Planet Bug Part 1

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Horror, Sci-Fi on September 28, 2009 by GuNNhead

A body is suddenly awakened by a splash of cold water; no, not a splash, a torrent. Drowning under water, and, while refreshing in comparison to being under three feet of sand and dirt, still means death if one remains under it. The man swims upwards, against the current, and breaks the surface. He’s behind a waterfall, in a small rocky alcove, the sound of the falls echoing peacefully yet forcefully all around him. He stays for a tick, catching his breath, gaining his bearings before going back under the water, to get to the other side. Once under and out, he re-emerges, and sees his surrounding: a dense jungle. Swimming for the beach, he wonders what he could possibly be doing here.

He reaches the wet sand, and lays there for a moment, composing himself. Then, he is slightly annoyed by a buzzing. It’s loud, so figuring it’s close, he swats it away, but it does not disappear. In fact, it gets louder. A gentle breeze cools his face, and he tries to ignore the buzzing and flapping of wings. The sound soon becomes deafening, and to his closed eyes it seems a cloud is blocking the calm sun. He opens them to see some sort of giant wasp hovering over him, as tall as the trees around, salivating over this morsel of food laid out before it. Its large pincers could easily slice him in half, and he would be worried about that, if the wasp could not swallow him whole with just as much ease. It strikes with its strong mandibles – he rolls to the side, and just barely evades an acid filled death inside the belly of this giant insect. Confused that it has missed its target, and gotten a mouthful of sand, it scuttles around, breaking down trees in its wake. It regains its bearings, as the man heads for the tree line for cover. It attacks again as he leaps behind the tree that its giant pincers cut in twain like butter. Disturbed, it scuttles around again, flapping its wings, sending a gust of wind the man’s way, knocking him off his feet. He gets up as the wasp-like giant hones in on him once more, staring at him, locked on his movements with its large compound, insect eyes. The man runs without looking for a path, his eyes locked firmly on the wasp. As it is about to strike, he runs into a tree, and falls down. The wasp takes this opportunity to go for the final death-blow. Its pincers are about to grasp the man, and tear him into pieces, when it stops suddenly…

A loud screech emanates from it, a tortuous, deafening screech. The man looks again at the wasp, as it lifts into the air, six arms flailing, its wings not twitching; a giant, green single sythen claw through its abdomen. An even larger praying mantis is the owner of this claw, and it grasps the wasp tighter, bringing it to its mouth, and it starts devouring it, head first. The man stares on in amazement. The sight is magnificent and terrifying. The mantis chews through the wasp’s body quickly, yet savoring every bite, the wasp’s legs twitching the whole time. When it finishes its meal it is left with only the wings, which it tosses to the side nonchalantly, before returning the way it came, its belly made large and black, filled with the chewed carcass of the now-digesting wasp.

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X Marks the Spot

Posted in Fiction on September 25, 2009 by GuNNhead

“Yarrr, ye be far too far north! No way ye’ll ever make it to yer destination. Tell ya what I’ll do, I’ll take ye to that there final X upon yer map. Fer a small, modest fee, of course, t’support this oooold pirate’s bones.”
“Umm, yeah, sure, that’d be great, we’re having a devil of a time trying to find it, it’s be amazing to have someone familiar with the land lend a hand.”
“Now, let me see that map’o’yers, t’see what I can do for ya,” he says, while taking the map gently from the man’s willing hands. The pirate’s tentacled hands move their suction cupped digits along the paper.
“Hmm, yes, this should be fine, no problem, I know that area well, we’ll be able to find yer treasure. All that’s left is to get into m’ship, and I’ll we’ll be there in no time a’tall.”

Traveling at a moderate pace, the breeze flowed through the hair of all parties, and everyone was enjoying themselves in the presence of this grotesque, hulking sea creature. The pirate captain was intriguingly hideous, with his gills and facial fins always moving so rhythmically, and his tentacle fingers keeping an otherworldly motion, almost hypnotic if one were to stare at them for too long.

“Yar, it feels good to be out at sea, on the open ocean again; sea salt always be most refreshing when out on the waterrr. Like a breath of fresh air for me body.”
“Buoy, this sure is a scenic tour, everything is so wondrous upon the shore. How much longer, Captain…?”
“Captian B. Fathomage, at yer servitude, sire, and n’yarr, only a few miles left to travel yet, then ye shall be at yer destination, and yer hearts shall be filled with the sights and place ye desire, and ‘tis a wondrous area.”

The ship docked, and the Captain led his small group along the paths. They headed towards the rudderless X marked haphazardly on a local map of the area. His tentacles scrawled along the map. Pop. Pop. Pop. His little suction cupped fingers walked.

“Here we be, ye bunch of scurvy-ridden land lubbers! The house of famous actor George Clooney! That’ll be 15 doubloons, if’n ya please. Tips not included, yet much appreciated, of course. I be thank’n ya fer choosin’ Hollywood Pirate Tours™.”

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Down that Way

Posted in Fiction on September 23, 2009 by GuNNhead

“Look at this crazy car. C’mon, look at it! This shit’s crazy.”
“It certainly is a buzz-worthy thing.”
“Whatever, I don’t think you ‘get’ it. Let’s go for a drive.”
“It really doesn’t look all too safe.”
“Relax! Let’s go somewhere, some, crazy, hellish drive.”
“Well, okay, but only because I’ve got a feelin’ that today is a lucky day.”

They hop in the car, and go barrelling down the dirt road, dust, sand, and rocks flying behind them, kicked up from the tires. Soon, it’s night time, and the car is surrounded on this road by overhanging trees. Decrepit branches reach out for them in the darkness. Coming across a small, secluded radio station, they stop in and ask for information on the surrounding area. The only person working at the time is the DJ. Between songs, he comes to the front desk.

“I like ya, but make it quick.”
“Heya, we just wanna know where the action is tonight.”
“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place then, because you are where the action is.”
“What even the fuck does that mean?”
“There’s a bar a few miles down the road, and I hear somethin’ nuts is goin’ on tonight, I myself am headin’ there after my show. Time’s up, gotta go!”

The two head out of the station and back to that crazy car, and drive to the bar. It’s a run down sort of place, surrounded by pickup trucks and semis; real foreboding, like an old log cabin that was turned into a restaurant in the 60s, then devolved into a biker bar in the 80s, and finally came to rest in this present time, as some crazy hellish amalgamation of enjoyment and danger.

“This place is perfect.”
“Still not lookin’ safe, man.”
“Feel the extreeme power of young years on your side.”
“What?”
“Ugh, I’m going in.”

Inside of the bar, hushed whispers are barely audible.
“Anyone knows ‘em?”
“I don’t like ‘em, that much I know.”
The two didn’t catch much of the mumbles over the music, but there was a group of crazy, hellish looking group looking at them from the corner of the bar, and the two sure caught it when they said,
“Some day you may lose them all.”
“Work for your specialty”

Pausing for a moment,
“I won’t go.”
“To the bar?”
“To the bar, not gunna do it, let’s go, those guys are gunna beat us up and kill us and all sorts of crazy hellish shit I don’t even wanna deal with.”
“Don’t rely on luck in such important question as your combativity!”

Approaching the bar, they notice that bartender is eyeing them as well.
“Dos cervezas por favor, señor.”
“Yeah, sure.”
As the two beers arri

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The 18-Wheeler pulls out onto the highway, and off into the sunset; the crazy car highly visible in the scorched cargo trailer, molten metal having left a giant hole.

“Come on, let’s go this way.”
“Why would we go this way, and not that way?”
“Why would we go this way? Why, well, because there’s life down this way, a chance at a new life, the chance to live, and to be free. And that way, why would we not go that way? Because… there’s only death down that way.”

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The Outside Part 2

Posted in Fiction, Gravity Surge, Sci-Fi on September 21, 2009 by GuNNhead

It feels like everything ends up being insignificant, but rarely in the moment; insignificant people leading insignificant lives, breathing insignificant breaths, drinking insignificant water from an insignificant source from an insignificant cup. Insignificant jobs, insignificant pay, insignificant coworkers, insignificant buses, insignificant traffic, insignificant small talk.

Internally.

Externally, there is an entire system at work, there are always incalculable systems at play, to make the cup, to clean the water and make sure all the insignificant people are able to imbibe. It is mind boggling when one truly gets down to it. Billions of people over the course of history eventually created all of these people, and they all will eventually find meaning on the other side, there is something, a path that’s to be followed, and chain of possibility and determination that which cannot be ignored. Even our very cells cry out for something, something more. There is a developed system at play even inside all of us, simply to ensure we function correctly. Yes, we have modified it in most circumstances, but that is now merely part of the experience of being alive. I, personally, have had my cells modified, but can still plainly see the connection of lineage and thought trees that created who I am now, and how I came to be here. This all fits. It all fits, no matter how you look at it, it all fits, and will fit. It just makes sense, every last iota of it all, the entire universe and all the dimensions make sense, in the long, fateful run of it. We’re both the painter and the puzzle maker, but there is something, some, grand, cosmic, scheme that already knows what we will see once we paint each individual piece and what the epic majesty of the puzzle-painting will be once we assemble it.

Let us keep existing:

In life, there are allusions that must be seen, allusions to what we must suppose are the truths beyond the grave. If one can see, or learn to see, these connections, these allusions in our everyday life, if you can see that strings that fate has on all of our corporeal forms, then you can live life happily, knowingly, for fate smiles upon those who see her strings. She sees this as the puppet finally coming to life, taking a life of its own, an intelligence acquired from beyond the stars, within our selves.

Knowing of my fate:

I know how to repair this ship from the outside, I can do it, since the problem cannot be fixed from inside. None have ever been outside, inside of this dimensional pocket. Though, it’s impossible to read if it’s really a pocket, or the truest expanse of our own dimension, with more beyond that. It’s not my fate to remain in this empty ship and die, it can’t be, I know fate has more in store for me. I’m going to take my chances out there, fix my ship, and return home. The Gravity of the situation is not lost on me, and it may never be. Perhaps, no matter the truth, it’s time to ascend through the cosmic dimension.

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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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