For days they walked across hot sand
With a pair of matching iron bands
A parting gift from the Pinkerton
Their past had set the scene
Where they were headed nobody knows
Where they wound up is why the story’s told
A tale of broken hearts
A death for one named Gene
Gene and Bobby Joe were tied
To one another like a steer and hide
The bane of those who traveled west
To escape a life of fear and stress
Why they robbed and killed them folk
It must have been for show
They had everything they’d ever want
When it was just Gene and Bobby Joe
The day Gene died the world stopped
For our hero Bobby Joe
They kept on livin’, though deep inside
Their ache forever grows
Now Gene was known to run their mouth
It’s how they got so known
Until the law caught up with them
in a barn near San Antone
A deal was made with Bobbie Joe
To end their heinous sport
Or watch poor Gene be one with dirt
and food for bugs below
The day Gene died the world stopped
For our hero Bobby Joe
They kept on livin’, though deep inside
Their ache forever grows
Bobby Joe did what must be done
For the sake of love and Gene
Years went by without a word
It was a quiet life they’d lead
But when trouble brewed one fateful day
And a familiar face was seen
Their guns went up and they both knew
What Bobby Joe must do for Gene
The day Gene died the world stopped
For our hero Bobby Joe
They kept on livin’, though deep inside
Their ache forever grows
It might be April Fool's Day, but this is no joke - Please Be Prompt is back!
Co-hosts Ryan Rimmele and Joshua Witsaman return with a pair of poems based on the above prompt. The hosts also discuss how their processes differ when writing poetry versus prose.
It’s confusing isn’t it?
When the sun rises and the sun sets
When the moon and the stars remain in the sky
When flowers bloom and leaves fall
But it’s not confusing
When a witch smokes a cigarette in a lake.
When her thoughts of cathedrals drift as easy as the swan behind her
Holding his driver in hand desperate for the golf ball he knows landed nearby
It’s not confusing
When a clock melts into a pool of radiant hues
When a horse sprouts wings and asks if you party
When your right hand converges with the universe and erupts into a heavenly choir
It’s not confusing
When spiders crawl through your eyes as you lie awake
When the pope‘s blood-filled mouth screams in horror after dinner
When the man with no face tells you how you’re going to die
When the abnormal becomes the everyday
When visions are all that you see
Confusion turns on its head
And your head turns on you
Stones which, until that day, had been stacked high as towers and walls.
Looming, venerable, oppressive walls.
But now they serve to provide stability, for her footsteps.
Serenely she marches into the tarn
In triumph, that daughter of Hecate strides the rippled mirror
Where regal swans so recently floated.
Such cygnids took flight, disturbed by assaults on ramparts nearby
As coven, together found, new freedom.
Sisters of the lineage, undoing false consecrations.
Spells were cast, skulls were cracked, and sunk was that blighted cathedral.
No fowl could be seen on the water now.
As fiery thoughts temper there, madame lights a cigarette.
Victory can provide hope hereafter.
But greed and chance bring about a different kind of holey land
Flags spring up there, during that brief repose.
Returned - the swans now play golf, where those mistresses were bloodied.
Heedlessly, victory has been usurped.
Witches know well the nature of Time - yet still are cursed by it.
A coven collectively drowned beneath,
The deluge of opportunists, who always seem to prevail.
The Prompt:
Write a story about a liar and include a time machine. Also use the sentence - "This means war"
On this episode of the the show co-hosts Ryan Rimmele and Joshua Witsaman welcome guest Daniel Kearsey! That means of course there will be a trio of stories based upon this prompt.
The first deals with a post apocalyptic future and the slim hope for something better. The second deals with old friends who might be older than you realize. And the third tale of the episode deals with brothers whose imaginations might be closer to reality than they realize.
Today was the day for Gelbrax Dufrain!
At last he was being honored for the many achievements which he had achieved and the varied talents for which he was talented.
He had trained his entire life for this moment. It hadn’t always been easy and it certainly hadn’t been quick, he was 157 years old after all, but at last he was here, standing within the capital halls of the intergalactic presidium itself!
With his head held high Gelbrax ascended the staircase toward the grandstand.
There at the top awaited Twilla Zorbell – intergalactic sovereign vizier! Chief Executive Administrator of all known worlds and distinguished commander of the eternal defensive fleets of the Galactic Hegemony.
Upon reaching the zenith of the hovering staircase Gelbrax took a knee and bowed his head before the Intergalactic Sovereign Vizier, precisely as he’d been instructed.
“This is a tremendous day for all sentient life in the galaxy!” ISV Twilla Zorbell declared, raising her hands in a sweeping gesture of diplomatic accord. The motion was quite exaggerated and overblown in person, but something that would play well to the bajillions of registered voters watching at home via videofeed across countless exoplanets galaxy-wide.
“We are here today to declare Gelbrax Dufrain the undisputed, verifiably, and scientifically proven greatest liar in the entire galaxy!”
A tremendous cheer erupted from the throngs in attendance at the presidium and Gelbrax rose to his feet to accept their adulation and receive the accompanying plaque which went along with this distinguished honor.
It was true. Gelbrax Dufrain was the pinnacle of professional liars.
There of course was some natural talent which Gelbrax had exhibited from a young age, but there had also been a single-minded determination and constant strenuous training, which went into making him the best.
Gelbrax was not only a skilled liar, but lived his life within a convoluted series of lies.
Lying was so ingrained in his personality, that it literally became his entire existence.
He had made a life out of lying. Money, home, friends – every part of his regular day-to-day was fueled through a constant stream of lies.
Of course Gelbrax was charming, that was a large part of what made his lies so successful.
He spoke with such confidence, alertness, and poise that he made the most ridiculous and ethereal concepts seem as plausible as a photograph in your hand.
Earlier in his career Gelbrax briefly contemplated getting into politics, or enrolling in the propaganda ministry but he had a passion to be the greatest, and politics was the realm of petty liars.
He didn’t lie for wealth or power, but rather for a love of the craft.
In many ways Gelbrax saw himself as an artist.
“Gelbrax Dufrain for your continued excellence in the realms of falsehood and misdirection, for your fundamental contributions to the science of lying, and for your unparalleled achievements with verbal and written perfidiousness I present to you the title of the Galaxies Greatest Liar and Honorary Perjurer Laureate of our Galactic Hegemony!”
ISV Zorbell held up the highly filigreed plaque, accentuating its golden accents showing off the prestigious award for the audience and those viewing across the cosmos.
Gelbrax reached out to accept the award but was startled when he heard a guttural shout issuing from the bottom of the stairwell.
“This will be your end!” A voice cried out. “This means war!”
It was an ambassador from the planet of Rellowdol who Gelbrax had seen waiting in the wings.
Gelbrax was initially annoyed by this rude interruption.
The Rellowdolian delegation was scheduled next on the docket, they had some peace treaty or something like that to present. Gelbrax didn’t really know, he hadn’t been paying attention, plus he’d been late and missed most of the introductions in the green room.
But whatever the alien ambassador was here for now could certainly wait another hour until after Gelbrax had wrapped up his acceptance speech!
As this thought occurred to Gelbrax Dufrain he noticed that the Rellowdol ambassador was holding some sort of strange object in his tentacled grasp. It appeared to be some sort of rectangular object with various spikes and buttons across it.
The ambassador seemed to be brandishing it like a weapon.
Instinctively Gelbrax shied away from the angry Rellowdolian as they stormed up the stairs heading directly toward the Intergalactic Sovereign Vizier.
Before he could even register what was happening Gelbrax watched as the Rellowdolian Ambassador struck the galactic leader with the weapon.
Almost instantly the Intergalactic Sovereign Vizier exploded right where she stood and just as instantly Gelbrax was covered in a hot slick gore which had previously been the Intergalactic Sovereign Vizier.
Before Gelbrax could even flinch the Rellowdolian Ambassador similarly exploded adding a layer of blue gore overtop the gore of the recently exploded ISV.
Gelbrax now stood alone atop the grandstand, covered in blood and entrails, staring in shock at the horrific scene around him.
Those in attendance at the Presidium were screaming in enraged hysterics! It was unlike anything Gelbrax had ever heard before.
But that uproar within the capital was nothing compared to the cacophonous sounds of all out war which would soon come to dominate the life of Gelbrax Dufrain, along with almost everyone else in the galaxy.
The assassination of the Intergalactic Sovereign Vizier immediately lead to the largest and bloodiest war the galaxy had ever seen.
Politics, diplomacy, and governmental infrastructure completely deteriorated over the first decade of the war.
Twenty years later, terrorist cells dominated entire star systems. War lords ruled pirated fleets which enslaved most of the civilian populations. Commerce and manufacturing were non-existent.
Sixty years later the galaxy was completely unrecognizable. Entire civilizations had been wiped out either from warfare, disease, or intergalactic ennui.
---
Unsurprisingly Gelbrax Dufrain had managed to survive this cosmic apocalypse which had gutted the rest of the universe around him.
Gelbrax was now aged and scarred.
The years had been hard but his skills had seen him through the worst of it.
His lies had gotten him in and out of more trouble than he could remember. The world of mistruths he lived within had become so all-encompassing and engrained that it had become a delusion, a psychosis, and a major point of pride.
So many of these self proclaimed post-apocalyptic warriors were making their way with combat skills, wilderness survival knowledge, or intimidation mixed with ruthlessness.
But nobody could survive the collapse of society like Gelbrax Dufrain - through sheer force of lying.
As these thoughts occurred to Gelbrax he found himself picking through the rubble of a partially collapsed building. He was however halted in his tracks by the sound of a nearby explosion (a fairly common occurrence in those days) and a bright flash of light. He also heard a strange noise which sounded something like the crackling of electricity.
The flash had temporarily blinded him and his pulse quickened, internally he readied a series of potential lies he could put to use to escape whatever danger this might be.
When his sight returned he saw an odd scene.
There was now some sort of large mechanical device sitting in the field, near the partially collapsed building. It certainly had not been there just a few moments ago. It was fairly large and he wondered how something that size could have gotten here so quickly, it didn’t appear to be any type of vehicle he was familiar with.
The machine consisted of a series of pipes and buttons. It had small flashing lights and bright display screens which showed various series of numbers and equations.
In the center of the machine was a narrow looking hatch with a small frosted porthole.
To his surprise the hatch sprung open and Gelbrax saw the machine had a cozy little interior which consisted of a swiveling chair surrounded by more display screens.
Even more surprising was the fact that someone was sitting in the chair.
With a quick motion the occupant spun around in the chair and pointed a plump finger directly at him.
“Are you Gelbrax Dufrain!?” The person blurted out quickly.
“No.” Gelbrax lied.
“Ah, yes. Of course you are!” The person insisted. “There’s not a chance that my calculations were incorrect.”
Without hesitation the new arrival squeezed their way out of the compartment within the machine and walked toward Gelbrax.
They were dressed in what appeared to be a white lab coat and wore thick goggles pulled down over their eyes. Their hands were sheathed in some sort of technological gloves and their clothes were adorned with various other devices which they’d tucked within their pockets or clipped to their lapels.
“I’m Professor Merryweather Hathgrow and I need your help to reverse the horrific chain of events which have transformed our entire Galactic Hegemony to this irreversible nightmare!”
Gelbrax opened his mouth to respond but Professor Hathgrow raised a hand to silence him.
“Tut tut!” The Professor chided him. “I dare not even allow you to speak and suck me into any of your various well-crafted lies. That has already happened to me once and nearly terminated our chances of returning to a normal life!”
The professor turned and gestured toward the machine.
“Let me simply state, that this is a time machine of my own design.” The professor explained. “I require your assistance to undo the assassination of Intergalactic Sovereign Vizier Zorbell and prevent the genesis of this disastrous timeline.”
The name of Zorbell and that incident seemed like a lifetime ago but Gelbrax didn’t understand what he could do now to undo any of it.
“No, no again I must insist that you do not speak!” The professor reiterated. “As I’m sure you remember the ISV was assassinated with a unique Rellowdolian weapon which was subsequently destroyed when the ambassador took their own life.”
Gelbrax silently acknowledged.
“Well it seems that you were the only being in the galaxy who actually got a good look at the device. And the only person who could perhaps go back in time and neutralize the device and, most importantly, do so without violence! We can’t risk disrupting the normal series of events of the timeline.
The Rellowdolian peace treaty must be carried out as planned! We need you to use your subtle and skillful lying abilities to locate and remove the weapon before it can be used in the assassination.”
The Professor paused for emphasis, looking Gelbrax directly in the eyes.
“Can you do it?” They asked. “Gelbrax, can you help save the galaxy from a slow and sorrowful decay into obscurity?”
Gelbrax pondered it for a moment then shrugged.
A shrug being the best possible response he could manage, being as neutral as possible to avoid lying.
“Ha ha! Perfect!” The professor chortled. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
The professor hurriedly shoved Gelbrax into the time machine and closed the hatch. Remaining outside Professor Hathgrow tapped a few buttons on their impressive gloves and with a crackling flash the machine, and Gelbrax, were gone.
---
After arriving in the past Gelbrax went straight to work.
First things first, he talked his way into some fresh, non-apocalyptic clothing. A finely pressed energon suit with kyber detailing and a mélange ascot. It took some time to find the right fit, but appearances were important.
Dressed for the occasion Gelbrax quickly made his way to the presidium, only slightly behind schedule.
A guard at the door halted him, requesting his authorization.
Shifting his weight just right, Gelbrax perfectly gave off the air of annoyance and authority.
Then tilting his head, he arched one eyebrow with such precision that when he spoke his words met absolutely no resistance.
“Are you kidding me son?” Gelbrax spoke down to the guard. “I am the Minister of Defense. I sign your checks sergeant!”
The guard quickly straightened, standing at attention.
“Yes sir! Of course sir! My apologies sir!” The guard replied, opening the door for Gelbrax. “Please right this way sir!”
As the guard admitted Gelbrax through, he quietly hoped that this didn’t mean he was getting a demotion because he was, after all, a lieutenant.
Once inside Gelbrax made his way to the Presidium’s green room, just outside the hover staircase and grandstand beyond.
He arrived just in time to see his younger past-self exiting the room to ascend the stairs.
Gelbrax scanned crowd of bureaucrats and functionaries within, quickly spotting the Rellowdolian Ambassador standing by a small bar.
He casually sidled up beside the alien ambassador.
“I’ll take a Starport drip.” Gelbrax told the android behind the bar.
“What is that?” The android asked confused.
Gelbrax quickly waved away the question.
“Just give me whatever you have there.” He insisted in a hushed tone.
Taking his drink Gelbrax stepped up beside the Rellowdolian.
Casually he looked over the alien, searching for the weapon which would soon be used to kill the IVS.
There it was! He saw it, the weird boxy, spikey, buttoney thing!
It was clipped to the ambassador’s uniform near what Gelbrax assumed was it’s shoulder.
Slowly he reached out toward the ambassador, hoping to snatch up the weapon before dashing away victoriously.
Just then the ambassador took a swig of his own drink and the motion created a flurry of tentacles which enveloped the weapon, hiding it from Gelbrax’s sight.
The ambassador turned then and upon spotting Gelbrax, grabbed hold of his extended hand with a trio of tentacles and shook it vigorously.
“Ah a pleasure to meet you!” The Rellowdolian said quickly. “I’m Stewart! And did I overhear that you are the Minister of Defense!?”
“Um, yes. That is correct, that is exactly who I am.” Gelbrax replied with a sudden smile and vigorous handshake of his own.
“Well perhaps you can give me some inside information about your illustrious leader’s intentions for me and my people!” The ambassador joked. “Or at the very least perhaps you can give me some tips to ensure success for our treaty!”
“Oh, you know, just be yourself!” Gelbrax shrugged. “That’s what I always say!”
Shifting his gaze, Gelbrax pointed at the weapon on the alien’s uniform.
“Oh, now what is that you have there?” He asked coyly, quickly changing the subject.
“You have a sharp eye Minister!” The ambassador smiled. “This is an exceedingly rare and ancient artifact of my people, a one of a kind weapon from our oldest days.”
“Oh a w-weapon you say?” Gelbrax continued nervously.
“Oh yes, but a weapon intended to prevent violence rather than encourage it. You see the planet Rellowdol saw much violence in our ancient past, but it brought nothing but suffering.
So our ancient artisans created weapons which would not only vaporize an enemy but would vaporize the user of the weapon as well. The intention was to ensure that any such violence was absolutely crucial, for in its committing the individual perpetrating such violence would not benefit from it.”
“Sure, sure. How quaint.” Gelbrax remarked. “But security allowed you to bring that thing in here?” Gelbrax asked.
“Of course, it is a great sign of respect and an honor to be worn on the uniform for such an important occasion such as this treaty!”
Gelbrax nodded slowly, eyeing the weapon as he contemplated his next move.
“And speaking of such things, I do so wish we could get on with this treaty!” The Rellowdolian ambassador stated. “We have much to discuss and much to share. Unfortunately we must be delayed by the giving of awards to some intergalactic idiot!”
Gelbrax was snapped out of his contemplations by that statement.
“Idiot, sir? Why, whatever do you mean?” Gelbrax asked, doing his best not to let any offense show.
“Oh yes, an idiot to be sure.” The ambassador repeated. “I understand that the Galactic Hegemony celebrates all manner of achievements, but the galaxies best liar? I do not agree.” The ambassador said flatly. “On Rellowdol con artists and deceivers are not figures of adoration.”
Gelbrax clenched his jaw tightly and chuckled stiffly through his teeth.
“Well you see good sir” Gelbrax interjected. “As I understand it, Gelbrax Dufrain is not merely a con artist but a craftsman of artisanal lies. He has in fact perfected the craft of lying and finds himself living a lie which is so convincing that it ostensibly has become his reality.”
“Well that all sounds like a fancy way to say ‘idiot who doesn’t have a real job’ Glaha ha ha ha!” The Ambassador laughed loudly jabbing Gelbrax playfully with several of his tentacles.
“But now it looks like my turn has come at last!” The ambassador stated, finishing his drink. “The idiot has received his award and is almost done!”
Gelbrax stared blankly with a soured smile on his face, something that nearly resembled a snarl.
The mission he was here to complete was absent from his thoughts.
“Do you have any last words of advice for me Minister before meeting with your Sovereign Vizier?”
“Absolutely ambassador, I would make sure not to touch her with those slimy little tentacles of yours.” Gelbrax blurted out. “She has told me, in confidence, that tentacles such as those give her the creeps (her words, not mine) and the mere thought of having to see those things flail around in front of her was enough to make her nauseas!
So it would probably best to keep those wiggly little buggers clasped behind your back if you don’t want the leader of the free galaxy losing her lunch across your peace treaty.”
The entire green room was suddenly silent.
Gelbrax looked around confused, everyone was staring at him.
Perhaps that was slightly uncalled for. He thought to himself.
Unfortunately for Gelbrax he hadn’t arrived in time to receive the briefing about the Rellowdolian culture which had been presented for everyone in the room before the ambassadors arrival.
As it was, one majorly important topic of the briefing, and a point that was reiterated multiple times throughout the presentation, was to never, ever, ever, never (not even slightly), disparage or speak ill of the Rellowdolian species’ tentacles.
The appendages were not only a matter of pride for the people of Rellowdol but major aspects of their religious and sexual practices as well.
Across the room quiet gasps and murmurs could be heard from the onlookers.
The Rellowdolian ambassador was quivering with rage.
Wincing, Gelbrax once more remembered what exactly he was supposed to be doing and antagonizing the alien with the ancient weapon was not it.
Without warning the ambassador began flailing wildly, he pushed past Gelbrax, went out the door, and ascended the stairway beyond.
Slowly Gelbrax began walking in the opposite direction, toward the exit.
As he was leaving he heard chaos erupt behind him. He didn’t even bother to turn around, he already knew what had happened. He’d already lived it once.
“Well, I guess some things are just inevitable.” Gelbrax said to himself as he contemplated which supplies he should loot first.
The door to his apartment creaked as he closed it slowly behind him. Police sirens could be heard in the distance. They began to get louder and louder until suddenly they stopped. Feet walking through puddles approached. His heart began pounding. His palms were sweating. Three knocks on a door; next door. A sigh of relief expelled from his mouth.
Let me tell you a little bit about Walter Harlem. For most of his life, Walter was an upstanding citizen. He was never in trouble with the law. He was never in trouble with anybody. He paid his bills on time, he paid his taxes and for the most part, he stayed to himself. Walter was a scientist. He spent most of his time in his apartment creating inventions. He was an odd fellow, but no one ever worried about him.
His latest inventions involved Russian weapons from the Cold War. He told the friends that he had that he got his stuff from flea markets. But if you ask anyone, none of that stuff was ever known to surface for purchase. No one has seen any of his weapons, but he could be heard from the street tinkering on his latest piece of work. Walter said he was trying to create the ultimate weapon. The question is, why would he need it? The bigger question is, why would he be using old military equipment when there is better equipment out there?
It was the night before Thanksgiving and a few of Walters old college friends were in town. They called him up and asked if he’d go out for drinks with them. At first hesitant, Walter agreed to meet them at the bar that was just down the street from his apartment. He was shocked to see that time was not fair to them as they all looked rough and older than him. To be fair, they all discussed how they have families and high-stressed jobs. Walter was lucky to work for himself since graduating college and never did settle down.
One of his friends called out, “Hey Walter! You still game? I used to love spending nights playing Goldeneye at your dorm room!”
Walter started to chuckle.
“Do I still game? Did Brezhnev lead the Soviet Union during the Cold War era?”
His friends just stared at him.
Walter chuckled again.
“Of course I still game…”
“Hey! Why don’t we head back over to your place and put that game in and give it another go? We’ll take some of these beers to go and grab some snacks. It will be just like old times.”
“Eh, I don’t know.” Said Walter “I have quite an early morning ahead of me. I still have a lot of work to catch up on.”
“Walter, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We seriously haven’t seen each other in years. Take a break!”
Hesitant, Walter nodded and agreed to have his friends over. On their way to his apartment, he let them know that his apartment was a bit of a mess and to excuse the clutter. Before he let anyone inside, he asked them to wait for a moment while he moved his projects into his bedroom closet.
“Alright, you guys can come in.”
His friends stared at each other. One of them whispered to the other, “This place is a little weird. I hope he hasn’t turned into the next Butcher of Rostov.” They laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Walter asked.
They just stared at each other and said “Oh, nothing. Just an inside joke.”
Walter looked, chuckled and went to grab his N64 off the shelf. After setting it up, he blew on the game, inserted it into the console and there it was. Goldeneye in all its glory.
It was just like old times. All four of them sitting around the television, sniping each other from watch towers, drinking beers, eating chips and slices of pizza. But that’s when things took a little turn for the worst.
To save on time, pretend you’re watching a movie where everything just stops. Every character in this story is still and someone hits the fast forward button. Once the viewer hits play, what started as 4 friends playing video games and having a good time, turned into a real-life Goldeneye game. Hit pause again. A chair is flipped mid-air. Three fists are headed towards Walter while he holds some Cold War era rifle. Ok, hit play.
“Don’t make me pull this trigger!” said Walter
You see, there was some information we didn’t see while we fast forwarded. One of his friends decided to look in Walters room, only to find all his weapons. He came out with one of the guns, waving it around like it was a toy. But here is where things get weird. Remember how Walter said his friends looked like they aged? Turns out there is a reason for that.
“You are all time travelers!” said Walter “Do you not think I didn’t pick up on that even going back to our college days? You three were ALWAYS around me, trying to pick ideas off me. You knew how smart I was and loved my interest of firearms. Plus, your American accents are horrible. For starters, I’ve seen you guys’ transport together. But here is the kicker comrades; I followed you. Multiple times. Each time I’d follow you, I’d bring back more weapons from your precious mother country. Weapons which YOU would enhance from MY IDEAS! The more weapons I took, the less your country would have!”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!! The gavel slams on the judge’s desk
“Mr. Harlem, do you really expect me and the jury to believe that you acquired all of these firearms through time travel and your intentions were to hold them so the Russians wouldn’t have them in their presence? You had friends who could not only transport from one country to another, but to a different decade as well? Mr. Harlem, I’ve heard everything I need to hear. The jury will deliberate and come back with the verdict.”
Two weeks later
“Walter Harlem, please stand.” Says the Judge “You were found guilty of unlawful possession of illegal firearms and will be sentenced to 100 months of imprisonment and a fine of $20,000. Your sentence may be reduced depending on behavior.”
Walter Harlem stood there in disbelief. Any amount of expression was wiped off his face. He stared at the jury, specifically at three men. Three older men, with very recognizable Russian features. One of them winked at him. Was Walter Harlem a liar or was he the victim or a plot which would never be believed by an everyday jury? While being escorted away, Walter kept his eyes on the three men. He stared at them while mouthing, “This means war.”
Every Thursday evening Steven and his older brother Kyle’s mom goes to the neighbor’s house to play cards and “drink pop.”
On these occasions the neighbor’s teenage daughter comes over to watch movies and drink pop.
Steven and Kyle spend their time in the basement where the floor creates an ideal race track.
After recently upgrading their refrigerator, the space under the stairs would become the perfect place for a time machine.
“When should I go now?” asked Steven of his older brother.
“That’s just an old box,” responded Kyle. “You can’t actually go anywhere.
Angrily, Steven rushes into the box, slamming the cardboard flaps with a soft whooshing sound.
After making beeping and booping sounds from his mouth, Steven yells out to his brother.
“See, I did it! There’s dinosaurs everywhere!”
Kyle runs over to the box and throws open the flaps to reveal Steven sitting alone with his hands out in front of him, holding an invisible steering wheel.
“You just missed them,” said Steven, with a smile on his face.
Kyle closes the box, leaving his brother behind to continue his beeping and booping.
As Kyle walks away Steven shouts out again.
“Whoa, you should see all the cowboys!”
Kyle runs to the box and again throws open the flaps to find Steven alone. No cowboys. No steering wheel.
“You just missed them,” Steven says.
Kyle backs out of the box and mutters under his breath, “This means war.”
Grabbing the box with both hands, Kyle shakes it violently. Tearing the flaps covering the entrance.
Steven runs out of the box and inspects the damage.
“I must have hit a worm hole on the way back from Egypt.”
Fed up, Kyle runs into the box.
“This isn’t a time machine, I’ll show you!” he shouts as he pretends to hit buttons and beeps and boops with his mouth.
Steven runs in after him, “We can’t make another trip until we fix the damage! Otherwise we won’t be able to come back!”
Kyle grabs the invisible steering wheel and looks over to his brother.
“Good,” he says as he pushes the center of the steering wheel.
Kyle looks at his brother and begins to speak but is cut off by the distant sounds of screeching.
Both brothers look toward the opposite end of the time machine, and through the small opening see thick jungle and the passing shadow of a T-rex.
Jason has been down on his luck since he was forcibly removed from his parent’s home some three years ago. “Down on his luck” is a phrase he has heard ad nauseum since, as if that day had just been a random act of unluck.
WIth few options at his disposal and a growing desire to live with a roof over his head, he sets out each day in search of small jobs. Cleaning houses. Delivering parcels. Any job that will earn him enough money to eat that day.
At his local corner store is a bulletin board placed just inside the entrance. His daily routine includes checking for any odd jobs that could earn him some money. On this particular day he grabs an address off the last tear off looking for someone to deliver some packages. Having completed numerous delivery jobs he was no stranger to the process. He would ride out to the address listed, knock on an old door in some back alley that smells like piss and cat food, and take a nondescript parcel to whatever location is written on the box.
As he entered the usual back alley he noticed an absence of the usual smells and lingering garbage. This alley was almost clean. As if it had been new. He came to a large metal door painted a deep blue. A logo was affixed to it, a bright red globe with a yellow circle in the middle.
He knocked on the door. A beeping started as a camera spun to look at him, its motors whirring behind its enclosed glass orb. His eyes were met with a bright red flash, temporarily causing his vision to blur. At this moment the door opens, revealing a well-lit hallway with a mid-century modern decor, wood paneling and green patterned wallpaper. The hall stretched for as long as he could see -- much longer than he remembered the block to be.
Jason peers into the doorway, still unsure whether entering is the best idea. A crackling voice comes from a nearby speaker, “Third door on your left.”
Jason stands up straight, his eyes darting side to side. “What?” he asks.
“I said the third door on your left,” the voice responds with an impatient tone. “Come on, dude. Just go through the door. And shut it behind you, if it stays open too long an alarm goes off and it’s fucking annoying.”
As Jason passes through the opening he feels a warm blast of air, from the well-heated hall. He closes the door behind him and makes his way forward. As he passes the first set of doors he can hear the distant sound of chatting and printers spitting out page after page. This must be an office, he thinks as he sees a middle-aged man dressed in a tie and white shirt pass from one doorway to the other ahead of him.
He reaches the third door on his left. It’s a plain wooden door, with no remarkable accents. Nothing about this place is remarkable, actually. Just an office in an alley with a security camera and an impatient security guard.
Jason, feeling better about his location now that he’s confident he’s not in danger or could easily run away, opens the door and enters the third room on his left.
The room smells like antiques. Wood paneling covers the wall and a large red persian rug lays on the floor. The only furniture is a wooden table and a chair situated in the center of the room. On the table is a box decorated with brass latches and a floral inlay design.
Again, the crackling voice tears through the air, “Please, sit down.”
Jason slowly makes his way to the chair, inspecting every inch of the table and box as he does.
“The chair isn’t going to bite you,” says the voice. “Just sit down.”
Once sat in the chair, Jason can get a better look at the box. Besides its floral design, it too is unremarkable. It’s a box anyone could have purchased from the home goods store uptown. They probably have a case of mediocre wine somewhere around here too.
“Open the box.” the voice says.
Jason, without hesitation, opens the box to reveal a timer and a single 20-sided dice.
Lazily, as if reading from an instruction booklet, the voice begins, “Inside the box you will find a 20-sided die and a timer. As the ‘player,’ it is your job to roll the die until either you decide to stop or can no longer roll the die. The timer will keep track of your progress and will begin the moment you roll the die for the first time.”
The voice stops as Jason inspects the die -- a deep red with yellow numbers. He had seen a set just like it at the nearby gaming shop. The voice returns with an abrupt popping sound, “Also there is a reward of $100,000 for each hour you continue rolling the die.”
Jason is dumbfounded. In shock and unable to speak, he looks around him, expecting to see cameras and the obvious signs of a TV prank show. He remains alone in the room, no sounds but his own breathing, and the sound of midday traffic on the other side of the wall.
“For fuck’s sake, just roll the die, dude,” the impatient voice says.
Jason picks up the die, shakes it in his hand, and releases it into the box -- it ricochets off the walls of the box and rests near the center.
As the number 16 stares up at him, he waits. Maybe something is supposed to happen after rolling the die, he thinks to himself. This can’t be all he has to do. What’s the money for? Why is he rolling the die? How many hours will they let him do this?
Suddenly, he hears the screeching of tires outside. A cacophony of twisting metal and blood curdling screams tears through the air, startling Jasona and causing him to bolt out of the chair. Police and fire sirens cut through the sounds as the crackling voice returns, “Please sit back down and continue rolling the die.”
Jason looks down at the timer: 5 minutes. He is nowhere near the first hour and very certain they don’t do partial credit.
“We do not do partial credit,” the voice says, answering the question he never actually asked.
As the sounds of a car accident play out in the background, he sits down in the chair and picks up the dice. He rolls the dice around in his hand, feeling it bounce off his fingers and palm. Releasing the die, it rolls across the table, landing near the center.
With a yellow number 5 resting face up, the floor beneath Jason begins to rumble -- low at first but builds rhythmically as the sound of screeching meets his ears. The hideous noise is like nothing he has ever heard, save the monster movies he watches through his fingers. No earthly creature could have possibly produced that shriek.
The building shakes, tiles fall from the office’s drop ceiling. Jason looks around as walls begin crumbling. He grabs the die and makes for the door.
The voice cracks through the shrieks and screams as Jason takes off down the hall, “Please, sit back in the chair,” it says. “The events outside have nothing to do with you and you are not helping by going outside.”
Jason breaks through the outside door as the voice continues to follow him, “Please, sit back down and continue rolling the die,” the voice says as Jason makes his way out of the alley.
As Jason enters the street he can see people running and screaming, a giant, flying, whale-like creature streiks through the sky. It dives at the crowd below and slams into the buildings, causing debris to fall onto the people below.
The creature raises up into the sky and turns 180 degrees, almost as if it has picked Jason out of the crowd. It shrieks and bears down straight for him. Seeing no way to escape Jason runs for his life. As fast as he can, pushing people out of the way, he does everything he can to avoid being crushed by this flying creature.
Just as the creature hits the ground behind him, Jason leaps forward to avoid being crushed. The die flies from his hand, knocking between panicked runners and debris. It lands unceremoniously in front of him, a number 1 stares up at him.
Just then a shockwave runs through the ground. Cracks appear in the pavement around Jason and steam is released from them as if from an exploding boiler. An intense heat overcomes him and grabs the die and leaps to his feet. Red hot lava begins oozing from the newly formed cracks, bubbling and spewing into the air.
Jason runs as hard as he can toward nothing in particular except for the idea of not dying. Step by step he dodges falling lava and ever-expanding crevices. His feet float above the ground as he sprints away from danger.
Suddenly the ground beneath him breaks at just the wrong moment, sending him flying through the air. Landing hard on his side and shoulder, he crumples into a fetal position. Desperately, he jumps to his hands and knees, opening his hands to find the die is missing.
From the street, Jason searches for the die. Looking around where he landed and underneath him until the glint of red catches his eye from across the street. At that moment, a cracking sound rings out through the air and a new set of shrieks echoes off the nearby buildings. Looking into the sky, he can see a second gigantic winged beast swooping down at the helpless crowds below.
A stampede of people blocks most of his view but he knows if he runs fast enough he can reach it. Like a sprinter at the starting line, he makes his way to the die. Running through a panicked crowd slows him down, but he is able to break through to the other side. Looking from side to side he catches a glimpse of the red die, sitting at the edge of the road.
Diving for the die, he lands with a hard thud on the sidewalk as the ground shakes once again. A crevice appears between him and the die, slowly adding space between him and it. He watches as the die teeters, teasing him each time it leans closer to the edge of the chasm.
Jason picks himself up from the ground as the die defies his every wish and tumbles down through the earth, stopping every few feet before falling further.
The sound of a cracking whip and popping signals the arrival of a new group of horrors each time the die pauses. Screeching, winged beasts call out from the skies. The howling of demonic beasts erupt from around the corner as they make their way toward Jason. The sky goes dark as thick green clouds cover the sun and acid begins raining down on the people below.
Jason stands in the middle of a torn up street. Lava spewing into the air. Huge crevices break apart the ground. Acid rains from the sky. Bodies litter the ground. A pack of hell beasts bear down on him.
Jason looks around panicked, trying to find any way to escape. He braces for the worst and closes his eyes tightly.
The die tumbles and falls through sewer systems and dirt. Past fossils and creatures that haven’t seen the sun since the dawn of man. Its silent journey down through the earth occurs with no knowledge from anyone on the surface. An important mission no one knows exists.
As it careens through geological formations, it is suddenly stopped by the hard bedrock below. Causing the die to spin in place like a top that will never fall. It spins and spins as it hits each of its sides a dozen times before slowing -- selecting a singular point to teeter upon before rocking back and forth in its final place. A dirt covered, scratched and mangled number 20 sits upright, as if attempting to shine a beacon to the world above. A shock wave erupts from the critical roll.
Jason opens his eyes to find the street empty. The ground is without crevices and no lava is spewing into the air. Giant flying creatures no longer terrorize those fleeing on the ground. As he looks around, it’s as if none of the recent events happened.
Pedestrians cross the road in front of him, drivers curse at him as they pass. His phone vibrates in his pocket. He lifts the phone to his ear.
“Hello,” he says.
A crackling sound and then a pop comes through the phone. “Well done,” says the voice on the other end. “You’ve successfully rolled the die. If you check your bank account, you will find the appropriate amount of money has been deposited. If you have any further questions, please refrain from asking us or any other person you come in contact with. We do not exist. This never happened. Have a good day. Try not to die.”
The sweat was dripping down his face and into the corners of his eyes. He blinked furiously, but with the gun pressed against his temple he didn’t dare try to wipe the sweat away.
He was nervous and hot.
But the room itself didn’t seem any warmer, in fact he felt a cool breeze blow across his ankles. It was coming from the room’s only vent.
The cold metal of the gun against his face contrasted his own rising temperature. But even that didn’t last, the metal quickly warmed as it remained pressed to his flesh.
The coolness of the object was absorbed by his quickly expanding aura of panic.
But how had he gotten here? What was happening?
It was like waking from a dream, his vision and realization snapping back into focus as his recollection slowly fell into place.
There had been something here, in here with him.
But that wasn’t right, that couldn’t have been. Had he imagined that? But what about everything else?
Now he was remembering – and it hadn’t been his imagination, it was more than that.
But how had he gotten here?
When someone offers you a job opportunity like that, especially one that offers that much pay there is always a certain amount of caution. If it’s too good, or too easy, to be true – it probably is.
Instinctively more than a few alarm bells went off in his subconscious.
“So, you’re saying you want me to guard a single, empty room for an hour – and you’re going to pay me $100,000 dollars to do that?”
“That’s right. That’s what we’re offering.”
It didn’t make any sense.
When you work for a security firm, you quickly realize that the more a job pays, the more dangerous it is. But that didn’t seem to be the case here.
“What exactly would I be guarding? What is in this room?”
“Only what you bring with you. You’re firearm, equipment, phone, etc.”
He had worked plenty of jobs that were explicitly hazardous environments.
Chemical plants, where a small mistake could cause a big explosion.
Political rallies where those attending had been worked into an explosive furor. He’d felt the press of unruly crowds before, people pushing against him like a conscious wave of meat.
There were also plenty of private security jobs for individuals and small organizations which were almost certainly taking part in highly illicit and extremely volatile dealings. Which brought with them a lot of unknown, but certainly dangerous, variables.
None of those jobs however had ever paid anything near what was being offered here.
And for just one hour of work.
After the initial offer he made a call to the main office of his firm. He wanted to make sure that this was legitimate, that this work had passed all of the background checks, and other safety requirements.
After headquarters confirmed the details, they also informed him that there were multiple shifts being filled at the same rate of pay. They were requesting to station a guard at the same location nearly every hour of the day. The only exceptions were the hours of Noon, Midnight, and 3 a.m.
His office encouraged him to accept the job quickly because other guards had already heard about these offers and were eager to fill the shifts.
Yeah, no shit.
After hanging up with the main office, he returned and accepted the offer.
The details regarding the job were sparse, but simple.
The company wanted a guard stationed in a specific room, for no longer than an hour at a time. During which time no one was to enter the room and the guard was forbidden to leave.
When he asked about what he would be guarding they provided no answer, merely stating that he didn’t need to know.
The guards were permitted any of their standard high priority security equipment. Gun, taser, multitool, phone, and walkie. They would provide a locker at the facility for any other personal effects.
Before the guard could ask, they informed him that there would be no further shifts available beyond those which had already been filled.
This was a one-time offer.
He was escorted to his post by a non-descript individual wearing a sleeveless sweater over a button down shirt and jeans. The person carried a key card on their hip and used it to open a door into a featureless concrete hallway.
The hallway lead down to an intersection of three other halls, each direction was just as featureless as the way they came.
With the exception of the left-hand path, where a door was set into the wall a short distance down the hallway.
This was the entryway to the room he’d be guarding.
The first twenty minutes were completely uneventful.
There was absolutely nothing in the room itself.
It was roughly 50 feet square with white walls and white tile flooring. The ceiling had an inset lighting fixture which bathed the room in harsh bright light. In one corner there was an air conditioning vent which lazily blew cool air across the floor.
Pacing back and forth the guard tried to think of what the scenario could be which would require this specific room to have an armed guard.
The best he could come up with was that the hallways outside were used to move valuable assets. Cash perhaps, or some sort of product they manufactured here.
Maybe they wanted this space for a fallback position if they ran into trouble, or a place to have extra security to call out en route if there was an issue.
But that didn’t really make any sense considering the job requirements.
The contract he signed specifically stated that no other individuals were to enter the room during the shift and the guard was not to leave the room, under any circumstances, or their terms and compensation would immediately be voided.
$100,000
It didn’t matter why they wanted him in this room, he could put up with anything for an hour to make that kind of money.
Leaning against one of the walls he took a moment to close his eyes, shielding them against the sterile fluorescent light around him.
Listening to his own breathing he also heard the quiet clicking sound of the air conditioning starting its cycle again.
A soft breeze was lazily escaping between the thin metal grates of the room’s only vent.
Leaning forward he opened his eyes and was immediately startled to see movement out of the corner of his vision.
Across the edge of his sight a dark shape seemed to slink across the room. He quickly bolted forward and turned in the direction of the movement. But there was nothing there.
His heart pounded in his chest as he chuckled to himself.
Boredom and imagination seemed to be getting the best of him.
Checking his phone he saw he had half an hour left. Just a few more laps around the room and he’d have the money and practically be a new person.
But something wasn’t right.
His eyes didn’t feel right, more accurately his sight was wrong.
He was no longer looking at his phone, but rather seeing himself standing there, looking at his phone.
It was as if he was floating above his own body looking down at the room.
He moved his hand slowly and strangely saw himself turning his hand in the air.
He pocketed his phone and watched himself put the device away.
His pulse remained elevated.
Was this a seizure? Had he fallen asleep?
Those thoughts quickly left his mind as his surroundings were replaced with nothing – a void. The room was gone, he was gone, and there was no light and no dark. It was all an indescribable nothing.
Then slowly something began to take shape in front of him.
It didn’t make sense to him, it wasn’t approaching or even appearing but rather it was as if the scene was being constructed in front of him. Small pinpricks of light, tiny specks of dust congealing as if atoms were combining to take shape of something he couldn’t yet determine.
Gradually the atoms coalesced into him, but it wasn’t him as he had appeared in the room. It was an older version of him, from his past – he was younger and there was someone else with him.
The two of them were looking at a canvas together.
The younger version of himself seemed to be in a hurry, he shrugged, shook his head and said a few words to the other person before walking away.
He vaguely remembered this moment from his past.
The other person was his cousin – they’d been working on some project from art school and had asked to hear his thoughts. He had been in a hurry at the time, had a bad day, and was annoyed by his cousin’s prodding and desire for validation. He’d dismissed the piece as trivial, told his cousin it looked pretty amateurish.
And he had been in a rush to be somewhere else, so he may have stated his opinions a bit too hastily.
The scene flashed forward showing his cousin, later in life, they were in the process of moving. They had dropped out of school, he remembered that. The whole family had talked about it, everyone was disappointed. His cousin moved out west somewhere, got away from everyone and got into drugs.
The guard didn’t know the exact details of what happened, only that two years later he got word that his cousin had died of an overdose. Supposedly an accident.
Was that his fault? Had his opinion been held in such high regard by his cousin?
Surely an artist would need a thick skin against such criticism? Or had that interaction between them just been enough to push his cousin in the wrong direction?
His lack of interest, his flippant disregard for their work.
A lifelong relationship revealed eroded in an unsuspecting moment – causing his cousin to reflect on their own truths, the hidden knowledge they already knew but couldn’t fully admit to themselves.
This reflection of the guard’s life expanded into nothing once again only to contract back into focus, this time he was even younger. Middle school.
A large group of kids were orbiting one another. He could see the group roughly separated by boys and girls - the boys laughing, joking. They’re making fun of one of the girls.
He honestly had no recollection of this particular reflection of his life. He wouldn’t have even suspected that it involved him if he hadn’t recognized the younger version of himself among the group.
It was so strange to see his own softened features of youth in motion once again.
A face he once knew so well but realized had long since vanished. Now however he found himself suddenly inhabiting that childhood presence once more.
It was like wearing an old pair of shoes that were no longer your size but suddenly found them fitting once again.
The boys were laughing and teasing one of the girls, ‘Betsy’ they were calling her – but he remembered that she preferred to be called Elizabeth.
The group of boys were all being mean and relentlessly cruel.
The other girls yelled back, but they seemed tense, they were also scared. As though the meanness might suddenly target them next if they defended Elizabeth too much.
Elizabeth was looking at him, the younger version of him,that stood among that crowd. Though he hadn’t been in her face overtly hurling the insults and attacks, he had still been there.
He’d stayed in the back reluctant to do anything that might draw attention. He smiled when he thought he needed to and laughed when the others laughed.
And that’s all that Elizabeth saw.
She didn’t even remember who the loudest boy was in that group or who it was that reached down and pulled her shoe laces apart and made fun of her clothes.
She only saw that he was there, with them.
His face was there as she suffered and was humiliated and that was the biggest betrayal.
She thought they were friends.
Later on he wouldn’t understand why she suddenly didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. He didn’t understand how she could possibly be mad at him.
He hadn’t even said anything to her, he had thought at the time, trying to ease his own hurt feelings.
Just then he saw the trajectory of Elizabeth’s life – a successful woman, college, law school. But there was a parallel life, a personal life of cautious relationships and misread intentions.
Of course that single incident on a middle school playground wasn’t the entire catalyst for a lifetime of emotional strife but it had certainly been a substantial stepping stone.
The vision twisted anew and he saw himself only a few years before his current life, when his grandmother was alive.
He saw his grandmother’s old dog slowly pacing around her house looking as miserable as she had been.
He had helped his grandmother as much as he could, because his father had asked him too.
His parents were working a lot already and taking care of grandma had been a substantial stress. They wouldn’t have been able to keep up. He did what he could, but it made him anxious.
He disliked being at his grandmother’s house.
He felt bad for his grandma, felt pity for this once proud, strong woman who had raised, not only her children but half of her grandkids as well. Being in that place always made him panic about his grandmother’s inevitable end, and contemplate his own death as well.
There were a lot of emotions surrounding his time helping his grandmother but he’d been glad to help. He did what he could.
But he knew the dog needed help as well.
Grandma couldn’t take it to the vet as often as it needed, couldn’t get its nails trimmed, bathe it, or any of that.
His parents hadn’t ever thought of the dog, beyond feeding it.
But he had always liked that dog, and seeing it neglected only added to the anxiety of his time with grandma.
Yet he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to pile on additional stress for his parents but more selfishly he remembered, he never mentioned the dog because if he had, it would only mean he’d have to help out even more.
Then he would be over at his grandmothers more often, and it was already too much.
But now as he watched this vision, he saw himself there helping to clean his grandmother’s house.
And he viscerally felt the pain of the dog.
The hunger.
The hair matted with filth.
The overgrown claws curling under to dig into the pads of its feet.
He could feel the pain of each hobbled step as the dog crossed the linoleum kitchen floor to pathetically lap up a drink of water.
As this fresh pain mingled with remembered emotions, the constant worry of that time seeped back into his consciousness like burning wax, oozing and hot and the image around him changed once more.
And then again. And again.
Repeatedly over and over, for what seemed like an infinity.
Each time it was the same, a vision of himself and others in a small, seemingly forgettable moment from his life followed by the unfathomable consequences of those interactions.
Always bad, always negative results regardless of what his intention might have been - often times across far flung years.
He didn’t understand.
Where was the love? The good things he’d done in life? He knew there had been many. He remembered tender moments, sweetness, and joy, but just couldn’t recall them now – they were blocked to him in this hellish nightmare.
He now completely understood the absolute entirety of every bad thing he’d ever done, every unintentional misdeed, and fully grasped the expansive repercussions and guilt associated with those deeds.
Not only that but he physically saw the crowds of people who had negatively been affected by his actions during his lifetime, the lines of individuals spreading outward from the source in all directions like a creeping mold.
The sheer embarrassment he felt, the self-disgust welling up inside himself, was indescribable.
He was furiously pathetic as his mind swirled with expanded consciousness. He understood the concept of thought in a new way which bridged himself across to a new understanding of – empathy.
Yes, that is what it was. It is what he now was, and how he now felt.
And it was too much.
He reached down to the gun at his hip.
Sweat dotted his neck and forehead as tears streamed down his face. Freeing the gun from its holster he pressed the barrel against his temple.
Death could in no way undo the negativity he’d sown in his wake, but it would at least end his waking realization of it. For that was something he could no longer stand to crowd his thoughts with.
His face was hot, so damned hot.
But the room itself didn’t seem any warmer, in fact he felt a cool breeze blow across his ankles. It was coming from the room’s only vent.
There was a series of four knocks on the doorway.
It was the signal that his hour shift was over.
He quickly holstered his gun.
Hastily he wiped the sweat and tears away with the back of his sleeve.
He was still leaning against the wall.
Slowly he pushed himself forward making his way to the door.
The employee there asked him to follow, stating the next guard’s shift would be starting soon and they would have to be out before they arrived.
Hazily he followed. While contemplating who might be working the next shift, he would have felt something like pity for them, if he hadn’t still been completely numb.
All he could think about however was that no amount of money would have been worth this.
The Prompt:
The more dangerous a job is, the more it pays. You just took a job offer to stand in an empty room and do nothing for $100k an hour.
Co-hosts Ryan Rimmele and Joshua Witsaman present two tales of odd jobs that seemingly pay too well.
The first is all fun and games, that is until the game isn't fun.
The second story deals with having your empathy turned against you.
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