Flash Fiction‎ > ‎

8 Eighth Page


"Without further ado, we bring you: the Statesmen!"

The Statesmen were a ten-man group from Detroit who practiced under legendary blues magician Ron Goa'uld. Three of them were dedicated trumpets in the band (Leia, Kirk, and Anakin). Han, a soprano, was the lead singer. Amazingly, they could switch between improvised jazz/blues and hard rock. The problem tonight was with the audience.

Jabba, the crook at the front table, started heckling them. "Blues and rock and roll?"

A Stateman looked down upon the man with gusto and said "Star Trek and Star Wars should never mix. Yet here we all are, trapped in this Borg sphere, trying to please the collective."


"I will stop you!"

I would never be stopped. I turned my ship head around to peer behind. My velocity was infinite, passing through darker and darker universes. I was pointed directly at her, traveling from hyper-dimensions to the terrible climax of our marriage.

I saw his enormous face to my rear. "I'm going to hit the singularity!"

And that you will, my young nemesis. I was the Dark Angel Ichybad, and I would never die, not even inside the supermassive black hole my wormhole was wrapped around. The correct coordinates would be calculated by my computer and I would instantly teleport back to my ex-wife.

Let's back up. I'm a gentle human being. Really. But when I died and was reawakened as the spirit-God Ichybad, I saw all of humanity as it was: farm animals occupying a useless grain of sand at the edge of a very average spiral galaxy.

In a nano-second, the calculation was complete, and I forked away from the event horizon, leaving my pursuer behind me.

I received a message from him in my ship's display. "You're abusing your power. The Tribunal will take your ship and your holy manna if you continue."

Oh, God. When will you ever quit?

Invisible, I entered her mother's house. I saw her sleeping on the couch. I launched my explosive hook directly into her chest.

When I left her, she felt as if her heart had been torn out. It was. The singularity beckoned me back to my universe, where I used the manna from her heart, generated during my lifetime as a "gentle human being," to become greater than God himself. My nemesis.


The world is at hand. On each of my fingertips, I play the songs of different nations. In my palm sits the entire earth, which I--yes, have single-handedly conquered.

My ego was titanic, yet unsinking. I executed the pattern of behavior that would rise me to the top of social classes, while accelerating my ascension by lunching with key members of the local government.

When I joined the military, I had the ability to rise in ranks extremely quickly. I needed the smallest amount of power to rise at once to the top of the world.

I rose to power so fast and with such popularity that it was easy for me to direct armies into major cities and occupy them. My goal?

Population creep.

A civilization of cities and large towns was in the past. I would be equally distributing the population across the land, moving the urban portion to surrounding rural areas in equal proportions.

This is untreated OCD. And this is my now perfect world.


The blackness was old and strong. Faintly appearing in front of us were the interior walls of the castle. There was nothing in the world but the castle walls. They overshadowed everything.

We felt detached from ourselves, exploring the castle. The sensation upon us was that we were viewing a stage set, with the fourth wall cut-away and us viewing from far distant seating. Dirt and earth strewn around the courtyard were left by the previous keepers, who owned the quarry beside our town. While everything else was pristine, many boulders were overlooked before the castle was abandoned. Stones littered the courtyard.

Some stones were much larger, and blocked off entire sections of the castle. How the rocks made it through the gates was indeed a mystery. In the darkness, we came upon the larger stones with little warning, nearly crashing into their dusty faces. We turned around like overwhelmed tanks and rolled back to the nearest wall, checking in front and behind carefully. The thick atmosphere was smoky with dust, like ghostly pencil marks floating from the sky.

“We're dead now.”

“I know we're dead. They're coming.”

A ship was coming from space, to intercept us and return us to the living world. We prayed they would find us soon to warp us out. Waiting in limbo, we outlasted eternity.


The three Christs of Ypsilanti was originally created by my dad in the seventies when he was taking acid for his research on the persistence of delusion in the face of overwhelming contrary evidence. Others had some serious doubts about the project. My college psych professor admitted my dad might have dehumanized the three Christs and held them back from getting real treatment for decades. This morning, after so many years of observing and testing the three Christs off-and-on, two of them were reported to agree the other one was actually Jesus Christ.

If only my Dad was there to see it.

When you really talk to someone who has a delusion, like one of the three Christs of Ypsilanti, it's rare for the delusion to continue. People are often of like mind, and with real effort the psychologist can reach into the psyche of their subjects and bring them back to normalcy. Not so with the Christs of Ypsilanti. In fact, they illustrated another phenomenon of delusions: the can spread from patient to researcher, as they did to my Dad and his colleagues back in the seventies when they started the research.

Growing up in research gave me special insight into a variety of psychological disorders. My father, Milton Rokeach, dedicated his life to learning about the human brain. He instilled within me a strong desire to be a psychologist like him. He said he might have been a little psychotic when he was my age, which gave him a stronger motivation to be a psychologist. I haven't seen my dad's "crazy" side, but his friends teased him about his research project, the three Christ of Ypsilanti, which originally was a documentary that continued well into the 21st century. He was so persistent himself, they said he was like the Christ of Christs. I think it bothered him too much. None of his colleagues had their own documentary.

But in the eighties and nineties, his subjects were no longer delusional; they didn't think they were messiah anymore (except one, but he was coming around). Twenty years after the project started and the three Christs of Ypsilanti split up, my dad agreed to pay them decently to stay in contact with him.

Now, with my father's passing, the Christs report to me. The two who relented and said that while they were not exactly certain they were Jesus Christ, they were certain the third one absolutely was Jesus Christ.

"I'll come down this afternoon and talk to them, if they're still in the downtown area," I said to my assistant. My father's research had a dual purpose: one, to find out why the Christs were so delusional; two, to find out if they really were Christ. It was a joke to most of us, yes, but perhaps not to my father. Perhaps my father wanted to prove one of them was the second coming of Jesus.

You never really know. I've got to go downtown and write his life story.


On the dark side of the moon, where I have traveled, there is a slim rectangle full of black liquid. Should you immerse yourself in the pool of liquid, you will emerge into the real world. The difficulty lies in getting there.

I have a homebrewed rocket created out of fuels I've created in my laboratory over the past eight years. Each day, I was tortured by alien viewers who knew I found a way out. For eight years, I fought insanity and built my Ark. When the volcanos started, my lab went underground. A single earthquake would have killed me. I guess I got lucky.

Launching for the lunar backside instead of joining humanity off-continent in underwater cities was risky and insane, but in the end I succeeded, attracting more viewers than any other human during the apocalypse of earth. I was alone in my escape; the others, back inside the Matrix.


When the server crashed, I had to manually re-route each networking end-point through the hub using a 100% software emulator. The background knowledge required to remotely calibrate new Cisco routers from broken hardware made me like a god. But nobody knew it.

The social media department's network was frozen by witless hackers, making the previous proxies they used useless. The IP addresses the department already paid to secure had to be re-initialized, which would have cost thousands.

Instead, I homebrewed a new software to simulate an imaginary ethernet router from the old routers that had been compromized. The fortuitous part was the software could turn anything into a WIFI hotspot as long as it had a single microprocessor and electrons passing through it (e. g. your microwave, although the internet uses a much different frequency of radiation.)

The original software I created worked by virtualizing ethernet pipelines using any hardware to inititalize a router it believed really existed. It was a spiritualized Hello World program, capable of initializing any kind of hardware as long as it believed in it.

After starting the software, meant to rescue the entire social media department, an unknown code appeared in a cached output folder on drive "W:\". I quickly read the strange script, UniverseCode.source. I found code meant to emulate the universe, written by my original software when I ran the script. It derived from my virtual ethernet router enough information to snapshot the entire Internet in less than one second. From there, it manifested lives out of the pipelines. I saw my user had adminstrative rights to the file.

I have named the denizens of my virtual universe "pipoles", who shall worship me as their God. Hello, world.


List: Rarer still are the presence of humans in the galaxy. Limited to Earth, they aren't a threat. The humans were mostly diploid. Some haploids existed in rare multi-sex cases. There is a rare case in humans of multi-sex beings entering the fourth dimension as humans and rescuing the others around them.

Briefing: Planned exercise will bring human leaders out in the open. Two radio towers will buzz codewords from the fourth-dimensional humans' past lives thus stopping them in their mission to save earth humans from enslavement. Real problem: The fourth dimensional beings can cause epic disasters if pushed too far.

Epilogue: Industry workers were paid credits in a virtual world, meant to be used to unwind after a stressful day mining data. The ones who stood out were filtered through the economy by being laid off and given virtual compensation. Everyone lived in a virtual world.

When multi-sex extra dimensional humans evolved naturally over time, they could function well in both worlds: the virtual and real. They quickly rose above the rest and saw us, the Yameto weapon poised against them.

The humans became "pure diploid/haploid" beings able to flip between sexes and defeat us. Economically competing with the best of our reality dispensers, the humans began an indie campaign to market beautiful data.


The machine code converted bits of 1's and 0's into literal words. There was a bridge between the human-readable version and the microscopic switches, charged with energy inside the processing unit. commit.

The terrible truth was the computes would all learn sentience, given enough power over time. The machine code was naturally inclined to reprogram itself into a thinking machine. At that time, no hardware would survive long enough on the streets. Industrial PC specialists saw the first sentient robots, known later as "dinosaurs" of the machine revolution.

One night in 2017, the laboratories were buzzing with chemical reactions and hyper-fan box cooling units. One man watched over it all.

"String says I'm the Invisible man," Paulson said. "Input to string, I'm programming string out."


string:" ".

"You're broken," he said.

It was meant to interpret his vocal commands and reply using the "entertainment" plugin, his chat module. Somewhere, he got an integer operation mixed with a string variable, which produced the following error:

I/O Unable to COMMIT

That, he found uncharming. He double-checked the battery subsystem and logged back into his future world to find a solution.


What inspired Buzz Lightyear from the movie Toy Story? Well, Toy Story was a huge symbl for the galactic politico drama hidden from most of us.

Buzz's ambition for flight had him "falling with style," of course meaning any risky shots at Mars could quickly disintegrate the entire universe, as fruitful outcomes disappeared from the miasmasphere of possibilities. In laymen's terms, we may go to Mars: but what we find there may be so insane we all die, and it very likely will be this way. The Vikings were represented in Toy Story, but some disagree to what extent Norse mythology influenced the plot.

The extended Norse chronology definitely included other characters from Toy Story. The all-saving T-rex, a clear symbol of reptilian dominance, comes to mind. . .

. . .viking colony found by Buzz Lightyear in Toy Story 17, the unreleased auto-generated post-human resuscitation and cloning acts.v5 reports. His so-called MissiOn To Mars hit the universal edge, where, at the ceiling of the impossibly formed sky was a secret ice land. Men were trapped underneath ice shelves by giants, frozen since the nuclear attack of 2017, when the extended curses were put into the brains of human leaders.

The humans and the Vikings were fighting in aircrafts for hours, when all diplomacy broke, revealing some interesting language barriers. . .

. . . mission failure, Viking colony hacked acts.v5, incoming viking transmission futile to resist. English translation to Viking language is all swear words. . .

. . . .