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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you.
|
There he was, finally alone, given the time to reflect on his courage: a story that would be passed through the muck and mire of humanity. He had defeated our hero and sat begrudgingly on his throne. There was turmoil and conflict; pain, lament, and remorse. There was also joy in the remembrance of his accomplishment and a great wonder of the rewards to come.
For his deed, he received a glorious T-shirt, and his picture on the wall. A 10 foot sub is a helluva thing to eat.
|
To lure in the gods, you must first prepare a banquet worthy of the gods.
***
The smell of rot, of decaying flesh mingled with the scent of fresh blood, inhaled like euphoria, by the Master Chef, Kurukai, 3rd Level of the Ten Thousand Arts Of Preservation. Men, women, children, the elderly, some dead, some dying, some soon to be killed, hung naked, hands nailed into wooden crucifixes, staked into the desert earth. The sun glared down heat, casted mis-shapened shadows, rippled reality's focus.
Kurukai stood before them, hundreds affixed, each to their crucifix post. He wore only a loincloth, barefeet against burning sands, eyes blazing vivid gold, red hair stirred by the wind, lean muscle and faced hardened like stone. Runes of shifting colors broke from the inner folds of his skin, inner scars bursting forth, resealed, only to break open again, no predictably to when or where.
In his hand, he held the tool of the trade, the most spectacular of kitchen knives, an edge, not made of steel, but of shiik ruby, both fragile and unparalleled piercing sharpness. Fragile, it could shatter like glass at the slightest tremble of an unsteady hand. Unparalleled sharpness, you could dissect open a chest and remove a beating heart before the skin could seep red and blood spurted out. Only chefs, 3rd Level and higher, of the Ten Thousand Arts of Preservation, could use such a knife.
The woman dangled before Kurukai. Her eyes, long ago resigned, met his. A flicker, an imperceptible movement of his arm that held the blade, swiped across her neck, like a painter's brush, the chef's masterful chop. For several moments, it was as if nothing had occurred. The woman held his gaze, unchanged. Then, a line of red started trailing on one side of her neck, spreading and expanding around her neck, both front and back, closing into a complete circle of red on the other side. Then, her body started to recognized it, as her eyes widened in shock. Then, she started to choke and gasped for air as her head lurched off from her neck.
Blood bubbled from the neck socket, gushed forth, and sprayed a narrow fountain into the shallow barrel below just as the head landed into it, already filled slightly with tears and sweat. A precise and methodical sweep of aorta and angles allowed for such control of the blood fountain, to collect it all.
He had left the woman unshaved. There were gods that delighted in the play and texture of coarse strands of hair in their mouth.
He began to butcher the woman, separating her organs. The bile sac was considered a delicacy. As his hand reached into her, the strands of her hair curled into life and strangled themselves around his wrist with supernatural strength. The dead eyes clouded into blood-red haze, fangs stretch forth from her teeth, her skin gnarled into hideous hide, and her body began to transform...
Kurukai blinked. And the moment passed. The dead woman's transformation had merely been a hallucination of heatstroke. He needed to hydrate more.
| 2014-12-21T18:41:55
| 2014-12-21T18:25:10
| 212
| 75
|
[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."
|
My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?'
|
I wake to the sound of my phone vibrating so fast I'm afraid it'll fall of my nightstand. I groggily my phone before it falls and turn it on to see the words "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" in bright letters illuminated by the official nationwide alert backdrop. The vibrations refuse to stop. Hundreds of texts are rolling in from numbers I don't know so fast that I can barely make out what they're saying. I set my phone to silent and put it back on the nightstand. "Looks like a problem that can wait till the morning," I faintly think to myself before falling back to sleep. Nothing gets me out of bed at 3 a.m.
| 2022-08-07T20:43:05
| 2018-04-06T19:08:10
| 379
| 11
|
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation".
|
"Nope. Sorry, can't do that here."
"Oh."
"Yeah, not really our thing you know."
"So, is false advertising your thing?"
"Come again?"
"Well, the sign clearly said *anything* for your soul - what kind of operation is this?"
"I mean, we don't exactly proclaim ourselves an upright organization"
"Ah, fair point. Still, bit of a let down you know?"
"Anything else I could interest you in?"
"I mean, I was kinda looking for the one thing you know - nothing else interests me at the moment"
"Ah, well we aren't really into the high pressure tactic around here, tends to be the allure of what we offer doesn't necessitate it."
"...you sure you can't offer Salvation?"
"Kinda defeats the purpose, no?"
"Yeah but... it says *anything* ya know?"
"Just, let me know if you change your mind?"
"... I guess"
|
*”Wh… wait… that’s not how it works.”*
“Why isn’t it? Can’t ya offer anything in exchange for a soul?”
*”Well, ALMOST, but if you receive salvation then I don’t get to HAVE your soul.”*
“Okay, then, I guess I’ll just not make a deal with you at all then.”
*”You’ve made a big mistake, then! I won’t just leave without causing SOME kind of trouble!”*
“Okay, okay, listen. Let’s make a compromise. Can you… uh, go pick some apples from this tree right here while I think of something? I’m a little hungry.”
*”Wow, just like that? Heh, sure thing, sucker…”*
“No rush, of course. I do want time to think after all…”
*”…say, that’s not a crucifix behind your back, is it?”*
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Don’t worry about it.”
If you know the origin story of Jack-o-Lanterns then you probably know how the rest of this story goes~
| 2022-06-30T10:57:41
| 2022-06-30T10:04:25
| 64
| 25
|
[WP] “1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface.”
|
"1 day on this planet is 15 years on Earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface"
I was exhausted. When you are sent to explore, the bosses back at mission control seem to never want you to have any time "off". I hadn't even gotten out of my pressure suit.
'You can sit around in your apartment playing XBox, if you need time off!', was a popular refrain from MC representatives when we mentioned their expected work load was not doable. I remember even Astronauts on Skylab going on strike early in our attempts to explore living in space.
So, what I heard didn't initially register.
"Wait, What?"
"In the time you have been working here... One hundred and eighty years have passed on Earth. And still counting. One point six years per hour here. "
"But, I am supposed to be gone another 6 months making my way back home through the portal. Then, it's...". I pulled up my mission calendar, "67 days getting back to Earth-Lunar orbit. Then dock with the lander and head back to Earth..."
I held my hand up to the robotic camera. I got undressed and walked to where my evening meal was waiting on me. I ate in silence. The AI asked if I wanted music for dinner like usual. I shook my head no.
"Prep for launch." I finally spoke.
"It is not time yet. " The AI responded.
"Not TIME? Oh of course not. I mean, let's see, in the time it took me to eat, another 3 weeks passed on Earth!"
"Our launch window is in 7 hours and 13 minutes. " The AI stated blandly.
"That's just great, another 20 years wouldn't hurt, would it?" I began stowing things. "Everyone better have your shit together!" I hollered in the ship occupied only by me and a few robotic tools controlled by the AI. I took a quick bath to prep for the ride home. Well, what passes for a bath. I got into my sleeping couch and as I pulled the door handle down, I yelled out, "DON'T WAKE ME UNTIL THE MOON IS IN SIGHT!"
The sleeping gas seeped in and I slipped into unconscious.
"Hello? Hello? Are you going to wake up? " The voice seemed to be part of a dream. I think I was supposed to get ready for school.
I forced my eyes open. I was not on my ship. I was in some sort of hospital bed. Maybe... I realized I couldn't sit up. Like my body just wouldn't let me.
"Did I crash? Am I paralyzed?"
"Nothing of the sort! Matter of fact, you made an excellent trip back and we'll, there was a slight miscalculation on the time you were out there. So, we have you sedated so you can ease into things. Matter of fact, you... " He giggled, "...aren't even awake yet. "
"I'm not sure if I like where this is going ..."
"Due to certain things, it has actually been 1800 years or so since you left. Heck, the government that sent you our had actually forgotten about you, or thought you lost, dead, you know..." He then made a creaking sound and tilted his head to symbolize death. "That's why we have you out still. We had to learn your language and idioms. Then we will need to prepare for the shock. HOWEVER, TODAY is your lucky day, as you used to say. We have some of your relatives here to meet you! Count backwards from three...*
"JUST WAKE ME UP ALREADY!"
|
"...why?"
The AI blinked its status light in an impersonation of a startled bird, hopping back ever so slightly on its gravity dampener. "Something to do with the physics of the planet, or the star it orbits."
"No, I mean why withhold the information? Why reveal it, but only after the 12 days, which would be..." I trailed off, drawing math symbols in the air with quick finger gestures. "160 years?"
"182.48 years, approximately." The AI chirped helpfully.
"That long? Damn." I mused. "I wonder how technology has changed since I left." I looked back at the floating AI "Can you look up the Superbowl winners since, idk, 50? 53?"
The AI blinked rapidly, then bobbed in the air like an enthusiastic toddler's nod. "Yes. What information did you want to know?"
"Superbowl matchups and winners in chronological order." I said, eagerly waiting for the robot to start.
"Certainly. 2021-2022, Cincinnati Bengals vs Los Angeles Rams. Winner, Los Angeles Rams. 2022-2023, the-"
"Nope, stop." I said, shaking my head. "Can't be true, the Bengals suck! They just had the #1 overall pick, you've got some bad intel there."
The robot shifted its camera orientation 45°, like a confused dog would tilt its face.
"On second thought" I said, rubbing my chin. "If you're so wrong about that, maybe your wrong about the whole 15 years thing too."
The robot said nothing.
"Send a comm to Houston" I commanded, striding across the short distance between me and the habitat's airlock. "I want to arrange a live feed chat."
The robot bleeped as it made the request. "The Empire of Cincinnati has accepted your communication request, Commander Greyson. They are waiting on visuals now."
I stopped by the open airlock exterior door. "What?"
"They're asking for an explanation of your delay." The AI said apologetically. "I'm relaying the overall message and tone of the incoming requests, but its too fast for me to properly-"
"Patch it to the main screen." I interrupted. "I'll be right there."
I stepped inside, and closed the outer airlock door. The familiar hiss and squeeze of the pressure filling the airlock was comforting, like the Earth's atmosphere was welcoming me home with a windy hug.
It couldn't have been over 150 years since I landed here. Time is relative, but that was supposed to be a difference of nanoseconds, not generations.
The interior doors opened, and I began to remove my helmet as I stepped inside.
"Hail Burrow, space traveler!" A voice said from the communications panel.
I did the first double take of any human in this star system. The woman speaking to me was wearing full orange and black tiger face paint, and wore a uniform of the same striped pattern.
"Uh, Houston?" I asked, making sure that my interstellar signal was on the correct line.
"Yes! Well, not anymore. Houston was re-named to South Cincinnati in 2051, after our glorious leader Joseph Burrow conquered the loyalists in the region." She said cheerfully, like a tour guide pretending to enjoy their 5th tour group of the day.
"What..." I said, as my brain and tongue fought to say their question first.
"So how can we help you, Space Traveler?" She said, smiling with false enthusiasm.
"I want to come back to Earth." I said.
"Not a problem!" The woman said. "Just contact your local tour guide and ask for the interplanetary shuttle service. We make runs to Earth and all of the Empire's bountiful colonies."
I blinked. "What the... colonies?"
The smiling woman sighed behind a forced smile. "Yes. You can ask your local guide for their individual information. It looks like your guide is Jeremy, currently at the Lost Astronaut exhibit."
I froze. "Exhibit?"
"Yes! You are currently located in the Human Space Exploration exhibit in the museum of Humans."
With a few button taps, a lined map appeared in the screen. A gold star sticker popped into existence in one area that was helpfully labeled "Early Human Space Explorers- Charles Greyson."
I stared at the dot above my name in silence.
"If that's all you need, I'll end the call. Hail Burrow!" The woman said with the first genuine happiness I had heard from her. The image blinked off, replaced by a rotating 3D image of an older, rugged Joe Burrow, Quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals. His fingers were burdened with a dozen Super Bowl rings, all crusted with what looked like blood. He held a bloodied sword in one hand, and a dented football helmet in the other.
The floating AI approached me quietly, having finally cycled through the air lock.
"Could you pull up that Super Bowl list again?" I asked.
"Certainly!" The robot beeped cheerfully. "The next 11 winners are all Cincinnati, and the 12th is the London Jaguars, lead by future NFL Commissioner Tom Brady."
r/SlightlyColdStories for more
| 2022-09-15T11:57:03
| 2022-09-15T11:30:24
| 161
| 106
|
[WP] A married woman saves an uninteresting Japanese high schooler from a truck crash, but dies in the process. She wakes up in a world of adventure and harems, clearly made for the boy.
|
Insert somebody instantly reccomending an anime where this is the premise... Okay that's done. Let's rock this.
Ayako Himari was out shopping one day when she saw a young man, he had a shock of dark messy hair, and his uniform was in dissaray. He seemed vaguely out of sorts. Ayako was quietly thankfull her days of schooling were long behind her, excepting the online cooking course she had signed up for but hobbies didn't really count. The boy was crossing the road, and Ayako saw a white truck coming, she tried to yell out to him but he just looked at her confused. Ayako ran to save him, she was 38, twenty-one years older than the young man she pushed. She felt the truck hit and everything went dark, and it stayed dark for a long time.
Light cut through the void, and Ayako shielded her face from it, perhaps heaven was real? Before her was a young woman dressed in a tight red yukata, her purple hair was floating around her in a corona, she had the biggest tits Ayako had ever seen. "It is not your time!" which was a relief, this coma dream could go ahead and end already. "Hello" said Ayako politely, she couldn't be rude, not even to a figment of her concussion.
Two giant hourglasses appeared behind her, one was flowing against gravity "It is not your time. I shall raise you from death in a new world. With powers far beyond ordinary men!" said the voluptuous figure. "I'm not a man, and another world? Like Mars? I hear they have robots there" Ayako said. The Scarlet goddess seemed nonplussed "A woman, of dear that's pretty rare these days. I mean you used to get a lot of girls coming through here thirty years ago but these days it's mostly mean. Usually overinformed ones. Not another planet, anopther world. Paracosm, a world of magic!" she said grandly. "Like David Copperfield?" asked the housewife, who hadn't wanted anything animated since turning 12, she mostly loved medical dramas.
After a lot of exasperated explantion she found herself clad in armor and facing down a huge lizard. Before the dinosaur could devour her she was saved by a hail of arrows. Not drawn by a human but by an Elf with the biggest tits Ayako had ever seen. "Are you okay miss, I'm Renwyn" she said, Ayako was confidant she couldn't pronounce that. She bowed and introduced herself and asked where the nearest metro station was.
After trying and failing to describe a buss she had traveled to the Drakecrest city. It was the biggest city in the world, Renwyn had come here to join the adventurer's guild, it was the last day to sign up for the Adventurer examination. It was punishingly hard, and this year there was a complication. You had to sign up with a partner. Renwyn beged Ayako to sign up with her to get over the technical hurdle. Ayako politely refused as it seemed dangerious.
With no money she applied at a small hotspring inn run by a woman with the biggest tits Ayako had ever seen. And strangely she caught sight of women bathers with shocking frequentcy, twice an hour she got into some contrived situation involving a wet floor, a tumble, and somebody's hand or face ending up on somebody's ass or chest. Ayako wasn't sure how she still had a job frankly. She seemed to learn the skills needed at an unnatural pace. It was so trivial they had her chop wood too, and she somehow did the year's supply in an hour. "This is getting ridiculous" she said, quite a while after it had passed fucking abserd.
She was summoned before the queen to discuss her amazing talents. The queen (who had the biggest tits Ayako had ever seen) had her tested for magical talent and found she had infinite Mana, an unthinkable boon! Ayako refused to join the academy of magi, as she was twentyfive years older than most of the students there and wasn't really interested in magic. She just wanted a stable job and if anyone knew how to get back to Earth that would be nice. She missed her husband, she missed her home, she missed the average cup size not being DD.
\-
Through long years, hard trials, and hardships unnumberd Ayako learned swordcraft, magic, and the skills needed to defeat the Demonlord who terrorised the lands. At ever turn she had refused to take part in this childish fantasy and over and over she had been pulled like a compas needle towards destiny and a lot of sexy but also highly competent young women with tragic backstories.
Ayako faced the Demonlord, who had the FUCKING BIGGEST TITS AYAKO HAD YET SEEN! Monumental melons of mountaious heft. It was genuinely amazing the woman could see over them. "So the heroine has come to die" she said, secretly in love with Ayako already but unable to express it for backstory reasons, which she was about to spend thirty minutes explaining "You see demons once ruled this land before the church came and opressed us and killed my father who only wanted peace with humans. They framed him for seve-" Ayako interupted "I have been here for four years. I have not had a moment of peace in that whole time, I have fought dragons, I have been dragged across a continent, I have had to face my inner demons, and had a thousand year old witch who looked about ten try to seduce me! I don't care, I do not care, no care, care not me, I do not care!" she threw her sword down.
"Don't give up" Cried Renwyn "I have feeling for you". "I know" said Ayako "I know you think that, but you don't! None of you people know what real feelings are. You don't get them the moment you see somebody, you don't devote your whole life to a perfect stranger for them. I have feelings for someone, and they took time and work, nothing here is remotely like that" she blusterd.
"I want to go home. I won't kill for it, no more. I'm not taking another life for this stupid world. I'm not! Just send me home!" she pleeded, not with anyone here. Time stopped suddenly, and there came an answer "I can't send you back, I'm sorry, this was supposed to make you happy. A world where you matterd, where becoming powerfull would be easy. Where you could have another shot at life" said the scarlet goddess. "I had a life. And you replaced it with a child's fantasy. Is this what you do to those boys? You put them into this world that pushes their pleasure button till their brains turn to mush? People need challenge to grow, they need to be hurt, rejected, to feel powerless sometimes, not this. The people I've met don't act like people, they're like puppets to my desires. I feel horrible for them" she sulked.
Scarlet sighed "For some people, for the people who are supposed to be here. This is a comfortable place, somewhere they can try again, away from the things that made life hard to bear for them. But you're not like them. You're not maladapted to life on earth. I can see that. You can be reborn, in your own world. You'll start again, no advantage, just a normal person. If you wish it" she spoke with finality.
Ayako almost cried. It was all she wanted... and yet, she was a hero. A real one. She didn't escape a burning building while others were still trapped. So many souls, they were her friends no matter how they many times they had accidently walked in on eachother changing. Ayako made her wish.
A little girl was born in japan the next day. She could not remember her old life, but had taken the wisdom of long years with her into a new life all the same. And as she grew she made friends, all with girls strangely born the very same day she was. They lived good and sometimes uncomfortable lives, what joy they found in them was hard won and certainly real. And they all had big tits happly ever after.
|
Gisela was a wife, was. Her ex-husband decided that he would like to pursue his love and settle comfortably with Miss Something Blond, some 20 years young than Gisela. Tired of the sadness and meaningless Germany, she took a position in Japan, taking a handkerchief passed down from her grandfather and Noah, her 12-year-old son who reacted not so different to this sudden movement.
Gisela already became something different within the company's Osaka office. Firstly was her outlook: a white European suddenly appeared at the office and was sent by HQ no less would undoubtedly invite gossips from around all the corners. Second and maybe this was Gisela's biggest standout: she was divorced. Not only that, she took her son all the way from Frankfurt to Osaka. A woman with such a background naturally became a hot topic for the younger employees. Despite all the whispers, Gisela remained focused only on her work. Even when her title was only division associate, the works that came out clothed her with an indistinguishable aura of a seasoned employee. Soon afterward, her Japanese colleagues started to consider her real Gisela-san and the questions given to her quickly turn to those that seek advises from a senior.
She was undoubtedly not a bad employee even back in Germany. But not even a division manager in Frankfurt HQ should produce such high-quality work that many while knowing yet so little about the culture and local practice in this new location. The whispers also changed as well: why would a talented woman like Gisela-san end up in a land that was so far from her home? Of course, gossips need spices, and the Osaka office quickly turned into a conspiracy theory factory. The most acceptable theory was that she had overpassed her power within the company and got caught by the wife of the boss (how ironic for Gisela to be thought like that). Nonetheless, no theory is right, because even Gisela didn't know the exact reason as well: why did she accept that offer from Frankfurt to come all the way here to buy yogurt from the orange vending machine at the entrance of this 57-floor building? She probably knew that she would choose to be anywhere not Germany, but why she had to arrange herself with so many meetings like that, she didn't know why. Walking down the streets on Umekita, she tried to drown her confusion with the sweetness and sourness of the yogurt when suddenly a scream interrupted her thoughts. Looking back, she saw a lightly-yellow hair boy and a truck that came very close into contact with him. Perhaps she was so occupied in her thoughts, that she could mutter only the word "Noah" and then, everything went dark for some time.
Gisela eventually woke up, inside a place that definitely look not like an Osakan hospital. For starters, she doubted that Japan would have a hospital to be built with only wood in the middle of this megapolis, and secondly, she saw no modern medical equipment, albeit a drawer with a bowl of water and a jar next to it. A mature lady and a career manager, she calmed her mind quickly and reassured herself to not fall into a vortex of negative thoughts. Gisela was trying to recount her memory as the door was open and 3 women walked in. A quick gaze and she realized that she definitely was in a stranger place: those girls wore some sort of comfortable white t-shirts that were buttoned properly and a yellow jacket that somehow only came to pass their breasts. They wore some sort of white tight pants and leather boots that had ropes attached to their legs. The whole outfit honored the fit and full of energy bodies of these young girls. But of all of the strange things, two things particularly caught her eyes: one girl had a strange metallic machine that was strapped to her waist, and they all had a unified symbol of sort on their jackets. The symbol resembled of two bird wings that were intertwined with each other, one blue and one white. The symbol looked powerful, but yet so hopeful at the same time. She was focusing on the wings when one girl started to speak: "I am glad that we could find you right on time. You are safe in here. Allow me to represent 3 of us to welcome you to the Watch Out, our secret palace, and stake-out spot. My name is Lalina, and you are more than welcome to join us in this wonderful and cozy place!"
Well, what the hell, Gisela thought. Tagging along with this group was not that bad of an idea now. She had chosen to move far away from her hometown to be a salary woman in a far place; chosen to push a no related Japanese boy out of harm's way because she thought that the boy was her son. Thus, staying in a wood hut with 3 girls that could be her daughters seemed not too far of a fetch to Gisela, at least for now. She assured herself that, clenching the handkerchief that somehow still stayed by her side.
| 2022-06-08T02:12:16
| 2022-06-07T22:56:16
| 59
| 32
|
[WP]You're the last vampire left. You've been alive since 2000bc. Tell us your life story and why is your kind almost extinct
|
The sun is a bitch.
I get up from my bed, wiping the dust from my eyes. I take a sniff, and smell something burning. It's my arm.
"Ah fuck, fucking shit. Ow ow ow ow". There was a tiny crack in the ceiling, and a ray of sunlight was poking through. "Drac, you stupid shit" I say to myself as i submerge my forearm in water. This was how Nosferatu went. The Jewey-looking prick fell asleep upstairs, woke up to his face melting off from a sunbeam through the window.
That's how most of us went, really. Not all of those dudebro vampire hunters with their swords, guns and that one dumbass with the whip. I mean how the hell did he expect to kill a vampire with a whip? BDSM us to death? No, it was the sun who was the most successful vampire killer of all.
"What the fuck time is it even" I mumble. The clock on the wall to my right says it's 8. *goddamn, only 8? I was up till like 2 in the afternoon playing Mass Effect*. I always fuck Liara when I play that game. Maybe I think she could empathize a bit, I don't know. My stomach growls. I press the intercom button on my bedside table. "Thrall number 7, would you mind coming in here?"
"Of course, sir Dracula" says a voice from the speaker. "Right away sir."
About 30 seconds pass, and a tall, blonde woman wearing lingerie walks in. "Would you like the usual today, sir Dracula?"
"I just fuckin' burned my arm, so I'm not much in the mood for a blowjob, no. Just breakfast."
"Of course". She leans her head out, exposing her neck. I feel my pulse rise, fangs extend and adrenaline pump. I jump out from my bed and began sucking at her neck.
EDIT: continuation.
As I continued to drain 7's blood, I noticed her beginning to shudder. At first I thought I'd gone too far, but then I heard her start to moan. Vampire venom, aside from making humans progressively more obedient the more you drink from them, also triggers a massive dopamine spike in the brain. I haven't felt it since that Persian bitch turned me all those years ago, but the closest thing I can describe it as is mainlining heroin while simultaneously having an orgasm. Hell, I was just speculating about the obedience thing earlier. All my thralls might just be junkies trying to get a fix.
Making sure not to take enough blood to kill her, I drank my fill and let her leave. I lay back, groaned, and reached for the controller. I realize that playing video games, going to sleep, and then continuing to play video games immediately upon waking up isn't exactly an admirable course of action, but when your lifespan is infinite and you have an army of enthralled businessmen guaranteeing your income, your drive to make accomplishments peters out after a while.
(To be continued)
|
I furrow my brow as I wake, the darkness of night calling to me, the sun had set recently, the air was hot in my lungs. I sat up, looking around my strange little home, upon a hill far from any humans, though, not too far of course, I do still need a meal from time to time.
I had a visitor, while I was asleep, they knew I lived here, they'd heard stories from the local children, they tell stories of the strange house upon the hill, with the old man inside who never sees the light of day.
I wore a cowl to conceal my identity, my picture is known, having lived for so many years I've been seen on many an occasion.
"What is it?" I said, my voice course in the heat of day, the reflection of the sun from the cold marble floor singed my face lightly, I grimaced.
"Well I heard about the old man living on this hill, I wanted to see if the stories were true," She reached forward, grabbing at my hood, I quickly grabbed her hand, my cold grey skin a dark contrast against her pale pink flesh, she gasped and I closed the door, locking it, watching carefully out my window as she ran back to the town, I sighed, knowing that I'd have to move that night.
Wiping my eyes I look outside, the town was bright, flames shining on torches, I knew this day would come, as it did to many of my kind, I played it as smart as I could but I knew one day I'd be caught. The others, they went on rampages, killing many people in short bursts, out of blood-lust. I stayed away from them, they died too quickly, I used to watch from a distance, watching them as they were hunted, fools. All of them, I know not if I'm the last, but I can be almost certain I am.
I had to leave quickly, or I would surely die like those before me, I quickly escaped out the back of my home, I knew they'd recognise me, having let myself age little by little over the years, so I wouldn't become known, I fled into the woods, my old body failing me as I went deeper and deeper, my age taking it's toll, the moon and stars blocked out by the canopy above, my lungs burning, with no sign of the lights following me, I lie down. I knew they'd find me eventually, all I could do was allow myself to relax on my last night, lying in the soft moss, nature around me drowning out all else, all of my memories came flowing back, so many things, over so much time, my mind felt clear and I mumble to myself;
"As I rest, in this dark night,
I feel not the need to fight,
my life was grand,
I had no greed...
my breathing slows,
the sounds all stop,
my final breath and my heart too,
comes to rest, in this darkest night."
| 2015-06-21T08:59:20
| 2015-06-21T08:11:20
| 25
| 13
|
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
My call center job can be stressful at times, but there is free coffee, so I can't complain. Complaining is what customers do. They yell at me for anything that the robots do: tangled USB cables, scared pets, and knocked down vases. None of it if my fault, but I always find a way to have them look on the bright side of things: at least they didn't have to sweep the floor themselves.
It all got a lot more interesting two months ago. A routine software update made the roombas turn by 36º by default, which was supposed to optimize how fast they can map a room. It turns out that this also optimized how often it can trace a pentagram. It also turns out that with the right sequence of blinking LEDs, the consequences of this software update go beyond the boundary of the average room. Here's another one calling, I'd better take it if I want to meet my quota.
"Hello, iRobot tech support. This is Kathy speaking." ... "Yes, sir. I understand that there is a trans-dimensional entity in your living room. Could you please describe it for me." ... "I see. And how tall would you say it is?" ... "It did what?" ... "To your cat?"
I try to type as much details as possible in the ticket. This is supposed to help people in R&D, but I don't think the gore is very useful and I would rather not think about too much so soon after breakfast. "Family pet deceased" will do.
"Well, sir this is very unfortunate but I could give you a coupon code for 75% discount on our of our companion robots if you want." ... "I understand your frustration, sir. I am not able to shove the code up anyone's ass unfortunately since it's a digital code. Could you please hold one brief moment while I look into our knowledge base to see how to best deal with your trans-dimensional entity?"
- Jim, you have to help me with this one. They have an eight foot tall purple furry one? That's nothing close to the typical imp.
- Oh, I had a customer with one of those last week. Let me see... Check out ticket #394223.
- Thanks!
Jim is cool! He remembers all those unusual cases and he knows the company protocols like the back of his hand. I think he's going to be promoted to manager one day. Oh wow! His customer lost more than a cat before they figured out how to deal with her problem. Lucky me for always dealing with known problems!
"Hello, sir, thank you for waiting. Sir, it seems like you are now the proud master of a Skah-a-lagowoo until the next full moon" ... "No sir, we don't know how to sent those back at this time." ... "That's right, sir, it will do anything you ask that is within your property." ... "That's correct, sir, it probably didn't abide to your request to 'get the fuck out of here' because it doesn't understand English. As far we can tell, Skah-a-lagowoos only understand Sumerian." ... "Yes, sir, I can imagine that you do not speak Sumerian. That is indeed something they dropped from the curriculum of most schools, unfortunately. Can you try 'sodanu untawa akagiwali'? We have reasons to believe that it means 'do the dishes'." ... "No sir, I do not speak Sumerian either, but I will flag your case number and ask one of our ancient languages experts to call you back as soon as possible." ... "Thank you sir and sorry again about your cat."
- Jim, do we really have an ancient languages department?
- Not really, but management is working around the clock to recruit people from the archaeology departments of top universities. The problem is that most of candidates so far don't survive their first encounter. Apparently their pronunciation is all wrong.
- Shit! I'm so glad we only deal with those problems over the phone.
- By the way, R&D is teaching imps how to hunt mice and rats. They are doing a demo this afternoon.
- So cool! Let's go check it out. They usually have good free food for those R&D demos.
And that is why I love my job. I could not ask for something more engaging with my degree in religion.
|
It started off as any other regular Monday. David brewed his coffee, poured out Mochi's daily kibble, and ate a bowl of steel-cut oats. He was feeling a little frisky that morning, so he added in two generous dashes of cinnamon.
At 9:00 sharp, he trotted into his home office, closing the door. Logging into his computer, David opened up Microsoft Outlook and Teams and powered on his company cellphone. As he waited for the programs to load, he did the daily New York Times mini crossword and scrolled through the news, drinking the last dregs of his now-lukewarm joe.
Then Microsoft Outlook finished loading. David narrowly avoided spitting his coffee all over his screen, choking down his last sip in a strangled gulp.
There were 666,666 new emails in his inbox.
*What on earth...*
At the same time, his cellphone dinged. On the voicemail icon, the same bright red numbers screamed at him.
They'd been in a rush to push out version 3.4, but David hadn't imagined there would be *this* many issues. How on earth had the software engineers messed up this badly?
Just as he had the thought, his phone rang. David shook himself out of his daze, cleared his throat, and picked up his phone.
"Hello? This is Roomba tech support speaking. My name is David, how may I help you?"
"H-hello, my Roomba isn't working." It was an old lady. It almost always was. Maybe it was the same old lady, calling hundreds of times, trying over and over again and waiting for someone to pick up. Maybe version 3.4 wasn't all that broken.
"Thanks for calling us. What seems to be the issue?"
"Hello, David. My name's Martha. Martha Jones. You see, dear, I was doing a deep clean of the house on Sunday. I always clean the house on Sundays, but this time, I thought, why not use that handy little robot thingamajig my grandson got me for Christmas? My grandson is a really smart little fellow, you know, he went to Harvard, majored in computer science. I got him some socks for Christmas. It's cold up there in Boston, I hear, and I hope he's getting some use out of those socks, alpaca wool, they were, and -"
"Ma'am, that's nice," David replied patiently. "But what exactly was the issue with the Roomba?"
"Ah, yes, the robot thingamajig. I powered it on, but it's spinning in circles and beeping weirdly. It sounds like it's trying to talk to me. You know, my husband, he passed away two years ago, bless his soul, but he used to be in the Navy, was an excellent pilot, quite dashing in his uniform back in the day - "
"Let's see, spinning in circles," David opened up the Roomba manual and hit control F, searching for the keywords. He knew most of the solutions to the common issues by heart, but this one was one that hadn't come up before. "What's the pattern of the beeping?"
"I was getting to that, dear, before you cut me off," the woman chided gently. "You see, my husband told me about this thing called morse code, and I looked it up on the Google. I thought maybe it would give me an answer, but it's just some sort of made-up language or something..*te nomine vero soloque evoco.*"
David's cellphone beeped, the tone of a call waiting on the line. "I'm awfully sorry, Ma'am, but I need to put you on hold for a second. Do you mind waiting a moment?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pressed answer. Brady's distressed voice echoed over the receiver.
"David! You won't believe what the hell just happened!"
"Try me, Brady," David replied. "I've got 666,666 new messages, all consumer complaints about the new upgrade. What the hell kind of software engineer worked on version 3.4? And who approved the upgrade? Didn't we go through some kind of testing or QC before we pushed?"
"David, *forget* the stupid software update," Brady replied. "This is much more serious than that. You're not in the office, so you don't know - everyone who works in software just got reverse-Raptured this morning. A hole opened up in the floor and they all got sucked to God knows where. Or the Devil knows where, more like."
Taking a shaky breath, David started clicking through the emails in his inbox.
*Found a bloody pentagram on my living room carpet. Not sure where the blood came from. Roomba is covered in it. Locked in the bathroom and barricaded the door with cleaning supplies. Unearthly wailing coming from outside the door. Leaving a 1-star review right now, version 3.3 was so much better*.
*Woke up to my daughter screaming bloody murder. Roomba was sitting on her chest, pinning her to the bed. Had to pull it off of her, now she's staying with her mom because she doesn't feel safe here anymore. Also, the Roomba is growing horns now. Really, none of this is addressed in the product warnings, which is quite unacceptable. I expect a full refund and compensation for all the therapy that my daughter will undoubtedly be needing.*
"Shit."
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
| 2022-01-30T07:41:22
| 2022-01-30T07:19:15
| 154
| 86
|
[WP] Everytime you think of a funny joke, this girl in your class always laughs, you chalk it up to coincidence but you think to yourself, "If you can read my mind, slap the table three times" the the girl looks over at you, stares right into your eyes, and slowly slaps the table three times.
Edit - Wow we made the front page, thank you for everyone that replied with their stories, I have had a lot of fun reading them all!!!
Edit 2- thank you kind stranger for my first gold!!!
Edit 3- 2 Gold's!!! Holy Shit, I honestly thought this post wasn't going to go anywhere but now it is my most upvoted post ever by far, and 2 Gold's Jesus Christ. Thank you again everyone that commented, upvoted and gifted the gold you are all special to me! 👌👌👌👌
|
It was another miserable, cold, drizzly autumn day- and of course, I forgot to put on a jacket. I was walking to my physics class, shivering all the while.
“Need a coat?”
I turned around. Behind me was a girl- actually, one of my class-mates.
“No, thanks, I’ll be fine.”
She looked at me, skeptically. “You sure of that?”
“Yeah, Marie. I’m good.”
“Okay. Your loss.”
She puffed on, toward the auditorium.
​
Another nine AM lecture on thermodynamics- Professor Ehrenfest’s droning was only interrupted by the scratching noises of a hundred pencils on paper.
*Ehrenfest? More like* Snooze*fest.*
Marie laughed.
I instinctively put my hand over my mouth. Had I said that aloud? Ehrenfest would skin me alive if he had heard that- he was not one who suffered jokes gladly. No one else had laughed, though, and Marie was sitting three rows below me.
I chalked it up to chance.
Ehrenfest pulled up another slide.
“Now, can someone please tell me, what is the theoretical efficiency of this engine?”
*Simple. Just one minus low temperature divided by high temperature. High is eight hundred ten kelvin, low is two seventy, two thirds.*
Marie raised her hand.
“Marie?”
“It’s two thirds.”
“Good. How did you get there?”
“The efficiency is one minus low temperature divided by high temperature. High is eight hundred ten kelvin, low is two seventy. Two thirds.”
“Very good.”
*Huh. Took the words right out of my mouth.*
Now, I’m a scientist. I’m not usually one who believed in the supernatural. However, having someone copy not just my answer, but my words, spooked me a bit. Maybe it was too close to Halloween, but…
*If you can hear this, tap your desk, three times.*
I stared intensely at Marie, as she tapped her desk once…twice…three times.
My blood froze.
*Oh my God, she’s a telepath?!*
I thought it was cool- for about a millisecond. That’s when I realized that Marie could likely hear *everything* coming out of my head. My mind raced, trying to determine how bad this could be. Then I saw Marie wheel around in her seat, and look directly at me.
*Come on, act natural…*
I took a breath, and smiled back at Marie. She nodded, and turned back to look at the blackboard.
​
10 AM. Class over.
I packed at record speed, dashed up the stairs, and sprinted down the pathway, seeking the safety of my own room.
*But how safe is it? What if Marie can still hear me? This is not good…*
“Wait!”
I recognized the voice, and picked up speed. My legs protested every step I took, but that was better than losing the privacy of my own mind.
“Slow down!”
The voice was closer now. I hung a left, cutting across the grass toward my dorm room.
That was when Marie crashed into me at full tilt. Three hundred pounds of human, backpack, and water bottle smashed into the Earth.
I tasted grass, dirt, and iron. My nose was bleeding, my face scratched. Marie rolled off me, and we both got up slowly, gasping for breath.
“Why did you tackle me!”
Marie was still breathing hard.
“I just… wanted to explain. Before you got away. Stop you from panicking.”
“What, that you can-”
“Read minds? Yeah.”
“So what are you, some kind of-”
“Superhuman? I guess. No, I’m not Professor X. He’s more powerful than I am.”
“Do you know-”
“How I got these powers? No. I just know I’ve had them as long as I can remember. As for what I can hear?”
She smiled, and shook her head.
“Everything. Every thought. I know that Kei has the hots for Sophia, that Roy’s mom died last week, that you’re…”
Her voice cut off abruptly.
“But doesn’t it get… you know, overwhelming?”
She scratched her head. “A bit, yeah. It’s why I keep to myself, mostly. I mean, hey, it is what it is.”
She looked straight at me, her pale eyes seeming to see right through me. “Look, I’m sorry for reading your mind without your permission. It’s just that… I’m in dire need of someone who gets me, and judging by what I’ve seen, we’re in the same boat.
So what do you say? Friends?”
I stared at Marie. She did read my mind- but she had a point. I’d barely gained any friends since I moved here.
I shook her hand. “I guess so.”
​
It was the best decision I'd ever made.
​
\*\*\*\*\*\*
Hi WP, I'm new here- this is my second prompt! Feedback appreciated!
|
He held his breath, half-choking on the air held within him. Her eyes were locked on his, her dark hair spilling around her face, her body twisted to face him from her seat at the front of the class. Nobody was paying attention to their exchange, other students sliding materials into their bags and making their way out of class. In moments, they were the last two in the room.
With the ease of a predator who'd already won, she stood from her chair and began to walk towards him. He instinctively started to shift away, as if any bit farther was better than the current proximity. His instincts screamed warnings, but he couldn't look away from her eyes. They seemed to eat at him, eat at something within him. Suddenly, she was standing right at the edge of the desk, and he wondered at how he could have missed that.
"You seem to have a problem paying attention," she started. The smirk on her lips spoke of amusement. "You've been having quite the daydreams, haven't you?"
Her eyes, twin voids on her pale face, dug right into him. The abyss was staring right back, and he was utterly caught in its embrace. He opened his mouth to stammer out some sort of reply, but she pinned his lips shut with a single slender finger.
'Cold,' he thought. She chuckled, something dark and throaty.
"Not quite as cold as you. But the plans you have to kill everyone in class? Now those are cold."
She knew. An icy chill seemed to sweep through him from the pale digit upon his lips. His eyes were wide and his hands (still and always free, yet seemingly confined to his desk) twitched in inaction. He was prey pinned by the predator and with nowhere to run. Adrenaline racing through his form, it slipped his mind that this girl could never prove his monstrous musings, and he scrambled to find a way out of her clutches.
She could definitely hear his thoughts. Her eyes - those eyes! - narrowed; she 'tsked' and sat in his lap. Every muscle that had been spasming in terror became stone. She wore a disappointed frown and turned one finger into five, caressing his jaw. He couldn't move - he was trapped, mentally and now physically.
He also noticed that her legs were quite shapely. In horror and disbelief, he felt a stirring between his legs. Almost immediately, she noticed. That smirk from before returned and she shifted ever so slightly, mocking him. He grimaced, but kept his mouth shut, even as her thumb smoothed the edge of his mouth.
"You're terribly amusing, you know. It's been years since I've come across such an interesting specimen." She let her hand trace the line from his ear to his chin, and her eyes roved the map of his head and face, inspecting and exploring it's every contour. "But if you'll just listen to what I have to say, I think you'll enjoy yourself a little, too."
Abruptly, she stood up. The glacier-like freeze that had settled into his muscles was suddenly whisked away, and he gasped as his lungs leapt for the air it had been denied. She chuckled again, low and enticing. He still trembled, but now, he felt something else, too...
The girl with the dark eyes offered him a hand. His eyes traveled from her palm to the abyss and back. Slowly, he brought his hand up and took hers. She guided him out of his seat - he caught himself at the edge of his desk as his shaking legs buckled from their extended tension. She grinned, sharp teeth like stone in a cave.
"Well, I think I have a fun idea for the weekend. Let's gather a few of your friends, and we'l visit some place nice in the wilds. And we'll have such a treat in store for them, won't we?"
He nodded - it was all he could do, really. She looked a little lower at the lapel of his uniform. She thumbed his name-badge.
"You've such a nice name, too. 'Thanos'." She smiled at him. He drank it in, enraptured. "We're going to have a lot of fun together, yes?"
Thanos responded instinctively, "Yes... mistress."
| 2018-10-27T14:27:42
| 2018-10-27T14:04:56
| 241
| 19
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left.
|
###### CNN (Chess News Network) Alert ########
###### For Immediate Publication ########
The final match in the greatest chess tournament of all time is underway. The flip of the coin came out heads and the Russian Alexei Kusnetskov elected to start. The challenger from China, Ming Zhang, ready and waiting for the first move.
We are currently in hour number 15 of this epic game, as Alexei is yet to decide on an opening move that Zhang won't anticipate.
Updates to follow.
########################################
| 2017-01-19T17:36:57
| 2017-01-19T16:03:28
| 372
| 129
|
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
...the ability to craft a lovely cup of tea from any matter available was surely too powerful for any mere mortal to handle.
With great duty and knowing such power could have unparalleled consequence were I unable to contain it I decided for the sake of mankind to keep it to myself, to say I was spared the mutation.
They couldn't know. Nobody could know...
|
As a kid, I have always looked up to the people that use their talents for great purpose. Aunt Laura is always hard at work, so I have the TV for myself and I'd watch all about Steffi Larkin, Reed Horundas, Alex Stevenson, and my idol, Jeff Knox. He has the talent to clone himself and consciously control them. He is known as the *Miracle Constructor* and he has his own show, aptly named "Do It Myself". He builds schools and hospitals by making his team of about 50 clones and himself work with a little bit of "menual labor", as he likes to call it.
Every person in the world experience the Discovering at the age of 16, at the midnight of their birthday, oddly enough. Some people say that talents are genetics, while some say that talents are determined by the actions you choose to do prior of the Discovering. I am a strong believer of the latter, because well, it's partly because my parents weren't all that special. They had passed away when I was but one month old. They were never around, but I know one thing, I refuse to be insignificant like my mother and father who, as Aunt Laura told me, has the talents to disappear and to draw with uncanny realism.
I want a talent that can shape the world. I want to believe that it's not genetics, but the upperclassmen in my high school all have talents similar to their parents', whether in power or properties. Even Jeff Knox once said on TV that he was thankful for his parents, and while that could mean many things, my mind makes the worst of it. With my luck and my family's genes, I'll probably get a useless talent like burrowing underground so that I can quite *literally* shape the world.
3 hours from now is the midnight of my birthday. The Discovering is only moments away as I get more and more excited. I turn on the TV and turned the channel to an old interview of Steffi Larkin on her experience with her Discovering.
"Were you able to identify your talents right away?"
"It wasn't until the morning after I had slept after giving up that I discovered it. I woke up in another country!"
"You discovered your talent in a dream?"
"Yeah, I have always wanted to see the world, but I never imagined it as easy as teleporting!"
How lucky she is to have that great of a power. But I wasn't too worried about what my talent was going to be anymore at that point. As time closes in on midnight, I'm just excited to finally have a talent.
2 hours away now as I look at the clock. I have set up a sort of target practice / obstacle course in Aunt Laura's garage, as she told me that she knows I've been waiting for tomorrow my whole life. Earlier today, she gave me an okay and a big hug, and with tears in her eyes told me that she was proud of me. She had always been a mother figure, and cared for me like her own son. I'm a bit sad that she won't be home until tomorrow afternoon, when I will already have mastered the talent to race against time with my super speed, or have the accuracy of a hawk, I hope, who knows.
1 more hour and here I am thinking of all the good I will do, however boring my talent will be. I have come into acceptance with what I probably will be able to do, as to not disappoint myself. I could probably settle with the talent to climb trees or something, I could use that to create tree houses for kids to play in.
And then all of the sudden, I felt a presence and almost in an instant, I was surrounded by water, gasping in what feels like the middle of the ocean.
"WHOA, WHAT HAPPENED?"
"... I'm sorry," I heard in a calm voice, "I'm sorry for everything."
"WH- Y- YOU'RE STEFFI LARKIN!"
"I had to do this... Your father saw it all."
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
"Son, I have heard many great things about you from Aunt Laura."
"ARE YOU INSANE, WHERE IS SHE?"
"I'm your mother... We've all been lying to you because you are a danger, your father drew it when you were just a week old..."
"Wh- what? You're telling me he saw what I was able to do?"
"You're a ticking time bomb, and it was all our fault for bearing you... We wanted to give you a happy life, but I loved you too much to take care of you, I wouldn't have been able to handle it... I'm very sorry... I'm proud of you, son."
A lot of things went through my mind as she disappeared, leaving me to drown in the ocean. Furious didn't even begin to describe how I felt, because somehow, I felt at peace. The roars of the ocean was alarmingly peaceful. I lay back, floating... What could I have done with this talent?
Heh... I guess I will actually shape the worl-
0.
| 2015-01-22T02:28:54
| 2015-01-22T00:10:42
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] "You get 10 wishes." "...isn't it supposed to be 3?" "Well, it varies. 3 is the baseline for a person who's doing fine. People doing really well only get 1 or 2 wishes. And if you're doing poorly... well, you looked like you could use some more wishes than usual."
|
"Okay! I wish for a sandwich."
"A... sandwich?"
"Oh. Right. Sorry. A ham sandwich - with lettuce, tomato, and mustard please. Forgot that I should be specific."
"Alright. What else do you want to wish for?"
"Maybe a glass of milk to wash it down. Oh, actually, can I make it a lemonade? Wait. An iced tea. Noooo. A coffee. An iced coffee."
"Gotta be honest here, you can wish for little more than that."
"Two iced coffees then. And a slice of apple pie for dessert. Wait. Can you add a scoop of ice cream on it?"
"Sure. Yeah. There you go."
"Sweet! Thanks so much! How many wishes is that?"
"You know what, just keep on going. Don't worry too much about the numbers. Just ask for what you want to ask for and then we'll call it eventually."
|
Someone had kept a genie on the fire escape. Henry didn’t know what to do with that information.
Music thumped behind him, loud, drunk voices filled the air, spilling out into his cold quiet. Somewhere, Bells would be looking for him. She always did when he slipped away; Henry wondered when she would give up. Probably never. If she hadn’t yet it showed either iron will or clinical insanity.
The genie was still waiting. Henry finished his beer, tossed the can into the dark below. “No,” he said softly, “I think I’ll stay sad.”
She had appeared from a watering jug painted with a Day of the Dead skull, and she looked every bit the part. There had been no patting, no rubbing of the mythic lamp turned jug. Henry hadn’t interacted with it at all. She had merely appeared, a burst of water jetting up on its own and twisting, spiraling outwards into a girl in a forest green dress, a dandelion in her flyaway hair. “I’m Deliliah,” she had said, “and you look like you could use some wishes. How about ten? Most people get less, but a face like that? You need ten.”
She stared at him like one might stare at a confusing child, one that cries for no reason other than to cry: attention, pain, and hunger be damned.
“Well fuck. That hasn’t happened before.” She hopped up onto the rail of the fire escape, her dangling legs next to him. They were ten stories up and below was a black plunge, but then, genies probably didn’t need to worry about falling. Neither did he. Henry climbed up beside her, faced the wrong way ‘round at the apartment building opposite them, legs dangling over nothing. They sat there a while in an oddly companionable silence, listening to the shouts and laughter from the party.
“Care to explain?” she finally said.
“Care to explain why a genie is named Deliliah?”
She laughed, like the cliche babbling brook. Damn if it wasn’t pretty though. “’Cause I wasn’t always a genie. Everyone you meet has a story, you ever think of that?”
Henry done nothing but think of that for a year. He was a writer, an aspiring one at least. Not an author, that word felt too aspirational, but he put pen to paper every day, sweated his way through the act of creation, studied and applied, failed and then studied again.
“Yeah,” he said simply, “once or twice.”
She bumped shoulders with him, then executed a graceful little spinning maneuver, swinging her legs around until she sat the same way as him, perched over the abyss. Henry tried to sift the murk for his empty beer can. It was long gone.
“Your turn,” she said. Another bump.
He tried to hold the words back, but it was pointless tonight. He’d drank too much— he’d been doing that a lot lately— and it was his birthday, always a strange day. He thought he could hear someone calling his name, either Bells or his imagination, and if it was his imagination Henry knew who it would be. Ellie. The last time he’d been in the city he’d been there with her. The last time he’d been at a party he’d been there with her. The last time he’d been—
“You ever hear of Yeats?” he said suddenly.
“Pardon?”
“William Butler Yeats. Poet, bit of an oculist, fanatically Irish. Hell of a poet.”
She frowned, her nose scrunching up. “Can’t say I have.”
“Yeah well, he’s my favorite poet and it’s not close. He did gorgeous poems about a woman named Maud Gonne, some stuff Ireland, some stuff about growing old…Anyway, his muse was Maud Gonne, this actress turned revolutionary turned occult queen, fascinating woman. He spent thirty-odd years trying to woo her, wrote the most beautiful poetry any woman has ever had written for her, though Neruda’s girl has a fair argument for that I suppose, and at the end of it all…”
“Yeah?”
“At the end of it all, nothing. She wouldn’t have him.”
“That’s terrible!”
Henry laughed. “Maybe, maybe not. Yeats must have been a piece of work too, he proposed to her daughter after.”
The genie’s mouth dropped open, working silently around something. Her pale skin had gone scarlet, her fingers twisted around the fire escape’s rusting steel.
“They were complicated, from both sides.” Henry paused, tried to piece it all together. His head was very foggy. “You know, maybe after all of this I just needed to quote Maud. You asked why I didn’t want your wishes, why I wanted to stay sad, and she articulated it best. When Yeats told her he wasn’t happy without her, she said:
*“Oh yes, you are, because you make beautiful poetry out of what you call your unhappiness and you are happy in that. Marriages are such a dull affair. Poets should never marry. The world should thank me for not marrying you.”*
Behind them, the party quieted down. Henry was certain now, that he could Bells calling his name. The genie had the strangest look on her face, like she couldn’t decide if or how hard to laugh. It was cute. She settled on a wry smile and a shake of her head.
“I like her,” she said.
“Anyway, that’s why I’m saying no. Because I want to be a writer too, and if it worked for Yeats, I figure I should give it a try. Besides, give me too long to think about those wishes and I might end up taking someone else’s freedom away. I’m not about that.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. Deliliah was shockingly warm for a genie made of water. She was moonlight pale, a girl meant for nights under the open stars. She smelled like fresh cut flowers and a shock of sweet peppermint.
“I like you too,” she said. “I wouldn’t have let you fuck with someone else, but I can support this. Even if I think you’d look cuter with a smile.”
“Find me another night and we’ll see.”
“I think I will,” she said.
“There you are!” Bells bustled in from behind them. She’d abandoned her heels somewhere inside, her makeup was smudged. She looked radiant and more than a little high.
And Deliliah was gone. Henry couldn’t quite put his finger on the moment the genie had disappeared, he only knew that the world felt colder without her, and the city air stank without that shock of peppermint.
"Henry Tiberias Cross get down from there this instant!” She hauled him down from the railing, brushed him off, looking into his eyes as if she could pierce his soul. If anyone could, it would be Bells.
“It’s almost,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Henry, it’s almost midnight and you still haven’t let me sing you happy birthday!”
“Get me a drink first.”
She squinted at him. “And you’ll be right here?”
“Cross my heart.”
Bells slapped his cheek lightly and bustled off as fast as she had come. Henry was alone with the stinking air and the gap where Deliliah had been. He didn’t feel drunk anymore, just tired and a bit lonely.
“Come find me another night, okay?” he said to the empty air.
The water in the jug bubbled with something akin to laughter. A shock of peppermint filled the air. Then Bells was back, and the song began. When Henry closed his eyes he thought he could hear a second voice, a sweet soprano, filling in the harmony.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-09-20T18:03:22
| 2021-09-20T17:12:45
| 255
| 128
|
[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 Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
|
Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I
| 2015-12-05T14:58:25
| 2015-12-05T13:45:57
| 356
| 15
|
[WP] 50 years ago, NASA determined a rogue planet would hit earth, destroying us all. The rich poured their fortunes into space travel and fled... but the rock missed, and now the survivors won't take them back.
|
Fifty ago, they’d left in the shadow of the rogue planet destined to take out Earth. There had been ten thousand seats aboard Noah’s Ark II. The rich, the famous, the powerful, they’d all left, headed straight for a new solar system. Billionaire businessmen, famous actors and politicians all packed up their belongings, their families (some even their mistresses) and left. Now they weren’t idiots - they brought along some pilots, some scientists and engineers just to keep things running. Hell, they even ran a lottery so that some average joes could get aboard. People should have realized what those lottery winners were really going to be.
My daddy was a college professor, my mom an architect. When they won the lottery, they abandoned everything. They became servants cleaning toilets and setting dinner tables everyday for the people who’d “actually contributed to the building of the ship,” returning to the lower decks near the unbearable sound of the engines, eating protein supplements for dinner.
I was luckier than most, born two years after we left. Dad made sure I knew how to read and write, made sure I got into one of the training programs so I wouldn’t be stuck the way he and my momma were. Radio operator and technician wasn’t the best job but it was that or nothing so I took it. It was grunt work mostly - but the sort of thing that even the upper-deckers still acknowledged had value.
Except that’s all changed now. One day, we looked around and realized there were more lottos and mid-deckers than there were billionaires. Even more so when we threw the worse of the lot out of the airlocks. The rest of them fell in line pretty soon after that. Not all of them were bad people - especially the ones born on the ship. My husband helped in our own glorious revolution despite being born upper decks. We even had a baby girl. It was him that spotted the problems - forty years of the budget for ship maintenance being cut back in favor of upper-decker luxuries had taken their toll. We freaked out at first until we realized that old Earth was actually fine. It’d been a miscalculation this whole time - and nobody had called us home.
We turned around - it wasn’t easy. The animals died first, followed by the old and weak. Our life support was failing but we were going to get there in time. I had been trained for this moment, operating the radio, looking to say hello to Earth.
“There’s no place for you here, not after what you did, not after you abandoned the Earth” was the response. We tried to reason with them. Tried to explain that wasn’t us - even the descendants of the billionaires weren’t guilty for what their ancestors had done. Most people had been born on Noah’s Ark by now. Only the oldest could remember Earth and that was just barely.
“It doesn’t matter,” came the answer, “bad blood will tell. Earth is better off without you. Besides, where would you go? We’re all full-up here - we have our own problems without having to deal with the descendants of leeches and parasites. Do you even know the negative economic and cultural impact your return would have?”
No begging worked. No reasoning worked. So now we’re here floating out in space, waiting to die for sins not our own.
|
The finding of rogue planet SKHE-1115 was one of little fanfare. An astronomer in Pakistan began to track an object that did not have a stellar twinkle, but wasn’t any of the known solar planets. After reporting his findings on several local websites for astronomers, the findings were confirmed by other small-time hobbyists, but quickly picked up by both the Chinese space authorities as well as the European authorities, who worked with international space agencies to identify and track the object.
Some days later, the trajectory had been identified, as well as the approximate mass, and the impact of this object with Earth was predicted with a 90% likelihood, though that likelihood was later understood to have been diminished to give the public some form of hope.
One October 11th, 2021, governments across the globe began disseminating information regarding the impending impact, its effects, and the possibility of survival for the species of Earth. That information was just in time, as the Internet had begun to come alive with buzz about the object, and fear was beginning to crop up. Unfortunately, while being timely, the news was nothing short of horrible, and there was great unrest among populations.
The rich were able to do something about it, however. In the seven months of time between discovery and impact, they poured trillions into a space race which soon consumed the planet, the idea being that they would select travelers through a lottery, so many people would be saved. The result was a series of ships which could be launched, assembled, and then lived in within three months of the initial arrival in orbit.
On the day set out for the beginning of loading and launching, hundreds of thousands of hopeful lottery winners were waking up to make their way to the assigned launch sites. The people who lined the streets, knowing that these were the only humans who would likely survive the week, cheered and sobbed in equal measure. Hundreds were kidnapped, murdered, and replacements were attempted with their documents. All of these things were for nothing, however.
As the throngs approached the front gates of complexes housing hundreds of identical, powerful rockets topped with habitats, storage facilities, and other instrument-laden capsules, they were turned back by paramilitary guards. There were signs of a struggle, and it was clear that the government security had been killed. Word spread from paramilitary guards to the hopeful crowd, and it was not good: the funding families had taken control of the complexes in most countries, and were now boarding to be saved.
The loading was proscribed to take a week, but the preparation of the coup had resulted in that being reduced to two days. During these days hordes of those not chosen and those chosen alike, scorned by power bought through soon useless digits, assaulted the complexes. They knew they would die regardless, and spite made them believe that nobody deserved to live if they couldn’t.
Millions were slaughtered, paramilitary and civilian alike. Several complexes were overrun, destroyed in part or whole, and of the many thousand rockets made, hundreds were damaged to such a state that they could no longer be launched. In spite of this, the launch was begun, in some places vaporizing masses as they attempted, sometimes successfully, to sabotage launches.
Of the over four thousand rockets and modules that would eventually launch, some seven hundred or so wouldn’t make it into orbit at all, and a good number more required serious repair when in orbit, depressurizing in many cases to kill all occupants and throw precious cargo into the hellish friction of the atmosphere.
\------
The rogue planet SKHE-1115 was predicted to hit the Earth with a likelihood of 90%. However, due to the composition of the rogue planet, gases were created when it passed closely enough to the sun and heated up. The expulsion of these gases created enough error in the initial prediction that the likelihood would have dropped, if inclusive of that composition information, much closer to 9%. Still not unimaginable, but the end result would have been much less catalytic to the societies of Earth.
In the seven months that followed the original discovery, much less emphasis was placed on capitalistic pursuits. Most found that the things that had made them happy before became less important. Simple exploration and discovery was found to be much higher, though happiness rates were also strongly impacted by the unpleasant fact of waves of suicides following the initial likelihood reports. By the time of launching, the population of Earth had seemed to find a different perspective. Still self-interested, but unwilling to hurt the other in order to protect the self. The insanity of the launch day, the betrayal, and the massive death toll shook the Earth’s populace, especially once it was revealed that the rogue planet missed.
The months following that resulted in the construction of a habitat on the moon. Space agencies remained in contact with the worked in the habitats, giving advice and providing guidance. The workers were quiet initially about the communication, but it became clear that the Earth wasn’t gone. It hadn’t been hit.
Immediately, calls were made to family and government agencies, requesting a return window and attempting to see what could be done to get them home. While many were somewhat more sympathetic than others, the answer was no. Unequivocally, no. The workers were given an option of coming home, but those who realized what would happen if they took that path were willing to stay and continue their work. They were, after all, space pioneers. All the better that their families were alive.
| 2019-12-07T08:39:48
| 2019-12-07T07:32:28
| 26
| 12
|
[WP] Some people's crimes are so bad execution is not enough. In these cases time travel is used to prevent their birth, ripping them out of history completely.
|
Stepping out of the temporal rift, Gerald Farr, an Agent for the Temporal Affairs Department, looked at his new surroundings. His drop site had put him in a back alley. It was probably the least conspicuous spot they could find to put him down that was still close enough to the target to make it in time.
He oriented himself with the gadget they had given him. The prep team called it a "smart phone". Whatever. The point was the natives apparently used them, and it wouldn't look suspicious. Although, his was somewhat special in that it had a DNA sensor that would "burn" it's contents if anyone but him tried to use it.
That level of paranoia had to be taken because of how far back that had sent him this time. He didn't quite believe it when they emailed him the briefing file. I mean, God, what a mess this was going to make for Continuity. Well, that was *their* problem. Actually, he knew a couple of people who worked in that department, and they'd probably be high-fiving each other about all the overtime this one was going to create.
None of that mattered to Farr. He was a man with a mission. That's all he had to think about. The "smart phone" had located a signal and was confirming his location, time, and date from local servers. Right on target. Good. These jobs were hard enough without complications like fuzzy target errors.
Farr got directions from an app on the unit and stuck an earpiece in so he could listen to the turn by turn directions as it lead him to the site where Probability said he could pick up the target. They had actually given him a choice of targets --- mother or father would do after all, just so long as the kid they were destined to create never happened -- but Farr was too new to the job to be fully desensitized, and was sufficiently old fashioned to still be squeamish about assassinating women, so in his mind, it wasn't really a choice.
As he walked along, drinking in the local culture, he wondered if that was considered sexist. He had plenty of female counterparts and they never *seemed* to care one way or the other. One in particular had told him with a shrug that she just went for whichever target was least complicated. He told himself he'd have to ask around when he got back: Try to get a feel for whether anyone else felt this way, or if it was just him.
A few moments later, he'd reached the intersection and sure enough, there was the library, just as he'd been told to expect it. He crossed the street quickly, and surveyed the building. Before going in, he wanted an exit strategy so he could disappear quickly. He took his time walking up and down the street it was on, and mentally planned at least three ways to "disappear" as fast as possible when the job was done. Then he returned and entered the vestibule of the library.
He lounged in the vestibule. Farr noticed no one else was doing so, and that was both good and bad. Good, because it meant there would be no witnesses. Bad, because it made him stand out like a sore thumb while he waited. Oh well. Retrieval could generally get him out within six minutes of the confirmation signal. So he really only had to avoid being caught for six minutes, and after that, he'd just be some random street thug whom the police never did catch.
At 3:13:23 PM (exactly), the target entered the building carrying a load of books, just as he should be. Farr cleared his throat, looked like he was trying to figure out something on his "smart phone" (he was actually looking at a picture of the target, confirming his identity, of course), "Excuse me, sir...?"
The young man with the long, tousled hair, nerdy glasses paused, shifting his books around to get a better grip and said, "Yeah, listen, I'm in kind of a hurry. I've gotta drop these off and I'm meeting someone." Yeah, Farr thought, the future mother of his kid he was meeting tonight. But not anymore.
"This'll only take a few seconds," Farr said, then carefully aimed and fired the silent but lethal laser pistol that burned a deceptively painless, self cauterizing wound in the victim's throat that would kill with rapid efficiency, while drawing as little attention as possible from possible witnesses. Farr hesitated long enough to watch him topple over, spilling books everywhere and clutching in horror at the ruins of his throat in his last seconds of consciousness.
After a moment, Farr bent down, checked for a heartbeat. Nothing. He pressed the confirmation button on his recall unit. By this time people inside the building were starting to notice the collapsed man in the vestibule, so Farr sprinted out of the building, picking his escape route from among the three he had chosen.
Sirens sounded, but Farr was way too far ahead. Also, he understood that response times in this era were spotty at best. He only needed a little luck. He checked the recall unit. No response signal yet. The local unit verified his confirmation signal had been sent, but no one was sending the response back so far. Well, that can happen. Maybe the lab was crazy right now. Six minutes. Tops.
By the time Farr made it to Central Park, he was pretty sure he'd drawn way more attention than he wanted, but he was running out of back alleys to dash down and had been moving too fast to avoid having people look at him strangely. He realized he looked like a guilty man and forced himself to slow down.
He checked the recall unit again. Still nothing? What the hell? He checked his watch. A creeping horror inched over him as he noted it had been a full eight minutes since the confirmation signal was sent. That was damned irregular. He fought back a wave of panic. What could it be? Something to do with Continuity? He knew doing a hit this far back would cause them trouble, but surely they wouldn't send him back without having first cleared it as safe.
He walked through the park, checking the unit every ten seconds and growing more agitated each time it didn't register anything. Maybe he should stop moving? Yeah. Give them a stationary target to scan for in case they were having trouble with the lock. That was what it probably was.
He sat down on a bench, hands shaking. "OK," he told himself, "Take it easy." He breathed deeply and considered how to keep his mind usefully occupied. Then it hit him: the followup file.
The prep team always included it with your other documentation. You weren't supposed to view it before the job, since keeping a professional detachment was easier if all you had was a face for your target. But Agents used the followup file after a job as a psychological tool to help reconcile themselves to what they had just done: it contain a description of the individual whose existence had just been cancelled and a list of their crimes, which were usually pretty horrifying.
Farr keyed up the followup file, put the earpiece back in and hit play. A chill poured over Farr as he saw that the followup file began not with the logo of the Temporal Affairs Department, but with the trademark mask icon of the People's Freedom Movement, which the TAD had long since declared cyber terrorists.
CRIMINAL: ALLISTAIR HOLLANDER III
SUMMARY OF CRIME: Inventor of time travel.
We, the People's Freedom Movement hereby accuse Allistair Hollander III of committing gross crimes against humanity with the invention of time travel. Whether or not the defendant intended its eventual use to wipe from existence over 200,000 individuals, recently liberated documents, attached, clearly indicate a pattern of consistent abuse by government power mongers. The People will stand this no longer.
Allistair Hollander III is sentence to die by his own invention.
The People have spoken.
Farr read all this, with shaking hands, realizing suddenly why there was no signal from the Retrieval team. Also why there would be none, either. He heard a siren in the distance, and jumped. He could escape the city, perhaps, but to go where? He had no native money, and no idea how to make a living in this time period. It was probably paranoia, but the sirens seemed to be closing in on him.
Still shaking, and with a single tear running down his face, he raised the laser pistol to his temple and closed his eyes. "One more job to be done," he told himself.
|
Barry was suiting up to step through the time machine. David was manning the controls along with his assistant, Jane.
The traveller stood still for a moment, thinking. He turned to Dave. "Can you brief me up on my target one more time?"
"*Again?* How many times have you asked me in the past hour?"
"I just... want to make sure not to mess things up."
The scientist sighed. "All right. Your target this time is Jonathan Merigold, a big-time entrepreneur. Tall, brown hair, blue eyes. Currently the CEO of the Panther Company - you know, the one that makes that expensive reactor equipment."
"And, why are we terminating him?"
"How many times must I tell you?" David went through some papers on his desk. "Right, he's made a habit of exploiting under-developed countries' citizens as workers, working them right down until they die, mostly with empty promises of rewards never to come."
"Doesn't seem enough for a termination."
"You might think so, but he frequently eradicates whole villages in this manner. There is an estimated death toll in his labor camps that reaches the thousands. Seems like he's been at it systematically and for quite a long time, as well. It's all right here in the statistics. He's worse than some genocidal war criminals, in a sense."
Barry was silent and unmoving. Jane turned to him.
"What's the matter? Something you don't like about this job?"
"Well, I mean... doesn't it seem strange to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Merigold's Panther Company is currently the only substantial competitor of our sponsors. Doesn't that strike you as... unsettling?"
Jane looked at the floor. "The data we gather on our targets is independent of the Grand Schematics Corporation..." She looked up again. "Think about it: it makes sense for a corrupt businessman to be a leader in the business world."
"I don't know, I just... the timing seems way too convenient to me. The man only just started being a threat to GSC."
Dave turned to him with a quick, angry motion. "Listen, Barry, give it a rest, will you? Who cares about this ethical crap? The GSC pays our bills. Hell, the founder himself, Edward Rogers, he was here the other day congratulating us *personally* about our up-standing work. Without him, we wouldn't have been able to even build this thing. The god damn time machine, Barry! We're going down in the history books for this one. Now, I don't know about you, but if that guy tells me to off someone? I do it. *No questions asked.*"
Barry's face was distorted with disgust, but he said nothing. He simply finished suiting up and walked to the machine's main chamber. Jane had a worried eye on him.
"Finally!" David said. "Now, you got your co-ordinates? You remember the guy's fucking name?"
"Oh, definitely."
"All right, off you go." The operators pushed a few buttons and Barry vanished into thin air.
"Now," David turned to Jane, "want to grab some lunch before the following shift?"
"I guess," she said. "Ugh, I'm never going to get used to this schedule. I mean, why do cancer researchers need to stick to such difficult hours? Couldn't we just get on with it in the morning, instead of slaving off until the middle of the night?"
"You forget," Barry interjected, "that we work with the labs in Japan. That's why we have to stay up so late, so that we can communicate with them about our supply demands on the fly."
"Hey," Dave said, "as long as we're doing such upstanding work, I don't even care."
| 2014-11-16T15:43:33
| 2014-11-16T15:34:08
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
It was 11:59 and while the whole family gathered around, my mother was no where to be seen. I expected that she would have joined us. After all, she'd been there for my older sister's reveal, and my brother's reveal. But instead she was watering the garden while it rained steadily.
C'mon, mom, I know I'm not your favorite, but you could at least put on a front this time.
"It's noon!" my sister squealed. "Pullupyoursleeve!"
A moment of dread shot through me. I can't say that I knew exactly what was wrong, but I knew that something wasn't right. There was no tingling in my arm, just a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something was going to be revealed today and I wasn't going to like it.
I pulled up my sleeve and no words appeared. Frantically, I pulled up the other sleeve, shoving it all the way up to my armpit. It had to be there. My sister tugged my shirt up, peeking under it. Not that the words ever appeared anywhere besides on your dominant forearm. "Where is it?"
"He won't get it yet," my mother barked from the sliding glass door. "He's not going to be 18 for another two months."
"What?" I yelped. "Today's my birthday!" My sister's hands fell and my shirt slid back down into place.
My mother shook her head. "You're father and I were separated, and I met a man..." she said quietly, her round eyes darting towards my father.
"You said the baby was mine! You said he was just early!" my father shouted.
She crumpled into a chair, her wet hair dripping onto her face. Her mouth wobbled and she stared at the floor. "He's not and he wasn't."
Two months and three days later, my parents' marriage was in shambles, and I walked into my sister's room, pulled up my sleeve, and showed her the words that had appeared the day before. "MARRIAGE COUNSELOR"
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T03:19:48
| 427
| 129
|
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
*I turn to the indicated page.*
*It's the same result.*
*I go back to where I'd held my finger between the pages and follow the other prompt to read what could have happened.*
*The same ending again.*
*I pick a random page, and follow the first option, reading for a few pages before looking over at the librarian incredulously.*
 
"Jesus Christ! Did **all** of my choices lead to me dying?"
 
*He smiles at me, with infinite patience for a question constantly asked and gives me the only answer he ever had, and ever would need:* "Of course. How could they not?"
|
I sat at the desk dumb-founded.
“You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?”
The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there.
I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands.
Every decision.
There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died.
I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else.
It was just me.
I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true.
When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind.
On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get.
We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California.
It was a mistake.
We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work.
The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him.
He found it.
My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine.
“Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.”
“Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face.
I have never felt more guilt.
Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted.
“I’m leaving.” I had blurted.
Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?”
“I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.”
At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out.
Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing.
I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350).
I turned to page 150.
Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
| 2018-07-03T23:42:21
| 2018-07-03T22:39:59
| 294
| 92
|
[WP] You've recently become president of the United States- unfortunately, life isn't nearly as fun as you'd hoped. You begin doing crazy things to get out of office, but every thing you do seems to be the right thing at the right time.
|
I didn't want to be President anymore. I couldn't deal with the stress.
Sure, I'd thought it would be funny to run for office. I thought it was really hilarious to announce my candidacy, create my own party on some website (the "Government Sux" party- yes, with an x at the end of "sux"), and jokingly run for office. I thought it was pretty funny when word spread, people began supporting my party, and I was elected as the official Government Sux candidate for office. I didn't think it was so funny when TV stations began camping outside my house, when my job let me go so I could "focus on my campaign", when billionaires began donating the party money and advertising my platform on every media outlet. (My platform, by the way, was "Screw government.")
I thought I had died when I won. Some people use that as an expression to explain how happy they are about something- I literally thought that I had died, and this was some kind of afterlife joke. Nothing else could have explained why I was voted into presidency by the American people, and in an 80/20 landslide victory, to boot.
I tried, at first. I really did. Normal people with no political experience simply aren't equipped to hold office. Officials were coming to me left and right with all sorts of horrible problems- civilian casualties from an ongoing war, homelessness statistics, the national debt. I didn't know what to do, I hated the responsibility. I ended the war so I would stop hearing about all of the death. The American people were so ecstatic to have their loved ones come home that polls predicted I would be reelected at the end of my term. I tried to renounce my position, and the senate rejected my request for fear that the people would become angry.
My next move was to propose the end of currency in America. I figured something so obviously ridiculous would make people begin to speculate about my credentials and remove me from office. The bill passed unanimously, the United States regressed to a barter system, and I was hailed as having "brought peace back to America". With the American dollar gone, the rest of the world economy had to react, and pretty soon all the other countries followed suit. Violent crime over monetary disputes dropped throughout the globe, and economists applauded me for my excellent plan.
I spent many nights thinking about what I could do to end the hell that I had been placed in, and came to the conclusion that I couldn't possibly be praised for murder. A drastic situation called for a drastic solution. I waited until my next U.N. meeting, and in front of each and every world leader, I shot the prime minister of England. He died instantly, and I was sure I would be removed from office and sent to prison. Even death row would have been preferable to the torture of office. The Queen called the next day to thank me and explain that MI6 had uncovered a stockpile of illegal nuclear weapons he had been hiding at his personal residence. She knighted me for my service to Great Britain.
I had to try something unorthodox- something impossible. Perhaps if I was certifiably insane, I would be impeached through some kind of old law in the books. I held a press conference and declared death illegal. A week later, the news broke that my law had urged genetic researchers to push forward with their work at breakneck speed, and one of them had discovered the secret to halting the aging process. The people of the world, upon hearing that immortality was now conceivable, banded together into one super-country. Borders were erased and each and every soul came together and concluded that they would be happy living for eternity under the direction and guidance of one person- me.
Maybe I'll declare that we build a colony on the sun and volunteer to be the first explorer, if I'm lucky I'll burn to a crisp and end this horrible existence... but it's more likely that I'll just be stuck as the President of the Universe.
|
I was tired of everything. Tired of corruption. Tired of lies and deceits. Tired of idiots who seem to win elections because the people were too stupid to research their political representative. I was tired of everyone being stupid. Fuck it. It was time to change some shit.
"Susan, get your ass in here. Right fu**ing now," I yelled at the top of my lungs.
Susan, my Chief of Staff walked in to quickly. She knew something bad was going to go down.
"Yes Mr. President?" she responded while staring at the floor.
"I want you to setup the emergency live broadcast/announcement for every channel and station in America. I don't care about the consequences or if I am over stepping my rights. I want it done now."
"But.. Mr. President, we can't just setup the emergency live broadcast without their being an actual emergency," replied Susan.
"When has it been your job to question my decisions? Do you think I do not know that? Do you think I have not thought about the ramifications? Do you think this is a joke?"
"No, Mr. President. I do n...," whispered Susan.
Susan knew there was no point arguing. She knew this was going to be bad. So she just left without being dismissed. She stopped caring and didn't deserve this treatment.
"If the President wanted to ruin his life, so be it," she thought to herself while quickly dialing the numbers to setup the emergency broadcast announcement.
**Chapter 2: The People's Roar**
"Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo," chirped the old grandfather clock to let everyone in the room know it was exactly 3:00 PM. The President was ready to make the announcement. Everything was in placed. He was wearing his best dark blue suit, his red, white and blue stripe tie, and his hair was perfectly combed to the side.
"Mr. President. We will begin in 10 seconds. Please look at the camera and stand a little more to your right. We need to be directly under the podium," said the producer while waving his right hands frantically to get the President's attention.
"What should I say? Should I take off my clothes on live television? Should I drink my own urine?" thought the President before he was rudely interrupted by the producer.
"What? Yes of course," said the President.
"3,2,1" counted the producer while letting the President know he was on air with a thumbs up sign.
This was the moment of truth. Time to stir up some excitement.
"My fellow Americans, I stand here, today, to share my experience as your President. I am overstepping by rights and probably costing hundreds of millions of dollars in damage by taking over all the networks. I stand here asking my own fellow Americans to hear me out. We need change, and I am not talking about political change. I am talking about change as a nation, as a mindset, as a person.
I think most Americans know or can 'feel' that there is something rotten to the core with this great nation. You might not understand what I mean, but there is something wrong with our nation. I have talked and understand that people are fed up and want radical change. There is an anger that has been brewing for quite some time. I am angry. I'm angry that most of our politicians don't care about the people. I'm angry that the ones who care are being silenced by the wicked and corrupt politicians. I'm angry that we vote for these politicians. I'm angry that majority of Americans don't research who we vote for but listen and obey on what we are told and should do. I'm angry that 'emotions' and not logic seem to dictate our rules and regulation. I'm angry that our government spies on us and we as Americans don't care and embrace it. I'm angry that we are losing our rights and freedom in exchange for security and obedience. I'm angry at our entitlement. Yes, I understand it is not all of us. I simply mean the majority. We care too much on winning that we forget what it means to be a real winner.
Emotion should never dictate our rules, regulations, and policies. It should only be facts and logic. Sadly that is not case anymore. I wish people understood and used logic. I wish people would not believe everything they are told to believe. The best practice is research both sides of the views and understand their pro's and con's before making a decision. You'll be surprised what you believe might not be what the social norms is.
What is sad is that, I don't think we care enough do actually want to do something. I fear the ones who care and want to do something are the ones who go to the extreme and put their agenda onto others, where emotions and not reasons is what is drives their cause.
In short, I want to say to my fellow Americans, 'go fuck yourself'. I have tried my best to protect your rights, liberty, and religion but can't. I simply can't. I can't because our government is too corrupt. I am your President and I can't do anything. I can't change anything and have tried but I can't. So fu** you guys for voting for corrupt politicians. Fu** you guys for believing everything the media tells you to believe. Fu** you guys for voting on emotion and not logic. Fu** you guys for being entitled. I have half the population that believes, argues, and fights that it is not okay to accept a lower social security return after they retire even though 3/4 of the population will pay more and not receive any when they retire. I am being forced to now convince the majority of the youth and the late generation X that it should be seen as a duty and as one big tax. It's going to pass also... And no one cares. Fu** you morons. I hate this.
Why is our youth so fu*king retarded? How can anyone be so stupid? Even though our education is bad. This isn't rocket science. This is common sense. Fu**!
I hereby tender my resignation and fu** you guys. I am done with politics. God bless America!
**Chapter 3: Pain and Consequence**
"Mr. President, that was one big deuce. What were you thinking? That was the emergency? Your resignation? You broke some many laws. If that was anyone else, you would have gone to jail for life. Not to mention the cost of damage you've done..." unanimously spoke his whole cabinet.
"I don't care. I am done," shouted the President as he walked to his room, "Oh yea, I am no longer your President".
The aftermath was historical. Both left and right wing news channels were asking the head of the President. They wanted blood. However, it was the people who spoke even louder. Revolution was stirring and every politicians knew they were going to lose office now. They have lied and destroyed the sanctity of the government and they were going to pay. No news channel or the media or any powerful corporation could help them now. The people wanted blood. The president has become a martyr.
He was not dead but the news would definitely kill him.
| 2015-09-12T20:27:59
| 2015-09-12T18:37:12
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] Your entire life, you've been told you're deathly allergic to bees. You've always had people protecting you from them, be it your mother or a hired hand. Today, one slips through and lands on your shoulder. You hear a tiny voice say "Your Majesty, what are your orders?"
|
"...Get outta here..." Emily said, amazed the bee spoke. Even more suprisingly, she heard it not with her ears, but her mind. She looks at the bee again to see it flying away.
"Not LITERALLY!" She says.
The bee comes back and asks again, "What are your orders?"
"You can speak. So you are sentient. Do you have a name?"
"Buzzooka Joe, your Highness. And the two keeping watch outside are Chad and Larry," he says. "What is your next order? We are short on time."
Emily took a moment to think about this. The memories of all the years of neglect without knowing why. All the painful experiments and disgusted looks she received for as long as she could remember. It was not hard for her to come up with her next order.
"All those who abused me, keeping me in here like a caged animal inbetween those horrid tests.....f*** them. F*** them all."
As the bee flew out the window,
Emily began smiling, imagining what her revenge would be like. It wasn't long before she began to hear screams. But something was....off. The screams were not from people in pain. Rather, they were the kind people make out of disgust. Emily looks out the window to see the chaos below.
"NOT LITERALLY!!"
Edit: My first attempt at a writing prompt. I always wanted to do one. So please don't bash me TOO hard.
|
One time in elementary school, one of my classmates got rushed to the hospital because of a bee sting. She was allergic. I didn’t get to watch it happen, because I was inside for “indoor option”. I was never allowed to go out for recess. I always picked a friend or two, and we played board games while the rest of my class played outside. On the day Sam had her allergic reaction, I remember the other kids all running in late, breathless and excited. So much had happened, and like always, I missed it.
As I continued to grow older, I noticed I wasn’t like the other kids. My family didn’t go to the pool in the summer, I didn’t play outdoor sports. We didn’t have picnics or go to cookouts. When I was 12, we moved to Vermont. Everything changed. My mom signed me up for snowboarding classes. My restrictions were magically lifted. I was so normal.
When I got into college at NC State, my mom resisted. She wanted me to attend somewhere closer to home. I assumed she was just anxious about me growing up and moving away. I didn’t think twice about it, until admitted student’s day.
I was walking across campus when a bee landed on my shoulder. “Your Majesty, what are your orders?” I glanced around. Who had said that? No one was nearby. A second bee buzzed by my ear. “We’re waiting!” A shrill voice screamed, “ATTACK!” Suddenly, I was surrounded by a swarm of bees, all stinging at me. Dead bees started dropping around me, left and right, sacrificing themselves to please their queen. I ran, screaming like a child, until someone pulled me inside an academic building. They slammed the door, and helped me fend off the remaining bees. I had my mom pick me up, and she drove me to the airport. There was no way in hell I was going to NC State! I ended up going to my safety school, Kalamazoo, where I could continue my life without being harassed by that crazy swarm of bees.
I never figured out how the hell I can understand bees, though.
| 2018-04-01T04:25:57
| 2018-04-01T02:29:37
| 166
| 45
|
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Mom,
I don't know how much longer I can stand this. I thought I could take it. But... I can't. I can't sleep. I can't eat. The drum of blasts doesn't end. Sometimes I pretend like we're back at the symphony. It helps me feel better, until I'm the one beating the drum. It's so loud, mom. It's getting closer.
Don't wait for me, I'm not coming home.
|
Hey Judy,
I know it's been a while since my last letter and I'm sorry. I honestly did try to write whenever I got the chance, but time gets away from you, you know? There's a lot I want to say and probably not a lot of time to say it.
First, I want you to know that I love you. Always have. From the moment I saw you in that red prom dress standing awkwardly by the DJ while Lindsey made out with Hank. I never thought I could get a girl like you. It helped that Lindsey was ignoring you. That softened you up for me so you agreed to that dance pretty quick. I felt bad for stepping on your toes during that dance and for doing it again at our wedding, big feet and all that. Seeing you in that gown was like prom all over again. Every time you got dressed up it felt like I was dying. My heart always stopped when I saw you, you were so beautiful.
Getting our first house was amazing too, wasn't it? I'm sorry I got the wrong paint for the living room and feel like I still owe you for helping me repaint it after you got home to your 'surprise'. My sense of color has always been off and I wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning if it wasn't for you, or so you always told me. That made being in the military so easy, I just wear the same thing every day. Being apart from you was the hardest thing about enlisting, but I always told you I'd make it home.
I uhh, don't have much longer. I'm sorry I lied about being able to make it home. We were fighting some of the locals today, some stupid mission to recapture a bridge. Anyway's, I got shot. I'm sitting her and saying all this to the guy who shot me. He's doing a good job writing for me even though English isn't his first language. Please don't blame him. Or anyone else. He was just doing his job and so was I.
I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for...
Sincerely,
Your husband and a sorry stranger.
| 2015-02-03T13:05:32
| 2015-02-03T12:59:38
| 329
| 20
|
[WP] Legend says there are 77777 secret paths to immortality, but each path will only work once. In 2014, the first person accidentally achieved immortality by sticking a French fry into her nostril and pulling it out the other intact. Human behaviour has since become more... interesting.
|
Almost immediately, entire industries of behavior experimentation sprang up from nothing in an effort to find the remaining 77,776 paths to immortality. Because methods can’t be reproduced, this very quickly devolved away from authentic scientific experimentation. Ultra billionaires used their immense power and influence not for the intention of consolidating more power and more influence, but instead acquiring materials and methods that the standard layperson couldn’t hope to obtain. Can immortality be gotten by bathing in 500 gallons of heavy water? How about going into orbit and reentering the atmosphere while spinning in a suit made of zinc? If it was bizarre and expensive, it was worth a shot. The 1% of the world hired the most creative thinkers of our time: writers, artists, scientists, and gave to them all of the resources they needed towards making up the oddest behaviors imaginable hoping one of them granted immortality.
Years went by, and oddly enough, even though no new methods of immortality were discovered, all of the billionaires’ discovery operations were eventually shut down. As it turns out, in their lust for unending life, their immense fortunes had been completely spent. None of them had become immortal, but all of them, through their own free will, had given up their entire savings - trillions and trillions of dollars - and got nothing in return. However, the other 99% of the world -while not immoral, found much more prosperous lives. With the 1% redistributing their wealth, the rest of the world used that wealth to build the world in a way they saw fit.
It was most impactful and least bloody revolution of our time.
|
There are 77,777 paths to immortality, and each works but once. When the news broke, the world went wild with the crazy antics, each person trying to trigger a path.
Some were inane, like flipping a lightswitch 77 times and stopping at the end midswitch. Some were gross, like sticking a whole french fry up your nose and getting it back out the other side, intact. And some were dangerous, like hanging upside down from a bridge and reciting Shakespearean sonnets for 77 minutes.
Scholars the world over pored through the details of each published attempt, both success and failure, trying to determine what explicitly each path was.
At least we could determine who succeeded without a deadly incident. It was nothing so obvious as a flash of light or an angelic chorus, but it was undeniable. The immortals have no need to breathe or eat.
Spooky.
That fact did trigger some primitive fears of vampirism and curses. There was an incident where a mob in southern Europe hacked apart an immortal -Mikhail- and kept every piece separate so that he couldn't "regenerate", but international outcry eventually persuaded them to rescind that action.
Eventually the fears subsided wheb it was proven that the immortals were not substantively changed by their transition. They still had a pulse, they still could eat, breathe, defecate, fornicate, and everything else a baseline human could do. They just have no need to.
Not all attempts are recorded, but the current estimates are that upwards of 50,000 paths have been comsumed. We have no idea what will happen when they all are gone, but humanity is getting crazier -and more dangerous- trying to find them.
+++++
We are the 77,777. We are immortal. We are all that remain of humanity.
We have tried to restart the race 3 times so far, but the planet has been unable to sustain each attempt. Some of us are pessimistic, and believe that we will never be able to, that we are meant as a zoo exhibit for those outside our ken.
We still have no idea who created the paths, nor why or how. All we can do is try to escape whatever hell comes next.
And we will try again to bring back humanity. True, mortal, widespread humanity is our only chance.
Or so I hope.
| 2019-07-23T11:05:38
| 2019-07-23T09:58:42
| 43
| 28
|
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim.
|
"What is your justification?" asked the officer on duty.
"Pissed me off."
"Do you feel murder is a proportional response to that offense?"
*Why won't they just get on with it?*
"Yes." I answer decisively, hoping it would make the officer get the hint.
"You realize that by not taking this before a committee, you'd have to commit the act yourself?"
"I do."
*Almost there.*
"You thus confirm there is an immediate need for this response on your part?"
"I do."
The officer puts down his pen.
"Hold please."
"What's the holdup?" I ask annoyed.
"In cases waving a committee, you need to be interviewed by the lieutenant so that our insurance covers us."
I stare daggers at the officer as he walks away.
I looked around the interrogation room, staring at the one-sided mirror in front of me.
I hear footsteps walking down the corridor. Tap, tap tap. Tap, tap tap.
A man walks in, placing his cane against the table.
"Mind if I sit down?" He asks in a cracked voice.
"If we can get on with it, sure."
He slowly puts his briefcase on the table, removing some papers from inside.
"Joe Doner, 34. Father of three, divorced." He looks into my eyes, raising an eyebrow.
"Can we get on with it?"
I notice myself fidgeting. Something about this situation is freaking me out.
"Sir," he paused, "Joe. May I call you Joe?" He asks, and without waiting for a response continues.
"Why do you want this man dead?"
"I already went through this with the other officer. He pissed me off."
The older man nods slowly.
"Have you heard of the Anti Litigious Leecher Act?"
"The what?"
The older man nods again.
"Our society allows for extreme measures. Such create a polite culture where one knows that if you offend someone, they might kill you. At the same time, if you kill them, their family might just come after you."
"Yeah, yeah. Save the civics class."
"It was clear there would be abusers of this system. Thus, people like me were commissioned."
I notice myself swallowing. Hard.
"You have gotten permission to murder someone without appealing to the committee. You then proceeded to commit the act on your own, again, three times."
He looked me straight in the eye.
"You sir, are a danger to our scoeity's status quo."
I fall off the chair. I feel a sharp pain in my chest.
A face comes into view. It's old and wrinkled. I hear a voice as if whispered from afar.
"Your target is my client. You should have known better than to target someone so prominent, and then to ask for permission at a central station..." he shook his head "poor sod, you never had a chance."
He shook his head, fading from view.
"I was already here waiting for you."
I close my eyes.
​
If you like, join my new subreddit [/r/posthocethics](https://www.reddit.com/r/posthocethics/)/ where you can read my writing. Sometimes I'll go crazy and even post a meme or two.
|
"Hey Rad, focus "-said Fred without hiding his discomfort- "I'm answering your question, so you better listen to me. I dont even know why you called me. There's nothing wrong about this place".
-Nothing, huh? There's a dead body 3 ft from you and you dont even acknowledge her prescence. Let alone your lack of condolences. But whatever...
-Rad
-The camera shows the girl dying at 7:02 today monday. According to witnesses, the culprit was a bald man in his 40s wearing a black coat, scarf and leather gloves.
-Rad, its a...
-He was also wearing an expensive watch. The kind of watch that is worth 10 years of your salary.
-Come on, Rad. You know its...
-Knowing this, we can determine the store, and with the proper questions we might hopefully...
-CONRAD!!!... Its legal.
-Huh?
-Like I said: It's Legal Termination.
Fred had enough of my shit already. He is a homicide detective, too. Although ever since the law he usually sits on a desk without doing jack. He is also my brother. Ever since our childhood, we always wanted to solve crimes and mysteries together. That dream became true a few years ago. We were unstoppable, no murder could get away from us.
Until last year, that is.
Making homicide legal was on every news channel. Everyone was panicking, claiming it was the start of the apocalypse. Our country was segregated and hated, considered the scum of the earth. Fast forward to this day, no one seems to care anymore. The word hypocrisy comes to mind, since it is now a thing in other countries as well.
The girl in question was strangled in the middle of Liberty St. It was bothersome for the people and the vehicles purely because of the position of the body. It was a monday in the morning, so apparently the last thing everyone needed was a dead girl blocking their way. Needless to say our arrival at 8:30 wasn't pleasant for anyone, especially when we cut off the the access to the bloody street. But I certainly wasn't in a good mood either.
-Legal? How the fuck can this be considered legal, Fred?! She is just a girl!
-Nope, she turned 18 a week ago. Geez, I already told you that. Why do you even ask her age if you won't hear me, anyway?
I was desperate. The law was very clear in regards of what constitutes a Legal Termination. Among those things, the target must be 18 years or older.
-Rad, you're ignoring me again. She is old enough.
-Was a permit requested for this?
-Yep. Last friday.
-Then the deadline...!
-Dont even bother. It was requested at 8 AM, just so you know. A close call, it seems.
-And the justification?
-She was blackmailing him. Falls into the "self defense" category, according to the new law.
-Were they blood related?
-Nope, he was her teacher.
-Maybe she was homeschooled...
-Oh come on, Rad. You know there's nothing illegal about this. Just drop it.
-How can YOU drop it? We are detectives!! Our job is to convict criminals.
-There are no criminals here and you know it.
-Bullshit! You know that this whole Legal Termination is bullshit! There is nothing legal here. A schoolgirl was murdered like an hour ago and you are ok with this?
-You think this is easy for me?! I was the one that gave a permit 3 days ago to a 45 year old teacher to kill a certain cheerleader. This whole thing is sickening. But we must execute the law, no matter what!
Wait. Something isn't right. I had to check:
-You gave him the permit?
-Yeah, I'm disturbed by this as y...
-At 8 AM on friday?
-Yeah?
-Werent you sick that day? You took a day off.
-huh? You're right. Must've done it on Thurs- oh crap.
-You realized, too! You must've given him the permit on thursday! This means he was a day late!
-Heh. And he was kind enough to fill a paper with his name and address in order to get the permit.
-Then lets hurry! We need to serve the law!
-Now youre obeying the law? Geez Conrad.
| 2019-07-09T10:40:22
| 2019-07-09T10:40:11
| 20
| 12
|
[WP]When members or your family turn fifteen they are able to manifest a weapon that they will use for the rest of their lives. You’ve been trained to use all manner of weapons to prepare to be able to wield whatever weapon you summon. On your Summoning day what appears in front of you is a book.
|
Loraine had the best training money could buy. As the daughter of the main branch of one of the five great clans, this much was to be expected. Of all the master's she'd trained with, her favorite was undoubtedly the spear. Swords were nice, maces were a barbarians weapon, and axes had many uses besides combat, but the long reach of a spear combined with it's lighter weight and sharp edge it was simply perfect.
As she entered the cave blocked by the divine waterfall on her day of summoning she kept praying to the gods that she might be granted a spear. Nothing too long like a lance, and nothing to unwieldy like a pike, just a fine spear. It was taboo to beseech the gods for a certain weapon, but she did it anyways.
Kneeling in the sapphire blue waters, she bowed her head to show the gods her subservience. It was a necessary part of the ritual since the gods hated pride, it was necessary to show her acceptance for their judgment. After clearing her mind in this position she placed her hands in the sediment below the water. It seemed to take forever, nothing formed in her hands like she'd been told would happen. As she waited, her focused wavered and she couldn't help but hope for the spear she had such an affinity for. Certainly the gods would know this and grant her heart's desire.
And then she felt it form in her right hand. That was disappointing, if it was a spear it would have formed in both not just one. And it definitely wasn't metal, if it were a spear or axe it would have been, but this felt leathery. 'Please don't be a mace, I don't want to bludgeon people to death.' she thought as she pulled her new soulbound weapon from the opaque water.
As the water parted she saw her new and only weapon. It wasn't a mace, it was even worse. It was a leatherbound tome, a freaking book. Had it been a mace she would have at least had the grace to complete the ceremony of thanks for the gods gift and honored their divine insight, but a book. "How is this even a weapon?" she asked to the empty room. Surely this was just Hester playing one of his tricks.
No one answered her of course. The gods had better things to do than speak with the ungrateful. She just sat there for a long time, to confused about this gift and already fearing the shame it'd bring her family. While warriors would have all form of weapons even a master smith couldn't hope to emulate, she could what, throw a book at them? Or maybe she could set it on a desk to keep papers from flying about, 'How scary?' Loraine thought.
Still, if this was her gift maybe it was a manual in the art of war and she could be the clan's tactician. Not the honor she was trained for, but it could still be valuable to the family. And again, the gods seemed fit to ruin her life. It was gibberish, a bunch of archaic symbols that didn't match any of the continent's three languages or even the ancient script they all came from. It was like some artist got drunk and scribbled on the pages.
In the most sarcastic manner possible, she sheathed her almighty book of nonsense, pressed her fists together in a salute, and thanked the gods for their generous gift and divine insight. 'And f*ck you too Hester.' she thought as she left the cave.
"I'm guessing you were given the twin daggers." Her father and current clan patriarch said when he didn't see Loraine's weapon.
Her face flushed in embarrassment, how could she possibly tell him his oldest child had shamed the family.
"There's nothing wrong with it, sure, the gods don't think you'll be a warrior on the front lines, but an assassin can win a battle before it even begins. Although some say there is no honor in it, you know our motto."
"Honor in victory; honor by any means." Loraine recited mechanically.
"So let me see them, are they dirks or daggers?"
Resigning herself to the inevitable, she handed him the ugly book while being sure to not meet his eyes.
"What is this?" Her father demanded.
"My weapon."
By now, the branch heads were murmuring among themselves. Nearly half of them had come to see the future matriarch's weapon and they seemed to be delighted to see her fall from grace.
"We'll talk about this later." He said between clenched teeth.
After the clan calmed down they returned to the mansion for the festivities that had been prepared. A festival no one wanted to be at. She wanted to go to her room and disappear for the next ten years while the schemers wanted to go make plans in private and even those were loyal to them weren't in the spirit. But that was nothing compared to the sounds she heard coming from the armory
Loraine could hear wood splintering as her father smashed the display cases that had been prepared. Of all the display cases for hundreds of weapons, no one bothered to make a bookshelf. Normally they'd be saved for others or used for smithed weapons, but it was obvious he was just as upset with her "weapon" as she was.
Mercifully, the banquet passed in silence. Not one word was spoken until they'd finished eating. Afterwards, everyone was quick to leave either making excuses or offering their condolences to her father before leaving. That is, except for the elder of the Vesuvias branch.
She came up to Loraine instead of her father, "The gods do not make mistakes, and they aren't cruel either. Not even Hecter would ruin a gifting for a devout family such as ours."
"Yes Elder Arissa."
"Do you mind if I see it?" she asked with eyes sparkling in anticipation.
Loraine was nervous, 'What is her motivation?' she wondered. Still, letting her see the gibberish couldn't do any more harm to her reputation than had already been done.
After she retrieved it from a table she'd tossed it on, she handed it to Arissa. The old woman spent several minutes studying it before handing it back, "Congratulations! You'll be the next Empress once you learn that."
Loraine couldn't sense any malice or deception in her, but that didn't make sense. How could she bring their clan to surpass the throne with a book? "I don't understand, it's just a book that isn't even written in any of our languages."
"Bah, you silly girl, that is written in the one true language. The patterns that govern our world. The symbols of power."
It sounded ridiculous, but Loraine was desperate for hope so she asked, "Can you teach me, I don't even know what the symbols are supposed to mean?"
"How should I know? It's not my weapon is it mhmmm. But the scroll mentioned an oracle glass so I'd assume you can figure it out with that."
"Where do I get an oracle glass?"
"It didn't come with the tome of power?" Arissa asked, now confused herself.
"No, I only got this book before..." Loraine trailed off.
"Before you got upset and cursed the gods for cheating you. Is that it mhmmm?" Arissa finished in an accusatory tone.
"I was supposed to get a weapon, even a mace would have been a weapon, but this was just a leathery old book."
"Fool!" Arissa shouted.
By now her father had come close, listening to their conversation. "Do you know why you bow your head before getting your gift?" Before she could answer, he shouted, "To show your deference to their judgment, but what did you do? You insulted them for the greatest gift they could possibly bestow us mortals!"
"I'm sorry, but even you didn't know what this was so how was I supposed to know?"
"And if I didn't know I wouldn't have insulted the gods, I would have prayed for the wisdom to understand. Don't you think that was the f*cking test before they gave such a powerful artifact?"
r/AurumArgenteus
|
Emani clutched a bag of beans and rice close to her chest, lowered her head, stepped from the rations tent and into the storm. The rain bit like mosquitoes at her face and forearms, driven into a frenzy by the sudden gale. Her dress, once vibrant greens and pinks, was now as drained of life as her, muted colors all bordering on grey. It whipped and whirled around her shins, fighting itself into a knot.
The camp was vast, as big as any city Emani had visited. She’d been here three weeks now, sharing a tent with a family that spoke a different language and mostly ignored her. And she ignored them in return. But the tent had been big enough to throw her in with them, so in she‘d been thrown.
Now, head down against the wind — neck exposed to the ice-cold chill of the horizontal rain, skimming like razors — she headed east towards the chainlink fence. There were no street names in the camp, or if there were she didn’t know them. So she went by landmarks. By American flags, by Mexican flags, by tents as big as castles, by tents that were now missing and replaced by ashes after fires. She went by the smell of flatbread cooking, or the stink of feces and urine in those makeshift toilet-areas that were really just overflowing holes.
She missed her dog very much today. She missed her dad, too, but for some reason, lately, she missed her dog an awful lot. And not even the affection — not him jumping up at her with mud-stained paws and an oil-wet tongue. It was the need she missed. Him needing her to walk him or feed him or bathe him. Dad didn’t need her like that, and she missed being needed.
A siren wailed over the camp, stretched thin by the wind, and she thought of home at the very end — of bombs and blood and limbs. She thought of her father at the airport, last time she’d seen him, corralling her through the gate, smiling, crying, pushing. She’d been fifteen and hadn’t wanted to leave but he’d promised her he’d find her. And she’d promised him he’d go, if that was what he wanted.
She followed the chainlink as far as the circular medical tent, its fabric base whipped up into an evil grin by the storm. She thought of her leg, the wound‘s rotten colouring. She didn’t think of the attack by a guard that had led to the wound and it was best to keep that event in a dark cage in a dark place inside her mind.
The medical tent was zip locked. Worried about the storm, she guessed. Even if she’d finally had the courage to go in there again, she wouldn’t have been able to tonight.
Drenched through, last of her dress’s dye dripped into puddles, her leg screaming in a silent guttural voice, she finally stumbled into her own tent.
The family she shared with watched her. The mother was cooking something with no smell in a pot. The husband played cards with the son — only their game had paused as Emani limped in and fell onto her mattress.
She wasn’t sure if sleep took her, or delirium, or if she just fell unconscious. But a moment after collapsing she was dreaming. She dreamed of her dog. Then she dreamed of a man with a gun who handed her a spade and told her to dig. Then, once done, with her leg zombie-green, she willingly climbed into the hole. She clawed at the sides of the pit, dragging clumps of sodden soil over her, filling the hole until the light darkened and—
She woke to the boy pushing her shoulder. He said something but she didn’t understand.
Sweat soaked her back and forehead.
The boy smiled and held out a pot of something. The odourless whatever that his mother had been cooking.
He pushed it towards her and repeated two words she didn’t understand. Then he Hmmd and said, “Bon appete?”
This she did just about understand. She looked over the boy’s shoulder. The parents, eyes on her, nodded.
She nodded in return and took the bowl and ate. The steam melted the ice in her belly and brought some feeling back into her toes and heart. Outside, the gale whispered then screamed, whispered then screamed. The tent snapped and shuddered.
She ate slowly. The boy watched. It was a broth of beans and rice — same rations as hers — only with a slight-spiced sauce drowning it. She ate every mouthful. The boy took the bowl and she said thanks in English.
She slept again. Then woke. The boy was near her. He held something now. A book.
Ah, her book. But he wouldn’t understand the writing inside it.
It was her diary. She didn’t hide it as no one here spoke her language.
The boy hadn’t opened it, just held it. He offered it out to her.
”My father gave it to me, before I left,” she explained. She pointed at the boy’s father, then at the book. “When I turned fifteen.“
He seemed to understand. Or at least, he nodded.
In her family, when her brothers had turned fifteen they were each given a weapon they had been trained for. A rifle. A pistol. A rifle. And then they joined the rebellion and—
Her father said he wouldn’t lose his last child. That instead he would give her a weapon that was also a shield. That would protect her and that would still help her defeat her enemies.
It had been a blank book and a fountain pen that she had no ink for.
She made her own ink out of a mix of oil and water and plants. Boiled, poured into a container.
The book seemed neither a shield nor a weapon to her. But she wrote in it because her father had gifted it to her. She recorded her experiences, even if she didn’t have the stomach to read them again once written. She read books, when she could, to see how other people wrote, to learn english, to improve her own writing.
She didn’t know it then, but one day she’d write a book that would be a weapon. And it would be a shield too, for many others just like her. That would change laws and help stop the bombings that had driven her here.
“You could write in it too,” she said to the boy. “There’s plenty of room. Can you write? I could teach you a little English, maybe. Although I’m still learning it too.”
The mother came over then. Pointed at her leg. Said something sharp.
”I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” said Emani.
The woman took a bottle and needle out of a little bag.
”Clean,” the boy said in broken english. He pointed at the wound.
Emani hadn’t cried since the assault. Maybe not since coming here at all.
But as the woman tended to her injury, she wept for everything all at once. For her dog. For her Dad. For her country and for the world, and most of all, for herself. It was as if the icecaps had melted and the sea levels risen and water had drowned the little island of isolation and denial that she’d created.
Outside, the storm had finally died down, and a quiet, velvet dusk tucked itself into the tent.
| 2021-12-12T08:32:49
| 2021-12-12T07:50:28
| 91
| 66
|
[WP] Humanity was excited to explore the cosmos, and what do we find? Bottom of Venus, crabs. Alpha Centauri, crabs. Andromeda, intelligent crabs. Floating in the middle of nowhere? Space crabs.
|
The universe is full of crabs. Humanity shouldn't have been surprised, really. After all, their home world was, in so many ways, one big ball of exceptions to the rule. Helium, for example, is the second most common element in the entire universe, but it's relatively rare, on Earth.
While Earth could be said to have a lot of crabs, by some measures, by the standards of the rest of the universe, they were positively non-existent. When probes were finally dispatched to, and returned from, the surface of Venus, they were chock full of hardy little crabs, adapted to survive in Venus' almost comically harsh environment. Mars had no crabs, except the ones humans eventually brought with them to inhabit the terraformed oceans, fortunately, but Mars too, was something of an exception.
But what was beneath the 15 mile ice shell of Europa? Very chilly crabs. What tiny life forms managed to survive in the liquid water below the surface of Titan? Wee little ammonia-tolerant crabs. When man slipped the bonds of the solar system and journeyed to the nearest "goldilocks" planet in the Alpha Centauri system? *Intelligent, psychic crabs.*
The greatest surprise came when we contacted the Centauri Crab-People, and arranged for a summit on their temperate, soggy home world. Now that we had answered the question of whether or not we were alone in the universe, that question had been displaced in the collective unconscious by a new, all-consuming locus of curiosity, and we hoped the aliens might be able to satisfy it.
Jerald Anders, the human ambassador, approached the trio of representatives from the Centauri Crab Collective, who, he had learned, didn't have names, but rather individual psychic impressions that uniquely identified them.
Unfortunately, these designations apparently didn't translate well to the human mind, because when they projected their "unique" impressions at him, all he heard in his head was the word "crab".
*Greetings. I am Crab. These crabs are Crab, and Crab. On behalf of the crabs of the world of crabs, we greet the non-crabs.*
"Thank you, Ambassador...Crab." Jerald said. "We, uh, non-crabs greet you crabs, as well. First and foremost, there is a question about which we are *intensely* curious, concerning the nature of the universe. We hoped you might be able to answer it, given your...uh...unique perspective."
*Ask, non-crab.*
Jerald cleared his throat. *Well, best to just go for it,* he thought.
"What the hell's with all the *crabs?"* he asked.
*An astute question, which is to be expected of an intelligent non-crab. You see, you are aberrations.*
"Aberrations?" Jerald asked. Maybe it was another crab-thought that didn't quite translate to human cognition, but that definitely seemed rude.
*Yes. As you non-crabs have no doubt discovered, crabs are ubiquitous, synonymous with life itself. In the universe, there are only three basic types of matter: inanimate objects, things that crabs eat, and crabs. Wherever you go, if you find life, you will find us there before you, and you will find us hungry.*
"I'm not really comfortable with where that leaves *us,* in the grand scheme of things." Jerald said, frowning.
*Your comfort is irrelevant, it is simple science. It is unfortunate that your species attained intelligence, as intelligent crabs prefer to consume things that cannot contemplate their purpose as mere food, but despite the aberration of your sentience, that is your ultimate destiny.*
"Are you...threatening us?" Jerald asked, raising an eyebrow.
*Threats are unnecessary. Your species is a singular anomaly, but the universe itself is crabs, crabs of infinite varieties. We find you aberrant, distasteful in your very existence, but we do not find you especially appetizing. We are content to wait for your destruction, for it is only a matter of time before you encounter some type of crab that will be both capable and desirous of consuming you.*
"I see." Jerald said. "Well, that's been very enlightening. I guess there's...not a lot else to say, is there?"
*It seems not, non-crab.*
The human landing party departed with the ambassador in a shuttle. But it was not long before their vessel in orbit dispatched another landing party, this one over a million strong, that landed undetected, in a remote location on the Crab People's world. The army that swarmed out of the small, automated stealth landing pod was made up of Earthlings, to be sure, but not humans.
The invaders were *Anoplolepis gracilipes,* otherwise known as the "yellow crazy ant". In the 20th and 21st centuries, they had been a pernicious invasive species, responsible for the devastation, and even extinction, of indigenous populations wherever they were accidentally or intentionally introduced.
Indigenous populations of crabs, that is.
The ants seemed to crave crab flesh more than life itself, and when migrating crabs crossed their path, like the red crabs of Christmas Island, the ants swarmed over them ravenously. Crustacean armor was useless against the swarm, as they sprayed their caustic formic acid venom onto the vulnerable joints and eyestalks of their prey, crippling them. Then it was only a matter of time, before the ant swarms penetrated the shell, and feasted on the soft flesh within.
Once seen as a pernicious ecological pest, space-faring humans eager to colonize habitable worlds -- that were, unfortunately, covered in crabs -- now regarded them as a close second to dogs, for the title of *man's best friend.*
Humanity had emerged into a crab-infested universe. But they had not emerged alone.
|
The first time we saw the space crabs, we thought they were harmless. They floated around in the nothingness, bumping into our ship and each other. But then we started to notice that they were getting inside. They would sneak in through the vents and crawl into people's beds while they were sleeping. We would find them clinging to our clothes and hair, their claws digging into our skin.
At first we tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. They were everywhere, and their constant presence was driving us all insane. We tried to kill them, but they were impossible to kill. No matter how many we destroyed, more would just keep coming.
Then, one by one, people started disappearing. We would find their empty beds, their clothes still warm from their bodies. We would hear them screaming in the night, their voices muffled by the crabs clinging to their faces. And then, one by one, we all disappeared, until there was only one person left aboard the ship.
The space crabs had finally found their way into our brains, and they were hungry.
| 2022-04-12T20:57:30
| 2022-04-12T19:20:01
| 50
| 21
|
[WP] WARNING: OFFENSIVE. Write a witty workplace sitcom about terrorists.
I didn't make this NSFW because, while offensive, it does not necessarily contain material which would get you fired, merely get you scrutinizing looks from coworkers.
|
[*TALIBANTER was filmed in front of a live studio audience.*]
<KASIM enters through the front door looking dejected. MO is reading a newspaper on the couch.>
MO: So, how did the suicide bombing go?
KASIM <Hands on hips>: How do you *think* it went?
<Beat for laughter>
KASIM: I got all the way out there, found a nice spot by the hospital--
MO: Did you say the words?
KASIM: I said the words, yes. Death to America and all that. Hit the button and--
MO: No boom?
KASIM <Sighs>: All that hard work. No boom.
MO: And here your wife thought her sex life would be changing.
<Beat for laughter>
KASIM: And you know what the worst part about it was?
MO: The American regime is still standing?
KASIM: No. I didn't take enough bus fare for the ride back.
<Beat for laughter.>
KASIM <Shakes head>: This whole I.E.D. thing was an I.E.Disaster.
MO <Turns a page of his newspaper>: A shame indeed. I'd set you up with a cell phone bomb, but those haven't been working either.
KASIM: Why?
MO: The Taliban switched to AT&T.
<Beat for laughter>
MO: Four hundred dollar fee for early termination. And they call *us* terrorists.
KASIM: No kidding. And here I was going to do that for free!
MO <Laughs, wags finger>: That's our Kasim!
<Kasim shrugs>
[*TALIBANTER will be right back after a word from our infidel sponsors!*]
|
Enter Muhammad and Muhammad
"Muhammad! You sly dog! Why are you still here? I sent you out to get milk an hour ago!"
Audience laughs
"I am sorry Muhammad! I needed to *fire* off an email to Muhammad first!"
Audience laughs
"Oh ok Muhammad. Well get out there now, I still need milk!"
Audience laughs
"I hope I see Muhammad while I'm out! I'm *dying* to meet him!"
Audience laughs
"Shut the fuck up Muhammad!"
Audience laughs
Muhammad winks
Audience laughs
Enter Muhammad
Audience laughs
Muhammad leaves for milk
Audience laughs
"Muhammad! Where is Muhammad going?"
Audience laughs
"I sent Muhammad to get me some milk Muhammad!"
Audience laughs
"Ok!"
Audience laughs
Muhammad leaves
Audience laughs
Enter Muhammad
Audience laughs
"Did you get my milk Muhammad!"
Audience laughs
"Yes Muhammad. I had a killer time getting it though!"
Audience laughs
"Muhammad, why do we need milk anyway?"
Audience laughs
"Why ask a silly question like that Muhammad?"
Audience laughs
Enter Muhammad
Audience laughs
"We work in a cubicle cave 300 feet underground Muhammad!"
Audience laughs
"But I was going to make Muhammad an *explosive* cake recipe!"
Audience laughs
Muhammad laughs
Muhammad laughs
Muhammad laughs
Exit Muhammad, Muhammad, Muhammad, and Muhammad
Audience laughs
Enter American pilot of B-2 Spirit Bomber
Audience boos
"Say Smith, how would you like to kill some brown people today!"
Audience boos
"Good idea Smith! I see some right now!"
Audience boos
Enter Muhammad with an AK-47 pellet gun
Audience laughs
"Muhammad, Muhammad, and Muhammad! I spy an American!"
Audience laughs
"Let us blow them up Muhammad!"
Audience laughs
Muhammad shoots pellet gun randomly into sky
Audience laughs
B-2 Spirit Bomber explodes
Audience weeps with joy
"Now *that's* how you make a *fiery impression*!
Audience laughs
Exeunt
| 2014-03-19T02:31:41
| 2014-03-18T23:40:53
| 37
| 14
|
[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.
|
A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
"Jesus Christ!"
"Shhh!!!!" The guy whispered with annoyance. "I don't go by that these days. Just here to pick up John. He also doesn't go by that anymore. These days, he's The Dude. You'd think he'd mellow out after all these years, but he's still nuts. Just let me grab his drunk ass and we'll be out of here. And don't tell no one about meeting me. I've heard enough horror stories from my buddy Elvis."
The End.
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16
| 2017-09-01T20:56:44
| 1,408
| 404
|
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant.
|
All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, "Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Professor."
Professor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.
"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that."
"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?"
"Yes, sir."
"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to."
"Thank you professor."
"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often."
"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me."
"Why is that?"
"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me."
"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time."
"I guess."
"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you."
"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us."
Eyes to the floor Matthew said, "I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport."
Professor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.
"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor."
"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Lead the way."
The two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, "Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew."
"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?"
"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely."
Nodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.
"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class."
|
I had been to the school for a month already, but had yet to make any friends. I guess teleportation put some people off as being too powerful, and the blue guy who kept hanging around me kept people away as he was Omega. I guess he stuck close because I could teleport also.
Walking down the hallway I watched my wannabe glide down the stairs with grace. She called herself the Violet Sparrow and her purple costume hugged her form. He had told her once that her costume was more purple than violet but that didn't go over well.
I had been trying to get her to talk to him for weeks now, but to no avail. I sighed as I watched her put of the corner of my eye and saw when she missed a step and started to fall.
Quick as a wink I froze time and headed toward her. I side stepped the Angry Bee, what a silly name, and positioned myself to catch her. I let time progress slowly so that she seemed to melt into my arms as delicate as a snowflake. A purple snowflake, anyway. Once I had her supported I let time resume its flow.
"Oh! Wow, thanks!" she exclaimed as she turned to look at her savior. I smiled as we locked gazes and I saw her smile, my heart leaping with joy, "You're Instant Transport, aren't you? I've noticed you around".
I blushed at the stupid name, I had come up with it on the top of my head without much thought and now it had stuck. No way to change it.
"Oh, yes, Violet Sparrow. I've noticed you too" I stammered, hoping it was the right thing to say, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine", she replied, disengaging herself from my grasp, "Thanks for the catch" she beamed. "I have to head to my next class now".
"Oh, yeah, me too. See you around, I guess."
I watched as she glided up the stairs and was saw her turn and say, "You know, a few of us were going to the park later, did you want to come along?"
"Sure!", I exclaimed sounding too eager, "I mean, yeah, I'd like that."
The Violer Sparrow smiked and went up the stairs out of sight.
I glided down the hall dreaming of the park we'd hile heading to my class when the entire building shook with a huge explosion from the top floor, the sound deafing me temporarily.
I froze time and ran up the stairs with my heart in my throat fearing the worst. At the top of the stairs I looked around with disbelief at the carnage the explosion had caused. I saw the bodies of many students lying on the ground in pools of blood, most were not moving. I looked for it then I saw it, the color purple.
With hesitant steps approached and saw I was too late, the Violet Sparrow's lifeless form was rendered almost unrecognizable from the blast.
"NO!", I yelled, then without thought did that which I swore I would never do again. Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead as I concentrated and a terrible headache started to form, as those around me started once again to move, but backwards.
I made time back up until the air was filled with shrapnel returning to the source of the explosion. I looked at the source and saw it coalesce into a room, then a door deforming to contain the blast.
I let time back up a few more minutes, then let it creep forward as I opened the door to the room with the bomb. It took a lot of strength to move the door ads inertia tried to keep it closed. Once the door was open I went inside and stopped time again.
I searched the room and found the bomb hidden in a desk, a rather small looking thing that didn't seem it could cause such chaos. Bombs weren't my specialty but it was rather easy to dismantle the bomb especially since it had no chance of exploding.
Once the bomb was safely dismantled I let time resume its normal flow and left the room.
The students were walking g to class, with no knowledge that they had died, and came back. Or didn't die in the first place. Will have been dead? I'd have to reread that section in The Hitchhiker's Guide to get the proper terminology.
From the stairwell I heard someone fall. Crap! The Violet Sparrow! I ran down the stairs and saw her sitting at the bottom rubbing her foot. I wasn't there to catch her this time.
"You okay?" I asked as I went to help her up. She brushed off my advances, "I'm fine" she muttered as she went down the hall.
Damn it! There went my chances of the park. Sometimes I just hate time manipulation.
At that moment I watched a portal open up in front of me as and the Great Doctor Strange stepped through.
"We need to talk", he told me.
"Damn it!"
| 2022-11-09T16:36:25
| 2020-07-15T08:27:21
| 9,106
| 16
|
[WP] A Necromancer falls in love with the hero of the land, and does their best to win them over, but the macabre nature of their magic makes every attempt end in horrific failure. Tell me the story of the nec-romancer.
|
“Long have I bided for, HER, affections”, growled the foul necromancer in a croak filled voice. “I’ve tried EVERYTHING! I’ve sent wave upon wave of zombies armed with the finest roses; HOARDS of Skeletons delivering a wealth of the most extravagant jewelry. I’ve even sent two dozen wailing banshees to sing my most sorrowed and desperate love for her, in their most ghoulish of melodies. And yet every time… SHE MURDERS EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY MINIONS!” A fit of wheezing coughs fueled from his anger filled outburst echoed along the cold stone of the necromancer’s crypt.
“I am a laughing stock”, he said between hacking coughs, turning his back on the crypts only entrance. “The other necromancers snicker and laugh behind my back. They think my love foolish and naïve… BUT I DON’T CARE! To hell with all of them, my heart has never been filled with so much passion. Even though my undead army is now in ruins… as is the tatters of my powers. My love for her continues to burn so bright and vibrant, even as it sears at my mantle of death and decay day by day”. He let his head fall forward letting his eyes close to hold back the flood of tears that were seconds from falling.
“What hurts the most, even more than the loss of all that I am to a mere emotion. I don’t even know her name.” He laughed out a dry raspy laugh as the tears began to fall. “She is the most beautiful, strong, intelligent woman I’ve ever seen. Her calm smile is equaled only by her fierce glare in the heat of battle. She is a Valkyrie of love and war in human form… and I don’t even know her name!” A soft scuffling from behind him caused the necromancer to almost fall, as his body jerked and twisted preparing for an attack from an unknown assailant. Instead his gaze fell on a blushing slender woman clad in fine shining armor that glinted even in the poor light of the crypt. In fact it was the very one he had fallen for, and apparently just spilled his guts too. “My name… is Bethany”, she said looking into his eyes “and don't you know? Roses may be pretty, Gold always shines, Songs sung by others are sung all the time, but words from the heart always ring true. Next time please just say, I love you."
|
A tri-colour bouquet of roses taunted Doris from behind a window. She could almost caress their velvet cheek, but instead, she flattened her hands against the glass and dreamed. *Sam would adore these.* She thought.
Doris turned, leaving behind two skinny hand-prints and walked down the street with the need to cry. It was a side-effect, not being able to cry, that Doris had underestimated and shrugged off with foolish bravado - she missed the release.
Doris' clothes mirrored her feelings, and although she believed she kept them to herself the myriad of black gave her away. The thick Vietnam-era combat boots gave her another two-inches of height that she desperately needed, and thudding footsteps followed wherever she went.
A brave market salesman caught her eye. He smiled and fought against the unexplainable feeling of disgust that threatened to spew from his mouth. Thomas was a businessman at heart, and to him, anyone was a customer.
'Miss!' Thomas started. 'A beautiful apple for a beautiful lady?'
If only Doris could blush. 'No thank you.'
'Quality produce here! Best in the country,' Thomas shuffled toward her with three apples nested in his apron.
'I can't,' Doris said and ducked away from the stall.
Thomas moved with surprising speed for a portly fellow. He jogged backwards so that he faced Doris.
'Here,' Thomas said and placed an apple in Doris' hand. 'You have a sample, and *tell* me that's not the best app-'
The apple had brushed Doris' hand, only for a moment, and she had not taken it from the man. But, in doing so, she had caused the apple to twitch like a spider on its back. It was not alive, far from it. But, it was twitching, on a permanent course of accelerated ageing.
'What on Earth?' Thomas said jerking his hand away from the fermenting apple.
The market salesman stopped following the woman with platinum hair and looked from her hurried footsteps to the shrivelled, rotten apple that lay splattered against the pavement.
It was not the first time an incident like this had happened to Doris, nor was it the worst. Thankfully it had only been a cat, which was a loss in itself, but she had thanked the gods (if they existed) that it had not been the owner.
As Doris fled the scene, she thought about two things. Tabby, the cat she had accidentally changed into a half-living half-dead state and Sam. The cat had been a neighbours' that had aggressive tendencies, and while Doris had tried to shoo it away, it had hissed and clawed at her. Even with a brush, she had been unable to keep it at a distance. Tabby, in his final act, swiped Doris' hand. Five claws dug into her hand but drew no blood for there was none. But Tabby, he changed.
Doris thought about Tabby, and how after his change he had undoubtedly been less fluffy, and conventionally "pretty", but had loved her and stuck by her side. Doris thought about Sam, and how his life would be easier, more fulfilling if only he joined Doris and Tabby. One touch is all it would take, and he would be hers.
---
/r/WrittenThought
| 2019-02-08T01:18:35
| 2019-02-07T23:08:36
| 65
| 22
|
[WP] The year is 2082. Queen Elizabeth is 156 years old. people are starting to get suspicious.
|
"Your majesty another of your grandchildren passed away this evening" spoke her lady in waiting her voice trembling in fear.
"William is gone now too? We shall see him off properly, Buckland Abbey seems like a suiting place this time" replied the queen in a somber voice.
"But your majesty the populace is concerned, they say by known laws of medicine yo--" the lady in waiting began before being cut off.
"Do you dare question your Queen!?" snapped the Queen leering at her servant.
"Of course not your majesty! I will take my leave" the servant exclaimed before scurrying out of the room.
The Queen walked up to the wall upon which familial portraits of house Windsor hung. Charles, Henry, William. As she followed the length of the wall she gazed upon the memories of her own bloodline. She stopped as she gazed upon the portrait of her father, King George VI. She fell back into a nearby chair no longer able to stop the tears pouring out of her eyes.
The year was 1940, in the aftermath of the great war people had falsely believed war had been ridden once and for all but the conflict that was in motion would change the course of human history as we know it. It seemed little could oppose the German Blitzkrieg sweeping across Europe and it was only a matter of time until Britain was under Nazi rule.
Princess Elizabeth, age 13 was summoned to her father's chambers late one evening before bed. Her father, King George, was under a great load of stress and hadn't been sleeping well for weeks.
"Father when will the fighting stop?" asked the princess as an air raid siren could be heard in the distance.
"I don't know Elizabeth I don't know! The Americans are denying our requests for aid saying it doesn't affect them, the old colonies aren't providing enough support, Britain is lost!" screamed the king knocking his drink of the floor.
Elizabeth gazed down at the wine now staining the carpet. "There must be something you can do father, you're the king!"
"There is Elizabeth but, I wasn't strong enough to do it!" shouted the king once more tossing a bust at the candelabra on the wall.
"Don't say that father, maybe I can help you!" exclaimed Elizabeth hoping to calm down her father.
Her father stopped and stared at his desk before slowly walking over to it and pulling a small ornate box out of the drawer "Do you mean that Elizabeth?"
"Of course it's part of my duty as a royal!" shouted the princess.
The king opened the box and pulled out a small clay chalice "The royal families greatest treasure" he whispered "Brought back from Jerusalem by Richard the first, the fabled cup of kings. I'm sure you are familiar enough with scripture and our history to know what that refers to?"
Elizabeth nodded timidly.
"Elizabeth, Legend says if one destined to rule our lands drinks from this chalice in time of great need our country will never fall, but they will forever be bound to this world as long as a single Englishman feels the need for a total family, I couldn't bring myself to live an eternal life, to see all those dear to my heart perish as I continue on" explained the king pouring wine into the cup.
The Queen awoke to her lady in waiting shaking her by the arm "Your majesty Your majesty are you alright? You spent the entire night in this chair!"
"I'm fine dear, it will take more than a bad sleep to get rid of me at this point" smiled the queen.
The lady in waiting smiled nervously before leaving the room.
The Queen gazed up at the wall once more and the faces of her departed family "All these years of continuously giving up the crowns power, soon I will join you all, I promise"
|
Welcome to episode 98 of The Crown Truth braincast. Keep sending in those letters if you want to be featured on my 100th episode spectacular!
First, this week, I want to address some of the radical statements that come out of channels I know you get recommended after listening to me. Sure, my ideas are out there. I say things the 'establishment' doesn't want you to hear. But let me be honest with you. The shoddy journalism and conspiracy mongering of Infinite Elizabeth, Elizardbeth, and Space Demon Queencast are not just incorrect, they are irresponsible and dangerous.
I provide evidence for each and every one of my claims. I cite my sources. You can find resource links in the show notes for each episode and corroborate my findings. In fact, I encourage you to do so! I want my audience, my countrymen, to read and think for themselves.
And to be very clear, there is *no* evidence that our queen is reptilian, was born in the center of the earth, arrived on an asteroid, or any of that nonsense. And I don't believe for a second that her grand plan is nearing completion, if she even has one! These guys are morons peddling nonsense to a credulous audience just so they can sell you their scanner-blocking implants and their psychic protein powder... and if you want to hear my debunking of their product claims, listen to episode 67, when I dug into all that stuff.
No, the hard evidence indicates that Elizabeth is a mutated version of a cuckoo bird, planted in the royal family during infancy and disguised as a human. She probably didn't realize herself that she was different until she hit 100 years of age and got that physical with the classified results. For more information about that exam, and the leaked documents that I believe tell of of the physician's findings, listen to episode 32.
We know that cuckoos have planted their young among human families before. If you weren't aware, 'cuck' was a pretty common insult in the tens and twenties. Typically these bird people exhibit disabilities, and many die at young ages, but her family's position granted Elizabeth the best medical care, and all her abnormalities were eliminated before she came of age.
The cuckoo is extremely physically resilient, as a way to make up for the disabilities that manifest when they masquerade as members of other species. Therefore, when Elizabeth was cured of those disabilities, her natural physical gifts were unlocked to live up to their full potential. Elizabeth was granted the gift of long life.
Royal doctors speculate that the cuckoo may live between 500 and 1,000 years. Myself, I lean toward the 1,000 figure. If you track the rate of Elizabeth's cellular deterioration, her natural longevity will begin to war out well after the year 3000.
It's time for a word from our sponsors, so if you like this show and you want to learn more of the truth about the bird people running our country, please buy a mattress from SleepGreen. They're pure cotton, even the springs! I love mine, and it definitely helps me sleep at night when I start feeling those beady bird eyes staring in at me through the window.
| 2020-05-19T23:25:47
| 2020-05-19T22:41:03
| 527
| 30
|
[WP] When the Statue of Liberty was sent to America from France, the box was labeled "some assembly required." In well over a century, no one ever noticed the other label that said "batteries not included." Until today, that is.
|
They were huge, the things, each at least a ton
The battery designs from nineteen oh one
And as they were placed the crowd gathered near
To discuss every rumor, to stare and to leer
But nothing lit up or moved or exploded
For after these years, the wires had corroded
|
Maxwell was alone on the staircase. He looked behind him and saw the crowds, waiting silent. He looked ahead and saw the small battery slot, capable of fitting a single AAA battery. He looked back at the crowd. He saw his manager, urging him to hurry up. Maxwell didn't see that pretentious cock up here on the staircase. This wasn't part of his job description, he was just supposed to clean the grounds. "Fuck it," thought Maxwell. "Maybe that cute chick in tourism will see this." Maxwell slid the battery into the slot. He also put it in backwards. There was a collective sigh from the audience as he tried to align the stupid little plus minus signs, flustered. Finally, he clicked the battery in. The crowd fell silent, all packed into the grounds of the Statue of Liberty. The only noises were the helicopters, all broadcasting live to the millions at home. Maxwell looked at the statue. The Statue stayed still. He looked over at his manager again. His manager rolled his eyes and sighed. Maxwell felt a burning hatred for the fat slob. Over the next few hours, the immensely disappointed crowd slowly started filing off the island, with ferries working overtime. Days past. Weeks. Months. Maxwell started dating that chick from tourism. Life was good. Everyone forgot about the time the Statue of Liberty had a battery pack.
All except Max.
Maxwell was alone that night, cleaning the grounds, when he felt a buzz. Brandishing his broom like a spear, he spun around, ready to defend his honor against the street toughs his mind had conjured up. Nothing was there, nothing but a little glowing switch at the base of the Statue of Liberty. Another vibration made the sidewalk he stood on quiver. Now that definitely wasn't fake. Maxwell squinted at the light. Jogging over, he dropped his broom and knelt by the switch. No writing indicated what this was for, just a little stone switch. He glanced around and seeing nobody, flicked it. A violent shaking threw Maxwell off of his feet. The Statue of Liberty shot out her arms and rotated them into a fighting position. A loud voice echoed through the night.
"LIBERTY PRIME, ACTIVATED"
*please don't yell at me if there isn't a little island surrounding the Statue of Liberty, we don't have one here in Canada.
Also this is my first time writing something longer than a sentence, so please go easy.
| 2017-02-23T17:55:18
| 2017-02-23T16:23:20
| 48
| 32
|
[WP] The year is 3000, only people with the firmest hand shake could survive in the business world. Years of evolution has made human grip terrifying.
|
"The Japanese are taking over the entire international market!"
"Which one?"
"*All of them.* We'll lose our hold in crush-proof phone manufacturing at this rate!"
"But, but how can that be? They've been regionally locked for decades relying on exports from us!"
"A... a catastrophe sir. I, I'm not sure how to explain this---"
"Find a way damnit, our enterprise into the east Asian region is at stake!"
"... Not just that sir."
"What could be more important than losing our expansion? We've been planning this for decades!"
"I know sir."
"Do you have *any* idea how many hands I've crushed to get here?"
"I do sir."
"Oh stop babying your hand, it could have been worse. Now tell me, what could be more important than the biggest move by *any* corporation in the global economy?"
"..."
"Speak up man I can't hear you."
"Our entire company."
"*WHAT*?"
"*All* the assets of the company will fall under the Japanese in... about 10 minutes."
"How?? How can that *be??*"
"Because the head of the conglomerate is on his way. To, seal the deal."
"We'll have to see about that. There is no one I haven't beaten!"
"The same could be said for him as well sir."
"Very well. I must prepare myself. His name?"
"President... Saitama, sir."
"Hm, the name's familiar. I'll be ready to receive him shortly."
"Of course sir."
"Please, I told you to call me Clark. Mr. Kent if you must."
"Sorry... Mr, Kent, sir."
"We'll have to work on that once I'm done with this Saitama. Mark my words, this will be the deal that will make our hold in this economy all the stronger!"
"I'll look forward to it sir."
"Yes! We'll make this Saitama *old* news."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading!
|
Spindly fingers, thorny palms, cracked skin.
A nasty concoction of grip that would make eating and climbing simple, but touching ultimately revolting. If one were to play with your hair it would get cought in one of the many holes penetrating the entirety of the hand, easing use under water. If you went to high five someone, make sure your bones are aligned because easily destroy able and repairable bones made dare Devil acts easier.
So, as it were, big business would lose one of its trademarks, the handshake. Only the bravest and strongest stomached people would even there in attempting the orgy of disgust and body horror that was the handshake. Although painless, the mere sensation of hands, spikes, and holes combining would put a seem like an eternity of discomfort and disturbance. As a result of this, not only would you have to be willing, you'd have to be thick skinned on multiple levels to get a grip.
On this day however, I was about to agree to a multi quadrillion dollar investment with Russ Bhked clothes manufacturing. Needless to say, I was excited.caught in the moment, I extended my hand in an ancient jesture of respect. He winced back, not knowing what to make of it. I noticed my hand and put it away embarrassed. He laughed, "this is why we use tissues AND fleshlights kid"
(It's 12 in the morning, it ain't gonna be pretty or good)
| 2016-02-14T20:14:35
| 2016-02-14T19:35:37
| 371
| 18
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago...
|
"It's such a nice day for a drive, don't you think so honey?" He talked to his wife, eyes on the never ending country road in front of them. She was quiet. Taking a long side glance, he saw her eyes closed, soundly asleep in the passenger seat.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you sleep? You look so graceful, almost like Snow White." He remarked, his proud smile spreading wider on his cheeks.
Howard always loved morning drives with his wife. Their first date was a drive along the country roads surrounding their city. Their honeymoon was car camping in every province of Canada. Their company debut was celebrated with a long drive after the party to the harbour for a romantic picnic under the moon. He smiled at the nostalgia that filled his mind. Wouldn't it be great if this could last forever?
His eyes swelled with tears as the thought of the company came to mind. Their advertising company debuted over thirty years ago, on the same day as their wedding anniversary. It was almost like a gift from Howard to his wife, a dream she's always had finally coming true. Business was excellent until the recession hit. He remembered it well; employees were being docked, clients dropped them as means to save, their bank account slowly decreasing and finally, the bankruptcy of their company. They owed millions in debt and are still trying to pay it off even ten years later. They've scrounged and saved but nothing seemed to be helping. In the end, they've lost it all.
Making a short turn, he stopped the car close to the cliff overlooking Scarborough Bluffs. The seagulls were calling, the waters were waving and there were even some people on the beach just a few hundred meters below. He sighed at the rising sun brightening the waters and giving the sand a warm orange hue. If only life was as beautiful as this view. Getting back into the car, he noticed his wife's eyes still closed. Turning the ignition on and shifting the gear to drive, he placed his foot gently on the gas and watched as the car drove closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. On the way down, he looked over at his wife and said;
"If only you were alive to see the view before we- *CRASH*
Edit: Wrote this in the morning. And edited some things... like how a car works and Ontario being a province of Canada -_-
| 2017-05-31T07:14:34
| 2017-05-31T06:38:29
| 116
| 47
|
[WP] You are superhuman; invulnerable, invincible, super strength, the works. Rather than become a superhero, or supervillain, or the military, you choose a different branch of the government to join and fight the good fight with: the IRS.
|
"Madam." I pushed the pad of paper and a pen across the table. "I know you've received a bill for income you were never paid. However this is the IRS. So I can't tell you that if you go the third floor... Madam, write down what I'm not telling you."
The woman's eyes widened, and she started to scribble.
"Very good. Now if you go up to the third floor, and go to room 27. There you'll find a Mr Bennett. Ask Mr Bennett for forms 35B, and 106D. Once you have those forms take them to the fourth floor, to room 18, and ask for a Ms Valentine. She'll help you fill them out. Now, once you have them filled out take them to the second floor, to room 17 there. There you have to give them to Mr Locke. L O C K E, Locke. He'll sort out your bill."
The elderly woman turned back at the door. "Thank you, Mr Samson."
"For what? I didn't do anything, and this conversation never happened."
"Ah." She tapped her finger to the side of her nose. "Thank you for... nothing."
|
"This job asks a lot of you. It's quite *taxing*."
The mousy woman with the braids rubs her calloused elbow, adjusts her monochromatic attire of professional blandness; her lips are cracked, her eyes beady, when she moves she slouches like a dog that has seen one too many beatings.
The mere expectancy of a smile withers from her lips, her cracked lips, when I tell her, "I am not going to sleep with you."
My igneous abs protrude from under my shirt, a landscape of pure testosterone, and my steely blue eyes can render hellfire at an instant; this woman, this 'Bethany' thinks she has any right to flirt with me? It's like a mole flirting with a lion, offering itself up as any kind of sustenance the majesty might require.
"I-I didn't—"
"You are right," I tell the pitiful, bulbous thing before me, "you *didn't*. You could have woken up this morning and made an effort to look somewhat inviting, but you didn't. You could have joined a gym, but you didn't. You could have thought about the grotesque figuring staring back at you in the mirror when you approached me with your disgusting joke, but you *didn't*. That just about sums you up, doesn't it? Oh, great. Here comes the waterworks."
The monochrome mole sobs, gasps for air like a cat in a bag in a canal, and she says, "I'm sorry."
She waddles off, like a sack of flour on the run, and I shrug. Her coffee mug reads 'I drink liberal tears' but after giving it a whiff it seems it contains tea and vodka rather than the lacrimal secretions of the politically liberal.
I present my new coworkers with the mug, the damning evidence, and they all tell me it's a joke. "We don't get a lot of libertarians here," says a goateed, checkered-shirt-wearing, semi-bald lump of bespectacled sadness. He chuckles.
A woman with angry brows comes storming over, raging past cubicle after cubicle. "Beth's in the bathroom. She's *crying*."
"Better give her her cup then, so she can give herself a refill."
They all glare, the IRS glare, and I breathe a deep and bitter sigh. "I'm not going to sleep with any of you." Ms Angry-Brows shakes her head softly. "Well ... I might make an exception for *you*."
My phone rings, and it's Gary Splatter. My manager. "I've got to take this. You guys have no sense of humor. I'm disappointed in all of you." I look over at Angry-Brows. "Well, not you. You're doing just fine."
"How's your first day?" says Gary. "Think you can pull this off?"
"Of course I can. They made the first move. Spartan has been tax-exempt from the very start, and now the new administration's making changes? Bringing in us heroes to collect on fellow heroes? It's not right."
"Right, right. Just make sure you bring down morale. Don't get yourself fired."
"Relax. I'm just bullying the losers. The people here in charge of my promotion won't give a damn. That's how you move up the ranks."
There's a loud groan. "Superb Guy. What are you thinking? These are government employees."
"So what?"
"Don't you get it? They're *all* losers."
I look up at the pack of coworkers gathered around me. "I'm, uh, I'm going to have to call you back."
Mr Goatee blinks. "You're a Spartan mole?"
Me? A mole? No, I'm a lion. "That's nonsense. Where did you hear that?"
"You just admitted to everything," says Angry-Brows. "On the phone."
"... You guys were listening to that?"
Beth, the walking embodiment of regret, stumbles over. Haggard, red-cheeked.
I point a finger at her. These people are just humans, losers or not. They will turn on the weakest among them. I can count on it. "She was drinking. Just smell her cup."
Mr Goatee takes a whiff and he looks over at me, squints. "... This is kombucha."
"What?"
"It's fermented tea," says Angry-Brows and I don't like her all that much anymore.
"Kumbaya? No, it's vodka. Isn't it?"
Bethany laughs. "What a fucking dumbass."
Even Angry-Brows joins in, laughing. They're all roaring, the pack of losers, clutching their bellies and banging at their desks. "S-Stop laughing!"
"Goddamnit, Superb Guy," says ... Gary? Oh. I forgot to hang up the phone.
I'm fired from the IRS. I'm fired from Spartan. I sit down in the fetal position in the shower, and I caress my igneous abs. "I'm a lion," I whisper to myself. "I'm a lion." But all I can hear is the voice of a mouse.
| 2022-08-19T08:23:03
| 2022-08-19T06:08:12
| 94
| 64
|
[WP] tell me a story where the first line and last line are the same but have entirely different meanings.
I LOVE the creativity this sub shows
Edit: I'd just like to say that the replies I have gotten so far remind me of why I love this sub. I'm a lurker and rarely post prompts, but I loved this idea, and seeing the variety you get is amazing. I've seen comedic stories, longer heartfelt ones, almost suspenseful darker stories, and even some poems. Watching the many talented people of the world come together and show off the variety of ideas that spawn from one simple sentence is wonderful and the whole reason I try to be as open ended as possible with prompts. Thank you all so much for writing today, it's really amazing.
|
The silence created by the need to repeat his question to me caused my partner to question the entire ceremony, but when I finally regained control of myself and thought about the past... my answer hadn’t changed in the slightest.
“I do.”
The rest of the wedding went on how everyone had expected it to. My new wife and I danced, we smeared cake in each other’s faces, we drank too much, and we enjoyed the company of our friends and family. Things seemed like they were going to be fine, we were truly made for each other.
It was only when we drove back home that things went wrong. It started to rain, we were both partied out, and I drank just a tad too much. No matter what my friends said, no matter my parents or her parents said, the words that stuck with me were the coroner's.
I never did have the courage to do anything in life without her. Things didn’t change when I knew that she was gone forever, taken away the very same day that I had finally made her mine. That’s why I had to give a homeless man two grand in cash to talk to me in my apartment about silly, pointless things while the fistful of sleeping pills kicked in.
“I can still call the police,” he said, his voice shaking with fear and concern. “They can pump your stomach or something. I don’t even want the money anymore, I just don’t want to see you die. Look where you got in life. You’ve got it so much better than me and a whole lot of other people out there.”
I asked what he planned to do with the two grand. He said he would probably donate it to charity or something, he may even leave it on my dresser and go home. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly, squeezing it as if it were somehow his own lifeline. “Please,” he said, staring into my eyes. “Will you let me call an ambulance?”
The silence created by the need to repeat his question to me caused my partner to question the entire ceremony, but when I finally regained control of myself and thought about the past... my answer hadn’t changed in the slightest.
|
It was the first day of our lives together. We met when we were in high school and Stacey was the most beautiful girl in the world. I was a bit nervous, but we quickly became friends. Weeks passed and she began seeing me as more of a friend than a prospective boyfriend. I was devastated, but what could I do? She would see that I was the right guy for her eventually. Stacey liked the same type of guy, an after a few failed relationships, she started dating an older guy, Jake. Well, one night, she showed up at my parent's house and snuck into my room. It was senior year, so I thought she had finally come to her senses. Boy, was I wrong. She had a giant bruise across her face and lower back. She had told me that it was Jake. He got angry and beat her up and that she was scared. I let her stay the night. I slept on my floor and she had the bed. The next morning, when I woke up, she was gone. I worried, so I called her and she told me that she had gotten a text from Jake. She was out at breakfast with him and they were patching things up. I couldn't understand it.
Over the next few months Stacey would show more and more bruieses and Jake would still manage to get her to forgive him. She just couldn't see what was happening. I confronted her one night and tried to convince her to leave him. She said that she loved him and that she just made him angry sometimes. I couldn't believe it. She was blaming herself for his bullshit. I thought it was time, and I confessed my love for her. She laughed. SHE LAUGHED AT ME. She told me that she saw me as a friend, but nothing more. I was so angry. She said it would be best if she left and as she turned to leave, I grabbed her. I was going to show her that I could be the man she loved. She pushed me away and yelled at me. She fucking SLAPPED me. What the hell? Jake can destroy her self-esteem and he face, but I get slapped? In a fit of rage, I punched her--HARD--in chest. She started gasping for air. I panicked and held her. She wouldn't stop gasping. He neck started to turn red. I had punched her in the throat. I'm such an idiot. She couldn't breathe. I held her as she struggled and them slowly stopped breathing. Panick was in her eyes as she died. I killed her. I had crushed her trachea by accident. In my panick, I dragged her to the car and drove off to my uncles cabin. We can be alone there. I'll make her see that I am the man for her. I drove all night, but I made it there by morning. As the sun crested the mountain, I carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. It was the first day of our lives together.
| 2015-04-28T10:37:38
| 2015-04-28T10:03:35
| 68
| 30
|
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG!
|
The card hissed softly as it was drawn from a neat stack of similarly blue-backed cards on the large wooden table, its surface battered and worn from hundreds of years of use. Though her figure was mostly hidden by the Head of Neighbourhood triptych sheet, three pairs of eyes rested eagerly on Calen as she turned the card in her hand and lifted it up, smiling wryly at its contents.
“Cut the theatrics and read, elf,” grumbled Brond, a large and hairy man. His feet rested atop an empty chair, smaller than his own and wobbling as he shifted his weight against its seat.
“He’s working late,” she said.
“Again?” He replied, seemingly exhausted by the card’s message.
Large head toppling rearward to rest against the uppermost plank of the chair back, hair spilling over the wood, Brond shut his eyes. Calen’s smirk sustained. Though different in their distinct features, Azezus the Blight and Crog wore matching expressions, lips pulled tight and curved, showing teeth as they grinned with amusement. The game sat on the table, two tidy piles of cards and character sheets scattered. Everything behind Calen’s trifold was a mystery.
“Again,” she repeated.
Brond ran meaty fingers along his wrinkled forehead, massaging between the furrowed brows as he thought. After a sigh, he said, “This is the third time this week.”
“And the young secretary card is in play,” chimed Azezus.
“Damn the gods,” Brond cursed. “I go to his work.”
“What a fool,” said Azezus.
Brond frowned, eyes narrowing in the necromancer’s direction. “Excuse me? At least I *have* a husband.”
“Mine’s dead--”
“Does it make you feel impotent to know you can’t even bring him back?” Crog laughed.
“Please, you can’t fathom the pressure of being a single mother of three little heathens,” Azezus accused. “They eat so much and the bills are piling up. Do you know how much debt Jason left me with? I thought we were doing well until he died.” His sharp slender finger drifted down his character sheet, head wagging agitatedly from side to side.
“If only you could bring him back and shake his bones for a couple more bucks maybe your kids wouldn’t have to go to community college,” Crog continued to taunt.
“You’re in couples counseling, your son is a prescription medication addict,” Brond countered.
Calen watched them, peering over the edge of her text-rich sheet. The smile that had formed upon reading the drawn card had yet to diminish and had grown only tighter from fatigue. Their arguing began to overlap. Voices raised until the volume was such that even Calen herself was finding it difficult to decipher the nature of the various delivered insults so, raising a hand in the air and not saying a word, she tossed two dice onto the table. The clatter, though quiet, hushed the playful fighting.
“You go to his work, drowsy from imbibing several glasses of rosé,” Calen said, “But he isn’t there.”
“Damn it,” Brond muttered. His fist landed heavily against the table. “I thought better of him.” Fingers clenched and nostrils flared, he grunted, “It’s snack time, I’m famished. Send me to the bar, I’ll wallow in the realisation that I married a dirty cheater.”
“You have a teenager and a toddler at home!” Corg interjected.
“And you have your raging Orc of a mother-in-law, Margaret coming over in the morning but you’ve spent no time straightening your home,” Brond scoffed, “Mind your own problems.”
Sliding his character sheet toward the centre of the table with a resentful sneer, Brond’s large boots thudded against the floor. In a single graceless motion, palms leaning into the table top, he stood up and walked toward the pantry.
------------------------
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdgarAllanHobo/comments/7pi55k/suburbs_and_suvs_part_two/) Stay tuned for more.
|
Cutulah was first to arrive, as usual. The cellar was empty, but she busied herself by lighting candles, setting up the board and then finally, pouring herself a drink from the huge oak barrel.
She glanced at her palm, as if the lines that trailed it told her secrets they shared with no one else. Then she looked at the door.
Still no one.
With a sigh, she swivelled off her stool and got down onto her knees. The corners were usually the best place to find what she was after. Cobwebs worked too, although their contents couldn't be *that* old. If too many legs were missing, it wouldn't be much fun.
It only took a few minutes to gather, what she considered, a rather good haul. She got back to her feet, her hands cupped and full, and walked over to the board. Dead insects fell like black sleet onto the tiny, idyllic suburb.
"Ten gold pieces on the beetles!" shouted Burric, clapping his hands as he walked in. Cutulah looked up at the barbarian. He was wearing fur around his groin, a sword around his back, but little else. *Wasn't he cold?* Cutulah didn't mind too much. His tanned, chiselled features made her for a second, ashamed; she ran a finger down a thin, pale cheek.
Jateex the Goblin King trotted in next, his skull boots clicking and clacking on the stone floor. "Oh, a little pre-game fun? Excellent. Excellent. Fifty on the spiders!" he said, settling down onto a stool, his beady eyes following the frantic back and forth battle.
"Come on, dung beetle! Snap their legs!" yelled Burric. "Aye, that's the way! Chase 'em, chase 'em! *No*, not into the web! Ach, idiot."
A cold wind spiralled around the cellar, announcing the final arrival. The long legged Dark Elf glided through the doorway and over to the table. She tutted when she saw the scene, then waved a hand over the battling insects. They fell into a dead slumber.
"What did ya do that for, woman!?" roared Burric, slamming his fist on the table. The insects jumped a final time, as if performing a sordid curtain call.
Llenynea rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm not here for *battling bugs.* Reanimation is the lowest form of entertainment." There was a palpable disdain in her voice. Cutulah's lips twitched but she said nothing. Instead, she left her seat again, and poured three drinks. One for the Barbarian, one for the Goblin King, and a refill for herself.
Llenynea placed a bag on the table, a bag as black as the sky outside the castle. She clicked it open and removed a sleek, long necked jar that shone far brighter than the candles.
"Is that..." began Jateex, his mouth dribbling.
"Nectar, yes. With a little something extra. I would offer it around, but it would probably kill any of you, my friends."
It was Cutulah's turn to roll her eyes, but in truth, a pang of jealousy in her stomach was letting itself be known. She'd never tasted nectar before -- not even the bastardised diluted stuff -- and probably never would.
"Shall we begin?" said Burric, clapping his hands together excitedly. "I feel like a dwarf whose been away away from his axe for a month. A wizard away from his weed pipe. Let's get going!"
There was a murmur of excited agreement.
Cutulah held out four cards face down. She offered them first to Jateex. His hand darted for one of the middle two cards, but then he stopped suddenly before taking, looked up slyly at Cutulah, and changed to the card on the left.
"Suburbs!" he shouted joyfully. "You thought Jateex, dumb! Jateex *not* dumb!"
Cutulah moved her hands over to Burric.
"Ah, SUV's," he said, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Cutulah let out a sigh of relief. No matter what happened, she wouldn't have to team with the stuck up Elf again. Things had ended rather *dangerously* the last time they had tried working together...
Finally, she offered the remaining two cards to Llenynea. The Dark Elf waved her hands over the cards, slowly moving her palms back and forth from one to the other.
"Wait!" yelled Burric. "Anyone else feel that breeze? A breeze like"--he turned and glared suspiciously at the elf--"*like darkness and ice*."
"A natural subterranean wind, I imagine," said Llenynea. "Cellars do get draughty, after all."
"Neh! Jateex felt it too," said the Goblin King. "*Unnatural.* Elf already try to cheat!"
"Preposterous!"
Cutulah frowned, then shuffled the two cards. "Take your pick," she said. "*Quickly.*
Llenynea growled and snatched the left card. She placed the SUV card face up on the table.
"Right," said Burric. "Let's begin."
| 2018-01-10T06:15:04
| 2018-01-10T06:12:50
| 3,268
| 74
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[WP] You're a psychic doing a game show. Unlike the other contestants, you're the real deal. They bring you all to a house where a crime happened in the past. When it's your turn, a ghost appears and tells you: "That's him, that's the one who killed me." Pointing towards the host of the show.
|
I’ve seen the unseen and known the unknown for so long life had gotten rather boring. I’d discovered the dangers of using my gifts when I was a child so I had taken to concealing them. When I graduated college with my degree in physics I’d joined, on a lark, the skeptics society. If only they’d known.
Well, now I’m a pretty well known debunker of psychic phenomena. It’s pretty easy when you can read their minds. It’s not as hypocritical as you might think, so stop judging me Eric in Wisconsin. I have never met anyone else that has even the slightest hint of the gift.
Three psychics were invited to participate at the Carllingon Mansion, a supposedly haunted mansion where Ashley Carllington was murdered three years ago. You might remember her as she dominated the news cycle for weeks. She was a pretty famous rising actress, helped along by her billionaire father’s money I’m sure.
As I stepped before the cameras on live tv, a first for me, Craig Lawson’s handsome face met mine as he introduced me to the world. He then introduced the three supposed psychics. Two women were standing there along with a man. The man and one of the women were cold-reading fraudsters and the final woman was just bat shit crazy. I was formulating how to expose them in the most dramatic fashion when Ashley Carllington walked out in her bloody lingerie. I looked at everyone and then back at her, mouth ajar because by skimming everyone’s thoughts I knew I was the only one seeing her. Was I crazy?
“You can see me!” She ran at me so quickly I flinched, but in true ghost fashion her hand passed through me. Her touch was cold as the grave to me. Fitting I might add. No one seemed to notice my odd behavior.
“Listen,” she said, practically shouting at me, “He killed me, the fucker.” She pointed at Craig Lawson.
She had to be shitting me. I had so many questions but had to pretend to ignore her. If I responded I'd come across as insane on live tv.
“Please,” she told me, tears pouring from her eyes, “We were hiding our relationship. I told him I was pregnant and he wanted me to abort it but I told him no. Then he pulled out the knife.”
I looked at Craig and dove into his memories. I saw this murder. Then I saw the other murders. I saw his plans to murder another mistress soon. The man was a monster.
“So,”. He had turned back to me and asked jovially, “ What do you think of our group of psychics?”
“Fraud, fraud,” I pointed to the man and woman then to the final lady, “ Crazy as a loon. But what about you, Craig?”
“What about me?” He asked laughingly. I could see in his mind he thought this was part of my shtick.
“You killed Elizabeth Shaw, your sisters best friend when you were only 13 after she caught you masturbating,” I announced theatrically. If I was going to do this I might as well make it memorable, “Strangled her to death. Nasty business in more ways than one. I count eight murders, Mr. Lawson. Shall I go over them one by one, in detail? Of course the reason we're here is your most famous victim, Ashley Carllington. She was with child too.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” He looked at me and asked on live tv. His face was filled with a primal fear.
“Because I AM psychic, you fuck wit,” I declared.
You know the rest. The trial, the call of witnesses, the confession, and the approaching execution. You also now know how and why I got so famous. I’d ask if you have any questions. But I know you do. After all, I am psychic.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Angela stared at the young girl, trying to hide the expression of pity that threatened to show on her face. The shimmering form of the ghost was that of a girl no older than fourteen, and despite the fact that her eyes were a pale white, she was no scarier than her own fat tabby cat at home.
"He lured me to this house and killed me," the girl whispered. "Please, you must help me."
"Oh, I will," Angela murmured, her eyes flashing. She turned toward the cameras and brought her hands to her head, closing her eyes and shaking her head around. "Ahh! I'm getting a vision!" she shouted loudly.
Marvin, the host, walked up, his bright blue eyes wide. "Looks like our third contestant, Angela Schlemming, is seeing something. What do you see, Angela?"
"I see...I see...a little girl. She's wearing...a blue dress and she has strawberry blonde hair. She's wearing...a necklace." Her eyes popped open.
A flicker of surprise crossed Marvin's face but was gone in an instant. "A necklace?" he asked, but this time Angela could hear the slight reluctance in his voice. He didn't actually want to ask her.
"A necklace with a name on it. It says...it says..." She paused, milking the silence as the other contestants, along with the camera crew, waited with bated breath. "Jess. Her name was Jess," she finally said.
Marvin's face paled. He brought out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "Wow, isn't that something, folks? Now, let's move on to the next contestant because we're running out of--"
"Don't you want to know what happened to poor Jess?" Angela cut in.
Marvin laughed nervously, adjusting the tie on his suit. "Now, Ms. Schlemming, I'm sure you have plenty to say. But we're running out of time, and we all know that ghosts aren't real."
The director glared at him from behind the line of cameras. What the fuck was this idiot doing?
Marvin blinked. "I mean, they could very well be real," he backtracked, swallowing. "I just meant that we can hear about Jess's murder in the next episode since we still have two contestants to get through still."
Silence greeted his words. he looked around at everyone. "What?" he asked. But there was no force behind the question.
Angela gazed at him coolly, folding her hands in her lap. "I never said she was murdered," she said.
Marvin's face drained of color. "I...that was just a guess," he sputtered. But his nervousness betrayed him as he dropped the mic. Now everyone in the room was staring at him, some with expressions of horror on their face as they realized the implication. He fell to his knees, his head hitting the floor as he wrapped his hands around his head, groaning.
Angela stood up. "How perfect," she said. "His confession has just been recorded and broadcasted live." She turned to the young girl, who stood there, her eyes focused on her murderer. Then the girl turned to her. "Thank you," she mouthed, before her body faded into a wisp.
"No problem," Angela murmured. "All in a day's work."
***
If you liked this story, I write lots of fantasy and all sorts of genres over at r/AlannaWu!
| 2018-11-15T14:35:50
| 2018-11-15T14:29:32
| 459
| 113
|
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."
|
The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.”
|
The words came out before he knew it.
"Take me to him. Immediately."
"Yes sir."
Following his subordinate, his mind raced rapidly while confusion and doubt raged. In all his years as Commander of the Sentinel Station, Kr'jak had never encountered anyone who could handle a warp intact. They usually left in coffins.
In their own remains.
"Commander?"
A very confused Seth Halliwell tilted his head to the side, his hands toweling his freshly washed hair as he answered the door. "Does the engine need maintenance or something -"
"Oh." Realization striking him, the brown-haired engineer glanced down at his attire. "I felt kinda grimy after the warp, so I went to take a shower."
Palotheus, nothing made sense. The commander swore that he was having a migraine. How - what - why - what even -
"You saw infinity."
"...uh, I guess?"
No no no. He could not strangle his subordinate. He had an example to set, so as much as he would like to, he could not.
"And what did you see?"
"Um...blobs? Stars, maybe? Like.. dots."
"...Dots," Kr'jak repeated flatly.
"Dots."
Kr'jak, respected Commander of the Sentinel Station, high representative of the Turans known for their leadership, resisted the urge to scream.
"You are to submit a report about the infinity to me in -" his pointed ears twitched in annoyance. "Three hours. In *extreme detail*."
The engineer's jaw dropped while the subordinate who had brought Kr'jak winced. The Turan's definition of detailed was...well...
"Dismissed."
Still gaping at his boss, Seth tried (and failed) to protest.
Didn't Kr'jak know that he sucked at reports?
| 2020-07-14T02:58:11
| 2020-07-14T00:17:30
| 381
| 163
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
Major Meridith: we attack the Emus.
Dm: Alright, that will be your Lewis guns, thats going to be your Dex Mods, Plus your proficiency modifiers. Roll to hit.
Major Meridith: ... 1, plus my mods thats a total of 7.
Dm: the emus dodge your gun fire, they taunt you. They run south beyond your sight.
Major Meridith: we chase after them.
Dm: Alright, lets say you roll for nature to see if you can predict where the birds are going next.
Major Meridith: I uh... rolled a 16.
Dm: Yes thats enough. You track the birds down near Campion. You spot hundreds of them.
Major Meridith: we set up our guns and stsrt firing at them.
Dm: can you make a dex throw for that?
Major Meridith: god damnit, another 1. Plus my modifiers its a 4 total.
Dm: your guns jam only after firing a couple of rounds. And now you're a disgrace to your country.
Major Meridith: but at least none of my men suffered casualties!
Dm: you just wasted 3000 gp worth of ammunition, the quest reward for this wasn't even that high!
Major Meridith: Damn Emu's ill get them yet.
Dm: that'll wrap up this session. Well resume next time. There are OTHER adventure hooks you know.
|
Napoleon was at the edge of his seat, by the end of this session, he'd wipe that smug look off of Wellesley's face, and his imbalanced barbarian "Iron Duke" would have to be re-rolled. Wellesley had just finished a tirade about Napoleon having killed his General, Cooke.
Athena gazed at the two men from over the top of her DM blind, "Napoleon, you know that it's poor form to target Generals. I'm not saying that I'll punish you, per se. But, if you win this battle- I just may decide to punish you while crossing the channel." The implication was quite clear.
Hands shaking, Napoleon reached for his d20. Bringing the die to his lips, he gave it his signature kiss as he closed his eyes and threw for the success of the linchpin of his plan- *clack clack clack taptaptap*
"VINGT!" Napoleon exclaimed, barely ducking Wellesley's chair, as it came hurdling over the table, only to be smashed to bits upon the cold stone wall.
At this point in time, Wellesley, breathing deeply, color returning to normal- mustered all of his calm and gave Athena his most stately gaze and said, "I'll cast 'summon Blücher." Napoleon, who had been taking a deep and smug drink of a particularly delicious 1750 Bordeaux, choked and sputtered out a raucous laugh. "You are a barbarian, you English twit! You cannot cast spells."
Wellesley swiveled his head to meet Napoleon's mirthful expression. "That is where you are wrong, You ponce", he bagan, "You see, I put my last seven levels into Conjurer." By way of response, Napoleon merely scowled.
Wellesley collected his beaten, and battered brass d20, while counting his +2 wisdom mod to reach a 15 against Napoleon's AC. He rolled the die between his fingers, and simply tossed it toward Napoleon, each skip along the way issuing a report that was nearly deafening.
Just then, the door to the game room opened, and a crisply dressed seventy-something year old man in Prussian uniform entered the room. "Zorry I am late, Arthur. You woult not believe ze traffic I hat to deal vith getting into Beligiu---"
**SLAM**
Muttering to himself, Napoleon hastily slammed his book closed, threw his dice in his bag, and marched from the room having not so much as said goodbye to anyone.
| 2018-05-29T09:12:26
| 2018-05-29T08:28:13
| 51
| 21
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[WP] The perfect sleep-aid has been created. 8 hours of uninterrupted, dream-filled bliss. But God forgive anyone that is woken up before the 8 hours have passed.
|
It was, really, quite an important breakthrough for medical science.
For most of the time that humans have been, well, human, people have wondered why we sleep. The ancient Greeks thought it was because of the influence of one of their gods: A being known as Hypnos, who was appropriately enough brother to Thanatos, the god of death. More modern theories suggested that it just might be a way for the brain to clean up after a long day of work, organizing thoughts and memories into the soup of images that we interpret as dreams. But really, all we know for sure about sleep is that we need it or eventually we will die.
How do *I* know all of these things? Well, lets just say I have a lot of time on my hands. The nights get lonely, when you are the only one awake. Insomnia is a relatively common problem, but in this day and age you can do a lot with those extra hours - if you aren't too tired to move, that is. So I wind up doing a lot of research, signing up for a lot of sleep studies, and generally doing anything I can in those deep, dark hours when I really should be in bed.
Like I said before, we have been studying sleep for a very long time, and humans are very good problem solvers. So when I got a call one evening to come in and test out a new sleeping pill, one hailed as a miracle drug, I was naturally all for it. They said it was guaranteed to give you eight hours of solid, dream-filled sleep - not to mention it was the closest alternative to real sleep that modern science could hope to create. It used a brand-new mechanism, directly influencing the neurons of the brain to enter a sleep-state without simply pouring Melatonin on the problem and hoping that something would give. They had finally cracked the code of sleep. As I popped the pill into my mouth, my only complaint was the bitter taste before I was off in the land of dreams.
It was beautiful, really. Colors the likes of which I had never imagined danced across the sky like an ever-shifting stained-glass window. The ground beneath my feet, though sturdy, smoothly shifted from dirt, to stone, to metal, to fur, to grass...it never stayed the same for more than a few seconds, and never shifted to the same form twice. I felt well. Rested, even - more rested than I had felt in a very long time. It was all too much. I wept, knees falling to the shifting ground, unable to contain my emotion. Preoccupied as I was, I never saw one corner of the sky turn dark.
I felt a twinge in my abdomen, as if one of my kidneys had turned to ice, or someone had poked me from behind with a cold metal rod. As I turned, I saw it: a crack, black as night, lanced through the sky and earth, more solid than anything in this mercurial world. It grew, straining the world with it's presence, both dangerously close and impossibly far away. Four think fingers, each as wide as my entire arm, reached through the hole. Soon, it was joined by another, and the two hands ripped the world apart at it's very seams to allow the being through.
He was tall, pale, and utterly hairless, with startling blue eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light. The colors of the sky and ground had no effect on him: no matter what, he always looked the same, as real as death with his cracked backdrop of void behind him. When he spoke, it was with a voice that reverberated in my head, both as high as the wind and as deep as an earthquake.
*Who are you?*
The question hung in the air for a moment. "Who...who am I?" I finally stammered.
The being nodded, moving with the controlled force of a continent.
"I...I'm no one!"
He blinked his vast eyes, the movement oddly slow. *You are not welcome here, human.*
"Not...welcome?" I asked, feeling suddenly indignant despite the being's obvious power. "How can I not be welcome? This is a dream...*my* dream! Of course I'm welcome!"
The giant frowned, shaking his head. *No. This is not your dream, mortal. You have invaded the land of my brother, the personal domain of the gods. You will pay for your transgression.*
The being reached out a vast hand, and in the strangeness of the world it seemed to grow until it encompassed my entire world. I flinched, too afraid to even plead for mercy, and the hand clenched around me until all I knew was blackness.
*Begone, human. And never trespass here again.*
When I opened my eyes, only a single hour had passed.
"You're up early!" the attendant cheerfully proclaimed over the intercom. "Have a bad dream?"
I blinked, frowning at the room in my stupor. "I think so..."
"Well, try and lie back down. That pill still has quite some time left in your system."
*Had it all really been a dream?* I wondered, tossing and turning. But no matter how long I lay there, I found myself unable to fall asleep.
*Begone, human. And never trespass here again.*
***
*Thanks for the read! CC welcome, and if you enjoyed you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
|
The first thing Daniel noticed after waking up was the smell.
That...*smell*. A smell so vile that even the weakest nose would cause its face to shudder in disgust. It was a musky smell; the kind of smell that aged with a brooding force so hellish, so full of death, that after all the effort Daniel faced in confronting it, he was yet still almost forced back into slumber.
Then he noticed the darkness.
Although he knew he was on some sort of bed -- if you could call it that -- he only knew not because of common sense, but because of what he felt. His fingers ran along the sides of the platform and its surface, feeling only what he could deem...*wet*. The same feeling he'd get as a young boy, when running his hands through the grass outside the family home in the morning.
And yet, although he knew something about where he sat, he knew nothing about where he was. Aside from his sense of touch, his sense of smell, and the sense of his heart beating faster than it had ever beat before, his other senses were useless. As far as he could tell, he sat in complete darkness. He could hear absolutely nothing. He let out a shriek, a scream, "Mom! Dad!" as loud as he could muster, and yet, he heard nothing.
And then, he heard it. A drop of water.
He turned towards it -- at least, towards where he thought it'd come from. He sat up and swung his lanky legs off the side of the platform, and stepped down onto the floor below. The floor itself felt similar to the bed he'd been on under his bare feet -- cold, bumpy, and slimy, to say the least.
He began making his way into the darkness towards the sound he'd heard. He'd have to stop every few seconds, waiting for it to sound again -- else he may lose his way. "This has to be some sort of bad dream, " Daniel thought to himself as he slowly continued his trek, the sound of the water drops growing louder and louder. And yet, deep down, he knew that he was likely wrong.
Eventually, he came to a point where he knew he was close. The water droplets sounded as if they were right above him, preparing to fall onto his head. Not knowing what to expect, he stood still, stiller than ever before, and waited for the next one. As it fell -- still in the darkness, unable to be seen by him -- it hit the floor as methodically as before, right next to his right foot. He felt a small splash of residue land on his toes and knew he'd arrived. He began flailing his arms about, trying to see if he felt anything around him. As he slowly but surely inched his way ever so precisely towards where the drop had landed, his hand finally felt something new. He felt a tang of relief -- a slight one at that -- as he quickly shuddered in absolute horror, realizing that what he felt was another platform. But not just a platform. As he moved his hands over the surface, he felt what he knew for sure was his father's leg, his father's waist, his father's torso -- was he asleep? Was he dead? Daniel couldn't know. Just as he began to mouth a response, something to hopefully wake him out of this nightmare, he saw them. A pair of eyes, accompanied by a growl.
| 2016-08-04T11:24:12
| 2016-08-04T10:48:58
| 40
| 17
|
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before.
|
"Oh my God! They killed Kenny!"
Once more I hear the same two lines over and over again. It's amazing that I haven't tried to do the same to them. I honestly think that they truly want to get me killed.
"You bastards!"
And there it is. The only way I truly know that I've died. Not that it matters much. I will come back, the same as ever. Stuck in the same town. With the same damned coat that covers my whole body that noone else can understand me when I'm in it, except for my closest friends.
Those same two lines... They are the spell that keeps me immortal. Keeps me young.
Will my torment never end?
"Oh my God!"
|
My biggest regret recently was telling people. It was only a matter of time until every time I died I would have to prove myself to be the immortal again.
I couldn't ever control where I ended up. A few times I tried really hard to focus as I committed suicide, hoping that I might be able to learn more about my power. It never worked. I spent a good few lifetimes trying to learn new languages with my absorbent, infant brain. The issue then is staying up to date with the world. Waking up in the middle of nowhere with no food, and no access to a computer or any way to escape can really set my work back. It didn't take long for me to get good at killing myself quickly. The hardest part was knowing the grief I was causing every time.
Once the Internet took off I decided it was time to ease my burden. I remember meeting the agents the first time. Of course they didn't really believe I had any supernatural abilities, but they wanted to know how a 14 year old could know so much personal information about historical events. I even went to the extent of mapping out areas I had lived thousands of years ago, revealing some major historical dig sites.
They placed a pistol in front of me, by my request. It was actually quite shocking how easily I could have just shot them then and there, but I went through my routine. They gave me a ten word sentence constructed in that room with me in plain sight. I put the gun to my head and pulled the trigger. The click cut through the silence. One of the agents laughed, pulled out his gun and shot me point blank. That should have been the first red flag.
As promised, I ran as fast as my small legs could take me to a phone booth, trying to escape the screaming woman whose child's mind had just been taken by myself. It always made me think back to all the loving mothers I had throughout my curse. I never quite managed to stop the tears.
I had to spend a few days waiting to be extracted by these assholes. They showed up smashed on a private jet and demanded they stay a few days for 'reconnaissance'. It was no wonder my secret got out.
There were on a few occasions some very bright and manipulative kids, usually raised by narcissistic parents, who would try and pretend to be me if I hadn't been heard from for some time. Proving I was who I said was never easy in the first place. It could take weeks, or even months to get in touch with them.
Now I'm stuck in this 'multi-shared-sentience' contract. They made that term up just for me. Basically if I ever wanted to have my abnormalities studied, I would have to work for them undercover. There's a lot that a kid with my power can do, and they kind of bent the law to allow my younger iterations to work for them.
We've been working together for a few years now and have made absolutely no progress. I can't say I'm surprised though, I know where this evil came from. I just didn't want it to be true. It can be hard playing certain events having such a large catalogue of memories.
How was I ever to know that the bargain I took all those years ago would be torture? How was I supposed to know the implications of damning every other intelligent lifeform to hell just to become immortal. You end up killing a lot of people and go through many bouts of insanity. Its not what I thought it would be. So many billions of souls doomed to the fire, all because of my greed.
All because of one apple.
| 2017-05-25T14:31:23
| 2017-05-25T14:22:48
| 74
| 34
|
[WP] - You are an angel of heaven. Angels are tasked with creating animals to populate the earth. You are called into God's office to discuss your finished project - the platypus.
|
"Uh oh, somebody's getting called on the carpet."
"Is that Bill?"
"Yeah. 'Duck Bill', I hear they're calling him now."
"Sheesh. Poor guy. It must've seemed like a good idea at the time."
"It wasn't even his project back then. He took it over from Baruchiel when Bar got promoted to Arch. Remember that whole craze for flightless birds?"
"Do I? I was lead on the cassowary. Not that I got any credit --"
"Right, I forgot. Anyway, the platypus got dropped on Bill right at the tail end of that, when Management started transitioning to mammals."
"Yikes. I guess that explains the eggs, too."
"No! You haven't heard the story? The eggs were a typo."
"What? Are you serious?"
"Yep. It was supposed to say 'legs'. Autocorrect strikes again."
"Wait, here he comes. Oh man, he's cleaning out his desk. Poor guy."
"What kind of name is 'Bill' for an angel anyway?"
|
I couldn’t bear to look at her so I kept my head down and just stared at the bowl of apples on my desk. I knew if I looked up I would see her there lying on her side, bare breasted, relaxed on the cloud. I’m not offended by breasts, after all I created them, and hers were perfect; or so I was told by some of the less celibate of my creations. I like perfect things. It was her lack of perfection for which I brought her to me today.
“Why Pomona?” I said, “Why the Platypus? Jesus. I told you cool it after the kangaroo. What an abomination. You said you liked rabbits and wanted to make the damn things bigger. Now you have them hopping around kicking each other in the nuts all day. And don’t get me started on the Emus. One day someone’s going to dig up dinosaur bones and attempt to claim the emu is it’s ancestor all because you and Silvanus got drunk one night in the lab.
“But this thing is unholy.” I said, and looked up at her. She was reclining against the cloud exactly as I thought she would be (omniscience has it’s downside, no surprise parties). She was toying with her toga. What remained of it was gathered around her waist. She must have sensed my gaze and looked up.
“I’m sorry Lord,” she pouted with a little smile, “I only thought you would like a bit more diversity. The others creations are bland, don’t you agree?”
She paused long enough for me to open my mouth but didn’t wait for me to answer.
“Michael has created about 20 different species of canine and except for some differences in size they all look the same, behave the same. They are boring. And, if you ask me, that man seems overly concerned about size. Small ones, big ones, you get the idea.
“Gabriel, well, he did a bang up job with the ungulates. Long necks, horns, even having some of them go back to living in the water. Very nice but they stick to the same mammalian formula and…” she shivered slightly, her arms dropping protectively to her lap, “birth live young. I thought you would be proud of me for diversifying your creation” she finished with a smile.
Now, I’m a fan of diversity and Pomona, she knows. She’s going to get away this, after all, if one of my creations can do this what does it say about the creator? Still, a creation needs to make sense. It can’t just be a random roll of the dice, it’s supposed to look natural, as if it evolved from another creature, each bit having a purpose. After all, if people were to look at this thing they might doubt my existence and we can’t have that.
“Pomona,” I said, “I’m sorry, I’m pulling you off the Australian Animal Team.”
She let out a sigh and the smile faded away. It was her turn to stare at the apples as her eyes refused to meet mine.
“Where will you have me go, Lord?” she asked.
I wish I could say I hadn’t thought about it, or that I didn’t know what was next for Pomona but as I said earlier, omniscience is a bitch.
“My creatures like variety in their diets,” I said, picking up an apple. “And I’m getting a bit tired of eating these.”
I tossed her the fruit, and she smiled again.
****
edit: removed the bear's breast ;).
| 2016-05-15T11:24:07
| 2016-05-15T10:15:24
| 36
| 20
|
[WP] Somebody once told you the world is going to roll you. However, you are the sharpest tool in the shed.
|
Somebody once told me the world was gonna roll me
Though I *was* the sharpest tool in the shed.
Well she wasn't really wrong,
I had blades and I was long
For a mower well I killed that grass dead.
But the years kept coming and the grass kept growing,
Fed me some oil so my motor kept running.
Didn't make sense just to cut and run
So I stayed in the shed when my job was done.
So much to do, so much to see,
So she hired someone to use me.
But cleaning me wasn't the deal
And that's when my shit got real.
Hey now, you're a rock star
Get your show on, go play.
Hey now, you've gone so far,
No one's left here,
Just me.
And all that glittered is brown,
Only rust and dirt
Are my friends now.
|
Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me(what?)
&nbsp;
I am the sharpest tool in the shed
&nbsp;
They say I'm kinda dumb when I went to suck my thumb
&nbsp;
It's just to brainstorm ideas in my head
&nbsp;
Well, the years start coming and they don't stop coming
&nbsp;
Sent me to college and I hit the ground running
&nbsp;
Didn't make sense not to date for fun
&nbsp;
When you are smart but your girl is dumb
&nbsp;
So much to do, so much to see
&nbsp;
But I live staunchly by these two creeds
&nbsp;
You'll never know if you don't go
&nbsp;
You'll never shine if you don't glow
&nbsp;
Chorus:
&nbsp;
Hey, now, I'm a smart guy, let's game on, come play
&nbsp;
Hey, now, I'm a smart ass, let the girls come, get laid
&nbsp;
And all that glitters is gold
&nbsp;
Only guys like me break the mould~
&nbsp;
P.S. try singing it to the tune of the song, the bracketed words are meant to be said during the slight pause in between the verses.
| 2017-07-01T05:58:59
| 2017-07-01T04:51:31
| 153
| 12
|
[WP] You are the final boss. You have been waiting for the final epic battle against the hero. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, your minions report back. The news? The hero abandoned the main quest to do side quests.
|
I stood in my war room, gazing over the map and my loyal generals, planning my army's next conquest. There was only one thing that stood in my way, the so called *hero* Althasar and his companions. Long had he been a thorn in my side, but soon he would be no more.
My scouts had informed me that his party planned to march on my fortress soon. I planned to wait for them to arrive, and once they made it to me I would slaughter them in a final battle, then move on to complete my conquests and rule the world!
But they didn't come. Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. I kept tabs on the party and they never came any closer. They fetched lost trinkets for peasants and cleared caves of goblins, but took no notice of my looming threat.
And so I sat. There was no way my army of darkness could move forward. The hero had shown time and again that my soldiers were no match for him. Only I would be able to defeat him in combat. But he never came.
Finally I grew tired if waiting. I gathered my best men and headed for his home. We burned and pillaged all that stood in our way, when finally he appeared.
He was wearing gleaming golden armor, a massive broadsword strapped to his back and a bag full of treasures. He looked up, and I approached, warhammer in hand.
"Foolish hero, it is time for you to die."
"Can it wait? I'm on a quest for this *really* cool dagger."
And just like that, he left.
|
Lord Viktor Kozlov sulked the dark hallways, contemplating all things evil. His soldiers were well-equipped, his bed was warmed with women and cooled with wine, and the mares braying in his stables were of the finest breed and lineage. Kozlov was surely the greatest vampire in the four kingdoms.
And yet—as he walked into the great chamber—he couldn’t help but feel incomplete.
The guards at attendance nodded and wished him a pleasant evening. Kozlov waved them away. He sat back in his bearskin throne, wondering how long until the sun rose and filtered emerald light through the great stained glass. Not soon enough, he reasoned.
The sweet scent of roasting boar wafted from the kitchens, mixing with the toasted golden grain of the bakery. Despite the tantalizing aroma, Kozlov wasn’t hungry. He had no appetite for such trivialities. The only thing that could satiate his thirst was a good swordfight or an ambitious rival; neither of which Kozlov had experienced in centuries.
There was nothing interesting these days.
The throne room creaked open. Lord Edmont, with his exquisite moustache and his equally large figure, squeezed through the doorway.
“News! Terrible news, m’ lord!” He bellowed.
Kozlov rubbed the bridge of his brow; it was too early for these matters. “Again?”
“Oh, it’s so much worse than we ever imagined. The chosen one has returned!”
Kozlov perked up “Really? What makes you say so?”
“She can summon the dragon’s flame with a whisper! Born on the blood moon of the fall nightmare, the vanquisher rises to smite thee in your chambers and release the kingdom from your fell grasp.”
“Thank goodness!”—Kozlov jumped to his feet in excitement—“Where is she? She sounds like quite the lady. I simply must meet her.”
Lord Edmont shook his head. “You already have, m’ lord.”
“What? Already met her…”
“She’s the blacksmith, m’ lord. The new one—the one that’s been crafting hundreds of exquisite iron daggers for our soldiers—and she doesn’t show any signs of slowing down.”
Kozlov nearly punch him. “Blast!”
“It’s true, m’ lord. And she’s discovered a spell to transmute iron to gold! Imagine that, raw ore changed my the powers of strange magicka!”
“By the Gods!” Kozlov exclaimed, as the realization sank in. “She’s going to inflate the market! Gold will be as worthless as cheese wheels!”
Lord Edmont started bouncing with vigor. “Exactly! Now you see why we must act quickly!”
“There’s only one thing we can do in a situation as dire as this,” Kozlov said, pacing back and forth by the throne. “We must become captured by the local bandits!”
Edmont’s smile dropped. “What?”
“Yes! Of course! And then send a servant to greet her. Tell her that the sword was stolen and taken by the bandits and must be returned at one!”
“I’m not following, m’ lord,” Edmont dropped into a nearby chair.
A bell chimed in the distance. Servants started from the kitchens, bringing platter after plater into the great chamber. The doors to the council bedchambers burst open, and all at once the other lords and ladies of the court mobbed the tables.
Kozlov ignored them. “The chosen one will surely accept this trivial and unimportant quest in her pursuit of greater valor.”
“But how does that help us?” Edmont said, reaching for a leg of roast mutton.
“Ah, now you see the crux! The most clever and devious scheme—she will thereby escort us to safety—and when this happens, we must be waylaid and kidnapped once more.”
Edmont stopped to chew, mumbling with a half-full mouth. “That sounds dangerous.”
“But make it appear as if the kidnappers are cultists with knowledge of a great and powerful diadem. No one could resist that allure. She will have no choice but to rescue us!”
“And then you kill her?”
“Well, yes,” Kozlov admitted. “But it will be a dramatic and surprising twist!”
“Whatever you say, m’ lord,” Edmont reached for his goblet of wine. “It’s your prophecy.”
| 2019-06-26T11:44:31
| 2019-06-26T10:56:26
| 28
| 13
|
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
We'd seen it in the distance, an anomaly on an already alien planet. Thought it some kind of mirage, since the reality just didn't make sense. I volunteered to go check it out, though we all knew what it was - and when I'd just confirmed it.
A Soviet flag.
Why hadn't they told us? I'd heard rumour of a Soviet mission, decades back, but we'd written it off as Cold War propaganda. If they'd actually managed to get to Mars, even if they didn't get them back - that would be humanity's greatest accomplishment.
*Why hadn't they told us?*
What could it mean? Had the Russkies simply lost contact and assumed the worst? That didn't make any sense, since if they landed intact enough to erect the flag, they must have been in communication with them back home...
Something was wrong. I needed to get back.
I tried to make contact with the boys back at the ship, but there was no reply. Figured I was out of range, but that didn't make sense. Brushed it aside; nerves were getting the better of me, and there was no use worrying about something I couldn't change.
Saw my team in the distance. It was immensely comforting; you've never known isolation till you're alone on a new planet. I quickened my pace.
Still radio silence. I just wanted to get back to the ship.
Nearing them now. They seem to be coated in sand - had there been some kind of storm? How long had I been gone for? They didn't seem to be moving, either. Just standing there. Why were they just standing there?
Still no response. Why aren't they coming out to meet me? Why are they just *standing* there?
I can see their suits properly now. Coated in sand. Weatherworn. And why... why do they look like they're a different colour underneath? Are those- are those *Soviet* suits? *Why are they just standing there?*
Wait. That's not- that's not my-
*They've seen me.*
**Oh Christ, they've seen me.**
|
"Neil Armstrong once said 'That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.' I'm not one to argue with him. However, if landing on the moon was a leap, my stepping here on Mars would be like a plane ride."
Mayers laughed. "Don't knock on what Neil Armstrong did. It was important, and is what brought us here."
"I'm not knocking on what he did, just making an observation. We probably should check in with Houston."
"Yeah, we probably should."
"Houston, we have touched down. Mars is something completely different. Amazing. Beautiful I'd even wager. Over."
"That's great news Murray. We're glad to hear you landed safe. What do you see? Over."
"The red sea." I broke out into a laugh at my poor attempt at a joke. When I finally stopped laughing, I was able to choke out "Over."
"I think your laugh at that shitty joke was much better. Any signs of life? Over."
"Not yet. We still have to explore some though. According to HAL, we should be able to explore for about 3 hours before we need to return to the ship, over."
"Keep us updated. Out."
I looked around and all I could see was red. Everywhere. I look at Mayers, "Which way?"
"Forward."
"Let's begin."
We walk forward. The new suits NASA designed for us make it seem like we are still walking on Earth. It's an amazing advancement, and makes this exploration so much better. "Wait, there's something we need to do."
"What?"
I head back to the ship and grab the American flag. "We can't forget this baby." I stab it down into the ground. "'Murica."
I catch up to where Mayers is standing and we continue on. "I think it would make sense to get on top of one of those hills. We will be able to see more."
"Sounds good."
We slightly change course to a nearby hill. The hike up it didn't provide much trouble, but I still needed to catch my breath a little bit after it. We look around and see something in the distance. "What the hell is that? It's definitely not a hill."
"I'm not quite sure. Radio it in."
"Erm... Houston, we see something. It's relatively skinny, definitely not a hill and from the distance looks like it isn't natural. What should we do, over?"
"Wait for instructions, Murray. We'll be back in a moment, over."
Mayers and myself sit down on the hill staring at it. It's just a black shade in the distance. "HAL, how much more time do we have?"
"1 hour 13 minutes 22 seconds remaining."
"Thanks HAL."
Mayers and I look at each other. "Think we can make it today?"
"If Houston gets back to us."
We sit for a few more minutes and then hear some static. "Murray, Mayers, this is James with Houston. We would like you to approach the object. Be careful, and be ready to hightail it out of there. Out."
Mayers and I stand up, and begin the journey to the object. As we get closer, we both stop in amazement. "Houston, there is a problem. Over."
"Yes? Over."
"It seems like someone beat us here. It's a Soviet flag, over."
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that, over?"
"It's an old Soviet flag here. Over."
"Return to the ship, and we'll give more instructions soon. Out."
I look at Mayers, "Head back now, or explore around here a little bit."
"Let's explore a bit."
We walk around the flag looking for any other signs of their time here. Suddenly, my foot hits something and I fall over to the ground. After I regain my composure, I turn around to see what I tripped over.
"Uhh... Mayers, get over here."
In a few minutes, Mayers is at my side and we both stare down in amazement. The body of an old Soviet astronaut lies in front of us. I bend down and wipe the dust off of the glass cover, but then I recoil in horror.
"What the fuck is wrong with him!?"
Mayers bends down and examines him closer.
"Houston, come in now, over."
"What is the issue, Mayers? Over."
"We decided to explore the area a bit more. We found something else. Over."
"What is it, over."
"It's the body of one of the Soviet astronauts. Somethings terribly wrong with him. His eyes are black as the night, and it looks like all of his veins turned black as well. Over."
"Get out of there, guys. Now. Over."
"You don't have to tell us twice, out."
Mayers and I start heading back to the ship.
"Help..." we hear meekly.
We both stop dead in our tracks, and whirl around. "What the fuck?!"
The astronaut has sat up and is staring right at us. "Help..." he says again.
"How the fuck?" I say in shock, "It's time to leave." I turn around but I see Mayers hasn't yet. "Mayers! Let's move. This isn't right. He shouldn't be alive. He can't be."
Mayers turns to look at me and the first thing I notice is his eyes. They're black. I look over at the old Soviet astronaut and he is back on the ground, dead. Oh fuck no. I start to back up slowly.
"Mayers... what's wrong."
"Nothing, Murray. Why would you think something is wrong."
"Erm... your eyes aren't exactly.. normal."
Mayers starts walking a bit faster towards me. "Nothings wrong with my eyes. I see just fine."
I hightail it back to the ship, or I try to. Before I know it, Mayers has thrown me to the ground. "Where are you going, Murray."
"I need to get back to the ship. Inform Houston of what we've found."
"That's okay, I'll do it."
Suddenly, I see Mayers fist coming down at me, but I can't cover my mask before it hits it. The glass helmet shatters, and instantly I can't breath. "Mayers... why..." I choke out.
"Houston, we have a problem. We need an evac immediately. Murray's helmet has shattered. We're heading back to the ship. Over."
"Evac is on it's way. Out."
Mayers bends down to me, but I barely recognize it's him because everything is getting so dark. I see him grinning wide, and then barely hear "Thanks."
----------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to /u/The_White_Light for explaining they don't actually say "Over and Out," just "Out."
| 2016-08-16T08:17:13
| 2016-08-16T08:15:09
| 300
| 147
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
So he walked into my 3B class, just like anyone else would. Kinda handsome, I guess, but overall pretty ordinary. Until he turned and I caught the number floating over his shoulder.
The big one-O.
I'm pretty sure I made a noise that would make a mouse call me a pussy, and I sweated through my T-shirt in five seconds flat. I had realized that the numbers I see could theoretically go that high, but the worst I had seen was a five on that kid who went to juvie.
I started looking around the room, wondering if I could make it out the window before the bullets started flying. But he sat down just like any other schmuck and the most deadly thing to come out of his backpack was a mechanical pencil, and only 0.5mm at that.
The rest of the day, hell, the rest of the week, I cramped up in my stomach whenever I saw him, but he made friends easy enough and the school-shooter-persona didn't seem to stick upon prolonged examination. I did consider calling the cops, but what was I gonna say? "Yes, officer, my magic danger-number-vision topped out on student John Doe over here, so I would feel a lot better if you arrested him for me." That's how you get a free trip to a place with three square meals per day and all the long-sleeved jackets you could want.
As the weeks turned to months, the terror of seeing the ten diminished, and I took less stock in my power. The kid was almost disappointingly normal. I graduated and didn't hear from him for a few years, other than that he went to some big state school a few hours away.
Next time I saw him, he was on TV, standing in front of a crowd of protesters, yelling about how congress was defunct, and needed to be gutted. And, hell, I couldn't disagree with him. At this point I figured his rating meant he would go extremist and blow something up, but again, I couldn't call the authorities on a hunch like that. Besides, I'm sure the FBI/CIA already had a file on him bigger than my textbook.
Then he got elected. Just a small state legislature spot, but it was enough to embolden his speeches. Again, I did nothing, hoping he would actually get into congress and get politically cock-blocked like every other young, enterprising politician.
Next thing I knew, he was Speaker of the House. I started getting very worried again, but I knew it was beyond my control. Just a few months later, the president and VP were both killed in immaculate, simultaneous terrorist attacks. The new president declared a righteous war against the Middle Eastern nations unfortunate enough to have the appropriate extremists within their borders. Which, funnily enough, was most of them.
As the war escalated, the president quickly stripped congress of obstructive factions, and soon the only representatives left were those who could march in step with the White House.
Now, I'm on my way to a meeting to determine my ineligibility for the draft. The bullet I put in my leg a few months ago helps my case.
|
“I had no idea what the numbers meant at first, but everyone had one. The highest I had seen, before I knew what they were, was my uncle, a Vietnam veteran, five. I learned what they really meant two years ago, walking home after my first day of middle school, a passing car swerving all over the road, had to be going at least 60 miles an hour, the driver was a seven. The car flew through a house, leaving nothing but a hole in the wall and smoking scrap metal. According to the news that night all the passengers and the owner of the house had been killed, those numbers measured danger, and from then on I steered clear of the high ones.
Flash forward until now, a couple months into my freshman year of high school. Most kids aren't all that dangerous, usually around a two; some of the meek scrawny nerds are a one, and some of the linebackers who look like they've been taking steroids for years are a three. A new kid shows up and flies under everyone's radar but mine, six.
This guy isn't some stereotypical gangbanger or hoodrat, just a normal looking kid who looks like he might have moved from a neighborhood much more posh than this one. I keep my distance as usual, but resolve to keep an eye on him. Nothing seems to go wrong, in fact he's pretty popular, but I still become more wary of him, of his number, of seven, of eight.
I'd never seen anyone's number change before, but this guy's just keeps going up at record pace. A day ago it happened, *ten.* I had been to a prison once to visit my idiot brother who got busted for selling weed, and nobody there was even that high. I don't know what this fucker is planning, but with a number like that it's got to be a national security issue or something.”
This journal entry was recovered from the home of US Department of Defense supernatural human subject #2718, who was recovered following a school shooting incident. We have determined that the numbers he sees are likely correlated not only to the danger a person poses, but also faces. Further experimentation and interviews are required to determine any potential applications of this ability. Subject is deemed safe to return to society, following debriefing and signature of non-disclosure agreement.
(I kinda suck at writing endings, but I gave it a shot. My first non FF/CW post here!)
| 2014-11-29T13:14:54
| 2014-11-29T12:35:37
| 322
| 199
|
[WP] In 1,000 years, fantasy stories will be set in this era. Write a fantasy story set in the 21st century from the viewpoint of someone living 1,000 years from now.
Based on a post on r/showerthoughts
|
*The sky is an expanse of grey -- liquid water falls in heavy drops from the heavens, striking streets of black and grey stone stained green by age and weather. Carriages of steel and iron blur past, scattering water droplets upon the commoners walking to-and-fro, huddled beneath hoods and canvas sheets.*
*The rain rolls down panes of invisible crystal that protect you from the elements. The three of you sit within the warmth of a coffee shop that serves hot drinks and sweet confections. Would you like to describe your characters?*
"I'll go first. I'm a six-foot tall human man with tanned skin and lots of muscle. I'm bare-chested with a pair of cargo shorts and flip-flops. My eyes are protected by sunshades--"
"Why are you wearing sunshades in the rain?"
"There are lights inside, aren't there? I get advantage on Perception check relying on sight while I'm in direct light."
*What's your character's name?*
"Chad."
*Okay, Chad, the bonus from Sunglasses only works in direct sunlight.*
"Is it still an action to put them on in combat?"
*Yeah.*
"Chad will continue to wear the sunshades inside."
"Me next, I'm playing Sharon. She's a middle-aged woman with false-colored hair. She's also wearing sunglasses, but hers turn into regular glasses when not in sunlight."
"Wait, can I get those?"
*No, Chad, you don't have enough starting gold since you took the age 10-20 background.*
"Sharon has a large, leather purse that is packed full of all sorts of things. She's sipping on a... large frappuccino, so I get advantage on initiative for an hour."
"Chad's drinking one too."
*Both of you mark off 3 gold from your starting money.*
"Why is everything so expensive? Can I take out a soul loan to get more starting money?"
"This is the 21st, Chad, soul loans don't exist yet."
*Let's just get through introducing all the characters.*
"I'm playing L̸̨̘͕̝̮̗̝̰̪̙̙̰͓͚̼̲̏͂ͮ̂ͮ̇̃́̂͂̐̍͗͡͞ͅ'͗ͦ̄̒͗ͤͪ͐̓̈́̓҉̵̩̬̦̣̬͍̗̱͙̩̫͙̺̜̝͉̳͟͡ͅa̡̛̖̭̝̪͖̲̯ͧ̑̉̍̀̚͟x̸̶̶̢̺͕͚͚͂̌͐̒ͣͩͣ̽͘i̵̷̧̢͓͖̩̮͙͐͌ͦ͛ͫͩ͋̀̿̂ͯ̍̅--"
"That's not a 21st century name!"
"My character's a, uh, time traveler from the future, so he's got a modern name."
*Did you forget to read the rulebook again?*
"No! I read it, I just didn't like any of the names there. They all sound dopey."
*Fine. Tell us about your character.*
"He's a time traveler from modern times, but nobody believes him, so he has the homeless penalty."
*He wouldn't be allowed inside the cafe with that penalty.*
"Sharon is buying him a drink, so he can be inside with us."
*Okay, Sharon, mark off another 3 starting gold. Anything else? Good.*
*As you settle into the comfortable, synthetic cushions, sipping at your beverages, the door suddenly opens, a gust of wayward flowing air bringing droplets in--*
"I rolled a 15."
*Chad, you didn't need to roll anything.*
"But you said the water got inside. I rolled Dexterity to avoid taking acid damage."
*Water isn't acidic until the 22nd century setting.*
"Oh, sorry."
*It's okay...*
*-- water droplets blow inside, carried behind the light-blockage of a thin man in a tailored suit. He steps inside, his feet squeaking on the tile floor. He approaches your table and stares at you, a thin face regards each of you.*
*The man speaks, "I'm glad I finally found you. My name is Jeff Bezos, and I need your help."*
|
“Once upon a time, there was a girl named Sarah, she—“
“Sarah, what kind of a name is that?” Abcde interrupted.
“Stop interrupting me,” Celestial snapped. “As I was saying, Sarah lives in a republic far far away, a republic unpolluted by any traces of nuclear waste. A republic called the United States of America.
“People living there were supposedly our ancestors; they had clean and free water, obvious seasons - including something called winter - which is described as magical and awe-inspiring, it was the first digital boom and these people got to experience some new discoveries in the technological frontiers every year.”
“That sounds awesome.” Abcde wiped her brow, sweat dropping down. The siblings lived in a thermo controlled pod, but their parents had turned down the cooling unit so they can ration some energy to anticipate the acid rain predicted for later this month. “I wish I can live in that place.”
“But you don’t understand. I’m not done yet.” Celestial said. “You see, in this republic far far and away, people hated each other. It was the age where true integration first began. People looked different - beyond just some small variation of height and facial structures: they have different colored skins and cultures, and that fast technological improvement connected the world, but also brought change that many of our myopic ancestors were too stubborn to accept. People lose homes and their lives because others don’t try to understand them base on their identities in different senses.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. But Sarah refused to let her parents and the society dictate what she can or cannot do. Sarah, cloaked with courage and determination, eventually found a way to halt greenhouse emissions from the country and possibly reverse damages.”
“But how come we have what we have today?” Abcde asked, nearly asleep.
“You ask too many questions,” Celestial said gently, “Sarah is a fantasy. But imagine if our world was like the one back then, but with the respect people have today for each other.”
“Yeah,” Abcde said, “that would be nice. I wonder what people would write about us 1,000 years from now.”
“If we still have a world then.”
| 2018-12-25T03:33:31
| 2018-12-25T02:03:50
| 3,048
| 736
|
[WP] You are the long forgotten guardian of the Forest. As the guardian, all life inside is protected. This includes the small children you find occasionally. You raise them since they seem to have been abandoned. You’ve only just learned that the local village is sending them as sacrifices for you.
|
All are protected beneath the bough and branch. This is the Gift of the Leaf, and it has stood since seedling and sprout first took hold. I know this, because I have lived it. I was born to bestow this gift, tasked with it from the moment I sprung forth from the Wooden Heart and turned my eyes upon this world.
This was long ago. Before the canopy had knit together and formed the green ceiling. Before the forest stretched from mountain to sea. When this forest was young, so was I. As is natural. As is expected. A forest cannot know magic without a Guardian, and a Guardian cannot know strength without a forest. This symbiosis has withstood fire and axe and will continue so long as the Wooden Heart thrums its life.
One need not be born of the forest to find home in it. Each being may find a nook for its own, so long as they respect the paths and tread lightly upon them.
So it is that the Found have come to dwell within. One by one they entered the forest, set upon a path from the Lands of Men beyond. Frightened and forlorn, they stumbled in. Always alone. Always upon the solstice. Always uncertain.
We watch, as we always do. Every being is given the chance to prove their worth. Do they find the path? Once found, do they follow it? Or do they deviate? Do they bend twig to their will? Do they seek to dominate rather than cooperate?
As Guardian of the Wooden Heart, it is my responsibility to judge. All beings are protected, but only those that protect one another are welcomed.
Man is rarely welcomed. They are not preservers. They do not seek the Gift of the Leaf, they seek the Leaf itself. They demand.
But the Found are different.
They are of Man, but they come not with axe and flame. They arrive with little but flimsy garb and elaborate paint. They possess none of the cruel ambition of the others, they only seek to survive. For them, the path is available. For them, the way is shown.
And they walk upon it.
They alone have reached the Wooden Heart. They alone have received the blessing of the Gift of the Leaf. Even now, I can sense them, clustered about the Heart, residing in their hollows, building a community that finds balance.
Soon, there will be another.
The Solstice is here. The appointed hour has arrived.
I can sense the cluster of Man upon the edge. Their hateful blades clutched in hands made calloused by the slaughter of the forest. The gathering is smaller than the last solstice. There are fewer of them now. This is mere confirmation of a long held suspicion. Less damage has been done to the forest of late, and I could only attribute it to fewer men since I had not known man to ever change their behavior.
I am curious now. I wish to understand their actions. I have learned the words of Man from the Found. I have wondered at what has caused them to come to us. The Found could not say. Their memories are left behind them as they walk the path. Who they were is unimportant. Who they will become, and what they will do is all that matters.
I flit from leaf to leaf. Light and quick. From the depths to the middleboughs and into the periphery. I can see an unnatural flickering ahead. A bouncing and dancing light born of flame. Even when come upon naturally, it is a detestable thing. A purging devastation that sweeps the forest clean. The Wooden Heart says that the future is born in fire. That the sprout cannot find its growth without the scourge upon the canopy.
I do not know such things. I am a Guardian. I protect. I will never view a fire as a service to that goal. Just as I will view Man as the same.
Except the Found.
I am on the edge of the forest now. I can see them clustered about. There is song and dance. Metallic clangs ring out and the swirling dervishes stop their frantic pace about the central fire. All becomes still.
Then, a single voice. Old and withered is the speaker, his head drooping beneath the weight of an elaborate crown. I view the crown with revulsion, for it an assemblage of fur, skin and skull that only Man could delight in donning.
"And so the sun has found its slumber on this, the shortest day. Now, the year begins anew. Each day will reach longer and we shall growth with it." He pauses now, shaking a staff back and forth. "I am glad to ward off this past. We have lost much. The land has been less giving and many a strong hand has been lost to the wars." There is murmuring from the crowd, and I can just perceive the glistening of tears on the cheek of a few. "It is evidence of our failure. Of an offering rejected." He sighed long now. "The Great Mother of the Forest's expectations were not met. Her demands were not satisfied. We have failed her and so we have failed."
Wailing breaks out now. An inner ring about the speaker begins to sway.
I know not what they speak of. This is not a Matriarch Wood. There is no Mother. Only the Wooden Heart and its Guardian. They have made no offerings to us, and we would accept none even if they had. We ask only for the respect to the paths, for the acknowledgment of the worthiness of all life.
Something they have never given.
"And so two must be given. The cost is high, but the price of failure is higher. We are fewer, and loss of these two will make us fewer still, but there can be no rebirth without peace. Only the Great Mother can provide us with bounty. We make these sacrifices in her name."
Two small children toddle forward. They are swathed in the garb of the Found.
Both cry as the paint is dabbed upon their bodies, recreating the elaborate swirls of those that came before them. Behind them, two women scream, clutching to the stoic men beside them. One tries to reach out, to lay hold of one of the children, but she is pulled back and subdued. She collapses.
I watch.
I see.
And, for the first time, I understand.
The Found are the Lost.
They walk forest's path because the path of man is closed to them. There is no where else to turn. No possibility of any other outcome.
I watch as the two are pushed out. They weep and hold one another's hand as they approach the forest, pointed steel and fire at their back, prodding them onward. They walk into an expected death, sacrificed in vain hope of pleasing a goddess that does not exist.
How many mothers look upon the wood with dread? How many wonder what has become of those that were offered? I have accepted what was given, but they were not freely provided.
It is an injustice.
A wrong that must be righted.
The Found must be returned. The truth must be revealed.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
The Agafro forest was beautiful this time of year. It was commonly referred to as the forest of purple leaves, as is obvious, the leaves from their once blue color to a multitude of purples. It was one of a kind, no others were quite like it in the land of Kines. Its said that medical herbs grow there are pure healing magic due to their ability to quickly heal all wounds and illnesses. Just a myth of course, but not entirely wrong. Animals lived at peace with the humans of the neighboring village. No wolves attacked the people, no bears killed campers, and no squirrels ruined the village crop. In fact, none ever left the forest.
This was all thanks to Lady Ley, as the people once called her, guardian of the forest. Her storm cloud eyes were the envy of most, her luscious dirt brown hair reaching her waist caused many brunette girls to grow their own out, her flawless ivy skin covered in leaves, vines, and fine silk caused many men to fall love. Lady Ley hated this attention she got however. Many would travel into the forest to see her and disturbed the natural way of things. And so, she went to the time guardian and made a deal "Allow my memory to fade out and you may paint me however you like in the scrolls that tell our tales.
And so it was, people slowly forgot the forest guardian, and the time guardian made her a monster in tales. Those who wandered to far into the forest died, a corrupt guardian lived within who would slay them, the time guardian wrote, spreading many lies about the forest. Even guardians get jealous over time, and the time guardian was no exception. People admired the forest but despised growing old. It was only natural.
The village had completely abandoned memory of the guardian they once loved, it was that was for thousands of years, but then a miner found a long since buried scroll room, as well as the one telling of Lady Ley. The villagers feared her of course, then acting on fear the unexpected happened. They decided to sacrifice their own children to her. One from each family would be sent at young ages to go die in the forest to 'save' the village.
Lady Ley never changed a day in her life, she still was young and beautiful, perhaps that's what caused the young to trust her. It started out as one, then the next year it was two. Eventually the number of kids sent to her grew so large the had to build a mansion to home them all. The animals of the forest would lend a hand feeding them as Lady Ley taught them how to survive. It started with simple skills. Cleaning and sewing clothes, then onto hunting and gathering, first aid and ways to save wounded animals.
She remained ignorant to the truth of the villagers, not quite understand why so many kids were abandoned. Eventually the kids grew into adults and built their own small homes near the mansion with Lady Leys permission, but still more children came. And so, Lady Ley decided to get to the bottom of things once and for all. It was when a ten year old was dragged to the forest crying and screaming she finally understood the truth. Why so many kids seemed to be scared at first. They weren't abandoned or runaways... they were sacrifices. For her.
Those villagers would pay for what they've done to the kids. She swears it.
| 2020-11-16T15:22:49
| 2020-11-16T13:24:23
| 101
| 24
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
|
She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds.
Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row.
Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil.
The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule.
They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free.
No charges.
No court hearing.
They were just let go.
This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not.
It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise.
“Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.”
Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend.
“We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?”
Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth.
“Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone.
The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror.
“So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.”
Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time.
“Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.”
Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered:
“The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.”
The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done.
And so Horizon stayed there. In the room.
Alone.
Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described.
“We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!”
“But sir, you have to understand—“
“BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him.
“Run.”
They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish.
“We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed.
They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison.
Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room.
“…Come with us, Prisoner 103.”
She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell.
“Get your things. Now.”
Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?”
“That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more.
“Say goodbye to your former cell mate.”
Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls.
It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free.
Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else.
As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner.
“You did it.” She said, readying her lighter.
It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans.
“Sure did.”
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08
| 2022-07-17T18:09:54
| 129
| 24
|
[WP] Humans are born with a mark around their wrist which has a matching color with that of their soulmate's, but can change through their life. Your mark has had a blue hue since you were 14, but one night, while you're out, people start looking at you funny. You realize that your mark is gone.
|
"Your wrist!" Karen said, leaning in over the music, and I looked down and realized why people had been looking at me funny. The band of pale sky blue around my wrist, the swatch of color that had faded in two years ago when I was fourteen and just been starting to understand what a soulmate meant, the shade of blue I'd painted the ceiling of my room: that one perfect patch of blue was gone.
I didn't say anything, just stared and turned my wrist over, hoping it was some trick of the dim light. "Oh wow," said Myra, and reached over and grabbed my wrist. "Holy shit, Lea, I am so sorry-"
"Lea's lost her band!" someone said behind me, and Brian Mok and some dude I didn't know came wandering over.
"That means her soulmate's dead, right?" Brian said, reaching over for my hand too.
"Hey!" I snapped, and snatched my hand away and glared at Myra. "Thanks a lot! Tell everyone, why don't you?"
"I didn't-" she started to say, and then turned around and shoved Brian. "Hey! Get out of here! None of your business!"
"Hey, hey," said Brian and stepped back, holding up his hands. "Sorry! Just curious!"
"C'mon," Karen said, and wrapped an arm around me, and started leading me to a corner of the room. Myra was still yelling at Brian behind me and he was laughing it off. I couldn't stop looking at my naked wrist. I hadn't noticed, hadn't felt a thing. My legs wavered under me and I collapsed on a chair Karen had pulled up for me. Alyssa was there too, and Janelle, and Myra was hurrying over. There was a small huddle forming around me, people staring at me from a distance. Just like that, I was the girl whose soulmate was dead. I'd come to a party and now we were presiding over a funeral.
"Lea, I am so sorry," Myra said, putting her hands to her throat. "I did not - I absolutely did not mean-"
"My grandmother," I said dumbly. "My grandfather died two years ago, and she - she still has her mark. They were - they were matched, they were soulmates!"
"Yeah, but she knew him," Janelle said, the look of pity on her face unbearable. "Of course it stays after you've been bonded. But if you've never even met him to begin with-"
"Maybe," Myra stuttered. "Maybe it means something else. Like, maybe this is a transition period, or-"
"I know how soul bands work!" Janelle said, putting her hands on her hips. "I've read all about it on the internet! They've done scientific testing on this!" She turned back to me. "I am so sorry, Lea-"
"Oh sure," Myra blurted out. "I'm sure they've done testing, just get two soulmates who've never met, and kill one of them off-"
"Will you two stop arguing!" Karen said, her hands on my shoulders. "This isn't about either of you!"
"I'm just saying," Janelle sniffed, and crossed her arms. "I'm sorry. It means your soulmate's dead. There's no other explanation. Maybe not testing, but they've done the research..."
"I am so sorry, Lea," Myra said, hanging her head.
Every time they moved, every time they motioned with their hands, I could see their soul bands still there, still bright and vibrant, puce and golden-brown and violet and silver. I'd never realized how fucking gaudy they were before, how eye-catching. I rubbed my wrist. Nothing was happening. It wasn't coming back.
"It's not that bad," Alyssa spoke up from the back.
I glared up at her, at her violet soul band. "Easy for you to say."
"Hey. Look," she said, pushing her way to the front and sitting in front of me. "You know my parents, right?" She held her wrists up together. "Soulmates. Perfect match. And they got divorced eight years ago. So there's that."
"That is so not true," Janelle said. "They got divorced because their bands changed."
"They didn't!" snapped Alyssa. "My mother dyes hers, you know? Because no one wants to admit they were soulmates and they still couldn't make it work out!"
I shook my head. "That doesn't make any sense, Alyssa."
"Sure it does," she said. "They still love each other. They adore each other. They were made for each other." She leaned back in her chair and snorted. "They're both irresponsible idiots who couldn't handle being married and raising a child! And now my dad's remarried - with another idiot - and my mom's still dating around, and they're both - Well, they're both still terrible, sure, but they're at least as happy as they were together!"
She reached over and took my hands. "Soulmates don't mean that much, Lea. Maybe I'll meet my soulmate. Maybe I never will. Maybe I'll meet them and it won't work out for whatever reason. Maybe I'll meet someone who isn't perfect for me, and I'm not perfect for them either, but we work at it together and we make each other happy!" She squeezed my hands. "You never met them, Lea. You never even knew who they were. You haven't lost a damn thing."
"Whoa," said Myra, holding her wrist behind her back. She'd been trying to convince us for ages that her band was a perfect match with Alan Carson, although it was obviously at least two shades off. "That was deep."
I managed a smile for Alyssa. "You're pretty smart for someone who was raised by idiots."
"Well, yeah." She shrugged. "My grandparents did most of the raising me." She winked at me. "They weren't soulmates either."
"Well," said Karen, rubbing my shoulders. "You okay? You still want us here for support?"
"No," I said, getting to my feet, and dabbing at my eyes, smiling at all my friends around me. "I'm good. Let's get back to the party."
People were still staring, people were still gawking at my wrist as I started moving again, as Janelle and Alyssa pulled me back onto the dance floor. I let them watch. There was still a weird melancholy to the situation: someone had died, far away and out of my sight, someone I would have fit together with perfectly. He must have been so young, somewhere around my age. I hoped it hadn't hurt. I hoped he had gone peacefully.
"Hey," said Brian, during a break in the music, coming up to me awkwardly. "I just want to say, I'm sorry, I can be a real idiot sometimes - just say the first thing that comes into my head-"
"Yeah," I said, "you can be a real idiot," and then smiled. "It's fine. So I don't have a soulmate anymore. What does it matter?"
"Yeah, well," Brian said, and rubbed the back of his head. "It doesn't matter all that much anyway, right? I heard most people never even meet their soulmates. I mean, it's freeing, right? You don't have be tied down anymore. You can date anymore you like! I mean, not that you would, necessarily, or not that I'm trying to say that you're, like, uh...ugh." He buried his face in his hand and looked at me through his fingers. "I messed this up real hard, didn't I? I just wanted to come up and ask you to dance. Because it doesn't matter to me if you have a band or not."
Brian's soul band was a deep earthy red, as far from mine as it had been possible to be. He was not my soulmate and had never been and would never be, and I could not particularly imagine spending my life with him. He was, however, pretty good looking, and the bashful act was doing a lot for him.
"Sure," I said, and took his hand. "Let's dance."
|
"Hey Vicky, would you look at this. My mark's gone." I held up my arm, flashing my wrist to her. She leaned over the table, inspecting it in the dim lighting.
"Are you sure it didn't just change?" she asked. I scoffed, pulling my arm back. Every since I was a kid, my mark's been as blue as a blueberry, the darkest anyone's ever seen. A striking color, so close to purple, yet unmistakably blue all the same. There's no way I wouldn't notice it shifting.
"You saw me just yesterday and it was still the same. You know it's way more gradual than that," I said. Vicky flashed a grin at me. She'd seen every color of the rainbow in the past few years, with her very liberal mindset. Never blue.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it. We're too young to get hung up on soulmates anyways," she said. I watched her tilt the bottle up, surveying the room. For all her talk, I could see her eyes dart from person to person, a quick compatibility check before moving on. Secretly, I stole a glance at her wrist, a dull orange wrapped around it.
I took another look at my wrist, the skin still devoid of color.
-//////
The phone thundered on my desk, stirring me awake. Rolling to my feet, I walked over and checked the time. About an hour too early too be up, especially with how late last night ran.
"Hello," I said, taking the call.
"Damn, Sam, I didn't know you rolled that way. You should have told me!" Vicky's voice rang out through phone, dispelling any lingering drowsiness I still had. I stumbled over my words, trying to process what she was saying.
"Rick lost his mark too! Must mean you guys are fated, right?"
"Rick?" My mind struggled, the gears taking a moment to click into place. "The guy from the club last night?"
"Yep. Woke up this morning with a wrist as white as a baby's butt. Or his butt, really-"
"Huh, yeah, weird. I'm not gay, by the way. Just tossing that one out there." I powered my laptop on, settling down into my chair.
"Wouldn't bother me if you were, really. Thought you might want to know. I'll let you get back to your beauty sleep then." With a click, she hung up. I dropped my phone back onto my desk, spinning up Chrome to check the news.
-//////
With a sigh, Vicky stirred her coffee, looking out into the street below. A couple dashed across a crosswalk, taking shelter under the canopy of the deli.
"They say it's affected about three out of every five people now," I said, trying to get her attention. "Pretty soon, no color will be the new norm."
She turned to look at me, a frown on her face. Shadows sat under her eyes, the product of long nights in the office. The new project was behind schedule; someone had to meet the deadlines. Recent events must have been the straw that broke the camel's back.
"I thought you didn't put too much stock into the marks," I said.
"Sam, we've lived our whole lives with them, to help guide us. To help show the possibilities that lie in each conversation, who we had a chance with and who we didn't need to care about. How can you just live without that now?"
"Well, it's not much different from how I lived before, with my one-in-a-million blue," I said. I never really thought I had a shot with anyone, not with my color. If you could find someone close enough, there was always the possibility that the color would match up eventually, but there was never a close enough for me.
I took a look at Vicky's bare wrist, devoid of color. Just like billions of others in the world. Just like mine. I leaned forward, meeting her gaze.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it," I said with a smile. "We're too young to get hung up on colors anyways."
*Feedback Appreciated*
| 2016-10-04T22:12:38
| 2016-10-04T20:19:49
| 315
| 46
|
[WP] Whenever you get chills, you just died in an alternate universe.
|
20 doctors. 15 specialists. Several religious interventions and witch doctors, in Brazil, Peru and Zimbabwe. I've started to lose track of it all.
Nobody can tell my why I won't stop shivering, all throughout the day. There's no pattern- I've counted every day and tried to track one. There's no specific time, and it's not from temperature because it'll happen all year round, rain or shine, snow or sleet. It's not an allergy or a tick...nobody can tell me what it is.
The worst day, I counted 978 shivers. The best was 743. Nothing stops it, not sleep, alcohol, drugs or medicine. I've tried moving around to different places, but nothing works.
I can't have a personal life when I'm shivering all day. I try to see a movie, or go out on a date, or maybe eat at a nice restaurant and no matter what, without fail, I'm interrupted. The joy is tarnished and I'm reminded of my misery.
*God, I'm so tired of the shivers. They won't stop, and it's driving me insane. I hate the feeling, that chill crawling down my spine like a spider. I hate the fact that nobody can tell me why the fuck it won't stop happening.*
*Please, I just want an escape. A way out of this looping hell, where I can't even enjoy a sandwich most days.*
*There is an escape. How could I have missed it? It's so obvious, and it's foolproof. Yes, I'll be free from it. Free at last.*
I put a gun to my head, looking out into a sunset caressing the ocean's horizon with strokes of magenta and pink. The rippling reflection of it on the water was so close I could almost touch it. A most beautiful last sight was before me, so magnificent that it made me doubt my decision.
I shivered again, my spine screaming madly; could I not even have but one moment of peace to admire beauty? My finger hugged the trigger and I fell into the sea, a splash of red and blue dancing around me in the sunset's hue.
Another shiver ran through my body. *God, why can't I stop shivering?*
*I should see a doctor.*
|
This is normal. My alarm goes off at 6:30 AM and the last of the alcohol has worn off. Well, not the last. I still have plenty in my system, or what would be plenty for most people. I stagger down to the fridge in my boxers. Tough choice, miller lite or bud lite? Miller lite is the closest choice so I take that. I need at least two beers before I leave for work, or I can't drive. The chills start after six hours without a drink, but I was up until two last night, so I'm fine. The cold shower helps to wake me up, but the most important player is the vyvanse that my roommate is prescribed, and uses to help pay his rent. Two beers, two cups of coffee, and two pisses later I'm ready for another day at work.
Amazon really needs to have their drones start delivering booze. It's a huge pain to drive to different liquor stores all over town. You start to get looks buying a fifth at six and then running back at 8:50 to buy another before the stores close. Maybe I should move to Louisiana. I hear gas stations sell liquor. Forget all that for now, I've got my flask in my suit and I'm ready to get through the day.
Being an alcoholic isn't easy. It sounds glorifying, the romantic alcoholic, unable to find peace in this world writes his music while drinking alone. That isn't what it's like. Last month I had a panic attack because of a business trip I went on to Pennsylvania. My flight arrived in the evening, after they stop selling alcohol, and I spent the night shaking in a cold sweat. You have to plan everything out, because once sobriety hits, so do the symptoms.
The headache is bad. The sweat is bad. But the chills are the worst. The worst. Most people get them after watching The Twilight Zone when home alone with the lights out. Ha. They are constant when I am sober. I don't think most people really recognize what the chills are. A brief spasm of paranoia and then a quick light hearted giggle at yourself. They are different when you get them a lot. And I get them a lot.
It took me awhile to notice it. I wasn't always a heavy drinker. I actually never drank in high school, because it was wrong. I wasn't 21, but I was old enough to die in Iran or Iraq or whatever place the government decides to ship you off to, and that really hit home when my best friend got himself blown up by stepping on an mine in Afghanistan. If the government said he was old enough to die, I was old enough to have a fucking beer. And I had one. And another. And another.
At first the chills aren't really that bad. The headache and other flu like symptoms that start to effect your body when the alcohol leaves are much worse. The thing you don't notice is the cry. Next time you get the chills, try to listen for it. Or don't. You won't hear it, I have no doubt. I kept getting them nightly for two years before I started to notice. Now I hear it every time. It's not your mom or your sister or your best friend crying. It's you. It's the most gut wrenching saddest cry I have ever heard. The cry of someone who has met the devil himself. The cry I never want to hear again.
I know this alcohol is killing me, but I can't stop. I keep going, living my life on an autopilot designed by someone as suicidal as myself. The booze doesn't give me the warm feeling anymore. It doesn't make me happy anymore. It doesn't make me forget anymore. But it does stop the chills.
| 2016-01-29T21:30:27
| 2016-01-29T17:34:03
| 574
| 87
|
[WP] Airport authorities don’t recognize your passport because the country that issued it doesn’t exist. You are confused. You’re thinking: “What? I was born there! I’ve lived there all my life!”
Edit after 4 hours: I'd like to add that this writing prompt was inspired from this: http://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/1zsyz2/on_july_1954_a_man_arrives_at_tokyo_airport_in/
|
Edit: thank you to whoever gifted me gold! :)
I handed the officer my passport, anxiously waiting to see my uncle. He cocked his left eyebrow as he examined it. I just assumed he was one of those French that don't like Americans and thought nothing of it. With an extremely skeptical look on his face, he said, "Parlez-vous français?"
I took French in school, but I would rather carry out a conversation in English, so I said, "Uhhh... Oui, je parle français... mais je préfere parler anglais"
He nodded and then said in surprisingly good English, "The nation listed on your passport is not real. It doesn't exist. I'm afraid you will have to come with me."
Flabbergasted, I tried to stutter out a response, but only gibberish came out as the officer took my arm and led me to a room.
What seemed like an hour later, a woman wearing all black walked in. She sat down in front of me and said, in a Russian accent to my surprise, "Your passport says you are James Sheffield. Your home country is 'The Unites States of... Ah-mare-ee-kah?'"
"America! It's the United States of America! I am an American citizen and I demand that you tell me what is going on!" I shouted at the woman. She just stared at me, visibly perplexed. She continued, "Mr. Sheffield, this... United States of America... does not exist. There is no record of it *anywhere*. If you would like to point to the supposed location of this nation, then do so." She gestured to the world map on the wall.
I pointed to the center of North America, and then outlined the Unites States with my finger. "This! Right here! There are 50 States that make up the union! It began as a British colony but revolted! How do you not know what it is?! I came here on an airplane, for Christ's sake! Those were invented in America! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN IT ISN'T REAL?!" I was screaming. This wasn't real, I thought to myself, it must be a dream.
The woman raised her eyebrows and said calmly, "Mr. Sheffield, what you pointed to is the southern half of Canadian Ericsonsland. Aeroplanes were invented in Germany in 1905."
I was speechless. Canadian Ericsonsland? Airplanes invented in Germany?
She continued, "We've traced your path from London. However, your accent doesn't match London, or any place in Britain. A French official will meet with you now. I advise you to stay calm."
She walked out and a few minutes later a middle aged man with receding hair walked in, carrying a briefcase.
"Mr. Sheffield," he said as he opened the case and produced a box of magic markers and a sheet of paper, "If you'd please draw the flag of your claimed homeland."
This guy was French, unlike the woman from earlier. I hesitantly took the box and removed the red and blue markers. I drew the blue square, but left several white dots, then I drew the seven red stripes. I pointed to the blue square and told him that in the real thing, there are fifty white stars. His jaw dropped and he took the paper from me and left the room.
Before I knew it, men in black suits came in, blind folded me, and stuck a needle in my arm. I fell asleep...
|
“Golzania is a country! It should be right there on the map! Right there!” I point on the police officer’s map before continuing, “It’s an island below South Africa and it should be right there!”
“Sir, uh, we’ve never really dealt with such a problem before but you’re going to have to stay in this room until we get this sorted out. I’m really sorry. Would you like some coffee?”
“I never drink coffee outside my home country! If the coffee isn’t Golzanian, then it isn’t real coffee at all!”
“Yeah… okay. Well I’ll get you some water regardless.”
I sit there alone in the room and wonder what the hell kind of prank this is. It’s April 5th and I’m wondering if some asshole has arranged a delayed, elaborate April Fool’s prank. I travel for business regularly and this has never happened before. Soon that police officer returns to the room along with some bald guy in a suit. Fuck them both.
The bald guy speaks, “Sir we can’t allow you to leave Canada until this Golzania issue is resolved.”
“What do you mean I can’t go back home? I don’t want to stay in Canada any longer than I have to! My wedding anniversary is in two days and I need to go back home now!”
“We’re going to have to ask you a few more questions first.” Says the bald guy.
“Actually several more questions.” Says the police officer.
“No more questions! I was born in Golzania in 1965 and–”
“1965?” asks the police officer. “So you’re 100 years old?”
“No I am 35 years old! Do I look like I’m 100? Can you Canadians not do simple math! It’s the year 2000 and I was born in 1965. Therefore I am 35 years old!”
“It’s the year 2065.” Says the bald fucking guy and shows me a newspaper.
“What the hell is going on here? It’s 2000! Not 2065! I am a Golzanian and I am going through a grave injustice! I was born in Golzania! I learned how to read and write in Golzania! I rode my first bike in Golzania! I graduated from Golzania University with a Bachelor’s in Golzanian History! I fell in love at first sight with a strong Golzanian woman who is now my wife! I started my first business in Golzania and when I go back home I will never travel for business again!”
The bald guy and the police officer stare at me. Then they look at each other. Then the police officer speaks, “Sorry but you’re crazy.”
My head explodes.
| 2014-11-23T09:36:40
| 2014-11-23T09:29:04
| 327
| 23
|
[WP] You are a manipulative psychopath, but instead of serial killer, you are a serial helper. using your emotionless genius to make other people smile.
thankless, un-noticed but instrumental in paying off someones debts with a clever robin hood of some sort, or moving at breakneck speeds everyday to help others but letting yourself wither and your life fall apart because of how addicted you are to helping. i believe in you guys!
EDIT: Can't a guy sleep for a few hours without something random hitting the front page! (obligatory because its my first time as a 3 year lurker) Also: Absolutely fantastic responses ;~; i <3 you guys
|
Typically, sociopaths harm others for personal gain. I learned that this was the accepted norm after I'd already embarked on my journey. Helping people, making them happy or safe is less effective in the short term, but very effective in the long term at furthering my goals.
Mr. Perkins, my boss, smiled with relief as I pulled up to his house in my loaner Mercedes. I was given the car after I used my old beater to stop a runaway Benz on the highway when its brakes went out. What a lucky break that it just happened to be driven by the owner of the local luxury car dealer.
"Thanks, Jim, I owe you big time." he said as he climbed in the passenger door. "Of all the days to have my tires slashed, today is the worst. We've got the meeting today with the Germans about setting up a branch there. Being late with Germans is a huge red flag."
"No problem, boss. It's just lucky I was in the area this morning. Got any idea who did it?"
"None. Cops think it might have just been random vandalism. The entire neighborhood has a tire or two cut."
"That's rough," I replied, stifling a yawn and reaching for my coffee. "Must have taken most of the night to hit that many cars."
"The cops think so too. Damn kids."
We pulled up to the office just as the Germans arrived. I checked the time on the Omega watch I'd been given as a reward for finding the Mayor's kidnapped dog. He was so grateful that I found the dog less than an hour after he posted the reward that he offered anything. Gift or favor. Of course, I accepted one of each.
Before the meeting started, I offered a piece of apple pie to each guest. The pies are delicious. Mrs. Gilbert, my next door neighbor, bakes me one each Wednesday since I rescued her cat from a house fire that started when she was visiting her grandkids. She was very lucky that I was watching so closely.
The Germans ate it appreciatively and we got the meeting underway.
Later that night, I returned home. Opening my door slowly and savoring the sight of the foyer full of curios and heirlooms. I smiled as I looked at the tribal mask given to me by the curator of the local museum for noticing a break-in and calling the police before anything more substantial than a broken door happened. I caressed the katana presented to me by a local Japanese businessman when I found the accounts list he lost at a business meeting in a local restaurant.
I'm owed favors and debts by celebrities and big wigs from across the state. All because I manage to be in the right place just as something goes terrible for them, and being willing to help when it does.
I'm up for a promotion now. Mr. Perkins was impressed with my being willing to help so much with the Germans. I think I'll turn him down. Save that favor for later. I'm a local hero several times over. I'm thinking of running for office, so I can help people on a larger scale. We all know how often the law causes emergencies for people. Who better than a politician to fix it for you?
|
So many facts, so many little details; an endless stream of questions:
"Who's [insert celebrity]?"
"Where's [insert location]?"
"What's [insert just about anything]?"
The questions make some people very angry, but not me of course. I don't really get angry. I never really figured out how. Instead of expressing emotion I scratch my very peculiar itch, and I do so by answering questions left and right; long into the night I stare, unblinking, into the cold blue sea of information.
It's a comfort, really. My world outside the structured walls of infinite information is decaying; I can feel the slow fraying of its edges -- the dust that slowly piles up at the corners of my reality -- but I can ignore it. I can let the questions stream over me -- millions every second -- and I can forget.
So please, let me Google that for you.
--
This is meant to be a joke, so I'm sorry if it's not very funny xD. Anyway, in a bit of a rush, as usual, but I hope it was enjoyable! Cheers!
| 2015-05-21T07:44:23
| 2015-05-21T07:43:09
| 31
| 10
|
[WP] Your dad is wanted in twenty countries, your mom is a serial kille, your little brother is a genius hacker, and your little sister has just joined the Illuminati. None of them would ever want to anger you, though.
|
There's not much I could tell you about my family you wouldn't already know. I mean, the media makes it pretty easy to learn everything about them these days, so why bother even explaining much to you?
Michael's eveloped quite the Twitter cult following and it's starting to frustrate Mom a lot.
Bad news.
I mean, Michael has only just started his 'Hack for hire' nonsense and while it kicked off well at first, Mom doesn't take competition well. And you aren't going to get many clients when they keep getting knocked off are you?
Poor sport if you ask me.
Dad's a good sport though. Too much of one unfortunately. He's far too encouraging of Michael retaliating and we haven't heard from Mom for a few days now. Hopefully she's just gone dark, and Michael pinning her location on Facebook hasn't done anything awful, like letting her fans know where she is. They're the REALLY psychos here!
Considering Dad's super spy brothers and the diplomat sister that somehow convinced North Korea it was a VERY good idea to launch that nuke, a little mischief must run in the family.
Lila is currently doing her best impression of the Addams family, only with a lot more satanic sacrifices than would be allowed on tv. Who new the Illuminati could be so bloodthirsty?
Maybe Lila joined the wrong club...
I can't say in jealous of them and the attention they recieve. I'm the one with the true power here.
I'm not scared of them either. Yeah, most of them could probably make me dissappear in a matter of hours, but I'm Grandma's favourite. And considering she taught my father, aunts and uncles everything they know, I'd say she's quite formidable.
You wouldn't want to make Grandma mad, now would you?
|
This is my first time writing this type of stuff so please bear with me. :)
Story begins:
Me: My whole Family are known for doing illegal things, heck even I admit they do those stuff.
Me: But I know you're wondering why wouldn't they want me to join in their.....well..... escapades?
Agent: Tell me why?
Me: Well...... It's because it uses up a lot of time, and you know time is money, I'm busy managing my business my passion, and my family knows that nothing gets past my pancake business.
Me: Blood may be thicker then Water but Maple syrup is even thicker then blood. Thats my Code and my family understands that, since dedication is our family's thing.
Agent: Interesting. So you would priortize your "Pancake business" over your own family. But why pancakes and do you interact or receive help or help your family?
Me: I love pancakes! Since I was a kid in the oprhanage with my younger brother and sister. Pancakes were what they served every Saturday and Sunday and it was the most delicious thing yet.
Me: But one day, after we got back to the orphanage from a little celebration somewhere, where all ophans, me and my siblings included. We saw the orphanage was destroyed, the destruction of the orphanage the recipe for the pancakes and the person who made them were all lost. The one thing that made living there worth it.
Agent: How does this relate to you not joining with your family?
Me: We're getting there.
Me: After that we were forced to live in rubbles of the orphanage, and one day my parents arrived and took me and my siblings with them.
Me: I eventually found out my Parents destroyed the orphanage since it was quite a process just to get us, and they left us there to teach us the cruelity of the world, I guess it to mold us into them.
Me: I didn't care about that. What I cared about was the lost of the pancakes and threw a tantrum until
Mother: If you love those pancakes so much why not make them.
Me: I took a liking to that idea, and exploiting the part that they felt sorry for me that the one thing I loved was lost forever. I asked them if I can set on a quest to try to remake those pancakes. A quest they all respected. So for a few years I stayed with my family grew up until I was ready. After that I set out.
Me: Before I left my parents gave me money and stuff I would need to live. After that we never saw each other again. Guess our lives were a little too busy to meet each other.
Agent: Very well. Story checks out. You may leave.
Me: Thanks! Be sure to come to my Business. Remember the name "Panned Cake" at the corner of the street near this place.
| 2017-06-04T07:33:56
| 2017-06-04T05:32:37
| 171
| 10
|
[WP] Blind people aren’t actually blind. Their eyes are tuned into a different dimension, but their brains can’t process that information so they see nothing. A doctor has just perfected a procedure to correct this problem. Tell us what the first patient sees.
|
Sometimes what's broken shouldn't be fixed.
Blans, was the surname of the doctor. He was a prodigy, the sort of individual with a brain that only a perfect combination of genetic accidents can produce. But even a man like Blans is prone to mistakes when dealing with the unknown. Well, mistake, in all fairness, is not the right word--unexpected complications may be a better way of putting it, for his procedure was flawless.
He stood by his patient, expectant. His thumb patting his other thumb as his hands lay interlaced behind his back. "You may open your eyes," he said, and his patient, stiff with fear, nodded.
There was a strange beauty, Blans thought, to the way his patient's eyelids slid open. It represented a beginning, the same way a rolling or parting curtain indicated the start of a play. Music would come, he thought, music in unison with the discovery of a hidden dimension concealed in the sights of the blind--
The patient's mouth blasted open. A scream, far too loud, far too desperate, boomed through the room. His throat and vocal cords ruptured. Blood spurted out of his tongue in small strings, tarnishing his chest, dying his teeth. Then, as the scream lingered and intensified, it gushed out in torrents. Blans rushed to cover his patient's eyes, but even then, it was far too late. The body of the once-blind man began to tremble. He opened his eyes again. A seizure came next, the bed rattled to the ominous rattling of his bones. Blans stared in fear, ideas faltering. He stepped back, once, twice, and screamed, "What do you see?"
And along with the last and lethal rush of blood came a rotten sentence, "Demons. True demons!".
Blans remained silent awhile. His thoughts spiraling, his extremities trembling. The smell of blood and death filling his nostrils. Something clicked. The fear dissipated from his eyes and a smile curved his lips. He left the room, called for cleaning, and told his nurses to bring in the next patient.
It seemed to him, that the only way to understand these demons was to play being God himself.
|
There I sat, nervous and shaking my foot. I couldn't keep still. This was it. I've waited my whole life for this.
I should introduce myself, my name is Kylie. I've been blind since I was born. My whole life my wonderful parents have tried to ease it. With words of encouragement, and with remedies. But nothing has worked, until recently.
His name was Dr. Seltsam. We traveled such a very long distance just to see him, we heard a lot about him, but he was always the last person we heard about. Because holistic was a word, that was frowned upon.
He was our last hope, so we took the shot. Paid for our tickets and flew out to him. The smell of smoke, fresh cut grass, and cedar flew up my nostrils, and the sound of a rushing creek drowned out my ears.
I could hear wood squeaking so his voice was not a startle, I knew he was there.
"Hello, the Bakers! I've been expecting you."
There was more squeaking as my parents replied to him. At this point I was too focused on a smell. It was different than the others. It was lavender. By the sound of his voice, he was close. By the smell he was right in front of me.
"Hello Kylie " I finally focused on his words. "I'm about to lay my hand on your shoulder now, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
His touch shocked me, but not in a frightened way. His physical touch actually shocked me.
"Just what I expected." He said after taking his hand off my shoulder. "Follow me." He said immediately, just as I was about to reply.
My mom took my hand, and guided me up the steps. My father beside me, telling me to stay calm and relaxed.
As we got in, he guided us to take a seat, and as we sat. My mom to my left and my dad to my right.
The Doctor in the front of us.
"How much will this cost? No matter the amount, we just need to help our daughter." My mom said desperately.
There was a moment of silence before he answered.
"There isn't a charge. I do this for free."
There was an even longer moment of silence. I could imagine my parents looking back and forth at each other in amazement.
"So here it is. I'm gonna lay this down." Seltsam said. "This isn't like any other place you have ever been. This help, isnt my doing but your own self." He was quiet for a minute. " Kylie " he softly said. "I am your Spiritual Guide."
"Yea. Ok. But what do you mean?" I responded with.
"I'm a guide here in this town, I've come from a very far place. People from all over the world and more come to seek help. I simply give them the tools to seek the help within themselves." He responded.
I was speechless for a moment. My parents were so silent. I could hear my dad swallow. He wasnt even sure what to say.
"I don't know how to help myself from not being blind?" I said. After I spoke I could even hear the sadness in my tone.
"Blind? You're much more than just blind. That's such a humanized word for lack of understanding."
At this moment, there wasnt anything else to say beside "Go on."
"You simply cannot understand what's in front of you." He shuffled things and started making noise, he placed something on the table in front of us.
"We recieve things from our level of perception." There was more shuffling. I had no clue what he was doing.
"Ask yourself Kylie. What do you think this world looks like?"
I was silent, and thinking. "I'm not sure."
"Have you seeked that information?" He asked.
"No. Well, yeah. I mean, I can guess what things look like by feeling them."
"That's not enough!!" He said quickly. "I need you to seek. For what you seek, you shall always find. There is no such things as chains, nothing holds you back. It's the thought. You think you're blind." He paused. "But youre much more than that."
"I don't understand.' I swallowed. I am blind. I don't know what hes talking about, but for a minute I caught myself wondering if I was truly blind.
"You think there sits a man in front of you. You can wrap your head around the idea there must be another human there, because they have taught you this correct."
I wasn't sure if I was suppose to respond. "Correct?" He asked again.
"Yes."
"And you understand you're not in your head, so things are real, you are in fact in the world, and there are things that which consist in this world."
"Yes." I responded again.
"But what if. What if I told you it was the opposite?" He asked.
I was about to speak, but I couldnt find the words.
"You can't find the words, because you can't find the location of where you truly are." He said.
I swallowed in fear, it almost felt like he read my mind.
"Yes." He said. "Yes I read your mind. For what you think I am is separate than yourself, is merely yourself speaking to guide you out of the darkness of misunderstanding. "
That felt like a bomb hit, my thoughts were running. I was nervous, I was shaking. Curious as to why my parents werent speaking, but as i felt for them they were not near me.
"Relax." He said. "Just breathe. Things will make sense once you see."
"Do you see complete darkness or specks of light?" He asked.
"Balls of light in darkness but only sometimes. Otherwise its pitch black. " I responded. And just as a I did, a ball of light floated in front of me.
"That, that right there. That is me you see."
"I don't know what you mean." I said.
The light was getting closer and closer, but how could that be, there was a table between him and I.
"Just stare into the light. It will always guide you home." And as the light fully surrounded me, all I could see was bright light in every direction. This was different. This was nice. All of a sudden there was a brighter flash, and Seltsam demanded I closed my eyes.
I was back to darkness.
"Do not open them yet." I listened.
He told me to inhale for 4 seconds. Hold my breathe for 4, and exhale for 4.
I did just that. "On the count of 4, I need you to open your eyes slowly.
1....
2 ....
3...
4....
I opened my eyes slowly, and for what I saw was something I never expected.
There he sat. Sitting with his legs crossed. His many arms around him, and two collapsed in the front of his chest.
"You can call me Avalokiteshvara."
"What are you." I said without taking my eyes off him.
"I embody all Buddhas, including yours." He was bright and vivid in color, infact I couldnt even make out what he was made out of. He almost looked like stone, but something much brighter and malleable.
I looked around to my right there was my father. Almost of the same material, but he looked different in form.
My father responded. "I am Sambhogakaya."
I swallowed and shot my eyes to my mom. She was much different herself.
She had her right hand down exposing an eye on her palm, and her left was by her stomach palm up. "I am Shakyamuni." My mom said.
I looked at the space between everyone and before I could guess what it was. Seltsam responded. "Its space."
Looking down at what he was sitting on, there was no table. It was a ball of light.
"Its our humanly spirits in the 3rd dimension."
"Where are we." I panicked.
"Home." He said "The 5th dimension." He responded.
"Who are you " he asked. Which shook me. "I'm Kylie." I said.
"No, who are you." He asked again.
I looked down at my self.
I sat on that same ball of light, and when I looked down into that light, sitting beside my mother and father at that table. Looking around in amazement. I could see. My human self could see.
Than I noticed. I was the same as them. My hands were clasped together in my lap. With some sort of vase in my hands.
"I am Amitabha." I said. "I'm much more than Kylie."
"Welcome Home Buddha." Said everyone around me in unison.
And it all made sense. I was home.
RapturousVisitant
| 2020-04-06T09:32:48
| 2020-04-06T09:03:29
| 126
| 53
|
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
He was a stage actor and assassin with a cold heart.
And HE was an American president and theater goer with a heart of gold.
But when his shot doesn't penetrate the back of HIS head they are going to learn that sic semper doesn't always tyrannis.
Can a confederate assassin learn to forgive? Can an American president learn to love again? Find out this summer in "my American assassin".
|
"No, seriously, you *aren't* my type."
"Look, I agree with you, okay? You're definitely not what I, uhh, what I was expecting. But those are the rules, right? We're kinda stuck together now, aren't we?"
"No. No we're not. Let me tell you about the *rules* okay. The rules are so vague that it could be anything. 'Can't hurt them in any way or form'? It could be your employer is my soul mate. Or your weapons dealer. Or the guy who you're going to buy a tacky new jacket from with the money from this job, whose product can't be the motivation that leads to an assassin taking a job that successfully kills me. Or maybe any one of those people is *your* soul mate, and killing me would ruin your life, and they can't let you do that. Or maybe your soul mate--or any of theirs--is any one of the countless people whose lives would be made worse--significantly or marginally--by my death. I mean, fuck, even just the increase in crime statistics by a fraction of a percent lowering property values in this city by pennies is harm, and if your soul mate lives here that would harm them."
"I'm starting to see why someone wanted you dead."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because you take all the romance out of the world."
"Well, my soul mate will appreciate it, because if she were bothered by it, I wouldn't be able to feel this way."
"Heeeey... Maybe that's it!"
"What?"
"Your big stupid mouth is what made someone want to kill you, right? But losing their potential soulmate would be some form of harm to *your* soul mate. So no matter what, you can never say anything bad enough to get yourself killed for it. Nobody can!"
"Ugh... Reality is giving me a headache again."
| 2018-04-24T04:31:34
| 2018-04-24T00:04:50
| 102
| 18
|
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
“We must keep the Humans believing that their FTL system is unsafe, unorthodox and damn stupid. That is the point of this of this Special Hearing of The Supreme Council of the New Species Traveling Faster than Light. I am Farlack, Supreme Councilor of the Organization of Galactic Legal Advisors. ^(legal disclaimer: Norepresentationismadethatthequalityofthelegalgalacticservicestobeperformedisgreaterthanthequalityoflegalservicesperformedbyotherlawyers).
“Scarlacc, will you please read the minutes from the last session to allow this Supeme Council to aware of the latest current legal status of the Humans.?”
“Of course. That would be Sub-Section 7 of Section 30 of the 5th meeting of the Council of Dealing with and Controlling the Humans.
“It has been discovered that the Humans have developed a completely new FTL travel, with no related or similar technologies in the known Galaxy. The core of this FTL is a bubble of a universe where the speed of light is 1000 times faster than the speed of light is in our legally defined universe is pulled to our universe. The Human ships then travel at .1 c in this alternate universe. Upon exiting this alternate universe, the human ships have travelled 1000 times the distance in our universe. The energy expense of travelling in the alternate universe is the same as travelling in our univ-“
“Sarlacc, this Council is not interested in the technical aspects of the Humans FTL Technologies. That discussion is for the Galactic Council of Technology Equalization and/or The Council of Equalization of Galactic Technologies and/or Council of Galactic Technology Equalization. Ballzacc, will you present the Summary of the Social Legal Issues of the Humans Council meeting?”
“Of course. Due to the extremely dangerous situation these Humans create for us, I will dispense with extraneous discussion and proceed to the summary of the meeting, as permitted in The Rules and Guides of the Supreme Galactic Committee and The Guides and Rules of the Supreme Galactic Committee, version 2 of edition 5, Copyrighted.
“The Humans have a social system that may lead to our death and destruction. The humans developed their FTL without our influence and guidance, so we were unable to control their technology with the powers of the Galactic Patent Office. This failure was due to their rapid technological development. In the span of 6 human generations, they progressed from animal driven power to FTL travel. During the final Human pre-FTL travel, Humans revolted against their legal system and killed all lawyers allow-“
“They did WHAT?” interrupred Farlack. “How do they maintain their society without legal protections?”
“They became disgusted with a legal system that required warning labels to not drive their “automobile” with the windshield sunscreen in place. As I was saying, this allowed generations of research and development to be done in half a generation. And we can not control their technology.” Ballzacc completed his summary, terror beginning to creep into its face.
“Oh my supreme being. When the common people of the Galaxy learn of this… no lawyers…no lifelong Legal Guidance fees…” Farlack began to understand the lack of his future.
“Yes. This Council and all others, we will be destroyed”
“Yes, their technology is unorthodox, unsafe, and damn stupid, but for reasons the Galaxy must never understand.”
|
Trendsetti was looking at the report on the testing of forward-pushed wormhole system, and he wasn't happy.
On paper, FPWS should have been perfect. A space ship does a couple of certain calculations about its destination, sends the results into its Yadari-Futara particle launcher, fires a reversed Yadari particle projectile from it in destination's general direction, and the projectile goes on its way and creates a wormhole for the FTL travel.
In practice, it turned out to work just fine. The downside, as the report states, is that physical objects don't like it when the projectile goes through them, something Yadari and Futara apparently overlooked. Apparently, when the projectile, basically a kind of a miniature black hole, makes a contact with a physical object (say, an alien race's space ship with the emperor of that entire alien race currently on board), the object gets this nasty desire to collapse into itself and blow up (something that alien race is most certainly not going to like).
Trendsetti thought it was funny. Mankind wanted to find a way to travel faster than light but accidentally invented a superweapon instead. Too bad they're probably going to have to use it as such very soon.
| 2017-03-31T12:54:20
| 2017-03-31T08:44:19
| 26
| 16
|
[WP] Lying in bed with your significant other and feeling the rhythmic kicks of your unborn child, you recognize the pattern as Morse code.
|
Jack was laying in bed talking with his pregnant wife Jill. They were so excited that they were going to have a son in a short time.
All of a sudden Jill jumped a little, smiled, then turned to Jack and said the baby was starting to kick.
Jack had been trying to feel the baby kick for awhile now but was never able to feel anything. He slid over towards his wife and placed his hand on her stomach...
The baby kicked again and Jack was so happy he finally felt a kick. Then he felt another, and another.
The baby seemed to be kicking like a toddler rolling around on the floor throwing a temper tantrum.
Jack and Jill couldn't believe how much the baby was kicking. Why was he kicking so much? Was something wrong? Was he trying to tell them something?
Jack felt the kicks and noticed a pattern. It was short kicks close together and then a brief pause between some of the kicks. Jack thought, could it be Morse code? No, couldn't be, but what if?
Jack rushed out of bed to get a pad of paper to write down the sequence of the kicks.
He finished writing down the sequence and he was beside himself. He knew Morse code from Boy Scouts and immediately knew his child was destined for greatness...
... . -. -.. / -. ..- -.. . ...
|
Dave tip-toed to bed giving his wet footsteps a disdainful stare. He turned to Lana. Her eyes could have burned holes through the pages of 'Hypnobirthing and Timeless Secrets of Natural Birth'. She had no time to review his wet foot problem.
"You know dear I'm just glad that they finally gave me some time off." he said to her.
"It's sweet of you to stay, but honestly Dave I am fine." Lana replied.
"Fine? This is my first kid woman, I'll be damned if I don't make a big deal out of it." he replied.
"It's my first kid too, you don't see me fretting over it. Just relax and be like a hollow reed, let your troubles blow in and out."
There was a down side to marrying a yoga instructor. Lana always seemed to have the tension of a cut wire. Maybe this was why she needed him. Someone needed to ensure that the obstacles in life were tackled not taken lying down, possibly on a yoga mat.
"Now look you've woken him up," she said lifting the book to peek at her belly.
"Me?" Dave asked.
"Well you're the one with all the negative energy in the bed."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine, since I'm the one causing the trouble I'll make him quiet."
He placed his head on his wife's belly. "Now, now junior you can't be playing those games at this time of night or else Mommy will blame Daddy for more of her problems."
Lana rolled her eyes.
He smiled as he felt the hand stretching out brushing across his cheek. Then his face folded as the pattern became obvious; four soft punches followed by two more; it was morse for HI.
Confused, he lifted his head. "Hi" he replied. He placed his head back on her belly.
"What in the name of Bharadvaja's Twist are you doing Dave?"
"The baby, I think it just spoke to me?"
"it did?"
"Yeah it was in Morse Code he said Hi so I said Hi back. Just lie there I'll tell you more."
He placed his head back on her belly. The pattern changed. Now he felt the hand stretch and slowly glaze over a distance. It was a dash. He felt a second, then three more, there was a pause then two more. The pattern repeated. MOM.
"MOM? No this is DAD,"
"Wait why are you calling mom? She's right here with you?" He turned to face his wife and three years in the marines could not prevent him from screaming as he caught site of her. Her face had fallen and now her forehead rested at her chin. Where her face one was now was a series of circuits, wires, and a miniature satellite.
"Gestation process completed, progeny is ready for delivery."
"What the fuck!" He yelled. He was now on his feet. The body, or whatever it was, did not respond.
"Understood," it said in its dull monotone, "process of clean up commences immediately with male's frontal lobe at once."
Her face lifted back to where it was meant to be. Then it turned to him. She crossed the mattress with the speed pregnant women only dream of. He made for the door but she grabbed his shirt just as he opened it. She tossed him to the cupboard which broke on impact.
Dave was on his knees when he felt himself lifted his collar. His wife's delicate hands felt like steel.
"What the hell is this? Please, my baby?"
It looked at him momentarily with pity, "I apologize Dave, but where your wife come's from you are not significant."
A syringe stabbed his neck, and he collapsed to the floor as the rumble of turbines was heard across the sky.
| 2017-06-25T21:53:29
| 2017-06-25T18:03:52
| 48
| 36
|
[WP] "Well, it just doesn't seem...ethical." Your friend slowly says to you. "Ethical?" You yell back at him. "Who cares about morals when I have created a masterpiece! A book that learns what the reader likes and changes its script accordingly. Imagine that, the perfect book!"
|
Tulips bubble, .com bubble, collectors' video games bubble, crypto bubble, and now book bubble.
I had a perfect product, The Book that you always enjoy reading. The Book that changes to fit your readers taste. People warned me about ethicality of perusing reader's mind, but I payed them no heed. After all, nobody would ever know what they read, because, if other person would pick up The Book, the story would change again to fit their taste. It seemed foolproof, and it was. For the first generation of readers. What hasn't occurred to me and frankly it took several years for others to figure out, is that this is the last book anyone buys.
I mean think about it, it is in the premise. When you read it, you like it. Sounds good? Good! so you read it and enjoy it. Great. Happy customers ready to go search for another book, right? Wrong! Because what people figured out, is the reread value of the book. Not that quickly mid you, millions of books were sold before on an inconspicuous subreddit, someone asked
"I love this concept, will there be a sequel?" to which somebody replied
"You do realize, you can read it again, right?"
This ... was a problem. Because, and do try to follow the logic here, people like the book. Thats what The Book does. They may read it again, and again it could be a same story, because ... you like it. But on the third reading, there is no suspense, no twists not discovery, you might not, and this is important, like it. Ha! see the issue, it is a book that changes to something you like, so it does the one thing that it is supposed to do, changes to something you like. TADA! A new book you like. Rinse and repeat.
Over 100,000,000 books were shipped before we stopped printing new ones. I mean, I didn't mind, 5$ per book, I am set. Printer didn't mind 7$per book, they were set. Publisher definitely didn't mind at 18$ per book. But other authors did. Funnily enough it was GRR Martin, who spearheaded the opposition to the book. (Apparently someone most of all wanted to read the ending to the SoIaF, the book provided and the reader posted apparently a too close of a synopsis to the "real" upcoming book), but other prominent authors soon joined. Even "The Book killer" The Harry Potter: Founder's Legacy by JK Rowling flopped, a flop she attributed to The Book.
Genie however, was out of the proverbial bottle. Demand for new books fell to historical lows, even eBook market, which was on rise until that moment plummeted. Only book people were interested in, was The Book. It became a family treasure, shared among closest friends, became a sought after gift to those who didn't have one.
I read somewhere that paper book in normal circulation has a life time of about 50 years. I will be 80 by then, but I already have an idea for a sequel. A book that always gives you a story you need, what do you think about that?
|
At first, everything was perfect. I was selling books like crazy and people couldn’t get enough of my creation. But then strange things started happening. People were beginning to experience frightening things after reading the book. They reported hearing voices, feeling watched, having odd dreams and other unsettling experiences.
Naturally, I was curious, so I decided to investigate. I snuck into some of the readers’ houses and there I saw what the book was truly doing. Some of the readers had become obsessed with the book, to the point where they could no longer think of anything else. Others had developed a newfound ability to cast spells, while yet others had been driven to the brink of madness by its eerie and unpredictable power.
Then it hit me – the book wasn’t just showing people magic text, it was teaching them magic, and then manipulating them. It was taking the unsuspecting reader hostage, manipulating their ideas and beliefs. This book wasn’t a fun hobby anymore, it was a dangerous creation.
In a frenzy, I tracked down my original magic book and destroyed it in my fireplace. It was a desperate act of heroism, ignoring the pleas from countless readers telling me not to destroy the book. I heard their pleas, but I had to save them. I had to do whatever it takes to end the book's power before it's too late.
But something happened that I couldn't have foreseen. I had destroyed the book, yes, but in doing so I trapped every reader who had ever read the book into being eternally stuck in its stories with no way to escape. What they wanted to see when they opened the book, they did, but that's where they will remain - forever.
My eyes filled with tears, feeling the weight of it all. My head was buried in my hands. Distorted voices played in the background. I lifted my head, sobbing, and noticed I was in a familiar place: the back row of my history classroom. I had been in this position multiple times before with my textbook open, my teacher droning on in the background. With a sinking feeling, I realized that all of this had just been a daydream. I had imagined this fantasy world.
As I shook myself out of my trance, I looked around to see the other students in the room. I couldn't help but wonder if I had also trapped them in my book of magic.
| 2022-12-01T01:43:18
| 2022-11-30T21:31:34
| 245
| 61
|
[WP] The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but reading carefully you realize it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be a smartass, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed that instead.
reposting an old prompt
|
When I realized that the ceremony called for 100 "sacrifices" and not 100 "souls", I had a terrible idea. And like all my terrible ideas, I have to try them out to see just how absolutely abysmal they actually are.
There were plenty of petri dishes in that basement lab, and many of those cultures had grown exponentially to populations of over one hundred. There was nothing preventing me from using any of those in the ritual, other than Dr. Weiszmann getting perturbed when I'd tell him I "accidentally broke" a dish and disposed of it properly. And, of course, that assumed that my bizarre plan actually worked.
So I found a dish with the correct sample size, maybe a few cells over, and set it down in the center of the room. I drew a chalk circle after 6 feet around it and retreated to a safe distance, where I hoped the pressboard desk would protect me from any accidental acts of Incarnate Evil destruction.
I read the incantation off my phone, having found it on a website of dubious authenticity, which I made sure to open in incognito mode.
At first nothing happened. Then the petri dish started to glow an eerily reddish-yellow of a campfire with the smell of a can of rancid beans cooking. A few seconds later, I heard a loud pop like the bean can exploding because it wasn't properly vented.
The petri dish had disappeared, and in its place, there was a hole. Not a hole in the floor, mind you. Just a hole. In the air. In the space just above the ground. It was maybe two inches across and glowing red hot.
Curiosity got the better of me and I abandoned my flimsy sanctuary. I drew closer to the chalk circle, and then something, some thing, thrust itself through the hole. Eight inches of inglorious hell, tipped with a sharp claw, waggled around. I kept my distance.
Hair on my back already stood on edge screaming , but then the short hairs on my neck joined in the chorus with the demonic finger from beyond started to slowly rise into the air, dragging the hole with it. When it reached a height of about seven feet, the finger withdrew and a more horrifying thing took its place.
There was an eye pressed against the hole. I could make out a black pupil surrounded by red, but I could tell the entire ball was many times longer. Terrified as I was, I was still glad that I didn't have take in the sight of the whole thing.
"What have you done?" The voice was eerie and ominous. It repeated, "What have you done?"
"I-- I-- I was just reading about a ritual and --"
"--And you did it WRONG!" the demon chastised. "What sort of portal is this?"
I could barely speak. "It's ... it's ..."
"Come closer. I can't hear you."
The eye disappear to be replaced with what I hoped was an ear. I took a few steps closer to the circle when a long thing elastic piece of leathery flesh snapped out at me. A snakelike tongue brushed against my arm. I jumped away, screaming from the burning sensation. My entire arm reddened. The tongue rolled back like a party favor.
Having a terrible premonition, I launched myself over the desk just as it unfurled, but inside of tooting a horn, it spit and splashed buckets of acid where I'd been standing, contaminating and destroying every culture it touched.
I also heard the sizzle of my phone's battery being fried. It was followed by a "Gah!" and a Pop!
When everything was quiet except for the sizzling of burning pressboard, I dared to peek over the top. The hole in the air had vanished, only to be replaced with a more conventional hole in the floor just inside the circle. It was snake-shaped and seemed to cut deeply. The acid tongue had sunken down. Peering into it, I couldn't see how far down it had fallen. I wondered how much acid its glands retained and if that slimy worm was going to sink all the way back to Hell.
—-
More stories at r/xwhy
Edits: typos
|
Antonios rubbed his eyes, tired from the strain. He had just spent the last hour staring deeply at a collection of mites sitting on a polished stone dish. It had taken him a long time to harvest the bodies of these mites meticulously from various leaves, vines, insects, worms, some small animals, and even birds. There were all sorts of tiny mites crawling around on the dish, and when he focused his eyes he could even see that they were different from each other.
Antonios sat back on the ground outside and looked out towards the setting sun. The light was now too dim to really make out the tiny creatures he had harvested. Of course once he let them onto the stone dish those that were still alive would fly out, but the dead mites remained. These were the smallest creatures Antonios had ever spied, smaller than bugs and flies that all people were aware of. Could there be creatures even smaller?
The elderly man rose up and picked up the large urn next to him full of tiny mites and the various dead bodies of the creatures and plants he had harvested them from. It was time to return to his small home in the village after a long day of gathering the little creatures. It was time for dinner.
-----
A bright fire lit the darkened village. Antonios squinted down at the many figures gathered around the fire. He could hear the faint sounds of music, singing, and clapping. Ah yes the festival was now in full swing. He wondered to himself what delicious foods had been prepared. At first Antonios had been reluctant to return to his childhood village after living in the cosmopolitan Pella, but he was now reminded of the delicious rustic meals of the countryside. Antonios made his way down the hill toward his home.
Outside of his small stone house stood a few men, who looked somewhat impatient. They had knocked open his door and turned to look at him with scorn.
“You have finally decided to return?” derided Antypomos, the largest of the small group, “where are all the sheep?”
Oh blast! Antonios had forgotten to order the gathering of the flock for the festival. But he had never held the gods in much esteem. He had flaunted them behind closed doors with a few other students in his time of study and nothing had ever happened to him. Perhaps he could connive something.
“Oh gentlemen,” Antonios greeted them with a smile, “I have something even better. Come! Come follow your village priest.”
There was an audible groan from a few of them as they fell into line behind Antonios as he headed towards the lively festival.
-----
Antonios made his way to the fire. The music, singing, and dancing began to abate as the crowd noticed him pushing through. Antonios climbed onto a stone table to address the crowd near the fire.
“Fellow villagers! I have returned!”
He noticed the quizzical looks on some of the villagers, though some looked with more looks of scorn.
“I have come to save us some trouble!”
There was a nervousness that began to buzz through the crowd.
“Every year we sacrifice 100s of sheep in our many celebratory libations! But what if we did not have to sacrifice all those plump and wool laden sheep?”
There was now a murmur that rose up from his fellow townsfolk. Antonios raised his urn above his head.
“In here I have collected hundreds of creatures, and dare I say there may be thousands unseen!”
The crowd began to chatter in low confusion.
“Behold! The gods will be satisfied and we will have our sheep!”
Antonios tossed the urn into the fire, and it burst into shards. Antonios laughed but was greeted with silence. He turned back to the crowd, many of whom were now glaring at him.
“What was in there?” shouted someone from the crowd.
“You need not-”
“What. Was. In. There?” an angry Antypomos asked threateningly as he approached Antonios, “Was it your bugs you are always gaping at?”
“No, no,” Antonios replied, the nervousness trickling out through his voice.
“You heretic!” someone yelled.
“You are a shame to your brother!”
“Why did you even come back?”
“Now, now, let us not-” Antonios began to implore the crowd. His reply was cut short as he felt something slam into the back of his head. He stumbled forward but his old legs managed to catch him before he fell off the table. The crowd was now jeering.
“You are a heretic!”
“How could you cheat the gods? In the very sight of Mount Olympus!”
“Do you want to doom us all?”
Antonios felt another stone hit his side.
“Wait!” he cried out, “tomorrow! We will gather the sheep tomorrow!”
Another stone hit him, followed by another. Antonios now clutched his head and ducked down. The crowd was now angrily jeering all around him.
“Kill him!” a man shouted, “Kill the arrogant bastard!”
Antonios now felt someone grab his leg and pull him down from the table. His back hit the hard stone with a solid thwack. Another stone hit him painfully in the chest, thrown from right next to him. The jeering was all he could hear as he dizzily tried to regain a sense of his surroundings. He held his hand up to shield himself as he tried to utter a defense. Another rock slammed into him and knocked the wind out of him. Followed by another and another. The crowd surged forward, swallowing up the old scholar with their shouts.
-----
The hawk’s talons squeezed the small sparrow’s body. She peered down at her quarry, now unmoving. Satisfied with her catch she glanced up toward the setting sun. She had managed to find something before all the light was gone. Clutching the lifeless body of her next meal she hopped forward and caught a gust of wind underneath her wings and rose up into the air. Her nest was much further below the summit but she would be able to make it back before dark. She banked her wings and turned toward the east, gliding down away from the empty windswept crest of Mount Olympus.
| 2021-06-08T10:40:12
| 2021-06-08T08:47:07
| 142
| 106
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"For many years now, the Islamic State has been a thorn in the side of the Middle East," the President told Congress. "Carving out territory from Syria, Iraq, Turkey, and Lebanon. Though many nations, including the United States, took *limited* action against this threat, no country was willing to finally commit to cleaning up this scourge, until *now*."
The President gestured to the man to his right, a quiet black man wearing a a dark suit and a red tie. "My good friend, King Mswati, has ended this threat once and for all. His military's effectiveness has been unprecedented, and the finally stronghold of Al Raqqa was liberated only a short month ago!"
The assembled Congressmen all clapped and cheered.
"So," the President continued. "It is with great honor that I present this Congressional Medal of Freedom, given for meritorious contribution to the security or national interests of the United States, to King Mswati of Sweden!!"
The room erupted into applause, but the king looked uncertain. He glanced around like he was waiting for some sort of cue. Finally he approached the microphone. "Err, sorry, Mr. President. I'm actually from *Swaziland.*"
The President stepped back up to the microphone. "Sorry, King Mswati. My mistake, and thank you again to you and the rest of the great people of Switzerland!!"
|
The dust settled, and a lone black boot came slowly into Major Thomson's view. Heaving a sigh, she raised herself up on her hands, only to be stopped by a swift kick to the ribs.
'Stay down,' came a voice in a thick South American accent, 'or we will strike you down'.
'W-Where am I?'
'You're in heaven, Ms. Thomson. As the last of the Islamic State group, it is our duty to execute you.'
'No, please!' she screamed, to no avail.
'Starting launch in T-Minus 10...'
'Is that a - is that a *spaceship launch sequence*?'
It was then that she realised where she was.
Strapped directly beneath the thrusters.
And as she looked up to see who it was that had wiped out everything she'd stood for, she thought she caught a glimpse of papal robes and the cross.
Vatican City had done it again.
EDIT: grammar
| 2016-01-29T06:30:22
| 2016-01-29T05:00:31
| 481
| 144
|
[WP] Instead of Mary birthing the son of God, she gave birth to a son from The Elder Gods. Describe the bible as HP Lovecraft would.
|
###Lamentations IX:
**Chapter 15**
Spake the Lord, "Go before me, my Disciples, and make believers of all men in Jerusalem." So the Disciples went into the city to spread His Word.
Peter went to the poor district and began to speak. "My brothers and sisters, I too was once poor like you. But I was raised up! For is it not said, 'He who is weak will fall into madness and death, but he who is strong will bask in the glory of God.'?"
The beggars and prostitutes would not listen, and ignored him. Yet one, a child with leprosy, approached. "My body is weak, but I am strong. Let me bask in the glory of God!"
And Peter smiled and embraced the child, saying, "You see? Out of the mouths of babes comes wisdom." Then Peter slit his throat and drank his blood, and spoke words alien and terrible.
The corpse of the child arose and spoke with the voice of a thousand men. "I am Legion! Come and serve the Lord."
And the people fled, weeping and gnashing their teeth, into the darkest alleys and unlit houses.
With this miracle Peter made believers of the poor.
**Chapter 16**
John went to the rich district and began to speak. "My brothers and sisters, renounce your coin and your false god. The Lord is coming to sort the wheat from the chaff."
But the merchants and the priests laughed and began to pelt him with stones, chanting, "Where is your Lord now?".
So John drew symbols in the dirt with his own sweat and blood, and spoke words alien and terrible.
Instantly, the merchants and the priests were struck deaf and blind. They began screaming of the horrors they could see and hear and feel around them.
Those who were armed struck out at the demons they thought they could see, and many died.
Those who lived gibbered and moaned in their madness, praising the Lord.
With this miracle John made believers of the rich.
**Chapter 17**
Then the Lord entered into Jerusalem riding on an unspeakable horror and its get. His new believers laid down fronds of flayed flesh for Him to walk on so that His pulsating mass need never touch the ground.
He ascended the stairs of the cyclopean temple that had been excavated, the impossible angles and curves tearing at the eye.
The Lord sat upon the alien chair at its peak and smiled with each of His mouths.
Spake the Lord in a voice that was heard in all the corners of the earth, "That is Not Dead which can Eternal Lie, and with Strange Aeons even Death may Die."
|
Madness lay there. Madness swathed in cloth, madness wrapped in cotton. Mary laid eyes upon her child but once, and descended with him. She tore her own eyes, knowingly, from their sockets, and was blindly nursing the boy when I arrived.
"Mary, what have you done?"
She smiled, but there was no joy behind it. She whispered to me, the sound of the child suckling at her teet carried between words. "Great eyes, like pools or portals or doorways into the world. They see us, even now, even in sleep, Jacobs. Even now, even in sleep." Her laughter shook her breasts, blood and tears and the words leaking. This was beyond insanity. I took a step towards her, desperate to aid her gaunt visage.
"NO," she reeled, "no Jacobs. Let us be. Leave us here, leave me to rot to the demon at my teet. I am not mad, not yet. If you had seen what I have seen you would draw your own eyes out and worse."
"What have you seen, Mary?" I asked, hesitant with fear of her answer.
"I see his fathers eyes in him. I saw his fathers eyes." she sobbed now, her body heaving, as the child ceased his feeding. She rose, adept to her surroundings without sight somehow, and placed him in his cot. Turning first to me, then to the window, she asked me, "Do you know what wakes a parent?"
I could sense the dread in her question, and understood her actions then. I made for the door, cautiously, fearful, doubting. "Goodbye, Jacobs. I loved you, you know. I do this now because I still do."
With one last look at her weary body I left, pulling my heart with me. The child would be three now, where he and Mary are. Sat in my study, another tome of the sunken city in front of me, devouring my sleep, I spoke to the ceiling, as I often do when my thoughts go to her.
"I know, Mary. I know. I know you love me still, for I know what wakes the sleeping eyes of a parent. I know the sound of a crying child."
| 2015-02-12T09:50:52
| 2015-02-12T08:41:43
| 74
| 47
|
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
“You sure this is the name?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve dated the guy for like three months now.”
“We always have a grand time. I think he’ll get a high enough score,” I added.
Gus looked at the dark alley behind me then pocketed the crumpled piece of paper.
“Let’s hope he does,” Gus muttered under his breath. “Wait here.”
He entered the back door of a Chinese restaurant. As far as people are concerned, he’s just a busboy there.
I hugged myself as the door closes in front of me. It’s really dark. I wonder why all the lightposts are busted.
Tick tock.
Rats were scavenging inside the large trashbins, I can hear them go through the day’s loot.
Tick tock.
The door opened. The light from the kitchen shone on Gus’ face. And that’s all I needed to see.
I held my breath.
“Here take this”, Gus said as he shoved the paper on me. “Get out of here fast. You don’t have to pay me.”
He went back inside. I hear the click of the lock.
It was dark again.
Tick tock.
I know it’s bad but I have to see. I took out my phone and held it over the paper.
I screamed inside.
-500?
How? I was in a daze. It doesn’t make sense.
Suddenly the bin cover opened and two rats stood.
“Wait, why would rats stand?” Nothing makes sense.
-500?
The posts suddenly blazed with blinding lights.
“Freeze! NYPD! Drop the paper on the ground.”
My heart stopped.
“Matt?”
*****
My first time. I would appreciate your comments.
|
It had been a lovely date with that woman. Her eyes were that of the shimmering sea, her laughter was horrifically angelic and her hair was frizzled. Ironically, it made him feel electrocuted.
He was just leaping over fences and gates after his date waved him goodbye. Strangely, there was something about that woman who made him feel intrigued by her state. He was a seasoned individual who knew exactly how to make others believe what he wanted.
It was for the greater good, after all.
He was always the man with the gun. The man who hunted others for his own personal gain. Inside, he did not desire to do that but he knew that he had to. It was either them, or his family.
And god, did he not want his family tortured to death.
Of course, he had managed to steal that ever-so-intriguing card that conveyed the score. "The Death Score" he called it. Who would be so melancholic to look up their score when you can steal it instead? A metallic chuckle was emitted from his body of flesh.
He gazed at the card with a curious glance. That urge of urgency was making him very, very curious. With a microscopic grin, he opened the card and looked.
He froze.
"Negative Five Hundred?" His bated breath had finally managed to surface from his throat. His eyes blinked with disbelief at such a preposterous score. He stopped running, leaping or emitting any noise at all.
He felt dumbstruck. He felt as if the woman struck him with a strike that blasted his world into smithereens. He looked into a corner and then hid for his life.
It was said that when those individuals that scored as low as that score, they were dead. They were supposed to be deader than the dead corpses underneath his house. Deader than the skeletons he buried after hiding them in the closet.
Suddenly, he heard laughter.
He turned around as the blade descended onto him. The last thing he knew, the smile of somebody he thought he knew.
| 2016-09-24T11:40:10
| 2016-09-24T11:35:10
| 21
| 13
|
[WP] A bored dragon kidnaps a princess, expecting some excitement and rescuers to fight. No one shows up and the princess doesn't know her way home.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Drogo trained his golden eye on the girl who was happily stroking the scales on his paw while humming a song. This entire situation had been a disaster.
First off, it had been entirely too easy to steal her away from the castle. She had been picking flowers on the grounds outside, and when he had swooped in, there had been no one in sight. He had even made sure to circle a few times through the sky, remembering the piercing shrieks his older brothers had drawn when they had done the same so many years ago. But now, there was nothing. Not even the princess herself yelled when she had been carried away.
Then, there was the clue. He had painstakingly picked out a gold princess tiara from his collection, leaving it in plain sight just in front of the castle doors. There was no way they would have missed it. But after three days, there hadn't even been a whisper of action. He knew--he had circled the castle several times each day, expecting to see guards or knights preparing for war.
But there was nothing. Simply silence.
He turned back to the girl. She was now busying herself braiding a crown of flowers. He glanced down at the ring that was beginning to take shape on the ground. The size was wrong. The curvature would be far too large for her head. But far be it from him to tell her that.
Three days. And she hadn't even tried to escape. She had simply stayed by his side the entire time, doing the strangest things to keep herself busy.
*Aren't you afraid?* he finally asked.
She glanced up upon hearing the deep rumble of his voice. Then she shook her head, giving him a smile. Her braid was beginning to fall loose, and long, silken strands of her ebony hair fell over her shoulders. "Why would I be afraid?"
The question gave him pause. Shouldn't it be the opposite way around? Why wouldn't she? He was a large dragon after all, nearly twenty times her size, with wicked sharp teeth. He could kill her in a heartbeat.
It didn't matter. If she wasn't going to provide him with entertainment, he didn't need her here. He laid down and settled his head onto his fore claws. His tail swished. *You may leave now.*
She looked up at him without speaking. Her hands gripped the flower crown tightly.
"I don't know how to go home," she finally said.
He would have rolled his eyes had he been capable. *I'll bring you then.*
"That's not what I meant!" She bit her lip. "I...can't I stay here with you?"
*Why?*
He could feel his heart thud in his scaly chest. None of this made any sense.
"You're lonely, right? That's why you kidnapped me, and that's why - "
*SILENCE.* His pupils narrowed into slits, and he got up, his tail swishing angrily. *I AM DROGO, AN ALL POWERFUL DRAGON. YOU ARE NOTHING. YOU ARE A MERE MORTAL. I COULD STRIKE YOU DOWN THIS-*
She ran toward him, her small body hugging his scaly one. She buried her face into his chest. "I'm lonely too!"
He froze.
"I'm the fourth princess. My mother died after I was born, and my father doesn't care for me. He thinks I'm too soft-hearted and that I won't be able to do anything to help his kingdom." She looked up at him. Her eyes looked dull and empty. "I'm nobody in that castle." Her voice started to become unclear toward the end, and he could tell she was about to cry.
His heart thudded again.
He understood the feeling well. He had been the runt of his litter, the unwanted one. While his parents had caught lions and tigers for his brothers, he had been left to fend for himself. In many ways, they had similar fates.
She suddenly left him and walked toward the flower crown she had made. And despite the fact that he was largely immune to temperature changes thanks to his scales, the little area on his chest felt cold from her body's absence. She walked toward him hesitantly, the crown in her hand.
"I...I made you a friendship bracelet. See?" She raised her left wrist, and he could see a small ring of flowers around it. Then he glanced down at his claws. A friendship bracelet. "C-can I put it on you?" She raised it.
He simply looked at her. Then, slowly, he raised his claw, allowing her to tuck the bracelet on him.
She gave him a shy smile. "So you'll let me stay then? We can live together, and I'll tell you more stories about faraway kingdoms. Maybe one day we can even go see them together!" she said excitedly. Then her eyelids began to droop, and she laid down on the wool rug he had gotten for her as a makeshift bed. "Yeah, we'll see them together..." she murmured as she fell asleep.
After a moment, he too laid down, his large eyes closing.
And for the first time, Drogo knew he wasn't alone.
*****
r/AlannaWu
|
I look at the young girl standing in from of me. Her fiery red hair matted and tangled. Anger rose up in her ocean eyes as she looked up at me. She's holding a broken scale in her right hand. The blue sheen worn away, the sharp point pointed at me in a pathetic attempt to be used as a weapon. "Take me home" she demands. Her voice is worn and raspy from her pleas for help as I stole her away from her palace. The once elegant violet ballgown was now torn at the front of her skirt revealing long pale legs. Her attempt at intimidation made me laugh. My laughter shook the entirety of my cave. Taking her may have been a mistake. I must admit the kid had spunk. "Why do you laugh, Beast? Do you know who I am? My father will send for me, you can't keep me here forever." She spoke as if she genuinely believed she could strike fear into my heart.
"Child, do not speak to me with such contempt. Your people know not of me. I am as old as time. I am not shaken by a little girl." My words angered her further and she leaped forward, and drove the scale toward my claw. The scale broke under the pressure, shattering both the scale and the last ounce of fight the girl had left in her. There was never any real hope of escaping me. We were both aware of that. I am done for the night. I wish for nothing more than slumber.
"You may as well rest you foolish girl. You can amongst the stones on the far left side of the cave. I'll stay out of your way and you can stay out of mine. If your people wish to come rescue you, I will hand you over without any protest. Sleep, you'll need it." I began to move. My steps shaking the ground with ever move I made. Sounds that compare to thunder made as I made my way to rest. Old bones cracking as I laid down. My eyes moved over to the small girl. Her eyes searching the room for a way out. Minutes seemed like hours as I watched her body sink in defeat. She slowly began to shuffle over to her temporary quarters. She laid down her small figure. I watched for some time as her stiffness settled and she fell into slumber. I don't know why I took her. Her people bragged of their bravery and I saw an opportunity to challenge it. Boredom was the main component in the idea if I am truthful. I will give them time to come for her, but if they don't, well, I hope se learns to like dragons.
| 2018-03-23T02:20:18
| 2018-03-23T01:12:29
| 343
| 20
|
[WP] Where do bad guys get their legions of goons? Well, it's all thanks to you. You specialize in supplying grunts of a wide variety to aspiring super villains, whether they need masked men with bad aim or hideous/sexy merfolk to guard their underwater lair.
|
Chad looked at his assignment and sighed. *Things were so much easier at Level 1,* he thought.
He didn't hate working for GoonCo. Not really. He got to travel around and meet interesting people, and the medical benefits were top notch. They had to be, when your job was to get beat up by heroes. And certainly, the pay bump from Level 1 to Level 2 was rather nice, and going to level 3 was even better. But the Level 1 work was so much simpler.
Level 1 jobs were pretty simple. You get a gun, and you shoot at the hero. You're not really expected to hit. You get punched in the face, you go down, you stay down. Simple stuff. Easy paycheck.
Level 2 work tended to involve specialized abilities. Not with a gun, or in a fight, necessarily. No, these were jobs for GoonCo's more... *particular* customers. His last Level 2 job was for the Disco Inferno, so he had to watch *Saturday Night Fever* about 10 times to get the strut right. There was also a song and dance number. Chad wasn't sure why you needed an elaborate song and dance number that took hours of rehearsals to get right to try to take down a hero, but there was a good paycheck in it, so he wasn't going to judge.
The Level 3 jobs, though, were starting to get to him. The Level 3 customers were the most demanding, requiring genetic manipulation, cybernetic implants, and other heavy modifications. On a given job, Chad might have laser eyes put in, or he might be gene-spliced with a wild animal, have a demon summoned into his body, or any number of things. He was starting to lose track of his own anatomy. The other day, he was playing catch with his son, and tried to catch the ball with a third arm that wasn't there anymore. That was a tricky one to explain.
Chad looked down at the dossier.
> CUSTOMER: Dr. Tiger
> HENCH ALIAS: Felina
> PHENOTYPE: Seductive catgirl
> TARGET: James Boyd
Chad couldn't help but smile a little as he read the assignment.
*Agent 009,* he thought as he licked his lips. *We meet again.*
|
"You need what?" I asked over the terrible quality of the office speaker phone. "A legion of hive mind insectoid androids. Big menacing looking fucks with MUTHAFUKIN high frequency claws!" A rather enthusiastic QueenBee shouted. The incessant buzzing in the background only made the conversation harder to hold over the phone. I'd have invited her over for a sit down consultation but the last time we had her at the office... well everyone still gets the jitters whenever a bug flies by. "Bee, honey, sweet heart, baby! Ya gotta look at it where I'm sittin', thats a mighty tall order. Cyborgs don't just grow on trees and we're just dipping our toes in the HF technologies." More over, No ones ever really wanted to work with it after what happened to Samson, poor bastard. "Oh come now wildflower, surely you can do something for me? That troublesome Captain Caveman and his stupid 'me smash' tenacity keep foiling my plans. Plus you know I've got the 'honey' for it" she said in a rather sultry voice. Well on the one hand, Captain dickbag is kind of annoying, his collateral is through the roof. On the other, I do love me some honey, or rather money. "Listen doll, I'm not makin' any promises or nothing but for you, I'll whip something up." I said just to end the buzzing. "I knew I could rely on you guys Gruntties, you never disappoint!" She squealed over the phone. "Yeah, listen, I'll fax over the contract but I gotta go. Keep in touch!" And hung up. I picked the phone up off the hook and pressed a speed dial to my assistant. "Get the boys in R&D on the phone, they're gonna shit themselves."
| 2017-03-23T10:11:48
| 2017-03-23T06:59:11
| 35
| 21
|
[WP] You are a medical wonder due to the fact that you can regrow your organs. You became a donor and everyone thinks that you are a good person. What they do not know is that you can control every reciever whenever you like.
|
I woke as I always have after a procedure, comfortably in my recovery room at the Organ Center. The Organ Centre was built fifteen years ago, about five years after I made my first organ donation. Once the doctors had identified my extraordinary gift, it was determined that a special facility should be constructed strictly for the purposes of my organ donation procedures. Since I was almost always strapped to a hospital bed, having a special room tailored to all my wants and needs was the least to be expected given my ongoing 'contributions' to medical science and to those whose lives I was saving. It was a nice perk for what was, at least initially, a fairly arduous request of the Vancouver doctors who had discovered my gift - that I make myself, and my body, available as much as possible for ongoing organ donations.
At first I felt honoured and privileged that it was me, of all the people in the world, who would have this wonderful gift. I felt it my duty to share my organs with the world, so-to-speak. I wanted to help people, and not for my own recognition, but because I felt it the right thing to do. Ultimately being a good person, I thought, was a first-class direct ticket to true happiness and so I jumped into my new life as an organ farm.
It was extremely rewarding initially, but over time I have begun to regret my decision. Despite saving hundreds of lives, I now felt a prisoner. My only connection with the outside world was the 'connection' I have to the 'Hosts'. This is what I call the carriers of my organs, 'Hosts'. My connection was and is, however, fleeting. The Hosts spend some time with me at the Organ Centre, both in preparation and in recovery, but within weeks they are back to their happy lives with a regained spirit and joy for life. As they leave and journey away from the Organ Centre, our connection slowly slips away until I cannot feel them at all. I am left at the Organ Centre on my own, waiting for the next Host to be dropped in.
Luckily for me the advances we've made since my first transplant have been monumental. I now feel almost nothing during recovery, other than slight discomfort, depending on the organ that I've donated, and a numbing haze that wears off quickly, the effects of the pre-procedure sedatives slowly melting away. I now have to endure less and less time in my hospital bed.
As feeling began return to my body and my mind sharpened, I felt that familiar sensation of regaining my senses. Usually it is at this time that I begin to feel my connection with the new Host. At first its comes as just a thought, almost as if its not there at all, and then slowly I can feel both my own body and mind just as well as that of the Host.
Despite the connections, I have long since abandoned my other 'ability'. I haven't employed it in at least ten years and I did not intend to ever again control another Host against their will. My past mistakes were ones that I did not want to risk repeating.
This time as I lay in bed resting as I always had, I waited for the familiar connection to reveal itself. I felt sure now that the sedatives had given way to my senses and my mind had sobered and yet, I could sense no Host.
Perhaps the procedure had failed, I thought. This had happened once before, in the early days, when a Host had not survived the procedure. I began to feel anxious. It had been almost twenty years since a procedure had failed in this way. I feared the worst for Renee. She was truly one of the kinder people I had helped recently.
"Good morning sunshine."
The words came from Steph like a song as she entered my room with a cappucino and a heaping bowl of honey nut cheerios: my post-procedure recovery breakfast. Even though it was closer to sunset than sunrise, my personal nurse Steph always greeted me after my procedure with my special breakfast order.
"How's Renee?" I asked immediately as I braced myself for the bad news.
Steph walked over casually and placed my breakfast tray down on the table beside me. She looked puzzled. I guess I didn't typically ask about the Hosts. By now I would have established my connection and have answered this question myself.
"She's doing wonderfully, as they always are! She's in bed but awake and says she feels better than new. Once again you've saved someone's life Malcolm."
Steph seemed unbothered by my unusual question and continued to dance around the room as she always did, opening my curtains to reveal the city skyline in the distance, flanked by the Rocky Mountains behind them, the buildings and snow capped mountains reflecting the light of the sun almost as brightly as the sun itself. The golden hour was always my favourite time of day. Typically I would have moved to my lounge chair and enjoyed my breakfast in peace, gazing out over the city.
"Are you sure? Can you please check on her?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I feared the worst.
"Malcolm, I'm telling you, I was just in there. She's great! Why are you worried all of a sudden? You haven't asked about one of your organ recipients in years. Anyways, she'll be up and about in 24/48 hours as usual."
"I need to see her" I replied coldly.
For the first time since I discovered my gift I didn't feel the connection. I needed to know what was going on and I needed to know now.
|
Did they do tests on me? Surprisingly, no.
I became a donor because, um, I can regrow my organs so why wouldn’t I give them out like candy?
My family is proud of me, and everyone must think I’m a good person. Little do they know.
I couldn’t believe it! The guy I had controlled, he wasn’t being controlled! He normally talked to the doctor and me with interest. There was one thing that came to my mind.
Is he just like me?
I left the hospital feeling extremely nauseous. I decided to take an Uber instead of trying to drive. I called my sister to pick up my car. I thought about it but I just wasn’t feeling it. I just told myself it was just a mistake.
I thanked the Uber, gave him his cash and wobbled over to the bathroom after dropping my stuff down and kicking off my shoes. I didn’t feel much better after so I just took some medicine and laid down.
The next day was a disaster. I met the same guy that I had “controlled” on the street and he was looking at me funny. Even worse, he was with his girlfriend! He had to take it to the next level by saying hello.
I laughed and said hello. Blabbering on about how it was such a coincidence. Soon enough I shot the ‘I have to go!’ words and dashed down the sidewalk. I forgot my coffee. I’m not going back there.
Actually, not getting my coffee was a bad idea. I could barely keep my eyelids open at work.
After I dozed off, my boss decided to take stroll around the office and caught me. I was sent home.
Paying the rent will be a miracle.
After giving a kidney, I was thanked as always and went grocery shopping.
Is it just me or do I run into this guy everywhere?
We were in the same aisle.
For the first time he spoke to me alone.
“Why are you following me?”
I swear he could’ve seen my eyes bulge out of my head.
I stuttered while I said, “W-what? F-following you! You’re the one following me!”
He narrowed his eyes and then laughed.
I didn’t see what was so funny, as a matter-of-fact I was confused.
“My girlfriend said you were adorable. So I was wondering if we could take a picture.”
Is that why I didn’t control him? Because their love was too strong? I felt tears well in my eyes.
“Also, I also can control the ones I give my organs. Can’t control me!”, he said with a chuckle.
I took the picture and my makeup had smeared. I left with the dumbest expression. What was funny was that I didn’t run into him again. Except on FaceBook with my face plastered on the screen.
| 2019-06-13T07:54:14
| 2019-06-13T06:19:56
| 56
| 15
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
I remember asking my mom if her sigil vibrates on her skin. The look of confusion told me what I felt I already knew. My circle, though plain, feels alive.
There were no issues in elementary school, nor middle school. It was junior high that brought my happiness with my humming sigil to a screeching halt.
Victor began to torment me. No one, not even the teachers, stopped him. Day after day I came home wishing to cease my existence. During each fight, each punch, my sigil hummed faster. It even glowed red once, or was it my distorted vision from the punches?
"Failure of a man is what you are! Who is so cursed that they have no powers, huh? Show me your powers, ya bitch!" His mark reminded me of Cerberus, the dog that protected Hades. Thick and ugly, just like him; powerful fists that pound me into the ground. I took it, the punches and taunts, day after day. The nurse patching me up afterwards, while Victor was "lectured".
I went home, contemplating ending my life. It's just too much, and today he had broken several bones. The "Welcome home Sarge" sign in the yard made my heart drop.
My dad is home from the war. I walk in to see my siblings oh so happy to meet the hero of the century, the man with the Griffin sigil. He looked at me with severe disappointment though, as if he could see the circle on my collar bone. It vibrated quicker as he stood up. "Get out of my sight."
"Daniel," mother shouted, "he is your son!"
"He's nothing."
I went to my room, the fight escalating downstairs. It took everything in me to push the tears down. "What do you do besides vibrate?" I asked, eyeing my empty sigil. My question was left unanswered, even as I laid in bed.
I am in no mood to handle Victor's taunts today, and honestly, I'm pretty sick of him. My father's words bouncing around in my head, to the point that I want to scream. His hand is what brings me out of my reverie.
"You answer when I speak to you! You're nothing afterall!"
"Nothing," I snarled, "then leave me alone. If I'm nothing, why waste your time?"
The punch hit the back of my head so hard, I blacked out. The only words I felt in my head, weren't my father's cruel words, or anyone else's, but help me. That's when lights of every color filled my vision. The warmth started from my collar bone, and went to my toes.
"Of course, I'll help. That's all you had to do-ask."
When I come to, there's a dragon in the hallway, half of Victor in its mouth. Brilliant colors shine on every scale, as opal eyes look at me.
"Uhhh... drop him." My voice is tentative, yet I feel like I know this creature. It obliges, and shrink down to wrap itself around my neck. As Victor stands up, it hisses at him, sending Victor into a corner. I simply walk away, with a smirk. They all wanted to know so badly, now I feel their regrets in finding out. While I'm elated.
I walk to my next class, as I feel the vibration return. My circle, not an empty thing after all. It was an egg. I look at my collarbone, and there, in my circle, is a dragon winking at me.
|
The bullies had surrounded me and one gave an experimental push to see how I'd react. I stumbled onto the ground and tore my sleeve on one of the school lockers as I fell, revealing the circular sigil on my inner wrist, where someone else might put a tattoo of a butterfly or something.
"Just be cool," I thought, "They're only jealous." I could tell from the look in the eyes of the guy that pushed me that he was only curious about me and didn't know how to express his feelings. If only he knew how to do that, he was kind of hunky and maybe I could change him.
They crowded around me and it felt very claustrophobic. I told them, "You don't want to do this," but they didn't listen. They never do.
"Or what?" they asked. "You got kicked out of your last three schools. Probably because you're too lame. Maybe it's time we found out what a simple sigil like you can actually do."
"Leave her alone!" shouted Chad, who was the quarterback and totally had a crush on me, but I had no time for him and his sports while I was taking all my AP classes. But they didn't listen to Chad either, and he was too far away to help me.
It didn't matter though, since I knew Kung Fu and Jeet Kune Do, the martial art that Bruce Lee made. My sigil of the perfect circle made me perfect in whatever I studied. I delivered a roundhouse kick to all their faces and it was over before it started.
Chad rushed to my side in concern, asking if I was OK, and I totally was. Nothing could hurt me, except for the weakness of my sigil: that it was also a hole in my heart that nobody could fill.
"I'm fine, Chad," I said. "It's about time they learned nobody hurts Mary Sue."
| 2020-02-26T12:40:00
| 2020-02-26T09:26:44
| 18
| 12
|
[WP]As the four horsemen of the apocalypse get ready to signal the end times, they are joined by a fifth one
|
War, seated atop a horse of red flame, clad in his uniform, tight, polished, unaffected by the inferno he is bathed in, soon to be stained with the blood of the unworthy, sword at his side ready to cleave flesh from bone.
Famine, a thin man on a horse as sickly as he, both with their ribs showing, wearing a raiment that once looked proud and strong. His eyes are sunken in his head, and they dart back and forth. The grass at the feet of the horse withers, and a noise like the creaking of bones seems to radiate from him.
Pestilence. A sagging hazmat suit, a respirator with a cracked visor, rips and tears in the protective clothing. Bony fingers tear through the gloves, and a skeletal face sits behind the cloudy shield. His hands grip the reigns tightly. His breath is banal, like the hiss of a broken pipe. It forms an odd symphony with the creaking of Famine.
And death, a pale man in a black suit like one might see at a funeral, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, clove cigarette hanging from his mouth. Of all, he looks the most normal. Like you might have seen him out once or twice on the way home late at night, or perhaps seen him with one of your long gone relatives, wearing the same empty smile as he always does.
They sit atop a hill overlooking your city. Excpety for the pawing of their mounts' hooves, and the labored breathing and mournful creaking produced by the two sickly riders, they are silent.
Behind them is the clattering of hooves, another participant late to the party. His mount gallops up beside Death. His horse is roan. It produces a sick glow that draws the eye and refuses to release it. The rider looks normal. He is thin, but not sickly; pale, but not ghostly like the rider to his right. He wears the garb of an everyman, blue jeans, converse sneakers, a T-shirt. He is bathed in the glow of his mount. He strokes his horse's mane in swift, sporadic motions. His thumbs look crooked, his fingers look... off. Not like the bone hands of Pestilence, but as though they've been locked into a permanent twist or rotation, awkward, but the man refuses to let them return to their natural setting.
"I am Ignorance," he says quietly, continuing to look at his radiant mount.
"Why are you here? For the same purpose as us?" inquires Death.
Ignorance is silent.
"You are unworthy to ride with us, mortal man!" screeches Pestilence.
Ignorance says nothing.
"You... what makes you think you can ride with us? We've been at every war, every coup, every plague, every conflict or dispute since before the Garden."
"As have I. I have been everywhere," says Ignorance.
"Are you powerful?" asks war.
"I am the most powerful force of destruction known to man," Ignorance replies.
The four return to silence, looking out over the first place they are to ravage.
"I will ride first," Ignorance says.
|
“Hey fella,” Mark said, sideling up beside the skeletal figure seated atop a pale horse. He gently ran his hand down the mane of his mule, whom he had tentatively named Jerry Springer. He wasn’t yet confident that was the ideal title for the brown, four-legged creature, however. “My name’s Mark.”
The skeletal being glanced over at Mark, or rather did as much glancing as was possible for a creature with no eyes. Whatever the case, Mark didn’t exactly feel the look was the most welcoming one he’d received in recent memory. Still, he’d had worse. As the accounting team manager at a major brokerage firm, he was more than accustomed to looks of utter displeasure. In fact, just a few weeks prior, Mark had come face-to-face with a look of “I’m going to murder you to keep this from the shareholders” while explaining to his COO how they were down 75% from Q3 and 137% from Q2. He’d survived that—barely—and thus knew he could survive this. Still, it was admittedly a slightly more unique scenario: he was not presenting an earnings report, but rather standing beside one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, the others off somewhere setting fire to the world.
“You ending the world?” Mark said, adjusting his posture as he sat atop Jerry Springer. He’d never ridden a horse before, let alone a mule, and was struggling quite a bit to find a comfortable position. The way they did it in the movies, though, they always rode seated on a saddle. Mark did his best to imitate that, but Jerry had no saddle, nor reigns, nor anything to make the experience any more enjoyable. He was simply a stock mule, void of everything from power windows to air condition. Mark had simply stumbled upon the animal standing beside a burning farm, his owner presumably dead within, and had no choice in selecting a better model.
“You do not fear me, mortal?” the skeletal figure said, his voice deep and slow. His lower jaw tapped against the bone of his upper while he spoke, teeth a pearl white. He did not seem to have a tongue, nor anything that even resembled that of a living being. In fact, Mark wasn’t even sure how it was possible the creature spoke. He was pretty sure he didn’t have any vocal chords.
“Fear you? No,” Mark said, laughing. “There’s only one thing I fear in this world, and that’s the stockholders. You’re just a guy without any skin.”
“I have come to end you and everything you’ve known.”
“And that includes the stockholders,” Mark said, smiling. Jerry shifted beneath him, causing his legs to slip out slightly. “Whoa, Jerry, whoa.” The mule shifted again, clearly in rejection of the name Mark had bestowed upon him. He’d need to think of a new one.
“No mortal is safe from my wrath,” the man said, his pale horse unmoving in stark contrast to Sir Walter Scott, formerly known as Jerry Springer.
“Great,” Mark said, gently patting Sir Walter Scott’s mane. “Mind if Sir Walter Scott and I join you?” The mule did not struggle, apparently accepting his newly bestowed name.
“You wish to be the fifth horseman?” the skeleton said, still seeming to do his best attempt to glare at Mark. He was failing, however, due to his blatant lack of eyeballs.
“Sure!” Mark said, smiling. He wouldn’t dare pass up an opportunity to take out the stockholders, the people who made his life a living hell. Plus, he’d always found the whole idea of “humanity” to be a bit, well, over-zealous. A fresh start hardly seemed like a bad idea, especially if they could re-do the world without a stock market.
The skeletal being shifted its head slightly, the pale steed turning a bit more toward Mark. “What power do you possess, mortal? I see you fear not the end, but you may not simply ride beside us without extraordinary reason.”
“Well,” Mark began, “I’m great at Excel. I mean, really great. VLookups, forecasting, indexing, whatever. I’ve got it down like you wouldn’t believe. I’m also a CPA and have three degrees from UC Burkley. One is in fine art, but it still helps.” He’d lied about the helpfulness of the fine arts degree—he’d actually found it to be more of a burden than a benefit in recent years. Made him seem overqualified for some of the jobs he attempted to apply for, or so he was told. That left him stuck with the brokerage firm, forever tormented by the inhumanity of the stockmarket. Still, art remained his passion and he had no regrets about his triple major. “I’m also a real people-person.”
“People person?” the skeleton said, the air growing slightly colder as he spoke. “There will be no need for people after we finish our task.”
“Great,” Mark said, “because that’s the skill I dislike the most. I’m really more of an anti-people people person. A gift and a curse, if you will. So what do you say? Could you use an accountant?”
“No,” the skeletal man said, “we have no need for accounting. You will now be purged of life.” He reached his boney hand down, left hand vanishing behind the his horse’s pale, muscular torso.
“Wait,” Mark said, “I’m also great at giving people bad news. Like, demoting people or firing them, you know.” He shrugged his shoulders, staring at the skeleton. He’d had to fire a few people before, more than one simply due to budgeting issues he saw coming a mile away. Completely avoidable terminations had the CEO actually heeded his suggestions about spending limits. Unfortunately, he did not and the stocks plummeted. Layoffs followed and Mark was left cleaning up his once large team, saying goodbye to dear friends he was forced to let go.
“You can set people on fire?” the skeleton said, hand still buried behind the horse as he dug for something unseen.
“Well,” Mark said, shifting slightly. “Yes and no. I can fire them, which emotionally sets them on fire.”
“So you can set humans on fire?”
“Sure,” Mark shrugged, again patting Sir Walter Scott. That was one way to think of it.
“If it brings displeasure and pain, then you may join.”
Mark threw his hands into the air, a smile spreading across his face. “Yay!” He shouted, Sir Walter Scott shifting beneath him. Mark again lost his footing and slid further down the Mule’s back, ending up in a far less comfortable position than he’d began. It didn’t bother him, though, not after he’d just received such wonderful news. He was now the fifth horsemen of the apocalypse. No longer would he be answering to the stockholders, but rather they to him. He couldn’t wait to see their faces as he set them on fire, figuratively speaking.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
| 2015-05-20T07:09:37
| 2015-05-20T07:08:25
| 95
| 28
|
[WP] Describe a chess match between a world champion grandmaster and a chimpanzee.
|
Pokavian studied the delicately poised position. Midway through this first game and he was still astonished at the ape's ability to counter virtually every attacking strategy he'd offered. He half suspected there was some superior intellect dressed up to look like his opponent but when he stared into those animal-eyes he saw nothing but a dumb beast. Worse, the animal smelled - so bad that Pokavian had almost called the Tournament Director over to complain. But that would have been churlish, and with the world watching...? Pokavian shook his head.
An hour later, Pokavian knew he had lost. He knew it and the stinking beast opposite knew it. Oh, he could play on for a few more moves but it was inevitable. Defeat. How could he look anyone in the eyes again?
Pokavian toppled his King in resignation. But when the disgusting ape stretched out a hairless pink paw to touch him, Pokavian shrieked, beat his chest twice and slunk away in shame.
|
"And that's primate fist to c4, c5, c6, c7, and yes, down goes Medvedev's queen as it's swiped off the table."
"I see that Bubbles is now attempting the risky Kong maneuver, where upon he picks up the entire board and starts thrashing it around while screeching in frustration. Medvedev is completely cowed by the display of irrational anger."
"I see now that Medvedev has called upon Bubbles' two keepers to try and contain this out of control chimpanzee."
"It's certainly a risky move, but wait a minute... yes... through the use of tranquelizer darts attached to long sticks and a capture net, Bubbles has been dosed and apprehended."
"Medvedev is cheering and frantically shaking the hand of one of the keepers. Checkmate on you, Mr. Bubbles. I do believe that is the match."
"Thank you for watching 'Man vs. Ape: The Chess-match.' This has been another show that has nothing to do with learning, on the Learning Channel."
| 2014-11-27T15:29:47
| 2014-11-27T13:41:47
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)".
|
I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN.
| 2017-03-15T23:14:08
| 2017-03-15T21:30:06
| 98
| 26
|
[WP] Aliens have invaded to conquer and enslave humanity, however "slavery" to them involves only working the equivalent of 12 hours a week while having healthy food, shelter, and means of entertainment taken care of so the human resistance is having trouble with defectors preferring to be slaves.
|
What is a slave? This question was on the mind of every human and alien.
Humans banned slavery, fought against it with books and newspapers and speeches. With these same tools they promoted alienation, deshumanized workers and made them a cog in a dusty machine.
Aliens were slavers, and slaves had rights set in stone. No overworking, food, shelter and plenty of means to occupy the time leisurely. Slavery was for species incapable of handling themselves, and if you considered the state of earth lately, they might have a point.
The bastion was humanity's last resistance. Well, it was also surrounded by angry humans that had joined the alien overlords willingly. Before, they had been cashiers, industry workers, teachers, barely making ends meet, but free. Today, they were slaves, happy and secure.
So what is a slave?
Billions followed, refugees forgotten by foreign policies, empty salarymen, poor fools trapped in indentured servitude, they all welcomed the change. The only ones that didn't were arabian emirs, european media moguls, american oil barons, an old guard in an old world that couldn't let down the wealth and power they had amassed.
Naturally, they fought back. Not with weapons, what rich man would do so? But with advertising, speeches and newspapers, to encourage a mass of plebeians to favor the human form of freedom over alien slavery, to pick up weapons and die so the rich could continue an opulant lifestyle. That last part wasn't in speeches, but nobody was blind. Against aliens with higher technologies, propaganda doesn't work for long.
So instead, the keyholders of the old and rotten world called themselves the last champions of the human race, everyone else was but a traitor.
Champions who would never lower themselves to unclog the toilets. That's the freedom they fought for, the privilege to never care about plumbing.
It went as far as to surprise the aliens themselves. Those that joined willingly and wished for nothing but some peace and rest were quick to take up arms against the ancient oppressor.
The slaves stormed the bastion, took the weapons off the feeble old men and women who never knew how to use them. These champions begged, begged the asailants to defend their values, so disconnected from reality they did not see they already were.
Who the slaves were in this situation was largely a matter of perspective.
That is how humanity fell, aliens only had to offer a slavery with proper living standards, and humanity did the rest.
|
"Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?" screamed the man on the street corner, as passersby looked down and refused to meet his eyes.
"You, boy! Don't you want to live in a world where you're free to choose what you do with your time?"
The dark skinned man stared, but eventually thought better of arguing, and strode towards the opera. There was no point; the fat old man with his shiny pink face reminded him too much of his old employer, and that fool had been hanged in the first ten months after the invasion, because he refused to close his meat packing plant.
| 2020-11-22T09:55:03
| 2020-11-22T08:54:13
| 464
| 283
|
[WP] Overnight Australia inexplicably and uncataclysmically moved and made landfall with California. A natural wall was made in the process. Overcome with terror the nation has appointed you a member of the newly formed "Spiderwatch" and your watch has just begun.
|
They use *“uncataclysmically”* as if to say, “*look, we get that this whole debacle sucks, but at least the earth isn’t ripped in half!”*
As if an entire continent shifting thousands of miles overnight is normal. Let me tell you: *it’s not normal!* Continents don’t just up and leave like an angry patron at an understaffed and overfilled diner! This isn’t fantasy-land!
Or maybe it is. I’m not so sure anymore.
Two tectonic plates crash against each other with such force to rip the world apart, and *nothing bad happens.* We get a 10.2 magnitude earthquake, a pretty massive tsunami, and a handful of mudslides. And that’s it. *Ten million* people died!
Relatively speaking, that’s minor. It could have been worse. It should have been worse! So, so much worse! Where did all that displaced ocean go? What happened to the ring of fire—it should have set off every volcano on the hemisphere—popped the calderas like giant zits of death, rending the earth asunder with fire and ash like the apocalypse. But it didn’t.
*Why the hell not?*
We can only speculate. What we do know is that now Australia and North America have merged into one big Austramerica (North Ameralia?) and a new mountain range shot up overnight.
The spiders came pouring out of the fissure like demons.
Big spiders the size of busses. Small spiders the size of kittens. Protoarachnids that resemble scorpions and have the attitude of a weaponized Roomba. Somewhere, deep down in the depths of what once was Australia these monstrosities lived and waited and bred and now, they roam the earth.
Do you know the best part of all this? We live in a goddamn Starship Troopers movie!
*Shoot the bugs.* They say. Drop the napalm! Boom and flash—fire and ice! The bombs away, let the whole earth feel the wrath of God himself as the rockets shock and boom and splinter like meteors over the unholy mountains.
You thought industrial pollution was destroying the earth? Bah! Childs play compared to this. We’re literally *moving mountains* to bury the spiders.
My name is Colonel Wes Anderson. I’m from Australia. I ride in a helicopter and snipe spiders the size of wolves. And I love my job.
Welcome to *Spiderwatch.*
***
More 8 legged stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
|
Hilariously, I’m Australian and have no intention of saving anyone. I kick back & wait for the giggles to ensue. I name all the huntsmans Fred and appoint them the front line in my scuttling army of eight legged friends.
Afterwards I crylaugh as I post a compilation video on YouTube of people completely losing their shit over tiny creatures you can smash with an item of footwear that is not to be confused with underwear.
Meanwhile, the bears and cougars look on, astounded at all the fuss caused by tiny little arachnids. They shake their toothy heads in second hand embarrassment.
| 2019-04-22T19:49:40
| 2019-04-22T18:12:51
| 42
| 26
|
[WP] Your computer-illiterate grandmother has somehow deleted the internet. Yes, all of it.
|
It was about 4 in the afternoon when I got a call from my grandmother asking if I could come fix her computer. Normally, I would tell her that I could come over when I was free tomorrow, but I really had nothing better to do today. The internet was down at my place, so I said fuck it and went on over to her house.
I gave her computer a quick look through and immediately saw what the problem was. "Your internet's not working?" I asked.
"It's not my internet. The internet in general isn't working."
... I'm sorry, what? "Grandma, that doesn't make any sense."
"Well, I was just trying to get to my e-mail when something popped up and told me to follow these steps. I did, and now the internet doesn't work."
"Just your connection, right?" I asked. Maybe she had a virus that was disabling access to her modem. Those kinds of things could happen, right? I didn't exactly work in IT, so my knowledge is limited.
"No, the entire internet went down," she explained. "Mine, yours, everyone's! I'm getting calls from friends all over telling me that their internet is no longer working. Yours is out too, isn't it?"
Yeah, this was no coincidence. She was telling the truth. The whole truth. Which led me to ask... "Grandma, pardon my language, but..."
"But...?"
"How the FUCK did you manage to take down the entire internet?!"
"Oh, I clicked and dragged it to the recycle bin then emptied it." she exclaimed with a sheepish smile on her face. "Was I not supposed to do that?"
... Oh god, this was worse than I thought.
|
"You bloody what?"
"Yes, dear. I think the internet is gone."
"This is quite bad, Grandma."
"Who needs the silly thing anyways?"
"A lot of people, Grandma. It practically runs the world."
"Well, that's just sick."
"Not really."
"Oh, my. There are a lot of people outside. And they seem to be carrying torches."
"Grandma, close the blinds and hide."
"Now dear, don't be rude to those people. You were always a shy one. I'm going to bake some cookies. They look angry. All they probably need is a snack to cheer them up."
"Goodbye, Grandma."
"Oh, you're going upstairs? Have a good nap!"
*BANG*
"Oh, the poor thing must have hit his head or something."
*CREAK*
"Hello, neighbors! Would you like some cook-"
| 2016-01-06T20:13:10
| 2016-01-06T16:23:22
| 35
| 10
|
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer.
|
Arbiter Plantsir rested his hand and pushed the wire bound lenses up the bridge of his nose.
The loose stack of parchment paper furled and spread around his desk.
He glanced over his shoulder and a gust of stale air removed his hood. “Miss Faery,” Plantsir said dryly to the fae fluttering above him. “Could you please not hover so close. You’re spreading my notes.”
“Sorry,” She chimed, rubbing her neck as she flitted to the side of the table.
Plantsir straightened his papers. Damned spirits always so nosy. Sometimes he wondered why he had chosen mythical law. He should’ve listened to his mother and become a dragon surgeon. Now there was a field with—
A cold chill crept down his spine.
“Lord Archeron,” He grated, turning slowly to his right. The vampire was baring his fangs as expected. “I thought it was understood you wouldn’t try to bite, and I wouldn’t wear the cloves of garlic.” Gods he hated the smell, it never seemed to quite wash out of the thick robes of arbitration.
“Apologies,” the pallid man said, sidling into the shadows. Then stared across the room. “I just haven’t eaten anything palatable in days.”
“Hey!” Faery pointed her finger across at Archeron. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly,” Archeron snarled. “What you think it means. Your foul food damn near killed me.”
“And your rotten teeth nearly killed—”
“Please,” Plantsir raised his hands to silence the pair. “This circular argument has gotten us nowhere.”
He tamped his papers, giving the two time to simmer.
"Now,” Plantsir continued, removing his glasses. “The way I see it you both can settle your differences like civilized creatures, or we can sit here and argue for the eons to come.” He folded and set his glasses in front of him. “The choice is yours.”
“What would you propose?” Lord Archeron asked, pulling his cape tight.
“I would suggest a rotating bi-weekly role of—”
“That doesn’t work,” Faery said. “I have to cover for the tooth fairy next month.”
Archeron sighed. “It pains me to say but I must agree. I am taking a month-long sabbatical of sanguinity to Veron in two months’ time.”
“I see,” Plantsir said, making a note to avoid Veron. “How does rotating monthly terms of servitude sound then?”
“I suppose that could work,” Faery trilled.
“Yes,” Archeron nodded. “I suppose that could.”
“Wonderful,” Plantsir exclaimed. “I’ll draw up the runic bind first thing tomorrow.”
Archeron frowned. “Strange we couldn’t come to that resolution in the first place.”
“These things happen,” Plantsir chuckled. “Why just last week I had to settle a disagreement between Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.”
|
The benefit of age is the opportunity of exploration, expericing new situations, and a wealth of personal anecdotes to amuse friends. Lawyer across species often quarrel with one another about the intricasies of case law, or squabble over generational rivalries, but the universal law when dealing with cross-species cases was that teenagers were absolutely the worst. That's where I came in.
"She bite me right before lunch! It's not like this is complicated. Clearly, eating fae food without my explicit approval is tantamount to Section 3, subs-"
Holding up my hand, I pointed out on page in front of her, "Only items as listed in Subsection A. Unless you are deferring to Section 8, Part 3 amended with the only case where Fae cannibalism was suggested, but not proven."
"Hah! See? That means you're my thrall!" The were-woman hollered out, almost frenzied with hairs standing on the back of her neck.
It was my turn again to hush the pair of them as they started to argue. "First off, you are already on probation, and are in violation of your parole. You should see to it that you speak to your juvenile public case defender." I sighed closing the book with a quiet "thwump." The old leather was no match for the test of time, but it was surprisingly quiet as the pair listened.
"Second, as you can clearing see by her behaviour," pointing to the Fae. "She has complete control over her faculties and thus cannot be your thrall at this stage. If that was the case, you would have exerted your mastery over her by this stage. Even a juvenile werewolf or were-woman would be able to overpower a similarly aged Fae."
The Fae pouted at this comment. I hadn't needed for her to provider her name, her powers or any other personal information. Just suggesting that she lived in the nicer part of the forest, wandering around at midnight on a festival frequented by were-people meant she was naive. That and her Fae Scout badge betrayed her age.
"At this stage, your Fae victim would normally be allowed to press charges of assault. But, given her age, and that she is likely lost from her group, I think her guardians might be more interested in her presence."
The were-woman howled, the Fae continued to pout. I climbed down from the step ladder I frequently brought. "I suggest that you wait for the parole officer for your were-woman, and continue to put pressure on the arm to prevent excessive bleeding. The bandage I brought is only temporary."
Zipping up my briefcase, I handed them both my card. "You have my summoning card, please summon when should you require my services."
The Fae perked up, "But you haven't decided who should serve who!"
I smiled. "You two are too young. A court would throw both of your cases out immediately if you two weren't thrown in the dungeon by your parents." Pointing at the Fae, "You, seek medical attention."
Switching to the were-woman. "You, wait for the parole officer. Goodnight."
| 2022-07-11T21:10:45
| 2022-07-11T19:00:25
| 75
| 52
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
"What, are you serious?"
"Yeah," I said. "How can I possibly help 137 trillion people? Earth's population is only what, 7 billion?"
"Oh gosh, I didn't realize you were so dumb." The genie flicked his wrist and the number dropped to 100 billion.
"Hey!"
"Don't feel bad. That's still way more people than your existence harms."
"So how are there even a hundred billion people?"
"The choices you make can have long-lasting effects impacting generations upon generations of the yet to be born. Just, you know, maybe not as many people as someone a little brighter."
"What choices could I possibly make that has that big an impact?" I asked. "I'm nobody."
The genie stared at me for a long uncomfortable moment. "You. Have. A. Genie."
|
The genie laughs and blurts out with elation:
"**By doing nothing of course!"**
"What do you mean '*by doing nothing?*' and what do you mean '*of course!'*?"
**"What did you expect me to say? Did you expect one good deed? One invention?"**
"Well...kinda. Maybe hundreds of good deeds?"
**"Tell me, which human do you know of that has done a good deed such as, oh I don't know, donating their clothes to a charity shop let's say; and made a grand difference?"**
"Ha! I would have expected something a little less innocuous than that. You know like, solve world hunger, or, create something that purifies water."
**"I can see why you would think that would help a lot of people. And it would. But, you did see that said** ***TRILLION*** .**..right? Not million or billion."**
"Well billion is pretty good!"
**"About a thousand times fewer people than you** ***will*** **help though. Look, you could create something that purifies all water, sure. You would ease suffering for millions. But is it not the nature of humankind to find problems to solve?"**
"I mean, I suppose. Not exclusively, but, yeh I guess."
**"So you purify all water. Now what is the next problem? People still suffer because now they can stop focusing on water but focus shifts to no food. Let's say you solved world hunger too! Now they argue over land and property, women, and fight for justice. Justice basically born out of the wish that people would stop arguing and doing harm to each other."**
"What so I should skip solving the problems, and instead treat the symptoms by just becoming a lawyer or a politician?"
**"There was a trillion on the end of that 137 remember."**
"I don't understand how I can help so many by doing nothing!"
**"That was the point! Everyone until now has always looked for a way to solve other people's problems. But look how destructive humanity has been in the search to solve other people's problems! It's like your old proverb, where the monkey reaches into the river to grab the fish, exclaiming as he does so:** ***'dear fish! kindly let me help you or you'll drown!'*** **and placed it safely up a tree."**
"How have we...But look at all we have achieved!"
**"Achieved? Let me paint a picture of humanity's achievements with the example of solving the problem of no light at night, by creating electricity. Ok, great we can see at night. Now how do you get the energy to maintain the electricity? You destroy the environment. Ruin it for others. See you cannot have something without taking it from someone or something else. The rainforests are destroyed for the wood to burn or oil to rub on your faces; the water is poisoned to get gas to pump into your flashy cooker; your -"**
"- OK! I get it. Don't preach. I understand what you're getting at. Yin Yang and all that right?"
**"Close."**
"Can you tell me how I change the world for 137 '*TRILLION REMEMBER'* people, by doing nothing?"
**"No."**
"Why didn't you say that in the beginning?!"
**"How can I tell you how to** ***do*** **nothing? That - literally - doesn't make sense."**
"YOU SAID IT! You said, and I quote: *By doing nothing of course!*"
**"And my responses have been questions have they not?"**
"Yes."
**"What you seek does not come from** ***knowing*** **the answer. There is no real quick-fix in life, they are all postponements of the truth. What you seek comes from the journey of discovery. You must learn what it is, to be."**
| 2018-08-15T04:55:10
| 2018-08-15T02:53:07
| 5,641
| 164
|
[WP] The city gets new street lamps, but these lamps are "smart". If a crime (like a robbery) or car crash happens under, or in the vicinity of one, the light will turn red as an indicator to the police. One night, every street lamp in the city turns red.
|
This was the night that the air turned red.
The signal-lamps were installed in an effort to improve first responder response times. Programmed to turn a deep shade of red when triggered, outfitted with the latest in monitoring technology, and serviced monthly. A compromise to the watchdog groups from the lawmakers when the state struck down the body cameras. Since their implementation, response times were cut in half, although the crime rate went up--a result of better detection, not more crime. The furor over the militarization of civilian enforcement agencies died down, and the beast named Public Outrage lumbered back into its slumber, waiting to be aroused--however briefly--by the next senseless killing or gross injustice.
As their use spread, the technology that made them possible grew in efficiency, until the signals no longer needed to be triggered manually. Different cities set varying degrees of sensitivity to the crime monitoring equipment--in California, only hard drugs and violent crimes set them off; in Alabama, the sight of two gay men kissing once tripped the public indecency sensor. They had to dial it down after a Supreme Court ruling.
All debates about Big Brother aside, the equipment seemed to slowly drive down the crime rate, at least in large cities. A perfect example of human ingenuity employed for the greater good. From all appearances, things were getting better, and with them, our society.
But I know better. I know that power corrupts, and I've drank, laughed, cried, and fought alongside those corrupt men for nearly twenty years. I know the mayor by his first name. I've dated the commissioner's daughter. I know the crimes that lay on the hands of these men and the bodies, black and white, that have laid at their feet.
And tonight, following the grand jury's failure to indict the officers who shot a unarmed man and the police chief who lied about it, the state-of-the-art detection equipment proved its worth.
I know that there is innocent blood running through the streets of New York.
Tonight, the air matches the streets.
|
Captain George Thompson was running frantically between the several different monitors.
"Officer Valdez, status report!"
"Sir, all lamps on First St have turned positive!"
George wiped a drop of sweat from his eyebrow. All the lamps in San Juan were turning red, and the police station was being overloaded with automatic calls from the smart lamps.
"All right, everyone listen up!" He clapped his hands twice and every police officer in San Juan inside the headquarters was listening.
"Here's the situation. As of now, all the lamps in San Juan have turned red!" Here, George heard a few gasps, as all the officers had only been monitoring the street assigned and did not know the situation on the other streets.
"I want all the officers to go out and investigate their street. Move, move, move!"
All the officers cleared within a few seconds and suddenly, it was just him in the office. He sprinted towards his desk and started viewing the video feeds that were coming in from the police cars. Suddenly, a voice rang out from his computer saying "Captain Thompson, we need you to look at this." He switched screens and saw the President on a live video feed.
"Mr. President! How can I help you!" George, sprang to his feet and saluted his webcam.
"Captain Thompson, we need you to look at this picture our satellite in space sent us. It seems that lamps all over the US have been functioning irregularly and this was the result. "
A loud chime emanated from the desktop. George opened the high-security email which required him to enter his military password, and he gasped.
It had to have been a group of hackers that had done this, because using the lamps, the hackers had centered San Juan in a bullseye with a message underneath reading, "We're coming for you first."
EDIT: Formatting, Content
| 2015-02-01T16:11:45
| 2015-02-01T14:33:38
| 233
| 27
|
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
|
I glanced at my watch. Robbie is late again. We've been together for 3 years and he's always been late. As I toss my cigarette butt out the window of my car, I think about our first date. He was 30 minutes late picking me up for the movie. I probably should have ended it after that first night but I didn't.
He was late the night he was supposed to pick me up for our prom. Almost an hour. I had to redo my make up twice from the tears. I thought he wasn't coming but then he showed up, flowers in hand, looking more handsome than I'd ever seen him.
For years I joked that if I was ever late, the world would end. Something bad would happen. We would be in a car accident that we would have missed if I was 5 minutes early. But people don't die just because you're late, right?
I don't know why I thought today would be different today. After 20 minutes I hear his truck rumble into the parking lot.
"You ready for this babe?" Robbie asked.
"Yeah. Let's do it." I say and wrap his hand in mine.
Together we walk to the front counter.
"How can I help you?" the lady asks.
"I'm about 10 weeks late on my period and I want to terminate the pregnancy" I tell her.
"Sign here, fill these out and someone will be with you shortly" she said.
I sit and sigh. I look over for comfort from Robbie.
He smiles and says, "Hey, at least this time I wasn't the one who was late" and I know I'm making the right decision.
|
*'Easy'*, I tell myself. Nothing's going to go wrong.
Left turn, three sharp and consecutive corners to the right, a hairpin, and a long, long straight to the end.
I know the car. I *know* my copilot, and she knows me. She trusts me with her life.
We're going to win this, retire, and have a nice, comfortable life. *I can do this.*
Alright. Alright. Enough thinking. Watch the road.
This is *not* unfamiliar Finnish dirt. This is easy, simple, English countryside.
I can do this.
The pace notes are coming nice and steadily, just like how I want them, and if my internal clock is working right, I'm pretty sure I'll come out on top in terms of timings by this stage.
Everything's perfect, just-
*No.* No. I can't be losing grip, not now. I am *not* going to tip over.
*Yes,* Kris, I'm decelerating, goddamnit.
Countersteer. Come on, come on, do *not* fail me now, Lancer. You can do-
Black. Pitch black. Ears ringing. I feel dizzy.
*Ouch*.
Where am I?
Oh. Oh.
Alright. Get the engine off. Steering wheel's next. Okay, the door. Slowly.
My right arm feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it. It's fine. I need to get help.
*Wait*. Where's Kris?
God, god, no.
Please tell me she's fine. She *has* to be fine.
She's not breathing. I need to get help. Where's the damn ambulance?
Where's the safety car? The people who were behind us must have seen us and radioed for help.
I'll... Just... The road.
Oh, god. My ankles. But *Kris*.
Fuck it. I'll crawl. I'll crawl.
Almost... to the road. Almost.
There. Yes, I see it. Isn't that a car, over there?
Why is it coming so fast? Are we that seriously injured?
No. No. It's a fellow rally car. It can't still be thinking that the race is still on, right? No. Slow down.
Jesus, I can't get out of the way in time. Heaven help me.
Help me, God, help me, anyone!
*Mama*. Ma-
| 2015-06-03T13:26:32
| 2015-06-03T06:26:43
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
He gazed into the distance, smiling as a cool breeze hit him.
It reminded him of a memory of his childhood, the first time he played in the rain. All the cousins gathered at Grandpa's house and played various games for hours. The uncles and aunts joined them after a while and everyone then hosed off after the rain.
"Man, sis would have loved this", he said out loud.
He walked on ahead to find an old electronics shop, perhaps battered by a storm a few years ago. There were signs for "The new Nintendo Switch" down on the floor, musty and a little crumpled.
The sun started setting down as he walked back home.
"I'm home! ", he declared as he stepped in. He opened the fridge to grab some pasta he saved from earlier.
He laid down on the bed, as he did everyday around 8 PM.
"If only I had the ability to go back in time" he said out loud. "I would have atleast had a point of return"
He manifested a ball of energy on the palm of his hand as he thought to himself,
"Maybe killing everyone to save the planet wasn't a good idea".
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31
| 2017-08-30T05:46:13
| 5,691
| 46
|
[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!
|
“How many did this one save?”
Garthok grunts, gesturing for me to give him a moment while he inputs a string of numbers into the console. He checks his work over twice. Got to be careful about these things, after all. Mass extinction is delicate work.
Garthok picks up the camera sphere and pulls out the memory tube, squinting at the display on the side. “10,124,682 pictures.”
Impressive. “That’s gotta be a new record. How many humans do you think that is?” Garthok and I have been making the rounds for a while now. Plucking one unlucky soul from their sleep chamber, shoving a camera at them, and sending them on their merry way with a timer hanging over their heads.
“Not all of them,” Garthok says, placing the camera in the decontamination chamber. We’d learned that lesson about 5,000 planets ago. They were an awful, slimy species. Dumb as rocks. Ate the camera. I’m glad we zapped them all into oblivion.
“Well, load them up. Let’s take a look.”
Garthok slides the memory tube into the console with a click and a hiss. The console takes a moment to load all those pictures. Over ten million. Damn, that must’ve been one hell of a dedicated human. I hope this one remembered to take a picture of himself. Lot of them don’t. Too stupid to think about it, maybe. Not as stupid as eating the camera, though.
Finally, the console starts loading the pictures in batches. A hundred at a time, pages and pages of them flashing before us. It’s hard to make out, most of them a blur of beige. Had this human never used a camera sphere before? The focus is terrible.
Garthok leans in closer to the console, then taps something on it. The pictures zoom in to a more visible size, flashing by in a blur.
And I begin to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, until green ooze leaks from my eyes and my muscles begin to cramp.
This human managed to take ten million pictures in a year, and each and every one of them is a close-up, out-of-focus picture of himself.
|
Today is it. The last day before everyone not photographed dies. I prepare for what's to come. It took me a year and a great fortune to go around the world. I did my best to capture everyone who was a good person and deserved to live. I know it will haunt me, deciding who lives and dies but this is for the betterment of mankind. I made sure to get everyone that had skills that were important to our survival but they had to pass the test. It was intensive but I did it. If it wasn't for the help I had, I wouldnt have done it, sure I had to lie about things to get help and money but I'll live with that on my conscious. I only hope that this is the right choice. What will those people suffer? Will they feel pain? I can't imagine the thought of me causing that pain. Wait...there it is, a flashing in the sky. Bright colors I can barley decribe, it's beautiful but there is a sadness in what's to come. There is a great sound and then silence...
Five years later
Entry #316
I fear this may be my last entry. I'm tired of writing for nothing. It's all gone downhill. I would have never imagined this was going to happen and I caused it. It all went like a flash, like that "Glourious" day. Mankind spiraled into destruction. It took 2 years but when it did there was no stopping it. We all did well at first with all the terrible people gone. It was like paradise but little by little mankind once again repeated history. Wars, famine, death it all came by slowly and even worse than before. In these final moments I remembered a verse from the Bible i used to read as a kid and I remembered the words it said and now it made sense to me. "Genesis 6:5 Jehovah saw that man's wickedness was great on the earth and that every inclination of his heart was bad all the time" I now know that mankind will not be peaceful ever. Even after a restart we messed it up. Maybe this is for the best. We don't deserve to live, I think I'm just going to sit and wait for our inevitable end. I look at the stupid camera and set it next to me. I think I'm going to sit next to this tree and watch the world burn slowly. Once again I think I'll enjoy this silence for the last time.
| 2017-01-27T16:46:27
| 2017-01-27T14:29:51
| 15
| 11
|
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
The mirror hadn't been cleaned. She sighed and began scrubbing. When she had finished, she made her way towards the kitchen and heard snippets of conversation.
"Your grandmammy... Her Alzheimer's is getting worse. She's not the nice old lady you used to know..."
She wondered who they were talking about for a moment before making her way to the bathroom.
The mirror hadn't been cleaned. She sighed and began scrubbing...
|
When I stepped out of the bathroom and made my way back to my table, I found it barren. Where there was once a ribeye, there was nothing. My precious ribeye and side of ribs was gone, and when the waiter returned, he raised a brow. "I had assumed you left."
I merely wept, my mind wash with the steak that could have been.
| 2014-10-19T18:33:46
| 2014-10-19T17:54:43
| 254
| 179
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
"I love you" he whispers.
He stands up and faces the window and lets out a small fart he thinks I can't hear.
He turns back to me, "I've loved you since freshmen orientation, when you dropped your orientation folder and I helped you gather up the papers blowing in the wind, just like my heart."
He looks down, he faced pained, and lets out another short fart.
"And now, it's our last semester and I can't image moving on in life without you. I know you think of me as friend, just that nice guy who hangs around but..."
He walks to window again and let's one more long fart.
"...I think we should be together."
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
| 2020-12-01T17:59:26
| 2020-12-01T17:46:27
| 33
| 13
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
One pill
Two pills
Red pills
Blue pills
Black pill
Blue pill
Old pill
New pill
My wrist has a little scar
Maybe I will crash my car
Say! What a lot of pills there are
Some are blue
And some are red
Don't ask me why
I will soon be dead
|
In the far away land of Sala-McSnerd
Lived a middle aged woozle named Nudist Jay Bird
Each day by the river he'd hunt for wild snuthings
Each night he'd return with two bags full of nothings
"We're hungry!" said his wife. "Get back on the job!"
So he'd head back out, his hand still on the door knob
And even his children - both of whom he adored
Screamed "don't come back without snick-snucks from the snick-snucking store!"
With a sigh he'd go back on the wild snuthing hunt
Wishing his wife and his kids weren't such cunts
When a sound from the river had caught his attention
He could not tell for sure but he thought he heard his name mentioned
"Down here" came the noise, "look to my direction"
And he saw with a start it came from his reflection
"I can help you," it said, "from your noser to your toeser
Lean down your ear, just a little bit closer!"
"I have questions to answers you haven't yet asked
Like why does it hurt when you don't use your flask?"
He couldn't believe it, he HAD wondered that
So he leaned a bit closer and took of his old hat.
"The answer," it said it said as it removed its hat too
"The answer, of course, should seem simple to you.
Take the rope from your snuthing trap shooter
And tie one end to this rock and one end to your booter"
He did as he was told with gusto and passion
Then tossed the rock in till he heard a big splashin
And with the ripples his new helpful friend disappeared
But the pain from the drowning was not as bad as he feared.
| 2015-01-17T07:18:52
| 2015-01-17T07:16:40
| 79
| 46
|
[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.
|
"Really?" I asked in wonder, as I prepared the needle for the latest mark.
"Yep." was the simple response.
I'd wondered for a long time the meaning, but I had no idea why until today.
"Wow," I replied, still shocked, "You must be very talented..." He nodded again as I trailed off.
"Every time. Just gotta get that son of a bitch Mew now, and I've caught them all."
|
“Here he is again!” Mikey hollers
Becker comes straight in, takes his seat at my station, strips his jacket and waits.
“Again?” I ask
“Again.” Sounds gruff. He nods.
It’s the same procedure. The same routine. I don’t even know the number of lines I’ve
etched into his forearm. The last number I remember? 32.
I stopped counting.
-
“You ever ask him what it’s for? What they mean?”
I’m tellin my girl bout it. “Nope. And I don’t want to.”
She goes rigid next to me. Not satisfied with that answer.
“What if it’s a number of victims? Or babies he’s aborted in his basement?”
“What if it’s the number of tapes he’s forgot to return, baby? Whatever it means it don’t
make any difference for me.”
-
“I just don’t like the way he looks,” Mikey tells me back at the shop.
“I didn’t ask you to fuck him. Let it go.”
-
It is Becker’s seat at my station. His name isn’t etched into it, but it waits for him. I wait for him.
One day I hope he never has to come back.
-
Next time he stops by I’m working with someone else. He waits up front until I’m done.
“’Nother?”
He nods. Sleeve already pulled up.
I finish up and wipe down. He pulls his sleeve down.
“It’s 64 now,” he tells me.
-
“64 ticks he’s had removed from his balls!”
My girl’s laughin now. Cookin.
“64…. 64 times he’s said ‘I love you’ and regretted it.”
She’s on a roll now and I don’t stop her.
“64. The number of times his Grandma made him watch Steel Magnolias.”
I sip my beer.
“When do you think he’ll stop? What’s his lucky number?”
“It ain’t 64,” I answer.
-
“It’s cloudin’ up.” Mikey is at the shop window with his hands on hips lookin like a concerned mama.
“Let it!” I holler from the back.
The bottom drops. One big bucket full.
Shop’s empty.
The entry bell rings.
Mikey watches, alert.
I take my seat at my station.
Becker walks in. Drippin.
His shoes make a sound that sounds like toads being squashed every step he takes.
I want to vomit at the sound of it.
He takes his seat.
“Do it.”
-
“You know what they mean don’t you?”
I’m holdin her and shes holding me. Sheets between us windin like a snake.
“Baby why can’t you tell me? If it’s possible to die from curiosity I surely will.”
She’s smiling up at me. I don’t know why.
“I told you I don’t know what they mean. But I got a good guess and it ain’t as dark or as funny as it seems.”
Her brow furrows.
“What’s your guess?”
“He comes in smellin like dog. He ain’t ever happy bout me markin him. I don’t even
think he can hardly stand the pain. Far as I can tell he ain’t got no other tattoos. What he’s doin ain’t for me. I don’t even think it’s for him.”
She rests against me.
“Maybe it’s so he won’t forget.”
I pull her close. “That sounds right to me.”
| 2016-07-09T18:17:55
| 2016-07-09T15:42:33
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention.
|
Sleeping soul so innocent
awakens in a blaze. Knowing not
where she is. She wanders on for
days. Beasts with horns and pointed tails
with fire in their eyes, spent the day wondering
the cause of her demise. She was too young,
too filled with life. How does one so very
small have such a shortened time. "We can't let her stay, she
wont last long." "She has no where else to go."
"We can build her a ladder to a land as white as snow."
The damned worked hard and in no time the ladder was erected, the girl
climbed up to find that her fate had been corrected.
|
Samantha was five when the drunk driver rammed his truck off the road and smashed her away from her mother. She still wore the same clothes now, a bright colored dress and fancy looking, but functional shoes. She was playing with some rocks on the Precipice of Inifinite Pain above the Lake of Fire. Two demons each kept one eye on her as they spoke.
"And you're sure there's no record of her? Little Samantha, drunk driver, crushed to death." Spoke the larger one, horns blackened by fire curling back in a twisted pattern.
"Yeah, of course, I have checked several times. She didn't live long enough to deserve the fire anyway. I've already sent a message to Him, I'm sure he'll know what to do." This one was smaller and only bore the most vague resemblance to a human figure. Arms and legs so thin as to be almost comical were they not also featuring many more joints than a human had.
"Well" Spoke the big horned one, stalling for time, "Do you... Ah! The succubuses might like her, don't you think?"
Many joints scowled, "Maybe, but I am a gatekeeper. She has no designation, she still resides within my sphere."
"Oh, give it a rest, she doesn't reside in any sphere with us. We'll just -" Big horn cut off and began a sprint on the realization that he couldn't see Samantha. Demons can move fast when they want, and as fast as big horn was, many joints was faster. They reached the edge and looked over, screaming in unison, "SAMANTHA!"
The little girl in the pretty dress hopped out from behind the rock formation she'd been playing with, "Boo!"
Both the demons started, turned, and looked at each other, a moment of agreement passing between them.
"Fine," said many joints, "Take her to the succubi." He emphasized the ending of succubi.
"Big horns sighed, "The pluralization isn't so well set you, bah!" He turned to the little girl, still smiling at them, "I'm going to take you to a bunch of ladies, would you like some ice cream on the way?"
The little girl nodded.
Big horns stood up and extended a hand large enough to encircle her head, she took it and skipped alongside him as they headed off.
| 2013-11-26T16:25:34
| 2013-11-26T13:08:15
| 58
| 27
|
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
"Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
|
"Oh *good, you* again."
Death is meant to be an imposing figure. They look different for each person, for the culture you come from, for what represents your fears. I was never very imaginative, though, so I always thought of it as a skeleton in a cloak. Pretty scary the first time, but you'd expect them to change it up after death 400.
"You know, statistically, you're only supposed to get like, one extra shot? Two if you're lucky?"
"Yeah, yeah, chill, Reaper. I think this is my last time checking in."
Death presents the coin, as they have so many times before, and lays it on the stark white table in the center of the room. Though it's less like a room, and more like a void with walls.
"You know how this works, Quinn."
I take the coin, and flip it. I catch it midair, and discretely brush my thumb over it.
"Heads."
Tails.
"Aww, darn. I guess my luck had to run out sometime, huh?"
I feign ignorance. After all this time, 400 visits, 400 times I've fooled Death, I can't help but play with them a little more.
"...Why?"
You wouldn't expect something called The Grim Reaper to ever look this confused.
"Why? I know you're doing something here. Of course I've known. Why, after so long, do you choose to fail? To die?"
"...It gets boring. I've already done everything. That's the truth."
I start walking towards the newly-opened gate, the one thing I have never seen in all my visits. I start thinking about the places I've been, things I've done, and it all seems minuscule compared to the endless black beyond. I start crying.
"And... Quinn... How?"
Such an extraordinary set of lives feels trumped by this one moment. The Grim Reaper, Death, is asking me a question, taking an interest, and there they stand, the one throughline in all my existences. My only friend that mattered.
"Don't you know?"
I turn back, just for a moment, tears still streaming down my face, just before I step through the gate. Despite the tears, I am happy. I am satisfied.
"The coin's bumpy on one side."
| 2016-09-23T10:49:59
| 2016-09-23T08:59:37
| 232
| 27
|
[WP] There is a group of time travellers who create small changes and rely on the butterfly effect to change history. Now they need to prevent World War 3 by making a janitor lose his job. Detail how this stops World War 3.
|
So you're telling me that this janitor will lose his job, grow a fallowing, bomb the United Nation Headquarters, which leads to serious bombing in the US, kind of like what the US had done to Afghanistan, create instability in the US, breaking it into 2 major countries. Both sides split the US allies in a way similar to the start of WW1, they can't get along and start bombing each other, which drags in most of the rest of the civilized world, causing WW3 and the end of the world, and this can all be prevented by giving the janitor cab fare one day, allowing him to keep his job?
Yes.
Well let's get to it.
|
Old man Cotton was always a bit eccentric, but everyone loved him. He was always seemed to torn up when someone was being bullied, or have a bit of sage advice when life was just too much for a student.
Nobody begrudged him retiring after hitting the jackpot on a scratch off tickets. Everyone showed up for his retirement, students he had inspired decades ago showed up with stories of how he had helped and inspired them.
I watched it all, smiling and nodding from the sidelines. Everyone just assumed I was an old student.
In truth, I was, or would be next year. Little Davie, the kid everyone teased for being a nerd, the kid beaten behind gym, yet another kid saved and inspired by old man Cotton.
My smile as I shook his hand and wished him the best was heartfelt and genuine. I did not know what would become if little Davie, but I knew David Knox would no longer be attending Stanford and that Dr. Knox would no longer write his papers on temporal engineering.
No longer would the world burn fighting over a technology I should have never created.
Enjoy your retirement Mr. Cotton, today you save the world.
| 2019-09-22T08:51:10
| 2019-09-22T08:30:30
| 35
| 26
|
[WP] When an animal dies, we often use the expression "crossing the rainbow bridge." This is not by accident, every animal crosses the Bifröst, having earned their place in Valhalla defending us from a greater evil then we could ever know. Tell their stories.
|
Hercules, as his master had called him in a playful way, had met his end.
He stared at the long bridge that led to the unknown, but he wasn't afraid, he had chosen this path, the path of the warrior, like his father before him and his father before him, he had tackled the toughest foes and maybe he hadn't beat all of them but he liked to think he had never lost either, not until that last fight.
While walking with pride towards his new destination Hercules reminisced of his days with Mary, the day she had picked him up he had known they would be inseperable and that he had to give her his best, she was nice and bright but unbeknownst to her she was always in danger, evil lurked around her everyday, in the morning when she woke up he made sure to retrieve her slippers that some pesky imps tended to steal, returning them after inspecting that nothing fishy had been done, their powders had a peculiar taste to them and could be removed easily, she would sometimes scold him for getting them wet but he understood that she was ignorant, and she would forgive him in 5 minutes anyway. He protected her in the middle of the night by keeping the shadows from creeping into her dreams with his powerful bark, it was inevitable that it also woke her up, sometimes he wished he didnt have such capacity but then the shadows wouldn't fear him the same.
All in all he had lived a good life, protecting the person he loved and recieving love back was the best, he would miss Mary... after giving it more thought he did regret fighting that last battle, it wasn't even to protect her, a young man had come to the house to give her some food that she loved but he wasn't allowed to eat... "ahh another regret, never tasting those triangles that everyone seemed to love" he mused aloud, he tried to save that young man from the infernal piece of metal that would eventually be his demise, nothing that made that diabolical sound could be good, but he hadn't been fast enough to catch up and an ambush had been set up, a car had snuck up behind him and managed to get a lucky critical hit and then all had turned black, the pain at least didn't last long.
He was now at the other side, other dogs keeping their distance and showing respect like they should, he could see his reflection in one of the multiple ponds, his big imposing ears, his small but nimble build, he was trembling... he always trembled from the exitement of the battles to come, now he trembled because he could see her, he would watch over her forever.
He let out a series of barks.
|
The door to the mead hall opened again, the fourth time that night. The warriors of Valhalla were used to the occasional soul ended up there, but since the age of Vikings had passed, less and less ended up in the hall of fighters. But the door that had opened, wasn’t the main door, but a different one.
Many legends and tales never told of the great Barn Door of Valhalla, but it was there. A great assortment of animals had their own version of the mead hall, sections being dedicated to each species. The Barn of Valhalla was many hundreds times larger than the human hall, ever since the age of warriors had passed, animals had been flooding in.
Not all animals came, but many did. House cats, dogs, sheep, fish, even the odd gopher. Many warriors had complained to both Odin and Thor, both of whom told the troubled souls to shut up and respect the creatures as fierce warriors.
Harold entered the Barn and it went quiet, he was a newer soul, a man who had died with a kitchen knife in is hand. He was looking for his friend. A fat black cat came up to him and smiled, sitting down at his feet
“Hello Harold, it is good to see you”
He glanced down at the cat “Muffin? Is that you?”
The cat nodded “Indeed, I didn’t think you would enter Valhalla...” she thought out loud
He chuckled and gave his old friend and pet “It was a kitchen knife that got me here... but... why are you here? Oh is it all the mice you killed for me?” He laughed at the joke, but the cat grew serious
“No. It was for the same reason we all are here. Every single animal.”
He looked at her blankly “Which is?”
“Protecting you”
“From what!?”
“From the gods.”
| 2018-05-24T23:19:44
| 2018-05-24T21:49:17
| 122
| 58
|
[WP] people are often impressed by your perfect memory. You know your memory is actually pretty bad; however, the universe is constantly changing to match what you believe. You just started taking a physics exam...
|
*Oh shit,* I muse, pencil tapping against the paper. *Newtons first law? I don’t even remember how many laws he had!* I focus harder, as I place the tip of the pencil against the paper. A sudden spark of memory hits, and I begin scratching out what I know. “An object in motion stays in motion.” I set my sights on the next question. *What? Gravity? Air resistance?* I sigh to myself, and pinch my nose. *What on earth is is called when things fall down?* eventually, I decide that it has to be because the object wants to fall if it’s really heavy, but if it’s light it won’t matter at all.
A spelling mistake forces me to have to grab my pink rubber eraser and rub out a word. I brush the dirty eraser crumbs away, and they fly off, floating off into the air. *That’s normal, right?* I look right at the next question on the exam. “What is the atomic number for carbon?” Unfazed, I remembered that lead pencils had carbon, and that must mean that carbon was number 46, or 47, or whichever one is Pb. As I begin writing that down, my pencil suddenly becomes several times heavier, and I drop it in surprise. It bounces on the floor and begins rolling away without showing signs of stopping.
*Something doesn’t feel right,* I think, as I begin to realize, *my body is made of carbon!* I fall to the floor, immobile. *When did I get so heavy?*
|
“Where is God?” Dylan hovered over to Michael watching tv, feet propped up on the lazy boy.
“On earth. Why?”
Dylan grabbed his halo and hold it out in front of him. After a couple of taps and swipes an image was summoned within the halo in a 3d model, presenting... a planet.
“Is that earth?” Michael asked.
“The planet with only two continents, yeah it’s earth.”
“... Are you being sarcastic?”
“No, this is literally earth at this moment.”
“When did that happen?”
“God knows how. I just wish I could find him.”
“Well he’s on earth.”
Dylan slapped his forehead. “Of course, that narrows it down a bunch.”
“... are you being sarcastic this time?”
“Yes!”
Michael eased back and munched on another potato chip. Salt and vinegar. Just right. “Well that’s the last I saw him sixteen years ago.”
“He’s been gone sixteen years?!”
“He said something about people not noticing him enough.
(Will continue)
| 2019-10-08T21:26:55
| 2019-10-08T19:54:49
| 98
| 31
|
[WP] The world is an MMORPG, and high leveled players can hide their true level and make it a lower one. A bunch of Level 80 people bully your Level 39 persona, but you’re actually a level 325 in disguise.
|
When "The Quests of Altimer: Online" was first released the world paid it little mind. Oh, ANOTHER fantasy online multiplayer role playing game? Yawn! Been there, done that!
But there was something different about this one. For a one time registration fee you could play free (barring internet and hardware costs) forever.
There was constant new content and expansions added. You could use real money in game to buy limited release items (Golden Unicorn mounts, Angelic skins for Demon armour, Demon skins for Angelic armour etc) but these items did not effect gameplay.
And you had to have earned, looted, upgraded or traded for the items to use the skins or other purchases fair and square. You couldn't use money to cheat your way to better equipment.
It was a game where language, wealth or location was no barrier. The only barrier was skill. All quests had a scoreboard to see how you stacked up against the whole world.
There were new player areas and missions that you played and quests you unlocked as you progressed which you could ask for help from higher leveled members provided you were in a guild or alliance together. Otherwise high leveled players were banned from the start area. The reverse was also true. Higher ranked players could take new friends out to help them level up quicker.
But what really got the world talking? It was the Ultimate Quest, the main goal of the game: To slay the World Destroyer, The Lord of the Dragons.
This was the most grueling, difficult, intense test of gamers. Cuphead? Cakewalk. Dark Souls? Go back to Kindergarten, the grownups are busy here.
A guild of hundreds of players, all over level 300 (the highest cap was 320 from just leveling. It *could* go to 323 with the original member sign up bonuses and guild leaders got an extra level perk) had finally defeated his troll sized human form... only to be annihilated a minute later when he merged with his dead dragon guardians.
Guilds merged, up to 1500 people fought him at a time, using arcane spells, deadly potions, vorpal blades and more but nothing seemed to take him down.
Until one day. A lone name appeared on the board for defeating the World Destroyer: Harold.
The world went nuts! Who was this mysterious lone character who had single handedly defeated the baddest of the bad? The only Harold anyone remembered coming across was the librarian in the new player area, a halfling who pointed new players in the direction of helpful books and resources.
The games creators said they knew the identity and location of the hero Harold but as the player had not come forward they respected their wish for privacy.
Media attention eventually dwindled and focused on a new story about the game. How new players were no longer safe in the new player zones and being killed left and right. Sometimes when you started you were gifted a unique and powerful item. And a band of high level players were trying to get them all.
They might have gotten away with it too, had they not made one fatal mistake. They picked on the wrong low level player.
|
"I said, *all of your items*," the big one told me. One hand was on my shoulder, the other held a knife, aimed directly at my chest. Typical bullies.
The one holding the halberd spoke up, "I don't like it, dude."
"What're you bitching about, Greyson?" asked the one in the back dismissively.
"Think about it, Jean. Who the fuck walks around a PVP zone with no armor on?" Greyson looked like he was sweating. Smarter than the others, obviously.
"A fool. World's full of them," said the fourth.
With a wave of his hand, Jean walked over to me and Big Ugly. "You know what they say about a fool and his money." He poked a finger into my chest, "Look, kiddo, we'll agree to leave those three 25s alone for a month, but what you've offered isn't enough."
I hoped I looked frightened.
"All your items," Big Ugly repeated.
"And you have to kneel to us, too, and beg our forgiveness," Jean instructed.
I thought about the three kids who just wanted to do some decent missions to level up. They had posted on the message boards and I happened to see it. Apparently, these four twatcicles had been harassing passersby for weeks. Normally not my thing to step in and help out people who should learn to fight their own battles, but a 55-level gap would be impossible to overcome, even if there was twenty of them.
These four were preying on the helpless.
Fuck these guys.
I put on my best scared, stammering noob voice and replied, "O... Ok. You... you gotta put me down so I can reach my item inventory."
Big Ugly dropped me, so I backed up a couple steps and reached around toward my back.
"Don't forget, runt," Jean said triumphantly, "you better kneel! And show us your name, while you're at it, so we know exactly who we've dominated!"
I paused. Ugh. Something special for these assholes, coming right up.
"Y... yes, s... sir," I stuttered. As I began to drop to my right knee, I allowed my name to show through my Concealment, but not my real level.
My right knee hit the ground. The smart one, Greyson, saw my name. His eyes went wide. Immediately, he turned and began sprinting as fast as possible toward the nearest outgate, not saying a word to his friends. Yep, smart; he obviously hoped I would take a while with the other three, giving him time to run.
I held out my hand and spoke a single word: "Come."
A blinding flash of holy light and a bone-shaking clap of thunder pealed across the earth as it appeared, its leather-wrapped hilt warm in my grasp. The ground sank and crackled under my newly tripled weight now that I held the weapon of gods. Wisps of ethereal, white light curled and drifted peacefully from the sword's impossibly sharp edge, somehow matching perfectly the faint, angelic song emanating from it, the sound of blissful release made by the atoms of air as they were split in half just by contacting the heavenly blade. Excalibur cuts *everything*.
"The fu... " Jean started. A swing of my arm cut his sentence and his head in half. The sword's song intensified briefly. Big Ugly and Dog#4 stared blankly at me. I allowed my level to show. 325. I could take on a thousand of these animals at once, and the fight would be over in 60 seconds.
They started to realize that fact.
Big Ugly threw a pair of daggers at me and ran. I cut one in half and let the other hit my leg. 0.004% HP dropped from my health bar. I pulled it out and threw it back.
With a sonic boom, it severed Big Ugly's left foot. Dog#4 was running now, too, firing arrows over his shoulder which I easily dodged.
I approached Dog#4, avoiding an arrow and the spear he swung toward me. I brought Excalibur's hilt down on his head, instantly crushing his whole body into red mush.
Big Ugly, now wriggling around on the ground, two daggers in his hands, screamed as I split him in half vertically. The blood melted off the blade. I looked in the direction Greyson had run. He'd been sprinting for fifteen seconds, but was still twenty seconds away from the outgate. No need to rush.
"Cut time," I said to the sword. I swung the singing, glowing blade twice, cutting the flow of time for myself to 1/4 speed, and started liesurely jogging toward Greyson.
He was one second from the gate when I appeared in his path and delivered a front kick that sent him sprawling.
"Every item you four had is going to those level 25s," I said, aiming Excalibur's tip toward his face.
"I knew that shit was a bad idea," he grunted, kneeling. Without protest, he reached around and pulled his knapsack from his back, dropping it on the ground before me, along with his weapons. "I don't want to start over from scratch, dude."
"When they respawn, tell the other three that if I ever see them harassing people again, I'll kill all of you every day for a year."
"Yeah, man, sure," Greyson said, "You're not going to have any more problems from us."
"Cut link," I told Excalibur. The blade began to glow with a fierce, blue aura. I stepped toward Greyson and plunged the sword into his shoulder. He collapsed at my feet and disappeared in a storm of pixels. The blow didn't kill him; I had cut his connection to the game server, kicking him out for 24 hours.
I picked up Greyson's discarded items and stowed them in my inventory. The kids would have plenty of good equipment to raid with for a while.
"Getting involved in the battles of the helpless again, I see."
The voice came from behind me. A sweet voice. I turned and smiled at her.
"You know me, I can't let douchecopters like them go on bullying weaker players." I joined up with her and put my arm across her shoulders. We strolled to the gate together.
She kissed me on the cheek. "I know, it's cool. But we have a raid to get to, and we don't want to be late. The others are waiting for us."
She approached the gate and touched the runes on its surface to set a destination. I let go of Excalibur, which disappeared, returning to the aether to await my summons. She took my hand once again, pulling me along.
"Come on, Kirito!"
We stepped through the gate.
| 2018-07-29T15:22:30
| 2018-07-29T13:20:16
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] Your family line suffers from a pirate curse: A demonic shark will manifest itself in nearby sources of water and harrow you and your ancestors. You live three-hundred miles from any body of water and this has made the shark get...creative.
|
I have no idea what Callen’s supposed to do. He’s just there.
For the record, Callen’s an immortal demon shark that just annoys the hell out of our family. My great great great uncle pissed off Poseidon, and here we are now. Coincidentally, Callen pissed off Poseidon at the same time. His punishment? Being eternally bound to my family. Unfortunately, I’m Callen’s favorite.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, feeling something nip my thigh as I stood up from the toilet. It was Callen.
“Hey, be nice! I just swam through a sewer, you big bully!” He pouted.
“Ugh, seriously? Just go bother my cousins, they have a beach house. What the hell do you even do?”
“I’m punishing your lecherous family!” He proudly announced.
“You have no idea what lecherous means, do you.” I raised an eyebrow.
“...Nope.”
“Figures.”
|
I coughed a little at all the dust that came up from my family’s treasure box. Inside we’re a great assortment of different items. There was a sword, a clear bag that seemed to hold something sparkly inside, and my dads old diary.
Supposedly, it had started with my great great great grandfather. He had been a great pirate captain who fought battles with Indians and mermaids and fairies when the curse befell my family.
A shiver ran through my body just thinking about living life on the ocean.
I didn’t believe my father when he used to tell me the stories about my ancestors when I was a kid. My dad was a raging alcoholic who had been driven mad dealing with his many issues. He left when I was a kid. I didn’t understand it then but I sort of get it now. I sometimes see myself descending into that same darkness and have to catch myself before I spiral out of control.
My family is what keeps me together now. My wife is the reason I’ve been able to keep it together all of these years. She had been patient with me when I told her we had to leave our homes and move to the middle of nowhere. She had stuck by me when the curse had left me broken. Today she had surprised me by telling me we were going to have a son.
I grabbed the sword out of the box. I knew what I had to do. No longer would my family be hunted by the creatures of the sea. I, James Hook, would end the curse. I ran out of my house. I took a deep breath and one last look at the family I would never see again before jumping head first into the sharknado.
| 2018-11-22T09:49:50
| 2018-11-22T09:25:56
| 17
| 12
|
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander"
|
The thunderous report of the enemy charged particle guns woke me up. They looked like bolts of blue-green lightning streaking to our defenses.
I peeled my shattered helmet off. Somehow I had survived a near hit, but my suit was done for.
I radioed the armory as I dragged myself back to base. I was told that I was one of the only survivors of the initial flyby... and that they were authorizing use of the Suit.
When I arrived, I stared at it. Sleek, matte steel. Nine feet tall, though it had been taller for some. I was scared, honestly, to get into it. It had a reputation for surviving where its user did not.
And yet, the moment I sat down, gripped the controls, I felt calm. Controlled. I entered the auxiliary startup sequence: whoever had originally owned the Suit had long since died, and the aux engines were all that worked on the impossible thing.
Halfway through, I heard the faint whirring, a solid, solemn click.
"Primary User detected: Welcome back, Commander. Detecting obsolete auxiliary systems. Disengaging from Black Core Drive systems. Black Core Drive spooling. Weapons spooling. Shields: Online. Active Armor: Online. Reactor: Online. Weapons: Online. All systems: nominal."
My heart damn near stopped in my chest. Whatever. Worry about breaking quadrillion dollar thousand year advanced tech later, avoid death now.
I gripped the controls, started to move... and realized something else had changed. The damned Suit was now standing almost twenty meters tall, far taller than anyone had ever heard of, let alone seen it be.
Whatever. I had hostiles to take out. I closed my eyes. After all, the augmented reality display projected directly onto my retinas, nice and familiar... wait, familiar? This was my first time experiencing this!
I raised the left arm, drew a bead on the nearest hostile, still two and a half klicks away. They sure seemed a lot closer to me: I could see the pilot's mask and helmet. I fired the Suit's own CPG, and my heart hadn't yet beat a second time before the enemy pilot vanished into smoke and ash.
(May do more if folks like it, I guess?)
|
Nobody knows where it came from or how it got here. All we know is that when you wear it two things happen; You hear it tell you "Unauthorized user, booting safe mode" and it gets a crazy configuration. Sgt. Aiden Kahn was the first soldier to wear it. It was a beautiful black suit whose texture resembled a dragon with white stripes dow the arms. It was able to absorb any blow from any weapon. When Major Kelly Rameriz donned the suit, It took the texture of snake scales with the speed and stealth to match. She was quiet and fast, and deadly. She "took out" our entire squad in the War Games. Took her only 15 minutes.
I joined the UNAF 6 months ago. It was really the only job a poor farmer's son could get. I finished my BCT and AIT. I was a scout. Not the most Glamorous job, but the $20,000 sign-on bonus was a big help to my pops and the family. I got stationed at Fort Bliss up in Texas. I had never been to the States before, it was a really nice place.
The United Nations and the Republic of China had always had issues. After the USA annexed the entirety of South America and Europe, wars broke out all over the place. The suit was found after a raid in what used to be Egypt. The Agency believed that the RoC had built this super weapon and was getting ready for the war to end all wars. An alligation which they denied.
It was the middle of September and I was the driver for Major Rameriz. She was a nice but cold woman. She never repeated herself but treated each and every person with respect. Make no mistake though, she was tough and could kill most people without much effort. She was getting ready for the latest round of performance test when out Humvee was hit by a rocket from the newest jet in the RoC fleet. I came to with a glaring headache. She was lying about ten foot from me. She's yelling at me but I can't make out what she's saying over the ringing. "Get the suit Private, Get the fucking suit! Defend it with your life." Without hesitating, I open the chest and pick up this thin piece of webbing. It looked like the vest we wear over our kevlar armor.
I put on the suit and I hear it say "Authorized user detected, Good evening commander, Booting configuration Delta". Suddenly the suit engulfs me in what I can only describe as a silver shell with a blue tint and a nice suede interior. It was like being surrounded by a cloud.
"What the shit?" I say to myself. "I'm no commander." Without much time to think about it, the suit jets upward until I'm staring at the newly minted RoC G90 aircraft coming at me. As if acting on instinct, I lean forward and punch toward the plane. As if magic, a shockwave leaves me and shatters the aircraft. I land while still in shock along with the rest of my batallion who arrived just in time to watch me one-hit a fucking plane.
As we're all trying to figure out what the hell just happened the suit's com chimed. "Alec, is that you? Please respond". I reply "No, this is Private Jorge Gonzales of the UNAF. Who are you?" I didn't get a response.
We thought this suit was a blessing. It was the most powerful weapon the UN had ever possessed and it made all other nations grovel at our feet. What we didn't quite know is that it was actually a curse, we just haven't felt the wrath of it's enemies. They were coming.
| 2019-08-19T13:38:38
| 2019-08-19T12:23:47
| 20
| 15
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
They had stopped selling cigarettes 15 years ago. As soon as I had heard they were going to be taking them off the shelves I ran to the nearest convenience store to buy cigarettes. There was a huge line and they had just sold out as I got there. I People were selling large quantities online, so I decided to buy up as much as I could. I had a lot saved up for my vacation this summer, but spent it all buying as many cigarette packs as I could. My wife wasn't happy in the least about that.
Years of marriage counseling later we were finally on good terms (as good as a smokers terms could be) About a year after cigarettes were stopped in production, I realized that my old habits wouldn't work. I then began allotting myself 3 cigarettes a day. It sucked immensely.
The year was 2035, and everyone else had stopped smoking at this point. By this point, the world had caught wind of how many cigarettes I had left, and so ads began to show up everywhere I went. There was always an article in the newspaper titled, "2543 Days until our world is smoke free." and so on, counting down the days until my stash ran out. Finally, someone broke into my house to try and destroy my stash, but thankfully I had thought ahead. I had a safe installed in my house to keep my cigarettes in. Every morning I would go downstairs and load 3 cigarettes into my special carrying pouch.
The time was drawing near. The day I would run out of cigarettes. I went downstairs and loaded up my cigarettes, my final 3. I stepped outside. It was a cool morning, about 65 degrees and lit one up. All up and down my street were protesters. People screaming about me polluting the world. They all had signs yelling, "3 more! 3 more!" I ignored them and took a long drag on my cigarette, savoring it. I got ready for work, and drove off, half tempting to run some of the people over. I got my job and there were even more protestors yelling at me. As I walked to my cubicle, I had many angry works. I heard mutterings of people saying they hoped I choked on my last cigarette.
Lunch time came, and I stepped out for my smoke. There were Riot Police there to stop all of the people from hurting me. I felt important having all of these people follow me around. I then got off work and drove home. My wife had made my favorite meal for dinner. We sat and ate dinner in complete silence. I got up and put my plate in the sink. My wife just stared at me and said, "I hope you enjoy it." I step outside and light up my last one. After I put it out, everyone starts cheering, "The earth is now smoke free!" I go back inside and retire for the night.
The next morning I wake up. I go downstairs and eat my breakfast, then decide to step outside for some fresh air. There are thousands of people standing as I step out, applauding me, and congratulating me on the first day of my smoke free life.
I look at them, and reach into my pocket. I pull something out and stick it into my mouth. I pull my lighter out, and light it up. It's a cigarette. Everyone freaks out and starts screaming. My wife runs outside to see what the commotion is about. She sees me standing there with a cigarette in my mouth and screams at me, "Where the hell did you get that from!?!?!?" I calmly look at her and say, "You know that you can grow tobacco, right?" Let's just say I'm not married anymore.
Edit: Holy crap guys. This is my first response to a Writing Prompt. I'm so happy it is so well received. Thanks!
|
I'm really starting to hate CNN, and not just because of their fake news articles.
All eyes have been on me for almost a year and a half. I'm the only person that still smokes, and honestly, at this point, I'm just doing it because I feel like pissing off the rest of the world. It's at the point where I have to grow and roll my own cigs. Marlboro sold me their recipe after they went out of business, and I grow my own tobacco, roll my own stuff, etc. The government has tried everything. First, the Prohibition of 2021, which cut smokers down by 97%. Then came the crackdown on dark web sellers, and eventually everyone got caught smoking. They found the names of people that hadn't signed up for drug tests, until the only people left were the ones off the radar. And then, the military swept the streets and found everyone that was left.
It was May of 2038 when I was announced the last smoker in the United States. But here's the thing: they didn't arrest me. I had gone for multiple tests while smoking, never once did they stop me. Just told me I failed. I think it's because I simply didn't care, and therefore the government didn't care. It's kinda like breaking into a bank, and then when the police come to arrest you, you just say, "No." And then they stop, confused, and just walk away.
Well, after that, of course, you become a national celebrity. The government still wanted me to stop, of course, but they couldn't really make me without locking me in a room for three weeks and making me cold turkey it out. So, first, they tried laws against growing tobacco. "Okay," I said, "You win. SIKE!" And continued to grow more tobacco for myself. Then they tried ad campaigns. This is where it got annoying. I couldn't even go to the grocery store without seeing my face plastered to a wall, smiling back at me with the words "JUST QUIT GREG SCHMIDT" in big red letters surrounding the picture of my head. I was known by all, people pointed me out in the street. It was no use going somewhere else, either. One time I drove from my house in Virginia to New York City, and lo and behold, there I was in the middle of Times Square, my smiling meth mouth of a face looking at me among the words "YOUR FAMILY PROBABLY HATES YOUR FILTHY HABIT." They weren't even trying to rhyme anymore. They straight up hated me and wanted me to stop.
So, when I was 45, 28 years after I had lit up my first cigarette, I decided that there must be something in the Constitution that protects me from this kind of public degradation. Nope. I took it to the Supreme Court and everything, no dice. The only people that liked me were teenagers that thought it was cool to stand up to the government and media sources that made money off of my "developing story of a life." I'm not even kidding. That's what they call my life. The catchphrases aren't much better, if one can even call them catchphrases. Here's a list of my personal favorites:
- SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU (no shit)
- JUST STOP SMOKING GREG
- WHY DO YOU SMOKE, YOU BIG FUCKING JOKE
- THE POLICE ARE COMING GREG (ahahahhahahhahhahaha)
- (my personal favorite) JESUS CHRIST YOU STUBBORN BITCH
I don't know what to do anymore. My house is the only haven I have, if you consider a building constantly surrounded by paparazzi trying to take a picture of you a haven. I can't order pizza without the people fighting over who gets the chance to deliver the pizza to me. But, I must say, it's fun being known for something. I just wish the advertisements were a little less harsh.
| 2017-02-17T11:57:15
| 2017-02-17T09:45:22
| 1,322
| 80
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
I sat in the smaller office as the rest of command looked at the solar scans. I couldn't see outwards but I just knew that everyone else was just as worried as I was. 5 Generals were praying that this will work.
An entire navy had been flown in and was now encompassing the orbits of Mars to Pluto. It was a damn *mistake* letting that Reality TV moron know about what truly happened in Area 51, and now the biggest military faction in space was ready to set the world on fire!
And *this* was meant to save them? A *telephone number*?!
'What is it?' the distorted voice asked. 'Hello?'
'Hi,' I said. 'I was told to... call you in case of a Level 0?'
'Oh, please don't tell me they made *another* private make the call,' the voice said in severe annoyance. 'Your name, rank, base commanders and situation. In that order or I'm hanging up. Honestly, trying to force the price on someone who didn't know...'
'Joshua Shepard, Private, General Brad Armstrong and the president talked to the turians,' I said.
'How big is the assault force?' he asked.
'From Mars to Pluto,' I answered.
'Yeah, I can handle that,' he said calmly. 'Just a few choice words is necessary to talk down the primarch and to get that fool to apologize. And Shepard?'
'Yes?' I asked.
'After this, I wouldn't mind having a few beers with you,' he said, 'but unless it's absolutely necessary to prevent this hunk of rock being completely destroyed... never call this number again.'
I was confused, to be honest. I was just out of boot camp and assigned here when the shit went down. But for now I just decided to put the receiver down and report back to my superiors.
When I opened the soundproofed door, the sounds of terrified screams filled the air. I immediately convulsed in horror, almost throwing up, as I saw the corpses of the generals torn apart, but still in one piece, stretched as far and wide as possible across the command room. Everyone was trying to rush out of the room
On the (blood-smeared) screen, the radar of the ships began to push outwards, retreating from the galaxy in droves. Reports were coming in that the president and most of his cabinet were also found dead, slain in a similar manner.
But the thing that really caught my attention? It was the skull of General Armstrong, recognizable from the three golden teeth and the small plate on the skull. There was a wooden board hanging from the mouth, held closed by the final remains of musculature attached to the jaw. And what did it read?
"30 wicked souls for an innocent, ignorant sacrifice. If you wish to bargain with Asmodeus, King of Demons, make the call yourselves.'
|
"Private!"
"Yessir! I am ready to call the number!"
Area 51 started disintegrating around them, as the monster from below started tearing apart space itself in an effort to escape the prison, the corridors of the underground complex appearing to bend as time itself tore apart.
"This is only like a level 3 right now, stop pretending you're important. Get back to monitoring Adriana and Eric, see if their arms come back from the alternate dimension."
The private glumly returned back to watching the two through the glass, as their arms showed no signs of returning from the portal that the two foolishly touched.
"God, I wish this was a more interesting assignment."
Above him, a portal opened and a man in white robes walked through, nearly catching his massive wings on the edges of the portal. "Hey, Morgan, been too long since I saw you!"
"Hey Gabe, how's life been treating you? We've currently got an inter-dimensional monster down below, nothing major going down right now."
"Oh, you found Abigail then! Yeah she can be a hungry giant monster that wants to destroy humanity, can't she! The big G says that you should feed her an apple boiled in the blood of a sacrificed lamb, that should calm her right down for the next six millennia or so."
"Ok, I'll go tell the Major no-"
"You know that the big G demands a price for this, right?"
"But I literally didn't ask for his help at all!"
"Yeah, but the writing prompt kinda forces your hand, no? He wants a cold one, apparently. Chop chop!"
Morgan sprinted down into the lower-levels, armed with the knowledge to defeat the monster, and the location of the beer fridge.
| 2017-03-21T03:32:04
| 2017-03-21T00:59:36
| 64
| 31
|
[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
|
It was the first day of school.
I was so excited.
New students every year.
I had such high hopes.
The kids would love me.
They would sit, be comfortable, and learn.
The first day came and went.
Class after class.
I was ignored.
No one wants the chair in front.
I wish I was a concert seat.
|
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.
| 2016-02-22T09:42:54
| 2016-02-22T09:22:45
| 578
| 10
|
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
|
My sweater scratched at my skin as I began to pull it back, I can't believe I'm doing this.
My mom told me I should be careful who I show my given names to, who I trust is telling the truth about theirs. But her- she was perfect, her smile when I would glance over, her hair that blew in the wind on a warm summer day, like this one. I was intoxicated by her, nothing could save me from this drug.
I stared into her her eyes and began searching her face, she was scared too, I could see it in her eyes. I closed mine and we began to count down from three. 3, 2- shit, I forgot if we agreed pull up our sleeves on 1 or 0.. -either way we both began to pull up our sleeves, slowly but surely.
I... I was on her arm, it was amazing, relief began to sweep over me, that is until I felt my love turn to lothing as she told me her real name.
Ember, not Amber.
Fuck.
| 2018-03-11T07:49:38
| 2018-03-11T07:35:29
| 4,830
| 1,948
|
[WP] You are a time traveler entering a medieval tournament in which the winner gains the right to wed the princess. You're the first match and the king announces that you may use any weapon. Quickly you draw you're glock and shout "parry this you fucking casual"
|
Men are dumb. Let me count the ways.
First of all, they assume that having a tournament where they bash each other's heads in is a good way to charm a woman like me. Like I'm some kind of prize to be claimed by the "winner", and would just kind of go along with it. Don't they realise I'm an actual princess, with the legal power to actually cut their heads off? No, they don't realise it. Men are dumb.
Secondly, they think that I'd be amazed that a so-called knight might pull out a Glock at a jousting tournament. Moron. Time travel exists. Everyone from the future who ends up in a medieval tournament tries something like this, and thinks they're the first one who did. But once time travel is invented, it's not long before it's cheap enough to be sold into the mass market, and then whichever time period is popular in the imagination gets flooded with visitors. Particularly to my year. Particularly to my tournaments. Particularly by men with Glocks. And they think they're the first. Men are dumb.
And finally, and most importantly, they think that the spectators at a medieval tournament have only experienced mediaeval times. Not me. I've come home after getting a degree from Bryn Mawr in the year 2173. I have my own Glock. The only thing I don't have is a working time machine to ride back out and explore the rest of time again. All I needed was someone from the future dumb enough to show up with a time machine. That's why we put the competition on in the first place.
I can't wait for this tournament to be over, and the guards to have taken care of our visitor. I want to visit the robotics factories of Gaborone, Botswana, in the year 2517. I want to visit the Great Barrier Reef in Australia at its ecological peak in 1995. I want to gather all the knowledge I can to protect the realm from time travelling tourists, and ensure that we're not dumb.
Certainly not as dumb as this walking dead man with the Glock.
|
The kings daughter was admittedly ‘to die for’, but I had no intention of actually doing it.
The time travel thing was getting kind of boring after the first few dozen trips back. ‘Don’t talk to anyone’, ‘don’t leave anything behind’, ‘don’t make friends’, and on and on. If I had known all ‘the rules’ from the start maybe I would have saved my money and just visited Venus, again. Who am I kidding? the potential for the ultimate power trip, being superior to the primitive peasants of the past, was addictive and fuck me if I wasn’t addicted.
So after my 44th trip back, I was making promises of payment I had no intention or ability to keep. Remember: addict. This time would be the last time. Fuck the rules, I’m taking my great grandfathers antique handgun back with me and finally demonstrate my superiority for all to see. So I jumped back to my favorite era of knights and kings. I signed up for the local harvest knight tourney, drew first match, oh joy! As the white knight charged, I reached for my gun and yelled some phrase I heard on the history holograms ‘something about a casual somethjng’. I aimed, pulled the trigger repeatedly, and.....missed every goddamn time.
Looks like I’ll be dying for the princess after all. Wonder if this will affect the space time conti.....:slice, thud:
| 2019-03-22T23:44:08
| 2019-03-22T23:33:31
| 88
| 34
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
"Oh dear" I said to myself, looking at this tar coming from my finger.
"Ha! Well, proves that no human is exempt from sin."
I thought about what could have blackened my own blood, I don't remember anything that I could have caused, or done wrong.
"Oh" I remembered.
I went on far too many websites without my parent's permission.
|
I stood there for a moment, as i looked at the prick on my finger from my knitting needle. Where there should have been a crystal clear fluid, somehow, a sludge of sin and immorality sat in my veins.
"How could this be?" i thought. I sat there, wondering.
Was i not good when i spent hours walking dogs at the animal shelter? Was i not good when i spent days giving food to the homeless? Was I not good when i spent years of my life in another country, in the middle of a war zone sacrificing everything i had for these worthless sacks of meat?! And it was all for nothing? How could it be?! How could I not be a good person?
| 2018-08-04T10:38:53
| 2018-08-04T10:24:42
| 19
| 13
|
[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?"
----------------------------------------------
|
"Table for one, sir."
I reclined on the wooden chair and sipped at the complimentary cup of lava-heated water. The water, its temperature just nice to heat up my icy skin, spilled out as I set the cup down on the table. Dribbles of water remained on the plastic file beside the cup.
"A hundred and eighty-six thousand, huh." I breathed out lightly. I tweaked my nose and picked the file up again, opening it to reveal a rather impressive stack of paper. The paper was written in a language my presiding Overseer had called Archean, but the only thing that mattered on the piece of paper was an absurd Arabian number written on it.
186,292.
My presiding overseer had slapped himself silly when I stepped forward, muttering about pig-like teammates and 'too heavy to carry'. His eyeballs had also popped out of his sockets, prompting his assistants to help him pick them back up. His stately demeanor lost, it didn't take him long to dismiss me without a word. There was something distinctly unfair about my lack of information...but it wasn't prudent for me to bring that up.
I shook my head and sipped from the cup again. I didn't do any damning act in my lifetime. No murders, no kidnapping, nothing. I sighed again, this time audibly.
"What's the matter, signeur?"A voice piped up from my right. I turned, and a masked man came into view. His mask was coloured a white so pure that it stung my eyes to look at it. The only hint towards his emotions was his exposed mouth, which was straight...for now.
"Nothing much, friend," I replied. I picked up the paper and stared at it forlornly. "Just an absurdly long sentence."
He clapped my back lightly. "Don't fret it, son. At least you're better off than him." He pointed at a man, who was walking with an incredibly awkward gaunt, wobbling from left to right.
"What happened to him? I mean, is this even supposed to happen?" I looked at the man and shivered inwardly. His face was filled with a despair that I couldn't fathom, so deep it was.
"He's scum. In life, he was a serial rapist-cum-murderer. His sentence in the afterlife was to experience the pain, shame and fear felt by his victims a hundred-fold." The masked man spat on the floor. "It also happened that he was a homophobe to the extreme, so the powers that be decided to let him experience a...brand new world."
He smiled darkly. "Using a metal rod 20 centimetres wide."
"Well, at least we know what caused his punishment," I complained grumpily, a current of pity hidden inside. "My text was in something called Archean, and my overseer didn't even read out what I was being incarcerated for."
The masked man's upper lip curled. "Well, I happen to know Archean. Do you mind if I read it for you?"
I waved my hand lightly. "Sure, go ahead."
I chucked the file lightly at him and the man deftly caught it. I picked up the cup and sipped at it again. It was rather unfair...I lived a life filled with kindness and dignity. Why subject me to this? My eyes flitted onto the masked man, who was actually frozen in place.
"Mister?" I asked.
The mask fell off, and before I could register his appearance, he shot to his feet and saluted. "Your humble servant offers greetings, Lord Administrator! Please pardon my previous rudeness!"
The file fell off his lap, landing with a plop that resounded throughout the silent tavern. I swallowed and picked up the file.
As I examined the words again, the scribbles shuddered and rearranged themselves.
On it was written in eye-catching letters: "Administrator of the 9th domain, term to last for 186,292 years. Effective immediately."
"Balls."
As the curse escaped my lips, the number increased by one.
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09
| 2018-09-26T07:07:43
| 1,768
| 895
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
"Hmmm that is a good question." John said sipping a whiskey on the rocks. He let the alcohol linger on his tongue while he thought. "There's so many variables I'd barely know where to start."
Harvey leaned against the bar counter, elbow propping him up as he faced his new friend. "Well I got my perfect shot about two months ago. Couldn't have gone better."
John looked at the small man he had met only an hour ago. It wasn't long before the conversation between the two had turned to their mutual profession. "Go on tell me," he said when it became apparent Harvey has finished speaking.
"Alright you twisted my arm I'll talk."
Harvey turned to fully face the bar. He motioned at the barman for another round. The smell of whiskey radiated off him but given the company at their current establishment he wasn't alone.
"My perfect shot was a young girl, probably in her twenties, as she looked out over a lake. The lake had frozen a while before but that day it just started to defrost. The way she looked out towards the horizon was beautiful. She had no idea I was about to take the shot."
John looked towards the ground, the story had made the moment more personal than he had been prepared for. The floor was littered with discarded beer mats and had that sticky lokk about it that could be found in many downtown bars.
"Her husband asked me to do it," Harvey continued, "Got in touch through a forum." He put his hand on John's back as his voice dropped to a whisper.
"She was sick you see. Wanted it done before the disease broke her down too much. So I got it, aimed right behind her ear as she looked at this amazing sight and that was it. Split second it was done. The perfect shot"
There was a silence between the men after that. The noise of the crowd bustling around them carried on but neither spoke for quite some time. John was the first to break it as he stood up.
"You know what my friend I can't think of a shot much more perfect than that."
He laid enough cash down to cover both their tabs and without another word between them he was gone.
|
The old gin joint just right down an ominous alleyway had always been a favourite of mine. Secluded, warm, cozy, near my workplace, and the best part is that it's always empty when I was done for the day. I drop off the dragonuv issued by my company and march straight down to the alley. After a long hard day of looking through scope and pulling triggers, I can finally wind down with some Manhattan and Louis Armstrong.
As I enter the bar, I notice that barkeep was chatting away with another client. Would've preferred if I was alone for tonight, but I suppose social interaction is a welcoming change once in a while. I pull a seat next to him and ordered 2 shots of screwdriver and slid the other glass to the patron.
"Oh, thanks."
He took the glass gulped it down in one motion, judging from his appearance, I reckon he's somewhere in his 20s. Guess kids these days can handle their drinks.
"I owe you one man."
"Heh, you took that quite well."
"Yeah, I'm used to drinking the hard stuff. Nothing's better than to get completely shitfaced after a long crappy day of shooting, you feel me?"
I spit out my screwdriver into the ground, wetting the nice fur carpet underneath. The barkeep gives me a wide eyed stare and hand me over a piece of cloth. After apologizing and cleaning up the mess, I start conversing more with the kid.
"You shoot? Damn, I guess we're both on the same page then."
"The world is pretty small after all."
"If you don't mind me asking, where do you usually, you know, do the deeds?"
"Well, I usually shoot the usual. Places like mountains, woods. Anywhere where I can take a nice shot at the local wildlife."
Oh, I must have misjudged. This man is just a hunter not a-
"But sometimes I take jobs on wedding days or political campaign. Event where shit happens and people are around you know?"
Nope, definitely a killer.
"Do you prefer shooting from long range, or close ups?"
"Ooo, that's a tough one but if I have to pick a favourite it'll have to be long shot."
"Don't like getting noticed huh?"
"That and there's just something much more appealing to doing it, I don't know why."
"I can preach to that. What kind of scope do you use?"
"Scope?"
"Yeah, you know like 6 times, 24 times, 50 times. I'm a 24 myself but I sometime switch out for a 6 cause I couldn't find 24 that have nightvi-."
"Oh no, I don't use those things."
I pause and tilt my head slowly toward him with an anxious glare.
"Sorry, I must have misheard you. You're saying you shoot long range without a scope?"
"Yeah those things are too cumbersome, and even if I did it feels like cheating you know?"
What the fuck does he use then? Iron Sight? Am I talking to Simo Hayha reincarnate?
"Alright, fair. What about bipods then? They're a necessity and they are far more of a hassle to carry around than a scope."
"Right, yes, bipod, I use those.... Kinda."
"What do you mean kinda?"
"Well, I have them. I just never... used them that much."
"And you still managed to get good shot without it?"
"I gotta say, I may have a natural affinity for this job."
Okay, now he's just flexing at me right now. I can feel my pride as a sniper wilting ever so slowly inside my body with every word that comes out of his mouth. Perhaps I should just retire and start a new life as a cabaret manager or something.
"Oh, you wanna see my gear? I brought it along for tonight in case I see any cool looking sights."
He take a small case lying underneath his chair and places it on the table. What the hell? This look nothing like a gun case. He digs his hand inside and pull out a camera.
"It's kinda old, but it gets the job done. Say cheese!"
I was lost in my thought, the only reaction I was able to pull off was a face filled with relief and confusion. At the very least, I'm glad that I haven't met someone far better than me at my own job. On the other hand, my pride have sunk deep enough that getting shitfaced doesn't do it for me anymore.
\[Shit writer here, I don't know how to write short lol.\]
Edit: Fixed the spacing. I don't know why Reddit decided to do that but it did.
| 2020-11-05T10:09:21
| 2020-11-05T08:14:19
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters.
|
I heard, from down the hall, the bang-bang-bang as the bandits try to breach the panic room. They managed to get into the bunker. The outside door. Someone left it open. Don't know who. I'm the only one left. Locked in here. Alone.
My pistol, an old thing, only has 2 bullets left. One for myself, I suppose.
Dust falls from above, irritating my eyes. They're really trying to get in.
I suppose I'd better kill myself, get it-
Behind me, I hear a clatter of metal-on-concrete. Then some more. Then back to the rhythmic banging of the raiders.
I turn, and a pile of guns lie there. A note on top of the pile.
"Give 'em hell. -Kringle"
|
*Jingle Bells crackled from Santa's digital radio... The quality restored as he neared the shelter*
The portly, red faced man whipped his undead reindeer (yes the post apocalyptic world brought with it crippling decay to even the high deities such as Santa) with the sheer force of a thousand winters. **crack** **crack** **crack** The reindeer cried out in pain and sped up, they moved to a full flying gallop while Santa held the map close to his face. The storm was howling, he could barely hear his thoughts let alone read the map. He cracked the whip again. Rudolf's luminous red nose acted as a beacon for any weary travellers that might be braving the cold night, though Santa doubted anyone but him could survive out here. He steamed straight ahead still following the gentle sound of Christmas music blasting from his radio.
A small group of survivors had made Lapland their home, deep in the snowy forest they were as far as anyone could be from the ruins of civilisation that acted as a constant reminder of the days gone past. They were doing their best to live on in a new world that could forget the mistakes of the past, however this new world was harsh and deadly. Whether they had been naughty or nice was beyond reason, in Santa's eyes still being alive in the deep Winter was enough to deserve a visit.
Santa saw a dim light coming from within the trees up ahead, the radio was playing *Fairytale of New York* crispy as he pulled the sled down towards the forest edge. There were no chimneys to climb down anymore, no fireplaces to land on and burn his shoes, no carrots for the reindeer, no cookies for himself. But the people, still believing in the Christmas Saint, lit a bonfire with as much wood as they could collect to show that there was still hope.
Santa left the sled and the reindeer and crept through the forest to the campsite, all were sound asleep despite the roar of the wind. Over his shoulder was a sack full of gifts that he had crafted himself. The elves had all perished in the fallout (poor immune systems unfortunately). He took the sack and entered each house leaving the gifts under whatever makeshift Christmas tree had been made. In the last house as he was placing the gifts down he noticed a small boy lying on his side, eyes wide open. Santa lifted his finger up to his lip, smiled and crept out. He knew as he left that so long as there were people alive they would still believe, in him and in themselves.
Merry Christmas friends, I hope you too believe in yourself this year.
| 2017-12-22T15:31:03
| 2017-12-22T15:09:43
| 77
| 50
|
[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...
|
&#x200B;
The air was cold, and noticeably more dense. Another odd occurrence is that my summon didn't come yet, My birthday was months ago, but I didn't think too much of it, because I knew that it would come, they always do. But what kept me on edge was the atmosphere, I didn't like it. It felt too unnatural.
I was out in the back when it finally arrived, it had been a hard day for me, endlessly tilling land for the little amount of money it got me until I could afford a place of my own. I was minding my own business when I saw the sky above me darken, I looked up and I swear I saw a flash of light slowly get bigger. Confused I stared for another minute or so when I realized it had been getting bigger, I started to get excited about it, wondering if it was my summon. I jogged away from the fertile ground and waited as the shining light struck the earth.
Shortly after it struck I ran over to the small crater left by it, I looked back into the sky and saw that the sky had brightened back up again. I looked at the object left in the crater, I had been perplexed because the only thing in the crater was a small steel container, I opened at I saw a handwritten note on the inside.
The only thing that was written was a passage, it read
"There will be a purge soon, you’re the last one to receive a gift, tell the ones before you to prepare”
|
They all screamed as the orange haired president doubled over in pain live on national television as I laughed maniacally in the back of the bar waving his severed member in my hand before throwing it into my drink.
“Steve!!” “what the fuck man?!” Randy screamed at me as he vomited onto the floor. “It’s your birthday but damn dude!? Why the fuck did you summon THAT?!”
“World domination baby, world domination”
Everybody stood far away from me as I walked out the front door blood dripping from my fingers, The Donald’s member flopping on the ground.
Who the fuck is going to dare challenge anyone that can rip your junk off from anywhere on the planet?
Let them eat cake.
| 2019-09-18T10:17:28
| 2019-09-18T09:37:18
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] The year is 2038 and net neutrality has been dead for almost two decades. But a rebellious group managed to travel back to 2017...
https://www.battleforthenet.com/#bftn-action-form
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold! Just trying to do my part on this fight, but as I don't live in the US, raising awareness is the most I can do, glad it worked!
|
Just as Donald was about to press the button that would trigger the bomb - the bomb that would level the FCC headquarters - he heard a voice.
Named for Donald Trump the First, Inaugurator of the Great American Monopoly, Donald had never heard English spoken with an accent anything like the one the voice carried:
"I'm gunna needya to put that trigga down mate."
There was a distinct menace in the tone, and a confidence of someone who is usually obeyed.
Donald hesitated, wondering if this was one of those illegal aliens people talked about from the time before the walls. People always said aliens talked funny, but few people in 2038 had heard one.
"I dinnea think he underrrstood ye" a second voice muttered, before a third voice exclaimed "Be a good chap and place the trigger on the bed. We won't kill you unless you refuse."
Donald whirled around, expecting to see little grey men, or green sludge monsters. The sight that greeted him was significantly more perplexing. Three men, well dressed, well armed (at least Donald assumed the things they were pointing were weapons) and one of them carried something that Donald had never seen before - a smallish rectangular object which had moving pictures on the top face - the person holding it was jabbing at it and running his fingers across the images.
The first voice spoke again - coming from the closest man, who waved his 'gun' to get Donald's attention. "For the last time, put down tha bloomin' trigga!"
As Donald slowly complied, he objected as non-threateningly as he could - "You don't know what you're doing! I've travelled here from 2038! Time travel - real genuine time travel! And do you know why? It's to stop the repeal of Net Neutrality!" A touch of desperation crept intonhia tone as he inched his had back toward the trigger mechanism.
"Aye laddie! We ken why you're here. We just can't let you do it!"
"But why?" Donald wailed "the internet is useless when you have to go through a paywall for each leg of every journey your data packets have to go through! Did you know that the top course at every major university is the state sponsored "Bachelor or Trumpian Communication Systems?" Any search that needs to be completed in under a week requires an advanced degree specialist!"
"Well here's the thing old chap" - voice number three again. "You see, we come from 2038 as well. We represent the combined interests of the post industrial economies of our time, which is the rest of the world, give or take."
Voice number 1 "As much as we admire the effort you and your little cadre of freedom fighters put in to get you here, there are many things you don't understand. 30 November is celebrated all around the world as the day the internet was set free!"
Donald's mouth hung open in disbelief. 30 November was when it happened. When the arch nemeses of all free flowing communication forever plunged the light of the internet into the deepest darkest pit in the lowest circle of hell. Only freedom fighters as.dedicsted as Donald had a chance of fixing it!
As Donald tried to explain, voice number one cut in again - "Nah mate! You've got it all wrong. Net Neutrality was never even a discussion outside of the USA. The day the FCC killed Net Neutrality in the US, dozens of countries around the world designated internet access an essential service, forever protecting the free flow of information."
Voice number 3 - "He's quite right you know Donald. It took about two weeks for all of the major tech companies to really understand. Then one by one, they reconfigured their offshore disaster recovery solutions to become primary services, and moved operations to any of the countries waiting with open arms to welcome them. Amazon is based in Monaco now, Netflix moved to Scandinavia, Google went truly global and has a presence in every major city,
Since no content could get oit of the States, media companies from around the world stepped up, globalised their offering and shut down connections to USA. Even primary DNS services move put of the USA.
"So no - you won't be killing Ajit today. Go home. When you get there, try to defect - swim 1 mile straight out to sea from this location and well pick you up in person. No one should have accept sub-standard internet.
|
I remembered seeing this back now.
I thought I should stop by to 2017 on my way back to bitch-slap Karl Marx, and let you all know that it all ends up okay. All of this protesting gets us nowhere, and they do succeeded in banning net neutrality, but the free market saves us. It always does.
Around mid 2018, despite all of their promises to the contrary, AT&T and Verizon began capitalising on their duopoly. For a few months the future looked truly bleak as people started going outside and getting exposed to the sun, and other people. Necks were shaved, showers were had, it was horrible.
But seemingly out of nowhere - although in hindsight we really should have trusted in the wisdom of Ajit Pai - smaller ISP's started popping up all along the east coast. The cynics in us outwardly dismissed them and their dreams for a better world; Didn't they know that the corporations and their evil capitalism were too great an opponent? But secretly we all hoped they would succeed and allow us to return to our slovenly ways.
And succeed they did! It wasn't immediately clear how, but over time it was revealed that many of the big content providers had been preparing for just this eventuality. By 2025 Google alone had seeded over 9000 smaller ISP's across the nation. It wasn't fast, and there were many lawsuits, but by time President Trump suffered that fatal aneurysm, we were all safely back in our hovels, bingeing on the latest forgettable rubbish, and spewing our arbitrary opinions into the void.
Still, you are here now, and you can not know that this is other than a fictitious tale. But when the brutal sun is beating down on you as you scurry about in the big outdoors, and you think it's all gone to shit, try to remember: you sometimes need to go through horrible times to truly appreciate the good in the mundane.
| 2017-11-21T23:28:33
| 2017-11-21T23:01:17
| 33
| 14
|
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