Toyah

A Mystic Missouri story.

1.1

In the midst of a smashed-flat neighborhood, surrounded the splintered and shattered homes, Toyah hunted for treasure. The little blonde-haired girl in a dirt-brown tunic slowly picked her way down the street. As she shuffled, slid, and skipped around the twisted wrecks of cars and trucks, climbed and jumped over fallen trees, she would occasionally pause and peer at her surroundings. On her shoulder, a small plastic and tin owl likewise swiveled its head, the tiny red beads set in its wide eyes sparking. Despite several stops, neither seemed to find anything interesting. Not until they were three blocks deep into the street did the owl make a fluttering of its plastic wings. The limited movement allowed by the simple hinge was useless for any sort of flight, even if it had been made from the right materials, but its rapid clicking alerted the girl that it had seen something. When she looked at it, the owl turned its tin head so that it’s beak pointed directly at a house three more plots down. The girl hurried over, scrambling over a crumbled brick half-wall, its metal grating lying in a tangled mess among the debris of the neighboring home.

Toyah appraised the building as she approached. Stopping a few feet from where several jagged spears of snapped frame stuck out from a heavy slab of concrete, it was clear there would be no climbing inside herself. She crouched down, noting that the slab and wooden frame slats hung over the ground by about half a foot, cloaking in shadow a broken, ground-level window that no doubt led into the basement. Toyah stood back up and opened the leather satchel she’d been lugging with her. Her fingers touched an object of polished wood, and she pulled out a wooden doll painted like a nutcracker soldier.

Toyah set the little wooden soldier down upon the grass. The red and blue and tan facsimile of a man wobbled for a moment, then righted itself. Its tiny, simple hinges squeaked a bit from long disuse. The young girl pointed forward, towards the massive pile of destroyed wood, brick, and metal. Taking a moment to make sure it had oriented itself, the little toy soldier waddled forward. Its legs were jointed only at the hips, forcing it to walk in a stilted shuffle, especially over the grass. Toyah frowned. This wouldn’t do at all. She picked it back up and inspected the legs. The whole toy was about eight inches tall, as long as her forearm, and the legs were wooden posts twice as thick as her finger. She concentrated for a moment, and the toy vibrated for a few seconds. Then, it went “limp.” The stiff material couldn’t sag, as such, but it’s limbs, which had been resolutely held forward, now dangled towards the ground, as the head turned slightly to the side as if at rest.

Bee-Box

Webfic Challenge: Write something off the cuff for 15 minutes. 

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The bee buzzed through the field, scanning for anything particularly interesting to inspect. Among the purple flowers, it saw the usual sources of pollen and nectar, but in the distance, beyond where its sight could usually stretch, it saw a deep red pulsing.

Ancient instincts stirred in its primitive nervous system. The pulse of light drew it in, a shade of crimson unlike any it had encountered before, were it able to remember. It alighted on the source of the glow, a plastic box that felt strange to its simple senses.

The box buzzed beneath it, a deep hum more felt than heard. In its mind, the bee felt a stirring. Something was forming, a notion, a thought, an idea beyond its simple desire for food and resources. Visions swam before its simple eyes, more complex than anything it had seen before. It had not the capacity to realize that what it saw was not truly there, but uncanny impulses in its mind.

It saw a distance it could not grasp. A field of endless darkness, broken by points of light, some clustered in strange spirals. It saw the growing illumination of one such source of light. As it neared, huge round shapes appeared from the darkness, streaked with all manner of colors, reflecting the shine of the ever growing light. And then, one such shape, blue and green and brown, streaked with white, loomed before it.

The vision continued forward, the new colorful sphere growing and growing as it came ever closer. Soon, it was so large that it engulfed the entire field of view. And as it neared, the darkness broken with specks of light faded away into a deep, glowing blue. Down and down the vision went, towards a patch of green. The color was solid at first, but become more complex as it neared, revealing specks of other colors. The vision flew fast, and the field overcame the vision entirely. The bee, in its limited awareness, understood that the vision had struck the ground.

For the briefest of moments, it was aware. It was aware of the box beyond being just a thing stuck to the ground. It was aware that the ground stretched far longer than it could have ever conceived, if it had even once thought about it. It was aware, suddenly, of what it was, and of the scale of its existence. Beneath it, the box hummed and glowed, and the bee felt itself begin to do something it had never done before. It began to remember…

And then, something cold and wet smacked into its back. Around it, small pattering sounds could be heard. Water. Falling. Rain. The bee flapped its wings in a panic and zipped into the air, knowing it had to find shelter. It would have to return to the… the what? Return? To the hive? No, not the hive, to something… red? Red… flower? Flower. Pollen. Food. No! Wet! Rain! Shelter! Then pollen, then… then it’s train of thought dissolved into the primitive instincts that had guided it and it’s hive all this time.

Behind it, the box’s hum faded to silence. Its glow died to nothing. All was still, save for the rain.

Orb of Power

Webfic Writing Challenge: Flash Fiction involving two friends fighting over an "Orb of Power."

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Two young faces were squished against the glass display case, both wide eyed and gaping. “Holy crud!” said Bryan. “Is that what I think it is?”

“The Orb of Power!” said Krystie. “Only a 1,000 copies were ever printed!”

Before them, resplendent on its little plastic stand, was a single card. Beneath its transparent protective sleeve, the card glistened with a reflective sheen, illuminating the dark purple boarder with highlights of golden shine. On the top half of the card, a picture of an old man in flowing white robes was ringed with a halo of silver reflection, holding aloft a shining bronze orb. Below was a grey box with a simple text: “When the Orb of Power enters the field, all opponents are unable to attack its wielder directly.” Below, more text was italicized: “Even the eternally anguished armies of the Deep Hells could not bare to bring harm to the one who stood in the shadow of the Orb. Its simple radiance held even the most embittered hearts in awe.”

Scrawled across the card was a scribbled autograph, unintelligible to the unlearned, yet instantly recognizable to any half-way dedicated player of the game. Signed by Salvador Amano, creator of The Majestic World Collectable Card Game. The Orb of Power had been released as a bonus at a recent convention, and now fetched unreasonable prices on eBay. To see a physical copy at their very own local comic store set the two kid’s hearts afire.

“DIBS!” cried Krystie.

“Hell no! I saw it first!” said Bryan, scowling.

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not times infinity!”

“Did so times infinity plus one!”

“Your mom times infinity plus infinity!”

Bryan faltered for a second. “That… that doesn’t even make sense!”

But Krystie was already flagging down the shop owner, not waiting to see Bryan’s reaction. “I want the Orb of Power card! Please please please please please I saw it first me me me!”

Old Harold sighed and rolled his eyes, “You kids aren’t even going to be playing that game anymore by next month. How many other cards are collecting dust in your closet?”

“I don’t care, I want it now!” said Krystie, pouting and crossing her arms.

“Hey, man, I saw it first! I want it!”

“Well, I want it more, which is why I got to the owner first.”

“It’s worth at least one hundred dollars, you know,” said Harold. “Collectors item and all that.”

That gave both kids pause. They pulled out their wallets and frowned at their meager ten dollars each. Their parents were not likely to give either of them a sudden ninety dollar allowance increase.

They glanced at the card, crestfallen for a moment, then shrugged. “The Majestic World sucks anyway,” said Bryan.

“Yeah,” said Krystie. “Let’s get some Dark War cards instead!”

“Alright!”

Harold sighed, dragging out the longbox of cards, the poor Orb of Power already forgotten. Kids these days...

Tabitha's Defiance

Webfic Writing Challenge: Write a story using only dialogue, 1000 word limit.

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“Tabitha.”

“Lord Luc.”

“Why are you here?”

“Is it true? All this is just a game? This whole war, these witch hunts, the Final Day? Is it just a game to all of you?”

“…”

“Well?!”

“Tabitha, do you know what eternity is like?”

“What? What does—?”

“It’s agony. The agony of endless ennui. We’ve existed for so long, infinity doesn’t even seem a fitting descriptor. Much of that time, we were insane. There was only us, and the prison that is our universe. It was only when we discovered the means to bend our universe to our whim, that we finally saw the salvation to our pain. For eons, we toyed with the fundement of our prison, until one of us, none remember who, learned how to make worlds. But even that grew dull after a time. It was not until another one of us discovered how to make life, that things finally became truly interesting.”

“So it is all a game. Just entertainment.”

“Yes. And this calamity you wish to stop. The end of the world. It’s just our way of wiping the slate clean, and starting over. All of us gods, we’ll switch roles around. I look forward to playing one of the Tricksters next time. Being the Lord of Justice gets dull after a while.”

“Fifty years. Fifty years, I dedicated to you, Luc. Fifty years I fought against the forces of Savic, believing he was the ultimate evil of the world. But it’s all of you. Millions of people suffering and dying with your names on their lips, and you both, you all, don’t even give it a second thought do you? You’re all just acting. All of us in the world, we’re just your props.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t… I mean you… you create us… you raise us… you develop our worlds… don’t you care? Even a little damned bit?”

“If we didn’t, we wouldn’t do it at all. We’d be making something else. But no game has thrilled us more so than this little role play we’ve devised. Alas no session can last indefinitely, or the boredom eventually sets in again. That’s the worst part of it. No matter how wonderful a creation we make, even something that may enthrall us for a billion eons, it all eventually goes to rust, even our love for it. Nothing, it seems, is truly eternal. Nothing but us, and the horror of infinity ever clawing at the edges of our sanity.”

“…”

“Tabitha, do you understand?”

“How many know?”

“Once every few Cycles one of you finds out. Sometimes they sympathize and accept the inevitable, as we do. Some, however, seek to defy it. But they cannot do what we ourselves are incapable of. Even our greatest creation has never been able to exceed us, and free us from our prison of existence and need.”

“I see.”

“So what will you do, Tabitha? Will you accept your role, as I have accepted mine? Or will you try to do the impossible?”

“…”

“Well?”

“…”

“What’s that you have there, child?”

“You say this universe is your prison. So you’ve never been able to leave?”

“No. We would have, if we could.”

“And nothing has ever come into the universe, from the outside?”

“The many dimensions and planes you know of are our creation. Our definition of ‘universe’ is broader than your own perception.”

“I know what you define as the universe. I’m asking you, have you ever encountered something from outside it?”

“No. What are you getting at child?”

“Do you know what this thing in my hand is?”

“No.”

“You don’t recognize it at all? You can’t just tell, with all your divine intuition?”

“I… cannot… What is that thing?”

“I think, my former Lord, that I know what choice to make.”

“What are you—hrk!”

“I’m going to break your Cycle.”

“I--! What is--what is this--?”

“Eternity’s end.”

“Impossible! Impossi…hck… ch-child… this won’t… stop anything… the Final Day is coming… all you’re… going to do… is prevent the world… from being reborn… hhhhhhh…”

“…”

“…”

“…I know.”

Sustra and the Machine

For several days, Sustra had trekked through the desert, a seemingly endless stretch of light brown sand visible for miles in every direction. Her red cloak and black and white hair stirred in the breeze. The only sound she made was the soft swish of sand beneath her boots, and the occasional pat of her pack and weapons as she dropped down or jumped up on the uneven ground. Overhead, the sky had thankfully dimmed from a gathering of grey clouds. However, no rain fell. Instead, warm air shifted sand to and fro, as if not quite decided whether to create a storm or not.

Sustra hoped for the latter. There was no telling how close she was to her goal. The map was all but useless in the vast expanse of this desert. There were no landmarks, not even any animals or plants to at least indicate she was getting close to something. In the days she had walked, she had not seen so much as a single oasis.

Her journey came to a brief halt as she scaled another dune, only to find the other side ended in s steep drop off. A great crater, perhaps half a mile wide, stretched out before her. In its center was a single structure. Sustra approached it slowly, sliding down the sandy crater side until she reached the relatively flat bottom.

The structure was an old building of brick, collapsed into itself from who knew how many years of neglect. Through the gaps, she could see glints of sand-scoured metal, half-melted or torn, the remnants of some great machine. Most of the structure was buried in sand, and even the exposed parts were caked in piles of it. Perhaps the structure had once been fully buried, and the winds recently uncovered it. There was no telling how tall the building had once been, but the ruins were wide enough to hold hundreds of people.

Sustra circled the structure slowly, looking for any sign of recent use. From the look of things, no one had touched it in years. She gave it one final glance over, frowning, wondering what it might have been. Then, she turned to continue her journey.

A moment later, however, the ground beneath her suddenly shook. Nimble as she was, she managed to leap and run while avoiding spilling face first on the ground. Fearing that the building behind her might be caving in, she dashed hastily for the crater’s edge without looking back. Only when she reached it, did the shaking stop, and she realized the ground wasn’t sliding out from beneath her.

She then saw the ground darken around her, as something cast a great shadow, even in washed out light of the overcast sky. Sustra whirled and her eyes widened as she saw a great form rising from the center of the crater. Where once had stood the ruins of the building, there now kneeled, on hands and knees, an enormous humanoid machine. A great robot made of rusted, scorched, and bent metal, dropping wires and cords, packed earth and chunks of glass embedded in its frame. The pieces of brick and chunks of metal from the former building rolling off its back. The creature was the size of a whale, at least a hundred feet long and two dozen tall, even kneeling. A great cylindrical head, bedecked with six circular pits, was the size of Sustra herself. Though it bore no facial features, one of the pits was covered in a red lens, which glowed dully.

Beneath her cloak, Sustra’s hands were already gripping her shotgun and rapier. But she paused before drawing them. The great, decayed robot stared down at her, looming over her, but it did not move. Sustra and the machine stared at one another for several long seconds. Then, the machine made a sound.

A deep bass tone emanated from it, causing it’s looser parts to rattle, and Sustra to wince slightly. The sound seemed to come more from it’s chest than it’s head. As the tone sounded, the single remaining lens on it’s “face” flared a bit brighter. The entity paused for a moment, and then sounded again, this time modifying the tone several times. There was an almost musical quality to it.

Sustra let go of her weapons, and instead slowly reached behind her back and pulled out her electric guitar. She made a single strum on the strings. The robot’s eye  flickered, and one of it’s empty sockets sparked. It made another sound, a high whistle. Sustra replied with a high note on her instrument.

The robot made several light notes in a steady beat, then uttered a song, deep electronic tones. Sustra lightly played her guitar, matching the tune for a moment, before adding a chord of her own. For a moment, traveler and machine were synched in melody.

Then the machine shifted its head in what could have been a nod, and went silent. Sustra ceased her playing. As she watched, the light in the robot’s eye faded, and it sank towards the ground, folding into itself and half digging into the sand. As it did, a slight gust went through the crater, and the grey clouds finally set loose their bounty. Light rain pattered around her. She turned her face to the sky, removing her wide brimmed, pointed hat and opened her mouth to taste the drops.

Then she climbed the edge of the crater, and continued on her way.

A Little Trip

Webfic Writing Challenge: Write a story involving a person with a disability, 2000 word limit.

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With a solid kick, Jast dislodged the door of the all-terrain, six-wheeler truck, sending it flying a few dozen feet away. Getting a good foothold on the edge of the door frame, he leaped away from the toppled vehicle, his prodigious strength sending him arcing through the air. Twins hunks of metal and wire trailed off his shoulders, throwing off his weight more than he expected. He tried to land on his feet, but his trajectory was already spinning at an awkward angle. Only a quick curling of his torso allowed him to avoid face planting into the ground. Instead, he used his momentum to hit the ground in a roll, somersaulting twice, then thrust himself onto his feet. His landing left a bare streak in the thin layer of mud that caked the ground, leaving some plastered on his back.

After he’d steadied himself, he looked at his trashed vehicle, now about thirty feet away. He looked up to see the rugged cliffs on either side of him; the narrow gorge he’d fallen in was at least a hundred feet deep. The bright noon sun was just overhead, illuminating the dull tan and grey layers of the rock, and the dark brown mud of the gorge’s bottom. It wouldn’t be long before the sun moved on, leaving the gorge in deep shadow.

As Jast’s his eyes trailed down the rock wall and back to the truck, he noted that around the six-wheeler, several large chunks of logs had all but shattered upon impact with the ground around the vehicle. He sighed. What had appeared to be a solid natural bridge, over grown and half-covered in earth, had in fact been a log bridge so old and rotten, he doubted it would have held half the weight of his vehicle.

He glanced to either side of himself. He was more or less okay; his natural body was superhumanly strong and durable. He could have dropped down from the cliff and landed on his feet without a problem, but being thrown around the truck as it banged off the sides of the cliff had sent him spinning. While it hadn’t done much to hurt him, the experience had once again proven that his robotic arms were less durable than he was. They hung limply at his sides, the left arm dangling only by some cords, the right noticeably bent, the delicate gears and pistons crushed out of alignment. Don’t let the comics fool you; cyborg tech had nothing on good old fashioned invulnerability.

Having arms was useful, though. It meant not always having to use his feet as exceptionally clumsy hands. They would have been great for helping him scale the sides of the gorge. He glanced back and forth, looking for the shortest distance between the two rock walls. He noticed a spot that seemed a bit narrower than the rest, where only fifty feet separated them.

He glanced at his right arm. It was still powered, even though it refused to move; the com-link built into the forearm should still be working. He knelt down, positioning the limp prosthetic along his right knee. He pushed his nose against the small panel and nudged it up, then bumped a small button beneath.

Static sounded from the tiny speaker next to the button. Jast scowled. Shaking his head, he stood up and went to the truck, stopping at the windshield. He looked inside until he spotted a piece of bright red just behind the seat. Lacking a more graceful option, he kicked the windshield solidly, shattering it. He swept the crumbling glass away with his foot. Kneeling down, he waddled into the truck’s cabin, leaned down, and used his teeth to grip the red cloth. A solid yank pulled his travel pack free.

Shuffling back out of the truck, he spent another half a minute wriggling his right arm through the straps, then tying it securely to that side. Then, he returned to the narrower part of the gorge. He stood at one end, took a breath, then dashed to the other wall. About halfway into his run, he leaped as high as he could.

He managed a good twenty-five feet high, and his boots planted solidly against the wall. Unfortunately, its rough surface, the mud on his shoes, and the lopsided weight of the pack made him slip as he tried to push off. He tumbled to the ground, belly-flopping onto the thin layer of mud over hard earth. Invulnerable or not, the force of the blow knocked the wind out of him.

After several agonizing moments of breathlessness, he managed to gasp and cough some air in and out of his lungs, until he could breathe normally again. Rolling onto his feet once more, he was now utterly drenched in the dark mud. Sighing in frustration, he took a moment to collect himself, then tried again.

After the third failed attempt, he had the idea to kick his boots off, hoping that he could use his toes for an extra grip, When that didn’t quite work out, he used his feet to scrape a line of the ground free of the thin mud, then scraped the soles clean on the rock face before trying once more. Even then, his strongest kicks landed him well below the apex of his leap.

By the time he finally landed on the grassy top of the gorge, the shadows had already swallowed its bottom. Jast lay on the ground, breathing heavily. He wished his strength was as considerable as his durability. Then maybe he could have just leaped over the whole damn thing. With a small huff, he rolled onto his feet again. Glancing around, he assessed his location, and let out an irritated groan as he saw he was back on the side of the gorge he’d started at.

Well, at least now his com-link worked. Taking a seat beneath a nearby tree, he made the call to headquarters, and waited.

Tabitha Monki vs Marcus

"What are you saying?  That you don't care anymore?!  It can't be that simple!"  Tabitha couldn't hold back the tears.  Marcus simply looked at her indifferently.

"I had thought, for a time, that I could regain what I lost," he said.  "Regain my nobility.  Regain my purpose.  But I guess all it was delusion.  I let my love for you blind me to the fact that nothing really changed."

Tabitha forced back her tears.  "So... what?  Now you don't love me anymore, and you've given up?  Is that all I've been to you?  A distraction?"

Marcus shrugged.  "Call it what you will.  Distraction... a fling... maybe it was just one of those flashpan romances."

"So what will you do now?" said Tabitha.

"Whatever I want," he said.  "I no longer care about this world... but then, I'm not ready to just go back to sleep."  He smirked, turning to Tabitha.  "Maybe I'll treat myself to a bit of conquest.  These people really could use a strong, guiding hand, don't you think?"

Tabitha's gaze hardened.  Her sword materiallized in her hand.  "Do anything to this world, and I will stop you.  I don't care who you are... I haven't given up on them."

Marcus smirked.  "I know," he said, snapping his fingers.  Tabitha cursed as a pillar of fire erupted beneath her, searing away her skin almost faster than it could regenerate.  By the time to spell ended, and she got to her feet, Marcus was already beyond her reach, his emerald draconic form racing off beyond the horizon.

Sighing shakily, Tabitha sank to the ground, tears flowing again.  She was supposed to be the Defender of the Earth; why couldn't she have seen this coming?  She pulled her hand away and looked at her tear-stained glove.  It had been centuries since she had cried, centuries since she had gotten close enough to someone to let them hurt her that badly.

Standing, she composed herself.  Things would be harder now.  She was on her own.  But as ever, forever, she still had her mission.  She turned and trudged back to the airship.

"Hey!  Earth to Tabby!  Hello! ... If the Captain does not respond by the count of ten, I am going to walk over there and pants her.  One... two..."

Tabby casually snagged Monki's hand just as the fingers touched her belt and judo flipped the girl halfway across the deck of the airship without so much as turning around.

"About time I got your attention," said Monki, rebounding off the deck and leaping back towards the helm, perching on the railing just infront of Tabitha.  "What's up?  You thinking about some hot guy?"