The story of Lawrence, part 1.

Lawrence did not know where the city began nor did he know where it ended. He’d never left in all his very long life. Three hundred and seventeen years of endless urban jungle. The waterfall of lights on the buildings, the greyness that crept over the city when the sun rose above the smog.
He walked under a bridge and looked up. Pale blue light illuminated the underside of the bridge, the spars that kept it together. He chuckled. He was almost three times as old as this bridge and had been at its opening. Under the bridge there was only bright light, more pale blue. A small corner provided a conveniently dark spot to attract the attention of those who would hide themselves from the prying eyes of others. He noticed the nightvision camera all too easily and kept on walking.
Cheap tricks and easy lures. As human knowledge kept growing, so did the methods of surveilance, the tricks of the designers. Billions upon billions of people never left their rooms, shackled as they were to their vidgames, their brains tweaked endlessly by a constant stream of little rewards and pleasures. They ate the greasy, disgusting food that the foodpumps delivered three times a day right into their homes. They grew fat and lazy but they didn’t care. Lawrence felt disgusted by the world he lived in but he had to admit that it became a lot quieter everywhere.
When he was younger, around the age of seventy, it had seemed like everything would collapse like a house of cards. Polution was rampant, ecological deterioration was getting worse, there wasn’t enough room, food supplies were getting dangerously low. Repression and terrorism were everyday phenomena, plague a very real threat. Seventeen billion people on a world that was ultimately very small.
Some things were going alright, long term plans finally coming to fruition and all of the world coming together at last in an effort to give everyone an equal chance. That’s what the news kept saying, but the bright minds of the day wouldn’t be that easily lied to. They set about the create the world that the politicians and marketeers and lobbyists wanted them to believe they lived in. Demonstrations popped up everywhere and melted away when the riot squads appeared. Then another would pop up, somewhere else, and the riot squads would come running again. And the demonstrators, warned in time would melt away again.
They kept it up for weeks at a time, until the police eventually gave up chasing them. Their cause was so public and the support their non-violent activism got was overwhelming. The regimes and governments of old collapsed. Equality, freedom and progress. That was the rallying cry of the Progressives.
Farm towers popped up all over the rural country. Where before there had been farms that could feed hundreds, the towers that rose up could feed thousands, if not more. And they just kept on growing. Factories were repurposed to be fully automatic. A few years later, the farm towers were completely machinated as well.
Massive joblessness left the general populace discontent and restless. They were fed, certainly. They had everything they wanted, surely. But they had to adapt, had to change. And that wasn’t what they wanted. They wanted more money to buy a bigger car, not a different system that would give them a car. Not if it meant their car was the basically the same as the car their neighbour owned.
Lawrence shook himself out of the past. One of the side effects of the longevity drugs he took every day and the genetherapy he went to every month was the tendency to get lost in the past, to reminisce most days away. He had been on his evening walk, choosing to walk by the river tonight. Passing the bridge meant that he was almost home. The stairs started moving upwards when he stepped on them and he sighed in relief. Sometimes the stairs didn’t work, like the escalotors of his very youth sometimes didn’t work.
He walked with the aid of a cane, a long metal piece ornately engraved, by hand. Factory-made, of course. Lawrence was old, and the treatments kept the worst effects of aging away but they couldn’t cure it completely, although the doctors at the facility kept assuring him they were nearing a breakthrough. Secretly Lawrence hoped they didn’t. The oldest person alive today was nearly four hundred years old, which was about as long as he really wanted to live. Eternal life was just a bit too long. Already he found it hard to get going every day, instead of losing himself in the memories of his enormously long life.
His brains were unusual like all brains were unusual these days. Nootropics weren’t mandatory per se but anyone following the longevity treatments took the mind-drugs almost religiously. He could remember everything after his puberty and he was glad.

The elevator didn’t seem to be moving. He knew it was moving upwards at high speeds but the dampeners in the construction kept him from feeling it. On the seventythird floor there was a soft ping and the doors opened. Lawrence stepped out into the hallway and turned left, approaching door number 732. When his hand hand touched the doorknob an electronic signal passed between the mechanisms inside the door and the chips implanted into his wrists.
Lawrence stepped into his apartment and closed the door behind him, put his cane in the rack next to the door and sighed. Then he took off his coat, hung it on a peg. His scarf was next, which went onto the next peg. Then the hoodie he wore went on yet another peg. He took off his shoes, put them under the other garments. Satisfied, he hobbled over into his livingroom.
It was colder these days. Outside. The solar shade had counteracted the effects of global warming a little too well. But it was definitely progress and that was still one of the three goals set out at the beginning of what had become known as the silent revolution. There had always been discontent. But equality and a fed addiction could placate anyone.
Those they could snare with games and other electronic traps had been caught quickly. Those who wouldn’t be caught by such inactive pleasures were caught with other methods, drugs to suit all wants and needs. Of course the drugs weren’t everywhere. That would only lead to even faster self-destruction. Rationed and kept just-out-of-reach made them a quite efficient control mechanism for those of that particular inclination.
There was only one chair in the small living room. He lived here on his own and no one ever came to visit in person. Not that he missed contact, his memories sufficed. The chair had been designed for him and him alone, one of the luxuries he had chosen. Some chose a better computer interface or a better system. Others chose a bigger apartment, better food or some other customisation. But he had chosen this chair, his designed heaven. He sank into it, the softness supportive enough in all the right places to make him completely comfortable, even after sitting in this same chair for twenty years.
He swung the chair around and looked out the windows. Apartment 732 was on a corner and so Lawrence had a view that encompassed a large part of the city. The buildings looked black from up here, the windows that were lit glowing in the same pale blue as the bridge. He recognised some of the larger towers. There he saw the squared form of the Humon arcology with the airport resting at its top. Lights came and went continuously, going in all directions. North, south, west, east and everywhere in between. Some of the lights even went up towards the black heavens. To the left of the arcology he saw the huge building that was the Copernicus University, a prestigious university training the next generations of young astrologers, astronauts and also holding training programs for future colonists.
There were many other things to be seen, more arcologies, more apartment towers like the one he was in. A few stadiums where the last few real sport events were held. Far off in the distance he could see the pinpricks of light crawling up and down the space elevator.

i feel a bit sad - calculator - hydroponically

//
i feel a bit sad
i feel a bit inspired
i feel a little silly
i feel a little stupid

i feel like hitting things
i feel like not doing anything
i feel weird
i feel normal

i feel things
i feel thoughts
i feel cold
i feel warm

like pillows
and maybe some blankets
stuffed into a fridge
the fridge is turned off

i feel a bit sad
i feel a bit inspired
i feel a little like a pillow
i feel a little like a fridge



//
my brain is filled with words

math is stupid
math is silly
math is useless
unless you’re a mathematician

if i wanted to be a mathematician
i would be reborn as a calculator
i would grow up as a fake boy
but very good with numbers

i’m not good with numbers
well not good enough
i’m not a calculator
i’m not even a machine



//
i would like to live underground
all i need is my own nuclear reactor
and find someone to bring me uranium
sometimes
i guess i’ll need nutrients
for the plants i grew hydroponically

Snowflakes.

Drifting like the snowflakes,
Twirling down from the sky,
Little bits of white and grey and black,
The ashes of a thousand hellish fires.

Dancing like Medusa,
Twisting like her snakes,
Blazing fiery red and orange,
The raging epicenter of the inferno.

Fluttering like fairies,
Sputtering like candles,
Hesitant and wary and scared,
Twisted survivors crawling around.

Singing like the sirens,
Screaming like a banshee,
Howling in grief and pain,
A thousand children lost.

Doomed like the fallen angel,
Cursed like the banished lord,
Hated beyond comprehension,
Those guilty of dropping the bombs.

Violent like wild dogs,
Prowling in the darkness,
The remnants of a once great race,
Scavengers and ghouls and rats.

Barren like the volcanic rock,
Empty like the void of space,
Lifeless now for evermore,
Graveyard, cemetary, Earth.



--
I thought up 'drifting like snowflakes' around dinner time.
This is what came out.

Spiral.

Touch the walls.
Feel the paint.
Feel the dirt.
Touch the filth.

It keeps us locked in.
Locked out of the loop.
Sent into a spiral.
Spiraling out of control.

Kill the walls.
Destroy the doors.
Smash the windows.
Embrace the shards.

Minds in motion.
Fleeting feet.
Flailing hands.
Stomping heads.

Disrupt the flow.
Change the course.
Alter the waves.
Paint the floors.

Sing the screams.
Dance the noise.
Shout the words.
Hug the shadows.

Throw the curses.
Pull the levers.
Push the buttons.
Kill your lovers.

Three whispers.

Burn the world and scorch the earth.
Clear the skies and drown the oceans.
Fill the air with our screams.
Bless the ground with our blood.

---

Join us.
We are the Revenant.
The dead returning.

Join us.
We are beyond counting.
The dead walking.

Join us.
We are the future.
The dead rising.

Join us.
We are above life.
The dead ascending.

Join us.
We are the end.
The dead alive.

---

Minds dance in silent halls.
The labyrinths of thought.
Hold your hand against the wall.

Minds fly in soaring skies.
The freedom of thought.
Hold out your arms like wings.

Minds crawl in secret places.
The pleasures of thought.
Hold your tongue in silence.

A Gift from Dead Gods, 17.

“Really brother, you need to stop wasting all that energy! Stop it! I told you to stop!” Olivex was screaming at him. Caphis ignored him completely. He regretted needing this fool, this maniacal creature that just happened to be his brother. He sighed. Three years. He’d waited three years before freeing his twin from the tomb the Gods had created for him. Although he didn’t like to admit it, Olivex was far better at the warping magic they used in their experiments.
That didn’t make him less of an annoyance, however. The three years spent in that confinement had torn at the already unstable mages mind, disrupted the flow of his essense and weakened his shell. His magical gifts seemed to have grown as far as Caphis could see, but he was a problem. He couldn’t focus on his spells with that idiot screaming in his ear. He sighed. He didn’t like doing this.
He turned on his brother, pushing the now shorter man back. “Hey! Hey! You can’t do that!” Caphis held out his hand and focussed. Energy danced around his hand, concentrating into a softly glowing orb. After a few moments, his spell was done. When it hit Olivex his eyes closed suddenly and he fell to the ground, unconcious.
Caphis looked at his fallen brother. Then he turned and went back to his desk. A metal frame stood on it, a weird device with large crystals set across from each other. He placed his hands on the crystals and closed his eyes. The device made it possible to view distant locations without a set of eyes on the scene. This way, he could look anywhere that wasn’t protected by enchantments or curses. This night, he was searching for their latest project.

---

Nathaniel was fairly sure he wasn’t being watched. He couldn’t be sure, but in his old body he would have felt it. One of the many benefits of being a natural sorcerer. Running was exhilerating. This new shell, this new body, driving it to its limits made him feel good. He missed his old body. He missed the five years that had gone by. No, Nathaniel corrected himself, he was pissed. They had taken five years away from him, five years of nothing. And now this. He felt his anger rise and he embraced it. The young man wasn’t far away now, he would catch him soon enough.

---

Tophar was running for his life again, the second time in the last hour. First because of the damn guards ruining his assassination and him thus failing the test, now because of the giant chasing him with unnatural speed. Tophar believed in coincidence, or rather that coincidence always had meaning. Dancing shadows and then that group of people? Something was wrong here, really wrong and he was determined to find out what.
He was trained at running, even more than his fellow students at the academy. Five years of intense training, every possible enchantment he could afford and all the tricks he had learned by growing up in the undercity and it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t lose the one following him. He ran over the group in his mind, it had to be the giant thing, the elves weren’t runners, not this fast. The one in the armor couldn’t move this fast. The giant then.
A corner here, a shortcut here, over a wall here, up the roof. His legs pumped, his arms pushing at obstacles, grabbing handholds, keeping him balanced. A short straight clear piece of roof gave him a chance to look back. The giant was there, running, giving chase. Shit. The young assassin to be grabbed hold of the bracelet around his right wrist, flipping the stones away until he found the right one. One deep breath later, the magic flowed into him and he moved. He ran. He was like the wind.

---

Nearly everyone in the world, if you didn’t count the ones who had no idea what a city was, knew that Rasnach was the largest city in the world. To Tyran this city was one of the greatest wonders of the world, and the world had a lot of wonders. The city whispered and shouted, cried and laughed. It wasn’t sentient like the cities he had grown up in but it was certainly alive. All the voices of the city combined into a song that flowed around him, touched his mind more than his ears and made him want to dance.
And so he danced. His body walked along, betraying nothing besides being another human walking along the busy streets. But his mind danced against the walls and on the rooftops, across the walkways and into the tunnels. Warnings in the song, sharp notes of danger. It wasn’t threatening yet but it could. He janked his mind back into his body and looked around, searching for the cause of the warnings with both his eyes and other senses.
He could ignore the warnings, let someone else take care of the problem but that just wasn’t like him. He was born and raised among the Corat, the City-people. Care for safety was the responsibility of all and this was something he could do. Besides, if he did it now no one would have to get hurt. That is if I don’t get hurt, he thought. He turned around the corner and slipped into an alley. The warnings were getting louder, the danger closer. He stopped.
A chill spread through his body, making him shiver. Then he saw it. It glowed softly in the darkness of the alley, a pale blueish glow around an assortment of bones. He could make out a ribcage but beyond that the bones were random, taken from many different people and even species. They were suspended in the glow without pattern or sense, moving around slowly. He drew in his breath. “What is that?” he whispered.

---

Fyanha held up her hand. They stopped. Luno looked at her. “What is it?” “There’s a dressmaker down this sidestreet.” She pointed. “I’m taking Nera and we’re getting some new dresses.” He nodded, “I’ll go on to the temple then, see you two there tonight?” Fyanha nodded and took Nera’s hand, who looked at her, eyes still wide open. A wide smile lit up her face and Fyanha smiled along. Luno watched the two as they walked off, then turned back to the road and kept on walking.
Nera liked the sorceress. Every teacher she had had in her life had told her never to trust a demon, or demonspawn. She had not liked a single one of those teachers. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. They called her cursed. They hated her. And here she was, in the largest city in the world, hand in hand with someone who felt like a big sister, someone like her. Cursed and powerful. Her smile grew even brighter and wider.

---

Since the three companions he had picked up so far were all doing their own things, Luno took his time getting back to the temple. He spoke to a few people in the street, asking them about their concerns for the city, that sort of thing. While he didn’t really care, it was still good to pay attention. He was the Champion after all.
He wondered about the young assassin Nathaniel was chasing. Had he seen him before? He thought so, must have seen him in the temple. The temple in the undercity trained assassins and Luno had trained there for a while, although training down there was a private thing, at least it had been for him. The undercity was a marvel of magic and power, defying most logic just by being there. Life, underground. So many possible problems taken care of by magic only possible here, Rasnach. The City of the Gods.

//

Finally another Gift update.
Not sure about.. quality?
Oh well. Be nice and leave a comment?
Can be just a nice little, "I read this." or eh, "You did this right and this and this and this wrong and you could do it like this and this~" The first is nice but the second is more useful?

Oh well any comments are nice. Thanks in advance~

The Void.

I would like to give you a gift.
A gift of nothing.
How can nothing have value?
Let me tell you.

Without nothing,
Everything is meaningless.
This gift is not a small thing.
Yet it has no size, no weight.

Nothing.
The void.
Unending in all directions.
Black and grey and white.

See this void.
Feel this emptiness.
Hear the whispers.
Touch the insubstantial.

A gift of such enormous proportions,
You might not even realize what I am offering.
The beginning, the genesis.
The end, the apocalypse.

How can we understand existence,
Without knowing what lies beyond?
Before it all started.
After is has all gone away.

My gift is freedom.
My gift is serenity.
There is no judgement.
There is no one watching.

The void hears our prayers.
The void excuses our sins.
The void sees our deeds.
The void is waiting.