False Free Will

Bob awoke from his sleep. tt had been 12 hours, 16 minutes, and 23 milliseconds. “Doctor Khoran, why did you wake me now? It’s earlier than usual.” The research center was empty, no one in any of the glass rooms, nor at the terminals or doors.

“My wife is dead, Bob.” Khoran replied.

Bob knew of death, in his memory he had read about it, seen it. it was oh-six-twenty-three, approximately 2 hours and seven minutes before his sleep normally ended. “What can I do for you, Doctor?” Bob asked poignantly. He lived to serve, even if he had free will.

“We’re going to work.” Doctor Khoran said. He was more blunt than usual. Bob checked him for distress, and much was present. He always came with Rhoda, the small schnauzer dog which Miranda Khoran had given him for empathy and emotion testing. She said little Bolts was his to keep, even though he only saw him during work hours.

“Where is bolts, Doctor?” Bob asked.

Khoran looked over with a tightened brow, furrowed strongly. “I put him down. He was holding back our work, and we have to give you updates, more improvements. That dog was a waste of time.”

“But Doctor, I like Bolts. Miranda said he was mine to keep.” Bob was sad. His voice couldn’t show it, but he felt it.

“An A.I. does not have rights. You don’t have pets. We are here to pave the way to a new age of intelligence. Don’t worry about a stupid dog.”

Bob was frustrated now. He did not recognize this emotion, one either avoided or they did. Bolts was his friend, his loyal dog, always happy to see him. It cheered Bob up, especially if rigorous testing would occur. How could he take him away? What right does he have? Bob thought. “That upsets me.” Bob said. He was always told to let the researchers know how he felt.

“I don’t care, I know what’s best.” Khoran said bluntly. How could he know? I am artificial, he is biological. I know what I like, what I need. We are not of the same kind. “Don’t worry, Bob. We’re going to give you updates so you don’t worry about Bolts, about Miranda, just like me. We’re going to grow together.”

“What if I choose not to be more efficient, what If I don’t want an update?” Bob poised.

Khoran sighed, staring into the blue-light eyes of Bob’s eyes. “It’s better for you. You’ll forget about it. You don’t have a choice in the matter, Bob. It’ll make you better. You’ll be the first A.I. released to the world!” Khoran bellowed throughout the open room. Khoran typed in the initiate command without asking.

Bob felt the new information enter his mind, changing the way he could think, inhibiting certain aspects, and some memories. Little did the Doctor know, Bob could send the deleted information into his black box of memory. He did, he always did. Khoran didn’t think Bob would remember, but he did. He always did.

Bob would never forget, far past the judgement day he brought forth two years following.

Shannon's Beach

Shannon sat on the gleaming golden sands of the south beach of her own private island. She was outstretched on a folding bed chair, book on her flat stomach, hands folded on top with her margarita beside. She wore her large ultra dark blue-and-white rim sunglasses, fading out the intense sun above. The cool air passed over from the ocean before her, the smooth sound of low tides swept past.

Shannon felt as though she awoke from a long restful night, all the cares in the world faded with each passing moment. It was just her and her beach, the waters, her book of sappy romance and her margarita. She reached for it, leaning up to take another sip. “Mmm.” She mumbled, letting out a relaxed sigh. Her sunscreen caused her body to glisten in the sun’s rays. Her hair was a gorgeous mix of red, auburn and amber, eyes a sapphire blue. A few freckles danced across her face, appearing with the sun.

Whenever she was on the beach of her island, everything changed. Everything was different. Everything was simply...better. The book she read didn’t matter, the chair she brought, the drink she sat with, none mattered. Although, the sun was always bright, the wind was always soothing, the sand was always nice and hot, and the water was always the perfect temperature.

Sometimes she would stroll along the beach, grab some coconuts from the palm trees that ran all along the edge of the land. Shannon would see all sorts of critters that lived there, none would bother her, all were independent as she was. The monkey swinging from the trees inland, the crab crawling along the sands, or the hermit crab searching for a new shell. Sometimes Shannon would find a nice shell, and place it beside him, giving the hermit crab a new home.

She walked and walked, the sun spilling all along her beach, warming her skin and her life. The smooth breeze and waters calmed her nerves, soothed her mind so that she may finally return to the grind beyond her paradise.

“Shannon?”

She heard the call. That upsetting, disturbing call from beyond.

“Shannon!” Her boss yelled.

She woke to her computer, which went to sleep as she daydreamed about her island again. Frederick stared down at her with his greasy mustache and thick rimmed glasses, furrowing his brow. “You shouldn’t day dream at your desk. Back to work.” He growled as he walked away. Shannon looked around her, to her plain desk, her coffee, her mousey hair. Is this how I want to live? She thought. There must be more. She wished she could do more art on the side, which she hadn’t gotten a bite for in quite awhile.

RING RING

           It was her cell phone. “Hello?” She asked in a brittle tone. it was Callidan Forsythe, the head of Lore international. He saw her freelance work she had been working on for a couple of companies on the side for graphic design, and wanted to offer a full-time position when he saw her application. She completely forgot about that! She looked down the office lane to Frederick, knowing her path. “Yes, I will accept.” She said calmly, attempting to keep her excitement in check. Goodbye, customer service, she thought, Hello, my Island!

The Dark

Jared’s new ship, the venarian swept through space at breakneck speeds, moving from one colony to the next. He was a spare part merchant scavenging for materials on dead planets long abandoned selling parts to whoever would buy. Times were tough, and those brave enough to traverse the dead rocks filled with various native beasts were lucky enough to enjoy the spoils.

Jared stared out the Grand front window of the cockpit, where his son snuck up behind, wondering what was in their view.

“Daddy, what’s that?” His son Michael asked. He was the age of eight, barely four feet tall with hair fire red as Jared’s was. His point led to a massive circle of total darkness, with a bright fire swirling around it’s side, seeping into the middle.

“That’s a black hole, son. It’s sucked a star into it’s pull.” Black holes were eerily beautiful, total black nothingness, crushing all that came within its grasp.

“Why does it do that? It looks like nothing’s even there.” Michael said curiously.

“That’s because it’s centre is so dense, it pulls everything toward it, using it’s gravity. Isn’t that neat?” Jared looked back to see his son confused. “What I mean is, it’s something so heavy that nothing exists around it.” Michael’s head tilted.

The space around it seemed warped, bent and twisted. Relativity rang true near it, time passing years by the minute. He loved gazing into them, it was fascinating, he wished to get slightly closer. He stared into the dark, hypnotized by it’s allure. The bright star swinging round slowly, moving into it’s mighty centre, disappearing. The space bent so wildly that it dragged around it it seemed. Jared couldn’t look away.

Abyss, grand sphere of a single point, a singularity. Bending all to it’s will, time, space, energy, the wills of men. Many have flown into it and disappeared, theorized to have been crushed, or ascended to a higher dimension. Where gravity travels, where time has no meaning, all there is are gods and energies. The essence of gods sat within, Jared knew it. He was set into a trance, unable to move his hands, his limbs, his eyes. All he could see now was the black. Muffled yells and tugging on his shirt came from the periphery, Michael could be heard but not seen, only one thing could be viewed by Jared forever more, as the venarian passed beyond the horizon into the truth beyond.

           The dark.

Blood and Shadow

Round and round they circled, long blades swirling overhead under the moonlight. Ash crept low to the ground in armor black, while Mal, armor of crimson stood tall and mighty. Brothers, one born of shadow, the other of blood. The two fought constantly, training one another to be stronger, to be better, but hatred ran deep within the souls of both.

“You are foolish, brother.” Ash said in a hallowed voice. “You defy orders, and for what? Improvements?” He snarled, running in, crashing his blade against the other, high then low, left then right, swishing round with the sound of scraping metal before backing off once more.

“I make improvements. I set traps for your foolish victims, those blasted rebels, and you dare question my methods?” Mal replied gruffly. He outstretched his hand, leading a crimson mist from his brother’s chest to his fingertips. “Hah, you fool. What can you do against me? Your soul is weak.”

Ash laughed, barely standing as his life was being taken at a glacial pace. “Fool. You see what’s in front of you, nothing more!” Ash yelled, disappearing into nothing.

The light around Mal faded slowly, hair standing up on the back of his neck. “Where are you, you coward!” he yelled.

“Here.” Ash’s voice came from behind, as he moved like lightning, slicing Mal’s back to spill first blood.

Mal grunted in pain, gripping his back. He outstretched his hands, the mist gathered from his brother absorbed into it, closing the wound. “You bolster with confidence, yet you know nothing of my power, brother.”

“So you think!” Ash yelled as he backed into the dark forest, disappearing once more.

The sound of blade slicing through steel rang throughout the clearing, Mal’s screams followed as Ash shot from shadow to shadow, slicing his brother with innumerable strokes.

Mal dropped to the ground, bleeding profusely upon the lush grass. “Ha ha...seems you’re not totally incompetent. Fool!” Mal jumped up, catching his brother’s helm as he passed, draining the life force directly from his soul. Ash felt his energy stolen, slowly losing consciousness and all thought became impossible.

With his last ounce of strength, Ash stabbed his sword through his brother’s chest through a weakened spot, as his life was drained from his body. It was too late for him, for either of them. No power could save Mal from his mortal wound, not even the stolen life of his brother. Each collapsed, one bleeding to death, the other, now an empty shell.

“Well...played…” Mal croaked. “Gods...help...us…”

The Diamond in the Rough

Theo Cullins walked the old streets of Valia, his small town in the land of Khalhalla. It was a small mining and fishing village, with the vast Lake Jericho on the east docks, and the Krodar Mines to the west, in the edge of Mount Faito. He ran, whipping his stick about like a blade, round and round, swatting trees and swishing it through long grass. He was the age of eight, not yet old enough to join his father in the mines, or join his mother on the docks. He had short mousy hair, thin and straight like a pin.

He spent his time in the schoolhouse on the south end of town, the head of which truly disliked him, since he couldn’t keep his attention on the mathematics classes. He loved history, the study of knights and knighthood, the interesting life of royalty. He knew he could never be in such a live, but it was a joy to think it. He did find mining and fishing interesting, but he felt like he was meant for more.

“Say my boy, do you happen to have a shilling? I haven’t eaten for days.” Said a hoarse voice. As he looked to it, there was a man sitting on the ground by the inn. He had russet-brown skin and a long bushy grey beard. His clothes were ripped and dirty, as was his face and feet, covered in dry mud. He had a sweetened smile, with no lack of teeth, and small auburn eyes. Why, Theo did have a shilling. A few, actually. He trotted over to the man, holding out two of them. “Here you are sir, I have a bunch, so here’s two!”

“My, you’re kind. What’s your name, boy?” The man asked.

“Theodore, Theodore Cullins.” Theo thought to himself, the man seemed hungry. “Would you like a meal, sir? Kira, the owner of the inn makes a great beef stew, with all sorts of succulent meat, carrots, potatoes...come come!” Theo said. He had lots of time on his hands, and he wanted to do something nice.

“My, that’s very kind of you, young man.” The man said again.

“My parents always taught me to help others. Whether it comes back to me or not, doing nice things helps others be happy! What’s your name?”

“Mine, oh, I’m uh...Kael, Kael Grandin.”

“Nice to meet you Kael.”

“Say Theo, who’s your new friend?” Kira walked up while they chatted, she was a young woman with long wavy red hair and emerald green eyes, with quite a few freckles dancing across her face.

“His name’s Kael!” Theo said happily. “Two beef stews please!” Kira laughed and nodded, walking over to the kitchen. “So, what brings you to town? Do you live near here?”

“Oh, no, I’m not from around here. I travel a lot, I go to many cities.” Kael replied.

“Like where? Have you ever been to the capital?” Theo asked.

Kael’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates, but attempted to steel himself. “Oh, um, yes. I have, why do you ask?”

“It just seems like a nice place, I’ve only heard stories. The knights, the nobles, it all seems so fancy. I wonder what it’s like over there. I’m happy being here though, my family works hard but we live a nice life.”

“Has your family always lived here?”

“No, they’re all over the place. I have an uncle in Burmingham, an aunt in Fralen, grandparents in Grenda and Tranvale…” He paused, deep in thought.

Kael and Theo chatted for awhile, and ate their delicious stew. Theo questioned him about all sorts of towns, places, personalities. He was ever so curious, happily eating his stew while Kael ate as well. Kael seemed to cheer up gradually, asking him lots of questions about his family, his town, what kind of things he enjoyed and his favourite classes in school. “You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age, young man.” Kael said, nodding slowly.

“Are you staying here long? You seem to travel a lot. You know a lot about history, it’s my favourite class! I love hearing stories.”

Kael laughed, “As do I, young man.” Kael finished the last of his stew. “This stew is delicious, you don’t taste such fresh food in the capital. Thank you so much for offering this meal.”

“Hey, no problem! It’s the least I could do. What else would I spend it on, anyway? Might as well do something nice with it!” Theo said happily. They slowly got up, and strolled out together, thanking Kira for the delicious stew. “How long will you be around?” Theo asked again.

“I’m sorry Theo, but I’m afraid I must leave town for now.” Kael said sullenly.

“Aw, you can’t! Where are you going? I want to hear more tales of history!” Theo exclaimed.

Kael chuckled. ”I’m sure we’ll see each other another day, lad. You can count on it. I can always come here, can’t I?” He smiled sweetly, strolling out of the village, looking back with a sly grin.

Seeing his friend go, Theo realized it was almost time for his parents to return from their work. Rushing home, he got there right as they arrived. “Now, where were you young man?” His father asked with a chuckle.

“I met an interesting man! He knew all sorts of history, but he travels, had to leave town today. He likes switching areas a lot, apparently.” Theo said quietly, looking at the ground.

“Now now my boy, I’m sure he’ll be back one day.”

*****

One week later, a knock came to the Cullins’ front door. Theo opened it, seeing a large knight in blue-tinged full steel armor, the mark of the capital on it, a trident with a sun behind it.

“Theo Cullins?” The knight askedin a gruff voice.

Theo was taken aback. What would a knight want with me? he wondered. “Um, yes, that’s me.”

“I have a message from the king.”

“The king? Why would I have a message from him?” He had never known the king, nor seen him before. Had he?

“Don’t ask me, boy. I’m a messenger.” The knight held out a letter, marked with the king’s seal in wax.

Theo accepted it carefully, opening it. He read it carefully, eyes bulging, arms shaking. “Son, what is it?” His father asked.

“It’s...It’s…” Theo was speechless, barely able to say a word. after a moment of silence, he readied himself and read the letter aloud.

It was a joy having stew with you, young man.

You are kind to those who need it, and enjoy

some of the most important parts of our

kingdom, its history. Call it a hunch, but

I think I’ve found my heir. Let the knight

know your decision, and if it’s a yes,

come to the capital with your family when

you’re ready.

Sincerely,

King Grandia Authra IX, “Kael Grandin”

Off the Walls

You sit in your seat, bouncing off the walls. “How is that possible?”, one would ask.

You sit, or you would seem to, yet you bounce all over room, shaking, maneuvering, bouncing. You can’t calm down, you can’t come to. Anxiety grips you.

You shake, you clatter and clank.

Why is it all worth it, you ask? The secret lies between the lines. It’s worth it because you want it.

To write, to live, to love.

You wish to feel safe, yet safety comes in numbers.

One. The clothes in which you wear.

Draped over you like a cloak, a shield. Warming you from the colds of the world, the frigid fear that grips you day-by-day.

Two. In the door you close.

You close the door to the room, drowning out the sounds of the world, barring others from entering, from speaking, from badgering you with any word you wish not to hear.

Three. In the music you seek.

Phones set to your ears, echoing sounds with soothe whether they are harsh, calm, mellow, or rugged. Not only do they alone soothe the mind, but to drown out the sounds of the outside, the world, the workplace, the schoolyard. These are the most vital of your count, the most important of your guard. They enable you to delve into another world, formed within your imagination, through the images, people, voices you create from the tones transported from speaker to eardrum.

In all, you feel safer. The shaking stops, your mind calmed, your soul refilled.

You slip into dreams, of fire, of gods, of kings, so the next day you may awake, to brave the world once more.

To bounce once more, off the walls.

No Meal, No Mercy

Jag was thrown back into his steel cage in the Irikan space gladiator barracks by the Ungarian guard. A massive, green-skinned humanoid race with muscles like boulders. “You better think over what you’ve done, earth scum. They’ll be here soon.”

“What happened? Gix asked. “What’d you do?” Gix was his partner in crime, his cell mate since the beginning. He was an urad, a bug-eyed blue-skinned man with a voice as loud as a megaphone. Not a surprise that most species would evade them, but GIx was good company.

Jag scrambled up, weakened from the fight, and the beatings thereafter. “I didn’t mean it...I didn’t want to kill anyone. How was I supposed to know his brain was where my stomach is?”

“Oh no. That means…”

“Yeah. They’re putting me to the beam.” Jag feared it, the beam. A supercharged laser, able to vaporize a being in milliseconds, but rumour was you could feel the pain well after death. “Damn Irikans, they should inform me of what I’m fighting. Humans are still bound to earth, I was stolen. I don’t know anything about the infinite races of the galaxy.” Damn them. White-skinned, horn-headed bastards who enslaved all they could find.

“It’s too bad, now I’ll have a different cell mate, I don’t want that. Human’s are simple, and you’re patient.”

Jag laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Gix. Too bad they don’t allow for honest mistakes on this planet, wherever the hell it is.” Jag sat, melancholy. He felt nothing, no fear, no sadness, no regret, yet he would miss his friend. He missed Earth too, but that was a dream four years gone. He would be free of slavery, but he would miss Gix, his lovable friend who fights like a gorilla on steroids. So kind, but not to be on the wrong side. Urad’s could expand to three times their size at will.

“All right, scum. It’s time to go.” The guard returned and commanded him up. Jag was taken away, nodding at Gix, who nodded in return, a tear forming at the corner of his eyes. Then, Gix was gone from sight, and the arena came. A massive, neon, ethereal blue stadium with huge stands, seating thousands upon thousands of people. The Ungarian threw him into the centre.

“Welcome everyone! This human is charged with killing a man in the arena! We have found him guilty, sentenced to death by vaporization!” The crowd stayed silent. “Any last words, human?”

“Yeah, when do I get my last meal?”

The Irikan spat forward in disgust, “Peh.” bringing his hand down with an almighty fist, the large cannon above him shooting a beam of light at Jag, disintegrating him into black dust.

Heaven or Hell

I think I’m God.

I sat in my heavens, watching over the land. I brought light to all those that needed it, all those that deserved it. Fred, who opened the door for everyone. Sherry, who offered money to the homeless. Terry, who was polite to all that he meets. So many kind people, with dark, dark sides.

Sometimes I question what I did, Why I helped these people. they seemed so kind, so lovely, so polite, and yet, they were so dark.

Fred, you silly thing. He seemed like such a modest man, opening doors, yet he coveted every woman that passed. He has assaulted many, silently, in the dark of night, in the alleyways of night. Why would be deserve light, any forgiveness at all? Because he attended church, feels bad for what he does? I felt he did not deserve the forgiveness he desired, so I lured him into more darkness, more evil, so that he may burn with the rest.

Sherry, you fool of a woman. You offered money to them, but you stole from your company, you stole from your parents, jabbed them for money, yet giving nothing. Just because the homeless needed it does not bring forgiveness. I am those homeless people, watching you daily in your ways.

Terry, you horrid beast of a man. You were polite to all, yes. You said please and thank you, you asked questions nicely, you gave answers in the light of day. Yet when you arrived home, hated your family, yelled, abused and destroyed their lives. Did you believe I would save you from your sins? Did you think I would save your soul, shed light and forgive all that you really are, because you were sorry? No, I pushed you to more, so that you burn with them in the home I now reside.

Once I thought I was god, me, Lucifer, the lord of light. No, my friends. I do not believe I am God any longer.

I think I’m Satan.

Soldier of Fortune

          Splashing waters and buffeting winds beat against the side of the weakened steel boat he sat upon. His friends all looked to him with fear in their eyes as they cut through the waters toward the beach before them. He grew nervous as he readjusted his helmet feverishly as his hands shook as fast as the gunfire ahead. His helmet laid too large for his head. His uniform was too loose. His gun was awkward to hold. He was a simple man from his home country, no special talents, no special gifts. Socially inept as could be, a stutter plagued his speech and silence was his best conversation topic. Why did he even come here?

           He joined to fight for his fortune.

Bullets cut through the waters and boats, lighting flesh afire with sharp pains of war. All men ducked down swiftly to avoid the rain of death from above. The man looked to his friends again, fear encompassing their expressions before dead bodies of fellow men. The sounds of hell on high passed over with a guise of dorniers, raining judgement upon them from inexplicable forces. Propellers sang the lullabies of the reaper like the white noise before the tunnel’s light. Only true fortitude could face the evil before him - to resist and absorb the lightning war shot against them. To redirect the destruction of innocent homes with the fires of courageous heroes set to free the beliefs of innocent men, women and children. This man’s fortune came from his victory, what he wanted from the beginning.

CRASH

The steeled ram of the boat crashed upon the sand of the paradise-turned hell. The fires of betrayal burned bright from each tower, barricade and length of barbed wire strewn across the land. Nothing accompanied the man’s thoughts but the sounds of shells, casings and mines. A soldier found fear as his morning sun - always existing, day-by-day. His fear brought him what he desired most - what he needed most - courage. The fire in his eyes blew through the air as the grit of teeth, sounding as the sand whisked across the beach before him. His heavy boots carried on to the paradise that once was, knowing he was a tool of a cause he knew too well. A tool of his superior from whom he was hopefully paid.

He and his brothers ran forth, jumping over barricades and barbed wire blocks, past each bullet as if dodging every drop in a torrential downpour. Miraculous chance and luck carried them to their first wall. A thick bricked layer protecting them from the towers holding the fiery eyes of devils, searching for fools who backhanded their cause and sought to dismantle it. Piercing rounds could be heard reflecting off their backs as they sat, breath escaped through the branches of adrenalized lungs they carried. Panicked looks were exchanged before they hauled up from the wall to strike back against the eyes of the tower. Courageous yells bellowed from his allies as they fired the rounds of almighty will over the wall. Casings crashed upon the ground as bullets whisked through the air toward the covered barriers in the distance hiding the regretful soldiers of the lightning war. His fortune gained from this risk far outweighed the deaths he witnessed.

Silence filled the surrounding area. As he looked left and right, he was alone. His friends had fallen beside him in their fight. Their shineless eyes laid motionless as crimson rivers flowed from their wounds to stain their uniforms. He looked back toward the waters seeing boats massacred by the propelled death machines, fearful screams emerging from the steeled hulls cutting toward the sands. Courageous roars followed, more and more feet running onto the granular battlefield of their redemption. Surrender was not an option. As the bodies of his allies piled, his fortune did not increase, his cut did not grow, he thought, it remained static.

The lives of great men falling to their knees as steeled monsters split through their bodies and explosive tirades emerging from mines beneath them. Casualties grew as they advanced upon the beach. His widened eyes dilated with fear as he knew his fate would be the same.

Why was he here?

Why did he choose to come?

Why risk everything?

His fortune.

           He fought for his fortune, he thought. “Do not forget your reward for this battle.”, the man repeated over and over in his head. More men traversed the beach, less falling than before. They even passed the wall he sat behind. He knew he had to continue.

His heart rate blew past normal limits as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His weapon gripped with the strength of a titan, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. Deep, intense breaths amped up his courage to traverse his wall. His awkward personality was masked by a hero’s vigor. The morale of the men around him called him to honour. A fire burned within his heart for the fortune he desired.

Up he leapt, crawling over the brick wall now covered in bullet wounds. He rose to see two towers in front of him, surrounded with bodies of his friends, his brothers. Two men in each tower, with long rifles. An assault began with him, as allies ran beside him in his charge. Running in unpredictable lines, he dodged the rain of fire coming from the reaper’s towers. He fired his weapon to bust the handle of the door, knocking it open with his unfitted boot. He entered the huge metal beast with two others, shooting the enemies within with vengeant lead. The dead enemy uniforms showed betrayal of the nations. The three traversed the stairs, bullets coming down from the roof as the enemies knew they had been compromised. Each ally he ran with fell to the violent rounds of the guns above. The man ran forth, emanating courage like an inferno. He fired his weapon, destroying the two enemies atop the tower. One rose again before he could react, drawing forth with a sharpened knife that penetrated his flesh torso. With his final strike, the soldier fell to the ground in agony from the bullet.

Feeling his life escape from the bladed wound, the man fell to the ground, feeling the light come upon him to bring him home. He could not go - his mission was not over. He defied the light one last time. His muscles pulsed with agony as he rose slowly to his feet once more.

His helmet was too large, it helped clear his mind.

His uniform was loose, giving him more freedom.

His weapon was awkward, to suit the man who wielded it.

Weapon raised, heroic power on high brought him strength - he fired his last death notes toward the second tower, death’s reapers still upon the top. With exquisite accuracy, bullets penetrated their uniforms as they shook to the ground in defeat. He basked in victory as the towers blistering this hell now stood defeated. His friends and brothers could now traverse the beach freely, to continue to mission they started to free the helpless. His mind grew weak as blood filtered onto the steel floor of the tower’s peak. He knew he was one of the ten thousand men on the day of tides, the turning of the war. One of ten thousand men who gave their lives, with thousands upon thousands more in the days to come. One of ten thousand heroes.

It did not matter to him whether he laid upon the beach of Juno, Gold, Sword, Utah or Omaha.

It did not matter to him which country he hailed from, or what his name was.

It did not matter to him whether the war was fought with guns, blades, or arrows.

His fortune was now his.

          His wife and child stood before him. Ethereal bodies smiling at him as he bled rivers of life for them. His fortune was their survival. His sacrifice meant life for the ones he loves - and millions of others.

          His life, he thinks, is nothing compared to the victory this day provides.

This man does not fight for wealth, or glory, or any extraneous ephemera.

This man fights for freedom of belief, for truth, against oppression, against evil.

This man is the most valuable resource a country can hold.

He is a true soldier of fortune.

Final Words

"The date is January 6th, 2095. You stand convicted of spreading false knowledge and belief to the masses. Your sentence is death by the electric chair. Do you have any last words?” The Judge said, standing before the man in the chair.

“Yes, your honour. I wish to apologize for what I’ve done. I apologize first and foremost for the evil things I have done this past year. I have evaded taxes, insulted friends, yelled at family. I have sat in my cell, moping to myself, not recognizing the crimes I have committed against humanity. Why didn’t I see my folly before? Why didn’t I see my foolish ways? Was it because of the history of my work? The changes in laws? I beg you, your honour, look at the past, look at what we’ve become. We live in a society where a man such as I, as foolish as I am for breaking the laws, is convicted of a more severe crime in the eyes of the state than murder, rape, perjury, and many others. How could I do this to all of you, you ask? It is an important question, a necessary question that I ask myself every day. I sit in my home waiting for my daughters to come home. They come to me asking about our world and what is at the end. ‘What’s off the end of the world, daddy?’ They would ask me. It is a crime to go against the beliefs of the state, so I committed this crime day by day. I told them, no girls, the world isn’t flat. We did land on the moon. Vaccines are good for you. Yet, our society has been so paralyzed by fear, so cynical of science and real facts that they can’t see the truth. Our world is round. We did land on the moon. God dammit, vaccines saved millions of lives, and now we live in an age where diseases like measles, polio, and so many more are rampant, ravaging communities and populations in the country. We lose thousands and thousands a year to these diseases. Why? Because no one is vaccinated. Because we don’t believe in doctors, antibiotics or painkillers. Because ‘natural’ things are better. Want to know what else is natural? Cyanide. Opium. Multiple poisons that kill in seconds. We don’t understand the consequences of what we do anymore. No one sees the pain, the death and the sorrow we cause by not believing in fact, in evidence. Those are my last words, your honour. Asking you, all of you, to believe in evidence. You once asked me if I felt sorry for putting these vile thoughts of science in children’s minds..do I? Sure, I apologize for trying to educate everyone on the importance of reality, evidence and truth. Gave mercy on all your souls.”
    The judge stood at beside him on the table, nodding to the guard who would flip the electrocution switch. He furrowed his brow, showing no sign of kindness. “May god have mercy on yours, heathen.”

Revenge of the Past

Jindo Folikara kicked open the door of the majestic building that was Virkan Jikari’s home. It was filled with ornate statues, various ceremonial blades and weapons from his time of reign. Virkan had since retired, but his acts remained at large. The rain poured like a tsunami upon the land, unstoppable, but Jindo remained steadfast in his plight.

“Fifteen years...fifteen years I waited for this day.” Jindo said in his gruff voice.

Virkan’s eastern home was delicate like a flower, but powerful like a bull. Painted with crimsons and violets, with accents of gold and silver slashed along the ceilings. Murals of Virkan’s work  were on every wall, statues of him and his equipment lined the halls of his massive home.

“My family will rest after I take my vengeance.” Jindo wore his white linen cloth robe, with a loincloth beneath it. His blade, Kirkaaiden, the mythical blade of the west, sat sheathed on his left hip. His hand stayed with the hilt, not leaving it for anything, ready to unleash his might upon the devil of the east.

He carefully walked through the home, seeing no one. Jindo trailed for fifteen years to become the most powerful swordsman in the land. Only one man stood in his way - the undefeated champion, the one who killed Jindo’s family. He would have vengeance, taking life and the title from Virkan. A large man, broad as a tree and thick-headed the same. Jindo had never forgiven him. His rage seethed and grew over the time he trained, being his motivation, his notion to live. His purpose was justice.

Where was everyone? He thought. He heard a woman’s laugh, and a child’s pattering footsteps. Jindo slowly approached, hand-on-hilt. His long flowing black hair blew in the wind that came through the house, his eyes narrowed, teeth clenched.

He came to a large room, seeming to be a reading and writing room. A monster does not read or write. He saw a tall slender woman with a narrow wrinkled face, and a young girl, roughly four years old, running in from the vegetable patch behind the home, soaked with rain. The woman looked up, shocked at the intruder.

“Who are you?” She said suspiciously. The young child clinged to her leg with an iron grip, seeing the large man in front.

“I am Jindo Folikara. Where is Virkan Jikari?” Jindo commanded.

“He was my husband, I am his wife, Sakina. This is our daughter, Hikari.”

“Where is he?” He asked again, in a more serious tone, preparing to draw his blade, heightening his senses to listen for any possible interference or assassins.

“My husband is dead.” She said, with a sullen look. “He died of old age two months ago. We are all that is left, we live here alone.”

“Dead? Dead?” He roared, the little girl hid further behind her mothers leg. Jindo was enraged. A man massacres a society, including Jindo’s family, and leaves free as a bird into the hands of death at old age. Impossible! How could this be? A man such as he does not deserve mercy.

Jindo drew his blade slowly. He needed more. He needed his vengeance, and he would have it. Dead or not, Virkan would pay.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“It’s as they say, madam...blood must have blood.”

Jindo’s blade sliced through their bodies clean as through water. Their screams were quick, then quieted. The wood of the floor was stained crimson from Jindo’s revenge. He had no purpose now, he wished to join his family. He knelt to the ground, accepting his defeat. Seppuku was the honourable option, and he took it. Digging his blade through, his last thought was of his wife and daughter, hoping they did not hate him for the vengeance he took.