PuristLove
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Dec 11, 2000
- Messages
- 1,694
I don't know if this can go here or not. It has nothing to do with ecstasy but I just finished writing it and wanted to share it. Its the first thing I've written since I finished my novel and I'm a little bit proud. The grammar is probably still rough, but I think the story is a pretty damn good one: )
Love,
Pure
Hasty Decisions
By
Eric West
Click
No bright flash. No pain. Was it over so quickly? No, he could still feel
his wallet digging into his butt. His muscles slowly untensed.
Count to three.
One. Two. Body tightens up again. Three.
Click
The silence that followed was unbearable. His world should have
exploded with blood, pain and death by now.
But he was left alone with his thoughts.
A whirring sound disturbed the quiet. Any noise but that one would have been welcome. The whirring was coming from the apartment below him. Someone must have had a desire for something, food, a toy, who knows...
Click.
Jack had pulled the trigger in angry retaliation. The sound of the "Replicator" had driven home why he was playing this suicidal game.
The bitter old man had a reason to be volatile, in fact he was probably the only person in the world with a reason to be anything but blissful.
Anything "they" wanted they could now have at the press of a button. Jack remembered a time when being able to have anything he wanted felt good.
He had been the heir to a wealthy diamond importer. When his father had turned the family business over to him at the age of twenty-one Jack had it all. Women, fast cars, the best drugs...everything. Everything included more ambition than was healthy.
The millenium had brought with it fascinating discoveries. One of which
was the theory that Neptune's atmosphere was just perfect for producing diamonds.
Jack had read about it in a magazine. The wheels in his brain were churning before he had even finished the article.
A then young Jack had quickly built a private lab and set up experiments to confirm the theories. Everything had seemed sound, Neptune's surface was in all likelihood covered in shiny carbon, diamonds that would put to shame any rock on any woman's finger.
The wealthy diamond czar already had black market connections. It was easy to get the solar sail ship constructed in a third world country. Two years there and two years back was the calculation. Who better to lead the expedition than Jack himself?
A small mathmatical error had surfaced within the first year in space.
The new calculations charted the voyage at closer to eight years there, and eight back. But what was fifteen more years when compared to the immense wealth he would bring back with him?
Four years in space and the Earth had errupted in violent armageddon. Jack feared there would be no Earth to return to but pressed on. Those questions could be answered when he returned.
By the sixth year, there was no longer any communication from Earth at
all and the playboy-space explorer was sure that his fears had been confirmed. "Courage men," he could hear his own voice, "Courage. We must press on. We'll only know for sure when we return." "Return wealthy!", he had promised.
The men had cheered him.
Enough reminiscing...
Click
Silence. Jack lay on the floor shaking, tears rolling down his face, thoughts running through his mind.
In the last year of the journey back there had been new communication with Earth. There was a New World Order. There was peace. There was Utopia.
What could be better? A world at war had no need for diamonds but men living lavishly always longed for shiny things.
He had been suprised. As the countries had raced to build better
weapons, the baby science, nanotechnology had grown in leaps and bounds.
Some pacifist out there, with a mind for science and too much money at his disposal had funded his own research.
His scientists had completed the first Replicator. The first thing they
had done with it was create millions of them for the masses.
The name itself was a mistake, it couldn't replicate like on old sci-fi
television shows, it needed raw material to work with. That, however, was enough. The world no longer needed labor for anything, the technology created all consumable goods and performed all jobs that required skill.
People devoted their lives to art, spirituality and the pursuit of pleasure.
Jack had spent the better part of his life bringing a large load of priceless diamonds to a world where diamond was meaningless.
If people wanted a shiny rock, all they had to do was load some dirt into
a machine and tell it what they desired.
Jack's frustration welled anew.
Click
The old Smith and Wesson should have been hard to get. The machines had been programmed not to create weapons. Jack's father had been an avid gun collector though, and there had been several still in workable
condition at the family mansion which basically lay in ruins.
One bullet had been loaded into the seven shot revolver and he had spun it. Russian roullete with one's self is almost always fatal.
Jack had given himself a way out though. If six tries did not release the
bullet, Jack would find some way to salvage his life. It would then be obvious
and apparent that destiny had something in store for him.
Five tries had resulted in nothing. One more trigger pull and he would
either get up and walk away or never have another care again.
Jack thought about what that meant. If he really wanted to die, why had
he given himself this way out? Why play these games?
Jack banged his head against the floor and cursed fate. Why had all
his ambitions been in vain?
But were they? Were they really? He had enjoyed every second of his journey, had loved being an explorer and leader.
Facing danger had thrilled him. Making new discoveries about the universe made his blood pump, and finding out for sure what others only speculated about empowered him.
The journey had been the beautiful part, the destination hadn't really
mattered. Did it really need meaning? Was it truly so horrible that it had been
"in vain"?
Jack gently set the gun down on the ground. New thoughts were occuring to him and he needed time to think about them. Maybe the meaning was in the experiences and not the accomplishment. Maybe there was purpose for him after all.
A new thought occurred to him. There was an infinite universe out there, and the technology to explore it with. Jack was on his feet before he had time to think about it. Thoughts of suicide were banished and he was racing for the front door.
The revolver lay on the floor. In the chamber gleamed a bullet. The sixth and deciding shot sat ready.
------------------
Intelligence is not best measured by the answers you have but by the questions that you ask
Love,
Pure
Hasty Decisions
By
Eric West
Click
No bright flash. No pain. Was it over so quickly? No, he could still feel
his wallet digging into his butt. His muscles slowly untensed.
Count to three.
One. Two. Body tightens up again. Three.
Click
The silence that followed was unbearable. His world should have
exploded with blood, pain and death by now.
But he was left alone with his thoughts.
A whirring sound disturbed the quiet. Any noise but that one would have been welcome. The whirring was coming from the apartment below him. Someone must have had a desire for something, food, a toy, who knows...
Click.
Jack had pulled the trigger in angry retaliation. The sound of the "Replicator" had driven home why he was playing this suicidal game.
The bitter old man had a reason to be volatile, in fact he was probably the only person in the world with a reason to be anything but blissful.
Anything "they" wanted they could now have at the press of a button. Jack remembered a time when being able to have anything he wanted felt good.
He had been the heir to a wealthy diamond importer. When his father had turned the family business over to him at the age of twenty-one Jack had it all. Women, fast cars, the best drugs...everything. Everything included more ambition than was healthy.
The millenium had brought with it fascinating discoveries. One of which
was the theory that Neptune's atmosphere was just perfect for producing diamonds.
Jack had read about it in a magazine. The wheels in his brain were churning before he had even finished the article.
A then young Jack had quickly built a private lab and set up experiments to confirm the theories. Everything had seemed sound, Neptune's surface was in all likelihood covered in shiny carbon, diamonds that would put to shame any rock on any woman's finger.
The wealthy diamond czar already had black market connections. It was easy to get the solar sail ship constructed in a third world country. Two years there and two years back was the calculation. Who better to lead the expedition than Jack himself?
A small mathmatical error had surfaced within the first year in space.
The new calculations charted the voyage at closer to eight years there, and eight back. But what was fifteen more years when compared to the immense wealth he would bring back with him?
Four years in space and the Earth had errupted in violent armageddon. Jack feared there would be no Earth to return to but pressed on. Those questions could be answered when he returned.
By the sixth year, there was no longer any communication from Earth at
all and the playboy-space explorer was sure that his fears had been confirmed. "Courage men," he could hear his own voice, "Courage. We must press on. We'll only know for sure when we return." "Return wealthy!", he had promised.
The men had cheered him.
Enough reminiscing...
Click
Silence. Jack lay on the floor shaking, tears rolling down his face, thoughts running through his mind.
In the last year of the journey back there had been new communication with Earth. There was a New World Order. There was peace. There was Utopia.
What could be better? A world at war had no need for diamonds but men living lavishly always longed for shiny things.
He had been suprised. As the countries had raced to build better
weapons, the baby science, nanotechnology had grown in leaps and bounds.
Some pacifist out there, with a mind for science and too much money at his disposal had funded his own research.
His scientists had completed the first Replicator. The first thing they
had done with it was create millions of them for the masses.
The name itself was a mistake, it couldn't replicate like on old sci-fi
television shows, it needed raw material to work with. That, however, was enough. The world no longer needed labor for anything, the technology created all consumable goods and performed all jobs that required skill.
People devoted their lives to art, spirituality and the pursuit of pleasure.
Jack had spent the better part of his life bringing a large load of priceless diamonds to a world where diamond was meaningless.
If people wanted a shiny rock, all they had to do was load some dirt into
a machine and tell it what they desired.
Jack's frustration welled anew.
Click
The old Smith and Wesson should have been hard to get. The machines had been programmed not to create weapons. Jack's father had been an avid gun collector though, and there had been several still in workable
condition at the family mansion which basically lay in ruins.
One bullet had been loaded into the seven shot revolver and he had spun it. Russian roullete with one's self is almost always fatal.
Jack had given himself a way out though. If six tries did not release the
bullet, Jack would find some way to salvage his life. It would then be obvious
and apparent that destiny had something in store for him.
Five tries had resulted in nothing. One more trigger pull and he would
either get up and walk away or never have another care again.
Jack thought about what that meant. If he really wanted to die, why had
he given himself this way out? Why play these games?
Jack banged his head against the floor and cursed fate. Why had all
his ambitions been in vain?
But were they? Were they really? He had enjoyed every second of his journey, had loved being an explorer and leader.
Facing danger had thrilled him. Making new discoveries about the universe made his blood pump, and finding out for sure what others only speculated about empowered him.
The journey had been the beautiful part, the destination hadn't really
mattered. Did it really need meaning? Was it truly so horrible that it had been
"in vain"?
Jack gently set the gun down on the ground. New thoughts were occuring to him and he needed time to think about them. Maybe the meaning was in the experiences and not the accomplishment. Maybe there was purpose for him after all.
A new thought occurred to him. There was an infinite universe out there, and the technology to explore it with. Jack was on his feet before he had time to think about it. Thoughts of suicide were banished and he was racing for the front door.
The revolver lay on the floor. In the chamber gleamed a bullet. The sixth and deciding shot sat ready.
------------------
Intelligence is not best measured by the answers you have but by the questions that you ask
