Day Twenty-Six

Is anything certain?

We like to think that we are in control, that the universe bends to our finger touch. It doesn’t. Anything, quite literally, anything can happen. Because this is the universe.

Nothing makes sense, it is only your brain making a story of of it, making order where there is no order to be found, as so that we may remain sane and alive as the universe roars around us.

We are unable to pilot the boat of life, we are crashed into whatever may wait for us at the end. Nothing is real. Everything could fall apart, just like that. There is no order to anything. Your life, their lives around you, the town,your city, your country, your world, they were built on a picture of reality, paper-thin, tearing apart if you look too deep.

Everything can, and will fall apart. All of it.

And---

Well actually. Something is certain. Only one single thing mind you, just because of this realization you shouldn’t go dancing in the streets like it’s all safe and fun and everyone will be all nice, and never forget your gasmask and helmet. NEVER.

The world is still very dangerous. Especially outside your door. Everything happens outside your door. Stay inside kids, don’t dare to do anything.

Anyways, the single thing in the universe that is guaranteed to last forever, searching onto infinity and never changed, is that, well…...

Jarvis does not like Shakespeare.

“A horse, a horse, a horse! My kingdom for a--”

Does not like is, in fact, a fairly mild word. Too mild to the extreme measures that she will take to stop this nonsense that is Shakespeare.

Someone has to draw a line here, to tell the people to just stop it. Someone has to restore the law and order here! And, for heaven’s sakes, don’t you even dare get into Jarvis’s presence even thinking about Shakespeare, because she will know and she will hunt you down.

Bound and gagged, in some random closest full of pencils and non-edible gum, behold this here Richard. He once thought is was quite funny to recite something from a play of his namesake, but ah, alas, it is funny no more and he is thankfully reconsidering his life and how much he wants to stay alive right now, because those pencils are looking very sharp now, perched unsteadily on a shelf above him.

People don’t kill people.

Shakespeare kills people.

Shakespeare will be the death of you.

Shakespeare will do whatever it take to kill you, through whatever it takes, whether that be Jarvis, pencils, or boredom, Shakespeare will do whatever it take.

But Shakespeare will kill you in the end.

Javis smugly dusts her hands off, clicking shut the padlock on the random closet. Tsk tsk. Well then. No one’s getting out of there anytime soon. Time to father her mission of exterminating Shakespeare.

Ah now. What’s that she hears? Someone is reciting something. Poetry? Shakespeare wrote poetry, don't you know. Thus all poetry is Shakespeare. Jarvis has remarkable hearing.

She quickly weaves through the hall of the random closest, past a swimming  pool, turning the corner of a bowling alley, between a laundromat and parachute factory, through two sections of hallway that are exactly the same, into a mirror, right on the zero-g zone, through a forest of someone’s PhD thesis, past a few sleeping composers, through an elevator trap door, to the secret passage, to finally, finally find the source of such a vile thing as Shakespeare.

Ah, they tried, so hard they tried. They had done the best they could, and to be fair, it was pretty impressive, hiding in the middle of who-knows-whats. They, perhaps could have been given a standing ovation for the efforts they went through to hide from Jarvis. They had done their very best.

But Jarvis was better. Far better.

Her hand hesitates on the handle of the stage door, thinking smugly to herself of how surprised they would be to see her here. Maybe she would even give them a few lines of--Haha, what a joke. No they would pay for dearly to even speak this thing known only as….Shakespeare. They’d wish that the honored bard never even set pen to paper when she was over with it all.

Ah, yes.

They would regret it all.

She opens the door.

Thick, dusty black curtains surround her for a moment in darkness before she disentangles herself from them, (hopefully) quietly. She stands in the wings, watching the stage.

The spotlight is on, blazing and painfully bright, leaving the audience in a pit of darkness. She doesn’t even know if there is anyone out there.

On the bare stage, lights gleaming harshly over the glassy wood, as the a single spotlight hovering around Moon, wavering and uncertain.

“Cowards die many time before their deaths, but the valiant have only to taste of death once.”

Her words ring, rebounding, pinging off of the room, repeating, even though she is simply speaking low.

“Come, now, comrades, death comes to us all. Tis the strangest thing that we should fear the inevitable.”

Like a moth fluttering around a light bulb, there is simply only her dark figure standing in a beam of light.

She is a moth.

And all the world's a stage.

Jarvis hovers around the curtain, shifting from foot to foot. What oh what to do. She would so much like to make her quit talking, but on the subject of death, Jarvis is curious as to what to doomed have to say about it.

For some long moments, Moon doesn’t say anything. She looks up, as if meeting the eye of someone in the audience.

Jarvis is slightly confused. What is going on here?  She knows that she should get it over with as soon as possible but now, really--

“Et tu, Brute?”

Oh.

Well then.

And that’s all she is able to think for a long while.

The moth’s light has gone out. And, as much at this moment Jarvis hates to admit it, she did want to stop Moon’s heart.

Someone else did it for her.

The lights flicker.

A lone shadow emerges from the opposite side of the stage.

“Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death. For whomever’s heart is accustomed to death, it is hard. Madness in great ones must not go unwatched.”

Jarvis is more fascinated now, though slightly shaken. What are they going to do?

Nothing, at least for a while.

The light flickers around the two moths, the fallen and the standing one. The latter Jarvis finally recognizes as Sandra. What is she doing here? Answer: no idea. No idea at all.

“Believe it or not, death tends to be a very social event. When a few people die, maybe more come along and die as well. It’s like a party. Except for, well, dead people.”

Jarvis grimces. She is certain no Shakespeare of any kind came up with that analogy. She’s puzzled as to what Sandra is hinting at, or even in fact, doing up there, or talking too. It she addressing it to  Jarvis? Or perhaps to mysterious killer of Moon?

“Death loves to come in crowds. And where one dies, it is fitting that another should die as well.”

Wait--what? Is she saying that--?

As these thoughts race through her mind, Jarvis lunges onto the stage, skidding across the glassy surface. Before her eyes, an arrow appears in Sandra's chest. She stares at is, blank and glassy eyed, then falling over, dead just as Jarvis reaches her.

Jarvis stares at the two for a long moment.

“Why aren’t you alive? It seem like most everyone is dead these days.” She says bitterly, perhaps to the audience that she doesn’t know if it is there or not.

She nudges Sandra with her foot.

“Well then. You better be having a fun party up there.”

~~~~~~~~

Fin et grande Day Twenty-Five. Rest in peace, Moon and Sandra.

Scylla--l don't know. It depends, as l don't actually plan very far in advance. l'm guessing that you would like another one, yes?

Jarvis hates Shakespeare! *gasps* Well, I don't! I try to emulate Shakespeare.

Sorry, musical theatre interlude, though I doubt anyone got the reference (Something Rotten- it's very entertaining). But seriously, I did a biography report on Shakespeare once. And I've read/seen/listened to a bunch of stuff that references Shakespeare. I mean, that practically makes me a veritable Shakespeare expert, right?! Shakespeare is cool. Will(iam Shakespeare) Power. So don't hate Shakespeare. He's cool. Shall he compare thee to a summer's day? Not if thou keepst throwing shade upon his great achievements, obstructing their manner of shining radiance onto this earth! I'm basically just using fancy synonyms for everything and hoping it sounds Shakespearean, I'm sorry, I'll stop now.

That was scary...I'm a little confused about whether I'm still alive or not but I'm hoping I am and I'm hoping I don't die if I haven't yet. I think I'm alive, though I also think I won't be for much longer. I don't know what to do now...

If she were me, she'd be listening to motivational theatre music and possibly start screaming "Do You Hear the People Sing" from Les Miserables, but I'm beginning to think she's the sane one of us two, so she's probably just going to write a heartbreaking diary entry or letter or something telling her friends and family she loves them just in case, like a *huffs* normal person.

Ok, this post probably just annoyed people, but just FYI, we're still reading! Sorry about the unnecessary Shakespeare stuff. 

Ooh...... Awesome death! Poor Shakespeare...... Poor Sandra. I'm not sure if she killed me or not..... But she's dead as well. So thou art forgiven! I think! I'm going to quote some Shakespeare now that I just randomly found! In honor of moths. (Yay short story books) 

"Now the hungry lion roars,

And the Wolf behowls the Moon: (she's a bit sad that I died)

Whiles the heavy ploughman  snores, 

All with weary task foredone.

Now that wasted brands to glow,

Whil'st the stritch-owl scritching loud,

Puts the wretch that lies in woe

In rememberance of the shroud." 

Ok, that was random, but it seemed rather relavent. The poem goes on to talk about graves and death and fairies and stuff. *smiles darkly*

Day Twenty-Seven

Brian is staring at his shoes. They’re quite interesting shoes, to be honest, but that isn’t entirely the reason why he is staring at them. These shoes are providing a brilliant alternative to staring at, say, someone else, and having to engage them in conversation. Brian doesn’t want to do that, not at this moment. People are awkward, they stutter and ask questions. Shoes do not. Shoes are excellent conversation partners. They always listen and never run over you when you’re trying to say something. He hasn’t spoken a word yet, there are dangers of being possessed by Shakespeare, especially if the person sitting right next to you will go to extreme ends to….get rid of you, if given enough proof. And only a word is proof enough for Jarvis.

So--as the wood of the room creaks slowly, like a ship swaying at port, and the lights flicker, glinting off of the dirty and scuffed checkered floor, Brian continues to stare at his feet.

“Meeting to order!” Saphira proclaims. “To provide some exposition as to why we are here and what the current course of events are going to be, i am going to tell you everything that has just happened even though you know perfectly well what it was, but, just in case, you know, this is being recorded or something and the people watching it don’t have any context.”

Daisy raises a hand, hesitantly, unsure of how to say this. “Yeah….erm, isn’t that kind of useless? Waste of time, anyone? We have a clock ticking, now.” Literally ticking. In Saphira’s ear, no more the less. Radioactive as ever.

Saphira tilts her head. “Well yes, i do suppose that it makes sense not to discuss anything that just happened. After, well it just happened. We all know the details, and i happen to doubt anyone’s like, viewing this without the proper context and are going to jump to conclusions about things. Alright then. We all know what’s going on.”

Nods from the gathered group. Many nods. Except for Brian. He has very nice shoes. Nice shoes indeed.

“So...any suggestions?”

Silence.

Saphira thought that this would be a lot more formal than it’s turning out to be. She thought that perhaps things were going to be get done here. Apparently not.

The lights flicker madly. Everyone jumps a bit in their seats, glancing around wildly. Saphira, though her heart did jump, calls for order.

“We can’t be scared of the unknown! We can’t let it scare us!” Saphira doesn’t like this. It’s as if the people are falling into fear. She can’t have that.

“You did see what it did to Mirax.” Paris says, softly, glancing at the door, as if by mention of her name, Mirax would be there. .

“Yes.” Saphira closes her eyes as if the memory pains her. “And don’t forget, well…..you know who.”

“Well….we don’t know if who we saw was really….you know. That one person.” Ellak says, carefully.

“i'm pretty sure they suffered the same fate as Mirax.” Kestrel says.

Everyone goes silent for a few seconds. Though the single door of the room that they are in has been heavily blockaded with tables, every once and a while, one of them glances back at it, as if unsure if it is going to hold. They don’t want to find out where Mirax is. They don’t care to know, not know. Not ever.

“We can’t be divided by fear” Richard says softly “because if we’re divided….we die. All of us die.”

No one cares to answer to that for a long while. There are nine of them. H.A.B. is still missing. He’s been missing for a long time, before this all began. They rather envy him.

”it's going to pick us off, one by one.” Daisy says, huskily.

Jarvis spins around to face her. “Don’t you ever say that!” she snaps, venomous. “We’re getting out of here, all of us, don’t you--”

Richard quickly jumps to his feet, attempting to pull Jarvis by the shoulders, away from Kestrel.

“Calm down.” He hisses to her. “It’s fine.”

She crosses her arms, defiantly glaring. “Say that when you’re dead, i dare you.”

Despite her cheery (or trying to be) words, Saphira is still very doubtful. She happens to doubt, honestly, whether or not that they are  going to get along.

Jarvis doesn’t seem to like anyone. But Jarvis does have a point, in her actions. If that thing doesn’t get them all, they’ll tear each other apart, most likely. People don’t seem to like being around people for long amounts of time. It’s a fact. Saphira is starting to fear for her well being as well as for everyone around her. How long, seriously, how long will they be able to keep this up? When fear is knocking at their door, when death is lurking right around the corner, how long will they be able to hold onto everything?

When the night terrors grow so strong that they make you go out of your mind, when your doubt nearly kills you from the inside out, when the monsters of the shadows finally creep forward into the real and touchable, when the cold is wrapping all around, in crystal silence echoing in your mind like a cave, there you are, so simple and fragile and the world could snap you just like that.

How long can they hold on?

She’s usually a pretty optimistic person, but in this case...she doesn’t know. She doesn’t think for very long.

And she is very, right.

Let me list all the ways that they might and probably will die sooner or later. Let’s see….they’re completely unprepared, they have no weapons of any kind the don’t barely know what they are facing, or what it wants, they have no plans, a barely secure hold-out no one knows a thing about where they are, actually. They are no resources, either.

Likelihood of death?

99%

Break out the popcorn. Prepares yourselves for a firefight.

~~

The time machine, as you might recall, H.A.B. has been the single occupant of the last few days, after getting stuck in space after saving everyone.

Well, after (maybe) going slightly insane, the time machine has decided to start working again. H.A.B., unfortunately, was unable to set the coordinates.

After the control panel exploded into poisonous smoke, and he has waited a long while just to make sure that the time machine’s on stable ground, he carefully cracks opens the door. He’s more willing to risk the poisonous smoke killing him then any outside force killing him.

At first, nothing. And as the smoke finally drifts away, he begins to make out his surroundings. Some room of some sort surrounds him, the time machine had partly buried itself in the floorboards, at a dangerous angle. Slightly panicked by this, he jumps out, just as the time machine falls onto its side with a thud.

Hooray. One point for staying alive.

Oh well. He thinks ruefully, staring at it’s boxy shape. I may be the only only surviving person to travel in time.

Take that world! I don’t care what you’ve done. I've traveled in the fourth dimension and lived to tell about it!

Somehow the doesn’t sound like the best defense ever…..

Footsteps. Someone is walking towards him. Nervously, he backs up. He doesn’t know what could be out there! It could be aliens or future humans or something! Not going to trust them any day.

--

Oh, well then.

It’s Mirax. Hello.

“Hello?” He tries, carefully. Mirax doesn’t answer.

Maybe he changed time so that everyone’s a robot or something! Maybe they're all servants of an evil warlord who's conquered the world and now life is miserable.

“Mirax?” H.A.B. is starting to have doubts. For one, this Mirax, well….she doesn’t appear to have a face. Just a mask, a shape of a face, yes, indentions where eyes should be, the general shape of a bridge of a nose, cheekbones, but no facial features, just smooth, pale, almost reflective skin. And apparently despite the utter lack of eyes or ears, she can still track his location.

Strange.

Actually more then that, just really, disturbing. Mirax reaches out a hand. H.A.B. stares at it. Is this a peace offering? Can the people of the future have no faces? Or is it…? He really doesn’t want to stick around to find out what it is. You’re either safe or you’re not dead. Obviously he wishes to stay alive as long as possible.

~~

Knock-knock.

The occupants of the room freeze, their blood running cold.

Knock-knock. Nova looks questionally at the door then back at the others. Saphira shakes her head.

Knock-knock.

Nova edges towards the door.

The person on the other side of the door has apparently found a doorbell, and is now leaning on it. Nova carefully, carefully, pushes the table aside, just by a bit, so she can open the door a crack. She reasons that people who want to kill you don’t ring the doorbell first.

She opens the door, slowly and--

“Ahhhhh!”

Daisy is very good at screaming.

The others freeze in various poses of shock (which was actually pretty amusing if any had been in that sort of mood, imagine the referees suddenly blowing the whistle at a head ping-pong vs. hybrid water polo with bumper cars match)

Saphira is the first to snap out of it. She laughs nervously. “Oh, aha, we kind of thought you were dead, H.A.B., and that--”

“AHHHHHH”

Scratch that, Daisy the the champion at screaming.

“The stranges are here.” Jarvis stage-whispers, before diving underneath a table and promptly hitting her head.

The others scatter to various places across the room.

“The--what?” H.A.B. asks, but no one is around to answer his questions.

“It’s only Mirax.” He says, rather confused at this point. “Mirax is a nice, but perfectly harmless person…...Right?”

He watches as Mirax enters the room, looks around, before walking slowly oi. Some other people, enter behind her,  about five, a mix of men and women, all normal looking….except they have no faces. They seem to be ignoring him, instead robotically walking into the room, fanning out and...cornering people? He doesn’t understand.

Richard, too in shock to be able to do much else, scrambles away from the stranger that is slowly advancing towards him. The stranger a man, black hair sticking up in places, wearing torn jeans and a sweatshirt with a planet design on it, lettering reading Intergalactic Ping-Pong Team.

The stranger looks too purely human, so simply just normal,  and yet Richard knows that there is nothing behind that glassy pale face. He wants to believes that. He so badly wants to think that this--thing is human, that it has reason and logic and life.

That it can show mercy.

Kestrel, seeing Richard peril, and thinking fast, quickly lunges towards him, fingers grasping his arm.

She runs into a different arm instead. She trips, stumbling back, as the slow, smooth whiteness begins to rapidly grow over her hand.

“No, no no…” she whispers, but no one hears her, no one answers to her plea as it rings out. The voice of a scared human, a scared tiny, lonely human, dying. All alone and no one is going to reach out a hand, a simple, hand to touch her.

For shame, Richard thinks to himself, watching this was a strange coldness and emptiness creeps over him. For shame, humanity, for shame.

The strangers, apparently satisfied, back away and exit, slowly. And for a long while, they simply watch as Kestrel and Richard became less human, turn into something that they fear and they do not know.

And none of them reach out a hand.

~~~~

Rest in peace, Richard and Kestrel.

This day is brought to you by: Many hours of watching my laptop crash….and trying to fix that. And failing. Again and again. And loosing part of this day. More then a few times.

Also supported by: Cold mornings of trying to write. Not only am l cold, my hands are little more than bones and skin, thus very few blood vessels to warm them. Life is a miserable place if you have bony hands.

oh, I totally forgot I joined this! Let's see... Bolton, Beth, and swummer are dead. I hope I'm not the murderer. That would be very... Awkward. And, um, not like myself. But cool!!