The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Man’s Last hope
01:32 Sep 16 2013
Times Read: 835




The Nietzschean ideal given form, this child of another world had found succour, then a family on Earth, eventually becoming the planet’s greatest guardian.



He had looked after his adopted homeworld for hundreds of years, watching many of those he had fought alongside die, as he continued to thrive, his body ageing little, under the yellow sun, which bestowed upon him many great powers.



But finally, this child of another world grew tired with man’s inhumanity to his fellow man, with the understanding that ‘might is right’ and, having nuclear arms made a nation able to tell another what to do and how to live.



To him, that wasn’t what his adoptive parents had taught him, so he devised a plan.



Then came a day, his D-Day, his day of man’s Deliverance from the nuclear menace he had caused through its proliferation.



Under great protest from each of the individual countries he had gathered up the nuclear arsenal from each and taken them into space, tied together with many chains, with a length of thick high-tensile cable attached, which he towed, as he sought a safe place to detonate them, with his heat vision. That had been the idea.



But the idea had proved harder to accomplish than Earth’s protector had at first envisaged, as wherever in the Galaxy he towed his cargo there was sentient Life.



With all Life sacred, he had continued to fly on, seeking a safe place to unload his cargo, finding it eventually on the fringes of another universe, one with a red sun, that affected the metahuman, eradicating many of his powers, flight included.



Yet, with a mission to fulfil, one that he’d realised might prove his last, the hero used a small space-craft and began his final journey, towing his lethal cargo, by tractor-beam, into the heart of the old sun.



Needless to say, heat vision had not been required and, the warheads had detonated as intended, almost all at once, producing a shock-wave that sent ripple of destruction throughout it’s lifeless galaxy, causing destruction in it’s wake.



Yet, with the initial protection provided by his suit and the small space-craft, the hero was not killed, as he’d expected. Instead, he had been flung far away, very far away; from the direction of the home he’d sought to save, with this selfless act.



Finally the blast took its toll on both the craft and the environmental suit he wore, stripping them from him, leaving him in the blue and red costume that made him instantly recognizable, on Earth.



Yet, by that time he was safe himself, back under a yellow sun, that imbued him with the power he needed to rejuvenate his battered body; then and only then, was he able to seek his beloved Earth once more.



And he flew; through galaxies he’d not seen before, quickly realizing how far he had been flung, with the final death of the old dying red sun, the blast of energy and, the ensuing shockwave.



Many had been his tribulations on his journey homeward, facing trials that would easily rival those of the mythological Hercules, none as great as when he had saved an aquatic race from a nebulous gaseous lifeform, intent on their enslavement.



He had inhaled the adversary and held his breath; then he’d taken it away from its intended victims, to another world, one with no other lifeforms. There he had finally exhaled and, left the nebulous gaseous lifeform alone.



He had not returned to the aquatic world with gratitude, he sought no appreciation; but if he had he would have seen how much he became an icon, for a lifeform much like Earth’s dolphins. But, instead, he had continued his journey home.



And then, as the Earth came into sight a small piece of roc from his own homeplanet found him, a small red crystal, that temporarily affected his powers and suddenly he’d no power of flight, as he had come under the influence of Earth’s gravity, that had caught him, drawing him earthward, and, through the radiation field, that tore at him and, at his costume, of red and blue.



He fell with great speed, the impetus of the fall creating great friction against his body. Flames grew around him and, the uniform of red and blue was burnt away, leaving him naked.



Finally, he hit Earth, resembling little more than a skeleton, covered in skin; more dead than alive.



After a day passed the suns ray’s rejuvenated his body once more and, he was able to stand and look around himself at the devastated, scorched land.



He looked down to the ground and used spectral vision on a sample of soil on his hand: “Irradiated,” he muttered.



At full power under the yellow sun, Earth’s last hero jumped, then flew, using used his heightened vision to scan further afield,



Then he looked at the sun above, realising the Earth was not quite where he’d expected. It had shifted its axis somewhat and, he’d seen no sign of life.



The flying man searched on, for days, before realising the inevitable; he had been thrown far, far away by the blast and into Earths future.



Disconsolate at what he’d seen and knew, he knelt and looked up to the stars as he wept, realising he hadn’t got rid of all man’s nuclear arms.



Now, he was The Last Son Of Earth…

Brome’s Line
23:58 Sep 01 2013
Times Read: 852

Brome’s Line



Intro:



The sun shone though the small window, high above his head, the vertical bars creating shadows on the wall before him and Brome sighed.



He lay on the top bunk, his hands folded behind his head, his prison uniform gone, whilst the guard fetched him his clothes from the out.



Brome hadn’t been pumped when he had entered the penal system, but he was now.



He was well-muscled, blue-eyed and had survived five years already, with the prospect of twenty more t come.



Lighting a pre-built, Brome placed the ashtray on his flat stomach and he inhaled, recalling the events of the previous day.



He held his breath, recalling the events of the previous day.



Then having filled his lungs, Brome held his breath, recalling the events of the previous day and thought of the governor’s warm greeting, as he smiled a friendly sort of crocodile smile.



Brome exhaled, watching the blue-grey smoke billow out and he grimaced at his next thought, ‘I should have known back then there was something wrong, the way he’d greeted me.’



Then drawing hard on the smoke, he filled his lungs as he remembered the rest…



A small man in an overly large white lab-coat had stood to the governor’s right; a fellow with little hair and black horn-rimmed spectacles. He sweated a lot, wringing his hands together, obviously feeling most subconscious.



There had also been two guards armed with stasis rifles, who left the office at the governor’s insistence. It was once the men had gone that the fellow in the white coat had stepped around the desk, to stand before the much taller and well-built Brome.



Brome:



Glancing from the governor to the short scientist in his oversize white-coat, I’d waited, to hear who would speak first.



It’d been the governor who had spoken first, the little pudgy fingers of both hands interlaced before him; his elbows on the desk.



Governor Broughton had said in a quiet voice of authority: “It would behove you to listen to what Simmons here has to say…”



As Broughton had spoken he had nodded twice, as if to emphasise his words. They had not needed it. I had figured back then that whatever went down, it had to be better than I was looking to. Now, I’m not too sure…



Now as for Simmons? Well, he had looked like one nervous little scientist, hands clasped together in front of him, as he turned them, his eyes darting round the room. Abruptly he’d startd speaking once more.



Tensing and relaxing the muscles in my legs, I’d rocked back and forth a little to hold still, as Simmons had droned on and on. Finally I stopped rocking and leant forward, my hands flat on the governor’s desk.



“He talks a lot, don’t he,” I’d told the governor, looking him straight in the eyes.



And, Simmons had stopped, at last.



“Governor, just ‘coz I’m a lifer doesn’t mean I want to be bored. Cut it to the quick, will ya?” I’d told him, fast.



I had leant forward a little further, my face inches from his… He hadn’t flinched.

I’ll give him nine outta ten for that: only nine ‘coz I’m sure I saw a bead of sweat appear on the fellows forehead,



Either way, I’d pushed myself into a standing position, then saluted Governor Broughton: “I’ll be quiet… Sir!” I’d told him, finishing the salute with a smart flourish, before dropping my arm to my side.



“Whether you’re being sarcastic, or,…?” He opined, a frown crossing his brow.



“No Sir!” I’d snapped back in retort.



“Be that as may…” he’d muttered, “Now Simmons, will you simplify this, please?”



Sweat showing beneath the arms of his oversize white coat the little scientist blushed, spluttered somewhat, then said to me, “You will be free of these walls, just not here and now.”



Then with beads of sweat on his forehead, a smile had crossed the little fellows face. What’s more, Governor Broughton liked the A/C on full.



“Ahem…” he looked as though he were searching for words. It had been then that Broughton had interjected: Simply the process will you Simmons?”



“Ahem… Ahem…” He’d coughed, into his right cupped hand, quite unnecessarily, I’d thought,



Then after sip of water, the scientist had continued speaking; “It just takes a small prick…” Yes, I’d suppressed laughter…



“And, the solution will bridge your DNA with that of an ancestor, in your bloodline and, create a switch between the two subject personalities…” He had paused a moment, to see if I’d been listening. I had been, so asked, “A switch?”



The smile had dominated the little man’s face, as he had responded, with arms gesticulating wildly; “Yes, you see… I had been accurate before…”



Then having paced the room briefly, the little fellow stopped and turned toward me, “You will be a pioneer Brome,” he had told me earnestly, “You must say ‘yes’…”



Well, as he had waited for an answer, Broughton had watched me, elbows on the disk, hands clasped and his chin resting on the back of them, as he tried to gauge how I felt about the proposition.



Now playing poker with the fella’s I have, you learn not to show your hand; but this was different. This was as clear as it was. A simple choice, take it, or not.



“I have a few simple requests governor!” I’d informed him, “Other than that, I’ll be your guinea-pig. After all, I have nothing to lose and…



“Freedom to gain?” Governor Broughton had suggested.



And…



All that had been the day prior: Since then Brome had eaten well and enjoyed some whiskey, from the cabinet in the governor’s office.



Now he lay on the top bunk, his hands folded behind his head, his prison uniform gone, whilst the guard fetched him his clothes from the out.



Finally the door opened and P.O. Kendrick the tall crew-cut ginger head in blue stood there with a large cardboard box in both outstretched arms, “Here…” He called.



Brome turned his head toward the Prison Office, who quite obviously did not like being where he was.



“Bring it over here,” he instructed, with a graceful wave of his smoke.



“You…” ‘bring it yourself’, Kendrick wanted to say; yet he liked the pay, so continued, “will probably have put on some weight since you wore these last?”



‘It had been five years?’ Brome mused, thinking back to that day, that fateful day all those years ago, when he’d receive his sentence.



Now, here he was, about to take great risk, with the chance of little to gain and the possibility of an uncertain future.



“Well, that’s life,” he muttered, philosophically.



Having donned his street clothes, Brome was led from his cell and down a long corridor, to a small room, where Simmons waited with a needle in his hand.



Brome:



I can’t help but feel really strange as that drug courses through me. And I know there’s no chance of breaking the restraints, but I try. And, something feels different, quickly: I can feel my mind being torn, my language changing, as thought not mine subverts my sense of self, as I slip into another form, somewhere else in time, in my own bloodline.



And…



I lift my head, suddenly aware of the crowds me; and, my grandfather missing from the pedestal in front of me.



My hands are no longer restrained, but tied behind me and my memory tells me that my family, my beloved Marie, is in jail, awaiting execution, just like me.



‘Execution!?!’ I panic, for a millisecond: and I recall my sentence and all those years behind four walls, both behind and ahead of me. At least here and now, I will die free of those walls and, a King’s death… After all, the fella I was had the guts to pardon his killers… Now what sort of man was…





Epilogue:





The blade fell at 10:22 a.m. in the year 1793 and one of the executioners assistants held the head aloft, before the cheering crowd, who cried “Vive la Nation! Viva Rėpublique!” Then a artillery salute had rung out, a noise that reached the ears of the imprisoned royal family.



Meanwhile, in a different time and place, Governor Broughton stood in the corridor outside his office, watching the two officers.



The two guards who had been assigned to Simmons had unstrapped Brome and used force techniques to man-handle the big man to solitary, as he ranted, “I was tried for high treason, before the National Convention. And they found me guilty! Louis the Sixteenth!” He had continued shouting, as the guards removed the body of Brome from his sight and hearing: “All I wanted was to help… my people…”



Behind his cell door the former monarch in his descendant’s body continued to shout, into the dark outside his cell.



It was dark, as there were no need of lighting, were so few ever visited…



“I pardon those, who are the cause of my misfortune…” He called, a last time.



Then, days later, a trustee had found his duties too onerous, so decided to take five, in the dark level of solitary, where he took his brush and tin of smokes.



As the old man lit his smoke, a croaky voice called out to him, from a cell, “Please… let me free…” The con looked down to his brush, hissed through his remaining front teeth and he muttered, “Yeah, you ‘n me; you ‘n me fella…”







*









{edited, thanks to a Nice Fellow}