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Unread 03-03-2016, 11:29 AM   #106
ENFJ | Kind of tall
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Unread 03-03-2016, 11:38 AM   #107
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I had to go back and remember how and why my house blew up.
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Unread 03-03-2016, 04:16 PM   #108
Chur Bro
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In reference to the original post. The CPF post count was recently given official status and unfortunately I didn't get 1.5 million
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Unread 09-28-2016, 02:52 AM   #109
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This is awesome

This is awesome
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Unread 11-18-2016, 12:01 PM   #110
|Last of the Gang to Die|
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Installment 10

CGR stirred in her sleep, awaking only when she grabbed air as she tried to rub her phantom limb, the space once occupied by her arm now a digital void of zeroes and no ones.

She’d long ago accepted the amputation, but this morning her mind forced the memory of it to the front, crowding out all of the concerns for the day. At one time she would have shaken from the remembered trauma of the experience, but now she had reached the point of acceptance when the flashbacks came.

The Archivist had pulled her forward, the towers of books behind them had started collapsing, falling like dominoes. Another boom — this one not distant — had sounded, making the books on the shelves bulge out slightly before gravity took over and toppled them. A flash of light and heat from behind made them stumble even as a roar of sound so close by it disrupted all thought patterns wrapped around them in a sonic burst so real CGR felt all of her code scramble for a second.

It was no time for delay. They got back up, running, trying to get ahead of whatever was behind them as the air was filled with ash and burning pages of precious folios twirled through the air, the words “404 error – not found” blinking as the pages made a corkscrew descent to the floor below.

As she ran, CGR noticed the gray in her arm was fading, and then blackening, the poison painfully racing up to her shoulder in dark veiny lines before suddenly fading again, sometimes completely. Breathing hard but not breaking stride despite the excruciating paroxysms, she turned to see the Archivist appeared to be aging first forward — a long beard and wrinkles spreading across his face — and then backward, the worry and strain lines around his eyes that were the result of years of reading in the library disappearing.

“Time disruption is complete,” the Archivist had yelled, sensing her confusion, “Everything is in flux.”

It was a tiny burst forward in the future that probably saved them. The doors had seemed forever away, and suddenly they were standing before them. Crashing through the doors, the pair propelled themselves forward only to sprawl across a beggar who had parked himself across the sidewalk, a tattered Tuxedo and bow tie doing little to cover the squalor he’d been surrounded with in the weeks CGR had been in the archive. Things on the outside had degraded much further.

“My name is Jeeves. I fought in the Altavista Wars,” the sign the beggar held had read. “I will search for food.”

“I’m sorry,” CGR had yelled behind her as the Archivist had grabbed her again, pulling her across the street and through the broken door of an empty storefront with the faded words “Jump the Shark” painted across its window.

He shoved her down, crouching with only a moment to spare before the archive had exploded outward. The sound and light rushed at the storefront, erasing all shadows as it approached them, blowing all of the glass inward. A heartbeat later, all sound ceased and then — with a terror borne only of a desire to avoid the inferno — CGR and the Archivist had grabbed at any anchor they could as they felt an unnatural suction pulling them back toward the archive. Braced against the wall, they heard Jeeves scream as he was pulled into an implosion that defied even the laws of shoddy Internet science physics. The building around them was coming apart, pieces of brick and rebar flying through the air; a bent piece of steel seemed to aim with precision and impaled the Archivist through the leg. He didn’t scream — or maybe he did; all sound was rushing away the stronger the pull intensified.

One eternity. Two. Three eternities.

Finally it was over.

CGR looked over at the Archivist. He was bleeding from his wound, but it was far more than he should have at that point.

“One last time pulse,” he said, looking at his wound. “It pushed me far enough in the future that I’ve lost too much to be saved.”

And then, looking at her, he’d said, “Your arm’s going to have to go if you’re going to make it.”

He was right. The arm was black nearly to the shoulder, and with a sudden realization CGR realized her heart was aching.

“I can’t do it,” the Archivist said. “I can’t even lift my arms.”

He was gray.

“What?” CGR couldn’t grasp what was happening. Too much, too fast, and too outside the normal temporal boundaries had been thrown at her.

“I’ve got to find something to stop your bleeding,” she concluded, looking around for something she knew wasn’t there.

“You’ve saved me. I don’t know what’s happening — I need you!” she yelled. “I don’t know what’s going on! YOU HAVE TO TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON!”

“You’ll be fine,” the Archivist said slowly, a sad smile on his face. “You’ve always had it in you to survive.”

And then he died.

As if on cue, she felt a stabbing in her heart. The poison was spreading.

She was going to have to cut off her own arm.

She did not want to do that.

Grasping a large piece of pane glass that was broken into a triangle, she ripped a piece of fabric from her clothing.

Holding the homemade knife aloft, she stuck the point to the soft tissue in her shoulder.

She couldn’t do it.

But then, she’d thought, ‘yes I can,’ and with a guttural scream, she had pushed forward with what she knew she had to do.

Now, months later, CGR thought of that moment as when she’d become a new Website. Yes, she’d lost the ability to alphabetize her journal forums and boards like Apologetics and LoTR were only Nostalgia now, but she’d lived, one gritty, crawled foot at a time as she’d found her way to an available Gateway that could take her to safety.

The months following hadn’t been easy, but she’d found a way forward as she’d dedicated herself to a semi-cloistered convalescence on a rural server farm and the quiet hunt of who had attacked the archive, who had made the prophecy and why the timestream had been destabilized for those brief moments that may have been seconds and may have been months.

Getting up, she walked over to her closet, ready for a new day, only to scream with surprise when she opened the door.

A bespeckled man crouched upside down in the lefthand corner of the closet ceiling.

“Oh, hello,” he blinked. “I’ve been hoping to meet you for a long time. I’m Bob.”
Disclaimer: Any posts made before this year may and probably do reflect vastly different stages of my life. I repent for all of them. I am sure this is not the last time I will say it.

[My CGR Blog]

CGR: The Decimation
[A chronicle of CGR's timestream disruption and eventual redemption]
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Unread 11-19-2016, 02:18 PM   #111
Hipper Than Thou
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Through A Glass Darkly
Lee Reviews Stuff
Granville Center Church of Christ Sermons
My German is pre-industrial and mostly religious.
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Unread 11-20-2016, 08:02 PM   #112
Chur Bro
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Squash that roach!!

sent from Fiji by coconut mail.
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Unread 01-30-2017, 01:02 AM   #113
I am groot
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I've finally caught up on this. Oh man. More. More. MORE!
I am groot

I am groot!
Originally Posted by BillSPrestonEsq View Post
...wives are expensive upkeep...
Originally Posted by Dwight Schrute View Post
Ben Toast, I have been sanctioned by the official CGRARC (Christian Guitar Resources Awesome-ness Recognition Committee) to declare that henceforth and hitherto, you are awesome.

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