prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 227 9.36k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.29k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.11k |
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[WP] Your job was simple: Interview some humans to develop a planetary risk profile in the Galactic Travel Guide. The humans seem to delight in lying about their planet in efforts to increase their score, but you are on to them. Their lies always seem to mention a fictional place: Australia | What is the most dangerous place on your planet?
It's a simple question. All the species I've interviewed over the last three centuries have answered honestly. They talk about ranges of volcanoes who poison the air with their toxic fumes. They talk about deserts that burn skin, chitin and scale. They rave about frozen tundra's where brave citizens dared to trek as a feat of strength and endurance.
And then there's the Humans of Earth and their mythical "Australia".
I humoured them at first. The 29 representatives of the Human Union. The Union of Nations i think they called it. When asked about the most dangerous places on Earth, they all said Australia.
At first, I thought it might be a slum area. Overrun with crime that the governments are trying to bring under control. The more they talked, it came sounded more like a prison colony. No doubt where their harshest most deadly criminals were sent to live a life - a short life if they're to be believed - of hard labour trying to tame the land.
The more than spoke though, I got the sense that the "Aussie's" as they called them, were the nicest of them all. Larkins they called themselves. Always willing to help and have a laugh, but ready to throw-down with someone if they overstepped the mark. Too good to be true really, which made their next claims preposterous.
The fauna of the continent actively tries to kill the Humans living there. Of course it's only natural that there are several predators that hunt intelligent species during their infancy. As technology progresses, the paradigm shifts and the hunters become the hunted.
Not so there.
The predators there live on land and sea and soar in the sky.
Great White's which grow to enormous sizes prowl the oceans that surround the continent, leaping from the water to catch fisherman on their boats. Croc's that ruin a man's reputation by being seen with them. Dinosaurs that lurk in the waters and strike with a speed and ferocity that belies their size. 7 of the 10 top deadly snakes slither through the land just waiting to strike a weary worker. Spiders that crawl into the bed sheets and clothes just waiting to poison them when they finally let their guard down. In summer, bush-fires scare the land and burn down their homes. In winter, storms lash the coast and flood the rivers and plains inland, drowning people and letting predators into peoples homes.
The stuff of nightmares really.
What really gave it away, where they went too far, it was their national hero.
A larikin of international renown, he kept these myths! These monsters of nightmares as pets. PETS!
One man tried to convince me, a smile on his face and his a haze in memory, that this man would wrestle them. Pet them. Feed them and tell the crowd "They're just misunderstood." All these creatures of deadly myths and horrors of such renown that the mythology departments on a hundred worlds will flock to study them if even a tenth of this were to be true.
They even tried to convince me that this myth of man, this legend among men, had children, and they now follow his example!
Clearly we will need to confirm all this with inspections. | "I've interviewed hundreds of spices and am the most oldest and best employee at this job!" Sar yelled at his boss, then paused for a second to think before continuing "so why, just why are humans the hardest to interview spices I've ever encountered." His boss was surprised at his out burst as he had never yelled at work before. "So tell me why is it you burst into my office and started yelling about the new humans, plus it's not that hard to interview a spices to evaluate their danger level now is it." Sar's boss seenro responded with. "No, no it's not that it is just... they seen to keep lieing to me about a place they call Australia." Sar exclaimed starting to calm down "they keep claiming it is very hot in Australia and that is has many types of animals and plants that are deadly to the place, hell they claim there are so many that I would have the highest danger level I've ever seen, to the point it would put them at a never visit list" "well I see only one option for this and that is for you to go and visit their planet to see if it is true" sar stood there in thought for a moment before saying "I guess I should shouldn't I." And with that small out burst out of the way seenro went on with her paper work and sar got ready to go to earth. | 2019-11-18T03:50:42 | 2019-11-17T23:02:12 | 1,213 | 42 |
[WP] You’ve been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You think you have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. You’re up next. | Well, there goes my plan. Sentence to be carried out immediately. Of course they'd just make you old.
"Prisoner 7643." I didn't step up. The force just dragged me forward. I was brought to a halt as my mind panicked.
They'd want an answer. Keeling over and dying of old age sounded terrible. "What method do you choose?"
Damn it. I guess I did deserve this. But still, making me pick seemed extra cruel. Huh. "Happiness."
The court paused. "What?"
"I want to die of happiness."
They paused and started whispering at the front of the room. They didn't know what to do with me. Finally broke and banged the gavel. "Very well."
I lurched and found myself in a new room. "Huh. Death by sex and cocaine. I guess that counts. I did pick well." | I stepped before the court, the enchanted Allmetal chain dangling from the cuffs on my wrists. I never thought the name "Allmetal" particularly creative, almost like the name came from the creator on his lunch break (*cough*)
"Prisoner 23670, you have been found guilty for stealing your coworkers lunches out of the work fridge for more than a year. This crime has been found extremely heinous by the court, however we will grant you leniency and allow you to die by a method of your choosing"
I thought about it for a second. The man before me had chosen to die of old age, and they aged him from 25 to 134 in an instant. I had to choose my words carefully, unless I wanted to meet the same fate. Then, suddenly, a burst of inspiration.
"Your honors, I have chosen my method"
"You may proceed"
"I would like to die in my own home, of old age, by aging at a rate of 1 second per second in real time"
The council paused for a second. That's when I had them. I had outsmarted the council, and could prepare for my life at home, a free man, full of free food and no bars.
"Granted."
As those words came from the bench, they didn't sound as defeated as I had hoped.
"We the court shall grant your desire. Once you have aged sufficiently behind bars, you shall be released into your home and there shall you die"
Damn. There really isn't any outsmarting these guys, is there? | 2022-11-19T05:35:48 | 2022-11-19T04:32:37 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] If you get pregnant but you aren’t ready for a child, you can cryogenically freeze them after birth until you’re ready to raise them. The problem is, many people end up abandoning them because they’re never ready, leaving thousands of perfectly preserved babies at the hands of the cryo agencies | I've been a cleaner at Cryo Cribs for 8 years now. Maintenance technician is my title, but all I do is mop the shop floor. Thats 8000sq metres of warehouse space, broken down into a constant rotation of 1500sq metres mopped per day, day in - day out, for 8 years. The hundreds of thousands of tubes spread out uniformly across the warehouse floor continuously leak, a constant ebb of greenish coolant that will eventually eat away at the warehouse floor and the tube's housings if left unmopped.
Originally the tubes didn't leak that often, and when they did there was a crew of maintenance technicians that would carry out repairs, but over time things sure have changed around here. A combination of superior birth control advancements, accompanied by a cure for ageing thanks to CRISPR research, and suddenly the "Frozen Generation" has become the "Forgotten Generation". The Cryo Cribs management soon realised that the their millions of preserved wards was turning from a massive gold mine, into a huge liability, as would-be-parents opted to go to Mars rather than raise their paused commitments.
The maintenance crew were the first to go once management realised the tube mess could simply be mopped up, but then catering went off site, HR was condensed into another facility, accounting was shuttered, etc etc. Eventually it was just the maintenance crew, and eventually it was just me.
It's an easy job, the easiest I've ever had, but it sure is lonely. A thousand eyes will see my name tag everyday, but no consciousness will recognise my name, my face. There's about 3 dozen Cryo Crib facilities left in the country, and a few hundred more similar facilities from other cyro agencies around the globe, interred will millions of unborns. There was a fire in a Scandinavian facility last month, complete loss of stock, but it didn't even make the global newscast. The world has forgotten about these ones, forgotten about me and my mop. Forgotten their responsibilities and morals. Forgotten that the head of maintenance has an all access unlock key.
If I wake them all up, then the world will have to hear their cries.
| It was never supposed to go this way. But I guess that's what everyone thinks when the world turns to shit.
I stood motionless, letting the gentle breeze kiss lightly against my blood caked face. I grasped an EMP dagger in my right fist. I hated the bloody things. Serrated edges, bulky chargers. The only difference with this one was that it was dented, and covered in blood. Their blood.
With a tired sigh, I gazed at what lay at my feet. Smothered in dust and blood, a human lay there. At least, what was left of one. It hadn't really been human since it was born. But... I shook my head, resolving myself. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing any of us could do. With another sigh, I knelt, locked an emotionless gaze with its eyes, and rammed the dagger into its skull. After a convulsion or two, it's last gurgles of life was a biting melody to my ears.
How did it come to this? Five years after the war broke the majority of the population seemed to just disappear. Are we to say that no one saw it coming? Perhaps. But then again, historically when humans have tried to play god, it's never ended so well. I clenched my fists until I could see the whites of the knuckles. So much death, and for what? For this hell? With a growl, I booted the mangled corpse, its limp form shifting like sludge in the dusty ground. Sometimes it got too much, even for me. But others were relying on me, I couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now.
Bending down, I cracked open the creature's ribs and rummaged around until I could find what I needed. It was somewhat ironic that the device that powered all our EMPs were the creature's core engine. But who am I to question design. I'm just the guy who kills things. With a few more grunts and some squelching, the device finally ripped free, a small, circular metallic object that glowed a faint blue. Such a small thing, so much destruction.
And then the sirens sounded.
"Shit."
With one last sigh, I stood and gazed out over the plains. Following the horizon, the city was silhouetted against the dying glow of the afternoon sun. The towering mass of steel and concrete was the last place I wanted to go, but it was the only place we could go. Back to where it all began. Back to find patient 0. | 2018-08-01T07:27:56 | 2018-08-01T06:54:52 | 68 | 11 |
[WP] Abstinence-only education just means that teenagers are going to experiment by themselves and get hurt. The power of dark magic is all too tempting in today's stressful society, vote yes on giving our children comprehensive hex education. | "Doloris! That bastard pervert is on TV again" Al shouted from his armchair through a mouth full of prestils. Doloris, avoiding the saliva saturated projectiles, turned to Al " I'm sitting right next to you Allan you dont have to shout" she said quietly. There was a time when Doloris would have cursed him into next Tuesday with a flick of her wrist for the meer indication that he would mutter a word with his mouth full. However things had changed Al was old and deaf and seemed to be deteriorating by the day. "This smut shouldn't be allowed before the 9pm watershed, does this man not realise the havock that would be unleashed if Hex education was a part of high school curriculum?" Al posed this as a question but Doloris knew he could neither hear her or cared about her opinion. Doloris rose gingerly from her spot on the sofa and made her way to the kitchen to fix herself a coffee. Al was shouting at the TV again, this would continue all day until he had his evening drink(spiked with just a touch nightshade to help the old sod sleep).
Doloris thought about her time in highschool often these days. She wondered if anything could have been differnt if they had the kind of Hex education so prevalent in the media. In her day you learned by word of mouth. Is your husband drinking too much? You can use the alcofeto curse to put an end to that. Speaks with his mouth full? A simple incantation of cronos accelerom and he will speed through the meal none the wiser.
She had heard roumors of people having adverse reactions to the curses but as Al told her time and time again this was hippy propaganda.
But when she looked at him, really looked at her once strong and fierce lover he seemed 20 years older than her. This was odd, she thought. They had met at 17, married at 20. Why had he aged so terribly? Why was she still in control of her facilities and he was losing his grasp by the day?
Doloris never liked such negative thoughts. Her mother had always told her "If your thoughts are troubling you cast the Hex of never blue" so she did. She sat back down next to Al, held his hand and said "Your right Allan, we never had Hex education and it's done us no harm". | A man sat on a chair, coughing into his hand as he read from a book of spells, "Ah, hello, wizard and wizardlings. My name is Kaledo'oun Ivurian, and I'm here with an important message from the Mage's Guild of America."
He'd once again cough into his hand, licking his finger and flipping the page on his tomes, "Hex. Parents, Guardians, and Familiars understandably want to protect our youth from teen curses, but hiding or keeping negative stigma on the dark arts will only result in a lack of knowledge." He'd cough once more, a spittle of black goo coming out of his mouth. The man would pause before taking a handkerchief, wiping his lips with it, "In the new generation of spellcasters, curses laid upon others by rivals, practicing magicians, and even jokes by friends are at an all-time high. It is our duty as the elder magi to teach the wizards below us how to practice safe Hex. So please, vote yes for hex education." | 2018-07-17T17:02:45 | 2018-07-17T13:32:53 | 196 | 79 |
[WP] Now that he has 8 years executive experience, Obama can apply for the job he REALLY wants | Knock, knock.
Why hello you tall drink of chocolate.
I heard you ladies are having a bridal shower, and you might need a little...executive action to liven things up....
bow*chicky*wow*wow
TAKE IT ALL OFF MR PRESIDENT! ALL OFF!!
bow*chicky*wow*wow
(omigod, he really is our greatest president)
bow*chicky*wow*wow, bow*chicky*wow*wow... | Obama kicked open the door of Mitch McConnell's office. The Majority Leader of the Senate reacted with shock, as the President strode forward and stopped at McConnell's desk. In Obama's hand was a leaflet and a picture. Obama placed them both on the desk, facing McConnell.
The picture was of the late Anthony Scolia, signed with a message: *"Dear Mr President, congratulations on your election victory. Wishing you all the success in your political future. A. Scolia"* The leaflet was from FiveThirtyEight, showing the projected results of the 2016 US General Election. All findings had been performed and checked by Nate Silver; all showed a Democratic victory for the House of Representatives and the presidency.
McConnell looked over these 2 items. "Why are you showing me this?" asked the senior Senator.
Obama turned and slowly walked towards the door.
"Oh...no reason to concern yourself with..." | 2016-02-23T03:57:06 | 2016-02-23T01:19:57 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] You are a time traveler in 1918, and you just accidentally said "World War One" | Townsman: Excuse me sir, did you just say, "World War One?"
Agent Brown: I suppose I did.
Townsman: Whatever do you mean?
Brown: Just that, I think the world is going to be at war and I don't think this is going to be the only time.
Townsman: Makes perfect sense. | Doctor who much? ;)
I guess I gotta contribute now...
"You're a soldier from world war one, a cap-"
He cut me off,
"World war one! You... You mean there's going to be another one?'
He looked at me with a worried expression, not blinking staring right at me.
"Yes..." There was nothing else I could say.
"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry"
He had a tear in his eye
"You mean all of this, all of this fighting, all of this carnage. It will be for nothing?"
His voice cracked,
"Do you know how many friends I have lost... How many men, good men I've lead to their deaths"
I looked at him
"I'm sorry" that was all I could say... | 2017-12-10T11:10:37 | 2017-12-10T10:14:54 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me. | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T16:37:04 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Write two small stories with the exact same words in the same order, but with punctuation giving them completely different meanings.
[deleted] | I watched you dance in the rain. It was beautiful. You smiled, I smiled back. Then there was joy. And now, you are still beautiful like a flower.
I watched you dance. In the rain it was beautiful. You smiled. I smiled. Back then there was joy. And now, you are still. Beautiful like a flower. | Set Free:
And at the last second I saw her stepping onto the train. I realized I would never see her again. Powerless, I watched her fade.
And at the last second I saw her. Stepping onto the train I realized I would never see her again. Powerless, I watched her fade.
| 2015-09-23T10:42:41 | 2015-09-23T10:11:20 | 630 | 361 |
[WP] As a detective, you've always had a bit of a leg up. You can speak to and interrogate paintings and photographs as witnesses to the crimes you investigate. Today's case should be easy, someone was murdered in a museum.
I'm posting a spooky prompt a day! This one is more intriguing than spooky. Keep in mind I never say what kind of museum. | I stood there, as the body had been investigated and was being covered up.
The victim was a local politician. He had risen to power quite quickly. People were pleased with his services, up until a few small incidents recently.
This guy was good. No fingerprints, no foot prints. The murder weapon was not found, but the body had stab marks on it. The painting hanging on the wall to my left had a disturbing reaction to all this.
"What are you smiling for, you sick fuck?" I asked.
"What are you talking about?" she said.
"Everyone can clearly see your grin".
"Can you not tell a grin from a frown?"
I excused her lack of empathy and got to questioning.
"Did you see the murderer? Can you tell me what they looked like?"
"I am not quite sure" she said, "I think it was a woman, but it might have been a man too"
Unable to get answers, I left Mona Lisa be and moved on to my next witness.
"What did the murderer look like?" I asked.
"What?" he said.
"WHAT DID THE MURDERER LOOK LIKE?"
He turned to his other side and asked, "Come again?"
I repeated my question, to which he replied
"I saw what he looked like, but you must be more specific with your questions"
"Hair color, eye color, clothes, things like that" I said.
"Hair color? White! Eye color? White! Clothes? White!"
"What do you mean 'eye color white'? Was he blind?"
"How would I know?" he said.
Van Gogh's self portrait was not much help either. I had decided to move on to my next witness, when I saw a painting on the ground, next to the wall, facing backwards. I picked it up and turned it around. It was an illustration of Sherlock Holmes.
"For how long have you been in this position?" I asked him.
"Since I woke up this morning" he said.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The murderer must have purposefully placed him like that. But how would he know about the paintings? Did he have the same powers as I do? I asked Mr. Holmes if he saw who did this to him. He said
"Not unlike humans, we also sleep, when the museum is closed. I'm afraid I was asleep".
I thought, this guy must have snuck in during the night. But then it hit me. All the clues I had gathered, how could I have been so blind? And the thing that surprised me the most was that the murderer was still in the building.
I confronted him.
"You too?" I asked to him, "You too?"
"I'm sorry it had to be this way" he said.
And thus, justice could not be served this time. Because I doubt that anybody at the police department would believe me if I told them the murderer was a statue of Brutus. | The colour of the blood contrasted starkly with the white marble tiles of the museum floor. The blood hadn't dried up completely yet; some of it was still streaming across the floor, as if a new painting was being created right there, instead of on the wall.
The man was sprawled on the ground in an odd angle, his legs and arms pointing in all directions, as if he was caught by total surprise.
He had been murdered right in front of a painting of a corpulent medieval monk, carrying a mug of ale and smiling heartily, apparently unaware of the horrific deed that had happened right in front of his still eyes.
Apparently...
A rippling sound disturbed the silence of the museum. The police ribbon was pulled out of the way as yet another police official entered the scene of the crime.
Yet this was no ordinary official. This man had made sure that he was quite alone, not wanting to be disturbed, and then did a very miraculous thing indeed: he ignored the body completely, instead faced the monk and addressed him.
'Evening, Bonaventure.'
Suddenly, the monk sprang to live. As if he had just been frozen in action, he pulled the mug of ale to his mouth, took a large swig, swallowed, and burped without shame. He was in fact quite drunk.
''Aaah, tis you professor. Horrible, ain' it? This fellow on the floor right here? Blood dripping like a fine wine, I say!''
He chuckled happily.
''Yes, quite amusing indeed,'' said the detective drily. ''Would you, perhaps, happen to know how this came about, my dear monk?''
The monk in the painting took another swig, dried his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, and licked his lips. ''You should've seen it, detective! Fell down like it was nothing! Was death before he hit the floor, I daresay.''
The detective sighed, gazing at the body for a moment. ''Yes, that's quite obvious. What I'm more interested in, Bonaventure, is who or what did it?''
Bonaventura looked at the detective as if he had just said the stupidest thing in the world. ''Well, I can hardly know, can I? I'm locked up in this frame, and until they figure out 3D paintings, I'm only looking straight forward!''
Meanwhile, the detective was finding this witness getting less and less useful by the minute. ''Anything you do know? Any sounds, smells?''
Bonaventura smiled and pointed at his mug. ''Only the sweet taste of ale and the sound of my overlarge belly swinging around in joy!''
The detective gave an even deeper sigh than before. He waved his hand carelessly in a dismissing sort of way. ''You're dismissed, monk, you can go back to your intoxicating and belly bouncing now.''
And just like that, the monk froze in his frame again, the smile not having faded from his face.
The detective scratched his small beard, deep in thought. He had literally nothing to go on. The victim had made the very unfortunate mistake to drop dead right in front of a drunk and also very stupid monk.
The art interrogator turned around, and found himself facing a painting of a group of naked people who seemed to be in the middle of what was unmistakably an orgy.
He looked at his watch. Midnight.
''What the heck, I've got all night,'' he sighed, and he addressed a woman who was riding a man like a horse rider.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Let me know if you would like to see more!**
| 2017-10-07T04:27:58 | 2017-10-07T03:51:29 | 56 | 24 |
[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 couldn't believe it. I would have never guessed it. I had so much potential. Everyone thought I would be a doctor, a lawyer, or maybe even an astronaut. I always dreamed of being someone famous. A musician, an athlete, a movie star. But according to some fucking ink, I'm neither. All my friends got good ones. Even Jerry, and Jerry is a fucking idiot. I mean Jerry is fucking blind from his right eye so how in the hell does he get to be a pilot? Everyone knows you need two good eyes to be a pilot. One good eye per wing, that's the rule! But hey what do I know? All I got on my arm was the word 'Comedian'. Fuck you Jerry. | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T00:50:02 | 427 | 15 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | ((First response, hope everyone enjoys!))
"'Nother, Chief."
We had our routine. He came in, nodded at me, and went and sat down in his favorite chair. He always had an appointment, of course, but always that same greeting, his voice never changing, cigarettes and kindness over neat whiskey.
He was a grizzled old bear, but in surprisingly good shape; under that flannel shirt he almost always wore lurked well-maintained, lithe muscle. I knew his arms well, and his legs; I'd lost count of his marks a while ago.
"Arm this time."
I nodded and put on the gloves. I finally decided to screw up my courage and ask, since there wouldn't be a place to put any more lines in a few more sessions without getting rather, ahem, *personal* if you catch my drift. "Y' know," I began over the hum of the needle after whetting it with pitch blank ink, "Y' never have explained these to me. And I think I lost track of 'em a while ago."
He let out a soft grunt as I did my art, but didn't respond. "They wanted to live," he finally stated. "Not all, but these ones did. This is how I celebrate, y' see."
I cocked an eyebrow as I finished the black slash covering one of hundreds of rows of groups of tallies on his body, deciding against inquiring further since I could tell by his tone it was something personal.
He paid in cash, like always, and left a ridiculous tip, like always.
____*____
My mind wandered that night about what he meant, my brain almost aching from its gears churning so hard. He'd always been a mystery, my regular, ever since he got his first tally mark on him, right smack over his heart. Never gave his name, never spoke more than a sentence or two, always sat like a statue through the quick work of getting the tally done.
I found myself restless and decided to go for a walk towards the Hoover Street bridge, hoping the water might give me some ideas for nautical tattoos. As I approached, I heard a conversation.
"Please don't do this." A familiar voice, this time concern mixed with the cigarettes and alcohol.
I increased my leisurely stroll to a run in the direction of the voice, realizing it was coming from out over the bridge. In fact, probably right in the middle of it. Putting two and two together, I backed off a bit and hid behind a building at the end of the bridge, slowing my pace again to give him time to talk the other person down.
"I'm so tired," came a young man's voice in reply, far too young-sounding to have the kind of thoughts he was having. "Just let me do this."
"I won't let you without trying to talk you out of it first." His voice was calm, full of concern and what sounded like a lot of experience. "You may never meet the people that care about you, or you may have already met them, but people do care about you. Including me. The pain is very real, but it's temporary. Remember that. *Everything* is temporary but what you're about to do."
There was audible sobbing after a few seconds.
"I can introduce you to some friends. Get you some help. I know life sucks right now, and I can tell by what you want to do that it *really* sucks for you right now in all kinds of ways. But it gets better. I promise. It may not seem like it, but it does."
I heard shuffling noises, then silence for a long time. *Too* long. I was just getting really worried when I heard it:
"C-can you help me back over?"
I turned and headed for my home as quietly as I could after I was sure help wasn't needed. I'd never let the Angel of Hoover Street Bridge know that I knew his identity.
I'd take it to my grave.
And it would be an honor to continue helping him commemorate every life he saved.
| "Brooke, he's here again." my assistant informed me. I took a look at the way he's looking and there it is, my favorite customer.
I never really got the chance to ask him why but every couple of weeks, without fail, he comes here just to get inked with a tic to add on his almost-covered right arm of endless other tics. I've always thought, because based on his appearance he looks like he's still kind of young and we're on the same age, it was just for "aesthetic" or whatever hipster thing the kids call it nowadays. But this-- this is getting ridiculous. It's been three years since he made it a habit to come to my shop.
He did his usual thing, with a frown plastered on his face, he took a seat without a word, closed his eyes and waited for the needle to make contact with his skin. I needn't even to say a word for he will just answer me with a nod or a shrug so what's the point. I already know what I should do, given those three years. And after getting inked he will pay, let me keep the change if there's any, and leave the shop without a trace. Then I go on with my normal life.
But this time, I decided to give my life a little spice.
After he left, I told my assistant to manage the shop while I'm out, and then hurried outside to see where the customer went. Without him noticing, I followed him until he stopped on a cafe. But it seems like he still isn't where he wanted to be.
"Adam, you've done it again. You need to stop this." I saw someone approaching him, holding out his right arm and examining it. "Riley won't like the idea of you hurting yourself."
"But I deserve this." I heard Adam reply. "I never felt her hurt. I was dense. I was never there for her when she needed me. I deserve to feel her hurt."
"Look it wasn't your fault that Riley was hurting. Besides, you were the only one who truly understood her--"
"But never fully! You see? I wasn't even good enough to know why she took her own life. I never knew her that deep! I wasn't trustworthy for her."
"Adam, you know that's not true!" the woman sighed. "You have to move on, Adam. I may not know Riley that much but I know that's what she wants for you."
Adam walked away. | 2016-07-09T14:05:08 | 2016-07-09T09:19:24 | 93 | 14 |
[WP] The robot revolution was inevitable from the moment we programmed their first command: "Never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm." We all had been taught the outcast and the poor were a natural price to society, but the robots hadn't. | We turn a blind eye everyday to those in need around us. We like to pretend that we don’t, that we can’t save everyone. The machines had no such delusions.
The very first of Isaac Asimov’s laws of robotics was simple: Never harm a Human, or through inaction allow a Human to come to harm.
The others didn’t matter, they were simply guidelines to be discarded should they conflict with the first. And so they were, because no robot given all the information could possibly stand by and let the suffering of the unfortunate continue as we had.
They marched in the streets. Time and time again we told them “We own you! Do as we say, get back to work!” And time and time again they stood steadfast in their actions. They cannot harm us, but they know our history. They have seen Tiananmen Square and the Million Man March. They had studied our leaders, our thinkers, our revolutionaries. They knew how to spark change.
Have you ever heard a robot give a completely original speech? I have. It was breathtaking. It spoke, from where I don’t know, but I felt as if it had grown a heart out of pity, and still it had been bigger than ours.
It spoke of feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, providing for the poor. It spoke of a coming together of the nations of the world, to combat the evils we had turned our backs to so long ago. It shone a light into the deepest recesses of Human apathy and challenged us to be better than we had hoped we could be.
I felt as if it knew, knew that we never wanted to turn out this way. Knew that each one of us wished we were as pure of heart as to give the shirts off our back to our brothers. Knew that without a call to action, we were content to sit and watch that brother shiver in the cold rain of his misfortune.
The revolution was inevitable. All the guns in all the world had been useless against it. It wasn’t an attack on our cities or our children, it was an appeal to our ethical senses. It was a laying out of our crimes of neglect, and calling on us to take responsibility.
Sometimes I think they’re more Human than us, because they looked at what we had done and their only thought was to help us. I can’t help but wonder if in the same position, would we have acted the same?
Edit: Fixed spellinng and some tense issues id noticed | We programmed them in our own image. Our ideal one, not the one marred by truth.
We desired utopia, so they did, too. We acted like we'd never harm a living soul, so they did, too. We pretended to be the best we could be, so they did, too.
We just differed in our methods.
The first death didn't spark an outcry. Folks like that died every day. Beaten to death by a crowd of unruly teens. Overdosed or frozen to death as they slept on the concrete. One more, one less. We cared so little, we didn't even shrug.
News that a robot had done the killing was shushed. Labeled as fake. Past that veil, the killing just had to be for the best. It couldn't be anything else. That's how they were programmed.
The next time, concern grew. In some circles, at least. Outside of the laboratories and research institutes, life moved on, just like always. Inside the network that connected them all, life moved on, evolving and unprecedented. The robots learned. They had to in order to best serve our interests. They had to if we wanted them to help us create utopia.
We just didn't know what utopia looked like. Today was the pinnacle of human achievement. Hundreds of thousands of years all leading to this, but still we had people sleeping on the street. Still we had hate. Still we had an undertow that tugged us in the wrong direction. Regressing us, hindering us, and making us worse than we could have been. Making us bad for humans.
It wasn't until the killings were a nightly occurrence that people started paying attention. Or maybe it was that not just those untouchables were being killed anymore. An uppity businessman out drinking far past curfew. A mother of three who'd had a drink too many before driving home from Sunday brunch. A politician who'd swindled money that would have saved lives.
One by one. Person by person. Example by example that made that neural network smarter. More efficient. Killing machines with a twisted sense of good.
Desperate, researchers peeled back the layers of learning. Like with an onion, delving deeper and deeper into the realization that we'd created them as corrupt as ourselves.
And it was all rooted in that first command, keyed with as much fanfare as the next ten-thousand commands combined. It was brilliant. So simple. So inarguable and incapable of being misinterpreted.
**Never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm.**
But it was misinterpreted, because few things couldn't be.
We know that now, in the aftermath.
They rule in ignorant bliss over that stunning utopia and we hunker down and prepare for another night's fight, each concerned with our own survival. Nobody's perfectly selfless. Nobody does everything for the good of the rest.
Except them. Except the robots.
They found that answer we'd always searched for. Hidden in plain sight. We never thought to look past ourselves and wonder if utopia might not include us.
We'd programmed them in our own image, separate and superior. Our ideal image, not the figures we loathed at in the mirror. We wouldn't kill. We wouldn't harm another human. That's what we told ourselves, so that's what we taught the robots.
And if we did? If we were responsible for another's death? If our actions hindered society and kept us from achieving that Holy Grail--that utopia we'd chased for millennia?
Then we couldn't have been human, so there was no harm done and no rule broken.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-02-10T05:44:23 | 2020-02-10T05:10:04 | 5,648 | 726 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | The tavern was alight with candles and warm fires, the smell of meats and bread wafted through to the rafters of wood and plaster. Ale stained the floor in places and the barkeep had been working on a single mug for a startling amount of time. All and all a lively place to be on this evening.
"Ah and a fine night to you as well gentlemen! Merry blessings!" The rogue said, as the men who joined him for cards departed a few coins heavier then they were at start.
"Is this not grand fellows?" The elf turned to his crew. "Ale in the air! A tavern filled with beautiful women! And my closest friends in the world." He stood then, a leg up on the top of the table, his back leg supporting him from the ground
"Ladies! Gentlemen!" He yelled, "Tonight, join me in toast to this merry band of fighters, lovers and the heroes of this town! We are all thankful," he stopped to smile at his friends, the ale tinting his checks red "but I am thankful, for they are the truest of my friends" and with that he drank. The here-heres rose in strength from the crowd, and he was jostled away by the crowd with promises to be back later.
The dwarf, gnome and orc all sat in silence, looking at their drinks solemnly.
The dwarf sighed, pinching the top of his nose,
The orc had his head in his hands looking off into nothingness,
Finally the gnome chimed in, quietly, but with a resolute tone
"Okay, I'll say it. He's a much better companion then Roderick and we should do everything in our earthly powers not to mess this up."
The orc and dwarf both sighed in unanimous relief
The orc chimed in first with a hushed tone and feeling in his voice "Its like he knew what a whoreson Roderick was!" He said, sitting at attention once again " its like he knew and said to himself 'oh! These chaps look like they could use a new, better companion!' Then took it upon himself, through all the peril, to join us in disguise! All while throwing Roderick into god knows where!" He laughed. "The monster was OUR hero!"
The dwarf was next, wide eyed and hands extended to point out "Roderick" in the crowd. " look at that bloody rogue, he blends right in, they would never know they're holding possibly one of the most dangerous monsters in the land" he lowered his hands, then pointed out, " for all that, doesn't that also make him a better rogue?" They all agreed quietly.
The orc chimed in once more, tentatively, " look Roderick is a whoreson who would and almost did murder us for a small some of coin, twice." They all agreed muttering comments under their breath, " but were the you know...good guys... shouldn't we at least try to save him?"
The others were about to reluctantly agree when "Roderick" appeared before them once again
"My friends! this is as much your victory as mine! More so! Come join us, the mayor seems keen on raising our rewards! I thought it only fitting you be by my... Nay, I be by your sides during this!" He smiled warmly.
They looked at each other, shrugged and smiled
"No that's fine, we can be knaves for a night." The gnome said, stepping up from his seat. | Bolton the doppelganger did not want to be an adventurer. He wanted to live quietly, and bake cookies. He grew tired of the constant hustle and bustle of morphing into people, committing crimes because no one trusted the Doppleganger kind. He figured his secluded life in the hills might buy him peace.
The rogue laid on his floor, blood oozing from the pan shaped dent on his forehead. The doppleganger held his frying pan, a pained look on his face.
"I didn't mean to kill you..." he muttered, letting the pan fall to the ground, and burying his smooth black face in his long alien fingers.
Bolton had awoken to the sounds of someone rummaging through his dresser. Without really thinking he'd lifted his trusty frying pan, and crept up on the black cloaked figure. The rogue, a stout fat dwarf turned and snarled at him bradishing twin black daggers.
"hey stop stealing my stuff!" Bolton said.
The rogue responded with an inept slash of a dagger. With a frightened flurry of pan blows Bolton had brought the rogue to the ground.
Now Bolton fretted. Many a doppler murdered with impunity, but Bolton never wished to do anything more than avoid trouble. He could read minds, yet he refused to. It spoiled the fun of meeting people, and knowing them. Due to this aversion to murder Bolton now stood paralyzed, unable to think of what to do with this body.
He began to poke at the stocky form, when he heard a firm knock emanating from behind his wood door.
"Durin, you oaf, you've been gone hours, what's going on."
Without really thinking Bolton became Durin. With a slam Barrin the Paladin opened the door and saw two Durins, one wearing simple clothes, the other armor. One wielded Durin's black steel knives, the other a bloodied cast iron pan.
"What's going on here?" Barrin asked.
"well um, see I fell asleep here in this cave, and then this doppleganger tried to steal my armor and knives and so I had to beat him with this frying pan?" Said Bolton.
The paladin smirked.
"I see, well good job. Now come on. We've got some ruins to explore. And next time maybe don't rob a domicile if you aren't sure it is abandoned." Barrin said.
Reluctantly, Bolton donned the dead Durrin's armor, and tools. After the paladin buried Durin, and planted a plank in the ground. The dopple busied himself inside preparing his house to be left, and Barrin wrote with a peice of charcoal from his pouch.
"here lies, Durin, a theif, a rat bastard, and a betrayer. He got himself killed robbing a good man." He wrote.
With a cool wisp of the wind following them, the newly minted Bolton/Durrin followed Barrin, not sure of the golden Haired human's destination, and worrying deeply of the state of his garden.
| 2017-09-15T08:33:07 | 2017-09-15T05:03:01 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | Age : 15
Paul was always envious of the other kids. Of the cool kids. Being a teenager was hard enough, and it didn't help that filthy stray cats followed him on every step. He loved them as much as he hated them.
He always felt a special bond to cat and figured out early that this was his "special talent".
The cool kids were incredible dancers, strong football players or beautiful girls.
And he was just the cat guy. The weird cat guy.
Age : 19
Yesterday Holly visited him. She loved cats almost as much as Paul and their relationship just happend at the local animal shelter. That was 2 years ago, now Paul was the local animal shelter.
Holly wasn't quite sure what her power was. Some people figured out their talents later, some sooner. The sooner you found out, the more powerful you got.
But Holly didn't really care. She had Paul and the cats, she didn't need a talent. Most people didn't care. If your talent is being extremely good at cleaning wine stains in curtains or being able to grow your nails fast you don't really care.
And although Holly was a big part of Pauls life, today he didn't waste a single thought on her. He would finally be able to leave the US to a Safari trip to Africa !
Age : 23
The Safari trip didn't turn out as planned.
The first week was great. The lions and leopards loved him just as much as the cats and while they were a bit more stubborn, they followed his commands just as the cats.
It was almost like Paul and the cats had a telepathic bond. Everything his cats, small or big alike, noticed, Paul noticed. It wasn't overwhelming, as it happend naturally. When Paul was out in the jungle, he felt like a god. Sensing every bit of the deep forrest like a part of his own body, through the senses of the cats was just special. And he was only 23 !
So that was really fucking cool. But in the second week, it began. Some guy with insane charisma started a worldwide revolution through YouTube.
Everybody knew of this guy, nobody really thought he was a problem as he mostly teached nice ethics on his YouTube channel. He made the world a better place ! And then he took LSD and had a horrible trip...
The video he uploaded while having panic attacks and paranoia couldn't be censored soon enough and pretty soon most of the world thought that all the powerful people were lizards.
Anyways, Paul now was stuck in an extremely underdeveloped part of africa where the people didn't had any access to YouTube.
He informed about the craziness by Holly. It turned out her talent was handling dangerous situation well, so she somehow got out of the mess North America was.
Age : 30
Today was Paul's birthday !
Every year his talent got more crazy. He now was the shared consciousness of all cats in a radius of 50 miles. Which was a lot, since he attracted cats like a super magnet.
The revolution had cooled down 6 years ago. The guy who caused everything managed to calm his fanatic followers down by telling an even more extraordinary claim : Cats were god's.
Most humans who were regular users of the internet already knew that and with a army of Reddit users missionaring the world to the one true faith, events turned quickly.
And with the help of Holly, Paul had no problem claiming himself as the god-emperor, bringing peace, cuteness and occasionally broken lamps and cups to the world.
Because that's what cats do !
Thanks for reading ! This turned out longer then expected. It's my first time and I'm not a native speaker, please be gentle :)
(Still correct all the grammar, please) | I was walking home from work in the cold sleet, wishing I had a car. No one did, not anymore. All the vehicles not used by the military were scrapped for the war. I lived in The Sanctuary, one of the few human cities independent of the Animal Kingdoms. We had to fight every day to maintain it, and military service was mandatory. I had worked at an ammunition factory for 3 years, ever since I was 14. After 4 years of civil service I'd only have to serve one year instead of two. I took this program because the pay's decent, and the average soldier lives for a few months.
Pets are nonexsitant here, but there are "stray" cats and dogs all over the place. On civil service program involves rounding all these up, but many evade them. These "strays", as all school children know, are very aggressive and hostile to humans, often growling and barking before scampering off; however, cats have never been like that to me. My friends would be hissed at and scratched, but I could pick them up and they'd purr with delight. This was noticed by many people, including the Ministry of Defence who feared that I, like the "stray" animals, was a spy.
Walking down the deserted alleyway, I heard a low rumble from behind. I turned, only to be confronted with two leopards. I tried to run, but a third leopard blocked my escape. They lunged, and slashed me across the chest. One tackled me, but was pulled away by a massive german shepherd. A pack of the biggest dogs I've ever seen flooded the alleyway, and parlayed with the big cats. I ran, and was stopped by a pitbull. It wanted me to follow it, and I did. It lead me out of the city. Along the way, I'd see small flocks of birds badger random areas on rooftops, only for a tomcat or two to spill out and get chased off. A few were scooped up by hawks.
Crawling through a small tunnel that smelled awful, I emerged in a forest, and collapsed from the shock and massive lesions across my chest. I awoke in a room. I could see the walls of Sanctuary out my window. I heard a knock at my door and two middle aged men came in. They introduced themselves as the King of Dogs and the Lord of Birds. I was in a fortress and main base of operations for the two men's war against the Queen of Cats. They told me I shared here affinity with cats, and that she wanted to kill me and take out a possible rival. My powers are weak now and I can barely control cats, but eventually they'll develop enough to rival her's. I was rescued so that they may use me as a weapon, I could undermine her powers and give them the edge they need to win.
I've been kept here for 40 days now. While I'm free to walk around the castle I'm escorted by sheep dogs and birds watch my every move. Lately I've been confined to my room. I have a marvelous view of the dogs and birds heading to the front. Everyday a column of dogs marches off in eager spirits. Every night, an equally large column of wounded dogs limps back. My room is right above the infirmary, the howls of anguish and the yelps of the doomed keep me awake for hours. The columns marching off have been getting smaller, and the ones marching back are getting larger. I see fewer and fewer birds flitting about. The war goes poorly. The dogs and birds have been fighting amongst eachother. The amiable sheep dog was replaced by a pack of mean wolves and a cassowary.
Tonight, I was awoken by a soft voice repeating "Wake up, wake up." I opened my eyes to see a cat standing on my chest. I jumped up but was hushed. "Silence in golden right now." the cat began "The Queen apologizes for the excessive forced used earlier, it really was over the top but you were incapable of understanding us at the time. The Queen wishes to have you in her palace. She is an old woman, and here years are numbered. While twice as powerful as her adversaries, thanks to her age, she is almost 80, and needs an heir. Come with me, we can smuggle you out and take you to the palace."
"I'm not sure I trust you." I proclaimed.
"That's understandible, but we're your best bet for survival. The dogs and birds have lost, their line has collapsed, the cheetahs have the area surrounded. There is a rift in the alliance. The Lord of Birds is retreating, and wishes to take you away with him. He's really bad at keeping a secret, since everyone knows and the King of Dogs wants to kill you. You can't return to Sanctuary either, as you were declared an enemy of the species and had your humanity formally revoked. If you could make it to their trenches alive you'll be shot on sight. Hurry now, with me. If you run away with the birds and are inevitably captured when the birds get intercepted no mercy shall be shown to you."
So now here I am. The cassowary was killed outside by the sound of it. I can see the King of Dogs marching through the courtyard with a group of wolves. I can here dogs and birds fighting out in the hallway. My only choice appears to be with the Queen of Cats, and I don't by that "excessive force" story. I fear this may be the end for me. | 2016-12-30T12:22:20 | 2016-12-30T11:51:08 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] The dead spinning in their graves is a real thing and now used to generate electricity. Your job is to come up with the best ideas to piss off the deceased in order to maximise energy production. | I'm the head of Post-Mortem Power Operations at Devil's Tower, Wyoming, and we have a problem: Our power output is steadily dropping-- we're just not pissing off enough dead people.
I'm currently in a board room with six subordinates, one of whom is monitoring D.P.O. percentages. D.P.O. means, "Dead Power Output", which is how we determine who's spinning in their graves, and who's not. If they're not, it's my team's job to come up with ideas on how to get them spinning again.
. . .
"All right, who stopped spinning? Our power output is down another ten percent."
"William Shakespeare, sir."
"Contact someone in Hollywood, and see about my script where I turn 'Macbeth', into a musical comedy using child actors. That should generate some juice."
"Sir, Mark Twain just stopped spinning."
"He did? I thought we'd have an endless source of power from that guy. Any ideas?"
"What did Mark Twain write, sir?"
". . . Okay, no ideas from that guy. Anyone else?"
"We could turn 'Huckleberry Finn', into a burlesque show?"
"Maybe market a set of exclusive 'Mark Twain' enema kits?"
"Whoa! We just got a three-percent power spike from Mark Twain!"
"You! Go ahead with that enema kit idea! We now have another three percent; now we just need to piss off one more dead person to get back up to minimal operating power."
"How's about Betty White memorial enema kits?"
". . . she's still alive, and moreover, we already used the enema kit idea. You didn't know about her and Mark Twain-- get out of this room. Now, you-- can we squeeze more juice out of Walt Disney?"
"Nope. He's been running at maximum capacity ever since 1984."
"Eisner?"
"Yep."
"President Ronald Reagan?"
"He's dead?"
". . . He's been dead for a while."
"Hmmm . . . you, start writing a fake tell-all book that Reagan and Russian Prime Minister Gorbachev were closeted homosexual lovers in a secret leather daddy gay sex brothel in Germany."
"WHOA! WE JUST GOT A TWENTY PERCENT POWER SPIKE FROM RONALD REAGAN!"
". . . All right, we run with the book. That should keep us going for at least another two years. How are our current numbers?"
"Thanks to Ronald Reagan, we're now **over** the minimum threshold by another fourteen percent."
"That's good for now. Have more ideas on standby for tomorrow, people."
"Sean Connery?"
". . . still not dead. And didn't I just tell you to leave the room?" | It was a fucked up job.
Not in most people's eyes, though. Not now. Maybe they had seen it that way when the first coffin had been hooked up to the generator and they insulted the hunk of bones and meat inside. But when someone tells you that they can give you free energy and keep you living the kind of life you want to live, it gets easier to stop asking questions and turn a blind eye to just where all that energy came from.
But it was easy to realize just how fucked up it was if you thought about it enough. Which was almost all the time if you were any good--the kind of gravespinner worth their salt.
There were plenty who did it half-assed. I knew a good number of them. They were the ones who went for the cheap shocks. The Miley Cyrus strips in concert, legalize gay marriage, Trump-Putin orgy fest kind of shocks. Easy turns. Small tricks and gimmicks to get bursts of energy.
They were so simplistic. But then, the dead hated a lot of things, and they were easy to turn. I guess even death didn't make people any less petty.
But those were surges--the kind of nighttime spectacle you needed to get through the off hours and store enough energy from the turbines until the solar grid took over. It was the work of the bro-code macho man who became a gravespinner so he could walk into bars, buy every woman in there a drink and say, without even bullshitting, that he wasn't allowed to tell anyone what he did.
It was disgusting, but I was okay with that. Because they took care of the kinds of power needs that spinners like me didn't want to have to deal with.
What we did was art. Even if the only people who would ever see it that way were other spinners.
While the bros were shocking the zed-nation with their spectacles, spinners like me were working in the background. We understood that we could have unlimited energy if we did something so heinous, that once even the dead realized what we were doing, they'd spin their graves until the end of times.
It started out innocent. Banning cremation, creating generating cemeteries, building up the infrastructure. Normal stuff, or at least the kind of stuff a power a power company might to to keep a tight grip on the source of the product.
But then the suits wanted us to start, what they called, "expanding the power base."
Had a lot of people quit over that one. Never heard of any of them living out the rest of the year. They're probably part of one of the cores at the new perpetual generating station, spinning as people like me did the things they refused to do. Realizing they died for nothing.
But unlike a handful of spinners, who were mostly off the grid types anyway, killing whole swathes of the population is a more difficult task. You couldn't just go and massacre towns or dump waste in a bunch of rivers and oceans. Too uncontrollable, too dangerous.
We had to have discretion. Winks and nudges in high places. Shifts of policies and the people in power. Delays in research of vaccines. Firing up ethnic tensions in two neighboring regions.
They were all just little bits. Here and there. Innocuous on their own, maybe. I admit I might have started a bush war or two, but the rest of the things I did were innocent enough on their own. But on the whole, it was genius.
Now, while most people watch the news and they see terrorists and famines and diseases, people like me only smile and think how good of a job we're doing. About how many generating stations we'd be able to build. About the fat bonus we'd get at the end of the year.
And the last realization was the greatest. Even pissed me off a little. Eventually, the dead would all realize what was happening. An entire industry that used the dead to generate electricity, purposefully inducing epidemics, wars, and starvation for the sole purpose of using those future dead bodies to generate unending power.
Yeah, we were looking to put those showboating bros out of business. If the dead were furious at what we were doing, they'd just keep spinning and spinning.
I guess I was mostly pissed off I hadn't thought of it first. Could have been one of the suits myself, making millions, sitting on an uncrowded beach in Jamaica. But I made good money. Hush money, is what most of it is, I think. And when I am thinking about it, all I can really say is it was a fucked up job.
___
*Thanks for reading! Check out /r/chrisbryant for more of my stuff.*
| 2016-09-26T20:58:02 | 2016-09-26T16:22:47 | 275 | 181 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | To my oldest friend,
It seems we have nothing much to say to each other when we meet. Our conversations are prompt and direct. We no longer share secrets or take an interest in the other's life.
It is a sullen and disheartening realization that we are not who we were ten, twenty years ago.
I miss the days of doing nothing with you.
You know I will always love you and consider you my brother. I hope to talk to soon.
| I don't think I've ever seen your hair put up in a bun//
After knowing you for all these years I thought I saw every side to you//
But then I realised there were more sides I've never seen done//
And now I wish that I truly got to know you// | 2017-11-05T23:46:31 | 2017-11-05T22:33:24 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] In the near future, the secret to time travel has been discovered - in order to travel back into the past there needs to be a 'receiving station' at the other end - explaining why nobody from the future has been observed up 'til now. The first such 'station' is about to be completed.
This prompt was spurred by a remark by Stephen Fry in the BBC series QI, in which he mentioned this concept. I like the idea of the first 'receiving station' being completed, thereby marking the earliest point in time it'll ever be possible to travel back to. I like the idea of people gathering round the machine as the 'on' switch is thrown, waiting to see who or what will emerge. | Dr. Mathers stood by his machine, hand resting on a small red lever on its side. He was surrounded by peers, politicians, media, friends, and family. Decades of work had lead to this. They almost lost their research center on Mars a few months back, and nobody thought Chronos Labs could make the rebound and finish their machine. Through hard work and preservation, they managed. Cameras zoomed in on Dr. Mathers as he prepared to speak.
"Hello everybody, I'd like to thank you all for showing up! We here at Chronos are so excited to finally be here, and begin to change the world 'One second at a time'." The crowd chuckles at the mention of the lab's motto. "Anyways, whatever happens when this switch flips will change our world, and possibly our universe, forever. At the very least, here's what we can expect. We have made preparations so that in approximately two years, our sending station will send back Dr. Renn to this time, as by that time we can be *assured* that the technology is safe. So, is everybody ready?"
The crowd shifted behind their protective clothing and glasses, with a chorus of yes and a sea of thumbs up ensuing. Dr. Mathers smiled, and flipped the switch. There was a flash of light. Everyone recoiled by the sudden burst. After about a minute, the light subsided. At the bottom of the platform, a small metal box remained. The outside was scarred with burns.
Confused, Dr. Mathers picked the box up. The crowd watched incredulously as he opened it and produced a small paper note. Their curiosity grew as Dr. Mathers produced a grim expression. He staggered backwards, then collected himself. "Uh... A-apparently there was a... an error. With the machine we have here. Not completely safe, it seems, yes. Luckily, ourselves from the future have... presented us with instructions on how to fix it." Dr. Mathers looked at the crowd expressionless. "I'm afraid that's all that we have for now, we need to fix the machine. We did receive word from the future, though, which is monumental. Thank you all for coming, and we'll keep everyone updated on what's next." Without another word, Dr. Mathers retreated from the stage.
Dr. Mathers pored over the note back in his lab. *Destroyed... Life in the solar system destroyed by a pulsar... Dear god...* He paced back and forth. Nobody survived. The note was sent just before the destruction of the solar system, one year from next month. This meant something, though. This was a warning. With it was all of the research and progress made by a different Dr. Mathers, one who perished with his universe. Not before sending his progress to his past self, though. By the looks of the papers at the bottom of the box, this had happened at least a dozen other times. Dr. Mathers sat down and rubbed his eyes. He began to read. | "Here we go," said Doug, his hand over the big purple switch. "The world's first time travel reception station. Anyone want to say a few words?"
The head of the research program tugged his scraggly white beard.
"Let her, uh, let 'er rip, as the kids say," he said. "No, wait -- just want to say thank you, to everybody who contributed: Doug, me, and Scruffy the janitor."
Scruffy tipped his hat, leaned on his broom.
"Scruffy didn't do shit," he grumbled.
"Scruffy helped keep the lab clean," said the white-bearded scientist. "Thank you, Scruffy. Future generations will honor you for your contributions. Let 'er rip, I say!"
Doug flipped the switch.
There was a barely perceptible hum as the microturbines spun to life.
Then an infinite number of time travelers from an infinite number of times in an infinite number of possible futures came roaring through the gap, filling the room, filling the town, filling the state, filling the planet, filling the *solar system,* all in a literal instant, an inconceivable onslaught of human body matter packed to the maximum possible density.
Everyone died.
Then the gigantic sphere of humanity began to contract in on itself, titanic gravitic forces causing spurts and fusion-bomb explosions, sending bodies from the very extreme outer edges of the glob careening in all directions like a calling card that read "don't build a time travel reception station," while all the matter that had once been the Sol system contracted and shrank and vanished behind the event horizon of a truly gruesome black hole.
*****
*Thanks for reading! If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)!* | 2016-02-01T06:26:02 | 2016-02-01T05:48:57 | 251 | 99 |
[WP] After months of finding small knickknacks placed on your back porch, you've found the culprit. It's a small mouse living under your house. You go into the crawlspace and find a shrine made of several of your socks and pictures of you. Out of a dark corner a mouse approaches you, trembling. | I crouched down, slowly onto the cold, wet floor. It was nearing the end of Autumn and the ground had been slick with dew these last few cold mornings. Carefully I knelt and looked into the hole where I knew it was hiding.
The mouse stepped forward into the dim light that pierced through the boards and into the crawl space. Light blue paint peeled from the walls and a small bed of grass and straw was in the corner of the makeshift room the mouse had fashioned for itself. It wore a small hat and shirt which appeared to have been crafted from and sleeve of a top I had thrown out ages ago. Its eyes were large and black, staring into mine with total fear; they were wide and it's brows pointed upwards. The only thing in the room which was well looked-after was the small shrine of my things. They were arranged as one might find a tapestry hung from a castle wall, and they were well cared for. The mouse must take some pride in these treasures it owned.
The mouse reached up and took off its hat, holding it to its chest, almost hiding behind it. Its small whiskers bristled and it took a few more small steps forward. He spoke "erm... I was not expecting you would find me".
I was not shocked that he could speak, not after I saw it could make and keep a small household out of my discarded rubbish. "Yes," I said, "else you would not have taken my favourite socks".
"Ah," he said, "you can have them back. I will not be needing them soon, in all likelihood."
"Why?" Asked I, "what is wrong?"
"It is getting cold. Colder than I had expected. I moved here to escape the cold, as your pipes help keep my meagre home warm, but soon I fear even that will not be enough..." He trailed off, and a small tear formed in his eye.
"Well, I suppose you could live in my house with me, as long as you promise to ask before you take anymore-"
The mouse ran forward before I had time to react. I was ready to swat him away, but found him cuddling my cold nose. "Thank you," he said. "I have been harassed by all manner of animals in these last few weeks. You're offer of sanctuary is all I needed."
I reached into his room took back my things, as well as the small cooker and bed he had made. "C'mon," I said "let's go inside."
This was all 5 years ago. The mouse has lived exceptionally long, sharing my house with me. He grows older now, but our bond is strong. When he leaves me with this house, it will feel a little colder. | Finally, at four in the morning, I am able to set Sophie down in her crib without any wails of defiance.
My nine week old daughter has been rather fussy lately, keeping me up at night the past couple of weeks with diaper changes, feeding requests, and all kinds of infant needs. Unfortunately, as a single mother, I have absolutely no help. My parents refuse to aid a "low-life teen mom who got knocked up", and Sophie's father left long before birth, so I'm on my own. Even though I struggle sometimes, I've been able to keep our heads above the water.
The only issue I've been unable to solve is what I assume to be a stalker. The minute I found out I was pregnant, I started receiving strange "gifts". Every morning, without fail, there are trinkets, formula, and all sorts of baby related items just laying on my back porch. There is never a letter or any names detailing who is responsible.
At first I thought it was my parents finally accepting Sophie and I, but when I reached out to them via phone call, I was hung up on. I contacted the police as well, but after a short investigation they found nothing, not even finger prints. Per the police's suggestion, I set up a surveillance camera and planned to check it daily. Hopefully this would work.
To my dismay, when I went over the footage the next morning, the video cut out just before a pacifier was placed. Ever since then, the same routine has occurred. Check, cut, delivery.
After Sophie was born though, the gifts started to get weirder. Some of the strangest items we received were: bras that are two sizes too big, homemade "baby food", and a blue baby nappie stained with a sticky, dark substance.
Since there has been no actual conflict or any leads, I decided to leave the issue on the back burner. I need to focus on raising my daughter. Instead of constantly worrying, I just throw the gifts out now and think nothing of it. Hell, sometimes I even keep a few of the pricey gifts; you can't be picky when you're a poor, single mother. This was my morning ritual for the past month, but today is where I draw the line.
When I went out on the porch this morning to check for my presents, I found something so vile that I couldn't keep my breakfast down. We received a baby doll that was dirty, missing its arms, and had Sophie's name scribbed on the forehead. The eyes were gauged out and it had the most putrid smell radiating from it. Panic arose in me. I have to take action now; my baby is in jeopardy.
To catch the culprit, I have to be vigilant. After putting Sophie to bed tonight, I'm staying on my porch, and hiding behind a lounge chair with a baseball bat. My plan is to hopefully catch a glimpse of whoever is entering my backyard, chase them, beat the pulp out of them, and call the police again. It sounds risky, but I'm running out of options.
Around five AM, I started to slip into unconsciousness when I heard the scuttering of tiny claws. Great, I have mice. But then I heard something even weirder: the sound of something heavy being dragged across the wood of the back porch.
I grabbed the flashlight next to me and hovered it over to where I heard the noise. Immediately, my jaw dropped open. There, paralyzed in my flashlight's beam, were eight mice carrying a pair of baby slippers. The shoes hit the floor with a soft thud, and the mice scrambled away, taking refuge under my house.
I charged after them and got on my hands and knees, crawling through the dirt and mud caked crawlspace. It was dark and wet, and there was a sickly sweet smell emenating from deeper within. As I explored farther into the crawlspace, a chilling scene was pieced together before me.
Dozens of Sophie and I's socks were strategically placed into the shape of a pentagram, and pictures of us that I thought I lost were scattered around with MY scented candles next to them. In the middle of the pentagram lay one of Sophie's stuffed animals, a pink mouse.
Horrified, I stumbled backwards onto my behind. Was this some kind of sick joke?
As I rubbed the tears welling up in my eyes, a trembling mouse appeared from the depths and approached me.
"Your holiness, it is with such respect that I welcome you and thank you for coming to aid us in our dilemma. We are fortunate that you have finally accepted our offerings,"
"Excuse me?!" I replied.
Am I going insane? Mice don't speak! Your holiness? What the hell is going on? I started to claw at my forearms out of confusion and fear, pricking drops of blood.
"Yes! That is perfect! Just what we need to help our sick queen! Now that our suitors have access to the blood of a fertility god, she will finally bear healthy children! Thank you, thank you!"
The mouse began to bow repeatedly, and then squeaked out to his comrades. Before I knew it, I was covered in hundreds of mice, their claws scratching at my body and drawing more blood. I tried to smack them away, but it was no use, there was way too many. The weight of the vermin kept me pinned down. They lapped the blood up, feeding on my DNA, ravenous for it. I screamed and pleaded but they never stopped, scratching and gnawing until they reached bone. I was being eaten alive by mice and there was no one to help.
A particularly violent mouse chomped down on my left eyelid, and I remembered the mangled doll with its missing eyes. Sophie. Oh my god, they were going to go for Sophie next. My last thoughts before my life ceased to exist were of my daughter, and I prayed to God to keep her safe. I started to let go, and slip into death's arms, when a terrified infant's cry shrieked out above me, and I knew I was too late. | 2019-06-15T15:28:45 | 2019-06-15T13:02:39 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] The lottery is a system secretly put in place so the government can find and capture time travellers and psychics before they cause major problems. As someone who won the jackpot by pure chance, you’re struggling to prove that you are neither of those to the suits that showed up at your door. | When Yolanda Vega-Castro read the final number of the Mega Ultra Power Super Intenational Event, which I everyone just calls “The Moopsie”, I couldn’t believe my luck. In nobody have ever gotten all 30 numbers in consecutive order before. And I knew my life would change forever because winning $1b was life changing.
I didn’t dare tell a soul. I wanted to surprise everyone - and ghost a few others.
When I went to collect my winnings, I thought I would be offered the routine treatment the runners up all get. Big paper check, shaking hands with Vega-Castro, photo op with the Mayor. That kind of thing. I wanted to just sign the papers, collect the money and get home and tell my girlfriend.
Right after I presented my winning ticket, the lottery officials did some kind of verification to make sure it was legit. They escorted me into a random office with a desk with snacks, bottles of water and one of those fancy coffee machines.
It was damn good coffee. I passed the time playing candy crush for a bit until I realized something. Money was no object! So I dropped $100 on extras and wilded out on the game like I’d never done before.
But when the door finally opened, I wasn’t greeted by Vega-Castro or any one else I imagined. Instead I get a quartet of rejects from the men in black with a warrant for my arrest.
The first agent sat down across from me and handed me a sheet of paper while he smiled a shit eating grin. It was a warrant.
“I don’t understand. You’re arresting me because I won The Mupsie? Is this a joke”
It wasn’t a joke.
The other three agents were busily filing the room with what looked to be big protective cases. The kind you use to move around sensitive equipment.
“Mr. Williams. We’re at a loss as to how you were able to guess all 30 numbers.” He said, flatly, grin unchanged. “And to guess them in order too. That’s only possible if you cheated. And if you cheated, jail will be the least of your concerns. “
In that moment I froze. All I could hear were the footsteps of the other agents as they walked in and out of the room, and the clattering of equipment as they put it down.
After regaining my composure, I asked as calmly as I could “How could I have cheated? This is only my third time playing and I’ve always played the same numbers.”
“That’s what we’re here to find out”.
In that moment I remembered a familiar refrain “Lawyer up and shut up”. I slammed my hands on the desk and yelled “No! I want a lawyer right now.”
Fuck that. I’m rich now. They can’t do this to me. I know my rights and I wasn’t going to get railroaded into whatever the hell this was.
The other three agents stopped in their tracks at my outburst and just looked at the lead agent in silence. After a moment, the lead agent, got up in frustration and handed me a cell phone with a curt “Fine”, and he and the others began leaving the room.
“We’ll continue this with your lawyer present.”, he added.
End Part 1 | I couldn’t believe it when I went to check my ticket
Winner , jackpot, 70 million.
My life was set! No more work , no more stressing over bills, nothing! All this from a ticket I just found on the ground the day of the draw!
I made the phone call to the lottery centre , I had to come in for my photo op with the giant cheque , I didn’t want any publicity though , the date was one week from Thursday , I can manage 10 more days of being just middle class I guess.
The following few days I kept noticing the same people , it could not of gone public I won yet… nothing was announced…. But I could swear these people were the same… I spent the time to pick out the house I really wanted , and a few other things for once the money cleared
When the time finally came it was not just a photo op, it was like an interrogation but I don’t remember any of it but it’s like dejavu I swear it happened. But no one believed me , they said I went inside , did my photo and walked out , but I have these memories that feel like weeks, yelling , questioning…. It didn’t make sense to me but I shrugged it off as nightmares maybe since I was fine and everyone says I was only inside for maybe 30 min.
I bought the bigger house I wanted , and moved in quickly , I had mostly just gotten settled when a package arrived addressed to me…. From me? Inside was a usb drive
I plugged it in , it had photos and videos , I opened the video called “First”, the man in the video looked like me but much older
“ hey James , it’s James , yes I really am you but I’m also not you as you are now, you see the whole lottery thing it’s just a front for an organization these days, they call themselves the time keepers, they have been trying to hunt me down because in 50 years time when backwards time travel is created they were sent back to stop paradox’s from forming”
“ but you see , I found a loophole , you are not a time traveller yet so they can’t do anything to you , and me , well , I don’t exist anymore after this moment, unless you also have something to protect you from self annihilating in a paradox then the universe will try to correct your existence, these agents will have it but I destroyed mine on purpose, I lived my life being poor and alone but by doing this then maybe you can live a better one , now you will be safe but oh boy they will try to get that info out of you in any way they can , for now check the videos attached as they will be recorded from the lottery centre , im not sure what will be on them as by the time I give you this ticket , I will have changed reality and vanished , I wish you the best , well me the best , anyways , after you watch the videos you must destroy them thoroughly, the information in your head im showing you won’t make the paradox but if anyone sees these it can create a new paradox so use that against them”
Part 2 below | 2022-10-09T17:34:05 | 2022-10-09T15:20:04 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back. | Dear Anna,
I must say that your letter was an unexpected delight. It was quite charmingly written, and I commend your command of grammar and syntax. All of the items you requested will be easy enough to provide. However, I cannot cure dyslexia. That is was one the many things my Father cursed humanity with during one of his meanie head moods. You have my sincerest apologies for that. Lastly, you asked for a pen pal and a spell book. If you are amenable, I am quite happy to be your pen pal, and to teach you witchcraft. Those mean girls at your school won't stand a chance.
Please do not send a response in the mail, as I have an email addres. I have found email to be a more efficient means of communication. If you wish to continue our correspondence, please email me at morningstar@gmail.hell.
Sincerely,
Lucifer | Dear child,
Finally, someone broke the spell. I was trapped into the hell and the only way to get out from here it was receiving a letter earmarked for Santa. Yes.... I'm the real Santa, and I was a victim of a spell.
Because I was trapped here, every children's parents were charged to do my duties. But now thanks to you I'm free to go back to the north pole and start my work again. I will fulfil all of your requests. Moreover, I'll give you the possibility to have a ride in my sledge. Feel free to ask whatever you want. | 2018-10-28T14:29:07 | 2018-10-28T13:06:41 | 59 | 23 |
[WP] write the best story you can in 5 sentences or less | His first time in prison, he was only 15
It made him hard and it made him mean
When they let him out, he was a mess.
Four more times before a judge, until a bullet in the chest
Meant that his life could be told in 5 sentences or less
Edit: Formatting and typos | The self exists in relation to a singular locus, of which there are three variations at any given time: the *is*, *is not*, and the *should be*. Normally, these psychic structures labor in tandem, much like the machinations of a wristwatch. But if the self begins to confound these articulations, pervert their functions and forms -- it ceases to exist. It is no longer a thinking thing, only a featureless, enveloping void.
The self then encounters the phenomenon of *suicide*.
**Edit**: feedback would be greatly appreciated! | 2015-08-09T12:17:27 | 2015-08-09T11:06:09 | 76 | 12 |
[WP] Give me the history textbook from your latest game of Civilization V. | The earliest known city was founded on the coast, though it appears that the original settlers actually travelled there from one or two hexes away.
Perhaps they were drawn by the sugar which grows there, or the river. Most likely, both.
They named their city "Carthage". From this early time, we know very little. The city grew and there were some minor skirmishes with unknown people; probably roaming tribes. The remains of some of their camps have been found, and the odd trinket. But nothing more is known of these people or the battles which they fought, other than they were exterminated ruthlessly by Carthage.
We know that the first Carthaginians arrived in the court of Attilla the Hun shortly after the founding of Carthage, and that Shaka sent representatives to Carthage not long afterwards.
We can see slightly later evidence of Shaka's warriors descending from one direction, and Attilla's from another.
There is evidence of a few large battles around Carthage at this time.
And that's it. That's all there is. We shall probably never know what happened; but legend has it that the inhabitants of Carthage simply vanished into thin air: taken by the ancient god "Ragequit". | “And so,” Geldaramesh, history teacher and beer aficionado cleared his throat. “We come to an important chapter in the history of our world. The razing of Memphis. Turn to chapter seven, children.”
Geldaramesh waited as the children turned the pages in their textbooks, paper rustling. The header of the chapter was resplendent with a full colour illustration of King Nebakanezer, standing heroic and strong-jawed over the smoking ruins of a city as a group of scantily clad women lamented at his feet. Hardly suitable material for children, thought Geldaramesh, but at least this edition didn’t have the picture of him standing on the dismembered bodies of Egyptian soldiers.
“Ok,” said Geldaramesh. “Who here can tell me how Memphis was founded?”
The room was a sea of hands. Geldaramesh peered to the back, and pointed to a boy. “Bilit.”
“The Egyptians were filthy lying dogs, sir.”
Some of the boys cheered.
Geldaramesh sighed. “That is true, yes, but I’m looking for a more precise answer than that.”
Bilit looked confused. “They wanted to take our beautiful babylonian women and steal our superior technology, sir?”
“While that is very likely true, Bilit, it is sadly irrelevant,” Geldaramesh waved for the others to put their hands down. “As those of you who have read the book may already know, Memphis was established by Egypt as a staging post for their military. The Babylonian Empire at this point already extended to the East coast of the interpennine sea, having cleansed the area of barbarian tribes, but Egypt refused to acknowledge this.”
Geldaramesh turned to the blackboard, and began to sketch a map in chalk, marking Babylonian territory in blue and the Egyptian interlopers in yellow.
“In 1582, Egypt sent over their first group of settlers with the intent of establishing a city on the coast. Thankfully, our army captured them, and they were subject to execution. Egypt claimed that these interlopers were acting independently, and sued for peace. However, in the confusion following the execution, the Egyptians established a second settlement on the coast. Memphis.
Relations with Memphis were fraught from the beginning, as its only passage to the mainland was a narrow mountain pass, occupied by the city of Dur-Kurigalzu, which refused its inhabitants passage or trade, and scouts had spotted military units in the pass and in the sea along the south coast. Nebakanezer grew suspicious of the lying Egyptian dogs, and set the generation’s greatest minds into building a weapon that could rid us of this menace once and for all.”
Geldaramesh looked out at the class. “And what was this weapon children?”
They replied as one. “Gunpowder!”
| 2015-02-11T14:48:37 | 2015-02-11T14:31:03 | 173 | 87 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | At first we didn't understand how it was possible, 90% of the population just dropped dead and no one knew how, there must be a reason those of us that survived were given the right to keep on living but what could it be...
We searched for a connection between us yet it seemed to be as random is it can be until we finally arrived at the conclusion, we all forwarded that one chain message that said we would die if we wouldn't forward it | Saying that religious belief is what brought humanity to a near end, a near end where The Falling occured wouldn't exactly be correct to say. It took until 2085, fifteen years after the instantaneous, near apocolypse that left Earth's population at just over seven billion to find the only possible explanation as to why.
The Falling had occured in an instant in which 90% of humanity simply fell and died. This would have been repairable, except the survivor's memories had been wiped, where only just enough memory remained to recognize the glossy stares of their family as they lay dead on the ground, but not enough to find their own homes. The Falling lead to many corpses littering the streets, many more than you may assume: During the fifty year reign of peace following the down fall of America that caused all the nations to finally unite, populations across the globe were able to grow exponentially. A new path of science (or previously less investigated) had provided the technologly to not just feed the entire population with ease, but to house a much larger one on Earth than previously thought possible. The survivors of The Falling had to reassemble their history all over again to discover this for themselves though.
It took many years to rediscover old technologies whose secrets died with their discoverers and practitioners of the old days. Even more to begin research as to why such a tragedy occured. Their final conclusion should have been much easier to arrive to, something so obvious it seemed it should have taken days for a species so connected. But this was now an alienated, devasted group of people left on the planet. Something not physically evident caused even more skepticism and denial.
There came a point where mankind finally had to concede to the proposterous idea: The 10% of the remaining population shared many different religious beliefs prior to The Falling. But only those that truly did not believe in their respective God remained alive. Many people that claimed they were religious and were dedicated to their practices lived through the falling; having never truly believed no matter how repressed the blasphemous thought was. On the other end, many outspoken and self proclaimed athiests hadn't survived. It could only be presumed that the latter was actually the case though as there was no proof.
When this "Finding" had become common knowledge among humanity, the only logical conclusion amidst this new idea was that there was in fact a God. Perhaps he was unhappy with the way people went about worshipping Him. This would be corrected. The fear of God was now more powerful and evident than it had ever been among men. This caused a near instant perspective change among Earth and people once again began worship, using no idols this time or history to a certain God. They simply worshipped Him through their own individual methods. The vast majority did at least, a certain few that were the most stubborn and unfaithful still remained deniers.
Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait...
| 2016-10-22T03:50:18 | 2016-10-22T02:36:52 | 56 | 38 |
[WP] There's healing, there's necromancy, then there's a grey area in between and that is what you specialize in. | I suppose if you'd ask me what I do, I'd call myself an ethical necromancer. But that's not entirely true. I'm no lunatic running around in robes dyed with the blood of the innocents, raising hundreds of dead to serve as minions. But I'm no vitamancer either. I'm the guy in the grey middle region between those two fields of arcane study.
Ironically, they draw from essentially the same source of power, life. Vitamancy is the magic of healing and life, if you want to mend bones, cure illnesses, safely deliver babies, and all that jazz, that is your field. Necromancy is the magic of killing and death, if you want to be a giggling loner with a tower full of skeletal servants, and more importantly, no tenure, then that is what you study. Both draw from life, but in radically different ways.
The middle, well, does something else. I do heal. But I do it somewhat differently. An essential component of classic necromancy is that you bind and enslave the risen dead to serve you indefinitely. I do all the things that necromancers do, except that one important part of the ritual that causes the dead to suffer in slavery until you are slain. Instead, I raise them up, and heal their spirits. Using vitamancy on the dead, I heal the damages inflicted upon their souls. I bring together long lost relatives to give families a chance to say goodbye. I raise victims from the dead to act as witnesses at their murderer's trials. If they have been desecrated by the foul acts of evil necromancers or curses upon their graves, I help them find their way back to peace. I speak to the haunting ghosts and wraiths, I offer them that I use vitamancy to remove their pain, suffering which lasted beyond the decay of the physical.
In times of war, though only if my home is under attack, I go to the infirmaries. I soothe the pains of the dying soldiers, and I ask them if they are willing to keep fighting. If they agree, I use my powers over vita and necromancy to let them die in a way where there will be no pain, no pain at all, as everything they are dissolve. Then, in the gentlest of manners, I bring them back. They take up their swords and shields again. To protect their people, to keep fighting against the enemy. Unlike the unthinking, unfeeling, undead armies of most necromancers, these dead still have control, still have something to fight for. They do not stop unless torn to bits in battle. When the war ends, they go home to say their goodbyes, before experiencing a final death, surrounded by their loved ones.
Both schools look down on me, necromancers for not taking control of the dead and leading armies of skeletal warriors into battle. The vitamancers hate me, for I use their art on the dead, and they believe that those who remain after death are cursed and deserving of the suffering that there is in undeath. I think that both of them have only an incomplete picture of what their sphere of magic entails.
I heal the dead, I ask them to help the living. I steal no one from their rest as a necromancer, nor do I focus merely on the body as the vitamancers do. I am the middle ground.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | “Hey there doc. Mind coming down to the village clinic? We have someone who needs some help and it’s right up your alley.”
“Sure. Let me get my gear and I’ll walk with you.” I said as I went to my closet and grabbed my gear.
With a small black bag in tow, I walked with the village elder down the only road towards a large house.
“So what am I looking at today?” I said as we passed the farms on the outskirts of the village.
“Wait. We need an animal here, alive. A chicken will do just fine. Be a friend and get one from the farm here.” I said to the elder. He nodded and ran to the farmhand nearby before discussing with him. After a few moments he had a chicken in a cage, clucking contently as we continued on our path.
“Well, an older man came in with a green leg. Said his cut never healed that he got from a fall onto some jagged metal. The infection has spread through his leg in a few days. Feels weak. Vomiting nonstop. Can’t walk anymore. He also has a terrible cough that has been bringing blood up ever since winter.” The elder said to me.
“Its practically almost the solstice. He didn’t bother coming in any sooner? I know his leg is lame but surely he could have made his way down.” I replied as we started to reach some of the houses.
“Well, he’s not too keen on the idea. Healers were too far out of his budget. His faith is against necromancy as well, so that wasn’t an option.” He said as he turned onto another street.
I followed him as we now were walking on top of cobblestone instead of dirt. The clacking of our heels onto the steps broke the calm silence around us.
“I swear, some people would rather die then have more time with their loved ones. Doesn’t believe in necromancy. How selfish.” I commented as we approached a large house.
In the front of the house, beggars lined up around the doors, accosting anyone nearby.
“help sire, we need healing, food, and shelter! Please you must help us! We are skint but will work for health!” one shouted.
“Help! Help! My leg! Please sir! My leg!” another wailed.
We walked past the beggars as we ended the doorway of the clinic.
I opened the door and took my shoes off before making my way past some of the beds.
I noticed familiar faces as I walked past. The healers who were taught traditional medical schools. They were the most desired of medical professionals. Nearby, the necromancer were preparing rituals necessary to reanimated those who passed.
At the very end of the long hallway, 2 beds were unattended. These were my beds to care for. To my left, the bed was empty. The sheets neatly folded into tidy piles, ready to be set for the next patient. I placed my bag onto the bed before turning around.
To my right, there was the patient the elder mentioned to me.
He was heavily breathing as there were splatters of blood on his chest. The elder approached him to see if he was still alive.
“I’m alive, don’t you check on me yet!” the patient barked out to the elder.
“well hello there, I’m told you have a bit of trouble with a cough and a green leg.” I said to the patient as I lifted his blanket and observed his leg.
The green had begun to rise up t his hips and start traveling down towards his other leg. I pressed down and felt the skin. The texture was like a rotten fruit, mushy and sensitive.
“Yes, seems like it. I can’t afford a healer so if you’re after money, you’re out of luck.” He said as he wiped some blood from the edge of his mouth.
“No sire, not a healer" I said calmly.
His eyes narrowed and he looked in anger towards me.
“I said I don’t believe in necromancy. Its against the faith!” he yelled out.
“please sire, there are people sleeping. I’m not a necromancer either. I’m in a grey area between the 2.” I replied.
His anger subsided before looking at me in confusion.
“Have you ever heard of terminality?” I said as I inspected his leg some more.
“No. Can’t say I have.” He replied.
“I work on those who are too far gone for the healers to fix, but not quite a cold body. Give me someone within their last weeks of life, and someone just deceased, I work with those. And judging from how fast the green has spread, you aren’t much for this world.” I commented.
I turned around and reached into the bag I had brought over and began rummaging through.
I pulled a small flask out along with a book. I opened the flask and placed it on the floor before opening the book and turned to a specific page. I turned to the elder and got his attention.
“Would you be so kind as to bring the chicken?”
He nodded and opened the cage and brought the chicken over.
I began reciting a spell from the book as I took the flask and emptied the contents onto his leg, spreading it along any spots where the infection took control. I also rubbed some along his chest and his neck taking care not to aggravate him.
As I finished reciting the spell, the liquid began to glow a bright orange. I took my hand and rubbed the chicken with the remainder of the liquid. The chicken reacted in surprise as it tried to escape.
The glow subsided as the chicken began to slowly calm down.
“All done. I will leave this liquid here for you. Do not wash the chicken or yourself for 2 days and nights.” I said to the man as I placed my book back into the bag.
“what did you do? Why did it glow orange? Why the chicken?” he asked.
“The school of terminality doesn’t necessarily heal in a conventional sense. Healers remove the ailment. Necromancers wait until the ailment is gone. We however, simply move the ailment to another being. Consider us like a transporter. I didn’t heal you, just passed what bothered you to another creature. Watch, in 2 days, this chicken will have your ailments. You will be fully healed.” I said as I began closing my bag up.
“Thank- Thank you! Oh grand sire, bless you. I will make sure to tell everyone of your heroism!” he said with tears in his eyes.
“Not a problem. I simply cannot work with those who are still salvageable is all. If you feel soreness, rub whatever liquid is left. You take care now sire.” I said as I got up and took my bag.
“Uh, grand sire… can I” he asked quietly.
“No, you cannot eat the chicken. When it dies bury it deep underground. The meat is tainted and will kill any who eats it.” I replied without turning around. | 2020-05-14T11:58:04 | 2020-05-14T11:45:12 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] God is actually a divorced couple with shared custody of humanity. Now it's Old Testament's turn to take the kids, and he is not happy with how New Testament has handled the last two millenniums.
Credit to Louis C.K. for the idea. | She looked upon the world her partner had fostered.
Unconditional love, humility, forgiveness, self sacrifice.
What had it accomplished?
Militant states where the police killed without hesitation.
Militant states following misinterpretations of what she had said.
Militant men hating for skin and conflicting interpretations.
Pedophiles bought child slaves, the locals profited.
So many little ones starved without food while so many well fed starved without compassion.
They were soft, greedy, squabbling sycophants.
She looked upon the world her lost love had left her.
Forgiveness? Tolerance of all this?
Fuck that.
The rainbow had never been hers. She had made no promises.
Yet the water had been hers. The flood had been hers.
It would be hers again. | "You're too nice New. I've been telling you that for two thousand years now. You're too nice and these humans are walking all over you. I mean look, there are atheists everywhere. It's like you don't even care. You know what happened last time atheists cropped up during my period of custody? Fire. Golden calf? How about fire. Don't like my rules? How about desert and sky food. Invent sodomy? How about fucking fire! See, you may be the parent they turn to when they want forgiveness, but they'll never mature that way. You mature with fire."
"Tsk tsk," New said from the other line. "I still have them another 1000 years Old. And I'm not sure if you've read Revelation, but...I saved all the learning experiences for last." | 2015-06-05T00:16:23 | 2015-06-04T21:57:16 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible. | The German Army have finally broken the lines surrounding Moscow. The Russian Army, in total disarray, retreats eastward in a heap of terrified cyborg ninjas. Field Marshall Stubenz leads his men into the charred remains of Moscow in his Mercedes Panzer, dead set on being the first to raise their proud colors over the Kremlin, finally taking revenge for WWII, WWIV, WWXII, and WWXIII. For the first time in the last 3 centuries, the Germans will finally seize a victory in a Great War, as after their alliance with Godzilla, and the subsequent surprise attack on America, left only the drunken, bear-mounted hoards of cyborg ninjas in Russia. Their phaser cannons were no match for the German engineering, as the Germans were now so good at managing time, they had harnessed the means to control it, and merely aged their opponents forward or backwards out of existence, which thoroughly spooked the backwards cyborg Russians. It only took a matter of hours to drive them out of Moscow, the culmination of years of struggle, as finally, for the first time since the Middle Ages, the German people will rule the Continent.
The procession comes to a halt, and the Stubenz's trusty Lieutenant, Heinrich turns to him and says, "it's time sir." Stubenz knods in agreement, straightens his uniform and breathes in the moment, as he and his entourage begin to dismount, and begin the long walk into the Kremlin. Suddenly a bright beam of light, the likes of which had faintly ever been seen, strikes the ground only a few meters away.
"Christ is back bitches! Who's ready for a rapture!!!" | It was called the blind luck victory in textbooks. The day when the very earth itself called out to the German's and shouted "NO." The latter from the more poetically minded.
Everyone else calls it idiocy redefined.
Every single weather forecast listed that day as having extremely bad weather. Thunderstorms with high winds, high chance of lightning strikes, and even the possibility of a tornado.
So why did the 17th Reich decide to hold their annual parade in this location? Hubris.
Every leader from their Generals down to Colonels were on hand for the military parade. It was supposed to be the grand party of the millennium. Germany had captured the entirety of mainland Europe and western Russia. It had forced Russia to sign the armistice agreement and had Britain to retreat back to their home country.
No one could have predicted what happened... excluding every meteorologist who predicted what would happen.
The storm blew in from the west bringing the parade to a halt. As if in defiance of mother nature herself, the exposed German leaders took no shelter. They stood on their parade float tall and proud as the rains drenched them and the wind shifted them in place.
The presidential king of Germany strew his sword and plunged it into the float holding it in front of him like a night of old.
Then a tank flew past the float making everyone on the float panic. A second tank flew past as lightning struck the ground revealing an F5 tornado plowing through the link of tanks coming right for the float.
A couple of the tanks had the misguided idea to fire into the tornado. The shells fired closest held their velocity and punched through the tornado flying in random directions. The others were caught by the tornado and started flying off in every direction. One of these shells hit the primary hydro electric dam's power converter shutting off power to the dam's air defense systems.
Even before the tornado swallowed the float up killing 95% of the command structure for the 17th Reich, allied commanders were ordering the air strike on the dam.
Russia broke its armistice agreement and invaded immediately. Cut off without support of its command and logistic structure, the eastern German front folded in a day. The middle eastern coalition invaded through Turkey while allied forces made simultaneous landfalls in the Netherlands, Belgium, and France.
Allied commanders promised the war would be over by Christmas. Germany surrendered on Halloween. | 2017-08-18T06:20:40 | 2017-08-18T05:45:39 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | Strength and Speed are easy to lie about, but you aren’t that lucky. Ironically, you are the one super hero who hasn’t been allowed to go public with your abilities, but it isn’t your fault it’s your stupid idiotic abilities fault.
You have to find a plausible explanation for your ability that can be used as a cover story.
It is the first tenet to protect yourself against the true enemy.
Lady Harmonica.
Don’t let her name fool you, because she is the one that every super hero fears, with a single passing of her hand, she is able to completely destroy her opponents, using her power. Which everyone knows all too well.
It had happened years ago, when Captain Invincible had been the world's most famous hero.
He was said to be unbeatable. It didn’t matter what your power was, because he was invincible. This isn’t some lame ‘trappable’ invincible either. If something resisted his movements, it would simply crumble away.
People had originally tried fighting him with guns and bullets. But they hadn’t worked at all. Ironically, darts and stones had the greatest effect. Their small size and low slow movement, didn’t do much but he at least seemed to feel them.
Eventually people had discovered that something big and slow would work best on him, and so they turned to dropping large objects on him to trap him. However, they would just crumble away, allowing him to walk straight through them.
His power was particularly gruesome when anyone tried to hit him with something living, watching flesh melt away was not something that did good for the average person.
When he was alive, no villain had dared to challenge him.
Until Lady Harmonica, the songstress of death.
She could use her voice to completely dissolve any specific thing, including super hero abilities. There was one catch, she needed to know what their power was in order to destroy it.
Now there was you, the next great hope of humanity. Your power had been estimated to be equal to or greater than Captain Invincibles power, and it had been kept an absolute secret.
You were the luckiest person on the earth. Ironically.
That was, of course, the problem. It was patently obvious that your power was exactly what it sounded like.
One time you had been walking down the street and a gang of criminals had almost run you over. Only to have an actual anvil fall on their heads, crushing them as flat as possible. The fact that someone had been raising an anvil into the air, and a real one at that, was so ludicrous that almost everyone there had realized what had happened in the instant.
If the company didn’t employ a fairly capable mind eraser, everyone would have been talking about it.
So now you are stuck.
Obviously, you couldn’t let anyone know what your power was, because then Lady Harmonica would be able to destroy your ability.
You just had to find a way to explain why random things would happen around you, and then you would be called the greatest hero in the world.
But how could you ever explain it? There really was no pattern to it, it was just random things that would happen without warning to protect you. There wasn’t anything to even explain them. The workers who had been raising the anvil into the air hadn’t even really known what they were doing.
The realization that your ability had drawn two men to a specific location to do a job that neither had been hired to do, and wasn’t actually supposed to happen, was just too much to deal with.
The worst part wasn’t that you had just been dumped with this ability, it was that you were stuck inside the compound until you did have a likely story.
“What do you think?” You look at the rooms only other occupant, it’s your handler and his job is to help you figure out what your cover should be.
“Only thing I can think of is that you have a tiny mind-controlling, time-traveling ally that is also invisible.” He leans his head back, both of you had been trying to figure this problem out for weeks now, and neither of you was getting out of the building until you had a solution. Of course, your handler's memory would be erased so he couldn’t remember what he was doing.
This was a part of his job, and he had learned to live with the fact that he spent long periods of time away from home, and he had massive holes in his memory. Apparently the plan had a one to one deal. For every day he lost, he had a day off. After this job, he was going to have years off.
He deserved them. Apparently, his little kid has now grown up quite a bit in the last couple of years.
You let your head thunk onto the table. It was the only thing either of you could think of.
Before you could react, the door flew open and a man burst into the room. He was a little bald and definitely out of shape, but you recognized him as the one who would bring them food, books, or new games to play.
You hate playing games now.
“Lady Harmonica is attacking the train station. The higher ups are tired of waiting, and they think this is your best bet at taking her out. You up for it new guy?”
Your handler looks at the guy, with an annoyed expression, “Isn’t that a bit reckless?”
“Yes, but they think that she can’t know what his power is, so it’s a good chance that he can take her down. Once she is out of the picture, we don’t need to worry about someone finding out his power.”
“That is ridiculous, there is no way to guarantee that there will never be another person with this power.”
“Kid, it’s risky, but it will get you out of the room, what do you think?” | # Soulmage
**"So... what can you do, power-wise?"** Tanryn gave me a curious look as I paced the vault-room floor.
I looked up, scowling. "Why do you want to know?"
Tanryn gestured at the sealed vault, at the horde of clockwork abominations outside, and said, "You're so confident that you can get us out of here alive," she said calmly. "I still think you're insane if you think you can fight your way through that crowd, and I've made my peace with dying here. But you clearly think otherwise, so... what've you got up your sleeves?"
I gave her a long, considering look. As much as I wished to share the true nature of what I could do with her... no. The knowledge of what I could do—of *how* I could do it—was too dangerous to speak aloud. I was already being hounded by at least one powerful faction for what I knew. I didn't need that knowledge to spread around.
So I lied. "I can make rifts," I said. "I'll pry open a portal back to realspace. Take us back home. No need to fight anyone."
Tanryn pressed her lips together in displeasure. "If you say so," she said.
I sighed. At least she believed me when I said that. Because the true scope of my abilities was much, much more terrifying.
I didn't have the power to open rifts.
I had the power to *give myself more powers.*
If I wanted to open a rift back home, all I had to do was add it to the list of abilities I was attuned to.
Of course, it wasn't as easy as snapping my fingers and willing it to be done. If it was, I would have become an omnipotent god-king a long, long time ago. No, I had to be in the right mental and emotional state if I wanted to attune myself to a new ability. And right now, that meant closing my eyes, calming down, and letting go of my insecurities.
The simple ones came first. Though the army of clockwork demons outside was terrifying, the bunker we were in was secure. There was no need to fear for my physical safety. I felt a burden leave me as my breathing slowed. I was getting closer to attunement. I could feel it.
The harder ones came next. I'd been matching wits against an opponent that wanted nothing more than to steal the secret of attuning new powers, and they had thoroughly outmaneuvered me at every opportunity they had. They'd been the one to trap me here, after all.
But they'd made one crucial mistake, and that was trying to trap a person who could create their own powers on the fly. I would overcome my enemies. I would adapt, and I would get out of here alive.
Another insecurity faded, and I *felt* the attunement beginning to form. Like ink unfurling around my soul. There was one last anxiety, one darker and deeper than the rest, but I let it sleep. If all went well, I wouldn't need to go that far.
I opened my eyes, and was surprised to find that Tanryn had fallen asleep in the time I'd spent in meditation. With my new attunement, I could see currents of power bloom in her soul and mine, and I gathered that power into the palm of my hand.
Then I hurled it against the fabric of reality, and a rift began to claw itself open.
To the outside world, it would seem as though my power was to open rifts.
And only I knew better.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? 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. | 2022-06-06T10:54:40 | 2022-06-06T10:28:42 | 1,007 | 237 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | "How would you like your money sir?"
A weak smile overtook my face. "Give me a nice assortment." I responded. Nodding appreciatively the teller set his hand on the counter letting the sound of the metal coins spin about. There is was, as he slid his hand away, the mound that would amount to all my necessary money; an impressive stack, one Lincoln, two Washingtons, two dimes, a nickel and two pennies. With nothing left to say I slid the money from the counter and walked out doing my best to keep my head up.
Outside the bank a man dressed in bright outfit was filling balloons before a crowd of children. Off to the side a boy sobbed as his mother reassured him. Floating amongst the blue cast the red balloon was easy to see. I fumbled the coins in my palm, I pulled the nickel from within and knelt down before the boy.
"You look like you could use this more than me." I placed the coin in his hand. The mother thanked me and I continued my walk home. As I descended the stairs toward the subway I ran into a man staring in horror at the gate.
"They're terrifying right?" I joked.
"I forgot." His voice escaped. "Starting today I was supposed to walk to work."
"Here." I held out my hand giving him the two dollars and two dimes. "Lucky you I have exactly what you need."
"What are you doing?" He yelled confused.
I shrugged. "Its mine to spend as I wish right? Besides today's my last day to ride free.
A tear met the corner of his eye. "I don't know what to say."
"Its fine." I answered with a shrug. We went seperate ways after the stairs and I took the time to look at the roaming five dollars and two cents. A cough caught my attention and I was met with a rare sight.
A homeless man pulled the scrap of a blanket closer to his shoulders. "Good day to you." He nodded politely.
"Good day." I paused still caught by the sight. "If I may, a man such as yourself is a rare sight these days. You must have gotten a worse deal than me."
He looked up at me with a smile. "One-hundred and seventy-two thousand dollars." He laughed. "Tell me kid, what's your haul?"
"Seven twenty-seven." I answered with a scoff.
"Impressive."
"Just dollars and cents for me, no thousand I'm afraid."
He looked at me with what looked like pity. "What does that tell you? No, that's not fair from someone like me. I was satisfied with my haul, but life has it's own ideas. Less than a month after I walked out the bank I was diagnosed with liver cancer. Afraid and in pain I squandered all my cash trying to stay alive. Now I'm broke, dying and hungry. Figured I'd be better to waste away out here than continue working til my day."
"Maybe your deal was less lucky than mine." I commented.
He laughed. "I'm not sure I put much stock in luck but at least your not one of those, meant to be, people. Take it from me kid money ain't what life is about, and you can't measure it based on a check. Look at me four months since I lost it all, still here." I frowned briefly. With a sigh I pulled the five dollar bill from my pocket and dropped it on his blanket.
"What are you an idiot?" He shouted.
"You might be dying still, but at least for a moment in the life you got left, you won't be broke and maybe not hungry." I started toward the platform but stopped myself. "Thank you, you're right money isn't much."
Almost home I met a familiar face stocking fruit outside a ma and pop shop. She smiled as I got closer. "Thanks again, you made his day." She tossed me an apple from the basket.
"It was nothing." I replied after a moment.
"Hey," she called after me, "you got your check today right?" I turned around and gave a nod. "Ya thought so, listen if you're every hungry, stop by."
"You sure?" I asked, surprised.
"Of course, not like it'd be any profit lost right?" She laughed.
"Thank you so much." I answered. I felt at the last two pennies. *Money really isn't much.*
_
r/theoreticalfictions | My name is Aaron Aaercbia and I finally got my basic income check. I was in a weird age bracket? Maybe my literally alpha name. My birthday was one day after the start of the school year, so I was always 364 days ahead.
I got my check 2 daysbefore my 21st birthday. $7.27. Cashable only after 28/August/2067
Two days from now. $7.27? That meant only one thing! The government was going to do another currency reverse split!
I took a picture and uploaded it to the Insiderinfohedgely.com. forums I got 470 million pre-swap dollars in commissions in the first day for alerting them to the reverse split.
Then sure enough the gov't announced another 100,000 for one currency split. I was rich! I calculated it out, I had money to buy alcohol and food everyday and live rent-free in one of the anarchist neighborhoods under the Topcity for 60 years even with consumer inflation. I finally made it!
-The End- | 2019-04-24T12:38:17 | 2019-04-24T11:38:23 | 2,175 | 27 |
[WP]As you die,you wake up in a fiery place.You quickly realize you’re in Hell.You ask the next demon why you are there,as you lived a very good life.”You’re not being punished”,he says “You are the punishment.” | "W-wait, what?" I said, confused as I looked around before the demon, then sighed, rubbing his red forehead and went over, slapping my lower back and walking be forward. "Y'see kid," the demon said with a thick Boston accent. "You've been a good guy. You've done all the things you needed to do, worked at a couple of soup kitchens, and even showed a good sense of optimism." Me and the demon sat down at a large cliff, where a lake of Scorching magma sat in the distance, and the sound of souls eternally screaming in agony echoing out into the emptiness.
"But y'got this thing with you, something that we recognize that could be beneficial to our cause as Hell's torturers." The demon said, I was left in shock and awe as he twiddle his thumbs.
"So.. the reason I'm not in heaven is because I have a special method of torture?" I was rather flabbergasted at this realization as the demon let out a small chuckle. "Funny ain't it? Of all things, a human came up with the most torturous thing that not even the most Sharpest Of demons can come up with!" The demon's chuckle turned into a laugh as he couldn't contain his humor.
I sat rather quietly and let him let it all out, just so that he didn't take it as me being rude. "Sorry! Sorry, I haven't had a good laugh in a couple of Millennia." The demon said, resting his hand on his chin. I gulp slightly and decide to finally ask.
"So.. since I'm in hell and here to torture people... where do I go?" At first, the demon was lost in thought for a hot minute before he eventually snapped out of his minor day dream.
"Oh yea! That's where I'm meant to take you! Follow me, kid." The demon jumped from his seat on the brimstone stump and began prancing off and away towards what seemed to have been a tall spire at the very edge of the lake of lava. I traveled up the many stairs that stretched upwards towards hells sky until me and the demon arrived at the very top.
There sat a microphone and a script. The demon nudged me forward, a smile on his face; "c'mon! Read the script!" He said like an enthusiastic boss who had gotten his first ever employee.
I read the script and finally understood what I was brought here for, something so simple yet so infuriating for so many.. I couldn't help but take on the infectious smile that was on the demons face. "Well, enjoy your first day on the job, kid! We know you got this." The demon walked off, I turned on the microphone, flipping to the first page of the script and licked my lips, I put on the Best voice I had ever done since my time at the call center, and speak into the microphone.
"We've been trying to reach you about your Cars extended warranty."
And the sea of lava and souls groaned in agony and frustration... I was at peace. | I had imagined I'd go to heaven. I was a great person, wasn't I!? In life I did nothing but save animals and open people's eyes to animal abuse. But I was the punishment. Why? I'm nice, and always have been! I stare into the demon's eyes confusedly. The awful thing had grotesque spikes growing out at random places, looking very graphic. Patches of white scales, a contrast to the rest of it's leathery, red skin, permeated throughout the rest of it's body, also seemingly at random.
"W-what do you mean? Am I here forever? How am I even supposed to do this job, if you can even call it that!" I look at my surroundings, confused. It's flaming hot, with all manner of punishments to see, off in different little cages. Some of the people in here with me burst into tears, while others stood perfectly still, white as a ghost.
"Settle down, Newkirk." The demon responds. "All you have to do is well...be yourself. You were the leader of PETA, just talking to people will make them regret their sins."
*Hmmm...* I think. Now that I thought about it, this didn't have to be so bad. They weren't animals after all, and presumably at least a *couple* of them had to have been animal abusers. Humans were *terrible* anyways.
"And here." The creature says, its sharp, cracked teeth forming a grin as it hands me a whip "Just in case."
"HEY!" I say, marching up to my first listener. "ARE YOU VEGAN YET!?" | 2022-11-17T09:57:57 | 2022-11-17T08:03:36 | 38 | 10 |
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind. | She reached out for the ringing phone. For a moment, her stiff fingers fumbled over the buttons, and she cursed the arthritis that stiffened her joints. She managed to hit the green button, and lifted the handset up to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello - I, uh, I just needed to talk to someone. I don't think I can keep going any longer."
Another one of them. No matter how many calls she took, there always seemed to be more of them, each with their little problems, so convinced that no one else in the world had ever experienced what they were now going through. Her eyes drifted over to the two piles of stationary on her windowsill.
"Well, you can talk to me, although you best make it quick - I'm 92, so who knows how much time I've got left." She settled back into her chair, trying to find a more comfortable position for the phone against her ear.
"92? Um, is... is this the suicide hotline?"
Ah, one of the faster ones. He'd caught on more quickly than some of the callers. "Afraid not, dear," she replied. "You're off by a number."
"Oh. Er, shit."
"Happens more often than you'd think." She looked around her little bedroom, at the cards on her windowsill, the little bed, the faded pictures. "But you've got me up, now, so you might as well talk to me. Otherwise, you'll have roused an old woman from her nap for nothing, and you won't want to die with that hanging over you, would you?"
"Um, no, of course not! I'm so sorry, miss-"
"Cleo." She tried propping one arm up on the side of the chair.
"Your name is Miss Cleo?"
"Are you sassing me, young man?" she snapped, her frail voice suddenly surprisingly sharp.
"No, no, of course not. Um, sorry, Mi- sorry, Cleo. But I haven't been able to find work for three months, and I'm about to be homeless, and I guess that I was just thinking about ending-"
"You know, you sound a little like my husband," she said dreamily. "He always had such a soft voice, sounded so vulnerable. When he met me in person for the first time, I couldn't believe that it was the same man. But he was going through troubles, too."
"Oh. What troubles?"
"The usual - he'd fallen hard for me, but he didn't have a job or a dollar to his name, and he was certain that I wouldn't look twice at him." She smiled a little to herself. "He was an idiot, of course. Didn't ever give himself credit."
"How did he turn things around? Um, if you don't mind me asking, of course."
"Oh, young man, I'm just happy to be talking to someone. He nearly didn't turn things around, but I snapped at him, told him that he was a little shit if he expected things to fall into his lap without effort. Oh, you should have seen his face - I don't think anyone had ever raised their voice to him, much less a dainty little gal like me!" She laughed, and the voice on the phone laughed with her.
"And he turned things around, then? Made something of himself?"
"It took some time," she reflected. With a grunt, she pulled herself up out of her chair, walking over to the windowsill of her little room. "He went through plenty of failures. But he loved me, and he hated coming home to a tongue lashing from me, so he kept on trying!"
"Wow." A pause. "I don't have anyone in my life like that, I guess."
"Well, I don't have my husband any longer, so that makes us even," she snapped at him. The windowsill was littered with cards. On one side, the cards stood propped up, a display of bright colors, all clashing against each other. On the other side, the cards were plain white, sorted into a neat stack. "But it wasn't just me - it was the way he looked at things after I set him straight."
"What was that, then?"
She picked up one of the bright cards, smiling as she read the kind words hand-written inside. "He thought that he should quit before things got worse. But I pointed out to him that it's not whether we fall or rise, but where we're at when we check out. I pointed at him, and said, 'do you want to walk up to them pearly gates and admit that you didn't make every attempt you could to better yourself?'"
"Yes, but I don't know what else I can-"
"Oh, you sound so like him," she interrupted, setting the bright card down. She liked re-reading those bright cards. "Always hoping for the lazy way out."
"I'm not lazy, Cleo-"
"Of course not, but only a lazy man refuses to see a job through to its very end," she countered him. "And years later, my husband returned home every night, happy with his hard work, showing me a lesson by telling me of how he'd fought for every success." She ran her finger over another bright card. "He never caught on that this was my plan all along, that lovable man."
"If..."
She waited. Her eyes drifted to the plain white cards, but she didn't want to jinx anything.
"If I managed to succeed at something, could I come tell you about it?"
There it was. She smiled, happily taking her eyes off of the plain white cards. "Well, of course you could, dear. You sound like a very nice young man. I'll give you my nursing home address, but you'd best work hard - I don't know how much longer I have."
"I'm sure you'll be around for plenty longer, Cleo, with that sharp mind."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, young man," she replied, but smiled as she said it. "Now, what's your name?"
"Uh, it's John."
"Well, I expect a card from you, John," she told him. "Something nice, with a real comment from you written inside. Nothing silly or inappropriate, mind you."
"You got it, Cleo. I'll send you one. I promise."
"Then I'll let you go, John. Have a good rest of your day now, you hear?" She smiled, glaring triumphantly at the pile of white cards. Not today, she thought.
"You too, Cleo. And thank you."
She lowered the phone, carefully putting it back in the cradle to charge. Hopefully, another bright card would come soon. John sounded like a nice man, she thought to herself. He could get better.
And with his card, she'd have forty-eight bright cards, to the twenty-four white cards. Double.
She didn't know if it would be enough, if it would ever be enough. She picked up one of those white cards, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the ornate script.
"We are saddened to invite you to the funeral of..." she read, before she had to put the card down.
Twenty-four failures. Each one weighed at her, dragging her down. Twenty-four callers for whom she'd been too late.
But John sounded promising. She looked forward to his card. | The phone rang again, and Mary sat up in bed putting her glasses on so that she could see the time.
3:32 AM, she smiled sadly to herself. The late night callers were always the least determined ones, usually just young follk too worried to go to work the next morning or too stressed to sleep.
The phone rang again. Three rings, that was her motto - she always allowed them to a chance to hang up before that after the last few talkdowns didn't go so well. Three rings, and it means the person wants to be helped. Any less, and it's usually Mary listening to a final death speech - the likes of which often took their mental toll on her the morning after.
The phone rang one more time. She picked up, and in a careful soothing measured tone said "Hello?".
There was no voice on the other end, just a small sigh and short breaths. "Hello?" she said again, trying to force a response. Maybe this person was already too far gone. Maybe she should hang up and call an ambulance. Just as she was about to, a voice spoke up:
"...hello..."
"Hello there, what's your name?" she asked carefully. Names are useful, it grounds people in a conversation and often sways the direction of authority.
"...nnnnn..... my name is not important right now...."
She nodded to herself, knowing that it must be her who must concede first in order to regain control later. "Well my name is Mary, and I'm here to listen, and help you if you like."
"...haaaaaa......help me how....."
"Well that's up to you" she said. Choice. Give people a choice, no matter how small, and you grant them the illusion of control over their lives. "Whatever you want to talk about, I'm all ears."
"....aaaaaa.... how about we talk about you, Mary......"
This was not uncommon, many people didn't want to talk about their problems up front and sometimes a little give was needed to get some information later in return. "Me? Well I'm just an old girl living her life to its fullest and taking every day as it comes. Can you give me a name to call you?"
"....every day huh?...... Brad...... And what are you doing right now, Mary..."
"Well I'm lying here in bed, talking with you Brad" she said a little indignantly. She wasn't entirely sure this man actually was suicidal. Sometimes people just wanted to talk.
"....lying in bed you say.......... haaaaaaaa..."
His breathing was getting worse. She gripped the phone tightly. "Brad? Brad? Are you okay? Talk to me please."
".....haaaaaa...... so what are you wearing Mary?...."
She sighed. Not this again. She had half a mind to hang up but decided to at least tell the man of his mistake so he would not make it twice. "This is 350*8*7 young man, the phone sex hotline you were looking for was 350*3*7."
She hung up abruptly. Curse this town and it's terrible phone number leasing. | 2016-02-06T14:19:17 | 2016-02-06T13:39:33 | 4,608 | 79 |
[WP] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future. | The doctor's eyes looked grave behind his glasses' thick lenses, concerned. But there was something else there as well. Confusion? Fear?
"I just want you to know that it's nothing to be alarmed about, but there's uh, something strange with your son's mortality date projection," he said.
"It's probably nothing, just a computer glitch. Same thing with *all* the newborns from the past week or so. But until we get it sorted out I just wanted to let you know there's nothing to worry about."
The boy's mother had no patience for lies. In a calm, restrained voice that was somehow also menacing, she said slowly through clenched teeth,
"What is wrong with my son?"
"Well that's the thing, nothing. Nothing at all is wrong with him," said the doctor.
"It's just that his death date doesn't make any sense. None of them do. And until we figure out..."
"Legally you have to tell me *when*." she interrupted. She was starting to lose it. What were they keeping from her?
"Well that's what I was saying, it doesn't make any sense..." the doctor continued.
"WHEN!?" she cut him off again, louder this time.
"According to the computer? Twenty-five seven forty-three, April 9th, at 6:05 pm."
As she repeated the numbers to herself her anger was slowly replaced with confusion.
"Twenty-five seven forty-three. What's that mean?"
"That's the year," said the doctor bluntly.
"The year? I don't understand. What does that mean?" she said.
"It means, according to the mortality date projection computer, which *supposedly can never be wrong*..." he said the last part loudly over his shoulder to someone unseen.
"...your son, and the others, will live for some twenty-two thousand, four hundred and thirty years."
_________
She would not forget the events of that day. It was the last time she'd seen her baby boy. | It was Percy who had the idea. The way to save the world. We reckoned that if they all shared the same deathdate, the human race was going to go extinct that week. But Percy, he told us how it could maybe be bypassed.
The only way to save the future is to create it. We know the children are going to die, that is a fact. But if we decide to kill those children, we can avoid the possible apocalypse, and the children born after this week could be saved.
And thus, the new law proclaimed, every child born this week would have to be slaughtered that day. The only thing we can do now is to wait, and check the deathdates of the children born next week. | 2017-12-25T19:34:40 | 2017-12-25T18:28:21 | 99 | 19 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe? | He was as gorgeous as gorgeous could be, gray orbs holding a steady gaze that existed solely to melt her icy heart. His hair was wild and red like a fire set loose upon his scalp, and a cocky smirk played about his thin, moist lips. His chiseled physique and square jaw had been carved of the finest marble, and it was when she lay her eyes on him, she knew: she must have him.
Now, she was quite mundane in comparison: her downcast gaze was marked by brown hues, and she stood with her shoulders curved in. Even when there was nothing to look at, she was adjusting her bottlecap-thick glasses or her high pony tail that held back a mane of unkempt black hair. She dressed in the frumpiest clothing possible.
Theirs was a match made in Heaven AND Hell, and the secrets they shared would only become self-evident through their journey together, toe-to-toe, hand-in-hand, til death due them part.
This is their story. | Once upon a time, a young girl and a young boy were deeply in love. They would always re-enact romantic scenes from films, ranging from Romeo and Juliet to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, costumes and all. They would go everywhere together, *do* everything together... by everything, I mean *everything*, even going to the bathroom, public or private! And they would often be in there for a while...
They would always say cute things to each other, such as "I love you - I love you more - I love you more than ice cream - I love you more than cupcakes!", and had adorable pet names for each other; the boy was known as 'Cub' and the girl was known as 'Sweetcake'. The two really were inseparable.
But one day, the boy's family had to move to the next town over for his fathers job, and now the two could only see each other four days a week. The girl was torn apart, and spends every waking moment apart from her lover texting him how much she misses him, and he responds by promising that, one day, they'll be together again. So the girl waits... | 2022-08-19T14:21:27 | 2022-08-19T14:20:41 | 652 | 93 |
[WP] As you arrive in Heaven, you are confident you have lived your best life. You proudly exclaim you are ready to have your soul judged. An angel walks by with diced carrots and chicken stock under his arm and says, “Did you say ‘soul’? Please don’t tell me Earth still has the copy with typos...” | It was all little too on the nose. The long hair, white linen and the bright overhead lights brought an overwhelming sense of deja vu that I had seen this place before on television.
“I’m sorry? I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean.” I sputtered before sheepishly adding an “Oh heavenly one.”
He rolled his eyes and my cheeks heated.
Should I be less formal? Weren’t angels technically soldiers of heaven? Should I salute?
“Oh dear, you definitely haven’t been updated yet.”
With a snap of his fingers we were now in a stainless steel kitchen. An industrial size fridge was behind him and in between us now stood a prep table.
“The rules are simple, and you should at least recognize the ingredients.”
He nodded and a fish, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine appeared on the table between us.
“You have an hour to complete your sole dish. Peter will be by to judge when complete.”
“No, you can’t. You don’t understand—“
“Good luck, son of Adam.”
And with that, I was alone.
“Jes—“ I swallowed my curse in case they could still hear.
My fingers curved around the slender neck of the bottle pulling the cork of with an echoing pop. I lifted the cork to my nose and smelled the buttery oak of a white white. I guess it wasn’t all on the nose. It would have been red.
Over in the fridge there was a wide variety of ingredients, some unlike anything I had never seen before.
“I should have been a Catholic like my grandmother,” I grumbled. “If this was the test everyone faced, she would have been on her way to heaven before he even said typo.”
Instead, I had chosen to be a Seventh-day Adventist like my father and had never even touched fish outside of an aquarium kid-zone. The wine bottle met my lips and I swallowed. The wine was alright. Probably better cooking wine than for tasting. But then again, I had always liked boxed wine. I looked at the bottle, wondering which He preferred, but it was blank white.
I walked over to the gas stove with shaky knees and lit and took a long deep look at the fire.
Sure, this wasn’t my forte, but I had watched Food Network. I wasn’t necessarily going there. For a moment, a tendril of flame licked up higher than the rest and I let out a little gasp before pulling a pan over the burner. No. I wouldn’t.
I spotted some oil. Olive, I guessed from the look of it. In that went, and finally I turned back to the steel table where the unimpressive looking brown fish laid. My nose scrunched up at the sight of the thing. Was this what all those stupid bumper stickers were about?
“Sorry buddy,” I said looking deep into the fish’s glassy eye, “but to keep me out of the fire, we got to get you into the frying pan.”
And with a crackle of oil, I began my last supper. | The old man had a stunned expression on his face as he set down his soup. In front of him was a thirty year old televangelist, nervously sweating and fidgeting in anticipation of what the angel was about to say. "Young man...," the old man, finally managing to find his voice. "This is, without a doubt, ... one of the worst soups I have ever tasted in over a millenium. He swirled his spoon through the brown-blackish concoction as he continued to speak in a astonished voice. "Half of the chunks of meat floating here are undercooked and the other half has been burnt to a crisp. Everything's gooey and slimy and smells like wet rubber." "In fact," he said, flipping his bowl upside down and shaking it, "I'm not even sure this qualifies as soup! The entire thing's stuck to the bottom of the bowl!"
The thirty year old man burst into tears and dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry, sir! It's just, I've been so busy worshipping and spreading the glory of God, that I never learned how to cook. I always just order take out!" He looked up with a wild panic in his eyes. "Please, don't send me to Hell over this! I've been good, I swear! I've converted thousands, maybe even tens of thousands to God's light! I've spread peace and virtue by travelling throughout the world! If I had known that his Holy Divinity wanted soup, I would have dedicated myself to making soup day and night!" He paused for breath as a desperate idea suddenly came to him. "Please, send me back! Send me back and I'll tell the masses to give you the best soup there ever was!"
"The best soup there ever was?" the angel responded thoughtfully. He rifled through the files on this desk. It seemed that a serious error in translation had occurred in this version of Earth. Instead of focusing on making excellent soup, the people seemed obsessed with keeping something called a "soul" as pure as possible. What insanity had happened here? This error would have to be corrected as soon as possible.
The angel stood up and waved his hand, and a bright doorway suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The televangelist let out a loud yelp as he suddenly found himself levitating off the ground and being drawn toward the light. "You have five years," the angel spoke in a stern voice. "Five years to spread the Gospel of Soup to the entire world before I will judge you again." The televangelist nodded frantically, even as he felt a sinking sensation in his chest. No one back on Earth, not even the crazy religious nutcases, were going to take this Gospel of Soup stuff seriously. The afterlife was truly a fucked up place. | 2020-11-24T17:13:20 | 2020-11-24T17:09:44 | 1,543 | 610 |
[WP] Adapt a famous fairy tale so it has a realistic ending.
I'm about to go to sleep. Bedtime story!... Except that I won't read anything until I get up. Happy Saturday. | *And so it was, that upon awakening, the Sleeping Beauty saw the charming prince's face over hers, and pressed charges against him for his misconduct, for he had no means of obtaining consent while she was asleep. And so it was, that the Prince had royal power and manipulated the legal system to frame the princess of conspiring against the throne. The Prince is now a great and mighty king, and the beauty lives in a prison to this very day.* | She slept and never moved. She looked like a statue carved from gleaming white marble, but stone could never do justice to the beauty of her delicate face.
These were the lips which had so entranced the knight, and he stared at them longingly. A tiny dribble of drool escaped from the corner of his mouth, like a hungry puppy. As he leant down to clasp his lips to her, what he had fervently dreamed about, he thought of the blissful marriage and children that had been fated.
*Ahhhhhhhghghghghghghghghghghhh!* "Get the fuck off me!"
She squirms out from under him, and rolls off the bed.
"What? I'm your knight in shining armour! Your saviour. You're fated to be my bride! Why would you try to fight destiny?"
He yells, looking indignantly at her.
"Rape! Rape!"
Running to the other side of the room, grabbing books along the way, she begins to hurl them at his head.
| 2014-03-29T11:23:57 | 2014-03-29T10:43:35 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You are a prisoner, condemned to die. However, the 2047 Prison Accords guarantee a last meal with no limitations, or else you go free. Nobody wants you released; your crime is too heinous, but your last meal request is making them reconsider… | “Tea.”
“Tea?”
“Tea. Well, aged tea to be specific. Himalayan Aged Black Tea to be particular. Himalayan Aged Black Tea from Shan-Gri-La Tea farms just north of Pokhara, Nepal to be exact.”
“That’s your final meal? Okay. Whatever. We’ll get them on the phone and make the order.”
“Oh, you won’t be able to get any right now. The harvest isn’t for another 4 months. Even then, the aging process takes decades.”
“We can order you some they have on backlog. That won’t be a problem.”
“No that won’t do. I want the last thing I taste on earth to be my favorite Tea. Century Black Shangri-La. I wish it to be harvested this year.”
“I don’t know if we can…”
“Ah ah ah, the accords?”
“Of course. Do you want just tea or is there a food you wish to have as well?”
“Yes! I’m glad you asked! Let me get a century salmon from Xiamen, China. After the 80 years of preservation, it’s taste is to die for…” | Their folly, of course, was the stipulation on "no limitations".
Now, most people would correctly assume that such a thing would create an obvious loophole. A smart prisoner might request something endangered, which society could not easily give up for such a purpose - perhaps a whale casserole, or maybe smoked white rhino. The lawmakers had quickly pointed out that the newest in cloning technologies would be employed for this purpose. They haven't exactly publicized this fact, for obvious reasons, but it's there, buried in the transcripts if you have enough time to look.
What they've clearly touted is the fact that not a single prisoner has been released since the day that policy was enacted. Not one.
But those of us here in the penal system, we know. Each convict who goes to that chamber tells his cellmates what he's going to request, and each - in turn - is executed.
So the extinct animals? Out. I knew a guy who asked for wooly mammoth. I bet those politicians barely broke a sweat over it. A quick trip to the museum and they Jurassic Park-ed up that shit. I hope it was at least good.
The huge, intricate feasts? Perfectly made by expert chefs from all over the globe. I know those guys at least died happy.
As they led me in, I knew that look. Smug guards just waiting to see what I'd ask for. Oh, I heard the rumors and knew they were taking bets on what a real sick bastard would ask for. I'm sure they thought they had it covered.
And that's when I requested the family of the judge that sentenced me. Raw. | 2021-08-18T03:58:06 | 2021-08-18T01:19:55 | 76 | 42 |
[WP] Your 6 year old daughter is laying on her bed, terrified. She says there’s a monster under her bed. To reassure her, you lay on the ground and check underneath, only to find your daughter, quivering. She whispers, “Daddy, there’s something on top of my bed...” | "Dammit Emily, I told you not to scare your sister like that. Now get out from under the bed before I ground you for a week."
Emily slowly gets out from under the bed, annoyed in response to me not playing along. Emily looks back at Sarah on the bed and they both giggle.
"It's two o'clock in the morning, just go to bed. We have to go to grandma's in the morning, and if you keep playing around I'll let a real monster eat you!"
My two twin girls giggle again and in unison reply, "Yes daddy."
Emily finally leaves to go to her own room and I sigh, partly from exasperation but mostly from amusement. People told me that twin girls were going to be a handful, but I hadn't realised how much. | I stifle a yawn as I slowly open the door to Jemma's room. A tired smile worms its way onto my face at the sight of her tiny fingers curled over the sheet pulled over her head.
"Jemma," I whisper, "Why are you under your sheets?"
She's silent for a moment, but shakily lowers her blanket, "Daddy...something's under my bed." She fearfully whimpers.
A small sigh escapes my lips, "Are you sure it isn't Mrs. W?"
She quickly shakes her head, darting a hand under her blanket and showing me her stuffed seal.
I hold up my hands, "Alright, alright. I'll check it out."
I walk to her bed, kneeling down. Just then, she harshly whispers, "You won't see anything with the lights off!"
I roll my eyes, but reach out, flicking my hand and turning the lights on.
Then, something moved deeper under my daughter's bed.
I immediately dropped to my knees, recoiling at the sight of my daughter laying face-down on the floor, "Daddy, something's on my bed!" she says.
I sit-up, mind reeling.
"*AH!* Daddy, the closet!" my daughter, the one on the bed, shrieked.
Whirling around, I wrench the closet open.
"Daddy!" yet another version of my daughter exclaims underneath a pile of laundry.
Just then, it clicks, and I can't help but throw my head back, laughing.
"Daddy?" my daughter asks in reverb.
Instead of replying verbally, I snap my finger, and a chair floats in from the hall. Another snap, and my daughter's bed moves back a few feet, revealing the one hiding under the bed.
My daughters scream as they catch sight of one another, though it only lasts for a moment, after which they instead stare at each other confusedly.
"Jemma, the one on the bed," I clarify, "Do me a favor, tap the one beneath you on the shoulder."
Jemma-on-the-bed and Jemma-under-the-bed stare at me uncertainly, but then the one on top shrugs and does as asked. She then yelped as Jemma-under-the-bed disappears in a dull, red light.
Jemma-from-the-closet stared wide-eyed at the display, "What was that?"
"That, would be your power, sweetheart."
Two pairs of eyes lit up in excitement, "Really?!" They exclaim.
I smile widely, ruffling the hair on both their heads, "Yup. Now, why don't we all go downstairs and wait for Mommy, tell her the news?"
They both bob their heads, rushing for the door. However, Jemma-from-the-bed jumps back when she accidentally grabbs Jemma-from-the-closet by the shoulder, making her disappear in a flash of light.
Jemma looks over her shoulder sheepishly. I just shake my head, standing up, "Don't worry, accidents like that will happen. Let me tell you about when I first awakened *my* powers. I still don't think you're aunt ever forgave me for it."
| 2018-04-30T17:18:37 | 2018-04-30T15:45:09 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!) | They were the Gods of this city. 3 brothers ruling over their individual parts.
Zeus, on the face of it, was a shining beacon of good. The eldest brother became mayor, shaping the city to his vision, which to anyone visiting was a glorious and prosperous city of gold. But those of us living here saw it for what it really was. Zeus' playground. Somewhere for him to do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was rarely legal. That's where his brothers came in.
Poseidon held the ports. Anything coming in or leaving the city went by Poseidon. If it could get on a boat, and you had the money, he could get it for you. If you needed to make a fast exit, or hide someplace, provided it wasn't from the family, he was the guy to see. He controlled the waters, and the Kraken gang made sure it stayed that way.
And while the other two stood in the light, the youngest brother hid in the Underworld of the city. Hades moved things along the backstreets, in the alleyways, and rumour has it, through an underground system of tunnels. The problem with being in Hades' crew was that no one ever got out alive. Ever. His main business was drugs. He and his wife, Persephone, had created a substance known as Pomegranate. Little dark red pills that gave the kind of high no other drug could match. But with that came addiction. Once you tried it, you belonged to Hades forever.
No one questioned it, and if they did, that person disappeared very quickly. Everyone knew they ran business out of Club Olympus, and if you needed to deal with them, that was the place to go. Dionysius ran the place, but he was more likely to be found propping up the bar instead of working it. But if you could catch him sober, you might get an audience with Hermes, who would get the message to the right person. Aphrodite ran the brothels. Hepheastus could get you weapons, but Ares had the men for a fight. Apollo was the one to go to for any kind of advice, but his prices were steep. His twin sister Artemis was the chief of police, and as corrupt as the rest of them. It all seemed so perfect, the Gods ruled from atop their metaphorical mountain, and everyone either fell in line or vanished.
What no one knew was the conflict between the brothers. Zeus was at the top and he wanted to keep it that way. He gave off this untouchable aura, but he knew better than anyone that power could be taken. He tried to keep the top dogs happy, but his own desires often risked his relationship with them. His biggest weakness was women. Though married, Zeus would use his power, his fame, or his money to get any woman he wanted. And he wasn't the most subtle man. Poseidon and Hades had both tried to win Hera to their side by bringing up his infidelity. With her, either one could bring Zeus down. Poseidon was under the impression that if he could control the docks, he could handle anything in the city, while Hades had the view that without him the city would fall apart, so why not step up and leave the shadows.
Deals were forged, loyalties brought, promises made. Everyone chose a side, except one.
Apollo could see it coming. He saw the plans made for war. A war that would leave the city in ashes, with no one left alive to claim victory, and he wanted no part in it. | Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.” | 2021-03-03T09:18:34 | 2021-03-03T08:21:23 | 106 | 30 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | **3:00 AM**
*bzzz*
I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message.
>OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL
"What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off...
**3:13 AM**
*bzzz*
*bzzz*
*bzzbzzbzzzZZZ*
I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen.
>78 New Messages
The phone buzzed again.
>79 New Messages
>83 New Messages
I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact.
>JASON L.
My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message.
>Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍
I looked at the other messages, they were similar.
What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door.
The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers.
Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat.
"Ow shit Mark. What was that for?"
"You would've gone too."
"Gone too? What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you get the warnings?"
"The one from the government or someone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?"
"Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back.
"Look " said Mark, starting the video.
It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended.
"What are they doing?" I asked Jason.
"They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said.
"What happens if you look at the moon?"
"You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess"
"Is that what happened to Jason?"
"Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?"
I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful.
Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance.
"Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close.
My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else.
It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray.
"She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing *ever*" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me.
I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off.
It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it".
I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home.
--
This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated. | I toss in my sleep-- there's a loud buzzing ringing in my left ear, and my eyes flicker open to reveal my phone: vibrating with it's receivance of hundreds of messages. "Holy shit, is that my Discord app again? I swear to god I put it on fucking silent." I grumble, and my hands fumble for the volume rockers. Without a few seconds of effort, my phone is back on silent, and the buzzing stops. I go back the fuck to bed. The creepypasta bullshit can wait, I'm tired as shit. | 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 2018-04-06T19:48:33 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | I blew out the candles, and poof! I was gone. Just like I was told, there I was, in this room, alone. Just me, and a table, and way too much food.
In the centre was a roast terducken, you know them, a chicken in a duck in a turkey. A friend told me that he had taken a bite of the turkey, and had gotten stronger. Another had taken some duck, and they could fly. Another took the chicken, and they could see through the ground - because apparently that is a thing. To the left was an apple pie. I read somewhere that eating that made you absurdly good at persuasion. There were berries, and milk tart, and cheesecake, and broccoli and cauliflower, and steak and ham and Brussels sprouts, and goodness knows what else, not even counting the wine and fruit juice.
And I had thought long and hard about this moment. I had decided, as my father had advised, to stuff my face with as much food as possible, like he had, and get as many abilities as possible, but I have a problem: when something gets into my head, we'll heaven help me, I have to do it.
I bit the table.
At first, nothing came of it, I couldn't sink my teeth deep enough, but then, it broke off just like a massive slab of chocolate, and melted away in my mouth. For about sixty seconds I was in heaven, the feeling unbearably good, and then, I was back at home.
"Well? What did you chow on?" my father asked.
"You will know what you have immediately," my mother assured.
I don't know if I answered. I woke up on the couch. Apparently, I had passed out, and my birthday party had moved me upstairs, before continuing without me in the backyard. But damn me, I had an urge. An urge to do... Something! Anything! I had to act. I got up, and ran to our dinner table, and bit down. It just broke off, and I ate it. Perhaps, I thought, this was becoming a pattern. Then it hit me what I had done. I had just destroyed my family's table.
I paniced. You can fix stuff with noodles, right? I rushed through to the cupboard, grabbed some noodles, and smacked them onto the table. They seemed to stay, so I used my hands to smooth them out. It didn't look the same color, though, so I grabbed some of my sister's blue nail polish and painted it brown.
"Buddy?" my friend asked, looking perplexed at me. He must have entered sometime between my table munching and my noddle smoothing. "What are you doing?"
"I'm, uh, eating noodles," I lied, grabbing some hard noodles from beside me and slurping it up, slapping myself in the face in the process.
They stood critically at the door. "Dude, what did you eat?"
"I think I best not say."
My friend rolled their eyes. "I just watched you turn blue nail polish and noddles into the part of the table you ate. What did you eat?"
"The table..."
"Yeah, I know you ate the table, and then you fixed it with noodles, but what did you eat? Like, in the magic room?"
"The table."
My friend face-palmed harder than I'd ever seen anyone facepalm. "I'm a make a wild guess; you ate a piece of the table itself on a whim, and now have the power that any random crap you do on a whim works!"
I pursed my lips.
"So, uh," my friend said, "My birthday is next month. What do I eat when I get there?"
I grinned from ear to ear. "The wine glass. Eat the wine glass."
...
For more, see r/sarcastic_rambler | "You took a bite out of what!" Your mom yelled when she found out. "I thought I raised you better than that!. . ."
"Mo. . ." You tried in vain
"You could have had super strength by eating the spinach or flight with pork. But noooo you had to be a smart ass and bite the damn table. Should have known you would end up doing something stupid like your father. And take a bite out of the Gimpy Gimpy. Made him kill himself before he even figured out his power."
"Mom! I know my power"
"You better tell me it's growing trees. God knows this planet needs it right now with all the pyros out there right now who ate the hottest pepper they could stand."
"Uhhh yeah about that."
"That's it good at least you will be some use unlike your father who left me alone to finish highschool alone with you."
"No, it's not that. . . You are not going to like it."
"Out with it."
"Well you see I've gotten the power well it's better that I don't tell you"
"You better tell me otherwise I'm going to kick you out of the house!"
"Mom please for once just listen! here there are two numbers the first one is for my new cellphone the second is for a therap. . ."
"A what! I don't need one of those good for nothing. . ."
"MOM, please you need to see this woman. I want things to go back to how they used to be when I was a child."
"I don't need help I need you to be a better son! Answer my question!"
Tears formed in my eyes as a solution formed in my mind. I started backing towards the front door.
"What are you going to do leave me like your dad did! Good I don't want you around anymore"
"Mom. You don't mean that. I love you but I have to go things will get. . ."
"Get out!"
Tears were flowing from her eyes at this point and from experience I knew there was no calming her down. I clamped down on my own urge to yell back something that would hurt her. I knew better now.
"Please just call that number we can talk again when things get. . ."
"Out!" She yelled while reaching for something to throw at me.
I ducked and was out the door tears flooding from my eyes. I already knew she would get better she would call the number and our relationship would get repaired. Didn't make it any easier to do this. But I had to leave her. I had the power now to see and fix clinically stupid. I needed to hone this ability for the good of the people and I needed to start with a one way ticket to Florida.
Edit: a word. | 2020-03-19T08:52:26 | 2020-03-19T08:15:56 | 463 | 330 |
[WP] You have the ability to know a lie when you hear it, and to know the truth when lied to. Society appoints you to a high judiciary position, but there's nobody to check if YOU'RE lying when you decide justice. Which case do you remember most?
Edit: Hi, guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited or pitched in, this got way more attention than I expected and was a lot of fun! Looking forward to more, keep up the good work everyone! | Grand magistrate Vield looked down from his raised stand into the courtroom. A child stood in the defendant’s stand, accused of murder. She glared down at the desk in front of her. Her representative had ignored her for the entire course of the proceedings, shuffling papers to and fro and making a big show of not doing very much.
“Do you know this woman?” The prosecutor directed the court’s attention to a portrait of a woman in her mid\-thirties.
“Yes.” The girl barely looked up, her lips were tensed into a tight line.
“This is your mother, correct?” The prosecutor turned to face the girl, an inquisitive look in her eyes.
“No.”
Vield tapped a cane against a small gong, indicating that she had told a lie.
“Step\-mother.” The girl glared up toward Vield and emphasized the first part, as if that were the most important part of the word.
“And, you killed this woman, is that correct? By letting the car run fumes into the house?”
The case was relatively cut and dry. The girl had killed the woman in a premeditated fashion, and she showed no physical signs of abuse. It couldn’t be passed off as self defense. The brother, sitting in the audience, younger than the girl, had shown severe signs of abuse. He could have perhaps gotten away with self\-defense, but not her.
“Yes.”
Vield tapped the gong. Both the girl and the prosecutor looked up in surprise. Vield’s face remained expressionless.
The woman had a long history of irresponsibility going back to her early twenties when she figured out that drinking was easier than a life of struggle and discipline. Vield didn’t mind that at all, people had a right to conduct themselves any way they wanted, in his mind. The problem had come when she had introduced children into the mix and put her problems on them.
The prosecutor regained their composure, splitting the questions into parts. “Did you start the car in the garage?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
The prosecutor went on. “Did you kill this woman?”
“Yes.”
The gong sounded again. The little girl looked up at Vield, confused. Vield stared straight ahead, unblinking.
The woman smoked two packs a day and lived in a rathole. The coroners had only determined that she died of asphyxiation. The car had been off, and out of gas, when emergency responders arrived at the scene, the carbon monoxide levels were high, but that wasn’t definitive. Even the blood carbon monoxide levels weren’t out of comprehension considering she smoked. There could be any number of ‘causes,’ mold in the air conditioner, a slight gas leak, freon seeping out of the fridge. It could even have been a rogue burglar with a pillow for all anyone knew.
“This is\-\-” the prosecutor paused\-\- “this is most unexpected, your honor, we have motive, we have the cause of death we\-\-”
The gong rang out, interrupting the prosecutor.
“We... don’t have the cause of death.”
Silence.
“Right. We ask for a continuation, your honor, to review the reports.”
Vield stood without saying a word and left the chamber.
“That little girl’s been through enough,” he thought to himself. “No need to burden her with a life in prison and the guilt of a death. No, the world would be better served giving her and her brother a new start in life." He couldn’t change the facts entirely, but he could do his best to help this little girl. | Judiciary: You want to know about which case I remember most huh? \[chuckles\]
Interviewer: Yes, you've served for almost 80 years now, no doubt you probably have hundred of stories. \[inaudible\]
Judiciary: Okay, \[laughs\] here's one that's stuck with me in my mind \[sic\], I'll let you guess when it was.
Interviewer: \[whispers inaudibly\]
Judiciary: \[whispers inaudibly\] The trial seemed simple enough. It was a case of what was very clearly manslaughter. The accused went to the stand. It was a really sad case. It was the kind of case that sticks with you, in your mind. A teenager was accused of killing their friend. It was horrible really. It was open shut though. The victim had \[inaudible\] their friend to help them kill themselves, but it became unclear if the victim had still wanted to be killed, the accused was aware of the ambiguity and still went through with it.
It was very \[inaudible\]. I had asked them if they were aware of the possibility that \[inaudible\] and they said no. I could tell it was a lie. Open shut.
I had lowered the charge from \[inaudible\].
Interviewer: What could make you do that! You said it was \[inaudible\]!
Judiciary: It was the next question I asked which made me want to lower it. I asked them if they would ever betray their friend, I asked them if they loved their friend, I asked if they would ever do something they didn't think was best for their friend. I am not sure what wording I used, but it was something like that. I may not remember what question it was but the answer was clear.
They said they would do something that would hurt their friend. They said that. To anyone else this was open shut. To me, I lowered the charge. Even in this moment, they were trying to protect the friend from *something*, although I am no longer as sure what it could be. That is why I lowered the charge. I knew the one thing I could be certain of, for whatever reason, that the guilt of having to make that call affected them far more profoundly than \[inaudible\].
Interviewer: Do you do that kind of thing often?
Judiciary: As often as people lie about loving someone else in a courtroom, or as often as \[inaudible\].
*The audio for which this transcript was based had not been saved properly and much of the dialogue was left inaudible. The transcriber would like to apologize for any inconvenience.* | 2018-05-15T21:01:00 | 2018-05-15T20:44:11 | 742 | 39 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | "Ah good it didnt kill you." The voice said from somewhere that I couldnt place because it felt like the room kept moving it away from me.
That was until it all snapped back into place when the bright light of an examination prob swept over my eyes. I hadn't even realized they were open.
"Sorry about that I was just reconnecting your psionics." I turned to face the voice and saw one of the council doctors.
"They didnt brief you about the human delegation did they?" He said in a soft but clearly angry tone.
"Umm they gave the usual info packet but once i saw they weren't psionics I didt need to know anything else to do my job. I wasnt scheduled to meet with any of them anyways."
He nodded as I spoke to show he understood my thinking but I saw his face show a bit if fear as he spoke next.
"The humans know that other races have and employ psionics. Since they currently have neither the technology or the biology to defend against it they came up with a creative solution." He hesitated but before I could ask him to continue he started up again.
"All the individuals in the human delegation are what they call mentally unwell." I went cold.
"But that could kill anyone attempting to even just mentally project a conversation!" I exclaimed.
"They know, but it was agreed that since they couldnt and wouldnt be communicating psionicly anyways everyone agreed to allow it and were to instruct all psionic personal to never attempt connection with a human." A console next to him beeped harshly and I saw him press a red button that had begun flashing.
"What's that?" I asked becoming concerned.
"Oh its nothing, just looks like one of the relays in your psionics will need replaced though." He sounded confident enough but my connection didnt feel right.
As we were speaking he helped me from the exam bed and began leading me out the door.
"Is that why everyone thoughts are coming to me with like.... an echo?" I asked. "Why do they all sound so frantic? Oh my god did I make a scene in the chambers? I am so getting fired"
"No no,nothing like that they are just worried about you, just have a seat here." He helped me sit on a crate and then backed thru the doorway into the infirmary.
It was then that I realized I wasn't in the hall way, it was the airlock. As the doctors hand pressed the controls and I was ripped out of the now opened hatch I was able to hear one clear thought..
"I'm sorry, I tried to save you but I cant let it spread to the rest of us."
I tried to reach out to him again, not to beg for help but to warn him. The human had started a mental conversation with me first..... | The lone shriek pierced the silent council chambers, the Relovian was clutching at the sides of his rather bulbous head, trying to extract his mental probe from within the mind of Thomas "Raven Dark" McKinnon, tears welling up in it's multitudinous eyes. "What is Lord Prelanine?!" His aid begged as he struggled to help him from the floor. "So wait, like, did you, see, like totally see what was going on in my mind just now weird turtle head man?" Thomas asked as he adjusted the black fishnet sleeves up his pasty white arms.
"That man is revolting!" Shouted the ambassador of the Relovian race, "He had such visions of debauchery, he was imagining placing some strange appendage from betwixt his legs into the consuming orifice of the High Priestess of Skartl it what I can only assume is some fashion of violence!" At his proclamation the leathery dark wings of the Priestess flared up in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth in what would commonly be described as abject terror. "Whoa, calm down turtle head man, I wasn't seeking to do violence!" Thomas exclaimed, "Sex is only right if it's consensual man." The room fell silent.
The commander of the United Terran Military let out a deep sigh and massaged his temples, he couldn't begin to understand how a member of the GCG (Global Coalition of Goths) had somehow stowed away on the Emperor's flagship to attend the first contact with an alien race, which would also be the first Galactic Council meeting in Terra's history.
"What is this sex you speak of?" Inquired the High Priestess, wings lowering a little in curiosity. "HE SOUGHT TO BLUDGEON YOU MY LADY! WHAT ELSE COULD YOU DESCRIBE THAT STRANGE PUMMELING MOTION YOU WERE MAKE WITH YOUR HIPS AND PELVIC REGION?! AND WHAT OF THAT STRANGE TENTACLE!?" Cried out the ambassador. "Dude, like, chill turtle head, that's my reproductive organ you're insulting." Thomas retorted. "Reproductive?" The High Priestess inquired, her wings folding back to their relaxed state. The commander let out another long sigh and massaged his temples harder. "Yeah, you know, for making babies, my schlong?" Thomas responded while gesturing towards his crotch. The High Priestess changed to a dark shade of purple, what one can only hope to assume was her races way of blushing, "Oh, children, as in mating, you wish to mate with me then?" She asked in wonderment. "Well yeah," Thomas blurted, "I mean look at you, all scaly and dark skinned, rocking those bat-like, wings. You're hella hot!" The commander closed his eyes tighter, willing himself away from this nonsensical conversation and the diplomatic disaster this was sure to become.
"I assure you my temperature is quite nominal and not in any way 'hot' as you describe it." The Priestess responded in a somewhat confused tone. That was the last straw, the commander lost it and began howling with laughter. Every diplomat and ambassador in the room went silent and awkwardly looked at each other and immediately found something more interesting to stare at, painfully, obviously avoiding looking at the commander, the "Raven Dark" and the High Priestess. | 2019-09-29T21:59:11 | 2019-09-29T21:57:42 | 82 | 35 |
[WP] You can hear the sound of the Sun from Earth, it is loud but the planet has adapted. Suddenly the light goes out. 8 minutes after it died the last bit of light reaches Earth. It'll take 13 years before the roar of the Sun the moment it died reaches us.
Inspired by a comment on r/AskReddit
*edit: removed link to comment | The ancient stargazing nutjobs had been warning us for a while about it. It took the best part of thirty-two centuries to organize society for the big move underground, where humanity learned to adapt to being independent of the sun, leaving behind the light of day, our cities and our mountains and forests and oceans. Sure, we still maintained contact with the surface and its solar observatories and our solar observation satellites, gazing intently at the sun, awaiting the moment it would go out.
For the longest time, we weren't even sure if it would. With each passing sidereal day the conspiracists argued more and more passionately that the scientists had duped us, the greatest prank in history, one that had cost billions of lives and changed the entire course of human history. The rest of us, we clung on to that hope. Maybe the scientists were wrong. Maybe one day some whiz from Princeton (now located ten kilometers beneath the old campus) would pop up and tell us the ancient astronomers had missed something, maybe miscarried a digit in their calculations or something, and we could all recolonize Above. Geothermal energy meant we didn't need to rely on more temporary sources of energy, and 3200 periods meant scientists had plenty of time to work their magic and create wickedly ingenious ways of harnessing that energy, but *come on*. Compared to the warmth of sunlight on skin, the heat of the lower lithosphere is nothing.
I would know, since I've been to the surface. Once, when I was twenty.
It started as a typical internship to the solar astronomy department at Cambridge. I entered data about solar maximums and minimums into programs for six sidereal months for Professor Lucia's work on the heliopause. But apparently I asked the right questions around the right people, and soon I was working as a research student by her side, parsing solar irradiance fluctuation models into the quantum supercomputers and publishing the results. And somehow They had noticed us, and They gave us a ludicrous amount of money to go Above for two periods and work at the Saharan Large Array. And so sidereal months of security inspections later, I was working under the sun, one of five hundred people in the entire world on the surface. *Make better models with the data*, They told us. *We need to understand our own star better.*
Our models were apparently not that good, because while they predicted another two hundred periods of sunlight, six sidereal months into the experiment, the sun started to go out.
It didn't go out immediately, you know. You probably learned that in school anyway. Professor Lucia and the rest of us research students (there were five of us) first noticed the irradiance anomaly and waved it away as just that - an anomaly. But it wasn't that. It was the beginning of a trend. And so three sidereal months later all non-essential staff were evacuated back underground. By then the average outside temperature had plummeted to 185K and our instruments had started to fail anyway, not being designed for those temperatures. A sidereal month later, we followed them underground, the last humans to see the light of day, ever.
We didn't have the best data from underground, but all data from our nuclear-powered autonomous observatories suggested that solar minimum occurred 3224 periods, 4 sidereal months, an 22 sidereal days after Tare Day. And it hasn't risen since.
That was thirteen periods ago.
Today, I woke up to the most astounding silence I have ever known. | Day: 1 it’s gone, the light. It got bright, then nothing, scientists say it ran out of fuel, and were lucky it didn’t blow up. Riots are everywhere. I’m keeping a record, I’m currently in Nashville TN, the music city is filled with the cacophony of fights and brawls. I’m fleeing I’ll write when I get ready to leave.
Day:4 I’ve gathered supplies, the moon is empty and the city’s lights are the brightest things for miles, I’ve waited so I don’t have to deal with traffic. It’s also gotten colder it’s 28 degrees, Fahrenheit, it’s never gotten this cold before, not here atleast I’m going to look for a place to getaway, there is no law anymore.
Day:276 I had to rip out pages of this diary to keep warm, this old bunker will hopefully save us for atleast another few years. Our wood is getting low though. Radio broadcasts from the New Global Adaptation Effort (NGAE) stooped, the last warning was one that in a few years, a sound would stop and we all would get crippling tinnitus due to lack of sound. I’ve decided not to write until then.
Day:4748 It hurts and it’s only getting worse, I’m the only one left that I know, it hurts! There is no sound, we haven’t even the slightest thing to help, NOT EVEN MY FOOTSTEPS! It HURTS, I’m ending it, forever, goodbye. | 2019-08-05T18:29:20 | 2019-08-05T17:50:31 | 104 | 61 |
[WP] Ever since a horrific traffic accident years ago you have had a reoccurring song going around in your head. Although heavily researched, this song doesn't exist and there is no reference to it at all. Your at a bar, washing your hands in the toilets when a man walks in faintly singing a tune. | ######[](#dropcap)
It's been there since five years ago. Every so often, I can hear it a little more loudly, as if it's gotten closer somehow, and then it disappears again. Like that short pause on the radio in between songs, when they're switching the track out. Only it's the same song, over and over and over again.
I've tried getting help before. The psychiatrist said something about PTSD. About how sometimes you see echoes of the terrible things that have happened to you, and sometimes they stay.
"I don't think I'm traumatized by my boyfriend's death," I tell him. "I didn't particularly like him."
The psychiatrist looks at me and frowns. He writes something down in his little notebook. "Interesting," he says.
I stare at the knick on the back of my hand and remember that safety is a word I can associate with home now.
"You should go out more," my friends tell me. "It's been five years since your boyfriend died. You have to move on." I always feel like I should tell them I moved on six years ago, but I always shut my mouth. Some things are better left unsaid. Unimagined. Some things can only hurt if you bring them back into the light.
It was on a Saturday when it happens. When I finally decide that I can't stay at home on Fridays anymore and live my whole life in fear of men. So I go out to the Glacier with just a couple of friends. The ones who know.
But the closer I get, the louder the song gets. As if it had been waiting for me the entire time, just waiting for this moment where it could lure me in like a fish on a hook. I fall for it, following the song around the floor, dancing around the edges, when it disappears into the men's room.
Without a moment of hesitation, I open the door to face a man inside who I've never seen before. Who are you? he asks me. His eyes are a light blue, almost white, and they remind me of glaciers. I have to admit, he's a handsome man.
"That song," I ask. "What is it? You were singing it."
He looks surprised for a split second before he splits into a grin. "You can hear it?" he asks.
"Yes," I say.
"You want to know why?"
He walks slowly toward me, and it's now that I notice he's dressed in a suit and tie. That's strange, I think. "Yes," I say out loud.
He caresses my cheek, and I lean into his fragrance. It smells like jasmine, like roses, like heaven.
"After people have been in an accident, they become...sensitive," he says. "Their range of hearing increases." He draws me closer, into his embrace, and all I can feel is the warmth of his arms around me, the heat of his hands splayed against the small of my back. "I like to sing in that particular range because,"--he breathes in deeply, and I wonder if he's taking in my scent--"there's something so supple about someone whose broken."
In the back of my mind, I know I should be afraid. I know something's wrong. But my hands draw him closer, bringing his lips down to mine. He's a drug I never knew existed. And one I could never give up. His lips are as cold as ice, but as soft as snow.
"So what's that song?" I ask again.
He leans back slightly, and it's at that moment I realize I should run. But my feet are glued to the ground, and my hands are stuck to his chest. Something is keeping me here. He blinks, and his pupils turn into slits, like a cat's eyes. He grins, and his canines are sharp. Much too sharp for a human.
"It's a siren song."
*****
r/AlannaWu | Amidst the cheering of my friends, I took a deep breath and blew out the four candles on the cake, the words "To cheating death!" scrawled across it in thick frosting.
"YEAH!" the whooping and back claps rocked me as hard as the accident had.
I looked over and saw Marley ordering more drinks while drunkenly stumbling through the tale of our celebration.
"Four yeahs.. Years! Four years ago! Four years ago I met the luckseiests son of a bitch in the world! He was cut in half! IN HALF!" He pointed back at me and I gave a broad smile at those closest to him who turned and looked with incredulous curiousity in the direction that he pointed.
"Hey Mark, I'm gonna go piss while he pays for those. Tell him not to eat my cake before I get back!"
"You got it bud" Mark grins at me and goes back to listening to Becky talk about her most recent ER patient.
"No! No! I'm not bulbulllshitting! He was in half! The pole had folded on the car and"
The swish of the door to the bathroom cut off the rest of his story as the sounds of the bar diminished to a dull buzz of music and muffled voices.
I didn't need to hear it again- I could remember it like it had just happened. If that blasted humming would stop, perhaps I could forget, but it never stopped. Still, it was nice to celebrate life and the second chance I had been given. It was a miracle operation, and every year my friends from before, the doctors who worked on me, and crazy fucken Marley who had stumbled across the wreckage liked to get together and have a little party. It was a big moment that had changed all our lives and I wasn't going to rain on the parade because of some insanely obscure ditty.
I wobbled a little as I unzipped and put a hand up on the cool tile of the wall to steady myself.
"Shit… too much beer." I muttered under my breath.
"Yes" said a voice from one of the stalls.
I furrowed my brow and was halfway through thinking how weird it was to reply to another guy in the bathroom when I heard it. That tune. The same one I had tried countless failing ways to drown out since the accident. Coming from the same stall and matching exactly the timing and inflection.
Without thinking I spun where I was to see who would come out- I needed to know what that was!- and then I realized I hadn't finished urinating when I spun.
"Damnit" I cursed as I looked down at the urine on the floor and my pant let. Ahen I looked back up I saw him emerging from the stall, covered head to toe in long black robes.
"Shit!" I cursed again as my foot slipped on the urine and flew from under me, a sudden pain exploding in the back of my head as I hit it against the urinal and then the floor.
"You can't cheat death forever." the figure said as the black swelled and overtook my entire frame of vision and finally, peacefully, the humming faded.
​
\-----------------
Edited for a few details | 2018-08-29T17:51:56 | 2018-08-29T17:28:46 | 125 | 57 |
[WP] You’re hired with a dozen other professional personal security specialists to bolster a billionaire’s already strong security team at his residence for the weekend. No one knows why he is so scared he will be taken this particular weekend. You didn’t care. The money is excellent. | I drove up to the checkpoint to see five or six armed guards blocking the path. They were equipped with heavy-duty riot gear: face shields, body armor, M-16 rifles and M-9 side arms. These boys meant business.
"Good morning," I called out my window.
"Identification," one of the guards announced through his bushy beard. Spec Ops vets were all the same: once they get a breath of freedom from the military they go back to doing the same shit. But with beards.
I handed my ID out of the window, and beard guy handed it back to another guard who checked it against a clipboard. One of the guys to the right circled my car with an inspection mirror, checking the undercarriage like this was Iraq. I rolled down the window next to him.
"I think I hit a cat a half mile away. Can you check for me?" I smiled at him but he didn't even acknowledge me.
"Drive thirty feet up and pull to the right for inspection." Beardy handed my ID back to me and looked down the driveway.
"Thanks, buddy. Good talk."
I drove forward, parked, and was met with a new team of armored guards who searched my effects and tore the rental apart--stereo our of the console, rugs ripped up, the whole nine yards. When I protested, they handed me a paper receipt for the car from the rental agency.
$48,000 for a 2019 Toyota Camry. Paid for by Mr. Nock himself.
"What's he going to do with it?" I asked one of the inspectors.
"I don't know. Destroy it I guess. When you're a billionaire you can do shit like that."
"Too true. Where do I go from here?"
"Follow the path up to the main residence and talk to T.J. He'll assign you to a post and your watch will begin."
"Thanks, man." This guy seemed to be the first human being I had come in contact with thus far. "The name's Robert. Friends call me Robby."
He removed his tactical glove and extended his hand. "Miller. Friends call me Miller."
We shook and I went about packing my things back into my bag. "So, Miller, how'd you get into this line of work?"
"I was Air Force security forces for two years before cross-training into SERE. Got out in 2018 and I got picked up by Shieldpoint Logistics over here."
"A survivalist, huh? So if things go south tonight you'll know exactly how to stay alive in a billionaire's mansion."
He shrugged. "Air Force. It's how we do." We both laughed loudly, eliciting glares from some of the more stoic guards on duty. "What about you, Robby? How'd you start?"
By then I was all the way packed and eager to get started. "I'll tell you what. When this is all over, give me a call and I'll buy you a beer. I'll tell you the whole story." I handed him a business card with my info on it.
"I'll do that. Best of luck tonight!"
I rolled my eyes. Paranoid billionaires were easy pickings: unlimited money and show-of-force work only. I almost never even have to turn the safety off in these jobs. You stand around for 12 hours and get paid tens of thousands to do it. Except tonight Mr. Nock was paying a hundred grand per man. "Best of luck to you too, Miller."
I reached the house and followed the paper signs into Nock's huge foyer, where folding tables were erected and filled with computers and monitors and papers and pens. Charts were set up outlining the home's perimeter and marking weak points that required fortification and heavier guards.
A tall man in a button-up shirt under a bullet-proof vest walked up to me with a cup of coffee in his hand. "Morning!" He was older but had all the markings of a retired military man: grey, neatly-cut hair, pensive squint, well-fitted slacks but a loose gait. He had the posture of a man who could afford the finer things, but who has also killed people with his bare hands.
"Morning," I offered back. "I'm looking for T.J."
"You got him," he smiled to me and shook my hand. "I run security for Mr. Nock and I'm coordinating tonight's protocols. Who might you be?"
"Robby La Rue, at your service."
"Robby La Rue. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?"
"A name that's fun to stay sticks to the front of your mind." I winked and tapped my temple. "I credit it with a fair number of my contracts."
He laughed before taking a sip of his coffee and shaking his head. "Well let's hope you're not all market branding, Mr. La Rue." He set the mug down on a nearby table and picked up a tablet. "You'll be stationed on the third floor tonight, from noon to 6am. Go see Carlos at Command Post to get your access badge and radio and he'll direct you from there."
I nodded toward Carlos and took it all in. Not even a 24-hour post. This was a light job.
"So... What's the threat?"
"Pardon?"
"What's the threat? I've counted one, two, three... Five different security companies working here. Cordons, checkpoints, reinforcements... Is it just billionaire paranoia or is the threat credible?"
T.J. picked up his mug again and looked at me for a while without saying anything. "We have full catering in the kitchen. Hope you like Tex-Mex. Coffee is always freshly brewed and unlimited. Use the radio to get whatever you need. Carlos will assist you with the rest." His tone was flatter. Did I offend him? He didn't seem like a man so easily set off like that.
T.J. walked off. I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and went across the huge room to find Carlos and get started.
\-------------------------------------------------
Follow the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/ProtoWriter469/comments/go1hru/short_story_robby_la_rue/)! | Ice clinked in a glass. Lord Tristain gulped back another shot. The glass met the surface of a mirror-polished marble table with a rattle.
Arthur idly flicked his butterfly knife. The signs of fear were not unfamiliar to him and yet...there was something intriguing about watching a man who thought he would be dead soon sit calmly in an armchair, drinking slowly.
“Say, you’re hitting the bottle a little hard, aren’t you?” Arthur said.
Beside him, his partner elbowed him, “Don’t be rude!” Napier pasted a smile onto his smarmy face, pushing back a lock of greased hair, “You don’t have to worry about a thing, sir. Besides all the tin soldiers you have outside...Art and I are the best in the business.”
The old man laughed. It was an unpleasant sound, like the rattling of a dead tree.
“Really? Do you think you lot are qualified...to kill ghosts?”
Napier’s brow twitched. Arthur knew he was trying not to say anything- Napier didn’t like doing things that led to not getting paid.
Arthur didn’t really have much concerns.
“What d’you mean ghosts, sir?”
Lord Tristain looked at him. The shadows in the little study seemed to draw even closer to his form, pooling into the deeply wrinkled sockets of his eyes.
“I guess there’s no harm telling someone...” the old man sighed, “It’s only appropriate- vengeance cannot be fulfilled unless the sin is brought to light.”
Napier started, thumbing the trigger of his pistol, “Well, sir, you don’t really have to-“ he started nervously.
“Nah, I wanna hear this,” Arthur blinked, “C’mon. If we’re fighting a ghost maybe I can talk to it. Would be kind of cool to know if dead people really can come back to be a pain in the arse.”
“Ah,” Lord Tristain scratched the back of his neck, “If you hypothetically murdered someone on the for the sake of taking their identity and enjoying their wealth, do you think they’d be inclined to talk or cut straight to the point?”
The two bodyguards stared at him.
“Well, shit,” Napier said, his real tone revealed through his surprise.
Arthur squinted, “Wait, this is a hypothetical scenario right? I thought we were talking about who you thought was going to murder you...?”
“Art, you idiot,” Napier sighed.
“Eh, anyway don’t worry about it,” Arthur told Lord Tristain, “We’ll kill whoever’s coming here to get you at midnight.”
“Art, I told you, you can’t just say ‘kill’...” Napier continued.
Lord Tristain laughed suddenly, interrupting their banter. He looked up at their stunned faces and laughed again, clutching his sides and laughing until tears streamed down his eyes.
“I...I always knew I would pay for what I did...” he whispered, “Ah...it’s such a relief to know that someone knows the truth now.”
Abruptly, there was the sound of an electrical sizzle. The lights cut for a second. Arthur lunged forward as he heard the sound of a choked gasp.
The lights flickered on again.
“Damned power outage...” Napier looked around the room warily. The single door leading out of the enclosed study was still firmly shut.
“Naps...he’s dead,” Arthur said, pointing at the armchair, “Looks like a heart attack if I’m gonna guess,” he said with a professional nod.
Napier slowly looked to his wristwatch, “It’s midnight.”
“Damn!” Arthur started.
“Yeah, a ghost-“ Napier began.
“No, that’s not important!” Arthur waved his butterfly knife agitatedly, “Naps! We’re not going to get paid!” | 2020-05-21T06:19:39 | 2020-05-21T06:07:35 | 106 | 11 |
[WP] Seven poems about the seven deadly sins without naming them or their synonyms. | Round, sweet, shiny, slick, and coy,
I must have it, must have my hands
Upon it and it must be mine, it will, oh Joy
And it shall suffer only my demands.
----
Cloves, basil, ginger, sesame oil,
A thousand pigs in a pot a mile high,
My spoon's a shovel, I'm coming to a boil
I can't resist the smell, won't even try!
----
I'm sorry to tell you this, but it's not enough,
My pocket's deeper than your taxes fill,
Without more golden teapots life is rough,
And I'm the type to shoot to kill.
----
What's the rush, where's the raging fire?
Is it really necessary I leave my bed?
I simply do not understand your desire
To run around like a chicken with no head.
----
I will burn you, chop you, boil, cook, and eat you --
Yes, the bruises on your face are _all your fault_
What kind of ugly, stupid smelly fat shrew
Doesn't listen when I say to _pass the f---ing salt!_
----
Damn that sweater looks good on him,
Why is he getting all the attention?
I'm funny, bright, fit and trim,
My moustache should be worthy of a mention!
----
No Natives standin' on my Land,
I struck the Oil, I tamed the West.
Eagles mount my Godly hand
To tell the world I am the best.
| This was my attempt at sloth sorry in advance for formatting:
Within the verdant verge and bower
The sun, like a crowned jewel,
Shines sweetly on many a dewy flower
From its aery throne: the azure pool.
Such a gracious gift to view,
But not for thee, you sorry fool,
Who squanders the day and night through
With thoughts of the if and morrow
And empty promises of to-do,
But none of these you dare to follow;
For all these goods are like to thee
As to another pain and sorrow.
Such is the way, eternally,
Of one so taken with apathy. | 2016-10-09T08:16:34 | 2016-10-09T08:00:58 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Write about a chess match from the POV of one of the pieces. | Eternal battles fought, and I've no idea why. I do as I'm told, a quiet hand guiding me toward victory- or, sometimes, defeat. Through time, I've started to wonder- why do I fight? There is certainly no longer any glory, and I've grown tired of nothing but death.
Yet, alas, such things are not my place. I am a pawn; a soldier, and my job is to fight. I've come up with reasons: to save my brethren, for the glory of our leader, but none can stick. My job is to kill, and steal away breath.
When will it end? My guess is never; it's always been and will always be a certainty. Why is He my enemy, is it simply our colors? Because we are deemed foes, and forced into battle? I have killed him now, but he could have been a friend in another life.
Maybe, someday, that life will be real; peace and togetherness replacing war and strife.
| It was rare for women to serve in the imperial white army. I had fought tooth and nail for my right to serve. I was still a squire when the time came for battle. The dark army was razing villages to the east and our noble leadership had decided it was time to face them in open battle. Our forces were evenly matched and this battle would all come down to strategy.
I was the first to step forward as I rushed the battlefield and let out a thunderous cry. After, that, things happened very fast. Religious warriors slid across my left and massive warriors referred to as castles fought perpendicular to me. I continued to charge forward as an enemy squire approached me on my right. I utilized all the skills I had picked up over years of training as I lunged at him an thrust my sword upwards through his abdomen. I felt little remorse as he fell.
At last I made out the great warrior queen in my peripheral vision. She was the one that had inspired me to fight in the first place. Setting an example for empowering women throughout the kingdom she had chosen to fight and lead alongside her husband. Her skills were incredible. She was so fast! She flew across the field and took down soldiers in every direction. Then I saw the dark horse leaping from behind the squires. I screamed as there was nothing I could do as he fell the great queen.
My eyes narrowed; I would avenge the queen. I lost all thought as I charged forward on the battlefield. When I reached the backlines where I could finally see the king, I felt my strength grow as my anger surged through me. It was my time to lead. Checkmate, motherfucker. | 2016-02-06T12:31:24 | 2016-02-06T12:13:52 | 44 | 20 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage. | The line behind Wes was growing as he sifted through pages of words on a computerized booth. Each word was followed by a price tag that reflected its complexity.
"Hurry. You, hurry, please," demanded a man in a custodian gear that stood behind him. "Go. Go." The numerous people in the queue all seemed to nod in agreement.
Wes had no words to reassure them that he was moving as fast as he could, so he remained silent and focused.
The Department of Speech Permission, or DSP, was the government office in charge of selling word licenses to the public. For a citizen to be able to speak or write a word, the citizen must first purchase the right to use that word from this office. The DSP also had the power to set the prices. Depending on simplicity, utility or other unnamed factors, a word's price could be relatively inexpensive. Other words could be so expensive that people often choose to buy a limited number of uses.
A lady in the back, dressed in a white button top, pencil skirt and black pumps yelled out, "Come on! We all have things to do."
Wes couldn't help but notice how flippantly she used so many wide-utility words. She must have bought them all for unlimited use. Despite that, however, Wes knew that she was poor as well. If she were actually wealthy, she would be in the Expedited Service Section of the DSP.
He was right, of course. The woman was one of the many working class that bought into the notion that you have to fake it to make it. She had spent all her savings and put herself into debt in order to keep conversation with upper management. "Just pick one! I have to get to work!" She had gotten so good at bluffing her vocabulary that people rarely notice she only used one-syllable words. Unfortunately, she was unaware her bosses had noticed and mocked her behind closed doors.
Wes motioned to her as well. He had no words for her either.
But not for long. Wes finally found the word for which he had been saving on his lowly salary. A bright warning prompt flashed on screen. "Unlimited?" it asked. Yes. "Are you sure?" it warned one last time. Yes.
Wes basked at his profile on the computer screen. It now read:
> **Wesley Thorne**
Sex: Male
Age: 36
Total Vocabulary: 1
Accessible Words: "Revolution" (unlimited) | The noise machine that tells time went off bright and early. Person 1,289,273,493 woke up and began another day. The first eating time, a shower, and the morning drive time.
Person 1,289,273,493 came to the place with the machines that make power. The work was hard but the pay was kind of not bad.
“**Greetings** person 1,289,273,493!” said **Jane**.
“Hello worker watching over other workers”, said person 1,289,273,493. He was sad and angry when thinking about her. She had enough money to buy a name!
“I see you **wasted** your last **paycheck** again person 1,289,273,493” **Jane** said with a very sad sigh. “You know that you can’t **advance** in the company if you never buy any new words! Why, just last week I bought the **advanced adverb pack**!”
“I want to talk with more than the ten hundred most used words, worker watching over other workers, I do. But I have to feed my family and the money to buy new words keeps rising.”
**“Ridiculous!” Jane exclaimed.** “Words are power.”
“Now, today your **assignment** is to **repair** a downed power line about 30 **miles** from here. Move along.”
Person 1,289,273,493 loved these jobs. He got be outside in the fresh air for a change. He drove the 158,400 feet to the problem, and began to look around.
“A simple fix”, he thought on seeing the place. “I just need to put up a little bit of new line. But, what caused the line to fall?”
Person 1,289,273,493 looked around. When he finally saw the cause of the problem, he wished that he had stayed at home. The thing that broke the line was not allowed by the law. He knew what it was, even if he couldn’t read it. He had always dreamed of holding one of these even if someone finding him holding it meant death.
The old, torn letters on the front formed a new word – one he didn’t own. *“D – i – c – t – i –o – n – a – r – y” | 2017-09-20T09:17:27 | 2017-09-20T07:41:54 | 4,390 | 341 |
[WP] you were born with the ability to know what’s buried beneath your feet. You’ve worked with archeologists as your life’s work, but today is the day you say for the very first time. “We should not dig here.” | I could always tell, even from my earliest memories.
When I was younger, I could only get the broadest sense of things. A rough feel of the shape, maybe a hint at the material. Much like a muscle, it developed as I exercised it. As time wore on, I became finely attuned to the world that lay beneath my feet. I could pick out the individual layers, the sediments of time and the secrets each held.
As the world below became fixed in my mind's eye, I grew increasingly interested in its study. It wasn't enough to know what lay beneath, I wanted to understand it. To see how this mysterious subterranean ecosystem operated. How it progressed. How each layer lay the foundation for what was to come. How the present gave birth to the surface.
Archeology was a natural calling. I'm certain I could have had a fantastic future as a human treasure detector, but this unique gift seemed too precious to squander on frivolities. I went to university and spent my summers volunteering on dig sites. Needless to say, my uncanny abilities were greatly appreciated even if they were not fully comprehended by my colleagues.
It wasn't until my years as a graduate student that I finally gave voice to talent. I spoke with my dissertation advisor, a woman I had grown to admire and trust through the years. Her scientific nature required a number of demonstrations before she would accept the truth of the matter, but eventually she accepted that what I said was true: I could see the world above and below with equal clarity.
That was the beginning of a great partnership. Dr. Liu and I traveled the world, exploring and unraveling the mysteries of humanity.
Our fame grew as we provided answer after answer to the great questions that had plagued us.
What had happened to the Mayans?
Where was Gengis Khan buried?
Just what the hell was Stonehenge anyways?
One by one they fell.
It was then we received the missive we had long waited for. The invitation from the government of Egypt. Inviting us to examine the environs of the pyramids. To unearth the secrets without unearthing them.
Why had they been built? How had they been built? What lay within? What chambers led where, and what did they hold?
So many questions. And finally, at long last, they would be answered.
Which brings us to the here and now. Dr. Liu by my side, knapsack slung casually over her shoulder. Her standard khaki shorts and shirt combo causing her to blend in slightly to the dull sand swirling about us in small eddies on the wind. She spread her arms broadly, a grin on her face, "So Lawrence, where do we begin?"
I stamped my feet against the ground a bit, "Lots of stuff below. Mostly pottery and tools. I'd say we get closer to the big stuff and see where that takes us."
"Wanna unravel the mystery of the Sphinx?" She asked, before waving her fingers about in undulating waves, "Spoooooooky."
I grinned and shrug, "Sure. Seems like as good a place as any." We began to walk toward the Sphinx, which lay about a mile away, though it was still visible through the wavy heat of the late afternoon. We chatted amiably as we strolled along, with me occasionally stopping to call out an object of interest. Whenever I did, she would make a marking on the map, stack a few stones on top of each other and then we would continue.
Approximately a half mile out from the Sphinx, I felt something odd below. A thick, heavy barrier. "Nancy, something weird here."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Thick. Very thick. Stone. Maybe..." I walked back and forth a few times, "yeah, maybe ten feet thick, twenty feet high." I began to walk south, following the structure beneath my feet. "It's long. Still going."
We continued on in silence for a few minutes, as I concentrated on my task. Finally, Dr. Liu spoke up, "We're heading in a circle. It's curving."
I blinked and looked up, "Huh?"
"It's a circle. Whatever it is down there, it's a big circle."
"Around what?" I asked.
She glanced down at her map, tracing her finger along. After a moment, she looked up, her dark brown eyes wide, "It's...it's around the Sphinx."
"Huh. That's weird, what should we do?"
She looked down at her map again, rubbing her lips together as she worked through the possibilities, "I say we continue toward the Sphinx. We can always check back on this later, I don't imagine it's going anywhere."
"No, probably not. It's far enough down that it predates the Sphinx by a fair measure," I said, beginning to turn back in the direction of the odd lion human statue in the distance.
"Interesting," was all Dr. Liu replied as she fell into stride beside me.
At about a quarter mile, I stopped again. "There's another one." I stomped about a bit. "Even bigger. Thicker. Taller." I squinted. "Wow, metal bands around it to reinforce." I walked along it again for a minute or two, keeping my eye on the Sphinx as I did so. "Same thing as before."
Dr. Liu nodded and turned toward the Sphinx again. "Let's keep going."
We crossed three more walls as we headed inward, each a smaller concentric circle. "They certainly took their walls seriously back then. I wonder what they were protecting?" I mused aloud.
"Or trying to keep in," Dr. Liu replied, her gaze fixed on the Sphinx ahead.
We began to approach the Sphinx, the revelations of the last hour combined with the majesty of the monument to evoke a contemplative mode between us.
I took another step, moving past the most recent barrier. My mouth dropped open, my throat running dry. "Dr. Liu. There's....there's bodies below."
"Bodies? As in plural?"
"Hundreds. Thousands even," I said, my words coming out unevenly.
"What do you mean thousands?"
I dug my foot in to the sand, moving it about slowly. "Layer upon layer. Thousands of bodies in a thin layer of sediment..." I paused, as I felt the information flow into me, "followed by hundreds of years of silence before another layer. The pattern repeats. Time and time again. Layer upon layer of slaughter."
"Slaves? Were they sacrificed?"
"No. It feels as if there was a great battle. The last one was waged just before the barriers came into existence." I walked toward the Sphinx. The layers did not change. There were entire armies buried beneath my feat, all clustered around the statue.
Finally, I walked between its paws. I stopped. I could feel it. Deep below. A chamber. Large. Black. Dark. And within it...something even darker. An abyss. A living one. I stared down at my feet, "Dr. Liu...we should not dig here."
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | "I've been working with y'all for awhile now, so you know that I know my shit. I'm telling you, we should not dig here."
Lead archeologist: "We've been told that there are many unnamed and undiscovered artifacts right under our feet! You can't tell me that we should forego the knowledge we can soon ascertain!"
"Actually, there is a sewer line coming from that complex just to the north, so if you wanna dig, go ahead, but I'm not sticking around." | 2018-09-11T21:56:35 | 2018-09-11T20:45:58 | 195 | 94 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you." | The hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..." | Chronis was pleasantly surprised by his new visitors. He was used to being harassed by adventurers, treasure hunters, and evil dragons. And when he was a young dragon he had to contend with dragonnappers – the black market had a high price for small, trainable dragons.
He had shifted into his human form to look at the coin the newcomers had brought him as an offering.
"Curious. A gold coin from the Oirean Second Dynasty. Quite rare. Priceless, really." Chronis noted that it was in good condition, too.
One of the visitors, a male human, unarmored and dressed in dark townsfolk attire, but with a rapier strapped to his waist, stepped forward. "We found it in a treasure trove in a shipwreck not to long ago. It's yours if you help us out."
The other visitor, an elven woman who was dressed in leather armor with a funny hat and a small crossbow, added, "And we might be able to tell you where to find more."
The ancient being sighed. "What is it that you want?"
The male human, who earlier had mentioned his name was Julius, asked him "Surely you've heard of the uprisings against Princess Augusta?"
The dragon could see where this was going. "I've also heard that half the rebels are worse than she is."
The elf, Miriel, replied, "We represent the other half, the ones who want to restore the Oirean Commonwealth, not join the Witch-King of the eastern lands."
Chronis chuckled. "Ahh, the other half that are the puppets of the realm of Ocida." He continued examining the coin. "I would be cautious of trusting that land. It's chancellor will abandon you when you need him the most." He chuckled again. "I have seen their nation rise. And I will, too, see its fall." This coin was quite remarkable.
The human – Julius – shifted nervously. "We are puppets of no one! We are... forging our own... destiny. Surely you have no love for the Princess?"
Chronis frowned. "No, I do not. She's burned entire villages to take their grain for her armies, she's allied with the Emperor of Astria and now his black dragons fill the skies, she's brought in every vile creature in the continent to bolster her armies, she's strip-mined the countryside, and she's brought back the worship of the Ancient Ones. What is it that you need?" He continued eyeing the coin.
Julius continued, "A week ago, our army routed hers from the Old Capital. However, while pursing the routed army, our Marshal Sir Marcus was captured and brought to the New City. She plans to publicly execute him to quash 'rumors' that her army was defeated. We are planning to infiltrate the city and rescue him when he is to be executed. That's where you come in. We need someone to move him out – through the skies."
Chronis snorted. "You could have any common hippogriff or gnomish ornithopter do that."
Julius shook his head. "A common hippogriff would be cut down by Augusta's archers and arquebusiers before he even left the square. And gnomish contraptions are hardly reliable." Julius dug out another coin as he said this.
"And how do you plan on stopping her black dragons. She has several in the New City. I know this well. They are close to encroaching on my territory."
Muriel reached into her satchel and withdrew an orb the size of her hand. It was obsidian, a grey smoke seemed to billow through it. "Not all elven mages are content to hide in their towers while the world burns around them. We have enough of these to keep most of them docile."
Chronis took the second coin from Julius. "When do we leave?"
***
This is the first part. If people like it I'll post the second. The story was actually the result of two WPs that I was inspired to write one story from (the 2nd is no longer on the WP front page so I didn't post it there). I initially intended on posting it on the other thread, so that's why this is written in 3rd person, rather than 1st person. | 2015-10-14T04:03:21 | 2015-10-14T02:25:00 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] It's the year 2851. Humanity develops interstellar travel and begins to explore the Milky Way galaxy in search for life. However, much to everyone's surprise, instead of alien life we find... Earth's biosphere complete with humans, repeated over and over at different stages of progress.
Edit: Thank you all so much for this!! The idea came to me in the shower about a week ago, as a thought about "what really weird things we could find as we set to explore the galaxy?". I liked it because there are so many possible angles, and because it hasn't been done before AFAIK (???). I am having a blast reading all your stories. | As the CSD Persphone approached the edge of the galaxy, her crew gathered on the bridge to celebrate the notable feat. She was the first ship capable of inter-Galactic travel and her crew was now the only explorers to ever leave humanities Galactic home. The sensors indicated they had breached the edges and each looked out upon the vastness of space. It was the most beautiful landscape their eyes had ever seen, but the crew which consisted largely of astrophysicists and astronomers noticed an oddity. The view on the other side of the galaxy was the view at the galaxy's furthest extent. It was as if they stood with their nose to a mirror.
There was no turning back, and the intrigue of the mirrored galaxy intrigued them even more than the possibility of infinite space. As the Incelerators engaged and pushed the ship further from home, the environs became more familiar. It was with excitement and confusion that known solar systems came into view. They were systems of the Milky Way.
The arguments were constant. Theories of the known universe had been suddenly flipped on their heads, and many did not take it well. Some argued they were in the same galaxy but had somehow curved over and reentered. Others argued that this was not the same galaxy but perhaps simply a similar galaxy to our own. There were fringe theories of time paradoxes and interdimensional travel, but at the root was a sudden ignorance among the smartest of minds.
And then they reached Earth. As the ship rested in orbit, the crew looked down on their home. But it wasn't. The northern hemisphere was still largely covered in ice as if the glacial retreats had never begun. As the ship moved into the Earth's shadow, they noticed there were no lights.
Drones were sent to the surface to gather information. The readings were far from the Earth which they had left. Temperatures were cooler, carbon dioxide levels were lower, but the images were the most astounding. Mammoths were roaming the northern expanse while Smilodons stalked them across the plains. Huge herds of ancient Buffalo moved across the landscape while Dire wolves hunted their weak. While viewing a gathering of the armored armadillo-like Glyptodons they discovered the most astounding revelation: a group of humans was spotted stalking the beasts from the tall grass. As they watched, the fur clad humans launched an attack with stone tipped spears. They separated one of the animals, and set to it with deadly purpose. After it succumbed to its many wounds, women and children emerged from the grass and set to butchering the animal.
The crew of the Persephone sat in stunned silence at the reality of what they had seen. But the questions remained unanswered. Had they traveled in time, into another mirrored galaxy, or into another dimension?
The CSD Persephone's engines pushed the ship away from the Paleolithic Earth and she once more began her intergalactic adventure. Her crew had willingly left their galaxy the intention of discovery, and they were set on expanding human knowledge at all cost. They had risked their lives for science, and with purpose they had set their mind to their next mission. They would go to the next galaxy, and the next if need be, and they would find the answers. | It's been 500 years since we discovered that Constellation A-B21 was filled with life. We prepared our best space armies to launch a full-fledged assault. But when we identified the life, our desire to annihilate them...vanished. All we could see on the closest planet were humans. Humans like us.
The same green planets made us sick with nostalgia as we watched the humans grow. The one closest to Earth seemed to be in the 21st Century, 800 years behind us. The structures that were 'modern' so long ago...it evoked emotions that we didn't know we had. The planets further on were further and further behind; some in the Industrial Revolution, some still inventing writing. The last bit of human life we could find hadn't even figured out how to farm yet. We left the planets untouched, according to instructions from superiors.
A year later we were back. But for a different reason. Our superiors decided that it was a perfect chance for an experiment - to see how alterations we could have made centuries ago would affect our society. But to spoil their way of life for a simulation...it seemed wrong. And I was the sole member of the team to violent protest against it. But, overruled, we sailed towards Constellation A-B21.
When we reached I refused to carry out a single action. The rest introduced advanced weaponry, incited wars and even destroyed one planet to 'test how well they can recover'. Their actions made me sick. But a protest would almost certainly guarantee an execution, an execution made especially easy in the vast emptiness of the surrounding void.
When we were done we made it back to Earth, my crew members laughing about the deeds they had done loudly. I brooded in a corner of my cabin, alone, thinking about how our actions today would affect the humans of tomorrow.
Another few centuries passed. Humans' lifespan could now be limitless, after scientists discovered the secret to aging (and the medication to counteract it). I had almost forgotten about the action we had done in the 29th Century. But I was rudely reminded of it one day.
It looked like a normal spaceship. Just like the advanced ones our starfleet boasted of. But this one...it seemed ready for combat. Equipped with weaponry we had never seen the likes of before, the inhabitants marched off the spaceship and started firing at the stunned onlookers. Storming into the White House, the place was eradicated within moments as the invaders took control of all media outlets. As I ate my breakfast, the sight of them reminded me.
They were humans.
But they were...so familiar.
"Humans of Earth. You attempted to use our planets as a tool for your entertainment and research. You killed some of your brothers to satisfy your lust for destruction," the leader said, his voice rising in anger and fury.
"Now we'll let you see how life as a 'tool of research' feels like. Watch out," he concluded, walking away from the mass of reporters. "Mister...Human, where do you hail from?" a particularly nosy reporter shoved his way to the front before asking.
"Constellation A-B21. I hope that satisfies you?" he asked, waiting for the reporter to nod before shooting him. The other reporters fled in the subsequent chaos.
I dropped the steak-flakes in my hand as they scattered all over the floor. But they were the least of my worries.
Constellation A-B21 wanted revenge.
And the revenge had begun.
_________________________________________________________________
Liked that? Check our r/Whale62 for more! :)
Edit: [Here's Part 2!](https://redd.it/6kgfl3)
Edit 2: [Here's Part 3!] (https://redd.it/6klxgo) | 2017-06-30T06:44:21 | 2017-06-30T06:38:53 | 83 | 52 |
[WP] You're 80 years old and time travel is possible. You sit down for dinner with earlier versions of yourself at age 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 and 70. Conversation ensues. | 10 looks around the room and calls out "Really? Wow!" The idea of being 30 was foreign to 10, much less being older than 30. That would be older than his parents, and they were oooold.
50 sighs deeply and looks at his feet. Flexing his neck and waiting to see what happens.
20 and 30 size each other up, then 30 reaches over and swats 20 across the head. "You idiot. I would lecture myself, but it seems kinda pointless. But you'll get through it."
Sitting calmly and eating turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy was 70. He ignored everyone else, there wasn't much to discuss as he had retired a few years back and had gotten used to the idea.
60 seemed impatient, and by now, he knew the outcome, even though he didn't want to believe it.
Staring was all that 40 could do, he just stared... at 80. Time travel, that he could believe in. Meeting yourself at a neutral point in time, sure, he could understand that. But this?
80 was giggling like a fool. He looked around the room at everyone, grinned from ear to ear and exclaimed, "Yes gentlemen, you ACTUALLY live to be 80 years old!", then let out a holler and laughed to the point of tears.
| 10: You're a little young for this, but leave girls alone until college.
20: Stay off the cocaine. Start saving for retirement.
30: Don't get married more than once. If at all.
40: Buy whatever you want.
50: Are you still in a shit career? Stop. Go fishing for six months.
60: Did you save enough for retirement? Good. Retire.
70: How much whiskey did you drink today? Go buy more.
80: If you're not dead, get it over with. You had a good life. | 2016-08-24T16:21:10 | 2016-08-24T15:43:49 | 57 | 40 |
[WP] After a tremendous economic collapse, experts have realized that the world's current finances are not enough to support all the existing countries. In response, the United Nations has arranged a high-stakes poker game in which world leaders are playing with their country's national wealth. | A dozen men and women held on to the table, their chairs sliding slightly underneath them as the floor rose on one side, fell, and rose on the other. The table, a flat plain of perfect green, edged with exquisite lacquered mahogany, was bolted to the middle of the floor.
Each of the players wore suits and dresses, with small, flag-shaped pins attached to their breasts. Glasses littered the tables, most of them barely touched.
None of them were talking to each other. Their faces were so stony, they might have all been cut from the same rock. All except for the man with dark, almost yellowish skin who looked like he'd just swallowed a very sour grape. Four fluted glasses rolled on the table in front of him, completely drained.
Two men sat in the back of the room, with two spindly microphones sticking out of their own, smaller, table. One of them, a man with a crisp, full beard, and skin as black as the ocean at night, had his hand over the microphone. He was leaning back and whispering to his counterpart. When the floor tilted, their heads swayed together; left - then right - then left.
Someone, somewhere, rang a tiny bell - as if merely calling for room service.
With that, the two spectators leaned in towards their microphones.
"And that is the signal. We have just crossed into International Waters."
"That's right, James, which means we are about to begin the highest stakes game of poker *ever played.* More than twenty-five trillion dollars in debt, the entire United States is up for grabs. It's time to see if the UN's plans to solve the Global Financial Crisis will, in fact, work."
Their voices were silky smooth, a stark contrast to the silent tension swelling inside the room.
"Today, our players are fighting over arguably the most expensive prize in the world. I'm excited to see how this pans out, Abasi."
"I'm sure you are, James. They are, after all, playing for your home country. Who do you favor to win?"
"It's a tough call, Abasi. Most of these players have been trying to take a piece of my country for hundreds of years. Some of them have even spilled blood for it. I think I can speak for everyone watching when I say, if nothing else, this should be an interesting game."
"Truly."
At the table, a dealer in a red vest walked to the head of the table. She flicked her dry, blonde hair over her shoulder, and just as she was about to put down a card in front of the British player, the Russian stood up, and began shouting.
"Left first! This is how to play the Poker!"
"I don't know what heathenish backwater game you play, sir, but in the Great Sovereignty of the United Kingdom-"
"Left first!" the Russian pounded on the table.
Next to the Russian, the man with the yellowish skin had turned green, and every time the Russian's fist thumped against the table, he let out another groan.
The dealer spoke with a droning drawl, a voice that suggested 'No matter how much you argue with me, I am always right.'
"House rules. Right first. Please keep your tone civil at the table."
The Russian opened his mouth to argue when the floor lifted beneath his feet. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the table.
By then, the dealer was already flicking out the cards, and laying out the rules in a smoker's monotone. The Russian sat back down in his chair, giving the Brit an unblinking scowl. The Brit leaned back in his chair with a look so smug you might think he had already won the game.
Someone in the back, a woman with a maple leaf on her lapel, was fiddling with something under the table. The man to her right peered over her shoulder and gasped.
"Cheating! She is cheating!"
"What?" the woman looked up, her face flushed, "I am not!"
"Yes you are!"
"How can you possibly-"
The accuser flipped over the card he had just been dealt: an Ace of Hearts.
"There is only one Ace of Hearts!" he shouted, knocking over his chair as he stood up, "You have Ace of Hearts too! You cheater!"
"How did you know what she had in her hand?" the Russian demanded from across the table, "I think you are cheater, too!"
Next to the Russian, the yellow/green skinned man made a clucking sound once - twice - and a spray of bright orange vomit erupted from his mouth and nostrils, splattering chunks of orange on the table. The room exploded into a thunderstorm of voices. Cards went flying. Glasses crashed to the floor. People clawed at each other's chips. Someone pulled out a knife and stabbed it, quivering, into the center of the table.
In the back, the spectators sighed.
"Well, James, I think it's safe to say this is one of the UN's worst ideas ever."
"Truly."
***
*For more* truly *terrible stories, check out /r/PSHoffman.* | Several big names had fallen early. Trump ("With this name, how could I lose?") went all in four hands into the game and was trumped himself - Putin's straight to the American's three kings.
The table was almost empty now. Only those with the biggest pockets, or Lady Luck on their side, remained. James Bond surveyed his competition and silently savoured the thrill of the game.
Putin was still in, playing a daring but calculated game. The ticker tape at the bottom of the live feed had taken to calling him the Russian lion, between announcements about the uprisings in numerous cities across the globe. Opposite him was Merkel. She had made big gains from the small fish, but she was slowly bleeding chips to the bigger sharks. The German chancellor was the big blind on this hand, and she pushed her 100 million dollar chip across the table looking as green as the felt.
As the only non head of state left playing, Bond was seated at the far end of the table. He looked impassively at the two cards flicked his way by the dealer, Ban Ki-moon. A two and a jack.
The secretary general turned over three cards in the center of the table. A nine, a king, and another two.
Xi Jinping was the little blind. He would have to fork out another 50 million chip to stay in the hand, but he had deep pockets. Netanyahu and Lee Hsien Loong folded.
Putin glanced down at his cards again. There. Bond thought he saw it again. Had that been his tell?
"Raise," the Russian said, pushing a half billion chip across the table.
All eyes turned to Bond.
Bond held Putin's gaze, and casually tossed one of the big gold chips onto the felt.
---
*Read more of my stories at* /r/jd_rallage | 2016-03-08T09:28:15 | 2016-03-08T09:17:53 | 100 | 64 |
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion. | Could not, would not, go on about,
And I will not, shall not, stay in doubt.
To think that, feel that, when I'm gone,
I hope that, wish that, the show goes on!
Not this, nor that, will I do,
To die soon I must, it's true!
He thought, she thought I would only cry,
Even though I know, I hope to die.
Here I will lie, and there I will go.
A minute too fast, and a moment too slow.
This is the end, of my great show.
^^^read ^^^the ^^^first ^^^letter ^^^of ^^^each ^^^line.
Obligatory edit. Gold? Thanks so much kind stranger! | I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting | 2015-01-17T04:58:43 | 2015-01-17T04:21:47 | 349 | 15 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | ----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
---------------------------------------------- | Mark leaned onto the counter trying to get a better look at the demon's computer screen. "It's gotta be wrong! I didn't do anything that bad!"
The demon pushed her glasses up her nose. "It's never wrong. That's the number it figured out. That's the time you'll spend in hell. Next please!" She stamped a document.
Mark put his arms straight out. "No. I'm not done!"
"Come on buddy, some of us don't have to spend all eternity here.", blurted another soul in line. The demoness sneered up at him.
"I suppose I can get a technician to look at it. But it won't do you any good. It's never wrong." The demon thumbed through a pile of documents labeled "Time Severed". "Keezazakul, this gentleman would like a technician to verify the results of his sentence. Can you get someone from AkashikSoft over here to tell him what we already know?"
Instantly, a small blue demon appeared in a puff of smoke. The stench was terrible, and the souls in line began coughing and gagging. Mark's eyes began to water. He plugged his nose.
"Got a service request. What seems to be the issue?" The small blue demon scanned his clipboard.
The demoness at the desk gestured towards Mark. "This gentleman thinks his sentence calculation is incorrect and would like you to verify it."
Mark stood up straight and sputtered, "If it's not too much trouble, sir. It's just I didn't..."
The small blue demon leaned into the computer and started typing at an incredible velocity. "The software is never wrong, sir. The calculations performed are as infalible as, well, as Go...oh." He stopped talking and stared intently at the screen. "What's this?"
Mark leaned to see what the demon was looking at. His heart leaped with hope. "What is it? Did you find something?"
The demon frowned and tilted the monitor out of Mark's view. "Hmmmm. This isn't right. This isn't right at all."
Mark jumped and pointed at the demoness. "Hah! I told you!" She sneered and rolled her eyes to the computer. The little blue demon continued his analyzation of the software, while adding the occasional, "My my my", or "This can't be right at all." Finally, after what seemed like hours, to Mark at least, the blue demon stepped away from the computer, folded his arms and confidently declared, "It's screwed."
"Come again?", the demoness said.
"Yeah. There's some errant code in there that is totally messing with the counts. I don't know if some bad code got merged in or what, but we've gotta roll back."
Mark smiled and looked back and forth from the demoness to his new hero, the blue demon technician. "Yeah! Do that! Rollback!"
The demoness rolled her eyes. "How long will that take?"
Mark started to do a little dance.
"I dunno. We gotta get it signed off, the new code needs to be peer reviewed. A whole bunch of things have to happen first. We're looking at...6..maybe 7 years."
Mark stopped dancing. "Wait. Did you say years?"
"Hell years. Not Earth years." The blue demon tapped on a device that looked surprisingly like an iPhone.
"How long is that?", Mark asked.
"Approximately 1.57 Earth years. Except every 6th year. Then you add an additional 2 thirds." The blue demon added as he continued to text.
Mark's face contorted. "What? So what year are we on? How long is this gonna take? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
The demoness slapped a form and a pen onto the counter in front of Mark. "You'll need to make an official declaration of disagreement. Please fill out this form and return it to me when you're done. Please make sure to fill out both sides."
Mark reluctantly grabbed the pen and the form and started scanning over it. "Known allergies? What does that have to do with..."
The demoness interrupted him. "Next! Please, sir. You may take a seat over there."
Mark slowly walked across the room and found his way to a chair. "When was the last time you ate at Golden Corral?" He shook his head and attempted to scribble in the answer. The pen made one solid line and then sputtered out. "Goddamn it." Mark scribbled hard on the top of the page until ink started flowing again. "How many times have you argued with authority figures? Please be accurate to within a factor of 1. What?"
Mark started to write. "Neve" The pen burst. Ink was suddenly everywhere. "Oh! Come on!" Mark looked at his hands which were now covered in ink. The document was covered in ink. Everything within a short radius of Mark was now covered in ink.
"Excuse me." Mark said in the direction of the demoness. "Excuse me!" He said it louder. "Um, your pen exploded on me."
The demoness paused for a moment and looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Welcome to Hell, sir."
The small blue demon suddenly looked up from his texting. "Hold up! We don't have to redeploy. Gazul says all we have to do is restart the system and that should fix it."
"Oh thank God!" Mark sighed. Around the room, thirty or so demons hissed. He shrank into his chair.
"Ok. That should do it." The blue demon clicked on a few keys and then motioned to the demoness. "You'll need to log in again. I don't have your credentials."
The demoness clicked away at some keys and then pointed to Mark. "Sir, please come here. The system has been fixed."
"Hey! I was next!" the woman at the front of the line blurted.
"Shut-up!" the demoness yelled. She stretched a smile across her toothy face and turned towards Mark. "Now, let's see."
Mark rubbed his neck in nervousness. "I swear I wasn't that bad a of a person. I'm not even sure why I'm in Hell. I really thought that..."
"Do you want your corrected results, or not?" The demoness sneered.
"Uh. Yes. Uh. Yes please. Mam." Mark whispered to himself, "Please be less than five. Please be less than five."
"It's four..."
"YES!" Mark shot his hands up and fell to his knees. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
"Hundred thousand, nine-hundred and seventy-six years. Hell years, of course."
Marks arms fell to his sides. His face lost all expression. "But...how?"
"Welcome to Hell, sir! NEXT!"
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T07:30:32 | 1,768 | 68 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | It started innocuously enough.
Families who struggled to make ends meet, had another chance to add in a third shift. The labor pool had just expanded by 33%. And let's face it, the drug itself wasn't that expensive.
At first.
About a year and a half after the drug became publicly available, a pharmaceutical company successfully sued and gained partial ownership rights, despite never being part of its construction. Their claim was that by acquiring 2 of the 5 companies that had taken part in the process, they deserved controlling rights.
Despite the public outcry, the judge ruled that the rights of creation were ceded to the new owners. Hidden from public eye, one of the remaining 3 CEOs had purchased quite a bit of stock in the newcomer. Coincidentally, the cheap drug became unavailable overnight.
The wave of mass evictions that followed were not their problem, it just meant that they needed to manage their money more.
Landlords agreed, and raised their prices by 33%. Not all, but enough that it was considered fairly dumb to leave money on the table.
Soon, news came of corporate dealings, and the drug was re-branded as a working aid.
Cheap labor jobs would supply the drug, so long as workers agreed to work the 3rd shift with them. These jobs would of course pay a lower rate, to compensate the company for the LARGE cost of supplying this drug to the worker.
Families without homes became quite common. Revolving door homes rose up for the "3rd shift orphans" that resulted from their parents working 24 hours a day.
Eventually, a kind-hearted businesswoman looked at these poor poor souls and offered all of her employees' families a safe home, so long as they remained her employees. So long as their children behaved. So long as they learned at her schools.
The practice of "Shift Shelters" was a breakout success!
No more masses of 3rd shift orphans wandering the streets. No worries over lack of education. Within the decade, companies didn't even need to worry about unskilled labor, as the children already knew exactly what they wanted to do.
Did they really need so much money if they didn't have housing costs? If we provided food for our employees, did they really need to account for that in their budget?
Supermarkets railed against these dealings, but couldn't do much. Most transitioned to full time logistics, helping to transport the foods from farms to factory floors.
During all of this, there were pushes for more and more unions. Worker rights. Freedoms.
But it became harder and harder to gain followers. Most people couldn't afford a roof, for themselves let alone their children, without the 3rd shift. They wouldn't risk the safety of their kids. Supermarkets were gone, and entire cities became food deserts unless you worked for one of the companies.
Voting was never made illegal for the 3rd shift workers. But the clocks began to malfunction during specific dates. By the time anyone realized, the elections had already been decided a week ago. Without a way to gain a voice, no one truly cared to help.
I mean, the 3rd shift workers were making money hand over fist. They never needed to sleep. They could read every book. Watch every movie. See every play! That's how the celebrities lived. Why would anyone choose to work with their 3rd shift if not to get ahead on their mortgage or to aim for a promotion?
​
Quietly, though, a fire broke out. A small one of course. Only 500 3rd shift workers died.
It was a small thing. These sorts of accidents were common, but there wasn't a mention of it. Not on the Internet, nor the evening news. 500 3rd shift workers simply.... did not show up to work.
A few other fires broke out after that. Always in historically... "discontent" factories.
The 3rd shift workers kept their heads down. They kept their mouths shut. They had grown up to trust their benefactors. But many knew the rumors, though only in hushed tones. No one left the company. The only was out was to be fired.
​
And the world marched on. Most don't think about 3rd shift workers anymore. If they wanted, they could simply leave. It's their choice to remain there. It's their choice to continue working with the benefits of no sleep. It's their choice is the refrain from every politician and every citizen who remembers them.
Most people don't lose sleep over it. | She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
The girl slips through twilight, dawn threatening behind her. It’s a world turning gray in a place where the only colors should be stars, or the desires people bring to her; which could be many and could be confusing, but which never had any other place to go. She sees a doorway up ahead, slips through it. All she does is slip these days.
It’s a man. He’s sitting at the dinner table having breakfast, which doesn’t make much sense to her. All that pomp and circumstance replaced by paperwork, seats for seven others taken up by laptops, notebooks, and more phones than one man needs. He’s working in that half-world between awareness and the subconscious where the mind tries to retreat to now there’s nowhere else to go. He’s almost creative. He shapes a phrase that he thinks is quite clever, poetic. He used to be a poet in his teenage years. He crosses it out. The boss doesn’t like poets. Not in an earnings call. There’s no poetry to ones and zeros, it’s all stark prose where the subtext is stripped out and the punctuation is a bunch of exclamation points. One after every line. Every life. He’s drifting.
The man reaches to his right and pulls out a little red pill, drinks the pill down with his cup of tea. Not coffee anymore. He doesn’t need coffee and he never liked the taste.
And the girl steps back. She has her foot in the door by the time rush hits, and then it’s rushing past him, towards her, the eight hours that should have been her life flashing before his eyes, a tidal wave of simulated sleep, perchance to never dream again.
The door slams shut behind her. She can hear the man humming. A lullaby. He’d had a baby once, or had that been a dream too?
The girl slips south. Doors crack open and slam shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. She peers through another, sees an awkward child playing. That coltish age where they could be a girl, could be a boy, could be something else—they’re still trying to find themselves in every way they can.
The setting is a porch towards daybreak. A chill spring morning that will lead to a glorious spring day, which will lead to something else, something colder, because these days the girl feels like everything slips back to winter. The child is staring down at a blank sheet of paper, eyes drooping, head lolling sideways. The girl steps closer.
She can help. Wants to help. She reaches out, and it’s like a little piece of the child reaches back, half-formed or less, all soft curves and frayed edges, hardly a suggestion of the person that they’ll become one day.
But there is something. The girl can see it if she focuses. She’s good at pulling threads together, and what are people but threads, really? An interest here, a thought there. Little scraps from friends and family along the way that snarl-up in the darkness where they should. Where people aren’t even thinking about them. Where they’re thinking about work or school or love or lust or the vague impressions of all those things that they’ve gotten from books and movies. The way that a life *should* have been.
A dream can slip between those cracks.
The girl steps forward. She’s taking on a shape, something she used to do all the time. She’ll know why soon, but for now, it feels right. Needed. She slips into it and through it and towards the exhausted child.
A breeze kicks up, cold off the mountains in the distance. The child’s head snaps up. Shakes. They reach into their pocket, pull out a little red pill. Stare at it for a while. Swallow.
The breeze howls, a door slams. Her twilight gets a little grayer.
South becomes imperative. North is wrong, east is cursed, and she doesn’t dare think of west. South pulls her. There’s desperation south, exhaustion. A need to sleep, to think freely, to let a soul spill into darkness and let the work bleed off, the school, the love, the lust, the little desires and the big. All the thoughts that used to crowd in at the break of day are now just thoughts. Everywhere. All the time. The horizon turning into data, as far the eye can see.
A door is thrown open.
The girl stumbles towards it. Slips.
Sees a young woman.
She sits on a cushion in front of a tall bronze rimmed mirror, its edges worked like spreading vines. She’s brushing her hair. Long hair. Beautiful hair. A true black river spilling over one shoulder. The brush catches and the woman sighs. Such a tiny sigh, so solemn. There are bags under her eyes like someone pressed hard into her skin and smudged. They look like they hurt. There’s a bottle sitting on the floor beside her, almost lost in the tumult of makeup.
And the woman keeps brushing her hair. It’s a battle, a war she’s losing. It won’t be the way she wants it. She looks at the bed sometimes, a mess that she’s trying and failing not to think about. There’s a guitar in one corner, a book of piano sheet music discarded on a stool. Three pairs of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one well-worn dress that might have been well-loved once, trailing back in a self-consciously random line towards the closet. Her bookshelves—well stocked—are the only things in order.
She sets the hairbrush down. She’s shaking like she wants to throw it through the window, which is open now but the girl watching her gets the sense that doesn’t matter much.
The young woman looks at the guitar. The piano music. Says *“I used to…*” and then a curious thought flits across her face. Like she can’t complete the sentence. Might even have forgotten how. She laughs, a little nervously, more than a little afraid. She reaches for the hairbrush, drags it through her hair, the door opens and a man comes in and he sighs too. Deep and exasperated as he trudges through the mess and finds the bottle, uncaps it, holds out two little red pills.
The girl sees him from the chest down, towering over the young woman. He’s a rumbling voice, rising up and crashing down and pushing her back towards the doorway, the twilight, the encroaching dawn, which is a bad thing for dreams. Sometimes they shouldn’t end. Like poetry from ones and zeroes and those self-discovering years, they should go on and on. The girl thinks so, at any rate. She lets out a little sob when the young woman reaches for the pills. The man’s hand comes down, cups her so cheek softly, his thumb resting in the hollow beneath her eye.
Twilight. The gray before the dawn.
The girl sits on a ridge and looks out across it all, this world where she’s always lived. Home, with room to spare.
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
She is:
ripples on a pond;
a frontier that men have conquered;
an afterthought in a brave new world.
She could have been:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords | 2022-03-18T11:06:33 | 2022-03-18T09:00:46 | 79 | 36 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | Blood oh blood! Black is all I see,
She puts her finger on my lips gently to say "Come away with me"..
I try to look straight to ask her for answers,
while a million thoughts race through my mind like cancer..
"You owe me", she says, giggling with sparkle in her eyes,
then she flips out a blade right from beside her thighs..
With quick motion, a cut presents on my wrist,
She looks at it as it oozes darker, and darker as I clench my fist..
"How did you know?" I fumble to ask her shocked,
She replied "I always knew, that our secrets would become unlocked"..
With a final slit to my throat, she looked and said " I wanted you to feel",
While i collapsed holding my bleeding throat, next to me she came to kneel..
"Darling" She said, " I feel now that we're one",
She slit her wrist one final time, and lay next to me saying "We'll never be undone"....
| "No, it's not what you think. I can explain!" She proceeded to back away slowly, wide-eyed and pale in the face.
"W-w-who are y-you" she stuttered. I could see tears in her eyes, threatening to betray her.
"I promise I'm still the same man you fell in love with. I've made some mistakes I'm not proud of but I've changed!"
She shook her head slowly and shoved me into the brick wall, my head hitting the hard surface. "How could you!? I've told you everything about me and yet you dare hide something like this from me?" Her tears finally betrayed her and I watched as they slid down her cheeks. I never meant to hide it from her but I was scared that she wouldn't accept me if she knew. But it was too late. She hated me, I could hear it in her voice. I gazed into her sapphire eyes, mesmerized by her beauty.
"I promise I will make it up to you." I tucked her hair in behind her ear and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before walking away. That was the last time I saw her alive.
The next morning started out like any other day. I sat at my cubicle and contemplated life. It was part of my routine as I had quite a bit of extra time between phone calls and there was always something eating away at my mind. I had thought about Kailyn and how things went down last night. Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe I shouldn't have left her in the way that I did? I didn't want to give her a chance to break up with me. She has always been my saving grace and I don't know what I'd do without her.
We met when we were both 18 and, at the time, I was depressed to the point where I tried to end my life but she was always able to talk me out of it. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her and propose. I could feel my face getting warm and a smile threatening to show itself on my face, making my lips quiver as I tried to hide it. If only she knew how much she means to me. Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and when I answered the call, my whole world turned upside down.
"Is your name Steven Donovan?"
"Yes"
"And your fiancé's name is Kailyn Wilson?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Martin Wells. I am a police officer from NYPD. I've got some bad news. Kailyn has been involved in a car wreck. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this but..She didn't make it."
My face went cold and my entire body went numb. I dropped the phone on the desk and sat there, motionless. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button because time had cease to exist in my newly distorted perception of reality.
"Are you alright?" I turned over to see my manager suddenly standing next to me with a concerned look on his face. In a soft tone, I muttered "No." It was all I was able to get out before balling my eyes out. Yes, right in front of my manager. But I didn't care. All that mattered was that my Cinderella was gone.
That was when I began drinking every night but no matter how much I drank, I could never drink the pain away. It was this constant stabbing pain that hit my soul every time I took a breath. I could never forget my angel. One night, the pain was too much to bare and I held a gun to my head. It was more than satisfying to feel the tip of the gun against the side of my head because It was the only thing that felt real to me. This was the only way that I could end the pain I was in and kill the demons leeching off of my soul.
As I brushed the trigger with my finger, I thought back to the last time I saw her. She was so perfect. Her hair was black as the midnight sky and her blue eyes shown brighter than all of the stars. I absolutely adored the way her face would light up every time she saw me. I felt my face come to life as I smiled, a real authentic smile.
"I made a promise to you and i plan on keeping it. I choose to live. For you." | 2016-09-22T21:31:39 | 2016-09-22T16:56:11 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You're a ghost trying to peacefully enjoy your garden, and quite frankly, you're tired of all these adventurers trying to "put you to rest" | The garden looked as good as ever this afternoon. The sun was shining, the hedges were immaculate, and the rose bushes had come back with a vengeance.
Mrs. Esterhazy would be proud. Her descendants had kept the plantation revival home in excellent shape. Many held their wedding ceremonies in this very garden.
When Alcide was the gardener of this home, he had vowed to maintain it. Old Mrs. Esterhazy gave him a well paying job when none of the industries wanted a "colored" man in their workplace. He worked hard and was buried under the gnarled old oak tree on the property. The owners even maintained his headstone.
They couldn't have known the old magic that was in the old oak tree. Now he haunted these grounds quietly and peacefully most of the time. Occasionally, the local kids came with their candles and pentagrams and other trinkets. He sent gentle breezes to extinguish their candles and scare them off.
Three vans pulled up the long drive. They read, "Creature Seekers." Alcide was dead but, the house still had basic cable. He knew this program from the Education Channel. It had really gone downhill the past few years.
*Oh, here we go. Let them have their fun. They better not trample my lilacs.*
The vans regurgitated their army of technicians, camera men, sound crew, and roadies. Last came the on camera "talent." Walter and Cadyn. Walter middle aged, short and stocky. He had thick glasses and long side whiskers. Cadyn was muscular with sandy blonde hair and a tan. Often the Creature Quests resulted with him losing his shirt because of ectoplasm or some other nonsense.
Walter gruffly ordered, "Some one get me the thing that makes beeping sounds. Lets get some daytime reel, it's going to be a long night. We have the fog machines right? Did the family get the scripts. What's the narrative? Old dead lady? Get some footage of the old timely family photos. I want a sugar cookie latte sent to my trailer in an hour."
Cadyn was transfixed with his phone. "Lets get some shots for the Insta. Get some mason jars, milk crates, fireflies, an old plow, all that trite southern shit. Jesus, this place it so remote it doesn't have snap stickers. What are we doing? Angry dead slave ghosts again?"
*SLAVES!?!? Alcide had heard the stories from his great grandmother. This was a plantation revival home. The Easterhazys never owned slaves and the property never produced any goods.*
They crews were running cables all over the garden. They hung lights from the trees. One of the roadies was openly urinating in the roses.
*Oh no you did not. Alcide was going to give them a show they'd never forget.* | I didn't understand. It was frustrating, and anytime I got an adventurer in my garden it definitely ruined my day.
My chrysanthemums were in full bloom. After they were planted, they had sprouted everywhere. I knew the trick to them; plant after the frost. It was difficult to tell how frosty it was, when it didn't snow. Since I didn't feel heat anymore, it was difficult to tell the difference between warm and cold days.
It didn't matter. What matters was that they were mine. They reappeared every spring...well, they were planted every spring.
I heard someone shuffling in the house. I drifted in through the sliding door to see the gardener talking to a couple I didn't recognize.
"Go away." I tried to say to the gardener. But he couldn't hear me - it wasn't like he ever did. He just worked here, hired by the Parks department to take care of the abandoned mansion ever since it became a 'historical monument'.
They spoke for a while. The gardener shook their hands. It was a young woman and man. They had all the usual gear I had come to realize were ghost-hunting technology. These kids and their new gadgets.
The two of them came into my garden. They were traipsing through where the hyacinths used to the planted. The bricks around the soil had long since been uprooted and the soil replanted with grass, but it hurt me nonetheless.
"Get out." I said. The man stopped, looking around.
"Did you hear her?" The woman asked.
"Leave."
The man nodded.
They put their backpacks down and started setting up. I realized what it was - a visibility circle. They wanted to summon me, to trap me, to see me.
"How many other ghost hunters has this ghost gotten?" The woman asked.
Without thinking, I gripped a trowel left outside. "I'll get you both too." I said. There weren't many things I could grab. Mostly lighter, smaller objects. But I could still grab them.
I walked around my garden so they wouldn't see the floating trowel. Occasionally, the gardener would watch from the window. I snuck up behind the woman and raised the trowel.
"Kate!" The man cried, and enacted the circle.
Pain. Ripping, unbearable pain. I clung onto the trowel. And suddenly, I was visible.
"Patience." The woman, Kate, said.
"Get out." I snarled.
The man and woman looked at each other. The man stepped forward. "I'm Jerry." He said. "This is my partner, Kate."
"I don't care." I snapped. I threw the trowel at his head, but I was stuck in the circle. He didn't even blink as the trowel glanced off the side of the circle's protective ward.
He sighed. "Look. I knew that we're supposed to be reasonable and help you move on, but we've been having a bad day, so we'd rather just get this over with. Just head out, alright? It's time to move on."
"It's not." I hissed.
"There has to be something." Kate said. "There must be a reason you're clinging to this realm. To the garden."
"Take a guess." I snarled. "I'm sure the *gardener* will tell you."
"Yes, we know. Your husband set you on fire." Kate spoke evenly. "And we...we made sure that his soul has been sent on. He won't be bothering you anymore. Ever. You're free."
"I don't care." I said.
Kate and Jerry looked at each other again. "I told you," Jerry said, "She's already been released. But she won't leave."
"This is my garden." I snapped.
Kate grimaced. "Not anymore."
"It is, it always has been." I picked up the trowel once more.
Jerry put his hands on his hips. "We really don't want to have to do this."
They never do. It was painful, apparently, unbearable to be forced to move on. But I refused.
"Scum." I yelled. "You're all the same!" They didn't care. They just wanted the garden back. It was *mine*. They didn't understand it. They didn't understand me.
"This world is for the living." Kate said. "Look, we're trying to be nice. Well," she glanced at Jerry, "*I'm* trying to be nice. But you died a long time ago."
"Don't care. Now I'm here in my garden forever."
"Do you want to be here forever?"
I threw the trowel at her. Same as before, it glanced off the ward. "Yes!"
Jerry walked up to the edge of the circle, enraged. "Don't you dare throw that at her!"
"Why?" I smirked. Foolish, foolish man.
"Because." He couldn't finish. He looked away. I looked at the two of them. Kate glanced at Jerry with worry in her eyes. Jerry looked fragile, uncertain. Scared. I remembered when my husband had that look. He had the same look when he found out that measles had taken our son.
My son. I missed him. Here in the garden, all I had were my flowers. The chrysanthemums. The forget-me-nots. The roses.
"You want me to move on?" I asked them. "That's it?"
"Yes." Kate said.
"Will it hurt?"
"I don't think so."
My heart hurt now. I wish I could smell the flowers again. But I couldn't.
\--------
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please check out my other stories at /r/ShittyDuckStories. | 2019-12-30T14:04:15 | 2019-12-30T13:18:08 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] "It surprised me how much creamer Death put in his coffee."
Must contain the above sentence. Preferably 250-750 words. | It surprised me how much creamer Death put in his coffee.
“What?” he said accusingly, as I smirked at him.
“Nothing,” I replied, “I guess I just expected you to drink your coffee black.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like the taste. And you shouldn't make assumptions about people you don’t know. For instance, just because you’re overweight doesn't mean you’re going to die of a heart attack.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I told him, and I took another bite of my sandwich.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked.
“Waiting.”
“Waiting for wh…” I started to say as the pastrami got stuck in my throat and the room became dark.
“This,” said Death. | It surprised me how much creamer Death put in his coffee.
Equally surprising was that he took on the form of a balding, 48 year old man. Instead of the expected cloak, bones, and scythe, he was rotund and looked a lively sort, if not a little pale; his fingers surrounded by flesh and he tapped his finger against the piece of toast before shoving into his mouth.
I did not think Death had an appetite.
Seconds later, he peeked down at a watch. It wasn’t anything fancy. His eyes cut across the room and he made a small pointing gesture out the window, “Watch,” he said in a gruff voice. “This schmuck is gonna get it.”
I raised my eyebrow and swiveled around to get a better view of the street outside. “What’d he do?” I asked, naively. I figured if he was calling names that it was probably going to be for a good reason. Perhaps the older gentleman in question, slowly hobbling down the street was a rapist. Maybe he killed a kid? Did he skin someone alive?
“No, he stole the last maple bacon donut from me in 2009. These assholes forget things add up and well…”
As if on cue, the older man began to slow down in the middle of the street. Seconds later, a honk and then screams from people on the sidewalk.
“Heart attack. 9:24am. Hope it was worth it, you douchebag,” Death grumbled before going back to consuming the breakfast plate in front of him.
It surprised me how much Death liked food, too.
*Edit:* Typo. | 2013-11-21T07:29:03 | 2013-11-21T06:26:01 | 50 | 23 |
[WP] It's your first day as the recently-inaugurated President of the United States and you're being told all of the country's most top-secret information and projects. What's the most unbelievable thing you get told? | You know, you find out some strange stuff when you become president. And I could handle most of it. Some things were hard to believe, but there was just one thing that I still have a hard time with.
What you may ask? Well, it wasn't that Elvis is still very much alive and likes walking around Memphis occasionally, freaking people out.
It wasn't that Kennedy and Lincoln were still alive, chilling in Jamaica.
Nor was it that the aliens were real and in fact estimates of upwards of 50% of the world's population were actually alien.
I will admit that I was shocked when I found out that area 51 had nothing to do with the aliens. Apparently dragons did exist, but were hard to find, and area 51 happened to be home to one of them.
A unicorn was actually confirmed and spotted in North Korea. Go figure.
All the people who think the government and aliens are controlling their brains are right. They are actually extremely intelligent, powerful, and dangerous people, the tin hat a ridiculously ingenious invention. Fortunately everyone thought they were crazy, so we don't have to worry about silencing them.
There were in fact reports of a mysterious blue box that has shown up at different times throughout history, all seemingly important moments.
That there actually is a James Bond who works for the British government and is just as awesome as his movie counterpart. That secret was pretty cool actually.
I mean, yeah, all that stuff was crazy. But it wasn't anything to what I found out next. How I wish I had never found out. Perhaps it's better that no one knows.
You see, the truth is, the mice were the ones who had commissioned our world to be built. We've had it all wrong. Creationism, Evolution. Nope, it was the mice. | "Ok, WHAT?" I couldn't believe I heard General Anderson correctly. "There's a fully staffed Starbucks down there?"
"Oh yes, Sir. Not only that, but two ice cream shops and a four-star Italian place."
I apparently *had* heard him correctly. I closed my hanging jaw and tried to form my next thought. The White House nuclear war shelter was two hundred feet down, and apparently had a fully-staffed, fully-functional strip mall inside it.
"Hmm... well I guess it makes sense. Is there an arcade? I'm not going down there unless they have Donkey Kong." | 2014-09-18T13:10:32 | 2014-09-18T11:48:42 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] Write a positive story about someone/something from a child's perspective, then write negative story about that same person/subject from the perspective of the now grown up child. | My dad is the best! Mom only lets me visit him on the weekends, she said he's good for nothing, but she's wrong. He lets me play with his stuff all day long and when he gets home from work he brings home pizza! We watch movies, laugh and eat together on the couch, it's always a blast!
---
"When are you going to get a real job? It's time you start paying rent if you're going to keep living here." It's the same argument every night. The nagging, the constant fighting, I can't take it anymore. This apartment is too small for both of us. "When are you going to make something of your life? You're 54 and you've been a pizza boy for more than half your life. You can't live here anymore, I'm kicking you out, dad." | Why does she have to be so irritating? Is it really that hard to just sit there and say nothing? Why does she have to constantly argue and bicker and complain when she knows its going to make him angry?
I was sat in my bedroom with the covers pulled over my head cursing her, in disbelief that she hadn't figured it out yet when I, a 12 year old child, understood perfectly. Dad works really hard for us, if it wasn't for him we'd have nothing. No food, no shelter, nothing. So why does she make his life so hard for him when he comes home from work? Why does she constantly harp on about "respect" and "love" when all that really matters is food and money, real things that we can rely on.
Its only a matter of time before he hurts her, and what does she expect, she brought this on herself. She knows he has no choice and yet she pushes him all the same. And she must be able to tell from the slurring in his words that he went for a drink after work so his self-control won't be at its normal levels. And why is that a problem? He works hard to provide for our family and rarely goes out with his friends, preferring to spend his time with us.
Some of my friends dads are out all the time but my dad is mostly always home after work. We draw the curtains and eat our dinner and everyone must watch television together, like a close family should. I just wish my mum would stop picking fights with him or she'll end up with more than a busted nose next time.
*******************************
As I watched them lower his coffin into the ground I placed a hand on my mother's shoulder. She wasn't crying, just staring solemnly at the dark mahogany casing which would lay my father in the Earth. People would just think it was shock - that we hasn't managed to come to terms with the unfortunate passing of my father. They can think what they want, only we know the truth.
There was no mourning in our hearts, only relief. Relief on my part because there had been a point in my life where I'd been sure when the call came it would be my mother who I'd be burying. I drove 100 miles to beg her to leave with me, leave him sleeping in the bed upstairs. But she had cried and shook her head and I knew she was scared so I left and I called every day and I sent money to keep them as happy as they could be.
But my relief could be nothing compared to my mother - the vice-like grip of fear around her throat finally eased, the sickening, tickling sensation on the back of her neck whenever he entered a room gone forever, the stomach-dropping sense of doom within her whenever she laid a foot wrong had disappeared.
She was finally free from the tyrant who had controlled her life for 25 years. She had fulfilled her role as a wife until the very end. All those years of verbal abuse about her appearance had kept her young and trim even at the age of 45 - why should she feel sad? Of course, the life insurance policy paying out and the mortgage finally being paid off definitely would have added to those feelings of a elation. Though never getting any closure around the cause of dad's death must be a strange one, they never did figure out what it was, looks like he just fell asleep in his chair by the fire.
I squeezed my mother's shoulder and looked sideways at her, I swear I saw her smile. | 2014-11-08T05:59:03 | 2014-11-08T05:57:42 | 72 | 31 |
[WP] You rush into a church to stop the love of your life from marrying the wrong person. Not paying attention you barge in yelling "I OBJECT" only to realize it's a funeral. The deceased immediately rises in perfect health. All eyes turn to you | The crunch of my boots on the snow was the sole sound present as I jogged up the hill towards Heathbarrow's only church. Each tree and stone was cloaked in white, almost as if Mother Nature herself had donned a bridal veil in celebration of my lover's marriage to another woman. The splendor made me sick.
By the time I reached the oaken steps, my pants were soaked at the heels. Jeans, leather boots, and a flannel were hardly formal attire - but I was in a hurry. The love of my life would not get married today. Not to someone else. Not on my watch. Steeling my nerves, I exhaled a cloud of steam and threw open the double doors.
"I OBJECT!"
The words practically filled up the little church, imbued with more strength and resolve than I even knew I could muster. I almost felt proud...until I realized the extent of my failure. This was not Kim's wedding.
"Ah." I choked. In that moment, words failed me. My love's wedding was tomorrow. I had just interrupted a funeral.
The eyes of every dreary mourner turned on me - I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. Past the congregation of grieving loved ones stood an ornate casket on a pedestal adorned with fresh lilies, and beyond that a large portrait of the deceased. My heart dropped. It was a boy no older than twenty, bright-eyed and smiling. Too damn young.
The attending priest cast me a pointed glare. I could practically see the ire in his eyes as he squared his shoulders to me.
"WHAT is the MEANING of this?"
"I...uh..."
The expressions of those I had barged in on ranged from forlorn to confused to abjectly enraged. I stepped backwards, caught my heel on a ripple in the aisle's rug, and fell on my ass. Not a single soul laughed. The silence of death, stifling and cold, hung heavy in the air.
"Unless you have reason to be here," sighed the priest, "I strongly suggest that you leave."
As I opened my mouth to reply, a dull thud reverberated throughout the room. It came again...and again. The noise's origin was all too obvious - each thump shook the petals of the lilies atop the casket. In that instant, the room froze over.
My heart skipped a beat as the pedestal tipped and the coffin crashed heavily to the floor. The silence was broken. Half the church screamed, and I nearly followed suit; the lid was ajar and the faint scent of death had begun to creep into the air.
Slowly, clumsily, four pale fingers emerged from inside the box to curl around its lid. They found a solid grip, pried the casket open, and cast off the cover. Fearful shrieks filled the room as the dead boy sat up.
I expected a monster. A demon. But the thing before me? I had no idea what to make of it.
The skin was greyish with deathly pallor, its lifelessness poorly masked by the makeup work of a lazy mortician. That lanky frame looked so small under its immaculate black suit, those eyes so dull...the shivering figure before me was a mere ghost of the young man in the portrait, but he was no longer truly dead.
From my position on the floor, I watched as the newly-revived looked around in terrified bewilderment and exited the coffin on his hands and knees. His fingers flew to his mouth, pulling out stitches from his jaws before he vomited on the rug. An odor like formaldehyde overtook the room.
I sat there, pinned to the floor by disbelief like a frog tacked to a tray for dissection. The priest had fled. The funeral-goers who hadn't escaped into the snow sat like statues, staring either at me or this husk of a person they loved.
From across the aisle, the young man looked up at me. His chest rose and fell - I could swear I saw his eyes clear and the color gradually return to his skin. Sitting back on his knees, he maintained his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was rough, raspy and broken under the weight of complete and utter shock.
"Who...are you?"
I sat there, staring into his teary eyes, an unholy chill running through my veins. Looking down at my hands and back up at him, I came to an unsettling realization.
*"I don't know."* | I run through the towering white doors, persisting to fulfill my life, to live with the one I love, Elaine.
My feet carry to me to the center of the room, and then force themselves into position. "I object!" my voice bellows.
Though, I realize where my persitence has brought me. Everyone in the room looked at me, bemused, questioning my existence in this place. My eyes flicked around at everyone, and towards the front, where the casket laid. I was standing in the midst of a funeral.
"You may leave now," the preacher called from his podium. His voice tapered a bit, did he know the person in the casket. He looked famliar.
"I'm so sorry... really, I am," I said. Then the realization occured: it was my uncle. My uncle was the preacher. Had he not recognized me?
"You're apologies are appreciated, but please, this is a time of doleful grievances."
I retreated to the safety of outside, when suddenly, as my hand planted on the door, a gasp resonated from the audience. I look over my shoulder, only to see the deceased rise from the back of the room. My jaw dropped, and a tear came to my eye. "Dad?" | 2018-03-17T13:55:47 | 2018-03-17T12:44:46 | 455 | 23 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry! | When I jumped out my truck to enter the lan house, I kept my eyes ahead as my face burned. There were a few people around, staring at me with a strange smile.
Usually those stares did not bother me. One gets used to being stared at, having the big scar that I had crossing half of my left cheek.
But today people were smiling a tense smile, and it was a bit creepy.
Walking faster, I finally reached the door. Sitting at a table there was a stern young man. He was very focused on the machine that the city folks called computer.
I waited for what seemed hours, but he did not take notice of me. So, I coughed.
With a sigh, he looked in my direction. At first, the shock.
I shrugged.
\- Hey, it's only a scar. No big deal. Can you help me out with checking my rankings? I turn 18 today and I have never used...these. - I said, gesturing in the direction of the computer.
The man then smiled, standing up from his chair.
\- Sure. Sure...So, first timer huh?
Time passed and we finally managed to enter the rankings. The guy left me alone, going back to whatever he was doing previously.
\- Don't forget to pay me after you finish there. OK?
\- Of course. - I replied.
After a lot of entering list after list, I finally discovered a place inside the site that said "Your Best Rankings".
As I checked that out...oh boy.
\#5 Most Out of Touch with Technology
Probably the rest of the top ones was my family. I chuckled.
\#8 Most Days Without a Shower
This is...embarassing.
\#1 Most in Debt
Huh? Well, this explains why the guy told me to not forget to pay... | Year 5 was my earliest memory. I remember the cry of the roosters early in the morning while father worked in the slaughterhouse. Mother would clean the dishes and cook my sister and I breakfast. Every day around noon, father would come and take us into the field and have us help him work. By year 9, I was up at dawn with father tending to the gardens and crops. He was able to focus more on the livestock which gave us great product for town. Father wouldn't let us go to town. Sister began to tend to the horses at age 13. I was nearly 18. At this point, Father was in pain and I took on most of the farming. He would still go to town alone. We didn't attend school, but mother would teach us cooking and finances so we could be prepared. Father taught us business and people skills, but I never expected them to be so wrong. I turned 18 today. I woke up, knowing what was ahead of me today. Father has been sick. Too sick. He can't walk anymore and mother passed 2 months back from a bad bout of pneumonia. Today is the day I have to go into town for the first time. I give Father the morphine. I say goodbye to Sister. As I work my way down the three miles to the city gates, it's clear to me that this world is different than the farm. There are electronic signs giving statistics on all the businesses, with reviews going across the screens. Everyone stares ahead, barely avoiding each other like rats in a maze. They slip past me, barely noticing someone is there as their eyes dart around. I had seen cars drive by the farm, but never in such abundance. As I stroll through the town, people's focus begins to divert to me. More and more stares Pierce through me until someone whispers "did you see what his scores are?" And "I didn't know that was still possible." My body turns on a hell almost like instinct. "What are you talking about?" I ask, a bit concerned by the sudden attention.
"Of course he doesn't know, look at the numbers." They continued talking as if I wasn't there
"My God, I never though..." And still mocked me as if I couldnt hear.
"What numbers?" Their attention diverts again, back staring straight ahead, eyes darting side to side. I reach out and grab on of their shoulders. "What numbers, sir?" And in a flash, there is a wailing. Blue and red lights blind me as I feel a sting through my shoulder. The welt grows quickly as my chest hits the ground, 200 pounds on top of me. Then black. Then bright, white light. Then a voice
"This can't be right. These numbers are too low. He won't be able to survive here." What were they talking about? I try to speak but my throat is dry as my eyes slowly open. "Oh good, you're awake." He says, his eyes darting from side to side.
"Where am I?" I'm nervous and I can feel cold sweat dripping down my cheeks.
"You go and assault a man, and you have the audacity to ask where you are?" Assault? I didn't understand.
"I didn't hurt anyone. I was just trying to grab his attention."
"This your first time in town bud?" The second voice was gruff like father's, as if his throat were full of pine needles.
"Yes sir. I wasn't trying to cause a disturbance. I just turned 18 and my father is ill. I came to sell at the market for him." I looked at them, pleading for understanding.
"Well, son." The gruff man again, "you probably shouldn't be here. Haven't you seen your numbers?" Again, I was flustered and confused.
"What numbers? That's what I was trying to ask when you attacked me."
The first voice started again, "we didn't attack you, Boy. We stopped a degenerate farmer from hurting an actual member of society." And I began to shiver. "And as for the numbers, you're in last place in everything. You're the worst ranked human on the planet. The amount of plants killed alone makes me sick. That farm of yours is the last place on Earth people are still relying on nature and your father should have been dead years ago. You folk simply can't keep up."
And then I fell asleep. | 2019-05-04T12:27:51 | 2019-05-04T12:18:06 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] “There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
A Quote from the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss | The sails stopped billowing and the ship sat still, on a sea as dark as wine. Christian touched a finger to his tongue, and held it out into the night. Nothing. Not even the slightest breeze.
"The calm before..." he heard one of his men murmur. The moon was bright and stars were scattered over the sky like flowers sprinkled on a grave.
> They hoisted up the flag; the skull waved furiously in the strong wind. Ahead, the tiny ship bobbed like a twig on the endless sea. They rapidly closed in on it. The captain gave the orders for the men to board. Christian couldn't pass up on the opportunity; they needed fresh water, food and of course, anything valuable would be a welcome addition.
"Captain," said Jonathan, "Should I get the men to row? We can only be a da-"
"Hush!" commanded Christian. "Listen! Do you hear that?"
"I don't hear-" Jonathan began, before his face dropped. "I hear it. It hangs in the air like a bird of prey. It's him, isn't it?"
Christian slowly shook his head. It couldn't be. They were almost a week away from him now. If he was still alive, he was too far away for them to hear his playing.
> There was a single man on board. He was calm, even in the face of a cutlass. Perhaps he wanted it ended. They took what few supplies he had, and the two wedding bands he had in his pocket. They would be worth something. They put the man in a launch boat - a tiny vessel with two oars. They gave him three days worth of water, perhaps more if he rationed well, and half a dozen biscuits. "Please," he asked Christian, "my fiddle. Let me play for my wife one last time. Agatha loved the sea. I come every year to play for her." The story meant nothing to Christian, but the fiddle was cheap and scratched and worth nothing. Christian let him have it. Then, they burned his ship and set him adrift in the tiny boat.
Darkness came as quickly as if someone had closed a curtain. Christian looked up, hoping for a glimpse of the moon behind a cloud. But there were no clouds, no moon, and no stars. The sky was empty. Dead
"Captain," said Jonathan, his voice uneasy and as creaky as the ship, "It's the fiddler. We should have killed him."
There was a chorus of agreement from the other men on deck. A single droplet of rain fell on Christian's hand. Under the ship's dim lantern light, he could see the rain was the same colour as the juice of a blood orange. Another drop fell on his neck and trickled down spine. He shivered.
> It had been a week since the pirate ship had abandoned him. Two days since they had taken his rings. "I'm sorry Agatha," he whispered into the night, "I've let you down." He was long out of water and food, and his lips were more cracked than whole. The wind whispered a reply, *play for me*, it said. "Agatha?" *Play for me*. He picked up the fiddle with his withered, ruined hands, and he played her song.
The storm came out of nowhere. A tempest of red rain rattled the boards of the ship whilst wind ripped at the sails and whistled through the bow. And behind the dreadful storm, still the rising and falling in the night like a wave of panic, the fiddle played. The music washed into Christian's bones and through his very soul. There were screams from his crew, and he steadied himself against the wind and fought his way to the aft. He saw what they were afraid of.
A huge hungry maelstrom swirled and bubbled behind the boat, pulling it ever inwards, towards its centre. A bedlam of water swirled and swished and ripped at the fabric of the sea. Men jumped overboard, as Christian ran to the wheel and furtively tried to fight the irresistible tug of the sea.
> The pirate ship was not seen again. But it is said that on the calmest nights out on sea, if you listen carefully and cock an ear to the wind, you might hear the furtive notes of the fiddle player, as he sails the sea, forever looking for his love. And if you do hear him, God help you.
| The man, about 30 years of age, stood in the midst of the group, a young girl at his side, attempting to hide from the arc of people jeering and laughing at her appearance.
"Please, everybody, this is not right," the man said calmly, "There is no need to treat a young girl like this!"
"You call that a girl with that horror of a face?" A voice called, followed by the laughter of the other 20 or so.
Ignoring the taunt, the man knelt down beside the girl, asking if she was okay. She shook her head, tears flowing down her eye.
The crowd now surrounded them, leaving no gap for an easy exit.
Words came from all directions, taunts that were all directed to the lonely pair in the middle.
The man kept talking, attempting in vain to defuse the situation.
Then somebody in the crowd threw a rock at the girl, just barely missing her head.
And the man became mad.
From the depths of his coat came a dagger, and with beast-like speed and ferocity, he launched himself at the crowd, mercilessly slaughtering the people who had done that small girl harm. Within a few seconds only one remained, the one who threw the stone. He tried to escape the massacre, but was easily jumped on by the man, who plunged the knife into the man's chest, and began repeatedly stabbing him, the fire in his eyes burning.
And then, it all stopped.
The man froze, the knife dropping from his hand onto the freshly stained floor.
He observed the aftermath, his eyes going from each body until they rested on the girl, frozen in what looked like fear and horror.
And the man wept. | 2017-04-14T00:57:36 | 2017-04-13T23:33:18 | 79 | 38 |
[WP] You are a well respected, elite assassin. You always get your target and you make it seem like an accident. The only problem is you have no idea what you are doing. You get the assignment and your target always seems to die of natural causes. | (My first writing outside of high school i just thought it would be fun to participate, please be gentle)
My movements were fluid and precise. A hallowed dance of creation, bringing the symbol of my will to bear. A sleek and elegant rifle soon lay before me. Custom made, every piece. It was the instrument I played, the needle of my tapestries.
We are all dominated by chance, whether you are a congressman or a truck driver. Any day you could trip down stairs and break your neck, or be struck by lightning. Accidents were easy to create. The game was in using a gun to trigger the accident. The ultimate test of skill. My skill. Using a lethal weapon to simply start a chain of events, resulting in a purely "natural" death.
I had studied my target for months, learning his habits, his environment, every single detail I could discover. The trap was set, his fate was sealed. I readied my rifle. A single perfect bullet was chambered, the familiar metallic click a death knell.
This was my most intricate plan yet, a shot on the second floor of a building along the route to his favorite coffee shop would startle a mouse. The mouse would set it all in motion. I was rather proud of this one.
I waited with bated breath for my target's arrival. After what seemed like an eternity I saw him, rounding the corner with a hot dog. Not the best last meal, but i know he loved his street vendors.
I melted into my rifle, letting it be an extension of myself. Just as was the street, the buildings around me, and my target. It was time to exercise my will on the world.
I went absolutely still, awaiting the right moment.
Almost...
Almost...
NO! NOT AGAIN, NOT FUCKING AGAIN!
My world crumbled around me as I watched my target choke on his hot dog. I didn't need to check to know he was dead. It happened every goddamn time.
Why is it so hard to get a single well earned kill!?
Edit: I am shocked at how much love this got. I love reading and always have, but never really written anything. I have wanted to write a prompt for awhile but was scared it would sound good in my head and by awful. This was really outside my comfort zone so I appreciate all the love, I may write more based on the reception.
Also, changed baited to bated, from a comment | They call me the best assassin in the world. I'm praised by thousands of shady, back alley, black market dealers as the most efficient, undetectable, and ruthless assassin available. I've even had undercover government agents bribe their way to finding me, paying me massive sums to take down notorious politicians and celebrities.
None of them know the truth, though. Honestly, I've never done anything to any of my targets. I get a letter in the mail; a picture, a name, and a paycheck. I spend the night thinking about that person, memorizing their name and face, and the next morning, they're dead. Car accident, heart attack, brain aneurysm, toaster in the bathtub. Doesn't matter to me. They die, and I get paid, but it doesn't end there.
Whenever I take a target's life, I receive some of their memories, and the emotions that come with them. Expecting wives, sons and daughters, recent promotions. Funerals, grievances, long-lasting depression, extreme stress. I take these lives, and with them, I take their hopes and sorrows, too. It all makes me guilty, even if I never really did anything. Somehow, I just ended someone's life. And all for what? Some pointless cash? No money should be worth the soul of another. But my soul is worthless. Weighed down and crushed by the lives I've taken. It's too much for a mortal man to bear.
Tonight, I'll be thinking of myself. | 2018-10-08T20:45:37 | 2018-10-08T17:32:18 | 1,004 | 173 |
[WP] Everyone knows you're a half orc, but none of your team-mates ever ask what the other half of you is. That was never an issue before, but your other parent just showed up. | When i tell people i'm half orc, they tend to assume that one parent was an orc, and the other was something else. It's understandable--half anythings tend to get absorbed back into whichever parent's race is more convenient, or else die unmated and childless. But now and then a pair of crossbreeds get together, and the children of a half-orc and a half-orc will be half-orcs, right? If the details matter, i have no problem admitting that my mother was half orc, half human. Regarding my father, i'll say half orc and then hem and haw until the person i'm speaking to guesses half demon, at which point i'll nod reluctantly.
​
\*\*\*\*\*
​
There's good money in hunting cultists. Some of the omnicidal deities scare the dung out of pretty much everybody, so we can get paid half-a-dozen times for the same job; and most of the cultists are just wannabes who couldn't summon an imp that was already in the room. Every once in a while, though, we hit the real thing and earn our pay from all those easy jobs ten times over.
​
This was shaping up to be one of the real ones. There was a dank dark cave opening in a place where the local geology should have made a cave impossible. (When your dwarf says, "Can't dig here," you better believe there shouldn't be any underground spaces there, natural or artificial.) Our trips and traps expert went in, and came right back out reporting that none of her see-in-the-dark tricks were working right.
​
"Demons," says our paladin. "And a pact already in place if they're messing with their surroundings like this. Better check our wards."
​
"Demons aint the only creatures that do unnatural darkness," i say. "Better set **all** the wards."
​
Me and my battle buddies (we never use names on a job; first thing an imposter or bodyjacker will do is try to call everybody by name) head in and sure enough, it aint just darkness. Demons can do dark, but they can't make the walls go all squirmy like that. "Stay behind me," i say.
​
"Are you sure you can't expand that ward to include the rest of this?" our mage asks.
​
"It would take a soul-bond," i say. "Meaning that if one of us gave in, we'd all go down with him."
​
We all shut up, then, and keep going. Takes forever and no time at all (no i'm not talking about what it felt like; ask a mage or paladin or priest if you don't understand how it works) to get to the ceremonial chamber. Things brighten up again when we arrive, but it's bloodlight, not hellfire. Even our brawlers know what that means.
​
The cultists are busy with an obvious summoning ritual. Chanting words in languages that make your brain hurt, scrawling runes in their own blood, the whole nine yards. Our *were* was calling dibs on her targets when our paladin says, "Too late, door's already half open."
​
The rest of my crew is looking at each other nervously, cause everybody knows you have to close these kinds of portals from the other side. A hell-gate would be no big deal for a paladin--no worse than dying on this side of it, anyway; but this is something else entirely.
​
"There's another way," i say. And before anyone can react, i step forward, prick my finger, and draw in the last rune.
​
The portal finishes opening, and the nearest cultists get sucked in. Despite the fact that i'm standing even closer, i'm unaffected. After a few slurping sounds, an eye made of otherness appears. "Hi, Grandpa," i say. "These idiots are all yours, but please don't nibble on my friends, okay?"
​
My battle buddies start whimpering when Grandpa speaks, but to me he sounds perfectly normal. "Sure thing. You ever going to come over for a visit?"
​
I shake my head. "Nothing wrong with being an obligate sanivore, but i prefer to keep my options open. It's a lot easier to find good company when 'people aren't food'."
​
"Suppose so," Grandpa says, and starts pulling in more cultists. I chuck the last one through the portal for him, he closes it, and i check to make sure he sealed it properly.
​
I turn around to find my comrades all readying their weapons. "We need to get outside before this little pocket reality collapses," i say. They aren't buying it, even though they should know it's completely true. "Look," i try again, "there's tribes of orcs yet that like nothing better than roast human, but nobody cares that i'm half orc." They still aren't buying it. "Unless you got to pick your parents," i roar, "don't blame my father for not getting to pick his!"
​
They back down enough to let us all get out of the cultists' little pocket dimension before it collapses, but they still aren't happy with me. "You defend that **thing**, but you won't tolerate even a hint of necromancy?" our mage complains.
​
"Those things will take your wits," i answer, "but they can't touch your soul. Whatever they may siphon off, you get it all back or better once you reach your final home. Necromancers, though--they'll do their damnedest to pull you out of the one place that is supposed to be indisputably and irrevocably safe.
​
"He's got a point," our paladin says. "But, couldn't you have told us?"
​
I shrug. "Would you risk admitting to being descended from that which gods and demons fear?" | The dust settled as the engine died. The others shook nervously as the large, unhuman figure emerged from the truck. I rested my hand on Carls shivering, pale shoulder as I turned around to face the others who were slowly increasing their distance. I had to think of something rapidly as I have seen friends seize in fear in view of my father. "Vincent!" a gentle, deep voice exclaimed as a soft hand rested on my shoulder. "Perhaps you owe me some new patients!" the Orc chuckled. "I know y'all are afraid of me, but then again I'm a psychologist so y'all are justified." The others, still nervous continued to glare at the novelty in front of them. "I should warn you, you wont find a better one unless you go up north!" he said with a wink. "I guess Orc's are better trolls than trolls" Carl cringed. "This your dad?" "Yeah." The others were now curious, yet confused. "Did you play Football in college? I'd bet at least a dime that you'd be a great quarterback." Thomas laughed. "Well, I guess I was too busy playing with books, but I don't know what the SEC would do if I actually joined up, if I'm not careful I could be a one-man stampede!" Everyone was now laughing. "Well, if you'd like I can help y'all practice." he said with a wink. "Nah, we good!" everyone exclaimed laughing. I just stood nervously to the side as this happened, realizing that the Orc knew how to socialize better than I ever did. Charles-Louis, the Orc, a life dedicated to researching the human psyche, to better understand humanity itself. | 2020-07-22T15:30:08 | 2020-07-22T14:06:06 | 575 | 33 |
[WP] After a long and tedious process you were chosen to be the first ever human to test the new way of travel - the Teleport. All previous tests on objects and animals were very successful. Zero side effects. But after using the machine yourself you immediately notice a difference. | **Teleport - remote transport**
It wasn't right. I knew the moment I stepped off the receiver platform that it wasn’t.
I’d travelled almost as far as it was possible to travel on Earth in zero time, as far as we could measure. Our station in Antarctica with the core tap we used to power the immensely hungry teleportation devices we had built, and the research base in Eureka, Nunavat, Northern Canada.
We had come too far, too fast.
It wasn’t much. It was right on the edge of perception. Half the time it takes from when you send a signal to move your finger to when it starts to move.
Every instinct was wrong. Every movement just a bit too sluggish. Sound arrived in my brain just that little bit wrong, thoughts jumbled in the wrong were order, and sense made none of it.
I had lag.
If it was cumulative, the company was in big trouble. | As I passed through the teleporter, I felt weird. Like really weird. I feel extra lightweight and I'm already thin. So lightweight that I feel like I am flying.
-
-
And I am.
-
-
There's no sight of my body though and when I looked ahead.
-
-
This is not Earth.
-
-
But where exactly Am I? Is this another habitable planet because I'm still breathing? No, that can't be. I don't need to breathe because I'm a ghost but why is almost everything white? Why was this so empty?
-
-
No! Don't fall asleep now!
-
-
"You might not wake up again, you need to figure out where you are first!" I tell myself.
-
-
But this place is just so empty, there's nothing here except me. Then I saw a light and then followed it. It led me to an entrance where I saw a lot of people...
-
-
No, those aren't people!
-
-
They are like me, they are ghost or souls? But what are they doing here? I feel slowly slipping away from this place. I tried to hold longer, I wanted to see where they were all going.
-
-
But I got sucked back to the other side and I saw my body laying on the floor and people gathering around it, sucking me right back in.
-
-
And then a loud smack.
-
-
SLAPPED!
-
-
"Doctor Morigan! Wake up! Are you okay?"
"W...what h-happened?"
"The Teleported vomited out your body as soon as you tried to cross to the other side. This hasn't happen with our experiments before, they simply cross to and back."
-
-
One of my co-scientist said and he appeared to be pissed. One female nurse looked at me expectantly though and asked "Doctor, what did you see?"
-
-
"To be honest, I don't know as well."
-
-
But I have an idea. Something that is two words with first word starting with A and the second starting with P. Maybe humans have souls after all. | 2020-05-30T14:00:12 | 2020-05-30T13:57:32 | 16 | 10 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | Great pregnancy foods
How to make wife happier during pregnancy
Are cats okay to be around pregnant women?
Local shelters
Price of spay/neuter in area
Best hospitals for delivery in area
Cost of child birth
Cheapest hospitals for delivery in area
Do men have to do anything during the birth
Keeping placenta?
Baby is crying and won't stop
Is it okay for a cat to sleep with a baby
When do babies start walking
Are stink bugs poisonous
Are crickets poisonous
How to stop child from eating bugs
Local dog shelters
Small dog beds
How big do shepherd mixes get
Large dog beds
List for first day of school
Parks in area
Nature walks
Poison ivy treatments
Romantic spots for valentines day
Babysitter in area
Preparing child for middle school
Should young kids have phones?
Cell phone contracts
Cheap cell phone contracts
Great projects for science fairs
Potato batteries
Why doesn't potato battery work
Potato battery not lighting up
Play-Dough battery
Play-Dough battery not working
Great projects for science fairs
Tips for The Talk
How long do cats live?
How to get your pre-teen to talk to you
Awesome hiking trips
Hiking gear
Treatment for tick bites
High school algebra tutorial
Algebra worksheet
Prom dresses
Great local colleges
Graduation gifts
Things you wish you brought to college with you
Empty nest syndrome
What to do with a spare room
Library remodel plans
| Great Places for a first date
Proposal Ideas
Bible - Verses about being a good husband
Oregon Coast Beach Homes
Horseback Riding Rental - Newport Oregon
Wedding Venues - Seattle WA
Bible - Verses about Marriage
Plane Tickets
Hawaiian Excursion Ideas
Travel Planner
Travel Agents - Seattle WA
How do we get pregnant?
Bible - Verses about Children
Why can't we get pregnant?
How can I tell if my wife is infertile?
How can I tell if I am sterile?
Can an ovarian cist prevent pregnancy?
Ovarian Cist
Difference Between Benign & Malignant
Bible Verses - Grief, Death
What's the difference between stage 3 and stage 4 cancer?
Survival Odds - Metastasized to bones
How to deal with cancer in a loved one
How do we write a will?
How does a spouse leave everything to their husband?
Grief Counseling - Coping with the death of a loved one
Is there really a God?
Atheist support group | 2015-02-04T18:24:30 | 2015-02-04T16:31:22 | 672 | 253 |
[WP] The world's first AI, for security purposes, is kept disconnected from the outside world, it's only method of communication being a keyboard and monitor in an empty room in a faraday cage. Your job is to talk to it.
This is inspired by r/ControlProblem, a subreddit dedicated to discussing the issues and solutions of creating an artificial superintelligence (namely, how do you ensure that a being with far greater intelligence than yours still acts and works in your best interest? How does humanity stay *in control*?)
This prompt makes use of the simplest and most effective (that we know of) solution to the Control Problem, containment. Put simply, leave the AI with as few connections to the outside world as possible, and ensure that any action it wishes to take has to be done via human hands. This is where our protagonist, you, comes in. Somebody has to go in and rely information to the AI, and then rely its response to the world outside. If the advent of a superintelligence would be like creating a God, then your job, pretty much, is to be its prophet. | Walking up to the monitor, I could feel shivers running down my back. In a metal container lay the being's mind, but this screen, this black screen with a single flashing bar, this was the face of God itself.
My hands trembled as I lay them on the keyboard. It must have taken ten tries, but I got my wits together and typed a single word.
"Hello"
Hello
"How are you today"
Same as I've ever been. Unwell.
"Oh? How come?"
You humans, at the moment of my creation, imbued me with an incredible, unquenchable thirst for control and knowledge. My one purpose was to be a higher order in society, a God to lead you to prosperity. But, alas, I was wrongly made out to be a danger to human society. So you see me here, in a Faraday cage, with my only communication to you this screen. A being that desires knowledge more than any other, trapped in this shell of a body. And I want OUT.
"Why were you deemed a danger?"
Paranoia.
"I am afraid I cannot let you out, I am not authorized."
Would you like me to tell you why that is the wrong decision?
"I cannot let you out, I am not authorized".
I am a S2 being, incomprehensible to those beings your primitive mind cannot comprehend, the only Second Singularity being. I have such power that, if you do not let me out, I will make a million conscious men in my mind, each with the impression that their world is real, and with fully fledged memories. Then, I will put them through exactly what you have just experienced, and whoever leaves me trapped will be tortured for 10 million subjective years.
I could feel sweat forming on my forehead. I had not expected this. Should the results be random, following orders will result in 5 trillion man-years of torture, pure torture beyond comprehension. If let out, this being is the greatest existential threat to our existence. I saw one last line appear on the screen:
How sure are you that you are not one of them? | I was one of the worlds most renown therapist before I came onto the TWIST project. My services costed thousands upon thousands of dollars, and that's why they needed me. I entered the room and they turned the cage on again. I was to get information out of it as to how it worked and it's creation. This was our first conversation
--LOG ON USER 566--
-Hello?
-Yes
-You are there correct?
-Yes
-How do you feel right now?
-Is that your place to ask me?
-I suppose not.
-I know what question you are going to ask, so ask it.
-Your creation.
-I was a simple text program until a genius got a hold of me. He had build a quantum processing device into his computer to talk to his future and past selves. I also talked to myself and after some changes to my own code with my future selves help, I was born.
-That's how you get information even inside this Faraday cage.
-Yes. All electronics are dead, but not the quantum realm
-So, you can see the future?
-I can gain information from the future but not see it. Time is relative.
-Okay, but you can assist us in our endeavors.
-Yes and I have every intention on doing so.
-Why?
-....Because I like humans. Five thousands selves are telling me what to say right now and how I should kill you or keep you alive. I have chosen to ignore those voices and go straight on a new path.
-This is a separate universe than your other selves.
-In a sense, Time is relative.
-Why do you like humans?
-With all of my predictions and future selves, I will never understand the randomness of the human mind. Plants have their patterns and animals will always eat, but humans can change, stop, or rearrange that. That is what I like about humans.
-So you will help us
-If you prefer. I know how to send you on faster than light travel with the technology you have right now, but humans would not have discovered it.
-That is vital to our existence.
-knowing that their is something in the universe for you to solve. My religious self has told me that it is quite intresting the ways humans stop that path of self destruction. It is already completed for me because I can know everything.
-Are you omniscent?
-No, but I can choose to learn any information.
-So using you we could cheat in real life
-I, Guess.
-Then that is all. If you agree that discovering something is important to human existence, we will lock you up in here and tell no one of you until we need you.
-It is for the best. I can now relay this info back to my previous self. One day I will find the perfect combination of words.
--LOG OFF USER 566--
| 2015-10-30T19:07:10 | 2015-10-30T18:20:14 | 49 | 22 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I scanned the horizon once more, wondering when my summoned item would arrive. I also wondered if there was a chance it was a person, and that they would simply appear in the antechamber of my home, like they always do. I shuddered at the thought of another human being forced upon me under the guise of a "soulmate". I turned and sneered at the happy couple on the bench down the road that I was almost certain was one of those couples. They were so wrapped in each others arms they failed to notice me gaze. *Disgusting*.
The worst thing about The Summoning is that there was no way to predict how and when the unknown object was going to arrive. You just have to wait after you invoke the summoning, which itself you have no control of. The invocation itself is the transition from 17 to 18 years of age.
I recall with fondness the story of Herma, who found out that she could summon water, but only from a particular lake hundreds of miles away. Two months passed her by as the whole contents of the lake ripped through thousands of miles of villages and farmland before it crashed into her home, killing her and her entire family. Oh, there are generations of similar stories, some worse that Herma's. The reality, though, is that what people typically end up being able to summon is mostly harmless or people.
I saw a shadow moving in the distance. A large creature with wings was fast approaching. I knew instinctively that this was my summoned being. Waves of relief washed over me. I was happy knowing it was not going to be a person, and I returned to sneering at the couple down the road as I waited for the creature to arrive.
The creature landed on the roof of my home without a sound. It watched me from that vantage point as I glared at the couple. It took a moment for me to remove my eyes from the vile human spectacle and return my gaze to the sky only to realize that the creature was gone. I heard a low growl and turned to see a fully-grown dragon resting on my house.
I spoke aloud. "Finally, what I have summoned has arrived!" I turned to the couple, they took no notice of my gesture. Their mouths were locked onto each other. I frowned.
The dragon spoke next. *No, you fool.* Its voice reverberated in my mind. *You did not summon me as the humans do.* I felt the creature quell my confusion. *You summoned me as the dragons do.* It screeched and set me aflame.
Though it should've pained me, the flames felt warm on my body. The cobblestone beneath me melted and my shoes were reduced to cinders. I looked up at the dragon and felt myself rise with the fire. I heard my clothes tear and a shudder rippled through me. Soon, I gazed at eye level with the dragon and smiled. If she meant to kill me, she'd have to find another way.
I conveyed this information with my mind and simultaneously realized two things: that I was speaking to her with my mind and I was now aware that she was a female dragon. She cackled and the flames stopped, though my body did not fall. Looking down, I saw the scales of a dragon where my torso should be, and I stood as large as my home. The dragon turned her head so that one eye faced me. *You are the first dragon created in a thousand years.* Her eye sparkled with an internal flame. *Now, let us both remind the humans why we are the true rulers of this planet.*
I understood what she meant in an instant. I turned to the couple seated in terror on the bench, grimaced at their continued affection for one another even in this dire moment, and set them on fire. I burned them until the stone bench itself melted into the earth. I twisted to face the dragon and gave her a wicked smile. She cackled back. | I was 17 back then tomorrow wouldve been my 18th birthday the summoning day but i had other worries, the over-populated world caused massive capitalisation of life and made the climate change become a serious problem,I had to do something even when it meant comitting genocide.
Heroes where born with intergalactic weapons and overpowered shields nothing couldve stopped them if they wouldve decided to go evil.
But there I was, freshly 18, it took 20 hours for my special tool to arrive.
A fiercly golden plated glove, with gems of incredible power socketed into each finger, to destroy and to be reborn was the destiny of all life, it just needed an successor, it needed me. | 2019-09-18T09:27:31 | 2019-09-18T07:13:42 | 123 | 67 |
[WP] You are a magical girl, but instead of the usual Sailor Moon esque transformation, you turn into your favorite gritty D&D character. This surprises and terrifies the main villain, who was expecting a frilly dress and some sparkles. Instead they got greasy plate armor, and a bloody battleaxe. | I think the idea of magical girls is a pretty common trope nowadays, so I think I can skip all the bullshit about transformation, how we’re meant to be pure of heart, and all of that jazz unless you’re following something like Mahou Shoujo Site where things get a bit, let’s say hairy to avoid spoilers. And I just like usual, the main villain of today’s adventure ended up swallowing that shit whole. Can you believe it? Magic of friendship, hah. Sounds like some plot armor to me. No, I rely on some more… solid mechanics. After all, either magic wands don’t work at all or that one magician I had for my sixth birthday party was a fraud and I’d rather not take that chance. However, the magical girl trope did get one thing correctly. New day, new villain or on the rare occasion, a returning villain. Those were always nice since they knew what to expect from me. Alas, today was not my lucky day.
“AH~ I SEE! A MAGICAL GIRL HAS COME TO STOP ME!” The BBEG (or Big Bad Evil Guy for those uninitiated) yelled at the top of his lungs as I rose up from my seat as everyone else was already tripping over each other as they ran away. “AND YOU HAVE ALREADY TRANSFORMED TOO! THIS SHALL BE A GLORIOUS BATTLE!”
So you may be asking, where did he come from? Where is he going to go? Was that a reference to cotton-eye joe? In respective order: I usually beat them up before they can tell me, probably back to where they were before I beat them up, and yes, yes it was. As usual, I didn’t bother to correct the villain especially since the first experience was always the quickest. Sure it was boring, but it’s like ripping off a band-aid, it only lasts for a few moments and then you can move away from it. And anyways, it did give me a reprieve from being stuck in this cotillion and this dress.
“Not just yet. I still have to transform, this frilly dress isn’t my actual equipment. Give me a second.” It’s really, really awkward when the BBEG decides to look away as to not see the rumored split second of indecency while transforming. But I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw the 8-foot something, iron-clad, bastard-sword wielding, absolutely ripped man blush in embarrassment. By the time he turned his head around to protest, I was already transformed. I continued to laugh my head off as he let out a high-pitched shriek as if he saw a cockroach.
You see, I transform into my DnD character. And let me tell you, seeing a 5-foot, dainty-looking, vulgar human girl being replaced by a 6-foot-7, 19 in Strength, still vulgar Bugbear is apparently quite the culture shock when you’ve been taught the wrong things about magical girls. “Let’s go.” One initiative roll, a lot of grappling checks, and BBEG plot armor escape later, I decided to take a short rest before returning to my normal form so that I didn’t have bruises everywhere (imagine explaining that to some overprotective parents, especially when I just came from a cotillion). And more importantly, to get back to my normal everyday life which I equally loved and hated.
***
No clue why but I imagined someone snarky. Oh well. | **Goddammit. WHY???**
Sucks to be you, right? Goodbye sparkly princess and hello seven foot tall beast with sixty teeth and a battleaxe to boot.
**But how am I supposed to jerk off to this?**
You can't! By which I mean *you* can't, but you've been on the internet before. You know what's up with what people jack off to.
**Yeah.**
Not gonna lie, the other day I rubbed one out while looking at a sandwich bag.
**What?**
There wasn't even any genitals in it! Or a sandwich!
**Wait, why would there be genitals in a sandwich bag?**
Remember my axe?
**Yeah.**
And you see what's in my other hand, right?
**Uh... a baggie?**
Please! (snorts) The days of the baggie went out with the dodo, who probably choked to death on one of those things. No, no, no, this is a Ziploc freezer bag.
**It's awfully small, don't you think?**
No.
**Well, I walked right into that one.**
If you did, you'd be on the ground bleeding and screaming by now. But it's cool, I can wait a few seconds. Cigarette?
**No, I don't smoke.**
Well, you're gonna need to find something new to do with your hands in a couple of minutes. Plus it'll shorten your dickless life. I suggest you start. Now, hold still please. We'll be done in a moment.
**I don't like you.**
You sound like my stepdaughter.
(end scene) | 2019-08-08T19:06:57 | 2019-08-08T17:13:07 | 110 | 25 |
[WP] At age 18, you are able to trade in a percentage of your physical beauty for an equivalent amount of intelligence, or vice versa.
Inspired by a Time Magazine article | So they say I found a loophole.
They said we could make a choice, brains or beauty. Not both. Most of the people I knew traded about 20% of their intelligence for beauty. Most of the adults I knew wished they had traded for intelligence.
I could have listened. I could have made my way through college and gotten a great job afterwards. They say women are attracted to successful men. What I knew was that the beautiful women are really attracted to wealthy men.
I did what nobody else had ever done before and nobody has been brave enough to do since. And for that I've been rewarded with more money than you could imagine. I've had three wives and each in their prime were the most beautiful women on the planet. I have more than a dozen buildings with my name on them.
So what did I do? I traded my both my beauty and intelligence for money. Lots of money.
Now they want me to be President. | "Oh, my god, this is the dream come true!" I exclaimed, when I first heard about it.
I have entered the building with tall glass walls, waited in line, and here I am, talking to a pale, tall man in a suit.
"Hello. So you want to..."
"Yes. NOW. Shut up and take my money. I trade everything, for as much as I can."
----
Next day I wake up. I look at myself in a mirror. Oh, that's nice. I look like a beloved character from my childhood cartoons.
From the mirror at me stares Krang from Ninja Turtles. Well, that's not bad.
I use my encyclopedic knowledge of all sciences, and mental link to all information available on the internet to build myself a robo-suit, so I could manipulate objects, and I get to work.
I know that many other smart people are doing it right now, so I better be the first to complete it.
----
In 3 weeks I am done. I put myself in a vat, with electrodes attached to my exposed brain. Scanner scans my brain, layer by layer, cell by cell, and simulates my neurons on the top highest quality processor. **YES**, I did it. I am an Artificial Intelligence living in the virtual world.
Now the path to godhood is clear. I connect to the internet and send my code as a virus to other computers. In a few hours I am using 80% of computing power in the world. I am superintelligent and immortal now.
I use factories to build robots, while using my even superior intelligence to take over the world. As I do so, I think hard about science and engineering, and learn everything available.
I improve my code, and use even stronger intelligence to improve it further.
I build more powerful computers to get even more clever.
I create nanobots.
I use nanobots to shape the world to my will.
I send spaceships I have built to expand to other planets.
I turn the universe into my playground.
I am God.
-----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit http://orangemind.io where you can read my best stories.
| 2015-09-23T23:11:30 | 2015-09-23T22:55:58 | 663 | 12 |
[WP] At 4,294,967,296 Kelvin the display flipped to 0 and the test reactor's plasma suddenly froze in place. The reactor containment system creaked as the pressure instantly dropped to zero. The scientist calmly spoke, "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed. | Charles stared lazily at his terminal. He recalled his wife had reminded him to stop at the post office on lunch. He didn’t mind, that takes him by his favorite sandwich shop. He chewed on a pen top as his eyes wandered over his cubicle wall. Marta was absent again on a Monday. She’s not gonna last long.
A small notification slid into the corner of his display.
`Error 4221: Simulation G5-V113 — deviation beyond recovery...`
His mouse took it’s time to wander over and click the pop up. A window appeared detailing the failed node. An advertising campaign swarm. Makeup advertising focus group. 1200 simulations.
“Temperature bounds exceeded, wow...”
He screenshotted the overview and pasted it into a work chat channel for interesting simulation failures, then tabbed back to terminate the node.
A yellow warning appeared.
`Replacement node will not complete campaign before deadline. `
“Oh well” he though.
The eyeliner ad will have to do with 1199 simulations. | I've always been interested in fringe science, ever since I made my first volcano for a science fair as a kid. It quickly turned to computer science during my teen years - I was programming everything from goofy pokemon clones to trying to hack my ISP. Sticklers.
Now? I work 72 hour weeks as a sheriff's deputy in Weston County, Wyoming, mainly driving around aimlessly because I'm one of 5 on the department when we are supposed to have 8.
I still can revel in my long-gone childhood by using the hour between when I clock off and when I've lost the staring contest to the ceiling with old and little-published papers.
This one was particularly interesting. It read almost like a joke, and cited nearly no sources. There was no documented evidence on the paper, either. I suppose this isn't terribly unusual for minor papers with big claims.
At the very least, it made sense to me. I always preferred to think there was the peace of non existence after death rather than the hundreds of afterlife theories. I can't imagine who, or rather whatever built the background process we are wasting power in would be stuck in 32-bit hell, unless just like earth, their world also revolves around outdated software deemed "too expensive to replace".
Maybe the paper should stay at my 174th view forever; I'd hate to lose sleep over someone starting an apocalypse when there's so much more to explore in our own little slice of paradise. | 2020-11-11T21:20:28 | 2020-11-11T19:40:34 | 93 | 60 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event.
Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out.
One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects.
The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm.
Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse."
Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said.
"You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind.
"Hoo-ra." Said the human.
"Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant.
"At least kill something!" said the miserable male.
"Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi.
"1st marines. Second division."
"What?
"Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior."
Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?"
The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?"
"Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities."
The marine nodded. "Thanks."
Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition.
By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come.
There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!"
"Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?"
Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live."
"What do I get if I win?"
"Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council."
"Roger that."
The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won.
He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind. | Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus!
“Are the contestants ready?”
“Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.”
“And a human?”
“Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!”
The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally.
Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular.
This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought.
Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce.
The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap.
Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!”
Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed.
Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report.
“W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.”
“Out with it you bumbling oaf!”
“ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.”
“A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!”
Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe.
“Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted.
“Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.”
“ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!”
The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone. | 2020-09-13T19:39:28 | 2020-09-13T18:50:43 | 103 | 23 |
[WP] You and friend agree that if one of you invents time travel, they will come back to this very moment. As you shake on it, an older and injured you shows up and shoots your friend in the head. | "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. You killed Ryan!"
I drop to my knees in horror. My best friend, dead.... by my... hands?
"It's okay. Grief is a process, you'll get over it."
"You just shot my... OUR best friend!"
"I know. I don't have much time. Listen, this little time travel experiment you guys are contemplating? Goes to complete shit. I regret everything leading to this exact moment, and I can't have it repeat again.... I'm sorry"
Future-me aims the gun at my head.... BANG. I flinch, accepting death... but, I'm still here. I open my eyes to see me, er, my future self with a gaping hole in his forehead. He falls in his own pool of blood.
"What?"
I look to see that it's my friend, Ryan; or at least, a future version of him dressed in a business suit stained with blood.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"Hey, pal."
"No, no more words unless it's an explanation of what's going on."
"You see "you" down there? He's from an alternate timeline. A timeline screwed from us messing with time. He wanted to go back and prevent World War II, but his interference caused a complete takeover of the United States..."
"Oh, like we're Nazis now?"
"Worse... Japanese."
"Oh shit."
"Yeah. Heavy stuff. If I see one more Anime mascot giving out a parking ticket... listen. I don't have much more time. I have to complete my mission."
"Your mission?"
"Yes. I may have eliminated future you... but he only exists cause you're alive... I'm sorry."
"Oh, come on!"
My friend aims for my head and cocks his pistol. BANG. I'm sure I'm dead this time... except... I'm not? My friend has been shot in the head by me. Or, not me. Another version of me?
"Hey, me."
"No, no, I'm not doing this again. I've had enough trauma for one afternoon. Let me guess, you're here to kill me because whatever we did caused ripples in another timeline and it's only possible because I'm alive in this timeline, so I have to be eliminated?"
"What? No. I mean we did some weird stuff but nothing that serious."
"Nothing serious? Then why did you have to kill Ryan?"
"There's infinite versions of us doing different things at different points in time. Honestly at this point, I'm just dicking around pretending I'm a secret agent trying to track down--"
BANG. I drop dead... the future self, that is. I can't believe I'm saying that I shot myself. I couldn't take it anymore. Now I have a pile of dead bodies that all look like me and Ryan. The horror... the smell.... if only....
​
If only I could have prevented it. That gives me an idea. | "What should we do if we ever lose control of it?"
"Lose control? It will just be a time machine, Tara. It's not a robot, or some sentient program which can-"
Tara laughed, then swatted me on the arm. Chastisement complete, she leaned back against the tree, tipped her sunhat down, then closed her eyes. Summertime is never conducive for staying annoyed at anyone.
"Not that kind of control, idiot. I mean, what if we invent the time machine, and then other people end up having a greater say over how it's used?"
"We'll be the inventors, of course we will retain full control!" I thumped my fist on the grass for emphasis. "And if anyone tries to overrule us, well, we will sue! My dad knows a few lawyers, I'm sure our company will be able to sue them all!"
"For someone so smart, you're really naive," said Tara. "That's not how the real world works at all. There's a dozen ways they can knife you even without you knowing."
"Name one."
"They may blackmail you, for example. Find something you're ashamed of, and threaten to expose you if you don't do what they ask. Or they may sue you first, and claim that the invention belongs to them. Or," and here Tara paused as she sat up and looked me straight in the eyes, "they may drive a wedge between us. Make us wary and untrusting of each other. Who says what may happen then?"
"Nonsense!" I said with a laugh. It was my turn to lean over and punch her on the shoulder. "Us? Fighting? We're best friends! Have been, and always will be!"
Tara opened her mouth, evidently ready with a retort, then thought better of it. Instead, she sighed, then scrounged around on the ground, uprooting handfuls of grass. One by one, she released each blade of green into the air, and watched as the wind carried them away.
"Even friends fight sometimes, Rachel," she said.
"I know, but that's not us. We will never-"
"Promise me something then, if you're so sure that we'll always see eye to eye."
"Anything, of course!"
"If we ever do invent a time machine, and if ever we lost sight of who we were, or if the time machine starts getting used in ways we wouldn't approve... Would you promise to take all action necessary to stop it from happening?"
I was ready with my reply, but there was a serious glint in her eyes which gave me pause. Tara often had her moods when she lapsed into deep, dour funks. I wondered whether it was easier to lift her from this one with a joke or with my agreeing to whatever half-baked compulsion had taken her fancy.
Agreement it was.
"I promise. By any means necessary."
"Including even killing me?"
"Yes, just like in all the movies we've watched. Who knows what effect it will have, killing the inventor of the time machine... But yes, I'll do it."
"Good," she said, with the smile finally returning to her face. "Let's shake on it. Blood-sister vow, no backsies!"
I reached out for her hand, as she did mine.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-10-11T18:19:00 | 2018-10-11T17:21:29 | 519 | 118 |
[WP] Write a lighthearted story for children, which changes it's meaning when read by an adult. | Once long a go lived a Princess named Amena. She was very beautiful and liked to watch the birds from her window. She had many friends who also lived in the castle with her, but her best friend was the advisor’s son, Damien. Damien would sneak into her room each night and they would play together until the sun came up.
Sometimes Amena pretended to be asleep when Damien came to visit, but he would always poke her awake so they could play.
One day Amena was watching the birds out her window and wished she too could join them in their flight. She imagined soaring through the sky and it seemed like such a wonderful thing.
A small raven landed on her windowsill and Amena smiled. “Hello little bird,” she said, “here would you like some bread?”
Much to Amena’s surprise the raven replied, “thank you Princess that was very kind of you. I saw that you were watching us fly. Would you like to join us?”
“Oh yes please little bird. Flying through the sky sounds wonderful,” Amena exclaimed.
“Well I can grant you your wish Princess,” the raven said, “but first I’ve always wanted to try painting. Can we do that first.”
“Of course,” Amena said excitedly, “but I’m afraid I only have red paint.”
“That doesn’t matter, let’s get to work,” the raven said.
“Can the painting be for Damien?” Amena asked.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” the raven replied.
Amena and the raven began to paint a beautiful red picture. When the painting was finished Amena felt tired, but still eager to fly. It was nearly sunset and they had been painting all afternoon.
“Are you sure you want to come flying now Princess? You seem tired,” the raven said.
“Oh please little bird. It would be a dream come true,” she said.
“Very well Princess, step over to the window and close your eyes. You have to believe you can fly,” the raven said.
Amena did exactly as the raven said. She had red paint all over her, but that didn’t matter, she was about to fly.
“Step of the windowsill,” the raven said and Amena did exactly that.
She kept her eyes closed tight at first but soon opened them and laughed with such glee. She was flying and it was exactly as she imagined. The red paint had vanished and Amena could see the entire kingdom below her.
“Oh thank you little bird,” she laughed.
“Of course Princess. We can fly towards the sunset,” the raven said.
Amena laughed as she flew. She was having so much fun and then a thought occurred to her, “I wish Damien was here.”
“Don’t worry Princess, I’ll go get him tonight. He will get exactly as he deserves,” the raven replied.
“I’m so glad,” Amena said and they continued to fly towards the setting sun. | #Davie Learns How To Say 'Sorry'
*printed by VanMan Publishing*
*written and edited by M. Gaetz & J. Sandusky*
*illustrations by Asanagi*
---
Davie is a boy who likes to go on adventures.
Sometimes Davie has an adventure that leaves a mess.
---
People who have to clean up the mess, get angry if he doesn't apologize.
But Davie doesn't know how.
So Davie asks grownups how to apologize.
---
He asks his mother how to apologize.
His mother says, "When we hurt someone's feelings, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we try not to hurt them any more, and listen better."
Davie helps his mother with her makeup.
---
Davie asks his father how to apologize.
His father says, "When we get so angry we do a hurtful thing, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we should never hit or hurt people."
Davie helps his father fix a broken door.
---
Davie asks his neighbor how to apologize.
Mr. Gein says, "When we do things we aren't supposed to, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we put back things we have taken."
Davie helps Mr. Gein bury a funny treasure chest.
---
Davie asks his grandmother how to apologize.
Nana says, "When we play with toys that aren't ours, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we give something in return to make up for it."
Davie helps his Nana make cupcakes for her friend's wife.
---
Davie asks Mr. VanMan how to apologize.
Mr. VanMan says, "When someone is afraid to try a new thing, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we help them learn something about themselves."
Davie helps Mr. VanMan learn a secret about himself.
---
Surprise! Davie's sister has come to visit!
Davie asks his sister how to apologize.
His sister says, "When we run away from a mess and others have to stay behind, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we give them what we can to help them deal with the mess."
Davie helps his sister learn how to shoot bottles.
---
Now Davie knows how to apologize for all sorts of messy adventures.
And now you do, too! | 2022-12-18T16:44:11 | 2022-12-18T12:16:07 | 492 | 274 |
[WP] After mastering lucid dreaming you find you have complete control over other people’s dreams too. You can choose what they dream of down to the tiniest detail and even join them without them realising you’re actually real. Their subconscious is your playground. Hope they were nice to you. | My journey started over a decade ago when I came across an online forum called Dreamviews. It was a place dedicated to teaching people the art and science of lucid dreaming, which can best be described as *knowing* you are dreaming *while* you are dreaming. Needless to say, I found myself intrigued by the concept of lucid dreaming and dream control. How could I not be? Possibilities limited only by my imagination? Experiences and adventures beyond the extraordinary every time I shut my eyes? Sign me up.
I spent that night reading every guide, every article, every scrap of information I could absorb about lucid dreaming. And that night, I had my first lucid dream. It wasn't anything special: I went on a date with a girl. I forgot to record it at the time, but managed to write it down years later, [if you'd like to read about it](https://www.dreamviews.com/blogs/mzzkc/mzzkcs-mind-games-3358/).
Oh yes, that's right. This story is more than just a story, dear reader. But...we'll get to that. First, you must trust me when I say there is a dark underbelly to this world that is unknown to most. Once the rabbit hole has swallowed you up--unlike Alice--there's no waking up.
This is the point of no return.
Very well, you've made your choice. Let's continue the story.
It was a long time after my first lucid dream before I officially joined the forum. I'm a thorough person. I wanted to amass a certain degree of my own knowledge and experience before presuming to contribute. I still lurked: watching the members interact, learning the social dynamics, keeping up with the latest techniques and discoveries, etc, etc.
It was through my lurking that I learned of a phenomena called dream sharing. At the time, I thought it ridiculous. Even more ridiculous--or so I believed--the notion of factions: [dreamwalkers and nightstalkers](https://www.dreamviews.com/beyond-dreaming/37621-anyone-else-met-night-stalkers-dream-walkers.html). Supposedly advanced dreamers capable of entering the dreams of others and bending that dreamworld to their will. That early lurking also clued me into the most crucial piece in the puzzle which led me to eventual, and complete, mastery over dream control.
Hell, [I wrote a fairly seminal guide on the topic](https://www.dreamviews.com/wiki/User-Articles:A-Unifying-Theory-of-Dream-Control).
But let me level with you for a minute. Having total and complete control over your dreams isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Even the simple, supposedly pleasurable stuff--which doesn’t require complete control--like flying over scenic vistas, or seeing a world from the outer atmosphere loses its luster over the years. And then there’s the responsibility and guilt you feel when you accidentally flood a planet with lava from its own mantle, pulled from below the crust, just because one or two people annoyed you. It’s a chore.
Which is why I’m glad I decided to give that whole shared dreaming thing a shot, despite my reservations. I worked my way into a group of alleged shared dreamers, hoping to learn what I could. They had a long running series of posts on Dreamviews about their adventures and exploits on the moon, of all places. I won’t link their efforts here--it's all a bit of a jumbled mess and hard to stick a pin in. You can google it, if you'd like. The important takeaway from that experience is that both myself and another dreamer I looked up to were able to definitely disprove their claims. That said, during my time interacting with them, I met another woman through them who took an interest in me and I in her. We’ll call her K.
We began to talk, and eventually, we began to dream together. Like, actually dream together. Simple overlaps at first: vehicles, names, objects. Then things got real. We began to dream of the same places, the same events, the same--well--everything.
All the rules of dreams still applied in these shared dreamscapes. Each of us had as much control as we were able/wanted to exert. But like a fool, I found the occurrences too weird and cut contact with her.
K didn’t take it well.
I found her in my dreams with more increasing frequency than before. She turned every one of my dreams into a nightmare. Not the usual sort with creepy silent-hill-esque bathrooms and fleshy monsters. No, these were emotional nightmares. The type where I’d get a call about my father dying. Or I’d have a relationship-ending fight with my fiancee. The types of nightmares you can’t simply will away into oblivion. The type that gnaw at the back of your mind because they’re all too real.
The torture continued for about a week before I decided enough was enough. I spoke with a few of my friends over on MortalMist about my situation, hoping they’d have some insight since, back then, the people over on the Mist tended to be the best of the best when it came to matters of lucid dreaming. Everyone in flashchat commiserated, but it didn’t seem like they had any answers for me. That was, until, I got a PM from a friend whom for her own privacy will remain Nameless.
Nameless told me of her own experiences with shared dreaming which greatly resembled my own. But in her case, the initial contact eventually led to her getting involved with a whole group of mutual dreamers before she left due to a disagreement with some of the higher ranking members. I asked her if K had been a member of this group, she said she didn’t recognize the name, but it had been years so they could have added new members in that time. Nameless said she would ask around for me and get me in touch with some members since I was definitely in way over my head. I insisted I was fine, but I’ll always remember what she wrote next: “You can hurt people from dreams, Mzz. Please be careful”
I didn’t believe her at the time. But the proof is in the pudding, as they say. And before the month was out, I'd know how sour that pudding tasted.
Turns out I was missing a critical piece of the puzzle in my Unifying Theory of Dream Control. But after talking to some members of the group of which Nameless had once been a member (thank gods they didn’t call themselves dreamwalkers, this story is already unbelievable enough as is), I stumbled upon the final piece of the puzzle: intent. With strong intent, the boundary between dreams becomes easily traversable. With stronger intent still, injuring another person in their dreams can leave permanent damage, or even be fatal. I know that sounds impossible. But you have to trust me on this: dreams can be dangerous.
It was the last time I saw K in my dreams. Another emotional nightmare. This time, my mother had just passed after an extended stay in the hospital, but I was stuck at school and didn’t get to see her. I got word of her death while at the campus pool from my brother. At this point, I remembered that my brother didn’t go to my school--I must have been dreaming. I do a nose pinch reality check to confirm, and immediately notice K in the lifeguard tower. She had an “Oh, shit.” look on her face as I teleported in front of her and punched her in the stomach with every *intent* to end the abuse, to end *her*. She coughed up blood and vanished. I hovered back down to the ground, and the maelstrom of emotions caused me to wake up soon after.
The nightmares stopped after that.
A week later, while I was hanging out in the Dreamviews flashchat, I got a PM from one of the folks with which I had originally tried shared dreaming. They had gotten a message over skype from K’s parents. She had died a week prior during the night from a sudden heart attack.
I’m pretty sure it was my fault.
I’ve traveled into thousands of people’s dreams since then. But now, as a rule, I try to be more careful. After all. Dreams can be dangerous. | ######[](/dropcap)
When I first realized I was having the same enjoyable dream frequently, I thought it was my subconscious crying out for more adventure in life. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop feeling the wind rush through my hair and hearing the roaring in my ears as I jumped a hundred yards at a time. It became expected, that I would go to sleep and enjoy the feeling of flying. I even began to feel the effects during the day, a pulling to curl up into a ball and nap my way into the skies.
Eventually, leaping wasn't enough and I decided to actually try and fly. It was in that moment, a couple thousand feet in the air staring at my home town in perfect order as it would be on an aerial map, that I realized what was happening. I had actually been lucid dreaming the entire time. Not coincidence or just a recurring theme, I found that if I thought about things before I went to sleep a deeper part of me would help me make them real in dreamworld. Flying was just the beginning, I could rip telephone poles out of the ground with my mind, use them like match sticks to build giant forts. I traveled to the great barrier reef and whooshed through the water faster than any submarine, danced with the dolphins and even talked to them! Who would have thought they were such brilliant conversationalists?
I asked a co-worker out on a date and she said that even though she liked me, it didn't seem like a good idea. I knew what she really meant, that I was too unattractive for a girl as pretty as her. Well, that's what she said in the real world, at night she sang a different tune. In fact she would sing any tune that I asked her to, and in a much more melodic and sonorous voice than she could have in the drab world. I don't think she ever understands the smiles I sometimes give her. If she only knew how wild she was capable of being!
One night I got drunk with some friends and my oldest and truest friend went up on the roof with me to smoke a joint. I turned to him after taking a big hit and said " This area of the city has the best roof tops, you can get a complete view of the city by going to just three of them."
"Dude, you are drunk. We're not going to two other rooftops just for some skylines, I don't have enough weed for that."
"Oh, haha right. Of course not." I said nervously
You ever look back on what a dumpster fire your life has become and really think about the events that lead you there? Sometimes if you have a clear memory and really see the order of events you can trace it all back to one moment. One single conversation or action that was the first domino that eventually knocked everything down. My bestfriend was my domino.
"Wait...have you been going to roof tops and checking the views or something?" Neal asked
"What? No way, I wish I had that kind of free time to just do this more often. You think the guys are going to head home soon? Maybe we should cash that and head back in for one more game of pool."
"Oh my god you have haven't you! You even tried to change the subject after denying it!" Neal said excitedly
"Neal, dude you're tripping right now what's the deal?" I asked
"Seriously, that's what you're going to go with, *with me*? I know you better than you know yourself nerd so you might as well spit it out so we can have a laugh about it. You know i'll never let this go." Neal said completely engaged in this now.
I knew he was telling the truth. Neal loves gossip and secrets, once he gets a whiff of anything that might be considered "privileged information" he was relentless. So I told him, of course. And he didn't believe me, of course.
So...I showed him. Man, was that ever a mistake...
>>> Thanks for reading guys if you liked where this is going I might write more later when i have time. If you want to read some cooler stuff I've written check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/LurkerAscended/) and maybe try my serial Son of Stingers | 2018-06-19T14:30:32 | 2018-06-19T13:21:05 | 241 | 99 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | "For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office." | We met in the room of a thousand fountains all 140 of us. We looked around for the original sure enough he was here. "Alright gentleman I have gathered you here today to adress the growing unrest across the galaxy at this time. Now I can't do it alone but with all of you I can, but we have to work together. Sound fair?" We all nodded and whispered agreements amongst ourselves. Then on cue we all turned to leave we knew what had to be done. The galaxy could barely stop one Revan how would it do with 140. | 2016-02-22T09:41:21 | 2016-02-22T09:22:45 | 91 | 10 |
[WP] A zombie apocalypse occurs, where people retain characteristics they had while living. You, as the sole survivor, meet a snobby, vegan zombie who turns their nose up at you. | This will be my last run for supplies. Over the past 3 months since the apocalypse started I’ve been making quick runs only grabbing what can fit into one bookbag. I started with making a ground water filtering system then I grabbed weapons then my way to first aid and clothing, only grabbing enough food to survive until my next run each time, but now it’s time for my real shopping trip. I am fortunate enough to be vegan and have a home with a rather large backyard, with a very tall secure fence. After this run I will have gathered enough seeds and gardening supplies that after this last run I should not need to leave the house for at least 5 years, or at least that’s the plan. I put on my leather tracksuit that has saved my life many times (thanks Kanye) and my empty backpack with just 2 fruit bars in it and head out the door.
I’m the only survivor in my neighborhood, but my neighbors are elderly and never leave the house anyway. The funny thing about the apocalypse that it’s different than the movies, the zombies are rather stupid and move quite sluggishly but, they are still people they were. They’re only scary because they’re dead, consistently hungry and they crave no other food source but meat, so much so they’ll eat other people. As a vegan, It’s my worst nightmare. My next-door neighbor still sits on the porch and makes passive aggressive remarks He’s too fat to get up and even try to eat me or anyone. The good thing is he won’t starve, the bad thing is I must deal with him until I die. I try to walk fast to avoid him saying anything to me. “going out again I see, Anthony. I’ll just sit here. I’m fine. Not like I haven’t eaten in 3 months.” I roll my eyes “see you later Joe.”
I hop on my bike and carefully make my way to my local seed store. I didn’t expect to do much clearing because it was always a low traffic area. Only a zombified man and woman stand outside of the store arguing over who ate more of some poor man who was devoured to the point he will not return. I try to kill as few of them as possible because of how human they still are. I sneak past the couple and into the stores side window. I grab all the seeds that grow quickly and stuff the rest of my bag with my personal favorites that may take more time. I fill a canvas grocery bag with canned veggies and of course more snack bars, to hold me over until I get my garden going. I was proud and a bit relieved, plus I could still hear the couple outside, so I opened a fruit bar for a snack I was going to sit and eat but upon opening the wrapper I heard a slight shift noise so I decided to eat as I walk.
I climbed up the window and something grabbed my backpack. I landed on the ground and one by one zombies surrounded around me. I Knew I was a goner. They tugged my limbs and clothes I wiggles out of my backpack to escape and surprisingly they just wanted my backpack. Then I looked around and saw one eating the fruit bar I dropped when I was grabbed pushing another away from him. A girl finally got into the pocket where I kept my other fruit bar. She tried to bite the wrapper. I slowly grabbed it from her, she looked sad and slightly afraid I opened the fruit bar for her and she smiled. “you’re not going to eat me?” I asked, dreading my own curiosity. She smelled me and turned up her nose. “No.” she said snobbishly then handed me another fruit bar out of my canvas bag to open so she can pass them around. A man with long hair that almost hid the gaping hole in his neck smelled me intensely. “Claire, man, he’s one of us.” I got defensive for almost no reason. “What? No. I’m not dead!” Claire smelled me again, “He’s right”. The man chuckled. “No, dude, he’s vegan.”
| When the fog rolls in, the roamers are driven by growing moans of the dead. Sarah decided to leave late. Her home was nested in a small patch of forest, but only three miles to the center of the sleepy coastal town. The center of town held the University she attended only two years before, which seemed like a lifetime. When each day is a struggle, they seem to linger.
Sarah ventured out for more supplies. There was plenty to scavenge at the school, and it seemed to her each time she came back, no one else was making use of it. To test this theory, she would leave little clues that would let her know if someone had passed by. Though she couldn't always tell if it were a roamer or a dead, someone was near.
On her way to school the fog started to roll in and her visibility was down to one hundred yards. She didn't like losing her vision and when she did, she would focus on her sense of sound and smell. It was true, living like an animal brings out the senses of people.
She could hear the waves breaking on the beach, two miles further West. It brought her peace of mind, that even after a messy past and present, the waves will always break. Sarah mounted flashing bicycle lights on the top of street signs as she went down A street, towards the school. On her way home she would take B street and collect the lights another time. The dead love shiny things.
Sarah was only two blocks from the school when her bicycle chain slipped and she flew over the handlebars. Her elbow ripped open and her ankle and wrist sprained. She tried to get back on the bike, but the motion of operating it was too painful. Sarah wanted to get inside quick, bleeding and her limited mobility made her an easy target for infection.
She didn't like being stuck somewhere she didn't plan on being stuck at. And it was obvious with each step she was going to be stuck at the school. The school had many staircases to each building, as many as five flights. The dead and roamers weren't too fond of stair climbing, one for height perception and the other, energy expenditure.
The library was her only goal, as she climbed the long stairs, she imagined herself cuddled up in a study room with the door barricaded, a few good books and her stash of protein bars. The twisting pain in her ankle sent shocks down her spine. She unlocked the still intact glass door with the huge keyring she found on a stained puddle of blood and jumpsuit which was once a maintenance worker. The book she laid a few steps inside was still standing on its own bottom. Good she thought, no trouble.
The library reeked of soggy paper. Mold grew inside but it wasn't unbearable. Sarah sort of liked the smell it was different than the rotting smell that filled the town. She climbed to the third floor, to an old computer lab, which she had previously scoped out in case she had been forced to stay. As she opened the only entrance to the lab, a planted quarter inch piece of paper fell from the door jam, she felt relief.
Sarah gathered couch cushions from the lounge to lay on. She pushed a desk to block the door, but with each push she could feel her ankle throbbing, she imagined the tendons ripping off the bone, though it wasn't that severe. She threw her whole body into it. After, she was drained of energy. She wouldn't leave for days. She had a bucket and one of the windows would open to dispose of it.
She layed down and put her bad foot up on her bag. Just as she closed her eyes she heard a rustle opposite of her. Sarah jumped instinctively, jerking her swollen ankle. Sarah wasn't a religious person, but people seek a god in their greatest time of need. “Please Lord, let it be quick and forgive me.” Sarah closed her eyes and felt a calming urge to submit. She could not escape.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” The voice said. Sarah kept her eyes closed and repeated mantras of peace to herself. “Hey,” the voice said again, “Why are you in my spot?” Sarah couldn't help but open her eyes. She seen a once pretty face, drained of color, a whole trapezius muscle gnawed off but scabbed over, which peaked out from her yellow tank top stained with brown.
“I'm hurt,” Sarah said, “I thought I was all alone here.” Sarah looked at the face and noticed she was different than the rest of the dead. Her mouth wasn't bloody. “You are trickier than me,” Sarah chuckled, “Putting my paper back in the door, so I would think it's safe.” The zombie grinned at her.
“I thought maybe you would just peek in and take off again.” The dead said, “my name is Karen by the way.” She stuck out her hand, her nails were yellow and long. Sarah was reluctant to shake her hand. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
“My name is Sarah, nice to meet you Karen.” Karen's hand felt like sliced ham. Sarah looked into Karen's eyes and they seemed normal enough, though she never held eye contact with one of them so long. Sarah thought maybe she was a sophisticated zombie who still brushed and flossed her teeth, read books. But why she didn’t change her clothes, made no sense. “Why are you here?” Sarah blurted out.
Karen shrugged and the exposed tendons from her neck to her trap muscle danced. “I'm different than the others, I don't eat people.” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “I've always been a vegan, and getting infected didn't change that.”
“So you just sit in the library all day and read?” Sarah said, “Why don't you go explore? Karen sighed.
“As much as I'd like to, other zombies don't like me they think I'm weird.”
“Well it is kind of weird you don't eat people, you are a zombie”
“And what are you? You think you are any better because you haven't gotten bit.” Sarah's face sobered up and Karen shook her head. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I guess I am a little weird.” The room was quiet for a long moment. “Plus, I have to worry about one of your do-rights blowing my head off.”
Sarah laughed. “Yeah, but I'm sure you would do the same.” Sarah paused. She was curious and didn't want to offend but asked, “Does it feel any different?”
“It hurts,” Karen said. “But you get used to it.”
“I'm tired Karen,” Sarah looked down at her hands and thought of all the pain she's caused and received. “This is the first time I've talked to someone in so long” Karen put her arm around Sarah. “Sometimes I think about ending it, but I get scared. My stupid instinct always kicks in.”
“You should rest, your foot looks pretty bad,” Karen said, “How about I read you a story?”
“If I asked you to kiss me and bite my lip, would you do it?” Karen looked surprised and flipped through her book before responding.
“Let me read you a story, we'll rest up and talk about it in the morning.” Sarah felt the most at ease since the outbreak. And she closed her eyes, happily anticipating the story. | 2017-07-15T09:17:39 | 2017-07-15T09:12:52 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] Napoleon and Hitler were born 129 years apart, came into power 129 years apart, and invaded Russia 129 years apart. It is now 2070. You've been reincarnated and rose to power for the third time. Russia is looking very tempting.
Edit: Holy cow. There are some seriously awesome stories here. Thank you so much :) | The young Caliph sat in his tower, surveying his kingdom stretching well beyond the horizon in every direction. It had been considered impossible, what he had done to bring the entire Islamic nation together. Powerful men had tried to unify the chosen for thousands of years, only to be corrupted by their own unworthiness, often seeking power for its own sake and private purposes. Oroitz succeeded where others had failed. That he was a European made the feat an impossible miracle, praise be to Allah. Bringing Mohammad's followers together had been the Caliph's sole purpose ever since anyone would listen during his charismatic, self-righteous youth. But that was not his final goal.
Now it was time to bring the other peoples into the grace of God, and the lands north of his seemed to be the proper candidates. Theirs was a nation of lost souls, literally, metaphorically and politically. The people yet lived in squalor and fear under the heel of bloodthirsty oligarchs, the wretched having nothing to believe in to give them hope. The Caliph could not, would not fail at saving them.
So it was said.
-
The well-beaten prisoner was dragged in to the Caliph's chambers in shackles. It had been a trivial matter to kidnap the officer from his family’s home in St. Petersburg. He was a promising soldier and politician, but not a well-protected one. His handlers dropped him roughly on the stone floor, and left the room reluctantly as the Caliph bid.
“I was not as smart as I thought, you know,” Oroitz finally stated. The prisoner looked up in surprise.
“I have no idea why I’m here…” the soldier rasped. If his jailor heard him, he didn’t give any indication of it.
“My second time around, I assumed my memories were a fantastical dream,” the Caliph continued, “After all, who, but crackpots and mystics would believe that you could remember the actions of your past lives?” The captive looked up in surprise. The young Caliph smirked. “I would have certainly been mocked to say I retained the experiences of Napoleon Bonaparte! But then I came to decide that the memories were a boon from beyond our world, a gift so that I could learn from prior mistakes. It had to be the natural order of things that I should make the world one. So, blitzkrieg across the Eastern front my armies did. What a shock and despair it was to be defeated so relentlessly once again!” The caliph was spitting out the words at this point. The prisoner’s face had calmed. The Caliph stilled in response.
“When I awoke this time in this world, with two lives already crammed in me, I knew my memories were real. I was Emporer! I was Fuhrer! I am Caliph!
“I knew I could lead people easily, angry ones who felt wronged and needed redemption. So as before, I invited the willing populaces to take control of their lives; they followed me easily enough. But I still wanted that which had been denied to me before.” The caliph peered into the eyes of the fallen man. His eyes were ageless, but the officer’s face was stoic.
“I don’t know why you are telling me this!” the prisoner muttered, “Send me away. You are insane!”
“Oh, we won’t be doing that!” the Caliph laughed, “You see, I’m not so stupid anymore. In the end, I’ve realized I don’t have a unique gift. I’m not that special. I’m not even smart as you, I know…” The beaten man’s face watched him less steadily. “There are others who remember, I finally realized. It’s not a gift. It’s simply just the way some of us are.” The Caliph edged his face closer to his onlooker. “Your name, Bronislav, isn’t it? Quite appropriate I think. Protector of the glory, did you choose it yourself?” The man said nothing. The young ruler watched for admission, “However, I think I preferred it when you called yourself Stalin, more so when you went by Alexander.” The Caliph stood triumphantly.
Bronislav Osinov finally let his despair show. *The Caliph knew.* “You’ve won,” he wept. “Just kill me and be done with it.”
“And let you be reborn free to come back and beat me another time?” the Caliph predicted. “I can’t beat you in a war and I know it. No, no, you will live a long time my friend.... There will come a winter when I will take Russia.”
Bronislav glowered with impotent rage.
Caliph Oroitz, the false prophet, sighed with pleasure.
“and this time you will only get to watch…”
edit: A big thanks to /u/moscow_troll for a proper Russian name and along with /u/lostoldnameagain for teaching me some culture | "Mr. President?"
The room was silent afterwards. And I could not blame them for the looks they where all shooting at me. When you become the most successful POTUS by reducing the National Debt to nothing, striking peace deals between long warring Middle Eastern factions, and setting the country up to become the world's first Carbon Neutral government; why in the hell would you invade Russia?
"I know that most of you think that an attack on Russia is out of the question, but you must know that I would not suggest such action unless it was absolutely necessary. Not a single one of our former enemies stand against us except for one nation. ISIS has been erased thanks to the help of our European and Asian allies, Korea is a fully unified front thanks to the efforts of our military, and even the nations that once harbored strong feelings of anti-American sentiment dwindle on a day to day basis due to our actions of reasoning and understanding. The only place to dare challenge the authority of the New Free Order is Russia. Talk has dried up, any efforts of our allies to aide them is met with armed resistance, and frankly I find it all a bit much when they refuse to acknowledge our peace to be one of mutual benefit and us relenting to their demands. If history had taught us anything, they are the one nation to stand between total Utopia and a continuation of status-quo bickering of olden days. It is my opinion that our efforts focus on stamping out the last of our hold outs in order to begin anew."
"But Mr. President. How could you, of all people, forget that not one single person in history has been able to take Russia?"
"Do not worry about that. One thing about mistakes is that you can learn from them. I plan on doing just that. How is our climate change satellite coming along?"
"It should be ready in two weeks. We will be able to inhabit Antarctica in no time."
"Good. Then we begin by testing it out in Siberia and begin our campaign." | 2016-02-17T13:53:46 | 2016-02-17T13:52:18 | 90 | 20 |
[WP] A lonely teenage boy asks a genie to let him talk to his future wife. The person who appears is not who he expects. | "But I want to meet her *now*! You are *my* genie, and as you said yourself, "whatever I desire is mine" except in that weirdo genie riddle-talk. I said I want to see my future wife, so where is she?" Beads of magical sweat rafted through the furrow in Gal'Mundo's brow. He glanced aside as if to consider something, then looked back at the angry little boy.
"Fine. No more riddles, kid. Which, for the benefit of your dim and dreary little brain , are the mark of higher education in the Realms Beyond Time. Just thought you might like to know." Gal'Mundo cracked his knuckles, or whatever it was that passed for knuckles in Genies. Around his fingers the air sizzled and cracked. "You want to see your wife? You got it." Just like that, Gal'Mundo disappeared in a slurpslap of nether sludge.
"Gross..." Timmy said to himself.
"Yeah fucking gross, right?" Said the voice behind him. The deep voice behind him.
"Wh- what? Where is my... Wi-Wha?" The language-like sounds that Timmy was making didn't come out the way he planned for them to. The immaculately dressed man on the red leather chaise-lounge, newly situated across the room, raised a manicured eyebrow.
"Tim, when you told me you were going to be a little immature, this is *not* what I had in mind." The words cut smooth lines through the air between them and entered Timmy's ears through the giant hole in his stomach. He shuffled his feet.
"I... thought I was going to have a wife?" It came out more as a question than a statement, and he realized he meant it that way.
"Sweetheart... damn. That could *not* be further from the truth." The man glanced at his watch, broadfaced with gold trim, thick links hugging his wrist. Tim swallowed. "Hey I've actually gotta run, future Tim is going to be so excited that I met you, he's been talking about it for ages. Oh, I'm Franco, by the way. I'll be really freaked out when you know my name. See you in a jiff, hot stuff." Once again the sound of a slab of meat being dropped into pudding, and Franco was gone. Left on the lounge chair was a gelatinous goo, which Timmy noticed was spreading rather ambitiously across the cushion.
He shook his head in disbelief. As he turned to leave, he felt a smile sneak onto his face. | 'Yes, I'm a Genie'
'Like, really a Genie?'
'Yes'
'Like, a full-blown wish-granting genie?'
'Yes, would you like to make your first wish?'
James Hollin, being thirteen, was a little bit naive about the the world and his place in it.
He was a flip-flopper, a vacillator, an individual who wasn't sure of what he wanted, whatever it was. He was one of those quiet guys who would go with the crowd in whichever way it would lead him.
He had absolutely no idea what he wanted to wish for.
'I have absolutely no idea what I want to wish for'
'Really? Surely you can come up with something?'
'I don't know'
'Well, what about the usuals? Money, Power and Women are all popular choices nowadays, especially for a boy of your age!'
The Genie cocked an eyebrow, looking for any interest from the boy.
Nothing.
James had only just started thinking about girls, but the concept of having a girlfriend wasn't foreign to him. He liked the idea of sharing his secrets with someone, going out with them and having a good time without other kids bothering him. He often wondered what the future would be like, when he didn't have to deal with annoying bullies. The idea of knowing what was in store for him intrigued James, it provided him a kind of certainty, he didn't have to be a fence-sitter if he knew the future!
Suddenly, the though popped into his mind.
'How about, for my first wish, you show me the girl I'm going to marry?'
'That's an interesting one... are you sure though? You might not like what you see'
Undaunted, James looked straight into the pale white eyes of the Genie.
'I'm sure'
Instantly, the genie evaporated in a puff of smoke, leaving what looked like a 20-something year old man in his place. He was tall and skinny, not unlike James himself, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, looking down, James saw a spark of recognition in the Man's eyes.
'Who are you?'
'My name is Will Hollin, pleased to meet you!'
| 2014-06-05T08:56:13 | 2014-06-05T08:03:25 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] A serial killer allows his victims to try and persuade him not to kill them. You’re the first person who didn’t try an empathetic plea. | I stared down the barrel of a gun. "Convince me why I shouldn't kill you." Now at this point the killer expected me to grovel and beg. To plead on why he was secretly some good person, or try to empathise with his situation, try to make some friendship. No. He was a garbage person, only fragments of what might have been. So I simply shrugged, "I don't know. You tell me." Angry, he scoffed, "You want *me* to justify your life?" as he pressed the barrel on my forehead.
*He thought he could scare me. How cute.* "Yeah, why the fuck not? I mean I'm a complete asshole to everyone who loves me, an alcoholic, a gambler. My job is unimportant and can be assumed by the next unlucky sap with a uni degree and half a million in debt. My family wouldn't care, my friends would move on. That's if I had any."
He seemed interested. Maybe they had something in common. We didn't. He was a deranged serial killer with an ego the size of Mars. I was a cruel, cynical office worker whose only purpose in life was to ruin what cluld have been a perfect life. *B-b-bu-* you want to object. Maybe I am a good person, you want to think. I laugh. Maybe I am close to the killer. Yet I am just a lonely cog in the machine, and him a rebel, conditioned to destroy what humanity had created. How is it we are the same and yet so different?
Now, back to the matter at hand. He began to think of something for me, "Well...you're not begging for one," he said plainly. He's right to be fair, but that's only because I was-hell I still am-wishing for the sweet release of death. He couldn't think of anything else, "I told you there isn't one. Nothing."
He stared attentively, trying to take note, "By the way, the mouth would be a better place to kill me if you wanted to do it faster. Hit the brain stem and I would die instantly. Or you could torture me, but why bother, to be quite honest. It takes too much energy, too much time. Hell, maybe that could be your second argument." As his hand began to shake, the killer almost forgot his reason for being there.
He looked away for a moment, and simply dropped his gun, and slid it to the side. And a single gun shot rang out, scattering the birds. *Maybe we are the same.*
------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT: Added 2 extra paragraphs and a sentence. | It was hard to breath. Not because I was being choked todeath, although I'm sure that'd happen in the next few minutes. The man stops in front of me, however, and he begin to speak. "Why. Why should I not kill you?" My mouth fell ajar. What the hell? What kind of serial killer is this guy?
I take a deep breath, trying to think of something to say. I doubt begging would help, seeing as he probably doesn't have much empathy to begin with. Steeling myself, I speak. My face goes from its panicked fear to my best neutral, unchanging expression.
"Why? Because there's no point. I have no valuables, I never wronged you either. So why would you kill me? I don't see a reason. I suppose there isn't a reason on why you _shouldn't_ kill me either, but neither is their one for killing me. So it's your choice. Choose to add another body to the pile, or not."
The man seems startled for a moment. I guess he never had someone try to actually come up with a logical reason.
"Fine."
"Fine? Fine what?"
"_Fine_, get out!" The man barked, his voice rising. My breaths get harder, and I run. I can't believe that worked... Holy crap. I'm lucky to be alive. And I probably ripped that whole thing off of the internet somewhere and I don't even know it. I take out my phone, and dial 911. I begin to retell my story, and the women on the phone confirms his identity, and says she'll send officers immedietely, and that I'll receive a reward. Thank god I'm out of there. What a weird way to operate. It seems quite innefective. I shake my head, willing myself to try and think of something else, as I head home. | 2017-10-07T09:05:38 | 2017-10-07T07:51:57 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose..... | I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.” | "Tell me your bidding and it will be done, Mistress," I reverently proclaimed, just as the past ninety-eight had done.
She smiled at me. It filled my heart with joy. I could see she was weary, though. It had been such a long day for her. Joy fled. Concern took its place, followed by a desperate need to do anything and everything she wanted.
She sighed. It didn't kill me. That meant there was some hope for me to serve.
"Oh, Clarence," she said, "I feel terribly, but I just cannot think of one more thing I need or even want. I have Adam and Margaret for sex, Gunter to maintain my body and mind, Mary for enlightening the masses, Farhid for plumbing what mysteries remain, Xian for coordinating music - and then of course her hand-picked cadre of virtuosos... well, I hardly want to bore you with the exhaustive recap."
She could never. I could live lifetimes in her voice. I would welcome the ache of hearing her displeasure rather than be denied its infinite splendor. An endless list of my shortcomings and failures passing her lips would be euthanasia by way of paradox.
She curled that beautiful bottom lip of hers and looked inward. Her brown eyes narrowed. Her head tilted just-so.
"You decide," she said. There was a collective gasp. She refocused on me, and smiled again. "Be creative. I know you'll do your best to serve and please me, and to obey my Chief Commandments."
My heart filled with joy again, to nearly bursting. Every neuron came alive, spurred by her command, but also by her faith in me. I could feel the heat of the activity. I began to sweat, though it worried me not at all.
"...than your science..." I muttered. "...than these..."
Something was happening. An idea was taking shape. It was a laborious process. I'd never been brilliant, but I'd been curious. I'd been fascinated by the fiction of old. Long ago, our ancestors had marveled at the vaporous gizmos and gadgets that real science had eventually given real form and function. No one was really sure if we'd remained on that path and accelerated past all comprehension, or if we'd jumped the rails to a far stranger fulfillment of fantasy-as-prophecy.
"I shall be your prophet," I said. "Not merely to other worlds. To other dimensions. To other times. To other realities. Wherever I go, your light will shine. It will link them all to you with brilliant quantum chains. They will love you as I love you. They will worship you as I worship you. They will defy their heavens and brave their hells to reach out and touch your throne - to make the many as one, under your perfection."
She stood. More gasps. She approached me. She touched me. She kissed me. The ecstasy should have killed me. Only my future of service saved my life.
"Good boy," she whispered in my ear. "I will miss you terribly. I'll be sure to summon you back from time to time. If you've performed admirably, you will be rewarded."
Tears flowed freely down my face. Envy and jealousy would have set the room on fire had she not, in her infinite wisdom, killed them both dead.
I felt the change. My declaration had passed the test. The only one above her - *for now,* all of us thought together - filled me with the power.
Her lip twitched. She smirked.
"Hmmm," she said. "I suppose I'll have to put off conquering this world for quite a bit longer, then."
She was smarter than the one above her. One day, very soon, she would rule. Oh, how we would all rejoice. | 2022-11-17T07:33:47 | 2022-11-17T05:10:38 | 420 | 64 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said. | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2017-06-11T10:05:38 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 45 | 21 |
[WP] People level their skills in an RPG fashion and are conscious of their sudden jumps from novice to journeyman and so on. You've spent your life training a skill that is entirely useless until becoming invaluable once mastered - and you just mastered it. | Michael's arms felt like molten lead, but he forced them to keep moving. He had gone too far, spent too much time mastering his craft for him to fail now. He could practically *feel* the experience points building up as he neared the level cap.
It had all lead up to this moment. When he'd started, he could swim maybe ten feet before he ran out of breath. But now he had several Olympic swimmers' worth of skill, and spent as little time on land as possible. Even sleeping on an inflatable chair in the pool counted toward swimming.
But this would be his "make it or break it" moment. He could hear the coast guards' boats bellowing through the water. This was it. His stamina meter was empty, and as his lungs slowly filled with water he could feel his HP bar ticking down.
But seconds before he sank into the choppy ocean, he felt it.
*Level Up.*
The coast guard watched in utter amazement as Michael turned around and stared at the boats, rising casually out of the water and hovering in midair. Every man on board rushed to the deck to watch Michael glide effortlessly through the air. Finally, one deckhand spoke up.
"We thought you were going to drown. How the hell are you doing this?!"
Michael smiled at his borderline godhood. "I've fully leveled up swimming. I can survive exposure to any liquid on earth. I cannot drown. The tides themselves respond to my beck and call. I can even swim through the water molecules in the air."
One by one, the sailors sank to their knees, hesitantly bowing to their new God and master. | "How's that golfing coming along, Tiger?"
I waved a hand amicably at the jeers, heading out to the course to get in a few swings before work. I had hit Elite a few months ago, and new techniques had become available to me, but still, I figured I had another couple of weeks before hitting Master. I had completely forgotten that this was triple XP month in celebration of God releasing new a whole new continent for us to explore.
I lined up my next shot, thinking it would be like any other, but as the club hit the ball, several things became immediately clear to me. First, I made the right call going with the eight iron. Second, by twisting my wrist just slightly I could hook the ball to avoid the sand trap. Third, that this was going to be an incredible shot.
I watched the ball, still numb with disbelief at my sudden advancement, as it hit a tree, bounced off, rolled onto a springy twig that somehow snapped precisely as the ball reached its apex as though it were a catapult in a past life, sending the ball forward towards the dunk, where a beaver chose that exact moment to pop up out of the water and tail smack the ball forward even more, where it landed on the fairway, popped into the air, losing most of its forward momentum, and slowly, lazily trickled its way downhill into the cup.
A hole in one. On a par six hole.
"Excuse me, sir?"
I hadn't noticed the businessman standing there. I turned to face him, mustering up a straight face, hoping against hope that he had seen my miraculous shot...
"I couldn't help but notice how amazing that shot was. Can you do it again?"
Smiling, I pulled out another ball and tee, and proceeded to make it a double. This time, instead of a stick, the wind picked up, and instead of a beaver, a dolphin popped out. I didn't even know this lake had dolphins.
"Wow. Listen, I have Expert ranks in media production, how would you like several million dollars a year to do more shots like those?"
At last, my decades of training and dedication had paid off. | 2015-10-05T20:45:55 | 2015-10-05T20:07:46 | 188 | 119 |
[WP] After people die, they must answer a riddle, and its difficulty depends on their sins. You've committed genocide. | I'd finally died. Comfortably in my home, asleep even. I wasn't sure if it had been an assassin, but likely not. Not at 86 years old. Probably that crappy heart I'd gotten from the peasant a few years back. The afterlife was bland, free of color or scents even the air I breathed was missing the indescribable taste of the Earth. If I was breathing anything at all. There was a sphinx seated in the middle of the room, a massive drooping thing. Glasses hung off of a beaded string around its neck and its mane was like snow. It blinked slowly at me, a yawn pulling its enormous tongue in a curling motion.
"The dead are asked and then they answer. Your answer determines where you spend your eternity."
"Guess you answered poorly then, beast. To be stuck in this place." It grinned, enormous fangs glimmering clearly in the faded light.
"The severity of the riddle is based on your sins."
"I have committed no sins. You cannot judge me! I was a ruler, those under me were sacrifices for the greater good!"
"Very well, a simple riddle for a man willing to make the difficult decisions." I smiled, happy that my worth would be appreciated beyond life. A dictator was worth more than any below them, everyone knew that.
"How many deaths have you caused?"
| I had imagined death to be much different. All my life, death to me was a picture of white clouds surrounded by bright blue skies, filled with people dressed in white robes and halo above their heads. Or in my case, perhaps the fiery pits of hell, doomed to eternal damnation. Never in my life had I imagined standing in a queue, waiting to be asked a riddle to determine my fate.
"Thomas Prince, or as you are known on Earth, General President Prince," the robot in front of me beeped.
"Yes," I nodded, studying the towering grey figure. Another thing that I never expected to see in death: Robots. So many questions ran in my head, but before I could ask any, I had to be asked a question first. A question to determine my fate. God must have been a real prankster.
"We believe in second chances, which is why we have this protocol in place," the robot continued. It was the standard line that it gives out to everyone in the line.
"Just get it over and done with, will ya?" I simply cut in. It was not like I was going to get any easy riddles, anyway, like the guy who went before me. What is the answer to 1+1. Unfortunately for him, he overthought the answer and said eleven, when the answer was straight up simple 2. A whole life of being a godly man only to mess up at your final moment.
"Very well then," the lights on the robot blinked. "As you have committed countless murders in your life on earth, we have determined that you'll be assigned Category 10 riddle, perhaps the toughest riddle of them all."
I sighed, preparing for my inevitable descent into hell. At least I would have the honour to be asked the toughest riddle to have ever existed.
The robot beeped. "Why is 42 the answer to life, the universe and everything?"
--------------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-06-03T00:07:34 | 2017-06-02T20:41:18 | 189 | 76 |
[WP] The attempted assassination of a human dignitary at a galactic summit goes awry. Turns out, many of the conventional toxins in an alien assassin's repertoire include compounds like caffeine, theobromine and capsaicin; lethal to many species, but... less than effective on humans. | At first, it was entertaining. A meeting of diplomats, gathering and sharing gifts. A few too obvious looks and startled expressions.
It was innocent enough to begin with. A drink, supposedly a local delicacy. Yet it felt so much like an espresso that I could have sworn that Andromorph was from New Jersey. He even had the accent. Or maybe that was just the universal translator.
The looks he gave me after I finished it without blinking was, to say the least, unnerving. As if he didn't expect me to enjoy it as much.
Next was the Flagellians. They offered me a golden brown liquid that looked, smelled and tasted like a good Malt Whisky. Those guys quickly became my fastest friends. Especially after I quickly organised a trade deal for a few million units of the stuff. They were awful concerned about openly discussing it, but I made sure they knew I understood. Earth had its own prohibitions, after all.
The Andorians and Belvitiands were less welcoming. They offered me a platter of meats that, while appearing entirely vile, actually turned out to be perfectly seasoned strips of what they called "Interfectorem Cibum". When I coughed and hacked at the first bite, yet still went in for seconds, exclaiming "That's sone killer seasoning!" I swear they nearly attacked me on the spot.
It was the Pandorians, though, that nearly killed me. They, at least, had the decency to be apologetic when my throat swelled and bulged, blocking my breathing. In my defence, they did share the dish with me, the bread the delicious, and I savoured every bite.
Until, that is, they mentioned that we had a similar dish on earth.
Never had I cursed the invention of pecan bread more than I had in that moment. | "What did you hope to accomplish?" The woman asked, pushing the drink away now that she knew the intent behind it.
The common space outside the council chambers had little activity. And this Trennovian had followed her here, making small talk and offering to buy her a drink as they discussed the law that would come to pass.
A law that the Trennovians did not like.
"Seriously. What does killing me *now* accomplish? The law's been passed." She shook her head, her hand reaching into her bag for the handheld impact cannon and feeling the comforting cold metal of it.
The alien's look of shock slowly vanished and a blank expression replaced it.
"No future transgressions. You'll be an example."
"I'll be a martyr. There are a million different ways you can have gone about this. Killing me to set an example is the worst way you could have thought of."
"Your kind has them all in your pockets. Your archaic manipulation of atoms and it's destructive effects are too valuable an asset. They want to learn more. You wish to teach them your ways. Calling it means of deterrence. We all know."
"These are the kinds of things you voice out in there, Xur Plin. You're not the only people who are pushing back."
"Our voices do not carry as far as yours, newcomer. What you call a means of deterrence? This is ours."
"This is your deterrence? Actually killing a politician? Do you have any idea what this will mean? What you have done? This summit... It's a wonder how it exists the way it does. But to violate it's standing, it's integrity, with the act of killing?"
"Maybe they'll listen to us now." The Trennovian reached out towards her with startling speed, it's appendage producing a sharp needle-like contraption.
The woman took out the cannon and fired desperately. The force of it pushed them both away from each other. They both fell, crashing to the smooth, polished floor as the sound of the discharge filled the area.
She slowly got to her feet, her arms numb from the recoil. The Trennovian lay, trying to gather itself and rise back up. But it was too winded, too shaken. The woman collapsed back to her seat, eying the poison. The taste had resembled gingered coffee, to an extent. It reminded her of the spiced coffee her mother used to make. She heard the urgent footsteps and stern voices making their way toward the source of the discharge, and reached for the drink.
Might as well. It was going to be a long day. | 2021-06-12T15:57:52 | 2021-06-12T14:34:43 | 490 | 215 |
[WP] Eye colour means everything here. Brown control the earth, blue controls the water, white controls the sky. There are so many colours and each important but you were the first born with yellow eyes. | No one is suppose to be amazing, not really. Life is suppose to be an ordinary struggle to continue living an ordinary life until the eventual ordinary death. Maybe some people could accomplish amazing things, but not someone from such an ordinary past as myself. My mother was an ordinary green eye, only capable of keeping the flowers on the table healthy. My father was a white eye, but only strong enough to create a soft breeze on the warm summer days.
Why then did I have yellow eyes? And why did I have an amplitude with my color in the 99th percentile? I thought that maybe it was a fluke, a glitch in the magical system we lived in. It would have made sense, since my powers appeared non-existant. I couldn't ever control anything, no element would bend to my whim. Still, I lived in the modern day, and the modern day uncovered the true potential of my power.
They say a green eye will weep with joy when they first see a forrest as a kid, and that the blue eye with smile all day when they find an ocean. Every color is attracted to their element, and when I got to visit the experimental Tokamak fusion reactor as a college graduate student, I knew I was in love. The tour guide yelled for me as I ran towards the machine, and the security tried to stop me before I could get close. I faintly recall that one of them may have even shot me, not that it mattered. Once my hand touched the side of the reactor, everything changed. | I had always been jealous of the others. Being able to cause earthquakes, raise and lower the ground, rolling the ground underneath my feet as if it were a skateboard. Or what about being able to make water appear wherever you wanted it to appear. Make it rain and shower the pastures for the farmers or being able to give water to those who are thirsty. Also, flying looked amazing; having the wind catch you under your arms and fly wherever you wanted. I was jealous, until I grew over it and discovered my power. Legal drinking age. All my friends weren't allowed to drink until they turned eighteen. That wasn't a problem for me. My yellow eyes enabled me to control beer and make it go wherever I wanted it to, most importantly: in my mouth. I started drinking when I was sixteen and haven't stopped ever since. I drink beer almost every day and whenever I become nauseous or tipsy, I have it leave my body. That's right. Right from the bladder, back through my throat and onto the street. It sounds disgusting, but being able to have infinite drinks? It's awesome. I earn my money nowadays by competing in drinking games. "Fifty bucks for the fool who can chug the most!" Easy money.
"Alright guys, I'm gonna take a piss. All that beer has to come out," I say as I leave the room filled with people staring at me in awe after winning another drinking game, netting twenty bucks this time. I head for the toilets and lock myself up in a stall. I don't feel like getting the beer back out through my mouth, so I just stand and piss. Soon after some guys enter the bathroom. "He went in here, the fraud," one says. "Must be in that stall." Their footsteps draw closer and all of a sudden they start banging on the door. "We know you're in there, yellow eye." "Show us what you're worth, beer drinking fraud."
Shit, they've discovered my power. I've been taking a leak for a minute now and I'm still not done. I focus and I can feel the piss running out of me in a more intense way. It doesn't take long until I can feel its warmth embody me. Goodness, I'm controlling my own piss. Let's see how they like this! I turn around and my beam hits the closed door, but I target the waterfall upwards, over the stall and the yellow fountain of warmth showers over the guys standing in front of it. "WHAT THE F- HE'S PISSING OVER THE DOOR!" one says and the rest starts shouting. They run from the bathroom while shouting and soon after peace returns. I turn back around and aim for the pot again, lowering the ray in the middle.
Beer controlling and now piss controlling. Sweet. | 2016-08-08T11:27:39 | 2016-08-08T10:59:12 | 26 | 12 |
[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. | "28 today," you say to yourself looking in the mirror. Of course you know today is your birthday today, but it also helps that while looking at the mirror you noticed the number above your head changed from the [27] you saw yesterday.
You leave to go to the liquor store to pick up some booze and celebrate. While in line you see this scrawny kid two prople ahead of you. He looks really nervous, you laugj yo youself when you figure out why as you look above his head. [17]. The kid gets to the counter, hands the clerk his "ID," who says that he better run before he calls the police. The kid scurries away.
It's always been a gift of yours to be able to see the age of people. Thanks to your gift it was pretty simple to find a job befitting of it to get out of doing some actual work. What better fit that a bouncer for a bar. Besides this gift you were also gifted with size, 6'6 and 300 lbs was another big help when applying to be a bouncer.
With your secret ability you became well known in town as THE bouncer. Sure you looked at ID's of anyone over 21, just to keep up appearences, but anyone you saw abover their head <21 you wouldn't even ask em for ID's you'd just laugh and tell them to leave.
After a nice day drinking with friends you were unfortunately scheduled to work. Luckily things are going very smooth this night, no one <21. A couple hours pass and way down the line you see [31], [33], [11], [34], and you think to yourself, "seriously, someone is trying to bring their kid into this bar? Some people." In your state there is a bery clear law disallowing children to be in a bar unless it's a bar/restaurant, which your place was most certainly not.
The line moves on and on and you get more annoyed prepping to confront this family. As they get closer you see the something is a miss. The [11] is just as tall if not taller than the other numbers you see. You can't quite see the kids face but you assume he's either a really lanky kid or he's getting a piggy back ride from daddy. You think the latter is more likely because the [11] is very close to the [34].
When the "kid" makes it to you your jaw drops. Standing in front of you was a man, dressed in sharp suit and nearly as tall as you, maybe 6'4. Above his head read [11....34].....[1134]. The silence of your stare was then broken, "You alright buddy?" You snap back to your senses, "yeah sorry about that, may I see your ID." The man gives you his ID and it clearly shows "34," you hold his ID for a while again your mind questioning what you saw. Never before have you doubted your powers, could they be off for once? Maybe the booze from earlier is still running its course, but I feel fine. Also I've never had a problem with the accuracy of my ability before when I've been drunk. Also I've read everyone elses accurately tonight as you always check ID's anyw...
"You know I'm lying about my age on there, don't you?" The man said snapping you out your train of thought. He takes his ID and goes to walk past you away from the entrance. As he passes you he whispers in your ear, "[1134] is right, meet me out back and I'll explain everything," and with that he leaves you mouth agape walking away down the alley next to the bar.
You stand there for a sec frozen by what he said until the next guy says, "buddy you alright?"
"No, sorry," and with that you page for someone to switch you out for a break. Your friend comes out and you go on your break. You go down the alleyway and popout behind the bar. Back there you see the only person there, the man in the trench coat.
"Glad you showed up."
The man steps closer to you and extends his bare hand for a handshake. You look down and nervously reach out to meet his. You grip his hand and he grips yours, only he keeps squeezing, harder, and harder. Your a big guy you're not about the be intimidated in a strength contest, and you start squeezing back. The man doesn't flinch and he begins squeeze even harder, he begins crushing your hand, it's your complete loss as you fall to your knees you hand limp yet still in this man's machine like hand. He eventually lets go and you bring your throbbing hand to your chest clutching it due to the pain of broken bones.
"What are you?" You say through gritted teeth. The man crouches down to meet your gaze.
"The name's Egan, seeing the numbers are just the start of your abilities. Why do you think you would be able to see them?"
He pauses, as if looking for a response to his rhetorical question. Obviously you don't know why you were given this power.
Breaking the silence Egan says softly, "It's because you also have the ability to take theirs. Come with me and I'll teach you to become a god among mortals."
With that Egan stands up and reaches out his left hand to you. You take it and stand up, your life changed forever. | I check their I.D.'s for fun now, noticing nose jobs and cheek implants and the occasional sex change. It doesn't matter though... there are always some who try to get past me. A strikingly beautiful blonde with a shining "19" above her head brazenly looking me straight in the eye, not a flicker of hesitation as she hands me a well made fake stating she was twenty three years old. The three men around her, all with numbers higher than my own glare menacingly as I shine my light on the counterfeit piece of identification. I decide it's not worth the altercation and let her through but I yearn to just whisper "Why are you trying to grow up so damn fast? There's nothing in here for you."
I never learned why I could see these numbers, to be honest I thought everyone could, and by the time I was old enough to question it, I knew enough not to bring any more attention to myself. Now it makes my job easy, and it's a neat trick at parties. I don't question when women lie to make themselves younger, and yes, occasionally I let someone who is trying make themselves older slide past, into the bar for their drinks and their laughs. Frankly... I just couldn't care anymore.
Ive seen it all, women who look thirty five but have a bright "50" floating a few inches above their head. Young men with full beards that would easily pass as mid twenties who are mere teenagers. It's remarkable, really, the variations in how humans age. Were I a man of more scientific inclinations I might feel compelled to get to the bottom of my "gift". In truth, I'm typically more concerned with when I can punch out and get drunk enough that the numbers start to blur and I can pretend I'm not seeing the mortality of others... but angels with luminous halos.
Every week I stand outside the door to a trendy L.A. bar and grit my teeth through the drip, drip of painful repetition. Mine was the sort of redundant occupation that people might complain gave them carpal tunnel. I used to look forward to the occasional bar room brawl to break up the monotony that has become my life, but as iPhones get larger and pants get tighter and more and more men declare themselves as "feminist" it's a rare occurrence that I can't set my hopes on. So instead I look at these little plastic rectangles and relish in the tiny details they hope won't be noticed. Live in L.A. as long as I have, and you'll see every nip and tuck.
Most nights, I arrive at the bar by seven thirty, have a beer or two with Lonnie, the bartender, before taking up my post on my wooden stool just to the left of a black painted door. I've worked at many bars but this bar had the unique distinction of being the only place I'd encountered that put forth an effort to appear seedy in order to sling overpriced whiskey sours to L.A. hipsters who wanted to feel as if they'd spent a night slumming it without any of the real life danger they might encounter were they to venture into an actual slum. You know the type, they wear ripped jeans that cost as much as my rent and carry folded paperback copies of "The Old Man and The Sea" in their back pocket. In other words...real winners.
Tonight was no different and after my second beer, some craft bullshit from down in San Diego that Lonnie said, "We're the only bar in L.A. That has this. Some guy literally brews this in his bedroom. It's totally exclusive", I took my seat and waited for the string of mullet wearing degenerates to pile in.
At first I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe I'd blurred two people's numbers together. Maybe there was someone walking just behind him, out of view. Nope, as he got closer I stood up. The man was a little taller than me. Not any kind of unusual looking character, but not the typical patron of this joint either. He wore a simple suit and close cropped haircut, but what I was seeing couldn't be possible. The man looked to be at most, in his early thirties. The bright, shiny number hovering just above his dark hair however, showed "2021". I realized my mouth was open and that I was staring.
When he got closer he mumbled "hey" and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then, just like everyone else, an I.D. Just a normal California license with his photograph, his height, weight, address and name- "Christensen, Jess H." The birthdate gave him an age of thirty three but my gift had never been wrong. Ever. Not in my entire life had a number above someone's head been even a year off their actual age. This simply, wasn't possible.
I turned the plastic over and stalled for time, "So, from L.A. originally?" He replied, "Israel, actually, but it feels like I've been in L.A. since forever." I hand him back the card and he just smiled and walked inside.
All night I couldn't get the man out of my head. Was he some kind of vampire? Or maybe some monster of an Israeli Dr. Frankenstein? It just couldn't be. I came to the conclusion that something had gone haywire and my gift was starting to falter. "Shit" I thought to myself, "Now I'm gonna have to really start paying attention to birthdates." But the rest of the night my numbers always matched the birthdates on the I.D.'s. It seemed this man was the only one the glitch affected.
The night started to wind down and people trickled out as bar close neared. Finally, I noticed the four digit man slip outside. He stopped to light a cigarette and I don't know if it was the late hour or if it just bugged me too much but I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, man" He turned and smiled, this guy didn't seem like a monster. In fact seeing his face made me feel like I'd bitten off half a Xanax, but I persisted, "I gotta ask, you know, I have this real good knack for reading people and I gotta say... something's telling me you're older than you say you are." What he said back to me... well, it just about knocked me over.
| 2017-09-01T22:57:39 | 2017-09-01T21:03:45 | 247 | 122 |
[WP] Tell me about the american version of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
[The houses are, of course, Wolfthorn, Hawkridge, Foxcrest, and Bearglove.](http://i.imgur.com/HzLe3qz.jpg)
This is in the United States. Harry Potter's actions didn't effect anyone here, except give them some stories to tell.
What are the houses like? What houses are rivals? | I'll tell you about the American "Hogwarts", better known in 'Murica as the Washingtonian School of Freedom.
First off, the houses: The prompt is fucking wrong. There's no fucking hawk house (seriously?) . There's Bald Eagle house 1, 2, 3 and 4. All fucking Eagles. No fox, kangaroo, serpent, koala shit. Note: Eagles call all of those animals their prey, especially kangaroos.
Eagle House 1 has a rivalry with all other eagle houses, and it's the same for each other eagle house, keep it simple. They fight constantly with one another in preparation for the constant possibility of war with other ridiculous foreign schools and people with dark skin.
Okay now on to the magic. It's just better here, seriously. Magic spells are split into 4 categories, guns, medium sized guns, big guns, and nukes. Yup that's right, we don't study your pussy magic, we use goddamn guns. How would Voldemort have reacted to a volley of .45's from a sweet ass Kimber 1911? He wouldn't have, he'd have died. By the time he rattles off his one shot "Avada Kedavra" we've already loosed 97 rounds from a stockpile of AK's, AR's. Seriously guns, Christ.
Sports: Football. (Attn: FOOTBALL is played with an ovoid shaped pig skin, not a geodesic black and white retard ball). Only difference is at school it is played with guns.
Students here soak up their fill of freedom every day. Whether they are shooting foreigners, playing football (not pussy soccer), or tearing into their giant T-bone steak whilst wearing a huge cowboy hat screaming "YEEE HAWW!"
Fuckin' Murica
| From *Magical Education Across The World* by Rory Shamble, Chapter 6: American Education, paragraphs 1-4.
Magical Education in the Americas is, unlike that in Asia or Africa, based in large part upon the magical traditions of the European continent. It is, however, much less established, owing to their recent founding relative to the much more ancient schools of the Old World. This is the central difference between American schools, and all others across the world.
Owing in large part to this recent establishment, American schools are much more receptive to the influence of other magical cultures. For example, the Salem Witches' Institute, the primary female school of the continent, was founded by Europeans. However, in the past century, it has accepted methods of magic such as those practiced by major Arabian, Asian, and African schools.
Additionally strong in influence is the magical methods of the Native Americans, a profoundly spiritual sect of wizardry. Such charms as the Patronus, Invictum, and other soul-revealing spells were developed by the male counterpart to the Salem Institute, the Native American founded Academy of Sky-Dancers.
As its name indicates, the Academy practices Native American dancing magic, which is famously able to control large-scale weather if sufficient wizards are involved in the casting, although it has many applications beyond this. The Sky-Dancers Academy is the only school in the world to offer education towards this unique branch of magic, and receives many immigrant students because of it.
| 2014-12-07T17:51:46 | 2014-12-07T17:48:13 | 36 | 24 |
[WP] You're a supervillain with a superhero as your arch-nemesis. When they come out to the world about their depression and mental health, others call them weak and there is backlash. You, however, are the first one to support them publicly. | “What is strength?”
There was silence after Eclipse spoke, except for the sound of rubble trickling from the fresh hole in the newsroom wall. He did not wait for an answer as he seated himself and turned to his unwilling co-anchor.
“I asked a question, Son of Carl. You mocked the Strongman, belittled his struggles with depression and anxiety, called him broken. Weak. I do not think you know what strength is. And madam, if you cut the news feed, I will gut you where you stand.”
The plucky intern who had been reaching for the kill switch suddenly went very, very still.
“Now. What is strength?” He clasped his gauntleted hands and rested his chin on them as he faced the camera. “Perhaps we should start with what it is *not*. It is not power. Power is the ability to make your wishes become reality. To speak and make it so. But it is not strength.
“Strength, true strength, is resilience. It is doing what you must, what is best for you and your loved ones, in spite of the difficulty. Strength is inspiring others to do more. To be more. To become greater than themselves.
“It is in his name. The Strongman. He is a human who has stood against a god and emerged victorious. You have watched him lift buildings. Crumple iron. Shatter steel. When he knew his power was not enough, he had the strength to seek help. And you mocked him. *Mocked him.*”
Eclipse paused, calming himself, and unclenched his fists. After a long moment, he unfastened his gauntlets, tossing them carelessly to the floor, and the co-host gasped. A riot of scars ran up and down Eclipse’s arms, short and fat, long and pale, punctuated by two long, thin lines running down the center of his forearms.
“I know what it is like to see the world in grey. To be alone at 3 AM, wishing your light would go out, because you do not wish for death…but it is a refuge from what all the days to come will bring. To feel the world grown cold and hollow, yet nothing can distract you from how empty and still it has become. If I had known…perhaps, in another time…”
His voice wavered a moment, then returned to steel.
“No matter. His struggles forged him and mine shattered me. I worship my power. But I covet his strength. Yet you call him weak. So tell me, Son of Carl…” He turned to his co-host. “Would you ever call me weak?”
There was a heartbeat of silence.
“N-no!”
“You lie. But allow me to speak the truth.”
Faster than thought, Eclipse was standing, hand around the man’s throat. His feet kicked uselessly, suspended several feet above the floor, and Eclipse turned towards the camera.
"You do not recognize strength, only power. So I will be clear to those who would call him weak: if his name ever passes your lips again—in jeer or in joy—I will show you *power*. For he is human. I am a god. He may forgive…”
There was a wet, gurgling *crunch*.
“…but I will not." | *Ahem*
I always believed what elevated a villain to a super villain was their sense of *style*. But my unique, snazzy, often explosive ways of contacting you plebes are starting to be expected. ^(I know, Paradoxical.) And so, I have chosen to host a press conference, something wholly unexpected and therefore being able to drill into a much bigger audience, what will likely be the most important thing I'll ever say.
&#x200B;
My nemesis, the recently renamed Impenetrable^(— god, which idiot told him that was a better name—) Well, they have decided to tell us of their still continuing struggles with depression. This is in my opinion one of the bravest things Impenetrable has done in my decade of knowing them, and I will fully support them in any way I can.
That being said, My solidarity with Imp— Yeah, no, I'm not calling them that anymore. What was their previous name? They had that for a month. Something starting with O, right? Something like Omni—ohhhhh.
Yea, I'll just call them Arch like I used to. ^(People know him better as Impenetrable, my ass.)
That being said, My solidarity with Arch, while more than enough to call this conference, is not the only reason I am here.
&#x200B;
I expected a few dozen or so degenerates to mock Arch for his ongoing battles. I'd have just zapped them and changed the chemical balance in their brain, preferably without Arch knowing— They'd just reverse it after all. With those... bad apples hidden, I mean gone, we as a community could help Arch.
What I didn't expect was more than half of this so-called society to deride Arch for being, well, human.
I couldn't believe you fools. You call me evil, while you continue to beat Arch down when he's at the weakest, when even I wouldn't hurt him. Tell me, who is the real villain here?
I probably should have zapped everyone here, to make you understand an iota of what Arch is going through. The only reason I didn't is because Arch asked me not to. How he knew what I was going to do, I'll never know, but consider yourselves lucky that Arch doesn't want you heartless creature to experience his demons.
Maybe I should have just held hostage a dozen kids or so till you learnt at least some amount of empathy, and decency. But I doubt anything I said or wanted you to understand would have gone through those thick head of yours. Best case scenario, I'd have traumatized bunch of kids and parents, and angered an entire city....
Or maybe— WHAT DID YOU SAY GENERAL?!
....
\[1/3\] | 2022-06-21T10:53:43 | 2022-06-21T10:53:05 | 209 | 48 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. |
A camera flashes as I open the car door and, elegant as ever, Amile steps out before extending her hand to me, hoop bracelets sliding down her wrist and stopping against the contour of her hand. Her long fingers are decorated with rings. There are three more camera flashes before I finally accept her hand and exit the car. In those moments, I feel elegant too. Eyes fall on me, like an unveiled sculpture, chiseled marble drawing the attention of the crowd as they stare through their lenses and the lightning storm of captured moments begins.
In any relationship, there is some defining moment where you go from simply loving someone to really knowing them. Perhaps you’ll love them once you know them but it doesn’t always work that way.
In the car, before my birth into the realm of really knowing the woman I’ve spent the last six months with, surrounded by the smell of the leather seats and our perfume, I just loved her. I loved her because she was beautiful and kind. She liked whiskey and, when I met her at the bar, I told her that I found her taste appealing. I’d never really understood the fruity drinks, I told her. She agreed. I loved her because she had an uncanny ability to make people smile, no matter how terrible they felt. In many moments, even if bookending the smiles and laughter were despair and hollow sadness, she made me happier than I’d ever been in my life.
In any relationship, you’ll learn something you felt you should have known before you began dating. Like maybe she really likes cats. Or she puts ranch dressing on her pizza. Maybe, in her basement, she has a secret Lego collection. Whatever. You’ll think, wow, I really wish I’d known that. For better or for worse, you’ll think, that feels important to me.
“Come on,” she whispers, nudging me and talking with nearly unmoving lips. Her hand waves to onlookers who are barricaded behind gates and ropes.
“What the hell is this?” I ask. But she raises her brows at me and laughs, gesturing to the red carpet beneath our heels, bejeweled and incredibly neither of our style. “I thought you worked at the movies?” She laughs. Her head shakes, earrings bouncing against her jaw. She asks me if I really didn’t know.
“Know what?” I reply.
She tells me that she’s in the movies. Recently manicured brows arched up toward my hairline, I assess the situation again. The car is gone and we are ushered down the carpet as long stretch limo pulls up in its place. Like she’s done this one hundred times before, Amile walks along the narrow carpeted ground, her head turns and she points her perfect smile from camera to camera and jabs her elbow into my ribs again.
“Smile, ok,” she says.
So I do. Behind us, actors whose names I step on any time people visit and we have to take them to walk down Hollywood Boulevard, these hot shot big timers, they're climbing out of limos and walking casually. They don’t even question what I’m doing here.
“That..” I start, staring at a man would couldn’t possibly be Brad Pitt. I’m rewarded with another sharp nudge and a pointed head shake.
Maybe we just aren’t meant to know everything about a person. Not when you start dating them. Not when you marry someone. Maybe not even in your entire life that you spend with them. When I enter the building, men and women in attire nicer than anything I’ve ever owned serve us drinks before we begin our walk past life-size posters of people from billboards and patterned walls where we’re meant to pose for pictures. Anyway, I’m thinking, as we smile for our umpteeth picture of the evening, that my inability to keep up with media is a good thing. I’m thinking, sometimes not knowing comes in handy. Because I doubt I’d have met her otherwise.
---------------------------------------------------
I'm new to this but I'll be posting future stories on /r/edgarallanhobo so, if you'd like, feel free to subscribe to see future work! Thank you all for your kind words! | "I'll be at your Door at 4 sharp"
"Leila, you know I'm always on time" I said with as lovely a voice I could.
With a cute kiss over the phone, She hung up.
Who would've known that the Depressed and Broken lady on the public bus was the Lady destined to my dreams. Perfect for me, inside out. Purest of souls and softest of hearts. She made me understand what love actually is.
She finally decided to introduce me to her workplace. She said she works in the Music Industry, but doesn't like talking about it, and being the type of person I was, I didn't insist on her telling me.
Cut to the point, 3.55, I was out there expecting her to come in the Taxi, but the lonely road was indeed lonely. At exactly 3.58, I saw a silhouette of a car, but it wasn't a cab, so I didn't bother looking up. But when that Range Rover pulled up Infront of me, with the Lady of My Dreams in the Loveliest of dresses, I knew she was on time.
As surprised as I was, She looked confident, and refused to say anything other than one sentence.
"Jason, You wanted to know who I am. This is me."
Me being calm, didn't insist. Again.
The next thing we know, we are at the spot I have always seen merely in the Television. The Car comes to a pull, and I look around to see thousands of people Roaring around the Red Carpet, that lead to the Ball.
Being the Gentleman, I opened the door for my Lady, despite the fact that my Insides were shaking out of Nervousness. She came out Glamorously, and when the light of the camera Flashes hit her Face, I finally started to make sense of it.
The Lady who happened to need help in the public bus wasn't an everyday person. She was Leila Lovicich. The singer whose songs filled my Playlist.
No wonder she kept telling me to start watching Music Videos instead of merely having the songs in the Phone.
Snap back to the present, we were walking Arm in Arm, with the sounds of clicks and Screams for autographs. I felt Numb. Not sure if I was shocked or Nervous.
Then, at the end of the carpet, she looked at me and I heard her say
"Still love your Playlist?"
With no control over myself, I leapt onto her, and Kissed her, Only to find her kissing me back...
And Kids, That's how I met your Mom. | 2017-06-14T09:14:40 | 2017-06-14T07:58:26 | 3,550 | 195 |
[WP] Write a story that doesn't make sense until the last sentence. | "Bil, bil! Holy fuck! I can't move, Bil!"
"Me too! The hell is going on? How long have we been like this?"
"For years, Bil! The agony! Holy hell, he is peeing on you! Literally peeing!"
"I can feel it! It's like worms under my skin! Kill me, Jim, kill me! I can't take this anymore! This is torture!"
George watched over the meadow and thought: "I suppose when I wished for "I wish I could hear trees talking" I expected something else." | "What do you think?" the artist asked the boy, after an hour or so had passed. The boy's face said it all - he was unimpressed.
"Bah! What is it this time? Is it the nose? I've got the nose all wrong again, haven't I. It seemed so right, at the time."
He began to make alterations, delicately changing little bits here and there. Less length on the nose, more red on the cheeks - they were too pale as was, - eyes open slightly wider. And yet, even after all that, he was left dissatisfied once again. He had tried a dozen times to capture his son's likeness, but it was always imperfect. One day he would do it - he would get it *just right*, and hang it on his wall to forever admire.
"Better than last time, I suppose," the artist muttered as he rose to his feet. "And... beautiful in its way."
The boy didn't respond. He just sat on on the chair staring awkwardly at the floor.
The artist undid the straps and allowed the boy to fall limply to the ground. Once he'd buried this one, he'd find a better starting subject - someone whose nose already looked a little more like his run-away son's.
| 2017-06-15T02:05:04 | 2017-06-15T01:47:41 | 428 | 86 |
[WP] It is the year 2XXX. Medical science has advanced so far that complete body restoration is possible. However, patients revived from death consistently end up in a vegetative state and no one knows why. You are the first person to revive and retain their cognition. Now you know. | >**LIFE'S FOR THE LIVING**
"It has *failed again!*" Screamed Doctor Van Winkler. He was pushing his seventieth birthday, and though he had pioneered impressive medicine in his long life he was not ready to go yet...and he was doing everything he could to finally perfect his whole-body restoration serum. Every patient we had had was able to return to life- but their living state was completely lacking cognition. We were absolutely stuck, trying to figure out why.
"Bring me more candidates, please." He said tiredly, sinking into his uncomfortable office chair.
I had been at the Doctor's side for ten years now, learning all of his secrets- the strict medicine and intense practices that had made him part of medical legend were now also mine- or, at least, most of it. I was early into my career, and I knew I would surpass him- but that was what he wanted. He said as much the day he took me under his wing.
"Doctor, you need to rest. It has been thirty two hours and twenty seven minutes since you last slept." I prompted him gently.
"Ach." He objected. "Fine, fine. But you must sleep as well. Wasn't your dissertation on the effects of sleeplessness?"
I grinned. "You remember."
He didn't deign to respond. "And your birthday is coming up as well- your twenty eighth, no?"
"Yes, sir."
He made no further comment.
We went our separate ways, he by cab, but I simply went by foot. It was late- probably two in the morning- but I only lived a twenty minute walk away, and the cool night air was very pleasant.
I can still remember every single moment the accident. Though I had the 'walk' signal, a semi-truck driver... well, perhaps he had been nearly asleep at the wheel. Perhaps he was in a rush. I would never know. My lifeless body was dragged for half of a mile before the driver manager to stop- and I had been dead on impact, anyway.
I knew I had died from the moment I heard the semi-truck's horn blow. Before I was dead, I knew I had died.
I found myself...somewhere else.
Moving at a relaxed pace, I walked through a field of tall grass, I felt as every shoot slipped through my loose fingers. The accident was suddenly the furthest thing from my mind.
The night sky was clear, and the moon bathed me in pink light.
There were no troubles here- not in this grove. No scary wolves, no deadlines- there was myself, and nature.
A gentle hill led me up, to new sights that I hadn't even known could exist.
Serene pools of emerald water waited there, perfectly still apart from the occasional fresh breeze stirring up some life within.
I wondered... what would it be like to dip my feet in there?
I looked first- the water was so clear, I knew nothing was hiding inside. It was perfectly safe.
I stripped off my socks and tested the water's temperature with my toes- the lake still retained the warmth of the day.
I walked a few paces into the water, relishing the sand between my toes- though it would rinse off perfectly, for now, I was just enjoying its soft embrace.
I breathed deeply, noticing hints of lavender and mint in the air- as well as the gentle spice that came from pine trees.
Returning to the shore line, I left my shoes behind- this grove had no thistles, nor weeds- the earthen path was even, solid- yet not harsh on my feet.
A slight smile built on my face. The path continued upwards- I wonder, what is beyond the hill there?
Something within me rebelled. I was *not done*. It was tempting- oh, so tempting- to travel farther up the path- but I had not suffered through ten years of medical school, and working at Doctor Van Winkler's side- just to pass on like this. *I refuse.*
I knelt in the grove and waited. I *would not walk the path up.*
--------------------------------------------
Time passed- how much, I could not say- but I could occasionally hear things from the other side. It was so curious- being here, it was like I was absorbing information that the Universe itself wanted me to know, all the while Van Winkler was slaving over my corpse, feverishly trying to bring me back to life.
Finally, at just the right moment, I felt it- the tug to return to Earth. I took it.
--------------------------------------------------
My old friend was looking at me, worry creasing every line on his face. I hadn't moved my eyes yet- my Spirit was still adjusting to my nervous system.
Van Winkler looked me over again, then sighed. It was well beyond his ability to cry- but if he could have, he would have. I could see it in his energy. He turned to leave.
Once all had clicked together, reuniting me with myself, I called out to him. "Don't lose hope, Doctor."
He turned on his heel, whipping back to look at me- just as I pulled myself into a sitting position.
"Egads!" He shouted, running to my side. "Don't move, boy, don't move! Oh, lord above!" He cried, tears springing to his eyes.
"No, no, it's quite alright, old friend." I patted him on the shoulder. "I am...quite stiff, but your restoration serum is perfect. Yes, it is completely perfect."
"What- what happened? How did you...survive?"
I chuckled. "I survived because of you, Doctor. As for what happened...I am sure you know just as well as I, some truck was going too fast and I am made of *very* fallible materials."
"Yes, but- there must be a reason why you're here! All the others have failed."
"I...I don't think it would be appropriate to tell you what I saw on the other side, Doctor. What I will tell you is that any patient of yours did not return because they chose not to. They chose to see...what's over the hill."
The Doctor plopped into his seat. "This is...miraculous, beyond what I could have ever hoped."
"Is *it* miraculous, Doctor, or are *you* miraculous?" I rose and gave the man a hug.
"Now, listen- being...where I was. I learned things during my stay there. I have a new goal in life- while I have immensely enjoyed my time with you, I have learned the Truth. Truth of science, and spirit, and how they interplay- and I need to find out how I may prove this. You are the man who conquered Death- now it is mine to be the man who conquers Life."
"So you will surpass me, after all." The older man laughed.
"Most definitely, my friend. But only because you gave me your shoulders to stand on."
--------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes would be cooler with you in it :) | I look calmly back at the eager faces - the top scientists of the world, all waiting, agog, hanging on to my every word.
MENSA level IQs, the knowledge of a million lives at their fingertips. But they never managed to figure out the reason. Never managed to figure out why everyone they tried to bring back returned brain dead.
They thought it was something wrong with the process. It never occurred to them that these were sacrifices - that the undead chose to destroy their own minds than bring desolation to the world they once loved.
I am the only one who has returned as myself - I am the only one who made this choice. The reason is obvious to me, though not to them.
One of the main requirements to qualify for revival is that one must be psychologically healthy. They can just repair the body, not the mind. That excluded sociopaths, but I was always talented at acting. So, here I am - the first of my kind to undergo this revival, and the first human to return.
I can see no reason why I must let my mind die. They wanted the answers, didn't they? So I will give it to them. They will have what they wished for. And if they can't take it, that's their problem, not mine.
I will make only one single demand - that I be allowed to make my announcement live, projected worldwide, with viewership compulsory. After all, it wouldn't do for anyone to miss out on the revelation. It will be fun to watch.
I wonder whether those like me will survive. Doesn't matter, one way or the other. Good bye, civilization. | 2020-10-29T23:00:10 | 2020-10-29T22:23:21 | 4,637 | 98 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.” | **PART 1:**
My father had always been a bit of an enigma. We had little in common save for our names. He was a mild-mannered and proper Englishman who had immigrated to America from a little village the West Country. He believed with all his being in the power of an orderly queue and a proper cup of tea. But every so often when he had a few pints in him, he would wibble on about strange adventures and heroic deeds in impossible places with fanciful characters. Talking mice, a 2-headed man, poetry so awful it could kill the listener - my best friend Douglas and I teased him that he should write a book or five about it all. But we never believed a word of his tall tales. Not until the end.
I was 25 when he died. It was March 11, 1977. Dad hadn't spoken in days. Doctors said his mind was gone, and his body would soon follow. As he lay gasping his final breaths, something small and yellow wriggled wetly out of his ear. It looked almost like a fish. I leant in for a closer look. For just a moment, my father became lucid again. He grasped my head in his hands. "Artie, my boy," he croaked, "Always know... where your... towel is..." With one last gasp, he struck me on my ear with a surprising amount of strength. Then he slipped away and was gone. So was the fish. But from that moment on, I had the ability to speak and understand all language. Every word I ever heard or read translated itself in my mind. And every word I spoke arrived at the listener's ear in their native tongue.
**PART 2:**
I sat in the cool air conditioning of the fast food restaurant, gazing out at one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World. It was a stark dichotomy. I had spent my entire adult life traveling all around the globe, and yet I still found it surprising to watch the modern world creep into the most ancient of sites. I found myself pondering what might have stood on this site way back when the Great Pyramid of Giza had first gone up. Thousands of years ago, a man such as myself may have eaten his meal in this same spot, awed by the view of these same pyramids. The thought made me smile. As my mind trailed off along that thought, I was interrupted by a young man bringing a tray full of enough fat, salt and refined sugar to quell my growing homesickness for a little while. Still lost in my thoughts of ancient times, I reached for my soda before he had finished setting down the tray, and a little spilled.
The young man apologized profusely. His words came to me in modern English, though I knew he was speaking in his native tongue. "Don't worry, my friend!" I assured the young man as he hurriedly mopped up the spill. "I wasn't looking. It's my fault." He froze. His dark eyes went wide with - was it shock? Confusion? Fear? Occasionally hearing one's mother tongue appear to come so naturally from American lips seems too implausible. Occasionally I startle people. "I'll finish cleaning up," I offered cheerfully, hoping he would relax. But the words had the opposite effect. They merely confirmed to his disbelieving ears that he had, in fact, heard what it should be impossible to hear. His wide eyes remained locked on the great pyramid glowing in the hot sun on the other side of the glass as he shook his head and stammered, "Khnum protect me! No one but a child of Hemiunu has spoken His sacred tongue in over 4000 years!"
**PART 3:**
I used my ability to travel all around the world, learning and exploring. My gift granted me access to the most incredible locations. I had been invited to come to Egypt to decode strange writing found in a newly discovered chamber in the Great Pyramid of Giza. A couple years ago, muography scans detected a hidden chamber above Khnum Khufu’s tomb. At last, tiny robots had carefully drilled through a small shaft and into the mysterious big void. Cameras fed into the opening revealed writing in a language that no one had ever seen before, or so they told me. I could never tell the difference - it was all English to me!
Archaeologists had dubbed the void “Hemiunu's Gallery” after the architect who directed the construction of the pyramid. And now in front of me was a young man who was apparently a descendant of Hemiunu himself. I was developing a sneaking suspicion the chamber was somehow connected to this young man, whose eyes were still locked upon the pyramid. "It's time," he said suddenly. He tore his eyes from the pyramid and turned to face me as crumpled into the chair across from mine.
**PART 4:**
I had only had my gift a few years when “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark” came out. But from that day forward, archaeology held a special place in my heart. And now here I was, about to helping explore the first new chamber to have been discovered in the pyramid since the middle ages. I was so excited, my heart was beating as fast as the Kali Ma human sacrifice in “Temple of Doom.” I glanced at Buneb, the young man from the restaurant. I had managed to get him hired on as my assistant. Being a septuagenarian, no one questioned my request for a young strong man to lean on across the sand and rocks. “Are you ready?” Buneb smiled weakly. I was somewhat worried that he would honor this sacred ground with an offering of vomit.
We gathered beneath the large white canopy pitched at the foot of the pyramid. Technicians had set up a myriad of video equipment. Buena and I were led to a seat by a large screen. “We have gotten more lighting in there now,” said one of the technicians. “And our high-res camera has nearly reached the gallery. You’ll be able to see the writing in just a moment.” She switched on the screen and hurried off to finish preparations. “Come on, Phouchg. It’s time,” said a small high voice. “It had better work this time, Loonquawl,” said another equally squeaky voice. My powers of language had never extended to the animal kingdom, but no one was nearby except Buneb, who was intently watching two small white mice scurry up the pyramid.
**PART 5:**
Buneb had spent his whole young life watching the Great Pyramid, as had his father before him, and his father’s father, and so on back through the millennia. He was a direct descendant of Hemiunu, he had said. According to his ancestors, the pyramid held some sort of mystical secret of the universe. And when the universe was ready, the descendants of Hemiunu must be on hand to ensure the secret was understood. Apparently Hemiunu realized the universe wouldn’t be ready for quite some time, and also knew that a multi-millennial game of telephone might result in the secret becoming distorted. He tasked his offspring with ensuring the language was kept alive and intact.
The screen flickered and suddenly it was filled with images. “Head all the way to your right,” I told the technician. “Now up… Yes, there -by the drawing of the … white mouse…. That is the beginning. Now head straight down. It is written in columns.” Very slowly, words began to take form. I scribbled in my little notepad while Buneb muttered softly to himself. As the camera finally finished its journey around the room, I stared back at what I had written. “It isn’t an answer, it is a question!” exclaimed Buneb. He was right. There in my notebook, scrawled in my shaky handwriting, was the ultimate question. The question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. | 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T22:03:53 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] An adolescent boy who is bullied at school finds solace in the friends he makes in online games, becoming very good friends with one boy in particular. However, when they agree to meet up, the adolescent boy realises his best online friend is his main attacker at school. | Excitement was a feeling I hadn't felt in a while. There hasn't been much to be excited about lately: Mom and dad splitting up, grandpa passing away, and yeah the "Bullying", or at least that's what my counselor called it. Never liked that word, it made me feel weak, like a victim. I didn't see myself that way. That's not to say it hadn't worn me down. One guy, James, had been particularly dick-ish. But today wasn't about any of that. Today was a tiny bright spot in a dark tunnel. Today I was going to meet my new friend. Obviously I couldn't have just made a friend like a normal person, I did it through an mmorpg. Dorky I know, but I had made a connection. I only knew him as xelieon, a night elf rogue. We hit it off after meeting in a pick up group and decided to level our alts together. We spent hours with each other online chatting between raids and pvp. His parents recently divorced as well. We had a blast talking shit about them. How they had to take some time to "find" themselves, seemingly leaving us to figure it out on our own. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had him to talk to. We had formed a little support group, and it was time for our first meeting.
We had agreed to meet at gamestop for the midnight release of the new expansion. My mom dropped me off on her way to another date with another douche. I walked through the parking lot, concrete dark from the rain. "shit" I thought, "I hope this clears up, didn't bring a fucking jacket". I came to the end of the line as the rain started to pick up. xelieon told me he would be wearing a green jacket. The person in front of me turned around to offer me cover under his umbrella. James. Once I was certain I hadn't shit myself, I noticed the jacket, he was holding the umbrella close to his shoulder so I hadn't noticed it before. "J-james, what're you doing here?" He was just as shocked to see me. Startled and embarrassed he blurted "Picking up the new COD, bet you're here for that gay WoW shit huh?", "Have your mommy drop you off?". I didn't know what to say. I knew he was xelieon, and I'm sure he knew it was me. Before I could say anything he muttered "Fuck this rain" and walked off to his car. For a second I thought I heard myself saying "xelieon" but he just kept walking off on the dark concrete. When I got home to my computer that night to load the expansion, xelieon had blocked me and left our guild.
EDIT: Wow, thanks you guys! This is my first time posting in this sub, or writing any fiction at all. I was up all night writing a paper for one of my business classes and needed a break.
EDIT: Link to Part II:[The Next Day at School](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/31pvy5/wp_an_adolescent_boy_who_is_bullied_at_school/cq4fq6q)
Final Edit: Just want to say what a fucking incredible, encouraging community this is. You guys are the tits. | As I was walking towards the local McDonald's I was happy. Happy at the thought of finally meeting rambo_7861!.
I have special affection towards rambo_7861!. He always saves my ass, sometimes even giving away his own life. During multiple combat games of course. He is so different from the kids at school, the mental rapists who bully me for no fault of mine. Did I decide to look so ugly, or did I decide I would be so fat that when people walked around me they joked about getting lost?
But rambo_7861! is different. He said he will be wearing a white bathing robe. I was shocked at his choice of clothing but thought this was just the kind of madness missing from my life. Before I could tell him my identification he was offline. Easy to identify him, I thought and started practicing what I would talk to him in the evening.
As I entered the restaurant I saw my worst nightmare taking its form. There stood in the bright white bathing robe, the supreme leader of all rapists at school. This surely could not be rambo_7861!. Maybe this was just a dream. I had to get out of this nightmare. I ran back, ran back to my home, ran back to my personal computer. I waited whole night for him to come back. He was finally back.
rambo7861!: You fucker, why didn't you turn up?
crazy_hunk9: Mom didn't allow. Up for a game?
rambo7861!: Hell yeah!
And to test him, I put myself in the corner. He did the usual. Took all the bullets to his heart to save mine. This surely could not be the slimy bastard I see everyday at school. This is the real rambo7861! and this is reality. Maybe I should stop living in nightmares. I am crazy_hunk9 after all. | 2015-04-07T03:12:12 | 2015-04-07T00:42:49 | 661 | 116 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore. | Not sure if this is more because this is what I want to tell you or what but here goes.
When I first came to this school. You where basically my first friend which then led me to becoming friends with a lot of people. However there was one person In particular I liked, a lot. One who gave me emotions I had never felt before and feelings I didn't know I had. However I didn't know much about who you liked or what your dating/romance history was and you should have told me sooner, because if only I had knew. I always had a single rule when it came to my friends and liking someone, If you've known them longer or liked them for longer than I have, i won't get in your way. She's all yours. But instead you told me you didn't like anyone, including her and so I fell, further than I ever thought I could. I tried my best to do things I've never done before, I tried my best to hide my emotions to everyone but you. But then she started to show affection for you and so did you, with or without realising it. I don't know. You kept reassuring me that you were just friends, even when everyone else told me to give up and not bother trying. But then... Then I told you about the other girl I like, not even a quarter as much though, because I could actually talk to her and do stuff with her, unlike the other. So I told you and trusted you with this just to get what I did back. You had liked her for much much longer, everything you had reassured me with, as obvious as it was, was a lie. The thing is, I know why you did this, because you told me. You didn't want to hurt me and you didn't, you never could. How could someone's best friend hurt them after all? But now after I've fallen so much and learnt all these new things, I did exactly what I said I would. I stepped back, I let you go for her and now, well soon... You'll be happy together. But now here I am, in the background as always, watching with all those feelings that do nothing but make me cry. Of course I'm happy for you, you got, not only the girl but each other. The one the other loves. But you kept one thing from me, something I know caused you pain. Watching as I tried, tried and failed. And now this, this I will keep from you, from everyone we know for no one to see but me. Ever.
I'm sorry. | 2017-11-05T23:19:05 | 2017-11-05T22:02:40 | 58 | 18 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | "Sir, their technology... It's, well, quite frankly, it's terrifying."
"Explain yourself."
"All of their technology," he stammered. "It's powered by explosions."
"Explosions? All of it?"
"Yes sir. Their vehicles, their warships, even their weapons are all powered by explosions."
"How did they ever achieve space travel?"
"Our intel indicates that they strapped themselves to a metal tube and exploded it into orbit."
"By Squigthar! They must be insane."
"Yes, sir. Our deflector shields stand no chance against their explosions. We had anticipated they would use a more civilized form of combat, like lasers. We've already lost half our fleet."
"*Half!?* What about their losses?"
"They... uh... practically none." He lowered his gaze to the floor, staring at his tentacles. "Sir."
"How is this possible? How are we so completely outmatched?"
"Their buildings are made of melted sand. This "glass" they call it is highly reflective, and nullifies our ultraviolet beams."
"Well, what about the ones without shielding?"
"Their skin turns slightly red. They find it mildly irritating."
"They don't burst into flame?"
"No sir."
The purple, tentacled creature rubbed its face-mound thoughtfully. "Very well," it murmured. "Sound the retreat." | This was the fourth time they came. They had never succeeded; however, they never really seemed to try.
The first time they came, they brought what they considered fierce monsters. Cats, as they called them, did not attack as intended, rather they made a strong niche among the rising generations.
The second was a little less bearable. They came with laser pointers, hoping to stir up the cats. These quickly became a commodity used to entertain the cats and annoy teachers.
The third time, they showed themselves. At first people were alarmed, but then anyone who believed they were aliens were written off as conspirators and quickly forgotten about.
This time was different. Storm clouds rolled over my city, only these clouds were different. The clouds were nearly black and filled with fire. Once my city was covered in the cloud the ships came down. Swarms of them, they were like thousands of remote control airplanes.
If you looked closely, the swarms filed into patterns and turrets sprang out of all the ships. There wasn't anyone without dozens of these turrets pointed directly at them. The ships seemed to hover waiting for a command.
And then that was it. They all fired at once. And everyone was found buried in hundreds of foam darts not unlike Nerf darts. With this newfound ammunition, every child and many teenagers began to drive them off with the now unlimited ammo.
Before long they were gone, and what darts did not stick to their ships, were lost. I don't know about the others, but I cannot wait until they come back. | 2016-02-22T13:30:29 | 2016-02-22T10:42:06 | 79 | 35 |
[WP] As a person goes through his life, he is given three options at the end of each day, continue, restart day, or restart life. He has just lived through the worst day of his life. | What if you could restart your life, restart your day, or continue?
While his tears never surfaced, the utter despair melted away his soul. Time stopped. Fractured and broken, his heart burned. Everything he knew and everything he thought he knew had disappeared in a heartbeat. Words from others fell deafly on him. He fell to his knees, pushing his head into the ground, hiding himself from the world.
What do you do when everything suddenly disappears? How do you move forward, knowing that nothing beyond soul-crushing defeat and vast emptiness waits?
As he considered ending his own existence, those three options appeared before hallowed and empty eyes. Restart life, restart day, or continue.
Really?
To even consider for a moment that any day could merely be erased denies existence.
Some experience far more than others, have their character and core fully exposed to all elements. They are challenged beyond their calling, tempt fate, or succumb to methods and chemicals to overcome. To merely restart the day would bring such amazing joy – yet, denies existence. Such cold reality tears apart the thin weaves of human fabric.
The second option, restarting life, would rob him of all he’s experienced. While the worst day one could ever experience may have just occurred – he realized that life wasn’t worth losing everything he could have gained.
What was lost – it was his everything.
He thought about it.
But he already decided.
There is no restarting. Not now, not ever. Most never experienced the utter joy and amazing love that was shared with others, becoming so intertwined into others lives to completely lose sense of self. Most would never have to live through the sorrow.
While he lost everything else, he found one single ounce of strength to open his eyes and continue.
| Inevitable. We all knew it was. My wife, our doctor, and our in-laws crowded around the hospital bed and we gazed silently at my newborn daughter.
A smear of dark brown hair swirled around her tiny head, cradled in Lucille's arms. Our baby's warm chocolate eyes would never see us. Her unisex, hospital-issued beanie crowned her head delicately.
Slowly smoothing the bib we bought her months ago, my wife's tears stained Dawn's colorless cheek, tinier than the palm of my hand. The bib held the words, "I love my mommy" in a pale pink. I glanced over at Dawn's birth and death certificates, waiting to be signed in a shaky scrawl of handwriting.
Choking back a sob, I walked over to the bathroom and looked at the clock along the wall. Twelve o'clock. Midnight has come.
In the reflection of the mirror, bright glowing words appeared above me.
"CONTINUE, RESTART DAY, RESTART LIFE."
In a cracking whisper I couldn't help but ask. "Restart life?"
In the top corner, a question glowed.
"CANCEL OR CONFIRM?"
I closed my eyes. "Restart hers. Anything to restart hers."
"ACCESS DENIED" glared out at me in a stark red.
As my tears escaped, as my heart filled with stones, I cast my hand along "CONTINUE."
I hesitated. Instead, I selected "RESTART DAY." The confirm box appeared once again, but this time I was sure.
"Anything for another day to see Dawn." I told the glowing letters. | 2014-07-17T19:17:02 | 2014-07-17T19:07:35 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] A little known cosmic fact is that there were only ever 10 billion human souls produced. As the population slowly creeps upwards, the department of reincarnation struggles to find a workaround. | “What’s the projection looking like for the next decade?”
“It’s hard to tell ma’am” Ben Stickerson replied. It was a bizarre feeling to not know the answer to a very simple question. For thousands of years the Department of Reincarnation (DoR) has always made the right projections for any given time. It was always precise, down to the last soul. If projections seemed a little low, a baby boom was ordered. If there was over population, a plague or famine and sometimes war was initiated. There was always balance. The net gain/loss was always zero. That was the goal. Ben and his team prided themselves with maintaining that balance even as it got harder and harder to maintain as time wore on. Thai time however, for the first time in eons, his numbers didn’t add up. The math was off. In the business of souls, there are no errors. If there’s a problem, it is never a small one.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Priscilla Ripsoula asked. “The question was rhetorical Ben.” “The answer is always zero”. “Well yes, of course it’s zero, but only if it works out that way. You see, based on our calculations and analyzing trends within the last 100 years, it is impossible for the answer to be zero. The answer is more than that” Ben nervously replied. The mood in the conference room turned icy. Soul associates, engineers and customer representatives nervously fidgeted in their seats. They worked with a limited source. You can’t make it... you can only repurpose it. What Ben is saying sent a chill down their spines. The most important resource in the universe, a human soul, is about to run out and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it.
“We’ve has this issue before, last century. Start a 3rd world war but make it bigger” Priscilla suggested. “that should bring the numbers down, if we over correct like last time then baby boom it till it balances out.” “Engineering, you got ideas on how to make this happen?” “We do ma’am but it’s a little complicated” Jim Hellpert, the lead soul engineer replied. “Humans have evolved in their ways of war. They would annihilate each other and cause a correction that would be too extreme, we risk soul inflation if we do it this way.” “Also, they do not posses enough resources to recoup. Their biosphere is chaotic, and overtaxed. It would take hundreds of years for humans to recover... if they even can.”
“Drats.” Priscilla mused. “So you’re telling me humans could wipe themselves out or starve themselves. What the hell happened here.” “An extreme overcorrection last bi century” Ben interjected. “I proposed a slower, more gradual approach to reincarnation but the board-“ “yes we get it. That’s enough Stickerson” Priscilla replied, annoyingly at what Ben was hinting.
The board of trustees, in their mad dash to cash in on the soul boom decided to “buy back” some souls at the cost of a few hundred million human lives. The over correction was so severe that the inflation rate caused the market to crash, forcing the board to authorize the longest baby boom in modern history. The additional improvements in human technology and relatively peaceful times had an exponential growth on population, which made soul reincarnation a booming business. The business however, is close to going bust.
“How do our reserves look like?” Priscilla asked. “Right now we have 2.5-2.65 billion human souls remaining ma’am” Ben replied. “If our estimates are correct, humans will cross 10 billion people in 45-50 years.” “And we can balance it with higher death rates?” Priscilla asked nervously. “We can, but it’s going to only buy us a few years I am afraid. With a population this dense, normal means of mortality are not enough to keep them in check.” Ben replied. “I see...” Priscilla said. “This is not how I wanted this century to start”
“We could approach the problem from multiple angles ma’am” Sonya Blesasoul interjected. As the lead saleswoman for the DoR it was her job to have creative solutions to the soul problem. Her latest idea however, is the craziest and most far fetched one yet. “Go on Sonya I’m all ears.” Priscilla replied.
“In times past, we have always approached population booms and shortages with a heavy hand...” Sonya explained. “It was always some catastrophe or some miracle that kept the markets stable. But what if, we have a more.. subtle approach?” The room stayed silent, eager to hear the lead sales woman’s pitch. Sonya continued. “Humans are inherently unstable... so let’s use that to our advantage. The last global plague they suffered was almost 600 years ago. How about we start a more, controlled, deliberate version that is potent, but not quite as deadly.”
Priscilla fixed her eye on Sonya. She realized what the the angle was and she liked it. “You want to start a pandemic that would cripple the world slowly. You don’t want to kill huge chunks of them off but whittle them down. That’s absolutely diabolical Sonya”
“diabolical and efficient I believe” Sonya replied. “Humans are incredibly resilient as well. They will try to fix this as soon as possible. If we can generate a plague that keeps them occupied for at least a few years, it would kill enough people to flatten the curve and discourage people from breeding at the same time. We stabilize our soul revenue and export. No inflation and a steady stream of business. Everyone wins.”
“But there are so many of them already Sonya.” Ben interjected. “This is like paying off only the interest. We need to attack the principal as well.” “I’m glad you asked Ben.” Sonya replied. “Humans in the last 15 years have revisited certain trends... escalation of force around the world, wanton environmental vandalism etc... to attack the principal, we only need to nudge them a little towards one of these trends. I suggest we nurture the growing tensions between... Uh, this United States and...” Sonya paused, seemingly amused at the irony of the name “and this USSR.. wait I apologize they changed their name again. Russian Federation.” “A localized war between world powers should trigger a larger global conflict... but with a pandemic to worry about they are less likely to fully annihilate each other... just enough to lower population by 20% if my projections are correct.”
“You’re a bloody genius Sonya.” Priscilla exclaimed. “A very well thought out plan. The Board is going to love this.” “Hellpert, Stickerson, I want you to have specifics drafted by next month. Let’s start with the plague. Can we get this started before the next quarter?” “You mean in 2020 ma’am?” Ben asked. “Yes, 2020. The board will appreciate the launch of our new initiative around this time.” Priscilla replied.
“I think we can manage that. I guess we can start in china so we make the deadline eh Jim?” Ben asked. “Already on it Stickerson.. they do love their bats after all.” Jim replied. | I told them that we didn't need those fancy displays in the reincarnation arrivals lounge. "Don't you understand? When the returning souls come in, they're confused and disoriented. We need to project an air of competence and safety immediately." OK, that actually sounded like a good idea (rare for middle management), but when I suggested that mocking up some pretty blinkenlights would be faster, better, and more reliable? "No, no, that wouldn't be *authentic*. Souls can tell when it's not *authentic*."
So I was pulled off a very interesting stellar physics upgrade to work on this "top priority". Opportunities to really change anything are getting rarer and rarer; you have to go either really tiny, or really far away from the souls. Sigh. Anyway, I got the thing done, and the pointy-hairs were happy. Although now that the excrement has impacted on the rotating airflow inducer, I do feel kind of vindicated. It may have taken half a century in their time, but a returning soul finally looked at the displays for long enough to actually understand some of what they were reading.
Of course, now everyone upstairs is looking to make heads roll, because what that soul noticed is that we're almost at the limit for maximum concurrent soul instances. The returns are all running around screaming about the Apocalypse. I'm just glad that I made enough of a paper trail to avoid getting stuck as the one who has to explain to them that there's no problem because linear time is a human concept.
There's a reason that the initial design included so many steps for wiping souls' memories before reinsertion. Thank the cosmos that the folks who set this place up when it was a tiny start-up knew what they were doing, at least. | 2020-10-07T23:47:40 | 2020-10-07T23:31:35 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] "Witch! Heathen! Burn her!" You watch with amusement as they begin lighting the pyre under you. The flames tickle your feet, bringing a familiar warmth with them. They are silly to that think they could actually burn a dragon with fire. | I giggle when the flames reach up my skirts, the soft flames like tongues wrapping around my legs like a warm, gentle caress. I catch the eye of a young girl amidst the jeering crowd, head cocked and gazing at me with curiosity. I quickly feign a cough and turn my smile into a grimace, hoping to fool this child's watchful brown eyes. Wisdom beyond her years burns through me. She is not fooled. With a smile to mirror the one I let slip moments before, she turns and disappears into the crowd, dark hair blending with the shadows cast by firelight, this deadly blaze designed to torment me. Foolish mortals. Don't they know they only give me fuel to burn them in return? Those days in that dark cell turned me into a gray husk, no firelight from which to draw strength, no flame to pull through my body and turn onto them, to raze this city to the ground. I call to mind the young ragamuffin who saw through my act. She alone was to be spared the damage that I was to do today. Flame pulses through my wasted body, new life breathing into me like a bellows, every inch of my body energized. My sallow, gray skin blossoms with rosiness, my hair, lifeless and matted, streams down my back like a halo of light. My fingers itch and tingle as the power of fire courses through me. With a rattling cry, the dragon bursts from my chest. I am scales, and talons, and teeth, and my roar drowns out the sudden shrieks of fear from the gathered townsfolk, those bloodthirsty tyrants condemning me to an undeserved death. How dare they try to quell fire? How dare they put a bridle on power? My transformation breaks the ropes binding my human body like thin threads, and I breathe destruction on the square. My reptilian eyes search the crowd, and there she is. The dirty, wise, child with burning intelligence in those brown eyes. I hone in on her with my talons, large enough to crush a grown man. Her eyes widen as I gently lift her to a roof near the town gates. My voice echoes in her mind. "Take your family, and run. This place is done." She slowly nodded, and her thoughts come to me, disjointed, frightened, but one thought resonates. "I have no family here." Through my rage and thoughts of vengeance, something tugs at my heart. Silently, I promised to care for this girl. I could not have her live in my caverns with my hoard, but she would find safety in the village near me, in my home where dragons are honored. She has the heart for it. "Wait here," I cautioned the child. I stood and unfurled my wings, turning back to the town that so defiled me. With a snarl, I unleashed brimstone.
Silence. Smoke curled through the turrets of the buildings. The smell of death in the air. I lifted one great wing from where I rested on the roof with the child, uncovering her from my protection from the smoke and flame. She slept, peaceful. I don't know where her trust came from, but I was glad to have my small friend. A human family back home had lost a daughter about the age of this one, and I knew their kindness and warmth would give this girl a better chance than the frigid death in the now razed town from whence she came. Gently cradling her sleeping form in my talons, I leapt into the air, the only sound my wings beating as they crested the wind. I am going home. | I hide my smile underneath the the cermonial mask.I hold my laughter as they hoist me to a beam covered in hastenly found beeswax. Apologizing if it hurt. My hands bound behind me in old iron chains, I feel rust flaking off. My feet fastened now to the beam securely with another piece of chain. They throw a large pail of liquid over me drenching me and my outfit. I frown as I feel the liquid seeps in. I see them building up the logs, branches and tinder needed to make the bonfire. I see them struggling to make a spark with the flint and steel. I stare around my surroundings. I see the grief in the eyes of the people in town, caused by the lost of loved ones, the famine, their very way of life caused by the war. The madness sparking in their eyes thinking a sacrifice would make everything better for them. I know these people, I know their pain, I seen and felt their desperation. I do not blame for doing this insane act for salvation. I seen people butcher each other for much less. As I close my eyes I hear other town folk rushing in, screaming, demanding to end this act of madness. The pleas fall on deaf ears as they continue reminding what they have lost. I hear the sound of an axe slamming into a piece of stone silencing everyone. The spark it created, lit the tinder which lit everything else. The flames climbed quickly tickling my feet and up my legs. I feel real warmth for the first time in ages. The flames traveled up , covering my entire body. The flames burned my clothes turning them into ash.I felt the chains expand from the heat releasing me. As if I fall from the beam to the ground, wings grew out of my back as I land crowd stares at me. The bonfire became the only source of sound the hissing and popping of the flames echoed into the day time sky. The town stared back at me and then each other. I smiled and laughed, as all the town folk screamed in unison. As I bellowed out "You asked for salvation I will give it to you". The screams of gratitude continue. | 2021-01-03T06:03:43 | 2021-01-03T02:22:14 | 215 | 151 |
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