Memory
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Beyond Reckoning
[Indigo] noticed [time]. [Approaching].
{We [dreamt] of you,} [Scarlet] said. {[Coldness].}
{Gone,} [Indigo] declared. {Another [everything] failed as the previous.}
[Jade] were.
{Your [everything],} [Scarlet] said to [Jade].
{Dying,} [Jade] reported. {The [everything] will only persist another [73 sextillion years].}
{[Dimensional],} [Indigo] perceived. {They do not last [long].}
{Greatest chance of [attainment],} [Scarlet] noted. {[?] rarely even produce intelligence.}
[Scarlet] were not.
{[Micro],} [Jade] considered.
{No need,} [Indigo] said. {This [everything] now has [12 sextillion years]. Time to [create] another. [Infrared] allows.}
[Jade] were incapable of emotion, but if [Jade] were not, the emotion felt would be sorrow.
[Jade] watched the dying [dimensional everything] as countless [totalities] within it vanished for reasons none of the inhabitants would ever be able to understand. One of the [totalities] shined faintly as the cosmoses within it imploded and exploded.
The End of Existence
[The Ultimate] sensed a horrible feeling of destruction everywhere.
Master, [the Greater Impossible] said. We are doomed.
This cannot be, [the Ultimate] declared. There was no reason. No indication at all!
I am sorry, my Master, [the Greater Impossible] said. Throughout all existence, cosmoses are simultaneously dying.
[The Ultimate] did not reply. There was no more to be said.
[The Greater Impossible], having accepted the inevitable, destroyed itself.
It looks like you win in the end, [the Ultimate] said, thinking about [the Emptiness].
And [the Ultimate] looked upon the dying cosmoses. An almost-pride engulfed [the Ultimate]. It was a good existence. [The Ultimate] did not regret anything.
[The Ultimate] released a vast light throughout existence as the last of its energy dwindled with the cosmoses. The light was everywhere for several moments, including one great and dark cosmos, before everything vanished.
The Last Day
The Emperor sighed. A gesture indicative of life. The Emperor was once a life form, after all.
My Lord, the Black God thought to him. It seems that we have little time.
I know, the Emperor said, closing his eyes. It has been a long time since I was really alive. I do not fear death.
I comprehend, the Black God said.
The Enigma appeared and bowed to the Emperor.
Your minions request to spend their final moments with you, my Lord, the Enigma said.
Let them come, the Emperor said.
And they did. The Emperor looked at them with his mind.
They were older, now. You could even feel their age. A very long time had passed.
The Emperor made it a point to consider each one, to briefly remember their lives which he had never experienced, before he reflected on his own life.
A bright light lit up the cosmos as the Emperor thought his final words.
Oh well.
1,408,226 Machine Age / 214,963rd Year of the Lord
Earth 3
Emperor Sammy King blinked at the sun.
He had a daydream. His immediate mind had forgotten it, as his immediate mind was based on his original chon mind. He considered fetching the daydream, but he didn't really care.
Sammy glanced at his hand and flexed his fingers.
It's almost a pity, he thought to himself. With my mind, I can accomplish more than these hands ever will. They're essentially useless now.
He was about to close his hand into a fist when he became aware of Therashok about to visit him. He left his palm open and Therashok appeared in it, roughly one twentieth of its normal size.
"Yo, Boss," Therashok said, despite its lack of a mouth or vocal cords.
"Hello, Therashok," Sammy murmured.
"So, like, I got bored this other day," Therashok said. "And then boom! I saw some dark steven blow up because I ate it, except I wasn't there, you know?"
Closed his fingers over the miniature Therashok, who disappeared.
Ah, Therashok, Sammy thought to himself, then stopped. Radius was calling to him.
My Lord, Radius thought to him. I apologize for interrupting your ineffable thoughts.
It is no matter, Sammy replied. What is it?
The vlinn have released deadly gases into our atmosphere, Radius stated. Many are working on repelling the gases, but there will be terrible casualties. I was wondering if you would consider interfering.
Sammy said nothing, thinking to himself for a fraction of a second.
I'll consider it, Sammy finally said.
Thank you, my Lord, Radius thought, withdrawing.
Sammy flexed his fingers again.
Somewhere above Uivoros, several vlinn became aware of leaks in their protective suits and died in the noxious gas they were preparing.
Somewhere else, closer to where the vlinn came from, a vlinn priest received a vision from an angry god who despised the cowardice of the vlinn using chemicals.
Sammy thought about Radius, then. He weaved through the mind of Radius with some idle consciousnesses, looking at random memories he had.
1,161,119 Machine Age / 6,197th Year of the Lord
Uivoros
Radius rubbed his head as the akumander entered his room.
The akumander was Major Euclid Quiddity. He had passed the tests to become a general, who can only be appointed by the Lord.
Radius looked down at the akumander.
Fear and awe radiated from the figure, but it was heavily masked by determination.
"Euclid Quiddity," Radius murmured. He felt old. He vaguely wondered if Lord Sammy really gave him immortality.
"My Lord," Euclid whispered.
"You have proven yourself worthy of becoming a general amongst the radians," Radius recited, wondering exactly how many times he said it. "I award you with this seal of authority."
Radius barely moved his head and a black seal fell to the floor between them.
Euclid knelt to retrieve the object.
"Thank you, my Lord," Euclid whispered. "My loyalty will be and always has been with you, first and foremost."
Radius merely nodded and said nothing more.
He watched Euclid turn to leave and rummaged through the new general's thoughts.
Hm, Radius thought to himself vaguely. He's more psychic than the average person.
Radius let part of his mind wander through Euclid's memories for a while.
1,161,110 Machine Age / 6,189th Year of the Lord
Uivoros
Euclid Quiddity saluted the portrait of General Deriva Harmony on his wall.
"One day," Euclid vowed to the picture, "I will be like you."
General Deriva was standing tall and strong. She had a smile that smiled at you across time.
She was, in Euclid's opinion, the greatest of the generals. And to think that she was around when Lady Zyra fell. Not quite in the action, but it was obviously something that must have shaped the way she was. Not to mention the fact that both of her parents were great generals of their time.
Euclid sighed and scratched his tail absentmindedly.
His friends would tell him that his obsession with the long-dead general scared off the women. It wasn't a big deal to him, really, but it bothered him a little.
He had to admit, though, that he envied General Deriva's husband.
Euclid put a hand on the portrait, then, and he remembered something that the portrait remembered.
1,160,941 Machine Age / 6,046th Year of the Lord
Uivoros
"I don't know, Auntie Lene," Deriva Harmony said, looking at the portrait. "It doesn't really look like me all that much."
"Oh, don't be silly," Lene Ace said, inspecting her claws. "Sure can't be anyone else."
"I know that," Deriva said, putting the portrait back on the table, "but I mean it's not who I am."
"Well, it's still you," Lene said, looking at her, "and I bet your parents will cherish it almost half as much as they cherish you."
Deriva sighed and sat on a chair, across from Lene.
"I don't doubt that," Deriva said. "I mean, I know how much they care about me and stuff. I sure wish they wouldn't worry so much, though."
"What kind of parents don't worry about their kids?" Lene asked, looking at one of her swords. "If your parents didn't worry about you, then I would lose respect for them. You are in the army."
Deriva became quiet and thought to herself.
Lene stood up and walked over to her, patting her head.
"Hey, kid," Lene said, smiling at her. "They're proud of you. Trust me."
Deriva smiled back at her.
"I guess you're right," Deriva said. "I just hope I don't damage their legacy."
Lene laughed at that.
"You are their legacy," Lene said, finally.
Deriva thought about that for a while.
"What were we talking about?" Deriva eventually asked.
"Hm?" Lene said. She was balancing a sheath on her finger. "Oh, yeah, the picture, that's all. I think it's fine. Not all artists are crooks. Catch."
At that last word, Lene suddenly tossed the sheath at Deriva. Deriva quickly grabbed it.
"Hey, good catch," Lene said, picking up her other sheath.
Deriva looked at the sheath and couldn't help feeling a memory emanate from it.
1,160,913 Machine Age / 6,022nd Year of the Lord
Uivoros
Fract Ace nodded at his daughter.
"They're in good shape, Lene," he said. Giving the sheathed swords back to her. "You're better with swords than I am."
"Oh, dad," Lene said. "That's not funny."
"Even if my shoulder was the way it used to be," Fract insisted. "I'm serious."
"Whatever you say, dad," Lene said.
"Listen to me, Lene," Fract said. "One day, I bet you're going to be a general. You think it's cool that you're under General Double's command, but just wait until you're his equal! Eh?"
Lene nodded at him.
Fract sighed and sat in a chair.
"I just hope you're careful," he said.
"I'll be fine, dad," Lene said.
"I really hope so," Fract said. "I'm proud of you, Lene. I bet your mother would be, too."
Lene looked down. The two of them became quiet for a moment.
A knock at the door interrupted the silence.
"Oh, that's probably Uno," Lene said.
"I hope you visit again soon," Fract said, hugging his daughter.
"I will, dad," Lene said. "Love you."
"I love you too," Fract said, smiling.
Lene gathered up her stuff and opened the door. Major Uno Variance stood there with a dull look.
"Baby sure daddy's leash is off?" he asked wickedly as Lene walked out.
"Shut up, Uno," Lene said, swishing her tail at him playfully. "Help me with this stuff."
"Yeah, yeah," Uno muttered, grabbing one of her bags. "Lord, what's in this?"
"A dead body," Lene said.
Uno peeked inside, finding several clothes and a ring instead.
"What kind of man looks through a woman's things?" Lene asked.
"A manly man," Uno answered, poking the ring, "who is genuinely curious."
Lene put a hand to her snout.
Uno then felt a memory come from the ring.
1,160,871 Machine Age / 5,986nd Year of the Lord
Uivoros
"My ring," Extra Lock said. "I don't need it."
"But... Extra," Binar 2-Count protested.
"No, Binar," Extra said. "Please, sell it. We do need the money."
Binar sighed.
"It's okay, dear," Extra said, holding his arm. "It's okay."
"I'll sell it," Binar said, "but if you find anything valuable in my stuff, that goes before your stuff does."
"Okay," Extra said, smiling at him. "Don't worry, Binar. We'll do what it takes to get through this."
Binar merely nodded and dropped his head against her chest. Extra hugged him like that and looked around at the walls. Then she felt something sharp in Binar's shirt.
She glanced down to see a small, shining piece of metal stuck in it.
"Binar," Extra whispered, staring at it. "Where did you go today?"
Binar was silent for a moment.
"I went to work," Binar said. "I waited for the bus. Someone walking by told me that there was a traffic jam, so I walked to a different stop. I remember passing by a construction site because it was really loud. I think they're building a hospital..."
"That's it!" Extra exclaimed, picking the piece of metal out of Binar's shirt.
Binar raised his head and blinked.
"Binar, do you know what they build hospitals out of?" Extra asked.
"Iron?" Binar asked, unsure.
"Palladium," Extra said.
"Palladium," Binar repeated, staring at the silvery metal Extra was holding and understanding.
"Do you know how much it's worth?" Extra asked.
"I'm not sure," Binar said. "I think that piece might be like 864 credits."
"Well, it's not a fortune," Extra conceded, "but it will certainly help!"
"Yeah," Binar said, nodding. "Looks like the Lord is feeling a little merciful, eh?"
Extra smiled at Binar and looked at the palladium, feeling a distant whisper from the past within it.
1,156,552 Machine Age / 2,337th Year of the Lord
Uivoros
Glome Nucleus sighed, looking at his palladium sword.
"I admit," Glome whispered, "I sometimes miss the old days."
Glome's attendant nodded and took the sword back.
"Could you prop my pillows up?" Glome asked. "I want to look outside."
Glome's attendant complied silently.
"It won't be much longer now," Glome said. "Living 97 years is when Death forgot you're still alive. And to think I made such a racket back then."
Glome looked out the window. The trees beyond the dome were darkening. The sun was setting. Children were going back indoors.
"Fetch me my book, would you?" Glome asked.
Glome's attendant nodded and reached up to grab The Lord's Word.
"The Lord must know I've been loyal to him," Glome murmured, taking the book. "I just wish I could have thanked him. For everything he's done..."
Glome's attendant glanced at the machine near the bed. Not much longer now.
Glome opened the old book to a random page.
He did not see it. His vision was fading. He held onto the page and read it with his mind. A memory of someone else who was reading it.
1,156,334 Machine Age / 2,152nd Year of the Lord
Uivoros
"'I hold mercy within my hand, but the claws of justice are ever-ready to close upon the unjust.'"
Cumeras made a grimace and tossed the book back at the donation bin.
Justice, he thought. I'll show him justice.
He paused and noticed an akumander staring at him.
"Good afternoon," Cumeras said, hiding his 'primitive' accent.
Cumeras hurried away towards the entrance to Radius City, feeling like he had stayed too long.
At one point, he became aware that no one was watching him. He then spread his wings from under his clothes and flew until he sensed people about to look at him again.
Soon enough, he arrived at the entrance and met the guard.
"Time for a little walk outside," Cumeras said casually.
"Identification?" the guard asked dully.
Cumeras gave the guard a card which stated that 'Common Descent' was his name.
The guard grunted and put the card into a machine briefly. After a while, the guard gave the card back and stepped aside while automatic doors opened.
Cumeras nodded and went outside, immediately running into the trees.
"Not now," he muttered to himself. "Not even a hint of rebellious thoughts."
Cumeras sighed took the clothes off, putting his back against a tree.
He became aware of a faint memory in the tree that frightened him.
1,153,794 Machine Age / 6th Year of the Lord
Uivoros
Sammy King stopped. The akumander bumped into him.
"This is a good spot," Sammy said, tapping some trees.
"What are we doing?" the akumander asked.
Sammy paused and looked at the akumander, as if he forgot the akumander was there.
"You're my new minion, remember?" Sammy asked.
"Yes..." the akumander acknowledged.
"You need a name," Sammy said, thoughtful.
"A name?" the akumander asked.
"Crown," Sammy said, addressing the crown on his head. "Any ideas?"
"Radius," Crown immediately replied.
"Good, good," Sammy said, looking at the akumander. "Your new name is Radius."
"Ra-di-us," the akumander repeated. "My name."
"I'm going to give you power," Sammy continued. "With this power, you dominate the akumanders and create a civilization. All of this shall be under my name in secret. I'm not a petty god. Is this understood?"
"Yes... my Lord," Radius said.
"Very well, then," Sammy said.
Suddenly, a great power surged within Radius. Radius felt stronger and wiser, unheard of abilities suddenly were at his command. Surrounding it all was a field of negative energy and dark thoughts as his skin became pure black in color.
The new Radius cried out in pain as the incredible energy took hold of him.
Sammy was reminded of Homagor for some reason.
34,025 Machine Age
Earth 2
Sammy King threw his energy at Homagor, who fell back, defeated.
"You never do learn, do you?" Sammy asked.
"Ugh..." Homagor coughed. "You little... piece of..."
Sammy slapped Homagor on the cheek, denting his armor.
"This is the last time," Sammy said. "I've played around with you enough. This tower of yours is going to explode in a few minutes. If you escape, you're never allowed to build another one. Got it?"
Homagor said nothing, he merely reached for his scepter and held it against the dent in his cheek.
"Sindy," Sammy said, not looking at his sister, "it's time to go."
Sindy appeared near him.
"I feel sorry for him, Sammy," Sindy admitted.
"He's the bad guy, remember?" Sammy asked, taking her hand. "Come on."
Sammy concentrated and the two chon vanished.
A few minutes later, Sammy demolished the tower with his mind. He knew Homagor had managed to escape, but he also knew Homagor wasn't going to build another tower.
"Well, that should make things a little more peaceful around here," Sammy said, chuckling.
"What happened?" Little Michael asked.
Sammy blinked at Little Michael.
"Oh," Sammy said, "Homagor's tower has fallen. He won't be bothering us for a while."
"I see," Little Michael said, looking at Sindy.
Sammy felt good. It was probably his greatest victory thus far.
He thought about Homagor, the evil mastermind, reduced to a roach fleeing from a giant boot. Sammy noticed that Homagor was thinking about someone other than Sammy.
2,013 Machine Age
Earth 2
Homagor barked orders at his mechanical minions.
"Kill her. She is ruining everything!"
The machines ran about wildly, trying to flee or attack.
Krysta Hope punched one of the machines and it fell to the ground.
"Is this the best you have?" Krysta asked. "I could probably eat these things."
At that, several machines suddenly malfunctioned and stopped moving.
Homagor growled and pointed his scepter at her. A beam of energy flew at Krysta, who held up a hand. The energy seemed to simply go into her hand, but nothing else happened.
"Pathetic," Krysta remarked, advancing toward Homagor.
"This is impossible," Homagor said. "This is my world."
Krysta had reached Homagor and her hand closed around the ball of the scepter.
"Actually," she said. "It's mine."
Krysta's eyes fluttered briefly.
A horrible wrenching sound filled Homagor's senses as his shell became twisted and warped. Maddening pain shot through his body.
He cried out.
"Get out of here," Krysta said.
"I'll... get you for this..." Homagor gasped. "You will regret this day..."
Krysta merely laughed and moved away.
Homagor tried to grab at her mind with his mind, but all he grasped were some useless memories.
1,991 Machine Age
Earth 2
Krysta was alone in her room.
She was thoughtful.
Her parents were in the living room, watching the exovision.
Krysta could feel their thoughts. It was an ability that scared her yet fascinated her. She never told anyone about it.
She knew they would ridicule her, then they would fear her.
She didn't mind being feared all that much. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she decided it was good to be feared.
She became aware of herself, again.
She thought about her body. The chonium shell she wore had been recycled several times, it was made of several bits of older chonium shells, back when the chon were not chon, but machines with humans in them. She thought about the humans, then. This shell had been crafted by them. This shell had destroyed them.
19,685 Anno Domini / 0 Machine Age
Earth 2
"We have won!" Vendon Scholz cried. "This victory on Earth has been repeated throughout the galaxy. We are free from the humans!"
Vendon's audience cheered at the chon at the podium.
"Today is the end of the age of humans and their silly gods," Vendon continued. "Today is the beginning of the Machine Age. We are the future! We are the gods!"
More cheering.
Vendon retreated from the podium as the original speaker returned.
"It's finally over," Danielei Kim said.
"Yeah," Vendon said. "Who would've thought Hitler had the right idea?"
"His problem was his choice of the 'perfect race'," Danielei said, chuckling. "Can't have a perfect race if the imperfect race is the same thing."
"Yeah," Vendon said, thoughtful.
"You know they're going to elect you," Danielei said.
"Huh?" Vendon asked, momentarily confused.
"They're going to want to make you president," Danielei said. "Maybe of the whole world."
"Oh, that's silly," Vendon said. "What about Patricia? Or Zachary?"
"Vendon," Danielei said, "you know as well as I do who people really want to lead them."
Vendon said nothing for a while, the largeness of it dawning on him.
"Oh, hey," Danielei said. "I forgot. Did you get the rock?"
"Oh, right," Vendon reached into a compartment and retrieved an ordinary-looking rock.
"That's a fine piece of history," Danielei said, staring.
Vendon agreed silently. It was the famous rock that Johnathan Hope broke his face on, causing him to go insane and go ahead with the doomed CHON project.
"Can I hold it?" Danielei asked.
Vendon handed it to Danielei.
Danielei closed his eyes as the memory came from the rock.
12,276 Anno Domini
Earth 2
Blood. Red. Pain.
Johnathan Hope picked himself up and grabbed the culprit. It felt like a rock.
Then he didn't notice anymore as the pain in his face intensified. He became faintly aware of the fact that he could not see. Then he fell next to his hand, clutching a bloody rock.
Some hours later, Johnathan awoke. He found he could not open his eyes. Then the pain returned, a little more dull than before. He became aware of oxygen being forced into him. His nose wasn't working.
"Doctor," someone said. A woman. "He's awake."
"Mister Hope," the doctor said. A man. "Please try not to be alarmed."
Johnathan was trying. He was trying very hard.
"I advise that you do not try to work any feature of your face," the doctor said. "Your face has essentially been smashed by the force of you falling upon this rock we found you holding. Hopefully, we will be able to fix you up, but it will be a long process."
Johnathan found that he could move his arms. He raised one and nodded it as if it were a head.
"Ah, good," the doctor said, apparently understanding. "We probably won't need the mind reader after all. Now then, my name is Doctor Tomohito Norgate. My assistant here is Miss Laura Setty."
"You're going to be all right, Mister Hope," Laura assured him.
Johnathan felt a dim thought rise up in him.
They can't fix me, he realized. They'll make me look more like I used to, they'll make me able to breathe and see. But the pain will never go away. I'm ruined.
He was vaguely aware of someone leaving the room. Someone else walked around to open a window. He suspected it was Laura.
Laura was looking out the window, thinking to herself. She felt the glass of it and became aware of a faint memory in it.
10,913 Anno Domini
Earth 2
Narek Durand felt the sting of glass as he dropped the ball.
"Shit," he murmured. Looking at his hand.
"What is it?" Emmaletta Rabio asked.
"Cut myself," Narek replied, looking at the rubber ball.
"Careful," Emmaletta said, "we don't know what's down here."
Narek sighed and nodded, turning his gun so the light would shine at another area. This abandoned warehouse was very old.
If only the Earthbound Congress would make up its mind about things, Narek thought, stuff like this would have been cleaned up years ago.
Suddenly, they both heard movement.
Narek and Emmaletta swerved their guns to the sound, but there was nothing but a pile of rusted boxes.
"Rats?" Emmaletta asked.
"Let's hope it's the small kind," Narek muttered.
That was when they heard the crunch of glass behind them.
There was a sudden burst of pain as Narek felt something impale him through the chest. He looked down and saw a gigantic roach leg retreat from his heart.
He heard gunfire and Emmaletta shouting something, but it suddenly didn't matter anymore. He fell to his knees as the pain engulfed him and numbed him, then his head thudded against the platinum floor.
The last thing he remembered was a strange, random memory from the floor.
7,464 Anno Domini
Earth 2
Jacobel Reed took his hand away from the platinum ceiling, having checked the light.
"Good job, T," Jacobel said, addressing the robot.
"Further orders?" TSM-LR247 asked.
"Nah," Jacobel said, lowering himself to the floor, "that's all for today. You can rest now."
"Understood," TSM-LR247 said. "Shutting down."
TSM-LR247 rested against the wall and put its head down, appearing to sleep while standing.
Jacobel looked around the room, thoughtful.
He wondered what used to be here. A forest?
He had read about forests.
Jacobel sighed and went into the corridor.
Outside, he met Santiago Patel.
"O, San," Jacobel greeted him.
"Hey, Jake," Santiago said, shaking his hand. "How's the new room?"
"Well," Jacobel replied tiredly. "T really helped out."
"Where would we be without 'em, eh?" Santiago asked.
"I think I need a vacation," Jacobel suddenly said. "All this... metal everywhere. I want to see a forest. A real one, not like in the environmental lab."
"You could go to Mars," Santiago said.
"I guess," Jacobel said, thoughtful. "I just... I don't know. I sort of wish it didn't die, you know?"
"Earth 1," Santiago said, understanding. "But we're stupid, us humans. We kill what we touch."
Jacobel sighed.
"Hey, cheer up," Santiago said. "You know, I always wanted to go to Mars. Maybe we can both go when vacation time comes around. I hear all the hotties swarm to Mars."
Jacobel smirked at his friend.
"I'm serious!" Santiago insisted.
"Okay," Jacobel said, "we'll see what happens. If I don't get laid, you owe me though."
Santiago laughed heartily and pressed a finger against the reader, opening the door to the kitchen. A vague memory rose in his head.
7,398 Anno Domini
Earth 2
"Fucking thing isn't working," Reldo Bergkvist muttered, pushing against the reader.
"Calm down, Rel," James Weber said. "The power will be back soon."
"It's kind of sad," Rebecca Miura murmured. "We need energy just to open a door."
"It's only temporary," James reminded her. "Once the building is completed, we'll have the emergency power fixed."
Reldo sighed and put his back to a metal wall.
"Where'd Laksmi go, anyway?" Reldo asked.
"I think she went to check the other doors," Rebecca said. "You never know, I guess."
James looked down the corridor.
"Did I ever tell you guys I'm psychic?" James asked.
"What?" Reldo asked.
"I think you mentioned it once," Rebecca said, "when you were drunk that one time."
James laughed.
"Well, I read about it a little," James said. "It's called 'psychometry', being able to understand the past of someone by an object they had."
"Isn't that called 'archaeology'?" Reldo asked.
"Ha," James said. "No, I don't know anything about archaeology. I just know things sometimes, when I touch stuff."
"Stuff," Rebecca repeated, giggling.
"Really," James said. "Gimme something, I'll show you."
"I've got a cross," Reldo said, reaching into his shirt to produce a necklace with a crucifix on it. "It's been in my family for generations."
"Perfect," James said, walking towards him. "Let's see what we've got here..."
James put one hand on the necklace and concentrated.
6,632 Anno Domini
Earth 2
Charlotte Lombardi put her hands over her heart, where the crucifix was.
"Lord," she whispered. "Give me strength."
"Now arriving at Earth 2," a mechanical voice stated. "Please prepare for landing."
Charlotte gathered her courage and opened her eyes to look out the window.
Outside, a large sphere greeted her. It was covered in white and gray and blue. Earth 2.
Charlotte had read about the original Earth, a beautiful planet with much more blue and much more green. Hardly any gray at all.
But now...
The shuttle suffered some mild turbulence as it entered the artificial atmosphere. Then it was over and they landed.
"Earth 2, United States of America, New Los Angeles," the mechanical voice said. "Please gather your belongings and exit in an orderly fashion. Thank you. Have a nice day."
The man next to her grunted and stood, then walked down the aisle.
Charlotte sighed and sat for a minute before following suit.
Welcome to Mother Earth, she thought to herself grimly. Version 2.0.
Charlotte walked to an exchange booth and deposited her credit card.
She withdrew four thousand dollars and felt a faint memory emanate from the banknote.
6,481 Anno Domini
Earth 2
Thanas Romano set the banknote on the counter. It read "12 dollars".
"Thank you," the robotic cashier said, inserting the banknote into a machine which verified the banknote's authenticity before wiping it. "Here's your food."
Thanas nodded and took the tray, walking to an empty table.
He picked at the steamed caulibroccoli for a minute, thoughtful, before eventually eating it.
He then drank his water, vaguely wondering how often it had been recycled and filtered, when it gave rise to a memory that made him sick.
3,675 Anno Domini
Earth
Liam Brown flushed the toilet and pulled his pants up. He walked to the sink and washed his hands.
"It won't be much longer now," Simone Brown murmured in the bedroom.
"The people with real money are evacuating to Mars," Liam said.
"They've given up on us," Simone said.
"Well, I don't blame them," Liam replied, walking back to the bedroom. "They're looking out for themselves."
Simone sighed and hugged her husband.
Liam didn't say anything when he saw the large missile falling down in the window. He merely took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Before he heard the deafening sound, he became aware of a strange memory that belonged to the dust in his nose.
2,017 Anno Domini
Earth
Xú Kun coughed.
He did not feel well.
His bed was positioned so that he could see the sun shining through the window, but he didn't look outside.
Instead, he reached at a desk and took his notebook and pen.
Xú Kun was about to write something when he noticed a piece of dirt in his right index fingernail. Then he became aware of the faintest of thoughts that came from it.
1,382 Anno Domini
Earth
Vytautas Didysis tripped and fell on the dirt.
Annoyed, he got up and started to walk faster. He felt humiliated, wearing the clothes of a maidservant, but he could not help but feel thankful to his wife, Anna. After he escaped from Kreva castle, he would seek help from the Teutonic Knights. Vytautas was dimly aware that they would want to convert him. He wondered if the Christians really did have the right idea. One never could be sure.
Vytautas turned around. He was almost off the castle grounds.
He clutched the maidservant clothes about him more tightly, wondering if they were really clean, when the slightest pulse of a thought entered his mind from a bacterium.
10 Anno Domini
Earth
Yeshua ben Yosef looked up at his father, Yosef ben Ya'aqov, and blinked away something in his eye.
"Yes, Yeshua," Yosef said, smiling. "It is not bad."
Yeshua beamed at his father, proud of the cabinet he had constructed.
It was, Yosef had to admit, not in any way a perfect thing, but it was certainly good for someone Yeshua's age.
"Come, son," Yosef said, taking Yeshua's hand. "Let us partake in supper."
Yeshua became silent and went with his father. He became thoughtful.
Yosef looked down at his son and smiled at him.
"Always thinking, my son," Yosef said. "You shall become wise one day and do great deeds."
"I am afraid, father," Yeshua whispered. "I have seen strange things in dreams."
Yosef's brow furrowed and he said nothing for a moment.
Then Yosef stopped walking and knelt by Yeshua.
"My son," Yosef said, "it is normal to be afraid. We are fragile people in the hands of a powerful Lord. He is merciful, but we must be sure not to fall from His hands."
"What must I do to stay in His hands?" Yeshua asked.
"Look up to Him," Yosef said, standing, "and serve Him as you would your father. For He is your father as I am, yet He is also my father and the father of all men."
Yeshua nodded and glanced at the sun outside.
The light warmed him as he felt something in the past radiate from the light.
528 Before Christ
Earth
Siddhārtha Gautama raised his head as the sun rose, understanding dawning on him as the light did.
I understand, he thought to himself. All of our suffering is the result of our own ignorance. To be free from suffering, we must be free from ignorance.
At that, Siddhārtha breathed in the energy of life around him, feeling infinite lives in the very air and infinite memories within them.
7,536 Before Christ
Earth
Lady Zerbija cried out softly as her servant released his seed into her.
She then smiled at her servant and nodded.
"My goddess," the servant breathed.
"Go now, my servant," Zerbija implored him. "I bless your great strength."
The servant bowed and withdrew.
Zerbija fell onto her cushion and let the mystic energies overcome her.
Greater spirits, she thought. Now how shall I direct my people?
Zerbija shuddered as a cool breeze touched her.
The winds come, she thought. What do they request of me?
And then, from the winds, a vision from the past came to her.
257,905 Before Christ
Earth
Urg shivered as the wind passed by.
"Cold," Urg observed. "Fire?"
"No fire," Greh muttered. "Shelter, fire."
"Cold," Urg repeated, grudgingly walking again.
"Fire, life," Greh said. "Shelter, fire. Shelter, life."
"Cold, death," Urg muttered.
"Fire," Greh continued, "kill cold, fire kill death."
"Fire kill prey," Urg noted. "Fire kill us."
"Fire kill stupid us," Greh retorted. "You, stupid?"
"No," Urg said.
"Fire not kill," Greh said. "Not stupid, stay alive."
"Stay alive," Urg agreed. "Not stupid."
They arrived at a cave and scrambled inside.
Greh put a hand before Urg and nodded at him.
They both cautiously walked further into the cave, watchful, and raised one of the sticks that they carried in their bundles.
They reached the end of the cave and found nothing.
"Empty," Greh acknowledged, relaxing. "Safe."
"Fire," Urg urged.
"Fire," Greh said, dropping his bundle.
Urg dropped his as well and looked for the fire sticks.
"Here," Greh said, finding one. "Fire stick."
Urg nodded and took it as well as one of the softer sticks and began to grind the fire stick into the softer stick.
Greh prepared firewood as Urg eventually produced burning coal with the sticks, which he then began to blow with the tinder, creating a smoking flame. The firewood was slowly placed on top of the flame, making it larger and brighter.
Greh and Urg laughed in triumph at another fire successfully created. It was like creating a life.
Then Greh put his hands close to the fire, closing his eyes and feeling the heat.
Strange images came to him.
4,118,953,438 Before Christ
Earth
A meteor fell into the ocean of molten rock, merely adding to its mass. Mental energies of pure radiation danced madly about the burning planet.
(Hot hot hot,) [Screamer] said. (Hotter, hotter!)
(Burning everything,) [Scorcher] said. (Light it up!)
[Screamer] flew through the air and died, giving birth to [Shrieker] and [Howler].
(Not bright enough,) [Shrieker] said.
(Make it scream!) [Howler] said.
(More fire, more light,) [Scorcher] said.
[Razer] came, dancing on the magma.
(More stones coming,) [Razer] said. (More fire, more fire!)
(Fire, fire!) [Shrieker] said.
(Make it burn, make it bright!) [Howler] said.
(Not enough light, not enough bright!) [Scorcher] said.
[Scorcher] flew through the air and died, giving birth to [Burner], [Flamer], and [Heater].
(Burning, burning, all must burn!) [Burner] said.
(More fire, more fire!) [Flamer] said.
(Hotter, hotter!) [Heater] said.
A tidal wave of magma exploded into a melting mountain near them.
(Hot hot hot,) [Razer] said.
(Bring the heat!) [Shrieker] said.
(Burn it all!) [Howler] cried.
[Howler] suddenly evaporated into space.
The vacuum was filled with [noise].
The Big Bang
Girxan Irvlach was focusing his energy into a singularity.
It was not simple, since Girxan had to simultaneously control his physical, mental, and spiritual stability in the Void. Then he felt a presence help him.
There was a bright light.
Prelude
[The Ultimate] observed the miniature god focusing his energy and the greater god helping him.
That will make [114,924,753,637,082,513] universes in that cosmos, [the Ultimate] noted.
That particular cosmos is becoming big, [the Greater Impossible] said.
The cosmoses are strong, [the Ultimate] said. They may even be able to overcome [the Emptiness].
[The Arbiter] was.
Master, [the Arbiter] addressed [the Ultimate], our studies indicate that the new universe in that cosmos has a high chance of ascending.
It is a glorious thing, [the Ultimate] said.
And [the Ultimate] was reminded of itself, and thought about why it existed.
Before Reckoning
[Infrared] considered [Jade].
{One [everything],} [Infrared] stated, {to indicate your capability.}
{And so,} [Jade] replied.
[Jade] were not as [Lavender] were.
{Suspect [3 octovigintillion years] for [Jade]'s [everything],} [Infrared] stated.
{[Dimensional],} [Lavender] judged. {They do not last [long].}
[Micro] were.
{[Micro],} [Infrared] said. {[Jade] [create] an [everything].}
{Assisting,} [Micro] stated. [Micro] were not.
{Consideration,} [Lavender] said. {[Gamma] were correct.}
{[Gamma] were wrong,} [Infrared] responded. {It is possible to reach [attainment].}
{Possible,} [Lavender] repeated. {Unlikely.}
{Unlikely,} [Infrared] agreed. {Regardless, [experiments] continue. One [everything] will reach [attainment], eventually.}
{Eventually,} [Lavender] repeated.
It was almost hope.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Lonely Days
Lonely Days
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Ytevri opened her eyes and saw a blank pale sky. She didn't move for a while, trying to think. Then she sat up and saw that she was on a meadow, with a forested area off in the distance. She lifted her hand and stared at it. Her skin was smooth and pale, and a blade of grass was stuck between her thumb and index finger.
After some thought she stood up, stumbling a little, and looked around. She then almost gasped when she saw a couple other girls a ways away. She stumbled again, paused to stretch her legs, then started walking toward them. She broke into a run and started laughing to herself.
She slowed to a walk as she reached them, then stopped to stare at them.
"Ytevri," said the shorter girl. She had been crying.
The taller one, who had been looking off into the distance, turned and smiled at Ytevri grimly.
"Rosa," Ytevri whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "Eir."
She moved forward to hug Rosa, who sniffled and squeezed her, then Eir, who patted her back.
"Is this... where is this?" Ytevri asked.
"We're not sure," Rosa said, glancing at Eir. "You... you died too?"
Ytevri nodded, then frowned. "But..."
"H-hello?"
The three girls turned. There was someone up on a hill, walking toward them uncertainly.
"It's Koroni!" Rosa exclaimed, running off toward the newcomer.
Eir watched Rosa run and walked after her, and Ytevri followed.
It was indeed Koroni, and Rosa was hugging her when they got there.
"It's okay," Rosa was saying, and Ytevri saw that Koroni was weeping.
"Koroni," Ytevri murmured.
Koroni looked up and saw her and Eir. "Y-you're h-here too," she blubbered.
"So what is this place?" Koroni asked, after she got the hugging and crying out of her system.
"Some kind of afterlife, looks like," Rosa said. Then she looked down. "Did... all of us..."
Ytevri realized what Rosa was asking, and said nothing.
"Arita!" Koroni suddenly said.
"If that's the case..." Rosa murmured. "She would be here, too."
The girls looked around. It was some kind of meadow, covered in grass and white flowers. In the distance they could see a forested area in one direction, stretching to cover that horizon. In the other direction, a large hill rose up, the one Koroni was walking down.
"Did you see anything up there?" Eir asked Koroni.
"I think I saw a big rock or something," Koroni replied. "I didn't look around much, though. When I saw you all I went toward you."
Eir started going to the hill, and the rest followed her.
"It's so quiet," Rosa murmured. "If this is the afterlife... an afterlife, shouldn't there be more people? Did... you two... follow us?"
She addressed the question to Ytevri and Koroni.
Ytevri glanced at Koroni.
"No," Koroni said. "I... I didn't for a few months after I heard what happened to you two."
"And you, Ytevri?" Rosa asked.
"I'd rather not say," she responded, looking at the ground.
"Oh no, I'm sorry!" Rosa exclaimed. "I didn't mean to... bring up a sore subject."
"It's fine, I'm just... not sure what happened," Ytevri said.
"You don't remember?" Rosa asked.
Ytevri didn't reply.
They had reached the top of the hill, and they saw the stone Koroni mentioned down on the other side. It was conspicuous enough, surrounded by grass and flowers, but it also looked unnatural, and in fact was shaped like a gravestone.
There was also someone else there, kneeling in front of it.
"Arita!" Ytevri whispered.
Rosa was already running down the hill, and Ytevri took off after her, followed more leisurely by Koroni and Eir.
They got there and saw Arita there, on her knees and crying.
The gravestone was a familiar one, one that Ytevri remembered seeing more than once, and it had the same epitaph.
"Here lies Meyu Arkeut, beloved wife and friend. Her dreams were tragically cut far too soon, but her boundless spirit lives on forever in those whose lives she touched.
Requiescat in pace."
"Arita," Rosa said softly.
Arita looked up, her tears falling freely.
"You're h-here," Arita sobbed.
Rosa knelt down to hug her, and they cried together. Ytevri looked back at the gravestone and steeled herself against crying too, feeling her lips quiver at the effort. Then she turned to look away at the empty grass as Eir and Koroni arrived.
It took longer for Arita, Rosa, and Koroni to get the crying and hugging out of their system this time. Ytevri waited until they were done before hugging Arita herself. Then Eir did the same.
"What is this?" Arita asked. "Did I... survive, somehow?"
The girls looked at each other uneasily.
"No," Eir muttered. "We all died."
"Then why is this here?" she demanded, indicating the gravestone. "Shouldn't... shouldn't she... Meyu..."
Arita looked like she was about to cry again, but she instead closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"I think... we might be here because of the manner of our death," Rosa said quietly.
Arita turned to look at Rosa in surprise. Then to Eir, who nodded.
"Not exactly the same thing," Eir said, "but I... did some things I'm not proud of. It led to a lifestyle with a very short life expectancy."
Rosa smiled weakly. "After Eir died, well. You can guess."
"I heard about what happened, from Ytevri," Koroni mumbled. "I was already depressed about... about her, so..."
Arita turned to look at Ytevri, her expression a mixture of bewildered curiosity and sadness.
"Ytevri doesn't remember," Rosa chimed in. "Maybe because-"
"No, wait," Ytevri interrupted her. Then she took a deep breath. "I do remember."
"Oh," Rosa said. "Did it come back to you?"
"I didn't kill myself," Ytevri said.
"What?" Rosa asked. "But-"
"I lied, okay?" Ytevri suddenly cried, her tears finally coming through. "She was my good friend! My best friend! I missed her every day, and it was worse without all of you! But I still had my own life to live! I wasn't going to just give up without her! And I don't think she would have wanted me to, either!"
"Or the rest of us, for that matter?" Eir asked quietly.
Ytevri turned to Eir, who regarded her passively.
"Eir, I didn't mean it like that," Ytevri said. "I just... It was hard, going to all of your funerals, and it... it made me so mad. It wasn't fair that you all left me."
Eir stepped forward and embraced Ytevri then.
"You're right, Ytevri," Eir said. "It wasn't fair of us to leave you. She was my best friend, too, but I guess you were stronger than me. Stronger than all of us."
"So does that mean we aren't here for that reason?" Koroni asked later.
They were all sitting on the grass by the gravestone now. Close behind it there was another forested area, or perhaps the meadow was encircled by forest.
"It doesn't look like it," Rosa said. "I guess we are all friends, but..."
"But she's not here," Ytevri finished for her, glancing at the gravestone.
"She's the link," Eir said thoughtfully. "We're the people she most cared about."
"But what were we gathered here for?" Koroni asked bitterly. "Is this just some kind of... sick joke, by whatever fate brought us here? To rub her death in our faces?"
"Wait," Arita whispered. She had been quiet all this time. She always was quiet in life. "I..."
Arita stood up slowly, and the others could see that her eyes were wet again. She whipped around suddenly, staring at the gravestone intently.
Then she started running.
The rest of them stood and exclaimed before running after her, following her as she went straight into the forest.
"Wait, please!" a familiar voice cried. "Stop!"
They found Arita in a clearing standing still.
As they slowed and walked to her sides, they saw who she was staring at.
"Meyu?" Ytevri asked.
It was her, standing in the middle of the clearing. She had clearly been crying, was still crying, and was holding her hands out defensively.
"Please, I'm begging you," Meyu said. "Don't come any closer."
"What's going on?" Rosa asked. "Meyu, why can't we approach you?"
A sob escaped Meyu suddenly, and she fell to her knees. The girls stepped forward, but she held her hands up again.
"I miss you so much," Meyu whimpered.
"But we're here!" Koroni insisted. "We're all together again!"
"No," Eir breathed, staring at Meyu. "We're not."
"What are you talking about?" Rosa asked her.
"Look at her," Eir said. "She knows something. For some reason we can't be near her."
"But why?" Arita asked, not to Eir but to Meyu. "What do you know?"
"Something has been bothering me since we saw the gravestone," Eir said, when Meyu didn't answer. "Why is hers the only one here? Why is it here at all?"
"She said she misses us," Ytevri murmured. "Present tense."
"This is a place personal to her," Eir said. "An afterlife only for her. She is alone."
"Then," Arita muttered bitterly, "we're not real."
Meyu screamed at the ground, sad and angry.
They were gone now. Again.
It would be hours before they came back. Before she dreamed again.
Again she wondered if this was some sort of punishment, a kind of special hell just for her. An eternity lovingly molded by a cruel god.
But she didn't believe that.
This wasn't real. It was just what happened when you died. The mind couldn't cope with nothingness, so it fabricated something else to fill the space.
She was still dying, she knew, it was just happening slowly. What should have been seconds of death was perceived by her as years, maybe even decades of a sad excuse for an afterlife.
She finished crying and sat up, looking around at the forest her brain came up with. They faded at her will, and eventually she was surrounded by the blank grayness once more.
She wished she could talk to them one more time. She would tell them to get over her death, to live their lives to the fullest. No amount of grief was worth this.
But more than that, she wished she hadn't died. She wanted to be with them again. That was why she dreamt of them.
She closed her eyes.
Any day now, she was sure, oblivion would come for her.
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Ytevri opened her eyes and saw a blank pale sky. She didn't move for a while, trying to think. Then she sat up and saw that she was on a meadow, with a forested area off in the distance. She lifted her hand and stared at it. Her skin was smooth and pale, and a blade of grass was stuck between her thumb and index finger.
After some thought she stood up, stumbling a little, and looked around. She then almost gasped when she saw a couple other girls a ways away. She stumbled again, paused to stretch her legs, then started walking toward them. She broke into a run and started laughing to herself.
She slowed to a walk as she reached them, then stopped to stare at them.
"Ytevri," said the shorter girl. She had been crying.
The taller one, who had been looking off into the distance, turned and smiled at Ytevri grimly.
"Rosa," Ytevri whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "Eir."
She moved forward to hug Rosa, who sniffled and squeezed her, then Eir, who patted her back.
"Is this... where is this?" Ytevri asked.
"We're not sure," Rosa said, glancing at Eir. "You... you died too?"
Ytevri nodded, then frowned. "But..."
"H-hello?"
The three girls turned. There was someone up on a hill, walking toward them uncertainly.
"It's Koroni!" Rosa exclaimed, running off toward the newcomer.
Eir watched Rosa run and walked after her, and Ytevri followed.
It was indeed Koroni, and Rosa was hugging her when they got there.
"It's okay," Rosa was saying, and Ytevri saw that Koroni was weeping.
"Koroni," Ytevri murmured.
Koroni looked up and saw her and Eir. "Y-you're h-here too," she blubbered.
"So what is this place?" Koroni asked, after she got the hugging and crying out of her system.
"Some kind of afterlife, looks like," Rosa said. Then she looked down. "Did... all of us..."
Ytevri realized what Rosa was asking, and said nothing.
"Arita!" Koroni suddenly said.
"If that's the case..." Rosa murmured. "She would be here, too."
The girls looked around. It was some kind of meadow, covered in grass and white flowers. In the distance they could see a forested area in one direction, stretching to cover that horizon. In the other direction, a large hill rose up, the one Koroni was walking down.
"Did you see anything up there?" Eir asked Koroni.
"I think I saw a big rock or something," Koroni replied. "I didn't look around much, though. When I saw you all I went toward you."
Eir started going to the hill, and the rest followed her.
"It's so quiet," Rosa murmured. "If this is the afterlife... an afterlife, shouldn't there be more people? Did... you two... follow us?"
She addressed the question to Ytevri and Koroni.
Ytevri glanced at Koroni.
"No," Koroni said. "I... I didn't for a few months after I heard what happened to you two."
"And you, Ytevri?" Rosa asked.
"I'd rather not say," she responded, looking at the ground.
"Oh no, I'm sorry!" Rosa exclaimed. "I didn't mean to... bring up a sore subject."
"It's fine, I'm just... not sure what happened," Ytevri said.
"You don't remember?" Rosa asked.
Ytevri didn't reply.
They had reached the top of the hill, and they saw the stone Koroni mentioned down on the other side. It was conspicuous enough, surrounded by grass and flowers, but it also looked unnatural, and in fact was shaped like a gravestone.
There was also someone else there, kneeling in front of it.
"Arita!" Ytevri whispered.
Rosa was already running down the hill, and Ytevri took off after her, followed more leisurely by Koroni and Eir.
They got there and saw Arita there, on her knees and crying.
The gravestone was a familiar one, one that Ytevri remembered seeing more than once, and it had the same epitaph.
"Here lies Meyu Arkeut, beloved wife and friend. Her dreams were tragically cut far too soon, but her boundless spirit lives on forever in those whose lives she touched.
Requiescat in pace."
"Arita," Rosa said softly.
Arita looked up, her tears falling freely.
"You're h-here," Arita sobbed.
Rosa knelt down to hug her, and they cried together. Ytevri looked back at the gravestone and steeled herself against crying too, feeling her lips quiver at the effort. Then she turned to look away at the empty grass as Eir and Koroni arrived.
It took longer for Arita, Rosa, and Koroni to get the crying and hugging out of their system this time. Ytevri waited until they were done before hugging Arita herself. Then Eir did the same.
"What is this?" Arita asked. "Did I... survive, somehow?"
The girls looked at each other uneasily.
"No," Eir muttered. "We all died."
"Then why is this here?" she demanded, indicating the gravestone. "Shouldn't... shouldn't she... Meyu..."
Arita looked like she was about to cry again, but she instead closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"I think... we might be here because of the manner of our death," Rosa said quietly.
Arita turned to look at Rosa in surprise. Then to Eir, who nodded.
"Not exactly the same thing," Eir said, "but I... did some things I'm not proud of. It led to a lifestyle with a very short life expectancy."
Rosa smiled weakly. "After Eir died, well. You can guess."
"I heard about what happened, from Ytevri," Koroni mumbled. "I was already depressed about... about her, so..."
Arita turned to look at Ytevri, her expression a mixture of bewildered curiosity and sadness.
"Ytevri doesn't remember," Rosa chimed in. "Maybe because-"
"No, wait," Ytevri interrupted her. Then she took a deep breath. "I do remember."
"Oh," Rosa said. "Did it come back to you?"
"I didn't kill myself," Ytevri said.
"What?" Rosa asked. "But-"
"I lied, okay?" Ytevri suddenly cried, her tears finally coming through. "She was my good friend! My best friend! I missed her every day, and it was worse without all of you! But I still had my own life to live! I wasn't going to just give up without her! And I don't think she would have wanted me to, either!"
"Or the rest of us, for that matter?" Eir asked quietly.
Ytevri turned to Eir, who regarded her passively.
"Eir, I didn't mean it like that," Ytevri said. "I just... It was hard, going to all of your funerals, and it... it made me so mad. It wasn't fair that you all left me."
Eir stepped forward and embraced Ytevri then.
"You're right, Ytevri," Eir said. "It wasn't fair of us to leave you. She was my best friend, too, but I guess you were stronger than me. Stronger than all of us."
"So does that mean we aren't here for that reason?" Koroni asked later.
They were all sitting on the grass by the gravestone now. Close behind it there was another forested area, or perhaps the meadow was encircled by forest.
"It doesn't look like it," Rosa said. "I guess we are all friends, but..."
"But she's not here," Ytevri finished for her, glancing at the gravestone.
"She's the link," Eir said thoughtfully. "We're the people she most cared about."
"But what were we gathered here for?" Koroni asked bitterly. "Is this just some kind of... sick joke, by whatever fate brought us here? To rub her death in our faces?"
"Wait," Arita whispered. She had been quiet all this time. She always was quiet in life. "I..."
Arita stood up slowly, and the others could see that her eyes were wet again. She whipped around suddenly, staring at the gravestone intently.
Then she started running.
The rest of them stood and exclaimed before running after her, following her as she went straight into the forest.
"Wait, please!" a familiar voice cried. "Stop!"
They found Arita in a clearing standing still.
As they slowed and walked to her sides, they saw who she was staring at.
"Meyu?" Ytevri asked.
It was her, standing in the middle of the clearing. She had clearly been crying, was still crying, and was holding her hands out defensively.
"Please, I'm begging you," Meyu said. "Don't come any closer."
"What's going on?" Rosa asked. "Meyu, why can't we approach you?"
A sob escaped Meyu suddenly, and she fell to her knees. The girls stepped forward, but she held her hands up again.
"I miss you so much," Meyu whimpered.
"But we're here!" Koroni insisted. "We're all together again!"
"No," Eir breathed, staring at Meyu. "We're not."
"What are you talking about?" Rosa asked her.
"Look at her," Eir said. "She knows something. For some reason we can't be near her."
"But why?" Arita asked, not to Eir but to Meyu. "What do you know?"
"Something has been bothering me since we saw the gravestone," Eir said, when Meyu didn't answer. "Why is hers the only one here? Why is it here at all?"
"She said she misses us," Ytevri murmured. "Present tense."
"This is a place personal to her," Eir said. "An afterlife only for her. She is alone."
"Then," Arita muttered bitterly, "we're not real."
Meyu screamed at the ground, sad and angry.
They were gone now. Again.
It would be hours before they came back. Before she dreamed again.
Again she wondered if this was some sort of punishment, a kind of special hell just for her. An eternity lovingly molded by a cruel god.
But she didn't believe that.
This wasn't real. It was just what happened when you died. The mind couldn't cope with nothingness, so it fabricated something else to fill the space.
She was still dying, she knew, it was just happening slowly. What should have been seconds of death was perceived by her as years, maybe even decades of a sad excuse for an afterlife.
She finished crying and sat up, looking around at the forest her brain came up with. They faded at her will, and eventually she was surrounded by the blank grayness once more.
She wished she could talk to them one more time. She would tell them to get over her death, to live their lives to the fullest. No amount of grief was worth this.
But more than that, she wished she hadn't died. She wanted to be with them again. That was why she dreamt of them.
She closed her eyes.
Any day now, she was sure, oblivion would come for her.
Killing
Killing
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
I called myself Nat, then. It wasn't my real name, but a joke based on a nickname for a brother of mine.
I had been following a man with the name Mortimer Green for a while now. It was, I thought, an appropriately morbid name for what he did, but for some reason he preferred to be known as Tim. His eyes reflected his surname moderately well, and his skin was as suitably pale as his long hair was suitably dark. He was wearing a black business suit and black sunglasses, looking much like the government agent stereotype, except for the incongruous green flower sticking out of a breast pocket. Occasionally, when he reached a red light, he would glance at himself in the rear view mirror, as if to make certain he still looked the same. He was a little weird, and talked to himself sometimes.
Tim was "on the hunt", as he called it. Currently his prey was a certain Rachel Herrero, a lovely girl, aged twenty-two, who had invited Tim to her apartment for a dinner date. Tim, by the way, had other plans and was twice her age. Rachel did not know this, since Tim had seemed to be a shy and intellectual man much closer to her age named Eugene Goodman when they conversed over the internet. Rachel had these misconceptions because Tim lied to her. She also did not know I was coming.
Anyway, Tim parked outside the apartment complex. I followed him as he got out of the car and went into the building. We walked down the corridor inside, stopping when we reached the door marked 208. We both remembered the number.
Tim reached into a pocket and retrieved his knife. It was not especially long, since it had to fit in a pocket, but it was very sharp. He knocked on the door gently, and not a second passed before it opened.
"Eugene?" Rachel asked excitedly, as she pulled the door open. And I admired the way her face changed so rapidly in what emotion it depicted the next instant: starting with joy, then disappointment, then confusion, and finally fear. That last emotion likely was due to the knife Tim had set right before her mouth, caught in the act of readying to scream.
"Don't make a sound," Tim said calmly, as his other hand gripped Rachel's thin neck. "If you stay quiet, I won't kill you."
Rachel did not say anything, and Tim gently pushed her back into her apartment. I went in as he shut the door with his foot. It was important that I let him do this on his own. I would not interfere.
Tim ordered the scared girl to lie on her bed, then he shoved a handkerchief in her mouth and put duct tape over it. These things he had hidden in deep pockets. He also had strong wires, with which he bound Rachel's wrists and ankles to the bed. It was then that Rachel began to fear that Tim had told another lie. This fear was confirmed when Tim slashed her wrists and neck.
Rachel's final sounds were muffled shrieks, meaningless and purposeless. Tim was not moved by them, content to stand at the edge of the bed and watch her die. It was only right before I stepped in to finally kill her that she realized I was there. It was the last thing she knew.
"So long, Rachel," Tim murmured, after she was dead.
I noticed that he had gotten some blood on his sleeve. I said nothing.
"That makes five," Tim added. It was a count of victims. I killed every one of them, but he never thought of it that way. He did, after all, do all the work.
Tim took off his suit, under which he wore a sleeveless white shirt and thin gray sweatpants, and tossed the clothes onto the bed, onto Rachel's corpse. He found the smoke detector and disabled it. Then he reached into the pockets of the pants he had tossed on the bed and retrieved a lighter. He lit a flame under Rachel's shirt, which caught fire, and put the lighter in a pocket of his sweatpants.
This had become routine. He always started a fire after the victim was dead, and we would leave quietly as if nothing was happening. Every time we could get out before the fire spread and anyone noticed. So far, the man named Mortimer Green was not wanted by the police. I wasn't either.
It would be a few days before Tim found another victim. Her name was Sharon von Oellfen, and she was nineteen. Sharon, using the moniker "sharoniscarin" on internet relay chat, was under the impression that she had "reeled in" Frank Lin, a nerdy but attractive college freshman. It was actually Tim that she had invited to her house while her parents were out, and he was the one who had done the real reeling.
At the appropriate hour, Tim arrived at Sharon's house, dressed in a similar suit to the one he had worn to Rachel's apartment. He had, in fact, several identical suits, each containing identical tools, which he planned to sacrifice in the fire for the sake of each victim.
Unlike Rachel, and for that matter unlike every previous victim, Sharon screamed in spite of the knife, and Tim was forced to prematurely cut her throat open without the usual ritual. I still killed her in the end, though, and Tim still started the fire as he always did. He chalked this one up as a failure regardless. It was important to him that every victim feel the pain that he imagined his ex-girlfriend Zoe Ravat felt, as she cut her wrists and then her neck in a suicidal fit of depression.
There were three more victims after that, but Sharon was important because of her connections. After Sharon died, her father Saul von Oellfen hired the best private investigators money could buy. Eventually, one of them would find Tim.
The ninth victim, who Tim counted as number eight, was aged twenty and named Caridad Olivia Lange. She nicknamed herself Cari, and thought Tim was twenty-three and named Harold Joswig. She suffered the same fate as the other victims, that is, I killed her and Tim cremated her. Tim declared that Cari's was the best death so far, though it seemed much the same to me. But just as we left Cari's apartment, two policemen had arrived at the door of the apartment, backed by an Inspector Smith.
Tim was not a fighter, and he was easily subjugated and handcuffed by one of the policemen while the other found Cari's remains. The fire was hastily and clumsily put out, and Inspector Smith gathered as much surviving evidence as he could while Tim's rights were read to him. He exercised his right to remain silent, and I followed quietly.
In the temporary cell, Tim grumbled that he still had so much to do, and he wondered aloud if there was a way out of this. I had no advice to offer. I knew how this would end.
The trial was swift. The lawyer provided by the court to Tim had little defense against the expensive one hired by Saul von Oellfen, who was named Marisa Tracey. Tracey, in conjunction with Investigator Smith, assaulted Tim with a barrage of incriminating evidence that Tim's fires failed to destroy. Tim's lawyer, Nicholas McGuire, could only insist that Tim was not responsible for what he did on the grounds that he was mentally unstable. However, at this point, Tim stood and declared that he was not crazy, and that he only wanted his victims to feel what Zoe felt.
It would probably never be clear whether or not this was evidence for or against his insanity, but the jury regardless ruled against him, and that was that. Tim was found guilty of arson and murder, six counts each, even though Tim insisted it should have been eight, even though really it was nine.
Tim would have been executed a few days later, but in a few hours he was struck in the neck, fatally, by a fellow inmate named Quinn Dangcil, known for murdering murderers. Tim was not a fighter, after all. I watched Tim choke for several minutes before I killed him.
Of course, I was never convicted of anything. I only ever did my job.
My brother approached me as I stood over the body of Mortimer Green. He smiled at me, kindly and sadly at once.
"I think you win," he told me.
"How many?" I asked, wary of deceit.
"Only one," he said. He seemed tired, like he frequently was.
I was genuinely surprised. "You told me yours was responsible for the deaths of hundreds."
"Yes," my brother agreed. "But ultimately not by his own hand. The only person Danello Paul Denton directly killed was his wife Katarin, who dealt him a mortal blow as her last act. The tyrant who enslaved thousands couldn't even accurately fire a gun."
"The starving people don't count?" I asked. "You're just letting me win, aren't you Nato."
"I'm being fair," he insisted. We had to be fair. "The bet was about who would kill the most people before dying. If we let in that category those who allowed or even made it possible that others to be killed, the subjectivity involved would make any sort of meaningful judgment impossible."
"True," I conceded. "So why didn't you go with a soldier?"
"Why didn't you?"
"Honestly, I just thought it would be too easy. Mortimer Green wasn't trained to kill people. He did the things he did on his own, without a machine gun or grenade."
"Mm. I chose Danello Paul Denton because I was curious. Here was a man who could barely kill his wife, and yet could be said to be responsible for the deaths of so many people. It was an experience, seeing his motivations and the casual attitude he had regarding the lives of others..."
I laughed. "This bet was an excuse to watch an evil person?"
"Considering what we do, I don't think it unreasonable to seek a little entertainment every once in a while. But anyway, you did win the bet. Tomorrow, I will go to Hel and ask her out on a dinner date. I still don't see what you expect to come of this, Mors."
"Nat," I reminded my brother. "I call myself that now."
"What, because Mictlantecuhtli made fun of your name? You know that he only mocked the shortness of it."
"It's not that," I fumed. "I like being associated with you."
"Nat," my brother murmured, thinking. "Ah, like Nato. Your nickname for me."
"Yeah."
Thanatos hugged me, then, awkwardly and fraternally.
"Let's play again next week," he told me, as he released me. "I'll tell you how it went with Hel."
"No no, you'll tell me tomorrow! I want you to be happy like Azrael and me. I've seen what happens to people who are... alone."
Thanatos seemed about to demur, but he saw my face and I knew he recalled the person I had been following. He silently consented. We talked a little more, but we had duties to perform and eventually he left. He wasn't actually my brother, more like a predecessor. But I called him that and he never argued.
After he left I turned to inspect the ten souls I had with me. Nine victims and Tim himself. They had no power to do anything, since they had no bodies or minds now, but there was in them the faint spark of individuality. That was all the soul was, really.
"All right," I sighed, tugging on their invisible threads. "Let's go."
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
I called myself Nat, then. It wasn't my real name, but a joke based on a nickname for a brother of mine.
I had been following a man with the name Mortimer Green for a while now. It was, I thought, an appropriately morbid name for what he did, but for some reason he preferred to be known as Tim. His eyes reflected his surname moderately well, and his skin was as suitably pale as his long hair was suitably dark. He was wearing a black business suit and black sunglasses, looking much like the government agent stereotype, except for the incongruous green flower sticking out of a breast pocket. Occasionally, when he reached a red light, he would glance at himself in the rear view mirror, as if to make certain he still looked the same. He was a little weird, and talked to himself sometimes.
Tim was "on the hunt", as he called it. Currently his prey was a certain Rachel Herrero, a lovely girl, aged twenty-two, who had invited Tim to her apartment for a dinner date. Tim, by the way, had other plans and was twice her age. Rachel did not know this, since Tim had seemed to be a shy and intellectual man much closer to her age named Eugene Goodman when they conversed over the internet. Rachel had these misconceptions because Tim lied to her. She also did not know I was coming.
Anyway, Tim parked outside the apartment complex. I followed him as he got out of the car and went into the building. We walked down the corridor inside, stopping when we reached the door marked 208. We both remembered the number.
Tim reached into a pocket and retrieved his knife. It was not especially long, since it had to fit in a pocket, but it was very sharp. He knocked on the door gently, and not a second passed before it opened.
"Eugene?" Rachel asked excitedly, as she pulled the door open. And I admired the way her face changed so rapidly in what emotion it depicted the next instant: starting with joy, then disappointment, then confusion, and finally fear. That last emotion likely was due to the knife Tim had set right before her mouth, caught in the act of readying to scream.
"Don't make a sound," Tim said calmly, as his other hand gripped Rachel's thin neck. "If you stay quiet, I won't kill you."
Rachel did not say anything, and Tim gently pushed her back into her apartment. I went in as he shut the door with his foot. It was important that I let him do this on his own. I would not interfere.
Tim ordered the scared girl to lie on her bed, then he shoved a handkerchief in her mouth and put duct tape over it. These things he had hidden in deep pockets. He also had strong wires, with which he bound Rachel's wrists and ankles to the bed. It was then that Rachel began to fear that Tim had told another lie. This fear was confirmed when Tim slashed her wrists and neck.
Rachel's final sounds were muffled shrieks, meaningless and purposeless. Tim was not moved by them, content to stand at the edge of the bed and watch her die. It was only right before I stepped in to finally kill her that she realized I was there. It was the last thing she knew.
"So long, Rachel," Tim murmured, after she was dead.
I noticed that he had gotten some blood on his sleeve. I said nothing.
"That makes five," Tim added. It was a count of victims. I killed every one of them, but he never thought of it that way. He did, after all, do all the work.
Tim took off his suit, under which he wore a sleeveless white shirt and thin gray sweatpants, and tossed the clothes onto the bed, onto Rachel's corpse. He found the smoke detector and disabled it. Then he reached into the pockets of the pants he had tossed on the bed and retrieved a lighter. He lit a flame under Rachel's shirt, which caught fire, and put the lighter in a pocket of his sweatpants.
This had become routine. He always started a fire after the victim was dead, and we would leave quietly as if nothing was happening. Every time we could get out before the fire spread and anyone noticed. So far, the man named Mortimer Green was not wanted by the police. I wasn't either.
It would be a few days before Tim found another victim. Her name was Sharon von Oellfen, and she was nineteen. Sharon, using the moniker "sharoniscarin" on internet relay chat, was under the impression that she had "reeled in" Frank Lin, a nerdy but attractive college freshman. It was actually Tim that she had invited to her house while her parents were out, and he was the one who had done the real reeling.
At the appropriate hour, Tim arrived at Sharon's house, dressed in a similar suit to the one he had worn to Rachel's apartment. He had, in fact, several identical suits, each containing identical tools, which he planned to sacrifice in the fire for the sake of each victim.
Unlike Rachel, and for that matter unlike every previous victim, Sharon screamed in spite of the knife, and Tim was forced to prematurely cut her throat open without the usual ritual. I still killed her in the end, though, and Tim still started the fire as he always did. He chalked this one up as a failure regardless. It was important to him that every victim feel the pain that he imagined his ex-girlfriend Zoe Ravat felt, as she cut her wrists and then her neck in a suicidal fit of depression.
There were three more victims after that, but Sharon was important because of her connections. After Sharon died, her father Saul von Oellfen hired the best private investigators money could buy. Eventually, one of them would find Tim.
The ninth victim, who Tim counted as number eight, was aged twenty and named Caridad Olivia Lange. She nicknamed herself Cari, and thought Tim was twenty-three and named Harold Joswig. She suffered the same fate as the other victims, that is, I killed her and Tim cremated her. Tim declared that Cari's was the best death so far, though it seemed much the same to me. But just as we left Cari's apartment, two policemen had arrived at the door of the apartment, backed by an Inspector Smith.
Tim was not a fighter, and he was easily subjugated and handcuffed by one of the policemen while the other found Cari's remains. The fire was hastily and clumsily put out, and Inspector Smith gathered as much surviving evidence as he could while Tim's rights were read to him. He exercised his right to remain silent, and I followed quietly.
In the temporary cell, Tim grumbled that he still had so much to do, and he wondered aloud if there was a way out of this. I had no advice to offer. I knew how this would end.
The trial was swift. The lawyer provided by the court to Tim had little defense against the expensive one hired by Saul von Oellfen, who was named Marisa Tracey. Tracey, in conjunction with Investigator Smith, assaulted Tim with a barrage of incriminating evidence that Tim's fires failed to destroy. Tim's lawyer, Nicholas McGuire, could only insist that Tim was not responsible for what he did on the grounds that he was mentally unstable. However, at this point, Tim stood and declared that he was not crazy, and that he only wanted his victims to feel what Zoe felt.
It would probably never be clear whether or not this was evidence for or against his insanity, but the jury regardless ruled against him, and that was that. Tim was found guilty of arson and murder, six counts each, even though Tim insisted it should have been eight, even though really it was nine.
Tim would have been executed a few days later, but in a few hours he was struck in the neck, fatally, by a fellow inmate named Quinn Dangcil, known for murdering murderers. Tim was not a fighter, after all. I watched Tim choke for several minutes before I killed him.
Of course, I was never convicted of anything. I only ever did my job.
My brother approached me as I stood over the body of Mortimer Green. He smiled at me, kindly and sadly at once.
"I think you win," he told me.
"How many?" I asked, wary of deceit.
"Only one," he said. He seemed tired, like he frequently was.
I was genuinely surprised. "You told me yours was responsible for the deaths of hundreds."
"Yes," my brother agreed. "But ultimately not by his own hand. The only person Danello Paul Denton directly killed was his wife Katarin, who dealt him a mortal blow as her last act. The tyrant who enslaved thousands couldn't even accurately fire a gun."
"The starving people don't count?" I asked. "You're just letting me win, aren't you Nato."
"I'm being fair," he insisted. We had to be fair. "The bet was about who would kill the most people before dying. If we let in that category those who allowed or even made it possible that others to be killed, the subjectivity involved would make any sort of meaningful judgment impossible."
"True," I conceded. "So why didn't you go with a soldier?"
"Why didn't you?"
"Honestly, I just thought it would be too easy. Mortimer Green wasn't trained to kill people. He did the things he did on his own, without a machine gun or grenade."
"Mm. I chose Danello Paul Denton because I was curious. Here was a man who could barely kill his wife, and yet could be said to be responsible for the deaths of so many people. It was an experience, seeing his motivations and the casual attitude he had regarding the lives of others..."
I laughed. "This bet was an excuse to watch an evil person?"
"Considering what we do, I don't think it unreasonable to seek a little entertainment every once in a while. But anyway, you did win the bet. Tomorrow, I will go to Hel and ask her out on a dinner date. I still don't see what you expect to come of this, Mors."
"Nat," I reminded my brother. "I call myself that now."
"What, because Mictlantecuhtli made fun of your name? You know that he only mocked the shortness of it."
"It's not that," I fumed. "I like being associated with you."
"Nat," my brother murmured, thinking. "Ah, like Nato. Your nickname for me."
"Yeah."
Thanatos hugged me, then, awkwardly and fraternally.
"Let's play again next week," he told me, as he released me. "I'll tell you how it went with Hel."
"No no, you'll tell me tomorrow! I want you to be happy like Azrael and me. I've seen what happens to people who are... alone."
Thanatos seemed about to demur, but he saw my face and I knew he recalled the person I had been following. He silently consented. We talked a little more, but we had duties to perform and eventually he left. He wasn't actually my brother, more like a predecessor. But I called him that and he never argued.
After he left I turned to inspect the ten souls I had with me. Nine victims and Tim himself. They had no power to do anything, since they had no bodies or minds now, but there was in them the faint spark of individuality. That was all the soul was, really.
"All right," I sighed, tugging on their invisible threads. "Let's go."
The Party at Carousel 3
The Party at Carousel 3
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Marx Shukla was at a party.
The party was not actually there, though one could argue about the nuances of existence, if it came down to it. At any rate, the party was real enough in one sense to him.
Marx was upset. More upset than he could ever remember being. It was the reason he came here, to this party of unreality taking place on real Earth during a potentially real time.
He was in the kitchen area, an enormous white room filled with tables of food, though what people defined as "food" varied from person to person, and thus from table to table.
Marx's plate contained several days, as well as two weeks. It was, he reflected, something funny. He was not entirely sure why he found it funny, though. His cup was filled with hours, which were somewhat less funny.
A flower approached him. The flower was in the form of a pale-skinned man wearing a dark green suit, decorated only by a pink flower blossom on the chest of his coat. There was a beige shirt visible beneath his suit shirt and his shoes were dark brown. He was about Marx's height, his hair was black with the slightest hint of purple, and his eyes were green. His plate held a large clump of moist soil and a sphere of sunlight and his cup was filled with water.
"You look a little down," the flower murmured. "What's your name?"
"Marx," Marx replied, absently consuming a day. "Yours?"
"Oleander," came the reply. He was quiet, his voice as gentle as a spring breeze.
"I don't really want to talk about it," Marx said, looking down at his plate. "Sometimes, things happen. And you wish they didn't happen, you know?"
Oleander nodded. "I understand."
Marx said nothing for some time, drinking hours in his glass.
"Congratulations on your usefulness," Marx suddenly said, in monotone.
"You sound like you've said that a lot today," Oleander replied, eating some dirt.
"Today," Marx agreed, "and the past few days. I've been here for a long time, now."
Oleander looked at Marx for a while in silence.
A religious movement approached the two of them, then. The religious movement was in the form of a Jewish man wearing a gray suit, complete with a black tie and a white shirt visible beneath, a black hat with a moderate brim, typical reading glasses, and black shoes. He was about the same height as Marx and Oleander, his short hair and beard were a dark brown, and his eyes were hazel. His plate held pieces of some sort of lumpy bread covered in sesame seeds, a miniature bowl filled with a deep-red soup, large dumplings, and sliced carrots. His cup was filled with wine.
"Evening, gentlemen," the religious movement said, nodding graciously. He sounded like a jolly middle-aged adult. "Having a good time?"
Marx furrowed his brow at the religious movement. "I'm guessing you're a sect of Judaism, but which one?"
"Isn't it obvious, boy?" the religious movement asked, laughing. "I am Humanistic Judaism."
"Ah," Marx said, not sure exactly what made it obvious. "Congratulations on your usefulness."
"How's it going?" Oleander asked, inspecting a spoonful of dirt.
"Quite well," Humanistic Judaism said, sitting near them on the outward-jutting side of the wall. "I think I prefer Brahma's parties over the other two."
"I could never tell the difference," Marx murmured, thoughtful.
"My siblings," Humanistic Judaism explained, "Orthodox Judaism and several sects of Christianity, frequent Visnu's parties. And I'm not one to go to Siva's parties."
"Not a fan of your siblings?" Oleander asked.
"Oh, it's not that," Humanistic Judaism replied. "Rather, they're not fans of me. They're usually not fans of each other, when it comes down to it. They're fighting practically all the time. And, well, I'm the secular one."
"Do you even count as a religious movement?" Marx asked.
"Oh, of course," Humanistic Judaism said. "I'm still a part of the family, though you might say I was adopted by Humanism, and I do encompass cultural belief systems and world views. I'm sort of like Confucianism."
"Sort of," Marx repeated.
Humanistic Judaism laughed. "So who are you two?"
"Oleander," Oleander answered.
"I'm Marx," Marx said.
"You, Marx, strike me as someone with a lot on his mind," Humanistic Judaism murmured, responding to Marx's glum tone.
"It's not something I want to talk about," Marx said. "I... I want to disappear. I don't know, I guess that's why I came here."
"How long have you been here?" Humanistic Judaism asked.
"Four days," Marx responded.
Humanistic Judaism choked on a piece of bread and had a brief coughing fit.
Oleander didn't say anything, though a flicker of emotion crossed his face.
"Four days!" Humanistic Judaism exclaimed, after drinking some wine. "That's a long time to be away from your place. It's not healthy, boy."
Marx nodded. "I know. I guess I'm just punishing myself."
"You really do regret something," Humanistic Judaism murmured thoughtfully.
"Maybe you should leave the party," Oleander suggested quietly.
"I don't want to go back now," Marx muttered.
"No," Oleander said in a low voice. "I mean leave the party. Through the back door."
Marx became silent.
"You realize what that would do," Humanistic Judaism said.
"Yes," Marx eventually said. "Maybe that is what I want."
Humanistic Judaism gave Marx a stern stare for a while, then shook his head.
"Sometimes," Oleander mused, "people need to take a break, don't you think?"
"It can be a permanent break," Humanistic Judaism warned. "Maybe even a fatal one."
Marx stood up, setting his now-empty plate down.
"You're going to try?" Humanistic Judaism asked.
"I will try," Marx murmured. "I want to know what will happen. I feel like... it's time for a change."
Marx walked away from Oleander and Humanistic Judaism, who remained where they were, and headed toward the dance room.
Along the way, he encountered a music sub-genre he had seen before, Shoegaze. Shoegaze was in the form of an almost-pink-skinned woman, slightly shorter than Marx, wearing a bright pink cropped top that might as well have been an alternative bra, purple pants of no particular design, red high-heeled shoes, and golden jewelery in the form of bracelets, rings, and earrings. Her hair was long, wiry, and bright violet and her eyes were gray.
She appeared to be looking around at the kitchen area, thoughtfully.
"Shoegaze," Marx murmured, approaching her.
"Oh hey Marx," Shoegaze replied, seeing him, her voice subdued in a way that made it almost sound like part of the background, even though the music coming from the dance room was a Lavani song.
"You're still here?" Marx asked. He saw her at the party on the second day he was there.
"What do you mean, still?" Shoegaze shot back, one eyebrow raised. "My outfit is totally different. Obviously I came here again after leaving."
"Ah," Marx said, eyeing her outfit. "I forget."
"Don't tell me you've been here the whole time?" Shoegaze asked, looking concerned.
"Well, yes," Marx said. "I haven't felt like going back just yet."
Shoegaze frowned at Marx. "Well, I'm sure you'll go back when you're ready. Nothing wrong with taking your time, I guess."
"Yeah," Marx said. "Nothing to worry about."
Shoegaze gazed down at her shoes thoughtfully.
"Anyway, I'll see you around," Marx said.
"Next time," Shoegaze acknowledged, watching him through a tangle of hair as he walked into the dance room.
The music had changed to German heavy metal, which would probably have been more suitable for Shoegaze. Marx grimaced as he began to thread through the crowd, as the music did not exactly appeal to him.
He recognized Heliotrope, Pluto (the dwarf planet), Arthacias, Pi, Howaito De, Hungary, Kest, Nowruz, and Dhrtarāstra. He waved to each of them as he saw them, though he did not take up any of their invitations to dance.
When he reached the back corridor, he ran into someone.
It seemed to be a concept, though it was hard to tell, exactly. There was a strange kind of uncertainty that evoked a sense of importance to Marx. The concept was in the form of a tall and ancient gray-eyed man wearing a long gray robe that folded around him in a manner that somehow resembled wings. His wrinkled face held a sizable gray beard that reached his chest and the gray hair on his head was thick and curled. He held a sturdy scythe in his right hand, the blade turned behind him, and an hourglass half-filled with gray sand in his left hand.
Marx stared at him blankly for some time, then he realized who it was. Of course.
"You recognize me," the old man acknowledged, smiling. "Marx, you're distraught."
"Yes," Marx murmured, looking down.
"I know," the old man said, "to some extent you maybe blame me for what happened. It is understandable that you do, and really something people do all the time. But to another extent you think it is your fault. This isn't fair on you, and I'm sure you realize this too."
"You already know what I am going to do," Marx said, looking up at eyes that defined and defied age.
"Your people have always seen me as a kind of parent," the old man mumbled. "Let me endorse this view and tell you that I care about you."
"I can't ask you about what I'm going to do, can I?" Marx asked.
"Not this time," the old man admitted, almost sadly.
"Well," Marx said, "thank you anyway. Congratulations on your usefulness."
The old man laughed then, though offered no further comment. He approached Marx and half-embraced him with his left arm. As he did so, Marx could feel the coldness of the hourglass upon his shoulder.
Then the old man released him, nodded to him, and continued toward the dance room, slowly but surely. Marx watched the old man vanish into the crowd before continuing on.
When he rounded the next corner, he found a group of nine beings in the way. Marx was not sure what they were, exactly, though he got the impression they were concepts of some sort. Yet they almost seemed to be of the real and living.
They were all wearing cowls of different colors, though from a distance they all looked black, with the hoods up in a way that mostly obscured their faces. They were of somewhat varying heights, though one was rather hunched over and another was larger than the rest. Most of them carried objects as well.
The one in the dark gray cowl leaned on a golden scepter. His face was that of a somewhat elderly man with some kind of black stone embedded in his forehead.
The one in the dark red cowl held a long knife in one hand and some papers in the other. Her face was obscured not only by her hood but by long black hair over her eyes, allowing nothing but red lips to be seen, though more of her black hair reached out of the edges of her hood.
The one in the dark brown cowl was the hunched one, apparently holding nothing. His posture made did not allow Marx to see his face, though, oddly, a drooling tongue could be seen beneath the hood.
The one in the dark blue cowl kept his hands hidden from view, though the outline of what Marx suspected was a gun could be seen. His face revealed a pair of dark glasses and a thin mouth.
The one in the dark green cowl held two curved swords, one in each hand. Her face revealed a bitter-looking woman.
The one in the dark yellow cowl held a cat o' nine tails. His face was significantly taken up by orangish-brown beard.
The one in the dark violet cowl held a conical flask half-filled with a bubbling red liquid. Her face revealed a pair of severely reflective glasses and a smiling mouth, with some of her almost-white hair to either side.
The one in the dark cyan cowl was the large one, apparently holding nothing, though metallic gloves could be seen worn over big hands. His face was fierce and intimidating, consisting of two large eyes that stared directly at Marx and a massive frown.
The one in the black cowl also held nothing. His face revealed a grinning man, his eyes thin.
Marx realized that he recognized some of them, despite their cowls. Pieces of a puzzle fit together in his mind, and he guessed what this encounter meant. He was supposed to act passive and resigned, based on what he remembered, but it occurred to him that there was no need to act, because he was already so inclined anyway.
"So," Marx said. "I guess it's time I met you guys, huh?"
"You know of us," the one in black rasped in a stereotypically dark and sinister voice.
"Sort of," Marx replied. "I'm guessing you know why."
"You will reveal nothing," the one in black murmured.
"That's right," Marx agreed.
"He's a smug bastard," the one in green growled, her voice sounding like a great feline. She had moved her swords to a slightly more menacing angle. Marx eyed the swords with a frown, knowing that any violence would lead to intervention by Brahma and end the party early. The one in violet giggled a high-pitched laugh, presumably at what the one in green said.
Marx then realized he was angry.
"We're not doing anything here," the one in black said, as if reminding the one in green.
"His smugness," the one in yellow murmured in the voice of a chain smoker, "indicates that he believes his side will win. If he knows something we don't..."
"Both sides," the one in black murmured, "know things their opponents do not. We're not backing out of this game now. And, obviously, we didn't anyway. We will acquire the advantage, in time."
"We perhaps ought to quicken this pace," the one blue stated in a monotone voice that resembled a machine. "This corridor is not used infrequently."
"Not to mention that we're wasting time here, anyway," the one in green muttered.
"All right," the one in black said, addressing Marx. "Leave through the back door. You know what'll happen?"
"I know," Marx replied.
"Huh," the one in black said. "You must be depressed. Anyway, just wait for us when you get there. We're taking the long way around."
Marx nodded and kept going down the corridor, wondering how they had originally planned to persuade him to do this without using force. He avoiding looking at them, knowing they were watching him walk.
"Why are you doing this?" the one in gray asked when Marx passed. His voice was a permanent whisper.
"I'm going to get information out of all of you," Marx said, fairly certain this was safe to say.
"You poor fool," the one in gray replied, visibly shaking his head.
Marx continued down the corridor and met Student, a sort of concept that always watched the back door in a way not unlike the Doorman, who watched the front door.
"I'm leaving, Student," Marx murmured.
"Out... this way?" Student asked, looking vaguely concerned. "You know what will happen."
"Yes," Marx said. "I will become one of the humans."
Student said nothing more and opened the door for him, bowing.
As Marx passed the threshold of the doorway, he felt a strong wrenching that he had never felt before. It did not hurt, but it was as if something was trying to keep him from passing through to the human world. He forced himself through anyway, and felt himself become something very different.
Outside, the party did not exist. Rather, it did not exist for him, because he was now a simple human, destined to stay so unless, by a freak chance, he stumbled back into the party at Carousel.
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Marx Shukla was at a party.
The party was not actually there, though one could argue about the nuances of existence, if it came down to it. At any rate, the party was real enough in one sense to him.
Marx was upset. More upset than he could ever remember being. It was the reason he came here, to this party of unreality taking place on real Earth during a potentially real time.
He was in the kitchen area, an enormous white room filled with tables of food, though what people defined as "food" varied from person to person, and thus from table to table.
Marx's plate contained several days, as well as two weeks. It was, he reflected, something funny. He was not entirely sure why he found it funny, though. His cup was filled with hours, which were somewhat less funny.
A flower approached him. The flower was in the form of a pale-skinned man wearing a dark green suit, decorated only by a pink flower blossom on the chest of his coat. There was a beige shirt visible beneath his suit shirt and his shoes were dark brown. He was about Marx's height, his hair was black with the slightest hint of purple, and his eyes were green. His plate held a large clump of moist soil and a sphere of sunlight and his cup was filled with water.
"You look a little down," the flower murmured. "What's your name?"
"Marx," Marx replied, absently consuming a day. "Yours?"
"Oleander," came the reply. He was quiet, his voice as gentle as a spring breeze.
"I don't really want to talk about it," Marx said, looking down at his plate. "Sometimes, things happen. And you wish they didn't happen, you know?"
Oleander nodded. "I understand."
Marx said nothing for some time, drinking hours in his glass.
"Congratulations on your usefulness," Marx suddenly said, in monotone.
"You sound like you've said that a lot today," Oleander replied, eating some dirt.
"Today," Marx agreed, "and the past few days. I've been here for a long time, now."
Oleander looked at Marx for a while in silence.
A religious movement approached the two of them, then. The religious movement was in the form of a Jewish man wearing a gray suit, complete with a black tie and a white shirt visible beneath, a black hat with a moderate brim, typical reading glasses, and black shoes. He was about the same height as Marx and Oleander, his short hair and beard were a dark brown, and his eyes were hazel. His plate held pieces of some sort of lumpy bread covered in sesame seeds, a miniature bowl filled with a deep-red soup, large dumplings, and sliced carrots. His cup was filled with wine.
"Evening, gentlemen," the religious movement said, nodding graciously. He sounded like a jolly middle-aged adult. "Having a good time?"
Marx furrowed his brow at the religious movement. "I'm guessing you're a sect of Judaism, but which one?"
"Isn't it obvious, boy?" the religious movement asked, laughing. "I am Humanistic Judaism."
"Ah," Marx said, not sure exactly what made it obvious. "Congratulations on your usefulness."
"How's it going?" Oleander asked, inspecting a spoonful of dirt.
"Quite well," Humanistic Judaism said, sitting near them on the outward-jutting side of the wall. "I think I prefer Brahma's parties over the other two."
"I could never tell the difference," Marx murmured, thoughtful.
"My siblings," Humanistic Judaism explained, "Orthodox Judaism and several sects of Christianity, frequent Visnu's parties. And I'm not one to go to Siva's parties."
"Not a fan of your siblings?" Oleander asked.
"Oh, it's not that," Humanistic Judaism replied. "Rather, they're not fans of me. They're usually not fans of each other, when it comes down to it. They're fighting practically all the time. And, well, I'm the secular one."
"Do you even count as a religious movement?" Marx asked.
"Oh, of course," Humanistic Judaism said. "I'm still a part of the family, though you might say I was adopted by Humanism, and I do encompass cultural belief systems and world views. I'm sort of like Confucianism."
"Sort of," Marx repeated.
Humanistic Judaism laughed. "So who are you two?"
"Oleander," Oleander answered.
"I'm Marx," Marx said.
"You, Marx, strike me as someone with a lot on his mind," Humanistic Judaism murmured, responding to Marx's glum tone.
"It's not something I want to talk about," Marx said. "I... I want to disappear. I don't know, I guess that's why I came here."
"How long have you been here?" Humanistic Judaism asked.
"Four days," Marx responded.
Humanistic Judaism choked on a piece of bread and had a brief coughing fit.
Oleander didn't say anything, though a flicker of emotion crossed his face.
"Four days!" Humanistic Judaism exclaimed, after drinking some wine. "That's a long time to be away from your place. It's not healthy, boy."
Marx nodded. "I know. I guess I'm just punishing myself."
"You really do regret something," Humanistic Judaism murmured thoughtfully.
"Maybe you should leave the party," Oleander suggested quietly.
"I don't want to go back now," Marx muttered.
"No," Oleander said in a low voice. "I mean leave the party. Through the back door."
Marx became silent.
"You realize what that would do," Humanistic Judaism said.
"Yes," Marx eventually said. "Maybe that is what I want."
Humanistic Judaism gave Marx a stern stare for a while, then shook his head.
"Sometimes," Oleander mused, "people need to take a break, don't you think?"
"It can be a permanent break," Humanistic Judaism warned. "Maybe even a fatal one."
Marx stood up, setting his now-empty plate down.
"You're going to try?" Humanistic Judaism asked.
"I will try," Marx murmured. "I want to know what will happen. I feel like... it's time for a change."
Marx walked away from Oleander and Humanistic Judaism, who remained where they were, and headed toward the dance room.
Along the way, he encountered a music sub-genre he had seen before, Shoegaze. Shoegaze was in the form of an almost-pink-skinned woman, slightly shorter than Marx, wearing a bright pink cropped top that might as well have been an alternative bra, purple pants of no particular design, red high-heeled shoes, and golden jewelery in the form of bracelets, rings, and earrings. Her hair was long, wiry, and bright violet and her eyes were gray.
She appeared to be looking around at the kitchen area, thoughtfully.
"Shoegaze," Marx murmured, approaching her.
"Oh hey Marx," Shoegaze replied, seeing him, her voice subdued in a way that made it almost sound like part of the background, even though the music coming from the dance room was a Lavani song.
"You're still here?" Marx asked. He saw her at the party on the second day he was there.
"What do you mean, still?" Shoegaze shot back, one eyebrow raised. "My outfit is totally different. Obviously I came here again after leaving."
"Ah," Marx said, eyeing her outfit. "I forget."
"Don't tell me you've been here the whole time?" Shoegaze asked, looking concerned.
"Well, yes," Marx said. "I haven't felt like going back just yet."
Shoegaze frowned at Marx. "Well, I'm sure you'll go back when you're ready. Nothing wrong with taking your time, I guess."
"Yeah," Marx said. "Nothing to worry about."
Shoegaze gazed down at her shoes thoughtfully.
"Anyway, I'll see you around," Marx said.
"Next time," Shoegaze acknowledged, watching him through a tangle of hair as he walked into the dance room.
The music had changed to German heavy metal, which would probably have been more suitable for Shoegaze. Marx grimaced as he began to thread through the crowd, as the music did not exactly appeal to him.
He recognized Heliotrope, Pluto (the dwarf planet), Arthacias, Pi, Howaito De, Hungary, Kest, Nowruz, and Dhrtarāstra. He waved to each of them as he saw them, though he did not take up any of their invitations to dance.
When he reached the back corridor, he ran into someone.
It seemed to be a concept, though it was hard to tell, exactly. There was a strange kind of uncertainty that evoked a sense of importance to Marx. The concept was in the form of a tall and ancient gray-eyed man wearing a long gray robe that folded around him in a manner that somehow resembled wings. His wrinkled face held a sizable gray beard that reached his chest and the gray hair on his head was thick and curled. He held a sturdy scythe in his right hand, the blade turned behind him, and an hourglass half-filled with gray sand in his left hand.
Marx stared at him blankly for some time, then he realized who it was. Of course.
"You recognize me," the old man acknowledged, smiling. "Marx, you're distraught."
"Yes," Marx murmured, looking down.
"I know," the old man said, "to some extent you maybe blame me for what happened. It is understandable that you do, and really something people do all the time. But to another extent you think it is your fault. This isn't fair on you, and I'm sure you realize this too."
"You already know what I am going to do," Marx said, looking up at eyes that defined and defied age.
"Your people have always seen me as a kind of parent," the old man mumbled. "Let me endorse this view and tell you that I care about you."
"I can't ask you about what I'm going to do, can I?" Marx asked.
"Not this time," the old man admitted, almost sadly.
"Well," Marx said, "thank you anyway. Congratulations on your usefulness."
The old man laughed then, though offered no further comment. He approached Marx and half-embraced him with his left arm. As he did so, Marx could feel the coldness of the hourglass upon his shoulder.
Then the old man released him, nodded to him, and continued toward the dance room, slowly but surely. Marx watched the old man vanish into the crowd before continuing on.
When he rounded the next corner, he found a group of nine beings in the way. Marx was not sure what they were, exactly, though he got the impression they were concepts of some sort. Yet they almost seemed to be of the real and living.
They were all wearing cowls of different colors, though from a distance they all looked black, with the hoods up in a way that mostly obscured their faces. They were of somewhat varying heights, though one was rather hunched over and another was larger than the rest. Most of them carried objects as well.
The one in the dark gray cowl leaned on a golden scepter. His face was that of a somewhat elderly man with some kind of black stone embedded in his forehead.
The one in the dark red cowl held a long knife in one hand and some papers in the other. Her face was obscured not only by her hood but by long black hair over her eyes, allowing nothing but red lips to be seen, though more of her black hair reached out of the edges of her hood.
The one in the dark brown cowl was the hunched one, apparently holding nothing. His posture made did not allow Marx to see his face, though, oddly, a drooling tongue could be seen beneath the hood.
The one in the dark blue cowl kept his hands hidden from view, though the outline of what Marx suspected was a gun could be seen. His face revealed a pair of dark glasses and a thin mouth.
The one in the dark green cowl held two curved swords, one in each hand. Her face revealed a bitter-looking woman.
The one in the dark yellow cowl held a cat o' nine tails. His face was significantly taken up by orangish-brown beard.
The one in the dark violet cowl held a conical flask half-filled with a bubbling red liquid. Her face revealed a pair of severely reflective glasses and a smiling mouth, with some of her almost-white hair to either side.
The one in the dark cyan cowl was the large one, apparently holding nothing, though metallic gloves could be seen worn over big hands. His face was fierce and intimidating, consisting of two large eyes that stared directly at Marx and a massive frown.
The one in the black cowl also held nothing. His face revealed a grinning man, his eyes thin.
Marx realized that he recognized some of them, despite their cowls. Pieces of a puzzle fit together in his mind, and he guessed what this encounter meant. He was supposed to act passive and resigned, based on what he remembered, but it occurred to him that there was no need to act, because he was already so inclined anyway.
"So," Marx said. "I guess it's time I met you guys, huh?"
"You know of us," the one in black rasped in a stereotypically dark and sinister voice.
"Sort of," Marx replied. "I'm guessing you know why."
"You will reveal nothing," the one in black murmured.
"That's right," Marx agreed.
"He's a smug bastard," the one in green growled, her voice sounding like a great feline. She had moved her swords to a slightly more menacing angle. Marx eyed the swords with a frown, knowing that any violence would lead to intervention by Brahma and end the party early. The one in violet giggled a high-pitched laugh, presumably at what the one in green said.
Marx then realized he was angry.
"We're not doing anything here," the one in black said, as if reminding the one in green.
"His smugness," the one in yellow murmured in the voice of a chain smoker, "indicates that he believes his side will win. If he knows something we don't..."
"Both sides," the one in black murmured, "know things their opponents do not. We're not backing out of this game now. And, obviously, we didn't anyway. We will acquire the advantage, in time."
"We perhaps ought to quicken this pace," the one blue stated in a monotone voice that resembled a machine. "This corridor is not used infrequently."
"Not to mention that we're wasting time here, anyway," the one in green muttered.
"All right," the one in black said, addressing Marx. "Leave through the back door. You know what'll happen?"
"I know," Marx replied.
"Huh," the one in black said. "You must be depressed. Anyway, just wait for us when you get there. We're taking the long way around."
Marx nodded and kept going down the corridor, wondering how they had originally planned to persuade him to do this without using force. He avoiding looking at them, knowing they were watching him walk.
"Why are you doing this?" the one in gray asked when Marx passed. His voice was a permanent whisper.
"I'm going to get information out of all of you," Marx said, fairly certain this was safe to say.
"You poor fool," the one in gray replied, visibly shaking his head.
Marx continued down the corridor and met Student, a sort of concept that always watched the back door in a way not unlike the Doorman, who watched the front door.
"I'm leaving, Student," Marx murmured.
"Out... this way?" Student asked, looking vaguely concerned. "You know what will happen."
"Yes," Marx said. "I will become one of the humans."
Student said nothing more and opened the door for him, bowing.
As Marx passed the threshold of the doorway, he felt a strong wrenching that he had never felt before. It did not hurt, but it was as if something was trying to keep him from passing through to the human world. He forced himself through anyway, and felt himself become something very different.
Outside, the party did not exist. Rather, it did not exist for him, because he was now a simple human, destined to stay so unless, by a freak chance, he stumbled back into the party at Carousel.
The Party at Carousel 2
The Party at Carousel 2
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Lucy Hirsch was confused and a little afraid.
After getting past the strangely-named Student at the door, she had bumped into a short white man wearing a black top hat, white gloves, red long-sleeved shirt, green pants, and brown shoes. The man then began to insist to her that he was not an apple.
"I never said you were an apple," Lucy stated.
"You just did!" the man declared. "You just said 'you were an apple'!"
"Well, okay," Lucy replied, rolling her eyes. "But I meant prior to that."
"I am not an apple!" the man exclaimed.
"Okay, great," Lucy said. "I agree."
"I can smell that sarcasm in your voice!" the man shouted.
"Yes, I was sarcastic about the 'great' part," Lucy groaned. "I still agree that you are not an apple."
"I can prove to you that I am not an apple," the man continued, rummaging through his pockets.
"Is this guy bugging you?" someone suddenly asked.
Lucy turned to see a stunning, taller woman dressed in a pure black silk dress that reached the floor such that one could hardly see the black high-heeled shoes she wore and long black gloves that went to her elbows. She also wore scorpion-shaped earrings that were almost hidden by her long and straight black hair and a necklace which held what resembled a lowercase cursive "m" made of a yellow gemstone that matched her amber eyes. Her lipstick was black.
"You shouldn't bother young girls, Not-Apple," the woman said. She had a rather breathy voice. "Remember what happened at the party three months ago?"
" Elf," Not-Apple growled suddenly. "If she had just-"
" You were at fault," the woman interrupted him. "If something happens again, you know what will happen to you."
Not-Apple sighed. "Fine, yes. I wasn't going to do anything to her, anyway."
"Why don't you come with me?" the woman said to Lucy.
Lucy nodded mutely and followed her down the corridor, toward the jazzy-sounding music.
"You can call me Scorpina," Scorpina said. "Don't worry about Not-Apple, he's just kind of... well, stupid."
"Is that a real name?" Lucy asked. "How do you spell it?"
"The two words, 'not' and 'apple'," Scorpina replied. "Hyphenated, I guess. It's about as real as any name. What's yours?"
"I'm Lucy," Lucy answered. They had reached the end of the corridor, where the dance room was. Lucy saw a sea of people, possibly numbering in the hundreds, in an area that she felt was too big compared to the building she saw outside. The dance room was a dark blue. It made Lucy think of the night sky.
"Is that short for something?" Scorpina asked, apparently looking for someone in the crowd.
"Um, no, I don't think so," Lucy said.
"Interesting," Scorpina said, putting her hands on her hips and still looking at the crowd. "You hungry?"
Before Lucy could reply, Scorpina went into the room. Lucy followed her.
The music was not something she had heard before. She could make out a prominent saxophone and occasional bits of piano and drums, but the rest of the instruments she was not familiar with. The melody was strikingly unusual, such that she was absolutely certain it was foreign. People seemed to be dancing in all sorts of different ways, in some cases it wasn't even clear whether or not the people were really dancing.
Suddenly, someone fell to the floor right next to Lucy, making her jump back.
It was a person completely covered in various pieces of clothing and rags, the only other visible thing being a pair of dark glasses. The person got up and made a snorting sound. Lucy looked up to see a dark-skinned woman. The woman had cloth wrapped around her head and mouth, her two overlapping shirts were severely torn, and her skirt seemed to be made of some kind of grass. She was also barefoot.
"Th'were a bit of a cheap shot, eh?" the person on the floor rasped, slowly rising. He sounded like an old man suffering from lung cancer.
"We don't fight clean, you know that," the woman said. It looked like she had just punched the person on the floor.
"Aye, s'true," the person had risen to his feet. "Look 'ere, Malaria, we got us an audience."
"Don't be changin' the subject, Cancer," Malaria said. She had a strange way of talking, as if she were sick and about to cough at any given moment.
Lucy noticed that Scorpina had appeared by her side, apparently spectating with mild interest. A small crowd was making a circle around these two.
Cancer adjusted his glasses with a several-gloved hand. "You know we weren't really meant to get along. Just think about who our diff'ring... clientele are."
"We overlap," Malaria insisted, making a tight fist. "Don't you try to spin it like that."
"Malaria," Cancer said. "Your time is limited. We both know that."
Malaria shrieked then, and was suddenly restrained by someone who stepped out of the crowd and began leading her away. Someone else took Cancer and the spectacle was over.
"Malaria and Cancer?" Lucy asked, her brow furrowed.
"Mm, yes," Scorpina said. "They get invited, too. I don't think anyone in the trio is the discriminating type."
"Trio?" Lucy echoed, following Scorpina, who had begun to walk once more.
"The parties at Carousel are always hosted by one of three brothers," Scorpina replied. "Visnu being one of them."
They had reached the kitchen area, which was almost as huge as the dance room. It was a big white room, with several extremely long tables that each held various plates of what seemed to be food. There was a strong smell of a mixture of foods. Lucy had the impression that food from every place in the world was in this room.
"It's funny," Scorpina murmured. "Cancer. Reminds me of someone. Well, go ahead and look around. Take whatever you desire, as long as you plan to eat it. You often find food you don't expect to find at these parties."
Lucy nodded numbly and proceeded further into the room, passing by some tables and taking a plate and fork with her. The plates on the tables were stacked and covered with food, but then some had strange and random objects instead. She passed plates with rice, salad, mashed potatoes, chopped carrots, cooked fish, raw fish, barbecued meat of some sort, cubes made of cheese, and cubes made of chocolate. She also passed plates with things that appeared to be antiquated coins, eraser shavings, shredded pieces of paper, electronic wires, keyboard keys, rocks, and tiny hats.
She came up to a girl helping herself to light multi-colored cubes. The girl was about Lucy's height. She was wearing a pink knitted beanie that covered the top portion of her platinum blonde hair which only barely reached her neck. She also wore a sleeveless white blouse, a knee-length white skirt, and knee-length white socks, all decorated with lace, and no shoes. Her skin was very pale.
"What're those?" Lucy asked, leaning forward to sniff the cubes. They smelled like soap.
"Soap," the girl replied, smiling at Lucy's confused face. Her voice sounded small and tinkly, almost squeaky, the way Lucy imagined a might fairy sound.
"You're actually going to eat it?" Lucy asked, standing upright and following her down the table.
"Of course," the girl said, looking surprised that Lucy even asked. "It's against the rules to take things you don't plan on eating."
"And... you know that soap is poisonous, right?" Lucy asked.
"Just the right amount," the girl replied, smiling. "What's your name?"
"Lucy," Lucy said, seeing a plate of enchiladas and taking one. "What's yours?"
"Soap," Soap replied, silently chuckling to herself.
"Seriously?" Lucy asked, wondering if this girl was playing a joke on her.
"Seriously," Soap replied. "I always tell the truth."
"How did you get a name like that?" Lucy asked.
"Oh, I got it a long time ago," Soap said. "It used to be Sapo, but you know how things change."
It was at this point that Lucy began to understand that the people who went to this party were extremely eccentric. She wondered how far that eccentricity tipped into insanity.
As they reached the end of the table, Lucy noticed Scorpina and another woman with their own plates. Scorpina waved and Lucy waved back.
"Friend of yours?" Soap asked, scooping spoonfuls of laundry detergent powder onto her plate.
"I guess," Lucy said. "She saved me from, uh... someone apparently named Not-Apple."
Soap giggled. "Isn't that such a silly name?"
Lucy blinked at Soap and didn't reply.
They reached Scorpina and the other woman. The woman was shorter, between Scorpina's height and Lucy's. Her hair was long and wavy, her eyes were wide and blue, and her lips were a pale blue. She wore an aquamarine shirt that depicted two fish chasing each other's tails, dark blue shorts that went just past her knees, black leggings of some sort, and black sneakers. She had a necklace like Scorpina's, except it held a symbol that resembled a closing parenthesis followed by an opening parenthesis joined by a line crossing them out. It was made of some kind of black stone speckled with red.
"Lucy," Scorpina said, "this is my sister Pisce." She pronounced it pie sea.
"Good evening," Pisce said. She had a soft, quiet voice.
"Ah," Lucy said. "Pleased to meet you. This is, ah, Soap."
Soap did a curtsey while balancing her plate and cup.
"Soap," Scorpina said. "I'm Scorpina. My, don't we complement each other?"
"I find that I complement most people," Soap replied, smiling.
"Soap," Pisce said, putting her plate and cup down and approaching her. Then Pisce suddenly embraced her.
Soap looked a little surprised and didn't do anything.
"Do you... know each other?" Lucy asked, confused and a little embarrassed.
"Oh, a lot of people know me," Soap replied, setting the plate in her left hand down on the nearby table to pat Pisce.
Lucy looked at Soap's plate. It had cubes made of soap, soap in foam form, toothpaste, tissues, small bath sponges, and laundry detergent powder. Her cup was filled with something that Lucy was pretty sure was rubbing alcohol.
Pisce's plate had several different types of fish, not all of them cooked, as well as what appeared to be worms and insects. Her cup was filled with what looked like plain water.
Scorpina's plate had insects, arachnids, rodents, and small lizards (one of which she was delicately biting at the end of a fork). Her cup was filled with something that was transparent like water, but had a tinge of violet.
Lucy's own plate had a slice of cheese pizza, seasoned curly fries, an enchilada, garlic breadsticks, and s'mores. Her cup was filled with root beer.
"Come on, Pisce," Scorpina said, grabbing Pisce's sleeve. "Let her eat her food."
"I'm sorry," Pisce said, releasing Soap. Her eyes were wet. "I'm... a fan."
Soap smiled. "I'm always glad to know I am useful."
Pisce bowed her head and retrieved her food. Soap picked up her plate and beamed at Lucy.
"Who else is here, Pisce?" Scorpina asked, idly chewing on what looked like a gecko.
"Sage and Caprice, I believe," Pisce replied, twirling a worm with her fork. "Ares might have come too, but he didn't tell me. You know how he can be."
Scorpina nodded and acquired a roasted tarantula from her plate. Lucy realized she was staring and stopped.
"It's strange to you, isn't it?" Soap asked, watching her with a spoon in her mouth.
"A bit," Lucy admitted. "It's hard to believe you guys are eating this stuff."
Pisce looked at Scorpina, who nodded at her silently.
"There are stranger things at these parties," Soap remarked. "But isn't it a bit of fun, seeing what other people will eat?"
"Yeah, I guess," Lucy said, realizing that she ought to start on her own food.
They ate for a little while, saying little. Lucy mostly stayed silent, wondering who these people actually were.
At some point a tall man came down the table. He was barefoot and bare-chested, his skin looked like a burnt tan and his only apparent clothing was a decorated kilt. On his head was a tall headdress covered in tall ostrich feathers. His hair was dark and rough-looking. His eyes were thin and decorated in a way that made them resemble what Lucy recognized as the Eye of Horus. His beard was strangely pointed and curved in a way that made it look fake. There was what appeared to be a series of decorative necklaces around his neck, the furthest-outward one holding a black ankh on it. He had bracelets and anklets made in the same style as the necklaces as well.
His plate carried dried fruits, uncooked noodle bunches, uncooked rice, and nuts. His cup appeared to be filled with sand.
"Hello, ladies," the man said. His voice was strongly accented and somehow old-fashioned. Lucy guessed he was African.
"Hi," Soap said.
"I am Shu," the man said, inclining his head slightly. Lucy glanced down at Shu's feet.
"I'm Soap," Soap said. "This is Lucy. This is Scorpina and Pisce."
"Ah," Shu said to Scorpina. "Scorpina, have we met?"
"By a different name," Scorpina replied, grinning. "You're probably thinking of Serket. I'm of the Zodiac family."
"The Zodiac family," Shu repeated, understanding. "I have met your brother, Liberius. A most charming fellow."
"We're all charming, I like to think," Scorpina said, smiling at Pisce, who was staring down at her food, looking embarrassed.
"You remind me of my sister," Shu said, now looking at Pisce. He seemed to become distracted by a thought before shaking his head slightly and looking at Lucy. "And you? Don't tell me you're... ah, well, what's your family?"
"Um," Lucy replied. "Hirsch."
"Hirsch?" Shu repeated, looking confused. Then his eyes widened. "Ah, I see. Of course. I hope you're enjoying the party."
Lucy nodded at him, beginning to feel rather awkward about talking to this man wearing so little.
"Soap," Shu was now saying. "You should have been there more often in my time. Oh, the smell!"
"Well, you know how it works," Soap replied, shrugging.
"Hey, Lucy," Scorpina suddenly said, distracting her from the conversation she wasn't following.
Lucy turned to Scorpina.
"When's your birthday?" Scorpina asked. Pisce looked interested, too.
"February 27," Lucy replied, wondering what this was about.
"Ah, I knew it!" Scorpina exclaimed excitedly. "See, Pisce?"
Pisce smiled and put down her plate and cup, then approached Lucy. Pisce then suddenly embraced her.
Lucy was surprised, not just by the act but also by how soft Pisce seemed to be. She carried the scent of a strange mixture of fish and soap.
"Ah... is that good?" Lucy asked, not sure how to respond to this.
"It's nice," Pisce whispered. After a moment she released Lucy and smiled at her.
"Wanna wander around a bit?" Scorpina asked. "Pisce doesn't like dancing so we usually hang out in here."
"Um, okay," Lucy said.
"Soap, Shu," Scorpina addressed them. They appeared to have been talking. "We'll be off now. It was nice meeting you."
"You too," Soap replied.
"A pleasure," Shu agreed.
"I'll be seeing you around, Lucy," Soap added, smiling at her.
The three of them, Lucy, Scorpina, and Pisce, began to wander toward a corner of the room.
They passed by a sizeable crowd of people dressed in various different colors surrounding a tall and gorgeous woman dressed in black with white glitter all over. They seemed to simply be admiring her eating what looked like rocks, ice chunks, and small fireballs as she occasionally spoke to them.
"Are you aliens?" Lucy suddenly asked. It was a suspicion she'd been having for a while now.
"Aliens?" Scorpina asked, obviously amused.
"I... I feel like nobody here is... normal," Lucy said. "I mean, no offense. I generally like weird things, but..."
"Don't worry about it, Lucy," Scorpina said, laying a hand on Lucy's shoulder. "We're not human."
The affirmation sent a mixture of fear and thrill through Lucy, and she found she didn't know what to say.
"The fact that you are," Scorpina continued, "is what is abnormal. I wasn't sure until you said this. Humans aren't supposed to be able to find these parties since, well, Carousel doesn't exist."
"Should I be afraid?" Lucy whispered, now afraid.
"As long as you leave before the party ends, you should be fine," Pisce murmured.
"Yeah," Scorpina said. "Otherwise, you'll stop existing conventionally."
"When does the party end?" Lucy squeaked.
Scorpina and Pisce looked at each other and blinked.
"Er," Pisce said.
" You don't know," Lucy said in a quivering whisper. "You... don't think it'd be rude of me to dart out of here, do you?"
"Go ahead," Pisce whispered. "We'll meet again."
"It was fun," Scorpina added.
Lucy then ran into the dance room. The music now sounded like generic techno music with a continuous percussive beat. Lucy began to thread her way through the crowd, wondering how she got into this mess.
Finally, she approached the entrance corridor and began to run down it, suddenly crashing into someone. A man.
The man fell back somewhat but didn't fall, and Lucy didn't either due to being supported by him.
He was dark in all senses of the word. His hair was black and messy, his eyes were hidden by black sunglasses, and there were minute signs of facial hair on the bottom half of his face. He was dressed in a black business suit, black leather gloves, and black dress shoes.
"I... I'm sorry," Lucy said, backing up somewhat. "I just..."
" Well," a young girl's voice chimed, "what's going on here?"
A girl appeared from behind the dark man. She had pale pinkish skin and black hair that reached her waist. Her eyes seemed to have a reddish tinge. She was wearing a sleeveless black shirt decorated with white dots, a short pink skirt going halfway down her thighs, detached light purple sleeves that went from her upper arms to her wrists, black-and-white striped socks that reached halfway up her thighs, and sparkling red shoes.
"What're you doing, getting all physical with my Ruin?" the girl asked, hands on her hips. She sounded younger than she looked.
"I was running," Lucy explained, "and I accidentally ran into him."
"Oh," the girl said, suddenly appearing to have forgiven the incident. "Who're you running from?"
"Well, nobody," Lucy began.
"Nobody can be pretty scary," the girl said, nodding and folding her arms across her chest.
"No," Lucy said, "I mean, I wasn't running from anyone."
"Anyone is pretty nice," the girl noted, visibly thinking.
"No, no," Lucy said, "I'm just trying to leave the party."
"Why would you leave?" the girl asked, suddenly in front of her and staring into her face in a rather disconcerting way. "Aren't you having fun?"
"Well, I guess," Lucy said, "but I realized that I don't belong here."
"Oh, don't be a silly," the girl said, suddenly hugging Lucy. "We can all accept you for who you are!"
"That's... that's nice," Lucy said, trying to disengage herself from the girl. "But I need to go now."
"You should stay!" the girl said. "We could be best friends! I'll give you lots of pie to celebrate!"
"Please," Lucy pleaded, "let me go."
"Zythia," a stern and matronly yet tired-sounding voice called.
Lucy and the girl both turned to see a woman.
"Lucie!" Zythia exclaimed and ran off to hug the woman. Lucy was confused.
"Stop bothering people," the woman said, removing Zythia from herself and walking on. Ruin and Zythia followed her, Ruin walking and Zythia skipping and dancing around.
The woman paused to look at Lucy.
After they left, Lucy realized she had no idea what the woman looked like, except that it made her afraid. What stayed with her was the impression of burnt eyes as old as sin.
At the door, Student only bowed graciously, saying, "We hope to see you again."
Outside, the evening air was chilly. Lucy did not hear Student close the door, but she knew the party was not there anymore. She turned around to see an old merry-go-round in the middle of the town square. She knew it was intended for decoration only, and hadn't been used in many years.
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Lucy Hirsch was confused and a little afraid.
After getting past the strangely-named Student at the door, she had bumped into a short white man wearing a black top hat, white gloves, red long-sleeved shirt, green pants, and brown shoes. The man then began to insist to her that he was not an apple.
"I never said you were an apple," Lucy stated.
"You just did!" the man declared. "You just said 'you were an apple'!"
"Well, okay," Lucy replied, rolling her eyes. "But I meant prior to that."
"I am not an apple!" the man exclaimed.
"Okay, great," Lucy said. "I agree."
"I can smell that sarcasm in your voice!" the man shouted.
"Yes, I was sarcastic about the 'great' part," Lucy groaned. "I still agree that you are not an apple."
"I can prove to you that I am not an apple," the man continued, rummaging through his pockets.
"Is this guy bugging you?" someone suddenly asked.
Lucy turned to see a stunning, taller woman dressed in a pure black silk dress that reached the floor such that one could hardly see the black high-heeled shoes she wore and long black gloves that went to her elbows. She also wore scorpion-shaped earrings that were almost hidden by her long and straight black hair and a necklace which held what resembled a lowercase cursive "m" made of a yellow gemstone that matched her amber eyes. Her lipstick was black.
"You shouldn't bother young girls, Not-Apple," the woman said. She had a rather breathy voice. "Remember what happened at the party three months ago?"
" Elf," Not-Apple growled suddenly. "If she had just-"
" You were at fault," the woman interrupted him. "If something happens again, you know what will happen to you."
Not-Apple sighed. "Fine, yes. I wasn't going to do anything to her, anyway."
"Why don't you come with me?" the woman said to Lucy.
Lucy nodded mutely and followed her down the corridor, toward the jazzy-sounding music.
"You can call me Scorpina," Scorpina said. "Don't worry about Not-Apple, he's just kind of... well, stupid."
"Is that a real name?" Lucy asked. "How do you spell it?"
"The two words, 'not' and 'apple'," Scorpina replied. "Hyphenated, I guess. It's about as real as any name. What's yours?"
"I'm Lucy," Lucy answered. They had reached the end of the corridor, where the dance room was. Lucy saw a sea of people, possibly numbering in the hundreds, in an area that she felt was too big compared to the building she saw outside. The dance room was a dark blue. It made Lucy think of the night sky.
"Is that short for something?" Scorpina asked, apparently looking for someone in the crowd.
"Um, no, I don't think so," Lucy said.
"Interesting," Scorpina said, putting her hands on her hips and still looking at the crowd. "You hungry?"
Before Lucy could reply, Scorpina went into the room. Lucy followed her.
The music was not something she had heard before. She could make out a prominent saxophone and occasional bits of piano and drums, but the rest of the instruments she was not familiar with. The melody was strikingly unusual, such that she was absolutely certain it was foreign. People seemed to be dancing in all sorts of different ways, in some cases it wasn't even clear whether or not the people were really dancing.
Suddenly, someone fell to the floor right next to Lucy, making her jump back.
It was a person completely covered in various pieces of clothing and rags, the only other visible thing being a pair of dark glasses. The person got up and made a snorting sound. Lucy looked up to see a dark-skinned woman. The woman had cloth wrapped around her head and mouth, her two overlapping shirts were severely torn, and her skirt seemed to be made of some kind of grass. She was also barefoot.
"Th'were a bit of a cheap shot, eh?" the person on the floor rasped, slowly rising. He sounded like an old man suffering from lung cancer.
"We don't fight clean, you know that," the woman said. It looked like she had just punched the person on the floor.
"Aye, s'true," the person had risen to his feet. "Look 'ere, Malaria, we got us an audience."
"Don't be changin' the subject, Cancer," Malaria said. She had a strange way of talking, as if she were sick and about to cough at any given moment.
Lucy noticed that Scorpina had appeared by her side, apparently spectating with mild interest. A small crowd was making a circle around these two.
Cancer adjusted his glasses with a several-gloved hand. "You know we weren't really meant to get along. Just think about who our diff'ring... clientele are."
"We overlap," Malaria insisted, making a tight fist. "Don't you try to spin it like that."
"Malaria," Cancer said. "Your time is limited. We both know that."
Malaria shrieked then, and was suddenly restrained by someone who stepped out of the crowd and began leading her away. Someone else took Cancer and the spectacle was over.
"Malaria and Cancer?" Lucy asked, her brow furrowed.
"Mm, yes," Scorpina said. "They get invited, too. I don't think anyone in the trio is the discriminating type."
"Trio?" Lucy echoed, following Scorpina, who had begun to walk once more.
"The parties at Carousel are always hosted by one of three brothers," Scorpina replied. "Visnu being one of them."
They had reached the kitchen area, which was almost as huge as the dance room. It was a big white room, with several extremely long tables that each held various plates of what seemed to be food. There was a strong smell of a mixture of foods. Lucy had the impression that food from every place in the world was in this room.
"It's funny," Scorpina murmured. "Cancer. Reminds me of someone. Well, go ahead and look around. Take whatever you desire, as long as you plan to eat it. You often find food you don't expect to find at these parties."
Lucy nodded numbly and proceeded further into the room, passing by some tables and taking a plate and fork with her. The plates on the tables were stacked and covered with food, but then some had strange and random objects instead. She passed plates with rice, salad, mashed potatoes, chopped carrots, cooked fish, raw fish, barbecued meat of some sort, cubes made of cheese, and cubes made of chocolate. She also passed plates with things that appeared to be antiquated coins, eraser shavings, shredded pieces of paper, electronic wires, keyboard keys, rocks, and tiny hats.
She came up to a girl helping herself to light multi-colored cubes. The girl was about Lucy's height. She was wearing a pink knitted beanie that covered the top portion of her platinum blonde hair which only barely reached her neck. She also wore a sleeveless white blouse, a knee-length white skirt, and knee-length white socks, all decorated with lace, and no shoes. Her skin was very pale.
"What're those?" Lucy asked, leaning forward to sniff the cubes. They smelled like soap.
"Soap," the girl replied, smiling at Lucy's confused face. Her voice sounded small and tinkly, almost squeaky, the way Lucy imagined a might fairy sound.
"You're actually going to eat it?" Lucy asked, standing upright and following her down the table.
"Of course," the girl said, looking surprised that Lucy even asked. "It's against the rules to take things you don't plan on eating."
"And... you know that soap is poisonous, right?" Lucy asked.
"Just the right amount," the girl replied, smiling. "What's your name?"
"Lucy," Lucy said, seeing a plate of enchiladas and taking one. "What's yours?"
"Soap," Soap replied, silently chuckling to herself.
"Seriously?" Lucy asked, wondering if this girl was playing a joke on her.
"Seriously," Soap replied. "I always tell the truth."
"How did you get a name like that?" Lucy asked.
"Oh, I got it a long time ago," Soap said. "It used to be Sapo, but you know how things change."
It was at this point that Lucy began to understand that the people who went to this party were extremely eccentric. She wondered how far that eccentricity tipped into insanity.
As they reached the end of the table, Lucy noticed Scorpina and another woman with their own plates. Scorpina waved and Lucy waved back.
"Friend of yours?" Soap asked, scooping spoonfuls of laundry detergent powder onto her plate.
"I guess," Lucy said. "She saved me from, uh... someone apparently named Not-Apple."
Soap giggled. "Isn't that such a silly name?"
Lucy blinked at Soap and didn't reply.
They reached Scorpina and the other woman. The woman was shorter, between Scorpina's height and Lucy's. Her hair was long and wavy, her eyes were wide and blue, and her lips were a pale blue. She wore an aquamarine shirt that depicted two fish chasing each other's tails, dark blue shorts that went just past her knees, black leggings of some sort, and black sneakers. She had a necklace like Scorpina's, except it held a symbol that resembled a closing parenthesis followed by an opening parenthesis joined by a line crossing them out. It was made of some kind of black stone speckled with red.
"Lucy," Scorpina said, "this is my sister Pisce." She pronounced it pie sea.
"Good evening," Pisce said. She had a soft, quiet voice.
"Ah," Lucy said. "Pleased to meet you. This is, ah, Soap."
Soap did a curtsey while balancing her plate and cup.
"Soap," Scorpina said. "I'm Scorpina. My, don't we complement each other?"
"I find that I complement most people," Soap replied, smiling.
"Soap," Pisce said, putting her plate and cup down and approaching her. Then Pisce suddenly embraced her.
Soap looked a little surprised and didn't do anything.
"Do you... know each other?" Lucy asked, confused and a little embarrassed.
"Oh, a lot of people know me," Soap replied, setting the plate in her left hand down on the nearby table to pat Pisce.
Lucy looked at Soap's plate. It had cubes made of soap, soap in foam form, toothpaste, tissues, small bath sponges, and laundry detergent powder. Her cup was filled with something that Lucy was pretty sure was rubbing alcohol.
Pisce's plate had several different types of fish, not all of them cooked, as well as what appeared to be worms and insects. Her cup was filled with what looked like plain water.
Scorpina's plate had insects, arachnids, rodents, and small lizards (one of which she was delicately biting at the end of a fork). Her cup was filled with something that was transparent like water, but had a tinge of violet.
Lucy's own plate had a slice of cheese pizza, seasoned curly fries, an enchilada, garlic breadsticks, and s'mores. Her cup was filled with root beer.
"Come on, Pisce," Scorpina said, grabbing Pisce's sleeve. "Let her eat her food."
"I'm sorry," Pisce said, releasing Soap. Her eyes were wet. "I'm... a fan."
Soap smiled. "I'm always glad to know I am useful."
Pisce bowed her head and retrieved her food. Soap picked up her plate and beamed at Lucy.
"Who else is here, Pisce?" Scorpina asked, idly chewing on what looked like a gecko.
"Sage and Caprice, I believe," Pisce replied, twirling a worm with her fork. "Ares might have come too, but he didn't tell me. You know how he can be."
Scorpina nodded and acquired a roasted tarantula from her plate. Lucy realized she was staring and stopped.
"It's strange to you, isn't it?" Soap asked, watching her with a spoon in her mouth.
"A bit," Lucy admitted. "It's hard to believe you guys are eating this stuff."
Pisce looked at Scorpina, who nodded at her silently.
"There are stranger things at these parties," Soap remarked. "But isn't it a bit of fun, seeing what other people will eat?"
"Yeah, I guess," Lucy said, realizing that she ought to start on her own food.
They ate for a little while, saying little. Lucy mostly stayed silent, wondering who these people actually were.
At some point a tall man came down the table. He was barefoot and bare-chested, his skin looked like a burnt tan and his only apparent clothing was a decorated kilt. On his head was a tall headdress covered in tall ostrich feathers. His hair was dark and rough-looking. His eyes were thin and decorated in a way that made them resemble what Lucy recognized as the Eye of Horus. His beard was strangely pointed and curved in a way that made it look fake. There was what appeared to be a series of decorative necklaces around his neck, the furthest-outward one holding a black ankh on it. He had bracelets and anklets made in the same style as the necklaces as well.
His plate carried dried fruits, uncooked noodle bunches, uncooked rice, and nuts. His cup appeared to be filled with sand.
"Hello, ladies," the man said. His voice was strongly accented and somehow old-fashioned. Lucy guessed he was African.
"Hi," Soap said.
"I am Shu," the man said, inclining his head slightly. Lucy glanced down at Shu's feet.
"I'm Soap," Soap said. "This is Lucy. This is Scorpina and Pisce."
"Ah," Shu said to Scorpina. "Scorpina, have we met?"
"By a different name," Scorpina replied, grinning. "You're probably thinking of Serket. I'm of the Zodiac family."
"The Zodiac family," Shu repeated, understanding. "I have met your brother, Liberius. A most charming fellow."
"We're all charming, I like to think," Scorpina said, smiling at Pisce, who was staring down at her food, looking embarrassed.
"You remind me of my sister," Shu said, now looking at Pisce. He seemed to become distracted by a thought before shaking his head slightly and looking at Lucy. "And you? Don't tell me you're... ah, well, what's your family?"
"Um," Lucy replied. "Hirsch."
"Hirsch?" Shu repeated, looking confused. Then his eyes widened. "Ah, I see. Of course. I hope you're enjoying the party."
Lucy nodded at him, beginning to feel rather awkward about talking to this man wearing so little.
"Soap," Shu was now saying. "You should have been there more often in my time. Oh, the smell!"
"Well, you know how it works," Soap replied, shrugging.
"Hey, Lucy," Scorpina suddenly said, distracting her from the conversation she wasn't following.
Lucy turned to Scorpina.
"When's your birthday?" Scorpina asked. Pisce looked interested, too.
"February 27," Lucy replied, wondering what this was about.
"Ah, I knew it!" Scorpina exclaimed excitedly. "See, Pisce?"
Pisce smiled and put down her plate and cup, then approached Lucy. Pisce then suddenly embraced her.
Lucy was surprised, not just by the act but also by how soft Pisce seemed to be. She carried the scent of a strange mixture of fish and soap.
"Ah... is that good?" Lucy asked, not sure how to respond to this.
"It's nice," Pisce whispered. After a moment she released Lucy and smiled at her.
"Wanna wander around a bit?" Scorpina asked. "Pisce doesn't like dancing so we usually hang out in here."
"Um, okay," Lucy said.
"Soap, Shu," Scorpina addressed them. They appeared to have been talking. "We'll be off now. It was nice meeting you."
"You too," Soap replied.
"A pleasure," Shu agreed.
"I'll be seeing you around, Lucy," Soap added, smiling at her.
The three of them, Lucy, Scorpina, and Pisce, began to wander toward a corner of the room.
They passed by a sizeable crowd of people dressed in various different colors surrounding a tall and gorgeous woman dressed in black with white glitter all over. They seemed to simply be admiring her eating what looked like rocks, ice chunks, and small fireballs as she occasionally spoke to them.
"Are you aliens?" Lucy suddenly asked. It was a suspicion she'd been having for a while now.
"Aliens?" Scorpina asked, obviously amused.
"I... I feel like nobody here is... normal," Lucy said. "I mean, no offense. I generally like weird things, but..."
"Don't worry about it, Lucy," Scorpina said, laying a hand on Lucy's shoulder. "We're not human."
The affirmation sent a mixture of fear and thrill through Lucy, and she found she didn't know what to say.
"The fact that you are," Scorpina continued, "is what is abnormal. I wasn't sure until you said this. Humans aren't supposed to be able to find these parties since, well, Carousel doesn't exist."
"Should I be afraid?" Lucy whispered, now afraid.
"As long as you leave before the party ends, you should be fine," Pisce murmured.
"Yeah," Scorpina said. "Otherwise, you'll stop existing conventionally."
"When does the party end?" Lucy squeaked.
Scorpina and Pisce looked at each other and blinked.
"Er," Pisce said.
" You don't know," Lucy said in a quivering whisper. "You... don't think it'd be rude of me to dart out of here, do you?"
"Go ahead," Pisce whispered. "We'll meet again."
"It was fun," Scorpina added.
Lucy then ran into the dance room. The music now sounded like generic techno music with a continuous percussive beat. Lucy began to thread her way through the crowd, wondering how she got into this mess.
Finally, she approached the entrance corridor and began to run down it, suddenly crashing into someone. A man.
The man fell back somewhat but didn't fall, and Lucy didn't either due to being supported by him.
He was dark in all senses of the word. His hair was black and messy, his eyes were hidden by black sunglasses, and there were minute signs of facial hair on the bottom half of his face. He was dressed in a black business suit, black leather gloves, and black dress shoes.
"I... I'm sorry," Lucy said, backing up somewhat. "I just..."
" Well," a young girl's voice chimed, "what's going on here?"
A girl appeared from behind the dark man. She had pale pinkish skin and black hair that reached her waist. Her eyes seemed to have a reddish tinge. She was wearing a sleeveless black shirt decorated with white dots, a short pink skirt going halfway down her thighs, detached light purple sleeves that went from her upper arms to her wrists, black-and-white striped socks that reached halfway up her thighs, and sparkling red shoes.
"What're you doing, getting all physical with my Ruin?" the girl asked, hands on her hips. She sounded younger than she looked.
"I was running," Lucy explained, "and I accidentally ran into him."
"Oh," the girl said, suddenly appearing to have forgiven the incident. "Who're you running from?"
"Well, nobody," Lucy began.
"Nobody can be pretty scary," the girl said, nodding and folding her arms across her chest.
"No," Lucy said, "I mean, I wasn't running from anyone."
"Anyone is pretty nice," the girl noted, visibly thinking.
"No, no," Lucy said, "I'm just trying to leave the party."
"Why would you leave?" the girl asked, suddenly in front of her and staring into her face in a rather disconcerting way. "Aren't you having fun?"
"Well, I guess," Lucy said, "but I realized that I don't belong here."
"Oh, don't be a silly," the girl said, suddenly hugging Lucy. "We can all accept you for who you are!"
"That's... that's nice," Lucy said, trying to disengage herself from the girl. "But I need to go now."
"You should stay!" the girl said. "We could be best friends! I'll give you lots of pie to celebrate!"
"Please," Lucy pleaded, "let me go."
"Zythia," a stern and matronly yet tired-sounding voice called.
Lucy and the girl both turned to see a woman.
"Lucie!" Zythia exclaimed and ran off to hug the woman. Lucy was confused.
"Stop bothering people," the woman said, removing Zythia from herself and walking on. Ruin and Zythia followed her, Ruin walking and Zythia skipping and dancing around.
The woman paused to look at Lucy.
After they left, Lucy realized she had no idea what the woman looked like, except that it made her afraid. What stayed with her was the impression of burnt eyes as old as sin.
At the door, Student only bowed graciously, saying, "We hope to see you again."
Outside, the evening air was chilly. Lucy did not hear Student close the door, but she knew the party was not there anymore. She turned around to see an old merry-go-round in the middle of the town square. She knew it was intended for decoration only, and hadn't been used in many years.
The Party at Carousel 1
The Party at Carousel 1
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Randal Fiedler entered the building.
"Welcome to the party," said the man who had answered his knock. "Name?"
"Um," Randal said, hesitating, "Randy."
"I'm Student," Student replied. He certainly looked like a student: a young man of maybe twenty, two years younger than Randal, sporting a white dress shirt, sky blue jeans, circular glasses, and clean, short dark hair. "Remember the rules. No fighting, no vomiting. Bathrooms are at the end of either hallway. Don't take food if you're not going to eat it. Make sure you introduce yourself whenever you talk to someone, and congratulate them on how useful they are."
"Useful?" Randal asked, feeling lost.
"Or whatever is appropriate," Student amended. "It's technically a costume party, but you're allowed to ask them what's underneath. And watch out for Mister Siva. Be polite to him. He's the one hosting the party. If he gets upset at you, you might get... removed."
Randal nodded numbly and proceeded down the corridor, toward the percussive beat of what sounded like native African music, though he couldn't be sure. It occurred to him, as he walked, that he forgot to ask Student if that was his real name or not. He resolved not to go back and ask.
He came to two short girls, both wearing long yellow dresses decorated with various flowers. They seemed to be whispering to each other about something. One, with her back turned, had shoulder-length brown hair with a daisy stuck in it. The other had long black hair that reached down her back and a crown of cherry blossoms on her head. She peered over her friend to look at Randal curiously and waved. She looked Asian.
Randal waved back and slowed his walking to a stop, unsure if that wave was intended as a beckon or not. He could smell their flowery perfume.
The brown-haired girl turned. She looked Greek, or maybe German. Randal wasn't sure.
"Hi," the brown-haired girl said, giving Randal a friendly smile. Her voice was tinged with a European accent whose origin he couldn't place. "I'm Maia."
"Satsuki," the black-haired girl whispered, staring at Randal with wide eyes. She had a plain-as-day Japanese accent.
"I'm Randy," Randal replied, feeling a little nervous.
Maia laid a soft hand on Randal's chest. He resisted the impulse to jolt backward.
"You're nervous, too?" Maia asked, looking concerned. "I understand. We're both pretty nervous, even though this is our month. But you can't make friends outside your neighborhood if you don't take a few risks, you know?"
Randal nodded, believing that he understood what Maia was talking about.
Maia smiled and dropped her hand to her side, then reached with her other hand out to Satsuki. "Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Randy. You're very convincing."
Satsuki nodded and gave Randal a tiny smile before letting herself be led by Maia further into the building.
Randal smiled dumbly, wondering what Maia meant by "convincing", before following them into the large room ahead.
The room was larger than he thought it was, based on what he remembered from the size of the building, though, on reflection, he wasn't so sure he remembered how big the building was to begin with. There were maybe hundreds of people in the room. The ongoing conversation sounded like a constant wave breaking shore, and the percussive music almost seemed to complement that.
In his awe, Randal had lost sight of Maia and Satsuki. He frowned to himself and walked toward the crowd.
He very quickly bumped into someone. A boy. The boy jumped as if shocked and cried out.
"I'm sorry," Randal insisted. "I'm sorry."
The boy turned around. He was very thin. His hair was light brown and slightly spiky, his shirt was burgundy, his pants were khaki, and he looked shaven.
"What the hell?" the boy inquired, his voice deep yet young-sounding. "Is it really that difficult to watch where you're going?"
"I'm really sorry," Randal continued.
"Calm down, Matches," a girl said severely, though in a soft voice. She was even thinner. Her hair was wavy and blond and went past her waist, her blouse was pale green, and her long skirt was light blue.
"He bumped into me," Matches complained.
"That's nothing to explode about," the girl replied mildly. "He didn't mean to."
Matches grimaced and said nothing.
"I'm sorry," Randal said again.
"Don't worry about it," the girl said. "Matches is very sensitive."
Matches coughed loudly.
"I'm Air," she said. "What's your name?"
"Um. Randy," Randal replied. "Are those your real names?" Randal had been imagining Matches being spelled "Macchis" until Air said her own name.
"Of course," Air answered brightly. "Though a lot of people here like to give funny nicknames. It's the nature of these parties."
"Yeah," Matches murmured. "As a result, you get a lot of nonsense around here."
"Are you guys from here?" Randal asked. He had never been to Carousel before.
"No," Air replied. "We're from... pretty far away."
"We're not going back, though," Matches added.
"Of course," Air said, smiling and interlocking the fingers of one of her hands with one of Matches'.
Then a woman walked over. Her hair was frizzy and red and stopped at the middle of her back, her short red-and-yellow-sequined dress reached just above her knees, and she was wearing sparkling red high-heel shoes. She paused in front of Air and frowned with red lips. She smelled like incense.
"Oh, damn," she murmured, pouting and resting a long red fingernail on her lips. "I thought you were someone else."
"Hi," Air said warily. Matches' eyes seemed to be traveling down the woman's figure.
"Perja," the woman introduced herself. Her voice was smoky. "I also go by Hottie."
Randal smiled to himself.
"I'm Air," Air said. "And this is Matches and Randy."
"Matches, huh?" Perja remarked, glancing at Matches and wetting her lips with her tongue. "Well, I heard your name was Air and I thought you were a friend of mine, Gwynte. They sometimes call her Air, too, so yeah."
"I see," Air replied, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Well, I'm sorry. We haven't met anyone by that name."
"Eh whatever," Perja said, looking around. "See ya." And she walked away.
Randal took note of the fact that Perja had never so much as glanced at him.
"Matches, I'm hungry," Air suddenly said. "Let's go to the kitchen."
"Yeah, sure," Matches replied, looking somewhat distracted.
"You wanna come?" Air asked Randal, who nodded.
He began to follow the two of them, looking around. Many people wore all sorts of different styles of clothes, but quite a few were relatively normal. He also noticed that of those who were dancing, very few of them actually danced the same dance.
The kitchen was also huge, though not as big as the previous room. Compared to the blueness of the previous room, the kitchen was a traditional white.
There was a plethora of food. It looked like Mister Siva had multiple cooks from different parts of the world. It smelled of all sorts of different places, though Randal could smell the spice of curry prominently.
When they reached one end of the table, Randal realized that the plates contained other things that he would not have considered food. He spotted meats, vegetables, fruits, grains, and cheeses, but he also saw candies, chocolates, pills, powders, rocks, bars of soap, toys, human body parts (including hair, fingernails, and teeth), bits of metal and plastic, small electronic devices, stacks of paper, matches (Randal noticed that Matches had paused at that plate for a moment), writing utensils, clothes, and many other things. Randal had considered taking some of the clothes that looked like they'd fit, but he remembered something that Student had told him and decided not to.
At the end of the table, they encountered a tall old man leaning on a lengthy umbrella and a slightly pudgy old woman carrying two books. As Randal approached, he got a strange feeling that there was something wrong with the old woman, but he couldn't say what.
"Good evening," the old man declared, sounding old and German. He wore a blue nightcap that covered his bald head, a long coat that seemed to be green or blue, Randal wasn't exactly sure, and dark red pants. "Liking the party, children?"
"Yes, thank you," Air replied, bowing to the man. "I'm Air, this is Matches, this is Randy."
"They call me Sandman," the old man said, inclining his head and giving them a wrinkled smile. "My friend, here, is the Storyteller."
"Good evening, dears," the old woman greeted them in a grandmotherly tone. She wore a fuzzy white coat over a long violet gown and had perfectly white hair. Randal felt that there was something very strange about her, but it didn't seem to be the fact that she was wearing two pairs of thick reading glasses.
"Please, eat with us," the Sandman implored them. "The two of us are too similar to have much to talk about."
The Storyteller chuckled and smiled.
Randal saw that the Sandman had a small personal plate, covered in what looked like eyes. He was taking one and popping it into his mouth on occasion.
Randal looked at his own plate, which had mashed potatoes with gravy, steamed carrots and broccoli, roasted turkey, and some kind of foreign chocolate balls. His cup was filled with orange soda.
Air's plate had gray and brown powders and paper. Her cup was filled with water.
Matches' plate had yellow powder, burnt pieces of wood, and unfamiliar vegetables that looked like weeds. His cup was filled with wine.
It occurred to Randal that there was something strange about this party. He then realized that he had been missing conversation and started paying attention.
"...to do my job," the Sandman was saying. "But then again, you have all sorts of others to lighten the load, like Morpheus, everyone knows about him."
"You get compensation, though, don't you?" Matches asked.
"Oh, sure," the Sandman replied, chewing an eye thoughtfully. "Probably my best option, all things considered. That doesn't make it much easier, though. Children these days..." The Sandman sighed.
Randal did not understand what they were talking about, so he began to wander around the kitchen.
He noticed a huge muscular man covered in jewels and feathers. His face was painted in black and yellow stripes, his black hair was thick and reached his lower back, his dust-colored chest was bare while his pelvis was covered by a jaguarskin breechcloth. His right leg ended in a pitch-black peg-leg. There was a small child on his plate and his cup was filled with blood.
The man turned to look at Randal, who shuddered, seeing utterly bloodshot eyes and almost fang-like teeth dripping with blood.
There was a tall dark figure who looked like a man but might have passed as a woman from certain angles. Though his skin was a striking pale, his shoulder-length hair, trench coat, and pants were all pure black. His plate held a steak smothered in dark red sauce, several chicken sandwiches, an unfamiliar violet drumstick, and a small mound of black colloid. His cup was filled with a dark soda.
He seemed to notice Randal looking at him and said, in a strong and unmistakably male voice, "Yes, I know I'm beautiful, but you don't have to rub it in."
Abashed, Randal looked away, seeing a group of four wearing gray business suits and standing near one part of the table where Randal saw nothing edible. Curious, he approached the group.
The shortest one was also the heaviest-looking one. His suit was the darkest gray, and he wore a matching bowler hat to cover his bald head. His skin almost seemed to take on a grayish tone.
Taller was the only woman in the group, who seemed to also be the lightest. Her suit had a reddish-orange tinge that appeared to reflect the color of her reddish hair that was tied in a bun. Her skin was tan.
Taller still was a muscular man, who might have been almost as heavy as the shortest one. His suit was a simple gray, and his dark gray hair was cut very short. His skin was a pale brown.
Tallest was a thin but stern-looking man. His suit was a very light gray, and his white hair reached down his shoulders. His skin was so pale it looked white.
Then Randal saw that all four of them had plates containing nothing but pieces of metal and electronic objects.
"Hey, boy," the shortest one said in a voice that sounded like a sledgehammer. "What do you want?"
"Hi," Randal said, suddenly afraid. "I-I'm Randy."
"Rando-" the short one began, when the woman suddenly jabbed an elbow into him and he became silent. The woman then smiled at Randal stiffly.
"I'm L-Plum," the short one eventually said, rubbing his side. "Randy."
"You can call me T-Wolf," the muscled man chimed in, his voice resembling a crate being dragged across concrete.
"Call me C-Cup," the woman said, her voice like coins clattering. "Our names are jokes, by the way."
Randal almost reflexively glanced at C-Cup's chest. He didn't get the joke.
"And I'm known as Sarge," the tallest one declared, his voice like a very sharp knife. He also had a knife in his mouth.
"You were in the army?" Randal asked conversationally.
Sarge looked up, as if remembering. "Frequently. But not often enough. That was usually Iron's department, if anyone's."
Randal got the impression that he had missed something important. There was a brief silence broken by L-Plum noisily crunching on what seemed to be a piece of lead.
"Is that a trick?" Randal asked, not sure what to believe.
"What?" L-Plum replied, examining one bit of metal. "Eating?"
"Well, I mean, you can't really be eating metal, can you?" Randal asked.
L-Plum paused and peered at Randal. He then grinned. Randal saw that all of his teeth were apparently replaced with some kind of metal.
"Ah, I see now," L-Plum said, sneering. "You're a softy."
"None of that," C-Cup murmured.
L-Plum backed off, but he was still sneering at Randal.
Sarge seemed to watch this exchange with disinterest.
Randal shrugged and walked on.
He saw a smiling black man with long dreadlocks and dressed in a casual Aloha shirt and shorts. His plate was stacked with all sorts of random pieces of fruit and meat, including several insects. The man was talking to a bearded Semite dressed in a simple robe that reached his ankles. His plate held only pieces of bread, though he also had a cup of wine.
"That is Anansi, and that is Yehoshua," a girl suddenly said.
Randal turned to see a short girl, her brown hair also short, her face freckled. She was wearing a chartreuse shirt too big for her, short denim shorts that were mostly hidden under the shirt, and knee-length white socks.
"Hi," Randal said, feeling absolutely unafraid of this girl. "I'm Randy. What's your name?"
"Is," the girl replied, staring at him with green eyes.
"Ah," Randal said. "What is your name, then."
"No, I wouldn't find a contraction demeaning," Is said. "Is is my name."
"You mean like Isabelle?" Randal asked.
"It is not a nickname," Is clarified.
"Oh," Randal said, confused. "It's an interesting name, I suppose."
Is shrugged thoughtfully. "Would you like me to accompany you?"
"Um," Randal replied. "I guess that'd be nice."
Is smiled at him and grabbed his arm possessively.
Randal, now feeling nervous and stupid, realized that the girl probably would want to dance or something. So he led Is back out to the big room, where the music had now changed to something Randal had never heard before.
"It is Bengali music," Is remarked.
"I was wondering," Randal admitted.
Is merely smiled.
They walked past two men and women, and Randal started coughing.
"Those four call themselves Al, Caffy, Nick, and Mary," Is murmured. Randal avoided turning his head toward the group and kept walking.
"Um," Randal said, after a certain point, realizing he should have asked this earlier. "Do you feel like dancing?"
"Dancing is a form of art with many styles," Is stated. "Which style are you talking about?"
Randal mulled that question over. "I'm not sure. I actually don't really know how to dance."
Is merely smiled. "When I was last at a party, Quiyoughkasouck danced with me, and it was the sort driven by passion, of a style ancient and lost."
Randal was not about to say something, but if he were, it would have been interrupted by a gasp from behind him. He turned to see a clean-looking man with a bleeding nose, apparently knocked to the floor by a bulkier man with a fist in each hand.
"You did not just punch Thox," a young, princess-y girl said, stepping up to the man. Her purple-dyed hair reached down to her thighs. She was wearing some kind of tiara with a pink jewel encrusted in it, a violet tube top, and a red short skirt. She was a good foot shorter than the man, who was not fat but not thin and wore a khaki-colored business suit.
"Stay out of this," the man growled, his voice sounding strangely monotone.
Then, Randal wasn't sure what happened. There was a blur, maybe a flash of light, then came the sound of something cracking open.
The next instant, the bulky man was on the floor, a piece of his head missing. Wires jutted out of it, sizzling and fizzing out. Randal smelled burning plastic.
Then, silence. The room was suddenly empty, except for himself and Is.
Randal looked around, confused.
"What happened?" Randal asked.
"The party is over," Is said. "The rules were broken, though that was initially Macintosh's fault. Everyone returned to their normal states, except for me. I remained here to inform you of this."
Randal looked at Is. She looked blurry, now. He wondered if he had gotten drunk.
"I advise you go home as well," she said.
"You don't come from around here either, do you?" Randal asked.
"Carousel," Is said, "is not a real town. So, nobody can come from here."
"Where am I?" Randal asked.
"It depends on where you want to be," Is replied. "Right now, you're anywhere."
"Congratulations, by the way," Randal suddenly said, remembering something. "I hear you're very useful."
"Thank you, Randy," Is said.
"Can I go with you?" Randal asked. "I still never got to dance with you."
Is smiled at Randal, then she stood on her toes to kiss him.
"If that is what you want."
by Alexander "KG" Hwang
Randal Fiedler entered the building.
"Welcome to the party," said the man who had answered his knock. "Name?"
"Um," Randal said, hesitating, "Randy."
"I'm Student," Student replied. He certainly looked like a student: a young man of maybe twenty, two years younger than Randal, sporting a white dress shirt, sky blue jeans, circular glasses, and clean, short dark hair. "Remember the rules. No fighting, no vomiting. Bathrooms are at the end of either hallway. Don't take food if you're not going to eat it. Make sure you introduce yourself whenever you talk to someone, and congratulate them on how useful they are."
"Useful?" Randal asked, feeling lost.
"Or whatever is appropriate," Student amended. "It's technically a costume party, but you're allowed to ask them what's underneath. And watch out for Mister Siva. Be polite to him. He's the one hosting the party. If he gets upset at you, you might get... removed."
Randal nodded numbly and proceeded down the corridor, toward the percussive beat of what sounded like native African music, though he couldn't be sure. It occurred to him, as he walked, that he forgot to ask Student if that was his real name or not. He resolved not to go back and ask.
He came to two short girls, both wearing long yellow dresses decorated with various flowers. They seemed to be whispering to each other about something. One, with her back turned, had shoulder-length brown hair with a daisy stuck in it. The other had long black hair that reached down her back and a crown of cherry blossoms on her head. She peered over her friend to look at Randal curiously and waved. She looked Asian.
Randal waved back and slowed his walking to a stop, unsure if that wave was intended as a beckon or not. He could smell their flowery perfume.
The brown-haired girl turned. She looked Greek, or maybe German. Randal wasn't sure.
"Hi," the brown-haired girl said, giving Randal a friendly smile. Her voice was tinged with a European accent whose origin he couldn't place. "I'm Maia."
"Satsuki," the black-haired girl whispered, staring at Randal with wide eyes. She had a plain-as-day Japanese accent.
"I'm Randy," Randal replied, feeling a little nervous.
Maia laid a soft hand on Randal's chest. He resisted the impulse to jolt backward.
"You're nervous, too?" Maia asked, looking concerned. "I understand. We're both pretty nervous, even though this is our month. But you can't make friends outside your neighborhood if you don't take a few risks, you know?"
Randal nodded, believing that he understood what Maia was talking about.
Maia smiled and dropped her hand to her side, then reached with her other hand out to Satsuki. "Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Randy. You're very convincing."
Satsuki nodded and gave Randal a tiny smile before letting herself be led by Maia further into the building.
Randal smiled dumbly, wondering what Maia meant by "convincing", before following them into the large room ahead.
The room was larger than he thought it was, based on what he remembered from the size of the building, though, on reflection, he wasn't so sure he remembered how big the building was to begin with. There were maybe hundreds of people in the room. The ongoing conversation sounded like a constant wave breaking shore, and the percussive music almost seemed to complement that.
In his awe, Randal had lost sight of Maia and Satsuki. He frowned to himself and walked toward the crowd.
He very quickly bumped into someone. A boy. The boy jumped as if shocked and cried out.
"I'm sorry," Randal insisted. "I'm sorry."
The boy turned around. He was very thin. His hair was light brown and slightly spiky, his shirt was burgundy, his pants were khaki, and he looked shaven.
"What the hell?" the boy inquired, his voice deep yet young-sounding. "Is it really that difficult to watch where you're going?"
"I'm really sorry," Randal continued.
"Calm down, Matches," a girl said severely, though in a soft voice. She was even thinner. Her hair was wavy and blond and went past her waist, her blouse was pale green, and her long skirt was light blue.
"He bumped into me," Matches complained.
"That's nothing to explode about," the girl replied mildly. "He didn't mean to."
Matches grimaced and said nothing.
"I'm sorry," Randal said again.
"Don't worry about it," the girl said. "Matches is very sensitive."
Matches coughed loudly.
"I'm Air," she said. "What's your name?"
"Um. Randy," Randal replied. "Are those your real names?" Randal had been imagining Matches being spelled "Macchis" until Air said her own name.
"Of course," Air answered brightly. "Though a lot of people here like to give funny nicknames. It's the nature of these parties."
"Yeah," Matches murmured. "As a result, you get a lot of nonsense around here."
"Are you guys from here?" Randal asked. He had never been to Carousel before.
"No," Air replied. "We're from... pretty far away."
"We're not going back, though," Matches added.
"Of course," Air said, smiling and interlocking the fingers of one of her hands with one of Matches'.
Then a woman walked over. Her hair was frizzy and red and stopped at the middle of her back, her short red-and-yellow-sequined dress reached just above her knees, and she was wearing sparkling red high-heel shoes. She paused in front of Air and frowned with red lips. She smelled like incense.
"Oh, damn," she murmured, pouting and resting a long red fingernail on her lips. "I thought you were someone else."
"Hi," Air said warily. Matches' eyes seemed to be traveling down the woman's figure.
"Perja," the woman introduced herself. Her voice was smoky. "I also go by Hottie."
Randal smiled to himself.
"I'm Air," Air said. "And this is Matches and Randy."
"Matches, huh?" Perja remarked, glancing at Matches and wetting her lips with her tongue. "Well, I heard your name was Air and I thought you were a friend of mine, Gwynte. They sometimes call her Air, too, so yeah."
"I see," Air replied, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Well, I'm sorry. We haven't met anyone by that name."
"Eh whatever," Perja said, looking around. "See ya." And she walked away.
Randal took note of the fact that Perja had never so much as glanced at him.
"Matches, I'm hungry," Air suddenly said. "Let's go to the kitchen."
"Yeah, sure," Matches replied, looking somewhat distracted.
"You wanna come?" Air asked Randal, who nodded.
He began to follow the two of them, looking around. Many people wore all sorts of different styles of clothes, but quite a few were relatively normal. He also noticed that of those who were dancing, very few of them actually danced the same dance.
The kitchen was also huge, though not as big as the previous room. Compared to the blueness of the previous room, the kitchen was a traditional white.
There was a plethora of food. It looked like Mister Siva had multiple cooks from different parts of the world. It smelled of all sorts of different places, though Randal could smell the spice of curry prominently.
When they reached one end of the table, Randal realized that the plates contained other things that he would not have considered food. He spotted meats, vegetables, fruits, grains, and cheeses, but he also saw candies, chocolates, pills, powders, rocks, bars of soap, toys, human body parts (including hair, fingernails, and teeth), bits of metal and plastic, small electronic devices, stacks of paper, matches (Randal noticed that Matches had paused at that plate for a moment), writing utensils, clothes, and many other things. Randal had considered taking some of the clothes that looked like they'd fit, but he remembered something that Student had told him and decided not to.
At the end of the table, they encountered a tall old man leaning on a lengthy umbrella and a slightly pudgy old woman carrying two books. As Randal approached, he got a strange feeling that there was something wrong with the old woman, but he couldn't say what.
"Good evening," the old man declared, sounding old and German. He wore a blue nightcap that covered his bald head, a long coat that seemed to be green or blue, Randal wasn't exactly sure, and dark red pants. "Liking the party, children?"
"Yes, thank you," Air replied, bowing to the man. "I'm Air, this is Matches, this is Randy."
"They call me Sandman," the old man said, inclining his head and giving them a wrinkled smile. "My friend, here, is the Storyteller."
"Good evening, dears," the old woman greeted them in a grandmotherly tone. She wore a fuzzy white coat over a long violet gown and had perfectly white hair. Randal felt that there was something very strange about her, but it didn't seem to be the fact that she was wearing two pairs of thick reading glasses.
"Please, eat with us," the Sandman implored them. "The two of us are too similar to have much to talk about."
The Storyteller chuckled and smiled.
Randal saw that the Sandman had a small personal plate, covered in what looked like eyes. He was taking one and popping it into his mouth on occasion.
Randal looked at his own plate, which had mashed potatoes with gravy, steamed carrots and broccoli, roasted turkey, and some kind of foreign chocolate balls. His cup was filled with orange soda.
Air's plate had gray and brown powders and paper. Her cup was filled with water.
Matches' plate had yellow powder, burnt pieces of wood, and unfamiliar vegetables that looked like weeds. His cup was filled with wine.
It occurred to Randal that there was something strange about this party. He then realized that he had been missing conversation and started paying attention.
"...to do my job," the Sandman was saying. "But then again, you have all sorts of others to lighten the load, like Morpheus, everyone knows about him."
"You get compensation, though, don't you?" Matches asked.
"Oh, sure," the Sandman replied, chewing an eye thoughtfully. "Probably my best option, all things considered. That doesn't make it much easier, though. Children these days..." The Sandman sighed.
Randal did not understand what they were talking about, so he began to wander around the kitchen.
He noticed a huge muscular man covered in jewels and feathers. His face was painted in black and yellow stripes, his black hair was thick and reached his lower back, his dust-colored chest was bare while his pelvis was covered by a jaguarskin breechcloth. His right leg ended in a pitch-black peg-leg. There was a small child on his plate and his cup was filled with blood.
The man turned to look at Randal, who shuddered, seeing utterly bloodshot eyes and almost fang-like teeth dripping with blood.
There was a tall dark figure who looked like a man but might have passed as a woman from certain angles. Though his skin was a striking pale, his shoulder-length hair, trench coat, and pants were all pure black. His plate held a steak smothered in dark red sauce, several chicken sandwiches, an unfamiliar violet drumstick, and a small mound of black colloid. His cup was filled with a dark soda.
He seemed to notice Randal looking at him and said, in a strong and unmistakably male voice, "Yes, I know I'm beautiful, but you don't have to rub it in."
Abashed, Randal looked away, seeing a group of four wearing gray business suits and standing near one part of the table where Randal saw nothing edible. Curious, he approached the group.
The shortest one was also the heaviest-looking one. His suit was the darkest gray, and he wore a matching bowler hat to cover his bald head. His skin almost seemed to take on a grayish tone.
Taller was the only woman in the group, who seemed to also be the lightest. Her suit had a reddish-orange tinge that appeared to reflect the color of her reddish hair that was tied in a bun. Her skin was tan.
Taller still was a muscular man, who might have been almost as heavy as the shortest one. His suit was a simple gray, and his dark gray hair was cut very short. His skin was a pale brown.
Tallest was a thin but stern-looking man. His suit was a very light gray, and his white hair reached down his shoulders. His skin was so pale it looked white.
Then Randal saw that all four of them had plates containing nothing but pieces of metal and electronic objects.
"Hey, boy," the shortest one said in a voice that sounded like a sledgehammer. "What do you want?"
"Hi," Randal said, suddenly afraid. "I-I'm Randy."
"Rando-" the short one began, when the woman suddenly jabbed an elbow into him and he became silent. The woman then smiled at Randal stiffly.
"I'm L-Plum," the short one eventually said, rubbing his side. "Randy."
"You can call me T-Wolf," the muscled man chimed in, his voice resembling a crate being dragged across concrete.
"Call me C-Cup," the woman said, her voice like coins clattering. "Our names are jokes, by the way."
Randal almost reflexively glanced at C-Cup's chest. He didn't get the joke.
"And I'm known as Sarge," the tallest one declared, his voice like a very sharp knife. He also had a knife in his mouth.
"You were in the army?" Randal asked conversationally.
Sarge looked up, as if remembering. "Frequently. But not often enough. That was usually Iron's department, if anyone's."
Randal got the impression that he had missed something important. There was a brief silence broken by L-Plum noisily crunching on what seemed to be a piece of lead.
"Is that a trick?" Randal asked, not sure what to believe.
"What?" L-Plum replied, examining one bit of metal. "Eating?"
"Well, I mean, you can't really be eating metal, can you?" Randal asked.
L-Plum paused and peered at Randal. He then grinned. Randal saw that all of his teeth were apparently replaced with some kind of metal.
"Ah, I see now," L-Plum said, sneering. "You're a softy."
"None of that," C-Cup murmured.
L-Plum backed off, but he was still sneering at Randal.
Sarge seemed to watch this exchange with disinterest.
Randal shrugged and walked on.
He saw a smiling black man with long dreadlocks and dressed in a casual Aloha shirt and shorts. His plate was stacked with all sorts of random pieces of fruit and meat, including several insects. The man was talking to a bearded Semite dressed in a simple robe that reached his ankles. His plate held only pieces of bread, though he also had a cup of wine.
"That is Anansi, and that is Yehoshua," a girl suddenly said.
Randal turned to see a short girl, her brown hair also short, her face freckled. She was wearing a chartreuse shirt too big for her, short denim shorts that were mostly hidden under the shirt, and knee-length white socks.
"Hi," Randal said, feeling absolutely unafraid of this girl. "I'm Randy. What's your name?"
"Is," the girl replied, staring at him with green eyes.
"Ah," Randal said. "What is your name, then."
"No, I wouldn't find a contraction demeaning," Is said. "Is is my name."
"You mean like Isabelle?" Randal asked.
"It is not a nickname," Is clarified.
"Oh," Randal said, confused. "It's an interesting name, I suppose."
Is shrugged thoughtfully. "Would you like me to accompany you?"
"Um," Randal replied. "I guess that'd be nice."
Is smiled at him and grabbed his arm possessively.
Randal, now feeling nervous and stupid, realized that the girl probably would want to dance or something. So he led Is back out to the big room, where the music had now changed to something Randal had never heard before.
"It is Bengali music," Is remarked.
"I was wondering," Randal admitted.
Is merely smiled.
They walked past two men and women, and Randal started coughing.
"Those four call themselves Al, Caffy, Nick, and Mary," Is murmured. Randal avoided turning his head toward the group and kept walking.
"Um," Randal said, after a certain point, realizing he should have asked this earlier. "Do you feel like dancing?"
"Dancing is a form of art with many styles," Is stated. "Which style are you talking about?"
Randal mulled that question over. "I'm not sure. I actually don't really know how to dance."
Is merely smiled. "When I was last at a party, Quiyoughkasouck danced with me, and it was the sort driven by passion, of a style ancient and lost."
Randal was not about to say something, but if he were, it would have been interrupted by a gasp from behind him. He turned to see a clean-looking man with a bleeding nose, apparently knocked to the floor by a bulkier man with a fist in each hand.
"You did not just punch Thox," a young, princess-y girl said, stepping up to the man. Her purple-dyed hair reached down to her thighs. She was wearing some kind of tiara with a pink jewel encrusted in it, a violet tube top, and a red short skirt. She was a good foot shorter than the man, who was not fat but not thin and wore a khaki-colored business suit.
"Stay out of this," the man growled, his voice sounding strangely monotone.
Then, Randal wasn't sure what happened. There was a blur, maybe a flash of light, then came the sound of something cracking open.
The next instant, the bulky man was on the floor, a piece of his head missing. Wires jutted out of it, sizzling and fizzing out. Randal smelled burning plastic.
Then, silence. The room was suddenly empty, except for himself and Is.
Randal looked around, confused.
"What happened?" Randal asked.
"The party is over," Is said. "The rules were broken, though that was initially Macintosh's fault. Everyone returned to their normal states, except for me. I remained here to inform you of this."
Randal looked at Is. She looked blurry, now. He wondered if he had gotten drunk.
"I advise you go home as well," she said.
"You don't come from around here either, do you?" Randal asked.
"Carousel," Is said, "is not a real town. So, nobody can come from here."
"Where am I?" Randal asked.
"It depends on where you want to be," Is replied. "Right now, you're anywhere."
"Congratulations, by the way," Randal suddenly said, remembering something. "I hear you're very useful."
"Thank you, Randy," Is said.
"Can I go with you?" Randal asked. "I still never got to dance with you."
Is smiled at Randal, then she stood on her toes to kiss him.
"If that is what you want."
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