Diary 2 by DeYtH Banger (best time to read books .txt) 📖

an ear-piercing pitch.

 

Donald had screamed and thrown a chair through the television screen. The next day, when his social worker saw the destruction, he explained what had happened. Then Donald got re-committed for three days after the social worker claimed he was having a relapse.

While he was in the asylum Xoan and Quax continued to beam murmurs to him at a frequency too low for anyone else to hear. Donald had started screaming. Then he had been drugged and placed in isolation. While he was isolated he was even more vulnerable and that was exactly when Xoan and Quax started using his disdain of his social worker against him.

 

They told him she was an android who was plotting against him. She was, in fact, working for the very same aliens who wanted to abduct and devour him—after all, androids had a specific fondness for the flesh of full grown human males. They told him that the doctors and nurses and everyone else at the establishment were his enemies and all the medication they were feeding him was actually just seasonings and spices that were marinating within him just to make him tastier. Donald’s body was being prepared as a grand feast.

 

Unless you fight back, Xoan had said.

Get to them before they get to you, Quax suggested.

Donald, half conscious and heavily drugged, had nodded. He was starting to trust the voices. He believed them.

After Donald was released from the hospital he went back to his apartment. Xoan and Quax continued to murmur suggestions and plans and ideas to him. Donald listened carefully. He was quite apt at absorbing instructions.

 

Eleven days after his release, Donald murdered his social worker. She was his first kill but he handled it well, in fact he even seemed to enjoy it. Without hesitation—and upon Xoan and Quax’s gleeful urging—Donald armed himself with an arsenal of weapons and headed into the center of town where he promptly opened fire at a busy shopping mall, a location where many humans gathered.

Xoan and Quax squealed with delight as they watched the humans run away screaming and shrieking as Donald randomly took aim. However, although his actions had been part of their grand scheme, his mantra wasn’t. As he shot and killed, maimed and wounded, Donald ranted and raved about “the conspiracy.” He carried on about aliens and drones and human smuggling rings and various other “spacey” things.

 

Xoan and Quax beamed orders at him to remain silent but, for once, Donald refused to listen and, for the first time in their lives, Xoan and Quax felt afraid of their victim. The Salkumbrie High Council closely monitored earthling radio transmissions that incessantly flowed through space and, by default, they heard Earth’s news media feeds. If Donald mentioned the Salkumbries then the High Council would undoubtedly know someone had snuck down to Earth—an offense punishable by a sentence to Durkaark.

 

Xoan and Quax started fighting among themselves, each one demanding to know why the other had mentioned Saturn and Salkumbries, smuggling rings and abductions. Each blamed the other for the danger they had put themselves in and they had practically decided to take off through a black hole to a new solar system when the “police”—a term humans used for guardians of peace—arrived and shot Donald dead before he said anything that specifically mentioned the Salkumbries.

Xoan and Quax instantly relaxed and made peace. They were safe. They had gotten away with it.

 

* * * * *

 

As expected, Donald’s rampage had been epic. He had managed to kill nine and wound twenty-two before his own violent demise. Humans, by nature, were fascinated by such occurrences and dozens of them flocked to the scene to record the carnage and make videos and voice recordings about it to share with the rest of the world. Earthlings called such activity “media coverage.”

 

Although neither Saturn nor Salkumbries were mentioned, there was much discussion of outer space. Donald’s final rant had been laced with ravings about other planets and galaxies. He had been clearly heard by scores of bystanders. Moreover, his voice had been recorded by cameras while the chaos was unfolding.

 

Donald’s crime made international news and the media instantly latched on to the “extraterrestrial” element of his paranoia, especially since he had lived in an area with a long history of attracting alien-believers and UFO enthusiasts. His case immediately raised intense interest in all-things-extraterrestrial. The Salkumbrie High Council was displeased by the interest but totally unsuspicious that the rampage somehow involved their species.

 

* * * * *

 

Xoan and Quax were much more careful during future encounters. Space—as in anything connected to it at all—was unmentionable. They researched human horror stories and claimed to be demons or monsters or vampires instead of revealing their true origins; it was a much cleverer tactic. Being clever was a big part of Xoan and Quax’s plans since they intended to turn their hobby of harassing humans into a business angle.

 

As interest in earthlings boomed on Saturn, many Salkumbries were starting to invest in the wellbeing, the “life rights,” of humans. Xoan and Quax intended to use the newfound concern to their benefit. They decided to cause wars—or simply elaborate on the enormous array of conflicts that already existed among humans—and then start a “Save the Earthlings” campaign on Saturn. It was certainly an effective—and lucrative—way to persuade Salkumbries to buy not just humans but a whole variety of earth creatures. Though illegal, many Salkumbries were undoubtedly willing to purchase earthlings to “save” them from death and destruction on their home planet.

Xoan and Quax were contented; sure that they would continue to be wickedly successful.

2 - (Story) I Wish My Son Never Experienced Heaven

 by Hayong

 

 

Seven days ago, I was driving my son, Zach, home from school when a drunk driver t-boned us. The paramedics managed to drag us out of our flipped over car. As soon as I woke back up I looked around the room for my son. I tried to get out of my bed, but a nurse rushed into the room and settled me back in. He looked at me for a second before saying, “Your son is in critical condition right now, but you need to stay on your bed for at least another day before we can let you leave your room.” I tried to argue back, but the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. The nurse left after a couple of seconds.

 

The rest of the day I sat on the bed and forced myself to stay strong for my son. I knew he couldn’t see me right now, but I was all he had now after my wife was found in front of the Wal-Mart parking lot. She was stabbed a total of 12 times and her purse was emptied out. They never found out who killed her. That was just 2 years ago. Zach was just 6 at the time. The day of the funeral was the hardest day of my life. I had to explain that his mother was gone. He didn’t cry. He just nodded and stared at the ground for the rest of the day. It took over a year for things to go back to some type of normality.

 

The thought of Zach dying did go through my mind several times, but I quickly dismissed the thought and remained hopeful. The doctor came into my room around 7 at night to run a couple of tests. I tried to ask him about my son, but he just gave me a sympathetic look before telling me that I was pretty much fine besides a couple of scrapes and bruises. I asked if I could go see my son now, but with a sigh, he said, “Harold. Let me be completely honest with you. There really isn’t much you can do right now. You can see him tomorrow after we release you, but just understand that he is a lot worse off than you. There is a chance he may not make it, but our doctors are trying their very hardest. Get some rest and make sure you mentally prepare yourself before you see your son.” He gave me a sad nod and walked out of the room.

 

That night I couldn't sleep. Instead, I sat on my bed and ran through every single memory I had of Zach and me. I thought of every time we sat at the kitchen table eating dinner and laughing, I thought of the times my wife, Zach, and I would sit on the sofa and watch a movie, and I thought of the times we cried together over the loss of his mother. That night was a mixture of half smiles and tears.

 

At 9 o’ clock, the nurse came into my room and gave me nod before unhooking every little thing that was attached to my body. 30 minutes later, I was following closely behind the nurse to where Zach was. We stopped in front of room 437. I took a deep breath before I walked through the door and saw my son’s nearly lifeless body lying on the hospital bed. Each step I took towards my son revealed more and more injuries that his small fragile body took. His right arm was rubbed absolutely raw, his left eye was slightly opened from the dent that was now on his face, and his legs and other arm were littered with randomly placed stitches. The room started to spin and I started to go limp, but a doctor grabbed me from behind and placed me on a seat. He handed me a glass of water before saying, “He seems to be a little more stable now, but these next 2 days are the most critical for him. We will have a doctor for him at all hours, and if we get any type of alert we will definitely be there for him. You can stay with him if you’d like.” I gave him a nod and told him that I was going to stay with him until he wakes up. He placed a hand on my shoulder before he walked out the room.

 

The next day and a half went by and absolutely nothing happened. The doctors and nurses would stop in occasionally, but they would leave right after they finished their tasks. That evening at 9:37, my son’s heart stopped and my whole world stopped. I saw doctors and nurses rushing into the room, but I was completely stuck on the chair. It took everything out of me to finally get out of my chair and rush up to my son, but one of the doctors held me back. I screamed, pushed, and sobbed during the 18 seconds my son was dead.

 

For the next 2 days, I stood next to my son. I didn’t sleep, eat, or drink anything. I wanted him to somehow know that I was with him. I wanted to somehow help him get out of the coma and into my arms again. At 11:14 pm my son finally opened his eyes and looked up at me. It had taken him 4 and a half days for him to get out of his coma, and the only thing I wanted to do was cry and hold him.

 

He gave me a small smile before he looked up and frowned. Before I could do