In response to this prompt, positing that a shady individual identifying himself as the Collector introduces himself to the character in question.
***
The incessant knocking on my door spurred me out of bed. I threw on a shirt and a pair of pants, frowning all the while. Who the hell showed up at 2:17 in the morning and expected an answer? I imagined only the police, but I didn’t see the distinct pattern of flashing lights through my window. Even as I finished zipping up the pants and grabbed my phone, the knocking intensified to banging. I stormed down the stairs, muttering under my breath and the insistent pounding ceased when I reached the front door. I looked through the peephole and saw nothing, even though the porch light’s motion sensor had triggered.
“Seriously?” I said, shaking my head. “Asshole.”
I stepped away and started to head back to the stairs, only for my harasser to start hammering on my door once more. Spinning back the direction I’d come, I threw open the door, ready to make it clear to my visitor my extreme displeasure at the hour of their calling. The figure that greeted my eyes didn’t match my expectations given their slender frame, but didn’t appear repentant in the slightest about their arrival so early in the morning. Their garb made it hard to determine their gender, as they wore just a dark-colored and loose fitting cloak that concealed the body and much of their face. Only their eyes showed clearly, their attention focused squarely on me and striking me as distinctly unnatural due to their darkness.
“It’s two in the fucking morning! What do you want?”
“I am the Collector.”
Its voice lacked much inflection and fell in the range that could have belonged to a man or a woman. The only clarity came from the way in which it described itself, not merely advising of their job function, but their formal title. Even so, I couldn’t think of a single thing I owed anyone. For once, I’d caught up on all my debts. He or she must have the wrong address, but I did find myself somewhat curious as to what drove this individual to conduct its business at such an unreasonable hour.
“Collector of what?”
“I am the Collector, and I have come to collect.”
“What exactly are you here to collect?”
“I have come to collect that which needs to be collected. What has been collected from others. What needs to be collected from others still to come.”
“I guess I have some crap I need to get rid of in the garage. Is that what you want?”
The figure just moved its head from side to side.
“Look, I really need to get some rest. Tell me what it is you’re here for, or leave. Clearly you thought you had to wake me up from a perfectly good slumber for some reason.”
“I am here to collect.”
“So you’ve said. Multiple times.” I made no attempt to mask the frustration in my voice. “I’m going back to bed. Go collect from someone else, I’m sure with your stellar communication skills your won’t have any problems. Asshole.”
I slammed and locked the door, heading back to bed, ignoring the renewed banging as I stepped away. To my surprise, it stopped shortly after I reached my room. Apparently the Collector, whatever they might be collecting had grown equally as frustrated as myself. I welcomed the opportunity to rest and stripped back down to my boxers and got back into the bed.
“Everything okay, honey?” my wife asked upon laying back down.
“Yeah. They woke you up, too?”
“Who?”
“The jerk who was knocking on our door in the middle of the night.”
“I didn’t hear a thing. I just thought your stomach might be disagreeing with you.”
“No, I’m fine. Some idiot was knocking on our door and wouldn’t stop.”
“What did they want?”
“To collect something, apparently. They wouldn’t really specify.”
“Well, try to get some rest. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep after fuming silently for a little while longer.
***
Only an hour or so later, I woke again, this time to the droning of a voice repeating the same phrase over and over: I collect. I snapped to awareness, turning my head sideways to see the cloaked figure from the door standing at my bedside. As before, its gaze did not waver from me at all and it continued its chanting even after it saw me wake. I propelled myself out of the bed, grabbing the cloaked form and slamming it against the wall.
“I collect.” It said, slipping out of my grasp, and almost gliding to the opposite side of the room. “I collect.”
“No you don’t.”
I made my way over to the other side, picking up a glass of water from my bedside table. It continued its chant, unmindful of my progress and making no attempt to shield itself in response to the glass that I now raised in threat. The glass shattered upon hitting the form, blood staining its previously clear surface and the figure falling to the ground. Still it chanted and displayed no signs of pain or self-preservation, despite the blood that I could now see marring its face.
“What the hell are you possibly collecting?” I shouted, kicking its fallen body. “Pain? Pleasure from pain? What?”
“I collect…” it said again, and I slammed down the broken glass into its face once more before stepping back, retrieving my cell phone and dialing the police.
“…sanity.” Its monotonous voice finished when I ended my call to the cops. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
With that, it vanished, leaving behind it only the maimed body of my wife lying prone and nearly motionless on the floor. I let the phone drop from my hand and rushed to her side, falling to my knees and cradling her head. I didn’t understand how this could have happened. Deb meant more to me than anything else in the world. Now I found her taken from me, by what? Some hallucination? A demon? What the fuck? What the hell was I going to do now?
“Nick…what happened? I…love…”
“I love you too, honey. Don’t leave me. Please. Please, I’m sorry! Deb! DEB!”
She gave no response, just one final breath as her eyes drifted closed. I sobbed and let the tears roll down my cheeks without resistance. Shivering and mumbling incoherently, I ran my fingers through her hair as I had lovingly done so many time before and waited for the police to come.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Sunday, January 26, 2014
[016] - Calling God
This one is a response to this prompt, about a girl who works in a call center who ends up calling god. Still a little behind, but one of these upcoming postings will cover multiple digits towards the challenge as I'm working towards the February contest for the WritingPrompts subreddit, which is to write a novelette (as that clearly will not happen in one day alone).
***
“Now what we want to do next is unplug the cord from the jack but before…” Paula stopped talking as the call dropped, placing her telephone into outbound status to prevent another call from coming in before she could call back her customer.
She dialed the number, but it went through to voicemail. Waiting a minute, she dialed again, this time rewarded with an answer.
“Hello?” the voice that answered sounded deeper than that of the customer she’d just spoken to.
“This is Paula calling back from Integrated Solutions, looks like we got disconnected. I was speaking with a Mr. Dearborn, is he still available?”
“You were indeed. You’ll be pleased to note his issue has been resolved, Miss Tarrell.”
“Good to hear, good to hear. That said, is there anything I else I can do for you?”
The man on the other end gave a hearty chuckle. “Usually when people call me, they’re asking me to do something for them.”
“Well, I’m with Integrated Solutions, so we’re here to support your internet connection.”
“Oh, I have no need of the internet, Paula Elizabeth Wendy Tarrell. I can see how you may have misconstrued my previous comment, I just wanted to let you know not to worry about Mr. Dearborn’s issue.”
“Did I dial the wrong number? Wait--how do you know my full name?”
“You have your job, Miss Tarrell, I have mine. Now, I see you are a kind soul, what sort of boon can I grant you? An intervention to stop your son from going further down the wrong path? Your mother a reprieve from her early Alzheimer’s? A more normal life for your friend’s autistic daughter?”
“How do you know all of this? This is creepy. Are you some sort of stalker?” as she spoke, she sent an instant message to her supervisor.
“In the most general of senses, I suppose you could call me that. But I’ve got a vested interest in keeping tabs on you. Been doing it for years now, in a variety of guises. I fear you’ll have only a little while longer to ask the boon of me, but I know why you felt the need to contact your manager.”
“How could you know…? Guises?”
Still no response to the message she’d sent. Perhaps due to the call timer appearing frozen and not ticking upwards as the seconds passed.
“I suppose I should introduce myself. Such formalities often slip my mind, sorry. With as much knowledge as I deal with…” he trailed off. “Anyways, I’m God. Also known by a variety of other aliases, Odin, Kali, Zeus, Yahweh, Venus, etcetera. Pretty much any deity you can think of, that was me.”
“This is crazy.”
“I can see how it might seem that way, and talk certainly won’t allow me to prove myself to you, even if I tell you that I know that your sister killed your family’s dog accidentally as a child and that you helped her keep the secret.” He paused, then continued, truncating Paula’s protestation before she could voice it. “Our time is running short, Miss Tarrell. Omnipotent and omniscient I may be, but even I have limits on my focus. Name your boon, if you desire.”
“This is crazy! I guess help my friend’s daughter, if this isn’t a prank. But it has to be a prank.”
“The choice I knew you would make, Miss Tarrell. Selfless at your core. It will be done, and your kindness rewarded. Live well, Miss Tarrell. You are loved.”
With that, the call ended, leaving Paula’s thoughts racing. Surely that must have been a prank, but how that person known all those things about her? Checking her phone, it displayed no evidence of her completed outbound call, and the messaging client on the computer showed no record of the message she’d attempted to send to her supervisor. She shook her head even as her arm started trembling. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she jumped when her manager tapped her on the shoulder.
“Paula, log out meeting then meet me in my office.”
She nodded, then followed him.
“Everything okay?” she said upon taking a seat across from him.
“Very much so. How would you like to take Rob’s place, take over his team as their new manager?”
“Oh, wow. That’d be great! Thanks!”
“Well, you’ve been doing great work. Congratulations!”
They chatted for a little while longer before she went back to her desk to finish her last shift as an agent. Before she logged back in to the phones, she looked upwards.
“Thank you.” She whispered.
***
“Now what we want to do next is unplug the cord from the jack but before…” Paula stopped talking as the call dropped, placing her telephone into outbound status to prevent another call from coming in before she could call back her customer.
She dialed the number, but it went through to voicemail. Waiting a minute, she dialed again, this time rewarded with an answer.
“Hello?” the voice that answered sounded deeper than that of the customer she’d just spoken to.
“This is Paula calling back from Integrated Solutions, looks like we got disconnected. I was speaking with a Mr. Dearborn, is he still available?”
“You were indeed. You’ll be pleased to note his issue has been resolved, Miss Tarrell.”
“Good to hear, good to hear. That said, is there anything I else I can do for you?”
The man on the other end gave a hearty chuckle. “Usually when people call me, they’re asking me to do something for them.”
“Well, I’m with Integrated Solutions, so we’re here to support your internet connection.”
“Oh, I have no need of the internet, Paula Elizabeth Wendy Tarrell. I can see how you may have misconstrued my previous comment, I just wanted to let you know not to worry about Mr. Dearborn’s issue.”
“Did I dial the wrong number? Wait--how do you know my full name?”
“You have your job, Miss Tarrell, I have mine. Now, I see you are a kind soul, what sort of boon can I grant you? An intervention to stop your son from going further down the wrong path? Your mother a reprieve from her early Alzheimer’s? A more normal life for your friend’s autistic daughter?”
“How do you know all of this? This is creepy. Are you some sort of stalker?” as she spoke, she sent an instant message to her supervisor.
“In the most general of senses, I suppose you could call me that. But I’ve got a vested interest in keeping tabs on you. Been doing it for years now, in a variety of guises. I fear you’ll have only a little while longer to ask the boon of me, but I know why you felt the need to contact your manager.”
“How could you know…? Guises?”
Still no response to the message she’d sent. Perhaps due to the call timer appearing frozen and not ticking upwards as the seconds passed.
“I suppose I should introduce myself. Such formalities often slip my mind, sorry. With as much knowledge as I deal with…” he trailed off. “Anyways, I’m God. Also known by a variety of other aliases, Odin, Kali, Zeus, Yahweh, Venus, etcetera. Pretty much any deity you can think of, that was me.”
“This is crazy.”
“I can see how it might seem that way, and talk certainly won’t allow me to prove myself to you, even if I tell you that I know that your sister killed your family’s dog accidentally as a child and that you helped her keep the secret.” He paused, then continued, truncating Paula’s protestation before she could voice it. “Our time is running short, Miss Tarrell. Omnipotent and omniscient I may be, but even I have limits on my focus. Name your boon, if you desire.”
“This is crazy! I guess help my friend’s daughter, if this isn’t a prank. But it has to be a prank.”
“The choice I knew you would make, Miss Tarrell. Selfless at your core. It will be done, and your kindness rewarded. Live well, Miss Tarrell. You are loved.”
With that, the call ended, leaving Paula’s thoughts racing. Surely that must have been a prank, but how that person known all those things about her? Checking her phone, it displayed no evidence of her completed outbound call, and the messaging client on the computer showed no record of the message she’d attempted to send to her supervisor. She shook her head even as her arm started trembling. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she jumped when her manager tapped her on the shoulder.
“Paula, log out meeting then meet me in my office.”
She nodded, then followed him.
“Everything okay?” she said upon taking a seat across from him.
“Very much so. How would you like to take Rob’s place, take over his team as their new manager?”
“Oh, wow. That’d be great! Thanks!”
“Well, you’ve been doing great work. Congratulations!”
They chatted for a little while longer before she went back to her desk to finish her last shift as an agent. Before she logged back in to the phones, she looked upwards.
“Thank you.” She whispered.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
[015] - Resurrection
Next one I typed up, in response to this prompt, where anyone can be brought back to life, for a price. Still want to do a bit more with this one (had some other ideas that popped into my head for this world), but for now, here's what there is.
***
“Alright, viewers, it’s time for Mr. Lee to spin the Wheel of Angels. Mr. Lee, just to confirm, you are aware that the spin is irrevocable. The resurrection of your beloved leader must be handled by the angel whose name the wheel lands on.”
“I’m aware of that, yes. Having him back is the most important thing.”
“Then spin the wheel, Mr. Lee. Resurrection awaits!”
The studio audience roared as Angus Lee gave the wheel a mighty pull, the names of angels whizzing by too quick to read at first, then gradually slowing. Michael, Daniel, Aria, Gabriel, Lillith, the names went round and round. Angus watched with bated breath, excitement and dread taking their turns running across his face as one name or another popped up. Finally, the wheel settled on one of the names and the look of worry on Angus’ face proved his disappointment.
“Ah, the ever-just Michael. Probably not the choice you wanted given who you came to bring back from the other side, but here we are.”
“Yes. Here we are.”
“Such vitriol. You’ve not even seen the fruit of your request yet. Well, enough talk. Let’s get to what we’re all here for. Michael? Care to join us?”
The lights in the studio dimmed to a growing crescendo of fanfare. The audience began clapping rhythmically along with it as spotlights spun around the set and fog filled the air. Lasers shot through the fog, tracing a number of angelic forms roaming a graveyard and raising exuberant forms from their respective graves. Then with a massive flash of light, the smoke cleared and the angel Michael stood in the center of the stage, dapper as ever in his designer suit.
“So, Angus Lee, you are here to bring back to life the long-deceased leader of your organization, the notorious white supremacist Winston Marshall. A man deplorable by any rational standard, a man with little regard for other races, and not much more for women, either. This is the man you brought back among the living?”
“Yes, but if I may ask…”
“No, you know that’s not how this works. Your confirmation is all I need.”
With a flourish, Michael spun around, pointing an arm towards an empty chamber that had illuminated at his gesture. The motion also triggered the splitting of his suit as his wings unfurled and the remnants of the well-tailored garment falling to the stage. The studio’s choir began to sing as Michael lifted into the air and drifted over to the chamber, sparks dancing from one tip of his finger to the next. The sparks soon transitioned to a full conflagration of flames and bolts of electricity wrapped around the empty compartment.
“Now, this might not be the most unpredictable resurrection in the show’s history, but these ones certainly make for fun ones!” Michael said between flashes of light, a figure beginning to take shape in the room still engulfed in pyrotechnics.
Almost as soon as the body within appeared fully formed, the studio lights went utterly dark, an acrid smell of smoke hanging in the air. When the lights came back up, Angus and Michael no longer stood on the stage, but in the chamber with the newly-fleshed body, Angus fidgeting in a seat across from it and Michael leaning without a care against the rear wall. The prone figure on the floor had yet to awaken, but appeared to be that of a young black woman without much muscle tone to speak of. Michael stepped away from the wall, lifted the body onto the chair opposite Angus, then muttered under his breath as he placed a finger on the new occupant’s forehead before returning to the wall and speaking once more.
“Mr. Marshall. Welcome back from the great beyond.”
“What new trickery is this, Lucifer?” the resurrected Winston Marshall said, before covering his mouth, eyes wide in indignation.
“No trickery here, Mr. Marshall. You’re truly back on Earth, mortal once more, free from the torments of whatever section of Hell you’ve been calling home. Mr. Lee here, a member of your infamous Order of the Superiors, chose to bring you back to lead, though I’m not sure how happy they’ll be to welcome you back.”
“What’ve you done, boy? Out ta humiliate me, destroy us from the inside?”
“No, negress. Er, ma’am. Er, sir.”
“Negress?” Winston shot to his feet to lunge forward, stopping short when he saw the newly-darkened skin of his arm and hand before him.
With a simple motion, Michael waved him back to his seat. “He had every intention of returning you to your flock, but he had the misfortune of luck being on karma’s side tonight.”
“Luck? You been gamblin’ with mah life, boy?”
“Gambling as so many do nowadays, Mr. Marshall. Who can pass up the opportunity to bring someone back from the dead?”
“No, this isn’t natural.”
“Natural or not, it is real. Now you should know a couple things about your resurrection. First of all, you are practically invulnerable to harm in that nothing but old age can take your life once more. Mind, that does not mean you cannot feel pain. It simply means that no wound can kill you. Second, you will find you are unable to harm anyone through direct or indirect means, whether assault, theft, or any other sort of criminal activity. You will also find that causing emotional distress to others will be quite unpleasant as well.”
“Then why bring me back? I was already suffering.”
"Yes, and you still are. Nothing has changed on that front.”
“But why?”
The room went dark and the host stepped back onto the stage.
“Why indeed, audience?”
“Because,” they replied, “Heaven. Is. Boring!”
“Quite so, quite so indeed. Please join us next time for the next exciting batch of those hoping for a resurrection and the unintended consequences brought about as a result! Until then, I’m out!”
***
“Alright, viewers, it’s time for Mr. Lee to spin the Wheel of Angels. Mr. Lee, just to confirm, you are aware that the spin is irrevocable. The resurrection of your beloved leader must be handled by the angel whose name the wheel lands on.”
“I’m aware of that, yes. Having him back is the most important thing.”
“Then spin the wheel, Mr. Lee. Resurrection awaits!”
The studio audience roared as Angus Lee gave the wheel a mighty pull, the names of angels whizzing by too quick to read at first, then gradually slowing. Michael, Daniel, Aria, Gabriel, Lillith, the names went round and round. Angus watched with bated breath, excitement and dread taking their turns running across his face as one name or another popped up. Finally, the wheel settled on one of the names and the look of worry on Angus’ face proved his disappointment.
“Ah, the ever-just Michael. Probably not the choice you wanted given who you came to bring back from the other side, but here we are.”
“Yes. Here we are.”
“Such vitriol. You’ve not even seen the fruit of your request yet. Well, enough talk. Let’s get to what we’re all here for. Michael? Care to join us?”
The lights in the studio dimmed to a growing crescendo of fanfare. The audience began clapping rhythmically along with it as spotlights spun around the set and fog filled the air. Lasers shot through the fog, tracing a number of angelic forms roaming a graveyard and raising exuberant forms from their respective graves. Then with a massive flash of light, the smoke cleared and the angel Michael stood in the center of the stage, dapper as ever in his designer suit.
“So, Angus Lee, you are here to bring back to life the long-deceased leader of your organization, the notorious white supremacist Winston Marshall. A man deplorable by any rational standard, a man with little regard for other races, and not much more for women, either. This is the man you brought back among the living?”
“Yes, but if I may ask…”
“No, you know that’s not how this works. Your confirmation is all I need.”
With a flourish, Michael spun around, pointing an arm towards an empty chamber that had illuminated at his gesture. The motion also triggered the splitting of his suit as his wings unfurled and the remnants of the well-tailored garment falling to the stage. The studio’s choir began to sing as Michael lifted into the air and drifted over to the chamber, sparks dancing from one tip of his finger to the next. The sparks soon transitioned to a full conflagration of flames and bolts of electricity wrapped around the empty compartment.
“Now, this might not be the most unpredictable resurrection in the show’s history, but these ones certainly make for fun ones!” Michael said between flashes of light, a figure beginning to take shape in the room still engulfed in pyrotechnics.
Almost as soon as the body within appeared fully formed, the studio lights went utterly dark, an acrid smell of smoke hanging in the air. When the lights came back up, Angus and Michael no longer stood on the stage, but in the chamber with the newly-fleshed body, Angus fidgeting in a seat across from it and Michael leaning without a care against the rear wall. The prone figure on the floor had yet to awaken, but appeared to be that of a young black woman without much muscle tone to speak of. Michael stepped away from the wall, lifted the body onto the chair opposite Angus, then muttered under his breath as he placed a finger on the new occupant’s forehead before returning to the wall and speaking once more.
“Mr. Marshall. Welcome back from the great beyond.”
“What new trickery is this, Lucifer?” the resurrected Winston Marshall said, before covering his mouth, eyes wide in indignation.
“No trickery here, Mr. Marshall. You’re truly back on Earth, mortal once more, free from the torments of whatever section of Hell you’ve been calling home. Mr. Lee here, a member of your infamous Order of the Superiors, chose to bring you back to lead, though I’m not sure how happy they’ll be to welcome you back.”
“What’ve you done, boy? Out ta humiliate me, destroy us from the inside?”
“No, negress. Er, ma’am. Er, sir.”
“Negress?” Winston shot to his feet to lunge forward, stopping short when he saw the newly-darkened skin of his arm and hand before him.
With a simple motion, Michael waved him back to his seat. “He had every intention of returning you to your flock, but he had the misfortune of luck being on karma’s side tonight.”
“Luck? You been gamblin’ with mah life, boy?”
“Gambling as so many do nowadays, Mr. Marshall. Who can pass up the opportunity to bring someone back from the dead?”
“No, this isn’t natural.”
“Natural or not, it is real. Now you should know a couple things about your resurrection. First of all, you are practically invulnerable to harm in that nothing but old age can take your life once more. Mind, that does not mean you cannot feel pain. It simply means that no wound can kill you. Second, you will find you are unable to harm anyone through direct or indirect means, whether assault, theft, or any other sort of criminal activity. You will also find that causing emotional distress to others will be quite unpleasant as well.”
“Then why bring me back? I was already suffering.”
"Yes, and you still are. Nothing has changed on that front.”
“But why?”
The room went dark and the host stepped back onto the stage.
“Why indeed, audience?”
“Because,” they replied, “Heaven. Is. Boring!”
“Quite so, quite so indeed. Please join us next time for the next exciting batch of those hoping for a resurrection and the unintended consequences brought about as a result! Until then, I’m out!”
Monday, January 20, 2014
[014] - Reality's Tear
A response to this prompt, about a tear in the fabric of the universe, the only way to fix it being to sew it up.
***
No one wanted to take on the task of fixing the holes in the universe. Scientists couldn’t pinpoint what might have caused it, and remained even further from an explanation as to how people could pop out of existence or change into someone or something different before an observer’s eyes. All they could ascertain lay in the location of the anomaly (an unassuming town in Ohio) and that the effects grew ever-more widespread and frequent. Attempts to research it or close it proved fruitless, the instruments and remote controlled rovers falling prey to the unpredictable and impossible forces that spread forth. Various means of stopping it had been proposed, but no one wanted to bear that level of responsibility should their efforts only worsen the effects.
Henry hadn’t had any desire to come here to ground zero, but when he’d woken up to the message from his grandmother expressing her desire to help the universe get better (and subsequently hadn’t found her at her home), he’d felt obligated. Estranged from the rest of their family, Henry had always had a fondness for her and knew no one else would have concerned themselves overmuch with her departure. So he’d followed her to Chillicothe, a small town still chugging along on its own in spite of the growing abnormality in its center. Given that the effects had spread across the globe, Henry supposed that made sense. Why bother leaving when it could affect someone regardless of where they were?
The variety of warning signs guided him to the anomaly, and true to the news reports, nothing appeared out of place, save the occasional shimmer in the air that made the surroundings look like a reflection in a pong. Its location along the banks of the Scioto River made that seem even more apropos. Scanning both directions, Henry finally spotted his grandmother beyond the last of the barricades that lay between the epicenter and the rest. He rushed down from his elevated position on the embankment and called out.
“Grandma, what are you doing? That’s not safe!”
She glanced back at him, took another couple of steps, then did a double-take, coming to a stop and facing him. “Henry? It’s nice you came, but I can nurse this back to health by myself.”
“Nurse it back to health? That’s not a sick child, grandma.”
“Nonsense. Clearly the world’s caught cold. Can’t you see it?”
“No one can, they can only see the effects.”
“No one’s looking. People just don’t care anymore. This is just a symptom of that larger issue.”
“It’s a tear in the fabric of reality!”
“Well, time it was mended, then.”
“This isn’t one of your sweaters that you can knit back together, grandma. This could consume you before you even know it! Please step away from there before you’re gone!”
“A sweater? No, no, this will take a finer touch, it’ll need to be sewn back together.”
“It’s not a literal tear!” Henry had advanced beyond the barricades himself by this point, and gently grabbed his grandmother, trying to pull her away without success.
“It still needs to be fixed. They can talk about it on the TV all they want, but they certainly don’t seem to be doing anything.”
“And how do you plan on correcting this?”
“The same way as anything else, Henry. The material may be different, but the method is the same.”
“There is no material, though!”
“None that is plainly visible, perhaps. But that which comprises all of it is all around. Grass, rocks, water, the very air.”
“Grandma, come on. That’s crazy.”
“Crazier than someone vanishing into thin air? Crazier than a dog turning into a horse? Reality is the very thread needed to repair reality.”
“Well, no, but…”
“Shush.”
She put a finger to Henry’s lips and pulled her arm free from his grasp. She opened the bag she carried, revealing a variety of the items that she had just listed, then stepped forwards and vanished into the anomaly before he had a chance to react. The scenery flickered at her entry, and every now and then, Henry thought he could see her popping back through, an oddly glowing thread in her hands. Flashes of light soon accompanied the rippling in the air, and he heard his grandmother cry out.
Without thinking, he leapt forwards after her, and all of what he’d previously known vanished. The riverbank and hills vanished in a blink, replaced by a void that seemed to alternate between utter darkness and blinding light and occasional flashes of the more familiar world outside. In the emptiness, he saw a light flitting about, up and down, side to side, that he instinctually knew represented his grandmother. Along with this came a rush of knowledge, images from around the world filling his mind.
Henry groaned as an incessant pressure built in his head. A cacophony of voices rang out in every language imaginable. Glimpses of places around the Earth at various points in history passed before his eyes. Civilizations on planets other than his own. Equations that would previously have baffled him to no end popped into his mind’s eye and made perfect sense. Through it all, the pressure continued to grow, soon becoming an unbearable pain.
At his cry, his grandmother’s presence appeared before him and he found himself cast out into the cold waters of the Scioto. He gasped for breath and struggled to get back to his feet, head still pounding even as the excess of knowledge receded. Mere moments after he regained his footing, a strong wind blasted through the air and knocked him back into the river.
“You needn’t have bothered coming after me, Henry.” His grandmother’s voice accompanied her hand helping him out of the river.
“And let you sacrifice yourself?”
“I came out of it better than ever.” Henry had to admit the truth of that; she looked a good twenty years younger at least.
“How exactly is that? Have you done this before?”
“I may have done something similar, yes.”
“I assume that must have something to do with why my family is so estranged from you.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re certainly a font of information.”
“Hush and rest. The Space Between isn’t to be trifled with. I’m afraid you’ll likely not see the world the same way after this. Some of that knowledge will stick with you.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It is whatever you’ll make of it.”
True of life in general, Henry supposed. He closed his eyes and took his grandmother’s advice to rest. Answers could wait until later. Given the events of the day, Henry felt certain he and his grandmother would be spending more time together than ever before.
***
No one wanted to take on the task of fixing the holes in the universe. Scientists couldn’t pinpoint what might have caused it, and remained even further from an explanation as to how people could pop out of existence or change into someone or something different before an observer’s eyes. All they could ascertain lay in the location of the anomaly (an unassuming town in Ohio) and that the effects grew ever-more widespread and frequent. Attempts to research it or close it proved fruitless, the instruments and remote controlled rovers falling prey to the unpredictable and impossible forces that spread forth. Various means of stopping it had been proposed, but no one wanted to bear that level of responsibility should their efforts only worsen the effects.
Henry hadn’t had any desire to come here to ground zero, but when he’d woken up to the message from his grandmother expressing her desire to help the universe get better (and subsequently hadn’t found her at her home), he’d felt obligated. Estranged from the rest of their family, Henry had always had a fondness for her and knew no one else would have concerned themselves overmuch with her departure. So he’d followed her to Chillicothe, a small town still chugging along on its own in spite of the growing abnormality in its center. Given that the effects had spread across the globe, Henry supposed that made sense. Why bother leaving when it could affect someone regardless of where they were?
The variety of warning signs guided him to the anomaly, and true to the news reports, nothing appeared out of place, save the occasional shimmer in the air that made the surroundings look like a reflection in a pong. Its location along the banks of the Scioto River made that seem even more apropos. Scanning both directions, Henry finally spotted his grandmother beyond the last of the barricades that lay between the epicenter and the rest. He rushed down from his elevated position on the embankment and called out.
“Grandma, what are you doing? That’s not safe!”
She glanced back at him, took another couple of steps, then did a double-take, coming to a stop and facing him. “Henry? It’s nice you came, but I can nurse this back to health by myself.”
“Nurse it back to health? That’s not a sick child, grandma.”
“Nonsense. Clearly the world’s caught cold. Can’t you see it?”
“No one can, they can only see the effects.”
“No one’s looking. People just don’t care anymore. This is just a symptom of that larger issue.”
“It’s a tear in the fabric of reality!”
“Well, time it was mended, then.”
“This isn’t one of your sweaters that you can knit back together, grandma. This could consume you before you even know it! Please step away from there before you’re gone!”
“A sweater? No, no, this will take a finer touch, it’ll need to be sewn back together.”
“It’s not a literal tear!” Henry had advanced beyond the barricades himself by this point, and gently grabbed his grandmother, trying to pull her away without success.
“It still needs to be fixed. They can talk about it on the TV all they want, but they certainly don’t seem to be doing anything.”
“And how do you plan on correcting this?”
“The same way as anything else, Henry. The material may be different, but the method is the same.”
“There is no material, though!”
“None that is plainly visible, perhaps. But that which comprises all of it is all around. Grass, rocks, water, the very air.”
“Grandma, come on. That’s crazy.”
“Crazier than someone vanishing into thin air? Crazier than a dog turning into a horse? Reality is the very thread needed to repair reality.”
“Well, no, but…”
“Shush.”
She put a finger to Henry’s lips and pulled her arm free from his grasp. She opened the bag she carried, revealing a variety of the items that she had just listed, then stepped forwards and vanished into the anomaly before he had a chance to react. The scenery flickered at her entry, and every now and then, Henry thought he could see her popping back through, an oddly glowing thread in her hands. Flashes of light soon accompanied the rippling in the air, and he heard his grandmother cry out.
Without thinking, he leapt forwards after her, and all of what he’d previously known vanished. The riverbank and hills vanished in a blink, replaced by a void that seemed to alternate between utter darkness and blinding light and occasional flashes of the more familiar world outside. In the emptiness, he saw a light flitting about, up and down, side to side, that he instinctually knew represented his grandmother. Along with this came a rush of knowledge, images from around the world filling his mind.
Henry groaned as an incessant pressure built in his head. A cacophony of voices rang out in every language imaginable. Glimpses of places around the Earth at various points in history passed before his eyes. Civilizations on planets other than his own. Equations that would previously have baffled him to no end popped into his mind’s eye and made perfect sense. Through it all, the pressure continued to grow, soon becoming an unbearable pain.
At his cry, his grandmother’s presence appeared before him and he found himself cast out into the cold waters of the Scioto. He gasped for breath and struggled to get back to his feet, head still pounding even as the excess of knowledge receded. Mere moments after he regained his footing, a strong wind blasted through the air and knocked him back into the river.
“You needn’t have bothered coming after me, Henry.” His grandmother’s voice accompanied her hand helping him out of the river.
“And let you sacrifice yourself?”
“I came out of it better than ever.” Henry had to admit the truth of that; she looked a good twenty years younger at least.
“How exactly is that? Have you done this before?”
“I may have done something similar, yes.”
“I assume that must have something to do with why my family is so estranged from you.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re certainly a font of information.”
“Hush and rest. The Space Between isn’t to be trifled with. I’m afraid you’ll likely not see the world the same way after this. Some of that knowledge will stick with you.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“It is whatever you’ll make of it.”
True of life in general, Henry supposed. He closed his eyes and took his grandmother’s advice to rest. Answers could wait until later. Given the events of the day, Henry felt certain he and his grandmother would be spending more time together than ever before.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
[013] - Awakening
A response to this prompt, with a character waking from cyrosleep to find the lab in a abandoned and derelict state.
***
***
“…hell do you think you’re doing?” David’s outraged voice broke the silence.
Almost in response, he heard a hissing sound and that of
machinery struggling to accomplish its task.
The surface of the tube remained in place, not sliding in the fluid
manner Daniel recalled it closing in when it sealed him into the cold sleep he’d
never asked for. He pressed against the
frosted tube, thankful that the arm and leg restraints had at least released
their hold. Despite the added pressure
from his body, the tube remained just as stationary, but Daniel didn’t give
up. Somebody had to answer for this; he’d
never granted permission for anyone to put him under for anything. He half expected to burst free and find his
previous coworkers gathered around in amusement at his struggles, even though
none of them had themselves volunteered.
Bracing himself on the padded surface within the chamber,
Daniel forcefully kicked the closed panel, trying to give the machinery a
helping hand (or in this case, foot), but he remained ensconced within. Something must have malfunctioned, despite
all of the failsafes they’d gone on and on about even as they’d strapped him
inside. Flawless, his ass. See how they liked being trapped inside an
icy, sealed, claustrophobic test tube.
He flung himself forwards and slammed his shoulder against
the unyielding surface, and thought he felt it give slightly. Bracing himself, he tried again. This time, the frozen poly-whatever they’d
called it shattered, and Daniel toppled out to the laboratory floor outside,
his left shoulder landing directly on a jagged piece of the shattered tube.
“Son of a bitch!”
He looked at his shoulder, saw a piece of the tube embedded
there, and winced as he pulled it out.
Turning his attention aside from his wound, he realized the lab had
fallen into quite a state of disrepair.
None of the fluorescent lights cast any light, the only sources of it
stemming from some of the emergency lights and that making it through the
blinds over the windows. Every surface
he saw rested under a thick layer of dust, and numerous pieces of equipment lay
smashed and equally as coated by dust.
How long had they kept him under, and what had happened here?
Daniel walked to the window and looked through the blinds,
not comforted in the least by the view that presented itself. While the sun shone bright, the city--or what
remained of it--appeared preternaturally stagnant. Below, cars sat motionless in the streets,
many of which had extremely pockmarked surfaces, the highway overpass so
typically crowded with vehicles all but destroyed, only a slim strip of
pavement reaching over the rubble on the street below. The city’s buildings had not fared any
better. All of those visible had shattered
windows at best, but some previously noteworthy high-rises now existed as
little more than giant piles of shattered and twisted glass, rock, and metal.
Daniel stepped back from the window in a daze and tripping
on a frayed power cord, fell to the floor.
How could something like this have happened? Beyond that, why did the city appear so thoroughly
abandoned? Had North Korea or Iran
finally gone fully insane and launched a strike on America? He supposed he’d find out soon enough if he started
suffering the effects of radiation exposure.
Or maybe this was still a trick being played on him, making him think he’d
awakened from suspended animation to a post-apocalyptic wasteland when instead
they’d placed him in some exceptionally immersive virtual reality program.
“Okay guys, you had your fun. I’m damned sure none of this was in the
employment contract I signed, and if you don’t pull me out, I will sue the
ever-loving shit out of this company!”
No response, everything remained as it had upon his egress
from the tube. Daniel sighed. While it wouldn’t surprise him to have them
ignore his legal threat (from what he’d seen, management took an interest in
the scientists’ behavior only rarely), he had to at least entertain the baffling
possibility that he’d actually emerged from cyrosleep into this abandoned and
destroyed world. Another look around the
room confirmed he’d not find any useful information here. All the computer terminals lay smashed, and
given the state of the city, he imagined internet connectivity an impossibility
even if they’d remained in functioning order.
Before leaving the room, his gaze returned to where he’d so
recently broken free, and spotted three other tubes next to the one that had
held him. Only one of those had been
present when they’d sealed him in, but all three looked closed rather than
open. Figuring companionship would trump
solitude (even if this proved a mean-spirited joke from his coworkers), he
walked back over. In so doing, he noted
the locking mechanism on each had been destroyed. No wonder he’d had such trouble getting
free. A quick glance around revealed the
apparent tool used for the wonton destruction: a cast aside crowbar.
Daniel retrieved it and approached the first of the three,
coated in an exceptional amount of frost.
He tried to rub some of it clear without success, but through the ice on
the panel saw the release indicator flashing.
Wedging the crowbar into the hinge, he forced it open with a loud
cracking of ice. Inside lay an aged
Scott, a researcher hired a few months after Daniel, but his appearance made it
clear that his unit must have malfunctioned.
In addition to his frozen flesh, the pain and panic written on his face
told the rest of the story.
Shuddering at the thought that Scott’s fate could have
befallen him, Daniel moved to the next tube over, but didn’t even try to open
it. Its coolant tube lay severed behind
the unit, the body within not one Daniel recognized but already starting to
decompose, somewhat preserved by the sealed suspension chamber. He took a deep breath before advancing to the
final tube, telling himself not to get his hopes up. Solitude had to beat death, after all.
However, the last contained appeared neither damaged nor
exceptionally frosted over, and the woman within looked both awake and unable
to extricate herself. Daniel thought he
recognized her, but couldn’t place her name.
Staring openmouthed, he only snapped back to awareness at her renewed
pounding on the glass.
The tube groaned at the imposition of the crowbar, but
Daniel managed to force it open. The
woman stumbled out alert, head darting around and only returning to meet his
gaze once she seemed to convince herself that no immediate danger existed. Upon meeting his eyes, she looked just as
surprised to see him as he’d felt seeing her alive.
“Daniel?”
“Um, last time I checked.”
“We didn’t think--never mind that, how long have you been
out?”
“I dunno, a few minutes maybe. You seem familiar.”
“Stephanie. We were
in the same hiring class?”
“That can’t be right, she was…” he trailed off as her
appearance clicked. She’d looked at
least ten years younger the last time he’d seen her. “Younger.” He finished.
“Well, thanks for calling me old.”
“I-er, sorry.”
“To be fair, the last time we spoke I was a good
twenty-eight years younger.” How did
Scott and Beth fare?”
“About the same as the lab.
You went in together?”
“Yes, when the riots started.”
“Riots?”
“There was a nasty virus going around. Highly contagious and always fatal, without a
cure in sight. Cities were being quarantined,
flights grounded. People didn’t take it
well.” As she spoke, she went to the
window and her eyes widened.
“What else? Surely
all of this didn’t happen in response to a plague.”
“There was some talk of an extinction-level event, but no
definitive proof. Most of us wrote it
off as paranoia stemming from the spread of the virus.”
“Yet you put yourselves into suspended animation despite not
buying it.”
“I never said that was why we did it. That said, there may have been some truth to
the rumors.”
“Why’s that?”
“Shortly before we made our decision, Yellowstone erupted.”
“Shit. So what
prompted your choice prior to that?”
“We--well, Quasar Dynamics--may have had a role in creating
the virus. None of us, mind, we were
perfecting the cyrotech. Or trying to.”
“Yeah, thanks for volunteering me.”
“Wasn’t my call. I
actually argued against it, but the execs saw money and wanted a human
trial. They were none too pleased when
the awakening protocols failed to bring you back.”
“So you thought I was dead, then.”
“Assumed you must be, but we kept updating the software on
that initial unit of yours regardless because we couldn’t be sure.”
“So what now?”
“I guess we get to explore the future. Or what’s left of it.”
She gave Daniel a small smile, then they left the lab and
headed out into the new world that awaited them.
[012] - The Bet
This one was written in response to this prompt, in which a character finds they can teleport at will, but only while wearing a specific item and no other items whatsoever. As I've stated before, most of the writing I'm doing for this challenge has been on paper while at work, which is why it appears that I am behind (as there is the delay both of typing them up and of finishing the stories, as they tend to be longer than that which I can finish while on break/lunch at work). In any case, here's the response in question:
***
***
"Dude, you look ridiculous!"
"Well yeah, what did you expect? This," Justin motioned at his face, then the rest of himself, "doesn't exactly go with this."
'This' consisted of the garment on his body, the secondhand prom dress serving as quite the contrast to the face above, which hadn't seen a razor in a couple weeks. The chest and armpit hair that showed further highlighted the discrepancy, though Justin had to admit that Cory had done a remarkable job of finding a dress that fit him so well. Why he'd bothered baffled Justin; for one evening of humiliation, any feminine garb he'd have found would have sufficed so long as Justin could have squeezed himself into it. In any case, wearing the dress for an evening beat paying Craig the $200 he'd otherwise have to for losing that bet. He really had to stop getting so into sports.
"Yet."
"Yet?"
"A bet with $200 stakes and you think you're going to get away with just wearing a dress if you're electing not to pay cash? The dress didn't set me back that much. Karen's on her way to help with the rest."
"Your sister Karen...?" Justin trailed off, confused until he remembered that she worked as a cosmetologist. "Nuh-uh, no way."
"$200 sounds mighty good to me. I'll call her off if you just pay up now."
"Dream on. What's a little war paint?"
"Hey, it's your funeral. Don't let me stop you from becoming a pretty pretty princess."
"I think I'm fairly safe from that fate."
"I dunno, Karen does like herself a challenge, though it does look like you're trying to do the minimum to fulfill the bet."
"I'm wearing this silly dress, aren't I?"
"Yeah, but you're not wearing the stockings I also laid out, so it stands to reason you're not wearing the panties, either."
"Why do you care what I'm wearing under this?"
"You're the one that lost the bet. That means you follow my terms, or you pay up."
"You're not going to get all weird on me are you? This isn't some attempt to satisfy some twisted fetish of yours?"
"You got me. I've always longed for your sweet...man...bit..." Craig dissolved to laughter, unable to finish. "No, I just want to see you uncomfortable, just a bit of amusement."
"What if it's awakened something in me?" Justin wiggled his eyes and gave Craig a look of desire, licking his lips.
"Dude, not funny."
"Seemed pretty funny to me. But fine, I'll go put on the other items. Don't want you accusing me of not living up to the terms of the bet."
Justin left and headed back into Craig's guest room. He cast a dubious look at the opaque stockings and the silky pink panties, then shrugged. At least Craig hadn't procured a thong, as Justin imagined those would not provide much by means of comfort or containment. After he'd removed his usual underwear and picked up the silk panties, his mind drifted to when his ex had convinced him to wear a pair of hers. That had lasted only fleetingly, Debbie's arousal overriding any further explorations at the time.
As he prepared to step into the panties, his vision blurred and he felt dizzy, falling to the ground, surprised to feel it harder and colder than he'd have expected Craig's carpet to be. When his vision cleared, he realized that he'd somehow left Craig's apartment. Instead, he now lay in a kitchen all too familiar to him, the kitchen in Debbie's house, a good thirty minutes away at the least.
"Justin?" Debbie's voice filled the air, full of confusion and incredulity.
"Ah, hi?" he replied, turning his head towards her and hoping his voice sounded just as confused as hers.
"How'd you get here? And what are you wearing? Are those my panties?"
"No, they're uh--Craig's--or mine, for the evening, I guess. I lost a bet."
"So he sent you here to sneak in and humiliate yourself in front of me and my new boyfriend? Why are they in your hand? Are you naked under there? No, I don't want to know."
Always with the questions. Justin thought, remembering in full the grating tone her inquires and nagging questions could take.
"New boyfriend? Ah, shit." he looked the other direction, saw an average-enough looking guy standing in the entryway. "I don't even know how I got here."
"Well, green looks good on you." said Debbie's new beau, with a lame smile.
"Um, thanks?" He turned his attention back to his ex. "He seems nice, good for you."
"He is, not that your opinion matters. I think you should go. This is just weird."
"Quite."
"You're the one in drag, in your ex's house, interrupting a nice dinner with your sneaking in."
"Fully unintentional, I was just about to put on these panties, then I remembered that one night, and the next thing I knew, I was here."
"Well, maybe you should think about going downtown and hanging out with some of the other sleazy trannies instead of trying to win me back with the memory of one night of experimentation."
Her words summoned up the image of that shady area in his mind, and moments later he felt the same dizziness as before and his vision blurred once more. When it cleared, he found himself leaning against a wall along the very street he'd just thought of, the prostitutes already working all staring at his sudden appearance and assessing him.
"What the hell?" found himself saying in tandem with one of those also on the street.
"Not gonna get much action looking like that, hun. Plus, you generally want to keep your panties on, at least until you get a John." another said, upon approaching him.
"Thanks for the tip, not really planning on staying, though. Bye!"
Justin closed his eyes and imagined Craig's guest room once more, wishing to return there once more. He thought he might have felt a vague dizziness through his clenched eyes, and when he opened them, he sighed in relief at seeing the familiar walls of the room in which he'd started. What the heck had all that been? He stormed to the door to accuse Craig of--well, he didn't know what, exactly. Reconsidering, he figured he might at least put on the other items as Craig wouldn't drop the terms of the bet just because of strange events. Or a break with reality, which might make more sense given the impossibility of what had just happened. Regardless, he kept his mind clear as he slid on the panties and stockings, then stepped back into the main room of Craig's apartment.
"...went to the other room not two minutes ago. There's no way he drove twenty miles in two minutes, much less disappeared like Houdini when you were speaking to him." Craig shook his head and set down his phone, then looked over at Justin. "Dude, you ended things with your ex at the right time. She crazy, thinks you were just over there."
"I think maybe I was."
"Say again?"
"I was about to put on the panties, then remembered a night with Debbie, then next thing I knew, I was in her kitchen, interrupting a date with her new guy. You friends with a time-traveller or something who sold you a dress with teleportation powers?"
"Nope, unless my friend at the thrift shop isn't telling me something. So that actually happened, and you still put on the panties and stockings before rushing out here?"
"With my luck, you would have declared me in violation of the bet, then I'd be owing you $200."
"Yeah, true enough." His phone buzzed with a text message. "Karen's still about ten minutes away. Let's test your newfound power of teleportation in the interim. Go zap yourself to the gas station and grab us a couple beers."
"You want me to shoplift? I've always seen myself as more of a hero."
"Dude, get us free beer, you're a hero in my book."
"Fine. Just this once."
Justin envisioned the gas station in question, but nothing happened. No blurred vision, no dizziness. He closed his eyes and tried again. Craig still stood in front of him when he reopened his eyes.
"Well?"
"Nothing."
"I doubt both you and your ex shared a hallucination, so we're clearly missing something."
"I still think it's entirely possible I just went crazy."
"Also a possibility, yes. But let's try and rule out the impossible before we do something settle on something so mundane. You said that you'd been about to put on the panties when you found yourself at Debbie's, right? So you had not actually put them or the stockings on?"
"No, I hadn't, but why would this be limited to wearing the dress by itself?"
"Dude, it's teleportation. Who knows what sort of crazy restrictions it might have?"
"Fair enough."
Justin stripped off the stockings and panties, then tried thinking of the gas station once again. This time, the blurred vision returned and he found himself standing in front of the cooler holding the station's stock of beer. He opened it up and grabbed a couple, then willed himself back and tossed one of the beers to a shocked Craig. It hit his chest and fell to the floor.
"I'm not drinking that one, just so you know."
"That. Was. Awesome."
"Yeah. So what now?"
"Well, shit, you could do just about anything now, dude. Anywhere you've ever wanted to travel is a blink away! I might have to ask my friend to hook me up with one of those dresses that I can actually fit into!"
"Because I'm sure these are quite easy to find. People are always teleporting to their engagements. Go for it, at the very least we'll get a laugh of how silly you'd look."
"Nah, you're right. This is probably a one of a kind thing. At least we know you won't be able to teleport away in embarrassment tonight."
"Wait, what?"
"Bet's still on, man. We're heading out to Crossroads, why'd you think I was having Karen come over to doll you up?"
"Pictures for your amusement?"
"Nope, to see you squirm." Craig gave a wide smile.
"I hate you."
"Hey, I got you something you can use to travel wherever you want whenever you want. You're welcome."
"You're also making me go out in public dressed as a woman, to a bar where I'm likely to be hit on by guys. Not to mention that no gift I ever get you in the future would even compare to something that allows the wearer to teleport."
"Hey, girls go to that club, too, and I've seen more than a few leave with a crossdresser on their arm."
"I'm not really one by choice, though."
"Hey, if it results in you getting lucky, who are you to complain? Besides, if you ever want to teleport, that's going to require crossdressing just by the nature of the garment that allows it, so in those times it will be by choice."
"Well, technically, yes. Let's just get tonight over with."
"Hey, at least I'm not going to have you go to an adult video store like that."
Justin frowned at the thought of himself dressed like this in among the dirty DVDs and sexual objects, then found himself actually standing there. He quickly returned his thoughts to Craig's apartment and reappeared there, though not before someone had the chance to whistle at him.
"Dammit, Craig!"
He just laughed, and Justin joined in moments later. It had been pretty funny. Even so, to prevent any further unintentional departures, Justin put the panties and stockings back on. As he finished, Karen arrived, knocking on the door. Justin took a deep breath and steeled himself for the night to come.
He also suspected he'd need to meet with Karen after tonight, as well, if only to learn from her so as not to embarrass himself by not fitting in on his certain to come future excursions.
"Well yeah, what did you expect? This," Justin motioned at his face, then the rest of himself, "doesn't exactly go with this."
'This' consisted of the garment on his body, the secondhand prom dress serving as quite the contrast to the face above, which hadn't seen a razor in a couple weeks. The chest and armpit hair that showed further highlighted the discrepancy, though Justin had to admit that Cory had done a remarkable job of finding a dress that fit him so well. Why he'd bothered baffled Justin; for one evening of humiliation, any feminine garb he'd have found would have sufficed so long as Justin could have squeezed himself into it. In any case, wearing the dress for an evening beat paying Craig the $200 he'd otherwise have to for losing that bet. He really had to stop getting so into sports.
"Yet."
"Yet?"
"A bet with $200 stakes and you think you're going to get away with just wearing a dress if you're electing not to pay cash? The dress didn't set me back that much. Karen's on her way to help with the rest."
"Your sister Karen...?" Justin trailed off, confused until he remembered that she worked as a cosmetologist. "Nuh-uh, no way."
"$200 sounds mighty good to me. I'll call her off if you just pay up now."
"Dream on. What's a little war paint?"
"Hey, it's your funeral. Don't let me stop you from becoming a pretty pretty princess."
"I think I'm fairly safe from that fate."
"I dunno, Karen does like herself a challenge, though it does look like you're trying to do the minimum to fulfill the bet."
"I'm wearing this silly dress, aren't I?"
"Yeah, but you're not wearing the stockings I also laid out, so it stands to reason you're not wearing the panties, either."
"Why do you care what I'm wearing under this?"
"You're the one that lost the bet. That means you follow my terms, or you pay up."
"You're not going to get all weird on me are you? This isn't some attempt to satisfy some twisted fetish of yours?"
"You got me. I've always longed for your sweet...man...bit..." Craig dissolved to laughter, unable to finish. "No, I just want to see you uncomfortable, just a bit of amusement."
"What if it's awakened something in me?" Justin wiggled his eyes and gave Craig a look of desire, licking his lips.
"Dude, not funny."
"Seemed pretty funny to me. But fine, I'll go put on the other items. Don't want you accusing me of not living up to the terms of the bet."
Justin left and headed back into Craig's guest room. He cast a dubious look at the opaque stockings and the silky pink panties, then shrugged. At least Craig hadn't procured a thong, as Justin imagined those would not provide much by means of comfort or containment. After he'd removed his usual underwear and picked up the silk panties, his mind drifted to when his ex had convinced him to wear a pair of hers. That had lasted only fleetingly, Debbie's arousal overriding any further explorations at the time.
As he prepared to step into the panties, his vision blurred and he felt dizzy, falling to the ground, surprised to feel it harder and colder than he'd have expected Craig's carpet to be. When his vision cleared, he realized that he'd somehow left Craig's apartment. Instead, he now lay in a kitchen all too familiar to him, the kitchen in Debbie's house, a good thirty minutes away at the least.
"Justin?" Debbie's voice filled the air, full of confusion and incredulity.
"Ah, hi?" he replied, turning his head towards her and hoping his voice sounded just as confused as hers.
"How'd you get here? And what are you wearing? Are those my panties?"
"No, they're uh--Craig's--or mine, for the evening, I guess. I lost a bet."
"So he sent you here to sneak in and humiliate yourself in front of me and my new boyfriend? Why are they in your hand? Are you naked under there? No, I don't want to know."
Always with the questions. Justin thought, remembering in full the grating tone her inquires and nagging questions could take.
"New boyfriend? Ah, shit." he looked the other direction, saw an average-enough looking guy standing in the entryway. "I don't even know how I got here."
"Well, green looks good on you." said Debbie's new beau, with a lame smile.
"Um, thanks?" He turned his attention back to his ex. "He seems nice, good for you."
"He is, not that your opinion matters. I think you should go. This is just weird."
"Quite."
"You're the one in drag, in your ex's house, interrupting a nice dinner with your sneaking in."
"Fully unintentional, I was just about to put on these panties, then I remembered that one night, and the next thing I knew, I was here."
"Well, maybe you should think about going downtown and hanging out with some of the other sleazy trannies instead of trying to win me back with the memory of one night of experimentation."
Her words summoned up the image of that shady area in his mind, and moments later he felt the same dizziness as before and his vision blurred once more. When it cleared, he found himself leaning against a wall along the very street he'd just thought of, the prostitutes already working all staring at his sudden appearance and assessing him.
"What the hell?" found himself saying in tandem with one of those also on the street.
"Not gonna get much action looking like that, hun. Plus, you generally want to keep your panties on, at least until you get a John." another said, upon approaching him.
"Thanks for the tip, not really planning on staying, though. Bye!"
Justin closed his eyes and imagined Craig's guest room once more, wishing to return there once more. He thought he might have felt a vague dizziness through his clenched eyes, and when he opened them, he sighed in relief at seeing the familiar walls of the room in which he'd started. What the heck had all that been? He stormed to the door to accuse Craig of--well, he didn't know what, exactly. Reconsidering, he figured he might at least put on the other items as Craig wouldn't drop the terms of the bet just because of strange events. Or a break with reality, which might make more sense given the impossibility of what had just happened. Regardless, he kept his mind clear as he slid on the panties and stockings, then stepped back into the main room of Craig's apartment.
"...went to the other room not two minutes ago. There's no way he drove twenty miles in two minutes, much less disappeared like Houdini when you were speaking to him." Craig shook his head and set down his phone, then looked over at Justin. "Dude, you ended things with your ex at the right time. She crazy, thinks you were just over there."
"I think maybe I was."
"Say again?"
"I was about to put on the panties, then remembered a night with Debbie, then next thing I knew, I was in her kitchen, interrupting a date with her new guy. You friends with a time-traveller or something who sold you a dress with teleportation powers?"
"Nope, unless my friend at the thrift shop isn't telling me something. So that actually happened, and you still put on the panties and stockings before rushing out here?"
"With my luck, you would have declared me in violation of the bet, then I'd be owing you $200."
"Yeah, true enough." His phone buzzed with a text message. "Karen's still about ten minutes away. Let's test your newfound power of teleportation in the interim. Go zap yourself to the gas station and grab us a couple beers."
"You want me to shoplift? I've always seen myself as more of a hero."
"Dude, get us free beer, you're a hero in my book."
"Fine. Just this once."
Justin envisioned the gas station in question, but nothing happened. No blurred vision, no dizziness. He closed his eyes and tried again. Craig still stood in front of him when he reopened his eyes.
"Well?"
"Nothing."
"I doubt both you and your ex shared a hallucination, so we're clearly missing something."
"I still think it's entirely possible I just went crazy."
"Also a possibility, yes. But let's try and rule out the impossible before we do something settle on something so mundane. You said that you'd been about to put on the panties when you found yourself at Debbie's, right? So you had not actually put them or the stockings on?"
"No, I hadn't, but why would this be limited to wearing the dress by itself?"
"Dude, it's teleportation. Who knows what sort of crazy restrictions it might have?"
"Fair enough."
Justin stripped off the stockings and panties, then tried thinking of the gas station once again. This time, the blurred vision returned and he found himself standing in front of the cooler holding the station's stock of beer. He opened it up and grabbed a couple, then willed himself back and tossed one of the beers to a shocked Craig. It hit his chest and fell to the floor.
"I'm not drinking that one, just so you know."
"That. Was. Awesome."
"Yeah. So what now?"
"Well, shit, you could do just about anything now, dude. Anywhere you've ever wanted to travel is a blink away! I might have to ask my friend to hook me up with one of those dresses that I can actually fit into!"
"Because I'm sure these are quite easy to find. People are always teleporting to their engagements. Go for it, at the very least we'll get a laugh of how silly you'd look."
"Nah, you're right. This is probably a one of a kind thing. At least we know you won't be able to teleport away in embarrassment tonight."
"Wait, what?"
"Bet's still on, man. We're heading out to Crossroads, why'd you think I was having Karen come over to doll you up?"
"Pictures for your amusement?"
"Nope, to see you squirm." Craig gave a wide smile.
"I hate you."
"Hey, I got you something you can use to travel wherever you want whenever you want. You're welcome."
"You're also making me go out in public dressed as a woman, to a bar where I'm likely to be hit on by guys. Not to mention that no gift I ever get you in the future would even compare to something that allows the wearer to teleport."
"Hey, girls go to that club, too, and I've seen more than a few leave with a crossdresser on their arm."
"I'm not really one by choice, though."
"Hey, if it results in you getting lucky, who are you to complain? Besides, if you ever want to teleport, that's going to require crossdressing just by the nature of the garment that allows it, so in those times it will be by choice."
"Well, technically, yes. Let's just get tonight over with."
"Hey, at least I'm not going to have you go to an adult video store like that."
Justin frowned at the thought of himself dressed like this in among the dirty DVDs and sexual objects, then found himself actually standing there. He quickly returned his thoughts to Craig's apartment and reappeared there, though not before someone had the chance to whistle at him.
"Dammit, Craig!"
He just laughed, and Justin joined in moments later. It had been pretty funny. Even so, to prevent any further unintentional departures, Justin put the panties and stockings back on. As he finished, Karen arrived, knocking on the door. Justin took a deep breath and steeled himself for the night to come.
He also suspected he'd need to meet with Karen after tonight, as well, if only to learn from her so as not to embarrass himself by not fitting in on his certain to come future excursions.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
[011] - Tell us what you miss most about being a kid.
This one's autobiographical, but still a fresh piece of writing in response to this prompt. (Not as far behind as it might seem, as I've yet to type up some other pieces I've written that as of now still rest trapped in my poor handwriting on actual paper.)
***
In a practical sense, what I miss most about childhood is the freedom from any sort of financial obligations. No bills, no debts, no need for a job. No real need of money for any necessary purpose. Sure, it could be frustrating begging my parents for something they'd repeatedly say no to, but I didn't need any of that stuff. Now as an adult, I have to remain conscious of my choices to ensure I don't fall into a hole from which I can't extricate myself.
Financial considerations aside, I miss one other aspect of those early years far more. The weekly (and sometimes daily) times and sleepovers hanging out with my best friend. From second grade all the way through halfway through my eighth grade year, the two of us spent as much time together as possible. I've never had many friends as I'm something of an introvert, and none of my experiences with them have come anywhere close to the sheer level of enjoyment from those years.
We'd watch the occasional movie or television show together, or play games (whether competitively or just taking turns), but acting out scenarios took up the bulk of our time with each other. We envisioned ourselves as fictional versions of ourselves, oftentimes with superpowers, other times simply finding ourselves drawn into imagined scenarios beyond our control, using our imaginations to insert ourselves into and interact with our favorite media properties.
The flights of fancy that we sent ourselves on top the list of enjoyable moments in my life. Those years served as a constant, ever-changing story in which we starred, each 'to be continued' generating a nearly unbearable wait to get through the next day of classes to recess or whatever else might stand between the next time our respective parents agreed to have us see each other. Running around the playground, our respective yards and playgrounds, my family's pool, the usually-empty basement of my house (especially late at night when we should have been asleep), just playing our roles, saving the world, swapping bodies with our favorite characters, and all sorts of other perilous or amusing scenarios.
Moving away halfway through eighth grade largely put an end to those awesome times, the distance between Michigan and Georgia rather insurmountable. Still, we still managed some role-play sessions via instant messaging in those early days of the internet via our respective dial-up connections. Chris even came down to visit me for one awesome weekend when we again let our imaginations run rampant, transforming the world once again to our playground of fantasy for one last hurrah. I saw him a couple more times after we moved to Ohio and the distance no longer played as large a factor, but the times of letting our imaginations run free appeared over and we fell out of touch until we reconnected last year after I'd done an idle search for him online once again, and found he feels the same way as I do about those great years.
If I could, I'd go back and find some way to extend those times, but I'm happy to have had such an awesome string of experiences nonetheless. I keep my imagination fertile through writing, and hope that someday when I have kids, they can have a similar experience (or maybe if I'm lucky, I can play along should they elect to include me). Exploring the world of imagination with my best friend, that's what I miss most, both about being a kid and even in general.
***
In a practical sense, what I miss most about childhood is the freedom from any sort of financial obligations. No bills, no debts, no need for a job. No real need of money for any necessary purpose. Sure, it could be frustrating begging my parents for something they'd repeatedly say no to, but I didn't need any of that stuff. Now as an adult, I have to remain conscious of my choices to ensure I don't fall into a hole from which I can't extricate myself.
Financial considerations aside, I miss one other aspect of those early years far more. The weekly (and sometimes daily) times and sleepovers hanging out with my best friend. From second grade all the way through halfway through my eighth grade year, the two of us spent as much time together as possible. I've never had many friends as I'm something of an introvert, and none of my experiences with them have come anywhere close to the sheer level of enjoyment from those years.
We'd watch the occasional movie or television show together, or play games (whether competitively or just taking turns), but acting out scenarios took up the bulk of our time with each other. We envisioned ourselves as fictional versions of ourselves, oftentimes with superpowers, other times simply finding ourselves drawn into imagined scenarios beyond our control, using our imaginations to insert ourselves into and interact with our favorite media properties.
The flights of fancy that we sent ourselves on top the list of enjoyable moments in my life. Those years served as a constant, ever-changing story in which we starred, each 'to be continued' generating a nearly unbearable wait to get through the next day of classes to recess or whatever else might stand between the next time our respective parents agreed to have us see each other. Running around the playground, our respective yards and playgrounds, my family's pool, the usually-empty basement of my house (especially late at night when we should have been asleep), just playing our roles, saving the world, swapping bodies with our favorite characters, and all sorts of other perilous or amusing scenarios.
Moving away halfway through eighth grade largely put an end to those awesome times, the distance between Michigan and Georgia rather insurmountable. Still, we still managed some role-play sessions via instant messaging in those early days of the internet via our respective dial-up connections. Chris even came down to visit me for one awesome weekend when we again let our imaginations run rampant, transforming the world once again to our playground of fantasy for one last hurrah. I saw him a couple more times after we moved to Ohio and the distance no longer played as large a factor, but the times of letting our imaginations run free appeared over and we fell out of touch until we reconnected last year after I'd done an idle search for him online once again, and found he feels the same way as I do about those great years.
If I could, I'd go back and find some way to extend those times, but I'm happy to have had such an awesome string of experiences nonetheless. I keep my imagination fertile through writing, and hope that someday when I have kids, they can have a similar experience (or maybe if I'm lucky, I can play along should they elect to include me). Exploring the world of imagination with my best friend, that's what I miss most, both about being a kid and even in general.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
[010] - Waking up in a hospital bed to find your leg amputated.
Last one of the day, bit closer to catching up (just one behind as have one I need to type up that I'd previously written on paper). This one is a response to this prompt.
***
I awoke from sleep slower than usual, groggy and somewhat dazed as if suffering from the flu. I cleared my throat as I opened my eyes, confirming what I'd already thought. I did not lay in my own bed, nor anywhere else I'd like to. While the bed on which I found myself could have come from a hospital, the room in which it sat certainly wouldn't have met any sanitation standards even if it might once have served some medical purpose.
Light streaming through the shattered window illuminated dust motes floating through the air and graffiti marring the crumbling walls. An outdated monitor beeped consistently, hooked to a number of other pieces of equipment that might have been current a good twenty years ago. Looking over at a tray, my stomach grew even more unsettled upon seeing the rusted and blood covered tools sitting on a tray.
That unsettling feeling continued even as I rolled out of the bed to leave the creepy scenario as soon as I could. However, when I lowered myself to to floor to step away, I fell instantly, only one of my feet having touched the ground. I tried pushing myself back up, but again lacked the expected purchase. Looking down, my jitteryness turned to sheer panic. Whoever had brought me here had chopped off one of my legs!
The fact that dirty--and bloody--rags bound my new stump did even less to comfort me. No wonder I felt feverish, I probably had an infection. I yanked off the monitoring equipment and scrambled as best I could towards the door, then screamed in unexpected pain as my hand landed on shattered glass. In response, I heard footfalls rushing in my direction, and moments later a few people entered the room, two of whom wasted no time in lifting me and placing me back on the dingy hospital bed on which I'd awoken.
"Our client thanks you for your donation." That from the man who hadn't lifted me.
"I never agreed to any donation! And what need would they have for a leg? You can't transplant entire limbs!"
"Who said anything about a transplant? It was a donation for science."
"You chopped off my leg for science?"
"That's what I said, yes."
"Why would you even think that's okay?"
"Well, you're here, alive, and we're in an abandoned facility we own, far from any population center, and no police presence. That's okay by my book."
"Then you're certifiably insane."
"Some might even call me mad." I didn't care for the giggle he made at his own joke.
"I don't suppose there's any chance of you just letting me go?"
"No, no. We've still got work to do. I've got a number of projects I'd like to try."
"Me too, but none of them involve being the guinea pig of a madman."
"Sadly, it's not that easy to obtain new test subjects. It takes a significant amount of planning and is far too much hassle to go through. Not to mention that we can't have you running," that same annoying giggle, "free and spreading word about us."
"Hey, you let me go, I won't say anything."
"We could arrange that, yes, but there are other forms of communication."
"Why would you even do this?"
"Science, as we've already established. We're just talking in circles now. See you on the other side, subject 37." Accompanying this last statement, I felt a prick in my neck and felt myself drifting off.
"You've got thirty-seven other..." I started to say, but couldn't finish before I fell into unconsciousness, hoping that I wouldn't have to wake back up to further horrors.
***
I awoke from sleep slower than usual, groggy and somewhat dazed as if suffering from the flu. I cleared my throat as I opened my eyes, confirming what I'd already thought. I did not lay in my own bed, nor anywhere else I'd like to. While the bed on which I found myself could have come from a hospital, the room in which it sat certainly wouldn't have met any sanitation standards even if it might once have served some medical purpose.
Light streaming through the shattered window illuminated dust motes floating through the air and graffiti marring the crumbling walls. An outdated monitor beeped consistently, hooked to a number of other pieces of equipment that might have been current a good twenty years ago. Looking over at a tray, my stomach grew even more unsettled upon seeing the rusted and blood covered tools sitting on a tray.
That unsettling feeling continued even as I rolled out of the bed to leave the creepy scenario as soon as I could. However, when I lowered myself to to floor to step away, I fell instantly, only one of my feet having touched the ground. I tried pushing myself back up, but again lacked the expected purchase. Looking down, my jitteryness turned to sheer panic. Whoever had brought me here had chopped off one of my legs!
The fact that dirty--and bloody--rags bound my new stump did even less to comfort me. No wonder I felt feverish, I probably had an infection. I yanked off the monitoring equipment and scrambled as best I could towards the door, then screamed in unexpected pain as my hand landed on shattered glass. In response, I heard footfalls rushing in my direction, and moments later a few people entered the room, two of whom wasted no time in lifting me and placing me back on the dingy hospital bed on which I'd awoken.
"Our client thanks you for your donation." That from the man who hadn't lifted me.
"I never agreed to any donation! And what need would they have for a leg? You can't transplant entire limbs!"
"Who said anything about a transplant? It was a donation for science."
"You chopped off my leg for science?"
"That's what I said, yes."
"Why would you even think that's okay?"
"Well, you're here, alive, and we're in an abandoned facility we own, far from any population center, and no police presence. That's okay by my book."
"Then you're certifiably insane."
"Some might even call me mad." I didn't care for the giggle he made at his own joke.
"I don't suppose there's any chance of you just letting me go?"
"No, no. We've still got work to do. I've got a number of projects I'd like to try."
"Me too, but none of them involve being the guinea pig of a madman."
"Sadly, it's not that easy to obtain new test subjects. It takes a significant amount of planning and is far too much hassle to go through. Not to mention that we can't have you running," that same annoying giggle, "free and spreading word about us."
"Hey, you let me go, I won't say anything."
"We could arrange that, yes, but there are other forms of communication."
"Why would you even do this?"
"Science, as we've already established. We're just talking in circles now. See you on the other side, subject 37." Accompanying this last statement, I felt a prick in my neck and felt myself drifting off.
"You've got thirty-seven other..." I started to say, but couldn't finish before I fell into unconsciousness, hoping that I wouldn't have to wake back up to further horrors.
[009] - Flagg in Arendell
Did another of the scenarios presented in the prompt from the previous post (Stephen King's Randall Flagg character in a number of pre-existing universes), given that I wasn't a big fan of the Community one I did. So here's Scenario 9--Randall Flagg in the world of Frozen.
***
Randall Flagg looked down upon Arendelle, domain of the Snow Queen, from his perch on the mountain and smirked. Bringing his unique brand of destruction and chaos down upon the tranquil kingdom would bring him great pleasure. Although the queen had learned to control her powers, Flagg would see to it that she brought about the fall of her own kingdom and all those others found in this world.
He leapt off the cliff and allowed himself to drift to the ground below as if he had no more substance than a leaf. He couldn't remember the last time he'd traveled to a world in which magic's power remained so vibrant and powerful. Its strength tempted to him to take a more direct role in affairs, but he would try to restrain himself.
Summoning up the finest livery he could imagine in which to garb himself, Flagg entered the town and approached the castle gates. The guards let him pass, Flagg previously having introduced himself and had some preliminary meetings with Elsa under the guise of initiating a new trade agreement. So far, neither she nor her sister seemed to suspect anything, though Anna's boyfriend Kristoff had taken an immediate dislike to him. No matter, one couldn't please everyone. Case in point: that abnormal talking snowman. Olaf certainly tried to have everybody like him, but his overabundance of misplaced joy and optimism irritated Flagg to no end.
He'd only have to put up with that marginally longer, as Olaf played the first major role in Flagg's plan. Now that he had Elsa's ear, Flagg just needed to find the snowman alone, away from anyone else. As he walked down the main hall, he glanced to the side and saw that fortune must favor him; the sentient snow lay in the reading room off the hall. Flagg diverted himself.
"Olaf! Good to see you!"
"You too, Sir Flagg! I still can't get used to how awesome summer feels!"
"I'm sure. I'm personally a man of the cold myself, but I can certainly appreciate why some people enjoy the season. Speaking of that, how would you like to really *feel* summer, in here?" Flagg leaned in close and put his hand over Olaf's uppermost coal, using slight of hand to remove it and swap it with an ensorcelled one of his own.
"Warmth from within? Like love?"
"Oh no, I'm sure you're more than capable of that, friend. I was referring to the rush of blood through your body, the state of feeling warm through-and-through."
"Well, I like the snow, too, but yeah, that'd be nice!"
"Far be it from me to force anything on you. But I've some friends back home that might be able to craft a vacation body of sorts for you, if that's the sort of thing you'd be interested in."
"Thanks, Sir Flagg!"
Flagg waved kindly and left Olaf, heading in to meet Elsa.
"Randall, good of you to drop by again. Ready to sign the agreement?"
"Quite, but first, I'd like you to try this. Consider it a preview of the cuisine that will come to Arendelle." He reached into his carrying bag and removed a spiced cake, passing it to Elsa.
"Oh, well I'm afraid I don't have anything similar to offer you in return at the moment."
"That's more than alright, Queen Elsa. I've had plenty of chances to sample your delectable dishes in my time here already. It's only fair I return the favor. Please, don't restrain yourself on my account."
Elsa took a small bite at first, then smiled at the taste and quickly proceeded to finish the small treat. Flagg grinned widely, the pieces had fallen into place perfectly. Now he could proceed on to his business. Already some self-doubt should have worked its way into her mind from eating the enchanted pastry.
"I'm glad you like it. Your kingdom is certainly the better for it now that you've got a full handle on your powers."
"Yes, it seems that way, doesn't it? It still feels like they could break free at a moment's notice, though."
"And what a shame that would be. It almost destroyed your kingdom before, not to mention your dear sister. But at least those times have passed."
"Yes...they have."
"Are you feeling alright, Queen Elsa? You seem down."
"I'll be fine, just some bad memories. Would you mind coming back later?"
"Of course."
Flagg bowed, then turned and strode out of the room. Looking into the reading room, he saw that Olaf had melted to a puddle, just as he'd planned. He gave a wicked smile and glanced around to make sure no one could see him, then cast a glamour upon himself to make him appear as Elsa. Pretending to have a different identity always empowered him with the glee of deception.
"So...warm..." he heard Olaf say as he entered the room.
"I'm so sorry Olaf! I'm losing control of my powers again!"
"It's okay...you'll get them back!"
"I certainly hope so."
Flagg strode out of the room, and set out to find Anna, the only one capable of stopping his plans. In this reality, purity of love could defeat any magic, and he already knew Anna's love of her sister had allowed her to regain control. That couldn't happen again. But still, in this form, he'd have no problem getting close enough to murder Anna. Then he'd drop the glamour and continue on, allowing Elsa's doubts to grow and influencing her fall and turning her to chaos.
This world belonged to him now, and by extension, the Crimson King.
***
Sometimes it's refreshing to see evil win, and I figured if someone as despicable as Randall Flagg found his way into the worlds of Disney, he'd have no trouble accomplishing his goals (especially given the ease at which he does in many of King's own worlds, which are far less happy than those of Disney). In some of the other universes proposed in the prompt, I'm sure Flagg wouldn't be nearly as successful.
***
Randall Flagg looked down upon Arendelle, domain of the Snow Queen, from his perch on the mountain and smirked. Bringing his unique brand of destruction and chaos down upon the tranquil kingdom would bring him great pleasure. Although the queen had learned to control her powers, Flagg would see to it that she brought about the fall of her own kingdom and all those others found in this world.
He leapt off the cliff and allowed himself to drift to the ground below as if he had no more substance than a leaf. He couldn't remember the last time he'd traveled to a world in which magic's power remained so vibrant and powerful. Its strength tempted to him to take a more direct role in affairs, but he would try to restrain himself.
Summoning up the finest livery he could imagine in which to garb himself, Flagg entered the town and approached the castle gates. The guards let him pass, Flagg previously having introduced himself and had some preliminary meetings with Elsa under the guise of initiating a new trade agreement. So far, neither she nor her sister seemed to suspect anything, though Anna's boyfriend Kristoff had taken an immediate dislike to him. No matter, one couldn't please everyone. Case in point: that abnormal talking snowman. Olaf certainly tried to have everybody like him, but his overabundance of misplaced joy and optimism irritated Flagg to no end.
He'd only have to put up with that marginally longer, as Olaf played the first major role in Flagg's plan. Now that he had Elsa's ear, Flagg just needed to find the snowman alone, away from anyone else. As he walked down the main hall, he glanced to the side and saw that fortune must favor him; the sentient snow lay in the reading room off the hall. Flagg diverted himself.
"Olaf! Good to see you!"
"You too, Sir Flagg! I still can't get used to how awesome summer feels!"
"I'm sure. I'm personally a man of the cold myself, but I can certainly appreciate why some people enjoy the season. Speaking of that, how would you like to really *feel* summer, in here?" Flagg leaned in close and put his hand over Olaf's uppermost coal, using slight of hand to remove it and swap it with an ensorcelled one of his own.
"Warmth from within? Like love?"
"Oh no, I'm sure you're more than capable of that, friend. I was referring to the rush of blood through your body, the state of feeling warm through-and-through."
"Well, I like the snow, too, but yeah, that'd be nice!"
"Far be it from me to force anything on you. But I've some friends back home that might be able to craft a vacation body of sorts for you, if that's the sort of thing you'd be interested in."
"Thanks, Sir Flagg!"
Flagg waved kindly and left Olaf, heading in to meet Elsa.
"Randall, good of you to drop by again. Ready to sign the agreement?"
"Quite, but first, I'd like you to try this. Consider it a preview of the cuisine that will come to Arendelle." He reached into his carrying bag and removed a spiced cake, passing it to Elsa.
"Oh, well I'm afraid I don't have anything similar to offer you in return at the moment."
"That's more than alright, Queen Elsa. I've had plenty of chances to sample your delectable dishes in my time here already. It's only fair I return the favor. Please, don't restrain yourself on my account."
Elsa took a small bite at first, then smiled at the taste and quickly proceeded to finish the small treat. Flagg grinned widely, the pieces had fallen into place perfectly. Now he could proceed on to his business. Already some self-doubt should have worked its way into her mind from eating the enchanted pastry.
"I'm glad you like it. Your kingdom is certainly the better for it now that you've got a full handle on your powers."
"Yes, it seems that way, doesn't it? It still feels like they could break free at a moment's notice, though."
"And what a shame that would be. It almost destroyed your kingdom before, not to mention your dear sister. But at least those times have passed."
"Yes...they have."
"Are you feeling alright, Queen Elsa? You seem down."
"I'll be fine, just some bad memories. Would you mind coming back later?"
"Of course."
Flagg bowed, then turned and strode out of the room. Looking into the reading room, he saw that Olaf had melted to a puddle, just as he'd planned. He gave a wicked smile and glanced around to make sure no one could see him, then cast a glamour upon himself to make him appear as Elsa. Pretending to have a different identity always empowered him with the glee of deception.
"So...warm..." he heard Olaf say as he entered the room.
"I'm so sorry Olaf! I'm losing control of my powers again!"
"It's okay...you'll get them back!"
"I certainly hope so."
Flagg strode out of the room, and set out to find Anna, the only one capable of stopping his plans. In this reality, purity of love could defeat any magic, and he already knew Anna's love of her sister had allowed her to regain control. That couldn't happen again. But still, in this form, he'd have no problem getting close enough to murder Anna. Then he'd drop the glamour and continue on, allowing Elsa's doubts to grow and influencing her fall and turning her to chaos.
This world belonged to him now, and by extension, the Crimson King.
***
Sometimes it's refreshing to see evil win, and I figured if someone as despicable as Randall Flagg found his way into the worlds of Disney, he'd have no trouble accomplishing his goals (especially given the ease at which he does in many of King's own worlds, which are far less happy than those of Disney). In some of the other universes proposed in the prompt, I'm sure Flagg wouldn't be nearly as successful.
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