Math
Sometimes, school just doesn't make sense. I became distinctly aware of this when I found myself woken in the middle of the night by a boy and girl pair determined to force me into participating in a science expo.
"This really isn't my kind of thing," I protested.
"Come ooooooon!" whined the girl, "you have to participate."
"What are you even doing with your life, huh? HUH?" insisted the boy.
"I'm sleeping. Let me get back to that."
Eventually, they relented and I went back to sleep, but all too soon I had to shake myself awake and head off to math class. When I arrived, I was surprised to see my high school math teacher sitting in the room, pouring over a book.
"Come on girl. Get on the ball. You're a minute late," he whined playfully, handing me a worksheet.
I took a seat and got straight to work. I made it through about half of the worksheet before I ran into trouble. It looked like the rest of the class had hit the same roadblock.
Using the Trevorian Method, solve the following problem. A flock of doves descends from the heavens in an attempt to lift the angel fallen from grace back into the lord's favor after attempting to overturn the church in a beer themed coup. How many doves are required to do so?
My first guess was 42. That was shot down rather quickly. Then I guessed that there was not enough information, since I didn't have the mass of the angel or the carrying capacity of the doves. The teacher dismissed that with a simple "wrong."
After hours of grueling work and trying to figure out what the Trevorian Method was, my classmates and I gave up and begged the answer of our teacher. With a sigh, he pushed his book away and looked at us disapprovingly.
"The answer is that it is not possible to lift him back into grace. There aren't second chances for an angel that levies alcohol against the church. Thus, his sin is too great for the doves to overcome."
I. Hate. Trick. Questions.
Doom
Johnny Strong, an iron haired man with a mercenary past; Ross Cain, a talented government agent just trying to get the job done; Isabella Roneski, a princess more comfortable in body armor than dresses. These were the three people brought in when the book of souls was lost.
The book of souls contained summoning spells for eleven ancient and wise spirits which would be bound to serve as advisers and servants to the summoner, assuming he or she survived casting the spell. However, if all of the souls were summoned, their combined spiritual squalor would draw out God's wrath and begin the apocalypse.
The team searched in all the known supernatural crime holes, called in all of their favors, fired their way out of a few tight spots, and came up with nothing. Then Isabella's mother called. One does not simply say no to Queen Vinetta Roneski.
Isabella donned her royal clothing, complete with a tall blue cap that she hated with a passion. She met her mother on the steps of the palace. The older woman had a similar, but notably taller cap.
"What was so important that you had to call me away from a mission to save existence, mother?"
"You will speak with due respect or I shall paralyze your tongue again."
"Yes...my royal mother."
"Thank you dear, and as it happens, I have discovered something that may help you and your friends."
She swept into the palace and guided her grumbling daughter to an out of the way door. The queen stopped at the door and gestured Isabella inside. The door led to a short hallway with just three rooms branching off. The first door on the right was just a bathroom, but the open room to the left was filled with people, about eleven. All of their clothes seemed centuries out of date, and they were far too entertained by the balloon they were playing with. Isabella's heart sank. Eleven. Wasn't that the number of souls? She felt almost certain of it.
Shaking her head to clear it, she forced herself to check the last room. It contained only a large bed and simple bedside dresser with a nondescript book lying atop it. The bed was occupied by a man so heavily bandaged it took Isabella several seconds to recognize him as her father.
"Dad? What happened to you?" she stood in the doorway, repulsion and concern fighting for her attention.
"A price had to be paid," he wheezed through a mouth with one less tooth than she remembered him having.
"And you paid with your body?" Isabella more shouted than asked. Anger had won in the emotion war, "Look at you. You're missing a hand, an eye, a tooth, and for what? A bunch of idiots with a balloon?"
"You don't understand," he argued, attempting to sit up, "I simply did what I had to."
"Alright, you know what? I don't need to discuss this right now. I just need to know how many you summoned."
"Eleven."
Stomach tying into knots, she stepped around the bed and picked up the book on the dresser. She flipped through the book, matching the descriptions of each sacrifice to the wounds on her father's body, until she reached the eleventh spirit and noticed a page beyond it.
"Twelve. There are twelve spirits," she whispered as the beating of her heart slowed below a gallop. Apprehensively, she examined the sacrifice called for for the final spirit.
"I couldn't do it. I'm not strong enough for that," whimpered her father.
"It's a good thing you couldn't," Isabella mumbled around the lump in her throat, "You would have doomed us all, you poor idiot."
With that she half marched half ran out of the room, clutching the book to her chest and trying to forget the instructions for filicide written within.
No comments:
Post a Comment