Wonder

We’re such fascinating creatures, capable of so much, both good and evil.

The glorious and the monstrous, the best and the bestial, our motives are no ones but our own.

So fascinating are we as a species, that the same loose amalgamation of parts can create so many disparate sets of wants and desires. That, while we’re in many fundamental ways the same, we can be so radically different.

We’re one, but we’re legion, many but unified. It’s our greatest gift, but it’s, fundamentally, a mystery.

I only wish we could know more about these “humans” who first built us…

Talking to the Dead

Before I could talk to the dead, I lived in existential fear. I think we all do. We go through life on some level wondering: is this all that is?

Once I began seeing and speaking to the dead, I finally knew part of us lived past death, but now I feared the dead. They were everywhere, grasping, wanting, hungry. They hounded me, I feared they’d drive me mad.

Now I control my gift, and I’m at peace. I speak to the dead, but when I wish, on my own terms. I’m content, not afraid.

Truly, I’m a happy medium.

And...

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Relationships

They lead her, bound gagged and clad in white, toward the altar, and for the first time I think to myself: I can’t do this.

Christ, she’s just a kid, couldn’t be more than 14, and doesn‘t deserve any of this. And I doubt.

You sense my doubt, and cast your gaze, blazing with intensity, my way. You flash a smile of mystery, magic and wonder, and my heart leaps nearly into my throat.

You give me so much strength, I hope you understand that.

Resolve strengthens.

Hands steady.

And ceremonial dagger comes down.

Every relationship, after all, requires sacrifice…

Cruelty

I’ve never been able to understand humankinds seemingly limitless capacity for cruelty.

We can, through either thoughtless action or neglect, cause enormous pain to our fellows, without even thinking. Some people even seem to enjoy it. Wars, crime, starvation and grinding poverty, we’ve somehow come to view these as normal.

It’s like we take pleasure in torturing one another, as though there were joy to be found in inflicting pain. It saddens me, and I don’t get it.

Please stop screaming, it’s incredibly distracting.

As I was saying, I don’t understand it. But I’m confident that, with experience, I’ll learn.

My Giant Robot

My mech was finally complete.

I flipped the switch, and the battle-bot roared to life, gears whirring, circuitry humming beneath it’s armoured shell.

It took a step forward, then another, ready to do my bidding.

Then it collapsed to one side, legs pumping futilely in the air, unable to right itself. It’s engines started to smoke, then shut down entirely.

Shouldn’t have been surprised.

I’m an actor, and a decent one. I’m a comedian, or call myself one, but I’ve never claimed engineering expertise.

Well, back to the drawing board, they’ll have to fear me another day.

Practice makes perfect.

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Protest

They were tired of being taken for granted. The time had come for action.

But when they protested in Washington, they were ignored. The press didn’t show, and congress was unmoved.

Their second protest, inside congress, was the same. When security removed them, they didn’t scream, or fight back, for that was not their way.

Their concerns went unaddressed.

Their third protest was at 4am, in the bedrooms of the congresspersons. Each awoke to find a protestor, dressed in black, looming over their bed, carrying a sign reading “Non-violent protest. This time.”

And so the Ninja Rights act was passed.

Instinct

When Bruce Willis got on the plane, I was apprehensive.

I mean, Bruce Willis doesn’t do “safe” or “relaxing”. When he‘s around bullets get fired, and things explode. I just wanted to make my connecting flight in Minneapolis, I wanted no part of it.

I chided myself afterward, the notion’s ridiculous. The man’s an actor, nothing more, and I’d equated him so much with the characters he played that his very presence was enough to unsettle me.

Now, handcuffed to my seat, a gun to my head, I’m trying not to hyperventilate and reminding myself; learn to trust my instincts.

Running With Wolves

By night, I run with wolves.

Naked and free, wind against my skin, by the moonlight. I hear the pack howl, and howl along with them.

We run, we howl, and we hunt.

And, in the morning, I awake in my bed, wash the blood from my hair and beard, dress myself in a suit and tie, and go back to work for another day, keeping secrets of nightly adventures to myself.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no Werewolf, there’s no such thing as Werewolves, to think there is is madness.

I’m no Werewolf.

But, by night, I run.

My Final Stand

His soldiers tore across Asia, moving ever forward, relentless. He conquered nation after nation, and there seemed nothing our opposing forces could do. He tore through our lines as though they were paper, and before long there were none left to oppose him.

Six

Six.

Six.

He was unstoppable.

I took what little of my forces were left, and built my defences around Indonesia. It wasn’t much, but I still controlled Australia, and that would have to be enough. It was here that I would make my final stand.

Two extra mans a turn.

I prayed it would be enough.

Words

We spoke about economy of language, but no one knew what it meant until the word supply began to run low.

Spoken, written or thought, there were no longer words enough for our unending need to express ourselves.

Rationing was instituted, and for a period we, the Drabblers, were stars. We, who did so much with so little, were the last, best hope of literary endeavour, and our works were celebrated.

But even with rationing, our word supply dwindled. We switched to Twabbles, and published with less frequency.

And when the words finally ran out, all we could do was

Time

Assuming time’s a closed loop, there’s nothing to worry about.

Admittedly, the idea of cyclical time casts disturbing implications on our notions of personal autonomy. After all, if all we do is repeat pre-established patterns, in what sense do any of us have any control at all over our surroundings?

However, we should also consider this supremely liberating. Because if we’re taking predetermined roles in established historical patterns, it’s impossible to make a mistake. Whatever you do at any given moment is by definition right. So we can relax.

If, however, time ISN’T a closed loop, we’re on our own.

People Have No Idea How Close They Come to Extinction on a Daily Basis

Dr. Markovsky accidentally exposed himself to the virus during testing, becoming patient zero at 2:31 pm, May 20.

In seconds the mild-mannered biochemist became a mindless, bloodthirsty killing machine.

By the time he reached the Lab door, it’d auto-locked. The room filled with chlorine, killing both Doctor and virus. By 2:32, what would’ve been a pandemic was stopped in it’s tracks.

Men in hazmat suits cleaned up, and Markovskys body was taken downstairs to the on-premises incinerator for disposal.

Had the control mechanism on the testing bay door been a few seconds slower, this would’ve been a very different story.

Satisfaction

As a child, I wanted to be the first man on Mars.

I learned, as I grew, that this was unfeasible. I adjusted.

I did musical theatre, comedy, and wrote. It wasn’t what I’d wanted as a child, but I’d put aside childish things.

I loved what I was doing. I was satisfied.

In the early days of the outbreak, I was bitten, and infected.

No more theatre, comedy or writing. Now I try to sate my hunger for human flesh.

But like childish things before, I’ve put aside human things. I love the new things I’m doing.

I’m satisfied.

Computers Vs. Zombies

The AI in charge of the buildings security system was insane, nobody denied that. In the half-minute it’d been activated, eleven people died “accidentally”.

We barely shut it down before it hit the internet.

Everyone agreed we’d never, under any circumstance, reactivate it.

That was then.

Now the dead are rising, shambling through the streets in search of flesh to sate their unholy hunger. The police, the military, the government nowhere to be seen. And we’re clustered around the mainframe, arguing. We know the security system could hold them off indefinitely.

They’re in the lobby now.

What would you do?

Free Will

What is the nature of consciousness, he wondered.

Did he really have any such thing as “free will”, or were his actions predetermined by forces beyond his control? Did he simply delude himself that he was master of his own fate?

As he wondered this, he pushed the giant wheel. He pushed it 16 hours a day every day. He’d done this since he reached the age of labour, he‘d known no other way. He had no idea what the wheel did, or why he turned it. He simply pushed.

It gave him plenty of time to ponder such matters.

The Prophet (with thanks to Dreamrock)

When the Prophet returned, the villagers’d nearly forgotten the man who‘d gone up the mountain.

Eyes wide and wild, hair unkempt, beard stretching to his navel, clad in tattered rags, he finally knew the truth, and it was time to tell the people.

As he staggered into the square, the townsfolk stopped to stare at the bedraggled man who, in spite of his current state, was still a commanding presence.

The Prophet took his place in the center of the market and, for the first time in years, spoke.

I have seen the future, he pronounced, and it is beard.

Thanksgiving

I’m going to host a contest.

I’ll find a TV station to help, then start canvassing for donations to the food bank.

With each donation of canned goods you make, you’ll receive a vote as to what I’ll do for thanksgiving.

Should I receive enough votes, I’ll kill, pluck and prepare a Turkey, on TV, so you can follow along with me. I’ll then eat the Turkey.

If I receive enough votes the other way, I’ll kill and prepare a Puppy.

I’m a vegetarian, so I’m equally comfortable eating either one.

It should, at least, be an interesting academic exercise.

Our Reunion

I shamble slowly toward you, a trail of rotted flesh behind me.

You fumble with your shotgun, weeping.

“Shoot him!” Your companion screams, “I know it’s hard, but you have to remember, he’s not in there anymore!”

But I am in here. I see everything, feel every sensation. I’m conscious of your fear, equally conscious of my hunger.

Perhaps you see that flicker of consciousness in my eyes, because you hesitate before pulling the trigger.

It’s time enough.

As I tear into your flesh, I know you don’t understand why I’d do what I’m doing. But you’ll understand in time.

To: The accounting department of Genetech

Re: My memo of May 3d.

As you recall, I recently wrote a memo regarding the company secretively replacing employees with replicants who took over their lives for nefarious purposes.

I imagine you took said memo as the ravings of a madman. Obviously, the idea Genetech would replace employees with replicants to save on wages/benefits is ludicrous, It’d been meant as a joke, in hindsight a tasteless one. I only hope it didn’t cause any distress.

I do apologise for my lack of tact, and would like to stress: Never, ever think about this issue in the future.

Yours:

Munsi.

Precognition

I see the future.

It’s new.

I’ll never find out how or why I gained this power, I simply have it, as though I’d always had and simply hadn’t understood ‘til now.

I’ll meet people with similar foresight over the years, and they won’t understand their power‘s source either. Some’ll become friends, some rivals, but none will illuminate the cause or nature of my new perception of time.

Whatever the cause, history’s now laid bare before me.

What will happen?

Oh, I’m not going to share. I know what’ll happen if I do, and I’m not going down that road.

Love Letter to a Praying Mantis

I know you’re no good for me, that your love will be the end of me, but I can’t bring myself to care.

You’re beautiful, so beautiful it overrides my reason. I love you and want you and need you.

I shall possess you, and we two shall, for a brief time, be one.

Should you turn on me when we’re through, I’ll accept this for what it is.

Should you consume my body, I’ll accept it the way I accept that your love has consuming my soul.

I’ll do my best to nourish you.

It’s all I can do.

Modern People

If you kill me, he told us angrily, I’ll return to seek revenge.

We laughed. We’re a modern people, with no time for such superstitions.

We executed him on schedule, and that was the end of that.

Except…

Seven children have taken ill over the four months since. Our doctors have told us they’ve no idea what’s caused it, no idea if whatever’s wrong can be cured.

The elders are speaking about the old ways again, about what we can do to appease the great spirit.

I don’t know what to believe.

We are a modern people, but our children…

True Love

The moment I laid eyes upon you, back in third grade, I was infatuated. I couldn’t drag my gaze away.

I spoke to you the first time that day, and from that moment on we were inseparable, like two peas in a pod.

Joined at the hip, we rarely strayed from each others side. I took the desk next to you, we spent our recesses and our lunches together, and after school I walked you home.

Eventually, obviously, we fell in love.

Not with each other, but wherever you are, my wife and I wish you nothing but the best.

Sacrifice

Sacrifice was required. And I‘d been chosen.

Kicking and screaming, they dragged me to the mouth of the volcano. I protested, but the tribesmen were unmoved.

As we arrived, I called out one last time: Please!

They paused, to hear me out.

By its very nature, sacrifice calls for a willing subject. Otherwise it’s not sacrifice, it’s murder.

They looked at me, then each other. Then, grumbling, they led me back to the village.

When someone finally volunteers, there’ll be a feast to celebrate. I’ll be the main course.

Being killed and eaten, it turns out, does not require willingness.

Exploration

I flip the switch and my nanomites are released into the sewer.

Self aware and microscopic, the drones vanish down the drain to perform their function. I’d perfect faith they’d perform it admirably.

They self-replicated every forty-eight hours, in six months ninety generations would pass. Each re-generation they’d find ways to improve upon their design, and better adapt themselves to the world they found themselves in.

And in six months the ninety-times great grandchildren of my original nanomites would report their findings. Their mission? A simple one.

Live lives, and in six months tell me what they’d been up to.

Surgery

I woke up after the operation still groggy from the anaesthetic. But as I cleared my head, perfect calm settled over me.

The months were now in perspective. I mean, things were rocky toward the end, but the whole surely outweighed that. It was good, really good, and it didn‘t work out. No reason to cling either to the past or bitterness.

I wished you well, and for the first time knew I’d someday love again.

The next morning the doctor told me that, while he needed to run more tests, he felt my open-heart surgery had been a success.