A Place to Write

            Greg came home looking a mess. His hair was tousled, but not in that “I just had sex” kind of way. It was more of a not-so-subtle “I just had to fight for my very life and nearly died” sort of way. There was blood running from the corner of his mouth, one eye was swollen shut, and somehow there were a large number of burn holes in his once perfectly ironed shirt.

            I took a long look at him and he looked back at me. His expression, despite the limited range of facial motion afforded to him with that blackened eye, held a strong concentration of blame directed at me. I took a few more seconds to consider the scene before I spoke.

            “So… I’m guessing she said no to anal, huh?”

            It’s not enough to simply win; to see your opponent beaten and frustrated. No, not nearly enough. You have to destroy him completely. Take the trophy and beat him with it over and over. Kill him with your superiority.

            She slapped him clear across his ruggedly handsome face. He didn’t respond at all though; he was stunned to complete silence. Yes, he’d made a bawdy comment about what he might do to her ample bosom, but that was how Gaston always spoke to the bar maids. That was part of their job, right?

            He was still stunned several long seconds later as he watched her equally ample bottom sashaying back to the bar.

            Gaston had apparently never met a woman before.

            The pages all blur together after a while. In truth, he liked it that way. Yes, it was something of a strain on the eye, but the speed with which he absorbed that precious knowledge was dizzying.

            Barnard Watts had a super power. He could read faster than any human being could ever hope. Bernard could absorb an entire set of encyclopedias in less than 30 minutes time. As might be expected, he spent a great deal of time in libraries. Libraries, you ask? Why not just browse Wikipedia for a day or so and know everything there is to know?

Well you see, the one caveat to his power was that he had to physically touch the book and flip its pages to gain its treasured contents. It didn’t work with a computer screen and so the internet, wealth of information that it is, was of little interest to this unsung superhero.

Bernard spend his days, and even some of his nights when he managed to hide from the library staff, tucked comfortably under a fortress of books. He knew everything there was to know on a myriad of subjects. He could tell you how to build a television from scratch, or how to row up a raging river in kayak. He could teach you to cook any one of a million different meals, or the proper technique to track down a deadly Siberian Tiger.

Yes, it was true, Bernard knew just about everything, and he was learning more all the time. There was just one problem, one tiny oversight that managed to escape his indomitable reservoir of knowledge.

Bernard had no friends. No one really liked to be around him because of how often he would correct people on even the slightest error. He knew that people didn’t like this, but try as he might, he couldn’t stop the behavior. The knowledge was right there, just begging to be shouted out, and he simply had to demonstrate it.

No matter how many books he read, or how much knowledge he absorbed, Bernard was a dyed-in-the-wool know-it-all, and nobody likes a know-it-all.

So yeah, I don’t have anything awesome to post at the moment. I though I might post this crappy excuse for why there isn’t an awesome piece of fiction taking up this space.

I’m eyeballs deep in learning how to code. So damn much math…

It’s overwhelming, but somehow… I think I might like it… maybe. I haven’t really decided yet.

            Brown paper packages tied up with string. There were two of them on my doorstep this morning. They were both addressed to me. Where there would normally be a return address there was only dark brownish-red stain, like old blood. The packages had been there a long time, on my doorstep. From the wear and weather damage, I guessed that a minimum of several months had passed for these brown paper packages tided up with string.

            I opened the first package. Inside was a strip of very old leather, partially burned, and heavily damaged from excessive handling. It had been rubbed to almost perfect smoothness except for the burned section. Holding it gave me a sensation of deep peace followed by a few long seconds of abject terror.

            Beneath the leather strip was a note hastily written on a piece of crumbled, wide-rule notebook paper. The handwriting was nearly illegible and written in more of that dark brownish-red stain.

            “This is the last piece. I love you and hope to see you soon.” Stated the note, plainly.  I haven’t opened the other package.

            I dropped a dirty sock over the balcony today. Thirteen stories it fluttered downward, end over end until it landed neatly inside an elderly woman’s grocery bag.

            That outta teach her.

            Doran’s sword was a heavy one; forged from the molten core of his homeworld, Ikoh, it was said to be able to cleave through any foe. The rumors were true for several millennia. Doran and his enormous blade were feared the Omniverse over. None dared face him in single combat; at least not until I showed up.

            He’s dead now, Dorian is, and his legendary blade has been shattered. I know what you’re thinking. Who do I think I am, and how did I get so bold? Let me tell you something. There’s always a bigger fish, always someone that eventually comes along with a bigger sword or more magical might.

I’m no exception. Someday someone will hunt me down and try to kill me just for the glory of it. They may succeed at it too. That’s not the point though. You can’t live your life worrying about that eventual bigger fish; but look at me, I’ve gotten completely sidetracked.

Why did I kill Doran? How did I do it? To learn the answers to those questions we’ll need to talk about the essence of power and what it costs. Power, in truth, is really the only law of nature. We try and delude ourselves by coming up with fancy names like “Civilization” and “Society,” but it’s really all about power.

So how does one get power? There are a number of ways to go about it, but really the only way to get a reasonable amount of power is to either take it from someone else, or to buy it. No power comes for free. Doran got his power though beating others and absorbing their strength. He had it easy if you ask me. Not all of us can leech it like that. When a powerful being dies, normally all that power is vented back into the Omniverse. It tends to collect at specific points. These points are the natural dips and bowls in the topology of the Omniverse. Ever wonder what made those dips?

Yep, there are really really powerful things out there; beings too powerful to even be contained within a single Universe. Power comes to them naturally, like rain running into a gutter. The thing is, to them it’s just that, runoff. Power on their scale is an entirely different game.

That’s where I come in. You see, if you know the right people, you can buy that “runoff” power. The price is aggravatingly high though. Those beings aren’t stupid. They know how much it’s worth to us, even if it’s just pittance to them. They have odd prices too, things that you wouldn’t expect to be bargaining with; things that you don’t know the value of until you’ve already sold them.

In the end though, the price is worth it. Maybe not to everyone, but to me, seeing the look in that pompous bastard’s eyes just as he realized he was nothing, was worth every memory stolen from me. That tyrant destroyed my family, killed my wife… my children…

If only I could remember their faces…