Project 157, "Wolf & Gun" for Dan

We learned to live in quiet many years ago. The Bright Things are now a distant but chilling memory that hangs heavy every time we migrate past the hulking, empty cities.

My grandfather says that nobody knows what really happened. Everything was normal, and then it wasn't. The Bright Things came from the sky, and everyone looked on as our greatest toys and weapons were turned to dust.

Timidly, over time, we learned what we were allowed to do. We could grow crops, but only on small plots and with crude hand tools. We were allowed bicycles and horses, but not cars or planes.

The Bright Things never spoke. They never had too. They were silent gods inflicting their will through a quiet, terrifying wrath.

My grandfather says things are better now, that we're happier because disease, sickness, and hunger have all but vanished. I couldn’t tell you either way. I wasn’t born until after the singularity.


End.

Inspired by portions of "Artificial Intelligence as a Positive and Negative Factor in Global Risk,” Written by Eliezer Yudkowsky, and edited by Nick Bostrom and Milan M. Cirkovic as well as "Common Sense 283 – Summoning the Demon" by Dan Carlin

Toms, for Joel

His name was Toms, and he was a model i8-90 artificial human analog. We stood on the balcony of the 317th floor looking out over the shit colored city. I lit a cigarette and thought about the victim's girlfriend in the apartment behind us, red faced and weeping as the forensic team packed up the body. 

I looked at Toms, "Are you familiar with the human emotion called empathy?" I asked. 

"Yes, of course." He answered coldly. 

I growled to him beneath my breath. "Then reboot your memory banks before we go back in there and stop being such a galactic cunt."

I dropped the death stick and stepped on it. We went back inside. 

I never considered that the sniper had been watching, or had designs to continue killing. The bullet appeared like magic and exploded Tom's chest in a spray of brilliant cherry. I never considered that maybe Toms hadn't been a robot at all. 

End.

"Ascension, Descension", for Dennis

Almost every night, they come for me. 

When I can sleep, I wake to see the pulsing blue light. 

Everything is a nightmarish blur. 

The weightlessness. 

The disorienting pain. 

My days are filled with crawling dread.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, for their return. 

I can do nothing else. 

I cannot escape. 

Time runs away and I cannot find it again. 

Hours, days, and weeks disappear. 

I wake up screaming on the cold steel apparatus; their black watery eyes staring down without pity. 

They put things under my skin.

The itching, the burning, the buzzing in my ears... they never fade. 

During the day, there are ice baths and electric shocks.

I had hoped that after moving to the hospital they would leave me alone. 

It seems they're only more obsessed. 

Pills, knives, guns, and rope have never stopped them. 

I die, then wake up screaming after every attempt; the smell of antiseptic and ozone hanging on my body. 

End.

Notes: This story is my first attempt to write a horror story that is scary when read both from top down, and from the bottom line back to the first. It takes on a different meaning when read backwards, and I'll let you decide which is more terrifying, if either.

"The Sphinx and I", for Tosha

She had black hair, thick glasses, and always spoke in riddles. I was spellbound from the first. 

It become obvious something was different about her on that hot Indian summer afternoon in our collegiate library. I don't know if it was the rushing wind or the stress from midterms but we couldn't focus on our books between the fawning caresses and stolen glances. 

We waited until the library was half empty and snuck deep into the stacks to be together. 

As I entered her for the first time, she transformed into a lioness. Not literally you understand, that didn't come until later. But before I went to bed that evening, I used half a cup of peroxide tending to the bites and scratches on my neck, back, and shoulders. 

Laying awake with the cool breeze sweeping in through my open window, I tried to reconcile her bookish persona to that wild animal I worshipped in the library.

End. 

For William, "The Following is a Notice From the State Parks and Game Department"

Hello spring breakers! As you are traveling south for your weekend in the Big Easy, be sure to heed the following safety tips:

• Keep several spare tires in your vehicle along with tools and extra gasoline. 
• Pack a satellite phone, CB radio, and extra power for all of your backup forms of communication. 
• Please do not hassle rest stop attendants, everyone is having a rough time in this economy, particularly small business owners. 
• Detours and shortcuts of every kind are ill-advised.
• Do not approach seemingly abandoned shacks, shanties, or cabins.
• Do not get high and have sex in the swamp. Period.
• Be aware of your surroundings at all times.
• Beware of giant snakes, bats, opossums, and other such natural predators. 
• If you stumble upon a moonlit ceremony, do not antagonize the voodoo cult devotees.
• Finally, please do not feed the alligator people.

Thank you for reading this statement and as always, enjoy your vacation and stay safe!

End.

For Kendall, "Almost", Project 157

As he awoke for the first time, the creature found a note in his giant paw. It read: 

“Hi. Your name is Furry, and you are a golem. You are my first living creation and I honestly have no idea what you’ll be like. I hope you are nice, but in case you aren’t, I’ll be far away by the time you are reading this. Regardless, I'm sure things will work out, and I hope you like existing. 

Love - Tawkin H., Alchemist Renowned."

Now, after years of searching, Furry was afraid.

Mere yards into the cavern, he turned and walked out; and pretty darn quickly for a creature of his size. Maybe he could look for his father on the southern islands again. He loved the salty smell of the sea and the way the water felt in his coat.

He never realized how close he'd come to a certain terrified alchemist hiding in the darkness.

End.

For Jacob, Project 157, "World Peace"

She rode high on her Gen-10 Battle T-Rex, longshot sniper rifle strapped across her back. Her intel indicated that just over the next crest she could refuel and stock up on ammo at a lumbering mobile town. 

The desert was hot as hell, and Predatordactyls with their skull-mounted laser cannons soared high on the heat waves. It had been a long and bloody war, but resurrecting the dinosaurs had brought it to a quick end. 

Now, the war-dino units were mostly assigned to peacekeeping and humanitarian missions. 

Anyway, that's what your son told us when we asked him what he had drawn for his assignment on world peace, and I think you can discern why we asked you to come in. I mean, the battle-mistress in this drawing is completely nude. He's five years old for Christ sake, this is not normal behavior. Needless to say, we want to start him in the gifted program right away. 

End.

For Lauren, Project 157, "Never Have I Ever"

"Never have I ever..." He said, and ashed his cigarette. 

"Come on!" They chorused. 

It was a perfect Indian summer evening, there were about a dozen people lounging on the front porch, kissing, drinking, or falling asleep. 

He smiled wildly, like the Cheshire Cat. "Touched a penguin."

"Fuck you!" Retorted Jessie from the railing where she was perched, "You have too! You just like to rub it in because I didn't."

"Oh, that's right." He said with more than a hint of sarcasm, and took a big swig from his PBR. "It's worth it."

"Okay, fine." She fired back, "Never have I ever been punched in the dick." She jumped up, almost tripping over another drunk partygoer.

"Not worth it! I take it back!" He shouted.

"Two for flinching!" She yelled, and nailed him twice in the bicep. 

"Still worth it." He moaned... "To touch a penguin, I mean."

I'm pretty sure his manhood is still bruised. 

End. 

For Darin, Project 157, "The Ambassador".

After our ship sank, we gathered what we could of the floating debris, lashing the planks together and climbing aboard. 

Every night there was a lights show in the glassy sea.

We soon lost count of the days, trying our best to consciously repress the memory of what we had done to poor Davidson, his flesh still in our teeth.

After what seemed like weeks, we knew what had to be done. We drew straws and mine came up short. That night, as the stars came out, I slipped into the sea and began swimming into the depths. 

If I pleaded with the glowing monsters beneath the waves, they might take pity on us and perhaps drag our makeshift raft to dry land. The plan had seemed so simple that we forgot you cannot breath underwater, let alone plead for your life. 

This didn't come into my mind even as I drifted down into the inky black. 

End. 

For Kimberly, 23 Going On 7, 'Project 157'

I put out the ice cream to melt. Setting my bin of Legos on the sofa, I flip on Netflix and fire up some MST3K. Sometimes I need to be a little kid again. 

I kick off my jeans and pull on my Batman PJ's. I think I'll build a spaceship. That's always been my go-to Lego project, each one getting more elaborate than the last. 

I remember showing my mom every innovation. Opening hatches, retractable landing gear, missiles ready to launch. She always listened, even when she was busy. Endless hours of exposition about every plastic vessel. 

Later, I will spread melted ice cream between chocolate chip cookies to make sandwiches just like she taught me. We have our differences these days, but even now she takes the time to listen. We don't agree about everything, but we always trust each other. 

I think I'll send her some pictures when my latest Lego creation is complete. 

End. 

For Deb, What's Three Months?, 'Project 157'

Jen sighed. “Yeah, I mean, Melissa had one after her last pregnancy, and they seem really happy.”

Terry frowned. “I don’t know, Tim and I have three kids of our own, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Besides, it’s a little far fetched to say that they’re still a part of the mother’s body after birth...”

Jen fired back, “Ha ha, that’s because you didn’t breastfeed. I mean, they just suck up so much of who you are, and they can’t really survive without you. And the sleepless nights?”

Terry thought for a little bit. 

The baby monitor next to the porch swing began emitting muffled cries. Jen got up and walked toward the front door. “Anyway, Brad and I have talked, and we just don’t think we be parents right now, despite what we thought before.”

Terry looked up at her, smiling again, “Yeah, and I guess there’s a lot less risk involved after birth.”

For Vickie, Container, 'Project 157'

It smelled of rust, urine, and mold. 
Thirteen girls were trapped inside... in the dark, in the cold.

Sometimes voices would call to each other outside. 

For the first three days, they screamed and banged on the walls trying to get someone’s attention.

They screamed until their throats burned. They screamed until they slid to the floor and drifted into fitful slumber. The grime on the floor and the walls, the rags, and the half-eaten mattresses offered no comfort. 

The youngest was nine years old. She’d been in the container for a week, watching the other girls come and go, but she had no way of knowing this. It seemed like forever. 

Choking down bits of moldy food. Hiding in the shadowy corners whenever the big metal doors were pulled open and the blinding sunlight flooded in.

The authorities never came, even though a thousand cars passed by every day.

Even though she was my little sister.

End

For Sarah, An Introduction, 'Project 157'

She said to write a story about overcoming fear and loving extravagantly.

My thoughts had been muddy for days, jumbled story ideas and tangled plot lines. I knew something would come, it always did.

A few days later, church was getting out. There was an small, older man with funny clothes and a cain. He was sitting in a crowd of people, but they didn’t see him.

He had tears in his eyes.

I was going to let myself off the hook. Somebody more spiritual than me would talk to him. I wouldn’t have to leave my comfort zone. He looked weird anyway. He probably didn’t want to be bugged. And, I was afraid.

That’s when it hit me.

Fear.

The chance to demonstrate love.

The story was happening to me, right here in real life. It was so simple.

I walked directly up to him and extended my hand. “Hello.” I said, “my name is Gabriel.”

End

For Klementine, Roger and the Red-Haired Girl, 'Project 157'

Stumblingly, he chased her into the street -as the yellow car drove his heart into the swirling mists.

Nothing much had gone Roger’s way. He’d always been a little asymmetrical. He wasn't good at any subjects, but he wasn't good at sports either. He graduated average from his primaries, and become a grocer.

That's where he first saw her; copper hair falling in curls around her freckled face. He knew right then. He switched off his lane light and insisted on carrying out her groceries. She smiled at his clumsiness and blushing. A few weeks later, they were having coffee. Soon, they were sharing an apartment and curling up on the couch to watch TV. She was his whole world, and he would do anything for her.

A year and a handful of fights later, and she was packing to leave. He had begged her to stay. Through bloodshot eyes, he watched her climb into a taxicab.

End

For Laura, Mondays, 'Project 157'

He inserted the glittering knife at his wrist, and began slicing up the length of his arm. It was a ghastly affair, what with the blood spurting all over his bathroom.

When the deed was done, he set down the knife and lifted the glass of whisky. Calmly, he drew at the cold drink. Danforth had really thought this one through. He had purchased strike-anywhere matches, so he could light a final cigarette with his one good hand. Rather depressingly, he had left both the cigarettes and matches on his nightstand.

Several hours later, the sunlight streamed in through the frosted bathroom window. His shadow fell across the scene. They complimented each other: the red and black, contrasting the utter white of his skin.

His guardian angel rose from where he had been sitting next to him, and shook his head, all four faces frowning. He had a lot of paperwork to complete back at the office.

End

For Amanda, Escaping Manhattan, 'Project 157'

I took her breath away by the light of the full moon, in a boxcar on our way out west. The cattails swayed by the side of the lake, and we fell asleep behind some wooden crates, on a bed of raggedy blankets and straw.

At first, the noise of the train seemed deafening, but when we met, my fears and failures melted away, and the clanking and rushing soon faded. We shared a smile, but not our stories. Then we shared our selves...

Before I wanted it to, dawn broke over the flint hills; all amber, blood, and fire. The train began to slow. I buried my face in her hair, and inhaled. Sweet sweat, dust, mixed with something floral. My heart skipped a beat. From that day on, it didn’t matter who we had been, only that we were together. The train pulled into the station, and we rose from our slumber new persons.

End

For Camille, The Coal Miner's Daughter, 'Project 157'

I can scarcely describe his fury, for a father’s wrath in unparalleled by either gods or men. The combined weight of heaven and hell bore down on me through the barrel of that Colt 45.

“DADDY NO!” She screamed - as the shots ripped through me - and into the wall of the ramshackle house. She leapt for his arm, and he turned, smashing her to the floor with his gun.

The past several months replayed in my mind... her velvet-soft skin... the warmth between her thighs... sunlight on the wildflowers, as she danced through the blossoming fields.

The room wheeled around me, and grew dark. His voice echoed like and ancient god. “You no-good bastard son of a crooked whore! I’ll bury you!” His boot was on my chest now, now kicking my ribs. I was losing touch fast.

I turned and smiled at her, “I love you Annalise.”

The stars were coming out just then.

End

For Ayesha, Wedding, 'Project 157'

Fresh - a soft and gentle breeze. Her hair tugged by the wind, her long white train trailing through the leaves.

White silk, so soft and bright. A brilliant twinkle in her green, green eyes.

For a moment I forgot my sweatiness, and my awkwardness melted away. My racing heart stilled, and our eyes locked.

I will never forget how it felt to see her walking towards me, her arm in her father’s arm, her bouquet held close.

Everything in my life became more important. Everything in that moment meant more.

The vows a meaningful, nervous blur; meant in heart if not remembered by mind. The rings cold on fingers, circles of silver gold.

That first kiss. Rushed, blushing, important. So very filled with love.

Wine and dancing, flowers, hugs from family and friends.

Then driving home in the rain so fresh, carrying her over the threshold. - Crap! I just banged her elbow on the door jam!

End

For Sharon, This is Gonna be Harder for Me, 'Project 157'

“I never would have turned out like this if it wasn’t for you.” I spoke around the nails in my mouth, shaking my head.

Her sunken eyes looked up at me from her pinewood coffin. She had been pretty once, a real looker; but now her skin was beyond pale, a gross, veined grey. This was difficult for me. I hefted the lid on.

Lining up the first nail, I raised the hammer and brought it down swiftly.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Ten in all.

It took a rope and pulley system to heft the coffin into my truck bed. Throwing a tarp over it, I hopped in and drove out into the country. I shifted into reverse and gunned it, aiming for the deep hole I had pre-dug days earlier. I mashed my foot down on the break, and the box went flying into the grave.

It took six hundred shovels of dirt to make her disappear.

End

For Columbina, Adrianné, 'Project 157'

Nobody could play like her.

Her fingers raced over the ivory keys with enough precision and delicacy to make a brain surgeon jealous. The raw emotion -  and the romance she shared with that baby grand - washed over us few onlookers like a wave of ethereal ecstasy.

The music she shared with us in that dingy little venue painted the fading walls with new life. The washed out curtains burned vermillion once again, the flickering lights shone bright and warm on the old wooden stage.

There was almost something provocative about the way she played. Her hair and shoulders swayed  to the rhythm of the music, as her fingertips danced on the keys... black and white / a flurry of intricate movements.

We stood with mouths agape, our hearts beating in our throats, wine glasses forgotten in our hands.

For years, those rushing melodies haunted me. Sleep, when it came, was filled with dreams of that night.

End