Archive for September, 2009

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The Outside Part 1

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on September 18, 2009 by GuNNhead

Trapped in hyperspace, surrounded by sights I can never hope to understand in this nowhere to be found dimension. The warp engine disengaged irregularly, and instead of taking me out of the drive utilized for faster than light travel, it trapped me here, this… dimension. I’ve exhausted my options and ideas in trying to repair it. It’s as if I’m frozen in a lake, a misty, covered space. I’ve been alone for so long now, surviving easily off the provided supplies, I could probably survive much longer, but the question has been biting at me: do I want to? What does it mean to die?

As I remain motionless out here, I think back upon my entire life. It was good, but mundane. Though, I suppose most could say that about their own lives. I enjoyed it, for the most part. I always looked up beyond the sky, and wondered if I would ever get up here; I’m happy that I get to eventually die so specially, the first man to die of starvation in hyperspace. Well, it’s more of a personal record, as I’ll never be found, and, well, I know that others have been lost in space, but since they were lost and never found, I can still say that I’m the first to die like this, they could have died by so many other means.

I’ve set out from my home planet, Loameria, to find myself, to explore, tour the universe’s wonder. Now, I hope there’s an afterlife to explore. Or, rather, that there is no ‘afterlife’, that after this life is our next stage in evolution. Maybe the idea of becoming a being of pure essence is possible. After this life, which is used to gain a frame of reference, the essence of ourselves leaves that earthly husk, and is taken on a similar tour I had planned for myself, to be able to communicate of a higher level with all of the beings that passed the trail of life. Maybe we unify the universe when we arrive in the ever after.

Outside my spaceship, the lights blind while the darkness gives me vision. There is movement, perhaps. I’d call it swirling, but it’s not quite swirling, or even spinning or rotating, though it gives me the feeling that that’s what it’s doing. The outside. It’s unknowable. It’s bright, but I can’t see the light, I can only see the darkness as a light. The shapes are none like I’ve ever seen, they almost make no sense in my brain, but I can see them as clear as possible. It’s all enveloped in the othergrey. I’m enveloped. I’ve been alone for weeks, but have never felt lonely, left to my own devices. The outside, this dimension, keeps my mind.

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The Idlers

Posted in Fiction, Sci-Fi on September 14, 2009 by GuNNhead

Emotionless and icy parasites that traverse the deep void of space in search of suitable hosts; they have scoured the universe for aeons attempting the find the perfect place to take up residence. They have visited many worlds, and most found a home, but there are always those who have to desire to travel beyond what is known, to find other beings to find out if their life can be better, more invigorating. With their size and voyage form, they have run into very few problems with the species that they encounter. It also prevents damage from planets with ozone layers. They are extremely adaptable, though many fleets have been known to have perished upon arrival on inhabitable planets, as they are a simple beings, they do not have the technology to assess which planets will be suitable. When fleets are deployed by the central mentality, it does so only once they have a strong enough understructure to pose no risk of eradication to those who will remain planet-side.

It is not to say, however, that these beings have never been bested, or simply were not compatible with the planet’s current life forms. There is one instance, where the beings that they encountered were ready and prepared for this unprovoked attack. The sizes of both species were comparable, and they remained locked in battle for days. Many on the planet lost their lives as did all of the parasites. The central mentality has disallowed any and all attempts to that planet for the time being, it was not easy to spread. On multiple other planets, they were exceptionally small, which made them exceptionally powerful. They invaded the beings on this world, and caused mass death and panic. People’s heads would explode from pressure built up inside by the parasite. Their blood boiled, searing their innards and their flesh. Mucus drained from their bodies as torrents. The parasite was simply too strong for this new host could not repopulate; the parasite died off quickly.

The most successful planets, where this parasite can live, long, happy lives are the ones where it can invade the inhabitants, disrupting their immune system to remove foreign bodies. There is one problem, however, the parasite eventually becomes too strong, ever evolving, for the inhabitants of the planet, and begins to destroy them in many various strains. Given time, growing and becoming stronger, the most powerful strains join as one, and are directed across the cosmos towards the great central mentality as it waits to become strong enough to infect the entire universe.

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Verevolves

Posted in Fiction, Horror with tags , on September 11, 2009 by GuNNhead

I must travel into the mountains to become free. There is no other option that I can see. I’ve done terrible things. On the brink of redemption, I failed. I must atone, completely detach from society, and find out who I am, who I’ve become, and who I can become.

I arrived in the forested mountains of Symkaria with naught but a backpack and building supplies. Finding a clearing, I immediately set up my tent, and began work cutting down nearby trees. I was to build a log cabin that would suit me till the end of my days, which I pray is a short distance that I must yet endure. Day in and day out, I would start my fire, chop wood, and try to catch whatever I could to eat, usually at night. It was often that I heard the wolves cry at the moon; their howls would put me to sleep some nights. It was summer when I began, good weather, and I was finished before the fall began to require me to have a proper roof over my head. It was a small cabin, just enough for me, and all the furniture was also made from whittled wood; after, of course finished the house.

Many moons passed, before the nearby town expanded – deforestation. This caused my food supply to shift, and then dwindle. It wasn’t long before hikers spotted me in the woods. The reports began, then people looking for me; my cabin deep within the woods was within walking distance from a town now. It was awful; I knew that soon, the ones I came to be free from will find me.

“Death to the glabrous!” The familiar cry tore through the sky one bright yet cloudy night. It awoke me with a start. He knows, I thought; how his howl rattles my bones. From my windowless cabin I could see nothing from my position, and, taking my gun, quickly moved to the hidden viewing panels. Outside, I saw that it was that beast Sgt. Kern and his war-dogs. 7 of them in total, I’m not sure if I can take them.
“I know you’re in there, Zahn, I can smell you!”
“My, what a big nose you have!”
“If you think tha—” I shoot his nose off.

The howls come from all sides immediately, and they begin to attempt to tear down my cabin. There’s not much I can do from inside, so I break out of the front door firing blind. They start to chase after me when the moonlight hits me, I begin to turn, to, change. Within seconds they’re on top of me, tearing at my flesh and fur. I strike back at them, shooting two through the heart, tearing the trachea out of another. But it’s no use, they hold me down as Kern personally takes a chunk out of my throat, leaving me there for dead.
“You don’t quit us, Zahn.”

Epilogue:
I woke up days later in the town’s hospital; some hikers found me in the morning and got me here. There were no other bodies around me. It was chalked up to a wolf attack, and I was allowed to leave in a week or so. I knew I couldn’t go back to how it was, living freely, and winding down the rest of my life in peace. I had to find Sgt. Kern, kill him and his remaining war-dogs while I have the element of surprise. I just can’t sit idly by any longer as he tries to turn the human race into cattle. With blood on my hands, freedom will be mine.

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Ingot

Posted in Fiction on September 9, 2009 by GuNNhead

The fellow wore a large top hat. The gentleman to his side had a face that was unpeculiar, and adorned with a bold moustache. They were walking and talking in the noonday sun, strolling from work to the local pub for luncheon. The two men walk into the bar, and wave to me; I’m meeting them here.

The cube sat on the table, glowing, staring at me with a flat, sullen exterior. It felt like being trapped in an abyss when it was around. No thoughts could come proper. My friends sat. And it sat. And it sat, and it sat, sat, sat. All day on its cubical buttocks it sat. On chairs it sat, on rugs made of bears it sat, even through my glares it sat. So here I sit, sitting with it, it that sits everywhere that could be sat. Nary could a bleep nor bloop come forthwith. Because of how this cube doth sit, new ideas can neither be thought nor that.

We each order a cheeseburger and fries, what with not really having any idea of what to eat. The moustachioed man thought of eating that before he came in. There is an uncomfortable silence that falls over the table; we came here to discuss how to get rid of this cube, this horrible, heinous hexahedron once and for all. Perhaps I should not have left it in such plain sight, influencing my compatriots. I place it on the chair beside me, under my coat. Soon, they can offer ideas to me, about the cube, and how to rid myself of it. The moustachioed man recommended that I may get some exercise, for perhaps that will force the block to withdraw. Pfeh, running from my problems, I say. The man in the top hat offers that, it could be then, that I should attempt to use things that I enjoy, to overcome the cube’s effects. Hmm, perhaps he hides his own cube within the confines of his foolishly large hat; not understanding the weighty heft of the circumstances, or simply a bad idea, I wonder. Everyone knows that with the cube, the thoughts of things that one may enjoy do not flow, so one cannot utilize them as a conquering power. All I wish is to never bask in the miserable murky glow of the cube again.

Lunch ends. They, as well as many others and I, have before suffered the cube, it is not terribly uncommon, but it is continually cruel. We decided that the only thing one can truly do is nothing, one must simply wait the cube out. Life has a way of working out; if opportunity arises, one should seize it, for it is an unceasing possibility that the cube can become lost in one of life’s many adventures and experiences. This, of course, leaves the former captive free from the hindrance of the writer’s block.

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In the Blackest of Space

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Horror, Sci-Fi on September 7, 2009 by GuNNhead

“Deeper, deeper into the furthest reaches of the continually unexplored multiverses!”

“In the blackest of space, the demons, they lie in wait to take their rightful place, and seal our icy fate. When there is no more blood to spill, and there is no more air to breathe, there will blow a silent chill; none left alive to grieve. On this ghostly, ghoulish night, passing through this dark reign, a silent ship in flight, unaware of the arcane.”

GS-336 hurtles towards its destination at incredible speed. There is a sector of space that has been entirely disavowed by the Network, none allowed to travel in its vicinity. Crafts disappeared here, never to be seen or heard from again, not even a distress signal has ever made it out of here. I don’t believe in anything that could destroy me; I decide to travel directly through it. I’ll find out what’s causing this, and crush the life from it, or finally meet my end.

Suddenly, as I enter into this unknown triangulation, an uneasy feeling entirely unbeknownst in times before passes over me. Bombarded by immense psychic and ethereal waves, the ship loses power, disengaging the dynamo drive. This has occurred to countless crafts, never to be heard from again. This craft may just prove to be different, however, because this time, I want it to happen.

As I travel between the doorway towards the engines in an attempt to reengage them by hand, a strong chill runs through my body. I freeze. I switch through the light filters of my helmet to check for foreign intruders on other visible spectrums. Feeling uneasy, attempting to remain calm, I breathe, and brush off my arms while continuing to change the light patterns. The second my hands are about head width apart, the filter switches again, revealing a hauntingly terrifying apparition, holding on to my right upper arm and left elbow, screaming. It has no neck or ligaments, just a floating skull on blue fire with skeletal arms, and a tattered cloth shawl, all transparent with a blue glow. Holding it in my arms as such, I spin it around, to face the cockpit; only to see more visions. Visions of non-existent crew members being disembowelled before my very eyes; gore and innards hit the floor, and fly against the walls, leaving long hard trails of blood. Then it all goes black. I never expected this: ghosts, I’m not ready and am not prepared. I suspected it was some sort of marauder vessel, disabling communications and purloining the crafts and wares aboard, or powerful cosmic abnormality.

“From the outside, one can see the magnificent craft suddenly stop, trapped in the gossamer. Then, after a few short moments, drift, drift, and drift downwards, pulled by forces unknown, guiding this wicked descent to a ghostly ethereal planet below.”

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