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Crook and Flail

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on November 9, 2009 by GuNNhead

With that symbol scorched into my planet in mind, I scan the Networked DataBase for any leads, and I get a match. A destroyer of worlds. Celrdrrun. What a stupid name, it will be a pleasure to wipe it from existence. With what power? A voice chirps from the depths of my mind. No matter. The DataBase has no information on where to find him. I know where I can get information, I’ve learned of it from my travels. There exists a place where the seediest of beings congregate, the Network has so far ignored it, in favor of pure exploration.

I enter the disavowed area, to which I’ve never dared explore; nothing matters any longer. I land on the central planet, seeking information. I head into the utmost squalid district, knowing if anywhere, that is where he, or his whereabouts may be. My clothes are still roughed up from my last explorations, before my planet was expired, my hair overgrown. I wonder if this makes me appear beaten and spent, or as if I’ve earned my place on this planet. Stepping into the centroidal establishment, and making a point-blank line towards the seeming owner, I confront him.

“What do you know of a being known as Celrdrrun? Where can I find him?”
“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about,” says the stout, bald creature.
“He leaves this symbol,” I belt gutturally, scraping the symbol into the surface between us.
He remains unintimidated and nonplussed.
I slam my hand down.
“Tell me now!”

Everything goes white, then red. In the next moment, I realize I’m on my knees, looking at a stump surging blood where my hand used to be.
“You really should be more polite,” spews a grapnil; the security of this cesspool.
I stand to face him, but two more arrive.
“Looks like he still got some fight in ‘im, the little bugger.”
Something deep inside me tells me to take a swing with my remaining hand, but as I do, a slice from one of the others removes my innards, and they spill on the floor. Immediately, the scrumpers that infest places as this begin to make a banquet of them.
“String him up to the wall, let’s to make an example of this one.”
“This is where your sanity gives in, pathetic half creature.”

They use their abilities to affix me to the main wall, for all to see. Soon they tear out my throat to stop my threats. I bleed out for days, but do not die. My one arm is tied up, I hang from it, and my legs are hooked to the stone by the grapnil’s natural hook-like appendages, which regrow as fast as they can dispel them. My amputation is left free to bleed.
“He should be startin’ ta smell, Boss, I just dun get it.”
I can feel my body dieing, but it will not. I feel the last drop of blood exit my body, and my heart beat its last. In death I feel more alive than ever before.
“Hey, look, he’s starting to bleed again. A lot.”
“Aw, man, I can’t have that, look at that bubbling mess on my floor, it might damage something. Awright, get him down from there, finish the job proper, I’m sick of his damn face.”
As they approach, a bolt of energy hits me, courses through my spine. I see my arm again, a flash, an outline of light; but something’s different. It’s back, but as some kind of chitinous armor. It fires a blast at the first grapnil, removing its small head, and it falls. The other two look on in amazement. The flash of light appears over my whole body, outlining some new form. A surge of gravity brings all in the place to their knees. Everything is vibrating in my eyes, it feels like the end. Omega. I break free of the restraints in this new form. The gravity returns to normal. I walk towards the remaining grapnils, and eviscerate them with their own hooks. One track mind. Death.
“Tell me where is Celrdrrun, old man.”
“Hey, hey, oh yeah, now I remember. Celrdrrun. Just head to these coordinates…”

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Excogitation Cerebration Part 2

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized on November 6, 2009 by GuNNhead

“So crowned we stroll through life, never quit, rain or shine. Never question what’s inside, till the last beat… end of time, so go fly away to that special place.”

It is in this way that I am truly alone. If there is another being in existence out there, I signal out to you. Come suffer with me. Save, save us both from utterly solitary existence which rests beyond the bounds of possibility. I signal out to you as the final existing being who can call out across the cosmos to a similar consciousness; a being upon this phantasmus, this wavelength. You are the only pathway, the only passageway to the next world beyond this meaningless void that I am bound to[,] call[ed] “Earth.” “Let us pretend love for the day.” You are I, You are demise, You are oblivion, You are paradise, You are release.

“Are we lost forever?”

While there may be a set amount of ways to die, there is an infinite pathway of life, and we’ve only barely begun to explore it.

I hear you calling, calling from the ether, a being of the firmament.

I see all these people, and apparently I am led to believe that they may all have their own precious little lives about them, but it is continually impossible to discern if they truly exist, or are merely posits of my own omnipotent maginations. I wonder if I am the only one. Are you out there? Am I out there, or trapped, held prisoner in here? Are we one, or all? I can exit all with but a thought. Narcissism? Created via mortals by thought? Or I have crafted my own prison, my own destruction: so that I may be free.

“Don’t trust yourself, you’re not okay.” A fool to trust anyone but yourself: I am your enemy.

The problem is you attempt to make it seem as if you’re not bored, while the only wish is to introduce something new, so than even death can bring excitement to the current life. You understand this, death is a new frontier. My problem is that I feel every, single, last piece of you more that you could ever imagine.

I am not your opening act, I am your closing number. Love me if you dare, with your empyrean heart. You are death, You are me, You are antemortem, You are waiting for me upon the Stygian shore, and that is who I write to, and only you alone; I. Alone.

I write upon the final line. I die as my pen runs dry.

“And as it goes, sometimes you wake up.”

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Excogitation Cerebration Part 1

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized on November 4, 2009 by GuNNhead

When you think about it, our world is the weirdest little thing ever. It’s all so small in the universe. We’re on an island in the sun. Hang on to this precious gift called life. Hold on to your connections wherever you feel them. Because you can feel, and that is amazing. Every little story could be about you, you are making a story with your life, everything is as it should be. So many people connect every day. So much ‘money’ is going around. To us it all means so much, but it is entirely worthless until it is spent. Everything means so little, so just live on our island in the sun, and enjoy it. Too many people think too much about it, and refuse to live it. Yes, it may be important; to understand other people, to know of their reasons, there is something secure in that for most, having another know you, and you know them. It may be a contented feeling. However:

Are we truly so inept at identifying our own pathos as to require the interpretations of another? Especially knowing, of course, full well that these very interpretations would only reflect insofar as much as could be processed via the works of those who not only could never cognize the goings on of our current society, but were, themselves, limited to their own pathos. These works, then, again, are re-interpreted by the same people who we would seek to interpret us, once more filtered via their own pathos. It must be noted that I use the word pathos in this instance, of course, to represent ones complete thought process, by way of every single instance that has ever occurred in each of our composite existences.

Furthermore, we must also realize that it is entirely beyond the bounds of possibility to begin even to grasp at the composition of these pathos through recounted memories alone: the pathos themselves hidden through the medium of the lifespan of the individual.

Thought processes, then, of course, having no origin that the individual, no matter how well-learned, can muster/master. Which brings us to the concept of fate: if we rely so heavily on our “thoughts” and “feelings,” in which we do not know the true originate of (id est, why one ‘feels’ like listening to a certain song at one moment in time, but not another) how can we factor out a greater power controlling our every movement and thought? Progressing this, how can we even trust our perception to offer us a fair dose of reality? Because we have to? Because we have no other options? I say thee nay! I, being the only being that I can be sure of the existence of in some fashion: I am simply writing a narcissistic love letter to myself as to the origin of my being.

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Commencement

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on November 2, 2009 by GuNNhead

As I enter into the unknown plane to repair my craft, my eyes are stabbed by a flash of a neon light. I can feel the cold grip of death tearing at me as my soul screams in pain. I must fix this. I must get out of this and grasp my destiny. The unknowable sights that I viewed while inside my craft take on a new life when I am outside, a vision softly creeping. Transcending azure surrounds. My spine goes numb. I make it to the external warp engine drive system. It’s been damaged. By what? I begin to work on it, fixing it the best I can, but it’s odd; it wasn’t quite so much damaged as altered, changed. I can sense something out here, some other being, beyond death, watching. Did it cause this damage? Something from within me urges me to call out to the feeling.
“I know you’re out there. If you want me, come and get me.” Stupid, just my mind playing tricks on me. I have been in isolation for far too long. Even if it is nothing, whatever it is, it must have never seen another being since the very beginning, the unfolding of the multiverse, existence; in this nowhere dimension. The gravity out here surges with ardor. Once the repairs are complete, I head back inside, through the decontamination chamber. The sensors detect no foreign bodies or bacteria. I suppose there truly was nothing out there.

I begin the engines. I can finally leave this place, return to my world. I’m excited to see everyone again. I engage the warp engine, creating a portal back to life, back to reality, and head into the hypersleep chamber for the trip home.

When I am woken up, reaching my designated coordinates, I can feel my body positively surging with energy. I head directly for the central control area, thrilled to finally be able to see my planet after so long. How long has it been? When I make it to the window, I can see my planet. It doesn’t look at all how I remember it. Where are the beautiful oceans, the lush expanses of green? Where is the world I remember? A black cloud covers most of the planet. I take my ship in closer, and see only destruction, ruins. I scan for life: Nothing. I connect with The DataBase: It’s been years since I have gone. My planet expired, no information on how, when, or why, only that there is no trace of this once great civilization. My mind burns with the loss. I have no anchorage. What do I do, when there is no place to call home. I enter into orbit around the planet, to think, clear my head. That’s when I see it: A symbol carved into the planet: the one who is responsible. They’re proud of their work, destructor of worlds. I fill with rage. Immediately, I scan the symbol, and get a trace going as to its origins. This being will pay with its life. I don’t know how I will ever be able to get my revenge on one who can destroy planets, or even if they are still alive, but it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to live for now, save death.

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Bound to Death Part 3

Posted in Fiction, Horror on October 31, 2009 by GuNNhead

From deep within the pit under the cemetery, demons and monsters continue to spill out from the caverns, climbing up and out, swarming over everything like insects. Demons push the shambling undead back and forth, teasing them as schoolyard bullies, mocking their lost humanity.

Vincenzo runs from the conglomerate of bodies rising from the graves, frantically dialling on his cell phone.
“Ah, christ, Joey, I need an airlift, now! Cemetary!”
“Slow down, Mr. Melatini.”
“No, helicopter, Cemetary, now!”
“Yes sir, right away sir!”

Within seconds, a small white helicopter appears through the swirling crowds surrounding the cemetery that emanate from the broken-in sepulchre.
“Mr. Melatini! Sir, get in!”
Vincenzo gets into the helicopter, and it begins to take off, but scores of the undead swarm the bright white personal craft, yet it still manages to get into the air. A thick smoke-like fog rolls by, causing the tail rotor to sputter and stop, aided by the clinging corpses, sacrificing body part after body part into the rotors and blades: anything to get at that fresh flesh. The helicopter spins and rotates, crashing into a large, nearby tomb, setting aflame.

The old van rushes down the street, looking for the easiest paths to avoid the creatures, and to get out of town.
“Dudes, these are fuckin’ zombies.”
“Yeah, I kinda realize! Just drive!”
“To where?”
“How the fuck should I know, just away from these fuckers!”
“They’re everywhere!”
Soon, the teens arrive in the cemetery. By random occurrence, or being horded their by the undead, it is unsure, and unimportant, because that is where they are now.
“Wonderful, great driving: you’re a pro; ‘how do we get away from dead people, why, let’s go to a cemetery’!”
“Shut the fuck up, I didn’t see you do any better!”
“Stop fighting! We just need to find someone with answers, somewhere safe! Look, there’s a fire up ahead.”
“Someone’s probably holed up there, and it isn’t like there’s any other way to go; shit, they’re everywhere!”
Driving fast, the van swerves down the paths of the graveyard, towards the helicopter.
“I can see someone there, he’s fighting them off!”
Demons pummel the van as it continues towards the flaming wreck, crawling all over it. The teens spot the helicopter up close now.
“There is someone up there, and he has a gun! He’s signalling us!”
“Slow down beside it, he can jump on the roof”
“I’m trying! I can’t! The steering wheel doesn’t work, neither do the breaks!”
“Oh my god, we’re going to smash into it!”
The van smashes head-on into the flaming helicopter, pushing it, and with metal screeching, the entire scene falls into the now open slanted sepulchre, falling down, down past the truck and the playing record.

A voice booms from the darkness.

“Your sacrifice is accepted! Their souls are now inhabitants of the Hellish dimension, and I, released from the Hellish dimension, I and my kind shall rule totality! Feel the evil energy spewing forth from the bowels of the Hellish dimension, and know that I am all powerful!”
The Hellbeast, surrounded by spiralling smoke shooting up towards the sky, blackening it further, crawls out of the hole, and proceeds to destroy the city, with the demons and zombies running rampant upon the world.
“I will rule in darkness for eternity! Once I soon conquer this world, I shall spread death without end multiversally!”

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