The Cursed Cursor

---

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The cuss bounced around his mind repeatedly, a mere echo of the chaos ensuing before her eyes. One moment he’d been holding the crown -a deep charcoal circlet whose matte finish seemed to absorb all light that graced it’s cold metal- and the next, the queen was on her knees, fingers twisting through her hair as her veins turned an unnatural grey.

Nobody moved when the queen began to scream. They all watched in terror as she twitched once, twice, and then pitched forward, her body falling still on the cold floor.

In those few seconds, he felt his shock bleed into confusion and then quickly give way to annoyance. Their previous king lasted a week before some idiot came along and killed them, the one before that only a mere month. They’d thought that with a queen on the throne they’d have a turn of luck -especially with one who was actually for the people- but no. It shouldn’t be this hard to keep a monarch these days.

By the time the queen was dead, the room was just coming out of it’s stupor. And by the time someone finally managed to take a step towards the now deceased monarch, the grey contagion had spread across her body and was eating away at her, turning her flesh into that same matte metal the crown was made out of.

They were so sure they’d thought of everything, checked everything. And yet, before them all lay their would be queen, flesh hardening and sizzling away, crunching in on itself as if it were a mere volcanic rock. As if she was never even a real, breathing person, but an ancient statue. The crown still sat atop her crumbling head, consuming the light as it did before he’d even let it rest upon her hair.

The silence that rang out in the wake of the queen’s death lasted only seconds before he felt his mouth go dry and muttered a meek, “It wasn’t me.”

---

- - - - -

With a grunt, the lumbering guard swept the curtain to the side, allowing him entrance. He exhaled his relief and celebrated his minor victory, weaseling his way into the tavern’s back room. But as he stepped past his first obstacle, he had to remind himself that he hadn’t finished the game yet.

He’d only just begun.

The tables and chairs were less cluttered back here, spread out to allow ample room to waltz between interested parties. Or swing an ax, he thought. And by the looks of the scarred floorboards and nicked portrait frames on the walls, the room had definitely seen it’s fair share of barroom brawls.

The thought made him stand straighter. Confidence was key. He had to keep his composure. He had to fit in, because, in a way, he did.

His first few steps into the smokey room were more calculated than he would’ve liked, but eventually he found his stride. He began to scan the tables. To his left were a pair of twins, lost in their drinks and jests. To his right a lone sailor, staring circles into his meal, as if he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Chatter pressed against the walls, pushing with all it’s might to escape the confines of the room for a breath of fresh air, only to instead be bounced back into the haze drifting above everyone’s heads. If there were minstrels back here, their music was easily drowned out by the shouts of excited gamblers who’s bets had paid off.

When his feet began to carry him towards the sounds of rolling dice, he finally saw her. The one he’d been sent to meet.

Her cloak was strewn over the back of her chair, the fabric a dance between navy and a deep purple that threatened to spill onto the floor at her feet. Brown hair hung loosely above her shoulders, fading into a summer’s blonde that curled just the slightest around her ears. A long, off-white blouse dipped off her shoulders and was cinched above her waist by an array of thick and thin leather belts, all sporting different colored metal clasps. Her legs were crossed, her ripped tights disappearing beneath worn out boots that laced up to her knees. One of her legs was bouncing to whatever tune seemed to be playing in her mind while her hazel eyes were trained on the coin being exchanged by the gamblers only a few tables away. She wasn’t watching them with casual interest, she was watching them like it was a requirement. Like if she looked away she’d break.

I love how you can read the caution in each line that he says but he’s still bantering enough to be interesting to her! He’s obviously minding and weighing each word he says.

just picturing myself as an android actively fanning myself with my not-hands as all of humanity jump out from behind my couch to collectively scream happy birthday at me after I flick on the lights

“Stay down,” the villain said, soothing even with their foot planted on the hero’s chest. “There’s a good boy. Doesn’t it feel so much better when you do as you’re told?”

The soft click of the door bounced against the walls to the soundtrack of nature resonance and bubbling brooks. The speakers could’ve used a bit of a tune-up in Hero’s opinion but they weren’t going to complain about the occasional static. It was there to help them relax. And to relax was something Hero desperately needed.

Footsteps approached before Hero could see comfortable shoes through the little hole in the massage table. Incredibly soft, oily hands began to knead Hero’s exposed back, rolling the heels of their palms into what could only be described as sheet rock.

“Wow, you’re pretty tense.”

Hero couldn’t help but scoff. “So I’ve been told.”

“You should try relaxing,” the voice chided. Something was so familiar about it, but Hero couldn’t place where they’d heard it before. Perhaps the last time they’d visited the spa? Yes, that had to be it. “Or at least stretching more.”

“I don’t exactly have the most stress-free job.” There was no way their masseuse would know who they were. Especially with the alias they’d signed up under.

Hero swore they heard the masseuse sigh as their fingers moved expertly down their spine.

“It’s a tough world we live in.” Did they actually sound... somber?

“Tell me about it,” Hero mumbled into the table. They knew that voice. Where had they heard it before?

“I would, but I’d take up your whole hour doing so.”

Hero swallowed their reply when a familiar laugh was paired with the masseuse’s latest comment. It filled their ears, wriggling into their mind where alarm bells had already begun to blare. They knew that voice!

Hero couldn’t help but tense up.

“You’re not Jeanette, are you?” It wasn’t a guess. They knew it was them.

At the same time Hero decided to leap up from the table. There was a thud as Villain threw one of the heated rocks at the light switch, breaking it and plummeting the room into darkness. Strong hands then pushed Hero back down, smushing them into the table.

“Stay down,” Villain cooed, their hands firmly on the back of Hero’s neck. They reluctantly did as they were told and raised their hands slightly up above their head. “There’s a good boy. Doesn’t it feel so much better when you do as you’re told?”

“It hurts less,” Hero ground out, trying to think of a way out of the bind. Villain had the upper hand --literally and figuratively. “Which is different.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Villain’s voice shot through the black again as they retracted their hands away from Hero’s bare back.

So many questions were tumbling through Hero’s mind. How did Villain know they’d be here? More importantly, why were they hunting Hero down on their established day off?

But of Hero’s many questions, they could only manage to say, “My appointment was with Jeanette --what did you do with her!?”

“Oh please.” Villain’s eye roll was practically audible.

“What did you do with her?” Hero repeated with more force. They tried to get up but were easily pressed back into the table by Villain’s hands. Had their touch always been so... delicate?

“Nothing,” Villain growled, “her kid’s home sick so she called out.”

Hero blinked, their eyes still adjusting to the sudden darkness. “You don’t actually work here, do you?” The only reply was the static wind tinkling through the stereo’s speakers. Villain was completely silent. But Hero wasn’t letting them off the hook that easily. “You don’t actually work here, do you?” they repeated, their voice taking on a more sincere tone. Is this what big bad Villain did on their day off? Hero imagined they’d always plotted their next evil invention or, at least, commissioned new impressive outfits to wear. But this!?

“Villainy doesn’t pay as much as you think it does,” Villain breathed hesitantly.

“Like hell it does!” As if Hero would believe that! With everything Villain threw at them, they easily made double what Hero was given.

Hero pictured Villain smirking. “Oh, you think I make more then you?” They snorted. “Please. The wage gap is in your favor, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” Hero bit back as they again tried pressing up from the table. This time they didn’t meet any resistance. They sat up and looked in the direction they knew Villain was lurking in. “How do you know that?”

“I do my research,” Villain sang evenly. It was so strange to hear their voice dotted with static birdcalls and gentle rainfall. It all seemed so wrong.

There was one thing Hero still couldn’t wrap their head around.

“But why a spa?” The serene scene didn’t exactly fit into Villain’s whole aura. At least, in Hero’s mind it didn’t.

“I’m good with my hands.” The reply rolled excitedly off of Villain’s tongue. “You of all people should know that.”

Hero felt their cheeks flush. Thankfully the dark room eclipsed the sight.

“What now?” Hero found themselves asking after a moment of listening to the skipping ocean waves.

“Let’s call a truce,” the villain offered.

Villain towered over Hero. They couldn’t believe how small they looked beneath her impractical boots. They’d folded in around their arm, which hung at an angle that was excruciating to look at. Blood soaked through their fun little outfit, turning the bright colors and stripes morose.

Villain had never fought someone like this before. The other lionhearts would’ve never let her get close enough to actually touch them let alone break their arm. Hero was too slow. They were weak.

That’s not what she needed from them. Villain needed them to be strong.

Pulling her foot off of Hero’s abdomen, Villain then fell into a crouch. Hero didn’t flinch as she leveled her gaze with theirs. They were no doubt preparing one last valiant speech in their mind --they wouldn’t leave this world without giving Villain a riveting monologue.

But before Hero could even part their lips, Villain cut them off.

“Let’s call a truce.”

Villain watched Hero’s eyes bulge. The wheels in their head seemed to halt before spinning in the opposite direction. Hero was prepared to fend off insults and die bravely at Villain’s hand, not accept it.

“W-why would you sue for peace when you’re already winning?” Hero finally spit out.

Villain smiled and tapped her fingers thoughtfully against Hero’s leg. This time they did flinch in response. They did their best to pull themselves away from Villain’s spindly yet comforting touch.

“Because I’d miss you if you were dead,” Villain told them evenly. It was as if she was having the most casual conversation in the world. In the place of fury or cruelty was a simple warning: she could kill them. She could rid them of the earth in a blink but she was the one choosing not to. Her talent and self control were far superior to theirs.

Villain knew the thought alone would drive Hero mad. It would fester within them as they retreated with their tail tucked behind their legs. They’d feed off it and push themselves to be better. Better than all the others. Better than even Villain herself one day.

With that, Villain stood and turned her back on Hero.

“You’re sloppy,” she threw the comment over her shoulder, “You need to be quicker next time. Understand?”

“Y-yes.”

Villain didn’t need to see Hero’s expression to know how dejected they were. They were absolutely crushed. She could hear it in their voice and in that stammer that Villain tried so desperately to help Hero outgrow.

Hearing them so down... Villain desperately wanted to spin around and console Hero. To wash the blood away from their wounds and help reset their arm. But she knew that she couldn’t. Not now, anyways. She’d go home and wait for them to slink back on their own. And then, she’d provide them with notes. She’d review the fight from start to finish and highlight all of Hero’s inadequacies. They needed to learn from their mistakes if they wanted to survive in this industry.

“We don’t have time for that!”

A yell -or, most likely, a sob- caught in his throat as his hands began to pat himself down. He felt like he’d just been torn apart and was relieved to count two arms, two legs, and all ten fingers. He’d have to check on his toes later.

Though his head was spinning, he somehow managed to stay upright. Honestly, he was just impressed he didn’t die or at least pass out immediately. He’d never tapped into that much of his power all at once before.

It was exhilarating.

It was terrifying.

His sight dropped down to his palms that were upturned on his knees. They were tingling and pulsing with radiant energy. The vivid color of the magic had faded, given that he’d channeled so much into sealing the molten portal drifting before him. It smoldered there, suspended vertically in the air. He imagined it was like a zipper on a sweatshirt --it just needed the right tug to firmly come undone.

A shout pulled his attention past the sizzling portal. He wasn’t sure just how he heard it, as his ears were still ringing. Regardless, he began to pull himself forward over the carnage on his hands and knees. There was no way he could stand.

Eventually he came upon another survivor. They were wailing into space while clutching a badly burned woman in their arms.

As he crawled closer, the survivor finally noticed his approach. They must’ve recognized him as they began shouting at him to help. To use his magic or power to bring her back. They’d seen him do powerful things, surely he could do this, too.

He was silent as he listened to the survivor’s cries. They weren’t wrong. He could bring her back. The real question remained: did he have enough in him to do it properly? He wasn’t sure. But he could try, couldn’t he? I mean, he did just basically create a vacuum to suck everything back to Hell. Compared to that, reviving someone should be relatively easy...

Right?

He decided there was only one way to find out.

Reaching forward, he swept the woman’s soaked hair out of her face and performed the ritual he’d done so many times before. He called to his magic and let it flow through him.

He never really categorized his power as having feelings before but it became very clear to him in that moment that his magic was unhappy. Very unhappy. It squirmed, not wanting to obey him and fought him every second of the process.

Eventually, he finished the ritual and watched the woman’s chest slowly begin to rise and fall. The survivor continued to cry, their sobs turning to those of praise as opposed to sorrow.

He tuned out the survivor, though. He was too preoccupied with the sheer exhaustion that was sweeping over him. He let himself fall onto his back and stared up at the sky above. Ash still drifted through the air, falling down upon him as he settled on the ground. At least the clouds were no longer burning, right?

He could hear the survivor shifting around and pulling the now slightly roused woman to her feet. They were shouting at him and, after a while, he could finally make out their words.

“...could bring others back! You could bring them all back!”

His throat felt tight as he forced himself to respond to the survivor.

“I may need to sit down for a second.”

The survivor leaned over him, staring down into his face with disbelief.

“But... We don’t have time for that!”

He blinked and rubbed his eyes as his vision began to blur.

“Hey, buddy,” he rasped, feeling himself getting more lightheaded by the second, “I just brought your fucking comrade back from the dead and sealed away a minor demon lord. Make time!” His words were so slurred he wasn’t sure if the survivor even understood him by the end.

The survivor began ranting about finding a solution. They offered to support him or even carry him. But he just remained on the ground, letting his head sway back and forth. He continued to stare up at the sky past the survivor and watched it grow darker as his vision faded further.

Being trapped in your own mind, that was. Unable to emotionally move on from the moment constantly replaying in your head. If only there was something that could’ve been done to go back and make things right.

It tormented you to no end. Days passed you by. They were all the same, anyway. Day, night. Day, night. Who was really keeping track?

Alice wasn’t.

Her feet dangled off a pier, one of her sandals already midway through its descent to join the gentle waves below her. If anything could calm her down it was the beach.

Since she was little she loved the shore. The warm sun, the hot sand, the cool sea. But Alice learned at an early age that unlike everything else, the ocean wasn’t linear.

Too small a wave? Retract it, try again. Not a perfect crest? That’s okay, go for gold on the next go.

There was nothing else that followed that random philosophy. Alice was so sure. Nowhere else could you effortlessly erase something that was put out in the world. Sure, you could retract words, but could you ever really? The slate would never get as clean as the sand beneath a rolling wave would.

Alice was so torn between the two worlds. She wanted so badly to ebb and flow like the water below her, but time was rigid. It was meant to move forward. Never backward. There was nothing she could do about that.

If she was able to sigh, she would’ve.

All she could do was continue to replay what she’d thought had happened. The car sliding off the road, the tires thudding as they hit patches of grass before a tree was finally caught in it’s path. Then the call came. They were in critical condition and they’d reached out to Alice because she was their emergency contact. Surgery was a must. She’d get a call once it was finished. But they didn’t have the best chances.

Alice couldn’t change what had happened. She couldn’t be like the water and easily erase it all. There was no turning back time.

But she could stop it. Wouldn’t you, if in the same situation?

She was so afraid. She just needed to process it all before the dust settled. Before the heartbeat stopped. So she did. If time didn’t move forward then everything would stay as it was. Always.

But time wasn’t meant to stand still. And even when it did, things still had a sneaky habit of changing.

As much as Alice loved the ebb and flow of the waves, the shoreline still changed over the years. If you looked closely you wouldn’t see it, but the bigger picture always revealed what was right in front of you the whole time.

If time remained paused then she’d never have to get that call. Nobody would ever have to die again. But that also meant nobody could live.

That brought Alice to her final conclusion: people weren’t meant to be living statues or time capsules.

In that same moment, Alice heard her sandal finally make contact with the rolling waves below. She blinked away tears that had formed back when she initially sat down on the pier. She had to convince herself that she was doing the right thing with letting her grasp on time go. She couldn’t pause life just for one person.

Alice glanced down at her phone buzzing on the pier beside her. Her heart thudded in her chest when she realized it was just a notification. Timestamp: 58 years.

Oh. She didn’t mean for it to go on for that long.

He flashed the doorman a quick smile before sauntering into an elevator waiting just for him. As always, there was only one button to press: up.

Within a matter of seconds, he’d reached his destination and stepped out of the mobile room. He continued down a short hall before grabbing at an office door. It swung open with ease, and Life was greeted by six unimpressed expressions.

Life tore off his plastic, star-spangled sunnies and flashed the room a not so apologetic smile.

“Oh, look who’s finally here,” Order chastised from his usual position at the head of the table.

“Yeah, sorry,” Life automatically replied without much feeling.

“No you’re not,” Chaos sang. The docket in front of her was already partially shredded and had been folded into perfect paper footballs.

Life shrugged as he rounded the table and fell into the only vacant swivel chair in the room. He dropped his longboard at his feet and immediately stared across the table at her.

Death glanced back at him, a smile threatening to form on her lips.

Order cleared his throat.

“As I was saying. It’s come to my attention that some of us have been abusing our company cards. Again. Dave has graciously joined us today to reset expectations on what we can and cannot write off as a company expense. Dave?”

Dave stood as Order took his seat.

“Thanks. I know we’ve gone over this a few times now, but I want to make sure everyone understands this time, okay? You can only use the company card if it is directly related to business expenses. Transportation, hotel stays, bills and office supplies only. Does anyone have any questions?”

Evil swiveled in his seat, the metallic grind causing Life’s face to scrunch up. No matter how many times Good oiled that damn seat it never got any better.

“So, hypothetically, if someone ordered twenty thousand pens to be delivered to an address, would that be considered a company expense since it’s an office supply?”

Dave exhaled. Even Life could tell the poor guy’s patience was being tested.

“Only if the address was ours and they were to be used for actual business.”

“What do you even need twenty thousand pens for?” Good inquired, leaning forward in honest curiosity.

“Oh, I don’t.” His retort was paired with a wink.

“What type of pens? The gel ones?”

Order slammed his fist against the table and immediately silenced Chaos’ excited inquiries.

“Forget about the pens! Dave?”

Dave closed his eyes and began to massage his forehead.

“Evil, who did you send twenty thousand pens to?”

“Just some rando. Felt like he deserved it.”

“Sweet lord have mercy,” Dave muttered just as Order and Good began to throw their opinions at Evil.

The argument gave Life time to focus on the absolute bombshell sitting across from him.

“Hey babe,” he greeted her, casually tipping his chin up.

Death smiled while she playfully rolled her eyes.

“Hey yourself.”

“You get that gift I sent you? Pretty cool, huh? I hadn’t seen a horse with a piebald like that in centuries.”

Death’s controlled expression cracked as laughter bubbled up from her throat.

“You know I’m a sucker for anything heart shaped. The SnapBack and aviators were a great touch, too. Really brought out the Pinto’s eyes.”

“Anything for you. What should I send next? A sloth with sneakers?”

“Oh, now wouldn’t that be something.”

Life snapped his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

“Just say the word. I’ll put it on the company card.”

Death beamed.

“I love you.”