"The saddest day I came across was when I learned that life goes on without me."
- Tomas Kalnoky
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Death of a Hero
“So, Lightning Rodney’s dead.”
“Lightning Rodney? Who the heck is that, some sort of Mexican wrestler?”
“Not quite. You never heard of him? He was that superhero.”
“A superhero?”
“Yes.”
“Named...Lightning Rodney?”
“Yes.”
“...What was his superpower?”
“Well, he was sort of like that made-up superhero, the Flash, more or less.”
“More or less? So, he ran fast?”
“Well, yeah, he ran fast, only he couldn’t do it all the time. You see, Lightning Rodney could only run like that when he was under a certain weight.”
“And what weight was that?”
“How the hell should I know? All I know is he figured it out. But it was hard for him to stay below that weight.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, he lost as much weight as he realistically could before losing most of his muscle mass. I mean, if he lost too much muscle, he probably wouldn’t have been able to run like he did, so he had to improvise; he had to lose as much weight as he could in other ways.”
“Meaning...?”
“Clothes; he didn’t wear any clothes, minus really good running shoes.”
“...Are you joking? You mean to tell me Lightning Rodney was a superhero who ran around really fast, so long as he was naked?”
“Well, not quite. That still wasn’t enough. He really had to be creative to get his weight down...Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“I don’t know...The moon...lit up for a second there...”
“Really?”
“I thought so. Anyway, it must have been my imagination. Where was I?”
“Being naked wasn’t enough for Lightning Rodney.”
“Oh, right. Like I said, losing his clothes didn’t quite get him down to the weight he needed to be in order to run like the wind, so he had to trim off everything he could. He did what he had to; he trimmed his hair.”
“And that made him light enough?”
“Well, he shaved his head completely, and he had to shave and pluck all the hairs out of his body. Oh, and his nails. They had to be trimmed down as much as possible.”
“So, he couldn’t run really fast until he was naked and hairless?”
“Precisely.”
“Interesting. So, how did he end up dying?”
“Well, Lightning Rodney was weakest in the morning, immediately after waking up, since his hair grew while he slept. He had to get up and shave and pluck and everything before he was able to run really fast. Turns out, some of his enemies figured this out as well, and that’s when they surprised him.”
“Oh, so that’s how he died; they got him while he was slow.”
“Not exactly. Like, they did break into his house and who knows what they were planning to do to him once they were there, but he didn’t die by the hands of his enemies. No, Lightning Rodney sort of did himself in.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You see, apparently he heard them break in or whatever, and he decided to make his move and get out of there.”
“But wasn’t he heavy and slow?”
“Yes, but he figured he needed to lose a bit of weight quickly and then he’d be fine. So, he grabs a knife and stabs himself in one of his main arteries.”
“Oh my. Why on earth would he believe that was a good idea?”
“Well, I guess he figured he would lose enough blood to be able to run fast then he’d make it to a hospital in time for them to patch him up, and that’s what he tried to do. From what I gather, once he was light enough to run quickly, he ran with his wound facing forward in so that the pressure would hold his blood in. I think it worked, since they didn’t find any blood in his path to the hospital.”
“Well, if it worked, how’d he die?”
“Like I said, he made it to the hospital, but then no one was ready for him. Lightning Rodney bursts in the emergency doors and stops running. He barely has the time to yell, ‘Help me,’ or something like that and the blood starts gushing out again. Without the pressure holding it back, the blood just sprays all over everyone; the nurses and all the patients waiting in the room get covered in Lightning Rodney’s blood. He didn’t have a chance by that point.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Now we have one less naked superhero.”
“Yeah, I agree...Wait, turn around. Check out the moon. It’s starting to glow again.”
“You’re right. It keeps getting brighter and brighter. And what’s that sound?”
Voip. Sizzle.
“Lightning Rodney? Who the heck is that, some sort of Mexican wrestler?”
“Not quite. You never heard of him? He was that superhero.”
“A superhero?”
“Yes.”
“Named...Lightning Rodney?”
“Yes.”
“...What was his superpower?”
“Well, he was sort of like that made-up superhero, the Flash, more or less.”
“More or less? So, he ran fast?”
“Well, yeah, he ran fast, only he couldn’t do it all the time. You see, Lightning Rodney could only run like that when he was under a certain weight.”
“And what weight was that?”
“How the hell should I know? All I know is he figured it out. But it was hard for him to stay below that weight.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, he lost as much weight as he realistically could before losing most of his muscle mass. I mean, if he lost too much muscle, he probably wouldn’t have been able to run like he did, so he had to improvise; he had to lose as much weight as he could in other ways.”
“Meaning...?”
“Clothes; he didn’t wear any clothes, minus really good running shoes.”
“...Are you joking? You mean to tell me Lightning Rodney was a superhero who ran around really fast, so long as he was naked?”
“Well, not quite. That still wasn’t enough. He really had to be creative to get his weight down...Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“I don’t know...The moon...lit up for a second there...”
“Really?”
“I thought so. Anyway, it must have been my imagination. Where was I?”
“Being naked wasn’t enough for Lightning Rodney.”
“Oh, right. Like I said, losing his clothes didn’t quite get him down to the weight he needed to be in order to run like the wind, so he had to trim off everything he could. He did what he had to; he trimmed his hair.”
“And that made him light enough?”
“Well, he shaved his head completely, and he had to shave and pluck all the hairs out of his body. Oh, and his nails. They had to be trimmed down as much as possible.”
“So, he couldn’t run really fast until he was naked and hairless?”
“Precisely.”
“Interesting. So, how did he end up dying?”
“Well, Lightning Rodney was weakest in the morning, immediately after waking up, since his hair grew while he slept. He had to get up and shave and pluck and everything before he was able to run really fast. Turns out, some of his enemies figured this out as well, and that’s when they surprised him.”
“Oh, so that’s how he died; they got him while he was slow.”
“Not exactly. Like, they did break into his house and who knows what they were planning to do to him once they were there, but he didn’t die by the hands of his enemies. No, Lightning Rodney sort of did himself in.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You see, apparently he heard them break in or whatever, and he decided to make his move and get out of there.”
“But wasn’t he heavy and slow?”
“Yes, but he figured he needed to lose a bit of weight quickly and then he’d be fine. So, he grabs a knife and stabs himself in one of his main arteries.”
“Oh my. Why on earth would he believe that was a good idea?”
“Well, I guess he figured he would lose enough blood to be able to run fast then he’d make it to a hospital in time for them to patch him up, and that’s what he tried to do. From what I gather, once he was light enough to run quickly, he ran with his wound facing forward in so that the pressure would hold his blood in. I think it worked, since they didn’t find any blood in his path to the hospital.”
“Well, if it worked, how’d he die?”
“Like I said, he made it to the hospital, but then no one was ready for him. Lightning Rodney bursts in the emergency doors and stops running. He barely has the time to yell, ‘Help me,’ or something like that and the blood starts gushing out again. Without the pressure holding it back, the blood just sprays all over everyone; the nurses and all the patients waiting in the room get covered in Lightning Rodney’s blood. He didn’t have a chance by that point.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Now we have one less naked superhero.”
“Yeah, I agree...Wait, turn around. Check out the moon. It’s starting to glow again.”
“You’re right. It keeps getting brighter and brighter. And what’s that sound?”
Voip. Sizzle.
Popcorn
The Walmart doors opened as a man entered. He stopped a few feet into the store and raised his hands.
"Bryan is coming!" he said loudly to all who would listen. In this case it was the greeter and the few people at the courtesy desk. They all stared at him as he continued, "And he brings popcorn!"
Then he strode purposefully out of the store. The greeter smiled nervously at the customers across from where he stood. After nervously returning his smile, everyone went back to what they were doing, the incident largely ignored.
About a half hour later, another man entered the store. This one held a large blue bowl in his hands. He raised it above his head and loudly proclaimed: "I am Bryan, and I have popcorn!"
At this point, everyone within hearing range felt a massive headache come on. But they only had a moment to wonder about it as their heads exploded. All you could hear was the sound of popcorn popping and bodies hitting the floor, until finally there was silence. After a long moment, Bryan took a large handful of popcorn from the bowl. Smiling, he said into the silence, "That will show them to mock my theories!" And he strode out of the store, laughing the whole way out.
"Bryan is coming!" he said loudly to all who would listen. In this case it was the greeter and the few people at the courtesy desk. They all stared at him as he continued, "And he brings popcorn!"
Then he strode purposefully out of the store. The greeter smiled nervously at the customers across from where he stood. After nervously returning his smile, everyone went back to what they were doing, the incident largely ignored.
About a half hour later, another man entered the store. This one held a large blue bowl in his hands. He raised it above his head and loudly proclaimed: "I am Bryan, and I have popcorn!"
At this point, everyone within hearing range felt a massive headache come on. But they only had a moment to wonder about it as their heads exploded. All you could hear was the sound of popcorn popping and bodies hitting the floor, until finally there was silence. After a long moment, Bryan took a large handful of popcorn from the bowl. Smiling, he said into the silence, "That will show them to mock my theories!" And he strode out of the store, laughing the whole way out.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Eyes in the Dark
Two eyes staring emberlike through the dark. Two eyes, staring hatred at my soul.
This was the awakened face of malice, the face of all dark dreams made manifest in the world - given power by whichever twisted mind forged this wretched plane of existence in the eons past when gods forged worlds from the very essence of their imaginations. All the dark emotions that people detest in themselves granted power; power to reduce the object of our emnity to ash, power to twist the land into a barren hellscape. The very air here had been changed into a black miasmic cloud that burned metal, clothes and exposed flesh with equal vigor.
Magic in this place fed off these things, encouraged them, shaped itself around them. And of all the hopeless, desolate worlds left as a relic to the whimsy of some long dead god, this was by far the most despairing. One more world and people simply waiting to die.
Two eyes staring spite into the world. I watch as my companion, my friend of many years, is blasted to ash which swirls about the cavern chamber by the torchlight - extinguishing it. The world hates me now, it takes joy in those two eyes and in bending itself to satisfying that which lurks behind them. And looking into those eyes, I know there is no such painless death of ash awaiting me. These eyes want me to suffer, they want to see it.
In such a world as this, life is brutal and short. The people here bathe in the power the land offers them and die on the twin edged sword of their own magic. Yet even in a place that rewarded the worst thoughts and feelings with fantastic power - this creature stood alone; the very embodiment of the spirit of the god forsaken world. Consequently the people here worshipped it as a god.
Consequently when they found I possessed magic beyond the taint of this place, they asked me to kill it. I'd been confident, and yet here I stood, all the years striding the worlds and stars counted for nothing in the face of such raw unbridled fury given form.
Two eyes staring in the dark. A low moan pierces the dark, rising steadily through a shriek and wail into a howling rage like thunder. The eyes grow brighter, and in the light of their gaze I can see the very cave being blasted away by the very sound. So much dust in the howling wind, carried off into the night, biting at my skin.
All my charms and wards are as nothing. Spells fail, I open my mouth and caustic dust pours in, choking and burning away all words. I choke on hubris, and a lifetime of wanderings pass before my eyes.
Two eyes in the dark, blazing like the infernal flames of hell itself. They rise into the air, growing larger, growing closer, growing fiercer. Everything around me is wind and dust in the firelight.
There are two eyes in the dark and I am alone in the world.
The end, I think, is very near.
This was the awakened face of malice, the face of all dark dreams made manifest in the world - given power by whichever twisted mind forged this wretched plane of existence in the eons past when gods forged worlds from the very essence of their imaginations. All the dark emotions that people detest in themselves granted power; power to reduce the object of our emnity to ash, power to twist the land into a barren hellscape. The very air here had been changed into a black miasmic cloud that burned metal, clothes and exposed flesh with equal vigor.
Magic in this place fed off these things, encouraged them, shaped itself around them. And of all the hopeless, desolate worlds left as a relic to the whimsy of some long dead god, this was by far the most despairing. One more world and people simply waiting to die.
Two eyes staring spite into the world. I watch as my companion, my friend of many years, is blasted to ash which swirls about the cavern chamber by the torchlight - extinguishing it. The world hates me now, it takes joy in those two eyes and in bending itself to satisfying that which lurks behind them. And looking into those eyes, I know there is no such painless death of ash awaiting me. These eyes want me to suffer, they want to see it.
In such a world as this, life is brutal and short. The people here bathe in the power the land offers them and die on the twin edged sword of their own magic. Yet even in a place that rewarded the worst thoughts and feelings with fantastic power - this creature stood alone; the very embodiment of the spirit of the god forsaken world. Consequently the people here worshipped it as a god.
Consequently when they found I possessed magic beyond the taint of this place, they asked me to kill it. I'd been confident, and yet here I stood, all the years striding the worlds and stars counted for nothing in the face of such raw unbridled fury given form.
Two eyes staring in the dark. A low moan pierces the dark, rising steadily through a shriek and wail into a howling rage like thunder. The eyes grow brighter, and in the light of their gaze I can see the very cave being blasted away by the very sound. So much dust in the howling wind, carried off into the night, biting at my skin.
All my charms and wards are as nothing. Spells fail, I open my mouth and caustic dust pours in, choking and burning away all words. I choke on hubris, and a lifetime of wanderings pass before my eyes.
Two eyes in the dark, blazing like the infernal flames of hell itself. They rise into the air, growing larger, growing closer, growing fiercer. Everything around me is wind and dust in the firelight.
There are two eyes in the dark and I am alone in the world.
The end, I think, is very near.
Monday, June 29, 2009
July Quote
A haiku of mad science that made me laugh to no end:
My Moon-based Death Ray
Panics the people of Earth.
Mock my theories now!
--Andrew G. McCann
Friday, June 12, 2009
A diner by the mountain
The clock showed a quarter to two as Archie pulled a massive pan of roasting lamb out of the oven. The sky was lit with a thousand stars, the moon hidden behind the sleeping mountain. Lazily, the bright neon lights of his diner flickered on. His father long since passed on, his sisters and brothers have all moved far afield, Archie felt a pang of loneliness in his heart.
With the quiet smoothness that spoke of a ritual performed countless times, Archie began preparing for his guests. A massive wooden table slid out of a narrow closet in the wall, the legs held tightly to the bottom, easily unclasped and folded out. He remembered installing the system with his father when he was twelve, reducing the hour long struggle to get the table placed to mere minutes.
The table set, Archie surrounded it with seven chairs. Unlike the ancient oak, the chairs were new. Made of light steel and thickly cushioned. Archie still got nauseous thinking about how one of the ancient solid oak chairs was smashed to splinters during an argument. When the anger had subsided, all he had was a newer stool to offer to the now seatless guest. The next morning he received a letter requesting similar seating for the other six.
The seats set, Archie placed seven deep bowls and seven large plates. The plates were nothing more than smooth stone. The bowls were yellowed and crack. Archie suspected they were skulls, but tried not to dwell on whose. The bowls he filed with dark, rich mead. The plates he piled high with roast lamb and seasoned potatoes. The spices were running low. He didn’t know what to do when they ran out.
The clock struck two and the doors opened without a sound. Seven large men entered, their faces black with ash and dressed in thick raw leathers. Some had great beards as thick as a hedge while others had not a hair on their heads, but all had sharp grey eyes and aged faces. Archie recognized all the men from the Sunday before, all but one.
Without a glance in Archie’s direction the seven sat themselves and began to eat. They ate more than any man should be capable, and while they ate they talked. As Archie moved to keep the plates and bowls full, he would listen. He’d listen as the men complained and gossiped about the fires of the mountain they tend. Of the arms and armour they forged. Of the gods and demons that requested their work. Of the woman that stole their heart.
For the full of the night the twelve men feasted and gossiped, until an hour before dawn. Slowly, the conversation ceased, until utter silence filled the diner. Then, the one Archie did not recognize stood. He raised his bowl and said something in a harsh language Archie didn’t understand, but knew by heart. Always when one was replaced, the new one would say the prayer, the words echoing in Archie down to his core.
Then, as the abruptly as they arrived, they would leave. As Archie held the door for the last man, he looked Archie in the eye. “You do your family proud Archie White, and we are grateful. May you find a woman to take your heart, as your ancestor took ours.”
With the quiet smoothness that spoke of a ritual performed countless times, Archie began preparing for his guests. A massive wooden table slid out of a narrow closet in the wall, the legs held tightly to the bottom, easily unclasped and folded out. He remembered installing the system with his father when he was twelve, reducing the hour long struggle to get the table placed to mere minutes.
The table set, Archie surrounded it with seven chairs. Unlike the ancient oak, the chairs were new. Made of light steel and thickly cushioned. Archie still got nauseous thinking about how one of the ancient solid oak chairs was smashed to splinters during an argument. When the anger had subsided, all he had was a newer stool to offer to the now seatless guest. The next morning he received a letter requesting similar seating for the other six.
The seats set, Archie placed seven deep bowls and seven large plates. The plates were nothing more than smooth stone. The bowls were yellowed and crack. Archie suspected they were skulls, but tried not to dwell on whose. The bowls he filed with dark, rich mead. The plates he piled high with roast lamb and seasoned potatoes. The spices were running low. He didn’t know what to do when they ran out.
The clock struck two and the doors opened without a sound. Seven large men entered, their faces black with ash and dressed in thick raw leathers. Some had great beards as thick as a hedge while others had not a hair on their heads, but all had sharp grey eyes and aged faces. Archie recognized all the men from the Sunday before, all but one.
Without a glance in Archie’s direction the seven sat themselves and began to eat. They ate more than any man should be capable, and while they ate they talked. As Archie moved to keep the plates and bowls full, he would listen. He’d listen as the men complained and gossiped about the fires of the mountain they tend. Of the arms and armour they forged. Of the gods and demons that requested their work. Of the woman that stole their heart.
For the full of the night the twelve men feasted and gossiped, until an hour before dawn. Slowly, the conversation ceased, until utter silence filled the diner. Then, the one Archie did not recognize stood. He raised his bowl and said something in a harsh language Archie didn’t understand, but knew by heart. Always when one was replaced, the new one would say the prayer, the words echoing in Archie down to his core.
Then, as the abruptly as they arrived, they would leave. As Archie held the door for the last man, he looked Archie in the eye. “You do your family proud Archie White, and we are grateful. May you find a woman to take your heart, as your ancestor took ours.”
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Planet Reapers
We are winning.
Why else would global warming be such a success? While there are those who would halt our progress, still we ride forth, on steeds of smog, scouring the countryside. We have killed forests by directing the acidic rain, poisoned countless animals, and even managed to poke holes in the hated solar shield; our allies from the sun have joined us, spreading disease and death in their wake.
And just when we thought that our victory was assured, little things started to happen, things that could potentially change the war's outcome. More people started trying to conserve energy, conserve trees. These things are not enough to halt our advance, but they have slowed us down, made us work harder. This matters not to us. The planet is still full of energy wasters, and so we are still winning. As long as things remain as they are, we will eventually triumph despite these petty annoyances. The Earth will burn beneath our combined onslaught, until nothing good and green will ever grow here again.
Why else would global warming be such a success? While there are those who would halt our progress, still we ride forth, on steeds of smog, scouring the countryside. We have killed forests by directing the acidic rain, poisoned countless animals, and even managed to poke holes in the hated solar shield; our allies from the sun have joined us, spreading disease and death in their wake.
And just when we thought that our victory was assured, little things started to happen, things that could potentially change the war's outcome. More people started trying to conserve energy, conserve trees. These things are not enough to halt our advance, but they have slowed us down, made us work harder. This matters not to us. The planet is still full of energy wasters, and so we are still winning. As long as things remain as they are, we will eventually triumph despite these petty annoyances. The Earth will burn beneath our combined onslaught, until nothing good and green will ever grow here again.
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