Things to Run Away From Really Fast

★★★★★

SOLO SENTENCE ESPRESSO

The ballroom explodes into chaos as the giant chess set dismembers the guests, forcing me to escape with the elderly ghosts of the manor who then try to trap me as I escape through the cracks in reality with the maid and her sister who don't trust me after I rescue them from drowning because I can't die (from that point on, we're followed by their zombie-like blue-tinged doppelgangers who are haunting their mostly-dead father who says, "This is our eternity," and means, "This is Hell.")

Eternity. Scare Factor: 5. Rating: Awesome.

07/24/10

Something about angels that die at the same time as their human mates... I should really stop reading bad fanfiction.

I'm running away from zombies. I want to take to the water, so I steal my uncle's boat and go down the creek.

I need supplies. I find another boat, but apparently it's owned by the still-surviving Mafia. I steal the boat.

Now I'm being chased by thugs sent by the Mafia, as well as zombies. I run into a building, blasting holes through walls and ceilings, trying to make a route to the roof. I realize that I'm dreaming. I try to black out and go to the first location I think of (the apartment in Ixburg). I stop, everything around me faded to grey, and wonder why the hell I'd want to go to Ixburg. I fade back into the dream and keep running.

I make it to the roof. My enemies are right behind me. I jump down onto a white truck, and make a run for it, laughing.

Later. I'm on the road in a camper-trailer. I'm making dinner and doing dishes. Oma wonders if there's not enough protein in the pasta I made.

We're going to see a movie in Moose Jaw (real place, I do not kid). We park the camper and I step out with my cousins. I look at the showtimes, but Despicable Me isn't playing in that theatre anymore. Apparently this is the first day it's not showing. I'm very sad.

The Mafia. Scare Factor: 3.

Notes: I'm writing up an especially epic dream from two days ago, which seems to directly follow up Seven Minutes in Heaven. Basically, Castiel (from Supernatural) gets captured by someone, and I take the opportunity to thoroughly mindfuck Team Free Will.

07/14/10

I'm running through a room with a sword, slashing at zombies. I feel like Zorro, only with more stabbing.

An allied DC gets grabbed. I slice apart the zombie holding him, but I scratch him with my blade. We hope for the best.

He thinks something might happen to me. I make an offhand comment, "I don't die." I'm not worried about myself.

I step into the next room. The door slams shut behind us.

I don't have my sword. A voice informs me that I'll have to meet its challenge, or the zombies on the other side of the room will be set free. A handful of neon orange-pink guitar picks appear in my hands. I have to throw them into a 3-inch gap on the other side of the room, in front of the zombies.

I throw two, but they go wild. The creepy childlike voice informs me that if I miss again, we're all going to die.

I hold one pick in the palm of my hand. I will it to float, and slowly send it toward the bucket. It lands perfectly.

I grin at the creepy ghostlike girl that appears out of the wall. She gestures sullenly toward another door and it opens with a creak.

"At least this isn't a dream," I say to my partner, "If it was, I'd have to wake myself up. I have a doctor's appointment in the morning."

I stop and feel for dreaminess. "And now I'm lucid," I say. "I really ought to wake up, though."

I focus on dismantling the dream, aiming for a new location. We'll see if this works...

---

False awakening. I beg a friend for a ride to work. Apparently, I work at a pizza place part-time. News to me.

One of the managers says that the new guy seems depressed and it's all my fault. I sigh, and go over to talk to the guy, who's standing in the kitchen.

"Look, it's not that I don't like you." I lie, "I just move around so much, I don't like getting close to people." I kindly leave out the fact that I'm friends with the DC managers, owner, and various and sundry employees.

The creepy fucker smiles at me. I really want to punch him in the face.

Zombies. Scare Factor: 4.

A wizard violates the laws of nature when he creates human beings from scratch. And then there are zombies.

There's a shabby old farmhouse on the plain, over the crest of the hill. No roads lead to it, because in this time, there are no roads. If there's a hint of civilization in this place, it's what's been carved out of the land by its few inhabitants.



I knock on the door.

The door swings open and a middle-aged man with longish black hair answers it, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile when he realizes who I am.

"Amon." I say, "It's been a while."

He leads me inside, beaming. The inside of the house is bright and warm and filled with people. I notice the eight people in the room, most of whom are cooking and doing various odd jobs around the house. Amon is rushing away to go help with something.

I take an empty seat beside a kid who looks to be in his mid-20s. "I'm Eli," he says, "and the scary-looking guy across from me is Mark."

Mark glares menacingly from across the table.

"So, Eli," I say, "How did you come to be here?"

"Could ask you the same question." Mark interrupts.

Eli continues like he hasn't heard him. "I was a civilian consultant for the military back home. It's a long story, but the same thing that pulled all of us back here somehow pulled me in. So really, I'm from the future," he says happily.

Neat cover story.

"So, when were you from?" asks Eli.

"I need to talk to Amon." I say dismissively, and kick my chair back.

Mark stands up too, his pose threatening. "I don't know who you are," he says, "but you're not one of us. If you try to hurt any of these people, I will kill you."

I turn back to him, considering. "Duly noted."

I catch up to Amon outside. He's leaning against the wood siding of the house, staring up into the sky.

"So," I say, leaning against the wall beside him, "They're self-aware."

Amon pulls away from the wall a bit, turning to face me. "They are." He confirms. His smile becomes wistful. "Aren't they beautiful?"

"Your own perfect little creations." I say, frowning. "You know, there's a reason the creation of human life is considered a forbidden art."

"Those laws don't apply here," says Amon. "And of all people, I thought you would understand why those rules are arbitrary."

"I care little for conventional morality, Amon," I say, warning in my tone, "But this is dangerous. As my student -"

"You taught me to choose my own path," says Amon. He gestures at the door. "This is what I've chosen. These are real people, ---." He lowers his voice. "I won't abandon them."

I can't stop a smile from creeping onto my face.

One of his creations comes outside to tell us that dinner is ready. The man is smiling and holding a bowl of potatoes and a wooden spoon. I try to ignore it, but I can't help but notice that his hands are shaking.

---

Over dinner, I keep an eye on the man with the potatoes. His name is Darryl, and he's a carpenter from the 1950s. At least, he thinks he is. In reality, he's a construct whose artificial soul is straining at the bonds keeping it in place. I'm surprised the others have lasted so long.

Eli keeps trying to draw me into the conversation, but I keep one eye on Darryl throughout the meal. He's getting progressively more pale and shaky, I notice, as Eli introduces me to a pretty woman in a dress, called Solara. She's either from an alternate, apocalyptic future or a rich family in the 19th century. I'm not paying much attention.

Because Darryl is stumbling, backing away from the table into the wall, and as he collapses, a wave of energy pulses outward, knocking over every construct at the table.

I calmly set down my fork, then stand up and walk over to Amon. "I hate to say I told you so," I tell him, "but it's time to go."

"No!" says Amon, knocking my hand away. He staggers back to the other end of the room, looking over the scene with horror. "I have to help them."

"Amon." I say, approaching like I would a wounded animal. "There's nothing you can do. We need to leave before you're affected, too."

"Yes." he says, eyes wild. "Yes, yes, I can't help them," He looks straight at me. "But you can. You can fix them."

"No." I say flatly. "This is a bad idea."

He's already started the process before I can protest further, pulling soul energy from a well deep inside him, gathering it up.

I can't stop him.

"Take care of them, ---," he says, struggling to hold together the colourless swirling energy he's holding in his hands. "Please."



The soul energy hits me at the same time I feel Amon vanish from existence, gone as if he'd never been there. The energy is a rush, but I control it effortlessly, and spin around to confront the automatons that are his legacy.

The thing that was Darryl comes charging at me, and I telekinetically smash it into the wall next to me. Its feet are dangling in the air as I examine it. Gari d'amon ex hadris, I chant in nonsense Latin. I let the body fall, boneless and broken to the floor.

Mark is still half-standing, leaning against a chair for support. He's been watching with the glazed look of a man in horrible pain, but he's still somewhat alert.

I approach him in much the same way I did the zombie, cautious. I nudge him back toward the wall with a tendril of energy, but I don't lift him from the ground or slam him into the wall.

"This is going to hurt," I warn him.

Mark nods and lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed. So assured, I grip Mark's artificial soul, pulling it into a ball from his chest. I twist my wrist, watching his hands clench into fists, and let trickles of the soul-energy I absorbed from Amon sweep into the artificial soul, strenghthening it.

I don't have time for anything more elaborate. I push Mark's soul back into his body, forcing it to slice through his veins in one swift motion, sticking it there. If he could get any breath into his lungs, he would be screaming.

I leave Mark on the floor, stepping over him to the other bodies. This just might work.

In the end, I only manage to save five of them, Eli and Solara among them. The other two, I simply put down, severing their nervous systems and absorbing the very last of their energies. The once cozy farmhouse feels oppressive, haunted by the wild energy that echoes throughout. We need to leave.
"You have water?" I ask a woman, whose name I don't know. She nods silently, looking back over the farmhouse.

"Well?" says Solara, gathering up her skirts and hiking out into the desert, the opposite way I came from. "Let's get going then."

Amused, I follow after her, followed, in turn, by the rest of the group. Mark stays close behind me, though I doubt it's to watch my back. More likely, he just wants to keep an eye on me.

Eli jogs to catch up, panting as he keeps pace with me. "So, what happened back there, exactly?"

"Amon was a necromancer," I say. "He wanted to create life, so he came here. He created you." I keep my eyes on the horizon. "He couldn't sustain himself along with all of you, so he sacrificed the rest of his soul to keep you alive."

Eli blinks. "Okay, that's completely unbelievable."

I look back at him and say without inflection, "The wormhole that brought you back in time dosed you with massive amounts of radiation that was going to turn you into zombies."

"Thank you," says Eli. "Why didn't you just say that the first time?"

Eli tries to catch up to Solara. I turn back to Mark and shrug. What can you do?

I could swear I almost see Mark crack a smile.

---

The next hill brings us the view of a tall, white-panelled manor not too far off. I wonder what could have made it; we're supposed to be in a universe devoid of all sentient life, after all. The rest of the party is just relieved to see a trace of civilization, so I suppose that it's worth the risk.

We trek up the gravel road (another oddity) to the house that shouldn't be there. Eli and Solara are running inside before Mark and I have a chance to check it out - which Mark isn't happy about. We meet them inside. Solara is twirling in circles over the hardwood floor, a smile on her face as she admires the high ceilings.

I'm trying to examine my surroundings on a deeper level, but something is blocking my senses. This place might seem like heaven to Solara, but something is very wrong.

Mark's dividing us into teams. He wants Eli and Solara to stick together on the main floor, watching for any signs of life (anything to keep those two out of trouble). He sends the two nameless constructs - people - off to explore the rest of the main floor while the two of us head upstairs.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't trust me with the others." I say in a low voice, out of earshot from the rest of the group.

"I don't!" says Mark, turning around to face me on the stairs. I calculate a four foot height advantage. "You show up and suddenly, four of us are dead! What the hell do you expect?"

"If I hadn't shown up when I did, all of you would have been dead." I say, meeting his angry gaze.

"Do you remember what I told you, earlier?"

I tilt my head, walk up the last few steps until I'm standing far too close. "You said you'd kill me." I smile, and Mark takes a step back. "Would you like to try?"

We hear a scream from the main floor. Mark is rushing down the stairs toward the sound, shouting "Solara", and I follow behind at a more modest pace.

Solara has collapsed on the floor. Eli is backed up against the counter, faced by a wraith-like creature with rotting skin. Eerie green light seems to flow from its features, making the sunlight streaming in the windows seem colder somehow. Its flowing white dress seems to flutter in a non-existant breeze.

Revenant, my mind supplies me with, as it turns to face Mark. Controls illusions, typically feeds on travellers. It hasn't noticed me yet.

"Do you like my home?" the revenant asks Mark. He starts forward, but it reforms into the shape of a Chinese woman with long dark hair and modern clothing. It's someone he seems to recognize, and he freezes on the spot.

The revenant approaches him, raising one hand to his face -

I attack with a right hook to her jaw. I spin and lash out with a kick. I've left myself open. The revenent strikes with her claws, tearing my throat out. I laugh, the liquid splashing my clothes, and continue to strike at her.

Hang on, that's not fair.

What isn't? It's right on my character sheet; I'm immortal.

You should at least need some time to recuperate.

Nope.

Oh, come on, you get banished to the basement...

I take a moment to adjust to my new surroundings, dark and damp and distinctly underground. I'm in the cellar. I curse revenants in general to hell and back, but I'm not too terribly concerned with the constructs, either. Mark should be able to handle himself for a little while.

I take stock of the food in the basement, a lot of cereal and a working freezer - hey, Neapolitan ice cream. The others will be happy about that. The overhead light starts to flicker and I sigh. I see movement in the corner of the room, feel hairs raising on the back of my neck.

I spin around and catch the revenant by the throat. She's flickering back and forth between her wraith image and her human one, and I force her to the ground, crushing her windpipe. She claws uselessly at my arms, but it's too late, I've got too good of a grip on her. Unfortunately, revenants don't need to breathe, either.

There's a short flight of steps leading back to the kitchen, and I drag her up by the throat, letting her white dress drag over the dusty steps. I step into the kitchen, where the five survivors are standing around in a circle, trying to figure out what to do next.

Mark looks up first. "We thought you were dead." He accuses.

"I don't die." I say.

I throw the revenant onto the floor, where she scrambles back along the tile, surrounded by six very non-human travellers. "Now," I say, tilting my head to the side and smiling down at her, "How do we go about killing you?"

Character Creation. Scare Factor: 3.

There, I'm done. Finally.

My team saves a little girl's life while we steal something from her father.

I'm cycling away from Vancouver, eastwards. There are people shuffling down the road on foot, heading into the city. One of them makes a grab at my bike, and I punch him, knocking him over. A few people pass me, on bikes themselves, and an older woman tells me I shouldn't hesitate to take them out if they try to grab me. A skinny bald man further up the road is moving into my path, and I hold out an arm to clothesline him, but he stumbles away at the last second.

People are still shuffling around, but they're a little more zombie-like now. Two people are holed up in a lab, a guy with shoulder-length black hair wearing a leather jacket, and the main character from Zombieland. We have a few frantic fight scenes. I end up throwing hard punches at the zombies and wishing I had a shotgun, but punching them tends to stun them for a few seconds, so that's something. A zombie with tangled curly hair, a bigger guy, rushes us, and I accidentally tear off the bandages covering his mouth. He tries to bite me, and I swing a computer moniter into his head repeatedly, until he stops twitching.

We have to get something from the control room, so I'm rappelling down a wide chute, in circles around the wires coming from the centre. I realize too late that going in circles means that I have less rope, and I'm several metres from the ground when I run out. Climbing out the vertical hole, about twenty metres, would be practically impossible, so I untangle myself from the harness and drop to the floor. I land easily. I see a flash of what's on the other side of the exit, a conveyor belt leading to the zombie from before.

I hurtle out of the chute at full speed, launching myself at the zombie and aiming a punch at his jaw. My punch barely connects, and I realize too late that it's too weak to do anything. The zombie looks at me, and I've used up all my momentum; I panic. I push back at the zombie, telekinetically blasting it into the wall, splattering its brains over the metallic surface.

Abruptly, I realize that I'm dreaming, and I walk to the control room, throwing zombies through the walls as they try to approach. I'm having so much fun, and the remaining zombies scatter like leaves, though their landings are bloodier. I reach my destination and find a zombie!GIR and zombie!Yoda standing there waiting for me. They've gotten bigger. I try to toss them away with TK, but the move barely pushes them a few centimetres. The pair stalks menacingly toward me.

I'm lucid, though, and decide this is a complete waste of time. I decide to ignore the pair and go look for Walms. I look away from the bizarre zombies and make for the exit. Zombie!GIR is a green couch bumping up against my leg.

I'm waking up. I try to stabilize, but fail.

New dream. We're survivors in an art gallery IN SPACE while running a pet shop. We find other survivors on earth and establish an alliance. My cousins want to look at the fish.

I have the wrong prescription for contacts and I'm running away from a government conspiracy with my family. Or monsters, maybe. My brother wants to know why this is necessary.

My luggage is too heavy, after I get off the bus, but I find that if I lean a certain way, I start floating along automatically. I run into Milly's mom, Pat Green*, and we go for lunch at a vegetarian cafe.

*From high school. You realize I'm making all these names up, right?

Zombieland. Scare Factor: 3.

Ariel, Samael, Rick.

The group of survivors have made it to an open courtyard surrounded by stainless steel fencing. The entrances are similar to cattle corrals, and apparently zombies aren't smart enough to get in. The horde is separated from us, but a few renegade zombies are still trying to eat us.

"Oh my god, just shoot them already!" shrieks a girl with dark hair. There are probably half a dozen of us, but only two guns. A shotgun blast goes off, taking out the zombie. The man holding the gun starts reloading. The blonde woman with the other gun lays down cover fire.

One of our members is somehow a conscious zombie, fighting off other ones and getting bitten in the process. The bites don't bother him much.

A zombie no one else seems to have noticed is sneaking up on one of the youngest, unarmed, members of our group. I curse, and rush the zombie, blocking the kid from its view. The thing immediately starts in on me, and, stupidly, I let it close enough to get in a bite.

"Fuck!" I shout, calling the attention of the rest of the survivors. I grab the zombie's head and twist the neck, severing the spinal column. The zombie drops limply to the ground.

I put a hand to the side of my neck, wincing when it comes away sticky with blood. I can already feel the wound starting to close. I look up, noticing that the man with the gun is eying me speculatively, his shotgun fully loaded and pointing straight at my head.

"Rick," I say, warning in my voice. "Don't even think -"

He pulls the trigger. My head explodes in a spectacular fountain of red chunks.

I come to some time later. I sit up in the grassy field, and I'm covered in my own blood. I purge the various fluids and chunks of brain matter with a thought, and stand up, cursing Rick's entire family tree as I do.

Already, there are more zombies shuffling toward me.

They scurry away when I send a telepathic, high pitched whine toward them, scrambling what's left of their brains and causing blood to pour from their ears. The closest zombies collapse immediately, the rest stay away.

I head toward the stone building. A school, before the apocalypse hit, and by coincidence, the perfect place for a bunch of insects to make their last stand.

---

The blonde woman is on edge the moment she sees me. "You're dead." she accuses, bringing her own shotgun up to fire. "Sam, I'm sorry, but -"

"You know, Ariel." I say, casually swatting the gun away, "That didn't work last time."

Ariel lowers the weapon when she hears my voice. "How the hell?"

"None of your goddamn business." I say brightly. "Now, where are the others?"

She's suspicious. "You know Rick meant well, right?"

"By shooting me in the head. I know. And I considered slaughtering every one of you without mercy," I say, willfully ignoring Ariel's horrified expression, "But the world would be so boring without any humans to torment."

Ariel makes a choked sound.

"So let's call an end to your little scouting mission," I say, starting down the concrete tunnel, "And go find the others."

If I can't kill them all, I can at least look forward to the expression on Rick's face.

The Devil You Know. Scare Factor: 2.

ETA: It was just like this, actually.[/QUOTE]