Alt Mythos Archives
May 15, 2005
Stacy : Enough
The red haze grew before her eyes as she watched the flames lick hungrily at the walls of her home.
"I should get up," she thought, "get the hell out of here."
But she just sat there, consumed with black hatred for those who pursued her. Who had pursued her entire life. Who would continue pursue until she was dead. Her hatred was a live thing, urging her up, out into the cool, night air.
But still she sat there, even as the flames began to sear her skin, hair and clothes. "Fuck destiny," she thought, and closed her eyes.
June 9, 2005
Stacy: Precious Cargo
I roll down the window, accept the envelope from the shadow.
"Deliver this to 19 Ville de Sanchez, Cartagena," the accented voice says. "Ask for Senor…"
I hold up my hand. "Rule number two, no names."
The shadow steps back silently. I accelerate away.
I must get into a better line of work, I think irritably. The transporting of items for anonymous clients was interesting, but hard on the nerves.
I arrive in Cartagena at sunrise, pull up to the address. A man in silk pajamas rushes down the steps, rips open the envelope.
"They’re here!" he exclaims. "Knicks tickets!"
June 13, 2005
The city has power, they said. Better be careful, or it might get you.
It was sleeping now, the old man said so. He always laughed when he said it, though. A real irritating kind of laugh, one that crawled up your spine. Lexi had enough one day, stove that old man's head in with a pipe, dumped the body out back. It still stinks out there.
We do what we want, always have. Take what we want.
I worry about the city though. What it might do to us when it wakes up. That old man said it would.
June 15, 2005
We salvaged the camera from the Wilson place. Four-alarm job, and volunteer crews came in from three counties. Nice folks. Too bad.
Ed took it over to the mini-mart to get developed. We joked about what we might get back, halfhearted-like. The Wilsons had had three kids.
When Ed picked up the pictures, the mini-mart clerk said only the one picture printed off the whole roll, even though it wasn't burned or nothing.
When we looked at the picture we shivered like someone was walking across our graves. The timestamp on the picture was 5/27, 9:23AM...the morning after the fire.
June 16, 2005
‘The new gods are mad things,’ he thought. Dependent, as they were, on sheer mass of worshippers for strength, their machinations and power struggles were Titan-esque in stature. And just as destructive.
‘No wonder the weather in the northern hemisphere is always so screwy…and the humans think it's ozone layer holes,’ he chuckled to himself.
He watched as two lesser gods clashed across the middle of North America, their battle causing massive thunderheads to build in the skies. Soon the killer tornadoes would spin from the mess, killing hundreds.
He grunted in disgust. He hefted a thunderbolt and let fly.
June 22, 2005
Stacy: Random Curses
He dropped the book as if it were a live thing, scrambled backwards until he slammed into his desk. The book fell flat on the floor, and the words continued to blaze from the page.
Heart pounding, breath coming in shallow gasps, he inched forward as the glow faded to something readable.
"...imeacht gan teacht ort..."
Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch the fast fading glow. A blur of images passed before his eyes. Then darkness. He tried to scream but heard no sound. He tried to move and could not feel his body.
Stupid used bookstore.
June 28, 2005
"Veered?" he shouted. "What the hell does that mean?"
He paced angrily, unable to comprehend how his calculations could have gone wrong, how he could have come so apparently far afield. He worked the equations for months, had access to the university mainframe, was so sure everything was correct. Yet, here he was…LOST.
Melena watched his rant silently. "Foolish mortal," she thought sadly, hands busy with the bread dough.
He finally sat down, looked at her with dull eyes. "You don't happen to have a Cray stashed somewhere in this dump, do you?"
Her laughter pealed through the still night.
July 5, 2005
Sin. Some people avoid it. I search it out.
Not to partake. Oh no. But rather to avenge.
Again and again my bright sword arcs, blood spatters, the guilty die.
Again and again.
I have seen all the horrors of which the human race is capable. They replay themselves in my mind at night, when sleep avoids me like they would. Like they should.
If they knew my name.
My sword has taken millions of lives. People will continue to sin, continue to commit terrible crimes. And my sword will take more lives.
How I wish it could take mine.
July 6, 2005
Stacy: Alt. Mythos
Moses paced restlessly along the wadi. The past year had been hard. They’d lost many sheep to the bandits, and nothing would grow in this benighted country. He believed they needed to move if they were to survive.
He was roused from his thoughts by the smell of smoke, and ran to investigate. In this dry land, fire could be devastating.
He came around an outcrop and beheld a wondrous thing…a bush was aflame, yet not burning. Abdul rushed up behind him, doused it with a bucket of water.
“Damn, that was close! That could have burned the whole village!”
July 10, 2005
Stacy: Das Toad
The Boot Toad of central Florida is a rarely seen creature. It prefers small, dank places, and thus naturally gravitates to the footwear left outdoors by unwary homeowners. Snuggling down into the toe area, it weathers the heat of Florida days, venturing out at night to feed on insect life.
Sporting a poisonous spike on the back of it's head, the Boot Toad has stricken down more than one individual as they attempted to shoe themselves. Florida homeowners are encouraged to cease leaving their footwear outdoors, or at least, turn them upside down to discourage inhabitance by this venomous creature.