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Category: Writing

The Anywhere Machine, Appendix II – Telepath Unexplained

On a world called Forest, dread rose from the earth. There was nothing but liquid rock on the planet’s surface. Intelligence grew. Whether this was because of the dread or despite it, does not matter.

The rock cooled down. The planet glowed red for a while and then that too disappeared. There was life already on this boulder. Dread continued to seep up through the cracks in rocks and the space between molecules in the sand and the air. The dread had no audience in space, but one emerged on the planet surface.

A primitive trapcreature evolved: it would wait underneath rocks and dirt to make its move. Fearwarped, it had coated itself with iron, filled its blood. When a fat animal walked over its single sinewy tendril, the trapcreature would turn itself into a spear and spike the beast. It would gain a feast that could last for months. The trapcreature would then be all alone with its thoughts. It thought itself to be alone of its kind, not sure how it had come into being and not that interested. It worked up a coping mechanism for the nightmares: it would talk to the air.

After what felt like eternity in angst, it grew a second spike. With this, the trapcreature entered the category of beings known as receptacles. Because it could communicate with itself – it carried an idea machine – and it could define itself as this communication. Something happened with hir identity. Now hir neurons clustered and televised and spun around themselves, and a forest of spikes emerged from the ground. The trapcreature was still tortured, still alone, but gave hirself the illusion of plentifulness.

The earth still gave hir bad dreams; ze changed the way ze hunted. Its slithery spikes crawled in groups of four, for miles and miles, below the surface, to find vulnerables. Ze would spike them through their limbs, capture them, and eat them alive.

The vulnerables were but little consolation to the terribleness of the dreams. The receptacle trapcreature found that differences in density of air and rock changed the subject matter of the dreams. Ze started creating a map of what dreams were triggered in what places: the first Forest attempt at history.

Ze grew bored of that.

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Project Vulture, episode 1 – Vultures, Act 1

[Content warnings: strong language, cavalier attitude toward violence.]

SCENE I: MAMA KOLSHOV GETS BURIED; LAB GETS SET UP

A young man takes off his stylish, black hat and folds it into an envelope and puts it in a pocket on the inside of his coat. The only colourful items this man is wearing are a pink badge (the breast cancer awareness thing) and a red rose (socialism). This is EMIL KOLSHOV. He steps into the church. Behind him people are filling in like syrup back into the carafe, reluctantly. Many of them touch KOLSHOV’s elbow or shoulder and mutter condolences. One who does not do this is JUNE, a tall man with sunk-in cheeks, sunglasses, and pale skin.

Pastor GORCZI starts speaking without a microphone. People fall silent.

GORCZI

– Everybody in this room knew Tarja Kolshov. To many of us, she was known as Mama Kolshov. She had the strength of character of the Kolshovs.

JUNE looks at his clock. The insides of JUNE’s coat are sort of shining with the blue that people know as ultraviolet.

GORCZI (louder)

– She is the reason I am alive today. The reason many of us haven’t moved away from this otherwise godforsaken piece of land. She gave the workers rights, the people hope, the politicians something to fear and now she’s gone.

KOLSHOV’s eyes are closed. So are Mama Kolshov’s.

GORCZI

– For those of you who want to have one last look at this brave woman, I urge you to slowly pay your respects while the coffin is open. Go on, whilst I speak.

Elsewhere, to the voiceover of GORCZI praising Mama Kolshov, a lab is scrambled into assistance:

TOESCH, carrying a backpack full of stuff, disemelevators into a pristine area known as the lab. She wobbles through the corridor of airtight glass cells and puts down the backpack. Starts taking equipment out of it – a microscope, a mini-fridge, a tube of petri-dishes, something that looks like anEKG-meter, and a fern.

GORCZI

– She was a gale, a force of nature. Wherever she is now, the people in charge of that place are about to face some serious opposition.

Shot of GORCZI again, standing a tiny bit above the milling people. The camera then pans around the church to KOLSHOV.

GORCZI (smiling)

– And she will have her way and make it better for the people there. Never before have I met someone like Mama Kolshov, and never again shall I. I am not joking when I say we would all go to war for this woman.

JUNE moves closer to KOLSHOV without looking at KOLSHOV. JUNE scrunges up his coat a bit to not glow as much.

GORCZI

– She made us aware of the vultures dying. She nursed some of the poor birds back to health.

The lab’s cells are filling up with specimen: flayed pigs, a monkey without a brain, a metre-thick layer of earth crawling with bugs, and one empty cell. TOESCH is talking withMISCHA about things. MISCHA walks away.

GORCZI

– It was already too late when they found the cancer. She took no medication, did nothing to stop it. One day, she just fell.

There is silence for exactly 60 seconds in the church and also elsewhere. A lab asssistant (not wearing the cool kind of lab coat TOESCH and MISCHA are wearing) is rolling a stretcher with a black bodybag into the empty cell. No sound effects on this. He then walks out of there while MISCHA, looking fascinated, zips the bag open and emancipates the corpse of a young man with a few tattoos on his face and some scars on his forehead from where the electric chair got him.

TOESCH cuts him up deftly and pours in some worm-filled dirt into his stomach, and sews the thing shut again.

GORCZI (sound returning; people crying)

– She would have liked us all to be drunk right now. I hope I will see you all at the tavern.

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New Drabble

http://kewangji.tumblr.com/post/28780656719/a-year-older-a-year-older-in-a-haunted-house

A year older; a year older in a haunted house.

Funny that Suki or Atame hadn’t noticed that only strangers turned up to their wedding.

The cancer was growing in her brain like her skull would split open. The doctors had never seen anything so rapid. They were fascinated, until they remembered themselves in front of him.

And he’d done something bad, and he’d been punished.

And there were the final vows.

And the same day on each year until he dies, he goes to that haunted house, a year older, and he watches the ceremony but he can’t touch.

The Anywhere Machine, Appendix II – Telepath Unexplained, pt 2

Hello!

https://plus.google.com/110256765728890615914/posts/QYN4aPE8J4M

There is now a followup post to the first instalment of this series! The adventure of this civilisation continues. You should check it out!

(The first one’s here, https://plus.google.com/u/0/110256765728890615914/posts/6ExFyos3Ve6)

New Vignette! “Unreachable”

Hopefully this story makes sense. This is a story about a lover from long ago interacting with you, however briefly, and how you used to be.

https://zombiesintelligently.com/vignettes/unreachable/

Toothed Beaks and Mountains

The five million of us sat in the same place at the same time, awaiting the meteor strike. We thought we could last through it. There was not much grass around us, just sand and time, which aren’t entirely different, but we didn’t let it dirty our hands.

We amateur astronomied, I stabbed two sharp telescopes into the backs of our heads. There was hindsight to be had, and there we saw the meteor strike.

This is where we point out that that was a million years ago and sand and grass have taken the place of the bones and neverending ashes that ended. The fire had shadowed itself, masked to something more devious.

The four million and nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine of us waited for the meteor strike. One of us took up studying the way the comet’s surface crackellated from the heat. “Perhaps,” you (I) said, “we can learn from this.”

There was another one who wasn’t us who tried to drag us away, but provided corners when the meteor struck, this other one I don’t know where they are now.

We didn’t learn from your crackellology. Out of the four million and three thousand five hundred sixty eight that are left one grabs a shovel. One – still the same – fills himself with water and walks wobbly to the hole he just dug, to where the meteor landed a million and nine hundred and ninety six thousand four hundred thirty one years ago (back when we wasn’t sick, or so many).

He lets the water fill up the hole and waits for the meteor to strike. He (I) waves at it with flags that mean come, come, I sigh and watch another one of me wiped out. Unless you’re counting like I am you could not have known how many me have gone up from the spot where I’m sitting.

“Why do you need to stop the meteor?” I ask myself.

“Look, it’s a bit less now? Do you see? There is a town” (two million and five hundred thousand eight hundred fifty two years ago) “that now has one house standing.”

“That is a new house, not an old house,” says a version of myself which has a number that is five million, minus the number of years since the meteor strike, plus one. I think that’s it.

~

Timestorm, I get dust in my eyes.

~

A pebble lands by my feet.

The Anywhere Machine, Appendix II – Telepath Unexplained, pt 1

Hi!

https://plus.google.com/u/0/110256765728890615914/posts/6ExFyos3Ve6

That is a link right there. You should click it and read the thing and possibly comment, depending on how much Google-pluslike you are.

The story is set in the same universe as the story of the Cekno*, and so far this universe is big and mysterious but as I keep writing in this world I suppose you will get to see the common thread soon enough!

Anyway, go comment on that thing and be excited for me, alright? Awesome.

https://zombiesintelligently.com/vignettes/the-anywhere-machine-appendix-i-futureful-skyful/

The Day of a Whole Lot of Drabbles!

Helloes! I’m Johannes Punkt, and you may know me from reading my blog just now. I’m not very famous.

Anyway, my long-running drabble-blog will suffer cysts and disease tomorrow, and the exploding pus will shower you all in short stories. A ton of them will go up on the same day and it will be exciting and you should pay attention to this tumblr tomorrow!

It’s been a year since I started the blog, and I’ve published at least one story of exactly 100 words there, every day. I’m pretty boss. From now on, the stories posted there will be rarer. I hope you enjoy the drabblpocalypse drabblvaganza drabblopodës day of a whole lot of drabbles.

http://kewangji.tumblr.com/

Rhesus Negative

‘Tis an old, old story, which I fixed a little but not too much.

[Content warning: story starts off with abuse, which then turns out to be more playful bitching than anything else, but it could still seem bad]

~

“And you’re always with the chewing of those fucking toothpicks. I don’t even know where you get them from. Cut. It. Out.”

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The Committee of First Contact

This is a story written a while ago, published as 7 drabbles on my Tumblr blog. I decided it needed a home here.

~

Every human, any intelligent enough animal, along with some robots, felt it. An intense sensation of fear, glimpses of visions where a gargantuan entity destroyed them and everything they loved and it wasn’t even aware of them. The fear filled all Earth minds – in dreams or in reveries or in lucid thoughts – for about five seconds, before disappearing. There were car crashes and frenzies and brains that just shut down completely from fright. Instantaneous – comparisons of the robots’ timestamps confirmed this – the thing had treated every intelligence on Earth as an ansible and communicated a feeling, perhaps to scare us.

The Committee of First Contact, CoF, was created, to pursue every way they could think of to contact these aliens and to prevent the fear’s reappearance. In machines, the feeling had often been erased from memory, or been too distorted to make sense. However, a super-intelligent surveillance satellite that had shut down in the middle of the attack seemed likely to have some information. Begrudgingly, the government in charge of it let them in. It bore fruit: they found it had two and a half seconds left of fear when they revived it, including a glimpse of a starry sky.

The picture’s every star was classified and a few were identified. Given their strength and their position, assuming a few things like where stars will be in a few hundred million years to the best of our knowledge, the Committee of First Contact found out two places in the galaxy where the fear could have come from: where this scene, no matter if it happened or was pure fabrication, could have taken place. There was no doubt about it, two fleets were assembled and humanity lined up to assist, to reach out to the stars and find the signal’s nexus.

Of the two fleets the Committee sent out, only one would get results. Only one would meet with them, and the brave people who entered the deep sleep didn’t know what group they were went they went down. They would spend an eternity dreaming– to keep their minds useful, keep them from going stale and dull and rotting – and then they would wake up either in empty space, or close to the only other intelligent life in the solar system. They said goodbye to their families if they had them, during the year of preparation, and then off they went.

One would think the fear would go away, but with the fleets gone, the only memory that didn’t fade was the big uncaring monster thing. The public, the people, grew more and more afraid of another ‘attack’. The Committee of First Contact was disbanded, replaced by the Band of Interstellar Warfare, which produced weapons and let minor ships fly out to attach them like legos to the sides of the fleets, giving them an entirely new silhouette and impression. The members of the Committee’s efforts to restore the image of the extraterrestrials were all in vain. Humanity was at war.

The fleet arrived, millions of years before they had planned, for the Band of Interstellar Warfare had attached superluminous drives as well to the hulls of their ships. The humans searched for a habitable planet and found but one, a desolate planet. They landed clumsily, their ships eight times heavier than planned for, and scared the snot out of the local intelligent life form, which broadcasted instant shockwaves of fright, their strongest defence mechanism, throughout the universe. Everyone on the ship struck was dead within seconds, but before they died they saw themselves through the inhabitants’ eyes: big and monstrous.

The fright travelled between the stars faster than the stars’ light, faster than instantaneous: travelling backwards in time. Four or five seconds was all that wasn’t destroyed by the radiation and the speeds, but four or five seconds was all it took. It targeted every one of them, everyone of the beings that had helped produce their terror, and it hit them too well, or not well enough. In the past, the aggravators rusted up for war and set out into space, mounting ridiculously large weapons on their vessels, arming themselves to the teeth. They were now on their way.