Archive for the ‘Edd Vick’ Category
I Made You a Mix Tape
Tuesday, May 25th, 2010
Dear Todd:
What’s the matter? Didn’t you like the card I drew for our one-month anniversary? The dinner I cooked? How many more ways can I show how much I adore you? I know I haven’t always been on time for our dates, and sometimes I’ve been a little absent-minded, but can’t you take my word for it that I’ve got other things going on in my life?
I guess my job has
All right. No. No, if we’re going to have a relationship, it’s got to be built on truth and trust. I see that now. So I’ll just come right out and say it. I’m not just a travel agent; I’m really the Violet Vixen.
Whew. There. I know it has to be a shock to hear I’m a world class supervillain, nemesis of General Arms and destroyer of the Statue of Liberty. Still, you have to look at my side of it. They shouldn’t have ignored my ultimatum.
And look at all I’ve done for you. Ever since we were in high school together I had a crush on you. Even then I was manifesting my superpowers. It was me that helped you get a place on the track team. Richie Harcourt’s legs didn’t exactly break themselves, you know.
Wasn’t college the greatest? That was when I brainwashed you into attending an all-girls school with me. Sorry you got beat up in the locker room so often, but at least I made the girls forget you were actually a guy every time. Most weekends I’d fly you to Paris for dinner. Very romantic, except that time Capitaine Gaul and his twin brothers tried to keep me from giving you the Eiffel Tower. Lovely funeral, wasn’t it?
We drifted apart after graduation, as couples will do. You had grad school and I had conquering a small Central American country. I erased most of your memories. Then you were recruited by B.U.C.K.L.E.R. and sent to ‘stop my reign of terror’.
As if.
Still, I must thank the Bureau for sending you to me. Sure, my spies there told me you weren’t really looking me up for old times’ sake. Their anti-brainwashing techniques are advanced, but I have faith that in time you’ll come to see that I’m right.
That’s why I want you to listen to the attached tape. Every night. Consider it an ultimatum.
Love,
-Vicky
Note: the seed for this story is Jonathon Coulton’s ‘Skullcrusher Mountain’. Alternate live performance.
Remade
Tuesday, May 4th, 2010
Mechaieh programmed corpses. Lesser mancers raised simple zombies to wreak vengeance or sow terror. Mechaieh’s Choice Cadavers brought the highest prices, those that could only be paid by governments and corporations. Her corpses, their memories and abilities intact, ran Fortune 50 companies and commanded armies of diplomats.
Money and power flowed to Mechaieh, the power behind every throne. She grew, and learned the hard way never to trust anyone human. Lovers, friends, family, she saw how each of them tried to use her, to twist her to their own ends. One by one, she had them killed and raised them again to be her bodyguards, her army. It became easy to convert everyone in her way into another puppet, trained to obey, trained to love her.
Peace reigned.
She aged. One by one her reanimated creatures died again, taken by decrepitude. A new generation rose that did not worship her, did not trust, did not honor, did not abide her. She retired to an estate accompanied by those of her creations still above ground. Surrounded by presidents and prime ministers and her twin sister, she lived a life of ease and complete miserable isolation.
Mechaieh sat before the fire, half-listening to viola concertos. The world had returned to its cherished chaotic self. Still, it might only take one war, one corporation seeking stability, and she could once more take the reins. It was the only right thing to do; the world deserved her.
And vice versa.
Yet, she grew so old. One day soon she would die. The thought of programming one of her corpses to resurrect her seemed vaguely wrong somehow. It would no longer be her.
Months passed as she pondered this quandary. Was there a chance, ever so slight, that what she could do, had done, was improper? Perhaps even unethical? Surely not. And yet.
Finally one day her unvarying routine was broken. Two of her corpses escorted a young intruder to her. Aracal, she said her name was, and she was here to apprentice herself to Mechaieh.
The old programmer sat, and thought. Here was opportunity, the chance to carry on her campaign. Here was danger, for had not everyone human proved fallible? Here was Aracal, and a middle road.
And here across from her was Mechaieh. She leaned forward, and said, “It remains to be seen whether I will teach you. Wisdom demands we learn about each other first.”
Thus was the world set on a different path from any it had traveled before.