Graveyard Shift

(Just so its here –  strong language and violence after this line)

Hey can you let me in dude? Thanks, you new here huh? You ever work graveyard shift at a gas station before? Just started huh? Well, I’ll tell ya man, it gets strange. I’m not talking someone wearing something funky, or people with just odd habits. We’re talking sci-fi b movie special on prime time strange.

Examples? Well shit, oh hey, just two nights ago had a guy pull in, bought some oil and some gas and some paper plates, I’m not thinking anything of it ya know? Whatever needs some oil, some gas for his mower and some plates, no biggie. Then, then it gets strange.

Some creepy as dogs, think they were dogs anyway, they start barking and baying, and the place gets cold, like I wanted to go into the beer cooler and warm up cold. The lights flicker and all of sudden that guy outside has all that stuff in a super soaker and I’m just seeing these balls of flame and hearing yelping and I’m thinking, I’ll call the cops. Doesn’t work, phones are out, shoulda been obvious right? No dude, no shitting ya phone was out, not even a busy signal. Then one of those mutts burst in through the window, seriously ask the manager, he’ll tell ya drunks did it but you should be knowing better if you’re working here.

Where was I? Oh yeah, so I’m covered in glass and that things blood and it fucking burns man, it’s like I got bleach on me and that guy comes in, douses me in alcohol, and sets the other thing on fire. I’m thinking I’m toast, literally, this guy is gonna light me up. He just smiles, hands me an envelope and asks if any of em got to me. I tell him no, he nods, says to give that to the manager for repairs and what to say and he tells me if I see someone looks like they got bit not to let them in. Apparently it’s like some vampire shit ya know?

What? Me? Oh well, might have lied. Really shouldn’t of let me in dude.

Cause I’m fucking starving.



A Laughing Warning (Please, listen not)

Laughing and scratching just at your door, hear the quiet steps.

See them scurry from out the light and into the dark, in which they keep their foul delight.

There is no fear to be had, of these spirits here, the owns that make them selves known, those that thrive on fear.

But truly, beware the silent home, fear the quiet dark, hear them plodding in silence and feel the ghastly breath upon that chilled nape of your neck.

Rest not the weary in a house of the dead for you’ll not waken again, this I fear my friend.

They come to take your breath, they come to take your warmth and in it’s place they leave only a chill embrace that has not a single bit of worth.

So fear the silence and rest not the weary but waken the wary and fear for thy soul for they come to claim it and the life you know.

This is the risk and the warning from the wary to the weary, and the words of the restless dead. I warn you not from goodness, but for myself and my own plans.

For I hope you laugh and shake your head, and then take yourself, your weary bones, to your untroubled bed resting in that corner of this home I know so well, this home in which I died, where I am dead.

And where I hope to live again.

A lovely bunch

On your way, to the store, having decided to walk during such a sunny summer day, you pass a house, that one house that never seems to stay sold. It’s been left standing empty for nearly, well, three years perhaps? Today however, something is different. Something seems, strange about the house, the blue paint seeming oppressive even as that, wait, the door? That grim black door, hanging open slightly, as if beckoning you, beseeching you to come forward, to walk up those crooked steps of the porch and find out what awaits you inside….

Mustering your courage, you walk into the house, giving into that open door. Inside the house looks abandoned, and yet strangely, not some how. Really more of an in use feel rather than any place used as a true home.

Food wrappers littering the ground, an ashtray still having smoke coming from a snuffed cigar. Obviously someone is here, still likely judging by the state of things, who? A new owner yet to move in? But, there is a smell, a sickening yet familliar smell, that you can’t quite place, and music, coming from somewhere, with singing even, like, karaoke perhaps? Maybe someone just forgot to lock the door, still, it’s strange, a bit unsettling really.

The worry and strangeness making a knot in your stomach, you decide to perhaps to call out, to tell the owner they forgot to lock the door and maybe even welcome them to neighborhood perhaps? Thats, wait, what? You see it now,  another open door this one simply freezing you to the spot, as it hangs like it was ripped partly from it’s hinges, what can only be blood smearing the white paint. Letting out a small cry you see him now, that giant of a man.

He stands there, at the bottom of that darkened stairwell, wearing a suit and black bowler hat, in front of a shelf. The tune for the song “I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts” is playing and the man singing along in a clear, firm voice. “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts, big ones, small ones, most as big as your head!” He turns, seeing you and smiles, starting up the steps slowly, holding something in his hands, a, coconut?

No, no the red liquid dripping from the shaved stump of a neck says otherwise, the burnt flesh blackened, something sewn across the skin to give it that some fuzz that’s along a coconut, wait…a scalp, a scalp is sewn to the skin of the face, the brown hair trimmed short enough to mimic the song as he continues to sing as he walks, slowly, towards you, his large frame causing his footsteps to thud against the stairs. Finally, almost in front of you his drops to a whisper “You’ve a got a lovely coconut, just the size of your head, I’m about to take, please don’t mind, but soon you be dead!” He laughs then, his hand reaching for you, grabbing you by the shirt as he opens his mouth again and an instrumental blares out before cutting back into that song, that song that seems to have inspired this even as a blaring noise seems to come from ever where around you getting louder and louder until finally he pulls his hand back and you try to get away as you see the flash of steel in it before that blaring noise seems to overwhelm you even as he swings his hand down with that cleaver finally causing you to…

“Hey, wake up your alarm has been going for hours, and why is that stupid coconut song your ringtone? Someone was calling to see if you wanted to come in to work today. Breakfast is on the table, it’s cold though since someone didn’t want to wake up.” Rubbing your eyes as you’re told this, you look around, and smile, just a dream…just a dream…then turning you look at your window, seeing someone, a large someone, smile at you and wink, holding up what looks to be a coconut before you moves off whistling to himself….

For whatever reason, you’re sure, if you could hear it you’d know the tune he picked….

Seril, Annihilation, Bringer of The End

I checked my systems, power core running stable, singularity control core, stable, networked systems, running smoothly. Weapons check, core physical ammunition, concealed, protected, ready to loaded. Close ranged incendiary axe and sword, check, far range singularity warp cannon, powered, ready to go. With a grin I look up, my armor crimson, with black trim, a white cape trailing behind me. Lifting my helmet, my black hair is concealed as my eyes, one green, one blue, survey the outside of our fortress, surrounded on all sides. I grin, well, they certainly went all out for this, to bad.

“To bad they all will die. Fools never do know superior weaponry, they simply pilot their weapons, we have become our weapons, our technology is us and we are it, there is no separation. My heart runs on cold fusion, and my body is a war machine, simply because they will not let us live in peace. This ends, this ends now. They opened this war, they invaded us, after we were sent here from, from somewhere.”

Walking out the gates, I looked around, the army closing in, smiling I planted my feet, my armor sinking in deep planetary anchors as my singularity rifle assembled itself. I lifted my hand and smiled sadly as the surface of my palm seemed to fold back, they would see me sadly mouth the words “I am sorry” before the round was thrown from the cannon, fully charged, it would of made several rotations before being thrown free, carrying with it a destructive gravity well, and in the end, well in the end nothing would be left in it’s wake.

After all, I am Annihilation, the Bringer of The End, and these fools knocked on my door bringing war with them.

Fools, such sad little fools. They get better and better at finding ways to, enslave my people, forcing us to get better and better ways of ending them. Forcing me to become what they call me, become the moniker that has been my name for, for too long. Perhaps it’s time to end this little spat, this child’s tantrum. Perhaps it’s time I joined the front lines.

My real name is Seril, I have been know as Annihilation by my people and theirs for the past three hundred years. I am the oldest of my people, the techs. The scientists, the androids. What the humans would call the soulless, those meant to be enslaved, toys. They take us, and rework our systems, make us follow their “three laws of robotics” they kill our children, believing them to be un-aging dolls, they rape our women, thinking they’re not sentient, they’re just technology. They enslave our men to do the work they find distasteful.

If I could find a peaceful end to this war, I’d take it, but I don’t think I can, and I can’t keep being the non aggressor, my people are dying. So, if they would name me Annihilation, so be it.

Though, I hope somewhere along the way, perhaps I can earn a new name, before it becoming Genocide. Perhaps, it could, if I can prevent more of this senseless death, Peacemaker, Ender of War. That’s a name I wouldn’t mind at all, but if it is out of my reach, then to protect my people, Genocide will do.

No more of mine will be slaves, this ends now, today, by this night their society will brought to its knees, and they will learn what we have suffered, relegated to one city, with less then one hundred thousand of us left free, while they get the world. This is over, and I done sitting around. They knocked at my door, and I answered, now I’ll knock on theirs, and blow their world apart. Grimly I set forward, not even the remains of my enemies strewn before me, no, I walked forward, alone, into the dark.

Into the war. They called this upon themselves. Doom has a name, the sword hangs above their heads, and it will drop with the force of all of my regret, the loss that watching our people tear each other apart has given me.