What its all about...

As a fan of table top Role Playing Games, and Video Games, not to mention anime I once had a web site that I devoted to creating conversions of the things I liked to a particular game system or another.

Well I'm back and its time to get back to posting and talking about the things I like with others.

Video Games: I will be trying to write reviews for games I play and may even work out conversions of games to table top RPG's for gamers to enjoy, or at least I will give a guiding hand rather than doing all the work myself. Unfortunately the only game system I own is an X-Box 360, and my computer which kind of limits what I can do. Unless some kind soul wants to buy me an X-Box One. :)

Table Top RPG's: I play a few different table top games along with my friends. Sometimes I will write about a game system I have read up on or tried out, and may write up a conversion for agame system. Game systems I typically play are - Hero System (Champions, Fantasy Hero); Star Wars (Fantasy Flight Version, Saga Edition); Savage Worlds, D&D (3.5 Edition, 5th Edition); Pathfinder, and possibly others in the future.

But I look forward to providing folks with some entertainment and to get some discussions going on things I may post (but please keep it civil).

Also please feel free to click on any ads that are on my blog here, doing so really helps me out.

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

My Writing Class Final Project - Short Story Draft #3

So the semester is over and the final writing project has been submitted.  This story is the 3rd draft of the first.  For those who don't know, writing stories is a process of making many drafts.  So this is hardly a final draft of what the story could become.  The great thing about what's come from this class is that I was told by the instructor that I should look into publishing.

Well I'll be doing that, but first I gotta share it with those who take time to follow creations.

Legal:  The short story below is my own creation, any resemblance to character's living or dead is purely coincidental.  The following short story is an original creation by me (Sean Ropp), and is my  intellectual property.  No distribution my legally occur without my expressed consent.

~~~~

Death is a Bugger
By: Sean Ropp (03/20/2019)

He heaved out a heavy sigh.  The reflection in the bathroom mirror was not one that inspire confidence. Another sigh escaped as he examined the paunch that was his gut which seemed larger than it had been the other day. It must have been his imagination.  His hand strayed up to the goose egg of a scar on his chest and rubbed at it.  It felt like something was growing, painfully, under the skin. He had taken a shower and strayed away to give the room time to clear of steam, but the self-examination only made him wish that the mirror was still obscured.

He remembered how he acquired the scar, a mishap of his youth involving his old dog, a squirrel, and not being ready for just how strong and determined that dog had been to get its quarry.  She had dragged him for a few short feet through the gravel of the alley they ventured down.  These days alley ways were often paved, but twenty some years ago you got dirt and sharpened gravel instead.  His shirt, torn, bloodied from the scrapes and cuts, while that one spot on his chest had been the lucky recipient of its very own souvenir to take home.

Glancing down and opening a drawer, he pulled out a tube of hydrocortisone cream.  Maybe if he had gone to the hospital to get it cleaned out properly back then it wouldn’t be giving him problems now.  He squeezed out a dab of the cream like toothpaste on a couple of fingers and immediately massaged it in, grateful for the relief it would eventually bring.  Of course, the dark pink scar was not egg shaped, but more like a guitar shape. Well from a certain point of view it looked like one.

Once thin and fit, a soldier in the U.S. Army, he hardly looked the cut of a soldier now.  Exercising wasn’t something he ever enjoyed and seeing how he worked in an office as a security consultant he found excuses to not stay fit.  At least he had the day off, plenty of time to sulk and lament upon the long lost six pack.  He also needed to go get groceries, and the sunny day meant shelving the lamentations for later.  With his attention focused on the scar as he applied another dab of ointment, he was only faintly aware of the barely open door behind him swinging in further as someone entered.  He was home alone, and his wife should not be off work for another six hours.

He turned, the man he faced looked almost like himself, save for a few distinctions.  His doppelganger was dressed in mostly tight-fitting clothing that accented his muscular physique.  The face, so much like his own, differed in that a long scar curved across from the corner of his upper lip to just below the corner of his left eye.  His eyes drifted down now to what the man had leveled at him, an odd pistol.

“What the hell?”  Was all he got out as his twin pulled the trigger.

~~~~

His senses burst with the pain of a red-hot needle jamming through his chest!  Dimly aware from the flare of pain, he noticed the weapon emitted only a high pitch screech with greenish-white light.  There was no recoil for the pistol, and the impact did not shove him back like a bullet impact would.  Smoke curled up to fill his nose with a scent of something akin to cooked pork and beef with a heavy overlaying charcoal scent.

            His eyes drifted down and looked at the small smoking hole that had been punched through him, through his scar.  “I just put ointment on that.”  He found himself saying as the strength poured from his body as if someone had just cut the bottom off a balloon to let all the air out.  He crumpled and sagged against the towel rack, ripping pulling towels and it down with him.  His mind reeled, color drained from him, and his thoughts drifted to his wife.  She would come home to find him like this!  Damn, he forgot the flush the toilet!  He never flushed when he was done since the scar had pained him at that necessary point.  Why was he not more worried for his wife?

            Casually, his assassin turned his attention to the ointment that was laying on the floor from where it fell.  He picked it up and examined it.  Then tucking the pistol under an arm, he turned his attention to the mirror and began to apply cream to the ugly scar that ran across his face.  Maybe where ever he was from, they didn’t have any hydrocortisone cream.  Maybe what was there required violent conflicts in order to get just a bit, and this poor schlep just did not know better.

            His right hand flailed uselessly at the wound.  The killer regarded him a new as his vision was starting to fade now.  With a sighed the pistol was leveled at his head.  He said something, about his wife, the toilet maybe?  It was impossible to say as his mind was blistering with pain and lack of focus.

            The doppelganger nodded silently after a moment of contemplation, he was agreeing to something.  He turned, reached, and flushed the toilet. Once more the pistol came up, and instantly turned to black in what was all but the breadth of a hair of time.

In a place far removed from any mortal existence, someone cursed, and slammed a pair of bony hands down on a keyboard.  “Bugger it! I should have seen that coming!”  The being said.  With a sigh he hammered away at the keyboard for a few moments, correcting the mistakes that had been made with his outburst.  Only these bits could be changed, everything else, however, was set in stone once put down.

Black robes, robes that seemed to be alive and made from writhing shadows and darkness seemed to react to his mood, rippling with his irritation.  He finished his work in what one would perceive to be only a few seconds, he stood and was also no longer there in the next moment.

Two other hooded heads poked up from over a wall, seeing him go.  They looked at each other then they too were no longer there.

Most people believe that when you die you see a bright light, pearly gates, a black sand desert, flames, pits of agony, and other colorful scenes.  The man saw only darkness.  The pain was gone, and he felt like he was as light as a feather, solid, and yet not wanting to scream and lament upon what was just stolen from him.

~~~~

This is most inconvenient.”  A voice said after what felt like an hour of being adrift in this sea cool of darkness.  Wait, a voice, but he was dead?  The voice was deep, masculine, and seemed to echo from everywhere in a manner that made his teeth – if he had teeth – want to vibrate.  It was a tone of voice that seemed to come with a feeling of ‘foreboding’ and was impossible to ignore.  “Open your eyes already, we must get on with it.

The man opened his eyes, and he was not sure just how he had, the sensation was different.  He was also standing, or floating, (it was hard to say which), and his body was gone.  Well the flesh and blood one was gone, his current one had a translucent nature to itself, easy to notice when he looked down at himself.  The bathroom was still there, but was it his imagination or did it seem bigger now?  This was oddly the first thing he noticed; the second thing being the apparition that stood before him.  Its swirling black cloak had a hood pulled over a human skull that was…frowning.  Present in the skeletal beings’ hands was a scythe that seemed like some sort of impossibly ornate reaping scythe, beautiful to behold, but frightening beyond comprehension as well.

How could a skull frown?  He thought, and the eyes, no eye balls, but those eyes that bore into him were like two brilliant distant stars that cut through the darkness of the sockets they sat in, unsettling him more than a skull that could frown.

This is inconvenient, and I should have seen it coming – BUGGER IT!  Everyone has an appointed date, and now its all buggered up!  The paperwork alone…”  The being said trailing off in his own lamentations.  This Death was not as he had been expecting.

“Sorry, but I was the one shot!”  The man said heatedly.  “Bit more inconvenient for me I’d say.”

Death looked around and slumped his shoulders.  “And he’s gone too, that would figure.  He’s outside of our providence after all.”  Death regarded him now.  “John Anderson, I do apologize for the unscheduled death.  You will receive compensation for this inconvenience.

He wanted to rage and scream, and while there was a feeling of anger, irritation, and even sadness it was not the over powering emotion he would have once felt, like he could easily express, control, or just dismiss them if he wanted to.

“I feel like I should be screaming, and I’m not, why?”  John asked.

You no longer possess a body. Thus, you no longer possess glands and their chemicals that impose uncontrolled emotional outbursts in you humans while you live.”  Death explained.

Odd as it was, he processed this in mere moments, and accepted it.  An odd sense of logic, or untapped mental potential was starting to settle into his mind.  It was like he could make use of that mythical one hundred percent of his mental capabilities.  Although he knew that such claims had long been refuted, he could not help but feel that maybe, just maybe, with the trappings of life gone, all that mental power could now be put to the full use people thought possible.  And with this understanding came a question he wanted answered – why him?  Then another, why had he been killed, and then who the hell was that duplicate of himself?

~~~~

Death sighed helplessly.  “You can’t imagine the trouble this is.  And we all got the memo!  I’m such a fool.  At least I haven’t-“  He started, but was cut off as another Death suddenly was there like he/it, had always been there.  A flash of motion and its scythe was imbedded into the chest of his Death!

OH BUGGER!”  His Death bellowed helplessly as he suddenly dissipated in swirls of shadow and darkness that was almost like smoke.

This new Death looked the same as the previous one, though the presence it seemed to exude was decidedly different, almost inquisitive.  “Hey now, why’d you kill him?”  John asked.

Death number two, regarded the room intently.  As it did so, it spoke to John presenting a male persona like his original Death, though he noted a British accent to Death’s voice.  “It was necessary, though you are foolish to assume that your Death is dead.  I simply forced his return.  Now then, I require the input for which I can make sticky grey earth into square blocks.

Another Death now appeared and looked about in a flustered manner for a moment before regarding number two.  “No sign of the blighter.”  Death number three said.  “He’s scarpered like the others.”  This Death also had the same decidedly British mannerism as well, though like number two he exuded his own differing presence.

“Umm, could one of you explain to me what’s going on?  I mean, I was just killed by myself after all.”  John asked, not holding the irritation completely out of his voice.

The two looked at each other then back at John.  “Your inquiry is understandable.”  Death number two started.  “There exists an infinite number of probable possibilities of realities that is known in human terms as the multiverse.  A quantum disruption of the reality matix has occurred within the possibility continuum that has resulted in the unexpected expirations of too many mortal beings before their ascribed time.

The response John gave was a look of utter confusion.  Death number three sighed and swatted his companion on the shoulder.  “That’s not answering his question.”  He said pointedly.

But it did. It is not his fault that he cannot facility an understanding of what he is adjoined to.”  Death two said.

Death three moved a bit closer to John, again those eyes bore into him, though not in an unkind way he felt.  “Some persons have broken across the boundaries of realities. They are killing variations of themselves as they go.  You my friend are another unfortunate victim in all this.

It was strange, he became aware that the robes of these two weren’t really robes.  Both seemed to be wearing some sort of suit, with number three having an old-fashioned bowler hat on while number two seemed to be wearing two baseball caps, one facing forward and the other backwards.

Death three continued on.  “To what end this will all play out is what my associate and I are aiming to learn.

Number two seemed to smile, as disturbing as it was to see, and his starry eyes twinkled.  “The game is a body part with which one walks with.”  He intoned.

~~~~

“You mean a foot?”  John asked.

Death two nodded.  “Indeed, that is the appendage.

John sighed in frustration and stalked about the limited space.  “This is all well and good, but what am I supposed to do? Do I get a mulligan, or do I get to join in on this hunt?  You’re the damn experts, guides for the departed and all that. Well guide me!”  He said bitterly and gesturing to the two of them.

The two were silent, looking at each other as if in some sort of silent communication.  John’s hand drifted to the scar on his chest, and oddly found it there – well with a hole now added into it.  It hadn’t itched or hurt but an odd compulsion had gripped him to rub at it.  He really took stock of his appearance now since his two companions were otherwise engaged. The flab of his past self was gone and now he physically seemed to be as how he had been in his prime.  Well this was certainly proof that dying was the ultimate weight loss program.

You wish to help?”  Death two asked.

“Damn right I do, if that’s even possible.”  John said, pulling his attention back from his altered physique.

There was a knocking at the bathroom door that made John jump, and only a moment passed before the door opened and yet another Death entered.  John was not surprised by this, it was only a matter of time before another one showed up, he guessed.  This one was dressed in similar flowing ethereal ‘un-material’ as the others.  This suit seemed to be more defined, but it was shifting between a masculine cut and a more feminine one.  The suits and hats of the other two were detailed but lacked the clear defining impressions of this one.  Death number four also wore nothing upon its skeletal head and seemed to have an overall more pleasant demeanor.

Sorry boys, but this is all taking too long and we need to get this darling moving along.”  She said.   The voice seemed like that of a southern woman, but there was an underlying quality to it as well that gave the impression that a subtle shift in tone could pitch the voice to being more male, or far more distinctly as a female than as how her presence seemed to convey.  More over the voice lacked that ‘from everywhere’ quality that the others were all using.

Our palaver is not done.”  Number two, or…Holms as John was distinctly starting to think of him as, said.  “He may be of use to us.”  The Holms Death said, his voice also seemed to draw back, sounding more normal like that of Death four.

Well done or not, love, he has to move along.  It’s not like you’re in a big hurry after all.  Let’s get him squared away like the others and we’ll see if this darling can get approved to help.”  Death four said.

Death three, and if he was going to call the one Holms why not this one Watson, spoke up.  “She is right Death, we can afford to wait.  It’s not as if time were meaningful to us.

Time not meaning full, then why not just go back to before I died and put a stop to this whole mess?  John thought heatedly but stayed his tongue.  Lash out could be a mistake with these three, especially since he did not know what would happen if he did.

~~~~

Number four gestured at him.  “Come along now, lets get you to your desk.

He followed her out of the doorway, stepping through a wall of darkness that gave way to blinding light.  When his sight returned a moment later, he was standing amidst cubicles.  John glanced around and behind him.  In all directions for as far as he could perceive there stretched endless rows of cubicles. It was like looking upon the ocean and seeing it stretch out to the horizon.

Welcome to the bureaucracy of the hereafter.  Don’t worry sugar, we’ll get you orientated.”  She said in a mater-of-fact tone and welcoming gesture.

John looked and around to see into the cubicles around him, or at least some of them.  The cubicles were larger than a typical one he’d seen and used in offices.  And ones that he could not see into were obscured by some sort of thick fog.  In the other cubicles, Deaths like the one he had first met, typed away at computers.  Little to no decorations were present in them, though one had a pair of crystal vases with one live flower in one and a dead one in another.  There was even a ‘hang in there’ cat poster in another cube.

Death took him by the shoulder and started to walk him along, her touch was unsettling on his shoulder, and he noticed that he was no longer translucent.  “I know that your hurt, confused, and want your life back – but that can’t happen honey.”  She said.  Her mannerisms reminded him of a woman he once knew, Darlene had been her name, and the name he quickly applied to this new Death.

Now each Death is a fragment of the big boss, the Death of all things.”  She started.  “The boss found the work tedious to go and reap every blade of grass, insect, tree, so on and so on.  So, it created fragments of itself, and set them to all things that live.  We’re each our own Death, but under it all we are the original Death as well.

They walked for a time, he spoke briefly of his naming of them (which amused her), and she took far longer to explain things. Breaking it down, first and again, he wasn’t the only victim in this.  Second, he would, like all who die, get his own cubicle and computer.  Oh, he would be compensated for cosmic mishap, but there would be no returning to life – unless he wanted to roll the dice on reincarnation.  Each Death also did not have issues with names like mortals did, even if they were all Death. Inflection and mental awareness of whom they were talking about was easily conveyed to another Death, much like having a name of a mortal.  But she understood his imposition in this.

You’re not the only one confused by this, though you’re the first that Holms and Watson, as you call them, has taken an interest in.  Maybe it’s because this time they were close to one of the rule breakers.”  She said as the continued upon their long and uneventful walk.

There was a sudden loud ‘THUMP’ followed by a Death standing up abruptly from one of the cubicles.  “You bastard!”  She yelled, still direct and no hint of the resounding voice that the first three used.

~~~~

From an adjoining cubicle another Death stood and held up its bone hands as if to ward her off.  Don’t blame me, he’s the bastard.  He said, and John noticed that the voice and demeanor of this death was like one would assume a weaselly used car dealer to have.

Oh, don’t hand me that, you could have interceded and filled out the proper form before he killed her.  Its not like you owe me one or anything like that!  She said.  With a gesture the scythe appeared, and she faded away.  A lingering “bastard” hung in the air.

Darlene Death’s unsettling bony hand rested on his shoulder once more and urged him onward.  Around them more Deaths reacted to the lives of those they observed in different ways.  She explained how each Death recorded the life story of each living thing, another tedium the boss passed on to them, and that once a passage was entered, it could not be changed, unless there was an accidental entry that did not pertain to the life being recorded.  They could only see the here and now of time.  They could look to the past and see what had happened, yes indeed, but never the future.  On the other hand, they could break from recording a life.  Other lives could continue to be recorded, and the Death could come back and catchup with others in what one would perceive to be only seconds worth of work.

He stopped walking, and Darlene stopped as well.  “Hey, listen this is all interesting, but I want to help get this guy.  I mean there has to be something I can do to help.”  He said.

Darlene placed a hand along her chin and seemed to think about this for a moment before shaking her head.  Suddenly they were no longer in the endless field of cubicles, but in a simple office like one he used to work in.  He shook his head in disorientation as she opened a file on her desk, not having moved at all to get it from the filing cabinets from what he could perceive. Not there one moment, there the next.

Well there has been a president for it before…but the paper work is staggering sugar.  She said as she flipped through the file.  As helpful as you could be, it would be impossible for you to help right now.

He was about to protest when she held up a hand, stopping him.  You’re mortal and know nothing of how things work here.  Yes, you have knowledge and skill, but you’re not the first or only victim in this hoopla.  And you’re…fresh, too fresh to help.

John’s hand again drifted unbidden to the scar, rubbing at it as he fumed inwardly.  There had to be a way to help!  He may have been some fat guy in life, but he was never one to sit on the side and let others do work he could do.  There had to be something, anything he could do; a way to return to his life!

Suddenly they were back amongst the cubicles.  If he had a stomach he would have vomited, instead there was only a disorientation like before.  “Could…could you not do that again…please.”  He said queasily.

Sorry, I don’t get a lot of customer interaction, so to speak.  We’re at your stop anyway.  She said.


~~~~

John looked at the cubicle, a black computer, monitor and its accompanying gadgets waited for him in the other wise sparse cubicle.  Her turned back quickly to Darlene.  “Listen, I can help, I just want my life back, that’s all.  I’ll do anything to help stop all this!  Please, there has to be a way!”  He said, desperation coming too readably to his voice though he had tried to repress it.

Darlene favored him with a sympathetic look, if a skull could look sympathetic.  “Just how do you think you can help?”  She asked and waited a moment for him to respond.  When he didn’t, she continued.  “Tracking these incursions is like tracking white cats in a blizzard while blindfolded.  We don’t see it happen until we have it put down.  Death, I mean Holms, believes he sees a pattern.  I think he’s full of himself.  You are new, you have had only what I’ve told you to learn from and even that is a drop in the bucket of what you would need to know to help.

She moved him into the cubicle and pressed him down into the seat that hadn’t been there a moment ago.  He felt what hope he had been clinging to eb away.  Then he caught his emotions, she hadn’t explicitly said no to him helping at all.  No, he was new here and if there was one thing you always did with new people you hired on, (or planed too), it was to give them an orientation.  You didn’t just say, ‘Hi I know you’re new here, but I need the Smith report done by Thursday, oh and I need you to come in on Saturday, the Jones account needs some attention.  So, I’ll just put you down for the whole weekend then, great.  See you around slugger.’

His mind kicked up to speed and all that processing power that was now at his disposal came to bear on his dilemma.  John was right in his assumption, he had to be.  His new existence had rules that he was ignorant of, but there was a chance to join in somehow.  He glanced to the computer and found that it was already on, and the screen and operating system was like that of a standard Windows PC, and open on that screen was a PDF file.  Its title read:

‘So, you died early. What you need to know and what happens next.’

Glancing back, Darlene Death was gone.  She may not have been a people person, but none of the Deaths were he thought.  Holms and Watson Death were likely not as sharp as they thought themselves to be, in that he agreed with Darlene.  John pursed his lips and bent over the keyboard and mouse.  Unbidden the quote that Holms Death had screwed up flowed into his mind, ‘Data! Data! Data! I cannot make bricks without clay.’

Indeed, there were bricks to be baked here, and an infinite number of Deaths who were too self-absorbed, such as the other two Deaths (Eve and Adam as he could consider them), that they would not see the iceberg until they hit it!  The clarity, the lines of logical detail that he was thinking across were so succinct that he wondered where they had been all his life!

“Your mind was busy operating a sack of meat and glands.”  He said mostly to himself, and he laughed.  With a shake of his head and renewed hope, of a sort, he tucked into this orientation document.  He doubted he was alone in this task, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try something.  Every journey began with a step.

Absentmindedly, his hand drifted up and rubbed at the scar that was ever present on his chest.  Unknowingly, across a spectrum of infinite cubicles, amongst the living in an unending expanse of all probabilities and possibilities, others who bore the same, or at least a similar scar – all rubbed at theirs as well.  And somewhere, another Death, or maybe it was the same one, yelled “Bugger it!

Copyright: "Death is a Bugger" Sean Ropp 2019