“Fortune rewards those who wait.
Beware those who tempt fate.”
“Why would someone nail a plaque to the underside of a park bench?” Jimmy wondered after reading the inscription. He had spotted the message after discovering a shiny silver dollar half-mixed with the wood-chips near his feet. “Must be my lucky day then” he chuckled while pocketing the coin and taking his leave.
The next day, Jimmy returned to the park bench and discovered a hundred-dollar bill half-concealed near the same vicinity from yesterday. Suspicious of a trap, he bid his time idling for a full ten minutes whilst checking his surroundings. When the coast seemed clear, he quickly scooped up the auspicious find and left without incident.
On the third day, Jimmy once again returned to park bench. To his disbelief, a giant gold nugget lay half-excavated in the same place as before; a blind man could practically see it from afar. More suspicious than ever now, he took up residence near some playground equipment and watched. Other people who passed the bench appeared oblivious. Those who sat down and left did not suddenly die. Jimmy waited and waited till the sun finally set before making his move. He took to his knees to begin digging but as soon as his finger tickled the nugget, the ground beneath him opened up and within a second swallowed him full! A single silver dollar then spat out from the ground followed by a deep rumble that sounded like a “burp”.
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Agapao awoke to the sight of fluttering wings. Dusk settled upon the land as the distant night crept across the blood-soaked fields, covering the horrors of war like a traumatic dream. The last two armies had annihilated each other. The few survivors claimed victory not over each other but against fate for mountains of corpses surrounded them, singing the tune to the world’s end.
Agapao looked overhead. An eclipse of moths encircled the now blackened meadow beneath the crimson skies. Some would land on a body and depart with a spirit in tow. These moths would fly towards the fading light so that the departed may find new places to inhabit. Others would land and bury themselves into a carrion, stapling the body to the soul. Those unfortunate individuals became the walking dead, forever to roam the Earth under another’s will. Turning to the moth that twitched on his chest, Agapao pulled out his knife and cleaved it in two. Fate had no business playing with the still living.
Star-crossed lovers danced the night. Like binary stars, their orbits spun tight. But the heavens conspired, the galaxies forbade. A black-hole came and tore the lovers away.
Separated they were, for eons adrift. Loneliness held a permanent shift. But as anger swelled, they wanted to rebel. No planet would be safe from their hell.
So the planets flew and in size they grew. The galaxy shrank as their sorrows sank. Light would never reach their ranks.
Star-crossed lovers danced the night, now hidden in plain sight.
Two magicians planned to cheat Death out of a game of chess. A timeless being who had never lost a match, Death could easily calculate any board position to its logical end. Knowing this, both magicians summoned the Grim Reaper to simultaneous games, each wagering 20 years of their morality in exchange for an additional 20 if they either won or drew. The first magician took the white pieces and the second magician took black; they intended to play the reaper’s moves against itself! Death accepted the conditions, appearing either unaware or unfazed by the magicians’ little trap, began to play…
The board position remained even for the first twenty moves and the tag-team thought they had the draw in the bag. On the 21st move, a questionable play was made and by the 25th, it was clear that White was losing. Frantic and not wanting to forfeit 20 precious years of his life, the first magician deviates from the plan and tries to salvage his position. He would lose the match in ten moves. The second magician, who thought to convert his lead into victory, continued playing for another thirty moves in dismay while Death made his inevitable comeback.
As I lay dying on the broken pavement of 3rd street, I start to lament my miscalculation that the 14-story high-rise was not precipitous enough to have immediately ended this life. I refer to this life and not my life because all people that I’ve met were once myself. Such a strange revelation only came to me mid-air, a few moments after I leapt in despair. That was the moment when soul integrated with spirit and “we” returned to the plane of origin.
The plane of origin appears as a near desolate sand dune under a crimson sky. In front of my eyes rose Dunamis, pure potentiality trying to realize itself through this plane. To my left stood Energia the tree of history, a representation of the lives that have been actualized since the origin. In the numerous times that I’ve encountered these two entities, I am always left a bit perplexed as to their motives. You see, each branch of Energia was a reminder of a previous life that I had lived. Some were long and thick, as they needed to be for the many other lives that descended from it to have prospered. Others were short and deranged, as to set a necessary example for future lives to deter from. However, such designs were not entirely left to my own devices as any recollections of past lives or this plane of origin would be lost when I begin anew. Only the choice of the time and place to be reborn into were given. I conclude that such a method was the only way that Dunamis could make itself intelligible. Otherwise, potential would indeed be self-limiting.