Mem-brain Theorem

Vortex_Sketch_thing

Reality’s collapsing around us. Just… us.

Volatile, inter-dimensional shifts bubbling throughout our home. We’re existing in the same space, breathing the same air. Or so it seems.

She enters our kitchen. Phases through me.

“Morning,” I say.

Silence. No reaction to me. She sips coffee. No slurps nor satisfied gasps.

Thick layers of brane… brain? Translucent fields inflaming and growing denser. Filtering my greetings. My regrets. My apologies.

I waved. “Hey”.

Marcey nodded.

“Good?”

“Great…”

Final hypothesis. 

We are occupying the same time and space. But never quite the same time. And. Or. Space.

Mission critical. Must. Reunite. Our. Realities.  

The Upside I

drawn-hot-air-balloon-steampunk-20

Zay promised to never look back. Or down. Only up. At the perfectly capsized city in the clouds.

Clearest skies on record since the mirror world –The Upside– emerged from the smogosphere, according to Templar meteorologists. Its the divine sign he’d been praying for. Do what’s necessary. Take flight. For Shalewa.

He pumped the burners.

Balloon ascending. Turbulence. Thinning oxygen.

Flying a hastily built helium-craft composed of antiquated parts from abandoned shipyards was high-risk. Highly illegal. Suicidal. Still… far safer than returning to the Seminary.

Shalewa tiptoed to peer over the edge. “Is that heaven?”

He gently pulled Shalewa back. “Just another city.”

“Mommy and daddy there?”

“Possibly.”

Mirror versions, but their parents nonetheless.

Shalewa smiled. “Great.”

His sister was smart for her age. Much brighter than he was.

Chilly. Temperature dipping.

“Will we feel upside down?” Shalewa asked.

“It’ll feel like normal.”

Or so he’d heard from Solomonic diplomats who’ve visited the Upside.

“But then, our city will be the one upside down,” Shalewa said.

“Correct,” He replied.

“Interesting…”

Rising doubts… They’re breaking laws and risking lives to meet strangers. A selfish, dangerous plot. But… Shalewa deserves better. She needed parents, even if they’re doppelgangers of the ones they lost.

“Are versions of us there?” Shalewa asked.

“Maybe,” He answered.

Shalewa bit her fingernails. “What if they hate us?”

“They wont…”

“But what if?”

Zay felt for the pistol with the disintegration rounds hidden in his belt.

Then we’ll have to replace them…

He pinched Shalewa’s nose. “Don’t worry.”

The Order: Monster Mash

knight_and_squire_by_showe-d39pq3u
“Their existence is a declaration of war.”

The centennial Monster Mash.

A once a century, secret Congress of the most powerful and influential monsters of all nationalities, species, and realms. A parlay among humanity’s predators. He was tasked with surveilling the meeting by the foolish and misguided Humanic Order. He had greater plans. The Order will thank him whence the smoke clears.

Red Vampire, the host, was in his cross-hairs. Succubus brides trailing behind him, arranging and rearranging furniture. Preparing for their big feast.

“Doesn’t feel right,” Squire whispered. “Ambushing them.”

“It’s war.”

“I know… Still doesn’t feel right to me.”

They bared the mark. His was the mark of a Knight of the Humanic Order. Far more prestigious than that of Squire. He was born superior. A living weapon. A machine sculpted by the Gods. 

“Is a preemptive strike the right move?” Squire asked.

Squires were servants. Living tools and nothing more.

Their existence is a declaration of war. 

Squire sighed. “I think we shoul-“

He twisted squires ear until it bled. Are you Knight or Squire?”

“Sq… Squire, sir.”

“Then be a squ-“

Squire’s pupils turned white.

Its time.

Phwoosh! Inter-dimensional tears formed near the mansion walkway.

He released Squire. “Clean yourself.”

Squire’s blood could attract Red and his wives.

Dragons, basilisk drawn carriages, private jets, stretch hearses and cloaked helicopters emerged from the inter-dimensional tears. Filth. Creating portals with accuracy. Strong magic. 

“Camera,” He commanded.

“Should we contact-“

“No.”

The  Order would stop him. Or try.

Squire handed him the full-spectrum camera. “Red organized all this.”

“Irrelevant.”

Monsters swiftly gathered in the mansion dining room to feast on the raw carcasses on display.

Squire’s eyes widened. “Temporal-“

Knight yanked Squire to the ground.

Whoosh… Whoosh…

Dragon wings materialized among the stars.

Teleporting dragons. Blind, with other Godlike senses encircled them for several minutes. Vanished as fast as they arrived.

Idiot squire left blood-specks on his shoulder plate. Attracting the beasts.

Must act before squire ruins..  

“Amazing,” Squire said.

Knight loaded his cannon.”No more waiting.”

Enough watching.

“Claim your weapon,” He commanded. “Time to cleanse this world.”

Explosion will eliminate most. Then he and Squire will head down and finish all who survive the blast.

Squire knelt to reclaim his scythe but pulled back.

Coward.

He drew a pistol and trained it on Squire. “Claim. Your. Weapon.”

Squire claimed his scythe.

Monster unification is a threat to mankind. Can’t allow it.

“Cleanse the world…” Squire said.

“Yes…

“Okay.” Squire sliced Knight’s neck open with his scythe.

Knight desperately held this throat together with his hand. Collapsed.

Blood gushing. Shadows appearing around him. Reapers? No… worse. Red Vampire and his succubus wives.

Traitor.

“All yours.” Squire handed a succubus bride the bloody scythe.

“I can feel its power,” Red sampled Knight’s blood.

Succubus danced around Squire.

“Stay for dinner?” Vampire sampled Knight’s blood with his fingernail.

“I’d be honored,” Squire answered. “To discuss peace-“

“Yes…Yes…  peace.” Red Vampire licked his fang-tips. “Prepare a meal for our human ally.”

“No, I-“

“We insist,” Vampire whispered in Squire’s ear.

Michaela’s Price

Angel sketch

They summoned me early…

Humans gathered in the city square. Visibly frightened but with an unmistakable resolve in their eyes.

They offered me no praise, nor sacrifices they’ve owed me.

“You no longer want immortality,” I concluded.

I wasn’t the creator, but I protected them as such. And unlike my mother– the creator, I was conflicted. Caught between virtuous duties as a cosmic being, and obligations I bestowed upon myself when I shielded them from extinction.

“We’re grateful,” The Governor declared. “But we can no longer offer you our children.”

I was not mother. My power required Life for life. An expensive, but unavoidable cost. Draining my own cosmic well could be catastrophic for all realities.

“You’ll be erased,” I warned.

Governor wiped tears.  “We understand.”

They chose offspring over immortality. Perplexing.

“Are you certain?” I asked.

Governor nodded.

I summoned swords. “Worship me.”

“Okay…” Governor’s face ashened. “Michaela.”

‘Michaela”…  the embodiment of mother’s wrath. The sword with dreams of being a shield.

My protective seal appeared above the city.

I wished to give, not take life. But they left me no choice.

I raised a sword to the exosphere. Let it simmer in the hellish heat before cleaving the seal with angry force

My seal shattered on impact. Mother can see them now.  The city and everything in it, turned to dust.

Damn you, mother. 

I felt rage. Sadness. Guilt.

Brother was right to rebel.

“Mother!” I slashed gashes in reality. “Show yourself!”

I leveled my swords at Heaven.

 

Joshua’s Moon

crescent-moon-watercolor-painting-silver-blue-gray-abstract-half-moon-art-print-joanna-szmerdt

I approached Joshua with caution.

We were in a twenty floor high rise overlooking the FDR Drive. Joshua was having an intense episode and dangerously near an open window.

“Where’s Joshua?” I discreetly pulled the syringe from its case.  “Can you get Joshua for me?”

“He’s resting,” Joshua calmly answered.

“Wake him.”

Joshua faced me. “No.”

My son’s illness had returned with a vengeance. The prescribed medicines were useless. Ineffective.

“Why not?” I asked.

“It hurts him to say goodbye.”

My stomach turned. “Goodbye?”

“He perceives what’s at stake.” Joshua sat on the window sill.

“Slow down, honey.”

“He understands sacrifice.” Joshua pointed to the moon, revealing cuts on his forearms. “I must take his body.”

Not this again, I thought.

“What happens if you take it?”

“Joshua goes wherever things go when they cease to exist.”

“He’ll die?”

“I’m unsure if nothingness is akin to dying.”

Now’s my chance.

I snatched Joshua from the window and pinned him to the ground.

“The earth is in peril.” Joshua didn’t struggle. “I’m the planets only hope.”

Nothing behind his eyes. The boy talking was not my Joshua.

I injected the needle into his arm.

Warmth immediately returned to Joshua’s eyes.

“Mom?” Josh whimpered.

I squeezed him tight.

“No!” He ripped away from me and rushed the window.

“Joshua!” I chased Joshua to the window.

The view of the sky weakened my knees. Impossible.

The moon. Crumbling to pieces.

“Why didn’t you let me go?” Josh asked with tears in his eyes.

Ghoul’s Night Out

drawn-tentacle-7-e1538685026870.jpg

She perused the menu of the expensive, five pentagram rated restaurant.

A posh, dark ages style torture room decor with stunning views of the unholiest realms.

Perfect for their Ghoul’s night out.

“Let’s see it,” Bestie demands.

She reaches her ring hand across the table.

Bestie closely examines the gem. “Two trapped souls?!”

“I know!” She shrieks.

“Lucky ghoul.”

“And… he loves children,” She adds. “Lightly seasoned… Well done.”

“Your fave.”

“Ahhh… bestie remembers!”

Fiery portals open above their tables. Flaming tentacles place two cauldrons of Boiling Hot primordial soup before them.

“Roanoake U Coven reunion tomorrow.” Bestie tastes the soup.

“The Black Lipstick slut sorority?”

Bestie squints. “Didn’t you pledge?”

“Yes… Before you sacrificed me to the demon, Bilquis.”

Bestie nods. “You’re welcome.”

“Whatever.” She laughs. “Hows dating life?”

Tentacles deliver blood champagne.

“Screwed one of the four,” Bestie answers.

“Horseman?”

Bestie smirks. “Famine.”

“Thought you’d prefer War.”

Too aggressive.”

“Wow… You’ve matured.”

“Two hundredth birthday just passed.”

“Happy belated.”

“I guess…” Bestie frowns.

“Your soulless mate exists. I promise.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bestie sighs.

Explore… Date warlocks.”

“Religious nuts? No thanks.”

“Zombies?”

“Followers. One track minds.”

“Oooh, Vampires? They’re romantic.”

“Total racists.” Bestie replies.  “Briefly dated a succubus.”

“When?

“That semester in Purgatory.”

“Hmmm…. Mummies?”

“Terrible dressers.”

“Wolves?”

“Wild in bed.” Bestie flashes missing finger. “Too wild.”

“Frankenstein.”

“Happily married.”

She groans.

“Ghoul, stop! I’m… fine.”

“You sure?”

Bestie nods and raises glass. “Tonights about you and your unholy union.”

“I guess,” She raises glass.

They share a toast.

 

“Ilana’s call”

drawing-girl-cap-1.png

Ilana frantically searched for her car keys and taser. She was an hour late for her tattoo appointment with ‘Freeze’, the only tattoo artist capable of drawing Buttercup and Blossom. See, Freeze was an ill-tempered and impatient drag queen with switchblades who moonlighted as a bar-tending dominatrix at a bar frequented by homicide detectives. She understood having two jobs. Understood life as an enterprising diva. Tatts and hairdos don’t pay for themselves. She needed to get her ass in her car.
She snatched her keys and was about to leave when her phone rang.
“What?” She answered.
“June’s calling,” Camaiyah said.
“Impossible,” She replied.
“Seriously.”
“Can’t be him.”
“What do I do?”
“He can’t trace anything back to you.“ She leaned against the counter. “Even if he did manage to escape.”
“Back to us.”
“Don’t do that,” Ilana warned. “There’s no us.”
“I’m not the one who hacked him.”
“You paid me. I did a job.” Ilana used her phone to trace Camaiyah’s location. “I’m just a third-”
Her phone buzzed.
“Party…” She checked her phone. “He’s calling?”
“How did he-”
“Shut up.” Ilana interrupted as she frantically pushed ignore.
But the screen was frozen. Phone kept ringing. Text and email inboxes flooding.
“Damn it.”
“What?”
Phone answered on its own. Speaker phone activated…. on its own.
“I know you’re there, Ilana,” June said.
Camaiyah was silent. Breathing hard. Swallowing spit.
“I know everything,” June said. “I just want to talk.”
‘Lies’ she thought. June wanted vengeance.
“Okay, lets talk.”

In A Dominant’s Mind

alien_conqueror_by_darkmatteria

The Dominant climbed to the top of the Junk Heap mountaintop and looked down on his creations.

The Dominant looked angry. And sure of himself.

“I built this world!” The Dominant declared.

The countless kidnapped, murdered, tortured, raped, bought, and sold Ancestors of Chattel Creations collectively narrowed their eyes at the Suburban Dominant.

“Did I not build everything?” The Dominant questioned.

Their hands. Bruised from beatings. Disfigured from twenty three hour a day labor, and weekly bone snappings when the Dominant’s ancestors didn’t believe their creations were working fast enough. Discolored from ritual burnings. Scratches from clamoring for the children being ripped from their arms. Soaked from, sweat, tears and blood. Their hands… fading slowly out of existence as its been for decades.

“Of course you did,” The Ancestor replied as they began fading from the collective consciousness of the dominants– also known as existence.

Chattels didn’t god-like, time and space altering power like the Dominant’s. How could they argue their own existence? There was no place else for them to exist and survive within a world not of their making or control– within a Dominant’s thoughts.

They lowered their hands, deciding to accept their fates and allow themselves to be faded out of existence– also known as the collective consciousness of the Dominants.

“Very good. Know your place.” The Dominant placed his flag in the center of the universe. “I claim this world and all its realities.”

The Dominant’s wiped the Creations from their minds and all of existence.

.

Omolola

“You people?” Omolola snapped as the cold energy radiating from her palms enveloped the air. “What you mean ‘you’ people?”

“Breathe,” Oshun pleaded. “He meant no harm.”

“Bullshit!” Omolola cried as the icy blue aura ripped through her forearms, causing pain she was too enraged to acknowledge. “I dare him to say it again!”

10932258_1482037672098627_270721695_n