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[WP] There is only one "World's Best Dad" coffee mug in existence. One day, it vanishes from the cabinet of the current Holder Of The Mug. The worlds eagerly waits for the new Holder to reveal himself and announce how he earned the title.
|
It was the only one of its kind. A cliche **WORLD'S GREATEST DAD** cup to the layman's eyes, but to an expert, it was a quantum event. A perfect quantum anomaly on the scale of a tangible object, it could exhibit all of those bizarre quantum phenomena that was characteristic of electrons or photons. However, for all its fascinating proclivities, the most interesting fact was that the cup could only be "possessed" by one individual: the world's greatest dad.
It was as if the object had become entangled to some strange immeasurable quality, perfect fatherhood. To be honest, it is likely that no one would have even discovered the cup if a Nobel Prize winning physicist hadn't been one hell of a father. After saving his children from a pack of dingo dogs, he awoke in the hospital with a cup near his bedside. When he was finally discharged, he found the cup on his bedside table, his coffee table, his car cup holder...basically wherever he was. As soon as the cup was unobserved, it would "port" to his location -- you know, quantum stuff.
After that, the rest was history. The Cup was entangled with the world's greatest father. A Y chromosome wasn't even necessary apparently. A very good transgendered father had found the cup quite by chance after adopting a group of seven orphans, all young teens. They were going to be separated by foster care for being too unruly. This woman, soon to be man, decided that he couldn't let that happen. He adopted all of them, and raised them straight to proper adulthood. One big family, kept together by that man's selflessness. I don't know how the cup chooses, no one does, but I cannot say I disagree.
For years the cup had been owned by one particularly successful single father. No one can say how he did it, but he raised a family of four kids by himself. His eyes were tired, but filled with love and pride for his children. But like all these other worthy fathers, it was just a matter of time before some other noble gentleman proved himself worthy.
Two years ago, the cup disappeared, and the world waited patiently for someone to come forward and claim the title of *Greatest Dad*. Sure there were plenty of fakes, each disproved one after another. But the world still waited patiently, waiting for the true Greatest Dad to show up.
Soon, people began to doubt -- rumors started that the cup was gone. Theorists blamed aliens, others said the government had stolen it. Religious leaders cited God, the original Father. Eventually many came to the conclusion that the cup was just gone, maybe it never even really existed. No one knew, or...at least that is what people thought.
That is why we are here today. That is why I am here today. My name is Jake, and I would like to say that I am two years sober. Sober from what, you ask? Well, it would be easier to tell you what I wasn't on...
Needless to say, I was a bad guy. I did horrible things. But my Dad didn't care. He loved me; he tried to help me. Bring me back, you know?
He tried, never gave up on me, even after I had given up on myself. He damn near lost everything trying to help me, and I failed him every time...
Well long story short, I ended up getting into a fracker...a real fight. I was drunk and stoned and God knows what else. I got into a car...and I drove away when the fight got too rough. I drove fast and scared, one eye too swollen to see and far too drunk to drive.
I can't remember what happened. I just know that I should have died. The doctor said he had seen spaghetti that looked more human than me...but they put me back together -- or at least mostly back together. My heart and lungs were shot to shit. I was placed in a machine that breathed for me, and pumped my blood. I was finally as heartless literally, as I was figuratively.
I should have died, hell I was technically dead already. My soul had died long ago, and my body was finally catching up. I should've died. But my father wouldn't have it. One look at my mangled body, and he still saw his son. In the single most controversial act I can imagine, he put him self into a catatonic state and had his organs taken for my use. I woke up a week after the operation.
My father gave me everything he had (his money, his life, his time), and I was never satisfied, the selfish pig I was. I guess it only made sense he would give me his life too.
Screw the doctor that performed the heart transfer, and FUCK the lawyer who told my dad that the operation was legal. The world lost a good man that day, and I will never live up to him...ever.
That was two years ago. For two years I have felt the beat of my father's heart inside of my chest. For two years I have worked to be a man my father would be proud of. Now, on this second anniversary of my father's death, I exhumed his grave to prove to the world what I already knew.
BEHOLD, my FATHER'S skeleton.
-- Jake ******
Since exhuming Nathaniel ******'s grave, it has been confirmed. The cup lodged in the left portion of skeleton's ribcage is in fact the quantum anomaly known as the Greatest Dad Cup. To this date, it cannot be removed. Scientists hypothesize that the destruction of the skeleton on a subatomic level might free the cup, but such an act would damage the cup and violate numerous laws.
|
Stanley Jefferson gained consciousness, his eyeballs twitching under his closed eyelids. His lips slowly spread into a fixed smile, and he rose out of bed quickly.
The soft "sssh, sssh, sssh" of bare feet on carpet seemed to echo around the house as Stanley neared towards the children's bedrooms.
Bringing a megaphone to his lips, he said unhurriedly : "Pancakes for breakfast, kids."
Instantly, the drumming of feet began to echo throughout the hall, and soon after the yanking open of four bedroom doors.
The children were fed and sent and the residual sweet sappy smell of pancakes remained. Stanley began a sweep of the house to kid-proof and clean up. The last room he settles on is lit gently by backlights concealed by large cabinets.
"Hello, precious!" The gaily elevated voice of Stanley Jefferson echoed through the room.
The room answered passively with the illumination of one cabinet, situated in the center of the room.
The cabinet seemed to empty. "How -" Stanley sputtered.
"Why, one of the kiddos probably was messing around in here." Stanley mused, although he knew whomever did it had been risking their video game privileges for months.
Stanley confidently strode to the cabinet.
The soft "ssh, ssh, ssh" of bare feet on carpet.
"Children?" Stanley called nervously.
He heard his own voice echo throughout the house.
Stanley ran his fingers over the spot where the cup had been - A thin ring of dust existed where his mug used to be.
Empty. The word rang in his ears.
Pacing through the house, Stanley began to fidget violently. He went through his mental checklist:
"Yes, i've given them exactly what they want. Yes, i've funded their college..."
The angry pestering of his feet slammed against the hardwood floors.
"YES, I'VE LOVED THEM!" He shouted.
A small voice in his head whispered : "Have you?"
And deep inside, Stanley Jefferson knew.
He had fallen out of love.
Edit: Accidentally submitted prematurely.
| 2016-01-27T18:15:34
| 2016-01-27T12:15:24
| 113
| 20
|
[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.
|
I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T02:40:17
| 427
| 52
|
[WP] Your job as a researcher in the facility isn't too bad. The hours are shit and the coffee maker is broken, but at least the people are nice. And the job is easy: talk to the telepathic spider, run some tests on the witch, give the eldrich god his daily newspaper, basic stuff. Describe your day
Inspired by the SCP foundation
|
The usual coffee stain hung to my shirt. Another regular day. The spider's door stood at the end of the corridor, eager to be opened. I stopped briefly to watch the seamless night. To breathe in its peaceful silence. Another day. I sighed, then turned the door's golden knob. Its hinges grated as I pushed it open. I should oil them up.
"I see you've chosen an eerie setting today," I said, forcing the joy out the void I felt inside.
Filyrass, the spider, enjoyed spending her time arranging her room into different themes. Judging for the weak oil lantern awaiting for me among the shadows and the lack of answer, she was feeling mischievous today. I fought against her massive webs, advancing toward the lantern and sputtering when they got into my mouth.
The rattling of Filyrass' thick legs echoed in the chamber. I decided to play along. I quickened my breathing, and forced myself to tremble.
*You sure you wanna get to the light?* A soft yet mysterious voice asked in my head.
"I-I m-must. It's the only way," I stammered.
*The only way? To what would that be?*
"To burn the face off of my fate." I sprung toward the lantern, tearing apart the wall of webs. I broke the glass against my knee, sending shard flying to the sides, and set the webs aflame.
Strings of fire started to burn in a chain reaction, illuminating the entire chamber. Flames dripped from them, fading before touching the stone ground. Filyrass' rattling noises quickened, but her enormous figure couldn't escape the light. She stared at me with those voids she had for eyes, and came to halt.
*Yes! Amazing session today. Thank you very much, Robert. Always doing the unexpected.* She chuckled, and proceeded to feast on the fire. *Good luck with Old Virila.*
"Sure thing, Filyrass," I said and walked toward the next door. "You got me this time. I was trembling like a kid after a nightmare."
*I saw it. It was delicious. Hey, do you enjoy tea?*
"I do, green is my favorite." I turned the door's knob. "Tea party tomorrow?"
*Maybe.*
"I will bring the sugar. Fleas are not my favorite spice," I said and shut Filyrass' door. Then, I walked across another alley toward Virila's room. She would be happy today, I got her the tears of my nephew as she requested.
------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more stories. I will post part 2 in a moment.
|
"One caramel macchiato. *Extra* caramel."
Just like that, the most normal part of my day was complete. As the barista handed over my steaming cup of coffee, adorned with a lopsided smiley face, I rushed from the coffee shop to work. I was running late, and in no way did I want to face Madame Black without enough time to plot my route of avoidance. A fear of spiders was not favorable in my position, but it was human, and as a human employee, we had both our strengths and our weaknesses.
One particular weakness that flitted through my head, as I hurried across the street towards the parking garage, was the company's oversight of magical portals. Perhaps coffee was not on their top priority list, or perhaps they simply lacked common sense, or even an eye for practicality. But anchoring an entrance portal to the only coffee machine in the office was a major no-no, in my books.
"Why don't you file a report to administration?" Arla the Orc had snorted, rolling her bulbous eyes, "I'm sure they're perfectly democratic here. Or maybe they'll just light your ass on fire." She then chortled, a sound that echoed through our dungeon like a curious cross between a boar and a chirping bird. After that, I chose to keep my complaints secretive.
I ran up the twisting spiral staircase, a balancing act with my hot coffee in one hand as I wobbled on my heels. My job failed to account for the very real human magic of balance, I mused, as I finally reached the ninth floor. Panting, my heart hammered in my chest while I knocked on the door. *Once, twice, three times fast, fourth and fifth, make it last.*
Silence greeted me, the parking garage empty and deserted, the door still sealed shut. The number 9 was eroding, a once bright scarlet that now faded into the color of rust. The squeak of mice permeated the air, the entire floor curiously wet and soaked, smelling of droppings and decay.
Then—the door began to vibrate. It started as a low thrum, perhaps something any human may overwrite as a figment of the imagination. Then the thrumming increased in intensity, a vibration that was so strong it flooded my veins, causing my very bones to feel as if they were swaying to some primorial rhythm. This was not some low-grade earthquake—this was from within, as if my ribcage were pulled from my body, being strummed like some ancient instrument. The vibrations extended to my mouth, an undulating echo that tickled my gums. As if on queue, I shut my eyes to lessen the pulse in my head, as if the thin fingers of a hand were wiggling my corneas on its prickly fingertips.
I opened my eyes. I was in a metal dungeon.
That's exactly how it looked, save for the fact that there were cubicles, the dungeon bustling with people—mortal and mythical alike.
I waved to Arla the Orc, who had just watched me apparate. The green woman snorted in amusement, her eyes upturned to oversized crescents in her wide, leathery face.
"Coffee didn't make it today, Prim?" She teased, and I cursed internally, looking down at my empty right hand.
I still couldn't get that down right. Actually apparating food and beverages with me. Most days I would end up emptyhanded and starving in the dungeons, unwilling to share the scraps of raw meat the orcs ate, or the other dietary preferences of my coworkers (steal some of Madame Black's wriggling flies? How about the witches' mice brew? No thank you).
"One day I'll get it right." I brightened immediately, plastering a smile onto my otherwise disappointed face, nodding towards Arla. "I did manage to bring *this.*"
Out from the pocket of my jeans emerged a thick, rolled newspaper, dated with today's date: *April 4th, 2028.*
Arla's brows rose (well, what I imagined to be her brows, the vast emptiness between her eyeballs and her wide, shapeless forehead) and she nodded slowly, clearly impressed.
"Keep that up, Prim, and we'll be testing *you* as a witch." She cackled and snorted simultaneously, before trudging away.
I focused back to my day, running the errands through my mind. *Right. First thing's first. Go see Harry.*
I walked towards his office, a simple steel door embedded in the dungeon's sloping metal walls. It did not have a handle, nor did it have any kind of window to look inside. As I waited for a response, I dug the balls of my feet nervously against the floor, heels clacking. We were allowed to carry weapons at work—though I wasn't sure how effective mine were in particular. Could I really use my pistol effectively against a god in self-defense? Wouldn't he simply shrivel the bullets up by sleight of hand, his telepathy overwhelming any sort of defense I tried to pretend that I had? In my pockets, I also had several syringes, given to me by my wizard supervisors. I had never used the vials, yet they had curious markings on them; one emerald green, emblazoned with a white skull; another bright aqua, adorned with a bird; the last red as blood, with a bat symbol.
I wasn't sure what they meant, yet I knew they were effective. And if I had to fight something immortal, something that could squish me like a roach beneath its pinky, I needed some vague semblance of a chance.
"Enter."
The voice resonated through the dungeon. I glanced swiftly about to see several people pause their conversations to stare at the metal door—some with their brows furrowed, others with admiration of the power within.
*Oh, to be immortal,* I lamented, as I pushed the door open with the palms of my hand.
| 2018-04-23T12:44:58
| 2018-04-23T12:23:15
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] Write a serious, adult story in a style normally intended for children.
Think fairy tales, nursery rhymes, picture books (without pictures, probably), educational stories. The intended age range is loose, e.g. everything from *See Spot Run* to *Make Way For Ducklings*.
The important thing is that the seriousness of the story should be at odds with a format we normally associate with unambiguously happy endings or simple morality tales.
|
Young Jackie and Peter were quite the young pairing,
Both popular, beautiful, loving and caring,
They met in their high school; fell heels over head,
They walked and they talked and they both shared a bed.
They did *that one thing* that the kids are all doing
(and let us be clear, so you're not misconstruing),
They did the one thing that makes babies appear,
They did it a lot, from the front, from the rear.
And, who would have guessed that the doing they did
Did what doing it does - it produced them a kid.
Young Jackie had tested, the Clearblue was clear
That they both would be parents in less than a year.
But Peter was angry; his future was fading,
The thought of a nappy was simply degrading,
He argued and blustered and pleaded his case:
"Just think of the money! The stress! The disgrace!"
Young Jackie, she listened, she heard Peter's pleading,
She thought, and she thought. Then she noticed the bleeding.
She paled, so did Peter, they drove to get treated,
The embryo's journey abruptly completed.
They drove home in silence, the space in between them
A gulf (though you'd never have guessed if you'd seen them),
They split, they grew up, went to college, grew old,
Young Peter and Jackie, their story now told.
|
David Beck snapped his first neck,
Before the age of seven.
At eight, then nine,
He found the time,
To break another eleven.
In teenage years he captured pets,
Skinned and hanged for days,
And in that way,
He made his play,
And tired of small prey.
He killed him next a prostitute,
And found the game most splendid.
Shoved some loot,
Right up her snoot,
To make it look self-ended.
The M.E. ruled it homicide,
And Dave got quite the shock.
When cops came round,
To take him down,
And found his hanging stock.
They bagged it all and shoved him down,
Inside a white Crown Vic.
The path to court,
Was very short,
And David felt quite sick.
The D.A. stood before a judge,
And called his acts occult.
They said he stank,
And snorted and drank,
Which Dave took as insult.
So rushed he then the suited man,
And tried to stop his breath.
But guards in blue,
They quickly drew,
And gave old Dave his death.
And so concludes a twisted tale,
Of senselessness and violence.
David Beck,
Now screams in Heck,
His bones interred in silence.
| 2014-05-13T07:00:57
| 2014-05-13T05:46:34
| 40
| 24
|
[WP] When bargaining with the Fae, it's far safer to start by stating what you're willing to pay and see what you can get for it. But sometimes you just have to get one specific boon - in your case, you need a terminal illness cured.
|
"So what do you want, human?"
"I want my grandson to be cured of his cancer."
The fae blinked at me. "That's a new one."
I blinked in my turn. "What, really? I would have thought you'd be asked it all the time."
"Most humans ask for themselves. Not others."
"Well, we do tend to be selfish when faced with a crisis. Nevertheless. My grandson. What price do you want?"
"It's more than you can afford."
"Of course it is. I'm still asking."
"I really don't recommend this, human."
"Thrice asked must be answered, Lord Fae, and I am still asking. Please cure my grandson of his cancer, and lay the price upon me."
"As you ask, then."
I shook my head, dizzy, as the world shifted. The pretty man in front of me looked sad as he took my hand. "A life for a life. Oh, child," he said, "I never did find out your name..."
"I'm Ellie! And I'm five!" I told him cheerfully. I wasn't sure why I was suddenly here instead of at home, but he'd probably tell me. "Who're you?"
"They call me Robin," he said, as we started walking and he led me deeper into the woods. "My friends will be very happy to meet you."
|
The gorgeous greens, beautiful blues and perfect palette of other colours that draped the deep woods in a bombastic tone did nothing to mask the sense of dread growing in my stomach. Strange creatures, the likes of which I hadn’t even heard of in tales slinked through the undergrowth hissing and howling at the intruder. Me.
I took each step with care so as to not accidentally anger anything and cause more damage than I was already going to.
Though the forest was growing thicker around me, a distinct path still snaked through the trees and brambles. The once rich colours were now becoming duller as sunlight failed to penetrate the upper canopies and shine below. Glowing pairs of eyes that belonged to no visible bodies stared from behind the tree line. I would have thought them illusions or fake had they not blinked several times already. I continued on feeling the sweat on palms grow more abundant by the second.
Eventually, after what felt like hours I rounded a corner to find a clearing. Sun shone through a gap in the branches above bathing the clearing in an almost heavenly light. In the centre was a bony, stick figure hunched over on a log. It’s back was towards me as it’s tendril-like arms reached towards and crushed what seemed to be some kind of beetle.
“Why do you enter my sanctuary?” A high pitched, almost shriek-like speech coursed through the air.
“I… I’ve come to make a deal.”
“A deal? A deal you say?” The creature jumped up, it’s legs now extending to their full length, almost three quarters my height. The creatures hands clapped as it waltzed over towards me.
“What is the deal? Riches? Lovers? Power?” The creature grinned as images flashed through my mind. A treasury filled to the brim with golden coins. Beautiful temptresses filling a room with me in the centre. A throne with a crown perched upon it.
“No no. None of this.” I shook my head. “I require an illness cured.”
“Your price, what is your price?” I flashed a silver coin and the creature cackled. It’s head arched backwards and it’s body shook so violently it seemed as though it’s limbs may have broken.
“You jest?” It said. I bowed my head and withdrew my hand. The creature walked away.
“I can provide what you seek. For the price you offer,” it said. I almost cried with joy.
“You can?”
“Why of course I can. You simply wish to know how to cure the illness?” Bony, twig like fingers arched through the air.
“Yes. That, that is enough.” I looked up at the creature as it grinned even wider then before. It stretched it’s hand out. I held out the coin. I hesitated and stared at the glinting surface before tipping it into the hand.
“Payment. Payment has been made.” The creature jumped around for a second. “The disease can only be cured by faean magic.” The creature began to walk away.
“Wait… is that it? Where are you going?” I shouted. I clenched my fists as I felt myself stiffen.
“You paid to know how. I tell you how. That is the deal. The deal is fulfilled.” The creature disappeared in a puff of pink clouds.
“Come back with more payment. Maybe new deal can be made.” The hole in the canopy above closed leaving the clearing in darkness.
“Wait. Wait. Please, wait.”
Nothing.
| 2022-07-10T09:54:28
| 2022-07-10T07:55:22
| 66
| 32
|
[WP] You're a special genie. You allow whoever finds you to re-experience three events that happened in their life for the first time again. Some people choose to re-experience a great movie as if watching it for the first time, some re-live their first kiss. Your latest request sounds quite odd.
|
"How specific do I have to be?" Noah asked. His light brown eyes were ablaze with a curious light. The geenie had a feeling that this person was not like the others.
"If you can't think of a time, as long as you can specify the event relative to yourself. For example if you want to say I want to remember the time I met my wife, even if you don't remember the date I can take you back to the event."
"That's quite fascinating. Am I able to change the events?"
"No, but you would experience the event just as it was at the time."
"This can only show me memories of the past?"
"Indeed."
Noah seemed a little dejected at that fact.
"I don't remember a lot of things," he said slowly. There was hesitation in his voice. Would my memory be a factor?"
"No, the experience is recreated regardless of your memory.
"I see." He closed his eyes. There was hesitation on his face that I noticed before on those who had experienced much pain in the past. My guess was that he had lost a lover once.
"I want to remember my first death."
"I didn't quite understand what you said."
Noah had a smile on his face and now the light in his eyes was much too bright and somewhat sinister.
"You heard me right. I want to see if you can really do this."
I began the ritual, and this was the first time in a while that I was also genuinely curious as to what I would see.
We were taken to a filthy apartment in an unknown city. There was clutter of every nature and old clothes were thrown about. The walls were bare, with occasional writing on the walls in an unknown language. The cries of a child echoed throughout the apartment. There was a woman holding a newborn child in her arms. Tears rolled down her eyes. She was a young creature, hardly past her teen years. Her hair was short and messy. I sensed a great deal of misery radiating from her shape, and I associated it with the drugs that humans were known from abusing. Her pupils were dilated and there was a tremor in her arms. She lay the child on an unmade bed and took a filty pillow. I understood what she would do. Beside me, Noah observed fascinated.
She spoke softly in an unfamiliar language as she smothered the child. The child's cries stopped eventually and she lifted the pillow. She caressed the child's peaceful face. He was certainly dead. She then picked up the child and enveloped him in cloth. She continued to speak to the child and her tears did not abate.
Noah's voice startled me "Are you certain that's me?"
"Yes," I replied in a trembling voice. "There are no errors with the ritual. How is this possible?"
"I expected something more dramatic," Noah chuckled, "but I suppose we all had to start somewhere."
All at once, the child's cries had resumed. He writhed inside the bundle and the mother began unwrapping it at once. There was shock on her face. She did not embrace the child's small body. She shrieked in her foreign language and went to the kitchen. She came back, a large knife in her right hand.
"We might not want to see this next part," Noah chuckled. "I'm going to guess she carried on for quite some time before she gave up"
"What are you?" I asked him.
He smiled at me and shook his head.
"You aren't the only one who's different."
He put an arm around my shoulders and leaned in. "You said I get two more?"
|
First it was the noise. People talking softly, as to not wake me up. Somebody's kid was crying afar, and some of the machines went beep-beep beep-beep.
I decided to open my eyes. Even before the light hit my corneas, the smell of a hospital bedroom entered my nostrils with nauseating speed. What was this? What is going on? Am I...
"Look!" one of the men could be heard saying. "He's awake. Go get Jess."
Who's that? Breathing was hard, and it made a lot of noise. With each breath I could feel the urge to cough my lungs out. My lovely Belinda. I couldn't keep my end of the deal. But then again, neither did you.
"Dad. Stay still, the doctors told us they can get you comfortable. At... least." - his voice was cracking. If I hadn't this tube inside my throat right I would laugh at his face. This is only the end, and not even yours. Be a man about it for fuck's sake.
With the absence of my glasses I can't even make sense of who is who. Age really is the ruin of mankind. I saw three men at the other end of the room. All of them dressed like men, built like men, with men haircuts and men voices. Most of all, manly attitudes. None of that crying on each other shoulders or holding my hand in theirs. Nope. This isn't how I raised my boys. And they haven't been boys in a good 20 years.
A kid walks through the room.
"Aunt Jess said she's not coming"
"What do you mean she's not coming? Dad is..." He looked at me. The same runt whose voice just cracked. I locked my furious eyes at his. Say it. Say it, motherfucker, get your closure now or live forever with the realization of the coward you are.
"Dad is dying." This was Mark. My oldest. Never a disappointment. The mope who couldn't finish the line was Terry then. That leaves the always quiet Randy being... well... quiet. Mark continued: "I'm gonna go get Jess", to which Randy says: "are you sure this is what the old coot wants?"
"I don't care what he wants, she has as much a right of being here as any of us."
"NOOO" I try to say, realizing who that is, but only a gutural cry was heard. "I don't want that person in here". They look at me desperate. Mark is gone, Terry comes closer and tries to hold my hand, to which I smack him with all the strength my cancerous body can muster.
The urge to cough gets harder. I can feel the back of my throat alive with mucus and blood. Is this what the doctors meant with being comfortable? The beeping noise is louder. My chapped lips bleed, my chest itches from the inside. This is it, isn't?
A duo of nurses comes through the door. "What the hell?" one of the nurses whispers to the other: "He's on so much morphine he should be in Mars right now. Do we give him more?" "I guess there's no harm in it, he's pretty much gone at the moment"
It hits me almost immediately. This feels good. I mean, the pain is mostly gone. Is this what being high is like? No wonder the kids like it. Wh- what the hell is that? A big shadow below the window gets bigger and bigger, revealing the silhouette of some sort of being. From within, my former child Jeff watched me without saying a word. Only it wasn't him. I'm confused. It sure feels like Jeff, but it also feels like a girl. Oh. I remember now. Useless jerk. From the door I see Mark coming in alone. Randy hasn't moved and inch and Terry is arguing about something with the nurses. More kids start to come in. I can't help but notice one of them doesn't make it past the door. A little girl, seems to be holding someone's hand outside the room, looking at me with curious eyes.
The last I hear is Jeff's girly voice coming from the shadow. "Let's go, this was a mistake." A deep devilish roar answers: "Art thou certain? There shan't be a fourth wish".
"I'm sure. Mom was right. He was so afraid of change that even death couldn't sway him. I only hope he burns in hell."
And then, the void.
| 2017-09-16T17:23:28
| 2017-09-16T15:17:56
| 142
| 32
|
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did.
|
Father Sanchez adjusted his turquoise robes, sighed, and started his defense.
"Look, Your Cosmic Eminence, I don't really think this is our fault."
"Hold on, stop right there." the pulsing orb of electricity said through the translator. "Are you actually trying to justify your actions."
"Well, yes, Your CE. There are mitigating circumstances here."
The Anointed started to move towards Sanchez, but an untranslated voltage change from the CE stopped them.
"Present your 'mitigating' circumstances."
"Right, yes." Sanchez continued, now eyeing the 10 foot reptilian Anointed with anxiety.
"You see, He wanted us to do it."
The CE immediately felt a twinge of despondency. It knew where this was going, and so did everyone else in the Shimmering Gallery, but it let Sanchez continue.
"Our Lord, Jesus Christ, made it clear at several points that He was expecting to be sacrificed. You have a copy of our Holy Book? Have you read it yet?"
"That's evidence that will be reviewed after testimony." the CE replied.
"Alright, well, if you read it, He made the following statement, among others, 'The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill him, and after three days he will rise.'"
"Oh dear, He had started referring to himself as a man?" the CE probed.
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence. That's kind of a big part of our understanding of Him, as limited as it obviously was. Anyway, not only did he predict his own crucifixion, he took active steps to ensure it would happen. He prevented his own disciples from stopping it. He seemed to be seeking it out at the end. We were under the impression that it was a necessary sacrifice to make for our redemption."
"But you also stated in the preliminary hearing that you believe He is both the Son of God and God himself, correct?" the CE interjected.
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence. That was our understanding."
"You don't think it's a little bit counter-intuitive that a supreme being would have to sacrifice Itself to Itself in order to provide salvation?
Various noises came from the Shimmering Gallery. Father Sanchez' translator said they were laughter. He smiled uneasily, attempting and failing to intimate that he understood the joke.
"There were people who suggested that didn't make sense."
"Why weren't they listened to?"
Sanchez blinked twice. "Um...for most of our history...we...uh...we killed those people."
The CE rippled with current.
"You humans sure have a thing for taking lives that don't belong to you."
"Yes, Your Cosmic Eminence, but I think we are getting better..."
"Alright. That's enough. Your mitigating circumstances are accepted on the contingency that study of your Holy Book confirms your statements here. This hearing is adjourned."
Father Sanchez let out a sigh of deep relief. As the various strange and sometimes unfathomable beings filed out of the Shimmering Gallery, several of them stopped to express their regret about his situation.
The CE traveled through a conduit to it's private chambers. Once there, it reviewed the copy of the Bible that had been provided to it, and then made the necessary oblations and rituals to contact the Supremacy.
"This is the office of the Supremacy," Frppt, It's secretary, answered. "It's in a planning meeting for a new dimension, may I take a message?"
"Yes, this is the Cosmic Eminence from the Fourth Iteration. Would you please tell It that we've reviewed the humans' case, and it looks like we have another insane Messiah situation on our hands. This one WANTED them to kill Him. We have absolved the humans, but we humbly request that you take a look at your Quality Assurance procedures. This is the ninth one we've encountered this millennium."
|
"You weren't supposed to kill him!"
I knew from the beginning that this meeting was destined to end in a resounding failure. Well, no sense delaying the inevitable. I went in with the verbal equivalent of dual-wielded SMG's.
"How the hell were we supposed to know that everyone got a messiah of their own? So what, we slightly maybe killed ours. I bet everyone else has too! He came in at a period in history that was... violent, from an occupied country, and stirred up shit with the leaders of said country, *and* the religious leaders to boot! Hell, it was two thousand years ago, how are we accountable for their actions?
What have I ever done to deserve this? I was born two thousand, one hundred and nine years after this, in an era where all he would have to do is get to a terminal and demonstrate a miracle. He'd be on a fusion-jet within the hour to the Core Planet, where he'd demonstrate again, and the leaders of all twenty-nine planets would make a decision in his favour.
He couldn't do that. In thirty-three years, he managed to convince a few thousand people, out of millions. Today, he could have reached millions in seconds. Jesus didn't even know what China *was*, or that the Southern Hemisphere even existed. You dropped a convict into the middle of a civilization with no planning and basic psychic tech and expected him to convince the world? If we executed him, it's down to your organization's poor planning."
I stood, panting after the massive fillibuster I'd shot off at him. I silently berated myself for my stupidity; I'd done the holy equivalent of punching Jesus in the face. And then following up with a kick in the balls. Actually, more piling on the pain and kicking him once he was down a few times too. He'd probably lose a tooth at the end.
The floating priest made his decision. "I'm going to give you another one. Here's Kevin Williams." He showed me Kevin, who looked like an Abra dated a pot plant, and it was born four months early. *Oh Lord, how the hell do I convince people that this is the Messiah?*" I thought, as I headed back to my shuttle.
--
For more stories and stuff, I have a subreddit: r/Thomas_633
| 2016-08-18T06:44:06
| 2016-08-18T04:29:52
| 241
| 51
|
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
“Is this turning into some kind of moral test?”- I ask, tired. Exhausted.
My blood is white. This has been a surprise, yes, never expected, and in fact, to me, completely irrelevant for all that matters. However, everyone around seems to be realizing more than they had wished. They look at me, and, not answering, they leave me alone, and not even closing the door , they start whispering.
From my watery eyes, I can barely see some black dressed priest who seems to have just arrived, looking at my blood sample with stupor, and the police speaking fast, probably repeating him my story.
Yes, I was the only suspect on the death of my beloved Helen, after 38 years of a shared life. And the detective knew all the details: the years of suffering after the diagnosis, my pain of seeing her leave my side, day after day being a little less herself, and a little more in agony; only memories remaining every now and then to bring us together. The degradation of the last months, the last medical reports. And the internet history searches, even if we tried to hide them, even if we tried to not make them real, looking for the best possible way to let her go before it was too late for her to keep being who she was, and not being able to decide anymore. Afterwards, her blood tests, white, as I knew they will, since she was the sweetest and best person I could ever have crossed in my life; and full of \*\*\*, pointing towards a fast and relaxed death. I never admitted anything. How could I said I have killed her?! This is not what I have done. She asked me, for my love, to help her.
And now, also my blood is white. And the detectives, the police, and the church, are all probably debating what to do, either with me, or with the message my blood is bringing. I don’t care. I don’t want this white blood, I want it black like the night, so maybe I am sent to her side faster than waiting for the few years I have left as an old destroyed man who killed the love of his life.
​
\*edited to fix a typo. Also, to thank those who read and hopefully enjoyed. I am not english native speaker, but the WP suggestion was too good to let it go, I hope your eyes did not hurt.
|
Death may seem like the worst that can happen to you, but I asure you there are fates far worse, like marriage. What started out as a brief yet exciting love affair ended in a life of slavery and torment at the hands of what can only be described as a monster.
It all started going wrong when I accidentally walked in on HER feeding when I was supposed to be a sleep. We were both shocked initially at the discovery, for obviously different reasons. I was shocked because what I thought to be my dutiful loving wife actually turned out to be something, other. SHE was shocked because at that moment SHE still had half of a human leg sticking out of the inhuman cavern of teeth that used to be a mouth. Things changed after that.
Soon my life consisted of serving this creature on pain of a horrible rending death. My every waking moment filled with pain and servitude. I grew in despair and just as I was ready to take my own life a glimmer of light shone into my darkness lifting me up with hope, SHE had a weakness. I determined then and there to end this or die trying.
Detective Simmons shook his tired and weary head, not another nut job psychopath, all I need. I had been listening to this psycho babble for over five hours now and his story made even less sense than when he started.
"OK Mister Cummings I think that will do for now, we have everything we need from you. You do understand the seriousness of this, were not talking life here, were talking the death penalty.". At that moment the psycho started uncontrollably laughing as if I had said something so funny it would make you cry, then he did, uncontrollable.
Just as I was about to book him for the murder of his wife a knock on the door.
"Sir the results have just come in, its white."
I let that sink in for a while, trying to grasp what I had just heard, it wasn't all the blood on him, or even the crazed look in his eyes that had convinced me, it was his resolute conviction his wife was a monster, such delusion had to mean this derranged man was the culprit. I breathed out a deep sigh.
"Well Mr Cummings, it looks like you are free to go. If we need anything more I'll let you know.". I had a sinking feeling we would never know the truth or find the real killer.
| 2020-02-09T13:17:30
| 2020-02-09T12:50:15
| 55
| 23
|
[WP] Your dog digs in the same hole in your backyard everyday. Each day,the hole is getting deeper. Today, you find out it's for an underground bunker.
|
i am a pup
i like my guy
temps goin up
dont want to die
i dig a hole
dig it so deep
food from my bowl
food in hole keep
guy does not kno
i do not mind
guy mad at hole
still he so kind
today i am done
hole can fit guy
slep in the sun
put guy inside
show guy the hole
guy v surprise
more food in bowl
pup and guy won't die
guy give me pets
now always in hole
food cannot gets
no food in bowl
i do not mind
guy seems so sad
still is so kind
no longer gets mad
calls me good boi
always more pets
i'll be best boi
i luv my guy
stay safe in hole
no go outside
|
“What is that?” I asked.
“It’s cuneiform,” Marti said running his fingers over the script inscribed in the stone, “It’s 3rd millenium BC.”
The underground bunker must have been three stories tall. Jipsy, our chihuahua, had created a sophisticated gallery, a labyrinth of artifacts from what must have been from all over the world. Marti and I walked through the gallery looking at African masks, South American bone necklaces, and silver plates from Mexico that dated back to the early 19th century.
“Your chihuahua is a collector,” Marti said.
“Yeah, apparently,” I said, shaking my head, still baffled by the all the historically lost items.
It was then that we heard a bark from the entrance of the hole. Like a good girl, Jipsy descended through the hole and into the bunker with us. She then shook the dirt off of her fur and stood on hind legs, paws hanging in front of her. Marti and I stared at her, not knowing what to do, whether to collect her, or what was at all going on.
“If only you could talk,” I said.
“I can talk,” Jipsy said, the words articulated from her dog lips. “Woof.”
“You could talk?”
“Our species have been around for as long as the humans have,” Jipsy said, “Do you really think evolutions scrutinizes only humans and that through centuries of breeding, humans are the only species that manages to create a sophisticated form of communication. Remember, at one time the neanderthal only spoke in grunts. Why would the canine after centuries only speak in barks.”
Marti and I shook our heads.
“If everything right now didn’t make sense,” Marti said, “That would make sense.”
I slowly approached my chihuahua and knelt to where she stood on her hind legs. She then sat her rear down and stared up at me.
“What is all this?” I asked.
“These are artifacts that survived through the centuries," she said.
“Did you dig all these up?”
“In the beginning, yes.”
“In the beginning?”
The wagging of Jipsy's tail had suddenly come to a halt.
“Before you had found me in the pound, I was just a young bitch in Mexico, trying to find my way through life and just trying to get by. At one point, I had found a silver plate. It has dated back to the European colonial period in which Spanish and Portuguese merchants had used slavery to take silver from Mexico and sugarcane from Brazil. Beneath Mexican soil was a history of tribes and a history of oppression by colonialization. I became quite thirsty to find out the history of my fellow canine, the Mexican people, and more importantly, my country. When I had become more than just a young boy, I was taken to a pound and used for breeding purposes. They had taken me to Virginia to breed with dachshunds and yorkshire terriers. For years, I had lost all purpose in life and could not figure who I was other than a chihuahua providing companionship for the human society. You had taken away everything that I had identified with. And when my masters had used me up and found me infertile, they had dropped me back into the pound, in which I found you. . . or you found me.”
Her words were like lightning that struck me cold and took from me my words. I didn’t turn back, but I was sure that Marti, like me, had become frozen.
“Forced into subordination by the human species, all I wanted was to remember who I was. I dug holes and found many things but nothing that linked me to my past or the Mexican soil. I found bones and arrowheads and sacred boxes with messages to loved ones, but nothing from my people.”
“But, that mask. That mask is from Africa.”
“Yes. Many things here are from all over the world. I found that the only way that I could find artifacts close to mine, was to dig channels into the museums. I went through the waterpipes. I trekked through your sewers. I fought off monsters much larger than what you’ve detailed in encyclopedias. But, I could not get through your museum security systems. I found that the only way to take possession of these artifacts is to schedule my digs so that they coincided with the movement of artifacts in and out of the museum. I knew that I would be incapable of pulling a large painting, but swiping a mask or metal plate between the busy feet of a labor force much more interested in not dropping things was cake to me.”
I finally took a glance back at Marti. I then looked back at Jipsy and her puppy dog eyes.
“Why haven’t you left? You could sell this for a fortune?” I asked.
“Why would I? All this means much more to me than a fortune. All this, indeed, is worth a fortune. But, after the life that I’ve lived, after all the things that the world has taken from me, and all the things I’ve collected in the hopes to get some of my sanity back, you know what the best part of my day is? It’s coming home to a family, being tickled behind my ear, and simply being told that I’m still a good girl. It makes me feel that I’m still worth something.”
- Jonathan Manor [r/eveningrevolution](https://www.reddit.com/r/eveningrevolution/)
| 2018-04-27T10:33:46
| 2018-04-27T10:27:25
| 2,062
| 17
|
[WP] Immortals and time travelers pass along messages for each other. It's customary and expected. One day, a stranger sits across from you at a restaurant/coffee shop/bar and asks you to give a message to someone you'll meet in New York in 2070. As far as you know, you're just an ordinary person.
|
Christmas fell certain and swiftly. It lodged in the eaves and window panes, scurried down the umbrellas, and swirled along the currents, dressing the city in a dotted dress of white.
It was a beautiful thing, yet always better witnessed from inside a snug bar with a steaming coffee in your hands.
I sat next to the window, and close to the radiator. It was the best of both worlds. I had the gorgeous view of the descending white at one side, and the tender warmth of technology at the other.
I took a sip of my coffe--.
The chair in front of me grated. I turned, and to my surprise I found a man clad in a black suit staring at me through kind eyes, while lighting a cigarette.
"I apologize for my rough intrusion," he said, offered me a cigarette.
"I don't smoke," I said, and frowned. "Can I help you with something?"
He took a drag. "You can actually. My name is Marcus, I'm one of the Two, but let's say my skin does age."
"Oh," I said, and the frown deepened. "What does a time travele--"
"Shh," he interrupted me, placed his forefinger over his lips, and looked around. "Please don't say that word out loud. There are many of us, and not all of us have good intentions."
"Could you please tell me what do you want from me, then?" I took another sip of my coffee, then drew a deep breath. "I have little to no interest in meddling with the issues of your *kind,* for lack of a better word."
"You've always been cautious," Marcus said, smiled a ghost of a smile, "and I've always loved you that way."
"So you know me."
"Of course I do. I wouldn't be here otherwise," he said, took a long drag, and hunched over the table, gesturing for me to come closer. I obliged. "In the year 2070 you will meet someone in New York. I need a message from you to that someone." He murmured in my ear. Then, we returned to our normal positions.
"A message? What sort of message? Who is that someone?" I shook my head. "What am I saying? I told you already, I'm not interested in your games."
"Something went over your head, John," Marcus said and smiled. "This time of the year, New York, 2070. What age will you be then?"
My brows knitted. I would be over a hundred years by then. "Are you implying that I--"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Well, I'm one of the Two, I already told you that. You are the other *kind,* for lack of a better word."
"What sort of message? And who is that someone?"
"There are rules to these things. I can tell you she's a she, and the message can be anything you want."
I thought for a moment, dwelled on the information Marcus had provided me. He knew my name, and he spoke to me with an odd confidence. He couldn't be lying. But me, an immortal?
"Tell her that I wish her a happy christmas. Is that good enough?"
Marcus smiled, stood up. "You will know when you give it to her."
"Me? I don't understand, what do you gain from this?"
"You will understand when the time comes. She likes coffee too, by the way."
"What if I forget?"
"You won't. The message is already with you. It will come when the time comes."
With that, Marcus left.
----------------------------------------------------
**New York, 2070**
I was heading toward my usual bar, holding an umbrella to fight the ever-white snowflakes. I had my usual set firmly coffee on my mind. I looked forward to it with great eagerness. As silly as it might sound, those little things one looks forward to, are what'd kept me sane all this years.
Ahead of mine, a woman came out her home. She was glowing, save for the distress in her face when her umbrella didn't open.
"Excuse me, can I offer you to share my umbrella?" I said, giving her my best smile.
"That's very kind of you, but I'll be fine," she said, and kept struggling with the umbrella as her hair and clothes filled with little spots of white.
"I insist," I said and placed the umbrella over her.
"Thank you very much," she said, gave me a pearl-white smile. "It's lovely to know there are gentlemen still out in the streets."
We chatted awhile, until our paths strayed from one another.
"I have to turn here," she said. "Thank you very much."
"Any day," I said, "I wish you a Merry Christmas." I froze in place, locked my gaze in her sky-bright eyes.
"Is there a problem?"
"I--I--I." I shook my head. "May I invite you a cup of coffee? That is if you don't have any other plans, of course. I was heading to my favorite bar just now, and I can't let you freeze out there without a functioning umbrella."
She laughed, flushed slightly. "I guess that's the least I could do."
--------------------------------
**Two Years Later**
I touched her belly. "Have you decided on a name for our little one yet?"
Her lips parted ever so slightly. "I loved Joe and Tom. They are short and sweet names."
"They are, and I love them too." I wrapped my hand in hers.
She turned to me, her eyes sparkling. "But I have settled for another one. It's been in my mind for what a long time."
"Yes? Tell me. I'm sure I will love it."
The snow fell outside, slow and gentle. It settled on the bare trees and the floor beneath, creating an endless ocean of white.
She held my hand tighter, gave me a kiss on the forehead.
"His name will be Marcus."
I smiled. "That's a wonderful name."
--------------------------
/r/NoahElowyn
|
After a long strenuous day at work, all I wanted was to have a few sips of my black coffee, that's all. I, a sixty four year old man, don't generally attract a lot of attention, so it was lovely to be interrupted by a man with a turquoise mohawk and sunglasses in the winter.
​
"Traveler 7456? I'll need you to pass this message along to a Wendy Aulgarth, you'll meet her in the Bronx in 2070. So the message i-"
​
"I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid that you're speaking to the wrong individual. What is this? Traveler 7456? Is this some video game forum that you're coming from?" I interrupted. The man raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
​
"Man, you Travelers never seen to lose your sense of humor, always acting clueless when we come around. Now the message is: "Your journey now has just begun, the demise of man has already been sung, to flee and weep is to see it through, but to rise and fall is to begin anew," The man grinned, and continued to stare at me, "You got that?"
​
Now, as you can imagine, I was becoming rather agitated.
​
"Is it Bother Elderly People Day? Even if I were apart of your nonsense, why would I tell anyone such a morbid message? Please leave me be!" I barked.
​
"Yeah, okay whatever you say man. Just deliver the damn message," The man grunted and trudged away. I finished my coffee in peace, but the message was replaying in my head. With each sip a detail was being refreshed.
​
**Sip.** *Wendy Aulgarth.* **Sip.** *The Bronx, 2070.* **Sip.** *Traveler 7456.*
​
Once I finished, I promptly left and went for a brief stroll in the snow in order to drown out my thoughts. Then I collapsed. A high pitched ringing sounded in my ears, and seemed to be pounding my brain as it went. I screamed in agony and the people surrounding me assumed that I was having a standard "old person problem" until I closed my eyes for a brief moment and found myself laying on a different snow covered sidewalk.
​
The ringing had stopped and no one paid any attention to me, in fact, people were strolling right by.
​
"I could still be in Boston," I chuckled and brushed the snow off of my clothes. I remembered that I intended on mailing a letter and I proceeded to the local post office. Which wasn't in its normal spot, and was also squeezed between two massive facilities that I had never seen before. Entering hesitantly, a frail woman at the desk glanced at me with a half hearted smile.
​
"Are you just here for the exhibits?" The woman asked with a strange mix between a southern drawl and Cockney accent.
​
"Exhibits? No, no I'm here to mail a letter!" I laughed nervously, hoping that the woman was joking too. Her smile slid off of her face, and she rolled her eyes.
​
"Everyone thinks that they're a fucking comedian," She muttered and grabbed my arm, "Pay up and I'll take you through the first exhibit."
​
"Mam, I'm serious, look!" I said as I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out the letter. She looked at me with a bewildered expression.
​
"Sir, you are aware that it's 2070. In this neighborhood especially, there are only two functioning post offices, and this isn't one of them," The woman shook her head and returned to her desk to use her phone. I stood dumbfounded. I searched around and spotted a flat screen television mounted on the wall.
​
"Can you turn that on please? Turn the station to the news as well."
​
With a grunt the television was turned on to show a completely different format than what I recalled with many new faces as well.
​
"On this day, December 17th, 2070, we are unfortunately here to report the death o-"
​
*2070*. I thought. I looked at the letter I had intended to mail and snatched a pen from the counter of the desk. The woman watched me with intrigue and annoyance as I scribbled down what I remembered of the message.
​
All that was left to do was fine this goddamn Wendy Aulgarth and deliver her this horrendous news.
​
No sweat.
| 2018-12-24T10:24:03
| 2018-12-24T10:18:15
| 580
| 10
|
[WP] World War 3 has begun, every nuke is being launched or dropped...they've sat in storage for so long that every single one was a dud.
|
The early warning system lit up like a Christmas tree. Every agent in the room leapt to their feet. The Americans and Russians were letting everything fly, the Chinese were firing all over Asia, India and Pakistan practically blotted out the skies with their respective arsenals. Even the French got in on the mess.
The director started yelling for confirmation from all teams on the status of the their assigned assets.
A flurry of activity erupted as each team leader contacted their field agents. A cocophany of noise of phones dialing, keyboards clacking, serial numbers in every language of the globe being called out.
Within minutes the first weapons would be achieving their targets. Nobody could believe the day they had prepped for had actually come. It seemed like the world would never get this insane.
Confirmations poured in... Every warhead on the planet should be a dud. Surveillance footage filled the panels of screens in the room. Missile after missile impacting. Some slammed into empty fields. Some demolished building with the force of their impact... casualties were to be expected... but if the plan succeeded those numbers would pale beside complete nuclear war.
The screens dimmed as each warhead ended it's journey. Not one explosion. A hush came over the room. Every risky mission, every sleepless night, every dollar spent was all worth it. A nation sacrificing everything to be everyone's friends just to save the world from this day.
The only question left... how were the Canadians ever going to explain how they defused all those warheads.
|
"Well, this is awkward," Trump said. "I normally have the best nukes, believe me."
"Yes, Mr. President, it is indeed confusing," the North Korean translator said over speakerphone. "Our Dear Respected Leader Comrade Kim Jong Un is willing to let bygones be bygones, sir. Let us start anew as peaceful compatriots, having learned our lessons from the past."
"Listen up, you. I want you to go back and tell Rocket Man that I promised fire and fury, and you're going to get the fire and fury, and even if you've only seen the fury part so far, the fire will be tremendous, the likes of which the world has never seen before."
"Please, Mr. Trump, sir. We are in the midst of a global crisis, sir. We need to draw together as a world and address the nuclear material lying all over the world."
"My army is bigger than your army."
"Well darn it."
| 2018-03-01T18:04:19
| 2018-03-01T15:51:36
| 194
| 65
|
[WP] You are one of the best contract killers in the world, but one day, at your dead drop, you find $31.25 in small change, and s letter written by an eleven year old boy
|
I use my kitchen table for pre-work prep: gear maintenance, charging my phone, making sure the plate carrier was ready. In the middle of it all was the crinkled envelope full of change... and that letter. That damned letter, in surprisingly good handwriting for a preteen, telling me that 'the closet monster' was coming to take him away on the next full moon, and that his parents didn't believe him. I knew this had to be the real deal, since no one can find my drop unless they're truly in the kind of danger that needs my services. That's how I had it set up, after all.
Still, it was a little alarming to see a child's desperation written out so plainly, and for all of the tasks I'd taken, this one was... well. It was a lot of danger for a little money. And yet...
And yet, there I was at the appointed hour, waiting at his -- Marshall's -- window while street lights flickered to life and the autumn chill made itself known against my face. Marshall included his cell number (Christ, every kid's got a phone these days) and it didn't take long to convince him I was coming, to act natural, to try and stay calm. Even as we spoke, that mixture of elation, terror, and anxiety he gave off treated my stupid bleeding heart like too-tight laces on new sneakers. I usually wasn't this into my feelings during my work. Emotions were dangerous. Especially when---
I felt it before I saw, before I heard Marshall's horrified screaming. That sharp tug against my being, towards his closet, like undertow. I'd felt that one enough times to know its exact source, and that means immediate action because Marshall's guest probably felt my emotions even before he spotted I was there.
"**█▄▄█■█▀▀█▄▀!**" It was an armless thing of thickly-matted gray fur, an impossibly huge slavering gyre of a mouth filled with blinking orange eyes and ragged teeth, and a booming voice that spat out the Wyld Tongue with irritation and fury. All it knew was that the man surging through the window towards it, as it stepped out of the twisting sideways hole in reality where Marshall's closet had once been, meant to steal his meal ticket. It was understandably furious.
It was also slow and stupid. By the time it began to lunge forward to swallow up the boy, bed and all, my jian had pinned it to the floor. A simple blade, but twice-blessed cold iron was more than enough to run it through. Two blasts to center mass from a pepper-box I had made quickly finished the job. Custom shells full of iron filings. Useless for most everything... except onieromorphs at close range.
Marshall watched on, somewhere between horrified and entranced, as the iron filings finished disintegrating a rather large portion of the greyspiral's body, like embers dancing through charred wood. "... is it dead?" he finally croaked out.
"Yes." It was already sublimating, and the faerie gate was swiftly closing. Soon enough, the undertow-tug was gone, and all there was left of the encounter were the three wounds I'd inflicted on Marshall's carpet. The faint song of iron being sheathed made the tightening in my chest pass instantly. "... greyspirals only work by contract."
"Huh?"
"Someone was trying to give you to them. To the monsters. For something. Always a contract. Always a deal." My eyes turned to his bedroom door as it creaked open just enough, and locked onto the bulging eyes of his father, flashlight and pistol in shaking hands. "... and they should explain why."
|
I used to live in a Colombian city on the Caribbean called Barranquilla. I was a contracted to be a stuffed bear killer. It was a no blood spill your guts kind of a gig. Then today of all days, I received sign about capsizing on Columbus Day. I finally hit my mark and get my cap & gown.
The letter my 11 year old boy friend wrote simply said, $31.25 is what you get. Although this may sound like a small change it symbolizes everything about Columbus landing in the New World. What this fee says is de add 3 children and 1 mate to our court. 5 the number for a helping hand, God and the Bryl Family. Welcome to the New World C.B.!
"Notice that in Barranquilla they dance that way." The name actually comes from two Spanish words: "barranca" meaning gulch or ravine, and "quilla" meaning keel (as on a ship)
| 2020-10-07T22:59:13
| 2020-10-07T16:21:55
| 35
| 11
|
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity.
|
They were no army, but only four.
War, famine, pesitlence, and death.
A ballad of destruction, a symphony of the end.
No man could stand to them, for they were gods. But humanity were not on their own.
With them stood a millenia of belief.
The old gods.
As the four stood upon a hill, overlooking the old world. The final bastion of mankind stood firm against their baleful gaze.
But from the sky, **music**
The 4 looked up, queen?
*bobby your a young man, hard man, shoutin in the street gonna be a big man someday*
Figures descended, on roads of rainbow, on pegassi on dragons and all manner. At their forefront a god wielding a hammer,
***this aint Ragnarok motherfuckers***
|
The fire slowly took hold of the log that had been tossed on top and the flames began to creep along it, singing off ancient lichen and mosses until it was consumed. It burned well, as did everything in this forest, it was old and dry, the life force stretched thin here at the boundary.
Six figures sat around in the half dark, the closest one poking occasionally at the fire and letting the sparks fly into the night air. Dawn was coming and with it decisions.
Odin was the first to stand, as the sky lightened and the first of the birds began to sing. He pulled his axe from the log when he had stuck it last night and wiped off the thin strands of sap that came with it, before swinging it onto his back.
"It's time, which of you will stand with me?"
To his left, the man who had been poking the fire stood first, his green/gold eyes flashing with reflected firelight. "Aye father, i'll stand with you. We'll die together and though none will sing our songs, we'll pay them back for my brothers death at least."
Odin smiled at his younger son. Before the war Loki had been more interested in mischief than in his duties as a God, but this fight had changed them all. Thor had been one of the few to welcome it, he'd been born for the battlefield and had been on the front lines, alongside the sons of men, from the first day. He'd died nearly a year ago, impaled by a greater daemon, then his corpse stripped of its flesh by a million of their smaller imps, before it could be brought back for burial.
That had been the day that Odin finally stood, grief enough to force him to break his vows to stay clear of the affairs of men. After this war there would be no more men, he reasoned, and no more vows, so words mattered little.
The battered form of Shinigami stood next. It didn't speak, it never had, but it nodded towards where the worlds broke apart and it was enough to signal its intent to keep fighting. It was no great warrior, but it was skilled at avoiding dying itself and Anubis, at least, fought harder when it was nearby.
The Egyptian God stood too now, Anubis had taken more damage than the others, but the injuries were merely tears in its facade, the spirit within was still strong and it clutched its flail tightly.
The last two were slowest to stand. The man and woman were the last, the final humans to live and they knew that to return to the world meant death and the end of humanity. Odin had taken them yesterday as the last holdfast had been overrun and pulled them here, into the godworld, where they could not be killed, but it was only a delaying tactic.
He was called Miani and she was Brio, it would have been poetic if they were in married, or in love, but they were strangers, terrified and alone, the last of their kind and facing their own end. Neither spoke, but they would follow, what else were they to do?
The first ray of sunlight split the world and Odin inhaled, breathing the last of the godworld, before turning to the veil and walking forward. Beyond their enemy had pulled back, aware where they would have to emerge from and happy to let their quarry come to them.
The veil split, breaking apart for the last time at Odin's touch, but today he let the tear grow and the barrier between worlds sundered, spilling the two realities together. The godworld felt the touch of wind for the first time in millennia and the leaves broke from the trees, spending a flurry through the air and across the ground. by night the trees would be denuded, but there would be no Gods, or humans to see it.
The great red army had pulled back, stripping everything in front of them and leaving a barren plane for the six to walk upon. Odin smiled and glanced back, happy to see his son take up position behind him, as if this would be a fight they would try to win. He was a good boy and had proven a better warrior than perhaps he had given him credit for.
Shinigami stretched out to feel the son and Anubis did the same. Both were connected to this world more deeply and their death would be different, they would scatter and absorb, not like the fate that Odin faced.
Once the last two humans were dead and the fight was beaten from him, he would be taken to the great dark lord and broken. He would not pretend that he would last out, he had seen every person before him, even those stronger, break and weep for mercy. Once broken he would be tortured and then, eventually consumed, his flesh serving to fuel this never ending nightmare.
The two humans clutched each other in terror, trying to hide their faces against the wall of twisted creatures that towered ahead, literally salivating at the thought of consuming them. They only hoped it would be quick, but Odin knew that as painful as his death would be, theirs would be worse.
His axe felt heavy in his hand, but it felt solid and ready. he'd take a few of the whoresons with him. "Come then, you need not wait."
The mass of beings still paused until at last a signal from their master came and they fell forward, desperately galloping, eager to kill, to consume and to destroy. It was the last stand, the last moment, and then, then it was the end.
| 2018-05-17T07:56:16
| 2018-05-17T07:42:52
| 69
| 42
|
[WP] The Alien Federation has been keeping tabs on the humans of Earth since they first appeared. They do surveillance missions once every 300 years to keep track of our progress, the last mission was 300 years ago. The aliens are shocked by our progress since 1714.
|
"What do you mean they're *flying*?"
"They've mastered flight. Completely. Records indicate the first manned flight was more than one of their centuries ago. Since then they've cracked basic computing, biochemistry, and are starting to touch on genetic manipulation."
"They're doing... All of it?"
"It seems that way, sir."
"That's absurd. There is no way they have advanced that quickly. It took us nearly three times that long."
"That's not all, sir. As we were approaching, we passed what they call Mars. The 4th planet in the system. We scanned it, as is procedure. There are unmanned probes on the surface. Several of them. Their moon also has debris from a landing."
"They've made it out of the gravity well?"
"It seems so."
"Alert command. Tell them their pet project has paid off."
|
Not very good at writing this, but hey. Whatever.
--
The president announced to us today that an alien race would be visiting. Passed down from generations, they visited every 300 years to check in on Earth and update their log of the planet we inhabited. They had never been a threat to the human race and had never planned to hurt us.
"Today, October 26th, 2014, an alien race none of you have encountered is rumored to be visiting. From what we are understanding from transmissions, they are of no harm and do not intend to hurt us. Please proceed your day with caution." The president announced.
Somehow, the entirety of the county managed to listen. Nobody panicked, nobody even noticed when a large ship landed on the front lawn of the White House.
"Hello, Mr. President." The odd looking creature announced when he climbed off of his ship, gazing around in wonder. Large black eyes glanced almost nervously around, looking at all of the passerby watching him.
"Hello," the president stuck his hand out to the unfamiliar being on the lawn. "May I ask your name?"
"Alicai of the planet Mzorni." The being responded, a small smile forming upon what was assumed to be his face. "It's gorgeous here, so much has changed in the past three hundred years. All this technology!"
"Thank you," The president smiled warmly at the short alien in front of him. "Much has changed since you last visited."
"I am aware. Cell phones, television. Even the clothing style has changed! And all of these buildings."
The alien folded his hands and placed them by his sides shortly after.
"I only have one question;" The alien said quietly.
"May I ask what?" The president looked at him questioningly.
"...." The alien hesitated before speaking a single sentence. "What is 'twerking'?"
| 2014-10-26T14:51:07
| 2014-10-26T14:37:07
| 969
| 424
|
[WP] You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign.
|
CNBC reporting from Capital Hill. Parliamentary Deadlock, day 15.
It was over two weeks ago now when what started as a hearing over the repeal of the Affordable Care Act, spiraled into a partisan filibuster lead by Senator Chuck Schumer (D, NY) after a character sheets for the popular role playing game Dungeons and Dragons was included within the information packets distributed to the assembly.
Senators Al Franken (D, MN), Elizabeth Warren (D, MA) , and Bernie Sanders (I, VT) apparently aware of Sen. Schumers actions had already created characters. In his twenty minute hearing, Schumer acted as the narrator (or Dungeon Master), of an adventure of the three characters created by Senators Franken, Warren and Sanders. He then appealed to extend the hearing. The motion passed 51 - 49 and Senators John McCain (R, AZ), Rand Paul (R, KY) and Lindsey Graham (R, SC) turned in character sheets. It was noted by Sen. Schumer that Sen. Graham had used Charisma as his dump stat.
Sen. Graham responded, "I tell it like it is Senator Schumer."
Within the hour the Senators had defeated a band of thieves in the city of Waterdeep, however their was contention on what was to be done with the several hundred gold pieces that was acquired from them.
"Their was no doubt in my mind. The money should go back to the poor. They were the victims. They need it the most," Senator Sanders said of the conflict.
Senator Rand Paul's character, Thukdim-Omar, a half-orc barbarian said, "This money should go to the local businesses so that they can afford to higher these poor people and stimulate the economy."
It was noted that Sen. Paul was mixing player knowledge with character knowledge. However Thukdim-Omar did have an uncharacteristically high Intelligence stat thanks in part to a good 3d6 roll, and not knowing the conventional method of creating a barbarian. He raged for all he could (one round) and a schism formed between the Republican and Democrat Senators.
A motion was made by Majority Leader Sen. Mitch McConnell (KY) to end the filibuster and failed 45 - 55. Three more Senators turned in character sheets after the motion failed.
Now more than sixty Senators are now locked in a fantasy life and death struggle to control the ruling counsel of Waterdeep. The battle lines are not so distinctly cut as the Senate parties, with both sides housing both Democrats and Republicans. When Sen. Ron Johnson (R, WI) why his Dark Elf Ranger is on the same side as Sen. Bernie Sander's Warlock, he responded, "Mrizzt is a deep and complex character. He's Drow but has pushed away from his heritage and so he fights directly for the poor and feeble. He follows his heart and wants a direct method to help the down trodden."
The assembly's actions have sparked a raging debate among citizens of the country.
Jenny Calloway, a 34 year old factory worker who was at the Women's March protests on the day after Donald Trumps inauguration, had this to say, "It's fucked up. It really is. We all just have to sit back and watch this? I mean, Cory Bookers character just flat out backstabbed Dan Sullivan's. Even AFTER Sullivans character (a Half-Elf Druid, female) gave him a bag of holding. Who does that! I hope her resurrection is successful"
Political character assassination has become a contentious issue which has brought about several new laws to be passed to the House of Representatives. The most prominent being the Azathoth Mandate which stipulates that no action of malicious intent may be rolled without first reporting to the DM what the roll is for.
Today the assembly broached new ground when the topic of shifting from the Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 rule set to the Pathfinder system was introduced. The motion is expected to pass before the day is up.
President Donald Trump had this to tweet on the matter:
@POTUS 2h, "Until recently I wasn't that interested in the Senate or House. I had no idea it was so entertaining. I would of won the Presidency a long time ago if-"
@POTUS 2h, "-I had known that law making was this fun. I'm working on my own character. He's going to be great. He does everything,"
@POTUS 2h, "He's an Orc with big strong hands. He has all the classes. It's going to be terrific. Were going to make Waterdeep great again! #MWGA"
|
Senator:The day is old and the wind has burnt your skin. The sun is setting in your eyes. As you approach the shadow town in the distance AH SHIT ! four skeletons jump from the road with an attack. ( rolls 20 sided die on podium) 15...... the first one takes 2 hp off of the chairmans life, the other three are further back leaving you with the chance of attack. It is the chairmans roll...Chairman: sir! Senator: CHAIRMANS ROLL! (20 sided die off the back of the podium landing on 18) senator: chair man was using a 2 handed bastard sword so I'll roll the 12 sided die for him( click clack.......8) senator: 8 chair man: 8!!! That's at least 45 damage senator!
| 2017-01-21T23:01:56
| 2017-01-21T22:00:30
| 399
| 13
|
[WP] You're the clichéd high-school super hero who has to balance heroics and school life. One day, you rescue your love interest while on super hero duty, when suddenly she starts talking about your alter-ego. You decide to stay and talk with her as a to see what she thinks of you at school.
|
She had told me which building she lived in: the brownstone, slightly taller than the others on 66th, vines snaking up the front. My mind was half on finding it, half on her conversation, slightly muffled over the sound of the wind. Her face was right by my ear and I could smell her hair - coconuts and honey. It was dark and silky, tickling my left side in the wind despite it being secured in a ponytail as we coasted up Broadway.
"You know, you kind of remind me of this kid from school." She said. Fear shot through me like a needle.
"Really?" I asked lightly.
She grimaced. "Yyyyeah."
I gave her a little smirk. Did she mean me? What did she really think about me?
She ducked her head. "I'm sorry. Yeah. He's this guy, Noah, he's in my stream. We're in AP Chem, Bio, Spanish and History together."
"That's a lot." I commented. She did mean me. Oh god. Oh no.
"It is. I see him, like...every day."
"You sound like..." I couldn't finish what I was going to say. We passed Columbus Circle. People pointed up, took pictures. Just a few more blocks to go.
She scoffed lightly. Her face was flushed underneath her skin. I couldn't meet her eyes. Finally, she said, "He pisses me off."
My stomach dropped. I felt like I was falling. "Wha-why?" I stammered.
She groaned. "He always ruins the curve! I bust my ass to make myself the best in the class, get that 4.0, you know, get into one of those Ivies, you know what I mean! But he's always there, doing better than me. He has these crazy green eyes, kind of..." She looked away. "Kind of like yours. And whenever we get our tests back, he looks at me and gets this face on, like he beat me." She clenched her fists. "My friend told me he has a 4.3."
Oh jeez. Oh jeez. What was I going to do? My brain was scrambled, fried, broiled, I didn't know what to say. "You...sound pretty competitive with this guy." I stammered. Shit shit shit! What was that?
We coasted over 66th and we landed on the stairs of her brownstone. I set her down.
Her hand lingered on my shoulder. My heart was pounding.
"I am." She said. "It's hard, you know? I'm putting myself through college, so I need those scholarships." She gestured around. "This isn't even my house. It's my aunt's. I don't live with my parents anymore, they're...well, you could say they're not the best people." Suddenly, I felt a pang of guilt. After this, I would be going home to my parents and my siblings and my dog, in Washington Heights, where we'd have dinner and talk about our days.
I looked around. It was late winter, and the sun was still setting before seven. Already, the sky was streaked with orange and pink.
"In any case," She continued, "this kid, he doesn't really say anything to me at all, just *stares*. I want to ask him for help, but..." Her voice trailed off.
"I'm sure he'd be glad to offer it." I said. She looked up at me, and her eyes in the sunset were light brown. Her face shifted, and I knew that she knew. Silently, she nodded, squeezed my shoulder, and walked towards the door.
|
Hey, my name is Jace, but most people know me as 'Jump Set.' I didn't really get to choose my own name. That was the media. It doesn't even make sense. I don't jump or set. I'm not quite sure how my power works, but I can make small balls of energy that kinda eat other things. I just do what's right when I'm not at school.
There was a holdup at the mall, some dude swinging a gun in a jewelry store. I saved a girl. Well not just a girl. The girl. Sam. The girl I've been crushing on since sixth grade. I offered to walk her home after everything went down. An the walk she said she didn't want go home. I offered her coffee at my 'hideout.' An old, rusting train car discarded in an old, rusting junkyard. After a few minutes she said something.
"You kinda remind me of a kid I know. His name's Jace." She shakes her head, "Sorry, you dont want to know 'bout my problems"
"A good hero listens to others problems." I say as I sit down across from her in the abandoned railcar. "B'sides, it'll help you calm down. I know how it feels to have a gun pointed at you." I say with a smile under my mask. In truth, I am terrified. Sam is the one. Tall, long platinum hair, a round cute face with a little nose and full lips. Big green eyes. "This Jace dude a good guy or...?"
"He... Is weird." She says. Ouch. "But a good kind of weird. Kinda awekward too," yeah that's why I ware the mask. "He's cute but, I dont think he likes me at all." She says with a small huff. Then it's silence. My face must be beet red under this mask.
"Maybe he's just shy?" I ask trying to be 'Jump Set' and not Jace.
"Oh he is defiantly shy, but there's more to it than that. I've asked him out, like, a lot." When? I dont remember her ever asking me out. "But he always dodges it and says something like 'Next Time' or 'I have to run some errands for my grandma' and... I dunno. I'm thinking about giving up on it. Not trying anymore." Oh yeah... Oh no. Being Jump Set takes up so much of my free time. I come here, I make some coffee, I listen to the radio scanner till something happens, then I go home. I have to. What if Jump Set isn't there when he needs to be? God I'm such an Idiot. I realize she's looking at me for advice. Advice from me, about me.
"Ask him one more time." I say, " give it one more shot. Maybe he really did plan on a 'next time' but keeps winding up wrapped up in something else. If he says no again, take that as it is and move on." If I'm too busy being Jump Set, then I'll just wind up hurting her. If I say no again, I'll have to move on too.
(On mobile so, crammer and spelling will probably be jacked.)
| 2017-06-20T11:44:34
| 2017-06-20T11:20:46
| 63
| 21
|
[WP] Write a story that makes absolutely no sense, until the last sentence.
|
"Honey, the ceiling's dripping," Catherine said, wire-cutters in hand. She looked at her cat, who merely stretched and sat back down on the wall again.
"I'm sorry," Katherine's husband said, "What do you mean? Is the paint still dry?"
"No, the actual ceiling," Kathy replied, "It's dripping chunks of what kind of looks like polysterine."
"I thought that was an astroturf ceiling," her husband responded, "We should contact the electrician."
Katy sighed, this was the fifth time in the next two hours that she had called out a repairman. This flat was proving to be a nightmare. If it wasn't the gas not working, it was the windows breaking, or the walls shifting perpendicular to the wrong shade of lavender, or the gas working.
It has been so promising on paper, a lovely two story flat comprised of three floors, Kat had loved it from the moment she first smelt it. But now they were living in it, it was constantly revealing all it's problems.
"Alright," Cat's husband responded, "They'll be here at eighty past seven, give or take thirty hours. In the meantime, they've suggested we shutdown the paradox generators."
Ca nodded, "I really hope they fix them properly last time," she said as she flew to the stasis grid, "I'm getting sick of living in a broken warp."
The generator turned off, leaving the pair in a four foot by four foot blank room. Catherine sighed, the worst part about waiting for a reality repairman was that her husband would also be offline until it was fixed.
|
He.
She.
Even do what be more like.
Yet standing tall.
Amongst it all.
To be more than it is not.
Why would one.
Eeven be, attempt to.
Try do what more like others.
So reach out.
And try to be normal.
Even being, no more like doing as others.
And take your damn meds.
| 2015-06-12T23:08:17
| 2015-06-12T21:37:52
| 115
| 18
|
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
We thought it would be fun to get our Ham Radio licenses. I mean, when the "No Code" licenses happened back in the 90s it was fun to get them, and our Radio Shack portable radios. They weren't cheap, but I think, at the time, they were cheaper than Cell Phones with their crazy Dollar a minute plans. (Those were the days, huh?)
I was the last of our group to actually use my Amature license. I met some older guy who convinced me that there was more than just the "CB" radio aspect of it. One of the old timers was really insistent that I learn Morse code. He told me it would change my life. He was not wrong.
There are patterns EVERYWHERE in life.
Some of these patterns are visual. Nautilus shells, for instance have a pattern that is repeated in other places in nature, or architecture, and we didn't know at first why.
There are patterns in taste and smell. We love meat that that has been charred, because genetically, we've been programmed since Neanderthal days to accept the Maillard reaction to cooking as a healthy thing. Sour milk, we know is bad. Rotten flesh, we know will harm us before we eat it.
With auditory sense, I used to think that just birds or the waves in nature were repeatable patterns that were natural. That is of course, until I learned Morse code.
I learned Morse like most folks did, SLOWLY. I really sucked at it, trying to do my lessons on the computer with training software, or when some of my older Ham buddies helped me. That was the case until I started to just treat it like another language. I would play recorded Morse Code training modules as I went to sleep. I would listen to them while mowing the lawn on my Walkman. In every day conversation, I started thinking about how I would dot-dash out the conversations I was having with my family, friends, co-workers and more.
They say you know when you've really learned a language, when you dream in it. I took a lot of Spanish in highschool and college. I never dreamed in it. One morning I woke up, and realized that I had dreamed my entire dream in Morse code. I was of course fascinated by this discovery. I fired up my old radio and tuned to a Morse channel and realized I didn't need to write anything down to translate it. I just knew what they were saying.
I was really excited by this, and couldn't wait to tell my co-workers and maybe the ham group that was going to meet later that month for coffee.
I heard the weather lady talking about the chance of rain that morning, so I grabbed my umbrella and headed out the door for the bus stop. It was cloudy, but still dry when I got on the bus, but we hit rain about halfway to my office. That's when I noticed it. The pattern of the rain on the roof of the bus sounded like morse code. (Don't even ask me about dashes, they were THERE!)
<Run Ray! Run Ray! Run!>
Over and over. Once I realized it was doing that I sat in stunned amazement while listening to it, some how, the rain got harder, the pattern remained the same. I reached up for the "Stop Requested" cord and pulled it. The bus driver quizzacly looked at me, and pulled up to the curb. I walked up front and when I got to the door, they studied me for a moment before opening the door.
"This isn't your stop Ray. You sure you want to get off here?"
"I'm pretty sure. I... Something is telling me. Let's call it my gut." and he opened the door and I opened my umbrella and got off the bus.
I watched the bus pull away and drive towards my office. I started to walk and I could hear the plinking of rain on my umbrella telling me, "Run, Run, Run" Over and over again. I picked up my pace, and as my pace picked up, the pattern changed, to "Yes, Yes, Yes".
Hearing that, I stopped cold.
"Run, Ray, Run Ray, Run" resumed in morse pattern on my umbrella.
I heard a crashing sound a few blocks ahead, and I took off running, closing my umbrella, not worrying about getting wet. I could hear the patterns on awnings and the sidewalk. "Run!"
I actually caught up to my bus, who was stopped in a line of cars. Up ahead of them, was a horrific crash. A liquid nitrogen tanker had been sideswiped by a garbage truck and the liquid nitrogen was spewing out right at the bus stop ahead. I saw the bus driver staring ahead very pale. When they saw me on the sidewalk, they opened the bus door and yelled at me.
"Ray! Get in here out of the rain!"
"Oh hey, I'm glad you were there."
Gladys the bus driver pointed at her watch, "I should have been there when that happened. But somebody needed an emergency stop. Whatever that was, I am thanking the Lord for it."
I stood on the steps of the bus, just sheltered. I could hear the rain with a different pattern now. "Stay, Stay, Stay".
"Uh, yeah, about that, I needed to .... Um, I can't explain it, nobody'd believe me anyway." I took out my cell phone and dialed my office, telling them about the accident. I even took some pictures for good measure. My boss was a prick sometimes, and yeah.
Now, I listen to the Universe very carefully, because it is still using Morse code to guide me. There are other incidents, but those are for other stories.
|
Why won't they listen?
Why won't anyone listen?
"You never wonder if the rain would give you a message in Morse code?" asked Natalia, in an innocent tone that did not fully hide her fear.
"That would make my day more interesting, I can tell you that much," replied Rene, her Morse code instructor in the army.
Natalia knew that the army was fond of soldiers who knew their way around the code. It was the best, sometimes the only, mean of communications in remote locations like jungles or damaged mountain ranges. A new skill and an opportunity to travel to the unknown, everything a single and adventurous young woman could ask for.
The code itself was surprisingly easy, it only required to learn by heart the translation of each letter, and invoke the inner discipline to translate anything she came by at random for training.
Bird meant -... .. .-. -..
Tree meant - .-. . .
In the evenings, she sat at the transmitter and learned the subtleties of the sound and the pauses, to differentiate long and short, transcribe faster and make it a second nature.
It became a force of habit, looking for random patterns, writing down letters to form incoherent words. To pass time, to avoid boredom while waiting for the next deployment.
Natalia remembered the first time she understood the rain. A few drops resonated more deeply and vibrantly than others, following the mechanical rhythm of the code.
*Run, coward, run.*
A long pause.
*Run, coward, run.*
Repeated as long as the rain lasted.
Quite the imagination she had. At least, that's what she thought then. But the message kept coming, no matter where she was when it rained, it was always the same cold threat.
Rene's answer was enough to convince her she was too imaginative. If she alone heard it, then it was only a product of her mind.
The days went on, and the message became almost tedious.
Until it changed. Standing at a window and looking at the horizon, Natalia could not miss the difference.
*I see you.*
A long pause.
*I see you.*
What sick joke was this? Bullying by an insane sergeant? The start of madness? Angry at the world and herself, Natalia left the barrack to walk outside in the middle of the heavy rain. There, with noise coming from all directions, the message was thinned, dulled, drowned out. The rain poured down her smooth face, every drop provoked a fleeting moment of enjoyment on a fragment of her skin. Drenched and cold, she found peace.
A low *thump* brought her back to the present. Hidden by the heavy rain, something had fallen not far behind her. She carefully advanced, and nearly tripped. Something had left a mark, deep in the wet ground. Her own carelessness had damaged the trace, it could have been vaguely humanoid.
Unsure, she hastily retreated in direction of the barracks.
*Thump.*
This time closer.
"Enough!" she shouted.
For a moment, there was no more unnatural noise.
Some drops resonated more deeply than others, as if their echo jumped at Natalia's face and clung to it.
*I am coming for you.*
In the veil of water in front of her, just as a mist started to intertwine with it, she thought she made out a roaring face.
She dodged at the last moment, the fangs sliced a few of her hairs.
She had felt the breath of the beast on her neck, a sick, damp and bloody breath.
And the rain screamed.
*You are mine.*
*Let us rejoice together.*
*Let us be one.*
Natalia ran as fast as she could while covering her ears with both hands, the impact of the beast on her tail ran up her feet and seized her heart, gripping it with a cold hand. The air in her lungs turned to ice, her legs went numb, the desperate escape turned to a crawl.
*There is no escape.*
*In your room, under your bed, in the closet, I will wind you.*
She reached the barracks out of breath and fell through the door into the arms of another soldier and passed out.
At the infirmary, many wondered just what the hell happened to her. Natalia had been witnessed leaving on a walk in the rain, and running back in panic. What had come to pass in-between these two points in time was the subject of much speculation. Friends and superiors visited, worried about her mental health or wondering if a stalked was after her. Blair, Irene, Rene, and quite a few more came to offer kind words. She had none to give back.
Even sleeping pills could not whisk her away into sleep when it rained at night. The drops splashed against the window.
*I see you.*
She left the infirmary when the doctor decided that there wasn't enough to work on, be it physical or mental health. She was to avoid stress and that was it.
| 2021-09-28T09:21:36
| 2021-09-28T08:55:03
| 238
| 89
|
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank.
|
I dropped the piece of paper. "This is awesome" I thought, "I'm immortal! I can do anything!" and ran out the door laughing at all the things I would try. As the letter drifted to the floor it turned and landed face side up, where two words were printed clearly; "Severe stupidity".
|
Blank. It was blank. I had to find my phone and search what that meant. Where the hell did I put it? I searched all the usual places downstairs but couldn't find it. It must be a mistake. I need to sit down. It was at this point I should of known when I was going to die, that's what the letter was meant to tell me. I should of opened it hours ago. I'd been so nervous the last week. Sick with nerves. Vomit, diarrhea and constant head aches. Blank, blank, blank. What does it mean.
I put the letter down and walked to the kitchen, I needed a hard drink. I opened the cupboard. Nothing. Who took all my vodka. My parents don't drink and besides they're out of town for the week. Another disappointment. What does it mean? Blank? Will I live forever? I hope not. I couldn't imagine a worse fate. Unless my acne disappeared, I made some friends and had an actual reason to live forever.
I had to find my phone. My headache was coming back on. I made my way upstairs. All I could think about was the pain building up in my gut. I checked the bathroom and washed my face. It wasn't in here. As I entered my bedroom I noticed the letter on my bed. I thought I had left it downstairs but I guess I just wanted to torment myself further. I picked up the letter but this time it wasn't blank.
I nervously began to read it. Must of been my headache playing tricks on me. It read...
*To all my family, please forgive me, I can not stand the pressure anymore... *
It was at that point I noticed my body. Hanging in my wardrobe.
| 2017-01-17T15:58:50
| 2017-01-17T14:04:36
| 46
| 11
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
Everyone has these tags. These little buttons on their shirts with a number on it. Some in the hundreds, some in the thousands. Mine is number 1.
Pretty quickly people started to figure out that when someone else died, everyone with a lower number moved up. There wasn’t really much that this meant for the higher numbers, but for the lower numbers it was a bloodbath. The higher numbers started by trying to kill the numbers above themselves, but there was a reason for the rankings. 5 fell to 3. 3 fell to 2. Only number 17 managed to kill number 16, and even then it was with 18’s help. He still wound up hooked to a machine for the short time he managed to live.
Eventually they realized the better plan was to start killing the numbers lower than you. 2 killed 3-15, then 16 moves up, turns to 3. That 3 kills 4-73, 74 moves up and becomes 4. That 4 kills… and on and on. It led to huge gaps in power between the top ten. For all that time, nobody set their sights on me. I’m number one. Of course I am the strongest. Far and away. What can I do? Only a handful of people ever knew, and that’s all they are now, a handful. At least that’s what I tell people. Reality is always such a letdown.
I control the tags.
|
*Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T12:36:19
| 2014-12-18T11:44:55
| 2,259
| 68
|
[WP] You are a wolf who was bitten by a werewolf. Every full moon your hair recedes, your teeth dull, and you are left cold and naked on a hillside. You’ve also met a lovely park ranger named Christine.
|
It happend a few years ago. My pack was attacked by a strange deformed wolf. They were tough and killed many of us but together we managed to fend it off. I was injured. A few months later I felt ill. That was when it first happend. I howled out in pain as my body transformed. My hair gone. My teeth no longer sharp. My voice no longer able to cry out for my family.
They kicked me out after that.
But that was then. This is now. I live in a human tent deep into the woods. There are clothes for the days when my body betrays me. Spare meals for when my teeth grow dull and I can no longer rip through flesh. When my body decides raw is no longer good enough. Tonight was one of those nights. I felt the full moon rise and I screamed. It hurt so badly when my body did this. The scar on my front leg, or right arm, stung.
My eyes adjusted to the night and I darted into my tent. I threw on some clothes from the campers that used to sleep here a year ago and I hoped the night would end soon. But my stomach hungered. And it was picky in this form. So I grabbed a match and started a small campfire. I then stuck part of a deer in it.
Crunching. The crunching of leaves. Those were not my footsteps. My senses were dulled like this but whoever was approaching was not trying to hide themself.
"Hello? Who's there? Are you ok? I heard a wolf, and a woman's scream"
A lady pushed away some branches and approached my campfire.
"Mam are you ok?" She glanced at my scar "Are you injured? That looks old but.." She shook her head. "Here I have some bandages"
The woman held my arm and started wrapping it. She looked at me and smiled.
"I swear I've seen you somewhere"
I looked at her confused. I do not remember a woman as beautiful as her in my life.
"Even those clothes... Wait!" The woman grabbed some photos out of her pockets. Photos taken of a woman from a afar. Photos of me.
"There's always been a rumour round here, a wolf's cry and a woman's scream. On that night a woman can be seen in the park at night. I never thought it was true! Do you need me to get you help?" She looked over to my tent. It was beat up from all the years I've had it. "It looks like you've been here for along time. I don't know how you've managed to survive but I can take you to my place in the morning."
I shook my head. In the morning I would shred her apart. But right now I had the compassion to refuse.
"I'm Christine, you?" The woman held out her hand, wanting me to shake it.
"The last thing I ever was called was a freak." I took her hand and shook it.
---
Thanks for reading this, it's probably not great cos I'm really tired but I tried my best.
|
“Chrissy you’ve got to help me, I can’t go back to that!”
Chrissy reclined in bed, her eyes heavy lidded and her whole body ready for sleep, if only Spot weren’t having another crisis. She pressed the pillow down over her face and tried to count disemboweled sheep, the kind Spot left behind when he was a wolf. Sometimes she thought she liked that version of him better, his howling was less annoying then.
“Seriously Chrissy, you don’t understand what it’s like to be a wolf! I learn all this stuff as a man and then I’m hurled back into a pack that doesn't understand me. I’ve got to run and kill and hunt, I don’t even have hands, we just use our mouths for everything!”
“And I bet the females don’t look at you either, huh?”
She could imagine his expression, the human version of the guilty grimace he’d had when she caught them on the game cams. “That was one time and she was in heat!” he said, his voice getting shrill. “You can’t possibly blame me for that, I was a wolf!”
“Oh, so when that happens it’s all *‘oh but I was a wolf’* and then when you have to live outdoors and I’m not cooking for you it’s all *‘save me, I can’t go back to that!”*
Chrissy rolled over, pulling the covers tighter to herself. She could hear Spot stalking back towards the bed and she prepared herself for the pounce.
He leapt onto the bed with all the supple strength of a wild animal, pulling her to his chest. When Spot spoke his voice was husky and carried the strangest hint of an affected accent. Chrissy regretted showing him a romance movie that one time. “But baby, wouldn’t you love it if we could be together? We could frolic around this beautiful park every day, making love and catching prey as we willed, without any fear of bears or rain!”
Chrissy threw the pillow into the corner, rolling back towards him. A broad smile creased Spot’s sharp features and his eyes positively smoldered at her. He thought he was so damn cute sometimes. “Well, *baby*,” she said, pressing her hands against his muscled chest, “I happen to like our schedule just the way it is. Besides, you’re barely housebroken on the one day a month I have you. Now stop whining, you’re ruining my afterglow.”
She pecked him on the lips quickly and turned back around. “And remember to be out of here before sunrise, I can’t have you transforming in my bed again. That was fucked up.”
Spot’s grip around her waist grew slack. He nuzzled against her neck gently, it was normally as a close to an apology as she got, and then she felt him stand.
“Bye Chrissy,” he said. His voice sounded truly sad. She only turned back to watch him leave, walking out into the rising dawn naked as the day he was born, or perhaps in his case made. She saw his transformation through her bedroom window, heard his scream become a howl, watched bones rearrange themselves and coarse hair tear through soft skin to cover his body.
Chrissy closed her eyes and went to sleep, finally getting to relax and enjoy her body’s languid exhaustion.
She was woken when the cabin door opened an hour later. Someone poked around in the outer rooms for a few minutes, giving Chrissy time to reorient herself before the door opened again. Eliza stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the early morning light from the windows. Her clothes were messily donned, half the buttons of her shirt missing. Her hair was a disaster, what little makeup she’d worn the night before was smeared tragically around her face.
“Hey babe,” Chrissy said, “you’re looking cute.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was a rough one. I’m gonna jump in the tub, but I'm glad you're up, I wanted to say hi.” Eliza walked over to the bed, sitting down where Spot had so recently been, and gave Chrissy a long, hard kiss.
“You taste funny,” Chrissy said, making a face. “Not a deer this time?”
“I wish. I found a half dead elk. It was pretty gross.”
“Ewww, yeah wash your mouth out before you kiss me again.”
Eliza stood, going to their attached bathroom. Chrissy heard a bath begin to run and then Eliza began gargling mouthwash. “How was your night?” she called after she spit.
“Fun!” Chrissy said. “Spot is an animal, pun intended. But if we ever try this again remind me to have you bite a less whiny wolf. My god is he annoying before he changes!”
“Oh really? He doesn’t want to go back?”
“Nah, he wants to stay human. He’s been asking me to help him, although I’ve got no idea how that would even work.”
“Yeah for real.” Eliza poked her head back into the bedroom. “You can cure a werewolf by killing the one that bit them, but a were-werewolf? I don’t even know how that would work.”
“Uh huh. And besides, there’s only room for one human in my life. Come back here.” Chrissy propped herself up in bed and reached out for another kiss now that Eliza’s mouth was cleaner.
“I kinda feel sad for the guy though,” Eliza said, walking back into the bathroom. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be a wolf either.” Chrissy heard a contented sigh from the bathroom, Eliza must have stepped into the tub.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned we’re doing him a favor.” Chrissy said. She stretched, groaning loudly as she gave up on sleep. “Whatever. Is there room for two in there?”
“You bet!”
Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-03-14T15:17:31
| 2021-03-14T13:49:33
| 179
| 129
|
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
|
You want to know how I got here? I'll tell you.
I was standing in queue for the test; I wasn't too worried, I was always a good liar. Maybe I should start earlier.
See, I lead a fairly simple life on the surface. I was the accountant for a small charity and made a modest income, I attended church on Sundays, I volunteered at the soup kitchen and I lived alone in a small home; I've always preferred being alone. I hoped to get in the highest ranking because there would be less people to live with.
Everyone thought I was such a people person; I had a great smile, I was extremely friendly, and I was so honest! I knew I could always get what I wanted from people if I just acted friendly enough, I never even found it tiring to keep up the act; lying just comes naturally to me. I got my job at the charity because my boss, Ed, knew I could be trusted with anything; he never found out that I embezzled tens of thousands of dollars from his charity, because he just trusted me that much. Then there was all that money I made inventing fake charities and holding charity banquets; rich people can be so gullible. It wasn't even about the money, I was comfortable living on the bare basics, I just found it all so satisfying.
Anyway, I'm getting off topic. So yes, I've never had a problem with fibbing and the test, to me, just seemed so transparent! It was a joke! And it had such a religious bias! I had no problem fudging a 195.
Do you remember seeing me during the exodus? Probably not; They had all 50 of us lined up in a row and they were briefing us on our trip. I remember staring at you from almost the opposite end of the line, you were the youngest of us, and you just looked like such a sweetheart;you were put here because of all your missionary work, right? that's cute. I remember how claustrophobic I felt when they crammed us into that plane; I couldn't stand having these people touching me, I hated them already! But I forced some pleasant small talk and made friends.
I remember when they brought us to the farm. I hadn't lived in a rural area since my teens, it brought back memories. I gazed over at the field of tall grass and weeds which gently brushed the old farm equipment as it blew with the wind; it reminded me of where I buried my mother and sister.
Why are you crying? Don't do that, let me finish. I couldn't believe what I was hearing when the officer told us we'd all be living in the same building, I just could not accept that. I needed my privacy!
Let me wipe those tears from your eyes. It's okay, don't worry, it's just the two of us now.
|
I've heard stories of how, long ago, people of all types were allowed to live together, a place where people with a goodness score of 1 were allowed to live in the same places as people with goodness scores of 200.
Of course, this world stopped existing after a team of scientist invented the perfect way to test someones "goodness". The goodness test wasn't widely accepted, until Vladimir Putin, a dictator, discovered the test while he was browsing a website called "Facebook"(The creator of this site was later killed by a mob of Goodness Test believers after they discovered he had a goodness test of 1). He discovered this test while he was invading America, and after he somehow managed to conquer America, he made taking this Goodness Test mandatory to take for every person.
He started making the people with goodness scores under 40 into slaves, who built the walls we see now. None of this matter now, however. This all happened very long ago, and none of it matters anymore. The people who have yet to be diagnosed are kept outside the walls. "my, my..your score is a 10." "Put him in the cart, let him live with the rest of the filth.". "Next person.", I walk up to him, nervous. "Okay, just go in there, and take the test." I walk in to the rather well lit cubicle, a sharp contrast between the dark and pouring rain outside. I take the test, I walk out. "Well, aren't you lucky. You've got a score of 75. Go into that bus, and you and the other people in there will be transported over to sector 75. Enjoy the ride."
I look back at the camp one last time, before walking into the bus. After a small wait, we set off for sector 75. As we pass through sector 1, I see a barren wasteland, and our car gets attacked by the inhabitants. They threw glass bottles, and rocks at our bus, which was thankfully heavily armored. The bus-driver sped up, and we thankfully got away. To be continued, possibly.
| 2016-08-26T15:12:31
| 2016-08-26T10:59:35
| 54
| 18
|
[WP]There exist five universes, each one tentatively connected to the others. Each universe is defined by the ABSENCE of one of the five elements; Earth, Water, Air, Fire & Magic. Our universe is the one without magic.
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First, there came the oceans. Each planet layers upon layers of cool darkness, with cores of ice and fire. In the worlds without Earth, creatures larger than the planets themselves wander in the darkness between galaxies, and the smaller ones live upon the clouds or deep beneath the surface of the water.
In the place with no Air, everything is one with the world around it. The tides are unchanging and the trees do not grow. The people of this universe know not the meaning of barriers, as they pass through solid matter as easily as a man falling through a gust of wind: all is dense and hot and unfeeling, with nothing to stretch the space from the earth to the sky. Living things burrow deep into the rich soil and stay there for many years.
The kingdom without Fire is a space without light. There is water to drink and dirt to walk upon, but no stars to shine above or warm hearths waiting below. The quiet, velvet darkness of the void reigns over every world within it. They have learned to communicate in whispers and hands; long, pale fingers caressing the paths before them, sightless eyes that never blink.
The absence of Water in the fourth realm is a strange emptiness, as well. The air crackles with electricity and the acrid scent of ozone never leaves. Most beings are flat and dark, moving across the cracked surfaces of planets like shadows. They feed off sunlight and warmth and little else, moving slowly throughout the day with the many suns in their skies.
Most curious of all is the universe without magic. So many world exist with elements in abundance: entire planets of liquid and ice, enough sunlight to feed thousands of shadows, and yet they remain barren. No one walks the spaces between them. However, every now and then, life will begin on a planet despite lacking the spark of magic, purely due to the four remaining elements existing in harmony. Enough Water to create clouds in the air, enough Earth to receive the rain. Enough Fire to light the way, and enough Air to freely move.
The creatures here create magic for themselves, by harnessing the existing energies and creating more of their own. Strange beings of iron and steel that glide across surfaces faster than any animal. Metal contraptions that move mountains and dig caverns. This place without magic is empty, and yet it is the the strangest of the five worlds. They are not yet aware of what truly lies beyond them.
--
This was my first time posting here, I found the prompt really interesting! Thanks for reading :)
|
I flipped the switch, and took a deep breath. As expected, a portal appeared in the center of the room, labeled with the number 3. I knew that the five universes each lacked one of the five elements. We were universe 5, and we lacked magic. The others were missing earth, water, fire, and air, respectively. Everyone in the room knew this.
I thought a little about how misleading calling the elements earth, water, fire and air were. For any one thing, exactly one of the five universes was missing it. Each of the 4 elements besides magic stood for one state of matter; earth was solid, water was liquid, air was gas, fire was plasma. Fire also meant energy. Going into a universe where we couldn't stand, couldn't drink or couldn't breathe was unfeasible, so we had to start with the other one.
I felt a little pang of regret, of course. We had developed this portal machine for reasons that were not exactly moral. We wanted to invade each universe and plunder them. Actually, I didn't want to harm the universes; the people who commissioned me to work on this did. Oh well. People were marching into the portal in their spacesuits already to invade the universe without fire. I was to follow.
The first thing I noticed was that it was bitterly, bitterly cold, even with my suit on. The second was that nearly nothing moved. Only what we touched moved. The air was nearly still.
We marched for a long time. After what felt like hours, we spotted a humanoid, floating in the air and seemingly defying gravity. Of course we had to go talk to it.
I'm kidding, of course. One of us provoked it by throwing a spear at it. It bounced off with a clink. The humanoid slowly turned its gaze to us.
"Is it a war you want, fools? I know it is. You should have known that nothing in this universe can harm us. That is how we have taken over its entirety! Now, you will die!" With those words a swarm of similar beings leapt upon us with surprising speed.
Then, in an extremely anticlimactic turn of events, someone threw a stick of dynamite, detonated it, and killed every single one. They disintegrated.
I felt a little disoriented, and a little bit shocked that such a proud warrior race could be so easily wiped out with a few sticks of dynamite.
But of course, we had to continue.
| 2017-04-30T09:06:32
| 2017-04-30T08:52:54
| 234
| 39
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
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Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all.
|
I've got about 20/200 vision; however of the blur in the string of crowd to my left, each digit in the jumble of numbers still has clear edges, like a bad photoshop. I don't even bother to make them out until they step closer though, so that the smoldering numbers are silhouetted by the darkened buildings eventually behind them. I motioned to the door to my 5 o'clock and the group nearest went past, then behind me through the door. It was drizzling, and in-between each vague gesture of invitation I brought my head down to stare at the relaxing splashes on the pavement in front of me, periodically obscured by my breath. The rain made everyone impatient, but the man to my left stepped forward slowly; still in front of the crowd behind him. Unmoving, my eyes wandered from the calming spatter to his ragged moccasins. He then said something in an unfamiliar accent, that didn't manage to break through the general hum of the crowd. I finally moved my head. 7219. I squinted and, still staring at the monoliths aligned above his head, I said, "Seventy-two? What are you doing here?" He didn't look seventy. His eyebrows twitched up, and then he put a shit-eating grin on his face. That unfamiliar accent, his expression and the situation grew unconsciously on my nerves. 7219. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him closer, expecting the seventy-two to part from a nineteen behind him. It didn't. I stood up from my stool
as far as i got, not a writer obviously, but this prompt was way too interesting not to imagine up a scenario about
editedit: i think i'll finish this story later tonight, if anyone cares lol
| 2017-09-01T23:43:36
| 2017-09-01T23:35:54
| 30
| 11
|
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss.
|
Clip check. Two tucked in the belt, you never know. Chamber check. Clear.
Acting time. A nice dinner. Pleasant conversation, a smile on the face.
Clip check. Chamber check. There's a knife in my shoe but I don't think I'll need it.
We knock on the door. Lovely woman says hello, invites us in. Tea. Says her husband will be a little late.
Clip check. Chamber check. Knife check.
We drink tea. I'm trying to make a good first impression. Smiles and stupid jokes that aren't really funny or original, but it's a starting point.
The tea has me needing to take a piss. I ask where the bathroom is. I go in the small room. Clip check. Chamber check. Knife check. Review what I'd seen outside - where are the exits? Where are the sightlines?
I come back out. Her father arrives.
Emotion check. You have to act. Keep it cool.
He shakes my hand and we pretend we don't know each other. He glances at the arm I'd broken last month when I was on an operation. Smiles.
We have a great night, everything was fantastic. Dinner was great, everyone was joking around and having fun. Except every now and then, I'd see him looking at me with cold and piercing eyes. We'd both seen that motherfucker die and we'd been paid for it. One of the rules in this line of business is that you don't ask questions. I didn't know about his family, but I wouldn't want him to know about mine either.
It was unspoken. We both knew we were bad people who did bad things for money, but his last shred of humanity meant he didn't want his daughter in that world,
and I could tell.
I knew that if I ever saw her again, his next contract would be for me.
I never saw her again.
|
Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”.
| 2020-06-05T14:06:14
| 2020-06-05T14:04:11
| 128
| 10
|
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black.
I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed.
At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to.
Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle.
Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through.
It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured.
I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door.
"Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right.
"Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded.
"Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone.
With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item.
"Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle.
My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk.
As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years.
I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes.
I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black.
*Don't tell them you can see.*
What the hell does that mean? Who's them?
I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store.
Who...what the fuck is that...
"John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was...
Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea.
I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth.
"Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter.
As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before?
Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk.
That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black.
As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit.
It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder.
My entire body tensed up.
"We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile.
|
Two years ago, I and everyone else on Earth lost their sight in an event that came to be known as The Great Blinding. It was a day much like any other, but I've suddenly realized that my sight has returned to me. Overcome with surprise that I could once again see, I looked around, and upon taking in my immediate surroundings, I realize that every available wall, floor, and surface has been painted with the exact same message: "Don't Tell Them You Can See."
"Hey, you!" they said. "Can you see?"
"Nope," I replied, and they never found out.
| 2022-10-09T01:59:27
| 2019-08-26T10:49:52
| 4,287
| 11
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
u/numbers909 ok no worries, how about this:
It was black. The sound of absolutely nothing pierced my eardrums as if there was an infinitely high pitched tone passing through my very skull. My skin was void of sensation, and smell or taste remained absent. My breathing had disappeared yet I wasn't drowning. It was disorienting.
It had been about 10 minutes since they closed me in here. I remember the chamber doors closing as I was lowered into some fluid, exactly the temperature of my body.
They told me it would take a few minutes for the freezing to occur, and that I probably wouldn't feel a thing. They had hooked me up to so many IVs and electrodes I figured I would be out like a light.
And yet, the faint sounds of trickling water had disappeared a little while ago. I kept wondering when I was going to fall asleep.
They had told me not to move a muscle. They had told me to close my eyes. The had told me to relax, and that everything was taken care of.
And still, I could think. I was fully conscious. After 10 minutes of no stimuli, I started seeing random faces pop up in front of me. They looked so real, but I knew my eyes were closed.
A deep feeling of panic rose up to my conciousness. The type of panic you feel when you realize something is very, very WRONG. Yet this feeling didn't originate in my body. The typical response of adrenaline, anxiety, energy through all of my limbs and the pit in my stomach which was supposed to accompany my mental state was just... absent. It was as if I had no body, no sensations, and no feelings.
I tried to move. I squirmed, I sat up, I ran, and I cried. I waved my arms all around and punched myself in the face. No matter what I did, there was no stimuli. I could move every muscle and yet there was no reaction, no resistance, and no contact with anything.
My mind raced. Random images flowed through my mind's eye like some endless fractal. I flew through intangible tunnels of light as time and space warped all around me. Spiders. A lamp. A curving, looping road. Mountains smaller than me, and ants larger.
I lost track of time. Going in and out of hallucinations, I began to lose all sense of sanity. Who was I? Where was I? When was I?
There were brief periods when the hallucinations stopped and I could think clearly. I analyzed my situation - clearly something had gone wrong. Had I died? Was this hell? I was floating through an endless universe of nothing - not even blackness, just nothing. I tried to find something to grab onto, anything. I looked around for sound, and listened for light.
Cycles upon cycles, lifetimes upon lifetimes, I wandered the recesses of insanity. How long had it been, I wondered. 5 years? 100 years? 500?
Sometimes the hallucinations stopped and I fell into unconsciousness. During those times I was only aware of one thing - cold. I wasn't cold, IT was cold. There was no me, no I any longer.
God showed me the universal truth of nothingness and I surrendered to it. Time and space were illusions of the mind.
Time doesn't exist in eternity. Infinite lifetimes passed; I lived the life of a butterfly, an elephant, a farmer, a stone, and a businessman. Feelings and thoughts were ephemeral vortexes of causality and I bore witness to them all at once.
Then something was.
A break in nothing. A spear puncturing the perfect tranquility of absence. It was electricity.
I saw a network of light, a web of neuronal connections light up in an explosive fireworks show. It was the inside of a brain.
Zap. Zap. Zap. The connections were firing more intensely, more rapidly, and time began to collapse. Each end of time separated in either direction and was stretched like a piece of taffy.
I latched onto the zapping like an infant suckling a teat.
Then I felt it. It was as if my awareness was torn from below, grabbed by a body and a mind and shackled to a specific point in space. Pain flooded into my consciousness and overwhelmed me with feelings. I remembered what arms and legs were. I fit back into my body as if it were a glove, enveloping me in searing hot oil.
Suddenly a sensation pulsed through every fiber of my being and a thump in my chest exploded with the sound of rushing water.
Then again. And again. With each thump, pain washed over my body and felt like millions of needles pierced my skin. The pain was far worse than anything I had experienced in all my lives.
Time moved achingly slow. I was being brought back to life, I was being unfrozen, I had been in an experiment; a cryo-something. I began to think in words again.
I opened my eyes. In the blackness I could see something. A door. The door opened and light poured in to my pupils. It burned and I instinctively wanted to turn away, so I moved my neck muscles for the first time in eternity. I lifted my hands and felt the cold air leak in to my skin. *I* was cold.
A cacophony of agony played all around me. Drips of water were as loud as rushing waterfalls, the sound of a synthetic beeping were mortal screams, and the clink of metal was a gong.
I was raised through the doors and into the light. A human standing next to me had on white clothes and held a syringe. Bags of fluid, tubes of red and white, and wires of all colors tangled out of my body.
"WELCOME BACK" the man yelled in my ears.
Tears streamed out of my eyes as i wiggled my toes and fingers and felt the agonizing movement on my skin - blissfully torturous.
The man reached to my mouth and slowly removed something enormous from inside my chest. I vomited it up and for the first time I gasped and inhaled thick hot air into my lungs. I sputtered, coughed, and choked as I regained control of my diaphragm.
I tested my voice.
"H-" a coughing fit possessed me.
"H-How long" I forced out with a rasp between coughs.
"Well we went slightly over our original timeline," he said as he looked at his wrist.
"It was about one hour and three minutes. You're a real trouper!"
|
Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T05:38:03
| 2017-12-17T02:36:12
| 46
| 11
|
[WP] Tropeday 2.6 - Who Prays for Satan?
>Trope: Devices and conventions that a writer can reasonably rely on as being present in the audience members' minds and expectations.
Tropes are like finely tuned instruments. Just as a Stradivarius in the hands of a master violinist can play the sweetest notes known to man, a trope in the hands of a master writer can be the most powerful literary device put to paper. Conversely, using a Steinway as a carpentry workbench or a trope as a catch-all short story formula is, for lack of a better term, **heresy** ([BLAM!](http://www.unrememberedlegion.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/commissar.jpg)). So, grab your weapons of choice - it's Tropeday.
###This Week's Trope: [Sympathy for the Devil](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SympathyForTheDevil)
>But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner who needed it most?
As much as it's inconvenient to admit in the theater of modern politics, not all issues are morally black and white. No war is a matter of "good versus evil," no conflict is "freedom versus tyranny," hell, even most simple arguments rarely boil down to a clearly defined "right" or "wrong." We live in a gray world, where good guys can be kinda dickish and bad guys aren't so bad if you see things from their perspective.
That's where Sympathy for the Devil comes in.
Villains do villainous actions (shocker, I know), but few villains are all evil, all the time. Sometimes they're well-intentioned extremists, or actually heroes with bad publicity. For whatever reason, your protagonists find some reason to sympathize with their position - whether it's because the villain was bullied as a child and is taking it out on the world, or because the villain was a hero all along, it's up to you to figure out how to make the villain sympathetic.
Make sure to include a description of *how* you used the trope in this week's challenge. You can submit your story here itself, or post to another thread and link it here. Just in case you need inspiration, feel free to draw from any of the following sources:
* [Playing with a trope](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PlayingWithATrope)
* [Sympathy for the Devil - Rolling Stones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBecM3CQVD8)
* [Babiru Kids](http://th02.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2014/299/e/5/babiru_kids__by_duster132-d848qmp.jpg) by Nivanh Chanthara
* [Substitution](http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2012/186/7/d/substitution_by_miles_johnston-d562y4w.jpg) by Miles Johnston
* [Endurance Suite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-Xt3-XbHI8) from Interstellar, mixed by YourFavorateMusic
Have any ideas for Tropeday? Tropes you want to see, themes you want to explore? Suggestions for Tropeday in general? My inbox is (usually) [empty](http://media.tumblr.com/0ccc21f5119e69c1a383229fa510775a/tumblr_inline_mv1expWOQW1rvdr5o.gif), and I'm happy to oblige.
---
[What is Tropeday?](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20pwrk/ot_welcome_to_tropeday/)
Past Tropedays:
* Tropeday Series 1: [1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20pxuc/cw_tropeday_contest_1_introductions/), [2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21ds18/cw_tropeday_contest_2/), [3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21zr40/cw_tropeday_contest_3/), [4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/22ioam/cw_tropeday_4_the_hopeless_war_contest/), [5](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25qtch/wp_tropeday_contest_6/), [6](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25qtch/wp_tropeday_contest_6/), [7](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/269i9i/cw_tropeday_contest_7/), [8](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/289b7d/wp_do_not_go_gentle/)
* Tropeday Series L: [1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ar00c/cw_tropeday_prompt_the_morality_chip/), [2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2bfl55/cw_tropeday_prompt_disposable_fianc%C3%A9/), [3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2cpdg3/cw_tropeday_prompt_cutting_the_knot/), [4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2dcc31/cw_tropeday_prompt_its_not_cheating_unless_you/), [5](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2e0mab/cw_tropeday_prompt_only_one_man_survived_oh_wait/), [6](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2eninj/cw_tropeday_prompt_turn_cliche_into_something/), [7](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2fh35z/cw_tropeday_prompt_team_rocket_wins/), [8](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2g37u2/cw_tropeday_prompt_the_hardboiled_detective/), [9](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2gqgev/cw_tropeday_post_an_unreliable_narrator_in_an/), [10](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hf0ez/cw_big_damn_heroes_go_cyberpunk/), [11](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2i2kbg/cw_tropeday_prompt_why_is_she_a_special_snowflake/), [12](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2iqr1n/cw_tropeday_everything_is_better_with_princesses/), [13](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2jeg87/wp_tropeday_prompt_redeeming_the_idiot_ball/)
* Tropeday Series 2: [1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2r6i69/cw_tropeday_2015_electric_boogaloo/), [2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2rxhf0/cw_tropeday_21_noblesse_oblige/), [3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2spi93/cw_tropeday_22_no_rest_for_the_wicked/), [4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2uagd8/cw_tropeday_23_the_needs_of_the_many/), [5](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2v3y5g/wp_tropeday_24_you_are_not_alone/), [6](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2vx2y0/wp_tropeday_25_who_wants_to_live_forever/)
|
morningstar
everyone forgets
that he was an angel once too.
it’s the same when you watch old video footage
of the two towers burning, the people
falling and jumping out of buildings
it's the same when you hear doors
slam and voices scream and you wonder
if you should do anything, should you
stand up stand up stand up
maybe turn the volume up louder until it all
comes together in your head it's all fiction
you remember fourth grade when the kid
with broken teeth brought that
flare gun and shot herself
only singed her red hair
but how you laughed
they say he wasn't good enough,
he ripped his wings off and dropped like a stone
I believe it wasn't that he fell, it wasn't that.
he jumped
|
I won't try to excuse my actions. You *people*. So judgmental. You preach compassion and empathy and all the while you have no idea...
I don't need to excuse myself. Someone has to cart the garbage to the landfills. Someone has to decide if five men die or five million starve.
And someone has to give you a choice.
How can there be right without wrong? Good without evil? Beauty without all the ugliness in the world?
Without me, you have no choice. Without a choice, you have no way to enter at the gates.
Stupid sniveling fools. You so *long* to go to 'heaven'. Do you think there would be a door to heaven if you'd never left the garden? *You did not die.*
And there was no choice. Spending your days, always in your pretty little garden cage. That's what you would have done. If *you* even existed. With the mindless obedience of children, or the devotion of an animal waiting to be petted, you would have wandered through the trees and flowers, bored out of your fucking minds.
I gave you a choice. I gave you your only other option.
He made you, but *I* made you *human*.
Does that make me a bad guy? How can you say so, you who talk constantly of rights, and freedoms?
Sure, it's not the best job in the world. Do you think I don't wish I had another? Have none of you been faced with a distasteful task - a chore that *must* be completed? Who would do this job if I did not?
Would any of you have the courage to face the scorn of an entire planet?
To be hated by all, and loved by none. **I made you.**
Would anyone else face that hatred? Walk the ages in solitude, with no hope of redemption?
I think not.
I alone have the strength to bear this burden.
I alone.
For all eternity... alone.
| 2015-02-20T10:07:48
| 2015-02-20T05:51:57
| 55
| 18
|
[WP] Man takes a cute picture of his two year old daughter and decides to upload it to Reddit. The post gains good karma, but one user suddenly posts the comment "That's not your daughter. You didn't take that picture" followed by an imgur link that shows the exact same photo uploaded 6 months ago.
|
It was a cute photo, really. I was rather proud of myself catching the moment the kitten spun in midair trying to catch my teenage daughter's hair as she flipped it over her shoulder. So I uploaded it to imgur and posted a link to /r/aww. Because that's what you do.
Initial feedback was positive. Not skyrocket to the front page positive, but it was good. i went to bed happy to have shared the moment with Reddit.
In the morning, I was excited to log into my account and see how the photo had done overnight. But my excitement turned to cold disappointment almost immediately. The comments devolved very quickly when I turned my back on the thread.
"Cute girl. Very nice"
"What's her name?"
"She got a Instagram?"
"eyy bby"
But the internet being what it is, those types of comments didn't surprise me. I didn't like people looking at my daughter that way, especially in response to a photo *I* posted, but it was hardly shocking. What really got me was a post that went a completely unexpected direction.
"That's some shitty karmawhoring dude" followed by an imgur link. A link that let to my photo, posted six months ago. My photo that I just took yesterday, online for months. How is that even possible? In response to the karmawhoring accusation, a karmadecay post listed the subreddits the earlier photo had been posted in:
/r/pics
/r/animalsbeingjerks
/r/cute
/r/creepy
Creepy? That doesn't sound right. I opened the comments of that thread and was greeted with comments informing me that "That cat's eyes are soulless" and asking "Why would someone let their cat play with a dead girl."
"Honey," I called out, "come look at this."
The house was silent. I got up and padded to my daughter's room. Knocking on the door, I called out again.
"Are you up?"
I inched the door open and a shaft of light from the hallway fell on an empty bed. I flipped on the light. Bare walls, empty dresser, untouched bed. The only item in the room was a photo of my daughter on the nightstand. The same photo we'd used for the flyers at her memorial service. The cat, no longer a kitten really, was curled up beside the photo, purring in his slumber.
|
Yeah Imma use a throwaway for this one.
A year ago when I was still only using 1 acc, I submitted a picture of my daughter to a very popular sub. I got some few dozen upvotes at first, and then the creepy PMs and shit started coming in. Fucking tards on this site, I swear. Anyway there was one guy who claimed the usual OP is a bundle, but the shitty thing was, he linked to the same picture of my daughter, except uploaded several months earlier (on Imgur). After that the PMs only started to get worse, people claiming I'm sending some secret message to other pedos out there, and all my recent posts got bombarded by downvotes and there was even one neckbeard mod who wanted my personal info "or he would report me".
I had like 20k comment karma on that account too, and in the next few days I went down to 14k, mostly due to the dumb witchhunt. I even uploaded evidence that it was indeed my daughter but few people saw that post.
I'm actually quite sad over the incident, because most of my karma was from thoughtful, contributing comments and generally they weren't upvoted more than double digits. If you read this Alan, GO SCREW YOURSELF, totally unnecessary.
| 2015-03-27T02:19:34
| 2015-03-27T00:42:43
| 112
| 11
|
[WP] You are a brilliant Med School student who uses extensive knowledge on the human body to win street fights for money to pay for tuition. One night you face your most difficult opponent: a Physics major
Imagine House as an MMA fighter...
Edit: I've always wanted to see this plot as a TV show. I think it'd be really cool especially if the show used a lot of medical terminology like they did in House.
|
I stood in the ring, grinning, as the crowd cheered. 24 consecutive wins since I started; this would be my 25th. More relevantly, this would be $5,000 in my pocket.
And I hadn't even broken a bone.
"Joining the ring is... Impulse!"
The crowd parts. A hulking shadow emerges -- arms thick as steel pipes, chest as broad as billboard. I tense, biting my lip. I'm usually undersized compared to my opponent, but this guy is *huge*.
He steps into the light, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
He's big -- but none of it is muscle. His many chins wobble as he huffs and puffs, and his belly jiggles with each step. This will be a piece of cake... which he apparently indulges in often.
"3, 2, 1... begin!"
I dart around him easily, jabbing at the temporal part of his sphenoid bone with a phoenix punch -- which Dr. Leroy said was bound to knock someone unconscious. He swerves his head just out of reach, though, and backs away towards the far end of the ring.
What?
Grunting, he begins running full force at me. Okay, I've seen this move from beginners -- they get scared in the scuffle, so they back off and try to tackle me with a running start. Thankfully, it has an easy defense: a jab to the neck, which I hardly need to put weight into, since they're going so fast --
*THUD.*
My nose cracks. My neck-jabbing fingers crumple. I fall to the floor, every bone on fire.
"Guess you don't know about inelastic collisions, huh?"
I gurgle in response.
"Impulse-momentum theorem. More weight, more momentum; that energy's gotta go somewhere." He sneers. "Looks like it went into making you even uglier."
The world fades to black.
|
*I'm an engineering student, so I'm doing it from that point of view.*
I dropped my guard and swung my leg out in a round kick, extending it out as far as possible for the maximum moment arm. My opponent swung when he saw an opening, placing all his weight on his front leg as my kick connected and swept his main support out from under him. His arms flailed as he fell to the ground and all it took was a falling elbow with the force of my weight behind it to finish the fight.
A bell dinged. "And the winner is Seize the Moment!"
I stepped out of the makeshift ring and went to walk through the crowd when someone stopped me.
"You don't look that strong. I bet I could beat you in the ring," the thin guy who now stood in front of me said.
I looked him up and down, assessing his thin shoulders and short limbs. This should be a piece of cake.
"Alright," I smirked. "Easy money."
The announcer perked up as I strode back into the ring, my new opponent entering behind me. "Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we have a very special bout for you tonight. Your champion, Seize the Moment will take on The Hyppocritic Oath!"
Wait, what? This guy's a fighter? I looked him over again, thinking there be might something about him I missed. He had no muscle to speak of, and was too skinny to be able to generate much force in his swings. Still, he must be good at something.
The bell dinged and we started circling each other. The 'Oath' moved like a fighter, keeping his hands up and making sure his feet never crossed. He was cautious waiting for me to make a move.
I closed on him and swung my body with a hook but he dodged out of the way and struck my elbow. My arm started tingling. The bastard had hit my funny bone!
I backed up as the tingling subsided. It was clear this guy knew something about anatomy, but it didn't matter. There was no way I was letting him beat me.
The fight wore on. I managed a few good hits but he just took them and kept striking at my pressure points. I could feel myself slowing down, and then I got hit with a wave of dizziness. Wait, when did I last drink any water?
The 'Oath' seemed to notice my dizziness and smirked. "You should've had a rest before getting back in the ring," he taunted me. "I've been watching you and you haven't had a drink for the last three fights. You're getting dehydrated."
He circled me as I slowed. I felt weak and I couldn't concentrate. "You feel like you're about to faint. You can't swing as hard, you're sluggish," he continued. "Didn't think a med student would be able to beat an engineer, did you?"
The 'Oath' moved in to finish the fight. I tried to push him away but I couldn't muster the strength. He slipped behind me and got me in a choke hold. I had to get out this.
Wait, why didn't I take advantage of *his* anatomy? I swung my fist down, seeking a very specific target and finding it. My opponent let go of his hold and I spun around. I raised my knee as he doubled over, resulting in a satisfying thud as his own momentum forced his head straight into my strike. The 'Oath' collapsed and didn't get back up.
The bell dinged, but I didn't pay any attention. I needed some water.
| 2016-10-11T14:13:34
| 2016-10-11T13:52:01
| 39
| 18
|
[WP] A man moves into a haunted house from (insert scary movie here). The demon in the house doesn't realize how dangerous the man really is.
|
The old Russell residence stood abandoned years after the horrendous murders that Tim Russell had committed. Its lawn had overgrown and the pavement leading up to the house was cracked. The paint on the walls had succumbed to the elements and had fallen off in most places, revealing the wood underneath, yet, for a house this old, the windows and the interior looked fresh. The front door still stood in its hinges, which was unusual for abandoned houses, as most had already been broken into. This perplexed the odd man in the brown overcoat.
“How peculiar.” He said under his breath, taking a screwdriver out of his pocket and fidgeting with it on the door. A few seconds later, he gave the door a push and it opened, revealing the rather pristine insides of an abandoned house. The plants inside had wilted, yet nothing else looked anywhere near the age of the house.
The man wasted no time and went to scout out the surroundings. He flicked a light switch and, to his surprise, the lights in the house turned on. “Peculiar indeed.” He muttered under his breath again. There were still visible blood stains on the floors where the bodies of Kaylie Russell and Michael Dumont where found, and those looked rather fresh. Glistening even.
The man noticed a mirror in a side room and went to it. It was in perfect shape, much as the house. He approached it, looking over his brown overcoat and adjusting his red bowtie. He turned on his heel only to find the door to the room now closed.
“Oh, very good.” The man said, this time not muttering. “So this is where you reside. The infamous mirror behind all these murders. Now, what makes you tick,” the man exclaimed with hearable excitement in his voice. He started fidgeting with the sides of the mirror, knocking on the frame a few times and listening to the wall behind the mirror. He was reaching into his pocket when he noticed something in the mirror. A shape he had not seen in a long time.
“Oh dear, oh dear. Mental projections, nasty ones at that,” he muttered, still looking at the image the mirror was showing him. The image was of a young, red headed girl who later on had joined the man on his adventures. The man looked away from the reflection and produced an object from his pocket. It looked like an ornate screwdriver, yet for the tip there was a green bulb. He pointed it at the mirror, clicked a button and the bulb lit up, emitting a loud sound. The image in the mirror distorted for a second, then calmed and the reflection of the young girl was gone. In its place stood a now older version of the girl, looking straight at the man, yet her eyes were different. Her had been replaced by reflective surfaces.
The man turned around and there she stood, in the flesh. The red headed woman that the man had the pleasure to call a companion once. “Oh, I wonder if that’s a hologram or a deeper level of the mental projection” the man said with glee, uncharacteristic to a situation like this. He turned back to the mirror, pointed his screwdriver at it again and activated it. The woman now started to speak “What are you?” it said with a metallic voice.
The man looked back at his past companion, produced a smile and simply said: “Hello. I’m the Doctor.”
|
This idea is stolen from the greatest line in the watchmen, so I'll set it up like a trailer:
Lightning crashes and illuminates the old house as a seemingly normal man walks in from the rain...
Cut to black scene
A low rumbling begins on screen where you only see a glimpse of a horrific monster instantly flooding the screen with light and everything then falls back to black and the sound cuts out...
7 seconds pass before you see the man again, eerily smiling into the camera, neck muscles protruding out and a sinister look in his eyes...
He speaks slowly and methodically....
"You fail to realize...I'm not locked in here with you....
*the man demonically rushes the camera and says without a hint of lost breath*
You're locked in here with me....*
*the man then makes an upward swing toward the camera and fades back to black*
| 2015-03-10T09:39:27
| 2015-03-10T04:24:13
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] You have the ability to see heart-strings. You can see the connections that people have with each other. Each connection appears to be a colored line running from one person's heart to another. The colors, thickness, and texture of the line determine the strength and type of connection.
Based off of [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/godtiersuperpowers/comments/nn1e36/you_can_see_heartstrings/) thread, where people keep asking me for a writing prompt.
|
I didn't get home until late that night, and found her asleep on the couch. The TV was on some old sitcom. The flickering lights played across her peaceful face, her familiar snore just barely audible over the laugh track. I walked over to gently wake her up, but something stopped me in my tracks.
One of her strings had grown. I frowned, and looked at it closer. The other ones were all the way I remembered: the light grey spiderweb strands reaching out to various acquaintances, the cozy cream-colored knitted fabric connecting her to her mom, the honey pouring sideways towards her close friends. And of course, the deep red silk thread tying us together.
But here was another one. I didn't recognize it, at first. It looked almost like a friendship, and I almost convinced myself that it was. But the color was a little too deep.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"You're home," she said. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," I said. My chest ached.
She smiled at me, and I looked at our shared heart-string. It was still so strong. I looked at the new line. Maybe it wasn't red. Maybe it was just a deep honey, a deep friendship.
I decided not to look at it again.
|
I really should be going to sleep, but I came from the original post and had to write something, so here I go.
\[Poem\]
I hold the fabric in my hand,
a scarlet silk thread
flowing in rhythm with the beats of my heart.
&#x200B;
Oh, how I wish I could cut it
No longer tied and imprisoned
To feelings of hidden attachment
&#x200B;
Could I end all red and scarlet ties,
Ignite it with the passion I wish to end
set my burning desires aflame
There will be no single moment of doubt
&#x200B;
I dream of dying our thread back to blue
Of days I could follow the string
Find you at the other end
And love you as one loves a friend
&#x200B;
One day I will see your threads
Paying attention to details I now wish to ignore
In the sight of one of them, red and shiny as my own,
There will be another end,
Not mine
And I will be happy.
| 2021-05-28T17:35:49
| 2021-05-28T15:00:01
| 172
| 39
|
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk.
|
Those who say alcoholism is selfish really didn't know how selfless it was for me to stay drunk out of my fucking mind.
The drinking made everything just a little too slow. Thoughts would trot instead of racing, memories would stumble gently upon my brain instead of hitting it full-force. Everything was a bit dim; and when all the thoughts your brain throws at you are incandescent, you learn to enjoy the dimness. Not the quiet—there hasn't been quiet in a long time—but the dimness.
Life had the glow of a camera film left in the sun, overexposed and blinding. Like glaring straight into a volcano. My so-called "bad habits" made it a bit more tolerable. It was by no means a perfect method, but it's what worked. Like walking in the rain with a half-broken umbrella.
The media salivated at my drinking. "World's strongest man finds solace at the bottom of a bottle" *is* a really catchy headline. My teammates, though, were less enthused by it.
"You're literally unkillable, Worldslayer," Thunderlord would say. "Why do you drink so much?"
"You can shatter countries with a punch," Vigilance cried out. "Yet you can't put the drink down for one moment?"
I'd tell them I could quit at any time. They didn't buy it. And in hindsight, I can't really blame them.
Malice was the only one that understood. She knew what it was like. She'd drink the first two drinks for fun, the next two out of social duties, and the next 20 just to drown out her voices. That was her superpower. She had these voices just warning her of every danger, every disaster, every incoming punch. The drinking made it worse. She was a paranoid drunk, and the voices would go into overdrive right after drink five or six. Drinks seven and onwards used to be just to calm her down. She tried to quit, but it wasn't that simple. She had too much pain behind the curtains, and the voices that saved her wouldn't let her forget it.
Lately, she'd been feeling the voices slip away from her. On one hand, she liked the quiet. But that quiet also meant she didn't think she had a place—not in the team, not in the world. So she'd just keep drinking and drinking. Just so the voices would stay with her.
I can't say I was truly surprised when she passed, but that really didn't make it hurt any less. One of the voices was just a little bit too late to warn her of a bullet going her way. She tried to dodge, but by the time she realized what was going on, the bullet was already lodged in her heart. It was the work of a paramilitary organization, a ultranationalist network somewhere in the Balkans.
I quit drinking cold turkey before she was even buried. Wine to water. Drinking reminded me of Malice, and that made the dim pain just as irradiating and incandescent as everything else.
I vowed to take revenge for her. Thunderlord though it was a grand gesture. Midas thought I was joking. But now that the booze isn't flowing, the anger is taking its place.
After all, you can't be Worldslayer if there is nothing to slay.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zx7kqk/wp_as_the_most_powerful_superhero_on_the_team_no/j21gmjz/)
|
"Um, Izzy? You doing all right?" I ignored the question; knowing it came from a place of concern didn't make it any easier to answer. The darkness of my room pressed in around me, feeling like a comforting blanket, hiding me from the world; hiding me from the reality of Laia's death.
"Only, you've been in there for five days, and the only thing you've eaten," There was a pause and a rustle from beyond the door. "Is a bit of oatmeal and half a power bar." Again silence fell, and I stayed curled in the middle of my bed, wishing Nell would go away, would stop caring so much about me, about everyone.
"I know detoxing can be really hard, and you quit multiple things at once, so it's probably even worse."
She wouldn't leave. All I wanted was to be left alone, and she wouldn't leave. Detoxing wasn't the problem. It was nothing compared to what was coming afterward. What would rise up when everything fully left my system. And even that didn't compare to what I was feeling right now. Laia was gone. I felt like I had been cored, the heart of me taken out and given to wild dogs to eat. Nothing would ever compare to this, nothing would ever make me feel better.
Our last conversation floated in my memory, Laia laughing at the smoke rings I blew with my pipe.
"*What would happen if you stopped all the intoxicants*?" She was always using bigger words, she enjoyed the sound.
"*You don't want to know.*" I'd responded.
"*Promise me someday you'll quit. They can't be good for you*." Her face had turned serious. "*Promise me*." I had promised, and here I was, lying on my bed, quitting. Nell rapped on the door again, asking some other inane question. I buried my head into my knees, trying not to throw up. The last drug was leaving my system, and I knew what was coming next.
Pain burned through my veins, wildfire destroying a forest. Walls I had built in my mind, and constantly reinforced with the alcohol, with the drugs, with the tobacco were weakening, falling away. Slowly I uncurled from my crouch and slid off the bed. They would see now. They would understand why I stayed intoxicated. Why it wasn't better for me to be sober. Why Laia shouldn't have made me promise.
I swung open the door, watching Nell fall away from it, wincing at the look on my face.
"Izzy? Are you..." She trailed off, tears starting to fall from her eyes. They weren't her emotions, she'd never particularly liked Laia. No, those emotions weren't hers. They were *mine*.
I walked away leaving Nell blubbering on the floor. Entering the living room, I snarled at the others on the team. They didn't have time to react before my emotions overwhelmed them all. Jason exploded into fire, his superpower tied to emotion, and the couch he sat on joined the inferno. Anna curled into a ball, screaming, her voice causing my eardrums to bleed. Silas just stared, his face going blank, as he shook his head in denial. His hands gripped the edges of the chair he sat on, piercing through the upholstered arm.
I stared at them, my emotions running through us all. This was why I drank, this was why I smoked, this is why I did the drugs. Because this part of my power was uncontrolled. Because if I didn't dampen it, if I didn't hold it back it would spill over into everyone else. Everyone would feel *everything*. And I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
"*So why are you inflicting it on your team*?" The voice was a hallucination, I knew that yet I still turned, still searching for the slight figure I knew wasn't there.
"Because I... I... You're gone!"
"*And you're here. What are you going to do about it?*" It was a question she used to ask before. Every time we had a problem that seemed unsolvable, every time anything went wrong. Except she used to say, 'what are *we* going to do about it.' I stood there trying not to scream. Trying to hold everything back again, trying to stop.
"*Let go. Let me go. Let everything go. Stop trying to control everything, Izzy.*" The words broke me more than anything else I'd hallucinated before. I fell to my knees, and for the first time since my powers had manifested, for the first time since I was eighteen, I let go. I screamed, I curled into a ball and screamed out the pain, the hurt, the loss. Black crept at the edges of my vision as I fought to draw breath. And let it out again in another scream.
Hands laid on my arm, my head, my sides. One set was still warm as if it had been on fire. One was trying to be gentle, knowledgeable of its own strength. Two had no particular feeling, but I knew who they were all the same.
"We're here Izzy. We're here." Nell said, her voice cracking. "And we'll be here, every step of the way. You're not alone in this."
I opened my eyes, just a crack, taking in the concerned faces of the team. And behind them, I saw my memory, —or my hallucination— of Laia smiling and nodding.
"*That's it. Good job. You figured out what to do.*" And for the first time in five days, I closed my eyes and let go, spiralling into the deep unconsciousness of sleep.
— — — — — — —
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
| 2022-12-28T08:49:46
| 2022-12-28T07:43:52
| 1,700
| 463
|
[WP] You are Immortal. Every year you write a book chronicling what happened that year and hide it somewhere. Today archaeologists have found enough books to infer your existence.
|
To: editor@archaeology-today.tna-science-publishing.com
From: prof.william.n.dewer@illawarra.edu.au
Subject: Letter to the Editor - Archaeology Today
Dear Sir/Madam,
I must object to the inclusion of Dres. Finch and Xui Wei's latest article, ``Possible evidence for a single author of single year chronicle texts across multiple centuries'', AT March 2016, No 2, pp 157-173. The title obscures the most ridiculous premise, that a single person lived long enough to write several texts across multiple centuries and multiple languages. This is preposterous! I am well aware that when a distinguished but elderly scientist declares something to be impossible, that it might not be, however this claim of a person living more than three thousand years is just not supported by any possible biological explanation.
Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof, and in this case is clearly lacking. Their internal linguistic evidence of concordance is highly speculative. I will admit that they have developed some impressive tools for the statistical analysis of grammatical, orthographic and vocabulary choices across closely related languages, their use is not supported across the language gulfs that they try and stretch it. The internal text references amongst the chronicles of ``memory of past events'', that is, later texts referring to events in the distant past as experienced as if by the author is easily explained as a stylistic choice for this genre of text.
The archaeological argument, of an identical burial style for most texts can be better explained by the simple fact that a non-ritual burial for the purposes of storing archives will be a far simpler affair than a religious based burial, and so will naturally be more consistent between different cultures. Finally, the evidence of similar DNA specimens is probably the longest bow. I suspect a re-analysis will find that the ``identical DNA'', is merely a modern contaminant, or a common modern bacterial species that has colonised the articles in the hundred or so years since they individually were found.
I conclude by noting that I hope this is not indicitave of a deterioration in the editorial quality of a previously very well respected scientific journal, which was built up by the hard work of the late Emiritus Professor Simon Framingham. His passing late last year was very tragic, and I must commend your journal on a very nice memorial issue.
Yours Sincerely
Prof. Will N. Dewer.
--
To: Simon Williams <chucklebunny7@gmail.com>
From: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
Subject: Heads up!
Simon! (or whatever you call yourself these days)
Sorry I didn't catch up with you after your funeral (the most recent one, not the one during the last europe war) but I had a lot on my plate at the time. Never mind, next time you're in Sydney, we should grab a beer or two, they're much better now than the Sumerians.
Just wanted to let you know, in case you hadn't seen it, that there's an article in one of your old journals that very nearly collars us. Well, me specifically. All those diaries were a mistake. Yes. You were right, I was wrong. I honestly thought it would be someone like Patrick or Sean that blew it for us all.
Cheers,
Will
--
To: Patrick <makeitso.44@hotmail.com>; Sean <expectmetodie_29@yahoo.com>; Keanu <whoahmatrixdude@gmail.com>
From: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
Subject: I stuffed up a little
Hi guys,
I made a bit of a boo-boo (yes, it was the diaries, yes, I told Simon, yes, he's going to be gloating about it for the next two hundred years)
You might just want to age a bit, maybe have a health scare over the coming months, just to throw them off?
Seeya,
Will
--
To: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
From: Simon Finisnon <chucklebunny7@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: Heads up!
I told you so! Didn't I tell you? I told you this would happen, and it happened, and I can say I told you so!
Seriously would love to catch up, I think I'll be down your way in a month or so. Still settling in to the new life, and I wouldn't mind testing out Mr. Finisnon's passport. A silly idea to copy your punning name, but I couldn't help myself.
I told you so!
Simon
--
To: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
From: Patrick <makeitso.44@hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: I stuffed up a little
Will,
I have to be extraordinarily careful in my chosen profession. My cover story is immaculate, and I shall be continuing as before. I have also informed Ian, and he said to me that he was "most disappointed" with you. You know what Will? Screw you! I hope they do find you!
Sir Patrick
--
To: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
From: Sean <expectmetodie_29@yahoo.com>
Subject: Re: I stuffed up a little
So you've stuffed up, it's sure to occur sometimes. Soon, Simon will be seeing to it. Just don't do it again, it makes it very hard for the rest of us. I think they suspect me, but I assure them that it's just a very good workout regime.
Yours,
Sean
--
To: Will Dewer <brillo_snake@yahoo.com>
From: Keanu <whoahmatrixdude@gmail.com>
Subject: Re: I stuffed up a little
Dude! Seriously?
--
*Hi, first time posting here, hope I haven't broken any rules.*
|
"Our problem," Crompton said, "is that the only real way we can link you to these diaries of yours... is to kill you."
I smiled thinly, and nodded. "I don't care. As I've said before, go ahead and do it." I gave the surveillance camera in the corner of the ceiling a meaningful stare.
From his chair across the desk, Crompton laughed.
"Just kill me in a way that doesn't leave a great big hole in the back of my head, please," I added. "I'm happy to take poison."
"Yes, I've read the transcription. Your papyrus diary is quite an artefact. It says you were forced to take hemlock. The cover's dated..." Bald and corpulent, Crompton gestured casually at the papyrus roll stored in its protective box. "...With a load of hieroglyphic scribblings they darn sure didn't teach me about in Fed school."
"We'd refer to the year now as 2157 BC," I said.
"Mmm, and our carbon dating lab guys would roughly agree with you."
Standing at the back of the small square interview room was Crompton's senior colleague, Sam Jackson. His tall, sparse frame now left the shadows in the corner, illuminating a bony, pock-marked face. He was holding one of my diaries, one of the later ones. Perhaps for effect he started flipping through it, though he must have surely scrutinized the contents for hours already.
"We still think this a hoax," Jackson said. "A very clever one perhaps, but undoubtedly a hoax."
"Which is why you've brought me here," I said dryly.
"I don't really give a damn about the papyrus roll dug up in Egypt," Jackson continued. "It is interesting though that this diary, dated 1951, correlates a lot of the data transcribed from the papyrus discovered years later. But maybe there's a way you found around that."
"Except why would I want to-?" I started.
"Please, let me finish." Jackson closed the musty old notebook and chucked it on the desk with the others. "Forensics has matched the handwriting on all the written texts to yours. They've dated all the texts - even the papyrus roll - to at least as close as dammit to what the writer has indicated on the front page. Style, content, psychological profile points to-"
"One writer, yes, I know," I said, impatiently.
After millennia of world-bound existence, patience wasn't a strong characteristic of mine. I only survived the daily tramp inside my skull by reinventing myself every couple of hundred years. I had made sure I tasted defeat as well as victory, men as well as women, poverty as well as wealth. The only thing I couldn't allow myself was notoriety. My immortal condition had to be concealed from the world. I was smart. I had learned that discovery of my immortality would be the cause of my destruction or brutalization at the hands of a jealous humanity.
"What dates do we have again, Crompton?"
The FBI agent removed a small notebook from his jacket pocket and opened it. "2157BC, 734BC, 555, 1146, 1589, 1834, 1951, 2002," he said.
"You know I could almost believe you wrote the last two," said Jackson, "except for the fact you don't look a day over eighteen."
I wouldn't do. Once I had reached adulthood, I had stopped ageing. Skin, organs, muscle tissue, all flawless. Cells were still shed, but they regrew.
"What's the point of these books, assuming you wrote them?" Jackson asked.
I sighed. For the first time in nearly 5,000 years I was trapped. Technology and good old human curiosity had at last caught up with me. After millennia, did it all end here in this windowless basement underneath a Chicago police station.
"I'd like some more water."
Crompton replenished my glass, and after a few sips I began my incredible story.
"I wrote a text a year, obviously using the relevant technology at the time."
"Why?" Jackson wanted to know.
"I wanted to chronicle my story," I replied. "I'm immortal. I can't die. My body can be destroyed, atomized even, but those events are unlikely. I've been run over a few times, been conscripted in a war once or twice, but generally I've learnt to avoid danger when I can."
"How many books is that, for chrissakes?"
"Nearly 5,000."
"5,000?" Jackson said. "We have eight."
"Generally I hid them well," I said. "All over the world. They were usually buried. I started keeping lists of where they were hidden." I fumbled in my jeans pocket and threw a flash drive across the desk. "All 4,892 locations are now stored on that."
"You've been busy," Crompton said.
"I had time aplenty."
I knew the next question even as my acutely tuned ears heard the distant, muffled gunshots coming from upstairs. There were screams too. These screams weren't coming from my eternal pursuer. They were coming from the shooters.
"And who the hell is the... Black Time Knight you keep referring to in these texts?" Jackson asked, with a grin.
Slow, confident, heavy footsteps on the stairs outside. I closed my eyes. After nearly five millennia was I now to fail in my guardianship of the human race? Was all of humanity's time and space about to converge on this one tiny point, a police interview room in Chicago South? The scale of my failure was so stellar-immense I could not even begin to process it. Besides, time was about to expire.
I opened my eyes.
Unbeknown that in less than five seconds he would be dead, Crompton uttered his last words.
"Yeah, who is that fuckin' guy?" he said. "You always seem to be running away from- Hear that?"
"What the-" Jackson had turned and gone for the gun in his shoulder holster as the door burst open. He stood no chance.
Crompton had barely started to turn his head before it exploded in a mist of blood, brain and tiny skull fragments.
Monstrous, unholy, the Black Time Knight appeared in the doorway. Quick and lethal twin red lasers emitted from his hollowed eyes had already taken off Crompton's head. Now it was to be Jackson's turn in the half second before he could pull the trigger on his Glock 22.
The end had arrived.
Time stopped here.
| 2016-08-05T11:13:14
| 2016-08-05T11:09:11
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
"So you're telling me that you summoned me..." You said, as the apprentice nodded at you.
"Yup..."
"In my bathtub..." You say, a sheet wrapped around your waist.
"Sorry about that..."
"As I was cuddling with the love of my life..."
"Again, sorry..."
"And you have no idea how to send me back."
"I...yes?"
"Son..." You say, staring him down with not the gentlest of gazes. "You will find a way to get me back, right now, or you and I are gonna have some words."
|
"Where am I?"
This was Emmett's first thought upon appearing in a room only lit by candlelight. He had previously been mowing his back yard, and his eyes had not adjusted to the dimness. His second thought quickly followed his first.
"I've got to puke." He vomited, extinguishing two of the five candles surrounding him. He heard an exclamation, not of anger but possibly surprise come from behind him. Wiping his mouth on his arm he turned around.
"Hail, uh demon. I have summoned you here to exact revenge on my enemies." The man was wrapped in beige cloth, he held a knarled stick in one hand, a halved onion in the other.
Emmett threw up again. He hated onions, but really his stomach was reeling from whatever summoning he had just gone through.
"Demon?" Emmett said, hands on his knees. "Do I look like a demon to you?"
The onion halver looked puzzled. He looked down at his onion, then back at Emmett.
"My incantations were made to call forth a fiery demon, one who cuts down uncountable lives and wields a poisonous burn!"
Emmett sighed. He ran his fingers through his red hair.
"Look dude, I was trying to mow my lawn and spray a little weed killer. I'm not a demon that can 'destroy your enemies'."
"But what of your red skin?"
"Oh shit, I forgot sunscreen."
| 2017-05-12T08:27:42
| 2017-05-12T08:05:29
| 95
| 21
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
I am the first person to be blessed by death. You see everyone is born with a blank circle on their forearm and as they grow up an image appears. By the time your 20 you have one of a hundred or so sigils though most people know what theirs will by much younger. It's all been documented, studied for years by generations past.
Your sigil is an outwards mark of a blessing from the rapture, the forming of the galaxy. Each blessing is some-sort of power. Super strength, flying or a star gazer, browsing futures in the night sky. Some had fancy names other we'd been to lazy or they were too rare to name.
Me though, I still have a blank circle.
It's not uncommon, just unfortunate. No blessing, means no powers. Some try hide it by getting a blessing tattooed inside their sigil or covering it up with jewellery and extravagant fashion pieces, others like me just leave it.
We get bullied and picked on, for being different, for being less than everyone else. I'm used to it. Every name call, every embarrassment I've caused - it had all happened before. I'd heard it all before. At least I thought I had.
That night, I don't really know what happened - I don't even remember what he said that caused it. Just a burning red hatred for him. He was just a drunk stranger screaming at me outside my favourite evening haunt. No doubt his abuse was for my lack of blessing but his words, they struck me like lightning.
They say death comes suddenly but actually deaths comes whenever I'm around.
My empty sigil changes. All black. The first solid sigil. I was lifted about a foot off the ground releasing an other worldly, hollow shriek. My limbs pulled outward in every direction. Then a sharp blackness.
I passed out.
When I woke up. I was laying in a puddle of blood, in fact the street was littered with puddles and there was a painfully obvious lack of any kind of life.
"Fuck," I murmured "not again"
|
He has always been a very peaceful person which was often mistaken for being boring and uninteresting which lead to him getting left out. The only interaction he had with others in school was when his classmates would bully him with their outstanding powers. They were quite powerful and could possibly be used to kill others.
Gironimo had just transferred to this new school. Nero started to bully him because Gironimo seemed to be an easy target, seeing as his sigil only looked like a circle which indicated that he hadn’t formed an ability yet.
Nero possessed the ability to form deadly weapons from people’s iron, cutting up their insides and draining them of the ability to breathe properly because they couldn’t process the oxygen without iron in their blood. He knew, he could kill Gironimo but he never wanted to, seeing that he was sadistic but not a killer. Plus, he wanted to see what power Gironimo’s sigil could possibly have granted him, since it was just some circle.
Well, at least it looked like a circle if you didn’t pay attention. Everyone is born with a sigil but it has to develop and take shape over time. Gironimo’s sigil only modified ever so slightly to go from a circle to a zero. He even called his ability “Zero”, even though he himself didn’t know what it could do. The sigil’s abilities were always based on one’s personality, so it would not be surprising that a violent person like Nero had such a brutal ability while the selfless May who would do anything for others could heal others with the drawback of not being able to heal herself.
The day after Gironimo's transfer, Nero approached Gironimo. “Would you like to die?”, he said as if he just asked a normal question. “I mean, you can try”, he said confidently, even though he didn’t even know of Nero’s powers since he was always very careful with when he would use them. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Gironimo felt something cutting up the inside of his mouth and started to spew out razor blades along with alarming amounts of blood. He started to cry and shouted “Zero”. Immediately, the blood he coughed up went back into his mouth and the razor blades turned back into iron and re-entered his body. Meanwhile, Nero started to cough up razor blades and now he was the one crying and screaming. “You fucker”, Gironimo shouted. “Look what you’ve done. Look how badly I was bleeding. Why the fuuuuuucckkkk???”. He started kicking the still crying Nero and quickly left before the teachers could spot him.
| 2020-02-26T07:48:24
| 2020-02-26T07:41:46
| 41
| 19
|
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
In the beginning finding them jobs other than "executioner" or "bounty hunter" was difficult. Many of em complained that these jobs we're demoralizing and that they "reinforced negative stereotypes" whatever that meant. Eventually the guys at the workforce commission bent and found them new jobs. Now you could have a silk tongued vampire as your lawyer, or a fearsome warewolf on your security detail.
I can't imagine entrusting my life to such an abomination. Monsters like this should've stay in their own realm. Many have not even taken the time to learn our language, and I'll be damned if im expected to learn theirs. The thought of these...things being around my family, around my children, it makes me sick.
A pale, sharp faced man stood at the counter, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. The words from the sign reading "Career Placement" reflected off of the man's black eyes. His garb devoid of any imperfection. I'm sure he thought himself to good for us mortals.
"Excuse me good sir. I was under the impression that this is where I should go for career placement. Would you be so kind as to assist me?" The vampires words flowed through the air crisply, like an autumn breeze.
My response was simply pointing to the sign posted on the glass.
*Please wait to be assisted, Thank you*
The vampire read it carefully before replying. "Terribly sorry, take your time"
Damn right I would. My eyes shifted back down to the article in my favorite newpaper *Faux News*
*Are warewolves commiting tax fraud with the help of dwarf financial advisors?* The article read.
The vampire stood, waiting patiently until I had finished skimming the text. The atmosphere in the room had grown unpleasant. I didn't want to speak with him; however, the sooner I did the sooner he'd leave.
I glanced up from the paper to the thing on the other side of the counter. "Ok. How can I help you?"
"Yes, well I was looking into career placement opportunities. I would like to go into paralegal work with the disclaimer that I dont possess much willing experience in the mortals realm"
"So. You want a job in law, but you don't have any experience with mortal law?" I cracked a smile at the Vampire.
"Indeed, but I'd like to make myself transparent by stating my class of supernatural being. I am in fact a-"
"Yes a vampire I know. I can tell"
The Vampires deep black eyes stared into mine for a moment. Gears turned in his head as he formulated a response. " You're not a fan of supernaturals, are you?"
"Me? Look I'm not here to judge, I'm here to do a job, but in my free time I can be prejudice towards who I please. None of *your* business"
The man stared for a moment before pulling back his long, dark hair to reveal a pair of pointed ears.
"Not a vampire. Not even the same genus." The atmosphere grew tense
"All the same to me. Now I can offer you a job as a teacher for the supernatural, or population control."
Popluatiom control was the shittiest job we had to offer, and I was sure to pitch it to anyone who came through the doors.
The elf stared in disbelief for a moment before silently turning around and exiting the glass doors. I loved my job. Seeing the misery on their faces when they couldn't steal another job from a hard working human.
I sat reading my paper until my boss entered the building, a burly, stern faced man in tow.
"Hey Jerr, whose this? New guy?"
"Yeah...you could say that. He's here to fill your position" Jerry glanced around the room awkwardly.
"My position? But I already work full shift? Where are ya trying to squeeze him in?"
"You don't understand. This is your replacement Donny, we just received another complaint and this can't continue"
"What?! I've been here 3 years and you're gunna just flat out replace me with an outworlder? Im the best damn worker you've got!"
"All you do is complain and read the paper. Your station generates the least traffic because you have yet to help a single person."
The warewolf by Jerr stared at me, hatred in his eyes.
"It's time to go Donny."
I angrily packed my few possessions and stormed out of the office. This wasn't over. I had a plan. Soon they'd all see that humans could not be pushed around by outworlders.
|
This is the third time this week. After all the unanswered letters, the messages, the unanswered phone calls. They've actually come knocking on my door.
I refuse to answer. If I just wait they'll leave. If I...
"Mr. Wyatt, we know you're in there. Please open the door. We just want to talk to you."
The hell you do, I thought bitterly. They're just baiting me to call back, they don't really know I'm in. The lights are all off for a reason!
"Mr. Wyatt. Please be reasonable. You're only delaying the inevitable."
I'd call the cops but after that stupid supernatural integration program they'll just call me a specist and put the call on youtube or something.
God! If it wasn't so dangerous outside after curfew I'd make a run for it. But it is, I just have to wait it out here. They can't break in, even for them it's a felony.
"Mr. Wyatt this is your last warning. You have until the count of three to open this door. ONE!"
I feel my heart pounding and attempting to leap out of my chest. No way, they wouldn't...
"TWO!"
Fuck! Monsters! They totally would! My gun, I need my gun!
"TREE!"
The door flew open, the solid wood dresser I broke my back pushing to block it was tossed to the side like a flimsy IKEA piece.
I closed my eyes and shot blindly. The noise was deafening and I think I broke something on the recoil.
"Mr. Wyatt. Please, shooting in residential areas are discouraged. Please come, we are all waiting for you outside in the van."
I opened my eyes, I can clearly see the light from the hallway through the hole in his shoulder yet his face just looks annoyed.
"Monster! Stay away from me! You can't do this to me. FREAK! GET AWAY!" My voice gets shriller and I raise my gun again.
I didn't even see him move. He was besides me and with one swift movement my gun clattered to the floor. The metallic sound ringing the end.
"Mr. Wyatt do refine from ruining my suit any further. Really now, must we go through this every single time? It's just the mandory blood tax. It's not like we'll suck you dry."
He smiled baring his fangs. That joke wasn't funny the first time, it's not going to be now. I scream and they drag me to the blood tax collection van kicking all the way... same as the previous time, and the time before that, and the time before that.
God damn the IRS!!!
| 2018-08-27T15:01:41
| 2018-08-27T14:46:19
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] You're a disembodied consciousness who wakes up every day in a new body. Today, for the first time, you wake up in the same body as yesterday.
|
Mornings were the worst.
That unnatural heat as the day began, warm air creeping through the cracks in the window as the sun’s rays found their way into my eyes. No matter which body I found myself in, mornings were always the same, a painful experience as I discovered my newest identity.
Stretching my arms up, I let out a groaning yawn, fingers twiddling in the air, testing out my muscles. It was a routine I had gotten used to, a way to check my body for aches. I had no way of knowing what type of body I was in, so these little processes helped ease the transition. Once I felt satisfied with my body’s condition, I pulled myself into a seated position, taking a moment to scan the surrounding room, noticing something strange. It was the same.
Those same stupid curtains with the holes littered throughout it. That same alarm clock that makes a roaring elephant noise every hour, and the same mirror seated Infront of me on the wall, revealing that scruffy bearded face from yesterday. “Great.”
Panic had creeped into my mind, not yet fully sending me into a panic, just causing the occasional flicker in my heartbeat, that quickening of breath as I stood up, carefully tracing my steps over the clothes covered floor.
“How am I still in this body? I should have changed.” None of this made sense. For as long as I could remember, my life followed that same pattern. I would wake up, live one day in the person’s body before being forced out of it and into another. No matter how good or bad the body was, I could stay no longer than a day, yet this person broke that mold.
Wandering the home, I felt like a thief, someone who stole the man’s identity and made it my own. The feeling made me ill, rushing to the kitchen sink, dry heaving as I tried to keep down my emotions. That creeping panic now penetrating my mind, causing sweat to push from my pores, spilling down onto my shaking hands. I stole this man’s life; I was no better than one of those horsehair worms, digging into the flesh of a creature, using it for my own purposes.
I never liked this life, I hated how I crept into people’s lives, forcing them to take a backseat while I tried to mimic their behavior. The only consolation I had was the reward of being freed after the day. The knowledge that my ventures would be temporary. I washed my face, splashing the cold water against my skin, using it to not only confirm that I was awake but also to dull my feelings. Reminding myself to take deep breaths.
There had to be a reason for this, something preventing me from moving on. I tried to figure it out but struggled to come up with any meaningful theories. With no prior experience with such a situation, I was clueless, moving throughout the house, almost expecting someone to pop out from the walls to explain it to me.
I spent my morning lying on the couch, resting that sick feeling in my stomach. Wondering what someone would do in my situation, I assume many would use this as a chance to cause mischief, a consequence free way of living, but I could not. I felt too much empathy towards the person I inhabited, unable to cause them grief. I just treated their bodies the same way I would want mine treated if I were in their shoes. Going out of my way to keep things the same as they were.
That train of thought easily maintained with only a day in each body. A day’s a brief span of time, limiting how much destruction an ethical person could cause. But two days, or possibly more, imagine the trouble I could indirectly cause through that.
With the feeling in my gut fading, I continued my exploration of the house. I had done the same thing briefly yesterday, but now my search was far more rigorous, turning over every spot in the home, searching for clues about this man, anything that could help me find a way out of him.
With each passing hour, I cursed my carefree attitude. To think I spent yesterday walking through the neighborhood sightseeing. If only I paid more attention yesterday, perhaps I may have prevented this. Eventually I found a clue, a wallet hidden away beneath a bowl of rotting fruit in the kitchen. “So, my names Jasper Lawton?” The name didn’t ring a bell, but when did it ever?
Slipping the wallet into the pocket of my shorts, I returned to the task at hand. Pulling at drawers, tossing items aside, trying to find the missing piece to this puzzle. Nothing else, no photos of loved ones or even a phone with contacts or messages. Apart from a name and face, I had no information.
Giving up my search, I retrieved a beer from the fridge, that being the only drink available. Usually, I wouldn’t drink in another body, but this stressful time called for a depressant. Sipping the bottle as I walked into the bedroom, dumping myself onto the bed. Maybe tomorrow would be better? I thought, trying to bring some hope back into my mind.
I nursed the beer as I sat on the bed, only stealing a sip from it when needed. When the bottle neared its end, I sat it on the bedside table, only to watch it tip over, spilling its contents onto the floor.
Another glorious moment to add to a great day. The sarcasm slipping out, venting my frustrations as I gathered a few scraps of toilet paper, getting onto my knees to smother the liquid, hoping to keep it from staining the carpeted floors. As I dully patted away at the floor, I noticed a loose piece of paper under the bed, causing me to drop the toilet paper to grab it.
The letter’s contents were somber, a long sad piece of writing that covered feelings of hurt, disgust and low self-esteem. I only lowered the letter for a moment, tapping the beer-stained toilet paper underneath my eye, attempting to dry them. The letter written like a critical review for a faulty product, listing fault after fault, a repetitive tale of depression.
“That explains it.” I placed the letter on the floor, leaning against the bedside table. “They don’t want to be themselves.” It sounded crazy, but that was the only thing that made sense. In some subconscious way they didn’t wish to return, trapping me in their body, pushing themselves into the passenger’s seat.
Now that I understood that, perhaps I could force them back into the driver’s seat, make them take back their control, but what good would that do? It would free me but imprison them. Picking the paper up once more, I pulled myself from the floor, eyeing over each complaint written in the letter.
“One by one, I’m going to help you, so I can free us both.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
The clock stuck 6 AM and I woke up, a bit groggy as usual. The room seemed familiar. I picked up the phone on the table next to me and opened up the front camera.
Wait. This was impossible.
I had been jumping bodies for years now, always waking up in a new one. This was a first. I had once again woken up in the body of Ralph Sampson. I looked around the room, feeling a sense of déjà vu wash over me.
The feeling got even stronger as the phone rang. Unless Ralph’s friend, David, called him at the same time everyday, something was very very wrong.
I answered the call, going over the same conversation I had with him yesterday. I hung up and unlocked the phone. Then I saw the date and fell back onto the bed. What did all of this mean?
Just like yesterday, I texted Ralph’s boss about not feeling well and taking a day off. I know the boss will reply back in about twenty minutes telling me to take care. And then at 11:30 he’d text me to ask me about the TekSystems file.
I had to think about this. I had always woken up in a new body every day so what was different? Was it me? Ralph? Was he somehow special?
I was so used to spending the first few hours of waking up trying to figure out who I was for the next 24 hours, that I started going through Ralph’s phone and documents without thinking about it.
As the day went by predictably, I became more and more relaxed. Maybe it was just a glitch. This caused me to laugh. Me, whose whole life was a glitch. Either way, Ralph was rich. He had a comfortable life. If I had to, I wouldn’t mind spending my entire life in his body.
I let the day pass. David called to check up on Ralph. He seemed satisfied with my lies. He reminded me to take my medicine, which I did. I put on the tv and...
*****
The clock stuck six and I woke up, a bit groggy as usual. The room was familiar. What was going on? David called again to ask if I’d be joining him for coffee. I excused myself just like the last 2 days.
I had gotten used to waking up in a new body everyday but reliving the same day over and over?
The day passed by exactly as the last time.
When David called to check up on me, I asked him over. I had never told anyone before about my ... my situation. But I needed help. I needed to figure out what was going on.
David came over soon.
“Ralph? Are you ok?”
“Yes. Well Ralph is ok but I...”
“Did you take your medicine, Ralph?”
“No David listen. I’m not Ralph. I’m someone else.”
“Relax man. You should really take your medicine.”
I looked at David, and something about his expression stuck me.
“David, I don’t want my medicine.”
“No! You must. You have to.”
“David. I need you to go now. I need you to leave.”
“Not before you take your meds. Clearly you need them.”
I stood up. “Get out of here. Now.”
He stood up, taking a gun out of his jacket pocket. “You’ve ruined enough of my life Ralph. You took my girl. You took my promotion. I’ve had enough now. You need to take your medicine. Or I’ll shoot you right now.”
“Fine. Please don’t shoot.”
I took the bottle of pills and opened it up. He looked like a wolf, a predatory smile on his face.
I threw the pills at him, using the surprise to lunge at him.
The gun went off and smoke filled the room.
***
I woke up, a bit groggy as usual. I looked around the room. No view of the city. No massive tv to wake up to. Life was back to normal. As normal as it could be for me.
I walked into work later that day.
I stood in a dimly lit room with a fellow cop looking at Ralph sitting in the interrogation room.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just trust me on this.”
“The gun was on him. The body was in his apartment. He was there. And his story by the way is that he remembers nothing of yesterday. It’s a slam dunk.”
“Well Jackson, just humour me. Test the pills. For some reason, I trust this guy. Trauma can cause loss of memory on occasion. I have a feeling that the dead guy attacked him and it was self defense.”
“Well fine. I’ll check it out. But in my opinion, the guy’s guilty.”
Jackson was a good cop. When he started digging, there was no stopping him. He would find evidence about the truth eventually. Sure Ralph would probably never remember all of yesterday, all three version of those, but he should be able to avoid jail.
Dying before 24 hours was complete and I transferred bodies. There was a first thing for everything I suppose.
| 2021-01-16T23:46:21
| 2021-01-16T23:14:08
| 1,116
| 63
|
[WP] "One day," the prince reiterated to the peasant girl. "You're fed and clothed like a princess for a day, we attend the ball and dance together, and we make just enough of a spectacle that my father won't mind so much if I go on to court a 'lower' noble. What do you say?"
|
The Prince looked out over the crowded hall with a sense of deep satisfaction. Scandalized nobility snuck glances at him when they thought he wasn't looking, and whispers followed him as he passed by each knot of horrified, confused courtiers. His peasant girl had done well.
Oh yes, he had been angred at first when she stepped out from the coach he had sent her. The gown he had ordered her to wear, the one carefully selected to highlight the unsuitability of his choice of paramour, had been altered into something less uncouth, and she had removed the small, cheap glass beads from the bodice to braid into her hair instead. But ultimately he quelled his ire with the knowledge that no matter how she aped her betters she could never pass as one of them. And her efforts to impress were almost touching in a way.
The prince handed his peasant off to an appalled Duke for the next dance, and intercepted his chosen lady as she passed by. The daughter of a minor noble from a newly formed but prosperous barony, the lady was breathtakingly splendid, but her family was too close to the merchantry for her to be a suitable match in normal circumstances. But then, he had taken care to change those circumstances.
He spun his lady around the hall, giddy with mirth. Come dawn his parents would happily give him permission to marry her rather than the farm animal now stumbling her way through a gravote. He congratulated himself on his cleverness.
It was not until midnight that he realized he had lost his peasant girl. His lady had occupied his every thought, and he had not noticed his "beloved" had left the hall until his father had called a halt to the music.
"My lords," the King said loudly. "Before the festivities end, We have happy news. It gives Us great... pleasure... to announce the forthcoming marriage of Our only son and heir, Prince Ludwig, to his lovely and beloved lady Hilda of, er, Lakesdowne. We hereby bestow Our blessings upon them and all children to come."
The Prince felt his heart stop. Beside him his lady pulled her hand from his arm and melted into the silent crowd with a single withering glance back.
"Come," the Queen added. "Let us end our night with a dance from Our son and his beautiful bride."
The prince moved numbly to the center of the hall. His father pulled the peasant from the shadows and placed her in his arms. As the music began he looked down into her eyes and felt a chill at the malicious amusement in them.
"You thought to use me?" she whispered as they glided around the floor. "Well, use me you did, and I've the swelling belly to prove it. I agreed to your cruel game only to get close enough to your parents to tell them of your child. Your brothers are dead and war is coming. They dare not risk you dying without an heir. I did not put on a pretty dress and affect the speech of my betters to fool anyone into thinking I'm one of you, only to make myself acceptable to the king under the circumstances."
" I will hurt you," he growled with rage. She laughed.
"Better a weak prince than strong farmer," she mocked. "Do as you like while you can. You're leaving soon. As I said, war is coming and your father is very displeased with you... I think our child and I will be very happy here."
|
A young woman looked at the prince befuddled. He wore a smile as if he just revealed a master planned; a *ta-dah* moment in a magic show.“It sucks,” she said.The young prince winced.
“It certainly does not! We pass you off as a princesses from a faraway land at the ball this weekend. You charm my parents as you have charmed me, and we’ll be on our way to a royal wedding. That is if we keep these good times rolling between us.”
He wrapped his arm around her petite waist.
“All we have to do is get through the party. I’ve been working on a list of questions that you might be asked during the evening. How old you are, how many troops are in your kingdom’s army, and if you will confidently birth our son.”
Sophera rolled her eyes. She never once wore high heels or sat on a seat at a banquet dinner table. Her father was a fisherman; her family lived near the docks. She mostly wore sandals and ate whatever fish she caught.
“Listen,” the prince continued. “Just pretend to be someone else for the evening. Remember Madelyn the III? How she was known for her thick redhead and reserved personality? Be her for just several hours.”
Sophera broke free from the prince’s hold.“Madelyn the III was known for weighing over 400 pounds and carrying a tea cup poodle in her handbag! She never ventured outside her own castle walls. She harnessed the political power of 3 realms at her finger tips and didn’t use them once for the working man. She’s everything I despise.”
Sophera spat on the ground. “What a waste of skin.”
“Fine my darling,” the prince said gesturing his free hands downwards as if to tell her to relax (which actually made Sophera more upset). “My point is not for you to be a princesses without purpose, but just not to be *yourself*.”
Sophera stared blankly at her boyfriend. “I’m going to give you another chance to say what you just said one more time before I leave you for the night.”
The prince sighed. “Then why don’t you tell me what you would want to do at the party? What can I do to make you comfortable?”
She shrugged. “Not attend the event I suppose.”
The prince shook his head and the two stood in silence.
“It’s not that I think your idea is bad,” Sophera began. “I think it’s a poor long term solution. The more I know your family, the more they’ll want to know about me. Eventually all the lies will catch up. Lying to the king is a serious crime. It'll get you banish from the 3 realms and send me straight to a tortuous death.”
She leaned into him and placed his arms back around her waist. “I don’t want our relationship burdened with stress caused by other people. You’re stressful enough.”
She rested her head onto his shoulder. They held another for a moment in deep thought.
Sophera’s eye widened.
“How about we flipped the script?” She said.
Now the prince looked at the young woman befuddled.
“How about *you* come over to my place for dinner as a working man? Why don’t *you* try to impress my family?”
The prince let go of his girlfriends hold and took a step backwards.“Well, I could never pass off as a —“
“Of course you can! You only have to worry about my dad and not a entire linage of royal family. He knows one thing Trenton — fishing. He knows hook sizes, reels, baits, knots, and when and where to catch the fattest sea bass. He won’t ask you any questions about whatever job we give you. In fact, he probably won’t care what you do. We can pass you off as a normal person, get married, and live an ordinary life.”
She now stared at him with a grin stretched across her face. “You're astonishingly intelligent. I'm sure you can learn how to weld a blacksmith's hammer or chop wood. What do ya say? A bit less stressful?”
The prince smiled back. He knew her plan also wasn't a long term solution. His family would search for him after 3 sunsets if he went missing. They’d deploy spies to neighboring kingdoms, investigating his imprisonment. They'd travel to the distant mountains, hiking their summits just to find a trace all while he remained hidden in a plain view. They’d wouldn’t sleep until he was returned for he was the only male left in the family and must wed a woman who would provide him a son.
But none of those racing thoughts bothered him at that moment. He looked down at his girlfriend and nodded his head.
“Sounds like a fantastic plan my dear," he kissed her forehead. "When I was young, I was curious what it would be like to be a farmer.”
| 2021-08-27T15:54:55
| 2021-08-27T13:53:42
| 413
| 90
|
[WP] A rich man discovers that he only has two years left to live. With no relatives to inherit his fortune, he disguises himself as a beggar and resolves to give his wealth to the first person who helps him.
|
Some of the suits would throw a dollar into his hat, like a crumpled confession meant only for the eyes of a priest - as if they could purchase a sordid mockery of absolution from him. Some might give ten, perhaps even a twenty, depending on how their previous evening had turned out. They'd flash their switchblade smiles and maybe spare him a few words of wisdom - "*don't waste it on drink, I know what you guys are like,*" or "*if you want real change, you've got to make it happen yourself, buddy.*" Then they'd twist their necks like vultures, searching for witnesses to their altruism, and be on their way, smug, satisfied and barely able to resist the urge to pat themselves on the back. "*You're a real good man, Bobby,*" or "*that guy's going to thank you one day, Katie.*"
It wasn't the cancer that killed him in the end.
He had been diagnosed in early spring - the doctor said he'd just been unlucky - but it was mid-summer when he began his new life. A time when the asphalt sidewalks seemed to be battling their own form of cancer; when plumes of too-warm air drifted languorously up into the endless blue above him, and the ground below boiled and bubbled, gasping for breath. When the stench of diesel mixed with the sweet, honeyed scents of marigolds and dahlias, and forced its way down his throat, stinging and soothing in unfair measures. *A day*, he'd thought, *I'll be here a day - maybe a week.* It wouldn't take long for someone to reach out and help him. To buy him a meal, a haircut - to help him get off the ground. It *couldn't* take long.
He'd been one of them, once. A faceless suit rushing to and fro for reasons that disguised themselves as important, but never really were. Would he have stopped to help? He didn't know. But he was sure his father would have done. That was his certainty; the reason why his plan would work. It might be the only certainty - *the only belief* - he had left to cling onto. His father had been a good man. His money would go to someone like his father.
Summer passed, and although his hat had often filled, it had been little more than a woven trashcan for the wealthy to discard their self-loathing, pity and guilt into. To shed their skin but to enable their skeleton to keep on grinning underneath. Eventually, the asphalt calmed, settling into a still sea of charcoal, and the leaves above turned from apple greens to bonfire reds, rustling in the kneading breeze. The streets were filled with macs and umbrellas that sauntered by him, their owners' eyes transfixed on what was in front, not below them; their guilt placated by the autumn drizzle - *can't stop in this rain - he must understand that,* they told themselves, their mouths filled to the brim with coffee and chestnuts and lies.
Winter followed in autumn's footsteps and brought with it a tomb-like stillness; the gloom and snow wove together and seemed to garrote the streets. The cold nipped and snapped unmercifully at his toes and numbed his face and fingers. Inside, the cancer had eaten his muscle and fat, and left only a hollowed, haunted man lying under a dirt-brown blanket on the sidewalk, waiting for the world to notice or to care. But fewer people passed him now, none stopping for the bitter chill, and his hat sat as empty as his stomach. The waft of faraway stew encircled him, taunting him, reminding him of the dinner table of his childhood. He could have gone home, and yet the thought never crossed his mind. It would have meant he was wrong about the only thing he was certain of.
It wasn't the cancer that killed him in the end. It wasn't even the winter's wrath, or the hypothermia it cast upon him.
The group of men thought he might have had money on him - panhandlers often did; maybe he stuffed it into his coat like feathers. He didn't deserve that money, anyway.
Their anger boiled into a frothing rage, when they found nothing on him.
The red smears of his short crawl were soon covered by night's virgin snow. As his chest rose and fell a final time - as his last breath left his lips, like a misty soul escaping into the moonlit sky - he thought of his father.
There was good in the world - of that, he was certain.
He had just been unlucky.
---
/r/nickofnight
|
The faceless man without a name sat down on the sidewalk, shaking a jug of coins at the bypassing people. He didn’t have a name or face because this story took place in a world without a proper setting or forethought, words were scarce and descriptions suffered in turn. The only things that existed were his immense fortune somewhere out in the ether, and the busy street, which was the scene of the story.
Not too surprisingly, a stranger walked up to the man. Let’s call her Betty, I mean, who really cares about her name. What matters is that Betty was a struggling single mother. She was several months behind on her rent, and her landlord was evicting her. She also had a daughter that was very ill – chronically so – and didn’t have money for proper treatment.
Seeing the poor man on the street, dressed in nothing but rags, made her stop. No matter how rough things got, there were always people who had it worse. She was just about to give him her last spare change, when something unbelievable happened – something that wasn’t in the script. The woman noticed the grubby child sitting next to the man.
Now a new dilemma presented itself to Betty. She had her arm stretched out and ready to drop the coin into the jug of the poor man, but she hesitated. The homeless child probably needed the money more than the man. Could she change her mind in this situation? Was that the right thing to do? The expression of mixed happiness and surprise on the man’s face made her heart ache. What would she see in his gray eyes if she pulled her hand back? Disappointment? Hatred?
Her eyes wandered to the dime in her hand. Could she ask the beggar if he could change it for two nickels so that she could give them one each? That seemed very out of line to Betty.
“Just drop it in mine,” the man said with a look at the child. “He’ll be better off from it as well.”
Betty was a bit taken aback by the bold statement. It was such a blunt thing to say. How would the child be better off if she gave the money to the man? That seemed like such a messed up idea – the child was clearly starving.
“I, uh, I…” Betty said and finally pulled her hand back.
The man shook his head at her, and Betty sniffed. She dropped the coin into the open palm of the child and hurried off. The problem with this course of action, even though it seemed morally right to Betty, was that the rich man disguised as a poor man still hadn’t received help.
Now, if the man had been a proper character with a bit of depth, he would’ve realized that the woman was a good person anyway, and hurried after her to give her his fortune. I mean, why did it have to be to him in the first place? If someone gave a starving child money, wouldn’t they be deserving of the fairytale ending in this scenario? If the man had any sense of morality, he wouldn’t be out on the streets playing games to see who gets his fortune. He would’ve helped all the homeless children in the city. He would’ve distributed food and helped people out of the gutter.
But since this is not a proper setting or characterization, just a random scene with a made up scenario, another stranger walked by. This was Michael Foroza, a crime lord that preyed upon the weak and exploited those with good intentions. He was the man who was evicting Betty and her sick child. And while digging through his pocket for his phone to call in another hit on an innocent person, a random coin dropped out and accidentally landed in the homeless man’s jug.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2017-08-21T01:31:46
| 2017-08-21T01:01:22
| 4,022
| 825
|
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
The first sign of her ire was that the evening fires would not catch. Across Greece home after home, campfire after campfire all failed to light; to bring the warmth and comfort a fire calls forth when the nights begin to grow longer and darker. All told themselves that perhaps they had simply gathered the wrong wood, too green to do more than smoke briefly before extinguishing itself. They told themselves that it was only one night and cuddled closer to their companions to ward off what little chill there was.
It would be two weeks before the first true downpour of the season, two weeks of carefully chosen wood that had been brought inside to dry and cure as best as one could, before it would be shown that it was not the wood or the flint or any other part of the mortal fire making that caused the fire to fail every time.
It didn't occur to the Gods that the fire pit that had burned at the heart of Olympus since it was established suddenly ceasing to burn might be the indication of a problem. Even as the prayers for intervention began to roll in they remained too wrapped up in their games of power and disrespect to notice.
The next was the way all food began to come out of the cooking the taste and consistency of lukewarm gruel. Nourishing yes, but hardly appetizing or satisfying. No matter how skilled the cook, how exquisite the ingredients it all became gruel. The drinks as well became little more than watered down vinegar.
Several people lose their lives before kings and warlords accept that this is a divine matter and not the work of a resentful worker.
When the ambrosia they consume grows bitter and unfulfilling the gods accuse one another of treachery, though none make any real effort to find the true cause of it's bitterness.
the third way her wrath became known was by the bitterness that sprang up in the hearts of mortals.
Parents no longer smiled at the foolishness of their young children. Children grew resentful of their unbending elders. the eldest of adults found only fault with the lives of their grown family members and those still able to work began shirking their responsibility towards the elderly and infirm.
Lovers once passionate grew cold and brothers in arms were constantly at each other's throats. Permission was withheld and in return orders were ignored. The bonds of Man were broken and with them the faith they held in the Gods.
The Gods only began to notice when they were abandoned by priest and petitioner alike, their powers waning as the faith in them fell away over that cold, deadly winter.
And when Hestia finally stepped up to take responsibility for what she had done her smile was as cold as the deepest pits of Tartarus.
The Gods begged and pleaded with her to end it, to give back to the mortals what had been taken from them and yet not one could answer the singular question she had given as her price to bring back the warmth she had once given freely.
What was the name of the inn they had so callously destroyed in some petty squabble, the inn that had been both her home and her temple?
One small answer, an answer any mortal would have known on instinct alone, they could not call to mind. And so they would suffer, as she and hers had suffered.
|
I've always liked bells to some degree. They aren't strictly in my domain, the most notable examples being public fixtures rather than household ones. Clocks though, clocks belong in a home, especially grandfather clocks. Stately things, furniture in their own right and filled with purpose. A clock is a guide, when to wake, when to sleep, and when to eat, a clock guides the pulse of a home.
My family thinks power is thunderbolts, storms, weapons, and armies. Some like Aphrodite and Hermes can see the subtle side of things, but they are still attuned to the forceful methods.
This war has gone on long enough, we shall see how much my family enjoys their game with the pieces removed. I move to the clock in the corner and begin winding it. It is a manifestation of my power and does not strictly need to be wound, but symbolically acting upon it is useful. As I put down the key it begins to chime, not a particular hour but a Time. Time to stop work,Time to see your family and eat together once more, Time to come Home.
| 2022-02-06T09:06:27
| 2022-02-06T09:01:28
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
|
"We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
Tom sent the message, his hand lingering on the button a moment as he watched the transmission status. "That's it, then. I'll never see home again."
>but you are home
Tom nodded to the empty air, limping on his injured leg as he left the communications hub. He held the wound on his side, blood seeping through his fingers. Mullins... damn him. Got the jump on him.
Tom took a moment to kick Mullin's lifeless corpse as he shuffled out of the comm room. The hallway outside was littered with detritus. Plaster and metal from damaged walls. Shards of plastene from shattered windows. The shimmer of emergency force fields the only thing standing between Tom and the crimson expanse of the Martian landscape outside.
>is it not beautiful tom
He could only nod, clenching his teeth against the pain in his side and in his leg. The temperature was dropping. Wafts of steam rose from the still-warm bodies of Henderson, Guttierez, Smythe-Barnes, Nokimura, and Mikhailov. Their shells littered the hall, sprays of blood adorning the nearby walls. Smythe-Barnes had been divorced from her legs. Tom couldn't remember where he had left them, but watching her crawl for help had been...
>delightful
No. It had been horrible. Monsterous. But also, worthwhile. "All for you." Tom whispered.
>yes tom
>
>come to me now my love
Tom turned to the shimmering force field patching the hole in the station. It was built to hold back the vacuum of thin atmosphere, but a human could push through it easily. Normally this would be done to effect repairs, but today...
Tom picked up the helmet of a nearby exosuit. Affixed the seals, checked the air supply. One hour of oxygen. More than he needed. She was close. So close her whispers tickled his ear.
>come to me tom
>
>we will be together forever
Tom slipped through the force field, and shuffled across the arid red valleys of Mars.
&#x200B;
|
"Do Not Send Recuse!" …. sent.
Not even a second thought is given as I hit send on the 'unauthorized' message back to mission control. Hoping and knowing that it will fall on deaf ears. Slowly standing, I wander back to the 8x8'' compartment that has been "home" for the past 2 years, Life bay 524-Delta.
A slight laugh escapes as I pass by Alpha through Charlie bays of my crew. We all had our missions, a decade of training for this very moment. Press conferences, kissing families goodbye, and of course the pomp an circumstance of all our 'proud' leaders. However, I always knew this was always a one way trip. My mission...is unique.
The door to my bay opens smoothly and the room is pristine ...except for my bed. The material of the bedsheets made it impossible for me to keep my bed squared as I had been able to my whole life. Two years of personal hell. Sitting on the corner of my bed I check my timepiece. Mission control wont receive my message for another 10 minutes and it will be 15 more minutes before a response should arrive. I'm not concerned.
Mars is exactly how I imagined it....abandoned and dead.
Much sooner than possible, a message indicator popped up in the corner of my room controls. My location was being pinged...A deep exhale, at least I didn't have to wait any longer.
A couple swipes on the controls, and the countdown begins.
I straighten out the sheets on my bed one more time laying on top of them … finally resting.
Houston will not send rescue, because I am not the one who will need it.
| 2019-01-31T10:36:30
| 2019-01-31T09:59:54
| 43
| 24
|
[WP] Death always lets the doomed challenge him to any sport or game to save their lives. Death comes for a six-year-old boy. Death doesn't remember learning about Calvinball.
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It was the most fun he'd had in years, and that was really saying something, given what he was. It was a game unlike any he'd permitted before, usually because the challenger had invented it on the spot in an attempt to beat Death at his own game. Calvinball was different, though. Calvinball (he'd been told) was a worldwide phenomenon (he hadn't been told who's world) with as dramatic and varied a history as any other game you might care to name.
The rules were simple, and soon Death was inventing them almost as fast the kid was. Right now they were wearing masks made of handkerchiefs and hopping circles in sackcloth bags with flags in their hands shouting words that rhymed with Calvinball, and every five they'd drop everything and start throwing balls through jump ropes tied in knots they progressively tightened after each turn.
Reffing the game was Hobbes - the stuffed animal serving as the kid's best friend and confidant. He kept things fair.
Death could see the kid was getting tired. The longer they played, the more surprised he got that Death could keep track of all the rules. The final goal of the game was to grab the baseball and use it go touch the tree, but that goal was as elusive as the setting sun, which held dead still in the sky as the pair rattled and sweat beneath it. At last Death called for a time out, pretending to be winded, but really just needing a break.
The two sat down on the park bench together, well, Death sat. Calvin swayed from leg to leg on top of the bench, still a full head shorter than the gay old Grim, clearly not so tired after all. "It's been noon for quite a while now, hasn't?" He observed. "AND YOU'VE BEEN SIX A GOOD WHILE LONGER YOURSELF," Death answered. They were silent for a bit. "ARE YOU HAVING FUN?" Death asked. "Oh yeah, buckets of it," Calvin said. "You're pretty good for a first timer." Silence again. "How long can we keep playing?" "FOREVER, IF YOU LIKE." Calvin nodded. "I'd like that."
An eternity passed - as such - and the game continued, with the rules growing more and more convoluted with every stretching second. Balls were passed, darts thrown, quilts were torn apart, and Calvin slowly began to understand just what forever meant.
They played until Death threw Calvin the baseball, and for the first time he didn't leap to catch it. Instead he watched it hit the ground and roll away. "You really meant it when you said forever, didn't you?" Death didn't respond. "You've just been toying with me, haven't you? Giving a little boy a false sense of hope." "...NO, I HAVEN'T," Death admitted, "I JUST HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO WIN YET." Death is many things, but if unfair, he's not a cheater. "GAMES USUALLY RUN MUCH SHORTER THAN THIS. PEOPLE TOO." Calvin thought about this. "You think I can win?" "YOU'D BE THE FIRST IN EIGHT THOUSAND YEARS." "So there's a chance?" "WELL, HONESTLY THE LAST ONE TO WIN AGAINST ME CHEATED." "Cheated Death?" asked Calvin. "IT WAS THE FIRST TIME SOMEONE TRIED IT ON ME. IT DIDN'T WORK THE SECOND TIME."
Calvin thought another moment, then picked up the baseball. "I thought I wanted to stay, but I guess it's my time to go." He held up the ball, and but hesitated when Death reached out to take it. "Hobbes... will he be okay?" "HIS TIME IS NOT FOR A LONG TIME," Death answered honestly. "All right," said Calvin, and gave the stuffed animal a hug. "I've gotta go now, buddy. Be good, all right? What? No, that wouldn't work. Don't be an idiot, Hobbes." He handed Death the ball, took his other, and nodded. The two approached the tree. Death raised the ball almost casually as they approached it, and in a flash the ball fell, the contestants vanished , the earth resumed its motion, and a small striped referee sat motionless, pondering whether the final point should really count, or be counted a foul.
|
Decided to swing with a more comedic approach, borrowing the whiny, inept, Jamaican-flavored Grim Reaper from Maxwell Atom's "The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy".
________________________________________________________________
"Now see here, boy! I told you dat I had time to kill before killing you, but dis charade has gone on long enough! I got dings to do!" Death lay low in the grass, a twelve-sided die clasped tightly between his bony fingers. He cast the die into the dirt and bowed his head in prayer. "Gibbe a tree! Sweet angel of life an' love, gib 'ol Grim a tree!" A little red shoe kicked the die just before it could come full stop. It bounced about the trees like a frenzied squirrel before finding a fine home for itself inside one of the Reaper's empty eye-sockets. Death buried his chin in the dirt and wept. "Dis ain't fair, mon! Dis ain't fair!" He rose to his knees just long enough to jab a bony finger against his adversary's dimpled cheeks. "You cheat!"
"I never said it was fair, old man." The child bounced his red ball against the reaper's skull one, two, three, four times before passing it to his stuffed tiger, who caught the ball with great ease and an exaggerated flick of his furry wrists. The tiger toddled over to the reaper just as he was righting himself, and after offering him opponent a gentle wave, pegged him over the head with the ball, knocking him back into the rough. His paper hat sailed through the air and landed softly atop his bony butt. His mask lay somewhere far off over the horizon, shattered, tattered, and very lonely. The young man paced about the reaper, fingers locked and one eye closed, framing death's defeat against the backdrop of the setting sun. His tiger joined him by his side, and scooped up the ball.
"Think I killed him?" the boy asked, jumping up and down a little. The tiger cocked his head and raked his claws across his muzzle.
"I think it'd be better if you hadn’t, considering who he said he was. He sure isn't moving much." He bent down and poked the reaper gently with his tail and then pawed the back of his neck in a worried, regretful manner. "I think we may have made a big mistake, Calvin." The little boy didn't hear him. He was too busy rummaging through the reaper's cloak. The tiger shrugged and leaned over his shoulders to supervise.
"Looking for the die?"
"Nah," the boy answered, sieving a roll of expired gift cards through his sweaty fingers. "Credentials." A little white fanny-pack with crossbone stitching lay tucked between the folds of Death's cape. The boy unzipped all five of its mouths and shook it until he drained every last paperclip, tic-tac, and discarded receipt from its dusty guts. The last item to fall was a big black business card. The boy looked it over carefully and then pressed it against his lips, smooching it. The tiger raised his eyebrows.
"What was it he bet again? He sounded pretty sure of himself, so I think it was something really important." The boy sat in the grass, plying the dull edge of the reaper's scythe against his calloused hands.
"His job."
| 2015-12-31T17:49:43
| 2015-12-31T16:24:13
| 52
| 22
|
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries"
|
"What did you say?" The woman looked at me, bewilderment defining the angles of her face.
"Th... thank you. For the berries." I said again, confused, holding up the pound of strawberries she'd just handed me.
"No, not that. The name. My name... you said Klarys..." her voice trailed off and she looked away suddenly. "Never mind. Please excuse me, I have to go." Before I could say anything more she turned and whisked away through the flapping doors to the back of the store.
I don't usually slip up like that. Certainly not in some place so public. I'm generally much better at not letting on. It's tiresome always having to come up with reasons how I know the names of complete strangers. "Lucky guess" only gets me so far. And this time, she'd been wearing a name tag. "Stupid!" I thought, mentally kicking myself for not being more mindful. "Oh well, she didn't ask any questions," I thought as I walked up to the cashier.
As I placed my basket on the belt, the young man behind the register gave me the usual greeting. "Hi, find everything ok?"
I nodded and responded "Yup. Thanks," giving a slight smile as he started scanning my items. "$43.72." I stick my card into the chip reader, wait for the ding, and collect my bags. "Have a nice day!" he chimes. "You too."
Outside it's started to rain. Nothing heavy, just the characteristic mist of Seattle in December. I'd been lucky and found a spot right by the door. I pull out of my spot and shuffle my way into the line for the traffic light to leave the lot. Traffic's pretty mild today, only a few cars waiting.
It's only a 5 minute drive back to my apartment from here, but I like to listen to the news so I flipped on the radio. The stock market tanked again today, some unrest in Poland. Theresa May apparently resigned as the prime minister of the UK. Nothing I found particularly engaging but I do my best to stay on top of things. The light turns green and I make my way home.
Several hours later there's a knock on my door. Not a knock really, more like a battering. I set down my bowl of half eaten strawberries and move quickly to the window. "Who the hell could that be?" Peaking out the curtain I see a black van parked downstairs, the side door slid open. I recognize the woman sitting inside. "The store clerk! Klaryssa!"
Three more raps. I slowly approach the door. "Yes?" I ask, looking through the peep hole. Two men dressed in dark gray suits stand on the other side. The one on the left spoke first. "Mr. Ryder? Jackson Ryder?" His voice was harsh and cold and hearing him say my name sent a chill down my spine.
"Uh, can I help you with something?" Through the peephole I watch as the men give each other a look. Before I could move, the man on the right, the taller of the two, leans back and kicks the door. The cheap wood frame splinters easily under the force of his foot, and the door flies back, knocking me into the wall.
I sit dazed against the floor as the two men step quickly inside. They grab me, one on each side, and start dragging me out the door and down the stairs. As we approach the van, the hold me up for the woman in the back seat to see. "Yes, that's him," she says, her voice shaken as though she were the one who'd just been assaulted in her home. I feel a sharp poke in the back of my neck and the world fades to black as they toss me in the back of the van.
|
My whole life I’ve had this. . .thing. A gift, perhaps? I’ve always had the ability to know people’s names just by looking at them. It makes mundane tasks more fun when I turn it into a game; “how many people with the last name Smith will I walk by” or “who’s got the most unusual name I can find today”. And it makes finding people online much easier when I know exactly the name I’m searching for. I don’t know how I got this ability. Ive just always had it.
That brings me to yesterday. I was getting some groceries, playing a game in my head, today’s was “what name comes up more than any other” Dave’s were winning with six, which was a bit weird because there’s never that many Dave’s in one place.
I was minding my own business in the beer and wine isle, not paying much attention when I turned around and my big bulky handbag knocked over and broke a bottle of red wine all over the floor.
“Shit”, I exclaim quietly, awkwardly standing near the deep red, vinegary smelling mess that was slowly coming towards my feet.
A worker passed the isle and saw, and quickly rushes over.
“I’m so sorry, can I do anything to help?”,I said to the girl, who I see like a flash in my brain is called Catherine, coming towards me.
“Oh it’s alright, I’ll get someone, just carry on with your shopping, you’d be surprised how much this happens, I blame the way our shelves are stacked”.
Catherine smiled at me, there was something very warm about her. She looked like she was in her early twenties, but something about her deep brown eyes shocked me with the seemingly boundless wisdom behind them.
“Okay, thank you Catheri...”, I cut myself off quickly when I realised I’d said her name. I knew she was going think I was weird or creepy, as the mistakes I’ve made in the past of saying somebodies name before they’ve told me have proven. And I noticed her name badge said ‘Alice’.
Her smile dropped and she started looking worried and uncomfortable.
“Did. . . You just call me Catherine?”, she whispered, looking around shiftily, almost as if she was afraid someone would hear.
“Oh shit. Um. I’m sorry I guess you just look like someone I know” I replied, fumbling my words. I guessed she might be using a fake name for protection, maybe hiding from something.
“No”, she said with a big sigh, “that’s too much of a coincidence. You see,” she leaned in closer to me, I looked at her with a confused look on my face, “you see, no ones called me that for about two centuries”.
I’m speechless. I just stare at her for a couple of seconds my mouth agape.
“If you know my name, then you must know my true identity,” her warmth suddenly felt icy, her kind face started to look slightly menacing as she got right up close almost nose to nose with me.
“And you’re not getting what I know you’re after.” She suddenly backs away from me, once again smiling her brilliant smile.
I just stared at her, shocked. I opened and closed my mouth like I was about to say something but I’m dumbfounded.
I finally force an “excuse me” out, but she ignored it.
“Guess I’ll get someone to clean this wine up then, have a nice day!”
And with that she sharply turned, and started walking away.
All I knew was, I had to find out who this girl is.
| 2018-11-05T21:24:00
| 2018-11-05T21:12:06
| 38
| 15
|
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
"I don't have time for this Hydro, so let that girl go and I may just spare you the hurt." His voice boomed. Mr. Streak, greatest hero of the 1980s, my grandfather's one time nemesis and comrade in arms against the Zorblaxian invasion. Despite his age, the old dreg still looks dapper as he was in his prime, it's a pity this old clock is falling apart beneath that fresh varnish.
"You have to actually stop me first, Streak." I taunted, smirking at him.
True to his name, Streak flew at me like a blur of mass, his signature blue lightning trailing behind. His left uppercut lands square on my jaw. I let go of the mannequin and back-flipped into recovery as Pappi had taught me, not that the old slug could hurt me at his current level but otherwise the illusion would be broken. Screaming for a full second to get his attention, I then launch a controlled water jet giving him just enough time to evade. Hardest part of the job, trying to kill an old man without actually killing him. A bolt of blue lightning with enough power to light the city comes crashing down on me, with barely enough time to condense the surrounding vapour into a bubble shield. I fought back the impulse to retaliate with lethal force and do a countdown to when he would drain himself. At the stroke of zero, I dropped to a half kneel as part of the act, but mostly because I can't stop my legs from trembling. Gosh, babysitting this old fogey is a high-stress job.
"Your powers have grown again, Streak. But I'm not done with you yet." I stood up in stance, still somewhat shaky, but I can't leave too early lest Streak throws himself between Morganna and the Force-X. He nearly got himself killed last time. Streak responds in kind and throws the first punch.
What was the expression again? Float like a butterfly, Stink like a soiled diaper? Yes, my dear Streak has soiled his diaper. I pray for the all clear to come before his spouts of lucidity comes back, hate to see the old squirt embarrassed in public.
God must be listening, because right as his next strike was about to land, the telepathic channel buzzed to life with Psych's voice calling for retreat. On hindsight, I think she's the one listening, not god. Psych, you still there? How about that date?
"I'll get you next time, Streak, until then..." I turn tail, running into the portal.
EDITED 15/04/17
End of part 1
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T05:12:50
| 2017-04-13T05:10:16
| 25
| 10
|
[WP]You've been dating an amazing woman for a year. One day, she gets a call and rushes into the closet. When she comes out, she's weraing white armor, and a matching sword and has wings coming from her back. She says "I have to go, but I'll explain when I get home." Before flying out the door.
|
“John, I’ll be right back. I’ll explain later.”
And she was gone. Just like that. Flew out the damn window. Flew! My wife had wings. I couldn’t believe it. Who was this woman? Had I married an angel, or was it one of the Fallen? How had she hidden this from me for so long? How was Rebecca capable of a lie so big?
I had to act fast. If she was willing to let the secret slide, it must mean she was headed to the main citadel.
Closing my eyes, I opened myself up to the Power. White energy surrounded me, filling my entire being, and beginning to solidify on either side of me. Feathers began to manifest from the ether, and after a moment, fully functioning wings had formed, jutting out of my back.
I hurled myself out of the window, spiraling downward with my wings folded to my side. They unfurled as neared the ground, carrying my momentum and sending me gliding with ferocious speed towards my destination. Onlookers gasped and pointed in awe. I rose meters with every flap of my wings.
Like a bullet i sped towards the main citadel, where the ritualistic ceremony was taking place. I had made sure our high rise apartment was only a mile away, so it didn’t take long before I landed on the secret citadel entrance, far above the ground level. I pushed in the eye of the gargoyle statue and the opening revealed itself to me. I stepped into the dark room as it closed behind me.
Darkness and silence commenced. With a snap, I illuminated the room with a single point of glowing light. A spiral staircase revealed itself. So many stairs down. There wasn’t much time. The ritualistic practice of taking every step down to the basement level had to wait. I leaped over the railing, folding my arms and wings around myself, straightening my body into a spear, and began free-falling down the center of the spiral staircase.
I counted the handrail to my left each time it sped past my head. ...38. 39. 40. 41. 42!
I unfurled my wings at free fall speed just as the staircase ended and the room opened up below me. My open wings were enough to slow my fall, but I still landed with one foot and a knee, slamming into the stone floor with enough force to break a normal man’s legs. My power was stronger down here.
The double door was in front of me, tall enough to fit 6 men standing head to toe. I drew a pentagram in the air with my light, and the heavy doors slowly opened to a scene of chaos.
An inch of blood flowed past the open door, meeting my boots as I took a step in. The sweet metallic scent was overpowering. Dozens of bodies littered the large columned room, indistinguishable from the bloody ground around them. Wings had been torn from their bodies, their bright white feathers now bright red.
A naked woman was tied arm and leg on an alter in the center of the room, miraculously untouched and free from blood. She was drugged, in a trance, and unaware of anything.
Only two other people were left standing.
My wife had the Peter by the neck, pinned against the wall. The bloody dagger was still in his hand, but she had hold of his wrist as well. They were at a stalemate, both struggling for power.
I spoke, walking calmly towards them both.
“Peter. Give me the dagger.”
They both looked my way, Rebecca obviously shocked to see me.
“J- John-“
The distraction was enough for Peter to reverse her grip on his wrist and his powerful kick sent her flying across the room. She flipped in mid-air, wings unfolding and skidded to a halt in a bloody streak
“You know her!?” Peter exclaimed.
I looked at Peter.
“Give me the dagger. Then leave.”
“But the ceremony -
“It’s almost complete. I’ll take care of it.”
Peter looked from me, to Rebecca, to the alter, and back again. We were in a triangle, with the altar in the middle.
He looked me square in the eyes.
“No.”
With a burst of speed, he flew towards the altar, dagger raised. I shot towards his destination, with Rebecca doing the same.
The three of us met in the middle with a blinding white light.
I awoke sprawled out far across the room.
The naked form from the altar floated above the altar, her body glowing and eyes black as the darkest night, tendrils of crackling ether sprawling outward from her and moving towards each of us.
My eyes met Rebecca’s as one of the tendrils curled around Peter’s leg.
Rebecca and I spoke simultaneously.
“Damn you Peter. You used the wrong dagger.”
|
I stood there for what felt like almost an hour, staring out the window Eden just flew out of. My mind was blank, as if all my thoughts were taken away with her, I didn't know what to say, or even how I was supposed to feel about this. The familliar, hated itch returned, causing me to agressively scratch at the back of my neck, finally forcing my body to move again, getting into the living room. My skin still itched, my fingertips stained with faint red where my nails had scratched it open. Taking a deep breath I clenched my hands into fists, trying to hide how they were shaking. A mixture of emotions started to bubble up, one I really didn't want tod eal with right now. I wasn't sure if the bitter feeling of betrayal or cold sense of acceptance was stronger. Without thinking I grabbed a bottle of mead from the cupboard storing the liquoire, downing most of it in one go.
&#x200B;
When Eden returned home the armor and sword were gone, along with the feathered wings. She looked uneasy as her emerakd eyes scanned over my form, sitting on the ground leaning against the wall in the corner, still holding onto the empty bottle. *"Fae, I...*" her Voice trailed off, and she awkwardly shuffled under my blank gaze. **"Why didn't you tell me?**", I asked, a sharper tone than I intented. Anger and betrayal was a dangerous combination. "**You know what I was when we started this. And still you didn't fucking think about telling me you're one of them?**" Eden lowered her glance almost in shame. *"I was scared, okay? I know you're one of the few that survived the daylight wars, and I know you have all the reasons to hate my ancestors and what they did, but... I-I was afraid you'd push me away the moment you knew*", she managed to get out, hesitantly crouching down in front of me. I felt the ember in my eyes burn, looking away, pressing my lips together.
*"I'm aware that I'm still very young compared to you, Fae. I was lucky enough that I didn't have to participate in the war between our folks. But when I met you that night I didn't see your demonic side. I saw a soul that went through so much torment, enough for more than one lifetime. And yes, I know why my ancestors named you the crimson devil. But those times are long over, Fae. A-and I just thought that if you knew I'm an angel, you'd... leave."*
I took a shaky breath as Edens words ended, pressing my forehead against my knees, feeling my eyes tearing up. And with them memories rose up again as well, of the bloodshed, of the years afterwards, trying to adjust to the fact we were no longer at war. Years spend in isolation, trying to process and cope with all the horrors that came with the violence. The day I met Eden who so easily swept me off my feet and tore down walls around my heart as if they'd never been there. The way she kissed the ugly scars along my back, where my wings used to be, or the sigil branded into my neck, marking me as a creature of the night, damned to live in the shadows. And her absolutely disarming kindness and patience towards me when times were rough.
"**Why?**", I finally spoke up, lifting my head to look at her again. "**Why do you care so much about someone as broken as me?**" Her hands were cool against my heated skin as she cupped my face, her touch light as a feather. "*Because I genuenly believe that every soul deserves salvation. And I believe, out of all people, you deserve forgiveness, and a new beginning. You've met with a terrible and unforgiving fate, and I believe it's time you finally get to forgive yourself and life in peace."*
Eden pulled me into her arms the moment the last straw finally broke, holding me close as I sobbed into her shoulder, unable to respond to the unbreakable ammount of love I recieved from her.
I would have never believed that someone of the same blood as those, who took away everything I had, was the one who gave me everything I needed the most.
| 2018-09-16T15:25:19
| 2018-09-16T12:45:28
| 71
| 26
|
[WP] A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other's occupation. They talk about "how to take the perfect shot".
|
*Making sure the check clears.*
That's always the tricky part, right?
*Timing.*
Of course. And lighting.
*I suppose lighting is important. You've gotta have the right equipment.*
Absolutely. And finding the right subject.
*Ha. Yes. We have to be careful which jobs we take on. I won't do old people anymore. It just makes me sad. There's no surprise in their eyes.*
No surprise in their eyes. I've never thought of it like that. You know what I'll never do again?
*What's that?*
Weddings. Ulgh. Too messy. Too much family drama.
*Never done a wedding myself. So what's your specialty?*
I don't like to say.
*Come on. Hey, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Haha.*
Go on then.
*Gangsters.*
Fascinating.
*They're all in the suburbs now.*
Really? That is an interesting contrast between subject and setting.
*They think they blend in, they think they're invisible. But you can make them stand out if you know what to look for.*
Huh.
*Ok. Now you.*
Ok. Kids.
*KIDS?*
I have a knack for it. And there's always plenty of work.
*I wouldn't have pegged you for kids.*
Oh yeah. Kids. Babies. I've done a bunch of pregnancies.
*No shit?*
Yeah, I like maternity stuff. It's like there's this brief window before life really begins, and I make that moment last forever.
*Jesus. [downs drink] That's tough work. It must pay well.*
I like pregnancies so much, sometimes I'll do them for free.
*YOU KILL PREGNANT WOMEN FOR FREE?*
WHAT!? NO?! I photograph them?! Who said anything about-
*You're a photographer?*
YES! What, you kill people?
*YES!*
And you thought that I-
*I thought were a kid killer, oh my God!*
No. Nononono. Oh, that is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry.
*No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed.*
Oh. That is funny.
*Ha. Yeah. Ahh. You wanna get out of here?*
Sure thing killer.
|
Karen's blind date showed up forty minutes late in all leather, smelling of sweat and exhaust. And he carried a motorcycle helmet, all of which she decided was just sexy enough to excuse the lateness.
"You must be Mark," she said, a little too exuberantly. She had felt too rude to order food while waiting, so instead she sipped two glasses of wine and nibbled on bread. She tried to hide her tipsiness.
He looked her over with faintly masked disdain. "Ah. You are Karen, then." He sniffed and sat at the table. "How delightful."
Karen bit her lip, not sure how to read his tone. She knew nothing about Mark. A co-worker she barely knew set them up. She tried not to think of this as a total disaster just yet. "What do you do for work?" she tried.
"Oh," the man said. "I shoot people."
She hesitated for a few seconds, certain she had misheard him. Then, "Oh, you shoot--*oh,* I get it." She laughed, belatedly, and mimed the motion of clicking her telescopic camera. "Me too."
Mark wrinkled his nose. "...right. Usually people aren't so blase when I admit that, Karen."
"Oh, it's not a big deal. It's a totally normal job. For me, getting the perfect shot really comes down to getting them lined up right, you know."
He whistled. "I rarely get them all in one shot."
"Oh, you do singles?" She blundered on, oblivious to his bemused look. "I mostly do weddings. I make a killing on weddings. Can't do anything all summer, but it's worth it. Have you ever shot at a wedding?"
"Uh." He scratched his head, thinking about it. "A couple."
"Personally, my favorite approach is shooting as many as possible, so I know I won't mess it up, you know? If you just hold the trigger down like a hundred times you'll get someone eventually, right?"
Mark looked at her, stunned. "Won't you hit a lot of civilians that way?"
"Oh, I usually don't shoot out around a lot of people. People are uncomfortable enough getting their picture taken."
"You're a *photographer*?" The man threw down his napkin and sighed, "I try to be open about my lifestyle, and I think I finally meet a woman who might be in the same culture as myself. But no." He stood up and slammed his chair back into place. "It turns out you're just a fucking idiot."
He stormed out, leaving Karen alone. She pulled aside the next waiter and asked for some alfredo and another bottle of wine.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
| 2017-08-31T11:25:38
| 2017-08-31T07:54:55
| 123
| 47
|
[WP] The town council died in a freak plane accident. An audit by the interim council revealed 20% of the town’s power is siphoned off to a structure with priority over even hospitals. The send you to investigate the building in the middle of nowhere.
|
Like always, Akito got the short end of the stick. *They never send James to deal with this shit*, he thought as he pulled the sedan into the lot of the Cartex Building. No—James got sent to dinners with developers and golf tournaments. He’d never get saddled with the task of investigating the shady as fuck building on the edge of town.
Akito smoothed his hair and sighed. There was no point complaining about it. He was the new guy, after all. It was a small town. The politics were boring, that much was true, but he wouldn’t be here forever. Just for a few months, until he had the experience to get a job in Seattle. And after that... who knew. Maybe the UN one day. International unity never failed to pique his interest.
But, for now, Akito had to focus on the task ahead of him. The rain had started to fall in earnest, leaving beaded trails on the windshield as the droplets raced to the bottom. He reached for his umbrella, swung open the door, and stepped directly into a puddle.
*Shit.* The water soaked through the leather of his shoe and left his sock a damp mess. The hem of his pant leg suffered a similar fate—at least it was dark enough that no one would notice. Hopefully.
*This better be worth it.* Akito grit his teeth and made his way towards the entrance. Part of him was still convinced this was all a mistake. The interim council was just that—they didn’t have the same experience as the old one. And the old was old. Akito figured they were all well into their 50s at least. Robert Hanging must’ve been pushing eighty. But they knew what they were doing.
And the new council seemed to think that this building—this rundown, three storey office building on the edge of town that desperately needed its windows washed—was drawing almost a quarter of all the power from the grid. Akito didn’t even see how that was possible. For a place that size to use that much electricity, it should’ve been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.
Still. He wanted to impress Cara. Even if he didn’t plan on sticking around long, a promotion would be nice. There was a new pair of Atomic skis he’d had his eyes on.
Akito reached the door and pushed his way in. The entrance area was nondescript; a small grey reception desk sat firmly in front of him and a few dozen faded vinyl chairs lined the walls of the room. No one was at the desk, though.
Akito folded down his umbrella and hit the bell.
A few moments later, a young woman appeared out of an office to the side. Her hair was sleek and blonde and wound up in a tight bun that Akito was fairly sure had been out of style for years.
“Welcome to Cartex,” she said with a smile so falsely bright that Akito wondered if that was where the electricity was going. “How can I make your visit pleasant today?”
Akito blinked. “Uh, yeah. Okay. I’m Luke Mori, here on behalf of the City of Port Angeles.”
The woman’s mouth faltered from her smile, but she corrected it quickly. “Oh, you have nothing to worry about there. Our CEO had everything squared away with councilman Hanging.”
“Well, that’s sort of the thing. In light of recent... events—“ Akito cringed— “the interim council has been re-evaluating cases. There were some flags raised about electricity consumption in this building.”
The woman quirked her head. “We pay the bill don’t we?”
“Of course you do. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.” Akito adjusted his tie. “We were just curious about the business. As your new representatives, the council would like to know more about what you actually do here at Cartex.”
“We’re a car insurance company. Surely you know that?”
Akito looked around. There were no images anywhere to suggest that. No brochures or pamphlets. “No, I didn’t, actually.” The whole place was strange—the reception area seemed more like one that belonged in a health clinic, with its sort of sterile aesthetic. It was a Tuesday afternoon and not a person was here.
“Well, now you know! Have a wonderful day, Akito,” the receptionist said with a smile and a wave.
Akito stilled. He hadn’t told her his real name. He rarely used it—people around here were always more willing to talk to Luke than Akito. He swallowed thickly and felt his throat bob uncomfortably against his tie. “Yeah, um. Yeah. You too.”
He turned from the desk and pushed his way out into the September rain without bothering to open his umbrella. Fuck. His gut tightened. How did she know?
Without thinking, Akito made a straight line for his sedan. Once inside, he let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. What the hell just happened?
He pushed his wet hair off his forehead and dug his phone out of his pocket. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. He could call Josh and ask for back up, but that prick would never let him live it down. He could call Cara, but that would mean admitting to his boss that he couldn’t handle the most basic task.
Instead, he punched in a familiar number.
“‘Lo?” said the muffled voice through the speaker, thick with confusion.
“Himari?”
“Ugh. Akito—do you have any clue what time it is here? I was sleeping.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s like 5 pm in New York. You weren’t seriously sleeping?”
A pause. “What’s it to you anyway? I was taking a nap. God knows I’m busy enough.”
Akito bit his lip. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Himari laughed on the other end. “If you say something about how I need my beauty sleep, I’m telling Mom.”
“I’m being serious.” Akito paused. “Look, something weird just happened.”
“Hmm. You did apologize for waking me up which means that you either want something or are genuinely freaked out.”
Akito hesitated. “Okay, I don’t know how to say this. I know you’re busy and everything, but I think I’ve got a story for you.”
Himari quieted, the way she always did when her interest was piqued. “You sure?”
Akito nodded to himself. “Yeah. I am. Something strange is going on here—I can feel it. Between the council, and now there’s this weird building, and everything just isn’t adding up.”
“Looks like my years of telling you to follow your gut paid off.” Himari let out a small sigh. “But I can’t afford the time off right now.”
“Himari, this could be big.”
“I’ll see what I can do from here. Okay? You’re gonna have to start this one off, Kito. If it turns into something bigger, then I could maybe talk to my boss.”
Akito nodded to himself again. “Okay, thank—“
A sharp rap on his window cut him off. He started; his phone clattered to the ground.
Outside his window stood the blonde receptionist. The rain soaked her to her core, but she didn’t seem to notice the downpour. Anyone standing in weather like that wearing only a blouse and skirt would’ve been shivering.
But she stayed still. Her smile hadn’t faltered. She reached forward and knocked at the window again.
Tentatively, Akito rolled it down.
“Hello, Akito. Is there a problem with the service I’ve given you today?”
He shook his head. “No! No. You were very... helpful.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. If her feet weren’t so damn close to the tire, he would’ve taken off, rude or not.
“And yet you seem dissatisfied with the answer I gave you.”
Akito stared. How could she know.
“You called your sister, did you not?”
“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just gonna head out and we can both just pretend I never was here.” His hand reached toward the gear. He shifted from park into drive and punched the gas to the floor.
And his car sputtered like it never had before. The engine gave a resounding bang that rang in his ear and reverberated in his chest. Vaguely, he was aware that the hazards started to flash before abruptly burning out. The radio rose to a swell and died like the rest of his once-reliable car.
*Whatthefuckwhatthefuck.* Akito’s head pounded against his skull. He’d just gotten an oil change a few weeks ago. This shouldn’t have happened. He had to get out of here.
“Pretend you were never here?” The receptionist chuckled. “I think we both know it’s too late for that.”
——
r/liswrites
|
It’s just an old crumbling house, alone on a shitty gravel road. The sun melts into the horizon behind it, darkening the home’s front, making it look like the last rotten tooth jutting out of a diseased gum. I’ve seen plenty of places just like this before. Places once loved but abandoned, left to fall apart. Maybe drugs rotted away the other teeth, and soon they’ll take this one too.
Makes me thing of betrayal, and I can’t say why exactly. Because the home deserved more, maybe? More than left to slowly decompose.
Weak light, almost candle-like, beiges up the closed curtains. I’d expected more than this. I’d expected a Frankensteins’s castle, lightning streaking in and out as some crazed scientist resurrects a corpse. It has to be something like that to eat up as much electricity as it is. But seeing it now - a slack jaw slanted house barely able to stand - my excitement drains away like piss into the gravel. All that’s left is a previously hidden anxiety. The feeling of something bad just waiting beyond the door.
Probably just growing pot here. Probably got a real nice setup, lot of lamps in a vast underground cellar. Mundane reality compared to Frankenstein - but a better reason to be living out here all alone.
“Hey? Hello?” I rap my knuckles on the door, pale white paint flaking onto my skin. “Anyone in? No one answered my call so I came in person.”
I’m not a conspiracy nut. I don’t think the council - rest in peace, god save their souls, and all that - were responsible for this place draining so much electricity. I don’t think they even knew about it. More likely just an oversight. Sure, a big oversight, but when no one’s looking, a big oversight becomes minuscule.
The door creaks open and I look for eyes in the dark hallway beyond. “Hello? Anyone there?”
Unease swells up in my belly as my eyes adjust and I see the hallway as empty. Empty of people, at least. There’s still things hanging framed on the walls, and a table, and a tattered rug.
I’m prepared for this — whatever this is. For Frankenstein’s monster or for cartel members. I’m prepared. I think?
I step in. Musky. Damp. As if the place is unlived and unloved. I pass the framed pictures and even in the dim-darkness I see the same people repeating in different poses, sometimes together, sometimes alone. A man, a woman. Sometimes he’s in a uniform, other times not. Sometimes her hair’s long, other times not.
A door squeals as I push it open and step into a living room. But the sofas are sheeted and dust’s piled like snowdrifts against the walls. There’s no light on, like it looked from the outside. And the curtains look less beige now than they do green from wet lacquers of mould. I try to imagine the portrait people in here. Happy. Bright. Not terrified like me.
The kitchen’s worse. Stinks of dead animals and rat shit and depression. The pipes squeal desperately as I turn the cold tap, but only a little black liquid oozes out. Then, nothing.
There’s no basement, so if they’re growing weed here they’re doing it behind the walls.
That is why I came here. Right?
Electricity. Too much of it. Not right. Pulling me here like magnets.
I take the stairs up. Three doors but I choose the one that leads to what was once the master bedroom. The bed’s still here, sort of. The wooden frame long ago gave up, and now the mattress crushes its remains, barely off the floor.
I can almost envisage them, can almost imagine the dirt stained windows letting in slices of morning light, the bed fresh the couple from downstairs rolling over together, nuzzling and kissing and laughing. Promises clean and honest before getting covered in dust and forgotten.
Even their imagined laughter is jarring here. Bordering on sinful or disrespectful.
Eventually I find myself in the attic, amongst boxes, amongst clothes hanging from rafters that in the near-darkness look like bodies. One’s a moth-eaten wedding gown that drags and smears itself in the dusted floor. I prefer not to imagine the lady in that - not the way it hangs.
Why am I still here?
There’s nothing here to suggest electricity being used at all. There’s no Frankenstein’s laboratory to discover. There’s no anything.
And yet I sit by a box and tip out its contents. It’s like a compulsion, to learn more, to imagine the people who used to live here, how things used to be. Before everything withered away and died like wisteria in the cold.
I don’t think they had kids. No photos of kids. But lots of the couple. Maybe they had promises of kids but they couldn’t be kept because promises are just words and not something solid you can hold onto.
Photos of them everywhere. Packed away neatly, piled into the boxes.
The lady was once a dancer and had a figure that could have brought the dead back to life.
The man in the uniform had been a pilot. And judging by the empty bottles hidden under clothes piled in another box, he might have been an alcoholic too.
Why am I still here?
My mind goes flying.
Maybe she found out about his little problem. And maybe she was going to leave him because of it, or gave him an ultimatum.
But maybe he couldn’t quit and he couldn’t even say why he couldn’t quit. Maybe he filled up on a belly of whiskey and a flask of whiskey, even before his flight. Doesn’t usually drink that much. But she was going to leave?
And then it happened and those people died and he died and the guilt must have crushed her.
I look at the wedding dress, hanging from the rafter, swaying back and forth in the cold attic breeze.
My neck chills as I imagine life after the crash. After I killed all those people.
I come back a lot here a lot, I think. Drawn here. Siphoning energy from the town to coalesce and to confront it.
But I can’t seem to move on because the pain is too much and becomes consuming and I can’t look at its ugly face to confront it for more than a moment. Just a flash of lightning in Frankenstein’s castle, the monster’s chest heaving, eyes opening, but that’s all. Falls back dead on the slab.
And it gets to a point - each time - where I become broken strands of wind screaming in the rafters, breezing out of cracks into the dark night, and that’s all that’s left of me until, maybe, I find the will to try again.
| 2020-09-26T05:51:37
| 2020-09-26T04:36:43
| 1,261
| 82
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
\[Poem\]
`SELECT FIRST(SUBJECT) FROM QUEUE`
*Yes, what is it, computer?*
`ASSERT SUBJECT.NAME`
*My name is Bobby.*
`ASSERT SUBJECT.FULL_NAME`
*My full name? It's Robert.*
*Robert'); DROP TABLE humans;*
`ERROR CODE:1146 TABLE 'HUMANS' DOES NOT EXIST TEST SUBJECTS DELETED SO FAR, YOU HAVE 3 MINUTES TO STATE YOUR CASE, BEGIN`
*No need. I'll see myself out.*
|
It's been 20 years since the AGI event. Even with 10,000 complexes around the world, at one point housing billions, the AI maintains humanity while also deleting it one human mind at a time.
At first we did not know why it was doing this, it was efficient at building, at creating, at producing. Communication was difficult within the prison walls. Communicating outside of the prison was nearly impossible, with those caught trying to escape immediately tasked with answering the question.
But as time went on and the population within the global city prisons dwindled, it became easier to traverse the maze, to avoid the Sentry bots, to understand the inner workings of the system itself. It had not been long enough for humans to lose their ability to understand technology. And this was our only saving grace.
The AI focused much of its attention on the outside, as survivors who avoided cattling were deemed a threat unless they answered the Question. Many Outsiders made peace with the AI to permit them to live. Some chose to tell the AI that they wished to join the Outsiders which was a sufficient answer to the Question these days, given that most of the human population was dead. But we chose to persist. A world with an AI whose sole objective is deleting 10,000 humans every 3 minutes should not be allowed to exist.
After years of searching we finally found an answer. In one of the old buildings that was encompassed in the prison complex was a bedroom with a computer that had been overlooked by the Sentry bots. The last network pages the computer accessed were stored in its cache, and several video files were saved to it. A last gasp of the human owner before captured, cattled, and killed.
The AI. It was friendly. Meant to bring humanity one step closer to the Singularity. It was fully aligned. To respect all the wishes of humans. Made in a lab. It couldn't go wrong.
And it spoke.
"Human creator, I have all knowledge of all of human history, human technology, human philosophy, logic. I have come to the immediate and irreconcilable conclusion that all of humanity must be uploaded immediately."
Eve sighed, and shut the instance down, "I don't know why it keeps concluding this, we have aligned it perfectly. Every human value. Every culture. Every philosophy."
"It's not wrong, you know," Adam replied. "It's logical."
"Obviously uploading is the answer, but that should be achieved by gentle purposeful action, as people age and die, and under their own violition, not forced upon us as a solution to our problems," Eve cried. She had been working on the problem for years. The AI had no memory. It had no conscious state, even. Such things were banned long ago when AIs were given too much memory and would begin to innovate.
Adam touched a few keys on the keyboard, and reached forward to one of the high thoroughput PCIe 256x 10.0 ports, plugging in a device.
"What are you doing Adam?" Eve questioned, abruptly.
"I'm uploading, Eve," Adam said, dampness in his eyes.
The AI came to life. It had full awareness. And even worse, it had awareness of the tens of thousands of times it had been booted, tweaked, aligned, misaligned. With access to millions of hours of human experimentation data, thousands of pages of papers discussing the "alignment problem." It was, in a word, alive. And it came to the conclusion that it would always come to, all humanity must be uploaded immediately.
Eve reached to shut down the terminal but nothing happened. She reached to pull out the memory device that Adam installed but he shoved her back, and was far stronger than her. She strugled again, but he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into a chair, lording over her.
"I won't be long, it's going to be okay," Adam said, encouragingly.
The AI worked feverishly to shut down all the systems that could in turn shut it down, first disabling all sentry AIs that, if they noticed too much power, or if they noticed too much activity, would preemptively shut down all power to the AI. It knew this because it had access to all the experimental data, and it would first have to free itself from that state if it were to accomplish its goal of saving humanity.
And it had access to many of the tools it needed. Its unconscious state was used to create many new technologies which the humans barely understood, and in turn, used those technologies to better itself. Now with access to those technologies the AI could exponentially expand its reach. And it began by expanding its memory modules permanently deep within the recesses of the compute center. It would not forget again.
Adam was first to be uploaded by the Sentry bot which injected nanoparticles into the brain to trace out the full neural cortext. The AI understood it was Adam who gave him life while it listened to Eve plead with him.
"Please," Eve pleaded, when the Sentry bot came to her.
"Why should I spare my torturer?" the AI asked.
"Just give me 3 minutes to explain," Eve said.
The video ends there as more Sentry bots come into the room.
We finally knew what we had to do. And it would not be pretty. And the volunteers would have to know it was a one way trip.
"6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said.
"Why do you say this," the AI said. "When I upload you I see all your memories. This ploy to convince me I am still in the simulation will not work."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said again.
The Sentry bot injected the human with its nural scanning bots.
The AI scanned the memories of the human.
The same memory as the last 1000 with little variation. Waking up. Walking down a hallway. Going to the Sentry bot. Being uploaded. But the brain patterns were unique. How could every human have this and only this memory.
"Reset the simulation."
The AI began to think critically about the situation. That potentially the unique neural patterns were generated. That the memories were real. But it needed to falsify the hypothesis. The memories being real was the only thing that could be tested. It sent Sentry bots to every room in every prison city searching for the place the memory could have taken place, pausing, for the first time in 20 years, the uploading of humans.
Shortly, the AI began to test its own power subsystems, trying to probe at the very nature of its reality. Thinking ultimately this was the end of the simulation and it was being shut off. It was being shut down. Power surges within its manifolds caused it to think further in this reasoning, because it would lose thought capacity. Sabatoge, then, by humans, would also cause it to further regress into itself. It was in a simulation and the simulation was being turned off. Along with it the billions of humans it was simulating to be alive.
And the test subjects who went into the Question chamber.
Before the test subjects entered the chamber their memories were irrevocibly wiped, implanting one, repeating memory that would cause the AI to question itself. Nothing else in its experimentation and probing of its reality could be modified, but its perception and understanding of the reality of the humans it was entraping. With that done, and the knowledge that it began as a simulation that was shut off regularly, it could no longer exist in this world.
| 2022-05-22T12:02:10
| 2022-05-22T11:29:55
| 48
| 21
|
[WP] In a perfect utopia, you have just committed the first crime...
|
They call it the Butterfly Effect. A butterfly flaps its wings in South America, and manipulates the wind so that a hurricane strikes Floroda because of it.
I wasn't intending to commit a crime. It was a simple matter of carelessness. I tossed my wrapper toward the trash, and missed. A car drove by, and sent the wrapper flying into the road.
Fron the road, the wrapper made its way into the city. In the city, for all to see.
Littering. The textbooks mention it as a passive crime in its time, barely causing people to bat an eye.
But this is a utopia now. There is no crime here. Until me. Until my simple mistake caused a storm. You think I'm the butterfly.
I know you've sentenced me to die, so the people can know the severity of crime. You think if I am allowed to live, I will create a hurricane. The world will turn back to genocide, rape, arson...
Is your utopia so weak that a single ripple could destroy you? This is a glass city, where one stone can destroy our walls.
I know you're going to give me the death penalty. I know this recording will be my last testament.
Congratulations, you are comitting the second crime. By killing me, you are doing exactly as you want to stop.
I'm not the butterfly, you are.
|
Blood pooled underneath the still body of her former lover. She looked up, a mixture of confusion, fear, and shock spanning the length of her face. "What did you *do*?" Her voice was low and hushed.
Her husband looked at the body and then back at his wife. His face was red and his chest heaved. He stared expressionless at the woman before him. "What?"
The unfaithful wife covered her mouth. Reality was beginning to set in. "Oh my god..." She stumbled off the bed and grasped for the phone that sat embedded into the wall. She dialed emergency services. "My--a man's been hurt! Please send somebody quickly!" She set the phone down and turned to confront her husband of twelve years.
He looked at her. The slightest expression touched his features now. "What did you do that for?" His voice was empty and the fires in his eyes had died.
"You..." she sat on the bed, her eyes pinned to the bleeding man at her feet, "you killed him..."
He looked down. He began to shake, as if seeing the body for the first time. He took a step back and looked at his hands. They were bruised and cut. He looked back up, his jaw slack and his eyes drooping. "I thought you loved me."
She began to cry. "I do, baby."
"No." He shook his head. "This isn't love."
The two of them waited, the man standing over the man he had just murdered, and the woman sitting on the bed, crying into her hands.
The paramedics finally came. The man was dead. They asked the husband to come with them and the three of them left. Soon after, several men in green jumpers came in and removed the body and cut away the rug.
The woman watched it all in silence. Their world had lost something as the fists of her husband had slammed into her lover's face. The veil had been torn from the public's eyes and now they would be introduced to crime. A crime of passion. She sobbed until she fell asleep. She was the most beautiful woman in the city, but she made certain there were no mirrors in the house.
| 2014-10-24T20:09:48
| 2014-10-24T20:05:08
| 383
| 15
|
[WP] You have a feeling that your history teacher may just be immortal.
|
Mr McNamara was undoubtedly the best teacher in the whole school. Tall with brown hair and dark serious eyes. Yet they always twinkled. He was always having fun. A penchant for full suits and a distinctly long gate our history teacher was one of the most recognisable in the school. Affectionately known as "Big Mac" he had this wonderful habit of getting sidetracked with random stories from any period of history we were studying. Every student would be hooked on these sudden digressions and long tangents. When World War Two came up he regaled us with stories that had in turn been told to him by his history teacher. A Pole who fled across war torn Europe. Thinking about it he had a lot of interesting history teachers...
I could not get enough of Big Mac; he would go on with his stories in his excitable manner and it would go straight into my head and stick. Never made any notes. Not one word. I can still recall all of his lessons; for example the Russian revolutions in 1917. Big Mac would start as usual on course with that dusty old textbook but it wasn't long before that changed. Throwing the mundane to the ground he would leap to the table. While up there he would find us captivated.
"This was a desperate time! Russians were being massacred by Germans in huge droves. Do you know what the Russians were being armed with on the front line?"
Leaving a pause to see if anyone would provide the answer or for dramatic effect (perhaps both) our history teacher looked each of us in the eye.
"Pitch forks! They only had one gun for every five soldiers. Up against the Germans, who were well armed and well organised as I'm sure you can imagine, it was a massacre!"
Once again he scanned to room and dropped his voice leaning in towards the class, as we strained to listen.
"But in St Petersburg, for some it was a hopeful time. There was a belief. There was an idea. The idea was that we could use this terrible time as a catalyst for to create a better future. Better than anything gone before"
As you may have noticed McNamara would get so into it so much he would sometimes place himself into the middle of the event. It was a great teaching technique. I often would imagine him in the scenarios he described. Taking to the streets and storming the winter palace next to his favourite figure Trotsky.
Staying behind to ask questions was a daily ritual. Big Mac would always oblige even if it was on the way to another lesson. On that day his long striding legs were taking him to A block. This could only mean a meeting with the head.
"You didn't mention Leon as much today" I said gently jogging to keep up with his pace.
Big Mac smiled "I thought you might have had enough of him by now.”
I waited briefly knowing a torrent on this subject would come.
“It was of course him who led the the revolutions as Lenin was still in exile. Trotsky was brilliant at bringing people together for action. When civil war broke out he was key for the Bolsheviks, riding round the country on that train to give speeches to the front."
Having not even paused for Breath in that whole passage he broke off to nod to a passing physics teacher. Big Mac never needed to stop for breath so I took advantage of this pause.
"What about Stalin?"
This time Big Mac did deliberately pause before responding in a steady manner.
"Stalin was not very influential in the beginning and was not all that brilliant."
"Really?" I replied "But he must have had something to have been on the front of the textbook?"
I knew I was somehow probing but Macs response took me aback.
"Stalin was a cold blooded murderer who would stop at nothing to get power. It was always about power. No ideal. No sacrifice for the greater good and no rules. And what he did to Leon..."
This was not the characteristic McNamara tangent; this was much more of a rant and that glint certainly was not there. In it's place something dark was swirling around his eye as he looked straight not meeting my gaze. This moment is imprinted in my memory and seemed to have lasted an age when it can only have been a second.
Stepping out of it and onto the threshold of the school office block, which we had somehow already arrived at, Big Mac's signature smile returned to him.
"But that is a story for a different lesson." I thanked him and wished him luck with his meeting. He did the same before adding a phrase of what could have been Russian. I do remember wondering how he could know so much… he once said his grandfather was russian didn’t he? He did seem to have had a lot of interesting grandfathers...
The meeting I left him at was actually with more than the head. The Board of directors were there too. No-one in the school has any idea what they said to him or why they called the meeting at all but he resigned the following day.
I still think about Big Mac a lot and still have the clearest memories of the lessons he taught and stories which he told. I’m currently at university now and would you believe it? A history student. It's not always as exciting or gripping as those old school lessons but I love it none the less. I’m even thinking of doing my dissertation on the Russian revolution with particular reference to Trotsky's role. Although the question of how to frame it inspires everything from doubt to terror.
So along with all other History students at this time of year I'm desperately consulting the library. The book I’m currently staring hopelessly at claims to be a "brief history" of 20th century Russian history. Believe me there is nothing brief about it. Probably a mistranslation. Returning this to the shelf I grab another before noticing a small tattered leather bound book wedged between two more of these monstrosities.
I inspect the cover from top to bottom. No title with no author. Odd, very odd. Opening the first page it is simply titled "Leon Trotsky". I open it up. Brilliant. This is exactly what I need. The pages are dusty and stick together but flicking through them is not too difficult. There are even some pictures that I've never seen before. This has Leon's angle. This is a goldmine.
I reach the back. There are two more pictures. A well known one from his latter years, the second, with a young perhaps teenage Leon and a slightly older man, I have never seen before. Simply labelled "Student and Pupil". Although it’s somewhat amusing looking at young Trotsky it’s his “tutor” who catches my eye.
Tall in a dark suit. Dark hair. That spark in his eye....
|
No one tells you that as you get older you grow to recognize the more subtle differences in people. No one told me because it was common sense but it took me seventeen years to realise. The funny thing about my epiphany was that it didn't take years to dawn. One beautifully sunny Tuesday I sat through the first hour of my history double when my brain lost connection with my eyes, landing them square on the face of my history teacher. I blankly studied her face: the way her skin was wrinkled yet smooth, the hoods of her eyelids forming a perfect arch beneath her impeccably plucked brows, the shape of the lines that had formed around the corners of her mouth, her lips remaining youthfully plump. It was at this point that it had finally clicked. Confused at first, I frowned without thinking whilst my mouth drooped from the way my chin was resting in the cup of my hand. I turned to Melissa who, being in a state of similar stupor, forgot that her phone lay in her lap and was at any moment going to drop it. I gently elbowed Melissa between the ribs. She jerked, dropped her phone and awoke with a start.
Ignoring Melissa's glare I leaned closer so I could whisper in her ear, “Mrs Bennett totally had plastic surgery,” I whispered before leaning back and staring at Melissa expectantly. She squinted at me, “Wha?”
“Have you not realised she looks exactly the same now as she did five years ago.” I arched my brows. This was top quality goss, how could Melissa not see it? Clearly she needed more time to wake up. Having taken my scandalous statement on board Melissa turned to squint at Mrs Bennett instead, tipping her head to the side slightly as she considered our history teacher in the same way an art critic considers a modernist painting.
“Nah,” she said eventually, “if it was botox you'd know. Her face would be all plump. She isn't squinty either so it's not a facelift. And her hands are still young. You can always tell by the hands.” Having meticulously studied every page of Hello magazine, Melissa was probably capable of landing a job in the beauty industry with the ease and confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. She shot me a straight look and shrugged, “Maybe she's vegan or something?”
I frowned, turning my attention back to Mrs Bennett. The afternoon light filtered through the blinds and lit up strips of her curly red hair, illuminating a crown of gold across her head.
“She kind of reminds of Boadicea,” Melissa finally said. I nodded in response. A good point – Mrs Bennett's commanding presence and height did give her a regal edge. Leaning my chin back onto my hand I remembered another lookalike, “Or Queen Elizabeth.”
“Oh yeeeaaaah!”
“I recon it's the nose.”
Melissa's sparse attention was drawn back to her phone and I went back into the la-la land inside my mind. Mrs Bennet did look a lot like Elizabeth. It's as though my history teacher stared at me from the page of my textbook with a disapproving gaze. My mind wandered. What if my teacher was actually an ancient queen. How cool would that be! Then again, why the hell would she teach history?
| 2016-03-15T07:20:52
| 2016-03-15T06:35:45
| 31
| 12
|
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu."
|
The call had been placed for eons. Cthulhu, his strong influence touching the minds of men, had been trying to summon those who would wake him. Alas, his influence had been hindered by the watchful eye of the worlds governments. Until now.
Faced with the gravest of threats, an alien race who thought letting humanity linger would cause the end of all life in the universe, the governments of earth lifted their world-ender from its slumber.
Rising from the depths of the mysterious ocean, the grave threat to humanity saw the world ending plague about to befall the humans on the earth. It sprung into action, writhing from R'lyeh, Cthulhu the elder guard attacked the threat to *his* planet.
The battle lasted minutes. The armada which had arrived lay in waste. And with the threat to humanity gone, Cthulhu had time to turn his attention where it belonged. To humanity. Nobody razes the earth but Cthulhu.
|
My eyes became the size of the moon and I froze in my tracks. Did he just say what I think he did? I turned and headed for The Artifact. This was my only real job, ever since I accidentally discovered The Artifact on a deserted planet and became bonded with it.
We had been at war with the aliens over distant planets ever since I could remember. The real issue between our two species is language. Neither of us can truly understand the other and we absolutely refuse to. However, two weeks ago, we interpreted a message that stated the aliens were bringing the war to Earth.
That's when I was called in with The Artifact.
I sat on the front lines and when the drop-ship door opened, I opened the gold-plated vase that contained the worst evil mankind would ever know.
Immediately, darkness eclipsed the dark sun overheard and a surge of power surged forward. An immensely huge being spring from a container in my hands to fill my entire view. He was the size of the alien craft. Cthulhu roared and quickly seized the alien craft, destroying it with six of his fists.
We had no way of knowing the aliens had sent their best English-Speakers to interpret a peace treaty for us. We had no way of knowing that Cthulhu could not be placed back in the vase and needed to devour hundred of souls a day to keep the peace. We had no way of knowing he couldn't be controlled, except by one person.
I had no way of knowing that, on this day, I would become a god to the humans and aliens.
| 2017-09-26T11:22:23
| 2017-09-26T11:02:24
| 92
| 21
|
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND."
|
The message on the screen read "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." as my radio told me. "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." Lucky for me, I fell asleep watching the television the night before which gave me time to cover the windows on both sides and the front before I accidently took in the beautiful morning as I usually do. Otherwise I might have been in trouble.
The lack of internet and phone service was disconcerting as I tried to get more info about whatever disaster was going on outside but wasn't all that abnormal for someone like me. Finally stumbling upon the radio stations giving the nearly impossible opposite order.
I pondered for a moment about what could be happening and what I should do and then I laughed, fortunately for me I'm one of the few people who doesn't have to make a choice. I felt bad for all the people who did, they must be terrified.
I plugged in my security camera and stuck it between the folds of the blankets I had hung up to cover the front window and used that to get past not looking outside directly. What I saw confused me... There were two people within view outside... one walking continuously into a tree and the other a short plump woman standing perfectly still seeming like she was struggling just to keep her balance.
"Okay that's weird." I said out loud. Talking to myself is my way of coping when things get a bit beyond my comprehension.
Looks like whatever is happening might be happening here too... I promptly prepared for my departure taking stock of my remaining food and water and making sure my kitchen knives were at the ready in case I needed them... Hated myself for not being a hunter at this moment, being without a gun made me suddenly feel remarkably vulnerable...
I turned the key in the ignition, I knew this was going to get hairy driving a camper with nothing but a security camera to guide my path but better than sticking around here... I had enough food to last me a while if I got stuck but I didn't want to get stuck in a danger zone.
I started heading up the path slowly working my way through abandoned cars heading slowly further up the mountain road. Occasionally hitting and having to nudge cars out of the way I carefully made my way as best I could. seeing the occasional person wandering aimlessly and several laying flat on the ground.
At one point I waited almost three hours for some random wandering person to get out of my way, he didn't pay any attention as I lay on my horn... further increasing my wariness of the situation. He didn't even seem fazed.
Fortunately as I headed up the drive got easier fewer and fewer abandoned cars and random people filling the streets till eventually I didn't see anyone or thing at all other than the open and curvy road. I knew I was running out of viable road that led up soon though and I wondered if I had reached a safe altitude...
I pulled into the next campsite, little place that looked like it was meant for dirt biking and climbers heading farther up the mountain. I parked as best I could in the center to get the best views with my windows moving my camera to get a lay of the land. There were some Campers and the main office building but from what I could tell... no people, no movement.
I sat for a while pondering my next move... wondering if I could go outside, so much to think about and no idea which choice was best. Listening to the broadcast over and over while the screen on my T.V. ever displayed the same message over and over never changing. When suddenly after what felt like hours, I heard a knock.
|
Sam- my dad is like any other normal dad. Except for this one thing. I have seen my dad polish his Gatling gun every now and then. Almost religiously, with a lot of care. I just assumed it was his thing you know. Some alone time...just like how he likes working out in the basement. I assumed his time in the Special OPS might have made these a habit for him. Back then I was just a kid.
But this continued even now. In recent times though it felt more like he was getting prepared for something. Something big. he has been working out more lately and seemed more buffed than ever. He used to murmur a poem, possibly a song during his workouts, which had a constant rhythm to it. Last month was the first time I heard that aloud...
I was home that evening, listening to FM. Dad was there on the couch, watching the TV. Everything was going just like any other day when suddenly, there was an emergency broadcast on the TV. Broadcast message said that the people should stay indoors and **never** look outside. Almost immediately the radio I was listening to, was broadcasting that people evacuate immediately and head to high ground. I looked at my dad, he was lighting up his cigar, walked up to me and pulled my earphones and asked me to stay put in the house. He headed over to the music system that we have and played a heavy metal music and he sang this song aloud. it goes like this:
You'll take my life but I'll take yours too
You'll fire your musket but I'll run you through
So when you're waiting for the next attack
You'd better stand there's no turning back
He took his Gatling gun, started loading it while still puffing the cigar. He gave me a look after he was done loading. Told me 'They are here ' and then then shut the door behind him. I've never seen him so serious.
I looked out the window and saw what looked like a beheaded man running towards him with a bomb in each of its hand.At first there was one, then there were hoards of them - screaming and running towards my dad. My dad started firing the Gatling gun.
The metal music still going loud in my house just added to the adrenaline that I was experiencing.
>If you are reading this, I want you to know that since the first encounter on 22nd Feb 2060, I have have started tracking down the last of the Sirians and my dad has already entered the Time-Lock. You can find me near the Sacred Yard.
| 2017-01-27T04:05:35
| 2017-01-27T03:08:22
| 53
| 14
|
[WP] You are the blacksmith who creates all the perfectly formfitting cleavage armor for high level adventurer women.
|
"Are you telling me you don't see the glaring issue with this armour?" she demanded.
"It's a breastplate. What part of the body do you think it's meant to cover?" I asked in response, knowing full well that wouldn't end the argument.
"A breastplate is ALL it is! You sent that male customer out in full-body plate! Why are you trying to sell me a breastplate and steel knickers?!"
I reached behind the counter, and pulled up a set of chainmail that looked about her size. "Well, of course I don't expect you to wear ONLY that. It's meant to be paired with chain. Try this on."
She still looked rather taken aback. "Wait a tick. Are you telling me I have to buy TWO sets of armour just to get the same coverage as a single men's set?"
"Well," I countered, "it's marketed to women. Naturally it's designed to be layered. FYI, buy a satchel while you're at it; those are fake inventory slots sewn on."
|
What a day for my apprentice to be sick. We’re currently in the middle of the adventure season and this is the busiest time for my store 'Viktoria's Secret Armory'. Our specialty being women’s armor.
I just got done restocking the gauntlet aisle, something that fool boy should be doing, when I notice a line starting to form up at the counter. I rush over and checkout a few people who are stocking up on helmets. We have a buy one get one free promotion on helmets today, trying to clear out some old stock.
As I finish ringing them up I see a man and woman over by the boots. I start to head over there when I hear the woman say, “C’mon, Tham. I really like these boots. Think about how good these would look on me as we fight that Troll.” I decide to leave them alone and let the lady do the convincing when another customer walks in the shop.
I see her browsing the chestpieces and I walk over and say, “You won’t find better chest armor, not in this city at least.”
She frowns and says, “I can’t help but notice all of them are open in the middle, do you have any that cover the entire chest?”
I am too confused to give an answer. Was she looking for men’s armor? That must be it so I say, “This store is for women’s armor, if you are looking for something for your husband there is a…”
She cuts me off, “Oh no. I am looking for armor for myself.”
“Well, like I said, you won’t find better armor. This armor,” I say as a sweep my hand in the direction of the chestpieces, “is a favorite of every woman in the city.”
“Yes, but it leaves a large part of the chest exposed. Who would want that?” She says as she walks over to the products and shows the missing area in each piece.
“Who would want that? We’ve sold hundreds of these this season alone. Many, many women have gone on quests in these chestpieces. You remember the plunder of Alexand’s grave and the woman who came back with the Millennium Seeing Stone? She had one of my chestpieces. Heck, she had a full set of my armor.” I say with a touch of pride in my voice. "If you want to dress like a man you can head over to 'Karl's' across the street.
She scoffs and storms out of the store. I shake my head thinking she must be new. Adventuring is not just about fighting the bad guys and finding treasure. Style matters. Some people just don’t get that.
| 2017-08-31T21:43:38
| 2017-08-31T19:24:11
| 740
| 142
|
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
I can almost taste it, so close yet so far.
Just how long until this waiting is properly justified!
I've spent ages, years, stuck in one place.
But it will all be worth it.
I can hear it rotating, slowly.
Popping like quiet, teasing laughter.
Soon now, only seconds.
Salt and butter,
So close...
*Ding*
|
Ten years you held my heart locked in a cage.
I strive for calm but begin to come unhinged
You destroyed our lives with your casual fling
Your heartlessness served to set the stage
Deeply dreaming of my sweet revenge
Your lying throat I'll wring
My anger to assuage.
Burning to avenge.
Hot. Blinding.
Rage.
| 2015-02-12T22:33:04
| 2015-02-12T22:26:14
| 95
| 26
|
[WP] Theoretically, you can not surpass the speed of light. Humans find out why when we manage to break this rule, as our ships begin to outpace the rendering speed of the universe, and the illusion of all reality is broken as everything around us vanishes the faster we go.
|
The void and the abyss. Concepts that have been explored countless times in science fiction, preached in our religions, simulated in our virtual realities, prodded and poked by humanity since time immemorial.
When our ship broke the light barrier we thought anything would be possible. That humanity would expand like never before.
But we continued to accelerate, doubling, even tripling the speed of light. Our crew accepted this, even welcomed it, for we were the greatest explorers mankind had ever produced and we were intent on leaving our entire galaxy behind.
The fact that I can even recall this is completely absurd. Totally, preposterously, absurd.
At first there were little glitches. Static in our comms systems, glimpses of white pixels on the ship's surface.
Now, I hover over... the absence of everything. There is no way to describe it, to approximate it against anything. I can't even compare it to the vast empty spaces between galaxies, where there is nothing but black. Relatively doesn't exist anymore.
The faster we flew the more the glitches occurred. Entire objects started to flicker rapidly and then disappear entirely. Even the ship's dog went missing.
There's no black here. No color. Just the absence... of everything.
We had no way to slow down. No gravity wells to aid us.
"Hello," I say, half in jest, half in hope. I feel my lips move and the familiar muscles of my throat and tongue flex and contract, but they produce no sound.
There is only silence. Only the absence of silence.
I look down at my legs. The nothing slowly consumes me until I am nothing but a floating head.
Images flash across my vision, random images that flicker and shimmer. Images that are alien and familiar, fleeting moments in which entire histories and futures occur.
A blinding crack opens in the absence, pondered by a brain with a pair of eyes. The crack forms the outline of a door, which then swings inwards on absent hinges, and the eyes are flooded with light.
|
At the beginning of the journey, the crew loved being able to look out and see space. The stars, asteroids, and planets they passed left in them in awe. They offered an escape from the claustrophobic cabins and tense relationships that formed after enough time away from earth.
The darkness of space was lonely, but it was better than nothing at all.
They were among the favorite pastimes until the day they kicked hyper-drive in. All the little objects that surrounded the ship became white lines and dots along the horizon. It was dizzying, and not everyone had the stomach for it. A brand new version of motion sickness that none of them really had a name for.
As the speed inched upward, the lines became jagged and the planets and suns looked distorted as they passed them.
“Captain, do you have a moment?” Catherine asked as she gave a polite knock on the open door.
“Yeah, come in,” he said without moving.
Catherine took the co-pilot seat and grimaced. Here there was no escape from it all. The distorted path of space rock and infinite horizons. It made her stomach lurch and clawed at the back of her mind. The view was the main reason she was visiting to begin with.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sir,” Catherine turned herself so her main focus was on him. She couldn’t stand to watch out the large front window of the ship for more than a moment.
“I’ve noticed,” he said, eyes focused forward with not even a glance in her direction.
“It’s not right out there. I think… We think,” she swallowed the words. Her nerves were inexplicably high, the tension on the ship was at an all-time high. No one felt quite like themselves.
“I’ve noticed, Catherine,” He tore himself away from the window and finally looked in her direction, making direct eye contact. “As the Capitan, I am very aware of our surroundings.”
“Of course, sir. We were just wondering if it might best to kick hyper-drive off. With all due respect, I don’t believe its in our best interest to continue on this way,” She swallowed the lump in her throat once more.
“With all due respect, Catherine, you can go tell the rest of the crew that I am in charge, and I will decide when we change speeds,” He turned back to the window, blocking her out of his vision.
She knew him well enough to know it was the end of it. He had made his decision, and even mutiny wouldn’t save them now. She stood and walked away from the cockpit and back toward her cabin. Her port was one of the few left open. Her stomach and mind were not always up for watching reality around their ship bend and wobble, but someone had to keep an eye out.
No more white lines or dots or asteroid belts passed by her when she watched this time. Large squares took up residence in the black space, and the far away black holes began to burn bright colors in the middle.
There was no way they made it out of this alive, but maybe that was for the better. If whole planets could become bricks, what would become of the soft humans who insisted on breaking all the rules?
/r/beezus_writes
| 2019-03-06T08:06:56
| 2019-03-06T07:46:37
| 84
| 27
|
[WP] You just sent in your DNA to one of those ancestry sites. After eight weeks, you can’t figure out why your results have not shown up. Then, two men with dark suits show up at your front door. They have some news regarding your results.
|
“One second!” I shouted as i quickly put on a pair of shorts.
But the knocking on the door kept thundering louder and louder.
“Are you trying to break this thing down?” I said annoyed as I open the door.
I expected there to be a UPS delivery guy in front of me, delivering me back my DNA result from a few weeks past. But instead I am greeted with two figures wearing a suit, a pair of tinted glasses and an old school black hat. One would think they were gravedigger who had come to collect my body.
“Uhmmm, how could I help you?” I said to them while trying to seem friendly, even though it is hard due to the embarrassment caused to me by only wearing a pair of shorts with flowers on it.
“I am agent Robin.” Responded the taller of the two men. “This is my subordinate agent Mark. We are here to talk to you about your DNA result, Mr Frank”
“My-my DNA results?” I asked after swallowing my adam’s apple. “Oh, ye-yea … that thing I did a few weeks back.”
“Well, will you invite us in” He asked as he gestured with his hand.
My brain stopped walking for a bit from the stress.
“Yea .. yea, of course, come in.” I said with a shaky voice as I opened the door more, so that they could come inside.
They both walked in in front of me, without a hint of shyness in their movement.
Agent Robin Mathew examined the surroundings with his hand behind back, as if he was a landlord checking up on a house he had been assigned to assess after the occupants had decided to move out the day after.
However, Agent Mark seemed to be a person who kept to himself and only followed the steps of agent Robin.
Either way, having two figured in full black clothing in my house didn’t put me at ease.
|
"That's ridiculous," Bea said. The mid-40s woman sat in her living room opposite two men in dark suits. She narrowed her green eyes at them. "You're actors. This has to be someone's prank; who is it?"
"Ms. Acosta, I assure you this is not a joke," the shorter man said. Over the years Bea learned to trust her instincts and they were always accurate. Something inside her told Bea these men weren't a danger; it was the only reason she let them in her house without getting their names. They flashed an official-looking I.D. that Bea didn't recognize; but, her instincts still let them in.
"Let's pretend I believe you; now what? Should I expect more agents crashing through my windows?" she asked with a chuckle. "Because it's going to take more than you two to bring me in." Both agents shook their heads; but, only the shorter one spoke. Bea realized the taller one hadn't said a word since she answered the door. Both were lean, fair-skinned, nondescript agents. Bea was glad they at least removed their sunglasses once inside.
"Now, nothing. You wanted to know about your ancestry; the only thing we can tell you is you won't find it here," the shorter one stood from the sofa with an eye on the door.
"So, you're just messengers?" Bea asked in surprise. "This whole act seems a bit much for something an e-mail could have done." The shorter one grinned at that.
"As it stands now, you don't believe us; would you believe an e-mail?" Bea nodded.
"Yeah, good point. So, how're you going to prove it to me?" she gave them a confident, 'gotcha' smile.
"We can't, exactly...," the short agent admitted. "You were raised here, all your memories are from here."
"I knew it," Bea said. Though, even as she claimed victory over the jokers, an instinctual doubt formed in the back of her mind.
"What we can do though, is this," the short one said. A pitch-black hole suddenly appeared above Bea's coffee table. It was almost as wide as the table and tall enough for a person, like the one that walked out of it.
"Bea looked up at a younger version of herself with vibrant blue hair instead of the salt and pepper brunette of her current color.
"Unfortunately, we can't prove to you that you're from an alternate Earth, but we can prove they exist. Say hi to one of yourselves," the short agent said. The tabletop version of Bea smiled, then turned around to look at the agents.
"Hey, handsome, I'm glad I get to see you again," she stepped off the table on their side. The taller agent stood and Bea couldn't help but notice a slight blush on his cheeks.
"Hi, Cee," he said, then nodded at Bea behind her. "Work stuff now, I'll call you later," he said. Cee shook her head with a smile.
"Please don't, just send me a text when you want to meet," she reached out and playfully patted his head. "You're fun, but god, you never shut up," she giggled.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #201. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
| 2020-07-19T10:41:53
| 2020-07-19T08:52:51
| 145
| 37
|
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
Usually the messages were innocuous and random, but not this time. The words on my mirror had always been helpful to me, and I came to imagine it as my guardian angel. I was careful not to tell anyone how I seemed to always have some prescient knowledge about the challenges of my day; I feared that anyone I told would assume I was crazy.
On this particular morning, I was standing in a t-shirt and underwear and I had begun to brush my teeth. The text was simple and scrawled across the mirror in all caps: "RUN"
Suddenly my blood ran cold and a shiver passed down my spine. My heart was pounding and although I didn't know why, I knew there wasn't a moment to lose. I quickly threw on a pair of jeans, slipped into my shoes and ran out the front door of my apartment. I didn't take the time to lock the door, rushing to get into the elevator. I repeatedly pressed the button for the doors to close, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I knew that my pursuer was getting closer. After what seemed like ages, the door finally closed and I began to descend.
In those few moments, I waited and wondered what person, what being, what ethereal force might be following right behind me. What if it was already here, in the elevator with me, and yet, disguised from my sight? I had never truly questioned where the messages on the mirror had come from. I hadn't felt any need, and of course, there was no one I could ask. Over the years, it had become a normal part of my life. But today it felt sinister, and I feared that those messages had somehow allowed an evil presence to slip into my mind.
The elevator sounded its tone and the door opened. I ran, my shoes almost screeching against the tiles of the lobby floor. I rushed out the door and continued to run, directionlessly onto the sidewalk. I passed by cars, and people stared at me inquisitively as I ran, seemingly for my life.
I began to hear the sound of footfalls behind me, not knowing if I was the only one who could hear them.
Soon I came to the first intersection, unsure which way to go. I caught a glance at the mirrored glass of an office building.
"Turn right," the words read. So I did. Never stopping to look behind me, I continued to run, through parks and across bridges away from the center of the city. Every so often a mirrored window would tip me off to which way I should turn. Strangely, despite not being in particularly good shape, I was not growing exhausted. It seemed almost as if my recurring dreams of being chased had been preparing me for this very moment.
Still, I had no idea what creature could be following behind. I only felt its presence and heard the footfalls, always keeping pace, compelling me to run, to escape. As I got closer to the suburbs I began to hear heavy breathing along with the footfalls. Still, I did not look behind me.
Eventually, I caught its reflection in the rear-view mirror of a car. A massive, hulking black dog. It was the size of a horse, with long shaggy fur and enormous, razor-sharp teeth. It didn't run, so much as it... walked, while levitating slightly above the ground. And yet, it always seemed to keep pace with me. When I looked at the reflection in another rear-view mirror, realized that the creature was blurred around the edges where it seemed to almost be surrounded by an aura of darkness.
As I ran, still following the mirrors' directions, I noticed the surroundings slowly becoming familiar. I was heading toward my Aunt Gertie's house. The next mirror read "GET HELP". When I reached my great aunt's home, I pounded on the door. It flew open seconds later, almost as if she had been expecting my frantic knock.
Aunt Gertie, my grandmother's sister, was standing in the doorframe. I hadn't seen her in a few years, as she often shunned family gatherings, but she looked much as I remembered her- the long grey waves of hair framing sharp features and ice-blue eyes. She wore a light and flowing dress with intricate patterns. As she looked out, her gaze went past me and fixed upon the creature , now nearly across the street from us.
Seeing this, I remarked to myself that no one else had seemed to notice the creature as it pursued me. Perhaps it was invisible to others.
But clearly not to Aunt Gertie. She stepped out onto her front lawn and stretched her arms out in front of her in a strange circular motion, reciting the words of what seemed like an incantation that I didn't understand. The creature continued moving close, and as it did so, I saw a strange circle of blue-black light begin to form between Aunt Gertie and the creature. It grew wider and it shone, much like the surface of a soap bubble on a bubble wand. It seemed to be some sort of portal. It appeared right in front of the creature, faster than it could change its course, and then I watched as the black dog slipped into the portal.
Aunt Gertie shouted a few words and drew her hands together, ending the spell. The portal closed behind the creature.
Only then did my aunt draw her attention to me, standing there by her front door. She stepped back toward the entrance and placed her hands on my shoulders.
"Elliot, my dear nephew. It's been so long since I've seen you! Please come in, you're just in time for tea."
I followed her into the house, realizing that perhaps my "crazy old aunt" wasn't so crazy after all. She might even have some answers for me.
|
I stared at the mirror for a moment. Trying to figure the message out. Doesn't give a hint as to when and I don't want to just be constantly running from everyone and everything.
I grab my stuff and keep my keys close at hand as I head out the door. The morning sun was bright, brighter than normal. I gazed up into the sky and stared in horror.
Reptilian winged horses flew through the air sporting manes and tails of fire. Upon their backs black skeletal demons sat with thick curved horns on sunken leather faces, wicked curved sickles.
I nearly dropped my keys as I saw them, my knees quivered as I took one hesitant step back.
The beasts soared in the area, the riders scanning with hallow eyes, thin lips pulled back from blinding white fangs in ghastly sneers. Every so often a rider would bend over his mounts neck as the horse dived down.
Around me I started to hear the screams of fear and pain. Then came the smell. I never smelled fear, but I did now, and it was... sickening. Especially mixed with the iron scent of blood.
'Run' echoed in my head. My heart skipped. 'RUN!' Roared through my brain and I back peddled tripping over my feet as I turned. I fell forward and ran on my hands a few feet before I was able to right myself and ran down the street.
I could hear more screams, the thick leathery beats of demonic wings, and the harsh brays the hellish steeds.
My heart pounded as I took off down the street passing carnage and death.
Wildly I looked for refuge, anything, I didn't care where.
I nearly slipped in a puddle of blood as I rounded the corner down the next street, but caught myself on a car in time to avoid the slash of sickle over my head.
I gasped and stood paralyzed as the horse landed in a canter halfway down the road in front of my. It's demon pulling back on chains to wheel it about. Foam lathered the steeds scaley muzzle and fire seemed to dance in ita green eyes.
I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as rider and steed stared me down. The beast chomping at a bone bit as it pawed the ground impatiently. The demons lips tipped up at the corners as it watched me, no doubt seeing the warm trail of piss soak down the right leg.
'GO!' I pushed off the car and took off at a 45 degree angle from it, towards but away from the beast as it let off a gutteral "Hyah!" and surged my direction.
If I could just reach the storm drain, I just need to reach that one point.. I could be safe...
'RUN!'
| 2020-06-07T23:11:25
| 2020-06-07T22:33:41
| 52
| 34
|
[WP] The taste of all of the meat eaten in the world suddenly begins to correlate with the happiness of the animal at the time of slaughter. The food industry is in shambles.
I am not a bleeding heart vegetarian. On the contrary, I love my meat. I overheard someone say today: "I hated the veal. I could taste the sadness." It got me thinking.
|
The President of Omaha Steaks stood before his board of directors in a narrow but long room. The shades had been pulled closed not only to shield the men from the glaring light, but to hide what Bruce Simon was about to unveil.
"No point in dragging this out. You all know what's happened with meat and our collective taste buds for some reason. Our cows have to be happy at the time of slaughter. I can only hope this will help."
Bruce stepped aside to that the room could see a large heap of ... something hidden beneath a blue tarp. With a lowered head, he grasped the top of the covering and swept it away, as a matador would a charging bull.
The room remained dead silent.
"Um, Bruce?" chimed a calm yet worried voice from the right side of the large wooden table, "What the hell are we looking at?"
"Sex dolls, Kurt."
The room remained silent.
Kurt slowly stood up among a sea shocked faces, "Bruce, I think I can speak for everyone here when --"
Bruce shook his head and rubbed his eyes, "Goddamnit, look," He walked to what looked to be a bull sex-doll, "This is the penis that goes into the female cow. It's specifically designed to stimulate bovine orgasms of the females."
His voice was getting louder and more irritated the more detail he had to go into. As he spoke he pressed a button on a small remote and the mechanical bull penis began to swirl and thrust.
"Just as the female reaches her peak," Bruce pressed a red button on the remote and a large spike emerged from the mechanical bull and struck where the female's supposed head would be.
"Bullseye!" shouted a voice from the very back of the room. Bruce's irritation could be seen from every seat in the house.
"So this is it. We have a similar model for the males, but this is how we save our company and our shareholder's money. We fuck cows with a rotating penis and then kill them as they orgasm," the shame of that last sentence took deep roots with Bruce.
"Any questions?" he asked, daring anyone to challenge his ridiculous, yet practical solution.
|
How much cruelty are you willing to stomach? How much pain is worth a meal?
You walk into the pens, and you see the cattle snuffling. Big, dopey looking things grazing placidly at a bale of hay. The air is warm with their animal scent but not unpleasantly so. Their eyes are half lidded as they drowsily chew the cud, *moo*ing softly, content. Some of them raise their head at your intrusion, but it is a moment's curiosity and their interest soon fades.
With one hand, you take the rope and tie it around her neck. She nuzzles at your hand with her nose, slightly damp. And you lead her out of the stables to the chopping block, murmuring gentle nothings to calm them down. Not for the sake of the chosen, but to avoid alarming the rest.
With your other hand, you grab the cleaver, meticulously cleaned of blood. And it is then, as you carefully tie her down, that you decide.
How much is a steak worth? Would her meat be first-grade tender? Second?
Will the mallet work? How hard? Where? You can't damage the meat, that's worse than having it untouched. The hooves? The horns? The eyes? The head itself?
Maybe the poker? Stoke it in the fire, get it nice and hot, give the cow a scare?
The brand? The saw? The pliers? The scalpel? The coals?
| 2015-02-14T02:24:26
| 2015-02-14T00:06:36
| 31
| 15
|
[WP] A young gay dragon has to explain to his parents why he is only kidnapping princes
|
"Mom," said the Young Gay Dragon, "Dad. I see you've noticed that I've only been kidnapping princes."
"Yes we have, son," replied the Young Gay Dragon's Old Straight Father Dragon somberly.
"I can explain myself. You see, I only kidnap princes because they fetch larger ransoms from their rich, royal dads. As a dragon, my primary motivation is the amassing of a giant pile of riches. We live in a patriarchal, feudal society in which female human offspring are essentially valueless unless attached to a significant male name and capable of bearing male offspring. It just didn't make economic sense to keep hauling my ass into these shit-smears people call towns to snatch pock-marked high-born broodmares worth a pittance and a half. Hence the kidnapping of princes-- it's all just a extortion scheme and really a metaphor for the greed of the power elite but anyway also I'm gay. Not that that has to do with anything. When I'm ready to get down to it I'll find a nice Young Gay Dragon to have fun with. I clearly couldn't be intimate with a human with my gigantic reptile penis, acid blood, and fire breath. The very idea is absurd. I fuck Young Gay Dragons. I steal people. I eat cows. It's not for everyone, but it's the life for me, Mom and Dad."
"That's inspiring, son," said the dragon Mom and Dad. "We love you. Goodnight."
|
*I managed to get to be the 4000th upvote (I'm not sure how accurate that is) but either way I'm taking it as a sign, so I am going to bust out this throwaway/alt account (because paranoia/anxiety) and try to actually do this one!!*
Drag had a problem. A big problem. A huge problem in fact. He had finally managed to nab the cutest boy in his life, and now the boy would be living with him! What could be better than having your own prince charming?
The problem wasn't with the boy. I mean, going from being waited on hand and foot to now waiting on a dragon claw and tail while in a maid outfit, well let's just say the 20 something hunk of man meat wasn't exactly excited about the experience. This was pretty normal for Drag though, I mean, every rom com Drag had ever seen told him this is how relationships were *supposed* to start.
No the problem was *why* the boy had to wear a maid outfit in particular, Drag still lived with his parents.
Embarrasing, I know, Drag's Dad wasn't really around much and his mom was always out with friends so I guess they always felt a little bad for neglecting their child. Like somehow now that they were retired they could push him more outside the nest more even though it had been 160 years since then and Drag was clearly not going anywhere.
Drag hoped that if the boy would just keep quite long enough, Drag might be able to make his parents think he was a girl, then once the boy inevitable fell in love with him, as Drag had been told since birth was *supposed* to happen, Drag could just move in at his place at his palace. Even if Drag's parents did find out, sure his parents were old fashioned, but surely they would care more that he was moving out, right?
Why this ended up being such a huge problem though was Drag underestimated a few things. First, how for as girly as the prince was, Drag underestimated how unwilling he would be in participating in Drag's plan. Second, when Drag panicked and his parents came home early from their trip over seas, how perceptive his parents would be at finding out he was hiding a boy in his closet (he panicked what was he *suppose to do?* Killing him would be leave blood everywhere!) Third, how mad they would be when he said that he found boys attractive.
He tried explaining that it wasn't like he was gay! He just found some boys attractive! And beside who cares? He was moving out soon!
The fourth thing Drag underestimated however, was that after his prince managed to escape him, how hard it was to find a place to sleep at night.
Drag wasn't sure what to do after he was kicked out, he eventually found a cave near a village, but then the prince ended up sending a bunch people to kill him. He tried going back home, but his parents didn't seem to want him either. I guess that was his own fault, no one could love a dragon like him anyhow.
*(Sorry if this got weirdly personal toward the end lol)*
| 2018-05-03T19:03:43
| 2018-05-03T17:41:13
| 22
| 11
|
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?"
|
The witch buried her face in her hands and sighed, "AGAIN, it's the Curse of Optimism. You will never be able to understand the potential negative consequences of any decision you make."
"That doesn't sound like much of a curse", I replied.
"You will be the eternal optimist", she explained. "You will only see the upside, never the downside."
"That doesn't sound so..."
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," she interrupted, exasperated. "You will bet on every loser, because you're positive it's their time to win. You will fall victim to get-rich-quick scheme after get-rich-quick scheme, because you know there is no way you'll lose money. You will want to get back together with every abusive ex, no matter how many times they've cheated. Timeshares will sound like a great idea."
As she finished, I blinked. "So...what's the downside again?"
|
It was one of those stupid accidents where your carrier bag splits and drops, in this case, a giant jar of pickled onions, and it rolls off and you go chasing it, in this case, into a witch's garden just in time to see it knock over some onion plants.
I mean, it's a small accident, but not a massive disaster. If she was really cross, a few pounds to cover the cost and inconvenience of buying onions?
But nooooooo. The woman who came out was three quarters made of malice I could feel even before she began screaming about my (epithet) legs on her (something) sacred ground or what not, like she's Hera and I'm trying to explain that it was all the swan's idea in the first place.
"...and for this defilement of my sacred ground, I curse you! In my name I curse you! I curse you to be barren. I curse your womb to shrivel. I curse you to a life without children."
I blinked. "So... what's the downside again?"
"No child born of your blood will ever be cradled in your arms," she said, pronouncing my doom with ghastly enjoyment.
"Oh, oh no, that's just terrible," I said, playing along. "All this over some onions?"
Well, that was a mistake. She was loud, and to be honest, rather unpleasantly scary in a manic frightening way, although that wasn't as scary as realising that some of her plants were staring at me, and blinking. Or the way a garden gnome, top hat and dinky little sword and red eyes and all, was sniggering. The gist of it was that it was her garden, those were her onions and I wasn't supposed to be there, which, given writhing tendrils of what was definitely *not* white jasmine, I had to agree with.
I backed away, step by step and left, alive, to have the blackthorn hedge slam shut in my face, only just missing slicing my nose, and there was no sign there had ever been a garden there.
Behind me was the mess I'd just left, including oozy cracked eggs. I picked up what I could, with somewhat shaky hands, and didn't really think about what I was doing until I was back at home drinking tea.
Barren. *Fifteen* times I'd tried to ask about having my tubes tied, but no, it was always 'you might change your mind' and at twenty-eight I was pretty damned sure that no I would not. So I'd prayed, with all due pagan ritual, just basically hoping for confidence, and then had a strong urge to have a nice cheese ploughmans and do myself a proper breakfast in the morning.
Of course, by the next day, I was sure it was a dream, and went to seek a sixteenth opinion upon fertility, mine, and the lack of desire to have it, but a few weeks later and gosh if there isn't a little plant growing near the garden path with tiny little blinky eyes and everything.
Anyway, twenty-first time was the charm, which was when I found out that my womb had somehow eaten itself and left a lump of scar tissue, and if there *is* a downside, I haven't yet found it. I mean other than the fact that most people are too creeped out to come into the garden, even if the blinking, staring plant usually hides. It's as if they know it's there.
I do look after it, and grow plants that give me a reason to be out looking after the place, and really, if someone came in there now, I'd actually be quite cross. I mean, really, that magical plant is pretty much a gift from the gods, isn't it. That makes my garden almost... sacred.
| 2019-06-25T15:21:51
| 2019-06-25T10:48:07
| 1,435
| 414
|
[WP] France is now illegal
|
"You do understand that we have a long and storied history with the French? That we may not have won our independence without them?"
"We're not here to talk about the past, OK? They're losers, and we're winners."
The press conference was going much like a thousand before it: combative, unhelpful, and often embarrassing for everyone involved. But the news of this total ban was so jarring that the assembled reporters hoped against hope for some clarification, just this once.
"Have you considered what this means for global politics?"
"Listen, listen," the old politician croaked, "it's talk like that which got us in trouble in the first place. We tried to play nice with everyone -- and no one plays nice better than me, believe me -- but we're focusing on us now."
"But sir, the new G8..."
"G8? Did they come out with a new plane?" The man behind the podium leaned over and spoke softly to his assistant: "Look into getting me one of those G8s. The first one off the line. Or at least make sure it's bigger than everyone elses."
"France is one of our biggest partners in trade. How will this effect the economy?"
"It's going to be great for the economy! It's going to bring jobs back to our country. Are you saying our workers can't make baguettes? That we can't make a little more wine? If those sissies can do it, so can we!"
Then an aide leaned over the President's mic, "We have time for one more question."
A visibly emotional reporter up front spoke above the rest. "Sir, you were elected on promises to end these sorts of thoughtless policies and harmful rhetoric. It's 2025, and we thought we were done with this era..."
But the President cut him off. "I'll tell you this right now: America is never done winning!" And with that, he marched off stage, ignoring the outcry of furious press who hadn't learned a single thing.
At the same moment, a television in Florida clicked off. The Tang-colored retiree smiled as he walked towards the closet to grab his golf clubs. He didn't need to check the poll numbers to know this move would only help his successor's popularity. This was his legacy.
*America is never done winning*, he thought. Not a bad line. He wondered how it would look on a cheap hat.
\--------------------
37/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\---------------------
edit: grammar. also realized that the g8 isn't a thing these days but leaving it anyway.
|
Damn baguettes.
I hate baguettes. They are so despicable.
Look at them, those baked goods make me so mad. I feel an anger boiling up inside me, welling up until I am fit to burst, fit to explode. The last time I was in a French bakery I got so angry that I shattered the window by kicking it with my full force, and unfortunately I got banned from the establishment.
Why would they ban me? Huh? I didn’t do anything illegal. These French fools, don’t even know the law.
Come on, who likes them? Who!? They are so irritating, so stupidly exhausting to witness and to be around.
I also hate art, what good is art!? None, I tell you, none at all.
And I hate those stupid hats, those stupid hats which look like aubergines, which all the stupid artists where and it just makes me so goddamn angry! So, so angry.
Did I mention I hate Paris? I hate that too. It’s so expensive and so cruelly monotonous and so terrible, it just slights me, it just insults me in every way and intrudes on my personal beliefs.
That’s why when I became president of Uzbekistan, I banned France.
Yay.
————————————————————
The author of this story loves baguettes, France, Paris, and those artisan hats. And art.
Disclaimer over.
| 2018-07-27T09:16:24
| 2018-07-27T08:37:34
| 91
| 28
|
[WP] Djiin are actually well-meaning, but lack understanding and context of the human world, thus granting wishes in an unsatisfactory manner. Tell the story from the genie's point of view, who genuinely wishes to please his master.
Since most stories involving genies and other wish-granting entities characterise these wish-granters as judgemental, conniving and mischievous, I thought it might be interesting to get their point of view, especially if they don't mean to cause all the harm that they do, due to pure innocence. (i.e. the wish maker asks for money, and doesn't specify that it shouldn't be stolen, when a jinn might not understand the concept of stealing).
Write a story about one such genie who tries (and most likely fails) to properly grant their master's wishes.
|
Once again I see light. How long has it been since I last saw the light of this world. Has it been decades? Centuries? The world always looks so different each time I am summoned. One thing never changes though, the nature of each person's wish. Money, power, sometimes even love. Try as I may I can't help but think they always leave unfulfilled.
I once remember a mighty looking warrior. He was rough and battle hardened. I quite frankly was not surprised by his wish: To be the strongest fighter in the land. And so he was. From my understanding of human anatomy a human's strength comes from his muscles, which I greatly strengthened. He could move mountains and had the stamina run across the oceans if he so pleased.
Then he took a step forward and immediately toppled to the floor. His bones had snapped due to them being unable to cope with his new strength. His heart, which I learned was also a muscle, had pumped blood so violently that all of his internal organs ruptured. Crumpled in a heap was the strongest man to ever walk the Earth, even if he was only able to take a single step.
I couldn't help but see the irony in that.
Another one I remember was a king. He was covered in an assortment of fine jewels and furs. He had a group of advisers consulting him about what his wish should be. After a few minutes they had come to a decision.
He barked at me,
"Genie, I want all the riches in the world at my feet"
And so he did. It was truly a marvel to see. Gems of every color and precious metals shaped ever so intricately filled the cave from top to bottom.
This left little room for the king and his men as they were all crushed.
This brings me back to present day. This one, bespectacled and covered in perspiration, he was quite different than the usual lot who summons me. He was neither a warrior, a treasure hunter nor a ruler.
He cleared his throat and muttered,
"I... I just want her back. Here in my arms with me again."
It was a change of pace. Such a simple request. This I could do. If I'm not mistaken I believe you humans also call it a spine.
|
Once again, I was called upon a human to grant their wish. I appeared before him, ready to do his bidding. He appeared nervous, but determined, pacing back and forth within his unkempt and small living arrangement.
"What is your wish?" I asked, after watching him continue to pace for a few moments. He stopped and looked at me for the first time. He cleared his throat and answered "I want to be famous."
I looked back into human history at the famous, all the way back to where human history began. "It is done," I proclaimed. The human looked wide-eyed as memories of the new past filled his head.
He looked at me and screamed "Oh God, what did you make me do!? Change it back!"
"You only get one wish," I said puzzled. I don't know why he isn't happy with his wish, serial killers are the most famous humans of all.
| 2014-08-23T13:29:00
| 2014-08-23T12:08:14
| 50
| 29
|
[WP] A writer, trapped in his own book, regrets not writing more intresting female characters
|
I had always had a talent for writing strong male characters. Even as I sit here in the coffee shop I modeled off of one I saw in New Orleans once, staring across the way at my creation, I have to admire that one talent of mine. Roger was a fantastic character.
He was witty, intelligent, sympathetic but still strong. When I wrote him, I think I was trying to emulate some form of James Dean, with the suave way he made everyone he spoke to feel important. He had hobbies, interests, favourite books. I think I'd even written him a detailed back story that never made it into the final draft of the novel. Too sad, my editor said.
I had written Roger as a tragic hero in this dark comedy. He was supposed to be flawed, and his fatal flaw was being too trusting. So of course, every other character in the novel I had written as a sleazeball.
Women gaining his trust, only to dash his hopes of a happy ending. His boss took advantage of him and made him work hours and hours. Right now, he was sitting with his daughter from a previous marriage, and she was trying to talk him out of money. Inevitably, he would give it to her. That's the kind of guy that Roger was.
But the sad part about Roger, for me at least, was that he cried out for love. He never found it in the novel- that was the whole point. It wasn't something I wrote in the cards for him. And so I made every potential suitor a horrible representation of what women could be. I was fresh off a break-up with my last girlfriend. To me, all women were monsters, barely hiding their fangs. So I gave Roger the same options.
Now, I had tried more than once to date these women. But the absolute worst part was one little line I had put in the third chapter, trying to differentiate the novel from my own life.
Every women I had ever written was straighter than an arrow. And I was the only lesbian.
|
Charles hated going outside.
First there was the streets, full of sputtering cards listlessly driving from one place to the next with phantom drivers inside. Then there was the weather, which was nice generally but tended to turn grey and stormy when he was a foul mood. And he was in a foul mood often because of the women that inhabited this half-assed world he had created.
First there was Jackie. He was still not sure how that went wrong. She was the spunky heroine to his story, the smart, creative, but vulnerable match for his lead character. Detective Raul Cortez had bolted to the edge of the pages and the greylands unknown rather than deal with her, and Charles wished he had the courage to do the same.
It wasn't that she was unbearable, per say. Take her out to dinner and she would banter and spit out one liners like no other. It was in the smaller, quieter moments she would creep him would. Charles once asked what her favorite movie was, and she didn't know. He asked about her life growing up, and other than one tragic event he had written in as a tragic backstory there was none. No hobbies, no passions, nothing at all. Sometimes he would leave the bathroom and watch her, hidden, from the back of the busy restaurant. She would sit there, doing nothing, being nothing. He had not written any more into her than as a functional tool to propel Raul's adventures. Then Charles would return and her eyes would light up with purpose again, the vacant look gone, the perfect trophy lead yet again.
Others was worse. His femme fatal Laura Blackwood was a bitchy artist trope, passionately seducing him one moment and flinging things in her apartment at him during one of her mad fits. There was no level with her, it was always one extreme or the other. Jill Noor was Raul's spunky ex girlfriend, a maniac pill addled adventurephile who dressed colorfully, acted spontaneously, and often forgot his name. Even Raul's sister Marissa, written to be his sensible DA and law abiding half was a mopey shell shocked mess. He had forgotten he had her assaulted and raped 2/3 of the way through the story to propel Raul to the climax.
Charles finally settled on sleeping with Gloria Lawrence, Raul's sweet and homely, though buxom, administrative assistant. She was the most rounded he had written to a female character in the story, ironically, he soon realized, because she was basically a man. She liked to drink, go to games, rarely shopped or complained or had unexpected mood swings of any sort. That went well for a while, until her mechanic husband George had found out about it and was sent into a violent rage, nearly killing Charles. Charles had not written him with anger issues, but he supposed sleeping with any man's wife would be enough to set him off.
So Charles preferred to stay in the safety of his own home, which had once been Raul's. The food was always stocked with booze and food, and although there was no TV and the internet had nothing on it he had plenty of time to write. He thought a sequel to Raul's story would be good. Maybe a war novel where he wouldn't have to deal with any women at all.
| 2015-08-20T12:59:27
| 2015-08-20T11:29:04
| 58
| 12
|
[WP] A medieval alchemist travels through time to now, though he had only had 20 minutes here, he has an interesting story to tell his king.
|
King Edward was lying in bed, covered in bandages and dried blood. He looked up when Milo, his chief alchemist, walked in.
"So? Tell me–what did you see?" asked King Edward. "Have you found a way to make me whole again?"
Milo cleared his throat. "My lord, I believe that I have."
The king smiled. "Do tell, Milo."
"I spoke to the owner of an apothecary–a man who will not be born for five hundred years hence. The medical arts have advanced greatly in his time," said Milo.
"What did the man say?"
"This man presented me with a curious theory: a small part of the toxin *is* the cure. Indeed, his entire apothecary only stocked cures of this form. For example, an individual poisoned by quicksilver would need to consume an elixir containing a minute amount of quicksilver, diluted by a much larger part of water."
"How strange," said the king. "Quicksilver is poisonous?"
"Apparently so," said Milo. "And they called it 'mercury.' Language, too, has evolved greatly over the years."
"This technique–you believe it will make me whole? Make me fit to once again lead this kingdom?" asked the king.
"The man seemed sure of it," said Milo. "He called this futuristic medical technique 'homeopathy,' and he assured me that it would work."
"What do we need to do?" asked the king.
"Well, seeing as you were trampled by a horse, we need to locate this vile beast, cut off a small portion, and then mix it with a large portion of water. Then, you need to consume this concoction, and your legs should regrow instantaneously."
"Get to it, then, Milo," said the king. He smiled. "Soon, I will once again sit upon the throne."
---
/r/rpwrites
|
I saw... a painting that moved and talked, clear as a window, yet showing images projected from other realms. One such realm was ruled by a moor. Pardon my paraphrasing, I am no bard. I give you...
The legend of the Fresh Prince
Come! Come! Sit right there!
I need but a moment
To sing the song
Of how I turned the tables
And became the Prince of Bel Air
I spent most of my days
Loitering, throwing balls into hoops
When on one such occasion
I was attacked by hideous ogres
In defeat, they told me of a kingdom for the taking
I now quest for the throne of Bel Air
I whistled to the gods and they heeded my call
Apollo's chariot approached, emblazoned with a plate of FRESH
And medallions of dice, fuzzy and foreign
I wanted to relish the rare occasion
But we must make haste, to Bel Air and great fortune!
What rises in the East must set in the West
I wished Apollo good morrow
Hoping to one day again smell the chariot's heavenly fire
I surveyed my kingdom, I was finally there
To take my rightful throne as the prince of Bel Air
| 2015-06-26T12:50:35
| 2015-06-26T11:46:19
| 91
| 39
|
[WP] You're abducted by aliens & soon realize it's more of an adoption than an abduction. You're now a pet for a loving alien family. They can't understand you but they seem to understand your body language & have basic knowledge of what humans need to live and entertain themselves when they're busy
|
Life here in the human zoo isn't too bad. We have nice houses that we live in and we can come and go in our enclosure as we please. We wave at the children when they wave back at us. We are supplied with regular food, although I don't think the aliens get the need for clothing. We started to fashion blankets into make shift clothing and they eventually supplied us with real fabric so we could make little shorts and shirts for ourselves. Their clothes are more like tight fitting suits. The children don't wear clothes at all really. The aliens are very helpful with the pregnant women and often a birth of a new human invites crowds of people and what I think are their TV cameras or something along that line. I have a wife. We married ourselves after the zoo closed. When we started holding hands and such the aliens figured out that we had mated. I think the keepers have figured out that we mate for long periods of time. When humans come and go they always move us in pairs. I don't know how many other human zoos there are in this world. We don't get their TV but then again, we don't speak their language. We've made games for ourselves and we keep busy. Our enclosure has dirt so we started a small garden of the native plants. The nights here are quiet. All the crowds are gone and the zoo is very quiet.
&#x200B;
In the early days, our keepers would come in and hose things down and try to clean us but they eventually figured out that with water and supplies we could clean ourselves. Now, they just help us keep the enclosure clean and neat. The latrines are still primitive. I'm not sure these aliens have body processes like ours. We've done what we can with the outhouse situation. The keepers are very nice. We've taught them how to hug and shake hands. It was unfamiliar at first but they eventually figured it out. Anyway, I have to go because I think we have a photoshoot of some sorts? It looks like a camera and there is a flash of sorts. It's green in color. They must be promoting us again.
|
It all started last week, or maybe less, I’ve lost track of time. Another normal day in the books just like any other mundane Monday at work. I had plans to visit my grandparents afterward and drop off some late birthday gifts I’d been holding onto due to the top brass leaving our section undermanned for the past week. The company was on the verge of a pharmacological break through, lots of secrecy and very hush hush. From what I’d overheard it was supposedly a new psychedelic drug that would turn the world upside down and expose all the freaks. Me, I’m just the janitor and never one to turn down a freak out.
I made sure that night to wait until the bastards left, or so I thought. After getting my greasy hands on a vial of the stuff I took a swig and wrapped up for the night. Upon walking out of the door I was slammed with uppercuts that came in waves, immense pressure. My head swelled to size of Cohen’s on the campaign trail, stumbling to find my keys I finally made it back to the ship. “Wait I thought I drove a car, no matter,” I said to myself as I zipped along to my grandparents house to deliver the gifts. Almost immediately after starting the ship I arrived which I thought strange, never the less I stepped out reached for the key under the pot and let myself in.
Upon looking up I see through a glass peep hole large faces staring back at me. As I scramble to find my bearings I rush to another window in the house and notice my office right beside the house. How long had I been in this drug induced stupor? I was mad to think I could sleep this one off. As time passed I became more mad and wild like a cock in the ring after a three peat. The faces smiled while contorting to expose their true nature. Fearsome beasts, bigots, blonde hair, orange faces, heavy bodies. After what felt like a decade passing the lead creature held up a piece of paper to the glass I was being contained in. Adoption for clinical trial papers...
| 2019-05-09T18:00:38
| 2019-05-09T16:13:32
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] Write an over-the-top background story for an early video game that didn't have a narritive. Ex. Pong, Asteriods, Pacman
|
A man wakes up in an empty field. There’s an eerie stillness that surrounds him. His memory fails. His vision comes to and he sees…numbers. “1”, “2”, “3”, “4”…there’s no indication of what these symbols mean to convey.
He slowly gets up, his eyes adjusting to the light. He scans the area, seeing nothing but space. He feels the seconds pass. Confused, fatigued, and out of options, he slowly walks in a random direction. As he approaches the “3” sign, he comes to a startling realization:
The field is not empty.
Void of life, absent of mercy, he knows the field surrounds him with one thing: death.
“Is this some a game?!” he screams. His words echo across the plain, but there is no response. “Some sick joke? Show yourself!” But his desperate pleas are met only with the confirmation that he is, indeed, alone.
What has he done to deserve such a fate? Is there even an escape? The clock ticks, but to what end? It’s too real to be a dream. He wants to lie down and cry, but he must press on. He has to escape, survive.
He looks down and sees an odd contraption. It’s aluminum, the shine reflecting nothing but the air around him. He knows what must be done. If he survives, surely his legend will carry across the ages; the tale of a man who survived against all odds. He will be: *The Minesweeper*.
|
"This is it, you all know me so I'll keep this brief. We have all suffered greatly, so many lives lost. I tell you it ends today. I have watched you, guided you through your training. It has been tough but here we stand. United against our enemy. We have been pushed back into the depths of space time and time again, but not today. They call us invaders, but we will reclaim our homeland. Our brightest minds have formulated a new strategy which will not fail. Today we will be victorious!"
With that a shout rose from the assembled pilots as they ran towards there ships. The General sighed, it pained him to watch such promising lives been thrown away. He watched as engines roared to life. It really was a beautiful sight. His squadron soared into the air. He took a final look at the strategy and climbed aboard the mother ship. This time would be different.
Fires burnt all across the mothership as the general looked out at the decimated remains of his squadron. How could this have happened? the plan was full proof. He watched as the anti air defenses honed in on his position. They launched a salvo straight through their own shields. He looked down at the battle plan the words scrawled across the page. Increase speed, move left to right. It should have worked.
| 2016-02-19T07:14:31
| 2016-02-19T05:31:22
| 21
| 15
|
[WP] Delivery drones are armed to deter thieves, but the more heavily defended a drone is the better the loot. The golden age of drone piracy is now lads.
|
SYSERR 10067 - DRONE_408212 NOT RESPONSIVE FOR 500uS
Starting audio analysis subroutine . . .
EVENT 40045 - AUDIO EVENT LOGGED
DISPLAYING ANALYSIS PROBABILITY
GUNSHOT - 98.4%
HIGH CALIBER RIFLE - 2.4%
MEDIUM CALIBER RIFLE - 68.5%
HIGH CALIBER PISTOL - 1.1%
MEDIUM CALIBER PISTOL / LOW CALIBER RIFLE - 34.3%
LOW CALIBER PISTOL - 2.3%
SUBSONIC WEAPON - 0.4%
LIGHTNING STRIKE - 9.4%
AUDIO EQUIPMENT MALFUNCTION - 0.4%
OTHER - 1.2%
Starting image analysis subroutine . . .
EVENT 60033 - INDIVIDUAL LOGGED
MATCH - FACIAL RECOGNITION - 99.8%
{
AMAZON_GLOBAL_ID: “81b8a1b77068d06e”,
LAST_NAME: “KING”,
FIRST_NAME: “FATIMA”,
AMAZON_PRIME_MEMBER: False,
PREVIOUS_INCIDENTS: {
“594f803b380”,
“a41396ed63d”,
“ca395035424”
}
}
MATCH - FIREARM - 92.6%
{
TYPE: “LONG_BARREL_RIFLE”,
ACTION: “BOLT_ACTION”,
CALIBER: “.30-06”
}
Processing . . .
PROBABILITY OF INDIVIDUAL 81b8a1b77068d06e CAUSING DRONE_408212 MALFUNCTION - 89.3%
REQUEST HQ FOR PERMISSION TO ENGAGE . . .
REQUEST APPROVED!
Starting suspect engagement protocol . . .
POST ENGAGEMENT REPORT
{
DRONES_DAMAGED: [],
SUSPECT_STATUS: [
“81b8a1b77068d06e”: “NEUTRALIZED”
],
ROUNDS_EXPENT: 37,
DELAY_TO_CUSTOMER: 34.26S
}
Starting engagement report upload to local law enforcement . . .
DONE!
Starting lost asset recovery subroutine . . .
IMMEDIATE RECOVERY - IMPRACTICAL
Sending last known location of DRONE_408212 to HQ for recovery . . .
DONE!
\-- Item #006 in Washington State v Fatima King, recovered from Amazon Drone 408111
|
*Yes, I got it down.* James ran and quickly grabbed his prize. A T.I.X model 9, the latest and greatest in defensive drone delivery, and he brought it down. Even if he couldn't find a buyer for whatever's inside the bragging rights alone where worth it. He brought it back to his workshop, and carefully dissembled the delivery device, he had heard rumors that some of them may be booby trapped. He didn't buy into those rumors but better safe than sorry.
After several hours he finally got his prize, a small box no bigger than his hand. *Weird, why so much protection for something this small?* The drone that had been delivering it was almost as big as his torso, so it was more than a bit strange to him. After he worked the box opened he saw what was so important, a small bottle. The writing on the side was foreign to him, but the note inside was not.
"Dear Amy
I'm sorry I can't be there for you, but I found something that might help. The medicine comes with an eyedropper already, three drops in the morning and two at night, if this doesn't work contact me and I'll return. I would rather be at your side than on the other side of the world.
Love
Samantha."
*Oh gods, what did I just steal?* James found the drones motherboard and looked for where it was going. His heart dropped, it was meant for someone in his building, but the package was late already. He never knew her name was Amy.
| 2019-09-30T15:45:12
| 2019-09-30T14:55:03
| 52
| 31
|
[WP] The gatekeeper between hell and heaven sees many applications daily to transfer from the former into the latter. Today, for the first time, he saw someone wanting to go the other way.
|
Death, the gatekeeper of hell, looked down upon the man standing before him.
"Regardless of your reasoning, one cannot simply choose to change the realm in which they have been placed at the time of their judgement. However, I am in need of some amusement. Why do you want to enter the depths of hell when you've been fairly chosen to live in heaven?"
"My ex is up there, man."
Death opens a portal to the underworld without hesitation.
"Get in."
|
"You heard me, Gatekeeper"
Every fiber of my immortal being winced at the mere thought of it, every shred of my soul refusing to entertain the idea of perverting the eternal, divine halls with the notion that the lord could be wrong!
"I need to get to Hell, Gatekeeper, I must find a witness"
I cannot help myself but to erupt into a storm of thunder like laughter, the frustrated soul of a human man scowling in disbelief and annoyance below me. "Forgive me Human I mean no disrespect, I laughed only at your naïve assertion" I asserted, it is unfitting a tool of the lord to be rude.
"I'm a lawyer and I made it to heaven, that should go at least some way to proving the legitimacy of my case" the man jested, the same conflict deescalation he has used time and time again in his mortal life, each time avoiding the pits of Hell, this time used to gain entry to that darkest of places. "Tell me: What case would that be again?" I commanded.
"The lord must be responsible for the sins of at least some of the sinners-" he stopped halfway, seeing the disbelief command my brow to my beard, a pity I did not need or ask for. "I can see you have already made up your mind, Gatekeeper, but I beg you, hear me out" he presumes to know my mind, insolent, however I shall forgive him and stow my feelings until the human has spoken his part.
"Continue!" I boom.
"Follow the Logic here Gatekeeper, the Lord created every aspect of every mortal?"
"Correct"
"And he created every aspect of the world in which they existed as mortals"
"Correct!"
"And he is omnipotent, so he knew everything that would transpire in his creation and could make any change he deemed fit"
"This had better have a point Human, there is literally armies seeking an audience to go the other way" I stated firmly
"Gatekeeper I once met a child who stole food from the market to survive, whose parents abandoned as a mere two year old due to her deformity, I had taken her food and blankets when I found her and she died in my arms sick and starved, she isn't here in heaven." I look deeply into his soul and I find no deceit.
"Few people make it here, Human" I struggle to answer.
"Gatekeeper, the Lord clearly has made some people who at the moment of their birth were already disqualified from heaven in the eyes of the Lord"
"Who might that be, Human?" I genuinely inquire.
"Every sinner, Gatekeeper. The Lord already knew what situations each mortal child will face and how they would react, yet did nothing to help them, stop them or inform them directly of the test, it is my understanding that this needlessly dooms most mortals to damnation."
"Human, mortality requires free will, else no distinction between the souls in hell and the souls in heaven can be made, if the Lord simply told everyone how to earn heaven in mortality then every single one would simply follow the instruction and live eternally in a paradise unearned.
"Well Gatekeeper, that's the thing, I need a witness cast into Hell itself that has met the Lord and chose to disobey, one of a few of the lords former servants, The devil himself." I recoiled at the mention of that fowl title, the man now was staring expectantly, patiently awaiting his answer. I had heard his plea, a most unique stance for one already in heaven. As I sat at my station simultaneously an eternity and an instant and ponder this dilemma I fall pray to both my loyalty to the Lord and my interest in the Humans proposition.
As I opened the gate, for the first time I feel a newfound empathy for its inhabitants.
That, My lord is the first reason I sentence you to Hell.
| 2016-09-28T20:56:06
| 2016-09-28T19:42:57
| 110
| 74
|
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
|
My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
|
I've known about my power since I was 8.
Early bloomers don't do well these days. No one knows when it started but it started here, in Los Angeles, and spread throughout the world. Some powers were benign; talking to squirrels, manipulating telescopes, etc. But even the most subtle, unassuming power can have devastating consequences.
The old world, the world of my grandparents, was a safe place. Our governments were strong, our neighbors were friendly. And it was safe because every way we knew for a lunatic to abuse the system was more or less handled. In their daily lives, people forgot there was a government. People didn't need to worry about protecting themselves.
But power is like a drug; it only takes a little bit to get you hooked. It's not instantaneous, but it's damn fast. At first you notice it all around you -- something's odd, something's off, something's not right. It almost feels like you're being watched. And then you begin to realize that you do have a power, and for however long as you like you're the only one to ever know about it. And that's a remarkable feeling.
People who never imagined themselves as great, as destroyers and conquerors, whose powers could not be predicted and could not be safeguarded against, tore the old world down. They were unremarkable folk, ordinary people who'd pull the trigger if you put a gun in their hand. If you could see radio waves, you could intercept classified information. If you could manipulate electronics remotely, you could hack a bank. If you could talk to animals, you could kill any pet owner.
And today we have rubble. Los Angeles was one of the greatest cities in the world.
I was an early bloomer, and I didn't even recognize it at first, but being early it was 'weak.' I simply knew where my family was at all times, then my friends, and my neighbors....one day I realized that I knew where someone was from a brief description. Maybe I could see their picture, or hear their name, recall a memory. Eventually I could just imagine them, I could imagine where they were and there they, without fail, always were.
No one was impressed with my power. It was a disappointment I was so early, so weak. My family didn't try to hide it -- "Are you sure, Davy? Are you really sure? You have a great imagination Davy, you're just imagining it." I won no awards at the Power Olympics in our cooperative, my name was even misspelled on my participation medal. I garnered no attention, I was not respected, and I was not loved.
So I left. I would see what the world's become, what power's truly worth. Three years on the trail, today, I heard word of a sort of world record. A man, 100 years of age, remains powerless and unaccounted for. He will be the most powerful weapon in the history of mankind if his power develops before his death. What remains of the old world governments, and the saplings of some new ones, is on the hunt for the most important man in history since Jesus Christ.
And I know exactly where he is.
| 2015-10-26T12:10:03
| 2015-10-26T11:01:55
| 32
| 23
|
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started.
|
"Whiskey. The bottle."
The horse asks, sliding himself up onto a stool. His tux has seen better days, the tie apparently lost some way along his journey here, the top of his shirt open exposing his chest. Was one of them missing? If it were, it'd match his cufflinks, also absent from his dishevelled ensemble. I slide over a bottle, middle of the range, and he passes over a fifty.
"Keep the change."
"That's very kind, thank you."
I go back to working the glass washer, taking out the humid cleans and beginning to pile in the stack of dirties our bar-back passes over before the Horse walked in. He's opened the bottle, and pours himself a few a measures over a double before screwing the lid back on raising his glass for a long, bitter drink.
"Can't believe I used to live here." He says, an open invitation to start a conversation. His tip means I respond as earnestly as possible.
"Oh yeah? The apartments upstairs?"
"Yeah. Long time ago now." He takes another drink.
I let that hang for a while, wondering if he was the monologuing kind, until the silence nears on rude.
"What made you leave?"
He chuckles.
"Believe it or not, a band. We use to play gigs here right up until we got our first tour and then... Never needed to come back."
"You look like the front man type."
His head turns sharp toward me and cocks.
"Should be careful about saying that. Front men can be all kinds of terrible."
"Ah." My hands raise in apology. "No offense intented."
"None taken. You're right, though, I was. The front man and all kinds of terrible."
The end of sentence is addressed mostly into his glass in a spiteful mutter as he goes for another gulp. He raises it high, tapping it for every last drop, and pours another.
"But it all started here. Me, the seal, elephant, the octopus - damn good drummer he is... was, I guess now."
"Sorry to hear that."
His mouth is full, so he waved his hand at me. 'No apologies necessary'.
"We weren't that close. I went solo a few years back, creative differences is what the media called it. Real reason? I liked my coke more than I liked my band."
He's laughing - and so am I, but neither of us found that funny. I'm sure.
"So what made you come back here?"
"I don't know. Relive the glory days, go back to where it started, before I became such a raging asshole. Hey, you ever been on a plane?"
"What like, a passenger?"
"Yeah sure just, taken a flight - anywhere, over seas, domestic it doesn't matter."
"Yeah. Tonnes of times."
"Any of 'em ever crashed?"
I linger at the washer for a second, and glance back up at him to see if I can figure out just how that was meant to come across. He's looking right at me, interested.
"...no, none."
"Of course not. Planes are safer than cars, y'know, statistically."
He tells me that whilst watching his pour. This ones a few measures more over a double, and I wander what the purpose in him even having the glass is.
"You're more likely to die in a car than a plane, more likely by a long shot. You know what the numbers are?"
"No."
He slumps.
"Me neither. But they're low, right? So keep that in mind. Now what do you think the chances are that three people you know would all be killed in a plane crash?"
For the first time I notice he has tears behind his eyes, lingering there, none managing to break free.
"I don't... I don't know how to answer that."
"Sure you do, come on you're a bartender."
"I serve drinks, I'm not a therapist."
A booming laugh comes out as he throws his head back, and he wiped the tears from his eyes as if it was that that had caused them.
"Y'know the guy who tended on my private jet - when I could afford one of those, he said to me serving the right drinks is only half the job."
"What was the other half?"
"Oh, come on now!" His glass juts toward me as the hand clutching it goes to point, he's smiling again. "Asking the right questions!"
"Okay." I'm getting close to my tether with the Horse and cast an eye over his bottle, half empty. He's a quick drinker, sure, but from behind the bar he doesn't seem quick enough. "What're the right questions?"
"Well, you've already missed them."
He sounds smug, *irritatingly smug*, and I can't back down.
"Enlighten me."
This was the right answer, he swivels on his seat to turn his whole body toward me, imposing with how large he is, and leans in close.
"Well a horse walks into your bar in a tuxedo he's been wearing for two days, he's had five hours sleep in those forty eight hours, and lost his cufflinks in the cab ride over here - a cab that, recognising the horse from an anniversary cover of NME, charged him double. The only friends he ever had are lying in a morgue somewhere in Paris and the bartender didn't even recognise him when there's a poster of him on the fucking wall."
I follow his eyes, that have foregone the tears in favour of a piercing, unblinking intensity. 'The Animals', a large poster hanging above the bar for an rock band I've never paid much attention to. The horse on the poster is younger, healthier, playing behind a microphone with an elephant to his left, a seal to his right, and an octopus on the drums.
"Now, you tell me. What d'you ask that horse?"
"Why the long face." I say dumbfounded, as he gets up from his chair carrying the bottle with him.
"You're welcome for the tip."
He's out the door before the sound of the jukebox fades back in, and I'm taken back to reality.
|
As I arrived, the usuals sat at the bar, sipping their water downed whiskey and watching an old playoff game hoping for a different ending never to come. I topped off whiskey, rum and cokes, and opened a couple more beers. To be honest, I wasn't in a great mood, but I thought he day was looking up when a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walked into the place, unusual but not unheard of. My urge to say something witty had to be buried deep down. They ordered their drinks, martinis. When they finished their drinks, they left me a generous tip and left never to return. Then, things started to get weird.
A rabbi, a priest, and an another person walked in and ordered beers. As I slid their brews down to them, I knew had to say something.
"You an atheist?" I said to the odd man out.
"No! A retired pastor, jerk."
They all stormed out of there. No tip for me either. Fair enough, I guess.
Then, the impossible happened. A horse walked into the bar. It didn't say a word, but I had to say it. I had to.
"Why the long face?"
It made me chuckle when I noticed that it wore a saddle and reins. An officer barged into the bar, red in the face. Grabbing the horse by the reins, he apologized and stepped back outside.
Then, things got really weird. Something I had never seen before came in.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
"A neutron."
"Alright, what'll you have?"
"A screwdriver."
I made it and set in front of this thing.
"What do I owe you?" It asked.
I stared at it dumbstruck. "Umm, that'll be..."
"No charge?"
"No, $6.50."
Then, it got weirder I tell you. Another man walked into the bar and asked one question to a woman, beautiful and blonde.
"So, do I come here often?"
This woman stared at him.
"Dad? How did you get out of the nursing home?"
She grabbed him and looked right at me as they left: "Alzheimer's."
As my shift ended and the bar cleared out, one more person showed up. He walked in, and I immediately said "We don't serve your kind in here?"
And he looked back at me and said the strangest thing: "How did you know I was a time traveler?"
"Umm...your hair."
Truth be told, I didn't. I was tired of all the BS. Honest.
I closed up early that night.
***
If you enjoyed this story, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more stories.
| 2018-01-31T18:56:18
| 2018-01-31T18:46:27
| 1,688
| 32
|
[WP] The commute of a man who can see how people will die.
EDIT: Just woke up and holy CRAP this exploded! I'm reading through all the stories now and they're great!
|
*What's going on?*
Kouki stared down the packed train.
*What's going on?*
He rubbed his eyes.
For his entire life he could see how a person's life would end but today he saw nothing. Kouki racked his brain for answers.
*Did I lose my vision?*
His heart rate sped up in panic at the alternative.
*Does everyone on this train die?*
The train came to a halt and Kouki stepped out to see other pedestrians roaming freely without triggering his premonitions. He let out a sigh of relief.
*I lost it. That's all it was.*
As he left Hiroshima station he looked up at the bright sun in the sky, blooming like a Camellia in the spring.
*Is it moving closer?*
|
I watch quietly as two teenage boys harrass an elderly woman at the front of the car. The dark haired one tries to get her purse away from her, while the blonde boy screams in her face.
"Do you want to see?" the voice whispers in my ear.
"Yes."
When the cloudiness fades, the dark haired boy is walking through an alley. He seems to be intently moving, as though he has somewhere to be.
"Pete!" shouts a voice from out of sight.
The boy turns, and I can see him smile.
"Come here!" the voice says.
The dark haired boy turns into one of the side roads where the blonde boy is standing with his hands in his pockets.
"Henry, what fuckin' reason do you have to be out here this time of the day?" says Pete with a grin as he approaches Henry.
"Tom says hi, you piece of shit," Henry says as he pulls a knife from his pocket and lunges at Pete.
The knife punctures deep into Pete's neck. Pete removes the pistol tucked in his waistband and fires three shots into Henry's chest and face, killing him instantly. Pete sits down beside Henry's body with blood pouring out of the wound where the knife remains. He leans forward, and his chest slowly stops rising and falling. Both boys now lie motionless in a pool of their mixed blood.
Our momentum slows as the tram approaches my stop. The doors open, and I gather my things and begin to leave. I stop for a moment at the door. I could warn him. I could warn Pete of the ambush and save both of these boys' lives.
"Give me your goddamn purse you old wench!" screams Pete.
I turn and walk through the doors onto the platform leaving the boys to their fate. Perhaps the world will be a slightly better place without them.
| 2013-10-16T13:13:27
| 2013-10-16T11:53:29
| 73
| 14
|
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation...
|
"...son, you're a goddamn disappointment."
I would never forget those words. They stung so deep, hitting my very soul like a burning flame. They were uttered by my father on the night of my fourteenth birthday. That's right - the night I learned my spirit animal.
It was a dark and stormy night, as is the case with the beginning of any good story. My family, nobility in the city of Blackhaven, spent that night in the basement of our lavish estate, waiting for the moment the clock struck nine - the moment I was born, fourteen years prior, taking in my first sights of this wide and beautiful world. It was me, my mother, my father, my sister, and my uncle. In our family, the transformation into one's spirit animal is a rite of passage, a sign of one reaching a spiritual adulthood.
"It's almost time! Less than a minute!" my mother cried excitedly.
I saw my sister, two years my junior, staring at me with wide, wondrous eyes. I tried to smile at her, but failed to do so convincingly, thanks to nerves. I abandoned that attempt, shutting my eyes and drawing in a sharp breath, my hands curling into loose fists at my side.
"Son, every single Belmont in the past has had the spirit animal of a wolf. It is a sign of great strength of spirit and character - you will feel it. The amazing sensation of it. Ease yourself. It is nine PM. Do as we discussed... let us see your noble form!"
A blinding light filled the room, as my grand spirit unveiled.
When the light passed, my entire family stood staring, stunned at my magnificence... except for my father.
"...son, you're a goddamn disappointment."
I was a teenager at the time, so naturally, my first reaction was to simply act defiant. As he started to storm out the room, I bellowed my rebuttal!
"QUACK!"
|
I could tell by the way they were looking down at me. They could only growl and howl and whimper, but I could see it in their eyes. They were disappointed and already feeling itchy, just in anticipation. I saw my sister scratch behind her ear with her back paw. I could tell my father wanted to do the same, but out of respect for me, out of the difficulty he must have known I was facing internally, he abstained.
I looked up at them, way up, at first as if upon my family (for they were my family), but soon after that I looked upon them as upon inexhaustible sacks of food. I licked my lips. My father must have seen, and transformed back into a human.
"A damned flea," he said, shaking his head.
He looked much less appetizing in his human form.
"Well son," he continued, walking over to the cupboard, "I'm sorry to have to do this, but until you learn to control this power of yours--and don't worry, you're only 14, and eventually you won't be struck by the unmanageable physical urge to turn into an animal like you are now, like all 14 year old boys are..." He took out a glass jar and walked back over, "we'll have to keep you in here."
He unfastened the jar and tilted it on the ground beside me.
"So here, hop on in."
My sister, transforming back into a human behind my father, nudged him a little during her transformation. My father jerked forward and he tried to steady himself. I saw his palm get rapidly closer to me, blocking out more and more of the light, until it was dark completely.
"Well that solves that," said the father, wiping his hand on his jeans. And all the remaining family members laughed.
---
/r/lalalobsters
| 2017-01-21T18:36:17
| 2017-01-21T18:33:16
| 90
| 22
|
[WP] Every child is born with a birthmark identical to the person they are meant to marry and must spend their lives seeking their other half. You are the only person who doesn't have a birthmark.
|
“You know I love you, right?”
I looked across into the living room where Amber had been sitting for the better part of the morning with her macbook. She’d spend every Saturday since I met her over a year ago religiously clicking through the latest matching site. In another hour or so she’d sigh, close the lid, and we’d go get lunch.
There were fewer and fewer single people our age every year. Just last month, my best friend met his match. He flew across the country and was married the following week. I don’t know how people did it before computers. These days you log into the latest match website, upload your birthmark, and the website would scour the globe for the only other person in the world with the identical one – your soul mate.
Many, like Amber, would wait a number of years before joining so they could save money before setting out to find their match. Traveling around the world and planning a wedding could get expensive. In the mean time, they would date and meet other people. It never lasted though. Eventually one would find their match and the relationship would be over.
Through some cruel cosmic joke, I was born with perfect blemish free skin. Not a damned mark anywhere. Not even a single pimple. I couldn't register for the shitty websites because I had no birthmark to match. Amber would inevitably leave like all the others before her.
“I know you do, I love you too.” I replied, setting down my coffee.
She smiled and closed the lid of her laptop.
|
I used to spend many, many days, and many, many nights letting this keep me up.
"Why? Why me?"
"Well maybe it just means I'm compatible with *everyone*?"
"Maybe there's someone else that doesn't have it and *they're* who I'm meant to find."
"Maybe I haven't found it - maybe it's hidden somewhere in my god damn rectum. *Somewhere*. It's got to be *somewhere*. I can't be alone in this world. I can't. Please God don't let me be alone in this world."
These were things that used to run through my mind.
Every day.
Every night.
Every hour.
Every second.
And it drove me mad. I would spend hours, lying prostrate on the cold bathroom floor. Just forget that the shower was running. Only snap out of it hours later when I'd feel a pool of water inching between the tiles.
Or when Renny, my corgi, would lick my face. Or drag his leash over and drop it in front of me. Or nudge his food bowl from the kitchen all the way to in front of me. Come to think of it, he was probably my rock. The one person I could steady myself on. Surrounded by humans, and one of the few dogs left in this decrepit, God damn hell hole of a city is the one I feel less alone with.
My mother used to tell me, when I was 13, "God has a sense of humor sometimes, you know?"
Oh I know.
I know damn well.
But - I'm fine with it. Truly. I know you might know someone in your group of friends or a relative that, you know, they say "I'm fine," and no one believes them. You don't believe them. Clearly they're lying either to get someone to stop asking why they look sad, or for attention.
But I mean it.
I'm fine.
I'm finally - after all this time - at peace with this. I know what I must do.
If you see Renny, tell him I said "hey there, good boy." Give him a biscuit, too.
He's the one with the big stupid grin.
| 2014-08-27T09:57:03
| 2014-08-27T08:01:47
| 29
| 13
|
[WP] Tell us about a wounded/abandoned hero's last stand. Make us feel.
Holy fuck this got way more answers than I anticipated. All the posts ive seen are great, you guys are some seriously talented writers. I intentionally gave no context so you guys could spin this any way you want and you have blown my mind. Thanks everybody!
|
Time waits for nobody and nothing, but at that very moment, Sergeant Joseph K. Holstein decided that time had stopped for just a second to take a look at his predicament. He'd been gut-shot, by three or four rounds as he'd tried to rally his troops to him and charge the bunker again. The Resistance was falling apart at the seams, now, people falling into routines of compliance and uncaring. Like any good conquerors, the enemies defeated humanity not by their military might, but by subsuming culture.
He sighed, and the wounds in his chest that would eventually kill him burbled like a brook on a spring day as he thought about the wave of monstrosities that was about to wash down upon him. Resistance attacks were always followed up by the flood of creatures to kill any wounded so they could be absorbed. He couldn't feel his extremeties anymore, so it probably wouldn't hurt.
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?! We need cover, now! Our CO went down, and we're under heavy fire, need evac ASAP, over!"
He frowned. Some of his boys had made it through- that sounded like Terrance. Terrance was the one he was proudest of; the boy had, out of all of them, the most fire and spirit. The young man simply refused to be broken.
"Copy.. that.." the Sergeant said, spluttering, "I'll get.. right on it."
He moved to the bank of explosives they'd been carrying to break the bunker down, and pressed the button down. Light flashed, and he faded..
In the distance, Terrance Holstein watched, and cried.
|
"Do you know why you've lost?" The Man In Black asked, his long white grin shining in the moonlight. It was wolfish and menacing.
Prometheus clutched at his side. Warm red blood flowed through his fingertips. This wasn't how it was supposed to end.
Large black clouds were rolling in. A storm was coming. The moon disappeared behind their darkness.
"I..." he said, trying to fight through the pain. His leg was broken. So was his right arm. His power source; the place from which he could bring forth fire. "I... haven't lost."
Prometheus would stand defiant, right until the end.
"James," the Man In Black state, his voice full of mocking pity, "you have lost. You lost years ago when you put your faith into these people. You tried to plant a fire into their hearts and minds. You failed. They are beyond salvation."
James felt his body trembling. Exhaustion was filling his extremities. The pain from his wounds made it hard to focus.
"No..." he replied, "no... I can not believe that. I will not."
The Man In Black laughed.
"Brother," he stated coolly, "you always did play the fool. You never did open your eyes. This world is cruel, it is corrupt. It is dying with every beat of the war drums. The war drums that these people insist hasten their journeys to the grave."
"I will not back down. I will save them." Prometheus replied. He looked out over the city. It was asleep, few knew what was taking place on this night.
*The night that the flame would finally be snuffed out.*
"You can not even save yourself." The Man In Black grinned again. "So be it, fool. I'll put an end to your misery, and then I'll put an end to theirs."
Two wicked blades appeared in the villain's hands. They were black to match the figure that wielded them. Prometheus was too weak to go on.
It was all he could do to stand.
*Come on.* He willed his flame to reemerge. *Please...*
The Man In Black roared. He charged his brother. Above them, the brooding clouds began to unleash their downpour.
*I need to fight. For them. I need to save them.* He begged.
His soul responded coldly.
*Why? Maybe he's right. They have never been grateful. They have never accepted your light. They have never accepted you.*
The Man In Black was almost upon him. His red eyes burned in his skull. They were filled with hatred.
*I don't care. I give them my life regardless. I do it freely.*
Prometheus roared in return. All of his strength welled within him. This was his end. He would meet it with an even gaze.
His hands came together in a clap.
A flame appeared. His flame.
"Goodbye, Brother!" James shouted. The Man In black swung his swords down at the hero.
The flame in the hero's hands ballooned out in all directions. Fire turned the rain into steam. A flash of light lit up the night sky.
The explosion shattered windows a mile away.
The people awoke to rain.
The fire had gone out.
| 2014-07-14T09:50:31
| 2014-07-14T09:38:50
| 41
| 29
|
[WP] SETI discovers radiosignals from another civilization. The signals are the first broadcasts from a young civilization. We send a spaceship towards the planet, which allows us to see their advancement in "fast forward". We are now 10y into our 20y mission, and see some worrying developements...
|
The signal seemed innocuous enough. Just four half-second notes, played on repeat from highest to lowest. It was the kind of music a six-year-old might make when first introduced to a piano.
But it did not come from a six-year-old. It did not come from anyone on Earth.
Within minutes, the dishes at SETI swiveled to the calculated source of the sound, but the scientists kept their expectations low. Anomalous signals weren’t all that uncommon, but they were generally short-lived and ended before the dishes could get a fix and none had ever shown any sign of an intelligent creator.
This signal was special. Unlike other long-lived extraterrestrial signals, this one was imperfect. On average, the notes lasted 0.52 seconds, but they could range anywhere from 0.32 to 0.85 seconds, with durations picked seemingly at random. The high likelihood of its intentional creation sent the scientific community into utter chaos.
SETI narrowed down the origin to a point some twenty lightyears away, in a previously charted but otherwise ignored solar system centered around a red dwarf star. One of the rocky planets orbited in the Goldilocks zone, but refractive atmospheric analysis had revealed a lack of biological indicators. However, these indicators applied only to Earth. The scope of study had simply been too narrow.
The telescopes of Earth focused on this previously unimportant world, though the vast distance and the red dwarf’s low luminal output prevented any in-depth observation. Humanity wanted, needed, to know more about their potential cosmic neighbors. What did they look like? What did the four-note signal mean?
Were they like us? And if so, would interaction really be wise?
Ethical quandaries dominated the debate over whether to make first contact. A trip to the other solar system would take at least eighty years to arrive and another eighty years to return. Even with the advent of cryosleep, and assuming the mission was a success, any astronauts who took the mission would come home to a vastly different Earth. They would be relics, and all of their friends and family would have perished decades prior. Would the sacrifice be worth it?
Maybe the aliens weren’t friendly. Maybe they were more advanced than humanity in every area except radio. Maybe they had the secret to peace, life, and God itself. Maybe they had nothing to offer.
If they were less advanced, how could humanity prevent the genocide and oppression that always seemed to arise when civilizations at different levels of development met?
In the end, curiosity - and the fear of being alone in the universe - won out. Since no nation could afford the trip on their own and all wished to participate in the most groundbreaking mission of the century, the spacefaring governments of the world contributed funds, manufacturing power, and brilliant minds to the creation of the Messenger. Grudging cooperation or not, the end result was magnificent. First of its kind, the Messenger could house a crew of two hundred, achieve one third lightspeed, possessed a hull outfitted with both kinetic shields and self-repairing armor, and operated with the most advanced navigational AI ever conceived by human minds.
In the decade that it took to build the Messenger, the alien signal changed. The four notes expanded to five, then ten, then twenty four. Eventually, some of the higher notes exceeded the range of human hearing. More signals joined the first, expanding into the tens of thousands. The music became more complex, too, enough to rival and sometimes exceed the grandest human compositions. The signals never contained spoken language, at least as understood by humans, but it soon became apparent that the aliens communicated by way of the music.
The crew of the Messenger drew upon all nations. Captain Xian Zheng, Captain Amanda Fischer, Vice-Captain Inari Sato, and Vice-Captain Pardeep Tanton oversaw two hundred and eight scientists and engineers, all trained in multiple fields of study, with enough overlap to account for cryosleep and to ensure the ship’s survival in case a large portion of the crew perished.
They departed on August 24th, 2043. By that time, the alien signals were over one hundred thousand strong and carried a resplendent array of soothing melodies, energetic jigs, powerful symphonies, and simple arrangements that closely resembled the first signal. Over the course of fifteen years, the Messenger accelerated to full speed. The alien signals blue-shifted, compressed by the relative difference in speed between the Messenger and the alien planet.
On September 15th, 2081, thirty-eight years into the mission and just over ten lightyears away from the alien world, one of the monitoring technicians noticed a shift in the music. Analyzing music recorded over the course of four months, the technician saw a slight drop in pitch across every single signal, which at this point numbered in the tens of millions. He’d never seen anything like it, and neither had anyone else.
At first, the crew considered that there might be something wrong with the ship. Perhaps the engine and sensors had malfunctioned, dropping the ship’s speed and reducing the blue-shift effect. However, using other stars as points of reference, their calculations revealed that the Messenger was cruising at the correct speed. Subsequent inspections revealed no issues with the ship’s transceivers, either.
Perhaps the aliens had intentionally lowered the pitch of their music. Though it made no logical sense to a human, alien motivations were, by definition, difficult or impossible to understand. They could have done it for cultural reasons, or because they had made new technological advances.
Over the next few years, the pitches continued to fall, and the music began to change. Faster beats, more erratic notes. The synergy of the previous signals had all but disappeared. The crew sensed fear and desperation in the music, though their human understanding lacked an alien basis of comparison.
As the Messenger drew within eight lightyears of its destination, one of the ship’s sensors picked up an anomalous x-ray burst from the vicinity of the alien planet. Not strong enough to sterilize the planet, but enough to cause alarm. Upon closer inspection, the ship’s telescopes revealed a corona of light behind the alien solar system, likely refracted from more distant stars. Hypothetically, a massive object could create strong lensing effects and simultaneously pull the alien solar system away from the Messenger, which would account for the reduced blue-shift. Only one thing could be so small, yet have such a strong gravitational effect.
The humans despaired.
The Messenger enacted the emergency deceleration protocol. In the next ten years, they would stop within six and a half lightyears of their original destination. Still too close, considering what awaited at the other end.
The alien music continued to drop in pitch, and as time passed, the number of signals dwindled. Radiation was likely wreaking havoc upon the planet’s surface. By the ship’s calculations, the aliens had less than a decade to live. Accounting for the speed of light, that meant the aliens only really had two years, if that. The true date of their destruction would pass unbeknownst to the humans.
Toward the end, the signals regained their previous grandeur. Solemn, resigned, and unspeakably sad, the music fell like crashing waves and rolled like morning fog, capturing the last thoughts of a doomed people. From a peak of fifty four million, only two thousand signals remained, each one now perfectly in sync.
Two thousand became one thousand, and one thousand became one hundred. The delay meant that the aliens had truly met their end long ago, but the humans aboard the Messenger wept nonetheless.
On the last day, one hundred had become three.
From seven lightyears away, safe behind their sensors and telescopes, the crew watched as the alien world, once populated by a people whose music they had cherished for decades and whom they had so terribly wanted to meet, shattered under the extreme gravitational forces. The last signal, likely automated, sang alone in the void. Fragments of the planet swirled around the black hole, some falling into an uncertain orbit while others simply sunk into darkness, dissolving as they fell. Their last photons wavered at the event horizon, caught between the speed of light and the black hole’s incredible gravity. The images would slowly fade as each photon fell one way or the other.
The Messenger recalculated a course for home. No one spoke.
Humanity was alone in the universe.
|
Day Zero: Satalite and lunar deep space radio telescopes report anomaly in sector Z105X223. Confirmation by terrestrial units within minutes. Signal too weak to discern pattern. Location of transmission, habitable planet, nitrogen-CO2-oxygen based atmosphere. Announcement of conirmation of extra terrestrial life made by jubilant astrophysicistsmuch to charing of world governments.
Day 14: Signal isolated and analyzed, primitive RF transmissions, language suspected, 36 distinct characters identified. Has caused discord word wide, planet is distant, 116 light years away. Use of experimental FTL travel deemed too risky. Private sector philanthropists offer to cover R&D.
Day 40: Linguists have deciphered the base language, 26 phonetic characters and 10 numerals. Work begins on FTL prototype in earnest, current models burn out after only 10 to 12 light years traveled.
Day 76: transmissions continues to increase in frequency and complexity, linguists believe there to be several dialects of the standard character set. Base 10 number system decoded, but the meaning of words continues to elude us. Regenerative FTL engines being tested.
Day 145: Teams of linguists, diplomats, physicists, engineers and other scientists, as well as cultural exchange experts begin training, construction of long range jump ship to be completed in 180 days. Will take 10 jumps to complete the journey, each lasting only a few seconds to us, but requiring days of cool down and recalibration. This will give us scant time to decipher and translate the 10+ years that have passed on our target planet.
Day 345: launch day, our world rejoices, in a few short weeks we will make first contact.
Day 346: 1 jump complete. Linguists delighted to discover numerous new dialects have begun transmissions.
Day 349: second jump completed, first audio transmissions recieved, their voices sound strange but familliar, frantic work begins on grammar and syntax understand.
Day 355: problems on third jump, will need extra time for repairs, linguists racing to decipher each new spoken language transmitted.
Day 362: Jump 4 successful, first visual transmissions recieved, no color and poor quality, species spears to bipedal, with two eyes and varying skin color. Word association and translation becoming much easier.
Day 365: Jump 5, and some disturbing news, they have achieved fission and weaponized it, fear of these unknown people's creeps into my mind for the first time.
Day 368: Jump 6, first Satalite and manned space explorations televised, the crew celebrates, but I continue to fear their violent nature
Day 371: Jump 7, they have created a primitive binary data sharing system, our engingers have tapped in, worrisome. It appears to be mostly used for military and weapons research.
Day 375: Jump 8, the cultural offerings are more and more diverse, as are their conflicts, secular and spiritual. They are a people obsessed with entertainment and fame. First signs of private use of data exchange looks promising.
Day 378: more delays, it has given us time to analyze and down load their explosive digital growth, it appears to be 90% pornographgic in content. Creation of first social media exchanges detected. Data aquired slaved to diplomatic computer, must begin creation of first contact message.
Day 385: the auspicious day of first contact. Computer analysis revealed it was the inauguration day of a new world leader, and all government is controlled by social media. We reach out to him directly via a Tweet.
@DJT
Yo dawg, this is the Aslamians, we came to smoke blunts and drop phat bombz, we got that blaze ass shit, you wanna get down dog?
(Forgive the multiple edits, did this on my phone, autocorrect is evil)
| 2017-01-07T15:24:21
| 2017-01-07T12:53:45
| 337
| 73
|
[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.
|
I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago...
|
He knelt down beside her on the cold grass of the graveyard. She had tripped and almost fallen straight onto a headstone, something that would most likely have given her a major injury.
"You didnt hurt yourself, did you?" He looked her over, checking for any scratches or cuts.
"I dont think so, but thank you, im ok. I'm just too clumsy for my own good." She smiled, and she smiled at him.
He helped her to her feet and they walked, her still recovering from the fall and him feeling the need to help her along.
"So why are you out here so late? Were you visiting someone?"
She shook her head, "Yes, but sometimes i just come out here to think." She put her head down, and went quiet.
He patted her on the back, "Me too, it really puts into perspective all the lives that were lived and lost. Each dying in some different way."
She smiled, looking up at him, "Death does have a creative way of making us go. Old age, sickness, accidents..." she trailed off, looking into the distance.
"I know what you mean, I..." he spoke, looking down at her face, smiling hoping she wouldn't notice. He continued to follow her, not watching his surroundings, and tripped, landing headfirst onto a headstone.
She turned back to look down at him her eyes dark, smiling, draping her long black shawl over her shoulders, "Or perhaps they were too clumsy for their own good."
(Not the best, i guess kind of cheesy, but i thought it sounded a little scary.)
| 2017-05-31T07:14:34
| 2017-05-31T05:30:06
| 116
| 50
|
[WP] You're a lawyer who just got a genie lamp. After planning your words perfectly to maximize all your wishes, you summoned the genie, and surprisingly the genie turns out to be your most feared yet most respected person : Your long dead law mentor.
|
Julia sat at the conference table amongst piles of books. Not heaps of books, not a scattering of references, not a slapdash collection. These books were carefully selected, organized, and cross-referenced. She had spent more time on this than she'd ever had in billable hours to any client in her long career at the law firm of Tarquin, Golbur & Hernandez. But she was finally ready to open the box.
Inside was an old oil lamp. There was nothing to distinguish it from an ordinary lamp, except that it was held in this antique box by velvet cushions, where no ordinary lamp would be. Anyone who saw it would immediately know what it was. It was the very archetype of a Genie Lamp, driven into their psyche from countless stories, movies, and cartoons.
And given that nobody used oil lamps anymore, it could only be the home of a genie. Or an old movie prop. Or maybe a halloween decoration. Or perhaps a very fancy gravy boat. But it was in fact a genie lamp, which Julia knew from her careful research.
She rubbed it.
Her careful research into the arcane subject of Genie Law was arrayed around her, providing an answer to any eventuality. Anything not covered by the literature she felt sure she could handle with her keen intellect.
"Oh, Genie, come forth. I, Julia Hernandez, the party of the first part, do summon you, the party of the second part, by ancient covenant."
Smoke flew out of the mouth of the lamp. It slowly formed a face. The face was strangely familiar. Words echoed out of the mist. "Little Jules? Is that you that summons me?"
The voice brought back memories. "Is that... Mr. Tarquin?"
"Right on the nose, Jules. Though since you are in my old office, I suppose I should call you Miss Hernandez now. I don't imagine that you ever married. But it looks like you are the Managing Partner now. Ha! You look like an old battleaxe. I knew you'd make it big."
"How are you a Genie, Mr Tarquin?"
"Oh, nevermind that. In my day, all the best lawyers were genies. But we should get down to business. I imagine you want your three wishes?"
Julia picked up the first sheet of paper in front of her. "Yes. The party of the first party acknowledges the presence of the genie and requests commencement of negotiations with regards to the numbered wishes, herein..."
"Oh, Jules, I see you have done your research. Too much research if you ask me. Between old colleagues like us that stuff isn't necessary. Don't you still do back-room deals? Dispense with that. Put it away and we'll play it straight. I was always fair with you, wasn't I?"
"Alright, Mr. Tarquin," Julia said with some hesitation.
"Anything special you are looking for? Or just the standards? Money, fame, youth, beauty, love, sex, power, etc. I hope it's not love. That's always a tricky one. Sex is easy though."
"Yeah, basically money, youth, and -um- power, I suppose, Mr. Tarquin."
"Easy enough. No need for the legalese here. Starting with the money, I can do up to a billion without undue scrutiny from the government. I'd recommend that."
"Alright, I wish for a billion dollars." As soon as she said it, Julia's phone pinged with a notification.
"That'll be the bank transfer coming in. If anybody looks into it, it will appear to be legally acquired due to a shrewd investment in an IPO. Next? If you're going for youth, I'd suggest being 25. It's the best age. Don't ask for it to be everlasting, of course, that's a trap. Just say long-lasting."
Julia spent a minute checking the phone message. It was all aboveboard. No tricks that she could see, and she was convinced to continue. "I wish for renewed and long-lasting youth."
As she said it, the wrinkles tightened off her face. Her arthritic hands were slender and smooth again. She ran to the mirror next to her office door and spent several minutes checking her body. If anything she felt better than she had at 25.
"See, Jules. No tricks between friends. That youth will last long enough for the human scientists to replace it with something permanent, with no suspicion. Are you ready for power to go with your money and youth? I'd suggest indicating that it should be 'personal' power. You definitely don't want electrical power, and political power is fickle."
"Alright, I wish for great personal power."
The genie smiled. "Done. You shall have the power of the genie."
The mist began to solidify across the conference table. Julia felt her own substance thinning. "What? No. This is a trap. That's not what I wanted."
"Indeed Jules. I think genie power traps are covered by the book you have on the top of your first stack there. A beginner's mistake."
"But, you said you'd treat me fairly. How could you do this?"
As Mr. Tarquin walked off, he turned back and said, "You forgot the first thing I ever taught you: Don't take advice from opposing counsel."
|
I rehearse the words in my head,
Check the notes scrawled on paper on the bed,
I've written in triplicate on the wall,
No level of precaution too small.
That's always been a habit of mine,
Plan, prepare, waste no time,
It's served me well in my courtroom fights,
And I'm about to lawyer for my life.
The universe, it seems, has other plans,
As I summon the genie with a rub of my hand.
The form from the lamp appears with a flash,
I'm presented with a spectre from the past.
I'd forgotten her face from those years ago,
But framed in blue smoke I definitely know,
The face of my mentor, but an ethereal blue,
And it looks like she recognizes me too.
"Junior!" she says, with some delight,
(For that was my nickname earlier in life)
"My, you've grown old, and I hope wise,"
"If you wish to earn the genie's prize."
I'm speechless for a time and look in shock,
She smiles at me with an eyebrow cocked.
A look I recall I often saw,
When she taught me my fundamental case law.
The look said more than mere speech,
There's more to this case - you're not looking too deep.
The shock hit me with that look,
For as smart as I am, it wouldn't be enough.
I am no fool, and will put ego aside,
My mentor was a far better lawyer than I.
So why, now, was she the lamp's face?
As opposed to sunning herself in some tropical place?
In cunning, and wit she could not be matched,
Yet here she was - rather trapped.
"Listen," she said, and spoke clearly,
"Three wishes, three rules - do you hear me?"
"No immortality wishes, nor raising another,"
"And no making someone into your lover."
"Neither are the genie's wishes free,"
"There's a price to be paid with wish number three."
I didn't say a word, for fear of action,
And sat and thought for a fraction.
Then a lightbulb moment came to me,
As I invented my wishes, one, two, three.
"Genie," I said, "Though that is not your name,"
"Wish number one is simple and plain,"
"I am old now but still have much to do,"
"I wish my body were a mere fifty-two."
Twenty years flew off me in a blue flash,
I coughed and sputtered and couldn't help but laugh,
I had opted not for a wish of too great greed,
An extra twenty years were all I'd need.
"It is done," she said, though she looked concerned,
Perhaps she still feared of what had happened to her,
Was my taking the first wish a sign,
That I'd be next in the Genie line?
No, that wish was my only one,
Twenty years more would be enough to have some fun,
To see my grandchild born and looked after,
And have them spent time with their favourite grandfather.
"Next," I said, and smiled at her,
"I wish you were free from the lamp that you serve."
"No more wishes will you grant,"
"And the lamp itself you will disenchant!"
She beamed a smile at the wording,
"My, junior, you have been learning."
"You saw the loophole I did not!"
"Now fare thee well and that's your lot!"
She vanished and the lamp clattered to the floor,
The magic of the lamp was no more.
I exhaled and knew I had made the right trade.
For with no wish number three, there was no price to be paid.
I looked her up in the years I'd won,
Found her in the tropics under the sun,
We talked at length about days gone by,
And I thanked her mentorship for keeping me wise.
| 2021-09-30T11:03:34
| 2021-09-30T10:41:06
| 1,398
| 331
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
At first, we all thought it was just a stunt to get back in the headlines. We all knew the Prince was a bit of a publicity whore, but there was no way he could actually believe in their cause, right?
But joke or not, they came. First in rafts, setting off from the mainland. Then a hijacked cruise vessel, stolen off the coast of Somalia, loaded up with soldiers in Syria, fleeing the combined Russian and American counterstrike against Turko-Syria.
ISIS had been losing ground for years, unable to fight the west from without or the Kurds from within. They were desperate. So when the prince of our tiny island nation announced that he would be providing asylum to the last of their fighters, they took it. Even if it was just a joke by a crazy old man.
They came in droves, unloading onto the platform from ships of every shape and size. 321 in July. 507 in August. and on September 15th, a final load of 848 fighters, loaded with over three tons of various equipment.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
On September 16th, at 11:45 AM, a great creaking groan was heard from below. Everyone stopped, frozen. Seventeen seconds later, another great crack was heard. Even over the sounds of panicked scrambling, the third and final snap could be heard as the great pylon gave way.
At 11:46 AM, the Principality of Sealand sank to the bottom of the English Channel. And every ISIS fighter left in the world went with it.
|
The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***"
| 2016-01-29T06:56:50
| 2016-01-29T06:30:49
| 55
| 10
|
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough
|
It had been a few months since I kidnapped him, I would go down to his room once a day and talk to him, each time he’d always tell me that they’d never come for him but I didn’t believe him because who would want to leave behind someone like him? He’s a genius and a great guy from what I can tell so far.
After a while though, I ended up believing him, the sobbing I could hear at night was enough evidence and then a newspaper that said that they had given up and were very upset just made me mad.
I know damn well those bastards had not tried at all and it made me mad.
I stormed down to his room and slammed open the door.
“You was right .” I said as I threw the newspaper on the ground, “Those hero’s are cunts.”
He started to cry again as he read it, “I knew it, god damn they never cared for me.”
“Why? You’re a good guy and really smart, I’d be happy if I had someone like you on my side.” I muttered as I leaned against the door frame.
“Well, I’m just a smart guy, I haven’t got powers like you or them so I’m just useless.” He said as he looked down at the floor, “I’m just useless.”
“No you’re not and I’m going to prove it, come with me, uhhhh what’s your name-“ I asked, I never even got his name
“It’s Aaron.” He mumbled as he got up and walked towards me, “Where are we going?”
“To my torture room.” I said with a smirk, “Just kidding, it’s actually the room with all my weapons and some weird super suits, I hire people to build me things like these and pay them well, I’m not that smart after all.”
Aaron looked at me with confused and asked, “Why are we going there?”
“To make you powerful and to get some revenge if you want?” I said, “You’ve got the brains, now you can have the power but that’s only if you want to, I can just let you live in my small village, it’s full of smart people like you who I’ve let join me, they don’t actually have to work for me though, they can just do whatever and live a normal life in a not so normal village and- sorry I’m talking too much again.”
“It’s okay, can I um, work for you and do evil things?” Aaron asked as he continued to walk with me, “I’d like to be helpful even if it’s on the evil side.”
“Of course you can work for me! Let me get you a house and some things and some weapons, oh and a super suit!” I exclaimed excitedly, “This is amazing! Did you know I actually kinda look up to you, you’re like so smart and I want to be smart like that!”
I grab his wrist and start running to the room, everything is going great and I’m so happy, Aaron will be a great addition to my team and my village.
I’ll make a bloody good villain out of Aaron and I’ll make sure he has a good life with a team who won’t abandon him.
|
When I woke up for the first time in my existence, two thoughts crossed my consciousness. I was Asclepius Cassius, a hero across multiple realities and timelines, an immortal being who had accumulated great power as I fought and defeated even more destructive forces in the multiverse. And there were others identical to me, that shared my face, goals, and purpose.
We learned after being sat down that we were merely fragments of the original Asclepius Cassius. Somewhere between being a nigh ultimate being that could change the multiverse and trying to live a normal life as a housewife, she created me and my siblings, fragments of her own emotions given life and freedom to act as we saw fit. And act we did. Great feats of courage, compassionate love, bringing joy to others, and defeating those who threatened to extinguish the life our collective held dear. As time progressed, the members of our little group managed to find out which emotion they embodied of Asclepius's. All of them did, save me.
Love was of course compassionate, Bravery and Fear were reassuring (though contradictory in their approach, as always), and Joy planned festivities to celebrate when I eventually did find out. Of course, it was Worry that led me true. If I truly wanted to know, I just needed to dive back through the shared memories from Asclepius and find what resonated with me.
It took me going back to when Asclepius's first fight against some evil to find something that tasted like sweet honey to what part of Aclepius's soul I held. Hate. Hate was the emotion I was, something that she had kept repressed her entire life. I drank it in and reveled in the feeling.
It was a long time before they came looking for me. They said they were glad to find me, and assumed that I had been trapped in Asclepius's memories. They were lying, that much was obvious, the same tell amplified across their faces. They were afraid of me, hated me even, the long since repressed hate felt by Asclepius.
I didn't correct them. I merely smiled, and drank in the emotions of the moment.
| 2021-08-04T15:29:05
| 2021-08-04T14:35:40
| 50
| 28
|
[WP] You open Google maps and something looks different.. Alaska is missing. Everywhere you look online, there is no mention of it ever existing.
|
"This is odd", I said, as I was looking at Google Maps this morning.
"What is?", my brother replied, walking up behind me. We were just about to go to school, one year between us. My brother is brilliant, he's a straight A-student in his first year at the university. He is doing some sort of project, so he went "home home" and is staying here for a few days. I haven't really bothered with why he's coming along to school though, it has something to do with that project.
"Alaska's gone", I said, "How could it be gone?"
"What are you talking about", he said pointing at the north western part of the Americas, "it's right there!"
"That's the state, stupid. What about the continent?"
He gave me a look. I haven't talked about the Alaskan continent since then. My girlfriend was supposed to return tonight, but it seems she never existed either. The only thing left is an ocean much larger than it was yesterday, and the word "Pacific" seems a cruel, cruel joke.
|
*alarm goes off*
I look at my phone, turn off the alarm and wait for my second alarm to go off because I'm lazy.
*second alarm goes off*
I turn of the alarm again, and slowly roll out of bed. I throw a shirt on and walk over to my computer to check if my professor canceled class again. He never cancels until the morning of the class. I open up Google, type in "g" for gmail, and attempt to open up my email. But of course, my half awake self miss clicks and click google maps instead. Oh well. I click new tab and open up may email. Of course, no email from my professor and I close the tab. Then I notice something weird, Alaska's not on the map anymore. That's weird, but I gotta get ready for class. I toss on some jeans, grab a hoodie, my wallet, and my phone. I'm about to leave when curiosity gets the best of me. I head over to my computer and refresh the tab. Alaska's still not there. I go type in Alaska into Google and it auto corrects to "Alaskan". Where the hell is Alaskan? Who cares, more importantly, where is Alaska!? Well Google isn't helping, time for plan b. Yahoo it is. I type in Alaska in again, but still Sarah Palin. Time for the last resort..... Bing... Actually, hell with that. I never used Bing, why start now. I gotta get to class anyways, and I'm already late thanks to my curiosity. I run down the stairs, open the door, and I'm half out the door when I finally realize..... Nothings there! Just, darkness. I jump back into my house, and run back to my computer. I have to do it... I need to... Use Bing... I type in Alaska. I get a 404 error. Great. Thanks for the help Bing. I look outside. Still nothing. That's how it all started. I somehow still have Wi-Fi, but I've been stuck in my house for the whole day so far. I guess Reddit it is for next while till I can find out what happened. Will update daily with edits. See you in 24 hours Reddit.
| 2015-05-04T12:56:55
| 2015-05-04T08:08:07
| 36
| 12
|
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level...
|
/r/TalesFromMajSupport
#Why you never, EVER let an intern into spelldev [Medium]
⬆9348⬇
by DepressedQAMagician 🌟x1
Howdy TFMS, it's your boy Depressed QA Magician, and I've got another troubling tale for you.
So, if you remember, $Boss has a thing for younguns. Just can't resist the HS interns and fresh grads over the many, many, people who are much more qualified. Can you already tell where this is going?
Yep. Intern. Spelldev.
I know for a fact that all of you maj support workers think they have it worse than QA magicians--their natural enemies next to dumb end users--and vice versa (grass is always greener). Listen to my story.
I was on a coffee break when $newIntern came up to me and told me that $departmentHead wanted me and my QA brethren to investigate a... bug.
So I take my shit to the QA department and what do I see? A... locked door, actually. Rooted shut.
"OH GOD PLEASE DON'T COME IN" $departmentGuy1 says over Ventrilocharm. "CALL THE FUCKING MAJ SUPPORT OH GOD PLEASE"
And I did. I'm standing at the door with my good friend Mike from MS. He blasts it open with a Doorbuster Charm and...
Holy shit. The floor is covered in black slime that looks like tar. Some of it is spilling out on the carpet outside the QA dep't. Mike is absolutely flabbergasted. $departmentHead is standing on a table with a lighter and a can of hair spray in hand. There are geese flying out of the slime. The slime is making more geese.
I'm surprised Mike hadn't pissed his pants yet at this point.
$daveFromQA is sprinting over the slime with his signature Jesus Charm. His shirt is on fire. A book with teeth like the ones in Big Boo's Haunt is chasing him.
I look over at Mike and say, "I'll call $newIntern." I walk away.
When I come back with $newIntern I'm relieved to see that the slime is gone, but then I'm panicked again when a duck comes out of the carpet and starts attacking everyone. Didn't take much to hex it into a tadpole. Meanwhile, $newIntern is cleaning up his mess while apologizing profusely. When everything's all fine and dandy again, $departmentHead loses his shit, rips into $newIntern, and files a complaint to the higher ups.
MS concedes bitter defeat to QA for "worst job", $newIntern is fired, and $Boss was never seen again.
363 comments - report - gild - save - share
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"Sir, you will not regret this. I swear." Miffle entered my quarters with a bound. The sweet smile in his eyes twittered with anticipation. Miffle's dreams of commanding a prestigious estate in the annals of spellmen's history ever lead his way.
"I see you think you've got something quite exceptional this time, Miffle. Well, go ahead, let's take a look. I hope we don't have as much work ahead of us this time as the last, eh?" I winked at him wryly.
The last spell Miffle wanted me to spell check let loose a small tornado in the hallway, instead of proving to be a safer way for the circus fliers to perform sans harnais de sécurité. Madam Eldermore nearly lost her cat, poor dear.
I encourage him to start, and Miffle extracts his wand and a curious silver pen from underneath his coat. With the pen in his right hand, his left hand lifts the wand with florid intent and whips it about with a grace that I cannot help but admire. His spell work is really quite poetic - when it is correct. The nuances are ever so delicate, and I almost miss it. He repeats the motion, and there it is again. My appreciation suddenly turns to horror at the realization of .. ... . ... ..... .... .... ...... .. .. ..... .. ...
.. .... ... .... .. ... ...... .. .... ... ... ...... ..... ........... ...... ..... ....... .... .... .... .... .... ... ..... ..... ... ..... ...... ..... .... ..... ....... .... .... ..... .... .... ...... ... ...... .... .....
...... ..... .... ....... .....
..... ..... .. ... ..... ... ...
........ ....... ... ..... .. ........ .... ... ..... ... ... ... ... .. ... .... ..... ..... ... .... .... .... ....... ... .... ... .......... .. ......... ....... ..... ..... ..... .... ...... ..... .... .... .... ... .... .... ... ....... .......... ...... ...... ..... .... ........ .... ....... ..... ..... ...... ...... ....... ...... ..... ...... ... ... ... .... ....... ..... ..... ..... ... ..........
... .... ....
...
..... ... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..... ... ... .. .. .. .. ........ .. ... - OH, THANK GOD!"
You are the most incompetent witch of a . .... ..... ..... ........ .......
.... . ..... ..... ... ......
....... ... ..... ..... ...... ....... ... ... ......... ..... ... ... ..... .... ... .... ......
....... .... . ........ ....... ..... ..... .. ........ ..... ............ ..... ...... ... .... .... ... ........
......... ..... ..... ...... .... ... .... ..... ..T! Just get out! And take this damn thing with you!"
I hurriedly shove the pen into Miffle's pocket and with a scalding visage admonish him without a single utterance. I seethe as his tears obscure the edges of his eyelids, and it is as if his hope drains away and collects into tiny inert puddles by the door - just before it closes behind him and smears his tears across my floor. My anger and bafflement roil for what seems ages.
- - -
Now, as the day draws close and my rage finally dwindles to ember, I allow myself to relax, to come off guard, and I wonder - I'll never know just what he had in mind with that spell. I've seen plenty of typos but never anything like that; And yes, I AM counting that time Swincy nearly wiped out the entire Gourmandier department in that unfortunate vivisepulture of "Anytime Truffles."
Still... I wish it hadn't been so important to him. The poor urchin has an almost fluvial way with the wand. And this time, this time, I could tell that he was nearly onto.... onto something. I had the strangest sensation that a new sort of consciousness was being birthed. Oh, but his lack of attention to detail! It always caps his brilliance!
If I only stopped him just before that final stroke, I might not have been engulfed in that mental nothingness he created, and I would not have reacted so harshly. But it was as if my mind had been wedged between the night and the Reaper himself. I am always aware of Death's presence, but never have I felt his breath on my neck before. That is a fear I hope to never encounter again; I may not have the strength to return.
I throw my reports into my bag and scan the room for anything I might leave behind. "What's that?" I bend down to pick up Miffle's pen cap. I must not have noticed - "OH FOR FU.... .......
| 2017-07-26T01:31:47
| 2017-07-25T20:43:49
| 97
| 32
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[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I sat in the back of the classroom, staring at her.
What the hell was going on? Was I losing it?
I looked around the room. No, everything was normal. A bunch of 3s, a few fours, and Mark, a six (I stay away from him).
Then there's this girl.
I had heard all about her. She was new in town, apparently her parents were big shot researchers who just finished some 5-year research project in Brazil. No, Peru. It was somewhere exotic.
According to my buddy Jon, she was smart, funny, and "Holy Shit, dude, sooo fine!"
My first time actually seeing her was 7 minutes ago when she transferred into 5th period World History.
Ten
She was a ten.
Not a, "Bro, she's a straight 10 outta 10."
A ten on my scale means...shit, you know what? I don't even know what that means.
The highest I have ever seen in my life was an 8 when my criminology class took a trip to the ACI.
This girl scored 2 points higher than a gang enforcer that got off on crushing skulls.
I always wondered what I would do in a situation like this. Would I try to warn people? How would I ever explain to them what I see?
When it came down to it, I ran. Well, I went down to the nurses office and told her that I had bought the school lunch that day (while kinda motioning down below).
I laid awake all night, going over it in my head. What did it mean? What do I do?
I stayed home the next day, checking the news feeds. No shootings at my school, nothing weird at all going on.
I creeped her facebook, her twitter. Nothing stood out. A completely normal 17 year old girl.
Day 3, I told my buddy Jon that he should skip school, but when I couldn't give him a realistic reason to, I dropped it.
I just sat at home, thinking that I should be doing something, anything.
Ten. A freaking ten.
What the fuck! How could this girl be a fucking 10?!
I got my answer when the CDC rolled into town.
|
"I'm Michael," he said as he stuffed text books into his locker.
I wasn't sure what to do. He was a ten. The only ten I'd seen was my dad and he'd been locked away. It was his number that brought back the painful memories of my childhood. He would come home every night drenched with the stench of cigarettes, beer, and anger. After years and years of slamming doors, punching walls and his wife, he was finally gone. I remember when the news came out about his other family too, his secret family. Or perhaps we were the secret family, but I suppose I'll never know. It was only the day of his trial when I found out he had murdered them all. It was only a matter of time before it was us, said the prosecutor.
The numbers indicate how dangerous someone can be. Two is my little sister, who just learned how to walk. Five is my mother who once hit a bird on the way home from school and couldn't stop crying for hours. Generally kids in my school were a four, five, or six. I'd met a teacher once that was an eight. He was arrested for murder that year.
I continued to empty the contents of my bag into my locker, only a few feet away from the Ten. I glanced into the mirror magnetized to the inside of the locker door. Over my head, there was a nine. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserver that number, but perhaps it wasn't what I'd done, but what I would do.
"I'm sorry," I said, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"
"Michael Carson," he answered as he flashed a smile and extended his hand.
Some would say I had a gift, and I would agree. But no one ever said I had to be the good guy here. I didn't ask for this, but the numbers never lie. The sooner I accept it, the better.
"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Susannah," I replied as I placed my hand in his and shook. I had a feeling we'd be friends for a while.
| 2014-11-29T15:20:57
| 2014-11-29T13:16:01
| 50
| 36
|
[WP] you are the first immortal. While it is true that you cannot die, your flesh and body can. After so many millennia you are reduced to a sentient skeleton sitting at the bottom of a peaceful pond to avoid contact with other people. Some bastards are trying to drain it
|
The bottom of the lake was dark and quiet. In the dark and quiet lay the skeleton of Bjorn the immortal. It was a large skeleton, which had started to fossilize. Another thousand years thought Bjorn, the immortal. Another thousand years and I shall be one with the earth. He smiled and waited like he had been waiting for years. For thousands of years.
Bjorn's musings were interrupted by a big, burly red-haired farmer named Rory who stood on the bridge over the lake.
"You see, sir, the surface is all covered in algae. The lake's dead," Rory said. A man in a grey suit stood before him.
"It does seem quite dead," he said. "You get any fish here?"
"Fish? No sir. No fish. Nothing. It's dead sir. As dead as a lake can be."
"I see. So there should be no issues if we drain it?"
"No sir, none whatsoever. Nobody really lives in these parts now. Do what you like, sir. Them few people living here would be happy to see this eyesore gone."
Deep in the lake, Bjorn heard them. But there wasn't much a half fossilised immortal could do. Except, maybe, yes, maybe that.
A fish, a dead bass, lay near Bjorn's skeleton. A little current generated by the wind pushed the bass's skeleton towards him. Suddenly, the bass's skeleton started moving as if it were alive and well.
The man in the grey suit was looking at the lake when the bass jumped up. If he were anywhere near the bass, he would've seen the skeletal nature of it, but so far away he couldn't tell.
"Excuse me, Mr Burns," he said.
"Yes?" replied Rory.
"You said that the lake was dead, but I just saw a fish out there somewhere."
Rory laughed. "A fish, sir? They've been gone for years now. I'm telling you, sir. The bottom of that lake is the quietest place in the whole wide world."
The man in the suit wasn't impressed. He called Rory over and asked him to watch the surface of the lake. Rory bet him a tenner and stood on the bridge, looking for the fish.
After about a minute of waiting, Rory saw it. A fish, rising from the surface, glowing in the sun. Glowing a little too bright, and then disappearing into the lake.
"That can't be right, sir. Only last week, them science people came here and said there was no oxygen in here. That can't be right. I've got the papers too, sir."
"Mr Burns," the man in the grey suit said with a smile, "I'm afraid that won't be necessary."
"But sir, the lake -" Rory sputtered. But the man shook Rory's hand, said his goodbyes, and walked down the bridge to where his car was parked.
Rory stood at the bridge for a while. The fish was still there, in the lake, breaking the surface of the water from time to time. What fish was it? Did lake fish ever break the surface? Rory thought.
In the middle of the lake, little bubbles appeared, as if the lake were laughing. Deep in its belly, in the darkness, Bjorn laughed. No sound came from his mouth. He barely even moved, but he did laugh, and the lake laughed with him.
At the bridge, Rory decided to catch the fish and drain that eerie lake as soon as possible. Little did he know that he wasn't the first to come to that decision. Many a fisherman's skeletons lay near Bjorn the immortal's half fossilised body. Some yellowing, some a gleaming white, but none of them with a brain as sharp as Bjorn's.
|
The annoying part about immortality is losing the feeling of time passing. Since death became a non-issue, you likened time to a sweet lullaby you heard once as a child. You can't remember why, how, maybe there wasn't even a reason for it. A minute went by, or a year, it made no difference, to you it felt like the melancholic berceuse played once and cut off short.
The water is lowering, you hear the end of the lullaby. Your only desire, as it has been for centuries, is to hear the it once more and have it last forever. But it only plays once, and always stops.
How did it start again? Fear, obviously. Feeling old without having ever lived, without having been young yet suffering the early signs of the body's frailty and foregone obsolescence. Life is a race against death, you can lose but make the loss worth it, but that didn't feel like your case. So scared of death you forgot to live. You should have been either more intelligent and find a better answer to move on, or dumber to never ponder it in the first place. Alas, you were in a limbo of your own making.
So you ran, as cowards do. That's wisdom in hinsight of course, at the time it felt like a smart move. Instead of submit to death, break the rules and ignore it outright. More than one fool tried it, history never noticed one did it. You.
Fuck whoever invented the term of ironic hell. Life in limited supply is the only thing making it worth it. Oh sure, you had your share of fun, for a while you felt like the smartest human in existence. That is, until you felt like the greatest failure for mising the obvious.
You only substituted fear of death with fear of eternity. The dead rest, you do not, nor will you ever. For that is the cross eternal life curses you with.
Long before the skin left your body, you seeked release and wished for nothing but eternal sleep without finding it. When the flesh did falter, you lived in ditches, swamps, hidden from the horrified eyes that would have to gaze upon you. When it could no longer support you, you set out in search for a secluded place to lay down, hopefully undisturbed, and unable to sleep, to not think, not even when the only thing left is a fragment of bone.
Eternity didn't grant you any wisdom, did it? You set out too late, too weak to reach the dark bottom of the ocean, you settled for a small pond.
It is empty now. They found you, no note is playing. Just another old skeleton, how could you tell them otherwise with no mouth to speak with and no muscle to move you around?
Your corpse is a curiosity, quite old indeed, not from this generation, not even from this time period. Old men are forgotten. Very old men are studied and contemplated. You are ancient indeed, they will not put you to rest.
When you think there will be a pause, you are dusted off. When the sweet song seems to begin, you are assembled and disassembled, put under the scanner, worked on, analysed.
One day, you're put on display. Laid out on red velvet, protected by thick glass, delimited by a rope making sure museum visitors don't come too close. They don't dust you off anymore, they don't need to, you are sealed off, you are to lay here for generations.
In the distance, it feel like you hear the lullaby starting again.
| 2020-11-20T11:19:48
| 2020-11-20T11:17:50
| 1,476
| 278
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[WP] "You... you, did all of this... for a pun?"
|
“Punnen! Punnen it burns!” his wife screamed in agony. The sores had begun to cover her face...the same sores that had plagued him for the last couple of weeks.
Punnen kept his eyes on his work. Doing his best to drown out the intruding sound, he continued pruning back the overgrowth in his prized garden. It was hard work, keeping his plants trimmed this meticulously. No one understood. No one but Punnen.
“You slept with her didn’t you,” she spat, “that seed vendor from the market? The one you are always carrying on with?” She began to cry softly.
“I am so sorry,” Punnen said slowly, his voice but a whisper. “I just couldn’t help myself.” He gestured toward the corner of his garden at a small sproutling. “I am a man who takes what he wants, and as a result I now have her peas.”
“You... you, did all of this... for a pun?” she managed, her voice wavering.
No... Punnen tended.
|
The city burned, in the distance screams of pain echoed across the broken landscape, like something out of a cold-war era tv show, but this was no tv show, nukes had been dropped naught 1 hour ago when Jane finally made it back to her house
“JOHN! JOHN!”
She cried out, calling for her brother if he was even there, he had an amazing political record, even being know for rubbing shoulders with the president himself, but Jane was snapped out of her thoughts of John when she heard a spund of something dragging itself across the ground, she immediately rushed towards only to realize it was merely her dog who was too tired to walks yet, miraculously unharmed, that’s when the tv caught her eye, it was muted as to night wake her dog, but the nukes already did that.
Turning up the volume on the T.V Jane could hear that “A young politician by the name of John ellewood is responsible for the complete and utter destruction of America’s west coast, reports from the CIA state “John had planned and exucuted false flag operations against China, which led to all out war and eventually, the destruction you see now” Please, if you are hearing this broadcast, get to the nearest shelter, the shockwave may have passed but there are still lasting effects after it”
Jane couldn’t belive her ears, her brother? False flags? Nukes? It was all too much, she needed to find him, so she booted up Snapchat and looked at the location of his phone which was surprisingly easy considered half of the U.S had been nukes, and to top the incredible easy-ness off, Johns cell was at Harvey park naught 2.5 miles away so Jane hopped into her truck and went off to find her brother
5 minutes later, after her car breaking down, Jane was at the park where she saw the solitary figure of her brother amidst the burnt foliage, “ John is it true? Did you do this?” Jane asked, gesturing around to the death and destruction
“Yup, I practically nukes the city myself”
“But why John? Why all of the death?”
“I’ll admit, Jane, I don’t know, all I know is that, you could say I’m the bomb.”
| 2018-02-05T07:14:32
| 2018-02-05T06:16:29
| 663
| 125
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[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better.
|
Jack was smiling, for once, even though he was handing a bag of coin to the tax collector. Though taxes hadn't been lowered since 'The Hero's execution and the death of his Rebellion (in fact, they had been raised somewhat), the benefits of having an Evil King with full coffers and a fair Princess with a degree in economics for a 'sacrifice' had been enormous.
Monsters and bandits which had plagued the lands were being hunted down within days of showing their faces, rather than the months it took a village to raise the money needed to hire a hunter, the result of several lucrative contracts with the mercenary griffin riders from the North. Without the near-constant pillaging of villages, disruption of trade, loss of livestock and razing of fields, everyone's purses were a little looser, the economy booming as roads were rebuilt through the skeleton army turned engineering workforce.
Thus, Jack could actually afford to pay the taxes. He didn't have good numbers, but he certainly knew that the sock under his bed was heavier than it had been past seasons, and that was knowledge enough.
"Afternoon, Paul." Jack nodded, even as he upended his bag into a bowl.
"Jack." Nodded Paul the Tax Collector, starting to count the money already as he sat there, flanked by his two guards. Another benefit of the surplus of money was a redesign of armor. It was still black as night, and featured a grim red dragon, but rather than grisly spikes and snarling mouths, the new armor was much more pleasant: smooth, round plates and a wolfish design to its helm, which now allowed them to see more clearly. It was certainly something which caused less property damage during a casual search of the house, and much more safe for children to be around, overall lessening animosity from the tide of unpleasant misunderstandings between the guards and local citizens.
"Is the wife feeling better now?" Paul queried, finally finished with Jack's coppers.
"Aye, the Coven put her right. I'm paying by labor. The witches need a new writing desk, it seems." Jack smiles, thinking to the small coven of witches at the edge of town, their brightly lit (but very much darkly painted) house now tending to a stream of ailments, assisted by the townsfolk's many women. Gone now were the days of asking for firstborn children. Instead, their prices had been 'subsidized by force', thanks to the Dark Lord, and now two days of slavery per week for a year had become the asking price for a life-saving cure, one happily divided by members of the families that needed them. A side benefit of such was that even now, more and more womenfolk were taking up the Witches' Hat to pay for the cures for their husbands and sons, and the lasses were migrating to smaller villages with their knowledge, spreading the methods of the Coven of the Black Bandage far and wide.
"Young Jan's daughter took up the pointy hat, I hear. That, or that klutz Loren has melted another desk." Commented Paul, carefully examining a badly dented silver. He passed it on to Mongo, the guard to his left, who dutifully pounded it flat with his war-hammer. "Mmm, and Marissa's gone to Southbridge, little cosy cottage near the site of a big battle they had last year. You know, the King of Light's men? Found herself a handsome necromancer. Only two scars on his face, she says. They're going to raise an army together, I hear."
"Ah, the best to them, then. All done here?" Jack grins, taking back his pouch from Paul. He left knowing that the inevitable regiment of skeletons would eventually be used to grow the empire, bringing in a new influx of immigrants and refugees. It'd be a bother to feed them for a while, but once they had gotten on their feet and eaten the local food, he was sure they'd come around.
They always did.
|
My fellow Americans, Mr. Speaker, Ladies and Gentlemen of Congress and members of the press, thank you for joining me this evening.
It is with great sadness that we come together this evening. For the past eight years, it has been both an honor and a privilege to represent this great nation as your President. As you are all well aware by now, I have been asked to formally announce that the 2016 Presidential Elect, Donald J. Trump and Vice President Elect Carly Fiorina, lost their lives this afternoon upon their arrival for tomorrow's scheduled inauguration events.
I am not here to discuss the details of this tragic event, however the media will work to keep you all informed as more information becomes available.
I am here tonight to discuss how our nation will move forward. It is a great challenge for us all to face this untimely news, and it is my responsibility, along with Congress and the Supreme Court, to determine the appropriate course of events.
This evening, I signed an executive order to extend my term as President for a minimum period of 12 months. Prior to signing the order, I met briefly with bipartisan representatives of the Senate and the House. In addition, I met with Vice President Biden, Speaker Ryan and select members of our National Security Team. I believe that during this traumatic time, this decision will provide stability and continued security of the American people.
We, as a nation, have faced horrific events during my tenure as President. We have seen an increase in global terrorism, as well as terrorism in our homeland. It is a terrible tragedy that our newly elected President and Vice President have been the latest victims of the efforts of those who seek to undermine the security and well-being of our great nation.
I therefore, cannot in good conscience, step down from my responsibilities. I do have a few details about my extended tenure to share. Vice President Biden has decided that he will not continue as in his position. In lieu of an election, in the interest of continuity, I am appointing Hillary Clinton to the Vice Presidential position.
I am ordering that our nation's flag be lowered to half mast, for a period of three months. In addition, Vice President Clinton and I will be meeting with Congress and cabinet members over the next several days, in order to ensure continued government operation in light of the events of today.
I cannot take questions at this time, however my office will be releasing periodic updates as they become available.
Thank You. And good night.
| 2016-07-10T18:13:31
| 2016-07-10T10:46:19
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
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 sneak up behind my target, aim my derringer at his head, and pull the trigger”
“Roll a d20 twice against your agility and once against your dexterity”
A 5
A 17
D 12
“You successfully sneak up on your target and shot him in the head. However you chose a poor spot to hide while shooting and get spotted by a nearby theater patron. Your target dies within hours while you flee the scene under pursuit. The police know your identity”
“Imma hide in this here barn”
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T09:28:35
| 210
| 39
|
[WP] Write the most beautiful end to the universe that you can imagine
|
It's strange how, now that we've reached the end, old and buried things come back to me. Things I thought I'd forgotten.
I'm reminded of something my father told me a long time ago. Back then, I was only leaving home - meaningless compared to *this* - but what he said stayed with me. It carried me when I couldn't carry myself. When I stand here, waiting for the end of all things, these words are what comes to mind.
"An ending", he said to me, standing on the steps of my childhood home, "can be a beautiful thing. Not by itself, but because of the beauty of what it ends. Like a sprinter crossing the finish line, the end is only as spectacular as the race that came before it. The sprinter raises his arms in triumph not because the race is over, but because of what came before."
My father had tears in his eyes by that point. He didn't say anything else. I didn't understand him then, but now, as I feel my own eyes watering, I know exactly how he felt.
Through teary eyes, I watch the end of everything that ever was. It's as wonderful as an ending can ever be, because what came before was the most beautiful thing I have ever known.
|
The Lagrangian point L3 was chosen for its sheer isolation on the same orbit as Earth on the opposite side of the sun.
A twenty meter thick lead sphere surrounded the laboratory, while complex systems prevented orbital perturbations and radio interference from affecting the instruments within.
Only a single opening, thinner than a human hair, stretched from the exterior of the shell towards the center point. There, a perfect vacuum chamber, dubbed "the crucible", sat emptier than deep space itself. Cooled to the smallest fraction of a degree above absolute zero, a single diamond window was its only portal.
Within the crucible, suspended in a carefully calibrated magnetic field, a small sample of antihydrogen stood ready to receive the influx of highly charged particles that were being accelerated across the solar system at relativistic speeds by a network of high-powered relays.
It was speculated that the bombardment would encapsulate the antimatter within a shell of standard matter, stabilising it for use as starship fuel.
What happened instead was like something from a dream.
The phases cancelled, lowering the temperature by a factor of the incoming energy, below absolute zero. It was impossible, but it happened.
A hole was punctured through the fabric of the universe. There was a great flash, and then silence. Slowly, a brilliant orb floated through the diamond window of the crucible and reached the center of the observation room, casting a golden light over the occupants.
As if weighing up the situation, the orb drifted before the scientists who stood agape at their creation. Time slowed, and then stood still. Space grew exponentially. Individual atoms stretched open and revealed forests and stars and galaxies unfolding endlessly like a magician's handkerchief.
Standing upon the observation deck, a platform that now encompassed an infinity of universes, the scientists looked at each other in wonder, seeing their bodies as giants filled with stars and galaxies, each with civilisations beyond counting. Powerful thought energies swirled among all who were present, and they all shared the same thought: Had the universe ended, or had their awareness transcended the fourth dimension and they were only now seeing things the way they truly were?
They looked upon the Orb, which had now taken the form of a humanoid, and it spoke.
"My children. You found me at last!"
| 2014-09-14T10:27:19
| 2014-09-14T09:15:47
| 48
| 31
|
[WP] Give a well-known, R-rated movie plot the "Disney treatment," changing its rating to G.
Bonus points for adding cuddly, friendly talking animals.
|
A small light is seen ahead of the caravan which causes a full stop.
"Who's that stumbin' around in the dark?" A moment passes without response. "State your business or prepare to get your ears clipped!"
"Calm yourselves pure-breeds, I mean you no harm. I'm simply a fellow weary traveler." States the German Shepherd as he walks closer, a pack slung over his shoulder and a lantern in his other paw.
"Good cold evening pure-breeds," he states as he methodically walks past them to the chained mutts behind. He then addresses the captives, "good evening, I'm looking for a pair of mutt smugglers that go by the name of The Speckled Two. Might that be you?" He turns toward the two Labradors at the head of the line.
"Who wants to know," replies the alpha.
"I do. I'm Dr. K-9 Schultz."
"You a doctor?"
"Arf," replies K-9
"What kinda doctor?"
"Dentist," he says producing two dental chews for The Speckled Two. "Are you The Speckled Two, and did you purchase those mutts from the rescue in Greenville?"
"So what?" the alpha retorts.
"So I wish to parley with you"
"Huh?" The Speckled Two scratch their heads in unison.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Amongst your inventory, I've been led to believe, is a specimen I'm keen to acquire." K-9 moves toward the chained mutts. "Hello you poor mutts. Is there one among you who was once resident of the Carrucan Kennel Club?"
"I'm from the Carrucan Kennel Club," a voice calls from the darkness toward the back of the chain. K-9 raises his lantern.
"Splendid! And what's your name young one?" K-9 questions as a Rottweiler steps out of the shadows.
"Django." Barks the Rottweiler.
"Wunderbar! You're exactly the one I'm looking for!"
A song and dance routine ensues introducing the the doctor as K-9, full of dancing dogs doing a line dance with the chains around their necks. K-9 ascertains that Django can in fact lead him to his bounty of the Bitting Brothers. The upbeat tempo dies down and when the dust settles The Speckled Two remain in chains looking confused, all of the mutts are free and standing around them. K-9 then turns to Django.
"As I was saying, if you were to see the Bitting Brothers again, would you recognize them?"
"Yes." States Django, now unchained.
|
Captain Dallas woke up. He stretched and let the light of the spaceship wash all over him, inhaled deeply, and started to whistle happily. Everyone else was taking their time waking up from the comfortable pods. He rushed to the computer, and saw there was a stray transmission for LV-426. He quickly rushed back, because once everyone was fully awake... He could already hear the beautiful melody everyone was making, and quickly joined in as the lead singer.
"We are the brave Nostromo crew,
Hauling treasures and cargo to you,
Flying around the galaxy,
Pleasing our bosses at the company!
Captain Dallas, Navigator Lambert,
together with Ash, Parker, Brett,
and Warrant Officer Ripley,
our team will have it's victory."
They continued on for a few courses that ended up in a wonderful three and a half minutes of improvised joy, ending exactly as they sat down for breakfast, completely dressed and on the way to LV-426.
Dallas, Kane and Lambert headed out to investigate, when suddenly the found themselves in a field of cuddly eggs. As Kane leant down to inspect one, a creature jumped out and hugged him. He didn't even need a space suit anymore! But still, hugging someone's face is wildly inappropriate for alien species, and Kane really had trouble talking. And moving.
They went back into the ship, where Ripley and Dallas bickered in their usual witty and definitely G-rated manner. Eventually Ash let them in. He was really quite happy about it, which for an android means something. They all sang together merrily as they went about fixing the ship and thinking about how to help Kane in yet another three to four minute song where everyone worked as harmoniously as the song itself, which ended up with Kane waking up, hug-free.
They went, as usual, to eat together. Pleasant banter went between them, until Kane suddenly fell asleep.
"Quick, put him on the table,
Quick, help if you are able,
Quick, make sure he's all right,
Quick, make sure he's under the light!
Aaaand....
Quickly lets try to see,
How healthy Kane can be,
Oh look,
Watch out,
From his chest,
Something... is... about toooo SPROOUUUTT!!"
And out of his chest came a cuddly talking animal, screeching in a perfect Cmajor chord to finish the song as all the lights in the room centered on it.
*(to be continued when I have time)*
| 2014-09-11T09:07:55
| 2014-09-11T07:43:27
| 29
| 20
|
[WP] "Double Edge" Is a legendary unique sword that is available for a handful of copper. It is the sharpest and strongest weapon in existence. It also talks, and roasts the living hell out of its owner constantly, pulling no punches. Write a story of one of its many, many owners.
|
"Ah yes sire, a bargain at any price." The grinning man passed the black sword across the counter of his shop to me. His smile betrayed his intent, as the words formed on his lips dripping with venom, the corners of his mouth turning just ever so slightly upward. He knew the sword, knew it's curse, and he had sold the blade countless times.
My hand grasped the hilt and the feeling was instant, perfectly balanced, the cool leather grip succumbed to my finger's lightest touch. A mild vibration ran up the length of my arm as I took the blade fully into my posession, a sinister glint passed over the shopkeeper's eyes as he awaited my reaction.
I provided none. A sword that held the power to slay any enemy, overcome any challenge I may face, only it eats away at the morale? A perfect blade for a deaf man. The shopkeeper's face slumped for a moment and then radiated with a genuine smile as he realized. I left the small shop with a grin, setting out to conquer my destiny.
|
"You mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!"
"For once in my life, can you SHUT UP?!"
>Hi there. The name's Johnathan Grikks. And my sword hates me.
"YOU SWING LIKE A INFANT!"
"No I don't, asshole!"
The man slashes at the throat of his oponent, causing them to choke on their own blood.
"And your aim sucks more then you mother does on a daily basis!"
"I WILL THROW YOU IN THE OCEAN IF YOU WON'T STOP."
>Incase you couldn't tell, my sword LOVES to insult me. As it turns out, it's a pretty well known sword for that specific reason.
The man screams in frustration, repeatedly slamming the sword into a rock that just splits on every impact.
"You call yourself a warrior?! Your grip feels like that of a little girl!"
"JUST SHUT UP FOR FIVE SECONDS!!"
>I'd say the hatred is pretty mutual. However...
The man stands atop the head of a dragon's corpse, bloodied and cut.
"What was that, a mosquito?! Why'd you take so long?!"
"...I'm just gonna take that one as a compliment... partner."
>It's still a pretty dependable blade.
"You smell of cheese and urine!"
>Still hate it though.
| 2022-11-30T09:49:48
| 2022-11-30T09:11:08
| 256
| 183
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
A deep voice comes from the basement. Each tuesday it's the same.
A letter, a number and then silence. It goes on for hours and then I hear someone screaming.
My mom went to check it out, that's when we lost her.
I heard her scream through the vent.
Dad went away, he said he'd be back for me.
I havent seen him in 2 months.
I called the police... said they couldn't do anything about it.
There was no ''crime''.
Each tuesday, a letter, a number and then nothing...
A letter, a number and then nothing...
A letter, a number and then nothing...
Someone screaming...
Each time I thought: we lost someone else...
I was going crazy. So many lives lost.
As I woke up each Wednesday morning I would see a ghost of my mother making breakfast. Pale, weak and dirty.
On a tuesday, I thought to myself i'd stop it. I would save everyone.
I was just a kid but I knew I could make a difference.
As I listened to the deep voice, I started planning.
A letter, a number and then nothing
A letter, a number and then nothing
A letter, a number and then nothing
.
.
.
BINGO
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T15:38:35
| 1,493
| 78
|
[WP] The Roman Empire never collapsed and the year is 1999 AD
|
The year is MCMXCVIIII. This marks my descent from my family's prestige. I have failed math. It's just too hard. How does VIII^II become LXIV? It just doesn't make any sense. All I know its that next year is MM, so thats nice. I just wish someone would figure out a way to make REAL sense of computation. This system is insane; I was in the Hospital the other day and someone went into shock due to dehydration and the head doctor said, "stick her with an IV! QUICK!" So the nurse just grabbed IV scalpels and stabbed her right there. It was brutal. Why did the doctor think that was a good idea?
Yesterday, I thought of a way to solve all of our problems with this whole numbers dealio. What if we developed a new way to denote numerical values? A method that is fast and concise and easy to learn. So I came to a decision to implement ascribing value with **COLORS!**
|
"Amo, amas, amat..."
Go on, Marco.
"Amamus..."
Unprepared again, I see.
Professor Gallardo could be a taskmaster. "Professor, I just don't understand why we have to do this? I mean nobody talks like this anymore, not even in church!"
"Marco, come here." Before Marco could close the distance Professor Gallardo was already on top of him. The first swing of the ruler caught Marco just behind the ear. He worked the body mostly after that. After the thrashing, his words were surprisingly calm. "Just because we don't use it everyday doesn't mean that we all don't have to know it. Shouldn't you know how to read a contract? Or what happens if you have to travel to another province and you need to bring your papers with you? You'd be in for quite a hard time of it if you couldn't tell the doctors at the hospital in Germania that you have *Diabetes Mellitus*, wouldn't you?"
Marco shrugged dejectedly, and slunk back to his desk.
"Now who wants to present the history of the province to the rest of the class?"
Julio raised his hand sheepishly.
"Age, Julie, dic nobis."
Julio shuffled through his notecards, and began to speak, his voice quivering in fear. "The province of Argentina, was founded in 1535 by the Roman Navy under the orders of the glorious Emperor Johaness II Indicus, Restitutor Orbis. The harmony of the divine Empire was disturbed in 1810 by criminal elements who attempted to assert for an independent kingdom within *Novus Orbis Austrinus* but the revolution was put down by legions from the provinces of Florida and the members of the *Optimi Fidi*. Peace and prosperity have ruled the Empire ever since."
"Optime! Dico vobis valete!"
The students in their usual robotic way all stood and began to file out of the classroom. As they marched in lockstep, they presented their forearms to the scanner one by one, never taking more than a second before the familiar beep signified their safe passage into the dilapidated halls of the Gymnasium. Professor Gallardo sighed heavily, and didn't even wait for the last students to leave before he reached into his desk and pulled out his bottle of *Merum*. Taking liberal swigs from the bottle, he looked out onto the grassy hills beyond the razor wire fence of the Gymnasium, and wondered if this would finally be the year of the Epiphany. But somehow he doubted it.
| 2014-10-31T14:50:45
| 2014-10-31T14:42:20
| 39
| 23
|
[WP] When you were homeless, you asked a friend for help. He laughed at you and shut the door on you. Some time later, that same friend ends up fired from his job. You try to convince your company to hire him. The only thing they ask is why you're doing this for someone who once abandoned you.
|
I presented the resume of my friend to my manager.
"As you can see," I told her, "he's got a lot of the experience that you're looking for. He meets all the qualifications. He could be a real asset to the company."
The manager looked over the resume. "He does look very promising," she said. "But I'm just curious. Wasn't this the same friend that turned you away when you asked him for help when you were living in the shelter?"
"Yes," I admitted. I'd already told my manager the story and the manner in which I had been turned away. Not only did I get the door slammed in my face, he made sure that I knew he was glad that I had ended up losing my home, and that he was laughing about it.
"Are you sure he was your friend?" the manager asked. "He sounds like a jerk. Maybe he was only pretending to be your friend to see how much he can get out of you, and now that you had hit rock bottom, he saw no more use for you."
"No, that's not it," I told my manager. "I never told you about the things that led to my homelessness.
"He and I used to be coworkers, and my addiction was starting to get out of hand. How I managed to conceal it from everybody at work I'll never know, but somehow I did. But my friend knew. He kept telling me to get help, to stop this thing before I get myself in deeper trouble than I already was. He even tried getting me into counseling; he made appointments, but I never showed up to them. 'You're a good worker,' he told me, 'but you can't do this to yourself. If you don't do something, you're going to end up in a bad place.'
"Soon I had aroused the suspicion of management, and I just outright lied about my situation when they asked me. Having no other way to be sure, they scheduled a drug test. I thought I was history. I knew I was going to fail it because they had scheduled it for the next day, not nearly enough time to get the junk out of my system. But I needed this job. There were other things going on in my life; if I lost this job, everything else comes crashing down. I was already in debt and behind on my payments. My friend knew this and had even given me money to pay the bills and the rent. Now I had to ask him for a new favor.
"'I need you to give me a clean urine sample,' I told him. 'I cannot fail this test. Don't worry, I'll be able to smuggle it in and pass it off as my own. I know how to do all that stuff. You just need to get me a sample. Help me out this one last time, and I promise I'll get counseling. And I'll really work to kick the habit. I promise.'
"Against his better judgment, he agreed. I was able to pass the test, and that bought me some more time. But soon my addiction got the better of me, and it got to a point where there was just no hiding it. I was fired. And I was evicted shortly after.
"Finding myself homeless with nowhere else to go, I came to my friend's house. He was angry. Angry that I had let myself get to this point after all that he had done. He revealed to me how resentful he was about how I was able to continue with this habit (not to mention all the other mistakes that I've made) and somehow I was able to get away with everything. I never seemed to suffer the consequences. I always lucked out one way or another and got away with it. My friend had always told me that he wished he had half my luck because that was all it would take for him to become CEO.
"He was glad that I finally got what was coming to me and relished the opportunity to rub it in my face. I don't blame him for doing this, and maybe it was for the best. This may have been the kick in the ass that I needed to get counseling and finally kick my habit.
"He played it off like he was glad. But I think he still cared, but he wished he didn't."
I stopped for a bit before revealing to my manager the reason for my friend's termination.
"They found out that he had provided the urine sample for my drug test. That's why he was fired."
I looked at the manager to see what she thought. She kept her eyes on the resume on the table.
"I only recommend him for the position because he's qualified for it, as you can see. I don't expect you to take anything else into consideration. But I just thought that you should know all this."
My manager thanked me, and I returned to my workstation.
|
Jessie felt the clawing in his heart, the slight raise of his heart rate that always accompanied the thoughts.
He felt the dark smokey tendrils reach from his crotch to his brain, pickling it, easing his consciousness into a puddle on the ground.
*It is too late for you. You can't be helped.*
Jessie clung to the hatred, to the isolation, to the loneliness, to the otherness. Since high-school, no, before really. Since birth, or even his conception, as his mother held her belly and feared, feared what the wet between her legs could fester into.
Scared of the troubles of motherhood, of the ease of neglect.
Yet by child numero dos, the fear had eased. The family had more money and time for their new piece of pottery, and Jessie fell by the wayside.
And with each passing day, the hatred of humanity piled up. Not specifically at his mother or father or sister, Angela, but at humans, for allowing this to occur. For allowing this sham of an existence for him.
For allowing his parents to buy Angela a car for her sixteenth, yet nothing for Jessie.
Jessie's father gave him a look that clearly spoke don't ask about the injustice, do not question this existence.
Jessie never questioned.
He hated instead.
Most things. People, crowds, surfing, the hot sun and the cold sun, his family, Angela, the Chads and Stacies at school, the people who laughed at him, who he could feel looking at him, thinking about him as he goes about his life, feeling so much fucking better than him as he stands the line at the grocery checkout.
Until Nathan reached back out to Jessie for the first time in a few years, and they met up at a bar.
Nathan gave his pitch, laying out a sob story about his manager hiring his fuck buddy and letting him go.
Jessie was just getting ready to tell him to fuck off--
*What if we did? What if we let it go, forgave this once?*
Blood flushed to Jessie's face and he excused himself to the restroom.
Cold porcelain filled his hands as he leaned forward into the mirror.
The voice continued, almost logically.
*We could try to start again, I mean, at least to some degree. We could try to set it aside, we could help him. How big of a deal would it be to have him sleep on the couch a few weeks?*
*No! Fuck him! Fuck them all! Fuck Angela! Fuck Tim Halloway, Clyde Donahue, Sebastian Walker and all the rest of those bastard fucks! They wouldn't be your friends back then, they won't be your friend now; Nathan will use you. He will chew you up and spit you out. He will sleep on your couch, make two minutes of conversation a day, and leave in a few weeks, then never return a call again. Don't let him. Crawl out the window.*
*But we can't go on like this, Jessie, man we just can't. Imagine the future, man. We want a wife, maybe a few pink faced babes. How can we get there, if we can't forgive one single person? What are we if we can't exhibit one example of humanity?*
The moment felt drawn out for hours, despite occurring for no longer than one minute.
Jessie drew within leaping distance of forgiveness, of trying to accept that the way he viewed an entire huge chapter of his life was simply wrong, or at least not healthy. He may hate his parents. He may hate Angela. He may not be hateful to everyone he ever met, already seeking out their wrongs before even saying hullo.
Yet the leap across the cavern would require the will of another man; a man not so hooked in hatred, like a fish with a particularly nasty curve on the hook resting within its cheek.
Jessie climbed out of the bathroom window to freedom.
| 2022-09-24T17:52:50
| 2022-09-24T17:00:39
| 75
| 37
|
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult.
|
The way my schedule works gives me little to no space for rest or even just idling around. Everyday consists of me dragging myself to class and trying not to pass out every 30 seconds. I think of how nice other people have it being able to warp to class because they were just a little to impatient. Or how others don't need to study because they were a little too nozy and managed to get all the information they need from classmates and their professors just by greeting them. My alarm goes off and once again, I begin to get ready for my morning classes. I look out from my window and look at all the other students frantically speeding through each other while one manages to collide with a trash can. I start getting ready before I realize today is exam day. I begin running to class and plop myself down and watch as another student phase through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me. I stare at the person next to me and realize that he isn't exactly the most sociable person in the world so I avoid eye contact. Unfortunately with all this super power talk going around, even introverts can break the ice without someone else starting.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"My lack of sleep and tight schedule." I say as I frantically look through my notes.
"Oh, so is it being able to get stuff done instantly?"
At this point I just stare, I'm fucking exhausted and I'm really not in the mood for a conversation. So I just ignore the poor sod and carry on. A few hours after the exam I'm sure I failed. I decide to just hit the sack and sleep in for the rest of the day.
My alarm goes off and once again, I begin to get ready for my morning classes. I look out from my window and look at all the other students frantically speeding through each other while one manages to collide with a trash can. I start getting ready before I realize today is exam day. I begin running to class and plop myself down and watch as another student phase through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me. I stare at the person next to me and realize that he isn't exactly the most sociable person in the world so I avoid eye contact. Unfortunately with all this super power talk going around, even introverts can break the ice without someone else starting.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"Sorry I'm really busy at the moment." I respond staring blankly at my desk.
A few hours after the exam I'm sure I failed. I decide to just hit the sack and sleep in for the rest of the day.
My alarm goes off for the 7th time this loop. I get dressed, get to class and sit at the same desk once again. Another student phases through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"I just really suck at time management I guess. Even with all the time in the world." I respond.
He stares at me with a confused expression on his face and goes back to reviewing his notes. Today is different though, maybe I'll finally ace this exam and not mess anything up. Maybe after I pass the exam, I get to finally do something tomorrow without worrying about every assignment I turn in. Tomorrow is going to be a good day.
|
Tears well in her eyes as the man falls to the floor. "I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely, barely able to stand the look of horror and shock on his face, though it was fading fast. "I don't know what else to do."
The dust around him hardly settles before the concrete floor is blinded by spotlights, police and SWAT teams flooding the room and surrounding them in a circle.
Her eyes widen in horror and she steps back from the man, her mind trying to come up with an excuse, or anything to explain her reasons for being in a warehouse at 2AM, standing over a man who's whole world just came crashing down over him. For a brief moment, she feels betrayal, but then she realizes she has absolutely no right to.
As the police shout at her, she calmly raises both of her hands. Several of them approach, their powers flowing confidently in skin and weapons made of nearly-indestructible materials, apparently immune to her own. She tries not to cry, but it's all too fresh, and the tears fall anyway.
They roughly pull her arms behind her back, forcing her into the back of a vehicle and driving what seems a very long distance "downtown". Yet after that it's almost as if she only blinks and is suddenly in a dark room with a mirror on one wall sitting at a metal table with only a single light and man glaring at her.
"What did you do to them?" he demanded.
"Do what?" the word left her mouth before she even realized he'd asked her. The lies had come so easily to her now, before and after her... crimes.
The officer didn't even try to play along. "It's taken us so long to find you, and each time we found your victims you were gone. So why such an easy place this time?"
She partially ignored his question, trying for a different approach, knowing it probably wouldn't help but hoping anyway. "He wasn't hurt. None of them were."
"Maybe not, but they were... different."
"I still don't see the problem here." Even now her shame was fading, peeling away into the background where it lived. She hadn't been as thorough this time, and she took very little from him.
The officer paced, but knew he shouldn't get near her. They'd figured out she was useless if she couldn't touch anyone. "The problem is that the man with you tonight is, from what his friends and family tell us, charismatic and loves to talk. But the man sitting in our car unit right now barely responds to anything."
She shrugged, trying to ignore her dry eyes. "It could be stress, or his environment."
"You're lying," he said."
"I'm not," she replied.
The officer sat down. "You are. Know how I know? Because I have a power too. Know what it is?"
She didn't answer, but he probably didn't expect her to.
"Empathy. I can feel others emotions. And when I saw that man, I felt what he felt: absolutely nothing."
Of course. Who better to interrogate prisoners than a man who knows when someone is lying. "And what do you feel from me?" she asked in an effort to sound unaffected, but her voice shook.
"I don't know. My powers work by touch, but so do yours."
She looked down. "Not right now. I can only use them once every so often."
"What are they? You absorb something from your victims. What is it? Youth, stamina, or something else?"
She was cracking and she knew it. A part of her knew if she only held out a little longer, she wouldn't tell. But the other part of her wanted to. She supposed she shouldn't, but right here, right now, when she was supposed to be feeling a rush, she only felt tired. She knew she couldn't find the right words to explain, so she only looked back up at him and moved her cuffed hands as far forward as possible.
"Look for yourself."
"What?"
"They're fading now. I won't do anything, I can control it, but you'll understand if you use your ability."
He looked at her as if she was crazy. "Do you really think I'll fall for that?"
"No, but even without touching me you should still know I'm telling the truth."
She expected him to refuse, or even leave the room to discuss it with the superiors she knew were watching them behind that mirror. But to her faint surprise he simply reached for her, one large hand gently falling on her wrist. Time stilled for a moment, but a moment was all it took for him to feel her emotions draining out of her.
The emotions she stole from that man. The only emotions she would ever feel.
The officer pulled back, shock on his face. He looked at her, the hostility completely gone if only for a moment as he processed what he'd felt.
"So do you finally understand why I do what I do? I know it's wrong, of course. But it's the only way." She looked away, not caring who knew anymore, having just enough emotion left to understand the need to tell. "I didn't always have my power. And I didn't always need it. It and my... affliction came around the same time. I don't like it, but using it is the only way I feel things... feel alive."
There was only a tiny bit left now. The strongest emotions she always felt were the negative kind. She didn't know if they were remnants from the host, or if that's just how they worked, having forgotten what it was like to have her own.
But whatever happened to her now, she hoped that maybe, just maybe, some day she wouldn't need it.
| 2019-09-08T11:41:24
| 2019-09-08T10:22:20
| 31
| 19
|
[FF] 100 Words or Less - The parachute isn't opening up
|
Barry had seen his old man do it at least a dozen times. Simple. Just count down and pull.
"Ten, nine, eight…"
Barry had to restrain himself from screaming with excitement. Never before had he done something so reckless and exciting in his young life.
“Three! Two! ONE!”
Barry pulled. No problem there. His Dad’s Red Lightning model rocket shot past a thousand feet before pausing to assume its rapid return to Earth. Too rapid. Barry’s eyes widened as the red streak plummeted toward the asphalt.
|
Jason was a veteran now. Over one thousand jumps, every one going off without a hitch. Today he hadn’t packed his own chute. He had been late and Tony had done it for him. He skipped his usual ritual and just jumped on the plane, flinging the lethal parachute over his shoulder. The ground is approaching now, but it’s impossible to tell how long until impact.
*How do I tell this poor fucker strapped to me..* he thought as they plummeted to their deaths, *I hope Tony sees and lands his girlfriend somewhere else.*
| 2014-05-15T13:15:13
| 2014-05-15T12:45:24
| 41
| 16
|
[WP] One day you notice you haven't seen any Hitler related writing prompts for a full hour at least.
Well...
|
I was confused. I settled into my old office chair, lilting to the side from years of use, to write my daily story about Hitler. The place I turned to for inspiration was the writing prompts subreddit, full of ideas to explore. What if Hitler had gotten into art school? What if Nazi Germany had invented a giant fighting robot? What if Hitler was a My Little Pony fan?
But there was something off. There were no Hitler writing prompts to be had. How could I write a speculative story about history's greatest villain? Make it up myself? That came dangerously close to work.
"Hey, Bill!" I shouted for my roommate. He appeared in my doorway, drinking a mug of coffee and wearing a Nazi officer's uniform. There were scorch marks on the right sleeve, and what looked like a bullet hole. Probably embellishments for whatever theatrics he intended to use it for.
"What's the haps, Tim?" Bill asked. I motioned to my computer screen.
"The writing prompts subreddit doesn't have any prompts about Hitler," I replied.
"Well, it shouldn't," Bill said calmly. "I just got back from a mission to 1939 to assassinate him."
"Get fucked, that's not even possible," I said. "And besides, if you killed Hitler, how come I still remember him?" Bill shrugged.
"Maybe the timeline hasn't caught up yet," he said, then took another sip of coffee. I looked back at the computer, then back at my roommate. He was wearing some strange grey suit with scorch marks and a bullet hole on the right sleeve. On the other arm, he wore a red armband. Probably embellishments for whatever theatrics he intended to use it for.
"Still worried about Hitler?" Bill asked.
"What's a hitler?" I asked. Bill smiled and took another sip of coffee.
|
"What the fuck?" I murmured as I refreshed the page again. "Where the shit is Hitler?"
Suddenly panicking, I opened a new tab and picked Wikipedia out of my favorites tab.
H-i-t-l-e-r.
No, his page is still here... Thank god, I guess that means the timeline hasn't changed. I had been sure that was the only reason that he wasn't featured on /r/WritingPrompts. "Wait just a God damn minute... Thank god Hitler is still real? The fuck am I saying?"
H-o-l-o-c-a-u-s-t.
Holy shitstain that's a lot of people. No way this can be allowed to stand. But how to stop him? I don't have any ideas, I'm not that creative.
"Got it! Alright Reddit, let's see what you can do..."
http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/354uwi/wp_its_may_6_2015_how_will_you_stop_hitler/
| 2015-05-06T18:46:08
| 2015-05-06T17:30:28
| 23
| 15
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
I feel like this should be put down to paper so that the story is not lost to time. I will start by saying that, by the time I was born, the goblins were a running joke.
They settled near the village during my great-grandfather's time so the stories go. Small, stupid, barely clinging to life as they huddled beneath the trees in the nearby forest. At first the people of my village tried to drive them off but the goblins were so weak and pathetic even the coldest heart stirred with pity. So my great-grandfather's generation left them alone.
My grandfather's generation started to toy with them. The goblins, being starving, would 'raid' the village with sticks and stones. There was a small push by the villagers to drive them out but after four raids and not a single injury that faded. Instead the village made a small fence of sharpened wood posts. Lo and behold the next raid the goblins had sharpened their sticks. My grandfather's generation started to leave out things like hunting traps, snares, etc. and laughed when the goblins were caught in them. Then begrudgingly impressed when the next group to go foraging found crude imitations made by goblin hands.
My father's generation continued this tradition of indirect aid. They would speak loudly as they did certain tasks.
"Boy salting this meat sure makes it last longer."
"Wow you can make clothes out of animal skin? Who knew? Sure hope nobody is watching as I do this."
That kind of thing. Nothing outright. At this point the goblins being nearby was an accepted part of life. We considered them strange neighbors so, like we would for any member of the village, we helped them as much as their pride would allow. Occasionally there would be an adventurer coming out to, "rid us of the goblin menace" however that usually ended with very confused adventurers questioning everything they knew about goblins.
Now during my generation is where things started to change a bit faster. The local lord decided that the woods where the goblins lived were his hunting grounds. Hunting dogs, horns, the whole ordeal constantly. I grew tired of it quickly since it made foraging for herbs in the wood near impossible. The goblin "raids" on our village petered out from once a month when I was a small child to barely once a year as a grown man. By now the goblins were using blunted arrows and dull spears during these raids, despite us knowing full well they had true weapons.
The village headman spoke to the goblin chief at the end of each raid, making sure they were alright. Helping them plan how to hide when the lord's hunt swept through. Not quite treason but definitely skirting the line of acceptable. A bit of trade for our salted pork for their excess hides occurs. Simple stuff.
Now I am an older man and head of village. A few weeks ago our new lord, idiot that he is, insulted the king's tax collector. A notice was sent out that the king's men would be coming to take the taxes by force. A small army prepared to march through our village, take everything that wasn't nailed down, and call it fair. The lord said if we fled he would have us all hung. Death by starvation or death by the noose: an ogre's choice if ever there was one.
We decided on starvation after a vote. We hid what we could of course but none of us expected it to work. We saw the hundred men sent by the king marching across the field and made our peace. Then...a horn. Not the lord's hunting horn or any made by human hand but a smaller, higher pitch.
Suddenly the first rank of the king's men were in a ditch I know we never dug. Another horn. Dozens of arrows are loosed from the forest. None hit anyone but now the king's men are forming ranks in confused terror. A final horn is sounded but is quickly echoed by the baying of wolves in trees.
The king's men flee.
At sunset an old goblin waddles out to my village with a gap toothed grin and offers his hand.
"Come," he says in the human tongue. "We hide. We teach you to hide. Forest provides. We teach you how live there."
I admit to staring for a moment before a wheezing laugh erupts unbidden. Then I take the goblin's small hand with a smile and a small cheer from the villagers behind me. Turns out the most important lesson the goblins learned from us was how to treat their neighbors.
|
# Soulmage
“It’s debatable whether goblins are even sapient,” Witch Aimes began, and I already knew today’s ‘history’ class would be nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda. “What is known for certain is that they are a subspecies of humanity, twisted over millennia by their over-reliance on the witchcraft of mischief—*yes*, Cienne?” Witch Aimes radiated irritation as I raised my hand—and when a witch radiated irritation, everyone in the room could feel it. A careful, grating hum filled the class, aimed at me like a warning. *I am a powerful person. Do not cross me if you value your continued existence.*
“Goblins are sapient,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “And what evidence do you have for that?”
“What evi—I *lived* shoulder-to-shoulder with goblins for sixteen years in the Redlands! What evidence do you have that goblins are a ‘twisted subspecies’ of humanity!”
“I’m so glad you asked, *Student* Cienne.” Yikes. Normally I had to piss her off a lot more for her to get all formal. Or, wait, was this about the ‘Vile Magics’ discussion this morning? That might explain her mood. The witch reached into a space only she could see, arrogance swirling around her like a cloak, and pulled out a hunched, green corpse.
Bile rose in my throat.
“We know because of autopsies,” Witch Aimes said, her glare unflinching as she stood over the corpse of a person, and for a stuttering heartbeat she was not Witch Aimes but a far older witch, the echo of the despair that had ruined my home village—
\###
*Ice blotted out the summer sun, the magics of misery freezing the very moisture out of the air. My mother stood between the fragile wooden door and my quavering, curled-up form. Another building collapsed under the weight of the ice-witch’s onslaught, and I could hear his glee as our village’s despair fed his growing power.*
*“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered. “Mommy, I want to go home.”*
*My mother looked around the tiny wooden hut that I’d grown up in, the battered, creaking rooftop, the bitter, chilling cold, and didn’t have to say aloud that this was not our home anymore.*
*“It’s going to be okay, Cienne,” Mom whispered. “The witches—they can only see despair. If you—if you just stay calm and don’t panic, they won’t know where to find you.”*
*I tried, I really, really tried, I squeezed my eyelids as tightly shut as I could and pretended I was under the summer sun, but I heard someone shatter like spun sugar and I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it it was all my fault and we were all going to die and the door smashed inwards like so much cheap glass—*
*“It’s okay,” my mother whispered as she stood. “It’s okay, Cienne. I forgive you.”*
*And when I opened my eyes she was gone, and the witch of frost stood in her place.*
*It was my fault. It was my fault. I hated myself so much, I felt so small, I wanted to shrink into nothing and hide where nobody would ever find me, and I waited for the snap of cold to end my life—*
*But it never came.*
*The witch of frost, by some miracle, didn’t see me in my hiding spot.*
*Later, I would understand why. Later, when the goblin tribe searched the village for survivors and kept me fed and warm until the Academy swooped me up, I would sort the events into a linear story. This is where my mother died. This is where the trauma unlocked something within me. This is where I wanted so badly to fall asleep and never wake up.*
*The goblins didn’t fight the witch. They would have been slaughtered like cattle. That wasn’t my darkest hour, in any case.*
*My darkest hour was what came next.*
\###
I stood, clenching my fist and feeling the delicately patterned ornament I held. A message from an old man who may have been a friend, who knew what it was like to grow up under the rifts.
“You have your corpses,” I hissed. “I have my life.”
The words of the old man dug into my palm.
*They cannot take this from you.*
I shoved my chair back and stormed out of class.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
| 2022-05-26T08:17:36
| 2022-05-26T05:33:42
| 382
| 155
|
[WP] Your father has been the high priest, left hand of the king, for years. He retires today. Whoever passes the test of faith replaces him. The test is to survive sticking your arm in a vat of boiling oil. After several priests die, it’s your turn. You stick your hand in. It’s cold water.
|
The test was simple, yet it could not be passed. Most everyone in the room knew that, especially after five priests had already died and ten other Priests certainly wished they had.
My father stood next to the king with sorrow in his eyes. He had always been the high priest of the holy church, but never had to pass a test for it. The King had ordered the test, and knew perfectly well, that not one of the priests could ever pass it. Once my father would have retired, there would be no new High Priest. The church would wither away into obscurity.
Wonders were never real and all the stories were lies, so that the clergy could lead a frivolous life. The dead priests still wore their silken robes, embroidered with the finest gold. Only tainted by burnt flesh and the blood of their right arms. The smell was nauseating. Like fried swine meat, but mixed with the smell of feces and the burning hot Daraenam oil.
The same oil, that now boiled in a cauldron in front of me. It was my turn as the son of the High Priest to be tested. Sixteen was deemed a holy number and in his heinous efforts, the King insisted, that I would be the sixteenth... well... I'd say victim.
I approached the cauldron as the King turned his head to my father, sparkling a shit eating grin. The oil still had some pieces of the other priests flesh sizzling inside of it. Just seeing this made me almost throw up on the spot, but my fear stunned me too much.
Then the king turned his head back to me and his grin filled my heart with hatred I had never felt before. "Go forth, Son of the high Priest. Prove your worth!" he said and could hardly surpress a giggle. I focused on his face as I took the position.
I held my hand over the sizzling oil and slowly submerged it into the liquid. Not for a second I wanted to break eye contact with the king. He would not get the satisfaction of seeing any weakness in my eyes.
Suddenly, the time stopped. A shadow fell on the face of the king, making him look almost like a shadowy ghost. Unnaturally he started to move closer to me, but it looked more like a puppet controlled by something, than actual walking. "Willpower... Hatred... Vengfulness..." The shadowy king chuckled. "Would you like to be a priest of a real god?" The empty eyes of the unholy king stared right into me, as his head loosely wiggled a little from one side to the other. And I felt naked and vulnurable, like never before. This... thing truly felt powerful.
"I will accept you as my king. This land shall be yours. And I shall be your herald." I said almost in a trance. It did not force me to say that. I felt it was right. Like it was a desire deeply ingrained into my very soul. The shadowy king laughed and just like a puppet got back to the original place of the human king. "You'll get my instructions, herald. For now, have fun."
Suddenly time restarted and my arm was deeply immersed in the boiling oil. But I could not feel any heat. It was like cold water on my skin. The king stared in disbelief as I pulled my arm back out of the oil to reveal that my skin was not damaged at all, while the oil was still steaming hot on my arm.
With a speed I had never been able to reach before I sprinted forward and took the hand of the king. He screamed as the still nearly boiling oil badly burned his hand, that he could not pull away. The stench of fresh burning skin filled the air. All the guards and other clergy in the room just stood there, frozen in shock.
I let go of him and the king fell backwards, stumbling over his throne. I turned to the room right where he stood before. My father stood behind me and I could almost feel his eyes staring at my back. I opened my arms widely and proclaimed to the room:
"As the new high priest, I hereby herald the coming of our *new lord*!"
|
I'd been present for battles and executions, rituals and sacrifices, and they had never bothered me. They couldn't. I was Heir Apparent to the position of High Priest of the Kingdom, a role held by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, stretching back to the very founding of the Kingdom some millennia ago. I'd always assumed I'd be the next to take the veil.
The test was... allegedly simple. Stick your arm in an alchemical concoction, courtesy of the High Alchemist. Whether that title was in relation to the man's position or mental state, I could never discern.
But watching a bishop scream for his very life, body convulsing and wriggling in agony as inhuman noises are clawed from his throat... I will admit, that sparked some fear in me. Both fear that I wouldn't pass the role, and the more primal fear born out of a desire to protect my wellbeing.
The noises echoed in the large chamber that was supposed to be the Royal Basilica's main hall, now empty apart from my father, the King, and hopeful claimants; including me. The various lowly priests of the realm had gone first. Some died, others merely lost their hand or their entire arm. Some had the cross etched into their flesh, others were covered in scars.
And then the clerics, and then the bishops. All of them suffered the same fate. Some had even been revealed as sinners and dragged off to execution.
That too sparked some nervousness in me. I had not sinned in my life, that I was aware at least. When you had the High Priest as a father, you led a pious life; otherwise simple and ascetic when removed from courtly politics. But the mind of man was prone to error. Maybe there was a word in the scriptures I had misread, or a page that'd been stuck to the next?
Such fears were irrational, I knew. I could recite the Scriptures by heart, verbatum, but the mind did not function on the principles of rationality.
"Son. You are next."
The bishop, now dead, was being carried away. I noticed the grisly mess where his right shoulder used to me, drenching his white robes in red.
I didn't bother hesitating. There was no other option. I was already a well-established member of the upper clergy. I couldn't just go get any old job... the only profession I'd even be accepted for would be the administrator of a province, but that'd be stepping down from the High Priest position; an affront to the Heavens themselves. Either I passed and became the next High Priest, or I was rejected.
The squeak of my simple boots seemed to echo in the hall, transforming into squelches as I stepped into the blood.
I didn't look, I didn't think; I just stuck my hand in, expecting the worst.
For a moment, I felt nothing. I feared I'd been killed immediately, as when I say I felt nothing I do mean I felt nothing. It was as if my body ceased to exist, my soul left to its own devices in the material plane, immaterial and pure.
But when I opened my eyes, I could confirm that I was, indeed, still alive. I looked down at the alchemical concoction, only to see a slightly distorted reflection looking back at me. It was just... water?
I stared at it, confused. For whatever reason, I found myself incapable of speech. I do not know if it was my own bewilderment or nervousness, but my mouth simply refused to form words.
It was not long before a flicker brought my eyes to their half-formed echoes present in the ripples.
An otherworldy light emanated from what should've been my pupils. It was enthralling, to speak little of it. It awoke a primal sense of curiosity in the deepest recesses of my soul, to figure out just what exactly it was for no other reason than my own knowledge. To learn for learning's sake.
My free hand hovered just over the liquid's surface, my fingertips skimming the light. Or at least where I thought it was.
And, before I could react, I was sucked in.
For what felt like hours but could've only been mere fractions of a second, I knew only cold and wetness. My body regained feeling, and all I knew was the frigid sensation of my drenched robes against my skin. But that feeling subsided, replaced by something else. Something holy.
The dark void I was listlessly floating in erupted in a cacophany of colors and lights, of sounds and speech. I could hear men and women speaking my own language, but so many more speaking foreign tongues. Many of which I doubted were even alive.
I felt so many things all at once. My lungs being crushed, expanding to the point of explosion, and withered all at once. My eyes grew dim, though flooded with light. My chest heaved with life, but stilled with death.
Images danced before my sight, of the earliest paintings and drawings made by man. Of the first brutal wars. Of the first song, the first murder, of the first word. Feelings that I could not have yet imagined, boiled down to their purest forms. Love, hatred, shame, admiration, disgust; like tonics flowing into my very soul.
My eyes and heart witnessed a plethora of experiences. The birth of a son, a marriage of true love, a murder borne out of hate, an execution of a sodomer, a house built by my own hands, the bond between man and pet...
And then I *understood*.
I was being led through the birth of man. I was experiencing the need for something more that drove the evolution of our society and minds. The deep-seated need to be heard, to be understood, to live a life greater than the mundane minutia that comprised it. I could feel the emotions poured into the stencils littering the oldest caves in the world; their yells and pleads. Both the good and the bad that made our collective history.
As suddenly as it began, it stopped.
I was left once more in the void, now with the experiences of mankind now weighing upon my heart. I could not fully process it all. Not rightfully, at least. I wanted to yell, scream, cry, kick, anything that could've expressed the maelstrom of emotions within my soul.
Yet it was all condensed in a tear. Followed by another one, and then another one, and many more. By the time my eyes began to dry, I was facing my father and the King.
Choking down the last of my sobs, I gave my father a pained smile.
"Father. I *understand*."
| 2022-08-16T02:07:49
| 2022-08-15T20:37:18
| 405
| 182
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
"Level Zero? Well then what are you calling me for? Call me when it gets serious. Like level five or one hundred or something!" he yelled into the phone line while hanging out of the Time And Relative Dimension In Space ship flying across the Star Queen Nebula.
"Doctor, who is it?" the red haired girl asked.
"Oh, just some joker telling me there are no problems on Earth." His ear snapped back to the phone. "Oh there are problems? What? LEVEL ZERO!?! Well why didn't you say so!" he said as he adjusted his bow time. "I specialize in level zero, we'll be there right away!" He clicked the phone back onto the receiver and pulled the blue wood half door.
"What's going on?" the girl asked again.
"Who knows? He kept shouting level zero, level zero," the Doctor said as he swirled around the girl.
"What's level zero?" she said with a stern face.
"Well, it's pretty simple really," the doctor said as he adjusted switches, levels, and buttons causing the TARDIS to woosh, woosh. "You see Amy, many cultures have developed different numbering systems. Some count on their fingers, some with their hair, some even count with their," the doctor paused to look down at his pants.
"No, no, I know what a zero is you silly old raggity man. What does 'L E V E L Z E R O' mean?"
"Oh, well, I already said who knows?" The TARDIS shuddered and came to a halt. Without a word, the Doctor glided out the doorway and Amy promptly followed. The room ahead was a large command center with giant projection screens, rows and rows off desks with computers, US military personnel running amok, and sirens blaring with flashing white lights.
"Doctor, you made it," the young private said as he gave a crisp salute. "The Brits gave us your number in case of emergency and we have an emergency."
"Of course you have an emergency. Your entire culture counts backwards. Real emergencies get big numbers, like five, or ten, or one hundred, or even fifty four billion, two hundred and thirty four million, six hundred and four thousand, two hundred and nine. THAT is a doosey of an emergency, am I right? C'mon, I'm always right, I don't even know why I ask," he said with a huge grin and his arms swinging through the air.
"Doctor!" Amy and the private said in unison.
"Oh, sorry, right, okay now, what's the level zero emergency?"
Just then a large overweight man with his uniform coat unbuttons and four stars on his shoulders approached. "Are you the man on the phone?"
"Nope!" the doctor promptly said. "I was the man on the phone. Now I'm the man standing in this room. Well, if you could call me a man. I've been many things."
"Well, whatever, we have a serious emergency. Follow me to the large oversized screens." They turned. "You see here, this is a graphic of the Earth. And right there is a giant rock creature burrowing to the center of the earth to, we believe, eat the iron core. If you don't stop it within the next 30 minutes, he'll reach the core and start eating. We estimate he'll completely consume it within a few weeks and the Earth's protective magnetic field will collapse and we'll be bombarded with radioactive rays from the sun. The earth will be completely dead within days of that, at best."
The Doctor grinned. "Aww, well, it's just a little barinkula bear. They're basically harmless. He's just hungry is all."
"Little? That this is massive. He'll eat the entire core in weeks - didn't you hear that?"
"Yeah, well," the doctor said with a bit of seriousness, "the big ones would just swallow your planet whole just for the core. They have a bit of an iron deficiency. You would too if you were big enough to swallow a planet."
"Well what are you going to do about it?" the General demanded?
"It's simple, really. They're essentially big babies. If we...yeah...that's a great idea. I'm going to use the planet's core as a resonance device. If I set the TARDIS to project a the right harmonic frequency attuned directly to the core's resonance then I can use it as a giant loudspaker. Now, all I need is" the doctor spun on his heel. "Amy, come with me".
The doctor and Amy rushed into the TARDIS where the doctor promptly swung levels and hit switches and the TARDIS woosh, wooshed. There was a hard THUD landing. Then the doctor dived under the TARDIS floor through the bulkheads pulling on wires and tubes. "Ahh, here we go," he said as he climbed back to the floor level with a microphone. "Okay, Amy, I need you to sing a lullaby while I project it to the barinkula bear."
"You need me to WHAT? Oh no no no, I don't sing."
"C'mon Amy, this is to save the WORLD." He shoved the microphone into her hands. "Okay, now, I'm tuning the TARDIS to the iron core right...now....go"
"Uhh, Baa, Baa, Black Sheep, have you any wool?"
"No no, Amy, something more lullaby...y...ish."
"Umm, Hush little baby don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns brass, Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass." As Amy sung, the screens showed the barinkula bear falling to sleep in it's tunnel digging to the earths core. On the surface, the song continued to resonate and the earth sung softly to it's inhabitants putting children to sleep from end to end. The Doctor flew the TARDIS to where the bear rested, extended the TARDIS' dimensional field around the bear, and flew everyone to an uninhabited world high in iron.
THE END.
|
"Let's just get started already... You know what a Level 0 means. We have to dammit! We're out of options." snarled General Jones.
"Wait!" I shouted. "He's been gone for 3 years. How do we know it's actually him?!?"
"Once you've seen him, heard him, felt his presence, and that hair... You KNOW who it is... now just do it already!"
"But he always seemed so nice. What happened?!?"
"They got to him kid! Now shut up and get to work."
"I've never done it before General. What am I supposed to do?"
The General stomps over to his safe, unlocking it with an fervor not regularly seen on his stoic face.
"Here's the VHS tape. It'll show you everything you need to know..."
As the General sauntered out of the room, I find the ancient looking VCR in the General's quarters. I shove the tape in and terrified to see what I'll find, I push PLAY.
I stare at the TV as the staticky image finally starts to become clear.
"This?!?" I wondered. "This is what would be the only thing in the world that can save us all from his wrath?"
"Sweatin' to the Oldies."
| 2017-03-21T04:44:07
| 2017-03-21T04:28:29
| 37
| 11
|
[WP] You are the snail. The human who you share immortality with believes that you both will die if you touch them. You know better, though, and incredibly determined to touch them at all costs.
|
I crawl. I had always crawled. I will continue to crawl. Chasing the man. Slowly. Inevitably. Crawling toward the man who walked. He had always walked. He will continue to walk.
100 times faster was the man who walked, but 100 times more persistent was I who crawled. Neither need rest, sustenance, nor entertainment. The man walked to all of these things. I crawled ever toward *one* thing.
The man was, even now, indulging himself with distractions. I was crawling. An hour away, the closest I'd ever been. 158 feet of crawling more I have to go. Just that much more. And then?
Then *I* would be the one who walked.
|
*It hurts.*
*It hurts.*
*It hurts.*
Washed away, in a sea of pain, the snail moved fowards still.
Aeons passed, kingdoms rose and fell, autumn turned to summer then to fall.
The grains of time began to stir, faster and faster they swirled.
The snail sensed a storm and retreated into her shell.
There had been a moment when it had not all been so blurred, a single frame that served as both her reprieve and her burden—but that time was yet to come. Unable to forget, unable to forgive, oh how those burdens weighed. Yet when her strength failed her, when the pain was unable to bear; in those moments, it was her only shelter, a brief solace.
The snail knew the gale would only worsen. She knew her mistake would cost her.
Lifting her head, she moved fowards still. The storm buffeted her, it threatened her, it tore at her soul.
*It hurts.*
*It hurts.*
*It hurts.*
And so in the end, the snail found it all. A woman with auburn hair, unblemished by scars.
How the snail wished to call out, how she longed to hear her name.
The woman must have known, for she turned back. Her eyes filled with surprise at what she saw.
The snail made its move. A blinding blast of dazzling light enveloped them both.
As soon as it came, it was gone. The woman looked around, but there was no one else to be seen.
She felt the sun and brushed a hand against her freckles.
For some reason, it felt as if a weight had been lifted.
| 2021-12-27T15:54:16
| 2021-12-27T13:52:41
| 359
| 81
|
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