we need to chat. [trigger #236]

“Hey Tony, it’s Justin. Call me when you get this, we need to chat. I just got word that there is a problem with the recruitment side of the organization that is much larger than we originally expected. Not for personnel, there is no shortage of people who want to be involved with us. However, there has been a problem recruiting resources for raw materials. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we need at least 200 subjects a month for the various sacrifices and somatic materials needed for hexes, curses, wards, and prophecies. It used to be so easy to get recruits to sign away their bodies and souls without even realizing they were doing it, and I have to tell ya, I’m not sure what it is that changed. Enrollment has dipped more than 200% since January of last year, only 17 months ago. Somebody is screwing with us, whether from the outside or within the organization. 

“Please call me back when you get this so we can get the ball rolling on a plan to sort this out. I’m worried about what the folks upstairs will do to us if we can’t get the ship righted. I wouldn’t put it past them to literally take it out of our hide.

“Talk to you soon.” 

it is a sign of blessing that you see your grandchildren. [trigger #155]

Timmy made his first kill at 12, Jenny the prodigy made hers at 9. They certainly do make a doting grandfather proud. Obviously, they’d been in the room for prayers of cleansing all along, but often the blood was too much, and the loud noises the sinners would often make would frighten them. Though, Timmy and Jenny overcame their fear far faster than my children did.

The key is to treat them like they are mature, and then they surprise you with how mature they can truly be. We just made it clear to the children that what we are doing is God’s work, that if we let these evil people die without their exposure to refining fire, they will suffer in hell instead. Jenny was so quick to realize how beautiful their screams were. She seemed to have a preternatural gift for understanding that their screams of pain and torment reached God’s ears as prayers of repentance. It may be hard for them to admit it in the midst of their pain, but these sodomites, whores, liars, and thieves are thankful for our correction. Even those who aren’t will be when they reach the other side and discover how much easier we’ve made their transition into the next life, the far more important life in God’s kingdom.

We torture them, but we do it so that they might come to know God’s love, and know the error of their ways. Many of them come to admit their depravity under my guidance. Then we kill them, for if we were to release them they would fall back into the pit of sin from which they came. That would be truly monstrous, sadistic really. It would render all of our hard work moot. No, we kill them and let their soul go free, as it is intended. We cleanse them of their sin, and then allow them to enter heaven unfettered by the shackles of the fleshly life.

I was so proud when each of my little ones was able to muster up the courage to drain a repented one of their lifeblood. It is a sign of God’s blessing on our work that I am able to see my grandchildren taking the calling onto themselves.

 

street art. [trigger #84]

He sat down in his study and sipped from a glass of scotch. He was celebrating his 16th victim. For two years he had preyed on those at the fringes of society: prostitutes, the homeless, illegal immigrants, the drug addled or insane. He thought of it as political point. These were the people that he felt were at fault for all the problems in society.

All of his murders were carried out on the streets, in plain view of anyone who might pass. But he was very clever, and very careful, so no one ever did pass. If they did, they’d have to look very closely to know what was even happening. No small feat considering the grisly nature of his murders. He liked to think of it as street art, making clear to the world how he felt, even if they didn’t know exactly who was responsible.

we were in a foreign place and we could not sing. [trigger #82]

As a species, the people of Cantatrix are a people of song. Their weak limbs are unfit for labor or war, their soft pink skin is fragile and bruises easily, the strange proportion of their large heads to their small bodies makes balance an issue when moving too quickly.

Yet, they sing with a beauty that transcends the material world. Their vulnerability is the price they pay for this gift of unparalleled art.

When one hears their voices raised in song, it suddenly becomes easier to believe in hope, and love, and magic, and goodness. They sing for the sick and wounded and lost causes come back from the brink of death. It is even said, in whispers and stories, that when the elders sing together they can bring substance from imagination to reality.

But that was before the Proeliatii brought war to Cantatrix for the first time in memory. Killing with wanton disregard for anything but their lust for further conquest, they pulled the Cantatrii away from their home, and worse, away from the Numerwell.

Without the source of their melody, they began to have trouble finding their voices. A great sadness fell over the Cantatrii. In time, they lost the ability to sing altogether. Now, a silence is falling over the entire known world. Sounds that once sustained the world are disappearing. At first, no one noticed. Then, people had an eerie feeling without ever knowing why. Now, it is becoming impossible to ignore.

People never sit in absent-minded song as they work; children no longer laugh; birds have lost their voices; the wind no longer whistles or howls. Some even say the sun is dimming, and that shadows are growing unnaturally long.

Yet, the Proeliatii are ignorant of all these things. They continue to wage war and destroy. They imprisoned the Cantatrii without a thought and moved on to their next conquest.

If things continue like this for too much longer, light and song may be lost forever. So, Marteen and his small band of brave Cantatrii must devise a plan to free the elders and return them safely to the Numerwell in the hope that the Song of Making might save creation.

rules to live by. [trigger #58]

20 rules to live by in the event of  a zombie apocalypse:

1. Ammo runs out, find melee weapons.

2. Guns make noise, noise attracts zombies, see above rule.

3. You’re stronger together than alone.

4. Still, once someone starts to turn, they aren’t your loved one anymore. In the words of Zombieland: Double-tap.

5. Go north, frozen zombies can’t eat you.

6. Setting zombies on fire is both useful and cathartic.

7. The more layers of clothing you wear, the less likely teeth meet skin.

8. When in doubt, always be moving. Zombies are slow, you shouldn’t be. Your primary disadvantage is numbers, and the most danger is in being swarmed; your primary advantage is being far faster than the undead. Often, a fast walk will be enough to stay ahead of danger, while freezing to decide your next move only allows more zombies to converge.

9. When in danger, run like a motherfucker. As mentioned above, zombies are slow.  Fight only when absolutely necessary, flight is always the safer option.

10. As in any crisis, water is your most important commodity. A healthy human can survive for weeks without food, but even in ideal conditions, you’ll be dead within five days without water.

11. Sleep in shifts, zombies don’t sleep so someone needs to be paying attention at all times.

12. Zombies can often be tricked with smells and sounds. All zombies will be in a different state of decomp, but sight deteriorates far faster than hearing or smell. Also, cognitive filtering processes will no longer be active. Thus, zombies will follow noises and human smells even if it is completely illogical to do so, often even if it feels like they should be able to see you. You’re smarter than they are, act like it.

13. Never be the slowest person in your party.

14. The military is not trained for Z-Day. When you find the military outpost that claims to be safe and seems too good to be true, it is. Stay long enough to stock up on supplies and move on. Shit is going to hit the fan eventually and you don’t want to be there when it does.

15. Little kid zombies are just as dangerous as adult zombies. Leave sentimentality behind or become zombie chow. They aren’t human anymore, kill the fuckers.

16. Have sex whenever consensual and safely possible. Endorphins will be in short supply and sex provides them in healthy quantities. Apocalypse creates panic, sex creates peace of mind and helps one keep a level head. Also, it helps you remember what you have to live for. Forget your normal ethics and rules. It’s the end of the world, folks, you might as well enjoy the few benefits.

17. Travel light. Sentimentality is your enemy. Carry only what can directly aid your survival.

18. Your trust should be hard earned. When everyone is trying to survive, betrayal will be commonplace, choose who you decide to trust very, very carefully.

19. Play to your strengths, be wary of your weaknesses. Be brutally honest with yourself about your survival skills, both as contributions to a group and as an individual. Working out how to utilize your strengths will keep you alive, ignoring embarrassing weaknesses will get you killed.

20. Always be brainstorming strategies as a party. Creativity and ingenuity are advantages you have over the horde, use them. Zombies are nothing more than shuffling apetites, making them predictable. It should be possible to create strategies for your group to survive indefinitely with a little bit of forethought.

is this all a dream? [trigger #54]

The fires had been burning for weeks. The smoke could be seen as far away as Tacoma to the south, and a black haze filled the air for miles and miles in different directions, depending on which way the wind was blowing.

The fact that all of this destruction was caused by human beings made Won’s head spin. There had been no earthquake, no tornado, no tsunami; just humanity in all its destructive power.

The people had gradually lost faith in literally every aspect of their society. Then, in a tremendous powder keg moment, President Aiken had panicked and declared martial law in eight major cities, and the reaction was revolt. The nation had been torn down in a massive, violent upheaval toward anarchy and chaos. The government had broken down, authority had been removed, and people had been burning and destroying ever since.

Won couldn’t believe the things he’d seen. He’d always known, in some abstract way, that people had been acting out great atrocities as long as there had been people, but to see it happen was mind-boggling. Ordinary people, men and women he’d seen on the bus and in cafes, were killing and raping and looting with a wantonness that was overwhelming.

Won needed to move again to get some food, which meant going back into the dangerous Seattle streets. He checked that his gun was loaded before putting it back in the waistband of his pants, adjusted the ski goggles that made it possible to keep his eyes open amidst the smoke, then stepped out into the unnatural fog.

The trick was to walk quickly, with purpose, and avoid looking anyone in the face. The method wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he could do to move around the city, and he needed food.

He walked nine or ten blocks before he rounded a corner on the fifth rape he’d seen in the last month. It was a lone man acting out violence on a woman who’d found herself alone in the street. It was another moment where he saw the weak being preyed on by the stronger. Rage bubbled up from within him and before even making a conscious choice he pulled the gun from his waistband, rushed the son of a bitch, and pistol-whipped him across the temple. The rapist never saw Won coming, too caught up in his perverted violence, and he crumpled sideways after being struck with the revolver. Won moved quickly and kicked the rapist in his face, introducing the bridge of his foot to the bridge of the rapist’s nose.

Won positioned himself between the woman and her attacker, aiming the barrel of the gun at the man’s face. Dazed for a few moments, the rapist shook his head and looked up at Won.

“The fuck’s your problem, man?!? Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?”

Won didn’t respond verbally to the man, he simply pulled back the hammer of the revolver. The click of the gun as it cocked sent his message loud and clear.

The rapist stood up and spit on the concrete, his hand never left his nose. He started to back away from Won and the woman.

“You broke my fucking nose, man!”

The man realized there was nothing he could get from this situation but a bullet, turned, and ran into the haze.

It wasn’t safe for them to remain in the street, exposed like they were.

Won slipped his jacket off and placed it around the woman’s shoulders. He whispered, “I’m sorry, but we need to get off the street, fast.” She was still shaking, but she nodded that she understood and let Won help her to her feet. He ushered her as gently and quickly as he could into a nearby doorway where they crouched in the shadows.

They sat in the darkness, her hands tightly gripping Won’s forearm. Her fingernails were digging into his flesh, her rage and her fear manifesting in the same gesture.

Won wondered at the idea that people were reveling in the lack of order. It was as if the majority of people had monsters inside who were just waiting for an excuse to kill, to take, to destroy, to violate. When the societal boundaries had gone, so many people had become animals overnight.

Won wanted to wake up, to find out that it had all been a horrible dream, but he knew it was real. He sat there in the shadows and tried to remember what hope felt like, but to no avail.

the door at the end of the hallway. [trigger #45]

There’s a door at the end of the hallway that no one goes through. Its knob is never touched. Its threshold never crossed.

It’s been nine years, but still, no one dares enter that room. The memory is still too painful. There’s almost a superstition that if any of us walks through that door we’ll see her hanging there again.

I suppose it’s true. I would see her hanging there again, if only in my mind’s eye. I still see it all the time.

Bodies don’t swing pendulously like they do in the movies. They would need more slack for that, a much higher ceiling. A body just hangs limp. Like an effigy, it is a terrible mockery of the form you once loved.

I was only eight when it happened. When my sister decided she didn’t want to be here anymore. I went thought the door at the end of the hallway, wanting to ask her to put makeup on my face, or dress me up, or some other random blessing that let me pretend I was older than eight. What I saw instantly made me far older than eight. I would never fully be a child again.

It was the last time I’ve ever walked through the door at the end of the hallway.

I see that image every day. Of my sweet sister in that terrible repose. I know I would see her there if I went through that door again, so I know the door will remain forever closed to me. I’ll pretend it’s not there, block it from my mind as best I can. I’d burn the house down if it were up to me.

I see my sister hanging when I close my eyes to sleep. I see it in my dreams as I’m sleeping. I see it when I let my vigilance slip and begin to daydream. So many times it comes to me when I do things that I have no choice but to do. I do get to choose whether or not I will use the door at the end of the hallway, and so I will use that little choice to keep the memory at bay as best I can.

I’m losing quite a bit in this choice, but that’s the price I pay. There are so many other things that are now locked in that room with the ghost of my sister’s hanging body. There are things that were once precious to my sister and me, now certainly covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. There are photographs and magazines; teddy bears and perfume bottles; makeup and posters and clothes that would fit me now, would help me feel closer to her. But they are forever closed away from me, behind the door at the end of the hallway.

how war began in my high school. [trigger #27]

Todd just sat there, shocked. He’d really said it. None of us could believe it.

I mean, everyone sort of knew how the other side felt, but we never said it out loud. We just went our separate ways, pretending there was no rift between us, carefully ignoring each other.

But, now Todd had shattered that illusion. We were all sitting in the cafeteria, eating and talking and laughing. That’s when Mark mentioned something about Justin Bieber, I think he was referring to the poster over Donald Glover’s bed on the IAmDonald tour bus.

Suddenly, as if it were an inspired, involuntary utterance, Todd shouted, “Oh, c’mon, Justin Bieber sucks!”

The cafeteria went immediately silent. It was as if someone had pressed a magic pause button. How had everyone heard what he said in that loud cafeteria? I still wonder, and I still shudder to think of what happened next.

The silence continued for a good 45 seconds, everyone dumbfounded, as if not a single soul could believe what had just happened.

Then, there was this terrible, primeval, guttural scream from someone on the edge of the cafeteria. It sounded almost inhuman, or prehuman. It sounded as if it were coming from the inside of someone’s soul as opposed to their throat. It was savage and filled with rage. I turned to where the sound had come from, it was Lauren Postman: a small, quiet freshman. I think that before this I’d heard her speak once, it had been a tiny, mousey sound. I had certainly been nothing like this rebel yell I was hearing now.

Suddenly, Jenny Fitzsimmons jumped onto her cafeteria table and joined in with Lauren’s scream, which was still echoing off of the cafeteria walls. She lept off of her table, across to the next until she was close enough to jump onto Todd’s back, biting his arm with a ferocity that drew blood.

Then, the true chaos irrupted.

Nearly every girl in the room under the age of 16, along with several over, quickly exploded into guerilla warfare. It was as if the entire female class had been trained by Navy Seals.

Tina Lawrence was dispatching boys from my class with a pen like she was Rambo. Amy Johnson had just taken out a circle of boys surrounding her like a tiny, brown skinned Bruce Lee. One boy tried to run for the door, I think it was Paulie Simmons, but Sarah Weiner fast-pitched a Snapple can into the back of his head from a good 15 yards away and left him sprawled on the floor like a rag doll.

By this time, I was under a table, rocking back and forth, praying for salvation while whispering, “This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening.”

only seven hours to live. [trigger #26]

Li did it because there was no other choice.

The aliens, wherever they had come from, were apparently singleminded in their desire to destroy the population of earth. They brought with them a doomsday device so terrifying in its power that humans would shudder to think of it for the rest of their communal existence.

The device, referred to by Li (an avid comic book reader) as the Galactus Device, would literally devolve an entire planet back to the most basic forms of matter. Thus, the name was pretty apt. Just as Galactus required the lifeforce of entire planets to survive, so too did this alien race require entire planets to continue their journey of conquest through space. They would find planets with the elements and minerals they needed, would use the Galactus device to devolve the entire planet to its basest form, and would use the resulting resources to fuel their future domination of the galaxy. They were very upfront about this, realizing that no earth weapon posed them any danger.

The only thing that had saved humanity so far was that the Galactoids, as Li called them, had come to enjoy the pleasures of the earth as it was. This meant that they lingered here longer than was normal for them, leaching off of the earth in its present form before finally deciding it was time to deconstruct the world down to nothing.

This is what bought Li the time to come up with a plan to save the world.

Direct assault against the Galactoids was futile, but he came up with a plan of subterfuge that was actually plausible. So plausible, in fact, that it actually worked. With a small group, he’d stolen onto the ‘mothership’, for lack of a better phrase, which housed the Galactus Device. The Galactoids had gotten lazy enough that it was actually fairly simple to smuggle the device onto one of the smaller space crafts, in which Li took off toward the stars.

They did have help, there was a small contingent of Galactoids who saw value in the lives of the species they conquered, and were against the wholesale slaughter of entire races. They gave Li the information he needed to carry out his plan.

The goals of the plan were: first to get to a safe distance from earth, then to ready the Galactus Device for self-destruction, and finally to then allow whatever fleet of Galactoids followed him to catch him, just in time to activate the self-destruct mechanism on the device while destroying the Galactoid forces with their own weapon.

As is to be expected, a device of this power was going to take quite a while to prepare itself, and the information from the rogue human sympathizers allowed him to translate that the alien display indicated that it needed about seven more hours until it was ready. In other words, Li only had seven more hours before his short life would end in a blaze of heroic glory, saving mankind from the most powerful device it had even imagined.

dribbling down her chin. [trigger #24]

She pulled his head backwards by his hair, smelling his neck with relish.

She paused to enjoy the moment, his mind was so seduced that there was no chance of him thinking clearly enough to fight back.

In that moment, she delighted in many things. She could feel his heart beating through his chest, pumping life through his body, so close she could already taste it. She thought of the little girls he trafficked, not only had he trafficked his last, but she would soon have access to his records, and each girl would be free by the end of the week.

Even though she had long since stopped feeling sorry for what she was, for killing to live, she still chose her victims carefully. There was still the odd innocent here or there in a pinch, but normally she eliminated men and women so evil it was difficult to fathom, even for something like her.

She never gave in to the urge to romanticize what she did. She was killing terrible people, but she was still killing. And while part of her joy at the kill came from the salvation that came to so many with each death, a large part of her joy at the kill was purely in the kill. In the violence and power of it.

She grinned, it was a deadly, feline gesture. Her pressed her fangs into the flesh of his neck, just enough to penetrate the skin, but not enough to feed. She loved these moments just before the slaughter, she almost always chose to draw it out, to savor each second, to prolong the anticipation and desire.

Finally, she threw her head back, then plunged her teeth deep into his flesh, losing herself in the taste of his lifeblood. These moments are when she is truly alive. It’s why she never looks with disdain on her lycanthrope brothers and sisters like most of her kind. She may hunt with the grace and care of the jaguar, but once it came time to feed she was overwhelmed by the savage hunger of the wolf.

She drank deeply, and then pulled away, taking in deep, heaving breaths, the blood dribbling down her chin. These breaths were obviously not because she needed breath to live, God’s first gift had been denied her for some time. No, these breaths were to oxygenate the blood she was drinking one last time before his life had truly gone out of it, to feel a secondary tremor and thrill as she consumed him.