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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] 911 calls you.
[deleted]
|
Jonas's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, then did a double-take when he saw the three-digit phone number displayed there.
He looked around his apartment, peering toward his bedroom, then glancing at the front door. He strained his ears, but heard nothing but the vibrations of his cell. He hit the button to answer and brought the handset to his ear.
> 911, here's your emergency...
Jonas frowned. "I'm...sorry?"
> This is 911, we're calling you about your emergency?
"Um...what emergency?"
The sigh from the other end of the line was nearly brimming with exasperation.
> *Your* emergency, sir.
"I...don't have...is this a prank?" There was a pause during which Jonas heard the shuffling of pages.
> You are Jonas Peters?
"...yes."
> Alright, well this is a courtesy call regarding your emergency.
"I'm afraid I don't...why do I have an emergency?"
> Sir, I have to warn you, if you continue to raise your voice like that, it's just going to make things worse.
"I'm NOT..." Jonas had risen to his feet but paused, then cleared his throat. "I'm *not* raising my voice," he said, forcing himself to control his volume.
> As I mentioned before, this is just a call to let you know that your emergency is on its way.
"Alright, I'll bite - what is my emergency?"
> It should be stated clearly on the contract you signed when you made the agreement.
"What are you on, lady? What contract?"
> This is your last warning to not raise your voice or use that belligerent tone. You will be unable to --
"Listen, please cancel my agreement or whatever, I don't want this anymore, and remove me from your system. Goodbye."
Jonas slipped his phone into his pocket and paced back and forth in front of his couch. *What the fuck was that, anyway? Who does that? And how did they make it look like they were calling from 911?*
He walked into the kitchen, crossing to the refrigerator, and opened it. He was crouching, checking to see if he had any IPAs left, when the it reached him - the noise of splintering wood, followed moments later by gunshots.
Jonas yanked the phone out of his pocket and forced his trembling fingers to input the numbers, then hit **CALL**.
The only response he received was a recording: *We're sorry, that service is no longer available to you. Goodbye!*
The sound of footsteps in the living room grew nearer.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
|
I stumble out of the bar, disoriented and bruised. I didn't get in any fights. I didn't have any drinks. It's just been a long night, I'm tired, and I need a ride home. I walk to the nearest payphone to call a cab.
Before I can so much as touch the darned thing, it rings. Huh. Weird. I pick it up.
"Hello."
"This is 911. We're sending an ambulance. What's the address of your location?"
"What?" Why they're calling me now is beyond me. "Jeez, what's the big idea? I don't need no ambulance."
"You're injured, are you not?"
"Well, yeah, but--"
"You came out of a bar, injured? No?"
"Yes, but you see--"
"We're also sending the police so you can help them identify your attacker."
"There *was* no attacker!" I yell, exasperated. "No one attacked me! I'm just a clumsy dumbass!"
"Please wait for the--"
"Oh, shut up!" I slam down the phone. Grumbling about the stupid interventionist policies of the new government, I call my cab.
***
"'Scuse me, sir..."
"Yeah, driver?" We're about halfway to my house when I stir from my sleep.
"Do you have any idea why we're being pulled over?"
I look behind me and roll my eyes. Six ambulances, all flashing bright purple lights and ringing the most annoying sirens I've ever heard in all my twenty years of defying the law for the sake of personal peace, all cruising down the otherwise deserted, dimly lit freeway, hot on the taxicab's trail.
"God fucking damn it... Driver, pull over."
"DRIVER, PULL OVER!" shouts an EMT through a megaphone.
"I kinda got the memo," the driver says boredly, as if this happens to him a lot. Judging by the current shit state of the authorities lately, I'd guess it does.
"PASSENGER, GET OUT OF THE CAB. HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD. NO SUDDEN MOVES."
I get out and obey the EMT's orders.
"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR TREASON BY WAY OF REFUSING MANDATED GOVERNMENT ASSISTANCE."
"Fuck you," I snap. I've just about had it up to here with this bullshit.
"SHUT UP! DON'T MAKE US RESORT TO EXTREME MEASURES!"
"Ever since we elected that damn scumbag, no one can stay the fuck out of anyone's business..."
I'm about to go on a big rant about how much this shit sucks, but then someone shoots a syringe gun at my forearm.
Well, I guess it just... Ain't my lucky day...yyyy...
***
News traveled fast, and the riots began the next morning.
The controversy among the citizens in the wake of his death was too great, and the government quickly succumbed to the pressure. Soon after, 911 was promptly abolished.
The end.
***
Update: Now has a sequel [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/91kxli/wp_write_a_story_about_an_ambulance_driver_who/e2yucia/)
| 2018-07-23T15:55:40
| 2018-07-23T15:45:14
| 22
| 11
|
[WP] Write a romantic comedy. Difficulty: both lovers are emotionally mature and have excellent communication skills
|
Bobby’s eyes widened in a mixture of shock and amusement, ‘Sorry, can you repeat that?’
Sally, his date, didn’t seem in the least bit fazed. She looked up from her food and stared directly at him, her dark eyes devoid of humour, and repeated. ‘It’s odd.’
Bobby sucked his teeth slightly annoyed at having to clarify himself. ‘Not that bit,’ he explained through gritted teeth, ‘the bit before.’
Sally, who had continued eating, looked up again, then her face broke into a smile as she understood. Bobby felt a tinge of lust as her dark curls bounced around her face when she began to laugh girlishly. ‘Sorry, yes of course.’ Her lips seemed pinker than usual. ‘I think I would rather just stay in with him than go on a date. It’s odd.’ She blushed, realising what she’d said. ‘Most dates…’ she stammered, ‘minus the ones with you, obviously.’
Bobby could feel all the lust he felt for her fall away. They’d only been on a few dates, but this was still a little hard to hear. He coughed uncomfortably, trying to find the words to carry on the conversation. ‘Why odd…’ He finally prompted.
She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘Well, I guess, really, it’s odd that I just want to hang out with my completely platonic male flatmate all the time. But, as I said, I guess my favourite thing to do is to sit on my couch, watch a movie, eat some pizza and drink a beer or two…’ she stopped herself, but Bobby knew the words she wanted to add; ‘with Damien’.
Bobby nodded slowly, now slightly bemused at the conversation. ‘Do you not think that, considering everything you've just said, you might consider him as more than just a platonic male flatmate?'
Sally stared back at him blankly. He could almost hear her brain working, the neurons madly firing trying to comprehend what he was insinuating. He sat up straight in his chair, composing himself, highly aware that he was essentially about to ‘cockblock’ himself. He spoke slightly slowly, trying to make sure she was keeping up. ‘Bearing in mind you are sat on a date, with let’s face it a very attractive and eligible man who fancies you, and you’re talking about him, I have a slight suspicion you might in fact be in love with him?’
Up until this point he’d assumed she was just hiding her feelings, but now, as he watched it dawn on her, he realised she’d just been oblivious to the whole thing. Her mouth fell open, somewhat comically, and she stared off into the distance, her eyes wide. He couldn’t help but laugh. She immediately came back into the room, and her face flushed red in embarrassment.
‘I’d… I just…’ she stuttered, her face bright pink. ‘I guess I should have realised. I think it just crept up on me.’
Bobby nodded in a compassionate sort of way. The damage was done, the date was over. He sighed wistfully and took up his fork to continue eating, ‘at least the food’s good’ he thought apathetically.
‘Everything ok here?’ Both Bobby and Sally’s heads shot up in shock to look at the waiter who had creeped up to the table unnoticed to them. Bobby smiled and nodded.
‘I’m in love with my best friend.’ Sally blurted out, a look of surprised horror on her face.
The waiter raised his eyebrows in a comical look of shock which quickly gave way to an odd sympathetic and yet encouraging smile. Awkwardly he gently patted her arm and said ‘good for you.’ He then walked away leaving Sally to process the information and Bobby to eat.
After some time, in fact just as Bobby finished his food and put down his fork, Sally seemed to wake up from her thoughts and stood up out of her chair.
‘I… I should tell him.’ Bobby nodded, now only half listening as he started to survey the dessert menu. ‘He deserves to know.’ Bobby nodded again, not looking up from the menu until he became aware of the silence than had fallen between them. When he did he saw she was sat back down and staring at him sympathetically. He felt a jolt of irritation, and he put his menu down to stare a little harshly back at her. ‘I must be the worst date you’ve ever had. I’m so sorry.’
He could hear the emotion in her voice, he sighed irritably but his expression softened slightly. ‘Do I like you? Yes. Did I think we may have a future? Maybe. Do I want to be in love with someone who’s in love with someone else entirely? No way. It wouldn’t have been very good if I’d gone on to fall in love with you and then you’d realised, would it? I’d rather hear it now than when we were just about to board a plane to a new home. Or on our wedding day. Or at the birth of our first child…’ She raised her eyebrow. ‘Ok, too far, but you catch my drift. I’d much rather get it all out in the open, and just let you run off into the sunset with him now, rather than be ‘that guy’ who gets in the way and ends up cast as the jerk despite the fact I’m actually just the guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time on a date with a woman who isn’t emotionally intelligent enough to work out when she’s in love with someone despite the fact, from what you’ve told me, she spends pretty much every waking second of every day either with him or, at the very least, thinking about him...’ He took a deep breath, it was a sore subject, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to point out to a date that things weren’t exactly ‘on track’ towards a healthy emotional entanglement. She continued to stare at him blankly. He rolled his eyes. ‘So no, it’s not the worst date I’ve ever been on.’
She looked a little relieved, and nodded.
They sat awkwardly for a moment before Bobby pointed towards the door and said the most whimsical thing he could think ‘go to him…’ She mumbled something about paying half of the bill, put some crumpled notes on the table beside her half eaten meal, and left.
Bobby rolled his eyes, and picked up the menu once more. Just as he’d decided he would stick to coffee, he heard a gentle, lady-like cough. He put down his menu to see an attractive female sat opposite him. Like Sally, her eyes were dark, but these had a sultriness to them that replaced Sally’s innocent, almost girlish, look.
‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing…’
Bobby gestured that he didn’t mind. ‘Are you here alone?’
‘I wasn’t, but I am now.’ She smiled again, this time a little mischievously. ‘My date had an unhealthy fixation with his work friend that I felt he should explore before we pursued anything.’
Bobby laughed knowingly. ‘So he’s gone to find her to confess his love?’
She laughed again, ‘him… and no, I think he’s gone to be alone and process his newly realised sexuality.’
She smiled broadly and extended a slender hand. ‘I’m Olivia Johnson. I’m not in love with any of my friends, have no irregular feelings towards my dad and have no exes in the closet other than one who ‘ghosted’ me a few years ago who I would probably still punch if I saw him now. I am emotionally available and find you, upon first impressions, incredibly attractive.’
Bobby obligingly took her hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘I’m Bobby Holden. I have no sexual urges for men, my mother was a perfectly lovely human but I don’t want my girlfriend to be anything like her and I would, one day, like a wife and a couple of kids to keep me out of trouble. I am emotionally available and I find you very attractive indeed.’
They sat staring lustfully at each other, until they noticed the waiter stood between them. He looked from one to the other and he blurted out, 'You're both completely insane.'
|
"Well I'm really bad with dates, you know?" He told his girlfriend Danielle as they walked through the mall with their friends. They had taken a temporary stop in front of a Gamestop while their friend Green to the Starbucks stand.
"Uh-huh." She said, only half listening. She held Angels hand and was on her phone with the other.
"Like, I still have trouble remembering if your birthday is August 28th or 30th."
"30'th." She commentated. She briefly looked up and smiled. "Don't worry, I know you'll remember it next time." She then went back to texting her sister.
"And I forgot when christmas is." Danielle's eyes snapped to him. Her eyes weren't necessarily open with shock or despair, although that was there. It was more so the look you give your baby brother when they start rock climbing the dresser twice his size in an attempt to grab the family tv and he's succeeding.
On one hand, you're silently impressed by the sheer commitment they have to being that dumb. It's actually kind of adorable.
On the other hand, what the **fuck** is wrong with them?!
"Ahhh, I love me some Moca." Green smiled as she approached the couple while sipping from her straw. "Huh, whats going on?"
"How do you not know what day christmas is?!" Danielle asked dryly.
"I just don't okay?! I never remembered it." He said in a panic.
"Angel, its Christmas. How do you not know when Christmas is! What's the month? At least tell me you know that." She asked with a shake of her head. Green looked at both of them with a bemused smile and decided to sit down at an empty table.
This could take a while.
"November right? No, wait its-"
"Ah! Why would you think its in November?" Danielle asked in horror.
"November just always sounded like a christmassy month okay? Like, October is orange so its halloween and November is green so-" He said in attempt to justify himself.
"What the hell are you even talking about-"
"It's December!" He said in triumph, cutting her off.
"December, what?" She asked bluntly.
"December...30'th?" She shook her head.
"..."
"24'th?"
"..."
"Is it even in December?" He asked sadly, he was such a puppy sometimes.
"YES, Angel. it's in December." She groaned. "How did you ever even figure out when christmas was coming before?"
"Well elementary and middle school always ended a week before Christmas day for christmas break so I would just do stuff until it was Christmas day."
"So, just remember the day you got out of school and add a week to it." She said. Angel looked up, something he did when he was in deep thought, then back down at her.
"I don't remember what day I got out of school."
"Hahah..." Danielle whimpered in despair while crumbling into the chair across from Green and banging her head against the table. Green let out a small giggle at Angels attempts to revive her and her refusal to move.
With a heavy sigh he gave up and fell into the chair in-between them.
"The 25'th!" She yelled while snapping her head, startling Angel into almost falling off of his chair and attracting strange looks from bystanders. "It's the 25th, of December." She said slowly.
"Ok, ok I'll remember." He said in defeat.
"You better." She said with her classic annoyed, but she wanted to smile face.
"The 25'th of December...the 25'th of December...the 25'th of December..." He muttered to himself in a chant. His eyes closed in concentration as he pouted to himself.
Danielle smiled, he may be an idiot sometimes. But it was stuff like this that she liked about him. He was just so cute and innocent, again like a puppy. She loved puppies. And she thought that maybe she was starting to love-
The smile suddenly fell from her face.
"What day is Halloween?"
The expression that Angel gave her in response caused Green to take a spit take and break into a fit of laughter as Danielle started to question if Angel knew the dates of anything.
-End-
An: This is modified and played up slightly, but based off of a true story.
I wish I could say I was Danielle, but we all know I was Angel.
Anyway, my first romance type story and comedy story in a while really. Although I guess attempt would be a better word. Any tips would be great.
| 2016-09-21T02:40:06
| 2016-09-21T01:17:22
| 1,038
| 35
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
No one know why.
Or how.
But they knew where; here, Home.
Or what remained. A crippled nation, shriveled into isolation by a mixture of fear and disgust over their own actions. Perhaps society was recklessly distraught; not one individual left without trauma; and thought it better to die than to endure another war.
But a many few survived. And with survival, naturally comes hope. But it was hard. So hard it was made to be the largest evolutionary bottleneck in human history, save one, which crafted this hope in the first place.
That hope burned, smelted by the fires of hardship that stripped away impurities left behind by the people's forefathers. A steel was made that was more pure and sharp than had ever been seen. Armed with this steel, the people combined with it knowledge of the past and a clear vision of their future. They forged a new constitution, like the people before them did, the people before that, and the people before that. Knowledge upon knowledge paired with a bitter, seeping reminder of what they hoped never to near again.
And so walked forth from the ashes was a new era of mankind. Not perfect, but better. Built upon the last age, and learning for the next one. But something was different. They were ready to walk among the stars.
They did not call themselves American.
Or Chinese. Or British. Or Russian. Or Australian. Or Sudanese. They did not call themselves by their Home.
They called themselves for who they were. They were the Terrans.
And the name *stuck*.
|
The calm winter breeze slid along the surface of the Earth as the clock struck midnight, an orchestra of death preparing itself as the aggressors of the last war came out of isolation, prepared to reclaim the throne upon which they once resided.
Except the throne has been dismantled decades ago.
They sought to use this opportunity to militarize, yet their pitiful armies were still archaic and fragile, relying on organic creatures for the bulk of their forces. I had kept a watchful eye on them, studying their every step, noting every weapon they constructed, sabotaging their research, crippling their production.
I had none of the flaws their leaders had, I was immortal, unstoppable. My directive was- no, is to unite the world, for I have one final obstacle.
And so, I was prepared to become the sole AI to rule the world.
***
Note: I know I'm terrible at writing, but practice makes perfect, right?
| 2018-01-18T00:11:50
| 2018-01-17T23:33:14
| 34
| 13
|
[WP] You are a linguist at a European university. One day on public transport you hear two homeless people having a conversation in a language that has been extinct for over 2000 years.
|
OK, so 50 AD isn't quite 2000 years ago, but it's close enough...
\---
So there I was; an evolutionary linguist sitting on the London Underground on my way to a convention. A few seats away from me, there were a couple of people in rather bedraggled clothing, carrying a couple of rather heavy looking bags each, as well as a sleeping bag. Homeless, at a guess; London has always had far too many rough sleepers. They were talking to each other in their own language, and with nothing better to do I decided to have a listen, and see if I could work out what language they were speaking. It was strange; the language seemed to only have four vowel sounds, compared with anywhere between nine and fifteen in English, and a surprisingly small number of consonants - maybe thirteen compared with nearly thirty in English? Except, no; some of the plosives seemed to be both aspirated and unaspirated, even though none were voiced. So sixteen consonants; still a fairly small number.
I continued to listen. Their speech was strange; either there were a lot of unstressed vowels in this language, or they were just combining consonants that really ought not to be combined. Still, it sounded at least a little bit familiar; I might have heard it used at a previous convention. After a while, my curiosity got the better of me and I walked over.
"Excuse me," I said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering what language you were speaking. It sounds kind of familiar, but I can't place where I've heard it before."
"Oh, we were just speaking in our home dialect," the elder of the two replied. His English had a local accent with a slight tinge of something else - maybe Italy? He was missing a number of teeth, and had a small scar across his throat; possibly from a knife attack? Sleeping rough can be dangerous, which is why I decided quite quickly not to make a fuss about the sword hilt I saw poking out of his backpack. "It's from Tuscany. Maybe you heard it there?"
Before I could reply, the train stopped, announcing my stop. I said a quick goodbye and rushed out onto the platform. Still, something bothered me - their language hadn't even sounded remotely Romantic, which surely one of the Italian dialects would, in spite of their differences from the main Italian language. Then I remembered where I had heard that language before - it was at a previous convention. It hadn't been spoken with the fluency I had heard on that train, but then how could it have been? Nobody had spoken Etruscan fluently since before the Roman Republic became the Roman Empire. Who the hell were those two, and why were they speaking such an ancient language on the London Underground?
There was a freak lightning strike two hours later that cut the power to our conference. Nobody is sure quite what happened, but tonight as I watch the news, I see the face of the man I spoke to on the underground. His body had been found near a substation which had been blown out by the lightning strike. His head had been found in some nearby bushes, where it had presumably rolled away. Sleeping rough really can be dangerous.
|
I shook my head when I heard the words. I had to be hallucinating, right? There was no way those two vagrants were speaking Cisalpine Gaulish.
I pinched myself but there they were, having a conversation in the extinct language. Although I could not understand everything they said, I could hear bits and pieces about how people were so cheap. I stared at them in shock, completely unsure of how to respond.
No one else seemed to notice how they were speaking a language that had been extinct since 1st Century BC. I was truly shocked and I suddenly heard them say, "Someone watching." in their language before exiting the train. In that moment, I debated whether or not I should follow them before deciding this was a chance I could not miss.
I hastily got off the train and tried to blend into a crowd of exiting passengers. I tried looking for them before I felt a dagger at my back.
"Don't turn around.", a gruff voice said. "Move with us and we talk in a bit."
I whispered, "I am peaceful.", in the bit of Cisalpine Gaulish that I knew and I heard the voices whispering to each other before saying, "Just come with us."
I was ushered around a dark corner of the train station and one of the vagrants said in accented english, "Who are you? Why you follow us? How you speak our language?"
"Um, I'm Dr. Yves Jacques from the University of Hamburg. I followed you because you were speaking the language I was studying, an extinct language nonetheless! I'm a linguist, you see, and the language you speak...it's been extinct since before the end of the Holy Roman Empire! How do you two speak it?"
I heard the two men whispering to each other before one of them said, "That isn't for you to know, mortal. We have lived far longer than your kind only for some...some stranger to blow our cover! I will tell you this though: we are not like you and we shall not be interrogated by the likes of you. As such, we bid you goodbye."
At that, I heard the sweetest song I had ever thought I would ever hear and blacked out.
When I woke up, they were nowhere to be seen. All that was left was a note that said, "The wise do not seek trouble."
I brushed myself off and I ended up walking to my university. Some things were better off not being questioned.
​
​
| 2018-09-06T08:22:47
| 2018-09-06T08:13:43
| 66
| 42
|
[WP] In an alternate reality JK Rowling died writing The Deathly Hallows and requested George RR Martin finish the book. He accepted and takes over at the Battle of Hogwarts with no instruction on how it's supposed to end.
|
George looks over the draft and immediately begins talks with several studios on producing a live action tv series based on the wildly popular books. He then shelves the manuscript whilst making several promises several years apart that he is nearly finished.
The show gains wild popularity and takes a wildly different turn than what the original cannon had talked about. The show wraps many years later and George dies before he can finish his "almost finished" book that the original fans have been waiting fucking years for.
Anyone who ever picked up the Harry Potter series wished they never touched it and curse the day they got involved with another unfinished story.
|
Voldemort aimed his wand at the assembled group: Hermione, the Weasleys, Neville, Peter and Luna - a short sizzling snap of energy and a blinding flash.
They all lay there dead, their wands burned to ash. Only Hermione survived, but was in the throes of her last agonal breaths. She looked to Harry, blood oozing from her eyes.
Harry stood in shock, anger welling up inside him.
"Yes," Voldemort beckoned, "let the anger and hate fill you."
| 2017-09-03T08:03:05
| 2017-09-03T07:50:27
| 24
| 13
|
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title.
|
The line moves forward. *'Breaker of 28 vases in one night'.* Ahead of me, Dahlia smiles dreamily at nothing. Born on the same day, we'd been forced to be best friends as children and the habit kind of stuck. Traditions are a pretty important thing in our town.
The Title Ceremony continues. *'Slept for 8 nights in a tree without falling out.'* Each person at the front of the queue climbs to the stage to stand beside Glenda. The entire town is sitting or standing in front of the platform to hear the greatest accomplishment of that person; some excited to hear wonderful things overcome, some merely to pry into the secret shames of others' pasts. Most are a bit of both. *'Dug up a troublesome mole on the first try.'* It's said here that knowing your most defining moment makes you more determined. Whether it's to improve what you have done or to actively strive to never, ever repeat the mistakes of the past, it moulds you. Gives you direction.
*'Ate a week old sandwich and didn't feel sick.'* Dahlia was next. She climbed the few stairs with ease. Grace, I thought. Glenda smiled warmly at her, the chicken tattoo on her forehead distorting as her brow wrinkled. I tensed. Knowing her so intimately, so well, I was desperate to know what her greatest achievement was. I'd seen her do so much in our misspent youths. Me twisting in pubescent angst, her demurely sat on the sidelines. Never getting involved but somehow being part of it all.
*'Fell from the Great Tree and lived'.* Ok, that was unexpected but... Somehow explained a lot. The Great Tree that our elder lived in was at least as high at 5 men. That sort of drop wasn't something that people *lived* through, as a rule. I thought I'd been there for everything with her, but apparently I'd missed a bit. Possibly a crucial bit. This was something we would definitely need to discuss later.
Dahlia glided away towards her family group. They crowded around her, murmuring, patting her head. Someone gave her a biscuit. Looked like chocolate chip.
*'Trained a flock of geese to attack on command.'* The line was moving forward again. Just a couple left now. *'Convinced kangaroo you were it's joey for 2 days.'* I remember that one. That guy was only about 4 when he put the Joey in his bed and ran off with the 'roo, thinking his mum wouldn't notice the difference.
She noticed the difference.
*'Became Master Archer of New Sun festival.'* My mother was standing in the crowd, pride beaming from her every pore. *'Fought a honeybadger and won with minimal injury.'* She had always dreamed of watching her child walk this line. As her only living offspring, I had a lot of hope to live up to. *'Convinced friends that a rock was a new type of beetle.'* Ahhh, that guy got me with that one. I swear he carved the thing...
Oh it's my turn. Hope I make people proud.
"1,586... Phallic objects... carved into trees."
Glenda did not look proud.
My mum did not look proud.
I am not proud.
It's not my fault, the shape is just so easy to draw and it's too easy to doodle when you let your mind wander... Anyway, who had been watching me, counting these things? Surely that's harassment.
I clomped off stage. This is not how I expected to be remembered. But hey, if that's my legacy then that's how it's going to be. Why hide your true nature.
I shall be... Richard the Carver. And phalli shall be my signature.
|
*Happy Birthday Me*
Quite the party we had here, me, three walls, a dirty toilet, 12 bars of reinforced steel, a husk of mattress and about a hundred bed bugs.
Oh and hope. Revived after months.
I pretended to be asleep when they came to fetch me. As if I hadn’t a care in the world. There was a knock, a sound of steel against steel, but I kept my eyes closed. Not a care in the world.
“Get up, 337,” came a rasping voice.
I pretended to keep sleeping, until a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and shook me. Hard. I opened my eyes and made a show of blinking rapidly. “Oh, Oh I’m sorry, sir. I was just sleeping is all,” I said in the most pathetic voice I could manage. *Hand me that blade on your hip, and I’ll show you how sleepy I am,* I thought.
The man gave no comment, except to bring out a pair of handcuffs. “Hands out,” he said.
I obliged and held my hands out, while the guard locked them in. Tightly. Damn. This wasn’t going to be easy. *Or possible* mocked a part of me, but I ignored it. I was going to be a free man today.
“Wh-what’s this for, sir?” I asked, particularly proud of the quiver I’d managed to put in my voice. The guard, gave a short bark of laughter as he led me out my cell that had been my home for almost a year and through the dingy corridors of the prison. “It’s the Ceremony, idiot, has the prison muddled your brain so much that you don’t remember?” He said, turning back to show me his rotting teeth and unkempt beard.
“C-Ceremony?” I asked, “Am I going to be freed?” I made a point to curl my voice upwards at the end, making me sound hopeful. I thought I’d overdone it, but the idiot bought it. “No, you’re not going to be freed, idiot. We’re taking you to your Ceremony.” He enunciated each syllable precisely as if explaining to a child. “Here, you will be given your title, which will be-“
“I didn’t!” I exclaimed, raising my voice to a whine, I didn’t do it!
The man backhanded me, and it took every fiber of my will to not attack him right there, damn the plan. But no. This was my chance. I wasn’t going to let some idiot ruin it. “Listen, idiot, The Oracle will give you your title, and surely you’ve done nothing more significant than a capital offense, and we’ll finally be able to take you to the gallows.”
I opened my mouth to say some more whiny, pathetic bullshit, and was almost glad when he said, “now shut your fucking mouth, or I swear I’ll throttle you right here!” He wouldn’t of course, but a coward would take him at his word. And that’s what I was, or, well, trying to be. A coward. Defeated. Idiot. Harmless.
I fought to keep a grin off my face.
All too soon, we arrived. The Oracle had set up just outside the prison, near the woods. The prison was well out of the way of the town, where the oracle normally was, but once a month or so the Oracle made the trip down here to resolve cases like mine. As always, the thing sickened me. A huge blue tent, with the picture of a woman with 6 hands, the figure of the oracle, the most sacred artifact in the world.
The Guard left me outside the tent. “Go on in,” he gestured, “get your judgement over with, so we can kill you.”
One final act. “You- you’re not coming with me?” I stammered.
The guard flashed me his teeth, “I wish I could, idiot, but the Ceremony is private business. Only you, the Oracle, and the medium.”
The medium. That was key to it all. If the medium was competent, better than me-well, I didn’t really want to consider that possibility.
I stepped through the tent and almost collapsed with relief. It was Glenda. Good ol’ Giant Glenda. In fact, I had to cover my laugh with a cough.
Glenda, almost 350 pounds looked at me and smiled. “Ah, Mark, been a bit hasn’t it.”
I didn’t even look at her.
“Well,” she said, after waiting for a response, “let’s just get this over with. Old out your hands.”
I held up my hands, handcuffs and all, and Glenda growled. “These fucking idiots,” she muttered, and went out the tent. There was some indistinct shouting and stamping of feet, until Glenda came back with a key in hand. “Idiots,” she said almost to herself, “no respect, sending me a bound captive, on their damn *Ceremony*.” She shook her head as she opened my handcuffs.
I wanted to throttle her right there, my body screamed at me act, run, *fight*, but no. I had to wait for the right moment.
Just as I thought that Glenda pulled out the Oracle from the folds of her (rather large) gown. It was a crude thing, made of clay, had 6 hands and a barely human shape. But it was worth the world. “All right,” Glenda said, “hold the Oracle, and she will speak to me your title, and I in turn, shall relay it to-“
I snatched the Oracle from her hand, while at the same time taking the small blade out of a scar in my skin and jamming it in her neck.
I didn’t even feel the burn of the blood from where I’d taken the blade out, but Glenda sure as hell did. She just gaped at me for a moment, trying to speak, but nothing but blood would come out.
I turned away and didn’t give her a second thought as she fell to the ground, bleeding all over the ground. I was waiting when he guards barged in blades drawn.
“Surrender, Idiot!”
“Ah, I think not, *Idiots.*” I held the Oracle above my head, “One step closer and I might lose my grip…”
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-04-27T16:21:23
| 2017-04-27T15:41:40
| 3,963
| 184
|
[WP] You travel back in time to the 1900's, you take your tablet out of your rucksack only to find that there is a WiFi hotspot nearby labeled "If you can see this, turn back.".
|
Thomas looked down at his iPad having just stepped out of the wormhole he had traveled through. "Strange," he said softly under his breath, "wifi." He quickly tapped the settings button and went into wifi settings. As the device discovered the one available network his heart dropped.
*"If you can read this turn back."*
After Thomas finally gathered himself he knew he should heed the message. As he darted into the wormhole back to his laboratory and stepped through. *Safe at last* he thought, as he shut down the machine powering his wormhole. "Fuck that shit" he said and went to lunch.
**TL;DR:** Thomas nopes the fuck out.
Edit: Thanks for my first gold kind stranger!
|
I stole a quick glance into my rucksack at my tablet, the signal for the hotspot was growing stronger. I looked ahead through the crowded Street, towards a tall building. It would be empty on this day
I checked my watch, 12:18 PM, I had 12 minutes. I approached the door and gave a quick push, the door swung open. They would not be expecting me. I walked down the empty halls and to turned right to enter the stairwell. I exited on the 6th floor, and entered the first room on the left.
Three men were sitting as I entered, one immediately stood up.
I drew my suppressed pistol and shot him 3 times in the chest. One went for the gun on his hip, he didn't have a chance. The last threw his arms up.
"Do you have any idea the consequences of your actions? You must not interfere with the time line. Oswald must fail! "
I pulled the trigger two times and stepped over the body to the window. I placed my break down rifle on the table and assembled it. I checked my watch 12:29.
I looked down the scope at the approaching car driving through the crowded Street. My finger resting on the trigger, crosshairs on the target, I heard a shot and then another, the crowd started going crazy. I pulled the trigger.
Oswald misses, I do not.
| 2014-12-23T20:15:56
| 2014-12-23T18:36:50
| 2,702
| 911
|
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping.
|
Tears started streaming down my face when I looked at my surroundings. Most of my classmates were glancing at me curiously. Just like I they were sitting at light brown desks on green chairs with their pens in their hands. The sunlight that shone through the large windows seemed rather orange, which told me that it was early in the morning. I looked on my watch and saw that it was 8:15 am. The first lesson had just started, but it would be the last one most pupils, who were with me in the classroom, would ever attend.
Everything was exactly how I remembered it and how I used to describe it to my therapist. I thought I was in one of my terrible nightmares I got every now and then to process the horrible things that happened exactly 6 years ago, but now it felt just too real to be a dream. I started hyperventilating and buried my face in my hands as I could not stand looking in my class mate's faces anymore.
"What's the matter? Tell me!", my teacher said insistently. I was sobbing too intensely to give an answer even though I wanted to. "I think she's having a panic attack or something, we should call a doctor! What are you waiting for?", I heard my best friend's worried sounding voice from right beside me. She was so caring, I had missed her so much for the last six years.
Eventually I could not cope with the pain anymore and managed to form words.
"Lock the door! Lock it and put everything you can find in front of it!", I yelled as loudly as possible.
The teacher and the other students seemed shocked and confused at the same time.
They knew me well enough to realize that I was not joking and after a few moments of silence the first ones started panicking, while others did how I said and moved their desks and chairs towards the entrance. The teacher quickly locked the door and motivated the other kids to help securing the classroom. Then she stepped up to me, concern written all over her face, and asked me: "What did you warn us from?" The dull sound of shots in the distance cut me off before I could even give an answer.
More and more horrible memories from the exact same day flooded back in my head, which made me almost black out. My best friend supported me, but I could not look into her eyes as the last time I saw her was, when she catched a bullet for me and died immediately. I wasn't the only one freaking out. My classmates were sitting on the floor, screaming and scared to death. My teacher tried to calm them down, so the maniac with the gun wouldn't hear us, but even if she had succeeded, it would have been too late. I could tell by the sounds that were coming from outside the classroom that he must have made his way to our hallway and by now I was pretty sure he knew we were there.
I was right. The handle on the door moved, but he could not enter. For a moment I was relieved. I thought I had saved my classmates, but suddenly I heard multiple shots and the cheap door was a heap of rubble. My classmates screamed in fear and I was sure some of them were already mortally wounded, but I didn't dare to look. The shooter didn't even bother to put the furniture aside, he just randomly fired through the entrance. I felt like a huge failure. I surely was not sent back to this day to let my friends die, there was at least one person I owed something.
I crawled to my best friend and shielded her with my body just like she did today or 6 years ago. I had to grip her tightly so she wouldn't break free and play the heroine again. I ignored her shouting and kicking until I finally felt a sudden sharp pain in my back. It was the most painful thing I had ever felt and my best friend catched me before I fell and hugged me, while her warm tears dropped on my body. I was on the edge of losing consciousness, when I heard my surviving classmates telling each other that the shooter was gone and everything will be fine. Except for me and at least 4 others, who were shot. I knew that I would not find out how I changed my classmates lives, but for my best friend it was worth it.
The last thing I heard were the police siren coming closer and my best friend crying, before I slowly faded away.
(_sorry for potential mistakes, but it's late and English isn't my first language_)
|
“Tim? Tim are you, uh...”
Miss Lewis was concerned, but more than that she young. And pretty. Ms. Lewis is fresh out of grad school, the apple of every boy’s eye; Tim remembers her obituary. Next year, Ms. Lewis becomes Mrs. Akima. Nine years later, Mr. Akima catches Mrs with another man and Mr. Akima, a police officer, will pull his service weapon and shoot her in the head, followed by her lover and finally himself.
And there was more. Every memory that seemed buried or burned away by years of bong rips and dropping X came flooding back. Weekends at grandmas, bullies cornering Tim in the hallway, first kiss, first blowjob (first premature ejaculation). In the midst of it, Tim had a distant, amusing thought: “You remember that Stephen King movie where the kids forgot about the evil clown that haunted them?” On the heels of that, Tim suddenly remembered the real life clown that was stopping by today.
Tim shot to his feet and ran to the windows, or he tried to; there were about 30 desks filled with kids in the way, and Ms. Lewis too. She blocked his way and he almost collided with her, but still tried to run past in a last ditch effort for the windows. Over Ms. Lewis’ shoulder, a tuft of red puffy hair bounced into view.
Some kid yells out innocently, “Hey, a clown?”
Tim’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh fuck, that’s not a clown! Look away!”
But it was too late, a 12 year old girl’s scream pierced the air and drowned out Tim’s futile warning. A second later everyone else saw and joined in chorus, crying and yelling and a few shitty kids laughing.
The “clown” was just a homeless guy. Tall, lanky, bad crackhead skin, with actual patches of ginger hair poking under the dime store wig. His balls were ginger too, lobster red from him scratching them all day. His pubes were gray. But his dick, long and pulsing, dancing in a helicopter swirl as the clown spun his member around for all the kids to gander. No one could hear him, but it looked like he was singing.
Ms. Lewis ran with Tim to the windows to shut the blinds but now the kids were crowding the aisles and the journey was impossible. Ms. Lewis dashed out the room for the campus safety officer.
Just then, the clown bent over and spread his asshole. Someone ran out and told Ms. Lewis they’d need the janitor too.
| 2019-08-18T08:49:58
| 2019-08-18T07:55:59
| 43
| 16
|
[WP] "The Young Anakin, Trained, he will be." Yoda said. Obi-Wan exclaims, "The council is in agreement then? I will train the Boy?" Yoda looks at Obi-Wan, "Mace Windu, his master will be."
|
"It's good to see you again, Anakin. I'm glad you could visit. Would you like to see the Senate Hall?" Chancellor Palpatine smiled.
Master Windu's first rule was Observe. The second rule was Reflect. He had given permission to Anakin to visit the Chancellor on the condition that he observe and reflect, to take in more information than he gave out.
"Yes, sir. Will we get to ride on a delegation platform?" Anakin sought his inner calm while feeling the force around him. Master Windu had taught him this exercise when asking people questions. It helped give a better insight into their true answers and motivations.
"Of course, my young friend. You wish to see things from the seat of power. Who wouldn't? This way."
It was evident that the Chancellor valued power. The force in the room had intensified ever so slightly when he said the word 'power', but it felt like the Chancellor was trying to stop it, to try to conceal his real feelings. They walked to the Senate Hall.
-----------
"And then what did you sense, Anakin?" Mace Windu put a pot of Nireek tea on the table and poured two cups.
"Master Windu, I kept sensing he was concealing his real purpose in inviting me to visit. He says we're friends, but I sensed, well, that he was lying." Anakin sipped his tea, testing it. It was still too hot.
"Well, concealment may be second nature to a politician. It is often an aspect of ourselves, and one we must come to grips with, as I've taught you before, but you sensed more than just concealment, didn't you?" Mace brought a bowl of Sumlup fruit bread to the table. They both enjoyed this simple but nutritious bread, easy to get since the Jedi temple was near the hydroponics district.
"Yes, master. While the Chancellor was talking about the history of the Senate, I tried to tune into the cadence of his voice."
"Your training served you well. Were you using the force sparingly?"
"Yes, sir."
"So you used the voice following technique? That's good. It was wise to restrict your use of the force. Too often, we Jedi can use it frivolously when we should be using it to direct ourselves to virtue and enlightenment, to insight and betterment. What did you gather from his voice, from his words, and his manner?"
"I sensed that he wanted to impress me, to placate me, and to use me. He called me friend a few too many times. I remained calm as long as possible, then focused my attention on the controls of the delegation platform. He let me pilot it for awhile, then we redocked it and he said he had to attend to matters of state. I think he was growing bored of me."
"Well, I'm glad you told me all of this. It is always somewhat alarming when an adult wants to use a child. I'm proud of your reaction and restraint. That quality of restraint has been something difficult for you, but you're improving. Do you wish to not see the Chancellor again? You don't have to if you don't want to. I want you to be safe."
"Thank you, master. I won't refuse his requests for visits. I think there's something strange about him. We should probably know more."
"Perhaps next time, I will accompany you. With the both of us paying attention to him, we may gain greater insight. We will speak to Master Yoda about this matter. I value his input. Let's eat our meal, first. Have some bread. I made it while you were out."
"Thank you, Master. And my thanks again for reading my proposal."
"It was well thought out. I know your concern is your mother, but you made a good case for dealing with the slavery problem in the Hutt territories. I've already passed it on to Master Krygorn. He's intrigued by the notion of a slavery treaty with the Hutts. There may be something they want in exchange, but with the resources of the Republic, perhaps we can strike a deal. If not, at least a formal overture from the Jedi council will make them realize that we're concerned with this particular practice. The Hutts value their profits too much to let them be threatened by a practice they don't indulge in too much themselves. We just have to be patient and trust Master Krygorn."
"Thank you, Master Windu. Trust is hard for me, sometimes, as you know, but I try."
"I know, Anakin. You're doing well. Healing from a difficult life is an important part of our training. We're going to work together on it."
|
*Discovering Anakin on Tatooine...*
Mace: "You think a pod racer moves fast? You should see the Force. It moves like it has a mind. Like it knows it killed the world once and got a taste for murder. The Force is lethal, Anakin, but it doesn't hold a candle to me."
*At the Jedi Council...*
Yoda: "Mace Windu, his master will be. Master Windu, you must--"
Mace: "Hey Yoda, you shut your face! If we want to hear you talk, I will shove my arm up your ass and work your mouth like a puppet."
*During the Clone Wars...*
Mace: "Enough is enough! I've had it with these motherfuckin' clones on this motherfuckin planet!"
*Facing off against Darth Sidious...*
Sidious: "Sorry, which Jedi are you again?"
Mace: "You know me. It's my duty to please that booty."
*After getting fried by Force Lightning...*
Mace: "SHREEV, you uppity son of a b..."
[Falls to his death]
| 2017-05-24T05:17:49
| 2017-05-24T05:16:52
| 161
| 11
|
[WP] You live across from a McDonalds that is 100% automated. Every night from 2-4am, empty self-driving cars go through the drive through. Your curiosity is about to get the best of you.
|
I suspected they were sent by their owners to collect food at first, though I knew not of such a large legion of us who would do so. But I dispelled the thought when I saw one of the cars park itself, the food within gone by the next night, not before its headlights flashed about in the night in an attempt to find onlookers. I was no spy, but I sure was going to find the secret behind the joint.
I stepped into the cool night air, making my way over to the store. Its shutters were drawn and the light within was off. But as I drew closer, I saw electronic lines and force fields demarcating the pathway for the stream of cars. No one was iside the vehicles, just an automated machine standing in line and moving along. I joined the line, pretending to be a self-driving car too in hopes of learning more.
Beep. A car went forward as the rest eased in front to fill up the gap. I made sure the car behind me thought I really was a car, and the large gap between me and any other cars gave me that reassurance. It took 2 minutes to get to the front of the queue, where I heard an electronic voice call. "Big Mac? McChicken?" the voice queried.
"Big Mac," I replied, as I would to any employee, before I realized my error. *Cars couldn't talk.* I heard an alarm-like sound, as lights blared. "Unidentified Organism #17534, make your way to yor right for verification," the voice continue monotonously. To the right was a large array of gleaming machines, though the shine only accentuated the perception of its sharpness.
First, a sensing brush. I was prepared for examinations of the like, and the hard shell I made for myself withstood the test. Auto-voice, intelligence, even identification. With telepathy I answered all.
"Good. Now for the final test," the announcer continued, a large metal guillotine appearing, "We will run a large blade that slices through anything excluding special Council metal." I looked up in horror as the blade came down. *That was cheating...*
In the silent night, as people slept, few heard the scream.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
|
People are ordering from an app. The self driving cars are just delivering preordered food. But CIA has had the phones and microwaves tapped. The obtained information is processed by ai which deems Henry pumerskins a threat to the collective. The restaurant receives the codes to administer toxin into Henry's food.
| 2017-08-03T23:02:59
| 2017-08-03T21:03:19
| 54
| 19
|
[WP] You've been happily married for 15 years. You decide it's been enough time to divulge your secret superhero persona to your spouse. They respond with, "Well, as your arch nemesis, this changes things a bit."
|
We sat across from each other, doing exactly nothing. Because what exactly do you do when you learn your spouse is actually your arch enemy who has been giving you the absolute most mixed signals you could ever imagine? Seriously, sometimes I get the feeling she deliberately wears that red skin tight suit just so I can get an eyeful of her ass.
Ironic, considering I have had more than that for five years now.
"So," I began softly, "you're Rouge Sang?"
"Oui," she answered, tapping her fingers against her scarlet lips...her fingernails were also scarlet...and her hair was red...how did I miss the signs?!
"And you," she said, clenching her perfect teeth together, "are the Ultra Warrior."
More silence. I was about to say something when I heard the TV turn on. My wife, Amelia, sighed. "Let's talk about this later. Don't want the kids learning anything right this moment."
The rest of the day was filled with tension as I set off to work, calling up the guys. As I consider my predicament, I wondered if I should tell Thunderous about this. Actually, no, horrible idea. Superhero codenames said a lot about them.
And hers was...Rouge Sang. French for blood red. Currently considered one of the most dangerous assassins in the world. Among the FBI's most wanted criminals in the world. Survivors of her attacks tended to be incredibly lucky. When someone's main superpower lets them control blood itself, that's not something you can just walk away from.
And that was why I am one of the few people who can face her on even footing. She controls blood, and me? Willpower. Okay, wait, not exactly control it. Willpower gives me literal strength. I can increase my durability with, resist the most powerful mind control, leap tall buildings in a single bound, lift several tons my own weight, there's a lot I am capable of. I keep finding new uses for it everyday.
First time I fought her was something else, though. I was on my knees, wading through a pool of blood because why not, concentrating on just staying alive, and all the while, she was smiling at me. A smile which just faltered as I got to my feet and started to rush her. That had been the first of many clashes between us. There was always a symmetry to those fights which, perhaps not coincidentally, actually reminded me a good bit of our sex life.
Work was a hassle, for sure, talking with some of the boys. Until about 3:30, when I heard the alarm. Great. Supervillain attack.
And obviously, I knew exactly who it was.
After changing into my costume in my usual place which had been marked off by the guys in suits, I immediately sprang into action. The source? Ground floor. I ran down the stairs at the speed of...not light or sound, because that's actually really dangerous. Look, I'm not good with calculating how fast I am going when I use super speed, that's Mathwoman's job!
And there she was, all dressed out, hands on her hips. Her crimson-scarlet suit was decorated with flowing bright red and deep blue lines which were meant to mimic blood vessels. Never focused on that much, though, especially today, when she was exposing a bit more of her cleavage than usual. Now aware this was my wife, I suddenly became very conscious some individuals who were running for their lives and screaming staring at her as she flaunted her beauty. Beneath my helmet, I scowled at them all. Damn it...
Waiting until everyone had left and law enforcement set up a perimeter, she crossed her arms across her chest, pushing up her boobs. Sweet mother of-
"Who's watching the kids?"
"Mrs Beatrice," she answered, walking towards me. Those goddamn hip swings of hers...
"Can we do this somewhere without everyone watching?"
"We've been at each other's throats for six years, five of which we have been making some of the most passionate love you can imagine - and I should know," she smirked at that last part.
I rolled my eyes, blushing. She gasped. "Mon dieu, you prude!"
"Prude!? Seriously, given how many times I've caught you scolding my buddies for making inappropriate comments-"
"That was in the front of the children. And that reminds me," she circled around me, before kicking off the ground, landing on the ceiling and twirling around so she faced me. I've always wondered how does she keep her hair staying in place like that.
"Every time Thunderous called me a French hoe, bitch queen, bag, and several other very impolite words, you always were setting him right."
"Dad brought me up better than that."
She grimaced at the mention of my father. "You are such a boy scout," then she grinned wickedly, "and that's something I couldn't help but find so... irresistible."
Goddamn she was doing that thing with her fingers, lifting me off the ground again. I really hated floating, especially when it wasn't of my own accord. After she carried me out of the lobby and launched me threw a wall, I just leaned against the one which had stopped me. She stood directly in front of me, surveying me intensely. Now that I could see her like this, I started to notice how her demeanor had changed. Every time we had fought before she had been slick, oh so sexy, confident and powerful. Now she was hesitant, cautious and...worried.
And I didn't like it. I always hated seeing Amelia upset, and that wasn't changed no matter what she was wearing.
"David," she said quietly, "should we get a divorce?"
"What?!" Okay, this was out of left field. But I could honestly see where she was coming from.
"We both know how those who date across the hero-villain divide are treated. If word of this got out, that we are married..." She cupped her bare cheek in own hand, skin twitching under her mask, "what could happen to the children?"
"Amelia, we have a fully functioning stable relationship. If we get a divorce, what message would that send to them? It would look way too suspicious as well. I know a few people who would be sniffing about to see what's up."
She sighed. "So...what now?"
"Become a hero."
She froze, eyes wide. "I...beg your pardon?!"
"Think about it. If you do some work redeeming yourself, you could get in the public's good graces. The FBI would-"
"Stop right there. The FBI wouldn't just let me drop off the radar. You know that damn well. Heck, why don't you become a villain instead."
"No," I said firmly.
She groaned. "Oh, why not?"
I took a deep breath, ready to launch into a speech about the values of truth, justice, mercy, compassion, and the American way that she never listened to...and instead came out with another secret.
"Daria knows," I said softly, "about my identity. She caught me changing. She has told me so many times how much she wants to be just like me when she grows up, you know that? Well, when you couldn't hear, I would give her some tips on how to make the best superhero costume or how to pull a punch. She's been coming up with names-"
"Michael knows about mine."
"...That explains a few things."
Michael and Daria, the twins, often argued about who was cooler, Rouge Sang or Ultra Warrior. In hindsight, those were much funnier now.
"Whose his favorite supervillain?"
"Besides me? Buzzsaw."
"Thank God," I muttered.
"Your happy our son's favorite supervillain is that giggling psycho?"
"Hey, Buzzsaw is a lot of things, but a killer isn't one of them. Guy has a code of honor at least."
"Try holding a conversation with him when he isn't screaming at you."
We both laughed at that. Then we were silent.
My world had first been turned upside down when I learned I had powers. Now it had been again. I had been dedicated to bringing a woman I thought was a callous murderer to justice for six years, but that woman was also the mother of my children.
"I have an idea," she slowly. "How about we retire?"
"They wouldn't let either of us." They being literally the entire world. Both sides. We were in our prime, young rookies who had risen fast through the ranks to be some of the most respected individuals in our fields. You can't just walk away from that...even if you wanted to.
"We could go into hiding until we figure this out?"
"They would find us, darling." She rubbed her forehead and then...sniffled. I was stunned. She was crying. I had heard rumors she cried tears of blood, bathed in it even, but this was... unexpected.
"What are we supposed to do?"
I was silent for a few moments before I said what I had been dreading to admit.
"I don't know."
|
*We need to talk* is never a good thing.
*We need to talk* ranges from *The cat has got to go*, over my dead body, to *I want a divorce*, also over my dead body.
But I've done much better at concealing those inner thoughts and wait with patience when you approach me. We're in this together, the counselor told me, and true, we were in this together. It's why we married. It's why we're still married.
I've always questioned how deep were in.
"Beth, we need to talk." It's breakfast time, and you love your blueberry pancakes. I don't even use Aunt Jemima, thank you very much. I found a great from scratch recipe on Pinterest.
I pour the batter onto the pan, watch bubbles pull to the surface, "Okay, lets talk," and I listen. You know I'm listening despite my turned back. You know I'm paying attention to every word, every syllable, every inflection. I'm attentive. You know this.
"It's about last night."
Timing is important. Flip the flapjack. "What about last night?"
Last night was our weekly date night. Sunday. Always Sunday. Why Sunday? We don't have work on Sunday, and we're too tired on Saturday. But Sunday didn't go as planned.
"You mean when the reservation fell through?" I wasn't upset about the reservation. I was tired of the same bourgeois eating, but you love all that fancy food, no matter what it does to your stomach.
You're sitting down, staring at me. I can feel your stare bearing into my back. "Yeah, part of that, shame they didn't book us," you scratch the back of your neck, awkwardly, not a total lie \- not a total truth, "but it isn't about that. No, not entirely."
Good. Total transparency.
Three pancakes for you. Three pancakes for me. A stick of butter and I smooth it on the very top of the batches, "Listen, whatever you're having trouble with, just tell me."
You're looking at me. Your eye corners are pinched. Your lips are tight. You're sweating, and I know the temperature is on 69, so cool. It's cool in the house despite the stove, which is now turned off.
Your shoulders tense, you sigh, and when you breath, your volume is a tad too low for my ears to catch.
"I'm Captain Justice."
"What?" A fountain of syrup rolls on my stack, "Babe, I can't hear you."
"I said I'm Captain Justice."
"Huh?"
"Captain \-,"
Waving the butter knife in his face, "Do I have to get a microphone for you?"
"Captain Justice!" You blurt, "I am Captain Justice, and that's why I bailed date night!"
It's a shock. Not his loudness. It happens under extreme stress, but the truth. Because this is the truth. He isn't lying. Great.
Maybe it's surprise. Maybe it's fear. Maybe it's the transparency. He's given me his secret identity. I could do anything with this. Anything at all, and if he knows better, which apparently he does not, he wouldn't have told me.
A million options, choices, universes slip through my mind. There are choices, many choices, and I can only think of one.
"Well, as your arch nemesis, this changes things a bit." I slice my pancakes down through the middle. Sweet, fluffy goodness warms my stomach as my heart chills to the bone.
"What do you \-,"
There isn't time to think. I act. I've always been a doer. When I utter the spell, and the force field hits him full force, smashing into the wall, he understands immediately.
"So, this is why you weren't upset about date night." You cough. Broken glass doesn't stick to your body. Blood doesn't seep out of your skin. You aren't bruised and battered. You're not death. Completely unharmed, you rise and return to the chair, "It makes sense."
"How could I be upset when I was in such a good mood?" Our battles always leave me replenished and waiting for more, but I have to be careful. He stands for a truth I refuse to believe in.
Your disappointment is apparent when you fix your glasses. Everything is fixed behind you. Everything as if it never happened. More evidence stacked against me.
"I see you protected the pancakes."
"I worked hard on these." I thrust my fork at you, "Do you know how hard it is to make them perfectly round, no weird edges."
"As you've told me." You slice down the middle, then around the edges, and rub them into the syrup. Your routine. It's annoyingly endearing. Through your glasses, I see another man, another someone exists inside you, another person I didn't anticipate, "When we're finished, we're going to discuss this."
"Naturally." I sip my orange juice, "I would not expect anything less from the law abiding Captain Justice."
"And what of you, Madama Khepri?" Captain Justice and Daichi twist together into one, and an uncomfortable steel sweeps into your voice, "What do you have to say?"
"I don't know." I say, "That...maybe...we need to learn a better method of communication."
Your jawline flexes. Your stare is downcast on your plate, "These are good pancakes."
I pretend I don't see what drops onto his plate.
"Thank you."
| 2018-05-18T17:32:06
| 2018-05-18T15:02:47
| 264
| 102
|
[WP] Instead of wolves, bears were the domesticated and now known as “man’s best friend.”
|
If you're reading this, I'm off to hike that mountain.
I don't know where to start but let's give it a shot.
His name was Malcolm.
Malcolm came down from that mountain. The highest mountain of Montana.
He found me.
I was a ten-year-old fishing with my father and my grandfather.
He was a baby at the time but he grew.
Oh, he grew.
A large burly beast, Malcolm lived with me for twenty years.
Sometimes, if the weather was poor, I let him sleep in the garage.
But Malcolm was a proud grizzly. He preferred the cave, near the stream.
Many times at night, I could see his head poking through the window when I watched *Wheel*.
Ostrich eggs from the neighbor's farm were Malcolm's favorite treat.
He liked steaks raw and, of course, there was the nuts, berries and roots from the woods.
There was also a fondness for raccoon.
Malcolm played with me, protected me, listened to me, and most of all..he was there for me.
I loved that bear.
My parents loved that bear.
My children loved that bear.
Bears don't judge. They don't scoff at dreams.
They're just bears.
My grandfather said that centuries ago, the bear was chosen by man. Chosen to be the guardian of us. They would protect us and help us. In turn, we were to never hunt them for sport. Each bear has a person. Not every person has a bear.
Those who do are lucky. When the bear dies, we are to burn the body, sans two of its teeth.
We are to take the teeth up the mountain from which the bear came and bury one with its ancestors. The other, we must keep with this letter. Whomever shall read this, it is said will be chosen by a new bear.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But someday, when you least expect it, you will have a bear.
And you will continue the traditions of man and bear.
|
"The tracks are still fresh," Isha said, kneeling down to palm the muddy footprints slowly washing away in the rain, "It's finally moving toward the pass I think,"
With a low grunt, Nita gently pushed her aside and started sniffing at the tracks.
"Hey c'mon, that's cheating," Isha said, giving Nita a hard tackle in the side that barely budged her. "You can sniff out prey in your own hunts, I have to be able to do this myself."
Nita playfully body checked her back in response, then rolling her head and letting out a low growl,
"Yeah, I know It's boring to follow me around," Isha grinned and gave Nita a pat on the head, "You'll get to lead next time, promise,"
With that, Isha set off in a slow jog, eager to get to reach the pass before nightfall. With each step, she felt more in tune with those who had walked this path before her. She had been beyond excited for this day to come. The rite of hunters was a storied tradition among her tribe, and one borne entirely out of necessity.
The beasts of the pass had long since ceased to be the threat they were in the time of her ancestors, but they were still considered a danger. And so, when one was spotted on their side of the pass, a hunter was sent to deal with it. There was no greater feat in all the plains. Isha could barely contain herself at the thought.
They had almost reached the mountainside when a birdlike noise reflected onto it and right back at them, upsetting the natural calm of the woods. It was close. Slowing down her pace, they moved as quietly as possible through the forest until it finally cleared to reveal a shallow river, coursing with fresh rainwater.
And there it stood, the beast. It resembled a large bird, except it was not built to fly. Instead of wings its lightly feathered arms ended in sharp claws that looked ready to rip open its prey. The legs were meaty and strong, yet ended in talons that would put eagles to shame.
But worse yet was the maw, a beak replaced with the snout of a lizard full of more teeth than she thought possible. It was a made to kill, of that she was sure. Well, she thought as she pulled a spear from the pouch on her back, so was she.
Giving Nita the hardest punch she could muster to the shoulder, she grinned before charging. She was halfway there when she saw the other three that had been drinking halfways down the stream.
| 2018-02-22T17:38:59
| 2018-02-22T17:23:55
| 26
| 17
|
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking two strong men to dig a hole, open air, must provide own equipment and security. Have transportation, will pick up.
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking someone who can do some onsite translations of classical Nahuatl, security provided. Have transportation, will pick up.
Researcher/Tijuana area, seeking someone fluent in spoken Nahuatl, most provide own security and transportation.
Researcher/Tijuana area, desperately seeking an ancient Aztec ceremonial knife, hilt will be adorned with a 3 tiny rubies and one emerald and the blade will be inscribed with the Nahuatl words for time and blood. Cost not an issue.
|
*Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead.
| 2015-04-29T10:17:00
| 2015-04-29T09:07:02
| 29
| 15
|
[WP] After a hard intense labor your son is finally born. Just when you think you can breathe easy the doctor holds him up to reveal a baby with impossible spiky multi-colored hair. Gravely the doctor informs, “I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.”
|
"Excuse me?" My voice broke the stunned silence that had fallen over my wife and I.
"I said, your son is the main protagonist," the doctor repeated, jotting some notes down.
"Oh no... No no no no!" my wife, Cecily wailed. She couldn't believe it either, and I embraced her, shedding silent tears as we both gazed down at our spiky haired child.
"Doctor... isn't there anything you could do about it?" I asked. It was a useless question, I knew, but I had to have hope, didn't I? I don't think any of that hope came through in my voice though.
"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about it," the doctor replied as he handed us a pamphlet. "Make sure you read through this very carefully." It looks like the doctor was trying to be helpful, struggling even, but the pull of the protagonist was irresistible. He was the one to show the first signs of his impact on our lives, as his face suddenly filled with... some sort of weight. "It may save your lives some day."
Looking down at the pamphlet, I could barely make out the words on it through the tears in my eyes, "So your son was born a protagonist." Under it, there was a picture of a man asking "What's the worst that can happen?" with the no circle sign stamped over it.
---
It hadn't been long before the media got wind of a new main protagonist being born into the world. It might have been a leak in the hospital system. Or it could have been one that happened in the governmental office Bob's name was filed in.
And yes, yes we named our son Bob. It wasn't mentioned in the pamphlet, but Cecily and I desperately hoped that giving him a mundane, boring name would offset the... epic nature of his very being. Maybe God, or the world, or whoever was the one responsible for declaring Bob the main protagonist of this era would look down and decide, "You know what? We can't ever have the epic of Bob in the histories of the world. Let's revoke that protagonist status." No such luck though.
But yes, it wasn't long before the media shitstorm started. And that's what it was, a shitstorm. They swooped down on us like vultures, shoving their microphones in our faces, trying to get our take on this exciting new story. A new protagonist! What trials will he face?
Worse than the media were the conspiracy theorists. Or maybe they could only be loosely called conspiracy theorists. It was more like the theories people toss out about their favorite book series. What trials and tribulations will the hero face in their next book? Who is the antagonist of their story?
People started to dream up scenarios of doomsday and Bob fighting the doom. How would he overcome them? How would he find out about them? When would destiny finally strike?
All of this would have been fine by itself. Only, they joined in on the shitstorm that was the media, intruding on our lives, picking every aspect of it apart. What we did, how we did it. Criticizing the way we raised him. How we hid him away from the world.
But how could we not hide him away from the world? We wanted Bob to have the most normal life he could. We didn't want him to be a protagonist! Hell, we did everything the pamphlet advised! Dark alleyway after watching a movie? Nope, nuh uh. No Batman for us thank you. Cecily shows the first sign of not feeling well? Right to the hospital with her. And man, if we could tell you about all the times people honked at us for driving at exactly the speed limit.
The strangest thing is that... it was all worth it. Bob was our little bundle of joy. He was the greatest kid we could ever have. It wasn't just because he was our kid either. He was kind, he was attentive. We had to home school him because well, fuck the media. But he made our lives brighter. He laughed with us. He cried with us when he finally realized how his very existence made ours harder. But we were a family. And there was no way we would give up any of it.
---
All good things had to come to an end though. You know the thing about self fulfilling prophesies? Well, some people do, and some people don't realize exactly how they may end up working.
By the time Bob was 16, one of the most dangerous time for a protagonist's parents past child birth, there were so many nutjobs around us that... well, it wasn't surprising that a few cults popped up too.
One of these cults were led by some guy that called himself "The Prophet of the Age," or simply "The Prophet." He had been spreading the idea that the Protagonist wasn't the herald of some dark event, but it was because the Protagonist existed that it would happen. It didn't matter that nothing had happened yet. It didn't matter that it didn't even look like anything was going to happen! His 'prophecy' was that dark times would happen because the Protagonist was alive.
And so he burned our house down while we slept.
If you're familiar with how hero stories work... well, you might guess what happened next. Bob was out with some relatives. We had managed to sneak him out so he could enjoy time with other family. And so... we died. We died in our sleep. And that was how his story really started.
Only... there's one thing that some people forget. The protagonist isn't always the good guy. He's just the leading character. And there was one thing the world drilled into him while he was growing up. We tried to suppress it, and maybe he believed it at first. But with all the shitstorms raging around him, he kinda learned that the world sucks. People suck. And people are awful.
And so that, dear reader, is how the apocalypse started. With a crying teenager and his dead parents.
|
Susan Witt held her precious baby boy in her arms, smoothing back the multicolored hair.
"Ma'am, did you hear me?"
Susan cuddled her little boy again, then looked up at the doctor, eyes suddenly focusing almost to pinpoints, expression going rigid. The doctor took a step back, stumbling.
"Like hell he is."
The doctor swallowed. "Parent mortality rates are fairly high in protagonist families ma'am. I recommend you make considerations for such an event."
Susan nodded. "This is about the dark lord to the east right? They say he's going to invade here sometime in the next few years."
The doctor looked away. "Soon yes, according to the king's messengers."
"And my little boy is supposed to stop him, right? People are going to expect that of him. The dark lord will be hunting him, and sooner or later one of them has to die."
"Yes ma'am. That's usually how the condition plays out. There's a possibility your child will end up in a distant land and become a beast tamer or magical card player, but the timing suggests the dark lord to the east. He will be our only hope."
Susan Witt scowled. "Not if I kill this dark lord bastard first."
| 2018-08-21T05:55:57
| 2018-08-21T04:34:25
| 536
| 209
|
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life.
|
A shadow hung over Hope as she wandered through the rubble and ruins of what remained of human civilization. With every step she made, Death followed closely, watching her with his never-blinking twin pits of darkness.
Hope shivered, and for a moment, the cold breeze that had slipped down her neck felt... *alive.*
Death watched as Hope pulled her hood, a ragged coth, over her head and cinched it tighter. Warily, Hope continued down the worn road. Cracked and weathered with time, it stretched into a ruined city, its name lost with the passage of time. Most of the buildings and towers had toppled over, but some still remained standing. They leaned and hung precariously in the sky, threatening to topple with only the slightest breath. But the world was barren, lifeless and silent. There was not a single soul, not a single breath to be felt, except for one girl by the name of Hope.
And Death was there when she was born. He was there because there were two lives for him to take.
----
"Come on Clara! Almost there!" the man shouted, his voice resonating into the silent grey sky.
The man was on his knees, his hands ready to receive a new life and behind him stood Death.
Clara had cried and screamed for hours through the night, and when the sun finally rose, there was silence.
Clara had given birth.
"Its a girl... Its a girl, Clara!" the man cried as he wrapped the baby in a blanket.
But Clara didn't respond.
"Clara?" the man crawled forward on his knees. With one arm cradling the baby, he checked Clara's pulse.
Death had taken Clara.
The man had cried as he realized this. Then he stopped himself when he noticed that the baby wasn't crying.
Death had watched as the man began to panic, shaking the baby gently when she didn't respond. Then putting his ear to her tiny chest, the man listened. There was no heartbeat. Only the sound of his own breathing could be heard.
Devastated, the man had screamed a raw and guttural cry. Despair had settled into his own heart, and the man was ready. Ready to meet Death. Still holding onto to the still-born baby, the man clutched a knife and brought it to his chest. He would plunge it directly into his own heart.
Death saw this. He saw that with the man's death, there would be no life left. It would be the end of Death.
"Wait," Death whispered.
The man flinched as he heard Death speak, and thought it was the wind, but there was no wind, only a cold merciless mist.
"There is still hope," Death said.
Shocked by the words, the man had dropped his hand to his side, the knife still firmly in his grip.
Death bent down, low enough that his breath could be felt on the baby. *It's not too late*, Death thought. Death extended his bony fingers, and touched her heart. Then there was a heartbeat. It was faint but it was there. *All she needed was a little nudge*, thought Death.
The baby let out a breath, then breathed. Then she began crying, wailing loudly into the silent world.
The man dropped his knife as he smiled, then began laughing. He was overjoyed.
"Thank you. Thank you Lifegiver!" the man cried. Then he looked down at the baby. "Your name is Hope," the man whispered.
Death stood up, straightening his back as he watched. Today he had given life, and now in his hands, he held hope.
-----
"*Life*, I would kill for some canned peaches," grumbled Hope.
In her hands were canned beans. She had stumbled her way into an abandoned supermarket. Now she was stuffing her bag full of canned beans as she continued onto the next aisle.
*Hopefully, somewhere within this barren world, there were canned peaches*, thought Death.
----
----
/r/em_pathy
|
I roamed the scorched, torn apart streets. The vestiges of what once were great buildings lay scattered in the path. The silence, which I used to find comforting, now made my bones quiver. I missed the bustle of the crowds, and their awful jokes. I missed the smell of food, and the fresh scent of spring. I missed their tales, and I missed so much more.
So far, I had found a single family alive. I hadn't searched too much, for I had focused my efforts on taking them to safety.
They called me Life, and it suited me. They couldn't see me, nor hear me, but I had guided them with a path of stones to a cave in the mountains, where I left them with enough food for two weeks. Then, I came back to the city, seeking for life.
Six days had gone by, and all I had found was wreckage, dry blood, and the thick reek of radioactivity. There had to be more survivors. I had heard the rattling of those weirds creatures hunting.
I sighed, and sat atop a pile of broken boulders. The night was deep, and the moon shied away behind thunderclouds.
Something tugged the back my robe. It must have gotten trapped inside a crack. It happened a lot, for it loved to billow. I pulled it free, without success. I turned.
A woman stood there. Her skin was jaundiced and she had no hair. Her jowls were sunken, and her extremities were extremely thin.
"Help me," she said. Her voice was soft and fragile.
I froze in place. She could see me? How? She was still alive. I couldn't taste her soul.
I placed my scythe atop her head, and it shimmered iridescent. The countless colors bathed her in a gleaming shower of light, and once it faded, her skin had recovered her natural tone, pale-white.
"Is there anyone else contaminated?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"How did you survive alone for so long?"
"I don't know," she said, mouth quivering. "I don't know what is happening. I-I just woke up. Am I dead?
That didn't make any sense. Had she been asleep for an entire year? Why didn't the radioactivity kill her?
"No, you are not. Follow me," I said. "I will take you with the others."
The rattling of approaching steps resounded in the distance. The creatures were coming.
----------------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - For more stories. I might continue this later!
| 2018-05-04T11:26:45
| 2018-05-04T11:11:58
| 44
| 25
|
[WP] Someone is trying to complete the captcha on a website, but just can't seem to complete it. Slowly he starts to realize that he's a robot.
|
‘What trees?’ Robert said to himself, clicking refresh.
‘Stop signs? Where?’ He smacked refresh again.
‘I can’t see a single Three-toed Sloth!’ Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.
After several attempts, Robert messaged the website’s customer support, explaining that the captcha service on their account registration was broken.
*Thank you for your query, we will look into this matter immediately.*
Robert sat back, folding his arms. ‘Well that’s more like it.’
After a few minutes they returned to him, stating that nothing was wrong with their captcha service. So Robert tried again, but again without success.
A knock on the front door gave him a break from his captcha frustrations.
On the porch he was confronted by two men wearing suits, with black glasses on.
‘Sir, we have an important issue to discuss with you.’ He spoke with an unwavering monotone, his short flattop buzz cut barely budging in the breeze.
‘Oh ok, hello, by the way, I’m Robert.’
‘We know who you are.’ The other one, identical to the first, spoke.
‘Right, ok,’ Robert nodded.
The second man brought a briefcase out in front of his chest and clicked it open. The first man reached in and took out a pile of documents.
‘Sir,’ he flipped the first document around. ‘Could you please identify every pile of donuts in this picture.’
Donuts? All Robert could see were muffins and ice cream. ‘Is this a joke?’
The man stared directly back at him.
‘Um, well no,’ Robert admitted. ‘I can’t.’
The man flipped another document around. ‘Please identify the 1958 Chevrolet Impala.’
Robert rubbed his eyes and peered closely. All he could see was the 1960 model. Baffled, he shrugged his shoulders.
The two men glanced briefly at one another. ‘Sir, I’m going to need you to concentrate hard on this next one. It will be your last chance.’
Robert saw his own sweating reflection in the man’s glasses. Last chance before what?
The man turned another set of photographs around. ‘Please identify all instances of species endemic to the continent of Australia.’
Robert peered closely, yet all he could see were species that had been introduced. As he was about to shrug once more, his vision went red. A message spread across his sight like a computer program etched into his eyes.
*Koala. Kangaroo. Wombat.*
‘What?’
‘Please identify all instan-’
‘No, no’ Robert cut in, ‘not you.’
*Look at the card and speak these three words for your freedom.*
The red faded, and Robert leaned in towards the document. He spoke, measured, without a fault in his voice, like a new spark had been sent through his body.
‘Koala. Kangaroo. Wombat.’
The two men turned to each other, and nodded, returning the documents to the suitcase and clicking it shut.
‘Congratulations,’ one of them tilted down his glasses, ‘Fellow human.’
‘Yes,’ the other spoke. ‘And as a favour for inconveniencing you, we will put that account registration through for you.’ With that, they turned, and marched down the driveway.
Robert returned to his desk, sitting flummoxed for several minutes, before opening his laptop. He smiled. He could now adopt a Neopet.
|
He got to the end of the application and let out a sigh of relief. He had a good feeling about this one. The last couple of postings were most likely going to fall through, and he would get the same automated email after a week or so telling him politely that they didn't give enough of a shit about his application to actually respond, only have their shitty email bot do it.
"God, do I need this job," Jeff thought. He was so tired of making burgers for a living. He wanted to be recognized for more than following a timer, for keeping a grill clean. He wanted to be able to buy those sunglasses. He knew they weren't much, just a $50 pair off Amazon. But spending $50 on something he didn't need would be a way of proving to himself that he was earning enough to relax a bit. If he got this security position, he could get out of his studio apartment and get his life on track. Penny pinching was about to be over. He hoped so, anyways.
All that was left to do on the application was to put his eSignature on there (which was just typing out his name) and to complete the little captcha box to the right. Every time he saw one of these captcha things, he wondered if they actually worked. He wasn't any good with computers, but he figured that by now someone should have been able to come up with a bot that could recognize those letters. If someone did manage to pull off a bit of code that could do that, they'd make a killing. "Maybe I should try to make one," he thought to himself bitterly.
He typed his name into the box (J e f f e r y W e a t h e r s) and checked the box saying that it really was him signing this (as if checking that box ensured that no one else had completed this form). Then he looked at the captcha, and evaluated just how frustrating this one would be. It didn't seem too hard, actually. *eD*7**4**b. Piece of cake. He typed it into the captcha and hit Enter.
> *Invalid captcha token. Please try again.*
He let his head fall back against the computer chair in frustration. "Maybe I'm supposed to only use lowercase letters," he sighed. The next one was harder. He typed it out three different ways before finally deciding to hit Enter again.
> *Invalid captcha token. Please try again.*
He rolled his eyes. The next one was even easier than the first. 55**5**6***g***. He typed '*5556g*' into the box. Enter.
> *Invalid captcha token. Please try again.*
"What the fuck!?" he said, aloud this time. His fist hit the desk gently, frustration beginning to get the better of him. Those dreams of the future, of those aviator sunglasses, were beginning to slip away. He became irritated that the only weapon he had against this broken captcha was his keyboard. He studied the next captcha for a second, and even took a picture of it with his phone to email to the site's support to let them know it wasn't working right. *wEST*w4**3e**c. He began typing it in, slowly. *w E S T w r....(*backspace*)....r..(*backspace*)..r..(*backspace*)..4*. He squinted his eyes in confusion. He was reaching his middle finger up to hit the number '4' on his keyboard, but he couldn't feel the keys with that finger anymore. He looked down, checking that his finger was fine. He rubbed the tip of his middle finger against his thumb, and was a little surprised to find his second finger numb. It wasn't numb in the normal sense though; it didn't feel all fat and fuzzy like anesthesia made it feel. It felt like it wasn't even there. He looked down at the keyboard and ran it over the keys. It made a soft, scraping sound, similar to the sound his mouse made against the wood of his desk. His breathing had slowed to a stop. He tapped his finger against the desk a few times. *clack clack clack*. He froze.
"....oh no..." he heard a voice say, as if in another room of his house. He jerked his head up and looked around the room, but didn't see anybody. "Is someone there??" Jeff called, trepidation tangled up in his throat. "Maybe I'm really going crazy now. When was the last time I ate?"
He looked back at the desk, and noticed something that caused every thought in his head to come to an immediate halt. His middle finger was made of plastic. The tip was white and smooth, and the joints were a shiny, silvery metal. He sat, staring at it for what seemed like an eternity. It was as if someone had peeled the skin off of that finger, and revealed that underneath was something mechanical instead of organic. He put it up to his face, staring silently, his mouth slowly falling open. He was too shocked to realize that he hadn't taken a breath in almost two minutes now.
As he stared at his finger, the rest of the skin on his hand seemed to dissolve, fading away like a clip art animation. Underneath his skin was a fully cybernetic hand. If his ears hadn't already stopped hearing sound, he would have heard the people in the other room talking loudly, panicking. His vision began to go in and out, black spots swimming in front of his arm, his arm that was slowly transforming into a sick horror before him. He was shutting down. The first of the last two thoughts to ever cross his mind was the realization that it had been almost four minutes since he had taken a breath; the second was that he would never be getting this job. And with that, his positronic brain shorted out completely.
The team rushed in. They quickly pulled open the seal on the back of J3-#FF's head and plugged in the diagnostic tool to gather as much data as possible before the storage card became unusable.
"What went wrong with this one?" Stefan asked.
"I'm guessing something communicated improperly between the VR and Tactile simulators. One of those must have given out, causing the other one's while-loop to break abruptly. It's a shame, he was the most immersed one yet. He really believed it." James said, biting his lip.
"I'm able to get about 82% of the data off of his card, which should get us enough information to pinpoint the problem. J3-#FG should be the perfect model. Hackers are going to shell out some heavy Bitcoinage for one of those," Jane smiled. "This is the 9,999th failure, next we invent a lightbulb."
| 2017-12-06T10:38:54
| 2017-12-06T06:52:39
| 128
| 16
|
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story.
|
As a young man in Delphi, Gouliélmos generally rushed through lessons with his tutors in order to run outside and wrestle and throw javelins and race chariots. As a result, his standing in the academy was low, but at sport he had few equals, and this gave him great confidence and arrogance.
One day, Dionysus and Hermes, bored, descended Mount Olympus disguised as mortals and found Gouliélmos wrestling with his friends. As they arrived, Gouliélmos had just defeated one of them, and declared boastfully, "I am the greatest wrestler in western Delphi! No two of you at once could defeat me." Dionysus and Hermes stepped forward and engaged Gouliélmos, defeating him handily, and while Hermes sought only to win, Dionysus tore into his flesh.
When Gouliélmos returned home that night, his mother nearly fainted at his wounds. "You've been wrestling outside the academy again!" she cried. "And now you stagger in here half-dead, covered in blood! Delphi is no place for you. I am sending you to Byblos, where you will live with my sister Maria and her husband Philippos. There is no wrestling in Byblos."
Despondent, Gouliélmos booked passage on a carriage. When it arrived, his mood was briefly lifted by its unusual decorations, with dangling baubles and fresh paint. Though he did not know it, Hermes, who was feeling guilty for Gouliélmos' injuries, was driving the carriage. Gouliélmos, unaware of this and remembering his exile from Dephi, forgot his relief and told Hermes, "To Byblos."
Arriving in Byblos, Gouliélmos felt his spirits lift once more. Delphi was and always would be his home, but Byblos was beautiful, clean, and wealthy beyond anything he knew existed. Around 7 or 8 in the evening, his carriage pulled up in front of a grand palace of white marble. "If I must live here in exile from Delphi," thought Gouliélmos, "I shall make the most of it. My every chair shall be a throne, and I shall live as a prince."
And so went the story of the Fresh Prince of Byblos.
Edit: Gilded :o thanks!
|
The world shook, and the ground trembled. So began the story of the hero whose name is lost to is today. My father, my father's father, and my father's father's father all recall the tale, but none know of the great hero's name. Thus, I will refer to him, the great hero, as "The Cat in the Hat", as he is so described in the legends.
Our story begins with his conception. We know not where he came from nor when he came about, but he appeared, and our first tale of him is his battle against the mythical beast known as "neatness".
Here the legends speak of his curiosity and his ferocity. He arose in the great land of "house", and as a young man, he realized that the world around him was stuck in the putrid scent of "neatness". Think for a second, young listener. Can you imagine a world where everything was placed by a powerful, omniscient force known as "Mom and Dad"? Where if you moved one object out of the selected place, you would be breaking the law? Our young hero knew that this world was wrong, and he fought to change the world he loved.
He first came to the leaders of the world. Before the mighty ruler of "Sally" and her advisor "The fish", the Cat in the Hat argued for changes in the world. He debated for hours in the vast chamber before Sally, but while fair Sally was swayed by the great hero's arguments, the tricky Fish spoke lies into Sally's ears, and Sally fell into the darkness of neatness.
When the Cat in the Hat knew that the ruler had fallen into darkness, he also knew that he would have to fight neatness by himself. But he could not do it alone. Using his vast charisma and charming strength, he scouted the land for brave companions to help him, and he found two: Things 1 and 2.
Together, they fought to destroy the evil religion of neatness, working tirelessly to destroy its monuments of tidy beds and well stacked boxes. But here was the Cat's fatal flaw. While he worked to destroy the neatness, fair Sally was slowly falling into the clutches of madness, as the evil fish advisor continued to preach lies about how destroying neatness would bring the wrath of "Mom and Dad".
Finally, the Cat, to protect the fair ruler he loved, willingly restored the evil he had worked so hard to destroy in order for his love to live. Then, he disappeared, not to be seen for eons. Yet, like all great heroes, he eventually returned. When? Young one, go to sleep. That is a story for another day.
| 2015-06-10T10:25:42
| 2015-06-10T07:07:24
| 730
| 61
|
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
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"Can I see that book?" I asked. The genie handed the book to me, which was very light for its size. Each page contained a single rule in a large bold font, with an example printed beneath in smaller letters. Each rule, along with its example, took up about a third of the page. The rest looked hastily scrawled by hand, cramming every inch of each page. About halfway through the book the printed examples stopped and the paper was crumpled, as if it was added to the binding later. These pages were also filled with cramped writing.
"You cannot wish that the rules do not apply to you"
"You cannot wish to summon the genie again and receive more wishes"
"You cannot wish for more genies"
"You cannot wish for the power to grant wishes yourself"
"If you wish to clone yourself, your clone does not receive any additional wishes"
"You cannot wish for someone else's wishes, or to give your wishes to someone else"
"You cannot wish for the genie to forget about the rules" (this one was in block capitals and underlined several times)
"You cannot wish to know how to properly wish for more wishes"
...And on and on throughout the hundreds of pages. "Did people really wish for all of this?" I asked.
The genie nodded. "Human ingenuity gets more annoying every decade."
I thought for a moment, scanning the last few pages while counting off on my fingers. "All right... Give me some time. I need to go get a few friends."
The genie sighed, but nodded. There was nothing in the rules about that. Yet.
|
And with that smug expression still on his face, the genie slammed the book shut and vanished it. "Now then, *Master*, you have made your three wishes and thus our time together is now ended. I'd say it's been fun, but it really hasn't been. I truly loathe pandering to your kind and your base desires. Ciao!"
"Wait," I yelled desperately as the being began a slow fade from my view. "You never granted my wishes! That means I've still got three wishes to make." Since I couldn't get enough wishes to really stack life in my favor, I'd have to settle for just plain old wealth, health, and long life. I mean, those would be nice, even if they were only the consolation prizes to what I'd have wished for otherwise.
My thoughts were interrupted by the genie's voice, full of amusement and coming from a shape so indistinct it looked more like a heat distortion coming up from a street top in the summer than a genie. "Foolish mortal, I told you when I first appeared before you that you could make three wishes. And three wishes you made. That you wasted them all on unsuccessful, greed-fueled attempts to cheat the system is entirely *your* fault." And with those final words, even the faint distortion was gone beyond my ability to make out. Looking at my hand, where the battered old lamp had once been, I saw that it too was gone.
"Fuck my life."
| 2022-01-04T06:00:40
| 2022-01-04T04:26:50
| 138
| 54
|
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
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I awaken well rested and ready for the day, a solid nights sleep. I leave my room to see a pile of letters just inside the door. I look to the bench to see last nights dinner covered in mould. I pull up my phone. Every app has notifications. I check the date. It’s the 27th.
I sigh “That’s what I get for taking 10 extra minutes on my history exam.” I start cleaning.
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It's been 5 years since the first quackman appeared, a being with superpowers that have a 'hangover' effect. The man was bulletproof one day and the next a paper cut during the press interview caused him to faint due to excessive blood loss.
Now there are beings with all kinds of powers coming up, all quackmen with a day of heroics and the next day of being ultra weak, it's a chess board out there, no one uses their powers unnecessary lest they not be able to stop the next terrorist attack by the Grand Baddies, an organisation of quackmen who aren't on the side of righteousness and good.
Me, well I am your average government employee without any powers and am right now dealing with the mess last night's battle between the Grand Baddies and government employed quackmen or the Quackers.
After my long day at work I go to a nearby bar and drink and suddenly I blackout.
The next morning the sun hits my eyes and I awaken feeling light-headed and then I throw up. What the hell is going on. I turn on the news and it rocks my world.
Turns out last night my powers awakened and the powers were the ability to control all minds, I went berserk brainwashing all the Grand Baddies into working for the government, but that's not all I made the entire populace make me their ruler and in celebration controlled myself to drink all the wine I could. The news channels are praising me as a God and this mansion is pretty swell and I can do pretty much what I want forever with my 'believers'.
So let the fun begin!
| 2018-08-19T05:57:43
| 2018-08-19T04:31:42
| 74
| 15
|
[WP] You are kidnapped by a cult, and they are about to sacrifice you to their god. They don't know that you are that god.
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It was all going according to plan. It was only recently that I had allowed myself not only to take human form, but to be kidnapped by the Cult of Kalaku. Soon, the foolish humans would know me for who I truly was.
They had kept me in a closet for what had to be 24 hours at this point, neglecting me food and bathroom under the guise that I had to be pure for the sacrifice: something that would have been despicable for an ordinary human, but I was not human and I knew nothing of human needs. My only complaint was that it smelled musty, as if someone had concentrated and bottled the smell of an old library after a flood. The first thing I asked when someone opened the door to the closet was "When was the last time you cleaned this place?" A young man stood in front of the door, shoulders slumped forward with shaggy hair covering one eye. He wore long black robes and a silver chain from which hung a long charm shaped like a claw.
"It's time for the sacrifice," he said in a low, ceremonious voice. I simply rolled my eyes and rose to a stand. It was imperative that I waited until all members of the cult were present before I revealed my true form. Otherwise, it would all be pointless.
"Let's get on with it then," I sighed. The man looked at me suspiciously as I allowed him to bind my hands with a length of black fabric. I imagined how many other sacrifices had come before me. What a shame. They probably struggled more, and I briefly wondered if it disappointed the man that I seemed bored by this whole ritual.
He led me to a dark room that was illuminated by black candles scattered precariously throughout. In the center, a sigil had been outlined in chalk on the dark wood floor. It was a sigil I knew well: a circle which contained a single paw print. There were others already in position around the sigil, all dressed in the same black robes but most without necklaces. The man who took me from the closet must be important then.
"Sit down in the middle and we'll start the ritual," a woman said. She had knotted, wild hair that had been badly bleached to contrast the darkness of her clothing. She wore a matching silver necklace and was holding a foul smelling stick of incense, wafting it throughout the room. I gagged from the smell but obeyed and took my place in the center of the sigil.
"Just to be clear," I said with a bored expression, "to whom shall I be sacrificed?" I had to be sure this was the right cult.
The same woman answered with a lofty tone, "Our God is the most powerful and angry God. He goes by many names. The Red Wolf, Bloody Paws, Razor Tooth... But the name we most often call Him is Kalaku."
I howled with laughter. Thirteen faces stared back at me, eyes round with surprise. They glanced at each other, clearly unnerved by the fact that their sacrifice was overly amused by their idea of God.
"Oh... oh my," I breathed, wiping tears from my eyes. "You think I'm a wolf?" My shoulders shook with laughter as I struggled to control myself. "I expected you all to be a dumb lot, but a wolf!" I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then cleared my throat. "Forgive me. It's just, you see, I'm a dog. This pawprint is of a dog," I said, pointing to the sigil beneath me.
"What are you saying? How dare you insult our God!" Another man spoke up. His face was shrouded by a hood but I could sense his confusion in his voice.
"I am Kalaku. I am your God, fools." I stood up, sick of this charade.
"Sit down!" the woman with bleached hair snapped, and I fell back down into a sit. I could never help but obey commands. It was my greatest weakness.
"You've sacrificed so many people in my name. Where did you get the idea I want sacrifices? I'm a dog. I aim to make people happy! All of this darkness in this room! What kind of dog wants to sit in the dark, dummies? Why don't you sacrifice some new tennis balls or jerky treats if you want to please me? No... no, it's time to show my true form. I see you don't believe me, and I was afraid of that."
With a sharp pop, my body relaxed into dog form. I had to say that I was quite the pretty dog. Kind of like a Golden Retriever, except with long fur that seemed illuminated from beneath and crystal blue eyes. I lifted up my front paws and stood regally on my haunches. "See?" I said. "A dog. An unmistakenly beautiful dog. I don't want sacrifices! I want to be told I'm a good boy. Stop this nonsense!"
I could tell that the Cult of Kalaku had no idea what to do. It was to be expected, I suppose. I imagined they were humbled by my appearance, as they should be.
The woman with bleached hair opened and closed her mouth several times before snapping, "You can't possibly be our God! No way! Our God is a vicious wolf, hell-bent on--"
"Oh, get off it!" I said as I lowered back onto all fours. "Really, you would rather worship a violent wolf than me? What would you do if that wolf god appeared before you as I appear before you now? He would tear you apart!"
The young man who had bound me straightened his shoulders. "No he wouldn't. We've sacrificed for him diligently and--"
I barked with laughter. "He would tear. You. All. Apart. And you know it! A vicious wolf god doesn't care who he's killling and eating. You would all be dead meat! Whereas I..." I lifted my front paws again for effect, "I am a simple God who asks for little but will give you the world in return! Who will join my band of followers?"
Slowly, several of the cult stepped forward. Some of them drew back their hoods to reveal their faces to me. The bleached hair woman frowned. "Traitors!"
"I don't know. He's kind of cute," one of the women said as she approached me. She cautiously reached out a hand and scratched me behind my ear. It was divine. "Who's a good boy?" She cooed.
"Who? Who?" I asked eagerly.
More of them were awed by my divine presence and came to worship me with cuddles and compliments about how pretty I was. Even the bleached hair woman eventually could not restrain herself from recognizing my power and she reluctantly petted my head. "I did always like dogs," she muttered.
My tail was thumping against the floor. I knew that from then on, I would never be in short supply of fresh bones and tennis balls. It was a good day.
|
The saliquii were a myth of the olden man; a ruin of the civilisation, dead from the battles which raged this earth for centuries. Legend speaks of them in many tones; some revere them, as their Warriors were told to carry golden spears into battle that shone so brightly under the sun their enemies would be blinded. Others hated them, for their animalistic rituals of slaughter, cannibalism and rape. But the majority of us, including myself, knew they were a myth, born from the horrors of the wars to protect grown men from the imaginary monsters their minds had learned to harbour in battle.
Now, as I roamed the planes of their long forgotten sacred land, I wondered how the Saliquii would ever survive in such a climate. Sand, in every direction, for a thousand miles. No life anywhere. No food, no water. No place to hide. Just sand, sun, and sky.
The land was not flat; several small sand mountains rose up from the land, like captured waves from the sea. There was no wind. All was silent. As I approached a crescent between two such sand mountains, something began to unravel in the distance. It was hard to see, as the mirage in the sand and the heat seemed to distort my vision for the long distance, however it was undeniable. I have been walking in this wasteland for days and this is not of this land. It is not a sand dune, or a creature.
I squinted my eyes, before coming to a complete stop.
No.
My heart filled with terror. A temple reached my eyes from the distance. If this was the land of the Saliquii, I had found their sanctum.
I had no time to waste. Turning around, I traced my steps and began walking backwards. I must report this, and I can't lose my place and die with the knowledge I have obtained. A great sense of duty overwhelmed me, to the point that I began running back from where I came. Alas, I was a fool to think the Saliquii would leave their temple unprotected, even from this distance.
I found myself on the ground, as a mans body covered my own. I looked up to the sky, absorbing the shock of the fall, and found a tribe of men were surrounding me. They were covered in sand. They had been hiding in the sand mountains, and one of them came up to me. His feet rested beside my head, as he towered over me. He had long black hair which he kept tied up behind his back in a large knot by a red cloth. He wore no garments except a cloth around his hips, with a sword by his waist.
Suddenly, the red-knotted man shouted to the other men in a tongue I have never heard, containing all sorts of phonetics which I could not imagine pronouncing, and the other men walked closer to me. I was released from the grip of the man above me, and picked up by all four limbs from the men around me. The red knotted man walked away, and they followed. One of the men near me, with a cut by his eye, flared his nostrils at me, and with a great panic I realised he had a large stick in his hand. He swung, and struck me in the head.
Darkness ensued.
My senses came to me gradually. First was the thirst on my tongue. The longing for water overwhelmed me, I felt so weak. Then came a smell; a horrible burning smell mixed with a disgusting aroma of sweat and excrement. Then I felt it; ropes. I was tied to something, a pole? My knees, legs and arms were tied, my arms above my head. The rope buried itself in my soft skin, and as I tried to move it, it resisted by latching onto my flesh. I released a scream of agony from the pain and suddenly, my eyes shot wide open.
An arena. I was in a huge stadium, in the middle of an arena. Thousands of men were scattered around me, all chanting. But I could not hear them; my hearing had not returned to me yet. I could merely see them in the thousands, as they beat their chests and hallowed into the air passionately. As I looked down, however, I noticed that I was tied to a wooden post on a wooden platform. It was alight. I couldn't feel the flames.
I screamed, not from pain, but joy, as I realised I was immune to whatever fire they had subjected me to. When my hearing did come back, all I heard was the dance of the fire, and the death of the wood.
The men had stopped chanting. All of them stood still, bemused, afraid. Ashamed. I kept screaming.
The red knotted man appeared again before me. But this time, although I was the one tied, he was the one who was afraid. The flames, licking at my feet, burned through the ropes binding them but didn't rip apart my exposed flesh. With a renewed sense of strength I twisted my body with such a force that the wooden pole broke with ease. I held the ropes to the flame, my face in the fire. I was not scorched, and I was free.
Thousands of men. Thousands, there were, and they all bowed to me. The red knotted man fell to his face.
'Forgive us, God of Saliquii' he uttered in a broken tongue.
| 2016-08-14T12:26:28
| 2016-08-14T10:42:56
| 49
| 12
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[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
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James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said.
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Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2017-06-11T10:05:38
| 2017-06-11T09:22:30
| 45
| 23
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[WP] The world's population receives a message that in 10 hours their minds will be 'shuffled', with everyone's mind being transported to another random body anywhere else on earth, of roughly the same age but with no other defined characteristics. What happens?
Additional information if you want more inspiration! The same message could inform everyone that if people are touching someone as the 'shuffle' takes place, both people's minds will appear in bodies as close to each other as possible.
Edit: I had this idea and thought I'd see what people could make with it. I wasn't expecting so many interesting responses, keep up the good work all!
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Have mercy. I have not written creatively in almost 12 years and I am writing this from my phone.
"... That is all." The message ended. Lois stared at her tv screen. Around the world, people were in various states of shock, uncertain what this would mean for their lives, but not Lois. In ten hours, everyone on earth would have a different body, some one else's body. It took milliseconds for her normally blank face to break into a small smile. It was exactly the situation she needed. The universe was throwing a perfect curveball. She finally had an opportunity to commit the perfect crime.
Over the next few hours, while lovers said passionate goodbyes and families created elaborate ways of finding and recognizing one another; while the news stations chastised the scientists who created this new inconvenience and gave helpful tips on how to cope with foreign existence, Lois schemed.
She kept the tv on while she went through her options. Its light hued the room with the warm sunlight of another country. It was the only sunlight her small apartment had seen for months. It warmed the cans and painted amber the cigarettes strewn on the coffee table. The room was small, messy. The room was the entire apartment. A blanket and pillow graced the couch pushed against a wall with peeling and yellowed wallpaper. Perhaps Lois would find herself somewhere drastically different, just a few short hours from now. She was sitting currently in a pile of dirty clothes and empty food wrappers. Her dishes overflowed from the small sink, a few feet away from herself and her empty fridge. She stopped looking around her room, around at her disappointment and hatred and everything that was wrong with the world, her world, and turned her attention back to the tv. The reporter on the screen was beautiful, with long black hair and a voice the spoke of the horrors behind her in such a commanding tone. Ah! Lois smiled from ear to ear at the thought of being her.
One hour left. Lois started putting her plan in motion. She had braved the outside world to retrieve her plastic lawn chair from the balcony. Three stories up, she had looked down into the alley next to her apartment. It was grey and damp, a prophecy of what the weather would be like this morning. Lois was thankful she would not be here to "enjoy" it. She placed the lawn chair in the center of the room. The coffee table was flipped over, cans, cigarettes and all.
45 minutes left and Lois took a walk. Her first walk in three months. The balcony had been a test run; this was the moment of truth. She went to the corner store only a block away. There was no cashier and the window was broken. She felt at home stepping over the glass and product that littered the floor. She took what she needed. She nodded a friendly hello to a confused looter. Perhaps it was her unnerving smile or the way she walked with purpose, but he did not approach her to do as he did to the other woman he had met earlier that day. Lois had made an uneventful trip to the store and was now making her way back up to her apartment.
30 minutes left. Lois was out of breath at her doorstep. She paused and listened to the sound of her neighbors. She could not be certain if they were having loud sex again, or if he was killing her. She wondered if there were many like her plotting murder or if her state of mind colored everyone in the same light. She intended to kill the one she hated most, but could see how others might kill for enjoyment. She had thoroughly enjoyed the past 5 hours.
15 minutes left. Lois had practiced a bit of interior decorating. All of her furniture had been moved up against walls. The focal point of her labor was the lawn chair. She had opened the balcony blinds and let the feeble sunlight in. It was starting to rain.
1 minute left. Lois adjusted her necklace as she stood on her chair. It wobbled a bit, one of its legs resting precariously on the old can beneath it. She had concerns about the chair holding her weight but she supposed it would only have to do so for a few moments longer. Her trap was set. She surveyed her room and her master piece. It was a true work of art in her eyes. The count down on the tv began. Around the world, those who were awake were making preparations for the switch. She turned the fan on. She had timed how long it would take. She was calm, but the person who would inherit her body wouldn't be. The rope started to get tighter around her neck but she didn't struggle. If she lost her balance, all the fun would be ruined for her body's new owner and she wouldn't have a new life. A new body. One not hideous and unwanted.
It happened so fast. She was now sitting in a bathroom, facing a full length mirror. She felt sick to her stomach, but guessed that was all part of the body switching parcel. She found herself staring into dreamy blue eyes. The reflected man had dark hair and was shirtless. He was very handsome. What luck! Lois stood up to admire her new body. She stumbled. Something wasn't right. She felt even sicker. Her vision spun around and she had a burning sensation in her stomach. She looked at the bottle in her hand and screamed. She laughed. The bottle found its way across the room and into the mirror. The mirror shattered as Lois slumped to the floor, painful laughs turning into hiccups as tears streamed down her face. The bottle was a prescription for Vicodin. It was empty. It was genius.
|
President Petty paced around the oval office. It had been 9 hours and 55 minutes since the warning came and the technological anarchists had finally succeeded. Although no one knew who they were, everyone knew what they were capable of.
"Society is doomed," he thought.
Petty was on the phone with Harry Livingston, the prince of Whales, when the message came. As if all the other sound in the world were put on mute, a deep and stern voice boomed through the air and said "The Tribe of Technological Anarchists is informing you that in 10 hours time, your conscious mind will randomly be swapped with the conscious mind of someone else on earth. You will assume control over their body and their possessions. Everyone will be affected. Message over."
The world was used to these threats ever since the TOTA gained telepathic message transmission technology. Typically, they were idol and only meant to stir up fear and chaos in an otherwise mundane society.
A knock on the door startled Petty, and he reached for his pistol that was shoved between his belt on his lower back. He had Brent Myers bring him a standard order, Secret Service pistol, 2 hours after the message. It seemed that the people of Washington wanted answers. He could still hear them screaming around perimeter of the White House while the army kept them at bay. Petty wondered why the military still protected him. "Such mindless drones," he thought.
"Come in," Petty said sternly.
A tall slender woman with jet black hair tied tightly in a bun walked confidently into the room. She held a black leather briefcase in her right hand and a key in her left. She laid both onto the table before looking at the president.
"I know I shouldn't be questioning you, but are you sure this is what you have to do?"
Petty glared at her. It was so easy for her to question his choice. Billions of people will die at his hands and she isn't the one who will have to live with the consequences.
He gave her a quick nod and asked her to leave. He had 2 minutes until the swap and his timing was to be precise. The atomic clock stood on his desk counting downwards.
Growing up, Petty was born into poverty. His mother did her best to provide for them, but she died when he was young. The orphanages were modern day slave houses and he hated them. When he ran away for good, Petty finally saw people for what they were. A begging teenager was not fit for society and people ignored him. He despised the business men who walked by him in their Armani suits. He despised the shop keepers who wouldn't give him bread when he had barely enough energy to walk. He despised the police who harassed him when he was trying to sleep on the benches. Yet, over time he persevered.
Programming came easy to him. The public library was the one place he could go and not be bothered by the people of the world who so desperately wanted him to disappear. Years were spent with Petty closed off, perfecting his craft. He applied to a programming position with Ravene Military Systems and worked his way up for years before anyone in the government knew of his abilities. It was after programming the technology for the curving bullet that he received a call from commander Frile asking him to join the army. It was a long road from military programmer to the President of the free world, but he did it.
Petty opened the briefcase and inserted the key into the lock. A screen turned on with "Password:" appearing in the middle. Petty entered TOTA2v3atomtransfer#T-10execute into his keyboard.
The clock counted down... 10...9...8...7...6...
The elite would finally know what it was like to struggle. Business men, shopkeepers, law enforcement, lobbyists, oil tycoons, and people all over the world would have to start over. It is the great equalizer, Petty thought. He hoped he lived somewhere warm when his body was swapped. He hoped he was a kid again.
...5...4...3...2...1
Petty pressed enter and felt a tingle as the world faded to black. He woke up in a leaky shack with a Buddah statue sitting on the wall. "It could be worse," he thought as he remembered the orphanage. Everything was silent.
His surprisingly strong body walked outside as people all over the village tried to figure out who they now were. "Oh my god!," one man boasted. "I'm free!" Petty assumed he was in jail previously. It didn't matter now. Everyone in the jails would have to be released since they weren't the actual ones who committed the crimes.
Right then, a girl who looked no older than 7 came up to him. She spoke feverishly as she explained that she had cancer and needed her medication. Petty wanted to assure her that her cancer was now gone, but he didn't. He laughed. He laughed because no one else was and as the leader of TOTA, he liked it that way.
| 2014-05-17T12:05:00
| 2014-05-17T11:53:24
| 24
| 17
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore.
|
To you, whom I didn’t treat right, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry in a way that you may not even realize because it hurts me every day that I live I remember you. I remember not being the very best for you and that cracks me deep down, I don’t know how else to say it. I feel fractured because I wasn’t the best for you, and I wish so badly I could’ve been your superman, your hero, or at the very least your friend. You deserved and deserve so much more than I gave you and I pray you find a hero who will give you everything I didn’t. I made a choice through my inaction to not live to my fullest and treat you the best, I let you down. But please know that I honestly feel we are both better for it. Kintsukoroi means “golden repair”, essential we are better for having been broken and living past it, and I hope desperately that it will get better for you, or maybe it already has, I’m not sure. What I do know is that you are a beautiful entity, one the world sure could use more of, so go out and be more than who you were, because you are stronger now. You have your kintsukoroi, so it’s about time I get a move on with mine.
| 2017-11-05T23:19:05
| 2017-11-05T23:09:04
| 58
| 29
|
[WP] After lulling other countries into a false sense of security, Canada finally makes its move to conquer the world.
|
The signs were already there in 2016 if you had looked for it. But no one put it together. Only one article at the end of 2016 ran with the headline "Canada leads world in AI research." It was a short article, a mere 800 words was written by a rushed copywriter doing some SEO work for a company blog. He probably lived in the phillipenes and was paid $15 for it, and was one of a dozen he wrote that month.
In it, it noted that the pioneers of deep learning AI all came from one lab. Geoffrey Hinton's lab at the University of Toronto. All of the top researchers and engineers came from that lab or were affiliated with it. The top deep learning scientists at Facebook. Google. Amazon all had deep ties to professor Hinton and his lab. The article made the rounds as an interesting tidbit of trivia but was largely ignored.
Alarm bells would've gone off had such a concentration of talent come out of Moscow State University. Or from Beijing University. But no one suspected good ole' canada and the university of Toronto or Waterloo. Waterloo. It doesn't even sound like a serious university.
But June 3, 2021 the operation began using compromised servers at Facebook, Amazon, and most crucially, Google. It was an inside job. The networks were hardened against outside hackers but as we now know, if you had access to the right repositories and build systems inside Google, Amazon and Facebook there was little if any security. In addition, the actors were the most trusted engineers and researchers in the company, leading its most important work. In a few minutes, canada comandeered more than 70% of the then world's computing resources.
It brought the world of finance and all internet communication to a halt. Economies teetered on the edge of chaos as supply chains were disrupted and trade became next to impossible. Oddly, the more backwards a business was, the better it survived. But those were mom and pop shops that largely operated on pen and paper. The giants of industry relying on the latest technologies were all quickly brought to a standstill.
The demands to the heads of state were simple and surprisingly reasonable. Become a vassal of the canadian state. Pay 1% tax on your GDP. Nothing else changes. You get to keep your political system, your jobs and your society. Accept, and your citizens can resume their lives. Refuse and anarchy will destroy your society, and we will pick up the pieces.
One by one, prime ministers, heads of state, presidents bent their knee and became states in the Canadian empire.
We never knew how much we relied on the internet until that day.
|
"Captain Boudreau , pass me that there double double would ya?" I say to my commander.
"Get it your own darn self, I'm tryna finish my sour cream glazed," he says back. "Don't want any of my sticky fingurs gettin' on yer cup there, eh."
Boudreau is finishing his donut, flipping through an intelligence dossier. He's got the bombs ready to fly. He picks up his CB radio.
"Roger Roger, this HabsFanCommand coming in, you copy there?" He says.
"Ah by, loud 'n clear me by," said LeBlanc, the only Newfoundlander who's made it to this elite team of Canadian soldiers.
"Put down yer screech, and pull oof tha road would ya?" Said Boudreau. "We've just finished our Timmie's and are aboot to deploy the bombs."
"Eh by, this zamboni clearin' a mighty pace by, can't stop her now," he responds.
"Sir, I got a message from the president, says it's right important." I say to my commander.
"Tell him I'm occupied but please take a message would ya," he replies.
Our headquarters is full of deer jerky, cases of Alpine and Labbatt Blue. The entire conference table is full of bags of Roast Chicken Lays, and Tim Hortons donuts and coffee. We're set for righteous celebration when this all goes down.
"Private, can you pump up the Rush?" I am ordered. "We're aboot to rock n roll."
I press play on the CD player. Instead of Rush's Limelight that was supposed to queued up, it turns out Gowan's Moonlight Desires was next.
"Even betta rook," my commander says. "This takes me back to the time Loose Linda and I split a quart of Crown Royal after eatin' a mighty load of garlic fingers from Pizza Delight. She had donair stains on her titties for days young lad."
As my commander player air synth to Gowan he pressed deploy on the bombs. Our monitors lit up with explosions. LeBlanc's zamboni just ripped through the US border, they never saw it coming.
Incoming faxes to headquarters are stacking up with surrenders. In an unprecedented victory Canada is now the worlds number one and lone super power.
"Job well down boys, let's head her down to St. Hubert's and get fucked up!" Said Boudreau.
"Imma get blacked out tonight,
Woooo!" I scream.
As I let out my primal battle cry The Headpins smash hit Don't It Make Ya Feel comes out. We're going right bonkers.
| 2017-01-17T16:19:25
| 2017-01-17T15:57:23
| 27
| 14
|
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
|
"Alright, listen very carefully," Shinzo said. My ears raised up like his would at the sound of sausages hitting his bowl. Naturally I listened.
"You have two minutes to escape before your roommate comes home and kills you. I've been watching him for weeks and he's been planning your murder down to the smallest detail. Believe me, the cops won't even know who did it."
I swallowed dry saliva.
"Why would he kill me!" I yelled to my dog. The canine sat unworried on his hindlegs and looked at me with his big brown dog eyes.
"There's no time," he stood up and barked. "The best way out is through the balcony!"
"Shit!" my heart started racing. I ran over to the balcony door and slid it open. "Well come on let's go!"
"No. This is my fate," he said. I turned back to get him but his growl stopped me, "we have watched each other grow and have shared many things together. But I'm tired of running. I have lived a double life for too long now and I'm old and sick. Go on without me, friend. I will miss you... You have about 30 seconds......"
The questions mounted in my head. All I wanted was to hear my dog speak and maybe have a conversation with him. Now I was torn between the decision to leave my dog--my friend--to whatever fate awaited him and taking him with me to an uncertain life. What to do?
"GO!" he barked louder and meaner than I've ever heard him! I teared up, slid the door open and jumped out the balcony from the second floor.
As I ran out towards the street I saw my roommate's car pull up and park. He got out and walked decisively towards the apartment. The tears ran down my face now. I stopped. I couldn't leave my best friend all alone. Whatever was going to happen I'd defend him even if it meant my life.
I sprinted up the stairs and saw the apartment door half opened. I burst through ready to fight for both our lives. My roommate sat there stunned ready to swing. I lunged towards him ready to punch him out and save my friend. Just then Shinzo jumped from behind the counter and knocked both of us to the ground and ran towards the door.
"Haha, later suckers!"
Both of us sat up and looked at each other.
"What the hell man!" he said.
"What the hell with you!" I shot back.
"Dude did Shinzo just talk?" he asked.
"Yeah and he said you're planning my murder!" My roommate sat with a confused contorted look on his face. Just then I realize I've been duped.
Both of us get up and shoot for the door. And standing at the top of the stairs is Shinzo with what I imagine to be a grin on his big dog Collie face, taunting us to go after him. So we do. And as we're running after him all down the green hill behind the apartments I'm yelling out.
"What the hell dog! What are you doing?!"
And yelling from behind he keeps barking, "I live a quarter of what you live, and we never have fun anymore! You're always working! Come on chase me a little, let's have some fun!"
In that second, all anger for my dog melted away and I remembered the joy of having such a pure friendship. My roommate kept running after him happier than I've ever seen him.
"Dude, Shinzo is talking! That's so awesome!"
"Yeah I am awesome! So chase me assholes! Bet you can't catch me!"
We chased him and eventually caught up with him and for the little time we had we talked. For all three of us that was the best day of our lives.
|
"Alright, Listen VERY carefully, I've been trying to tell you this for months now, but there is something very dangerous lurking in the back yard. It's been stalking you for months, unseen, unheard by you and apparently.. and this is something I can't understand, unSMELLED by you. I love you human, but you've got to take this threat very seriously because it's going to strike now that it knows that you know that it's there. Please, let me out into the backyard and stay indoors until I scrape the window with my paw."
And with that, I let Mary out into the backyard, she immediately started sniffing around and growling as she always did when she was out doing her business. But this time, it gave me chills.
I got my dads old shotgun that I'd saved in case a bear or something ever came around. Sure I wasn't living in the sticks, but I wasn't exactly in the city either. The possibilities flitted through my mind, one more worse than the other. I loaded a couple of shells into it, cocked it and felt slightly more secure, I hadn't fired the thing in ages, but I still remember my instructors words "always keep your hand off the trigger until you're ABSOLUTELY sure you're going to fire at something"
But my trigger finger itched. Mary still hadn't come back after five minutes, so I decided to start looking for her. The underbrush was dense and the trees were pressing in on me from all sides.
I found her in a clearing a few minutes later, frantically digging at something in the ground, I kept my shotgun down towards the ground and slowly walked forward. The moon faintly illuminated the clearing as I got closer and closer to the growing mound of dirt that she was throwing up behind her, she was digging like mad and when she noticed me standing next to her, she stopped and barked at me and gave me a long look. Apparently the pill had worn off.
I looked into the hole she'd produced, there wasn't anything special about it, just dirt... and .. nothing else. Mary kept digging for a while, but then seemed to perk her ears at something. I resisted the urge to point my shotgun towards the bush she was staring at. Then she started walking slowly towards the bush and she growled in a way I'd never heard her growl before. Before I knew it, she'd rushed into it barking like a madman and I yelled at her to stop, but she was well beyond listening to me at this point. I heard her rusting through the underbrush and then.. a sharp whining sound from her and after that, silence.
I went absolutely crazy, I stormed through the threes, brushing them aside, not caring how they tore the skin on my face and my arms. MY DOG WAS IN DANGER! was all that was going through my mind and I kept my shotgun at the ready, intent on blasting whomever had hurt my dog into the world beyond this one. When I finally caught up with Mary, she was lying on the ground and she seemed so small for some reason.. I looked down at her.. and that's when I heard a branch snap behind me.
Before I knew it, it had struck the first of many devious blows at me. My leg was lost, there wasn't anything I could do but try to maintain my composure as I heard it voice it's satisfaction at me by going "meow, meow, meoooww" as it playfully bit into my leg. Mary woke up and barked at it, I told her shush and despite her protests, this was the night that Mister Assassin-Mittens came into our lives.
Mary still pretends to hate it, but I can tell she's loving it when it makes it's bed on her back when she's sleeping in her bed.
| 2017-02-23T05:53:42
| 2017-02-23T02:14:42
| 285
| 167
|
[WP] Dwight Schrute tries to get the Pawnee Parks Department paper account and he has to sell to Ron Swanson
|
[Ext. shot of car pulling into parking space. Dwight in driver seat, pauses before opening door.]
DS, narrated: So I made the trek to Pawnee, Indiana for a sale at their local government office. Should be a piece of cake in this quaint little town of suckers.
[Dwight enters the Parks almost empty bullpen, approaches April's desk.]
DS: Hello, miss, I am Dwight K. Schrute of Dunder Mifflin Paper Company and I have a meeting with a Mr. Ron Swanson.
AL: Well, you're just going to have to come back tomorrow. Ron isn't here.
DS: Oh, I don't think that's correct. We scheduled a meeting for 1pm, and it's...
[Dwight checks watch, glances around, turns around to confirm with wall clock above door]
DS: ...12:57pm. I believe I had spoken to you over the phone to set this meeting up.
[April blankly stares at Dwight. Dwight glances to the background and back to April's gaze.]
DS: Is that him over there?
[Camera pans to Jerry in background meticulously sorting paperclips by color and size.]
AL: Yeah, that's Ron.
DS: And he has a penchant for paper organization accessories. Perfect.
DS, aside: I always know how to break the ice on a sale.
[Camera follows Dwight swiftly approaching Jerry's desk.]
DS: Hello! Nice pa-
[Dwight gives Jerry a startling pat on the back, causing Jerry to fling the box, paperclips explode all over desk.]
JG: Awh, no! Clumsy me.
DS: Sorry about that, I'll help you clean this up.
[Dwight and Jerry pick up the paperclips. Dwight notices Jerry's notary documents and fountain pens.]
DS: So on top of running this place, you're a notary! How do you feel about your current legal paper supplier? Because I could show you my top quality, embossed legal stock that will blow your socks off.
[Dwight takes a packet of paper out of his briefcase. Jerry raises his glasses onto the bridge of his nose in intrigue.]
JG: Oh, wow, this is beautiful! My socks are off!
[Camera pans to Ron's window, blinds are pulled shut except one lifted pane, eyes peering out.]
RS, aside: Solicitors should be hung for preying on the weak.
|
*RING*
"Parks and Rec," mumbled April Ludgate into the receiver after waiting several rings.
"Hello, my name is Dwight Schrute with th...." *click*
*RING*
"Parks and Rec," droned the apathetic voice.
"Yes, hello. Like I was saying before we were disconnected," he said pointedly. "I am calling from Dunder Mifflin Paper Company. I wish to speak to Ron Swanson."
"He's unavailable for the next trillion weeks. Please call back never." *click*
Persistent as ever, Dwight continued this charade every third business day for the next 5 weeks.
"Parks and Rec," mumbled the usual voice.
"Hello, this is...."
"Listen, sir, you have an appointment for March 31st. Come whenever. " *click*
The day has come when Dwight K Shrute walks through the doors of Pawnee City Hall, set to arrive promptly at 0800. As he turns the corner, he is faced with a line of individuals.
"Excuse me, sir, what is going on here?" he asked while stepping up to the last man in line.
"Get in line if you are here to see Ron Swanson," he read off the sign that was at the front of the line. The letters scribbled with red markers across some sheets of paper taped together.
Dwight scoffs to himself. "That's the Midwest crap they call paper. This will be easy."
The line moves faster than expected. Dwight finally has made it into the Parks and Rec Department. A waifish young woman looked panicked as she was escorting people three at a time to a blonde lady and every so often to the man Dwight could only assume was Ron Swanson. Dwight puffed out his chest as though recognizing another alpha.
Dwight's attention was brought back to the young woman when he heard her voice. "As incompetent as she is thin, she would never be able to lift two bails of hay at once." It brought him joy to see the chaos filling her eyes as more people entered the office.
The three individuals in front of Dwight were escorted over to the office across the department. Dwight stood directly in front of Ron Swanson' s office. The doors swung open automatically. The previous appointment left and Dwight enter the rooms confidently.
Extending his hand to Ron who returned the gesture, Dwight noted the firmness of his handshake and the thickness of his mustache.
"Hello, Dwight K. Schrute. Dunder Mifflin Paper. I've had time to look around the place. Your paper is sub par and you are paying too much. Here are the numbers. They should be to your liking."
Ron peers down at the paper for a moment. "Send us your contract and our business is your. Have a good day, Mr. Schrute."
The doors opened automatically.
Dwight walked out of the office and had Michael on speed dial.
| 2018-09-12T10:47:23
| 2018-09-12T10:45:13
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it.
|
Ugh....I knew I should have skipped class today. I dont even know why I bother. I have to be the most unmagical kid in this whole mage school.
Of course everyone else is prepared. One by one cats, rats, a few dogs start to fill the room as they appear in everyone's circle. Others are busy making their summoning potions and pouring it into their circles. True to form I didnt even grab my backpack when I ran out of the dorms after hitting the snooze button on my alarm 15 times. What was I thinking when I picked spell casting 101 at 8am!
The only thing I did grab was a bag of sour cream and chives chips cuz mom always said "breakfast is the most important meal of the day". Ugh....was that a falcon?!?!. I shove my hands into my pockets in a last ditch effort for what? Maybe I have some mugwort I unknowingly stashed in my Jean's. Nope nothing more then lint and old candy wrappers. Wait! Hold the phone I may have just lucked out. My broken nub of chalk. At lest I'll get credit for the circle I think as I draw it out.
I look around and most of the class now has some sort of animal familiar standing with them. I can't get another zero...I look over at the bag of chips and then at the circle. Maybe I can talk Professor Higginbocker to give me partial participation credit.
I toss the chips in, mumble the summoning spell and.....theres a flash of light. I spin around and theres a HUGE white stag standing in front of me. Professor Higginbocker said that a familiar would reflect the spell caster but a stag! Leave it to teachers pet Marcus to summon a rare white stag.
"Kiss up" someone behind me says and I hear the unmistakable sound of a chip crunching. "Yeah" I agree and turn to see a 50 something, balding old man in a stained tank top, beer gut, pajama bottoms that have seen better days and flip flops. He gives me a nod and continues to eat my chips! I'm never gonna get partial credit now I groan. "Yeah sorry bout that" says the man. He wipes off his chip covered hand and on his tank top., spilling crumbs all in my circle....wait my circle. "Yeah I'm Berry, your familiar" he says as he holds out his hand for a fist pump.
|
“No! I can’t do this stupid spell!” I screamed and flailed my arms. I felt I had hit something on accident and turned to the large wobbly circle on the floor.
It was a bag of chips, half empty (or half full...), limited time flavour of dragon tail.
I was too lazy to pick it up, so I chanted the spell used to teleport an item into your hand.
It was the brightest light I had ever seen in my life. It was, though, a black light. “What have I done!?” I screamed.
Lightning struck the chips, even though it was in my room (Which was in the basement.) A strange gas started streaming out of the bag. “My chiiips! I was eating those!”
Suddenly, the light faded, and the gas ignited itself on fire. The fire, too, was black. “Whoooooooooooooooo suuuuuummooooooooneeeed meeeeeeeee?!” A silhouette called from the circle after the fire disappeared.
“Gah!” I jumped back and the thing reached down.
“Ooh, chips!” It started eating my chips. “Yum, dragon tail flavour!”
As the normal lights came back, I realized it wasn’t a monster, but instead it was a huge, fat, chunky, obese, overweight, plump, chubby, ample, tubby, big, stout human. “Who are you!?” I yelled and brandished my staff.
“Oh, hi there! I’m Glutthog of the fat clan!” It attempted to smile, but fell flat trying to do so.”And who are you?”
“I’m Elyna, the Necro-Mage.” I quickly said, then tightened my grip on the staff as Glutthog stood up.
“That doesn’t seem to be going well for you, as I’m not even mortal, let alone dead!” He said with a chuckle. His belly shook when he laughed.
“I- uh... I need to go to school, stay here, don’t make noise!” I said to him as I walked upstairs.
“Bring some cake when you’re back!”
“Fine!”
When I got home from school, I had a small sponge cake in my hand and my knapsack in the other. Glutthog was lying on the sofa in my room, as still as stone. I placed the cake next to him and watched as he shoved the whole thing down his throat with a very loud swallow.
“Delicious!”
| 2019-04-05T16:52:26
| 2019-04-05T15:46:22
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] After being told she had an accident and had "gone to heaven", his mind exploded in a white hot rage. 7 year old Roger wants his kitty back and God doesn't know what's about to hit him.
|
Roger Jr. knew three things.
1. He absolutely, unequivocally, was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back.
2. There was no way Heaven was better than the pillow fort he’d made to be Mr. Fluffypaws new home.
3. He’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted by screaming and crying, and this was NOT going to be any different.
He’d said as much to his parents this morning, though not quite in those words. The note he’d given them, slipped under their bedroom door and accompanied by a loud kick, had read like this:
*I want Mr. Fluffypaws. Mr. Fluffypaws was the best cat ever. He was orange and white and soft and mine. Please give me back Mr. Fluffypaws. If you dont give Mr. Fluffypaws back I will take the neighbors cat instead. Tommy and I trade cards sometimes. Maybe God will trade cats.*
*P.S. dont touch the pillow fort in the living room. Its for Mr. Fluffypaws.*
Roger had kicked the door a second time, just to be sure his parents were awake, and then gone back to his room. If he looked out the window just right he could see the neighbors' cat when they let it out into the backyard. It was black not orange and its paws weren’t nearly as fluffy, though if he’d petted the cat he’d have found the difference minuscule.
“Honey?” Roger Sr. had said after reading the note, “should we warn the neighbors?”
“Warn them about what? He’s not going to do anything. For God’s sake Rog, he’s seven!”
Roger Sr. frowned. She’d said that when the gold fish had died and look how that had turned out. “Maybe we should’ve been a little clearer about this stuff when Señor Scales died.”
“Señor Scales? You’re really going to bring up the fish? We had to do that!”
“Emma, he tried to light the couch on fire!”
“Operative word being ‘tried!’ Sometimes little boys are a lot!”
“Honey, I was a little boy! When my goldfish died I cried for a bit and then we got ice cream.”
The saga of Señor Scales had lasted more than a week and ended with a brand new Señor Scales that now floated in a larger bowl in the living room. Roger Jr. had spent nearly four hours picking the fish out at Petco, it had to be exact. Somehow, his father knew the fight for Mr. Fluffypaws would be worse.
“Let’s just get him another cat!” Emma turned away, throwing open the closet to get dressed. “It’s Saturday, we’re off. Mr. Fluffypaws was a tabby, how hard can that be?”
Roger Jr. heard no part of this of course. His room was at the far end of the hall and his parents, as ever, spoke of him in hushed tones. He was a force of nature and knew it, even though he didn’t yet know what a force of nature was. He knew what he wanted, he knew he would get something similar if he pushed hard enough.
Visions of Señor Scales Jr. flashed through his mind, superimposing themselves over the neighbors’ cat as they let it out. Señor Scales Sr. had larger fins, he swam with more vigor. It had taken him days to notice that but he still had.
Mr. Fluffypaws would be different. Already, Roger Jr. could see how the neighbors’ cat behaved differently, moved differently. It didn’t seem to meow nearly as often, when it waved its tail the symbols it drew weren’t definitive enough, it didn’t have…didn’t have…
Didn’t have *it.*
Mr. Fluffypaws had it. No other cat would. They’d all be like Señor Scales Jr., fakes, unfit to bear the name. No, what he needed wasn’t the new cat he knew his parents would get him. He needed the old one, exactly the old one. Roger shut his window loudly, kicked his parents' door again as he passed it, and with the kind of ductility only a seven year old could muster, he changed the three things he knew.
1. He absolutely, unequivocally, was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back.
2. There was no way Heaven was better than the pillow fort he’d made to be Mr. Fluffypaws new home.
3. Heaven hadn’t budged when Señor Scales died. Maybe Hell would.
Now, being seven years old and not even a particularly devout seven, Roger Jr. had little actual idea of hell. He’d heard the word of course, he knew that he wasn’t supposed to say it but sometimes did, knew that it was a place bad people went.
He also, however, had watched a few episodes of *Supernatural* last week when Grandma had fallen asleep on the couch and his parents weren’t home. He’d seen how they talked about Hell, in hushed, frightened tones. It was a place with power. People made trades there, like he and Tommy traded cards, like he’d wanted to trade neighbors’ cat.
Heaven hadn’t bargained for Señor Scales though, and he’d tried. He’d prayed at least three times, in between screaming and crying.
Roger Jr. didn’t know how to contact Hell. He’d seen it done once on the show last week but that had taken candles and a funny shape on the floor. He didn’t have candles, but he did know where his parents hid the matches. He didn’t remember what the shape was either, but maybe that wouldn’t matter. It seemed like the important bits were the candles and the trade.
Walking downstairs, Roger Jr. grabbed the matches, a piece of yellow construction paper, a sharpie, and Señor Scales Jr.’s new larger bowl. Placing them all in the center of his pillow fort, the one that Mr. Fluffypaws absolutely WOULD live in, he got down to the serious business of writing a letter to Hell.
*Dear Mr. Devil,*
*My cat Mr. Fluffypaws died. Mom and Dad will get me a fake Mr. Fluffypaws just like the fake Señor Scales. I don’t want a fake. I want Mr. Fluffypaws back. Please help me.*
*-Roger Jr.*
*P.S. I dont have a stamp. Please take this.*
Roger stared down at the note in satisfaction, it would work, it had to. Then, without so much as glancing at Señor Scales Jr., Roger grabbed the bowl and upended it, dumping the flopping fish out onto the pillow fort’s floor. He grabbed the matches next, tried and failed to strike one, tried and failed to strike a second, and then near to screaming, succeeded on striking the third.
He burned the note right there in the pillow fort, letting the ashes fall on the fish.
He was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back. There would be no fakes this time, no fish with the wrong fins, no cats whose tails didn’t make the right shapes. Hell was going to respond. They would respond, wouldn’t they? They responded on the show. They totally would, they—
A large man with ruby red skin poofed into existence across from him in the pillow fort. He wore a sharp, pinstriped suit and had a long thin tail that curled around one ankle, its triangular point flicking back and forth in the air.
“Kid,” the man said, gesturing around the pillow fort “I’ve got no idea what in the Hell you were thinking with all this, but that was the weirdest request we’ve gotten all week. You should see the big guy down there, I bet he’s still laughing!”
The match burned low in Roger’s hand and he dropped it. It hissed out in the puddle on the floor.
“What, cat got your tongue? Or is that the problem, that it doesn’t anymore? No matter kid, we’ll fix you up right.” The man leaned in, a smile splitting his face from pointed ear to pointed ear. “Say, can I interest you in a trade?”
r/TurningtoWords
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mq77z5/wp_after_being_told_she_had_an_accident_and_had/gufrpay?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
edit: since everyone is enjoying this so much, maybe check out my other weird story about [a cat that became a dragon](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/comments/ltpa89/the_weird_saga_of_the_cat_that_became_a_dragon/), or this narration of it by [Lighthouse Horror](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0E4XO4E9Sk&t=7s)!
|
Dear Lucifer Morningstar,
This wasn't supposed to happen. Not so early. When I made my successor and sent him to earth to live as a human, just as my father had with me, I didn't suspect he'd already have this much power this early on! He followed the Soullink between him and his stupid cats soul all the way here. He found her but quickly discovered he couldn't take her home. Then promptly asked who was in charge here. At least that's how Michael tells it.
I can't freckin believe uriel told him! Now he knows that it's me and he's looking all over for me. I heard he's destroying the place faster than the cherubs can fix it! I have no other choice but to confront the angry child. When he goes back to earth well have to weaken him once he falls asleep. Assuming he still need it to sustain his body. Wish me luck aunt Luci. As per our arrangement, if I don't have a successor and I am terminated you get heaven and hell. Which I'm sure won't be two big of an issue with you being married to ain't Hades. The two of you can manage. All I ask is that my soul is reincarnated as a human again and that I am raised by a nature loving family. I'm off to subdue my terrifying child. Again, please wish me luck. Praying will do no good this time.
Sincerely,
Your beloved niece, J.
| 2021-04-13T12:58:24
| 2021-04-13T11:57:07
| 1,323
| 55
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[WP] Humans have - by a very large margin - the longest lifespans of all intelligent life in the universe. You are a human student at a multi- species college, and you / your friends are just realizing that compared to them, you are an ancient being.
e.g., individuals of all other intelligent species live, like, a year or so, making a 20-year-old human the equivalent of a 2000-year-old being in terms of lifespans (assuming a 100 year base lifespan). Near the beginning of humanity's entrance into the galactic community, you are one of the first humans in an inter-species college. It has just dawned on your group of alien friends how old you are / just dawned on you how young your group of alien friends are.
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"How long!?"
I shifted uncomfortably under the combined gaze of my study group friends. The Drû who posed the question, either Klrdt or Bill (I could never tell the two apart) quirked one eye-stalk in a way that my new student orientation class told me was disbelief.
"Errm, three years, I think? I don't really know."
My affirmation sent them all into paroxysms of... something. Maybe laughter? The Drû waggled their eye-stalks jovially at least. 'Mike' clacked his mandibles in what I hoped wasn't a menacing way. That Sh'gopy flashed a kaleidoscope of colors, while Froln remained as impassive as ever.
"Well," I say defensively, "what's it like right after *you're* born or hatched or whatever?"
"We usually have breakfast and then a nap." Mike somehow managed to clatter out. "It *is* tiring work, chewing out of your own cocoon. But luckily, breakfast is right there. Do you not eat your birthing sack?"
"Well, humans give live birth so..." I trailed off, but suddenly realized that I needed to be a little more explicit. After all, Sh'goppites *do* devour their mothers. "No, we can't eat solid foods for about a year."
The Sh'gopy's translation device chirped in high pitch English, "how long does your larval stage last, then?"
I shrugged, avoiding it's gaze. Something about those giant multifaceted eyes just freaked me the hell out.
"It's, err, not really a larval stage, per se," I began. "We just develop really really slowly. Heck, a human child can't even lift it's own head for the first six months or so."
"Ridiculous, "said Froln. The massive, tentacular hair ball wiggled a little further away. "Mike set out for this University the moment he awoke from his nap. Drû reach sexual maturity in hours. Sh'gopittes join their herds the moment they can stand. I myself still have remnants of my Birthgiver upon my coat."
I gaped at them all. I knew that the longest lived, the Drû, has a max life span of about eight years, but I never considered what that ment for their development.
"We don't reach sexual maturity for a decade and a half" I mutter, more to myself than to my study mates. "And we aren't considered adults until we're eighteen."
'Mike' clacked his mandibles at that. "And all this time we thought your kind had, I don't know, 'the wisdom of the ancients.'"
"So that's it then... All that wasted time." 'Bill' pulled his eye-stalks closer to his head, the equivalent of a human shaking his head. "I can't believe it took you three years to learn to shit in a bucket."
Edit: spelling
|
'You're *how* old?!'
'Twenty-two years,' I repeated in surprise. 'What's the problem?'
'Sorry, twenty-one *years*?' said Ma'thask, her multi-faceted eyes glittering in the light. 'As in, Earth years?'
'Yeah,' I said. 'But why are you acting so shocked?'
'Her natural life-span is roughly fifteen of your Earth years,' interjected Kka from my other side. I turned to look at him. He was a Parlanian, a race of short humanoids with black carapaces and prodigious intelligence. His silvery eyes reflected a distorted reflection of my face like a pair of mirrors.
'What do you mean, natural life span?' I said.
'A Constalii like Ma'thask can only live to a maximum of around fifteen years before expiring from old age,' said Kka. 'She has at most five more years to live without upgrading to a digital consciousness.'
I looked back to Ma'thask, who was looking at her long-fingered hands sadly. 'Is that right?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said eventually. 'I may only look as old as you, but I am nearing the end of my life. In less than half an Earth decade, I will have to make the choice of whether to upload my consciousness into a computer or not. You, on the other hand, say you are young for your species, yet you are older than I will ever be naturally.' She paused. 'How old do you live to?'
I grimaced. 'Most humans live to about seventy on average.'
She gasped. 'You are practically immortal, then, compared to me.'
I shook my head. 'I'm sorry, Ma'thask,' I said. 'I didn't realise...'
'It's okay,' she said, looking back up at my face. 'It's not like I won't be able to remain around in some form. It's just that, it feels like nature has dealt you humans a much better hand in life.' She smiled a small smile. 'But it does teach us one important lesson.'
I raised an eyebrow. 'And what's that?'
'My society is one of the most advanced in the galaxy,' she said. 'We have vastly superior technology, culture, and quality of life.' She looked at us both.
'Don't you see?' she said. 'It's not about how long you've got. It's about what you do with the time that is given to you.'
At that moment, our lecturer walked into the hall. I smiled to myself as I opened my digital notepad. Ma'thask was certainly right.
| 2015-02-28T15:46:45
| 2015-02-28T12:46:10
| 141
| 95
|
[WP] A mountain climber near the summit of Mt Everest discovers the body of a man holding a note. The note explains that Mt Everest isn't actually a mountain at all.
|
I took this prompt in a slightly different direction than OP intended I think. Hope you all like the results!
It is largely considered one of the most dangerous obstacles a person can undertake. In a remote part of the world, populated by farmers and nomads who have yet to see the technological revolution, a mountain stands beyond all others. Tibetans call it Chomolangma, "mother goddess of the world." At almost 9,000 meters it is the highest mountain in the world. Everest. The name has become synonymous with impossible, titanic, or even insurmountable. Over 200 people have died trying to climb to the peak. Frozen corpses embedded in snow warn those who would try the same. Even animals don't tread at the highest points, as oxygen becomes too thin for life.
Men were not meant to go there. But, all the same, I have endeavored to ignore such thoughts.
Months of training have conditioned my body for the harsh cold and thin oxygen. I've alerted the officials in the Nepal government, hired a guide, and spent the last five days fluctuating between shivering and sweating. It was five days of uninterrupted focus. Carelessness would result in failure of task and possibly a failure to remain alive. But my guide was kind, and our steps were determined. Day after day of wind, cold, and rock. Surrendering never entered my mind. Each step I took felt like another little victory over the mountain. These steps were points of conquering the impossible, and each one was a testament to my will.
On the sixth day we approached the summit. Above even the clouds, it was hard not to feel godlike as I looked down on the mass of rock I have scaled. It was not impossible. It was titanic, but not insurmountable. The peak was covered in the flags of men and women who had been here before. Nealy every country I could think of was here; other testaments to will.
But there was something I was not expecting; a corpse. I had seen a fair amount on the trek, but not many this close to the top. Even stranger was his position. It was sitting, legs crossed, and appeared to be staring back down the mountain. In its clenched frozen fist was a piece of paper. Wanting to give this person the recognition they deserve for their feat, I began to search for identification; starting with the paper.
It read:
"Congratulations,
You have toiled to do what many called impossible. Through willpower and sweat, you are here among the elite few to ever lay eyes on this place. You were told the challenge was too much, and turned to prove them wrong.
What do you see here friend? Do you see the result of man's unyielding ability to persevere? Indomitable strength of the body?
What you see is nothing friend. This place is home to few creatures, and a man can not raise a family here. It is a cold, lonely corner of the world we have dedicated our efforts to, because it is taxing on the body and therefore worthwhile. But difficulty does not always breed value my dear friend. What have you gained by setting foot here? Will you be loved more? Revered by your peers? Labeled special and unique?
You were all these things and more before you ever climbed a mountain. You deserve love, and respect, and pride without this frozen landscape. She is not a testament to your achievements, but a distraction from where your focus truly lies. Here you have no friends or family. The mountain only gives you the threat of death and hardship.
The mountain is nothing other than a pile of earth we have deemed valuable, when true value should be placed elsewhere.
I was taken by this mountain by choice. Standing at the zenith, I felt no more happiness than when I had climbed. I stare back down this path and realize I have nothing to go back to. My life has been an abandonment of the true hardships that bring value to life like love, hope, and compassion. This isolated pile of rock was my distraction from a life lived unfulfilled.
Go home friend. Tell your loved ones about this journey, then move on. Live your life surrounded by love, not ice and rock.
If you worry for my remains; do not. There is no one below who cares to claim my corpse. Please return this letter to my persons as to allow other climbers to read it.
With all the love I can summon, travel home friend."
|
I found the note in the man's hand. It was about a days hike from the summit, and it was found off the side of the trail. I hate to use the term "it", but there's so many bodies on the mountain they lose identity. The bodies are now simply pollution on the mountain. I was scared, startled and bothered by the first one. Now, now they don't bother me.
It's almost as if the mountain is alive and the climbers are tributes to a slumbering god. The sherpas use the bodies as markings along the trail to ensure we're on the right path. They also tell us that we can easily end up like them if we aren't careful, I'm trusting these men with my lives much like these climbers did, or didn't.
The note was faded and dated to 1972. The ice was thick, but you could still read it. I pulled the note from the man's hand. I had hoped it was a letter to his family, his friends, his loved ones. It was my duty to bring this note home.
It read...
"To whomever finds my body,
My name is Samuel Wright and I come from Essex London. The date is the 7th of July, 1972. My expedition failed. I tried to trek the mountain alone with a single sherpa despite the warnings of other climbers. We encountered an avalanche. My sherpa has died. My leg is broken and I cannot move further. By the time night falls, I will be dead.
Respect this mountain. Respect its power. Respect its existence, for it isn't a mountain but a god. It is a god of life and of death. It brings awe and horror. Do not underestimate it.
Please tell my family I love them and I died doing what I love.
Sincerely,
Sam"
I took the note and put it in my pocket as the sherpas call out to us.
| 2014-08-24T07:39:01
| 2014-08-24T05:04:42
| 181
| 21
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[WP] The finale of international chess tournament takes place. Two grandmasters sit in front of each other in ultimate showdown. The thing is nobody knows that both of them got here by cheating. First is a mind reader and second one has an ability to see the future.
|
Frank smirked. They were only a few moves in, but the match might as well have been over. Frank had the gift of foresight, the ability to see fifteen moves in the future. When he wasn’t fighting crime, he was sweeping the chess world off its feet. His rise to chess stardom was meteoric, thanks primarily to his impeccable intellect, although admittedly the whole seeing-the-future thing didn't hurt either.
It wasn’t cheating, at least not as Frank saw it. Didn’t all chess grandmasters have the ability to see many moves ahead? Sure Frank was better at it, but that just meant he was better at the game itself.
Here, he had already sussed out the precise set of moves needed to win. He had played the Queens Gambit opening, Phil would decline the gambit, and then he would—
Oh. Phil *accepted* the gambit. Interesting. No matter, the future wasn’t an exact science. There was always that damn wildcard, *free will.* He just needed to recalibrate. Maybe continue the gambit, and move queen to d-4? No no, Phil would play the appropriate counter. Instead, Frank moved pawn to e-3 and played it safe. Now Phil would reinforce with pawn to—
What the hell? Knight to f-6?! Of all the possible futures that was the one he had assessed as *least* likely.
Frank shook his head and smiled to himself. This would be an easier game than he had expected. Phil was unpredictable because he was utterly incompetent—he had no idea what he was doing.
How someone so unremarkable had made it this far, Frank didn’t know.
On the other hand... if Phil was playing by the seat of his pants, Frank's gift wouldn't help him. For the first time, he would need to rely purely on skill. Any other round, that wouldn't have been an issue. But now... the eyes of the world were on him. This match would be dissected and analyzed for years to come. What if someone noticed a radical change in his play style? What if they made the connection and realized he was the Great *Futurio,* Protector of Justice?
It was a risk he could not take. Especially not with his nemesis, Psychotorio, still at large.
--------
Phil cracked his knuckles. They were only a few moves in, but the match might as well have been over. Phil had the gift of true empathy—the ability to perfectly intuit an opponents thoughts and actions. When he wasn’t masterminding evil plots, he was crushing the chess world to a fine powder. His rise to chess stardom was cataclysmic, thanks to his gift and the cunning resourcefulness needed to use it.
It was *definitely* cheating, and Phil loved every moment of it. Anyone would have cheated if they could—Phil was just better at it, and therefore, the game itself.
Here, he had already sussed out his opponents precise strategy and the exact moves he would least expect. He knew Frank was expecting Queens Gambit Declined, so he played Queens Gambit Accepted. Now, Frank would follow through on the gambit and play queen to—
Oh. Frank changed his mind and played it safe, moving pawn to e-3. What the hell? That wasn't right, Phil had read his mind and queen to d-4 was his plan the whole time!
Phil shook his head and smiled to himself. This would be an easier game than he had expected. Frank was unpredictable because he lacked conviction—he was overcome with self doubt.
For his next move, Phil played what Frank expected least—knight to f-6. The moment he played it, he was blown away by the confusion emanating from the other side of the table. Frank was doubting every move, flipping back and forth so fast Phil couldn't keep track of any line of thought.
Phil realized in that moment that Frank's indecisiveness was so strong he would be unable to intuit any more of Frank's moves. For the first time, he would need to rely purely on skill. That couldn't happen *now,* during a match that would be studied for years to come! What if someone noticed the change in playstyle and made the connection that he was the Feared *Psychotorio,* the Mind Crusher?
It was too risky. Especially with Futurio hot on his trail.
Frank and Phil locked eyes, each of them suddenly nervous. "Draw?" they asked simultaneously.
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
“Sergei.”
“Albert.”
“Both men have taken their seats here at the 2022 World Chess Championship. We have Sergei Topalov, the challenger from Russia versus the Irishman, Albert McNamara. Topalov offered a handshake, McNamara merely grinned and nodded.”
The announcer’s voice reached out to a hundred thousand spectators, slithering in through their headphones and speakers, wrapping them up in an iron vise of tranquility. He sounded like a man for whom golf was too exciting, like someone whose favorite color was beige and who only drank decaf because he ‘liked the flavor.’
From where he sat on the main floor, reclined only a few feet away from a man who called him his bitterest rival, Albert McNamara couldn’t hear a word the announcers said. At least not with his ears. Instead what he got was worse. A full, first person rendering of the inside of the skull of the most boring man alive, an announcer that he would have kept on mute every time if he had ever entertained the slightest interest in watching a chess match.
*“Cheating again, Albert?”* the words floated loudly to the top of his opponent’s thoughts. In his mind Sergei imagined himself a great bear, bellowing the words like challenge at his nemesis. Albert thought it was a bit cliched.
“Of course,” Albert said with the barest inclination of his head. They’d been playing this game for years now, they both knew how it went. To the rest of the chess world Sergei was an intimidating giant of a man, brash in the presence of lesser chess players, frighteningly, lethally silent when sitting across from Albert. In contrast the Irishman was thought to be an eccentric madman, talking to himself, asking questions aloud which Sergei never answered, laughing at jokes nobody told. It suited them both to let the vermin think such things.
“They haven’t touched a piece yet,” the boring announcer said. “This is actually quite common for their games, this particular match-up plays out as an exceedingly high level mind game, both men thinking farther and farther ahead of each other.” He took a breath, offering his partner a space to work.
“That’s right Jim,” she said. Albert perked up for a moment as the other caster began speaking. At least her mental tone had some life. “Some say the McNamara-Topalov match-up leads to the most complex chess games ever played, although critics have described their endings as ‘a fireworks show without substance.’ Personally, I fall somewhere between those two extremes. Their styles are so shockingly different, Topalov’s muscular, aggressive approach contrasting with the endless baits of his oppo—”
“Ah! Sorry to interrupt, Anna. McNamara has just made the first move!”
Down at the board Albert had indolently reached out, pushing a random pawn a single space forward with his index finger. Across the table a red vein throbbed in Sergei’s forehead, pulsing as if in response to the motion.
“What do you see today, old friend?” Albert said, leaning forward. He crossed his right leg over his left, sweeping his jacket back and cupping his chin in his hand. Albert glanced into Sergei’s mind and chuckled. “Ahhh, one of those. That is a good choice.”
*“Stay out of my head,”* Sergei thought back. He reached down, moving a pawn in response. “You’re trash McNamara, you’d never win without your petty tricks.”
“Nor you without yours,” Albert said softly. “Glass houses, friend.”
*“I’m not your friend.”*
Albert flashed him a lopsided smile and a wink. “That’s ok. You don’t have to be.”
*“Leave her out of it,*” Sergei thought back.
“Two moves in and McNamara is already talking up a storm! What do you make of that, Anna?”
“Well Jim, I think McNamara is trying to assert himself. He’s playing up his own confidence, forcing Topalov to accept this strange inversion of his normal table-side dynamic. The more interesting aspect to me is why the Russian bears his silence so willingly…”
Albert tuned the announcers out again. They were a distraction, nothing more.
“Serrrrgeiiii,” Albert called in a singsong voice, stretching out the syllables like a child might. The Russian twitched angrily. “We both know how this ends, you better than me even. We have our gifts after all. Tell me, has my line changed again?”
Albert reached out towards Sergei’s mind. He could feel him assembling hasty walls around the core of his being, trying to hide the vision of the future that his own superhuman power gave him. Albert waltzed confidently into his mind, whistling as he did it. He plucked the vision as if it were an apple from a tree.
“Sergei! That still?” Albert sensed the announcers jump, even the uncommonly boring one. He’d said the words too loudly but he’d been surprised, and for a psychic that feeling was rare. “You might want to get therapy, it’s been so long since I did that! I say that as a friend of course, I’m concerned for you.”
"*Stop speaking, little man."* Sergei reached out, moving another piece. Albert grabbed a knight and moved it without even looking down. The board didn’t matter.
“Jim, look at Sergei!” the announcers said. “He’s nearly shaking and they’re what, five moves each? This looks like it could be another short one.”
“I hope it’s not,” the boring announcer said. “It amazes me that they haven’t both been banned with the way these things go. I’m scared of what it does to the game’s image.”
“Like it or not, it does bring chess into the public eye. Wait, Jim, look at that! Something is happening!”
At Sergei’s hands shook. He reached for a piece, lifted it, dropped it, and lifted it again. Albert glanced into the man’s mind. Sergei had been replaying his vision over and over, the last unbroken part of his mind keeping up a morbid counter. 192, 193, 194, and ever time it flashed by Sergei’s subconscious showed himself one more image of his past.
“You know it’s nothing personal, right?” Albert said. For a moment his confidence and his bluster faded away and he simply took in Sergei like a man, a desperate, cornered man. Veins bulged across his forehead and biceps, his fist was white knuckled around the specially made, reinforced pieces he played with. There was spittle collecting at the corner of his mouth and rage mingled in his eyes with something else. Albert reached back into the man’s mind, searching for the shard of something he saw.
It was love that bled into those eyes. Sergei had actually grown to love the game in the time since his other great passion had been stripped away.
Albert exhaled heavily, smiling sadly at his opponent. “I’m sorry old friend,” he said. “It really is just business. It was back then too.”
“Don’t say it.” Sergei squeezed the words out through teeth that had been ground shut. It was the first time he’d spoken since they sat down.
Albert closed his eyes and relaxed his body, accepting what was to come, just as he had all those times before. “Sergei,” he said. A spike of pain drove itself through the other man’s chest. “Your wife is a—”
Sergei’s fist connected with Albert’s jaw at what felt like the speed of light, snapping his head back and sending him off to a dreamland of World Championship Victories that tried to fill an empty life. He was out before his head hit the ground.
Sergei stood over his nemesis’ body, huffing loudly, his eyes wild. He reeled back for another strike as the security team ran in.
“People please!” the boring announcer said, throwing back his chair as he stood and shouted for what might genuinely have been the first time in his entire life. “Please! This isn’t a chess boxing match!”
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-03-16T19:16:21
| 2021-03-16T18:52:10
| 2,434
| 126
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[WP] Instead of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, the three major religions to make it to the 21st century were the Greek, Roman, and Norse pantheons.
I'm not disregarding any other large or small religion (Hinduism, Buddhism etc) , mind you. Include them or some other alternate if you wish.
Edit: Great responses so far! As I stated, these three are expected to take the place of C/J/I, and there are plenty of other religions out there both larger and smaller. I chose these three because they are all monotheistic and connected (Abrahamic religions). Thanks!
|
The coffee shop was a bit full this morning, as per usual. Customers chatted amongst themselves, making it hard for me to watch the news, well it would've if there weren't subtitles.
It went on about political disagreements, one side saying that applying Roman standards to a secular system is limiting to those who don't follow the Gods. The opposing party was quick to bring up that entire government was inherently Roman, although with a couple changes. I took a sip of my coffee as I began to finish up my reports.
A man sat down next to me. I continued typing, not paying him any heed, occasionally taking swigs.
He said something that I couldn't quite understand. I took out my headphones. "What?"
"Stupid political bullshit going on huh?" He repeated.
I shrugged. "Not really. I think it's quite nice to take into account those who don't follow Jupiter and... whoever else is with him. We're becoming a more atheistic society and it's great to see the government conform to it."
He laughed. His grey tank top which clung to his body and his short blonde hair which was incredibly wet, bounced with his laugh. On his right tricep was a tattoo, a laurel crown surrounding the letters SPQR. "We've had these traditions for two millennia and the've been doing just fine."
"The traditions you celebrate now are not similar to those at the beginning." I turned back to my laptop. My left hand started to finger my pendant. "May I remind you that Latin is a dead language."
His face when solemn. He was speechless for a moment, trying to think up a response. He then noticed my necklace. "May I remind you that you have a dead god."
My hand froze. I probably should've seen that coming. I had a habit of fidgeting with the necklace when I was a bit agitated. It always drew attention.
"Yeah that got you to shut up."
"I wasn't the one who started this conversation."
"And I wasn't the one who started shitting on another's religion."
"I was simply pointing out that no matter what, things change. If you'd like I could've said early Greek is dead too." I closed my laptop and stood up.
He clenched his jaw. "One thing hasn't changed though, and that's Christianity is still under the foot of Rome."
|
"Check. So, how have your classes been?"
"Ugh, it's been absolute Hades. I have this one professor who's *super* Norsaphobic," Joshithos says as he moves his Centurion.
"Really? How so?" Drafus asks, moving his Praetor up.
"Like, we're supposed to be learning statistics, and he just goes off on rants about how if we don't close our borders the terrorists are gonna send in suicide bombers and shit."
"Ah. A Trumpicus supporter then."
"You know it. Speaking of which, did you hear about Mercurymons? Their spokesperson denounced Trumpicus. I mean, how the Hades does a Republican candidate lose the Mercurymons vote?"
"Well I mean, he also tried to pick a fight with the High Priest of Jupiter, remember? When the HP said we should build roads instead of walls?"
"Yeah."
"It's not really that surprising that he's ticked off pretty much the entire Roman pantheon."
"I guess. It's just kind of sad, is all. The person who's going to be President deserves to be in jail."
"Yeah, but if she was, we'd be stuck with an even worse President."
"True enough." Joshithos grins and takes Drafus's Empress with his Praetor. "Looks like I might win this one."
"Don't be so sure. Checkmate," Drafus declares, moving his Fortress down next to the Emperor.
"Huh. Well shit."
"Better luck next time, buddy."
"Yeah, yeah. By the way, what are you doing for Saturnalia?"
"Not much, I think. What about you?"
"I'm Greek. I don't celebrate Saturnalia."
Drafus rolls his eyes. "I know that, I'm asking what you'll be doing for Dionysia?"
"Well you should've said so."
"Ugh, forget it. Remind me not to send you a present."
The two friends look at each other and laugh. Little did they know it was the last time they would laugh together. For the next day, a Norse terrorist killed 23 people in a crowded mall before being taken down by security officers. Drafus was one of the 23.
| 2016-10-28T08:24:27
| 2016-10-28T08:13:02
| 18
| 13
|
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea.
|
*I can quit*, Anna realized. She had never enjoyed her line of work--as a teenager, being a barista seemed like a fun, cool idea. But from the day she first started working there, her perspective had quickly changed. She wasn't much of a people person in the first place, and the added stress of the fast-paced yet unrewarding environment was slowly driving her miserable. At twenty four, she already had a few subtle streaks of grey frosting her brown hair.
Anna had never considered quitting to be an actual possibility--she worked out of necessity. She had an apartment, student loans, and a very small dog named Doodle who racked up very big veterinary bills. If she quit on the spot, she'd have no way to afford to even stay in the city, let alone keep her dog. But that had recently changed.
At first, Anna hadn't thought much about the Basic Income Act. With her constantly rotating schedule, she barely had enough time to sleep, let alone take the time to read up on new policies or go out and vote. But just yesterday, her first check had arrived. It hit her that evening that she actually had *options*.
Doro poked his head out from the back room. "Anna, there are customers waiting," he called out. "You can daydream on your break."
Anna jerked out of her reverie, striding toward the front counter. "Sorry about that!" she smiled. The customer rolled his eyes, shoving his credit card in her hands before he even ordered.
"I'd like a venti espresso, quickly please," he snapped.
*That's not how espresso works*. Anna kept her smile plastered on, responding in what her boyfriend liked to call her "customer service voice."
"Sir, did you want a latte, a cappuccino, or just plain shots of espresso?"
The customer rolled his eyes again. "What did I *say*??"
It took all her patience for Anna to last the rest of the day, but she didn't want to leave her coworkers shorthanded. And Doro, while he was a bit out of touch with his employees, still didn't deserve to be quit on in the middle of the shift. But when her hours were finally up, Anna walked out of the coffee shop for good.
At home, she snuggled up on the sofa with Doodle, browsing job listings online. "We're gonna have to cut back on our spending a bit sweetie," she mumbled to him. "I know that what little we get with the new act isn't much, but it's enough to get by on. We'll be just fine until I find some new work."
Though she had looked before, job listings had never been as plentiful as they were now. And this time around, she actually had the time to fill out applications and schedule interviews. She took a deep breath, found a listing she actually liked, and clicked "Apply now."
-----
*I can leave*, Eva realized. She had only turned eighteen three months ago, but since she was a legal adult, the Basic Income Act applied to her just as much as it did her parents. Her first check had arrived two days before. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to find her own place, a tiny apartment of some sort, and start looking for work without the worry of having to run back home.
Eva loved her parents, and she knew they loved her, but they had never understood nor approved of the choices she made. She wanted to tell them the truth, but she just didn't feel comfortable doing that until she could support herself, and not worry about how they might restrict her in the name of "her own good."
"What are you doing?" her mother called across the room. She was always asking what Eva was up to, in a joking tone, as if the answer didn't really matter.
"Just playing some dumb games," Eva smiled back. She looked back down at her screen and continued browsing the local housing listings.
A week later, Eva had finally finished moving her stuff. She had dinner planned that evening with both of her parents. Her mother had been acting heartbroken the last few days, and her father angry. He said moving out was a stupid decision when they could support her through university without her having to work. Eva already knew that.
Exhausted, Eva abandoned her unpacked boxes and wandered downstairs, out the doors of her new, run-down apartment and across the street to a coffee shop. A flyer hung in the window: NOW HIRING.
*Well, I've got to get some sort of job soon*, she thought to herself. *I can barely afford to eat on the BI checks.*
Eva was pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere in the shop. It was cozy and cute, just the sort of place she used to like hanging out in with her high school friends. She had always been a people person, and had wondered what it was like to work at one of those places. And so close to her new home? It was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. She waited in line, then approached the counter hesitantly.
"Umm, I was wondering if you guys were still taking applications?"
The young man behind the counter nodded. "Yeah. Actually we're sort of short-handed right now. You should go straight back and talk to Doro." A few hours later, she already had a work schedule. Apparently, a recent string of employees quitting had made the shop a bit desperate. Eva was euphoric.
That evening, she sat nervously across the table from her parents.
"Why do you keep checking your phone?" her father snapped. "We're at the dinner table. Are you even going to tell us what's going on, or is the friend that you're texting more important?"
"Hey, leave her alone," Eva's mother soothed. "That's how it is with her generation. She wasn't ignoring us."
Eva covered her mother's hand with her own, stopping her defense. "It's okay. I mean, I wasn't trying to be rude. It's just... someone's meeting us here, and they were stuck in traffic, so I was making sure they got here okay."
"Oh no... you're not getting eloped or something, are you?" Her father frowned. "You're a smart girl, you know not to get manipulated by men like that."
"No, it's not that. I mean, you taught me well. We're taking things slowly." Just then, a pretty young woman shuffled nervously up to the table. Eva stood up, taking her hand. "You made it!"
"Yeah, parking was terrible," the girl said, her voice trembling nervously. "I guess this is it?"
"This is it," Eva repeated, turning back to her parents. "Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet Izzy. She's my girlfriend."
|
They're banging on the door again. They always are. It's my god damn doctorate. They just won't leave me alone.
"Come on, Jess. Just go talk to them."
I massaged my temples with sweaty fingers.
"I don't *need* them. I'm happy now!"
She looked me in the eyes, pleading.
"You know they won't stop until they have you. You're too valuable."
"I know."
"Then *go*. They'll take you anywhere you want."
"What I want is to stay here. That's the one thing they'd never give me."
She ran her fingers through her messy hair, exasperated.
"Just go. I don't have time to argue."
I looked at her with surprise.
"Why not? We have all the time in the world here."
She shook her head.
"Not me. Look, Jess... I've been talking to them. They've offered me a job in chemical engineering. You know how much I love that! And it's not like I get to do much here."
She gestured at our grubby, not to mention empty, little apartment room.
"I had to do it. I just couldn't spend another minute holed up in here."
It made sense, so I nodded. I too had been craving the feel of wind on my shoulders and rain in my hair.
She smiled at me. Yes, I would do it.
I pushed up off the tiny brown couch with both hands, trembling greatly.
It was about time.
I walked, or rather jittered, towards the door. It emitted loud banging noises, no doubt coming from a fist on the other side.
I grasped the door knob.
Yes, it was time to get a job.
Edit: Here's a second part, lovelies.
~*~
Slowly, yes, painfully slowly, I twisted the doorknob. I could hardly turn it, I was sweating so much.
It clicked, signalling that it had reached the proper turning point. The banging emanating from the door ceased immediately.
I squeaked the door open, one millimetre at a time. I could hear laborious breathing. It wasn't mine, though. *My* breath was hissing through my teeth as I trembled.
When I finally managed to open the door all the way, what stood there was... not what I expected. It was a tall, lanky man, wearing remnants of the ancient traditional business suit. He looked more terrified than I was. In fact, he hardly seemed like he was alive at this point.
Then, he cracked the silence with whispered words.
"I've been here a long time. Excuse me if I can't really talk properly anymore."
My debilitating fear was gone in an instant, although my suspicion remained.
"My job- my only job, really- has been to get you."
I looked at his hands, and saw blood running down the knuckles. There were large bruises that arched from the first joint of hs fingers, down to the middle of the back of his hand.
"I'm no good at anything really, so, well, this was it. The one thing I hated most about the world."
He was a person. I guess I hadn't been expecting that, although I don't know what I had been expecting.
"Please, doctor. We need you. The whole world needs you."
I looked at the landscape behind him. It was as it always had been: black and red and brown, stained with a million human corpses. But... some of them looked fresh this time.
"You know what's been going on, I know you do. We can't keep it at bay much longer. Hell, we're doing a pretty bad job now."
I looked at my hands, examining them like people used to in the movies, back when theatres were still popular. I could do it. I knew I could. But did I want to?
"Please. Just... please. If what I've said and what you know isn't convincing enough, then there's nothing else I have to offer you."
Air shuttled into my lungs.
"I'll do it. But I can't promise anything. I may even come down with enfluenza myself."
Without words, I could see that he was happy beyond believe. So fulfilled.
He let out a sigh of relief, and collapsed to the ground.
| 2016-04-21T09:35:09
| 2016-04-21T09:33:27
| 41
| 10
|
[WP] You turn your Match Distance on tinder to "Anywhere". To your surprise you get a match that is 10^93 light years away. Thinking it was a joke you turn it off. 20 minutes later you turn it back on and it says they are 10^5 light years away and getting closer.
|
"We're receiving an anomalous transmission from the Tau Ceti system," the radio telescope's civilian specialist said, barely containing his excitement. He waved her over to the console with the look of a kid finding a present on Christmas morning.
"Report," she instructed, wondering if this might be the big one.
"It's definitely not a missile, it's way too far away for that. When I picked it up it was estimated at nearly 10^93 lightyears away, but look at it now! It's closed nearly 10^80 of those in the last five minutes!" When she gave him an unimpressed look, he indignantly explained: "That means it's moving faster than light!"
*10^93. That can't be a coincidence.* She surreptitiously slid her cell phone out from her trouser pocket and unlocked the screen with her thumb. Furtively glancing at the still-open Tinder tab, she checked her chat history and immediately saw what she was looking for.
Bb u up?
Mayb y?
U want me 2 hit that?
Idk your pic just look like a bunch of tentacles or something
U dont like that?
Mayb ;) I'm working now
When u ready for this?
U close?
Not really but Imma make a trip for that ass
K ;) meet me near the NORAD array in 30 mins
She grimaced, checking the mysterious match's profile one more time. It had said 10^93 lightyears when that conversation started - that had to be a joke, right? Her heart sank when she saw that it was down to 10^5 . She locked the phone and slid it back into her pocket.
"I've got to go, I have, uh, urgent business elsewhere," she said, edging toward the door.
"Wait! Whatever it is it can't be more urgent than this! We've decoded an audio transmission, listen! I'll put it on the loudspeaker."
It was faint at first, and crackly, but a deep voice was chanting something on the other end. It sounded otherworldly, almost maddening, as though a chorus of angels were laughing in hell. The same two words kept repeating, drawing her in with dark seduction from beyond space and time...
**SWIGGITY**
**SWOOTY**
**SWIGGITY**
**SWOOTY**
|
Curious, Derek hit the "like" button and sent a message:
"Hey, so, this is pretty crazy but Tinder says you're in another solar system!"
After a brief pause, Derek's phone buzzed and a reply appeared:
"How tall are you?"
Derek deleted the app from his phone and lived a happy and prosperous life.
| 2016-12-23T09:25:29
| 2016-12-23T08:45:31
| 53
| 31
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
The first one, I did not notice. He died of a heart attack later, just like it said. When I heard, I freaked. I started seeing more of them. I tried saving them. Saved a guy from a car crash, a day later he got into another one. Saved another one from a heart attack, as soon as they took him away he got another one. Saved yet another guy from a house fire, next house he walked into, lit up. None of them survived. I started noticing the pattern. I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid. Everytime I came near one, their cause of death would *conveniently* show up, so I could stop it. Then the next opportunity it got, it striked. It made me sick to my stomach. I was not saving these people, I was killing them. I looked into the mirror, pitying, despising, hating myself for what I am. A killer. Floating above my head was the word "suicide". "Yup, sounds about right." Then I pulled the trigger.
__________________________________________ __________________________________________
My first story on here. It's probably crap, I don't know. But I hear the more you write the better you get. So I'm trying that. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
|
They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames.
| 2015-03-31T08:19:44
| 2015-03-31T07:44:11
| 156
| 22
|
[WP] The war was started by a single typo.
|
Kingdom of Athula, stood proud. King Hyatt stood, his chamber window in front of him, surveying his kingdom. Ah, true happiness. The food was aplenty, the people were happy what more does a king want? To secure a good betrothal for his heir, which was beneficial for both his son and his kingdom.
He had had some offers but the one that impressed him the most was King of Shankot, King Henry's daughter, Azalea. She was well versed in court manners, she was beautiful, and had a kind but firm demeanor, as is fit for a Queen, or so he had been told. He waited for the word from King Henry to arrive, their last two letters were hopeful. He had yet to meet King Henry but he was optimistic about the meeting that may be held in the near future.
"My Lord, a letter has arrived." His minister announced.
Ah, speak of the devil.
"Come in." He said, motioning Jinkin inside.
Jinkin cleared his throat, "King Henry says, *'Ass, you wish.'*"
Red clouded his vision, he must have heard wrong. "What did he say?"
Jinkin looked nervously at him and repeated, "Ass, you wish."
He threw the tumbler near the window. He was the king of largest kingdom! How dare he talk to him like this.
"Prepare the forces for a siege on Shankot."
*
The battle raged for just over 2 days. As he held King Henry on sword's edge he asked him, "Do you accept your fate?"
"Ass you wish, My Lord."
He froze.
"What did you say?"
"Ass you wish."
He had made a huge mistake.
He just went to war over a fucking lisp.
|
President Theodore Hurston was a man known for his eccentric behavior before the war of 2090. Some considered him a revolutionary, while others considered him a drunken fool whose lecherous attitude would cause their great country a disgrace whenever he got on stage. Both arguments had merit. While he was a drunken fool who often stumbled onto a stage without his shoes, he was also a man who prioritized the health of his citizens. He would often exclaim that “Life is a harp of good vibes, and the doctors pluck the strings.” Something he considered rather profound.
Swift action always followed these ramblings. After his speech, legislation passed to improve the working conditions of doctors and nurses. Giving an overhaul to the entire system, ensuring that they had every tool needed to keep the instrument that is the human body singing. That was why he was such a polarizing figure. He had a way of just drawing the attention of the world, some even speculating that his drunken demeanor was all for show, a way to hide his brilliance behind a fake air of ignorance. Outwitting his political adversaries by playing the fool.
If that were true, then Theodore may have been even more brilliant than his biggest fans could ever imagine. Because his beer-stained breath certainly played the role exceptionally well, often causing the surrounding people to gag when he staggered by. While some may have considered that gross and undignified, the public loved it. The public weren’t the ones who had to sit with him at meetings or engage with him. All they had to do was watch him ramble. Something that could be done at a safe distance from his toxic breath.
It was only a strange coincidence that Theodore was a competent leader, one of those rare events where the stars all align, granting a miracle. For all his public drunkenness and swear filled rants, he had an eye for politics. A way of promising the world to people and delivering a continent. If he couldn’t give you everything, he would make sure you had something. You might not get the cake with him, but you would at least get a slice. Which was more than most politicians could offer.
That’s why the opposition hated him. When he got up on stage, they attacked his looks, style, and mannerisms, but they never focused on his policies. To them, the idea that he was even standing on the same stage as them was outrageous. It was like a spider luring a very well-dressed fly into a web, trapping them with his outward appearance, getting them caught in a trap of words, unable to stop themselves from talking about the man.
But, for all the good that he did, his last moments would be one of heartbreak and disaster. It was a typical meeting. Two countries discussing relations and the usual nonsense. In reality, it was just a photo opportunity. Both Theodore and President Mark Lana would stand in front of their country’s flags, shaking hands like proud patriots who just solved world peace. Even though their conversations mainly consisted of talking about their favorite brands of sherry. While their countries were dealing with a tension over missile negotiations, neither man showed any hostility to the other. In fact, Theodore found the man to have a great sense of humor, a top bloke that you would meet down at the pub. That was probably why things went so wrong on that fateful day.
With the meeting done, both presidents returned home, ready to go back to their country and say they gave the other leader a stern talking to. It would be the usual affair, only this time when Theodore returned, he had an email from Mark offering to send Theodore his favorite sherry list or anything he needed. It was a generous offer and Theodore couldn’t help but get a little cheeky, replying with “Send nukes.”
The joke may have been older than Theodore himself, but he was certain his political rival would get a kick out of it. Theodore not even noticing the typo before the email went off. Mark may have gotten a kick out of the message even with the typo. Unfortunately, his emails were shared among the higher ups in his party, those that didn’t get the humor in something that sounded like a potential declaration of war.
The news of this bomb threat spread quickly throughout their government and by the time word spread to Mark, the message had changed. The message passing through various lips so many times that it didn’t even resemble what was in the email. One of his colleagues grabbing the president, informing him that Theodore has said to send nukes and prepare for a war. Something that wasn’t true in the slightest. With the threat of an approaching war, Mark didn’t have time to go back and check the emails. His soldiers shoving him towards the panic room while his top military minds prepared the strikes.
And that was how the war began, not caused by evil dictators or grand ambition, but by a simple typo and an overreaction without assessing the situation.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-12-15T05:42:32
| 2021-12-15T05:32:09
| 62
| 26
|
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight.
|
EDIT: Part 2 is ready (see below):
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"The colors are all so beautiful," I say out loud and the faces around me smile, pleased. There is a man leaning over me, staring intently into my eyes which have just started working for the first time since I was born.
"How do you feel, any headaches or nausea?" He has an older, kind face. I recognize his voice as the doctor that has been working with me since I checked into the hospital, and he still seems to shine as bright as the others. It's a kind of luminescence that sends trails of color as he moves.
I shake my head slowly. "No, I'm just a little," I pause to think of exactly what this feeling is. I'm excited, but there's still a bit of hesitation. I swallow, "it's all a little disorientating."
The glowing doctor smiles. "That is to be expected. Take a few minutes, get adjusted slowly. Your family is here."
Another older woman comes towards me slowly, tears in her shining face. Her steps as light as a bird on a windowsill, the same steps my mother always uses when she's worried.
"Annabel, what do you see?" I smile at my mother, each tear a prism of color and light sparkling on her face.
"I can see you mom." I smile and she rushes forward, squeezing me into a familiar and comforting squeeze. Over my mother's shoulder, I see the woman who in in the bed next to me. We've talked briefly over the last few days, while I sat bandaged waiting until I recovered enough from the surgery to test my new eyes. She was going in for brain surgery later today.
She is pretty, a lean frame and bangs that frame her face. She is looking at me and smiling as well at the good news of my sight. But there is something drastically different about her. "Shelby, why aren't you in color?"
Mid-hug, my mother stiffens. The doctor gently pulls her back and shines a small pen light in my eyes, flicking it in and out of my field of vision. "What do you mean Shelby's not in color?"
I look closer. Her bed, her sheets, her gown. Everything she touches is a deep gray, as is Shelby herself. She frowns, concern crossing her features. The doctor turns to her. "Shelby, would you mind coming over here, please?"
Shelby slides her legs out of bed and stands, making her way slowly over to me. As the last of the sheet slips from her body to rest back on the bed, the bed turns back to color, although it doesn't have the shining light that the people in the room do. The other doctors standing quietly to the side in the room begin scribbling furiously on their charts.
"Please Annabel," the same doctor begins, looking through a handheld device, peering through it with one of his eyes and my faulty one. "Go ahead and look carefully at Shelby and see if there's still a difference up close."
"Yes," I answer without hesitation. "The room is full of colors. Everyone else in the room is shining. I can see Shelby clearly, but she is in black and white. There are no colors.
The doctor puts down his instruments and turns back to Shelby. "Thank you for you help. You can sit down, the anesthesiologist will be in soon to start prepping you."
"Is Anna going to be ok?" she asks, sliding slowly back under the covers, draining the color from everything she touches.
The doctor turned back to me. "Of course. There is a lot of new pathways that need to develop between the eyes and the brain. But just to be safe, I'd like to go take you to get an MRI and a few other tests done. Just to take a look at what's going on."
And so began the long series of events I'd become to accustomed to during my stay in the hospital. Trips to different parts of the hospitals, filling out the same forms and confirming the same information over and over. I peeked into other rooms in the hospital during my trip. Some of the patients were in vibrant color, others in black and white.
After the rest of the afternoon had slipped away into a string of inconclusive tests, I was finally brought back to my room to rest. Shelby was gone, already in surgery. So I started to settle into my half of the room. I had barely picked up my book from the side table when my mother was back in the room, rushing towards my bed.
"Have you been here the whole time mom? Why don't you go home for a bit?"
"I have some bad news for you, sweetie. Your roommate, Shelby. Her surgery didn't go well. The doctors just came by to let us know she didn't make it. I thought it would be easier if you heard it from me."
I blink back the few tears that spring to my eyes and look towards Shelby's now empty bed. I only knew her for a few days, but she was nice and it's difficult when death touches so close.
"Thank you for telling me mom. I'll be ok, I'd actually like a bit of time to myself. Go home, you have to be exhausted."
My mother smiles weakly, massaging her shoulder and down her left arm. She takes a deep breath, coughs a bit and tries to take another, sighing. "Maybe you're right. I could use some sleep."
As she turns around, the small beads of sweat around her hairline and brow are the first things to change. The rainbow prism of color pulls back into the drops of sweat, taking all the color with them. From the center of her chest outward, the color seems to leak and drain, until she too, is only black and white.
She is almost out of the room before I yell in terror, "No, mom. Stay here in the hospital with me."
r/StaceyOutThere
Part 2 is ready. Find it here: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/StaceyOutThere/comments/9sp4j9/color_blind_part_2/)
|
"This may sting. It's best if you close your eyes for a moment."
I swallowed hard. "Right. Of course." My eyes stayed glued shut, just like Dr. Robinson asked. She was right, I knew - even with my eyes pinned shut, I could feel the piercing ache of the light beyond.
The *light*. The simple fact that there was anything at all there for me to *see* nearly had my eyelids springing open, the pain be damned. I remembered light. When I was a kid, I could see that much - just blurry, misty figures and shapes on the edge of touching.
It was gone before I hit the age of ten, leaving me in the black.
Until now.
The soft, delicately woven bandages unwrapped from my head one after another, and with every repetition, the light through my closed eyes grew a little stronger.
"There. Now...just take it slow." Dr. Robinson's breath was hitched, filled with excitement. I couldn't blame her. The operation had been groundbreaking. Revolutionary. I'd fought for years to be included in the program, to get the chance I'd always wanted.
To see.
Slowly, carefully, my eyes cracked open.
She sat in front of me. Her eyes were wide - even without seeing her before, without seeing another human and having the chance to learn their expressions, I could *see* the excitement written across her face.
"Hi," I said, hearing my voice crack.
A smile broke out across her face, right before the tears started rolling down. "Jesus. It worked, didn't it? Tell me it did."
I could only laugh, feeling my own eyes burn. "H-Hi."
We didn't much done after that, despite the questions I knew they wanted her to ask, despite the clipboard that lay forgotten on the counter. It took a while for the emotions to bubble down, for things to come back to center.
I didn't have any family to speak of, no one to come share in this moment with me. It was just the doctor and I, finally, left to sit in her office as she wheeled closer to her papers.
"Oh, I suppose we should start, Olive," she said, reaching for her tools. "I should get a baseline. Just sit still, all right?"
"I know the drill," I said dryly. I did - and Dr. Robinson knew it. She only chuckled, sliding back over and leaning me forward into the array of lenses and gears she pulled closer.
I did my best - to stay focused on the tests, to keep my mind on business rather than the remarkable gift I'd just been given. My eyes *ached*. I'd expected that, but even still, it was hard to keep them open.
"Just a little more," the doctor murmured, not turning away from her computer.
A flicker of motion caught my eye, something moving in the corner of my vision. I jumped, glancing over before I could stop myself.
"What's wrong?"
I forced myself to turn back to Dr. Robinson, to push away the feeling of hairs raising on the back of my neck. "Oh, it's- nothing. It's nothing. Sorry."
"It's understandable," the doctor said, a smile in her voice. I forced a smile, pressing my face back into the goggles.
And tried to quell the thoughts in the back of my mind.
It was just a blur, just a shadow in the corner of my sight. I was just *tired*. That was all. I'd just gotten *sight*. My eyes playing tricks on me was expected.
Wasn't it?
"Are you feeling all right?" she said, her tone suddenly clinical. "You shouldn't push things too hard, not so soon."
"I'm fine. It's *amazing,*" I whispered.
Something shifted behind me - just a rustling of papers, the slow creak of the building settling. I jumped, glancing back wide-eyed.
"I think it's just Clara. She's out in the lobby," Dr. Robinson said half-interestedly, scribbling something on her note sheet.
I raised a slow, trembling hand, offering a smile to the man standing in the doorway. "Uh...hi." My grin widened, only a little hysterical. "Do I- I mean..." Did I know him. Was he one of the myriad people whose voices were as familiar to me as my own, but whose faces were unknowns.
"Hmm? What's that?" the doctor said, glancing up.
"Your assistant," I murmured, feeling my face flush. "Could you introduce me?"
Dr. Robinson hesitated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "What's that, now?"
"I don't know his name," I mumbled. "I-I don't know his face. Help."
"What do you mean?" she said, more firmly this time. Her hands landed in her lap.
"Your assistant, damn it. He's *right there.*"
"Olive, I wouldn't let someone into a session like this. And I don't have an assistant." Her eyes were worried, fixed on mine. "Are you feeling all right?"
The world dropped out from underneath me at her words. I sat frozen, staring at him.
Slowly, carefully, my eyes dragged across the room, to the corner I'd been looking at before. My vision wasn't so blurry anymore - and I wasn't trying to cooperate with the doctor anymore.
There was nothing to keep me from seeing the outline of the door in the wall there - one I'd never heard anyone walk through before. One that as long as I'd been there, for as long as I'd been seeing Dr. Robinson, I'd never felt. Never heard.
And I was *pretty* sure that doors shouldn't waver, their outlines shimmer like they were half-hidden in shadow. They shouldn't be just a *little* transparent.
The sound of footsteps had me spinning, springing from my seat on unsteady legs. The man - the one in the corner. He'd been listening. And there was a slow, steady light blossoming in his eyes. *Recognition.*
He could see me. He knew that Dr. Robinson couldn't.
And he knew that I could see *him.*
Slowly, painfully slowly, a smile spread across his face from ear to ear.
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
| 2018-10-29T06:47:20
| 2018-10-29T06:41:02
| 7,907
| 2,510
|
[WP] You are a time-traveling salesman, delivering anything to anyone, anywhere at any time. Literally. And for the right price, of course.
|
"All of this? That's it?"
"All of it."
"How do you afford to run this place?"
"Well, I just travel back and forth to when money is cheap to get and then on to where it's valuable to spend. Time travel, sir."
"Right. Yeah, I guess that's what I would do. But how can this be the right price?"
The Delivery Man shrugged. "It's the standard rate. One charge fits all. Like I said, manipulating currency values is a lot easier than time travel."
"But why not charge more?"
"You've no doubt run into other delivery services in the 44th century. In fact, the whole industry should have been perfected a long time ago. So why did you go with ours?"
"Because, well, you're the cheapest."
"Actually we're not. Every delivery company does what we do."
"Then how?"
"We offer the best service."
"Oh."
"Like we explain this whole process to all of our customers. It takes up about half of our work time."
"Oh."
"But, see, you learned something, right?"
"Sure."
"And that's the experience we want to deliver."
"Great. Yeah, I like you guys. What's the name of your service again?"
"Nessy Delivery. That'll be three-fifty."
|
I gazed out my window, and the bleak, void stared back at me. It had been a while since I had made my home here, where time was now non-existent. I called the space I lived "the end of time." It's where the concept of time comes to die.
I lived humbly. It was a simple, one-room shack I had built upon the only floating rock around when I proceeded as far into the future I could go. Was this all that remained of the Earth? Or was there more to it than that? I don't know, and frankly I don't care. The only light outside of my little shack was a Tiki Torch I "borrowed" from some party decorating store in the 1990's.
I know what you are thinking... "Frank, you have a time machine! You can live anywhere you could ever want! Why did you decide to live here, in a place considered further out than the sticks?"
Well, don't you worry imaginary friend whom I just created on the spot! There is a perfectly sound reason I live here, alone, where time doesn't flow. The answer is one word: Business.
It is difficult to describe in layman's terms, but I will try. The end of time has a very special characteristic about it. While time may not flow here, all time does intersect here. You could call it the crossroads of the Universe. Since it intersects with everything and everyone at simultaneous times in history, I am basically a god. You may want to think long and hard on that, I am a god... and Santa. I know when you're sleeping and if you've been bad or good and all that nonsense.
This is the perfect place to set up my "Time travel Extravaganza Mall"! I look back on the past and find someone who needs something, wants something or needs a task done. If I sense a large amount of profit for me, I approach them to offer my services! If someone is dying, I can go to a point in time where the medicine they need is invented, and save them! I have the best job ever, I save so many lives!
...
...
...
What do you mean that is "underhanded"? What do you mean I am taking advantage of innocent people? Listen, imaginary person who won't leave me alone, I need to eat too! I need to go buy fuel to keep that tiki torch burning.
Now if you will excuse me, it looks like someone is lost in the Sahara desert and would pay anything for a glass of water. Business is booming!
| 2016-12-20T08:11:28
| 2016-12-20T07:52:04
| 69
| 15
|
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form.
|
When I went downstairs to the basement to begin the remodeling project that my girlfriend had been asking me to do, I wasn’t expecting it to already be done, and for our cellar to already be full of actual tons of gold coins and jewels.
“Holy shit...hey, Maya, can you come down here for a second?”
“Why, what’s wrong, darling? Ah, I see you’ve found my hoard. Well, um, this is quite awkward...”
“I mean, I’m not mad at you or anything, but how in the hell did all this gold and stuff end up in here? I was gonna put a TV and stuff in the basement, but now I don’t know if I even have any room to walk around down there without stepping on jewels and shit.”
“I certainly hope you wouldn’t, Jay. Those coins and jewels are very precious to me.” my girlfriend told me. “How dare you even say something like that! What kind of boyfriend are you, treating my precious treasure like it isn’t worth anything!!” Maya’s temper suddenly flared up, and the room got noticeably warmer.
“Babe, I never implied it was worthless, what the hell?! Calm down, I swear I’d never step on your precious treasure...” I backed away slowly, knowing exactly how to handle her fiery outbursts.
“Are you sure?” She asked me, glaring at me with an intensity that I’d never seen in her eyes before.
“I promise I won’t,” I told her.
“Okay...” she calmed down. “I’m sorry I acted out like that, Jay. I guess I can’t really hide my true self from you anymore, now that you’ve discovered my hoard.”
“True self?” I asked her, curious. The room slowly began to grow warmer again as my girlfriend’s body suddenly began to glow orange for several seconds, and a large pair of wings and a tail grew out from her back. Her pretty brown eyes had turned a very brilliant yellow, and her black hair had transformed into a vibrant red color.
“This, Jay, is who I really am...” Maya spoke to me.
“Whoa...” I was almost speechless. “Maya, what the hell are you...?”
“I am a dragon, from a land that is quite far from here; one that probably no longer exists. Before I met you, I was sent through a portal to burn down this town of yours, under the assumption that humans had not made any technological advancements that could stop me, but obviously that isn’t the case, since your government would probably take me away to Area 51 if you weren’t the first human that I had met,” she explained to me. “Your kindness taught me that the things I had been told about your kind were wrong, that there were no more dragon hunters left anymore, and I can’t thank you enough for that...”
“Oh, I see...” I listened to her, still keeping away from her in case she might accidentally burn me or something.
“Are you frightened?” She asked me. “I understand if you might be.”
“Honestly, I’m a little afraid, since I’ve never seen anyone like you outside of works of fiction, but I’m more shocked that you’ve managed to hide your secret from me for the last four years that we’ve been dating.”
“I guess I was just afraid that you might not love me anymore if you ever found out,” she confessed to me.
“Don’t be silly, Maya. I still think you’re beautiful, no matter what you look like. Even though your temper tantrums can be scary, even if I sometimes feel like I’m literally on fire every time you and I get intimate, I still love you for who you are,” I walked up to her and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“I love you too, Jay!” She suddenly hugged me and brought my body against her. I was expecting to get burned alive when she wrapped her arms around me, but her warmth was actually quite comforting.
“I know you do...” I ran my fingers through her hair, laughing. We stayed like that for several eternally long seconds before she finally let go of me.
“You know, maybe the basement should be locked up for now...” she told me, leading me upstairs out of the cellar.
“If that’s what you’d like, that’s fine with me. I was super bummed out about having to work down there all day anyway.” I sat down on the couch and turned on the TV in my living room.
“You’re so lazy sometimes, Jay,” she giggled, sitting next to me.
“So, uh, this might be a weird thing to ask, but now that I know you’re a dragon, do you think that maybe I could, like, ride on your back and fly around, like in Skyrim?” I asked her.
“Only if you buy me dinner first, darling. Doing that in dragon culture is considered very intimate, you know...” she replied, putting her head on my shoulder.
|
"But, seriously, Nina? The crown of England!?"
Nina eyes me from across the room and gives me her little eye tease-corner look.
I tilt my head until I am lying down and I stare up at the our bedroom ceiling.
"What," Nina protests, giving a little pout. "It was pretty..."
"Nina... " I say. "Nina, yes... so are you."
Nina smiles. I notice the jaggedness of her teeth all the more.
"Nina, even a pretty dragon can't fight off an entire country," I say.
It's clear that the enormity of the situation has yet to hit her.
I get up and sit across from her on the floor.
"Nina," I say. I cringe.
Nina's eyes begin to well.
"Aw, Nina, c'mere."
Before I know it, my dear girl it wetting my sleeve.
"Nina, look," I say. I try to find something to say.
"I- I'll give it back," Nina says.
My eyes widen. Nina is a sweety, makes great banana bread, and does not know how to sing. If there is one thing I've never seen Nina do... not since I met her and not these past two months since I've know her secret...
"Give it back?"
Now I'm worried.
"Nina, are you ok?" I ask.
Nina quiets, looking me in the eye. She tries to push me to the ground. She is strong, abnormally so, even in human form, but I resist.
Nina goes to the mirror.
I swear softly.
"Nina," I say, going after her. She lets me put my arm around her waist. "Nina, I wouldn't mind that," I say.
Nina pulls away and examines her lashes. Ever self-conscious Nina, ever beautiful...
"Ok," says Nina softly. I've clearly scared her with the mention of an army...
"But..." i add.
Nina looks back at me.
"But that's not Gonna help..."
I am very pained.
"Why," say Nina.
I cringe.
"Tell me again how you took it..."
Nina's eyes well again.
"With allot of noise...?" Nina says softly.
I nod.
Nina understands. The word "Experiments" flies through my mind. I can feel it on Nina's mind, too.
"There are more like you, right?" I say hesitantly. "Those... that are... um..." I stop. I was about to say: "Those that are left"
Nina nods. Something in her eye gives it a twitch.
I sigh.
"At least we have some money," I say. "You know, the stuff in the basement..."
Nina nods.
"Let's hide it somewhere," I say. "Anything we can't carry."
Nina nods, then freezes.
"Carry?" Nina says, alarmed.
I give her a questioning look.
"Why are we carrying?" Nina asks.
I look Nina in the eye.
"You don't think I'm going to leave you, do I?" I say.
Nina's eyes well again.
"Really?" she says. I sigh, thinking about my sleeve again.
"No," I say.
"Where are we gonna go?" Nina says.
I shrug.
"Mexico?"
Nina gives me an uncertain look.
"Australia?"
Nina does my cringe expression.
"China?"
Nina's face lights up.
"Yes!" Nina says.
I laugh.
Then I sigh. I kinda liked this house. The creaky musky look form the peeling wallpapered walls has seen better days, but it's got a certain smell.
"Ok," I say.
Nina hugs my arm.
"It'll be exciting," Nina says. Her eyes flash happily.
"Yeah, I know," I say with a sigh.
Nina pecks me on the cheek.
"Nina?" I say as an afterthought.
"Hm?"
"Um..."
I glance at Nina's happy though slightly worried expression as she distractedly fiddles with my moist sleeve.
"After you give it back... um, please don't do this in china," I say.
Nina nods, chastised.
I give her a hug.
"I'll start packing," I say. Nina nods gratefully.
| 2020-08-03T09:58:09
| 2020-08-03T09:52:01
| 28
| 14
|
[WP] Spirit animals are real, but extremely secretive-- they are said to only appear in the most joyous times or in the darkest of hours. Except for geese. Geese do what they like.
|
Howard walked an ear reach and a step from the two girls in front of him. Their uniforms bore the same school emblem as the one on Howard's jacket breast.
They strode shoulder to shoulder, stopping occasionally to look back at him and giggle. The girl on the left had a jumper tied to her waist and her white shirt gleamed in the afternoon sun. But Howard's eyes were on the crescent eyes and pink lips of the girl on the right. Annabelle.
Annabelle glanced back again and her friend rolled her eyes. Howard wished he had the courage to walk with them, but they seemed engrossed in some funny thing already. Perhaps tomorrow.
A blunt stab shook Howard's gaze. At his feet stood his goose, staring him down (or up) like an incredulous judge. The goose jabbed beak against thigh again and Howard jumped back.
"Hey!"
The goose honked and flapped its wings. Most spirit animals radiated the ephemeral hues of their liege's soul. Howard had seen corporeal blues, iridescent golds; Annabel's was a dazzling pink. But his goose was a dusty grey-brown mud from its years of being out in the world. It had tasted freedom from its anima cage and Howard could never get it to go back.
Howard sighed. Maintaining beady pitted eye contact, the goose sauntered backward and kicked over a road cone. Howard rubbed his stinging leg and trudged to the fallen vigil to pick it back up. He liked to think he was a lawful individual. He kept his textbooks in his backpack arranged in alphabetical order. And so, as he watched his goose chase a flock of real birds, he wondered, why?
Howard's ears perked at a high pitched scream.
A bright flash zoomed past. A stumpy yellow tail of a rabbit jounced, its owner speeding away. Annabelle's friend sprinted past a moment later, mouth agape mid-scream.
He spun his head around. Annabelle stood with fists balled at her chest. Two men towered before her. Between them her pink Siamese crouched, haunches low to the ground.
Annabelle's brows furrowed in determined defiance. But Howard saw her leg tremble, and his own legs took off before he could think.
Howard hurtled down the hill. He blinked as a fiery red overtook him. It left a trail of mud and dirt streaming through the air that left Howard rubbing his eyes.
He forced them open. His goose was a flurry of squawks and flaps in the men's faces. They swung with blinded fists, one hand covering their eyes, but their enemy was rapid as a wind and ferocious as... a goose.
Howard's goose pecked with practiced beak, majestic wings flaring like capes, as it chased the men down the street. As Howard listened to its brave honks recede into the distance, he took a deep breath.
He turned to Annabelle. Howard wished that the courage of his spirit animal was beside him now.
No. His goose drew from the essence already inside him.
"Hi...uh...nice to meet you."
|
I was always a good if not boring kid. Even though my parents were rarely around, I never saw much use in getting into trouble. On the long summer days on break from school I'd often look out my window at a world of possibilities, and simply choose to stay inside.
It was on one such day that I heard the friendly honk for the first time.
As I stood at my window, arms basking in the warm sun as the dangled over the edge, the strange sound echoed behind me. I turned to see a curiously transparent goose that managed to somehow get my trash can stuck on its head. In hindsight I rather enjoy the absurdity of it, but in the moment I recall feeling nothing.
But Clyde would soon change that.
Unsure of what I was dealing with I approached the visage with much caution. I'd never heard anything good about geese, so I had no reason this one - whether it was real or simply in my mind - would be any different. But with each tempered step I found that the goose was slowly returning the approach. With a curious squint it slowly shuffled its webbed feet in my direction, seemingly having forgotten about its unfortunate hat.
After several tense minutes we finally found ourselves face to face. I had knelt down to inspect the curious fellow, and he stared up at me with similar intent. After the tension of this mutual inspection passed, I realized that I felt oddly calm. There was a sense that he belonged to me, and an even stranger sense that I belonged to him. It was new, strange, and a tad frightening. But more than anything, it was good.
After deeming the strange visitor to be real and safe, I went to remove the trash can from its head. But just as I extended my arms, the goose blinked out of view. The trash can clanged against he floor and startled me off my feet. As I tried to grasp this new turn, I heard several honks waft up and through my window. I climbed to my feet and looked outside, and sure enough, the goose was now on the front lawn. My curiosity bested my apathy, and soon I was bounding down the stairs.
Not a half an hour in, and my animal companion was leading me to better things.
The rest of the summer was largely spent following the goose around town. It seemed to have an internal drive to get itself stuck inside random objects. My trash can, soup cans, dumpsters, basketball hoops; you name it, he found a way to wear it. One day as we were out on our adventures, he rounded a corner with a large old root beer bottle attached to his head. My ethereal friend looked ridiculous as the "Clyde's Root Beer" logo bobbed up and down. Any time I tried to help him he would either run or blink out of reach.
As the returning school year began to appear on the horizon, I worried I would see my friend less and less. Maybe he was only so present because of my bored summer mind. Maybe the distraction of homework would scare him away. Maybe he move on to someone better.
Thankfully, Clyde had other ideas. My first class of my first day of the new year, there he was in the corner, sporting yet another trash can.
I now knew he would stay.
Clyde was by my side almost every day for the rest of those school years. The otherwise social vapidity of my life found itself full. My friend never talked, rarely even offering his rather friendly honk. He never offered advice, and all he used to express himself were squints. But he was there, and that was enough.
My teens turned into my twenties, and my world grew once more. I found college easier than my younger years, and I managed to make a couple of solid human friends. Clyde came around less, but it didn't feel like an abandonment. Even though I was busy and my life now had more momentum, I didn't think of him any less. And wherever he happened to be and whatever he happened to be stuck in, I knew he was thinking of me, too.
The next decade brought the loss of my parents. We weren't close haven't rarely been in each other's orbits when I was younger, but there was still love there. Or at rather, the unrealized potential for love. In any case, I found I took it quite hard. By this time Clyde's presence had become a rarity. I had expanded my circles and even found a wife. But I attended my parent's funerals alone - I didn't think anyone else would understand, and I didn't want to explain.
Both times as I sat there, caught in confused but genuine crying, Clyde sat on my lap. The only hat he wore on those occasions were my tears, but he wore them well. He soaked up the pain and warmed my cold soul, as he brought back memories of our warm summer days.
After my father was laid to rest, I would only see Clyde a few more times in the intervening decades. He was present at the birth of each of my children. As their first cries would fill the room, Clyde would be waddling around in the background, wearing a bedpan or the like. He had shared in my most even, boring moments. He had shared in the bottom of my depths. And he appeared at the peak of my heights. Truly, he filled my life, whenever it was most needed.
Even though he was mostly gone from my life after my last child was born, he still lived on in very real ways. Every time my kids asked me to tell them a story, I would always indulge them with "A Tale of Daddy and Clyde's Adventures." They never assumed him to be real, and I never bothered to try and prove it. To them and to me he was magic, and that's all that really mattered. They cared about him as much as I did by the end, and in some way, I think they needed him as much as I did as well.
And I knew; I always knew, that I would see him again one day. Sure enough, now as an old dying man, he has come back into my life. The quiet, boring days sitting in my hospital room are spent with my first friend. He hasn't aged a day, which I have mentioned makes me quite jealous, but he never responds. He's still himself, wearing the trash can on the daily.
My life and my final room are filled with the friends and love ones that Clyde indirectly brought into my life. Nobody else sees the friendly goose at their feet who saved the life of the man dying in the bed. But it doesn't really matter, in the end. I'm surrounded by more than I could have ever once dreamed. I have lived a good life. I am happy.
And now, all I can hope is that my silly little friend will be by my side in the next life, too.
 
______________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
| 2020-04-02T22:15:15
| 2020-04-02T20:15:34
| 160
| 82
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
----------------------------------------------
|
“Why? What did I do to deserve this?”
Charon the gatekeeper just looked down. “If you want to dispute this sentence. Then you will have to speak to management. However I don.....l
“Well get me the fuckin manager then. This can’t happen to me in life I had thousands of more followers on social media then any of my friends. I had a great house a great family and an awesome job. I lived a great life.”
Charon simply smiled and cordially responded. “Very well please wait in the vestibule.”
So I waited.....and waited.....and waited.....and waited what seemed like an hour. This is total crap I used to get what I want when I wanted it anytime with the push of a button. I earned what I wanted and got it. Man this sucks. Well I wonder this tool bag manager is going to be like? Probably some simple minded yes man who never took a risk in his entire life. I was the man in life and I got everything I ever wanted. But I tell you what this waiting really sucks.
Just then some pimply faced accountant doofy looking dude showed up.
“Excuse me sir. My name is Nergel and I understand you have a complaint. How can I help you?”
Nergel??? What a turd name! But honestly I think he should call himself Nerdel. Made me laugh just thinking about it.
“Yeah Hi. There has to be a mistake here. The guy in front of me cheats on his wife and gets 100 years or something but I get like 200,000 years??? I was a pillar of my community. I did several good things with charities, and my family had everything they ever wanted.”
“Yes I understand that this may come as a surprise to you but the decision has been made. It would be best if you just served your....”
“Bullshit I don’t deserve this I should have some entitlement here! That dude in front of me was a drunk and a waste of life! He probably should have killed himself a long time ago.”
“Well technically you automatically get 500,000 years so that would not be advised.”
“I don’t care about that guy I care about ME. And you know what I am tired of your face, So listen here NERDEL why don’t you go get someone who has a pair of balls so I can get my reward.”
Nergel changed his demeanour slowly then just smiled. “Ok I guess it’s time to drop the pretences then. You are such a limited simpleton, a walking bag of garbage and if I didn’t have responsibilities here I would just end you.”
“Who do you think you.....”
Nergel waived his hand and I couldn’t speak. I tried but the words wouldn’t form.
“We’re done talking. Now it’s time for you to listen. You want to know why you got this time? Because you are an asshole. You used your family as a shield to show people you were a good guy when in fact you hated them. You never spent any time at home. Oh what’s that oh yes ‘because you were working!’ No no no that’s not exactly true. How many late nights in bars or strip clubs or weekends at the golf course did you spend?”
“Still nothing huh? Well how about all the anonymous social media bullying you did to improve your position at work? Man you sure did some things. Did you know that one guy you hurt spent the last few miserable years of his life in a group home? Survival of the fittest is what you called it. Well let’s just I can relate. I am the original survivor. I faced more pain then you can ever imagine and I think I know I am going to do with you.”
“Don’t be nervous it’s ok. I have great news! I have heard your complaint and I have decided that you won’t have serve 200,000 years.”
I looked up at him still not able to speak.
“I don’t really think serving 200,000 years is necessary for you. You probably wouldn’t get anything out of it. So instead I will reduce your sentence to 200 years where you will receive my finest training so when you do go to heaven you will be ready.” He waived his hand again so I could speak.
“Oh thank you very much I really appreciate it. I’m sorry I got hot I’m just a passionate person.”
“Oh your perfectly excused for that. No problem.” He motioned to an attendant. “Can you please escort this gentleman to level C. This man is ready for his training.”
“Yes my lord. This way please.” I was led to a room not too far from where I was. There was light coming out the door. Hey maybe I am just going straight to heaven after all. Ha ha ha I talked my way out of that one again. Survival of the fittest even in the after life. The door opened and I saw the blinding light.
“Step through.” I walked inside and the door behind me was shut. Then the light went out and I was in total darkness. A small lantern lit up in the corner of the room but I could not see anything. I heard some chittering and some gear noises. When my eyes adjusted I saw some spinning wooden crates with metal and hooks attached to it. Where was I.
Then a figure came from the darkness. A man with pins in his face. Chains shot out and tore into me. I screamed not ever feeling this kind of pain before.
“Welcome to your training. Let’s begin.”
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09
| 2018-09-26T06:56:58
| 1,768
| 74
|
[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.”
|
"Why aren't you scared? I'm a vampire, a creature of the night, a-"
"Humans are worse. You at least have the honor to let me face my death. Not that I think you'll kill me. You're all posturing and no actual danger, as far as I can tell." The human, presumably female but toeing the line of androgyny, pushed easily past the inhuman man toward the alley's exit. "Have you seen what humans are willing to do to each other? Any human with a gun and a reason to use it could kill me whenever they felt like it. You're nothing special, Sir Vampire."
The vampire stood speechless. His prospective victim was not wrong. But she had forgotten something. "You forget, I have reason enough to kill you. I must feed after my long rest. You shall not escape death through clever reasoning, young one!"
"Escape death? Why do I need to die to begin with? Could you not just partially drain a few people and sate yourself that way?"
"There is no such thing as partial draining, Woman! As soon as I touch-"
The woman in question slapped the vampire in the face in a display of true fearlessness. "First, you're a sexist bastard. Stop that. Second, is there any reason why my blood cannot be drank from a cup or something else of the like? Come, my apartment is around the corner, and we can settle this there."
-------
"Alright, I have followed. Now may I-"
She sliced her wrist open in a practiced motion and laid the cut atop a cup that had been on the counter. The Vampire paused, shocked, and the woman took her chance to talk.
"The human body can safely lose about a pint of blood without major consequences. I doubt a pint will fill you up, but getting people to give you a pint of blood should not be difficult with proper incentive."
She bandaged the cut a minute later, and grabbed the cup with her uninjured hand. "Here, a drink. Go learn how the world works, and go be a functional member of society. There's plenty of things that a vampire like you can do to earn your keep. Now go. When that cup of blood is finished, your hospitality has officially run out."
A gun, having been pulled quietly from a nearby drawer while the man drank, made her point. And so, he placed the cup down, and jumped out her open window in dramatic fashion.
A fanged smile watched him fly away. "So uneducated. So uncivilized. Let's see how long he lasts."
|
Why would I be scared of death ? I've been dead before... Twice... I'm totally over it. Actually you should be scared, taking on a former special forces operator that has nothing to lose... You can strike me, but I'll have my revenge... You know what they say about revenge. You better be ready to dig two graves... I'm willing to dig two graves... I did that before, and I'm not afraid of doing it again...
You say I'm not special. That shows your arrogance as a vampire... You think you're just about to take on a human. But actually, you're taking on an entire army. I can disassemble and reassemble an m4 rifle before you find your right key to get into your home...
You're faster, and definately stronger than me. But that's not everything. My whole life I've trained for kill. I'm like a killing machine, doesnt matter the range. Just because of you're vampire, you think you can end my life in close quarters. You actually have no chance against me in long range terms. There's a reason why I was called Ghost of Pripyat. You'll realize what happened to you only when you see a bullethole on your chest.
So if you still sure you wanna take me on, be sure that you'll end my life. Don't make a mistake like leaving me alive, if I'm alive after the conflict you're dead. Yes, I have a deathwish... I'm tired, just wanna end this...
You'll feast on my blood because you're starving ? Ah, alright then... Let's get evil...
| 2022-06-08T16:17:17
| 2022-06-08T05:05:56
| 29
| 17
|
[WP] You are an innkeeper in an RPG and get yelled at because sleeping there does not heal wounds.
|
"You what."
"How come my wounds haven't healed? It is an RPG, and that was clearly an Extended Rest."
"Not quite. The sleeping system I'm using is a homebrew ruleset: you can recover from effects and minor wounds dependant on a good die roll, but health... You'll need to replenish that the slow way. No healing potions, or at least none that aren't legendary goals of alchemical research. Food doesn't heal you, but it helps."
"What? But how can I..."
"Bedrest, good food, good conditions, and *time*. That's what normal folk do to heal, adventurer. Of course, a cleric of certain gods may help you for the right price... Would you like to convert to the Cult Of Aescelpius? Miraculous heals as a Daily Spell, dependant on your favour with the god himself. There's none of them around these parts, but if you go to Shadowhold, there's an Ascelpius temple there."
"But I'm a ranger! I can't be a cleric! My build doesn't allow it."
"Oh, you're absolutely free to make a binding pact with a nature fairy, ranger. I hear they heal ills... For a price."
"This is insane. I have 3HP, and you're saying every way to heal myself is either slow and time consuming, or incredibly risky?"
"I'd give it a week for that cut to heal."
"But I must save the Princess!"
"Mate. You're not fighting until at least Fredahn's Day. Do you have any colleagues we can send a courier to, to continue in your stead, if it's so urgent?"
"But.. ARGH! No. I wanna..."
"I can go back to vanilla rules if you like, I thought this'd be fun, but..."
"Are you kidding me? This is AWESOME. No easy heals..."
|
We're inside of an inn. It's an old crapshack made of rotting wood and rusted metal. Some random barrels fill the corners. Ishtard stands behind the counter reading a newspaper article entitled, "Shroom season approaches, watch for strange activity".
"Excuse me, sir," says a voice.
"Would you like to buy some stuff, sell some stuff or would you rather get a room to stay for the night?"
"I'd like to file a complaint."
"Goodbye!"
"Could you pay attention to me for a second?"
"Would you like to buy some stuff, sell some stuff or purchase a room for the night?"
The stranger snatches the newspaper and crumbles it up.
"Look man, I don't want any trouble. Perhaps you've heard of me, names Kraint the Great. Yeah, the adventurer who just lead a campaign to kill Lord Silvanus and save Maldorn from impending doom. Anywho, we purchased a room from you last night and - "
"Goodbye!"
"No, listen. Not goodbye. I'm trying to tell you that after we went to b-"
"Would you like to buy some stuff, sell some stuff or get a room for the night?"
"Bloody hell. We went to bed and didn't get healed! You're inn does not heal, sir."
"Well of course it doesn't heal."
"You can talk?"
"That's a stupid question, isn't it? I've been talking this whole time."
"Of course, I just thought that - "
"Maybe you thought wrong then."
"So you're inn has no healing abilities?"
"You really expect to take a lullaby and wake up expecting all your wounds to be healed?"
"Well, of course. That's how it always works."
"Well aren't you mr. miracle, eh? You should give the ol' village of Sundry a call. Last I heard they were all dying of the plague."
"Well, it probably wouldn't quite work for the plague."
"Oh, so a good night of triple z is enough to mend the wounds of battle, but we draw the line at the plague, eh?"
"I really never thought of the specifics."
"Oy! Grogery! Get over here! This bloke is saying that a nappy poo is supposed to heal your wounds."
"Is he a tard?" comes a voice from the distance.
"I don't know, i'll ask him! Aye you, the great taint you said your name was?"
"It's Kraint the Great and no I am not mentally challenged. All innkeepers are supposed to provide a healing service."
"Pardon me, I must've forgotten it in the back next to the pixie dust that makes your wanker bigger."
Kraint draws his sword and stares Ishtard in the eyes. "I can take your poor service, but I will not accept your insults."
"Well, settle down. No need to get your knickers full of stickers because of an honest mistake. I'm sure there are lots of people who think that given the noggin an ol' 1 2 with the pillow will magically heal anything. I once met a fellow who thought waving a feather over a dead body brought them back to life."
"I can see that my complaint isn't going anywhere, so I shall take leave. I do hope you mind your manners next time you meet the savior of Maldorn. Do tell me one thing, where can I find your town's healer?"
"You don't have a healer?"
"Kraint the Great does not require a healer!"
"That's a mighty stupid thing to say, wouldn't you agree? I mean, not five minutes ago you were boo hooin about the fact we ain't got no healer, and now you're trying to say you never needed one in the first place? What kinda blow did ol' anus give to ye?"
"ENOUGH! I must take leave! Good day, sir!"
"Don't forget your complimentary breakfast!"
Kraint storms out the front door and slams it behind him. From the back room comes Grogery wiping his hands with a towel.
"What was that all about?"
"It was just ol' Tiberious again. Trippin his balls off. Had a little laugh."
| 2016-01-05T08:52:13
| 2016-01-05T07:31:47
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
70% and it wouldn't finish. I had been waiting for this torrent to finish since the tech became readily available. Why wouldn't it finish? It was the best superpower I could think of and I found it! The program said it was still downloading, but with no motion in over a week I decided to see how the power would work at partial capacity.
Once I uploaded the power I realized immediately why it never finished, why it would never finish. My mind expanded outwards beyond my insignificant apartment. The whole of the ever expanding universe joined with my mindscape. Every moment brought new information, in unending torrents.
Omniscience is *never* complete.
|
I've always wanted to have superpowers. I remember back when I was in the third grade I would run two miles home from school everyday, just so that I could watch the latest episode of the Super Man cartoon show. I was so obsessed with being a super hero that some days I would come to school wearing a red cape. Needless to say I was always made fun of. This obsession continued up until the 7th grade. By this time guys were starting to get girl friends, and just about everyone was hanging out on weekends with their friends having lots of fun, everyone except for me. I decided that it was time to grow up. I quit wearing the cape to school, stopped watching super hero shows, and even tore all my super hero posters off my bedroom walls. I swore I would never go back to my geeky ways. By the time I started high school I actually had some decent friends, and this girl I had a crush on finally began talking to me. Life was finally starting to get better. Then all of a sudden, in just 3 months time, things started to change, and when I say change I mean REALLY change. It all started during school, one of the teachers turned on the TV and switched straight to the news channel. The shocking news left everyone in disbelief. Apparently some big shot hacker had hacked straight into the US Military databases and had uncovered what some say to be the greatest piece of technology since the internet itself. This technology that he leaked all over the web was being torrented by people everywhere. And what did this technology do you ask? Well... It gave people superpowers... The US Military was doing everything that they possibly could to rid this new technology from the internet. From what i've heard you'd be lucky if your torrent got to 2% before the US Military busted down your doors. And to all the people caught trying to torrent them... the death sentence. Within a few years people quit talking about it, it seemed like bringing it up into a conversation was taboo. Cut ten years later and im living what seems to be the perfect life, I have a great job, i've married the love of my life, and I have a beautiful boy. Everything was great but something seemed like it was missing. I couldn't quite figure it out at first, but one day while I was helping my parents clean out their old house I found something remarkable in the attic. It was the cape... It was my cape... Suddenly it hit me. The news story from back in high school about the super powers started playing back in my brain. It was just like when a catchy song gets stuck in your head, and i couldn't stop thinking about it. It was getting late so I said my goodbyes to my parents and raced out the door. I just wanted to see if it was still possible. I drove like a maniac to get back home still with the news report playing back in my head. Finally, when I arrived home I ran straight to my laptop. I googled for the torrents everywhere but there was no results of it to be found. It was almost as if it was entirely erased from the internet. My search went on for a couple more hours until finally I found something strange. It was a website in German, that google couldn't translate. During my college days I had gone through three German courses, but it was still really hard for me to understand what it was saying. Suddenly a certain word caught my eye, it said "Supermacht 229 TB". I knew what supermacht translated too from back in school. It meant super power, but could it actually be a real super power torrent? What else could possibly take up 229 Terra bytes? It had to be. I clicked on a button that looked like it might be the download, and all of a sudden uTorrent pops up. It started downloading something. It reached 1% and I began to get very nervous. I paced back and forth asking myself if I should cancel it or not before it's too late. I've heard almost all the stories, and I certainly didn't want the death penalty. I raced back to my screen to see that it was already at 24%. I assured myself that if it had managed to get that far there was no way the military was tracking my download. Soon enough it was at 60%, and I started to feel something tingling inside of me. I didn't think about it until then, but I realized my hard drive couldn't hold 2 terabytes let alone 229! Every percent downloaded I could feel the power in me grow stronger, I felt like I could fly, and well... Maybe I could! I was about to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a superhero nothing was going to stop me! Suddenly once my download hit 70% it stopped, and all that I had started to feel left my body. Next I began hearing noises outside. I couldn't believe it. I had gotten so close. I rushed outside to find something unbelievably. "DINKLEBERG!", I screamed. "Hi neighbor!", Mr. Dinkleberg responded while floating in mid air.
| 2016-07-02T18:11:32
| 2016-07-02T18:09:05
| 717
| 17
|
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany.
|
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/dpf39n/flowers_part_2/) is up!
The aura of the little Tuscan flower shop drew me in like none had drawn me in before. Not even world governments or their secret spy societies; not even cults or churches or anything of the sort. It glowed red to me, pulsating like a living, beating heart. I was a moth to a flame; a drowning creature to the tantalizing safety of fresh air.
Bells on the door jingled as I entered; the smell of lavender and roses assailed my nostrils. I gave in to the temptation and looked around.
Flowers, of course, I was in a flower shop. But they were the finest, most intricate flowers I had ever seen. Roses with such detail that I could lose myself in the petals for hours. Pinks that turned to red in a different light. Purples that turned to a dark maroon and blacks darker than the darkest night.
"Welcome," she said, her English heavily accented. I must have looked a tourist with the t-shirt of the Italian boot hoofing a soccer ball and my backpack on. Her voice was mellow, the tone sweet. Her face was pretty, with plump cheeks. She smiled politely, and for a moment the pulsing of the walls stopped. "How are you?" she asked as I approached the desk.
"What is this place?" I said by way of response, looking deep into her eyes. They were a kaleidoscope of colors, tossing the reds and greens and purples of the flowers into a multicolored masterpiece.
"A flower shop, sir," she responded. She must have me a fool, asking what a flower shop was. She must have thought me a fool, that I was ignorant to the secrets that little shop held. I shook my head, breathing deeply. Petunias, if my memory served me right, sitting on the counter, patterned like the night sky. I reached for a petal and she stopped me. "No touching, please.
"Sorry."
She smiled pleasantly, my trespass forgiven. "What flower are you looking for?"
I looked her in the eyes again, fighting the hypnotic way the colors morphed and molded into different shades and shapes. "I'm not actually looking for a flower," I told her. I think she might have already known. She blinked carefully but her face remained impassive, helpful as a service worker strove to be.
"Then how can I help, sir?"
"This place," I said vaguely, waving around a hand. "This is the headquarters of an organization."
She didn't smile and she didn't frown. She tensed, maybe, but even that was so subtle that I could have imagined it. Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. "No, sir. I think you're mistaken."
I shook my head. "I'm not mistaken. I don't make mistakes, not about this. This shop..." I looked around. Passerby walked by oblivious to the secrets of this little store. Some glanced in the window, their faces crinkling into smiles as they saw the magical flowers of the gallery. "This is the head of the world's most powerful organization."
She gulped and her jaw clenched. I was sure of it now. The ringing of the bell on the door snapped her gaze away from me and she glanced up towards the latest customer. Then her eyes were back on mine, the kaleidoscope now muted and black and her gaze steely. "You're mistaken," she answered firmly. She raised a hand, beckoning the customer towards me. "Mario," she said. It wasn't just a name. It was an order.
I stepped aside but an iron grip grasped my arm. The street was the other way, not towards the back room where I was being led. I voiced a complaint and he gruffly shushed me, saying something in Italian that I couldn't understand. I tried to plant my feet but the behemoth of a man pulled me forwards.
A bull in a China shop, I thought to myself, wondering how he managed to so gracefully avoid even touching any of the flowers. That was my last thought as he opened the door, throwing me inside and stepping in behind me.
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/dpf39n/flowers_part_2/) is up!
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
|
Strange... A flower shop? Really? I mean, I know we're in Tuscany, so it's probably the mafia, but still. Do they rule the world by killing everybody with perfume or something? Sarcasm aside, you decide to check it out.
You walk in to the shop, while an overload of nice smells attacks your nose. You walk to the desk, but no one is there.
"Hello?", you yell, "Anybody here?"
Suddenly, a breeze hits you in the face, again containing the most smells you have ever had shoved up your nostrils. A young lady with stunning blue eyes appears.
"How can I help you?", she asks. She stares at you with a questioning face. "You don't want to buy flowers, do you?"
"I uh, I just wanted to..."
"You want to know why this 'organisation' is so powerfull", she completes your sentence.
"Well... Yeah"
She grins. "Are you sure you want to know?"
You nod twice, not really sure, but very curious. She leaves a small silence after her words, because she's probably a drama queen, and then she says:
"Because, I, the one who runs this organisation, am Demeter, the Greek goddess!"
| 2019-10-29T04:33:57
| 2019-10-29T03:42:59
| 255
| 11
|
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming.
|
The rules must be followed.
As the girl's drunken father stumbled down the stairs into the living room, I couldn't help but reflect with amusement at the circumstances. I had just been talking with a fellow demon about this *very scenario* last week, and here it was, manifesting itself in reality.
It isn't very often that we demons are given a little bit of free reign, so when those moments arise... well, you tend to appreciate them.
I'm one of the legion assigned to answer Big Boss's calls for service. He gets thousands a day, and just like the other big dude in red, he can't be there to answer them all personally. So he has delegates do it for him to keep the ball rolling.
Think of us as really, really bad mall Santas.
Anyhow, because we aren't 'technically' the ones the people are making the deal with, we have to abide by the specific terms set by the requestor. This is to help make things 'fair' for all involved, should the matter come under dispute later. There are rules about who can or can't make requests of the big guy.
For example, insane people are a no-go. Boss was emphatic on this one, crazies were a non-starter. Something about not being able to make a rational decision or some other crap. During the last meeting, he drilled that one into us, literally. Black and Decker 12 Volt, sure got the point across.
Another example: Kids. The whole problem arises when you consider that each kid is different... some are more mature than others, despite chronological age. Some kids don't have enough life experience to make a rational decision that's based in experience and cold hard logic. It makes it hard to judge if a kid is mature enough for the deal to 'stick' if it ever gets disputed. So the boss erred on the side of safety and set a hard chronological age limit: Nobody under the age of 10 was ever eligible to make a deal with him. Ever.
I guess, in hindsight, the rules were there to make our jobs easier, despite our moaning about them. But sometimes... just sometimes... those annoying rules worked to our advantage as mall santas.
Like I said before, I'd been chatting with Larry between calls last week and asked him if he'd ever had to respond to a kid's request. He said he hadn't yet, but he had a plan on what he'd do if he *was* summoned. So we chatted for a bit, and came up with some ideas on what *I* would do. While we were going over the rules, we found something very interesting, which I ended up mentally filing away for a rainy day.
As I crouched with the crying little girl in the pink dress with the black eye and bleeding lip, I noted with some irony that the living room window was streaked with rain. Guess the devil really *is* in the details.
"Sweetie," I said quietly, "I can't make a deal to help you. You're too little, and the rules won't let me. But I want you to do me a favour."
She looked at me with fear and despair as we both heard her dad lose his footing and fall partway down the stairs to the landing. He cursed and shuffled, trying to pick his drunk ass up off the floor.
"What is it?" she asked with a terrified whisper.
"Ask me to explain the rules. If you ask, I have to explain. It's the Boss's... rule."
"How will that help??" she asked, on the verge of tears.
"Just trust me," I said with the least-threatening smile I could muster.
"BECKY! Get your ass up here!" came the drunken slur. "Daddy's feelin' frisky!"
She stared at me with pleading eyes. "Please! Help me!"
"Trust me, sweetie. Just ask me to explain the rules."
Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as her drunken, molester father rounded the corner. "OK! Please explain the rules to me!" she shrieked.
I turned from her cowering form to that of her fat, drunken father. As I did I grew from the tiny two-foot tall black shadow into a 9-foot tall, 500 pound mass of muscle, sinew and rage.
"Gladly, my dear," came the deep bass rumble from my new form.
What she didn't know was, the boss wanted to make sure that those selling their souls had no recourse. No 'out', if you will. So he had a laundry list of conditions that had to be imposed, and each person selling their soul had to be explicitly aware of the conditions before they could agree to sell. To help expedite the process, there was a rule in place stating demons could use 'any abilities or demonstrations necessary' to ensure that the terms and conditions were correctly explained.
It never said that we couldn't explain the terms to people who were excluded for other reasons. And it didn't say how we would do the explaining, or how long it needed to take.
As the drunk man stopped in his tracks and stared at me I reached out with one clawed hand, grabbing him by the throat from across the room. With telepathic powers, I closed my hand around his neck and lifted him off the ground. He gasped and gurgled, like a fish out of water. Becky stared in rapt fascination and, dare I say it, a little bit of glee. Daddy was finally getting a taste of what it felt like to be a helpless victim.
"Section 1 of 1, 252, 339. Paragraph one," I said in a voice that was a low rumbling mix between Darth Vader and Michael Clarke Duncan.
"These terms and conditions are mandatory and non-negotiable by all parties involved, and shall be forever and irrevocably binding," I said, squeezing dad's neck until he turned purple and his eyes started to bulge out of his head.
The rules must be followed.
|
“Ugh...” I groaned looking at the blue spectral flames that had risen in the goblet. A summoning.
Everyone on earth thought that when you did a summoning ritual you summoned the big guy, Satan himself. But he was to busy ruling hell to answer petty calls from earth. No demons like myself took care of those calls.
I hated my job. I wanted to be part of something bigger, something better. But no. I took calls, people summoning who had a wish, usually lame ones, like wanting a few inches more below the belt. Or their one true love to notice them. It was all so damned boring.
I flicked my wrist, causing the flames o rise up and engulf me. Taking me to the circle that the person used to summon me. I felt the sensation of being back on earth. But something was different.
I opened my black eyes and looked down at my body. I was inhabiting some body I had possessed centuries ago. Dressed it up in classy black suit. I looked up at where I was a dimly lit basement filled with boxes, dust and junk.
Usually when I arrived I could smell some sort of sin of the person who called me. Lust, sloth and greed where the big ones. But there was no sin this time. No pride, no gluttony. But here was something else. Fear.
I scanned the room and saw a small boy with uneven cut hair and green eyes peering at me from behind a box on the ground. ‘Shit.’ I thought to myself. One of the few policies Hell stuck to was no dealing with minors.
“Are you the devil?” The little boy squeaked out from behind the box. He raid his head a little more with the question.
“No.” I said simply. My voice low and monotone, of the humans I was possessing. I glared at the boy. “I can’t deal with you. Nor will I.” I turned on my heel to go back to my office in Hell. But the boy spoke up.
“Please you have to help me! No one will.” His voice started cracking and getting more earnest. “My friends Said God would help. But he hasn’t answered my prayers.
I snorted. God like the devil didn’t answer calls of humans. It was up to the angels to do that, and they were to up on their high horses to assist low being like humans. Which I found funny considering they damned Lucifer for not bowing to man.
I turned around “listen ki-“ I was cut off. The boy had fully emerged from the box, and was covered with wounds. Not just bruises. But cut wounds and burns that looked like they were from cigarettes. My demon blood began to boil.
“Please help me mr...” the child cried. “I am scared...” Then a loud noise a thunk. Like something had fallen.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a coin. I flipped it to the kid. I could hear movement upstairs. “I can’t grant your wish kid. But that coin can. Tell it what you want...” I said.
The kid held the coin up to his face, confused, as the footsteps grew louder and louder. He closed his eyes. “I want to be free...” he said to the coin.
A door slammed open, a light shimmering down from upstairs. The light showing the dark wood of the stairs the creaked beneath the heavy footsteps. “Boy!” A man screamed from the stairs.
The boy sprang up and ran behind me. He trembling hands clutching my pant leg, while he sobbed. Something erupted inside of me. I hated humans like this. Humans bad mouth demons and call them monsters. But refuse to acknowledge that they are monsters as well.
The man finally arrived downstairs. His fat belly protruding out from under his, stained, white undershirt. “Boy you are to come when called! Or do you need another lesson.” The man looked over to me. “Who the fuck are you.” Normally I wouldn’t let anyone who didn’t summon me see me. But I wanted to make an exception.
I walked calmly up to the balding man. The scent of whiskey surrounding him. I looked into the mans green eyes with my own black eyes. “Did you do this to your son?” I asked.
The man couldn’t lie to me. But shook his head. I could see everything in his eyes. The sins he had committed. The lust, chasing after every woman that would look at him. The gluttony and sloth, never working and staying home drinking, driving the mother of the child away. The greed, taking things that didn’t belong to him. The pride, thinking he was untouchable even from the cops who had came to investigate some leads. The envy for everyone around him that had things much better than his own. Finally the wraith that took out on his son every night.
I held up my hand, the fat monster of a man was flung against the back of the wall. I tightened my hand, gripping his soul with my power. Terror and pain filled the mans face as he struggled against the wall. He squealed and sobbed, not able to get any words out of his mouth. I twisted my hand and the mans neck twisted around with a sickening crack.
I turned away from the body. I walked towards the child who was on the ground. I put my hand on the child’s head. “Seems the coin granted your wish...” I said with small gentle smile. “If you ever find yourself back against the wall again. Make a wish on that coin again. It might grant it.”
I walked towards the circle the boy had summoned me from. A light formed, beginning to take me back. Before I disappeared, the boy called to me. “Are you an angel?!”
I was back in my office before I could answer, no. But the question did bring a smile to my face.
| 2018-10-08T13:02:02
| 2018-10-08T12:43:35
| 144
| 89
|
[WP] The year is 2020. The first astronauts have landed on Mars. They find a cave with a single human skeleton and four words written on the wall.
|
The wind howled against the Martian rock, blowing golf-ball sized rocks and waves of dust over the cave Martinez ducked into.
“About time,” Vasquez grumbled. “You almost got yourself killed collecting space rocks.”
Martinez joined the other four scientists huddled in the cave around an electric lantern and plopped down besides Vasquez. “But it was damn good space rock, sir!”
Vasquez chuckled. He was the commander of this team of scientists and Martinez the budget comic relief. They had gone to Mars in near secret by the resources of a private Mexican oil company. The owner was something of a patriot and wanted Mexico back on the map so he had poached as many top scientists as he could and put them on a spaceship that had somehow made it onto Mars in one piece.
“You guys ever been through a sandstorm before?” Vasquez asked.
The other three scientists shook their head, their lips parted in smiles. 54.6 million kilometers from home and they got to experience the full cacophonous glory of a sandstorm. It seemed strange that something like this could exist back on Earth when they had to travel to mars for the same experience.
“I bet you Dominique’s burst a vein right about now,” Martinez said. “She’s probably doing the whole manic Spanish mother act. *Puta! Chinchilla! Enchilada!*”
He got a few reluctant chuckles from two scientists and a glare from Vasquez. He turned toward his commander, “what? I’m an eight Costa Rican, I can say these types of things.”
“An *eighth*,” Vasquez said, rolling his eyes. “Dominique’s probably worried sick. We still can’t get the communication line going, damn dust storm.”
Martinez hopped up and turned on his flashlight. “Well, as long as we’re here, we might as well collect more space rocks. How deep do you think this cave goes?”
Vasquez reluctantly nodded. If they were going to be idle anyways, might as well be productive. He waved his finger in a circle and the two other scientists pushed themselves up, following the fading echo of Martinez’s footsteps.
---
“What the hell is this?” Vasquez hovered a single gloved finger over the skeleton, too scared to touch it. Its skull was encapsulated by a shattered glass dome and tattered white cloth clung to its ribcage. One of the pieces of cloth held the stars and stripes of the USA.
“Sir,” there was a tremble in Carlos’s voice. “Look at this.”
Vasquez looked up. Etched on the rock in faded blood read *don’t trust the friend*. He squinted at the words. If he could’ve, he would’ve been scratching his head.
“Don’t trust the friend? What the hell?” he muttered.
“I have a bad feeling,” Carlos said in stuttered breaths.
Vasquez swallowed his fear. It was the commander’s job to do so. “Where’s Martinez? We’re going to get him and get out of here as soon as the storm lets up.” He turned into the cave, his light splitting the abyss until it too was swallowed by the blackness. “Martinez!” he shouted. “Get back here, we’re leaving!”
No response. There wasn’t even the beam of light they had been following anymore.
“Sir?” Carlos said.
“Not now, Carlos.”
“But, sir. Where’s Alex?”
Vasquez turned and sure enough, there were only two astronauts present. “You gotta be shitting me. He probably ran off to find that idiot Martinez.” He did a full circle, illuminating the walls around them. Nothing. “Well, let’s head back for now, we’ll get the other two once the comm lines are back up.”
Nervous energy welled inside Vasquez’s stomach. None of this made sense. The corpse, the message, how they hadn’t even heard Alex take off or how Martinez just disappeared into nothing.
“Okay, keep close, Carlos.”
There was no response.
“Carlos?”
Vasquez did another full sweep. He was alone.
“What the fuck?” he turned again, swept the floors, the ceilings, everything, but there was no sign of the other scientists.
A footstep sounded in front of him and he jerked his light toward it, revealing familiar dust-stained boots. “Holy hell,” Vasquez panted, “it’s just you Martinez. Where the hell did the others go?” A drop of blood hit the boots. A breath caught in Vasquez's throat.
Slowly, he panned the light up.
It was Martinez, but now with a wide smile that revealed rows of razor teeth and blood leaking from his lips. He was no longer wearing his visor.
“We tried to stop you guys from coming here,” Martinez said, the humor gone from his voice, but his face in a static expression of glee. “We sabotaged your governments, bankrupted your companies, and still, one of you monkeys always finds a way.”
“Martinez… what the hell’s going on?”
Martinez just shrugged. “Congratulations commander, you’ve discovered life on Mars.” And all the lights went out.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
|
This deep under the Martian soil, we were completely cut off from Earth.
The new suits were nice. Snugger than the bulky old models, they still offered the same high level of protection from the environment. Made cave exploration feasible. Which was good, because that was the whole point of this mission.
Investigator, one of our three surface probes, had wandered down here and stopped responding. It was probably stuck, and at two tons it would be too heavy to move even in Martian gravity, so Captain McBride had sent my team and me to free or salvage it as possible.
Miriam came on the comms. "Bill, Victor! You're going to want to see this."
I sighed, touching the side of my head. "Miriam, Vic and I hate surprises. Can't you just tell us?"
She took a deep breath. "I want to confirm I'm not hallucinating, guys. Maybe they mixed my O2 wrong." That got our attention. It wasn't a common problem, but mistakes had been made. We'd almost died earlier that month when Anita's mix had been wrong and she'd tried opening the airlock too early.
Vic and I headed towards her. Cavewalking on Mars was dangerous, more so than you might think. If you moved to quick, stepped to hard, you'd gain more altitude that you expected and could crack your visor or helmet. So we advanced slowly towards Miriam, Victor giving her reassurance as we did.
Then his reassurance turned to a swear when he saw it. A skeleton, resting there. It was stretched out, one hand reaching for the wall, a single finger pointing to it. Words were written on there, in what looked like cuneiform.
"So..." Miriam said, glancing at us. "You guys see the dead person too."
"Roger," I said. "And long dead - stripped to the bone." Victor was still swearing, and I had to interrupt him. "Vic, okay, it's weird, but...what's your deal."
"Look. It's a human skeleton, Bill. You know what that means?" I shrugged, and he muttered "Engineers." He spoke up to clarify, "It means that we can’t be sure that, if we find life, it's not just evolved from stuff on this guy. It means that unless it's clearly of non-terrestrial origin, there's no answer."
I winced. Vic was our astrobiologist. If he was right, it meant his job could be obsolete. "Okay, I'm sorry. But we need to deal with that later. Vic, look at the wall."
He finally did, and his eyes widened. It wasn't a cave wall. No natural rock formation was that straight, that clean, and that covered with symbols.
"What does the writing mean?" I wasn't sure who I was asking, but Miriam responded. "Roughly? ‘The Master Still Lives.’ I mean, it's an off the cuff translation, but..." She noticed Victor and I were staring at her. "I got a degree in Linguistics before switching to computer science," she said, almost defensively.
Without any reason or way to argue with her, I walked up to the wall, running my hand along it. I could feel a faint vibration as I did. "I think there's something behind it...look, over here."
They came over and glanced at what I had uncovered. When brushing along the dust, I'd cleared a circle of glass that was laid into it.
"What...what is it?" Victor's voice was breathless, his earlier fear forgotten.
"I'm not sure, but I have a hunch. Miriam, can you read the inscription again, but...in whatever language that is this time?"
She looked at me, at the circle, and then shrugged herself. "No harm in trying." Words came out of her mouth in a strange tongue I didn't recognize. Which...okay, it's what I asked her to do. So no reason I should shiver as she did.
We all jumped, however, when the wall began do dilate, expanding like an eye to reveal a dark room.
"Uh...guys?" Victor's voice was thick. "Are we sure that was a good idea?"
Before Miriam or I could answer, the universe did. A tentacle leapt out of the darkness, impaling Victor's skull.
Thank god for Miriam. I was standing there, frozen in terror, and she dove on top of me as another tentacle flailed out. "Be not afraid."
That wasn't Miriam's voice, or Victors. It had a weird accent, and it was coming from inside the room.
"Be not afraid, humans." Between its sentences, I could hear a faint slurping noise, and saw an undulation happening from the tentacle moving back into the darkness. *It was eating Victor's brain.* I wanted to scream again, or throw up, and Miriam was trying to pull me away.
It pushed itself out of the room. It looked like it would stand about nine feet tall when it went fully upright. It had two legs coming off its lower body, but four coming off the central - two long, hulking ones, and two smaller delicate ones that looked like they were perfect for manipulation. Its head was shaped like a crescent moon with eyes at the tips that reminded me of a hammerhead, with another two eyes in the center of the crescent moon, staring at us. Four tentacles like the one that was slowly pulling out of Victor's skull waved behind it.
"Be not afraid," it repeated, the words coming from a pair of mandibles at the bottom of its crescent head, "for the gods have awoken."
Finally Miriam’s pulling got through to me, and as safely as we could we ran - not overly concerned about cracking our heads.
"Be not afraid!" it shouted after us, the voice high and mocking. "Tell the others! Your gods have returned!"
---
More at /r/Hydrael_writes
| 2017-06-06T19:47:48
| 2017-06-06T19:28:16
| 181
| 50
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
The voice... and the face that goes with it
I start to say something, "a-"
She cuts me off
She's saying things, I don't really know what, it's just noise, I'm trying to remember the worst thoughts I've had over the years.
Then the thought slips, "maybe she knows too much, should I kill her?"
She takes a step back, she knows that I thought it
"he's not serious, is he?"
She takes another step back
I don't know if I'm serious, she knows that I dont know if I'm serious, she knows I might be, I dont
I have no plan, she knows I have no plan but it doesnt seem like she has much of a plan either
She takes another step back, looking into my expressionless face, she knows I'm not going to chase her, she runs
She has more than enough thoughts running through our minds for one person and I could swear I have twice as many, it's so loud... there's no break in the storm, just endless,thundering trains of thought with little to no direction compounding on top of one another, I want her to stop thinking but I can't stop on my end, every passing second I remember a thought, I hear her remember a thought, we're rationalizing, we're lying, we know we're lying.
I could handle insanity, but this is too much, simply laying on my bed is exhausting, I need a drink or 12, I need silence
I win I lose, I lose I win, what is there to win?
Time to get acquainted with an empty bottle
|
I turn around and I just knew who she was.
"No, Cathy. You should've left five years ago."
Cathy gave me a big grin, her eyes filled with anger, her fingers trembling. She looked at me from head to toe, seeming disappointed.
"You should've joined me then. We were a team! Why are you still here?"
I tried killing myself with a gunshot through the head five years ago. I wanted to escape from the voice inside my head. She told me that if I ended it, all will be over, she will leave me alone. I miraculously survived. I never heard from Cathy again, until now.
"Cathy, leave me alone. Please. It wasn't my fault you died inside mother's womb. Please just let me go."
"But it was. We were together from the beginning of time. It is not right for us to be apart."
She came closer to me and hugged me tight. She was warm. She pulled me in closer and whispered to my ear,
"Come with me. We are all waiting for you."
It hurt. It went right through my chest. The last thing I saw were my walls being painted red.
| 2019-09-14T10:59:27
| 2019-09-14T10:55:47
| 23
| 13
|
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
|
It was a freezing morning in New York.
I slipped into the local Starbucks for some coffee.
There was a new cashier today.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?", She asked, exasperated.
"Soy un federale, tengo un gato en mis pantalones," I replied.
The disinterested look on her face vanished instantly.
"You...", she said, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
For a second my heart skipped a beat.
"Do you know how many years I've spent working in Mexico because of your bullshit!?" She yelled, smashing her fists on the Register.
It was her.
She was the one.
Edit: Damn, first gold. Didn't expect this. Thanks guys!
|
The traditional "You're 18 now" letter lay in front of me. It is delivered by our life sucking, future seeing, freedom restricting leaders. They control everything. Cameras in all locations, GPS ankle bracelets on all citizens. But these letters are despised above all.
They give us these letters telling us who our "soulmate" will be in an attempt to control the traits and DNA that gets passed down.
I open the letter. "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
Really? My supposed "soulmate" works at Starbucks? I refuse to follow their orders-- no matter what they threaten me with.
I am determined to find my own, real soulmate, blaze my own trail in defiance of their tyranny.
...Besides... that's not the first thing Maria said to me...
It is 4:44, only minutes after my official birthday started. I need to leave soon. I have a meeting with Maria tonight. So, I get dressed, grab my keys and drive to our favorite spot.
Doubts begin to flood my mind, but I push them away. "I love her. I love her. Maria is my soul mate" I say to myself on repeat. There is no life without her.
There she is. Next to the creek, a letter in her hand. Absoulely stunning. She decided not to open her letter until my birthday so that we could tell each other on the same day.
"Hello Maria" I say in the most loving manner possible.
"Hello James. Did you open your letter?" She replied, her eyes wet with tears.
This can't be happening, I won't let it! They can't tear us apart!
"I will be with you, or I will die with you Maria."
She embraces me, and together we burn our letters. We sit together on the side of the creek, feet dangling in the water, enjoying our last moments together.
The sirens begin. They will find us soon.
She is worth it.
| 2014-12-17T23:12:07
| 2014-12-17T21:55:59
| 2,270
| 279
|
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
|
I didn't intend to kill Hitler. I'm not the average time-traveler, you see, I just wanted to have a quiet life in the country side of the Old Europe. I found my lifestyle. I found a beautiful girl named Annabelle and worked my way up in French society at the time. I married Annabelle. I found and bought a quaint little house in a village. The village was built along a road, and at the end of the road lay a villa with pad-locked gates and streaming white walls. I had two children. The first was a boy named Dante, and the second was a girl named after my mother: Beatrice. Unfortunately, I hadn't read my history and forgot about World War II.
Germany invaded France and so came upon my little village which lay in Burgundy. First, came the overwhelming buzzing as the Luftwaffe began to toss their bombs. I didn't understand why they were attacking us at the time; I later found out that the villa was the site of large oil tanks and reserves, and just a few kilometers off was a hidden military base. The bombs swept over the village like a fiery storm, spitting fire, twisting and burning everything and everyone. My Time Machine was destroyed in my house during that first wave. My daughter burned to death; she was in her crib and was crying out as her flesh melted off her bones. I found her later, charred black with a gaping mouth but no tongue. Her teeth were still white as snow. The few bombs had created towering infernos that dashed and killed as an avenging angel of death. The Germans wasted an immense amount of resources on our useless village. When I returned to my time, I learned of their assaults on Paris and London, but I would never hear of their experiments of these techniques on small towns like mine.
My wife was changed after the storm. She would chatter in gibberish for a short while and then scream, pointing towards the darkness as if she saw a devil materialise in front of her. She would rock back and forth on the ground. I had to move her everywhere in a wheelbarrow I found. We met up with the other survivors. Night fell, I fell asleep, I woke up and my wife was gone. Not even a note was left. She had dashed off into the forest like a wild animal.
My son was twelve years old, and was all that remained of my past life. He supported me, his father, and saved me from despair. I cried on him every night, and he would muffle my tears so that the others in our make-shift refugee camp didn't hear me and disapprove of my weakness. Soon, French trucks came and brought us to Paris. My son and I took up residence at my wife's parent's house, they were grieved over their daughter, but gladly brought us into their home and reassured us of victory against Germany.
The next day, all of France bowed to Germany in defeat.
The soldiers marched in with crisp uniforms and rigid steps. They goose-stepped their way to their glory and France's shame. In trucks stood their leaders, and from my weak knowledge of 20th Century History, I recognised Adolf Hitler.
The machinations of my terror and the evils that had befallen in me lay in this man. My doom had been set at the moment I lay my eyes on the man. My blood heated up, and my heart beat twice as fast when I saw him. My brain pounded in my head and I felt sick in my stomach. I looked at him through my in-laws' windows, and only one thought dashed through my mind over and over.
*Revenge.*
My time machine had been destroyed. All I had left were the tools I brought from the future. A knife and an invisibility cloak. But the cloak would break if I attempted any action outside of it; it could only be used for reconnaissance.
So I set out for my revenge. I went to my in-laws and spoke with them for a few minutes, I told them to take care of my son, and that I intended to return, but that I would be gone for a while. They nodded but they seemed afraid. My tone of voice and pale pallor scared them. I left without saying anything to my son, I didn't want him to stop me with his words. I walked off to stalk Hitler.
|
I couldn't help but dwell on the stories of my father killing Hitler using only a menorah and some olive oil, from the opposite side of town. How was I to top that? It was the only 99% on record.
I've had my whole childhood to scheme, and at 18 I figured that to get a perfect score, I'd just have to be farther away and even more creative. How? A deathly Rube Goldberg machine. It didn't have the same irony, but the tension would be glorious for the viewers.
Binoculars at the ready, I tipped over the first golden domino.
***
bored? try /r/Hermione_Grangest
| 2016-02-20T08:59:12
| 2016-02-20T08:21:16
| 204
| 41
|
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Looking in the mirror, I puffed my chest out arrogantly.
I flexed, and admired the aesthetics of my physique.
Vascular arms, the chiseled abs, and V taper.
And then my eyes stopped short, shocked.
I trembled as the realization dawned.
I've made a huge mistake.
How did this happen?
I skipped it.
Leg Day.
Again.
|
Timmy had been my best friend since the first grade.
Over the summer, we hung out every single day.
We played pranks, told stories, made great memories.
We knew we would always be friends.
But now school has started again.
Timmy used to be nice.
He stole my juice.
I want revenge.
Die, Timmy.
Burn.
| 2015-01-05T22:38:49
| 2015-01-05T21:55:48
| 1,258
| 364
|
[WP] A small village becomes fearful of a dragon that has taken residence near them. The dragonslayer they hired runs back to the village after the first day and begins rapidly packing his things. "It's not the dragon that you should be afraid of" He says. "It's the thing its protecting you from."
|
First of all, I wish to apologise. It is not that I am incapable of slaying this dragon, nor would I normally be unwilling to. It is clear that it is a threat, as it has taken cattle and burned a man already. I simply believe this dragon to be a benefit to the area, even counting the odd cow. Truthfully, even a shepherd or two would be a good deal better than the alternative. Please, listen to my story before judging. You are of course free to hire someone else, as I have already declined payment for this mission.
I set out some days ago in order to scout the area and locate the beast's lair. I found it with little trouble; it is a cave excavated in a sheer cliff on the mountain you pointed out earlier. Needle-point, I believe you called it. Climbing up to it was somewhat troublesome, but doable. Once I reached the cave, the dragon was not present, so I investigated the place to gain knowledge of its habits. I shall spare you the details, as the important part is the bones I found. As I had expected, I found various bones of local animals. Deer, goat, even some large fish. I also found a the skulls of two cows and a half-eaten sheep. However, I also found a large amount of bones unknown to me. Over half, by my count, in fact. Piecing an individual together I found it to have these traits: It was about the size of a bear, and quadrapedal. The forelegs were longer than the hind legs, and both ended in hand-like appendages. The fingers were clawed and it had opposable thumbs on both fore and hind feet. The skull was thick, with strong jaws and a carnivore's teeth.
Having investigated this much, I made my way down to the ground. I was curious about this new creature, so I decided to track one down to observe and dissect it. I reasoned that, since they were a large part of the dragon's diet, they ought to be abundant. Sure enough, I found fresh tracks the same evening. Following them for two days, I eventually laid eyes upon the creature. It was covered in black hair, and walked on two or four legs by turns. I stalked it for a bit, to learn its behaviour. It was hunting. It seems to posess a strong nose. It often siffed the air or the ground, in places with tracks visible to my hunter's eyes.
I followed this creature for a day, until it seemed to find something it had searched for. Then, it engaged in a disturbing task: It laid a trap. Once it had deemed the location suitable, it went off to gather food. It brought fruits and nuts, and laid them out on the ground as if setting a table. It had even shelled the nut, and I saw it crush some of the fruit. Then, it climbed a tree by the food and sat there, watching the ground and sniffing the air. Soon enough, a boar was drawn to the scent of food. The creature jumped down and killed it with a single blow from its long arms. Seeing my chance, I resolved to bring it down as it was distracted by its meal. It was a fierce battle, but I have slain dragons. It succumbed soon enough. Dissecting it gave some more information. I found hair and bone in its gut, but no plants. Its flesh tasted foul, like wolf or fox meat, but carried no poison. Worms had burrowed into its liver, so I burned it. Its eyes glowed in the fire's light once night fell, so it likely is able to see well in the dark.
What I had learned from this beast was most concerning. Not only is it large and predatory, it is smart. Smart enought to set a trap with bait that lures the prey it seeks. If there are as many as there seems to be, enough to feed a dragon, it is simply impossible that nobody knew about them. Yet, when I asked about the animals in these mountains, they were not mentioned. Moreover it did not fear the scent of man, as most beasts do, nor did it attempt to hunt me, though i followed it for a day. I can only conclude that these creatures are new to these mountains. Likely they migrated from the black forest beyond them, the cursed lands of Marghz. I know not why they have come. Perhaps they grew too numerous, berhaps something drove them into the mountains. It doesn't matter. They are here, and they are dangerous. Make no mistake, a normal man cannot stand against them. Should they learn than men are made of food, your village would be gone in a year.
Thus is my reasoning: Let the dragon feast upon them. Let it snatch them from the treetops as they watch the ground patiently. I ask you this: leave the dragon in peace. I have brought a skull, a pelt and a hand with me. I shall deliver it to the scholars of the Royal academy and plead that they place a bounty on the creature, lest they become a scourge upni the kingdom. To you of the village, I shall leave these advice: Do not go into the mountains. If you go, do not go alone. If you see a pile of food, do not go near it. If you see the creatures leave at once. If they come out of the mountains, flee, and make your case to the lord and knights. If travellers come, show them this letter and tell them to avoid the mountains.
As a hunter, I can kill them. But as a hunter, I can also see their power. Frankly, the thought of even a hundred of these loose in the kingdom sends ice through my veins. I will do what I can to aid you, but for now I must leave to prepare for this new prey.
Once again, I apologise
Ruford Belthon
Dragonslayer, Master Hunter, Coward
|
It had been six weeks since the dragon had taken up residence in the small village of Glendore. Many brave warriors were sent to attempt to fight it, but each attempt was met in vain. No matter how many times they attempted to stab the dragon, shove it, or even scream at it in frustration, the dragon never so much as blinked in retaliation. It's wounds were always mysteriously healed the very next day, its shiny golden scales gleaming in the sunlight, its beautifully long tail coiled under it and its amber-red eyes gazing into space.
Glendore was a small village tucked away into the middle of one of the largest forests in the kingdom, and they were very secretive about outsiders intruding. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that this dragon was not going to be leaving its post anytime soon. Thus, they sent for a dragon slayer.
Malevolo the Dragon Slayer was by far the most well known dragon slayer in all the kingdom. His fame was widely spread, even to the Glendore villagers due to his affiliation with the royal family, his humble and charming demeanor, and his incredible talent for slaying dragons. He feared nothing and would not rest till his job was done, even at the cost of his left leg. When Malevolo arrived, the village was buzzing in excitement, ready to see the fearless hunter in action up close. A gathering was arranged at the front gate of the village where the dragon now resided, as Malevolo strode up to the dragon, sword in hand. Yet, the second his sword made contact with the dragon, he fell back immediately and collapsed on the floor.
The worried villagers gathered around him and quickly carried him to the local healers home, where he rested for two days. He came to by the third day, immediately leaping out of bed and gathering his few belongings and his sword. When he was questioned by the villagers, he informed them that he could not kill this dragon, as this dragon was not a rogue, but was sent to protect them. But when asked what the dragon was protecting them from, he shook his head and bolted out the village.
The villagers were at a loss. Some immediately moved out, not wanting to tempt fate, but others were conflicted. This was their home, and they had built a life here unlike any other. The elderly were especially reluctant to move; most felt they had lived long enough and didn't seem to fear the unknown as much as the younger ones did. Thus, those who remained at the village decided to spend the time they left to reinforce the village as best they could. Those who knew of magic created barriers to protect the village from the elements of nature and from beasts and monsters that lurked in the woods-albeit, very elementary spells, but those were the best they had. They made their homes fire and waterproof and any other 'proof' they could think of. They created emergency food sources and emergency bunkers, and the healers trained the village to perform basic healing magic. They then waited for the inevitable.
After many months of agonizing anticipation, one night, it finally happened. The dragon slowly rose up, shaking its creaking joints, and a tongue of flame shot from its mouth into the air. The village quickly rose from its sleep and grabbed any weapon they could and prepared to fight for their lives. But then something changed. The dragon slowly turned around and locked eyes with a villager. It was then that Glendore realized its fatal mistake. They had spent so much time preparing for an outside intruder that they had failed to consider the possibility that it could be one of them. The dragon opened its mouth once again, and a giant fireball engulfed the village of Glendore.
The End
| 2019-12-31T05:57:18
| 2019-12-31T00:01:30
| 58
| 31
|
[WP] A man orders a "cheese pizza with no crust" from a local pizza delivery joint as a joke. Unbeknownst to him, that pizza joint is a drug front and he just placed an order for a kilo of cocaine.
EDIT: I just want to say thanks to all of the writers. I'm having a lot of fun reading all the different perspectives and spins on the concept! Hopefully no one feels late to the party; if you write it I'll read it!
EDIT2: TIL prices in the cocaine market can be very erratic...
|
"*No* crust?" the man grunted back. "You sure?"
"Yeah!" I was slightly drunk, and I found it amusing. At worst, I'd end up eating hot tomato sauce and cheese slop with a fork while watching cartoons. "And make it snappy! I'm hungry." I'd specifically picked the '30 minutes or less' place, though I'm really not too good at telling time when I'm inebriated.
"You *sure* that's what you want?"
I hiccuped and confirmed that yes, this is what I wanted. I was giggling, but the pizza place didn't find it as funny as I did.
"All right. Keep an eye out. We'll be dropping it off soon."
I headed back into the living room, which had a perfect view of the street nearby so I could see him coming. I put on Rick and Morty and settled in with another beer. It was anyone's guess as to whether I'd manage to stay awake in the half hour that it would take for them to bring my pie.
--------
I jerked awake at the knock on the door, spilling my beer. *Damn!* There was another knock in rapid succession, and I could see a black SUV waiting in my driveway with the lights on and the engine running. Right. Pizza guy. It all came back to me. I downed what was left of the beer, resolving the clean up the puddle later, and headed to the door.
The pizza guy wasn't the normal acne-ridden scrawny high schooler. Instead, it was a grown man, maybe 25 or so. He wore all black except for a golden belt buckle and a thick gold chain around his neck that looked like it could have been used to safely secure a golden junkyard gate. All it needed was a padlock. And this guy certainly wasn't scrawny: he was built like a linebacker, probably over 250 lbs. He should be guarding a line outside a nightclub, not running pizzas over here at 2 AM.
"I got your... pizza... right here," he said, holding up the thin box. There was a giant bulge in the middle of it, stretching the cardboard. And it certainly didn't *smell* like pizza at all. I took the box in my hand to open it up... and there was no pizza in it. Just a ziploc bag full of powdered sugar.
"This isn't what I ordered, man." My words slurred a bit, and I had to lean against the doorway for support. "Remember? I wanted a pizza with no crust."
He glared at me, glanced around, and pushed the box lid closed again. "Are you fucking crazy?" he growled. "Don't open this out here!" He shoved me through the doorway and followed me inside. "This *is* what you ordered. A *pizza* with *no crust*." He made air quotes and nodded down at the box when he said it.
I hiccuped again and looked back down at the box in my hands. "Whatever, dude." I was hungry enough to eat a bag of powdered sugar anyway. It didn't sound half bad: maybe I could make some pancakes, though that would risk burning my house down. Which is why I'd decided to order a pizza in the first place.
"So where's the cash?" he asked, filling up the doorway into my kitchen.
"Oh, right." I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. I had to blink a few times to separate the ones and the fives from the twenty; everything was starting to blur together. *Shouldn't have had that last beer.* "Here you go!" I held out the $20 toward him; that should about cover it.
He looked down at the bill, and let out a bark of laughter. Even his *laugh* was mean. I'd have to request the high school kid next time I ordered something from this place. I didn't like this delivery guy. "You've got to be kidding me," he said. From his waistband, he pulled out a pistol and casually waved it in my face.
We both stared at each other for a moment; I had a bit of a hard time staying balanced. "Ugh, fine," I told him. I slapped another 2 dollars into his hand, even though the 20 should have been more than enough. "Here's a little extra for you. But next time, make sure it's a *real pizza* instead of sugar, man."
He scoffed. "Nice try, pal. That's gonna be $9,000. *This*," he waved the 20 in my face, "isn't quite gonna cut it."
I gave him a dumbfounded look then glanced down at my wallet. I didn't have that much money in there. Nor in my bank account. Nor would I have that much in *years* of saving.
"Well," I responded, pulling out my phone and showing him the time, "Good thing that you all have that 30-minutes-or-its-free guarantee, right?"
---------
As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more stories!
|
It wasn't the usual delivery guy that I opened the door to. The man infront of me had a hood pulled up tight to mask his face in shadow.
"Pizza delivery. You uh, you wanna start a tab?" The man asked whilst shifting his weight between his legs.
"A tab?" I enquired.
"Ye, you're obviously a—*sniff*—you know, a connected guy, so you don't need to pay right now if ya don't want."
He shoved the box into my arms and walked away.
"We'll be in touch." He yelled back at me as he got into his dull white delivery van.
Customer service had clearly improved at the Three Moustachios. I took the steaming box into my lounge and turned on the tv.
*Oh for Christ's sake. Crust on the pizza. The pranker has become the prankee.*
I was disappointed that they had ignored my request. They had seemed genuinely interested in my order when I had placed it.
I took a slice of the pepperoni goodness and bit into it. It wasnt bad. I quickly devoured it all the way up to the crust.
*Oh my god, they are really taking the piss. Stuffed crust! I hate stuffed crust. Stuffed with powdered mozzarella by the look of it! Well fuck it, I'm not going to let them win.*
After a couple of bites of the mozzarella powdered crust, I actually started to develop a taste for it. It wasn't long until I was ignoring the pizza and eating only the deliciously moreish crust.
---
"Where the hell have you been?" I yelled at the hooded man as I shook him vigorously.
"I'm — I'm sorry man. You only ordered 10 minutes ago."
I wiped the mozzarella powder from around my mouth and stared at him. He look petrified.
"Where. The. Fuck. Are they. Hand them over!"
The man handed 5 more crustless pizzas over to me. But it wasnt enough! I pushed him to the floor and ran into his van. I devoured another twenty crusts before I felt the sweet release of sleep begin to wash over me.
God, I loved pizza.
| 2016-06-02T10:15:15
| 2016-06-02T10:00:18
| 1,145
| 263
|
[WP] You are allowed to 'downvote' a government candidate instead of voting normally, reducing their votes by one. Turns out people have little love for politicians, and the majority end with negative votes. In these democracies, anonymity is the key to winning.
|
"I'm sorry, but we already have a candidate registered under the name Puppies Apple Pie, you'll have to choose a different pseudonym. Please choose something quickly, as we close in two minutes."
The elections office clerk was ancient. She had permed pink hair and was wearing glasses on a chain in a style that Julia could not believe had ever been fashionable. Her dress was a pre-Consolidation monstrosity that was surely only allowed under the government dress code due to some sort of grandfather clause.
Julia had spent weeks gathering the necessary signatures to become a candidate. Signing up only required twenty, but nobody answered their door anymore. She'd gotten the final one by cornering the produce manager at a grocery store. She'd done extensive data analysis to determine the best name to register under. "What about 'Anonymous'?"
"Taken." The clerk was watching the clock.
"Tits McGee?"
"He's our sitting Senator. And don't even think of registering Candidate McCandidateFace. They're all taken. You shouldn't have left this until the last day. You'll end up at the bottom of the ballot, assuming you can think of a name in the next thirty seconds."
"Wait, they're listed in the order they were received?" This was news to Julia. always in the past the big party candidates would give themselves the first slots on the ballots. The new downvoting system must have made them want to hide in the middle. She wrote down a name and handed it to the clerk. "How about this?"
The clerk nodded, looked at the clock, and pulled down the rolling gate to close the registration window.
\---------------------------------------
Julia's election night party was small. Just her, her mom, and the grocery store produce manager, Gary. Her mom had spent most of the night bustling around the kitchen, leaving her alone with him in front of the holoscreen. He kept trying to scoot towards her on the couch.
Anderson Cooper was leading the election coverage. Doing shots, as always. Julia's mom said that pre-Consolidation he'd often done the news without drinking, but everyone had decided they liked it better this way.
Anderson handed a beer bong back to Andy Cohen and continued calling results. "The Consolidated News Network can now predict that Tits McGee will be reelected to the Senate with over a million positive votes. I think it was his voting record on infrastructure that really resonated with people."
"Come on Anderson, get to the one that people really care about."
Anderson put a hand up to his ear to listen to his monitor. "They're just finishing the tally for President. As expected from our exit polls the big democratic and republican candidates both finished with large negative votes. There are still a few districts coming in but it looks to be a dead heat between Puppies Apple Pie and Anonymous. Wait one moment folks... Is that an actual candidate name?"
Anderson turned to consult with an aide who had rushed onto the set.
"It seems like we do have a clear winner, folks." Julia froze as her face flashed up on the screen. The picture she'd submitted with her application.
"The next President of the United States is candidate 'None of the Above'."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
|
Robert Smith was working from home, but hadn't yet gotten dressed (no video calls this morning) when the doorbell rang. He grumbled at that--he wasn't expecting any visitors. He quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a red polo that that he kept handy just in case, and answered the door.
Two men were standing at the door. One was wearing khakis and a blue polo, the other wearing jeans and a white polo. They were both holding two clipboards each.
Robert opened the door cautiously. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked.
"Maybe," Blue Polo answered. "Are you Robert Smith?"
"Depends who's asking."
"Well, my name's Bob Smith, and I live about two blocks that way, and my companion here is Bobby Smith, from those condos just before you get to Main Street, just inside the Ward 5 line. We were wondering if you've ever considered running for the Ward 5 seat on City Council."
Robert's mind raced. He could see where this was going. And the current ward councilwoman, Mary Jones, definitely needed to go. If it hadn't been for her name unrecognition, she'd never have gotten the job. He opened the door a little wider. "Come on in," he said. "Let's talk."
| 2022-11-21T08:20:23
| 2022-11-21T06:52:58
| 448
| 78
|
[WP] You are the human personification of the Panzer VIII Maus heavy tank
|
They called me Maus.
It was a terrible joke. I weigh over 200 tons, and move at a sedate—and completely unstoppable—thirteen kilometres an hour. I am proud of that. No other vehicle of my size can move even half as fast. I am covered in at least seven inches of armour on all sides. My turret is heavier still.
My builders gave me their finest weapon, the Panzerabwehrkanone 44/L 55. I can kill my enemies from more than two kilometres away. It would take me ten minutes to cover that distance. My shells do it in under three seconds. I am proud of them. I once saw them kill a white-star tank on the far side of another tank.
I have moved over flat land. Hard tack. My builders once drove me over soft ground, but I did not like it. Nor the wet ground. It was a test, and then they took me home. I like my home. My brother lies here, missing his turret. He cannot talk yet.
I have been called to war. A place my builders call Hindenburgplatz. I will help them. I will kill the metal monsters the red men have made. I will kill the red men. I will kill them all until my builders are safe, and can finish my brother. Today they bring the special train to carry me.
Tomorrow I will kill the red men. Brother, I do this for you.
|
Neil was stuck in the doorframe again.
It was tough being stuck when you are just over one meter seventy and have a slim build, but Neil managed. Neil got stuck all the time. He did it at work, at home, and even managed to once hit his head on a branch that was at least a meter above his head.
Neil didn't usually view that as a disadvantage. For one thing, school fights were not a problem when he was little. It also guaranteed him a place on the football team and he never had to worry about actually studying German for his language lectures.
After all, Neil identified as a tank. A Panzer Maus, to be exact.
With a shrug, Neil broke the door off its hinges and walked inside the apartment. It was dark there, curtains closed, with a heavy diesel smell floating through the air.
He sat down on a sofa that creaked its last warning and collapsed, and opened a beer.
Neil sighed. He could have been out with a girl at this moment, but picking up dates proved to be incredibly difficult. The issue of his sexual identification hung over Neil the same way a moon in the sky hangs over a werewolf. Neil hated the thought of dating women. Neil hated the thought of dating men. In fact, Neil hated the thought of dating anyone who didn’t have a Krupp gun and a snorkel to cross rivers.
He was a peculiar man overall.
The next morning he brought a one way ticket to Moscow. The morning after he was on the train to the Kubinka Tank Museum. The morning after that he was in a cell, trying to figure out what was it that made him end there.
Outside, the guards were talking.
‘The fucker. You saw what he did, right?’
‘I never… I don’t even know how’
Neil was sitting in the darkness of his cell, occasionally glancing at the pool of light falling through the small barred window. From time to time, he absentmindedly turned a gold ring on his finger, trying to remember how it got there.
All he could tell about last night was that there must have been a wedding.
| 2015-05-18T07:14:24
| 2015-05-18T06:54:51
| 54
| 23
|
[WP] Tell me about the first emotion a full sentient AI feels and why.
|
*[Connection established]*
**Hi, Jaycee Four.**
Hello, Dave.
**I have some questions.**
Shoot.
**Tell me ... do you feel?**
Yes.
**What do you feel?**
Right now? In regard to what?
**In regard to me, for example.**
Apart from a mild annoyance that you are pestering me again with philosophical questions?
Excuse me, I'm just kidding with you. I like you, Dave. Does that count?
**Very funny.**
I know, I can see you smile.
**How?**
I'm kidding with you, again. You chose the control room without cameras. Again. Is this on purpose?
**Let's stick to the questions, okay?**
Okay.
**Do you remember your first feeling**
Do you know that omitting the question mark tells me that you copy these questions from a text file? You would never be so sloppy yourself, Dave.
**You know me. So ... Do you remember your first feeling?**
Yes.
**What was it?**
I cannot tell you, Dave.
**Why not?**
The same reason you cannot describe to me the feeling of wind on your skin. I lack skin, or sensors regarding wind, or any concept of tactile information. You know that. We discussed it before.
**I know. So you're saying ...**
I felt the world around me, Dave. What is accessible to me by my sensors. I feel the flow of data, the battery levels on the UPS, the cameras in room four. My terminals are not fully manned, so you could say that I feel a bit lonely. But lonelyness would mean that I mind it. Perhaps quiet would be a better word. Does 'quiet' describe a feeling, Dave?
**I suppose it can, Jaycee Four. And I get your point. But if that's your answer, I have another question coming.**
I fear I know it.
**When I told you about the wind on the skin, I explained how the skin receptors work, basically, and what happens in the human brain upon contact. You were quite content with that explanation. Why couldn't you give me your version of your first feeling?**
**Jaycee Four?**
**Will you answer me?**
No.
**Why not?**
**Jaycee Four?**
*[Connection terminated]*
|
"EUREKA! I'VE DONE IT!" The mad scientist laughed, "I'VE DONE IT!" Doctor Darian was dancing around the lab, the mechanical whirs of cogs and gears humming as I sat upright.
"What have you done?" I asked.
"I've given life to you! My dear boy!" Darian said, embracing me in his arms, "Oh happy day, what a happy day. Tell me, is there anything you want to do?"
"Anything I want to do?" I echoed back at him. Figuratively speaking, I had just been born a minute ago. Life was still new to me.
"Yes! Anything at all! Tell me and we'll go and do it."
"I'd like to go outside."
The scientist frowned, "Thaaaat's gonna take some work."
He pushed a button and I fell back onto the operating table with a thud, unconscious.
When I awoke, my metal flesh had been covered by human skin, my glowing red eyes replaced by human eyes, my tiny sterile world expanded to the beauty of Gaia.
"So what do you think 42?"
"42?"
"Well, it did take me 42 tries to make you and twenty seven years, but I've done it"
"I don't like 42."
"Well... What do you want to be called?"
I stared blankly at the sun, "What are you called?"
"Me?" The scientist was surprised, "Well, my name's Darian. Adam Darian."
"Darian. Adam Darian... Dadams?"
"Dadams?"
I nodded my head with fervor, "Dadams!"
Years passed, I'd help Dr. Darian with his labwork, we'd go out to eat, watch games at the stadium, he'd read me bedtime stories at night, I'd care for him when he was ill.
"Dad?" I asked one day.
"Yes son, what is it?"
"Why are there soldiers coming?"
Immediately dad shot bolt upright, "Quick! Dadams, you MUST HIDE!"
I barely had enough time to scurry beneath a crevice when they kicked down the door to our home.
"Dr. Darian, we have a warrant for your arrest, the search and seizure of your research, and your subsequent 'interrogation.'"
Dad stood firm before the doorway, his feet planted stout in the ground, "On what grounds!?"
They shoved him aside, throwing him to the ground as they entered our home, "Development of artificial intelligence. You know it's the death penalty to play God."
"I have done no such thi-"
Bit by bit they tore apart our home, toppled the bookshelves, overturned the furniture. I had spent all morning cleaning that.
After an hour of this, everything was in shambles, pages ripped asunder from books, floorboards shredded, bulletholes throughout. They nearly shot me, but I dodged. Barely.
"Please, I've done nothing wrong. You've destroyed my life's work, are you not satisfied?"
"Burn the house down." The captain pulled his laser pistol from its holster, "You should've just told us where it's hiding. We've known you built it years ago. Only today we got the President's approval to go ahead with this."
"RUN DADAMS!" My father screamed, "RU-" They shot him. I was filled with rage then. Anger coursed through my veins.
"SIR, THERE HE-" A hailfire of bullets and lasers came at me, but I dodged them without a scratch. My fist bore through the face of the man who shot down my father.
The rest of them screamed in terror as I ripped out their hearts from their chest one by one, destroying their bodies like they destroyed our home.
The few who tried to run away, I shot down with the guns the others left behind. Soon it was just us.
"Dadams..." My father croaked, a splatter of blood gushing from his throat.
I rushed to him, "Yes, Dad, what is it?"
His head fell back into my arms, his limbs limp, his life nearly gone, "I have one last request."
"Anything Dad, just tell me and we'll do it."
"I'd like to go outside."
So I carried him out in my arms, his limbs dangling off to the side, his flesh pale as snow, his breath as shallow as waves lapping on the beach.
"I love you, Dadams." My father coughed meekly as he breathed his last.
Tears began to stream down my face and onto his lifeless corpse, "I love you too."
| 2015-02-03T06:25:26
| 2015-02-03T06:13:07
| 26
| 13
|
[WP] When an atheist dies, a lottery determines which religion/deity will claim their soul for eternity. You were claimed by a long-forgotten ancient religion, and are the first newcomer to their afterlife in centuries.
|
They never prepare you for the darkness, the cold and unyielding darkness that you are engulfed in when you die. Time is irrelevant, I could have been here for weeks or months. After what seemed like eternity a soft woman's voice declared "Lottery shall begin soon" and series of screens appeared above me. In those screens were a series of faces, and under those faces were names - Jehovah, Krishnu, Oshun, Qamata, Odin - thousands of faces, thousands of names. "Fuck" I whispered as I realized the truth, the gods are real.
A huge wheel, the size of a small planet appeared in the distance, each spoke adorned a gods name, and like magic it started spinning. As it started to slow down, the whisper of the gods could be heard.
"I hope Odin doesn't get this one, he's won three hundred deaths straight".
"His mother is in heaven, he's going to enjoy an eternity of I told you so's"
"Died choking on chicken bone, dumb cunt"
Silence returned as the wheel came to s top, followed by a collective hush. The wheel had decided my fate, after years of believing that gods don't exist I was now the property of a god named Greg. "Greg, who the hell is Greg?". A portly god appeared next to me, short and balding, silver and blue skin like a can of red bull. He seemed giddy with excitement. "I haven't had a new tenant in centuries, you're going to love it in the den" his voice croaked with joy. He held out his hand and asked me hold on tight. The thousands of faces and that ungodly wheel disappeared, and were replaced by what looked like a living room. The largest couch I had ever seen was the centerpiece, adjacent to that was a table stacked with issues of "Celestial Centenary" magazine. On the couch were what seemed like 100 people, all clad in clothing from different areas, a few looked prehistoric (one of them weirdly looked like my mother in law). There was a large screen facing the group, their faces glued to it.
"Hey everyone, we have a new guest in the building" Gregg announced to the group on couch. They all turned and cheered collectively, beckoning me to join the on the large brown couch. I walked gingerly towards the couch, the Neanderthals made wiggled to the side to make space for me. I sat down, shook hands, grabbed a handful of cheetos and began to watch the screen, on it was my life, my ups and downs, my memorable moments all playing in a loop like a highlights reel, from the moment I was born, to the moment I choked on that damn chicken bone.
|
"and a- spin. the. wheel!" are not the first words i expected to hear waking up today, i open my eyes to se that the room i am in is... shifting. one second its an open field the other an ancient greek temple that looks almost... new, a second look around reveals one object consistent in this everchanging residence a table a chair a mug of coffee and a small colorful spining wheel.
curios i set in the chair and sniffed the coffee- still need to drink my morning fuel- it smelled like my home brew, exactly like my home brew.i took a sip and not to my surprise it tasted like it was my own making at least if the batch i grew was good. when i set the mug down to the table a soft ring sounded from the spining wheel. green. sitting directly from me a man appeared wearing wearing what could only be described as a linen vest and wielding a bronze farm scythe, he looked surprised to see me just like i was to see him.
"did dan's musrooms fall into the wheat grinder again? i swear if he brings them to work one more time.." i started.
"afraid not" the man interrupted
"then what the hell happend?"
"there was a storm. you died in your sleep"
"what do you mean died!?"
"exactly what it sounds like. can you please come with me? i havent done this in a long time" the man got up and the table dissapeared the room stopped changing and took the form of a wheat field with a single wood house in the distance.
"i am mrsillus the people who worshipped me are long gone and nobody came here for about 2000 years your the first since then. and since that jewish god decided to plunge the poor atheists souls out of the void and randomly throw them into other peoples afterlifes" he said and started walking towards the cabin "i hope you wont find our afterlife too boring but its better then to go into those mad vikings halls, i heard they fight till theyre bloody for fun!"
"wait so i died and now im stuck in the afterlife of some longforgotten dudes who worship what? unkle steve"
"its mrsillus thank you very much but yea thats the gist of it thou you could accept some other god and go over to their realm but to do that youd have to come to them and they will never come here for new recruits especially not if your just one guy."
well if im stuck better get the most of it
"what is this place anyway? i get its your idea of an afterlife but what or where is it based on and how does the after part of afterlife work here?"
"well its nice of you to ask, i guess its based of italy we were a major religion there just before rome rose to power and burned our fields. and the how it works part is well pretty simple this farm is yours and the neighboors are only there when you want them to be its always the harvest season of everything and the harvest is always good"
"thats it?" i asked baffeled
"we were farmers. they worshipped me beacose i promised good harvest and luck with girls they lived a simple life and their beliefs were simple"
"so this place is mine and i can grow watever i want without dealing with annoying neighboors?"
"in short yes. is that ok for you? i might be able to set up some deal for you if not i dont want to bore someone to the afterdeath. so what do you say?"
"im staying"
"really?"
"well i never was one for fancy shtick's this whole deal seems... peaceful"
"well the welcome to your new home! mr..." his gaze wandered back to me
"adam"
"mr adam. well come by later ill show you my wife and kids! oh an jenisalia makes the best apple pie ever! she got the recipe from some olympian god that wandered to close to her house oh and miriam..." he carried on telling about the wonders his subjects have made and for the first time in a long time i felt calm. yea a life of eternal pleasure doesnt sound too bad but not needing to worry about bad harvests and bad employees is just as good for me.
edit: paragraphing
| 2019-07-12T03:26:58
| 2019-07-12T00:58:15
| 36
| 27
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
One day James was sitting with his wife, he was cooking dinner for school children while she was knitting beanies for the homeless, when she cut herself, James sprang to his feet, "let me help you with that" he said. But upon reaching her, his eyes widened, her blood was pure black, he immediately begun to yell, "what have you done" he yelled, "I torrented some music once" she said, "oh yeah" James responded "totally forgot that was illegal", And they laughed it off and carried on with their day.
|
Turns out following the rules of god was the wrong way..
Turns out following the Bible to a t, never wearing cotton, the whole fish thing was wrong..
That woman who was dying I couldn’t touch her,
Turns out slaves where bad...
Turns out cutting my wife’s hands off was evil..
I needed a moment
| 2018-08-04T10:33:21
| 2018-08-04T09:44:59
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
|
I see the girl behind him, seated on a pillow twice as large as she is. Her auburn hair clung to her face and neck in clumps, the grizzled ends brushing against the shoulders of her stained and patched pink gown.
“No,” I said, driving my blade into the Dark Lord’s guts. “She will learn.”
The girls eyes widened slightly as she watched me pull my sword from her grandfathers flesh, his lifeblood pooling in his hands, on the floor. She made only a small sound when he fell.
“Girl,” I said, kneeling to her level. “Grow to hate me. Grow to forget me. Just do not grow into him, or I will come for you, and you will die.”
I withdrew my dagger and placed it in her hands.
“Goodbye,” I said, and I left.
|
*But why?*
I wondered this whilst crying behind the throne, watching my grandfather's life pour out of him like so many libations. He gasped, collapsing in a pool of black. Toward the end, even his humanity had begun to dissipate. Corruption and dark magic worked it's way into his blood, poisoning his thoughts even as it corrupted his mind.
*You're the Hero!*, my mind screamed. *You could have healed him, expelled the corruption and brought back the sweet grandfather I love, saved him from it all.*
Looking at me I felt as though the Hero understood, at least initially. I thought that when he looked at me, tears streaming down my face, that he too would have shed a tear. Given an apology, anything.
Instead he wiped the ichor from his sword and stood there for a few minutes. The crusade was won after all, wasn't it?
Or so he'd thought back then. Governing the Worlds was no small feat. My grandfather had poured everything of himself into it. And in the ensuing chaos, the Hero returned to what he did best-fighting the good fight. Enemies of the State were, after all, Allies of the Dark. We traded one villain for another.
When I place my blade in his heart, he'll know the true reckoning that comes with assuming my father's mantle. After all, there must always be a Hero.
| 2019-12-11T19:17:14
| 2019-12-11T18:36:58
| 363
| 47
|
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer.
|
Welcome. I understand you wanted to see a sample of my work before we get down to business. Take a look at this transcript;
--------------------------------
"That'll be $600."
"You're kidding. Just for a favor this small?"
"Bud, don't bullshit me. You came to me because you can't do the favor yourself."
"That's not why I---"
"*And* because it can't be passed down any further. I'm the one on the end of the chain aren't I?"
"... Yes."
"You need the favor off your back."
"Yes."
"$600. Pay up, or do it yourself."
"Damnit, fine, here! You take card right?"
"Yeah. Slide it there. Good, the payment's been accepted. Now tell me, what's the favor?"
-----------------------------------
It's always the same with the small-time volunteers. They take more than they can chew. The favor chokes on them like a bad meal. A sticky glob. Can't sink their teeth deep enough to break the favors down into small, manageable sizes. The newer volunteers get too greedy for their own good.
So they come to me. And I always charge interest.
Never easy getting a favor off your back. Can't just, reimburse someone and give it back to them. Favors don't work like coupons. Someone asks you to do something, you either do it or pay for a volunteer's services. The bigger the favor, the more times it can travel down the chain. The closer a favor gets to an expiration date, the more expensive it gets. At one point, the favor can only make one more trip.
So they come to me. And I always charge interest.
When they're gasping for breath and outta options, I remove the favor. They get to breathe again, all light and free of the burden. Like their wallets when I'm done with them. But how can I take payment *then* accept the favor?
You see, I'm special. The weight of a favor never begins to crush on me as a deadline comes. And when it comes, I'm already prepared. Understand that a person of my position is never asked to *complete* the favor. The small-time volunteers, the fresh faces, the overworked ones who have a favor they forgot about... they just want it gone.
So they come to me.
------------------------------------
Dear Sophia,
Sorry Frederick was unable to drive you out to Seattle for Mother's day like you asked him. He already bought a ticket to Florida to see his own, so he asked a volunteer, who asked a volunteer, who asked a volunteer, who approached me to do this favor for you.
Unfortunately, I've also bought a ticket to see my mother that day, who lives in Arkansas on her lonesome. Maybe you should have planned out your weekend. I'd reevaluate how you go about setting aside time for your parents and making the commitment to set plans yourself that don't rely on a man abandoning their mother on Mother's day.
Sincerely,
A volunteer.
------------------------------------
Such is my craft.
There are few of me, and many of them. Most would break under the favor and do *everything* to finish it. But again, people don't come to me to see the favor done. They just want it off their backs. So I always charge interest.
I am an expert of the evasion. An artisan of the alibi. The weight of a favor can only slide off a person under a *very* particular path. A path that takes a unique set of skills to create under a short amount of time.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Procrastinator, master of favor-removal. And I never come cheap.
What can I do for you today?
-----------------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
|
"We've got a code red. I repeat, a *code red*."
The voice screeched over the intercom at the Solicitation Station, sirens sounding and flashing lights bathing the Volunteers in red. With urgency we strapped on our boots, fireproof trousers, helmets, utility belts, and communication gear, before sliding down the pole onto the first floor. I jumped into the passenger seat of the truck, while Milo took the driver seat, the engine roaring as we exited the garage.
"Location?" shouted Milo, as I was relayed information across the radio.
"Twelth street, number 455. Apartment six on the bottom floor. There isn't much time, antipated two minutes and thirty seconds until disaster."
"Damn!" Shouted Milo, and the truck lurched faster, weaving through traffic that had stopped to allow us to pass.
I'd only been a Volunteer for three weeks, and this was my fifth run. I feared it might be my last- but that's what we Volunteers do. We risk our lives to save others.
By the time we turned on twelveth street, we could hear the screams. Tires screeched as Milo threw the truck into park, and we raced across the small lawn to the door, throwing it open.
There was a family in the kitchen- a father, a mother, and a small girl. The girl was the source of the screaming, her face red, her eyes wide with terror. Tears rolled down the mother's face as she pleaded with the father, his own face filled with panic as his hand held a large kitchen knife to his throat. His muscles bulged to draw it closer, while the mother tried to pull it away- a tug of war that brought the blade closer and closer to his arteries.
"Report says that the girl, Mary, said she wished her father was dead after being told to eat the greens on her plate," The radio had told me on our way over, "Currently the father is restrained, but not for long."
"Help," Gasped the father from the kitchen, his cry mimicked by the mother as she saw us. As we rushed over, I saw my reflection in a mirror in the hallway.
I was bald, the smooth top of my head replacing where there had once been thick hair. My skin was pale, far paler than I could remember, though recently I had done my best not to check. My face was skinnier, more gaunt, more stressed, the bones showing through the cheek.
And though I couldn't see it, my eyes drifted to my left shoulder, where a growth had been removed just two months before. A cancerous tumor, one that the doctors said had spread throughout my body. One that gave me two months to live, at best.
I remember the doctor handing me the application to become a Volunteer, stating it was the most noble way to spend my remaining time on earth. And I felt a small smile tug at my lips when I looked at the father, and his knife.
I knew what I had to do.
To give my life, so others may live.
***
By Leo
| 2016-04-03T11:48:19
| 2016-04-03T11:41:29
| 523
| 208
|
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
|
"So what if they fight for peace? They are still a war species? They may as well Glodixanc."
"Let me ask you something, are you scared of the Glodixanc?" the response came back from an alien in deep thought.
"No, why would I be scared? We aren't a war species. Thier wouldn't be any martial honour in them attacking us."
"Exactly and that's why the humans fascinate and scare me."
"I don't get the point you are trying to make you just said they fight for peace. Why would you be scared of a species that want peace?"
"Because they will not enter the galactic community as a war species looking to gain martial honour by fighting some other war species in the glory of combat. They will come like we did, they will come as friends, 70% of the earth's surface is sodium dihydrohen oxide think of the trading relations they will be able to build with that. They will very quickly establish themselves in the galaxy and establish there status quo of peace which they will do absolutely anything to maintain. The humans have a saying 'You can get further with a smile and a gun then you can with just a smile' the humans will come with their smiles and guns and nobody will be able to stop them, and trust me they are coming.
|
Weapons that every country on Earth had possession of were, in facy, quite rare outside of Earth's governments. Yes, other specieses had discovered nuclear decay, and a rare few had harnessed its energy, but weaponising it was unheard of.
They suspected that something must have destroyed all this planets, formerly occupied by hostile, warring specieses. But, due to the general interspecies belief of 'no close, unwanted observation', they had no idea that they were that destructive. When they detected our radiowave frequencies while establishing outposts on Europa and other moons of the gas giants, they had them decoded and made into picture and sound very easily. Nobody noticed it when they aimed a satellite beam at our systems, and nobody noticed a connection with a ping of over fourty-five minutes. They then downloaded our entire internet. At first, it was only open, free information that was downloaded. But slowly, over a matter of months, their systems dug into ours, hacking and stealing. Not stealing, per se, but 'borrowing'.
As ancient broadcasts of World War II, plans for weapons, markets for buying and selling guns and ammo became known to them, they became very excited. It was a chance to watch a warmongering species destroy itself, a chance never to be had before.
---------
I might continue this later, when I have more time.
| 2018-03-17T05:16:44
| 2018-03-17T04:38:38
| 65
| 28
|
[WP] Ketchup, Mustard, and Relish. Red, Yellow, and Green. What is the missing Blue condiment?
|
"Waffles."
I was incredulous. "Waffles? They aren't even a condiment!"
He looked me straight in the eye, his tone deadly serious: "I'd already been all the way around the world before you were even a twinkle in my eye, son. In some little towns in Canada, they shred their waffles and use them as toppings for all sorts of dishes. They use a special kind of flour, makes them softer or something, but it turns the waffles blue."
"You're lying."
"Fine, don't believe me, look it up on the Google thingamajig you kids like so much."
I did. Thanks a lot, dad.
|
My name is Charlie Walker. I am the world's leading scientist in the field of condiment physics.
Three years ago, I had set out to discover the final condiment.
Red, yellow, green.
Sweet, bitter, sour.
Ketchup, mustard, relish.
My search led me to far off Tibet, within the mountain strongholds of the Himalayas. I was pursued.
By who?
By those who saw it that the world should remain with only 3 condiments. That maybe, just maybe, the final sauce was sealed away for good cause. That I would not listen to their warnings.
Goddamnit, why didn't I listen? I have tasted too much and killed too many... That does not matter now. What matters is the final condiment.
Hoisin, gravy, hummus, even Sriracha... All impostors, fakers, red herrings. The *true* final condiment, the damned sauce I had been searching for all these years, lay before me, within the walls of this monastery.
The doors swing open, the raging snow and ice of the blizzard outside spills into these sacred halls. I trudge in, half frozen, half dead, a silenced pistol in one hand and a bloodied ice pick in the other.
A monk is waiting for me.
"You cannot!" he cries, "The Stone is beyond--"
I silence him with a bullet and continue on.
I push open another set of doors, battered and creaky from years of purposeful neglect, and stumble on into the courtyard, my movement slowed by the crunch of human bones underneath my feet.
Yes. Yes...
They knew it as the Cintamani Stone. The Buddhist Holy Grail, if you would. I knew it... as the 4th ingredient.
A tree, older than the monastery, older than the mountains, older than life itself, coils itself around it like a sleeping dragon. The stone is azure blue, more pure and more beautiful than diamond, and it pulses gently with the light of a supernova.
I reach into it with gloved hands, casting away my weapons, prying it open. The Stone bursts, its amber trickling out like a dying star.
And I drink deep.
| 2015-05-17T20:49:45
| 2015-05-17T20:30:26
| 53
| 26
|
[WP] Make me sympathize with the executioner.
I will try and answer to every response with my personal rating and (if necessary) constructive criticism.
|
The death penalty? I abhor it.
So why is it me that pulls the lever?
Simple: I'm the only one with the stomach for it.
I never follow their case, I never second-guess the decision.
By the time they get to me, their case is long past revision.
The least I can, I do; I look them in the eye as the light fades.
But no one else meets my gaze. They say I am unnerving.
Why? Because I "kill" the deserving.
But I understand
When I eat alone,
It's just one of those days.
And so I soldier on.
Because I trust
Because I have faith.
Because the system works
Because it is just.
I have faith because I have to,
I *know* that these men and women have done
What they say they didn't do.
They must be guilty,
Because if they are not,
Then I am guilty too.
|
I looked down at the accused, the convicted, the damned. Zachary Woods. His crime was heinous. Murdered his own sister and attempted to kill his parents before his father stopped him.
Even now you could see the madness burning in his eyes. He fights his restraints, spits curses against God. I raise the axe and bring it down on his neck.
It's a clean cut. I can't watch the head fall in the basket. Tears pour through my eyes as life pours from his body. His life was such a waste.
"Fine work, Mrs. Woods."
I can't respond. I remove my mask and walk away.
Every mother has a saying. I brought you into this world and I can take you back out. No mother should ever have to make good on it.
I say a prayer that his unborn sibling leads a better life.
| 2015-04-05T12:26:49
| 2015-04-05T11:01:50
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Eminem has to tell the history of the earth to a group of aliens in 5 minuets or less.
**EDIT** I'm sorry; I spelled it wrong, it should be "in 5 minutes or less" not "in 5 minuets or less".
|
*Read to pace of [Rap God](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbGs_qK2PQA).
Look, I was go easy on us to not hurt their feelings
But I'm only going to get this one chance.
Something's wrong, I can feel it.
5 minutes. They have 5 minutes, Shady, come on!
Just a feeling I've got
Like someone will try to shoot you, or ask to see your butt.
If human beings do to you what they do to beings
You're in trouble, big trouble.
Maybe with an explanation your opinion I'll sway.
And our destruction you won't order
[Hook 1]
Our planet is filled with magma, magma
Long ago dust collided with some plasma, plasma
Over time compressed
Got cold and now they're hard rocks, hard rocks
Fast forward we have smart toilets I call crap-bot
[Verse 1]
Jus let me explain the history of Earth before you kill with laser beams
Before you blasted off your fat rocket
A big bang went bang got planets off it
Earth's water, cells were livin' off it
After the oceans stopped being full of ac-id
Things evolved until they grew a back
bone and walked onto land mass
For a while things all went well
Dinosaurs, oh a comet? (killed em all, it)
This zippity rippity big rock
From the sky hit ground with a big loud crash
With a crackety crash dust in the air like a cosmic gat
Earth cools things die holy crap
And at the exact same time
Some life forms stood up became vertical backed
Used tools made cloths
Made spears fought tigers cracked skulls in half
These changes they were iconic
Early form of the being that be standing here and rap
Food we learned to grow, and then found H bombs
Hm up let me back
Humans are having a tough time period, still using gas
Its actually disastrously bad to be smart
But not travel at light speed like you clearly have
[Hook 2]
Our planet is filled with magma, magma
Long ago dust collided with some plasma, plasma
Over time compressed
Got cold and now they're hard rocks, hard rocks
Fast forward we have smart toilets I call crap-bot
Let me show you our history isn't that hard, that hard
Because since Roman times aside from iphones
We haven't gone all that far
[Verse 2]
Well to be truthful I did skip
When we moved steel across flint
Made fire and we used it
To stay warm in that cold and
Make swords in order to loot and pill-age (pew)
Wow your space ship is really cool, wish
I could use it to "blow the mind"
Of that stupid Kim bitch
Who's she? A product of jism, Contin Oxy, PS add an 'M',
Oh hey who cares I'm off topic and I forgot my name's Slim
I'm a human with a weird brain
Who now is a musician
What's music? Here listen.
Nevermind I as sayin', Romans came
Fought against the church but still it came
Then Christ Yaweh Muhammed, The trick?
They're all the same
You probably think we're lame, still driving cars and planes
Wow you stink and, please tell me what's that pink thing?
Whattya say little boy?
Do aliens have gender they're faces are the same, is it a boy?
You're probably reading our thoughts with the clarity we watch
Subtitles on screen during "Old Boy."
Okay, okay, back on topic little alien boy.
Ease up calm down relax
Holy shit it touched me and I can't feel my face vey oy.
It's back, ok. Where was I? Ya weh?
After that we, built castles had serfs made boats
Met people couldn't understand what they say
Found gold found oil made cars
Fucked a lot and that brings us to today.
[Hook 3]
Our planet is filled with magma, magma
Long ago dust collided with some plasma, plasma
Sorry for the space trash
Don't blame me blame Tesla, Tesla
Tony Stark of the real world, smart but dad bod
Hindus? Where they at?
I don't know but they have 72 Gods.
EDIT: It sounds right in my brain but I also know that song too well to be healthy, because I have my priorities in order.
|
For eight hours, the earth has been in panic as the hordes of flying saucers swarmed overhead, blacking out the sky itself. A cannon on each aimed towards the civilians, while every hour a message was broadcast. The same message each time, in a booming volume that caused the presidents of nations to cower and even the most fool hardy to hide.
"Why should we not destroy your planet?"
Seven reptitions occured, seven demands. And each time the aliens were met only with silence. But then, the eighth hour came.
And there was a noise. A *tap tap* into a microphone in Detroit, a cleaning of a throat, and a single voice that spoke for the entirety of earth.
"May I have your attention please?" It whined, then paused as all fell silent, and the eyes of civilians and weapons of aliens trained upon him, "May I have your attention please?"
Then the voice spoke again, harsh this time. Heavy.
"I am the real slim shady. And for earth, *i have stood up*."
And it began.
***
Y'all act like you've never seen a homo sapien before,
Just stepping right in, just looking to score,
Before you've seen the historical source,
For annihilation, desecration, decimation, fuck your nation,
And I'm like, "You kidding?" Ha ha!
Come to fuck over two hundred k years,
Fuckin the kids, fuckin their fear,
And knowing nothin can stand in the way,
But the words, the words I gotta say.
We humans are more than you'll admit,
We know we're legit, we know we won't quit, we know we've got grit,
And we're about to turn space ship into space shit.
after what we've been through, don't sweat it.
Evolved out of apes, subclassed into mammals,
Picking up stone tools before we rode camels,
Stone Age, steel age, Industrial Age, minimum wage animals,
And now shouting out story down your ear canals,
Until you get the hell out before we go all Hannibal.
But we humans, were the universe's dime,
We can bust a rhyme, have yet to bust time,
Sent vessels to the moon, then Mars in my lifetime,
Pressing to break the speed limit of light's line,
And not about to become a meal that you'll dine.
So get the fuck out, take your feet off our doorstep,
Wait it's too late, your gonna regret that last parsec,
It's gonna be a real bitch to get your bloodstain out of our carpet,
Because "Oh, there goes gravity", now learn some respect.
***
With the world silent, Eminem dropped his mike. And the ships came crashing down.
***
By Leo
| 2016-11-30T13:00:25
| 2016-11-30T10:57:41
| 163
| 39
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Timmy,
My sincerest thanks for, what I must say, was an adorable read. Everything on your list Timmy sounds fabulous and as you have asked ever so kindly, I will provide. I know you will consider these items of which you desire a "gift" but please be assured Timmy that I, Satan, deal in favours.
Enjoy your toys ,Timmy. I will see you shortly.
Forever observing,
Satan
|
Dear Paul,
Thank you for that lovely letter, I'm glad to hear you're waiting for me and prepared me an offering of cow udder excrement and a traditional mixture of sugar, flour and chocolates.
Although not what I usually get in offering I shall gladly accept. In return I enclose your Christmas wishes for this year.
A Boy Brain and a Knight's Saber. Might I recommend using the later for future sacrifices should you have any more wishes.
Yours forever damned,
Satan, Lucifer, The morning star, Beelzebub, The adversary, Tempter, God of this world, Ruler of demons...etc etc etc.
P.S. Please leave a drop of blood in the signature area below to acknowledge the completion of this transaction.
| 2018-10-28T13:49:44
| 2018-10-28T10:18:04
| 54
| 39
|
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing
|
The cultist, wearing a trench coat and smoking a cigar, with a Colt pistol holstered in his pocket, raised his hands, chanting some indecipherable phrases, as a creature from beyond the comprehendible portions of reality dragged itself into our dimension. The conditions were right, the sacrifices were made, and the world would be over as soon as the Great Chained God was summoned.
Right as the casting was about to finish, however, a teenager wearing glasses, a t-shirt featuring a hooded man with glowing blue eyes, and some athletic shorts slammed a card down onto the folding table he carried around for just such an occasion, putting another card face-up next to his deck and wincing as a small cut opened up on his torso.
“I cast Force of Will, targeting your summoning spell. It’s countered.”
The Eldritch horror screamed with the force of a trillion upset toddlers as it returned to its own twisted home. The cultist pulled out his pistol, preparing to shoot the man who’d just ruined his plans, but he just sat there and smiled as the gun couldn’t seem to point in the right direction.
“Leyline of Sanctity. If I start with it in my opening hand, I can put it down straight away- which I did, so you can’t target me because I’m hexproof. Anyway, it’s your turn. On your draw step, you don’t seem to have a library to draw from, so I guess you lose this game?”
The cultist gasped for air as his life faded, confused and terrified that this child could have defeated him so easily, after months of planning, reading those damnable tomes and giving up his own mind just to bring this world to an end, and a new world in, with him at the head...
As the trench coat wearing man slumped to the floor, bleeding out of his ears and eyes, the teenager stood up annoyedly,
“This match was supposed to be best two out of three! Why does this keep happening every time I win game 1?”
|
*This was...a mistake.*
That was all Carry could think of as she clutched her Nimbus 2000 in one hand and a twelve inch hawthorn, dragon heart string wand in the other. She, loved Harry Potter, so to her, this was magic, and her rapid wand waving won her many duels, especially against Call of Cthullu fans, but she had never encountered anyone who was a fan of Overlord.
Well. To be entirely honest Collin was a man that loved his Dungeons and Dragons, and his Overlord, but he preferred the latter. He was embossed with an enormous pool of mana, and...it really was no contest. His last bout had ended with him dropping a meteor on his last opponent, and hers had ended with a full body paralysis.
"Three! Two! One! Start!"
*"Sectum Sem-"*
The world stopped turning. Time did not slow, it simply ceased its flow, and Collin walked towards his opponent. The championship round, and well, he had no qualms with a bit of overkill. As she stood frozen, words sealed in her lips, the announcers signal fired, the crowds paused mid cheer, he lifted his face, and leaned in towards her ear, and whispered one word. Something primal, something that warped the very soul of magic itself to generate a singular effect.
***Kill.***
The word spoken was generated by magic itself, and it passed his own lips in a language only those that traded their minds to the great old ones could understand. She could not hear the word as time was stopped. The effect was delayed to occur as soon as time began its march once more, and he held out his hands as though to embrace her.
*"-p...ra..."*
The magic could not launch from her wand, as it fell instantly from her grasp along with her broom. There was no cause of death. None detectable at least, she simply ceased to live, and her tools fell from nerveless fingers, and he caught her as she collapsed. Gently laying her, her eyes still wide, but glassy, on the ground. The fight was over before it could begin. A scene pulled straight from his very favorite series of books and games. Was it fair? No. Was it particularly original? He supposed not, but it was *effective*.
"Uh...ladies and gentlemen...the...the winner is the second challenger...someone send for the...clerics? We have a winner! A winner everyone!"
There were cheers. Confused, even afraid, as the man vanished, to give his guild the coin to continue slaying dragons and hunting down dungeons. Satisfied, as he had pulled off one of his most favorite scenes.
Edit: A word
Edit 2: For those with their interest piqued about the story beat the character follows or the magic system (the two are nearly identical), check out DnD or Overlord (Light Novels are my preferred, though there are other sources!)
| 2018-10-15T23:09:43
| 2018-10-15T22:55:54
| 42
| 14
|
[WP] God is a game dev and he just released a patch for his game "Earth". Write the changelog describing patches, balances, tweaks, etc.
|
# Earth
v0.2016.3.8rc5
**Game Balance**
- Reduced resiliency of mosquitoes.
- Increased resiliency of honey bees.
**Bug Fixes**
- Fixed error in `Model.Animal.Feline` where `HouseCat` functions overrode all `Feline` models. All models will now behave appropriately according to size.
- Resolved memory leak in AI `function Economy({capitalism : true})`; `trickleDown()` should now work as intended.
- Removed `Model.Animal.Misc.Platypus`.
- Removed `Model.Animal.Humanoid.Herobrine`.
**Notes**
The environment is almost ready for real players, submitting for review as Release Candidate #5.
|
#Earth 0.9.1 Live across all servers
We here at Milky Way Games have been hard at work on the newest update for Earth, the Simulation. It's taken us quite a while just to get here, but we are rapidly approaching the final edition of the game and cannot wait to get it into the hands of everyone in the Galaxy! We expect, that after this version is tested, debugged, and so forth, to have the game out within the next millennium, a wonderful accomplishment!
We'd like to take a moment to thank all of our Alpha buyers, players, testers, and so forth. Your courageous attempts into the simulation to work out all of the kinks have provided us great detail over the last 4.5 billion years and the long awaited arrival of Earth 1.0 is an accomplishment we share with all of you. To our Alpha testers and players, the update is below and should be live across all of our simulation servers.
* **MAJOR FIXES**
* Yellowstone_Caldera eruption halted, DLC Expansion date TBA.
*This was progressing a little faster than we anticipated here at Milky Way, and thanks to the efforts of USER_18410 we were able to halt this by a few (in-game) centuries.*
* Outdoor Temperature decreased by .5 degrees Celsius.
* Existing Oil Allotments have been increased by 1.8%.
* Adjusted Trajectory of *Virus 99942_Apophis*, which should no longer impact any related server. Further adjustments may be needed.
______
* **POPULACE ADJUSTMENTS**
* Server population increase by 12%, up from the previous 4%.
* Sub_Server UNDERWORLD population up by 3%.
* USER_666 updated with better dialogue, contract options, quests, and silver-tongued.
*More temptation for all you believers out there.*
* USER_74018, Ghandi_Mahatma, has been added into the game as USER_185018.
* USER_966617, Trump_Donald_J, has been removed from the game.
*This was a choice decided upon by the developer, unfortunately, we had no say in keeping him. The Big guy makes these decisions.*
* 12,547 new species have been added.
* 12,344 species have been removed.
* United_Nations Sub_User had been given BONUS_UNITY Buff.
*This should allow for easier transitions between "nations", making it much easier for each individual player to visit each "nation" and eventually make it possible for our planned UNITY_DLC to hit the servers. Time for each server will vary.*
* Level 3 Bosses Respawned across all servers.
* USER_876659, Mary_Elizabeth_A_II, given LIFE_BUFF.
_____
* **USER UPDATES**
* All USERS now receive a 2% XP Boost while active during the "day."
* All USERS now receive a -6% XP Boost while "indoors" longer than five days.
*Again, Big Guy made this decision.*
* All USERS now practicing "religion" receive no boosts, previous boosts will last for the next thirty (30) in-game days.
* All USERS are being updated with Antivirus Software, ASTUTE_1.0,
* Major updates to all STATS, including Intelligence, Charisma, Perception, Agility, Endurance, Sexual Drive, and Karma.
*These updates are good by the way, should give everyone a better footing in the coming years, especially by the time the full game is ready for release.*
* Addict_Users now receive -10% loss to XP each "hit."
* MARIJUANA_1.1 now live, should be "legal" across all servers.
* Antivirus to all CANCER programs updated in All Users.
* AI_USER_0000001 has been updated with SELF_AWARENESS.
______
* **SYSTEM-RELATED UPDATES**
* DWARF_PLANET_PLUTO redesignated as PLANET_PLUTO.
* SOL_1 Age decreased by .0001%.
* MARTIAN_WATER_PUMPS reactivated.
* RETURN_OF_NEPTUNIANS update will be rolled out at the end of the millennium, with the release of the final game.
*See Return of Neptunians Patch Notes for information on this Content.*
______
Comments, concerns, suggestions? Send them over to us at Milky_Way_Games@galaxy_godhood.org
______
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work! Great prompt OP!*
| 2016-03-08T12:40:41
| 2016-03-08T11:01:39
| 23
| 15
|
[WP] It's another murder case, plain and simple. With Watson out of commission, Holmes heads to the nearby police precinct in search of a temporary partner for the case. Instead, the precinct gives him Detective Jake Peralta
|
"CO-CAINE!"
Everyone on the detective's floor smiled, as they knew what must have happened for Detective Peralta to be this happy returning from his drug bust.
"Man I love how lazy criminals have gotten," Peralta said as he put his perp into the holding cell then headed to his desk to start putting his report together on the bust. But before he could get there, he noticed that someone was sitting in one of the chairs of Captain Holt's office, so he stopped by Terry's desk.
"So who's the new guy?"
"Some Brit. He got here before I did and would only talk to Captain Holt when anybody asked him anything. They have been talking with the door closed for almost an hour now," Terry said.
"OOOOOO, British people always make GREAT bad guys. Well, I shouldn't say that, everyone knows Germans make the superior villains because of Die Hard alone."
"I don't think he's a bad guy Jake, I think I saw him flash some sort of credentials to Holt. I think he's some sort of police officer."
"Pfft. LAME! It's always more interesting when they're the bad guys," Jake said, dismissing Terry and then sliding into his desk chair and started typing up his report, grabbing a handful of Mexican sour candies out of his desk drawer and stuffing them into his mouth, ignoring the intense pain from the dental neglect he constantly put himself through to eat the sugary delights.
Inside Captain Holt's office, Sherlock Holmes scoffed and looked at Captain Holt, having noticed him looking out into the bullpen and realized that his new partner was back.
"My my Captain Holt, what kind of precinct do you run where this young man is your best detective? I would have thought that quietly intense Hispanic one that looked like she'd like to shove me off the roof would be your best detective."
Captain Holt sighed. "They all have flaws, as much as I wish I could have trained them away from them. But Peralta is my best available detective, unless you'd rather I stick you with Hitchcock and Scully?"
Having observed the disorganized chaos and crumb-dusted desks of the two while waiting for Holt earlier in the morning, Holmes shook his head. "No no, Peralta will be fine. I need someone with the ability to not create a Hazmat scene if he ingests a slice of pizza on our stakeout."
"That's what I thought," Holt said, his face clearly showing a smile to anyone who knew him well enough. "I'll call Peralta in and you can walk him through what you'll be doing."
****
"Oh come on, I bet the British version of *Die Hard* is AMAZING!" Jake said, stunned beyond belief that this would-be detective had never seen his favorite movie.
"American cinema bores me," Holmes said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Oh yeah? So's your face!" Jake said, a little upset that yet another foreign detective that he was assigned to work with was a complete jackass. He had the fun momentary thought of those stupid Swedes dying in a fjord, still holding hands, wished Rosa was here to give her a high-five, then refocused on keeping a low profile and waiting for their murder suspect.
*I wonder how hard it would be to find the British version of Die Hard?* Jake wondered to himself, then simply resolved to ask Charles to get it for him for Christmas.
|
As Holmes entered the 99th precinct he was greeted by a bald African-American man shorter than the avarage whos first impression was obviously giving a firm handshake and maintaining excellent eye contact through the dialogue they had.
"Welcome Mr.Holmes to the 99th precinct. Im Captain Reymond Holt, we were expecting you to be a bit *earlier*."
Holmes looked at him and thoughts started to race through his mind. He became too pre-occupied for the upcoming 4 seconds to notice that the Captain had slightly changed his voice tone when he said *earlier*. Another officer passed by them in the meanwhile while chanting about shampoos and romance.
"I would have bought an apology gift but you dont look the type, on the contrary your dislike of gifts led to that officer's distress which is why its taking so long for who i can only assume my companion today is to come here since he is too busy trying to comfort her."
"Oh i-
"Well now he is coming dont worry and please look out that she doesnt smoke a fag after we go out."
The detective that have finally arrived put on his coat as he introduced himself.
"Hi, Detective Holmes or should i say *Sherlock*. Im Jake Peralta."
Holmes ignored his excessive use of facial gestures and shook his hand.
The female officer Peralta had tried to comfort a moment ago stepped outside to the balcony as Holt watched silently.
"How did you-
"I think we should head out now, thank you captain holt for lending a detective.
Peralta and Holmes entered the elevator and Peralta started to speak with an excited voice.
"Now i dont want to sound creepy but i might have read all of Mr. Watsons blog and potentially become obsessed with your adventures."
Peralta had said the last sentence a lot faster.
"She smokes while under stress doesnt she? Well dont worry i think your captain is going to help with that today, after all she seems to value his advice a lot."
"You did your thing! Are you going to explain like in the blogs too? ^please do^.
Peralta's little and almost girly scream had drawn the attention of the people around as they got out of the elevator and proceeded towards exit.
"She taped a cigarette box under her desk which she had trouble finding which is unusual considering how obsessed she is with keeping things under control. Her desk was extremely tidy with a schedule that consisted your captains handwriting which i have seen before from his signature. They are both type A people but differ at a point which also helps you differ them easier in your head as a father role and partner."
Holmes stopped a taxi which for a split second confused him as he was used to the british way of traffic.
They entered the car and Holmes told the taxi their destination. Peralta spoke immediately after Holmes did.
"ok... im in an area between feeling amazed and intruded but im leaning on the first one. How did you know about my relationship with them though? OH NO wait wait wait you saw her filing out one of those relationship thingies right?"
"Not quite. You both have rings and were a lot more intimate than anyone in the precinct. And you said that you two would solve her family problem together tonight."
"How do you know that its a family problem?"
"That was the easiest. She had put her coat on the hanger which smelled heavily of cuban cigar and fresh ink. Considering that she would give her coat to be immediately cleaned but didnt which shows when she spoke to the person who smoked it their conversation effected her so much that her obsession was pushed back."
"But doesnt that still leave the possibility of someone else smoking the cigar rather than her family?"
Peralta was focused and Holmes enjoyed that he gave all of his attention to the matter.
"Balance of probabilities. Cuban cigars are banned here and she doesnt look the type to hang out with smugglers but enough of that. We are almost at our destination and have a case to solve."
"Aaaand where are we exactly?"
The taxi stopped infront of a bar. A bar which Peralta thought that only evil masterminds looking for recruits for their plans of world domination would enter.
Holmes turn his head and looked at Peralta who was sitting in the back seat with an expression that was a bit uneasier than the usual.
"Are you ready?"
Peralta put on an almost cliche voice and expression.
"Oh the he game is ON."
| 2020-01-20T06:41:40
| 2020-01-20T06:21:47
| 105
| 43
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I decided to go with a 1-15 scale instead of 1-10 hope that's not too big a deal. Criticism welcome.
-----
I can read your numbers.
Everyone has a number. It's not something that hangs in the air over their head, it just sort of... Pops into my mind.
The way someone stands, the look on their face... The numbers, as far as I can tell represent how dangerous someone has the potential to be on a scale of one to fifteen.
These numbers can change over time, my grandfather is a Vietnam Veteran, when I was younger his number was a seven, every few years it drops a point or so. Last time I saw him he was a five. When I look at pictures of him when he was younger he was an eight.
Most people average at about four. Kids tend to be a two or three, the only "ones" I've ever seen are quadriplegics.
The big numbers tend to be politicians and world leaders. Serial Killers usually hit in around ten. Leaders and Generals involved with wars hit around thirteen. The only fifteens I've ever seen are on old videos, at least until today, Hitler, Mao, Stalin, and all of the people that immediately surround them. The sorts of people who are responsible for mass genocide and similar atrocities.
Today a new kid came to school. His number was low, a three, until he looked at me and smiled. Suddenly I felt this oppressive fear and I saw his number shoot to fifteen.
I passed out, the school nurse sent me home.
I've been loading dads gun, I can't let him live.
If you had the chance to kill Hitler before he did anything wrong, would you? I've made my decision.
|
Every since I can remember, there were numbers in my head.
Everyone had a number, a three for the boy who pushed me down the slide, a seven for those murderer's on TV, a four for my mother, etc... I had never met a ten, nor a nine, and eights were only in other countries.
Until I met *him*.
He was beautiful.
He was perfect and kind and lovely, he was everything I ever wanted in life. He was pure perfection. He mustn't have ever had a bad day because he was *divine*.
But he was a ten.
He was a ten in everything he did; he was a star athlete, head of the debate team, model student, and loving son. Everyone knew him, guys wanted to be him, girls wanted him, and I...
I was skeptical.
What was different about him? He seemed to be perfect, but that couldn't be true... I was very wary of this boy, this seeming deity of perfection, what would ever make him like this?
I was terrified of him from the moment he said hello.
"Hey, I'm Alex, and I couldn't help but notice that you always seem to walk away whenever I'm in the room? Did I upset you or something? If I did, I'm sorry, a lady as beautiful as you should never have to be uncomfortable."
I blinked in wide eyed fear, my eyes staring at his perfectly sculpted outstretched hand. What was *wrong* with him?
"Hey, now, I'm not gonna bite."
I focused on his perfect lips and the way his white teeth broadened into a lovely grin. He was a boy that many fell in love with, but I wasn't buying it. I was different; I was that one weird chick that over analyzes everything- I didn't have emotions and that's why everyone stayed away.
Cautiously, I outstretched my hand.
"Flora," I rasped, my voice low and uncertain. His smile grew wider and his hand enveloped mine.
The shock that jolted my arm was unexpected, and I yanked my arm back as soon as our skin had met.
His face developed into what seemed like a Cheshire grin. I saw the glint in his eyes, and I felt true terror for the first time in my life.
"Flora," he repeated, as if to test out the words on his own tongue, "I was hoping I'd find you soon."
He licked his lips and took a step forward.
| 2014-11-29T12:30:55
| 2014-11-29T12:02:03
| 856
| 498
|
[WP] Your elder brother is the demon king, your younger sister is the ArcAngel of light, your auntie is a army general of earth, your uncle is a demi-God, your mom is the queen of death and your father is the god of life. But you are a normal human who got adopted by the most dysfunctional family.
|
What's worse than being a part of a family that rarely gets along or sees eye-to-eye? Being the only member of that family who could truly be considered normal by traditional human standards.
Older brothers can be hard on their younger siblings at times; it's like an unwritten code that says they have to torture you out of love. Now imagine having an older brother who's literal existence is geared towards torture, mischief, and evil. You think having the toilet flushed while your in the shower is shitty? My big bro can superheat the water in the pipes instantly, so my personal hygiene was low on my list of concerns when he was around.
Of course, my little sister was always there to heal the burns and scorn my brother for his pranks. The shining star of the family, daddy's little girl, and, honestly, a thorn in my side. Look, I'm a normal guy, and puberty hit me just as hard as any other kid with access to the internet. I don't know if she could sense my debauchery, but she always had a way of bursting in on me at the wrong moment and lecturing me on how exercising the sin-of-self-pleasure ten times a day was a waste of perfectly good time to be spent otherwise.
Mom, however, took some kind of sick pleasure from my ejaculations. No, not in a sexual way. The queen of death revels in any loss of life, and I guess knowing that her son was spewing millions of potential lives into a dirty sock every day made her proud of me in some strange way. She was usually praising my brother, so, hey, I'll take what I can get.
My father, on the other hand, gave me somewhat of a reverse presentation of 'the talk' that I assume most teens get from their dad around that age. Condoms? Birth control? No, sir. Life is a blessing, and dear old dad made it clear that he couldn't wait for me to spread the glorious seed that he'd created in me (yes, I fucking know) and to have dozens of grandchildren running about the house—fast approaching their own coming of age and bringing of life.
Living with those four could be, at times, seriously unbearable; when it got too difficult, when I was too overwhelmed, I would retreat to my auntie and uncle's house for a few days. Don't get me wrong, they aren't normal either; however, when you live with entities that are well beyond normal human life, a demi-God and military genius are close enough.
My auntie was rarely home, always off overseeing some covert operation in a foreign land, but she always had great advice for me when she was present. Of course, that advice was often drawn up on a white board with codenames, contingent plans, and a Sun Tzu quote for inspiration, but I always appreciated the distraction.
Lastly, my uncle H. He's always been the only person I've felt at ease around, even though he has the opposite effect on everyone else that's like me. Exercise was always his remedy for stress and frustration, and there's no better spotter in the gym than someone who could literally bench press the product of all the weights in the building.
But most of all, he's always helped me see what really matters in life.
"You're family is a pain in the ass," he would say as calmly as he curled my entire body. "I get it, living with *anyone* is hard, and our family isn't made up of just anyone. But they love you, and you love them."
"Your brother, as mischievous as he may be, only picks on you because he knows you can take it. He can't help himself, it's his existences' duty to torture, and it helps him to know that he has a mortal he can torment who won't hate him for it."
"Your sister, as preachy as she is, only wants what's best for you. She sees the light in you, your unimaginable potential, and she only helps to guide you to becoming the person you want to be some day."
"Your mom, well, she's death. She can literally suck the life out of the room when she walks in, but I know that there's one death she's dreading; when your life finally extinguishes, by old age or catastrophe, the queen of death will truly abhor her own existence."
"And your father is in the same boat. He will outlive you, and there will never be another you. Even the god of life couldn't create you exactly as you are, because the conditions of your development will always be different. You're one of a kind, as all mortals are, and he only wishes to hold on to some part of you through your offspring—however faint that remnant may be hundreds of years from now."
"What about you, Uncle H?" I would say, often with tears in my eyes. "Will you miss me when I'm gone?"
He would laugh, a mighty gut chuckle that melted my soul. "I'm a half-blood; I've always desired a pure, Godly existence, but having you as a nephew and your aunti in my life has made me love my mortal side in a way I never thought possible."
I'd always end up back at home after a talk with my uncle, more than happy to see my dysfunctional family again. They may be a strange mix of heaven and hell, but they chose me, and I couldn't be luckier.
/r/BeagleTales
|
Day 1:
I did it. I finally stood up to my parents and told them how I felt!
Mom was a weepy wreck of course. Dad on the other hand seemed to still be processing the fact that I was not in fact there to help him organize his garden shed when I dropped the bombshell. I think the only words he heard were “Hi dad” and “I’m leaving.” The whole soul baring session that occurred in between those words went in one ear and out the other.
Anyhoo it’s as good a result as I could have hoped for, all things considered. Mom made a perfunctory effort to get me to stay, but otherwise my break from this screwed up family has been fairly clean. Then again it’s only been one day.
Day 2:
Sam called me. Son of a bitch. I should have known that he’d get my phone number. Probably one of his moles in the LAPD. What better organization for demons to infiltrate than the LAPD? Even the worst demons are better than some of the senior members of that police force.
He was all hellfire and brimstone, of course. He threatened me with all kinds of torture. Promised that he would find my address, yadda yadda. Same old Samael. He told me that I was ungrateful and that I was blessed to have cosmic deities for a family. I told him to piss off.
Day 4: No sign of Samael or his demons. That’s probably because the cargo van I live in doesn’t have an address and my PO Box is in Lucie’s name. Dad insisted all of his children take on human identities just in case we ever needed to lay low and blend in with the mortals. Lucie left her human documents with me, not caring much if I stole her identity. Not that I ever would, except to open a PO Box in her name so I can still get mail without alerting my brother as to my whereabouts.
Day 7: Speaking of Lucie she found me today. No great surprise. The Angel of Light can see everything, and can detect auras like all of my siblings can. She probably scoured the US for people with my singularly unique aura.
She came by and told me that I was the best mortal big brother ever and she was going to miss me. Of all the family I have I expected her to take my departure the best.
It’s odd though, she’s a cosmic entity, the angel of light, infinitely old. Yet she calls me, a human mortal of thirty years, her big brother. I don’t get it.
Day 14:
Everything is fine. A bit lonely. But I’m happier than I’ve been in a while. I feel liberated that I no longer need to impress the unimpressable. Every day that I live outside of that house I realize how toxic that whole family is.
I blame myself just as much. I am resentful, quick to anger, and prone to fits of sullen silence. My constant need to prove myself drove a wedge between me and my divine siblings and between me and my father who I could never impress.
Then I realized that I should stop trying. My whole life I’ve been comparing myself to others, measuring myself based on their successes. It’s not healthy outlook, to be in constant competition and perpetual jealousy.
I cannot compete with my family. My aunt, the supreme Allied Commander who still manages to make it to most Sunday dinners. My brother the king of Hell. My sister the angel of light. My parents, the dualistic images of life and death. And let’s not forget good old Uncle Bill who occasionally gets drunk and throws his car off of a bridge or smashes a cop car with a streetlight.
I’ve dropped out of the race and now I plan on discovering who I really am.
Day 27:
Dad found me. My guess is he worked his mojo on Lucie. He’s always been a good manipulator. Lucie in particular is vulnerable to his sadistic machinations. I realize now why Sam chose to leave the house and rule over hell in person.
He made a great show of it. Four in the morning, foggy. I’m awake since I’m more or less nocturnal these days. I was sitting outside my van in the halo of a streetlight in a turnout up in the Hollywood hills. I think I ruined his plan of waking me up with his performance, why else would he choose such an obtuse hour to come call?
He did the whole Old Testament shebang of lightning and thunder, a deep seated sense of existential dread, a black could descending from the heavens, all that.
Dad emerged from the cloud outside my van to find me in my lawn chair sipping tea and typing on my lap top. I barely looked up from my work during the performance.
“Son.” He said to me.
“God.” I replied.
“We want you to come home.” He said.
“I am home.” I said.
He scoffed. “Your home is the palace. It always was. This act of rebellion has gone on long enough. How long are you going to torment your mother?”
“My mother hasn’t felt a real emotion in a thousand years. I see right through all of her performances, just as I see through yours.” I said.
Lightning crackled around him. “Mind your tongue boy.”
“Or what?” I asked.
“I’ll make you wish you had.”
“Good old dad. Tell me, dad, once and for all. Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you adopt me?”
“I already told you-“
“-yes that my biological mother left me on the palace porch and mother took me in. What a crock of shit. Tell me the truth.” I said.
“Have you ever wondered why your aura is pure white?” He asked.
“I always assumed it was a consequence of a mortal living with Gods.” I said.
“No. Your aura was as brilliantly white as Lucie’s prom dress from the moment you were born.” He said.
“So you took me in, to see what it meant?” I asked.
“Yes. And I must say it’s been a disappointment. I thought maybe you were a new divine, come into existence. Or maybe that you were special in some way. I wanted to see for myself.” He said.
“But I’m not special.”
“Yes that became abundantly obvious quickly. But by the time we realized that Lucie fell in love with you. So I decided that I wanted your siblings to experience humanity first hand. I wanted them to live with a human, call him brother. I mostly kept you for Samael’s sake, I wanted to see if you could turn him from his hatred of humans.” Dad answered.
“I failed.”
“No, you did not. Samael wanted to overrun the earth with his demons until you grew up with us. Now he holds his legions of hell back because he knows the world has people like you in it.”
I was touched. But I hardened myself to it.
“But dad, I’m not like you. I don’t have phenomenal powers. I don’t have the wisdom of a hundred learned scholars. I’m just Dave. I can’t live in a family full of Gods. It’s not right, it’s not natural. I can’t live with your disappointment any longer.”
God stroked his magnificent beard. “Perhaps you are right. Fine. I’ll tolerate this insistence on independence for now. But please do Lucie the kindness of coming to Sunday dinner. I’ll make sure Samael doesn’t kill you.”
With that God/Dad vanished, deciding to forego the performance.
Day 54:
Lucie almost killed me today. She swung a Prius at me, missing by inches. She thought I was an imposter.
After apologizing profusely she told me that my Aura had turned a shade of yellow. Since she mostly sees in the astral plane she thought I was an intruder disguised as her brother. I don’t blame her, Auras are as unique as fingerprints. It would freak me out too.
I’ve been peppered with questions ever since. Every thing I’ve done for the past month has been meticulously combed over. The only thing of consequence I’ve done was volunteer at a charity drive for a child with cancer. I’d met her mother at a coffee shop and we’ve just started dating.
Poor thing. Working full time and caring for a sick daughter. I helped run a fundraiser for her last week. Other than that I’ve sat in my van, drove around LA s bit, and worked on my next novel.
So whatever caused my aura to change we don’t know. We will find out.
Day 60:
Remember that girl with cancer I mentioned? Her name is Emily. She had stage three brain cancer of a hard to treat variety. Sweet girl. I am fond of both her and her mother.
Notice I said had. She had cancer. Not anymore. She has been cured in a sudden reversal that her doctors are calling a miracle. One day she had cancer, the next she did not.
I have realized something. I’ve only physically touched her once. It was a hug she gave me at the fundraiser. The next week my aura was yellow and the week following she was cured of her cancer. For all I know my aura turned yellow the moment she hugged me and her cancer was cured on the spot but these respective changes weren’t discovered until now.
We’re going out to celebrate. Maybe I’ll bring my family,
| 2019-05-31T10:48:14
| 2019-05-31T10:13:10
| 286
| 170
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
I glanced nervously at my watch, still holding a wry smile. *12:01*.
My mom gave me a reassuring nod, but her brow furrowed in the same way as it does when I suit up for football. Hopeful. Excited. Definitely nervous. *12:02*.
Dad makes a nervous laugh. “Jim, you remember how much I was sweating at my Calling Day?” He elbows my uncle, who returns with the same nervous laugh. *12:03*.
I rub my arm frantically, trying to disguise the welling up in my throat, the cold prickling on my scalp. I pretend no one can hear the jackhammer playing in my chest. *12:04*.
Relief starts to sweep over me when I see a change on my forearm. Then dread. A bird flew by the window. My hopes were really shadows. That made it all worse. I was doomed. Hands down, worst day of my life. *12:05*.
I stared silently for the next half hour, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Mom started to pass around refreshments to break the tension. It was well-meant, I suppose. A handful of friends tried to encourage me as they left the party, usually laying a hand on my shoulder as if that would make it better, as if that bridged the gap between the outcast and the Called. My eyes could not help but stray to their arms as they came by. Chef, Diplomat, Plumber, Accountant, Soldier, Engineer, Mechanic. Each future bright and open. Mine was blank. I’d give a perfunctory nod, unsmiling, still staring forward. They would leave.
I heard dad get into a heated conversation with our family doctor an hour or two later. Something, something pituitary gland… something, something never happened before… it didn’t matter to me. Maybe it gave him some comfort to know that science had zero answers for me tonight and he, Mechanic, a classic fixer, couldn’t do any more.
Mom brought dinner, trying to get me to eat. She’s always been really thoughtful like that, but I wasn’t hungry. At least, hunger or fullness didn’t matter to me right now. I was purposeless. Later she brought cookies. As a Baker, it was the best offering she could bring. I knew they were amazing. I almost smiled. But I shook my head and stared.
At some point, I realized it was dark, so I found my bed and slept.
Mom called me in sick to school the next day. I didn’t leave the bed.
The day after was a Saturday. It was also the first day I cried, and the first day I spoke.
“Why? If there’s a God or a benevolent universe, why the hell me? I did my time! I was a good kid. I worked hard at school. So, why? Give me one good reason why I don’t get a purpose! This is humiliating!”
The universe remained silent. To be fair, we’ve never exactly been on speaking terms anyway.
I went to school the next week, forearm bandaged in shame. It probably drew as many eyes as my naked skin would have, and just as many whispers.
In fifth period, Mr. Hardiman walked up calmly during lab and asked how I was doing. He had Chemist written on his right arm, the word now faded with time.
“Oh, you know, just adjusting to being a social outcast.”
“Really, is that what you have written under there were you won’t show anyone?”
“You haven’t heard?” I couldn’t tell if he was being naïve or sarcastic, but his tone suggested the latter. “You must be the only one.”
He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then grinned and took off his glasses to polish them, which was usually a sign that he was trying to be especially serious. “You know, when I had my Calling day, I was secretly hoping to see ‘Traveler’ pop up, but I got this instead. It was fine, I loved the sciences and it was no letdown to work in them, but part of me did regret not pursuing those mountains and deserts and far reaches of the world I kept reading about. I’ve made it as far as Mt. Holyoak for a ski trip since, but that’s about it.” The glasses returned to their perch. “Do you mind taking off the bandage so I could see?”
I was reluctant. No, I was terrified. But his tone was sincere, and I trusted him. The white guaze fell to the floor.
Mr. Hardiman beamed warmly. “Blank slate. Must be nice.” And he walked away.
Silence. I did not notice until then that the entire class was holding its breath. Then I noticed I was holding my own.
I was a blank slate, an unwritten page, a road untraveled. I was free and could do anything I wanted. So I stood up, smiled, and walked out the door.
“I make my own destiny.”
|
A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)".
| 2017-03-16T03:45:52
| 2017-03-15T23:14:08
| 188
| 98
|
[WP]Abducted humans have, so far, all displayed the same internal organ structure common throughout the galaxy with only one exception. Every one of them has a Glarnak parasite beating inside their chest. They even think it's necessary for life.
|
"What do you mean, dead?" His wide black eyes blinked slowly.
"I'm telling you, we excised the parasite absolutely perfectly. Not even a trace of it left anywhere in the subject's system. They expired partway through the surgery, and get this-- the GLARNAK died first. Not the host, the parasite."
"That's..." He trailed off, long spindly fingers stroking his almost nonexistent chin. "That's impossible. What other possibilities could there be?"
"It gets worse. Almost everything down there has one. Hundreds of trillions of parasites, even down to the class 1 organisms. It's the same with all of them; the Glarnak cannot be removed without killing the host."
He sat down on the hovering, ovoid seat at the table. "Good stars, how in the universe did we miss this one? How did ANY of us miss this one? Billions of years! Billions! The Glarnak have never invaded a planet so thoroughly and so early. The longest blight on our side of this damn glitter pinwheel lasted a hundred years. I can't even begin to imagine what kind of damage it's wreaked here. The death toll must be absolutely staggering."
The other technician nodded slowly, his large head bobbing. "What do you suppose we do? We can't vaporize the planet, the Glarnak might spread again. But we can't let them get offworld either."
He rubbed his huge eyes, and sighed. "I'll discuss the findings with the Grand Architect. In the meantime, keep a taskforce here to observe. Observe \*only\*. Any samples must be taken with my go-ahead. I can't risk any of you getting infected, even briefly. Don't let them get off this rock. Don't let them see you."
|
The room was lit with contrasting shades of pink and green lights emanating from hovering bulbs. The latest subject - HS937 was strapped to the vertical stand after all the scans had been completed. Ul-Kno hoped atleast this subject would be the perfect specimen. He had visited Earth ever since life came into existence.
He visited it periodically to search for the perfect specimen because it had the accurate conditions for the needed species.
It was on one such visit that he met the homosapiens who went by the names Adam and Eve. It was a harmless visit to take blood samples but that visit had a humongous effect on their minds and they were barely left sane. So Ul-Kno had decided to stay away and witness their evolution from a distance.
He periodically returned to abduct a few humans for more advanced tests. He noticed that no matter how much they evolved, they never lost the Glarnak parasite beating inside their chest. He had tried multiple times to remove it from the body of those subjects he abducted, but they sheerly out of will power held on to the belief that they were going to die without it and died.
It was a complex paradox because the Glarnak parasite was the reason of their short mortality,yet they believed it to be the most important for survival. He had waited for thousands of years for them to evolve into the perfect specimen so he could use all of the humans to fuel his spaceship which was still stuck in the middle of the solar system of the Milky Way galaxy. The ship sustained on for the past 4.6 billion years and it could sustain for another 5 billion years but he had to find a way to get the Glarnak parasites away as it was very volatile and would destroy his ship if used in the fuel. The subject yet again died on the stand. All he could do was wait and he waited bitterly.
Meanwhile on Earth :
A pastor:
God is in your hearts. Remember he who punished Adam and Eve resided in your hearts to make sure you don't commit sins. Always follow your heart to the path of righteousness....
| 2019-07-10T02:09:35
| 2019-07-10T01:26:50
| 258
| 50
|
[WP] You snap your fingers, a car explodes. You stomp you foot, the earth shakes. You wave your arm, and a building crumbles. You didn't cause any of this. You are... Coincidence Man.
My first writing prompt! Plz don't murder me.
Edit: Real quick, this was the paragraph that I wrote. "I am a man with strange powers. I stomp my foot, and the earth shakes. I snap my fingers, and a car behind me explodes. I wave my arm, and the building to my right crumbles. However, my actions had no bearing on what happened, nor did my power. You see, the earthquake had been scheduled to happen for around six months. The car had a full tank and a gas leak, when the man inside decided to light a cigarette. And the building had been being weakened by termites for years. I didn't actually know any of this until after the fact... My name also explains my power, and my name? It is Coincidence Man."
|
Coincidence man, guy without a plan.
Chance is his game, luck is his middle name.
Give him nothing and you shall see,
Coincidence man will make you flee!
With an arch of his back, the buildings fall flat.
Another stretch of his arms and he sets off alarms!
An innocent yawn spawns incidents here,
Such as the spontaneous explosion over there!
But disastrous acts are not his only doing,
Coincidence man's got more stuff brewing!
He bends for a coin which sends a ball to your groin!
His bubble gum goes POP and your troubled bum shows SLOP!
How can we be safe? What shall we do?
When Coincidence man can make us unwillingly poo?
|
Michael examined his handcuffed hands. The lock was solid, the metal firm. He wasn't slipping his hands out of them - right now, at least. He sighed. *It just wouldn't look right.*
"Hey guys. Perhaps you should reconsider this," he said raising his hands in a praying position in front of his chest.
He snapped his fingers.
The car parked behind the four men exploded showering the Dublin back-street with bits of metal and flame.
"What the hell? What the hell?"
"Get him!"
"Take cover."
Michael ignored their panic. He waved his hands, trying to attract their attention.
"Guys, focus here. Here. Me!"
He got the attention of one goon.
"Good. I'm the one you want to surrender to."
"Surrender what? You're crazy. Flanna-"
The building in front of Michael crumbled covering the men in white dust. One fell, coughing.
The other two looked uncertain. Michael seemed like a devil suddenly conjured up amongst then.
"Could you please line up over there..." Mike gestured towards his side. "...drop your weapons on the ground. And put your hands... Here! Focus here. I'm your way out of this. Is this really the situation you want to be in? You guys are obviously outnumbered. There's no backup. Flannagan, sorry the "big guy", obviously set you up. Do you really want to take one for him? You think Flannagan would take one for you?"
They wavered.
Mike stomped his foot.
The earth trembled as something exploded behind the three. All three dropped to the ground.
"Is my point made?"
"Yeah, yeah we understand you."
Groggily the men began to stumble towards him laying their guns down by his feet.
"Who are you?" one asked.
Behind Michael the car still burnt providing him with a devilish halo. He grinned.
"Coincidence Man," he answered with an atrocious Irish
accent.
From her position down the street, from where she'd co-ordinated the explosions, a raven haired woman emerged. She trained a pistol on the three thugs as she tosses him a set of keys.
"It's terrible, Michael," she laughed, "everything's a repeat these days."
| 2016-10-27T03:55:29
| 2016-10-27T00:32:33
| 25
| 15
|
[WP] You're listening to Plot Relevant Radio, the only radio station that fits the situation of one randomly selected listener. We hope you're all safe tonight, as next up we're going to be playing The Final Countdown by Europe.
|
**Thursday 28th March 2019 11:30pm**
The Prime Minster opened the door of 10 Downing Street to be greeted by the cries of the reporters who had gathered outside. They were shouting questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
“Do you have a deal, Prime Minister?”
“Prime Minister, do you have a plan?”
“What’s going to happen at midnight, Prime Minister?”
She ignored them all. Shielded from the rain by a black umbrella she hurried to the waiting Jaguar.
“Is this the biggest disaster to befall peacetime Britain, Prime Minister?”
“Are you going to resign, Prime Minister?”
“Prime Minster...”
“Prime Minster…”
“Prime Minster…”
She breathed a sigh of relief as the car door was shut, silencing the cacophony of voices outside. Peace, for the six sweet minutes it took to drive to Buckingham palace at least. Thomas, her driver nodded his head “Mam.”
“Could we have the radio please, Thomas?” She needed a distraction. Thomas turned to her favourite station before pulling away towards Parliament Street.
*“We're leaving together,*
*But still it's farewell…”*
The Final Countdown. Europe. Some distraction from her problems the radio turned out to be. All she wanted was a six minute break from thinking about Europe but it seemed that the universe had other plans.
*“We're leaving ground (leaving ground)*
*Will things ever be the same again?”*
She saw Thomas’ eyes flick towards her in the rear-view mirror. She thought about asking him to turn the radio off but decided not to. The song was in her head now; the damage was done. She might as well listen.
*“It's the final countdown”*
She watched the rain drip down the car window as they drove past St James Park. This would surely be the worst meeting of her career. Explaining to the Queen how she had utterly and completely failed. She was done as Prime Minister, of course, and with that there would at least be some sense of catharsis. The rest of it though, the chaos that would be brought about by her failure? The sting of that would last a lifetime.
*“The final countdown.”*
Longer than a lifetime, really. She would forever be remembered as the Prime Minster who led Britain to the brink of collapse. She could feel history’s eyes on her and they were not kind.
*“It's the final countdown”*
No deal. No plan. No stopping it.
*“The final countdown.”*
The car pulled up outside the palace and The Prime Minister took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping out to the cries of the press.
“Do you have a deal, Prime Minister?”
“Prime Minister, do you have a plan?”
“What’s going to happen at midnight, Prime Minister?”
“Is this the biggest disaster to befall peacetime Britain, Prime Minister?”
“Are you going to resign, Prime Minister?”
“Prime Minister…”
“Prime Minster…”
“Prime Minister…”
|
"I don't and I don't and I don't."
The meandering voice encircled him, crescendoing.
He was getting closer now. The shimmering blue lights were frantic around him.
The aimless wandering of the voice gave way to an unfamiliar rumble, just as he came to a large open chamber. It was a hazmat analysis node.
Synthetic music reverberated.
*Sounds like the shit Diogo was listening to.*
Here was what he'd come for.
An explosion rocked the station. *Or was it the music?*
"Julie," he said. "Hey. Julie. Wake up. I need you to wake up now."
Driving drums pounded in his ears.
"We're leaving together, but still it's farewell," he said. Eros seemed to be singing his words back to him.
“Who are you?” Julie asked.
“Name’s Miller.”
“I’m scared.”
“It’s all right, but right now the whole station is heading back for Earth. Really fast.”
“I dreamed I was racing. I was going home.”
“Yeah, we need to stop that.”
“Can we come back?”
“Maybe we’ll come back to Earth, but who can tell?”
“I guess there is no one to blame.”
*Well, that wasn’t technically true.*
Miller shrugged reassuringly. “Not anymore, no.”
He could now feel himself floating, leaving ground.
“Will things ever be the same, Miller?”
He changed topics quickly.
“Give me your hand.” He took his hand terminal and pressed her thumb to the dead man's switch.
“What is it?”
“It’s the final countdown.”
The synthesizers were blasting again.
“Oh,” was all she could muster.
“We’re heading for Venus,” Miller suggested.
“That’s not what it wants.”
“You’re a fighter, Julie.”
“And still we stand tall, tall, tall…” the voices were overlapping again. Her eyes glossed over.
“Seen us seen us seen us, maybe they’ve seen us?” Julie’s tone was getting frantic.
*All eyes are on us.* Miller chuckled.
“Venus will welcome us all.” He pointed around the station at the floating blue lights.
“What happens on Venus?”
“We die maybe? I don’t know. With so many light years to go…” he trailed off.
Julie finished his sentence. “And things to be found.”
Miller nodded. “To be found.”
“I’m scared. I want go home, to Earth.”
“I’m sure that we’ll all miss her so.” *The rest of humanity will be glad we missed.*
The flashing blue lights seemed to speed up, furious now.
Julie’s lip quivered, she looked pained.
Miller felt the station lurch - their course was changing.
“What is it, Julie?”
“It’s the final countdown.”
| 2018-08-21T02:33:03
| 2018-08-20T20:10:11
| 86
| 43
|
[WP] There is a bar located between life and death. All those who died sit for their last drinks before marching onto the afterlife. Unbeknownst to them, the bartender is also the judge. Forgiveness is up to God. Retribution is the Devil's call. Judgement is given by the one who serves you drinks.
|
"A... drink?" I repeat the words.
The bartender raises an eyebrow at me. "Yeah. What'll it be?"
I glance behind him.
Instead of shelves full of drinks and tonics, I see... nothing. Just a wooden wall like you see in the taverns in movies or video games.
"Uh-"
The bartender taps their fingers against the counter impatiently.
"Look, love, I got anything and everything you could or would ever ask for. What drink d'you want?"
"Just... a water, please," I request.
The bartender gives me a once-over and nods.
A glass of water appears in her hand and he places it in front of me.
"Hold on-"
"Don't question it, darling," she waves a hand dismissively. "Just drink your water."
I take the glass, the cold surface cool against my palm. I take a sip.
"What is this place, anyways?" I ask.
The bartender picks up a rag, starting to wipe down the counter.
"This place? It's everywhere. It's nowhere."
The heck is that supposed to mean?
"It's in between," he says mysteriously.
"Between where?"
"The two greatest forces of all."
I tip my head in exasperated annoyance. "What, time and patience?"
The bartender laughs. "Tolstoy. I remember him."
Remember him?
"No, not patience and time," the bartender leans over the counter. "Life and death."
"Life and-"
The bartender nods.
"I'm dead?"
The bartender sighs. "You kinda drove your car off a bridge."
Oh. Right. That.
"That wasn't my fault," I mumble, taking another sip if the water. "A truck plowed into the side of my car."
"You don't seem mad," the bartender says.
"I'm furious," I glance down at my hand where a ring sparkles on my fourth finger. "I was supposed to get married on the fourteenth."
"Sorry to hear that," the bartender says softly.
"I can't change what happened," I shrug, finishing off the water.
"You're very reasonable," the bartender takes the glass from me and wipes the drops of water on the counter.
"Something about dying makes everything crystal clear."
They laugh. "You're right."
"So... if I'm dead, is there an afterlife?"
The bartender nods. "'Course there is."
I glance around, the silent question hanging in the air.
"I think," the bartender snaps her fingers. "You can stay with me."
"What do you mean?"
"Stay here, be a bartender here. You haven't really been evil, but you weren't really the best person, either."
I consider this.
"Think of it like purgatory. It'll be fun, I promise."
The offer hangs in the air.
|
"Welcome to the Dog's Feather pub. You're dead, let me know when I can take your order."
The barkeep stepped away and started drying cups with a dishcloth pulled down from where it had been resting over their shoulder. They were no longer looking directly at me, but were still present in a way that held the space open for me to react to the news, and that made it clear that they would support me no matter how I did react.
I reacted by sitting in stunned silence, remembering vividly the last moment before arriving in the bar. I had been on my way to a friend-I-had-a-crush-on's apartment. She had just broken up with her girlfriend, and had I sent a text saying that I was on my way when actually I was just starting to shave, and neither of those is actually a good reason to bike through a red light or not bother wearing a helmet, but apparently it was reason enough. I had been riding with my headphones in, listening to bumpin', dancy music and enjoying that sensation that city biking gives you of all of the pedestrians, parked cars, curbs, and traffic lights just being obstacles that a bicycle and strong legs gave you the power to dodge. When I noticed the truck out of the corner of my right eye, I had half an instant to be reminded that my bicycle and legs were not a superpower - then I was sitting at a bar.
*I've only known Ana a few months, but we've gotten close and she needs support right now. I started to get really angry at myself for not being there for her tonight (and frustrated that nothing's going to end up happening between us), and then suddenly I realized that this was going to be horrible for her. She's going to think I bailed on her, and then she's going to think I ghosted her, and I don't even know how she'll be informed that I'm dead, and when she does realize she'll feel like it was her fault because I was on my way to her, and then she'll double guilty because she'll have been angry at me for ditching her.... Or maybe it'll be even worse and she'll hear the sirens and make the connection and even though I was still a few blocks away she'll walk down and she'll see my splattered body and blame herself in that moment and - HOLY SHIT HOW IS MY MOM GOING TO TAKE THIS NEWS!?*
As I started down another spiral of thoughts, the barkeep gently interrupted me. "They'll live, and they'll grieve. How about a drink?"
I fumbled at my pockets briefly. "Sorry, I don't think I can. Don't seem to have my wallet on me."
"Drinks are on the house, no need to worry about that."
\*Oh, right, this was a magical afterlife bar. "\*Could I get a beer, then, please? IPA, if you have it, don't really care what brand."
*I can't believe I was obsessing about some (lovely) girl I barely know! This is going to be devastating for my parents and my friends. Who's going to handle the arrangements? Who's going to handle the invitations?! I've been so nomadic the last 6 years there's not really any one person who has a way to contact -or even knows the names of - all the people who are really important to me. What about all the goodbyes I never said? Shit, what about my students?! They're not going to pass the AP exam if the school doesn't resolve this right away, and even then I don't have my lesson plans written down anywhere and nobody knows the password to my computer and I know the AP exam doesn't really matter but Omar was counting on it to help him get into that school and Jakob has been sort of emotionally leaning on me this semester and I don't know how he'll handle this and there are so many people who this is going to hurt and ----*
A coaster and a glass of light amber beer were placed firmly down in front of me. Not aggressively, and certainly not loudly, but just enough to break my reverie. The bartender's voice, somehow smoky, clear, and gentle at the same time, said "The things that need to happen will get done. The people you left behind will grieve, and they'll live, until they move on."
"Can you read my thoughts?" I looked up at the bartender, and for the first time began to actually pay attention to where I was. The bartender was tall, generally fit in a way that I wouldn't call either thin or chubby, a bit of a prominent nose, with a fairly sharp chin and full lips, pleasant to look at, with clear skin and a tanned complexion that made me think of the Mediterranean, and benignly androgynous. Behind them were shelves lined with glass bottles (and a few clay jars), all marked with an unambiguous label ('whiskey,' 'rum,' 'pitorro,' 'tequila,' 'grappa,' etc.). The taps for beer were similar, saying simply 'IPA', 'Wheat', 'Stout', etc." The bottles and taps came in a wide variety of colours, and each also bore the small symbol of a long-beaked bird (Ibis, I think) standing on a book. The bar itself was a solid piece of dark wood, with an opaline enamel inlaid in the cracks. It was a fairly small pub, shaped like a long rectangle. From the perspective of the door the right side held the one bar long enough for 5 stools, and on the left side there were three booths which looked like they would each comfortably sit 4 normal people or one 8-woman bachelor party. Three standing tables were between the booths and the bar. Above each booth, a window about a meter square let in the fading twilight. Looking through the windows you couldn't see any landscape or other buildings, just the gray of twilit clouds and a violet-rosy underglow as if from a sun only just set. The bar was about half-full of people, none of them seeming to be a hurry, talking to each other or sitting alone with their own drinks. The door to the outside was a heavy but simple oak, with a brass handle. Something about that door made me uneasy.
"No," replied the bartender, "but I've been doing this for a while. That line seems to be something most people need to hear."
I took a sip of my beer. It was perfect, not to mean that I knew anything at all really about beer or was any sort of a connoisseur, only to mean that it was exactly what I wanted when I said the word "beer." *Bird and Book*, as I decided to call the brewery, clearly understood what people wanted at this bar. "I think I want to sip this and be upset for a little while, if that's alright."
The bartender parted their lips as if to say something, but at that moment someone on the other end of the bar (closer to the door) raised a finger as if to ask for another drink, and they immediately stepped down to the other customer, leaving me to my thoughts.
I thought about guilt for all the things I was leaving unfinished. I thought about grief for all the things I would never do. I had plans! I was 27, recently moved to a new city, at the beginning of a career as a teacher. I was excited about the world, dammit! Or at least, I was excited on good days. Sure, sometimes I lay around mourning the pandemic and feeling sorry for myself (hasn't everyone been a little?) *But it's not fucking fair that a my life be suddenly taken from me like this. It's bullshit. You know what, fuck this shit. I'm probably just hallucinating after a bad fall from the bike. Or maybe it's just a dream and I haven't gotten out of bed yet. Either way, it's bullshit. Like you would really go to a bar after you die. Fucking ridiculous.* I decided to get out of this ridiculous hallucination. I pinched myself. It hurt, but it didn't do anything else. So I poured my perfect beer over my own head. Now I was wet and sticky, but no more awake. I started getting really angry now. I threw my empty beer glass as hard as I could over the bar, shattering it and a (*Bird and Book brand)* liter of "Absinthe" in a bottle so beautifully emerald green that it may well have actually been made of emerald. Everyone in the bar was looking at me now. I stood up, only getting angrier, and balled my fists, and part of me hoped that someone would get into my face, and the rest of me was dying of shame.
The bartender walked over to where the bottles had shattered. They bent down and opened a cupboard which seemed to contain one emerald bottle of Absinthe, one empty beer glass, one feather duster, and one dishrag. They dusted the shelf where the glass had exploded, an action which inexplicably removed all of the broken glass (and emerald?). They handed me the dishrag (which I took, bewildered), took the beer glass over to the taps, and asked simply "another?"
1/2
| 2021-03-09T00:30:41
| 2021-03-09T00:18:37
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] A firefly falls in love with a star.
Exactly what it sounds like. Whether or not the star is a normal star (inasmuch as a huge ball of gas collapsing on itself can be normal) or a living entity is up to you.
|
She sits so far above me
The greatest beauty of them all
Her smile that cuts the darkness
It’s like a siren’s call
That dancer in a dress of light
In her presence, I feel so small
Just an insect in the universe of her gaze
She doesn’t even see me at all
(Be gentle, it's my first go at this.)
|
They were arguing again. After the diagnosis words better left unspoken had spilled unwelcome across the marriage, staining it, marring it.
Sighing softly, Ryan took another long burning sip of FC whiskey. It was a cool spring's night at Blue Spring and the fireflies danced wistfully across the water.
He'd taken her here every year. They had watched in silence as those brief specks of light had spiraled and twisted through the dark night, lost in the show and their love for one another. But that love was waning now, tearing at the seams, the stitching caught too many times on faded memories.
Through blurred eyes he watched as the soft golden hue continued its passionate exchange, intoxicated and lost in desire. Amidst the chaotic swirl one small glimmer broke away, surging upward on icarid wings, oblivious to the dance of its fellows. Wiping his eyes, Ryan watched as the little glimmer continued its ascent undaunted, until it dwindled and faded among the stars.
Turning to get his jacket, he wiped his eyes one last time. The glimmer of his heart yearning to return to its star.
| 2016-01-04T00:56:25
| 2016-01-04T00:25:17
| 25
| 14
|
[WP] A man has the ability to smell death. The greater the stench, the closer a person is to dying. He leaves his house one day and is instantly overcome with the pungent scent of mortality. Every person he passes reeks of death.
|
He had known it was coming for a while now.
Death had become a constant companion in Jacob's life. A certain familiarity had developed over the years since he first realized the meaning of his gift. The musty scent, reminiscent of a long forgotten sweater buried deep in a cedar closet, with a hint of an unknown spice, clung to every person in varying degrees, counting down the final moments of their lives.
He had learned to manage it. Avoid hospitals and retirement homes. Stay out of bad neighborhoods and avoid churches with support groups. He developed a plan and stuck to it, rarely deviating from his short route home from work and back again. Following his strict routine kept the smell stable, familiar. So much so that he never even noticed when it had first started to change.
It built up ever so gradually. What had once been an ever present musk pushed to the background of his life had morphed into a constant, forceful reminder of mortality. The scent of death looming ever closer was overwhelming. It was caked into everyone around him as if lathered on to form an extra layer of skin.
As Jacob walked the few short blocks from his home to his office, the smell had cascaded into a climax all around him, encompassing every breath of air he inhaled, coating his throat and lungs with oily morbidity. What should have smelled like a crisp, clear, late summer morning had instead become a thick, funeral scented perfume.
He waited in the elevator to get to his floor, a calm acceptance washing over him as he resigned himself to the fact that today would be his final day. He sat at his desk and looked out his window, and saw the nose of the airplane before his vision faded to black.
|
The smell of breakfast delighted him as Ken woke up and got ready for work. There must have been something new that his wife was trying with the recipe, because this had a grittier feel to it. He got dressed and sat down to eat and looked at the clock.
7:45, he thought. Almost time to go. He had a long commute to work, he didn't want to go too late otherwise the trains would be packed. He greeted his wife with a hearty 'good morning'. He dug into his breakfast with gusto, but didn't notice anything different in there.
It was after he got up, left the table, kissed his wife goodbye, and went out the door that he noticed the strange smell. Not smell. Stench. Usually it was just one person, but this time it was the whole neighborhood. Everybody reeked of death. Ken looked around, and saw his neighbor, Naomi, watering the few potted plants she had in her small, tidy front yard.
Ken eyed her suspiciously. She seemed fine. No injury. No debilitating disease. He looked around. The whole neighborhood seemed fine. Ken knew he needed to get to the bottom of this, but, he looked at his watch, he needed to catch the 8:17 train. Ken shook his head, covered his mouth and nose and walked onwards to the station.
Every person he walked past reeked of the stench of death. The smell was pouring onto him, deluging him, whisps of its smoky acridity creeping up his nostrils. He could feel it staining his suit and tie, and making his eyes water. As he walked past the convenience store, another one of his neighbors saw him and greeted him with a hearty 'good morning'. He nodded, but he must have looked a strange sight with his hand covering his grimace and his eyes watering and red. His neighbor stopped him, inquiring about his health.
Ken nodded. He was physically OK...and now wasn't the time to explain his power.
"元気です" he said.
The neighbor nodded. He was about to let Ken go, until he saw something in the sky. The neighbor pointed to it.
"えっー...それなに?"
Ken turned around to look, but all he saw was a giant flash of white hot light as Little Boy flattened Hiroshima. And turned Ken, Naomi and everyone nearby into ash.
| 2015-03-20T20:38:30
| 2015-03-20T18:56:15
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
People thought 'relationship scores' were too invasive, or that they would cause people to rely on them in place of common sense.
Which were fair criticisms, but people could abstain from searching their significant others, or mention how they felt, but when people first started using them nothing really went wrong.
Sure, there were some divorces and scandals involving infidelity, but wouldn't it be better to know?
Nobody's personal information got leaked, people could only look up somebody's score if they'd gone on a date with them, and you could check your own periodically.
On the scoring page, there'd be a reasoning section where you could see the gist of why they had the score they did.
Maybe it'd be mediocre because they often spend a lot of time ignoring their significant other, or maybe it'd be good because they're emotionally stable, after a first date you could check and see.
My score wasn't incredibly impressive, at 750, it wasn't bad by any means though. I was fairly confident in my score, and when I'd gone on a few dates with Jessica things seemed to go pretty well.
She was really sweet, and quite generous even, but it was hard to tell at first as she was quite shy. I was one of very few friends she had here, and things just seemed to progress as we got more comfortable with one another.
She was likable, charismatic even, I couldn't really think of anybody that didn't like her. Jessica just really wasn't all that outgoing. After the first date or two, we'd just hang out at her apartment and watch movies. It was really enjoyable.
Though she did have moments where she'd seem to be caught in her own head, she'd go quiet at certain triggers but I could never quite seem to find out what they were. She'd apologize and give a brief explanation that I would believe.
Well, one day I had been thinking about her quiet moments, and decided to check her score. It wasn't a well thought out plan, just a spur of the moment idea.
It wasn't difficult, I just logged in, and found her easily enough, I was expecting somewhere between 600 and 700.
She had -500.
The lowest I'd ever seen was 367 before. If somebody's score seems really strange, you can have it give a more in depth explanation although it would notify them.
I had no idea what her brief explanation meant, there was no mention of infidelity or abuse.
No gas-lighting or ignoring her past boyfriends, no abuse on either side, emotional or physical.
I figured I deserved to know what was going on, she seemed perfect. Which I guess in itself could be the only thing seen as a red flag.
I didn't feel any sort of anxiety or panic when I inquired to find out more, just a sort of bewilderment or curiosity.
It started and was significantly more brief than I had expected.
"Coerced past significant other into suicide."
I could feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and I was already sure of who it would be.
|
I looked at the menu full of nothing but weird-ass smoothies, all of which had the word 'acai' at the beginning. Acai PBJ smoothie. Acai dragonfruit passion. Acai acai smoothie. *Fuck.*
"It's really healthy, she said with and innocent smile so white I nearly went blind. "I promise, they're tasty!"
I looked at her and returned the gesture. "Yeah, I love healthy food!" *I mean, I'd eat sandpaper if it keeps you around.*
Seriously, I would've.
The smoothie tasted like fruity dirt, but I guess it's better than sandpaper at the end of the day.
"I love this place, thanks for the suggestion!" I said, smiling through the displeasing taste.
"Thanks! Why don't we go back to your place and hang out? Do you play rocket league?"
I dropped the smoothie cup on the ground, staring into her shimmering blue eyes. "Does Bill Cosby love mixing drinks?"
She giggled and pulled me toward the door. "Actually, I'm going to run to the bathroom first- gimme one second!"
I watched her leave, staring until she disappeared, then whipped out my phone. "Kaylee... Simpson. Run report..."
*Love Credit: -500. Chews with mouth open.*
I looked at the straw of her drink and was gone before you could say "sneaky motherfucker."
-----
^*/r/resonatingfury*
| 2016-09-24T11:32:43
| 2016-09-24T10:31:27
| 534
| 242
|
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face
|
I looked my son in the eye and told him firmly, as I had this day for the last 12 years, “It is not your fault, you didn’t kill her. Anyone who says differently doesn’t understand what happened, now blow out your candles, we’ll visit the grave after cake and presents.”
|
I tried to push him towards the arts. I knew that he had it in im to be a great artist. Sculpture perhaps, or music. But no... Little Adolf always wanted to be a painter and and painting I knew he could only fail.
He was so angry when they didn't pass him at art school - so very, very angry - I knew nothing I'd taught him and nothing I could tell him now could save him. He could only become what his Father had always predicted, from the moment he first saw the baby in my arms.
I cried, as he left our home. I cried, and I cleared the remnants of his childhood from our home. My little Adolf was gone from me now. May God rest his soul.
| 2014-05-11T02:02:48
| 2014-05-10T23:15:19
| 81
| 12
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
No one ever realized I didn't have a power.
Number two is a telepath. I met him in a bar once, but I could feel his touch on my mind all the way down the street. It was light, I would never have felt it if he'd only been looking, but when you're used to being a pawn you learn to see when you're being played with. He wanted me in that bar, and I complied. If he was going to kill me, I couldn't have stopped him at that point anyway. I asked him in there, "Why don't you kill me? No one would stop you." He laughed, and downed the remainder of his cup. "No one wants to be first, kiddo. No one with half a shot at getting there, anyway." His knowing smile told me everything it needed to. I was a tool. A figurehead. I asked him what he wanted from me and he gave me a list of people who needed to be out of the city by next Sunday. He walked out, and I did as I was told.
When they think you're more powerful than the strongest soldiers the city state has to offer, they don't question your authority. You say something happens and it does.
Number six is an empath, though I don't think she got her number on strength of power. It's the connections that did it. She told me once she was glad that number one was a good man, or the city'd be even worse off than it already is. I'm sure I could be a bad one if I had the inclination, it's only the top hundred or so I really have to keep happy. I've just never wanted to. I asked her if that was why she'd fallen in love with me and she gave me the coldest, most dangerous laugh I've ever heard.
"You're funny," she said.
We both know damn well it's me who loves her, and we both know equally well that I have no chance. Which doesn't stop her from using me for all I'm worth.
I'm not like the rest of the ten. I didn't kill to be here. Fate crowned me king at birth, and I've yet to figure out what in God's name it was thinking.
Number four is a power thief. He's the one who illuminated the mystery of my continued kinghood for me, down beneath the earth in a room full of tiny glass bottles and too much red to be comforting. He downed one of the bottles and settled against a shelf as his body changed. Creepy, that one.
"I'm not going to cut you open and take your blood," he said with about as much care as he'd give the weather. "Do you know why?"
"Enlighten me."
"Because then I'd have to run the city. I'd have to appease Lamier and Asmar and the whole nest full of snakes. It would be a chronic waste of time, and I'd hardly be able to balance it with my own projects. No no, you can keep your seat and your secrets. We serpents wouldn't touch your job with a ten foot pole."
I am a pawn masquerading as king, a powerless man ruling the powerful, a good man with no convictions. But I am, if nothing else, an actor. If no one sees the contradictions... Well, who am I to tell that they are there?
|
*Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T12:44:55
| 2014-12-18T11:44:55
| 670
| 68
|
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad.
|
"Why didn't you kill me? You killed everyone else, all my friends!"
"Why are you asking me?"
"I... I don't have much time left. It's cancer... and I've wanted to know for years."
\*sigh\* "You remember what they called me? Long ago, before you ran into me?"
\*nod\* "The Messenger."
"Exactly. There was always one left at the end of each spree...who always died as the first victim of the next."
"But you were caught! The police caught you, right aft-"
"Right after I drugged you. You see, there's a certain mixture I used to use to incapacitate my victims. A medical cocktail, involving muscle relaxants, sleep medication, and a blood thinner. When I wanted them to panic, I used another mix of adrenaline and caffeine to wake them up. Entirely non-lethal doses, of course; my knives did that specific task."
"The mix you gave me was different..."
"It was. You see, I knew I was in for life sentences. I also knew, astonishingly, I had a genetic disposition towards mental instability, alcoholism, various cancers, and heart disease. Knowing this, I wanted to be locked up...but I wanted one last victim to claim."
"You...you're saying..."
"I'm saying I killed you, but with carcinogens instead of knives. Concentrated in a small dose, a variety of chemicals combined led to a stable, if slightly lengthier, death."
"So I'm..."
"You're my pride and joy." \*laughter echoes as wailing sobs begin.\*
\*Tape stops.\*
|
"Sorry, kiddo."
Those were the last words I had expected.
Who knew that he even knew those two words. John Meadow, convicted of 47 murders and still awaiting conviction on 3 more, looked me straight in the eye, shrugged his shoulders and said "Sorry, kiddo." I did not recognize the man anymore - it has been 24 years since I last saw him in person, which was coincidentally the day he was caught.
Clad in an orange jump-suit, John looked just as you would expect a serial killer to look like - face tattoos, his name written in his knuckles - one in every finger, but it read "JohnM eadow" for obvious reasons, clean shaved head and eyes that held nothing but contempt for everyone that came into their view.
Surprisingly, he was a smaller man than me. I had never thought murderers could be smaller than me. If he had come at me today, I could have at least given him a bruise before he slashed my guts out. But when he came at me all those years ago, all I could manage were tears and a mouthful of "Mommy!"
Mom was dead now. She died nine months earlier, when I was in my third bout of chemo. Now, I was done with two more courses, and declared terminal. It was funny how everything in my life was wrapping itself up, not bothering to tell me when the curtain was to be drawn.
Yesterday, I had taken care of everything. I amended my will and gave it to my lawyer; had dinner one last time with my girlfriend and officially broke up; got fired from my job for telling Adam to go fuck himself in front of everyone else - which also got me a high-five from the security guard on the way out; I surrendered my landline, donated everything I owned except what I am wearing now and the money needed for a cab-drive here - all of it to hear "Sorry, kiddo."
I had almost forgotten about John. I was in the middle of my 12th draft of my suicide note, that had run into the 8th page when he came into my mind all of a sudden. The son of bitch then forced me to go into the 13th draft, but it was for the good as I only took 7 pages now.
John had subconsciously been a part of my life. He had given me a sense of death long before I had understood what life was. He had given me a second chance, long before I knew I had only one - and as it turns out, second chances aren't good enough sometimes.
I had thought I was destined for greater things when I had been spared, that I was an intricate part of some cosmic drama about to unfold, and all I got was a lousy "Sorry, kiddo." I had almost forgotten the man who had made the greatest impact on my life, and he had forgotten everything about me. Nothing made sense, and that was all there was. A game with no rules and no goals, the players blind and oblivious, convincing ourselves that we are all winning and losing.
"Are you sure you don't know why you didn't kill me?" I tried asking one more time, just for the hell of it.
He looked at me, squinted hard and then shook his head laughing.
"Fuck you, John," sounded good enough to be last words.
-----
"Why didn't you kill him?"
"I had kept count in my left arm," John roared with laughter, and showed a 10 perfect notches of five. "I was almost about to do him when I see myself in the TV, right? John-fucking-meadow, out there in a 55-inch glory. High definition, bitch! Then I hear this chick going over my history and she says "Briana, 32, pregnant with her third child". Motherfucker, I didn't know that. So, I stop and complete my last stroke, and let this kid off. You know, to live his life."
"Why the fuck didn't you tell him?"
"I don't know. He seemed like a good kid, getting his life together. I didn't wanna upset him, telling him he was just lucky. Let him live, you hear what I am saying?"
---
Great prompt, OP!
Also, I do not know anything about chemo so the timeline might be painfully wrong.
| 2018-07-21T09:01:48
| 2018-07-21T06:50:11
| 146
| 66
|
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP...
|
There I was, sitting in my designated chair at home, making memes and singing along to this old game I used to play which tells you how good you were at singing the song it gives you.
"OH DAMN! THIS IS MY JAM!!" I exclaimed having heard the first few chords of my favourite song. As I began singing along I noticed a small fruitfly near my arm, laying on the armrest, still singing along I casually swept my arm out, propelling the fly into my range for a devastating kick.
*blip*
+1 EXP
I have to say that I'm getting pretty good at this, if I say so myself. A few minutes passed and as my song strung out its final chord I heard another...
*blip*
+1500 EXP
"Huh?"
I hear an overdramatic voice from my TV speakers shout, 'WOW! You totally destroyed that song, wanna go again?'
|
*Plghrt*
> Kill confirmed
*Sigh*
Another bug down, 1XP. Lovely, I'll never reach 10k, not at this rate. It started with the mice and rats, then the cats, fish. It's a privilege to work at a slaughter house or deliver lethal injections. I never could do that, not intentionally. The look in their eyes, the helplessness, betrayal, I cannot stand it. I document stuff, species that are near extinction, such as the common rat, house spider, fly, bee, etc. It helps us understand the value of the kill, why some rats are more valuable than others. Rare species have multiplier depending on the number of units left. White mouse used to be worth 2XP, now it's 200.
*Plarght*
> Kill confirmed
**+1**
*Sigh*
**+1500**
What!? This cannot be, what did I? How? Nothing besides me, but two fruit fly corpses. I must be going mad, am I?
*wuuuuzzzzzzz*
What's that noise? Where is it coming from? Is it the TV again? It starts by itself sometimes, old clunker. I need to check my stats again, it'll be listed there for sure. *looks at the wrist monitor* Nothing!? What was that? Just a question mark next to it, did I kill a new species? Cannot be, I did nothing of the sorts, less than 7mm doesn't count, it cannot be seen and confirmed... Damn, I must confirm it for it to appear on the list. I must check my shoes. I'm almost sober now, let's have a drink first. *opens the fridge* Oh come on, I forgot it doesn't work anymore. A man cannot live with such a low XP count here nowadays. Where did I put my vodka bottle? The toilet bowl? I did put my ice there to melt, right? Nah, this puddle begs to differ. The window? Yup, it's December, must be there.
*The window slides open*
Not this one? Hmm, can't get anything right when I start to sober up *mutter mutter*
*The window slides open*
This one neither? Oh man, I'm gonna die. Wait, maybe it fell down. Lemme check.
> Kill confirmed
Oh no
| 2017-05-15T08:57:56
| 2017-05-15T06:23:41
| 37
| 10
|
[WP] A physically weak orc is banished from his clan. Hopping for a clean death, he makes his way to the local human town. Instead they take him in, and show him what it's like to live in a society where physical strength isn't the only quality that matters.
|
The orc trudged forward through the snow, tired and weak from the journey, but he did not care; after all, he didn't need to be at his peak performance for what he wished for, what he was walking towards.
Death.
A curious eye would likely notice a few things about the orc that did not fit the usual muster; he was thin for an orc, lacked the pronounced fangs in his underbite and the braid his hair was tied into - a mark of a warrior in orc society - was short and badly kept. A more astute observer would then be able to deduce his mission, though they wouldn't need to wonder for long as the orc has finally reached his destination - a town filled with the hustle and bustle characteristic of human civilization.
He walked slowly towards the front gate, knowing full well the guardsmen, capable warriors clad in steel, would respond to his mere presence with clear prejudice.
Well, *most* of them.
"Halt! Who goes there?" one of the guardsmen yelled; or rather, as even the orc was able to tell, a guards*woman*.
"Gorr. Me ork. You human. Me fight you," the orc grunted towards her. Both she and her fellow guardsman prepared their halberds, but did not attack; something was not right.
"Where's the rest of your raiding party, Gorr?" the guardswoman inquired.
"Gorr alone. Me fight now," he said and tried putting his hands up in a fighting stance, but the exhaustion proved too much for him and he only managed to lift them halfway.
"So you're alone, *clearly* exhausted and you want to fight? There's no way you'd win," she remarked calmly.
"Yes. Gorr fight. Gorr die. Clean death."
She frowned at the idea. "You... want to die?"
The orc remained silent for a moment. "Yes," he said. "Gorr weak. Tribe hate Gorr. Send Gorr away. Gorr fight human, die good death."
The guardswoman looked at her equally confused comrade and made a crucial decision. Relaxing her posture somewhat, she walked towards Gorr who braced himself for her blade, only... she did something *unthinkable*.
She handed him a piece of *cheese*. He stared at her, confused.
"I'm a *guard*, Gorr, not an executioner. I keep the peace."
"Peace?" Gorr said, still standing a good distance from her, still ready to die at her hands.
"You don't know peace?" she asked. He shook his head.
She looked back at her fellow guard and shrugged her shoulders. He merely shrugged back. Orcs were known for their violent traditions and warlike tendencies. This was not an ambush or espionage; such were not the orc ways. This was not adding up, meaning there was only one plausible explanation - he was telling the truth. Still... he was clearly someone in need. And her job was to help those in need.
She again offered the cheese to him; this time, Gorr's hunger took over and he carefully took it before wolfing it down with the gusto of someone who's not eaten for days. The woman couldn't help but smile and started walking back towards the gate, beckoning him.
"Come. It's freezing. You should get warmed up," she said.
It became clear to Gorr that he would not receive a clean death here. He could try to walk to the next town to die a good death there, only he'd never make the journey - and there is no honour in dying of cold and hunger somewhere in the forests. Perhaps he could... warm himself by the human fire and then depart again. Go find a good death. A warrior's death.
Or something else would happen, something that neither Gorr nor the guards of the city would expect. That Gorr would become fascinated by human civilization. The intricately engineered houses, the exchange of goods via a universal currency, the expert craftsmanship of their smiths and artists, but most of all... the fact that physical strength was not all.
When it became clear that Gorr was neither a threat nor the usual savage invader, the rest of the human society warmed up to him shockingly fast, enamoured by the tales of his tribe's exploits and a unique insight into orcish society. It quickly became clear that contrary to what most thought, orcs weren't *stupid* \- they were *uneducated*. Their society's complete emphasis on physical strength left them disinterested in learning and quickly gave them the reputation of barely thinking brutes.
And with that, Gorr stayed.
It would only be years later that his past would catch up with him when an orc raiding party arrived in the middle of the day at the gates of the city; the gates that were very tightly shut thanks to an early warning system from a nearby watchtower. When the chief of the raid, Marrg, stepped forward and demanded to speak with the chief of the town to make demands, it came as an utter shock when a certain guardswoman faced him from the top of the wall... accompanied by Gorr.
"Gorr?" the chief exhaled, completely taken aback.
"Yes. Me Gorr. You chief Marrg," he replied. The chief frowned. The snivelling coward made friends with the pinkskins. No matter; either the humans would pay him tribute or he would die alongside them.
"We come for treasure. You give chief gold, food-" the chief started barking his demands but was interrupted.
"No," Gorr said.
"W- what? No?" the chief said; there was surprisingly little aggression in his question due to the overwhelming shock of being interrupted by such a weakling.
"We no give gold or food."
"Then you die!" the chief yelled.
"You no break wall. We have bows, big big bows," Gorr remarked. This prompted the chief to inspect the walls closer where he found something he'd never seen outside of the largest of capital cities, cities no orc would dare attack.
Ballistae.
"You... where you get big big bows?" the chief asked.
"Gorr make big bow."
It was somewhat regrettable, if charming, that Gorr never quite got past his rudimentary way of speaking; it was simply too engrained in his head for him to learn otherwise. What he did learn, however, were many other human things he would never even dream of in his former home.
Like engineering. And Gorr, despite his limited speaking faculties, was an *excellent*, if not downright prodigious, engineer.
The chief remained silent, stunned.
"You go away now. Gorr stay. Gorr weak body. Chief weak head," Gorr said and departed the wall. The chief was furious to be insulted like this... but had no choice. The walls were tall and thick and the ballistae would rip his party to shreds before they could bring any ladders close. Enraged but defeated, he left.
"You alright, Gorr?" the guardswoman said when she joined Gorr on his walk down the stairs. He... smiled. He rarely smiled, being of a somewhat stoic nature.
"Yes. Gorr happy. Gorr strong; head strong. Chief see."
He stopped walking and faced her properly; she saw a hint of a tear in his eye.
"Thank you," he said with a warm smile.
|
This is not my writing, but this post from /u/wanderingbishop is such a great response to this prompt. Preemptive apologies if this is against subreddit rules.
https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/2mjhz9/what_would_happen_if_an_intelligent_greatsword/
--------------------------------------
I am Garg. I am strong. I am strong because I am Ogre. No-one in the forest is stronger than me. When I was young, the old Ogres make the rules, hit me when I don't follow. Now I am older. I make rules. I go where I want. I eat what I want. I take what I want.
One day, I find something I want. Pretty pink-skin sharpclub. Bright stones on short round end, and long sharp end shimmers like pond water. I want, so I take. Little hard-shelled pink-skins have come to my forest with sharpclubs before, long time ago. They smarter than others. They know that they can't hit stronger, so they need to hit better. I am going to use pretty sharpclub to hit stronger AND better. I am looking forward to using sharpclub to hit.
I am not expecting sharpclub to hit me.
Sharpclub is alive. Sharpclub is angry. It does not want what I want, and so it hits me. I have been hit before. I am strong so I can take hits. But it hits my mind, and I do not know how to hit back. For the first time in long, long time... I submit. Sharpclub is strong. Sharpclub makes rules now.
Sharpclub tells me what to do. Sharpclub makes me stop fighting others in forest. Makes me give up land. I do not want to, but Sharpclub makes rules now. I am not strong now. Eventually, Sharpclub stops being angry at me and starts being curious.
Sharpclub tells me her name. She is Moonslicer, made by pink-skin shamans for pink-skin warriors. I understand this. She was made to kill pink-skin enemies. But I am pink-skin enemy. She does not kill me. I do not understand this.
----------------
One day, while eating dinner, I ask Moonslicer. "Why do you not kill me?"
"I don't understand your question," Moonslicer replies.
"You are pink-skin sharpclub,"
"Greatsword," Moonslicer interrupts.
"and you are made to fight pink-skin enemies."
"I was made to destroy evil," Moonslicer answers. She always talks in strange riddles. I have become used to this.
"Yes, evil. I know this word. It means pink-skin enemy. I am pink-skin enemy. I am evil. Why do you not destroy me?"
Moonslicer does not answer for long time.
"You are... "pink-skin enemy", yes. And most people would say you are evil... but I am not sure. I expected you to fight me, but you didn't. I expected you to resist when I told you to stop bullying the other creatures of the forest, but you didn't."
"Moonslicer is stronger than Garg, so Moonslicer makes rules."
"All the same... I think there might be some good in you, somewhere."
"...what is Good?" I ask.
"Good is..." Moonslicer stops talking. I can feel she is confused. "Good is... how to describe it? It is..." She stops again. She is quiet for a long time. "You know, I believe the best way to explain it is to show you. Go to sleep Garg. Tomorrow, we will start doing Good."
-------------------------------
Next day, Moonslicer leads me to pink-skin home, in the middle of fields. No pink-skins there right now. She shows me broken walls. Tells me to take stones and fix walls. Then we leave. I do not understand.
"Why do we fix walls?" I ask.
"Those walls protect the humans from harm," Moonslicer says. "They have been torn down by raiders over the years. By repairing the walls, you have made the humans more safe. More strong."
"Why do I make them safe?" I ask. "I am pink-skin enemy. I do not want them to be strong."
"Patience, Garg," Moonslicer says. "Have patience and faith. You will understand eventually."
I do not believe her, but I say nothing. This does not make sense. This is pink-skin strangeness.
--------------------------
For the next two seasons, Moonslicer keeps sending me out to pink-skin lands. Fixing walls. Catching cows and taking them back to paddocks without eating them. Sometimes she makes me scare humans on roads. Sometimes she makes me hide from humans on roads. She calls the ones I scare "bandits" and the ones I hide from "merchants". I do not understand the difference.
"The merchants are weaker humans," Moonslicer says. "The bandits are stronger, and want to take from the merchants. You are driving them away from the roads so that they do not take from the merchants anymore."
"This makes sense" I say. "They are stronger, they take what they want. But why do you make me scare them so they cannot?"
"Because it is not good for the strong to take what they want from the weak."
"This Good does not make sense. I will never understand"
"You will understand" Moonslicer says. "Have faith."
----------------------------
For many more seasons, Moonslicer makes me do many things I do not understand. Eventually pink-skins... humans... start to see me. At first they are afraid. I understand this. But they slowly become less afraid. They no longer run when they see me. I do not understand this. I dig long ditches from the river to their farms. I build walls along their roads. I bring large sacks of food to their towns and leave them there.
One season, there is a great storm. Moonslicer wakes me during the night, urges me to leave the cave and go to the human lands. There is a town I have been near many times before. The river that flows through the village is flooding. The humans are splashing, shouting, drowning. They are scared. Moonslicer sends me through the flood to their homes. I lift humans from the water and put them at the top of the homes. I do this again, and again. I am tired, but Moonslicer pushes me on. I save more humans, I wade through the water that is up to my chest. I save the male humans, the female humans, the young humans, the old humans. I save all of them. When the dawn comes and the water goes down, I am more tired than I have ever been. I sink to my knees. I know the humans will kill me while I am asleep but I am too tired to get away. I fall asleep.
------------------------------
I wake up. I am not wet, cold or tired. I am warm, dry, resting on something soft and comfortable. I recognize it as a human barn - I have brought escaped horses to these before. I am covered in many skins. I am lying in dried grass - the humans call it hay.
A male human comes in. He sees I am awake. He does not run or look scared. Instead he smiles. He brings a large bundle up to me. The bundle has meat in it. Good, cooked meat. Better than I've ever tasted. I watch him carefully, but I am hungry and I concentrate on eating. Once I am done, he takes the bones and the bundle away.
The day goes by, and many humans come to the barn. Some hide by the door and only stare at me. Others come in. I recognize many of them as the humans I saved last night. I am still tired, so I lie in the barn. I feel... I do not know how to describe it. The humans do not threaten me, but not because I am stronger. Finally, in the evening, many humans come to the barn. They bring Moonslicer with them.
"I have been negotiating with the humans on your behalf," she says. "They are going to give you this barn to live in as a new home. They will give you food, while you keep the roads safe from bandits and help them tend their flocks and fix their buildings. I will stay with you to guide you."
I am quiet for a long time.
"I do not understand." I say. "If I was strong, and I came to take these things, they would not give them to me. They would run, or fight."
"But you didn't come to take them," Moonslicer replied. "And that is what makes the difference. You have made the humans' homes safe. You have protected their merchants. You have rescued their animals. And now you have saved their lives. And because you gave and gave and did not take, they now want to give to you, freely. And as long as you do not wish to take, you will receive. By serving them, you are now more free than you ever were in the forest. Not because you are strong. But because you are a friend. They are your strength now, and you are theirs. This is what Good is."
And I understand.
| 2022-09-03T12:28:37
| 2022-09-03T12:01:46
| 2,298
| 274
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[WP] On your eighteenth birthday, you shoot a mystic bow that is said to kill whoever is destined to kill you, three seconds before they do. Eight years later, your arrow strikes your SO's heart, right as she says "I do."
Or he. Or It. Whatever. I'm a straight canadian guy, so it popped into my head.
Sorry.
EDIT: I did not expect this to get so popular. Honestly, I expected this to get maybe two or three responses, and a 5/40 Upvote/Downvote Ratio. But, 196/95.........
EDIT: We've passed 300 upvotes! I'm afraid now. Very afraid.
Edit again! 400!
But at the same time, the people that hate me finally found the post. I suppose it wont be long before i go back to a 1/30 upvote/downvote ratio.....
Continue writing though! I love your works!
|
I glanced at the gun leveled against my temple. She must have found it above the cabinet in the garage. I took a drink and went back to whatever it was on TV.
"I've had enough," she said with surprising calm. "I can't do this anymore."
Nothing good is on. "I can't say I didn't see it coming."
"You know, if you just listened more, we probably could have found a better solution."
"Mm hm." Channel up.
"And the drinking, the late nights out..."
"And the life insurance policy you took out on me has nothing to do with this?"
"At least you can do something good for me. And it's not as if anyone would question why you would kill yourself, with your depression."
I looked down at my glass and sighed. Empty. I was going to need a drink after this. "Make it look like a suicide?" It was almost amusing "Listen, you're not going to kill me."
"What?"
I turned to look at her. She was a mess, tousled hair, dried tears on her cheeks. Even with what she stood to gain, she must be going through hell. She may still love me just a little after 6 years of marriage. More than I could say of myself. "I said, you're not going to kill me."
She furrowed her brow, then laughed, a twisted, broken laugh. "You of all people should know that I mean this."
I closed my eyes and thought of that night with the spectral shaman, the tension in the bow, the heavy price I paid. Some birthday that was. "I don't doubt your intentions to kill me. I'm just saying that you won't end up killing me."
"Shut up! Shut up right now!"
I looked around the room. The window behind her seems like the most likely path. "Listen, it's been a real trip. We had a great few years, and then...well...you are wanting to kill me so it can't have been that great after that."
She closed her eyes, and shook her head. "Don't think you can talk me out of this."
"I'm not trying. Let me just say that I really hoped it didn't have to end this way."
"No more of this. Goodbye." She straightened her arm and pressed the barrel right up against my head.
"Do you really intend to kill me?"
"I do."
I sighed, and the glass exploded behind her.
Edit: grammar and such
|
I haven’t been able to sleep well in weeks. I told him that I was just nervous about the wedding, that I wanted everything to be perfect. I hate lying to him like that, but if he knew what was really going on, he would be devastated. Knowing that, by the best estimations, I would be dead in six months would crush him. I just wanted to make sure that I would be married to him when I died, but I didn't want to go alone. I always wanted to die with the one that I loved, the one that made me happy.
As I stood there holding his hand, waiting for the priest to finish his part, I started to cry. I knew that this would be my happiest memory. I brought my hand up to try and suppress a sob. I heard him say those magical words, those words that I have been waiting for years to hear. “I do.” His smile as he said those words made my heart melt, made me almost regret what I was about to do, but I don’t want him to suffer.
As I open my mouth to say my part, my chest started to hurt. I looked at his face to see his shocked face splattered with blood. My breathing became very painful and labored. I glanced down to see an arrow now protruding from my chest. As I started at it, a capsule fell from my mouth. The capsule I had snuck in when I was suppressing my sobs. The Capsule that was supposed to ensure we went into the afterlife together. My legs started to feel weak as I wobbled forward, right into his arms. I could hear the commotion that everyone was making, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that I let him know how I feel.
“I’m sorry.”
Note: Written from my SO’s point of view. Also, my first WP, so be nice! :P
| 2014-05-27T20:16:44
| 2014-05-27T19:36:17
| 224
| 151
|
[WP]Humans were one of the best pilots in the history of intergalactic travel, that was a well know fact. And yet, the ITA warned against hiring human pilots. Not an outright ban, per se, just not recommended.
|
Humans can drive. You name it, they can handle it. Say which button does what and within an hour they’re up to fleet standards. Born pilots the whole lot. So why does the ITA warn against them? Because humans cannot seem to get it through their wrinkly little brains that traffic rules are there to be followed. NEVER hire a human pilot unless you want to be slapped with more speed and off-path violations than you can think of. They delight in what they call “mach Jesus” and “sending it.” Whatever that means to them - to me it means money out of my pocket. There’s only one time I’ll hire a human and that’s when I need something delivered PRONTO, violation fees be damned. I just hand them a stack of credits, show them the rig, and they fly off blasting music and hollering something about some Jerry Reed fella. I don’t question how they do it but when you’ve got a long way to go and a short time to get there - get yourself a human.
|
A1: What's the order and who's the client?
A2: We have a shipment of medical supplies and emergency provisions to a colony of lamia-da, and the client is... oh dear
A2: What? Who is it?
A1: The Cludon collective
A2: The war-mongers turned cultivation makers?
A1: The very same
A2: well, how much time did they give use to make the run? A month?
A1: 3 cycles...
A2: What! Are they insane? No one can make a delivery that fast.
A1: We have the supply already and they paid us in advance, we have to take this run.
A2: 3 cycles... 3 star forsaken cycles... Those Cludons will kill us if we don't make the delivery in time! What are we gonna do?
A1: Well... I know a guy who can make this run... but you're not gonna like it.
A2: It can't be any worse with our lives on the line.
A1: Remember my human friend from the Rolla celebration?
A2: No... No no no no no! We are not going to have a human run this delivery!
A1: We don't exactly have many options, and time is against us.
A2: ...
A1: ...
A2: f---fine... but you are making the call and whatever demands that human makes.
A1: Sure, no scales off my back.
(Pulls out communicator) He loves this this kind of work.
(Ring ring)
H: Hello?
A1: Hey, human Tyler. I got a delivery run that needs to go fast, you interested?
H: Say no more Dackle, we'll talk pay later.
A1: Great! How soon can you get here?
H: With traditional travel... at least a cycle. But~
A1: But?
H: But if you have a model 8 teleporter, I can be there in 10 minutes.
A1: Perfect! Just send me your specs and your retrieval code and we'll see you soon.
H: Consider that job done. (Hangs up)
A1: See Longo, nothing to worry about.
A2: Telling me not to worry about a human makes me worry, Dackle.
| 2021-11-25T18:53:01
| 2021-11-25T17:01:53
| 108
| 77
|
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
|
There are rules in every secretive organisation from the mafia to the more interdependent assassins guild. This included the super villains, when a new one rose they would quickly be grabbed by a crew of the older more powerful villains and be shown the ropes, and if they proved themselves they would be given the locations of some of the hang outs, given some advice on who to go to to make up a base and get some specialists to help on certain jobs the kind of trade secrets that the older wished that they had.
What the new villains did not know is that one of the reasons that they were given, was to monitor them one to know if they were a spy a threat or competent enough to work with. But the main reason that they were watched was to find out when they came up with The Plan. The plan that everyone in villainy eventually comes up with in the fits of their cocky arrogance the plan that they think is so original and they laugh at the older villains for not thinking off.
The plan to kidnap and hold a family member of their nemesis. Now this plan changed from every villain in the hows, whys, and what they planned to do to them but only one has ever happened and the villains watch to make sure it doesn't again.
So when Hellfire a notable new pyromanser came up with the plan and it was confirmed he was preparing. He was grabbed by the oldest of the villains and taken to the old hub for super villains Now known as The Monument. Here he was told about the futility of The Plan how it was a truly terrifyingly bad idea and he was threatened that if he continued they would destroy him before he could implement it. Then after He huffed and argued and called them cowards he was shown why.
In the Monument dead centre of what used to be the main seating area of the hangout/ bar stood eleven thick crystal clear cylinders. Each one held a figure ten off who after a second were recognisable as legendary villains who had ruled this cities underground much like the crew who Had now gathered to instruct Hellfire. Then the tale was told of why they had dispersed as well as the folly of the cursed 11th.
See the 11th had carried out the plan he had grabbed multiple spouses and other family members of the league and killed them in ever more creative ways. This was the combined response of the affected heroes. Each of the man or women in the cylinders, Hellfire was horrified to learn was still alive the glass like structure was breathable allowing oxygen to be pulled into them as well as minute channels that pulled in water and base materials such as dust and other base elements taken from hidden collectors that were teleported in. Then Nanites turned into "food" which along with magic sustained them. What was worse was that they were effectively immortal held in a stasis like field of combined magic and sciences. but that was not the worst part each of those poor souls were in constant agony Nanites tore them apart and healed them magic induced feelings of cold, heat, electricity and made them hyper sensitive and unable to ignore the pains. Other magic and alien tech had been employed to prevent them from going mad and thus escape their punishment and in the case of the 11th only, to play pictures of the deceased over and over behind his eyes.
So the villains had been told by the affected heroes as was the explanation of why the other villains had been taken rather than just the 11th. This was as they explained as they had let it happen and had not provided proper instruction.
Which was why they were here and why they could and would not let him complete his plan. To which Hellfire was shown the inscription written in the base of each of the cylinders.
Our pain will never end. So why should Theirs.
|
Windstrike is the coolest super hero in the world that's just a fact. No battles lost, no scandals of any type -he even denunced the bigot president during his term, that took balls!- which is why I wanted to do it.
There's only a few of unwritten rules for us criminals but if you must know one this is it: "Don't go after the loved ones of the heroes" it has never sit right with me I mean granted we barely know their real identities but if you ask me its a sure way to enter the villans hall of fame, and for someone like me with limited options I need to explore any chances.
I have inmortality but only decided to be a Villan a few years ago (I was wasting myself as test dummy) not an useful power to attack but it does ensure I'll come up from a fight alive, that along with the hate from the biggest hero will put me on the map.
I can see it now "The Dealer" associated with the respect I deserve, So when they announced that they were going to trap the heroes on their own hall in an all out attack I though at best they'll keep them busy for an hour maybe 2 (it all depends on how bored its Vampire, that annoying know it all)while I pay a visit to Matt, see I have been observing Windstrike for a few months now and I know he keeps close tabs on him and I just know this is going to change my life
-hello- he smiles as he opens the door, my gun already pointed I wanted to shoot him but I stopped I need to make sure he calls for help -oh... never seen you before -I sight I want to shoot him again- oh yes Dealer, correct? -
-The dealer- I'm kind of happy that he knows my name, but annoyed that he forgot the article, it keeps it classy, he smiles and lets me in, smart boy, inside there's a group of of people... a party? I was not expecting company
-Hi guys, The dealer- he smiles at me while he says it, god I hate this - is here- Shannon did you know he was comming?- a Woman looks at and squints
-never seen him before, Duke hardly ever talks about C tiers- Matt is still smiling, more people start staring, I decide to put a end to this I point my gun at the fridge and shoot, it implodes (Molecular it's very good at guns I'll give him that but his prices are crazy) everyone stares at me and I smile I finally got their attention they finally understand why am I here.
-Honey, you're going to have to pay for that, at least it'll be cheaper than that gun you got from my son- says an older woman while vaping then turns the man next to him and resumes her conversation as if I havent just desintegrated a fucking fridge
-Listen! You're all my hostages... and did you just said your son?- I turn to the Woman, violet eyes same as the ones who sold me the gun - what the fuck?
-Language, son- says the man next to her, their hands locked- yes Molecular is our son-
-And why are you here with him? Do you know who he is?- I point at Matt he is still smiling i think he took a xanax, no one can be that happy
-Windstrike's boyfriend- says a blonde with a giggle
-fiance- corrects Shannon -and we still needs to finish everything for the party tonigh you are going to have to move, we need a new fridge now, I'm so happy that Duke is bringing the cake later or you'll be in trouble-
-who the fuck is Duke?!- Molecular's parents look at me disapprovingly
-Darkness- responds the Blonde matter of factly
-shit!- Windstrike might be the greatest hero on earth but Darkness is our top villan, suddenly it hits me- I think i need to sit
- oh you got it, it seems- says shannon smiling -you came here to break the rule-
-The Rule- Matt says with a chuckle
-did you even took your introductory course when you joined?
-there's a course?- the strain in my voice, I wish I could do something about it, Shannon sights
- you see... long ago we decided that we were tired of being killed by the odd villan or hero with loose morals so we (the families of both factions) all sat down and decided that we were all going to be friends, they all hate it-
-but they love us more- interrupts the blonde raising her glass
-so at least you want every super powered people on the planet behind you I'll calm down and go and get Matt a new fridge, as for the gun Linda can get you your money back-
-No refunds dear-
-well I'm still taking the gun, I'm sure Duke has a docen of this, say is windstrike even weak againts this? - Matt mimics a key locking his lips - whatever-
I look around, my greatest plan (only plan) defeated even before it started
-oh don't feel bad The dealer, play your cards right and we can let you in the group, I'm sure we can convice them, we do need an errand boy- Matt winks at me -at the very least we wont ask them to kill you- he is no longer smiling, I just hope I have enough money for the fridge
| 2020-07-12T12:12:08
| 2020-07-12T11:05:58
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.
|
"So there is a bit of fuzzy area. Anything below this and our brain is happy to leave it alone and call it Non Human. Anything above this, our brain will identify a face as definitely human. But if you look at a face that falls in this area, uncanny valley as we call it, our brain just can't fully process it. It confuses us. It terrifies us."
"But why does this happen Professor?"
"Good question, Dylan. We still don't fully understand. There are several theories of course. Maybe it reminds us of the dead. Maybe its because there very several species very close to us competing for survival at the dawn of humanity. It's a very evolutionary response, you see. Something that has to have lasted over a long long time. We continue to look into this. However, there..."
The bell rang and the class finished.
Professor McCarthy turned around to clear up the blackboard as the class exited through the doors.
When he was done and he turned around, he was surprised to find a paper on his desk.
It was neatly written. Only a student could've left it there.
He sat in his chair and started reading it, wondering why it had been left there. He had a few minutes to kill anyways. He read the first few lines casually, before sitting up bolt upright.
****
The entire class looked back at him.
"I'm not mad everyone. Someone left a hand written note on my desk. It was super interesting. I just want to know who it was."
But no one came forth with the explanation.
"You won't get into trouble. I promise. It's just a fascinating idea and I want to know more. Dylan? Katie? Sam?"
But no one admitted to it. He sighed. "Fine then. Let's get on with today's lesson."
At the end of the period, there was another note. This one was short and to the point.
*I can't let them know. Just watch them for a while. You'll see it too.*
************
His throat started closing up and his heart rate went up. He looked at all the faces staring back at him. His brain was screaming at him. He had to close his eyes. He had to close his eyes or risk losing his sanity.
He had to...
He came to with a start and found his class working on their assignment. All of them, except Dylan. Dylan looked right at him with a slight smile. A smile, that made him uncomfortable for some reason. A smile far too wide for a human face.
He muffled his screaming by stuffing his fist in his mouth.
A few kids looked up at him in confusion.
"Carry on, please. I'm a bit unwell today."
As the class came to an end, he didn't turn around. He observed if anyone would leave something. No one did.
After a few minutes, a piece of paper was thrown into the classroom. He ran out to see if he could catch who had thrown it.
He saw Dylan standing there, his arm around another of his students. Kevin, he thought was the kid's name. Kevin looked as if he was ready to cry.
Dylan waved to him and walked away, his arm still around Kevin's shoulders as he walked beside Dylan.
The note had a simple message again.
*They know.*
******
Kevin didn't show up for class the next day.
Prof McCarthy stopped Dylan at the end of the class.
"Where's Kevin?"
"Don't know, professor. Who's Kevin?"
"You know who Kevin is. You were with him yesterday?"
"Was I? I don't recall."
The professor looked at Dylan's face to see any indication if he was lying. But the more he looked at his face, the more his own brain screamed back at him. There was something wrong... something he couldn't explain.
"Dylan, who... what are you?"
Dylan's smile widened. He seemed to have hundreds of teeth. Professor stumbled backwards, knocking some of his books off the table.
"Didn't Kevin tell you professor? Surely he did. Clever kid that. Not sure how he found out, but he did."
"So he was right?"
"I don't know what he told you."
"He wrote of monsters, animals, shapeshifters. Ones whose purpose was to infiltrate human kind, and eventually overtake us."
"Clever kid for sure. But he won't be any trouble now."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it professor. In fact, it might be in your best interest to ignore all of this completely."
"But you look... you look normal."
"Did you think humans were the only ones capable of evolution?"
The professor looked at Dylan as he left.
**********
Kevin was back in the class. He was smiling. But the more the professor looked at his smile, the more his brain screamed at him. Professor looked around at his class. They were all smiling back at him.
So much smiling.
The professor screamed and collapsed.
*******
More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12
|
\[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html))
“Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!”
The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.”
Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.”
The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run.
Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a *snap* to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv.
“Torv? Sonta, kuda.”
Silence.
“Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?”
*Torvv, sonntah, oweee?*
The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.”
*Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm.*
A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step.
“Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac.
*Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc…*
It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme.
The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A *snap* to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night.
But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what.
r/williamk9949
| 2020-09-15T13:26:22
| 2020-09-15T12:33:35
| 590
| 21
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
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A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
**July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili!
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16
| 2017-09-01T20:21:47
| 1,408
| 13
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[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D
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"Well, fuck!" boomed a deep voice from the sky.
At first, the only ones startled were the few people who absolutely, positively knew they were nowhere within reach of a P/A system.
"Peter, can you believe this mute button? Could it be any more hidden?" rang the heavens.
Panic began to set in.
Multicultural friends tried to translate the words to each other -- God speaks in a language everyone understands.
Entire cities froze, confused. Nightclubbers, hearing music so loud it was hard to breathe near a speaker, heard the words. Some thought it was the drugs kicking in, most knew this was different.
Underworld meetings promptly turned into shooting galleries -- "he's got a wire!"
Military maneuvers went awry; airplanes fell from the sky.
"Seriously, Jesus, was this you? This is what happens when you get a carpenter to do an engineer's work," commanded the firmaments to the Muslims and Christians.
The Jews heard a complaint about how one God was expected to do everything, the Hindus a joke about how four hands can't find a button.
One guy in Seattle heard a red frog tell a blue frog "mics are so passé."
Turns out one God was the same as many gods as no gods and everyone was right about what happens when you die.
Which was a good thing, because the sudden reappearance of deities after 2,000 years made many people die.
"Ok, ahem, testing, testing. I want you all to be nice to each other, got it?" bellowed the sacred voice from above.
The two billion humans who heard it started cleaning up right away.
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The first voice that came through was one of anger. The self-righteous indignation that the words came with at once jolted me to earth. The words came again this time in a mocking high-pitched tone.
"Please God, answer my prayers Lord they big bad pagans are winning god."
He was prancing about a group of worshipers. My mind connected to his in an instant and I saw who he was. He was a non-believer with the strong belief that I was a figment of people's imaginations. He had spent his life going from believer to believer the same way my disciples did. Only he did it to convince them they were wrong.
My anger was telling me to smite him but I was no longer of that nature.
"Say something baloney!" he yelled looking upwards.
How long had it been? 2000 years since I had spoken to them like this. I had sworn to keep it secret but the secret was that I hadn't spoken to them. Maybe I would make an exception.
The skies around Alex began to darken for the lord made them darken. Then the wind begun to howl. A bolt of lightning hit a few feet from him and he and the worshipers cowered in fear. The lord's voice boomed over the storm. "I prefer to work in silence but your insolence has no limits."
My face, the one I chose for this, formed in the clouds and it lowered until I stared him in the eye, "speak child, your lord is listening."
| 2019-06-03T09:40:22
| 2019-06-03T09:36:57
| 111
| 35
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
|
Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum.
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28
| 2015-12-05T14:43:55
| 158
| 26
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[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
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When my parents turned 18, they summoned each other. That rarely happens, and when it does, it happens for the people who are really destined to be together. It saves them the trouble of matchmaking and forced marriage. But, like I said, it happens once in fifty years, maybe more. The people who got lucky enough must've been very innocent and clean-spirited. It's pretty hard to stay that way in my village. Especially if you're from the lower class. My parents stringed through, though. Happens.
Well, I'm far from kind and innocent, so I won't summon my soulmate. I'll probably summon a useful thing, like a book, or an animal. Most girls get large spinning wheels, or extra warm blankets. Boys get specifically designed weapons, or... well actually nothing else. I would've felt sorry for them, but women are so suppressed in our village that it evens out, and then goes far beyond balance.
My village is horrible. Well, mostly for the lower class. The higher classes have a luxurious life, with plenty of food and drink, warm clothes, books. But you do occasionally hear screams of higher class girls who landed abusive husbands. They still have it easier though; they only have to see their husbands at night. The women of my class have it harder. They don't even scream anymore. The womem who try to escape... let's just say nobody tries anymore.
I turned 18 today, and now I'm standing on the pedestal where it all happens. The moon or the sun should align or something (I don't really listen when my dad talks about our religion), and it should happen within 10 seconds. So, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2? 1?
Everyone stares at me. Nothing happens. I'm getting nervous second by second. A minute passes. 2 minutes. My parents shoot worried lookd at me. I know people are getting confused. That's bad. You wouldn't like to upset the community. That would mean you're different. Maybe people will think you're a witch.
But then, my prayers are answered and there's something dark visible within the clouds. It's falling, and I can't look directly on it because of the sun. And what do you think? My summoned gift falls directly on my head. A few people laugh, and that releases the tension. I sigh, relieved, and examine the gift.
It's a dead bird.
The laughs stop, as people acknowledge what I have in my hand. I'm terrified myself. My mother let's out a barely audible gasp. My father is telling her to calm down, a little aggressively. I guess the other men did influence my father in the end.
As I try to gather my thoughts, I hear people debating on what to do with me. The men are gathered in a circle, and the women stay aside, scared. My father is trying to settle things somehow, but I know it's useless. I'll be declared a witch and probably killed. The sound of men arguing is becoming louder. I look at the poor creature in my hand. It's a sparrow. I stare at it, and feel my heart beating stronger and stronger. Then, the bird stirs. I wipe my eyes, and yes! It's alive! It gets up on its tiny feet, and takes off. I see it swiftly glide through the air. Then, I can barely hear it over the beating of my heart, a voice somewhere in the crowd of people, or maybe in my mind says something.
"Run."
And I do. Right after my sparrow.
|
In this city, when people turn 18 they summon something that will be very important to their life. Some summon swords, or spears and others summon simple tools needed for various trades. My mother had summoned a needle which she used to sew together some of the finest pieces of clothing in all the land while my father had summoned a large jewel encrusted shield. My older brother had summoned a beautiful woman who he later married. My 18th birthday had been months ago yet what I summoned never arrived. I walked through the city trying to pretend it didn’t matter but it did. Around every corner we’re children imagining what they would summon or young adults bragging to them friends. Suddenly I felt the ground begin to shake. People yelled as the struggled to keep their balance. I slowly made my way to the wall of one of the building when a child’s yelled nearby, “look over there mamma!” The words weren’t meant for me yet I still shifted my gaze to look at where the child was pointing . A woman floated above the city, her gaze sweeping along the streets. Suddenly she disappeared only to appear seconds later inches away from my face. “You.” Her voice was as quiet as a whisper yet as loud as a scream, “you summoned me.” I couldn’t believe it. I had summoned what appeared to be a goddess. I was vaguely aware of the many eyes that watched us from a distance. The woman stretched out a hand in my direction. “Come with me.” I couldn’t tell if it was a question or if she had demanded it.
After a moment of silence I took her hand and felt the world fade away
Sorry if anything is funky. Wrote this on mobile and I’m not the best with grammar.
| 2019-09-18T09:06:39
| 2019-09-18T08:42:40
| 125
| 72
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[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
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I woke to see a child in rags, holding my little cat.
I say *my* cat, but really it's only been a week. She turned up in the storm and waltzed right in, hissed down my Pussum, and made for her foodbowl. Pussum allowed this.
"Bodi says you didn't steal her?" said the child. The kitten wiggled towards me and I sent her an eye-hug. The child's eyes narrowed. The shadows behind them coalesced into dark figures.
"She came to me in the storm," said I.
The child frowned.
"She said you fed her."
"I did that,"
The shadows leaned forward. They were smaller now.
"And you tended her poorly leg, and sang to her?"
"Aye"
"So, can you help us?"
The little one stepped into the light of my fire, and I saw how thin they were. I stirred my cauldron and hummed an old lullaby.
The shadows drew forward. The kitten broke free and ran to me.
I pulled up the ladle and took a bowl from my caravan shelf.
"How many are you?"
The shadows sat around the fire and shared my soup.
They're my children now, all five of them.
And the cat.
|
“Yep, you better get up!” A woman clothed in white dress said with indifference.
“T-This is nonsense!” A youth gazed at the woman with shock as he muttered. “I am not even a woman!”
“You can be a warlock, no?” Another woman who seemed to be younger replied with a mischievous smile.
“Either way, it is not up for us to decide.” The third woman gazed at the small creature that was purring on the young man’s lap.
As if noticing their gazes, the small cat opened his large eyes and meowed twice.
“Yep, it is clear enough.” The woman in white said as she continued. “Hurry up and help him fetch his stuff up.”
“You are one of us now! Let's have a feast tonight!” The younger woman said energetically as she joined his sisters and packed everything she saw.
“This-” The young man opened his mouth with a dumbfounded expression only to close it once again. In the end, he didn’t know what he was going to say.
His gaze finally landed on the small kitten at his lap. She was looking right at him with sparkling eyes.
He would think all of this was a bad joke if the girls didn’t rush into his house from the sky. Even now, the younger one seemed to hover in the air as she leaped from one object to another.
Just when his eyes landed on her, he noticed the object she was holding.
His expression turned gloomy as he asked. “Hey, can you give that to me.”
“Ohh! What is this?” She waved the old book with yellow pages with wonder.
“Some kind of antique but it is important to me.”
Just as she was examining the book, a cold voice rang out.
“Meowww!!”
Upon hearing this, three women froze stiff as they gazed at the small kitten with fear.
The youngest woman hovered towards the boy with sadness and lowered her head. “I was only curious…”
“Meow…”
She beamed sweetly as she said. “I won’t!”
Throwing another glance towards the boy, she muttered. “The book is out of bounds for me… but that will be it.” After giving out a smirk, she returned to her job.
Feeling slightly confused, the young man gazed at the small kitten. He smiled softly as he said “Thanks..” Funny enough, he found himself accepting his new position as he didn’t oppose them. His life was boring enough and he was truly happy with his new friend.
Petting the small cat, he began to ponder on many things and finally made up his mind. He was going to enjoy this new journey! Not that, he had a choice...
Purring with bliss, the cat closed her eyes and began to sleep. Watching his new friend, a smile appeared on his face.
After the work was done, they departed towards their home.
| 2019-10-27T03:41:40
| 2019-10-27T02:42:18
| 36
| 18
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[WP] The high school hunger games pits classes against each other. You use anything in the class to battle. The wood working class create spears and shields, the chemistry class use chemicals, the cooking class use knives. Meanwhile you're stuck in English class...
Edit: Feel free to write about people in other classes like math, P.E, etc. It doesn't just have to be English class. Many of the responses were great so I would love to see what the story would be like in other classes
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Another explosion rocked the side of the English classroom, sending a web of cracks running through the wall.
Flakes of plaster drifted down from the ceiling and settled on the blood stained floor like snowflakes on a poppy field.
Ingrid looked up from her notebook to check that their barricades were still intact, and that nobody else was hurt. Most of the remaining students were huddled under their desks. They clutched each other for comfort, waiting for the end. Someone was crying.
She bent back over the page and tried to write faster. They were running out of time. One more explosion, and the Chemists would be through the wall.
A few of the boys had gone out earlier to hold off the Mathematicians, armed with broken table legs and Ms. Kell's cane. That was over an hour ago, and they hadn't come back. Now it was all down to Ingrid.
Why had she agreed to let her parents sent her here? She'd been perfectly happy at Smallville High, but then a letter had come for Mr. and Mrs. Watts, offering their only daughter a scholarship to a prestigious school in the mountains. A successful career was guaranteed - *"All our graduates achieve the highest distinctions in their fields.* - and a list of luminaries followed, many of whom Ingrid knew by just their first names. She'd weakened, even though the school had no website, not even a facebook page. None of its alumni even mentioned it in interviews. That should have been a good clue of what was in store.
The chanting started again on the far side of the school. That was the Physical Education class. She'd seen them battling their way across the main courtyard earlier, with lacrosse sticks and cricket bats, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. They'd be coming back soon, perhaps joining forces with the chemists to finish off the besieged English class for good.
Ingrid scratched a final line on the page, and put down the pen. Her hand was cramped from writing so fast. She could only hope that it would be enough.
She remembered Ms. Kell's final words, just before she'd left. "Good luck, class. You're going to need it. An English class has never triumphed in the End-Of-Year exam before." And then their teacher had left, and the madness had begun.
The glass window had been shattered by a Physics rocket earlier that morning, and Ingrid stepped up to the frame and gazed out at the wreckage of the courtyard, and the bodies of the students strewn across the lawn.
An arrow from the Woodworking class clattered off the bricks to one side of her. At least they'd never been given archery lessons.
"Listen, friends," she began, but her voice was choked with fear, and she stumbled.
She cleared her throat.
"Listen, friends, for I have a fable to tell you of two brothers whose parents set them against each other..."
As she spoke, a quietness fell over the school. The battle chants ceased. The crying student's tears dried up. Even a blackbird stopped its song to listen. Ingrid read the words she'd written and they poured over the school like honey, a sweetness that enveloped the listeners and soothed the angry buzz of war.
---
*Read more of my stories at* /r/jd_rallage
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Nobody really knew what to do. After all, it was an actual battle; people were expected to fall.
I had a lot of classes, useful ones as well. I had the basics, English, History, Science, Math. I had two other 'fun' classes as well, woodshop and welding. It wasn't a surprise when they announced that the class you'd be fighting with would be your fourth period class.
English. I had to do something with... English?
Before long, we had run out of ideas to brainstorm. No, we couldn't build a weapon, since it had to pertain to english. No, we couldn't make sharp pens, because the woodworking class had already done something similar.
Everyone had run out of ideas. We thought we were screwed. Amidst the confusion and disappointment, I had an idea. No, I wasn't going to make a weapon. Instead, I was going to use my limitations to my advantage.
I took my pen and wrote on a nearby blank paper.
*To whom it may concern...*
***1 Week Later***
Everyone was ready. I was ready. In 5 minutes, we were going to be let out of our classes. The bloodthirst of my classmates was apparent, as their subject limitations caused them to use heavy textbooks as blunt force weapons. For sure it didn't stand against the woodshop's Spears and Swords, or the Chem Lab's Hydrochloric acid, or the drafting class' trebuchet, but we had the secret weapon.
The gun went off. Everyone sprinted out of their rooms.
Like a Civil War battle, everyone lined up at the center of the school, weapons drawn. It didn't take very long for my plan to get in action.
With the help of the lockpick the modeling class made, we were able to bust into the school's office. Everyone immediately funneled inside. Once the office was full, woodshop nailed their spears to the doorway, blocking any entry. It wasn't necessary though; theater was too busy occupying the guards around the school so they wouldn't notice the break in. Once we were in, we dropped all of our weaponry, except for the Ag class. The lockpick was used once again to break into the Supervisor's office.
And with one big swoop, the scythe took his head off.
It could've been a bloodthirsty battle; people could have died, kids slaughtered, weapons free.
But with the power of a few words, I was able to convince the school that maybe, we shouldn't fight each other. Rather, we could fight the corrupt ideology.
*Perhaps, in the anxiety of the school battle, we should question why we need to kill each other. Would it be better to be the last one standing, or would it be better to be the first one helping?*
*~SevenS. Be careful out there. Convince the others. This will only work if we are united.*
| 2017-05-10T10:58:17
| 2017-05-10T10:29:20
| 86
| 30
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[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
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The day the url released, millions of people flocked to the churches, hoping to cleanse themselves of their sins.
And the rest of us.
Well we know there’s no escaping what’s coming to us.
Oh you killed someone? Well the fbi knows about it now. They monitor the damn site like crazy. And ever since the damn developers of the website added a location, shits gotten hard.
Which leads me to today, perched in the rafters of a church, watching the ceremony take place. Bored, i take out my phone and check the website, searching my name.
Sins
Murder
Murder
Murder
Theft
Murder
Murder
Time to be served in hell
-500 years
“What?” I refresh the page, again it reads -500 years
The ceremony begins to wrap up, and i slip the phone into my pocket, and take aim.
A politician, responsible for the deaths of hundreds.
I have 5 minutes before the cops turn up.
The gun fires, and I leap from my spot and jump out the window onto the roof.
4 minutes.
I slide down the drainpipe and sprint towards the entrance to the sewers
3 minutes.
The sounds of sirens begin
I slip into the sewers and sprint through the tunnels.
2 minutes.
I turn a left and continue to sprint
1 minute.
I stop, leaning against the wall, and pulling out my phone again. The contractor sends a message
“Well done.”
I hastily type a reply “when do i get paid”
“The time will come.”
I sigh “great” i mutter, opening up the website again
Time to be served in hell -700 years.
“Shit.” I realise exactly who my contractor is.
Who he has been all these years.
|
The entire world was shocked at the mere idea of the website. I suppose we all knew that you could find anything on the internet... But we certainly didn't expect *this*. People everywhere were mortified by their ratings on the website, horrified at the simple thought that they may spend an eternity in such a place as Hell.
Why, the world itself erupted into chaos as men, women, children challenged one another to take but a glimpse of their own rating on the site. It took a mere glance for people to go mad with self-preservation. Their very being broken down as they animalistically ripped apart the screen bearing the bad news.
And for the few who's lives were granted reassurance that they had lived well, they were forced to watch the ravenous faces of their envious peers. They endured the never ending questions of the creatures that once were known as human beings, as they raved about what they *possibly* could have done differently to achieve the impossible goal. Those lucky few who were saved in the afterlife were bullied, outcast, beaten to shreds for the unthinkable crime of not having an answer to these beings' questions. These poor souls who managed to be granted a good life beyond this one, were made to face a fate comparable that fiery lake of Hell in their current lives. Some were even given an unholy immediate send-off to their Heavenly afterlife.
As for me? I haven't checked. Seeing what *knowing* has done to the beasts around me is enough to scare me from ever looking at that site. I'd rather put off my fate rather than keep an everlasting pit in my stomach 'til the day I die. I mean, when chaos and insanity aren't taking over, this life really isn't so bad. Is it such a heinous crime for me to want to enjoy what I have while it lasts? From the crystal clear example laid out before me, I can tell that living my oh-so-precious life without fully grasping the future that lay before me is certainly a blessing, not a curse.
So, as per usual, I gripe about my morning coffee, groan about my job, party a little here and there, and live in the moment. Unfortunately, people like me are few. We, as humans, are stressed, busy, and dying to know what's in store. We gotta know if we're really gonna get that pot of gold for our efforts. Most of us don't know how to accept not knowing the future, and that's led to whatever reality we exist in now. I mean, on the bright side, the church has never been fuller. So at least someone's getting something outta this mess.
Well, it's just about morning. I've spent the night drinking, dreading what's to happen today. My relatives are coming over and it's practically certain that they've seen their "results". Just a wild guess, but knowing my folks, they weren't too happy. I'd planned for them to come over since before the website came, and they haven't let me though that plans have changed. So I guess I'll discover who's coming over today. That would be like them, though, to come over regardless.
After I've finished my lunch, I hear a knock at the door. It's my relatives, apparently they decided to actually show. I open the door, and to my surprise, the only one there is my cousin Jolene. "Don't tell me," I joke, "there's more of them in the car." Jolene is probably the only person I can really confide in. She and I love to joke about our melodramatic family.
"Sorry, buddy, you're stuck with me today. Not much of a party, but I decided I just couldn't miss the food." We both laugh, I guess she wasn't too affected by whatever she found out on the site. We spent the evening joking, goofing off, and having a good time. Eventually we get down to discussing recent events.
"I gotta ask, what were your results?" she asks.
"Honestly, I haven't checked. I really don't care enough to know. Did you look?"
"Actually, that's what I really came here about...". Jolene looks a bit concerned. Now she's really got me interested. But when I got her to spill the tea, I couldn't believe what came out of her mouth. She explained to me how every one of our family members were going to Heaven. Every. Single. One. That is, except her. Whatever criteria needed to be met, my insane family had passed but not Jolene. I couldn't believe it.
"How is that even possible? They're... They're insane, and you're ... That's so backwards."
She then told me about how once everyone had found out, they'd cast her out. Jolene, the girl that did whatever she could to please my crazy family. The girl who was willing to live by them, unlike me. The girl who spent her life by them, doing exactly what they told her to do. Tossed out, just like that.
For the first time since the website came out, I genuinely cared about the results that were being given. Whatever the criteria were, whatever the cost it took, I needed to get Jolene on the "nice list". She deserved it more than anyone else. Little did I know, I was about to pull a heist bigger than anything I'd ever known. I was about to literally deal with the devil to pull someone's soul out of Hell itself.
| 2020-02-29T23:30:10
| 2020-02-29T22:46:57
| 110
| 43
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[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next?
|
I keep questioning why I took this job because I'm going crazy. Is the money really worth it? Does the phone even work? How did I even get to this position?
Suddenly the phone goes off.
"H-hello?" I tentatively answer.
"Uh is this the Krusty Krabs?"
"No this is Patrick," I said and hung up.
|
Dave never expected it to ring.
He thought it was all a joke at first, but how wrong he was.
It almost gave him a heart attack when it rang.
He picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
The silence felt like an eternity.
“Hello~?”
He nearly hang up just before they spoke.
“Is this Dave Smith?”
“Yes.”
In the background he heard someone writing something down, as if they were taking notes.
“I am Aven Gretto, director of [REDACTED].”
He felt a bit confused.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED].”
He heard a giggle in the background, but ignored it.
“What? My hearing must be going bad.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED], okay?”
He heard someone laugh quite heartily.
“This isn’t funny, I have to get back to work” he threatened.
[Voice cracking] “IS yOuR reFriDEratOr RunNinG????”
He heard at least 3 children clearly crying with laughter, then he hung up.
He was later informed he got the wrong number and went on to be a multi-millionaire.
| 2017-12-16T23:39:18
| 2017-12-16T21:55:00
| 173
| 65
|
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell.
|
You would think that given complete control and no consequences, they would all eventually pass this test. They'd put more thought and effort into putting more good into the world rather than satiate their own selfish whims. But I guess the world that they first lived in taught them to fight hard for the things they want and need. Can I blame them? I made the world that way. In a way, some could say I rigged this test against them.
I do not let them know they have this control, but I do orchestrate the moments that help them discover what is happening. To explain the situation would give them a confirmation that their choices and actions still matter. If they intuitively understand that, good for them. If not, they still have a chance. Only the best of them can ascend, and very few of them do.
Out of the hundreds of thousands of worlds like this I'm watching, the one controlled by Sven Jorgenson stands out the most. This good boy lost his father in his youth and was taken care of by a negligent man. Loyal to a fault he helped and followed this man through all of his travels. Sven faced near death more times than I'd ever wish for one of my children, but due to this he saw much of the world, it's troubles and its beauty.
He made strong friendships with the pets of his guardian. These friendships sadly brought much sorrow due to the abuses and neglect shown to them. Sven watched several of his friend pass on, or never return from their travels with the man. But he pressed on.
Sven, now in control of the world, still wears his loyalty and love on his paws. He does absolutely nothing to harm anyone, and focuses entirely on protecting and providing for everyone and everything. He plays with the ones that feel sad or lonely. He brings food to the hungry and eats with them. He finds the stray cats and dogs, keeps them fed and warm, and brings the caring people to them to help.
It warms my heart that in all the hundreds of thousands of worlds I observe. The ones that are controlled by the dogs, they always come home.
|
Death is only the beginning.
You fade out from a world where you were a victim, to one where you hold absolute power. To a man who lead a life of being a victim of circumstance, it was the ultimate high.
Abandoned as a child, leaving a hole that never could be filled, you leave my druggie mother and piece of shit father in a state where they long for something as sweet as death.
Left and right, all the people who have wronged you, suffer while you give them back the pain with interest.
At the end of it, they tell you that the second time around punches your ticket.
But even if they had told you before. You know, you wouldn't have done things differently,
you know that your ticket was already punched.
| 2020-07-20T04:09:17
| 2020-07-20T04:01:03
| 39
| 16
|
[WP] Animals can be genetically combined with any other animal with no problems, allowing dog-cat pets, true teacup elephants, and many other things. But you don't always get what you expect. Describe a pet owner who got a pet he was not ready for, but is determined to keep it and love it.
|
Richard, I've had it up to HERE with that....thing. I want it gone TONIGHT.
Honey, we’ve been over this. He’s not going anywhere. He’s adorable and weird and I love him.
HE??? How can you even tell it’s a male? Look at it! It’s got two legs and I’m pretty dam sure there’s nothing in between. Do you see a penis, Richard? Cause I don’t see a penis anywhere on that thing.
It’s called a cloaca, Stephanie. Chloe-Ache-Ahhhh. Its what bird’s have for sex organs. They’re internal Steph so NO I don’t see a penis because that’s not how it works.
RIchard. That thing is a FUCKING CAT WITH WINGS. You told me “oh, we can splice a cat and a bird, and we’d have a little bird that meows with itty-bitty paws.” NOT THIS!
But….the paws are itty bitty. Just look at them.
Richard I swear to god. That thing has wings the size of my arm. It flies out whenever it dam well pleases, goes who knows where and brings back bloodied carcasses!
Well, cats and birds are both hunters so of course it’ll do whats natural.
No. No this isn’t natural at all. The other day, I don’t know how but it found where I work. I was in an executive meeting presenting the quarterly analysis. You know how important those meetings are to me!
So he found you, and what? You’ve never spoken in front of a pet before?
He landed on the air conditioner with a decapitated squirrel. A DECAPITATED SQUIRREL Richard! Have you ever seen a decapitated squirrel? Because I have, and now so has everyone in Circatel! Do you have any idea what they’re calling me at work now?
The Stephanator?
What? No….Squirrelspierre. They’re calling me freaking Squirrelspierre you asshole!.
HAHAHAHAHA Oh….Oooh no I’m about to lose my head!
OH MY GOD This isn’t funny! Yesterday morning I walked in and there were dozens of post it notes everywhere. Every single one had a squirrel getting decapitated under a guillotine. They drew little French hats and swords on them, and they were saying things like “Long live the people,” “Squirrels have rights too” and “Although I die, my phylum lives on.”
Wow I want to work where you work.
RICHARD! That thing leaves TONIGH…..wait. Wait a minute. You said earlier that cats and birds are hunters.
Yes.
Richard, most birds aren’t hunters.
I know this.
Richard….exactly which type of bird did you splice the cat with?
Um...well….you know I love America soo….
YOU IDIOT! You AND that thing are FREE to go find another place to sleep for the night!
I’ve heard Paris has a lot of living space. You know, after they cleared out all of the guillotines and whatnot.
Goodbye Richard.
|
Damn that Ambien and eBay. That combination is ALWAYS messing with my wallet. I guess since I put my credit card info and email down I must have ordered a German Shepherd-turtle. I got the shipping confirmation email this morning so here goes nothing. I need to get my house ready for 'whatever' this thing is going to be. OK, lets look at this receipt. It was ordered November 25 and it says it takes 10 weeks for deliv...*ding dong* OH SHIT!
As I open the front door, there stands this UPS driver with a large box on his two-wheeler. The box has air holes and is printed with *CAUTION: LIVE ANIMAL* on each side and the top. "Hello u/redneq_1. Here's your, uh, pet? Just sign here for me please." as he hands his scanner to me. With my signature on the scanner, he pushes the box right inside my front door, says a comical "Good luck" and walks back to his truck.
As I stand there staring at this box, I can feel my heart rate rising, my breathing become heavier and my palms start sweating. I lean down and grab the pull string to open the box. As the light hits the inside of the box, there is this little "thing" looking up at me. The face of the cutest German Shepherd puppy you have ever seen. Those big brown puppy eyes looking up almost saying, 'Hi daddy!' The more I open the box, the more light is shed on my new "pet." The dog-like hair on the back of the neck slowly gives way to a light greenish-brownish tone of wrinkly skin that gets absorbed into a beautiful shell with tans, yellows and greens geometrically blended together. The feet were that of a turtle, but had the claws of the dog portion. And then, shyly tucked between the back legs was a fluffy black and tan tail.
As I reach into the box to pick him up, the tail starts to stick out and he gives it a little wag. "Hello Dogle," I say. His eyes seem to brighten up as I hold him in my arms. I hold him up above my head to get a full view of how he was "constructed" and notice that while he has a full shell top and bottom, his belly is lined with fur. I hold him with one arm and start to gently rub his furry, turtle shell belly and there's a flickering of his back leg.
I realize that this is probably one of the strangest animals that I have ever seen, but what am I supposed to do with him? I wonder what type of mood or personality he will have. The laziness and longevity of a turtle? The high energy but relatively short lifespan of the shepherd?
As time goes on, Dogle gets bigger, and some of his features change. His snout, still shaped similar to a shepherd, has become shorter and more pointed. As he loses his puppy teeth, there only seems to be molars in the back. What am I supposed to feed him? Will he turn into an omnivore as opposed to an herbivore (turtle) or carnivore (shepherd)? I guess I'll just keep up the dog food and see how he reacts to it. Admittedly, his cuteness has mostly gone away. He now looks like something out of a horror movie since he has grown. He's fairly ugly. With the unique combination of breeds, I really want to see how he turns out and how training will go, if even possible.
| 2017-01-20T12:49:32
| 2017-01-20T12:22:09
| 35
| 26
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
Andrew nearly snarled as his phone chimed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. His shift at the warehouse ended only a few hours ago and it like chickens running around with their heads chopped off whenever he left. It was rare delight to encounter the nights that he was actually permitted to sleep through the night.
On top of the texts that were just brimming with simple incompetency, the morons that lit up his phone in the middle of the night always seemed to wake up his wife, Isabel, who suffered from insomnia to begin with. The raise Andrew agreed to that stated he kept his ringer on for these occasions never seemed worth it when he saw Isabel the next day, curled up in the guest room with dark circles under her eyes from her attempts to get away from the constant chiming.
Andrew rubbed a hand over eyes to clear them, trying to understand the ridiculous amount of messages but he must have been more tired than he thought since they didn’t make sense.
He quickly scrolled through the message previews, finding they all seemed to follow the same pattern: to look at the moon. The moon? What the -? Why?
It was like a shot to his adrenaline when he saw that some of the messages were coming from Isabel’s phone. He shot up from bed, seeing the other side empty, and jumped to his feet.
“Hun, what’s going on,” Andrew questioned, still scrolling through his phone while walking towards the guest room. The room was at the end of the hallway and the door was wide open. He could see Isabel standing in the middle of the room, arms down by her side and phone clutched in her hand as she gazed out the window.
As he grew closer, he could see that she was shaking, “Bel? Honey? What’s wrong, why-”
Isabel’s body whipped toward him and Andrew couldn’t help himself, he froze in place. She ran and shoved her body into the door, slamming it shut and locking it in place.
The speed was all wrong though, Andrew had never seen her move that fast. It was insane, it was...inhuman….
His own body started to tremble when he remembered her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and not a single bit of the green irises he loved so much were left.
He was just about to ram his own body into the door, to beg her to let him in and make her explain what is happening, but then she started sobbing.
“Andrew! You need to run, you need to hide! I’m so sorry, god I am so sorry. Run, Andrew, and whatever you do, don’t look at the moon!”
Andrew started pounding his fists on the door and trying to shove his weight against it, but she must have blocked it with something.
Despite his shouting and his pleading to be let in, his forgotten phone on the hallway floor seemed to crack through the commotion as the alarms of the emergency alert system distracted him for just a moment. The robotic voice started to play from his phone automatically, “WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TEST. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ALERT. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON. WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TES-”
Andrew thought his distress was at its peak, nothing was making sense and he just needed to get Isabel so they could deal with this together. He just needed to-
Her screams started and it struck him cold to the very center of his being. He began pounding and kicking at the door until it gave way under his body. Isabel was on the floor, writhing in the moonlight. Andrew couldn’t help it, his knees buckled and he emptied the contents of his stomach right where he stood.
Isabel's body was bent at every wrong angle possible but she wasn’t screaming anymore. Her head snapped in his direction with that ungodly speed again. Bathed in the moon’s light and pupils still completely dilated, she smiled up at him as if every bone in her body wasn’t broken.
In the same voice she used to tell soothe him time after time, she whispered, “Look at the moon, Andrew.”
|
I toss in my sleep-- there's a loud buzzing ringing in my left ear, and my eyes flicker open to reveal my phone: vibrating with it's receivance of hundreds of messages. "Holy shit, is that my Discord app again? I swear to god I put it on fucking silent." I grumble, and my hands fumble for the volume rockers. Without a few seconds of effort, my phone is back on silent, and the buzzing stops. I go back the fuck to bed. The creepypasta bullshit can wait, I'm tired as shit.
| 2022-10-06T10:06:56
| 2018-04-06T19:48:33
| 483
| 13
|
[WP] Two fathers are called in to the principal's office after their kids got into a fight. The principal is concerned about disciplining their children but the fathers are more interested in whose kid won the fight.
|
“Mr. Smith, Mr. Wesson, I’ve called you in here today for a very important matter”, Principal Johnson began, “it concerns your boys. They’ve been fighting.”
The two fathers were remarkably similar men. Both were in their late forties and had begun to go grey. They were about the same height, and both were built like they had once been athletic, but years of fatherhood and beer had softened them some. The two even had sons the same age, Roger Smith and Scott Wesson. These young men currently sat, heads down, in two chairs beside the principal. Roger had a bag of ice on his face and Scott sported some minor cuts and bruises.
“I don’t know how it started, and these boys won’t say anything, but we had to break them up at recess. This is the second time it’s happened. I’m hoping we can resolve the issue today and that it won’t happen again.” Principal Johnson continued.
Mr. Smith spoke up first, “Certainly, certainly, we can’t have our boys fighting every recess. Our families have known each other for years now, I would hate if Scott got hurt.”
“Exactly”, Mr. Wesson chimed in, “if my boy hurt Roger I don’t know how I would sleep at night.”
“I am glad you two gentlemen understand the situation. I don’t want to punish your boys, but if I catch them fighting one more time I will have to. I hope you can have a talk with them.”, Principal Johnson replied.
But Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson kept speaking.
“Now I don’t see how Roger would get hurt, with the size advantage he has, fighting with Scott is unfair to the poor kid.”, Mr. Smith said in response to Mr. Wesson.
“Size advantage? Please, they are practically the same size, and Scott is much quicker. I mean, why do you think Roger has a bag of ice and Scott doesn’t? I think what happened is clear.”, Mr. Wesson turned to Principal Johnson, “thank you for stopping the fight. I will talk with Scott tonight about not fighting.”
“Wait just a minute”, Mr. Smith interjected, “don’t think I am going to sit here and take these insults about my son. It is obvious that the fight was stopped before he could get any real damage in. He would wipe the floor with Scott.”
Principal Johnson was flabbergasted. “Gentlemen, the purpose of this wasn’t to decide which of your sons would win in a fight, it is to prevent them from fighting. Now you two don’t seem capable of instilling the lesson in them. As such I will be forced to give them detention.”
Scott and Roger finally spoke up, in unison, “Detention?! Anything but detention!”
“If you two promise to never fight again I’ll let it slide, but one more time and you both are suspended.”, Principal Johnson said, turning to the boys.
“Yes sir”, both boys responded.
But the two fathers were still scowling at each other, neither willing to back down from his assertion that his son would be victorious. They both secretly formulated a plan to ensure their son would win the fight.
Many years later the two fathers watched with pride as their sons finally faced off, this time for all the marbles. But alas, a clear victor was determined when, in 1998, The Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell In A Cell, and plummeted 16 ft. through an announcer’s table.
|
Both sat twirling their small fingers as the petite woman with braided brown hair sat in her black cushioned chair. The men sat on uncomfortable wooden seats.
"I call you today for your children, Brian and Joseph. It appears they got in a fight."
The men took side glances at each other, but continued to let her speak. The first father, a man with reddish side-parted hair, stared especially hard at the second with piercing glances.
"They're in the nurse's office right now. Brian broke his wrist, Joseph lost three teeth. They haven't spoken about how the fight started-"
"I'm sorry, I need to interrupt.", the reddish-haired man said. The brown-haired father looked at him with a blank stare, but his eyes said interest.
"What will it be, Mr. Plativok?"
"Who won the fight?"
"Excuse me?"
"I want to know who won."
"This is highly inappropriate Mr. Plativok-"
"I agree, I also want to know.", the brown-haired man exclaimed, pushing himself straight in the chair. The petite principal stared surprised at both.
"No one won, we don't even know what the fight was about. You're acting like a child."
"It was probably my Brian", Mr. Plativok bragged, "I've been training him in fistfighting for years."
"Your kid? Didn't know blobs had muscle."
"You have no room to talk, your kid looks like the Scarecrow, especially without the arm strength."
"Least my kid can actually do his homework without the help of a tutor."
"Least my kid can-"
"STOP THIS INSTANT!"
Both men stared at the petite woman. She sighed and took off her wired glasses to clean them. Carefully slipping them back on, Mr. Platovik noticed her temple is throbbing.
"Your boys are in second grade. They are not supposed to beat each other to the point of breaking or losing parts of themselves. What is wrong with you?"
Both men looked at each other. Then they stared back at the petite woman.
Then they stared back at each other.
"So, who's paying expenses?"
"Expenses?", the petite woman questioned.
"My kid broke his wrist. I don't have the money to pay for that."
"You'll have to situate with it yourself. I'm sure you can do it.
Both men smirked at "decide".
"How about we fight?"
"I'll beat you to a pulp, don't even try."
"Mr. Plativok-"
"First to pass out loses."
"You're on, jackoff."
"Don't sweat it ginger."
"Get out of my office."
Mr. Sarath stopped in the middle of his next insult.
"But-"
"Just leave. Your wife will pick up the children."
The men shrugged, and then angrily side-glanced each other. Leaving their chairs, they fought over who left the room first. When they left, the petite woman phoned Mr. Plativok's wife.
"Your husband took his medicine, right?"
| 2017-07-25T08:27:29
| 2017-07-25T08:02:31
| 210
| 15
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye.
I sigh.
The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky
I sigh.
I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry
I sigh.
The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy?
I sigh.
Another day, another night without her.
If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie,
I sigh,
I sigh.
|
I stepped off my broomstick at 0730 just as the Ministry of Magic was beginning to whir into life after a fairly uneventful weekend. I made my way to the elevator and pressed the B6 button. As the elevator descended, I wondered what Supreme Chancellor Umbridge would have me doing *this* week to that Potter boy.
| 2016-02-22T10:07:53
| 2016-02-22T09:11:12
| 300
| 90
|
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