the Late- or Upper Paleolithic (c. 50,000/40,000 - c. 10,000 years ago)
2.58 million - 11,700 years ago - Considered the start of the Quaternary Period, and covers the Pleistocene.
2.4 – 1.4 m y a – Homo Habilis (4.5-3.5 feet tall).
2 m years ago - Earliest Hominids start eating meat.
1.9 – 1.8 m y a – Homo Rudolfensis.
1.89 m y a to 110,000 y a - Homo Erectus (first to leave Africa and spread across Asia).
1.8 m years ago - Mode One Stone Tools found on Java.
1.7 m years ago - Mode Two Stone Tools (slicing, hand-axe/butchering, evidence of drilling tools) appear in Kenya and southern Africa.
1.6 m years ago - Mode One Stone Tools found in northern China.
1.6 - 1.5 m y a - Africa, Turkana Boy dies, likely from a tooth cavity infection. He was either 8 or 11-12 years old and 61 inches tall. Brain 880 ccm.
1.5 m y a - Kenya, possible start of Hominids using fire to cook food. (increase in caloric intake, which would lead to evolution; however, Paranthropus Boisei is the local species, brain 500-550 ccm, 54 inches tall)
1 million years ago - Likely split between ancestor of Homo Sapiens and proto-Neanderthal-Denisovan species. (Mitochondrial DNA evidence.) South Africa, evidence of fire use for cooking.
1 m - 700,000 y a - Java, Java Man dies, brain 900 ccm. 5' 8" tall.
900,000 y a – Possible earliest use of boats.
820,000 - 580,000 y a - Durum Wheat develops out of natural hybridization with Einkorn Wheat (genetic analysis).
800,000? y a - Low world temperatures recorded. Height of Ice Age?
790,000 y a - Levant, oldest Fire hearths found. (Homo Heidelbergensis, 1,250 ccm brain, 69 in tall)
740,000? y a - Height of Ice Age?
7-200,000 y a – Homo Heidelbergensis (East Africa and Europe, likely first to hunt large animals with spears)
640,000? y a - Height of Ice Age.
550,000? y a - Height of Ice Age?
540,000 - 430,000 y a - Art: Sea shell formed into decoration by Homo Erectus. (Could indicate when sea shells began to be used as whistles and horns.)
530,000? y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, high CO2 content in the atmosphere, 524-474,000).
500,000 y a - South Africa, evidence of Spears. Genetic evidence of Neanderthal spread from Europe to Caspian Sea, Denisovans occupied land from Caspian to the east.
450,000 y a - Earliest physical evidence of Neanderthal.
450,000 y a - Global temperatures had dropped, stayed that way for thousands of years.
430,000 - 230,000 y a - Durum Wheat cross-breeds with wild Goat Grass (genetic analysis).
400,000 y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, 424-374,000).
400,000 y a - Germany, oldest Spears found. France (Terra Amata), possible evidence of manmade shelter using prepared wood.
360,000? y a - Height of Ice Age.
335-236,000 y a – Homo Naledi (South Africa, 4’9”)
310,000 y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, 337-300,000).
300,000 y a – Mode Three Stone Tools (smaller knife-like, scrapers, developed in Europe by Neanderthals)
300,000-200,000 y a – Africa, Origin of Male Y-Chromosome that all current males are descended from. (40% of males do not reproduce.)
270,000? y a - Height of Ice Age.
240,000 y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, 242–230,000).
200,000 y a - France, evidence of Neanderthals fishing. Africa, "Mitochondrial Eve," source of all Human Haplo-groups that everyone is descended from, existed at this time.
194,000-135,000 y a - Penultimate Glacial Period.
190,000 y a - Early physical evidence of Denisovans. (At least three interbreeding events would occur with Homo Sapiens. EPAS1 gene, hemoglobin concentration, Tibetan plateau.)
190,000-50,000 y a - Flores Island, evidence of tool use by the Human Hobbit.
170,000 - 80,000 y a - Body Lice evolve (genetic evidence, feed on human skin, live in clothing; evidence of clothing)
164,000 y a – South Africa, heat treating Silcrete Stone to enhance stone tool production.
140,000 y a - Homo Sapiens found in Europe.
130,000 y a - Evidence of humans in North America. Crete, earliest human settlements found on the island. Art: Neanderthal necklace made of eagle talons. Croatia: Neanderthal teeth show possible dental work.
125,000 y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, 130-115,000). Sea levels 4-6 meters (18 feet) higher then today.
110,000-15,000 y a - Last Glacial Period. Grey Wolves would migrate from North America back to Asia prior to the maximum.
100,000-60,000 y a - Flores Island, bone fossil evidence of the Human Hobbit.
100,000 y a - Oldest example of proper human burial. South Africa, Pigment (paint) Creation Kit found. (would cover bodies in mud/clay and then spray the paint over the bodies, sun screen-protection from insects)
90,000 y a – Harpoons.
86,000-37,000 y a – Neanderthal and Homo Sapiens begin interbreeding, based on genetic evidence found so far.
75,000 years ago - Likely rise of Hunter Genotype in Homo Sapiens.
75,000 y a - Art: Drilled snail shells found in South African cave.
73,000 y a - South Africa (Blombos Cave), evidence of Red Ochre art on pieces of stone, stone with deliberate lines cut into it possibly representing count marks.
72,000 y a - South Africa, Beads found in cave.
70,000 y a - Mitochondrial DNA suggests this is when the Haplo-group of early humans migrated out of Africa to populate the rest of the world.
70-60,000 y a - Earliest evidence of bone and stone arrowheads (for Spear Throwers), found in South Africa. 64,000?
70,000 - 35,000 BCE - Neanderthal burials in Europe and Middle East.
68-16,000 y a – Smallpox evolves from an African Rodent Virus.
67,000 BCE - France, burial shows skulls with Trepanation (cutting holes to relieve brain pressure), earliest example of surgery.
65,000 y a - First humans settle Australia.
64,000 y a - Spain, oldest evidence found of Cave Art (Neanderthal hand).
61,000 y a - South Africa, possible evidence of a Sewing Needle.
60,000? y a - Height of Ice Age?
60,000 y a - Evidence of man/Neanderthal using herbal medicine.
55,000 - 40,000 y a - Italy, evidence of Neanderthal using Pine Tree Resin and Beeswax for hafting tools, in cave. (Beeswax can be used in making Candles.)
52,000 y a - Last evidence of Denisovans.
52,000 – 41,000 y a – Archaeological find of “Bast” tree fiber twisted into primitive cordage, possibly as handle for a Stone Tool. (meaning they had access to Clothing, Nets, Cord for Fishing or Hafting tools, rope; thinking processes of Counting, Sets, Patterns, and possibly abstract thinking)
50,000 - 10,000 y a - Mode Four Stone Tools (long blades).
50,000 y a - Australia, last evidence of megafauna. Siberia, needle made from bone found in Denisovan cave. Genetic evidence of Neanderthal spreading to western edge of China.
50,000 years ago - End point of development of Gatherer Genotype (can survive famine), Teacher Genotype (can handle new and different environments, analytical).
45,000 y a - Evidence of Neanderthal and Homo Sapien interbreeding. (Fossil found, DNA tested.) (France, to create stone tools required precision, “Soft Hammers” were likely used.)
44,000 y a - Evidence of art found in Indonesia.
44,000-40,000 y a - Europe experiences cold and dry weather, displacing populations.
43-42,000 y a - Germany, oldest musical instruments (flutes) found.
42,000 y a - Australia, skeleton of man suggests Atlatl use, pre-dating earliest evidence; earliest example of cremation found. Spain, small amounts of Natural Gold found in a cave.
40,000 y a - (Mankind is at the “Forager” level.) Last evidence of Neanderthal. (Inheritance of "STAT2" gene, immune response. HYAL2 gene, helps skin recover from sunburns.) China, test on body found that ate a lot of fresh water fish. Possible example of oldest petroglyphs. Beads found in Lebanon.
40,000 - 26,000 y a - Studying toe bones, showed they became smaller and weaker, indicating shoes were worn. Prior to this, shoes were likely bags wrapped around feet to protect from cold.
38,000 BC - First appearance of Mode Five Ground Stone tools on Japan. (rock was quarried; thin slivers of flint stone, attached to hafts, man is learning the use of a "handle" for tools and "leverage", create Adzes, Celts, and Axes; grinding helps to penetrate trees and was likely discovered when grinding plant matter; found buried with owners; were traded) Lasted till 14,000 BC. (Would not become popular elsewhere until 10,000 BC?) Germany: Clay Figurine featuring human with lion like appearance, thought to be earliest representation of a Deity.
35,000 BCE - Europe, earliest examples of "Venus figurines" found buried in graves (some showing they were deliberately broken or stabbed repeatedly); would later spread to rest of Eurasia. Early examples of skulls and long bones showing red ochre, indicating possible relic worship.
35,000 y a - Germany, flute made from a vulture bone found.
30,000 BCE – Solomon Islands, first humans settle (60 km sea voyage).
31,000 - 27,000 y a - Evidence of Pit Fire (Earthernware) Pottery developing.
30,000-20,000 years ago - Explorer genotype (Ice Age refugees, idiosyncratic, asymmetrical, contrarian mentality)
30,000 y a - Evidence of starch residue on rocks, indicating where plant matter was pounded and ground. (Would likely be the pre-cursor of developing bread from roots of cattails and ferns. Quern Grinding Stones would spread and gain popularity.) Georgia, Flax used as a textile (harvested, dyed, and knotted) found in Dzudzuana Cave. Fertile Crescent, Einkorn wheat harvested in it's wild form. Evidence of man using the Atlatl. Poland: Boomerang carved from mammoth tusk found. France, Lunar Calendar. Likely when Bolas (stone weight(s) and length of cord) began to be used.
28,000 y a - Europe, oldest evidence of rope.
25,000 - 15,000 BCE - Blood Type A develops in the Fertile Crescent. (able to survive Plague, Cholera, Smallpox)
27,000 y a - Australia, oldest example of petroglyphs found. Czech Republic, earliest example of "Weaving" of material together to create baskets and basic cloth. (Leads to counting and simple math, organizing.)
26,000-13,300 y a - Considered "Glacial Maximum", ice sheets extend to the 45th parallel north. (26,500 considered to be maximum glacial reach.)
23,000 - 12,000 y a – Europe, Perforated Batons found, made of antler, assumed to be a form of Atlatl that uses a leather strap or string to wrap around the spear and give it a slight spin, arrow or spear thrower (similar to Swiss Arrow). Right and left handed throwers find preference. Most carved with Horses, have one or two holes (one had 8 holes).
23,000 y a - Israel, Ohalo archaeological site, hunter-gatherer society (6 brushwood shelters, 132 stone tools some attached to hafts, stone Sickles, dwellings showed flint tools were made at entrance, cooking at other end, grind stone showed sand and cobbles to place and had U-shape of seeds around it) that grew/harvested Barley, Millet, Bromus (grass in same tax tribe as wheat/barley/rye, can be used for fermenting beverages, can be eaten by humans and animals), Rubus (same family as Rose plants, similar to blackberries), and various fruits (seeds from 13 different species), earliest evidence for “Bedding” material.
22,000 – 17,000 y a – France, Solutrean inhabitants make use of Antler.
21,000-17,000 y a - France, Atlatl's found in caves.
20,000 y a - Height of the Ice Age, sea levels 120 meters (360 feet) lower. Mode Five Stone Tools (microliths glued to handles, Fertile Crescent). Earliest example of a building/house found. Ukraine, Bullroarer (wood on rope that is swung around to create sound over long distance) found. Iraq-Iran, Zarzian Culture, had domesticated Dogs.
19,050? - 13,050 y a - Oldest Dryas Period, stadial, abrupt cooling period. Sea levels rose 10-15 m in 500 years.
17,000 BCE - Mesopotamia, Wild Emmer Wheat harvested.
18,000 - 17,500 y a - Siberia, earliest example of a domesticated dog found frozen. Germany, Bow and Arrows found. Early evidence of Darts used.
18,000 y a - Japan, oldest pottery discovered.
15,100 - 14,000 y a - Morocco, earliest example of a cemetery.
15,000 y a – Mode Five Stone Tools reach Europe. Southern France, cave art depicting possible Musical Bow, Nose Flute; "The Sorcerer," a figure showing human and many animal qualities (bison), made out of Clay.
15,000 – 10,000 y a – France, Stone Oil Lamps.
14,500 y a - Oldest example of bread making, Jordan desert.
14,160 - 13,820 y a - Archaeological find: infected tooth partially cleaned out with flint tools.
14,600 - 13,600 y a - "Melt Water Pulse," sea levels rose 16-24 m.
14,000? y a - Older Dryas Period, around 200 year cooling period.
13,500 - 8,200 y a - China, wild Rice domestication event occurs.
15-10,000 BCE - Himalayas, development of Blood Type B.
11,050 BCE - Syria, attempts at domesticating Rye.
13,000 y a - Greece, evidence of lentils found. Earliest evidence of Amber used in jewelry. Israel, archaeological evidence of beer like gruel for ceremonial purposes found at Haifa. Likely beginning of Slavery.
13,000 - 12,700 y a - Fertile Crescent, archaeological evidence of man corralling and using pigs.
12,900 - 11,700 y a - The Younger Dryas Period, when temperatures went cold instead of warming from the Last Glacial Maximum.
10,000 BCE - Jericho, considered mankind's first town, is established. Buildings of clay and straw, dead buried under homes. (Would reach 70 dwellings by 94,000 BCE.) Chickpeas domesticated. Earliest evidence of the Bottle Gourd being domesticated and used (Africa and Asia variety). Azerbaijan (Caspian Sea), petroglyphs of reed boats. Starting point of Ocarina type flutes. Cyprus, humans arrive. Germany, Jet artifact (Botfly larvae, which can be eaten). Curved Stone Oil Lamps.
11,700 y a - Considered the beginning of the Holocene.
9600 BCE - Southern Levant, earliest use of wild Emmer Wheat.
11,500 - 11,000 y a - "Melt Water Pulse," sea levels rose 28 m.
11,400 y a - Cypress, archaeological evidence of pigs (indicating they had been domesticated and brought from the mainland).
9400 - 9200 BCE - Jordan Valley, Fig trees found, indicating earliest agriculture since these trees could not reproduce.
9130 - 7370 BCE - SE Turkey, Gobekli Tepe, oldest known worship location.
9000 BCE - Syria, oldest (Saddle) Quern found. Mesopotamia, Copper first used. Bartering of Cattle and agricultural products likely occurring at this time.
9000 - 3300 BCE - Neolithic Era, roughly. Time period of when man has begun herding, before using bronze.
11,000 - 9,000 y a - Mesopotamia, domestication of Sheep; Rammed Earth construction technique developed. Iran, Domestication of Goat (focused on management of the animal, varieties would come later).
11,000-4,000 years ago - Warrior genotype (farmers, soldiers, inventors); Nomad genotype (life upon a horse, can handle different environments, good immune system)
11 or 10,000 y a - Last Ice Age ends.
8800 BCE - Emmer Wheat spreads beyond the Levant.
8700 BCE - Iraq, Copper pendant.
8500 BCE - Domestication of Barley. Domestication of peas occurs around this time. Turkey, Beer production found at Gobekli Tepe. Domestication of Cattle from the Aurochs (two separate populations, one in Mesopotamia [pop. 80], the other Pakistan). (Rendering cattle bones into Tallow allows for the creation of Candles. Beeswax also used.) Oregon, oldest pair of shoes found made from bark twine. Oats possibly start to be harvested, crop mirrors wheat (is like a weed).
8400 BCE – Cyprus, earliest dug Water Well (26 ft).
10,300 - 8,700 y a - China, Millet harvested.
10,200 - 9,500 y a - Emmer Wheat domesticated(?).
10,000 - 7,000 y a - Archaeological evidence of boats.
8000 BCE (10,000 years ago) – Genetic evidence of breeding Pigeons. Palestine, archaeological evidence of pastoralism. Pre-Pottery Neolithic people in the Fertile Crescent form perfectly smooth stone vases. Iran, Goat domestication. Believed to be when primitive dairy-cheese making began. Flax cultivation. China, Quern Grinding Stones. England, Antler used in headdress costume.
9,500 y a - Cyprus, earliest evidence of cat domestication. SE Anatolia, cold-working, annealing, smelting, lost wax casting of Copper.
7570 BCE – Indus Valley, Lapis Lazuli artifacts.
7500 - 5700 BCE - Anatolia, Catal Hoyuk develops as a spiritual center, found many clay figurines and impressions (feminine, phallic, hunting).
7400 BCE - A monolith ends up submerged in the Straight of Sicily.
7176 B.C. – Earth hit by one of the most massive Solar Storms from the sun ever recorded (visible at night with the magnetic field interaction).
7000 BCE - Archaeological evidence for pastoralism in Africa. China: evidence of mead (honey, rice, water fermented) in pottery; evidence of musical instruments. India, first archaeological evidence of Dance (cave art); evidence of dentistry. Armenian Highlands, art depictions of Cymbals. Durum Wheat made thru artificial selection in Europe and Near East. Greece, earliest evidence of grain silos. Turkey, Catal Hoyuk, art depiction of a Slinger. Afghanistan, Lapis Lazuli mined and traded to Indus and Mesopotamia societies. Europe, Cave Wall art of Honey Collecting.
7000 - 6600 BCE - China, domestication of Soy beans.
7000 - 6000 BCE - Turkey, domestication of Bitter Vetch. (Too bitter for human consumption without being boiled several times, has been found to be great for cattle feed.)
6500-3800 BCE - Ubaid Period (Mesopotamian citystates rise, evidence of specialized workers, evidence of taxation)
6500 BCE - Turkey, evidence of lead smelting at Catal Hoyuk. (Wrapping the dead in textiles, too.) China, archaeological evidence of Silk. Kosovo, oldest Ocarina found in Europe.
8,200 - 7,600 y a - Sea levels rise rapidly. Linked to North American great fresh water lake (Agassiz, Ojibway) sudden draining into Atlantic Ocean. 8,400 y a?
6050 BCE - Moldova, evidence of man extracting salt from a natural spring.
8,000 y a - Western Europe, white skin first appears. Iran: earliest evidence of irrigation; man starts choosing sheep for their wooliness, not just meat and skin (2-3,000 years later, would start wearing wool). Georgia, earliest evidence of wine. Spain, cave painting shows people collecting honey from a wild hive, using a container to hold. China, Buckwheat cultivated (near Tibetan plateau), possible first example of Influenza. Earliest evidence of the Ard Plow used (castrating bulls to train 4 years to become Draft Oxen, also means they can be used to haul logs thru and from forests). Mediterranean, Broad (Fava) Beans, Broccoli. Portugal: Almendres Cromlech, begins, aligned to equinox and solstice, occupied for 2,000 years, would become largest complex in Iberian peninsula, equal to other large complexes in Europe. Anatolia: Obsidian polished into mirrors. Spelt Wheat appears. First Stone hafted Axes. Earliest evidence of “Cock Fighting” game fowl. (Iraq, Kiln.)
6000 - 3500 BC - Mesopotamia (Sumer), Poppy domesticated.
7,8-5,000 y a - SE Turkey, Einkorn Wheat grown and domesticated.
5600 BCE - Evidence of The Black Sea Flood, turning the fresh water lake into a salt water sea, rose shorelines and displaced populations (source of flood myths in religions).
7500 y a - Earth experiences a cold climate period? Lasts for 500 or more years.
7500 y a - Earliest example of chickpeas being used. Poland, archaeological evidence of cheese making. Ukraine, Romania, earliest examples of traps used for hunting. Pakistan, evidence of Cotton found in copper beads. Egypt, earliest Combs found (placing a leaf in the teeth can create a primitive sound instrument).
5500-5000 BCE - Serbia, Copper Smelting.
5200 - 4700 BCE - Iran, earliest evidence of a wheel, for pottery, made of stone or clay.
7,000 y a - Earliest example of Dolmen, single chamber tomb, consists of two stones supporting another on top (table design), found in western Europe, would spread and be common 4000 - 3000 BCE in Europe. Iranian plateau, evidence of Bronze made with naturally occurring arsenic. Tin would replace as the major ingredient (and releasing non-toxic vapors) in the late 3000 BCE period. Iran, evidence of wine found, using sealed containers. China, Hemp domestication (smoking was likely cause for spread, Iron Age would use for production); Rammed Earth construction technique, Silkworm domestication begins. Egypt, Badarian culture starts farming, used boomerangs. Roundels, circular enclosure often with entrances aligned to solstice, would be constructed in Central Europe (Germany, 120-150 altogether). Siberia, oldest carpet found (likely a funeral gift, from Armenia, featured griffons). Mesopotamia: first use of Stamp Seals for government purposes; Rotary Quern milling stones are introduced. Armenia: possible origin of Apricots. Lake Zurich, cultivation of Pear. Indus Valley Civilization, using Bitumen aka Asphalt for waterproofing (a basket), adhesive. Bulgaria, Turquoise beads.
6950 - 6440 y a - Papua New Guinea, cultivation of Taro and Yam.
4800 BCE - Egypt, early evidence of peas being grown. Cairn of Barnenez, Brittany, England, begins (burial monument and later bronze age use, considered one of the oldest and largest man made structures).
4700 - 4200 BCE - The town of Solnitstata, considered the oldest known settlement in Europe. Built around a salt deposit.
6,500 y a - Croatia, earliest example of an oven found. Slovenia, dental filling made with beeswax. Indus Valley, irrigation. Wine production reaches Greece. Carnac Stones, Brittany, France; would become large complex of standing stones, menhirs, domens, tumuli (burial mounds, with passage tombs), large rectangle formed by stone. Americas: various tribes domesticated “chili peppers.” Bulgaria, Carnelian beads. Manufactured Red Pottery Oil Lamps.
4500-4000 BCE - China, Investment Casting develops.
4200 - 4000 BCE - Mesopotamia develops true, easy to spin pottery wheels.
6,000 y a - Earth experiences a cold climate period? (Starting maybe 500 years earlier and ending 500 years later.)
4000 BCE - (Mankind has achieved “Farmer status.”) (Thought to be when Cattle were turned into Oxen for Draft Animal purposes.) Egyptians start building big Brick structures; manufacturing Papyrus; Gold artifacts; (domesticated Donkeys?). Earliest examples of Kilns. NE Italy, archaeological find of Appleseeds. Sicily, evidence of wine found. Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Horse domestication begins (they became small and varied in size as compared to their wild ancestors). “Pontic Language Explosion”. [People from north of the Caspian and Black Seas migrated around Eurasia, ancestor of western languages. (shared origins with: milk, horses, sheep, cattle, pigs, goats, grain, copper, carts, yoke, weaving, mead; patrilineal clans)]. Earliest examples of Viticulture (wine making). Levant, earliest examples of harvesting Olives; start using grain Silos. Art: Earliest depiction of Shoes, Sandals. China: example of a Loom for Silk production; Ramie (similar to flax, requires chemical processing, not as popular, believed to be used for Egyptian mummy wraps). Persia (Iran), Mung Bean domestication?, Chang (precursor to Harp) found on artwork, made with sheep guts. Mesopotamia: Stamp Seals come into use; Mirrors made of Copper; 30-40% of animal bones in settlements were pork (understood to be a way of removing trash from community, easy to feed and raise many); Uruk clay tablet describes two temples owning a herd of 95 pigs to be rendered into soap to clean linen; clay pipes for sewage. Europe, farming reaches northern regions. Anatolia, Silver production.
4000 - 1000 BCE - Ethiopia, Teff is discovered (can feed people and livestock, building material).
3800 - 3500 BCE - Czech Republic, possible evidence of earliest plowed fields.
5,700 y a - Lolland Island, a blue eyed, dark haired, dark skin woman spits out some Birch Bark gum; oldest complete human genome extracted; had Mononucleosis ("kissing disease"). Possible archeological evidence of pit traps used for migrating animal hunting.
3630 BCE - Oldest example of silk fabric found.
3600 BCE – Pork bones in settlements (Levant, Mesopotamia) dropped to 16-30% of total livestock.
5,500 - 4,700 y a - Georgia, tomb found had honey remains on pottery. (This culture could identify Linden, Berry, and Meadow-Flower varieties.)
3500 BCE - City of Uruk: (Mesopotamia) begins outward expansion and influence, later first example of organized warfare (would influence Egyptians to start building pyramids); "Cylinder Seals," a type of noble seal, that can be rolled unto wet clay (would be popular until 1000 BCE). Iraq, Kish Tablet, considered to represent the early transition from pictographic to cuneiform. Mesopotamia, earliest Harps and Lyres found; Gold artifacts. Modern humans settle the western coast of Europe, hunter-gatherers. Egyptians show Cat domestication; Gold Smelting; used a vertical Gnomon as a primitive Sundial? Iran, Beer made from Barley. Armenia, earliest Leather Shoe found. China, Pottery in shape of silkworm indicates earliest example of Sericulture (silk worm production).
3500 - 3350 BCE – Mesopotamia, earliest evidence of wheeled vehicles. Indus Valley civilization uses Stamp Seals with a type of script.
3400 BCE (5,400 years ago) - First metal casting. France, Cow skull showing Trepanation found.
5,400 -5,100 y a - Itzi the Iceman dies in the mountains of Northern Italy. Had a copper axe. Earliest evidence of tattoos. Shoes made from two types of animal skin (bear and deer). Arsenic residue in his hair.
3300 BCE - Egypt, tomb paintings show people Dancing. Indus Valley, develop Sanitation.
3200 BCE - Examples of using symbols to represent real life objects (would go to form written language). Ireland, construction begins on Newgrange, largest passage tomb in Europe, aligned to winter solstice. Egypt, Bead made of Meteoric Iron found.
3100 - 2900 BCE - Jemdet Nasr period (following fall of Uruk) would be known as establishing Cuneiform as a proper language.
3100 BCE - Upper and Lower Egypt unified. Mesopotamia, likely evidence of the earliest Lute type device.
3000 BCE - Onset of Bronze. Mesopotamia, Irrigation; Glass Beads appear (possible side effect of making metal); possible earliest Iron working (required higher temperatures), cuneiform mention of Pigeons. Sumer, Medical text found on tablet, believed oldest ever found. Egypt, Hieroglyphs of Pigeons and use of Homing Pigeons for message delivery, first record of a Doctor named, Imhotep; Antimony harvested from rock and made into eye makeup; earliest evidence of domestic Donkeys in the south. Egyptian Mummies show evidence of Smallpox (deathrate 30% especially among babies, can leave people blind). Dromedary Camels likely domesticated in Somalia at this time. (Camel hair can be harvested for shelter and clothing, outer guard hairs make for water proof coats. Camel milk readily turns into yogurt. To turn into butter requires a clarifying agent and extended process.) Chicken reaches Europe from Asia. England, earliest Stone Circles found. Slovakia, Romania, earliest chainmail found. Sheep chosen for wooly coat, not long hair. China, Clay Bells found. India, River Buffalo domesticated (water buffalo); Jute grown for fiber (burlap). Northern Iran, earliest examples of Trumpets. SE Asia, earliest records of Radish. Pakistan, Terracota female figurines.
2800 BCE - Solid evidence of plowed fields. China, Copper smelting discovered. Babylon, evidence of manufacture of soap like substance.
2700 BCE - Chinese treatise on health. 40 kinds identified.
2650 BCE - Egypt, dental work found.
2630-10 BCE - Egypt, Pyramid of Djoser constructed by Imhotep, considered first.
2600 BCE – Egypt, domestication of Honey Bee complete.
2600 - 1900 BCE - Indus Valley, Stoneware Pottery (meaning fired at 1000 degrees Celsius), would become a major industry; (Ivory?).
2580-50 BCE – Egypt, creates first true Ocean Dock for sea trading vessels (with Indus Valley).
2560 BCE - Great Pyramid of Giza completed.
2500 BCE - Evidence of The Amber Road, trade route from the Baltic Sea to Mediterranean Sea. E Iran, Bactrian Camels domesticated. Iraq, "Lyres of Ur," considered world's oldest stringed instruments. Peru, oldest Sling ever found. Egypt, earliest depiction of a Khopesh (sword). Sumerian Clay Tablet with instructions for manufacturing soap (heating mixture of oil and wood ash, earliest record chemical reaction, used for washing woolen clothing). China, axes with Corundum (precious stone). Harappan Culture of Indus Valley, chicken used for Cock Fighting, not food.
2500 - 2000 BCE - Mali, domestication of Pearl Millet. Turkey, Meteoric Iron dagger.
2400 BCE - Sumer, description of Prostitution and a Brothel-Temple to Fertility Goddess.
2300 BCE - Mesopotamia, Urukagina of Lagash, considered the earliest Law Code. (Widows and orphans exempt from taxes, state pays for funeral expenses, the rich must pay in silver and cannot force the poor against will, checked power of priests, protect from usury, abolished polyandry). Iran, Quince (fruit). China, oldest Gnomon (painted stick that casts a shadow for sundial purpose).
2200 BCE - China, first known tax, using salt. Iraq, tablet reads “22 jars of Pig Fat” (each jar 18 liters of Lard, 396 liters total, require 45 adult pigs; likely used to make soap to clean wool of sheep before turning them into textiles)
2200-2000 BCE - Turkey, Iron Smelting.
2100 - 2050 BCE - City of Ur: Earliest written Code of Law discovered. References Butter. (Fines for bodily harm, references murder, robbery, adultery, rape. Two classes of people: free and slave.)
4000 - 3000 y a - Mesopotamia, earliest Scissors (shear, spring type). India, Mung Bean domesticated.
2000 BCE - Murals show horses pulling chariots. Horses become common in western Europe. England, Great Orme Mine started, would become largest copper mine in region (most productive between 1700 - 1400 BCE), used bone and stone tools. China, Bells made out of metal (Bellfounding); domestication of the Swamp Buffalo (water buffalo). Ghana, earliest evidence of Cowpea (black eyed pea). India, Canola/Rapeseed; Diamonds being used to drill beads. Egypt, Lupin Beans. Greece, Kale grown.
1900 BCE – Homing Pigeons used for warfare.
1800 BCE - Egypt, medical text on gynecological issues; Safflower for pigment. India, Iron working.
1754 BCE - Code of Hammurabi (recognized Prostitution and gave women protection and inheritance; theorized that a fertility goddess had a temple that offered sex workers).
1700 - 1200 BCE - (Late Bronze Age) 8 societies in Middle East: Aegean, Egyptian, Hittite, Canaanite, Cypriot, Mitanni, Assyrian, Babylonian. Considered a "globalized world system." Next time this would occur is today.
1700 BCE – Mesopotamia: The "Mari Letters" reference Minoan society, King Hammurabi; clay tablets list Trigonometry Tables and Applied Geometry (for land ownership, speculated to aid in construction).
1628 BCE - Island of Thera/Santorini experiences huge volcanic eruption, possibly causing a tsunami thru eastern Mediterranean.
1600-1500 BCE - Greece, Helmet formed of boar tusks found.
1600 BCE – Levant, Mesopotamia, Pork bones rarely found in settlements (banned from temples in Anatolia, Mesopotamia, Egypt). (Found amongst the poor classes, difficult to tax since it did not produce wool or milk or could plow a field.)
1550 BCE – Papyrus Ebers, Egyptian medical text, mentions Chlamydia.
1500 BCE - Modern Trumpet design found in eastern Mediterranean. India, Pigeon Pea domesticated. Egypt, Mercury found in tombs; archaeologists find earliest Sundials; Emerald mines. China, Water Clocks.
1400 BCE - Syria, Hurrian Songs, cuneiform music tablet in Ugarit. Greece, oldest body armor found, made of bronze, Dendra Panoply (not actually worn, more of a showpiece, but clear representation of body armor for battle). China, Meteoric Iron axeheads. Art representation of Scale Mail in Egypt. Art: representation of Shields.
1350 BCE - Turkey, Hittites chronicle Egyptian prisoners of war bringing "the plague.”
1300 BCE - Uluburun Shipwreck, off coast of Turkey, had 300 sixty pound copper ingots (10 tons), 1 ton of tin, and tin objects and ingots of colored glass (blue, rose, brown). From Cypress/Minoa.
1300? - 900? BCE - Eastern Mediterranean experiences a 300? year drought. (Could also be: Cypress 1200- 850. Syria 1250-1187. Galilee 1250-1100)
1279 BCE - Battle of Qadesh (Egypt vs Hittites).
1200 BCE (3,200 years ago) - Onset of Iron smelting. Earliest Camel saddles appear. Last appearance of Megaliths. India, earliest evidence of Firewalking.
1200 BCE - Eastern Mediterranean civilization collapse. Drought in Greece. Earthquake series.
1188-1177 BCE - Egypt suffers invasions from "The Sea People."
1185 BCE - Syria, Ugarit Letter, Famine.
1140? BCE - Ramses 6th, mummy found to have Smallpox. No record of people dying from Smallpox.
1100 BCE - Phoenicians establish nation. Europe, Iron Age.
1100? BCE - Earth experiences a cold temperature period?
1100-750 BCE - Egypt, Iron Smelting.
1070 BCE - Egyptian mummy found with Silk in hair, earliest evidence of Silk Road.
1000 BCE - Early Cuneiform script (late stages, still pictograph in nature). Bactria, Barbat (primitive lute). Egypt, Kenaf is grown for fibers, leaves can be eaten by animals and humans (similar to Jute and Hemp; rope, rough fabric, sails). Mediterranean, Cabbage domesticated. China, Iron Age. Sport: racing Homing Pigeons.
930 BCE - Camel bones found in Arabian peninsula. Jordan, earliest Bloomery for Iron working found.
800 - 600 BCE - Ethiopia, Sorghum Wheat begins to be harvested.
800 BCE - Considered the beginning of Ancient Greece, after the Mycenae Civilization. China, Bloomeries used.
700-500 BCE - The Illiad orally composed. India, Diamond mining starts.
708 BCE – Greece, Olympics, Discus Throw.
700 BCE - Turkey, first Coins in Lydia. Assyria, first equipment recognized as a Saddle for a Horse.
660 BCE – Massive Solar Storm hits Earth.
600 BCE - Earliest example of a Steel Sword.
600-400 BCE - Ancient Greece rise of scientific inquiry and philosophy
550 BCE - The Illiad written down.
540 BCE – Sri Lanka, earliest record of Pearls.
500 BCE - Camels used in warfare. Persians use kettle drums for military maneuvers, frighten enemies. Greece, Grape Syrup, early form of sweetener and preservative; earliest written mention of what could be Influenza. Blackberries consumed around Europe. Spain, Disk Quern developed. India, Cholera described in Sanskrit. Romans manufacture dipped Candles.
430 BCE – Athens, Typhoid Fever outbreak during siege by Sparta.
400 BCE - The "Celts/Gaeil" settle Ireland. Greece, the “Hippocratic Corpus” seventy collected medical texts, mentions Pneumonia, Meningitis, Valerian Root.
396 BCE - Olympics, horn blowing competitions.
314 BCE - China, first mention of Sweet Orange.
298 BCE - Foot powered Loom.
200 BCE - China starts making paper.
submitted by SkyAnimal to DebateEvolution [link] [comments]
Modern Day Primates, in the wild and captivity, are able to communicate, near and far, using verbal and gesture components, even to other species. Have been observed using wood as tools, and in using medicinal plants to treat wounds.
44 million y a - Hominid ancestors acquire Herpes virus.
10 million y a - Primate ancestors develop genes to digest alcohol.
6 million years ago - Primate ancestors split from Chimpanzee/Bonobo line (15 million DNA mutations have occurred since then; each person born today has 100 mutations distinct to them, most don’t survive.)
5.3 m y a - Mediterranean Sea experiences the Messinian Salinity Crisis, for 600,000 years the Straight of Gibraltar closed off, causing the Mediterranean to shrink down to two inland seas with Italy and Greece separating them. Ends in the Zanclean Flood, a river of Atlantic sea water flows thru Gibraltar and fills the Mediterranean in 2 years.
5 m y a - Arabian-African continent reconnects with Asia. Land based Turtle species start going extinct.
4 - 3 m y a - Hominid ancestors acquire pubic lice from Gorillas (genetic evidence).
3.6 - 2.58 m y a - Considered the Neogene Period.
3.3 m y a - Stone tools found in Kenya and Ethiopia.
2.6 m y a - Mode One Stone Tools found in Ethiopia, would subsequently spread. Flourished to 1.7 million y a in southern and eastern Africa. Paleolithic (Old Stone Age) Era (2.6 m y a till end of last Ice Age, 11,000 y a). Subdivided into the Early- or Lower Paleolithic (c. 2,6 million years ago - c. 250,000 years ago); the Middle Paleolithic (c. 250,000 years ago - c. 30,000 years ago); and the Late- or Upper Paleolithic (c. 50,000/40,000 - c. 10,000 years ago)
2.58 million - 11,700 years ago - Considered the start of the Quaternary Period, and covers the Pleistocene.
2.4 – 1.4 m y a – Homo Habilis (4.5-3.5 feet tall).
2 m years ago - Earliest Hominids start eating meat.
1.9 – 1.8 m y a – Homo Rudolfensis.
1.89 m y a to 110,000 y a - Homo Erectus (first to leave Africa and spread across Asia).
1.8 m years ago - Mode One Stone Tools found on Java.
1.7 m years ago - Mode Two Stone Tools (slicing, hand-axe/butchering, evidence of drilling tools) appear in Kenya and southern Africa.
1.6 m years ago - Mode One Stone Tools found in northern China.
1.6 - 1.5 m y a - Africa, Turkana Boy dies, likely from a tooth cavity infection. He was either 8 or 11-12 years old and 61 inches tall. Brain 880 ccm.
1.5 m y a - Kenya, possible start of Hominids using fire to cook food. (increase in caloric intake, which would lead to evolution; however, Paranthropus Boisei is the local species, brain 500-550 ccm, 54 inches tall)
1 million years ago - Likely split between ancestor of Homo Sapiens and proto-Neanderthal-Denisovan species. (Mitochondrial DNA evidence.) South Africa, evidence of fire use for cooking.
1 m - 700,000 y a - Java, Java Man dies, brain 900 ccm. 5' 8" tall.
900,000 y a – Possible earliest use of boats.
820,000 - 580,000 y a - Durum Wheat develops out of natural hybridization with Einkorn Wheat (genetic analysis).
800,000? y a - Low world temperatures recorded. Height of Ice Age?
790,000 y a - Levant, oldest Fire hearths found. (Homo Heidelbergensis, 1,250 ccm brain, 69 in tall)
740,000? y a - Height of Ice Age?
7-200,000 y a – Homo Heidelbergensis (East Africa and Europe, likely first to hunt large animals with spears)
640,000? y a - Height of Ice Age.
550,000? y a - Height of Ice Age?
540,000 - 430,000 y a - Art: Sea shell formed into decoration by Homo Erectus. (Could indicate when sea shells began to be used as whistles and horns.)
530,000? y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, high CO2 content in the atmosphere, 524-474,000).
500,000 y a - South Africa, evidence of Spears. Genetic evidence of Neanderthal spread from Europe to Caspian Sea, Denisovans occupied land from Caspian to the east.
450,000 y a - Earliest physical evidence of Neanderthal.
450,000 y a - Global temperatures had dropped, stayed that way for thousands of years.
430,000 - 230,000 y a - Durum Wheat cross-breeds with wild Goat Grass (genetic analysis).
400,000 y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, 424-374,000).
400,000 y a - Germany, oldest Spears found. France (Terra Amata), possible evidence of manmade shelter using prepared wood.
360,000? y a - Height of Ice Age.
335-236,000 y a – Homo Naledi (South Africa, 4’9”)
310,000 y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, 337-300,000).
300,000 y a – Mode Three Stone Tools (smaller knife-like, scrapers, developed in Europe by Neanderthals)
300,000-200,000 y a – Africa, Origin of Male Y-Chromosome that all current males are descended from. (40% of males do not reproduce.)
270,000? y a - Height of Ice Age.
240,000 y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, 242–230,000).
200,000 y a - France, evidence of Neanderthals fishing. Africa, "Mitochondrial Eve," source of all Human Haplo-groups that everyone is descended from, existed at this time.
194,000-135,000 y a - Penultimate Glacial Period.
190,000 y a - Early physical evidence of Denisovans. (At least three interbreeding events would occur with Homo Sapiens. EPAS1 gene, hemoglobin concentration, Tibetan plateau.)
190,000-50,000 y a - Flores Island, evidence of tool use by the Human Hobbit.
170,000 - 80,000 y a - Body Lice evolve (genetic evidence, feed on human skin, live in clothing; evidence of clothing)
164,000 y a – South Africa, heat treating Silcrete Stone to enhance stone tool production.
140,000 y a - Homo Sapiens found in Europe.
130,000 y a - Evidence of humans in North America. Crete, earliest human settlements found on the island. Art: Neanderthal necklace made of eagle talons. Croatia: Neanderthal teeth show possible dental work.
125,000 y a - Interglacial Peak (between Ice Ages, 130-115,000). Sea levels 4-6 meters (18 feet) higher then today.
110,000-15,000 y a - Last Glacial Period. Grey Wolves would migrate from North America back to Asia prior to the maximum.
100,000-60,000 y a - Flores Island, bone fossil evidence of the Human Hobbit.
100,000 y a - Oldest example of proper human burial. South Africa, Pigment (paint) Creation Kit found. (would cover bodies in mud/clay and then spray the paint over the bodies, sun screen-protection from insects)
90,000 y a – Harpoons.
86,000-37,000 y a – Neanderthal and Homo Sapiens begin interbreeding, based on genetic evidence found so far.
75,000 years ago - Likely rise of Hunter Genotype in Homo Sapiens.
75,000 y a - Art: Drilled snail shells found in South African cave.
73,000 y a - South Africa (Blombos Cave), evidence of Red Ochre art on pieces of stone, stone with deliberate lines cut into it possibly representing count marks.
72,000 y a - South Africa, Beads found in cave.
70,000 y a - Mitochondrial DNA suggests this is when the Haplo-group of early humans migrated out of Africa to populate the rest of the world.
70-60,000 y a - Earliest evidence of bone and stone arrowheads (for Spear Throwers), found in South Africa. 64,000?
70,000 - 35,000 BCE - Neanderthal burials in Europe and Middle East.
68-16,000 y a – Smallpox evolves from an African Rodent Virus.
67,000 BCE - France, burial shows skulls with Trepanation (cutting holes to relieve brain pressure), earliest example of surgery.
65,000 y a - First humans settle Australia.
64,000 y a - Spain, oldest evidence found of Cave Art (Neanderthal hand).
61,000 y a - South Africa, possible evidence of a Sewing Needle.
60,000? y a - Height of Ice Age?
60,000 y a - Evidence of man/Neanderthal using herbal medicine.
55,000 - 40,000 y a - Italy, evidence of Neanderthal using Pine Tree Resin and Beeswax for hafting tools, in cave. (Beeswax can be used in making Candles.)
52,000 y a - Last evidence of Denisovans.
52,000 – 41,000 y a – Archaeological find of “Bast” tree fiber twisted into primitive cordage, possibly as handle for a Stone Tool. (meaning they had access to Clothing, Nets, Cord for Fishing or Hafting tools, rope; thinking processes of Counting, Sets, Patterns, and possibly abstract thinking)
50,000 - 10,000 y a - Mode Four Stone Tools (long blades).
50,000 y a - Australia, last evidence of megafauna. Siberia, needle made from bone found in Denisovan cave. Genetic evidence of Neanderthal spreading to western edge of China.
50,000 years ago - End point of development of Gatherer Genotype (can survive famine), Teacher Genotype (can handle new and different environments, analytical).
45,000 y a - Evidence of Neanderthal and Homo Sapien interbreeding. (Fossil found, DNA tested.) (France, to create stone tools required precision, “Soft Hammers” were likely used.)
44,000 y a - Evidence of art found in Indonesia.
44,000-40,000 y a - Europe experiences cold and dry weather, displacing populations.
43-42,000 y a - Germany, oldest musical instruments (flutes) found.
42,000 y a - Australia, skeleton of man suggests Atlatl use, pre-dating earliest evidence; earliest example of cremation found. Spain, small amounts of Natural Gold found in a cave.
40,000 y a - (Mankind is at the “Forager” level.) Last evidence of Neanderthal. (Inheritance of "STAT2" gene, immune response. HYAL2 gene, helps skin recover from sunburns.) China, test on body found that ate a lot of fresh water fish. Possible example of oldest petroglyphs. Beads found in Lebanon.
40,000 - 26,000 y a - Studying toe bones, showed they became smaller and weaker, indicating shoes were worn. Prior to this, shoes were likely bags wrapped around feet to protect from cold.
38,000 BC - First appearance of Mode Five Ground Stone tools on Japan. (rock was quarried; thin slivers of flint stone, attached to hafts, man is learning the use of a "handle" for tools and "leverage", create Adzes, Celts, and Axes; grinding helps to penetrate trees and was likely discovered when grinding plant matter; found buried with owners; were traded) Lasted till 14,000 BC. (Would not become popular elsewhere until 10,000 BC?) Germany: Clay Figurine featuring human with lion like appearance, thought to be earliest representation of a Deity.
35,000 BCE - Europe, earliest examples of "Venus figurines" found buried in graves (some showing they were deliberately broken or stabbed repeatedly); would later spread to rest of Eurasia. Early examples of skulls and long bones showing red ochre, indicating possible relic worship.
35,000 y a - Germany, flute made from a vulture bone found.
30,000 BCE – Solomon Islands, first humans settle (60 km sea voyage).
31,000 - 27,000 y a - Evidence of Pit Fire (Earthernware) Pottery developing.
30,000-20,000 years ago - Explorer genotype (Ice Age refugees, idiosyncratic, asymmetrical, contrarian mentality)
30,000 y a - Evidence of starch residue on rocks, indicating where plant matter was pounded and ground. (Would likely be the pre-cursor of developing bread from roots of cattails and ferns. Quern Grinding Stones would spread and gain popularity.) Georgia, Flax used as a textile (harvested, dyed, and knotted) found in Dzudzuana Cave. Fertile Crescent, Einkorn wheat harvested in it's wild form. Evidence of man using the Atlatl. Poland: Boomerang carved from mammoth tusk found. France, Lunar Calendar. Likely when Bolas (stone weight(s) and length of cord) began to be used.
28,000 y a - Europe, oldest evidence of rope.
25,000 - 15,000 BCE - Blood Type A develops in the Fertile Crescent. (able to survive Plague, Cholera, Smallpox)
27,000 y a - Australia, oldest example of petroglyphs found. Czech Republic, earliest example of "Weaving" of material together to create baskets and basic cloth. (Leads to counting and simple math, organizing.)
26,000-13,300 y a - Considered "Glacial Maximum", ice sheets extend to the 45th parallel north. (26,500 considered to be maximum glacial reach.)
23,000 - 12,000 y a – Europe, Perforated Batons found, made of antler, assumed to be a form of Atlatl that uses a leather strap or string to wrap around the spear and give it a slight spin, arrow or spear thrower (similar to Swiss Arrow). Right and left handed throwers find preference. Most carved with Horses, have one or two holes (one had 8 holes).
23,000 y a - Israel, Ohalo archaeological site, hunter-gatherer society (6 brushwood shelters, 132 stone tools some attached to hafts, stone Sickles, dwellings showed flint tools were made at entrance, cooking at other end, grind stone showed sand and cobbles to place and had U-shape of seeds around it) that grew/harvested Barley, Millet, Bromus (grass in same tax tribe as wheat/barley/rye, can be used for fermenting beverages, can be eaten by humans and animals), Rubus (same family as Rose plants, similar to blackberries), and various fruits (seeds from 13 different species), earliest evidence for “Bedding” material.
22,000 – 17,000 y a – France, Solutrean inhabitants make use of Antler.
21,000-17,000 y a - France, Atlatl's found in caves.
20,000 y a - Height of the Ice Age, sea levels 120 meters (360 feet) lower. Mode Five Stone Tools (microliths glued to handles, Fertile Crescent). Earliest example of a building/house found. Ukraine, Bullroarer (wood on rope that is swung around to create sound over long distance) found. Iraq-Iran, Zarzian Culture, had domesticated Dogs.
19,050? - 13,050 y a - Oldest Dryas Period, stadial, abrupt cooling period. Sea levels rose 10-15 m in 500 years.
17,000 BCE - Mesopotamia, Wild Emmer Wheat harvested.
18,000 - 17,500 y a - Siberia, earliest example of a domesticated dog found frozen. Germany, Bow and Arrows found. Early evidence of Darts used.
18,000 y a - Japan, oldest pottery discovered.
15,100 - 14,000 y a - Morocco, earliest example of a cemetery.
15,000 y a – Mode Five Stone Tools reach Europe. Southern France, cave art depicting possible Musical Bow, Nose Flute; "The Sorcerer," a figure showing human and many animal qualities (bison), made out of Clay.
15,000 – 10,000 y a – France, Stone Oil Lamps.
14,500 y a - Oldest example of bread making, Jordan desert.
14,160 - 13,820 y a - Archaeological find: infected tooth partially cleaned out with flint tools.
14,600 - 13,600 y a - "Melt Water Pulse," sea levels rose 16-24 m.
14,000? y a - Older Dryas Period, around 200 year cooling period.
13,500 - 8,200 y a - China, wild Rice domestication event occurs.
15-10,000 BCE - Himalayas, development of Blood Type B.
11,050 BCE - Syria, attempts at domesticating Rye.
13,000 y a - Greece, evidence of lentils found. Earliest evidence of Amber used in jewelry. Israel, archaeological evidence of beer like gruel for ceremonial purposes found at Haifa. Likely beginning of Slavery.
13,000 - 12,700 y a - Fertile Crescent, archaeological evidence of man corralling and using pigs.
12,900 - 11,700 y a - The Younger Dryas Period, when temperatures went cold instead of warming from the Last Glacial Maximum.
10,000 BCE - Jericho, considered mankind's first town, is established. Buildings of clay and straw, dead buried under homes. (Would reach 70 dwellings by 94,000 BCE.) Chickpeas domesticated. Earliest evidence of the Bottle Gourd being domesticated and used (Africa and Asia variety). Azerbaijan (Caspian Sea), petroglyphs of reed boats. Starting point of Ocarina type flutes. Cyprus, humans arrive. Germany, Jet artifact (Botfly larvae, which can be eaten). Curved Stone Oil Lamps.
11,700 y a - Considered the beginning of the Holocene.
9600 BCE - Southern Levant, earliest use of wild Emmer Wheat.
11,500 - 11,000 y a - "Melt Water Pulse," sea levels rose 28 m.
11,400 y a - Cypress, archaeological evidence of pigs (indicating they had been domesticated and brought from the mainland).
9400 - 9200 BCE - Jordan Valley, Fig trees found, indicating earliest agriculture since these trees could not reproduce.
9130 - 7370 BCE - SE Turkey, Gobekli Tepe, oldest known worship location.
9000 BCE - Syria, oldest (Saddle) Quern found. Mesopotamia, Copper first used. Bartering of Cattle and agricultural products likely occurring at this time.
9000 - 3300 BCE - Neolithic Era, roughly. Time period of when man has begun herding, before using bronze.
11,000 - 9,000 y a - Mesopotamia, domestication of Sheep; Rammed Earth construction technique developed. Iran, Domestication of Goat (focused on management of the animal, varieties would come later).
11,000-4,000 years ago - Warrior genotype (farmers, soldiers, inventors); Nomad genotype (life upon a horse, can handle different environments, good immune system)
11 or 10,000 y a - Last Ice Age ends.
8800 BCE - Emmer Wheat spreads beyond the Levant.
8700 BCE - Iraq, Copper pendant.
8500 BCE - Domestication of Barley. Domestication of peas occurs around this time. Turkey, Beer production found at Gobekli Tepe. Domestication of Cattle from the Aurochs (two separate populations, one in Mesopotamia [pop. 80], the other Pakistan). (Rendering cattle bones into Tallow allows for the creation of Candles. Beeswax also used.) Oregon, oldest pair of shoes found made from bark twine. Oats possibly start to be harvested, crop mirrors wheat (is like a weed).
8400 BCE – Cyprus, earliest dug Water Well (26 ft).
10,300 - 8,700 y a - China, Millet harvested.
10,200 - 9,500 y a - Emmer Wheat domesticated(?).
10,000 - 7,000 y a - Archaeological evidence of boats.
8000 BCE (10,000 years ago) – Genetic evidence of breeding Pigeons. Palestine, archaeological evidence of pastoralism. Pre-Pottery Neolithic people in the Fertile Crescent form perfectly smooth stone vases. Iran, Goat domestication. Believed to be when primitive dairy-cheese making began. Flax cultivation. China, Quern Grinding Stones. England, Antler used in headdress costume.
9,500 y a - Cyprus, earliest evidence of cat domestication. SE Anatolia, cold-working, annealing, smelting, lost wax casting of Copper.
7570 BCE – Indus Valley, Lapis Lazuli artifacts.
7500 - 5700 BCE - Anatolia, Catal Hoyuk develops as a spiritual center, found many clay figurines and impressions (feminine, phallic, hunting).
7400 BCE - A monolith ends up submerged in the Straight of Sicily.
7176 B.C. – Earth hit by one of the most massive Solar Storms from the sun ever recorded (visible at night with the magnetic field interaction).
7000 BCE - Archaeological evidence for pastoralism in Africa. China: evidence of mead (honey, rice, water fermented) in pottery; evidence of musical instruments. India, first archaeological evidence of Dance (cave art); evidence of dentistry. Armenian Highlands, art depictions of Cymbals. Durum Wheat made thru artificial selection in Europe and Near East. Greece, earliest evidence of grain silos. Turkey, Catal Hoyuk, art depiction of a Slinger. Afghanistan, Lapis Lazuli mined and traded to Indus and Mesopotamia societies. Europe, Cave Wall art of Honey Collecting.
7000 - 6600 BCE - China, domestication of Soy beans.
7000 - 6000 BCE - Turkey, domestication of Bitter Vetch. (Too bitter for human consumption without being boiled several times, has been found to be great for cattle feed.)
6500-3800 BCE - Ubaid Period (Mesopotamian citystates rise, evidence of specialized workers, evidence of taxation)
6500 BCE - Turkey, evidence of lead smelting at Catal Hoyuk. (Wrapping the dead in textiles, too.) China, archaeological evidence of Silk. Kosovo, oldest Ocarina found in Europe.
8,200 - 7,600 y a - Sea levels rise rapidly. Linked to North American great fresh water lake (Agassiz, Ojibway) sudden draining into Atlantic Ocean. 8,400 y a?
6050 BCE - Moldova, evidence of man extracting salt from a natural spring.
8,000 y a - Western Europe, white skin first appears. Iran: earliest evidence of irrigation; man starts choosing sheep for their wooliness, not just meat and skin (2-3,000 years later, would start wearing wool). Georgia, earliest evidence of wine. Spain, cave painting shows people collecting honey from a wild hive, using a container to hold. China, Buckwheat cultivated (near Tibetan plateau), possible first example of Influenza. Earliest evidence of the Ard Plow used (castrating bulls to train 4 years to become Draft Oxen, also means they can be used to haul logs thru and from forests). Mediterranean, Broad (Fava) Beans, Broccoli. Portugal: Almendres Cromlech, begins, aligned to equinox and solstice, occupied for 2,000 years, would become largest complex in Iberian peninsula, equal to other large complexes in Europe. Anatolia: Obsidian polished into mirrors. Spelt Wheat appears. First Stone hafted Axes. Earliest evidence of “Cock Fighting” game fowl. (Iraq, Kiln.)
6000 - 3500 BC - Mesopotamia (Sumer), Poppy domesticated.
7,8-5,000 y a - SE Turkey, Einkorn Wheat grown and domesticated.
5600 BCE - Evidence of The Black Sea Flood, turning the fresh water lake into a salt water sea, rose shorelines and displaced populations (source of flood myths in religions).
7500 y a - Earth experiences a cold climate period? Lasts for 500 or more years.
7500 y a - Earliest example of chickpeas being used. Poland, archaeological evidence of cheese making. Ukraine, Romania, earliest examples of traps used for hunting. Pakistan, evidence of Cotton found in copper beads. Egypt, earliest Combs found (placing a leaf in the teeth can create a primitive sound instrument).
5500-5000 BCE - Serbia, Copper Smelting.
5200 - 4700 BCE - Iran, earliest evidence of a wheel, for pottery, made of stone or clay.
7,000 y a - Earliest example of Dolmen, single chamber tomb, consists of two stones supporting another on top (table design), found in western Europe, would spread and be common 4000 - 3000 BCE in Europe. Iranian plateau, evidence of Bronze made with naturally occurring arsenic. Tin would replace as the major ingredient (and releasing non-toxic vapors) in the late 3000 BCE period. Iran, evidence of wine found, using sealed containers. China, Hemp domestication (smoking was likely cause for spread, Iron Age would use for production); Rammed Earth construction technique, Silkworm domestication begins. Egypt, Badarian culture starts farming, used boomerangs. Roundels, circular enclosure often with entrances aligned to solstice, would be constructed in Central Europe (Germany, 120-150 altogether). Siberia, oldest carpet found (likely a funeral gift, from Armenia, featured griffons). Mesopotamia: first use of Stamp Seals for government purposes; Rotary Quern milling stones are introduced. Armenia: possible origin of Apricots. Lake Zurich, cultivation of Pear. Indus Valley Civilization, using Bitumen aka Asphalt for waterproofing (a basket), adhesive. Bulgaria, Turquoise beads.
6950 - 6440 y a - Papua New Guinea, cultivation of Taro and Yam.
4800 BCE - Egypt, early evidence of peas being grown. Cairn of Barnenez, Brittany, England, begins (burial monument and later bronze age use, considered one of the oldest and largest man made structures).
4700 - 4200 BCE - The town of Solnitstata, considered the oldest known settlement in Europe. Built around a salt deposit.
6,500 y a - Croatia, earliest example of an oven found. Slovenia, dental filling made with beeswax. Indus Valley, irrigation. Wine production reaches Greece. Carnac Stones, Brittany, France; would become large complex of standing stones, menhirs, domens, tumuli (burial mounds, with passage tombs), large rectangle formed by stone. Americas: various tribes domesticated “chili peppers.” Bulgaria, Carnelian beads. Manufactured Red Pottery Oil Lamps.
4500-4000 BCE - China, Investment Casting develops.
4200 - 4000 BCE - Mesopotamia develops true, easy to spin pottery wheels.
6,000 y a - Earth experiences a cold climate period? (Starting maybe 500 years earlier and ending 500 years later.)
4000 BCE - (Mankind has achieved “Farmer status.”) (Thought to be when Cattle were turned into Oxen for Draft Animal purposes.) Egyptians start building big Brick structures; manufacturing Papyrus; Gold artifacts; (domesticated Donkeys?). Earliest examples of Kilns. NE Italy, archaeological find of Appleseeds. Sicily, evidence of wine found. Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Horse domestication begins (they became small and varied in size as compared to their wild ancestors). “Pontic Language Explosion”. [People from north of the Caspian and Black Seas migrated around Eurasia, ancestor of western languages. (shared origins with: milk, horses, sheep, cattle, pigs, goats, grain, copper, carts, yoke, weaving, mead; patrilineal clans)]. Earliest examples of Viticulture (wine making). Levant, earliest examples of harvesting Olives; start using grain Silos. Art: Earliest depiction of Shoes, Sandals. China: example of a Loom for Silk production; Ramie (similar to flax, requires chemical processing, not as popular, believed to be used for Egyptian mummy wraps). Persia (Iran), Mung Bean domestication?, Chang (precursor to Harp) found on artwork, made with sheep guts. Mesopotamia: Stamp Seals come into use; Mirrors made of Copper; 30-40% of animal bones in settlements were pork (understood to be a way of removing trash from community, easy to feed and raise many); Uruk clay tablet describes two temples owning a herd of 95 pigs to be rendered into soap to clean linen; clay pipes for sewage. Europe, farming reaches northern regions. Anatolia, Silver production.
4000 - 1000 BCE - Ethiopia, Teff is discovered (can feed people and livestock, building material).
3800 - 3500 BCE - Czech Republic, possible evidence of earliest plowed fields.
5,700 y a - Lolland Island, a blue eyed, dark haired, dark skin woman spits out some Birch Bark gum; oldest complete human genome extracted; had Mononucleosis ("kissing disease"). Possible archeological evidence of pit traps used for migrating animal hunting.
3630 BCE - Oldest example of silk fabric found.
3600 BCE – Pork bones in settlements (Levant, Mesopotamia) dropped to 16-30% of total livestock.
5,500 - 4,700 y a - Georgia, tomb found had honey remains on pottery. (This culture could identify Linden, Berry, and Meadow-Flower varieties.)
3500 BCE - City of Uruk: (Mesopotamia) begins outward expansion and influence, later first example of organized warfare (would influence Egyptians to start building pyramids); "Cylinder Seals," a type of noble seal, that can be rolled unto wet clay (would be popular until 1000 BCE). Iraq, Kish Tablet, considered to represent the early transition from pictographic to cuneiform. Mesopotamia, earliest Harps and Lyres found; Gold artifacts. Modern humans settle the western coast of Europe, hunter-gatherers. Egyptians show Cat domestication; Gold Smelting; used a vertical Gnomon as a primitive Sundial? Iran, Beer made from Barley. Armenia, earliest Leather Shoe found. China, Pottery in shape of silkworm indicates earliest example of Sericulture (silk worm production).
3500 - 3350 BCE – Mesopotamia, earliest evidence of wheeled vehicles. Indus Valley civilization uses Stamp Seals with a type of script.
3400 BCE (5,400 years ago) - First metal casting. France, Cow skull showing Trepanation found.
5,400 -5,100 y a - Itzi the Iceman dies in the mountains of Northern Italy. Had a copper axe. Earliest evidence of tattoos. Shoes made from two types of animal skin (bear and deer). Arsenic residue in his hair.
3300 BCE - Egypt, tomb paintings show people Dancing. Indus Valley, develop Sanitation.
3200 BCE - Examples of using symbols to represent real life objects (would go to form written language). Ireland, construction begins on Newgrange, largest passage tomb in Europe, aligned to winter solstice. Egypt, Bead made of Meteoric Iron found.
3100 - 2900 BCE - Jemdet Nasr period (following fall of Uruk) would be known as establishing Cuneiform as a proper language.
3100 BCE - Upper and Lower Egypt unified. Mesopotamia, likely evidence of the earliest Lute type device.
3000 BCE - Onset of Bronze. Mesopotamia, Irrigation; Glass Beads appear (possible side effect of making metal); possible earliest Iron working (required higher temperatures), cuneiform mention of Pigeons. Sumer, Medical text found on tablet, believed oldest ever found. Egypt, Hieroglyphs of Pigeons and use of Homing Pigeons for message delivery, first record of a Doctor named, Imhotep; Antimony harvested from rock and made into eye makeup; earliest evidence of domestic Donkeys in the south. Egyptian Mummies show evidence of Smallpox (deathrate 30% especially among babies, can leave people blind). Dromedary Camels likely domesticated in Somalia at this time. (Camel hair can be harvested for shelter and clothing, outer guard hairs make for water proof coats. Camel milk readily turns into yogurt. To turn into butter requires a clarifying agent and extended process.) Chicken reaches Europe from Asia. England, earliest Stone Circles found. Slovakia, Romania, earliest chainmail found. Sheep chosen for wooly coat, not long hair. China, Clay Bells found. India, River Buffalo domesticated (water buffalo); Jute grown for fiber (burlap). Northern Iran, earliest examples of Trumpets. SE Asia, earliest records of Radish. Pakistan, Terracota female figurines.
2800 BCE - Solid evidence of plowed fields. China, Copper smelting discovered. Babylon, evidence of manufacture of soap like substance.
2700 BCE - Chinese treatise on health. 40 kinds identified.
2650 BCE - Egypt, dental work found.
2630-10 BCE - Egypt, Pyramid of Djoser constructed by Imhotep, considered first.
2600 BCE – Egypt, domestication of Honey Bee complete.
2600 - 1900 BCE - Indus Valley, Stoneware Pottery (meaning fired at 1000 degrees Celsius), would become a major industry; (Ivory?).
2580-50 BCE – Egypt, creates first true Ocean Dock for sea trading vessels (with Indus Valley).
2560 BCE - Great Pyramid of Giza completed.
2500 BCE - Evidence of The Amber Road, trade route from the Baltic Sea to Mediterranean Sea. E Iran, Bactrian Camels domesticated. Iraq, "Lyres of Ur," considered world's oldest stringed instruments. Peru, oldest Sling ever found. Egypt, earliest depiction of a Khopesh (sword). Sumerian Clay Tablet with instructions for manufacturing soap (heating mixture of oil and wood ash, earliest record chemical reaction, used for washing woolen clothing). China, axes with Corundum (precious stone). Harappan Culture of Indus Valley, chicken used for Cock Fighting, not food.
2500 - 2000 BCE - Mali, domestication of Pearl Millet. Turkey, Meteoric Iron dagger.
2400 BCE - Sumer, description of Prostitution and a Brothel-Temple to Fertility Goddess.
2300 BCE - Mesopotamia, Urukagina of Lagash, considered the earliest Law Code. (Widows and orphans exempt from taxes, state pays for funeral expenses, the rich must pay in silver and cannot force the poor against will, checked power of priests, protect from usury, abolished polyandry). Iran, Quince (fruit). China, oldest Gnomon (painted stick that casts a shadow for sundial purpose).
2200 BCE - China, first known tax, using salt. Iraq, tablet reads “22 jars of Pig Fat” (each jar 18 liters of Lard, 396 liters total, require 45 adult pigs; likely used to make soap to clean wool of sheep before turning them into textiles)
2200-2000 BCE - Turkey, Iron Smelting.
2100 - 2050 BCE - City of Ur: Earliest written Code of Law discovered. References Butter. (Fines for bodily harm, references murder, robbery, adultery, rape. Two classes of people: free and slave.)
4000 - 3000 y a - Mesopotamia, earliest Scissors (shear, spring type). India, Mung Bean domesticated.
2000 BCE - Murals show horses pulling chariots. Horses become common in western Europe. England, Great Orme Mine started, would become largest copper mine in region (most productive between 1700 - 1400 BCE), used bone and stone tools. China, Bells made out of metal (Bellfounding); domestication of the Swamp Buffalo (water buffalo). Ghana, earliest evidence of Cowpea (black eyed pea). India, Canola/Rapeseed; Diamonds being used to drill beads. Egypt, Lupin Beans. Greece, Kale grown.
1900 BCE – Homing Pigeons used for warfare.
1800 BCE - Egypt, medical text on gynecological issues; Safflower for pigment. India, Iron working.
1754 BCE - Code of Hammurabi (recognized Prostitution and gave women protection and inheritance; theorized that a fertility goddess had a temple that offered sex workers).
1700 - 1200 BCE - (Late Bronze Age) 8 societies in Middle East: Aegean, Egyptian, Hittite, Canaanite, Cypriot, Mitanni, Assyrian, Babylonian. Considered a "globalized world system." Next time this would occur is today.
1700 BCE – Mesopotamia: The "Mari Letters" reference Minoan society, King Hammurabi; clay tablets list Trigonometry Tables and Applied Geometry (for land ownership, speculated to aid in construction).
1628 BCE - Island of Thera/Santorini experiences huge volcanic eruption, possibly causing a tsunami thru eastern Mediterranean.
1600-1500 BCE - Greece, Helmet formed of boar tusks found.
1600 BCE – Levant, Mesopotamia, Pork bones rarely found in settlements (banned from temples in Anatolia, Mesopotamia, Egypt). (Found amongst the poor classes, difficult to tax since it did not produce wool or milk or could plow a field.)
1550 BCE – Papyrus Ebers, Egyptian medical text, mentions Chlamydia.
1500 BCE - Modern Trumpet design found in eastern Mediterranean. India, Pigeon Pea domesticated. Egypt, Mercury found in tombs; archaeologists find earliest Sundials; Emerald mines. China, Water Clocks.
1400 BCE - Syria, Hurrian Songs, cuneiform music tablet in Ugarit. Greece, oldest body armor found, made of bronze, Dendra Panoply (not actually worn, more of a showpiece, but clear representation of body armor for battle). China, Meteoric Iron axeheads. Art representation of Scale Mail in Egypt. Art: representation of Shields.
1350 BCE - Turkey, Hittites chronicle Egyptian prisoners of war bringing "the plague.”
1300 BCE - Uluburun Shipwreck, off coast of Turkey, had 300 sixty pound copper ingots (10 tons), 1 ton of tin, and tin objects and ingots of colored glass (blue, rose, brown). From Cypress/Minoa.
1300? - 900? BCE - Eastern Mediterranean experiences a 300? year drought. (Could also be: Cypress 1200- 850. Syria 1250-1187. Galilee 1250-1100)
1279 BCE - Battle of Qadesh (Egypt vs Hittites).
1200 BCE (3,200 years ago) - Onset of Iron smelting. Earliest Camel saddles appear. Last appearance of Megaliths. India, earliest evidence of Firewalking.
1200 BCE - Eastern Mediterranean civilization collapse. Drought in Greece. Earthquake series.
1188-1177 BCE - Egypt suffers invasions from "The Sea People."
1185 BCE - Syria, Ugarit Letter, Famine.
1140? BCE - Ramses 6th, mummy found to have Smallpox. No record of people dying from Smallpox.
1100 BCE - Phoenicians establish nation. Europe, Iron Age.
1100? BCE - Earth experiences a cold temperature period?
1100-750 BCE - Egypt, Iron Smelting.
1070 BCE - Egyptian mummy found with Silk in hair, earliest evidence of Silk Road.
1000 BCE - Early Cuneiform script (late stages, still pictograph in nature). Bactria, Barbat (primitive lute). Egypt, Kenaf is grown for fibers, leaves can be eaten by animals and humans (similar to Jute and Hemp; rope, rough fabric, sails). Mediterranean, Cabbage domesticated. China, Iron Age. Sport: racing Homing Pigeons.
930 BCE - Camel bones found in Arabian peninsula. Jordan, earliest Bloomery for Iron working found.
800 - 600 BCE - Ethiopia, Sorghum Wheat begins to be harvested.
800 BCE - Considered the beginning of Ancient Greece, after the Mycenae Civilization. China, Bloomeries used.
700-500 BCE - The Illiad orally composed. India, Diamond mining starts.
708 BCE – Greece, Olympics, Discus Throw.
700 BCE - Turkey, first Coins in Lydia. Assyria, first equipment recognized as a Saddle for a Horse.
660 BCE – Massive Solar Storm hits Earth.
600 BCE - Earliest example of a Steel Sword.
600-400 BCE - Ancient Greece rise of scientific inquiry and philosophy
550 BCE - The Illiad written down.
540 BCE – Sri Lanka, earliest record of Pearls.
500 BCE - Camels used in warfare. Persians use kettle drums for military maneuvers, frighten enemies. Greece, Grape Syrup, early form of sweetener and preservative; earliest written mention of what could be Influenza. Blackberries consumed around Europe. Spain, Disk Quern developed. India, Cholera described in Sanskrit. Romans manufacture dipped Candles.
430 BCE – Athens, Typhoid Fever outbreak during siege by Sparta.
400 BCE - The "Celts/Gaeil" settle Ireland. Greece, the “Hippocratic Corpus” seventy collected medical texts, mentions Pneumonia, Meningitis, Valerian Root.
396 BCE - Olympics, horn blowing competitions.
314 BCE - China, first mention of Sweet Orange.
298 BCE - Foot powered Loom.
200 BCE - China starts making paper.
2024.05.08 06:39 FossilBoi Damned Forest Wildlife: Heffalump
Heffalump
Milnemammut ekatostremmaxylo
Height: 25 feet
Length: 43 feet
Classification: Mammutidae
Subdivision: Fauna
Predation: Omnivorous
----------------------------------------------
Cryptozoology:
Mastodons (genus Mammut) used to be common across North America for the past 8 million years, with them sometimes even occupying the same space as their mammoth cousins further north. Though mostly they died out along with other Ice Age megafauna during the late Pleistocene, small populations of them settled in the Hollow Earth over time, and quickly grew in size and in strength, outclassing their surface-world ancestors. With this timeframe of evolution, the descendants known as the heffalumps came to be known in the Damned Forest. Named for the notorious elephantine villains from the English author A. A. Milne’s famous Winnie-the-Pooh stories, heffalumps are among the largest animals in the Damned Forest, living in large herds that migrate every day across the region. Much larger than Palaeoloxodon namadicus (which was the previously largest proboscidean, measuring at over 16 feet tall at the shoulder and weighing around 18 tons), these enormous mastodons possess extra characteristics that make their species distinct, such as sharp, jagged tusks (with males having larger and spikier tusks, and females having shorter and less spiky), small ears fringed by circular wave-like edges, a tuft of five protruding hairs on their heads, teeth derived from their ancestral conical yet flat teeth that are used for omnivory, and a longer tail, with a distinct knot or bow-like end made of the tail’s constituent hairs. It is not just the heffalumps’ appearance and size that make them unique, but also their intelligence. Their intelligence, while still being studied, has presently yielded some interesting results. Given their omnivorous appetites, heffalumps have developed varied strategies to obtain food, such as meticulously opening up beehives with their trunks to extract honey, scouring dirt and soil to both expose hidden seeds and sprouts as well as flush out smaller hiding animals, using their trunks to construct elaborate ‘traps’ and ‘gardens’ for flora and fauna alike, filling their trunks with water and squirting it at birds’ nests or fruits to dislodge them from branches, and hollowing out fallen trees to fill up with food intended for later consumption and paired with other inedible plants and minerals that act as preservatives. Their social structure is mainly matriarchal, with males being largely solitary (males leave the herd at the end of adolescence). The female-run herds are led by a wise, old female who is typically the mother of some of the second-in-command individuals below her. Whenever disorder or confusion is present in the herd (including when the herd is under attack), the matriarch delivers a powerful bellow that gets the attention of the others in the herd, and placed them back under control (it is believed that once a female is old enough and the matriarch position is vacant, she develops this special frequency in her calls). Their social bonds cement the closeness infants have with their parents, with youngsters often seeing them holding onto the trunks or tails of their parents. It is not uncommon to see young heffalumps left to wander alone, their curiosity beckoning them to learn more about their surroundings. It’s also not uncommon for young heffalumps to befriend other animals and form bonds with them, sometimes lasting their whole lives. If trouble comes for them, the heffalump simply calls out, and any adult in the herd - whether it be the mother or not - will come running, and believe it when we say that you do not want to cross an angered heffalump. ---------------------------------------------
Threat Analysis:
Though not as outright antagonistic or evil as their literary namesakes, heffalumps, like ordinary elephants, can still pose an immense risk to life and property. Males are very territorial, often fighting each other to the death by goring each with their serrated tusks. Females also have to be on guard during mating season, for particularly impatient and hormone-driven males can force themselves onto a female or even kill her calf. Heffalumps are also known to not tolerate aggression from other animals. Even such notorious predators like the agony lion (Panthera leonisagonia) and the shaggy beast (Malum crinitus) find trouble when dealing with a heffalump, with the enormous mastodons able to crush or impale such a foolish or desperate predator. Though individual heffalump behavior varies, there have also been instances of some particularly aggressive heffalumps that sometimes go out their way to attack others. These include an incident when a lone male tried to fight a spine-devil (Enchinodaemon hylotherium) and ended up losing its tusks to it after many failed attacks, a female who purposefully collapsed trees to prevent deer from leaving her domain, a troublesome hormonal male who grabbed ducks and other waterbirds with his trunk and flung them into the air or into the water, a bullying female who repeatedly tried to throw her sibling into a geyser, and in a very interesting reminder of the Winnie-the-Pooh stories, a trio scaring off a bear from getting honey out of a beehive and taking the honey all for themselves. For the most part, heffalumps, despite their size, intelligence and fearsome appearances, are usually harmless, and will leave you alone if you leave them alone. That said, basic rules of conduct around elephants still apply here, and believe us when we say, hell hath no fury like a heffalump scorned.
submitted by FossilBoi to MonarchCustomTitans [link] [comments]
Milnemammut ekatostremmaxylo
Height: 25 feet
Length: 43 feet
Classification: Mammutidae
Subdivision: Fauna
Predation: Omnivorous
----------------------------------------------
Cryptozoology:
Mastodons (genus Mammut) used to be common across North America for the past 8 million years, with them sometimes even occupying the same space as their mammoth cousins further north. Though mostly they died out along with other Ice Age megafauna during the late Pleistocene, small populations of them settled in the Hollow Earth over time, and quickly grew in size and in strength, outclassing their surface-world ancestors. With this timeframe of evolution, the descendants known as the heffalumps came to be known in the Damned Forest. Named for the notorious elephantine villains from the English author A. A. Milne’s famous Winnie-the-Pooh stories, heffalumps are among the largest animals in the Damned Forest, living in large herds that migrate every day across the region. Much larger than Palaeoloxodon namadicus (which was the previously largest proboscidean, measuring at over 16 feet tall at the shoulder and weighing around 18 tons), these enormous mastodons possess extra characteristics that make their species distinct, such as sharp, jagged tusks (with males having larger and spikier tusks, and females having shorter and less spiky), small ears fringed by circular wave-like edges, a tuft of five protruding hairs on their heads, teeth derived from their ancestral conical yet flat teeth that are used for omnivory, and a longer tail, with a distinct knot or bow-like end made of the tail’s constituent hairs. It is not just the heffalumps’ appearance and size that make them unique, but also their intelligence. Their intelligence, while still being studied, has presently yielded some interesting results. Given their omnivorous appetites, heffalumps have developed varied strategies to obtain food, such as meticulously opening up beehives with their trunks to extract honey, scouring dirt and soil to both expose hidden seeds and sprouts as well as flush out smaller hiding animals, using their trunks to construct elaborate ‘traps’ and ‘gardens’ for flora and fauna alike, filling their trunks with water and squirting it at birds’ nests or fruits to dislodge them from branches, and hollowing out fallen trees to fill up with food intended for later consumption and paired with other inedible plants and minerals that act as preservatives. Their social structure is mainly matriarchal, with males being largely solitary (males leave the herd at the end of adolescence). The female-run herds are led by a wise, old female who is typically the mother of some of the second-in-command individuals below her. Whenever disorder or confusion is present in the herd (including when the herd is under attack), the matriarch delivers a powerful bellow that gets the attention of the others in the herd, and placed them back under control (it is believed that once a female is old enough and the matriarch position is vacant, she develops this special frequency in her calls). Their social bonds cement the closeness infants have with their parents, with youngsters often seeing them holding onto the trunks or tails of their parents. It is not uncommon to see young heffalumps left to wander alone, their curiosity beckoning them to learn more about their surroundings. It’s also not uncommon for young heffalumps to befriend other animals and form bonds with them, sometimes lasting their whole lives. If trouble comes for them, the heffalump simply calls out, and any adult in the herd - whether it be the mother or not - will come running, and believe it when we say that you do not want to cross an angered heffalump. ---------------------------------------------
Threat Analysis:
Though not as outright antagonistic or evil as their literary namesakes, heffalumps, like ordinary elephants, can still pose an immense risk to life and property. Males are very territorial, often fighting each other to the death by goring each with their serrated tusks. Females also have to be on guard during mating season, for particularly impatient and hormone-driven males can force themselves onto a female or even kill her calf. Heffalumps are also known to not tolerate aggression from other animals. Even such notorious predators like the agony lion (Panthera leonisagonia) and the shaggy beast (Malum crinitus) find trouble when dealing with a heffalump, with the enormous mastodons able to crush or impale such a foolish or desperate predator. Though individual heffalump behavior varies, there have also been instances of some particularly aggressive heffalumps that sometimes go out their way to attack others. These include an incident when a lone male tried to fight a spine-devil (Enchinodaemon hylotherium) and ended up losing its tusks to it after many failed attacks, a female who purposefully collapsed trees to prevent deer from leaving her domain, a troublesome hormonal male who grabbed ducks and other waterbirds with his trunk and flung them into the air or into the water, a bullying female who repeatedly tried to throw her sibling into a geyser, and in a very interesting reminder of the Winnie-the-Pooh stories, a trio scaring off a bear from getting honey out of a beehive and taking the honey all for themselves. For the most part, heffalumps, despite their size, intelligence and fearsome appearances, are usually harmless, and will leave you alone if you leave them alone. That said, basic rules of conduct around elephants still apply here, and believe us when we say, hell hath no fury like a heffalump scorned.
2024.05.08 02:51 Acrobatic_Diver_9152 A COMPLETE GUIDE TO HONEYMOON SAFARIS IN TANZANIA
Eager to start planning the honeymoon safari in Tanzania you've always dreamed of? There's no better way to celebrate tying the knot with your other half than venturing into Tanzania's wonderful wildlife reserves while residing in one of the country's main luxury resorts.
Imagine sharing moments of lion spotting, adventurous game drives through rugged terrain, and soaking up the lap of luxury in one trip as a toast to your love.
This safari guide for honeymooners coming to Tanzania covers everything you need to know before you book your dream getaway with your soulmate. It includes detailed breakdowns about when to visit, what to pack, how to choose a hotel, and so much more.
Dry Season (June to October)
Newlyweds particularly enjoy the dry season for their honeymoon safaris, which lasts from June to October. The abundant sunshine, limited rainfall and pleasant dry season temperatures create optimum game-viewing conditions.
At this time of year, animals tend to convene around the rivers and lakes for water, making it considerably easier to spot the likes of lions, elephants and hippos.
Also, this is when the fabled Great Migration takes place, a truly remarkable spectacle that's sure to be the highlight of any safari in Tanzania.
Naturally, the favorable weather and animal-spotting opportunities make this an incredibly popular time for newlyweds and other visitors, which can result in crowded parks and resorts.
The Rainy Season (November to May)
If you'd prefer a quieter, more intimate experience, the rainy season from November to May draws noticeably fewer crowds. Tanzania's national parks are at their most striking at this time of year, as the grasslands are lusher and more vivid than ever.
Of course, this means that you'll have to contend with frequent downpours and high humidity. Not only can this make it more arduous to locate the animals, but it may not be the most comfortable safari experience if you're faced with somewhat adverse weather conditions.
However, Tanzania enjoys some respite from the rain in January and February. At this time, there's a break from the short and long rains that make up much of the wet period, and this signals the beginning of the calving season.
You'll have the chance to catch a glimpse of baby animals coming into the world, watch males go head-to-head in search of a mate and partake in some sensational bird-watching.
Some of our favorite picks for the best honeymoon safari destinations in the country include:
Serengeti National Park
Few safari destinations are as epic as Serengeti National Park. The scenery is staggering, sightings of the Big 5 (lion, African buffalo, leopard, rhino, and elephant) are a commonplace here and it's the site of the Great Migration.
During this time of mass movement, almost two million wildebeests, zebras and gazelles traverse much of northern Tanzania and into southern Kenya in search of greener pastures.
Nogrongoro Conservation Area
Another amazing location is the Nogrongoro Conservation Area. The vast savannas and plains play host to the Ngorongoro Crater, where you'll gaze upon one of the world's most densely populated wildlife areas.
Much like Serengeti National Park, the Big 5 are regularly spotted here, as are a myriad of other fascinating animals, including hyenas, giraffes, and hippos.
Lake Manyara National Park
Small but spectacular, Lake Manyara National Park is where you'll find some of Tanzania's most intriguing wildlife. It was formed to protect its unusual tree-climbing lions along with the other 1,000 species residing here.
Nyerere National Park
Couples hoping to veer away from the well-trodden Tanzania safari routes will be drawn to the sprawling but less-visited Nyerere National Park.
Despite being the country's largest national park, this spot remains rather untouched and its diverse landscapes showcase baobab trees, swamps and dense woodlands. You can expect to find lions, gazelles, rhinos and leopards, among countless other species within the park.
Ruaha National Park
Ruaha National Park is reminiscent of Nyerere National Park in that it's much less traveled and off the beaten path than the more well known national parks. Lying in central Tanzania, Ruaha National Park is a superb location for couples looking for a more intrepid safari.
It's quite likely that the both of you and your guide will be the only ones around to witness elephants, crocodiles and antelopes in their natural habitat. Moreover, Ruaha National Park is believed to boast around 10% of the world's total lion population.
Read the rest here: https://www.bornwild.rocks/blog2/honeymoon-safari-tanzania
submitted by Acrobatic_Diver_9152 to honeymoonplanning [link] [comments]
Imagine sharing moments of lion spotting, adventurous game drives through rugged terrain, and soaking up the lap of luxury in one trip as a toast to your love.
This safari guide for honeymooners coming to Tanzania covers everything you need to know before you book your dream getaway with your soulmate. It includes detailed breakdowns about when to visit, what to pack, how to choose a hotel, and so much more.
When Is the Best Time to Go on a Honeymoon Safari in Tanzania?
Determining the best time to go on safari in Tanzania is challenging, as you'll have to select a month that is most suitable for you and your significant other's interests and travel styles.Dry Season (June to October)
Newlyweds particularly enjoy the dry season for their honeymoon safaris, which lasts from June to October. The abundant sunshine, limited rainfall and pleasant dry season temperatures create optimum game-viewing conditions.
At this time of year, animals tend to convene around the rivers and lakes for water, making it considerably easier to spot the likes of lions, elephants and hippos.
Also, this is when the fabled Great Migration takes place, a truly remarkable spectacle that's sure to be the highlight of any safari in Tanzania.
Naturally, the favorable weather and animal-spotting opportunities make this an incredibly popular time for newlyweds and other visitors, which can result in crowded parks and resorts.
The Rainy Season (November to May)
If you'd prefer a quieter, more intimate experience, the rainy season from November to May draws noticeably fewer crowds. Tanzania's national parks are at their most striking at this time of year, as the grasslands are lusher and more vivid than ever.
Of course, this means that you'll have to contend with frequent downpours and high humidity. Not only can this make it more arduous to locate the animals, but it may not be the most comfortable safari experience if you're faced with somewhat adverse weather conditions.
However, Tanzania enjoys some respite from the rain in January and February. At this time, there's a break from the short and long rains that make up much of the wet period, and this signals the beginning of the calving season.
You'll have the chance to catch a glimpse of baby animals coming into the world, watch males go head-to-head in search of a mate and partake in some sensational bird-watching.
The Finest Locations for a Honeymoon Safari
There are so many extraordinary national parks and wildlife reserves in Tanzania for you and your better half to explore, all of which have their own unique characteristics and qualities.Some of our favorite picks for the best honeymoon safari destinations in the country include:
Serengeti National Park
Few safari destinations are as epic as Serengeti National Park. The scenery is staggering, sightings of the Big 5 (lion, African buffalo, leopard, rhino, and elephant) are a commonplace here and it's the site of the Great Migration.
During this time of mass movement, almost two million wildebeests, zebras and gazelles traverse much of northern Tanzania and into southern Kenya in search of greener pastures.
Nogrongoro Conservation Area
Another amazing location is the Nogrongoro Conservation Area. The vast savannas and plains play host to the Ngorongoro Crater, where you'll gaze upon one of the world's most densely populated wildlife areas.
Much like Serengeti National Park, the Big 5 are regularly spotted here, as are a myriad of other fascinating animals, including hyenas, giraffes, and hippos.
Lake Manyara National Park
Small but spectacular, Lake Manyara National Park is where you'll find some of Tanzania's most intriguing wildlife. It was formed to protect its unusual tree-climbing lions along with the other 1,000 species residing here.
Nyerere National Park
Couples hoping to veer away from the well-trodden Tanzania safari routes will be drawn to the sprawling but less-visited Nyerere National Park.
Despite being the country's largest national park, this spot remains rather untouched and its diverse landscapes showcase baobab trees, swamps and dense woodlands. You can expect to find lions, gazelles, rhinos and leopards, among countless other species within the park.
Ruaha National Park
Ruaha National Park is reminiscent of Nyerere National Park in that it's much less traveled and off the beaten path than the more well known national parks. Lying in central Tanzania, Ruaha National Park is a superb location for couples looking for a more intrepid safari.
It's quite likely that the both of you and your guide will be the only ones around to witness elephants, crocodiles and antelopes in their natural habitat. Moreover, Ruaha National Park is believed to boast around 10% of the world's total lion population.
Read the rest here: https://www.bornwild.rocks/blog2/honeymoon-safari-tanzania
2024.05.06 22:49 BarblessSnag Blue Lining Leader
This leader formula/setup is for rods >8ft in the 0-3wt range. I've struggled to find a leader formula or prepackaged leader that fits my blue lining needs. I currently use a 6'8" fiberglass 3wt with a DT flyline.
My criteria is:
submitted by BarblessSnag to flyfishing [link] [comments]
My criteria is:
- At least 1 - 2ft of the fly line must be out of the rod's tip. (This prevents the fly line from falling back through the guides)
- I want to use the fly line and not a mono leader. (If I wanted to use a mono leader I would just bring my euro rod and use a micro leader)
- Needs to be able to cast and deliver a dry fly delicately. (Think 16-20 ant, caddis, and adams.)
- I need to be able to carry a dry dropper setup or a single nymph indicator setup. (I use 12-14 foam dry flies with small tungsten bead nymphs. For indicators, I almost exclusively use New Zeeland style wool indicators, the ones with the tubing.)
- To start, cut the loop off the front of your flyline. (The loop's extra mass causes the fly line to hinge and hang up too much under these tight conditions.)
- Next, grab any prepackaged leader in the 4x-7x range. (This will depend on the type of flies you will use and the size of the fish.)
- Cut the loop off the prepackaged leader, find where the diameter of the leader is equal to your fly line, and attach the leader to the fly line via a nail knot.
- The next part is tricky and dependent on rod size. You want at least 1-2ft of fly line out of the guides, so take the tip of your fly line out to meet this criteria.
- Once the fly line is 1-2ft out of your rod tip, work down the leader to find a transition point of the largest tippet you plan to use. (For me, it's 5x)
- Right above it, cut it off, so the 4xish area, and attach a 1mm tippet ring. (You can use a 2mm, doesn't really matter)
- Now, you should have 2-4ft from the tippet ring to attach the tippet. (The total leader length should not exceed the size of the rod, including the 1-2ft fly line from the tip.)
- Furled leaders: They are great for dry fly fishing, though they are too supple for the faster water and can't carry a dry dropper very well. I wish I could use them more, though I cant because of the water I fish.
- Polyleaders: The loop-to-loop connection hinges and catches too much for my liking. They are great for longer leaders and turn over indicators well, though. Essentially they are just a tapered fly line.
- Tie your own: You can, but I find it cheaper to buy a knotless leader than a bunch of different mono. Also knots suck and catch in different currents when fishing faster water.
- A mono-mono connection: I chose the tippet ring because it extends the life of the leader and I find it doesn't really effect the cast to much. Plus, its easier to add tippet and replace tangles and such.
2024.05.05 20:48 Drifting_Otter Operation Guzheng - I did the math
Always wondered about the time aspect of the boat slicing, so I did the math.
Length: the ship is a Panamax class, the largest ship that can go through the canal. 289.56 m (950 ft) in length according to wikipedia. New Panamax class is larger, but that happened after 2007 in which the book was set.
Speed: the ship is capable of 25 knots, but Gaillard Cut has a speed limit of 8 knots. 8 knots is 13.5 fps or 9.2 mph, much faster than the average jogging speed of 5 mph. Average 20 year old can sprint maybe 15 mph in the field, but definitely not on a ship or in corridors.
Time: 950/13.5 = 70 seconds. That's all it takes to slice the entire ship. If you are in a 20 ft cabin, you will become salami within 2 seconds.
Both TV adaptations took too long to slice the ship. In Netflix, Evans alone is on screen for 90 seconds. In the first scene, the deckhand was sliced 10 seconds after his hose, which is maybe 15 ft ahead of him. This gives a speed of only 1.5 fps, way too slow. Tencent has a progress bar that's exactly 1% per second, which means 100 seconds for the ship. That's still too long but closer. In general, the relatively silent assassination in Tencent is closer to my head cannon than the chaos in Netflix.
Which version is closer to your imagination?
https://preview.redd.it/92nqob8qfnyc1.png?width=727&format=png&auto=webp&s=785ebbdfbbd52f82368675c8fffdead8e7186b5f
https://preview.redd.it/qlgbxxowlnyc1.png?width=1659&format=png&auto=webp&s=fa44ca66ef7b75f88b4cb008c83cd3c3d75bdc0d
https://preview.redd.it/aju4tczxlnyc1.png?width=1577&format=png&auto=webp&s=d7ac60fa3d4da6d4250d47306831290f521ad45a
submitted by Drifting_Otter to threebodyproblem [link] [comments]
Length: the ship is a Panamax class, the largest ship that can go through the canal. 289.56 m (950 ft) in length according to wikipedia. New Panamax class is larger, but that happened after 2007 in which the book was set.
Speed: the ship is capable of 25 knots, but Gaillard Cut has a speed limit of 8 knots. 8 knots is 13.5 fps or 9.2 mph, much faster than the average jogging speed of 5 mph. Average 20 year old can sprint maybe 15 mph in the field, but definitely not on a ship or in corridors.
Time: 950/13.5 = 70 seconds. That's all it takes to slice the entire ship. If you are in a 20 ft cabin, you will become salami within 2 seconds.
Both TV adaptations took too long to slice the ship. In Netflix, Evans alone is on screen for 90 seconds. In the first scene, the deckhand was sliced 10 seconds after his hose, which is maybe 15 ft ahead of him. This gives a speed of only 1.5 fps, way too slow. Tencent has a progress bar that's exactly 1% per second, which means 100 seconds for the ship. That's still too long but closer. In general, the relatively silent assassination in Tencent is closer to my head cannon than the chaos in Netflix.
Which version is closer to your imagination?
https://preview.redd.it/92nqob8qfnyc1.png?width=727&format=png&auto=webp&s=785ebbdfbbd52f82368675c8fffdead8e7186b5f
https://preview.redd.it/qlgbxxowlnyc1.png?width=1659&format=png&auto=webp&s=fa44ca66ef7b75f88b4cb008c83cd3c3d75bdc0d
https://preview.redd.it/aju4tczxlnyc1.png?width=1577&format=png&auto=webp&s=d7ac60fa3d4da6d4250d47306831290f521ad45a
2024.05.05 20:12 BarblessSnag Blue Lining Leader
This leader formula/setup is for rods >8ft in the 0-3wt range. I've struggled to find a leader formula or prepackaged leader that fits my blue lining needs. I currently use a 6'8" fiberglass 3wt with a DT flyline.
My criteria is:
submitted by BarblessSnag to flyfishing [link] [comments]
My criteria is:
- At least 1 - 2ft of the fly line must be out of the rod's tip. (This prevents the fly line from falling back through the guides)
- I want to use the fly line and not a mono leader. (If I wanted to use a mono leader I would just bring my euro rod and use a micro leader)
- Needs to be able to cast and deliver a dry fly delicately. (Think 16-20 ant, caddis, and adams.)
- I need to be able to carry a dry dropper setup or a single nymph indicator setup. (I use 12-14 foam dry flies with small tungsten bead nymphs. For indicators, I almost exclusively use New Zeeland style wool indicators, the ones with the tubing.)
- To start, cut the loop off the front of your flyline. (The loop's extra mass causes the fly line to hinge and hang up too much under these tight conditions.)
- Next, grab any prepackaged leader in the 4x-7x range. (This will depend on the type of flies you will use and the size of the fish.)
- Cut the loop off the prepackaged leader, find where the diameter of the leader is equal to your fly line, and attach the leader to the fly line via a nail knot.
- The next part is tricky and dependent on rod size. You want at least 1-2ft of fly line out of the guides, so take the tip of your fly line out to meet this criteria.
- Once the fly line is 1-2ft out of your rod tip, work down the leader to find a transition point of the largest tippet you plan to use. (For me, it's 5x)
- Right above it, cut it off, so the 4xish area, and attach a 1mm tippet ring. (You can use a 2mm, doesn't really matter)
- Now, you should have 2-4ft from the tippet ring to attach the tippet. (The total leader length should not exceed the size of the rod, including the 1-2ft fly line from the tip.)
- Furled leaders: They are great for dry fly fishing, though they are too supple for the faster water and can't carry a dry dropper very well. I wish I could use them more, though I cant because of the water I fish.
- Polyleaders: The loop-to-loop connection hinges and catches too much for my liking. They are great for longer leaders and turn over indicators well, though. Essentially they are just a tapered fly line.
- Tie your own: You can, but I find it cheaper to buy a knotless leader than a bunch of different mono. Also knots suck and catch in different currents when fishing faster water.
- A mono-mono connection: I chose the tippet ring because it extends the life of the leader and I find it doesn't really effect the cast to much. Plus, its easier to add tippet and replace tangles and such.
2024.05.02 12:02 Maxton1811 Perfectly Wrong 60
First...Previous
Arranging to meet with the Emergall conglomerate’s president was a surprisingly difficult endeavor. I’m honestly not sure what I had been expecting when Salkim first promised to put together a parley with Jeksal, but the veritable Gordian knot’s worth of red tape far surpassed even my most pessimistic predictions. However, after signing enough legal forms to give myself carpel tunnel, I was eventually cleared by the embassy to visit Gemstone Hollow—Emergall’s capital city.
“Please be careful,” requested Vavi, interlocking her claws with my fingers as we stood at the base of Salkim’s jet. Apparently, the paperwork and waiting periods required for she or the Prime Minister to accompany me were far too extensive given our time constraints. As such, I would be boarding the aircraft alone.
“Relax!” I smiled at her, carefully tugging free my dominant hand and with it brushing aside Vavi’s head feathers. “I’m meeting with a politician, not going to war!”
“Not yet…” Vavi added, her tone’s bitterness underscoring the dangerous implications of our desperately cobbled-together plan.
Having already sworn to assist us in taking down Providence once and for all, the Emergall Conglomerate was for the time being an ally of Zyntril. That being said, persuading them to take an even greater risk in manufacturing fighters for a battle against the Irigon Empire would almost assuredly require significant negotiation on my part. I could only hope Jeksal would be willing to see reason.
Gently pulling Vavi in for a light embrace and holding for a few seconds in her arms, I kissed my alien lover goodbye and on that sappy note made my way up the stairs to Salkim’s aircraft for the long flight to Gemstone Hollow.
Under most circumstances, I’d probably have sought out some form of entertainment to keep me busy during the lonely eleven hour flight. The plane’s cabin came equipped with its own television, supplemented by row upon row of movie tapes organized by title in the cabinet beside it. I, however, was in no mood for such distractions, remaining instead at the window seat as I looked out over the clouds below and contemplated my next steps.
Emergall was first united under corporate rule roughly half a century prior to my arrival, following a long and bloody civil war the likes of which neither side came out on top. Ultimately, it was the defense company who sold weapons to the warring factions that ended up as the country’s default ruler. Once in control of the area, they branched out into the production of all manner of industrial products. Over ninety percent of the country’s population worked directly for the Conglomerate, with the remainder working for small farms or as the occasional independent contractor. The country wasn’t merely run like a business; it was a business. As such, it came as no surprise to me that they were the largest economic power on Archesa.
Having watched a three hour documentary on the Conglomerate’s history, I understood fairly well how their government functioned. Much like how nations on Earth have departments specializing in different fields, the Conglomerate has subsidiary companies; each specializing in a different industry.
Jeksal was the third President of this corporate nation, and from day one he made his motives clear. Profit was the number one factor in Emergall’s foreign policy, and their new president took this to heart when Providence approached his business to buy weapons from them. In many ways, it was his fault the situation grew to its current catastrophic proportions. Without Emergall weapons, Providence would have been defeated long ago. Now was not the time to be pointing fingers, however. Ultimately, the question of who caused the problem was immaterial to rectifying it.
With Providence’s defeat close on the horizon, the nations of Archesa would soon be open to dealing with the Irigon issue. With any luck, Emergall production would be up to the task of building a fleet to distract the Irigon whilst me and my forces crept aboard Finality to take it over.
It was aboard this aircraft that my recent lack of restful sleep would catch up to me, weighing down my eyelids and lulling me into comfortable darkness. My dream that night was strangely detailed. In it, we had succeeded in taking Finality and handing it over to Baoth, who then forced the Irigon fleet to fall back. After that, however, something strange and terrible occurred. No sooner had the Irigon left the galactic stage then did another species arise to take their place. Humanity—and myself by extension—was powerless to stop them as they enslaved the populations of Earth and Archesa. Normally, I found the dialogue of dreams to be relatively inconsequential, but nevertheless I could recall rather vividly what Baoth said when Humanity then approached him in a desperate scramble for aid.
“I’m terribly sorry, but we in the Irigon Empire do not intervene in the matters of lesser species. You have every right to defend yourselves against these people’s attack. However, they in turn have every right to annihilate you.”
Before awakening to the jolt of Salkim’s jet touching town, I saw for the briefest moment an image of Earth being held at laserpoint as another, larger Dyson sphere slowly charged up to render upon my home planet the final blow.
Shaking off the phantasm’s lingering impact, I quickly rose to my feet as a pair of armed soldiers stepped aboard the vessel and gestured for me to follow them. Seing little reason to be contrarian here, I quickly complied with their orders and allowed these soldiers to guide me down the landing ramp. Just up ahead from where Salkim’s aircraft had landed was a massive building that resembled some combination of a corporate office and a palace. This was where the conglomerate’s President awaited me.
Deeply imbibing a lungful of smog-filled air, I followed along with my armed chaperones as we entered into a comically opulent garden leading up to the front entrance. Elegantly trimmed hedges and statues wrought from gold looked upon me with curiosity as I stepped into the corporate lobby to there await my meeting with Jeksal.
submitted by Maxton1811 to HFY [link] [comments]
Arranging to meet with the Emergall conglomerate’s president was a surprisingly difficult endeavor. I’m honestly not sure what I had been expecting when Salkim first promised to put together a parley with Jeksal, but the veritable Gordian knot’s worth of red tape far surpassed even my most pessimistic predictions. However, after signing enough legal forms to give myself carpel tunnel, I was eventually cleared by the embassy to visit Gemstone Hollow—Emergall’s capital city.
“Please be careful,” requested Vavi, interlocking her claws with my fingers as we stood at the base of Salkim’s jet. Apparently, the paperwork and waiting periods required for she or the Prime Minister to accompany me were far too extensive given our time constraints. As such, I would be boarding the aircraft alone.
“Relax!” I smiled at her, carefully tugging free my dominant hand and with it brushing aside Vavi’s head feathers. “I’m meeting with a politician, not going to war!”
“Not yet…” Vavi added, her tone’s bitterness underscoring the dangerous implications of our desperately cobbled-together plan.
Having already sworn to assist us in taking down Providence once and for all, the Emergall Conglomerate was for the time being an ally of Zyntril. That being said, persuading them to take an even greater risk in manufacturing fighters for a battle against the Irigon Empire would almost assuredly require significant negotiation on my part. I could only hope Jeksal would be willing to see reason.
Gently pulling Vavi in for a light embrace and holding for a few seconds in her arms, I kissed my alien lover goodbye and on that sappy note made my way up the stairs to Salkim’s aircraft for the long flight to Gemstone Hollow.
Under most circumstances, I’d probably have sought out some form of entertainment to keep me busy during the lonely eleven hour flight. The plane’s cabin came equipped with its own television, supplemented by row upon row of movie tapes organized by title in the cabinet beside it. I, however, was in no mood for such distractions, remaining instead at the window seat as I looked out over the clouds below and contemplated my next steps.
Emergall was first united under corporate rule roughly half a century prior to my arrival, following a long and bloody civil war the likes of which neither side came out on top. Ultimately, it was the defense company who sold weapons to the warring factions that ended up as the country’s default ruler. Once in control of the area, they branched out into the production of all manner of industrial products. Over ninety percent of the country’s population worked directly for the Conglomerate, with the remainder working for small farms or as the occasional independent contractor. The country wasn’t merely run like a business; it was a business. As such, it came as no surprise to me that they were the largest economic power on Archesa.
Having watched a three hour documentary on the Conglomerate’s history, I understood fairly well how their government functioned. Much like how nations on Earth have departments specializing in different fields, the Conglomerate has subsidiary companies; each specializing in a different industry.
Jeksal was the third President of this corporate nation, and from day one he made his motives clear. Profit was the number one factor in Emergall’s foreign policy, and their new president took this to heart when Providence approached his business to buy weapons from them. In many ways, it was his fault the situation grew to its current catastrophic proportions. Without Emergall weapons, Providence would have been defeated long ago. Now was not the time to be pointing fingers, however. Ultimately, the question of who caused the problem was immaterial to rectifying it.
With Providence’s defeat close on the horizon, the nations of Archesa would soon be open to dealing with the Irigon issue. With any luck, Emergall production would be up to the task of building a fleet to distract the Irigon whilst me and my forces crept aboard Finality to take it over.
It was aboard this aircraft that my recent lack of restful sleep would catch up to me, weighing down my eyelids and lulling me into comfortable darkness. My dream that night was strangely detailed. In it, we had succeeded in taking Finality and handing it over to Baoth, who then forced the Irigon fleet to fall back. After that, however, something strange and terrible occurred. No sooner had the Irigon left the galactic stage then did another species arise to take their place. Humanity—and myself by extension—was powerless to stop them as they enslaved the populations of Earth and Archesa. Normally, I found the dialogue of dreams to be relatively inconsequential, but nevertheless I could recall rather vividly what Baoth said when Humanity then approached him in a desperate scramble for aid.
“I’m terribly sorry, but we in the Irigon Empire do not intervene in the matters of lesser species. You have every right to defend yourselves against these people’s attack. However, they in turn have every right to annihilate you.”
Before awakening to the jolt of Salkim’s jet touching town, I saw for the briefest moment an image of Earth being held at laserpoint as another, larger Dyson sphere slowly charged up to render upon my home planet the final blow.
Shaking off the phantasm’s lingering impact, I quickly rose to my feet as a pair of armed soldiers stepped aboard the vessel and gestured for me to follow them. Seing little reason to be contrarian here, I quickly complied with their orders and allowed these soldiers to guide me down the landing ramp. Just up ahead from where Salkim’s aircraft had landed was a massive building that resembled some combination of a corporate office and a palace. This was where the conglomerate’s President awaited me.
Deeply imbibing a lungful of smog-filled air, I followed along with my armed chaperones as we entered into a comically opulent garden leading up to the front entrance. Elegantly trimmed hedges and statues wrought from gold looked upon me with curiosity as I stepped into the corporate lobby to there await my meeting with Jeksal.
2024.04.30 21:32 MiserEnoch A Dragon In The Cellar
Survival of the fittest.
It was the only true morale in the universe, the only standard by which any species could properly be judged. Were they fit to survive? Could they find their niche in the galaxy? The young Krullex who grunted and bullied his way through the middle corridors of the station gave no indication of such thoughts, but like all of his species - like every species - primacy of the self was forefront on the mind. His armor-plated skin thicker than those of the rest of his generation, his heavy world muscles hardier, his tusks capped in sharpened precious metals that he'd threatened off other, smaller Krullex. It was only natural; He was larger, they were smaller, so he took what he wanted from them. And they, in turn, fawned and groveled beneath him so that they would not be crushed to death, and in turn fought for their place in his shadow, just as he fought for his place beneath the weight of his larger father, and his father fought and groveled for a place beneath the station's Overseer. Each person, each creature, regardless of their species did the same. Those who could not find their place would starve and die, leaving only the fittest behind. The achievement of happiness, of self-satisfaction, was the only goal in life, to give oneself as much as possible to ensure one's genetic legacy lived on. It was the same everywhere, always, to every known species in the galaxy.
At least, nearly so.
While the youthful Krullex dismissively moved through the smaller of his ilk like a boat through water, his underlings took time to strike and snarl at the smaller ones who shied and shrunk from confrontation against the superior member of their own kind. His cohorts seeming to take delight in their position in his wake, showing that they were smart enough to follow, they were the first to roll over and surrender to him, thus displaying the cunning necessary to thrive in the simple calculus of natural selection. Other Krullex at least had the opportunity to walk about openly; The even smaller creatures, the wiry Milx and the blubbery Oovir, would have to wait until the traffic slowed; They didn't have the mass or weight of fear to push their way through the largest of the species aboard the station post - if they weren't useful enough to the Overseer to be assigned a cowed guard.
Knuckling his way into the station-spine lifts, the young leader bashed his curled fist into the downward button, disregarding any other sentient's desired location. And they, in turn, did their best to exit where they could or shrink to the corners, deferring to the larger creature and his rumbling cohorts.
"Kochab.." Began the largest of his underlings, a sudden flush of fear overcoming his thickened features. "The Overseer. She said not too-" The underling did not get a chance to finish, as Kochab's fist curled about and sunk deep into the other Krullex's stomach, doubling the underling over in pain. Without a word, Kochab raised thickly corded arms and began bringing them down, over and over, bashing the uppity creature about the head and ribs while the smaller one curled in on itself protectively. Sensing an opportunity to better their position, the others joined in, kicking and stomping on the one that dared to speak out.
But even as the lower underlings fawned and aped and chortled their joy, hoping for some recognition for their instant betrayal of their own, Kochab's mind was elsewhere. Back to being summoned before the Overseer, a massive matron with which his father sired him. His ribs still ached where she kicked him across the room as a standard welcome, his tusk cracked where his father joined the plethora of others in bashing him with a baton. It was only natural to try and curry favor from your superior by putting yourself over a weakened foe, even if that foe at that moment was your own flesh and blood. It was only just. You did not get called before a superior for anything other than punishment or reward; If you were there for reward, you knew it beforehand. Having properly placed him in his station, the Matron's one command was thus:
Leave the humans alone. Stay out of the lower decks.
He could not immediately respond through his broken jaw, of course. All he could do was nod eagerly on the floor, watching one of his smallest underlings get flayed before him, left dripping on the mural depicting the Overseer's greatest triumph; Betraying her former lord for their current system ruler, opening a path for his ships to slip past the battle line and overwhelm her former allies. A perfectly executed betrayal, displaying her ability to read the battle and leap to the winning side before anyone else could, ensuring that she and all who followed her were rewarded and elevated. She was stronger, brighter, and more cunning than her peers - but certain to not be so cunning and strong as to be a threat to her patron.
She displayed mercy, then, allowing him to affix his broken mandible bone with a medical station before sending him away. And yet here he was, in the station lift, heading straight down to the newest refugees from the stars. Humans; Small, measly, with neither claw or tooth or bony plate to their name. Not as dexterous as the Milx, not as smart as the Oorvir, a worm of a creature with no place in the natural order of things. How dare they claim to be the dominate species on a planet lost long ago? Kochab knew better, of course; It was obvious to him that the Overseer had misjudged these creatures. They weren't even poisonous, as far as he was aware, you could nearly bite one in half and nothing they could do would stop you. It was likely simply a test of obedience; There for, his bravery lifted with the lack of direct oversight, he would show his minions how to cow the Human populace and have his own kingdom in the decks below. They would bring him savories and tribute, and he in turn would only kill ten or twelve for sport every few cycles. The rest could live in his magnanimous shadow. Perhaps then he would show the Overseer's error to the flock of Krullex around the upper echelons and see her brought low before some greater female that he could properly venerate and grovel before.
His violence against his own underling finally abated, although he took time to crack another across the face for continuing the beating long after Kochab himself had stopped. Best to nip such ambition in the bud before any thoughts of disobedience took place. He gave a dismissive once over the shuddering form of his prime underling, then growled out an order to get up. Wavering and injured, the smaller Krullex knuckled back to all four limbs, prostrating himself in sorrow and fear of his leader's ire. Unquestioning, now, as to whatever wisdom Kochab had taken from his meeting with the Overseer.
The doors to the lift hissed open, and the small flock of Krullex knuckled their way into the human district, the lowest of the low aboard the station. It was teeming - to Kochab's gaze, like worms wriggling in the fecal matter of a larger beast, the humans pressed tight in the cramped and labyrinthine corridors. Squeezing into shoddy compartments for sleep, living practically atop one another. Trade tents along a main 'thoroughfare' without a single Krullex guard to chase away those who'd come to naturally roll the small proprietor for goods, a sure sign that these creatures were out of favor with the Overseer. And yet here they were, drawing down water and food rations, and for what? Simple waste management? Basic engineering tasks that the Milx could do ten times faster?
Kochab did not like puzzles and did not know what to make of the bizarre situation. The station not only allowed the parasites, but actively supported them. What he did know, however, was a simple truth; The greatest morality was to the self. High pitched voices of youth drew his attention, and a vicious, broken toothed hoot drew his other underlings in his wake as he made his way towards the human larvae. Other humans had begun to notice his violation of their space, the activity slowing as more and more eyes turned towards him. He preened as he overshadowed one of the human spawn, who didn't even notice Kochab until he had bashed the thing to the side. A high-pitched scream of pain, and the rest of his pack immediately set upon the young human, hitting and biting as he looked back at the gathering crowd.
And then paused, his confusion mounting. Here he was, the largest thing in the entire area, striking down a smaller creature. There should be shouts of joy and aggression. There should be humans fawning to get on his good side by striking the young-ling as well, groveling and fighting amongst themselves to earn their place in his shadow. That was the natural way of things; That was normal. To elevate the self above all the rest, the natural selection of die or thrive. But instead of fawning adoration or fear, he saw - anger? The expressions of Krullex were not far removed from the wormy human's fat filled features, so why did they look murderous rather than cowed? A brief niggle of worry inched its way past his firm resolve, before he heard another scream - from his own underling. He snapped his head around to find - blood. The larger Krullex being pulled down not by one, but by several humans at once? Metal edges flashed in sudden tandem as .. the.. humans attacked together? Kochab's tiny eyes flitted this way and that, trying to find the leader. All he had to do was find and subdue the leader, and the rest would fall to support him, betraying their allies for a certain chance to survive. It was only natural. It was only just.
It was only sane.
But even as he watched, no leader stepped forward. A sharp pain in his own back suddenly caused him to roar out, and he spun about, knocking the human female from her feet. Only to have another sharp pain in his side, and then another, as increasingly more piled onto him. His underlings, sensing the tide, turned and began to strike him as well, trying to appease whatever secret master was ruling these humans, but it didn't matter. They were all being pulled down, their strength making no difference against a horde. Kochab's last, panicked view of the flickering overhead lights filled him with only more questions. Why? Why?? What did he do wrong?
A sharp, guttural noise exited him, blood bubbling from between his tusks as one particularly sharp implement lodged its way into his throat.
Above, the Overseer watched the scene of the human rampage with tension evident, her hands nearly crushing the station-throne upon which she sat. Krullex blood pooled from the knot of writhing, enraged humans on the screen, and yet not a single one turned on each other or took the opportunity to seize victory for themselves. Those who had absolutely no connection with the human child that had been mauled were seen treating it, carrying it away to safety. It was madness. THEY were madness. What creature did not value the self above.. above anything else?
She was larger than all the other Krullex beneath her. Stronger. Smarter. But what did size or strength have against a beast with twenty thousand limbs? Two hundred thousand teeth? Countless eyes and ears, all pretending to be a collection of separate creatures called Humans. It was a mythical thing, large as the belly of the station, curled in and out of the most vital systems she had at her command. One wrong move, one wrong step, and that insanity - that undeniable, unstoppable insanity of shared action - would kill them all. The only way to keep the human craziness away was to feed that beast, to give them something else to focus on than their meager allowances of water and food and work. To give them the occasional sacrifice, to toss some meat to their maw to rip apart. She felt no pain of loss for Kochab -- he was one of many of her sires. And if he was stupid enough to misread the situation and go against what she said - to die because he could not figure out the puzzle that was Humanity - than he was not fit for survival. Her hands untensed when the Humans went no further than to rattle the lift cages and seethe against the walls of their decks, her breath evening out when all returned to normal.
But for how long would the beast sleep, down below? Perhaps she should invite her Lord Patron sometime to view the station; Ask him to bring his most elite pack of guards. She paused, tapping at her tusk with a claw at the thought. Only the clever and strong survived; Was he clever enough to learn the secret of the Human as fast as she did, those first few days after their arrival? The thought drew a small grin from her lips.
submitted by MiserEnoch to HFY [link] [comments]
It was the only true morale in the universe, the only standard by which any species could properly be judged. Were they fit to survive? Could they find their niche in the galaxy? The young Krullex who grunted and bullied his way through the middle corridors of the station gave no indication of such thoughts, but like all of his species - like every species - primacy of the self was forefront on the mind. His armor-plated skin thicker than those of the rest of his generation, his heavy world muscles hardier, his tusks capped in sharpened precious metals that he'd threatened off other, smaller Krullex. It was only natural; He was larger, they were smaller, so he took what he wanted from them. And they, in turn, fawned and groveled beneath him so that they would not be crushed to death, and in turn fought for their place in his shadow, just as he fought for his place beneath the weight of his larger father, and his father fought and groveled for a place beneath the station's Overseer. Each person, each creature, regardless of their species did the same. Those who could not find their place would starve and die, leaving only the fittest behind. The achievement of happiness, of self-satisfaction, was the only goal in life, to give oneself as much as possible to ensure one's genetic legacy lived on. It was the same everywhere, always, to every known species in the galaxy.
At least, nearly so.
While the youthful Krullex dismissively moved through the smaller of his ilk like a boat through water, his underlings took time to strike and snarl at the smaller ones who shied and shrunk from confrontation against the superior member of their own kind. His cohorts seeming to take delight in their position in his wake, showing that they were smart enough to follow, they were the first to roll over and surrender to him, thus displaying the cunning necessary to thrive in the simple calculus of natural selection. Other Krullex at least had the opportunity to walk about openly; The even smaller creatures, the wiry Milx and the blubbery Oovir, would have to wait until the traffic slowed; They didn't have the mass or weight of fear to push their way through the largest of the species aboard the station post - if they weren't useful enough to the Overseer to be assigned a cowed guard.
Knuckling his way into the station-spine lifts, the young leader bashed his curled fist into the downward button, disregarding any other sentient's desired location. And they, in turn, did their best to exit where they could or shrink to the corners, deferring to the larger creature and his rumbling cohorts.
"Kochab.." Began the largest of his underlings, a sudden flush of fear overcoming his thickened features. "The Overseer. She said not too-" The underling did not get a chance to finish, as Kochab's fist curled about and sunk deep into the other Krullex's stomach, doubling the underling over in pain. Without a word, Kochab raised thickly corded arms and began bringing them down, over and over, bashing the uppity creature about the head and ribs while the smaller one curled in on itself protectively. Sensing an opportunity to better their position, the others joined in, kicking and stomping on the one that dared to speak out.
But even as the lower underlings fawned and aped and chortled their joy, hoping for some recognition for their instant betrayal of their own, Kochab's mind was elsewhere. Back to being summoned before the Overseer, a massive matron with which his father sired him. His ribs still ached where she kicked him across the room as a standard welcome, his tusk cracked where his father joined the plethora of others in bashing him with a baton. It was only natural to try and curry favor from your superior by putting yourself over a weakened foe, even if that foe at that moment was your own flesh and blood. It was only just. You did not get called before a superior for anything other than punishment or reward; If you were there for reward, you knew it beforehand. Having properly placed him in his station, the Matron's one command was thus:
Leave the humans alone. Stay out of the lower decks.
He could not immediately respond through his broken jaw, of course. All he could do was nod eagerly on the floor, watching one of his smallest underlings get flayed before him, left dripping on the mural depicting the Overseer's greatest triumph; Betraying her former lord for their current system ruler, opening a path for his ships to slip past the battle line and overwhelm her former allies. A perfectly executed betrayal, displaying her ability to read the battle and leap to the winning side before anyone else could, ensuring that she and all who followed her were rewarded and elevated. She was stronger, brighter, and more cunning than her peers - but certain to not be so cunning and strong as to be a threat to her patron.
She displayed mercy, then, allowing him to affix his broken mandible bone with a medical station before sending him away. And yet here he was, in the station lift, heading straight down to the newest refugees from the stars. Humans; Small, measly, with neither claw or tooth or bony plate to their name. Not as dexterous as the Milx, not as smart as the Oorvir, a worm of a creature with no place in the natural order of things. How dare they claim to be the dominate species on a planet lost long ago? Kochab knew better, of course; It was obvious to him that the Overseer had misjudged these creatures. They weren't even poisonous, as far as he was aware, you could nearly bite one in half and nothing they could do would stop you. It was likely simply a test of obedience; There for, his bravery lifted with the lack of direct oversight, he would show his minions how to cow the Human populace and have his own kingdom in the decks below. They would bring him savories and tribute, and he in turn would only kill ten or twelve for sport every few cycles. The rest could live in his magnanimous shadow. Perhaps then he would show the Overseer's error to the flock of Krullex around the upper echelons and see her brought low before some greater female that he could properly venerate and grovel before.
His violence against his own underling finally abated, although he took time to crack another across the face for continuing the beating long after Kochab himself had stopped. Best to nip such ambition in the bud before any thoughts of disobedience took place. He gave a dismissive once over the shuddering form of his prime underling, then growled out an order to get up. Wavering and injured, the smaller Krullex knuckled back to all four limbs, prostrating himself in sorrow and fear of his leader's ire. Unquestioning, now, as to whatever wisdom Kochab had taken from his meeting with the Overseer.
The doors to the lift hissed open, and the small flock of Krullex knuckled their way into the human district, the lowest of the low aboard the station. It was teeming - to Kochab's gaze, like worms wriggling in the fecal matter of a larger beast, the humans pressed tight in the cramped and labyrinthine corridors. Squeezing into shoddy compartments for sleep, living practically atop one another. Trade tents along a main 'thoroughfare' without a single Krullex guard to chase away those who'd come to naturally roll the small proprietor for goods, a sure sign that these creatures were out of favor with the Overseer. And yet here they were, drawing down water and food rations, and for what? Simple waste management? Basic engineering tasks that the Milx could do ten times faster?
Kochab did not like puzzles and did not know what to make of the bizarre situation. The station not only allowed the parasites, but actively supported them. What he did know, however, was a simple truth; The greatest morality was to the self. High pitched voices of youth drew his attention, and a vicious, broken toothed hoot drew his other underlings in his wake as he made his way towards the human larvae. Other humans had begun to notice his violation of their space, the activity slowing as more and more eyes turned towards him. He preened as he overshadowed one of the human spawn, who didn't even notice Kochab until he had bashed the thing to the side. A high-pitched scream of pain, and the rest of his pack immediately set upon the young human, hitting and biting as he looked back at the gathering crowd.
And then paused, his confusion mounting. Here he was, the largest thing in the entire area, striking down a smaller creature. There should be shouts of joy and aggression. There should be humans fawning to get on his good side by striking the young-ling as well, groveling and fighting amongst themselves to earn their place in his shadow. That was the natural way of things; That was normal. To elevate the self above all the rest, the natural selection of die or thrive. But instead of fawning adoration or fear, he saw - anger? The expressions of Krullex were not far removed from the wormy human's fat filled features, so why did they look murderous rather than cowed? A brief niggle of worry inched its way past his firm resolve, before he heard another scream - from his own underling. He snapped his head around to find - blood. The larger Krullex being pulled down not by one, but by several humans at once? Metal edges flashed in sudden tandem as .. the.. humans attacked together? Kochab's tiny eyes flitted this way and that, trying to find the leader. All he had to do was find and subdue the leader, and the rest would fall to support him, betraying their allies for a certain chance to survive. It was only natural. It was only just.
It was only sane.
But even as he watched, no leader stepped forward. A sharp pain in his own back suddenly caused him to roar out, and he spun about, knocking the human female from her feet. Only to have another sharp pain in his side, and then another, as increasingly more piled onto him. His underlings, sensing the tide, turned and began to strike him as well, trying to appease whatever secret master was ruling these humans, but it didn't matter. They were all being pulled down, their strength making no difference against a horde. Kochab's last, panicked view of the flickering overhead lights filled him with only more questions. Why? Why?? What did he do wrong?
A sharp, guttural noise exited him, blood bubbling from between his tusks as one particularly sharp implement lodged its way into his throat.
Above, the Overseer watched the scene of the human rampage with tension evident, her hands nearly crushing the station-throne upon which she sat. Krullex blood pooled from the knot of writhing, enraged humans on the screen, and yet not a single one turned on each other or took the opportunity to seize victory for themselves. Those who had absolutely no connection with the human child that had been mauled were seen treating it, carrying it away to safety. It was madness. THEY were madness. What creature did not value the self above.. above anything else?
She was larger than all the other Krullex beneath her. Stronger. Smarter. But what did size or strength have against a beast with twenty thousand limbs? Two hundred thousand teeth? Countless eyes and ears, all pretending to be a collection of separate creatures called Humans. It was a mythical thing, large as the belly of the station, curled in and out of the most vital systems she had at her command. One wrong move, one wrong step, and that insanity - that undeniable, unstoppable insanity of shared action - would kill them all. The only way to keep the human craziness away was to feed that beast, to give them something else to focus on than their meager allowances of water and food and work. To give them the occasional sacrifice, to toss some meat to their maw to rip apart. She felt no pain of loss for Kochab -- he was one of many of her sires. And if he was stupid enough to misread the situation and go against what she said - to die because he could not figure out the puzzle that was Humanity - than he was not fit for survival. Her hands untensed when the Humans went no further than to rattle the lift cages and seethe against the walls of their decks, her breath evening out when all returned to normal.
But for how long would the beast sleep, down below? Perhaps she should invite her Lord Patron sometime to view the station; Ask him to bring his most elite pack of guards. She paused, tapping at her tusk with a claw at the thought. Only the clever and strong survived; Was he clever enough to learn the secret of the Human as fast as she did, those first few days after their arrival? The thought drew a small grin from her lips.
2024.04.30 08:26 Good-Fee-1933 Characters
Aiden Korr - Character Sheet
General Information:
Character Sheet: Slumber
Name: Slumber (Given name unknown) North continent Rank #2 Born: 1993 Current Year: 2223Age: 230 (Achieved through advanced cybernetic enhancements and life-extension technologies)
Background:Slumber was born into a world on the brink of technological revolution. Showing exceptional intelligence and physical aptitude from a young age, he was taken by a covert government agency and transformed into a cyborg operative. Over the centuries, he became a legend in the shadowy realms of espionage and military operations, known for his unparalleled skills and cybernetic enhancements.
Physical Description:Slumber’s appearance is a blend of human and machine. His body is heavily augmented with cybernetic enhancements, giving him superhuman strength, speed, and resilience. His skin is partially synthetic, capable of rapid healing. His eyes have been replaced with advanced optical implants, glowing slightly when activated. He is mostly synthetic muscle and metal, with a muscular build and a presence that commands attention.
Personality:Slumber is a complex character, shaped by centuries of conflict and survival. He is stoic, often appearing detached or cold, but this masks a deep sense of loyalty and protection towards those he cares about. His long life has made him wise and reflective, often contemplating the nature of humanity and the impact of technology on society.
Abilities:
Equipment:
Character Sheet: Treth
Name: Treth (Surname unknown) North continent Rank #3. Born: 2138Current Year: 2223Age: 85 (Appears in his late 30s to early 40s due to unspecified means)
Background:Treth’s early life was marred by a traumatic upbringing under an abusive father, a period that, while deeply scarring, paradoxically forged him into the formidable figure he is today. The harsh conditions of his youth served not only to harden him physically but also to instill in him a resilience and determination that few can match. Rumors abound regarding the source of his extraordinary abilities, with some attributing his strength and speed to a mysterious darkness that he harnessed in the face of his suffering.
Physical Description:Treth is a study in contrasts, with a small and thin frame that hides an almost superhuman strength and agility. His movements are deceptively smooth, suggesting a level of training and bodily control that few can achieve. His eyes, often the only window into his enigmatic past, carry an intensity that belies his calm demeanor.He has long unkempt black hair. his skin is white as snow with small scars all across his body.
Personality:Treth is a man shaped by adversity, possessing a steely resolve and a focused mind. He speaks rarely, but when he does, his words carry weight. His traumatic past has instilled in him a strong sense of self-reliance and a deep, if not immediately apparent, empathy for those suffering under the yoke of tyranny or abuse. Despite his capabilities, he maintains a strict ethical code, choosing his contracts with care and often intervening in situations where he perceives an imbalance of power.
Abilities:
Abilities and Skills:
Background:Rising from the obscurity of a world that had forgotten magic, Jasien’s discovery of his innate arcane talent set him on a collision course with destiny. Through decades of study, exploration, and confrontation, he mastered the arcane arts to an extent unseen in modern times. His creation of the Arcanum was not just to preserve magical knowledge but to serve as a command center from which he could watch over and intervene in the world’s affairs, wielding his power to eliminate threats from the shadows.
Goals:Above all, Jasien seeks to maintain the equilibrium between the seen and unseen worlds, ensuring that humanity remains blissfully unaware of the dangers that lurk just beyond their perception. His ultimate aim is to create a world where magic and mankind can coexist peacefully, with the Arcanum serving as the guardian of this balance. To those who threaten this vision, he is the unseen blade in the dark, the deadliest man in America, ready to strike down chaos and restore order with a whisper of arcane power.
Character Sheet: Blue
Name: Unknown (Uses the alias “Blue”)
Age: Presumed to be in his late 40s to early 50s
Nationality: Unknown
Occupation: Criminal Mastermind, Global Syndicate Leader, Influential Business Tycoon
Net Worth: $7 trillion, incorporating a vast array of legitimate business ventures, criminal operations, advanced military assets, and speculative investments across the globe and beyond.
Physical Appearance:
Current Status: Despite being one of the most wanted individuals globally, Blue operates from an undisclosed, highly fortified location. His influence permeates every level of global affairs, from the criminal underworld to the highest echelons of power.
Motivations:
Name: Nishiro Asukage Born Year 56 Age: Varies (Provide specific age based on the timeline of your story) Nationality: Japanese Occupation: Leader of Japan, Founder and Master of Cosmic Sword Style
Physical Appearance: - Height: 6'2" - Build: Athletic, muscular - Hair: Long, black, usually cut short - Eyes: Intense, piercing white - Distinguishing Features: A scar across his left cheek, a mark from a past battle
Personality Traits: - Intelligent and Strategic: Known for his deep strategic thinking and ability to foresee enemy moves. - Stoic and Determined: Rarely shows emotion, always focused on his goals. - Honorable: Strong sense of justice and duty, adheres to a code of honor in all his dealings.
Abilities: - Cosmic Sword Style: Master of a unique sword style that includes advanced techniques such as "Atom Split" and "Flaming Viper." - Enhanced Healing: Capable of regenerating lost limbs and repairing vital organs due to divine enhancements. - Superhuman Speed and Strength: Can move at speeds exceeding Mach 116 and possesses immense strength capable of lifting/pushing with ease 200 tons. - Heightened Senses: Can detect any hostile presence within a 500-foot radius, making him nearly impossible to surprise or ambush. Can hear a spider crawling from 1000 feet away through a concrete wall. He can see clearly on a foggy day for 10 miles like he’s standing right in front of it. Has a reaction time in the nanoseconds.
Equipment: - Cosmic Sword: A specially crafted sword that is the conduit for his sword style techniques. - Armor: Traditional Japanese armor that has been reinforced with modern materials to withstand even the harshest impacts.
Background: Nishiro Asukage rose to prominence after the death of his father, taking over as the leader of Japan at a young age. He quickly established himself as a formidable warrior and tactician. After establishing the Cosmic Sword Style, Nishiro worked to enhance his skills and knowledge continuously, pushing the boundaries of traditional martial arts with his innovative techniques. His leadership is marked by a combination of strength, wisdom, and a deep sense of duty towards his country and people.
Goals: - Enhance Cosmic Sword Style: Continuously develop and refine his sword techniques to maintain his edge in combat. - Protect Japan: Ensure the safety and prosperity of his nation against all threats, both internal and external. - Seek Knowledge: Constantly pursue greater knowledge and understanding, both for personal growth and for the benefit of his realm.
Notable Feats: - Developed "Atom Split," a technique capable of causing atomic explosions. - Created "Flaming Viper," which harnesses atomic energy for a devastating sword attack. - Survived multiple assassination attempts and emerged victorious in numerous battles against formidable foes.
Certainly! Here’s a refined and detailed character sheet for Emperor Andreus Ivorstead, incorporating all the insights from our discussion:
Name: Andreus Ivorstead
Title: Emperor of Ivorstead, The Thundering Monarch, Protector of the Realm
Age: 48
Height: 7 feet
Build: Muscular, imposing
Physical Appearance: - Hair: Dark, often styled in a warrior's knot, symbolizing his readiness for battle. - Eyes: Steel blue, piercing and commanding, reflecting his strategic mind and war-hardened resolve. - Skin: Tanned and weathered from years of leading battles and overseeing the kingdom. - Attire: Wears enchanted silver armor in battle, designed in the style of ancient Viking warriors, showcasing his royal heritage. In court, he dons luxurious silks and cloaks adorned with the royal crest and jewels that signify his status.
Personality Traits: - Commanding and Charismatic: Naturally leads with authority and charm, inspiring loyalty and courage among his followers. - Stoic and Resolute: Maintains composure in crisis, rarely showing emotions that might undermine his regal bearing. - Fiercely Protective: Deeply committed to the safety and prosperity of his people, especially his family.
Background: Born into the ruling lineage of Ivorstead, Andreus was groomed for leadership, trained in the arts of war, diplomacy, and governance from a young age. He ascended to the throne after the peaceful demise of his father and has since expanded the empire’s borders while ensuring its internal stability and prosperity. His reign has been marked by challenges, including supernatural threats, which he has met with unwavering bravery and strategic brilliance.
Skills: - Master Swordsman: Unmatched in his skill with his twin great swords, which are legendary within and beyond his empire. - Strategic Genius: Known for his sharp tactical mind, capable of outmaneuvering enemies in both battlefield and political arenas. - Charismatic Leadership: Commands respect and loyalty through a combination of fear and admiration, ensuring strict adherence to his decrees.
Weapons: - Twin Great Swords: Each blade is a masterpiece of celestial metal, each blade weighing 1,500 pounds, and enchanted to enhance their lethality against Hardened entities. - Royal Armor: Custom-fitted and enchanted silver armor that provides superior protection and aids in the channeling of his elemental powers during combat.
Abilities: - Superhuman Strength and Speed: Capable of extraordinary feats of strength lifting 100 tons with ease, and able to move at blistering speeds, Mach 85 was his fastest speed. - Elemental Magic: Exhibits control over storms and lightning, a mystical trait that enhances his battlefield presence and deters his enemies.
Weaknesses: - Overprotective Nature: His deep affection for his daughter and his people sometimes clouds his judgment, potentially leading to decisions that put him at personal risk. - Burden of Leadership: The heavy responsibilities of kingship weigh on him, challenging his resolve and demanding much of his personal time and energy.
Goals: - Secure the Empire’s Future: Aims to strengthen Ivorstead’s borders, fortify its defenses, and ensure its prosperity through strategic expansions and alliances. - Legacy of Peace and Strength: Strives to leave a legacy that cements Ivorstead as a powerhouse and a beacon of stability in an often tumultuous world. - Prepare His Successor: Dedicated to grooming his daughter to assume the throne, ensuring she is ready to lead with wisdom and strength.
Relationships: - Daughter: His pride and joy, being meticulously groomed as his successor; their bond is strong, characterized by deep mutual respect and love. - Generals and Advisors: Maintains a circle of trusted advisors and military commanders whose counsel he values, though final decisions rest with him. - Citizens: Revered by his people for his just rule and the prosperity he has brought to the kingdom, which fosters a deep, mutual loyalty.
Emperor Andreus Ivorstead stands as a monumental figure, both a feared warrior and a revered leader, whose legacy is defined by his strategic prowess, his commitment to his people, and his unwavering resolve in the face of both terrestrial and supernatural challenges.
submitted by Good-Fee-1933 to u/Good-Fee-1933 [link] [comments]
General Information:
• Name: Aiden Korr • Age: 45 years old • Occupation: Former mercenary, newly chosen by The Dark God • Allegiance: Initially a lone operative, now aligned with the forces of The Dark GodPhysical Description:
• Height: 6’2” • Build: Athletic and rugged, with a physique honed by years of combat and survival in harsh environments • Hair: Dark, starting to show strands of grey, often kept short or slightly unkempt • Eyes: Intense, with a newfound gleam reflective of his recent blessing; capable of seeing beyond the mortal realm • Distinguishing Features: Scars crisscrossing his body, each a testament to past battles; a piercing gaze that seems to look through one’s very soulAttributes:
• Strength: Exceptionally strong, further enhanced by dark blessings • Agility: Highly agile, capable of dodging bullets and engaging in advanced combat maneuvers • Endurance: Remarkable stamina and resilience, able to sustain injuries that would incapacitate others • Intelligence: Cunning and resourceful, with a knack for strategy and adaptation • Willpower: Iron-willed, unyielding in the face of adversitySkills:
• Combat Proficiency: Expert in hand-to-hand combat, proficient with various weapons, including the Dark Knife and other enchanted armaments • Tactical Acumen: Skilled in tactics and strategy, both in assassination and battlefield scenarios • Survival: Highly skilled in survival techniques, able to endure hostile environments and situations • Stealth: Master of stealth and infiltration, able to move unseen and unheard • Dark Powers: Newly imbued abilities from The Dark God, specifics of powers are evolving and include enhanced perception across dimensionsEquipment:
• Dark Knife: A weapon capable of cutting through almost anything, never dulls nor tarnishes • Armor: Previously utilized advanced cybernetic enhancements, now stripped and potentially replaced with dark artifacts or blessings enhancing defense and utility • Miscellaneous Gear: Various tools and devices accumulated over years as a mercenary, now likely infused or replaced with items of dark originBackground:
• Aiden’s past is shrouded in mystery and darkness, with a history of engagements across the galaxy that honed his skills as a formidable mercenary. • After a life-changing encounter and being newly blessed by The Dark God, Aiden stands at a crossroads between his past and a future filled with unknown potential and power. • His alignment with The Dark God and interaction with the Dark Lords suggests a pivotal role in upcoming cosmic events.Personality:
• Stoic and reserved, Aiden speaks more through actions than words. • Battle-hardened, yet possesses a sense of morality that guides his actions. • Adaptable, with a readiness to embrace his new destiny under the guidance of The Dark God.Current Status:Unknown.
Character Sheet: Slumber
Name: Slumber (Given name unknown) North continent Rank #2 Born: 1993 Current Year: 2223Age: 230 (Achieved through advanced cybernetic enhancements and life-extension technologies)
Background:Slumber was born into a world on the brink of technological revolution. Showing exceptional intelligence and physical aptitude from a young age, he was taken by a covert government agency and transformed into a cyborg operative. Over the centuries, he became a legend in the shadowy realms of espionage and military operations, known for his unparalleled skills and cybernetic enhancements.
Physical Description:Slumber’s appearance is a blend of human and machine. His body is heavily augmented with cybernetic enhancements, giving him superhuman strength, speed, and resilience. His skin is partially synthetic, capable of rapid healing. His eyes have been replaced with advanced optical implants, glowing slightly when activated. He is mostly synthetic muscle and metal, with a muscular build and a presence that commands attention.
Personality:Slumber is a complex character, shaped by centuries of conflict and survival. He is stoic, often appearing detached or cold, but this masks a deep sense of loyalty and protection towards those he cares about. His long life has made him wise and reflective, often contemplating the nature of humanity and the impact of technology on society.
Abilities:
• Superhuman Physical Capabilities: Enhanced strength, speed, durability, and reflexes. • Advanced Cybernetic Enhancements: Including neural implants for heightened sensory perception, rapid cognitive processing, and direct interface with computer systems. • Tactical Genius: Decades of experience in various forms of combat and strategy, making him an unparalleled soldier and tactician. • Stealth and Espionage Expert: Skilled in infiltration, surveillance, and information warfare. • Regenerative Healing: His synthetic skin and underlying repair systems allow for rapid recovery from injuries.Weaknesses:
• Cybernetic Dependence: Relies on regular maintenance and upgrades to keep his systems running optimally, vulnerable to EMP attacks and hacking. • Isolation: His extended lifespan and nature of his work have led to a sense of isolation from the rest of humanity. • Protectiveness: His family is his Achilles’ heel; threats to them can drive him to take extreme risks.Allies:
• The General: A high-ranking military official who respects Slumber’s capabilities and shares a professional bond with him. • Various Contacts: Over the years, Slumber has built a network of allies and contacts across different sectors, including the underground, military, and intelligence communities.Enemies:A wide array of adversaries ranging from rival cyborgs, criminal syndicates, and rogue governments to ancient spell casters and entities threatened by his existence.
Equipment:
• Customized Weapons: Including A wrist mounted .50 cal that can interface with his cybernetic systems for enhanced targeting. A heavy minigun shooting armor piercing rounds. • Combat Gear: Armor that provides great protection against most firearms the only current caliber that does any real damage is .55 cal • Utility Tools: A variety of gadgets and tools for hacking, surveillance, and emergency medical treatment.Goals:
• Protect his family and those under his care from the myriad dangers of his world. • Navigate the complex web of alliances and enmities that define the shadowy underbelly of global politics. • Find a balance between his cybernetic enhancements and retaining his humanity.Notable Achievements:
• Survived centuries of conflict and evolution to become the third deadliest man in the country. • Completed countless high-risk missions with a focus on precision, strategy, and minimal collateral damage. • Maintained a network of allies and resources, showcasing his ability to navigate the complexities of a world transformed by technology and conflict.Quote:“In a world governed by shadow and steel, humanity is both my shield and my sword.”
Character Sheet: Treth
Name: Treth (Surname unknown) North continent Rank #3. Born: 2138Current Year: 2223Age: 85 (Appears in his late 30s to early 40s due to unspecified means)
Background:Treth’s early life was marred by a traumatic upbringing under an abusive father, a period that, while deeply scarring, paradoxically forged him into the formidable figure he is today. The harsh conditions of his youth served not only to harden him physically but also to instill in him a resilience and determination that few can match. Rumors abound regarding the source of his extraordinary abilities, with some attributing his strength and speed to a mysterious darkness that he harnessed in the face of his suffering.
Physical Description:Treth is a study in contrasts, with a small and thin frame that hides an almost superhuman strength and agility. His movements are deceptively smooth, suggesting a level of training and bodily control that few can achieve. His eyes, often the only window into his enigmatic past, carry an intensity that belies his calm demeanor.He has long unkempt black hair. his skin is white as snow with small scars all across his body.
Personality:Treth is a man shaped by adversity, possessing a steely resolve and a focused mind. He speaks rarely, but when he does, his words carry weight. His traumatic past has instilled in him a strong sense of self-reliance and a deep, if not immediately apparent, empathy for those suffering under the yoke of tyranny or abuse. Despite his capabilities, he maintains a strict ethical code, choosing his contracts with care and often intervening in situations where he perceives an imbalance of power.
Abilities:
• Superhuman Speed and Agility: Capable of dodging bullets and executing feats of agility that seem to defy physics, Treth’s movements in combat are nearly unparalleled. • Exceptional Strength: His strength, enough to lift significant weight effortlessly, seems incongruent with his lean physique, hinting at the depths of his physical conditioning. • Master Combatant: With expertise in various forms of hand-to-hand combat and weaponry, Treth can neutralize multiple adversaries with efficiency and precision. • Stealth and Infiltration: His ability to blend into his surroundings and approach targets undetected makes him a ghost-like figure in the world of espionage. • Tactical Acumen: Treth’s experiences have honed his strategic thinking, allowing him to outmaneuver foes who underestimate him due to his unassuming appearance.Weaknesses:
• Psychological Scars: The trauma of his upbringing, while a source of his resilience, also haunts him, affecting his relationships and interactions. • Isolation: His solitary nature, a product of his past and profession, often leaves him detached from others, potentially missing opportunities for alliances or support. • Moral Code: Unlike many in his line of work, Treth operates according to a personal code of ethics, which, while noble, sometimes puts him at odds with the pragmatic demands of his missions.Allies:
• Selective Connections: Over the years, Treth has formed a network of contacts who respect his skills and share his disdain for injustice, though he remains cautious in his associations.Enemies:
• A Spectrum of Adversaries: From former targets to corrupt officials who fear his interference, Treth’s enemies are as diverse as the missions he undertakes. His past actions against those who wield power unjustly have made him a target in various circles.Notable Achievements:
• Dismantling of the Red Syndicate: A solo operation that resulted in the collapse of a major criminal organization. • The Night of the Hundred Shadows: Outsmarting and overcoming a group of enhanced assassins in a desolate megacity. • Cybernetic Tempest: Successfully thwarting a cyber-revolt without relying on technology, demonstrating the superiority of human skill and intuition.Goals:
• Balance and Justice: Treth seeks to use his abilities to correct injustices where he can, aiming to strike a balance in a world often skewed in favor of the powerful. • Understanding the Darkness: A personal quest to understand the nature of the darkness that some believe is the source of his strength, and to ensure it is used for righteous purposes.Name: Jasien Heth. North continent, Rank #1. Age: Mid-30s (Actual age: 134 years) Height: 6’5” Physique: Broad-shouldered, imposing Skin Tone: Olive Eyes: Deep, revealing a lifetime of arcane secrets and unwavering resolve Hair: Dark, often worn long and sometimes tied back for practicality Title: Grandmaster of the Arcanum, The Silent Guardian, The Deadliest Man in America Affiliation: The Arcanum.
Abilities and Skills:
• Unrivaled Arcane Mastery: Jasien’s command over magic is absolute, allowing him to wield destructive spells, manipulate the elements, and alter reality with a thought, no gestures or incantations needed. His magic can neutralize threats silently and without warning, making him a specter to his foes. • Biological Immortality: A potion of eternal youth grants him ceaseless vitality and resilience, enabling him to engage in battles that would wear down any mortal man. • Master Tactician: His extensive experience makes him a strategic genius in both magical and physical combat, capable of outmaneuvering enemies in any scenario. • Dimensional Manipulation: He can open rifts, banish beings to other dimensions, or call upon dimensional energies to obliterate his adversaries. • Telepathic Shields: His mind is fortified against intrusion and manipulation, an essential defense in a world where psychic attacks are as lethal as physical ones. • Expert Alchemist: Creator of potions and artifacts with deadly capabilities, including elixirs that can weaken or incapacitate powerful enemies.Weaknesses:
• Burden of Guardianship: His dedication to protecting the balance often places him in peril, making him a prime target for those who wish to see the world plunged into chaos. • Isolation of Immortality: His eternal life distances him from others, sometimes making him an enigma even among those he protects.Equipment:
• Cloak of Shadows: A magical cloak that renders him invisible and untouchable, perfect for stealth attacks or escapes. • Ring of Dominion: Controls magical forces within a certain radius, amplifying his power and suppressing enemy magic. • The Libram of Forbidden Arts: Contains spells and rituals no other dare use, a testament to his mastery and willingness to harness darkness for the greater good.Personality:Jasien is a figure of solemn duty and deep conviction. His longevity grants him a perspective that prioritizes the greater good above all, often at personal cost. While he may appear detached or ruthless, his actions are driven by a profound commitment to safeguarding humanity and the natural order.
Background:Rising from the obscurity of a world that had forgotten magic, Jasien’s discovery of his innate arcane talent set him on a collision course with destiny. Through decades of study, exploration, and confrontation, he mastered the arcane arts to an extent unseen in modern times. His creation of the Arcanum was not just to preserve magical knowledge but to serve as a command center from which he could watch over and intervene in the world’s affairs, wielding his power to eliminate threats from the shadows.
Goals:Above all, Jasien seeks to maintain the equilibrium between the seen and unseen worlds, ensuring that humanity remains blissfully unaware of the dangers that lurk just beyond their perception. His ultimate aim is to create a world where magic and mankind can coexist peacefully, with the Arcanum serving as the guardian of this balance. To those who threaten this vision, he is the unseen blade in the dark, the deadliest man in America, ready to strike down chaos and restore order with a whisper of arcane power.
Character Sheet: Blue
Name: Unknown (Uses the alias “Blue”)
Age: Presumed to be in his late 40s to early 50s
Nationality: Unknown
Occupation: Criminal Mastermind, Global Syndicate Leader, Influential Business Tycoon
Net Worth: $7 trillion, incorporating a vast array of legitimate business ventures, criminal operations, advanced military assets, and speculative investments across the globe and beyond.
Physical Appearance:
• Height: 6’1” • Build: Athletic, maintains peak physical condition through disciplined training • Hair: Dark, kept short and meticulously styled • Eyes: Deep blue, striking and intense, the source of his alias • Distinguishing Features: Bears a scar on the left side of his neck, usually concealed; known for his impeccable taste in tailored suits that are both elegant and functionalPersonality Traits:
• Intellect: Genius-level, with an exceptional talent for strategic thinking, manipulation, and foresight • Disposition: Calm and composed, exuding an aura of control and authority; possesses a stoic demeanor with rare flashes of intensity • Morality: Operates under a strict personal code that emphasizes loyalty, honor, and the protection of those under his command; ruthless in the pursuit of his objectives • Social Skills: Highly charismatic, capable of commanding loyalty and instilling fear; adept at negotiation and influenceAbilities and Skills:
• Strategic Mastermind: Renowned for his ability to orchestrate complex plans spanning multiple continents and industries • Combat Proficiency: Trained in multiple forms of hand-to-hand combat and proficient in the use of various weapons • Technological Savvy: Has a deep understanding of cutting-edge technologies, especially in security, surveillance, and warfare • Financial Acumen: Demonstrates unparalleled insight into global financial systems, enabling him to amass, hide, and manipulate his vast wealth • Linguistic Fluency: Fluent in most key languages, aiding his global operationsAssets:
• Military Might: Commands a private army of 140,000, complemented by 60,000 special operations soldiers, 50,000 military vehicles, 10,000 tanks, 45,000 planes, 32,000 helicopters, 2,000 submarines and 1,507 battleships. • Business Empire: Holds significant interests in technology, space exploration, agriculture, renewable energy, and financial services • Real Estate: Owns the largest and most secure private property in the world and several dozen across the world, a testament to his wealth and need for security • Notable Investments: Pioneering space exploration efforts and investing in asteroid mining, securing a pivotal role in humanity’s expansion beyond EarthBackground: Shrouded in mystery, Blue’s origins are a closely guarded secret. He emerged on the global scene over two decades ago, quickly establishing himself as a dominant force in both the underworld and legitimate business spheres.
Current Status: Despite being one of the most wanted individuals globally, Blue operates from an undisclosed, highly fortified location. His influence permeates every level of global affairs, from the criminal underworld to the highest echelons of power.
Motivations:
• To maintain and expand his empire’s dominance • To ensure his and his organization’s survival and anonymity • Driven by a personal vendetta and broader ambitions that influence his strategic decisionsWeaknesses:
• Personal losses, particularly the death of his child, have exposed emotional vulnerabilities • The vastness of his empire and its reliance on his leadership could present strategic weaknessesAllies and Enemies:
• Commands unwavering loyalty from his network of operatives and associates • Faces opposition from global law enforcement, rival criminal organizations, and political entities threatened by his rise to powerCharacter Sheet: Nishiro Asukage
Name: Nishiro Asukage Born Year 56 Age: Varies (Provide specific age based on the timeline of your story) Nationality: Japanese Occupation: Leader of Japan, Founder and Master of Cosmic Sword Style
Physical Appearance: - Height: 6'2" - Build: Athletic, muscular - Hair: Long, black, usually cut short - Eyes: Intense, piercing white - Distinguishing Features: A scar across his left cheek, a mark from a past battle
Personality Traits: - Intelligent and Strategic: Known for his deep strategic thinking and ability to foresee enemy moves. - Stoic and Determined: Rarely shows emotion, always focused on his goals. - Honorable: Strong sense of justice and duty, adheres to a code of honor in all his dealings.
Abilities: - Cosmic Sword Style: Master of a unique sword style that includes advanced techniques such as "Atom Split" and "Flaming Viper." - Enhanced Healing: Capable of regenerating lost limbs and repairing vital organs due to divine enhancements. - Superhuman Speed and Strength: Can move at speeds exceeding Mach 116 and possesses immense strength capable of lifting/pushing with ease 200 tons. - Heightened Senses: Can detect any hostile presence within a 500-foot radius, making him nearly impossible to surprise or ambush. Can hear a spider crawling from 1000 feet away through a concrete wall. He can see clearly on a foggy day for 10 miles like he’s standing right in front of it. Has a reaction time in the nanoseconds.
Equipment: - Cosmic Sword: A specially crafted sword that is the conduit for his sword style techniques. - Armor: Traditional Japanese armor that has been reinforced with modern materials to withstand even the harshest impacts.
Background: Nishiro Asukage rose to prominence after the death of his father, taking over as the leader of Japan at a young age. He quickly established himself as a formidable warrior and tactician. After establishing the Cosmic Sword Style, Nishiro worked to enhance his skills and knowledge continuously, pushing the boundaries of traditional martial arts with his innovative techniques. His leadership is marked by a combination of strength, wisdom, and a deep sense of duty towards his country and people.
Goals: - Enhance Cosmic Sword Style: Continuously develop and refine his sword techniques to maintain his edge in combat. - Protect Japan: Ensure the safety and prosperity of his nation against all threats, both internal and external. - Seek Knowledge: Constantly pursue greater knowledge and understanding, both for personal growth and for the benefit of his realm.
Notable Feats: - Developed "Atom Split," a technique capable of causing atomic explosions. - Created "Flaming Viper," which harnesses atomic energy for a devastating sword attack. - Survived multiple assassination attempts and emerged victorious in numerous battles against formidable foes.
Certainly! Here’s a refined and detailed character sheet for Emperor Andreus Ivorstead, incorporating all the insights from our discussion:
Name: Andreus Ivorstead
Title: Emperor of Ivorstead, The Thundering Monarch, Protector of the Realm
Age: 48
Height: 7 feet
Build: Muscular, imposing
Physical Appearance: - Hair: Dark, often styled in a warrior's knot, symbolizing his readiness for battle. - Eyes: Steel blue, piercing and commanding, reflecting his strategic mind and war-hardened resolve. - Skin: Tanned and weathered from years of leading battles and overseeing the kingdom. - Attire: Wears enchanted silver armor in battle, designed in the style of ancient Viking warriors, showcasing his royal heritage. In court, he dons luxurious silks and cloaks adorned with the royal crest and jewels that signify his status.
Personality Traits: - Commanding and Charismatic: Naturally leads with authority and charm, inspiring loyalty and courage among his followers. - Stoic and Resolute: Maintains composure in crisis, rarely showing emotions that might undermine his regal bearing. - Fiercely Protective: Deeply committed to the safety and prosperity of his people, especially his family.
Background: Born into the ruling lineage of Ivorstead, Andreus was groomed for leadership, trained in the arts of war, diplomacy, and governance from a young age. He ascended to the throne after the peaceful demise of his father and has since expanded the empire’s borders while ensuring its internal stability and prosperity. His reign has been marked by challenges, including supernatural threats, which he has met with unwavering bravery and strategic brilliance.
Skills: - Master Swordsman: Unmatched in his skill with his twin great swords, which are legendary within and beyond his empire. - Strategic Genius: Known for his sharp tactical mind, capable of outmaneuvering enemies in both battlefield and political arenas. - Charismatic Leadership: Commands respect and loyalty through a combination of fear and admiration, ensuring strict adherence to his decrees.
Weapons: - Twin Great Swords: Each blade is a masterpiece of celestial metal, each blade weighing 1,500 pounds, and enchanted to enhance their lethality against Hardened entities. - Royal Armor: Custom-fitted and enchanted silver armor that provides superior protection and aids in the channeling of his elemental powers during combat.
Abilities: - Superhuman Strength and Speed: Capable of extraordinary feats of strength lifting 100 tons with ease, and able to move at blistering speeds, Mach 85 was his fastest speed. - Elemental Magic: Exhibits control over storms and lightning, a mystical trait that enhances his battlefield presence and deters his enemies.
Weaknesses: - Overprotective Nature: His deep affection for his daughter and his people sometimes clouds his judgment, potentially leading to decisions that put him at personal risk. - Burden of Leadership: The heavy responsibilities of kingship weigh on him, challenging his resolve and demanding much of his personal time and energy.
Goals: - Secure the Empire’s Future: Aims to strengthen Ivorstead’s borders, fortify its defenses, and ensure its prosperity through strategic expansions and alliances. - Legacy of Peace and Strength: Strives to leave a legacy that cements Ivorstead as a powerhouse and a beacon of stability in an often tumultuous world. - Prepare His Successor: Dedicated to grooming his daughter to assume the throne, ensuring she is ready to lead with wisdom and strength.
Relationships: - Daughter: His pride and joy, being meticulously groomed as his successor; their bond is strong, characterized by deep mutual respect and love. - Generals and Advisors: Maintains a circle of trusted advisors and military commanders whose counsel he values, though final decisions rest with him. - Citizens: Revered by his people for his just rule and the prosperity he has brought to the kingdom, which fosters a deep, mutual loyalty.
Emperor Andreus Ivorstead stands as a monumental figure, both a feared warrior and a revered leader, whose legacy is defined by his strategic prowess, his commitment to his people, and his unwavering resolve in the face of both terrestrial and supernatural challenges.
2024.04.27 15:54 PlasmaShovel Needle in The Haystack 11
This is the aforementioned wholesome chapter. And it's even more wholesome because Reddit decided not to destroy the formatting this time. Yippie!
Anyway, it's been harder to get back into the swing of things writing wise than I thought, but it is happening. The next chapter after this one is a real treat, because it's a new POV that I really enjoy. Not gonna tell you who just yet, you'll have to wait until next week for that ;)
Many thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the universe.
- Memory Transcription Subject: Meba, Venlil Computer Scientist
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 19th, 2136
“It is.” Arlene smiled, close lipped, to spare me from fright.
I felt… better, sitting on the floor, with furniture strewn about like shredded documents, dust caught in my coat, talking with my friend. Yes, friend. I made a friend.
Are you sure?
And if it was an illusion, it was good enough to fall for.
Avoiding death is worth being alone.
Is it?
I hated that I still didn’t feel completely safe around her. My stupid instincts were still flaring up, and I was still having those thoughts. At least I was in control of myself for the moment.
I just need to look at it logically. If she didn’t have empathy, she wouldn’t be able to engage with me on this level. And if it was, improbable as it is, fake, then there would be nothing to gain from acting angry with me. There have been no cases of human on venlil violence. I’ve seen her eat vegetables, so why am I still scared?
“Meba, you there?” Her face was right in front of mine.
I flinched a little. “Sorry, I was thinking.”
“Well, I was thinking too. We should clean up this mess.”
I looked around at my trashed apartment. “Yes, we probably should.”
Arlene’s strength was impressive, and with her help, we got the heavy furniture righted in no time, and the dressers and drawers back into their spots, the reading chair turned back around, and the books back on the shelf. Underneath where the couch was sitting was the wool doll Arlene gave me. I was sure I left it on a shelf in the bedroom.
“Oh, you found Alexander.” Arlene picked it up off the ground. “You know, he was very grumpy when you left him on the shelf. He’s supposed to be good luck.” She pressed the doll into my paws. “You’re supposed to bring him along with you.”
“Why do you keep calling the doll a ‘he’? It’s not a real person.”
She shrugged. “It makes them cuter. Also humans can make emotional connections with pretty much anything, so that helps too I guess.”
“With inanimate objects?”
“Well, we go crazy pretty quickly if we don’t have company, so in a survival situation people usually draw faces on an object, or talk to an imaginary friend, or something like that.”
I tilted my head. “Humans are pretty lonely, aren’t they?”
She chuckled. “I guess you could say that. We’ve been looking for friends for a pretty long time. Anyway, I expect you to carry him with you from now on. In your bag or something.”
I wondered if she actually thought the doll would somehow protect me, or if it was just a gesture. Somewhere in her voice was glint of seriousness, like it was going to save my life or something. Maybe humans were superstitious? I’d have to ask about that later.
“If it makes you feel better.”
“It does. Now say sorry for leaving him on your shelf.”
I looked up at Arlene. “I’m not gonna do that.”
“Come on, you left him all on his lonesome.” She made some weird expression that was supposed to elicit pity, raising her eyebrows and lowering her lips.
I sighed. “I’m sorry for leaving you on my shelf…”
“Say his name.”
A bloom spread across my face. “Ugh… Alexander.”
“His full name.”
I glared at Arlene. “I’m gonna get you back for this.”
“Sure, sure.” She cooed.
“The brave and respectable Alexander of Sunbrook.” I could feel my brain shriveling up as the words left my mouth.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“What just happened does not leave this room.”
“Whatever you say, big man.” She shrugged, stifling a laugh.
I stuffed the doll into my bag, now discovering that my appetite was back, and that I still hadn’t eaten a single thing this paw. My stomach made a noise that was akin to a shadestalker growling at cornered prey. The fruit in my bag, though bruised, was looking very tasty.
Speaking of food.
“Arlene?” I grabbed the fruits out of my bag. “I was meaning to ask you something.”
“Oh yeah?” She was sitting on the couch now.
“I sort of agreed to have a meal with this guy and his exchange partner. I wanted to know if you could come along.”
“Hold on, you agreed to this before you realized I wasn’t trying to eat you?”
My face turned orange again. “W-well, yeah. I was sort of pressured into it.” I fidgeted with my claws. “I was sort of hoping that you would end up fighting each other if he tried anything.”
“Pffft!” She burst out laughing.
“I-I’m sorry… I know it’s stupid.”
She strained to stop. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just, that’s pretty ridiculous.”
“Yeah…”
“So, what’s this guy’s name?”
“The venlil’s is Gram, and the human’s is Tommy.”
“Sure, I’ll come along. Just give me a little more of a heads up this time so I can actually get ready.”
“Thank you! I was worried you wouldn’t want to go with me.”
“Of course I do. Who else will protect you from the vile predator?”
“It’s not like that anymore!”
“Meba, I’m just teasing you.”
“O-oh.”
“I’ll stop if you want.”
“No, it’s… I don’t know. I don’t want you to feel like you have to act differently around me.”
She smiled, eyes narrowing, in a full face scrunch. “I’m glad we met.”
Through the fear, I felt the same. “Me too.”
I sat down on the couch next to her, and started eating my food.
“You know, I’ve been wondering. Why are you so much fluffier than the other venlil?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve seen hundreds of different venlil by now, but none of them are really as woolly as you. Lots of them don’t really have wool at all, just normal fur. Also your coat is way darker than others.”
“Oh. It’s because my family was from the night.”
“The night? Oh, duh. I always forget those are places for you. So it’s like an environmental thing?”
“Sort of. My ancestors lived in the night, so we have thicker coats, and darker fur for camouflage. The living conditions while you’re growing up are also a factor, but it’s mostly genes. Day-side venlil usually have more sandy colored coats, and thinner, slicker fur. Those are just extremes though, there’s all sorts of variations in the green.”
“That’s awesome.”
I shrugged. “I guess. I’ve never given it much thought before. Is my wool really that noticeable?”
“I don’t know about venlil, but to me you stick out like a sore thumb. Your fluff is unmatched. To be honest, it’s hard not to touch it.”
“You have to stop yourself from touching me?”
Her face flushed a pinkish color. “Um, it’s complicated. Er, no it’s not, but I don’t know how to explain it.” She scratched at the back of her head. “When we see cute things, it activates our protective instincts.”
I almost spit out my food. “Protective instincts?”
“Yeah, it makes me want to baby you. Our brains release dopamine when we interact with things we find cute.”
“And this urge is so great that you have trouble keeping it in check?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s not hard to ignore, but I do want to pet you.”
“Pet?” I finished my food.
“I did it on the ride back here, but you didn’t like it, so I won’t do it anymore.”
A thought crossed my mind. “If I let you pet me, would this urge be satisfied?”
She knitted her brow. “You don’t have to. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”
“You just startled me last time. I don’t mind. After all, I’ve ‘pet’ you, right?”
“Fair enough.” She smiled.
Arlene raised a hand towards my head, and I flinched, though I was trying not to. She paused, then retracted her hand.
“Meba, it’s not a big deal. I don’t have to pet you.”
I grabbed her wrist. I wasn’t going to let my instincts get the better of me. “Yes you do.” I pulled her hand back towards my head.
She sighed. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“Nuh uh.” I replied.
Arlene rested her hand on the top of my head. “Yuh huh.” She started ruffling my fur, going back and forth, eventually moving her hand back behind my ears, and scratching me with her dull claws. She switched to the other ear, then moving slowly back up my scalp.
“W-whoa…” I stammered out, completely stunned by pleasant sensation.
“Feel good?” Arlene brought her other hand to my face, and grasped both my ears, gently massaging the areas around them, using just the right amount of force.
My brain drained itself of any latent fear chemicals, as I instinctually leaned into the contact. “Myeah.” The word came out almost slurred.
I closed my eyes, full of bliss. Arlene put a hand on my back, kneading around my shoulder blades, while the other found its way under my chin, scratching again with those dull nails that felt so nice. Stress that I didn’t even know I had was draining out of the myriad bottles it was stuffed in. Before I knew it, my bones were turning to slush, and my muscles were unraveling into piles of yarn. I started drooping, and soon splayed out on the couch.
Once I was laying down, she switched to long slow passes all the way from my crown of my head to my lower back, with fingers running through wool so gently you’d be forgiven for missing it.
This is to lower your guard, so she can eat you! Surely! Any second now… any second. Okay, maybe not. This is pretty nice actually.
In my chest, old gears strained to turn, fibers twitched, testing their give, and dusty muscles started rumbling, reverberating out from the trunk, to the ribs, bouncing off each bone, rattling the jelly that was now my skeleton, and escaping out of my chest, making a sound I hadn’t since before I moved to Sunbrook. I hadn’t felt this calm in so long.
She paused. “Oh my god, are you purring right now? Do venlil purr?”
I opened an eye, slightly annoyed that she stopped. “Some of us. It’s a genetic thing.”
Arlene’s jaw dropped, and for a second I thought it would continue falling all the way to the floor. “It is a good thing, right?”
“Yes.” My tail was betraying my impatience for more. “Can you continue?”
She continued with the same long strokes down my back. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t deserve such bliss.”
“Mmm…” I wasn’t really listening.
“It’s like someone designed you to be the cutest living thing possible.”
I might have bloomed if I wasn’t basically unconscious by this point. I think my brain was next on the list of things to melt. Whatever I was thinking about before dissolved like salt stirred in warm water.
She continued for what felt like forever. Almost. Sadly, the experience wouldn’t last forever.
I looked up at her. “Why’d you stop?”
“My arms are tired.”
Dang.
“Dang.” I collected my resolve, and peeled myself off the couch, back to a sitting position. “Can all humans do that?”
“Yes.”
“Are humans magic?”
“Maybe a little.” She chuckled.
This isn’t so bad.
“So, you’re satisfied?”
“Yes, very.”
I kicked my legs against the couch, head empty.
What now?
“I’ve still got a bunch of time, since the bookstore is closed. Do you want to do something?”
“Oh, that reminds me. I was going to teach you how to crochet.” She stood up from the couch. “Let me pop over to my apartment real quick and grab some yarn.”
I grabbed her by the coat. “Wait, the exterminators might still be lurking.”
Her smile disappeared. “Really?”
“Maybe. Let me check the hallway.” I made my way to the door and, after undoing the locks, took a peak down both ends. The hallway was empty, with no signs of activity. “I think it’s safe.”
“Okay,” She slid past me. “be back in a jiffy.” She took one large step, and shoved her key into the lock, getting past the door just as fast.
And a few paws ago, I would have been the one calling the exterminators.
I shut the door, leaving it unlocked so she could get back in. A few moments later, the door opened with a soft click, followed by footsteps.
“Sorry that took so long. I didn’t remember where I put the hooks, so I had to dig through a bunch of drawers.” She held in her hands a ball of yarn, and a set of metal sticks.
“No worries. What are those for?”
“Crochet. It’s kinda like knitting.”
“What’s knitting?”
She smirked. “It’s kinda like crochet.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
“You’ll get it soon.” Arlene sat down on the couch, setting the yarn on the ground. “Do you know how to tie a slip knot?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.” She took the yarn in one hand, making a loop, giving it a half turn, then grabbing the standing end and pulling it through in another loop. “Like that. If you pull on the end,” Arlene pulled on the standing end, and the loop shrunk until it unraveled. “it comes undone. Give it a try.” She handed me the yarn.
“I’ll try.” I took the yarn in both hands, mimicking the loop, then grabbing the yarn and pulling it through, but the loop came undone as soon as I did so, a look of utter confusion growing on my face.
Arlene giggled. “You gotta grab the other line. It’s gotta cross over itself or there’s nothing to hold it in place.”
I bloomed a little, retrying and pulling the other side through so that it twisted up with itself, actually securing together. “I haven’t had to tie a knot in forever.”
She plucked the knot from my paws, slipping it out and undoing my work. “Good job. Do it again.”
I flicked my tail in annoyance. “But I just did it.”
“You need repetition so you’ll remember it.” She handed the yarn back.
I took it and tied the slip knot again, tightening it more than before. “There you go.”
“Thanks. Let me show you how this works. I’d tell you about the hook sizes, but I don’t think you guys use the metric system, so just know that different yarn thicknesses take different hook sizes, and the thickness of the hook determines the tightness of the stitch. This yarn is somewhere in the middle as far as weight goes.”
“You still haven’t told me what this actually is.”
“Have patience, young padawan.” Arlene grabbed one of the ‘crochet’ hooks, and stuck it through the knot, tightening it around the handle. “This is called a ‘yarn over hook’.” She twisted the hook around to grab the line, then twisting back and pulling it through the knot. There was another link in the yarn. “And this is called chaining. This is how wide your piece is going to be.”
Arlene repeated the movement, now much faster than before, chaining together 10ish loops. She had obviously done this many times before, if speed was any indication. I leaned in to get a better look.
“Now I’m gonna do what’s called a ‘singe crochet’.” She pushed the empty hook through the chain, grabbing more yarn and pulling it through. “Now you can see that there’s an extra loop here. We’re gonna yarn over hook again, and pull it through both.” She did exactly that, creating a little protrusion perpendicular to the chain. “And that is a single crochet. There’s a bunch of other stitches, but this is the most important one. To complete it, we just repeat the single crochet all the way down our foundation chain.” She repeated the motion, in a dizzying blur of twists and turns that I could barely follow. “At the end, we do another chain to turn around, and flip our work. Like so.” She did the little chain, and showed me the little rectangle of woven fabric. “Then you repeat, until it’s as long as you want.”
I wasn’t really following. “So this ‘crochet’ makes rectangles of fabric?”
“Well yes, but that’s a gross oversimplification. You can make anything: scarfs, blankets, hats, socks, sweaters, and even stuffed animals, but that requires more complicated hook work.”
“It looks hard.”
“Don’t worry, it gets easy once you know the stitch patterns. Plus, you have me to help you.” She puffed out her chest in an exaggerated gesture.
“If you say so.”
Arlene pulled on the end of the yarn, unraveling the whole sheet into nothing in a matter of seconds. “If you think it’s too difficult we could do finger knitting instead.”
“No, I think I can do this.”
“That’s the spirit.” She smiled, slapping me on the back a little too hard.
The hooks on the table were all different sizes. Unsure which to pick, I chose the one closest to the size Arlene was using.
“I’d recommend one a little thicker, at least if you plan to wear anything you make. It’ll make it more breathable.”
“We don’t really wear much.”
“I can see that.” She chuckled. “But think of how cute you’d look in a scarf, or a shawl.”
“I don’t know what either of those are.”
“Just grab a larger one.”
“Okay.” I chose another that looked to be 2 or 3 sizes larger. The metal felt cool against my paw pads.
“Go ahead and start. I’ll tell you if you’re messing anything up.”
I tied the slip knot, and tightened it around the hook. Then twisting to grab the yarn and pull it through. The hook felt awkward in my paws, like using a mouse in the wrong hand. Arlene was watching me closely, with a gaze almost as intense as when she was yelling. A shiver ran down my spine.
“Okay that’s probably long enough. Try a single crochet.”
I pushed the hook through, but before I could continue, Arlene stopped me.
“Stop real quick. I forgot to say that you need to skip the first hole when you start a row.” She pointed to the next one in the chain. “You should have gone through there.”
“Oh.” I pulled out the hook, and went through the next hole, doing a yarn over and creating a loop. “Is that good?”
“Yep. Now pull the yarn through both loops.”
I followed her instructions, and finished my first ever single crochet.
“Great job! Now you just need to do that all the way to the end of the chain.”
This is going to take forever if I want to make anything substantial.
“Do all your weaving techniques take this long?” I had to look closely at the weave to find the right holes, still putting conscious effort into the yarn overs.
“Pretty much. After you get good enough to do it without looking you can watch a movie while you do it. I used to crochet on the bus to school when I was little. I think it would be a good thing for you.”
“What do you mean?”
She blinked. “I don’t mean to me rude, but you seem like a really anxious person.”
“I-I thought you said I was brave?”
“You can be brave and anxious at the same time.” She paused. “What I mean to say, is that you could use something to help calm you down.”
“Why do you say that?”
She frowned. “The panic attack.”
Not again.
The desire to run bubbled up from my gut like bile. “I d-don’t know what you mean.”
Once again, drills in my skull, poking holes into my head. “Has this happened before?”
Why does it always come down to this?
I paused my work to look at her. “None of your business.”
She frowned. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I just want to help.”
“I’m fine.” I continued crocheting. “Don’t worry.”
“Whatever it is you’re going through, you don’t have to face it alone.”
“There’s nothing to face. Let’s talk about something else.” The words left a metallic taste in my mouth.
My crochet rectangle sheet thingy was about the size of my paw now. The hook was starting to move easier. The ceiling fan whirred above us, and the sun crept along the floor at imperceptible speeds, phantasmal shapes rotating through the same wobbles, over and over again.
Arlene laid back against the couch, stretching her legs. “Well, I’m gonna go see if I can get a datapad from the refugee center soon. I need to get in touch with my family, and I wouldn’t mind being able to use the internet either.”
“That’s nice. Then we can communicate from across town.”
“Yeah.” She yawned. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to any humans. Not that you aren’t good company but… you know.”
“I wasn’t very talkative before this paw.”
“You aren’t much more talkative now.”
“That just means I’m a better listener.”
Arlene let out a bellowing laugh. “Fair enough. You know, I used to say that in middle school.”
“You weren’t always this… social?”
“No, I used to be a total wallflower. I didn’t have any friends. I would just sit in the back of class and doodle in my notebook.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it’s not a happy story, but I’ll tell you if you want.”
My curiosity was peaked. “Please.”
“Well, I was twelve years old, and it was the week before summer break. That’s the quarter of the year where there’s no school, by the way, and also the hottest time of the year.” She took a deep breath.
My single crochets were going faster now, and the hook was beginning to sit comfortably in my paw.
She exhaled. “I was super excited for the break, ‘cause my family was planning a trip to lake superior, which is the largest lake in the world. It’s really beautiful. There’s a bunch of nature trails, parks, stuff like that. Not to mention the swimming. The whole family was going to come along, including grandma.” Arlene swallowed. “It was one day before the break started when she died.”
I said nothing.
“It wasn’t painful. She died in her sleep, from natural causes. You know, old people stuff. I had never seen a corpse before.”
What?
“I was the one who found her. She was laying in bed. People often say the dead look peaceful. She didn’t. They don’t. They just stink.” She paused. “My grandma taught me everything I know about this sort of thing. We would sit by the window, knitting, crocheting, felting, whatever, for hours, just talking. She would ask me about school, I would say I didn’t like it, she would tell me to try talking to people, and then I would say she’s the only friend I need. Her eyes were always so full of pride when I said that. But it wasn’t just pride. I think she knew she didn’t have much time left. She had been pressuring me to interact with other kids more and more up until the break.” She chuckled “Sorry if I’m rambling.”
“I don’t mind.”
She half-smiled at me. “I had made a scarf for her. It was my magnum opus. I knitted it out of yarn that I spun myself, using a super pretty stitch, and I even went through the trouble of knitting a picture into it. I was so mad when she died. Not much sense in being angry at the dead, but yeah. I was angry that I wouldn’t get a chance to give her the scarf. The trip was canceled, and with the intended recipient gone, I didn’t have anyone to give the scarf to. My parents were taking it just as hard as me, maybe harder, but I made it even worse. I started skipping school, even ran away from home once.”
I glanced over to her face. Her eyes were watering.
“Sorry, this was over a decade ago, I should be over it by now.” She sniffled. “There’s this forest close to town, with a bunch of hills and stuff. It was late June, but it was a really cold summer, somewhere in the forties or fifties. Windy too. I took a sleeping bag and a bunch of supplies, and started hiking. I tried stay close to town, so I wouldn’t get lost. After four or so hours of walking, I heard crying. It was a miracle really. Like finding a needle in a haystack. There was a kid curled up against a tree, wailing like an air raid siren.”
The rectangle was almost as long as my forearm now.
“I recognized him from my history class. He was the class clown type, always getting up in your face, making jokes. I never saw him so sad before.” She rested her chin on her hands. “He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Not enough insulation. I eventually approached him, and asked him why he was out in the forest.” She frowned. “His dad was a drunk, and he’d been beating him, so he ran away.”
I gasped. “Oh stars…”
“We talked for a while, with him shivering the whole time. I told him about my grandma, and he told me about his dad. We both ended up crying a bunch. I didn’t bring another pair of clothes, because I was a stupid twelve year old that didn’t know how to camp on my own, so I couldn’t give him anything to keep him warm. The only things I had were the sleeping bag and the scarf. I didn’t want to give him the scarf, but I did. I don’t know why, I just… he looked so small. I was out here going all scorched earth, and he was in hell everyday, still making jokes at school.” She paused.
“Anyway, I gave him the scarf, and my sleeping bag, so he wouldn’t freeze, and we shared some of the food I brought. I eventually had to go back home since I was now without a sleeping bag. Once school started again, he wore that scarf every single day, even when it was hot out, and he would go around telling people how awesome I was for making it.” She smiled. “He always acted happy around me, even though I could see the bruises his dad kept giving him. I couldn’t bring myself to be angry anymore when he was trying so hard to be happy for me.”
“One day, he came to school without the scarf. He wouldn’t even look at me. When I asked him what was wrong, he burst out into tears saying his dad burned the scarf, ans how sorry he was for losing it. It crushed me. I put days of work into that scarf, and it was gone just like that. Just like grandma. But instead of telling him that, I said it wasn’t a big deal, and that I’d make him another one.” She stopped.
“What happened then?”
“Well, I made another scarf, but I never got the chance to give it to him. His dad died, probably from alcohol poisoning or something, and he moved in with family down in Georgia. I never saw him again. For all I know, he’s dead from the bombings, or from something before that. So I was without someone to give the scarf to. Again.”
I gave her a worried look.
She laughed. “I don’t know why, but that brought me out of my shell. I started talking to people. I gave some other kid the scarf that was meant for him. Then everybody knew me as the scarf girl, so I started making more and more of them for everyone in my class.”
“What then?” The sheet was getting substantial now.
“Well, that’s the end of the story. I started joining clubs, bouncing around friend groups, that sort of thing. Just normal kid stuff. High school was the same. Everybody knew me as the person that gave out handmade scarfs for free, so I was well liked. I graduated, got a job, time passed, and all this crazy shit with first contact happened, and so here we are.” She yawned again. “Do you have any childhood stories?”
“Err, well… not really.” I lied.
“Nothing? No funny stories? No teenage mischief? It doesn’t have to be dramatic like mine.”
And here you are, reserved again. Were you lying when you called her your friend?
“Well, one time I led my class into an abandoned house.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, a test of courage type thing. I pressured eight of my classmates into joining me there at night.”
“Night?”
“I grew up on a colony world, so we had a day-night cycle.”
“Uh huh.”
I paused for a while to think of how to tell the story. Arlene was right when she said crochet was calming. It was very meditative. Through, hook, back, hook, back two, repeat. Through, hook, back, hook, back two, repeat.
“So there was this old building on a hill, out past the fields. It was all run down, with stains on the walls, and broken windows, sheet wood covering all the openings. Everybody at school thought it was haunted, or worse, infested by predators.”
Arlene rolled her eyes. “Very scary.” She picked up a crochet hook and started spinning it between her fingers.
I shrugged. “That’s just how it was.”
“I fail to see how an animal is scarier than a vengeful spirit, but I’ll humor you.”
“Well, I thought it was just a normal house, so I brought my classmates there, and we started exploring the thing. We had to squeeze past a panel of wood covering where the door would be to get in. I spearheaded the expedition, with the rest of them following behind me.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It was scary, but I wanted to know what was inside the place. I broke us up into teams of two, and we split up to explore. I went with this gojid girl who’s name I forget, and we went straight up to the attic, while the rest of them checked the ground floor.”
“Ah, quite the lady’s man.” She nudged me in the shoulder, and I had to redo a crochet because of it.
Blood rushed to my face. “I-it wasn’t like that.”
“Sure, sure.” She smirked.
I huffed. “We climbed up this dusty old fold out ladder, which opened up into this crawlspace. I barely fit inside, and I had to exhale to move around.”
“That’s a weird ass attic.”
When the air doesn’t come, and the walls close in, will you be able to escape again?
“Y-yeah. I found a dusty old box of junk up there, but I got stuck. My classmate had to pull me out by my legs.” I shuddered at the thought.
“Jeez. What was in the box?”
“Nothing crazy. Just a bunch of rusty fasteners. It was probably left by the construction workers who built the house. But the next day, one of the people I brought told a teacher, and I got punished. My parents were super angry.”
“Wow. So you were a pretty crazy kid, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. I was sort of the leader of my herd.”
For a while.
“Really?” She leaned forward.
“Yep.”
“Wow. So when did you move to Sunbrook?”
Don’t think about it.
“A while ago. Two or so of your years, I think.”
“Are your parents here too?”
I looked to my paws, focusing on the yarn. “They’re uh… not around.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
Do you really mean that?
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
I don’t know.
“No.” I barely managed to squeak.
“Okay.”
I continued crocheting.
Arlene yawned for the third time. “Crap. Sorry Meba, I think we’re gonna have to cut this short. I need to get some sleep.” She scooped up the hooks from the table.
“Um, can we do this again next paw?”
“Sure. We can finish off that scarf of yours tomorrow.” She grinned.
Human teeth weren’t very pointy.
submitted by PlasmaShovel to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]
Anyway, it's been harder to get back into the swing of things writing wise than I thought, but it is happening. The next chapter after this one is a real treat, because it's a new POV that I really enjoy. Not gonna tell you who just yet, you'll have to wait until next week for that ;)
Many thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the universe.
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Chapter 11: [insert witty chapter title here]- Memory Transcription Subject: Meba, Venlil Computer Scientist
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 19th, 2136
“It is.” Arlene smiled, close lipped, to spare me from fright.
I felt… better, sitting on the floor, with furniture strewn about like shredded documents, dust caught in my coat, talking with my friend. Yes, friend. I made a friend.
Are you sure?
And if it was an illusion, it was good enough to fall for.
Avoiding death is worth being alone.
Is it?
I hated that I still didn’t feel completely safe around her. My stupid instincts were still flaring up, and I was still having those thoughts. At least I was in control of myself for the moment.
I just need to look at it logically. If she didn’t have empathy, she wouldn’t be able to engage with me on this level. And if it was, improbable as it is, fake, then there would be nothing to gain from acting angry with me. There have been no cases of human on venlil violence. I’ve seen her eat vegetables, so why am I still scared?
“Meba, you there?” Her face was right in front of mine.
I flinched a little. “Sorry, I was thinking.”
“Well, I was thinking too. We should clean up this mess.”
I looked around at my trashed apartment. “Yes, we probably should.”
Arlene’s strength was impressive, and with her help, we got the heavy furniture righted in no time, and the dressers and drawers back into their spots, the reading chair turned back around, and the books back on the shelf. Underneath where the couch was sitting was the wool doll Arlene gave me. I was sure I left it on a shelf in the bedroom.
“Oh, you found Alexander.” Arlene picked it up off the ground. “You know, he was very grumpy when you left him on the shelf. He’s supposed to be good luck.” She pressed the doll into my paws. “You’re supposed to bring him along with you.”
“Why do you keep calling the doll a ‘he’? It’s not a real person.”
She shrugged. “It makes them cuter. Also humans can make emotional connections with pretty much anything, so that helps too I guess.”
“With inanimate objects?”
“Well, we go crazy pretty quickly if we don’t have company, so in a survival situation people usually draw faces on an object, or talk to an imaginary friend, or something like that.”
I tilted my head. “Humans are pretty lonely, aren’t they?”
She chuckled. “I guess you could say that. We’ve been looking for friends for a pretty long time. Anyway, I expect you to carry him with you from now on. In your bag or something.”
I wondered if she actually thought the doll would somehow protect me, or if it was just a gesture. Somewhere in her voice was glint of seriousness, like it was going to save my life or something. Maybe humans were superstitious? I’d have to ask about that later.
“If it makes you feel better.”
“It does. Now say sorry for leaving him on your shelf.”
I looked up at Arlene. “I’m not gonna do that.”
“Come on, you left him all on his lonesome.” She made some weird expression that was supposed to elicit pity, raising her eyebrows and lowering her lips.
I sighed. “I’m sorry for leaving you on my shelf…”
“Say his name.”
A bloom spread across my face. “Ugh… Alexander.”
“His full name.”
I glared at Arlene. “I’m gonna get you back for this.”
“Sure, sure.” She cooed.
“The brave and respectable Alexander of Sunbrook.” I could feel my brain shriveling up as the words left my mouth.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“What just happened does not leave this room.”
“Whatever you say, big man.” She shrugged, stifling a laugh.
I stuffed the doll into my bag, now discovering that my appetite was back, and that I still hadn’t eaten a single thing this paw. My stomach made a noise that was akin to a shadestalker growling at cornered prey. The fruit in my bag, though bruised, was looking very tasty.
Speaking of food.
“Arlene?” I grabbed the fruits out of my bag. “I was meaning to ask you something.”
“Oh yeah?” She was sitting on the couch now.
“I sort of agreed to have a meal with this guy and his exchange partner. I wanted to know if you could come along.”
“Hold on, you agreed to this before you realized I wasn’t trying to eat you?”
My face turned orange again. “W-well, yeah. I was sort of pressured into it.” I fidgeted with my claws. “I was sort of hoping that you would end up fighting each other if he tried anything.”
“Pffft!” She burst out laughing.
“I-I’m sorry… I know it’s stupid.”
She strained to stop. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just, that’s pretty ridiculous.”
“Yeah…”
“So, what’s this guy’s name?”
“The venlil’s is Gram, and the human’s is Tommy.”
“Sure, I’ll come along. Just give me a little more of a heads up this time so I can actually get ready.”
“Thank you! I was worried you wouldn’t want to go with me.”
“Of course I do. Who else will protect you from the vile predator?”
“It’s not like that anymore!”
“Meba, I’m just teasing you.”
“O-oh.”
“I’ll stop if you want.”
“No, it’s… I don’t know. I don’t want you to feel like you have to act differently around me.”
She smiled, eyes narrowing, in a full face scrunch. “I’m glad we met.”
Through the fear, I felt the same. “Me too.”
I sat down on the couch next to her, and started eating my food.
“You know, I’ve been wondering. Why are you so much fluffier than the other venlil?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve seen hundreds of different venlil by now, but none of them are really as woolly as you. Lots of them don’t really have wool at all, just normal fur. Also your coat is way darker than others.”
“Oh. It’s because my family was from the night.”
“The night? Oh, duh. I always forget those are places for you. So it’s like an environmental thing?”
“Sort of. My ancestors lived in the night, so we have thicker coats, and darker fur for camouflage. The living conditions while you’re growing up are also a factor, but it’s mostly genes. Day-side venlil usually have more sandy colored coats, and thinner, slicker fur. Those are just extremes though, there’s all sorts of variations in the green.”
“That’s awesome.”
I shrugged. “I guess. I’ve never given it much thought before. Is my wool really that noticeable?”
“I don’t know about venlil, but to me you stick out like a sore thumb. Your fluff is unmatched. To be honest, it’s hard not to touch it.”
“You have to stop yourself from touching me?”
Her face flushed a pinkish color. “Um, it’s complicated. Er, no it’s not, but I don’t know how to explain it.” She scratched at the back of her head. “When we see cute things, it activates our protective instincts.”
I almost spit out my food. “Protective instincts?”
“Yeah, it makes me want to baby you. Our brains release dopamine when we interact with things we find cute.”
“And this urge is so great that you have trouble keeping it in check?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s not hard to ignore, but I do want to pet you.”
“Pet?” I finished my food.
“I did it on the ride back here, but you didn’t like it, so I won’t do it anymore.”
A thought crossed my mind. “If I let you pet me, would this urge be satisfied?”
She knitted her brow. “You don’t have to. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”
“You just startled me last time. I don’t mind. After all, I’ve ‘pet’ you, right?”
“Fair enough.” She smiled.
Arlene raised a hand towards my head, and I flinched, though I was trying not to. She paused, then retracted her hand.
“Meba, it’s not a big deal. I don’t have to pet you.”
I grabbed her wrist. I wasn’t going to let my instincts get the better of me. “Yes you do.” I pulled her hand back towards my head.
She sighed. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“Nuh uh.” I replied.
Arlene rested her hand on the top of my head. “Yuh huh.” She started ruffling my fur, going back and forth, eventually moving her hand back behind my ears, and scratching me with her dull claws. She switched to the other ear, then moving slowly back up my scalp.
“W-whoa…” I stammered out, completely stunned by pleasant sensation.
“Feel good?” Arlene brought her other hand to my face, and grasped both my ears, gently massaging the areas around them, using just the right amount of force.
My brain drained itself of any latent fear chemicals, as I instinctually leaned into the contact. “Myeah.” The word came out almost slurred.
I closed my eyes, full of bliss. Arlene put a hand on my back, kneading around my shoulder blades, while the other found its way under my chin, scratching again with those dull nails that felt so nice. Stress that I didn’t even know I had was draining out of the myriad bottles it was stuffed in. Before I knew it, my bones were turning to slush, and my muscles were unraveling into piles of yarn. I started drooping, and soon splayed out on the couch.
Once I was laying down, she switched to long slow passes all the way from my crown of my head to my lower back, with fingers running through wool so gently you’d be forgiven for missing it.
This is to lower your guard, so she can eat you! Surely! Any second now… any second. Okay, maybe not. This is pretty nice actually.
In my chest, old gears strained to turn, fibers twitched, testing their give, and dusty muscles started rumbling, reverberating out from the trunk, to the ribs, bouncing off each bone, rattling the jelly that was now my skeleton, and escaping out of my chest, making a sound I hadn’t since before I moved to Sunbrook. I hadn’t felt this calm in so long.
She paused. “Oh my god, are you purring right now? Do venlil purr?”
I opened an eye, slightly annoyed that she stopped. “Some of us. It’s a genetic thing.”
Arlene’s jaw dropped, and for a second I thought it would continue falling all the way to the floor. “It is a good thing, right?”
“Yes.” My tail was betraying my impatience for more. “Can you continue?”
She continued with the same long strokes down my back. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t deserve such bliss.”
“Mmm…” I wasn’t really listening.
“It’s like someone designed you to be the cutest living thing possible.”
I might have bloomed if I wasn’t basically unconscious by this point. I think my brain was next on the list of things to melt. Whatever I was thinking about before dissolved like salt stirred in warm water.
She continued for what felt like forever. Almost. Sadly, the experience wouldn’t last forever.
I looked up at her. “Why’d you stop?”
“My arms are tired.”
Dang.
“Dang.” I collected my resolve, and peeled myself off the couch, back to a sitting position. “Can all humans do that?”
“Yes.”
“Are humans magic?”
“Maybe a little.” She chuckled.
This isn’t so bad.
“So, you’re satisfied?”
“Yes, very.”
I kicked my legs against the couch, head empty.
What now?
“I’ve still got a bunch of time, since the bookstore is closed. Do you want to do something?”
“Oh, that reminds me. I was going to teach you how to crochet.” She stood up from the couch. “Let me pop over to my apartment real quick and grab some yarn.”
I grabbed her by the coat. “Wait, the exterminators might still be lurking.”
Her smile disappeared. “Really?”
“Maybe. Let me check the hallway.” I made my way to the door and, after undoing the locks, took a peak down both ends. The hallway was empty, with no signs of activity. “I think it’s safe.”
“Okay,” She slid past me. “be back in a jiffy.” She took one large step, and shoved her key into the lock, getting past the door just as fast.
And a few paws ago, I would have been the one calling the exterminators.
I shut the door, leaving it unlocked so she could get back in. A few moments later, the door opened with a soft click, followed by footsteps.
“Sorry that took so long. I didn’t remember where I put the hooks, so I had to dig through a bunch of drawers.” She held in her hands a ball of yarn, and a set of metal sticks.
“No worries. What are those for?”
“Crochet. It’s kinda like knitting.”
“What’s knitting?”
She smirked. “It’s kinda like crochet.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
“You’ll get it soon.” Arlene sat down on the couch, setting the yarn on the ground. “Do you know how to tie a slip knot?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.” She took the yarn in one hand, making a loop, giving it a half turn, then grabbing the standing end and pulling it through in another loop. “Like that. If you pull on the end,” Arlene pulled on the standing end, and the loop shrunk until it unraveled. “it comes undone. Give it a try.” She handed me the yarn.
“I’ll try.” I took the yarn in both hands, mimicking the loop, then grabbing the yarn and pulling it through, but the loop came undone as soon as I did so, a look of utter confusion growing on my face.
Arlene giggled. “You gotta grab the other line. It’s gotta cross over itself or there’s nothing to hold it in place.”
I bloomed a little, retrying and pulling the other side through so that it twisted up with itself, actually securing together. “I haven’t had to tie a knot in forever.”
She plucked the knot from my paws, slipping it out and undoing my work. “Good job. Do it again.”
I flicked my tail in annoyance. “But I just did it.”
“You need repetition so you’ll remember it.” She handed the yarn back.
I took it and tied the slip knot again, tightening it more than before. “There you go.”
“Thanks. Let me show you how this works. I’d tell you about the hook sizes, but I don’t think you guys use the metric system, so just know that different yarn thicknesses take different hook sizes, and the thickness of the hook determines the tightness of the stitch. This yarn is somewhere in the middle as far as weight goes.”
“You still haven’t told me what this actually is.”
“Have patience, young padawan.” Arlene grabbed one of the ‘crochet’ hooks, and stuck it through the knot, tightening it around the handle. “This is called a ‘yarn over hook’.” She twisted the hook around to grab the line, then twisting back and pulling it through the knot. There was another link in the yarn. “And this is called chaining. This is how wide your piece is going to be.”
Arlene repeated the movement, now much faster than before, chaining together 10ish loops. She had obviously done this many times before, if speed was any indication. I leaned in to get a better look.
“Now I’m gonna do what’s called a ‘singe crochet’.” She pushed the empty hook through the chain, grabbing more yarn and pulling it through. “Now you can see that there’s an extra loop here. We’re gonna yarn over hook again, and pull it through both.” She did exactly that, creating a little protrusion perpendicular to the chain. “And that is a single crochet. There’s a bunch of other stitches, but this is the most important one. To complete it, we just repeat the single crochet all the way down our foundation chain.” She repeated the motion, in a dizzying blur of twists and turns that I could barely follow. “At the end, we do another chain to turn around, and flip our work. Like so.” She did the little chain, and showed me the little rectangle of woven fabric. “Then you repeat, until it’s as long as you want.”
I wasn’t really following. “So this ‘crochet’ makes rectangles of fabric?”
“Well yes, but that’s a gross oversimplification. You can make anything: scarfs, blankets, hats, socks, sweaters, and even stuffed animals, but that requires more complicated hook work.”
“It looks hard.”
“Don’t worry, it gets easy once you know the stitch patterns. Plus, you have me to help you.” She puffed out her chest in an exaggerated gesture.
“If you say so.”
Arlene pulled on the end of the yarn, unraveling the whole sheet into nothing in a matter of seconds. “If you think it’s too difficult we could do finger knitting instead.”
“No, I think I can do this.”
“That’s the spirit.” She smiled, slapping me on the back a little too hard.
The hooks on the table were all different sizes. Unsure which to pick, I chose the one closest to the size Arlene was using.
“I’d recommend one a little thicker, at least if you plan to wear anything you make. It’ll make it more breathable.”
“We don’t really wear much.”
“I can see that.” She chuckled. “But think of how cute you’d look in a scarf, or a shawl.”
“I don’t know what either of those are.”
“Just grab a larger one.”
“Okay.” I chose another that looked to be 2 or 3 sizes larger. The metal felt cool against my paw pads.
“Go ahead and start. I’ll tell you if you’re messing anything up.”
I tied the slip knot, and tightened it around the hook. Then twisting to grab the yarn and pull it through. The hook felt awkward in my paws, like using a mouse in the wrong hand. Arlene was watching me closely, with a gaze almost as intense as when she was yelling. A shiver ran down my spine.
“Okay that’s probably long enough. Try a single crochet.”
I pushed the hook through, but before I could continue, Arlene stopped me.
“Stop real quick. I forgot to say that you need to skip the first hole when you start a row.” She pointed to the next one in the chain. “You should have gone through there.”
“Oh.” I pulled out the hook, and went through the next hole, doing a yarn over and creating a loop. “Is that good?”
“Yep. Now pull the yarn through both loops.”
I followed her instructions, and finished my first ever single crochet.
“Great job! Now you just need to do that all the way to the end of the chain.”
This is going to take forever if I want to make anything substantial.
“Do all your weaving techniques take this long?” I had to look closely at the weave to find the right holes, still putting conscious effort into the yarn overs.
“Pretty much. After you get good enough to do it without looking you can watch a movie while you do it. I used to crochet on the bus to school when I was little. I think it would be a good thing for you.”
“What do you mean?”
She blinked. “I don’t mean to me rude, but you seem like a really anxious person.”
“I-I thought you said I was brave?”
“You can be brave and anxious at the same time.” She paused. “What I mean to say, is that you could use something to help calm you down.”
“Why do you say that?”
She frowned. “The panic attack.”
Not again.
The desire to run bubbled up from my gut like bile. “I d-don’t know what you mean.”
Once again, drills in my skull, poking holes into my head. “Has this happened before?”
Why does it always come down to this?
I paused my work to look at her. “None of your business.”
She frowned. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot. I just want to help.”
“I’m fine.” I continued crocheting. “Don’t worry.”
“Whatever it is you’re going through, you don’t have to face it alone.”
“There’s nothing to face. Let’s talk about something else.” The words left a metallic taste in my mouth.
My crochet rectangle sheet thingy was about the size of my paw now. The hook was starting to move easier. The ceiling fan whirred above us, and the sun crept along the floor at imperceptible speeds, phantasmal shapes rotating through the same wobbles, over and over again.
Arlene laid back against the couch, stretching her legs. “Well, I’m gonna go see if I can get a datapad from the refugee center soon. I need to get in touch with my family, and I wouldn’t mind being able to use the internet either.”
“That’s nice. Then we can communicate from across town.”
“Yeah.” She yawned. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to any humans. Not that you aren’t good company but… you know.”
“I wasn’t very talkative before this paw.”
“You aren’t much more talkative now.”
“That just means I’m a better listener.”
Arlene let out a bellowing laugh. “Fair enough. You know, I used to say that in middle school.”
“You weren’t always this… social?”
“No, I used to be a total wallflower. I didn’t have any friends. I would just sit in the back of class and doodle in my notebook.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it’s not a happy story, but I’ll tell you if you want.”
My curiosity was peaked. “Please.”
“Well, I was twelve years old, and it was the week before summer break. That’s the quarter of the year where there’s no school, by the way, and also the hottest time of the year.” She took a deep breath.
My single crochets were going faster now, and the hook was beginning to sit comfortably in my paw.
She exhaled. “I was super excited for the break, ‘cause my family was planning a trip to lake superior, which is the largest lake in the world. It’s really beautiful. There’s a bunch of nature trails, parks, stuff like that. Not to mention the swimming. The whole family was going to come along, including grandma.” Arlene swallowed. “It was one day before the break started when she died.”
I said nothing.
“It wasn’t painful. She died in her sleep, from natural causes. You know, old people stuff. I had never seen a corpse before.”
What?
“I was the one who found her. She was laying in bed. People often say the dead look peaceful. She didn’t. They don’t. They just stink.” She paused. “My grandma taught me everything I know about this sort of thing. We would sit by the window, knitting, crocheting, felting, whatever, for hours, just talking. She would ask me about school, I would say I didn’t like it, she would tell me to try talking to people, and then I would say she’s the only friend I need. Her eyes were always so full of pride when I said that. But it wasn’t just pride. I think she knew she didn’t have much time left. She had been pressuring me to interact with other kids more and more up until the break.” She chuckled “Sorry if I’m rambling.”
“I don’t mind.”
She half-smiled at me. “I had made a scarf for her. It was my magnum opus. I knitted it out of yarn that I spun myself, using a super pretty stitch, and I even went through the trouble of knitting a picture into it. I was so mad when she died. Not much sense in being angry at the dead, but yeah. I was angry that I wouldn’t get a chance to give her the scarf. The trip was canceled, and with the intended recipient gone, I didn’t have anyone to give the scarf to. My parents were taking it just as hard as me, maybe harder, but I made it even worse. I started skipping school, even ran away from home once.”
I glanced over to her face. Her eyes were watering.
“Sorry, this was over a decade ago, I should be over it by now.” She sniffled. “There’s this forest close to town, with a bunch of hills and stuff. It was late June, but it was a really cold summer, somewhere in the forties or fifties. Windy too. I took a sleeping bag and a bunch of supplies, and started hiking. I tried stay close to town, so I wouldn’t get lost. After four or so hours of walking, I heard crying. It was a miracle really. Like finding a needle in a haystack. There was a kid curled up against a tree, wailing like an air raid siren.”
The rectangle was almost as long as my forearm now.
“I recognized him from my history class. He was the class clown type, always getting up in your face, making jokes. I never saw him so sad before.” She rested her chin on her hands. “He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Not enough insulation. I eventually approached him, and asked him why he was out in the forest.” She frowned. “His dad was a drunk, and he’d been beating him, so he ran away.”
I gasped. “Oh stars…”
“We talked for a while, with him shivering the whole time. I told him about my grandma, and he told me about his dad. We both ended up crying a bunch. I didn’t bring another pair of clothes, because I was a stupid twelve year old that didn’t know how to camp on my own, so I couldn’t give him anything to keep him warm. The only things I had were the sleeping bag and the scarf. I didn’t want to give him the scarf, but I did. I don’t know why, I just… he looked so small. I was out here going all scorched earth, and he was in hell everyday, still making jokes at school.” She paused.
“Anyway, I gave him the scarf, and my sleeping bag, so he wouldn’t freeze, and we shared some of the food I brought. I eventually had to go back home since I was now without a sleeping bag. Once school started again, he wore that scarf every single day, even when it was hot out, and he would go around telling people how awesome I was for making it.” She smiled. “He always acted happy around me, even though I could see the bruises his dad kept giving him. I couldn’t bring myself to be angry anymore when he was trying so hard to be happy for me.”
“One day, he came to school without the scarf. He wouldn’t even look at me. When I asked him what was wrong, he burst out into tears saying his dad burned the scarf, ans how sorry he was for losing it. It crushed me. I put days of work into that scarf, and it was gone just like that. Just like grandma. But instead of telling him that, I said it wasn’t a big deal, and that I’d make him another one.” She stopped.
“What happened then?”
“Well, I made another scarf, but I never got the chance to give it to him. His dad died, probably from alcohol poisoning or something, and he moved in with family down in Georgia. I never saw him again. For all I know, he’s dead from the bombings, or from something before that. So I was without someone to give the scarf to. Again.”
I gave her a worried look.
She laughed. “I don’t know why, but that brought me out of my shell. I started talking to people. I gave some other kid the scarf that was meant for him. Then everybody knew me as the scarf girl, so I started making more and more of them for everyone in my class.”
“What then?” The sheet was getting substantial now.
“Well, that’s the end of the story. I started joining clubs, bouncing around friend groups, that sort of thing. Just normal kid stuff. High school was the same. Everybody knew me as the person that gave out handmade scarfs for free, so I was well liked. I graduated, got a job, time passed, and all this crazy shit with first contact happened, and so here we are.” She yawned again. “Do you have any childhood stories?”
“Err, well… not really.” I lied.
“Nothing? No funny stories? No teenage mischief? It doesn’t have to be dramatic like mine.”
And here you are, reserved again. Were you lying when you called her your friend?
“Well, one time I led my class into an abandoned house.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, a test of courage type thing. I pressured eight of my classmates into joining me there at night.”
“Night?”
“I grew up on a colony world, so we had a day-night cycle.”
“Uh huh.”
I paused for a while to think of how to tell the story. Arlene was right when she said crochet was calming. It was very meditative. Through, hook, back, hook, back two, repeat. Through, hook, back, hook, back two, repeat.
“So there was this old building on a hill, out past the fields. It was all run down, with stains on the walls, and broken windows, sheet wood covering all the openings. Everybody at school thought it was haunted, or worse, infested by predators.”
Arlene rolled her eyes. “Very scary.” She picked up a crochet hook and started spinning it between her fingers.
I shrugged. “That’s just how it was.”
“I fail to see how an animal is scarier than a vengeful spirit, but I’ll humor you.”
“Well, I thought it was just a normal house, so I brought my classmates there, and we started exploring the thing. We had to squeeze past a panel of wood covering where the door would be to get in. I spearheaded the expedition, with the rest of them following behind me.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It was scary, but I wanted to know what was inside the place. I broke us up into teams of two, and we split up to explore. I went with this gojid girl who’s name I forget, and we went straight up to the attic, while the rest of them checked the ground floor.”
“Ah, quite the lady’s man.” She nudged me in the shoulder, and I had to redo a crochet because of it.
Blood rushed to my face. “I-it wasn’t like that.”
“Sure, sure.” She smirked.
I huffed. “We climbed up this dusty old fold out ladder, which opened up into this crawlspace. I barely fit inside, and I had to exhale to move around.”
“That’s a weird ass attic.”
When the air doesn’t come, and the walls close in, will you be able to escape again?
“Y-yeah. I found a dusty old box of junk up there, but I got stuck. My classmate had to pull me out by my legs.” I shuddered at the thought.
“Jeez. What was in the box?”
“Nothing crazy. Just a bunch of rusty fasteners. It was probably left by the construction workers who built the house. But the next day, one of the people I brought told a teacher, and I got punished. My parents were super angry.”
“Wow. So you were a pretty crazy kid, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. I was sort of the leader of my herd.”
For a while.
“Really?” She leaned forward.
“Yep.”
“Wow. So when did you move to Sunbrook?”
Don’t think about it.
“A while ago. Two or so of your years, I think.”
“Are your parents here too?”
I looked to my paws, focusing on the yarn. “They’re uh… not around.”
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
Do you really mean that?
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
I don’t know.
“No.” I barely managed to squeak.
“Okay.”
I continued crocheting.
Arlene yawned for the third time. “Crap. Sorry Meba, I think we’re gonna have to cut this short. I need to get some sleep.” She scooped up the hooks from the table.
“Um, can we do this again next paw?”
“Sure. We can finish off that scarf of yours tomorrow.” She grinned.
Human teeth weren’t very pointy.
2024.04.27 13:01 Gznork26 [SP] "Deadly Attractor" -- Chapter Thirteen
“Deadly Attractor” (TOC)
by P. Orin Zack
[2003]
Chapter Thirteen
… Saturday; Los Angeles …
Since East-Side’s patient transfers were always done by air ambulance, Cynthia had parked her dingy flier on an upper level of a nearby parking tower, giving her and Frank a convenient view of the waiting transport. It was nearly ten o’clock, and phase two of the plan was about to get underway.
After the previous night’s planning session in the Angeles Crest, they went to Peter’s workplace, and convinced the security system that he was conducting a late-night tour for out-of-town researchers. Once they were inside, Lenny got past the MedCenter’s security layer and set up tonight’s transfer, and Peter made some preliminary arrangements for routing the bogus data feed. It all went off without a hitch.
Cynthia pointed at the transport, a gleaming multi-mode flier with ground-effect skirting to reduce disruption from the emergency lift fans when hovering in tight places. Their primary mode was aGrav, of course, but because there were situations in which that might not be safe to use, it also had compact magnetic vortex rotors. The design was developed especially for MedCenter use. “There they are, right on schedule.”
If there was one thing you could count on when it came to East-Side MedCenter, it was that the staff rigorously adhered to what they believed to be the rules. HealthTech Resources, which owned and operated the MedCenter, had built their entire operation around the concept of just-in-time healthcare, and had spent a fortune on infrastructure so that operating costs could be minimized. Their extreme focus on procedure meant that everyone knew exactly what they were supposed to do, and when they were supposed to do it. If a staffer needed some bit of information, some medication or some equipment, it was always there, in the right place, and at the right time. So if the schedule said that a patient was to be transported, that’s exactly what happened, and at precisely the appointed hour. After all, the freed-up facilities would probably be assigned to some other patient before they returned.
As they watched, two uniformed MedCenter Security people floated Apuérto out through the airwall on an aGrav gurney, and carefully loaded it onto the transport. While the transport team was securing their passenger, Cynthia spun up the fans of her flier, and prepared to follow. The transport lifted into the air, turned towards the virtual guideway that the autopilots used for reference, and smoothly joined the air traffic. Cynthia pulled into line a few vehicles behind, and matched speed with them.
So far, so good: Apuérto was on his way to Kübler-Ross Hospice. Once he was checked in, and Jen had played some parlor games with the schedule, they’d load him in and head for the Angeles Crest.
While they flew, Frank busied himself watching the negotiated dance of fliers in a nearby flight path. He’d had time to study their patterns on his commute to court after his glasses were smashed. As far as he could tell, the biggest challenge in following someone through the air lanes was not being noticed. Since vehicles were always joining and leaving the traffic pattern, it was easily possible for all of the fliers between your quarry and yourself to duck out at once. If you were on auto, your flier would close ranks, and you’d end up right behind the driver you didn’t want to spot you.
He looked over at Cynthia. Doing it on manual changed the rules a bit. When those intervening fliers duck out, the one behind you would fly ever closer, in an attempt to get you to close ranks with the leader. If you don’t, it eventually gives up and negotiates a passing maneuver to fill the gap, and this can draw attention to you. He was wondering how she’d handle the situation, when she suddenly changed her grip on the controls.
“Something’s going on up there,” she said.
He craned to look, but couldn’t see anything. “What? How do you know?”
She smiled, shaking her head in amusement. “Reach out, Frank. Feel the traffic. I thought you told me you were a psychic.”
Before he’d had a chance to focus, a wave of movement fanned out ahead of them. Several fliers, including the transport, wove an intricate pattern around the center of the flight corridor, and then fell smoothly back into line.
Cynthia nodded at the action, and frowned. “Collision avoidance maneuvers.”
Frank looked over at her, then back at the traffic ahead of them. “Any problem?”
She nodded. “Yeah. There wasn’t a reason for it. That was contrived. I think they’re onto us.”
“Who,” he asked, “the transport?”
“No,” she said, glancing around furiously, “our adversary. The agent, whoever he is.”
She closed dangerously fast on the flier ahead of them, and told Frank to hold on. A moment later, the craft slipped out of the lane to let them pass, and fell back into line behind them. She repeated the maneuver twice more, until they were right behind the MedCenter transport.
“Now what?” Frank asked tightly.
“It’s their move,” she said calmly. “I just hope I can counter it.”
A moment later, something caught Frank’s eye. “Over there,” he said, pointing ahead and to the right. A commercial cargo flier heading towards them in the freight path beside them had broken from the line and had begun crossing the buffer zone. Before it was completely out of the traffic flow, another vehicle clipped it, and it started tumbling erratically. It’s flight systems fought to right it, but couldn’t turn it back into line.
“Hang on,” she said suddenly, and pulled out of the traffic flow. “If they’re relying on the automatics to fail properly, we’ll have to force the issue.”
While the cargo flier continued towards them, and the traffic around them scattered, the MedCenter transport stayed on the flight path, right in harm’s way. Cynthia sped past it and ducked into line just inches ahead of it. Seconds later, the transport broke from the flight path and veered away from the oncoming disaster.
Cynthia followed, staying too close to its nose. “That forced it to use blind avoidance logic, since it can’t negotiate with us.”
Meanwhile, the cargo flier, which had crossed through their air lane, finally righted itself, and started back towards the rest of the commercial traffic.
Cynthia shook her head. “This is too dangerous. I’ve got another idea. Frank, take the controls.”
“What?” he gasped. “I’ve never flown on manual. What do I do?”
She put his hand on the joystick. “Fly!”
Scared out of his wits, Frank shook the sweat off his hand and grabbed it tightly. He stared, wide-eyed, at the traffic around them, and tried moving the thing enough to learn how sensitive it was. They veered. He corrected, and swallowed hard.
Meanwhile, Cynthia closed her eyes.
“What are you doing?” he cried, panicked.
“Just keep it level, okay?” she said. “And stay with them.”
Frank was still figuring out what she was doing, when the MedCenter transport suddenly slipped out of the traffic pattern and made a beeline for the nearest landing spot. He nudged the joystick, attempting to match their path, but kept going wide of the mark.
“Thanks, Frank,” she said at last, “I’ll take it from here.”
Grateful for the respite, he slid his shaking hand from the joystick and watched as she gently set her flier down beside the transport. She climbed out, stepped over to the MedCenter vehicle, and banged on the window a few times to interrupt what looked like a heated argument.
The driver opened the window. “What?”
“Sorry,” Cynthia said, “but your passenger is in danger. You can get back into traffic and get all three of you killed, or you can hand him over to us. What’s you’re pleasure?”
Soon, they had Apuérto loaded into the back seat, and were headed for the Crest.
Frank looked back at their passenger for a few moments, and then turned to look at Cynthia. “What was that all about? How did you get them to land?”
She smiled. “Remember hearing my voice at the courthouse a week ago? His ‘dispatcher’ just told him to set down and hand the patient off to a special security team.”
Frank just stared at her, unsure of whether to congratulate her or strangle her.
Surprisingly, they made it to the Angeles Crest with no further incident. As before, Cynthia cut out the flier’s lights before landing, but this time she flew to a different spot before setting down, one farther along the twisting canyon, and closer to the broad Mohave Plain on the other side.
Although the practice of renaming geographical features had gone out of fashion once the geo-political stalemate of the late 20th century had set in, mapmakers were forced to start accommodating the drastic effects of global climate change within another hundred years. As a result, places like the Mohave, which had morphed from desert to grassland, were renamed. The much more formidable task of redrawing rivers, lakes and coastlines was actually far simpler, because the underlying graphics had long since been provided by orbital imagery.
Such precision did have one other effect, though. With the proper access, even their secluded spot in the Angeles Crest was easily observed. And that was why Cynthia had chosen this particular place for tonight’s activities. As she brought the flier closer to the ground, and then inched towards the canyon wall, a natural cave came into view, an alcove hidden from overhead observation, and out of sight of the disused streamside trail below. After a few more moments of careful maneuvering, the flier was tucked far inside the alcove, angled for an easy exit, and the fans were spinning down.
Frank looked around. To their left, hidden from the entrance, were a bedroll, a small table, and what looked like a compact food storage and preparation setup. “Do you live here or something?”
Cynthia opened her flier door and stepped out. “When I need to. I figured we might need to stay out of sight until Monday morning, so this seemed a reasonable solution.”
“Where do we put him?” Frank said, indicating Apuérto, who was slumped in what would have been an uncomfortable position had he been conscious.
She glanced around, then pointed at a relatively rock-free area behind the flier. “Over there. I’ll lay out my bedroll, then help you with him.”
While Frank went around to the door against which their passenger was slumped, Cynthia set her bedroll down at the end of the area she’d chosen, and pressed a fluid-filled switch in the fabric. As the embedded aerogel matrix set, the thing unrolled, and then thickened, until finally it was about three inches thick. “Handy things, these,” she said brightly. “It’s a floatation device as well, though I doubt we’ll be needing it for that around here.”
“What happened back there, anyway?” he said, “And why did it stop?”
She shook her head as they pulled Apuérto from the back seat. “I don’t know. That first incident might have been a warning. Anyone on auto wouldn’t give it a second thought, so it must mean our adversary knows I fly on manual.”
They placed Apuérto on the aerogel mattress, and sat beside it.
“Maybe so,” Frank said, “but if stopping us was important enough to send a freighter out of control, why warn us off first? That thing could have caused a major disaster.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said. “The only flier that didn’t get out of the way was the MedCenter transport. If anyone were to have been killed, it would have been Apuérto and the transport team, and that might mean that the second incident was a kind of back-up plan.”
He looked down at Apuérto. “And all to protect something that this guy doesn’t even remember. It must be pretty important, if someone’s willing to go to all that trouble.”
“Yeah,” she said. “So we’d better get started. I guess the first step would be to fix the mess caused by that attack of yours, so we can poke around in his memories. Just to be on the safe side, I’ll make us all invisible so you can work in peace.”
Frank held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Before you start, there’s still the problem of my attacks. What if I have another one while working on him? That’s how he got into this state to begin with.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too, Frank” she said. “Remember, I was linked to you when you had that bad attack outside the courtroom. It happened very quickly, and my first reaction was to drop the link. By the time you heard my voice in your head a short while later, I’d had a chance to re-establish it. I’m not certain, but I think your attacks may actually be triggered by something external. I just haven’t been able to put my finger on what it might be.”
“External?” he said, puzzled. “But what could do a thing like that?”
“Not a clue,” she said. “In any case, there’s time to figure that out later. For right now, just get in there and see what you can find. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? That he stays like this?”
He shook his head in amusement. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Cynthia shrugged, flexed her fingers a few times, and set to work.
Frank watched what she did, in hopes of learning something of her technique. First, she fixed her gaze on the largest of the boulders blocking the view outside, and her breathing slowed. Then her eyes narrowed a bit, and soon that odd feeling of invincible invisibility swept through him. He started reaching out psychically to get a better sense of the field, when it suddenly vanished.
She turned to face him. “What are you doing?”
He swallowed uncomfortably. “I was just—”
“Checking my work?” she said, doubtfully. “Look, I’m setting up a thoughtform defense here to respond to any kind of intrusion. I’ll let you know if we’re noticed. But in the meantime, hands off, okay?”
“Sure,” Frank said sheepishly.
She went back to work. Once her thoughtform was re-established, she turned towards him and nodded.
Having already calmed himself in preparation for working on Apuérto, Frank closed his eyes and extended his psychic awareness into what should have been the personal space of his patient. Normally, a person’s physical location in our consensual reality was aligned with their consciousness’ sense of location within it. That’s what made it possible for a psychic like Frank or Cynthia to connect to a person’s inner reality, which exists partly here, and partly in what might be thought of as something like the DreamTime. When a consciousness is aligned properly between these realities, it can interact with the world, which is just a common consensual reality, through the body it expresses here. In dreams, of course, you’re simply aligned with some other reality-context for a while.
In Apuérto’s case, however, this alignment was skewed as part of his panic-driven reaction to the attack. That was why his mind and body were no longer working together. So Frank’s first task was to nudge Apuérto’s sense of reality back into line. Because his consciousness wasn’t aligned to any reality-context at the moment, he would be having no experience at all, not even a dream. Even after Frank adjusted it, however, he wouldn’t suddenly find himself in a dream, because he wasn’t attached to any memories, which meant he couldn’t relate to any reality context. But he’d get to that later.
Frank’s detached awareness floated in what could be described as the darkness of Apuérto’s soul, wondering at the wisdom of what he planned to do. Poring through someone’s memories while they were awake, or even if they were in trance, was one thing; this would be quite another. While linked in court, he was pretty much limited to those portions of a witness’ memories that were exposed by what he’d been asked to relate. Here, with Apuérto not even involved in the process, he could see and do almost anything. The very idea was disturbing.
Still, it was the only way out of their peril, so he steeled himself, and set to work. The process of re-alignment was similar to working with the flow patterns in a fluid. If he made what might be called a space beside Apuérto’s untethered consciousness, it would settle towards the area of low pressure. With this technique, Frank gently altered the location and orientation of the complex knot of energy that represented his consciousness in this space, until it found a comfortable spot, at which point it seemed to snap into place.
With that done, the next step was to cajole it into re-establishing its connection to the man’s body. As long as the two were not connected, there was a good possibility that his automatic biological systems would skip out of their various attractor patterns, and one or another of his organs would fail, eventually leading to death. This was the reason that people in his condition were placed in BioStabilization at MedCenters: at least they wouldn’t die. To be more precise, they couldn’t.
This situation exposed one of the key differences in how Healers and MedCenter Physicians understood what the body and brain are and how they work. Allopathic medicine, which is practiced at MedCenters, springs from the belief that we are essentially physical beings, while Healers begin with the premise that we are energy. From the Healer’s point of view, the physical body, with all it’s nerves, bone and muscle, are an expression of that energy being in our consensual reality context. Because of that, it is possible, in their view, for a person’s mind to be disconnected from their body or their memories, even though their brain is intact, and is still firmly attached to their peripheral nerves. The Physicians don’t really have a model to explain their perspective; they just accept it at face value.
It was fairly simple to identify which portion of the complex knot of consciousness energy was associated with what bit of anatomy, so Frank spent several minutes re-introducing them to one another. Once enough of them had re-synched, the attractor came into play, and the rest began to fall together on their own.
So far, so good, but he needed a rest, so he dropped out of the link and opened his eyes.
“How’s it going?” she asked quietly.
“Okay, I guess. At least he’s attached to this reality now. Well, physically, anyway. His mind is still loose, though, so I need to start re-attaching his memory matrix. Any sign of our being spotted?”
She looked into the bit of night sky visible from behind the boulders. “No. It’s past one o’clock, if I remember your constellations correctly, so I think we may be safe for the night. Get back in there.”
Frank chuckled, closed his eyes, and set back to work. The next part of this process was the trickiest. He focused in on the feel of Apuérto’s now-synched consciousness, and studied the area where the memory substrate is normally attached. Although there are physical structures related to memory and other various biological structures, the source of our being, in his view, was really in another kind of reality. The mind relies on its memories to understand the world it’s in, which means that if Apuérto were to be of much use to anyone in this one, he’d need his reattached.
When we switch contexts, which is what happens when we slip between our waking world and some dream one, we also exchange memory substrates. Memories gained while dreaming are not very useful once you’ve awakened, so we disconnect from one set, and attach to another. This normally works fairly smoothly, although some people experience a groggy delay on waking, while it becomes fully engaged.
Apuérto was, at the moment, suspended between those worlds. As far as Frank could tell, his mind wasn’t associated with any set of memories. You might describe him as being in a dreamless sleep, except for the fact that without assistance, he’d never wake up from it.
Happily, there wasn’t any question of which memory substrate to connect him to, because there’s only one associated with our consensual reality. Any others he may have developed while in what we experience as dreams would only be evident to Frank if he were somehow to become aligned with one of those dream contexts. That would be a considerably more difficult challenge.
What he did, then, was to reach into Apuérto’s consciousness knot with the idea of self, and find the area that responded to that thought. The method was like psychometry in a way, because the thing being searched for made itself evident to the searcher. If he’d been using the technique to locate a missing child, for example, he might feel the location on a map as a hot spot as he passed his hand over it. Then, after repeating the procedure for the memory substrate, he drew the two areas towards one another until they merged in recognition, and Apuérto once again had a basis for the concept of self.
It was a tedious process, rebuilding the roots of the man’s memories, but after repeating the process a dozen more times, it began to take over for itself, and Frank once again dropped out of the link for a rest.
This time, when he looked around, he didn’t see Cynthia. Concerned that there might be a problem, he stood up, stretched, and stepped to the edge of the alcove. She was leaning against the rock to the right, still shielded from view, but with a much larger stretch of sky to watch.
She looked over at him. “Done yet?”
“Not completely. His memory matrix is reestablishing itself. That may take a while to settle out, so it might be a good time to get some sleep. In the morning, when we’re rested, we can start looking through his memories for whoever it is we’re after.”
… Sunday …
Since the flier was the only comfortable place to sit, Frank and Cynthia climbed in and were both quickly ensconced in a more familiar altered state, sleep. Frank awoke once or twice during the night, startled back from dreaming of some other world by the shrill cry of a far-off nocturnal animal in this one. When he opened his eyes to the muted red light of morning, however, he sat up and smiled, because Mara had just told him that she and Alex had collected Pegwin, and the three would be heading back to Los Angeles. She seemed sad, though, and that made him anxious to learn about what had happened in Halifax. More pressing matters awaited, though, so he climbed out of the flier and stepped over towards the entrance to mull over what lay ahead.
He was deep in reverie, sampling possible explanations for their adversary’s behavior, when the smell of hot biscuits lured his wandering attention back to the purely physical. Cynthia had fired up the portable food prep unit, and heated them both some coffee. The biscuits were more easily explained: she’d gotten them fresh the day before, and had popped them into a superinsulation box for later. She just hadn’t expected later to have taken this long.
“Coffee?” she asked, handing him a cup.
“Thanks.” He pointed at Apuérto with his elbow. “Isn’t he going to be hungry when we bring him around?”
She nodded. “Should be. But I suspect he’ll be more interested in yelling at you first. So there’s probably time to solve that problem later.”
Frank shook his head in amusement. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Not as much as I’ll enjoy taking down the jerk who ruined my life. If I ever lay my hands on him, I swear I’ll—”
“Take it easy,” Frank said gently. “We have more immediate problems to deal with. Finding what we’re looking for in his memories is going to take both of us, and we can’t do that very effectively if you’re all worked up over something that happened last year.”
She took a breath. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be okay.”
A while later, they returned to the aerogel mattress where Apuérto lay, and knelt on opposite sides of him, their knees on the cushioning. Cynthia studied their patient for a moment, and then looked across at Frank. “What’s your plan?”
“Well,” he said after a pause, “we know that he has memories that include our mystery guest, but since he never noticed the guy, he won’t be able to recall them on his own. So what I want to do is convince his memory matrix that I’m his consciousness.”
Cynthia smiled. “You’re going to hack into his consciousness, and hijack his identity?”
He nodded.
“You know,” she said, “you might be working on the wrong side. If you’re not careful, they might try to recruit you.”
He waved off her attempt at humor. “I’m serious. Have you ever tried something like that?”
“What, and lose my license?”
“Um,” he said, “what license?”
“You know what I mean. A simple invasion of privacy is enough to cause trouble, how do you think they’ll react to this?”
He huffed. “I’m hoping they won’t get the chance. One, I think he’ll protect us, once he knows what’s been happening, and two, if we do sniff this guy out, they’ll have much bigger problems than just pulling some Healer’s license.”
She looked doubtful. “We’ll see.”
Frank closed his eyes and focused on the now-familiar feel of Apuérto’s consciousness. After feeling around a while, he found the spot that lay between that bundle of energy and the memory substrate that supported its interaction with this reality. He’d started the process by identifying the man’s sense of self, so he was already familiar with how it was expressed in this space. By recalling that energy pattern, and wrapping it around his own sense of self, he created a crude impersonation of Apuérto, but one that he hoped was sufficiently like the real thing to cause his memory substrate to respond to requests.
To try it out, Frank thought about the testimony that Apuérto had given in court, and offered it to the memory substrate as a starting point. It took a while for the man’s associated memories to gather enough strength of recognition, but soon the memory of the events that Apuérto had described were offered up for recall. When Frank reached towards the symbolic representation floating before him, in this case a superimposition of the courtroom as seen from the witness box, and a view of the MedCenter, the entire sequence of events flooded through him, just as if Apuérto himself had requested and had received a recollection of those events.
Among the things returned by that request were hooks to related memories, one of which contained the distorted image of the person he was searching for. He sampled several of these, until at last he found the one he’d seen in court, the one that he’d been so caught up in that he didn’t realize that an attack was underway.
Satisfied that there wouldn’t be a repeat performance, he took a closer look at the memory. Apuérto was in a conference room, seated at a table with a number of other people in impressive-looking outfits. By reaching towards each of the people in the image, he got a sample of the associations that Apuérto had built up about them. This was a management meeting, and their patient was nominally in charge of the proceedings.
In the far right corner from where Apuérto was seated, standing in the shadow beyond the purpose lighting that focused on the table, was their mystery person. Using the same technique as before, Frank reached towards the fuzzy image, but this time he was not offered any associations. This was strange, because normally, even if you’ve only met someone for the first time, there will still be associations, even if only to other people you didn’t know. But if there were no associations, then Apuérto wasn’t even subconsciously aware of this person’s presence in the room.
Puzzled, Frank took a closer look at the image itself, and discovered that it was somewhat translucent. But what could that mean? Was Apuérto seeing ghosts? Hallucinations? Lenny was convinced that Apuérto had seen the agent, and this person appeared to be what he was referring to, but how could that be? He looked again at the image, and noticed that his right hand was raised. Further, the fingers suggested that he was holding something small in his palm. Beyond that, there was nothing.
He pulled back for a moment to consider how to proceed. Perhaps by offering this image, something that Apuérto wasn’t aware of as having been in the memory, other appearances of their quarry might be recovered. Surprisingly, when he did this, a number of related memories were offered. Each one included a distorted, translucent figure holding something in his right hand. Most of these memories were from other management meetings, but a few were from public events. What was going on?
Frank broke the link and looked at Cynthia, who had moved a short distance away, and was sitting cross-legged on the dirt. “I think I need a second opinion.”
She opened her eyes and smiled. “This should be fun. Have you ever tried playing show and tell in someone’s head before?”
He shook his head. “Nope. But then, I never impersonated someone to their own memories, either. I sure hope he doesn’t remember any of this.”
“Same here. What do you want me to do?”
He rubbed a finger over his lower teeth for a moment in thought. “Well, I’ve tracked down a number of images of our guy, and I’d like to know if there’s anything about him that strikes you as familiar. After all, if you’ve tangled with someone in the same business, there may be similarities we can pull out.”
“Sure,” she said, “lead on.”
After she joined him at Apuérto’s side, they both closed their eyes. Frank began by establishing a link with Cynthia, so they could share the experience. Once that was done, he re-established his position between Apuérto’s consciousness and his memories, and brought up a crowd of memory associations. This time, they were represented as the semi-transparent image of their quarry.
One by one, he reached out to them, and each time they saw a scene in which this mysterious person was lurking in the shadows, holding something small in his right hand. When he was done, he thought a question at her. ‘Well?’
They floated there for a while, intruders in the most personal space imaginable, considering what to do, when suddenly Cynthia’s presence vanished – she’d broken the link. Frank followed suit to find out why she’d retreated so suddenly.
“That’s him!” she said suddenly, eyes ablaze.
“Who?”
She took a sharp breath. “The same jerk that trashed my life in Nullarbor City.”
Frank was taken aback. “You mean the image? The guy in Apuérto’s—”
She shook her head and stood up. “No. We weren’t alone in there. He’s found us, and it’s the same guy I tangled with before. Hold on a bit while I shield us.”
Frank watched as she changed her focus, and that now-familiar feeling of invincible invisibility washed over him. A moment later, she opened her eyes. “Quick, Frank. Go in and bring him around. We have to get him someplace safe, and not by dragging him.”
Dutifully, Frank closed his eyes, reached into Apuérto’s personal space yet again, and felt around for the fine energy stream that enables us to switch between reality contexts. His was still flailing about loose, which was why he wasn’t able to wake into any reality context, dreaming or not. Moving closer, he watched the thin structure whip around a few times, like the flagella of a psychotic sperm cell, then lunged at the place he hoped it would go next, but missed, and tumbled past it. If its behavior had been constrained by some kind of attractor, like the ones his organs traced on the BSW display, at least he’d have a wild guess at what it might do, but this was utter randomness. Turning back towards the thing, he imagined having a kind of net, and used it to limit the thing’s range of motion. Then, by carefully closing the net, he slowed its dance enough to grab on. Then, by carefully guiding it into the flow of energy where it normally resides, he got it to resume its job, and that meant he had to detach quickly, so that Apuérto didn’t know that he’d been in there.
Frank opened his eyes and sat back to see what would happen. Soon, Apuérto started to rouse. Abruptly, he opened his eyes, looked around, and sat up.
“Where am I?” he said. Then, he looked Frank squarely in the eye. “What’s this about, anyway?”
Frank took a breath. “Look, I don’t have time to explain right now. Someone tried to kill you, and—”
“Yeah,” Apuérto said vehemently, “you! The last thing I remember was testifying in court, with you in my—”
Frank shook his head. “That was an accident. MedCenter transport was taking you to— The thing is, someone tried to kill you and the transport crew with a truck last night. We rescued you and—”
“Shut up, both of you!” Cynthia was standing by the flier. “If we don’t get out of here, right now, we could all wind up in the morgue. You two can sort the details out later. Just get in!”
The two men looked at one another, then both stood and bolted for the flier. Before they’d had a chance to buckle in, she’d lifted off and was gaining altitude.
Hovering momentarily over the canyon, she said, “Where to?”
“Kübler-Ross Hospice. We can get some protection in one of the shield rooms.” While Cynthia headed towards Los Angeles, Frank looked back at Apuérto. “Look, as far as we can tell, the person that tried to have you killed last night has been interfering in MedCenter business. We’re trying to find a way to prove it. Somehow, this is all related to our court case, and I want to expose it.”
Apuérto stared at him for a long moment, then looked at Cynthia, who was clearly busy flying through traffic on manual. “You’re really afraid, of something, aren’t you,” he said at last.
“Getting killed, for one,” Frank said.
“Or worse,” Cynthia added.
“All right,” Apuérto said agreeably, and sat back to watch the traffic.
A white-knuckle ride later, they set down at Kübler-Ross Hospice, and headed for the emergency entrance. Once inside, Frank asked where Jen was. A moment later, her image appeared on the display.
“We’re here,” he said, breathlessly.
She nodded. “A bit late, though, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. Right now we need a shield room, and someone to claim we’re not in it.”
She nodded. “Done. Take number three.”
… Monday …
Timing was critical. They waited until the very last moment on Monday morning before heading across town to the courthouse. Frank walked into the jury room just as the bailiff was requesting their presence. Falling into line with the jurors, he entered the courtroom and looked around to see who was present.
As before, Healer Carlita Gutiérez was sitting in the second row of the spectator area. Nearby was her colleague, Allan Wylie, who had helped tweak the energy ‘sprite’, as he called it. Between them was someone he didn’t recognize at first.
While the judge was setting the stage for the continuation of the case, Frank took some more time to study the stranger. Then, two things struck him nearly at once. First, the younger man appeared to be holding something in his right hand; and second, they’d already met — in a kiosk at the intersection of two long hallways at the East-Side MedCenter.
This was the so-called student he’d asked for directions. And it appeared that both Carlita and Wylie were working with him. He wasn’t exactly sure when the third thought struck, the one that made him drop his jaw: the ‘sprite’ in his energy field was working for the other side, too.
(TOC)
submitted by Gznork26 to shortstories [link] [comments]
by P. Orin Zack
[2003]
Chapter Thirteen
… Saturday; Los Angeles …
Since East-Side’s patient transfers were always done by air ambulance, Cynthia had parked her dingy flier on an upper level of a nearby parking tower, giving her and Frank a convenient view of the waiting transport. It was nearly ten o’clock, and phase two of the plan was about to get underway.
After the previous night’s planning session in the Angeles Crest, they went to Peter’s workplace, and convinced the security system that he was conducting a late-night tour for out-of-town researchers. Once they were inside, Lenny got past the MedCenter’s security layer and set up tonight’s transfer, and Peter made some preliminary arrangements for routing the bogus data feed. It all went off without a hitch.
Cynthia pointed at the transport, a gleaming multi-mode flier with ground-effect skirting to reduce disruption from the emergency lift fans when hovering in tight places. Their primary mode was aGrav, of course, but because there were situations in which that might not be safe to use, it also had compact magnetic vortex rotors. The design was developed especially for MedCenter use. “There they are, right on schedule.”
If there was one thing you could count on when it came to East-Side MedCenter, it was that the staff rigorously adhered to what they believed to be the rules. HealthTech Resources, which owned and operated the MedCenter, had built their entire operation around the concept of just-in-time healthcare, and had spent a fortune on infrastructure so that operating costs could be minimized. Their extreme focus on procedure meant that everyone knew exactly what they were supposed to do, and when they were supposed to do it. If a staffer needed some bit of information, some medication or some equipment, it was always there, in the right place, and at the right time. So if the schedule said that a patient was to be transported, that’s exactly what happened, and at precisely the appointed hour. After all, the freed-up facilities would probably be assigned to some other patient before they returned.
As they watched, two uniformed MedCenter Security people floated Apuérto out through the airwall on an aGrav gurney, and carefully loaded it onto the transport. While the transport team was securing their passenger, Cynthia spun up the fans of her flier, and prepared to follow. The transport lifted into the air, turned towards the virtual guideway that the autopilots used for reference, and smoothly joined the air traffic. Cynthia pulled into line a few vehicles behind, and matched speed with them.
So far, so good: Apuérto was on his way to Kübler-Ross Hospice. Once he was checked in, and Jen had played some parlor games with the schedule, they’d load him in and head for the Angeles Crest.
While they flew, Frank busied himself watching the negotiated dance of fliers in a nearby flight path. He’d had time to study their patterns on his commute to court after his glasses were smashed. As far as he could tell, the biggest challenge in following someone through the air lanes was not being noticed. Since vehicles were always joining and leaving the traffic pattern, it was easily possible for all of the fliers between your quarry and yourself to duck out at once. If you were on auto, your flier would close ranks, and you’d end up right behind the driver you didn’t want to spot you.
He looked over at Cynthia. Doing it on manual changed the rules a bit. When those intervening fliers duck out, the one behind you would fly ever closer, in an attempt to get you to close ranks with the leader. If you don’t, it eventually gives up and negotiates a passing maneuver to fill the gap, and this can draw attention to you. He was wondering how she’d handle the situation, when she suddenly changed her grip on the controls.
“Something’s going on up there,” she said.
He craned to look, but couldn’t see anything. “What? How do you know?”
She smiled, shaking her head in amusement. “Reach out, Frank. Feel the traffic. I thought you told me you were a psychic.”
Before he’d had a chance to focus, a wave of movement fanned out ahead of them. Several fliers, including the transport, wove an intricate pattern around the center of the flight corridor, and then fell smoothly back into line.
Cynthia nodded at the action, and frowned. “Collision avoidance maneuvers.”
Frank looked over at her, then back at the traffic ahead of them. “Any problem?”
She nodded. “Yeah. There wasn’t a reason for it. That was contrived. I think they’re onto us.”
“Who,” he asked, “the transport?”
“No,” she said, glancing around furiously, “our adversary. The agent, whoever he is.”
She closed dangerously fast on the flier ahead of them, and told Frank to hold on. A moment later, the craft slipped out of the lane to let them pass, and fell back into line behind them. She repeated the maneuver twice more, until they were right behind the MedCenter transport.
“Now what?” Frank asked tightly.
“It’s their move,” she said calmly. “I just hope I can counter it.”
A moment later, something caught Frank’s eye. “Over there,” he said, pointing ahead and to the right. A commercial cargo flier heading towards them in the freight path beside them had broken from the line and had begun crossing the buffer zone. Before it was completely out of the traffic flow, another vehicle clipped it, and it started tumbling erratically. It’s flight systems fought to right it, but couldn’t turn it back into line.
“Hang on,” she said suddenly, and pulled out of the traffic flow. “If they’re relying on the automatics to fail properly, we’ll have to force the issue.”
While the cargo flier continued towards them, and the traffic around them scattered, the MedCenter transport stayed on the flight path, right in harm’s way. Cynthia sped past it and ducked into line just inches ahead of it. Seconds later, the transport broke from the flight path and veered away from the oncoming disaster.
Cynthia followed, staying too close to its nose. “That forced it to use blind avoidance logic, since it can’t negotiate with us.”
Meanwhile, the cargo flier, which had crossed through their air lane, finally righted itself, and started back towards the rest of the commercial traffic.
Cynthia shook her head. “This is too dangerous. I’ve got another idea. Frank, take the controls.”
“What?” he gasped. “I’ve never flown on manual. What do I do?”
She put his hand on the joystick. “Fly!”
Scared out of his wits, Frank shook the sweat off his hand and grabbed it tightly. He stared, wide-eyed, at the traffic around them, and tried moving the thing enough to learn how sensitive it was. They veered. He corrected, and swallowed hard.
Meanwhile, Cynthia closed her eyes.
“What are you doing?” he cried, panicked.
“Just keep it level, okay?” she said. “And stay with them.”
Frank was still figuring out what she was doing, when the MedCenter transport suddenly slipped out of the traffic pattern and made a beeline for the nearest landing spot. He nudged the joystick, attempting to match their path, but kept going wide of the mark.
“Thanks, Frank,” she said at last, “I’ll take it from here.”
Grateful for the respite, he slid his shaking hand from the joystick and watched as she gently set her flier down beside the transport. She climbed out, stepped over to the MedCenter vehicle, and banged on the window a few times to interrupt what looked like a heated argument.
The driver opened the window. “What?”
“Sorry,” Cynthia said, “but your passenger is in danger. You can get back into traffic and get all three of you killed, or you can hand him over to us. What’s you’re pleasure?”
Soon, they had Apuérto loaded into the back seat, and were headed for the Crest.
Frank looked back at their passenger for a few moments, and then turned to look at Cynthia. “What was that all about? How did you get them to land?”
She smiled. “Remember hearing my voice at the courthouse a week ago? His ‘dispatcher’ just told him to set down and hand the patient off to a special security team.”
Frank just stared at her, unsure of whether to congratulate her or strangle her.
Surprisingly, they made it to the Angeles Crest with no further incident. As before, Cynthia cut out the flier’s lights before landing, but this time she flew to a different spot before setting down, one farther along the twisting canyon, and closer to the broad Mohave Plain on the other side.
Although the practice of renaming geographical features had gone out of fashion once the geo-political stalemate of the late 20th century had set in, mapmakers were forced to start accommodating the drastic effects of global climate change within another hundred years. As a result, places like the Mohave, which had morphed from desert to grassland, were renamed. The much more formidable task of redrawing rivers, lakes and coastlines was actually far simpler, because the underlying graphics had long since been provided by orbital imagery.
Such precision did have one other effect, though. With the proper access, even their secluded spot in the Angeles Crest was easily observed. And that was why Cynthia had chosen this particular place for tonight’s activities. As she brought the flier closer to the ground, and then inched towards the canyon wall, a natural cave came into view, an alcove hidden from overhead observation, and out of sight of the disused streamside trail below. After a few more moments of careful maneuvering, the flier was tucked far inside the alcove, angled for an easy exit, and the fans were spinning down.
Frank looked around. To their left, hidden from the entrance, were a bedroll, a small table, and what looked like a compact food storage and preparation setup. “Do you live here or something?”
Cynthia opened her flier door and stepped out. “When I need to. I figured we might need to stay out of sight until Monday morning, so this seemed a reasonable solution.”
“Where do we put him?” Frank said, indicating Apuérto, who was slumped in what would have been an uncomfortable position had he been conscious.
She glanced around, then pointed at a relatively rock-free area behind the flier. “Over there. I’ll lay out my bedroll, then help you with him.”
While Frank went around to the door against which their passenger was slumped, Cynthia set her bedroll down at the end of the area she’d chosen, and pressed a fluid-filled switch in the fabric. As the embedded aerogel matrix set, the thing unrolled, and then thickened, until finally it was about three inches thick. “Handy things, these,” she said brightly. “It’s a floatation device as well, though I doubt we’ll be needing it for that around here.”
“What happened back there, anyway?” he said, “And why did it stop?”
She shook her head as they pulled Apuérto from the back seat. “I don’t know. That first incident might have been a warning. Anyone on auto wouldn’t give it a second thought, so it must mean our adversary knows I fly on manual.”
They placed Apuérto on the aerogel mattress, and sat beside it.
“Maybe so,” Frank said, “but if stopping us was important enough to send a freighter out of control, why warn us off first? That thing could have caused a major disaster.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said. “The only flier that didn’t get out of the way was the MedCenter transport. If anyone were to have been killed, it would have been Apuérto and the transport team, and that might mean that the second incident was a kind of back-up plan.”
He looked down at Apuérto. “And all to protect something that this guy doesn’t even remember. It must be pretty important, if someone’s willing to go to all that trouble.”
“Yeah,” she said. “So we’d better get started. I guess the first step would be to fix the mess caused by that attack of yours, so we can poke around in his memories. Just to be on the safe side, I’ll make us all invisible so you can work in peace.”
Frank held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Before you start, there’s still the problem of my attacks. What if I have another one while working on him? That’s how he got into this state to begin with.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too, Frank” she said. “Remember, I was linked to you when you had that bad attack outside the courtroom. It happened very quickly, and my first reaction was to drop the link. By the time you heard my voice in your head a short while later, I’d had a chance to re-establish it. I’m not certain, but I think your attacks may actually be triggered by something external. I just haven’t been able to put my finger on what it might be.”
“External?” he said, puzzled. “But what could do a thing like that?”
“Not a clue,” she said. “In any case, there’s time to figure that out later. For right now, just get in there and see what you can find. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? That he stays like this?”
He shook his head in amusement. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Cynthia shrugged, flexed her fingers a few times, and set to work.
Frank watched what she did, in hopes of learning something of her technique. First, she fixed her gaze on the largest of the boulders blocking the view outside, and her breathing slowed. Then her eyes narrowed a bit, and soon that odd feeling of invincible invisibility swept through him. He started reaching out psychically to get a better sense of the field, when it suddenly vanished.
She turned to face him. “What are you doing?”
He swallowed uncomfortably. “I was just—”
“Checking my work?” she said, doubtfully. “Look, I’m setting up a thoughtform defense here to respond to any kind of intrusion. I’ll let you know if we’re noticed. But in the meantime, hands off, okay?”
“Sure,” Frank said sheepishly.
She went back to work. Once her thoughtform was re-established, she turned towards him and nodded.
Having already calmed himself in preparation for working on Apuérto, Frank closed his eyes and extended his psychic awareness into what should have been the personal space of his patient. Normally, a person’s physical location in our consensual reality was aligned with their consciousness’ sense of location within it. That’s what made it possible for a psychic like Frank or Cynthia to connect to a person’s inner reality, which exists partly here, and partly in what might be thought of as something like the DreamTime. When a consciousness is aligned properly between these realities, it can interact with the world, which is just a common consensual reality, through the body it expresses here. In dreams, of course, you’re simply aligned with some other reality-context for a while.
In Apuérto’s case, however, this alignment was skewed as part of his panic-driven reaction to the attack. That was why his mind and body were no longer working together. So Frank’s first task was to nudge Apuérto’s sense of reality back into line. Because his consciousness wasn’t aligned to any reality-context at the moment, he would be having no experience at all, not even a dream. Even after Frank adjusted it, however, he wouldn’t suddenly find himself in a dream, because he wasn’t attached to any memories, which meant he couldn’t relate to any reality context. But he’d get to that later.
Frank’s detached awareness floated in what could be described as the darkness of Apuérto’s soul, wondering at the wisdom of what he planned to do. Poring through someone’s memories while they were awake, or even if they were in trance, was one thing; this would be quite another. While linked in court, he was pretty much limited to those portions of a witness’ memories that were exposed by what he’d been asked to relate. Here, with Apuérto not even involved in the process, he could see and do almost anything. The very idea was disturbing.
Still, it was the only way out of their peril, so he steeled himself, and set to work. The process of re-alignment was similar to working with the flow patterns in a fluid. If he made what might be called a space beside Apuérto’s untethered consciousness, it would settle towards the area of low pressure. With this technique, Frank gently altered the location and orientation of the complex knot of energy that represented his consciousness in this space, until it found a comfortable spot, at which point it seemed to snap into place.
With that done, the next step was to cajole it into re-establishing its connection to the man’s body. As long as the two were not connected, there was a good possibility that his automatic biological systems would skip out of their various attractor patterns, and one or another of his organs would fail, eventually leading to death. This was the reason that people in his condition were placed in BioStabilization at MedCenters: at least they wouldn’t die. To be more precise, they couldn’t.
This situation exposed one of the key differences in how Healers and MedCenter Physicians understood what the body and brain are and how they work. Allopathic medicine, which is practiced at MedCenters, springs from the belief that we are essentially physical beings, while Healers begin with the premise that we are energy. From the Healer’s point of view, the physical body, with all it’s nerves, bone and muscle, are an expression of that energy being in our consensual reality context. Because of that, it is possible, in their view, for a person’s mind to be disconnected from their body or their memories, even though their brain is intact, and is still firmly attached to their peripheral nerves. The Physicians don’t really have a model to explain their perspective; they just accept it at face value.
It was fairly simple to identify which portion of the complex knot of consciousness energy was associated with what bit of anatomy, so Frank spent several minutes re-introducing them to one another. Once enough of them had re-synched, the attractor came into play, and the rest began to fall together on their own.
So far, so good, but he needed a rest, so he dropped out of the link and opened his eyes.
“How’s it going?” she asked quietly.
“Okay, I guess. At least he’s attached to this reality now. Well, physically, anyway. His mind is still loose, though, so I need to start re-attaching his memory matrix. Any sign of our being spotted?”
She looked into the bit of night sky visible from behind the boulders. “No. It’s past one o’clock, if I remember your constellations correctly, so I think we may be safe for the night. Get back in there.”
Frank chuckled, closed his eyes, and set back to work. The next part of this process was the trickiest. He focused in on the feel of Apuérto’s now-synched consciousness, and studied the area where the memory substrate is normally attached. Although there are physical structures related to memory and other various biological structures, the source of our being, in his view, was really in another kind of reality. The mind relies on its memories to understand the world it’s in, which means that if Apuérto were to be of much use to anyone in this one, he’d need his reattached.
When we switch contexts, which is what happens when we slip between our waking world and some dream one, we also exchange memory substrates. Memories gained while dreaming are not very useful once you’ve awakened, so we disconnect from one set, and attach to another. This normally works fairly smoothly, although some people experience a groggy delay on waking, while it becomes fully engaged.
Apuérto was, at the moment, suspended between those worlds. As far as Frank could tell, his mind wasn’t associated with any set of memories. You might describe him as being in a dreamless sleep, except for the fact that without assistance, he’d never wake up from it.
Happily, there wasn’t any question of which memory substrate to connect him to, because there’s only one associated with our consensual reality. Any others he may have developed while in what we experience as dreams would only be evident to Frank if he were somehow to become aligned with one of those dream contexts. That would be a considerably more difficult challenge.
What he did, then, was to reach into Apuérto’s consciousness knot with the idea of self, and find the area that responded to that thought. The method was like psychometry in a way, because the thing being searched for made itself evident to the searcher. If he’d been using the technique to locate a missing child, for example, he might feel the location on a map as a hot spot as he passed his hand over it. Then, after repeating the procedure for the memory substrate, he drew the two areas towards one another until they merged in recognition, and Apuérto once again had a basis for the concept of self.
It was a tedious process, rebuilding the roots of the man’s memories, but after repeating the process a dozen more times, it began to take over for itself, and Frank once again dropped out of the link for a rest.
This time, when he looked around, he didn’t see Cynthia. Concerned that there might be a problem, he stood up, stretched, and stepped to the edge of the alcove. She was leaning against the rock to the right, still shielded from view, but with a much larger stretch of sky to watch.
She looked over at him. “Done yet?”
“Not completely. His memory matrix is reestablishing itself. That may take a while to settle out, so it might be a good time to get some sleep. In the morning, when we’re rested, we can start looking through his memories for whoever it is we’re after.”
… Sunday …
Since the flier was the only comfortable place to sit, Frank and Cynthia climbed in and were both quickly ensconced in a more familiar altered state, sleep. Frank awoke once or twice during the night, startled back from dreaming of some other world by the shrill cry of a far-off nocturnal animal in this one. When he opened his eyes to the muted red light of morning, however, he sat up and smiled, because Mara had just told him that she and Alex had collected Pegwin, and the three would be heading back to Los Angeles. She seemed sad, though, and that made him anxious to learn about what had happened in Halifax. More pressing matters awaited, though, so he climbed out of the flier and stepped over towards the entrance to mull over what lay ahead.
He was deep in reverie, sampling possible explanations for their adversary’s behavior, when the smell of hot biscuits lured his wandering attention back to the purely physical. Cynthia had fired up the portable food prep unit, and heated them both some coffee. The biscuits were more easily explained: she’d gotten them fresh the day before, and had popped them into a superinsulation box for later. She just hadn’t expected later to have taken this long.
“Coffee?” she asked, handing him a cup.
“Thanks.” He pointed at Apuérto with his elbow. “Isn’t he going to be hungry when we bring him around?”
She nodded. “Should be. But I suspect he’ll be more interested in yelling at you first. So there’s probably time to solve that problem later.”
Frank shook his head in amusement. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Not as much as I’ll enjoy taking down the jerk who ruined my life. If I ever lay my hands on him, I swear I’ll—”
“Take it easy,” Frank said gently. “We have more immediate problems to deal with. Finding what we’re looking for in his memories is going to take both of us, and we can’t do that very effectively if you’re all worked up over something that happened last year.”
She took a breath. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be okay.”
A while later, they returned to the aerogel mattress where Apuérto lay, and knelt on opposite sides of him, their knees on the cushioning. Cynthia studied their patient for a moment, and then looked across at Frank. “What’s your plan?”
“Well,” he said after a pause, “we know that he has memories that include our mystery guest, but since he never noticed the guy, he won’t be able to recall them on his own. So what I want to do is convince his memory matrix that I’m his consciousness.”
Cynthia smiled. “You’re going to hack into his consciousness, and hijack his identity?”
He nodded.
“You know,” she said, “you might be working on the wrong side. If you’re not careful, they might try to recruit you.”
He waved off her attempt at humor. “I’m serious. Have you ever tried something like that?”
“What, and lose my license?”
“Um,” he said, “what license?”
“You know what I mean. A simple invasion of privacy is enough to cause trouble, how do you think they’ll react to this?”
He huffed. “I’m hoping they won’t get the chance. One, I think he’ll protect us, once he knows what’s been happening, and two, if we do sniff this guy out, they’ll have much bigger problems than just pulling some Healer’s license.”
She looked doubtful. “We’ll see.”
Frank closed his eyes and focused on the now-familiar feel of Apuérto’s consciousness. After feeling around a while, he found the spot that lay between that bundle of energy and the memory substrate that supported its interaction with this reality. He’d started the process by identifying the man’s sense of self, so he was already familiar with how it was expressed in this space. By recalling that energy pattern, and wrapping it around his own sense of self, he created a crude impersonation of Apuérto, but one that he hoped was sufficiently like the real thing to cause his memory substrate to respond to requests.
To try it out, Frank thought about the testimony that Apuérto had given in court, and offered it to the memory substrate as a starting point. It took a while for the man’s associated memories to gather enough strength of recognition, but soon the memory of the events that Apuérto had described were offered up for recall. When Frank reached towards the symbolic representation floating before him, in this case a superimposition of the courtroom as seen from the witness box, and a view of the MedCenter, the entire sequence of events flooded through him, just as if Apuérto himself had requested and had received a recollection of those events.
Among the things returned by that request were hooks to related memories, one of which contained the distorted image of the person he was searching for. He sampled several of these, until at last he found the one he’d seen in court, the one that he’d been so caught up in that he didn’t realize that an attack was underway.
Satisfied that there wouldn’t be a repeat performance, he took a closer look at the memory. Apuérto was in a conference room, seated at a table with a number of other people in impressive-looking outfits. By reaching towards each of the people in the image, he got a sample of the associations that Apuérto had built up about them. This was a management meeting, and their patient was nominally in charge of the proceedings.
In the far right corner from where Apuérto was seated, standing in the shadow beyond the purpose lighting that focused on the table, was their mystery person. Using the same technique as before, Frank reached towards the fuzzy image, but this time he was not offered any associations. This was strange, because normally, even if you’ve only met someone for the first time, there will still be associations, even if only to other people you didn’t know. But if there were no associations, then Apuérto wasn’t even subconsciously aware of this person’s presence in the room.
Puzzled, Frank took a closer look at the image itself, and discovered that it was somewhat translucent. But what could that mean? Was Apuérto seeing ghosts? Hallucinations? Lenny was convinced that Apuérto had seen the agent, and this person appeared to be what he was referring to, but how could that be? He looked again at the image, and noticed that his right hand was raised. Further, the fingers suggested that he was holding something small in his palm. Beyond that, there was nothing.
He pulled back for a moment to consider how to proceed. Perhaps by offering this image, something that Apuérto wasn’t aware of as having been in the memory, other appearances of their quarry might be recovered. Surprisingly, when he did this, a number of related memories were offered. Each one included a distorted, translucent figure holding something in his right hand. Most of these memories were from other management meetings, but a few were from public events. What was going on?
Frank broke the link and looked at Cynthia, who had moved a short distance away, and was sitting cross-legged on the dirt. “I think I need a second opinion.”
She opened her eyes and smiled. “This should be fun. Have you ever tried playing show and tell in someone’s head before?”
He shook his head. “Nope. But then, I never impersonated someone to their own memories, either. I sure hope he doesn’t remember any of this.”
“Same here. What do you want me to do?”
He rubbed a finger over his lower teeth for a moment in thought. “Well, I’ve tracked down a number of images of our guy, and I’d like to know if there’s anything about him that strikes you as familiar. After all, if you’ve tangled with someone in the same business, there may be similarities we can pull out.”
“Sure,” she said, “lead on.”
After she joined him at Apuérto’s side, they both closed their eyes. Frank began by establishing a link with Cynthia, so they could share the experience. Once that was done, he re-established his position between Apuérto’s consciousness and his memories, and brought up a crowd of memory associations. This time, they were represented as the semi-transparent image of their quarry.
One by one, he reached out to them, and each time they saw a scene in which this mysterious person was lurking in the shadows, holding something small in his right hand. When he was done, he thought a question at her. ‘Well?’
They floated there for a while, intruders in the most personal space imaginable, considering what to do, when suddenly Cynthia’s presence vanished – she’d broken the link. Frank followed suit to find out why she’d retreated so suddenly.
“That’s him!” she said suddenly, eyes ablaze.
“Who?”
She took a sharp breath. “The same jerk that trashed my life in Nullarbor City.”
Frank was taken aback. “You mean the image? The guy in Apuérto’s—”
She shook her head and stood up. “No. We weren’t alone in there. He’s found us, and it’s the same guy I tangled with before. Hold on a bit while I shield us.”
Frank watched as she changed her focus, and that now-familiar feeling of invincible invisibility washed over him. A moment later, she opened her eyes. “Quick, Frank. Go in and bring him around. We have to get him someplace safe, and not by dragging him.”
Dutifully, Frank closed his eyes, reached into Apuérto’s personal space yet again, and felt around for the fine energy stream that enables us to switch between reality contexts. His was still flailing about loose, which was why he wasn’t able to wake into any reality context, dreaming or not. Moving closer, he watched the thin structure whip around a few times, like the flagella of a psychotic sperm cell, then lunged at the place he hoped it would go next, but missed, and tumbled past it. If its behavior had been constrained by some kind of attractor, like the ones his organs traced on the BSW display, at least he’d have a wild guess at what it might do, but this was utter randomness. Turning back towards the thing, he imagined having a kind of net, and used it to limit the thing’s range of motion. Then, by carefully closing the net, he slowed its dance enough to grab on. Then, by carefully guiding it into the flow of energy where it normally resides, he got it to resume its job, and that meant he had to detach quickly, so that Apuérto didn’t know that he’d been in there.
Frank opened his eyes and sat back to see what would happen. Soon, Apuérto started to rouse. Abruptly, he opened his eyes, looked around, and sat up.
“Where am I?” he said. Then, he looked Frank squarely in the eye. “What’s this about, anyway?”
Frank took a breath. “Look, I don’t have time to explain right now. Someone tried to kill you, and—”
“Yeah,” Apuérto said vehemently, “you! The last thing I remember was testifying in court, with you in my—”
Frank shook his head. “That was an accident. MedCenter transport was taking you to— The thing is, someone tried to kill you and the transport crew with a truck last night. We rescued you and—”
“Shut up, both of you!” Cynthia was standing by the flier. “If we don’t get out of here, right now, we could all wind up in the morgue. You two can sort the details out later. Just get in!”
The two men looked at one another, then both stood and bolted for the flier. Before they’d had a chance to buckle in, she’d lifted off and was gaining altitude.
Hovering momentarily over the canyon, she said, “Where to?”
“Kübler-Ross Hospice. We can get some protection in one of the shield rooms.” While Cynthia headed towards Los Angeles, Frank looked back at Apuérto. “Look, as far as we can tell, the person that tried to have you killed last night has been interfering in MedCenter business. We’re trying to find a way to prove it. Somehow, this is all related to our court case, and I want to expose it.”
Apuérto stared at him for a long moment, then looked at Cynthia, who was clearly busy flying through traffic on manual. “You’re really afraid, of something, aren’t you,” he said at last.
“Getting killed, for one,” Frank said.
“Or worse,” Cynthia added.
“All right,” Apuérto said agreeably, and sat back to watch the traffic.
A white-knuckle ride later, they set down at Kübler-Ross Hospice, and headed for the emergency entrance. Once inside, Frank asked where Jen was. A moment later, her image appeared on the display.
“We’re here,” he said, breathlessly.
She nodded. “A bit late, though, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. Right now we need a shield room, and someone to claim we’re not in it.”
She nodded. “Done. Take number three.”
… Monday …
Timing was critical. They waited until the very last moment on Monday morning before heading across town to the courthouse. Frank walked into the jury room just as the bailiff was requesting their presence. Falling into line with the jurors, he entered the courtroom and looked around to see who was present.
As before, Healer Carlita Gutiérez was sitting in the second row of the spectator area. Nearby was her colleague, Allan Wylie, who had helped tweak the energy ‘sprite’, as he called it. Between them was someone he didn’t recognize at first.
While the judge was setting the stage for the continuation of the case, Frank took some more time to study the stranger. Then, two things struck him nearly at once. First, the younger man appeared to be holding something in his right hand; and second, they’d already met — in a kiosk at the intersection of two long hallways at the East-Side MedCenter.
This was the so-called student he’d asked for directions. And it appeared that both Carlita and Wylie were working with him. He wasn’t exactly sure when the third thought struck, the one that made him drop his jaw: the ‘sprite’ in his energy field was working for the other side, too.
(TOC)
2024.04.22 21:34 SupremeChancellor66 Tier 10 American Battleship New Jersey - Concept
 | https://preview.redd.it/th02ary623wc1.jpg?width=1024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9d324c9174e8bd239013cbe16019801a5e95f470 submitted by SupremeChancellor66 to WorldOfWarships [link] [comments] ***Hypothetical Dev-Blog**\* One of the four Iowa-class battleships constructed by the United States Navy during World War II, the USS New Jersey would become the most decorated battleship in the history of the US Navy. Earning an unprecedented 19 Battle Stars, the New Jersey served with distinction from Liberation of Tarawa and Makin to the Battle of Okinawa. On February 4th, 1944, New Jersey became the flagship of Admiral Spruance, then the youngest admiral in the US Navy. Spruance raced the New Jersey toward a flotilla of Japanese ships at Truk, obliterating a trawler and the destroyer Minekaze with a full 10-gun salvo from her 5-inch gun secondary broadside. Later in the battle her 16-inch main guns closely straddled the destroyer Nowaki at a distance of 21.3 nautical miles, the longest distance straddle in naval history, though the Nowaki escaped. In May 1944, the New Jersey would support amphibious landings in the Marianas Islands and the Battle of the Philippine Sea in June 1944. The New Jersey defended the Fifth Fleet from Admiral Ozawa's naval aircraft and kamikaze, in what would become known as the "Great Marianas Turkey Shoot", protecting the USN carriers with her anti-aircraft gun batteries. Later that month she would provide similar support at landings at Saipan, Tinian and the reclamation of Guam. On August 3rd, 1944, she broke the flag of Admiral Halsey, becoming the flagship of the Third Fleet. The New Jersey formed the core of the massive American naval fleet that steamed toward the Philippines in what would become the largest naval battle in history, the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Admiral Halsey in USS New Jersey led five other battleships, nine fleet carriers, eight light carriers, fourteen cruisers, and fifty-eight destroyers straight into Japan’s inner line of defenses to clear the way for the Leyte landings. General MacArthur was called to Leyte, given command of the Seventh Fleet and its older battleships in order to launch the amphibious assault that would reclaim the Philippines from the Japanese. It was at the Battle off Samar where Admiral Halsey made a decision that has remained controversial to this day. Upon hearing the appeals of Task Force 34's commander for aid, Halsey refused to detach the squadron from the engagement when they encountered Admiral Kurita's fleet, led by the battleship Yamato. Halsey was unaware that Japanese airpower had been crippled and feared exposing his fleet to a massed kamikaze attack, and thus deprived the New Jersey and the Yamato of a duel that would've determined which battleship was superior. The USS New Jersey shares is a remarkable and decorated ship and is equally deserving of such a place in World of Warships. Similar to American premium battleship Massachusetts and special battleship Ohio, she is equipped with an enhanced secondary battery armament making her a truly fearsome opponent on the high seas. Furthermore, she is equipped the with Defensive AA Fire consumable to represent her unyielding anti-aircraft firepower. Finally, she is equipped with an enhanced speed boost consumable with similar parameters to Georgia. Hit Points - 81,100 Main Battery - 3x3 406mm. Firing Range - 21.23km. Dispersion Battlecruiser Maximum HE shell damage - 5700. HE shell armor penetration - 68 mm. Chance to cause fire - 36%. HE initial velocity - 762 m/s. Maximum AP shell damage - 13500. AP initial velocity - 762 m/s. Reload time - 30.0 s. 180 degree turn time - 45s. Maximum dispersion - 272 m. Sigma - 1.8. AA Defense: 10x2 127.0 mm., 80x40 40.0mm Bofors., 49x20 20.0mm Oerlikon AA defense close-range: continuous damage per second - 196, hit probability - 100%, action zone - 2.0 km; AA defense mid-range: continuous damage per second - 318, hit probability - 100%, action zone - 3.5 km; AA defense long-range: continuous damage per second - 157, hit probability - 100%, action zone - 5.8 km; Number of explosions in a salvo - 6, damage within an explosion - 1680, action zone 3.5 - 5.8 km Secondary Battery - 10x2 127mm. Firing Range - 8.3km. Maximum HE shell damage - 1800. HE shell armor penetration - 22mm. Chance to cause fire - 9%. HE initial velocity - 808 m/s. Reload time - 3.0 s. Maximum Speed - 32.5 kts. Turning circle radius - 920m. Rudder shift time - 18.6 s. Surface detectability - 15.71 km (12.9 fully specc). Air detectability – 11.4km. Depth charges airstrike: Standard characteristics. Available consumables:
New Jersey Pros vs. Cons Pros:
I feel that due to its historical significance, the 19 battle stars earned and its nature of being a real steel ship that you can visit right now in dry dock, this ship must be made available for steel and nothing else. Notes This is one of the few museum ships I've actually visited in person and toured. It's nothing short of breathtaking, and I could never hope to describe it here. It deserves so much more attention and appreciation, and I really hope that if this ship makes it to the game, its done proper. As for its stats, I leave it to you guys to comment on what I have and provide constructive criticism. Regardless, I feel it has to be a secondary focused ship to set itself apart from Wisconsin and owing to its feats involving its 5-inch barrage (and to one up Ohio)! |
2024.04.22 16:01 nomass39 When I was little, I met the thing that takes lonely and forgotten children. [Part 2]
Part 1
The next morning, mommy didn’t have a face.
She didn’t have a lot of things anymore, really. Something had taken her face, her eye, her fingers. I’d never seen blood and viscera before, so the sight confused me almost as much as it scared me. I’d woken up covered in those red chunks, and the smell made me feel sick. Was this really what people looked like, under their skin?
A trail of that scarlet red led down the hall, splattered over walls and furniture. My mind swam with questions. How had I slept through it all? Who did this? The little girl or the thing that followed were my immediate suspects, but the true culprit was so much worse: Bandit. We were supposed to be best pals no matter what, yet there I spotted him, maw turned red with dried blood, ears flattened against his head, looking guilty.
It was all too much. I’d been betrayed by my best friend, and my mom, once my only source of comfort, wasn’t even recognizable anymore. Worse still, the reality of the situation was finally starting to dawn on my developing mind. Things weren’t going to go back to the way they used to be. I wasn’t yet ready to comprehend the idea of eternity, but… somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a growing flicker of understanding that my mom wasn’t going to wake up from all this.
The thought wracked me with a profound terror I wasn’t yet ready to handle, and I threw myself at her side, shaking her limp body. “Mommy, please. You have to wake up. You’re really hurt, mommy. You have to go to the doctor! You have to!” I choked out the words through bitter tears, my voice raising until I was screaming myself hoarse, as if volume alone would make her wounds disappear and her eyes open and we could go back to being a family again.
Only the silence answered.
I curled up and cried somewhere far away from the mess of red meat that had once been my mother. But eventually, I felt a cold snout bump against my back. It was Bandit, sniffing me close as if to check on me. I tensed, disgusted by his audacity, roughly shoving him away from me with a hand. “No! Go away! Bad dog! You hurt mommy!” It wasn’t long before he nudged me again, and in a fit of rage I swung around and punched him in the snout hard enough to make him yelp. “I said go away!”
But I immediately felt bad, watching him slink guiltily away. And when he poked his head back in a good fifteen minutes later, I sighed and beckoned to him with a hand. “I’m sorry, Bandit.” He trotted forward and I wrapped him in the biggest hug I could muster, and I couldn’t help but giggle softly as he licked over my cheek as if to wipe away my tears. “You’re a good dog. You were just hungry. I’m hungry, too. I love you.”
But of course, even now, her body wouldn’t stay still.
I was used to being awoken these nights, usually due to my piercing hunger or night terrors or that presence at the door. This time, however, it was from a clattering downstairs. It seemed familiar, like… the sound of someone loading dishes into the washer? Had mommy finally woken up? A day ago, I would have jumped for joy at the idea. Now it filled me with terror, even if I couldn’t say why. Something about imagining that faceless thing hobbling down the hallways…
I crept downstairs at a snail’s pace, bracing myself, yet still I yelped in surprise at the sight of her. Her body’d been propped up limply at a chair at the dining table, facing my way as if expecting me. A spaghetti mess of ratty, molding hair, thin and stiff and black like a spider’s legs, was draped over that concave crevasse that had once been a face, all splotches of red with glimmers of white where her teeth remained embedded in the meat. Said meat was turning an ashy black, pocked by holes where insects had begun to lair like creatures resting in caves along a cliff face, the largest being the socket of her consumed left eye which a maggot family now called home. Her right eye had been tugged halfway out of its socket, looking wide and glassy and yellow, bent sideways as if staring at the wall.
I was so struck by it, it took a second to notice that the sound was still coming, even though she was motionless. Something else was in the kitchen, seemingly knocking about pots and pans, sorting through glasses and silverware, making as much noise as possible like a lure. The dining room was dark, but the kitchen was truly pitch black, lit only by the faintest glimmers that shone upon silverware like dots of moonlight upon a black lake. Mommy sat at the very border of that blackness with her back to it, like the Cerberus at the entrance to Hades.
And then, all at once, the noises ceased, as if the thing had caught me staring, and had stopped to stare back. And once again, the silence proved worse than the sound.
I took a seat at the table, across from the meat that used to be my mother. I still don’t know why. It just felt like what I was supposed to do. There we sat in a twisted, mocking facsimile of the family dinners we so used to enjoy, as I tried to pay attention to anything but the look and smell of her, as everything around us faded to silence and dark. Just as I thought the silence would last forever, mommy sprung to life.
No — not her. Something behind her, in the darkness, using her like a puppet. Even as a child, I knew instantly those movements were not hers. They were like a marionette’s, stiff and jerky and artificial. But her voice was unmistakable. “Good morning, my darling. Oh, that was quite the refreshing rest.” Silence. “What’s the matter, my love? Aren’t you glad to see your momma?”
I heard Bandit growling, and turned to see him stood beside me, head low, ears up, eyes wide like a deer’s, staring into the darkness. He was thinking the same thing I was. “Y-you’re not my mommy.”
That black abyss in its scarlet not-face spread wide in a way that, I guess, was supposed to be analogous to a smile. “Why, don’t be ridiculous, child!” A hand jerked upwards to wave dismissively. “I was just having a little nap. You know us moms. We work so hard. We need lots of rest. But I’m awake now. Okay, honey? Everything is okay.”
I stood from my chair, tears blurring my vision. “No! It’s not okay!” I yelled, all that fear and frustration bubbling up. “You’re not my mommy! Where’s my mommy? I hate this! I hate you! I want to go home! My real home, with my real mommy!”
And as I screamed and cried, the thing’s not-face slowly soured, as though the sound of my tantrum was like nails on a chalkboard. “Now, now. Don’t cry. You know… mommy doesn’t… like it when you… cry.” It whinced and shuddered. Its voice lowered. “You’ve already made this far more difficult than it had to be, you… little… whore.” As she growled those last words, her voice lowered into… something else. It didn’t sound much like a voice, but rather an itching coming from inside my own head, like a fingernail scratching against my eardrum directly.
I screamed, and Bandit took that as his cue.
His barking tore through the silence as he stormed fearlessly into that darkness, and somehow managed to sink his teeth into something solid in all that black. There came a sound roughly comparable to the squealing of a pig being put through an industrial lathe hooves-first, and the creature through my mother’s corpse away in such a fashion that it seemed to go pouncing over the table onto me. I was sobbing as I was knocked backwards in my chair, the body flopping limply atop me, maggots and blackened blood and bits of turgid meat splattering upon my cheeks.
I wriggled out from under her with all the strength I could give, and went blindly fleeing, crying and wailing to the tune of Bandit snarling and tearing at something unfathomable far behind me.
The façade of my apartment was flickering all around me, as if the illusion was crumbling as my loyal pooch mauled its creator. Once again I was merely sprinting through an endless course of rooms I recognized, but which were somehow off — the geometry warped and twisted in impossible ways, like I was not in the rooms themselves but in half-faded memories of these rooms made manifest. TV flickering between violent and profane images over a soundtrack like someone smashing keys on a piano. Doors slammed shut before me, and each clung stubbornly closed… but then I’d think of my mother’s loving face, and they would yield.
And then things emerged from those implacable darknesses. The shadow things from the apartment doorways. The things that were children — or had once been children, long ago in days when they’d been loved by anybody but the creature in the dark. Things twisted into lattices of rusted metal, bones broken and bent and allowed to heal in wrong directions to fit those twisted industrial shapes, hobbling forth on bony legs as if struggling to maintain their own weight. There was no way they could catch me at that speed, but it seemed they hoped their visages alone would terrify me into paralysis. And they almost did, until a friend rejoined my side.
I felt the fur brush my leg, and I screamed, ready to kick and scratch at it. But I turned and saw it was Bandit, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was a smug, triumphant little grin on my dog’s face. The fur around his muzzle was wet with the thing’s blood — no, not blood, but something black, thick and curdled. He showed no fear, only a determination to shepherd me through the valley of darkness.
But behind me, the darkness followed. I could hear that entity screaming from a mouth that was not a mouth, roaring in a sort of infrasound that could not be heard by the ears but which rattled the mind and twisted the stomach into knots. Doors slammed and lights shattered in its wake as if it were afraid to ever step into the light. The floor rumbled and shook as it grew nearer, until I could feel its breath against the back of my neck.
And then I pushed through one more door, and floated away into an endless expanse of white.
I closed my eyes, if only because the very brightness itself pained me. But that horrible, raspy breathing was replaced with another, one low and gentle, a kind I recognized from snuggling up to my mother on many a sleepless night. One last time, I got to feel her hold me close and nuzzle her chin against mine. She whispered a vow of love in some language I didn’t understand, and I’ll never forget her meaning even if I can’t express it with words alone.
And somewhere far off behind me, something was rumbling, rumbling…
And I was home. Sitting on the floor in front of the TV, where the Dora the Explorer theme song was blaring. Toys and action figures scattered across the floor before me, and two social workers standing over me, flashing a light in my eyes, trying to figure out why I wasn’t responsive.
Nobody ever believed a word of my story. The only hard proof I have to offer is that, while her bed was found caked in dried blood, my mother’s body was never found. Not even a trace of it.
After that, I found a new home living with my distant aunt and uncle twice removed, a plain couple who just happened to take pity on the poor child with the tweaker mother. They would always talk about how inseparable me and Bandit seemed to be. How my loyal pooch would always stand by my side, as if always guarding against something. He was sick for a few months after all that happened — my uncle said he must’ve taken a bite out of something he shouldn’t have. But he pulled through, and I still have my scrappy old mutt today, pampered with all the treats and belly rubs he could ask for.
But I can see in his eyes that what we saw in those days never left him. And it hasn’t left me either.
Our society is sick. So many children like me fall through the cracks every day, and nobody notices. Nobody cares. It’s a cruel enough fate to go through your short life without ever feeling the warmth or the light of care or love. Crueler still to fall into the hands of the thing that waits for them out in the dark.
A few weeks ago, a girl vanished from a poor apartment near me. Not a single hint left that she’d ever existed. No family, no manhunt, just a footnote in the papers. And when once I was roused late in the night by Bandit’s growls, and dared open my eyes, I swear I could see her beady little eye staring at me from the absolute darkness behind the crack in the door.
submitted by nomass39 to nosleep [link] [comments]
The next morning, mommy didn’t have a face.
She didn’t have a lot of things anymore, really. Something had taken her face, her eye, her fingers. I’d never seen blood and viscera before, so the sight confused me almost as much as it scared me. I’d woken up covered in those red chunks, and the smell made me feel sick. Was this really what people looked like, under their skin?
A trail of that scarlet red led down the hall, splattered over walls and furniture. My mind swam with questions. How had I slept through it all? Who did this? The little girl or the thing that followed were my immediate suspects, but the true culprit was so much worse: Bandit. We were supposed to be best pals no matter what, yet there I spotted him, maw turned red with dried blood, ears flattened against his head, looking guilty.
It was all too much. I’d been betrayed by my best friend, and my mom, once my only source of comfort, wasn’t even recognizable anymore. Worse still, the reality of the situation was finally starting to dawn on my developing mind. Things weren’t going to go back to the way they used to be. I wasn’t yet ready to comprehend the idea of eternity, but… somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a growing flicker of understanding that my mom wasn’t going to wake up from all this.
The thought wracked me with a profound terror I wasn’t yet ready to handle, and I threw myself at her side, shaking her limp body. “Mommy, please. You have to wake up. You’re really hurt, mommy. You have to go to the doctor! You have to!” I choked out the words through bitter tears, my voice raising until I was screaming myself hoarse, as if volume alone would make her wounds disappear and her eyes open and we could go back to being a family again.
Only the silence answered.
I curled up and cried somewhere far away from the mess of red meat that had once been my mother. But eventually, I felt a cold snout bump against my back. It was Bandit, sniffing me close as if to check on me. I tensed, disgusted by his audacity, roughly shoving him away from me with a hand. “No! Go away! Bad dog! You hurt mommy!” It wasn’t long before he nudged me again, and in a fit of rage I swung around and punched him in the snout hard enough to make him yelp. “I said go away!”
But I immediately felt bad, watching him slink guiltily away. And when he poked his head back in a good fifteen minutes later, I sighed and beckoned to him with a hand. “I’m sorry, Bandit.” He trotted forward and I wrapped him in the biggest hug I could muster, and I couldn’t help but giggle softly as he licked over my cheek as if to wipe away my tears. “You’re a good dog. You were just hungry. I’m hungry, too. I love you.”
But of course, even now, her body wouldn’t stay still.
I was used to being awoken these nights, usually due to my piercing hunger or night terrors or that presence at the door. This time, however, it was from a clattering downstairs. It seemed familiar, like… the sound of someone loading dishes into the washer? Had mommy finally woken up? A day ago, I would have jumped for joy at the idea. Now it filled me with terror, even if I couldn’t say why. Something about imagining that faceless thing hobbling down the hallways…
I crept downstairs at a snail’s pace, bracing myself, yet still I yelped in surprise at the sight of her. Her body’d been propped up limply at a chair at the dining table, facing my way as if expecting me. A spaghetti mess of ratty, molding hair, thin and stiff and black like a spider’s legs, was draped over that concave crevasse that had once been a face, all splotches of red with glimmers of white where her teeth remained embedded in the meat. Said meat was turning an ashy black, pocked by holes where insects had begun to lair like creatures resting in caves along a cliff face, the largest being the socket of her consumed left eye which a maggot family now called home. Her right eye had been tugged halfway out of its socket, looking wide and glassy and yellow, bent sideways as if staring at the wall.
I was so struck by it, it took a second to notice that the sound was still coming, even though she was motionless. Something else was in the kitchen, seemingly knocking about pots and pans, sorting through glasses and silverware, making as much noise as possible like a lure. The dining room was dark, but the kitchen was truly pitch black, lit only by the faintest glimmers that shone upon silverware like dots of moonlight upon a black lake. Mommy sat at the very border of that blackness with her back to it, like the Cerberus at the entrance to Hades.
And then, all at once, the noises ceased, as if the thing had caught me staring, and had stopped to stare back. And once again, the silence proved worse than the sound.
I took a seat at the table, across from the meat that used to be my mother. I still don’t know why. It just felt like what I was supposed to do. There we sat in a twisted, mocking facsimile of the family dinners we so used to enjoy, as I tried to pay attention to anything but the look and smell of her, as everything around us faded to silence and dark. Just as I thought the silence would last forever, mommy sprung to life.
No — not her. Something behind her, in the darkness, using her like a puppet. Even as a child, I knew instantly those movements were not hers. They were like a marionette’s, stiff and jerky and artificial. But her voice was unmistakable. “Good morning, my darling. Oh, that was quite the refreshing rest.” Silence. “What’s the matter, my love? Aren’t you glad to see your momma?”
I heard Bandit growling, and turned to see him stood beside me, head low, ears up, eyes wide like a deer’s, staring into the darkness. He was thinking the same thing I was. “Y-you’re not my mommy.”
That black abyss in its scarlet not-face spread wide in a way that, I guess, was supposed to be analogous to a smile. “Why, don’t be ridiculous, child!” A hand jerked upwards to wave dismissively. “I was just having a little nap. You know us moms. We work so hard. We need lots of rest. But I’m awake now. Okay, honey? Everything is okay.”
I stood from my chair, tears blurring my vision. “No! It’s not okay!” I yelled, all that fear and frustration bubbling up. “You’re not my mommy! Where’s my mommy? I hate this! I hate you! I want to go home! My real home, with my real mommy!”
And as I screamed and cried, the thing’s not-face slowly soured, as though the sound of my tantrum was like nails on a chalkboard. “Now, now. Don’t cry. You know… mommy doesn’t… like it when you… cry.” It whinced and shuddered. Its voice lowered. “You’ve already made this far more difficult than it had to be, you… little… whore.” As she growled those last words, her voice lowered into… something else. It didn’t sound much like a voice, but rather an itching coming from inside my own head, like a fingernail scratching against my eardrum directly.
I screamed, and Bandit took that as his cue.
His barking tore through the silence as he stormed fearlessly into that darkness, and somehow managed to sink his teeth into something solid in all that black. There came a sound roughly comparable to the squealing of a pig being put through an industrial lathe hooves-first, and the creature through my mother’s corpse away in such a fashion that it seemed to go pouncing over the table onto me. I was sobbing as I was knocked backwards in my chair, the body flopping limply atop me, maggots and blackened blood and bits of turgid meat splattering upon my cheeks.
I wriggled out from under her with all the strength I could give, and went blindly fleeing, crying and wailing to the tune of Bandit snarling and tearing at something unfathomable far behind me.
The façade of my apartment was flickering all around me, as if the illusion was crumbling as my loyal pooch mauled its creator. Once again I was merely sprinting through an endless course of rooms I recognized, but which were somehow off — the geometry warped and twisted in impossible ways, like I was not in the rooms themselves but in half-faded memories of these rooms made manifest. TV flickering between violent and profane images over a soundtrack like someone smashing keys on a piano. Doors slammed shut before me, and each clung stubbornly closed… but then I’d think of my mother’s loving face, and they would yield.
And then things emerged from those implacable darknesses. The shadow things from the apartment doorways. The things that were children — or had once been children, long ago in days when they’d been loved by anybody but the creature in the dark. Things twisted into lattices of rusted metal, bones broken and bent and allowed to heal in wrong directions to fit those twisted industrial shapes, hobbling forth on bony legs as if struggling to maintain their own weight. There was no way they could catch me at that speed, but it seemed they hoped their visages alone would terrify me into paralysis. And they almost did, until a friend rejoined my side.
I felt the fur brush my leg, and I screamed, ready to kick and scratch at it. But I turned and saw it was Bandit, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was a smug, triumphant little grin on my dog’s face. The fur around his muzzle was wet with the thing’s blood — no, not blood, but something black, thick and curdled. He showed no fear, only a determination to shepherd me through the valley of darkness.
But behind me, the darkness followed. I could hear that entity screaming from a mouth that was not a mouth, roaring in a sort of infrasound that could not be heard by the ears but which rattled the mind and twisted the stomach into knots. Doors slammed and lights shattered in its wake as if it were afraid to ever step into the light. The floor rumbled and shook as it grew nearer, until I could feel its breath against the back of my neck.
And then I pushed through one more door, and floated away into an endless expanse of white.
I closed my eyes, if only because the very brightness itself pained me. But that horrible, raspy breathing was replaced with another, one low and gentle, a kind I recognized from snuggling up to my mother on many a sleepless night. One last time, I got to feel her hold me close and nuzzle her chin against mine. She whispered a vow of love in some language I didn’t understand, and I’ll never forget her meaning even if I can’t express it with words alone.
And somewhere far off behind me, something was rumbling, rumbling…
And I was home. Sitting on the floor in front of the TV, where the Dora the Explorer theme song was blaring. Toys and action figures scattered across the floor before me, and two social workers standing over me, flashing a light in my eyes, trying to figure out why I wasn’t responsive.
Nobody ever believed a word of my story. The only hard proof I have to offer is that, while her bed was found caked in dried blood, my mother’s body was never found. Not even a trace of it.
After that, I found a new home living with my distant aunt and uncle twice removed, a plain couple who just happened to take pity on the poor child with the tweaker mother. They would always talk about how inseparable me and Bandit seemed to be. How my loyal pooch would always stand by my side, as if always guarding against something. He was sick for a few months after all that happened — my uncle said he must’ve taken a bite out of something he shouldn’t have. But he pulled through, and I still have my scrappy old mutt today, pampered with all the treats and belly rubs he could ask for.
But I can see in his eyes that what we saw in those days never left him. And it hasn’t left me either.
Our society is sick. So many children like me fall through the cracks every day, and nobody notices. Nobody cares. It’s a cruel enough fate to go through your short life without ever feeling the warmth or the light of care or love. Crueler still to fall into the hands of the thing that waits for them out in the dark.
A few weeks ago, a girl vanished from a poor apartment near me. Not a single hint left that she’d ever existed. No family, no manhunt, just a footnote in the papers. And when once I was roused late in the night by Bandit’s growls, and dared open my eyes, I swear I could see her beady little eye staring at me from the absolute darkness behind the crack in the door.
2024.04.21 20:01 JDean_WAfricaStories Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks.
On the third Saturday of every month, Mary-Ann, a single mother navigating life post-divorce, embraced a routine that carved out quality time with her 11-year-old son, Gary. The day's weather, while slightly overcast, spared them from the oppressive summer heat, providing a welcome respite following the recent thunderstorms. Mary-Ann hopped into her black SUV, picked up Gary from his father’s place, and drove to their familiar spot: a cozy pastry shop within the bustling mall. En route to the shop, Gary enjoyed playing with his mom's smartphone.
Meanwhile, Bill, a grandfather, had his bi-weekly schedule to visit his five grandchildren, and today was the day. Excited about seeing them, he hopped into his favorite white Slingshot SL motorcycle, a sporty two-seater 3-wheeler. The cloud hung overhead, but it was less humid. Bill, optimistic and feeling great, thought about the gifts he'd bought—from chocolate bars to lollipops to action figures to barbie dolls. He imagined his grandchildren eagerly gathering around him, eyes and mouths wide open as they grabbed and unwrapped their gifts. As he hit the road before noon, he couldn't help but wish for more money. The idea of selling his motorcycle for $15,000 crossed his mind. This could fund a special trip to Disney World in California for his entire family: a trip he had always wanted. Lost in thought, Bill's mind drifted away, oblivious to the imminent presence of the SUV's grille directly in his path.
Mary-Ann paced the emergency department waiting room. She regretted overreacting to the sound, while lost in thought about the mall and all the potential gossips she was going to hear about her ex-husband's love affairs from his naive son. Now, with the man in the operating room possibly facing death, she feared the worst—would she be charged with murder? If only Gary had listened, refraining from playing that stupid fireworks game on her phone.
In the waiting room, Gary sat hunched over, chin nearly touching his chest. He regretted not heeding his father's advice before stepping into his mother’s car.
"Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks." Advice too late to heed now.
Gary remembered a similar incident from when he was five years old. It was on July 4th at the city’s largest park. After an amazing fireworks display, he and his father had returned home. Excited, he rushed inside the house to tell his mother about the fireworks and the parade. However, upon entering inside, he found the house in total darkness. Calling out for his mother yielded no response. Then, his father tapped his shoulder. "Check our closet."
He hurried into his parents’ closet, finding it in total darkness as well. Switching on the light, he discovered his mother lying flat on the floor with a pillow over her head.
"Mom! Mom! Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened to you?"
Right behind, his father tapped his shoulders again and whispered. "She's afraid of fireworks because it reminds her of gunshots back in Africa."
Gary lamented. If only he hadn't clicked on the fireworks game. They would have been at the mall, enjoying his favorites — slices of caramel pecan silk supreme pie and chocolate mousse cake, and ice cream with mini Oreos topping.
"Hey, buddy. How are you holding up?”
Two uniformed officers appeared before Gary.
Gary looked up and immediately recognized the short and muscular red-haired officer, identifying him as the first responder who was first to arrive at the scene and radio for the ambulance.
“I'm Officer Michael, and my partner here is Jack.”
“What's your name, little man?” A fat and taller officer shot out his pudgy hand at Gary.
“My name is Gary sir,” Gary stuttered, taking a hold of Officer Jack’s chunky sweaty palm and barely able to shake it.
"You did a great job on that man,” Officer Michael said. “If you hadn't performed CPR and tilted his chin upward, something terrible might have happened for sure. You saved his life, young man. Where did you learn to do that?”
"Sixth-grade health class," Gary replied in a low undertone. "I couldn't do mouth-to-mouth breathing because I didn't have a mask."
“Well, what you did was excellent,” Officer Jack remarked.
“Will he be okay?” Gary asked.
“The old man?”
Gary nodded.
Officer Jack sighed, wiping his forehead. "We don't know yet, still waiting to hear from the doctor."
Mary-Ann noticed two officers talking to her son and walked over, hoping to interrupt and possibly take her mind off the gunshots. She felt remorse for her past fear leading to this predicament, recalling an incident from Africa two decades ago.
"So what happened to the old man on the sidewalk?" Officer Michael asked Gary.
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “I remember seeing my mom spinning the steering wheel like out of control and then I felt a big bang before the car stopped…Mom screamed and put her head on the steering wheel. I looked in front and saw an old man lying on the sidewalk.”
Gary found himself biting his nails, the rhythmic tap offering a subtle distraction. Beside him, his mom and her hollow breaths, audible with each response to the officer’s questions, only heightened the tension. Standing there, he momentarily forgot the usual anticipation of her disapproval—a quick, sharp slap on his hand when caught nibbling. Regardless, he sensed she was in no mood to react, resembling the deer frozen in front of their headlights that they almost hit one time on a road trip to Grandma’s in Chicago.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael asked.
Gary hesitated, now wrestling with the vivid images flashing through his mind. The accident played on a loop — the old man lying motionless on the sidewalk. That reality was stark and real, far different from the countless dead bodies he had seen in movies.
And then there was his mom's incessant trembling and piercing screams echoing, before and after the crash. He had never in his life seen anything like that from her. It was like she was a different person, a person he decided early on not to reveal to the police officers. He regretted not heeding his father’s advice and playing that stupid game.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael repeated, his gaze fixating on the 11 year old boy’s furrowed brow.
Gary gulped, accidentally swallowing the nail fragments he had chewed off. With his voice a mere whisper, “I don't remember much else. Everything happened so fast. It was like —”
Officer Jack placed a reassuring hand on Gary's shoulder. "It's alright buddy. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to understand what happened."
Mary-Ann stood by her son’s side, feeling a mixture of anxiety, guilt and anger. Anger mostly.
“Where are the rebels coming from, behind us or in front of us!” she remembered yelling at her startled son upon hearing the sound of fireworks from the phone.
“That’s the sound of an M16; the rebels have captured this area! Woa Yo!” Mary-Ann’s voice raged.
“What rebels, Mom?” Gary asked, tears welling in his eyes. “There’s no one here.”
“They block the street, so we won’t be able to get out of here! Over my old Pa’s dead body!”
Mary-Ann pressed her foot harder on the pedal, accelerating the SUV 30 miles per hour over the 65 posted speed limit.
“Mom!” Gary called out in plea to his mother but her eyes did not look at him.
Like a bull zeroing in on its target, Mary-Ann focused on the nearing barricade. One way or another, she was going to break through, for her son’s sake. She was not going to allow any rebels to take him. If death was the outcome, then it would be a much better alternative.
“Hold tight Gary!” she shrieked.
“Mommy, stop please!”
Gary's cries escalated into full-on wailing. Mary-Ann, unfazed, continued driving, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
As she barreled towards her target, a sudden sun ray shot across the windshield, catching her off guard. With little time to react, she lifted her hand in a feeble attempt to shield her face.
In that fleeting moment, straining to see through the glaring light, Mary-Ann caught sight of a white metallic object hurtling towards her.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. With a surge of adrenaline, she turned it with all her strength, desperately trying to veer away from the impending collision.
"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened leading up to the accident?"
“Ma’am?”
“Ma’am?”
“Huh,” Mary-Ann said. “Who said that?”
Officer Michael waved his hand in front of Mary-Ann. “Ma’am, are you alright? I kind of lost you there for a minute.”
“Where’s my son!” Mary-Ann looked around frantically.
“He’s fine,” Officer Michael said, letting out a chuckle before pointing his finger in the direction of the hospital’s vending machines.
There Gary was eating a large cookie and engrossed in a stack of cards held by Officer Jack.
“This one right here is my favorite baseball player,” Officer Jack could be overheard saying.
She looked at her son and could not help but feel proud. He was growing and looking more and more like his 6'3" father. Most importantly, he was maturing and becoming a MAN. The accident was proof of this. If it was not for him, she was sure she would have been in much more trouble, maybe even in handcuffs. No…likely in handcuffs. She wished she could turn back time.
“Oh God,” Mary-Ann groaned, her forehead resting on the steering wheel.
Gary unclasped his seatbelt and leaned forward, peering beyond their SUV's cracked windshield and dented hood. He could make out what appeared to be a white car, completely mangled at the front. It was not an ordinary car though. It had three wheels, reminiscent of that tricycle car he saw once in a commercial.
Gary called out to his mother, who was now rubbing her head on the steering wheel. “Mom. Mom. You okay?” His eyes scanned past his mother and stopped on a figure lying face up on the sidewalk.
Mary-Ann lifted her head slowly from the steering wheel, awakened by the creak of the car door. She glanced at the empty front seat, noticing the ajar door.
Wrapping both hands around her mouth, Mary-Ann’s thoughts raced. “God, what did I do?”
Before panic could settle in, she began to hear that familiar and innocent squeaky voice. She turned to her left side and saw her son kneeling down. He was talking to a man, lying still on the sidewalk.
Wide-eyed, Mary-Ann flung her door open and ran towards her son
"Gary, we need to go! We can't stay here!" she pleaded.
But Gary remained resolute, his focus on the unconscious man. "I can't just leave him, Mom. He needs help."
"Gary!" Mary-Ann screamed, extending a bruised arm, fingers rattling. She looked in the direction where they were heading and saw nothing. Not a car in sight, pedestrian, barricade or rebels for that matter.
“We can’t stay,” Mary-Ann continued her plea. “Please son get in the — ”
“I can't Mom,” Gary said, meeting her gaze. Streams of tears marked his face. “I have to do something.”
Turning back to the man, Gary placed the heel of his hand on the center of the chest and pressed down firmly, allowing the chest to recoil between compressions. He counted each compression in his mind, just as he did on the manikin in health class.
“Mom, call 911!” Gary’s voice quivered with urgency.
Mary-Ann stood still, her gaze shifting between her son and the unconscious man.
Gary continued the compressions, pausing once to tilt the man's head back slightly before resuming. His hands moving with determined purpose.
Tears blurred Mary-Ann's vision as she watched her son's hands methodically pressing down on the stranger's chest. Each compression tightened the knot in her throat. Helplessness gripped her heart, but beneath it, a surge of pride welled up.
She failed to notice the arrival of the police cruiser behind until a short red-haired officer rushed past, urgently radioing for an ambulance.
Gary, his face streaked with tears, looked up at the officer with desperation and relief. The man remained unresponsive despite his efforts.
The officer swiftly took over, instructing Gary to move back, while distant sirens heralded the coming arrival of the ambulance.
“Ms. Brown.” “Ms. Brown.”
The voice of Officer Michael jolted Mary-Ann. The sound of her married name still unsettled her. She had opted to keep it. “Brown” was much easier on the American tongue than her African maiden name. Plus, it opened a lot more doors to employment and career progression, as had advised by a successful lawyer relative in DC.
“Sorry Mr. Officer,” Mary-Ann said, wiping her face with both hands.
"We appreciate both you and your son staying put after getting discharged. Thankfully, he's alright, and your injury is minor." Officer Michael pointed to Mary-Ann’s bandaged arm.
Mary-Ann looked at her bandaged right arm. True, she and Gary were lucky to be alive, more so Gary for not having a single scratch. She did not know how she could have forgiven herself if something was to happen to him. A swollen arm is a far better price to pay.
“Ms. Brown,” Officer Michael persisted. “We just need to understand what transpired today. Can you walk me through the events?”
Mary-Ann gulped and hesitated. It was a quarter past 6 pm and hunger was starting to gnaw at her. The image of making Gary's favorite dinner, lasagna with lots of cheese, flashed in her mind. She and Gary would have stuffed their bellies by now and topped it off with butter pecan ice cream on the couch and his kiddy movie. Would have if she had not overreacted.
“Ms. Brown?”
Mary-Ann took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Well, Officer, we were driv—”
“Officer.”
A doctor had appeared. He had several bag lines underneath his eyes and a couple of brown stains on his supposed white coat. “Officer, may I have a word with you?”
“Can you sit tight for a few?” Officer Michael said, pointing to one of the waiting room chairs.
Mary-Ann nodded and did as she was told. She was then joined by Gary, who hugged her non-injured shoulder.
Officer Michael, now accompanied by a wheezing Officer Jack, who had hurried back from the vending machines, redirected his focus to the haggard looking doctor.
“How is he doc?” Officer Michael inquired.
“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “But we are going to keep him overnight for observation.”
“Stable as in?”
The doctor flipped open a brown clipboard he was carrying and started to read from it. “The X-ray result shows no major issue. He has a couple of bruises on his back but nothing serio—”
“Wow, really?” Officer Jack interjected, scratching his blonde buzz haircut. “Tough SOB.”
The doctor continued, slightly annoyed, "As I said, nothing serious, except he complained of pain in both legs. Hence, we want to prescribe him some heavy painkillers and keep him overnight for observation."
“Can we see him to ask him a couple of questions?” Officer Michael asked.
“By all means,” the doctor said, not looking from his clipboard.
“Officers!” the doctor shouted, just as Officers Michael and Jack were enroute to the last room in the dimly lit hallway.
“Yeeess,” said Officer Michael, turning around.
The doctor pointed to a standard white dial clock above the nurses’ front help desk. “Be aware that I want to give the painkillers to Mr. Ferguson very soon, no later than 30 minutes from now.”
“We will do our best,” Officer Jack said, saluting.
“30 minutes TOPS.”
“Mr. Ferguson, are you feeling okay?” Officer Michael asked, checking the time on the EKG machine. Ten minutes had elapsed, and their attempts with the bald, freckled-faced old man proved fruitless. Like the woman before, the old man remained unresponsive, staring into space until either he or Officer Jack nudged him back to reality.
“Mr. Ferguson?” Officer Michael asked again, massaging his forehead.
“Please call me Bill,” Bill said. “I don’t like ‘Mister this’ or ‘Mister that.’ Everybody calls me ‘Bill’.”
“Okay, Bill.” “Can you—”
"Can you tell us what happened today that got you to the emergency room?" Officer Jack said with a brisk and demanding tone.
“Well, I was in an accident,” Bill said.
“Can you be more—”
Officer Michael patted Officer Jack on the shoulder, who then got up and walked out of the hospital room.
As he walked past Officer Michael, a muffled “asshole” escaped his breath.
Bill grinned. “Your partner is a real peach, ain’t he.”
“My apologies, it’s been a long day,” Officer Michael said, eyes darting at the EKG’s time. 15 minutes left before they have to call it quits. “Bill, you said you were in an accident. Let’s go back a bit. What happened leading up to the accident?”
Bill leaned back, tapping his fingers on the hospital bed rail. "Well, I was driving along Sanford Rd, coming from where the mall is. I was taking gifts to my grandkids, which, by the way, I realized I have not called them yet since getting in this predicament. They and my kids must be worried sick!"
Bill attempted to get up, eyeing a wall-mounted phone near the hospital room bathroom.
"Woah, woah, Bill," Officer Michael intervened, hands in front of the anxious old man. "Take it easy. Take it easy. We can call your family as soon as we finish. It won’t be long, I promise."
Officer Michael stole a quick glance at the EKG machine. “Damnit!” Neither him nor Officer Jack wanted to continue this investigation into the next day. Certainly, not on their day off. Additionally, they still had to interview the woman, and such a feat wouldn’t be straightforward, based on initial interactions.
Bill reclined back and took a deep breath. “Okay, but I have to call them afterwards. ASAP.”
“Don’t worry, I will personally make sure of it. Let’s circle back. You said you were coming from the direction of the mall. Did you see any vehicles around you?”
Bill shook his head. "Nope. Just me and the open road. I didn't see that SUV coming at all."
Officer Michael exchanged glances with a red faced Officer Jack, who had re-entered the room.
“Okay, let’s talk about the accident then. What can you tell us about it?”
“Well, I’m not really sure exactly, but all I remembered was being hit and the next thing I knew I was in the air looking at the clouds before I blacked out.”
“Did you notice anything unusual before the collision or before ‘being hit’?”
Bill scratched his head, his freckled face furrowed in concentration. "Honestly, Officers, it's all a blur. I can't remember anything specific."
Officer Jack muttered something under his breath, causing both Officer Michael and Bill to crack a smile.
"Your partner seems a bit on edge, Officer," Bill said.
Officer Michael waved his right hand in dismissal. “Let get back.”
“Look Officer, all I know is that I was driving and the double yellow was on my right when I got hit.”
“Double yellow?”
“The double yellow line.”
Officer Michael recalled the Slingshot motorcycle and its crushed bumper facing the SUV when he arrived at the scene: Bill lying unconscious as the 11-year old boy performed CPR on him.
“That SUV was on the wrong side of the road when it hit me,” explained Bill, wagging his index finger in the air. “Whoever was driving it that hit me must have been on towards oncoming traffic. The double yellow was on my right. I remember that for a fact.”
Officers Michael and Jack looked at one another.
Officer Michael drew out a pen and a small notebook from his uniform pocket.
“Let us get this clearly,” he said, clicking the pen. “You are saying that the double yellow line on the road was on your RIGHT side when you got hit?”
“YES. SIR”
/The Accident. By West African writer Josephine Dean./
submitted by JDean_WAfricaStories to stories [link] [comments]
Meanwhile, Bill, a grandfather, had his bi-weekly schedule to visit his five grandchildren, and today was the day. Excited about seeing them, he hopped into his favorite white Slingshot SL motorcycle, a sporty two-seater 3-wheeler. The cloud hung overhead, but it was less humid. Bill, optimistic and feeling great, thought about the gifts he'd bought—from chocolate bars to lollipops to action figures to barbie dolls. He imagined his grandchildren eagerly gathering around him, eyes and mouths wide open as they grabbed and unwrapped their gifts. As he hit the road before noon, he couldn't help but wish for more money. The idea of selling his motorcycle for $15,000 crossed his mind. This could fund a special trip to Disney World in California for his entire family: a trip he had always wanted. Lost in thought, Bill's mind drifted away, oblivious to the imminent presence of the SUV's grille directly in his path.
Mary-Ann paced the emergency department waiting room. She regretted overreacting to the sound, while lost in thought about the mall and all the potential gossips she was going to hear about her ex-husband's love affairs from his naive son. Now, with the man in the operating room possibly facing death, she feared the worst—would she be charged with murder? If only Gary had listened, refraining from playing that stupid fireworks game on her phone.
In the waiting room, Gary sat hunched over, chin nearly touching his chest. He regretted not heeding his father's advice before stepping into his mother’s car.
"Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks." Advice too late to heed now.
Gary remembered a similar incident from when he was five years old. It was on July 4th at the city’s largest park. After an amazing fireworks display, he and his father had returned home. Excited, he rushed inside the house to tell his mother about the fireworks and the parade. However, upon entering inside, he found the house in total darkness. Calling out for his mother yielded no response. Then, his father tapped his shoulder. "Check our closet."
He hurried into his parents’ closet, finding it in total darkness as well. Switching on the light, he discovered his mother lying flat on the floor with a pillow over her head.
"Mom! Mom! Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened to you?"
Right behind, his father tapped his shoulders again and whispered. "She's afraid of fireworks because it reminds her of gunshots back in Africa."
Gary lamented. If only he hadn't clicked on the fireworks game. They would have been at the mall, enjoying his favorites — slices of caramel pecan silk supreme pie and chocolate mousse cake, and ice cream with mini Oreos topping.
"Hey, buddy. How are you holding up?”
Two uniformed officers appeared before Gary.
Gary looked up and immediately recognized the short and muscular red-haired officer, identifying him as the first responder who was first to arrive at the scene and radio for the ambulance.
“I'm Officer Michael, and my partner here is Jack.”
“What's your name, little man?” A fat and taller officer shot out his pudgy hand at Gary.
“My name is Gary sir,” Gary stuttered, taking a hold of Officer Jack’s chunky sweaty palm and barely able to shake it.
"You did a great job on that man,” Officer Michael said. “If you hadn't performed CPR and tilted his chin upward, something terrible might have happened for sure. You saved his life, young man. Where did you learn to do that?”
"Sixth-grade health class," Gary replied in a low undertone. "I couldn't do mouth-to-mouth breathing because I didn't have a mask."
“Well, what you did was excellent,” Officer Jack remarked.
“Will he be okay?” Gary asked.
“The old man?”
Gary nodded.
Officer Jack sighed, wiping his forehead. "We don't know yet, still waiting to hear from the doctor."
Mary-Ann noticed two officers talking to her son and walked over, hoping to interrupt and possibly take her mind off the gunshots. She felt remorse for her past fear leading to this predicament, recalling an incident from Africa two decades ago.
"So what happened to the old man on the sidewalk?" Officer Michael asked Gary.
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “I remember seeing my mom spinning the steering wheel like out of control and then I felt a big bang before the car stopped…Mom screamed and put her head on the steering wheel. I looked in front and saw an old man lying on the sidewalk.”
Gary found himself biting his nails, the rhythmic tap offering a subtle distraction. Beside him, his mom and her hollow breaths, audible with each response to the officer’s questions, only heightened the tension. Standing there, he momentarily forgot the usual anticipation of her disapproval—a quick, sharp slap on his hand when caught nibbling. Regardless, he sensed she was in no mood to react, resembling the deer frozen in front of their headlights that they almost hit one time on a road trip to Grandma’s in Chicago.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael asked.
Gary hesitated, now wrestling with the vivid images flashing through his mind. The accident played on a loop — the old man lying motionless on the sidewalk. That reality was stark and real, far different from the countless dead bodies he had seen in movies.
And then there was his mom's incessant trembling and piercing screams echoing, before and after the crash. He had never in his life seen anything like that from her. It was like she was a different person, a person he decided early on not to reveal to the police officers. He regretted not heeding his father’s advice and playing that stupid game.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael repeated, his gaze fixating on the 11 year old boy’s furrowed brow.
Gary gulped, accidentally swallowing the nail fragments he had chewed off. With his voice a mere whisper, “I don't remember much else. Everything happened so fast. It was like —”
Officer Jack placed a reassuring hand on Gary's shoulder. "It's alright buddy. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to understand what happened."
Mary-Ann stood by her son’s side, feeling a mixture of anxiety, guilt and anger. Anger mostly.
“Where are the rebels coming from, behind us or in front of us!” she remembered yelling at her startled son upon hearing the sound of fireworks from the phone.
“That’s the sound of an M16; the rebels have captured this area! Woa Yo!” Mary-Ann’s voice raged.
“What rebels, Mom?” Gary asked, tears welling in his eyes. “There’s no one here.”
“They block the street, so we won’t be able to get out of here! Over my old Pa’s dead body!”
Mary-Ann pressed her foot harder on the pedal, accelerating the SUV 30 miles per hour over the 65 posted speed limit.
“Mom!” Gary called out in plea to his mother but her eyes did not look at him.
Like a bull zeroing in on its target, Mary-Ann focused on the nearing barricade. One way or another, she was going to break through, for her son’s sake. She was not going to allow any rebels to take him. If death was the outcome, then it would be a much better alternative.
“Hold tight Gary!” she shrieked.
“Mommy, stop please!”
Gary's cries escalated into full-on wailing. Mary-Ann, unfazed, continued driving, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
As she barreled towards her target, a sudden sun ray shot across the windshield, catching her off guard. With little time to react, she lifted her hand in a feeble attempt to shield her face.
In that fleeting moment, straining to see through the glaring light, Mary-Ann caught sight of a white metallic object hurtling towards her.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. With a surge of adrenaline, she turned it with all her strength, desperately trying to veer away from the impending collision.
"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened leading up to the accident?"
“Ma’am?”
“Ma’am?”
“Huh,” Mary-Ann said. “Who said that?”
Officer Michael waved his hand in front of Mary-Ann. “Ma’am, are you alright? I kind of lost you there for a minute.”
“Where’s my son!” Mary-Ann looked around frantically.
“He’s fine,” Officer Michael said, letting out a chuckle before pointing his finger in the direction of the hospital’s vending machines.
There Gary was eating a large cookie and engrossed in a stack of cards held by Officer Jack.
“This one right here is my favorite baseball player,” Officer Jack could be overheard saying.
She looked at her son and could not help but feel proud. He was growing and looking more and more like his 6'3" father. Most importantly, he was maturing and becoming a MAN. The accident was proof of this. If it was not for him, she was sure she would have been in much more trouble, maybe even in handcuffs. No…likely in handcuffs. She wished she could turn back time.
“Oh God,” Mary-Ann groaned, her forehead resting on the steering wheel.
Gary unclasped his seatbelt and leaned forward, peering beyond their SUV's cracked windshield and dented hood. He could make out what appeared to be a white car, completely mangled at the front. It was not an ordinary car though. It had three wheels, reminiscent of that tricycle car he saw once in a commercial.
Gary called out to his mother, who was now rubbing her head on the steering wheel. “Mom. Mom. You okay?” His eyes scanned past his mother and stopped on a figure lying face up on the sidewalk.
Mary-Ann lifted her head slowly from the steering wheel, awakened by the creak of the car door. She glanced at the empty front seat, noticing the ajar door.
Wrapping both hands around her mouth, Mary-Ann’s thoughts raced. “God, what did I do?”
Before panic could settle in, she began to hear that familiar and innocent squeaky voice. She turned to her left side and saw her son kneeling down. He was talking to a man, lying still on the sidewalk.
Wide-eyed, Mary-Ann flung her door open and ran towards her son
"Gary, we need to go! We can't stay here!" she pleaded.
But Gary remained resolute, his focus on the unconscious man. "I can't just leave him, Mom. He needs help."
"Gary!" Mary-Ann screamed, extending a bruised arm, fingers rattling. She looked in the direction where they were heading and saw nothing. Not a car in sight, pedestrian, barricade or rebels for that matter.
“We can’t stay,” Mary-Ann continued her plea. “Please son get in the — ”
“I can't Mom,” Gary said, meeting her gaze. Streams of tears marked his face. “I have to do something.”
Turning back to the man, Gary placed the heel of his hand on the center of the chest and pressed down firmly, allowing the chest to recoil between compressions. He counted each compression in his mind, just as he did on the manikin in health class.
“Mom, call 911!” Gary’s voice quivered with urgency.
Mary-Ann stood still, her gaze shifting between her son and the unconscious man.
Gary continued the compressions, pausing once to tilt the man's head back slightly before resuming. His hands moving with determined purpose.
Tears blurred Mary-Ann's vision as she watched her son's hands methodically pressing down on the stranger's chest. Each compression tightened the knot in her throat. Helplessness gripped her heart, but beneath it, a surge of pride welled up.
She failed to notice the arrival of the police cruiser behind until a short red-haired officer rushed past, urgently radioing for an ambulance.
Gary, his face streaked with tears, looked up at the officer with desperation and relief. The man remained unresponsive despite his efforts.
The officer swiftly took over, instructing Gary to move back, while distant sirens heralded the coming arrival of the ambulance.
“Ms. Brown.” “Ms. Brown.”
The voice of Officer Michael jolted Mary-Ann. The sound of her married name still unsettled her. She had opted to keep it. “Brown” was much easier on the American tongue than her African maiden name. Plus, it opened a lot more doors to employment and career progression, as had advised by a successful lawyer relative in DC.
“Sorry Mr. Officer,” Mary-Ann said, wiping her face with both hands.
"We appreciate both you and your son staying put after getting discharged. Thankfully, he's alright, and your injury is minor." Officer Michael pointed to Mary-Ann’s bandaged arm.
Mary-Ann looked at her bandaged right arm. True, she and Gary were lucky to be alive, more so Gary for not having a single scratch. She did not know how she could have forgiven herself if something was to happen to him. A swollen arm is a far better price to pay.
“Ms. Brown,” Officer Michael persisted. “We just need to understand what transpired today. Can you walk me through the events?”
Mary-Ann gulped and hesitated. It was a quarter past 6 pm and hunger was starting to gnaw at her. The image of making Gary's favorite dinner, lasagna with lots of cheese, flashed in her mind. She and Gary would have stuffed their bellies by now and topped it off with butter pecan ice cream on the couch and his kiddy movie. Would have if she had not overreacted.
“Ms. Brown?”
Mary-Ann took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Well, Officer, we were driv—”
“Officer.”
A doctor had appeared. He had several bag lines underneath his eyes and a couple of brown stains on his supposed white coat. “Officer, may I have a word with you?”
“Can you sit tight for a few?” Officer Michael said, pointing to one of the waiting room chairs.
Mary-Ann nodded and did as she was told. She was then joined by Gary, who hugged her non-injured shoulder.
Officer Michael, now accompanied by a wheezing Officer Jack, who had hurried back from the vending machines, redirected his focus to the haggard looking doctor.
“How is he doc?” Officer Michael inquired.
“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “But we are going to keep him overnight for observation.”
“Stable as in?”
The doctor flipped open a brown clipboard he was carrying and started to read from it. “The X-ray result shows no major issue. He has a couple of bruises on his back but nothing serio—”
“Wow, really?” Officer Jack interjected, scratching his blonde buzz haircut. “Tough SOB.”
The doctor continued, slightly annoyed, "As I said, nothing serious, except he complained of pain in both legs. Hence, we want to prescribe him some heavy painkillers and keep him overnight for observation."
“Can we see him to ask him a couple of questions?” Officer Michael asked.
“By all means,” the doctor said, not looking from his clipboard.
“Officers!” the doctor shouted, just as Officers Michael and Jack were enroute to the last room in the dimly lit hallway.
“Yeeess,” said Officer Michael, turning around.
The doctor pointed to a standard white dial clock above the nurses’ front help desk. “Be aware that I want to give the painkillers to Mr. Ferguson very soon, no later than 30 minutes from now.”
“We will do our best,” Officer Jack said, saluting.
“30 minutes TOPS.”
“Mr. Ferguson, are you feeling okay?” Officer Michael asked, checking the time on the EKG machine. Ten minutes had elapsed, and their attempts with the bald, freckled-faced old man proved fruitless. Like the woman before, the old man remained unresponsive, staring into space until either he or Officer Jack nudged him back to reality.
“Mr. Ferguson?” Officer Michael asked again, massaging his forehead.
“Please call me Bill,” Bill said. “I don’t like ‘Mister this’ or ‘Mister that.’ Everybody calls me ‘Bill’.”
“Okay, Bill.” “Can you—”
"Can you tell us what happened today that got you to the emergency room?" Officer Jack said with a brisk and demanding tone.
“Well, I was in an accident,” Bill said.
“Can you be more—”
Officer Michael patted Officer Jack on the shoulder, who then got up and walked out of the hospital room.
As he walked past Officer Michael, a muffled “asshole” escaped his breath.
Bill grinned. “Your partner is a real peach, ain’t he.”
“My apologies, it’s been a long day,” Officer Michael said, eyes darting at the EKG’s time. 15 minutes left before they have to call it quits. “Bill, you said you were in an accident. Let’s go back a bit. What happened leading up to the accident?”
Bill leaned back, tapping his fingers on the hospital bed rail. "Well, I was driving along Sanford Rd, coming from where the mall is. I was taking gifts to my grandkids, which, by the way, I realized I have not called them yet since getting in this predicament. They and my kids must be worried sick!"
Bill attempted to get up, eyeing a wall-mounted phone near the hospital room bathroom.
"Woah, woah, Bill," Officer Michael intervened, hands in front of the anxious old man. "Take it easy. Take it easy. We can call your family as soon as we finish. It won’t be long, I promise."
Officer Michael stole a quick glance at the EKG machine. “Damnit!” Neither him nor Officer Jack wanted to continue this investigation into the next day. Certainly, not on their day off. Additionally, they still had to interview the woman, and such a feat wouldn’t be straightforward, based on initial interactions.
Bill reclined back and took a deep breath. “Okay, but I have to call them afterwards. ASAP.”
“Don’t worry, I will personally make sure of it. Let’s circle back. You said you were coming from the direction of the mall. Did you see any vehicles around you?”
Bill shook his head. "Nope. Just me and the open road. I didn't see that SUV coming at all."
Officer Michael exchanged glances with a red faced Officer Jack, who had re-entered the room.
“Okay, let’s talk about the accident then. What can you tell us about it?”
“Well, I’m not really sure exactly, but all I remembered was being hit and the next thing I knew I was in the air looking at the clouds before I blacked out.”
“Did you notice anything unusual before the collision or before ‘being hit’?”
Bill scratched his head, his freckled face furrowed in concentration. "Honestly, Officers, it's all a blur. I can't remember anything specific."
Officer Jack muttered something under his breath, causing both Officer Michael and Bill to crack a smile.
"Your partner seems a bit on edge, Officer," Bill said.
Officer Michael waved his right hand in dismissal. “Let get back.”
“Look Officer, all I know is that I was driving and the double yellow was on my right when I got hit.”
“Double yellow?”
“The double yellow line.”
Officer Michael recalled the Slingshot motorcycle and its crushed bumper facing the SUV when he arrived at the scene: Bill lying unconscious as the 11-year old boy performed CPR on him.
“That SUV was on the wrong side of the road when it hit me,” explained Bill, wagging his index finger in the air. “Whoever was driving it that hit me must have been on towards oncoming traffic. The double yellow was on my right. I remember that for a fact.”
Officers Michael and Jack looked at one another.
Officer Michael drew out a pen and a small notebook from his uniform pocket.
“Let us get this clearly,” he said, clicking the pen. “You are saying that the double yellow line on the road was on your RIGHT side when you got hit?”
“YES. SIR”
/The Accident. By West African writer Josephine Dean./
2024.04.21 19:58 JDean_WAfricaStories [RF] Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks.
On the third Saturday of every month, Mary-Ann, a single mother navigating life post-divorce, embraced a routine that carved out quality time with her 11-year-old son, Gary. The day's weather, while slightly overcast, spared them from the oppressive summer heat, providing a welcome respite following the recent thunderstorms. Mary-Ann hopped into her black SUV, picked up Gary from his father’s place, and drove to their familiar spot: a cozy pastry shop within the bustling mall. En route to the shop, Gary enjoyed playing with his mom's smartphone.
Meanwhile, Bill, a grandfather, had his bi-weekly schedule to visit his five grandchildren, and today was the day. Excited about seeing them, he hopped into his favorite white Slingshot SL motorcycle, a sporty two-seater 3-wheeler. The cloud hung overhead, but it was less humid. Bill, optimistic and feeling great, thought about the gifts he'd bought—from chocolate bars to lollipops to action figures to barbie dolls. He imagined his grandchildren eagerly gathering around him, eyes and mouths wide open as they grabbed and unwrapped their gifts. As he hit the road before noon, he couldn't help but wish for more money. The idea of selling his motorcycle for $15,000 crossed his mind. This could fund a special trip to Disney World in California for his entire family: a trip he had always wanted. Lost in thought, Bill's mind drifted away, oblivious to the imminent presence of the SUV's grille directly in his path.
Mary-Ann paced the emergency department waiting room. She regretted overreacting to the sound, while lost in thought about the mall and all the potential gossips she was going to hear about her ex-husband's love affairs from his naive son. Now, with the man in the operating room possibly facing death, she feared the worst—would she be charged with murder? If only Gary had listened, refraining from playing that stupid fireworks game on her phone.
In the waiting room, Gary sat hunched over, chin nearly touching his chest. He regretted not heeding his father's advice before stepping into his mother’s car.
"Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks." Advice too late to heed now.
Gary remembered a similar incident from when he was five years old. It was on July 4th at the city’s largest park. After an amazing fireworks display, he and his father had returned home. Excited, he rushed inside the house to tell his mother about the fireworks and the parade. However, upon entering inside, he found the house in total darkness. Calling out for his mother yielded no response. Then, his father tapped his shoulder. "Check our closet."
He hurried into his parents’ closet, finding it in total darkness as well. Switching on the light, he discovered his mother lying flat on the floor with a pillow over her head.
"Mom! Mom! Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened to you?"
Right behind, his father tapped his shoulders again and whispered. "She's afraid of fireworks because it reminds her of gunshots back in Africa."
Gary lamented. If only he hadn't clicked on the fireworks game. They would have been at the mall, enjoying his favorites — slices of caramel pecan silk supreme pie and chocolate mousse cake, and ice cream with mini Oreos topping.
"Hey, buddy. How are you holding up?”
Two uniformed officers appeared before Gary.
Gary looked up and immediately recognized the short and muscular red-haired officer, identifying him as the first responder who was first to arrive at the scene and radio for the ambulance.
“I'm Officer Michael, and my partner here is Jack.”
“What's your name, little man?” A fat and taller officer shot out his pudgy hand at Gary.
“My name is Gary sir,” Gary stuttered, taking a hold of Officer Jack’s chunky sweaty palm and barely able to shake it.
"You did a great job on that man,” Officer Michael said. “If you hadn't performed CPR and tilted his chin upward, something terrible might have happened for sure. You saved his life, young man. Where did you learn to do that?”
"Sixth-grade health class," Gary replied in a low undertone. "I couldn't do mouth-to-mouth breathing because I didn't have a mask."
“Well, what you did was excellent,” Officer Jack remarked.
“Will he be okay?” Gary asked.
“The old man?”
Gary nodded.
Officer Jack sighed, wiping his forehead. "We don't know yet, still waiting to hear from the doctor."
Mary-Ann noticed two officers talking to her son and walked over, hoping to interrupt and possibly take her mind off the gunshots. She felt remorse for her past fear leading to this predicament, recalling an incident from Africa two decades ago.
"So what happened to the old man on the sidewalk?" Officer Michael asked Gary.
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “I remember seeing my mom spinning the steering wheel like out of control and then I felt a big bang before the car stopped…Mom screamed and put her head on the steering wheel. I looked in front and saw an old man lying on the sidewalk.”
Gary found himself biting his nails, the rhythmic tap offering a subtle distraction. Beside him, his mom and her hollow breaths, audible with each response to the officer’s questions, only heightened the tension. Standing there, he momentarily forgot the usual anticipation of her disapproval—a quick, sharp slap on his hand when caught nibbling. Regardless, he sensed she was in no mood to react, resembling the deer frozen in front of their headlights that they almost hit one time on a road trip to Grandma’s in Chicago.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael asked.
Gary hesitated, now wrestling with the vivid images flashing through his mind. The accident played on a loop — the old man lying motionless on the sidewalk. That reality was stark and real, far different from the countless dead bodies he had seen in movies.
And then there was his mom's incessant trembling and piercing screams echoing, before and after the crash. He had never in his life seen anything like that from her. It was like she was a different person, a person he decided early on not to reveal to the police officers. He regretted not heeding his father’s advice and playing that stupid game.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael repeated, his gaze fixating on the 11 year old boy’s furrowed brow.
Gary gulped, accidentally swallowing the nail fragments he had chewed off. With his voice a mere whisper, “I don't remember much else. Everything happened so fast. It was like —”
Officer Jack placed a reassuring hand on Gary's shoulder. "It's alright buddy. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to understand what happened."
Mary-Ann stood by her son’s side, feeling a mixture of anxiety, guilt and anger. Anger mostly.
“Where are the rebels coming from, behind us or in front of us!” she remembered yelling at her startled son upon hearing the sound of fireworks from the phone.
“That’s the sound of an M16; the rebels have captured this area! Woa Yo!” Mary-Ann’s voice raged.
“What rebels, Mom?” Gary asked, tears welling in his eyes. “There’s no one here.”
“They block the street, so we won’t be able to get out of here! Over my old Pa’s dead body!”
Mary-Ann pressed her foot harder on the pedal, accelerating the SUV 30 miles per hour over the 65 posted speed limit.
“Mom!” Gary called out in plea to his mother but her eyes did not look at him.
Like a bull zeroing in on its target, Mary-Ann focused on the nearing barricade. One way or another, she was going to break through, for her son’s sake. She was not going to allow any rebels to take him. If death was the outcome, then it would be a much better alternative.
“Hold tight Gary!” she shrieked.
“Mommy, stop please!”
Gary's cries escalated into full-on wailing. Mary-Ann, unfazed, continued driving, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
As she barreled towards her target, a sudden sun ray shot across the windshield, catching her off guard. With little time to react, she lifted her hand in a feeble attempt to shield her face.
In that fleeting moment, straining to see through the glaring light, Mary-Ann caught sight of a white metallic object hurtling towards her.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. With a surge of adrenaline, she turned it with all her strength, desperately trying to veer away from the impending collision.
"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened leading up to the accident?"
“Ma’am?”
“Ma’am?”
“Huh,” Mary-Ann said. “Who said that?”
Officer Michael waved his hand in front of Mary-Ann. “Ma’am, are you alright? I kind of lost you there for a minute.”
“Where’s my son!” Mary-Ann looked around frantically.
“He’s fine,” Officer Michael said, letting out a chuckle before pointing his finger in the direction of the hospital’s vending machines.
There Gary was eating a large cookie and engrossed in a stack of cards held by Officer Jack.
“This one right here is my favorite baseball player,” Officer Jack could be overheard saying.
She looked at her son and could not help but feel proud. He was growing and looking more and more like his 6'3" father. Most importantly, he was maturing and becoming a MAN. The accident was proof of this. If it was not for him, she was sure she would have been in much more trouble, maybe even in handcuffs. No…likely in handcuffs. She wished she could turn back time.
“Oh God,” Mary-Ann groaned, her forehead resting on the steering wheel.
Gary unclasped his seatbelt and leaned forward, peering beyond their SUV's cracked windshield and dented hood. He could make out what appeared to be a white car, completely mangled at the front. It was not an ordinary car though. It had three wheels, reminiscent of that tricycle car he saw once in a commercial.
Gary called out to his mother, who was now rubbing her head on the steering wheel. “Mom. Mom. You okay?” His eyes scanned past his mother and stopped on a figure lying face up on the sidewalk.
Mary-Ann lifted her head slowly from the steering wheel, awakened by the creak of the car door. She glanced at the empty front seat, noticing the ajar door.
Wrapping both hands around her mouth, Mary-Ann’s thoughts raced. “God, what did I do?”
Before panic could settle in, she began to hear that familiar and innocent squeaky voice. She turned to her left side and saw her son kneeling down. He was talking to a man, lying still on the sidewalk.
Wide-eyed, Mary-Ann flung her door open and ran towards her son
"Gary, we need to go! We can't stay here!" she pleaded.
But Gary remained resolute, his focus on the unconscious man. "I can't just leave him, Mom. He needs help."
"Gary!" Mary-Ann screamed, extending a bruised arm, fingers rattling. She looked in the direction where they were heading and saw nothing. Not a car in sight, pedestrian, barricade or rebels for that matter.
“We can’t stay,” Mary-Ann continued her plea. “Please son get in the — ”
“I can't Mom,” Gary said, meeting her gaze. Streams of tears marked his face. “I have to do something.”
Turning back to the man, Gary placed the heel of his hand on the center of the chest and pressed down firmly, allowing the chest to recoil between compressions. He counted each compression in his mind, just as he did on the manikin in health class.
“Mom, call 911!” Gary’s voice quivered with urgency.
Mary-Ann stood still, her gaze shifting between her son and the unconscious man.
Gary continued the compressions, pausing once to tilt the man's head back slightly before resuming. His hands moving with determined purpose.
Tears blurred Mary-Ann's vision as she watched her son's hands methodically pressing down on the stranger's chest. Each compression tightened the knot in her throat. Helplessness gripped her heart, but beneath it, a surge of pride welled up.
She failed to notice the arrival of the police cruiser behind until a short red-haired officer rushed past, urgently radioing for an ambulance.
Gary, his face streaked with tears, looked up at the officer with desperation and relief. The man remained unresponsive despite his efforts.
The officer swiftly took over, instructing Gary to move back, while distant sirens heralded the coming arrival of the ambulance.
“Ms. Brown.” “Ms. Brown.”
The voice of Officer Michael jolted Mary-Ann. The sound of her married name still unsettled her. She had opted to keep it. “Brown” was much easier on the American tongue than her African maiden name. Plus, it opened a lot more doors to employment and career progression, as had advised by a successful lawyer relative in DC.
“Sorry Mr. Officer,” Mary-Ann said, wiping her face with both hands.
"We appreciate both you and your son staying put after getting discharged. Thankfully, he's alright, and your injury is minor." Officer Michael pointed to Mary-Ann’s bandaged arm.
Mary-Ann looked at her bandaged right arm. True, she and Gary were lucky to be alive, more so Gary for not having a single scratch. She did not know how she could have forgiven herself if something was to happen to him. A swollen arm is a far better price to pay.
“Ms. Brown,” Officer Michael persisted. “We just need to understand what transpired today. Can you walk me through the events?”
Mary-Ann gulped and hesitated. It was a quarter past 6 pm and hunger was starting to gnaw at her. The image of making Gary's favorite dinner, lasagna with lots of cheese, flashed in her mind. She and Gary would have stuffed their bellies by now and topped it off with butter pecan ice cream on the couch and his kiddy movie. Would have if she had not overreacted.
“Ms. Brown?”
Mary-Ann took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Well, Officer, we were driv—”
“Officer.”
A doctor had appeared. He had several bag lines underneath his eyes and a couple of brown stains on his supposed white coat. “Officer, may I have a word with you?”
“Can you sit tight for a few?” Officer Michael said, pointing to one of the waiting room chairs.
Mary-Ann nodded and did as she was told. She was then joined by Gary, who hugged her non-injured shoulder.
Officer Michael, now accompanied by a wheezing Officer Jack, who had hurried back from the vending machines, redirected his focus to the haggard looking doctor.
“How is he doc?” Officer Michael inquired.
“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “But we are going to keep him overnight for observation.”
“Stable as in?”
The doctor flipped open a brown clipboard he was carrying and started to read from it. “The X-ray result shows no major issue. He has a couple of bruises on his back but nothing serio—”
“Wow, really?” Officer Jack interjected, scratching his blonde buzz haircut. “Tough SOB.”
The doctor continued, slightly annoyed, "As I said, nothing serious, except he complained of pain in both legs. Hence, we want to prescribe him some heavy painkillers and keep him overnight for observation."
“Can we see him to ask him a couple of questions?” Officer Michael asked.
“By all means,” the doctor said, not looking from his clipboard.
“Officers!” the doctor shouted, just as Officers Michael and Jack were enroute to the last room in the dimly lit hallway.
“Yeeess,” said Officer Michael, turning around.
The doctor pointed to a standard white dial clock above the nurses’ front help desk. “Be aware that I want to give the painkillers to Mr. Ferguson very soon, no later than 30 minutes from now.”
“We will do our best,” Officer Jack said, saluting.
“30 minutes TOPS.”
“Mr. Ferguson, are you feeling okay?” Officer Michael asked, checking the time on the EKG machine. Ten minutes had elapsed, and their attempts with the bald, freckled-faced old man proved fruitless. Like the woman before, the old man remained unresponsive, staring into space until either he or Officer Jack nudged him back to reality.
“Mr. Ferguson?” Officer Michael asked again, massaging his forehead.
“Please call me Bill,” Bill said. “I don’t like ‘Mister this’ or ‘Mister that.’ Everybody calls me ‘Bill’.”
“Okay, Bill.” “Can you—”
"Can you tell us what happened today that got you to the emergency room?" Officer Jack said with a brisk and demanding tone.
“Well, I was in an accident,” Bill said.
“Can you be more—”
Officer Michael patted Officer Jack on the shoulder, who then got up and walked out of the hospital room.
As he walked past Officer Michael, a muffled “asshole” escaped his breath.
Bill grinned. “Your partner is a real peach, ain’t he.”
“My apologies, it’s been a long day,” Officer Michael said, eyes darting at the EKG’s time. 15 minutes left before they have to call it quits. “Bill, you said you were in an accident. Let’s go back a bit. What happened leading up to the accident?”
Bill leaned back, tapping his fingers on the hospital bed rail. "Well, I was driving along Sanford Rd, coming from where the mall is. I was taking gifts to my grandkids, which, by the way, I realized I have not called them yet since getting in this predicament. They and my kids must be worried sick!"
Bill attempted to get up, eyeing a wall-mounted phone near the hospital room bathroom.
"Woah, woah, Bill," Officer Michael intervened, hands in front of the anxious old man. "Take it easy. Take it easy. We can call your family as soon as we finish. It won’t be long, I promise."
Officer Michael stole a quick glance at the EKG machine. “Damnit!” Neither him nor Officer Jack wanted to continue this investigation into the next day. Certainly, not on their day off. Additionally, they still had to interview the woman, and such a feat wouldn’t be straightforward, based on initial interactions.
Bill reclined back and took a deep breath. “Okay, but I have to call them afterwards. ASAP.”
“Don’t worry, I will personally make sure of it. Let’s circle back. You said you were coming from the direction of the mall. Did you see any vehicles around you?”
Bill shook his head. "Nope. Just me and the open road. I didn't see that SUV coming at all."
Officer Michael exchanged glances with a red faced Officer Jack, who had re-entered the room.
“Okay, let’s talk about the accident then. What can you tell us about it?”
“Well, I’m not really sure exactly, but all I remembered was being hit and the next thing I knew I was in the air looking at the clouds before I blacked out.”
“Did you notice anything unusual before the collision or before ‘being hit’?”
Bill scratched his head, his freckled face furrowed in concentration. "Honestly, Officers, it's all a blur. I can't remember anything specific."
Officer Jack muttered something under his breath, causing both Officer Michael and Bill to crack a smile.
"Your partner seems a bit on edge, Officer," Bill said.
Officer Michael waved his right hand in dismissal. “Let get back.”
“Look Officer, all I know is that I was driving and the double yellow was on my right when I got hit.”
“Double yellow?”
“The double yellow line.”
Officer Michael recalled the Slingshot motorcycle and its crushed bumper facing the SUV when he arrived at the scene: Bill lying unconscious as the 11-year old boy performed CPR on him.
“That SUV was on the wrong side of the road when it hit me,” explained Bill, wagging his index finger in the air. “Whoever was driving it that hit me must have been on towards oncoming traffic. The double yellow was on my right. I remember that for a fact.”
Officers Michael and Jack looked at one another.
Officer Michael drew out a pen and a small notebook from his uniform pocket.
“Let us get this clearly,” he said, clicking the pen. “You are saying that the double yellow line on the road was on your RIGHT side when you got hit?”
“YES. SIR”
/The Accident. By West African writer Josephine Dean./
submitted by JDean_WAfricaStories to shortstories [link] [comments]
Meanwhile, Bill, a grandfather, had his bi-weekly schedule to visit his five grandchildren, and today was the day. Excited about seeing them, he hopped into his favorite white Slingshot SL motorcycle, a sporty two-seater 3-wheeler. The cloud hung overhead, but it was less humid. Bill, optimistic and feeling great, thought about the gifts he'd bought—from chocolate bars to lollipops to action figures to barbie dolls. He imagined his grandchildren eagerly gathering around him, eyes and mouths wide open as they grabbed and unwrapped their gifts. As he hit the road before noon, he couldn't help but wish for more money. The idea of selling his motorcycle for $15,000 crossed his mind. This could fund a special trip to Disney World in California for his entire family: a trip he had always wanted. Lost in thought, Bill's mind drifted away, oblivious to the imminent presence of the SUV's grille directly in his path.
Mary-Ann paced the emergency department waiting room. She regretted overreacting to the sound, while lost in thought about the mall and all the potential gossips she was going to hear about her ex-husband's love affairs from his naive son. Now, with the man in the operating room possibly facing death, she feared the worst—would she be charged with murder? If only Gary had listened, refraining from playing that stupid fireworks game on her phone.
In the waiting room, Gary sat hunched over, chin nearly touching his chest. He regretted not heeding his father's advice before stepping into his mother’s car.
"Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks." Advice too late to heed now.
Gary remembered a similar incident from when he was five years old. It was on July 4th at the city’s largest park. After an amazing fireworks display, he and his father had returned home. Excited, he rushed inside the house to tell his mother about the fireworks and the parade. However, upon entering inside, he found the house in total darkness. Calling out for his mother yielded no response. Then, his father tapped his shoulder. "Check our closet."
He hurried into his parents’ closet, finding it in total darkness as well. Switching on the light, he discovered his mother lying flat on the floor with a pillow over her head.
"Mom! Mom! Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened to you?"
Right behind, his father tapped his shoulders again and whispered. "She's afraid of fireworks because it reminds her of gunshots back in Africa."
Gary lamented. If only he hadn't clicked on the fireworks game. They would have been at the mall, enjoying his favorites — slices of caramel pecan silk supreme pie and chocolate mousse cake, and ice cream with mini Oreos topping.
"Hey, buddy. How are you holding up?”
Two uniformed officers appeared before Gary.
Gary looked up and immediately recognized the short and muscular red-haired officer, identifying him as the first responder who was first to arrive at the scene and radio for the ambulance.
“I'm Officer Michael, and my partner here is Jack.”
“What's your name, little man?” A fat and taller officer shot out his pudgy hand at Gary.
“My name is Gary sir,” Gary stuttered, taking a hold of Officer Jack’s chunky sweaty palm and barely able to shake it.
"You did a great job on that man,” Officer Michael said. “If you hadn't performed CPR and tilted his chin upward, something terrible might have happened for sure. You saved his life, young man. Where did you learn to do that?”
"Sixth-grade health class," Gary replied in a low undertone. "I couldn't do mouth-to-mouth breathing because I didn't have a mask."
“Well, what you did was excellent,” Officer Jack remarked.
“Will he be okay?” Gary asked.
“The old man?”
Gary nodded.
Officer Jack sighed, wiping his forehead. "We don't know yet, still waiting to hear from the doctor."
Mary-Ann noticed two officers talking to her son and walked over, hoping to interrupt and possibly take her mind off the gunshots. She felt remorse for her past fear leading to this predicament, recalling an incident from Africa two decades ago.
"So what happened to the old man on the sidewalk?" Officer Michael asked Gary.
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “I remember seeing my mom spinning the steering wheel like out of control and then I felt a big bang before the car stopped…Mom screamed and put her head on the steering wheel. I looked in front and saw an old man lying on the sidewalk.”
Gary found himself biting his nails, the rhythmic tap offering a subtle distraction. Beside him, his mom and her hollow breaths, audible with each response to the officer’s questions, only heightened the tension. Standing there, he momentarily forgot the usual anticipation of her disapproval—a quick, sharp slap on his hand when caught nibbling. Regardless, he sensed she was in no mood to react, resembling the deer frozen in front of their headlights that they almost hit one time on a road trip to Grandma’s in Chicago.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael asked.
Gary hesitated, now wrestling with the vivid images flashing through his mind. The accident played on a loop — the old man lying motionless on the sidewalk. That reality was stark and real, far different from the countless dead bodies he had seen in movies.
And then there was his mom's incessant trembling and piercing screams echoing, before and after the crash. He had never in his life seen anything like that from her. It was like she was a different person, a person he decided early on not to reveal to the police officers. He regretted not heeding his father’s advice and playing that stupid game.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael repeated, his gaze fixating on the 11 year old boy’s furrowed brow.
Gary gulped, accidentally swallowing the nail fragments he had chewed off. With his voice a mere whisper, “I don't remember much else. Everything happened so fast. It was like —”
Officer Jack placed a reassuring hand on Gary's shoulder. "It's alright buddy. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to understand what happened."
Mary-Ann stood by her son’s side, feeling a mixture of anxiety, guilt and anger. Anger mostly.
“Where are the rebels coming from, behind us or in front of us!” she remembered yelling at her startled son upon hearing the sound of fireworks from the phone.
“That’s the sound of an M16; the rebels have captured this area! Woa Yo!” Mary-Ann’s voice raged.
“What rebels, Mom?” Gary asked, tears welling in his eyes. “There’s no one here.”
“They block the street, so we won’t be able to get out of here! Over my old Pa’s dead body!”
Mary-Ann pressed her foot harder on the pedal, accelerating the SUV 30 miles per hour over the 65 posted speed limit.
“Mom!” Gary called out in plea to his mother but her eyes did not look at him.
Like a bull zeroing in on its target, Mary-Ann focused on the nearing barricade. One way or another, she was going to break through, for her son’s sake. She was not going to allow any rebels to take him. If death was the outcome, then it would be a much better alternative.
“Hold tight Gary!” she shrieked.
“Mommy, stop please!”
Gary's cries escalated into full-on wailing. Mary-Ann, unfazed, continued driving, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
As she barreled towards her target, a sudden sun ray shot across the windshield, catching her off guard. With little time to react, she lifted her hand in a feeble attempt to shield her face.
In that fleeting moment, straining to see through the glaring light, Mary-Ann caught sight of a white metallic object hurtling towards her.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. With a surge of adrenaline, she turned it with all her strength, desperately trying to veer away from the impending collision.
"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened leading up to the accident?"
“Ma’am?”
“Ma’am?”
“Huh,” Mary-Ann said. “Who said that?”
Officer Michael waved his hand in front of Mary-Ann. “Ma’am, are you alright? I kind of lost you there for a minute.”
“Where’s my son!” Mary-Ann looked around frantically.
“He’s fine,” Officer Michael said, letting out a chuckle before pointing his finger in the direction of the hospital’s vending machines.
There Gary was eating a large cookie and engrossed in a stack of cards held by Officer Jack.
“This one right here is my favorite baseball player,” Officer Jack could be overheard saying.
She looked at her son and could not help but feel proud. He was growing and looking more and more like his 6'3" father. Most importantly, he was maturing and becoming a MAN. The accident was proof of this. If it was not for him, she was sure she would have been in much more trouble, maybe even in handcuffs. No…likely in handcuffs. She wished she could turn back time.
“Oh God,” Mary-Ann groaned, her forehead resting on the steering wheel.
Gary unclasped his seatbelt and leaned forward, peering beyond their SUV's cracked windshield and dented hood. He could make out what appeared to be a white car, completely mangled at the front. It was not an ordinary car though. It had three wheels, reminiscent of that tricycle car he saw once in a commercial.
Gary called out to his mother, who was now rubbing her head on the steering wheel. “Mom. Mom. You okay?” His eyes scanned past his mother and stopped on a figure lying face up on the sidewalk.
Mary-Ann lifted her head slowly from the steering wheel, awakened by the creak of the car door. She glanced at the empty front seat, noticing the ajar door.
Wrapping both hands around her mouth, Mary-Ann’s thoughts raced. “God, what did I do?”
Before panic could settle in, she began to hear that familiar and innocent squeaky voice. She turned to her left side and saw her son kneeling down. He was talking to a man, lying still on the sidewalk.
Wide-eyed, Mary-Ann flung her door open and ran towards her son
"Gary, we need to go! We can't stay here!" she pleaded.
But Gary remained resolute, his focus on the unconscious man. "I can't just leave him, Mom. He needs help."
"Gary!" Mary-Ann screamed, extending a bruised arm, fingers rattling. She looked in the direction where they were heading and saw nothing. Not a car in sight, pedestrian, barricade or rebels for that matter.
“We can’t stay,” Mary-Ann continued her plea. “Please son get in the — ”
“I can't Mom,” Gary said, meeting her gaze. Streams of tears marked his face. “I have to do something.”
Turning back to the man, Gary placed the heel of his hand on the center of the chest and pressed down firmly, allowing the chest to recoil between compressions. He counted each compression in his mind, just as he did on the manikin in health class.
“Mom, call 911!” Gary’s voice quivered with urgency.
Mary-Ann stood still, her gaze shifting between her son and the unconscious man.
Gary continued the compressions, pausing once to tilt the man's head back slightly before resuming. His hands moving with determined purpose.
Tears blurred Mary-Ann's vision as she watched her son's hands methodically pressing down on the stranger's chest. Each compression tightened the knot in her throat. Helplessness gripped her heart, but beneath it, a surge of pride welled up.
She failed to notice the arrival of the police cruiser behind until a short red-haired officer rushed past, urgently radioing for an ambulance.
Gary, his face streaked with tears, looked up at the officer with desperation and relief. The man remained unresponsive despite his efforts.
The officer swiftly took over, instructing Gary to move back, while distant sirens heralded the coming arrival of the ambulance.
“Ms. Brown.” “Ms. Brown.”
The voice of Officer Michael jolted Mary-Ann. The sound of her married name still unsettled her. She had opted to keep it. “Brown” was much easier on the American tongue than her African maiden name. Plus, it opened a lot more doors to employment and career progression, as had advised by a successful lawyer relative in DC.
“Sorry Mr. Officer,” Mary-Ann said, wiping her face with both hands.
"We appreciate both you and your son staying put after getting discharged. Thankfully, he's alright, and your injury is minor." Officer Michael pointed to Mary-Ann’s bandaged arm.
Mary-Ann looked at her bandaged right arm. True, she and Gary were lucky to be alive, more so Gary for not having a single scratch. She did not know how she could have forgiven herself if something was to happen to him. A swollen arm is a far better price to pay.
“Ms. Brown,” Officer Michael persisted. “We just need to understand what transpired today. Can you walk me through the events?”
Mary-Ann gulped and hesitated. It was a quarter past 6 pm and hunger was starting to gnaw at her. The image of making Gary's favorite dinner, lasagna with lots of cheese, flashed in her mind. She and Gary would have stuffed their bellies by now and topped it off with butter pecan ice cream on the couch and his kiddy movie. Would have if she had not overreacted.
“Ms. Brown?”
Mary-Ann took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Well, Officer, we were driv—”
“Officer.”
A doctor had appeared. He had several bag lines underneath his eyes and a couple of brown stains on his supposed white coat. “Officer, may I have a word with you?”
“Can you sit tight for a few?” Officer Michael said, pointing to one of the waiting room chairs.
Mary-Ann nodded and did as she was told. She was then joined by Gary, who hugged her non-injured shoulder.
Officer Michael, now accompanied by a wheezing Officer Jack, who had hurried back from the vending machines, redirected his focus to the haggard looking doctor.
“How is he doc?” Officer Michael inquired.
“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “But we are going to keep him overnight for observation.”
“Stable as in?”
The doctor flipped open a brown clipboard he was carrying and started to read from it. “The X-ray result shows no major issue. He has a couple of bruises on his back but nothing serio—”
“Wow, really?” Officer Jack interjected, scratching his blonde buzz haircut. “Tough SOB.”
The doctor continued, slightly annoyed, "As I said, nothing serious, except he complained of pain in both legs. Hence, we want to prescribe him some heavy painkillers and keep him overnight for observation."
“Can we see him to ask him a couple of questions?” Officer Michael asked.
“By all means,” the doctor said, not looking from his clipboard.
“Officers!” the doctor shouted, just as Officers Michael and Jack were enroute to the last room in the dimly lit hallway.
“Yeeess,” said Officer Michael, turning around.
The doctor pointed to a standard white dial clock above the nurses’ front help desk. “Be aware that I want to give the painkillers to Mr. Ferguson very soon, no later than 30 minutes from now.”
“We will do our best,” Officer Jack said, saluting.
“30 minutes TOPS.”
“Mr. Ferguson, are you feeling okay?” Officer Michael asked, checking the time on the EKG machine. Ten minutes had elapsed, and their attempts with the bald, freckled-faced old man proved fruitless. Like the woman before, the old man remained unresponsive, staring into space until either he or Officer Jack nudged him back to reality.
“Mr. Ferguson?” Officer Michael asked again, massaging his forehead.
“Please call me Bill,” Bill said. “I don’t like ‘Mister this’ or ‘Mister that.’ Everybody calls me ‘Bill’.”
“Okay, Bill.” “Can you—”
"Can you tell us what happened today that got you to the emergency room?" Officer Jack said with a brisk and demanding tone.
“Well, I was in an accident,” Bill said.
“Can you be more—”
Officer Michael patted Officer Jack on the shoulder, who then got up and walked out of the hospital room.
As he walked past Officer Michael, a muffled “asshole” escaped his breath.
Bill grinned. “Your partner is a real peach, ain’t he.”
“My apologies, it’s been a long day,” Officer Michael said, eyes darting at the EKG’s time. 15 minutes left before they have to call it quits. “Bill, you said you were in an accident. Let’s go back a bit. What happened leading up to the accident?”
Bill leaned back, tapping his fingers on the hospital bed rail. "Well, I was driving along Sanford Rd, coming from where the mall is. I was taking gifts to my grandkids, which, by the way, I realized I have not called them yet since getting in this predicament. They and my kids must be worried sick!"
Bill attempted to get up, eyeing a wall-mounted phone near the hospital room bathroom.
"Woah, woah, Bill," Officer Michael intervened, hands in front of the anxious old man. "Take it easy. Take it easy. We can call your family as soon as we finish. It won’t be long, I promise."
Officer Michael stole a quick glance at the EKG machine. “Damnit!” Neither him nor Officer Jack wanted to continue this investigation into the next day. Certainly, not on their day off. Additionally, they still had to interview the woman, and such a feat wouldn’t be straightforward, based on initial interactions.
Bill reclined back and took a deep breath. “Okay, but I have to call them afterwards. ASAP.”
“Don’t worry, I will personally make sure of it. Let’s circle back. You said you were coming from the direction of the mall. Did you see any vehicles around you?”
Bill shook his head. "Nope. Just me and the open road. I didn't see that SUV coming at all."
Officer Michael exchanged glances with a red faced Officer Jack, who had re-entered the room.
“Okay, let’s talk about the accident then. What can you tell us about it?”
“Well, I’m not really sure exactly, but all I remembered was being hit and the next thing I knew I was in the air looking at the clouds before I blacked out.”
“Did you notice anything unusual before the collision or before ‘being hit’?”
Bill scratched his head, his freckled face furrowed in concentration. "Honestly, Officers, it's all a blur. I can't remember anything specific."
Officer Jack muttered something under his breath, causing both Officer Michael and Bill to crack a smile.
"Your partner seems a bit on edge, Officer," Bill said.
Officer Michael waved his right hand in dismissal. “Let get back.”
“Look Officer, all I know is that I was driving and the double yellow was on my right when I got hit.”
“Double yellow?”
“The double yellow line.”
Officer Michael recalled the Slingshot motorcycle and its crushed bumper facing the SUV when he arrived at the scene: Bill lying unconscious as the 11-year old boy performed CPR on him.
“That SUV was on the wrong side of the road when it hit me,” explained Bill, wagging his index finger in the air. “Whoever was driving it that hit me must have been on towards oncoming traffic. The double yellow was on my right. I remember that for a fact.”
Officers Michael and Jack looked at one another.
Officer Michael drew out a pen and a small notebook from his uniform pocket.
“Let us get this clearly,” he said, clicking the pen. “You are saying that the double yellow line on the road was on your RIGHT side when you got hit?”
“YES. SIR”
/The Accident. By West African writer Josephine Dean./
2024.04.21 19:48 JDean_WAfricaStories Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks.
On the third Saturday of every month, Mary-Ann, a single mother navigating life post-divorce, embraced a routine that carved out quality time with her 11-year-old son, Gary. The day's weather, while slightly overcast, spared them from the oppressive summer heat, providing a welcome respite following the recent thunderstorms. Mary-Ann hopped into her black SUV, picked up Gary from his father’s place, and drove to their familiar spot: a cozy pastry shop within the bustling mall. En route to the shop, Gary enjoyed playing with his mom's smartphone.
Meanwhile, Bill, a grandfather, had his bi-weekly schedule to visit his five grandchildren, and today was the day. Excited about seeing them, he hopped into his favorite white Slingshot SL motorcycle, a sporty two-seater 3-wheeler. The cloud hung overhead, but it was less humid. Bill, optimistic and feeling great, thought about the gifts he'd bought—from chocolate bars to lollipops to action figures to barbie dolls. He imagined his grandchildren eagerly gathering around him, eyes and mouths wide open as they grabbed and unwrapped their gifts. As he hit the road before noon, he couldn't help but wish for more money. The idea of selling his motorcycle for $15,000 crossed his mind. This could fund a special trip to Disney World in California for his entire family: a trip he had always wanted. Lost in thought, Bill's mind drifted away, oblivious to the imminent presence of the SUV's grille directly in his path.
Mary-Ann paced the emergency department waiting room. She regretted overreacting to the sound, while lost in thought about the mall and all the potential gossips she was going to hear about her ex-husband's love affairs from his naive son. Now, with the man in the operating room possibly facing death, she feared the worst—would she be charged with murder? If only Gary had listened, refraining from playing that stupid fireworks game on her phone.
In the waiting room, Gary sat hunched over, chin nearly touching his chest. He regretted not heeding his father's advice before stepping into his mother’s car.
"Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks." Advice too late to heed now.
Gary remembered a similar incident from when he was five years old. It was on July 4th at the city’s largest park. After an amazing fireworks display, he and his father had returned home. Excited, he rushed inside the house to tell his mother about the fireworks and the parade. However, upon entering inside, he found the house in total darkness. Calling out for his mother yielded no response. Then, his father tapped his shoulder. "Check our closet."
He hurried into his parents’ closet, finding it in total darkness as well. Switching on the light, he discovered his mother lying flat on the floor with a pillow over her head.
"Mom! Mom! Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened to you?"
Right behind, his father tapped his shoulders again and whispered. "She's afraid of fireworks because it reminds her of gunshots back in Africa."
Gary lamented. If only he hadn't clicked on the fireworks game. They would have been at the mall, enjoying his favorites — slices of caramel pecan silk supreme pie and chocolate mousse cake, and ice cream with mini Oreos topping.
"Hey, buddy. How are you holding up?”
Two uniformed officers appeared before Gary.
Gary looked up and immediately recognized the short and muscular red-haired officer, identifying him as the first responder who was first to arrive at the scene and radio for the ambulance.
“I'm Officer Michael, and my partner here is Jack.”
“What's your name, little man?” A fat and taller officer shot out his pudgy hand at Gary.
“My name is Gary sir,” Gary stuttered, taking a hold of Officer Jack’s chunky sweaty palm and barely able to shake it.
"You did a great job on that man,” Officer Michael said. “If you hadn't performed CPR and tilted his chin upward, something terrible might have happened for sure. You saved his life, young man. Where did you learn to do that?”
"Sixth-grade health class," Gary replied in a low undertone. "I couldn't do mouth-to-mouth breathing because I didn't have a mask."
“Well, what you did was excellent,” Officer Jack remarked.
“Will he be okay?” Gary asked.
“The old man?”
Gary nodded.
Officer Jack sighed, wiping his forehead. "We don't know yet, still waiting to hear from the doctor."
Mary-Ann noticed two officers talking to her son and walked over, hoping to interrupt and possibly take her mind off the gunshots. She felt remorse for her past fear leading to this predicament, recalling an incident from Africa two decades ago.
"So what happened to the old man on the sidewalk?" Officer Michael asked Gary.
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “I remember seeing my mom spinning the steering wheel like out of control and then I felt a big bang before the car stopped…Mom screamed and put her head on the steering wheel. I looked in front and saw an old man lying on the sidewalk.”
Gary found himself biting his nails, the rhythmic tap offering a subtle distraction. Beside him, his mom and her hollow breaths, audible with each response to the officer’s questions, only heightened the tension. Standing there, he momentarily forgot the usual anticipation of her disapproval—a quick, sharp slap on his hand when caught nibbling. Regardless, he sensed she was in no mood to react, resembling the deer frozen in front of their headlights that they almost hit one time on a road trip to Grandma’s in Chicago.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael asked.
Gary hesitated, now wrestling with the vivid images flashing through his mind. The accident played on a loop — the old man lying motionless on the sidewalk. That reality was stark and real, far different from the countless dead bodies he had seen in movies.
And then there was his mom's incessant trembling and piercing screams echoing, before and after the crash. He had never in his life seen anything like that from her. It was like she was a different person, a person he decided early on not to reveal to the police officers. He regretted not heeding his father’s advice and playing that stupid game.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael repeated, his gaze fixating on the 11 year old boy’s furrowed brow.
Gary gulped, accidentally swallowing the nail fragments he had chewed off. With his voice a mere whisper, “I don't remember much else. Everything happened so fast. It was like —”
Officer Jack placed a reassuring hand on Gary's shoulder. "It's alright buddy. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to understand what happened."
Mary-Ann stood by her son’s side, feeling a mixture of anxiety, guilt and anger. Anger mostly.
“Where are the rebels coming from, behind us or in front of us!” she remembered yelling at her startled son upon hearing the sound of fireworks from the phone.
“That’s the sound of an M16; the rebels have captured this area! Woa Yo!” Mary-Ann’s voice raged.
“What rebels, Mom?” Gary asked, tears welling in his eyes. “There’s no one here.”
“They block the street, so we won’t be able to get out of here! Over my old Pa’s dead body!”
Mary-Ann pressed her foot harder on the pedal, accelerating the SUV 30 miles per hour over the 65 posted speed limit.
“Mom!” Gary called out in plea to his mother but her eyes did not look at him.
Like a bull zeroing in on its target, Mary-Ann focused on the nearing barricade. One way or another, she was going to break through, for her son’s sake. She was not going to allow any rebels to take him. If death was the outcome, then it would be a much better alternative.
“Hold tight Gary!” she shrieked.
“Mommy, stop please!”
Gary's cries escalated into full-on wailing. Mary-Ann, unfazed, continued driving, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
As she barreled towards her target, a sudden sun ray shot across the windshield, catching her off guard. With little time to react, she lifted her hand in a feeble attempt to shield her face.
In that fleeting moment, straining to see through the glaring light, Mary-Ann caught sight of a white metallic object hurtling towards her.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. With a surge of adrenaline, she turned it with all her strength, desperately trying to veer away from the impending collision.
"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened leading up to the accident?"
“Ma’am?”
“Ma’am?”
“Huh,” Mary-Ann said. “Who said that?”
Officer Michael waved his hand in front of Mary-Ann. “Ma’am, are you alright? I kind of lost you there for a minute.”
“Where’s my son!” Mary-Ann looked around frantically.
“He’s fine,” Officer Michael said, letting out a chuckle before pointing his finger in the direction of the hospital’s vending machines.
There Gary was eating a large cookie and engrossed in a stack of cards held by Officer Jack.
“This one right here is my favorite baseball player,” Officer Jack could be overheard saying.
She looked at her son and could not help but feel proud. He was growing and looking more and more like his 6'3" father. Most importantly, he was maturing and becoming a MAN. The accident was proof of this. If it was not for him, she was sure she would have been in much more trouble, maybe even in handcuffs. No…likely in handcuffs. She wished she could turn back time.
“Oh God,” Mary-Ann groaned, her forehead resting on the steering wheel.
Gary unclasped his seatbelt and leaned forward, peering beyond their SUV's cracked windshield and dented hood. He could make out what appeared to be a white car, completely mangled at the front. It was not an ordinary car though. It had three wheels, reminiscent of that tricycle car he saw once in a commercial.
Gary called out to his mother, who was now rubbing her head on the steering wheel. “Mom. Mom. You okay?” His eyes scanned past his mother and stopped on a figure lying face up on the sidewalk.
Mary-Ann lifted her head slowly from the steering wheel, awakened by the creak of the car door. She glanced at the empty front seat, noticing the ajar door.
Wrapping both hands around her mouth, Mary-Ann’s thoughts raced. “God, what did I do?”
Before panic could settle in, she began to hear that familiar and innocent squeaky voice. She turned to her left side and saw her son kneeling down. He was talking to a man, lying still on the sidewalk.
Wide-eyed, Mary-Ann flung her door open and ran towards her son
"Gary, we need to go! We can't stay here!" she pleaded.
But Gary remained resolute, his focus on the unconscious man. "I can't just leave him, Mom. He needs help."
"Gary!" Mary-Ann screamed, extending a bruised arm, fingers rattling. She looked in the direction where they were heading and saw nothing. Not a car in sight, pedestrian, barricade or rebels for that matter.
“We can’t stay,” Mary-Ann continued her plea. “Please son get in the — ”
“I can't Mom,” Gary said, meeting her gaze. Streams of tears marked his face. “I have to do something.”
Turning back to the man, Gary placed the heel of his hand on the center of the chest and pressed down firmly, allowing the chest to recoil between compressions. He counted each compression in his mind, just as he did on the manikin in health class.
“Mom, call 911!” Gary’s voice quivered with urgency.
Mary-Ann stood still, her gaze shifting between her son and the unconscious man.
Gary continued the compressions, pausing once to tilt the man's head back slightly before resuming. His hands moving with determined purpose.
Tears blurred Mary-Ann's vision as she watched her son's hands methodically pressing down on the stranger's chest. Each compression tightened the knot in her throat. Helplessness gripped her heart, but beneath it, a surge of pride welled up.
She failed to notice the arrival of the police cruiser behind until a short red-haired officer rushed past, urgently radioing for an ambulance.
Gary, his face streaked with tears, looked up at the officer with desperation and relief. The man remained unresponsive despite his efforts.
The officer swiftly took over, instructing Gary to move back, while distant sirens heralded the coming arrival of the ambulance.
“Ms. Brown.” “Ms. Brown.”
The voice of Officer Michael jolted Mary-Ann. The sound of her married name still unsettled her. She had opted to keep it. “Brown” was much easier on the American tongue than her African maiden name. Plus, it opened a lot more doors to employment and career progression, as had advised by a successful lawyer relative in DC.
“Sorry Mr. Officer,” Mary-Ann said, wiping her face with both hands.
"We appreciate both you and your son staying put after getting discharged. Thankfully, he's alright, and your injury is minor." Officer Michael pointed to Mary-Ann’s bandaged arm.
Mary-Ann looked at her bandaged right arm. True, she and Gary were lucky to be alive, more so Gary for not having a single scratch. She did not know how she could have forgiven herself if something was to happen to him. A swollen arm is a far better price to pay.
“Ms. Brown,” Officer Michael persisted. “We just need to understand what transpired today. Can you walk me through the events?”
Mary-Ann gulped and hesitated. It was a quarter past 6 pm and hunger was starting to gnaw at her. The image of making Gary's favorite dinner, lasagna with lots of cheese, flashed in her mind. She and Gary would have stuffed their bellies by now and topped it off with butter pecan ice cream on the couch and his kiddy movie. Would have if she had not overreacted.
“Ms. Brown?”
Mary-Ann took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Well, Officer, we were driv—”
“Officer.”
A doctor had appeared. He had several bag lines underneath his eyes and a couple of brown stains on his supposed white coat. “Officer, may I have a word with you?”
“Can you sit tight for a few?” Officer Michael said, pointing to one of the waiting room chairs.
Mary-Ann nodded and did as she was told. She was then joined by Gary, who hugged her non-injured shoulder.
Officer Michael, now accompanied by a wheezing Officer Jack, who had hurried back from the vending machines, redirected his focus to the haggard looking doctor.
“How is he doc?” Officer Michael inquired.
“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “But we are going to keep him overnight for observation.”
“Stable as in?”
The doctor flipped open a brown clipboard he was carrying and started to read from it. “The X-ray result shows no major issue. He has a couple of bruises on his back but nothing serio—”
“Wow, really?” Officer Jack interjected, scratching his blonde buzz haircut. “Tough SOB.”
The doctor continued, slightly annoyed, "As I said, nothing serious, except he complained of pain in both legs. Hence, we want to prescribe him some heavy painkillers and keep him overnight for observation."
“Can we see him to ask him a couple of questions?” Officer Michael asked.
“By all means,” the doctor said, not looking from his clipboard.
“Officers!” the doctor shouted, just as Officers Michael and Jack were enroute to the last room in the dimly lit hallway.
“Yeeess,” said Officer Michael, turning around.
The doctor pointed to a standard white dial clock above the nurses’ front help desk. “Be aware that I want to give the painkillers to Mr. Ferguson very soon, no later than 30 minutes from now.”
“We will do our best,” Officer Jack said, saluting.
“30 minutes TOPS.”
“Mr. Ferguson, are you feeling okay?” Officer Michael asked, checking the time on the EKG machine. Ten minutes had elapsed, and their attempts with the bald, freckled-faced old man proved fruitless. Like the woman before, the old man remained unresponsive, staring into space until either he or Officer Jack nudged him back to reality.
“Mr. Ferguson?” Officer Michael asked again, massaging his forehead.
“Please call me Bill,” Bill said. “I don’t like ‘Mister this’ or ‘Mister that.’ Everybody calls me ‘Bill’.”
“Okay, Bill.” “Can you—”
"Can you tell us what happened today that got you to the emergency room?" Officer Jack said with a brisk and demanding tone.
“Well, I was in an accident,” Bill said.
“Can you be more—”
Officer Michael patted Officer Jack on the shoulder, who then got up and walked out of the hospital room.
As he walked past Officer Michael, a muffled “asshole” escaped his breath.
Bill grinned. “Your partner is a real peach, ain’t he.”
“My apologies, it’s been a long day,” Officer Michael said, eyes darting at the EKG’s time. 15 minutes left before they have to call it quits. “Bill, you said you were in an accident. Let’s go back a bit. What happened leading up to the accident?”
Bill leaned back, tapping his fingers on the hospital bed rail. "Well, I was driving along Sanford Rd, coming from where the mall is. I was taking gifts to my grandkids, which, by the way, I realized I have not called them yet since getting in this predicament. They and my kids must be worried sick!"
Bill attempted to get up, eyeing a wall-mounted phone near the hospital room bathroom.
"Woah, woah, Bill," Officer Michael intervened, hands in front of the anxious old man. "Take it easy. Take it easy. We can call your family as soon as we finish. It won’t be long, I promise."
Officer Michael stole a quick glance at the EKG machine. “Damnit!” Neither him nor Officer Jack wanted to continue this investigation into the next day. Certainly, not on their day off. Additionally, they still had to interview the woman, and such a feat wouldn’t be straightforward, based on initial interactions.
Bill reclined back and took a deep breath. “Okay, but I have to call them afterwards. ASAP.”
“Don’t worry, I will personally make sure of it. Let’s circle back. You said you were coming from the direction of the mall. Did you see any vehicles around you?”
Bill shook his head. "Nope. Just me and the open road. I didn't see that SUV coming at all."
Officer Michael exchanged glances with a red faced Officer Jack, who had re-entered the room.
“Okay, let’s talk about the accident then. What can you tell us about it?”
“Well, I’m not really sure exactly, but all I remembered was being hit and the next thing I knew I was in the air looking at the clouds before I blacked out.”
“Did you notice anything unusual before the collision or before ‘being hit’?”
Bill scratched his head, his freckled face furrowed in concentration. "Honestly, Officers, it's all a blur. I can't remember anything specific."
Officer Jack muttered something under his breath, causing both Officer Michael and Bill to crack a smile.
"Your partner seems a bit on edge, Officer," Bill said.
Officer Michael waved his right hand in dismissal. “Let get back.”
“Look Officer, all I know is that I was driving and the double yellow was on my right when I got hit.”
“Double yellow?”
“The double yellow line.”
Officer Michael recalled the Slingshot motorcycle and its crushed bumper facing the SUV when he arrived at the scene: Bill lying unconscious as the 11-year old boy performed CPR on him.
“That SUV was on the wrong side of the road when it hit me,” explained Bill, wagging his index finger in the air. “Whoever was driving it that hit me must have been on towards oncoming traffic. The double yellow was on my right. I remember that for a fact.”
Officers Michael and Jack looked at one another.
Officer Michael drew out a pen and a small notebook from his uniform pocket.
“Let us get this clearly,” he said, clicking the pen. “You are saying that the double yellow line on the road was on your RIGHT side when you got hit?”
“YES. SIR”
/The Accident. By West African writer Josephine Dean./
submitted by JDean_WAfricaStories to Odd_directions [link] [comments]
Meanwhile, Bill, a grandfather, had his bi-weekly schedule to visit his five grandchildren, and today was the day. Excited about seeing them, he hopped into his favorite white Slingshot SL motorcycle, a sporty two-seater 3-wheeler. The cloud hung overhead, but it was less humid. Bill, optimistic and feeling great, thought about the gifts he'd bought—from chocolate bars to lollipops to action figures to barbie dolls. He imagined his grandchildren eagerly gathering around him, eyes and mouths wide open as they grabbed and unwrapped their gifts. As he hit the road before noon, he couldn't help but wish for more money. The idea of selling his motorcycle for $15,000 crossed his mind. This could fund a special trip to Disney World in California for his entire family: a trip he had always wanted. Lost in thought, Bill's mind drifted away, oblivious to the imminent presence of the SUV's grille directly in his path.
Mary-Ann paced the emergency department waiting room. She regretted overreacting to the sound, while lost in thought about the mall and all the potential gossips she was going to hear about her ex-husband's love affairs from his naive son. Now, with the man in the operating room possibly facing death, she feared the worst—would she be charged with murder? If only Gary had listened, refraining from playing that stupid fireworks game on her phone.
In the waiting room, Gary sat hunched over, chin nearly touching his chest. He regretted not heeding his father's advice before stepping into his mother’s car.
"Don't use your mom's phone to play games while she's driving. Especially games that sound like fireworks." Advice too late to heed now.
Gary remembered a similar incident from when he was five years old. It was on July 4th at the city’s largest park. After an amazing fireworks display, he and his father had returned home. Excited, he rushed inside the house to tell his mother about the fireworks and the parade. However, upon entering inside, he found the house in total darkness. Calling out for his mother yielded no response. Then, his father tapped his shoulder. "Check our closet."
He hurried into his parents’ closet, finding it in total darkness as well. Switching on the light, he discovered his mother lying flat on the floor with a pillow over her head.
"Mom! Mom! Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened to you?"
Right behind, his father tapped his shoulders again and whispered. "She's afraid of fireworks because it reminds her of gunshots back in Africa."
Gary lamented. If only he hadn't clicked on the fireworks game. They would have been at the mall, enjoying his favorites — slices of caramel pecan silk supreme pie and chocolate mousse cake, and ice cream with mini Oreos topping.
"Hey, buddy. How are you holding up?”
Two uniformed officers appeared before Gary.
Gary looked up and immediately recognized the short and muscular red-haired officer, identifying him as the first responder who was first to arrive at the scene and radio for the ambulance.
“I'm Officer Michael, and my partner here is Jack.”
“What's your name, little man?” A fat and taller officer shot out his pudgy hand at Gary.
“My name is Gary sir,” Gary stuttered, taking a hold of Officer Jack’s chunky sweaty palm and barely able to shake it.
"You did a great job on that man,” Officer Michael said. “If you hadn't performed CPR and tilted his chin upward, something terrible might have happened for sure. You saved his life, young man. Where did you learn to do that?”
"Sixth-grade health class," Gary replied in a low undertone. "I couldn't do mouth-to-mouth breathing because I didn't have a mask."
“Well, what you did was excellent,” Officer Jack remarked.
“Will he be okay?” Gary asked.
“The old man?”
Gary nodded.
Officer Jack sighed, wiping his forehead. "We don't know yet, still waiting to hear from the doctor."
Mary-Ann noticed two officers talking to her son and walked over, hoping to interrupt and possibly take her mind off the gunshots. She felt remorse for her past fear leading to this predicament, recalling an incident from Africa two decades ago.
"So what happened to the old man on the sidewalk?" Officer Michael asked Gary.
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “I remember seeing my mom spinning the steering wheel like out of control and then I felt a big bang before the car stopped…Mom screamed and put her head on the steering wheel. I looked in front and saw an old man lying on the sidewalk.”
Gary found himself biting his nails, the rhythmic tap offering a subtle distraction. Beside him, his mom and her hollow breaths, audible with each response to the officer’s questions, only heightened the tension. Standing there, he momentarily forgot the usual anticipation of her disapproval—a quick, sharp slap on his hand when caught nibbling. Regardless, he sensed she was in no mood to react, resembling the deer frozen in front of their headlights that they almost hit one time on a road trip to Grandma’s in Chicago.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael asked.
Gary hesitated, now wrestling with the vivid images flashing through his mind. The accident played on a loop — the old man lying motionless on the sidewalk. That reality was stark and real, far different from the countless dead bodies he had seen in movies.
And then there was his mom's incessant trembling and piercing screams echoing, before and after the crash. He had never in his life seen anything like that from her. It was like she was a different person, a person he decided early on not to reveal to the police officers. He regretted not heeding his father’s advice and playing that stupid game.
“Is that all?” Officer Michael repeated, his gaze fixating on the 11 year old boy’s furrowed brow.
Gary gulped, accidentally swallowing the nail fragments he had chewed off. With his voice a mere whisper, “I don't remember much else. Everything happened so fast. It was like —”
Officer Jack placed a reassuring hand on Gary's shoulder. "It's alright buddy. You’re not in any trouble. We just need to understand what happened."
Mary-Ann stood by her son’s side, feeling a mixture of anxiety, guilt and anger. Anger mostly.
“Where are the rebels coming from, behind us or in front of us!” she remembered yelling at her startled son upon hearing the sound of fireworks from the phone.
“That’s the sound of an M16; the rebels have captured this area! Woa Yo!” Mary-Ann’s voice raged.
“What rebels, Mom?” Gary asked, tears welling in his eyes. “There’s no one here.”
“They block the street, so we won’t be able to get out of here! Over my old Pa’s dead body!”
Mary-Ann pressed her foot harder on the pedal, accelerating the SUV 30 miles per hour over the 65 posted speed limit.
“Mom!” Gary called out in plea to his mother but her eyes did not look at him.
Like a bull zeroing in on its target, Mary-Ann focused on the nearing barricade. One way or another, she was going to break through, for her son’s sake. She was not going to allow any rebels to take him. If death was the outcome, then it would be a much better alternative.
“Hold tight Gary!” she shrieked.
“Mommy, stop please!”
Gary's cries escalated into full-on wailing. Mary-Ann, unfazed, continued driving, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
As she barreled towards her target, a sudden sun ray shot across the windshield, catching her off guard. With little time to react, she lifted her hand in a feeble attempt to shield her face.
In that fleeting moment, straining to see through the glaring light, Mary-Ann caught sight of a white metallic object hurtling towards her.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. With a surge of adrenaline, she turned it with all her strength, desperately trying to veer away from the impending collision.
"Ma'am, can you tell us what happened leading up to the accident?"
“Ma’am?”
“Ma’am?”
“Huh,” Mary-Ann said. “Who said that?”
Officer Michael waved his hand in front of Mary-Ann. “Ma’am, are you alright? I kind of lost you there for a minute.”
“Where’s my son!” Mary-Ann looked around frantically.
“He’s fine,” Officer Michael said, letting out a chuckle before pointing his finger in the direction of the hospital’s vending machines.
There Gary was eating a large cookie and engrossed in a stack of cards held by Officer Jack.
“This one right here is my favorite baseball player,” Officer Jack could be overheard saying.
She looked at her son and could not help but feel proud. He was growing and looking more and more like his 6'3" father. Most importantly, he was maturing and becoming a MAN. The accident was proof of this. If it was not for him, she was sure she would have been in much more trouble, maybe even in handcuffs. No…likely in handcuffs. She wished she could turn back time.
“Oh God,” Mary-Ann groaned, her forehead resting on the steering wheel.
Gary unclasped his seatbelt and leaned forward, peering beyond their SUV's cracked windshield and dented hood. He could make out what appeared to be a white car, completely mangled at the front. It was not an ordinary car though. It had three wheels, reminiscent of that tricycle car he saw once in a commercial.
Gary called out to his mother, who was now rubbing her head on the steering wheel. “Mom. Mom. You okay?” His eyes scanned past his mother and stopped on a figure lying face up on the sidewalk.
Mary-Ann lifted her head slowly from the steering wheel, awakened by the creak of the car door. She glanced at the empty front seat, noticing the ajar door.
Wrapping both hands around her mouth, Mary-Ann’s thoughts raced. “God, what did I do?”
Before panic could settle in, she began to hear that familiar and innocent squeaky voice. She turned to her left side and saw her son kneeling down. He was talking to a man, lying still on the sidewalk.
Wide-eyed, Mary-Ann flung her door open and ran towards her son
"Gary, we need to go! We can't stay here!" she pleaded.
But Gary remained resolute, his focus on the unconscious man. "I can't just leave him, Mom. He needs help."
"Gary!" Mary-Ann screamed, extending a bruised arm, fingers rattling. She looked in the direction where they were heading and saw nothing. Not a car in sight, pedestrian, barricade or rebels for that matter.
“We can’t stay,” Mary-Ann continued her plea. “Please son get in the — ”
“I can't Mom,” Gary said, meeting her gaze. Streams of tears marked his face. “I have to do something.”
Turning back to the man, Gary placed the heel of his hand on the center of the chest and pressed down firmly, allowing the chest to recoil between compressions. He counted each compression in his mind, just as he did on the manikin in health class.
“Mom, call 911!” Gary’s voice quivered with urgency.
Mary-Ann stood still, her gaze shifting between her son and the unconscious man.
Gary continued the compressions, pausing once to tilt the man's head back slightly before resuming. His hands moving with determined purpose.
Tears blurred Mary-Ann's vision as she watched her son's hands methodically pressing down on the stranger's chest. Each compression tightened the knot in her throat. Helplessness gripped her heart, but beneath it, a surge of pride welled up.
She failed to notice the arrival of the police cruiser behind until a short red-haired officer rushed past, urgently radioing for an ambulance.
Gary, his face streaked with tears, looked up at the officer with desperation and relief. The man remained unresponsive despite his efforts.
The officer swiftly took over, instructing Gary to move back, while distant sirens heralded the coming arrival of the ambulance.
“Ms. Brown.” “Ms. Brown.”
The voice of Officer Michael jolted Mary-Ann. The sound of her married name still unsettled her. She had opted to keep it. “Brown” was much easier on the American tongue than her African maiden name. Plus, it opened a lot more doors to employment and career progression, as had advised by a successful lawyer relative in DC.
“Sorry Mr. Officer,” Mary-Ann said, wiping her face with both hands.
"We appreciate both you and your son staying put after getting discharged. Thankfully, he's alright, and your injury is minor." Officer Michael pointed to Mary-Ann’s bandaged arm.
Mary-Ann looked at her bandaged right arm. True, she and Gary were lucky to be alive, more so Gary for not having a single scratch. She did not know how she could have forgiven herself if something was to happen to him. A swollen arm is a far better price to pay.
“Ms. Brown,” Officer Michael persisted. “We just need to understand what transpired today. Can you walk me through the events?”
Mary-Ann gulped and hesitated. It was a quarter past 6 pm and hunger was starting to gnaw at her. The image of making Gary's favorite dinner, lasagna with lots of cheese, flashed in her mind. She and Gary would have stuffed their bellies by now and topped it off with butter pecan ice cream on the couch and his kiddy movie. Would have if she had not overreacted.
“Ms. Brown?”
Mary-Ann took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Well, Officer, we were driv—”
“Officer.”
A doctor had appeared. He had several bag lines underneath his eyes and a couple of brown stains on his supposed white coat. “Officer, may I have a word with you?”
“Can you sit tight for a few?” Officer Michael said, pointing to one of the waiting room chairs.
Mary-Ann nodded and did as she was told. She was then joined by Gary, who hugged her non-injured shoulder.
Officer Michael, now accompanied by a wheezing Officer Jack, who had hurried back from the vending machines, redirected his focus to the haggard looking doctor.
“How is he doc?” Officer Michael inquired.
“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “But we are going to keep him overnight for observation.”
“Stable as in?”
The doctor flipped open a brown clipboard he was carrying and started to read from it. “The X-ray result shows no major issue. He has a couple of bruises on his back but nothing serio—”
“Wow, really?” Officer Jack interjected, scratching his blonde buzz haircut. “Tough SOB.”
The doctor continued, slightly annoyed, "As I said, nothing serious, except he complained of pain in both legs. Hence, we want to prescribe him some heavy painkillers and keep him overnight for observation."
“Can we see him to ask him a couple of questions?” Officer Michael asked.
“By all means,” the doctor said, not looking from his clipboard.
“Officers!” the doctor shouted, just as Officers Michael and Jack were enroute to the last room in the dimly lit hallway.
“Yeeess,” said Officer Michael, turning around.
The doctor pointed to a standard white dial clock above the nurses’ front help desk. “Be aware that I want to give the painkillers to Mr. Ferguson very soon, no later than 30 minutes from now.”
“We will do our best,” Officer Jack said, saluting.
“30 minutes TOPS.”
“Mr. Ferguson, are you feeling okay?” Officer Michael asked, checking the time on the EKG machine. Ten minutes had elapsed, and their attempts with the bald, freckled-faced old man proved fruitless. Like the woman before, the old man remained unresponsive, staring into space until either he or Officer Jack nudged him back to reality.
“Mr. Ferguson?” Officer Michael asked again, massaging his forehead.
“Please call me Bill,” Bill said. “I don’t like ‘Mister this’ or ‘Mister that.’ Everybody calls me ‘Bill’.”
“Okay, Bill.” “Can you—”
"Can you tell us what happened today that got you to the emergency room?" Officer Jack said with a brisk and demanding tone.
“Well, I was in an accident,” Bill said.
“Can you be more—”
Officer Michael patted Officer Jack on the shoulder, who then got up and walked out of the hospital room.
As he walked past Officer Michael, a muffled “asshole” escaped his breath.
Bill grinned. “Your partner is a real peach, ain’t he.”
“My apologies, it’s been a long day,” Officer Michael said, eyes darting at the EKG’s time. 15 minutes left before they have to call it quits. “Bill, you said you were in an accident. Let’s go back a bit. What happened leading up to the accident?”
Bill leaned back, tapping his fingers on the hospital bed rail. "Well, I was driving along Sanford Rd, coming from where the mall is. I was taking gifts to my grandkids, which, by the way, I realized I have not called them yet since getting in this predicament. They and my kids must be worried sick!"
Bill attempted to get up, eyeing a wall-mounted phone near the hospital room bathroom.
"Woah, woah, Bill," Officer Michael intervened, hands in front of the anxious old man. "Take it easy. Take it easy. We can call your family as soon as we finish. It won’t be long, I promise."
Officer Michael stole a quick glance at the EKG machine. “Damnit!” Neither him nor Officer Jack wanted to continue this investigation into the next day. Certainly, not on their day off. Additionally, they still had to interview the woman, and such a feat wouldn’t be straightforward, based on initial interactions.
Bill reclined back and took a deep breath. “Okay, but I have to call them afterwards. ASAP.”
“Don’t worry, I will personally make sure of it. Let’s circle back. You said you were coming from the direction of the mall. Did you see any vehicles around you?”
Bill shook his head. "Nope. Just me and the open road. I didn't see that SUV coming at all."
Officer Michael exchanged glances with a red faced Officer Jack, who had re-entered the room.
“Okay, let’s talk about the accident then. What can you tell us about it?”
“Well, I’m not really sure exactly, but all I remembered was being hit and the next thing I knew I was in the air looking at the clouds before I blacked out.”
“Did you notice anything unusual before the collision or before ‘being hit’?”
Bill scratched his head, his freckled face furrowed in concentration. "Honestly, Officers, it's all a blur. I can't remember anything specific."
Officer Jack muttered something under his breath, causing both Officer Michael and Bill to crack a smile.
"Your partner seems a bit on edge, Officer," Bill said.
Officer Michael waved his right hand in dismissal. “Let get back.”
“Look Officer, all I know is that I was driving and the double yellow was on my right when I got hit.”
“Double yellow?”
“The double yellow line.”
Officer Michael recalled the Slingshot motorcycle and its crushed bumper facing the SUV when he arrived at the scene: Bill lying unconscious as the 11-year old boy performed CPR on him.
“That SUV was on the wrong side of the road when it hit me,” explained Bill, wagging his index finger in the air. “Whoever was driving it that hit me must have been on towards oncoming traffic. The double yellow was on my right. I remember that for a fact.”
Officers Michael and Jack looked at one another.
Officer Michael drew out a pen and a small notebook from his uniform pocket.
“Let us get this clearly,” he said, clicking the pen. “You are saying that the double yellow line on the road was on your RIGHT side when you got hit?”
“YES. SIR”
/The Accident. By West African writer Josephine Dean./
2024.04.21 05:52 Scott_Savino I'm Not Insane. I'm A Librarian. The Head Librarian, Actually...
Before I begin to tell you everything that’s happened, I think it is important to ask yourself whether you think a madwoman would be able to hold the position of head librarian at Echo Bay’s prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University for 19 consecutive years? Do you think something like that would be possible? It’s a rather difficult job to manage such a vast collection of reference materials–to ensure that they’ve been organized and categorized and reshelved correctly and logically once they’ve been borrowed and returned. It really does take a lot of skill.
I’m sure that you’re aware that our university is home to the nation’s third largest marine biology, nautical engineering and maritime history reference library? Of course you are. Everyone knows that. You can’t be unhinged and also be responsible for the standard titles in fiction and non-fiction, the classics and new releases, an extensive backlog of microfiche, newsreels, a wide collection of digital media as well as hundreds of scholarly journals. These are things that students have come to expect from a university. They are paying tens of thousands of dollars that they’ve borrowed in student loans for an education! That’s money that they will work for the next fifty or sixty years to repay! Did you know that our university is the university with the second largest collection of restricted-access books, scrolls, clay tablets and ancient one-of-a-kind texts on the occult? Well, that you probably didn’t know and I’m not supposed to talk about that, so why don't you do us both a favor and just forget I’ve mentioned it…
I ask you, would they trust a lunatic with such a large responsibility? No, I don’t imagine that they would.
I’ve seen the mentally unstable–suffering from various forms of psychosis and neuroses, the drug addicts and drunks–you’ve seen them too. You know you have. They’re spending all day talking endlessly about kraken, mermaids and boat-eating giant squids. They think they’re talking to someone else, but there’s nobody there. They’re just sitting by themselves on a bench down by the wharf. Sure they’ll realize they’re not talking to anyone eventually…then if they have even half a whit, they’ll go find some sucker who will take pity on them–a skipper or deckboss…someone who’ll let them scrape barnacles off the side of their barge for a couple twenties. Most of those fishermen know they’ve pulled in quite the haul so they can afford to take pity on some poor nitwit. Get them to do the jobs nobody wants to do for pocket change.
Maybe those imbeciles will get really lucky and some blowboater will have them scrub down the deck of their fancy new sailboat for a crisp hundred dollar bill–or polish the chrome railings and whatnot. I tell you, that’s what the crazies do around here…they hang out around the docks, hoping to make enough money to buy themselves a handle of Gordon’s Gin–the plastic one for $15–just so they can pass out on the beach under the stars and get bitten by sand fleas all night long. I see it every day. It’s just what the nutjobs do.
Cuckoo-birds aren’t head librarians–they’re not even regular librarians–and certainly not at the leading university in a two hundred mile radius for marine biology, fishery management, and coastal environmental studies. No sir, they are not. And that’s just to name a few of the more popular fields of study here at the university. We have many, many programs for those intelligent, hardworking and qualified students who have spent their lives fascinated by sea exploration and sea related fields of study and I’m proud to be a part of such an important organization. I’m proud to say that from the year I began, I’ve helped each and every one of our graduates at some point discover that there’s more to see within the sea than we initially see…or maybe if I haven’t, I’ve at least told them where to go to find some book or other that they’re looking to find…unless it’s one of those books from the access-restricted collection of occult texts that we keep secretly locked in the sub-basement. I’ll kindly remind you again to forget about those. They’re off limits.
Now, I’m humble so I don’t brag. I'm not telling you that I’ve been in charge of all of the college’s books for nearly two decades because I expect you to be astonished. I wasn't fed my Master's degree in Library Science on a silver spoon by my rich parents. I grew up very poor like so many of you. I come from meager beginnings. My family had nothing, like most families still here in Echo Bay. That's right. I grew up here.
We aren't expected to do anything particularly astonishing growing up amongst the fishers and the crabbers on these prolific shores. The town is known only for its propagative fisheries--for crustacean trapping and shellfish. We’re seafood people of modest stock. I never knew I was destined to such grandeur as the title of a university's head librarian! And for 19 continuous years! This is a quiet coastal town that some will tell you has unique charms, beauty and history. Those things are lies. The only thing here is fish and everything smells just like you'd expect. The only industries here are the fisheries. The whole town stinks like the rotten breath of Poseidon and everyone you meet smells like they've bathed in the mouth of a bloated whale carcass that's washed ashore at the height of summer.
Still, you'll find that we’re more or less unpretentious people. We don't brag much, but maybe we should do a bit more than we do. The town itself is awful but we have one of the best maritime polytechnical universities anywhere in the entire country, and that's something we should be proud to say. I might be biased, but the university employs a great support staff. Most of the professors also do their jobs most of the time. It’s common knowledge that we’ve taught some of the leading marine technologists, aquatic environmental scientists and maritime law and policy makers from here to New Bismuth and Harlow’s Cove. I bet even someone like you knew about that already.
Our graduates are making big names for themselves even as far away as Clarion and Hedonis. So, I assure you that the crazy people aren’t found here at Eldertide Polytechnic. No place near it. Only reasonable people here…and they certainly wouldn’t let a psychopath be the head of the university’s library staff–Why, I’ve just told you, haven’t you been listening? The lunatics are out near the docks like they’ve always been, gibbering away their drunken theories of sunken pirate ships, lost treasures and superstitious legends about the sirens that supposedly make their home out on Mermaid Roost.
When those wackadoos are done running their mouths for the day they’re outside sleeping rough. They're exposed to the elements, spending all night cold and wet under the stars on Hidden Haven Beach. They've got their heads on jagged rocks instead of pillows out there, laying on beds made of cigarette butts and broken liquor bottles. That's where all the noodleheads around here sleep at night. They're all camped out there on that nasty beach with the rest of their kind: the vagrants, and derelicts, the dropouts, skateboarders and unwed mothers, tattoo artists and the illiterates too. Hidden Haven is the trashiest beach we've got in Echo Bay and levelheaded, decent people who can read stay away from there.
I heard from a reliable source that when intelligent people even think they might want to visit that beach "just to see" they should just go to a rehab instead. There's a nice one out in Harlow's Cove, I hear. It'll save them some time because the only reason anyone with any sort of logic would think thoughts like that is someone slipped them drugs or they got talked into drinking some of that Tidepool Tonic by a Whalehead. All it takes is you accidentally taking edible marijuanas or trying some of that Seafoam Slurry just one time and you'll never be the same again. After that, you're addicted now. Quit your job and become a Webby. That beach is crawling with that Enclave scum too. Used to be that cult ran the whole town, but there's less than 200 of those wackos left–all Greenmouths–every single one of them so they're easy to spot and avoid. Belong in the gutter if you ask me. That's the type of corrupted skelm a place like Hidden Haven belongs to...but I digress...
Set a single toe in that beach's sand and you might as well throw your whole life in the trash because people out there bring no value to society. You'll find yourself turning tricks so a pimp can give you some heroin or worse–a pint of Celestia–faster than you can say "lickety-split." Happens just that fast. Can't take a step on that beach without tripping over a box of dirty needles full of methamphetamines is what I've heard. You listen to me. I work in education so I know what I'm talking about.
Hidden Haven isn't the only beach you don't visit in Echo Bay. You don't go to Twilight Cove, either...not if you don't want to die horribly with your skin pulled off and your insides fed to something's pet.
They’ll call me crazy because nobody goes through the pass that leads down to Twilight Cove. Not anybody born and raised here in Echo Bay and not tourists either–but I've done it. I did it just last night. The path between those cliffs is too rough and stony for tourists and the Bay people are too superstitious–afraid of the Xaigonians to take the walk down to that beach. Twilight Cove’s not for the Bay People…that’s their territory. If you grew up in The Bay you grew up being told that the Xaigonians are down on that beach and they don’t take kindly to trespassers, especially not ones that can only breathe plain old regular air with normal human lungs. The Bay people say that if you go down between those cliffs you better have a damn good reason and something shiny to offer those webbed-footed freaks, because if you don’t and you’re dumb enough to go out on that particular stretch of beach you won’t be seen nor heard from ever again. It ain’t an expressly forbidden place to go–there’s no laws against it. Nobody’s gonna stop you. Nobody stopped me. You just ask anyone who’s spent their lives around these parts though. Ask them and they’ll tell you why you’ve got to stay away…
They’ll tell you there’s a whole race of people that aren’t quite people hiding out in that cove. They’ve been out there for centuries–and the world don’t know about them–that’s just the way they want it to stay too. They’ve been out there staying unseen since before the town was a town–before this state was even a state. They’re Fishpeople, that’s what they are. It isn’t just webbed fingers and toes, they say from far off something about their skin just doesn’t look quite right–looks a bit shinier than skin should look–they say you don’t want to get anywhere near them to see what’s off about their skin up close, but if you’re foolish enough to try you’ll see it ain’t skin at all. It’s a whole mess of scales.
When I was a little girl my mother (who also grew up here) told me the people hiding in Twilight Cove had gills and if they caught you walking out on their beach, they’d drag you down beneath the whitecaps and into the black waves. The waves are always black out there–day and night–nobody knows why. Once they’ve pulled you under, they’ll take you to their hidden shining city in the coral caves. She said the Xaigonians breed crabs–grow them even bigger than dogs–and they’ll peel off your skin the same way a fisherman uses a boning knife just so their mean and nasty pets don’t have to work so hard to get their claws inside–jab you in the spaces between your muscles and get at your good parts–get at your meat. That’s all The Bay people are to the Xaigonians–meat. If you don’t want to be meat, you’ve got to bring them some treasure. They’ll take gold, silver, diamonds–gems of all kinds actually…
But for your sake if they catch you out there, whatever treasure you’re bringing them had better be real…otherwise…you’re meat.
When they find him–no–if they find him–they’ll say I’m mad, of course they will, because nobody in their right mind goes down to that beach.
It appeared as though I would arrive at the most practical and prudent time for a levelheaded woman like myself to arrive–precisely when I intended to–at a time when there was nobody home.
I tucked my discarded clothes into a storm drain that opened up beneath a curb on the side of the road. Afterward, I cut diagonally from the sidewalk and through a yard with a large Victorian home standing like a sentry in the center of the lot growing heavily with a number of oak trees that were old and thick. Many lights were on inside, but I didn't worry because I knew that anyone who might look out would only see a fully rational and not-insane naked woman on a typical late-night walk beneath the shadowy canopy of branches that densely covered the property.
I lurked from tree to tree, skipping through the darkness as naturally as possible, only stopping once to rest for a moment beneath the largest of the ancient gnarled oaks. I had been carrying a rope in my hands, but it was in a mangled knot and it seemed more practical to wrap it into a coil around my arm and I’m a practical woman so that’s what I did. Then I very smartly slung the loop of rope over one of my shoulders and returned from the shadows of the trees in that yard to the sidewalk where I continued to nonchalantly make my way through the dark.
When I arrived, I found a trellis at the side of his front porch that was heavily overgrown with rosebushes and climbed up from the ground floor to the windows of the home's second story. The roses that crawled up along the trellis were protecting the house from humble intruders like myself with a profusion of thorns. After letting myself inside through an unlocked window I discovered that my arms, my legs, my breasts and my hands were covered in nicks and scratches and scrapes. And for two hours he inconsiderately left me in the corner of his bedroom in the dark, waiting patiently to kidnap him.
If one can't trust one's own blood, then whoms blood can one trust?
I wasn’t worried that he would see me when he turned on the light to undress and climb into bed. If he did, it wouldn't matter much, for what could be more natural than a naked woman in the darkened corner of your private room? I wasn’t worried when I made my way down the road and into his house. Why should I worry now? As it turned out he never had a chance to ponder the existence of a naked woman standing so naturally and logically in the corner of his room pretending to be a lamp. I had chosen a very practical corner to stand in while I waited for him to arrive. I loosened a length of the rope between my clenched fists as he entered through the doorway with his back to me and before his hand even reached for the light switch, my arms were over his head, wrapping the cord around his neck from behind.
They’ll say I’ve lost it. They’ll say I’ve lost my mind…but that’s not the case at all.
I had to knock him unconscious with the butt end of my knife when I got him to the car because he very foolishly tried to fight me when I took him for the ride.
I parked at the mouth of the pass and dragged him down between those cliffs and when the waterline was low, I was stable and lucid and completely sane as I tied that bastard down to the heaviest rocks I could find at the water’s edge; arms and legs all splayed out so he couldn’t sit up or swim away when the tide came back in.
If someone was to find him (but I’m fairly certain no one will) I don’t think there will be any evidence left to tie what happened to him here back to me. I’ve been naked this whole time. Less evidence that way. That was very clever of me, indeed. I don’t think he’s told anyone about his little investigation yet either. If he has shared what he’s found, there’s something in the library, a book called: “The Obsidian Grimoire: Lost Spells of Power” to make them all forget. Ironically, I’ll have to look up the page because I can’t remember which one it is…
They probably won’t find him and even if they do it won’t matter, because the crabs will find him first. Don’t have to be the great big ones my momma told me the Xaigonian people keep either. The regular old little ones will do just fine. They can even take their time and eat him slow because nobody goes down to Twilight Cove unless they’re batshit crazy.
Except for me. I’m the exception.
The light of the moon was the only illumination on the pass between the jutting edges of the high rock formations that towered over each of my shoulders last night. It sparkled on the water in the distance like a thousand diamonds scattered across black velvet; a forbidden treasure that called to me and led me down and down and down to the living darkness of the water’s edge. My breathing was steady, matching the rhythm of the ebbing and flowing shoreline as it rolled toward me over and over only to pull back into the black and be sucked away. The waves rolled in and the waves rolled out and unconsciously I matched each of my inhales and exhales to the beat of the tide like one might attempt to match their breathing to that of a sleeping lover. The act was unintentional--the hand of destiny serendipitously guiding me along the correct path. Tonight this ebony shore was my lover and together we would take this man's life--not in the way that garden-variety sociopaths might take a man's life with the sole desire of watching him die. Tonight, the sea and I would be two cogent and rational beings in love who are also coincidentally both murderers who kill together in harmony. Together we would drown my new nemesis for the sake of love. My love. My love for the forbidden knowledge of the occult.
It wasn't being done in the name of chaos and irrationality. We were doing it methodically, reasonably and sensibly. Don't you see? Don't you understand it now? The sea loved me so much that it needed to kill Bradley Wilcott for me to prove that love was real.
I could taste the clean salt that hung in the air as I dragged him over all those jagged rocks, ignoring the sting of their sharp edges as they sliced into my bare and bloody feet. I made furtive glances behind me with every ten or twelve steps and felt no pain as I carefully but quickly made my way down between the cliffs. Any suffering I might have felt was overridden by the pleasure I found watching his head bounce roughly across those same rocks. The constant bludgeoning would keep him knocked out cold. The flow from the back of his head looked black beneath the starless sky, not red, and left smears as it mixed with the black of the footprints I left behind with each step I took along the path. I dragged him with one end of a rope tied around his ankles and the bulk of it wrapped around my waist a half a dozen times. The opposite segment of the rope was tucked down between the coils that circled my waist, and pressed against my bare skin so that the end of it hung out past my hips. I tied a bag to the length that remained. I fetched it from my trunk when I dragged him from my car. The hilt of my knife protruded past where the top of the bag was cinched tightly closed. It hung low and heavy against my leg, bouncing rhythmically against my thigh.
They’ll call me a madwoman because I went down to Twilight Cove beneath a dark and starless sky, dragging behind me a man that I intended to tie to the rocks at low tide. They'll say that I did this all while Echo Bay slept because irrationally my internal voice dictated I must watch him die--but don't you see the truth of it all? Everything they'll say about me is a lie.
They’ll say I’m insane because the only thing I felt was pleasure as I watched the current roll back in and the water slowly rise up over his eyes…because I laughed to myself when he regained consciousness at the perfect moment and those eyes fluttered open with little bubbles coming out from behind the eyelids, and floating up to the surface of the water. They’ll say I’m insane because I came out here, my waist wrapped in a rope that I unraveled and using a knife, cut that rope into lengths so that I could tie this lunatic of a man down by each of his limbs. They’ll call me certifiable because I gloated over him, my bare feet bleeding and my body completely naked against the ocean breeze and bare breasted against the moonlight as I watched him drown. They’ll say I’m deranged because on a starless night, I trekked into territory well known to belong to the Xaigonians to do this to a man who definitely deserved what fate had in store for him…but I’m none of those things. I’m completely sane.
When I saw the first Fishperson come up and out of the waves, clawing his webbed fingers through the sand and pushing his hands into the ground to stand upright on his flipper-shaped feet, I didn’t feel any fear. I knew that even though my nakedness rendered me easier to flay and feed to his giant pet crabs beneath the waves, Xaigon and his Fishpeople had an unspoken expectation for anyone and everyone who traipsed uninvited into Twilight Cove. This place is theirs and everyone in Echo Bay knows that. We don't come to this place where we don’t belong. If we do they expect us to have a gleaming gift to give them. Each of them. Twilight Cove belongs to the race that lurks beneath the opaque waters there and it has belonged to them since the time before men learned to walk upright. If you're on their beach when they come up out of the murky depths, they’ll either drag you down through the viscous pitch dark water to their shining city beneath the black waves...or they won’t. It only depends on whether you came to the beach intending to meet their expectations.
A moment later, another one is rising up through the white foam that swirls atop the surface of the inky dark sea. And another one. And another. And another.
I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I’m the head librarian of the prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University and I have been for the last 19 years and I will be for 19 more and longer still after that. I’ve read everything about this place. Some of it’s in my collection with restricted-access and some of it isn’t. I came out here as an outsider intending to meet their expectations but I didn’t have any pockets to stow away my shiny gifts, so I put them in the bag I tied around my waist.
The bag was big. The bag was full. I knew what was out here. I knew what they would expect. This is the perfect place to bring a body because anyone who comes here without gifts for each and every one of them coming up and out from their city in the coral caves below won’t be seen again. There must have been a hundred of that strange aquatic race climbing out of the water. I watched them rise up to the surface that rippled with reflections of the moon. People don’t come here and if they do, they die. They might bring a gift and think they're wise, but one gift is not enough. You need to share with the whole class. I’m reasonable and pragmatic and my well of resources is deep. The bag I brought with me was very, very big and there were plenty of gifts inside to go around. They’ll say what I did out in Twilight Cove last night was crazy, but it wasn’t. They’ll say that I’m unhinged or deranged because I dragged that man out there to watch him die, but I’m not. Eldertide Polytechnic University wouldn’t have trusted me to be the head librarian for 19 fucking years if I wasn’t perfectly and completely rational and sane...
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I’m sure that you’re aware that our university is home to the nation’s third largest marine biology, nautical engineering and maritime history reference library? Of course you are. Everyone knows that. You can’t be unhinged and also be responsible for the standard titles in fiction and non-fiction, the classics and new releases, an extensive backlog of microfiche, newsreels, a wide collection of digital media as well as hundreds of scholarly journals. These are things that students have come to expect from a university. They are paying tens of thousands of dollars that they’ve borrowed in student loans for an education! That’s money that they will work for the next fifty or sixty years to repay! Did you know that our university is the university with the second largest collection of restricted-access books, scrolls, clay tablets and ancient one-of-a-kind texts on the occult? Well, that you probably didn’t know and I’m not supposed to talk about that, so why don't you do us both a favor and just forget I’ve mentioned it…
I ask you, would they trust a lunatic with such a large responsibility? No, I don’t imagine that they would.
I’ve seen the mentally unstable–suffering from various forms of psychosis and neuroses, the drug addicts and drunks–you’ve seen them too. You know you have. They’re spending all day talking endlessly about kraken, mermaids and boat-eating giant squids. They think they’re talking to someone else, but there’s nobody there. They’re just sitting by themselves on a bench down by the wharf. Sure they’ll realize they’re not talking to anyone eventually…then if they have even half a whit, they’ll go find some sucker who will take pity on them–a skipper or deckboss…someone who’ll let them scrape barnacles off the side of their barge for a couple twenties. Most of those fishermen know they’ve pulled in quite the haul so they can afford to take pity on some poor nitwit. Get them to do the jobs nobody wants to do for pocket change.
Maybe those imbeciles will get really lucky and some blowboater will have them scrub down the deck of their fancy new sailboat for a crisp hundred dollar bill–or polish the chrome railings and whatnot. I tell you, that’s what the crazies do around here…they hang out around the docks, hoping to make enough money to buy themselves a handle of Gordon’s Gin–the plastic one for $15–just so they can pass out on the beach under the stars and get bitten by sand fleas all night long. I see it every day. It’s just what the nutjobs do.
Cuckoo-birds aren’t head librarians–they’re not even regular librarians–and certainly not at the leading university in a two hundred mile radius for marine biology, fishery management, and coastal environmental studies. No sir, they are not. And that’s just to name a few of the more popular fields of study here at the university. We have many, many programs for those intelligent, hardworking and qualified students who have spent their lives fascinated by sea exploration and sea related fields of study and I’m proud to be a part of such an important organization. I’m proud to say that from the year I began, I’ve helped each and every one of our graduates at some point discover that there’s more to see within the sea than we initially see…or maybe if I haven’t, I’ve at least told them where to go to find some book or other that they’re looking to find…unless it’s one of those books from the access-restricted collection of occult texts that we keep secretly locked in the sub-basement. I’ll kindly remind you again to forget about those. They’re off limits.
Now, I’m humble so I don’t brag. I'm not telling you that I’ve been in charge of all of the college’s books for nearly two decades because I expect you to be astonished. I wasn't fed my Master's degree in Library Science on a silver spoon by my rich parents. I grew up very poor like so many of you. I come from meager beginnings. My family had nothing, like most families still here in Echo Bay. That's right. I grew up here.
We aren't expected to do anything particularly astonishing growing up amongst the fishers and the crabbers on these prolific shores. The town is known only for its propagative fisheries--for crustacean trapping and shellfish. We’re seafood people of modest stock. I never knew I was destined to such grandeur as the title of a university's head librarian! And for 19 continuous years! This is a quiet coastal town that some will tell you has unique charms, beauty and history. Those things are lies. The only thing here is fish and everything smells just like you'd expect. The only industries here are the fisheries. The whole town stinks like the rotten breath of Poseidon and everyone you meet smells like they've bathed in the mouth of a bloated whale carcass that's washed ashore at the height of summer.
Still, you'll find that we’re more or less unpretentious people. We don't brag much, but maybe we should do a bit more than we do. The town itself is awful but we have one of the best maritime polytechnical universities anywhere in the entire country, and that's something we should be proud to say. I might be biased, but the university employs a great support staff. Most of the professors also do their jobs most of the time. It’s common knowledge that we’ve taught some of the leading marine technologists, aquatic environmental scientists and maritime law and policy makers from here to New Bismuth and Harlow’s Cove. I bet even someone like you knew about that already.
Our graduates are making big names for themselves even as far away as Clarion and Hedonis. So, I assure you that the crazy people aren’t found here at Eldertide Polytechnic. No place near it. Only reasonable people here…and they certainly wouldn’t let a psychopath be the head of the university’s library staff–Why, I’ve just told you, haven’t you been listening? The lunatics are out near the docks like they’ve always been, gibbering away their drunken theories of sunken pirate ships, lost treasures and superstitious legends about the sirens that supposedly make their home out on Mermaid Roost.
When those wackadoos are done running their mouths for the day they’re outside sleeping rough. They're exposed to the elements, spending all night cold and wet under the stars on Hidden Haven Beach. They've got their heads on jagged rocks instead of pillows out there, laying on beds made of cigarette butts and broken liquor bottles. That's where all the noodleheads around here sleep at night. They're all camped out there on that nasty beach with the rest of their kind: the vagrants, and derelicts, the dropouts, skateboarders and unwed mothers, tattoo artists and the illiterates too. Hidden Haven is the trashiest beach we've got in Echo Bay and levelheaded, decent people who can read stay away from there.
I heard from a reliable source that when intelligent people even think they might want to visit that beach "just to see" they should just go to a rehab instead. There's a nice one out in Harlow's Cove, I hear. It'll save them some time because the only reason anyone with any sort of logic would think thoughts like that is someone slipped them drugs or they got talked into drinking some of that Tidepool Tonic by a Whalehead. All it takes is you accidentally taking edible marijuanas or trying some of that Seafoam Slurry just one time and you'll never be the same again. After that, you're addicted now. Quit your job and become a Webby. That beach is crawling with that Enclave scum too. Used to be that cult ran the whole town, but there's less than 200 of those wackos left–all Greenmouths–every single one of them so they're easy to spot and avoid. Belong in the gutter if you ask me. That's the type of corrupted skelm a place like Hidden Haven belongs to...but I digress...
Set a single toe in that beach's sand and you might as well throw your whole life in the trash because people out there bring no value to society. You'll find yourself turning tricks so a pimp can give you some heroin or worse–a pint of Celestia–faster than you can say "lickety-split." Happens just that fast. Can't take a step on that beach without tripping over a box of dirty needles full of methamphetamines is what I've heard. You listen to me. I work in education so I know what I'm talking about.
Hidden Haven isn't the only beach you don't visit in Echo Bay. You don't go to Twilight Cove, either...not if you don't want to die horribly with your skin pulled off and your insides fed to something's pet.
They’ll call me crazy because nobody goes through the pass that leads down to Twilight Cove. Not anybody born and raised here in Echo Bay and not tourists either–but I've done it. I did it just last night. The path between those cliffs is too rough and stony for tourists and the Bay people are too superstitious–afraid of the Xaigonians to take the walk down to that beach. Twilight Cove’s not for the Bay People…that’s their territory. If you grew up in The Bay you grew up being told that the Xaigonians are down on that beach and they don’t take kindly to trespassers, especially not ones that can only breathe plain old regular air with normal human lungs. The Bay people say that if you go down between those cliffs you better have a damn good reason and something shiny to offer those webbed-footed freaks, because if you don’t and you’re dumb enough to go out on that particular stretch of beach you won’t be seen nor heard from ever again. It ain’t an expressly forbidden place to go–there’s no laws against it. Nobody’s gonna stop you. Nobody stopped me. You just ask anyone who’s spent their lives around these parts though. Ask them and they’ll tell you why you’ve got to stay away…
They’ll tell you there’s a whole race of people that aren’t quite people hiding out in that cove. They’ve been out there for centuries–and the world don’t know about them–that’s just the way they want it to stay too. They’ve been out there staying unseen since before the town was a town–before this state was even a state. They’re Fishpeople, that’s what they are. It isn’t just webbed fingers and toes, they say from far off something about their skin just doesn’t look quite right–looks a bit shinier than skin should look–they say you don’t want to get anywhere near them to see what’s off about their skin up close, but if you’re foolish enough to try you’ll see it ain’t skin at all. It’s a whole mess of scales.
When I was a little girl my mother (who also grew up here) told me the people hiding in Twilight Cove had gills and if they caught you walking out on their beach, they’d drag you down beneath the whitecaps and into the black waves. The waves are always black out there–day and night–nobody knows why. Once they’ve pulled you under, they’ll take you to their hidden shining city in the coral caves. She said the Xaigonians breed crabs–grow them even bigger than dogs–and they’ll peel off your skin the same way a fisherman uses a boning knife just so their mean and nasty pets don’t have to work so hard to get their claws inside–jab you in the spaces between your muscles and get at your good parts–get at your meat. That’s all The Bay people are to the Xaigonians–meat. If you don’t want to be meat, you’ve got to bring them some treasure. They’ll take gold, silver, diamonds–gems of all kinds actually…
But for your sake if they catch you out there, whatever treasure you’re bringing them had better be real…otherwise…you’re meat.
When they find him–no–if they find him–they’ll say I’m mad, of course they will, because nobody in their right mind goes down to that beach.
”Hello, I’m Bradley Wilcott, Eldertide Polytech’s University’s New President,”I heard the stories all my life and you think someone like me, head librarian at Eldertide Polytech, for 19 goddamn years who grew up in this sea-side fish-stinking town ought to know better than to go out there. You’d have to be stupid or crazy to go out there. Especially not at night.
”And you’re Darlene? Ms. Darlene Fischer? The head librarian? According to your file, you’ve been here for a very long time. I do wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”But I’m not stupid and I’m not crazy either–I was perfectly sound-minded and sober when I made my way to his goddamn house. The street was poorly lit and that was good. I was only a little worried that I might be seen making my way up the sidewalk by one of the neighbors. So, naturally, I knew if I was mentally disturbed, I would have kept everything on, but I wasn’t that way so I had to take it off. That way if anyone saw me through their windows, they would just see a naked woman in the street. They’d know I was being rational and wise. They’d know I was just out for a sensible stroll in the dark.
”As you know, the board of trustees has appointed me to this position because they felt that my predecessor extended very little oversight to the budget spending of quite a few departments.”I took off my blouse and bra first, then my skirt and panties. The air felt sweet and unseasonably cool as it caressed my exposed breasts. This breeze of course very naturally caused my sane and rational nipples to harden ever-so slightly in just the way that I had hoped and planned for. The way that deliberate and logical nipples are meant to react in accordance to a breath of cool night air. The house–my destination–was just up ahead. Every window was dark and the driveway was empty.
I’m not a department head. I’m the head librarian.
”You’re in charge of the purchase of the university’s books, are you not?”
Well, naturally…
It appeared as though I would arrive at the most practical and prudent time for a levelheaded woman like myself to arrive–precisely when I intended to–at a time when there was nobody home.
I tucked my discarded clothes into a storm drain that opened up beneath a curb on the side of the road. Afterward, I cut diagonally from the sidewalk and through a yard with a large Victorian home standing like a sentry in the center of the lot growing heavily with a number of oak trees that were old and thick. Many lights were on inside, but I didn't worry because I knew that anyone who might look out would only see a fully rational and not-insane naked woman on a typical late-night walk beneath the shadowy canopy of branches that densely covered the property.
I lurked from tree to tree, skipping through the darkness as naturally as possible, only stopping once to rest for a moment beneath the largest of the ancient gnarled oaks. I had been carrying a rope in my hands, but it was in a mangled knot and it seemed more practical to wrap it into a coil around my arm and I’m a practical woman so that’s what I did. Then I very smartly slung the loop of rope over one of my shoulders and returned from the shadows of the trees in that yard to the sidewalk where I continued to nonchalantly make my way through the dark.
”I just have a few questions about some of the purchases you’ve made in the last few years. I’m hoping you could help me understand some of these expenses.”Moving naked through the black of night, I knew that anyone who might peer out at the desolate emptiness of the cul-de-sac would pay me, a naked woman simply walking, no mind–wait!–I’d forgotten to take off my shoes! How could a cognitively prudent head librarian for nearly 20 years like myself forget to take off my shoes? A clear-headed, sane woman on a naked nighttime stroll, but wearing shoes? No. Absolutely not. I panicked and ripped them off as quickly as possible…I tucked my socks cleverly inside them and abandoned my footwear in a mailbox as I passed. The danger of being discovered having passed, I breathed a sigh of relief and I continued on my way.
Okayyyy…
”I’m seeing here that you spent–”
I don’t spend anything. The books belong to the library.
”Okayyyy, the library spent $13,000 on a volume titled ‘Twilight Testament: Unveiling the Esoteric’--can you explain that Ms. Fischer?”
Certainly. That particular book was written by Friar Lucian Benedict. He was a powerful sorcerer. Burned at the stake for heresy in, um–1263, I think.
”...And for what reason did you–I’m sorry–for what reason did the library spend $13,000 on this book?”
Naturally that’s what a book like that would cost if it were the only copy that exists.
”I see…”
”And Darlene–may I call you Darlene?–what’s this charge for $9700 for something called, ‘Chthonic Codex: Communing With The Eldritch’ can you explain that?”Mr. Wilcott was not married. He lived in the house alone and he came home at midnight, which as a sensible woman, I found to be a very unsensible hour. I waited for him inside of his bedroom for two hours. Two full hours, I stood in the dark, arms bent up near my head in my best impression of a hideous modern style lamp. I tried to hold my breath, but I only lasted about a minute doing that. I didn't try to hold my breath again and that was a very sane decision because only a boneheaded lunatic would try not to breathe for two full hours.
Umm…
”What about $3750 for something called ‘The Alchemy of Night and Unveiling Infernal Secrets’–why–why are you making these purchases?”
Well, you see…
”I’ve actually been going through your purchase history and there’s almost $1.6 million dollars of misappropriated funds here, Ms. Fischer–and I’ve only gone back 10 years so far. There’s 9 more years of this library’s–your library’s–purchase receipts to go through.”
Misappropriated? No. Those texts were acquired for the occult library.
”I’m sorry–the what?”
The occult library.
”Where are these books, Ms. Fischer? In order to recover these funds, the university is going to have to liquidate some–if not, all–of this collection. Hopefully I can find a buyer so we have a way to recuperate these losses.”
Losses? These are treasures. Artifacts. I’m not going to let you sell them or even tell you where I keep the occult library.
”Whether you tell me or not, you’re facing very serious legal action, Ms. Fischer. Do you understand that?”
The occult library access is restricted. End of discussion.
When I arrived, I found a trellis at the side of his front porch that was heavily overgrown with rosebushes and climbed up from the ground floor to the windows of the home's second story. The roses that crawled up along the trellis were protecting the house from humble intruders like myself with a profusion of thorns. After letting myself inside through an unlocked window I discovered that my arms, my legs, my breasts and my hands were covered in nicks and scratches and scrapes. And for two hours he inconsiderately left me in the corner of his bedroom in the dark, waiting patiently to kidnap him.
”This is a maritime polytechnic university Ms. Fischer. We don’t need an occult library. We should not have an occult library and you therefore should not have purchased any texts for an occult library. When I show these numbers to the board of trustees you’re looking at some serious jail time.”When he came into the room, I wondered what he’d been doing out and about while I patiently–sensibly–waited for his return? Probably, he was out destroying some other people’s lives. Good, upstanding and reasonable people’s lives. He thoroughly explained to me how he intended to ruin mine just hours before. It seemed to be something he enjoyed and I was certain he'd ruin everything he was allowed to ruin if given the chance. I waited for him for so long that even my rational and logical blood acted practically with the time it was given; everywhere that the trellis thorns cut me while I climbed, the blood had quite astutely dried. Just another indicator that what I was about to do was not absurd–even my blood was behaving level-headedly.
Jail time?
”This is embezzlement. Do you understand that? You’re done here, Ms. Fischer.”
I’m the Head–I’m Head Librarian–19 years! I’ve been in charge of this library for 19 years!
”Well, I’m very sorry, Ms. Fischer–but not anymore…you’re fired.”
If one can't trust one's own blood, then whoms blood can one trust?
I wasn’t worried that he would see me when he turned on the light to undress and climb into bed. If he did, it wouldn't matter much, for what could be more natural than a naked woman in the darkened corner of your private room? I wasn’t worried when I made my way down the road and into his house. Why should I worry now? As it turned out he never had a chance to ponder the existence of a naked woman standing so naturally and logically in the corner of his room pretending to be a lamp. I had chosen a very practical corner to stand in while I waited for him to arrive. I loosened a length of the rope between my clenched fists as he entered through the doorway with his back to me and before his hand even reached for the light switch, my arms were over his head, wrapping the cord around his neck from behind.
They’ll say I’ve lost it. They’ll say I’ve lost my mind…but that’s not the case at all.
I had to knock him unconscious with the butt end of my knife when I got him to the car because he very foolishly tried to fight me when I took him for the ride.
I parked at the mouth of the pass and dragged him down between those cliffs and when the waterline was low, I was stable and lucid and completely sane as I tied that bastard down to the heaviest rocks I could find at the water’s edge; arms and legs all splayed out so he couldn’t sit up or swim away when the tide came back in.
If someone was to find him (but I’m fairly certain no one will) I don’t think there will be any evidence left to tie what happened to him here back to me. I’ve been naked this whole time. Less evidence that way. That was very clever of me, indeed. I don’t think he’s told anyone about his little investigation yet either. If he has shared what he’s found, there’s something in the library, a book called: “The Obsidian Grimoire: Lost Spells of Power” to make them all forget. Ironically, I’ll have to look up the page because I can’t remember which one it is…
They probably won’t find him and even if they do it won’t matter, because the crabs will find him first. Don’t have to be the great big ones my momma told me the Xaigonian people keep either. The regular old little ones will do just fine. They can even take their time and eat him slow because nobody goes down to Twilight Cove unless they’re batshit crazy.
Except for me. I’m the exception.
The light of the moon was the only illumination on the pass between the jutting edges of the high rock formations that towered over each of my shoulders last night. It sparkled on the water in the distance like a thousand diamonds scattered across black velvet; a forbidden treasure that called to me and led me down and down and down to the living darkness of the water’s edge. My breathing was steady, matching the rhythm of the ebbing and flowing shoreline as it rolled toward me over and over only to pull back into the black and be sucked away. The waves rolled in and the waves rolled out and unconsciously I matched each of my inhales and exhales to the beat of the tide like one might attempt to match their breathing to that of a sleeping lover. The act was unintentional--the hand of destiny serendipitously guiding me along the correct path. Tonight this ebony shore was my lover and together we would take this man's life--not in the way that garden-variety sociopaths might take a man's life with the sole desire of watching him die. Tonight, the sea and I would be two cogent and rational beings in love who are also coincidentally both murderers who kill together in harmony. Together we would drown my new nemesis for the sake of love. My love. My love for the forbidden knowledge of the occult.
It wasn't being done in the name of chaos and irrationality. We were doing it methodically, reasonably and sensibly. Don't you see? Don't you understand it now? The sea loved me so much that it needed to kill Bradley Wilcott for me to prove that love was real.
I could taste the clean salt that hung in the air as I dragged him over all those jagged rocks, ignoring the sting of their sharp edges as they sliced into my bare and bloody feet. I made furtive glances behind me with every ten or twelve steps and felt no pain as I carefully but quickly made my way down between the cliffs. Any suffering I might have felt was overridden by the pleasure I found watching his head bounce roughly across those same rocks. The constant bludgeoning would keep him knocked out cold. The flow from the back of his head looked black beneath the starless sky, not red, and left smears as it mixed with the black of the footprints I left behind with each step I took along the path. I dragged him with one end of a rope tied around his ankles and the bulk of it wrapped around my waist a half a dozen times. The opposite segment of the rope was tucked down between the coils that circled my waist, and pressed against my bare skin so that the end of it hung out past my hips. I tied a bag to the length that remained. I fetched it from my trunk when I dragged him from my car. The hilt of my knife protruded past where the top of the bag was cinched tightly closed. It hung low and heavy against my leg, bouncing rhythmically against my thigh.
They’ll call me a madwoman because I went down to Twilight Cove beneath a dark and starless sky, dragging behind me a man that I intended to tie to the rocks at low tide. They'll say that I did this all while Echo Bay slept because irrationally my internal voice dictated I must watch him die--but don't you see the truth of it all? Everything they'll say about me is a lie.
They’ll say I’m insane because the only thing I felt was pleasure as I watched the current roll back in and the water slowly rise up over his eyes…because I laughed to myself when he regained consciousness at the perfect moment and those eyes fluttered open with little bubbles coming out from behind the eyelids, and floating up to the surface of the water. They’ll say I’m insane because I came out here, my waist wrapped in a rope that I unraveled and using a knife, cut that rope into lengths so that I could tie this lunatic of a man down by each of his limbs. They’ll call me certifiable because I gloated over him, my bare feet bleeding and my body completely naked against the ocean breeze and bare breasted against the moonlight as I watched him drown. They’ll say I’m deranged because on a starless night, I trekked into territory well known to belong to the Xaigonians to do this to a man who definitely deserved what fate had in store for him…but I’m none of those things. I’m completely sane.
When I saw the first Fishperson come up and out of the waves, clawing his webbed fingers through the sand and pushing his hands into the ground to stand upright on his flipper-shaped feet, I didn’t feel any fear. I knew that even though my nakedness rendered me easier to flay and feed to his giant pet crabs beneath the waves, Xaigon and his Fishpeople had an unspoken expectation for anyone and everyone who traipsed uninvited into Twilight Cove. This place is theirs and everyone in Echo Bay knows that. We don't come to this place where we don’t belong. If we do they expect us to have a gleaming gift to give them. Each of them. Twilight Cove belongs to the race that lurks beneath the opaque waters there and it has belonged to them since the time before men learned to walk upright. If you're on their beach when they come up out of the murky depths, they’ll either drag you down through the viscous pitch dark water to their shining city beneath the black waves...or they won’t. It only depends on whether you came to the beach intending to meet their expectations.
A moment later, another one is rising up through the white foam that swirls atop the surface of the inky dark sea. And another one. And another. And another.
I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I’m the head librarian of the prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University and I have been for the last 19 years and I will be for 19 more and longer still after that. I’ve read everything about this place. Some of it’s in my collection with restricted-access and some of it isn’t. I came out here as an outsider intending to meet their expectations but I didn’t have any pockets to stow away my shiny gifts, so I put them in the bag I tied around my waist.
The bag was big. The bag was full. I knew what was out here. I knew what they would expect. This is the perfect place to bring a body because anyone who comes here without gifts for each and every one of them coming up and out from their city in the coral caves below won’t be seen again. There must have been a hundred of that strange aquatic race climbing out of the water. I watched them rise up to the surface that rippled with reflections of the moon. People don’t come here and if they do, they die. They might bring a gift and think they're wise, but one gift is not enough. You need to share with the whole class. I’m reasonable and pragmatic and my well of resources is deep. The bag I brought with me was very, very big and there were plenty of gifts inside to go around. They’ll say what I did out in Twilight Cove last night was crazy, but it wasn’t. They’ll say that I’m unhinged or deranged because I dragged that man out there to watch him die, but I’m not. Eldertide Polytechnic University wouldn’t have trusted me to be the head librarian for 19 fucking years if I wasn’t perfectly and completely rational and sane...
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2024.04.20 05:37 Scott_Savino I'm Not Insane. I'm A Librarian. The Head Librarian, Actually...
Before I begin to tell you everything that’s happened, I think it is important to ask yourself whether you think a madwoman would be able to hold the position of head librarian at Echo Bay’s prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University for 19 consecutive years? Do you think something like that would be possible? It’s a rather difficult job to manage such a vast collection of reference materials–to ensure that they’ve been organized and categorized and reshelved correctly and logically once they’ve been borrowed and returned. It really does take a lot of skill.
I’m sure that you’re aware that our university is home to the nation’s third largest marine biology, nautical engineering and maritime history reference library? Of course you are. Everyone knows that. You can’t be unhinged and also be responsible for the standard titles in fiction and non-fiction, the classics and new releases, an extensive backlog of microfiche, newsreels, a wide collection of digital media as well as hundreds of scholarly journals. These are things that students have come to expect from a university. They are paying tens of thousands of dollars that they’ve borrowed in student loans for an education! That’s money that they will work for the next fifty or sixty years to repay! Did you know that our university is the university with the second largest collection of restricted-access books, scrolls, clay tablets and ancient one-of-a-kind texts on the occult? Well, that you probably didn’t know and I’m not supposed to talk about that, so why don't you do us both a favor and just forget I’ve mentioned it…
I ask you, would they trust a lunatic with such a large responsibility? No, I don’t imagine that they would.
I’ve seen the mentally unstable–suffering from various forms of psychosis and neuroses, the drug addicts and drunks–you’ve seen them too. You know you have. They’re spending all day talking endlessly about kraken, mermaids and boat-eating giant squids. They think they’re talking to someone else, but there’s nobody there. They’re just sitting by themselves on a bench down by the wharf. Sure they’ll realize they’re not talking to anyone eventually…then if they have even half a whit, they’ll go find some sucker who will take pity on them–a skipper or deckboss…someone who’ll let them scrape barnacles off the side of their barge for a couple twenties. Most of those fishermen know they’ve pulled in quite the haul so they can afford to take pity on some poor nitwit. Get them to do the jobs nobody wants to do for pocket change.
Maybe those imbeciles will get really lucky and some blowboater will have them scrub down the deck of their fancy new sailboat for a crisp hundred dollar bill–or polish the chrome railings and whatnot. I tell you, that’s what the crazies do around here…they hang out around the docks, hoping to make enough money to buy themselves a handle of Gordon’s Gin–the plastic one for $15–just so they can pass out on the beach under the stars and get bitten by sand fleas all night long. I see it every day. It’s just what the nutjobs do.
Cuckoo-birds aren’t head librarians–they’re not even regular librarians–and certainly not at the leading university in a two hundred mile radius for marine biology, fishery management, and coastal environmental studies. No sir, they are not. And that’s just to name a few of the more popular fields of study here at the university. We have many, many programs for those intelligent, hardworking and qualified students who have spent their lives fascinated by sea exploration and sea related fields of study and I’m proud to be a part of such an important organization. I’m proud to say that from the year I began, I’ve helped each and every one of our graduates at some point discover that there’s more to see within the sea than we initially see…or maybe if I haven’t, I’ve at least told them where to go to find some book or other that they’re looking to find…unless it’s one of those books from the access-restricted collection of occult texts that we keep secretly locked in the sub-basement. I’ll kindly remind you again to forget about those. They’re off limits.
Now, I’m humble so I don’t brag. I'm not telling you that I’ve been in charge of all of the college’s books for nearly two decades because I expect you to be astonished. I wasn't fed my Master's degree in Library Science on a silver spoon by my rich parents. I grew up very poor like so many of you. I come from meager beginnings. My family had nothing, like most families still here in Echo Bay. That's right. I grew up here.
We aren't expected to do anything particularly astonishing growing up amongst the fishers and the crabbers on these prolific shores. The town is known only for its propagative fisheries--for crustacean trapping and shellfish. We’re seafood people of modest stock. I never knew I was destined to such grandeur as the title of a university's head librarian! And for 19 continuous years! This is a quiet coastal town that some will tell you has unique charms, beauty and history. Those things are lies. The only thing here is fish and everything smells just like you'd expect. The only industries here are the fisheries. The whole town stinks like the rotten breath of Poseidon and everyone you meet smells like they've bathed in the mouth of a bloated whale carcass that's washed ashore at the height of summer.
Still, you'll find that we’re more or less unpretentious people. We don't brag much, but maybe we should do a bit more than we do. The town itself is awful but we have one of the best maritime polytechnical universities anywhere in the entire country, and that's something we should be proud to say. I might be biased, but the university employs a great support staff. Most of the professors also do their jobs most of the time. It’s common knowledge that we’ve taught some of the leading marine technologists, aquatic environmental scientists and maritime law and policy makers from here to New Bismuth and Harlow’s Cove. I bet even someone like you knew about that already.
Our graduates are making big names for themselves even as far away as Clarion and Hedonis. So, I assure you that the crazy people aren’t found here at Eldertide Polytechnic. No place near it. Only reasonable people here…and they certainly wouldn’t let a psychopath be the head of the university’s library staff–Why, I’ve just told you, haven’t you been listening? The lunatics are out near the docks like they’ve always been, gibbering away their drunken theories of sunken pirate ships, lost treasures and superstitious legends about the sirens that supposedly make their home out on Mermaid Roost.
When those wackadoos are done running their mouths for the day they’re outside sleeping rough. They're exposed to the elements, spending all night cold and wet under the stars on Hidden Haven Beach. They've got their heads on jagged rocks instead of pillows out there, laying on beds made of cigarette butts and broken liquor bottles. That's where all the noodleheads around here sleep at night. They're all camped out there on that nasty beach with the rest of their kind: the vagrants, and derelicts, the dropouts, skateboarders and unwed mothers, tattoo artists and the illiterates too. Hidden Haven is the trashiest beach we've got in Echo Bay and levelheaded, decent people who can read stay away from there. I heard from a reliable source that when intelligent people even think they might want to visit that beach "just to see" they should just go to a rehab instead. It'll save them some time because the only reason anyone with any sort of logic would think thoughts like that is someone slipped them drugs. All it takes is you accidentally taking edibles that one time and you'll never be the same again. You're addicted now. Set a single toe in that beach's sand and you might as well throw your whole life in the trash. You'll find yourself turning tricks so a pimp will give you heroin faster than you can say "lickety-split." Happens just that fast. Can't take a step on that beach without tripping over a box of dirty needles full of methamphetamines is what I've heard. You listen to me. I work in education so I know what I'm talking about.
Hidden Haven isn't the only beach you don't visit in Echo Bay. You don't go to Twilight Cove, either...not if you don't want to die horribly with your skin pulled off and your insides fed to something's pet.
They’ll call me crazy because nobody goes through the pass that leads down to Twilight Cove. Not anybody born and raised here in Echo Bay and not tourists either–but I've done it. I did it just last night. The path between those cliffs is too rough and stony for tourists and the Bay people are too superstitious–afraid of the Xaigonians to take the walk down to that beach. Twilight Cove’s not for the Bay People…that’s their territory. If you grew up in The Bay you grew up being told that the Xaigonians are down on that beach and they don’t take kindly to trespassers, especially not ones that can only breathe plain old regular air with normal human lungs. The Bay people say that if you go down between those cliffs you better have a damn good reason and something shiny to offer those webbed-footed freaks, because if you don’t and you’re dumb enough to go out on that particular stretch of beach you won’t be seen nor heard from ever again. It ain’t an expressly forbidden place to go–there’s no laws against it. Nobody’s gonna stop you. Nobody stopped me. You just ask anyone who’s spent their lives around these parts though. Ask them and they’ll tell you why you’ve got to stay away…
They’ll tell you there’s a whole race of people that aren’t quite people hiding out in that cove. They’ve been out there for centuries–and the world don’t know about them–that’s just the way they want it to stay too. They’ve been out there staying unseen since before the town was a town–before this state was even a state. They’re Fishpeople, that’s what they are. It isn’t just webbed fingers and toes, they say from far off something about their skin just doesn’t look quite right–looks a bit shinier than skin should look–they say you don’t want to get anywhere near them to see what’s off about their skin up close, but if you’re foolish enough to try you’ll see it ain’t skin at all. It’s a whole mess of scales.
When I was a little girl my mother (who also grew up here) told me the people hiding in Twilight Cove had gills and if they caught you walking out on their beach, they’d drag you down beneath the whitecaps and into the black waves. The waves are always black out there–day and night–nobody knows why. Once they’ve pulled you under, they’ll take you to their hidden shining city in the coral caves. She said the Xaigonians breed crabs–grow them even bigger than dogs–and they’ll peel off your skin the same way a fisherman uses a boning knife just so their mean and nasty pets don’t have to work so hard to get their claws inside–jab you in the spaces between your muscles and get at your good parts–get at your meat. That’s all The Bay people are to the Xaigonians–meat. If you don’t want to be meat, you’ve got to bring them some treasure. They’ll take gold, silver, diamonds–gems of all kinds actually…
But for your sake if they catch you out there, whatever treasure you’re bringing them had better be real…otherwise…you’re meat.
When they find him–no–if they find him–they’ll say I’m mad, of course they will, because nobody in their right mind goes down to that beach.
It appeared as though I would arrive at the most practical and prudent time for a levelheaded woman like myself to arrive–precisely when I intended to–at a time when there was nobody home.
I tucked my discarded clothes into a storm drain that opened up beneath a curb on the side of the road. Afterward, I cut diagonally from the sidewalk and through a yard with a large Victorian home standing like a sentry in the center of the lot growing heavily with a number of oak trees that were old and thick. Many lights were on inside, but I didn't worry because I knew that anyone who might look out would only see a fully rational and not-insane naked woman on a typical late-night walk beneath the shadowy canopy of branches that densely covered the property.
I lurked from tree to tree, skipping through the darkness as naturally as possible, only stopping once to rest for a moment beneath the largest of the ancient gnarled oaks. I had been carrying a rope in my hands, but it was in a mangled knot and it seemed more practical to wrap it into a coil around my arm and I’m a practical woman so that’s what I did. Then I very smartly slung the loop of rope over one of my shoulders and returned from the shadows of the trees in that yard to the sidewalk where I continued to nonchalantly make my way through the dark.
When I arrived, I found a trellis at the side of his front porch that was heavily overgrown with rosebushes and climbed up from the ground floor to the windows of the home's second story. The roses that crawled up along the trellis were protecting the house from humble intruders like myself with a profusion of thorns. After letting myself inside through an unlocked window I discovered that my arms, my legs, my breasts and my hands were covered in nicks and scratches and scrapes. And for two hours he inconsiderately left me in the corner of his bedroom in the dark, waiting patiently to kidnap him.
If one can't trust one's own blood than whom can one trust?
I wasn’t worried that he would see me when he turned on the light to undress and climb into bed. If he did, it wouldn't matter much, for what could be more natural than a naked woman in the darkened corner of your private room? I wasn’t worried when I made my way down the road and into his house. Why should I worry now? As it turned out he never had a chance to ponder the existence of a naked woman standing so naturally and logically in the corner of his room pretending to be a lamp. I had chosen a very practical corner to stand in while I waited for him to arrive. I loosened a length of the rope between my clenched fists as he entered through the doorway with his back to me and before his hand even reached for the light switch, my arms were over his head, wrapping the cord around his neck from behind.
They’ll say I’ve lost it. They’ll say I’ve lost my mind…but that’s not the case at all.
I had to knock him unconscious with the butt end of my knife when I got him to the car because he very foolishly tried to fight me when I took him for the ride.
I parked at the mouth of the pass and dragged him down between those cliffs and when the waterline was low, I was stable and lucid and completely sane as I tied that bastard down to the heaviest rocks I could find at the water’s edge; arms and legs all splayed out so he couldn’t sit up or swim away when the tide came back in.
If someone was to find him (but I’m fairly certain no one will) I don’t think there will be any evidence left to tie what happened to him here back to me. I’ve been naked this whole time. Less evidence that way. That was very clever of me, indeed. I don’t think he’s told anyone about his little investigation yet either. If he has shared what he’s found, there’s something in the library, a book called: “The Obsidian Grimoire: Lost Spells of Power” to make them all forget. Ironically, I’ll have to look up the page because I can’t remember which one it is…
They probably won’t find him and even if they do it won’t matter, because the crabs will find him first. Don’t have to be the great big ones my momma told me the Xaigonian people keep either. The regular old little ones will do just fine. They can even take their time and eat him slow because nobody goes down to Twilight Cove unless they’re batshit crazy.
Except for me. I’m the exception.
The light of the moon was the only illumination on the pass between the jutting edges of the high rock formations that towered over each of my shoulders last night. It sparkled on the water in the distance like a thousand diamonds scattered across black velvet; a forbidden treasure that called to me and led me down and down and down to the living darkness of the water’s edge. My breathing was steady, matching the rhythm of the ebbing and flowing shoreline as it rolled toward me over and over only to pull back into the black and be sucked away. The waves rolled in and the waves rolled out and unconsciously I matched each of my inhales and exhales to the beat of the tide like one might attempt to match their breathing to that of a sleeping lover. The act was unintentional--the hand of destiny serendipitously guiding me along the correct path. Tonight this ebony shore was my lover and together we would take this man's life--not in the way that garden-variety sociopaths might take a man's life with the sole desire of watching him die. Tonight, the sea and I would be two cogent and rational beings in love who are also coincidentally both murderers who kill together in harmony. Together we would drown my new nemesis for the sake of love. My love. My love for the forbidden knowledge of the occult.
It wasn't being done in the name of chaos and irrationality. We were doing it methodically, reasonably and sensibly. Don't you see? Don't you understand it now? The sea loved me so much that it needed to kill Bradley Wilcott for me to prove that love was real.
I could taste the clean salt that hung in the air as I dragged him over all those jagged rocks, ignoring the sting of their sharp edges as they sliced into my bare and bloody feet. I made furtive glances behind me with every ten or twelve steps and felt no pain as I carefully but quickly made my way down between the cliffs. Any suffering I might have felt was overridden by the pleasure I found watching his head bounce roughly across those same rocks. The constant bludgeoning would keep him knocked out cold. The flow from the back of his head looked black beneath the starless sky, not red, and left smears as it mixed with the black of the footprints I left behind with each step I took along the path. I dragged him with one end of a rope tied around his ankles and the bulk of it wrapped around my waist a half a dozen times. The opposite segment of the rope was tucked down between the coils that circled my waist, and pressed against my bare skin so that the end of it hung out past my hips. I tied a bag to the length that remained. I fetched it from my trunk when I dragged him from my car. The hilt of my knife protruded past where the top of the bag was cinched tightly closed. It hung low and heavy against my leg, bouncing rhythmically against my thigh.
They’ll call me a madwoman because I went down to Twilight Cove beneath a dark and starless sky, dragging behind me a man that I intended to tie to the rocks at low tide. They'll say that I did this all while Echo Bay slept because irrationally my internal voice dictated I must watch him die--but don't you see the truth of it all? Everything they'll say about me is a lie.
They’ll say I’m insane because the only thing I felt was pleasure as I watched the current roll back in and the water slowly rise up over his eyes…because I laughed to myself when he regained consciousness at the perfect moment and those eyes fluttered open with little bubbles coming out from behind the eyelids, and floating up to the surface of the water. They’ll say I’m insane because I came out here, my waist wrapped in a rope that I unraveled and using a knife, cut that rope into lengths so that I could tie this lunatic of a man down by each of his limbs. They’ll call me certifiable because I gloated over him, my bare feet bleeding and my body completely naked against the ocean breeze and bare breasted against the moonlight as I watched him drown. They’ll say I’m deranged because on a starless night, I trekked into territory well known to belong to the Xaigonians to do this to a man who definitely deserved what fate had in store for him…but I’m none of those things. I’m completely sane.
When I saw the first Fishperson come up and out of the waves, clawing his webbed fingers through the sand and pushing his hands into the ground to stand upright on his flipper-shaped feet, I didn’t feel any fear. I knew that even though my nakedness rendered me easier to flay and feed to his giant pet crabs beneath the waves, Xaigon and his Fishpeople had an unspoken expectation for anyone and everyone who traipsed uninvited into Twilight Cove. This place is theirs and everyone in Echo Bay knows that. We don't come to this place where we don’t belong. If we do they expect us to have a gleaming gift to give them. Each of them. Twilight Cove belongs to the race that lurks beneath the opaque waters there and it has belonged to them since the time before men learned to walk upright. If you're on their beach when they come up out of the murky depths, they’ll either drag you down through the viscous pitch dark water to their shining city beneath the black waves...or they won’t. It only depends on whether you came to the beach intending to meet their expectations.
A moment later, another one is rising up through the white foam that swirls atop the surface of the inky dark sea. And another one. And another. And another.
I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I’m the head librarian of the prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University and I have been for the last 19 years and I will be for 19 more and longer still after that. I’ve read everything about this place. Some of it’s in my collection with restricted-access and some of it isn’t. I came out here as an outsider intending to meet their expectations but I didn’t have any pockets to stow away my shiny gifts, so I put them in the bag I tied around my waist.
The bag was big. The bag was full. I knew what was out here. I knew what they would expect. This is the perfect place to bring a body because anyone who comes here without gifts for each and every one of them coming up and out from their city in the coral caves below won’t be seen again. There must have been a hundred of that strange aquatic race climbing out of the water. I watched them rise up to the surface that rippled with reflections of the moon. People don’t come here and if they do, they die. They might bring a gift and think they're wise, but one gift is not enough. You need to share with the whole class. I’m reasonable and pragmatic and my well of resources is deep. The bag I brought with me was very, very big and there were plenty of gifts inside to go around. They’ll say what I did out in Twilight Cove last night was crazy, but it wasn’t. They’ll say that I’m unhinged or deranged because I dragged that man out there to watch him die, but I’m not. Eldertide Polytechnic University wouldn’t have trusted me to be the head librarian for 19 fucking years if I wasn’t perfectly and completely rational and sane...
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submitted by Scott_Savino to creepypasta [link] [comments]
I’m sure that you’re aware that our university is home to the nation’s third largest marine biology, nautical engineering and maritime history reference library? Of course you are. Everyone knows that. You can’t be unhinged and also be responsible for the standard titles in fiction and non-fiction, the classics and new releases, an extensive backlog of microfiche, newsreels, a wide collection of digital media as well as hundreds of scholarly journals. These are things that students have come to expect from a university. They are paying tens of thousands of dollars that they’ve borrowed in student loans for an education! That’s money that they will work for the next fifty or sixty years to repay! Did you know that our university is the university with the second largest collection of restricted-access books, scrolls, clay tablets and ancient one-of-a-kind texts on the occult? Well, that you probably didn’t know and I’m not supposed to talk about that, so why don't you do us both a favor and just forget I’ve mentioned it…
I ask you, would they trust a lunatic with such a large responsibility? No, I don’t imagine that they would.
I’ve seen the mentally unstable–suffering from various forms of psychosis and neuroses, the drug addicts and drunks–you’ve seen them too. You know you have. They’re spending all day talking endlessly about kraken, mermaids and boat-eating giant squids. They think they’re talking to someone else, but there’s nobody there. They’re just sitting by themselves on a bench down by the wharf. Sure they’ll realize they’re not talking to anyone eventually…then if they have even half a whit, they’ll go find some sucker who will take pity on them–a skipper or deckboss…someone who’ll let them scrape barnacles off the side of their barge for a couple twenties. Most of those fishermen know they’ve pulled in quite the haul so they can afford to take pity on some poor nitwit. Get them to do the jobs nobody wants to do for pocket change.
Maybe those imbeciles will get really lucky and some blowboater will have them scrub down the deck of their fancy new sailboat for a crisp hundred dollar bill–or polish the chrome railings and whatnot. I tell you, that’s what the crazies do around here…they hang out around the docks, hoping to make enough money to buy themselves a handle of Gordon’s Gin–the plastic one for $15–just so they can pass out on the beach under the stars and get bitten by sand fleas all night long. I see it every day. It’s just what the nutjobs do.
Cuckoo-birds aren’t head librarians–they’re not even regular librarians–and certainly not at the leading university in a two hundred mile radius for marine biology, fishery management, and coastal environmental studies. No sir, they are not. And that’s just to name a few of the more popular fields of study here at the university. We have many, many programs for those intelligent, hardworking and qualified students who have spent their lives fascinated by sea exploration and sea related fields of study and I’m proud to be a part of such an important organization. I’m proud to say that from the year I began, I’ve helped each and every one of our graduates at some point discover that there’s more to see within the sea than we initially see…or maybe if I haven’t, I’ve at least told them where to go to find some book or other that they’re looking to find…unless it’s one of those books from the access-restricted collection of occult texts that we keep secretly locked in the sub-basement. I’ll kindly remind you again to forget about those. They’re off limits.
Now, I’m humble so I don’t brag. I'm not telling you that I’ve been in charge of all of the college’s books for nearly two decades because I expect you to be astonished. I wasn't fed my Master's degree in Library Science on a silver spoon by my rich parents. I grew up very poor like so many of you. I come from meager beginnings. My family had nothing, like most families still here in Echo Bay. That's right. I grew up here.
We aren't expected to do anything particularly astonishing growing up amongst the fishers and the crabbers on these prolific shores. The town is known only for its propagative fisheries--for crustacean trapping and shellfish. We’re seafood people of modest stock. I never knew I was destined to such grandeur as the title of a university's head librarian! And for 19 continuous years! This is a quiet coastal town that some will tell you has unique charms, beauty and history. Those things are lies. The only thing here is fish and everything smells just like you'd expect. The only industries here are the fisheries. The whole town stinks like the rotten breath of Poseidon and everyone you meet smells like they've bathed in the mouth of a bloated whale carcass that's washed ashore at the height of summer.
Still, you'll find that we’re more or less unpretentious people. We don't brag much, but maybe we should do a bit more than we do. The town itself is awful but we have one of the best maritime polytechnical universities anywhere in the entire country, and that's something we should be proud to say. I might be biased, but the university employs a great support staff. Most of the professors also do their jobs most of the time. It’s common knowledge that we’ve taught some of the leading marine technologists, aquatic environmental scientists and maritime law and policy makers from here to New Bismuth and Harlow’s Cove. I bet even someone like you knew about that already.
Our graduates are making big names for themselves even as far away as Clarion and Hedonis. So, I assure you that the crazy people aren’t found here at Eldertide Polytechnic. No place near it. Only reasonable people here…and they certainly wouldn’t let a psychopath be the head of the university’s library staff–Why, I’ve just told you, haven’t you been listening? The lunatics are out near the docks like they’ve always been, gibbering away their drunken theories of sunken pirate ships, lost treasures and superstitious legends about the sirens that supposedly make their home out on Mermaid Roost.
When those wackadoos are done running their mouths for the day they’re outside sleeping rough. They're exposed to the elements, spending all night cold and wet under the stars on Hidden Haven Beach. They've got their heads on jagged rocks instead of pillows out there, laying on beds made of cigarette butts and broken liquor bottles. That's where all the noodleheads around here sleep at night. They're all camped out there on that nasty beach with the rest of their kind: the vagrants, and derelicts, the dropouts, skateboarders and unwed mothers, tattoo artists and the illiterates too. Hidden Haven is the trashiest beach we've got in Echo Bay and levelheaded, decent people who can read stay away from there. I heard from a reliable source that when intelligent people even think they might want to visit that beach "just to see" they should just go to a rehab instead. It'll save them some time because the only reason anyone with any sort of logic would think thoughts like that is someone slipped them drugs. All it takes is you accidentally taking edibles that one time and you'll never be the same again. You're addicted now. Set a single toe in that beach's sand and you might as well throw your whole life in the trash. You'll find yourself turning tricks so a pimp will give you heroin faster than you can say "lickety-split." Happens just that fast. Can't take a step on that beach without tripping over a box of dirty needles full of methamphetamines is what I've heard. You listen to me. I work in education so I know what I'm talking about.
Hidden Haven isn't the only beach you don't visit in Echo Bay. You don't go to Twilight Cove, either...not if you don't want to die horribly with your skin pulled off and your insides fed to something's pet.
They’ll call me crazy because nobody goes through the pass that leads down to Twilight Cove. Not anybody born and raised here in Echo Bay and not tourists either–but I've done it. I did it just last night. The path between those cliffs is too rough and stony for tourists and the Bay people are too superstitious–afraid of the Xaigonians to take the walk down to that beach. Twilight Cove’s not for the Bay People…that’s their territory. If you grew up in The Bay you grew up being told that the Xaigonians are down on that beach and they don’t take kindly to trespassers, especially not ones that can only breathe plain old regular air with normal human lungs. The Bay people say that if you go down between those cliffs you better have a damn good reason and something shiny to offer those webbed-footed freaks, because if you don’t and you’re dumb enough to go out on that particular stretch of beach you won’t be seen nor heard from ever again. It ain’t an expressly forbidden place to go–there’s no laws against it. Nobody’s gonna stop you. Nobody stopped me. You just ask anyone who’s spent their lives around these parts though. Ask them and they’ll tell you why you’ve got to stay away…
They’ll tell you there’s a whole race of people that aren’t quite people hiding out in that cove. They’ve been out there for centuries–and the world don’t know about them–that’s just the way they want it to stay too. They’ve been out there staying unseen since before the town was a town–before this state was even a state. They’re Fishpeople, that’s what they are. It isn’t just webbed fingers and toes, they say from far off something about their skin just doesn’t look quite right–looks a bit shinier than skin should look–they say you don’t want to get anywhere near them to see what’s off about their skin up close, but if you’re foolish enough to try you’ll see it ain’t skin at all. It’s a whole mess of scales.
When I was a little girl my mother (who also grew up here) told me the people hiding in Twilight Cove had gills and if they caught you walking out on their beach, they’d drag you down beneath the whitecaps and into the black waves. The waves are always black out there–day and night–nobody knows why. Once they’ve pulled you under, they’ll take you to their hidden shining city in the coral caves. She said the Xaigonians breed crabs–grow them even bigger than dogs–and they’ll peel off your skin the same way a fisherman uses a boning knife just so their mean and nasty pets don’t have to work so hard to get their claws inside–jab you in the spaces between your muscles and get at your good parts–get at your meat. That’s all The Bay people are to the Xaigonians–meat. If you don’t want to be meat, you’ve got to bring them some treasure. They’ll take gold, silver, diamonds–gems of all kinds actually…
But for your sake if they catch you out there, whatever treasure you’re bringing them had better be real…otherwise…you’re meat.
When they find him–no–if they find him–they’ll say I’m mad, of course they will, because nobody in their right mind goes down to that beach.
”Hello, I’m Bradley Wilcott, Eldertide Polytech’s University’s New President,”I heard the stories all my life and you think someone like me, head librarian at Eldertide Polytech, for 19 goddamn years who grew up in this sea-side fish-stinking town ought to know better than to go out there. You’d have to be stupid or crazy to go out there. Especially not at night.
”And you’re Darlene? Ms. Darlene Fischer? The head librarian? According to your file, you’ve been here for a very long time. I do wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”But I’m not stupid and I’m not crazy either–I was perfectly sound-minded and sober when I made my way to his goddamn house. The street was poorly lit and that was good. I was only a little worried that I might be seen making my way up the sidewalk by one of the neighbors. So, naturally, I knew if I was mentally disturbed, I would have kept everything on, but I wasn’t that way so I had to take it off. That way if anyone saw me through their windows, they would just see a naked woman in the street. They’d know I was being rational and wise. They’d know I was just out for a sensible stroll in the dark.
”As you know, the board of trustees has appointed me to this position because they felt that my predecessor extended very little oversight to the budget spending of quite a few departments.”I took off my blouse and bra first, then my skirt and panties. The air felt sweet and unseasonably cool as it caressed my exposed breasts. This breeze of course very naturally caused my sane and rational nipples to harden ever-so slightly in just the way that I had hoped and planned for. The way that deliberate and logical nipples are meant to react in accordance to a breath of cool night air. The house–my destination–was just up ahead. Every window was dark and the driveway was empty.
I’m not a department head. I’m the head librarian.
”You’re in charge of the purchase of the university’s books, are you not?”
Well, naturally…
It appeared as though I would arrive at the most practical and prudent time for a levelheaded woman like myself to arrive–precisely when I intended to–at a time when there was nobody home.
I tucked my discarded clothes into a storm drain that opened up beneath a curb on the side of the road. Afterward, I cut diagonally from the sidewalk and through a yard with a large Victorian home standing like a sentry in the center of the lot growing heavily with a number of oak trees that were old and thick. Many lights were on inside, but I didn't worry because I knew that anyone who might look out would only see a fully rational and not-insane naked woman on a typical late-night walk beneath the shadowy canopy of branches that densely covered the property.
I lurked from tree to tree, skipping through the darkness as naturally as possible, only stopping once to rest for a moment beneath the largest of the ancient gnarled oaks. I had been carrying a rope in my hands, but it was in a mangled knot and it seemed more practical to wrap it into a coil around my arm and I’m a practical woman so that’s what I did. Then I very smartly slung the loop of rope over one of my shoulders and returned from the shadows of the trees in that yard to the sidewalk where I continued to nonchalantly make my way through the dark.
”I just have a few questions about some of the purchases you’ve made in the last few years. I’m hoping you could help me understand some of these expenses.”Moving naked through the black of night, I knew that anyone who might peer out at the desolate emptiness of the cul-de-sac would pay me, a naked woman simply walking, no mind–wait!–I’d forgotten to take off my shoes! How could a cognitively prudent head librarian for nearly 20 years like myself forget to take off my shoes? A clear-headed, sane woman on a naked nighttime stroll, but wearing shoes? No. Absolutely not. I panicked and ripped them off as quickly as possible…I tucked my socks cleverly inside them and abandoned my footwear in a mailbox as I passed. The danger of being discovered having passed, I breathed a sigh of relief and I continued on my way.
Okayyyy…
”I’m seeing here that you spent–”
I don’t spend anything. The books belong to the library.
”Okayyyy, the library spent $13,000 on a volume titled ‘Twilight Testament: Unveiling the Esoteric’--can you explain that Ms. Fischer?”
Certainly. That particular book was written by Friar Lucian Benedict. He was a powerful sorcerer. Burned at the stake for heresy in, um–1263, I think.
”...And for what reason did you–I’m sorry–for what reason did the library spend $13,000 on this book?”
Naturally that’s what a book like that would cost if it were the only copy that exists.
”I see…”
”And Darlene–may I call you Darlene?–what’s this charge for $9700 for something called, ‘Chthonic Codex: Communing With The Eldritch’ can you explain that?”Mr. Wilcott was not married. He lived in the house alone and he came home at midnight, which as a sensible woman, I found to be a very unsensible hour. I waited for him inside of his bedroom for two hours. Two full hours, I stood in the dark, arms bent up near my head in my best impression of a hideous modern style lamp. I tried to hold my breath, but I only lasted about a minute doing that. I didn't try to hold my breath again and that was a very sane decision because only a boneheaded lunatic would try not to breathe for two full hours.
Umm…
”What about $3750 for something called ‘The Alchemy of Night and Unveiling Infernal Secrets’–why–why are you making these purchases?”
Well, you see…
”I’ve actually been going through your purchase history and there’s almost $1.6 million dollars of misappropriated funds here, Ms. Fischer–and I’ve only gone back 10 years so far. There’s 9 more years of this library’s–your library’s–purchase receipts to go through.”
Misappropriated? No. Those texts were acquired for the occult library.
”I’m sorry–the what?”
The occult library.
”Where are these books, Ms. Fischer? In order to recover these funds, the university is going to have to liquidate some–if not, all–of this collection. Hopefully I can find a buyer so we have a way to recuperate these losses.”
Losses? These are treasures. Artifacts. I’m not going to let you sell them or even tell you where I keep the occult library.
”Whether you tell me or not, you’re facing very serious legal action, Ms. Fischer. Do you understand that?”
The occult library access is restricted. End of discussion.
When I arrived, I found a trellis at the side of his front porch that was heavily overgrown with rosebushes and climbed up from the ground floor to the windows of the home's second story. The roses that crawled up along the trellis were protecting the house from humble intruders like myself with a profusion of thorns. After letting myself inside through an unlocked window I discovered that my arms, my legs, my breasts and my hands were covered in nicks and scratches and scrapes. And for two hours he inconsiderately left me in the corner of his bedroom in the dark, waiting patiently to kidnap him.
”This is a maritime polytechnic university Ms. Fischer. We don’t need an occult library. We should not have an occult library and you therefore should not have purchased any texts for an occult library. When I show these numbers to the board of trustees you’re looking at some serious jail time.”When he came into the room, I wondered what he’d been doing out and about while I patiently–sensibly–waited for his return? Probably, he was out destroying some other people’s lives. Good, upstanding and reasonable people’s lives. He thoroughly explained to me how he intended to ruin mine just hours before. It seemed to be something he enjoyed and I was certain he'd ruin everything he was allowed to ruin if given the chance. I waited for him for so long that even my rational and logical blood acted practically with the time it was given; everywhere that the trellis thorns cut me while I climbed, the blood had quite astutely dried. Just another indicator that what I was about to do was not absurd–even my blood was behaving level-headedly.
Jail time?
”This is embezzlement. Do you understand that? You’re done here, Ms. Fischer.”
I’m the Head–I’m Head Librarian–19 years! I’ve been in charge of this library for 19 years!
”Well, I’m very sorry, Ms. Fischer–but not anymore…you’re fired.”
If one can't trust one's own blood than whom can one trust?
I wasn’t worried that he would see me when he turned on the light to undress and climb into bed. If he did, it wouldn't matter much, for what could be more natural than a naked woman in the darkened corner of your private room? I wasn’t worried when I made my way down the road and into his house. Why should I worry now? As it turned out he never had a chance to ponder the existence of a naked woman standing so naturally and logically in the corner of his room pretending to be a lamp. I had chosen a very practical corner to stand in while I waited for him to arrive. I loosened a length of the rope between my clenched fists as he entered through the doorway with his back to me and before his hand even reached for the light switch, my arms were over his head, wrapping the cord around his neck from behind.
They’ll say I’ve lost it. They’ll say I’ve lost my mind…but that’s not the case at all.
I had to knock him unconscious with the butt end of my knife when I got him to the car because he very foolishly tried to fight me when I took him for the ride.
I parked at the mouth of the pass and dragged him down between those cliffs and when the waterline was low, I was stable and lucid and completely sane as I tied that bastard down to the heaviest rocks I could find at the water’s edge; arms and legs all splayed out so he couldn’t sit up or swim away when the tide came back in.
If someone was to find him (but I’m fairly certain no one will) I don’t think there will be any evidence left to tie what happened to him here back to me. I’ve been naked this whole time. Less evidence that way. That was very clever of me, indeed. I don’t think he’s told anyone about his little investigation yet either. If he has shared what he’s found, there’s something in the library, a book called: “The Obsidian Grimoire: Lost Spells of Power” to make them all forget. Ironically, I’ll have to look up the page because I can’t remember which one it is…
They probably won’t find him and even if they do it won’t matter, because the crabs will find him first. Don’t have to be the great big ones my momma told me the Xaigonian people keep either. The regular old little ones will do just fine. They can even take their time and eat him slow because nobody goes down to Twilight Cove unless they’re batshit crazy.
Except for me. I’m the exception.
The light of the moon was the only illumination on the pass between the jutting edges of the high rock formations that towered over each of my shoulders last night. It sparkled on the water in the distance like a thousand diamonds scattered across black velvet; a forbidden treasure that called to me and led me down and down and down to the living darkness of the water’s edge. My breathing was steady, matching the rhythm of the ebbing and flowing shoreline as it rolled toward me over and over only to pull back into the black and be sucked away. The waves rolled in and the waves rolled out and unconsciously I matched each of my inhales and exhales to the beat of the tide like one might attempt to match their breathing to that of a sleeping lover. The act was unintentional--the hand of destiny serendipitously guiding me along the correct path. Tonight this ebony shore was my lover and together we would take this man's life--not in the way that garden-variety sociopaths might take a man's life with the sole desire of watching him die. Tonight, the sea and I would be two cogent and rational beings in love who are also coincidentally both murderers who kill together in harmony. Together we would drown my new nemesis for the sake of love. My love. My love for the forbidden knowledge of the occult.
It wasn't being done in the name of chaos and irrationality. We were doing it methodically, reasonably and sensibly. Don't you see? Don't you understand it now? The sea loved me so much that it needed to kill Bradley Wilcott for me to prove that love was real.
I could taste the clean salt that hung in the air as I dragged him over all those jagged rocks, ignoring the sting of their sharp edges as they sliced into my bare and bloody feet. I made furtive glances behind me with every ten or twelve steps and felt no pain as I carefully but quickly made my way down between the cliffs. Any suffering I might have felt was overridden by the pleasure I found watching his head bounce roughly across those same rocks. The constant bludgeoning would keep him knocked out cold. The flow from the back of his head looked black beneath the starless sky, not red, and left smears as it mixed with the black of the footprints I left behind with each step I took along the path. I dragged him with one end of a rope tied around his ankles and the bulk of it wrapped around my waist a half a dozen times. The opposite segment of the rope was tucked down between the coils that circled my waist, and pressed against my bare skin so that the end of it hung out past my hips. I tied a bag to the length that remained. I fetched it from my trunk when I dragged him from my car. The hilt of my knife protruded past where the top of the bag was cinched tightly closed. It hung low and heavy against my leg, bouncing rhythmically against my thigh.
They’ll call me a madwoman because I went down to Twilight Cove beneath a dark and starless sky, dragging behind me a man that I intended to tie to the rocks at low tide. They'll say that I did this all while Echo Bay slept because irrationally my internal voice dictated I must watch him die--but don't you see the truth of it all? Everything they'll say about me is a lie.
They’ll say I’m insane because the only thing I felt was pleasure as I watched the current roll back in and the water slowly rise up over his eyes…because I laughed to myself when he regained consciousness at the perfect moment and those eyes fluttered open with little bubbles coming out from behind the eyelids, and floating up to the surface of the water. They’ll say I’m insane because I came out here, my waist wrapped in a rope that I unraveled and using a knife, cut that rope into lengths so that I could tie this lunatic of a man down by each of his limbs. They’ll call me certifiable because I gloated over him, my bare feet bleeding and my body completely naked against the ocean breeze and bare breasted against the moonlight as I watched him drown. They’ll say I’m deranged because on a starless night, I trekked into territory well known to belong to the Xaigonians to do this to a man who definitely deserved what fate had in store for him…but I’m none of those things. I’m completely sane.
When I saw the first Fishperson come up and out of the waves, clawing his webbed fingers through the sand and pushing his hands into the ground to stand upright on his flipper-shaped feet, I didn’t feel any fear. I knew that even though my nakedness rendered me easier to flay and feed to his giant pet crabs beneath the waves, Xaigon and his Fishpeople had an unspoken expectation for anyone and everyone who traipsed uninvited into Twilight Cove. This place is theirs and everyone in Echo Bay knows that. We don't come to this place where we don’t belong. If we do they expect us to have a gleaming gift to give them. Each of them. Twilight Cove belongs to the race that lurks beneath the opaque waters there and it has belonged to them since the time before men learned to walk upright. If you're on their beach when they come up out of the murky depths, they’ll either drag you down through the viscous pitch dark water to their shining city beneath the black waves...or they won’t. It only depends on whether you came to the beach intending to meet their expectations.
A moment later, another one is rising up through the white foam that swirls atop the surface of the inky dark sea. And another one. And another. And another.
I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I’m the head librarian of the prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University and I have been for the last 19 years and I will be for 19 more and longer still after that. I’ve read everything about this place. Some of it’s in my collection with restricted-access and some of it isn’t. I came out here as an outsider intending to meet their expectations but I didn’t have any pockets to stow away my shiny gifts, so I put them in the bag I tied around my waist.
The bag was big. The bag was full. I knew what was out here. I knew what they would expect. This is the perfect place to bring a body because anyone who comes here without gifts for each and every one of them coming up and out from their city in the coral caves below won’t be seen again. There must have been a hundred of that strange aquatic race climbing out of the water. I watched them rise up to the surface that rippled with reflections of the moon. People don’t come here and if they do, they die. They might bring a gift and think they're wise, but one gift is not enough. You need to share with the whole class. I’m reasonable and pragmatic and my well of resources is deep. The bag I brought with me was very, very big and there were plenty of gifts inside to go around. They’ll say what I did out in Twilight Cove last night was crazy, but it wasn’t. They’ll say that I’m unhinged or deranged because I dragged that man out there to watch him die, but I’m not. Eldertide Polytechnic University wouldn’t have trusted me to be the head librarian for 19 fucking years if I wasn’t perfectly and completely rational and sane...
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2024.04.20 05:33 Scott_Savino I'm Not Insane. I'm A Librarian. The Head Librarian, Actually...
Before I begin to tell you everything that’s happened, I think it is important to ask yourself whether you think a madwoman would be able to hold the position of head librarian at Echo Bay’s prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University for 19 consecutive years? Do you think something like that would be possible? It’s a rather difficult job to manage such a vast collection of reference materials–to ensure that they’ve been organized and categorized and reshelved correctly and logically once they’ve been borrowed and returned. It really does take a lot of skill.
I’m sure that you’re aware that our university is home to the nation’s third largest marine biology, nautical engineering and maritime history reference library? Of course you are. Everyone knows that. You can’t be unhinged and also be responsible for the standard titles in fiction and non-fiction, the classics and new releases, an extensive backlog of microfiche, newsreels, a wide collection of digital media as well as hundreds of scholarly journals. These are things that students have come to expect from a university. They are paying tens of thousands of dollars that they’ve borrowed in student loans for an education! That’s money that they will work for the next fifty or sixty years to repay! Did you know that our university is the university with the second largest collection of restricted-access books, scrolls, clay tablets and ancient one-of-a-kind texts on the occult? Well, that you probably didn’t know and I’m not supposed to talk about that, so why don't you do us both a favor and just forget I’ve mentioned it…
I ask you, would they trust a lunatic with such a large responsibility? No, I don’t imagine that they would.
I’ve seen the mentally unstable–suffering from various forms of psychosis and neuroses, the drug addicts and drunks–you’ve seen them too. You know you have. They’re spending all day talking endlessly about kraken, mermaids and boat-eating giant squids. They think they’re talking to someone else, but there’s nobody there. They’re just sitting by themselves on a bench down by the wharf. Sure they’ll realize they’re not talking to anyone eventually…then if they have even half a whit, they’ll go find some sucker who will take pity on them–a skipper or deckboss…someone who’ll let them scrape barnacles off the side of their barge for a couple twenties. Most of those fishermen know they’ve pulled in quite the haul so they can afford to take pity on some poor nitwit. Get them to do the jobs nobody wants to do for pocket change.
Maybe those imbeciles will get really lucky and some blowboater will have them scrub down the deck of their fancy new sailboat for a crisp hundred dollar bill–or polish the chrome railings and whatnot. I tell you, that’s what the crazies do around here…they hang out around the docks, hoping to make enough money to buy themselves a handle of Gordon’s Gin–the plastic one for $15–just so they can pass out on the beach under the stars and get bitten by sand fleas all night long. I see it every day. It’s just what the nutjobs do.
Cuckoo-birds aren’t head librarians–they’re not even regular librarians–and certainly not at the leading university in a two hundred mile radius for marine biology, fishery management, and coastal environmental studies. No sir, they are not. And that’s just to name a few of the more popular fields of study here at the university. We have many, many programs for those intelligent, hardworking and qualified students who have spent their lives fascinated by sea exploration and sea related fields of study and I’m proud to be a part of such an important organization. I’m proud to say that from the year I began, I’ve helped each and every one of our graduates at some point discover that there’s more to see within the sea than we initially see…or maybe if I haven’t, I’ve at least told them where to go to find some book or other that they’re looking to find…unless it’s one of those books from the access-restricted collection of occult texts that we keep secretly locked in the sub-basement. I’ll kindly remind you again to forget about those. They’re off limits.
Now, I’m humble so I don’t brag. I'm not telling you that I’ve been in charge of all of the college’s books for nearly two decades because I expect you to be astonished. I wasn't fed my Master's degree in Library Science on a silver spoon by my rich parents. I grew up very poor like so many of you. I come from meager beginnings. My family had nothing, like most families still here in Echo Bay. That's right. I grew up here.
We aren't expected to do anything particularly astonishing growing up amongst the fishers and the crabbers on these prolific shores. The town is known only for its propagative fisheries--for crustacean trapping and shellfish. We’re seafood people of modest stock. I never knew I was destined to such grandeur as the title of a university's head librarian! And for 19 continuous years! This is a quiet coastal town that some will tell you has unique charms, beauty and history. Those things are lies. The only thing here is fish and everything smells just like you'd expect. The only industries here are the fisheries. The whole town stinks like the rotten breath of Poseidon and everyone you meet smells like they've bathed in the mouth of a bloated whale carcass that's washed ashore at the height of summer.
Still, you'll find that we’re more or less unpretentious people. We don't brag much, but maybe we should do a bit more than we do. The town itself is awful but we have one of the best maritime polytechnical universities anywhere in the entire country, and that's something we should be proud to say. I might be biased, but the university employs a great support staff. Most of the professors also do their jobs most of the time. It’s common knowledge that we’ve taught some of the leading marine technologists, aquatic environmental scientists and maritime law and policy makers from here to New Bismuth and Harlow’s Cove. I bet even someone like you knew about that already.
Our graduates are making big names for themselves even as far away as Clarion and Hedonis. So, I assure you that the crazy people aren’t found here at Eldertide Polytechnic. No place near it. Only reasonable people here…and they certainly wouldn’t let a psychopath be the head of the university’s library staff–Why, I’ve just told you, haven’t you been listening? The lunatics are out near the docks like they’ve always been, gibbering away their drunken theories of sunken pirate ships, lost treasures and superstitious legends about the sirens that supposedly make their home out on Mermaid Roost.
When those wackadoos are done running their mouths for the day they’re outside sleeping rough. They're exposed to the elements, spending all night cold and wet under the stars on Hidden Haven Beach. They've got their heads on jagged rocks instead of pillows out there, laying on beds made of cigarette butts and broken liquor bottles. That's where all the noodleheads around here sleep at night. They're all camped out there on that nasty beach with the rest of their kind: the vagrants, and derelicts, the dropouts, skateboarders and unwed mothers, tattoo artists and the illiterates too. Hidden Haven is the trashiest beach we've got in Echo Bay and levelheaded, decent people who can read stay away from there. I heard from a reliable source that when intelligent people even think they might want to visit that beach "just to see" they should just go to a rehab instead. It'll save them some time because the only reason anyone with any sort of logic would think thoughts like that is someone slipped them drugs. All it takes is you accidentally taking edibles that one time and you'll never be the same again. You're addicted now. Set a single toe in that beach's sand and you might as well throw your whole life in the trash. You'll find yourself turning tricks so a pimp will give you heroin faster than you can say "lickety-split." Happens just that fast. Can't take a step on that beach without tripping over a box of dirty needles full of methamphetamines is what I've heard. You listen to me. I work in education so I know what I'm talking about.
Hidden Haven isn't the only beach you don't visit in Echo Bay. You don't go to Twilight Cove, either...not if you don't want to die horribly with your skin pulled off and your insides fed to something's pet.
They’ll call me crazy because nobody goes through the pass that leads down to Twilight Cove. Not anybody born and raised here in Echo Bay and not tourists either–but I've done it. I did it just last night. The path between those cliffs is too rough and stony for tourists and the Bay people are too superstitious–afraid of the Xaigonians to take the walk down to that beach. Twilight Cove’s not for the Bay People…that’s their territory. If you grew up in The Bay you grew up being told that the Xaigonians are down on that beach and they don’t take kindly to trespassers, especially not ones that can only breathe plain old regular air with normal human lungs. The Bay people say that if you go down between those cliffs you better have a damn good reason and something shiny to offer those webbed-footed freaks, because if you don’t and you’re dumb enough to go out on that particular stretch of beach you won’t be seen nor heard from ever again. It ain’t an expressly forbidden place to go–there’s no laws against it. Nobody’s gonna stop you. Nobody stopped me. You just ask anyone who’s spent their lives around these parts though. Ask them and they’ll tell you why you’ve got to stay away…
They’ll tell you there’s a whole race of people that aren’t quite people hiding out in that cove. They’ve been out there for centuries–and the world don’t know about them–that’s just the way they want it to stay too. They’ve been out there staying unseen since before the town was a town–before this state was even a state. They’re Fishpeople, that’s what they are. It isn’t just webbed fingers and toes, they say from far off something about their skin just doesn’t look quite right–looks a bit shinier than skin should look–they say you don’t want to get anywhere near them to see what’s off about their skin up close, but if you’re foolish enough to try you’ll see it ain’t skin at all. It’s a whole mess of scales.
When I was a little girl my mother (who also grew up here) told me the people hiding in Twilight Cove had gills and if they caught you walking out on their beach, they’d drag you down beneath the whitecaps and into the black waves. The waves are always black out there–day and night–nobody knows why. Once they’ve pulled you under, they’ll take you to their hidden shining city in the coral caves. She said the Xaigonians breed crabs–grow them even bigger than dogs–and they’ll peel off your skin the same way a fisherman uses a boning knife just so their mean and nasty pets don’t have to work so hard to get their claws inside–jab you in the spaces between your muscles and get at your good parts–get at your meat. That’s all The Bay people are to the Xaigonians–meat. If you don’t want to be meat, you’ve got to bring them some treasure. They’ll take gold, silver, diamonds–gems of all kinds actually…
But for your sake if they catch you out there, whatever treasure you’re bringing them had better be real…otherwise…you’re meat.
When they find him–no–if they find him–they’ll say I’m mad, of course they will, because nobody in their right mind goes down to that beach.
It appeared as though I would arrive at the most practical and prudent time for a levelheaded woman like myself to arrive–precisely when I intended to–at a time when there was nobody home.
I tucked my discarded clothes into a storm drain that opened up beneath a curb on the side of the road. Afterward, I cut diagonally from the sidewalk and through a yard with a large Victorian home standing like a sentry in the center of the lot growing heavily with a number of oak trees that were old and thick. Many lights were on inside, but I didn't worry because I knew that anyone who might look out would only see a fully rational and not-insane naked woman on a typical late-night walk beneath the shadowy canopy of branches that densely covered the property.
I lurked from tree to tree, skipping through the darkness as naturally as possible, only stopping once to rest for a moment beneath the largest of the ancient gnarled oaks. I had been carrying a rope in my hands, but it was in a mangled knot and it seemed more practical to wrap it into a coil around my arm and I’m a practical woman so that’s what I did. Then I very smartly slung the loop of rope over one of my shoulders and returned from the shadows of the trees in that yard to the sidewalk where I continued to nonchalantly make my way through the dark.
When I arrived, I found a trellis at the side of his front porch that was heavily overgrown with rosebushes and climbed up from the ground floor to the windows of the home's second story. The roses that crawled up along the trellis were protecting the house from humble intruders like myself with a profusion of thorns. After letting myself inside through an unlocked window I discovered that my arms, my legs, my breasts and my hands were covered in nicks and scratches and scrapes. And for two hours he inconsiderately left me in the corner of his bedroom in the dark, waiting patiently to kidnap him.
If one can't trust one's own blood than whom can one trust?
I wasn’t worried that he would see me when he turned on the light to undress and climb into bed. If he did, it wouldn't matter much, for what could be more natural than a naked woman in the darkened corner of your private room? I wasn’t worried when I made my way down the road and into his house. Why should I worry now? As it turned out he never had a chance to ponder the existence of a naked woman standing so naturally and logically in the corner of his room pretending to be a lamp. I had chosen a very practical corner to stand in while I waited for him to arrive. I loosened a length of the rope between my clenched fists as he entered through the doorway with his back to me and before his hand even reached for the light switch, my arms were over his head, wrapping the cord around his neck from behind.
They’ll say I’ve lost it. They’ll say I’ve lost my mind…but that’s not the case at all.
I had to knock him unconscious with the butt end of my knife when I got him to the car because he very foolishly tried to fight me when I took him for the ride.
I parked at the mouth of the pass and dragged him down between those cliffs and when the waterline was low, I was stable and lucid and completely sane as I tied that bastard down to the heaviest rocks I could find at the water’s edge; arms and legs all splayed out so he couldn’t sit up or swim away when the tide came back in.
If someone was to find him (but I’m fairly certain no one will) I don’t think there will be any evidence left to tie what happened to him here back to me. I’ve been naked this whole time. Less evidence that way. That was very clever of me, indeed. I don’t think he’s told anyone about his little investigation yet either. If he has shared what he’s found, there’s something in the library, a book called: “The Obsidian Grimoire: Lost Spells of Power” to make them all forget. Ironically, I’ll have to look up the page because I can’t remember which one it is…
They probably won’t find him and even if they do it won’t matter, because the crabs will find him first. Don’t have to be the great big ones my momma told me the Xaigonian people keep either. The regular old little ones will do just fine. They can even take their time and eat him slow because nobody goes down to Twilight Cove unless they’re batshit crazy.
Except for me. I’m the exception.
The light of the moon was the only illumination on the pass between the jutting edges of the high rock formations that towered over each of my shoulders last night. It sparkled on the water in the distance like a thousand diamonds scattered across black velvet; a forbidden treasure that called to me and led me down and down and down to the living darkness of the water’s edge. My breathing was steady, matching the rhythm of the ebbing and flowing shoreline as it rolled toward me over and over only to pull back into the black and be sucked away. The waves rolled in and the waves rolled out and unconsciously I matched each of my inhales and exhales to the beat of the tide like one might attempt to match their breathing to that of a sleeping lover. The act was unintentional--the hand of destiny serendipitously guiding me along the correct path. Tonight this ebony shore was my lover and together we would take this man's life--not in the way that garden-variety sociopaths might take a man's life with the sole desire of watching him die. Tonight, the sea and I would be two cogent and rational beings in love who are also coincidentally both murderers who kill together in harmony. Together we would drown my new nemesis for the sake of love. My love. My love for the forbidden knowledge of the occult.
It wasn't being done in the name of chaos and irrationality. We were doing it methodically, reasonably and sensibly. Don't you see? Don't you understand it now? The sea loved me so much that it needed to kill Bradley Wilcott for me to prove that love was real.
I could taste the clean salt that hung in the air as I dragged him over all those jagged rocks, ignoring the sting of their sharp edges as they sliced into my bare and bloody feet. I made furtive glances behind me with every ten or twelve steps and felt no pain as I carefully but quickly made my way down between the cliffs. Any suffering I might have felt was overridden by the pleasure I found watching his head bounce roughly across those same rocks. The constant bludgeoning would keep him knocked out cold. The flow from the back of his head looked black beneath the starless sky, not red, and left smears as it mixed with the black of the footprints I left behind with each step I took along the path. I dragged him with one end of a rope tied around his ankles and the bulk of it wrapped around my waist a half a dozen times. The opposite segment of the rope was tucked down between the coils that circled my waist, and pressed against my bare skin so that the end of it hung out past my hips. I tied a bag to the length that remained. I fetched it from my trunk when I dragged him from my car. The hilt of my knife protruded past where the top of the bag was cinched tightly closed. It hung low and heavy against my leg, bouncing rhythmically against my thigh.
They’ll call me a madwoman because I went down to Twilight Cove beneath a dark and starless sky, dragging behind me a man that I intended to tie to the rocks at low tide. They'll say that I did this all while Echo Bay slept because irrationally my internal voice dictated I must watch him die--but don't you see the truth of it all? Everything they'll say about me is a lie.
They’ll say I’m insane because the only thing I felt was pleasure as I watched the current roll back in and the water slowly rise up over his eyes…because I laughed to myself when he regained consciousness at the perfect moment and those eyes fluttered open with little bubbles coming out from behind the eyelids, and floating up to the surface of the water. They’ll say I’m insane because I came out here, my waist wrapped in a rope that I unraveled and using a knife, cut that rope into lengths so that I could tie this lunatic of a man down by each of his limbs. They’ll call me certifiable because I gloated over him, my bare feet bleeding and my body completely naked against the ocean breeze and bare breasted against the moonlight as I watched him drown. They’ll say I’m deranged because on a starless night, I trekked into territory well known to belong to the Xaigonians to do this to a man who definitely deserved what fate had in store for him…but I’m none of those things. I’m completely sane.
When I saw the first Fishperson come up and out of the waves, clawing his webbed fingers through the sand and pushing his hands into the ground to stand upright on his flipper-shaped feet, I didn’t feel any fear. I knew that even though my nakedness rendered me easier to flay and feed to his giant pet crabs beneath the waves, Xaigon and his Fishpeople had an unspoken expectation for anyone and everyone who traipsed uninvited into Twilight Cove. This place is theirs and everyone in Echo Bay knows that. We don't come to this place where we don’t belong. If we do they expect us to have a gleaming gift to give them. Each of them. Twilight Cove belongs to the race that lurks beneath the opaque waters there and it has belonged to them since the time before men learned to walk upright. If you're on their beach when they come up out of the murky depths, they’ll either drag you down through the viscous pitch dark water to their shining city beneath the black waves...or they won’t. It only depends on whether you came to the beach intending to meet their expectations.
A moment later, another one is rising up through the white foam that swirls atop the surface of the inky dark sea. And another one. And another. And another.
I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I’m the head librarian of the prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University and I have been for the last 19 years and I will be for 19 more and longer still after that. I’ve read everything about this place. Some of it’s in my collection with restricted-access and some of it isn’t. I came out here as an outsider intending to meet their expectations but I didn’t have any pockets to stow away my shiny gifts, so I put them in the bag I tied around my waist.
The bag was big. The bag was full. I knew what was out here. I knew what they would expect. This is the perfect place to bring a body because anyone who comes here without gifts for each and every one of them coming up and out from their city in the coral caves below won’t be seen again. There must have been a hundred of that strange aquatic race climbing out of the water. I watched them rise up to the surface that rippled with reflections of the moon. People don’t come here and if they do, they die. They might bring a gift and think they're wise, but one gift is not enough. You need to share with the whole class. I’m reasonable and pragmatic and my well of resources is deep. The bag I brought with me was very, very big and there were plenty of gifts inside to go around. They’ll say what I did out in Twilight Cove last night was crazy, but it wasn’t. They’ll say that I’m unhinged or deranged because I dragged that man out there to watch him die, but I’m not. Eldertide Polytechnic University wouldn’t have trusted me to be the head librarian for 19 fucking years if I wasn’t perfectly and completely rational and sane...
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submitted by Scott_Savino to joinmeatthecampfire [link] [comments]
I’m sure that you’re aware that our university is home to the nation’s third largest marine biology, nautical engineering and maritime history reference library? Of course you are. Everyone knows that. You can’t be unhinged and also be responsible for the standard titles in fiction and non-fiction, the classics and new releases, an extensive backlog of microfiche, newsreels, a wide collection of digital media as well as hundreds of scholarly journals. These are things that students have come to expect from a university. They are paying tens of thousands of dollars that they’ve borrowed in student loans for an education! That’s money that they will work for the next fifty or sixty years to repay! Did you know that our university is the university with the second largest collection of restricted-access books, scrolls, clay tablets and ancient one-of-a-kind texts on the occult? Well, that you probably didn’t know and I’m not supposed to talk about that, so why don't you do us both a favor and just forget I’ve mentioned it…
I ask you, would they trust a lunatic with such a large responsibility? No, I don’t imagine that they would.
I’ve seen the mentally unstable–suffering from various forms of psychosis and neuroses, the drug addicts and drunks–you’ve seen them too. You know you have. They’re spending all day talking endlessly about kraken, mermaids and boat-eating giant squids. They think they’re talking to someone else, but there’s nobody there. They’re just sitting by themselves on a bench down by the wharf. Sure they’ll realize they’re not talking to anyone eventually…then if they have even half a whit, they’ll go find some sucker who will take pity on them–a skipper or deckboss…someone who’ll let them scrape barnacles off the side of their barge for a couple twenties. Most of those fishermen know they’ve pulled in quite the haul so they can afford to take pity on some poor nitwit. Get them to do the jobs nobody wants to do for pocket change.
Maybe those imbeciles will get really lucky and some blowboater will have them scrub down the deck of their fancy new sailboat for a crisp hundred dollar bill–or polish the chrome railings and whatnot. I tell you, that’s what the crazies do around here…they hang out around the docks, hoping to make enough money to buy themselves a handle of Gordon’s Gin–the plastic one for $15–just so they can pass out on the beach under the stars and get bitten by sand fleas all night long. I see it every day. It’s just what the nutjobs do.
Cuckoo-birds aren’t head librarians–they’re not even regular librarians–and certainly not at the leading university in a two hundred mile radius for marine biology, fishery management, and coastal environmental studies. No sir, they are not. And that’s just to name a few of the more popular fields of study here at the university. We have many, many programs for those intelligent, hardworking and qualified students who have spent their lives fascinated by sea exploration and sea related fields of study and I’m proud to be a part of such an important organization. I’m proud to say that from the year I began, I’ve helped each and every one of our graduates at some point discover that there’s more to see within the sea than we initially see…or maybe if I haven’t, I’ve at least told them where to go to find some book or other that they’re looking to find…unless it’s one of those books from the access-restricted collection of occult texts that we keep secretly locked in the sub-basement. I’ll kindly remind you again to forget about those. They’re off limits.
Now, I’m humble so I don’t brag. I'm not telling you that I’ve been in charge of all of the college’s books for nearly two decades because I expect you to be astonished. I wasn't fed my Master's degree in Library Science on a silver spoon by my rich parents. I grew up very poor like so many of you. I come from meager beginnings. My family had nothing, like most families still here in Echo Bay. That's right. I grew up here.
We aren't expected to do anything particularly astonishing growing up amongst the fishers and the crabbers on these prolific shores. The town is known only for its propagative fisheries--for crustacean trapping and shellfish. We’re seafood people of modest stock. I never knew I was destined to such grandeur as the title of a university's head librarian! And for 19 continuous years! This is a quiet coastal town that some will tell you has unique charms, beauty and history. Those things are lies. The only thing here is fish and everything smells just like you'd expect. The only industries here are the fisheries. The whole town stinks like the rotten breath of Poseidon and everyone you meet smells like they've bathed in the mouth of a bloated whale carcass that's washed ashore at the height of summer.
Still, you'll find that we’re more or less unpretentious people. We don't brag much, but maybe we should do a bit more than we do. The town itself is awful but we have one of the best maritime polytechnical universities anywhere in the entire country, and that's something we should be proud to say. I might be biased, but the university employs a great support staff. Most of the professors also do their jobs most of the time. It’s common knowledge that we’ve taught some of the leading marine technologists, aquatic environmental scientists and maritime law and policy makers from here to New Bismuth and Harlow’s Cove. I bet even someone like you knew about that already.
Our graduates are making big names for themselves even as far away as Clarion and Hedonis. So, I assure you that the crazy people aren’t found here at Eldertide Polytechnic. No place near it. Only reasonable people here…and they certainly wouldn’t let a psychopath be the head of the university’s library staff–Why, I’ve just told you, haven’t you been listening? The lunatics are out near the docks like they’ve always been, gibbering away their drunken theories of sunken pirate ships, lost treasures and superstitious legends about the sirens that supposedly make their home out on Mermaid Roost.
When those wackadoos are done running their mouths for the day they’re outside sleeping rough. They're exposed to the elements, spending all night cold and wet under the stars on Hidden Haven Beach. They've got their heads on jagged rocks instead of pillows out there, laying on beds made of cigarette butts and broken liquor bottles. That's where all the noodleheads around here sleep at night. They're all camped out there on that nasty beach with the rest of their kind: the vagrants, and derelicts, the dropouts, skateboarders and unwed mothers, tattoo artists and the illiterates too. Hidden Haven is the trashiest beach we've got in Echo Bay and levelheaded, decent people who can read stay away from there. I heard from a reliable source that when intelligent people even think they might want to visit that beach "just to see" they should just go to a rehab instead. It'll save them some time because the only reason anyone with any sort of logic would think thoughts like that is someone slipped them drugs. All it takes is you accidentally taking edibles that one time and you'll never be the same again. You're addicted now. Set a single toe in that beach's sand and you might as well throw your whole life in the trash. You'll find yourself turning tricks so a pimp will give you heroin faster than you can say "lickety-split." Happens just that fast. Can't take a step on that beach without tripping over a box of dirty needles full of methamphetamines is what I've heard. You listen to me. I work in education so I know what I'm talking about.
Hidden Haven isn't the only beach you don't visit in Echo Bay. You don't go to Twilight Cove, either...not if you don't want to die horribly with your skin pulled off and your insides fed to something's pet.
They’ll call me crazy because nobody goes through the pass that leads down to Twilight Cove. Not anybody born and raised here in Echo Bay and not tourists either–but I've done it. I did it just last night. The path between those cliffs is too rough and stony for tourists and the Bay people are too superstitious–afraid of the Xaigonians to take the walk down to that beach. Twilight Cove’s not for the Bay People…that’s their territory. If you grew up in The Bay you grew up being told that the Xaigonians are down on that beach and they don’t take kindly to trespassers, especially not ones that can only breathe plain old regular air with normal human lungs. The Bay people say that if you go down between those cliffs you better have a damn good reason and something shiny to offer those webbed-footed freaks, because if you don’t and you’re dumb enough to go out on that particular stretch of beach you won’t be seen nor heard from ever again. It ain’t an expressly forbidden place to go–there’s no laws against it. Nobody’s gonna stop you. Nobody stopped me. You just ask anyone who’s spent their lives around these parts though. Ask them and they’ll tell you why you’ve got to stay away…
They’ll tell you there’s a whole race of people that aren’t quite people hiding out in that cove. They’ve been out there for centuries–and the world don’t know about them–that’s just the way they want it to stay too. They’ve been out there staying unseen since before the town was a town–before this state was even a state. They’re Fishpeople, that’s what they are. It isn’t just webbed fingers and toes, they say from far off something about their skin just doesn’t look quite right–looks a bit shinier than skin should look–they say you don’t want to get anywhere near them to see what’s off about their skin up close, but if you’re foolish enough to try you’ll see it ain’t skin at all. It’s a whole mess of scales.
When I was a little girl my mother (who also grew up here) told me the people hiding in Twilight Cove had gills and if they caught you walking out on their beach, they’d drag you down beneath the whitecaps and into the black waves. The waves are always black out there–day and night–nobody knows why. Once they’ve pulled you under, they’ll take you to their hidden shining city in the coral caves. She said the Xaigonians breed crabs–grow them even bigger than dogs–and they’ll peel off your skin the same way a fisherman uses a boning knife just so their mean and nasty pets don’t have to work so hard to get their claws inside–jab you in the spaces between your muscles and get at your good parts–get at your meat. That’s all The Bay people are to the Xaigonians–meat. If you don’t want to be meat, you’ve got to bring them some treasure. They’ll take gold, silver, diamonds–gems of all kinds actually…
But for your sake if they catch you out there, whatever treasure you’re bringing them had better be real…otherwise…you’re meat.
When they find him–no–if they find him–they’ll say I’m mad, of course they will, because nobody in their right mind goes down to that beach.
”Hello, I’m Bradley Wilcott, Eldertide Polytech’s University’s New President,”I heard the stories all my life and you think someone like me, head librarian at Eldertide Polytech, for 19 goddamn years who grew up in this sea-side fish-stinking town ought to know better than to go out there. You’d have to be stupid or crazy to go out there. Especially not at night.
”And you’re Darlene? Ms. Darlene Fischer? The head librarian? According to your file, you’ve been here for a very long time. I do wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.”But I’m not stupid and I’m not crazy either–I was perfectly sound-minded and sober when I made my way to his goddamn house. The street was poorly lit and that was good. I was only a little worried that I might be seen making my way up the sidewalk by one of the neighbors. So, naturally, I knew if I was mentally disturbed, I would have kept everything on, but I wasn’t that way so I had to take it off. That way if anyone saw me through their windows, they would just see a naked woman in the street. They’d know I was being rational and wise. They’d know I was just out for a sensible stroll in the dark.
”As you know, the board of trustees has appointed me to this position because they felt that my predecessor extended very little oversight to the budget spending of quite a few departments.”I took off my blouse and bra first, then my skirt and panties. The air felt sweet and unseasonably cool as it caressed my exposed breasts. This breeze of course very naturally caused my sane and rational nipples to harden ever-so slightly in just the way that I had hoped and planned for. The way that deliberate and logical nipples are meant to react in accordance to a breath of cool night air. The house–my destination–was just up ahead. Every window was dark and the driveway was empty.
I’m not a department head. I’m the head librarian.
”You’re in charge of the purchase of the university’s books, are you not?”
Well, naturally…
It appeared as though I would arrive at the most practical and prudent time for a levelheaded woman like myself to arrive–precisely when I intended to–at a time when there was nobody home.
I tucked my discarded clothes into a storm drain that opened up beneath a curb on the side of the road. Afterward, I cut diagonally from the sidewalk and through a yard with a large Victorian home standing like a sentry in the center of the lot growing heavily with a number of oak trees that were old and thick. Many lights were on inside, but I didn't worry because I knew that anyone who might look out would only see a fully rational and not-insane naked woman on a typical late-night walk beneath the shadowy canopy of branches that densely covered the property.
I lurked from tree to tree, skipping through the darkness as naturally as possible, only stopping once to rest for a moment beneath the largest of the ancient gnarled oaks. I had been carrying a rope in my hands, but it was in a mangled knot and it seemed more practical to wrap it into a coil around my arm and I’m a practical woman so that’s what I did. Then I very smartly slung the loop of rope over one of my shoulders and returned from the shadows of the trees in that yard to the sidewalk where I continued to nonchalantly make my way through the dark.
”I just have a few questions about some of the purchases you’ve made in the last few years. I’m hoping you could help me understand some of these expenses.”Moving naked through the black of night, I knew that anyone who might peer out at the desolate emptiness of the cul-de-sac would pay me, a naked woman simply walking, no mind–wait!–I’d forgotten to take off my shoes! How could a cognitively prudent head librarian for nearly 20 years like myself forget to take off my shoes? A clear-headed, sane woman on a naked nighttime stroll, but wearing shoes? No. Absolutely not. I panicked and ripped them off as quickly as possible…I tucked my socks cleverly inside them and abandoned my footwear in a mailbox as I passed. The danger of being discovered having passed, I breathed a sigh of relief and I continued on my way.
Okayyyy…
”I’m seeing here that you spent–”
I don’t spend anything. The books belong to the library.
”Okayyyy, the library spent $13,000 on a volume titled ‘Twilight Testament: Unveiling the Esoteric’--can you explain that Ms. Fischer?”
Certainly. That particular book was written by Friar Lucian Benedict. He was a powerful sorcerer. Burned at the stake for heresy in, um–1263, I think.
”...And for what reason did you–I’m sorry–for what reason did the library spend $13,000 on this book?”
Naturally that’s what a book like that would cost if it were the only copy that exists.
”I see…”
”And Darlene–may I call you Darlene?–what’s this charge for $9700 for something called, ‘Chthonic Codex: Communing With The Eldritch’ can you explain that?”Mr. Wilcott was not married. He lived in the house alone and he came home at midnight, which as a sensible woman, I found to be a very unsensible hour. I waited for him inside of his bedroom for two hours. Two full hours, I stood in the dark, arms bent up near my head in my best impression of a hideous modern style lamp. I tried to hold my breath, but I only lasted about a minute doing that. I didn't try to hold my breath again and that was a very sane decision because only a boneheaded lunatic would try not to breathe for two full hours.
Umm…
”What about $3750 for something called ‘The Alchemy of Night and Unveiling Infernal Secrets’–why–why are you making these purchases?”
Well, you see…
”I’ve actually been going through your purchase history and there’s almost $1.6 million dollars of misappropriated funds here, Ms. Fischer–and I’ve only gone back 10 years so far. There’s 9 more years of this library’s–your library’s–purchase receipts to go through.”
Misappropriated? No. Those texts were acquired for the occult library.
”I’m sorry–the what?”
The occult library.
”Where are these books, Ms. Fischer? In order to recover these funds, the university is going to have to liquidate some–if not, all–of this collection. Hopefully I can find a buyer so we have a way to recuperate these losses.”
Losses? These are treasures. Artifacts. I’m not going to let you sell them or even tell you where I keep the occult library.
”Whether you tell me or not, you’re facing very serious legal action, Ms. Fischer. Do you understand that?”
The occult library access is restricted. End of discussion.
When I arrived, I found a trellis at the side of his front porch that was heavily overgrown with rosebushes and climbed up from the ground floor to the windows of the home's second story. The roses that crawled up along the trellis were protecting the house from humble intruders like myself with a profusion of thorns. After letting myself inside through an unlocked window I discovered that my arms, my legs, my breasts and my hands were covered in nicks and scratches and scrapes. And for two hours he inconsiderately left me in the corner of his bedroom in the dark, waiting patiently to kidnap him.
”This is a maritime polytechnic university Ms. Fischer. We don’t need an occult library. We should not have an occult library and you therefore should not have purchased any texts for an occult library. When I show these numbers to the board of trustees you’re looking at some serious jail time.”When he came into the room, I wondered what he’d been doing out and about while I patiently–sensibly–waited for his return? Probably, he was out destroying some other people’s lives. Good, upstanding and reasonable people’s lives. He thoroughly explained to me how he intended to ruin mine just hours before. It seemed to be something he enjoyed and I was certain he'd ruin everything he was allowed to ruin if given the chance. I waited for him for so long that even my rational and logical blood acted practically with the time it was given; everywhere that the trellis thorns cut me while I climbed, the blood had quite astutely dried. Just another indicator that what I was about to do was not absurd–even my blood was behaving level-headedly.
Jail time?
”This is embezzlement. Do you understand that? You’re done here, Ms. Fischer.”
I’m the Head–I’m Head Librarian–19 years! I’ve been in charge of this library for 19 years!
”Well, I’m very sorry, Ms. Fischer–but not anymore…you’re fired.”
If one can't trust one's own blood than whom can one trust?
I wasn’t worried that he would see me when he turned on the light to undress and climb into bed. If he did, it wouldn't matter much, for what could be more natural than a naked woman in the darkened corner of your private room? I wasn’t worried when I made my way down the road and into his house. Why should I worry now? As it turned out he never had a chance to ponder the existence of a naked woman standing so naturally and logically in the corner of his room pretending to be a lamp. I had chosen a very practical corner to stand in while I waited for him to arrive. I loosened a length of the rope between my clenched fists as he entered through the doorway with his back to me and before his hand even reached for the light switch, my arms were over his head, wrapping the cord around his neck from behind.
They’ll say I’ve lost it. They’ll say I’ve lost my mind…but that’s not the case at all.
I had to knock him unconscious with the butt end of my knife when I got him to the car because he very foolishly tried to fight me when I took him for the ride.
I parked at the mouth of the pass and dragged him down between those cliffs and when the waterline was low, I was stable and lucid and completely sane as I tied that bastard down to the heaviest rocks I could find at the water’s edge; arms and legs all splayed out so he couldn’t sit up or swim away when the tide came back in.
If someone was to find him (but I’m fairly certain no one will) I don’t think there will be any evidence left to tie what happened to him here back to me. I’ve been naked this whole time. Less evidence that way. That was very clever of me, indeed. I don’t think he’s told anyone about his little investigation yet either. If he has shared what he’s found, there’s something in the library, a book called: “The Obsidian Grimoire: Lost Spells of Power” to make them all forget. Ironically, I’ll have to look up the page because I can’t remember which one it is…
They probably won’t find him and even if they do it won’t matter, because the crabs will find him first. Don’t have to be the great big ones my momma told me the Xaigonian people keep either. The regular old little ones will do just fine. They can even take their time and eat him slow because nobody goes down to Twilight Cove unless they’re batshit crazy.
Except for me. I’m the exception.
The light of the moon was the only illumination on the pass between the jutting edges of the high rock formations that towered over each of my shoulders last night. It sparkled on the water in the distance like a thousand diamonds scattered across black velvet; a forbidden treasure that called to me and led me down and down and down to the living darkness of the water’s edge. My breathing was steady, matching the rhythm of the ebbing and flowing shoreline as it rolled toward me over and over only to pull back into the black and be sucked away. The waves rolled in and the waves rolled out and unconsciously I matched each of my inhales and exhales to the beat of the tide like one might attempt to match their breathing to that of a sleeping lover. The act was unintentional--the hand of destiny serendipitously guiding me along the correct path. Tonight this ebony shore was my lover and together we would take this man's life--not in the way that garden-variety sociopaths might take a man's life with the sole desire of watching him die. Tonight, the sea and I would be two cogent and rational beings in love who are also coincidentally both murderers who kill together in harmony. Together we would drown my new nemesis for the sake of love. My love. My love for the forbidden knowledge of the occult.
It wasn't being done in the name of chaos and irrationality. We were doing it methodically, reasonably and sensibly. Don't you see? Don't you understand it now? The sea loved me so much that it needed to kill Bradley Wilcott for me to prove that love was real.
I could taste the clean salt that hung in the air as I dragged him over all those jagged rocks, ignoring the sting of their sharp edges as they sliced into my bare and bloody feet. I made furtive glances behind me with every ten or twelve steps and felt no pain as I carefully but quickly made my way down between the cliffs. Any suffering I might have felt was overridden by the pleasure I found watching his head bounce roughly across those same rocks. The constant bludgeoning would keep him knocked out cold. The flow from the back of his head looked black beneath the starless sky, not red, and left smears as it mixed with the black of the footprints I left behind with each step I took along the path. I dragged him with one end of a rope tied around his ankles and the bulk of it wrapped around my waist a half a dozen times. The opposite segment of the rope was tucked down between the coils that circled my waist, and pressed against my bare skin so that the end of it hung out past my hips. I tied a bag to the length that remained. I fetched it from my trunk when I dragged him from my car. The hilt of my knife protruded past where the top of the bag was cinched tightly closed. It hung low and heavy against my leg, bouncing rhythmically against my thigh.
They’ll call me a madwoman because I went down to Twilight Cove beneath a dark and starless sky, dragging behind me a man that I intended to tie to the rocks at low tide. They'll say that I did this all while Echo Bay slept because irrationally my internal voice dictated I must watch him die--but don't you see the truth of it all? Everything they'll say about me is a lie.
They’ll say I’m insane because the only thing I felt was pleasure as I watched the current roll back in and the water slowly rise up over his eyes…because I laughed to myself when he regained consciousness at the perfect moment and those eyes fluttered open with little bubbles coming out from behind the eyelids, and floating up to the surface of the water. They’ll say I’m insane because I came out here, my waist wrapped in a rope that I unraveled and using a knife, cut that rope into lengths so that I could tie this lunatic of a man down by each of his limbs. They’ll call me certifiable because I gloated over him, my bare feet bleeding and my body completely naked against the ocean breeze and bare breasted against the moonlight as I watched him drown. They’ll say I’m deranged because on a starless night, I trekked into territory well known to belong to the Xaigonians to do this to a man who definitely deserved what fate had in store for him…but I’m none of those things. I’m completely sane.
When I saw the first Fishperson come up and out of the waves, clawing his webbed fingers through the sand and pushing his hands into the ground to stand upright on his flipper-shaped feet, I didn’t feel any fear. I knew that even though my nakedness rendered me easier to flay and feed to his giant pet crabs beneath the waves, Xaigon and his Fishpeople had an unspoken expectation for anyone and everyone who traipsed uninvited into Twilight Cove. This place is theirs and everyone in Echo Bay knows that. We don't come to this place where we don’t belong. If we do they expect us to have a gleaming gift to give them. Each of them. Twilight Cove belongs to the race that lurks beneath the opaque waters there and it has belonged to them since the time before men learned to walk upright. If you're on their beach when they come up out of the murky depths, they’ll either drag you down through the viscous pitch dark water to their shining city beneath the black waves...or they won’t. It only depends on whether you came to the beach intending to meet their expectations.
A moment later, another one is rising up through the white foam that swirls atop the surface of the inky dark sea. And another one. And another. And another.
I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I’m the head librarian of the prestigious Eldertide Polytechnic University and I have been for the last 19 years and I will be for 19 more and longer still after that. I’ve read everything about this place. Some of it’s in my collection with restricted-access and some of it isn’t. I came out here as an outsider intending to meet their expectations but I didn’t have any pockets to stow away my shiny gifts, so I put them in the bag I tied around my waist.
The bag was big. The bag was full. I knew what was out here. I knew what they would expect. This is the perfect place to bring a body because anyone who comes here without gifts for each and every one of them coming up and out from their city in the coral caves below won’t be seen again. There must have been a hundred of that strange aquatic race climbing out of the water. I watched them rise up to the surface that rippled with reflections of the moon. People don’t come here and if they do, they die. They might bring a gift and think they're wise, but one gift is not enough. You need to share with the whole class. I’m reasonable and pragmatic and my well of resources is deep. The bag I brought with me was very, very big and there were plenty of gifts inside to go around. They’ll say what I did out in Twilight Cove last night was crazy, but it wasn’t. They’ll say that I’m unhinged or deranged because I dragged that man out there to watch him die, but I’m not. Eldertide Polytechnic University wouldn’t have trusted me to be the head librarian for 19 fucking years if I wasn’t perfectly and completely rational and sane...
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