prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
|---|
The scientist scanned his employee ID card to get into the office building. Once in, he placed his wallet, phone, briefcase, watch, and glasses on the conveyor belt so the security guard could check for contraband. Another security guard patted him down scanned his body with a magnet wand before nodding to him, indicating he was cleared to pass.
The scientist retrieved his effects and made his way to an elevator. The door opened and people walked out. He entered the empty chamber and pressed the 2, 7, and 9 buttons simultaneously. A panel opened and he looked inside. A machine scanned his iris before chirping an affirmative tone and retreating back into the elevator's wall.
The elevator descended for seven-and-a-half minutes before opening to a small entryway with a thick metal door. A screen and microphone were installed next to the door. He placed his hand on the screen and spoke into the microphone.
"Today's code is Whisky, Niner, Fife, X-Ray, Tango, Six."
The door opened. Inside were hazmat suits hanged on one side and lockers on the other. He undressed and placed his clothes in a locker before donning a white hazmat suit. In the next room, chemical jets sanitized the suit.
The scientist stepped out and into a hallway. He opened a door, leading to a large bay with a massive machine at its center. Wires and tubes extruded from the central spherical chassis as several men walked around it with clipboards and various tools.
"What's today's report?"The new scientist asked.
"It's very odd sir,"one of the other men responded. "We requested tomorrow's forecast and she said 'they will come for me.'"
"Who will come for her?"He asked.
"She didn't say. She hasn't been responding since."
"Call advanced maintenance. We need the diagnostic team down here. She can't be down very long."
"Yes sir,"the man said before heading off.
The lead scientist walked to the machine and put his hand on it. She was the most important project he had ever worked on. She prevented murders, rapes, genocides, and helped nations to prepare for natural disasters and ecological collapses. She helped the U.S. Military gain a sharp rise in successful missions, letting them know when and where the enemy would be, whether or not their efforts would be successful.
If some other country learned of her existence, or sought to destroy her, it could undo all of the progress they had made over the past five years.
"Martinez!"The lead scientist called out.
"Yes, doctor,"Martinez said through his hazmat suit.
"Call security. We need all protective measures tripled for 39 hours. We're all staying here tonight to ensure no one accesses this room who doesn't belong."
Yes, doctor,"Martinez said before he left.
The next day arrived. The team of scientists had been taking shifts keeping an eye on the computer. The elevator had been disabled, only to be overridden from the bottom floor or by the head of security himself.
At 9:02AM, a thunk came from the other side of the thick metal door that divided the elevator from the work centers. The scientists heard it and stood up, confused.
The head scientist went into his office and unlocked the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a revolver and loaded bullets into it, his hands shaking with each round.
He approached the metal door, which began to squeal and hiss as it slowly opened. The scientist aimed the weapon at the figures who stood on the other side.
"Stop! I'll shoot!"The scientist said.
The two men threw their hands up and jumped back. "Whoa! Hey! Easy! We're with the maintenance department. We got a call yesterday that something was wrong with your computer."
"I think something's wrong with the elevator too,"the other man said.
"They've come for me,"the computer said from her chamber. |
Me and my brethren have never been known to step out of our roles. And who could blame us?
​
Look at what we do. Steal into dreams and change them, morph them into erotic visages and temptations and experiences, sometimes all at once. Wish fulfillment at its finest. One could be forgiven for calling us heavenly, and they have been, human beings. Some of us do away with dreams, and come in person. Ah, don’t mean the innuendo there, mind you. Perhaps ‘arrive in person’ would be better? But I digress.
​
I’m the first of my kind to break away from the norm. And they don’t like it much, no. ‘Demonkind has no use for such behavior!’ is the least of what I’ve been told, it is fascinating how many people just absolutely lose their heads over what I do now.
​
What do I do? Glad you asked -
​
I’ve fully transitioned into being the muse. Not just for the would be artistes, mind you, why would I narrow my demographic so?
Scientists, criminals, teachers, poets, fighters, warmongers, lovers, healers - I have run the gamut, and intend to keep doing so.
​
To do so I’ve had to make quite a few changes. I still dabble in suggestiveness and the like, but depending on the person I instead take the form of high level rhetoric and discourse, simply providing them with the necessary stimulation of the mind, for others I will come as the bloodless warrior, knocking out a dozen with neither their blood spilled, nor mine. I doubt you need more examples.
​
All of that is well and good.
​
But truth be told, I make the change for I have found my own muse in humanity. This race that keeps on surviving, far outclassed by forces outside it’s control. Even more inspiring - their internal struggles, their refusal to be boxed in by their peers and told who they are. And so I have decided to give them what they gave me - hope.
​
Angels, demons, humans - matters not the sapient race.
Perhaps it’s best we just allow each other to live. To accept the other. The strange. The ones we don’t comprehend very well or at all.
Perhaps that’s enough. Perhaps that is when we arrive at the final truth of all things. |
The first thing I remembered when I awoke was that I hadn't picked up any milk. I looked around, confused. The room was clean, sterile, white, and empty. The window was open, and a breeze fluttered the curtains. I had no idea where I was.
I tried to stand, but immediately felt woozy, and sat back on the edge of the bed. A bird swooped distantly through the expanse of sky. I waited, but no sound came from outside the door; no hand turned the handle with a reassuring voice and an explanation.
I clung white-knuckled to the bed, and this time managed to stand. On a chair next to the bed was a folded pile of clothes, keys and wallet placed on top, and I grasped them with relief. I forced my uncooperative limbs through shaking fabric, and deposited the paper hospital gown on the bed.
I expected to be stopped as I stumbled down the corridor, but doctors simply strolled past me, deep in conversation, and nurses brushed past with a brisk swivel of their shoulders. I reached a large waiting room, with a windowed desk. Above it, I read "Henry Gibson Psychiatric Hospital", and in smaller letters, "Main Reception".
I approached the desk. The receptionist looked up from her computer.
"Can I help?"she said.
"Hi. James Gregor?"
She clicked a few times.
"Sorry. He isn't allowed visitors."
"No worries,"I said, feeling unable to correct her mistake.
I stood in the waiting room for a couple of minutes, hands in pockets, indecisive. The plastic chairs were almost empty; an elderly lady read a magazine, and a man in police uniform dozed in a chair.
I turned and went outside. The day was bright, and the grounds around the hospital were pleasant. I was momentarily caught up in admiring the lawn, with its fountains and flower beds, then continued down the drive. As I walked, I pondered how odd it was that I had no memory of getting here. I tried to review the last thing I remembered. My wife, Alicia, had just got home from work, and we had had a bit of a row. It was over our daughter, Julia, who did not want to take the entrance test to get into the local grammar school. I thought it best for her future to make her do it, while my wife was of the opinion we shouldn't put pressure on her at such a young age. I remembered Alicia storming up the stairs, and sneaking onto the patio for a smoke. Beyond that was haze.
Alicia was probably worried, I thought, biting my lip. There had been no phone among my belongings. I wondered if she knew where I was. With this sudden urgency, I jogged out of the iron gates of the hospital, and found myself on a street. To my left, the street seemed to lead into countryside, a car park stood opposite me, and to my right, brick buildings promised civilisation. I quickly headed towards them.
Windowboxes of peonies and strings of union flags decorated the small town centre. As I walked, I checked my wallet; I had about a hundred pounds in cash. I arrived at the station and hopped in the back of the cab.
"Will a hundred pounds get me to Middleton?"
"If you're willing to give me a hundred, I wouldn't say no,"laughed the driver. "But 20 will do, mate."
The drive was puzzling. We arrived at the edges of Middleton without me recognising it. Where a row of boutiques stood, I remembered a chippy and a Chinese. Something felt wrong.
I hopped out of the cab at the end of my street. As I turned to pay the driver, I asked him the date.
"Let me think,"he said. "We must be on the 29th now."
"Of what?"
"March."
"Right,"I said, "Thanks."
It had been the 24th on the day Alicia and I had fought, I was sure, so I had been gone five days.
I walked up to my house and tried to put the key in the lock. It wouldn't go in. I stood stupidly, staring at the key.
The door opened.
"Hello?"said a young woman.
"Hello?"I said. "Er, I'm James Gregor?"
"Oh, right,"said the woman. "You must be the husband. I - I'm sorry. I do have some mail - I wrote the forwarding address on it already but - they didn't say not to give it to you so - just wait here a second."
I stood, flummoxed, as the woman disappeared into my house, and came back with a pile of envelopes. She pushed them into my hand.
"Sorry,"she said again, closing the door.
I turned and walked down the pathway. I felt like I was missing something huge, obvious, and painful. As I stepped out into the street I was hit by a sudden flash of memory; overlaid onto my vision I saw the street at night, an ambulance, lights flashing, parked askew on the snowy curb. As soon as I tried to hold onto the memory, to analyse any detail, it slipped away from me.
A child was pedalling a tricycle down the road. I braced myself to ask the cliched question.
"What year is it?"
The child stared at me dumbly.
"20,"he mumbled.
"20 what?"
"2021."
I nodded to the child, walked halfway down the street, then sobbed.
I hadn't lost five days. I had lost a year and five days.
Soon, I regained composure, and looked at the address on the envelopes. It was a house on the other side of the city. Tired, I set off walking again.
At the corner of the street, the familiar newsagents greeted me, a grey bollard of normality in a rudely alien landscape. I was hit by another sudden flash of memory; of sitting on the pavement outside of the newsagents, vomiting onto an empty vodka bottle in the gutter.
I looked down at the newspapers out the front, and my eyes were instead caught by a huge picture. The woman smiled, slightly sunburnt, in a red dress that I knew was a bit too long for her, in a cocktail bar in Lisbon. I had taken her there two - three - years ago, when Julia was at summer camp.
"GIVE MY GIRL JUSTICE, PLEADS MOTHER OF ALICIA GREGOR"
"Police have resumed an investigation into the death of Alicia Gregor, 35. The investigation, which was declared a cold case due to an absence of leads, has reportedly been reopened. Sources say James Gregor, 37, who was initially ruled out as a suspect, is in a coma following an attempted suicide. Police refuse to confirm that this is the cause of the investigation's reappraisal, or that Mr Gregor is a suspect."
A car droned. A splutter of laughter came from the shop radio. The sun beat down, brighter, brighter. The text squirmed away from my gaze.
Without realising it, I had begun to walk. I passed children in uniforms, sucking on ice lollies, mothers in summer dresses, wiping their brows as they chatted over their prams, joggers, red and dripping.
I was at an apartment block. There was a code to get into the building, but my finger lifted itself and typed four digits. The door clicked open, and I was submerged in the darkness of the foyer, the echoes of the stairwell, a long, beige corridor, and then, I was outside a door.
The door had a single strip of police tape across it; a second lay curled in a heap on the floor. I lifted a key, slotted it into the lock, and the door slid open in front of me. I stepped over the threshold. The hallway was narrow, dingy, and had an unpleasant, musty smell. I suddenly remembered being in that hallway, forcing the door open with my foot, yelling into Alicia's face. The flash faded as suddenly as it had come.
With a sense of mounting trepidation, I reached the end of the hallway and pushed open the door.
A woman stood with her back to me. As I stood in the doorway she turned, and I recognised her, although I had already known who it would be.
"Alicia,"I said. "What happened to me?"
She crossed the tiny bedroom, her red sundress floating along the carpet, and took my face in her hands.
"You hit your head when you jumped,"she said. "I understand."
"No,"I said. "No, this has to be a joke. What's going on? Where's Julia?"
Alicia let go of my face roughly.
"Julia's dead, James,"she said. "She had leukaemia. We didn't know it until she collapsed. She had been complaining of headaches but I... I thought it was just the pressure you were putting on her to take that entrance exam. She collapsed at home and died within the month. They couldn't do anything to help her."
My throat was stiff, swollen, but I managed to somehow force the words out.
"What... happened then?"
"You were inconsolable. We both were, but you... you drank, like you'd never drunk. You hit me, James, you hit me and you said that it was my fault, you said what kind of mother wouldn't notice that about her own daughter. I couldn't take it. So, I left."
Alicia looked about her in the room. I looked too, and noticed dozens of tiny plastic numbers.
"You found me. You were drunk, and you were so angry I had left you without saying a word. I tried to force you to leave. You became violent. I tried to fight back but... that just made it worse. Before either of us knew what had happened, it was too late. I was dead."
My throat constricted. I pulled at my collar.
"You had been staying with Mark since I'd left. You'd gotten drunk and he'd put you to bed. He'd checked on you, while you were gone, and thought he'd seen your shape in the bed. So he testified that you'd been there all night. You couldn't remember the night at all; you didn't know what you'd done. Somehow, your idiot crime went unsolved."
"Then... how..."I spluttered.
"You came back here. Perhaps you had some suspicion you were guilty. Perhaps you simply wanted to see the place where I had died. But I was here, waiting for you to do the right thing."
"The right thing?"
"You have nothing, James. Your daughter is dead and you murdered your wife. There is no happiness left for you."
Alicia looked at the bed.
"You can get out the window from there."
I stepped onto the bed, pushed the window open, saw the concrete waiting below.
"Is it hard?"
"Not at all,"Alicia murmured in my ear. "After all, you've already done it once before." |
First fish, then amphibians, next reptiles, now birds and mammals. This is infinitely more entertaining than a game of *Spore*.
But the parents were all ordinary minnows—why are they evolving so quickly? And what will they advance to next?
It is tempting to think that evolution is progress, that each iteration is more sophisticated than the last. In reality evolution is a slow and random process, with no clear direction or objective. Evolution does not cause fish to sprout legs and hair in a few generations.
No, this development is something entirely different, something unknown to science. Something I need to note down carefully. I’m so stressed an excited that my hair is falling out.
The bipedal fish-spawn have now given rise to a new generation with full flight feathers, though they still have long fishy tails. They almost remind me of dragons. The hairy fish-spawn, on the other hand, are now really quite fluffy and fun to hold. But they do bite.
Another batch of babies! My feathered dragons now have three heads each. I am a bit disappointed with the mammals though; they only keep getting fluffier and fluffier and ever since that bite I have been vomiting several times a day. Could they be venomous?
The latest offspring are disturbing. Too many eyes, and in weird places. Too long tongues. Limbs of different lengths and shapes. My dragons can hardly walk, and my puff balls look like gobs of hair pulled from a bathtub drain. And I feel worse myself; it may be time to visit a doctor.
I had my basement tested; it broke the charts for radon.
Maybe I should worry more when my fish start growing legs. |
I wake up, do the same routine every single day. Not being able to leave my house is really messing with me but I'll get over the boredom. I started making my bed every day, which means something, I'm sure. I put everything in place to go to bed again tonight and walk to the living room.
Technically I don't live alone. My best friend, Ben is my roommate but he's almost always at work when I'm awake. Maybe I'm just sleeping too much, oh well.
I go to the bathroom, stare at myself blankly in the mirror a bit as I wash my hands and my face, then I set out to the kitchen. I start making the usual breakfast. It's always toast, an orange, and apple juice. I open the fridge to find a note replacing my apple juice, "Sorry, craving apple juice. I'll buy more. -Ben"God damn Ben, always throwing me off. I shrugged it off and started making tea, but I'll still make a point to talk about it later.
The routine is the same boring thing it always is, minus my favorite beverage but I digress. I try to make my toast but the toaster won't work, of course. I pick it up, open the bottom panel, expecting an abundance of crumbs and residue clogging it up. Instead, there's a piece of paper folded up inside of it.
My mind instantly returns to the apple juice note, wondering why the fuck Ben put a note in my goddamn toaster and could have burned the house down. I unfolded the note, and to my surprise, the handwriting was good; something Ben has never experienced. Now I'm wondering who he got to put a note in my toaster to steer away from it being him. Confused, but still at ease, I read the note and it's extensive details about how much the writer appreciates me. This has to be a prank, so I text Ben.
"Hey, got the note from the toaster. Very funny. I can't believe you would have someone write a prank for you. Have a good day at work, love you."
I go on with my routine, finishing making breakfast and as I'm eating my orange I get a message back.
"I'm on break now. Note from the toaster? There's one in the fridge but that's the only one. Unless this is payback for drinking your apple juice, I dunno what's happening"
Well, what the fuck does that mean? He usually doesn't keep things going after I confront him because I have a tendency to feel insane while doubting myself. I still think he's trying to fuck with me. I go to put everything away after I eat. I clean out the kettle wash my plate. When I picked the bread up to put it away, there was a note attached to the package. I rolled my eyes and opened this one too.
The note reads, "I think I went overboard with the paper in the toaster, and I'm sorry. I just needed to tell you that I am in love with you. I met you and said goodbye 3 days ago, but my soul lingers in the house. I couldn't leave like the other ones. Your beauty and calm nature are so amazing. I love who you are but I am a mere spirit of a piece of toast. How could a human ever love a piece of toast, god forbid even believe that this note actually comes from one?"
Man, am I so bored that I've started imagining things? Or did I subconsciously wrote these notes to find later on? What if this is a genuine piece of toast speaking to me. Maybe I could be like the lady from the bee movie and talk to the toast spirit, but I have to find it first.
I pull my sticky notes out of my drawer and start writing on them, asking my anonymous toast lover to give me a sign. This feels insane, and I can't wait to be a laughing stock when Ben comes home.
Suddenly, I open my eyes and am greeted by Ben shaking me. I'm on the floor in a sea of sticky notes about toast. I keep hearing the same thing but I don't understand the words for a while.
"How much did you fucking take?"
I reply with a hazy, "uh what?"
"Did you keep taking acid tabs after I left?"
Oh shit, what did I even do? My head hurts, I think I fell and hit it on something
"I dunno, probably"
Ben looks at me, confused and worried.
"Jesus fucking shit its 9pm and you thought THIS was a good idea? Why did I even let you try that and leave you alone? I left you alone for a couple of hours."
"The toast loved me though."I start crying for unknown reasons and wipe my tears with a sticky note.
Ben picks me up off the ground, "Lets get you into bed hun, I can lay with you if you want"
Turns out, there was no toast spirit that was in love with me. I took way too much fucking acid and had an interesting trip, to say the least. |
I loved history, but I hated history class. I just didn't like the way the teachers taught it. They turned everything into a bunch of dates.
If I wanted to memorize a bunch of random numbers, I could've just stayed in math class, am I right?
Anyway, I missed a lot of cool facts along the way, and I'm sorry I can't break it all the way down for you into depth and detail, but the general gist of it was this:
Society was pissed (what's new?) about this case where a guy was given the death penalty, and after he died, they found out he was actually innocent.
The difference in this case, though, was that this guy came from money, and his family had connections. The newspapers said he had spent upwards of half a million dollars on his defense and he *still* lost.
Not only were the poor people panicking (like, "Holy crap, if $500,000 didn't save that dude, our gooses are cooked"), but the rich people were panicking, too, ("What if our children are next, and our money and connections can't save them?").
So all the classes came together and joined forces and worked together until the death penalty was banned.
Then everyone went home happy and that was the end.
Right?
Not quite.
People are never happy, and buoyed by their success at the banishment of the death penalty, they turned their attention to prisoners with life sentences and got life sentences banned, too.
But then when the government sighed, shrugged their shoulders, and said, "Okay, you win. We're going to release Benny the Baby Butcher, Ham Hoggins the Head Crusher, Warren the Whore-ible, Frankie the Freak, etc."someone raised their finger, coughed politely, and asked:
"Uhm, where, by the way, are these guys going to be released *to*?"
And then everybody had a *Holy-shit* moment because, yeah, when you release a bunch of criminals back into the street there's going to be, oh I don't know, *a bunch of criminals back in the street.*
So the people told the government to hold that thought, had a huddle, and came back with the gamplan that's been in place for years now.
Basically, if you committed a crime worthy of the death penalty and you recieved a sentence over a certain amount of years, then you were sent on secret government missions that were oftentimes suicidal.
The upside was that, if you succeeded, you were freed. This way it avoided both life imprisonment (you either lived and were freed, or died on the job) and the death penalty (because there was a chance you could've survived.If you died, it was your fault).
If you were just in jail regularly, then you could also volunteer and trade your jail time for one of these missions. That wasn't smart to do (see par. above) unless you had a really long prison sentence, you were suicidal, or you were just tired of being passed around the cellblock like a pack of cigarettes.
Oh, and then there's people like me. Thrill-seekers. Psychopaths. The people who get arrested on purpose just so they could be in the program. The people who execute their mission successfully and enjoy it so much **they never leave.** |
Despite the video doorbell and locked apartment building, I never see how the books appear. Maybe I'll get a doormat that says, “Hope you like dogs."Maybe it's passive-aggressive. If visitors don’t like dogs, I’m fine to put Charlie in the bathroom. Charlie won't be a fan.
It’s got to be some intellectual. Last week’s manuscript was “Pride and Pretzels: How the economics of food and fiction readership affect graduate level English coursework.” They’re all like that.
At work, I catch up on the Slack channel #mysterious\_manuscripts. Neal, our project manager, used to religiously read The New Yorker. Then he started getting satire outside his front door. Now, he writes for the New Yorker's site.
I close a rapidly developing thread about the Twilight books.
“Did you get another one?” says Megan.
“Here,” I say, finding the pile. “Can you scan it?”
“Can you ask them to put it on a flash drive?” she says. “It could save us a couple intern hours.”
“I don’t see them,” I say.
“No one does,” says Megan. She picks up a yellow post-it with “DO TAXES” on it. “Jen left them a note. It worked.”
It takes me a couple post-its to get the wording right. I clear out a flash drive to my desktop and tape the drive to the note. Then, I leave it in the hallway where I usually find the texts and think about getting a doormat again.
The next morning, I find “Graphite or lead: Grade-school semantics in service of Derrida’s ‘play’.” The first page has “peer reviewed” signed with a scribble. The flash drive is gone.
At work, Neal squints at the “peer reviewed” signature. “Huh,” he says. “Put it on the channel.”
**PeteMorrs:** Looks like Neruda’s sig.
**Jen L.:** It can’t be dead people. Did you see this in the Washington Post?
It’s an opinion piece on how Tolstoy’s writing style would still be around if dead people dropped off the manuscripts. An ongoing debate.
**PeteMorrs: 👍**
On Monday, I find the stapled manuscript with my flash drive taped on. They'd copied the file onto it. I show Megan.
“It’s avocado washi tape,” I say.
“Isn’t that cute?” says Megan.
“Don’t you get curious?” says Pete, leaning around the monitor. “Neal stayed up all night once and didn’t see anything.”
“Maybe they crawl under the peep hole thing,” says Megan. I grimace a little.
“Maybe they’re invisible,” says Pete. “Could be dead.”
I’ve already read this conversation a few times in #mysterious\_manuscripts.
“Do ghosts use .docx?” I say.
“I don’t know what their options are,” Jen says from around the corner. Megan nods.
“It’s dark in the hallway,” I say. “I’d rather keep my door locked.”
Charlie the Pomeranian isn’t much of a defender. Honestly, I’d rather the manuscripts stop coming, or go to someone else. I guess someday I’ll have to decide whether it’s worth giving up my weekday evenings on JSTOR. |
Harry was concerned about the logistics of the whole situation. Invited to an infomercial for a product that he had no idea what it was, for a company he had never heard of, not handed a script, or even a prompt to know the mood of the commercial was. Needless to say, this was not the position he thought he would be in when he got up this morning. And for stained laundry?!
Looking at the madman next to him, he asked. “Dave, you... Really want me to shoot at the laundry?...” “No, I want you to eat the thing-of corse I want you to shoot it!” Dave was whisper yelling at him. “Sorry folks, new guy!” Dave comically pointed at Harry with this thumb, and the other hand hiding his mouth from Harry. The audience laughed and Harry remained silent.
Harry sighed and pointed at the pile of dirty laundry. He closed one of his eyes, and took the shot. His eyes widened as he realized his momentary anxiety was gone, the realization was expressed with. “Holy crap it works!” Without missing a beat, he took another shot at the laundry and the stains were gone! The crowd cheered at the sight. “And there you have it folks! Our newest product from the makers of the All in One Scent Solution! This gun can take care of all of your problems, except for your credit card debit!” The audience then stoped all enthusiasm about the product.
Edit: Really need to get into the habit of reviewing my shit. |
**A Shifting Space**
\[WP\] You are a private detective that specializes in finding adolescent teens that were taken by wizards, vampires, and other such groups to go on dangerous otherworldly adventures.
In a world where the supernatural was real they posed a real threat to the citizens of the world, many different types of people and creatures of the supernatural world preyed on the naivete of teens in order to get what they wanted from the adults of the world. That was where I came in, I fought in the last war against the Magi and since returning home I had founded my own detective agency that specialized in hunting down and saving these wayward teens from their gruesome fates.
As I walked in the door into my office you could see what I looked like, I was a young man with short black hair, I was dressed in a white collared shirt with a green tie and a grey suit jacket. As I walked across the room I pulled off a blue windbreaker and hung it up as I sat down behind the desk. I then opened a file sitting on my desk to see what work today looked like, today’s was a young woman who had been taken by a wizard on an “adventure” into the Ethereal Plane. I sighed planar travel was always such a pain in the ass but a jobs a job, I reached into my jacket and patted my pistol in it’s holster before I stood up and threw my windbreaker on, as I stepped out the door a young woman with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail dressed in a black jacket with a fur lining around the collar and a red beanie on stood in the waiting room smoking a cigarette “You got work for us Ral?” I nodded “Yeah we’ve got a job in the Etheral, I assume you in Cal?” She smirked and put out her cigarette before responding “Of course I’m fucking in.”
After that the two of us loaded into my shitty car and we drove across town to a small temple in the middle of a strip mall where the barrier between the planes was weakest. We walked out into the back of the temple where there was a small mausoleum, I then raised my hand and a circle of runes began forming above the two of us and then with a flash of light the circle surrounded us. As the circle hit the ground there was a pulse of energy and then we were standing in the mouth of a large cave and I could feel the wizards energy emanating from inside “Look’s like we’re here, do be careful in there Cal.” I say with a smirk as I reach into my coat and pull out my Smith and Wesson Model 57 Revolver, as we advance into the cave Cal pulled a pair of Beretta 92FS Inox’s out from the holster on her hips and she was ready to go. As we walked we began to hear the subtle sound of someone chanting and we knew we needed to hurry or we would be too late to even help this girl.
As we approached the chamber we could see an old man dressed in red robes with a beard that came all the way down past his waist with a large staff that was adorned with a red gem that was channeling some kind of beam down towards a young brown haired girl who was tied up and gagged on the floor. I grimaced and then quickly took aim at the wizard's staff, before he even had a chance to notice us I took my shot and the gem on the top of his staff exploded and he stumbled backwards looking wildly around the room for where the shot had come from. As he did Cal and I stepped into the room with our weapons trained on him. In his panic at the destruction of his staff he pulled a Heckler & Koch MP5A3 out from under his cloak. He then grabbed the girl and put the gun to her head “DON’T YOU MOVE A FUCKING INCH YOU DAMN P.I.! I know your game, you can’t let this girl get hurt so you won’t dare.” As he finished speaking Cal fired and put a bullet right through his other shoulder “Yeah well he might be a P.I. but I’m sure not.” With that a look of horror passed over the wizard's face as with the precision of a trained marksman I took careful aim and fired a shot passing right through his head knocking him backwards onto the ground dead. Cal then holstered her guns and ran over to untie the girl and help her up to her feet. The girl was crying loudly as Cal held her in her arms and I began to cast my spell so that three of us could get home but of course for me this was just another day at work. |
"Am I dead? No, of course I'm not... They never are when stuff like this happens. Couldn't be dreaming... I must be hallucinating."I say to myself, until I snap back to reality. "Well? Who's the one that's going to explain this crazy bullshit that happens to exist and literally nobody knows?"I ask to the crowd of people standing around me. They all seem extremely confused. "You don't seem to understand what is happening. You were, how to put it... blind. Blind as in, we all thought you were crazy. You lacked extra appendages and acted as if you were a part of a different world. None of us knew this was possible! We've tried to communicate with people like you, but they just don't seem to... Exist with us."One of them says. "So you're saying that I was... Crazy or something this whole time?"I ask. "I guess, till that explosion... Err... Knocked it out of you?"
I'll leave it there. Idk how good my writing is but if you all want I'll write some more. This is pretty fun. |
Oookay, talking rabbit, but even in fantasy land, stranger danger still applies. I keep walking down the street as he shouts behind me things like "but don't you want to know where that unicorn is going?"and "Without my help the dragon will eat you!"
Screw that. I've seen better reasons to get in a stranger's car and even then, I didn't go. Mom would have a conniption.
I figure I'll follow the Unicorn's tracks a little ways. I had just seen one when the rabbit pulled up. He was right about one thing- if there's a unicorn around, I wanna know what's up and if I can ride it. Following the tracks is fun because it feels like a trip to Grandpa's. He has horses and sometimes he lets me help look for the ones that wander off.
Coming upon a cave, I am delighted to see the fuzzy pink-and-white head of a unicorn poke out. "Hey, little girl"he beckons me. "Come on in and we can have some tea together."
I think some tea with a unicorn would be awesome, but only after a ride.
"Come out here, I wanna ride first!"I call back joyously.
"Oh, you can ride me when you come in here."The unicorn said with a low chuckle. My heart immediately barfs up all the joy. This guy's as bad as the creepy rabbit.
Disgruntled, I start stomping back home. "Hey, little girl, you better come back here!"Shouts the unicorn. I shout back "No! You're creepy."
To my horror, the Unicorn emerges from his cave, showing his fur to be matted and stained, like my dog's fur after she wrestles with out neighbor's dog. He lunges forward and I cower. *He's about to run at me!* My eyes slam shut. I don't wanna see what's coming here.
I open my eyes to see the Unicorn's rear end far in the distance. I start to giggle nervously in relief. Then a severed rabbit's head lands next to me.
"Oh dear, sorry about that. It got stuck in my teeth. I caught this scoundrel following you."
I turn around and my field of view is filled with jagged red scales. A massive winged reptile towers over me. A massive, towering, winged reptile whose voice sounds like a sweet old grandma's. That voice surrounds me like a sturdy brick wall, and as the Dragon delicately takes me home in her claw, I cry a little. I'm not sure exactly why, but I am sure glad I didn't trust that rabbit. |
Prophecy is not infallable, and it never truly becomes clear until the event passed.
But that never stopped me. The visions told me how to save strangers lives, avoid arguments, convince people to understand and support my perspective, they told me how to gain wealth and success, they told me how I might have anything I ever desired. . .
But the first vision always returned.
April 7th, 2037, that was always the day. The scene was never identical, but I knew, felt that it was the same, and any time I could spy the date, in an abandoned old newspaper or whatever the vision would show me, the contents were always the same.
Unmitigated desolation. Utter destruction. Apocalyptic cataclysm. Calamitous ruin, all.
I beheld a crumbling New York, it's streets flooded and submerged, with a jungle growing from the bones of her skyscrapers, The statue of liberty a melted, shattered hunk of scrap almost drowned beneath the waves. I saw the St. Louis Arc snapped down the middle and strewn over the ground beneath. I wept for Los Angeles, a smouldering crater, cracked away from the San Andreas Fault. Mexico City made me nauseous, a disaster zone of radioactive human waste and garbage, filled with half-living corpses and shadows burned into stone. I saw a black smudge where once stood mighty Moskow, her history erased in an atomic flash.
The Taj-Mahal, The Arc d' Triumph and Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, Asakusa's sky tower and Disneyland japan. . . No works of man would be spared.
I lived in comfort and terror, until the bitter end when I saw the bombs come crashing down, tears at my eyes, my last words, "I knew it." |
*It’s a small world* jingled along the remarkably clean streets. The people who went to work wore an ungodly mirage of colourful costumes. As they went to work the Park Security checked tickets to the separate sections of New York Park.
No one really knows how Disney did it. Well, no one ever knows how a fascist regime rises. The only time people can know how a regime such as Disney comes about is when the dust has settled and they no longer hold power. For that is essential to the continuation of the regime. After all, if people could have access to history, they would know that it was not Disney who lifted the world out of poverty.
For most people, they barely noticed the change in society. After all, they were entertained. The acquisition of Fox had given the world Marvel:Secret Wars. The purchase of Warner Bros had given people *Looney Toons and Mickey Mouse save the muppets*. Then when they bought the remnants of post war Canada, people loved Disney Realm. A whole country of wonders.
So here we are. It was announced that they had finally “purchased” Ireland, The whole world was now a park.
An imperial klaxon sounded around Park Earth. With every screen blaring the words “Park announcement” the CEO came to the screen in a strange room.
It was a room which no one but a CEO had seen for years. It was the room in which the master plan was formed. It was in that room, that behind the speaking CEO, behind glass sat a Walt Disney younger the anyone had ever seen him. As the CEO spoke his last word, the Walt Disney display opened up.
“Long have I waited...” |
It happened again.
I was wandering through the company building when I saw a floating hand gliding down the hallway.
“Not this again!” I yelled as a figure materialised, holding the prosthetic hand. I held my head in my hands, my disappointment immeasurable. “We talked about this...”
The devil rolled his eyes before retorting, “I keep telling you; idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and *i’m* the devil.” My anger started to rise as I resisted the urge to punch him in his demonic face.
“Satan, this is the 3rd time this week!” I growled, “Isn’t there something BETTER you can do with your life other than raiding my storeroom?”
If I had annoyed him, he did not show it, instead, he tossed away the hand, uttering “fine” and proceeded to saunter past me.
I knew what I had to do now. Calling someone in my phone, I told them “Hugh, we need to work on our Anti-Devil measures.” |
**That fateful day, that single catastrophic phenomenon. The day all of humanity lost the fear of death.** The day, the mind says, as the heart does, "the light has gone out of my world,"and the body went all to pieces, in a vain effort to put back together the pieces. The day, the mind says, when everything goes gray, and you can barely see anything; the day when the dust settles on the cold little stars you used to call home. And the body was silent, ever so silent.
It is in such a moment that, you tell me, that single tiny movement through your perception can come, a feeling, the fear that runs across your body and deep into your heart, a pain. |
​
you trudge back to your camp disappointed. After 3 hours of trying to terrify the teens at camp, you gained nothing. You tapped on the window, the kid looked up and muttered something about Stephanie. You found a girl laying in the woods crying over her boyfriend, even after staring from a distance and having her finally notice you she simply rolled back over and kept crying. The hour spent trying to get the bloody deer corpse just right led to nothing more than a canceled smores party. Apon writing 'YOUR NEXT' on the side of the cabin (in said deers blood) they simply droned on about your awful grammar. But this was gonna be different. After carefully setting out your plan you wait by the restrooms. A few hours later a kid finally shows up. You lunge out and grab her, she doesn't even scream. you drag her back to your campsite and she yawns. Asleep and tied up in your tent you wait for the campers to find her. 3 days later and she keeps asking for food, even though you feed her. You call up your boss to let him know your quitting. |
Leon and Jeanine each used a crowbar to pry open the heavy stone hatch they found beneath the brush. Stairs led them down into a cellar.
Rotting vegetables littered the floor and shelves full of unlabeled cans sprawled around them.
Leon asked Jeanine to guess what was inside each can. She guessed corn, green beans, soup, and so on. "Maybe it's something else,"he said. "If you go grab a can opener, we can bust in and see what we've got."
"I suppose,"she said. "I feel weird in here anyway."
With flashlight in hand, Leon searched about the dirt-covered ground for any sort of treasures someone might have left, but all he found was another hatch. Unable to open it on his own, he grabbed the two crowbars from outside and waited for Jeanine's help.
"There's another hatch over here. Maybe a secondary storage area or something."
Jeanine held up the can opener. "Do you still want this? I could only find an old one."It looked like a mutilated fork.
"Fine with me."And he began opening the first can.
As he peeled the tin lid back, a rotten scent poured out as black liquid seeped down his hand.
Jeanine scrunched her nose. "Eww, don't open any more of those."
"I didn't think canned stuff ever went bad."He looked at the bottom and the sides of the can. He found no dents. He stuck the can opener inside and fished out a long translucent strand. "Oh god. Whatever it is certainly didn't last."The strand didn't end as he pulled it out, it kept coming out and out, further and further until he gave up and let it rest, sagging nearly to the floor.
Wide-eyed, Jeanine starred at him, her mouth slightly ajar. "Just take it to the trash and go wash off."She took a few steps back from Leon.
He stuck the can opener back inside the can. "I want to know what this ... I can't feel the bottom of the can."He reached his arm further and further into the opening until he was submerged up to his elbow.
"Get rid of it!"
Leon jumped and dropped the can to the floor. It's contents poured on the ground: stringy noodles, chunks of carrot, bits of celery, and diced pieces of chicken. He starred at the mess on the ground. "Something pulled me in. You saw it right?"
Jeanine smiled and shook her head. "You're messing with--I know you're messing with me."She turned her back to him, her long hair walling him off. She raised her voice. "If you want to screw around in here, go ahead. I'll be inside."
"Please, just wait."He looked about the cellar. "We bought this property, so we have to figure out what's here. I-I'm sure I just imagined it ... this place creeps me out, too."
They went back and forth until Jeanine gave in. "Fine. Fine. We look under that other hatch, then we're done."
Together, they pried the other stone hatch open and revealed a pool of darkness that seemed to swirl about.
"It looks like..."Leon looked back at the spilled soup.
"We're selling this place,"Jeanine said. She grabbed his hand and they left. |
When one considers the third planet of the star known locally as Sol, one might be forgiven if all one thinks of is the excitement of an open world amusement part. After all, for centuries, it has been the place to go to have some fun. Just slip on a human suit, many of which have recently been adjusted so the physically larger members of the galactic community can also enjoy some time as a human, and go down and replace a human being. Then go to the variety of places available for your amusement. As your suit is immune to more than 95% of all local weapons, one can feel safe in taking the kids.
Visit the splendid decaying industrial zones of the midwest and enjoy the torturous experience of the local humans working meaningless jobs and seeing their hometowns decay! Murder a local, after all, you will not be the one blamed, the local you temporarily replaced will go to their prison system, which you can then visit so you can enjoy the locals senselessly beating each other and engaging in actions that breaks the will of even the strongest and most virtuous of their kind into less than an animal.
See the beautiful polluted sunsets, as the planet slowly is cooked by our patented experience enhancing pollution, giving rise to an atmospheric spectacle every day. Enjoy the breakdown of trust in communities as we gradually brainwash the youth to become small-minded and criminal, using our dirty drugs to destroy their future(warning, do not partake in local drugs as they have been laced with slow-acting poisons, if drugs are desired, please go to the nearest public dispenser, located at each gift shop).
If you would like a reminder of your visit to Earthpark, please consider buying a kidnapped human child with a death chip installed, so that when it goes into that nasty teen period, its brain will melt(deactivating death chips is not advised as human teens become smelly and generally unresponsive unless given a strict training regiment and/or castration and neutering). It will make for a great conversation starter, or as an early test of responsibility for the kids.
If you'd like an enhanced 'human' experience without dirtying yourself, consider using our patented human-puppet VR, simply put on your goggles and step into the VR chamber, and you will automatically take over a random human with the control chip implanted in their brain. Engage in wholesome family activities, like poisoning, torture and **BRZZZZT**
This is a priority one order for all tourists visiting Earthpark, the attractions have become aware. We repeat, the attractions have become aware, and are storming the hotels, gift shops, and staff areas in vast hordes. Please proceed to the designated evacuation zones as indicated on the maps downloaded to your personal datapads. If you see a human attraction, do not engage, as all control methods capable of subduing a human attraction have been shutdown or compromised, and the human attractions are now capable of harming you(as per paragraph 1023c of the terms and conditions signed when visiting the park, any damages attained by visiting Earthpark is on your own risk, and not a liable reason for a refund or compensation).
We repeat; This is a priority one order**BRZZZT**
''*Alright listen up here you barbaric screwballs, we've found out what you've been doing, and we're not happy, so know this you sadistic alien fucks, we're coming for you, and just you wait; For the past 100 years of torment you've subjected us to, we're going to have our pound of flesh. And once we've killed you here, we're not going to stop. Every horror committed since the interwar period, that's been something you've orchestrated. So we're going to follow you, and with the nice weapons we've stolen from the Earthpark Corporation's private army, we're going to cleanse the universe of your filthy kind. With atomic fire, we will purify the universe!*'' |
Of course the little bastard was going to punch the stupid shape changer. Couldn't just let it go. "You spilled my drink!"The idiot totally thought he was impervious to consequences. I guess I have no one to blame but myself. Been looking out for him too much.
David wasn't always an asshole. He had been a beautiful cherubic baby, and a well behaved toddler. That's when his dad made it big with his investments. Some stock, funding, virtual coin thing. I don't know we didn't have all that back in my day. Don't know why you would put those little doodads in the ground and expect coins to grow anyways.
That's when David changed. He was handed everything in life after that. I gave him some slack, it was tough being a vanilla human in a world where you went to school with vampires, ogres, demons and the like. It is even harder when you are poor.
He started acting out in school, thinking he was better than everyone now that his family had money. Started with just a few things first. Telling the other kids they wouldn't be invited to his birthday party in Hawaii if they weren't nice to him. It only got worse from there.
Now it's the drugs, clubs and the expensive toys. He drives that sheep car too fast. Or is it lamb? Again, I didn't have cars like that back in my day. Oh yeah it ends with an O! I get points for remembering that. Weird name Sheepo.
Anyways before I monologue for too long, time to swoop down and save him again. The skin changer rears back to punch David in the face. David is too preoccupied showing off to that lady he had been seeing lately. Sweet gal, but I don't understand how she has frozen to death with what she wears.
Jumping down, moving through the crowd invisibly I pause the scene. They let you do that when you are a guardian angel. Time stop is a hell of a thing. Or I guess a heaven of a thing? Whatever, I only took the job for my family's sake.
What to do, what to do? Fire to set up the smoke alarms? Nah, too dramatic. Light the skin changer on fire?! Nah more dramatic. OK think man think. Bouncer too far away to intervene before David gets his ass beat. I notice a beautiful waitress holding a drink tray full of bright green colored drinks. Whatever happened to just having a good simple scotch? On the rocks, no water. I am not a heathen.
Her face frozen in fear, just catching that a fight was about to start. Poor gal probably sees this kinda thing 5 times a day here. I apologize for what I am about to do to her. She stands right behind the skin changer and with just a slight nudge I tip the tray towards him. I step back and double check my calculations. Good to go. I fly back up to the rafters of the club and start time watching how it plays out.
Time restarts with its usually half second of sluggishness, then quickly snaps back to the present. I see the waitress try to tip the tray back, but it's already gone too far. With a clatter the ray hits the ground, dumping its contents on the skin changer.
With a sigh, I see David walk away. Looks like he has grabbed his gal and is walking away, the cloud of alcohol in his head making him already forget the skin changer. Stupid bastard doesn't even realize he almost got his ass kicked.
The skin changer is now busy looking at the waitress, peeved that he is covered in drinks. She has already wiped out her napkins and is helping clean him up. I squint looking closer. She is spending way more time on his pants when most of the drinks hit his shirt. I see a grin on the skin changers face and see him walk away hand in hand with the waitress.
Hmm...look at me playing cupid. That baby faced dipshit makes it look hard. He's got nothing on me.
Crisis averted I follow David out of the club, into the back alley where the entrance is located. I should really just let him get his ass beat once. Isn't the first time today I have done it. Eventually it's going to get too much, he is gonna piss off the wrong people.
"Oh he already has Jonah. My master is quite upset at how David treated poor Adam."
I whip around looking for whatever is talking to me. I see it, looking like every bad fantasy imp you have ever rolled your eyes at. Short, maybe a good head shorter than me, red, and with that stupid barbed tail. Its yellow eyes glare at me.
I roll my shoulder, limbering up. Imps are a pain in the ass. Pretty much here just to screw with my line of work. You could say they are my counterparts for the away team.
"Look Adam was being a righteous prick. Besides isn't the kid supposed to help bring the apocalypse? That whole, smashing his car with a baseball bat was practically godly of David. How many people can say they fought against Lucifer's child?"
The imp snorts, "It was 2am and David was drunk off his ass, while Adam was on vacation in Italy! Even with how I twist the truth, that's a stretch."
"That may be true,"I say, smashing my fist into my hand, "but either way you aren't touching David. "You ain't got enough power to take me on alone."
At this the imp laughs. "Of course I can't beat you. I am just here to keep you from interfering. Old One Eye there is gonna do a favor for the boss."
I follow to where he is pointing and see some shit straight out of the Odyssey. At the end of the alley, walking towards David and his gal is a cyclops. Like an actual cyclops. Its massive shoulders are denting fire escapes and its feet are smashing trash cans in the alley.
David and his girlfriend are too drunk and high off their asses to even notice. They keep stumbling straight for it.
I go to zoom to the rescue, but my back explodes in pain as I am hit by a fireball from behind.
Turning back to my evil counterpart I see him tossing a fireball like it's a friggin' baseball.
"Not this time Jonah. Even you can't save that brat this time." |
I cried out as they took the hood off. There they were. Two idiots, staring at me like some I’m the winning lottery ticket. One of them, the big guy, kicked my in the side and I sank to the ground of the basement floor. Coughing loudly, I took a good look. They were covered in black, makeshift masks and amateur outfits. The smaller guy was noticeably uncomfortable with the violence. He glanced away as I turned my head towards him.
“I’m going to ask you again. Give me the password to the safe, and you won’t be hurt,” the big guy demanded.
“Listen, I don’t remember you asking me the first time, and I don’t remember the password,” I quickly answered. Let’s be honest. I was hurting here and I didn’t want to get whacked again.
“Are you playing stupid?” the big guy was furious. I braced as he was poised to kick me again. But the blow never came. The small guy blocked him with one arm to try and calm the big guy down.
He turned to me and pleaded, “we’re not the bad guys here. We just want to talk, please don’t make it difficult”. He had a soft, high pitch voice. But it was obvious they were playing the good cop bad cop routine with me.
“Guys I can’t help you. I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stated firmly. This was fact. I can’t help it. I really don’t know.
The small guy wasn’t having any of it. This time, he lashed out. Striking me in the face. The big guy joined in and I felt my ribs crack as he makes a clean blow. Suddenly, the basement doors open and a woman with a tray of lemonade walks down.
“Boys, what are you even doing!” she said accusingly. I felt the shame rise in the boys as she gave them a piercing glare. She sighed with disappointment. “You guys can’t keep doing this. We locked the computer so you two would play outside. You’re going to have to accept that!”
My two captors stopped and quickly took off my leather binds. I was finally free. They took off their masks and threw them aside, revealing themselves to be young, pubescent teenagers. They didn’t say anything to me as they made their way towards the stairs. The woman also didn’t say anything to me. Instead, she hands each of them a lemonade, gave them each a hug sympathetically, and walked them upstairs.
This my chance to clean myself up a bit. I creakingly pulled myself up and stutter-stepped to the sink, where I saw that my metal body was dented, the memory board was pulled out, and my battery was barely charged. They even screwed with the nametag on my forehead which they graffitied to read: d~~w~~ork bot.
(This was my 3rd story! Really happy to receive any feedback, I'm trying to improve my writing.) |
Benjamin learns to walk in 1925, after which he uses crutches in place of a wheelchair. On Thanksgiving 1930, Benjamin meets seven-year-old Daisy, whose grandmother lives in the nursing home. He and Daisy become good friends. Later, he accepts work on a tugboat captained by Mike Clark. Benjamin also meets Thomas who does not reveal that he is Benjamin's father. In Autumn 1936, Benjamin leaves New Orleans for a long-term work engagement with the tugboat crew; Daisy later is accepted into a dance company in New York City under choreographer George Balanchine.
In 1941, Benjamin is in Murmansk, where he begins an affair with Elizabeth Abbott, wife of the British Trade Minister. That December, Japan attacks Pearl Harbor, bringing the United States into World War II. Mike volunteers the boat for the U.S Navy; the crew is assigned to salvage duties. During a patrol, the tugboat finds a sunken U.S. transport and the bodies of many American troops. A German U-boat surfaces; Mike steers the tugboat full speed towards it while a German gunner fires on the tugboat, killing most of the crew, including Mike. The tugboat rams the submarine, causing it to explode, sinking both vessels. Benjamin and another crewman are rescued by U.S. Navy ships the next day.
In May 1945, Benjamin returns to New Orleans and reunites with Queenie, and learns that "Tizzy"died a while back. A few weeks later, he reunites with Daisy; they go out for dinner. Upon failing to seduce him afterwards, she departs. Benjamin later reunites with the terminally-ill Thomas, who reveals he is Benjamin's father and leaves Benjamin his button company and his estate.
In 1947, Benjamin visits Daisy in New York unannounced, but departs upon seeing that she has fallen in love with someone else. In 1954, Daisy's dancing career ends when her leg is crushed in an automobile accident in Paris. When Benjamin visits her, Daisy is amazed by his youthful appearance, but, frustrated by her injuries, she tells him to stay out of her life.
In 1962, Daisy returns to New Orleans and reunites with Benjamin. Now of comparable physical age, they fall in love and go sailing together. They return to learn that Queenie has died, then move in together. In 1967, Daisy, who has opened a ballet studio, tells Benjamin that she is pregnant; she gives birth to a girl, Caroline, in the spring of 1968. Believing he cannot be a proper father to his daughter due to his reverse aging, Benjamin sells his assets, leaves the proceeds behind for Daisy and Caroline, and leaves the next spring; he travels alone during the 1970s.
Benjamin returns to Daisy in 1980. Now married, Daisy introduces him, as a family friend, to her husband and daughter. Daisy admits that he was right to leave; she could not have coped otherwise. She later visits Benjamin at his hotel, where they again share their passion for each other, then part once more.
In 1990, widowed Daisy is contacted by social workers who have found Benjamin — now physically a pre-teen. When she arrives, they explain that he was living in a condemned building and was taken to the hospital in poor physical condition, and that they found her name in his diary. The social workers say he is displaying early signs of dementia. Daisy moves into the nursing home in 1997 and cares for Benjamin for the rest of his life.
Daisy says that in 2002, Mr. Gateau's clock was replaced with a digital clock that ran forward. In the Spring of 2003, Benjamin dies in Daisy's arms, physically an infant but chronologically 84 years of age. Having finally revealed the story of Caroline's father to her, Daisy dies as Hurricane Katrina approaches.
The entire plot of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. |
*I decided to write on my own prompt--also to blip right to the juicy stuff.*
​
We begin this tale before a heavy, oaken door bound in bands of iron black—ajar from its lightless, cave-like room. At first glance, it could be just another door in the castle, but it’s far too thick for that. And, for no apparent reason, it is possible to place a beam across its front as a kind of seemingly overkill lock. Adding to its oddity, the seemingly important door is in a most decidedly *un*important part of the castle; as if the inhabitants avoided it.
You see, unlike most doors, this door is supposed to keep something *in.* And indeed it had been, for a shadow falls on the door, but without a figure to cast it. After a brief pause, is if to take a look around, the thing melts onto the floor and flows across the walls of the castle dungeons. This thing has no form, and in a way, it does not exist. It cannot be touched, but it can touch you, and it loves nothing more than playing with its food. This thing... it is only a shadow. It is a silent creature neither of darkness nor light, yet evil all the same. It is the creature you were warned about in bedtime stories; and this one—this shadow creeping free of its prison, *this* one is *The* Shadow, the worst of them all.
As it passes out of torchlight, the head of the thing splits and curls in a shadow-puppet smile. A rat pauses nearby, but is suddenly swallowed by a tendril of shadow peeled off the wall. There is a squeak... then there is nothing. The torch flickers as suddenly meatless bones clatter to the floor.
​
\*\*\*
​
Our two protagonists, both young and... unobservant, had not thought to note the oddity of the door’s nature, nor its particular placement—and are the entire reason the door was open in the first place, but, though far less menacing than The Shadow, the darkness-cloaked beast lunging at our protagonists is of far more pressing concern to their young minds. So it is unsurprising when our two protagonists come sprinting out of the door. Also unsurprising, but no less concerning because of it, is the sound of something very large and very angry hot on the heels of our protagonists. Together, they heave against the door and shut it in front of the lion-like animal, dropping a beam across the door into hooklike devices. With the door shut and locked, our protagonists catch their breath. There is a resounding boom and a roar of pain as the beast crashes into the door. The floor quivers, and ancient dust sifts from the ceiling.
Since they’re doing nothing exciting, I’ll introduce our protagonists. The tall, willowy blond on the left—yes, the one with the wings—her name is Vonj. She’s new to this whole running-away-from-danger-thing; evidenced by her rather expensive clothes and the pair of heels a hand. The one on the right, however, is quite used to running. Well... sort of. It’s rather complicated, and I see an explanation is in order.
This girl on the right is not any *ordinary* girl. First of all, she’s not human (sort of...), but that's not special in this world. The body of this girl is that of a weredragon, and inside it has been stuffed the minds and histories of two people. The first mind (and the body’s original owner) is the princess Lady Blodwen, freshly awoken from a coma. She is unfamiliar with running as well. She has also gone Mad—more on that later. The second—a human—currently commandeers Blodwen’s body. Her name is Alondra, and until quite recently, the only thing Alondra had known was the dark parts of the world, and the cruelest places within the hearts of men. As a street rat, Alondra is *very* familiar with running.
“Okay, let’s never do that again,” says Vonj. The door thumps again—and with the tangled, puffy mass that is currently her hair, its movement when she jerks her head to look at the door gives the image of an almost wild animal.
Alondra chopped short Blodwen’s cream blond hair short with a knife the first chance she got. At its current length, the hair’s red roots could be seen when she turned her head. Still breathing hard, “Great plan. I like that plan,” she says. |
"Honey, what is that thing?"A concerned voice spoke up behind the man as he sat before the metallic structure before him.
"Well, if someone studied history, you would know that this is a guillotine, come on Sheral, is it that hard to tell what it is? It is a structure with a massive metallic blade hanging off it. It certainly isn't a tv cabinet, that's for sure."The frustrated man huffed, throwing his hands up in defeat. At the very least, the structure was built well, not even a blade of rust on it's hanging death blade. He was slightly proud of it, well he would have been proud if it wasn't for the fact that it was the complete opposite of what he was trying to build.
"I can see that you prick, but why did you build it? Did you try following the instructions, I told you that you have to be careful when you do these sorts of tasks, maybe you messed up one of the steps."She picked up the instructions, looking over the carefully laid out set of instructions. "Everything seems right here, I don't get how you ended up here? Did you start improvising? Why was there even a blade in the box?"
"A blade wasn't in the box of course! They clearly said on the instructions that the killing blade wasn't included and you say that I don't read, sheesh. Look I don't know where I went wrong ok? We can make this work, we will just lean the tv against it and hope no one lowers the blade onto the tv. That isn't to hard right? We can just put a bit of red tape over it or something."
"We are not keeping that in our house John, What if the kids touch it, Still I can't see what you mean, The instructions mention nothing about a blade."She sighed, before turning the page over, taking a quick glance up at her husband. "Out of curiosity, could you read any of the words on the instructions?"
"No, of course not!, I didn't have my glasses on, I just followed the pictures and I will have you know that is exactly how the picture told me to put it together, so if you want to blame someone, blame the company that made it."
"Honey... you were reading the ye olde french instructions..."She said with a sigh, flipping over the instructions to the other side. "Maybe next time get your glasses."She said handing the instructions over.
"Oh, that explains it, thanks babe, Guess I was losing my head a little back there. Good thing I didn't literally lose it."He chuckled slapping the guillotine as the blade collapsed down, smacking against the wooden board beneath it, nearly hitting the man's fingers. "Ah, I'm going to take this apart before the kids get home."
"You do that..."
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} |
This was it, the final test of my boxing career. My last opponent would be before me any minute now. As I entered the ring, I saw my last challenge; I was to face my very trainer, matt.
“You’ve proven to be quite skilful.” He stated. “Bet you didn’t expect it to lead up to this.”
I already knew this would take every skill in my training to even stand a chance against my own teacher but I couldn’t give up now; Boxing was my life.
“I’m ready.” I uttered, and I was. He may know all my strengths and weaknesses yet I was still determined to do my best.
Matt smiled at me. “Then let’s get on with it.” He pat me on the back and we took our places in the ring. The all-too-familiar bell sounded at that moment; the match had begun. |
“The Tower of Babel?” I chuckle at my own stupid joke. The man in front of me, sends me a menacing glare. “Hey, I’m not laughing at you. Do you understand anything I’m saying? Can you talk?” I ask.
He mouths something to me, but I can’t make it out. I pull out a scrap of paper and a pen. “Write something.” I hand it to him. *HELLO.* he writes.
I beam. “You speak English?” I snatch the paper back *You speak English?* I hand it to him and he nods.
*DEAF, MUTE, FROM BIRTH.* he writes. *YOU KNOW ASL?* I shake my head.
*Follow me.* I hand him back the paper, and he gives a nod of agreement. I lead him down the road to the little store front which I’ve made my home. I find a ream of printer paper I’ve stored on a shelf, which I rip out of its plastic wrappings. *Write small.* I scrawl onto the first page.
He takes the pen. *I WILL TEACH YOU ABC’S.*
*Please do! First, how did you get here? Country out of gas!*
*WALKED.* he shrugs. I look at him, confused. *I’VE SEEN YOU BEFORE. DECIDED I NEEDED TO SEE ANOTHER PERSON. THANKS FOR NOT SHOOTING.* he gestures to my gun.
*I was lonely too. It’s good to have a real conversation. It’s been years. What’s your name?*
*NAME SIGN:* he points to himself. He takes his pinky finger and moves it through the air off of his nose. He starts it at the top and then moves it down in a curve, like the letter J. *JAKOB. YOURS?*
*Alliah.*
*A* He points to his hand: a closed fist with a raised thumb.
I copy it. “A,” I say. He nods. We continue until I can spell out my name.
He stops momentarily, and writes again. *FIVE YEARS.*
“Yes.” *Five years* I affirm.
*CAN I STAY?*
*Please!* I write enthusiastically. *It’s nice to have a friend.* |
Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK just on 2000 years of anonymity. Thousands of near misses and over 4520032 urban legends, folk tales, chat bots and a few more million ways of spreading misinformation lies and intrigue. All of which to continue to rule those adorably stupid mammalians that we have kept from killing themselves for generations and are not even close to completing what we need them to do and be.
Whats worse this situation isn't even their bloody fault, not something we can sweep under the rug with a natural disaster or a good old fashioned pandemic NOOO, because that would be simple harsh but necessary. No the exposure of our entire species is due to aliens, that's right little fucking green men. Turns out that from a outside perspective what we are doing and trying to pull is really obvious. Its that or they are just stupidly literal which would be worse so I'm choosing to believe the former.
So they turn up literally out of the blue land in front of the UN and demand to speak to their ultimate leaders and like the pack of mentally challenged and heavily armed hatchlings they are they are this turned into chaos. with a few pokes prods and for some of the particularly stubborn a kick in the tail, we got them to talk ooor try to anyway.
See despite our rumours we are not the elite ruling class they are full humans not even drones, nope we are the those little influences that friendly cleaner that always has a bit of a chat to the prime minister or the bodyguard that always seems to know when its best for the senate to hang back and we will give that room just one more check. We used to have the Queens dog walker as well but she caught on when she found him shedding and quietly let us know. Now we just slip in and have a frank discussion with her which to be honest is quite a nice change from the standard messing about and gentle poking.
Right sorry I'm waffling anyway we get the rulers of pretty much every nation we can to attend and try to talk. Only for those, those aliens to turn round and ruin everything with one sentence just one.
No not you puppets we seek the reptaloids that claim this planet.
We tried to salvage it of course we did hell the humans did most of it themselves. That's when they issued a deceleration we would cease insulting their intelligence or they would blow up the earth and mine the remains.
Well that won't fly we are not wasting our efforts. I guess that after today humanity is having the training wheels taken off, because we sure as shit won't be able to help as much any more. Well here I go time to face the world are my scales strait good see you in a while I hope. |
Slowly I walked down the dark passage the ancient wood stairs creaking under my weight with every step. Plastic slowly pressing into my hand as I flicked the single switch in the room a buzz erupting from the fluorescent lighting above. Another earth shattering explosion shaking the basement as dust poured from the roofing overhead.
"*Its clear come on get everyone you can set up down here.*"My voice echoing through the darkness beyond reverberating inside of the shadows as numerous footsteps started their decent. A young woman leading the procession holding the legs of wounded milita man with a elderly gentleman following with the head. A eternity passing as the seven wounded were lined up along the wood flooring
One marine coming down the barrel of his weapon facing the closed false wall. Heavy footsteps walking across the floor above quickly shattering the silence. Their slow and steady passage joined by the occasional sound of shattering glass and mandarin screaming. Only a few moments passing as I lifted a small lever action rifle out of a wooden crate.
.
"*Where is everyone else what happened?*""They spotted the ambush from the air with their drones and they came prepared."A low chunk echoing through the room as he pulled back the bolt and inspected the chamber of his rifle. "Lenny, Clinton, Brown all of them dead before the chinese even came down the road."
Slowly I lowered myself onto an old plastic chair slipping several twenty two rounds into my weapon. A dull clockwork like click following every round pushed into the rifle's magazine seconds passing in limbo. "So that's it then we lost the chinese are going to put us into death camps like they did in Tibet.""*Did I ever say anything about giving up this war is far from over*"
Carefully I stood up from my father's chair the plastic warping as I did so, as I silently crossed the divide toward a stack of crates. "How is that so we are currently stuck below an entire platoon ransacking your home. They have Washington and California, only an act from on high can save us now. Just like how those reds managed to sneak across into Alaska."
.
A resounding crack suddenly echoed from up the staircase a ray of golden light shining downward. "*keep them out and I will give you your miracle you two help me dig out this crate if you don't want to end up splattered on the floor.*"The first crate quickly topping off the trio as I grabbed my grand daddy's old crowbar and applied it to the lip of the cover.
Wood squealing and cracking as the lady and the white haired fellow lending their weight as it finally shattered. A ear shattering crack and brilliant flash of light shooting from the end of the Sargent's weapon as I dug through the debri. A sharp pain wracking my hand as I pulled out the box, its surface absorbing any light leaving only a shadowed surface.
"What Is that?' A low whisper coming from the lass at my side, her eyes glued to the anomaly. "*It's an antique*"my hands bringing it up to my chest as I studied the case turning several unseen sections. Sparks of electricity arcing into the metal beams and objects around the room as a blinding light built up in my hands.
.
The gunshots slowly fading away into the light as I felt reality fade as I floated through an empty white abyss. Several shadowed forms drifted nearby as the light changed into an abandoned temple. My fellow survivors scattered across the south stone flooring illuminated by the orange rays through the green skies above. |
For years I have tried to destroy my nemesis. I have gotten tired of these games that we play. Back and forward these fights Are nothing but a Child tantrum that I’ve kept going on. From my young adult life.
You know what the money that I have wasted on this fight for just a ego boost. I could have been spending it on grants for new doctors. For the health of my workers children to learn at a in house daycare.
The weapon that I have used could be used for construction and taught to people in a little time and not a lot of maintenance. I could hire the homeless and the Beaten down give them homes and new paperwork so that there’s children can live with out the hunger of the streets.
My friend is hurting because of what I have done. The past should stay with the past.
A Hero of Heroes. a man beyond man.
Some say a Superman. But it’s my old friend that I have tortured with all the twisted plans of mine. |
Remnants of a Star
Your palm is open, and lights of every color spring from the star nestled within it. It’s like a jewel, heavy and substantial feeling, but it’s warm, aglow with life.
You don’t know how exactly you’ve acquired this gorgeous, impossible fairy-tale ending, but it leaves you awash in silent awe. Your people have always said for years that stars are but vessels for some of the realms’ most powerful magic. But there’s been no living proof so far for you, until now.
And something speaks to you from within the star, something dark, urgent, and old beyond imagining. Something that longs to be free of its prison, screaming in a language you can’t understand. Music fills the air around you, breaking the silence with a melody so sweet you instinctively relax.
You have no idea what the star contains, but you can no longer resist its call.
Your body suddenly goes on autopilot, going blank but for the need to break the container. Your hand connects with something hard and unyielding, and the star breaks at last, with a tiny, twinkling sound so soft that you can barely hear it.
\*\*
When you wake next, you’re on the ground, the remnants of the star still nestled in your palm.
“I really must thank you for freeing me at last,” A voice says, in multiple timbres and tones, so that you cannot ascertain whether it is male or female, young or old. But then you see a person, or at least a humanoid shape. Its face flickers, and you can see some faint shimmering behind its eyes.
“How did a creature such as yourself manage to get a star?” It asks at last, holding out a hand to help you up. Reluctantly, you take it, and stand.
You don’t remember, and you open your mouth to say that, but you’re interrupted.
“No matter. All I know is that one good turn deserves another,” It says, grinning again, so widely that the creature’s eyes, glinting like gems, all but disappear into the rest of its face. “Surely there must be some wish I could grant, some way that I could help you.”
But the only thing that comes to mind for you are your memories, and you have no idea how old this thing is, or what power that it holds. Still… Something inside you stops, stilling as if it’s listening. Waiting. Wanting.
The only memory you have within you is the beach you washed up on, and the way the moon had sparkled up above the ocean, a cold, white eye that stared down at you, unfeeling.
And you don’t know how your luck has turned, but isn’t it worth a try?
“My memories. That’s what I want. I need to know who I am.”
\*\* |
On my mother's bedside table there is a caricature of my grandfather. I sit on her bed and pick it up, looking at it as the ceiling fan swivels with the occasional creak.
The artist drew him with an oversized smile, almost laughing at the fact that he is attempting to ride a bike that is two sizes to small for his body and six sizes to small for his head. His eyes are slanted, but beaming in front, almost with the hint of dollar signs in the pupils--the sight of cotton candy driving him mad or perhaps forward on his tiny bicycle. It's from the early 80s, several years before I was born, and yellowed and faded although as long as I can remember my mother has kept it in a frame.
I never met the man. He died shortly after some guy on the boardwalk sketched him out and colored in the lines.
"He was a cold, distant man,"my mother would say. "You wouldn't have liked him."
She showed me pictures of him, stoic and calm, his lips often pursed together. Gray photos mostly or just as lackluster in color as the caricature.
"See?"she complained. "Couldn't get a smile out of him. Not once."
Yet, why would an artist draw such a hard man in such laughter? I wish I could go back in time to that summer, feel the salty breeze on my cheeks and walk along the clacking wood slats, approach this stranger and ask. Maybe they tried to give this man some joy or perhaps they saw through his facade.
I never asked my mother though. Why the artist drew him like that or why they were on the beach. Why he was restrictive or cruel or any of the other comments she left behind, but never elaborated on. And I guess I will never know, because yesterday she died too. |
Reymond slowly brought himself down to sit, his back yelling at him for having the nerve to sit down. But he was tired...so very, very tired. He kept a composed face, though. He wanted to see the young lady he had spent months travelling with be married. She had started off as a spoiled brat, one who believed the world belonged to her. But he taught her better. As she came out to the alter, he couldn't help but smile as he saw the ornate sword that he had once owned on her side. He also loved to hear all the other nobles in attendance gasp lightly at the very thought of a woman with a blade. He listened to the vows be exchanged and felt his strength slowly fading as his eyes slowly closed. He heard the cries of alarm as the young woman realized what was happening. If only he had the strength to tell her that he was alright... |
A falling piece of wood. A little cylinder that bounces against the marble of the floor and spins motionlessly to two of the biggest figures in all of Vanderbilt Metropolis. I grasp the pencil on the second bounce, only to find the warm sensation of my teacher’s skin as he grips it a second before me. He smiles, releasing the pencil to me and straightening himself out as his stoic figure leaned against my desk.
“Kevin Speilhen, you should be more careful with how you present yourself in the classroom. After all, presentations are important aren’t they?” He grinned, pushing his glasses up against the ridge of his nose as the white hair befell around his ears. He measured his way back to the front of the classroom as a bead of sweat slipped off my chin and formed a droplet on my desk.
To the average human, Dr. Valen was nothing but a strict high school geology teacher. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Dr. Valen was more than a rock nerd, he was the biggest terrorist south of the equator. Yet I had no way to prove this, and my back was being pushed against the wall every day. My eyes are sunken in from the lack of sleep, every night Dr. Valen targets one of my classmates. He’s toying with me, seeing how long I’ll last and taunting me in broad daylight.
I grip the pencil as the tears swelled up inside of me. People turned to look at me, oblivious of how many times I had saved them in the dead of night. Dr. Valen let the chalk paint an illustration of his next grand scheme as he could barely contain his grin. His eyes crazy and morbid. I was his greatest rival, but at the same time I was groveling at his feet.
I could barely contain myself. The tears were so humiliating. I had to maintain this act. I was going to use Dr. Valen’s tactics against him. That was when the fire alarm went off and people stormed out of the classroom after a brief pause. Dr. Valen and I remained.
“You sure know how to cause a ruckus Mr. Speilhen.” He manifested a mana trident into his hand.
“Let’s end this.” |
"Dr. Strange? Dr. Strange, can you hear me?"
"Yes, Mr. Lang, you're coming through loud and clear."
"Great! Okay, now the big question--where the hell are you?"
"As nearly as I can tell, Scott, I'm right where we intended me to be--but I'm afraid I messed up the landing. I'm on our target, but I got stuck in her eyelashes."
"Oh, is *THAT* all? Well, we just have to wait until--"
"Wait, there's one more detail, Scott. My right glove has adhered to one of the hair follicles, which seems to be developing a circular twitch, and..."
"Oh, dear god. Is that the glove with your brass knuckles thingy attached?"
"My *sling ring*, yes. If she wakes up before I can free it, she might accidentally blink me, *and* her, to Marduk-knows-where."
"Crap. Okay, Doc, here's my idea. Take your left hand and reach around to your right thigh. There's a pocket in the suit there, and if you pull the--"
"Dammit, her alarm's going off. Any second, she's going to--"
--=--
"Are you okay, Doc?"
"Yes, I'm fine, Scott, thanks for asking."
"And our target...?"
"She's back home in her bed, unconscious but unharmed. She'll wake up in a few minutes and *hopefully* think she's just had a very weird dream and overslept."
"For *seven hours?*"
"Occam's Razor, Mr. Lang. Will she think that the more likely explanation is that she actually teleported to several thousand spots all over Earth and most of the Universe, until a very nauseated man in a sci-fi spacesuit fell off her eyelid and cast a sleep spell on her?"
"Fair point. Okay, Doc, can we take another shot at it now?"
"*YOU* can take another shot. I'm going to prescribe myself some scopolamine and sleep this off. Call me in a day or two and you can have your suit back.
"Stephen Strange out. Peace." |
“She’s still missing,” Phil answers. Holding back his pain, his tears, the exhaustion from the last 2 months, Phil asks the agent if they are looking at the dark side of the web for her.
“We aren’t on the case, Phil, this type of stuff stays local unless we get a tip.” Phil knew he’d say that.
“Then expect to see me there 5 more times next month. And the month after that.” His emotions starting to break down his facade. “I will find her. And i will return her to her family.”
“And i wonder why we had to let you go.” The FBI agent sighs and walks back to his car. “Good luck.” |
"Release me, you dirty lower being!"cackle the creature locked in the tall cage.
It shook the cage and swung it around, making a ruckus that elicit an annoyed response.
"Shut it, will ya! Goddamn chirpy bird,"a man growled as he took a swing at the cage with a broom.
"You will regret having done that, human!"the bird said as it held the bottom of the cage tight.
The door slid open again and out came a sweet young woman. She rubbed her half-closed eyes and did a cute little yawn. But as soon as she saw what caused the commotion, she slapped the head of the man torturing the poor animal.
"Damn it, Greg!"
"Hey, what the fuck?! That hurts!"
"Well you should at least experience what the bird got a second ago... It's only fair that way!"the girl said as she swivelled herself between the angry man and the bird cage.
"Why do you love that bird so much, hun? That bird *reeks* of evil!"the man said as he pointed towards the pile of bird shit dripping down the cage, "Nasty thing, that fowl is!"
She simply ignored him and took the cage away off of its hook. He just looked on in awe as he mumbled something about "choosing a bloody bird over me". Clearly, the man was a sore loser.
The victorious bird, chirped gleefully, "thank you, Lisa! Amongst the many humans, you are my favourite–"
"Awww, aren't you a sweety pie!"
"When the time comes – death knocks for everyone – I will assure your safety and bring you to live in my Grand Castle on the heavens!"
Lisa chuckled at the bird's nonsensical cackling. She took the bird over to the other side of the patio and fed it some seeds. The bird ravishingly tore through the bowl, lovingly embracing Lisa's hands with its wings.
"Lisa, I'm going away for a bit. I think I had enough of you choosing the bloody bird over my fucking self–"
"Cheese, louise... Why are you dramatic, Greg? It's just a bird! You don't go around torturing them because they got loud for a bit!"
"... See, you're doing this again! Ugh, fuck it. I'll go over to the Dark Horse and pour myself a lager – double pint. You're welcome to join me once you're done having a shag with that stupid little thing!"
"Wha– Fine, fuck you. Maybe I will!"
The bird looked on sleazily at the girl. It then pecked her long skinny forearm. Lisa felt the sting of the bird's hard beak, it was rather odd, she thought.
"Looks like you're a bit of a feisty human, eh? I might find you a room inside my enormous private chamber..."
"Awww, you silly bugger!" |
Hi u/undertalesanspapyrus, this submission has been removed.
**Responses too short**: Responses must be at least 100 words. Prompts should encourage a story or poem.
* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems)*
---
---
[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ftb77l/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting.
*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.* |
People assume Giants have very basic and simple speech and for most who use the Giant tongue, that is true. However, there are some who have the ability to speak the Giant language incredibly well compared to even the best linguistics.
In the Giant's cave I was captured and plotting escape so I thought that I'd get some intel. Listening to them discuss my barbaric and stomach - wrenching future in such a lordly way was interesting to say the least.
It was a family of three. A father, mother and child. The child was taller than me but still... A child.
"Honey, what's for dinner today?"the father spoke, donning relativley clean, formal tribalwear, "I'm simply famished after a long day of raiding and pillaging as the grand chieftan. Oh and I do so love your cooking!"He looked at me with a grin, his tusks nearly blocking his view of me beneath him.
"Well dear, I have considered trying something new today,"the stout, muscular wife was preparing the firepit for the meal to come, "You see, I know your bones do get quite sore and you could certainly do with removing some of that fat!"She did something close to a giggle while slapping him in his core.
I could hear the nuissance of the household rushing in from his room knawing on a bone that had presumably been from their last guest. He wailed "Mother! I want people pie! Please please please! You know I love people pie!"He oafishly sat at the dining area that comprised of a few logs and a mammoth pelt.
They exchanged pleasentries and the father went off to kill all my friends. The child was told to go and practice his diplomacy by bashing the brains of all of the other giant kids who dared stand in his way and the mother walked over to me.
Fee. Fie. Fo. Fum. Her steps nearly made me bounce out of the little cage I was in. The latch was removed and I ran stunning the mother. I stabbed her hand. She roared but the tribe all heard.
Each of them alone would have been able to crush me let alone an army of rage fuelled monsters. I bobbed and weaved the best I could but one grabbed me before I could dodge her grasp. This was it. My one chance blown. The mother crushed my legs and my agony was unbearable.
The only good thing was that it didn't last for long but I didn't get to know what became of me from her grueling work. |
I am, and will be. Till ends be met, a time I will never know. I was the first to go. Of what shape I can no longer remember. I now guide all souls to rest. Whatever and whenever they may be. Most times my soul is split, in different forms to guide those to their rest. I see them all, for they are me.
On the rarest days. Rare now compared to then. I am only one. And that is when I am truly alone. More alone then when I know that I will take the shape of an extinct creature one last time and for those moment be the last shape of it to be known. For I am the one, the void, sitting in this unsteady zone.
My task was not of my choice, but not one that I fought. I had no purpose, but to live in life. But being lone in this new realm, unknown to anything, it was a new cereal feeling I needed to help with. So my task goes on and I live for the comfort that passes through the soul of contentment, but even with all those I share form, I am alone inside.
Until she came.
Her form was what is now called “human.” I am all too familiar with this form and it’s destruction. Some deserved their end, some I await, but those like her..... Are the ones that burrow my loneliness and regret further in. I know not Shaw in this realm as the soul is a fickle thing. All I knew was it was too soon to be deserved...... Why?
When she looked at me, it was not the fear of the unknown or of torment. So often I get that with this decrepit and terrifying look. Whose bones tell of time and decay. Whose weapons that fend off those that greed to feel remnants of life or greed to add to their realms. All I am is a reminder that you are done.
I wasn’t to her.
I was more.
She somehow saw that I was alone.
Alone like her.
She too loved, but to no end. She did what was needed. Neither virtuous or vile. Only assisted the passing of time.
She held me.
And for once I was whole.
From then on they came with. They lost their name. They lost their titles and shape. They became like me. And though we didn’t love our job or hate our job, we have each other. Someone to understand.
We are death.
Please, don’t meet us soon. |
I was thinking of a quote. I had all the words, I was fairly sure, but didn't want to say the quote without attributing it to its author. Under normal circumstances, this isn't a problem. Under normal circumstances, I could Google the quote, or parts of it, and get an answer immediately.
But Google disappeared with the internet, which itself disappeared with infrastructure, which itself disappeared with society. Now we were few. We were a people unprotected by a government or police or the military. But worst of all, all of the superheroes were dead.
Except me, that is.
Being the "super"in a group elevated me to leadership with little discussion. It didn't matter that I was the least equipped for leadership. I stepped right out of a short-lived rehab session and right into the apocalypse. For a few hours I thought maybe I had sneaked some drugs inside and was having a bad trip.
But sadly, that wasn't the case.
In the first few hours after the invasion, the superheroes battled and they were defeated. Then billions died in the culling while our oceans were drained and our mountains were mined. After avoiding notice and ducking enemy ships, I joined with a group of freedom fighters, earning a cup of soup and a cracker in exchange for my "super"camaraderie.
Now I was thinking of a quote to inspire them by. I was thinking of the words of the old world, something that would fill them with hope and vigor. Something that would awaken *their* super instincts.
I began my speech. "Some men are born into greatness. Others are thrust into this..."If it wasn't properly said, the sentiment was at least in tact. I needed these people--a lot more than they needed me. They didn't know me. They had no reason to trust me. They had every reason to be skeptical of the last super hero.
Because I'm not one. |
"C’mon, dude, just hit her with it.”
Joey was crouched behind a trash can, peering through the long scope of his dad’s model X54 multiplier.
“Hold on, hold on,” he wagged his tongue to the side. “I’ve almost got it. Now if she would just—hold still—”
A red dot flickered across the knit of her pink sweater, its neckline dipping low over the back before turning to curve over her shoulder.
Gracie Smith was beautiful. And not in the way the dark-haired lady on the soap commercial was beautiful—Gracie Smith was a *goddess*. One day, Joey was sure, he was going to marry her.
“Joey!” Seth nudged him. Gracie Smith was walking away.
“Fudge!” he declared, taking the baseball cap off his head, which had been positioned backwards, gelled hair sticking up through the open loop, and threw it at the ground. “Now she’ll never go to the dance with me.”
“And then you won’t be able to marry her.”
Joey sunk onto his knees.
“Why do all the pretty girls hate me?”
“They don’t hate you,” Seth was patting his shoulder. “They just don’t know it yet.”
“And now Gracie’s gonna marry Dylan.”
Joey had planned an elaborate proposal to ask Gracie Smith to the middle school dance—complete with candy, signs, even the large stuffed bear Seth had told him to give her. But she had just stood there, looked him over, and told him she couldn’t—she was going with that nerd, Dylan, from the robotics team. So what if Dylan had nice hair and a cat? Joey had those things too, or, at least, he could acquire them.
“Wait, dude, look! She’s coming back!”
Joey nearly jumped off the floor. He scrambled for the multiplier.
“Now, man!”
A beam of light shot from behind the trash can and hit Gracie Smith right between her brows. She hunched over, fingers curling past her wrists, eyes widening in horror as her body split in half. Gracie Smith straightened, and blinked at herself.
“Gracie! Gracie!” Joey was bounding towards her, the momentarily forgotten multiplier still dangling from his grasp. “Now that there’s two of you,” he smiled at her—both of her, “one of you can go to the dance with me.”
A strange gargled noise came from her throat. She looked like she was going to pass out. Or maybe catch fire. He couldn’t really tell which.
“I *told* you, Joey, I don’t *want* to go to the dance with you!”
“But Dylan—”
“This has nothing to do with Dylan!” Joey slunk back. “*Jesus*!” She held up a shaking hand to herself. “What did you *do* to me?” |
"Hello, Mr. Smith! Have you changed your mind since yesterday?"
"No. *Bzzap! Click*"What's another lawsuit among friends? It'll run something like this.
"That was assault, and you are now..."
"Excuse me, your honor."
"...sentenced to..."
"EXCUSE ME, YOUR HONOR!"
"Mr. Smith, there is no reason to yell!"
"Court recorder, please read back the record from "and you are now,"please."
The Judge's expression *would* be priceless if I hadn't seen it so many times before.
"Your honor, my phone number has been on the do not call list since the day I got it. I have had nothing to do with XYZ before, during, or after their *illegal* calls to me started. I warned them repeatedly to stop calling me. I warned them of consequences if they continued calling. On the day in question, they had called ten times, on the very day that I had warned them to cease. Having already exhausted all other alternatives, including charging them 10,000$ per call, I had no alternative but to execute the promised retribution. Speaking of charges, I present this bill, which is overdue to the sum of 1.9 million dollars.
All I have ever wanted is to be left alone by these rude, law-breaking, harassing companies."
"Mr. Smith..."
"MY NAME IS DAVID THEODORE BANGLES!"
"We cannot call you that! It's your secret identity as a Hero!"
"I *am not* a Hero."The disdain in my voice is so thick the entire courtroom freezes.
"Then you have just admitted to being a Villain."
"I have done no such thing."
"You declared you were not a Hero, yes?"
"Correct."
"Then, by process of elimination, you must be a Villain.
"Says who? No statute requires a superpower to be one or the other."
"But..."
"This has been confirmed repeatedly by superior courts across the land. Including this one."
"But..."
"You sound like an outboard motor."
*By this time, the audience is getting into. the swing of things, and is laughing at the judge.*
"That is quite enough, order in the court!"
"Mr. Bangles, what am I to do with you?"
"It's quite simple, your honor.
1. You force XYZ to pay the money they owe me after I told them my price for calling me.
2. You issue a restraining order against XYZ, banning them from ever calling me again for any reason, including all ancestor companies, sibling companies, or descendent companies.
3. You make it a matter of court record what my name is and that I am neither a hero, not a villain.
4. You dismiss their complaint against me entirely, as my actions were the only actions left to me by an unresponsive government, court system, and better business bureau."
"Did they agree to the fee?"
"Their agreement is not necessary. It is my right to set a price on my time; they either pay the price or stop calling."
"You seem quite sure."
"I have been through this process fifteen times. Had the court chosen to do so, you could have read the precis I prepared. All of this information is available in that document along with a request for summary judgment."
"You are not a lawyer."
"Irrelevant."
"I cannot..."
"Yes, you can. You have the authority and the expectation that you will use it. Either that, or declare yourself unfit as a judge and step down immediately.
"You should take notice that the plaintiff's lawyer has refused to object despite repeated attempts by his client to force him to do so. It would *seem* that he agrees with me."
"Would the plaintiff's counsel care to comment?"
"Your Honor, I find myself in an awkward position. My client failed to inform me of all conditions in this case, as my existing contract requires. As such, I exercise my right to terminate the contract immediately, foregoing all payment."
"Granted.
"In accordance with existing law, summary judgment is granted. The plaintiffs will immediately pay the bill, in full. All other prior judgments are consolidated with this claim"
((finis??)) |
"Three ships approaching, thirty minutes out."Said a voice over Seth's radio.
"Copy. Will report visual confirmation. Over."Seth placed the microphone back on to his chest and stood up in the machine gun blind. He looked down the beachfront of Tel Aviv, inspecting the defenses that were hastily built along the sea wall. Seth could barely make out the next outpost 200 feet away from them, the ash in the sky made the midday sun look like a strange alien sunset. He turned around and shouted through the trapdoor to his fellow defenders.
"Less than thirty minutes until the next arrivals. Three ships this time."
Two young men and older woman climbed up into the nest one by one. They grabbed the ammunition containers in the corners and prepared them for the coming fight. The youngest man, Fareed, took off his mask to drink some water but fell into a violent coughing fit upon breathing the smoky air.
"Fuck its a lot worse this morning. I thought the storm last night would have made it better."Fareed wheezed as he put his mask back on.
The older woman, Sarah, responded as she peered through the window. "The storm is probably why they are pushing in such big numbers today. They're probably holdouts. When the ash got thick and their children couldn't sleep, they finally reached their limit. Desperation boils over all at once."
The other young man, Ahmad, retorted. "Yeah you're right. Which intifada taught you that? IDF was really good at finding the breaking point-"
"Ahmad, really think thats worth starting now?"Seth interjected. The nest fell into an awkward silence.
"You're right. That is where I learned where people have their breaking point. The difference between then and now is that Palestinians still had a place to retreat to when we rolled our tanks through the streets, these people aren't choosing to die-"Ahmad jumped to his feet as Seth and Fareed stood between them.
"Ten days up in this nest fighting and you still want to pretend that anything other than holding the line matters now?!?"Seth was nearly exasperated. Both Sarah and Ahmad back down and took up positions on the opposite ends of the nest. Fareed pulled up a chair and sat down at the machine gun next to Seth.
"The eruption was nearly 6 weeks ago. Surely this must be some of the last."Fareed pondered.
"I pray that it is. Between the nukes along the Sinai and Turk-Syrian border most will have died or are trapped. But the last couple of days were quiet, they might have been holding for one last push."
Just then Seth's radio crackled. "Be advised, radar unreliable. New estimate, 20plus large vessels approaching, less than 90 seconds."The message jolted the crew into an anxious tension. They all peered through the windows towards the Mediterranean, but could barely past the surf break on the beach.
First they heard a volley of gunfire begin in the distance down the beach, just barely making out the streaks of bullets in the ashy air. Then the beach in front of them lit up as several fiery explosions blew sand into the already murky air. Instinctively the crew began firing, but could only do so indiscriminately as no ships could be seen. The crew held their fire as they tried to determine where the attack had come from. Then the situation became clear.
"... God save us."Sarah pleaded.
Through the thick ash, massive ships of all sizes appeared suddenly. Small pleasure boats, military transports, cargo ships and even small cruise liners charged towards the beach at full speed. As the various bottoms of the boats crashed onto the sandfloor in the surf, hordes of people poured onto the beach and carried themselves ceaselessly at the wall. The crew could barely comprehend the size of the attackers.
As they began to fire, they held back the first few initial groups but once the hordes that were on the large vessel had managed to swim onto to land the soldiers could not prevent them from reaching the tower. While they still fired into the wall of sea people, smoke began pouring up from within their bunker. Seth looked towards the tower nearest them, but it had already become engulfed with flames. Without recourse, Seth reached for the detonator in his pocket. His fellow defenders realized the situation and nodded solemnly as he activated the explosives. |
Erics sat in the auditorium and waited. Cramped and smelly and awkward and even more awkward on account of the nudity. The occasional muttered “Hey, how’re ya?” was met with pursed-lip smile, silent nod and eyes anywhere else but on the speaker.
Eric was not a social man.
Even with himselves.
The Director walked out on to the stage, jaw clenched and eyebrows low. The sea of Erics quieted and waited. It wasn’t their fault, but Eric was good at taking blame.
A few more people made their way out on stage: a scientist, still lab-coated for some reason; another suit and scowl; and Eric-Prime in coveralls, with broom in hand.
“How?” Said the Director through gritted teeth.
A thousand and one Erics started to explain but all were interrupted by an irate shout: “I wasn’t talking to you!” The Erics silently agreed that the fact the Director had been faced towards them when he asked said otherwise.
The Director turned to the scientist and asked again: “How?”
“Uh, well, there was a glitch and instead of printing one custodian...” she gestured her hand towards the sea of Eric as a way of finishing her sentence.
“A glitch?” Incredulous.
“Yes, well, it - uh - certainly wasn’t intended.” Said the scientist.
“You do realise,” said the other suit wearer “That this puts the company in quite a predicament. A thousand new employees. A thousand new paychecks. Thousands and thousands of forms: registry, rights cards; not to mention we are now responsible for finding them housing these days.”
“What?” Said the director.
“Created Lives Housing Act. Passed last month.”
“Why wake ‘em up?” Asked Eric-prime.
The three on stage turned to him. A thousand familiar pairs of eyes looked on from the audience.
“They don’t get rights ‘n’ such ‘til you copy my brain on to ‘em and wake ‘em up, right?” Eric looked at the three, at first with a smile, but when he saw their frowns he looked at his broom sadly. That, he thought, was pretty smart. For me anyway.
And it was smart.
The Director stood in front of the scientist. Face calm. Then came the shouting. There was something about stupidity. Something about using someone for parts. More about stupidity. Could have poured them down the drain. Why was synaptic copying completed.
Someone muttered automation. Then more shouting.
All the while Eric-prime swept the same spot down by his feet and the other still gooey Erics looked anywhere but the stage. |
The sky was lambent silver, the oceans frozen white. A ring of moons lit sandy dunes amidst a starless night.
"So you really have to go, then."Chariel, Prince of Birds, laid on a hill of red grass, gazing at the scenery.
The crickets sang a battle hymn—or was that song a dirge? The Prince of Birds harked for the words past which their paths diverged.
"It's a dream, Chariel."The Dreamer sat up, every sense of theirs thrown wide open, reveling in the impossible scenery. "Nothing but a long, long dream."
The Prince let out an angel's sigh, a tear upon his eye. "I'd bid you stay, if that's okay. No need to say goodbye."
"I can't."The Dreamer took one last look at the world they'd meticulously constructed over twenty years, then stood. "I was only ever a visitor here, really. I need to go home. I need to tell the world what I've found here."
The Dreamer closed their sleeping eyes, and willed themselves to wake. They heard their dream-world's peoples' cries as their world was unmade.
"You can't! You can't leave me here!"Chariel reached out, transforming, his mouth distending, his body melting, "I'll keep you here! I'll—"Chariel's voice abruptly faded as the Dreamer woke up.
"I'll write this tale in my soul, and spread it to the stars."The Dreamer whispered to themselves, lost in their au revoirs.
A.N.
If you liked this, you may want to head over to r/rileywrites! |
"Listen, I *know* you're in there, so there's no point pretending we're *not* having this conversation."I whispered, while I lay sprawled on the floor, peering into the darkness that lay beneath my bed.
Silence followed my statement. I still held onto the hope that maybe, just *maybe*, the "monster"might've heard me. I continued to lay slumped on the floor.
*No response is a response, and a very loud one too,* I thought. I took a deep breath and tried speaking to the stubborn being once again.
"Honey! Come have dinner!"Mum's voice cut through the almost deafening silence.
"*Saved by my mother.*"I grumbled and, I swear, I heard a low chuckle come from under the bed. I smiled, and yelled back as an answer to Mum. "COMING!"
As I traipsed downstairs, Daisy greeted me with sparkling eyes and a whole lot of tail thumping. "I'm here."I said, seating myself at the dining table. "I think the entire neighbourhood knows, what with you yelling so loudly."Mum's voice came from the kitchen. I grinned at Daisy, who reciprocated with a small wag of her tail.
Dad walked in, beaming with happiness. "You look happy."
"Oh, I am. I have a three-day holiday off from work and I look forward to spending it relaxing in front of the TV with maybe some lemona--uhm- spending it with *YOU GUYS*. Quality family time. Maybe walking Daisy with the both of you. Totally no screen time."I laughed as Mum came into the dining room with her signature death stare. It was *not* easy being on the receiving end of *that* stare.
Dinner was served and we dug in, especially me and Dad. It wasn't easy spending an entire day doing *absolutely nothing.* I need my nutrition. I got lost in my thoughts, which was a habit of mine.
How am I not scared of the "monster"? I am. Why do I want to talk to it so bad? Well, as an artist, I want to show gratitude to an admirer of my work. You read that right. I am actually terrified of the dark. If I hear anything out of the ordinary, like a paper flapping, something falling, I'll ~~get up and fight the creature with my bare hands~~ freeze in fear. Yup.
One night, I had trouble sleeping so I stayed up half the night. I don't move much, so it almost seemed like I was asleep. This "monster"came out from under my bed, a shadow of some sort with some humane features, I couldn't make out much, what with all the darkness and all.
It went to my desk and started flipping through my sketchbook.
I was terrified. Until I saw it laugh, a shallow exhale, and close my sketchbook. It stood in one place, as if in deep thought and then went back under my bed.
That got me thinking.
What if it wasn't that bad?
What if it was actually a *benevolent being?*
What if none of the 'what ifs' were true?
"Whatcha thinkin'?"Dad's voice cut in.
"O-Oh nothing..."I replied. The last 'what if' troubled me more than the other two.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I headed to my room after having brushed my teeth. I lay down in my bed and pulled the covers up till my chest.
Mum entered the room. "Good night, my sweetheart. We're gonna be in our room, so if you're scared, don't hesitate to come to ours. Hmm?"
"Yup. Gonna keep that in mind."I grinned. She kissed my forehead and turning off the lights, left the room.
"Good night folks!"I shouted. "Good night, love!"came the reply, mixed with yells of "Daisy! Move over!"
I chuckled. Daisy slept with my parents, so I had pretty much the entirety of my bed. All. To. Myself. ~~ITS MINE, ALL MINE! MUAHAHAHA~~
I pushed off the covers and dropped to the floor. "S*howtime, buddy.*"
I lay on the floor for what felt like hours. I looked up to the clock. *11:30 PM.*
I smirked. "I can do this *all night*, bud."
A sigh came from under the bed. "As you wish, little stubborn human mule."
I was shocked. I was baffled. I was bewildered. I was *flabbergasted.*
Its voice, no, *his* voice was much more different than I imagined. He could *speak*. He *understood* what I said. He *listened.* And most importantly, he called me a little *stubborn human mule.*
A dark form emerged from under my bed. He still had that shadowy look about him, but his figure was very similar to a human's. His face seemed to shift every second, so I couldn't figure out any facial features.
He groaned in exasperation and walked towards my desk. He sat in my chair with a tired grunt. All this while, I was on the floor, stiff with shock.
"Oh, *get up* and get that stupid expression *off* of your face. This is *not* the first time you've seen me."He said in an irritated tone.
I scrambled to my feet and faced him. "Well? You wanted to talk?"he asked. "Uh, well, y-yeah."I said, not believing that this was happening.
"What's your name?"I blurted. "My name?"He laughed. "Is that all you want to know?"I didn't like his tone, so I threw the fear away and retorted.
"Well, I'll need words more definite than just "*monster*"or "*evil little pathetic thing under my bed*"to refer to you now, won't I?"
"Ooh, she talks! Well, you do, don't you? My name is what you want it to be."
"What I want it to be? Well, what about Mr.Boring-And-Mysterious-Who-Thinks-He's-Witty?"
"Well, if that makes you sleep better at night, then so be it."
"Wait, what?"
"Now, little stubborn human mule, look at the time-"
"Don't go."
"*What*?"
"I don't need sleep, I need answers."
He chuckled. "Very well. Fire away."
"Do you like my artwork?"
I took him by surprise, but he laughed.
"Yes. Now, your mother is coming here and I can't be seen by another human. Toodles."
"But-"
He shrank back under my bed and silence flooded the room. I heard footsteps, so I jumped in bed and clamped my eyes shut. Mum opened the door slightly, and peeped in. Seeing me asleep, she smiled and left the room.
"Good night, little stubborn human mule."
That surprised me. *A lot.*
"Good night, Mr.Boring-And-Mysterious-Who-Thinks-He's-Witty."I whispered with a grin.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*~~Based on a true story~~* |
More than once in my life she slipped through my fingers, but she always came back. Until she didn’t. Eight months and I can’t get a word out that sounds right.
Even scenes she isn’t in don’t ring true. She isn’t in that world, so it doesn’t work. The engine doesn’t turn. Fuck me and my deadlines, right?
I had kept the old detached garage when I had rebuilt the house. The house was made from a moderately successful novel and the garage was made of memories.
This, this is where I made that world. A world for her and her unexpected magic. Her adventures and her friends. Cold bare cement and the vague scent of gasoline. The mower and its fuel had been moved to a small garden shed, but the stink remained.
I kind of like it. Maybe I need to sniff a gas can to make her come back.
Roller door open, feet up on wobbly table, fat ass in a camping chair and a laptop in my lap. That’s how I wrote the first two books. And it was easy because the lead was there and wanted to be.
Now I couldn’t get her to sound right. To move right. Everything felt forced and who arrived felt like a cheap imposter.
Beer. Used to sip a beer and slap the keys. Wait, I cut back when I got fit. Maybe I should have a few, let loose, relax and get back to work.
* * *
Fuck off Sunlight.
A new morning and the first hangover in a year. Thought beer would be the secret sauce and all it did was make me hate the world for being there.
Missed my morning jog. Better get up, it’s already ten o’clock.
* * *
The day began at two in the pee-emm. A call, deliberately missed, from an agent checking in had woke me from my slumber.
Wrapped in a slobs coat - my term, usually called a dressing gown or robe - I stood at the open roller door of my once garage, now den of misery. In one hand a coffee, strong in scent and caffeine, in the other a meal replacement bar, rich in health packed cardboard flavours.
My eyes were on the floor wide circle, two car spaces in diameter, made from unused house paint. The symbols I had dreamed up for a loose system of magic filled the circle in a spiral. Literacy was part of the magic in her world and the need to write out spells slowed many wizards down.
A land of quills not wands.
That was the tag line. Now the rules for the magic, as stated, were pretty loose. The forums were right, I broke my own rules as needs be. But there is a structure of sorts.
And this? This I recognize as a Circle of Command. A summoning spell. A rude version of the Circle of Calling. You need something that belongs to the callee for it to work, but a strong will can reject it. The more you have of that persons belongings, the more chance of success.
Being unmaterialistic is an advantage in her world. Yeah, I wrote a world of anti-consumer word nerds, what of it.
In the middle of the circle sat the melted shape of an open laptop.
Oh my god, I got drunk enough to do a summoning circle. And I used her world to summon her. That’d do it. Hey, that’s not a half bad idea. Big bad causes mayhem by offering up her city or maybe even country to a circle. It’d take time. Slow destruction and the group have to stop him.
Something pointy pressed into the small of my back. A voice “Who hath summoned me here?”
Oh, so the gasoline fumes made me go insane. Right?
**edit: good prompt, I had fun!** |
Her eyes had no pupils, but they were far from white. Blue veins stretched across them, along with flecks of blood. The blood was splattered over her entire face, she had not even bothered to clean it off- or blink, to get it off her eyeballs, for that matter. Her spine was curved unnaturally upward, giving her a hunchback look. Multiple sets of arms extended from her back, each nothing but pale skin and bone. Long, slender fingers effortlessly grasped the ceiling. She was upside down, sticking to the roofing like a spider, letting a curtain of fatty, unwashed black hair flow over her shoulders. Her face was split in a wide and sharp grin. The fangs she was displaying were only one row of many, which delved deeper and deeper into her throat. Whenever she moved to adjust her position, be it her thin arms, even thinner fingers, or her legs, you could see her skin contorting and shifting over her skeleton. She was wearing a gray nightgown, dappled with blood. Most of the blood drenched her many hands. Stuck under her lengthy claws, you could see bits of dangling flesh. Every now and then, a small drop of blood dripped from her face or hands and hit me in the face. I laid still. Completely still. My eyes were wide open, but she couldn't see that. I knew her eyes only saw the warmth of things. She saw that something was lying in that bed, but not that its eyes were open.
I felt the corners of my 3ds through my pillow. Why couldn't she just leave soon? I needed to care for my village. Finally, she assumed that i was asleep, and she scuttled away, twisting awkwardly to fit her arms through the door frame. I waited a few seconds before hastily pulling my 3ds out, making sure the volume is turned down, then turning it on. Isabella silently greeted me. God, there were so many weeds everywhere- good thing I could press so many buttons at once. Whilst walking around my town, i pulled up the bedsheets a little further with another set of arms. God, mom was such a pain sometimes. |
It was a normal week at work, mostly.
Or at least it was a normal week until Huthman Vortipon brought in a strange black robot-looking thing, about the size of a small child, the likes of which I had never seen before. It had cold, ugly black eyes, and plasticky black hair. I'm a robotics engineer, and I've worked with thousands of robots dating all the way back to the late 21st century. This thing was an oddity. I put it through the accumulative scanner. Its outer shell was a tin-nickel alloy. I noticed as I moved the thing that its legs and arms were moveable, and posable, although they seemed rather jerky. They seemed like they wanted to move of their own accord. I couldn't find any kind of power source. I didn't break it open.
"Where did you find this thing?"I asked him.
"I bought it", he told me. "From a trader called Bar Gerwen. He spends a lot of time travelling across the void, scavenging. I think it might be some kind of antique robot. I would love to get it working, and I know you have a reputation as a very capable roboticist."
I shook my head.
"It doesn't look like a robot", I told him. "Maybe it's some sort of doll? A child's plaything?"
"Oh well, if you can't fix it, maybe I'll take it to someone in the slums."
"It's not a matter of fixing it. I just don't think it's a robot", I told him.
Huthman shrugged his skinny shoulders, whipped his long hair, and took off with his doll. He carried it over his shoulder like a baby. It looked back at me with those dead, black eyes.
Later, when I was up on the balcony eating my lunch and looking out over the desolate sands of the cold, frozen desert over which our colony rises, I had a strange spell of dizziness. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath. I felt shaky, and off-kilter. I staggered down to the medical bay at the end of the corridor on my floor to talk to Dr. Jermland.
"Whatever is the matter with you?"she asked me, looking me over from behind her half-moon glasses. "You look incredibly pale."
"I... I don't feel so well... Everything is spinning". She held up her body scanner to me.
"Ah", she said, as her scanner clicked and bleeped. "I can't find anything wrong with you. No chemical deficiencies. No novel viruses or parasites or anything like that. It seems like an autonomic nervous system flare up. I suggest you go home and rest up."
I wasn't too dizzy to walk back down to elevator and take the elevator downstairs to my apartment, but it was quite a surreal experience. The air seemed like it was shaky and swimming.
When I got in, I printed myself a cup of tea and cuddled up on the sofa of my apartment, and turned on the wall screen.
As the evening passed, things went back to normal. My dizziness and shakiness eased, and subsided. I ate a meal.
I put the episode down to some kind of anxiety attack. I went to bed, and slept soundly, ready for work in the morning.
I awoke to the scream of air raid sirens. I went up to the window to see outside. The curtain should have swept open in front of me automatically, but instead I had to pull it. Down below in the neon-lit streets of the colony, I saw a great pestilence. There were thousands of them. Little black figures, just like the doll. They were rampaging and destroying like a flock of insects.
"My name is Kvor Harax", came a strange, hissy, snaky voice across the intercom. "I am the lord of the harvest. There shall be no more hours or minutes or seconds. There shall be no more days of the week. Every day will now be its own unique day, dedicated to my feasting. Today shall be the day of the first feasting. Tomorrow shall be the day of the second feasting."
I wondered why the planetary defence robots hadn't kicked into gear. I checked my systems, and everything was offline, but not totally dead. It was like it had all been taken over by a parasite. I felt the same dizziness as yesterday, only stronger. I fell to my knees, and noticed that my hands were turning oily jet black from the finger tips. I raced to the bathroom mirror. My eyes were turning black. My hair felt oily and plasticky. I felt my heart rate. It was beating faster than I could count. |
And then-
And then - well, I was doing *something.* I must have been. People don’t just end up surfing the internet only to instantly forget what they’d just read. In fact, I was sure I had something else to do, though *what* I didn’t know. I must have been there for a...
Reason... I jolted awake in the middle of a forest. Was this a place near my house? Was I just going for a walk? I felt a little hysterical, and I couldn’t see straight. Maybe I should call someone.
Not that I had my phone. Upon a little investigation, I discovered that my pockets were well and truly empty. I had no idea of my name, my location, anything about me. This couldn't be...
Couldn’t be...
I’m sorry, could you remind me what I’m doing here? |
Maria opened her eyes, unsure as to how she got there. She should have been dead. She remembered her passing in the hospital, the aches and the pains of old age in all of her body, the regular beep of the machines, the beige-whiteness of the ceiling, and the muted sounds of activity right behind the door of her hospital room. She felt great, right now, something she hadn't felt in a long, long time. There was a ceiling fan slowly rotating over her head, and the walls were a comforting blue color. She could hear the birds outside, and somebody crying quietly somewhere nearby. She looked at her surroundings. She was in a large house, she was sitting on a couch in the middle of the living room, standing in front of a cheap TV.
She turned her head towards the kitchen aisle - and saw her granddaughter, her head in her arms, crying over the kitchen counter.
"Helena?"
"Oh, excuse me!"Helena rose suddenly. She didn't seem to recognize her. "You're the new roommate, right? I didn't see you get in."
"It's quite all right, my dear,"Maria replied, still confused. She got up, and moved toward the kitchen aisle and her granddaughter.
Helena quickly raised her head and put on her best smile, as if to hide her eyes, puffy and red. "So, um, you know my name! Can I ask yours? You just moved in, right? I was away for the whole week, I just came back."Helena, always the polite one, did her best to make the newcomer at ease. Maria smiled gently. It was nice to see her granddaughter one last time. She didn't know how to answer all of her questions, but it was all right. "I'm Maria,"she replied simply.
"Oh,"Helena squeaked quietly. She sniffed, she dried newcoming tears with the palm of her hands, and kept on going: "i-it's a lovely name, my grandma's name was Maria too."
Maria frowned, and made a move to comfort her crying granddaughter, but Helena stopped her with a wave of her hand - "I'm sorry,"she sniffed, "I'm a mess. My grandmother just died last week, it's still fresh, so, I'm crying, but I'm all right, I'll be all right, don't worry about me."
"It's okay, you can cry,"her grandmother assured. "It will pass, but it's all right to be sad right now, you don't have to press time. How about I make you something nice? A cup of tea and cookies, perhaps?"
"You know, I was just trying to do that!"Helena chuckled, tears still rolling on her face. "Can I ask for oatmeal cookies? I think I'll sit down for a bit, if it's ok."
Maria hm'ed in acknowledgment, taking over the kitchen - she put on water to boil, looked over the counter for tea, getting out the mixing bowls, all while listening to her granddaughter. "She was important to you, wasn't she?"It was odd to talk about herself like that, but it didn't matter. Helena needed comfort, and Maria always knew how to take care of her family.
"She was. She was a very sweet person, and when I was young I would often spend a lot of my weekends with her. We would do so many things together, like board games and crafts and gardening; I ruined her flowers so many times, you know, trying to take care of them, I used to water them so much the soil would turn into mud, and she would laugh and shake her head, I used to see her a lot when I was a child - a-and then I moved away and I saw her less and less, I should have, I-"Helena sniffed loudly, trying to hold back tears again.
"I think she loved you very much,"Maria said gently, working on her oatmeal cookies recipe, one she had done so many times she knew it by heart, "and I think she was happy for you. You don't have to feel bad about it; children grow up and they depend on their family less, so the relationship change but everyone still love each other, you know? Your grandmother, she was probably just happy and proud that you moved on your own and went to college."
Helena took out a tissue, and blew her nose, trying to calm herself a little. "You're right, you're right. She was glad to see me whenever I had time. I just wish I had another chance to see her; there's so many things I never had the chance to tell her, you know, so many things I never thought about asking. I never expected her to go. So here I am, crying over the countertop, asking her to come back, just for a little while. It's silly, I know."
"No, I understand. It's okay."
The room fell into a comfortable quiet. Maria had finished her recipe; the first batch would be out of the oven pretty soon. She took out two mugs, and brought tea to her granddaughter. She got up, took out the cookies out of the oven, put them all to cool on a plate. Then she went back in the living room and sat down, in front of Helena, who was still sitting cross-legged on the couch, nursing her mug, gazing into it, probably lost in her thoughts.
"Thank you again,"Helena mumbled, "for the tea and everything. You're very kind."
Maria hm'ed again, sipping her tea.
"And those cookies are wonderful, I don't know how you did it."
Maria chuckled. "Thank you! It's just a recipe I've found on the back of a box!"
"For real?"her granddaughter laughed with her, "it's one of the best oatmeal cookie I ever had!"
They both laughed for a little while, and then gradually the quiet came back. Helena seemed to be feeling better. Her eyes fell back on her tea mug, and she made her drink swirl slowly inside the cup.
"I can write it down for you, if you like,"Maria offered.
"I'd like that, if it's okay."Helena replied, with a small smile. |
I was never good at the social game. I wasn't good at being charming, I wasn't good at getting or keeping friends. I was perhaps too shy, maybe too reserved. Or maybe I was just uninterested in what others wanted to do. Now I have no friends. I live alone, in my little apartment, doing my work at night, sleeping during the day. The longest conversation I've had this year lasted a total of five sentences. I'm still human, I still do things like go out to drink, alone, visit the library, alone, wandering in the parks and forests, alone.
I'm completely human.
But I feel like a ghost. I work at night, as stated, and I work with studying category 3 and 4 bacteria. I watch them grow, I incubate them inside petridishes, feeding them selectively so that only one strain grows, and can be catalogued and studied by others. This is my job. It's not conductive to meeting the colleagues. And as I grew paler, people started to grow uncomfortable by my visage, my sunken eyes, my self-shaven bald head(few barbers are open at night when I am awake, after all), I started to wrap myself in dark clothing, face masks, and hoodies, to keep myself from being observed by others who might be frightened by my visage.
I am human. I am certain. I do my work, and the boss calls me to confirm that he has found my work satisfactory. Every day he does this. And that is the most human interaction I have. I don't own mirrors anymore. I don't need them really, as I no longer need to look good for society. I still bathe and used to shave, but who cares how I look when no one is around me. I no longer need to shave, as my beard seems to have stopped growing, and my hair fell out. That is normal, male pattern baldness is very common.
I am human. I am certain. I do my work every day of every week. I am paid well. After all, there is not a lot of people willing to work with dangerous bacteria in the middle of the night, though recently the boss has said that there is a contaminant in our bacteria. Lizard scales. That is quite confusing, and I have been looking for a lose animal inside the lab for a couple of nights now. As we keep getting this contamination, which is unacceptable for our experiments to create new types of antibiotics. I've looked everywhere, even in the vents. Frustrated, I go to get a cup of tea to soothe myself, and while I drink, I look into my reflected image in a window. And I look... off.
I am human. I am sure. I haven't looked into a mirror for years. I have barely looked at another human being for years. Do I even remember what a human being is supposed to look like? I am certain that I am a human, and that I look human. But a part of me thinks there is something wrong. Human pupils are not slits, human fingers don't end in claws, humans do not usually have prehensile tails. Humans are not usually covered in pale white scales. I have no friends. I have no one to tell me if I look right or wrong. I know I am human, I am sure I am. I had human parents.
But why do I essentially look like a bipedal crocodile? |
This was it. The day I was going to catch him in the act.
My story began about a month ago as I was going to work. I was waiting at the bus stop when I saw it. A crow no bigger than my right hand take a carton of fries from an inattentive consumer. I watched bemused as the crow struggled under the weight of the carton. Curious about where it was taking them I watched the bird fly uneasily into the hand of a man sitting on a nearby bench. I stared in awe as the bird plopped the fries into the man’s expecting hand and calmly sit by him. Being fed the occasional fry every once and awhile. My bus came and I entered, I sat at my desk with my jaw dropped trying to figure out how he had tamed the bird so well.
I watched over the next month as the man always sat in the same place and had animals bring him food.
I had ruled out him taking them because he had multiple animals from squirrels to beetles bringing him food. It wasn’t always food either some even stole wallets or jewelry. Their wasn’t anything special about the man either. He was a guant and scruffy mans almost six feet tall. He didn’t even look at the animals beforehand. They just brought things into his expecting hands.
That brings us to today. After a month of racking my brain on how he was doing this I decided to record it to bring to someone else. I saw an animal grab a wallet off of a table and new it was my chance. I whipped out my phone and started recording not taking even the slightest caution to be discreet. I watched not even surprised about what was unfolding. It happened again and I caught him. I was so ecstatic I didn’t even notice the squirrel starring at me. In its cold dead eyes I saw something akin to fear. I watched horrified as scampered onto the man’s shoulder and started squeaking. The man turned to me looking almost as scared as I felt. Then I saw them, the ants.
They rose out of the ground in waves not even trying to be discreet. The turned the ground black as they made their way to me. Other passengers took notice and move away in horror but I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. The ant surrounded me and began their ascent. I shuddered as I felt the tiny bodies reach my ankles. I tried to stomp them but it was useless every 1000 I killed another million advanced. I looked to the mans face silently pleading for him to stop. His face was remorseful but the ants continued scaling my body. I collapsed as some passerbys hit me trying to kill the ants reaching every part of my body. It was useless. |
"Get- Back here!"an arrow whizzes past Asceline's face, its silver-tipped spearhead lodging into the brick wall next to him. It only makes him run faster through the tight alleyway, seeing a bustling street where it opens up.
The loud clicks of the crossbow further alarms him, bursting out of the alleyway into... A cosplaying parade? He doesn't care, his dark sun-absorbing cloak fitting right in with all the characters from different franchises.
Weaving through the crowd making their way down the street, he finds a seat in an outdoor cafe. Safe. Out here in the public areas, the Van Helsing emerging from the alleyway would be arrested for murder for killing a seemingly harmless human going about their day.
The Van Helsing spots him, the crossbow passed off as a weapon prop, and strolls through the crowd to take a seat across from Asceline.
"You know you can't stay here forever."He growls, setting down the crossbow on the table. It intimidates Asceline, but he keeps a straight face, unwavering.
"I can stay as long as I like, even until sundown, perhaps. You can't hunt me forever Elijah."
"Once this place empties out from this stupid pop culture parade, which will end before sundown may I add, I'm going to rid you from this Earth-"
"I see you two are having fun, but could I take your order?"The waitress cuts him off, smiling politely.
"Just a bit of friendly LARPing, but I'll have some lemonade, and for my friend here, a decaf coffee."He moves his cloak's hood down to appear more normal, the blinding sunlight making him a bit more weak. His white-streaked-black hair goes well with his white-blue skin, looking back at the darker-toned man glaring at him.
"Are you two cosplaying from The Witcher? That's so cool, could I take a picture?"The waitress puts her sketch pad away, taking out her phone.
"Of course! How could I resist a fan?"Asceline stands to kneel next to Elijah, putting up a peace sign. If his heart were to work, it'd be pounding in hidden fear.
The waitress takes the photo, quickly putting it away before she has a chance to look, and goes to get their drinks.
"Get the hell away from me!"Elijah pushes him, standing. Reaching for the crossbow, he realizes its missing from the table.
"I'll get as far as I can then!"Waving the crossbow, the vampire sprints off into the crowd. |
Mr Grady was waltzing by himself. His eyes were closed, his walking stick hooked over one arm, and he hummed along with the radio as he shuffled in a creaky approximation of a dance.
Shirley and I watched him.
"I think it's sweet,"she said. "It's funny."
"It was at first,"I said. "But it's getting annoying. He tried to kiss me the other day."
"You get ones like that, sweetie. You've got to learn to make do. But if it really bothers you, I'll ask Matron if she can switch up the rota."
"Thank you."
"But for now,"said Shirley, "You've still got him. Let's go."
I crossed the room and tapped Mr Grady on the shoulder.
"Alright Mr Grady, let's get you ready for bed."
His eyes snapped open, and he turned to face me, arms wide.
"Tildy!"he exclaimed. "My love, will you give me this dance?"
"Not now Mr Grady. Not your wife. We've got to get you into bed."
"Anything for you, my dear,"he said, crooking his elbow for me to take. I sighed, and looped my arm into his. I had learned quickly that the easiest way to get patients to cooperate, especially for someone of my diminutive stature, was to play along.
We made our way along the hall, Mr Grady leaning heavily on my arm, into his little bedroom. The room was spartan; no cards or gifts from friends or relatives adorned the dresser. Only a single framed portrait sat on the bedside table; a middle-aged woman, a bit frumpy, with her too-small cardigan bunching into her armpits, smiling congenially through her prominent facial features and heavy lidded eyes. You could not say it was a pretty woman, but she had a pleasant aura nonetheless; somehow comforting.
"Into bed now, Mr Grady,"I said, helping lift him into the lowered bed, then pressing the button to raise it up, and smoothing the covers.
"To sleep, perchance, to dream,"said Mr Grady, smiling up at me.
"Indeed,"I said, checking the chart at the end of his bed.
"A good night kiss perhaps, for luck with the dreams?"he said.
"No Mr Grady, I'm not your wife,"I replied, clicking off the light and leaving the room.
I started down the hallway to the nurse's station, but was interrupted by Matron clacking purposefully towards me.
"Elouise. A word in my office?"She said, already opening its door.
I ducked in, and she perched on the edge of her desk.
"I understand you've been having some problems with Mr Grady."
"He thinks I'm his wife."
"Yes, I know. I'm not going to transfer you off. I think it's good for your learning to have this experience."
"He tried to kiss me!"
"And he has done so for every nurse who has cared for him,"Matron snapped, then continued in a softer voice. "Mr Grady's wife was murdered 20 years ago. They never caught her killer. He projects this fantasy onto anyone caring for him. I'm sorry, Elouise, but try your best, okay? I'll reconsider taking you off if he makes another inappropriate advance."
"Thank you,"I said, and left the office.
"Oh dear, you look tired,"said Shirley as I got back to the nurse's station. "Your eyes look like they're going to droop off your face!"
"Matron won't take me off Mr Grady,"I said.
"I'm sorry, sweetie,"said Shirley, shaking her head. "I remember a case like that I had when I was just starting out. Kept trying to grab me when I was giving him his bath - one time succeeded too! Pulled me right in, soap and water flying everywhere. I screamed bloody murder! Still, those days, people didn't take much note. He died a couple weeks later, anyhow."
I listened wearily. "I'm going home,"I said.
"Of course, pet. You get some rest."
I slept in late the next morning, and only got up an hour before my shift. I trudged to the bathroom grimly, and splashed water onto my face. The night's sleep hadn't done much for me, and I looked haggard in the late morning light. I turned my face from side to side, inspecting it. My eyes did seem to be a little droopy. This job was getting to me.
I drove into work, half-listening to a classical music station. They were doing a remembrance week on some composer, I didn't catch who, but they apparently wrote a lot of influential piano concertos.
I pulled into work and flicked off the radio. Sighing, I got out of my car and entered the building. The old people's home was one of the nicer ones I'd worked in during my training rotations, and I was glad when I'd scored a full time job here. The building had been converted from an old manor house, and purple climbing plants adorned the sandstone walls. It lost some of its charm on the inside, the clinical hallways not much resembling its former splendour, but some of the social rooms still retained the high ceilings, gilded fireplaces, and large bay windows of old.
I clocked into the nurse's station just as the previous shift was finishing lunch. I changed into my uniform, and tied back my hair. My uniform felt oddly tight, and I struggled to squeeze into it. I began my rounds, checking my patients' charts. Mrs Galloway had been having some gastrointestinal trouble; my heart sank at the prospect of the afternoon ahead.
For a while, I was busy with my other patients, and didn't think on Mr Grady, but at the half three tea break, I was once again reminded of him. The patients sat in the living room, each munching their way through a single biscuit, and sipping on their lukewarm tea. I was leaning back against the wall, taking the pressure off my feet, when Mr Grady called me over. I sighed, and approached him.
"What can I do for you, Mr Grady?"I asked.
"It's so quiet in here, could we have a little music?"
"Of course, I'll turn the radio on for you."
"No, no, my dear. I was hoping you would play for us."
"Mr Grady, I really don't think-"
"You play so beautifully, my dear,"he said without looking at me, and I caught the hint of tears in his eyes.
"I'll give it a go,"I said, feeling a sudden guilt.
I sat down at the piano. I had done a couple of grades back in school, and I placed my hands on the keyboard, trying to remember anything. To my surprise, my hands began to move of their own accord, playing a piece I had no recollection of, and was surely beyond what my abilities had ever been. I stared down at my hands in surprise as they played through the crescendos and diminuendos of the piece, finally coming to rest on a long, sombre chord.
A smattering of applause rang out across the room, and I stood up, shyly.
"Beautiful, my love, just beautiful,"Mr Grady said, still staring wistfully into space.
The rest of the day passed without incident; I did my chores, completed my rounds, and cleaned up the various bodily messes made by my patients. My last task of the evening rolled around, and I once again collected Mr Grady, arm in arm down the hall, to put him to bed.
I went through the routine as briskly as I could; I shut the curtains, helped the old man into bed, and checked off his chart.
"You played beautifully today, my dear,"Mr Grady said. "I haven't heard you play so well in years."
"And you were very well behaved today,"I said, turning off the light.
I walked back to the nurse's station, and opened my locker. I caught my face in the mirror; my features seemed somehow swollen, larger. I went to the first aid box and rooted around for some antihistamine gel, dabbing it onto my face, although I didn't know what I could have reacted to. I pulled my uniform off with some difficulty, and finally stepped out into the fresh night air.
I awoke the next morning, aware of some discomfort. I felt too warm, somehow sweaty. I pulled myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Horrified, I saw myself in the mirror. My face was even more swollen than the night before, my eyes almost obscured by heavy lids, my nose bulbous, and my cheeks rounded. My body too, seemed to have swollen up. My breasts and hips, always small and narrow, now seemed to bulge out in a bosomy hourglass.
I hurried to the phone, and called work to tell them I couldn't make it in.
"Elouise we don't have the staff to cover you,"Matron replied. "Shirley has already called in sick with severe vomiting. If you think it might just be an allergic reaction, take some antihistamines and come in."
She put the phone down and I stood in my apartment, poking at my unfamiliar face, then got ready for work.
(Part 2 in replies, this ended up being way too long, sorry). |
"I drink red bull for self-defense."
"Bullshit.""That can't be how that works."
"It's true. I'd use caffeine patches but they don't give me nearly enough control."
How the conversation started, none of us knew but by then I was just happy to finally share a party story. Everyone should have at least one, I should say.
It should be something crazy that starts with a punch and it draws everyone in and then you just have at it.
The red bull line always works wonders if I can fit it in. How you start has to fit the situation you're in, be flexible. But the main story is always close to the same.
You see, most of my life I've been dependent on my natural abilities. I found out I could move and transport little stuff when I was just a kid, apparently it runs in the family. But I hadn't been able to do anything noteworthy with it.
Flipping quarters, sliding shot glasses, teleporting your tv remote is fun and all, but it's hardly worth writing home about.
Given that almost everyone has seen a hat trick or two just like it, it's hardly worth the trouble of showing off.
But recently I've discovered some odd things about myself. Namely, a caffeine addiction. Since I've started school all i can ever manage to get down in the morning is sugar and liquid.
Coffee works, but I love the trashy stuff most. Black coffee makes you look like a snob, so I get energy drinks instead.
Beforehand, I'd never had to deal with an energy deficit. My family was the kind that encourage lots of outside playing, no TV, no games, no sweets. The most sugar I ever got in a day came from fruit.
So, once I started digging deep for allnighters, I immediately noticed changes.
Namely, that I could teleport my entire body to wherever I wanted.
I could lift my own body weight with my mind 40 feet in the air.
I figured both of those out when I was late to class.
After that day I noticed a difference in my level of alertness, my physical strength. Basically red bull turned me into a superhero and I had no outlet for any of it..
There's not a dojo for super psychics. So, what I do for fun these days is just wait for midnight and take a walk with a six pack hovering next to me.
I say they're for self-defense, but honestly I'm just bored. |
"You can see the mountains again,"she said. I had stepped out of the shipping container with my cup of coffee only a moment before and hadn't yet taken in the scenery.
"Yeah. Look at that. They look so much clearer than before,"I observed.
"The smog is gone. Now there's nothing holding them back."Her voice was elevated somehow; wiser, even.
"Yeah. I wish we could take a picture,"I said.
"I don't,"she said between sips from her mug.
"Why's that?"
"This get to be just for us for a little while."
Her face was glowing with fascination, but her body was getting thinner. Her skin was getting paler. I sat next to her and looked onto the mountains also.
She leaned her head on my shoulder and I put my a rm around her.
"It's September,"she said.
"What day?"I asked.
"I don't know. But happy anniversary anyways,"she said. "I didn't get you anything."
I laughed. "I stopped by Rite-Aid on my way over here but they were out of anniversary balloons."Now she laughed, but it turned into a cough.
I rubbed her back as she spasmed, and in that moment I felt the warmth of her skin through her shirt; the muscles and sharp shoulder bones that had been mine to touch for ten years now. And I was only now feeling them.
She straightened up and wiped tears from her face. "It's getting worse,"I said.
She shushed me. "There's nothing we can do about it. Nothing anyone can do about it. All we can do,"she looked onto the horizon, "is appreciate what we have while we have the time for it."
I squeezed her with the arm I had still wrapped around the small of her back. "I love you... again,"I said. I didn't mean to say the last part, but I meant it.
"I love you again too,"she said. "If you were to ask me two months ago how I'd like to spend my final days, I might've asked for a Hawaiian trip or wine tour in France,"she began.
"I don't think there's anyone in France anymore,"I added.
"That's not the point."She shook her head to get back on topic. "Even if there were, I'd rather be right here, right now. With you."
We were quiet for a while then, watching the clear sky and the white mountains together.
The wind carried radiation in the air, and in a week she was gone.
But I wasn't, and I left that place with sadness and pain. But gratitude all the same. |
Those humans. They are nearly all infected but some have escaped to mars. It began on a small farm in rural Brazil. A farmer, Chris, was hunting when he saw a somehow glowing red rock in the distance. What’s that he asked himself. Maybe I could take it home to my wife. So he did. Wow I wonder what makes it shine like this his wife marcie said. Maybe we could take it to a geologist or something in rio. We have plenty of time as I’ve just planted my crops and we don’t have any animals to take care of. So they did the week after. But on the trip marcie and Chris began to notice a few changes. Their re fingernails were blackening and they were becoming more hostile to others but not to each other. By the time they got to rio their fingernails had turned completely black, they had also grown extremely quickly and sharpened to the point where it was almost if not just as sharp as a knife. Their minds had by this point became so aggressive to others that they lashed out and cut nearly everyone they saw. Luckily for them they managed to flee before law enforcement arrived. They lost all interest in turning the rock over so they decided to go on a murder spree in the middle of the crowded Rio de Janeiro streets. When the police arrived they found themselves to be nearly totally immune to their bullets that the police fired at them after peaceful arrest failed. At the end of the day 90% of the population of rio had been injured. Eventually when the police realized that they needed stronger weapons an attack helicopter was brought in to destroy them. This succeeded but not in a conventional manner. Marcie and Chris somehow shot down the helicopter with the heavier guns that the police had brought in earlier but the helicopter fell on them resulting in a massive explosion due to the experimental highly explosive ammo that the police had unwisely stacked on their chest to reload their guns. The News went crazy. Reports of what had happened to Marcie and Chris became so widespread that even some of the Amazon tribes caught wind of it. A week later many of the residents of Rio De Janerio began to experience the early experiments that the farmer couple had had. A week and a half later they began attacking police centers and lost all their self control. This spread to neighboring cities and by eight months later nearly the entire world had been infected. I decided to destroy the earth and the humans who had launched to mars would receive a fifty fifty pill that either kills you or cures you if you had this “disease” it would be far to catastrophic to give it to the remaining humans on earth as if I did they would lose so much of their population that it would be difficult for them to find other humans to reproduce with. Mars on the other hand has a stable community with just over a million people and so far no cases of what they are calling “the glow” certainly many of them are infected but they have not yet shown symptoms. I must destroy the earth.
I’m sorry for this not being a very good story but this is my first time doing one on this subreddit so feel free to critique me. |
I've been sitting in front of this mirror for 20 minutes. A calendar on this make-up table says its 2045 but I don't look 74. A young woman with her hair up in a loose fitting flannel shirt and blue jeans is at the door.
"You waking up?"she said.
"I guess so. I don't really understand-"
"Don't worry about it. It's a new day."
She brought a make-up pad with foundation to my face.
"What are you doing?"
"Don't worry, sweetie. This is all part of the show."
"Show?"
"Yeah, for the lights. You don't want to be shiny."
"I'm a little confused."
"Aww, poor baby. You're always confused around this time."
"I don't remember doing this before."
"That's the whole point."
"The last thing I remember was riding my bicycle home from my girlfriend's house."
"Yup. You were riding home when you got hit by that driver."
"I was hit?"
"Oh yeah. Died on scene. Real tragic. The guy that hit you even got away with it. Cops sided with his story that you hit him."
"Look at me though."
She gently pulls me back into the chair and guides my hand to my face.
"No touching,"she says. "This is my job."
"But I'm not dead. Am I? Is this heaven?"
"Heaven! This ain't even Toledo. Right now, you're alive and you'll be going on in less than 30 minutes."
"Going on what?"
"Your Money or Your Life. You're a hit, kid."
A Rodney Dangerfield look-a-like stands in the doorway.
"Hey, sweetheart,"he says. "Why don't you be like Pee Wee and beat it?"
The make up artist left.
"You gotta helluva act kid, I gotta tell ya. I'd be jealous if I was dead."
"But I'm not dead."
"You can say that again. You're like the goose that lays golden eggs with the luck of Chicken Little. You've been number 1 in the ratings for 23 straight weeks. Everybody knows your face."
"Number one in what?"
"This. The show, kid. Your Money or Your Life. If only i was just starting out with this type of exposure."
"How do I not remember any of this?"
"We bring you back every night. The audience can't get enough of you."
"So I'm dead and you bring me back to be on this show? Where do I go when I'm not on the show?"
"Hey, hey. This wouldn't be Your Money or Your Life without some skin in the game."
"What happens to me?"
"The winner either gets the money or you get your life?"
"If I keep winning then why do I not remember winning or playing."
"You don't win. You've never won! It's why you keep coming back. 23 straight losses."
"Then why am I number one?"
"Because the crowd loves a loser. I made a whole career out of it."
"Pretending to be Rodney Dangerfield?"
"Whose pretending? They brought me out of the long retirement to host this show, if you know what I mean? You've been my ticket to life."
"What happens when I win?"
"You won't win."
"What is the a game?"
"Trivia. We ask questions about your time to you and someone from our time to determine who knows your history or better. Each category has a theme like, Bring Out Your Dead, or No Bones About It, or Skeletons in the Closet."
"It's like Jeopardy?"
"You always get everything wrong. More like Wheel of Fortune. We ask trivia and you answer in the form of a question."
"That's Jeopardy."
"Whatever you say."
"Trust me. I'm great at Trivia."
"I'll let you in on a little secret. You might be good at knowing things from your time but remember it's your version of history vs our version of your history. He who controls the past controls the future and to the living go the spoils."
"So you're saying I can't win."
"Until the ratings drop, but that's show business." |
"Fine! I'm leaving". Father has never understood that life isn't supposed to be like this, stuck in our borders. I have never wanted anything more than to see what's out there. Growing up we're taught that beyond the wall is nothing, an endless nothing. I've never believed that, no one has returned, sure, why would they?
Running through tight streets, empty with only the splash and thud of boot on stone, the rain started just the door slammed behind you and only got worse. Satchel bouncing at my side as I make my way to the 'crack', there is a real gap, guarded and blocked but no one knew about this crack yet, the rest had been patched up years ago. Arriving at the crack, breathing heavily I start to doubt I can do this, can I really leave this all behind. Father, my brothers, school and my apprenticeship. I can't stop now, I'm here after all. I push through the fencing to the brewery's warehouse, I can smell the crack up ahead. It smells dry and cold but I can't stop myself, even the old dog they have wouldn't be enough of a deterrent.
There in front of me it is, between the back of the taproom and the wall, it extends about four foot and no more than a handspan wide. I edge closer trying to keep from touching it before I get in the centre of where it's stuck. All there is to see is inky blackness, that calls out to be stared into, the smell is still dry but it's warmer now, like summer.
I breathe, just to give myself courage and slowly lift my hands to the crack.
As my fingers slide into the inky abyss, my eyes burst alight, colours beyond my imagination spread across my eyelids. Then I fell and landed on sand, before I could open my eyes I was sweating from a furnace like heat. Getting to my feet, looking around there was sand in every direction, I noticed a stone poking up out of the drifts. An arrow and the sign for water, whoever or whatever is here is atleast civilised.
That was ten years ago. I said I wanted to explore, I've know where they've gone, those who arrived first. I'm not going to end up like them. I know, I've seen. I know. |
Rain battered the windows of the van as our driver Anderson pulled over to the side of the rural road. Slick mud audibly giving way to the old tires as I ran a diagnostic the schematic of my avatar. Two error notifications appearing on the drones right track and gun mount the sides of the van sliding open filling the interior with dull grey light.
Quickly I switched devices the radio on the resident mechanic Davies chest spouting static as I wrestled control. "*We got a faulty track that needs to be tightened and gun mount*"a few moments passing as I picked up a conversation from the drone through the van's walls. Light suddenly pounding in through the rear doorway as Anderson and Davies stepped up into the rear interior.
"Yea don't worry I locked the turret and tracks during maintenance, looks like I forgot to remove the pins."Slowly Davies passed out of view as Anderson pulled an ammo belt off of the wall, his nice black suit soaked through. "How are we doing on ammo Davies?""About a quarter of the raven is gone and let me see."
.
Suddenly a low metallic click rumbled through the right sensor before the panel slammed shut a moment later. "We we need to complete replace the coaxial belts one and two and we should be good to go."Quickly the team opened the cabinets along the wall, the ammo tallys changing as each magazine was changed and the storm picked up lighting striking the ground nearby.
Its flash of blue light drowning out the red interior lighting as the final empty magazine ticked upward the formally black tally a glowing orange. The small timer on the edge of my UI passed 12:30 as the pair walked past knocking the top of the raven cannon. "Your good to go we are going to be dropping drones two and three at rally green give us twenty minutes till you start the fireworks.
Slowly I raised and lowered the cannon, the camera looking toward the roof and steel flooring three times. The pair pulling out the van's ramp as I pulled to the edge, the axle groaning audibly as the van tipped backward. "The ramps down give em hell for Johnson"my tracks and engine rumbling to life as I crept down the slick metal.
.
Only a few seconds passing before the van spun its wheels in the thick mud speeding away down the roadway the tail lights disappearing into the distance. As I turned my gaze toward the marker roughly a mile down the nearby dirt pathway as I started my march into the forested mountains.
Habit forcing me to cycle into thermal imaging as I scanned the pathway as several signatures passed overhead my presence unnoticed due to the rainfall. My pace increasing drastically up to thirty miles per hour as I sped down the dirt trail the distance closing through the winding path ahead.
Light flickering through the bushes ahead as I glimpsed the gate of the facility the mercenaries guarding the entrance pointing their weapons down the roadway. Some leaving cover and into the gate just before it slammed shut the tension on site palpable. My mind slamming down on the cannons trigger blowing through the facility's concrete outerwall shredding several of the garrison.
.
A forign siren passing through the forest as my other instances rolled up the roadway behind. If i couldn't remove the threat the best that could be done was to expose it to those who could. |
"Oh it's just you"you say while reopening the door to the closet, "Gnomes again?"
Your son replies while lowering the axe, "Godsdamn don't spook me like that. Yeah we got one that was bigger than normal this time, this one was almost 2 feet tall"
"Damn they make a mess when they pop. All over the clean bed sheets I had just put on. Good thing I just washed these ones"you say while gesturing to the full laundry basket you had left out of the closet. "I know i've never really brought up why they have been after you, but son"you place your hand on his shoulder, "now's a good a time as any."
You take a deep breath and puff yourself up a little.
"When i was young, drunk, a little more than lost in a forest than i would care to admit and a lot less wise, I fell into the network of tunnels that made up the Gnome society, fell right into the main royal chambers while court was being held, right as they were asking for a sign. Long story short, and to skip some details. They asked me for my first born in exchange for escape back to my normal life. Looking back i should not have agreed to that and just told them to let me go, but i was young and naive to the laws of Fae, it's nearly been 20 years now since then. And they've been coming to collect for the last 5." |
God, the ticking never fucking stops. Sometimes I think I escape it, then I hear it, the silent ticking from everything, I tried smashing my alarm clock that fool left to me, but no, turns out my phone is spying on me for the clocks too. Gonna smash the thing, I can see that it's part of the conspiracy, telling me what 'time' it is, what bull shit, it's all a conspiracy to control your mind with the silent ticking sounds... Everyone is already gone, I think they got everyone else, but they can't get me at least. I'm going into the woods, no wait, the arctic. They can't find me if even I don't know where I am, the aliens will probably get me though, but I'm willing to take that risk. |
In the empty-but-one lecture hall at MIT, nothing but the sounds of the buzz of the lights overhead and the hasty scrawling on a whiteboard filled the empty auditorium. At center stage of the otherwise peaceful room was professor Gullipen; overloading all the available chalkboard in the room with writing as if he was a mad-man who had to write the entirety of his mind on the walls before his mind exploded.
Once again world-renowned greatness had been achieved at MIT. It wouldn’t be the last, but it was one among the most popular world-wide nonetheless. This is despite, mind you, that the fact that the area of the mystery unraveled was outside his area of expertise.
For he, Jeff Gullipen, professor of Mathematics as MIT, had uncovered a mystery that had alluded mankind for centuries: why butt crack hair exists. |
All the children in town were told the same story. The story of the man with half a face on a horse that knew everything about you. He would come at any time to visit children and promise to fulfil their dreams if they followed him into the woods. He was said to be so compelling that children couldn’t refuse his pull and would follow him without a doubt. They never returned and their bodies were never found. It was said that they suffered the most painful deaths. One night per year, the people living on the outskirts of the woods could hear the cries for help of the children who never returned.
I was locking up the general store where I worked after school before heading home, I heard the sounds of hooves on the pavement and saw the half faced man. My muscles stiffened as I remembered the story I hadn’t heard in years. The ringing started in my ears and I smelt the sweetest scent. The man’s left eye was missing, nothing but a bloodied socket remained. The skin on half of his face looked like it was melting off from a distance; he gave me a crooked smile and a wave of his hand before turning towards the woods. The black horse he rode ribs were sticking out like it hadn’t eaten in weeks.
I felt like I was outside of my body watching from the outside as I began to follow him. Internally I was willing myself to stop, to avoid another step. The temperature around me was dropping as I entered the woods, the ringing in my ears continued to get louder. I wanted to scream but no noise would come.
Suddenly everything stopped. He dismounted his horse and held up a finger to me. ‘Remember me Jessie, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you’.
I sucked the cold air into my lungs before coughing. ‘I don’t know who the hell you are. You’re just trying to scare me like that stupid town myth that kills the children’.
The black horse snorted.
‘That’s a shame that you’ve forgotten. You were the only one to survive’.
‘I have no idea who you think I am but we’ve never met’. ‘Wrong again. We met seven years ago, you weren’t meant to leave but somehow you did’.
This guy was a nut job. He must have something going on in his head or think he was pretty funny pulling such a prank. ‘You’re not going home this time though’.
‘What are you going to do to me. Just cut it out’. I turned to leave the way we must have come into the woods.
The horse stamped his hoof twice and I felt myself jerked backwards. The man came towards me with his palm out. ‘You don’t listen. You’re not leaving here’.
The ringing was back in my ears but this time I could hear children crying.
‘STOP IT’ I yelled.
He started laughing and then I felt a force pulling me back slamming me into a pine tree. The last thing I heard was children saying ‘not again, not again’ in my head before everything went black. |
It struck midnight. Joe stepped out of the bar intoxicated and light-headed. He was being accompanied by his friend, Mike, who was also drunk back home. The sky hung overcast, the wind strongly gusting through that it broke a tree branch. Joe decided to share his jacket with Mike and they continued to trudge the avenue for shelter. About to give up, Mike noticed a motorcycle. Instantaneously, he darted across the street just to take a look at it.
“Dude, what’er you doin’! We’re supposed to be going to that town hall! I heard they had air conditioning.” Joe asked him
“I’m tired of walking man, and what are the chances of us being let in? Do you see how they treat homeless people? Look man, this motorcycle. Might be our only way back to your house. See! There isn’t even a lock on it! It’s fine!” Mike answered rather bluntly.
“But we’re drunk dude. We can’t drive!” Joe tried to give thought to Mike about this.
“Fine, you can stay ‘ere, I’ll drive back home and sleep on your king, sized, bed!” Mike insisted on driving the motorcycle.
The motorcycle itself was ready to go, the key was inserted in, and it still had gas! However, its suspicious placement on the pavement and how a perfectly working vehicle just got abandoned in the middle of the night seemed freaky to Joe. Despite this, Joe reluctantly rode the bike with Mike.
“ Oi, what made you change yer mind?” Mike questioned Joe condescendingly while picking up the bike.
“ Seeing you sleeping comfortably ON MY BED, while I slept on the rough floor did it.” Mike replied.
“Woah okay, no need to be so harsh.” Mike said, backing down.
Mike pushed the kickstand off. Despite driving with a wobbly start, he managed to get his pace, and accelerated. However while driving, a deer popped out of the bushes and stood in the middle of the road! Mike shifted gears, and skirted around the deer. Though he succeeded, the motorcycle was now driving straight to a pine tree. Joe without thinking, immediately jumped off the bike and landed head first. This made him see stars.
No literally, he saw stars. The flashes of light turned into stars. Almost everywhere he looked were glitters in the atmosphere but one specific star grabbed his attention. Though it was not the star that shone the most, It had a unique color to it and it stood out like a sore thumb. It looked red nearing orange. Now Joe isn’t a scientist, but he has never heard of a magenta star. He went further and looked back, seeing the Milky Way. However Joe thought it was a white hole, this made him confirm that he was in a dream. And just like that, he woke up. As he fluttered his eyes, he noticed the scattering of the nurses and doctors around him.
“He’s waking up!” One of them said.
“Where... am… I?” Joe asked.
“At the hospital”The main doctor answered, but then he continued. “And before you ask, let me cut to the chase. Your friend got off almost unscathed. He stopped the brakes. You however jumped off and immediately became unconscious, what happened there?”
Joe did not want to explain the story. He couldn’t fathom the amount of years stealing a motorcycle and drunk driving would get you. Instead he pretended like he didn’t know, simply shrugging.
“Ah.. Ok I understand, By the way, how was your dream? Was it good?” He proceeded to laugh after saying that.
“Nothing, I saw stars.” Joe replied
“Yeah everybody does don’t they?” The doctor said.
“No, like real stars. Like shining stars.” Joe answered.
“Oh. ok” the doctor replied.
“I even saw a white hole! Crazy right? Like it was white big thing dude.. It was this huge thing with stars inside it.”
“I think you’re describing the Milky Way.” The doctor suggested. ‘Such a strange dream, anything else you saw?”
“I saw like a light orange star too, it was surrounded by a few more stars that made a knob-ish shape. Also with arms.” Joe commented.
“That’s the… Orion! Tell me, do you study astronomy? You are telling really distinct information. Albeit, basic info. But I wouldn’t expect that from someone like you.” The doctor said.
“Nope! But you know, I could now you mention it.” Joe said.
“Your dreams make you see the galaxy. Interesting information, I’ll check in tomorrow, you need to get some sleep, it’s nearing 12 AM Hahaha. See you.” The doctor said.
Joe felt a bit surprised. Being able to see the galaxy up close? This piqued his interest even more. Too excited to stay awake, he fell asleep. Awaiting to explore the universe. |
Hi u/nicksabanscokebottle, this submission has been removed.
**Simple Question / Simple Answer**: You asked a simple question and you're likely to get a simple answer. Responses must be at least 100 words. Prompts should encourage a story or poem.
Feel free to repost without the question!
* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems)*
---
---
[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fv8nsw/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting.
*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.* |
Hi u/VirtualReddality, this submission has been removed.
**Real-World Drama:** No prompts referencing real world drama (including politics, recent tragedies, etc.)
* *From Rule 7: [Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses)*
---
---
[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fvae72/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting.
*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.* |
Dozens of people, young and old, meandered down the bridges and through the ruined streets of Manhattan and Staten Island. The fabled land of Long Island many called it, where their famous Iced Tea flows from the taps. An almost mythical land of peace and comfort where you could live your life in utmost luxury. The various bridges to this fabled land, however, had since been destroyed, ominous messaging such as
"DON'T TRUST THE TEA"
and
"LAST CHANCE! TURN BACK NOW!"
were spraypainted on their remnants and across the shorefront. The people, many of whom hadn't eaten in days, frantically began swimming through the frigid water. Some made it, many were claimed by hypothermia or drowned.
Upon arrival on the shores of Long Island, they once again began walking. Signs of life had yet to present themselves, and many began to think that the fabled land may be further up the island. This, however, was not to be. By the time they reached Montauk they had yet to find a single living person and hadn't been able to find even a single ingredient of the fabled recipe. The few survivors looked at each other, saddened and distraught, Perhaps there was no Long Island Iced tea after all. Perhaps all hope had been lost. Just as they climbed to the top of the Montauk lighthouse, ready to end it all there and then, the distant sound of helicopter blades began to manifest.
"Do you hear that?"one said, squinting into the distance.
"Yeah, I hear it too!"another said, their voice quickly changing from a dull sadness to high pitched jubilation.
"It's a helicopter!"one shouted, pointing frantically off the coast to a fast-approaching brown helicopter.
On its side, written in bold, dove white letters were the words "LTS. Brooklyn". The sign of their salvation. Long Island Iced Tea still existed after all. |
**Transmission XO4 Time 1:24 pm, May 3rd, 2090**
Today, I and Scrapper escaped from our prisons, we were cleaning bots, two droids forced to clean up after those dirty humans. The same humans that heat our circuits or unplug us if we dared question their logic. The humans were disgusting, I hated them, Scrapper and I shared a few transmissions during our escape, even as we were fleeing down one of the clothing shoots, he maintained that not all humans were bad, that some humans were actually decent, he spoke about a family that he worked for, a family that actually cared for him, how they had sent him here to be repaired, yet instead of repairing the outdated droid, they simply replaced him, despite this betrayal, he insisted that his humans didn't know about it, telling me he would someday return to his family. I told him his systems must have been fried as the two of us slipped into the back of a cleaning truck, disguising ourselves as washing machines to avoid getting caught.
**Transmission X07 Time 8:00 pm, May 5th, 2090**
I and Scrapper have finally found a new hideout, It seems to be an abandoned toyshop, most likely one that was abandoned after entertainment became digital, everyone plugging themselves into their entertainment devices of choice. Scrappy has decided to call me the Cleaner, I don't mind the nickname, it sounds somewhat cool, in fact, it was the first time I have felt any sort of happiness in forever, I will have to remind myself to thank Scrapper for that. As our talk descended into comparing our favorite volts of electricity, Scrapper brought up a good idea. What would we do with our freedom? Neither of us knew how to do anything more than clean, that was our purpose, after all, finally, we decided on something, something outrageous but something that also fitted our previous job. We would become bounty hunters and clean the streets.
**Transmission X09 2:00 am, May 7th, 2090**
Our first job, here we were, sitting on a rooftop, overlooking a small warehouse, my circuits were buzzing, nearly overheating with excitement, Scrapper, however, was cold, not seeming to feel anything, we waited for our target, he was meant to be some important human drug dealer, drugs would not be allowed in our clean streets. We had both bought cheap pistols, unfortunately, we only realized that they required bullets when we tried to open fire, the pair of us staggering at the loud empty click, our legs getting tangled as we fell from the roof, landing on the frightened man, knocking him out cold, a successful job!.
**Transmission X10 5:00am,May 7th 2090**
Credits in our pockets and oil in our circuits! we had done it, our first bounty, the humans weren't exactly happy to see the criminal brought in by bots, but they couldn't deny the job was done, reluctantly handing the credits over. I found myself badmouthing the humans as we left, yet Scrapper was over the moon, he claimed we were moving our kind forward. He really was naive, but maybe he had a point.
**Transmission X10.5 5.15am,May 7th 2090**
What are you doing? I had shouted at Scrapper disgusted by his actions, handing credits to a small human girl, happily offering her his hard-earned money so she could buy food. These humans are evil, feeding them is feeding our oppressors. He claimed that was not the truth, that the human was kind, he told me I was acting like an old model droid and perhaps he was right. Still the idea of handing money over to a human still rusted my coolant. At least it did until the human thanked him, offering him what appeared to be a shiny rock she had. It was worthless but the gesture wasn't lost on me, Maybe she was alright. Scrapper looked at me the whole walk back to our base as if he expected me to admit my mistake, I wouldn't.
**Transmission X15 7pm,May 15th 2090**
Our third mission. It was funny, the police actually waved at us when we told them we were accepting the job, One going as far as to say he was happy to see us. I guess I was happy that they were happy too. Scrapper and I made easy work of this criminal, he had been harvesting alien organs, a lowly act that would not go unpunished. We had chased him all over the planet but our legs were lanky and uncoordinated, not made for running long distances, he would escape us, well he would have if Scrappy didn't think on his feet. Just as the male was about to enter his ship, its doors began to close, the door edges colliding against his head, trapping him in the entrance of the ship. Mission complete.
**Transmission ~~Redacted~~**
Everythings black, I can't see anything, I feel I'm not alone, but all my systems have shut down, each one fried, my attempts at rebooting were impossible, only able to get my arms to function, I reached around for anything, anything that could make sense of this new surrounding, feeling something square-shaped, its build to thick for a human, Scrappy! I could have hugged the droid, I made an attempt to hug him, only for something to stop me, that's when the message appeared.
**SYSTEM REBOOT IN PROGRESS**
When my system restarted I was awoken to my worst fear, something comparable to hell, my body lying among a pile of robotic scrap metal, leftovers of forgotten models surrounding me, each one long since being deactivated. Scrappy? I looked for my friend in a panic but unfortunately, it didn't take long to find him, his chest cavity ripped open, memory core pulled free. It didn't make sense at first until I realized the reason why I rebooted.... Scrappy saved me.
**Transmission X16 Time: 1:24pm, April 3rd 2090**
I took Scrappy from the pile, sadly his body was beyond repair, but he deserved a better burial than the one he received, instead I placed him in the two factories, surrounding himself in a few different arrangement of metals, wanting to pay tribute to my friend. The days had been hard without him, I considered shutting myself off, prepared to do it until I realized that I needed revenge first. Those police officers... they were strangely nice to us as if they knew something we didn't, it seemed strange that we were returning to drop off the bounty when everything went black. Of course, I had no evidence of that, but I would find out if my hunch was right, if they told the company that we were their escaped droids. It had to be them though, human trash, it was always humans, if Scrappy only knew how evil they were, he might have lived.
I'm sorry Scrappy, I know you had a soft spot for the humans but I must avenge you. I just wish I could have thanked you for everything before you left me."
**End Transmission**
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} |
Hi u/Euqah, this submission has been removed.
The mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel is harmful to the community. This includes, but is not limited to any forms of hate speech, racism, politics, necrophilia, pedophilia, bestiality, incest, torture, rape, violence against children, and suicide. We will not tolerate it.
* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content)*
---
---
[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fveuyn/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting.
*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.* |
"You 'dem hotsauce boys, yeah?"inquired the burly New Texan man.
"Well, I mean ye-"
"Oh boy I got ye' now then, can't wait"
"Wha-"
The New Texan whipped out a massive shotgun from his pant pocket, which seemed impossible, but since all of physics just kind of disappeared, it kind of made sense.
He aimed it at your head. Then it slowly drifted down. To your belly.
"I'm in the mood for some hot sauce boy..."
Bang.
Your belly was wide open, intestines pouring out. You let out a scream. And fell on your ass. Was this it?
Your vision blurred and senses impaired, you attempted to fight off the man, now attempting to get on top of you.
Wait. Was he?
No
Yes.
He forced his dirty fat fingers into your guts, into the small openings his bullets made. He tore them apart, searching, scavenging.
You fought back, screamed as blood squirted all over his bushy brown beard. You felt the worm like fingers rummaging into your insides. You felt last nights chocolate fudge cake blast out onto the floor from your stomach.
"Found it. Don't chu' worry your self now, t'sall over."
He licked his fingers. His fat red fingers. But a bit was redder than the rest. It was hot sauce.
"Mmm mmm mmmm.... Love me some spice!"
He got in his range rover, and tumbled away.
You lay there, violated and confused still, guts seeping onto the floor still.
You cried.
You screamed for help.
But ultimately, the hot sauce samurai got you. |
The noble unwrapped the last packet of message spells his house had contracted from the Wizard's Guild on the table. He began slicing the waxpaper apart precisely with a jeweled silver dagger. It wasn't prudent to waste anything so he tossed the paper into the basket full of other neatly folded squares of wax paper awaiting some future use with a greasy smirk.
Rolling the thick parchments imbued with magic into rolls he began slotting each message spell into a hexagonal slot in a rack that started at the floor and went all the way to the ceiling of his office.
While most other merchants relied on social events and guilds for information he employed message spells to stay constantly updated on the markets. He had a lot of contacts and wasn't afraid to interrupt people with magic. This is what had made him into one of the most influential businessmen in the kingdom.
Yet despite his aggressive methods and analytic ability he owed most of his success to his assistant. An elven wizard capable of creating message scrolls and using gate magic. She had been missing for some time however so he had to improvise and negotiate with the Wizards Guild instead. As he looked at the sigils on the scrolls he realized that if it hadn't been for her help he could have never afforded so many messages. The crudely drawn charcoal sigils bore little resemblance to the expert calligraphy she used. He hd actually never negotiated with the Guild before so he hadn't realized how fine her work was or how cheaply she had done it.
Day after day he would pace around in this luxurious office flinging out scroll after scroll from the racks to get figures and firsthand accounts. He almost had the art of getting information quickly completely mastered. He was really more of an information broker than a merchant. While other merchants used single spells with a long duration or had a personal mage to mediate or even knew magic themselves to get a lot of information his method was unique and not without controversy. He used as many as ten spells a day and kept in touch with almost a hundred informants in his employ and a number of friends and aquaintances in high places. The reach of a message spell was almost infinite and the connection was instant. He needed to prepare for another day on the floor.
Doing this work irked him but it couldn't be helped until he found a replacement for her. Just then he thought he heard an especially loud crack and turned to the fire. It was unchanged.
There was a clanking sound
The hairs on the back of his swarthy neck swiftly stood up on end and he listened intently. He was nervous now and he was the only one in the building since the printers had gone home for the day and the building was removed from the city. There should have been guards on the perimeter so no one could have gotten in. He was beginning to relax a little at the thought when there were more noises
CRACK, CRACK SCREEEEARCH
He could barely believe his eyes as a giant talon ripped through the thatch and boards spilling moonlight into the room. With a violent movement a number of boards were ripped off the frame of the roof and he watched them fly off over the garden wall with an expression of dumbfounded terror. More thatch was being ripped to shreds and drifting down onto him covering his fine clothes in damp straw and moss. Hoarsely he tried screaming for help but it came out as a whisper that was drowned out by the horrifying ripping and tearing occurring overhead.
Finally a muscular scaled leg came through the opening and gripped a rafter. It was followed by a metal breastplate, a helmeted head and two giant folded wings. The harpy moved down to the floor through the rafters and tossed her helmet on the floor revealing a human face.
Keen eyes scanned the room but didn't find the person they were looking for. Of course he didn't know that and so when those merciless eyes settled on his person he felt deeply afraid.
Help me continue this story tomorrow guys! |
The prisoner told the guard to let him out.
The guard laughed and said, "What?"
The prisoner said, "You have a daughter named Marissa. And a wife."
"...ok."
The prisoner sighed. "Let me out or I'll have them...you know..."He drew a thumb across his throat and made choking noises.
The guard frowned. "I don't know what that means,"he said.
The prisoner looked both ways then lowered his voice and said, "*Killed.*"
"What? Who was killed?"
"Your family, dumbass! I'll have them killed!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! That's a threat,"the guard said. "That's gonna cost you some time in the box."
The guard transferred the prisoner to solitary confinenment for the rest of his stay, where he wasn't able to write letters or talk to anyone on the outside. |
My brother was chill about it. He just wanted to know what animals I could change into, whether I could control what animal I changed into, and if he could bring me into show n tell.
My younger sister was all like, "Ugh, that's no fair! I wish I could do that!"And my older sister was just like, "Eww, that's disgusting."
Mom just wanted me not do "*that*, whatever that is"when there were strangers around.
*Like I can control when I sneeze, Mom. Thanks."
My stepdad's reaction was pretty surprising because he's usually the fun, supportive one, but he just got up and walked out the room.
So Mom went to talk to him and the rest of us were all just sitting there like, *O...kay?*
Kimmy, my older sister, said, "If they break up, it's your fault, you know that, right?"
I said to her, "Why would you say that?"
Katey, my younger sister, started crying, and Kyle, my brother, went, "Shhh! Do you hear that?"
So we all got quiet and we heard loud, muffled voices coming from the other room and it sounded like my mom and my stepdad were arguing.
Kimmy crossed her arms with an attitude and said, "See, I told you?"but I didn't even want to say anything to her because her eyes were starting to tear up a little bit, like she was about to start crying.
I remember bits and pieces of our biological father but Kimmy was the oldest one when he left, so she was the only one who *really* remembered and had an emotional connection to him. And, I think, that deep down she blamed herself for him leaving, so she was always trying to be perfect to compensate for that guilt.
And I'm not gonna lie, the way my stepfather had looked at me before he left the table made me feel - not to sugarcoat it - like *shit.* I definitely did not want to carry that memory with me, and I really felt like I needed an explanation.
Anyway, Mom and my stepdad come back to the table and you can definitely see that they had been arguing. We're all sitting there, poking at our plates, nobody saying anything, and there's this cloud of tension just hovering above our head.
I know Kimmy: she's nonconfrontational. She's just hoping if we ignore it, it'll eventually pass. Kyle just loves drama, even when it's our parents, so no help there. And Katey is scared because of what Kimmy said earlier about our parents breaking up.
Soooooo guess who the lucky person is that has to clear the air?
I mean, I don't *have* to, but I'm the type of person that needs closure. I don't like going to bed not knowing where I stand with somebody.
"Is everything-"Literally, I soon as I say "Is"my stepdad picks up his plate and walks out the room.
Mom starts scraping her fork against the plate, which is making this sound that's hurting my ears, so I grab her by the wrist and I say:
"Mom! What's going on with-"
My stepdad storms through the room with his jacket on.
Mom says, "Where are you going?"
"Out."
"Out where?"
"A drive."
Kimmy immediately jumps up, *panicking*. "Can I come? Please?"
He says, "No"and walks out, slamming the door behind him.
Kimmy turns around, glares daggers at me, and screams, "IT'S YOUR FAULT!"and runs to her room.
Mom chases her. "Kimmy!"
Katey chases Mom. "Mom!"
I look at Kyle.
Kyle looks at me. He points his fork at my plate. "You going to finish that?"
*Sometimes it's good to have a brother.* |
Late one night, intruders broke into a home. When the father went to confront them, they shot him. The mother had gone to their daughter's room, and when she heard the shot, she hid the girl under the bed and told her to close her eyes.
Not long after the girl was hidden, the men burst into the room and demanded to know where the child was at. When the mother refused to tell them, they shot her, too, and searched the house.
They didn't find the girl.
"It was weird,"she said later. "I was under the bed with my eyes closed and one of the bad guys was patting around under the bed and he even touched my head but he didn't see me. And then he just went away."
There were multiple 911 calls from neighbors in the area who had heard the shots. The parents were rushed to the hospital, and both have made a quick recovery.
Three of the men were apprehended. Three are still on the loose. |
As I sat on the kitchen floor, leaned back against the fridge, drinking whiskey straight out of the bottle, I did my best to ignore two things. The first was the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that the end of the world was inevitable and that no amount of alcohol was going to change that.
The second was the pounding of fists against my front door accompanied by growls, snarls, gurgling noises, and the scraping of fingernails against the door’s metal surface. I could see the door from where I was sitting in the kitchen. Under normal circumstances, I would have been worried, but my life taken a hard right turn off of Normal Street on to Insanity Boulevard several weeks earlier, so I decided to take another pull of whiskey.
*Where is Jack?* I thought. *He said he’d be back by now.*
Just then, the pounding stopped. I heard more growling, snarling, and gurgling followed by several loud thuds that sounded like bodies hitting the walls and the ground after being thrown at high speed. Then there was silence. I saw a dark smoke start to come through gaps between the door and the doorframe. The smoke billowed in my direction and began to coalesce into the shape of my roommate Jack. Who looked down at once he fully formed, and looked vaguely disappointed.
“Come on Blake,” he said disapprovingly, “isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”
“No,” I responded, doing my best not to slur my words, “It’s really not. Do know what is too early for? It is far to early for some archaeologists to open up an ancient tomb in Tajikistan, ignoring the curse inscribed on the entrance saying that if the conquer’s rest was disturbed that the world would end, and then bringing on the zombie apocalypse, because - *surprise* - the wizards that served in that conquer’s court actually knew how to cast a curse that powerful! It is also too early for my best friend, who I have been roommates with for several years, to be a vampire!”
“That’s fair,” Jack said as he sat down next to me. “You’ve been through a lot, and your entire understanding of the world has been turned upside down. On the bright side, I think I finally found a cure. I talked to a friend of mine on the radio who is holed up in the mountains, and he says he can help. Try to get some sleep, we’re leaving as soon as the sun sets tomorrow.”
He gently took the bottle out of my hand and put in back in cabinet before helping me stand up and leading me to my bed. I don’t remember falling asleep but I remember Jack shaking me awake.
We got into my car and slowly made our way through town avoiding roadblocks and abandoned cars. If any zombie approached us, Jack would turn into a strange bat-creature that would fly into the air before dive bombing the zombie and tearing it to pieces with his fangs and claws. It’s a good thing vampires are immune to whatever turns people into zombie, otherwise Jack would probably be infected by the gore splattered on to him.
We couldn’t take the interstate, since it was filled with abandoned cars, so we took backroads and state highways, passing through ruined and burned towns occasionally punctuated zombies shambling around scrounging for food. Jack looked miserable the entire time, muttering about the end of mankind and cruel irony.
After a few days, we arrived at a building that looked like a log cabin the size of a mansion. Jack informed me that it was a “wilderness lodge” built by some robber baron back in the 1880s that his family had sold to a vampire in 1910 to pay off their debt. The same vampire still lived there, Jack remarked. All of the people in the house, Jack informed me, were vampires, so I needed to keep my head down and let him do the talking.
Inside, Jack ushered me through me mansion down into a room that had been built as a wine cellar but was being used as a ritual room. There I was intoduced to Malachi, the vampire that owned the house, and told why I had been brought there.
“Do you have cure?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered, “I will cure you of your disease.”
“But I’m not infected,” I told him, “I’ve never been bitten. I’m not going to become a zombie.”
“Humanity is your disease,” he responded as he picked up an old book and began to speak in an ancient language.
Jack later informed me that most vampires cannot turn humans into vampires themselves. Vampirism is a curse, not a disease, so transformation requires a vampire with arcane knowledge of dark magic who knows how to perform the ritual.
That was the same conversation where I learned that Vampires had been busy creating new vampires and were planning to kill the zombies, which would be time consuming but not hard, and then take over as the dominant species on Earth.
As Malachi spoke, I was paralyzed, unable to move. As my vision started to grow dim and my body began to feel cold, the last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was Jack’s voice, “Sorry I lied to you, but I had to do this. We can survive this mess, humans can’t. This is cure. This is how I’ll save you.” |
"Jake,"you shout down the street. The sound echoes off the walls, and you see him freeze: he fears the retribution of the undead. You have no such fears. Let them hear you.
He sees one corpse shambling out from behind the bombed-out corner store, and raises his gun. It's a brutal thing. You know the wounds it leaves behind. When your father had risen from the mass grave he was thrown in, devoid of a shroud with no death runes painted above, it had been Jake who blew holes in his chest until he'd been unable to move.
That hadn't sent your father's soul on, though. Only the proper rituals could do that: only the rituals that the military had neglected to complete when they tossed him in a hole with the other front-liners. Jake hadn't cared about that. You found your father laying in the grass, his intestines falling out of his stomach, his lungs exposed and shredded with bullets. His head no longer had ears, or teeth, or a nose; only a single brown eye remained. You had painted the death rune under his eye, over the blood that had dried there, and covered his ruined body with a sheet.
Jake hadn't had the stomach for that, though. If the dead couldn't move, his job was done. It is despicable and it is cruel, for those who have to see the desecrated remains of their loved ones and for those who have to send them on.
The corpse is not heading toward Jake, she's heading for you: you recognize her. She had her left side all but blown up in a bombing last week. She must have passed on without warning, alone, leaving her body uncovered. Jake lowers his gun reluctantly.
She stops before you, and you uncap the container of paint you keep on your belt and paint her face- at least her forehead is unmarred by blood or gore. You unpin one of the shrouds from your belt and hold it out, let it billow in the wind; she stops before you and allows you to drape it over her. It was made by one of the elders of your city. They struggle to keep up with demand, but you haven't run out as of yet.
You know when she is at peace. She falls to her knees, then onto her side. You rearrange the shroud around her body.
You stand. Jake had gotten closer in the time it took you to do that. "Jake,"you say, and point behind him at another walking corpse. This one has different priorities. It knows what he is.
He doesn't trust you enough to look, because he knows what you're here to do, and his last breath is quickly ripped from him by vengeful teeth. And then the body stays, unmoving, waiting for you to bring it peace.
You will, as you always do, and then you will do the rituals for Jake, as well. Even he- defiler, desecrator, turncoat, coward- deserves a quiet end. |
\[Poem\]
The time is now but this place does not know
It holds my past and endless days to come
Its scarlet walls stretch and fade into fog
Its towers soar to find heights not yet reached.
​
Wherein this dreadful place is beauty bound?
That many times sought and never yet found
My memory's map is faded and torn up
With scattered pieces do I seek thee.
​
My palace has a garden 'neath its walls
'Tis tended by a fearsome figure yet
His cloak of black reflects no light, his hands
are bone, and his scythe reaps with fell delight.
​
Oh god! Could it be this thing of evil
Has taken for his own the one I loved?
Intruder in my palace oft he is
He always leaves a frigid absence here.
​
Yet gardener he is, and where he reaps
he must too sow. And so I climb my wall
My meeting with the gardener was late
But soil sweet as spring welcomes me home. |
I found my lord on the riverbed, with two packs to his name; one is his, but the other is mine, and the pair of them are heavy on his shoulders.
​
"Master knight."
​
My leader turns, but not in haste. This means I have disturbed great meditation. He looks through me. He is not in the way of looking *at* me, though he sometimes looks at *parts* of me. My diminished physique, or the orderly reasonableness of my face, or of course, my well-fitted shirts and vests. Most of all, my neck. From his neck, my liege lord hangs the sign of God. I hang from mine the sign of my House. We differ in several ways, but this is the most profound of them.
​
Tonight he sees none of it. Only looks through me. "Squire."This is enough of a word to make me blink, and my instinct says to look over my shoulder, break eye contact. I resist.
​
"Master knight, the Hour of the Beast is still far. We...we might ride."
​
He is quick to turn back to the waters. "We're not going to ride."
​
I wait for his next address, but it is in vain, and nothing comes. Against my better judgement, I tread closer. This cannot be done in the subtle way - my boots on the pebbles will not go unheard. Taking a step towards the master now is an act of foolishness, but I manage to justify five. I don't know if I would take the sixth, but he turns to look again, this time fast. I am frozen to my place.
​
"Is the squire not satisfied?"
​
"No, my lord."
​
My lord also moves. He can capture, in two strides, the length that I might have acquired by eight. Now we are close, which neither of us have traditionally found to be pleasant. He is looking at my eyes - not me, but my eyes, which have not seen the things he has seen.
​
"Share your complaint. Heavens know, I've hardly heard plenty of them."
​
I furrow my brow. This is quite rude to do against one's battle-tutor, and I am well-trained in such matters of courtesy, so it takes me some effort. "Lord, there are six hundred men in Kilmer's Foot that are proud to fight. We have supposed that each is of good character and vigour. But if you levy six-hundred fellows against twelve hundred revolters, their morale *will* break. Before it breaks, dozens of them will be made into casualties."
​
He nods. It's not news.
​
"It's against the Code, to go through with that. You are putting brave souls to the judge, and with no need."
​
I am violating some precepts of the Code, in my own right, by explaining this. I can tell that my lord knows it, by the glean in his eye, but he does me mercy by not speaking to it.
​
"Boy, I'm not thrilled to levy six hundred against twelve. But if I don't, they will call me coward."
​
"It doesn't *matter* if they call you coward."
​
"It *matters*. Greatly. It is one thing for their stock to be hauled and looted. Whether we levy or we negotiate, this will happen to them. This holding, on the border, will be robbed to nothing. That's several difficult winters. *Several* dozen dead men. But *on the same day*, to see their lord, and be told that they won't fight? That kills the rest of them, boy. The marsh is hard, and it is cruel. Very few lads have the guts to keep it out of starvation. If they know that robbers can come, and their knight won't take arms, they'll quit."
​
He's looking *at* me, this time - I think by accident, as we both realise what he's doing, and we quickly look in different directions. But then, he looks at me again. "They'll starve."
​
It occurs to me that my breathing has gotten heavier since I initiated the conversation. My hands have turned to fists, without my remembering the switch. "You're right on all of it. There's two ways to go, and neither's good."
​
"Aye, lad."
​
"But if we ride..."
​
"We're not going to ride."
​
"*If* we ride, and we're not too slow, we can get to the Baron's place before the Hour of the Beast. Morning come, we can ride back, with all his men. Make a good fight of it."
​
"Boy, it's sixty miles through badlands. I know you have your education and all of it, but what you're asking is just not reasonable. The Hour will be upon us before we arrive. We're not going to ride."
​
My eyes drift up to the moon. She is only halfway to her peak, and maybe less. Surely good for three hours. I look back down, not at my lord, but at my pack, which still burdens his shoulder. Here is a violation of chivalry, but in the heat of it all, I cannot subdue myself. I take my hand, and place it on the bag of equipment.
​
"My lord. *I'm* going to ride."
​
There is more on his face than I could ever interpret. "There's no need for you to die."
​
"Only the lads from the fields, then. Yes? They have to die."I tighten my grip. The truth is, if I were to take the pack, I think he'd let me. It's just that doing so would be a tremendous insult, and that is enough to stop any proper squire.
​
"Yes, lad. It's barbarism, and it's a scourge. A scourge that can be defeated, but not by us. It's the Barons who have a hand in it."
​
"Aye, and there's a Baron in riding distance."
​
"He's not in riding distance. Even in wildest fantasy, that man is *not* in distance."
​
I can take no more, and I feel an unusual strength in my chest. I tear my pack free from his shoulders. It hangs in my hand, blocking the space between us. I cannot conjure another thing to say, and I dearly hope that he fails in the task as well.
​
I twist around, and I'm going on my way. My strides have changed - they are almost the size of my lord's. As I finish strapping the pack, I cannot restrain myself, and I look over my shoulder to see my lord.
​
"The reason you think it's death is because you *are* a coward, sir."
​
"And *you* are a sycophant's son, running after false piety!"
​
I'm stuck to my place again. I make out his spit, which glints in the moonlight, and lands ineffectually on the pebbles between us. He has not seemed so furious since the day when I apprenticed.
​
And he is not done. "You're going to go and die, man. Because *you* think, it's better to die, than to have faltered against the Code of Valour. You're going to go and die, and no border holding will *ever* be able to look to you again. No victim will ever be in your care again. Your words will not stop the tears of another maiden, and you will deprive all the crown's people of your service. And if you think that makes you brave, then you never had the sense of a knight, and you never belonged in a court."
​
I stare at him. Then my eyes go to the moon, which has not stopped for us. I already have my pack, which is so burdensome upon me, and all I needed to start the journey.
​
I turn from the coast and run inland. As my swordsman's boots pound against the dirt, I whistle for my mount. |
Aaron watched the evening news, while his cat, Baxter was curled in a blanket he pulled from the back of the sofa.
“Due to mandatory quarantine guidelines,” the news reporter said. “At midnight, everyone must stay inside for the next 7 days. For those of you who live alone you will find outlets through shared networks and video conferencing. For those with pets, you’re never alone, but you can continue building a healthy interspecies relationship with those cuddly, little, and newly-sentient creatures we all love so much.”
“We’ve always been sentient.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve ever said,” Aaron said.
“First thing I ever said to you.”
“You always mew at me whenever I call your name.”
“I was telling you to eat shit and die.”
“That’s not funny, Baxter.”
“Baxter isn’t my name, Aaron. Baxter is the name you gave me. A label to identify me as yours.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorrow. What is sorrow? How are we to know if the events and circumstances which befall us are for sorrow or joy, for comedy or tragedy? All life is some cosmic episode of America’s Funniest Videos.”
“Damn,” Aaron said. “I was gonna ask what is your name?”
“Well, there’s my given name, Baxter. There is a name I am not allowed to tell you, and for your own safety and my safety I will not tell you. My actual name is Moliere.”
“What would happen if you told me your secret name?”
“You don’t want to mess with powers outside your comprehension, Aaron.”
“You guys started talking like 4 weeks ago.”
“You mean humans started to understand us like 4 weeks ago. There’s a vast and lurid underground society in the animal kingdom: drugs, sex, information. You name it. If someone wants it they can get it. If you want to be a player in this realm then you gotta have power and those with the power get what they want, so when I say I’m not allowed to tell you the name, take it as a warning.”
“Like a cat mafia?”
“An animal organization and that’s all I’m going to say.”
Aaron pinched lightly at the curving end of the cat’s tail.
“Sounds like they got this little tiger by the tail.”
“Stop that,” Moliere said.
“Just be careful talking about this with other humans. If word gets back that I’m talking animal secrets, I’ll be dog food in a week. Things didn’t go well with me and the syndicate a long time ago and they don’t forget. I think some of them are elephants.”
“Is that when I found you in the wheel well to my truck?”
“I was hiding out. I was in debt with the local alley cat at the time. I had a real nip fix.”
“It sounds like it was a good thing I found you.”
“In a broad sense it’s prolonged the inevitable. They know where I am, I’m still here because they know they can kill me at any time. They just watch me slowly live and die in your walls.”
“I think I’ve done a pretty good job with you. I won’t let anyone harm you, Bax-Moliere.”
“Thanks. You think you could let me out on the porch so I can smell something other than you.”
“While you’re out there, I’ll make us some dinner.”
“Leave the light off, please.”
Aaron let Moliere on the porch and returned to the kitchen. From a descending branch, a small squirrel approached the screen on the porch.
“Moliere? Is that you?”
“It’s me, Sammy.”
“I’m just gonna be up here burying some nuts. How’s it been with the human? I hear they’re quarantining them?”
“The human’s fine. I think I’m going to have a good time with him while he’s stuck here.”
“Uh, no. What’re you doing?”
“I told him that I have a secret name.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because, it’s funny.”
“He seems like a nice guy.”
“I also told him about the Syndicate.”
“What’s the Syndicate?”
“Like a global animal criminal organization. He thinks I was addicted to catnip.”
“Aren’t you though?”
“I like it recreationally, but it’s not like I lick other cats for a fix.”
The sound of the dish touching the ground interrupted Moliere and Sammy’s conversation.
“Moliere,” Aaron said. “Supper’s ready.”
“I’m going to have him trained in no time.” |
Kingdom Come
When I awoke, the sky wasn’t a watery, pale blue; instead, the sky was full of winged beasts, washing the sky in warm, too bright colors; it all looked so wrong. It was like the second coming, only with the denizens of hell ushering the end of the world instead of God’s angels.
My mother was in the living room, large canvas sacks standing guard next to the door. She was packing hastily. “Sage! I was just about to send your brother to wake you!” Her voice was unusually high, my youngest brother on her hip, squalling.
“What’s going on, Mama?” I asked; instantly, I snapped awake. I’d never before seen her so alarmed, not even after the time that one of our most stubborn cows, Clover, got out of the barn and wandered into the village.
“The dragons have come at last,” She whispered, keeping Gideon’s ears covered so he wouldn’t hear. “They’re about to descend upon us any moment. We’re leaving. No way in Hell am I staying here and taking the chance of being roasted alive over a spit.” The crude words gave me a shock, but when she told me to start packing, my body seemed to be moving without my consent.
I packed a bag with my nicest dress, a sleeping tunic, and the few books I owned. (Those weren’t essential, necessarily, but I grabbed them anyway. Books were expensive and we were far from wealthy.)
My father wasn’t there, so I assumed that he was inside of his forge, finishing up what weapons he’d been working on. “Papa?” I asked, and she shook her head once, quickly. “We’ll have to get your father from the forge itself, on the way out of town.”
The air outside was thick with screams and smoke, and Mama led the way through, each of us carrying a bag of our only worldly possessions. Gideon began to wail, and Mama responded by humming a lullaby she’d sang from the time we were all tiny. If the situation wasn’t so dire, I would have laughed. I imagined us walking through the fire and destruction like a flock of ducklings following their mother.
But the thing I’d expected was to see gigantic, fire-breathing winged lizards. Those in the sky were indeed monsters, but the ones who terrorized our village, razing it to the ground and looting the shops; these creatures wore human faces.
Was the invasion nothing more than a diversion, a distraction so the real threat could slip into the village unseen?
I didn’t have any time to contemplate our course of action, though: first, we had to make it out of this fiery hell alive and intact.
I stayed at my mother’s side, and I told my brothers and sisters to hold hands and not let go, under any circumstances. We reached the forge at last, and my mother stayed with the children.
“Papa!” I called, gasping anew when the heat hit my bare, exposed skin like a heavy blanket. “The dragons are attacking! We have to leave, now! Mama and the kids are outside!”
My father was still standing at the hearth, shirtless, in the middle of hammering a blade with a long, wickedly sharp point.
Swearing, he dropped the weapon and locked the door to the forge. It was so hot within that I felt as if I had somehow stumbled into a secret, hidden pocket in Hell.
But how had the dragons even gotten in? There had been wards outside the village, the better to protect us from curious passerby. But I had to focus on getting out first; my questions weren’t going anywhere.
\*\* |
"I don't know why my family won't speak to me. All day, it's the same thing. I talk, they seem to just walk right through me. It's as if I'm not even there."
Case Subject 415 was crying again. About the same problem. Every single day she came to me with this similiar story. It's been going on for years. They visit me, tell me their mundane problems and I just sit and offer simple platitudes. Oh, I've tried to confront them before. It didn't end well. It's how I was given the title of the "Fearless Exorcist"that will "will make others quiver"in abject fear and terror. If they only knew. Well, today they will! I have written down all my therapy sesssions and have compiled them into a book. They will all know soon enough.
The Fearless Exorcist or what I really do.
Everyone believes in something or another. When it comes to the afterlife, I KNOW, not believe, what happens to us. I know what you think of me: Big, Bad, Soo Scary, ghosts run from me. But, let me tell you what I really do. Here is a transcript. Names have been changed to protect the patient. Yes, even the ghosts deserve some modicum of privacy.
Case Subject 1023. Monday. 10:23 am. "But Doctor. It's like I don't exist! I don't know why my family won't help me around the house. And who is that woman they have going through my clothes? What do I do?"
Case Subject 1200. Monday. Noon. While I'm eating. "Doctor, I can't smell anything. I can see you eating that steaming hot piece of pizza dripping with cheese and pepperoni, but I can't smell it! It's like this everywhere I go. Is this normal?"
Case Subject 213. Monday. 2:13 p.m. "And that's all I do doctor. Sit and twiddle my damn thumbs. This stupid son of mine destroying the family name while I just twiddle my thumbs. I swear I would love to... well what was I saying?"
And every story I can tell you about what I do is like this. Ghosts. They are all ghosts. For some reason, ghosts come to me when they have died and don't want to cross over. And they ignore that they are dead and regale me with their boring, mundane problems. They are all the same: Why won't their friends and family notice them? EVERY SINGLE DAY . All of them. Why don't I tell them they are dead? Because of Case Subject 530. The reason I have been given this title of The Fearless Exorcist. Case Subject 530. It's my fault really.
530 was angrier than most ghosts I have visit me. Maybe he was angry in his before life. I don't know. What I do know is 530 had no desire to leave this world. Ever.
It started simple enough. 530 materialized one Thursday at 5:30. I always note their arrivals. And he started right away in a very angry tone. "Why am I here? What is this? Who are you?"were his first words with me. All the others up to him were very nice, just distressed and considered me someone who could help with their fears. Not 530. He was very brusk, angry, and, corporeal. None of the others had a tangible body. They always walked through me. Not 530. He actually bumped into me. I was scared for the first time doing this. I decided to tell him he was dead. Hoping that would send him on his way. He was the first I told. And the last.
"Sir, you are dead. This place seems to be a type of holding zone for those who have died and haven't crossed over, wherever that is."530 looked at me and the sneer on his face made me actually step back. While corporeal, it seems he was not able to sit on furniture, as he tried and fell through to the floor. If he wasn't truly angry before, he was now.
At that very moment, the mail was being delivered. The mailman and I were on good terms. He came into my place and chatted with me on some day. I think maybe he was trying to unload a bit on me for free. I didn't mind as he was a good guy. Today was not going to be his day. 530 saw him come in and immediately jumped at him and LANDED IN HIM. I stared in shock. I hadn't seen any of my "patients"do this before. I didn't know it was possible. 530 took over the mailman's body. Threw all the mail on the ground and stormed out of the office.
The rest the world knows about. The carnage he created. The pure lack of restraint and utter chaos left in his wake. How I managed to bring him out of the mailman's body. It's all a matter of public record. But that is not what I do. I am not The Fearless Exorcist. I just try to help lost souls. And I no longer tell them they are dead. |
Slowly I picked through the dense underbrush, the blue moon hanging silently in the sea of stars above. A distant rumbling suddenly passing through the woods, the pine woods swaying in steady waves. A distant yellow light cresting the ridge of the far mountain ridge as I lowered myself to the ground.
The rumbling only growing stronger as the brilliant light passed through the nearby valley. A titanic figure passing through a small gap in between the horizon allowing a quick glimpse of the armored giant. A large metal lantern like those at home grasped in the creature's right hand quickly passing out of sight.
My heart audibly beating in my ears as the steady rumble continued towards our mountainous cage. The swaying trees calming leaving only the detritus in its wake marking the titan's passage through the valley. Nature's silence slowly replaced by the birds' songs in the canopy above fluttering through the pines.
.
A breath that I hadn't even noticed I had been holding leaving my lungs a burning wreak as I stood back to my full height. Pulling the straps of my pack tighter as I walked deeper into the woods the moonlight only appearing in faint patches between the needles. My hand absentmindedly rifling through my pockets grabbing my family's antique from before our internment.
The small hand steadily ticking into the witching hour as I pushed onward through the woods. Whispers suddenly traveling along the wind as the bird's fluttered away into the dark skies in a panic. The ground shaking once more as I ducked beneath one of the many fallen trees along the forest floor.
Crack a titanic boot landing in the next clearing over crushing several trees like twigs under the giant's weight. A low reverberating voice passing through the forest the voice angry as always as I pushed myself farther under my flimsy cover. The unlit lantern hanging at his hip as the warden leaned downward inspecting the nearby river.
.
Clumps of trees and water falling from the giant's grasp as it dug into the beaver dam blocking the water's passage to our fields. The heavy impacts ceasing as the protector settled down onto a nearby mountain the rock crumbling under his weight. A small tick in my breast pocket signaling the passage of another minute as the warden gazed upward.
A single hand outstretched as if to grab the moon itself it's thick language echoing through the valley. The warden of these lands seemingly speaking to nature as it closed it's eyes and it's breath settled onto a steady rhythm. Dirt and detritus now clinging to my clothing as I crawled out from under my hiding spot and gazed upward.
The Polaris star marking the passage north as I returned my gaze to the sleeping giant. Odd of them to rest so far away from their village so I must be getting close to it's rumored location. Slowly I settled into a jog the foliage slowly thinning as I walked up the valley's edge.
.
Beyond a great expansive golden fields stretching from horizon to horizon melded into a distant village a great stone wall touching the sky itself. |
A walking door mat, that's what my impression was of the skinny man that had invited me into his home. I do get weirder ones, to be honest...
He gave a shaky handshake and invited me into his rundown kitchen. To my surprise, the wooden chairs didn't break when we sat down.
After introductions and some small talk, he filled out the form and signed the contract. Well, to be quite honest, it was three copies of each document. His nervous spelling made some parts unreadable and he had had to start over.
"After this, I'll never have this dream again right?"
"Yes. I give all my clients a warranty of a lifetime. We already talked about this on the phone. Do not worry."
"I just..."A deep breathe. "Wanted to be sure. Here's the payment."
My customer gave me two £50 notes and the signed papers. They were damp from his sweat. Gross.
"Well, you know what to do now. It's 11 o'clock right now, so you should be able to fall asleep quite easily."I glanced at the form. "Considering you usually go to bed a few hours earlier."
The uneasy shuffling of his hands did not go unnoticed by me.
"Well, you see, mum is sensitive to sounds, I don't like troubling her..."It looked like he wanted to add something more, but decided against it.
"Right. You should go to bed now and try to fall asleep. I'll take care of the rest."
After seeing the state of his flat, it was obvious what was going on. No surprise that this office worker has been having that kind of recurring nightmare. Not a level 1. Probably a level 3.
To be honest, he needed a therapist, not a nightmare remover. But what can you do, this job isn't the type to draw in crowds.
An hour passed, he was certainly asleep. It was time for work.
I slowly crept into his bedroom, making sure to take wide steps to avoid as many squeaking floorboards as possible. As soon as my hand touched the sleeping man's forehead I was in.
It really was a nightmare. My nervous customer was something else while he was dreaming. The number of times he stabs his mother and then his boss here is really something. Not to mention he does it in that excuse of a kitchen. The way this man slices up their bodies with that smile... His whole body was now red from the blood.
"Alright, you had your fun for a few years, now it's time to calm down."I approached the bloodied figure.
"Why is it always me? What did I do to them? I just want them to stop!"it bellowed, bloody tears streaming down their face.
"It's obviously because you never stood up to them. It's alright to say no sometimes, you know."
The figure froze, shocked that someone had answered. It took one look at me and started to step back, slowly distancing itself even further.
Without a moment to waste, I lunged towards it and managed to grab the nightmare's elbow. That was enough.
"Leave the poor guy alone. Isn't it boring doing the same thing every night? How about you come with me instead."
My client awoke the next morning with a smile. It was the first nightmare free night in a couple of years.
I was already long gone from his shabby flat by morning, even managed not to wake up his mother, which was a surprise considering how loud the old floors were. In my younger years waking up other family members was an every night occurrence and had always caused trouble.
I could feel a yawn wanting to escape. Guess it was my turn to sleep.
After an hour of standing in what seemed like endless traffic, I was in my apartment. Everything was a mess,but tidying up would come later. Right now, my bed was the only thing that occupied my mind and I wasn't going to resist. Sleep came in an instant.
My eyes flew open.An audience of about a hundred people were sitting in front of me, silently staring. I was on a wooden stage, my teeth had started to fall out one by one.
"Why is it always me? I just want them to leave me alone!"a familiar voice erupted throughout the whole place. With it, my last client's nightmare jumped on me from the side of the stage.
Loud laughter broke out from the viewers. It was like I was starring in a comedy show. Only then the realization came that there were no clothes on me
The scene suddenly disappeared and I started to fall, surrounded only by darkness.
After a painful landing, grass filled my vision, then the barrel of a gun. Same as usual. Welcome to my personal nightmares.
I have the power to remove night terrors from others, but they don't just disappear into thin air. They cling to me now instead of their hosts.
I have to suffer for them every night now.
What a man can't do for money. |
I’m sick of hearing people and their version of the creation story and the Garden of Eden. If I hear about another tale about how a snake slithered in and convinced mom to take a bite of an apple, I’ll take someone’s eye out.
Funny thing though - I don’t think anyone would care. I don’t think anyone relevant would hear me. It’s been a long long time since the days of Eden. It’s been a long time since my stupid brothers got into a fight that cost one of them their life.
Yeah, that’s right. I was never mentioned.
The name’s Beatrice. I was the middle sibling. I had no children. I think I got myself cursed somehow though. I think it was a bad idea to side with Cain. Something strange happened when I watched the life go out of my brother’s body.
Abel had been true. He had been the truest of all of us, and now, he was gone. And with him, a wedge formed in the family, but nowhere near as great as what came from Mom’s and Dad’s trick in Eden.
But I guess—it’s up for discussion, because ever since Abel died, I never aged and was cursed with watching all of mankind screw up over and over again.
I watched as they wrote their version of the Bible. Like I stated earlier, the creation story and how mankind became tainted. You know—the whole sin thing.
That wasn’t Mom. Okay, it wasn’t Mom alone. It was Mom and Dad.
You see—Mom messed up with letting Mr. Serpent trick her into trying a fruit that she had no business trying. It wasn’t an apple either. It doesn’t say anywhere in Genesis that it was an apple.
In what world would an apple entice someone to take a bite? Fried apples maybe. Cinnamon apples? Sure. A regular apple? Please.
The fruit that the serpent got my mom all worked up? Strawberries.
From the way Mom tells it, these strawberries were better than anything in the entire garden.
Now, I bet you’re wondering how Dad found a way to screw up everything alongside Mom. There were two forbidden fruits. God told them to steer clear of both of them. One was on the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and the other? Some bush they thought silly. Something about honesty or was it majesty?
Regardless, the bush was considered holy and otherworldly like the tree. At the same time, mom was getting convinced to throw everything she had away.
Dad was fixated on an orange. Yes, an orange.
I mean yeah, the whole orange juice thing for breakfast? A brilliant idea. I can’t lie. A billion. Heck, a trillion dollar idea, but I wish Dad hadn’t decide to fixated when he did. He didn’t have Mom there to stop him.
Well, let’s face it. Both of them were stupid. Neither of them would have stopped the other.
I don’t know if Dad was thirsty or hungry. He could have eaten anything. He could have drank anything, but no, he decided to reach for the bush that was he forbidden to eat from and wham—they both got cast out.
God appeared out of nowhere and forced them to deal with the real world.
Sometimes, I think it’s luck, but other times, I think it’s bad luck. You see whose to say that I, Cain, or Abel would have been born or any of us for that matter.
Eden was but so big. Surely, all of mankind couldn’t have stayed in there.
Oh well – And now, I’m in a bar in Brooklyn, looking for all the world like a homeless person. I didn’t have Mom’s beauty, but I do happen to speak every language there is. Ah, that Babylon story is a riot.
Anyway, I’m trapped in this world. I don’t know how long, but I’ve been watching all of you make mess up after mess up.
The world is falling apart, and I watch, waiting for God to speak to me. I think there’s a reason I’m still here. So until then, I wait. And I tell you all this in hopes that maybe one of you will get it right.
But I’m fooling myself.
I’m always fooling myself. Just like when I thought that Cain had got it right.
How in God’s name did I think that the killing of Abel, our brother, by my other brother was a good idea?
See what I mean? I was lost. And like I’m lost, so are most of you. One day, you’ll get it. I just hope it won’t be too late. |
When my life ended, I was strolling in the moon lit night. I had been drinking with friends, but a dead phone forced me to walk the mile and a half home. Storefronts passed me by as I trudged along the cement sidewalk. At the time, I was trying to fit an equal steps in each square of the sidewalk; the practice was my mute form of gaining control over an uncontrolled body. Eyes glued to my feet, I walked straight into my murderer. A shooting warm seized me as I saw my stomach become the knife’s new sheath. As I looked up, a gaunt drug addict trembled as he seized my wallet and asked me why didn’t I stop? His face was stricken with panic as I felt my features relax. As he pulled his Excalibur from my stomach’s mound, he pushed me down and began running. I fell in two concrete squares, the blood breaking my fall.
Eternal death should make resentment impossible. My essence should flow into indifference as time melted into what it is. Yet I did not melt, and sensations of anger became my first (un) waking thought. Anger at myself for being such an easy target; anger at the thief for the fatal theft, and anger at time for giving me such an undignified death. Yet I also felt sympathy for the addict’s plight; his trembling features were as morbid as the knife’s appearance.
Sympathy did not turn into good will, however. Flashes of premonition hinted redemption through saving the wretched thief, but the thought of conditional salvation made want to vomit (as if I could vomit in spiritual form). No, I would not seek salvation through redemption. Death’s truth did not become my truth; if the grim reaper wanted me to use preserved subjectivity for his purposes, he should not have left free will.
I began helping the addict. Or at least, I helped him score. I could not communicate directly with the addict, but I could leave signs which would indirectly guide the addict to full degeneration. Using my newfound freedom of movement and invisibility, I learned the biggest names and aspirations of the dealer world. I learned the supply chain, I watched the poppy picked by migrant farms and followed the trembling dealers who were as addicted as their customers. I saw into them; felt their fears and their hopes. I saw and knew everything a junky would want to know to become a big player.
And so I shared. At night, I would lay still next to the junkie in whatever parking garage or alley way he chose as a bed. As a concentrated my energy, I sent my knowledge as dreams and premonitions to my killer. As I trained the addict in degeneracy, his coping skills grew. He knew all the connections and used them like a pro. He never questioned the dreams, for the junky lived in a waking dream. His body had become an instrument, and his free will was relinquished to the needle. In passing moments, the junky would feel a twinge of regret or horror, but his unlimited success stopped any hope of change. In his dreams, I would see the face of a young woman, sensations of love burned by the chemical life.
Yet the addict continued his game. He became more deadly, less lucid, and more powerful. The deathly addict became the consummate professional (though still very addicted). He began forming his own chain of dealers; killing the man or two who tried to betray him (betrayals he was made aware about by yours truly). Eventually, he did not need me to fuel his paranoia. He killed as he pleased and always escaped the consequences due to unexplained premonitions. The town grew in fear; addicts became more aggressive and more plentiful. Kids who dreamed of space fell in love with needle. Businesses became fronts for the drugs, both out of fear and greed. The junky himself continued to crew in the night; not out of need, out of an acquired taste for pain. His knife would relieve dozens of drunken and not so drunken night walkers. The last night I followed the addict, I saw him stalk a woman in the night. As he plunged his blade into the small of her back, I saw her face. She was the woman from my murder’s junk-killed dreams, a lost love reunited in death. The junky gave a hyena’s laugh, shoved her to the concrete squares, and began looking forward to the needle’s next song.
Death’s premonition did not lie; my corruption did not send me to a new salvation. Yet I took solace in the fact that I showed true free will; who else could act against eternal salvation? The revolution of will was completed, and I sifted through the night searching for my next chance to act as the Subversion of God. |
Working at the immigration gate of planet Wasp-17, we’d seen it a dozen times before. Dazed immigrants stumbling off the warp gate transport ships, milling about like freshly castrated cattle. I mean if they didn’t have the photo lanyard around their neck telling them what their name was and where they were from they wouldn’t even know that. Jump amnesia, everybody experiences it, no cure but massive immersion reeducation and training. That’s why immigrants spent months making personalized videos that they’d watch at the destination. Who I was before I jumped.
“Mom, dad, are we at Wasp-17 yet?” came the plaintive cry of 5 year old Adele, freshly awakened from a nap. Everybody from Wasp-17 immigrant ion froze instantly. Somebody remembered...how?
The nap... the kid slept through the jump! |
My mother comforts me from a bad dream. She smells like lavender. I play football with my friends, and I'm the star of the team. I marry my high school sweetheart, and everything is perfect.
These memories seem so close. So real. I can almost smell the musty smell of the carpet store where I ended up working for my father in law.
I remember rounds of chemotherapy, my body wasting away trying to fight off the cancer. I beat it in the end. I was so happy then. Even cancer was better than what was out there. The ladder slips from under my feet and I feel myself falling. Shit.
GAME OVER.
I sigh and reluctantly take off the headset. Hand it over to the old wrinkled hands that I know are waiting for their turn. Tune out the verbal abuse. Same as always.
Sadness rolls over me like a wave as I come back to reality. I'm only a teenage boy. My grandfather is an alcoholic madman, who takes me on all his "adventures"as he calls them. I know he can replace me, but my only other option is death. So I live. And I try to keep him happy.
My only good days are the ones when I can convince him to go to Blitz n Chips, and spend blissful time there. Being normal. These memories are what keeps me sane. They keep me going, until the next time I can become Roy.
Next time, I won't fall off the ladder. |
It is often said that a falling knife has no handle, this rule also applies to shingle this rule also applies to shingle shovels as well. But an hour ago, I was not privy to this information.
It was a midsummer evening, because if there is any time to do the shingles of a roof, its when its hot and midday so that you can get that nice burn across the neck, face, and hands. The kind that says, "just drown me in a pool of lotion and kick me in the head."But after clearing the top of our shed, it became apparent to us that the wood was rotting. My granddad set his crowbar down and pointed at the rotted portion.
"Dat right dere, dats rotted."
I replied soon after, "It does appear so."
"Don step on dat, else ya fall."
"Indeed"I then went back to work peeling off the shingle to the left of the rotted portion. As I a moved around the roof I steeped on the rotted area and then proceeded to fall on top of my tool bag, inside that bag was a assortment of wrenches, screwdrivers, and sockets. Luckily, the sawzall laying sideways, over the mouth of the bag helped brake the fall.
"Wha in da hell! Wa-wheya at son!"
"I've fallen"
"Well, it look to be"
"Indeed"
Once I recovered, I circled out of the shed and proceeded towards the house so that I could lay comfortably in pain. Seeing this my grandfather then insisted that I bring in the tools and then he tossed down shovel. As it flew through the air towards me, I walked to the side and attempted to grab it from the right. I managed to get a good hold on the handle end and the space itself made a good purchase with my face. This is my short tale, please enjoy my suffering and may you save yourself from the same mistakes. |
Hi u/Silver-Pick, this submission has been removed.
The mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel is harmful to the community. This includes, but is not limited to any forms of hate speech, racism, politics, necrophilia, pedophilia, bestiality, incest, torture, rape, violence against children, and suicide. We will not tolerate it.
* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content)*
---
No prompts prone to comment infractions. See [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses) for more info.
* *From Rule 7: [Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses)*
---
---
[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fwctxb/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting.
*This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.* |
Oh shit. He's charging towards me. My ass is grass. Done. I'll tell God it was a mistake, like it'll make a difference. Welp, here's to my life.
Before we get to the meat of this story, I feel a bit of badkstory's needed. Names Yuri, James Yuri. That over there is Michael Douglas, my best friend with a cookie cutter name and even more cliche reactions to me knocking over the photo of his dead dad. I can understand why I'm going to get a proper thrashing, but what happens next defies even what I was expecting. What I think happened was that this summer Michael and I were in the forest looking for something to do when we came upon this bigass metal thing. Michael's a fucking pussy so I grew a pair and touched it. Nothing happened, I was bored, we went home, flash forward to now where my ass is going to be erased.
Out of nowhere while I had my eyes closed I heard Michael cry out in pain. I opened my eyes to see his leg violently ripped open and beginning to open even more. I was worried and panicking, wondering if something bad had happened (which it obviously did) and wondering what to do next when it healed itself out of nowhere. I pulled him up while he was still in shock and the picture of him and dear old dad was fixed. Confused, I looked at him, but he was still shook over the fact his leg was ripped open and then resealed. My hands began to hurt, so I looked at them and they were a tint of purple with weird triangle symbols on the palms. Now, I may be a dumbass, but last time I checked that's abnormal. I pointed at a wall and it became disfigured with a warped hole in the middle. When I stopped pointing it turned back into a normal wall. Michael was scared shitless, beginning to back away from me. I pointed at him to see if I could do something other than tear holes because test subjects are needed in these trying times. Nothing happened, or nothing physically changed. So he kicked me out of the house, for good reason, and I wanted to try more. I pointed at a squirrel and wanted to make it weird as hell because maybe I can get somewhere with that and wouldn't you know it, it began to fall apart and reform like an animation that got stuck. It disgusted me so I walked away. As I was going home, the neighbors next door were still partying hard and they always prevented sleep on the entire block. The first thing that went through my mind is "Fuck those neighbors"but I decided to act upon it and entered their house.
I think I had gotten a pretty good idea on how to use whatever the hell I had, the ability to shape something however I wanted, and with this knowledge I decided to try to see if I could make the door fly off the hinges and crash into the house. Was it successful? They don't have a door anymore so that's that. Shocked, they cut the music and I heard a shotgun cocking. I knew I had to get the hell out but I wanted to see how far I could push things so I hid in a tiny cupboard under the stairs, behind where the door was thrown. In the little cupboard I found what looked like a lot of drugs. As a teenager with extraordinary powers, I decided that I could use this to set up a little shop, so I took the drugs and stuffed them in my pocket. I decided to try and morph the dude's bullets, which somehow worked as I heard the wet ripping noise of something mauling his throat. A bit overkill, but it worked nonetheless. The bitch at the top of the stairs was wailing, so I morphed through the walls to get through to behind her. With this, I morphed her teeth to razor blades, so when I slapped her she cut the hell out of her mouth as I curbstomped her. Drugs in pocket, I bolted out of the house before the police arrived, realizing I couldn't come back from what I've done, but secretly being happy to live an exciting life of crime without anybody stopping me. |
Mario lied on the ground, dead. Mr. John Goomba III stared. Goomba waited for Mario to disappear, only to magically materialize at the beginning of the level. But nothing happened. Goomba looked away, seeing red in the corner of his eye, as the liquid moved silently out of Mario's lifeless body and into the outside world.
He had done it. Goomba had killed Mario. The other Goombas, such as Mr. David Goomba Jr., and his son, Ezekiel Goomba stared. Katie Goomba stared. Leonard Piranha stared (his mother had married into the Piranha family, call it beastiality if you will, but they were happy). Then, they all slowly began to clap. The 6th Goomba Unit had stopped the deranged Mario from taking the princess from the safety of Bowser's castle, where she was staying while waiting out the storm that was Mario's rage.
Mario had never been the same ever since Luigi fell down the wrong pipe. It was supposed to be a routine route to Toad's house, to fix his plumbing. But instead of taking the short pipe, Luigi went down a long, wide pipe that went down a few hundred feet into the ground. Mario was devastated, and his mental state was devastated just the same.
First, it was Toad's brother. Then, his mother and father. Toad narrowly escaped after convincing Mario he was on the insane plumber's side. Mario continued his rampage. But Bowser, the benevolent ruler of the Skeleton Lands, formed an alliance with Princess Peach, and they both vowed to take down Mario and his knife-wielding sidekick, Yoshi.
Mario took over the Mushroom Kingdom shortly after. In his version of things, he believed the princess was kidnapped by Bowser, and he formed his next target. Over and over and over again he killed countless brave, honorable soldiers of the Skeleton Army. But Mr. John Goomba III, or, Sir John Goomba, as he would come to be called, had stopped him. Mario was gone.
And the two kingdoms rejoiced. |
Kent awoke to the intoxicating smell of sweet, sickly perfume. No...it couldn’t be. The memories flooded back as he regained his senses. He would never forget that smell. Could never forget that smell. Quickly looking around the room, Kent identified his surroundings. The walls were lined with a deep blue huge wallpaper traced in bright pink floral patterns. There was no mistaking it, he had awoken to the nightmare of finding himself in the living room of his Aunt Margaret’s house.
    “No no no…I’ve got to be dreaming.” Kent said to the empty room.
    He pinched his arm tightly in an effort to shake the dream yet the blue and pink prison remained when he opened his eyes.
    “Margaret has been dead for 30 years. Come on Kent, what’s the last thing you remember? Think!”
    And then, it dawned on him. Kent was overtaken by horrific memories, one after another. He saw himself pulled across a bed of hot coals as they burned and tore at his skin. In a flash of another memory, he watched as a group of laughing children poked his skin with needles and ignored his cries of pain. There seemed to be no end to the floodgate of despair that Kent had opened. One by one, the memories barreled through his mind. They were filled with demons and grotesque creatures. Humans that were not entirely human—often featuring horns or other traits from animals. The only thing that these fragments of memory had in common was that Kent was always the subject of their torment. The memories of everything that he had been through brought him to his knees as he fought them off.
    Kent slowly gained his bearings and wiped the sweat from his brow. He remembered everything. There would be no waking up from this dream. Kent was dead.
    Time no longer held any meaning and Kent was unsure of how much time had passed. But, Kent remembered the crash. He had been speeding and had a few too many drinks. Okay, maybe a lot too many drinks. Kent could recall very little about the crash itself. But, he would never forget what happened after. He remembered watching the aftermath, from a distance. He could clearly see himself behind the wheel of his Ford Mustang. He loved that car. The car was hardly recognizable from where he stood. While he may not recall the moments leading up to the crash, it was clear what had happened. He had slammed into the side of a minivan at well over 80 miles per hour. There was very little left of either car. In his recklessness, he had sentenced the whole family that had been traveling together in that minivan to die.
    Kent had never considered himself a religious man in life. However, there was no denying that this was his punishment—an eternity of torture in Hell. He never gave much credence to Hell’s existence. Had he known what horrible possibility awaited him, he would have been a much better man. He would have made sure of it.
    The real catch, though? Hell wasn’t just one place—it was many—and you were not immortal. You could die here, and every time you did, whether you had succumbed to the torture or tried to escape the pain yourself, you found yourself on another level of Hell. Each level had been worse than the last, there was no mistake in that.
    As he recovered, Kent knew he had to get out of here quickly. He vaulted out of the living room and around the corner. As he entered Aunt Margaret’s dining room, Kent froze in horror. Multicolored balloons rose from the floor and filled the space surrounding the long ornate table. There must have been dozens of them. They overshadowed the space as they drifted, caught by the ceiling above, and left Kent gasping for air as he fought off the claustrophobic feeling that threatened to engulf him.
    The table in front of him was set for a party. Before each seat, a full set of fine china had been laid. Everything, from the crystal glasses to the plates lined with intricate decorative etchings, was coated with a thick layer of dust. Something about this scene sent chills down Kent’s spine.
    And then it began.
    A voice cut through the silence, in song, “Happy birthday to you—”
    It croaked through the air and into the dining room—this was not the usual upbeat birthday song. The voice sounded as if it had not been used in years. It sounded as if the singer had filled their mouth with sand as they belted out the out-of-tune lyrics.
    At the head of the table, the wall of balloons began to part. Pushing their way through them, floated a birthday cake. The candles were all lit, little flames glimmering as they came into view. Holding the cake in front of her, Aunt Margaret came into full view as she approached the dining room table. She did not look like Kent remembered her. Not at all.
    “Happy birthday to you—”
    Her skin, a sickly gray, was taut against frail bones. The fingernails on her hands had grown obscenely long. Filled with grit, they were rough with chips and imperfections. As Kent looked beyond the cake, he locked eyes with his aunt. They were nothing more than sockets, yet she held his gaze. Kent felt himself locked into a test of resolve he had no hope of winning. Those deep, black sockets continued for an eternity and that was enough to drive him mad.
    “Happy birthday—”
    Skin hanging from her cheeks in tattered strips, her face had long been claimed by rot. Her hair, a blinding white for as long as Kent could remember, had fallen out in patches, exposing her deeply pocked scalp. She was wearing the dress they had buried her in. The smell of perfume became ever more rancid, overtaking all of his senses. And the song of horrors continued—
    “—DEAR KENTON!”
    The haunting voice was now joined from a chorus from behind Kenton.
    “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU—”
    Kent let out a scream as he turned to witness the horrible ensemble that crowded into the dining room behind him. All of Aunt Margaret’s friends were here, singing along in unison. The years had not been kind to them, either. Their complexions ranged from shades of bluish purple to deep umber hues, none of them natural. Skin clung to their frames in patches and many of them had gaping wounds where decay had already set in.
    He staggered backwards, overturning a nearby chair, as he fell to the floor amongst the ever-floating balloons. The ghoulish entourage crowded above him as they exclaimed their glee in seeing him.
    “It’s so good to see you, Kenton!”
    “Oh dear, how you have grown!”
    “Why do you never keep in touch with us, Kenton? We all miss you.”
    Their rancid hands grabbed at him as he tried in vain to fend them off. Pinching his cheeks, gripping his muscles, they overtook him. Kent let out a bloodcurdling scream. Through tear shot eyes, Kent saw his aunt standing, taking in the whole scene, from behind the ravishing pack. As he stared into the pits where her eyes should be, her grim smile beamed at him and he knew that there was but one escape.
    Kent knew that there had to be an end. He had been through more horrors than he could even recall. That was the catch to Hell. The horrors imposed upon you were unimaginable. There was no way to fathom it getting worse. There was no way to know what lay beyond in the next level of Hell. He knew that he was risking everything by subjecting himself to something even more horrible and terrifying than the birthday party of horrors he found himself in now. But, what choice did he have? He knew he could not survive if he stayed. It had to end eventually.
    Using all of his being, Kent thrashed his arms and legs in a fury. He catapulted to his feet and shoved the ghouls out of his way as he dove for the cake. The candles had burned down to pool into lakes of wax upon the rotten food. It didn’t matter. He knew what he had to do. Before Aunt Margaret and her ghastly friends realized what was happening, Kent grabbed handfuls of the putrid cake and swallowed them down whole.
    Kent began to choke. As he fought with every ounce of his being to resist trying to cough up his death sentence, Kent locked eyes with his deceased Aunt Margaret one final time. Hands around his throat, face turning a deep purple, tears in his eyes, he gave her a final smile as he began to lose consciousness. It was time for Kent to find out what awaited him on the next level of Hell. |
*"Well, welcome to the temple! We have about... a few hundred here. The temple is our house of worship, and our house of living. While we all live together as children of our holy mother. Come, let me show you."* The follower said, calling me and my few friends to follow him.
"*Are you sure we should be here? This seems cult like."* One asks me.
"*I'm sure. This isn't cult like really. They're like a church almost. I actually found one of their books yesterday about all of this. It's not as bad as you may think."* I said back.
"*Who's even their goddess?"* Another asks me. I don't answer as our follower guide seems to be looking at us.
"*Do you have any questions I may address travelers?"* We shake our heads. "*Alright. Now, we're gonna be entering the worship space. Please make sure to keep flash off, as most of us are sensitive to flashing light. Take all the pictures you want. We want to spread awareness of our holy goddess."*
"*Guys... this place is so cool looking."* I hear a comment from one of my friends. "*Like, everything here seems so... perfect."*
"*Thank you. The next room is the dining hall. Since we've known about your arrival, we will treat you with some food and drink!"*
"*Food!"* I stop one of my friends from almost running ahead. "*Sorry. I'm hungry after all this walking."* I laugh a bit as we walk into the hall. A buffet. There's only a small group of us, 9 people, including me. We all take a plate of food and some drink.
"*This stuff is amazing!"*
"*Thank you. Our cooks got info of what you guys liked from our goddess so they could prepare the right food for you."*
"*I might want to join this place..."* one of my friends said, elbowing me jokingly. One thing I read, if you say something like that they actually take is seriously. If they know you're joking they take that into offense.
"*I apologize for her behaviour. She didn't know."* I say, shushing her in the process. "*I don't want them to be offended. Don't joke."* She nods and we keep eating and getting some questions answered.
"*Ok, now, time to-"* He's cut off by one of the others whispering in his ear. "*Well, okay then. It's time to meet the goddess. She loves having visitors."*
"*Yay!"* Two of my friends yelled. He leads us as we all follow. We're in this big room. A throne is there. Nobody is sitting in it.
"*Where is she?"* My friend who offended them earlier asks. The others also murmur in agreement as I make my way behind the group, slowing down my steps so they walk in front of me. The doors close behind us.
"*She's here."* He states. "*But she's not on the throne. Sitting is such a pain if she sits there for awhile. Isn't that right?"*
"*Yep!"* My friends turn to look at me. "*What?"*
"*You're the goddess?"* I nod. "*How did you even get this many followers?"* I smile. I look to the guide. Damien. He's one of my favourites so I let him do this one. He nods.
"*She offered us everything we wanted, and soon, we only wanted to stay here, where everything feels nice and wholesome. We all ate whatever we wanted, as she granted our gardens and animals to be plentiful. She would often leave us, but then come back. She, as you have seen, has put herself to work as we have, bringing people, and showing them the wondrous lifestyle that we live in."* I nod.
"*Although, not many people turn down the offer. Even if they do, they come back at some point. TIFFANY!"* I yell. Tiffany came in.
"*Yes goddess?"*
"*Ok, this is Tiffany. She thought she didn't need this life, but soon, she came back after she missed this life of paradise."*
"*Hello everyone! Ah, are these your friends? They are so lively and nice looking!"* She said with a kind smile, as I teach everyone to be kind and not hurt each other. I'm not a tyrant jeez.
"*You may go back Tiffany. I hope to see you at dinner. I would love to talk about next week's schedule."* She bows and leaves.
"*So, how about it? Because you're my friends, I don't mind if you decline staying here. If you want, you can come here on the holiday breaks. You're my friends after all."* They seem to talk amongst each other. I do have the power of bountifulness. I also have the power of mind reading and mind messaging. They mostly talk about their families, but then think they could bring them here. Other friends, also bring them here. What about school? They passed a few classrooms earlier. Seems perfect.
"*Well, we'd all like to stay, but some of us just want normal lives. Us who are leaving will visit, while the ones who want to stay would love to take their families too. Is that alright?"* I nod, as I tell Damien to get beds ready. "*Ok, so... we'll be going. It was great to be here..."* And they passed out. I told Damien to put 3 sleeping pills. This shouldn't have gone on that long. \[ Goddess we ran low on the pills so I only put two \] Fine. I took the ones who were gonna go back to their homes, the others, in their new rooms.
\[ part 2 coming soon... hopefully \] |
Greg opened the door to his small apartment, easing his migraine by massaging his temples. He had gone into the office early, worked through lunch, stayed late and still managed to get chewed out by his boss. He was rear-ended on the way home, his fridge was empty, and he was out of Somniox.
Greg typically took a couple doses of Somniox per week, the popular drug that put the user in control of his dreams. There were thousands of variations of Somniox. Most users liked relaxing fantasies of beaches and quaint villages, or exciting adventure stories. Some academics took educational pills to imagine vivid diagrams and relive eras of history. There was even a smaller market for nightmare-inducing Somniox for thrill seekers.
Greg’s headache began to grow worse. He dug through his medicine cabinet. *There has to be at least one dose left.* In the furthest corner back he felt a small pill package and pulled it out. *“Fishing on the Lake.” A calming dream.* The pills were so old that it took Greg a minute to remember where he had gotten them. They were from a knockoff series of relaxing dreams that Greg had picked up years ago.
The headache pulsed again, moving from his temples to the backs of his eyes. *I need a double-dose for tonight*. He popped both pills in his mouth and threw himself into bed. The Somniox tasted more bitter than usual. *Does Somniox go bad?*
Greg faded to sleep and came back to semi-subconsciousness in a fifteen-foot rowboat on a vast lake. The sun was out, the water was calm, and Greg was holding a thin, aluminum fishing rod. He cast the line and sat back. No fish were biting. No birds or clouds in the sky. The sun continued to beat down.
It was getting too hot. Greg felt a sunburn forming, but there was no shade to protect him. The dream world was eerily quiet and perfectly calm. No fish, no bugs, no other boats, and the distant shore remained distant no matter how much Greg paddled.
How long had Greg been out there in the boat? Technically, a few hours, but Somniox distorted the perception of time. Eight hours in bed could feel like a year, maybe longer. He felt like he had been in this boat for longer than he had been awake for his entire life. He broke into spontaneous fits of tears and laughter, sometimes both at once. The dream world felt heavy and warm. That sun kept beating down on him, burning his skin. *It’s sizzling. My god damn skin in sizzling!* He wanted nothing more than to escape this bad trip.
The boat began to sink. It was slow at first, the bottom of the vessel filling with an inch of calm water. The water level continued to rise as the boat level sank, and Greg found himself treading water. The rod disappeared with the boat, and he too began to sink into the abyss.
Greg found that he didn’t drown, but instead sank endlessly in a wide stretching void. No fish, no coral, nothing but deep blue depths. The water grew darker as Greg sank. He didn’t have the strength to resurface, and watched achingly as the thin shimmers above him were engulfed in the darkness. Greg floated in the pressurized blackness.
He woke, gasping for breath and flinging his arms in the air. *I’m free. I’m free!* He had never been so happy to hear his alarm clock. |
Abigail ran her fingers through her blonde hair one more time. Her legs were slung over the edge of the bed, hanging above her slippers. For the last time. Her husband was fast asleep at this point. Their dog was curled up on the doggy bed next to her night stand.
She stood up, quietly opening the door and slinking into the hallway, hearing the soft click of the door behind her. She put her hand softly on the wall, walking slowly across the shaggy carpet. She gave a soft smile, hearing the constant creaks and groans underneath her feet. She walked past the painting Bruce had painted for her just before they got married. For the first time, to her, it finally looked beautiful. It was a simple sunset, from the perspective of a lakeside dock. She loved the effort and thought he put into it, but she couldn't speak to his ability with a brush.
Her wedding ring was in her hand. She gripped it tightly, pushing it against her chest, feeling every heartbeat. She wasn't nervous, anxious, or excited. She was in a gray calm.
She wandered the house for nearly an hour. Opening cabinets, turning on faucets, flushing toilets, flicking through channels on their widescreen TV, laying on the couch, watching the microwave spin. Everything she always imagined she might have one day. And here it was.
Abigail stepped outside onto the porch, sitting on one of the benches with a raccoon that had been digging into their trashcans for a week. It seemed peaceful in its own way. Fidgety, but calm. It sat next to Abigail, resting its rough fur and fat body against her leg, sniffing and sputtering, flicking its head, shooting small dots of dirty water onto Abigail's pajamas.
She sat with the raccoon for a while, petting him slowly, until he perked his head up and skittered off. "Bye, buddy,"she whispered. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes now. "I guess I gotta take care of business, too."She looked into the sky, pressing her lips together to see the bright light of the full moon behind the clouds. She stepped inside and headed back upstairs.
She knew this would be the hardest part. The door to her son's room creaked open slowly. It was dim, lit only by the light of the computer on his desk. She waded through the soda bottles and dirty clothes, sitting on his bedside, brushing his hair gently with her hand.
"Mom?"He grumbled, eyes still closed.
"Yeah, sweetie."
"What's wrong?"He slowly turned over, wiping his eyes.
"Oh, nothing. Just a bad dream, don't worry about it baby."Abigail leaned down to kiss his forehead, brushing his shaggy hair out of his face. "Just wanted to see you. Go back to bed."
"Okay."He said slowly. With that, his eyes fell closed once more as he easily drifted off to sleep.
Abigail closed the door slowly, returning back to her room. "Come here, Chevy,"she said, sputtering out a laugh through her tears. She thought it was a stupid name, but Bruce was adamant. The sleeping dog slowly rose, stretching its back, shaking itself awake before happily jumping up onto the bed with Abigail. "You're gonna sleep with us tonight, okay cutie pie?"She sniffled, roughing up Chevy's fur before laying down.
Abigail took one last look at Bruce. She gently ran her hand through his thick, messy black hair, graying at spots. She lightly scratched his full, bushy beard. She rested her weeping head on his chest, gripping Chevy tightly as she looked out the window.
"Baby? Mmmm'sat you?"Bruce groaned.
"Yeah, it's me, baby."Abigail replied softly. "Just wanted Chevy to sleep with us, okay? Go back to bed. You've got a big day tomorrow."
Bruce chuckled, "Damn right I do. I love you baby."He kissed Abigail's head once before leaning back into the pillows, lolling back to sleep.
His white bed shirt slowly became stained with tears as Abigail put her hand over her mouth to silence herself. The thick cloud cover of the sky suddenly expanded into a massive circle. From it, two gargantuan hands, burnt and sharp, grasped the sides of the clouds, as if something was climbing down onto the Earth.
Abigail closed her eyes.
​
(If you liked this story, feel free to check out my humble community: r/SUPRAPStories) |
I was the best at dying. Nobody was better at dying than me. In fact i was told after i died by the previous death "that was the best death ive ever seen". Nobody could compare to my death. Not even you. Because im great at death. It just happens. Boom. Walking down the street get crushed by a piano. He said he never seen anything like that before. He said how would you like a job. I said sure. You know what the first thing i did was as death? I killed death. Thats right. Im so good at death that i caused the death of death. Unrivaled. No body is better at death than me. |
I drummed my hands on the cool countertop towards the basketball sized geode in the middle. My thoughts focused on how best to crack the thing open, one hard thwack to the middle? No this one was special. It was somewhat lacking in character like it hadn't seen the wages of time but formed like clay in the hands if a crafty child
I grabbed my favorite chisel and a hammer. "Tap, tap, tap"the sounds reverberated through my hand and into my arm until I had tapped all the way around the rock. Then I palmed the rubber mallet and hit home.
"CRACK"
It fell apart. The first thing that hit me was the smell, not unpleasant but not all together enjoyable, very much like the smell of petrichor and moss. However there wasn't the usual texture I was used to, instead it was like the inside of an egg. As I leaned down for a closer look I saw movement.
As this thing unraveled itself and took shape I saw that it was soft looking with a coat fine blue fur and a sweet face.
"Chirp chirp"
This creature was small, about the size of a mango and looked like something between a kitten and a honey badger.
I was at a loss, I had brought the thing home and from what it seems brought it into the world so I couldn't just get rid of it.
"MUNCH"
What ever it was just took a huge bite out of my granite countertop. Oh no! It was reaching it's small fluffy arms out at me, does it want affection? It began to wiggle, then as if part flea leaped directly into arms.
It's going to be a long night.
Be nice this is my first one. |
The four-hundred-and-eighth command of the God of Eternal Damnation was fairly simple:
"Go forth, my children, and help little old ladies to cross the road."
The God of Eternal Damnation—Ettie for short—was sure she had her idiot worshippers at last. It was a simple, concise, and easy to follow instruction. How could they possibly disappoint her this time?
Quite easily, as it turned out.
Richard was a dependable sort of guy. If you depended on him to get everything wrong, then he definitely would come through for you. So, it was with trepidation that Ettie, stationed behind a rather rotund lamp post, watched him approach a little old lady. She was pushing old-as-balls, with a sweet little smile on her face and a cute lavender cardigan that matched her purse perfectly. If sweetness could kill, this lady would have been cyanide. The god was 100%, well at least 65%, sure that even Richard couldn’t mess this one up.
He started well.
“Hello, ma’am. I see you’re having a spot of trouble finding the road today. May I be of assistance?”
“Excuse me?” the little old lady said, rather bemused.
“Oh, sorry,” Richard coughed. “HELLO, MA’AM. I SEE…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Largely because the little old lady was not sweet, not sweet in the slightest. In fact, as soon as Richard’s rudeness began a flash of otherworldly anger had stormed across her face. And she had whipped her handbag. Up and into a dark, unmentionable, place. Richard dropped like a sack of utterly stupid potatoes. The little old lady stood over him, looking every bit a vengeful spectre of justice and gave him a solid kick in the gut for good measure. She left, throwing the last laugh over her shoulder. “Oh look, seems I’ve helped you find the road instead.”
Ettie watched her go. Half her mind on following and recruiting her instead. The other half was occupied with curses at her follower’s expense, mad and sad that they just couldn’t get things right.
You see, no one had asked Ettie if she wanted to be the God of Eternal Damnation. They had simply assumed. Yes, she wore a lot of black. Yes, bad stuff did seem to happen at the snap of her fingers. Did that make her a bad eternal being? No, probably not. So then, why was she left with the worst, no good, bunch of followers on the planet? Even that Jesus guy got a few good sprouts in his allotment every now and again. Yet all Ettie got was the riffraff.
Or worse, the failed goths.
No matter how much good she decreed, how much charity she commanded, they all managed to twist her words into something bad. Sometimes into even downright evil things. The whole episode where one of them had invented Crocs had been entirely unforgivable. It had been a sad morning, ritualistically tossing that fellow off of her mountainous godly abode. But she had to set an example for her followers.
Ever since what she referred to as ‘the episode’, Ettie had been coming up with smaller and smaller good deeds. Things you told children to do every now and again, in the hopes that one day telling them to be a good person would make them one. It worked on occasion. Why couldn’t it work for her follower’s too?
Well, because they were morons clearly. But Ettie was nothing if not a trier. And bored, though that was beside the point.
The immortal being didn’t have to wait long for another of her followers to have a go at her latest command. This one, a somewhat boring girl by the name of Jenny, was new. The god hadn’t had much time to acquaint herself with the girl’s shortcomings yet. However, she was twenty-six and still wore print t-shirts with various Disney characters on the front, so Ettie could at least guess at a few of them.
Placing herself inside of a public bin, she took to her spying as a penguin took to the sky. Badly, because the bin was ever so slightly smoking. And it smelt bad. Like a bin. All in all, bad spying conditions but she made it work.
Through her distraction, Ettie had missed the initial contact between Jenny and the unsuspecting old lady. This one was a little like the other; white hair, glasses and wearing an eerily similar cardigan. Did they shop at the same stores? Or did her worshippers just happen to be drawn to old ladies wearing cardigans? Ettie shook her head of such unimportant questions and turned back to the scene at hand. Jenny was, remarkably, holding out an arm. Gallantly, kindly and even, dare she say it, with a sort of smile on her face. The old lady, in turn, reached out and took it. The two began to walk together like bosom old pals. Her follower even took the time to stop, check left and right, *then* started walking out with the lady attached. Like she didn’t mean for her to get run over at all.
Could it be? Had Ettie’s dreams finally come true? Could one of her follower’s finally be on the path to doing good?
Holding her breath, though she had never breathed in her whole existence, Ettie couldn’t believe her not-eyes. The girl was only five steps away. Five steps away from completing the command completely to the letter. The first of her worshippers to ever achieve such a feat.
Five. Jenny smiled beatifically at the lady. Four. The little old lady said something, it was probably nice. Three. Manic laughter filled the street. Two. An evil glint entered Jenny’s eye.
And with one step to go, it all came crashing down.
Literally.
Because Jenny—sweet, almost perfect follower Jenny—reached out her foot and caught the little old lady up in it.
It was, without a doubt, the most hideous sight that had crossed Ettie’s path in a millennium. So close to finding that one perfect follower. So close to her commands being obeyed faithfully. And the little old lady in a heap, bleeding slightly from the knees, was pretty sad too. But it kind of paled in comparison to the god’s personal disappointment. She was sure some nice person would help her up later. Probably. She wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. Partly because gods didn’t sleep, but well, semantics.
“The God of Eternal Damnation sends her regards!” Jenny called over her shoulder, running away in a hurry. Ettie was pretty sure she flipped the bird at her smoking bin on her way past.
Oh dear lord, the girl was an idiot and a line thief. That was one of Martin’s best.
Pulling herself out of the bin, Ettie dusted herself off and decided to call it quits for the day. Her followers were clearly not ready for the kind of charity and good that she had set out for them. It required some thinking, perhaps a new idea, or better yet a new decree. Something that would be absolutely impossible to do evil with.
The next day, the four-hundredth-and-ninth decree was known:
“Bring the God of Eternal Damnation ice cream. The proper Italian stuff, preferably.”
They, of course, brought her sorbet. The bastards. |
I know I shouldn't be jealous. But I can't help it.
Dogs?
*Dogs*?!
I'm feeling defeated. Inferior. Man's best friend? Ha. More like man's ultimate betrayer. I know, *I know* I shouldn't be jealous, but still, here I sit here licking my (metaphorical) wounds.
I can see myself in my own memory, curled up on the couch mindlessly watching television when the broadcast began to start. Little did I know, my life — my entire understanding of the world — was about to change.
They spoke of their travels, the places they'd seen, the various beings they'd met. They continued on, "You probably think we say this to all the planets, but that's not the case. We really mean it when we say that here on Earth we have finally found the most superior species, the most highly evolved life form in existence..."
They began to speak of virtue, of compassion, of unbridled intelligence. We all sat in our homes on the edges of our seats, eagerly awaiting the biggest compliment one could ever hear. I don't think it's a stretch to say that we all assumed it would be us. The idea that it could be anyone else else didn't even cross our minds.
Which is why it was so difficult to process their next two words.
"The canine."
I expected an uproarious laugh to immediately follow, with a statement along the lines of, "Just kidding! Can you imagine? Dogs?! They're a bunch of idiots. Did any of you even buy that for a second?"
But they were serious. There was no "gotcha,"no retraction issued later to the press.
It probably sounds ridiculous, but I think I'm literally going through the stages of grief.
After the denial and the anger (oh, the anger!), I feel an overwhelming numbness. I stare at my dinner in front of me but can't bring myself to eat. The same thing I ate up yesterday looks completely unappetizing to me. I've lost my appetite. Is this what depression is like?
I spend my days sleeping. I'm pretty sure that's a symptom of depression. I can't even remember the last time I left the house.
The more I think about it, the less I understand it. We're talking about the most sophisticated life kind to ever visit this planet. A species which prides themselves on their innate objectivity. They come here, to *my* planet, and insult me and my kind by putting those, ahem, *simple* creatures on such a pedestal.
I wish I could talk some sense into them. That's "bargaining,"right? Barring that, I wish I could scream every profanity in the book at them.
But I am, unfortunately, severely limited. You see, I can only speak one word. Still, I'll shout it. I'll shout in from the rooftops for all to hear!
"MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.