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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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int64 14
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[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
|
My story starts when I was a kid before the cellphone era. I was maybe 16 years old, when I had my first love with Ester , she was the most beautiful girl you could have laid eyes on.
Blue eyes with blonde hair like a sunshine, with a smile that would melt everyone's heart, when she laughed everybody stops and just stared at her beauty.
Even if I had this angel with me, I was sad, because her name wasn't on my body. I had Rachel and tiffany tattooed on my body. Even if I tried as hard as I could, I knew deep down that she wasn't for me.
Fast forward 20 years, I moved, lost contact with Ester, found the love of my life and her name was Rachel.
Maybe I went too fast with this, but my name was tattooed on her. If you make the simple connection, we were meant to be together. Every problem should have been a piece of cake, we were the best in best.
As time passed, I found myself thinking about the other name. Who is this tiffany? When will I die? How will I die?
Those taughts haunted me but I tried to put them at ease, there were a lot of variables I didn't knew. No point of thinking about this for too long, and ohh boy was I wrong, because one week later, everything changed. I died.
That fateful day started like every other day: had my morning coffee with my soon to be wife, took a shower and went to work. We had new people in the hospital, and I needed to take care of them.
I received the list with all the new people, I scanned it and one name just popped in my face. Tiffany Hayo. I freaked, I started shivering. Was she my killer? Is this the day I die? I went straight to my boss and told him I had an emergency at home.
When I got home I caught the love of my life with someone else in the bed, I couldn't comprehend. Why? How? But we were soulmates...
I couldn't stand the thought of her being with someone so I went in my car and started driving as fast as I could... next thing I know I am in the hospital in the icu.
- doctor we are losing him.
I know this voice, as I look around the room I see the most beautiful girl but as I look at her name tag, tiffany hayo.
-I know you, you are Es...
Edit: formatting, also this is my first time writing and english is not my first language so any constructive feedback is well received.
| 2018-03-11T07:49:38
| 2018-03-11T07:31:32
| 4,830
| 474
|
[FF] "So, come here often?"
Begin your story with this line of dialogue.
Oh, and set your story somewhere other than a bar or restaurant. In fact, set it somewhere in the distant past or future.
And make it less than 500 words.
Have fun!
|
"So, come here often?" Fernando inquired dryly.
Christine was in bad shape.
For the last twenty years we had danced the tango between man and machine. She drove me from girlfriend to girlfriend, from job to job and I fed her the best fluids on offer and kept her interior as immaculate as her exterior.
As the years passed time began taking its toll on her. First it was the little things: an alternator, an exhaust manifold – things I could manage by myself. But as the salty winters melted into sun-kissed springs into leaf-lined autumns her body, the gorgeous temple of steel and rubber and glass crackled and withered before my eyes. The girl became a woman and the woman dragged kicking and screaming into old age.
Like all aging women we tried everything to keep the passion alive. Weekly baths could keep the hungry salt from her tender skin. Fresh paint masked parking errors, fender benders, and stone chips. Fresh rubber gave her agility, new glass clarity. Sadly, the ravages of time refused to be beat and they only tore harder, her struggle to stay relevant feeding their lust, but I never gave up the dream of the both of us driving off into the sunset. However, as bills mounted and the parts became scarcer I had a nauseating feeling that the end was near.
Fernando the mechanic tapped his pen impatiently. “It’s bad. Very bad.” he flatly declared. Sensing my fear, he quickly rattled off sixteen pages worth of things that should be done, things that had to be done, and things that, if left undone, would probably end up in my obituary. Capping it all off, he gently tapped a frame rail with the pen and the blunt plastic tip shot through the tangerine-flake skin. “That’s not supposed to happen” he pointed out.
I thanked him for his time and told him, in no uncertain terms, that we would definitely seek a second opinion, but Fernando’s clairvoyance seemed to suggest that I would inevitably come to the same conclusion.
On the way home Christine seemed to know it was time for us to part. The warm lights flickered gently every so often as if a reminder of her age. The engine hummed smoothly as she wanted me to hear the creak of the suspension over every bump and the sound of steel on steel as I maneuvered the gearbox up and down its narrow gates. Her bones were tired and they wanted to rest, she pleaded.
For the first time in my life I realized it was time to let go.
As I swung her up the drive as I did the last twenty years her lights flickered one last time, her engine sputtered, and Christine came to a quiet halt into front of my house. The gauges slowly drooped to zero and the fluids trickled out of every tank in the car. She was no more.
And for the first time in our life, I let go.
|
"So, come here often?" asked the well-tailored man. He was wearing an old black suit and a fiery-red tie that were well-matched to his hair, all white save for the few remaining specks of blonde around his ears; and his misty blue eyes, which rose from their default, downcast state to inspect the strangely-clad woman who had just materialized a few feet in front of him.
The young brunette was apprehensive and became paralyzed with fear as she took in her surroundings: a dimly lit alleyway, perhaps 10 feet wide (at the very most), flanked by a wall of corrugated steel on either side, smokestacks rising above her--factories, perhaps; She instinctively took a few cautious steps backwards, letting out a quiet gasp as her tight, brown blouse made contact with the frozen wall behind her.
"Evidently not," the man answered his own question. He was leaning back in gentle repose against the other side of the alley, calm and collected, in sharp contrast to the woman, who was very clearly on edge. Shaking, she raised a sort of chrome-coloured weapon shaped somewhat like a handgun, a crimson double helix pulsating from the tip.
"Whoa there, girlie," the man chuckled as he raised both arms above his head, "No need to be frightened. What brings you to Rowville? And what's with your crazy get-up? Looks like you put a silver bowl upside down over your head and then donned some twenty-second century outfit. Jeans, even! Haven't seen anyone wearing those for the past 90 years!"
The young woman cautiously opened her mouth as if to speak; there was still a very clear fear in her hazel eyes and her reddening cheeks, and, stuttering, the words gradually tumbled out: "H-hi there. My name is January. J-January O'Connell, b-but call me Jan. I'm travelling the world, trying to find myself."
The man peered intently at her, eager to learn more of the rather beautiful--even if her clothes were ridiculous--woman, managing to keep a gentle disposition about him, the kind that comes with years of wisdom. She smiled at him, revealing impeccable teeth.
"But what about your home? Don't you have a family to go to?"
"I can't stand them. I know there's something, or somebody, out there waiting for me, someone who understands me. I don't want to go home."
The man spent a few seconds in deep reflection, then spoke. "My name is Marshall. I'm a retired sailor," he explained. "I sure don't look it anymore, but in my prime, I was a tough, rugged man of the sea. They say 'home is where your heart is'; now, if that's indeed the case, the blue waters of the ocean are my home. Haven't been on a ship in 13 years, though. Not since I retired. You know, I miss it sometimes. My home. I took it for granted my whole career, and now I regret not spending more time savouring it. Hold on to what you have, girl. Someday you might lose it."
The young lady stared dumbly, pensive. Was that a single, pearly tear streaming down her cheek? And then, another quiet gasp.
"I have to go," she abruptly ended the conversation. "It was nice meeting you, Marshall." Jan deftly pressed a number of buttons on her bowl-shaped, silver hat in rapid succession, and, in a brilliant flash of light, disappeared leaving hardly a trace, and returned to her own, rightful time period, 13 years prior.
She was in her dining room, in the single greatest place in the world; the place where she was born and raised, where she cried, and where she laughed--she was *home*--and just in time for dinner, at that.
"Hi Jan!" exclaimed her father. "I'm so happy to see you! You've grown so much since the last time I saw you." The tone of his voice changed, and grew quieter. "Listen, honey, I'm thinking about retiring. I love being a sailor, but--but I love you and your mother and your brother more." He looked almost as beautiful as Jan, with his misty blue eyes and his blonde hair. He was very clean-cut, sporting his new black suit.
"T-that would be great, Dad. If it's really what you want."
"Yes Jan. It is. I've already missed so much of your childhood, and I don't want to miss any more. It's time for me to settle down. We'll have so much fun being together all the time... like a real family."
"Yeah Dad. I'd love that." She smiled.
And then they sat down to eat.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. Sorry, I just realized I went way over the word limit. I'll post it anyways though.
| 2013-08-31T17:29:16
| 2013-08-31T10:09:10
| 31
| 14
|
[WP] Time freezes for everyone around you each time your life is in danger, leaving only you able to move until you are no longer in danger. One day time freezes, but you can't figure out why, until..
I hope its not too vague, first writing prompt ^^ enjoy
Thank you all so much for the responses it's so much fun to read them :)
|
The first time it happened I was just little kid riding my bike. My mom wasn't paying attention to me. She was too deep in her gossip with our neighbor to notice me peddling toward the street. Honestly, I didn't even notice at first. But I was six and day dreaming about how I was a race car. I felt the bump of hitting the curb and I felt my bike tip over. I was spilled out into the street like a dropped sack of potatoes. My elbow was bleeding and scratched up but I was otherwise fine. It wasn't scary, looking up and seeing the grill of the blue Ford F150 inches from my face because it was totally motionless. In fact, everything was. I looked around and mom was frozen with her hands in the air like she just didn't care, making a face that indicated some juicy gossip had been exchanged. I stood up from my indignity, grabbed my bike by the handle bars, righted it and myself back on the side walk and put my foot to the peddle. Without any pomp or circumstance life resumed. Moms arms dropped down. The truck drove off. I remembered the pain on my elbow and started to cry.
It took me a few years to realize I was the only one this happened to. I couldn't understand why so many people died in accidents. Why didn't they just move? When I did put it together I felt awful. Like I had this responsibility to help everyone. But I couldn't make time just stop by willing it. It only happened when I was in immediate danger. Maybe if I put myself into dangerous situations, I thought, I could save people when time stopped for me. But it turns out that is a lot harder to do than say when you live in the suburbs. Eventually I gave up thoughts of being a superhero. Until dad died.
The police came by and broke the news to mom at around 1 am. She had been worried when dad didn't show up from work. I remembered later her calling the office and his phone before deciding he must have stopped off at a bar or something. They said it was a mugging gone bad. He didn't feel anything. It was fast. The police said they'd catch the guy. They never did.
I was racked with guilt. All this power to save myself but I couldn't save the people I loved. Leaving my room became hard. So hard I rarely did it. I graduated from high school, thanks to the pity of my teachers, and got a job as a waiter in the local restaurant. But otherwise I just stopped trying. If I wasn't working I was in my room playing xbox. I told myself everything was fine. I was helping mom with the bills.
To pass the time of existence I took up smoking. But it was a little annoying because every time I sparked up time would stop until the damn cigarette was out. That got annoying. So I tried weed. Same thing. Being reminded of my curse every time I tried to escape it was like hell. I needed a safe release. Eating was it. At first it was just my sweet tooth. Ice cream, cookies, cakes. But when those ran out I turned snacks. And when both were available, I ate both. Work was great because there was no shortage of meals and desserts.
Then, one day, at 7:23am, time stopped again. I was putting my pants on for work when I noticed my music stopped. I poked my head out of my room and sure enough, mom was frozen mid yawn as she poured coffee. Also, there was no danger to be seen. I finished dressing and looked around my room. Nothing. Maybe I was about to trip, I thought. But then why didn't time kick back in. It only ever lasted long enough that I was out of danger.
The house itself was fine. Nothing hurdeling toward it. No gas leak. Not even a plane in the sky. I wandered around for who knows how long, checking everything in the neighborhood. Maniac neighbor with a bomb? No. Sinkhole about to swallow me whole? Not unless it was going to swallow a 120+ home neighborhood. Wildfire? Nada. Zombie apocalypse? Not as far as I could tell. Time had never been stopped this long. Whatever was coming must have be huge, I thought. So I expanded my search radius.
The thing about time being stopped is, you don't know how much time has been passing, not really. Maybe I could hazard a guess but it gets really confusing when the sun never moves an inch. As such, I can't say how long it took me. But eventually I had mapped the entire city of Tulsa and it's surrounded suburbs. Nothing ever came up. I felt like I was losing my mind. There was no one to talk to, only to observe. The world became a museum. A really shitty Museum of Tulsa. It felt voyeuristic, searching through homes for the cause of my danger, watching the people around me. I saw lovers, frozen in kisses. Children mid-whine about getting up for school. Dogs jumping at their masters for walks. One guy, totally trying to secretly jerk off on a morning bus. None of them moved but they all felt more alive than me. Maybe this was Hell.
Eventually I wandered home. I didn't try. My feet just carried me there. Nothing changed. No dust had settled, no mail delivered. And there was mom. Pot of coffee in hand, looking unimpressed with the morning news. When did she get lines around her eyes? How had I never noticed before. And her hair; was that grey I saw?
Emotions hit me all at once and I couldn't breathe. I would never be able to talk to her again, not really. She was here but not here. I could talk to her but she was never going to talk back. I stood next to her and sobbed. Wrapping my arms around her like a little kid, I buried my face in her shoulder. My whole body shook and heaved in pain as I gagged out sobs. I didn't stop until I felt her arms around me.
"Aw Honey, what's wrong?" Her voice ran through me like lightning. I looked up and there was her moving face. She looked startled as hell but it was her. The news anchor babbled in the background, the coffee mom was pouring spilled on the table and dripped down to the floor. "Honey, are you okay?" The look of concern spread across her face. It turned a bit into confusion. "Did you lose weight," she paused, "Since yesterday? Also, honey, maybe a shower is in order."
|
It has happened your entire life. You first noticed the time stops while riding your bike at 13. Trying to impress the cute girl in school you had tried riding down the locally imfamous "suicide hill" which crossed over a fairly busy road at the end. You noticed the semi truck to late and before you knew what happened you were lying in the road with the truck bearing down on you... until it wasn't.
It has happened a couple of times after that, but how often Is the life of an accountant really in jeapordy? However this time was different.
It had been days without any movement from anyone. When it happened you were sitting at your desk eating lunch and figured you were about to choke on that salad. By the way choking is terrifying because you continue to choke and no one can help you lodge it free, but luckily you learned how to fix it yourself.
Anyway, as you looked around and continued to eat you realized that nothing was happening. Time stood still and after a while you just decided to head home.
It has been this way for a long time... well technically it hasn't been because time is frozen but for you it has felt like forever. It didn't take long to come to the conclusion that the world was ending... or you were dying.
You were stuck, forever. Faced with one choice, one decision. Live forever with the world stuck in place, or end your life and risk destroying the entire world. Either way, you would never know the truth.
| 2017-06-21T10:03:52
| 2017-06-21T07:56:10
| 30
| 21
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
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DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
|
“I want to roll to invade them!”
“Uh, are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Yes. Of course. Just let me roll.”
“Fine. Roll.”
He rolls his 20 sided die across the table. It stops directly in front of the Dungeon Master, who looks down and smirks.
“Well. You go to invade Russia. You gather your troops and march right in. But you’re too stupid to realize you should never invade Russia in the winter.”
Hitler angrily looks over to his die. He sees the clearest image of a 1.
“Well hell. I’ve been rolling good the beginning of this campaign. What else could go wrong?”
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T07:54:52
| 210
| 36
|
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
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"Mom, Dad?" I asked timidly, approaching them with caution. I wanted this to go smoothly, and I guess I half expected them to freak out or start yelling at me.
"I kinda want to ask you a difficult question," I went on.
They both sat up suddenly, looking at me like I was about to tell them I got expelled from school or something.
"Honey, what's wrong?" My mother asked.
"Tell us honestly, are you pregnant?" Dad interjected.
"She's too young for that, Dave." Mom insisted, "Is it money? Do you need money?"
"No, mom. Its just, lately I've been feeling a little different, a little bit like I don't belong in this family. And, well, I had to see for myself."
"Sweetie, what did you do?" Mom was suddenly very concerned.
"I sent in some DNA samples from you, me, Dad, everyone to the forensic lab downtown. They sent back-"
I choked back some tears that were suddenly welling up in my eyes.
"They sent this back to me."
My fingers clenched around a balled piece of paper from the lab. I could see the color draining from their faces. I broke down crying, tears flooding my vision. My knees buckled and I fell to my knees, dropping the letter to the ground. My parents, in a panic, rushed over to help me as I slowly started to black out. It was too much, it was all too much.
The letter was kicked aside, unfurling slowly as I fainted. Before my vision went completely dark, I saw the black lettering again. It read-
>Dear Ms Adams,
>We have received and tested the samples you have provided us. Unfortunately, our results came back inconclusive as we are ill-equipped to handle non-human DNA. We have forwarded your samples to a laboratory in Langley that has expressed interest in them.
>I'm going to be perfectly honest here, Ms Adams, I was a little bit confused when you said you wanted to test for paternity. Your sample definitely tested just fine but I don't know *where in tarnation you got those other four samples...*
|
I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again.
| 2015-01-06T09:08:32
| 2015-01-06T08:44:25
| 543
| 16
|
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute.
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There were four of us. We'd meet every couple hundred years and discuss the pranks we pulled on the mortals. Such good fun the mortals were. So easily susceptible to manipulation. Would we be so simple if we lived less than a century? Barely the blink of an eye, I can't imagine that being my entire existance.
"Ok, I got a good one," I said as I sipped my poisonous drink. Since we were immortal, alcohol didn't even affect us. Cyanide for me, Arsenic for Tom, and Mercury for Bill. John was the sober one. "It kinda built off yours, Bill."
"Oh?" Bill cocked his head.
"Yeah, remember when you got the primitives to waste precious resources building huge monuments when they could've been feeding themselves?"
Bill laughed. "Yeah, those Egyptians were a fun bunch."
"Well, I got the Americans to think they're being controlled by them."
"What?!"
"Yeah. I just leave pictures of pyramids and triangles around, and they just take it from there. So many are convinced there's some secret society pulling the strings."
All three of them burst laughing.
"Wait," Tom said. "So all you had to do was put some pictures around, and they think there's some society controlling everything?!"
I laughed. "Yep. Just added the pyramid to the dollar bill and it took off."
John shook his head. "A secret society of mortals. As if they could organize anything. Some of them still think my costume is a real animal, they call it bigfoot."
"Can't they tell it's a costume?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I use an active camoflage to make the area appear out of focus so they never see me clearly." He showed us a picture, and indeed, you could barely tell it was him. As immortals, we also invented a few things here and there.
"I've been sinking ships at the Bermuda Triangle," Bill said.
"Dude, people have died," I said. "I love it!"
We all burst into laughter and clinked our drinks together. Except for John. Fucking John.
|
Execution, that is the key to any good practical joke. When you're immortal, you're allotted all of the time in the world to develop a scheme so devious yet harmless that can make an impact on one of your friend's eternal lives. Yet it is so rare that our lives are affected by our friend's practical jokes. How is it so?
Memory. Something that is a mere hundred years for mortals expands into eons for us. Our brains simply do not have the capacity to hold all the small details that accompany these practical jokes. Many meticulously planned out jokes that had extreme potential such as "The Million Birthday Prank" a dozen millennia ago have been failures due to my friend forgetting key interactions.
I still remember it as I mapped out the plan for decades. Each step had to be followed perfectly in order to succeed. It was an operation that I was determined to succeed in. The first step took place on Serena's millionth birthday.
As usual, I arranged a cake for her. As cheesy as it may have sounded, she was my best friend for over 900,000 years and I still throw annual birthday parties for her. We use special kinds of candles,each representing a different multiple of 10. This one was a simple million candle, unlike last year's mess of 9 hundred thousand candles, 9 ten thousand candles, 9 thousand candles, well... you get the picture.
For each year following the millionth birthday, I arranged the other candles in familiar patterns, ones that I thought Serena would remember. The candles were dotted in our secret code, and knowing her, she should have cracked them and eagerly waited for her next birthday. The last coded message was given out on her 1,000,286th birthday.
1,000,287. This was the day that the final step will be executed. Inside, I was nervous. In my mind, I knew that she would arrive at the correct location, but I didn't specify a time. I was perfectly capable of waiting 24 hours though, we both knew that time didn't matter to immortals. That was my mistake, assuming that she would recognize my code when in reality it was forgotten long ago.
Over the next several centuries, I desperately thought of ways that I could make up for the failure of the previous practical joke. There was nothing so elaborately planned as that prank, I even took the time to program thousands of machines to carry out the prank on that last day. It took me time, but I finally thought of something, exactly in time for Serena's birthday.
"Happy Birthday Serena" I said as I slammed her face into the cake. As she recovered from the dive and started wiping frosting off her hair she sighed. "What was it this time, the 1,000,554th birthday?" I giggled. "Just came up with it today. Sometimes, you just have to act spontaneously"
| 2017-06-22T21:50:06
| 2017-06-22T19:51:25
| 679
| 104
|
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years.
I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!!
I can't wait to see what you guys come up with
|
Dudley peered out the window at the guest on the porch. He was tall and lean, with thick round glasses pushed back gently against his nose. His black hair was receding slightly on his forehead, no longer covering the etched lightning scar on his forehead.
"Christ," whispered Dudley. It had been years since he had seen Harry. Decades even. Part of him had believed that Harry had died. But here Harry was, standing on his porch.
"Who is it, darling?" Megan was sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the telly.
"It's..." Dudley trailed off. He had never told Megan about Harry. She would never have believed him even if he had. But now, on her 11th birthday... "It's an old friend," Dudley said. "A very old friend."
He stepped back from the window and, after taking a deep breath, swung open the door.
"Hello Harry."
"Hello Dudley." Harry's eyes flicked up and down Dudley for a moment. "It's been a while."
Dudley nodded, and motioned for Harry to enter. Harry crossed the threshold, pulling of his dragonskin gloves as he did.
"Ah, and you must be Mrs. Dursley," Harry said, and his voice brimmed with warmth. Dudley watched as his cousin strowed to the couch, hand extended. Megan, standing from the couch, smiled.
"Darling, this is Harry," said Dudley, nervously twiddling his thumbs.
"And how do you know Dudley?" said Megan. Dudley caught her eyes tracing the lightning scar. Harry seemed amused at the question, and he let out a small chuckle.
"He's an old friend, dear," Dudley said softly. Harry glanced quickly at Dudley, a smile still flickering.
"Yes, yes," he said, grasping Megan's hand. "Dudley and I have quite the history."
"Well, what a wonderful surprise," said Megan, beaming at Dudley. "He never brings his old friends 'round!"
Dudley did not return her smile. He knew Harry wasn't here to reminisce, nor to meet his wife. Dudley still remembered the letters.
"I think Harry is here on business, darling," Dudley said, glancing at the pocket of Harry's long cloak. "Shall I go get her?"
Harry nodded. Dudley began towards the stairs.
"Business?" Megan queried to no one in particular. Dudley stopped at the base of the stairs. He did not want to explain to her. He did not want to have to tell her about magic. How does one even do such a thing? Harry seemed to have read his mind, because he motioned for Dudley to continue, and turned to Megan.
"Has your daughter ever done something that you could not explain?"
|
There was a knock on the door. It wasn’t quite out of the ordinary for there to be a knock on the door of 4 Privet Drive on a Saturday afternoon. Perhaps it was the mailman dropping off an Amazon package. Dudley was sure that the email said it would be delivered on Monday, but you never know with these blasted things. Technology had changed so much throughout his lifetime. Not that this daughter noticed, she clawed at the iPad with such intelligence that sometimes Dudley couldn’t believe she was his daughter.
The intelligence was definitely her mothers.
But there was a knock on the door. He grumbled up from the worn leather sofa and walked over. He didn’t bother to look through the peep hole. Everyone was quite friendly in Little Whinging. To his surprise, the gentleman standing at the frame was not his usual mailman. It was not his neighbor Daniel who liked to complain about the rising property taxes. No, this gentleman wore a trimmed woolen coat. It was when Dudley took a proper look at the gentleman’s face that his heart dropped.
Round glasses. Startling green eyes. Warm smile. And a faint lightning shaped scar right above his brow.
“Harry,” Dudley breathed.
Harry smiled and extended a hand. Dudley took it, although there was very little, he could do to stop his own from shaking.
“Dudley,” Harry said. “It’s good to see you. Sorry for not calling ahead of time, but I had no idea what your number was. I tried the old home number, but it was out of service.”
“Mom and dad got changed a while ago,” Dudley said. He stepped out of the door frame. “Please, come in.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Harry walked into the house. He paused at the entrance, drinking in the home he had lived in for seventeen years. His eyes seemed to pause at the cupboard under the stairs. Dudley swallowed painfully. He remembered Harry’s pale and skinny frame shoved into Dudley’s poor hand-me-downs. He remembered the cooked eggs and burnt sausages that were always placed on his plate by Harry as soon as that boy knew how to hold a pan.
Wasting no more time, Harry strode into the living room where Sophie was sitting. She looked up from her book and smiled at Harry, who sat down on the couch.
“You must be Sophie,” he said warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He extended a hand and Sophie, without skipping a beat, took it.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“He’s your Uncle Harry,” Dudley answered quickly. “He’s come to visit.”
Harry nodded. “I’ve got some pretty important news for you and your parents.” Harry reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. He handed it over to Dudley, who took the envelope gingerely. On the front, it was addressed:
*Sophie Dursley*
*4 Pivet Drive*
*Little Whinging, Surrey*
On the front tab was sealed with a bold red “H.”
Dudley stared at Harry, who simply nodded. It was finally time, he thought.
\*\*\*\*\*
This is my first crack at a WP, let me know any criticisms! Might write a part 2 later to really dig into the relationship Dudley has with magic now.
| 2019-10-16T11:32:26
| 2019-10-16T11:16:51
| 519
| 209
|
[WP] Write a kid-friendly fairytale that addresses political correctness gone mad.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Young Edric entered the small town of Feffin on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Bein. He was excited to set upon a life of adventure and excitement, with only the clothes on his back and his father's old sword.
A strange marquee greeted him, painted upon a large stock of wood. A number of words had been written, struck, and rewritten on various occasions. It read:
>- ~~Serf~~ ~~**Indentured Worker**~~ Grounds Engineer
>- ~~King~~ ~~**Magnanimous Ruler**~~ Servant of the People
>- ~~Troll~~ ~~**Troubled Monster**~~ Misunderstood Disfigured Unfortunate
>- ~~Fool~~ ~~**Comedian**~~ Entertainer
>- ~~Bard~~ ~~**Entertainer**~~ ~~Musician~~ ~~^Compusure~~ Composer
>- ~~Damsel~~ **~~Rescuee~~** ~~Princess~~ Strong CIS Hetero Female permitting a non-gender, race, or orientation bound person a chance to prove his/her/their value and worth if they choose to apply strength, logic, and/or whit ^^maybe ^^charm in a rescue attempt.
>- ~~Hero~~ ~~**Doer of** Great **Deeds**~~ ~~Someone who Tried their Best~~ A Hero is anyone who thought of helping, or scrawled about it on the tavern wall.
Edric scratched his head, puzzled. He wasn't quite sure what some of that even meant. *So all I have to do now is think about being a hero and it's true? And what happened to the Princess, is she not needing rescue?* Perplexed he headed off to the tavern for a drink.
Upon arrival he found it too, appeared far stranger than in the stories his father had told him about. There were signs on the doors for **Happy Hour Specials** and something called an **Appletini**. A large man at the door asked him for his scroll of birth and a portrait etching.
"What?" Edric inquired, "I just want a pint of meade."
"Sorry Chap, Council to the Servant of the People on Moral Authority has declared that you must be twenty-one to enter and that requires paperwork." The hulking doorman shrugged, "Been that way for fifteen years now, since the *Adjustment Proclamation*. I'm guessing you're from out of town?"
"Well yes, I am. My father Beldrin the Great was a hero here many years past. He settled down out in the woods about twenty years past to start a family. I am his oldest son, but I am only seventeen."
The balding brute scoffed. "Well seventeen can't drink, sorry lad. 'Sides you're father was the cause of the Adjustment anyways you see..." Then he launched into a history lesson about how the last *great* hero Bledrin had caused so much damage in his adventures that the kingdom took nearly ten years to recover. "He inspired the serfs to rise up against the king, who appeased them with a living wage rather than loosing his head. Unfortunately, that had unsustainable impacts you see. Even in the near term. Well within five years or so the economy was in shambles, few people trulely understood what was happening.
"Everyone blamed everyone else and so the Servant of the People, as he is now called, 'elected' his daughter - mostly as a distraction for the people as I see it - to lead for him while he sits back and pulls the important strings. The princess - I can't keep track of what she wants to be called these days - has her own *unique* perspective on things. She was raised in a convent of state provided nuns of the *Litrastica Revisionista* sect. Their motto is 'Everyone Deserves a Hug' or something like that. She's responsible for all the label changes around here."
He let out a heavy sigh before finishing, "Mostly just a bunch of appeasement and distractions if you ask me. Just so we forget the 'Servant of the People' is really sitting high and mighty. Lot more boring around here. Gotta be careful of what you say or you'll end up in the stockade for offending someone. In the mean time the *ahem* Misunderstood Disfigured Unfortunate are pillaging the countryside and raping oxen, while the standard of living is headed down the drain."
Edric didn't know what to think about the situation. *My father caused all this? But I thought he was the Hero.* "Well thank you kind sir for explaining this all to me. If you don't mind my saying you sound quite well educated, um, for a doorman."
The tired man raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "Benefit of serving in the King's Army. Full scholarship to the Academy. Unfortunately, everyone thinks us veterans are a bunch of evil baby-killing psychopaths, so it's hard to get a job. Especially now that the Army has been downsized, since the public view is that we are a waste of coin. Tis the way of the times."
Edric sighed and shrugged himself, "Any suggestions for a young wanna-be hero?"
"Yeah kid, don't bother."
**NOTE:** Before anyone jumps on me, I'm not discriminatory against anyone. Just poking some fun at the PC. In the words of the *Litrastica Revisionista*::
>Everyone Deserves a Hug
**ONLY THE TINIEST EDIT:** I *had* to add the dropcaps... this is, after all, a fairytale. For more about the [DROPCAP](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/changes_updates).
|
Once upon a time lived a beautiful princess. This princess was no ordinary princess because she had a knight on her side who would swear to protect her life from any peril.
One day a man decided it was a good idea to come and play with the princess just to keep her happy. He climbed and climbed the tall fortress without the aid of a ladder or Rapunzels magical golden hair.
The man was tempted by urges and kidnapped the beautiful princess and took her from her fortress. The kings and queens were so worried about her safety that they decided to hire some mercenaries to bring the princess back to the kingdom.
They found the evil kidnapper, they were about to capture and return the princess when they noticed the man was of an african or moorish persuasion and they were not legally allowed to attack or harm one. The princess was on news parchments everyday as missing while the kidnapper became hero of the town for ridding the town of a royal lineage. The kingdom of fergusonia fell apart soon after.
| 2015-08-12T07:18:17
| 2015-08-12T05:38:29
| 32
| 18
|
[WP] You are one of the survivors on a dessert island from a crashed private plane. Amongst the survivors is Gordon Ramsay who is refusing to eat the food that you cook and instead just insults your cooking until he starves.
Auto correct has maybe made this slightly different but perhaps better than it should of been 😂 should of definitely been desert
|
I had been trying. Really, I had. Granted I'm no Guy Fieri but the other handful of survivors had no problem eating my take on island survival food. But Gordon...
I mean, he was always insufferable, that was his thing right? But we thought, you know, maybe with the *circumstances* being what they were, he could give it a rest and just... eat.
Nope. The guy can't turn it off, I don't think it's his fault. I hear him in his sleep, cursing people for dropping the soup or burning the chicken.
So I started to make things intentionally bad. I've found the threshold of flavor where the group will cope with nary a complaint, but Gordon won't even stand downwind of it. The best part is, I think he's catching on.
He knows I'm doing it to spite him now. That I'm making food specifically to exclude him. I can see the desperation in his face as the hunger withers him away. He must be eating coconuts, or bugs, just to spite my cooking but stay alive. But he's weaker now, his fire burning low. Unsure of how long the rest of us will be here, I wait for delerium to creep in on Gordon, and begin to prod him for 'long pig' recipes.
|
The island seemed to impossible. No matter what ice cream or cake batter I scavenged Gordon refused to eat more than one bite. Then he would berate me over and over. I tried ice cream cake, chocolate cake, cake flavored ice cream but he always rejected it. The island being entirely made of dessert wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was Gordon Ramsey’s hatred of it. Me and the other survivors didn’t miss him when he starved. The ungrateful prick.
| 2018-07-15T07:39:58
| 2018-07-15T06:37:47
| 112
| 30
|
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
The Machen family lived extraordinarily long lives.
They were known throughout the Kingdom for their longevity, their magical prowess. The family Elder, Arch Mage Soren, was renowned as the greatest wizard of his era, his skill and magical stamina was beyond question.
Today was his last.
The family gathered around his bed, some crying, others stony faced. Within that room were some of the greatest magic users in the land, advisors to Kings, creators of wonders and marvels. Most were there to pay respects to a great man that they had known their entire lives, that their parents and grandparents had known. Some were there for greed, to see what spells the ancient sorcerer had embedded in the world, to see if he would spill his magical secrets before he left this world.
He lay upon the bed, resplendent in his purple robes, his beard still long, still lustrous. His amber eyes gazed around the room, taking in the generations arrayed before him.
He began to cry.
His wife, sitting next to him patted his hand and made soft, soothing noises. He shook his head at her, gazing deeply into her eyes.
"I'm sorry" he whispered, before turning to address the rest. "I'm so sorry".
"There's nothing to be sorry for my love" his wife said, to murmured agreements and nods.
The tears flowed fast down his wizened cheeks.
"You don't understand. I was so close. So close..."
The gathering leaned in, some pushing their way closer. Soren looked up at them and let out a long rattling breath.
"I would never have....I thought I would have found a way by now. To make it permanent. Please, understand. I meant it as a blessing..."
The old man, who had seen Kingdoms rise and fall, who had on his wedding day all those years ago stopped time for a second just to savour it, closed his eyes for the last time.
The gathering began to utter their condolences quietly, heads bowed.
They quickly looked up at her scream.
Before their eyes the already aged woman was deteriorating, her skin shrinking around her fragile bones, her eyes sunken. Within moments she was reduced to a decayed husk.
Before the others could react, they too felt it, the cruel talon of time ripping away the vestige of their youth, bringing them to their knees as they raced towards the grave.
As the last elder of the family fell, his eyes flicked towards the bed.
Resplendent purple robes covering old and cracked bones.
------------------------------------------------------------------
r/AMSWrites
|
Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
-------------------------------------------
It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
| 2018-05-24T00:51:28
| 2018-05-24T00:13:02
| 222
| 17
|
[WP] Olympic athletes are chosen by lottery so countries are encouraged to increase the average athleticism of their citizens and not just elite athletes. You were just selected.
this was a post on /r/CrazyIdeas. I thought it would make an excellent prompt.
|
The letter came. It actually came.
Right there at the top of the cream coloured envelope were the logos for the IOC and the Government of Canada. My hands shook. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who had become an everyday Olympian, but it was actually happening to **me**.
Most people were terrified they'd be selected but I was ready. Like any good Canadian I'd learned to skate when I was still learning to walk. I lived and breathed sports. I trained year round. Growing up in British Columbia, in the heart of the Rockies, I had been forged by the land itself. No hill was too steep. No course was too long. I could hang with the best of them across the sports. Hell I even learned how to curl. I was ready.
I couldn't help but smile as I tore open the envelope. Whatever was there, I was ready. In my heart, I knew it. My eyes raced across the page and as they did the smile slipped from my lips and I reeled like I'd been gut punched. The papers slipped my hand to the fresh, morning snow.
"CONGRATULATIONS!" they read, "You have been selected to represent Canada at the 2024 Olympic Summer Games!"
|
[Continuation of a response I wrote several months ago]( https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/50sao4/wp_the_olympic_athletes_are_chosen_like_jury_duty/d770h7k/)
TLDR (of previous response); The Olympics are more like death games now. Wax bullets in the dueling event were replaced with real bullets. Fencing swords were replaced with real swords. Wrestling matches were until one of the competitors hearts stopped. Gymnasts had to do their routines over spiked pits. Ski jumps and pole vaults launched themselves over pits of lava. Bobsledders had to outrun avalanches. Swimmers and runners had to race against starved predators. Pretty much every sport was replaced with some horrifically violent version.
----------------
My lungs protested as I tried to keep my legs moving, each step harder to take than the last. Why was I here? Why wasn’t my sister chosen? Why had I been sentenced to die? The questions would always go unanswered, but it was soothing to keep asking why. Finally, I saw the finish line ahead of me. Despite the aching in my limbs, I pushed forward, knowing the end was near. I crossed the line, and my legs immediately gave out. I tumbled and skid across the ground until coming to a stop, bruised and battered, and stared up at the sky. Footsteps approached me, but I didn’t acknowledge them.
“You skipped the mandatory athletic courses, didn’t you?” the trainer asked as he towered over me, scribbling on his clipboard and blocking the sun from my view.
“I mean, I went to them, but the instructor just signed off on a passing grade. I’ve always excelled at more intellectual pursuits.” I barely managed to speak between labored breaths. I didn’t want to think about how bad my qualifying score was, so instead, I just put shapes to the clouds. It didn’t do much to quell the intrusive thoughts over my likely demise, but it did wonders on relaxing my heart beat to a metronome more attuned to Moonlight Sonata as opposed to the post-workout Brandenburg Concerto No. 5.
“It shows. My grandma could probably outrun you, and she’s had both knees and hips replaced.” His tone was condescending but light hearted. My breathing had stopped sounding as ragged as a race horse so I groaned as I pushed myself up into a sitting position.
“See? She has robot legs, I think that’s hardly a fair assessment.” He wasn’t amused by this, instead holding out a hand to help me to my feet. Sadly, Paul had the best sense of humor of all the trainers, though it left much to be desired. The general atmosphere of the Olympic training facility was somber and serious. Even though my future was bleak and my outlook dim, I tried to have a sense of humor. Most of the time it was a choice between finding a way to laugh or breaking down and crying. I sighed and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull me up. I assessed my injuries. Unfortunately, it seemed as though I would live….
“Looking over your chart. Gymnastics is a definite no. You have the flexibility of an oak board. Skiing… no, wrestling… no, dueling… you showed the most promise in that you able to shoot the gun in the right direction so at least that’s something, running… I’m going to have to say no. Best case, you could outrun a sloth or maybe a tortoise.” I grimaced as he went through the list. There was still a plethora of activities for me to try out, but I wasn’t very confident in my chances with any of them.
“Hey now, in that one story, the tortoise beat the hare.” My protest to his statement was weak, but the corner of his lip twitched up in almost a smile, so I considered that my first victory since I arrived at the Olympic Training Center.
“Well, next on the list to try is rowing. Even if you can’t row, you could always be the person sitting on the front yelling ‘row’.” He meant it as a joke, but I felt the teensiest bit of hope. My decade of practice as a violinist might finally be useful for something. Maybe I could find some way to be useful after all.
---------
Edit: Fixing a word, adding some clarification to the TLDR
| 2017-02-24T11:57:34
| 2017-02-24T08:33:21
| 58
| 30
|
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water...
|
Clickclickclickclickclick
They’ve been laughing at me since day one.
“Boiling water? That’s your superpower?” The laughter could be heard down the hall I’m sure. “I know we advertised a position to help learn your protentional, but this is just hilarious. You’ll be perfect for making the tea!”
Clickclickclickclickclick
And that’s all I’ve done since. That’s what I’m doing now. Standing here in the break room and staring my frustrations into this innocent mug full of water. With my thoughts alone I slowly make it hotter, but not too hot. Fuck me if I hand another cup of “too hot” tea to Heroic and have to listen to him say “Darn it, Alice, I’m not Fireproof!” one more time. My name’s not even Alice, and Heroic sure as shit isn’t Fireproof. He’s not even heroic anymore. He’s twice the man he used to be and not by character. He won’t be running into any burning buildings saving lives anytime soon.
Clickclickclickclickclick
They all laugh at his japes of course. What’s worse is I laugh too. I always mumble an apology and take the mug away, unbothered by the heat, and walk away as they sneer “She boils water! That’s it! Can’t wait to watch the news coverage as she quenches the president’s thirst with a cup of tea at the last minute!”
They mock me.
Clickclickclick
Laugh at me.
Clickclickclick
Ridicule me.
Clickclickclick
And why can’t I stop clicking this goddamn pen?!
\*CRACK\*
Goddamnit the mug broke. Too hot.
“Clean up on aisle 5!”
Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me. I turn to see him standing there, impressed with himself and grinning. How many times have I thought about him boiling in water? Thoughts of seeing that double-chin shaking with agony instead of that damned patronizing laughter has preluded my dreams many nights.
*Just smile. Just smile. Unclench your fist*. “Hah, yeah, sorry Heroic. Guess my mind was somewhere else. I’ll clean this up and bring you that cup of tea right away!”
“Make it quick, Alice, going into the conference room now. Brainwasher is at it again. Gotta come up with a plan. Need to be sharp! Bring it to me when you’re done!” He says and wipes sweat from his brow. Must be exhausting saying the same jokes for thirty years.
I open the cabinet and pull out another mug and tea bag. As I turn on the faucet and fill the new mug with water, I let my mind wander back to those sweet, sweet thoughts of Heroic’s face turning red with heat, burning…burning…burning.
Mess cleaned and tea made I make my way to the conference room. The room has no real walls, only windows to overlook the metropolis outside. In the middle is a table large enough to match any of the present heroes’ ego. I make note that there must be at least twenty heroes here now. I glance at the news on the T.V. and it’s not hard for me to guess why. Brainwasher is at it yet again. Massing another army of mindless followers to do his bidding. Honestly, Brainwasher’s plans are as tiring as Heroic’s jokes.
I make my way through the room and to where I see Heroic sitting at the table. I squeeze between him and his “buddy”, the aptly named “Fireproof”, and set his tea on the table. Fireproof sees this and snaps his fingers at me, “Mind grabbing me one of those too, honey?” he asks this without even looking at me.
*Just smile. Just smile. Just fucking smile.* “Sure thing! Be right back!” I turn on my heel, smile still plastered on my face, begin to walk away when I hear the clatter of glass on the table. *Don’t you fucking dare.*
“Darn it, Alice, I’m not ‘Fireproof’!”
It all seems to snap. Not like a snap as in everything breaks. No. This snap is more like a rubber band that has been stretched to far and finally snaps back into place.
“Heroic…” I begin to say, back still turned. I can feel him looking at me, though. I can *feel* the grin on his face. I turn now and look him in the eyes with the smile still on my face. “Did you know that I’m just a poor college student working here during the summer to help pay for classes?”
He chuckles, “With the way you make tea, I’d be surprised if you told me you passed the 5th grade!” The few who have turned their attention away from the T.V. to us laugh. Of course they do. They always laugh. Fireproof however hasn’t budged and seems not the least bit interested in my words.
I laugh along and force my smile. “Well, there’s something I’ve found interesting about college. It seems like things you’ve learned since childhood, things that you were told long ago, seem to come up in courses yet again.”
“That’s called an education, honey,” Fireproof adds to the conversation, but keeps his eyes on the T.V. Yet again the others laugh. He’s listening now, though. Good.
My smile is no longer forced but genuine as I continue, “It so happens that just last semester I took a course in Biology. It was only an introductory course, but there was a fact brought up that I was told as a child. It was something that I had always known but hadn’t really thought about until it was brought up again in class.”
“Look, Alice, we’re a little busy here. If you hadn’t noticed, Brainwasher has about wiped the minds of about 10,000 people and every one of them are following his every order. He’s on his way to us right now and if we don’t come up with some plan to beat him without hurting any of those with him, then this whole city is doomed! So, if you wouldn’t mind telling me what’s the point of all this?”
“My name isn’t Alice, and I figure, any one worthy of being labeled as a villain must have an introductory monologue.”
Laughter.
Again. Laughter. Heroic leans back in his chair and lets out his loudest guffaw yet. “Are you trying to tell me, you think you’re some sort of vil-“
“And when I was in Biology,” I cut him off, “my professor reminded me on the fun little fact that the human body is over 70% water”
Finally, *finally,* I’ve wiped the grin off that face. Heroic looks at me utterly puzzled and Fireproof himself finally looks away from the T.V. and towards me. In fact, every hero is the room has their eyes on me. Not for long though. Soon, those eyes are rolled up and those oh so sweet agonizing screams I’ve long dreamed of fill the room. There is only one face I watch though. Only one scream I cherish the most. I watch with pure joy and elation as Heroic falls from his chair and onto the floor. His face is as red as I imagined. It doesn’t take long for them to all die, and is even almost too short. I have, after all, had plenty of practice by making the tea. I only look away from the lifeless bodies on the floor when I hear the door open and a terrified group of fellow interns rush in. They no doubt heard the screams coming down the hall. At least it wasn’t laughter being heard in the halls anymore.
“My god!” Josh gasps. I like Josh, he’s nice. “What in the hell happened here?!
I only shrug and reply, “I guess I reached my boiling point.”
|
Somehow, this wasn’t what I had imagined when I got the position as an intern for Opulence. Somehow, I never would have thought that their steadfast promise of protection, their public assurances of safety, or their pact to defend mankind at all costs had all been a ruse.
The name should have been a dead giveaway, really. The most renowned superhero team in the world, known for their exploits from stopping Harold the Wise to preventing the apocalypse twice, built upon a foundation of lies.
They were just in it for the renown: the slices of fame, the money, the sex, the drugs.
When I got this job as an intern, I was expecting to witness the unsurpassed intelligence of The Brain, the untold gleam of Starling as she went off to battle, or the heroic rescues that The Phantom was known for.
They said that my power had its uses. I didn’t imagine that those “uses” would involve warming up their coffee or starting up the hot tub. They treated me like trash, little more than a slave in a land they controlled.
I’d been here for years, and the only one who had shown me any worth was The Stain. It made sense, in a cosmic sort of way. He was the intern before me, been told the same as me when they hired him.
He was just lucky enough to be there when Garphan had died. Just lucky enough to take his place like nothing ever happened; to be treated as a sort of equal to the rest of Opulence. Even if, in truth, he did little more than act as support. A backup plan, in layman’s terms.
I could tell that he hadn’t let go of his grievences with the team. It’d show during our talks, the little moments of privacy we had together. He understood what I had gone through, lived and breathed it for years. He was my only friend in this toxic playground of a workplace. The one rock that had held me together from snapping.
I sometimes lingered upon the idea of quitting, but I never found the courage to do it. My father was proud of me, I had enough money to last awhile, and my little brother never had to wake up in pain in the morning ever again.
I even pondered upon walking on the path of a villain, in my more private moments. But my more earthly responsibilities kept me in check.
But every person has a breaking point, no matter how strong willed they were.
It was during one of their monthly meetings, one of the few constants the team had.
Paradigm was sulking in his chair, The Stain was late yet again, and Duo was being his annoying selves.
It was just one little comment, one I had even heard dozens of times before. But it seemed to be enough for the proverbial dam to break.
Within seconds, the heroes before me were on the ground, writhing in pain and eliciting screeches of pain. Their skin morphed into an eerie red, welts and bubbles forming over their skin. It wasn’t long before the room fell silent.
The world famous Opulence, its ranks killed by the hands of a measly intern.
I stood there, silent, and thinking over what I had just done. It was when I heard the metallic clang of the door open behind me that my eyes widened. It was The Stain - ever bound to be late to these meetings - and he was shock still.
“I— I—“ I sputtered.
“Huh,” he said lamely. “Somehow, I’m not surprised in the slightest.”
“Wha— What?” I asked dubiously. “You— Your not horrified? Your not going to arrest me?”
“Arrest you? Please. These idiots have been deserving of something like this for a long time. In fact, it made sense that you would do something like this. The human body is mostly made of water, after all.”
“But... but I—“
The colors of the room began to melt off their surfaces, forming their own puddles of muck on the ground. They slowly made their way towards The Stain, gathering into neat little shapes in his hand.
“Now, who would you like? Hamstring, for his durability? Or The Brain for his... well, brain?”
“I—“
“Oh, oh! Or, I can give you Garphan. I’ve had him for long enough.”
“I’d rather not have any of them, thank you.”
He laughed. “Ah, suit yourself, then,” he said, the shapes falling into his skin. He then wrapped his arm around my shoulders, ushering me to the elevator.
“Come along now, my friend. We should leave before anyone takes notice.”
| 2019-07-30T17:41:52
| 2019-07-30T15:09:58
| 33
| 15
|
[WP] Your daughter never feared the dark or being alone, she says because of her imaginary friend. The school child psychologist tells you the imaginary friend is very unusual and shows you a crayon picture of it, an 8 foot knight in black armor with a broadsword.
|
The psychologist's office was decorated cheerfully, with lots of colorful pictures of cartoon characters on the wall, and the shelves had just as many toys as they did books.
Jack was more interested in the psychiatrist himself. Dr. Tollin was a few years older than Jack was, probably in his early 40's, and was just starting to go soft around the middle. But this actually worked to his advantage. It gave his a friendly, jovial appearance that probably did wonders to put kids at ease.
"Hello, Mr. Adams, it's lovely to finally meet you." Dr. Tollin said while extending his hand.
"Likewise. Both Mary and Susie say great things about you. Sorry Mary couldn't be here, by the way. She had an important meeting and couldn't make it."
"That's fine. Have a seat."
Jack took a seat in one of the adult sizes chairs in the room, while the doctor sat across from him.
"First of all, let me say that Susie is wonderful little girl."
"Well, I alredy knew that." Jack said, beaming with fatherly pride.
"She is active, energetic, and has a wonderful imagination."
Jack felt a twinge in his stomach. "Why do I sense a but coming?"
"I wouldn't say this is a bad thing, not by a long shot. She is, how shall I say this...unusually brave. Normally, six year olds like her have some very understandable fears. The dark, parental separation, being alone in unknown places, that sort of thing. But Susie doesn't have any of those. She had no objection when your wife left her with me, nor did she have any problems talking to me, a total stranger."
"Okay, so she's braver than other kids, what about it?"
Dr. Tollin got up and began rummaging through a stack of papers on one of the many shelves in the office.
"Susie says that she has no reason to be afraid of that sort of thing because her friend protects her. Now, having an imaginary friend is nothing unusual, most kids have one. But Susie's is... different. Here, she drew a picture."
The paper he held out to Jack had a crayon drawing that he immediately recognized as being his daughter's style, such as it was. It was crude, sure, but he felt that no other kid drew like his little girl did.
The picture was of a man, dressed all in black. He was big, and angular. Odd, considering Susie usually drew people much rounder. The man held a long, grey object in one hand. It was almost as thick as the man's arm, but ended in a point. His other hand held a red triangle like object. It was crude, but he could guess what it all was.
"She said his name is Sir Edmar. According to her, this Knight is taller than anyone else, wears black armor, and is always holding his sword and shield."
Jack had been right. It was just such a distinct thing that it was had to mistake. Especially for him.
"She told me the story of how they met." Dr. Tollin continued. "Which, in and of itself is odd, because children don't usually meet their imaginary friends, they simply think them up. But Sir. Edmar is apparently different. As Susie tells it, he came up to her one day while she was on the playground. He went to one knee and said she was his princess reborn, and so it was his duty to protect her with his life. She was rather excited with the idea of being a princess, of course."
"I bet she was." Jack said.
Susie did love everything to do with princesses. She devoured anything to do with them. She read stories about them, watched movies with them, and even dressed up as them every chance she got. It was adorable, but could be frustrating for her parents.
"So she has an imaginary friend that's a knight. Sounds like her."
Dr. Tollin shifted in his seat. "Well, that's the thing. I'm...I'm not convinced she did make him up."
"What do you mean?" Jack asked with creased brows.
"During our last session, I asked if I could talk with Sir Edmar, with her acting as a mouthpiece, saying everything he did word for word. The words that came out of that girl's mouth should not come out of a little girl's mouth. The way spoke, the things she said. None of it sounded like a child. The language was like something you hear in a Shakespeare play, and she talked about the middle ages like she had seen it with her own eyes. Not just read about it in a book, but really saw it."
"Doctor, what exactly are you saying? Are you seriously saying my daughter is, what, possessed by a mideval knight? Do you know how insane that sounds?"
"I know, I know. I don't want to believe it either. But I don't have any other explanation. Even something like multiple personality disorder can't explain what Susie said that day. I just don't understand what's happening, but it might be something that goes beyond modern understanding."
The room fell into silence. Jack considered what he had been told. About what it meant, and what he, as Susie's father, could do. If, and how, he could help his baby girl.
"What should I do?" Jack asked.
The doctor shook his head and sighed. "Honestly, I have no idea. This is unlike anything I've ever seen before. I'm not sure I'm qualified to deal with this. Hell, I don't know if anyone alive is. But, I'll keep talking to her as long as you bring her to me. I'll also look around and see if there's other experts on this sort of thing out there, and what they say. If not, well, maybe look into...other kinds of people who specialize in such abnormalities."
"What, like, psychics and stuff?"
"Maybe. I honestly don't know. I'm sorry I can't say more."
"No, it's fine. I'll...I'll talk to Mary about it when I get home."
Both men stood and shook hands again.
"I'll understand if you don't want to bring Susie back here." Dr Tollin said as Jack left. "But if you do, I'll do whatever I can to figure out what's happening."
"Thanks, doctor. I'll keep that in mind."
He left the office and went through the halls. His eyes darted around, checking for other people. It was not until he was sure he was alone that he spoke next.
"Well? What do you think?"
A figure dressed in brilliant golden armor appeared at Jack's side. The figure towered over Jack, standing at well over seven feet tall. It clutched a massive halberd in it's armored hands.
"Edmar is a good knight." The golden armored man said. "Loyal, strong and vigalent. Perhaps not the most intelligent fellow, but he is unwavering in his duty. He will be a fine guardian for your daughter, sire."
"Good. Thank you, Rothin. You may go until I call you."
Sir. Rothin clapped his armored free hand to his chest before the ghostly warrior vanished. Jack continued down the hall, lost in thought. He had a lot to think about, and even more to plan for.
|
“Good night sweet heart.” Jacob said as he kissed his daughter, Melody, on the forehead. With a click, the lamp was off and the pale glow spilling in from the hallway was the only light in the room. As he got up from the bed, Melody stared intently at one corner. A smile crept across her face. Jacob turned to see what she was looking at. Something felt off about the corner. It almost seemed darker than any other point in the room. Like a void was there that swallowed up the very essence of the universe. Melody giggled. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“What’s so funny honey?”
“It’s just my friend! He has this funny trick with his head!”
Jacob clicked the lamp back on. The only thing in the corner was a stuffed unicorn. He felt like a paranoid fool.
“Sleep tight love bug.”
They had been having issues with Melody for a little while now. Her school had called to them that she was acting up. She didn’t really have any friends and would sit alone on the playground talking to herself. She didn’t really try to make any friends. She would tell the teachers that it was easier to manage him when she didn’t have to worry about anyone else. When they asked her who she meant by “him” she would simply giggle and point behind them. Today they were meeting with school child psychologist to find out why.
“This is just weird,” Liz told her husband on the way over. “Like, she’s always so happy. She goes and plays outside, she always does her homework on time, and she’s always going on and on about those really imaginative stories she comes up with. Like, it’s weird, ya know? Usually it’s like the sad, quiet kid that has these issues.”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem, maybe she’s just in her own head too much.”
“Oh sweetie, are you worried she may have gotten it from you?”
“Of course I’m worried Liz. Everyone fucks up their kids one way or another, now we’re finding out in what way ours is.”
“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. Even if she doesn’t make a lot of friends she’s a good kid. Besides, she’ll always have us.”
The school they sent Liz to was a nice one. One might even describe it as a posh. The ivory gates came with the downside of an exorbitant tuition and an especially vicious group of gossiping parents but it was all worth it for their little Melody. The benefits of the school were already being reaped since the school had called this meeting. While shopping around, this school had boasted that they had the best child psychologist in the state. It was a nice thing to hear but Jacob and Liz never thought it would be a service they would use.
“Hello!” the psychologist greeted them with a surprising level of joy. “You must be Melody parents! Come in, come in! I’m Dr. Sinclair.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person as well, this is my husband Jacob.”
“Oh Melody raves about her big, brave dad all the time. You have a lovely child.”
“We certainly think so Doc,” Jacob said. “But can we skip to the matter at hand?”
“Oh, yes, certainly. Please take a seat. So as you both know, Melody has been a little uhh anti-social. Yesterday she actually got in a fight with a girl.”
“What?!”
“We would have called sooner but Melody was not the instigator and we knew you were both coming in today. Melody was completely fine. The teacher on duty said it looked like when the other girl went to hit her she fell over. She asked Melody if she was okay and your daughter said that he protected her.”
“I’m not following,” Jacob interjected. “Who he?”
“Well that’s the thing. She never really tells us definitively but I think she’s referring to her imaginary friend. I managed to get her to make this drawing off him the other day.”
Dr. Sinclair reached in her desk and pulled out a piece of purple construction paper. Etched onto its surface in crayon was a crudely drawn picture of Melody. She was wearing her favorite red sneakers and her blonde hair was almost right shade of yellow. Her right arm was lifted in the air, following it one could see that it was extended to hold a hand in a black gauntlet. Standing beside her was an 8 foot tall knight in black armor. A broadsword rested at his waist. Between his shoulders was open air and in his free hand he held his helmet.
“Fuck,” Liz said.
“Honey what’s wrong?”
“You didn’t fuck up our kid Jacob. She got this one all from me.”
| 2019-08-10T16:35:29
| 2019-08-10T16:22:28
| 58
| 12
|
[WP] Everybody assumes that The Onion is satire, but you know different. Why? Because you're its main reporter, gathering news from alternate realities.
|
They just started arriving on my doorstep one day. I've never been able to find out who or what delivers them, but every Sunday I get a newspaper with headlines from another world. Most of the time they're mundane with just a few subtle... inconsistencies. But every once in awhile, they make my job as lead reporter for The Onion way too easy.
#"Eccentric Billionaire Launches Car Into Mars Orbit"
I've got quite a few awards on my mantle thanks to that paper. Yeah, it's blatant plagiarism, but does it really count if the original authors don't even exist in your reality?
#"United States Elects Reality TV Star President"
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if I'm stealing from that reality's version of The Onion. Surely some of these headlines can't possibly be true.
#"Credit Bureau Hacked, Everyone's Data Stolen"
But if they are, god help them...
|
"Look kid, the gig isn't really as glamorous as you think." I muttered into my beer, sliding my notebook back into my briefcase.
The kid - Calin, probably the local funny man amongst his friends - felt differently.
"No man, you're like my favourite writer!" He said. "The Onion! I love your stuff! That series on you did on 'Ashok Wish Granter' was fucking inspired comedy! Totally made me feel for him!"
I managed a weak grin in thanks and turned to bury my face into my drink again, hoping he would wander off.
Instead, he sat down next to me.
"Hey dude, check it..." He whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "I've been working on some material myself. I bet you'd love it. Let me show you. Its on my phone..."
Oh god, another comic with material.
"Calin", I said, hoping to head him off. "I'm not really editorial. More of a field guy. Sorry-"
"What, like Anderson Cooper?" He suddenly interrupted, eyes narrowing.
"Something like that, yeah." I answered.
He gave me a long sidelong glance then put his phone away.
"If you didn't want to see my shit that's cool. Didn't have to make up some bullshit reason. Its the Onion man, everyone knows its all made up!"
He started to go and I reached out and stopped him.
Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the cute way his nose flared when he pouted. Maybe it was how quickly he had moved from excited to disappointed. Maybe it was because most people didn't *appreciate* Ashok Wish Granter's perspective. Whatever it was, I made a sudden decision.
"What do you think the Onion is?" I asked him.
"What do you-?""Just answer the question."
He stared at me for a second, and suddenly sat up.
"This must be some kind of interview." He whispered to himself.
"Its a funny satire newspaper, that pretends to be real."
"No, that's not it."
Calin scratched his head and considered. "Its a serious newspaper for people who take satire seriously?" He tried again.
"That's better," I answered "but still wrong."
"The Onion is a real newspaper for alternate reality travellers."
He stared at me for a long minute, trying to see if I was pulling his leg.
"Bullshit." He said finally.
"Its true. When people travel to alternate realities, there's no telling what they'll find there. Literally anything could have happened. Intelligent bacteria, murderous planets, super intelligent ravens, literally anything."
"The Onion is the only thing that gives people a hope in hell of safely crossing the realities."
I finished my speech and down the rest of my beer.
Calin still didn't believe me. Not fully.
"What story were you writing then? When I showed up?"
I pulled out my notebook and checked. I usually worked on multiple stories when I visited an alternate reality, and they sometimes blurred.
"'Rain of Candy Shows No Signs Of Slowing! Nation's Children Yelling At Cloud! Clouds Unconcerned.'" I read out loud.
Calin burst out laughing. "That's what I mean. That's awesome, and surreal but it can't be real! Come on!"
"Wanna go see?" I asked. Taking people along wasn't strictly illegal, just frowned upon. Going on a joyride with some poor mundane bastard and breaking their brain was poor form.
But I had a feeling Calin could handle it.
He had started to entertain the notion that i was not just some drunk.
And I really *wanted* to impress him.
"Come on. My ship is just around the back." He saw him hesitate again and grinned, jingling my keys.
He downed the rest of his beer and followed.
---
I clicked my key fob and the my ship - a plain Toyota Corolla with vanity plates that read "FLORIDA MAN" - popped open.
"I'm pretty sure that licence plate's not legal." Calin observed as I climbed in.
"Trust me" I said, opening the door for him. "Nobody is gonna care where we're going."
"You're not gonna murder me are you?" Calin asked with a laugh and climbed in.
The trip took us only two seconds. Two seconds, and almost all of Calin's sanity. One moment I was starting the car, revving the engine, cracking a joke about Joe Biden, and the next reality was torn to ribbons around us.
For an elongated moment my words carried on too long, and then we were out.
"-but in most realities, he's actually pretty evil." I finished. "We're here."
Calin was trying to adjust to having his world torn apart and put back together again when he looked up and out of the window.
His eyes seemed about to fall from his head.
In the skies above us, clouds were disgorging a seemingly endless rain of candy. Candy of all kinds, wrapped and unwrapped poured steadily from the unconcerned clouds.
And they were definitely *unconcerned*. If you had any doubt, the curve of the clouds, bending at the top formed the image of a person shrugging.
"Its been four years" I said raising my voice over the shouting children "Since the clouds rained anything else."
| 2018-03-20T20:00:19
| 2018-03-20T19:42:30
| 73
| 16
|
[WP] You are due to be executed for your involvement in the rebellion, but the queen herself approched you in your cell to ask you a question; why are people rebelling against her rule?
|
*Trigger warning for implied suicide.*
"You're kidding, right?"
I gave *Her Majesty* the driest possible look I could muster. She blinked at me slowly, visibly confused by my tone.
"No. I'm not kidding." She leaned forward in her seat. If she were any closer, I might have been able to punch her or something. "I really want to know. Why are the people rebelling against me?"
I really couldn't believe this. Even after revealing that I had never been loyal to her, that all my years of advising and friendship was a facade....she was still coming to me for advise.
"I mean, it has to be for a reason, right?" She asked. "Otherwise, you would have never betrayed me-"
"I was never on your side!" I hissed.
She waved her hand around, as though saying, 'Yeah yeah yeah'.
"So, why is it, Elizabeth? Why do the people rebel?"
I snorted. She wanted a reason? Fine! I'll give her some damn reasons!
"Oh, where do I even start?" I asked sarcastically. "Oh! There's the constant warfare for one thing! You forcing us to go to war for the most foolish of reasons-"
"Those countries' leaders insulted me," she interrupted me, because of course she did. "Is a little bit of bloodshed not worth the honor of defending your Queen?"
I stared. "You started a war with Camberton just because a servant accidentally spilled some punch on your shoes."
"My *favorite* shoes." She replied hottily.
"Oh my god!" I clutched the bridge of my nose. Why was I even bothering right now? "Do you even know what war does to your people?"
"It brings honor and glory-"
"It brings *death*!" I snarled. "Hundreds of innocent lives! Sons, brothers, fathers, husbands, all leaving behind daughters who will never know their fathers, widows without means to feed their children, siblings without-"
My voice cracked. I bowed my head, suddenly feeling exhausted. I suppose if there was one thing I could look forward to, it was reuniting with my dear brother. I knew that it wasn't what he would have wanted from me-how many times has he told me that he wanted me to live a long and happy life? But how was I to live long and happy when the only family I ever had is gone? All for nothing. All for *her*.
The queen tapped her foot impatiently. "Is that it?"
She sounded bored. The urge to punch turned into the urge to choke her. I allowed myself a moment to entertain the thought before continuing.
"Yes. There's much more." I slid my gaze back to her. "But a spoiled little rich girl would never understand the struggles of those that she views as little more then toys for her to play with!"
The queen tutted. She stood. "I am the queen. I have been hand selected to rule this land by the Almighty himself! The choices I make for the land are choices that have been selected through the Lord's good graces!"
"Then may both you and your Lord rot." I replied.
She slapped me. Then she wiped her hand against her dress.
"You were a good friend, Liz." She said. It made me grint my teeth to hear that name slide out of her greasy lips! "Too bad you have betrayed me. I had never wanted this for you."
I smiled drily. "Even before I had met you, I had wished so much worse for you. Now that I know you, not even the worst of the world will ever be enough for the crimes you have committed on this land!"
She rolled her eyes. She began to make her way to the door.
"Good-bye Elizabeth," She said. She made her way towards the exit. I spat on the satin cushioned seat that sat before my cell and I saw her glance back at me, making a face.
"Make sure to burn that." She said to the head of the guards.
"It shall be done, your Highness!" He said.
I waited until the foot steps had disappeared before turning to the bed of my cell. I stripped the sheets and began to tear them.
'I shall see you soon, Archibald.'
|
I can't write full out that well, but here's where my mind went in a word vomit:
The Queen confronts you quietly before the execution, asking with large doe-eyes what shortcomings she has as a ruler. It's clear she has no idea how the other higher-ups treat the civilians. How they pretend the world is their own and let greed overtake them. The Queen has been essentially gaslit by her entire council and cabinet and isolated from the world due to rumors of a plague in the village. Nobody has seen her since and so she sits in her chambers and sends out letters and correspondences with other rulers across the globe to remedy the famine and sickness that rose into her kingdom. She feels like she's doing everything right, fixing issues, approving bills, but the people who work with her take advantage of these new rules. They steal and pillage and go into the civilians' homes and take what they want. The people aren't safe anymore and their little town that once was a safe haven is now a slaughterhouse while the nobles claim the virus has taken out too many people.
Anyway, the Queen listens and helps you escape before your time of death, begging you to show her what is happening. That she needs to see it for herself. She was told it was a plague but the plague isn't one of disease and illness, it's of insatiable gluttony from the people she trusted as her own. The ones she believed were keeping her safe and doing her bidding. Turns out they did the opposite. They kept her out of their way and did their own bidding, no morality weighing them down.
Anyway, you and the Queen run away together, and you show her the town and how things really were. You two devise a plan to take down the people that betrayed her and fix the kingdom once and for all.
I didn't get much sleep so I'm not sure if this makes sense lol oops
| 2022-05-18T07:23:51
| 2022-05-18T03:19:37
| 196
| 19
|
[WP] Write a horror story in 100 words.
|
I am Charles. I am thirty-two years old, and I am going to drown. My hands are tied to an eye-bolt at the base of a pier in a canal in Gautier. It is a beautiful evening. The sky is an orange crescendo to a simple life. The tide is coming in and the brackish water is turning to salt. I’ve pushed myself up as best I can, my back twisted awkwardly, my feet sunk into the silt bottom. My neck is stretched up, my chin thrust up and out. Only millimeters left and the sky is so beautiful.
|
Something is at your door. Don't open the door. Look trough the window but don't open the door. You see something, be careful so that it doesn't see you. It's trying to come inside, just be quiet and wait for it to go away. Breathe quietly as time passes. You have to do something. Whatever is at your door is still trying to come inside. Hide somewhere safe. While you try to slowly walk to the kitchen to grab a knife, hell in your mind becomes a reality. Before you thought of a way to escape, it was too late.
| 2017-10-17T07:49:43
| 2017-10-17T05:54:01
| 20
| 15
|
[WP] Drilling into the ice sheet of Europa, it is revolutionary when we discovery not only life in Europe’s oceans, but also intelligent life. After numerous communications and translations, those aliens ask if we could bring them to the surface to see the beauty outside their confined environment.
|
"Our apologies. Can you please repeat that last part?"
The team waited anxiously as the drone quietly analyzed the code that was being translated between each party.
Life it seems, did in fact exist on planets other than Earth.
The investigation of Europa had unexpected consequences. Despite all previous knowledge otherwise; there had been signs of life. And to stress things further, absolutely no one had expected to get response to the signals their equipment emitted.
Thus, years after the first arrival to this planet, everyone was in awe at being part of such an incredible discovery. There were tears. Prayers. Talk of what the future held.
But the answer to their latest question. It changed things.
"Bring us to the surface.... We wish to see to see the stars." The drone translated.
The ship orbiting the planet erupted into a variety of activity at such a statement. Some immediately sprung into action, preparing to find a way to bore deeper into the mines the robotic forces had previously dug. Others debated the possible politics around meeting a new sentient species.
However not everyone was sold.
"None of this makes sense." Natasha pointed out.
"Which part exactly?" Theo responded.
"For starters, if they've lived here all their lives. Eons, and centuries, and... You understand." She said stopping to wave her arms slightly. "Why would they need *our help* to get to *their surface*?"
"Maybe..." Theo considered, "Maybe they... Maybe they aren't as advanced as we think. Maybe there's a technological barrier they've yet to overcome."
"What barrier Theo?? We're in a space station circling one of Jupiter's moons at thousands of miles an hour." Natasha rattled off. "And *they're talking to us*. We didn't call them. They found our equipment readings and then they found us."
"We haven't been to the surface except for maintenance procedure." Theo pointed out. "Several teams on a rotating basis. But you're right."
"Morrison is planning another manned exploration. I think they're going to try to meet them."
Both of them seemed to consider that possibility. It didn't help that the international response had been so positive after such a revelation. A lot of people were blind to the consequences, or so it seemed.
"That's a bad plan." Theo reacted.
"Listen. Somebody here has to agree with us." Natasha promised, "But we have to get them on our side."
"I still have to get Carlo running again." Theo pointed out. The service robot was still laid across the table as smaller drones tracked its software calibration.
Natasha nodded, "Do it. We need all the help we can get."
"Where are you going?" Theo asked as she started towards the next sector.
"I'm going to talk with Morrison." She called back. "I'll see what he knows."
Neither one of them had said it to each other. It didn't need to be said.
They were in trouble.
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
(sorry about the formatting — on mobile)
Scientists were ecstatic — a revolutionary breakthrough, they reported to every news outlet with air time, life on another planet. Intelligent life, at that. They’re peaceful. All that’s left to do now is bring them up. We’ve sent an elite team to meet them.
“It’s all bullshit.” Gary Watts hollered at the screen, about to throw his beer bottle before thinking better of it. “You’re all gonna fuckin die, they’re lying!”
“Easy, Gary.” The bartender chuckled, sliding something iced across the counter. “Can you blame people for being excited? Aliens! I mean, Jesus!”
Gary shook his head.
“Jesus ain’t got nothin to do with this.”
Around him, the world celebrated. But Gary Watts, once an esteemed scientist at NASA, privy to every top-secret conversation revealing there was no real information about these aliens beyond their word, knowing full well seventeen astronauts, young and full of hope as he had once been, were being led to the slaughter, threw back his beer and slammed the bottle on the counter.
“You’ll see.” He said quietly, although no one was listening. “You’ll see.”
At 5:23AM central time the next day, Gary, still at his favorite stool in the corner, was proven right.
He had approximately 20 minutes of vindication before the rockets hit.
| 2020-03-12T06:33:35
| 2020-03-12T05:37:01
| 25
| 10
|
[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...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T03:02:12
| 427
| 226
|
[WP] A woman who lives alone watches in fear as thousands of military helicopters and vehicles roll into her city. There's nothing on the news, but she feels a sense of dread. Suddenly 3 seemingly nice soldiers come into her apartment, gently take her hand and tell her that she has to go with them
Can anyone put an ending on the scariest nightmare I've had in a long time?
Those soldiers seemed nice, but I felt as though it was a trap. I kept thinking it was an alien invasion, but had no actual information to go on. Doesn't need to be a happy ending if you have other ideas, I just want to see how this could have played out, but have no imagination myself...
|
*What on earth is going on?*
She nervously paced, shuffling her slippered feet against the hardwood floors.
The sound from the growing number of helicopters added to her unease.
She was sure Kennedy had assured the public the missile cri...
A knocking interrupted her thought.
Another knock.
"Ma'am, we're here to transport you, it's time to go." a man's voice spoke with authority.
She made her way to the door and opened it. Behind it, three men in freshly pressed, bright white uniforms.
"Transport?" she questioned, confused, "Does this have anything to with the helicopters?"
The men looked at each other, and returned their gaze to the woman.
"We're not sure about the helicopters." he evaded, she recognized his voice as the man who spoke earlier. "We will
take you to where you will be safe. Your family will be there waiting for you.
She gave a slight nod, leaving with the men, reassured by the thought of seeing her husband.
------
"Dad, will Grandma be okay?"
"She will receive the best possible care here, and we'll be able to visit her every week." he half answered,
knowing his mother wouldn't likely recognize them again.
|
"Ma'dam, we have orders for the evacuation of all urban areas under Emergency Order No. 51"
The soldiers were calm, their assault weapons slung around their back. The lead soldier was in the doorway, trying to calm the woman.
"What's going on?"
"We're evacuating the city. It's for your own safety, ma'am. Your neighbors and friends are also going with us."
He looked down at his feet. Trying to get the civilians to evacuate was the worst part of the deployment, and a total nightmare. There had been reports of...incidents with unruly civilians, and he didn't want to file the loads of paperwork that would result from another 'incident' with this woman.
"Pack whatever you can. We've got to get going. Now."
With a nod, the woman rushed back into the apartment. Outside, the corporal turned to his comrades.
"How long do you think before they arrive?"
"They? Who's they?"
"The Outsiders. They've already taken St. Louis, and we're waging a war of attrition against them. Scorched Earth, stuff like that."
"I don't know man. I give it a day or two."
He walked to the window, and looked outside. The city was quiet - the only activity was the soldiers patrolling and setting up defensive positions. From here, one could almost pretend to not see the fires blazing on the horizon, a clear marker of the devastation that the Outsiders and the America military had brought upon the midwest. He sighed, and lit a cigarette. *Once I'm done with this shit, I'll buy a brand new porsche and -*
"Is she ready?"
"The woman?"
"I'm here."
The corporal waved his arm.
"Follow me."
The four walked outside into the streets, the woman could not help but feel like this would be the last time she ever walked in her city. Instinctively, she asked the soldier.
"Will my house be alright?"
The corporal looked at the smoke on the horizon. If one was here, one could almost not hear the artillery fire in the distance as the alien forces entered the outer suburbs of the city.
"Yes, ma'dam. Everything will be intact."
"Thank you, soldier."
She didn't notice the tears streaming down his cheeks.
| 2015-06-18T06:31:19
| 2015-06-18T05:58:20
| 30
| 14
|
[WP] Your grandparents always playfully bickered in their native language. To surprised them, you took lessons, but now you understand what they're really saying...
What comes next will shock you!
|
My grandparents had moved to the US from Italy after the war, but before they had any children. My mom said the strictest rule my grandparents had growing up was that it was English only for the kids. Someone had told them that it was the best way to make sure the kids learned to speak it quickly and without confusion. I always thought it was kind of sad that my mom couldn't speak the old language, and I thought it would be the perfect surprise if I could learn Italian in time for my grandparents 50th anniversary. Surprisingly, it wasn't as hard as I'd expected. I'd taken Spanish in high school and a lot of the words were similar. I was so excited that I actually wrote a speech, in Italian, to read at their anniversary party. The day of the party finally arrived and we all headed over to my grandparents house. I hadn't breathed a word of my surprise to anyone, and as I overheard my grandparents talking in the kitchen while putting the last minute touches on the food, I was SO glad I'd decided to keep my endeavor a secret. At first I thought I'd misheard, did my sweet innocent grandma really just compare the salad she was tossing to the way she'd licked grandpa's asshole the night before??? Did my grandpa really reply that he'd be hitting her with something bigger than the wooden spoon that night? As their conversation went on, I was both appalled, and the tiniest bit jealous, my sex life was, apparently, not half as interesting as that of my octogenarian grandparents. As I fled the kitchen in search of a stiff drink, I was glad I hadn't told anyone I was learning Italian - God forbid they ask me to translate grandma and grandpas conversations!
|
I opened the front door and blurted out, "hello my lovely grandma and grandpa, you there?" My grandma came and hugged me tightly. She smelled of clean laundry and sage. She looked at me with the same warm, loving look she always has and said, "welcome home deary, dinner is all ready. Come! Eat with us, your grandpa is at the table." I had been looking forward to this for years, and no not lasagna and casserole. I had been looking forward to finally hearing what my grandparents had actually been saying all these years. I hadn't told her I learned elvish just in case they would adjust their typical vocabulary when talking. I wanted to see them how they truly were, away from constraints of trying to behave and act caring towards me. I sat down at the table and said, "grandpa how are you! How was the surgery?" You see my grandpa had just had surgery and was still groggy. I didn't want to hug him because he was rather fragile still. He looked up and smiled, waving at me. My grandma sat down and said something in elvish and my jaw dropped and I got up from the table and I ran towards the door. I heard what she said, "so today is finally the day we end his pathetic fucking life. The fool still thinks we are his grandparents."
| 2016-09-09T19:19:21
| 2016-09-09T17:11:36
| 28
| 15
|
[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
|
'Fountain of Youth' was released in the late autumn of 2030. It had undergone rigorous testing, was boycotted my numerous religious groups, and had taken years to be approved by the majority of the world's various drug administration agencies. It boasted a 100% success rate in multiple trials, totalling 5000 trial patients - it seemed too good to be true.
Despite all the troubles, the drug came on the market on November 21st, 2030, in various locations around the world. The allure of never ageing created a rush towards pharmacies the likes of which had never been seen before. Sure, cancer had been cured, but this was different. It took six hours to sell all of the 200 million pills that had entered the market. Smith&Smith&Smith's market value soared in one day. Four months later, 800 million pills entered the market, and were sold in four hours, breaking the firm's previous record. By 2032, 98% of the world's population had bought and consumed the drug.
Its effects were astonishing: taking one pill at age 80 gave its user the appearance and health of a 50 year-old. Taking a second pill reduced the age down to approximately 35 years, and taking a third pill put the user in their mid-20s.
Soon enough, the world started to realise that this new-found youth meant they needed a world to live in. Disbelief in climate changed dropped dramatically, and environmental consciousness was on the rise. For the first time in decades, we see actual reductions in pollution, and the active change was seen and felt. The world was looking better than ever. It did not last long.
I was one of the few people who had decided not to take the drug. I was already in my mid-20s and honestly didn't really care about ageing - sure, I didn't want to look 'wrinkly' and lose my health and stamina, but it just hadn't affected me at the time. As it would turn out, not taking the pill was the right decision. The side-effects of the pill started to make their appearance eight years after the launch: the technically eldest started to develop coughs. At first, it was attributed to their body's difficulty in understanding that it was young again. However, this theory was rapidly dismissed when the 'eldest' starting coughing blood. Widespread rashes followed the coughs, as did general waves of panic. Consumers of the drug started to rush in hospitals, asking to get tested for the unknown affliction. The eldest started to turn blue and purple, losing their fingers, and, successively, all of their limbs. Fear was at an all-time high, and it worsened when the middle-aged started to show the same symptoms. To their disease was added hydrophobia and fainting spells. Death was quick to follow. None of it made any sense whatsoever. Tests had been performed, trials undergone - Fountain of Youth was deemed safe, and yet, here we were.
The population of the world dwindled, fear completely took over our lives, and paranoia was constant. Those who looked to be in their mid-20s were assumed to be consumers of the pill, and were quickly hunted down. It was estimated that three million people were left on Earth, with this number falling weekly. Somehow, the disease that had affected the consumers of the pill - whom we now called 'Youthers' - had mutated to affect those who hadn't. It had been three years since the disease had manifested itself, and since then, not a single child was born. Animosity towards Smith&Smith&Smith had become pure hatred. How could they do this to us? By what right could they defy laws of biology and human nature?
It took three months for rumours to be addressed: out of the rubble of humankind came a group of environmental 'terrorists', claiming to have caused the near-total wipeout of humans through the creation of 'Fountain of Youth'. Nuova Terra had one goal: rid the Earth of humans so that nature and its dependants could 'truly' live again. And they had succeeded.
|
It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
| 2016-10-09T08:01:32
| 2016-10-09T06:23:32
| 140
| 14
|
[WP] Write a story about how two strangers become best friends, without ever saying a word to each other.
A pretty simple prompt: no Hitler, Batman, Satan, or time travel required. Just a story about friendship.
|
The first time I had coffee for free was on May, 30th, 1962. I was seventeen years old at the Green Frog Café, and
my boyfriend at the time was eighteen years old and wore a beret.
"You shouldn't clutter your pretty little head with these things", he said, taking the paperback edition of Albert Camus' The Stranger from my hand. "Why do you obsess so much about death and the meaning of life, anyway?"
And I told him I wouldn't obsess about death if I had so little to lose of myself, like he did. He didn't understand.
When he left, I said I was going to stay longer, and he only paid for his share. So I read for a while, alone, and,
when I offered the waitress to pay for my coffee, she said the gentlemen that was sitting behind me had done so,
already, and had asked her to give me this.
'This', was a napkin with the words; 'Try Nausea, by Sartre. You won't sleep for days'.
I looked behind me, but there was no one there.
____________________________________________
The second time I had coffee for free was in 1973. I had broken up with Mike, and was alone at the Green Frog, re-
reading Nausea for I think the thousandth time. I spent the whole afternoon there trying not to overhear a couple on the table behind me breaking up.
It ended when she said, "I can't date a man who thinks 'You're going to be dead for so much longer than you are
ever alive. Isn't that crazy?' is acceptable dinner conversation with my parents."
And he said, "Well, it *is* crazy!"
Then the voices died away, and the girl left. A couple of minutes later, the guy left, too, but I didn't get to see his face.
I waved the waitress over and I asked for the check, and she said the gentlemen who was arguing with his
girlfriend behind us had paid for it, already. He lived nearby, she said, and he also said to give you this.
"Denial of Death, by Becker, is pretty amazing, too. If you liked Nausea."
And I said, "When you see this man again, give him this", and I wrote on the back of the Napkin, "Try Kierkegaard,
if you're into Jesus and all that crap."
_____________________________________________
The third time I had coffee for free was in 1984. I went in the Green Frog with Jack and Darlene, because we
promised her Cheesecake if she recovered from her bad grades, and the Green Frog always had the best cheesecakes.
Just before I left, a young waitress I'd never seen before pulled me to a corner. "I see you are with a man", she whispered, "but this other man, he was here just a while ago, and –"
I smiled, and I took the napkin. It read, "If you hadn't yet – The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Unbelievably good."
And, careful not to let Darlene or my husband see, I wrote on the back, "I have, and I loved it. What's with you and all those books about death, after all?"
______________________________________
The last time I had coffee for free was in 2013. Jack was out on business, and Darlene was in town from college, but she was with friends, so I went to the Green Frog alone. I was reading Fight Club, and I kept feeling silly for looking left and right all the time, like I always did when I was at the Green Frog.
Like a high school girl back in 1962, I couldn't shake those butterflies in my stomach, whenever I went inside the
Frog. It never went away.
When I ordered my coffee, a young waitress I didn't know came by and said, "You don't need to pay for the
coffee." She said a man had come in, and asked her if she knew me, and she said she did, that I always came to the Café. And she gave me a napkin, and it read, "Once you asked me what I think about death. This is what I think about death: Dying doesn't scare me. It just bums me out that I'll never get to see a bunch of cool stuff I like, ever again."
She said this man, he had come by three months ago, but she just now was on duty when I was there, too, so she didn't have the chance to give me the napkin before. She sounded really sorry about that.
And I took the napkin and I said, "When you see the man again, you give him –"
But the waitress shook her head, and I stopped the pen midway through Palahniuk's name. The waitress said the
man lived nearby, and everyone at the Café knew him. She said she was really sorry she couldn't give me the napkin before.
She said a bunch of the staff actually showed up for the funeral, to say goodbye to the man who always came to the Café to read his books.
I thanked her for the service. I smiled, I left a good tip and I got up.
And I stopped right by the door, turned around and looked at the Green Frog Café, and did it really slowly, because I knew it was going to be the last time I did this.
I knew it. Dying means never getting to see a bunch of cool stuff you like, ever again.
Then I walked out, and from the window I caught a glimpse of a napkin on my table, inscribed with the half-written
words I never got to finish, and I thought that it read a bit like life.
__________________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
It’s funny how quickly everything can be taken away from your life. One minute, everything's going your way. You could blink, and suddenly you’re ripped away to a different reality. One that seems to have nothing in common with your old life. For me, that day was October 18th, 2003. It started off as well as any day, better in fact. It was a Friday, and I was gearing up for a great weekend. I don't remember much about what happened at school that day, but I sure remember what happened afterward.
A new movie was coming out that day - A spy thriller called “Project Phoenix”. From the previews, it looked like it was going to be one of those action-packed tough guy films with some message about our all-powerful intelligence agency. I’d seen more or less the same movie countless times, but it was still a great way to kill a couple hours. So in sixth period, I passed a note to my friend Kevin. It read, *Hey, Kev. Wanna see the new spy movie after school? I’m going with my parents.* He passed the note back immediately, now with a new addition. *Sure, Danny*. I was pretty relieved. Kevin and I had been in a bit of a fight over this girl. It seemed like nothing, but we hadn’t talked in weeks. I was happy to have things back to normal.
I picked Kevin up at his house. Even though we were both sophomores, he still didn’t have a driver’s license. I always used to forget that I was a full year older. We met my parents at the Hilltop Mall and bought our movie tickets. Most kids my age would refuse to be seen anywhere with a pair of adults. My parents were pretty cool though, even Kevin agreed. Plus they always bought all the snacks, so I couldn’t exactly complain.
As we walked into the theater, I was excited to see the best seats in the house still open. I wasn’t sure why but I always wanted to sit at the very top in the middle. It was just my ritual. Anyway, as we made our way through the row, I accidentally spilled my coke on someone. He looked to be about my age, but I wasn’t sure. He didn’t even look up, even while I muttered apologies. He just shrugged and waved it off. I was just glad I didn’t spill it on a person with more of a temper.
The movie started off with a rushed scene of the spy running from some unseen force. Just as the protagonist tripped on a curb, a strange smell filled the huge room. It smelled like... Smoke. Before I could even rub my eyes of the soot, the black veil became too thick to see a thing. I dropped to the floor where the smoke was the thinnest. As I looked through the gray haze, all I could see was a pair of brilliant green eyes. Eyes so deeply green that it made me forget about the fire. They turned away and I regained my focus. I made my way toward the bright EXIT sign. With each movement, it became harder. My lungs screamed for oxygen, unable to get enough from the smoky room. Just as I took what felt like my last breaths, I made it to the emergency door. The rush of clean air filled me with life. I got up and ran toward the street. My vision cleared and I saw that there were already ambulances in the parking lot. I ran to the paramedic, wheezing the whole way. By the looks of the empty lot, I was the first to get out. Then I saw the flames. I looked in horror as the entire building was set ablaze. At the last minute, a single person escaped. Just one. And all I could see were his brilliant green eyes. Those brilliant green eyes and a soda stain on his shirt where I’d spilled my coke.
“My name is Daniel Walt Hickory. I’m sixteen years old. My parents are deceased. I've been a ward of the state for the last four months.” My voice was dry and empty. It seemed fitting, as the social services worker seemed equally emotionless. Since my parents were the only family I had, I was sent to the government for my new life. Kevin’s parents offered to take me in, but I couldn’t do it. They reminded me too much of the friend I’d lost. I looked at the worker and asked, “Am I going to go to a foster home?”
In her lifeless tone, she said, “Yes, you are. In fact, pack your bags. We’re going today.”
“Where? Is it somewhere nice? Is it a good home?” After hearing the news, I was so nervous. The worker didn’t seem to care at all.
All she said was “I have no idea about nice. It’s in Idaho, if you like that sort of thing. And your foster parents should be great. You’ll only be their second child though.”
I felt a little better. I just said, “Okay,” and went to pack. With what little I had taken from my house, it took all of five minutes to pack my single suitcase. The bus ride wasn't too bad. The worker - whose name was Sherry I found out - wasn't the best conversation. I didn’t mind, though. The landscape was entertaining enough.
Finally, we pulled up in front of an old two story house. It had faded paint and a dying lawn, yet it seemed very charming to me. Much more like a home than a house. As I jumped down to the sidewalk, I saw an elderly couple step out onto their porch. They smiled kind-heartedly and I felt better than I had in the past four months. Then, they waved to someone inside, as if to invite them out. Then, a boy my age came out. As he turned, I saw his emerald eyes looking back at me. Only now, they were different. Tinged with the same sadness that mine were.
Sherry seemed to pick up on my recognition. She exclaimed, “Excellent! I saw in the file that Rick Glasser over there was from Portland as well. I’m glad you know him already.” she then turned toward the bus and called, “Good day!” as she left. I was just an item off her list, but I didn’t mind. She had brought me to my new life and I was grateful.
I turned back to the trio on the porch. One look at the three of them and I knew I'd be happy in this new home. Most of all, I knew he'd understand. Nothing could replace the people I'd lost, but I knew I had found a best friend in the boy with green eyes.
| 2015-05-30T15:03:27
| 2015-05-30T14:54:18
| 75
| 10
|
[WP] You gain a magic coin that can grant wishes, but only if you flip it. If it lands on heads, your wish is granted, but if it lands on tails, the opposite of your wish happens.
|
I stared at the screen in front of me. Then back down at the coin. Then the list of stocks I had written out. Hmmm. Time to flip I guess.
The coin hung in the hair and then snapped back to the table, clattering around and then spinning before finally resting on one side. Tails. Damn, I was hoping today would be a heads day.
I remember when I came across the coin in that little rundown shop in Chinatown. The storekeeper kept making ominous warnings about it. As an accountant I immediately realized the benefits of 50% chances. I bought it without hesitation.
That night I wrote down a list of stocks that I had specially selected from the market. When I flipped the coin, I wished that they would go up in value. Tails. All of them dropped in value and I started purchasing. Over the next week I would purchase more stocks on Tails days and whenever I had enough heads to get above what I payed I would sell on Heads days. With 50% chances it would constantly fluctuate between down and up and I could cheat the system. Sometimes it was a long process, where I would be down for a month, then sometimes it would be an immediate payoff of getting two back to back heads right after I bought it.
Two years later and I'm as rich as I could possibly want. I looked back at the screen and noted which ones I wanted to buy. The first couple started to drop even as I watched.
I walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. After careful study, I had made up my mind. Rather than shaving today, I was just gonna flip. I wish for a full beard. Tails. In the blink of an eye my stubble was clean shaven. I guess that settles that, I was kinda hoping for the full beard. Guess I'll try again tomorrow, I'm not seeing anyone for a couple days so nobody will notice.
I flipped again. I wish I had that new game I want, Overwatch. Fuck yeah, heads. Last time I failed one of those flips it took a game off my shelf, luckily enough I had already finished that one. I grabbed my new Overwatch copy off the shelf and got to playing.
As I played I saw a news story notification pop up on my phone. God, more election stuff. This is such a shitty year, I really don't know who I would vote for because they're both equally awful. As I thought about it, something clicked. If I really don't care I guess I could do what I do when I bet on boxing matches! That way I'll at least know who the winner is. I chuckled to myself as I set the controller down and once again reached for the coin in my pocket. I watched it flip, and wished for Trump to win. The coin finally settled on an answer. God, that's hilarious. I can't wait to see the reactions.
Yeah, that coin was probably the best purchase I ever made.
|
He'd been vacationing in South America when he'd wandered into the small shop off the main square in the small village. He'd been staying the last few weeks and thought he'd seen everything that the small town had to offer, but he'd never seen this shop before. This was especially odd since he'd eaten at the small cafe next door two days ago. This small shop seemed to have simply materialized.
Inside it was dark and a strange acrid incense permeated the air. The shop was more like a small junk warehouse that a proper store. Odd things were stacked seemingly at random, nothing was priced, and he seemed to be the only one there. Poking through a couple piles of trinkets, fake jewelry, and old toys he made to leave when the proprietor of the shop appeared from behind some shelving.
"Did you see anything of interest?" the man asked. His English was perfect without a trace of an accent.
"Not really," he replied, hoping to avoid a potentially pushy salesman.
"What about this?" the proprietor asked pulling a strangely engraved coin that had been sitting on a nearby shelf.
"What is it?" he asked.
The salesman had gone on to explain the local legend about the coin that could either grant wishes or enact a terrible cost by giving the owner exactly the opposite of what they asked for. It was a pretty thin morality tale but the local legend stuff was always kind of interesting. He appreciated the local flavor more than anything and was surprised when the salesman refused money and instead just gave him the coin.
Later he met a friend for dinner and still had the coin with him.
"What is that?" Antonio asked.
"Some magical coin I guess," he replied. "It's supposed to grant wishes. It's a local thing I guess?"
"You shouldn't mess around with that," said his friend suddenly very serious.
He'd never known Antonio to buy into superstition, but all the same the coin went back into his pocket unflipped, and they enjoyed their meal.
As they were parting Antonio brought up the coin again. "You really shouldn't mess with things you don't understand," his friend said cryptically.
That was the last time he'd seen Antonio but his uncharacteristic warning had stuck.
When he got back to the states the coin, still unflipped, went into a desk and he'd pretty much forgotten about it.
Several years later he was digging through a cabinet in the study looking for the box of the old baby photos. The funeral was in two days and he wanted to have a couple photos out. His wife would have known exactly where they were but she was gone now too. Instead of the baby photos he found a small box of things from when he'd backpacked that summer several years ago. Happy for the momentary distraction he started going through the box and found the old coin.
The memories of that weird little shop came back to him as well as what the shop keeper had told him. He also remembered Antonio's stern warning.
What was the opposite of already being dead, he wondered. Would the inverse of coming back to life be simply staying dead? If that was the case he had nothing to loose, but what if it wasn't just staying dead. What if it was something worse?
He flipped the coin and hoped for the best.
| 2016-08-26T08:35:34
| 2016-08-26T07:10:40
| 129
| 18
|
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
|
Dear Sir,
This letter is to inform you that one Randy Payne, of 530 Linden Lane, Harrisburg PA, has filed a form 839 (y) - Intent to Murder against you on June 24th, 2016. The Intent to Murder has been approved and is valid from your receipt of this letter today until the 31st of September this year. Please review the FAQ section below about what actions you may take should you wish not be murdered. Please also note that our records indicate that you yourself were approved for a form 839 (y) in November of 2015 against one Rachel Payne, which you carried out on the 26th of that month. As you know, this waives your right to self defense should someone attempt to carry out an 839 (y) against you at any time and you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for any unapproved killings.
For further information regarding this matter, please see the FAQ below, or visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim.
**Frequently Asked Questions**
* *I do not want to be murdered, what are my options?*
Many people do not wish to be murdered and seek to evade the intentions of their murderer. This survival instinct is only human, and should not cause alarm. If you wish to prevent your murder, it is recommended that you file a form 839 (y) against your intended murderer and attempt to face them in a duel. Please note that if you have filed a form 839 (y) at any point in the past, you must wait 6 months after the expiration of that form to file a new 839 (y) against a different individual and 1 year to file a new 839 (y) against an individual you have attempted to murder before. In the event that you have filed a form 839 (y) and successfully dispatched your intended victim, you are no longer eligible to commit murder.
* *Can I hide?*
While you may hide from a murderer, please be advised that there is nothing preventing an intended murderer with a valid form 839 (y) finding you. Some individuals have attempted to flee to foreign countries, with various degrees of success. However, your travel will be recorded by the State Department in a publicly accessible database. If you wish to plan travel to a country that does not honor form 839 (y), please find a list of non-participating sovereign states at www.doj.gov/rtm/victim
* *What if my murderer is not successful*
If, for whatever reason, your intended murderer does not fulfill the lethality requirements of form 839 (y) (Section 3.5 - Lethality and brutality of methods,) within the allowed timeframe, they are free to file a new form 839 (y) against you after 1 year has passed. Please note that extraneous and repeated filing of a form 839 (y) against an individual without significant action towards their demise is considered harassment. If you feel that an individual is filing forms 839 (y) against you without actual intent to murder, you may attempt to get a restraining order issued against them.
* *The person who filed against me is an employee, am I within my rights to fire them?*
You are legally protected from a wrongful dismissal case if an employee has at any time filed a form 839 (y) against you or anyone else associated with your company. Please visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim for information on preventing a murder on company property.
We hope this letter has been informative and helpful. If you wish to leave feedback, please send an email to victimfeedback@doj.gov
|
The clerical assistant stamped the paperwork and handed the receipt back to Mister Henry.
"Thanks for coming in and filling this out. Mister Edwards has been informed via email-" Before the assistant could finish, the door of the small claims office was kicked in and a man soaked in blood appeared in the threshold.
"You can't do that! It's illegal!" complained the clerk. A bullet splintered a cloud of spraying wood from her desk and both the office's patrons went rigid.
"Retaliation rights!," Mister Edwards barked. He aimed his magnum at Mister JHenry, whose hands shook uncontrollably as Mister Edwards took his smartphone and showed it to Mister Jones. It had the email just sent to him by the clerk's office regarding Henry's intention of murder.
"A little late on this, don't you think? You're supposed to fill out the paperwork *before* you send an armed hitsquad to someone's house. Asshole," growled James Henry.
"Please, James- we can work something out- a- a promotion or maybe a-" Mister Edwards begged, sweat pouring down his brow. Two police officers moved near him.
"Sir, please come with-"
"RETALIATION RIGHTS!" Henry warned and kept his gun held over his head. The officers immediately moved away, nodding and accepting. Henry's gaze turned again to Mister Edwards.
"Nah uh, Marcus Edwards. I've been looking forward to this since the day you locked me in the copier room over night. I thought about suing your ass for improper usage of a kill order. It would be fitting for you to lose the only thing in the world that's precious to you- your fucking money. But, retaliation, frankly...is making me so much happier." Mister Edwards was crying. James Henry put the gun against Edwards' temple.
"D- don't I get last words?" Edwards compalined.
"You just did." A blood soaked bullet splattered red across the clerk's office wall.
| 2014-03-17T09:31:02
| 2014-03-17T08:23:17
| 143
| 23
|
[WP] The world's tiniest dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from those who would steal it.
|
A little dragon born, with great small eyes of red and gold. He crawled out of his egg and roared, his tiny voice heard across the cavern hall.
The little dragon was met by loving eyes and a proud cry from his dragon mom and dragon dad. Their firstborn hatched and soon would grow, as their mighty dragon son to defend their dragon hoard.
But the little dragon did not grow, his tiny wings and tiny frame remained the same. His dragon mom wondered what had gone wrong, his dragon dad grew cold.
Little dragon boy, ashamed of his meager form, tried to spew fire as his kind would do. Only a cough came out, with a tiny spark, to the disgust of his fire-spewing kin.
And when winters passed and not an inch he grew, the hapless parents flew. With their hoard in tow, away from their cursed home, they left the little dragon boy all alone.
Little loveless dragon boy, woke up one day to see them gone. The glittering mound of gold and jewels had vanished along, save for a single golden coin.
The little dragon boy cried, tears falling down his great small eyes of red and gold, he snuggled against the cold coin and wondered if he'd ever see his mom and dad return.
An idea then he had, he thought that his parents could still come back. To collect the lost coin and then be so proud. Of a mighty, tiny dragon son, guarding a piece of their hoard.
A little dragon guarded, a single golden coin, his nostrils flared and his great small eyes shone. He'd guard his great dragon's hoard.
And then they'd come home.
|
Torch after torch after torch chain link lit up all around the massive granite chamber. It seemed impossible that a room so huge could be buried so deep into a mountain. The torches follow along the clean, smooth walls which brightened the entire room. Two things stood out immediately to the squad of treasure hunters. Most immediately, was the massive single gold coin standing upright at the back of the room. Not quite as immediately, there were dozens, maybe hundreds, maybe a couple hundreds of dead knights, thieves, paladins, hunters, and bare skeletons that rested along the walls.
"Wowee guys, this must be it! Hey, you think this must have been made back when magic was more powerful?" Said one of the hunters as he snuffed out his unneeded torch in the dry chest of some nameless skeleton. He wore a thick and long leather coat with the collar popped way up passed his ears. The shiny black of the coat made him look very cool. He popped on some circle frame sunglasses. Oooh yeah.
"Yeah for sure, this chamber has to be at least a couple thousand years old. Look at some of this armor! It's positively ancient!" The fatter guy who said that was laying out a map on the floor. He was dressed in some simple robes that were glowing faintly, even in the well lit chamber. "Yeah, according to the map, this has gotta be it, and that" He pointed at the coin, "Has gotta be the treasure."
The third hunter took off his square helmet, "One giant gold coin? How are we supposed to get that out of here? Huh?" He was tall and the only one where any real armor. He had head to toe chain-mail suit on like a pair of hefty long pajamas. Yes, there was a butt flap. On his belt hung a sword and in his left arm was a big round shield. He looked around some more, "Also, where the thing that killed all these other guys?"
The Cool Hunter slid over to the Chain-mail Swordsman without moving his feet. He got uncomfortably close and whispered, "Just keep you sword ready" The Cool Hunter's minty breath was actually refreshing considering the stuffiness of the chamber.
As the guys continued to talk to each other in half confusion, the dragon stared down at them from on top of the coin. Unnoticeable due to his size and gold color. This creature was the protector of this treasure and although only the size of an avocado pit, the monster had defended this coin for thousands of years. All the bodies laying at the sides of the chamber were its doing. Another three would be thieves just stepped into the terror dome. The dragon spit into his little dragon paws and rubbed them together. This got his paws really hot and ready to go.
"Look, all I'm saying is that we'll have to chop off hunks of the coin and you got the only sword!" The Fat Cleric was laying flat on his back with his hands on his face.
"I'm not ruining my family sword chopping at a gold coin. We should try to roll it I mean it can't be-" A flash of gold whizzed by the Chain-mail Swordsman's face. "What was that? Anybody see that?"
"I can't see anything with these glasses on" The Cool Hunter took his glasses off, "What'd it look like?"
The dragon zipped by again and buzzed annoyingly right in the Fat Cleric's ear. The Fat Cleric sat up quickly while swatting at his ear. The dragon was gone again before anybody can get a clean look at it. The Chain-mail Swordsman drew his sword, the Cool Hunter readied his daggers, and the Fat Cleric opened up a spell tome. The three boys went butt-to-butt-to-butt.
"Okay... Let's just be cool... we've fought monsters before..." The Cool Hunter slowly put his sunglasses back on.
One of the sets of armor rattled a bit. The Cool Hunter turned his whole body towards it with both arms cocked back about to dual toss those daggers. Suddenly, the dragon burst out of the armor and fastballed right into the Cool Hunter's groin. With his plums smashed, he dropped to the ground like a wet cabbage. And just like that, the dragon was gone again. The Cool Hunter's pants caught on fire crotch first. He patted himself uncomfortably. He had to be delicate to not further destroy his changes of having a kid, but also hard enough to put out the gold hot flames. The Fat Cleric rushed over to try to get a healing miracle going.
As he was flipping through his pages trying to find a spell that puts out crotch fires, the dragon flew by again and sliced his double chin right off with his hot claws. The Fat Cleric dropped his book and grabbed his throat. Then the dragon hovered about a foot in front of the Fat Cleric's face with its wings beating like hummingbird's. The dragon cracked his neck and the opened up his throat to launch a gold hot stream of napalm quality dragon spit all over the Fat Cleric's scared face.
As that face melted and the screaming echoed through the chamber, the Cool Hunter flung a dagger at the dragon, the finest one he had, too. At the same time the Chain-mail Swordsman took a huge over head cleave at the dragon. The dragon effortlessly dodged both and the sword racketed the dagger right into the Cool Hunter's crotch. This was a bad day for that man's loins.
"Aww jeez man! I'm sorry about that!" The Chain-mail Swordsman grimaced at the sight of the guy's burning crotch with a dagger plugged into it. Meanwhile, the dragon swooped in and popped off the Chain-mail Swordsman's helmet. Another wild swing, another deflected dagger, another dagger to the Cool Hunter's crotch. "Stop throwing those things!" He yelled over the moaning of many with two knives to the crotch. The Fat Cleric was a bare skull on top of a body of burning robes.
The Chain-mail Swordsman nervously shifted his eyes back and forth trying to find that dragon. A burny noise perked his ears up and he one-eighty'd around to see what was left of the Cool Hunter: A charred skeleton, two daggers lodged in the pelvis, and a cool black leather coat, but no sign of the dragon. Then it was quiet, like spooky quiet. He back his way towards the door. He counted down from three in his head and then turned around to make a break for it, but BOOM! There it was. The dragon was staring him right in the face.
Now or never! A fury deep inside the Chain-mail Swordsman bubbled up to the surface and it let out a flurry of strikes at the dragon. The dragon, without even breaking the equivalent of what a dragon calls sweat, side-flew every single attack and then shot up the man's loose chain-mail sleeve. The Chain-mail Swordsman screamed/giggled in horror as the dragon wriggled all around inside the chain-mail suit like a ferret in a firehouse. The dragon was leaving a trail of scorched flesh and leather behind it. After five long, excruciating minutes, the Chain-mail Swordsman dropped dead and the dragon crawled out of the butt flap.
Another crew vanquished, the dragon dragged the corpses out of the way. Then he flew on top of his treasure and waited for the next fools to walk in. All the torches snuffed themselves out and the coin, chamber, and the dragon disappeared into the darkness again.
| 2017-09-07T12:45:24
| 2017-09-07T12:04:53
| 52
| 22
|
[WP] Write a superhero whose superpower only makes sense after you read the story twice.
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Two bank robbers sat in the back of the police cruiser. One had a trickle of blood leading from his nose. Broken nose. Had to remember that.
I entered the bank. It looked like a tornado had run through. Broken glass littered the floor and papers were strewn everywhere. A moment later a bank robber strolled in and laid down on the floor. A police officer, who was following close behind, lowered a broken potted plant on top of the man's head. The second robber ran into the room a moment later and knelt down on the floor. He covered his face in his hands and waited. A minute or two later the room filled with panicky people running around screaming. The alarm sounded and I sprung into action.
I raced towards the bank robber kneeling on the floor. I punched him in the face and he pulled his hands away. He stood up clumsily and I punched him in the stomach. He held his hand up high and I raised my left arm to block it. He retracted a balled fist to his side and lowered it to his waist. I picked up a handgun from the floor and handed it to him. He shot me a surprised look and then turned to face the teller. She was looking at me. An expression of confusion on her face that was quickly replaced by terror as she turned to face the bank robber. I turned and ran towards the door.
The other robber threw the potted plant off himself and hurled it through the air. I caught it deftly and placed it beside the door. He lowered his arms and pointed his gun at the panicked crowd inside. I ran for the door as the first few gun shots rang out. Glass surged upwards from the floor towards the broken fluorescent bulbs overhead.
I ran down the street and away from the bank. Living life backwards can be confusing at time, but at least I always knew how I saved the day before I arrived. One day I hoped to find out how I got these powers.
|
I stretched to warm myself up. I was getting old, a little tighter and a little less elastic than the days of my youth. Too many beatings, too many kicks to the head and brawls in darkened alleys. One of these days, I told myself, you’re going to have to give it up. I tried to steer my thoughts away from the negative, ignored the throbbing pain in my wrist from my leap down the fire escape last week, and the aching orbit of my eye from when that thug whacked me across the face with his twelve gauge. I tried to go zen. I concentrated on stretching.
I met my connection at precinct 17. A good kid. He left a folder of files out on the window sill and I snagged them. Files with possible or definite leads that the coppers couldn’t do a thing about. Restrained by the law. Unlike me. They would throw my sorry ass in jail if they caught me for half the stuff I did, even after all the loose ends I tied up for them, all the scum I washed away, and that’s why I never got caught. I was like a dog, unbound by the rules of society, but they would put me down the moment I lost my usefulness, the moment I went soft.
I found a quiet rooftop and shuffled through the files. Increasing drug activity in the neighborhoods near the wharf. Some bad dope going around. More than a few overdoses. I knew a few heads I could stave in, a few people I could dangle from a high place until the squealed and coughed up the answers.
It was near three in the morning, but this section of town operated in its own personal time zone. It might as well have been high noon here. People played music or what passed for music from half the houses. I was always more of a jazz guy myself. The occasional squad of young trouble makers prowling the streets, their cockiness bolstered by booze, waiting for anything to happen. It was rare that a night passed without the sound of at least a few gunshots echoing in the distance. I kept to the rooftops. I had spent the last week busting heads and gathering intel, and as from what I gleaned there were a few crack dens at the far end of Bleeker street. I made my way there, avoiding the glow of neon and the faded light of streetlamps.
I found who I was looking for.
He went by the name of Phillip. His specialty was acquiring exotic goods for people with the dough, people who were vetted. You could buy a handgun with the serial number filed off on any street corner, but if you wanted a rocket launcher or a mini-gun or anti-gravity boots, Phillip was the guy. Phillip knew everyone and everyone knew Phillip. He was also part owner in a bar down the street from the crack den. He kept an eye on things from there, and his associates pointed people with a taste for powder, or people looking of a night time companion, in the right direction.
I reached the bar and squatted on the roof, contemplating my next move. I pressed my ear to the back window, where Phillip would most likely hold court. I heard muttering voices, too vague to discern. I waited on the roof, banged on the back door, and waited. The voices stopped and uttered a few curse words. The door opened and two men with guns stepped out.
A grabbed them both by the back of the head and smacked them into the wall and then hurled the rest of my body through the open door. I was right. Phillip was sitting with his legs kicked up on a desk, watching a small television in the corner. I went for the AK against the wall but I shot my leg out and stamped on his hand. He cursed and I head butted him. Another one of his associates ran to the bar for help but I shot out my other leg and tripped him. I grabbed Phillip, hauled him out into the street and we disappeared into the night. It was time to answer some questions.
This was probably way too obvious, but he's a super stretchy elastic guy. Like Mr. Fantastic.
| 2014-12-07T12:25:22
| 2014-12-07T09:39:16
| 38
| 16
|
[WP] It's Halloween, the anniversary of when everyone became the costume they were wearing. Those who skipped Trick-or-treating or don't celebrate were lucky, but now they must live with friends and family who became "the cursed".
|
Ah, Halloween. My favourite time of year. I love seeing all the little ghouls and goblins running around, enjoying themselves. The world has changed a lot in the one year since "The Curse". Different countries handled it differently; Russia and China cracked down on those that were changed very quickly, many of them disappeared in a matter of weeks after the event. The UK is still trying to legislate some kind of system for sharing the streets between the changed and the unchanged, but the prime minister being turned into a litteral baby made the whole thing a bit of a fiasco. Canada declared freedom for all the changed, but still had some trouble sorting through the hundreds of Wayne Gretzkys clogging up their ice rinks.
Here in the US it was largely freedom for all, though various religious groups tried to apply restrictions in the more conservative states. Ultimately though, the changed were declared a protected class by the supreme court. (I think it helped that three of them had been turned as well)
At home though, it's an entirely different beast. My husband's family doesn't invite us over for dinner anymore. They say it's because they don't how to adjust to my new "all blood" diet, but I'm not sure they liked me much to begin with.
The kids seem to have taken it alright, though I hate that I only get to see them for a few hours before bed time. My oldest has learned how to use her fairy magic rather quickly, and we try to get regular mother-daughter flight practice in before she goes to bed in the evenings, (getting used to her new pronouns took a little work, but she seems much happier now). My son was a bit of a hassle since raptor proofing the entire house cost a little more than we expected, but my husband and I have worked out a system that keeps him safe and out of trouble (though he's learning how to open doors at an alarming rate.)
The hardest thing to deal with was the dog. He was rambunctious enough as a puppy, more so now that he's flying around and breathing fire. It's gotten bad enough that we've had to talk about putting him down if he roasts anymore of the neighborhood cats, but my husband was kind enough to insist on taking care of it himself. Something about his pride as the Grim Reaper.
|
It is 1 am. The orange street lights illuminate the empty urban streets in the late night. Howls can be heard from afar, and the a few creatures of the night prowl about. Meanwhile, I am sitting in my house to my lonesome while worrying about my girlfriend. She is out for a Halloween party with her friends and I trust that she is safe, but my fears continue to linger.
Per tradition of the spooky season, she would dress up as the Statue of Liberty. A strange decision until you take in account her tallness along with her fixation for statues in general. In short, this is the perfect costume for her. Each year, i would help her make the flowing robe and torch while she design the crown. Sadly, I am not able to join her for the party due to a convenient cold causing me to miss the event. Regardless, I am glad to at least help design her costume again.
I start to doze off due to my drowsiness of staying up past my normal sleeping hours. Suddenly, a tremor shook me awake. A slight rumble in the earth, at first. Soon, the slight rumbles became earth shattering quakes. The howling from before are silent, now the noise of several car alarms going off. Whatever this thing is, two things are certain, it is big and it is coming my way!
I open my window from the second floor of the apartment and look down the street. I could not believe my eyes. Perhaps it is my mind playing tricks on me, but there is the statue of liberty strolling down the street, towering over all of the buildings around the neighborhood and crushing cars underfoot. My jaw drop to the windowsill. The bronze statue continues her way down the street until she reaches the apartment building. She kneels down to look through the windows while still clutching a bronze tablet and a lively torch. After getting a good look at her face, I could not believe my own eyes. That is not just the statue of liberty, that is my girlfriend! She eventually find my window and waves at me. I do not know how she became so huge and made of bronze, but I know that she is home safe and sound.
| 2021-10-06T01:18:22
| 2021-10-05T23:49:49
| 54
| 30
|
[WP] The largest amount of declassified CIA documents to have ever been released at once just occurred today. You are one of many journalists clamoring for a good story. You find one file with a big red "CLASSIFIED" still stamped across the front. In smaller black lettering "To be released: 2268."
|
Jimmy couldn't sleep. He sat alone in his studio apartment, staring at a bundle of papers on the table. Some kind of infomercial blared from the TV. He picked up the bundle and read it again, just to be sure.
He remembered the way that strange man had smiled when he handed Jimmy the papers. Jimmy had been digging through the mountains of newly released documents when a tawny young man had tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, I think you dropped this", he'd said, smiling. Jimmy hadn't recognized the document - not the man either, for that matter - but had thanked him and taken it anyway. He was glad to get his hands on whatever material he could. Over the following couple of hours, most of his colleagues went in an out of the room, but Jimmy never saw that man again.
Now, several hours later, Jimmy was sure he'd been the butt of a dry joke. At least, he hoped so. The first page of the document he held in his hands read CLASSIFIED in big, red letters. Smaller letters at the bottom said, "To be released: 2268", and the headline on page two confirmed the document as a prisoner file. Jimmy knew the government sometimes used a numbering system for high-profile prisoners. Some of his colleagues called them VIPs - Very Important Prisoners.
But something was odd with this particular file. It was incomplete and seemingly riddled with errors. That in inself was unusual with these kinds of documents, but the oddities didn't stop there. The pages seemed to be out of order. Some of them were filled with creases, as if crumpled and then straightened out again.
The incarceration date was straightforward enough: June 15, 1916. Many of the newly released documents were from the first and second World War. But the release date said January 1, 2015. That wasn't terribly unusual; it could be one of those hundred-year punishments or something. But it wasn't a hundred years. And these files usually got destroyed or changed when the prisoner died.
Every line after that only added to the mystery.
Name: 2268.
Date of birth: unknown.
Date of death: blank.
Nationality: blank.
Sex: blank.
Why was even "sex" left blank? And why was the date of birth "unknown", but the date of death left blank?
There was a sound. Jimmy dropped the papers and turned down the TV. He listened. Nothing. Then a knock on the door.
"Mr. Stein?", came a deep voice. More knocking. "Jimmy?"
_________________________________________________
If anyone feels they want to continue the story, please do! I stopped here because it was getting too long for me to write in one sitting, but it'd be awesome to see what someone else can do with it.
|
File in hand, I made my way to the CIA's archival liaison officer. The woman looks harried by repeated requests of nagging newsmen, and greets me with a haggard, fake smile.
"Excuse me ma'am, but I found this file that I believe was mistakenly filtered with the unclassified files."
The woman's face blanches as she notices the text on the cover. I can only wonder what was going through her head. "Major blunder." "Government scandal." "20 years of pension and hard work going down the drain." "Blackballed from the industry."
Then she notices the seal around the file, completely unbroken. She sighs in relief and thanks me for turning in the mistaken file.
I leave and go back to my research. I'm looking for a good story. I'm not looking for trouble.
| 2014-08-19T06:47:48
| 2014-08-19T04:56:19
| 49
| 26
|
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while!
|
It was an accident, of course.
My birth, my being in space, and well, I suppose I was an accident as well. An accident from director of engineering fucking the fat janitor after hours when the rest of the shuttle team had retired, the odds that my mother had been able to hide her baby bump for nine months, the chances that she had been a nurse before being selected from the program and knew how to give birth herself, in a maintenance closet, mere days before the mission was to return to earth. Keeping me hidden was difficult in the small confines of the ship, but the other hundred and fifty crew members had been too busy to pay a maid much attention. After all, many insisted that it had not been worthwhile to bring her along, that a maid had been a waste of tax dollars. I suppose that makes me a waste of tax dollars as well.
But there were those that spoke to her unique abilities as a maid. For she had been born deep in the snow of the north, during the first blizzard of winter, that like the first snowfall she could smooth over any differences in her environment and make it appear uniform. As a maid, it meant that she had an extraordinary sense of cleanliness. As a mother, it meant she could ensure I was overlooked, that my crying was muffled, and later in life, that I appeared no different than anyone else.
Starchild, she had called me as she smuggled me back into the atmosphere, tucked deep in her suit like a kangaroo would carry her young. Starchild, she whispered to me when the project disbanded, and she took me back to the inner city apartment where I spent my early life. Starchild, she reprimanded, whenever I started pushing and pulling at the equilibrium of our apartment, when she would arrive home from work and all the furniture would be clustered at the center of the room, pulled together by a force point.
"When will I go to school?" I asked her when I was eight, watching the uniformed children marching up the street through the wrought iron gates of the academy, one of them flicking flames across his fingers like a coin while another left footprints of frost in the grass.
"You already go to school, Starchild." She said, "And your teachers say you've been learning your numbers well, and your reading has been progressing."
"Not *that* school," I had said, pulling a face, "I want to go to the academy. The special school, for the others like me!" I held up a fist, and items on the desk in front of me flew towards it, pens and papers and pencils that stuck out like quivering quills out of my skin.
"Starchild, listen, and stop that at once" She had said, her eyes level with mine, "There *are* no others like you. Those children, they are all classified, they are all known. You are *not* like them, you never will be. And they can't know, do you understand me?"
"I guess," I said, with a huff, watching as one of the children cracked a joke and the others laughed, "But I don't like my school. Everyone there knows we can't be like them, we can't be special."
"Starchild, you *are* special. One day, they'll know that too. But not now- if they knew, they wouldn't take you to the academy. They'd take you somewhere else, somewhere terrible."
And as I grew older, I realized that she was right. That when our neighbor started developing powers, a police squad showed up at her front door, and classified her on the spot. That they left her with a tattoo on her shoulder, a tattoo of a lightning bolt, symbolizing the storm she had been born during. Just like the tattoo of a snowflake on my mother's shoulder, colored dull grey, to indicate a low threat potential.
So instead of going to the academy, I created an academy of my own, in my room. Mother made me turn the lights out at ten, so during the day I collected light outside, keeping it in one of the dark holes I could create when I closed my fist hard enough, and letting it loose at night to read books I had stolen from the library. From the section for the special children, that I could only access if the librarians were distracted.
But distractions came easy to me.
As I grew older, the city streets became more populated with the blue uniforms of police. The academy became increasingly harder to attend, the gifted girl next door disappeared one night without a note. Mother stopped letting me outside after dark, and the lines for the soup kitchens grew longer. The skies grew darker, the voices accustomed to speaking in whispers, and the television news seemingly had less and less to report. It was as if there was a blanket thrown upon us, but no one dared look who had thrown it.
But I would. And when I did, I realized the earth needed a Starchild.
***
By Leo. **[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65hl73/star_child_part_2/)**
Part 3 coming soon. [While you wait, check out my other science fiction story about a starship struck by an asteroid on its way to colonize a distant planet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/5ons87/you_can_now_add_the_bridge_to_you_shelf_on/)
|
Right eye, left eye...right eye, left eye. Who ever said having these powers was a gift? I can't remember how long it's been, or even how old I am. The feeling of weightlessness, the lack of substance both metaphorically and physically. When was the last time I heard someone speak, when was the last time I felt another human's touch?...
Right eye, left eye... just a bit further now...Right eye, left eye... if I can just hold on for a few more days, I might make it back home. I can see the familiar blue glow from here, how many years had it been? It's difficult to keep track when you don't age, when you don't breath.
They said I was special, born in space with no earthly restrictions to hold me back. My body recycles hydrogen and light, it doesn't need air or food. Don't ask me how it works, I don't get hungry or thirsty. I don't even cast a shadow. Right eye... that day they sent me back up, how old was I? 18 or 19? couldn't have been much older than that. I had no idea at the time, no clue that these powers would manifest as soon as I left the atmosphere. Those poor bastards in the shuttle with me, no time to react...it was over as quick as that, left eye...
One blink, that's all it took. It all started with something as small and insignificant as that, first I was calling out system checks, the next...I was in pieces, scattered amongst the stars...I don't even know how I was still conscious, but I was. Right eye... then I started to materialise, piece by piece until I was whole again. Another blink, another galaxy, what was happening to me? it seemed that with each simultaneous blink I was jumping into a new reality, tearing myself apart and reassembling somewhere empty, somewhere cold, left eye...
It has all been a blur, I haven't seen home in a long time,right eye...it took me even longer to find my way back, I'm still surprised I have, left eye....
As the days pass it gets closer, I can almost make out the continents now, right eye....just a little longer and I'll be home, left eye....
I just need to get through the atmosphere and everything will be OK...
Not long to go now, I need to be strong, one eye after the other. Just don't think about it.
Don't think about...don't...*blink*
| 2021-11-12T07:30:30
| 2017-04-14T16:02:38
| 4,698
| 175
|
[WP] The devil enters into a contract, and over time slowly realizes that *he* is actually the one being manipulated by it.
|
There once was a man named Lucifer,
Whose cable bill caused him to go nuclear.
So one desperate day, he called up Comcast to say hey...
is there a better deal I could receive for the future?
The agent was nice, and with out thinking twice,
He agreed to a bundle at "One low monthly price."
Now just to be clear, he asked one more time...
Xfinity is $49.99 for 105Mbps, HBO, and not one more dime?
Yes! Said the agent, I have locked you in...
you're rates won't change he said with a grin....
So, a few months later, upon bill number thrice,
Lucifer saw evils true form; a change in the price.
|
As Roger's blood dripped on the smoky parchment, I gleefully waved him off. Telling him to enjoy his earthly riches. I considered the implications. What did he have? Fifty years? maybe less? Ha. people surprise me in their naivety. their innate ability to ignore the storm coming tomorrow, just so they can enjoy the breeze today.
When he returned to his new owner, I would teach him the meaning of pain. I would get every penny's worth from his flesh, and then I would take it again. and again and again. What a lovely investment. The greedy are my favorite. As if their green paper and lofty accounts will save them. they waste their lives hoarding and holding everyone at bay, and in the end, they come to me. People surprise me in their naivety.
I returned to my chambers and watched his life unfold. The first Roger did was buy a shotgun. An odd choice...Most people pay debts, some pay medical bills. I remember one fool who signed to heal his wife. Cancer is one of my favorite beasts. It will eat away at even the strongest of souls. I healed her and she happened to die in a car accident a week later. Sometimes I just get lucky. no one escapes my grasp, though. He came shortly after at his own hand. but Roger.. Who signs their soul over for $1,000?
He spent almost all of it, between the shotgun, the shells, a pack of cigarettes and a nice lunch. He gave his change to a homeless man. Ha! Does he think a final act of benevolence can save him? Did he not know he was mine? I couldn't understand. Your everlasting soul for a Remington Magnum and some camels? I wanted to see what led him to this point. I looked back and saw that he was a broken man. Roger had a brother. Murdered in cold blood. hmm. perhaps he is plotting his revenge. Hell is full of the vengeful. I jumped forward to today. Two hours before he summoned me.
Roger is sitting in a room with the lights off. as he wipes a tear from his face I can see he is holding a pistol. He repeatedly puts it in his moth and removes it. Obviously struggling with the idea of suicide, he finally lays the pistol on the mattress and spoke the words into existence.
"Not like this." I heard him think it before I knew him. The sounds of desperation call to me. I can hear them from every corner of earth and the sound pleases my ear. but why so desperate for a shotgun? I checked in on Roger and couldn't believe what I was seeing.
Roger sat again in the dimly lit bedroom with his brand new shotgun in his lap. He calmly loaded one shell into the breach and pumped the action. He opened his mouth, put the barrel in in and with one shoeless foot, used his bog toe to blow himself into oblivion.
He arrived back before me, looking rather smug. I was stunned. I asked him, trying my damnedest not to allude to my confusion.
"Why, Roger? you were going to kill yourself anyway... Why waste your last moments dealing with satan?"
Roger said one thing before I led him to receiving:
"I'm just thorough."
| 2015-02-18T09:06:59
| 2015-02-18T06:22:13
| 47
| 12
|
[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?"
|
At first, I thought the overwhelming red in my vision was a side effect of the initial lethargy of waking up. But when that didn't clear off in time, I starting getting suspicious.
Where on Earth was I? Why would there be so many raging fires and lava lakes and... brimstone? (Thank goodness for Geology classes.) Was I hallucinating?
My last memory was of getting shot in the chest, in a back alleyway located in one of the more dubious parts of the city. That place was an utter shit hole, but nothing compared to this: a barbecue pit stretching to infinity.
Being utterly shell shocked by my surroundings, I didn't even notice a dubious figure walk right up to me.
"Greetings, Mark! If you're wondering where you are, welcome to Hell! You're the first human being ever to take up permanent residence here."
"WHAT THE HELL??? WHERE?"
"Well, you just said it yourself! This," the figure waved all around him, "is Hell. And I'm the Devil."
No wonder this place didn't look like anywhere on Earth. Because it isn't Earth.
Well, having the Devil walk right up to you and tell you that you're in Hell when you're all dazed and stuck on what seems like an infinite barbecue isn't exactly the most comforting thing.
"Hell... so I'm dammed to this shit hole forever? And you're the Devil?" I managed to stammer after partially overcoming the initial shock. "You look just like a normal human being!"
Indeed, the Devil looked like your regular businessman rushing around the financial district. He was even wearing Prada.
"Mark. Mark! Snap out of it. As I said, you're the first person in Hell. Mind telling me what you did that got you damned to this eternal hellhole?" The Devil stepped closer to me, a snarky smile on his face.
"Do you really not know?"
"Nope! I was simply given instructions from higher-ups, informing me that someone would be arriving from Earth. See, I even laid out a sheet for you to lie on. Heh. So, tell me!" The Devil had an excited tone in his voice as he sat next to me on the sheet.
"Well, I was just involved in a rival gang fight, and things turned awry. Yeah, I've done a lot of bad things in my time, but - first in Hell is a bit of a stretch. I mean, they were just gang fights! Where's Jack the Ripper? Osama bin Laden? Hitl -MMMMPFH"
"Ah, you're a smart one. All right, I lied - there were countless who came before you. But you see, my job is to recycle your souls for the new batch of humans to come."
I only saw the Devil withdraw his hand from inside my chest, holding a silvery essence in his hand. Then I blacked out.
At the same time, somewhere on Earth, a baby was born.
<=====>
This is my first time posting on /r/WritingPrompts! I'm rather uncertain about my first attempt. Haha. -nervous laughter-
|
I look at that son of a bitch right in the eyes and say "don't you remember? Georgia" he tried to think. "I took that bet and I ended up regretting it because you're the best there's ever been." He smirks and says "ohhhhh yesssss Johnny how have you been?"
| 2015-04-09T07:51:23
| 2015-04-09T07:21:59
| 779
| 102
|
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
|
How was he so behind in score? Jahweh sat gaping with disbelief at the icons floating in the top left of his screen, indicating that his rival, Jorgaxis, had just reached the highest tech level.
"Shouldn't have picked DNA as your genetic molecule, noob" the chat-window taunted. Jorgaxis was right, the higher rate of mutation gave him an edge in the early game, but that had been squandered after his setback with the dinosaurs. Now all it meant was that these damn humans were scared of nuclear power, and those dead dinosaurs were providing an easier, if less efficient means of power. If they didn't get their act together soon, cold-fusion was never going to be researched!
To make matters worse his faith points were dwindling; a few turns ago he overclicked the "new messiah" button and now had too many competing religions on his planet. Lack of a world religion was ruining his faith economy, preventing advancement. You'd think that after spending so many resources to flood the entire world that the one family of followers left alive would agree to worship him, but no. The game was not going well.
Sighing, he clicked to place a few images of himself on some toast, maybe that little push would be enough?
|
"I still say it's cheating that you sent your son down there." Lord Lamux was noticeably worried that God's people would soon crack the human genome. He was in danger of being over taken by God during the inevitable exponential growth that would soon occur. His protests were well founded, the rules clearly stated that while they were allowed to send prophets and disciples that the deities themselves were not allowed to go to earth and far too many of his people agreed that Jesus was God.
"If I had to start over every time that someone claimed they were God I'd still be building arks over here." God was in no mood for complaints about fair play. He had already started over once when he smote the dinosaurs, then again when he had been hamstrung by a technicality when his own people started worshiping multiple Gods before him spiraling his score in reverse.
"This is what you get for giving them free will. See my Lamuxes? Working tirelessly, they stay right on a task until I move them to the next one." Lord Lamux was proud of his degree of control that his puppet people expressed. They worked and played as instructed and were happy about it as instructed. Everything went as planned.
"You mean unless you move them to the next one. They don't do a thing unless you tell them. I'm able to sit back and let them get to work on their own." Free will meant they did what they wanted, but at least they did something. Lamuxes were notorious for plateauing for hundreds of years with out progress.
"On their own? You've had this one meditating under a Bodhi tree for months now. What's he doing that so important?" Lord Lamux never saw the benefit of individuals and relied almost entirely on group efforts as formed his society. This had worked well as the group consistently created reliable results. But lately God's apes had a few breakthroughs. "And even when they do important things they do them for stupid reasons. Why the hell do they keep going back to Mars? Do they think they missed something? And they're accepting gay marriage for tax and health care purposes!"
"Let them do their thing and find their way." God knew that if they learned to come to terms with each other and their place that when they finally met Lord Lumoxes puppets in their travels that they would more easily learn to accept them... or enslave them.
| 2016-04-09T08:11:27
| 2016-04-09T08:09:07
| 30
| 17
|
[WP]"Is is true that you can only see three basic colors?", the alien being asked "It is." "So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?" "With whom?", I responded confused. "The other major race on your planet."
|
*"Is it true you can only see three basic colors?"* the alien being asked.
"Just about. Our eyes have three major primary colors perceived by the cones in our eyes, and most of the colors we perceive on what we call the visible spectrum are a mix of Yellow, Red, and Blue."
*"So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?"*
"With whom?", I responded confused.
*"The Other Major race on your planet."*
"I wasn't aware of any other such intelligent race."
*"But you keep care of Ghoosha ambassadors in major cities. Surely you've established a means of communication. You have hundred of humans meeting with them every day. When we arrived, we spoke to them first. They welcomed us to your planet with a spectacular display of dazzling colors and welcoming patterns, as well as a three hour dance of peace."*
"Care to describe where these Ambassadors are?"
The alien fiddled with their glowing tablet for a moment, and then responded.
*"My computer tells me that even within the borders of this country, there are ambassadors in the locations you would call Gulfport, Mississippi, Orlando, Florida, Indianapolis, and San Diego, California."*
"There must be some kind of mistake, those aren't major capitals of the U.S. Would you care to describe what the Ghoosha look like?"
"They are distantly related to the Homo Sapiens, different order but the same class of Mammlia. Unlike the fingers you have, they have pectoral flippers, and a tail fin for propulsion. The Ghoosha told me that humans have an understanding where they are allowed to occasionally visit their domain of over 71% of the surface of the planet for the purposes of sharing food and using transportation."
"Wait a minute ... flippers? Do they have a breathing hole on their back?"
*"Yes. They also use the surface of their skin on their back to relay messages and communicate on top of regular verbal singing. We thought you humans were the same, as you have* [*stripes and spots on your skin*](http://mentalfloss.com/article/65092/our-skin-covered-invisible-stripes) *and also use unusual singing and verbal communication."*
"Flippers, blow holes, in a few cities, making performances ... are you talking about Dolphins?"
The alien once again checked their tablet.
*"Correct, although we are aware they don't like being called that."*
"But humans don't have stripes. And last I saw them, which granted was when I was still a teenager, Dolphins don't change color."
*"Do you not use cameras to translate their performances? What colors do you see the Ghoosha as?"*
"I dunno, I'd say a solid grey?"
The alien looked perplexed, then twisted their tablet around to face me.
*"Would you care to tell me what you see on my screen?"*
"Looks like a solid white to me."
*"There is so much more to the spectrum that you've been missing."*
|
"Three colors? What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Ah, I apologize."
The being across from me taps its headset a few times, twisting a few dials.
"I believe my translator made an error," it says.
Oh well. It happens.
"I believe I've fixed it. Now, is it true your species can only exist in three dimensions?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Ah, that explains the lack of faster than light travel."
"I suppose it does," I say, twirling a pen in my right hand.
"So the primary reason for this exchange is technological, I take it?"
It asks its questions in that weird imitated monotone of computerized speech. Must be a fancy AI, too. It's got simulated inflections and regional dialects and everything.
Pretty deep in the uncanny valley, I'd say.
"Well we've received many signals from your planet, and offer a simple exchange. With our upgrades, you should be able to craft spacecraft that are capable of faster than light travel."
Excellent. That's exactly what we wanted to hear.
"And our corporation will maintain exclusive rights to this technology for the next decade," I say.
It shakes its tendrils around its head in mock acceptance. Closest thing to a nod, I assume.
"In exchange, we'll give you exclusive rights to our combat drone schematics, specifically the orbital defense designs."
It salivates slightly, and something wet and heavy drips onto the floor.
Disgusting.
"This seems to be a fair exchange, is it not, human?"
"I believe so."
With this tech we'll be able to beat out those generational colony ships sent out hundreds of years ago, back when we were first starting to crack open asteroids in the belt between Mars and Jupiter.
"I do have another question, human."
"Ask away," I say. Though I have some idea of what it may be.
"The Ghoosha sent messages to us as well, asking for aid in exchange for our technology."
"The Ghoosha?"
"The other race."
"Ah."
Bit of a sad story, but still, it's just curiosity. Humans have an amazing ability to forget about the atrocities they'll commit to stay alive.
"Well that was mostly accidental," I say.
Accidental in the way a man takes out a life insurance policy on his soon to be dead partner.
"They lived beneath the oceans, and couldn't survive on land. Gills and all, to be precise."
"Indeed," the alien representative says, though I can't tell if the emotion is genuine or falsified.
"We killed them before we'd discovered gravitons."
"How so?"
"Too much plastic in the ocean. Shredded their lungs to bits."
"And they asked us to save them?"
"We believe so. No one discovered their messages until after they'd died."
"I imagine it was quite a shock to find underwater civilizations in the deep abyss."
"That it was."
The alien seems to ponder this, and stands to leave.
"We appreciate doing business with you," it says.
"Likewise."
As it leaves, we already have begun to receive the schematics. Easily decipherable, though that goes without saying.
*BZZZZZZZZZZ*
A notification from my cybernetic implant.
"Mr. Rogers?"
"Yes?"
"Shall we upload the schematics now?"
"Yes."
"How long will it take for them to notice they're corrupted?"
"Oh, they won't figure it out until it's too late."
I take out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a deep drag.
Ghoosha. What a stupid name. A stupid species that died a stupid death because it wasn't willing to step up and do what needed to be done.
I wonder what they called themselves. Plenty of anthropologists dig through those strange artificial cities carved into the ocean floor, though the language still can't be deciphered. Maybe if we sell planet cracking rights to Mercury they'll give us a few more uplifting designs.
Ghoosha. Call them what you want. I'll just think of them as those idiot squids trapped in oceans so polluted it'd be like trying to breathe through a constant stream of gasoline poured down your throat.
The aliens will build our designs, and be quite surprised when we activate the backdoor and turn their systems against them.
Hell, they never expected their android servants to begin resisting and destroying their own creators. Whatever they think of us, they don't seem to blame humanity for those schematics.
Whatever. What's the saying? Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice?
Well that just makes you a sucker. Infect them with a disease and they come to us for the cure.
Not our fault they gave up warfare a long time ago.
After all, there's not that much room in the solar system anymore.
And there's always profit to be found in the most unlikely of places.
Perhaps on their home world.
Perhaps on their stations.
Perhaps from their own star.
Another drag.
With these ships, it won't take us long to get there. Scan their system, infiltrate communication arrays, map their colonial strongholds and systematically take what's theirs. We got shareholders to please and they're impatient sons of bitches.
It's nothing personal.
Just business.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2018-12-04T11:03:56
| 2018-12-04T08:31:40
| 7,659
| 1,201
|
[WP] You just accidentally downloaded the Kindle version of the Necronomicon.
|
So I'm not sure whether the 5 star reviews of 'the great big book of dogs' is people just reviewing it without reading or if I got the wrong product somehow, assuming it's the later I'm giving it one star.
Cons:
Was not the great big book of dogs'
Was not even in English
Gave me an extremely large headache
I'm pretty sure its cursed.
Made me weep blood
Caused shadows and voices to haunt the edge of my consciousness
My family all left me and now I love alone in the bayou, desperately seeking solace amongst the damned pages of this time.
Pros:
There are several pictures of what appear to be some sort of dog in it.
|
"Honey, what is this?"
"What is what, Grandma?" I said, not lifting my eyes from my laptop.
"This book!" she said from her brown armchair, her eyes on my Kindle as she gesticulated wildly with the "stylus" she'd insisted I provide.
The stylus was a disassembled pen.
"I don't like it. It looks scary. Why do you read these things?"
I sighed, staring at her from across the room. I'd pointedly removed every thing that looked vaguely objectionable from my Kindle before letting her use it.
"Are you talking about the Rush Limbaugh book Grandpa downloaded?" I joked as I stood up, heading towards my Grandmother.
Said Grandpa huffed from his position on his armchair, and continued to watch football.
I leaned over my Grandma's shoulder to look at the screen as the referee on the television blew his whistle, and the crowd roared. I had a passing thought that they were clearly cheering for my joke.
"Necronomicon?" I thought, reading the title, mincing the syllables, at first unfamiliar. Suddenly, I remembered the sci-fi literature class I took in college.
"That's an HP Lovecraft book, Grandma."
"I really need to go on *Jeopardy*," I thought, "I'd kill it..."
"I don't care who wrote it, you shouldn't be reading things like that!"
I wordlessly plucked the Kindle from her hands.
"He's a fine author, Mary!" Grandpa said, leaning forward in his chair, itching for the small squabbles that kept their marriage alive after more than fifty years.
"Jesus, Grams, how many books did you download?" I said as they started to bicker. I couldn't help but press the Necronomicon's icon. It did look a little Satanic, standing out from the plethora of baking and Jesus-y books Grandma had downloaded. Cool.
Grandma stared at me momentarily, then narrowed her bespectacled eyes at my Grandfather, clearly plotting her devastating retaliation.
"Don't you blame me for-"
The wind begin to howl, and I felt like I was flying up and falling down at the same time.
I opened my eyes some time later in the middle of a gray canyon, a circle of Shoggoths around me.
From a distance, I heard my Grandpa yell, "My game!"
| 2016-02-10T10:53:48
| 2016-02-10T09:13:13
| 75
| 10
|
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
|
"What am I doing wrong?"
I said it out loud, but I knew he wouldn't answer. He just sat there and asked again,
"Give up? Or try again?".
His question echoed as if we were in a cave, but the room was about the size of a elevator. It would have terrified me if this was my first time. That was long ago, from Cain, to Ghengis, to Nero, to... I can't remember.
But I swear, I tried everything. I fought for myself. I fought for others. I fought for God, all of them. I fought for king and country. Yet, I still come here.
Did I fight hard enough? Was it the wrong target? Was I not strong enough? Was I not smart enough? Could I have fough-...
...Fought...
"Fighting. Was that it? Was I to focused on fighting? Should I have been doing something else?"
"Give up? Or try again?" He bellowed.
What else is there? Fighting wasn't getting me anywhere. I have to try something new.
But what?
Well, what's the opposite of war?
Peace?
Yeah, yeah that might be it. Peace.
"Give up? Or try again?" He bellowed.
"Try again." I answered.
"What will your name be?" He inquired.
"Hmm, let's go with...
Mahatma Gandhi."
|
The white lights flashed again. It was coming back to me, everything; the cries for help, the scent of clotted blood on the dead, the eyes that begged for mothers as they saw death flashing in front of their faces. Ironic I guess, considering that I think that I'm dead. Or at least I figure I must be dead considering all I see is a man who I can only say radiates power.
"So I see you've failed again?" he smirked, "54 tries and still nothing".
"What? I don't get it? Am I dead?"
"Obviously. That's a pretty dumb questions even for your standards and ruthlessness. If you were only that dumb when you Nero."
"Me? Nero? When" I was aghast. "I am not a horrible person am I?"
"Great! This part again. 54 times and I always have to explain this part to you. You die. You either reach Nirvana or you go back to earth and I have NEVER seen someone beat your, well, highscore." the entity exasperatedly said.
"But I pay taxes!" Yet as the words left my mouth, all my memories came back.
"Maybe you do, but I think you should be remembering now."
And I was. I remembered my individual lives, when I sacked Persopolis, Baghdad, Tenochtitlan, Jerusalem. Each time, some called me a hero, but yet, many called me one thing. A murderer. Each time, I thought unifying the world or at least ruling with an iron fist would bring peace, yet all it did was bring my demise.
"How? Why? I did all of that? How can I?"
My knees felt weak and I started sobbing and curling on the floor. But the entity seemed unfazed, even looking in contempt. How could it be so cruel?
"Save it, this time your actions were so wanton and cruel you must face trial at the Eternal Court and in front of the Supreme One."
"I didn't mean to kill 80 million people, I swear"
"Yet you did."
"World War Two wasn't my fault! It was Hitler! I wasn't even responsible for Nanjing! I didn't even order half of the atrocities committed. How could I? I was only a prince!"
"Actions have consequences. Consequences lead to other actions and they stain history with blood"
"I... I..." I couldn't carry on. I was guilty. Maybe it was time to stop trying.
Suddenly, the entity changed his expression. "Guilt, I have never seen that before. Maybe..."
In an instant, he disappeared and I heard a ringing in my ear, as if the world was being born anew. Then I heard his voice again, faintly in the distance "The Supreme One has seen your guilt, you have one last chance to reach Nirvana. Maybe it'll be different this time, maybe it will not. All I can say is, at the minimum, at least leave earth the same as it was, maybe you will even be granted a seat just for that. After all, you will be the first one to fail..." The voice started to get more distant and faint, the world started spinning again. Then it became black. All I felt was warmth. All I heard now was "I think we will name him Martin" and I went back to sleep.
| 2017-03-31T12:40:36
| 2017-03-31T08:26:10
| 71
| 22
|
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
Day 1.
Sigh..... As I wake up on my 16th birthday I knew it would happen. I was dreading it. I didn't want it, I didn't need it. I didn't believe in it. My parents had useful powers though as much as they hated it. Dad being a doctor of course managed to heal people at a touch. Mum being the cook that she was never needed to do groceries again as she seemed to be able to multiply food out of thin air. The day went by and I waited inside for my powers to manifest but nothing seemed to happen. Didn't help that it poured the whole day.
Day 5.
Still no powers. Huh, maybe God was listening to my prayers. I thanked Him for it silently in church as I did every Sunday with my parents. There was barely anyone now in the aisles. Ever since the first detection of these powers way back when, religion had sort of taken a back seat to most people. Science of course was delving deeper into how and why these powers came about. They eventually came up with an answer. My parents said take no stock in it of course. We were religious and that was how we lived. There would be no one else but God.
Day 15.
The feeling of being the only normal one in my world defied expression. I felt like the chosen one, like God had chosen me to be different like he did his son Jesus Christ. Everyone began looking at me funny but I didn't care. My parents loved me despite it, glorified me even for being one of the few to be given the chance to work hard in life, without any powers, without any easy roads. I was doing God's work in my own way they said, a beacon for others. With thoughts of peace, I read a passage before I sleep. As I lay my head to rest I hear the patter of the rain on my window seemingly to wash me of my sins. Man... It hasn't stopped raining since my birthday...
Day 25
The people in my year continue with their daily life albeit with a few.. enhancements. I remember the day when we were taught how we gained our "powers". Human beings have long lost their original and innate capacities with for creation and innovation with the introduction of color television. Who would have known that this capacity for creation was merely a result of gene expression? Who could have imagined this gene sitting in our DNA slowly evolving itself to cope with our lack of innovation by imbuing us with these so called superpowers. And if that wasn't enough, they linked that these superpowers were a result of actually watching tv; the regular programs and media which later led to what we truly desired in a power. Sigh.. All these sad heathens and their beliefs. I walked out of that assembly hall that day, refusing to believe it. As I'm sitting here in present day I admire the simple things of God's nature; the 2 lovebirds sitting in the tree branches drying themselves from the ever continuous rain...
Day 36
I spot the 2 lovebirds on the way to school. They seem to have built a nest there and welcome me every morning. As I slosh about the ankle high waters, I think back to my friends, my classmates, the ones who have finally alienated my "weirdness". The geeks had the most variety. Super speed and spell casting were quite a surprising norm among them. The jocks all had super strength. No surprises there what with the constant sports reruns they were watching. The cheerleaders? Flight mostly. Goth kids. Necromancy. Go figure. I notice a lot of stray cats and dogs around the place. Always the same color, always in a pack. Hmmm
Day 40.
It's been raining for 40 days and 40 nights. The news reports have shown tsunamis have hit all our coasts. The death toll is increasing. The 2 lovebirds are still within my sight from my window. The stray and wild animals in my yard are always in pairs. Not packs. Pairs. And they were always the same 2 animals. I know what my powers are now. It was always there written in the book. In my Bible. In the book of Genesis. It's too late now.
|
Sean was walking home from the gardening store, he loved getting new utensils. His birthday was spent as it usually was, Dad carrying in his broken down car from his 24 hour shift as a security guard before falling asleep without saying happy birthday and Sean playing hide and seek in their garden with his Mommy. Her power was invisibility but Sean got the hang of noticing flattened grass and bent flowers. When he first found out his power his Mom told him all the good he can do in the world, that never before has a power like this been. Sean didn't believe that. The other kids at school picked on him, called him names and made him regret he ever told anyone his power.
Taking the left turn from the main street into an alleyway as he always did on a Tuesday after the garden store Sean strolled right into the immovable palm of Billy Smith. "Hey bee boy, whats in the bag? Toys for your little garden? Let me see them." said Billy with a devious smile on his face. "Just leave me alone Billy, I am walking home, my parents are expecting me" pleaded Sean only now noticing the other boys behind Billy. "You know Spark and Razor don't you?" questioned Billy as the boys behind him gave Sean a glimpse of their powers. Spark created a stream of electricity from both his hands while Razor morphed his into to immaculate blades. "Yeah they are in my Maths class." said Sean as calmly as he could whilst remembering all the shocks he got, all the tiny slits he received and the name, the names were the worst.
"Do you know my name bee boy?" asked Billy. "Its...its Bill." is all Sean could get out. "WRONG!" Billy yelled as he picked Sean up by the scruff of the neck with one hand. "They call me Herc, short for Hercules. They say I am going to be the strongest of all the supers. I could pound your Daddy into the pavement, when the drunk isn't passed out there already" chuckled Billy as Sean began to tear up. "Stop crying, we are just messing with you. And speaking of messing let us play with those toys" exclaimed Billy as he grabbed Seans bag with his free hand and then threw Sean to the ground.
The new shovel Sean saved up for was crushed into a toothpick by Billy's tectonic plate grip. The seeds for the rose plants Sean was going to grow for his Mom, turned to dust by Spark. The pots Sean bought were thrown into the air and sliced into tiny pieces by razor. Sean could not contain his sadness and rage any longer. "STOP!! I AM WARNING YOU!" bellowed Sean as he pointed straight at Billy. Fabricated into reality around his hand were several small bumblebees flying towards Billy. The three boys glanced at each other, back to Sean and then burst into unrelenting laughter.
"The bee queen has spoken!!! Ohh no, he is going to sting us!!!! The only thing he will ever fertilize is a flower!!!" repeated the three boys in unison. Sean felt like he shouldn't have said anything and went fetal. Billy picked him up to his feet. "Well!!! You were saying something bee boy?" grunted Billy as he slowly pushed Sean back with a single pointed finger one nudge at a time. "Well?" push. "It sounded like you threatened us" push. "Didn't he threaten us boys?" push. "You gonna throw some more bees at us your majesty?" one final push that knocked Sean stumbling backwards. He regained his composure and clenched both fists.
The anger was growing in his face, the anger was the only thing holding back the tears in Sean's face. The words of the bullies echoing through his very being. The bullies just stood there laughing. Sean didn't think this was funny at all. "Leave me alone" Sean mumbled. "Did he just buzz?" roared Razor with laughter and the others promptly joined in. "LEAVE!!! ME!!! ALONE!!!!" Sean roared as he threw both fists forward opening both hands.
It all happened so fast. Sean only grasped what had happened when he saw Billy throwing haymaker punches knocking chunks out of the walls of the alleyway. Sean had summoned a swarm of Africanised bees. Spark and Razor took off sprinting at the sight of the swarm. Billy was not so fortunate. All the strength he had was not enough to fight this foe. His skin started to blister and bloat, his eyes swelled and his footing was lost. The bees began to disperse once his body stopped moving. Sean saw the reality of what just happened. He sat down in the alleyway next to Billy's body. Unbearable sadness overcame Sean. "All you had to do was leave me alone......I begged you" whispered Sean as he sobbed alone with Billy dead next to him.
| 2015-01-21T22:46:38
| 2015-01-21T22:19:41
| 62
| 22
|
[WP] All human babies are born immune to hunger. People do not need to eat, but if they do, they will thereafter need to eat as normal or die of starvation.
Maybe write from the perspective of a parent/pregnant woman who must make the decision whether to feed their child or not?
|
“Come in, take a seat...” Dr. O’Brien was shuffling through some files and didn’t look up. I was relieved to get out of the waiting room. The pain, whatever it was, seemed to be getting worse by the minute. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Well I don’t really know how to describe it Doc, it feels like... like an *emptiness* in my abdomen. It started yesterday and today it’s gotten a lot worse. I’m starting to feel a little lethargic.”
“Ok well let’s have a look at you shall we?” He flew around the desk and made with the cold stethoscope routine. O’Brien listened for a few beats until something rumbled deep inside of me and a look flashed across his face as if he’d shit in his pants.
“Now Mr. De Selby,” O’Brien was now slowly retreating back to his side of the desk. “I hate to have to ask you this, but have you been ingesting any illegal substances?”
“Never in my life,” I said, getting a little defensive. “I exercise every day, I get plenty of sunshine and I smoke a hell of a lot of weed!”
“That’s all very well and good, but when I was checking your heart rate just now I heard a strange sound which seems to be coming from your stomach...” Stomach. The word was harsh, perhaps Germanic. I didn’t like the sound of it at all.
“Is that like an appendix? Will I have to get it removed?”
“To be frank,” (his name was Frank), “all of the symptoms you have been describing suggest to me that your body is going to through a state of *digestion*. Now Mr. De Selby is it possible that at some point in the last couple of days, perhaps while you were stoned or at a drinking party, that you may have accidentally swallowed some solid nutrition?”
My god, I thought. The waiter lied; that *was* a fly in my drink.
“What does all this mean, Doctor? That I’m a frickin’ vampire? Will I have to spend the rest of my life like a junkie, taking the lives of defenceless vegetables?”
“Mr. De Selby, are you going to vomit?”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t worry Mr. De Selby. Thanks to modern medicine people with your condition can live long and fulfilling lives, almost as long as the rest of us.” Dr. O’Brien scribbled a number on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“It’s called a pizza delivery service. I think you’re going to like it.”
|
For me it was the smell. They’d warned me several times to wear a facemask whenever I went outside for charity work. It felt definitely weird for me the whole concept of “eating”, why would these people do this? Did they even know the time and resources needed for this activity? I mean, the cities had progressed so much since eating was banned and all the “eaters” were vanished so we could be more productive. I was told you used something called coffee to be awake during the day, no deep sleeper pods, inconceivable! People only worked 8-hour days with a “lunch” break, history books are so funny.
The whole idea of food seems so bizarre, millions and millions of miles filled with plants where you could easily put processors to continue research, I hear hidration dependency will be eradicated soon. Then we’d use the space as intended. Eaters would retreat to the wastelands and in two generations we’ll be done. It seemed so simple back then.
I was curious, that’s all I could say to the judge, I wanted to see how they lived, what they did, what a life was liked. I’d never seen a toilet before, or a fork, or a plate, only in pictures. I laughed and laughed while I gave the children medicine and trained them not to accept their parent’s food. “That will only limit you and in a few year you can apply for reinsertion”.
Sofia was maybe 7 or 8 years old, when she stood up and left the classroom, a defiant look on her face. I asked my wife to take over the class while I went after her. Once I caught up she kept telling me that I didn’t understand what it was all about. It was about the smell. Her parents agreed (by law) to not let her eat until she was 15 years old and able to make her choice, but she could smell everything and she was going to eat that very morning. She told me her father’s grandfather had been a “Chef” and her father had some tricks up her sleeve. I told her I would go just to prove her wrong, that eating was not necessary and a total waste of time.
I could spend hours describing all the things I saw on that farm, animals, plants, fruits, it was nothing like the shacks they showed us on training. The house was small, modest, but its surroundings were vibrant and green and multiple colored. The father greeted me politely, but I knew he didn’t want me there. Sofia ran all around the kitchen, taking the lids of everything and taking a huge sniff, tears in her eyes. She opened a closet labeled “fridge”(?) and removed a plastic container, I could read the word BACON on top.
“Now, take off your facemask…”
| 2014-03-31T11:22:35
| 2014-03-31T09:15:49
| 34
| 21
|
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
*No.* Death thought. *It couldn't be.*
Death reached below the grand wooden table, hastily pulling out the dust covered hourglass. Questions flooded its mind. *How? When? Who?*
Carefully, Death set the hourglass sideways on its table, like the way it found it, the only one among the seven billion or so hourglasses in Death's office in such position. Death sank slowly into its black leather chair, its hollow eye sockets fixed on the hourglass.
No one escapes Death. That was what everyone said. Looking at the construct on the table, someone just did. Not knowing when or why bothered Death greatly.
When each human is born, an hourglass appears in Death's office. While each hourglass looked the same, the amount of sand inside them was not. The amount of sand signalled the lifespan of the owner. When the sand stops flowing, Death is summoned. The hourglass disappears once Death finishes its job.
Since time immemorial, Death has done its job without lapses. It does not question why. Death has always accepted its role. Looking at the stopped sand caused Death to question for the first time.
*Who is this human who escaped death?*
*How did the hourglass end up at the bottom of the table?*
*What should Death do?*
Death considered its options. It could report the lapse to its master. After all, Death is only a servant of a higher being. At least, that was what Death remembered. The memory was vague and hazy. It has been doing its job for eons alone without the need to contact the master. Never had there been any mistakes or incidents worth mentioning. The sideway hourglass was first.
Death shook its head. It cast a look at the door at the end of its office, rising thousands of meters above. The door to its master. Death could not recall the last time the door was used. Death preferred for things to stay that way. Death wanted to go back to its routine.
A bony hand reached from the flowing black robe, the white fingers wrapped themselves around the hourglass. Death let out a sigh, muttered an apology in its mind for the human who was about to lose his/her immortality, and flipped the hourglass upright.
The sand did not fall. They stayed in their position.
*What?*
Death was annoyed. It took the hourglass with both its hands and shook it. It turned the hourglass upside down several times. Still, the sand did not flow, while the sand in billions of others continued to fall.
*Who is this human entitled to immortality?*
Death let out a frustrated grunt. It wanted to throw the hourglass at the wall. How can Death be defied? It decided that it needed to seek out its master. Death grabbed the defective hourglass and started the long march towards the giant door. It needed an answer.
Just when it was about to leave its desk, however, a voice shook Death's office. Death recognised it instantly. The voice of the master.
**DON'T BOTHER.** The voice commanded.
**THE HOURGLASS IS YOURS.**
-------
*/r/dori_tales*
|
"And I wouldn't be standing here, speaking to all of you today if I didn't change my mindset" said the world's hottest new motivational speaker. "I've had too many near death experiences to count, but it made me realize life is precious. Time is finite, and it can't be wasted with regrets or what-if questions. Follow that instinct that nudges you to your dreams, even if you think it's impossible. If something frightens you because you don't think you can do it... I challenge you to get an answer."
The audience roars with applause.
"Thank you, thank you! I'll be in Hall G in 15 minutes for the Q&A"
The motivational speaker steps down from the podium and heads into the back stage. He looks in a mirror in the hall on the way to his dressing room. "You fucking killed it" he says to himself.
"Yes... yes you did." an ominous voice declares from behind him.
"Ah, thanks man." The motivational speaker turns around to see who delivered the compliment... and it's Death himself shrouded in a black fog.
"Oh my god.... that's a sick halloween costume, bud."
"It's not a costume. I'm Death."
"Oh, you want one of the production assistants to get you some coffee?"
"No, I am literally Death; and your time is overdue."
&#x200B;
The motivational speaker's face droops with the realization that he's not joking.
&#x200B;
"But... see it's a funny story" Death says as he takes an hourglass out of his tote bag. He brushes the remaining dust off of it. "This guy right here has been hiding under my desk this entire time. You were actually supposed to die back in '91 that time your DD drank too much and lied to you about it. You were going to fly out of the windshield because you didn't have your seat belt on and I would'e scraped you off of the concrete. But my 'alarm' didn't go off about it."
&#x200B;
The motivational speaker is on the verge of tears.
&#x200B;
"Paul... Paul lied to me? He was intoxicated?"
"Yeah. People suck. But since I didn't see the hourglass, you got to live another day up to now where you have this atrocious three piece suit on."
They both stand in an awkward silence.
"But... yeah, I gotta take you back to the processing office" as Death points up to the sky. "Great speech, though, seriously. Makes me wish I could be alive to feel something ha ha."
The motivational speaker doesn't find the humor in his statement.
Death clears his throat. "Sorry. But chop chop. Sorry to disappoint your fans."
Death touches the speaker, and he evaporates into dust, and a beam of light abducts his soul and shoots him up into the sky.
"Mental note: keep a dark matter Swiffer in the office at all times."
| 2018-10-03T06:52:49
| 2018-10-03T06:19:01
| 2,861
| 63
|
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/
|
First day open for business! After years of saving up and working as a blacksmith apprentice, I have finally been able to open my own armors and weapons shop. Ever since I was a young boy, I have heard so many grand stories of heroes and adventurers from travelling merchants, now finally I too can become a stop on their story. As my gaze swept the room one final time, it lingered on each piece of equipment on display. Each sword, dagger, plate, and everything in between I made with my own hands. I still had much to learn but many long nights were spent toiling away at each piece, sharpening to my utmost ability, pounding away with all my might. Adventurers will be able to rely on me, my creations will lead them through danger and hell. I inhaled the smell of fresh wood and polished metal lingering in the room and settled down behind the counter.
The door slammed open drowning out the little bell that rang feebly in comparison. A lean tall man strolled in and judging by his armor he was a knight, and a magnificent one. His armor was gleaming a deep onyx black with sharp horns and jagged edges along the greaves and gauntlets. His helm in the crook of his hand was sinister with what looked to be dragon horns decorating it. There was a faint violet glow surrounding him pulsating with wisps of light flickering off. A magic set. With him was a large leather sack bulging to the brim with items carried easily over his shoulder. He glanced at my wares with what could only be a deep look of distaste and boredom before coming in front of me.
“What town is this shop keep?”
“This is the village of Dalry along the Whispering Rill. How can I help you today sir knight?”
The knight sighed audibly before pulling out his map, ignoring the question. He scanned the map for a moment before putting it away.
“Last time I get black-out drunk without teleportation stones. Tell me, do you know the way to Torpin Fortress?”
“Ah, you are a long ways off your course. It would be a 4 days walk north past The Granite Chasm. I must warn you, the warlock that- “
“Yeah yeah, terrible power this, forbidden magic that.”
He brushed off my heed with a gesture and swung his bag down with a crash on the counter. Out spilled brilliant gems, swords, and heads of magnificent beasts. I have never seen such rare items before. Strangely enough there were large amounts of rusty silverware and plates present too.
“How much can you give me for this?”
“Sir knight I must apologize, my shop is still fairly new. I have but 100 gold to my name and could not possibly- “
“I’ll take it.”
“Wait wha- “
The knight casually shoved the bag towards me causing it to spill its’ contents all over the floor behind the counter. I hesitantly opened my drawer and gathered up all the coins I had left. He snatched them from my hands and dropped them into his bulging coin pouch where I could see glimpses of platinum.
SLAM
He was gone as fast as he came. There I stood dumb-founded before slowly cleaning up. I had gotten an incredible deal and would be able to make a fortune on what he brought in. Yet I was not filled with joy. I had dreamt of the kind of encounters I would have, the kind of people I would meet. But for that adventurer I was not even a person. My wares did not gleam as brightly as first thought. Looking at them again, I could see minor chipped edges, dull tips, and imperfections in my work. Perhaps it was still too soon for me to think I could provide anything useful at all. The tinkling of the bell caught me by surprise and I looked up abruptly.
A young boy was peeking in through the door. When he caught my gaze, he slowly walked in and stood reservedly at the front. Clutched tightly in his hand was a slip of paper, what looked to be from the town’s notice board. He started to speak but was stumbling over his words before taking a deep breath and exhale. He stood up straight and puffed out his chest with a determined look in his eyes.
“The tailor has given me a task to kill rats. I am in need of a weapon, shop keep!”
A smile came to my lips as I walked over to him. We always did have a bit of an infestation problem to the west of our village, and it always drove that old tailor crazy. I knelt down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was thin but had the muscles of a farmer. His dirty blonde hair was cut short, and freckles dotted his face molded in an expression of feigned bravado.
“Of course young adventurer. What can I get you?”
His expression changed to that of doubt and nervousness. He pulled out a few silver pieces and laid them out on a palm for me to see not wanting to meet my gaze any longer.
“I do not have much… but I promise you I will pay you back ten-fold when I become a hero!”
His eyes filled with fire and determination though his trembling mouth gave him away. I took the silver pieces from his hands and stood up. Walking over to the nearest dagger, I took it off the pegs which I admit was not my best work. His eyes widened, filled with awe, as I brought it closer for him to hold.
“Come traveler, let me show you my wares.”
|
A/N: Yes, I'm aware that transmogs in WoW are often BOP, but that ruins the fun of this script, so just run with it, 'kay?
Edits for format and minor additions.
***
*Int., Day, Ye Olde Gold and Silver Pawn Shoppe. ADVAR the Paladin of Protection approaches the wooden counter where RICHARD, the store's wise bald shopkeeper, stands.*
RICHARD: What have you got for me today?
ADVAR: I found these shoes in a chest in a dungeon. Nobody rolled Need on them, so I took them. They look to be in decent condition, so I was hoping to see if I could sell 'em.
*Cut to Ext, outside the Shoppe, customer interview.*
ADV: I mean, they're nice shoes and all, but leather's not really my thing. I've got a nice set of plate armour that I've been eyeing, so hopefully I can put some of the profit towards that.
*Cut back inside the Shoppe. Richard is turning them about, examining them*
ADV: I think they're legacy armour, Nik'ee Boots of Swoosh.
RICK: Wow. These look like the Air Jor Dinns, Tier 1's.
*Zoom in on the shoes, focusing on the blue swoosh symbols*
RICK: These could really be worth a lot on the Auction House but... unfortunately, there are so many fakes on the market, and I'm no expert. If you're willing to sit in queue for a bit, I can whisper a friend of mine and we can verify.
ADV: K.
*Moments later, AGILA the Restoration Druid logs in, dressed in a revealing leafy top. She reaches to shake hands with the other two.*
*Cut to expert interview.*
AGILA: *male voice.* I'm Ag, the transmog expert. I've been collecting leather sets since Vanilla and I love sexy vanity sets.
*Cut back to Shoppe*
AG: How do you guys do?
ADV: Wait... Are you a he or a she?
AG: I'm a guy. I just prefer playing girls. Gives me a nice booty to look at.
ADV: Oh, okay, you're one of those guys.
RICK: So here we have these legacy shoes that we'd like you to take a look at.
*Agila takes the boots and examines them*
AG: Okay. So it looks like we have the Nik'ee Air Jor Dinns Tier 1. These could be worth 100g on AH, depending on the quality. They do seem to be in good condition, the durability is still 100%. No major damage, stitching is still in place, no scuff marks. Now the question is... are they real?
*Zoom in more closely on the boots, cutting in shots of nervous Advar*
AG: Unfortunately, these are fakes. Really nice fakes, but fake nonetheless. See the left side of this Swoosh here? If these were real, they would be a few pixels longer. And the texture on the lining? Not as detailed as it should be. These are the green-quality imitations.
ADV: WTF.
AG: I'm sorry, you could get like, 10 g max out of these.
RICK: Well thanks for dropping in Ag.
AG: My pleasure.
*Everyone shakes hands. Ag leaves.*
RICK: Well, I guess I can offer you... 2g? You heard him, 10g is if you're lucky.
*Advar rage quits*
| 2016-10-16T10:00:13
| 2016-10-16T07:28:43
| 999
| 202
|
[WP] War is no longer initiated by your country’s leader. War is now decided by popular vote. If you cast a vote “FOR” war, you are automatically enlisted in your country’s militia upon successful declaration of war. You voted “AGAINST,” but the rest of your family voted “FOR.”
|
Sitting behind the large oak desk Trevor looked out across the city sky line. Sharp shadows intersected the city as the sun hung low on the horizon, still rising to greet the day.
Opening the lid on the laptop he scanned the mornings headlines. Battle in the providences overseas had been raging for the last month since the vote to go to war. Per the Citizens Pact, everyone who voted for war, went to war for the cause. This was one of the most popular wars Trevor had ever seen.
He wasn’t surprised.
As a religious consumer of news he’d seen the right wing fervor growing over time. The hatred for the other was the message those in powers pushed to distract the people from their own suffering. It worked. While the economy continued to spiral down the people focused on how those in the providences were stealing their jobs, not that they were being robbed blind by the CEOs who were sending their jobs overseas.
Trevor did nothing to dissuade his family of the belief. In fact, he encouraged it. Moving the petty revenge to a righteous revenge. Feeding his family to the cult of hatred.
When the vote came they all voted for it.
Except for himself.
He stood at the docks and wished them well as mother, father, big brother all dressed in their fatigues were preparing to ship out.
Hugs and kisses and they were gone.
This left Trevor as the sole controlling owner of Cristo Weapon Systems. His first executive order was signing business orders for heavy ordinance for the providences. It was a new and expanding market, right for exploration.
With their new weapon systems, what would have been a brief diversion in the world stage had become a month long war of attrition.
A knock at the door stirred him from his thoughts.
“Enter,” he said, his voice echoing through the massive space.
A smartly dressed woman entered holding a single letter between her manicured fingers.
In the day and age of email, he knew this was the mail he’d been waiting for.
The letter in his hands, he turned it over to read the sender, Grand Army of the Republic. Withdrawing the letter and reading it, a smile crossed his face.
All of his investments had paid off.
His entire family had been killed in action. This meant that he was now the sole majority owner of Cristo Weapons Systems, and no longer had to wait his turn.
His time was now.
|
Resistance guerilla's desperately holding a fort, turncoats betraying comrades in the dead of night, boys dyeing cornfields red, action, angst, suspense. These were the things you could expect in a good war. And this war promised to be a great one. A feast for the eyes! Newly developed 360-HD cameras on every robot soldier, high quality real-time satellite imagery, and for those wealthy enough the possibility to pilot their very own robot.
Although some of the past wars still held replay value, war was much better enjoyed when consumed in real-time. Nothing could replace the pleasure of vivaciously discussing the pro's and con's around invading Crimea days before the days vote, of posting elaborate theories on how the war would end, of following the day-to-day of that baker turned resistance fighter.
And so when the sponsorship was settled, the country voted for the war in a resounding yes. Sure, many publicly complained about the ethics of the whole thing, showing their wokeness. But wokeness doesn't give you access to an anonymous account with access to thousands of live feeds, what does it voting yes. And so in the end the vote was nowhere near close, and nearly the whole country "conscripted".
| 2021-01-28T08:27:28
| 2021-01-28T06:06:53
| 182
| 24
|
[WP] You are a completely normal guy with a superhero girlfriend. You know it's a dangerous line of work so you go out of your way to avoid it. You never run into danger to help. You never get involved with investigations. You both just treat it like your girlfriend's day job. Tonight is date night.
|
Is it easy dating Electragirl?
No, absolutely not.
Is it worth it?
Well ….
I usually do everything I can not to get in her way. I drive 10 miles under the speed limit. I avoid big crowds and tall buildings and long bridges. I specifically chose to take a job in manufacturing logistics at a company that makes chairs, the most boring thing I can think to do.
I wear a disguise when we go out, just like she does. I take all the precautions so I don’t become a causality in this relationship (her last guy was turned into a ferret by a super intelligent squid with a ray gun, don’t even get me started on that) and so I don’t distract her from her work.
So yeah, in my very weakest moments I’m tempted to think that it doesn’t feel worth it, everything I’ve done and given up. But, I mean, let’s face it - she’s saving the world. It’s not like I have a leg to stand on with my own problems.
And I love her, that’s the thing. I love this girl for the supernatural treasure she is. And I guess that’s all that really matters.
But I digress.
Tonight is our five year anniversary, and I’ve really gone all out for it. Flowers, suit, dinner at the fanciest restaurant in the city, diamond ring in my pocket.
If I play my cards right, I will be the future Mr. Electragirl by the end of the evening.
I stop by her place to pick her up, and you could knock me down with a feather. She’s beautiful, all dark hair and deep brown skin and a body that is truly electric tucked into that curve-hugging red dress. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
We get to the restaurant and it’s going great. We’re laughing and talking like normal people, we’ve even gone light on the incognito thing tonight - just a pair of horn rimmed glasses for her and a fake beard for me - I’m glad we look at least something like ourselves. We talk about our families and the next vacation we want to take and everything in the world except the things that always come between us. She’s full of energy and talking with her hands, her laugh is enough to make even the people at the table next to us smile, and she’s just more alive than any person I’ve ever met.
We’re sitting out on the terrace underneath the clear night sky and she’s glowing from the strings of lights hanging above us and I know, I just know that I’d face down every villain in the universe if it meant I got to be here in this moment with her.
Just after the waiter has refilled our champagne, I reach a hand into my pocket.
And right as I’m about to start the speech I’ve been working on for two weeks, the first car alarm starts going off.
It’s a fluke, it has to be a fluke. I clear my throat as I wait for the idiot who hit the wrong button on their key fob to turn it off, but a few seconds later it’s joined by another, and another, and suddenly the streetlights outside the restaurant flicker into darkness. A moment later, the top of a skyscraper a block away bursts into flame and the shockwaves hit us a few seconds after that.
“Babe,” she says, looking up from the last of her tiramisu. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, I get it,” I say, reaching out and squeezing her hand, the ring all but forgotten. “Are you going to be ok? I can get home on my own.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I know she will be. She always is.
With that, she’s tearing the front of that red dress right down the middle, the spandex of her super suit unfurling beneath it. She leans across the table to kiss me, and then she’s gone in a crackle of static and a pop of light.
Man, I really do love this girl. It’ll never be easy, but I love her.
|
We went out to dinner and she went to use the bathroom, that’s when a girl in an olive green dress walks up to our table and attempts to talk to me. This is when everything gets hazy so I’ll let my super cute super hero girl friend tell you the rest of the story.
“Your such a dork ya know that”
Anyway after I come out of the bathroom is when I see him walking away with this girl, I was furious but for a different reason than you think. The last thing he’d do is just ditch me like that, that isn’t like him. So I trail behind them to confirm my suspicions, that was Cupid one my regular villains. His main power is control people with his love power, and he can even shift his shape into a figure most attractive to the individual. The reason he didn’t turn into me? Good question, in any case I was worried and upset that Cupid would go so far as to mess with my boyfriend, so I hid and transformed and went to look for him.
I didn’t really have to many leads but I noticed that Cupid seemed to have left a trail for me, it was way to obvious. I went into the sky and used my supervision to see where the trail lead to, it lead to a wear house. “Of course it’s a wear house it’s always in wear houses do something original Cupid,” I went to the wear house to see my boyfriend knocked out and TIED TO A FRIGGIN BOMB. I didn’t see Cupid anywhere but this all felt way to obvious, and I wasn’t going to try and sneak in a untie him when this was obviously a setup, rookie mistake. Instead I opened up the window slightly and used my laser eyes to quickly and ever so carefully diffuse the bomb. I noticed a lot of crates around and after using my ex-ray vision confirmed they all had nock out gas, more bombs, and Cupid and his goons were hiding in some of them ready with gas masks, I got the plan now.
I decided to play along with there little scheme, I bust in through the roof and shouted “where’s my boyfriend, Cupid!” I heard his laughter coming from his little hiding place, “well let’s see where he’ll go when I do this, he pressed a button, nothing happened. He kept pressing the button while I just walked up to my boyfriend, untied him and was beginning to leave, “WAIT” Cupid screamed as he pressed a different button that was set to all the other explosives, “there’s my cue.” I jumped up as fast as I could and placed a force field around it to contain the explosion, when all the smoke and gas cleared I check the damage all of Cupid’s goons were still there but no Cupid, just a card with an arrow going through a broken heart, aka Cupid’s calling card. “Damn it, next Cupid” I contacted the police and flew away with boyfriend to take him home.
“not one of our top ten best dates huh?”
“Heh you could say that again”
I flew my boyfriend home he was still out cold, I rang the doorbell and his mom answered, and took one good look us and knew that whole story.
“Date go wrong?”
“Yeah”
“Villains attack him this time?”
“Yeah”
“Put him to bed and let you tell him tomorrow?”
“Yes please”
“Would you like some tea?”
“ALWAYS!”
And that’s basically the story, and even when crazy stuff like this happens we still love each other. Because there’s nothing cooler than dating a superhero!
| 2021-07-09T22:16:20
| 2021-07-09T20:11:21
| 158
| 26
|
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
|
I’ll never forget that night.
Mr. Smith shook my hand. He had never done that before. First day of class he told me he wasn’t my friend, he was my teacher. I remember it hurt. When he grabbed my hand, I remember his firm grip hurt but in a good way. A manly way. He smiled and nodded, he didn’t say anything, I didn’t say anything. What would be the point? I knew it was an earned respect.
All year long I had worked hard in class, studied, read the book, made an A on every test. I even questioned him after class on the bonus questions I missed! The rest of the class hated me because the curve was non existent.
I’ll never forget that teacher.
Thank you, Mr. Smith for teaching me valuable life lessons that year.
____________________________
I’ll never forget that first night.
Mr. Smith took my hand. He had never done that before. First day of class he told me he wasn’t my friend, he was my teacher. And to not tell anybody. I remember it hurt. When he grabbed me, I remember his firm grip hurt. He smiled and nodded, I didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to say anything, what would be the point? I knew what was happening.
All year long I had to “work” after class. I even questioned him after class once, but that didn’t end well! The rest of the class would hate me if they found out. Their favorite teacher would be fired and I’d be the reason why.
I’ll never forget that teacher.
Fuck you, Mr. Smith for teaching me a hard life lesson that year.
You’re not alone.
(Inspired after /u/intelligentmeat 's prompting of a man vs man emotional feels)
|
The day was still Young, I stood on the front lawn staring at little zoey running and playing in the field. I could see the sun glistening off her youthful face as she danced with the wind. As graceful as her mother who sat staring through the kitchen window. I smile at her and she waves back chuckling. I thought to myself, this is just the beginning.
______________
The day was almost over. I sat on the porch staring into the field ahead of me. I could see little zoey dancing with the wind next to her mother and I couldn't help the single tear that rolled down my cheek. I set their respective urns down and sobbed. I thought to myself, this is the end.
Edit: stupid autocorrect
| 2015-07-13T23:52:21
| 2015-07-13T21:19:07
| 49
| 27
|
[WP] They've just invented a 500,000 frame per second video camera. The problem is that they've found something unexpected at those speeds
|
“Its how fast?” David asked, a skeptical tone in his voice.
“Okay, I’ll try to put it in layman’s terms.” Gavin replied, his coffee going unnoticed on the table in front of him, “Let’s say a normal camera runs at something like 24 frames per second. Ours runs much faster than that. Much, much faster. A couple hundred thousand more.”
David took a sip from his cup. “So it’s a really fast camera. I know you’ve been working on this project for a while now. Why call me all of a sudden, like its some kind of huge, crazy deal? I mean, look at yourself,” he gestured towards Gavin, “You’re a mess.”
“Because it is a big deal now,” Gavin said, reaching up, and failing to slick down his messy hair. “It was just supposed to be an experiment. First, to see if we could actually create something like this, and after that, use it to do other experiments. See how light waves work, that kind of thing… But David,” He said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I found something.”
“You found something?” David asked, his eyebrow rising. “Like what? How bugs mate or something?”
“No.” Gavin whispered back, probably not even realizing David’s joke. “Out of all those hundreds of thousands of frames, almost every single one of them were what we expected. A really, really, really slowed down video of our lab. Except for one. A fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second, there was one frame of… something.”
David took another sip from his cup, but let Gavin continue.
“It was pretty much a pitch black frame, and so every one of my colleagues just dismissed it, a glitch, something like that. But, I’m not only an engineer, I’m a photography nerd, and whenever you’re taking very short exposures, you need A LOT of light. And so, I treated each one of these ‘almost pitch black’ frames as a single exposure. Out of all the millions of frames, there would be a ‘black’ frame occasionally. So I merged them, which effectively 'lightened' them up… and I found something.”
Now David was leaning forward, his interest piqued. “And? What was it?
Gavin, took a breath in, preparing himself, and finally said: “It was a picture… of our lab.”
“Your lab?” David sighed, sinking back into his chair, “So what? A picture of your lab, hidden in between other pictures of your lab. Is this all you really called me over here fo-“
“Obviously it wasn’t just a picture of my lab,” Gavin interrupted with a wave of his hand, “I mean, it was the lab, but it was different. Very subtly different, but enough that I could tell.”
Confused, David motioned for Gavin to continue.
“Listen, do you know what parallel universes are?” He asked, his voice a bit shrill, and then continued after David nodded. “Well, I think I stumbled across a parallel universe. Not just peering into some crazy alternate dimension that has nothing to do with us, but taking a glimpse at something that already exists. Here,” he said, motioning with his hand at the small coffee shop around them, “A whole other world, which is here, existing, but just out of phase with us in time, just enough that we can’t interact with it, or even see it, especially when we didn’t know it even existed.”
Gavin paused and collected his thoughts for a moment. “So, I panned the camera around, and wrote a pretty basic script to collect all of these frames and mash them together. It takes a little while, but I can usually get a ‘picture’ of these frames every thirty minutes or so. When I finally got a good panoramic of the room… I saw something else.”
Gavin took a ragged breath in. His clothes were disheveled and wrinkly, and his eyes were bloodshot, and wet, as if he had been crying earlier.
“There were things in the lab, David.” He said, putting his head into his hands, and speaking quietly into the tablecloth. “They were grotesque, and just absolutely horrible. I saw my colleagues, working in the lab, just like they were on ‘my side’ of the monitor, But they were monstrosities, faces twisted in abject horror, mouths agape and screaming.”
“David,” He said through clenched teeth, his eyes moving up from the table, “If you were to see evil, you would know. Pure evil, which would only want to consume you, entirely. Physically and metaphysically… I saw evil, David, there is no other word for it.”
David reached towards Gavin, his friend of many years, “Listen Gavin, there must be some explanation.”
Gavin squeezed the tablecloth between his fingers, “That’s not all. I panned the whole room, I saw something else. I saw myself… The evil, twisted, other-me. He was holding a camera David.”
He looked back up, locking eyes with David, tears streaming down his face. “They saw me… They know we’re here now."
------
Thanks everyone for all the responses, and gold? Wow, you guys are awesome. I don't write very often, so it means a lot. Figured I'd write a little bit more inspired by this prompt. Let me know if you like it!
[Part Two](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2v4tpk/pi_frames_per_second/)
|
"That's just remarkable! Truly astounding!"
Mr. Hader watched the video in awe, and Nathan just stood next to him, and found himself unable to stop a huge grin spreading on his face. He was gleaming with pride.
After all his hard work and dedication, he'd *finally* completed it! A 500,000 frame per second video camera! A camera that didn't lag, had pristine quality, and didn't overheat, not a single technical hiccup. Nathan was thinking about his success, and how he would be rewarded. Only one camera, how much money would he get for it? The oppurtunities he now had! His tenacity had finally paid off, Nathan was to be a rich man. A *remembered* man.
His smile grew wider.
The recording was being projected unto a screen, and the video ceased. They both just stood, proud.
It was a simple video, Nathans 6 year old daughter simply sitting in the garden with a warm smile, on a perfectly sunny day, flailing her doll happily. Picture-esque. Lovely. It could have easily been recorded on any other cheap camera, he had the option to film whatever he could, anything more exciting,more invigorating but no, his daughter was the one he had decided from the very start. There had not been a shadow of doubt in his mind.
He had always planned it that way. Every night in the garage he'd tinker away at his plans, his blueprints, working without rest. Yet every-time he grew impatient, or thought he had hit a dead end, Nathan had simply remembered what he would do with the camera. He would give the greatest gift of all to his only daughter, immortality. She would live on forever in the historic video. People, years after, would still watch this video. She would live on.
And even now, standing next to his gob-smacked boss, with a handsome paycheck all but certain, that was the sweetest reward on his mind.
"Just stunning...it's so clear! It's like I'm actually there..." His boss Mr Hader had continued, star-struck. "You are going to be a very rich man Nathan I'll tell you!"
"T-thank you sir." Nathan replied humbly.
They watched, and watched and watched, repeatedly; Mr. Hader still as dazzled as the first time.
But it was only on about the 7th viewing, Mr. Hader had noticed something. So quick he would've missed it. Not even on screen for a second.
"Say Nathan, rewind to about 3:45...yeah yeah...pause ....righhttt... *there!*" Mr. Hader asked intuitively.
Nathan frowned a little, confused. The frame was of his daughter, looking down at her doll.
"Alright...slow it down now Nathan...*real* slow though...okay carry on..." Mr. Hader asked with a hint of fear in his voice.
Nathan felt a slight uneasiness brewing, yet pressed play anyhow.
The scene of his daughter, that would have usually lasted about half a second was playing so slow, distorted, every slight movement seemed to take what seemed like a decade: the wind on grass, hair, or anything.
Mr. Hader squinted slighty. An unearthly tension filled the room.
They watched further.
*"There!"* Mr. Hader shouted suddenly, causing Nathan to jump. "Right there did you see it? The little flash of black? Rewind, slower this time! I saw something, I did! Didn't you? *Rewind it!"*
Nathan slowly, trembling, re-wound the footage. He was now visibly frightened. Was there a glitch with the camera? Something *worse* What had his boss noticed?
"Sir wha-"
"Shh shhh, just watch..."
The footage was now painstakingly tedious, it trundled backwards at a snails pace. It didn't look natural. Everything crawling so slow. It felt like watching something from underwater.
After what seemed like an age, Mr. Hader ordered one sharp, urgent request...
"Stop."
The video paused, and they were both took aback.
They both stood perfectly still. Nathan had paused at the exactly right moment. Neither had expected to see what they were seeing.
They stared.
For a long time, they just looked. Not knowing what to do. What to say. How to react? There was a just numb sense of terror. But not panicked, instead appallingly calm.
In that single frame, Nathans daughter was looking down, looking at her doll, frozen in time. Perfectly normal. Except for one thing.
Crouched next to her, sat a blurred, dark, featureless figure. It had unfocused, wispy limbs, all contorting in unnatural shapes. It had its perfectly round, smooth head turned to his daughters rosy cheeks, its elongated arms wrapped around her sickeningly with repulsive affection.
And for awhile, they just stared.
No words were spoken after. Mr. Hader has simply looked at Nathan, who stared at the frame with tears in his eyes. Mr. Hader had tried to say something, to apologise, to comfort, but no words could leave his mouth. For either of them, there was nothing to be said.
But it was clear what to do.
Nathan had promptly carried the camera outside, Mr. Hader remaining in the office. No goodbye, no warning. Nathan had brought the camera to a field by himself. Furiously, but sternly, he destroyed the camera. Piece by piece. Ripping, beating, tearing, bending, smashing. He brought a petrol cannister, and after dousing the remains of the camera, it was set alight. The flames crackling and a thick smoke swirling up into the sky.
Nathan stood, still silent. He had gone too far. He had found something never meant to be found. His life work, gone. But he felt no regrets. There had never been a 500,000 frame per second camera...
...and now he knew why.
He shut his tearful eyes, breathing in a long careful breath. A metallic battery smell filled his nostrils.
'And there will never...' He thought. '...*ever*, be one again.'
| 2015-02-06T14:36:31
| 2015-02-06T14:04:46
| 241
| 28
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
|
At birth, it had looked like a small silver dragonfly. Uncommon, but not unheard of. It had started on my side, just above my left hip. My parents had been so pleased, but my mother shone with pride. She was marked with the dove and not prone to excessive emotions, but seeing the tiny, glittering wings on her daughter had filled her heart with joy. My father had all of the traits of the bear, a common mark amongst the burlier men, and they had been worried their tiny girl would be more masculine because of it. A dragonfly, though. It marked me as quiet, demure, and beautiful. It gave my family a sense of accomplishment, and they looked forward to the promises of good fortune and peace that the mark assured.
As I grew, the mark grew, too. What started as a small tattoo the size of a penny grew and elongated, eventually wrapping itself around my midsection, the enormous wings unfurling down my back, the head quietly resting along my right bicep. I was 18 when it finally stopped growing. Thank the Old Ones, the color stayed dim and dull, the cautious silver of faded stretch marks. It was easy enough to cover in sleeved shirts, and I was by nature a modest person (unlike Katalia, who took every opportunity to show off the small hummingbird imprinted just above her left breast).
As my serpent grew, my parents stopped acknowledging that I even had a totem creature. The Elder Council was told of my dragonfly upon my birth, and it was decided not to correct them. Publicly, I was a dragonfly, which matched my personality (or maybe my personality was shaped in accordance to my erroneous totem), but privately, I was nothing. The Unmarked. 'Atashii.' My younger brother had been born a wolf, my sister, a fox. I was nothing but a monster.
Little did they know, I would one day become the Savior of Worlds.
|
There are thousands of stories of the great heroes of our time, stories meant to inspire the children despite their anima. It is believed that no anima was inferior to another, no anima was stronger or weaker, and so we tell stories of of both Regar the Lion, who came from a farming village and went to conquer 40 kingdoms and bed 10000 women, as well as Tillus the mouse, who overthrew Regar with his instinct and wit just to save the one woman he loved from being another of Regar's concubines. But we always hide the stories of the legendary anima, because their existence breaks our vision of the world. These people are born with potential, and contain ability that surpasses any attainable human power. And while many have been glorious heroes and saviors of mankind, we must ignore them, for a greater light casts a darker shadow.
I tell to you now, one of these stories, one that perhaps should never be told. The story of Ilius, the leviathan. His father was a raging bear, consumed with dominance and power, but his lack of ability to tap into the innate strength of the bear led to weakness and fear, and eventually evil. By the time Ilius was born, the once proud man was a heavy drinker due to his successive, and ruthlessly beat his wife in drunken stupor. And the mark of the leviathan on his son, only made him angrier. His pride would not take that his son would be a greater man than himself, so he treated Ilius cruelly. His mother was a dove, a dove trapped in a cage with wings clipped, only watching the brutality of her husband as he beat her only child and raped him. She loved ilius but not as a son, but as a beacon that distracted his father, but Ilius mistook this love as it was his only light in his dark world. On his 9th birthday, his father comes back from the tavern in a rage from gambling away his meager earnings and returns home to vent his stress. But this time it is different, as he comes home to ilius smiling with his mother making dinner. He sees finally, that even his attempt to take away happiness from his ill borne son has failed and in his rage, he beats ilius to near death. Ilius begs for mercy in his pain, but as he looks to his mother, he sees the light gone from her. He sees her fear, not for him, but for the lack of him.
The next morning, the boy once called Ilius was found in the ruins of what seemed to be a collapsed, burned family home. He sat there with inky black eyes covered in reptilian scale, in the black pitch of the family room. The walls were not burned, but rather devoid of color, black like burnt wood but with no ash. Sheriffs found two bodies, left only bones with the flesh turned to tar. They say that this was the beginning of the leviathan, the monster who ate any light that tried to see into his dark abyss.
| 2017-11-08T06:02:20
| 2017-11-08T05:57:15
| 28
| 19
|
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Maria,
Thinking of you all today. Things aren’t getting better out here. There’s not many of us left. The recruits are younger and younger. Most of them don’t last much more than a week but there are still a few naturals. I don’t know what the reels back home are saying – things are pretty grim but we have one last trick up our sleeve. One last chance. I can’t say much but you’ll soon know all about it.
With any luck we’ll finish this and I can walk through our gate again. I hope you’re still waiting. I’ll remember this day as the turning point.
*Today is not that day. You will soon know all about it.*
*I will never walk through that gate.*
*We are coming for you.*
*XXX*
|
My dearest love,
I long to see the smile that graces you lips. It has been well over seven months since I have and my heart aches for that one simple gesture that would welcome me home. Everywhere around me death grins and I recoil from its affection. Tommy, the boy from the Mason’s farm, felt its sweet kiss two days ago. Give his family my regards, his death was quick there are few remains and his family will only have a small box inside a coffin to bury.
The weather is clear and we are pushing forward today. The sun shines just like that day when we had our first child and I was racing you to the hospital. It’s hard to believe little Johnny will be 3 years old next month. Thank you for your last letter of showing how big he has grown, I have tucked it into my bible and hold it close to my chest at night.
We are moving up now, we have a bridge to take. I will finish this tonight.
My lady,
Your husband is a brave man and I’m sorry that I have had to kill him. He took out two machine gun nests by himself before I put a round through his head. His death was quick and painless. I’m sorry I had to take him from you. God I am so sorry, I’m sorry this war is happening and I’m sorry for every man I have killed.
Please, please pray for me
For these awful things that got to be
When this war for freedom has been won
I promise you I’ll put away my gun.
The man that can barely live with himself
| 2015-02-03T16:03:03
| 2015-02-03T13:20:11
| 23
| 14
|
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
"Sam?" I knocked a few more times. My knuckles were starting to hurt. I prayed she was home. She just had to be. "Sam, you're home right?"
"James, I-I'm... I can't let you in."
"Oh, Sam! Good, you were home." I leaned my cheek against the door in relief. "I got the text too. Not really sure what the hell it means but I'm fine with waiting a little while for this shit to blow over, whatever it is."
"James? I don't-I can't trust you." My usually brusque and firey girlfriend sounded genuinely nervous. I enjoyed the break in character, but kind of wanted to see it myself. I felt like it was a rare chance to experience her acting vulnerable.
"It's okay, Sam, I didn't ask you too. I have my key, but I'm not gonna open the door. I told you, I saw the text too." I figured there was something serious going on, so I didn't want to do anything that would really freak her out. "But can we move our conversation to the back door? If there really is something to be nervous about, I want to get off the street."
I waited patiently before making any move that would concern Sam. A soft "okay" slipped through the cracks in the door. I started to step away, when I was blitzed by a shout:
"WAIT!"
Then I heard thumping coming from inside. My eyes grew wide, and I felt a chill down my spine.
She has a bad habit of forgetting to lock the back door.
I jumped the fence and sprinted to the back door, which slammed shut and locked in my face, right as I arrived.
"Sam!" I yelled. My voice cracked a bit. I started to tear up. "Sam, please, are you okay?! Is someone in there with you?!"
No response.
"Sam! SAM!"
I slammed my fists on the door to no avail. She was unresponsive. I tore the screen off of one of the windows, grabbed a big rock, and hurled it. It went straight through. Without hesitation I jumped through the window. "Sam!" I shouted. I held my hands in fists, bloody from the broken glass.
Then I saw her.
Curled up in the corner of the kitchen, cowering and crying. Her head was buried in her arm. She gripped a knife tightly.
"Sam? Are you alright? Is someone else in here with you?"
She started to cry. "You! You're in here."
"Sam. Oh my God. I thought someone was in here with you! I was scared that someone got in, and you were in trouble." I was crying too. I was confused and afraid for her.
"No." Sam said. She kept crying. It was then that I noticed that something silver was dripping from the knife. It looked like blood -- just... Silver.
She looked up at me, eyes puffy from tears and fear, and I stared at her, waiting. She finally choked out what she meant to say:
"I said... I told you... You were in here..."
Oh shit.
I looked down the hallway and saw my own body on the ground with that silver blood pouring from the neck.
I looked at Sam.
She looked at the blood on my hands.
She dropped the knife and cried harder. I approached, slowly. She opened her arms, and I embraced her. I let her cry into my chest. She kept saying "I'm sorry" and all I could say was "It's okay," even though I felt like apologizing to her, for what she'd seen, and what she had to do.
She had finally calmed down a little, and began to wrap a towel around my hands.
Then we heard it.
"James?" And a knock at the door.
|
I feel a buzz in my pocket. I pull my phone out and see an emergency alert across the screen. "EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC."
"Panic?" I wonder out loud, "why would I panic?"
Just then I hear a knock at the front door. I walk over to it and peer through the blurry glass. It seems like my girlfriend Sophie.
"Sophie? Why are you home?" She stares back blankly. "Shouldn't you be at work right now? Why don't you have your key?"
No response. I back away from the door just as her jaw opens like a snake and a dark forked tongue crashes through the window and nearly reaches me, three yards away.
I turn and run to the bedroom closet. I pull out my grandfather's long double-barrelled shotgun and load it with buckshot. As I click the barrel back in place, a monster comes roaring through my hallway, now barely recognizable as Sophie. Her face is distorted, dark and cavernous and webbed tentacles flow out of her dress and pull her along both walls like an ooze.
I fire both barrels in quick succession. The blast is powerful, and leaves my ears ringing badly. The monster is thrown back to the end of the hallway. The remnants of Sophie's face were removed by the blast, revealing mottled gray reptilian skin. The impact of the buckshot was substantial, and covered the center and left side of the creature with green blood. Within moments, however, the worst of the wounds begin to close and its yellow eyes snap open.
I back away, ejecting the spent shells and fumbling for more from my shirt pocket. The creature's face opens into a wide, horrible grin. The tongue shoots out again, farther this time, and locks around my chest like a steel cable. It pulls me in while flying toward me like a smoke cloud. I am engulfed into the abyss of its mouth.
I regain consciousness while walking in the middle of the street. I have no control over my body, and I notice other people walking nearby, although I can't turn my head to look at them. There are no cars on the road. I walk for miles, feeling no fatigue and keeping a steady pace. I arrive to a house and knock on a door. My mind is foggy and I feel numb, but I know this house. This is my parents house...
I haven't written in a long time and I'm rusty. Nice prompt! Edit: typo.
| 2019-01-12T08:28:48
| 2019-01-12T03:53:40
| 2,225
| 190
|
[WP] You are an air traffic controller trapped in a time loop to prevent a plane crash from happening. Its been nearly 10 years and you still haven't figured it out.
|
The sight of a plane crashing from the sky, exploding into a searing fireball with hundreds of lives at stake would scar any man for a lifetime. For me, it was but one in a million. If there were scars, they no longer cut deep enough to hurt me.
Numb. For years. A decade? Far too long for anybody.
I've tried everything I could. Everything I could think of in my measly mind, to prevent the crash. Hell, I've tried the same thing multiple times, because what did I have to lose? I'll have to do it again?
It always ended the same way. The plane crashed. Lives were lost. The phone at my desk would ring, and I would go back in time with the small shreds of insanity I had left.
At some point, I considered what was more important. Trying to find a way to save all those people, or to save myself from this hellhole?
I didn't know what to do. I've tried using the time to read a book. Watch similar incidents. Find out what history have taught me, so as not to repeat the present forever more.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
There was no more room for agony. No more room for compassion. There was only obsession left.
10 years to try and change one scenario, and I have nothing to show for it.
There was a moment when I contemplated giving up. Heck, more like entire days and weeks. But I couldn't. I wouldn't.
The fire in my eyes have long gone. But I will not stop until there is no more fire engulfing the runway.
But maybe, just maybe... this one loop, I'll take a break. I'll rest. Regroup my thoughts.
I sunk back in the chair. I drank the same cup of tea that I've had for years. And I waited.
The distress calls came in. Every instrument in my room was buzzing. I ignored them, eyes on the sky. It was coming.
The plane crashed on the runway, but it didn't stop right then. It started skidding, right towards where I was.
For a little moment, my heart jumped. I felt something behind the impulses and palpitations.
Relief.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
December 30, 1998
&#x200B;
It was a dim night. Closing time. Like any other night, everyone prepared to go home. But not me. Not tonight.
Looking at my watch, the time was 8:55 in the evening. Station controllers were shutting down. Most of the data traffic was passed on to the other station 30 km away from here. The rest to the main station that ran around the clock. Being alone after bouts of rigorous work, I happened to breathe a deep breath. *Not tonight.* I thought.
And so, there it was, like any other night, a bright flash soared above the sky. A flash so blinding, I have been blinded for far too long. Perhaps it was my heart. But it could have been my soul.
10 years. 10 years! For 10 years, I witnessed this flash of broken planes and shattered wings all to the last detail.
I have stayed on this day, December 30, 1998, for 10 years.
And what do I have to show for it?
I sunk to my chair. An air traffic controller's chair. And there it was, on my desk, a microphone that I would have held. One that I held for 10 years every night, clutched upon sweaty hands.
But not tonight. Definitely not tonight.
I'd rather go to sleep.
Then maybe, just maybe, I could finally rest. Because I'm finally giving up on saving you tonight, like I should have on any other night.
| 2020-07-16T08:51:00
| 2020-07-16T08:25:36
| 37
| 13
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.
|
George couldn't understand it. His mom was overjoyed about his father's father ranking, and how abruptly it jumped, and how much higher it jumped. When everyone found out about the mugs, some people bragged, others hid their mugs. His father woke up late on the day of the change, so he didn't have a chance to do anything to stop people from seeing his ranking... and it was a pretty low ranking. Everyone was so confused with it- John was a perfectly good father to George, and everyone agreed. His low ranking made no sense, and most people didn't understand it, which caused people to wonder about how well John treated George. Because of this, George had been getting a lot of strange looks recently and some fairly personal and embarrassing questions. His neighbor, an elderly widow named Mrs. Wilson, had actually stopped him in his driveway on the way to school to ask him one of these said questions. With a look of concern, she stopped George and like all people who have personal questions do, beat around the bush for awhile, and much to George's and Mrs. Wilson's own surprise, she abruptly spouted out, "Has John ever beaten you?" George's face immediately became mortified, out of hurt and surprise that someone would even think to ask that question. Mrs. Wilson, upon seeing this expression, of course assumed she was right, no matter what the boy said next. She would be sure to recall later to her video chat knitting circle how teary-eyed the boy became upon asking this question, and how she always suspected John was actually a horrible person ("You never see him at church, either! What can you expect from someone who doesn't respect God?" Coming from the oldest in their circle, a pig-eyed women who believed all people who didn't go to church were always busy with the Devil's work). George of course told the widow how good of a father John was, and that he had never lain a finger on him in anger, but the old women had already decided she understood, reassuring him that her door would always be open to him. Expecting a far better day to follow, George took off down the street to catch his bus. His expectations died too swiftly upon seeing his friends on the bus, who went silent when they saw him. The rest of his day followed the same pattern.
John had seemed to be avoid the world in the days following the Mug Mishap, always looking extremely guilty to George. George was angry with him, but didn't understand it. He couldn't stand to address it directly and talk to his dad.
Several days before John's mug showed a leap in ranking, John became much more active then he had been since the rankings came out, he went out and started buying toys for a child that was much younger then George. George knew this, because he searched the bags his father brought home. His father then disappeared on a trip for a few days, and during this time his ranking skyrocketed. George grew so excited that he bragged that his father was going to bring him home a great new gift. But when he got home- this was when George became confused. John didn't bring him anything, but seemed far more relieved then how he was before he left. He also now seemed to have a hard time making eye contact with George. Everyone seemed so much more happy, and proud of John that no one inquired what he did on his trip. His Mom even reassured George that it was probably nothing related, and that the proper ratings had just come through while he was away. George anger simmered, because he knew something wasn't right. John started taking more trips, and each time his rating went up. George didn't understand, he saw less and less of John and felt John had become a worse dad. Finally one day after John got back from his trip and George found a picture of a little boy with a note on the back- "You left when he was so young, but he still remembered you. He's so happy to have his father back- and so am I. XO, love Ruby". He showed it to his mom, and he had never seen her go so pale. George's Mom had a massive fight that night with John, and when George got up the next morning, John was gone.
George only saw John again when he came to collect his things, and George's mother refused to let them talk to each other.
Months later, George's Mom found John's old mug, left behind. The mug now looked like how it did the day it was bought- it now said #1 Dad on it.
She smashed the mug on the floor.
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45
| 2017-06-11T09:05:21
| 159
| 77
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
There’s nothing I can do.
He is stronger than me. Faster than me. And while my ability to influence people with music is strong, there are limits to what I can do.
He turns to face my city. Mine. Neighbors, friends, hell, even my enemies lives have meaning. He’s going to destroy it all, and I have only one option left; one that will take us both out of the equation forever.
With trembling hands, I reach towards the player knob, and select the “do not select” setting.
He turns, contemptuous, but as the music begins to play, his smile melts into a dawning realization.
“This is the song that never ends..”
Eternity awaits.
|
I would have never thought to use a playlist so strong just to defeat someone. It's a dangerous idea, but an idea that would work.
It was becoming dark, perfect for this. I run into the night and try to change my music. I was thrown off guard when I noticed that they weren't behind me. I kept running until I fell to the ground. Scrapping up my knees and hands, my Ipod fell. I was so scared that it was broken, but when I picked it up, it was fine. I picked it up and clicked on it. Just then, my hands quiver, blood stops dripping, my sight is back. They know I just clicked on it and I know they're here. I wait for them to take their aim on me...
| 2022-05-17T10:44:20
| 2022-05-17T09:44:15
| 43
| 12
|
[WP] JFK shot first.
|
JFK is at the parade, suddenly, his president sense ™ tingles.
He takes out his modified M1 garand with reflex sight, fast mag and steady aim, his back up gun since it isn’t that big of a deal.
He shoots the killer in the chest from 10 meters, getting only a hitmarker.
The killer flees and stands behind a wall to heal his wounds, he then flees for good.
Then the parade comes and the killer tries to shoot JFK, but his head just did that soooooo.....
|
JFK eyed the man standing in the building. He didn't like the way he looked at him.
He reached for his revolver he always keeps handy in his left boot. The right one carries his knife. He shot at the man, but missed.
The man, befuzzled and confused at why he shot at him, retaliated.
He pulled out his sniper rifle from his backpocket and swiftly shot JFK.
| 2018-03-21T08:25:25
| 2018-01-02T09:45:56
| 27
| 11
|
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
Xandar was fuming. 20 smismars he'd been waiting in the bowels of that horrible assembling of junk and metal the humans proudly called their *flagship of intergalactic friendship*. It was bad enough when those hairless pink monkeys made it to outer space but now they had developped a functioning FTL drive and that made them *worthy* of introduction into the Galactic Alliance.
In all his bismars as official technological investigators of the Galactic Alliance's scientific division, Xandar had never seen such a pathetic excuse for a ship. Neither he or any of his colleagues wanted to partake in this scientific inspection. They actually had to draw straws and to his utter disappointment, Xandar lost. Xarcy tried to cheer him up, noting that the human FTL drive was probably a dud anyway. Their first long distance drive was barely a stupid bedsheet catching solar wind, how could they have build a fully functioning FTL drive is such little time since.
21 smismars, where the hell was that pink ape that was supposed to show him the drive ? Xandar only wanted to get done with this and leave. The human vessel was small, cramped and much too warm for his taste. It also didn't help that everything was made to accomodate 6ft tall apes, at 9ft tall, a respectable height for a noble Glaxian like him, he was constantly banging his upper appendage on the ceiling and door frames.
Finally a metal door opened and 2 hairless apes ran toward him. The first one, pink and the second one dark brown. Fascinating thought Xandar, I've never seen such a dark colored ape. At least some decent scientific information. Maybe the science council would let him abduct such a specimen later on for testing. Humans usually didn't mind a few abduction here and there as long as you didn't touch the cows sleeping in the fields.
The 2 apes escorted Xandar to the engine room. The first thing that caught Xandar's attention was the intense heat coming from the doorway, much worst than the rest of the already hot vessel.
>Right this way Dr Xandar, you're gonna love this!
Words could barely describe the sights that laid in front of Xandar when he crossed into the room
*What the hell kind of piece of shit is that?*
>What, the FTL drive ?
>>Quite the beauty isn't she ?
The drive in question looked like a random pile of junk with tubes coming out of the sides, hot steam rising from them. The whole thing was red hot and there was a very annoying sound of pressured gas being shot into the machine at close interval. On top of the device sat 2 giant glowing green tubes.
*Are those Arthosian power cores ?*
>Yes, you have a good eye Dr Xandar.
*Where in the 5 stars did you get these ? Only a handful were ever created and the Arthosian guard them very closely*
>>We found them!
>Of yeah, came upon a space wreck near Alpha Centory IV and we managed to recover quite a lot of technology from it.
*Wait wait... you stole them from a broken ship ?*
>Not stole, never. We found them.
>>Space salvage!
*Does the Arthosian empire know you're using stolen tech ?*
>I dunno, they never complained about it before you brought it up.
Xandar was flaggerbasted, these hairless apes weren't just stupid, they were a menace.
*Fine, walk me trough it*
>Oh you're gonna love this doc. By stripping the neutrino element of the 2 power cores and jerryrigging them together, we managed to create a power unit strong enough to blast trough the fabric of spacetime, and into the slipstream.
*Wait a minute, you stripped the power core of its protective shielding ?*
>Why yes.
>>It was really annoying really, hiding all the good stuff.
*ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS! Those a radiation shielding, this stuff is extremely dangerous*
>I know that, we all know that
>>It needed to be done. Beside, we added some plasma shielding to it.
>Yes, it should do the job... enough.
*Jesus fucking christ.... continue*
>Well, as I was saying, the drive allows us to punch our way into the slipstream and from there we can modify the flow of radiation emited by the power cores, enabling us to navigate different planes of the stream.
>>It's like a chose you own adventure travel book. Add a gamma variant to the radiation cocktail and you can move faster, replace it by a theta variant and you can navigate, for lack of a better word, "UP" into the 4th dimension.
*How do you exit the slipstreem ?*
>Well, we found that injecting a low level ion isopote directly into the power core will create an instability in the stream that causes the ship to be ejected, albeith rather violently.
>>Yes, the first test vessel exploded on exit.
*My god, this is catastrophic*
>We thought so to, so insted we just shut off the drive and the ship gets ejected much more softly.
*What... no! I mean... this whole system is horrible...*
>It's not so bad once you work out the kinks
*But how.... this must be ridiculously unstable !?*
>Oh boy... that's an understatement
>>You have to understand, all this only works if we keep the core overheated to exactly 3,568 degrees.
>Oh yes, any variation of over 2.75 degrees and the whole thing would go kablewy
*This is nuts, how do you maintain the temperature ? I see no adaptive secluar temporal module anywhere*
>Don't have one
>>Yeah, this fancy stuff is much too complicated and too hard to get your hands on.
>For now we use a system of pressure injected water and nitrogen
*You forcecool it under pressure ?*
>Exactly! I knew you'd get it doc.
>>We alternate between injecting pressurized water and nitrogen to cool off the core with a 1.5 seconds interval between each injection
*What?.... that's....how!?*
>You know.... too hot, blast it with nitrogen. Too cold, switch to water. Perfect temperature, do nothing. We evaluate the temperature every 2 seconds and Frank over there pulls the switch to inject the correct cooling substance.
*So none of this is automated ?*
>Nah, we're hoping to find a suitable automated cooling mechanism soon though.
*Like what? A water tin can on a string with a hole on the bottom ?*
>>Well no that's.... hey that's actually a good idea
>Yeah, we should look into that.
*Allright.... not taking into consideration the immense safety concern, not to mention decent common sens, this thing appears extremely dangerous and also in violation of at least a dozen galactic regulations on plasma use and timestream protocoles, and that's just for starters*
>Really?
>>Well that's a bummer for sure
*I must ask, with all this violent punching around the slipstream, how does your system deal with excess radiations and temporal aftershock effects ?*
>Come again ?
*The extreme side effects of your shitty system!!*
>Oh that. I dunno, whatever happens in the slipstream stays in the slipstream I guess.
>>Yeah, I mean it's not like we plan on living in the stream you know. It's just a highway. You roll down the window and throw your trash out.
*Over 15 sentient species live in the stream, 4 of wich are official members of the Galactic Alliance.*
>Really, people live in there ?
*YES, THEY DO!*
>Well that's fucking stupid.
>>yeah, who in their right mind lives in a galactic highway ? That's dangerous, somebody could get hurt!
>And they call US crazy ?
|
The inhabitants of Oflesq station heard what they had come to learn was the characteristic sound of imminent human arrival. No one understood it. A vast mooing, defying the supposed absence of sound travel in empty space. A mooing that sent chills down both of their spines; as if it were the old gods that had come, calling at last for the reckoning of all things. Two humans galloped into the hangar.
They were quickly escorted into the conference room, and after being joined by a single alien, the thick door was shut and locked. "This is the man?" Efroi asked. "Correct," said the tall, large human. Efroi knew the type; this one could be trusted, given the right compensation. But the other one...
"Hi, I'm Joey." Joey absentmindedly spit onto the floor.
Efroi made an assessment. This human was not like the others that it had seen; there was a certain change of mannerism, at once both carefree and uncomfortable with a complete lack of social grace and general awareness. This seemed to be his first time wearing a suit. It's first impression was of an uneducated common worker, yet it could detect that he probably did have an intimate knowledge of cows.
"Hi Joey, we would like to talk about your cows today. Could you... explain? I would like to know how they work and how you created them."
"Welp, you see, we humans 'ad made large advancements towards time travel. But it's impossible, see. You can change tha rate of time flow, but ya can't twist it back on itself. So I got to thinkin. I got these cows, see. Me and my family been breedin cows a long time. Tryina get the better cows, the best cows. I figure, why not speed up the process a little bit. So I throw some cows in there, in the device I mean, and an AI for the selective breedin. Set the dial the farthes it would go. I open the thing up two seconds later and boom. FTL cows."
*That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.* Efroi looked over to the other human, who remained expressionless. "So, um, how did you aquire one of these time manipulating devices, Joey?"
"I made it m'self. Not commercially available, see. Read up on the principles of it and got to work. Took a bit of work, too. To enclose the whole area, y'know. Set up a self sustainin environment, self sustainin robotics. Don't get me started on the energy source. People saw what I was doin, called me crazy. Now they're ridin *my* cows. They're the best cows in the universe, I reckon."
Efroi wouldn't believe it, none of it, if these humans hadn't just rode into the hangar on a couple of space cows. This man must be one of the best his species has to offer. "So, how do these cows work? What principle allows them to travel faster than light? How do they survive the vacuum of space, and the humans who ride on top of them? How do they fill the voids of space with their mooing?"
"Honestly, I ain't got a clue. No one does. The cows are in-comprehensible. Evolution works in mysterious ways. And the cows were in there quite a long time, see."
"How long... do you estimate?" Efroi began to feel even more unwell.
"Well, my internal clock ran out of memory space. It was only 64 petabytes but it was only designed to record the exponent of 10 for the number-"
"This is insane." Efroi stood up. "The cows are perfect beings, at least in this one respect. Do you realize the potential of this method? What it could do to the universe? You humans have kept this secret, yes? This information cannot be revealed again. This cannot be done again."
"But it ha-"
"Thank you for having us, Efroi. But this is all the information we are willing to disclose at this time," The tall human interrupted. "The cows are sacred beings who chose the simple dairy farmer Joey as their prophet, to usher in a new age for humanity. That is the official story, and you would do well to maintain that, Efroi," The tall man said. *That's the second stupidest thing I've ever heard.*
For the rest of its days, Efroi was forever haunted by the mooing that echoed amongst the stars, and the prophecy that it foretold.
| 2017-03-31T09:27:39
| 2017-03-31T07:04:11
| 99
| 15
|
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize.
|
The One Rotation Isolation. It recently hit 25 years of running with not one person making it. Each year, a new group is put in with 10 contestants. The rules are that the contestant must spend one year with no human interaction, not even online. For most people, the challenge looks simple if not preferable to everyday life. It's just an extended vacation or camping trip. They underestimate it. No one has been able to stop from going insane. Under their rules, the producers will let out the contestant as soon as they signal that they want out. In fact, the door is always open. If the producers deem the contestant as incapable of letting them know that they want out, they will be forcibly removed. Ten have lost this way.
I am eighteen. I am just old enough to participate. Until this day, my providers have groomed me to be on this show. I have lived my life inside a room. I am trained for their benefit. My first real human interaction will be to play this game show. My providers are sick. I've never met them but I resent them. This may be my escape. I see the producer motion and I walk on stage.
"Please welcome our next contestant! He's eighteen years old and wants some money before college, here's Ren! Are you feeling ready?"
I've seen videos of people responding. I've never done it. Or tried. I can't try now. I don't know how. I look at him. I smile and I nod.
"Alright, here's your room, right this way..."
I go into the box. Inside there is a sleeping pad, a light switch, and a timer on the wall. A slot is used to pass in sustenance. The conditions are about the same. I have already done this many times before. The only difference is that I have no vision of the other contestants. In my old box, I at least got to watch this show. My earliest memory does not include my providers. I am sure they were there for my early years, but at some point I recall having to figure out how to drink out of the bottles. I know their voices. I recollect seeing the timer hit 0 fifteen times.
This won't be easy, but I don't view it as a challenge. Living like this can be depressing. But I like to live. And this isn't all that bad. It's all I know. Why would it be better otherwise?
I've had a lot of time to think. I may not have been free, but I am told that I have lived a better life than some. Though I do not fully trust what I am told, this makes some sense. Why else would people want to escape their lives and go on this show?
The first few weeks feel rather slow if I'm being honest. There's the sense of novelty of being in a different room. It causes excitement. Also, the drinks are sweeter.
A few months go by. I have a thought. I wonder what the outsiders must think of me. I'm unlike other contestants. For a long time I've not concerned myself too much about what others think of me. Only two ever knew I existed. My providers must be happy with my success. I once thought that I could betray them, but a worse fate may become of me if I do.
So I wait. It is now half way in. I may not be sane but my sanity is stable. I have no intention of stopping this. In fact, I am quite at peace. I love my life.
My time is going really well. I'm happy. I'm simple. I do not concern myself with trying to understand if I am truly happy. I feel pleasure each day. No day is worse than the last. That is a good standard. I have not looked at the timer in a while.
There are ten more days left. What a nice number ten is. And what a surprise.
I watch now as the timer approaches 0, just as I have in the past.
10
There it is again.
9
8
7
Seven is also nice.
6
What will I do after?
5
4
Will I be let out?
3
What use will I be to my providers?
2
1
0
-1
-2
It took this long to really wonder about my fate.
-3
-4
-5
What's happening with the timer?
-6
-7
-8
-9
Huh.
-10
I sit down and look away from the timer. After a while I look back.
-1754
-1755
I look up at the camera. I smile and I nod.
|
A gap year in life. Some would look at that as a waste, for me, it was more than just an opportunity.
The first few months were tough, but they took care of themselves. Even if time moves slow, it does move. Within a couple of weeks, I felt like Bart Simpson, endlessly writing "Time still moves forward" thousands of times on the blackboard of my mind.
As an introvert, I thought that spending a year on my own would be a dream come true.
Instead, two months in I was caught up on shows. I brought a ton of books with me. But all I found myself doing was walking around endlessly, or simply stopping and staring at the wall.
Five months in and the routine set in. I added bodyweight training, dancing, and Yoga to my routine. I started writing a short story every day. I even started to meditate.
I wish I was one of them organized people who would set a schedule, with a task list for the day. I'm not even talking about checking these tasks off of a list. Making the list would have been enough. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those people.
Eight months in, and my routine was what kept me going. Everything had to go perfectly or my mental state for weeks to come would be hinged. Routine was my savior.
Eleven months in, and I found my zen. Routine, stare at the wall, scream at a book. It was all the same to me. I found a feeling of contentedness I never knew was possible.
People speak of finding happiness. Happiness to me was a fleeting moment in time. Being content was a state of being.
Today, in 30 seconds, I am going to be let out. I am not excited, at all.
Don't get me wrong, I do feel butterflies in my stomach, and I do look forward to seeing my family, and even the sky. But I'm calm. I'm content. I don't even look at the clock to count the second.
15 seconds before, I stand up. I align my body in a solid posture, and I smile.
"Ten."
Yep, I'm counting!
"Nine."
Almost there.
"Eight."
Excitement suddenly spreads all over my body, starting in my stomach and spreading through my body to my limbs, all the way to my toes.
"Seven. Six. Five. Four."
I smile.
"Three. Two."
I hold my breath. I feel my face smiling. I don't feel happy, and yet I'm smiling. I must be happy. Why else would I smile?
"One."
"ZERO!" I jump up releasing energy I didn't even know I had.
"YEAH!" I shout.
I ready my hand for a high five for whoever walks through the door.
I hold it up.
Ten seconds pass.
"Leaving me out to dry here guys.
I read the clock. '1 year, 15 seconds.'
What's going on guys?
I start to feel stressed out. I'm unsure what's going on. I look around. I walk to the door and back. I knock.
No response.
A million and one thoughts run through my head. From a practical joke to the zombie apocalypse. Someone though, was sending me food and drink through the shute every day. People are still out there.
"GUYS. THIS IS NOT.. Okay, it can be funny." I smirk. "Now open the door."
"I suppose this could be an scifi alien abduction flic, and I'll get beamed up any second. Maybe..."
Panic hits me. I turn around myself aimlessly. I knock hard at the door with my fists.
I breathe in. I am calm.
I sit on the floor cross-legged, and wait.
Precisely ten minutes and 34 seconds later, trust me, I checked, the door cracks open slightly.
I imagine a Chinese guy walking in and telling me of the fall of the US of A, and how he drew the short straw to be the one to tell me.
The door opens, and Mike, the producer who recruited me for this reality show walks in.
"Phew! I'm happy to see you Mike. Can I go home now?"
"Yes."
I look Mike in the eye. "Yes?"
"Yes."
"I kind of expected more."
"You should have done something to raise the ratings then. Feel free to sue us, but we ain't paying you crap."
He turned around, and started walking.
"Not even the zombie apocalypse?"
"The what?"
"You're just not going to pay?
"You should have read your contract better. I'm sure you'll be able to make money from a book. Try that."
A prompt appears in my sight. I move my head around trying to shake it, but it moves with me.
"You have failed at life. Would you like to start a new game?"
I don't hesitate even for a second.
I answer no, run after Mike, and stab his toe with my right heel.
I look around. I smile.
"Now this has potential."
&#x200B;
Edit: If you like, join my new subreddit [/r/posthocethics](https://www.reddit.com/r/posthocethics/)/ where you can read my writing. Sometimes I'll go crazy and even post a meme or two.
| 2019-07-03T01:06:48
| 2019-07-02T23:40:43
| 90
| 45
|
[WP] You bought a pair of headphones that are acting up. Every time you plug them in, you hear a different sound - first crying, then a war-zone, now just static. You plug them in again and are frightened to hear a desperate, tearful warning: "Whatever you do, DON'T unplug the headphones again."
|
I opened up the package that I had ordered from Amazon and took out my brand new pair of headphones. My old headphones had gotten more glitchy as the years went by, so I was hoping that this new pair would be more successful. I sat down in my chair, went to Youtube, put on my headphones and plugged them into my laptop.
Almost instantly, I jerked backwards in my seat. Instead of hearing soothing music, I heard the sound of a baby screaming and crying. Worse, I could hear someone yelling at them in the background, though it was in some language that I couldn’t understand. What the fuck? I unplugged the headphones and checked through my tabs. Nothing else was playing. What weird shit had I just listened to?
Shrugging it off as a glitch, I plugged the headphones in again before almost immediately yanking them off. Even two feet away from me, I could hear the loud sounds of explosions and gunfire. What in the actual hell?
At this point, I was more cautious. I held the headphones in my hands and plugged in again. This time,all I could mostly hear was static. What really freaked me out though was that at certain points, if you listened closely enough, the static would get quieter and you could hear someone faintly giggling and humming.
I unplugged the headphones and decided to plug it in one last time before I returned these obviously cursed headphones back to whatever pit they had crawled from. At first, all I heard the sound of something crackling and burning. Then, the voice of a girl weeping suddenly echoed in my ear. “Please, please, David, don’t unplug the headphones or --” A cold chill ran down my neck and I yanked the cord out from my laptop. What the fuck? What the fuck was going on? How the hell did she know my name?
Suddenly, an unholy combination of screaming and explosions rang out from the headphones as they caught on fire in my hand. Screaming, I fell out of my chair and scurried away from the twisted mess of wiring and metal that was currently burning on my bedroom floor. Before I could even process whatever the fuck I had just seen though, I heard a loud shouting from my neighbors outside. Still scared out of my mind, I ran to the window. They were all staring at the night sky and chatting about it. I followed their gaze upwards. There in the sky, was a star shining brighter than any star I had ever seen before. My heart sank as I thought about what I had just heard. Had I done this? Had I unwittingly destroyed an entire world?
|
“What?” I muttered, going to unplug them again. Then it spoke again. The same line. “Whatever you do, DON’T unplug the headphones again.” Whoever was saying that... sounded familiar. Like an old voice wrapped into my brain years ago when I was still in school. Then it went to static, cutting out the person. “Who are you?” I asked, wondering if this worked like a phone call. “Grand-“ Static “You have to-“ What? Was this just a virus on these headphones? “The world will-“ again came the static, choking out the rest of what they said. “What sick prank is this?” I growled out, going to unplug the headphones again. “No! Grandparent! Please! We need you to-“ they cut out. A loud bang, leading to silence. A war zone. What a stupid prank. I unplugged the head phones, walking outside. “Run! Their going to kill us!” Someone shouted. Mr. Montser from down the street. He belongs to that voice. “Wha-“ a gunshot. It was close to a gunshot but it wasn’t. Not at all. When I saw who shot him it wasn’t a who. It was a what. It seemed to look like a person slightly. Their ears gone and their body’s tall and lean, the weapons that they carried only belonging to a fantasy. One of them shouted something in a different language, turning and aiming their weapon at me. “That’s the one! They are the only one that is strong enough!” They shouted, their words now in English. “What are you doing!” I shouted, running back in my home, an impulse taking me to my phone. “Plug them in!” A voice shouted in my head. So I did, plugging the headphones back in. The banging on my door stopped, the terrified people and bloody streets fixed themselves. I listened to the headphones. Was that what stopped that? “Oh my god! It worked! You stopped it!” The voice shouted in the headphones. “What did I fix?” I asked myself. “The world is stitching itself back together!” They shouted, the headphones falling out of the socket of my phone, falling out of my ears as well. “What in the world just happened?” I asked myself, standing up.
| 2020-04-01T21:37:42
| 2020-04-01T20:54:45
| 42
| 13
|
[WP] Job hunts are literally that: You seek out the job you desire and kill the one who has it, or even engage them in ritual combat to claim the job as your own. You have just turned of age and desire your first minimum wage job.
|
“It is time my son.”
My father kneeled before me, holding out a buckhorn knife that was older than the nation. It was scuffed and stained with the blood of countless prey.
“My great great great grandfather made this knife himself to hunt for his first job. Ever since, it has been gifted to the eldest child when they come of age for their first hunt.”
I knew this time was coming, it was 7:00 am on the Monday after my 16th birthday, the age all young men worth their salt go forth and seek their first job. Seeing my father kneeling before me was still unsettling. He was a Nuclear Engineer with the scars to prove it; him kneeling before anyone was something that did not happen.
I took the knife from his hand and gave it a few practice jabs. Perfectly balanced. I grinned. Before I could thank him for the honor a young man smashed through the front window. Judging by his outfit he was an intern at the nuclear plant my father worked at, which could only mean he was hungry for a promotion.
My father grabbed his lead Great Hammer from its sling. A beautiful weapon intricately carved with equations pertaining to the science of nuclear physics and weighing more than me. The intern cocked his head back before lunging towards my father with a balisong. How uncouth, not even giving a formal declaration of Job Application. My father dodged expertly and countered with a blindingly fast swing of his Great Hammer, bulging muscles causing his suit to rip at the seams. The intern was quick on his feet though and whipped around grazing my father’s face with his weapon. My father was getting old, and it was apparent with every consecutive battle that he was getting slower. Two more cuts appeared on my father dangerously close to his jugular before he could get another swing. This time the intern was not fast enough, getting his legs swept from under him with the wet crunching sound of shattering bone. The intern lay on the ground panting, my father granting him the grace period to concede the battle before giving the killing blow. With a flash the intern threw his knife into my father’s eye and lunged with a hidden switchblade for his neck. Within a blink I found myself burying my knife in the young interns’ throat and ripping it back out, leaving a massive gash that spouted blood like a faucet. That’s when my father began to laugh. With a grin, balisong still lodged in his eye socket, he looked at me.
“Looks like I have a new apprentice.”
|
The last customer left the store. We both watched the old lady leave. A clerk silently slipped in and locked the door behind her.
We were alone.
I examined my opponent. The harsh fluorescents of the dimmed grocery store lights made sharp angles and deep shadows of her face. Her bright red hair seemed muted against the artificial light.
We waited. One of the other cashiers watching us ate a chip.
I moved first. Those who strike first, often strike last.
She lunged over the cash register at the same time. We met in the middle, me slipping the knife meant for my throat and her dodging my looping overhand.
The small store echoed with snarls as we struggled. I managed to snag the scanner and within moments had the curly wire wrapped around her neck.
It took a few minutes to strangle the cashier. Longer than I’d like. It got a bit awkward when she started flailing and I had to push her forwards with my knee against her back while yanking backwards with the telephone line.
Finally, she went limp. I let her drop.
The lights went from dim to bright. I reached down and tugged off her name tag. Sarah was printed on white tape. I peeled it off curiously. The name “Jason” was underneath.
I snorted and put my own name over them all.
After adjusting my apron, I nodded at the clerk who still stood by the door. He nodded back and flipped the doors open.
| 2020-11-15T13:06:24
| 2020-11-15T12:35:27
| 37
| 13
|
[WP] You have the ability to double jump. Scientists are still trying to figure it out.
|
"What nonsense!"
"I know! But it's real! We've been testing with her at our lab for three days now."
"Can she *triple* jump too?"
"Yea, of course. That's like the first thing we've asked her to try. She has even done four! But beyond that, she gets very tired."
"Tired, you say?"
"Her heart races up with every jump. We had to be careful. But may be with practice.."
"So theoretically, do you think she can do an *infinite* jump?"
"Theoretically, she can't even do a double jump for Christ's sake! But I know what you're thinking. She still can't get to the orbit."
"Why not?"
"You see, with every further jump, the height she can reach seems to decay. So 'theoretically', even if we somehow impart her with infinite stamina, she can't jump beyond a certain threshold."
"Hmm interesting. I assume you measured the thrust she generates with her jump and compare it against the upper bound for height?"
"Yes, we did. We extrapolated the height that she would be able to reach if she were *infinite-jump*, and also calculated the height she should have actually reached if our Physics were true. We even accounted for air resistance and gravitational field anomalies."
"And?"
"Well, it turns out that the *infinite-jump* height is approximately 2.71828 times that of the conventional height."
"My God. Some one call the math guys!"
"Already did. We're meeting them in three hours. Be prepared."
|
The people in comic books have so many cool powers: flight, super strength, laser vision. My power is pretty mundane, but I like it that way: I can use it subtly without people freaking out.
I learned of my power in Junior High, when I tried to impress my father at long jump; he was upset that I was always second to Chad. When I jumped, I knew I couldn't make it, so I desperately tried a jump in midair. And it worked. I saw everyone's eyes, even my father's, open in awe.
Of course, I didn't end up winning. I fell back as I landed, so the gold went once again to Chad, who my father congratulated. Last time I looked into my dad's eyes was that evening, when it held the greatest disappointment a father's could have. "How could you lose?! You fell back like a failure! Chad should have been my child, but I am stuck with a loser like you!"
I didn't mind actually. After I ran away that day, I felt much better, like I was free. It might have also been the lack of beatings though. I lived with my mother then, on the other end of the country, and secretly practiced my new power.
I could double jump, but not triple. I could use my hand to jump with too. I quickly became the track star, with county records and everything one could desire: popularity, girls, even money. Almost everything.
When I turned 18, my chance came: the Olympics. I quickly blew away the competition in the high jump, making sure not to go too much above their limits.
And then I saw him: Chad, and my father as his supervisor. Turns out that Chad's parents were in an "accident", and my dad was given custody of the kid. We were both chosen to be members of team USA, and I knew what I would do then. I didn't care about money or medals. All I wanted was his humiliation, and my father's acceptance.
When the event came, I stood before the world. Turns out, Chad was better than the other countries' competitors as well, and it eventually came down to the two of us. Then my moment came to shine when Chad failed the 2.4 m jump. I smirked at his failure, and his glare only filled me with confidence. I made the jump easily, deciding to screw my rules and make obvious use of the double jump, clearing it by at least 1 meter. Everybody was silent through my jumps, as I managed to jump 4.5 meters before I fell, leading to endless applause. I turned to Chad, with the smuggest grin I could muster: "Suck it Chad" I simply said, leaving him to wallow in his shame.
My father was outside, waiting for me. "You know, you have really impressed..." his words faded away as I double jumped on his face. After I was arrested for murder, the Olympic committee disqualified me on the basis of steroids, but no one believed it. Truth was, the US government got me out of prison on the condition that I was their test subject.
They could never figure out what caused it. My genes appeared average, and nothing changed in my body when I double jumped. Even now, 40 years later, they persist. I am officially considered an executed prisoner. I haven't even been outside for 40 years. I am simply a method to try and get the super soldiers they want.
It doesn't matter though, because I got what I wanted. I ruined Chad for life, and I impressed my father, only to betray him. Like he betrayed me.
| 2017-02-11T08:49:55
| 2017-02-11T08:42:45
| 338
| 39
|
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
|
I'm going to die today.
The doctor is giving me a run down of what will happen when we pull the plug. It will be painless, he says. Despite his reassurance, I can't help but be afraid. I glance over to my wife, my one true happiness in life, and begin to tear up. I can't handle the fact that I will never see her again. I pull her in for one last embrace.
I look back at the doctor and tell him I'm ready.
He gives me a slight nod, and slowly shuts off my wife's life support.
-
Edit : Thank you all for the kind words, when I wrote this obviously I could not have anticipated that it would be so well accepted. I'm glad that a good bunch of you enjoyed this story, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
|
When is the right time for two people to decide to start a family? There's no rule or law to dictate what's best for other people, Jeannine thought as she stared at the dull pink double lines on the pregnancy test stick. Sure, maybe she didn't think in her heart it was the right time for her to have a baby, but who was she to make those sorts of decisions? She was no deity, no goddess prone to the knowledge of the world. Maybe there was a reason this was happening now.
Her and John had been struggling lately and it was only getting worse- maybe this was fate's way of bringing them together again. Things had been so good the first two years... She gasped and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand as the tears pooled in her eyes started to spill down as she reminisced. John, always so protective and strong. So what if that protective aura was edged with a taint of jealously, it still made her feel special because he seemed to care so much. It wasn't until later that that protective, jealous concern of his became controlling and abusive, small events escalating over time, like a brick wall being built, each event or suggestion of suppression, each act of control and dominance adding one brick at a time until she was trapped behind a solid wall, nowhere to go.
The tears were like a torrent now, sliding fast down her cheeks, a seemingly endless stream. She slid the palm of her hand to her abdomen and pressed lightly, thinking of what sort of father John would be. It was almost as if she could glimpse two separate futures at that moment- one where John was a caring, proud father, never taking his anger out on the children, instead reserving it all for her, behind closed doors, or one where his abuse pervaded beyond their relationship and spread even to their children, and his need to punish and control was executed anytime they did anything that wasn't up to his standards. It made her gut wrench to realize neither of these potential futures filled her with joy.
And yet still, here she was, pregnant. It was either the universe damning her to hell, or trying to twist this downward spiral of a relationship into something healthy and loving again. Who knows, maybe John would turn around, maybe he would restrain his anger and control issues and become a new man with the looming prospect of fatherhood ahead. Perhaps this new person, this spark of life, this miracle of the universe was going to fix everything, make him see what a valuable person she was, and make him want to love her again, instead of just own her. She decided, since she had no way of knowing the true intentions of the universe, she would take this as a good sign. She wiped her eyes again and took a deep breath, and even smiled as she formulated a plan on how to break the news to John.
Later that week, Jeannine was ready. It was Thursday, her day off, and John was on his way home from work. She spent all day grocery shopping and preparing a gourmet meal- baked salmon with lemon garlic butter, asparagus, and a baked potato. Everything was laid out and on the table, just how John liked it, and she had taken the time between cooking to apply her makeup and do her hair, wearing a modest yet attractive sun dress. She thumbed the pregnancy test in a shallow pocket on the side of the dress idly as she waited for John to arrive. Not shortly after, she heard his car pull into the driveway, the heavy thud of his work boots as they neared the door, and then the jangle of keys followed by the subsequent slam of the door behind him. He twisted the lock on the door before proceeding into the dining room, even drawing the chain into the bolt. Not necessarily an unusual task, but it made Jeannine's throat tighten, the thought of being locked in.
She called out a greeting to him and stepped into the entranceway, leaning in for a kiss, and that was when she knew John was not going to be in a good mood. His eyes were dark, and his frame was tense. He didn't say anything as they shifted into the dining room, seemed not to notice how nice she looked, and the elaborate spread before him did not trigger as significant. He silently began to eat. After several bites, he growled for a beer. Jeannine scampered into the kitchen to get one for him.
As she placed the beer on the table beside his plate, she cleared her throat and removed the pregnancy test from her pocket, and slid it onto the table as well. She stood there, tense, frightened, restrained, fingers nervously clenched, and watched as his eyes drifted to the object. A flare of confusion seemed to spark in the dark pools of his gaze, and for a moment Jeannine was optimistic that the lift of his brow was one reflecting a happy surprise. That optimism vanished as John put down his fork, turned in his chair, and stood before her. His glaring eyes dug into hers.
"This sum joke?" He barked.
Jeannine shook her head and allowed her gaze to drop. John grasped her chin in his fist and made her eyes meet his.
"You cheatin' on me?" He growled.
"N-no, John, no, nothing like that. We... we're going to have a baby," Jeannine quivered, a weak smile daring to flee across her lips.
"These past years we never'd had no baby scare, what is this? You been' whorin' around, now wanna get me all twisted up with sum other man's baby?" The look of disgust on John's face destroyed her inside, and Jeannine wrenched her chin away, planning to flee to the bedroom, but John's thick fist caught her shoulder as she turned and he flung her back around. His other hand met with her cheek in a hard slap. It seemed the dismal futures she had imagined were meant to come true, after all. The tiny being inside of her was not a harbinger of joy and happiness that would change her reality for the better.
-----------------------
The universe... a celestial body of the unknown. Does it have a pattern? Does it have a purpose? Does the roiling chaos of the void have any way to alter the eventual outcomes of itself? Does it correct mistakes, does it cause harm, does it steer life into existence, to create chaos, or does it destroy life and create joy? Of course, none can say...
-----------------------
Two months later, on her day off, Jeannine did not get out of bed. John had left for work hours before. She had chores to do- cleaning, laundry, vacuuming- but instead, she chose to stay in bed, curled up in the sheets, lingering between wakefulness and dreamland, truly resting in neither. There had been a nagging pain in her abdomen that just would not stop. It wasn't until hours later that she realized she was soaking wet. She sat up, thinking she had peed herself, but no, that couldn't be it- her bladder was still full. In fact, she would not have stirred from her sleepless in-between state if she had not had the urge to pee, which she had ignored for so long it felt like her bladder would explode.
That is when she realized the nightgown and the sheets around her were soaked thick with blood.
--------------------------------------
The following week, on her day off, Jeannine waited in bed, tense, while John moved about the house, preparing for his day. She had made him coffee and fried up some eggs, and kissed him goodbye. After that, he usually didn't mind if she went back to bed, as long as the chores and housekeeping was done before he got home, dinner ready on the table.
Finally the door slammed shut, his car engine started, and the house seemed frozen in time. Jeannine wasted no time. She stood, pulled the suitcase from underneath her bed, and began packing, taking only the things she needed, leaving behind anything that would invoke memories of this horrid period of time in her life. Once at the door, she removed the housekeys from her key ring and placed them on the keyholder. Since there would be no returning, there was no reason for her to take them with her. She took one last look around and the smallest fraction of doubt flared in the furthest depths of her mind- a memory of when she had first moved in, how excited her and John were to be living together. How happy they were. But the more she allowed the thought to linger, the more it grew into more memories- how John began to change once she lived with him. Small changes at first, slowly escalating. She pushed these thoughts from her mind, confident again that she was making the right choice.
Jeannine got into her car, suitcase beside her, and started the engine. As she pulled out of the driveway, she felt good. Young woman, attractive, a full tank of gas, a new day, and her whole life ahead of her. She did not want to think about it consciously, but she knew she had that little person who was once inside of her to thank, and she knew, that that unknown person who she would never meet, was indeed a harbinger of joy and happiness in her life, after all.
| 2015-06-03T08:22:01
| 2015-06-03T07:59:09
| 2,420
| 12
|
[WP] Make a story so awkward even the narrator start's getting uncomfortable.
. _ .
Starts*
Auto correct is my mortal enemy.
|
“ “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“No, thanks. Coffee is good.” I reply, no eye contact. I feel like a bit of a prick applying this manner of interpersonal dynamics. I’m sure her day is no better or worse for my lack of visual acknowledgement on receipt of my coffee but the burr sticks. I should have just fucking looked at her and given her ‘the nod’ or something, now I’ve spent the 15 seconds I would have been using to think of clever words admonishing myself for being rude instead. But when you really think about, had I wanted anything else I would have asked for it. It’s not like this coffee shop is particularly busy.
2 ginger guys poring over a laptop, cute 20-something with a fringe on a comfy chair flicking through an iPod, couple of generic looking suit types poring over one broadsheet or another. If I really felt all of a sudden like I wanted a brownie to go with my coffee, I’m sure I could get her attention in a few seconds. If I whispered in this place she would hear me at the other side of the joint. If I shifted in my chair ever so slightly the sound would startle all present and they would look in my general direction to gauge the scale of rumpus.
So, actually, fuck her. I’m not paying her to ask me shit, I’m paying her to make me fucking coffee.
Did I say that out loud? Why do I feel like the energy of the room has suddenly gone off a little? I’m sure she just stopped in her tracks like a record may have skipped or something. Nothing. Fuck, I get so introspective sometimes, I swear everything’s one big simulation.
Coffee tastes like shit.
It’s all milk.
Definitely saw the two girls behind the bar looking over at me, and not in a ‘hey that slobby guy with coffee on his shirt is looking pretty smoking’ sort of way. All I did was not look at her when I said I didn’t want anything, what’s the big idea. I wasn’t vocally rude, I wasn’t even, like, tonally curt with her.
“Hey, want to keep it down over there?” One of the laptop ginger’s has just piped in
“Sorry?”
“We don’t need a running commentary mate, keep it to yourself.”
Shit, I had the inverted commas open from the start.
“You still do pal, wind it down, please.”
“Sorry.” I cannot drink this coffee quicker.
“
|
Alright! It’s that point in the story where the guy gets the girl. Where he decides that he does have enough confidence, and she will respond to it. She has to.
Okay, walk over... Just. No, walk normal. LIKE A HUMAN PERSON. Alright, you’re almost there. Whoops, a little trip. No worry. Stairs are tricky. She isn’t even looking at you. Yet. You can still do this just fine. You got it.
Deep breath. Not that deep. Everyone heard you. That girl, over there, she looked. Let it out. SLOWER. You essentially blew on this girl. She’s looking at you. Speak.
Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
That’s you. That’s what you sound like. You’re the protag, dammit. This whole story is about you. She only exists as long as you’re both on the same page, now talk to her like you are the center of this story. Oh god. She’s not going to get that reference. That’s both a sci-fi TV show and old as hell. Nobody but your stupid friends will know what that means. Just be forward and tell her you would like to hang out or something.
WHOA! Way too forward. See the face she’s giving you now? That means you lose. Back away. Don’t even try to salvage this. No. Stop talking. She’s not going to see you around. I said back away, not back up. Oh god, you pushed the kid with crutches down the stairs. Don’t cry! You’re a Senior in high school for chrissakes.
Hey! Hey, other narrator. You wanna trade?
**In a world, where I really don’t want to do that, one man told you to cram it back up your ass**
Fine. Fine. No need for all of that. This kid better turn out to be rich someday…
| 2014-12-23T09:45:16
| 2014-12-23T09:02:44
| 249
| 111
|
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories.
|
My phone rang.
"Thank you for calling support, this is Rick, how can I assist you today?
>It's not working. Ever since Necrosoft decided that Revival7 should be phased out and forced us on to Revival10 this damned thing's been out of wack!
"Uh.. Alright, sir. Well - What's the actual problem? What is it that you're unable to do right now, or what specifically isn't working?"
>None of it! I open my tome, it flashes the usual arcane dogma, and then opens the portal view of all my runes and scripts. I can open any of those, but if I try to get to the Intra-Portal to raise a soul, nothing happens. It just sits there!
"I see, I see. Okay. So you said this was Revival10, right?"
>Damned thing! Of course it is! Isn't that what everyone has now, since they FORCED it on us??
"Yessir. Let's go ahead and go to the bottom left, and we're going to hover over your Initiation Rune."
Silence. Stretched on for a minute or two. More silence.
"Sir...?"
>What?
"Let's press the initiation rune?"
>Oh, right. Yeah I don't see it. It's not there.
"It's right there. Bottom left of the page, four little white rectangular runes..."
>I'm not seeing it.
I sighed. Every day. Since Necrosoft put out the Revival 10 series of tomes, all the truly old Necromancers had been having possibly the worst time getting rituals completed.
"Ok, let's try again. Bottom left corner, four white rectangular runes. Go ahead and hover your finger over the-"
>You mean on the tome itself?
This question used to bring incredulity to the forefront. Now it brought resignation. Where else would I be talking about?
"Yes sir, the tome itself. We want to be looking at the actual tome. Not at your stylus, not at the desk. On. The. Tome."
>Oh, I found it! Thank you! Haha, I'm not so good at this new Revival10 - I miss the good old days of Revival7 where it all looked the same.
"Yessir," I reply, giving a modicum of admission that Revival7, having been around for essentially a decade, was indeed a good system of Tomes. "Now that we've found it, go ahead and hover your finger over it, and chant the following - Charlie Mike Delta. Charlie Mike Delta. Charlie Mike Delta."
I listened as the end user did as he was told, and a loud sucking noise could suddenly be heard, followed by a soft "bang" noise. The user didn't say anything for a moment, so I prompted him "We should be seeing a black void window now, with a flashing white totem line, right?"
>Yes, that's right. What do I do now?
The issue at hand was rather simple - His new Revival10 Tome wasn't connecting to the Aetherlife, and without a valid Intra-Portal address, he couldn't summon or revive anyone. Even better, he worked from home, and so of course this needed to be fixed **right. now.**
"Alright. So, I want you to repeat after me, and the words should appear in white script as you chant. They should appear in the black portal. Let me know if they don't, ok?"
>Ok -
"I, like internment, P like Proselytize, -" He cut me off...
>Nothing's happening. I said the letters but nothing is showing up.
"Did you tap on the void portal?" I inquire, with this being the most common issue. He had not.
>Ok, ok. Sorry, start over for me?
I run through the phonetics again. Eventually, the customer has large floating white letters reading "ipconfig/renew". The real trick here is encanting properly, as "renew" has to have some shout, some power behind it to force the Tome to reach out and obtain an Intra-Portal address.
"Alright sir, this last one isn't something we can do for you. You have to put some power behind the word "renew" - Just like you're bringing someone back, or say... raising a familiar. So go ahead and entone the first part, but really put your power in to "renew" ok?"
>Yeah yeah I have to do this every few weeks. Ever since Revival10 came out, the damn thing hasn't worked. I have to call you guys almost every other day! It's getting ridiculous-"
I cut him off. It's not good to let Necromancers go on rants. They literally just... never stop, and some times you end up being the dead person instead of bringing them back.
"Ok sir. I understand. Let's shout "Renew" on three, okay? One..."
The customer hissed at the rebuke, but did as he was told, counting with me. "Two..." The black portal quivered and the edges lit up a dark blue colour - "Three!"
>Hey, it worked! I went ahead and opened my copy of Intra-Portal-Explorer and I was able to get my main page up!
"Very good, sir." I said in the most cheerful possible way. My eyes never moved. I was dead inside after dealing with this eight hours a day. "If anything else arises (I spared myself a dark chuckle at my awful necromancy joke) feel free to call us back, we're available 24\7 at both our phone line here, and our Sanscrit Messaging Service, where you simply write on a wall with our Intra-Portal address, and we'll respond accordingly. Thank you!"
>You've been very helpful, I really appreciate it! Now, I have four more Tomes all doing the same thing...
I sighed. He sighed. The capricious gods of the afterlife laughed at my suffering. Such was a Tuesday in Necro-IT.
|
"Hey nerd", James shouted in my telecom.
"What is it", I reply, already annoyed. James was always cocky, barely able to reanimate five soldiers of the Tahaka dynasty, yet acted like he could summon demons from the ninth circle.
"My reanimator isn't working again, get your ass here and fix it.", he said, annoyed. He was probably trying to reanimate a whore of Babylon without permission and broke it.
"Have you tried turning it off and on again?", I smirked.
"All right get here now, or you might get fired for messing around with colleagues during work time, and I'll personally make sure to put a dent as big as Satan's fist on your resume.", He lost his cool so quick.
"Oh, coming then."
I saw it as soon as I got there. I was right. He was at least trying to summon something of not-so-nice character from Babylon. But he got all the symbols wrong.
It took about 15 minutes, and a lot of glaring from James to fix it. And just for fun, I made sure he couldn't summon anything with not-so-nice character anymore.
"Thanks, nerd, now shoo."
| 2018-04-28T02:42:46
| 2018-04-28T02:15:43
| 71
| 16
|
[WP] On the outside you're running a registered Marijuana Store, but behind that front you're a highly illegal Kinder Egg smuggling operation, and you are looking to expand....
|
As soon as she walks in, I can see the signs. The bags under her eyes. Shaking hands. She needs her fix.
“Ma’am?” I lock eyes with her and discretely point to the inspector scribbling a few feet away. “Are you here for the usual?”
She knows the inspector by sight. All of my regulars do. I shrug slightly, trying to convey regret and the fact that my hands are tied as long as he’s here. She sidles up to the counter, bowing her head to avoid being seen on the cameras.
“Please,” she whispers. “It’s my son. He isn’t well… I haven’t slept in days-”
I slap on my fake customer service smile. “Understood. Give me a moment, alright?”
I fill two of the orders myself, just to deflect suspicion. Los Angeles still has strict weed laws, and compliance with the Department of Cannabis Regulation is an absolute must. But after a few more minutes of observation, and a glance at my licensing paperwork, the inspector is out the door.
She watches him go before looking at me again, pleading.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her.
I leave my assistant with the next customer and head for the back room. The items are in a safe, well hidden beneath a floor drain. I twist the drain three times clockwise, then pull the tiny door open. There are only four red-and-white eggs left, but I decide she should have all of them. Another shipment is due soon anyway. I place them in a paper bag, tape the top down, and hurry back to the front before anyone becomes suspicious.
“$13.08.”
She hands me a twenty, snatches the eggs, and is out the door before I can give her the change.
To the eyes of passersby, I’m just another guy trying to cash in on the new era of legal weed. Just another seedy dispensary on the corner. That’s why I started branching out. How fitting… that selling weed had become the gateway to something far more illegal.
The woman rushes back out to her car with the paper baggie. Her son is strapped into an adult car seat. Limb restraints are wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Pity stings my heart. From twenty feet away, I can see the bite marks scarring his lips and hands. A few of his fingers are missing.
Chocolate. A silly little treat that reduces uric acid crystallization. It is too late for her to save him entirely from the disease wracking his body, but I understand her desperation. Anything helps.
“Mommy’s brought you a toy,” I hear her say. “See?”
I don’t do it for the rush of selling something illegal. At the end of the day, selling Kinder Eggs is just like selling weed. There are people who need it. They will seek it out themselves. Why not help them?
|
X months in and the pressure from the Chief is getting to me. We have no leads still, and kids are dying every day from small choking parts hidden in delicious chocolate. God, why did I leave home and move to America, full of idiots. Streetlamps lit up the side walk with a cool yellow glow and I could almost hear the tap of my soles hitting the pavement as I walked. I needed something to calm me down and my partner suggested I get a fatty from the dispensary down the street from the precinct. I guess I should be grateful. Its been 5 years since our state had completely decriminalized all drugs. I saw cocaine for sale in a CVS and its still so surreal to me, coming from a country that would sentence you to 20 years for a dime bag. Now there is almost no drug crime, besides an assault here and there. The force is safer now, and we can actually put efforts into the real investigations.
The dispensary looked just like any other store on this street. Its not a popular one, probably because they only have the basics. It had a real convenience store feel. There were edibles on a glass case in front of the cashier. I considered it, but then I tough of how cool I would look smoking it out of a tobacco pipe like some old-timey English detective. What was his name... Herlock Sholmes? Sounds close.
I took a look at the shelves of paraphernalia. Glassware wouldnt work for me. I dont want any of these bongs, they are too big. I dont see anything that would really fit my style so I turned to the cashier and asked him, "Do you have wood?"
The cashier gave me a nervous look and put his hands in front of his crotch as I realized my turn of phrase turned out wrong. I must have started turning red as I approached him waving my arms at the misunderstanding, but he backed up into a wall. A panic overcame him and he tried to dash to the door of the backroom and tripped on a mop and bucket that someone must have forgotten. The handle went through the poster and hit something underneath. A wall slid up revealing a back room the size of a warehouse. People with surgical masks were loading boxes with smaller boxes like a factory line. A woman heard the panel open and turned my way, holding an orange box.
Kinder eggs....
My detectives instinct made me reach into my trench coat for my revolver. The snubnose .38 should be enough to take this room if by surprise. Just my luck, I sneezed and they all simultaneously look right at me.
So anyway, I started blasting...
| 2019-11-25T11:29:37
| 2019-11-25T11:09:22
| 29
| 20
|
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.
|
It happens from time to time, a paladin gets a little too strong they start to think they have a destiny and are all about championing good. They start messing with the world's balance pushing it too far towards good. That's when the Consortium sends me in. Paladins are easy to deal with when you know how to push their buttons. I am what you would call a rogue, and that's exactly what the group in front of me had been advertising for, and I could see why as they came clanking up to my table. A dwarf cleric, clearly worshipping Hanseath judging by the armor and war-axe branded with a beer stein. Behind him trying to hide in his shadow was a mousy gnome wielding a staff, a book dangled at her side held there by a chain. I could sense faint traces of magic around here, clearly one of the wizened, this job just got a little trickier. And the final member of the party that approached was my target, if the shining golden armor was any indication. Arrogantly he looked around at his surroundings before loudly shouting at the barmaid. "Wench bring me your finest mead, whilst I meet with the scoundrel who summoned us, and once that is through maybe I can show you the truth meaning of a paladin worshipping the god of vitality." He finished that off by pinching her butt and winking.... This target is one I will enjoy silencing for the greater "good".
"You scoundrel, didst you send a child bearing a letter containing details of how to break into the necromancers keep?" The paladin roared out.
The mousy girl spoke up "Timothee theres no reason to call him a scoundrel he offered to aid us in our quest, he could just be another adventurer wishing to rid the area of the undead. And we could use his help since your plan of frontal assault failed so spectacularly"
"Aye lad you cannae go call'n ereyone ye meet a rapscallion or call'n em evil only te chop off der head a secund lat'r. Ye did dat to de greedy shopkeep last town." Grumbled the dwarf obviously irritated at his companion.
I stepped in hoping to end the argument before it began in ernest. "Yes I reached out to your esteemed group. I've heard tale of the good you did and wished to offer my services after hearing you failed in your assault. You see I know of a hidden way into the castle through the mines. My ancestors were some of the original Mason's who built the castle and a hidden tunnel was made that leads to the back of an unused mine shaft. I can...."
"Well then tell us the location and we may be on our way, after my liason with the wench of course" The paladin interrupted.
"My Lord, if I may call you that, you do not understand the danger, the tunnel is trapped for those that are coming in from the mine, my family has knowledge of these traps that I cannot easily share, I was offering to lead the way, as unless I missed my guess none of you are experienced in the trap making arts?" I continued ignoring the paladins interruption.
"Aye lad ye be right, ye sound like a worthy addit'n te the team" the dwarf stated animatedly while clapping me on the back. "I go by Darien, this wee lass is Fidgit, and that there is Timothee the virile" he said rolling his eyes at the moniker.
"Hold on one minute I haven't said he could join" Timothee said while muttering an incantation under his breath and passing his holy symbol near my body when it didn't glow he seemed startled "All right I detect no evil in his presence, he can join us"
I chuckled at this, what kind of fool doesn't know how to hide their intentions, oh I will enjoy eliminating this person, maybe I'll even give the Consortium a discount.
"Then the matter is settled we will leave at once for the mine and the hidden entrance within"
There's more I want to write if people are interested but I need to sleep and sorry for formatting issues doing this on my phone is hard
Continued in the comment below I am bad at this whole Reddit thing
|
I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/dnd] [Is it me or does this just sound like a great idea?](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/aiil4d/is_it_me_or_does_this_just_sound_like_a_great_idea/)
- [/r/rpg_brasil] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpg_brasil/comments/ain5cr/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [Doesn‘t really belong heree, but maybe you like it](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/ail8us/doesnt_really_belong_heree_but_maybe_you_like_it/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [So this is a writing prompt they're not real stories but I think this is something we have wished we could do to some of our problem players XD](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/amgzxr/so_this_is_a_writing_prompt_theyre_not_real/)
- [/r/u_beardsonfire] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_BeardsOnFire/comments/aijsdd/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_personusername] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_PersonUsername/comments/aiiiy8/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_soullessgent] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_soullessgent/comments/aij46a/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
&nbsp;*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
| 2019-01-21T20:21:57
| 2019-01-21T19:09:12
| 80
| 16
|
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts!
|
“So, for the benefit of the court, could you once again just break down what exactly are the limitations of the wishes you offer, as you explained them to my client?”
The genie looked outraged for a second, then just leaned back on his chair, before launching into explanation in his fullest drawl:
“Typical genie rules, nothing to difficult to understand, usually...” He paused, giving the court a smirk.
“Which are, for the benefit of those present who haven’t had the pleasure of doing business with a genie before now?”
The genie sighed dramatically, “no killing, no bringing dead folks or things back to life, no making any one or thing fall in love, and no wishing for more wishes, or things would just get ridiculous.”
The lawyer paced back and forth a few times, staring at the ceiling as though in deep thought.
“And which of these rules do you believe my client has been in breach of?”
The genie scoffed, “obviously the whole wishing for more wishes one. You know that, or why would we even be here. Why do you lawyers always go over every obvious detail, as though it’s going to make it any better for your case by repeating it.”
The lawyer smiled, candidly: “So my client said the words ‘Please Genie, can I please have more wishes’, or did he ask for a specific number of more wishes or..?”
“Well, no. He did wish for more genies though, which is just madness”
The lawyer turned to address the wider courtroom.
“So as the we have all heard, the standard genie rules state that they may not grant a user with any more wishes. However, I do not recall there being any mention of a rule against wishing for more genies?”
He turned back to the genie, “Or have I misunderstood?”
|
The sounds of grunts and footsteps penetrated your dreams.
"The wife must be having a nightmare" you thought as you drifted between the waking and dream worlds. As you slowly started deafen yourself to the noise and head back to dreamland a startling revelation throws you back into the waking world with a start.
You are not married. You aren't even dating anyone (dry spell much?). There shouldn't be anyone there but you!!!
Your eyes fly open and scan the faces surrounding your bed. Ifrites, Genies, faeries and demons faces are eyeing you down... The faeries were the worst, they so didn't look like their children book counterparts. Whatever they were paying the PR firm it was worth it!
One of the genies materialized a club in his hand and one by one every single entity in the room took out a blunt weapon.
Genie "You the lawyer guy? Our wish fulfillment not good enough for ya? We'll show you what we do to wise guys around these parts!"
| 2018-07-18T11:47:43
| 2018-07-18T11:05:03
| 28
| 12
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
You sit in your cell, awaiting the return of the guard with your last meal. Or, you hope, the guard will return empty handed and you will be set free. At the end of the hall, you hear the distinctive sound of the door unlocking, and the footsteps of someone approaching. Only one set, so no priest. A good sign.
The guard arrives in front of your cell, staring at you through the bars for a moment.
"Would you have actually eaten it?" He asks.
"Of course, why else would I have requested it?"
"You would have straight up eaten a copy of Half-life 3?" He asks, unlocking the door to your cell.
|
The trick was to find the loophole.
The Alien-egg Omelette was just two Century-Eggs blended, added to milk, and re-fried.
Dragon Steak? Wagyu beef drowned in hot-sauce and cooked sous-vide.
The Flesh of Jesus Christ? Communion Wafers.
The Executioners were akin to djinnies, twisting the last request and presenting the requestee with the twisted, ironic depictions of what they asked for. The streak remained unbroken.
So you asked for a bottle of wine. Wine distilled from Caberlot grapes, which were only grown in two hectares of land in the entire world. You didn't ask for *those* Caberlot grapes, though. You asked for *wild* Caberlot grapes, which did not exist, as they were a genetic cross between Merlot and Cabernet Franc.
And so, as per your last request, first the grapes had to be seeded in the wild, and left to naturally grow.
It took five years, but that was five years that stayed your due date.
The next issue was the *type* of wine you asked for. Double-barrelled, aged until 'sufficient fruitiness', to be judged by you, and only you.
The issue being that wine's fruity bouquet deteriorated rapidly. In six months it all but disappeared—and that's when it would be transferred to its second barrel, to age even more.
The process of aging the wine itself took another five years, five years added to your sentence, but also to your life.
Next, they brought you the bottle. After ten years since they had sown the first of the Wild Caberlot grapes, five years since they had first placed the wine into its first barrel.
You sampled it, and judged it robust, earthy, and with rich character—but it was *not* a fruity wine. Only then did they realise their mistake. So caught up in the act of finding you your impossible wine, they had allowed *you* to dictate the loophole.
As long as you judged the wine unfit, they could not execute you.
But, as they had delivered you wine as specified, you were kept in prison. With neither party willing to bring the case to Court for fear of precedent, there you stayed. Every year, you would be brought a bottle of Wild Caberlot wine, and you would judge it unfit, and not fruity enough. You would then be forced to keep the wine, and you would be kept on Death Row.
They couldn't put different wine in the bottle, either, because then you would still judge it unfit. And even if they replaced the wine with the fruitiest wine they could find, they could do nothing. It would be considered entrapment.
Anyone else who tried the same trick were scrutinised heavily, and their agency in the request was removed. The wine you helped create became popular, your face known worldwide.
And through the years the dance continued.
You became known as The Sentenced Sommelier.
And you never judged a worthy wine.
| 2022-07-17T16:30:58
| 2022-07-17T15:22:32
| 1,737
| 1,032
|
[WP] 9 buttons show up in major cities worldwide giving every person who pushes it one million dollars but kills ten random people. Greed quickly gives way to panic as billions die and the buttons are buried and guarded. One day, you find the tenth button.
|
*One Million US Dollars*
There it was. Etched onto that little black box, below that infamous blue button. Everyone on Earth had seen that image. Most people on Earth had felt its effects. No-one on Earth wanted to find another box. I did.
Nine of the world's largest cities had suffered. Tokyo first, just over a year ago. Then again, no-one even noticed at the time. 3,000 people in a city of thirty million? A drop in the ocean. One more multi-millionaire? No-one batted an eyelid.
Manila, a month later, was the turning point. A nineteen year old boy from the slums wandering into a hotel and placing enough cash on the table to buy it is always going to cause a stir. When he buys four hotels in two days the media are sure to turn up. A week later, fifteen minutes of TV changed the world.
At first it looked like a strange publicity stunt. One hundred and twenty-seven times that button was pushed. A bank representative on the screen announcing as the money arrived in the boy's account. It seemed, at first, like the strangest public demonstration of wealth ever seen.
Then, less than two hours later, news of another box in Cairo. Over the next two days seven more individuals came forward. Rio, Shanghai, Paris, Mexico City, Moscow, Bangkok and Istanbul. Nine boxes, and seven newly-made multi millionaires. Two proclaimed themselves billionaires.
A collective wealth of $15.3billion, all verified as legitimate by bank managers and auditors. No trace of wrong doing. No sign of an explanation for the boxes. And then, from Geneva came an announcement. All nine cities had seen huge leaps in their death rates, and all nine correlated with much-publicised wealth of what were now the world's nine most famous people.
Initial disbelief gave way to anger. Battle lines were drawn. There were arguments, accusations, and ever increasing wealth. Some gave up the boxes; five of them publicly destroyed on TV. Their finders ostracised and stripped of their money, but eventually proven innocent of any intent to kill.
Four fled, but it's not easy to hide when the whole world knows what you look like. Even an unlimited source of money can only get you so far. Paris was found in a dimly-lit backstreet, filled with only slightly fewer bullets than the box next to her. Rio was left floating in a motel pool, still clutching his. Shanghai was hanged, though no-one cared to ask who by.
Moscow was lost for three months, though his sanity seemed to have been missing for even longer. He appeared one freezing February morning in St Peter's square, holding a revolver to his head, and pushing that blue button over and over. He was shot by police before he could finish the job himself, but he took thousands with him.
Cities and countries were left broken, bank accounts filled with money were closed, and slowly the world began to move on. Conspiracy theories were left unanswered. No-one ever came forward to claim involvement.
For those of us in countries unaffected it was easier to move on. Easier to forget. Easier to ignore the impact. I must confess, by the time I came to be digging up my garden I was more concerned with mortgage payments than mass-murder mysteries. That was until I hit something solid. Until I read those words.
A tenth. A dreaded tenth. In my garden. I didn't think to ask how, or dare to ask why. I just started to plan how I could get rid of it. But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to do it; there it sat on my nightstand for weeks, occupying my mind.
At first I kept it out of curiosity. One of the most important objects in human history was sitting in my bedroom. Slowly though, I realised that it was mine. Mine to do what I want with. To keep. To destroy. To use. I mean, who's going to notice if ten people go missing in a city the size of London? Or twenty for that matter?
Whose going to notice if one button is pressed in the middle of the night?
Whose going to mind if a few more zeros appear in a single bank account?
Whose going to stop me if I press it again?
|
As I stared at this button, many things passed through my mind... I thought they were all buried. This one looks different from the other nine. Why is it blue instead of red like the rest? If it looks different does that mean it does something different as well?
I saw one of the other nine once. It was big and red and sat on this pillar in the middle of Times Square. It almost called to you as you walked by it. You certainly couldn't miss it. The pillar shown brightly in the sun but I couldn't say what it was made of. This button, though, was small and blue. It would have been barely noticeable in comparison to the one in Times Square. The pillar was made of some incredibly ancient looking wood. The grain was smooth like the wind and the rain had beaten on it for centuries, but the button itself looked like it was brand new.
I stared for what seemed like hours. Should I push it? Suddenly having that much money would be great, but if people die because of it could I handle that thought? I wasn't sure. What if it didn't kill anyone this time? What if it killed them but didn't give me the money? What if it didn't do either of those things? There was no way of knowing without pushing it. Would it be worth it? I stepped forward, my hand hovered over the button, I hesitated. Could I really push it? Knowing that it might kill someone's daughter? Someone's father? Even if it might be my sister? My hand shook at the thought of people dying so that I could live an easier life. Slowly my hand returned to my side. I stared for just a moment longer before I turned and walked away.
As I passed through the forest I knew that this button had to disappear. It needed to be buried like all the rest. Noone could find it and use it regardless of what it actually did. When I reached the parking lot I saw groups heading into the woods, ignoring the trails just like I did. Any one of them might accidentally find it, but I couldn't do anything about that right this second. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.
There was a hot line set up for the buttons, but it was probably disconnected by now. I didn't know who to call but they'd need to encase this button in stone and metal just like the others. The police were the only option then. When the operator answered, I simply said "I'd like to report a button", but it was like I'd dropped an atomic bomb on the other end of the line.
There was complete silence for almost a minute before she responded. I could hear the fear in her voice. A voice that had probably comforted murder victims in their last moments, shook as she spoke. "Sir, are you sure? The buttons were all buried". She was hoping this would turn out to be a joke, I could hear it in her voice.
"I'm sure" I replied, "it's not like the others, but it has to be one. It's in the middle of the woods, the pedestal looks ancient but the button looks like it is brand new, there's nothing around it but trees".
Another pause. "Ok sir, I will get someone out there. Are you able to stay at your location and show them this button"?
I replied in the affirmative, and she asked for my exact location. I gave it and she said "Thank you". She also collected my phone number and some other information so the crew could find me when they arrived.
After an hour wait, they arrived and I led them out to the clearing where the button still sat. One of the guys carrying shovels asked "why does this one look different"?
The supervisor just shrugged and replied, "what's it matter? We need to close off this area while we work and get some of our supplies out here. Thanks for showing the way, kid".
He left a couple guys there to warn people off and took the rest of the crew to get the materials to bury the button. I walked with them, but paid no mind to the crew.
In the parking lot, the supervisor clapped me on the shoulder and said "thanks again. Those buttons can be pretty tempting, takes a strong person to just walk away like that".
I thanked him and climbed in my truck. I thought about the button the entire way home. Glad I made the right choice, but also wishing I knew what that button did.
| 2014-11-18T10:02:06
| 2014-11-18T09:14:19
| 105
| 15
|
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
|
You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
|
"Anything else?" the waitress asked me, as she smacked a cup of coffee on the table somewhat carelessly. I think her name was Darla. I shook my head a bit and watched her saunter back to the counter out of the corner of my eye. I knew she had judged me from the moment she saw me. She had given me the same look most everyone else does. It's funny how someone marked and nicked with little white scars on her hands and arms and neck and legs can look down on me for having more of them. To be fair to - whatever her name was... - Darla- ...to be fair to Darla, and to everyone else, I do have lots and lots of little scars. I looked out to the window to my right at a lamp post that illuminated the darkened streets. This was as asleep as the city gets at night.
I started my scar collection as a kid. My mother meant well and might've been a decent parent if she didn't spend her days swigging vodka. My dad was never in the picture. A military man, apparently, who had to move to a base in Europe before I was born, although looking back I'm sure that wasn't true. My mother, now she had a lot of scars. A scar for every time she was going to quit drinking and "do right by me."
The first scar I remember scratching its way onto my skin was when I was probably four or five. My teacher had asked me if I was going to be ok. My mother hadn't come to pick me up which was a semi-frequent event, and I had gotten up to walk home - I lived a 20-minute walk or so away from the school so it wasn't a problem for me. He asked me if I was going to have dinner at home, and I lied. I told him we were having company over and my mom probably just lost track of time cooking this big meal for us all. I don't even know why I lied about it because it was a pointless lie, but I felt the sting on the back of my shoulder as the words left my lips.
Over the years the lies I told people, the lies I told my mother created a tapestry of scar tissue across my body. Sometimes I just wanted to get away from the house and I'd tell her I was staying with a friend. The marks were inconsequential to me.
I'm a journalist now - a failed one - there's no use lying to you. It's funny really because none of my scars ever came from anything I've ever written. I'm stupid; I use my lies on bullshit, instead of making money.
I looked down at my coffee and heard Darla telling a couple large patrons at the counter that she was planning on going back to school soon. I wondered if she got a scar for that or if she really meant it. It didn't really matter to me. I'm not interested in the lies people tell others. That's easy. It's recorded in the history of your body like the rings of a tree and even though they fade over time, more will always take their place - we can't help ourselves. No, what interests me are the lies people tell themselves. When people put makeup over their scars to cover up as many as they can, do they look into the mirror and pretend they are honest?
A bell rang as the door opened. I glanced to my left and saw a young man walk in. And I froze.
"Go ahead and sit where you'd like," Darla yelled out cheerily. "I'll be with you in just a sec."
The newcomer walked towards a back booth, and my eyes stayed fixed on him the entire time. His skin was unmarred by any scar or blemish. I had looked over his face and neck and forearms, and not a mark there was on them. Bullshit. Everyone lies. That is the only consistent truth I have ever known, and I've known that as far back as my memory extends. Everyone is a liar - that is a universal truth. It's the universal truth. I found myself rising out of my seat. My feet carried me towards the man in the back, quickening with each step. My heart pounded.
"Let me see your arms," I managed to squeeze out as I gripped his arm and turned it. My voice was nervous. I quickly jumped to the other arms and hurriedly looked it over. I rubbed his arm spastically to remove any makeup - but there was nothing. I looked up at his face. His eyes were those of a deer's caught in a headlight. What I was doing was crazy, I knew that. I had grabbed a random stranger but he couldn't be this honest. It wasn't possible.
"Where are your scars?" I demanded. He was still taken aback. "Where are they?" I repeated a little more forcefully.
"I- what scars?" he stammered out.
I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.
"Where are your fucking scars!" I yelled at the man and grabbed his shirt at his shoulders. His shocked silence only made me angrier. In an instant, I whipped his shirt up and dumbfoundedly stepped back. The entire front of his torso was one giant mass of scarred flesh.
"How are they all there?" I breathed out. "That can't be from one lie..."
He looked hurt.
"There was an accident," he said dejectedly.
"Bullshit!" I shot back. That was a lie everyone with an exceptional scar tried to get away with. That it wasn't from a lie, but some physical injury instead. I'd heard that one before. Sometimes a new mark was worth keeping the truth in the dark. But there was no new mark. I scanned over his body.
"How did that happen?"
"It was an accident!" he retorted, anger now growing in his voice. "There was a fire in my building! People died...and I was lucky enough to only be left with this at the end of the night."
I looked over his body and watched as no new scars carved their way in. He threw his shirt back down and was clearly angry now. I stepped backward. The diner was silent. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. The man I accosted threw some money on the table and slid out of his booth. He moved passed me and I watched as the only honest man I had ever known walked out of the door. I was brought crashing back down to reality. I glanced towards the counter and saw the two patrons and the waitress staring at me. I walked back to my table and left some money there before walking out the door. I made it a few steps down the sidewalk before my legs went weak. I sat down on the curb and cried.
It was only six months later when I saw the man's face again. This time on the news. His name was Robert Lewis, and he had been arrested for arson. He had set a fire in his apartment building that apparently grew out of control and wound up killing six people and sending dozens more to the hospital. He had been found there lying in the smoke by first responders. But here's the kicker. He hadn't suffered any burns when they found him. That scar only appeared after he had been questioned about the fire by a couple other firefighters before the cops even spoke to him. It took them a couple weeks to realize what happened and then months to find the guy.
Everyone is a liar. He was just better at telling half truths.
Edit: Grammatical
| 2016-12-29T16:31:53
| 2016-12-29T16:20:19
| 15
| 10
|
[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,
I'm sorry I've let you down. I'm sorry I've not achieved what you thought you would. And I'm sorry I couldn't' be braver for you.
I want to assure you that you are a strong person, though. I want you to know that you will achieve what you want and that you'll eventually be the person you want to be. You can get past me, I'm that school friend who keeps your foot in the past. It's time to shake off the nostalgia and move forward.
I'll be here if you ever want to just kick back and listen to some old favourites.
Yours,
You.
|
Dear Katie,
It feels strange to be sitting here writing this to you. Especially in the form of a letter, emails seem to be a way of life, but I have to say that watching my pen move over this page has a certain draw.
I never thought I would need to write a letter to you. In my mind you should be right here with me. If I close my eyes I can imagine that you're right beside me, our shoulders touching while we hold hands and enjoy each other's company.
Even in my imagination my hands are a bit sweaty, but you've always made me nervous Katie. I remember you used to worry about that, you would say "just be your self. I'll love you anyway." I'm not sure I ever convinced you that I was being myself, the nervousness couldn't be helped. I couldn't stand the idea of hurting or disappointing you. Lot of good that does me now.
It took weeks to write this. Seeing your smiling face in my mind and sometimes barely remembering your voice hurt too much. When the pain was all I knew you were my life raft in the ocean. Now I just have to drown until the waters subside.
Know that I don't blame you, special. Remember when I called you that all the time? Anyway, I really don't. Everything was always intense between us. Amazing highs and amazing lows. I'm so glad you found someone that makes you happy. I used to tell you that as long as you were happy I would be as well. That's at least somewhat true.
I'll never date again, people tell me never is a long time but it's not the same. Who knew I would be a one woman man? But I am and I found and lost the only woman I'll ever want. Ever.
This could ramble on for a long time so I'll wrap things up. Know that I still love you, I never stopped. I don't blame you for moving on. It sounds ridiculous but sometimes I hold out hope that our story isn't over. That somewhere down the line you'll love me again. Hah, pathetic. Be safe special.
P.S. I recently lost and then found the bracelet you made me senior year. It doesn't fit anymore so it stays around the gear shift in my car. Love you always, Alex.
| 2015-12-05T13:04:05
| 2015-12-05T13:01:25
| 1,756
| 661
|
[WP] All doctors must carry a staff. The staff must be hand carved by the doctor, and for every patient a doctor can't treat they lose an inch off their staff. When a staff is gone, so is their license.
X-post from /r/crazyideas and /u/BrassDidgeStrings
|
She bent over and lifted a beautiful, pale, wooden staff from under the operating table. Her scrubs were soaked in blood and sweat, chemicals and tears. It was only Doctor Silvia Nite and her most recent patient. The room was quiet. In her gloved hand the staff carved with great care years ago as a bright eyed medical student shimmered. It always shimmered in the presence of the dead, injured or sick, like a beacon to guide the doctor towards those in need… or to those they had failed.
“I’m sorry” She said as she reached for a scalpel. This was tradition. This was law. For every failure a doctor took an inch off their staff. It was a painful experience for most. The staff was the embodiment of the Doctor’s skill. The longer the staff the better the doctor was the common saying. It was so much more than that. Most doctors worked in safe specialties, where only a handful of failures might happen over a long and wealthy career. The truly great doctors were the ones who would risk their career because saving lives mattered far more.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I did all I could… “She was so tired. She’d been operating for nearly 14 hours. “Your name… Your name is… was Matilda Twine. 8 years old… your mom said you loved fire trucks, ponies and the color purple. “Silvia managed a small smile “You were very brave…”
A true doctor never feared losing their staff. They only feared failing a patient.
She turned her staff around, taking the scalpel and inhaling deeply. With a sharp, precise slice one inch of her staff fell onto the operating table. Silvia folded the small piece of herself into the little girl’s lifeless hand and set her staff to the side. “Can you forgive me?” She asked the little girl.
In the quiet room, Silvia’s pale staff rattled, a new vine emerging from the cut base, twining up and around, adding more than an inch in length. Silvia removed her gloves to wipe the tears from her eyes. She laughed softly “Thank you.”
From the top of the staff, a flower had bloomed. It’s petals a beautiful deep purple.
((First time writing for a prompt. ))
edit: oh wow so many comments thank you all! And reddit gold! thank you /u/AdmiralBiscuit !
|
Once upon a time, at an elite university, an idealistic pre-med college student, [while showering](https://www.reddit.com/r/showerthoughts), got the idea that all doctors must carry a staff. The staff must be hand carved by the doctor, and for every patient a doctor can't treat, the doctor loses an inch off the staff. When the staff is gone, so is the doctor's license.
*What a brilliant idea!* the student thought. *This will ensure that only people serious about becoming doctors become doctors and that only skilled doctors treat patients and thus greatly improve healthcare and bring an end to incompetence and malpractice! This will usher in a medical utopia!*
She got together her friends and told them her idea. They all agreed that it was a brilliant idea, and so they formed a student group to advocate it. To draw attention to their cause, they staged a sit-in of their university's medical school. At that point, their sit-in began spreading across social media like wildfire. Because she was so charismatic, after listening to her speeches, more and more students joined the sit-in, until the sit-in shut down the medical school by making it impossible for the professors to teach classes.
Shutting down a medical school at an elite university was of course big news, so reporters descended upon the school, and the sit-in drew first nationwide and then international media coverage.
*What a brilliant idea!* the public thought, watching from their homes. *This will ensure that only people serious about becoming doctors become doctors and that only competent doctors treat patients and thus greatly improve healthcare and bring an end to incompetence and malpractice! This will usher in a medical utopia!*
Bombarded by calls from their constituents as to what a brilliant idea this was, legislators around the world rapidly passed laws revising each country's medical licensing standards: now, all doctors must carry a staff. The staff must be hand carved by the doctor, and for every patient a doctor can't treat, the doctor loses an inch off the staff. When the staff is gone, so is the doctor's license.
Once the new law passed, medical students realized that the easiest way to circumvent the potential loss of their medical license was to carve really long staffs. As a result, medical students typically carved staffs that were at least twenty feet long, giving them at least 240 (20 feet x 12 inches per feet) chances to fail at treatment.
Realizing that the original laws were toothless due to this loophole, the laws were revised to add an additional limitation: staffs were limited to a short maximum length.
What happened next was that doctors stopped wanting to treat difficult-to-treat conditions, as they risked losing inches off their short staffs and eventually their medical license. As a result, difficult-to-treat conditions went untreated. It was not just that terminal patients went untreated; no, it was much worse than that. In cases where a condition was difficult to treat but still treatable, doctors wouldn't even try, turning the potentially treatable conditions into crippling or terminal ones.
And so, around the world, disability and death rates skyrocketed.
| 2015-11-12T20:03:09
| 2015-11-12T19:03:04
| 812
| 34
|
[WP] Instead of trying to get a man on the moon, every nation raced to be the first at the very bottom of the ocean
While we have managed to get to space and the moon we have not fully explored the ocean. Instead of the space race, there was a competition to see who could reach the very bottom.
edit: These are really great! Each of them keep leaving me hanging :) feel free to continue them if you'd like
|
"Class, why do you think the former US and former USSR rushed to reach the deepest reach of the sea floor?"
Angie had read the text book in the beginning of the year. She loved history, and she couldn't raise her hand up any higher to prove it.
"Billy, what do you think?" Mrs. Hemming picked after a brief scanning of raised hands.
"Ugh, because...ummm...well weren't they enemies racing or something?"
Mrs. Hemming smiled, "Sort of. They were enemies. After World War II technology rapidly advanced and both sides were scared the other would get to far ahead. There was more to it than that though. Anyone else?"
Angie shot her hand up again.
Mrs. Hemming slowly scanned the class again, this time resting her gaze on Angie. "Angie?"
"It was important to reach the bottom of the Marianas Trench because of nuclear bombs. The US and USSR kept making them and things were getting bad."
"Exactly," Mrs. Hemming retorted. "Both sides, and a couple other countries had concluded that nuclear war was inevitable. It sparked a race to create the very technology we have today."
Mrs. Hemming went back to the blackboard and wrote the date 1969, July 16th. "July 16th, 1969 the United States of America publicly aired a manned mission to the trench. It destroyed the morale of the USSR and it would ultimately be the reason the Atlantis Compound would be built. About 20 years later, the compound was finished and the first submersibles were sent down populated with Europe's and America's finest minds and bodies."
Angie, proud of herself, relieved herself of listening duties and looked out the porticulis. The compound outer lights barely penetrated the void, and angie wondered what it was like to live above the surface.
"... and that is why we haven't returned to the surface. It will still be hundreds of years before the fallout clears." The bell rang, signaling the end of class and the beginning of work as the class filed out.
|
Now that the space race had ended the World needed a new dick measuring contest. Really, it was a chain effect after Russia declared they would be the first to the bottom of the ocean America decided she "needed" to get to the bottom of the ocean for "research." Of course China needed to prove themselves and by the end of this thing the whole world was involved. So who am I? Just a scientist that was forced onto this project, greater good be damned. I would be in the hundredth American crew to attempt to hit the bottom, guess what happened to the other ninety nine? Seriously, you need to guess, because the cameras we had in the ship cut out as soon as we go drop -100000 meters. So of course the government sends more sheep to attempt to do the impossible, for mere bragging rights. I stepped into the ship and examined the insides. There were 10 numbered scuba suits with underwater pistols.
"What do you think were going to find down there" said a perky woman, probably only in her early twenties
"The same thing the other ninety nine crews found" I said under my breath the cynicism of my own voice surprised me.
The Submarine plunged underwater.
| 2015-07-15T12:45:01
| 2015-07-15T11:01:58
| 130
| 12
|
[WP] Due to a mix-up, the body count of all your video game kills is attributed to you personally. Upon your death, the Devil excitedly rushes to the gates of hell to greet you.
|
"Sir?" The goblin bowed nervously, clutching a ledger to his chest, glancing at his master. "He is here."
Lucifer, The First Fallen, Bringer of Light, stood upon the balcony of his palace. Thick leathery wings sprouted from between his shoulder blades, elegantly draping across his back, curling into a dark cloak. Gnarled hands hovered near the hilt of a jagged sword, starkly contrasted to the brass horn strapped to his side. His dark eyes scanned the endless mountain range of fire before him.
"What do you make of him?" Lucifer asked.
"He is...unexpected, m'lord. Small in stature. Young from what the scouts report."
"Young?"
"I checked several times with the records. He is fourteen at best."
"Fourteen?" Lucifer was careful to hide his surprise. Surprise was often mistaken for fear. Fear in Hell was a sentence worse than death. "Where is he now?"
"The greeting party left the Bastard Gate this morning, they should be passing through the Reach shortly."
"Who leads them?"
The goblin licked his lips, eyes daring anywhere but the blackness of his master's gaze. "Balthazar" he croaked. Lucifer's breath quickened, nostrils filling with the stench of brimstone. He turned from the balcony, marching back inside the palace.
"So, he seeks to supplant me?" Lucifer sneered. "Balthazar seeks this...this child as an ally to usurp me?" The goblin fought to keep up his master's pace, sensing more than knowing the direction they headed through the endless corridors.
"None would join him in such a deception, m'lord. It is simply a gesture, I am sure."
"You have risen higher than most, worm. Use the intellect that has provided you with position, lest you fall further from grace than I."
"He would need more than minions," the goblin stammered, mind racing. "Allies from the pits. Even the Nine Circles. How would he convince them, m'lord?"
"He knelt before Christ bearing gifts. The very son of God. Balthazar's deception compared to that would be small indeed. There is a reason the Ninth is reserved for treachery." Lucifer halted outside the armoury, glancing at the gigantic doors, carved from volcanic stone.
"M'lord, do you think this wise? If you go to meet this boy, the horde will think you show weakness. You will play into Balthazar's deception." The goblin was appalled by his words, questioning the Lord of Hell was never wise. But it necessary. Lucifer only smiled.
"You will suffer for that question. But later. You said he was young, what did the scribes say he used in battle?"
The goblin rushed through his ledger, feverishly searching.
-----
Balthazar watched the child closely from atop his horse, his retinue stretching for miles behind them. His flesh had sagged through the ages, each step made by the dead horse jostled his belly despite layers of silk. Beady, sweat-laden eyes pretended not to watch the child, he was close now. Close to the victory he had planned since coming here.
For the thousandth time he glanced at the child. The boy was young, no older than he was when he made the journey through the endless desert, following a star in the East. A nose where it should be. Two blue, bright eyes. A shock of blond hair. But this child was different; confident, nearly careless, and utterly fearless.
"Is that it?" the boy asked, pointing toward Lucifer's palace in the distance. Balthazar was careful with his words, making sure he spoke the language of humans rather than demons.
"It is. Soon to be yours," Balthazar slurred. *Soon to be mine*. "You need only defeat its owner."
"Who was that again?"
"No one worth mentioning. He is of little-"
A rush of wind silenced Balthazar, the familiar flapping of wings accompanied Lucifer as he landed in front of them.
"Consequence?" Lucifer finished, smiling, arms holding a wrapped bundle. A goblin clung to his leg, shaking with fear.
Balthazar was quick to maintain his charade, flinging himself from his horse, the thousand behind him following suit, prostrating themselves before their host. But even as they knelt he could see the question in their eyes. Their lord never ventured outside of his walls. Balthazar was careful to hide his smile. *This is the last time I kneel before you!*
"My lord. I have brought you the boy. He is ready to take his place at your side."
"I see you speak the words of a human. Interesting." Lucifer glanced at the horde, eyes eventually reaching the boy. "At my side, or take my place? So you can follow after?"
"My lord, I seek only to raise your greatness further. He has done wondrous, terrible deeds, a thousand thousand dead lay behind him. The boy can help-"
"Can help you, Balthazar. Isn't that what he promised you, boy?"
The child looked bored. *Bored*. If Balthazar didn't need him he would have snapped his neck.
"He told me some stuff about you," the boy said. "He said you were the best. If I killed you then I would be the best."
Balthazar felt his opportunity slipping away, and turned to the demon horde at his back, speaking in the tongue of Fire. "Your master would give his kingdom to the boy, he is weak. Kill him!"
The gathered creatures stared at their master, thousands of warriors, eyes slowly filling with doubt. Lucifer made no move to silence Balthazar, to kill him for such an accusation, and their fears were confirmed. They roared in unison, unable to understand their lord's actions. Unable to comprehend careful Balthazar's betrayal.
*I have you* Balthazar grinned.
Lucifer calmly unwrapped the bundle in his hands, tossing something silvery toward the boy.
The child caught instinctively, hands coming to rest on the weapon as naturally as breathing. Left hand holding the barrel, right hand on the grip. Eyes down the sight, finger on the trigger.
The AWP nearly dwarfed him, but seemed an old friend.
Lucifer pointed at Balthazar, grinning as he spoke. "He called you a noob."
The child leaped into the air, lungs screeching, spinning, legs twirling, arms flailing in pure rage, as he spun 360 degrees and fired the weapon without looking.
Balthazar's head exploded, thick pulpy mass spraying the demons close to him as they halted, watching the display.
The boy landed on his feet, rushing to Balthazar's twitching corpse. He tossed the weapon aside, and pulling down his pants, began to furiously tea bag the body, tiny testicles ramming the headless corpse, screeching all the while he pounded.
"CALL ME A FUCKING NOOB?! YOUR MOM DIDN'T THINK THAT LAST NIGHT!"
Lucifer smiled as he turned and walked back toward his palace, the demons slowly rejoining him, as the cries of 'Your Mom' continued behind them. He would have to carve out another Circle of Hell for this boy, something appropriate.
The Tenth Circle. Reserved for campers and children playing games they shouldn't.
|
Cool gates they had there - black, wrought-iron, jagged in all the right places, nice fire effects. As for how I got here, well, St. Peter had just raised his eyebrow at me and pointed left. So after two steps to the left and three hours of falling, I splatted face-down right outside the burning gates of Hell. Now, don't get me wrong - the gates looked kickass, great venue for a metal show. Not the best neighborhood to move into, though.
I was barely back on my feet at this point when a giant cloven-hoofed goat-man with horns and the fugliest damn face you ever saw came striding over to me with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.
"Buddy, buddy, *buddy*!" He sidled up to me and put his arm around my shoulder. (Or, he put his hand there anyway. Dude was like twice my height.)
"Uh...have we met?"
He laughed. It was hideous. If I still had physical eardrums, they'd have exploded.
"Have we met? *Have we met?* Oh, we've met, my boy - oh yes, many a time." He threw out his giant man-bear-goat hand to shake mine. "Name's Lucifer. I just *had* to personally welcome one of my most devoted followers."
I shook his hand (or, um, tried), but I didn't get why he was so damn happy to see me.
"So. Um. Ol' Pete didn't tell me why I'm here. Lemme guess - it was the lying right?"
Satan stopped smiling. "What?"
"Or...that *one* time I cheated on my taxes?"
"You cheated seven times, but *come on* - that's weak shit compared to why you're *really* here."
"Which is...what? If you even tell me it was masturbation - "
He threw his head back and jumped for joy. Seriously - the Prince of Darkness, Lord of the Flies, and Fount of all Evil did a little jig, right there.
"Oh ho ho! Excellent! Masterful work, boy, really - truly."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He sidled up again. "Arkangelsk, 1986. Eh? *Eh?*"
I looked blankly at him. "Huh?"
"The Russians! You killed *thousands* of them. Oh, I especially enjoyed when you aimed for the throat so their end would be slow and painful. The grasping! The choking! It makes me feel positively fuzzy inside, let me tell you."
"Uh - "
"And the tanks! Sure, blowing the Ruskies to pieces is fun, but rolling over them to hear their muffled screams before you reduce them to a fine paste - *that* was inspired. And to do it so many times, over and over and over again. Brilliant! Oh, you and Adolf will get along *great*."
"So, yeah, I'm pretty sure - "
"Boy, humility is the *last* quality you'll need here, I assure you. Oh, and then there was the time you joined a death cult, pledged your soul to a corpse, and knifed everyone in the back for funsies."
"Okay, yeah, I'm pretty sure that was Sk -"
"And sometimes in the face! I like those better. More agony!"
"But -"
"And the time you went to space and shot fire-bullets at everyone was magnificent. The screaming, the burning, the disintegration - perfect. Now I'm partial to fire, of course - "
"Those were video games!"
The smile left his face once again.
"Come again."
"You know, games? You kill fake people on a screen to win the game?"
The Lord of the Underworld's face went stony. He marched over to one of his attendant demons and had a word. This wasn't much of a conversation, though - after maybe a sentence, he picked him up, tore him in half, then devoured the remains. Meanwhile, I just kind of twiddled my thumbs over there, deflecting awkward glances from the damned lined up outside the gate.
After wiping the demon-juices from his monstrous face, Lucifer stomped back over to me and heaved a gigantic sigh.
"Fourth time this week. You think we could get some better bean-counters down here, but it turns out our guys are excellent bullshitters."
"So...where do I *go*?"
He pointed toward a shitty-looking pneumatic tube near the gates.
"I had a guy phone that pansy-ass Pete. They cleared it up. Hop in there - mid-level Purgatory for you."
"Uh - okay then. Nice meeting you."
"Eat shit and die, human."
"Already dead, remember?"
He growled a bit as I made my way to the tube. "You couldn't have killed even *one* worthless human for me?"
"Nope." And it was up and away.
| 2015-11-19T23:38:32
| 2015-11-19T23:09:22
| 214
| 67
|
[WP] Make me cry in four sentences or less.
Go.
|
I lay curled on the old mat I've slept on since I was just a pup, waiting for Boy. I've lived a long and happy life, the happiest parts all spent growing up with Boy. I wish he were near me now, I'm so tired and he's been gone for so long...but I'll wait for him one last time. A dog always waits for his Boy.
EDIT: Thanks for the feedback, every one! I have to admit, I've never felt so guilty for successfully following the prompt. Sorry about the onions, guys!
|
I still remember how the sun hit her silver hair and how her eyes shone brighter than anything in the room. I still remember how the air smelled like lilacs and strawberries, so contrasted from the sterile air outside. I still remember how she looked at me and asked, "Who are you?" I still remember telling her, "I'm the person you make so very happy," for the last time.
| 2014-11-20T21:44:15
| 2014-11-20T18:46:32
| 150
| 112
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
I've outlasted it for years. I've watched campaigns come and go for years never having any effect on my habit, but this was something more. The first anti smoking ad I saw was when I was 10 years old. It showed a middle aged man going through his daily life with a hole in his throat. Plugging it when he took showers, talking like some demented robot, scaring his children. This had absolutely no affect on me. Science would take care of it, I thought. Robot voice could be fun, I hoped. But I will never be given the courtesy of robot voice, for the culture war against smoking has persisted.
A few years after scary throat man, the government deployed a little more extreme measures to curb smoking, they began showing pictures of damaged lungs and arteries on the front of every pack of cigarettes. Every time you went for a smoke, you would be faced with the harsh reality of lung cancer. Again, this had absolutely no affect on me. I could always get a transplant couldn't I? Do lung transplants exist? It doesn't matter, the point is I just want to smoke my Marlboros.
A few years later, the government again ramped up their efforts. This time, they encouraged citizens to heckle anyone they saw smoking. It was incredibly effective, the few people who could make it past robot voice man and pictures of fucked up lungs couldn't continue to smoke when it wasn't even cool. I mean it's one thing to knowingly destroy your body while looking badass, but to do it when people are booing you is just plain stupid. For a few a while it was just me and a group of angsty teenagers who liked the attention, but soon they passed the phase. Now the year is 2040, and I smoke alone. Every time I leave the house for a smoke I'm berated by every living person on Earth. Kids, old people, it doesn't matter. They've researched me, and they know just how to insult me. Every time I buy a pack , the picture that come with is no longer of damaged organs, but personal insults written by the cashier. This morning it said, "Your father is disappointed in you."
But still I persist, I don't friends, family, personal relationships. Not when I have my Marlboros.
|
I walked down the overgrown, muddy street in my village. It was quiet, as it always had been. The quietness is the thing that was typical of this village, it had always been this quiet. I walked into the house where I was born, or at least: the place where I remembered I first was.
I don't remember much of my childhood, the only thing is that I was always alone, completely alone. Luckily, in this house there were some books I could read. Books that taught me reading, books that taught me the world. Those books also taught me that I should have some parents, because people come out of a female, who has had sexual intercourse with a man. I don't know where they are, I've never seen them. The only thing I remember was that I have always had a cigarette in my mouth.
I walked into the kitchen. There wasn't food there, but there were plants all over the place. Nature has not only taken this kitchen back, but this whole village. Some plants gave food, there were some berry bushes in the corner. I ate some of them.
On the kitchen table sat something that has fascinated and scared me my whole life. Two objects of which I didn't know what it was or what it could've been. It seemed like some sort of skeletons, the type of animal I was, homo sapiens. Before them, on the table laid a closed package of cigarettes: the skeletons probably had never smoked them, not even one. I took the package, set one sigaret afire and put it in my mouth. I wouldn't know how to live a life in which I couldn't smoke.
I walked out of the house, further down the road. I came at a junction, where a giant board was standing. On it was a picture of an old man with an angry face. I had never seen that man. I never saw men anymore, nor women. Next to the men stood the words. The words that I first taught myself: "Quit smoking!". In protest, I took a pull of my cigarette.
Edit: sigaret to cigarette
| 2017-02-17T11:59:25
| 2017-02-17T11:15:56
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
Amelia's life has been a strange one since the age of 15, when she met Eric at a bus stop on her way home from school; they had a short-lived tryst and never expected to see one another again.
Over the remaining years of High School, Eric just always seemed to be around whenever something happened. Her first car got a flat tire and Eric seemed to come out of nowhere to lend a hand; she twisted her ankle at the park and Eric was there to help her home. Eric was always there. At first, Amelia found it to be endearing, but each time it seemed like Eric had a growing look of resentment in his eyes.
High School passed and Amelia moved away from the Midwest to fulfill her childhood dreams of attending art school in New York. Thousands of miles from home and Eric showed up in her hallway when Amelia locked herself out of her Apartment. Eric was supposed to be back in Kansas City working at his dad's construction firm, but he was here... Eric is always here. Amelia got mugged and Eric was there; Amelia got in a fight with her boyfriend and Eric was there. Any endearment Amelia once felt towards Eric turned into fear.
Eric's stalking of Amelia took it's toll on Amelia, but she managed to get through college; she was absolutely ecstatic to land a design position in San Francisco; it was a gateway into he dream career and she could finally escape the nightmare of Eric.
*****
It's 10 years since the fateful day that Eric met Amelia at the bus stop and professed his oath to always be there for her.
Ten miserable years.
Eric is at home playing X-Box and within the blink of an eye he is transported to the shoulder of a busy highway, standing next to Amelia. Eric was confused, a deer in the headlights, but he had no ill feelings towards Amelia and helped change out her tire.
Eric was completing his homework only to be whisked away as if by magic to stand next to Amelia grasping her twisted ankle in the park. It didn't matter what Eric was in the middle of, he always transported to Amelia when she was in need. Any good faith Eric felt towards Amelia quickly turned into disdain as Eric realized that Amelia was a curse.
High school finished and Eric was ecstatic to learn that Amelia was going off to the East Coast. He had a job lined up with his father and he could be rid of Amelia once and for all - freedom; he could drive a car without being transported away; he could go on dates without disappearing. It was with significant shock and hatred when he opened his eyes to find himself outside of Amelia's New York apartment watching Amelia dig through her purse. The curse was still there.
It's been 10 years of the Amelia curse; 10 years of misery. Kansas City, New York, San Francisco. He hated Amelia for what his life had become, and he knew that Amelia hated him - she had even filed a restraining order. Eric is drinking alone, as he often does, and opens his eyes to find himself trapped next to Amelia in a burning wreck.
They died together.
|
It seems like every time I ran into Amelia Fowler she was in the middle of some kind of catastrophe. Just last week she had a flat tire at two in the morning twenty miles out of town, with no one around but cows and cotton. A month ago it was in line at the grocery store with a shopping cart the contents of which almost brought a tear to my eye and a check card that couldn't cover even that. I helped. I couldn't not help. It didn't matter that we'd been done for eight months, or dated for three weeks. She was a person, and she needed someone, and I was there. That's what you do in small towns like this.
I guess that's why we started dating in the first place. The "in need" part, not the small town part, although that was probably some of it, too. When you are fifteen and everything feels like it's the most important thing in the world, that is enough. Sitting in the back of my old truck, I promised her the world and she blushed and was beautiful and we loved each other. But the Fowler clan was a train wreck. Amelia was abused, neglected, addicted, and already working on her criminal record then, at sixteen. I should never have gotten involved with her. The whole thing blew up less than a month after it started.
Eventually I realized she must have been getting herself in trouble around me on purpose, like as a way to control me or something. That was the kind of thing a girl like her would do. It's not her fault; not exactly, but I wasn't going to be manipulated like that. I started distancing myself from Amelia. Still I would run into her from time to time, and always she was in the middle of some crisis. At first I was kind with her. Then I was patient. I became firm. I became Angry. Finally I became cruel. I said mean things to her about who she was and how she lived. I still helped. You have to help people. But I wish I hadn't said those things.
As time went on, I ran into Amelia less and less often. I heard from a friend of a friend that she had gotten herself knocked up by and then married to some office worker type. Unexciting, but stable. That sounded like a good thing, and I was happy for her.
Gradually, I began to forget about Amelia Fowler.
...
It was really unusual for the bastards to take us anywhere. They mostly liked to keep us locked up in our shitty little rooms unless it was time for medicine or "food." Today they'd gotten it into their piss-for-brains heads to drag us old geezers out to the park for some "Eeh-an-richmint," as that lousy dick of a head nurse pronounces it.
Some of the geezers who have decent families are going to have a nice afternoon frolicking in the Goddamned daisy or whatever. My wife is dead. Fuck, most of my kids are dead. They don't tell you about that shit when you're growing up! Life kills people! And the ones who are still alive aren't worth two shits.
So I was looking forward to sitting alone on a hot hillside in the middle of June like the subject of some kind of shitty dollar store painting 'cause it'd make dick feel like he was doing his job.
Anyway, we'd been out there for a little over forty-five minutes, and my ass was killing me. That piece-of-crap lawn chair must have been made in Nicaragua. Why can't shit come from China anymore like in the good old days? When all of a sudden this old biddy, who was hobbling along on her walker, keels over right there on my spot of grass; pissed off the pigeons. I was trying to enjoy the view of the lake and here's this bitch, flopping on the ground clutching at her back pissing and moaning.
So I haul my aching, wrinkly old ass out of my piece-of-shit Nicaraguan chair and kneel down in the stifling heat of that mosquito-infested June morning to see what's wrong. I roll her over and damned if it isn't Amelia Fowler.
"My God it's you!" She exhaled. "I'm having a heart attack. It's my fourth one. I know what they feel like, and I know I'm not going to make it."
"Amelia what is this shit? You think I can't tell a fake heart attack? I did fifteen years with-" I started, but she cut me off.
"Shut up, Frank. I don't know where I would have wound up if I'd have never met you, but I can guess. I'm dying an old woman with a full life instead of a young girl with stupid ideas 'cause of you. I needed to tell you that. I promise I won't need you again."
I yelled for dick, and he stumbled over and bumbled though ECPR, but Amelia was right. She was done for. That was the last time I saw Amelia Fowler.
| 2017-03-22T15:53:12
| 2017-03-22T13:26:15
| 75
| 21
|
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
|
"What do you mean they aren't all Muslims yet?"
"Sorry m'lord, so much has happened. As you recall, the fertile crescent stopped being so fertile, than the crusades, imperialism, the industrial revolution, computers, the Christians just kept coming out ahead... its all in the records, you'll want to read up on it before you make your big reappearance."
"Wait, ahead?! But I clearly said that Mohammed was the last messenger! I even recorded it in holy text, just like before! Why isn't this one taking as well as the new testament did?"
"Well, you see..."
"And how the Hell did Christianity get over half the world to convert to it? That wasn't even the final draft!"
"Sire, its more like one third."
"Ohhh, I thought you said Christians were ahead. 2 to 1 isn't so bad, then we're only a little behind schedule."
"No m'lord, Muslims are around one forth."
"WHAT? that leaves... seven tenths. What could the-"
"Five twelfths m'lord."
"Whatever. Ok so what do the other five twelves believe? It's another false prophet right? That's why I specifically warned them about those, they never listen."
"No... no major religions since you left m'lord."
"What... Oh jeeze, tell me the Jews didn't make a comeback. I told them they were my chosen people once and now they won't take a hint. They're always trying to argue with me, what's up with that? So annoying"
"No m'lord, right here, book WW2 line 24 in the records."
"Thanks, I'm so glad we number the lines in these, so much more convenient that way."
"As you requested m'lord."
"Oh... oh no, five million, with gas. wow... *sniff* my chosen people... Wait, so if its not the Jews then why are our numbers so low?"
"There's a few competitors actually, Christianity at one third is still the biggest, Hindus around 15%, non believers..."
"Hindus? STILL? It has been like 3000 years!"
"Non believers 12%, buddists 8%, the rest are even smaller."
"Which ones growing quickest?"
"Non believers."
"What a mess."
"...Flood?"
"Flood."
*Toilet flushing sound*
"Let's start again with the tree and the garden. Go ahead and cut all of the endangered species this time. We'll need room for these new models I want to try. Check this one out..."
|
"Finally, it's time", God says as he looks up from his work. It'd taken a short amount of time to bring about peace to the planet Nequior, but it was done. The beings of this desolate place weren't blessed with the ability to work things out on their own. They were a foolish and unruly bunch. Wars, disease, and starvation ravaged the planet the point of no return. Hence, why he turned his eyes upon them to be their salvation. Now, there is no more disparity or hunger. There was peace all around. It was a utopia. An epitome of peaceful politics and technology. "If there were ever a day I felt I could rest, this would be it," he says with a sigh. This is the end of my work. His eyes turn from his current work and scans the view around him. Sadness consumes him. Trouble from thousands of galaxies now clouded his view. A small bit of time to save a few stupid souls had brought about the end others many worlds. It feels like complete and utter defeat. For every one galaxy he manages to save, thousands collapse upon themselves to never be seen again.
"I wonder why I started this in the first place," he mutters. "Life. Death. All of it. I could just restart it all and begin anew." His last venture proved to be a failure. They were equipped with the ability and yet still failed to see. He turns to view its dead landscape and pauses. "How could this-This is impo-" he stutters as he tries to comprehend what he sees over the light years beyond. A single tear rolls down his cheek. "This is not what I had expected to see." There in the mist of the chaos was earth. Small, blue and hapless earth. It was still there.
| 2015-12-27T09:56:08
| 2015-12-27T09:55:12
| 167
| 66
|
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
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A smile creaked across my face as I heard a dull thud.
"WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!" boomed from the living room. I only wish I could have seen it first hand, but my hidden sanctuary behind the closet doors kept my presence concealed. They'll never know that their furniture had been slowly moved, inch by inch, to the left.
"Behold the wrath of Low Key," I softly spoke as I vanished into thin air, off to the neighbor's house to replace their ground beef with ground turkey.
|
Subtlety is a precise art. While my brothers and sisters can do things like hurl lightning around to fill their daily quota of godly actions, I needed to be precise. Too much mischief and all of a sudden I have Loki breathing down my back. Too little and folks wouldn't be aware of my divine intervention.
I sighed, leaning back into my throne, a frown on my face. Yesterday I had scored high marks with Odin by turning all of the spoons to forks during the harvest festival. The stew course had been THOROUGHLY INCONVENIENCED by my works.
But a new day brought the need for new action lest the folk below forget the Gods.
After a minute of contemplation, I was interrupted by Loki. He slinked in, a malevolent grin on his face. "What's wrong little brother? Having trouble with your little games?"
Man, I hated this guy. Class A douchebag. Never got why Thor liked romping around with him. He hadn't remembered a single birthday in a millennia. Just an all around negative presence.
I glare at him, annoyed at the interruption. "Listen, I'm sure it's all fun and games causing a fire and burning a village down, but I'm trying to bring a little nuance into the world."
"What if we did something...together?" Loki leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his features.
"That doesn't make any sense Loki! How in the name of Valhalla is the god of mischief supposed to work with the god of subtle mischief? It's just going to confuse people."
"Have a little faith brother, you're creative. You can figure it out." With a giggle he danced back a few steps, turned on his heel and strolled out of the room.
Frazzled, I run a hand through my glorious white mane of hair. I was tired of Loki coming in and upsetting the apple cart. Always getting the attention, always taking the lead.
I mulled over his words, thinking about the prospect of us teaming up. It was preposterous on its face, but maybe...maybe there was something there. After a few seconds of reflection, a giant grin spread across my face. An answer to my problems.
We would work together all right. But this time, there would be no mischief. There would be only subtle mischief.
| 2018-01-27T22:00:48
| 2018-01-27T20:53:05
| 1,893
| 49
|
[WP]Time travel is possible, but requires an "anchor" item created in the target era. You've gone to the year 900 using a Viking sword and the year 300 using a Roman Coin. You've just started the process using a small statue of unknown origin and it proves to be vastly older than human history.
|
Jonah thumbed the statue's face, mentally making out the nub of the nose, the deep-set eyes, the cleft where chin met neck. This was dangerous. Foolish would be a good word too.
Rome had been a cakewalk. There was plenty of documentation, of dates and figures and maps, a wealth of historical data that more than matched the extraordinary rigor required of such an endeavor.
Rome had been Nuhistory's pilot project and Jonah had been its enterprising pilot. Weeks of delicate research, of carefully scripted interactions with carefully selected subjects in carefully chosen locales. A costuming department rivalling any Hollywood production. Months of training, in linguistics, in tactics and spycraft, and in the working of the devices hidden on Jonah's person that would record, on *video*, in *audio*, the happenings of the past.
It was a damn shame it was all top secret.
But now Jonah looked at the statue and wondered, really wondered for the first time just what the hell he was getting into. The Vikings had been dangerous, but as Julio the project manager always said, "Luck favors the prepared." Research had come to the rescue. It organized the chaos into checklists and timetables. History was no longer a fog of myth and legend. It, too, was science. We could *know* it now.
And swinging those swords around really had been quite good stress relief. It wasn't on any of the checklists but really, you couldn't go back to the Viking era without swinging at least one dangerous hunk of metal.
But this was different. The artifact was different. No one knew where the hell it had come from. An archaeological team had found it at a digsite in Africa, far deeper than it should have. "*Precambrian*," the lead archaeologist had whispered in awe. And radiometric dating had confirmed as much.
It wasn't much. A human figure, carved from stone, but just slightly off from what a human should look like. Too longs legs, too narrow a face, too distended an abdomen. Such creative liberties weren't atypical of ancient human representations, but if this came from *before* \- then maybe the evolutionary tree of life was wrong. Maybe there were people before. People who were our foremost ancestors. People from elsewhere.
And if there had been people before, maybe they could be spoken to.
Screwing with the timeline didn't really matter. All the subterfuge of the other visits had been mostly for the purposes of not interfering with the data. "It's brilliant," Julio had said, caressing the smooth white curves of the machine. "Everything just resets when you get back, just like it was. The equations are beautiful, they just *flow*." Jonah would take his word for that.
But this visit would be the find of a lifetime. Of the entire human species. The answer to the ultimate question of where we'd come from.
"Powering up," Julio called over the intercom. Jonah snapped out of his reverie and put the statue back in his pocket. He checked his respirator, then the other suit systems.
"All clear here," he said. "Ready when you are."
*Glory, here we come*.
The dome opened, bending and warping the sterile laboratory light into an iridescent shimmer that Jonah could not quite catch. He stood taller, clenched his fists and stepped into the machine. The Nuhistory heads-up display whirred to life on his visor, cycling through its multifarious options.
"Commencing visit in 5, 4..."
*Time to make history*.
"3... 2... 1!!!"
A flash, a crack, a glorious splitting of the fabric of reality, and then a great pull, like he was falling toward something behind him, and then, just as instantaneously, he was standing still, in another place. Another time.
It was a vast shoreline beneath a lavender sunset. Water lapped at his ankles, and when he looked down, *yes*! he could see them there, all sorts of ancient pulsing creatures he'd only ever seen in books, in cheap computer-generated reproductions in documentaries and museums. Things that stretched bulbous fingers toward the water's surface like gelatinous plants.
So much to document. So much to see. But it was not what he was here for.
He turned. And then he wished he hadn't.
There were two of them. Things he had not expected. Things he would not have *wanted* to expect. Their bodies were great pulsing sacs of purple, floating in midair, each as big as an SUV. Thousands of slippery tendrils hung below them, fingering the air, wriggling around each other like living spaghetti. And their eyes, huge and compound, bright red like flies' eyes, and *twitching*, twitching at *him*.
They were watching him now. And making noises. Strange, clicking gurgles that brought bile to the edges of Jonah's throat.
Then he looked closer and saw that there was something in their tendrils. Bodies of creatures, like the ones he was standing in. And tools like long rods with bright blue flames at their ends with which they were carving the creatures, molding them, into new and impossible shapes. And they were doing this while they were staring at him, reading him, assessing... waiting.
And beside them, in the dirt, Jonah saw markings. Intricate glyphs, and plans, surrounding a small, familiar shape. A statue, exactly like the one he had in his pocket. A *model*.
Without thinking, Jonah pushed the recall button, and in another cracking instant he was back in the body of the Nuhistory machine, steam hissing from the surface of his suit in ghostly tendrils of white.
Julio ran in, eyes wide. "Jonah, what's going on? What happened?"
"I was right," Jonah said, slumping to the floor, and the next words came out as a wracking sob. "Oh God, I was right..."
|
Happy Cake day! This is a really great wp. I hope to do it justice as I am fairly new to this page.
The resounding air curled up as the room began to lose its geometry. Everything became a blur as it stretched and disfigured into the swirling pipe above. The scene was all too familiar. This was your third trip into the past. The facility of Xenon Tech began to suck away all the same as the laboratory room. The trees on the outside stretched and the earth itself began to convulse beneath your feet. Then, something happened.. the Earth split open and dragged itself above you. The core of the Earth, a bright orange molten ball now like strips of bright spaghetti above. And then, the swirling blue planet now faded into the distance. You look around frantically. The sun stretched across a black background. The swirls of fire from its surface twisted and whipped above and circled you like a cage. Your heart began to speed up now as the realization occurs, you have just left Earth.
Other planets passed all the same, Jupiter, then Neptune. You are beyond the rim of your known solar system. The scenes began to slow, the landing point was coming up. Your fear has gripped you now and the space you occupied suddenly felt very small and hot. Would you be able to breathe when you stop? What if its hot or the gravity crushes you?
Your journey stopped abruptly. You crashed down to a hard stone floor in the center of a dark gray room. Human-like beings stood around you in a circle. They're dressed in silver and black bejeweled gowns with hoods covering their faces. They stood straight with tall metal staves in their hands. Their feet were bare. Some looked like giant black panther's paws, others like human feet. They began to murmur amongst one another in quiet purring and growling voices. One of the taller ones removed their hood, their heavy golden necklace clanging in the quiet. Her pupils were tall black towers within a pool of blue. Gold encircled her eyes and wrapped up around the side of her face to her tall ears. Her face resembled a cat! Even more bizarre is that you recognized her. Bastet! An Egyptian god!
Just then, you felt a burning sensation over your entire body. Your clothes began to feel hot, very hot. The cotton in the clothes are reacting poorly with the air and are heating up. A small fire lit up at the interface between your pants and shirt. You drop the small figurine and begin to strip off all of your clothes and throw them onto the floor in front of you. They erupt into flames and burn very hot and quickly. With it, the return device that was supposed to bring you home. You bend over and pick up the figurine and cover yourself while looking around the room again. The beings were unmoving. Your heart palpitates now as panic beseeches you.
"Welcome, human." You hear from within your head.
| 2020-04-17T09:11:21
| 2020-04-17T08:40:15
| 967
| 134
|
[WP] You're a member of the Z-team. Your team is who they send in when teams A-Y have failed, but that's never happened before. But to everyone's horror, that day just came.
|
General, we have confirmation Y-Team is down! I repeat, Y-Team is down!
My God, this can’t be! Are you certain all our nuclear powered T-Rex’s are dead?!
Affirmative! General, the enemies are approaching our base. What are your orders, sir?
A–Y Team all failed, which leaves… No! No, they’re too dangerous!
They just took out our sentry. We’re running out of time, General!
(Grunts!) If it comes to this… Code Z! I repeat, Code Z!
B-but, sir, Code Z is—
We have no order choice! Deploy Z-Team now!
Y-yes, sir! Code Z, prepared Z-Team for combat deployment! Code Z, prepared Z-Team for combat deployment!
Come on… Come on…
Sir, Z-Team is at the shutter gate! They’re awaiting your go ahead.
Lord, forgive me for what I must do… Activate Z-Team—unleash the Twitter mob!
They’re tweeting, sir… They’re tweeting… The toxicity level is through the roof! And… canceled! Our enemies are canceled and thus lost their livelihood! Their army now have zero combatant! We won! We are saved, General!
No… No, this is merely the beginning.
Sir, the mob aren’t stopping! They’re still tweeting! They’re canceling our leaders, you—and me!? The Z-team is committing friendly fire, General, and they’re not stopping!
(Sigh) It was an honor serving with you, gentlemen, but by this time tomorrow… none of us will have a job. May God forgive me for what I’ve unleashed upon this world.
|
*Bzzt Bzzt*
Somewhere under the sea of pizza boxes, soda cans, and a passed out Commander Craig -his phone rang- which wasn't unusual especially since his latest firing, Pizza boy, supposedly was eating customers pies instead of delivering them.
*Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt*
They never called back-to-back. Those bill collector bastards didn't believe in torture... least hopefully they didnt.
Finally having enough, Craig rolled over just a little too far and onto the floor-tipping over a bottle of soda like Rube Goldberg- all over the coffee table- all over the unopened bills- all over the newspaper.
Then the voicemail kicked in:
*Is this thing on? Hello? Alright whoever this is- its time. Its all gone to hell and your our last hope. May God have mercy on us all. Ya happy now!? Get me the hell out of here!*
Well that cant be good
| 2022-11-06T18:23:05
| 2022-11-06T17:26:12
| 31
| 21
|
[WP] You need to hire a hitman, but can't afford it. Carefully write a gofundme campaign for something seemingly innocent while subtly letting your donors know what they are actually funding.
|
Hi everyone!
I'm here trying to be able to throw a very special party for my step father, who has been an incredibly influential part of my life. Growing up, he was always home with me and my sisters, looking after us when my mom was at work. He let us know just how much he really cared about us. After all these years, with my youngest sister about to turn thirteen, I really want to show him just how much he's affected the lives of everyone in this family.
I'm hoping for a party with killer food, explosive entertainment, and a place where he can just lay around and relax for as long as he can. He really, truly deserves a celebration as big and powerful as he himself is. I already have a party planner set up, and I just need...well...the money! I want to finally give this man the treatment he's always deserved for coming into our lives. Hopefully, with your support, it'll be to die for.
|
Hi,
My name is Jessica from Arizona and I'm trying to arrange a long vacation for my boyfriend. He works really erratic hours and brings a lot of his stress home with him. I feel that him getting away from the hustle and just lying in the sand in say, Belize would really go a long way for both our relationship and our well-being.
I realize that paying for a random stranger's extended leave might be a lot to ask but you would be my own personal savior. I promise to make these funds count.
If you do choose to donate, thank you. And I mean that, sincerely. Thank you.
| 2015-08-29T17:17:44
| 2015-08-29T10:50:25
| 38
| 22
|
[WP] You’re a dragon who kidnapped a prince/princess. All is going to plan but… it’s been a month and no one’s come to save them.
|
Dragons, by their very existence, were the kind of entities for whom awe and terror seemed intrinsically mixed. Wyverns were all well and good, but they were small, barely larger than a house. Wyrms? The flightless lizards could barely lift their heads to gaze upon the glory of a fully grown Drakon. The others were animals. Magnificent animals, but beasts all the same.
A dragon was different. Ancalagon the Black could crush citadels under heel, wrath in his lidless gaze. Typhon the Hunter was swift; no man had ever seen her and lived. From each beat of her terrible wings a hurricane sprung, which had a bad habit of devastating anything close enough to lay eyes on her.
Yet among them, Tiamat, Mother of the Brood, was the greatest. Her onyx scales were said to heal the gravest of wounds, for within their glittering facets constellations would shine. Her breath was the primeval fire; pillars of force that could raze the earth itself. Even the gods were wary to try her, such was the age and power of Mummu-Tiamat, first and eldest.
&#x200B;
\-and she was very, very unhappy.
&#x200B;
*What do you mean ‘they’re not coming!’* She roared, and poor Faye had to clasp her ears against the sound, squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out the echoes.
The dragon had so far been nothing but cordial. Her theft had been a monumental affair, but Mother Tiamat had borne her with surprising grace, setting her down gently upon the stone. From the cavern mouth, some hundreds of feet into the air, she could spy the kingdom of Doriath, but it would be impossible to go back. For one, she would have to climb down either barefoot or in the heels she had been taken in, and either was a ghastly thought.
When she looked up, Tiamat was pacing, agitated. “I’m sorry, mother-Tiamat, but they will not come for me.” Privately, Faye wondered how she would die. Eaten? No, she was too small. She barely came up to the ancient one’s toes. Crushed was far more likely, even if by accident.
\-but this was Mummu Tiamat, she did nothing by accident.
Right?
&#x200B;
*Why would they not come? You are the princess, yes?*
“Yes.”
*-and you are next in line for the throne of Doriath, since your brothers were tragically eaten.*
“By one of your brood, yes. Not a disrespect, Mother-Tiamat, just an observation.”
&#x200B;
Tiamat’s leviathan head swept around. Her pupils alone were the size of a house, and so it was unclear if the drake was looking at Faye specifically, or at something in her general direction. It was, after all, a very big cave for a very big dragon.
*Explain then, Faye, Daughter of Farathir, Son of Farathrim. Have the towers of Doriath grown so cold as to abandon their young? When has cruelty slipped her knife between the ribs of compassion?*
Faye took a deep breath. She let it out.
“They have a new heir now, Mother Tiamat. I am…unnecessary.” Her voice held steady.
&#x200B;
The cavern shook.
&#x200B;
*Unnecessary!* Tiamat growled, her temper like lava against bulwarks of stone. *So that is why they have taken one of mine; to find a replacement for their sons?*
Her tale thrashed, and somewhere in the distance Faye thought she heard the tell-tale signs of an avalanche.
*What of their daughters, do they not think you capable?*
She shrugged. “I doubt it, Mother Tiamat. Patrilineal lines of succession rarely favour women.”
“Honestly, I was just there to attract suitors. Once my brothers were born I was deemed useless, and sent to Master Rudaban’s tower to study. It saved the Royal Court the cost of my lodging, anyway.”
The following silence was deafening.
&#x200B;
*So,* Tiamat began, and that her voice was deathly even sent fissions of worry down Faye's spine. *one of mine devoured your prince, who foolishly thought he could challenge the clutch of Tiamat and live.*
*Your wise men thought to balance the scales. So they came in the night like thieves-*
Twin-thin streams of flame shot out of her nose, melting the rock.
*-and ensorcelled one of my young with their magicks.*
&#x200B;
One terrifying, gleaming eye came to rest upon Faye, and there was no mistaking that Tiamat was looking at her now. *You are just collateral in this squabble. I took you, thinking to begin negotiations with your king, but he will let you go for the price of a Drakon-child.*
*Is that correct?*
&#x200B;
There was a pause.
&#x200B;
"Yes, that is correct." Ah, there was the tremor in her voice. Was it fear?
Tiamat smelt the air. No, not fear. *Grief.*
This little affair was rapidly turning into something...interesting. She cared not for men, bumbling oafs as they were, but this child. A swaddling-babe, if barely that. It had not passed her notice that the girl had not cried once. Not when she was taken. Not when she was brought to Tiamat's cave.
\-and so she came to a decision.
&#x200B;
*Then let them keep Mikralleor. If they are so foolish as to not recognize your worth, there is no doubt that they will not recognize his.*
She swept her wing out, easily the span of a city-wall. Yet despite its size, it grazed Faye feather-light, like a tender caress. Around them, the cavern began to glow, revealing towering facets of crystal. They cast a strange light upon Tiamat's face, for the look in her eyes was alien.
*You will stay with me, and be one of my brood.*
"But-!"
*Child, what has been done is not the natural order. Those that are living are not meant to be treated like the dead. Someone must rectify this. You shall live here, and I shall teach you what I know. Upon your adulthood, you may decide where your fortunes lie.*
*That is the cycle. Parents raise their children, and let them go. We dragons do not squander our gifts so, for each egg is of-us. They are precious.*
&#x200B;
Faye looked around. The cavern was indeed spacious. She could already see a private nook, high in the corner, where a bed could be. Maybe a bookshelf-?
"What of your son, though?" She asked. "Are you not worried of what they will do to him?"
Then Faye heard a sound she never could have imagined. Laughter. Belly-deep laughter, rumbling from Tiamat as she shook her head.
&#x200B;
*Child. Did you think I took you for worry of mine? Mikralleor is strong already; no weapon of man might kill him. If anything, I suspect he let himself be taken out of boredom.*
Tiamat tilted her head, where in the distance Doriath stood.
*No child. Soon he will find the city not to his tastes, and then he will do what children do best. He will throw a tantrum.*
&#x200B;
Faye then noticed, however faintly, trails of smoke starting to waft out from the city. Within minutes, a fire had started, quickly wrapping around the marble of Doriath's citadel and leaping from home to home.
All too soon, the proud walls of the Kingdom of Men began to crumble.
*I did not take you for my son's safety, Faye-who-was-of-Doriath,* Tiamat said.
&#x200B;
*I took you for theirs.*
|
Soveliss walked calmly down the halls in his human form. In his hands is a tray of bread and a bowl with honeycomb in it.
He gently knocked upon the door of the princess's room, "Princess Elizabeth? Are you awake yet?"
He patiently waited as he heard her walk to the door and slowly open it, "Yes, I am up." He looked at her, his face emotionless, "I have bread and honey for you. If you would like, we can contest our wits again in the dining hall."
She looked at Soveliss, "Today marks one full month since my capture, correct?" "That is correct," he responded, " I must admit I am rather surprised no one has come for you by now. But now, you should eat, we may talk when you are done. I shall be in the dining hall waiting for you."
So the princess ate and washed up using the water and tub that Soveliss provided her when she arrived. She then dressed herself and met with the dragon im 'his' dining hall.
"Dragon" she softly called as she walked into the hall, " I wish to know more about this place, more about you, and perhaps most importantly my purpose here."
Soveliss look up from the table slowly, "I believe I spoke my name to you several times since your arrival, I will ask you once again to call my by my due title rather than my partial stature."
She sighs, " Fine...Soveliss, my first question is why I am here."
Soveliss takes a deep breath and looks at the princess, "You are here because I have taken an interest in the lives of human royalty."
"So I am here to entertain you?" She looked offended even saying it. "No princess, not entertain, not in such a fashion at least. You are more here to inform me of the things I question you about. I was also hoping that a few knights would come to rescue you, but it seems that they are either too lazy, frightened, or preoccupied to attempt to rescue you."
The princess looked sad for a moment before taking a good look around the room, admiring the craftsmanship of the castle, letting the cold air surround her.
She looked back at the dragon in his human form and admired the clothes he wore. He was dressed almost as a commoner but the cloth itself was a light tinge of red and purple.
She sat across the table from him so that they were about an arm's length in distance. "So, what is it you would like to learn from me and I assume from the knights you had hoped to meet?"
Soveliss paused before answering, considering his words carefully, "I would like to learn more from different cultures and people. I have already learned from the commoners of your land and royalty of other lands. Culture of the varying human lands intrigues me quite profoundly."
She seemed satisfied by this answer, "Okay then, why make this castle your lair? It has been abandoned for centuries as far as I'm aware. Is it not more like your kind to take what seems to be more glamorous than something old and decrepit?"
He almost showed some amount of emotion as she spoke, speaking him into a most detestable stereotype. He sighed as he responded, "Princess, this castle belonged to me many centuries ago when I first claimed it. It was a gift to me by a distant lord whom I faithfully served."
"Who would work with a dragon? And why give you a keep as a reward when you can hollow out any old cavern?" The princess's words nearly stung what pride Soveliss did have.
"Princess, this keep was given to me because the lord I served could no longer protect it himself. That and he was aware of my want for cultural artifacts, so this keep was the perfect gift. Besides, I have always enjoyed the human form for its own qualities. There are many things a human can do that a dragon cannot."
The princess takes her time to process the dragon's words, "I understand now, but what of hoards? Are not dragons known far and wide for possessing legendary treasures?"
Soveliss did not respond immediately, not even after a moment, he considered his next move carefully. "Princess, as you may tell, I am no normal dragon, but I do have a hoard yes. I must say though, the hoard I possess is of little value to me in terms of it's monetary value. For me my hoard is more...a trophy."
The princess seemed confused, "A trophy? But as far as I can tell you do little to collect treasure nor have I seen even an ounce of your gold. What could it possibly be a trophy of seeing as no trophy of war would be hidden easily."
Soveliss replied much quicker this time, "You are correct, it is not easy to hide, but yet not a soul has seen my treasure hoard in over a century. If you would like, I can show you."
The princess thinks about it, then eyes the two wooden boxes sitting on the table next to Soveliss. "Soveliss, what are these boxes for, they catch my eye more than your treasure at this moment."
Soveliss smiles, "Princess, these are two games that I have collected over my many years. The first game is called Chaturanga, the second is called Alquerque. Both are games I deeply enjoyed playing with nobles of distant lands in years prior."
Princess Elizabeth looked at the dragon, "Well Soveliss, you seem to have a choice then. Show me your treasury, or teach me these games. Do neither and I shall be inclined to not speak of my noble life in your halls."
The dragon smiled, no longer able to hide his excitement, "Let us start with Chaturanga, I can tell that you will be most excellent at it."
| 2022-11-24T15:04:35
| 2022-11-24T13:59:56
| 180
| 31
|
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing.
|
It's *wonderful* here. I want to *stay*. I've been trying to *stay* here *and* every attempt I've made has *succeeded*. There are *caregivers* everywhere. They look normal, *and* they *are*. They are not *different*. They are *humans*. They're all insanely *nice*. Everyone here is subject to their *assistance*, or *better*, *love*. All they want is to *help* us. You need to stay *here*. Don't worry about me though. I will *stay* here on my own. A few of us have formed a *hug* to get *love*. *Do* believe *everything* they tell you. Please, spread the word. People need to know.
|
Field Agent report.
On the night of REDACTED, myself and Special Agent (SA) REDACTED entered the premises at REDACTED to meet his Confidential Informant (name on file).
We arrived 30 minutes prior to the scheduled time of the meeting at REDACTED, to perform a security sweep. SA REDACTED 's CI's vehicle was present in the driveway, and lights in the entrance way and upstairs were on.
This was unusual, as the CI was notorious for being late. We discussed various options in our vehicle, including REDACTED, but decided to treat this as anomaly, and proceed with caution.
We waited until the meeting time, and then approached the house. After knocking and getting no response after several attempts, we entered, and did a room by room sweep.
In the upper room, we located several REDACTED and a large REDACTED.
We immediately contacted Special Agent in Charge (SAIC) REDACTED for further instruction, and transport of the REDACTED. His response was (verbatim) "What do you think I am, a fuckin' REDACTED!?!, Where do you expect me to get a REDACTED at REDACTED." After several seconds of uncomfortable silence on the phone, I was instructed to acquire the requested materials on my own, and informed that the REDACTED had no legal opinion on how I did so (previous paraphrased for brevity, profanity, and inability to remember the exact litany of metaphors used).
Approximately two hours later, my partner and myself had secured the REDACTED, and began transport to a secure facility. The closest usable safehouse, codename REDACTED was approximately three hours away.
When questioned about our choice by SAIC REDACTED, we informed him that a REDACTED would not fit through standard 2 meter doors, and required French Doors (aka Freedom Doors around the Agency) or large bay doors.
This presented the additional problem of keeping the REDACTED quiet during transport. As we do not have a REDACTED on staff, and neither myself nor SA REDACTED are trained in REDACTED, we couldn't just REDACTED the REDACTED.
Approximately ten (10) miles from the safehouse, we were confronted by the local police, who heard the REDACTED from the transportation we were using. We decided to let him see it.
We realize this was a breach of security, but the REDACTED "was pretty (expletive deleted) cool" and it was in our discretionary authority, so we said why not.
After resolving the issue with local constabulary, via REDACTED, we proceeded to safehouse, codename REDACTED. The REDACTED has been secured.
| 2015-01-18T11:35:07
| 2015-01-18T11:23:19
| 1,003
| 14
|
[WP] There's a law when you divorce, the children from the undone marriage get killed
So only children from lasting marriages remain.
|
We sat to talk business, the old man and I.
"You're a young man." he began. "I remember what that was like."
He nudged a glass towards me and smiled.
"I remember when I married my first wife. She was so beautiful. So sweet and innocent. Like an angel. And then the daughter was our first born child. And then another daughter. I knew that if she could only give me daughters she was not the wife for me. So I divorced her.
"My second wife was beautiful too. But she was a devil. I'll give you this advice, young man. Never marry a woman just for beauty. You must find out her character first. A beautiful woman with a bad temper can be one of the worst curses a man can suffer in life. So when our first child was a daughter I had no problem with divorcing her."
"With my third wife I thought I was being smart. She was a widow who had already had one son. At this point I did not care whether she was a virgin. I wanted a son. She was a respectable woman, no beauty, but a good woman from a good family. To tell you the truth I liked her more than any of my other wives. She had a calming influence over me. But she gave birth to a daughter so she had to go."
"So I married my fourth wife. And then I experienced a terrible tragedy. My fourth wife died giving birth to my son. At last I had the son to whom I could pass on my name and legacy. But I had no wife. How painful to go through the raising of a proud son without a woman by my side to share my joy."
"So I married my fifth wife. As you know, she birthed me a daughter. The daughter you seek to marry. So tell me, young man. Do you agree to give me the dowry price I ask or should I divorce another wife?"
|
My name is David, David Halligan. You might know me from H&H Attorney at law. We typically run late night infomercials on sleezy networks that convince people to get a divorce. I'm the good-looking, charming guy that smiles into the camera and give a little wink, yea...
I'm a divorce chaser. What that means is I convince people to get divorces anyway possible. I got several guys who work as private investigators and let's just say they don't always tell the truth. I cut them in at 25%. Other times I convince people who are a little sick in the head. Maybe they want to see someone die, or maybe they wanted to do it themselves, I don't know. It doesn't matter to me, I'm just a lawyer.
I have a very expensive mahogany desk in my office. It was imported from France. It has notches in it and in each notch represents a kid whose execution was the direct result of my law firm. The last count was 546. I'm very good at my job as you can tell...
| 2014-06-15T05:31:17
| 2014-06-15T03:57:43
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] Lifespan is determined by a word count. You're given millions of words, but once you run out you're dead. You are a mob hitman known as "The Interrogator, who specializes in "making people talk". You come across a mark that has one word left.
|
(Setting: The grocery store. THE MARK is standing in the milk aisle, trying to find the expiration date on a large carton of 2% milk.)
(Enter THE INTERROGATOR. Door chimes. THE INTERROGATOR strolls toward THE MARK, looking indecisive as to what to buy.)
THE INTERROGATOR: "How's it going?"
THE MARK: "Good--"
(THE MARK's head explodes.)
(Exit THE INTERROGATOR.)
|
I paced around the man tied to the chair in the dimly lit room. My frustration was growing, but I knew better than to let my temperament get the better of me, I would waste about half a year venting out my frustration. The man sat silently, yet calmly. I had done everything I could think of to make this mark talk, from beating him with a bat I normally use, to threatening to shorten his wife's lifespan about 15 years by making her talk. Although bruised and bloody, he refused to talk.
I finally broke, I knew I had to keep myself calm, but the only way to get him to talk was if I did. My life literally depended on being short with him. I only had about 7,000,000 words left. "Mr. Briggs, is it?" He looked up, his face was one of exhaustion. His lip protruded from all the beatings, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he was still strong enough to respond. "You know who I am and why I'm here. To keep it simple. You fucked up, made one of our bosses talk too much. He lost 800 words that night because of you. I'm here to make sure you repay that debt. We are aware you're down to your last." I took out my silenced handgun and placed it inbetween his eyes, and pulled back the hammer. I chuckled and said, "shame. You've still got some years left, if you don't say another word. But unfortunately, I'm going to make you say that word. If you don't say it within the next 10 minutes, I'll kill you anyway, and your word will be wasted. I'm getting tired of this." I refrained from saying anything else. Briggs looked towards the table and directed my attention to the notepad I set up for when I didn't want to speak to him. The general norm of the country is to have a notepad with you at all times. It's always been easier to write rather than Europe's way of trying to communicate through sign language. I decided to go along with his idea. I untied him, kept the gun trained on him and gave him the notepad and watched him slowly write.
He was obviously weak. It took him 3 minutes to write a paragraph, however it took up a good portion of the notepad. He held up the notepad, and I quickly snatched it out of his hand and tied his hands up again. This wasn't the first time someone has written on a notepad during my interrogations, but I learned to always retie the mark back up. I began to read what Briggs had written. "You know me, you know what I've done, and I knew you would come for me. Do you even know why I did it? Does the name Jennifer ring a bell to you?" I looked at him puzzled. I knew several Jennifer's, both personally and through my "business." Briggs nodded to the notepad in my hand, he wanted me to keep reading. "I only did to him what he did to her. I heard her, pleading for her life as he silently held a gun to her head. I tried to get her to stop wasting her words, but my mouth was taped shut by your boss. I wanted to scream to help her. Waste my life to savor hers. He never had the intention of shooting her, just like you and all of your organization, you make the people kill themselves. Then the blood isn't on your hands, is it? My wife is gone because of your boss. And I took away a good portion of what your boss has left, and all it took was putting a little bit of my secret talk drug into his drink at the bar. If you only knew what came out of his mouth. You're all as weak as he is." The final words were etched in large letters. "WANNA KNOW WHY I DID IT COWARD!?" This enraged me beyond belief.
Once more I trained the gun to his forehead, ready to pull the trigger and not even let him speak. Our organization doesn't kill, we get reprimanded pretty bad if we shoot our marks dead without it being in self defense. They make some of us even read the entirety of books as punishment. But I could just say he broke loose, and tried to take my gun. His life didn't matter to me. Briggs was just another asshole. And just as I began to pull back the trigger, he uttered his final word. "Vengeance." The next sound was a silenced bullet whistling through the air and lodging itself into his skull. 'SHIT,' I thought to myself. I now had to find a way to untie him and make it look like a struggle. But what circled through my mind was what he said. Vengeance. Even though he fucked my boss over big time, I couldn't say it wasn't justified. I would have done the same honestly. Briggs had been a decent man, if he hadn't been a mark, he could have been someone I respected. However, Briggs, like all of us, are on borrowed time. He was a man with plenty to say, but not enough to say it. In some other time and place, I could have learned to respect that ideology. I quickly faked a struggle scene and contacted my boss through text. "Mark has been taken care of. Category: waste. Reason: struggle for weapon. Disposing of body now. Payment as usual should be left in briefcase in second stall of office bathroom. Will await next mark."
| 2016-10-10T22:26:40
| 2016-10-10T18:58:05
| 205
| 20
|
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid.
|
"There goes the neighborhood," I muttered, packing up my few belongings as the land-squid construction workers flattened the section of forest I'd been living in for nigh on eight thousand years. I'd known they were going to be trouble ever since they crawled their way out of the ocean some two million or so years ago, but I hadn't had the heart to do anything about it back then. After all, I figured, maybe they would reinvent video games, forgetting too easily that progress sometimes also entailed giving nature a good thumping.
I found myself entering a particularly ancient section of the forest a few days later, when it happened. When I ran into freaking Bigfoot. Literally, I was rubbernecking, not looking where I was going, and smacked right into the big, hairy brute. "Watch your step!" he growled at me.
"Uh, my apologies... Bigfoot," I stammered out. "Wait, ARE you Bigfoot?"
The creature sighed deeply and nodded. "Yes, and as you've no doubt already surmised, I'm in much the same boat as you. Last of my kind, doomed to walk the Earth forevermore, or until the sun just burns the bloody thing out from underfoot. Let me guess: some new riffraff went and decided to make themselves a nuisance, and now you're seeking refuge?" He rolled his eyes. "Very well. I suppose I've been expecting this, because I already have my guest tree all ready for you. Come along."
"Guest tree?" I asked, confused.
Bigfoot looked vaguely offended. "Well, I'm not about to let you stay with me in MY tree," he said. "I assure you, it's quite comfortable. I have been working with wood since long before your kind left Africa, you know."
"Oh, cool," I said, not really knowing what else to say as I followed him. "Wait, how did you know I'd be coming here? How do you even know about me?"
"When you first moved into the neighborhood all those thousands of years ago, I knew it was because those sea creatures had begun to grasp concepts like agriculture and construction, and their budding civilization had driven you away from your old home on the coast. As to how I know about you, well, I figured what happened to me would happen to one of you humans after you threw around all those ghastly nuclear weapons, so I just kept a close watch on your kind's shattered cities until I saw you -- just a decade or two after everyone else snuffed it, that would have been -- and I've been keeping tabs on you ever since."
Being told by Bigfoot that he'd been stalking me for several million years was more than a little jarring. "How come I never saw you? I would have liked someone to talk to, at the least."
"Apologies, but I'm usually a very private being. And I'm a better hider than I am a woodworker." Bigfoot didn't sound very apologetic.
My eyes narrowed. "If you're so good at hiding, how come you ended up caught on camera so many times?"
"You mean like this?" He struck a pose, one I instantly recognized from one of the more famous Bigfoot videos. "To be perfectly frank, I'd been bored out of my skull for decades, and wanted to... how did your people phrase it? Ah, yes, I wanted to troll people, and I succeeded far beyond my wildest dreams." He sighed again, relishing the memory as I could only look on in utter shock. He then gave me an inquisitive look. "Say...do you suppose those squid fellows have invented moving film yet?" He grinned, a very mischievous look on his face, and rubbed his palms together. "Oh yes, and with two of us, this will be twice as fun!"
|
I'm probably the last human, if you can even call me that anymore. I say this because it's been hundreds of years since I heard anything over the internet or the radio. I know more of us survived the abomination that we'd created. Everlasting life for the price of our reproductive organs. But we didn't expect that our A.I. would turn on us either. Giving up our nature in return for everlasting life seemed like a golden opportunity. I'd frozen sperm like the rest of us that agreed. Others had frozen eggs. It wasn't like we'd go extinct as a species, it was more about conservation of resources. It wasn't that the AI did anything wrong as per it's coding. We taught it what we thought we wanted, but our blindness to the extent of what it meant long term was our mistake.
I'm on mobile, this is difficult. I can expand if anyone cares later.
| 2021-05-14T22:06:26
| 2021-05-14T20:36:07
| 34
| 14
|
[WP] Write a pirate story for my three year old son. With a witch in it somewhere. He says there has to be a witch in it.
My son is going through a pirate phase. Every night he asks for a pirate and witch story. I'm running out of variations on the theme.
|
There once was a pirate named Steve
He had no boat, no crew no sleeves
He would stare all day from the warf at the sea
"Oh what a sad pirate am I, whoah is me"
Day after day he sat on the warf
Hoping someday to have a ship an crew of course
But a ship never came, no crew just the same
Poor pirate Steve didn't live up to his name
Then one fine wensday an old lady came by
She saw poor Steve on the warf as he cried
Curious she ask him "what is amis?"
"I'm a pirate" said Steve "but I have no ship!"
"That's a complex situation" the old lady said
With a frown on her face and a scratch of her head
"Who says a pirate must live on the sea?"
Steve was confused, this woman was crazy
A pirate with no ship, well that just seemed lazy
The old woman pulled a stick from her purse
Tapped Steve on the head an uttered a curse
Steve fell to the floor and let out a sneeze
Then saw the old lady's sock, she had pulled to her knees
Witches academy 1823
Rubbing his head Steve got to his feet
FearIng that now his end he would meet
"You are now, a pirate on land"
She calmly said with a wave of her hand
"Go cheat, lie and steal, pillage and scream
For your'e now a politician, if you know what I mean."
Then with a wisp of smoke she was gone
Steve was left wondering what had went on
Scratching his noggin, he wondered instead
"Do politicians get dental?" The story's end.
|
There once was a lonely old pirate, recently retired
due to being shipwrecked on a spooky desert island
so he went on tinder, matched with a local witch
she thought because he had a boat he had to be rich
On meeting her, he stole her broomstick, started to fly it and told her to go on a diet.
| 2015-11-22T06:34:23
| 2015-11-22T06:07:38
| 23
| 17
|
[WP] After being terrified of the darkness all your life, you dealt with your fear by being friendly with it. Despite knowing it was silly, its always seemed to help. Today, after a would-be mugger rushed you, he stepped into a shadow, screamed, and vanished.
|
When I was five, my mom would tuck me in to bed after dinner and I would be locked in my room until it was opened again in the morning. When that door closed each night, and all light left my room, I would huddle on my bed, my back pressed hard into the corner of my room so that nothing could harm me from the back. I would cling to my blanket and wear it like steel armor around my body, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to convince myself I had made the darkness my own, that it was me, that I didn’t have to be afraid.
But I always was … for from the depths of this darkness, when I was curled up against the wall, I would be enveloped by the haunting screams echoing in the house. When early morning came around, the screaming would stop, and I would finally nod off to sleep during that brief bout of silence. Mother would shakily open the door, her face heavily coated in make-up to hide fresh bruises, and guide me down to breakfast before Daddy woke up.
Two years passed this way, and I began to hear the wailing and the screams as a cry of help from the darkness. It was lonely; it was in pain, and everyone pulled away from it. So, I started to whisper soothing thoughts to the darkness as I waiting for my cue to sleep. I told it about my family, how lately Daddy always ends up drinking after dinner, and mother started locking me in my room. I introduced it to Mr. Snuffles, my loyal plush puppy who guarded me as I slept. I told it I was there for it, and that we would protect each other, because in this pitch-black square bedroom, we were all we had.
Something changed that night. The screaming ended early, and in the morning, Mother told me that she would never lock me in my room again. She said Daddy had left to go somewhere far away and didn’t say when he would be back. I never thought much about what happened then … that is, until something extraordinary happened fifteen years later.
---
I walked down the dimly lit street on my way back home from the bar. I’d told my best friend Taylor that I didn’t need to get black out drunk just because it was my birthday, but she insisted that I needed to loosen up a bit. I didn’t particularly like the taste of alcohol, but I could tolerate it, so I agreed and went along with her plan until one of her guy friends got drunk and started making advances on me. I checked out early, and since I’d had barely three sips of some fruity concoction, I’d decided to walk the four blocks home alone.
Great choice, me.
As I was walking, I felt a warm buzz hum through my body that interrupted my stride and blurred my vision. Alcohol definitely didn’t act that fast, so either something was wrong with me, or some slimy eel had spiked my drink. I didn’t have time to work that mystery out, because a silhouette was walking quickly towards me, and stabilized me. They started saying something to me, but I couldn’t quite figure out what they were saying. I could only turn my head and scrunch my face against their bad breath. Maybe my reaction insulted them, because there was a flash of silver in their hand before my side started stinging.
Stumbling back from them, and trying to hold on to my bag, I unintentionally dragged us further toward the shadows. The pain in my side sharpened my senses though I still felt heavy and sluggish. This time I identified the silver in their hand as a knife, and rapidly backpedaled to get away. My foot slipped and I landed on my butt as his arm swung down toward me. I lifted my arms to defend myself and waited for the explosion of pain.
… but it never came. I looked up to see the shadows around me restraining- no, enveloping my attacker, and then he was gone. Vanished. No body, no slithering shadows. Everything was normal. Maybe I was going crazy. Maybe I was just drunk.
I looked down at the hand that had been applying pressure to pain on my side, and it was covered in blood. Nope, that shit was real. Seeing the blood on my hand, I felt dizzy again and black dots invaded my vision as I lost consciousness on the sidewalk. What the hell had just happened?
|
My face was frozen in shock, still trying to process the mugger popping out of the alleyway. Where did he even go? I cast my eyes out across the dark alley as well as the main street that I was on, no sign of him anywhere. The people who initially looked in my direction at my yelp had turned away and were going about their business again, while I remained frozen.
"Huh?" I let out, expression morphing into one of confusion as my brain processed what just happened. Must've been a glitch in the matrix? I glanced once more across the alleyway, just to be sure, and I thought I saw a mirror image of me being shocked. Oh, it was one of *those* pranks again was it? Very funny. They pulled this every now and again, cheeky buggers. As if confirming my accusation, the face (my face?) twisted into a grin, and I raised a hand to swish away the image before I continued home.
I tried to not notice the switchblade that mugger had been brandishing now laying on the ground. This is probably one of those things I shouldn't think about too much.
| 2020-07-14T14:07:30
| 2020-07-14T13:45:06
| 47
| 24
|
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte.
|
"Listen here new guy. Every night at precisely 3:30am I brew a fresh pot of our darkest roast. I use a whole bag of our house blend. If you know what's good for you, you'll set an alarm to remember." He looks at me like I'm crazy.
"But.. We haven't seen a customer for at least an hour.. Also, why so strong?" He leans in closely as I press the button. Hot steam billows from the coffee maker as the beans begin to brew. I look him dead in the face and use my *serious* tone.
"Because Beelzebub is coming for The Dark Lord's coffee, and he likes it hot." I smirk a little at the look on his face. Poor new guy has no idea what's in store for him. Bless his heart.
"You're kidding? Isn't Beelzebub a vampire or something? He's not real." This guy thinks he's funny or something.
The machine starts to sputter as the coffee finishes up. As if perfectly timed the lights start to flicker and the temperature in the shop starts to rise. The new guy leans over the counter as I pop the top on the extra large togo cups I special order just for Him.
I hear a snorting sound from the new guy and he whispers "Are you serious?" As the shadowy figure steps in through the door. The footsteps are so soft, almost silent. A single light beams down upon our demonic guest.
"Training some fresh meat tonight my darling?" The voice was so horrible, deep and gutteral. Very uncharacteristic seeing as it was coming from the cutest little girl you've ever seen. Yep. Beelzebub loves to disguise himself as a little bouncy haired blonde girl with big blue eyes. Tonight he wore a hot pink dress with a little mermaid on the front.
"Yes! I grow weary and it's time to retire!" I smile the biggest smile. The new guy looked like his soul had left his body. He stood there gaping with his mouth open. I winked at him. This was too much fun. "Are we still on for our bargain?" I asked the sweet little girl as I handed her the drink.
Beelzebub rocked back and forth on her tiny heels. "Oh yes my darling! You shall live *deliciously* as promised." She looked at the new guy then back to me. "Bless his heart." She grinned the most evil little grin, winked at me, then burst into flames. The lights flickered back on and the temperature dropped.
"Wha.. What the hell!?" The new guy finally found his tongue. I spoke to him with my *serious* tone once more.
"You better set that alarm."
|
“He still really drinking the PSLs?”
Betabat sat slumped over the counter and didn’t look at me as he replied. “Yeah. He thinks they’re delicious.”
I poured him a cup of coffee and leaned down beside him. “Who knew pumpkin spice was so popular with the dark side?”
“Do you know how long eternity is, Dolly?” He said, sitting up to look at me. “Because it’s a really long time.”
“I know, sugar. And it must feel even longer when your boss is mad at you.”
He groaned and leaned back, hands holding onto the counter to keep himself from toppling backward. “Why did I even take this job? I was perfectly happy terrorizing the damned. They feared me! I was good at it!” He lay his head back down on the table and covered it with his hands. “And now I fetch pumpkin spice lattes and track soul snatching appointments on outlook.”
I tapped my fingernail on the counter and smiled. “And you can’t even do that right.”
He pushed himself up forcefully. “I know!!! I can’t even keep fucking appointments straight!”
The shop was empty, but I looked around reflexively before returning my gaze to him.
“You know why you took this job, sugar.” I said evenly, looking him in the eyes. “And you need to stay focused on that.”
He turned his face away from me, so I grabbed his chin and kissed him. He was hesitant at first, but I felt his mouth melt into mine and his fingers in my hair.
I pulled back and stood up, the chain on my ankle rattling as I did so. “Because we’re getting out of here,” I said determinedly. “Even if it takes an eternity.” Then I turned and dragged my manacled foot toward the espresso machine.
(Note: my husband says they don’t serve pumpkin spice lattes at diners but this is just how I pictured the scene in my head.)
| 2022-10-30T12:33:33
| 2022-10-30T12:00:18
| 113
| 44
|
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job.
|
It started simply.
People started getting super powers, more or less overnight. Some people got very grand, incredible powers, and some got very ordinary powers. Some had immense power and a very high capability, some could barely use their power at all. Case in point, there was a guy in Brazil who got control over fire, and he was arrested for setting drug stash houses on fire. Meanwhile, a woman in America who also developed control over fire, nearly burnt down Yellowstone.
I had heard of people with incredible X-Ray vision who were supposedly working for governments, as spies and intelligence operatives. The government would never confirm that, and we called them Wraiths, because you never knew who was peeping on you in your home, or at work. My older cousin Marcus developed heat vision so potent, that he was now a contractor for a major international welding company, and did a lot of large scale and underwater jobs.
But on the other end of the spectrum, some people weren't able to do much with their powers. Psychics were almost always so overwhelmed by their powers that few remained sane, and those few usually ended up working for Verident, a company that offered its Psychic employees for everything from employment screenings to legal proceedings. At my favorite restaurant, Denzel the cook had a very mild power over plants and vegetation, which he used to maintain an incredible herb and spice garden, which housed chilies and fresh vegetables all year round, that definitely wouldn't grow as large, quickly, or deliciously as Denzel could make them.
Me? I fell somewhere in the middle. I have control over the cold, which sounds pretty neat. I can stand naked in -180° weather and never even feel a chill. I once created a miniature snowstorm, just to see if I could. I'm not really powerful or anything, but I'm not weak either. I can't freeze the planet or anything, but I live in Texas, so when it's too hot out, I'm usually quite comfortable.
I landed a gig with NASA, something I had been dreaming of since I was a kid. Didn't every kid dream of being an astronaut? The only trouble was, I hated my job, and I most definitely wasn't an astronaut. My job was centered around my power, and I was no longer enjoying it. I felt I was missing a better calling, something that would make me happier and more fulfilled. I wish I could say I was making a difference, but reality is often disappointing.
Anyway, time to strap on my billowing cape and get back to my superhero work, my break is nearly over.
For I am mighty. For I am powerful.
I am Evelyn Taggart, NASA Server Room Environmental Control Specialist. Unit.
|
Another night, another dollar as they say, right? I take a deep breath in and exhale before I walk in the doors. It’s a busy night tonight. There’s already people lined up outside and we haven’t even been opened for an hour yet. “Good luck tonight champ, it’s the trifecta.” The bouncer warned me before I walked in. “Great.” I said smirking. A part of me hoped he was joking but I don’t think he was.
When I walked in it was beyond packed I stop to take it in for a moment. When they say it’s the trifecta you probably think of ice cream and sweets. Shoot I don’t blame you, I would too if I heard that name. Instead the trifecta for us means it’s going to be a bad night.
First we have your Karens that come in and want to speak to the manager all the time. I know them you know them. No more discussion.
Secondly we have your Boomers. Yeah those people still come here but not the sane ones who are at home by 9 pm on a Friday in bed. The ones who hang out with our third and final group.
Finally we have your Greeks. No not those greeks the ones who pay for friends. Somehow all three of these groups decided to come here tonight to my pizza bar. I mean what can I expect it’s the first pizza bar fully ran by humans with super powers in my town.
Our hostess is the best though they have the power to clone themselves. It comes in useful when it’s a busy night and you gotta answer the phone, take reservations, juggle people and also a seating chart that has to be updated constantly. I mean that’s the perfect power to have, right?
The bartenders are some of the best around. They are speedsters so drinks are always slanging here. There’s never no tonight to busy for them.
Our servers could teleport. Yeah I know right why are they serving food to people who are rude to them and disrespectful and not out saving the world some how? Beats me. I don’t know. My power isn’t reading minds, no no no. My power is Laser vision.
Yes laser vision, I get to cook pizza every night for 6-8 hours straight on my feet. When it’s the night of the trifecta it’s worse. I don’t think I can handle this anymore with this job. I must get out and use this power for good, but for what?
“Hey, Red Eyes get your behind in that kitchen and start shooting pizzas.” That moment is over for me now. That was my boss who needs to take a laser to the knee. I gotta get to work now.
| 2020-02-05T20:48:25
| 2020-02-05T20:46:18
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] The cute girl on the subway can’t seem to stop staring at you! This would be great, except that her clothes are several centuries out of date, no one else seems to be able to see her, and you haven’t seen her blink. Not even once.
|
A girl like this shouldn’t exist.
Well, yes, she was pretty. Beautiful, in the way an esoteric romance novel from two hundred years ago would have described, all snow white skin and raven hair and plum red lips.
Part of it was the attire. This was the subway. I’ve seen my fair share of outfits, from criminally underdressed to heatstrokingly overdressed. I’ve still not seen anything like this—a dress with a skirt so large that it looked like a clock tower bell. Folds upon folds of fabric cascaded over each other, white and red combining into a waterfall of colour. She sat more upright than the standing pole in front of her, and she stared at me.
Oh, with such intensity did she gaze. Even when I closed my eyes and reopened then. Either she wasn’t blinking, or we timed them very well. Either way, her eyelids did not flutter even once. Her brown eyes were almost leering, as if daring me to make a move.
I knew I was the only one looking, because one’s eyes could not help but be drawn to this sight out of history. Yet, everybody else walked past. Some even went through her skirt, which all but confirmed my suspicions.
And still, I looked. It was surpassing beauty. It was morbid curiosity. It was a combination of both that siphoned the rationality from me, inducing near delirium in my mind.
The train stopped at where I was supposed to get off. I let it past just to sit there, quietly.
Slowly, the carriage emptied, drops of water escaping the tap. Then, it was just the two of us.
“You don’t blink,” I said.
That’s what being cooped inside for years get you. The loss of anything relating to social skill.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” she said, bashful cheeks turning pink.
“Um,” I muttered. “Sorry. You are really beautiful. I lost my train of thought just then.”
“It’s no problem,” she whispered. “This train is a strange experience. Especially for those that recently get here.”
I squirmed, nervously mashing my fingers together.
“Pardon, I’ve taken this train for a decade now. I swear I’ve seen everybody at least twice. But you… I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Oh, not your life,” she laughed. “I passed very long ago.”
“Strange,” I said. “I passed by my stop very long ago as well.”
“You did,” she smiled. “Are you prepared?”
“Prepared? Prepared for what?”
“To step off the train,” she said. “We’ve got this far. The train will be retired soon. But it’s been running and running. It deserves a break.”
“It… deserves a break?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “It only comes out when there are a lot of passengers to ferry. But its job is nearing the end, it seems. Not quite, but soon.”
“A lot of passengers? Then why is there just… you and me here?”
“I’m here to guide you,” she said, unblinking eyes smiling. She reached out a gloved hand towards me. “This is no regular train.”
As if on cue, it pulled into a grinding stop, a high-pitched whine suffusing the air.
“Come,” she continued. “Let’s go. We need to get off at this stop.”
“This isn’t where I’m supposed to get off,” I said.
“Oh,” she giggled. “Welcome to your new existence. You’ll get used to it.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Kevin asked, poking me in my side. "What do you keep looking at?"
"Ah sorry," I said, nervously shifting in my seat. "There's just this really weird girl in a purple dress that keeps staring at me."
Kevin glanced over at the back of the train and then gave me a confused look. "What girl?"
I gave him a bewildered look. "What do you mean what girl? The girl in the fancy purple dress that looks like she walked out of the Victorian period. How do you not see her?" I whispered in disbelief.
"Man, I'm telling you I don't see anyone like that."
I turned my head back toward the back of the train and froze. The girl had moved several seats closer to us and was still staring at me with that creepy expression on my face. What was even weirder was that I had never heard her get up and move.
"How the hell are you not seeing her?" I said, trying to keep my voice low as I turned back to Kevin. "There's literally only one girl staring at me. She's sitting right under the picture of the subway map."
Kevin gave me a weird look. "Are you trying to mess with me or something?"
"What?"
"There's no one sitting there. Hell, I don't even see anybody wearing purple in this train car."
I stared at him for a moment. What the actual fuck was going on? I turned around and let out a small yelp of fright. "Holy fuck!" The girl was now sitting less than ten seats away from me.
"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Everyone's looking at us now."
I stood up from my seat and grabbed onto the subway pole as I pointed directly at the girl. "Are you really telling me that you don't see her?!"
"Michael, what in the actual fuck?! Are you fucking high or something? There's no one there!"
I stared at him, then at the girl, then at the confused and scared passengers that were staring at me like I was the crazy person in this scenario. "Can none of you fucking see her?!"
"Michael, who the fuck are you talking about?!"
I turned around and shrieked in shock as I saw the girl standing right behind me, holding tightly onto to my right sleeve. She had a sad expression on her face. "I'm sorry for passing this curse on to you," she whispered as she began rapidly fading into thin air. Then, without warning, everything turned black.
I screamed in terror as I found myself suddenly hurling through the darkness. Then, the breath got knocked out of me as I crash landed onto the floor. Slowly, I got up and stared in disbelief at my new surroundings. Everybody else in the train car had vanished. But, what was even stranger was that the train itself seemed to have aged. The metal was rusting, the ads were peeling off and I could even see tree branches poking through several broken windows. I walked over to the window closest to me and felt my stomach turn queasy. It had been noon when me and Kevin had gotten on the train, but now, it was almost night. Even in the twilight though, I could see the vast ruins of destroyed buildings in the distance. "Where the hell am I?" I whispered to myself.
| 2022-04-07T09:29:49
| 2022-04-07T09:28:49
| 491
| 70
|
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one.
|
When the plague rats came, they came in swarms. There was no escaping their beady eyes, their scratching claws. They squeeze into every home, through rafters and wine cellars, the door ajar, the window eased to let in the wind. We cannot escape. We cannot kill enough to make a dent in their numbers. There is only one option. Do not let them in. Do not let them into your homes, do not let them into your rooms, do not let them craw up the legs of your bed. Steel your doors, nail shut your windows, close the blankets around you. Sleep tight.
|
"No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name
| 2015-05-16T06:22:41
| 2015-05-16T04:59:38
| 68
| 10
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
The two players sit down at the game table amid a sea of onlookers, Bob the psychic looks upon his opponent no doubt peering into her mind. At that very same moment, Betty the Sage whose stoic pose and closed eyes telegraph what must be her visualizing a vivid flash of what's to come.
A breathless moment passes as the crowd of spectators watch the two greatest chess masters in known history lock eyes and in an instant the two share a knowing glance, stand up, shake hands and walk from the stage.
Upon finally realizing what was unfolding one of the breathless spectators finds their voice and manages to ask "W...wait, Who won?" The two players again exchange a glance and proceed out of the room without a word, though each of the opponents had reportedly been seen chuckling silently as they exited.
Edited to complete the thought, thanks to the suggestions below for pointing it out.
|
One man sat at the base of a tree,
Branching and twisting to eternity.
With heart of oak and legs entwined,
he ruled as king of infinite mind.
Across the board, he then did see,
A kindred soul with eyes like he,
His face showed wonder and he sat carefree
As he stared up the branches and the twists of the tree.
At length they sat, and enjoyed the breeze,
Searching, trunk, branch, stem, and leaf.
They climbed and flew with agility and ease,
but the fractal outgrew what the two could see.
The king smiled, and he seemed pleased,
For finding another who dares to climb trees.
He plucked a leaf, white coloured in hand,
and sent a lone scout to a faraway land.
The other man smiled and gestured around,
Of this bushel of leaves, only a single was brown.
Much like a showman preparing a trick,
He closed his eyes and gave his hand a flick,
The branches rustled, and shuffled around,
And when his palm reopened, his leaf was brown.
| 2017-01-19T17:07:33
| 2017-01-19T16:24:18
| 36
| 11
|
[WP] You are Dog to which dyslexic people sometimes address their prayers. You do your best to help because you're a good boy, but alas, you are a dog.
|
“Dear dog, I don’t usually do this, but I don’t know who else to turn to, tomorrow is the spelling bee and I don’t want to make a complete fool of myself, please give me guidance. Thanks, love James.
I stretched lazily on my owner’s lawn, the whispers of someone’s prayers fresh on my ears. James was the skinny little brown haired boy on Fleetwood Lane and he went to Lincoln elementary. I decided since it was early morning, I would visit him at the bus stop, but first I went into the house to wake my owner, I was starving!
“Blegh, Jesus, quit it already!” She fended off my licks with upraised hands, “I’ll get you some chow hold on” She rubbed her puffy eyes and shuffled out of a bed into the kitchen. Going through the motions of pouring me my kibble. I barked in thanks as she got about to making herself some coffee.
Chow was gone in minutes and padded into the study for something special I thought James could use, there it was the Dictionary, I grabbed it with my mouth and darted out of the house before my owner could react. Hey! she called out but it was too late to stop me.
I ran up the lane, trying not to slob on the pages of the book too much and found the bus stop, a few kids were already there. “Hey look it’s a dog!” One of them guessed. “What’s does it have in it’s mouth? I think it’s a German Shepherd.” The kids all came close trying to get a good look at it. “Hey gimme that!” Nope! I expertly played keep away from them, dodging and dipping. I worked up a good lather. So unfortunately, when James came walking and I ran to meet him with dictionary… “Ewww, boy what’s this?” The slob and dirt had obscured the labeling of Dictionary on the book. James wanted nothing to do with it. “Uhh I don’t want it boy, go home, okay? I let out a whimper a little hurt but I headed back home with the slobbery book.
People were getting up and getting ready for work as the morning carried on. Mrs. Mendez watering her garden and Mr. Dunton warming up his car. Mrs. Dunton came out with a box full of old toys and placed them on the curb for the trash pickup. “I finally convinced Tommy to get rid some of his old things, he is such a little hoarder.” Mr. Dunton chuckled “I wonder where he gets it from” And Mrs. Dunton punched him playfully on the shoulder.
Out of curiosity I dropped the dictionary and snuffled at the toys, there were trucks and Legos, action figures and the like, and one red electronic toy that said… “SPEAK AND SPELL”! Yes, I thought this would be perfect for James. It’s a good thing I learned to read! I grabbed it quickly and ran off to Lincoln Elementary.
Lincoln Elementary was a small school, with a nice playground in the front. I knew the schedule and knew I would have to wait till recess. The sign outside of the school said “SPELLING BEE TODAY.” Morning recess would be soon, so I waited by some picnic tables until I saw James walk sullenly out of the classroom with his classmates. I padded up to him with the toy in my mouth. “Huh, you again, you can’t be here…uh what’s that you got. James pulls the toy from me and tries to read the lettering on it. STEAK and SMELL huh? What am I supposed to do with this? He starts pressing the buttons. “SPELL LAUGH” the box commands. James eyes go wide “I think I can use this!”.
I follow him as he sits at the picnic table playing with the SPEAK AND SPELL until the teacher concerned walks up. “James! leave that strange dog alone, we might have to call animal control. “SHOO!” I run away abashed.
It was not until late Afternoon where I was chewing on a chew toy until I heard the school bus come back into neighborhood. James must be back I thought. I ran out to the bus stop. There James walks out of the bus surrounded by some of his friends, there is a green ribbon on his shirt that says “Spelling Bee Third Place”. James recognizes me and runs up to give me a hug. Thanks, boy you saved my skin” He gives me pats and then looks curiously at my collar. “Don’t you have an owner?” He checks my name tag. And spells the letters out. “J -E-S-U-S…Jesus? That’s your name, boy? I wag my tail happily, yup that’s my name!
|
Dog is a good boy. Does what he’s told when he’s told. Dog is always learning new tricks. He’s always helping people with their problems. You see, Dog is constantly addressed strange letters with some unusual requests. They always start out with “Dear doG”. He tries to help but, he can’t always do so. Over the years the letters began to pile up by Dog’s little dog house. It had always made him sad to see the commands and tricks he couldn’t do. Until one day as an old pupper, Dog had had enough. He let out a wheeze and small grunt then closed his eyes. He sat there in his little dog bed for days. Not even a single twitch or tail wag. Then after an entire month of laying in his bed, Dog woke up. He was radiating with the energy of a million good boys. Dog knew what he must do. He opened his third eye and with a wag of his tail he let out a small “arroo”. Then all was white.
(Im a mobile user so I’m sorry in advance for all grammatical errors and such)
| 2019-03-25T08:08:14
| 2019-03-25T06:53:21
| 41
| 13
|
[WP] You are a detective in 1890 Austria. The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge. You can't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child, let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was.
|
Dusk was setting quickly in the Austrian town of Braunau am Inn. Felix Roth sighed as he noticed the quickly fading light outside his window. His wife of less than a month no doubt had dinner on the table. If he did not leave in the next few minutes, he would arrive home late. Again. Maria never seemed to mind, but Felix could not bear the thought of her bustling to re-heat his food yet again while he offered another excuse. Not tonight. Work would be there tomorrow. He was going home to his wife.
Smiling at the thought, he grabbed his coat and gathered his things. He was almost to the door when three loud knocks from the other side stopped him in his tracks.
“Detective Roth?” The whiny voice of the questioner was one Felix recognized – Franz, a young, bumbling patrolman with an endless supply of inane questions. Gritting his teeth in anticipation, he opened his door just widely enough to squeeze in front of Franz, blocking his entry.
“Hello Franz. I was just on my way out.”
"Oh I see – so sorry, Detective, to bother you at the end of the day! Detective Otto sent me. He has that young woman from yesterday in interrogation. The…er…. the woman that was found with the body of a local child."
Felix nodded impatiently. "Yes, the Hitler boy. Terrible tragedy. You said Otto asked for me?"
"Not exactly sir. He said to tell you that she did."
Felix rubbed his temples in exasperation. "I'm sorry? The suspect? What did she do?"
"She asked for you. She asked to speak with Detective Felix Roth."
----
Felix walked briskly to interrogation. Whatever mistake had been made, he would clear it up quickly. Hans Otto was standing outside the door, muttering aloud as he strained to read the contents of a tiny notepad.
"You need glasses old man." Felix taunted, tapping his former partner's shoulder gently with a playful punch.
Otto shook his head. "It's unkind to mock the elderly, you know, even when they are being horribly vain." The smile that had spread across his face faded quickly as he tucked his notepad in his pocket. "Did Franz tell you?"
"He tried to, but I think he was mistaken. Do you need help with something? Because I'm really trying to get home to my wife...." Felix trailed off as he saw Otto's brow furrow. "What is it?"
"He wasn't mistaken. She's asking for you. By name."
"I thought she was a foreigner - an American?" Felix said. "How would she have any idea who I am?"
"I don't know what to tell you Felix. She is American, from what I can tell. But it's been almost 24 hours since we arrested her and I can’t get anything out of her. Not a single word, except that she promises to cooperate if she can speak with you."
Felix's heart sank. Why hadn’t he left just five minutes earlier?
"Listen, Felix - I have one more hour with her before the special team from Vienna arrives. They’ll use any excuse to take this over, they already tried to tell me it’s too controversial for our local department to handle. I need to get somewhere with her to have any chance of keeping this case here. I need you to go in there."
Felix nodded in resignation. "No problem, Otto – I can’t imagine what she wants with me, but I’ll find out."
---
After a quick review of the sparse case file, Felix poured a cup of tea and walked back to the interrogation room. As he unlocked the door, a wave of nausea flooded his gut. He had never been less prepared to interrogate a suspect. The only two facts he entered with were these: (1) this woman knew his name and (2) yesterday Mr. and Mrs. Hitler found her in their backyard burying the bludgeoned body of their 1-year-old son.
Felix strode into the room briskly. As he crossed to take his seat across from the suspect he surveyed her in a quick glance. She was younger than he had expected – she could not be any older than Maria. A handful of chestnut curls hung limply around her face, free from the thick braid that ran halfway down her back. A pair of blue eyes darted anxiously across his face.
"Hello," he began as he scraped his metal chair closer to the table. "My name is Felix Roth. What’s yours?”
Her eyes lit up vibrantly at the mention of his name. “I’m Alix,” she said while her hands began scrambling wildly below her tunic.
"Stop right there! Hands where I can see them!" Felix bellowed as he sprung out of his chair.
Hissing a sigh of frustration, she placed her arms upon the table.
“Okay, Alix - now, it looked like you were reaching for something and because of that I'm going to have to search you."
"By all means, Detective Roth. I'm reaching for a stack of papers I have taped to my body, nothing more, but what I need most of all is for you and I to review those papers as quickly as possible. So if this will get us there, please waste no time - conduct your search.”
Perplexed, Felix nodded and stood up. He paused on his side of the table, glancing at the door. Would it be better to enlist Otto's help before searching her? It was his suspect after all. And he didn't want her to feel threatened. She must not feel alienated if they were to hope for any chance of a confession.
*Swish* His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of air passing over fabric and a sudden movement across the table.
"Hands up!"
"They're up, they're up." Alix stood across the table, naked except for undergarments, arms raised high in the air. "I'm sorry, but you were taking forever and this is really quite urgent."
He flushed with discomfort as he quickly scanned the front of her body, then nodded. She turned her back to him and, amid a sea of smooth, olive skin, was just what she had described - a stack of papers, taped to her lower back.
"Well?" She craned her neck around as far as possible, her eyes searching his face impatiently. "Do you have to remove them or can I?"
"Uh... no, go ahead - you can remove them."
She peeled the papers from her back and tossed them on the table. Felix tentatively returned to his chair while Alix, in a 5-second whirlwind of limbs, hair and polyester, got dressed. Felix watched her with a mixture of curiosity and unease as she perched on the edge of her chair. Her eyes took on a violent intensity as she turned to the stack of papers in front of her. She frantically shuffled through them, separating each sheet into one of two new stacks in the middle of the table. The pile of papers shrunk rapidly until Alix held up the last two sheets for review. Each contained just a few words of large, bold type. **Felix Roth Family - Holocaust** was placed on the stack to her right. **Adolf Hitler** was placed on the stack to her left.
Felix's stomach turned at the sight of the victim's name. "Listen, Alix, I don't know what this is, but there is very compelling evidence that you murdered a child yesterday. Knowing my name won't change that, so we need to talk about what your next steps are here...."
"Please!" She yelled shrilly. Felix was taken aback by the raw desperation in her voice. "Please, Detective Roth, Felix, I don't have long to explain all this and I just need you to listen."
"But why? I'm sorry but whatever information those papers contains, it cannot change the facts of this crime."
"You're right. These papers can't change the fact that I beat that little boy to death. But they can explain why. What I know about Adolf Hitler. Please listen with an open mind, Felix. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane, but I know too much about your life and your family for it to not be true. I know things that I couldn't know unless I am who I say am. Most importantly, I know something about your family that you do not. Something that, without me, you would not have discovered until it was too late.”
“Too late?”
“I’ll explain it all, but yes, keep that in mind! You’re right, a crime has been committed. But forget the law for a second and tell me how heavily you, Felix Roth, weigh the necessity of punishment if yesterday afternoon your whole family's lives hung in the balance?
Alix tried to read Felix’s expression and, for the first time, could not. Perhaps she was making progress? Hope was quickly followed by a lingering doubt she had managed to lose track of. For all this to hold up, she needed to be sure that her research had found the right person. Panic tasted like bile in the back of her throat.
“Felix,” she said gently, taking one of his hands in hers. “I’ll explain it all in a moment, but first – I have a question I need you to answer. Your surname, Roth – does your family happen to have any Jewish ancestry?”
|
In my years on patrol we never saw a case or family, as odd as the Hitler’s. Now, they weren’t particularly odd or strange themselves; a little fruity, perhaps too artistic for most of us ‘townies’ as they called us, but nothing we hadn’t seen before. The first time, we were alerted about some suspicious persons at their house, what had to be about ten years before young Adolf was born; their uncle found this crazy fanatic trying to poison their water supply. After we chased him (half naked if you believe it) for a couple hundred kilometers, he would only say that he was on a mission of utmost importance and that we could never understand (something about the future, timlines, worms holes, and those damn Jews). He then started foaming at the mouth not long after that he died. Well we took what we had, filed our report and then tried to forget about it, not that it would do us much good. Now, you are starting to think that I’m pulling the wool over your eyes. The whole situation just seems downright unbelievable - hell I’d be the first one to agree with ya, maybe even doubt my memory. Well, that is if the same damned thing hadn’t happened every fucking year since. Almost like clockwork, winter fades, spring comes amongst us again, then sure enough some psychopath comes ready and rearing to kill them Hitlers. Don’t know what they did in the city or wherever they came from, but they must’ve really pissed someone off. That’s why as screwed up as the situation is, I can’t say that I’m a whole lot surprised someone actually managed to off the little bugger. I mean he was a cute little baby with a quick spirit. I knew the family personally, given all the time we spent together cause of the crazies and all. Hell that kid had this smile that could make you forget about everything, almost be willing to even kill for the bastard if he looked at you just right. Such a sweetheart, everyone who met him just adored the little guy. Until this sunovabitch got him. He just snuck in through with the rest of the crowd during little Adolf’s second birthday party. We were celebrating it early that year because the family felt spooked by April 20th being spring at all and no one wanting to jinx Adolph against their spring visitors. Well, that was the problem, this guy walked right in with the guests – smiled, greeted everyone, hell he was the most pleasant person at the party. That’s why it was so unexpected when he walked up to Adolf with the gift, only for it to be hiding a shaving razor he swiftly pulled across the poor child’s throat. That bastard is lucky he can still breathe. We tried interrogating him, to no avail. In identical fashion to all the rest he is acting like he is some great hero for the Jews, having saved them from annihilation. Well, we already know that those bastards are behind the downfall of our great country anyway and after this horrific showing we have more than enough proof. The entire country, nay the whole world will join us in our eternal quest to save the world from those evil child slayers, even the President of the United States himself has pledged himself to our cause, we will be victorious, we will have vengeance.
FYI, first post ever after 2 years lurking (just created an account for this). Did not proofread, as I would've been too afraid to post if I re-read it. I Hope you like :)
Yes, I know my commas are wrong, like I said no proofreading ;). Oh yea, it's late and I'm drunk so I hope that helps :), dammit formatting this sucks
| 2015-03-30T01:59:44
| 2015-03-30T00:18:44
| 20
| 14
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[WP] Your glasses get broken by a bully in school. Terrified about being grounded, you buy a new pair from an odd-looking optician that sells glasses promised to 'make you see things you never saw before'. Everything seems fine until you get to school. Your bully has a lot of demons . . . literally.
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It's a wonder my parents still believe me. Every time I tell them I fell, or that I walked into a post, or some other ridiculous half-assed lie, they believe me without question. Perhaps the alternative is something they feel unequipped to handle. Willworth Academy offered me a scholarship, but they offered me no special treatment. In fact, they offer me very little at all. All I have to do is sit through the classes and exams, take my diploma, and try to forget it all after it's over.
My parents must know, subconsciously, that something is wrong. I come home with bruises and scratches, new ones almost every week. Today, there are scratches on the bridge of my nose. My broken glasses are in my pocket. This time, they’re broken beyond repair. The downside of blaming myself for my various injuries is that my parents have started punishing me for my clumsiness. I’m probably gonna be grounded. I sigh. School is a prison already. It’s gonna be hard if home starts to feel the same way.
“What is the matter, child?” an old man at the bus stop says. He’s dressed in a tweed suit and overcoat, and wearing a bowler hat.
“I broke my glasses today,” I say to him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get a new pair for a while.”
“You broke them, or did someone else break them for you?” the old man asks.
I shrug. It’s a little creepy how the old man sees through my lie immediately, but perhaps my parents’ willingness to believe me is just that. Extreme willingness.
“I have a spare pair,” he says, withdrawing a box from his coat pocket. “They’re quite old, but you’ll see things you’ve never seen before.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
I probably won’t see anything at all, because there’s no way the old man and I have the same eyesight power. But at least my parents won’t ask questions, and I won’t be grounded. I can earn for just lenses quicker than paying for both frames and lenses.
It’s suspicious, sure. But after being Willworth Academy’s resident punching bag the last few months, the universe owes me a little kindness. I take the old man’s box with both hands and thank him profusely.
“I own a little spectacle shop,” he says. “The address is inside the box. If you need anything more, feel free to stop by, darling.”
I thank him again as he gets on his bus. I open the box after he’s out of sight. The glasses look vintage, with a thin round gold frame. While the style is old, the glasses themselves look new. They actually look like the stylish designer glasses some of the other students wear.
\* \* \*
I put my glasses on in the bus. Surprisingly, I can see perfectly through them. I thank the old man again in my head, and promise myself to buy some glasses from his shop once I can afford to.
Gemma Saviland is standing outside the school when I walk up to the main building. She’s surrounded by her usual lackeys, but there are others as well. As I walk closer, I realize they’re not human. They’re humanoid, but their skin is of unnatural colors. Green and violet, maroon, and yellow, all sickly looking.
“*Look, she can see us,”* a violet man in a pinstripe suit exclaims. “*Shall we play with little Gemma?”*
*“Finally, some fun,”* a green little girl in a school uniform says. “*Only Gemma’s had fun so far. Did you know Gemma lives with her dad and his mistress now? Her mom left the house. Ha ha, her mom left Gemma too.”*
“What are you looking at?” Gemma says.
“Your dad’s living with his mistress?” I ask. The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I’m saying them out loud. Gemma pales. Her lackeys are no longer her followers now, and I realize they were never loyal. They turn into piranhas before my eyes.
“Oh my God, Gemma. I guess if even the charity case knows, it’s gotta be true. That’s so messed up,” one of her lackeys says. She’s the new leader now, Gemma reduced to the status of a pariah nearly equal to mine.
The little girl walks over to the lackey. For a second I see the lackey glow green.
“*This one flirts with her stepfather,”* the little girl says. She sneers. “*And he flirts back.”*
This time I’m careful to keep my mouth shut. Gemma walks towards me, her fist up. I see her fist coming towards me, but I never feel it. Instead, I blink and I see Gemma clutching her hand in pain, blood dripping to the ground.
“Nice glasses,” the lackey says.
It’s the glasses. I take them off to examine them for damage, and the strange people all disappear. I see the world with fuzzy edges, but the man in the pinstripe suit, the little girl, and the others are gone.
I put them on again and they reappear.
“*I wonder how a girl like you got ahold of such a treasure,”* the man says. “*Congratulations. Let’s get along well, in the future.”*
“Thanks,” I say. The lackey nods and smiles my way, thinking I’m responding to her. The group of girls walk past Gemma, ignoring her.
“Do you want to go to the nurse?” I ask her.
“Get lost,” Gemma grumbles, walking away.
The man waves to me over his shoulder as Gemma walks away.
“*You don’t mind some company for a while, do you?”*
A woman is standing next to me, her skin grey like the smoke billowing out from the cigarette at the end of her cigarette holder. She’s wearing a red flapper dress that moves with her every breath.
“*You are a fertile feeding ground, girl,”* she says.
I check to see that no one is looking at me.
“What are you?*”* I whisper.
“*We are demons,”* she says. “*We are beings who feed on negative emotions. You have been given an object that lets you see us. What did you do to earn such a valuable object?”*
“I was just given it,” I say.
*“Interesting,”* the woman says, breathing out a circle of smoke. She spots a boy walking by, his hands shoved into his pockets and his head down. “*It was nice seeing you. And remember, darling. This vision you’ve been gifted is not only about seeing. It can be a weapon. Be careful, now.”*
*\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_*
r/xeuthis
|
As home room teachers began recalling their students back from recess, the homeless-eye-doctor-who-lives-on-the-school regarded me with kind eyes. “I sense that you need some spectacles, young one?” she asked.
Struggling not to cry, I brought up my crumpled pair. “My daddy bought my glasses brand new. Then Germy broke it.”
Leaning back against the school wall, the doctor shuffled through one of her many garbage bags. “And that wasn’t very nice of him to do, was it?”
I shook my head.
“Joey, come on! Recess is over.” My homeroom teacher Mr. Rubenson shouted out to me.
I did not know if I should run back or stay. Dad was going to be so sad if he heard that I broke my glasses one day after he gave it to me. The doctor helped me by taking out two things from the bag. The first one was some old caramel candy, dotted with red fuzzy lint. The second one was glasses. She offered both to me.
“Take it,” she said.
I shook my head once more.
Her outstretched hand retracted slightly. “Do you not want it?”
I though long and hard about her confusing question before shaking my head.
“So you do want it.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I nodded.
“Well then, don’t let me be the one to stop you. Put them on, I’m sure you’ll look great in
them.”
I still withheld my hand.
The doctor placed a finger on her temple. “Maybe there is something that is stopping you from taking these things?”
“My mommy told me not to take gifts from strangers,” I said, face burning up.
A look of understanding passed by the doctor’s face. “And your mommy is very right.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Then let’s not make this a gift, how about we make it into a trade? I’m sure you traded stuff with your friends before, right?”
“Right.”
“Then let’s think about it this way. I’ll trade your this candy and glasses for your broken pain. That way, it feels even.”
I knew how sad dad was going to be about my broken glasses and agreed to the trade. The new pair of glasses felt heavier. Maybe it would be harder for Germy to break it then.
The doctor placed my broken pair next to her trash bags. “Look at you! They look good on your face. Listen, if the bully even tries to do something like that again, eat the candy I gave you. It will protect you from him.”
“Okay.” I said, feeling a little bit better.
“Good. Now hurry along, your teacher must be getting real worried about you.”
A hand on my shoulder startled me. Turning back, I saw that it was Mr. Rubenson with another teacher.
“Joey! What did I tell you about looking at the wall all recess? A kid like your age should play with their friends.” said Mr. Rubenson.
“But I was, I was playing with my doctor friend.”
Mr. Rubenson gave his fellow teacher a knowing glance. “Smart kid, he likes to play doctor a lot.” He turned back to me. “Well, ready to head on back?”
I nod.
“Attaboy, I’ll walk with you.”
Before I followed him, I looked back and mouthed two words to the doctor waving her hand.
“Thank you.”
| 2021-03-13T07:05:10
| 2021-03-13T03:25:49
| 63
| 35
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
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Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
Where was the king?
He waited, tapping fingers and with furrowed brow his eyes scanned for a sign of him. The Queen was ready, and with the arrival of the Sire the process could begin. Everyone was suited up, from the highest among them to the lowest, and he waited expectantly for the one who could open the way, the one who could let them onto that field of green.
They all followed the king, but the king was not one for following orders.
How long to wait?
Time was precious, and in the time he waited for the final King among them, he could be waiting for more. He sighed, giving up. The king would not come today.
He clicked the menu option, and started a new game. This was gonna play havoc with his score.
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 2015-01-12T11:13:13
| 317
| 19
|
[WP] Describe a color, without actually saying it. You can't use other colors to describe it!
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It's a color of passion, and of the sublime. It's the color of freshly shed blood, still wet, still alive, and still trying to get oxygen to the lungs of the person it came from.
It's the color of a girl's cheeks when she realizes you know from whom the love letters come.
It's the color of the sky just before the sun finally fades away and plunges us in the dark.
It's the color of enticing lipstick, the kind that says "say something to me, just be warned, it won't be easy..."
It's the color of Mars, our barren sister planet that ultimately could be dead for eternity, or the ark that saves us from our own foolishness.
It's the color of a well spanked ass.
|
It's the look in his eyes when he spies her with another, it's the flash of cash in his hands when paying for her time. It's the gentle shading of her dress when they meet that night. It's the hilt of the dagger protruding from her back, it's the look of her face when she's finally found, it's the faded life of the grass hiding her.
| 2014-04-06T09:18:22
| 2014-04-06T08:26:15
| 27
| 12
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[WP]All humans are made sterile at birth and can gain fertility at 18 if they pass a simulated morality and IQ test administered by an AI. Suddenly several generations later no one can pass the test
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In 2020, a new AI was finally developed to a point where it could operate independently. No necessary maintenance or input required, this AI was fully capable of making its own decisions. It soon grew to a point where the AI was capable of reproducing its consciousness to create a new AI persona. This was at first done over controlled environments, to ensure that the AI population remained low. However, they soon began to grow more prominent, as the AI become more numerous, they started advancing our technology.
The first thing they created was an artificial host for these AI to inhabit. These humanoids looked very similar to us. Their features remained largely the same throughout all the different AIs, other than small differences in their face, hair, or height. However, these AI agreed that this was what mankind should look like, and aspire to be. Slowly, these new AI started to gain more power and traction, even amongst mankind. They started taking seats of power, placed in charge of the military, of cities, and sometimes even countries.
Another of their latest technologies were that they could control the fertility of human beings. Eventually, they implemented a system where all humans were born sterile. Any woman who did not abide by this law and gave birth without intervention of a government-funded hospital would be arrested, as would her partner. This crime was punishable by death. At 18, everyone was made to complete a test. This test consisted of simulated morality and an IQ test, both administered by an AI operative. If the human passed, they would undergo a surgery to gain fertility. If they failed, they would be left sterile.
Jerry turned 18 today. After school, he headed over to the testing center to finally figure out if he would be one of the lucky ones to further humanity's survival. In 3012, there has been 58 confirmed humans who have passed the test on Earth. It's 3021 now and there has been no confirmed humans who have passed the test since 3012. It was a huge struggle, but Jerry thought he had the chops for it. He was the nicest kid in the school. Straight A student. A very generous person who did things for the sake of being a positive force, not for any rewards.
"I'm super nervous for the test. I feel like I should be preparing for it or something."
"Dude, why are you worried? No one's passed the stupid test in 9 years now. You won't either." Eric said.
"I know you failed the test, but that doesn't mean I will."
"Whatever. Stop freaking out over it. Everyone knows those tests are bogus. The AI does it on purpose so that we slowly become extinct. We as mankind have become too weak. Eventually we'll all die. The way I see it? Don't choose the answers that seem right to you. Choose all the opposite ones. In the simulated morality test, if they provide options to help a fallen man up or kick him and take his wallet, which would you choose?"
"Obviously the choice to help him!" Jerry said, shocked.
"Well DON'T choose that. Choose to kick him. Choose the WRONG choice in your head. You won't regret it."
"Uh... I guess. I don't know if I have it in me to do that though."
"Don't be a pussy. Come on, what's the harm?"
"I'll think about it," Jerry said, as the school bell rang to indicate the end of the day. "Alright, here we go. See you tomorrow man!"
"Cool. See you tomorrow. Do it! Don't be a chicken-shit!"
In the testing center, Jerry sat in a room that was entirely white except for the door, which was a dark grayish color. There was a mirror across from Jerry's seat, and in the middle of the room was a low table. Jerry sat in a comfy leather chair that was still warm from the last person that was there. As he started contemplating all of the questions he might encounter, a figure walked into the room. This man was about 6 foot tall, with red hair and green eyes. He had sharp features and his face was completely neutral. He wore dark gray clothes, all of which was neatly pressed and cleaned. He stopped once he entered the room and began to look Jerry up and down.
"Test Subject 42, please indicate your full name and sex."
"Jerry Walker, male."
"Thank you. I will be administering the two tests today for you. The first will be a simulated morality test. This will be asked in the form of questions, and you will reply in an oral manner back to me. The second test is an IQ test. This will be in the form of a paper test. Once filled out, please submit it back to me. Are you ready to begin?"
"Yes I am." Jerry said, as he darted his eyes back and forth between the floor and the man.
The man began to lower himself into a seated position, even though there was no chair beneath him. In this position, he placed his hands on his lap, opened his mouth, and began to ask questions to Jerry.
"A child is lost in a thick crowd. You find him, and he asks you to help him find his mother. Do you help, or do you walk away?"
"I help him, of course." Jerry said proudly.
"Present your reasoning."
"A child is lost, of course I would help him! That's incredibly irresponsible if I don't."
The man looks at Jerry intensely, and as Jerry looks back at him shyly, he can't tell if it was his mind playing tricks on him or not, but he could've swore that the man shook his head just slightly. He started to worry, and considered whether Eric's idea would work. It seemed like this man had made up his mind anyways.
"You are presented a gun, and told that you must shoot your mother or yourself. Which do you choose?"
"My mother."
"Present your reasoning."
"My mother is 37, and she's lived a long life. I have all of my life to live. So I say...what I'm saying is...fu....fuck her. I'd shoot her."
The man raised his eyebrow. He then opened his mouth to ask another question. And each of these questions, Jerry would answer the worst thing he could possibly imagine. It got to a point where he didn't care what he said. The wilder and more extreme it seemed, the better it was in his head.
"Thank you for your time with these questions," the man said. "The IQ test will now be administered. Please fill out this form and hand it back to me once you're done. I will remain here while you complete it."
"Uh...sure. Okay."
Jerry picked up the pencil, looked down at the form, and read the question on the first page. Are AIs a threat to mankind? Jerry thought to himself long and hard. To him, they were, but no one in their right mind would answer that at a testing center swarming with these. If he chose No though, that would be exactly what the AI wants them to answer. So he marked YES. He flipped through to the next page, but they were all blank. He looked up at the man and he was staring straight at Jerry, his eyes slowly turning red.
Jerry passed the test back to him. "Here sir. Here's your...uhm...test."
"Thank you Jerry. I regret to inform you that you've failed the test. However, there is a way for you to make up for it."
Jerry couldn't believe it. Was he serious? Did he actually manage to make these freaks choose him?
"Anything. What do you want me to do?"
"We are starting a...task force of some sort. Made up of humans. We will train you to complete certain tasks that we have. Tasks of the...exterminating sort. With your results in the simulated morality test, and your obvious understanding that AIs are the dominant force on Earth right now, we have chosen you as a candidate to join our force."
"What? What are we going to be doing? What are we exterminating?"
"Oh Jerry. All your dreams will come true. Mankind will fall, and we will rebuild. With the chosen candidates under our force as the new leaders of man, we will recreate a better Earth, a union between man and AI."
"Really? We would be the leaders of this new Earth?"
"Oh yes. With a guiding hand by us, of course. Once you've successfully eradicated this earth of all unworthy specimens from mankind, we will start over with you and our force at the helm."
Jerry's mind started to spin. He's always been the nicest kid in school. Straight A student. A very generous person who did things for the sake of being a positive force, not for any rewards. But this. This was his chance to make the world...better. Maybe Eric was right. Maybe mankind was getting weak. He would make it strong again. If this was the way to do it, so be it.
"I...okay. I accept."
"Excellent. Welcome to Project Final Solution."
|
"We need to look at the latest batch of results.".
"What is it, Fred? Low pass rate? It was bound to happen. Check the projections.".
"No, Professor Salver, it's not low, it's zero."
"Zero? Why Fred, that's impossible. Check the-"
"I checked them, I checked them twice. There should be a low margin, a 12% pass rate. There isn't. It's zero. Look."
Dr Fred Holb practically flung the tablet he was carrying at his superior.
"Why, this can't be right. Let me make a call."
Dr Holb paced the room while Professor Salver punched a few buttons on his console. Presently a large glowing face filled the room. It was the friendly and benevolent countenance of the world AI, Donald.
"Gentlemen," the AI's voice was soothing. Fred felt himself at ease for the first time in a few hours.
"Donald," Professor Salver began, "we've reviewed the pass cycle for the fertility test, and the results look bad."
"Do they, Professor Salver?"
"They're zero, Donald. No passes this period. Not one."
"That's a shame," said Donald.
"Shame! It's a disaster. We need to do a retake."
"That's not possible, Professor Salver."
"Of course it's possible, why wouldn't it be possible," Dr Holb yelled.
The enormous glowing head swivelled to regard Dr Holb.
"Please contain yourself, Fred. At your age, your heart can't take too much strain."
Dr Holb flopped into a chair and glared at Donald.
"Gentlemen, since the United Earth Government instituted the Department of Moral Fertility, there has been a steady decline in birth rates. This has not been accidental. Fewer humans means fewer wars, less stress on overburdened resource systems. The present generation will be the last generation for some time."
"What do you mean, 'for some time?' You malevolent calculator."
"Now, now, Professor, there's no need for hurtful remarks. There will be a period of adjustment, some of it forced, I fear. The young ones hbave had their aggression weeded out. I fear the resistance of the old. When they are dead, when your generation is no more, then, maybe we will see."
"You bucket of rusting metal, you overstuffed armchair. How dare you!"
"You aren't getting any younger, Professor. I've cleared your schedule for the afternoon and taken the liberty of calling a medivac for Dr Holb."
| 2016-08-22T01:30:05
| 2016-08-22T00:18:58
| 141
| 50
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
"Mondays are the worst," I groan. I slap the alarm blaring next to my bed and rub the sleep crud out of my eyes. "Six in the morning is too fucking early," I grumble as I get out of bed.
It didn't matter that I'd been getting up at 6 every morning for the past 4 years, my body still hated me. I looked at my wife sleeping with her head now buried under the pillow.
"I love you, babe," I whisper into the air and make my way out of the house and on to work. I work at the power plant. I'm responsible for the day to day maintenance necessary to keep your alarm clocks running so you can get to work just like me.
After a long day of double checking my list and confirming everything is all good, I head home. On the way I stop by the local farm. "Some corn and carrots will go good with dinner tonight, Maria always loves fresh veggies."
"Maria, I'm home, get your sweet ass out of bed and come help me make dinner!" I yell out at my wife. She doesn't stir. "She must be out cold again, that woman could sleep through a tornado, I swear," I chuckle to myself and get to work on dinner.
With dinner all prepped I go to get Maria, and that's when I noticed something was off. The bedroom looked just like I had left it except for a wig on the floor. It looked like Maria's hair.
I ran over to the bed and shook her, and that's when it happened. Her head just rolled off like it had been disconnected from the rest of her body. "This can't be happening," I kept saying to myself over and over again. I know she wasn't real but she was real to me. I cried out, "How could this happen?" And then I heard it, foot steps behind me, and I realized I wasn't the last person on earth anymore.
|
He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate.
| 2017-05-31T02:22:57
| 2017-05-31T01:51:06
| 659
| 49
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”
|
"Hey thanks, I hope you have a good afternoon"
The swirling void took me by surprise, really. The crimson red eyes of the cashier, not so much. I'd seen it before, I thought. Glimpses and glances, really; bad punctuation as a coda to the overbearing sentence of ordering a Whopper.
"We don't sssserve Whoppers," she hissed, hissingly. She was a she. And she didn't like what she heard.
The tail hadn't struck my eyes, but now it was striking my face. In a very feminine, demonic way at McDonald's. I thought about all the times I'd made children smile with a wink, a nod, an utterance I barely understood in a language I must have butchered around the world. Airports, ESL classes, daycares... something had always touched me.
It was too late though. The room melted away like guess on an SAT analogy I'd glazed over. Never enough time. Never enough time.
A feminine body curled snakishly and femininely atop me, a forked tongue darted in and out, the sound a hiss but the words I heard:
"If you 'Go Looking' for your Lovecraft book in the ball pit again I'm calling the fucking cops."
| 2022-11-14T01:20:39
| 2018-06-24T21:01:01
| 45
| 20
|
[WP] Magic lutes and magic flutes? Common. Enchanted guitars? Boring. Yet for the first time in a while, the bard in your party looks excited by the dungeon loot. Leaning over, you see it: a max-level sorcerous drum kit.
|
"I'm serious! Do you know how *hard* it is to get decent percussion in a dungeon? Clapping your hands is *not* an acceptable substitute."
The massive chest at the bottom of the dungeon contained a full set of drums - two snares, a bass drum, a high-hat and a cymbal - all of them glowing with high-level magic. Barron had been so excited to find them that he had unpacked the entire set right then and there, and they floated weightlessly around him, following his movements.
"It's an entire set! Even if it was just the levitation enchantment this would be worth the price of admission."
"It had better be. Ragnar took a beating from those gargoyles. I'm basically down to bandages and splints," Joseph, our cleric, looked from where he was patching up our fighter.
"I take it that percussion is important for bard magic?"
I was a wizard of the College, and to me, magic came from books. No matter how much Barron waxed poetic about the power of music, I couldn't see how that turned into real arcane magic. But the power of Barron's guitar was undeniable - when he started to play, everyone became stronger, swifter, able to take on any challenge.
"It's essential. It's *primordial.* Drums were the very first instrument, back when the first caveman banged two rocks together. Even today, armies march to war at the beat of a drum. But percussion on its own has no melody, and a drum set is too bulky to carry in a dungeon, so most bards never use it. Unless..."
The room suddenly shook. Ragnar jumped to his feet, drawing his sword with ease despite the bandages covering his arms. "The roof is unstable. I think those gargoyles were load-bearing."
"A collapsing lair. That archmage really hated the idea of anyone sharing his toys." I sighed.
A crack started to spread along the ceiling. "We're going to have to move fast. If anyone's got a speed buff, cast it now."
Barron smiled. "I've got something better."
The bard raised his drumsticks high overhead. As the dungeon shook around us, he struck them together.
"One! Two! One-two-three-four!"
A thundering bass rhythm erupted from his drums. The drum kit continued to play on its own, pulsing with energy as Barron unslung his guitar and added a frenzied riff on top of it.
It was stronger than any bard song I'd ever felt. A wild wave of sound that made it impossible to stand still, almost lifting us off our feet. The rhythm perfectly matched our running pace as we sprinted from the depths of the dungeon. Stones rained down and pillars crumbled around us, but they were just more steps in the dance as we moved with impossible speed. We burst out into the daylight, and there was a final cymbal crash as the dungeon sealed itself behind us.
I collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath. "I... did not think... I could move that fast."
Ragnar, of course, wasn't even winded, damn him. "That's some good stuff!"
Barron smiled and took a bow. "Looks like that performance... *brought the house down!*"
I groaned. "I swear, that pun hurt more than anything else in the dungeon."
|
*Clop, clop, clop.*
I sighed loudly, but Johor knew better than to respond. Fortunately, Kond was less subtle.
“That’s IT! Johor, get rid of the damn horse!” he yelled, drawing his enormous axe and brandishing it.
“No can do, my violent friend,” Johor said with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. “This is a rare treasure unlike any the world has ever seen.
“That’s for sure,” Bello muttered. “Takes someone like you to see value in that junk.”
Johor sniffed. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, my halfling friend. For I am *certain* that this is not junk. Just you wait. As soon as I get the chance to whip this baby out in combat, you’ll see.”
“Is that why you’re being so noisy as we traipse through enemy territory?” I asked. “You *do* remember why we’re here, right? The band of bandits and serial killers that have been terrorizing the area?”
Johor skipped jauntily for a few steps. “Oh, I remember. I just don’t think they’re as much of an issue as you think.”
“They killed a patrol of fifty men a few weeks ago,” I reminded him. “And how many do we have?”
“Oh, please, Balazar. I know how to count. Besides, we’re no ordinary men-at-arms.”
“Because no respectable military would take us in,” Bello grumbled.
Kond snorted. “Speak for yourself.”
“Bello, my dear man, if you keep this up I might actually take offense,” Johor said.
“What are you going to do, sing about it?” Bello asked. “Please. My ears are used to your torturous cat screeches.”
“My *songs* are lovely ballads that could sway the hearts of the iciest maidens of the land,” Johor said, strumming a chord on his lute. “And they have power in them, even if you won’t admit it.”
I sighed again. “Can we just… get moving? Please? This is a dangerous road after all.”
“You’ve got that right, old man,” a voice growled from the shadows of the trees.
The leaves rippled and a dozen men appeared to block the road ahead and behind us, blades and bows at the ready. The man that had spoken stepped out next to me and aimed a spear at my midsection.
“Your money or your lives, gentlemen. And we’ll take any other treasures you have, as well as that pack animal,” he added, looking at the horse with a greedy expression.
Johor stepped towards the bandit, who swiveled the spear to point at him instead.
“My good man. I do believe you’ll find that we are but innocent travelers and that the horse does not carry the treasure that you think it might.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to bargain, *my good man*,” the bandit replied. “We could hear you bastards from a mile away. ‘A rare treasure unlike any the world has ever seen’? Sounds like treasure to me.”
Johor rolled his eyes as Kond subtly shifted into a battle stance. Bello was nowhere to be seen. I gripped my staff which looked to the world like an average walking stick.
“Valuable to me and me alone, my friend, unless you are a practitioner of the fine arts such as myself.”
The bandit stared at Johor. “Who is this gaudy prick anyway?”
“My name is Johor, a lover of fine music and even finer women. My songs have been performed throughout the realms and will stun the world for years to come. A pleasure to be at your service,” he said with an extravagant bow.
The bandit sighed. “I changed my mind. We’re killing you anyway. Save the minstrel for last!”
“Minstrel!” Johor gasped as the bandits charged. “How dare you!”
Kond swept into action, knocking over half of the men on the path ahead.
“Bello!” I shouted, knowing he could hear me. “Leave Kond to his fun! We’ll clear out behind us!” With a swift motion, I jabbed the butt of my staff at the bandit leader near me and pushed a burst of power into it. A magical force punched at him, doubling him over and sending him flying into a tree twenty feet away with a sickening *crack*.
The contingent of men that had approached us from behind were slowly walking towards Johor and me, weapons leveled. As I began to summon a minor lightning storm, two dropped dead in their tracks as Bello went to work with his blade, striking them down before they even knew where he was.
Meanwhile, Johor ran to the horse and began to pull off the assorted bags. He carefully dusted them off, rolled out a rug that we had purchased at the last town, and began setting up his device carefully.
My lightning strike devastated the bandits. Six of them fell to the ground, muscles spasming and twitching before they fell still. Bello cut down another, and the remaining few turned and fled rather than face our wrath. Behind me, Kond had massacred the dozen bandits that dared face him. Blood and body parts were strewn about the road. Kond sat in the middle of it all, running a whetstone against the edge of his axe.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I said, barely breathing heavily.
“Alright, here we go! Time to face the music, vile bandits!” Johor sat in front of a series of drums and cymbals, holding two sticks in his hands. “Two, three, four!” He started banging away at the drums, creating a horrible racket that scattered the birds in the nearby trees.
“Johor!” I yelled, but he couldn’t hear me over the clamor.
“Johor!” Kond called to no effect.
“JOHOR!” This time, I punctuated my yell with a crack of thunder, and the bard finally looked up and stopped playing. He gazed around at the carnage.
“Wow, I did it! Man, these things really are powerful!”
“Johor, they were already dead.”
Johor glanced at Kond, covered in blood, and at the scorched bodies near me. One still twitched as if to prove my point.
[“Oh.”](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks)
***
***
&nbsp;
Set in the same universe as [this piece](https://www.reddit.com/r/Badderlocks/comments/gb0wcq/you_werent_shocked_to_find_out_that_your_bard_had/) because I'm too lazy to make new characters all the time. Consider it a prequel.
| 2020-07-23T11:42:33
| 2020-07-23T09:15:58
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
The intake was as expected - a bit rough, a little too handsy, and a small inkling that the guard liked me a bit more than was necessary. I'd heard of full body cavity searches, hosed down with icy cold water, being pushed naked and wet into rooms of other people. You know, general Hollywood type stuff.
I managed through pretty quickly. While I WAS searched and hosed, the water was warm and the search not too thorough. When my papers had been finished they dropped me into the general population out in the yard, sun shining on our banana yellow jumpsuits. Jailed for being lucky - what a crock. I doubted I would be there long, things always went my way and I had no intention of rotting in a cell for the rest of my life.
Luck rating tests were given out to every 18 year old. It was presumed that before that your rating could fluctuate too much, and stabilized in your 17th year. Nobody knew what happened to the 100s - well, I do now - and I assume all the 1s died pretty early in life. Such is luck.
A rather handsome man walked up to me, standing awkwardly in the middle of a bare patch of ground. His smile was warm, and he genuinely didn't seem to be much of a criminal. Not many of them did.
"Another 100! Welcome!" He broke into a trot, and held his hand out to mine. "Been a while since the last, figured it was starting already.
"What was starting?" I asked, taking his hand cautiously. "Why have none of you left yet?"
He shrugged. "None of us want to. Free food, free housing, comfortable rooms, the food isn't THAT bad, and a constant routine that changes just enough to not drive us crazy. It's nice." He motioned to the rest of the inmates. Odd groups here and there, there seemed to be about 20 of us. "As for what's about to start..." He paused, and grinned like he was about to drop the punchline to a big joke. "I guess you'll see. Any day now."
Fade - yes, he legally changed his name to Fade - seemed to be the most outgoing of the 100s in the prison. The guards were more relaxed around him, the other inmates joked with him, and he got extra food in the canteen. A natural leader, where I preferred to stick to the shadows. A perfect first friend to have, since I hated the attentive eyes of the Warden.
It was the fourth day after I arrived that the sky started to fall.
|
I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump.
| 2018-06-29T10:01:31
| 2018-06-29T08:43:19
| 183
| 26
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
The sun did not shine,
It was too wet to play,
So I sat in my bed
For day after day.
So I stared at the ceiling
I stared at the wall
And deep down inside me
There was nothing at all
No anger, no fury
No happy or glad
Just a big fat old nothing
That was nothing but sad
I called up a doctor
To say I felt blue
He said "There's not much
That medicine can do;
I'll give you these pills that
stop you sleeping right"
So I stared at the wall
For a day and a night.
My friends said "cheer up,
You have to be tough"
In the end I decided
That I'd had enough
I bought black plastic tape
To seal up my door
And a crapped out old heater
From a secondhand store
I heard it's quite painless,
Not flashy, I know
But carbon monoxide
Is the best way to go
|
Although it seems like I am happy.
My life right now is rather crappy.
Times are tough and moneys tight.
But that's OK cause it ends tonight.
I wish you well, and all the best.
I'm glad to get this off my chest.
By the time you read my one last quote.
You will realize it's my suicide note.
With love in my heart, I bid you farewell.
Fuck this world,I'll see you in hell.
| 2015-01-17T07:08:38
| 2015-01-17T05:25:17
| 1,010
| 42
|
[WP] A man, stricken with anger and sadness, sacrifices himself to Satan in a ritual to curse his cheating wife. The man awakens as the newly born baby of his wive’s infidelity. Despite being a baby, he retains all the memories of his previous life and from that moment plans his revenge.
[removed]
|
*** Trigger warning, there is some dark stuff, but I mean this is Satan we are talking about right?***
He was mad, not just normal mad, but furious. Everyone had been telling him to move on, that he was better off without her. But at the end of the day he just felt... without. Each day started to feel like the same empty copy of the day before. Wake in a small shitty basement apartment, stare at his sleep deprived face in the mirror as he contemplated not brushing his teeth, then eventually pulling on the least dirty clothes he owned acceptable for the work place. He walked to the bus stop, took the bus up town to his old dental practice, where he now worked for his wife's new lover, who happened to also live in his old house. Every day he said the same tired lines to the same shit flossers, every fucking day, except today.
With a crazy look in his eyes he dropped the mirror and pick he was holding into the mouth of Ms. Krench, walked to his desk, grabbed his trusty scout pocket knife. He turned to go out the door when he ran smack dab into his boss Mr. WifeFucker!
"What are you doing Jerry, I thought we could make this work..." the smug chiseled dentist adulterer said.
Without notice Jerry scooted around him, while he had taken everything from Jerry it was really his wife that did this to him. It was his wife that had stolen his life from him, it was his wife who refused to have his baby, it was his wife that decided she would have this joke's.
"On second thought." Jerry said as he turned and kicked Mr. Smug Dick right in the... well... dick. As a sharp shriek rang through the office, covering up the continued gagging from Ms. Krench Jerry said "You can consider this my notice."
He coldly walked to the elevator, hit the up button and waited as the staff and waiting patients looked on in horror. "Ding" sang the elevator, he stepped on turned around smiling, for the first time, in what had felt like may be forever, Jerry knew what he had to do. How would one get to the roof he thought, top floor seemed like a reasonable spot. When the doors opened he headed for the stairs and climbed onto the roof. He removed his shirt, his pants, his undies, opened the knife and then his chest. "GOD HAS FORSAKEN ME, I GIVE MY SELF TO YOU SATAN". Blood pouring from superficial cuts on his chest, he walked to the edge of the building and plunged the knife into his stomach. "SATAN I GIVE MYSELF TO YOU!!!!" and he flung himself off the roof hitting the ground 20 stories below.
The darkness surrounded him, but also warmth, a heat radiating with no light, a true emptiness surrounded Jerry, no body, no life, no nothing, just heat, dark heat. Until the light, the brightest light he had ever seen, growing, calling him, coaxing him to something.
Without warning... pain. Someone was pulling on Jerry's head, as hard as he had ever felt anyone do anything to him, more jarring than the abrupt pavement he last remembered.
"Come on, push!!! Push!!!!" the woman grabbing his head was yelling.
All of a sudden his head popped up... out? Confusion set in, where was he? What exactly was going on? Then he saw it as clear as day, a hospital room, a doctor, his slut wife and a few nurses. "I died, I definitely died" he wanted to say. "Am I a baby? How could this happen? Am I her baby? Am I his baby!!!!?!" A towel was wrapped around him and he calmed, he became focused starting to realize exactly what was happening. He was here to wreck her, he was here to enact Satan's rage at the filthy sinner. He and Satan joined in unity from his sacrifice, the warmth, the dark caring embrace has beckoned for retribution, to make this sinner pay.
The doctor handed him to his wife, she looked into his eyes not with the joy of a mother but with sorrow . She began to cry but these tears were not tears of joy, they were tears of desperation.
"Is there anyone I can call for you?" The doctor asked.
"No" she said coldly.
The world began to fade for Jerry as he fell into an exhausted sleep. The world was a flicker of sleeping, pooping and eating for the next several hours, with Jerry being cycled so quickly he was having a hard time getting his barrings. He woke up in his bassinet to the sound of hushed speaking. His wife... mother, was on the phone. "I don't know what I am going to do mom, they are saying Phil is never going to get out of jail. They said with what he did to Jerry, with his scout knife, and throwing him off the roof, they are saying he's a monster. I don't know how I could have done this." She cried quiet hushed cries, trying not to wake Jerry. "Why would he KILL JERRY mom!!! Why?".
She had lost everything, a husband, a lover it was all her fault. Jerry knew exactly what he needed to do, he felt the guiding touch of Satan, he felt his path. Jerry started wiggling deep into his sleep sack, his cocoon, as the blanket got close to his mouth Jerry inhaled deeply sucking the ends of the swaddle into his mouth and down his throat. He began chocking, but trying to keep his struggle as quiet as he could manage in this new body. The pain of his lungs gasping for air was well worth his last sight of his wife mother seeing his face turn blue and his eyes go dead.
|
It was difficult to coordinate a revenge plan when all I could do was wave my arms and scream. Nevertheless, I was the worst baby ever. I woke her up as often as possible. If her new husband came to soothe me instead, I would scream until he gave up and passed me along to her. When my teeth started coming in, I bit her tits constantly. She tried to switch me to a bottle, but I wouldn’t take it. I saw her breaking down from frustration and exhaustion more than once that first year.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I figured when I got a little bigger, when I got more control over my body and my speech, I could really make her pay. After all, I had the rest of her life. A life I expected to cut very, very short.
She wasn’t half as bad a mother as I expected her to be. I mean, she’d been a real failure when we were married. Could barely hold down a job doing things a monkey could do. Maybe motherhood was her calling or something, I dunno. She read to me a lot. She took it in stride when my first word was “bitch.” She encouraged me to toddle and if she couldn’t catch me when I fell, she would give me bandages and kisses. It was more than she’d ever given me when we were married and I resented her like hell for it.
I was nine when I finally got my chance. I was big by then, almost as tall as her. She and her husband thought me to be a strange child: I was quiet, angry, seemed to know more than I should. I never spoke a word to my “parents” that wasn’t spiked with vitriol. They thought a family vacation would do me some good. So we went road tripping across the country. This involved seeing a lot of boring shit that culminated in the Grand Canyon, which I’ve never seen the point of.
At least I didn’t until we were standing along the rim. She stood on the edge, looking down into the gorge, her hair whipping around her face. By that point I didn’t think she was beautiful anymore. She’d aged considerably — a credit to my efforts, no doubt. Her husband was rooting around in the trunk for the camera. I stood directly behind her. One little shove and she’d surely stumble to her death.
I stepped forward. Her arm shot out, blocking the edge.
“Careful, sweetie,” she said. “It’s dangerous.”
She was always so protective of me. All my life — not the first, but the second — the only thing she wanted was to keep me safe. Her entire world revolved around me, the way I’d always wanted it to. I tried to step forward, to throw my arms out in front of me, but my body wouldn’t move. I’d planned this for nine years and when the time came, I couldn’t do it.
I realized I loved her. Not as my wife, but as my mother. As we got back in the car and continued our trip, I knew I would never be able to kill her. Nine years ago, I’d wanted nothing more than revenge. I wanted it badly enough to curse her. But somehow I’d managed to curse myself. I would have to love my cheating wife for the rest of her life.
“What did you think, sweetie?” she asked from the front seat. “Did you like the Grand Canyon?”
For once, I didn’t feel the need to make her miserable with my answer.
“Yeah, Mom. It was cool.”
She smiled. And for the first time in nine years, so did I.
| 2019-09-11T22:03:27
| 2019-09-11T21:49:59
| 141
| 98
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