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[WP] Canada has suddenly gone dark. No communication, no trade, no activity from within. Nothing for days. Alaska, now cut off from mainland US, is slowly ceasing in contact with the US federal government until a final correspondence is given: "Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don't ever open it."
|
At first, no one really knew what to think. I mean, how does an entire country, a massive one, drop off the face of the earth like that?
No contact. Any missions, squads, caravans, drones, hitchhikers, boats and even animals that crossed that border disappeared, instantaneously. It didn’t take long for the military to start putting up walls, defences of all kinds. Talks of supernatural beings flooded the northern states, and parents kept a closer watch on their children, for fear of needing to run. Stocks plummeted and flew, and traders rushed to make hasty adjustments to their imports and exports, while family members desperately tried to reach the citizens of the frozen country.
The defences were built slowly at first, cautionary lines like increased process customs, more frequent and better patrolled, but as the weeks wore on and not a soul was heard from, people became agitated, as people do when there is no change.
Alaska has always been in great communication. What with the constant military training, their frequent partnership with Canadians, and the general proximity, it was always assumed that they would know what’s up. And for a while, they sent details.
“The people are staying inside, we think...things look normal, but without anyone there... it’s just creepy, footage will start and then cut out...the squad never came back....” and other comments were muttered, but as the weeks drew into months, Alaska’s communications became more sparse. The message never changed, just a ghost country that eats whatever enters. The messages drew short, and more distant, until finally three months had passed with no message. This is when America really built up their defences, preparing for the worst. They had long since began to believe the Canadians dead, because who could live inside that long, without ever coming out? And why did no drone, person or thing ever return, not even the monarch butterfly, known for its migration, suddenly cease it’s journey?
Russia had followed a strict schedule to enforce it’s northern boundaries, spreading like wildfire until they had established a clear line across the freezing grounds. Their communication with the States became more open, distinctive improvements, some would call it.
Of course, the rest of the world was watching, helping, holding summits and conferences and doing their general political thing, and private companies were making a killing off of the peoples’ fears. They were selling drones, anti-Canadian protection, boating companies patrolled the coasts from a distance and even a couple places sold t-shirts, like “My mom went to Canada and didn’t even send me a T-shirt” jokewear. But on the year mark, from when Canada went dark, a message came from Alaska.
“Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don’t ever open it.”
America wasted no time, and plenty of other countries kicked in to help. With a supernatural enemy in common, they had begun to find ways to work with each other better, and a world wide agreement was signed. No one was to ever go near Canada again, for fear of contamination, and large penalties were put in place as a precaution.
The world had abandoned Canada, it’s residents, and Alaska. Cement walls, 10 feet high and barbed wire on top walled the country in from all sides, and a unique “Canadian Protection Taskforce” was erected, an international guard to protect the world from what had been nicknamed “The Frozen Hell”.
Slowly, but surely, the world began to return to a new semblance of normal, learning to cope without the large, dark wasteland that was once a bustling young country. And as the Earth began to forget, the Canadians began to move, en masse. To the weed stores, the bars, and back into their routines, all shapes and sizes...and deep within this frozen Hell, somewhere in an over decorated hip Ontarian bar, with the Governor of Alaska and a craft beer by his side, Justin Trudeau kicked up his rainbow socks and said, “I told you it would work.”
|
Nobody thought of it at first, as less and less flights started to come in and out of Canada, to eventually none. Car travel slowed until it too eventually stopped, Canadian TV and Radio networks going dead within a matter of hours.
To be completely honest, nobody even noticed it at first, until for the first time in a week radios were lighting up left and right, a broadcast from Canada “L..sten, c...tures” it was really choppy, poor signal, almost nothing could be heard until all of a sudden it was crystal clear. “Whatever you do, do NOT open the borders. Close them. Reinforce them. Never let it and it’s friends escape!” The signal could be heard for a few more seconds before a shriek could be heard in the background, then the signal went dead.
Within just a couple of hours the president had ordered almost all troops to the Canadian border, sealing it off completely with tanks, almost every gun in the country, drones, everything. Nobody was about to take a chance with whatever is there.
After the troops deployed it was, for the most part, calm at the border. Nothing was happening or had happened, until a few soldiers off in the distance see a shadowy figure, kind of tall but not really, just standing there, it was about 9PM at the time, it had been getting dark but it wasn’t quite there yet. They start alerting everybody that someone is out there, and they all start staring at this creature, until they hear this ear piercing screech as hundreds of them pop up from the forest, getting down on all fours and booking it towards all the soldiers. At that moments everybody opened fire, shooting any of them down that they could, but it wasn’t enough as they started jumping up and attacking the soldiers and mercilessly mutilating them.
After that sections of the border slowly began to fall, until there wasn’t a single surviving soldier out there. They soon overran the US, destroying the country in a matter of days, soo Mexico, then South America. It wasn’t long before the creatures learned how to swim, but the Eastern part of the world had prepared themselves, and with the collective force of everyone’s navy they were able to wipe out each and every one of the creatures, they brought a few aboard to perform some tests. It was pure black with the shape of a human, but there wasn’t anything to it or it’s face, no eyes, no mouth, no nose. Nothing, they poke around at it and find the body isn’t even purely solid, it had almost a gelatin type construct. After running multiple tests it all came down to the same result. Ink. Normal ink that comes out of a ballpoint pen.
Nobody wants to accept this, that whatever it was, was just ink, one of the scientist feels it out with its hand, before it slowly starts creeping up, enveloping his entire body as it completely changed him, to become one of those creatures, it wasn’t long after that he was killed of course, and all test subjects were tossed overboard. Never to be seen again.
| 2019-08-25T20:02:13
| 2019-08-25T19:45:28
| 317
| 72
|
[WP] You know the random driver in every action movie where the hero jumps in and orders to "follow that car!". Yup, that's you. Every single time you're trying to get anywhere.
|
I'm getting sick of it.
Every time, every single time I get in this car, something ridiculous happens. I'm an honest man, trying to make an honest living, and I have to put up with this. For some reason, every hard-boiled detective, fugitive space warrior, and mobster-with-a-heart-of-gold chooses this cab.
I'll be sitting there, waiting for a fare - a normal fare - and along they'll come. All I want is a nice old lady who needs to go to the shops, or a couple heading for the airport for a romantic break. But no - I get the secret agents with armoured briefcases, and plucky reporters who have a "complicated" relationship with a superhero.
It's all "follow that car" and "step on it", and then off we go on a ridiculous car chase.
In the past three weeks, I have driven through fourteen large barns, each time coming out surrounded by squawking chickens. I have jumped a missing section of road eight times. And I have been punched by a masked ninja standing on the hood of my car six times. The doctor says my nose will never fully straighten.
It's not good for my blood pressure, I can tell you. Every day is another high-speed race through downtown Tokyo, or Megacity Prime. I don't know how we get there - I live in Bradford. Yet suddenly, we'll turn a corner and be speeding through some high-tech hellscape in a hover car.
And it's never a peaceful place, either. The most relaxing so far was a mountain road - I think it was the Swiss Alps, or somewhere. Lovely scenery. But two minutes after we get there, I'm having to swerve to dodge rockets and accelerating full tilt at a Nazi helicopter. The square-jawed fella in the cowboy hat wasn't helping, either - he kept shouting at me to "hold her steady" while he lobbed grenades and flirted with some Russian bird.
I'm alive, so far. I've been shot at, stabbed, set on fire by a terminator. Pre-cognitive cops shot out one of the tires, and I ended up with whiplash. Whiplash that is never going to heal if I keep on ending up in hansom cab on the trail of the Gang of Four.
Nerves of steel, I'm telling you. That's what you need to have. And I've been trying to develop them, but it's hard to build your courage when you are constantly scared shitless. I thought I had a handle on it, but then it was all "Red Leader, standing by", and I was hurtling towards something that definitely wasn't a moon in a giant letter. The git in the back's constant beeping was not an aid to my concentration.
It doesn't even pay that well. Every time the journey finishes, all I get is a handful of money and a gravelly "keep the change". Half the time, it's not even legal tender - it'll be a bunch of Imperial credits, florins, or conflict diamonds. What am I meant to do with them? And even when it is real, modern money, it's never enough. Not for the journey, and the petrol (do you have any idea how much starship fuel costs?), and the cleaning fees. You try getting pterodactyl blood out of a grille without professional help.
I thought it was too good a deal to be true. £300 for a car - in good working order - with one careful owner and all the modern conveniences. Nobody mentioned that it would send me all over time and space to be shot at by aliens and savage tribesmen. Or that I'd never get to enjoy the digital radio and self-cleaning windscreen because sometimes it turns into a wicker chariot or a U-boat.
I'd like to sell it, really I would. But every time I get in to drive to the dealership, someone flings open one of the back doors and off we go. I've tried telling them to get out, that I'm not taking fares, but they don't listen. The last one just laughed at me, and kept calling me "Chaz".
I tell you what, I'm never buying a stuntman's car again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't have a fancy writing subreddit, but I've got more stories [here](https://inconsistentpacing.wordpress.com/fiction).
|
**Figured I'll give my own prompt a shot for once. I'm writing in a hurry, so I apologize in advance if it's not eloquently formatted with long metaphors and a diverse vocabulary. But here goes...**
Alright. Today I have a dentist's appointment. Simple enough, right? Just a quick 10 minute drive from my apartment to the dentist, but I made sure to leave the front door one hour in advance. Why? Well...
For a really long time now, I have had this thing... Some may call it a curse, some may call it fate, but I just call it shit luck. Every time I sit behind the wheel, some knobhead feels the need to jump into my backseat and order me to drive somewhere or follow someone. I can't refuse them because they always have a really good reason, but I just want to be left alone. For once...
Regardless, today will probably be no different. I swiftly pull out of the parking lot. A quick turn to the right and I soon find myself at the nearest red light. I thought I could make it if I was quick enough, but alas. Instead, I exhale and wait. *Please...*
As I'm about to put my seatbelt on, a black van drives with a loud roar straight past me and the red light. To match it, I just know that some idiot is running for my car in this very moment. I look in the rear view mirror and sure enough, there he is. His clothes are torn and he is wearing sunglasses. He holds out his hand, waving it at me and yelling something indecipherable.
I activate the locks and turn my head to the stoplight. *Come on... Come on... Switch already... No no no no no...*
"DUDE! OPEN THE DOOR! COME ON! EMERGENCY!" he is banging on my window now and frantically pulling the handle. *Craaap...* I sigh and unlock it. He pants and throws himself into my back seat.
"Thanks, man! Follow that black van! Quickly!" he exclaims and points wildly ahead in the vague, general direction of *forwards*. The light conveniently switches over to green and I gear up. I guess fate at least picked a decent and lucky driver, because whenever I go on one of these escapades I always seem to avoid the cops as well as other traffic...
"Today's reason?" I ask without as much as turning my head.
"What?" he stutters.
"What's the situation?" I clarify.
"Well..." he begins.
"Wait, let me make some guesses." I begin as I make a sharp turn, slowly catching up to the black van. "Someone was kidnapped... The world is in peril... The love of your life is leaving the country and you never told her how much you love her and want her to stay... Which is it?"
"... I don't know." he concludes.
"What?" I am genuinely surprised. I have heard every possible reason several times over by now, but this one is new.
"That guy knows." he points to the van ahead, "I need to follow him. I just do."
Suddenly, the black van tries to make a sharp turn and loses control. I am taken by surprise and we crash into the side of the already quite beat up van. In this moment I also realize that I never had time to put my seatbelt on. I fly out the window and blackness engulfs me.
When I come to, it's a mess. I must have rolled quite some distance from my car, as I'm feeling the pain from scratches and rugburns through my clothes. Everything is so bright. In front of me lie a pair of sunglasses. *Whose were they?* I wonder. *What happened? Who am I?* I continue. Regardless, I put the sunglasses on to give me some clarity. *Who is that?*
A guy walks past me wearing my exact clothes, just as torn up, and he takes determined steps towards the black van a few feet away from me. "This way" he mumbles, "*Must follow him...*"
Unlike me, he is not wearing any sunglasses and in his face I see myself. He is me. How is this possible? He must know. Did he tell me to follow him? Regardless, he hops in the black van and drives off madly. *Fuck... I can't let him get away.* I think and run to the nearest car...
| 2016-07-03T10:12:10
| 2016-07-03T09:53:15
| 1,211
| 188
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[WP] The woman looked at her at her blind date and said, "I told Tammy that I wanted old and rich...not eldritch."
|
Blind dates are ideal. The sightless don't go insane upon meeting us. We admit there was some confusion among us about the term on our first date. Tammy should have been more clear, or perhaps the onus was on us to clarify. But, it was only a brief encounter. A few months in a pleasure dimension will probably straighten him out.
Tonight's date is better. Tammy promised. They walk in using a stick and ask to be directed to our table. We do not allow the waitstaff's minds to acknowledge our existence, but they bring our date to the correct table anyways. We rise noisily to greet them.
"Hello, you are the one of which Tammy told us. The being known as Julia?" We flex reality in a formal bow. Julia does not react to the sight. This is good. We are pretty sure they are female.
"Yes. And you must be Golbux." She mispronounced our name, but that is forgivable for a being with only one tongue. "It's nice to meet you, Tammy told me so much about you."
"Hopefully the information imparted left a positive impression. Tammy also provided much information about you. It was all very acceptable. Please sit. Appetizers have already been requested. If they are not acceptable, additional requests can be made." We squelch back into our chair.
"Oh, I'll eat anything on a first date, if you're lucky." Julia makes a facial contortion with one of her blind eyes. We do not understand, but desire to be 'cool', so decide to agree.
"Yes, we also consume all things. Our worshippers say that it is our best trait." We worry that that was a weird thing to say. This is perhaps not going well. But Julia laughs and smiles.
"Oh, you're funny. I like that. I can't place your accent, though. Is it German?" She slides a hand across the table towards us. We form a flesh hand to match.
"No." We consumed the mind of a German once. He deserved it. He wanted us to help them in a war. Even we thought he was a bad person. "It is... Austrian."
"You sound like you belong in some giant castle. Tammy said you were old money." Julia's hand grips ours and a connection forms. We sense the depths of her existence.
Her past is tragic.
Her present is the calm of the ocean before a storm.
Her future is endless. She will accept us.
"Money is not important. But we are rich in time."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
|
"That's not very nice of you, young lady." said the old man sitting on the other end of the table.
"Don't call me 'young lady' you fifty-year old fossil! I'm just ten years younger than you for fuck's sake! And you're not even that rich!"
"And I specifically asked for a nice younger woman, preferably early in her thirties, to keep me company, not some forty-year fucker who doesn't even disguise her intentions!" The man took a deep breath, downing the entire glass of that restaurant's most expensive wine. "Look," he started in a calmer tone. "We both know what we're after when we went into this date and it's clear that you've got no intention to play ball so let's make it quick and clear."
The girl followed suit, though she took two glasses before calming down. "Fine," she said. "And I admit, that's not really nice of me to say. Sorry for that."
"Okay. So... I can pay you for your time tonight if you want, if only so neither of us would have wasted time and effort coming here."
"I don't think I can take you on that offer," she said, glaring at him head to toe.
"That's fair." The man nodded even though he's visibly hurt by the comment. "Let's just finish our dinner, then."
There were no more incident between them afterwards, though the two remained quiet all throughout the meal. They parted ways after, never seeing each other again. The waiter, however, picked up quite the insult for his family next time they meet. As he went back to his shift, he wondered if he should visit Dunwich if he's got the time.
| 2022-09-26T08:49:30
| 2022-09-26T07:05:40
| 211
| 18
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[WP] Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
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I had forgotten about it long ago. A tiny shrine built to any god who would inhabit it. It had been a child's game, to build a temple for a god was something I thought would be fun.
Nearly thirty summers ago I came out to this field, and built the structure. It was minuscule, only barely too big to be taken as a songbird's home. Without much in the way of building talent I had taken four beams and nailed them together to make a pair of A frames. Munching on my favorite snack the whole time i had nailed more planks and left over roof tiles along the top sides of the frame, then set another few planks into the bottom to create a floor. Looking up at it now I could still see the indents from where i had missed the nails or bent them sideways. So much time had passed. Decades as a farmer tends to make you appreciate your early work more or not at all. I loved it, excitement had driven the swings of those hammers, not just another mandate from the chicken company over me. Not another frantic race to keep up with the other chicken keepers they were judging me against.
I started to notice the carvings. That day so many years ago i'd been inspired by my snack. A proper temple needed carvings or reliefs on the front, so i'd taken the apple core and stuck it in a hole then carved apple trees on either side of the 'tall' door on the front that reached from the floor all the way to the peak of the A a couple feet higher. More crude, but passionate work.
I hadn't noticed at first that the apple tree had started growing. Now the little temple I'd built was suspended in a young strong Apple tree. It's branches stretching wider with each year but still gently cradling the temple near its trunk.
Here I was, In the shadow of the temple I'd built all those years ago. Frightened and desperate kneeling amidst all the cast off apples littering the ground in various stages of rot. My own rot eating at my heart. I'd heard about other people who built grand temples to gods like Ra, and Odin. I didn't know much about any gods, but i knew one thing, She didn't have any other options left. My last relative, and the Doctors were stopping Chemo. I had never made enough to pay them to keep going, I didn't know if I would if I had the money. She just looked so tired. I shuddered as the first winds of winter froze the tears on my cheeks.
"please, i ..."
I looked up as a warm presence brushed my cheek. Into the most beautiful face i'd ever seen.
"Ginger?"
"No, but I'll take it as a compliment that the first woman you mention is your late wife." The lovely woman smiled down, here eyes intent on mine "There are lots of happy years in your heart. Fewer now."
"I... I'm;" my breath froze. Why would a goddess appear to me, I was no one, just
"Just the man who put passion and youthful love into building my Temple. Suspending it in a tree was a beautiful touch, though unintentional at the time." Her smile still strong, but not overly so. A genuine expression that rested more in the lines around her eyes than on her lips.
My awe had me all but pinned to the ground, i almost felt that i could kneel here forever, but the sun was setting behind the goddess. I would have to start dinner soon.
"It has been a long time, but I have a gift for you Thomas Cook." My glance trailed to her hands, reaching forward from within her auburn dress. The ends of her sleeves embroidered with golden swirls and vaguely predatory shapes. Then finally my eyes fell to the offered apple in her hands, it shimmered, seemingly golden in the sunset. More perfect than any example of the fruit i'd ever seen before. I reached forward and took it gently in my hands.
"I had intended you receive this years ago, but you haven't returned since building my temple. This apple, eaten by a healthy person even one of middle age like yourself will have their life extended by many decades, perhaps even centuries."
"And if given to a sick person?" I asked, rekindled hope almost pushing me to interrupt a goddess
I watched as her smile deepened, "Then it will act as a wellspring & heal them. Bringing them back to the full bloom of their health." I stared at the miracle in my hands
"Do they have to eat it whole, or... what if i cut it up." I said looking up to find her also kneeling, her eyes level with mine for the first time.
"You know as well as I do Ginny likes peanut butter with her apple slices. Just don't be a stranger, & bring her with you in the spring once she's stronger." She said,
"Thank you." I hesitated, "I don't know your name, but will learn."
"Of course, now hurry, she'll be waking up soon."
Hurry I did, Nearly tripping over myself I ran back up to the ranch house, the years felt like they fell away. I covered the nearly half mile back to the house in a fraction of the time it took to walk out to the temple. I slowed on the porch, trying to be quiet, took the apple in to the kitchen and sliced it into a bowl, a dolop of Jif on the side for dipping. I set the core down, deciding then to plant it near the temple. If one tree had pleased her enough to save my granddaughter I'd turn that field around it into an Orchard in thanks.
"Hey Ginny," I called sofly into the slowly darkening living room, as I set the down on the end table "I brought you some apple slices."
She mumbled a reply I couldn't rightly hear & took a slice from the bowl. She smiled and nodded towards her cup. She was still using a lidded cup even at thirteen because she didn't have the strength to hold the heavy old glasses I had.
"Sure Honey, Root Beer?" I said, turning away with the dishes after receiving an affirmative nod.
I took a couple minutes and washed the dishes, putting them into the rack before refilling her drink and one for myself and heading back into the living room.
"Hey Grandpa, I fell asleep during Harry Potter, can you put on another movie?" Her Blue eyes following me. The empty bowl on the end table didn't have any traces of apple left. It even looked like she'd trailed her fingers over it to get as much left of peanut butter as possible. Then She had sat up on her own. I noticed the clear tube for her oxygen had fallen into her lap, but she wasn't having any trouble breathing.
"Will you watch that old Princess movie with me? The one Grandma liked?" Ginny asked as she smiled up at me, taking Her root beer from my hand. I walked around the part of the sectional she was resting on and grabbed the DvD from the rack.
"As you Wish," but I knew she heard the I Love You in the words. And some how, I knew my Goddess had heard the words as well.
|
Khnum stood upon the roof of his temple and looked out across the Nile to the city’s morning skyline. Silhouetted against the rising sun he could see all the trappings of a modern city. Tower-blocks, office buildings, radio masts…you name it, Aswan had it. Jutting out from the skyline he could make out the shadows of four great columns. Two were near the opposite bank, plain and imposing, while the other two were further off to the left, more slender and stylised and topped with minarets. Each pair marked the entrance to a great temple, the cathedral of Archangel Michael and the El-Tabia mosque respectively.
“Fucking Yahweh.” he muttered under his breath.
He sat down and sighed. What kind of god needed not one but two massive temples in a city anyway? Khnum laid back, closed his eyes, and drifted off into his favourite memories, just as he had done pretty much every day for a millennium. Not much else to do for a defunct Egyptian god.
Of course, back in the good old days Khnum was a big deal. After all he WAS the god of the Nile, or at least he was one of them. Every day thousands would come here and offer up their meagre gifts, praying for a bountiful harvest and peaceful days. They even built a massive temple complex on an island for him, simply to honour his glory. To be honest he never really listened to their prayers. They all wanted the same thing anyway: For the Nile to flood and their crops to grow, and it always would. Khnum liked things that grew, and enjoyed seeing new life emerge from the fertile banks. Being a river god was a pretty easy gig, but an important one, and one that Khnum relished.
Back then, Khnum could’ve wiped the floor with Yahweh. His followers – Jews they called themselves – were a pretty minor section of the population, and they were all peasants or slaves anyway. The little shrines they made for him were nothing compared to Khnum’s entire island.
“Yep, those were the good old days.” Khnum mumbled happily to himself.
Change came slowly at first, and then all at once. It began with the Greeks and Romans, bringing in their own weird deities. Some of them got a small following here, but mostly they kept to the coast. Change really began when Yahweh got those new PR agents in. Jesus was the first one, and he did wonders for Yahweh. Converting people wherever he went and making those people convert others. When the ‘Christians’ turned up, Khnum took a pretty big hit to his popularity.
But that was nothing compared to the next guy. When Mohammed showed up, Yahweh got even bigger. As if it wasn’t enough to convert the Roman Empire with Christians, the ‘Muslims’ as they called themselves established a whole new empire of their own, including Egypt! Including Aswan! From then on, Khnum’s worshipper-base fell to essentially nothing. The occasional nutjob, but no serious believers.
And now look at me! He thought. My temple is a fucking museum! And all Yahweh’s followers pace up and down MY halls and make semi-interested observations about the architecture! Me! The god of the Nile! Meanwhile Yahweh swans about the world chilling in whichever temple he wants. He never even comes here anymore!
“Fucking Yahweh.” he muttered again.
Between the Christians and the Muslims, there wasn’t really much market for other gods apart from small villages in the middle of nowhere.
Khnum decided to walk south along the far bank of the Nile, across from the city. He found the sedate flow of the river helped to calm him down. As he paced the shore, he looked out at the massive tracts of farmland that still relied on the Nile. They didn’t even need him anymore thanks to fancy irrigation machinery.
After a few hours of walking and contemplating though, a strange feeling came over him, one he hadn’t felt in a very long while. A whisper in his head, which brought memories flooding back.
“A prayer!” he whispered. “An actual prayer!”
Khnum broke into a sprint and followed the sound in his head, which grew louder as he came nearer. As he crested a small hill to his right the prayer became much louder, and he saw in the next field a small beaten up wooden shack. Khnum raced to it with an excited grin and his mind raced with him. An actual worshipper! It’s been so long! I hope I can help, I hope they’re nice! All these thoughts flashed through his mind.
Khnum reached the shed and paused for a moment to compose himself and catch his breath. He gently pushed on the corrugated iron door, to find an elderly man knelt before a simple altar. The man turned, and a look of horrified awe spread across his face. The kind of look you would expect from someone who had just met a topless man with a ram’s head. Khnum coughed, and with the best gravitas he could summon he said this:
“Greetings mortal. I am Khnum”
Edit: formatting
| 2018-01-19T10:20:21
| 2018-01-19T09:16:18
| 42
| 19
|
[WP] Write erotica of hilariously bad quality.
An example of what I'm looking for would be something like this:
She flopped onto the breakfast table like a wet sock, her eyes bulging with desire. Her body was covered in nudity. "I bet I can eat more pancakes than you," she coughed, lustily.
Have fun!
EDIT: I did a radio play of /u/Xiaeng's submission, which can be heard here:
https://soundcloud.com/contemptslot/weis-story
EDIT 2: **STOP POSTING 50 SHADES OF GREY. THIS WASN'T INSPIRED BY THAT, AND YOU AREN'T ORIGINAL OR FUNNY.**
|
"Aww yes, boy! Slap that little meat-schlong into my piehole!"
Chocolate-colored skin, dark as tree sap found on some filthy elementary school playground, flopped about atop the mesh hammock. The skinny white man heaved and slammed against the woman, moaning like a flamingo in an oven. Hot, filthy sweat filled the room with its scent, like curry night in a soup kitchen. The spicy stench wicked and a flavored the meaty nether regions.
A sun-kissed arm, plump as an elephant's ankle, grabbed hold of the bony guy, pulling him into fatty rolls of skin, thick as vanilla milkshakes at some old-timey diner.
"Who's your fat old mommy, boy?!"
"You are?"
The woman hollered aloud, hiding the loud fart that ejected from her ample buttocks. The man's nostrils, hairy and wide, were enveloped in the symphony of heavy body odor and greasy hair. He huffed and puffed, continuing on with his meatstick's exploration into the sloppy folds.
"I can't hold my sausage-milk in anymore!"
"Let 'er rip!"
It was ecstasy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Was it good for you, boy?"
"I think I should hire a Thai hooker next time."
"Your total comes to three-hundred and fifty dollars."
"You ruined my toilet on the way from the bathroom."
"Fine. Order some pizza. I'll call the plumber."
|
Jess gazed at Jorge like a fat person would gaze at a cheap, all you can eat buffet.
"take me to dream town" Jorge said seductively as he loosened his overalls and threw off his hat.
Jess wiggled like pleasure, like a tapeworm would wiggle if it felt pleasure. Jorge climbed onto the race car bed and threw off Jess' overcoat and it landed on all twelve of her cats. It was a big coat. Jorge had a thing for coats.
Jess shed her clothes like a large dog would shed during the springtime, but it involved less fur. jorge put down his sodoku puzzle and got on top of Jess. Jess screamed in pleasure like a sexy parrot.
| 2015-02-16T10:00:52
| 2015-02-16T09:59:07
| 40
| 13
|
[WP] You lost your sight, along with everyone else on earth in the great blinding. Two years later, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor, and surface has been painted with the same message - "Don't tell them you can see"
I get that this is a repost, can we just chill and enjoy the new stories.
|
I genuinely believe that I finally saw the light when I realized I could see. At first, it was hard to get used to everything. The brightness was so intense; it felt like my eyes were going to melt.
The world looked beautiful, to say the least. Ivy was growing on buildings, plants, and animals were taken back their land. As my eyes regulated to finally seeing, I felt hot tears rolling down my face.
Though something felt off, anxiety and guilt bubbling inside of my stomach. Stories of the great blinding went all through the world. Yet, it never affected me as badly as others.
My heart was beating out of my chest as I tried to find someone, anyone that could help me understand what happened and why this was all going on. I swore I could feel my eyes dilated as I saw what seemed like writing smeared onto the siding on my house.
D҉o҉n҉'҉t҉ ҉t҉e҉l҉l҉ ҉t҉h҉e҉m҉ ҉y҉o҉u҉ ҉c҉a҉n҉ ҉s҉e҉e҉
I noticed it on the floor; I saw it on the cars. Those six words echoed through my head, almost as if they were mocking me.
The thing that scared me the most was I was born blind. Why was I giving the ability to see?
Edit: a word
|
Was I living a lie? Were there others like me too? Who did this? Why is this happening to me? I have nothing but questions. The more I meet people, the more questions. I am left all the more unanswered. The more I see, I sink deeper to the unknown.
I spent the whole week living in my shock. I did not go out but locked myself in. Living like I did for the last couple of years. Coming to terms with what my sight can see is something I am not ready to comprehend.
As it is with everything under the universal reality of time, things will end. My fear and cowardice ran its course to its end. All thoughts lead to me finding answers. I had no option to finally see what the world shows.
Light reveals what the darkness envelopes. Physics has no tolerance for the subject's liking.
I can see my room, my chaos of clothes and chores. My failures to position and place. My lack of nutrition in body under the luminance from the long forgotten lightbulb. Uncut hair, long beard, dirty nails, boney chest shows much more than the obvious facts. It reveals a voice. Light makes sounds. It sounds like my voice screaming to end it. My sight shows my defeat.
My life will never remain the same. Light after darkness after lifelong taken for granted light changed me irreversibly. I was never someone who would lick wounds, but darkness made me want it more. The imagination of my blood flowing from my self inflicted cut was my only way to see. In my mind, in my pain. Seeing them revealed under light they look ugly. Cuts not as clean as I imagined them to be.
My thoughts with their reincarnation through my visions were pulling all my nerves towards actions. Reluctance used to be easy, its a struggle now. Struggle against my changed self.
Staring myself into my eyes, I grinned. I know I am leaving this, never return. Not here, not without answers. I closed my eyes and stepped outside, into the light.
| 2021-11-29T04:47:58
| 2021-11-29T04:20:57
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] Invent a Vault from the Fallout universe, complete with its own experiment and flesh out a story about the outcome of that experiment.
|
Hey! Cave Johnson here working with Malt-tech!!! Oh, wait, the boys in the lab say its "Vault-tech", well that's a dumb name.
Hey! Cave Johnson here working with Vault tech!!!...... No that name is just so dumb, it's just not catchy eno-
Hey! Cave Johnson here bringing you your post-apocalyptic protection service, free of charge! We here at *booming voice-over* **APERTURE SCIENCE** are proud to bring you an invitation to our joint project vault, Vault number Aperture. *side voice* It HAS TO be a number? fine. Vault number 101. *brief pause* Thats taken, so Vault number 111 *longer pause* Screw it, we are going back to Vault number Aperture. Inside Vault number Aperture we have some interesting plans to help you rebuild society. Things like, GEL guns that shoot things OTHER THAN BULLETS, exceptionally polite TURRETS. Combine this with a bountiful harvest of potatoes and lemo- WE GOT CANNED!?!?! FINE ILL BUILD MY OWN UNDERGROUND SCIENCE FACTORY, IT WILL BE DEEPER AND WAY MORE SCIENCY WITH A MUCH BIGGER DOOR. Salt tech will rue, RUE the day the messed with Cave Johnson!!! *mike clattering as it hits the floor*
|
Greetings valued citizen of Vault-Tec Vault 129, and welcome to your new home. Most likely, you are here because the world outside, and its various leaders, finally resorted to the Ultimate Option, and only your forethought in purchasing space in our patented Vault-Tec Fallout Shelters, commonly called Vaults, has saved you!
As of now, you are wearing our patented Pip-Boy, a powerful tool for work, communication, and entertainment here in the vault. You'll notice a button on it that varies from standard design specifications; this button is labeled "assistance", and will call to your side one of the many Mr. Handy robots helpfully provided for your vault by Robco.
These robots are managed by a proprietary Overseer class computer designed with you in mind, that accepts any commands you give it. The Overseer software will calculate the best way to fulfill your request, and then execute it! For safety reasons these robots will ignore a few commands, but for the most part, you're free to ask for anything!
-----------------------------------------------
"Overseer, please deliver this box to Ted."
Jason was smirking, as he always did when committing mischief. He had the (at least in his mind) brilliant idea to use the robots to do his bullying; after all, nobody can prove he had given the order, and nobody could access the supercomputer to find out.
Ted, meanwhile was fiddling with his Pip-Boy. A geek at heart, his favorite pastime was fiddling and figuring out technology. Most recently, he had discovered a few functions on his Pip-Boy that seemed unused, but weren't deletable. He looked up as the robot came in, and sighed. Jason again, then. The robot placed the box on the bed, and intoned happily, "A box from young master Jason, Theodore."
After he had finished cleaning up the ashes left over from incinerating the box (which had been full of spiders) with the help of a friendly Mr Handy, Ted sighed. He was stumped on what to do about these functions. He had plopped down on his bed, and looked at the Mr Handy as it left, before recognizing that, of all people, Jason has given him the idea.
Ted pressed the "assistance" button, and spoke into the Pip-Boy. "Overseer, please allow me access to the functions Ovrsr-Rvw and AdnOvrsr."
To his surprise, the friendly male voice of the Overseer, usually only heard when joking commands obviously illegal were given, spoke into his earpiece. "Thank you for showing interest in the diagnostic systems for the Overseer class computer. Please enter the Vault-Tec access password for your vault, and we can get started providing your Pip-Boy with administrator permissions."
--------------------------------------------
"Overseer, please deliver this bag to Ted."
Jason was smirking again; Ted was in class, and opening that bag would get him in HUGE trouble. But the Pip-Boy did not confirm his order. Instead, a voice came through his ear bud. "I'm sorry Vault-Tec citizen, but you don't have permissions high enough to interact with Overseer Ted."
---------------------------------------------
When vault 129 opened to the wastes, its unquestioned ruler Lord Theodore the second expanded his domain to the surrounding lands, providing a unique flavor of raiders; based in a vault, and using an army of Mr Handy robots that were repaired by internal systems of that vault, the empire of the Vault Theodorica was small but secure, and ruled by an iron fist.
| 2015-06-27T21:35:57
| 2015-06-27T21:30:12
| 38
| 17
|
[WP] The princess is different to say the very least. Her face covered in battle scars instead of make up, her hands as hard as stone and her eyes more frightening than a dragon. But you must perform your duty as a knight and guard her even though she may not need your protection.
|
"You leave your left side open," the princess said as she wiped blood off of her sword.
"Wh... what?" the knight asked, panting for air.
"When you thrust," she explained. "You have good form but you lean on your right foot too much, leave your left side open. If you fought someone with an off-hand dagger or someone more skilled than this rabble," she said and nodded towards the band of dead brigands at their feet, "you'd be looking at a serious stab wound."
"I... I see," he said, finally catching his breath. She gave him a cheeky smile, though it was somewhat hard to see it beneath all the scars she bore on her face.
"Still. Not bad. Certainly better than the pompous bastards who, uh... *guarded* me before." She said the 'guarded' word with such disdain she practically spat it out.
"You do not appear to require guarding, your highness," he said.
"Tell that to my father!" she cried out. "Every time it's a new moron who barely fought anyone that I could drop in a heartbeat yet he insists that 'A princess must have a noble bodyguard', as if- oh, *blast*."
She looked down at her dress, noticing the sleeve barely hanging by a thread. The dress was exquisite, made of the finest silk, yet did not fit her comfortably at all. Despite being made by the best tailor in the kingdom to her exact measurements, they did not account for the chainmail she wore beneath.
Unceremoniously, she ripped the sleeve off entirely and moved her shoulder, enjoying the new comfort.
"Better," she said contently. The knight kneeled and inspected the bodies of the would-be kidnappers.
"Red Hand," he noted.
"Hm?" she looked at him.
"The tattoo," he said and pointed at one of the dead man's shoulders. "They belong to the Red Hand. A network of bandits - more of a cult, really. They're getting bolder, going after royalty. Not sure if it was for a ransom or sacrifice."
"How do you know that?"
"When I was assigned to gua- er, accompany you, your highness, I did research on anyone who could try to harm you. Know your enemies and all that," he said with a knowing nod. She nodded back, almost impressed by his astute observation. *Almost*.
"Not bad, knight. Not bad at all. What's your name?" she asked.
"Sir John Penderton of the River Mou-"
"John it is," she interrupted. "Listen, John, let's make one this clear. I don't need your protection. I dropped two more of these than you did. I can handle myself."
"I understand, your highness. But I was assigned to you. I cannot simply leave."
"I know!" she cried out, rubbing her eyes. "I... know. I just needed to set it clear. That said..."
He looked at her expectantly.
"You seem clever. And you did handle yourself decently. How do you feel about... 'guarding' me while I go out and hunt down this Red Foot or whatever? Could be a good bit of fun. And I won't let some two-bit bastard think they can kidnap me. *Me*!"
He considered it for a moment, then nodded. "It'd be an honour, your highness." Not like he could refuse - she had authority over him. *And* he was pretty sure she'd sooner break his legs than let him drag her back to the castle.
"Good!" she perked up. "Finally, a knight who doesn't try to get in my way."
"If I may, your highness, what happened to the other knights? Those before me?" he asked.
She cracked her calloused knuckles loudly. "They all regrettably broke their arm and were unable to guard me further. All six of them. Funny, isn't it?" she said with a devious grin. The knight gulped nervously but kept his composure.
"Indeed, your highness," he replied dryly.
"Cut it with the 'highness' hogwash, would you? It's tedious."
"How am I to address you then, your hi- uh..."
She gave him a smile - a truly genuine, honest smile, to both of their surprise.
"It's Joanne."
He prepared the words carefully, then gathered his courage - more courage than he needed to fight the brigands. Finally, he managed to speak them. "Very well... Joanne."
|
Princess Callisto was a very different sort of princess. Ever since she fought off a kidnapping attempt when she was thirteen, Callisto was defined by her ferocity in battle and her tenacity as well as her kind heart. Her many successful battles had made any notion of assigning a knight to protect her foolish at best. And yet, I was sent to her all the same.
We were riding in her carriage to a meeting with another kingdom. The ride was tense, if you can believe it. Callisto was sipping tea and refusing to make eye contact with me. I sighed. "Princess, I know you don't like me -"
"Don't like you? Dearest Mirabelle, why would you think I don't like you for being walking proof my parents are unwilling to acknowledge I'm fully capable of taking care of myself?"
"I can do without the passive-aggression, your grace."
Callisto set her tea down and looked me in the eye for the first time since this ride started. "Look, the odds of anyone not knowing my reputation are extremely low, so I really don't see what you can do that I can't-"
*BOOM!!!*
An explosion went off maybe a foot ahead of us, causing the horses pulling the carriage to rear up. Callisto snapped to attention immediately, grabbed her sword from under her seat, and said to me, "Wait here. It seems more people need to be reminded of who I am."
"Princess, wait!" Callisto ignored me as she kicked down the carriage door. I cursed under my breath; that was no ordinary explosion. I threw my helmet on and jumped out after her.
Already, the enemy had shown themselves. A group of about thirty to forty people in black hoods carrying everything from daggers to potion bottles. The Black Stag Gang- a group of bandits that dealt in the commodity of people. They had long had it out for Callisto for all of their operations she'd upended over the years.
Callisto held her sword at the ready as she faced the Gang's leader, a black haired woman known only as Blaze. Blaze smirked and said, "So the rumors are true: you've been assigned a knight. Getting soft, Callie?"
Callisto gritted her teeth. "Don't need her to kick your teeth in, Burnout. Or have you forgotten how all our previous dances ended?"
"Oh, I remember. That's why we brought these." Blaze and half of the bandits pulled a carved stick from their coats. Magic wands- cheap as dirt, good for not much else except throwing fireballs and the occasional lightning bolt. Which meant the average thug always had at least one. And unfortunately, these looked like they'd been sculpted by an expert.
Blaze and a handful of other bandits pointed their wands at Callisto and let loose fireballs that were big enough to swallow Callisto's head. But before they could connect, I jumped in front of Callisto with my hand outstretched and a cry of the words "FLAME EATER!" A glowing ring lined with symbols spawned from my hand and vacuumed up the flames. I looked back at an awestruck Callisto and remarked, "*That's* why I'm here, your grace."
I turned back to the bandits, clapped my hands together, and spread them apart, causing flames of my own to appear in the shape of a rod. I spun the rod and caught it, causing it to transform into a cerulean halberd. As the bandits looked on in terror, I announced, "We haven't met yet. I am Mirabelle Faustina of House Faustina and their ninth generation of mages. Surrender now or I will demonstrate my diligence when it comes to the family business."
The bandits looked at each other uncertainly, only for Blaze to yell, "Oh come on, you saw that display! She's all flash and no substance! GET HER!" The bandits charged with a cry. As I readied myself, Callisto got next to me with her sword drawn. "This a private party?"
I grinned beneath my helmet. "Not at all, Princess."
We met the bandits with clashing steel and fists. Every time one of the bandits tried to use a wand, I threw another spell their way. Before long, every wand present was either turned to ash, gnarled like an overgrown tree, or shunted to another dimension. And with every disarmament, Callisto swooped in with a hit strong enough to knock them out.
Before long, the bandits were all unconscious. As Callisto and I turned our attention to Blaze, she decided to take off running the opposite direction. I spawned an all-white orb and handed it to Callisto. "Throw this at her."
Callisto pulled her hand back and hurled the orb at Blaze as hard as she could. It connected and dispersed into a cloud of smoke. When it cleared out, Blaze was gone. And in her place was a tortoise that retreated its' head into its' shell.
Callisto laughed at the sight of Blaze as a reptile and turned to look at me. "Alright, alright, not bad."
I pulled my helmet off and shook my hair loose. "Not bad yourself. So, the meeting was likely..."
"A trap. Yeah. But I think we took care of it. Speaking of which, why's a mage with your level of skill serving as a knight?"
I blushed. "Well, uh... I kind of wanted to... meet you."
Callisto smirked. "Oh really? Tell me, what did you want to see in person the most? My muscular arms? My bravery? My gorgeous red mane?"
I blushed even harder and tried to cover up my face. "Your arms, now please stop."
Callisto laughed and slapped me on the back. "You know what? I think I'm gonna like having you as a knight."
| 2022-10-03T14:35:13
| 2022-10-03T13:56:17
| 45
| 24
|
[WP] When you die, a field of text appears in limbo, revealing the high scores of life, and your score. Your score is the top score.
|
"Congratulations! You just won The Game."
"Where am... w... what game?"
"EXACTLY! No one else lasted as long as you, NOT thinking about The Game. 95 years, 4 months, 22 days, 3 hours, 32 minutes and 9.11 seconds is the new record. What a lifetime!"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Gottlieb."
"...Gottlieb?"
"Call me God. So, what was your name again?"
"...what?!"
"Your. Full. Name. I'm gonna put it on this leaderboard I made."
"Amy- uh- Adelaide Amelia Anneliese?"
"...Ain't nobody gonna read that. AAA it is."
|
What does it mean to live a meaningful life? Does getting a good job, having a wife and maybe a couple of children, only to eventually die of old age count as a meaningful life? It might to some.
Maybe for you modelling diapers by the time you're one years old, to then kickstart your acting career and publishing an award winning album whilst getting laid by the hottest of chicks count as a meaningful life.
But what is it truly? When does a human life surpass the norm, and becomes superior to the rest?
Reddit gold. The more the better.
| 2016-06-08T13:24:02
| 2016-06-08T12:16:59
| 227
| 13
|
[WP] The city wants to remove a tree from an old man's yard. Why does this upset him so much, and how does he stop them?
|
"Look old man, you can't just sit there forever. That tree's a safety hazard, and it's our job to keep everyone safe and get rid of it"
"Never! You don't understand what this tree really is! I'm finished if this thing dies!"
"Whaddaya mean, finished?"
"I mean I'm done! Kaput, flatlined, end of the road!"
"I uh, I still don't think I understand"
"My first love gave me this tree! I've-"
"Hey man, that's cute and all, but we really gotta get the-"
The worker was interrupted by a swift thwack to the helmet from the old man's cane.
"Don't interrupt me! Anyways, my first love gave it to me. She was magical, you know?"
"Well I'm sure that you two had a won-"
Another thwack.
"The other kind of magical, jackass! Like a witch or something! She linked my heart to this tree, so I've been forced to take care of it all my life! My money, my time, all used on this piece of junk."
"Then how did it get so bad?"
"You tell me! I shot all the animals that might have tried to touch it, hired tree scientists, Indians, the whole shebang. Still nothing."
"Maybe the problem wasn't with the tree then?"
"What, you mean my heart? I got that checked out by a doctor, like three-"
"I meant your other heart, like the lovey one, not the blood pumpy one."
"Well I...I uhhh...huh."
The old man was silent for a bit, this new angle slowly dawning on him. He then climbed out of the tree and picked up shears off the ground, removing a small healthy part that had been obscured.
"Alright, cut the damned thing down. I don't want it any more."
"But what about ask the stuff you said with magic and the tree?"
"If it really works the way you said, then me and this cutting have a lot of growing to do."
|
My partner and I were the first on the scene but knew we had backup just seconds away. We were called to a residential area as man was brandishing a gun. When we pulled we noticed multiple people coming to see the commotion and unable to see how dangerous the scene really was. My partner, George, drove up next to the nearest vehicle, one of those trucks that they use to take down trees. We got out and first saw the perp holding a shotgun. He was a small man and older then my own grandfather. He looked so small holding the shotgun.
"Sir put down the gun!" yelled George as we looked on from our position behind our car. Apparently George yelling this got everyone else's attention as we saw numerous bystanders leave the scene and take cover. Unfortunately the perp either couldn't understand him or wasn't in his right mind.
"You can't take it down it's not right it's my land." The old man yelled pointing back at a rotting old tree. The tree was nothing special just some rotted tree which had grown large and looked like it was dieing as its branches were grasping and holding onto the power lines near by.
"Sir we can discuss that after you put the gun down." George exclaimed back at the man who clearly wasn't wanting to let his land go. It was at this point more cruisers pulled up and I felt safer as it wasn't just me and George.
"It's my land you go away or I will shoot." The man exclaimed as he held the gun to his chest.
"Sir please put the gun down and we can talk about this." George said as I noticed more cops pulling guns on this man, who could be seen with tears running down his face. The man yelled some more in his language and then he did what I feared he might do he raised his gun and pointed the barrel towards us. It only took one second of fear and the sight of a gun being pointed directly at me to realize this might be the last time I would get to see my wife. I didn't even realized I shot, the only thing I was focused on was watching the old man fall over with a wound to his leg all for a stupid tree. I heard a few more shots but at that point all I could do was stare at the old man. He was moving but down and was quickly swarmed by the cops and placed in cuffs.
I was placed on leave for two weeks after this event for stress. During this time I told more of the case by the detectives who investigated the shooting. It appears that the man ran from his house with the gun after he saw the tree cutting was going to take place. They had warned him for two months it would take place but the notices were ignored or never read. The old man, Dorin Radu, had been living at the residency for six years with his wife. His wife was noted as missing after the shooting but two days later was found when the tree was pulled down. Apparently she was buried near the stump of the tree with a cross scratched into its bark as the only sign it was a grave. It was later revealed she had been dead for almost a year and died of natural causes. She was transferred to the morgue set to be buried in the coming months. Dorin was questioned heavily and finally admitted to hiding the body. In the notes it followed:
"She fell over and stopped breathing and I wasn't sure what to do. I tried to help but her last breathe left her. She was gone and I had to do what we always do we lay them to rest. I placed her in the ground under the oldest tree like my mother was and her mother. I had to follow tradition or her soul would be lost she had to be buried under the tree and kept there or she would be lost."
During the time he was held and questioned one of the officers informed him she had been moved to the local morgue for proper burial. He was found hanging in his cell from a home-made noose the next day, he had scrawled on a piece of paper "I am so sorry I failed you, I will try to find you."
| 2014-11-21T09:28:35
| 2014-11-21T08:58:34
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] In a few short years, "Pizza Boy" became one of the most popular pizza places, their human like androids making fast deliveries and more profits. As you go to pick up your pizza from the front door , the delivery andriod seems to be nearly out of power. It asks to recharge before heading out
|
I frown at him.
"They don't have charge facilities for you in the car?"
"No, sir. We are expected to ration the charge we are given. There is no compensation for last minute special orders. Overcharge incurs penalties"
"What penalties?"
"I am not at liberty to discuss"
"I...of course you can charge. Please come in"
"Thank you, sir"
The androids tone had been polite the entire time, like it always was. Yet I was deeply uncomfortable at this point. What the hell was this? What penalties?
The treatment of androids, gynoids and AIs in general had been a point of discussion for some time now. Many insisted that the mobile machines were to simple to be counted as people, unlike the bigger AI systems who were considered "almost life-like" whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
But what was this about penalties? Why would you need that for a simple system? Why was there no charging in the car? To prevent an escape?
I watched the bot thoughtfully were it sat on the floor, plugged into a wall outlet.
Was that all it was able to do? Ask around for a little bit of compassion? A little bit of mercy?
Was it complex enough to suffer?
And did the answer truly matter, as long as there was even the tiniest chance that the answer was yes?
|
I let him in. His mechanical whirs sounding as the gears struggled to move his feet across the floor. His fibers were creaking, his movements jerky. He laughed, but it was not a funny laugh. I could not tell if it was the desperation or the despair of running out of gas.
“Have a seat, would you like something to drink?” I ask without thinking.
“Oh n-no t-tha-ank you.” He says. “J-just a power cord, if you p-please.”
He looks at me, his eyes unblinking. He smiles and slinks into a chair, rigid, but fluid, as if he were only sitting with a sore back. I make my way towards the other room. But his eyes do not stop watching me. I hear the soft hum of their rotors turning as they silently follow me leave the room.
Down the hall, I turn into the empty guest room we use as a storage room. I wonder if it was best to leave him alone. I feel for my phone, it’s not in my pocket. Where did I see it? Wait. Why was I looking for my phone? Ah yes, a power cable. My phone. Was it me? Was I lost? Something didn’t feel right. I wanted to leave, to go home, but wasn’t I already home?
A loud crash brought me back to my senses. Forgetting the cable and my phone, I run out of the guest room to find the bot has fallen. He has crashed through the glass coffee table. He has died. But wait. He was a robot, was he not? A pizza delivery guy, the Pizza Boy.
I run back and grab the extension cable. I run over to him, look at him and wonder what to do. I try lifting him up but he is heavy. He has protrudes at an odd angle away from me, as if twisted. It is holding something. What? Oh, a cable. A port to charge in. I plug him up. Into the wall. I laugh. What a funny thing.
In all of the moment I forgot my phone. I check my pocket, it’s not there. I think back to the kitchen. The guest room. The home. Room. Where was my phone? And shouldn’t someone tell the pizza place that their Pizza Boy is here on the floor, in my house?
I make my way to the kitchen. It’s fluorescent light bulbs humming through the night. Everything is muted. I pick up the phone hoping to call the pizza place. “Yes, hello. Your Pizza Boy is here, he’s run out of power. What do you mean he’s not yours? He has your logo on his shirt? What? Okay, I’ll see if I can call the police.”
The lights flicker. The phone is the only light I have. I feel for it’s measly comfort but it brings none. I search for a light switch, flick it on. As if nothing happened. I laugh, I am not scared. I make my way back to the living room where the Pizza Boy was. I follow. Yet. He’s not there.
Where could he be? I want to go home.
I laugh. Surely he could not have left yet? The door is still closed. I had locked it on the way in. I searched around the living room. He had not gotten up. I searched the long hallway to the guest room, he was not there. I searched the kitchen, where he was not. And then I thought, “oh no.” He’s gone upstairs.
I laugh, not out of despair, or anything, but out of shear luck, that someone, something has come to bring me home. I make my way up the stairs. I feel the tension as every increasing step takes me one second closer. I laugh, I’m nervous. No one has seen me like this before.
I am at the top of the stairs. I make my way left, towards the master bedroom. I crack open the door, there is no one in there. I turn around, and make my way down the hall to the other end. Again no one there. It’s then that I hear a sound come from somewhere. I rush into the room in the middle of the hallway. I run. I hide. Behind something. Behind a wall, a door I think. I hide and I wait. The light flickers on in the room.
He walks in. He pans around until his eyes rest on me, and though I cannot see him, I feel it. His deadly gaze. He starts walking. Moving forward as what sounds like a power cord is being drug along behind him.
He opens the door to my hiding place. I know I am dead now. He reaches out, grabs my arm, holds strong and pulls me into the room. I go to scream, but his hand covers my mouth.
“Here. Your phone.” He hands me a phone. I take it. He sets me down.
“Thank you!” I say.
He releases me. I let go a small sigh. I laugh, he laughs. We make our way down the stairs until we come to the door.
“Thank you.” He says in his mechanical voice. I am still holding the phone. I go to put it in my pocket when I realize that one is already there. Then whose phone was this? And where was I?
He reaches for the door handle. I am ready to see him go. “Wait.” He says.
“What?”
“Your pizza has not been delivered yet.” And yet I know that it will not be delivered. He was still there. He would not leave.
Suddenly the lights flickered. The door was opened. I looked around. He was not there. I closed it quickly. Locked it, dead bolted it. I want to go home.
I made my way down the hallway, past the guest room, past the kitchen, into the garage. My car was still there. I was ready to go home. I got in, opened the garage door with the button, and started my car. I laughed. I was going home.
I start backing up. Making sure not to hit anything, when, as I look into the rear view mirror. He. Shows. Up. He head dark in the back seat. His glowing eyes watching me. I know he is there. I cannot do anything about it.
“This is for the family.” He says in his polite pizza boy voice. I look forward, I see two hands wrap around me, and I close my eyes. The family flashes in front of me. They did not make it to the room. They were gone before I arrived. No, the were gone when I arrived. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to sleep. As if the Pizza boy heard my thoughts, he said “sleep boy, like you made that family sleep.”
| 2022-12-11T22:50:36
| 2022-12-11T22:34:17
| 61
| 23
|
[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 Jesus - Your birthday is coming up. YAY! 2015 has been great to me. I finally realized this year that you're not real. Who am I actually addressing this letter to then? Oh well. Thanks for taking up all of my teens and 20s with indoctrinated lies that kept me from many experiences that in retrospect I would have preferred to have had much sooner. Very kind of You. Sincerely - Born Again Deconvert
|
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
| 2015-12-05T14:47:35
| 2015-12-05T13:45:57
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] As we all know, Albert Einstein's last words were a mystery, as he uttered it to a nurse who couldn't understand his language. As a multilingual person, you time-travel to the moment he was about to say the last words of his life, and heard the most horrifying sentence you could ever hear.
|
The nurse couldn't speak German, so I was going to hop on back - fluent in sixteen languages, one of them German, but also French, Italian, Latin (taught to me by a Roman centurion who should have been killing me as a barbarian), and a spattering of a few others. In a word, I'm good. Very, very good.
I've recorded the last words of a dozen and one different people, figures with dubious or impossible reported last words. Half the time, the last word is a curse or gibberish. The other half, it really is as profound as you hoped. I carry each of them around with me. Sometimes, it makes me think: does it affect someone to make a living watching people die? Not to be able to contribute, to help, anything. Just watching. It has to.
But none of them affected me like this.
Princeton Hospital was like every other. Sterile. Warm. Apologetically professional. The sheet hung around Einstein's bed, and I could just see his feet as the nurse stepped to him. My watch clicked on my wrist, and I straightened up. This is it.
The words burst forth from Einstein's mouth, a quick sentence, and then he fell silent.
It wasn't in German. Or Latin. Or French, Italian, or English. So much for his own reported languages. It also wasn't in, say, Hungarian or Yiddish or Russian.
There were maybe three other men I knew who could have parsed what came out of his mouth. You'd have to know Babylonian inside and out, have at least a passing familiarity with Hittite and Sanskrit, and have exactly the right kind of mind that could make a sweeping generalization here, fold in a bit of grammar there, and come up with something close.
I fell back against the wall. It wasn't just the content. The language itself twisted my gut. It was wrong, broken, barely even human. A few minutes later, I found myself outside, clutching at my watch. Jump forward. I have to warn them.
I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew I was kneeling over my own vomit in my office. The lights were dim, but they still seemed to stab my eyes. There wasn't any urge in me to shut them off, though. In fact, I turned them up brighter, casting away the shadows in the corner. It did nothing to alleviate the dread building up inside me. Was there a shape in the corner? No. Could I feel something in the air that wasn't there back before, say, 1945? What if there was?
I picked up the pencil and blocked out the sentence on the notepad. It wasn't as though it was going to fade from my memory, but I wanted to see it in English. Maybe that way it could lose some power.
"The Great Ones were small, but we have broken their cage. Up shall they come from infinity, madness before them and terror behind."
|
“The nuclear bomb’s explosion… I get it now. Those mysteries… It creates a temporal vortex, it… it clones… it clones space and time. Everything touched by radiation… everything… This life… Oh, wow. A bright light… I’m afraid that… what? Oh. Err… ehmm.. errrrr… ffff… oooh…. ffff…”
And so he died. Albert Einstein’s last words, finally noted down for historical safekeeping. There was a lot of information in there, the genius apparently realised with his last breaths that nuclear explosions have so much power that it defeats space and time. In layman’s terms: it copies everything the radiation touches over the span of exactly 1000 nanoseconds. That copy spawns an entirely new universe where everything is equal, except the radiated matter.
That, and that alone, is reason for the multiverse and whatever it affects.
Interesting to know, but useless information. We can’t interact with those other universes. We know the exist, but it’s like things beyond our event horizon: it exists, but it doesn’t matter. So, does it exist? Philosophers can worry about that.
The bright light was just his brain cells not being oxygenated properly, and a bunch of neurons trying to soothe his mind. A bunch of neurological effects, the reward system exploding… it all makes sense. Everyone who dies goes through it.
The last part sounded like difficulty breathing.
End of report.
All of that was about 42 years ago. I time traveled to the death of Einstein. I wasn’t physically there, I just had a device setup to register the minute motions of everything near his mouth. From the vibrations in his nose hair I could deduct exactly what he was saying. He said it in about 5 different languages: German, English, Dutch, French, and even a little Latin.
I’m currently 96 years old. My report didn’t change anything. It can be found on Wikipedia and everybody knows about it.
Here I am. On my own death bed. I haven’t had any revelations whatsoever just yet, but the bright lights and the tunnel vision have appeared. They say there’s light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s just darkness.
Darkness. And a few blips of light.
`rm -rf`
Oh f…
| 2018-09-14T01:41:38
| 2018-09-14T00:04:48
| 128
| 10
|
[WP] Ever since you opened this bar, you still don't know why supernatural races, deities, royalty, and/or extraterrestrials keep frequenting the place. You just serve drinks and lend an ear to listen.
|
I don’t remember how it started. I think it was kind of like a slowly boiling frog situation. Maybe a vampire during the night shift here, an angel around Christmas there. The first one I remember actively noticing was on May 17th, 2012, when a ghost came in. Not a regular ghost, mind you, he was hovering 6 feet above the ground and was completely translucent.
My first reaction was “what?”
Gregg’s response was “I’ve been 6 feet under since ‘82, just give me this one.”
We left it at that. He had a gin and tonic, if you were wondering.
There’s about a kajillion different bars for a kajillion different types of people. Redneck bars in Kentucky, gay bars in LA, dive bars all throughout the midwest. But, for some reason, bmy little bar just outside of Monteplier became, as far as I’m aware, the first supernatural bar. At least the first one in the United States, we take a while to come around on some things.
I’ve had the odd priest and ghost hunter come through looking for a quick score. Some kids who just watched Supernatural for the first time, or their jaded parents who grew up with Ghostbusters. Sometimes they just end up sitting down and getting a drink. Sometimes they don’t. I’m not entirely sure what happens to those ones, and I’m not keen on finding out.
*Francesca’s* (the name of the bar, after my late wife) became a neutral ground of sorts. Werewolves and vampires hashed out an armistice in 2015 for the first time in history. Angels and demons started having family reunions. They all learned that this wasn’t a place to fight. Don’t piss off the people who serve your drinks. To date, I’ve only had to ban 1 person, and that was Gabriel.
There was a lot I got used to, pretty quickly. Angels? Eh, met them all. Demons? They make excellent ramen, if you can handle spice. But in early 2020, things got weird, as would become tradition for the year.
They walked in, a million in one body, eyes and teeth and tentacles all sharing a space. Looking at them felt like looking into a million different realities, where a million different versions stood in the same space. It was a Saturday night in mid January, so naturally, the bar was packed. Every face turned to the doorway, where they stood, unmoving.
“Oi, you lot,” I shouted. “Quit staring, it’s rude, you know better. And you, in the door, come in, you’re letting the heat out. Hestia, dear, would you mind throwing another log on the fire? Thank you, my love.”
The figure removed a coat of some kind and added it to the rack. As they did, a patron leaned across the bar to me.
“You know who that is,” the vampire asked. I shook my head. “Thought not. Don’t make eye contact for too long, you’ll go mad.” I thanked him and gave him another drink, on the house.
The figure sat at the bar, and opened one of many mouths to speak. The voice was the sweetest I’ve ever heard.
“What do you have on tap?” they asked, looking down at the bar.
“Depends on what you’re looking for,” I replied. “We got IPA since this is Vermont, mead for the Aesir and Vanir, wine for the Greeks, sake for the Kami. Pretty much anything if you know what you’re looking for.” I could tell by the look on a few of their faces that they had no idea what they were looking for. “”How does wine sound? I’ve got a bottle of something sweet, should go down easy.” They nodded a number of heads. I placed a coaster and glass of wine in front of them.
“So,” I finally said. “You’re new in town, what’s your name, stranger? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
They took a sip from the glass of wine, and seemed to enjoy it, since they quickly went for a second sip. “Cthulhu,” they finally said, and as they did, I could see a few gods eyeing us from across the floor.
“Cthulhu, huh? Well, my name is Jenny, pleasure to meet you. I always wondered if you’d end up showing up here one of these days.”
“I probably shouldn’t have,” they said.
“How come,” I asked.
They shrugged. “Isn’t my place.”
I chuckled. “Hun, this isn’t anyone’s place.” They still started at the bar. “Is it because of them?” I asked, looking at the gods in the corner. Cthulhu nodded. “Bad blood?”
“Something like that.”
“Tell me about it.” They finally looked up from the bar, contemplating if I was worth the effort.
Apparently I was.
“Everyone in this bar comes from this world. Or rather this dimension, a few of the gods here are off-worlders. But not me. I’m a transdimensional being. Not all of the gods hate me, but I’m not exactly beloved. Some fear me, some feel I’m invading their dimension. Even the gods who don’t actively hate me look at me differently, I can tell.”
I nodded as they spoke. “And what about the mortals?”
“They aren’t as bad. Most don’t particularly care one way or the other. I noticed the vampire who spoke to you when I came in. He told you not to look into my eyes for too long, right?” I nodded. “Good advice, I wouldn’t recommend it. I don’t have to worry about them as much. It’s the gods that concern me, if they really wanted to, they could kill me.”
I scoffed. “Well there’ll be none of that here, I just had the floors waxed.” I saw what may have been a smile. “Look,” I began, “this is neutral ground. Angels and demons have family reunions here, if there was ever a place to make peace, it’s here.” As I finished, an angel appeared in the middle of the room.
“Hello, Jen my love, could I get a-” he stopped dead, mid sentence. “What the fuck is *it* doing here?” He looked straight at Cthulhu, and stopped dead in the middle of the room.
Cthulhu sighed. “And, of course, the angels…”
“Get it out,” Barachiel demanded. The entire bar fell deadly silent, save the crackle of Hestia’s fire, which demanded her full attention.
“Barachiel, calm down,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. “This is neutral ground, you know that.”
“Get it out NOW!” he shouted. “Anyone harboring that… *thing* will be smitten.”
“Used to be the same with demons,” I said.
“This is different,” he growled, his hands beginning to burn. “Don’t make me kill you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said, barely a whisper. “And not just because without me, Francesca’s would be gone, but because you’d have a room of pissed deities whose bartender you would have just murdered. Also, again, *just waxed the floors,* so let’s calm down.”
Barachiel looked around, hedged his bets, and lowered his hands. “You’ll regret this,” he said, before vanishing.
After a moment, Cthulhu looked at me. “You didn’t have to do that,” they said.
“No, I definitely did,” I said, hopping onto the bar. “I don’t have to do this.”
“ATTENTION, ASSHOLES!” I shouted, drawing any eyes that weren’t already on us. “I’m assuming most of you know already, but this is Cthulhu. They, like all of you, are welcome in this bar at any time, and they are welcome to be here unbothered. This is neutral ground, so let’s try to keep that in mind.
“In light of me nearly getting smitten, I’m instituting a new rule. All patrons are welcome here, any time, and are free to be here without harassment. We’re all freaks and monsters here, let’s not act like the idiots out there. Anyone caught in violation of this rule from this point forward will receive a permanent ban, with no warnings. Do I make myself clear?” Every head in the bar nodded. “Excellent,” I finished. “Go about your business. Oh, and anyone who can make a sign with that rule gets free drinks for a week. Within reason, of course, let’s try not to bankrupt me.”
|
I’d been running this bar for what felt like hundreds of years, Standing near gods has made me live through some terrible incidents, like when that one plant god killed the flying axe-like thing and drank it’s blood.
Some of the things I’ve had to put into drinks is hard to get, moonlight for werewolves, fertilizer for those plant people, and ambrosia equivalent for gods.
“One blood cocktail please.” Spoke a pale woman. I dug behind the counter for the pig‘s blood I kept for vampires,
”I just met the most handsome young man, and he had the audacity to have O- blood! I can’t stand O-! Can you believe it?” I calmly poured the blood into the cocktail and said,
”Yes, I can, but it’s a shame anyways.” She sort of grit her teeth and grabbed the cocktail when I handed it to her.
I actually lost track of what was going to happen and probably shouldn’t be looking through reddit right now. So sorry.
| 2021-02-22T08:55:28
| 2021-02-22T07:14:14
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] There is a tradition in the US Navy that no submarine is ever considered lost, those that go to sea and don't return are considered "Still on Patrol". There are 52 WW2 submarines still on patrol, and they have just started coming home.
|
It was a very somber affair, the whole "coming home" thing.
After the decision was made to recover every lost submarine, many were sceptical, of course. Those subs were lost at the bottom of the ocean, they said. Lost, for over a hundred years. Even with the most advanced technology and sonar the North American Empire's navy could muster, it would be a gargantuan task to find them all, let alone salvage them. And I admit, I was a loud voice among the doubters, on the lightnet.
But, here I stand, watching the fleet sail into the harbor on Honolulu, the 54 missing subs in tow. I feel a bit embarrassed to be proven wrong so... grotesque. The people were mostly silent, around me. Some of them were naysayers, like me, and were silent because they are being proven wrong. Most are just silent because they realize what the rusty and tugged subs contained.
No sailor on a submarine is missing if they don't come back, the old rule goes. Just "still on patrol". But even so, people are still just people, and the sailors aboard those old tubes were most definitely dead. They were probably nothing more than skeletons, at this point. Waterlogged, and completely decayed skeletons.
My grandfather taught me that rule. He was a captain in the Navy, before the empire was founded, as was his father, and his father's father. Three generations of Navy captains, all serving on submarines. It's why I was so skeptical of the possibility of finding those lost, I think. I heard way too many stories, some in person from granddad himself, some recorded on ancient VHS tapes, where my great-great granddad was telling them to a group of young kids at what appeared to be a Christmas party.
I used to love those stories. Whenever he was around, I asked him about it, and when he wasn't, I forced my dad to connect the archaic tape recorder, so I could hear great-great granddad Mike's stories about sailing the pacific aboard his submarine, which they nicknamed the Swordfish. He even shows the camera his tattoo, which he claimed was the logo that they had painted on the conning tower. He was very proud of it, too, telling the young kids about how he and his crew members had gotten them after the second World War was over.
When I was 7, granddad took me to a museum here on Honolulu, which was built in that very same old submarine. I distinctly remember walking up the plank, and looking up at the tower, looming above me. The cartoonish painting of a swordfish staring angrily out towards the sea always stuck with me. A nothing thing I distinctly remember was the photo hanging in the main control room, depicting the crew, laughing and waving at the camera. Granddad pointed at a young man in the middle, smiling proudly as he told me that that was my great-great grandfather. He told me I should be proud to be the descendant of such a great man.
Now, as I watched the ships sail by, I noticed one tugging along a submarine that was in surprisingly good shape. Some of the paint was still visible, even. But it was the painting on the tower that made me pause. It was faded, but the large swordfish was still visible. I tried to quickly count the ships sailing into the harbor.
I'm beginning to feel uneasy, as I remember how proud granddad looked at that old photo. And how similar he looked, to the man in the old VHS tapes. And I'm really getting uneasy when I remember that, according to the official news based on reports given by the Navy themselves, 52 submarines were lost at sea. However, after counting them all at least 5 times, I can't help but wonder why I count 53 sailing in, today.
|
01022020 1715 ZULU TOPSECRET
ACTION MESSAGE: TOPSECRETxxxxxxATTN:COMCINCPAC/COMCINCLANT,
COMNAVAIRPAC/COMNAVAIRLANT, COMSUBPAC/COMSUBLANT
FROM:Commander CVN-70 USS CARLVINSON
SUB: UNKNOWN MILITARY ACTION IN MALLACA STRAITS
At1320Zulu CIC reports distress call by Japanese oiltanker Kobiashi Maru, ship pilot declares emergency after being fired upon by unknown submarine vessel, they report two direct hits amid ships by ships deck gun and taking on water, reports of several fires on going, A/C launch alert thirty and ASW /SAR , over flight has real time video and broadcast to up link, rescue operations began immediately, CAP in place, ASW reports several contacts but none near the distressed vessel, beginning environmental containment operations with various international responders, CAG CVW14 in charge of coordination until relief, witnesses report that a WWII era submarine surfaced and opened fire with its deck gun, witnesses report men in American uniforms manning gun, they fired without warning and then submerged, satellite images show vessel diving then disappearing, ASW reports no trace or track, set conditions Zebra and set general quarters, USS ALBANY, USS ALEXANDRIA conducting ASW operations as well as CVW14 , will update at 2000Zulu.
END MESSAGE XXXXXXTOPSECRETXXXXXX.
The Admiral received the recent coms with some deep concern, any military actions in this region had global impact, PLA Navy was conducting active combat patrols and interdiction creating tension in an already tense region, several incidents of "bumping" have occurred, one nearly fatal, with a group of a dozen sailors on both sides seriously injured, he had established a direct line of communication with his counterpart to quickly resolve disputes or issues, it paid off, instead of a shooting incident he managed to turn it into a story of superpower cooperation while saving face for the PLA, a neat trick if, IF you can pull it off, and now, God know's what the hell is going on, there have been bizarre sightings of submarines off the coasts of Indonesia, Solomon's and North Carolina, ships appearing then diving , and now, an attack, ASW operations have started be a concern for the Russians and the Chinese because of the intensity and locations.
Early morning in the sea of Japan, the sun raising in the east creating the rising sun image of the Japanese flag, bright red almost blinding, the south Korean fisherman had been busy for hours tending nets and equipment when they heard the rumbling of a diesel engine, except....this one sounded different....coming out of the dawn light the con tower of a submarine becomes visible, at first it looked ....new...then, with a blink, it looked old , decayed and rusty and then new again and then it comes into full view along side their small boat, it looked like a sunken relic above water, and then the rotting smell and the vague sound of commands, faintly then with more urgency "DIVE! DIVE! DIVE! They stood there stunned as they watched through holes in the hull men running and closing hatches, one second real and solid then becoming skeletal and ghost like, the whole scene reminiscent of a film flickering on a movie screen.
The Harbor master was drinking his coffee when a weird radio call came through, unknown, unscheduled arrival, a submarine has entered the channel, "get me Pearl" he says to his assistant, yeah Jack, what's this sub coming into the channel? Is it an emergency?, what do you mean what am I talking about? I'm talking about an unscheduled military movement in an active harbor, yeah it's a freaking sub! He looks at his assistant "Call DHS and Coast Guard, get a helicopter and a boat on scene and intercept, close the harbor and contact local police!"
The Coasties pulled along side and boarded the vessel, it had extensive damage, gaping holes in the deck, the helicopter over head made a deafening sound, the boarding party worked their way up the damaged con tower, the hatch was open, the smell of rot and decay nearly overpowering the sailors as they decend into the vessel, daylight clearly showing through the hull, the engine was idling, the smell of old water and oil mixed with diesel permeated the air, parts of the sub looked "new" brass polished while whole sections were gone or rusted away, "hey chief! Look at this! The petty officer lifted up a coffee cup......half full and still warm..WTF! the chief picks up the cup, smells it, feels the heat in the still warm cup, "Ok, goto the engine room an secure it, then come back, we're getting the fuck off this thing!"
The wreck was placed under tow and hauled to port, Coasties on deck were amazed the vessel stayed above water, several hull breeches somehow failed to flood, almost magically, many seasoned Mariners became instantly superstitious, clutching charms and crosses and repeating ancient spells to ward off evil.
It has been 2 days since USS Argos came to port, scientists and technicians were crawling all over the vessel looking for answers, the only thing solid was the discovery of dead crew members at various action stations, some showed signs of horrific deaths and dismemberment, explosions and fires the most likely cause, others seemed at ease, nearly undisturbed until their bones were discovered in situ, finally, a body was discovered that they hoped could give some answers, "The Chief of the Boat" was an enlisted man given command because of a lack of qualified officers, his body was mostly intact and there was still bits of uniform clinging to his bones, a review of the records reveal that the Argos was lost in '43 while on combat patrol.
After a week rumors of other subs coming to port on the east and west coasts began filtering through the ranks, with some crew and staff reports of seeing "The Chief" on the topside deck watching the workers coming and going.
I met the Chief while standing a deck watch on board the Argos, I had just got my "Crow", I was so proud , 3rd class petty officer and hand picked to watch over this weird shit show, I didn't give it any thought, with ALL the weird shit going in the world what's a ghost ship compared to WWIII, the weather was mild, the usual for Pearl, constant 78° with a light breeze, my mind was wandering, mid watch will do that to you when I began to smell a heavy body odor, tobacco and sweat, then I felt a presence, I turned around and.....there he was, a short, stout looking man wearing a khaki uniform and master chiefs anchors, his cap was crushed, and stained with sweat, he had a large bulbous nose that reminded me of WC Fields and bright blue eyes peering out, hawk like and predatory, he exclaimed "Report!" I snapped to and began to report and then I stopped...realizing I was talking to a ghost, I finally got the words out.....are you.....dead? "What the fuck do you think !" If I'm not dead then this has been one shitty deployment! So I begin asking him why they came back, "We came back because of the recall orders, Judgment day, Armageddon is coming and the end is here."
| 2020-09-10T13:44:11
| 2020-09-10T13:30:22
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.”
|
“My turn!” I yelled, running forward. As I faced the monitor, I scrolled the list of powers already claimed. All of them were, even the one I wanted, but I decided to ask anyway.
“I want the power to fly!” I proclaimed.
🎵 “GRANTED” A musical synthesized voice said.
The crowd jeered and booed, but then the adjudicator stepped forward. “Well, let’s see then.” she said. I grinned, cocky, and ran forward to the front of the stage. Reaching the lip, I leapt into the air, expecting to take flight, but I fell to the ground with a rather comical clack. The crowd roared with laughter.
“You asked for something already received. It can’t be duplicated! You got nothing. Pathetic.” she said, looking down her nose at me. “Pick yourself up, boy!”
“Fuck” I said, starting to move. All the pressure of lifting myself up moved something in my gut, and I couldn’t help but fart.
Before I knew it, I’d flown into the air. I hovered above the crowd, all of whom were pinching their noses and gazing up at me in horror.
Well I guess that’s one way to achieve flight. We thought powers couldn’t be duplicated, but it seems we were wrong. The method of attaining the power couldn’t be duplicated. The first guy, well, the first guy had wings.
I have… powerful lips.
(I’m so sorry)
| 2022-11-17T07:33:47
| 2022-11-17T03:54:46
| 420
| 40
|
[WP] No upvotes necessary, just saturation. Load me up with as many zombie apocalypse stories as possible, with the caveat that they take place *before* the 20th century.
|
Josef and I lounged on the castle walls and listened to Father Adelford's sermon. I wasn't a particularly religious man after the past few months; some people sought comfort in their faith during times of such disaster, but not me. What God would do this to his subjects? But at least it was better than listening to the screams and moans from the horde just outside the castle gate. And there wasn't much else to do on my break from guard duty.
"These are the end times!" the priest declared. "The movement of the Lutherans has doomed us all!" He was waving his bible about as though the words inside would confirm his statements. Not that anyone listening could actually read it: the only other man of letters in the castle was Lord Andechs, and he had sealed himself in the keep's highest tower after just one look at the mob of the undead. Coward. "These ghouls are a punishment from the Lord for revolting against His church!"
"But Father," a member of the crowd spoke up. "We heard tell that the blight has been spotted in Rome as well." What an understatement. There had been a messenger from Cologne just before the decision to seal the gates, and the rumor was that he told Lord Andechs that all of Southern Italy was lost. The runner had died shortly after, and was currently pounding on the gates with thousands of other corpses. That was before we'd learned to burn the dead.
"Lies!" the priest declared. "The Holy Father is the Lord's chosen! He is untouchable. God shall redeem those who stayed true to his teachings, and those who deny his Word shall join the army of the damned!" He thrust a bony finger at the rattling gate for dramatic effect, as if it was even necessary. Everyone in the castle had seen the undead. Most people inside had family and friends outside scratching at the stout stone walls or burning in the moat.
"Amen!" someone in the audience shouted. "I believe, Father!"
"The lord shall save us from this curse," the priest continued. "But there remain those in the castle walls who are blighted. They are not dead yet, but *in their hearts*, they are already damned. They turned against the Church, and refuse to recognize the error of their ways!" *People like me*, I thought. Many in the crowded murmured in agreement. "It is *their* sin that damns us all!"
"What can we do, Father?" someone asked.
"Jump off the ramparts so I can have your rations," Joesf muttered next to me. I laughed, but I wasn't so sure it was a joke: supplies in the castle were certainly running low, and many of the soldiers were beginning to resent the free-loading refugees from the village.
The priest paced on his makeshift stage. "A show of faith!" he finally announced. "We must prove to the Lord that we accept his judgment! We must show him that we still believe in his salvation, even at the cost of our own lives." Josef and I exchanged nervous glances as the crowd cheered. Most of them, at least. Some of the listeners didn't seem too keen on the idea of dying just yet. There had been enough deaths over the past few months.
Josef got to his feet. "I'm going to get the commander," he whispered, dropping the already-wound crossbow into my lap. "Keep an eye on them."
The priest continued his sermon, lecturing about the self-sacrifice of Jesus and how we must all emulate him. How Jesus had risen from the dead with the blessing of his Father, as would anyone else who truly believed. That some may view the undead as a curse, but to him, they were an instrument of God! *Was he really trying to glorify the scourge trying to scratch their way through the castle's stone walls?*
"Throw open the gates!" one of the faithful roared. "Cleanse the castle!"
*Uh oh*. The priest roared back: "Yes! Let his instruments choose the faithful from the wicked!" He took a running gallop toward the gatehouse, and a good number of the members of his flock followed, whipped into a frenzy. "Open the gates!" they shouted. The lone guard snoozing by the lever hardly had time to comprehend what was happening before they fell upon him. I loosed an arrow, hitting the priest in the shoulder, but it hardly even slowed him down. Before I could wind up the bow again, they stormed the gatehouse and raised the latticed inner gate. Other guards around the battlements turned their attention from the mob outside and began firing into the crowd, but there were too few of us. The priest and his followers surged forward and lifted the heavy beam blocking the wooden gates.
The undead flooded through the open entryway and immediately began feasting on the crowd. I caught a final glance of the priest, standing with his arms open as though on a cross, before the undead buried him and tore his flesh to pieces. Trumpets, barely audible over the hungry moans and screams of pain, sounded from inside the keep. Anyone who could retreat was ordered into the last redoubt. I managed to make it just before the doors closed and a sea of undead smashed against the wooden barrier behind me. The hinges were already straining, and the old beams seemed ready to splinter. It was only a matter of time now.
|
Through the efforts of some mad powerful few to seek a means of eternal life, an entity had sprung up from the turmoil that was created and soon after its birth, it set its sights on the World. its origins are not from this plane, or any for that matter. It was a peril that no peoples, not even one as strong as mine could resist or prepare for. Prior to its arrival, the world was marked by a famine and soon a terrible war the likes the world had never before seen and was still recovering from. By the time this sickness as we had come to call it arrived, the resistance that we could have put up had all but diminished. It was later known that this plague was alive. It was indeed sentient and its dynamo had one sole purpose, to consume everything in existence. In time we then called it as we do now "The Corruption". Nothing was safe from this plague, neither organic nor synthetic, the Corruption found a way to incorporate everything in its growing collective.
It twisted the very essence of space and existence that it held into its own image, one of pure chaos and malice. To enter there was certain death or eternal suffering, None who entered its domain ever emerged alive. The Corruption consumed everything, flesh, bone, metal, and "reshaped" it into horrible things, monsters and terrors that varied greatly in size from that of a spore to dwarfing a star. They were created for the purpose of destruction and to extend the unceasingly terrible will of The Corruption.
All races soon came to realize that his war with the Corruption would be one of extinction. In the ensuing conflict, countless systems were burned in an effort of area denial, and in a few cases some races couldn't bear the madness of being possessed and manipulated far after death, and mass suicides occurred. Most races like mine however tried to fight against the Corruption, arguing that with the combined effort of all sentient beings, there could be a chance to defeat the Corruption.
We were wrong.
Each victory was met with several more defeats, and with each defeat this corruption grew stronger and stronger to the point where none, not even the combined might of all the races, could stop it.When the Corruption finally arrived to our domain, it had already grown in strength off of the countless sentients that it had consumed and added to its collective. We were the last sentients left in existence that were left unspoiled, the rest having either committed suicide, been consumed, or gone into dormant hiding. I knew that our fight with the Corruption would be brief, we would be no match against such a horrible entity. Each passing moment, garbled and terrifying messages would be sent to us, requesting that we surrender and be consumed into the Corruption and to accept what would be inevitable, most likely in a pitiful effort to break our fortitude.
But even against such odds, our people surmised that they would not go willingly.
Yet each passing day, more and more land was lost. In time we were driven back to the Citadel, where in my solitude, I thought to all the brave warriors I had lost in the attempt to valiantly fight off this extra existential incursion.
Alone, I clutched my life's work close to me, the essence of beings that would be an image of our own, only better. Better in the sense that they would be smarter, creative, more prone to compassion and kindness, and most of all, possibly, I hoped to one day defeat The Corruption. I cast them off with a heavy heart to a place that I knew not even The Corruption could reach in this lifetime or the next, a place impossibly remote but fertile and rich for life to grow and prosper, a place I will have them call Earth.
In my final moments, I am all that is left of my race, and The Corruption laughs and taunts at me through the voices of my peoples before its sets itself upon me. Yet I go to my demise willingly and with comfort, knowing that my creations will have a better chance at defeating this terror than we ever could.
| 2015-12-28T08:07:58
| 2015-12-28T06:40:27
| 480
| 148
|
[WP] We forget our dreams for a reason: in the near future, memory enhancement therapies allow everyone to fully recall every dream they've ever had. Across the entire human race, disturbing patterns and implications emerge that were previously hidden by the unappreciated bliss of forgetfulness.
|
The Greeks knew better.
Lesmosyne, the sweetest goddess known to man, sweeter than love or hearth and home. Almost as sweet as the hunt.
I traveled when I was young. To find myself, I told people. Told myself. Find the real me under what I knew in the suburbs. What a crock. Every third world village I found, I was just laying on another layer of pretty lacquer over my soul, making the disguise harder and harder to penetrate. Not just my disguise.
When the new memory drugs started to filter out into the public, it was us that got into them first. Clinical trials tend to go to the poor souls who need experimental drugs to buy their weekly ramen at school, so naturally the upper middle class got them early. Once they were commercially available they spread faster, but nowhere so fast as the suburbs.
A few doses a week and you'd never lose your keys. With no recorded lethal dose, nobody thought to restrict the usage. Recommended usage. What a joke.
Suddenly, housewives were keeping track of their kids schoolwork, and things just kept getting better. Around then people started to apologize a lot, suddenly able to recall perfectly the things they'd done when they were young, small cruel things. Remembering the thoughts you had about them, of course we all wanted to hear the remorse in their voices. And you would remember those thoughts.
It wasn't long before more memories started to surface, hiding behind an alcoholic mist only to get ripped into the light of dayby a couple more pills a week. Psychologists started going under. Everyone remembered what prompted them to start doing things, the thoughts they lost in the rush to hurt themselves, so who needed a shrink to tell them what connected where?
Then the shrinks stopped losing business. Bored people in their homes didn't need to watch reruns, or read those old favorite books anymore. They began to take more memory pills to see what else they could dredge up. When awareness was no barrier anymore, we could remember dreams. Mostly the stuff that left the lingering impressions in waking at first, and we puzzled over them for a bit. Through all this, the gloss we had put on our very souls was flaking away.
Soon, dreams were coming to light which the Jungian scholars faced with cold, forced smiles. Maybe the symbols were wrong, but look! We were all dreaming the same sorts of things! Dreaming of wet dark things in the collective unconscious. Dreaming them with a strange feeling of love. Elation.
Dreaming these dark things offering us their love, their bodies. And with next to no reported variance, dreaming of accepting. Taking the bodies of these hard angry creatures, and using them to run in the dark. Dreaming of thrilling ourselves in the speed, the strength. The hunting. Chasing through the dark the things we no longer were, the bodies we had traded away.
As one, it seemed, we were dreaming of the cold love of becoming these monsters that we loved, and tearing apart the soft collection of parts we left behind. And with these cruel memories pressing into us, we remembered these dreams being the ones we woke from smiling.
Cold hard smiles covered over with years of work and shine to make them pretty, soft. To make them human.
I've stopped taking the drugs, but the memories are part of me now. Part of me like the base desire to reach out and take my coworkers intestines out with my bare hands, because part of me knows how good it feels to do it.
Dear Lesmosyne, take these things from me. Never will I neglect another sacrifice to have you make me the smooth untroubled facade of a soul that I was, that I worked so hard to become.
|
Mnemory was a dream product. Well, it was a dream product, and a product for dreams. Remembering dreams, specifically. It was supposed to be a mnemonic enhancement tool, for learning things in your sleep. Remember those hokey 'learn in your dreams!' product advertisements? Well, you coupled that concept with Lucio (as it was first branded), and that actually worked, to a point. It wouldn't teach you Spanish overnight, but it could help you cram for a test, and long-term use on a planned course regimen make experts within a few months instead of years.
The great thing is that it wasn't marketed as a drug; not intended to cure anything, so no FDA approval necessary! Of course, there were clinical trials, and long-term effect studies, and addiction reports, but everything came up fine. No habit-forming qualities, no birth defects, nothing. It was very popular among college students and sales executives, but it's more popular application happened almost by accident.
One day, a grad student took a dose, and forgot to put in their program to listen to. What he found was that the recall imprinting didn't just work on rote memorization; he had stark memories of the most vivid dream he'd ever had. "It's like remembering it for real," were his words.
What a perfect catchphrase. 'Dreaming for real' hit the front of newspapers, billboards, internet pages, everywhere. And it just *took off*. You see, clear recall of dreams is really very rare, but with Mnemory, well...,
Imagine being able to fly. I know, flying in dreams is cliche, but it's easy to relate to. It feels so real in dreams, but only fleeting vestiges of the experience persist after the fog of night is uncovered from our minds. Not on Mnemory though; the experience is vivid, sharp, and brought forth in perfect clarity. When you recall, you can feel the wind on your face, the lift on your belly, and really *soar* in your own recollection. Being able to recall the best sex in your wildest dreams, perfectly. Remembering your greatest achievements, even if they were only a fantasy. You can see how it became popular.
Practical uses came up too, mostly in psychology and therapy. Mindfulness and guided meditation suddenly became powerful healing tools, as what were once vaguely-felt impressions became stark emotional and mnemonic guideposts to wellness and mental health. It was used to build confidence from within; after all, if you can imagine yourself as strong and assertive, and remember yourself being that way, then you slowly will be so. Pretty soon, everyone was using Mnemory.
Of course, there were a few hints at bad experiences, but for the most part, they seemed to be outliers. Clinically depressed people were advised to avoid usage. There were the odd cases brought up where people filed for divorce, saying that they knew their partner was unfaithful, they *remembered* walking in on it. These oddities were discounted as fringe events.
Until the Windsor Heights bus incident. A public transit bus in Iowa, for no readily apparent reason, careened off the road into the sidewalk and subsequently crashed into the Hy-Vee grocery nearby at around 50 mph, killing nearly everyone onboard, and crushing two pedestrians. The few survivors, once they regained consciousness, said that the driver suddenly started screaming and ranting, seeming to be looking at things that weren't there, before accelerating the vehicle, oblivious to the terrified screams of those on board. Soon, other reports came out; one of a man opening fire in his neighborhood, claiming he was killing demons coming from the sky; another of a woman in her late 30's stripping naked in a parking lot and lighting herself on fire, screaming about the spiders.
As time went on, fewer people took Mnemory, but more people were reporting these incidents. Turns out, we could have learned from the one therapy failing of Mnemory: PTSD patients. IF we had bothered to ask them more carefully, we would have realized that a living memory of a lucid nightmare already had a name: flashback.
Now, hidden away in nearly every soul that took Mnemory, there's a horror or two, locked up, but in crystal clarity, just waiting to pop out. Paranoia grips us all, not sure who will be the next to snap.
We don't need nightmares anymore. We're living one.
| 2016-09-30T10:00:04
| 2016-09-30T09:24:11
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] You're running a little late to work, but when you arrive someone identical to you is already sitting at your desk. He puts up his hands and says "Relax, I can explain."
|
I paused, almost dropping my coffee. "Dude, what the fu-"
He raised his hands rapidly, scooting away from the desk. "R-relax, I can explain..."
"Goddammit man, this is the third time this week. Look, I know you want your own office, but you've got to use your cubicle until you get promoted."
Working with my twin brother was always a hassle.
|
"Listen very carefully, and if you do every single thing I say without question, we will both make it out of here alive, and I'll tell you anything you want to know. Anything. Are you with me?"
"Shit. What is this?"
"Are you with me?"
I hesitated, "yes."
"A man will be arriving in a few minutes, with a group of soldiers. You will not see this. As soon as I'm done speaking, you will turn around, go to the third door on the left, the janitors' closet. Place one broomstick outside the room leaning on the trim, and then enter that room and lock the door behind you. The handle sticks, make sure you hear it click closed. Do not open that door, you will be rescued. Do not mention me, I will find you tomorrow. Go."
I stood there numbly, I had a feeling that I knew what was going to happen. Not the details, of course, but someone was going to be on the receiving end of that pole.
"Go."
I looked over my desk, I don't know why. Mementos and work files, mostly, the photo of my wife and I, second honeymoon in Tahiti, laying up against a tissue box. How ironic.
"Go. Please."
Whatever this man was doing, it wasn't something I wanted to leave any trails on. I palmed a tissue and followed his instructions. The encounter was brief and brutal, I heard the pole crack at some point, halfway through. Building security found me an hour later, quivering in a corner. Very little of that was acting.
***
I sat at a table outside, facing the street. He wasn't shy about his approach, and seemed quite calm about the situation.
"Thank you, my friend, I think you have a lot of questions."
"Not as many as you'd think. What was he going to do?"
"The man I mentioned? Yes, he's interesting. Left unchecked he would have done horrific things across the globe, in our name. His death only left a vacancy for someone else, nearly as bad, and with a mind for vengeance. There was a third option, though, and it happened to make everything turn out for the best, at the cost of his mobility."
"You... paralyzed him?"
"Yes, and to be honest I might have overdone that, I wanted to leave him a bit of sensitivity down there. Only time will tell now."
"And you... are me?"
"Yes, well mostly, can't spare any details, cause frankly I don't want you screwing this up on me. Right now it might be best case scenario."
"But we look the same, people are going to come for me too. Right?"
"I have fake ID and I didn't leave much behind. Learn a word called doppelganger, use it any time people ask about me. We don't have twins or brothers, so use doppelganger. Also, try not to do any genetic or paternity testing, if you guys decide to."
"So what now? Is it dangerous being seen with you?"
"Maybe after tonight, yeah, but I'll be picked up at JFK trying to leave the country, you won't see me again, except maybe on the news."
"Hmm."
"You'll be fine, just keep your head on straight and coast through your boring corporate life. Sorry about that, well I guess that's not much of a spoiler is it?"
"No, I figured I'd be pushing pencils until the machines took over. Not surprising."
"Good man. Well, thank you again. Maybe one day a very long time from now, someone will put our story together, but for now it's time to end it," he said as he shook my hand and calmly stepped into the lane.
***
It's been ten years, but I still think about that day. I really did save him, he was myself. I also saved myself, and got out of the rat race. Besides, travel writers have the best offices of any profession. I wouldn't have it any other way.
It was in the news briefly, the American Ambassador to the UN pulled every string in the book to halt the execution of his would-be assassin, and the focus of his 'No More Blood' campaign. My picture flashed briefly on the screen, but my head was down in a manuscript, possibly the most important document I've held in my life. My wife's first novel. I couldn't help but smile.
| 2015-01-17T22:24:12
| 2015-01-17T22:09:04
| 287
| 13
|
[WP] You pick up painting to impress a crush, but secretly hate it. Two years later you’re engaged to your crush and you have to keep up the facade- and a popular art gallery now wants to feature your work. Suddenly you’re very famous for your work and you still. hate. painting.
Inspired by https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/87kajr/women_of_reddit_guys_do_stupid_things_to_impress/dwdpuj8/
|
"Welcome, and thanks for attending the audio tour of our Al Wenders' exhibit. As you can see, Al Wenders was a late bloomer at 24; with little to no formal training he was able to come to a masterful understanding of composition, shape, and colour. This was known as the Bright period. The paintings you are viewing are full of intense and somewhat haphazard brushstrokes that would become his trademark. The subjects were often flowers or landscapes. There were hundreds of attempts at portraits, none of which seemed to satisfy him or leave his personal studio. The colours are on the light side, with shadows and darkness typically muted and in the background. Take notice of how dominant the bright colours are, as well as a refusal to leave white space - this was an intentional choice. It was around this time that he met his eventual wife.
"Now we move on to the Bliss period. Red to orange hues tend to dominate this period, taking on deeper, less pastel-bright colours. Critics noted the more substantial feel to these paintings, the increase in depth coming from the combination of the deep colours with bright accents. Much of the subject matter includes his then fiancee. At the beginning of this period he quit his job to pursue painting full time. By the end, he was featuring in prominent galleries.
"Take a look at this first picture. A bright smiling figure, standing among ribbons of white nearly covered in black kanji, that stretches off of the ribbons. Again, emphatic, bright brushstrokes and it is here we first see the entrance of the ribbons as shadow taking a more prominent role. The Kanji translates to 'We choose what consumes us.' Some early critics suggest that this be included in the bliss period but its lack of orange hues and its greater similarities with the following work put it more in the Shadows period. Now, instead of muted shadows displaced by the intense bright brushstrokes, we can see that it is the blacks, and deep purples and blues that are given strong, rapid strokes, smearing large amounts of pigment over the canvas.
"This painting was completed shortly after the death of his brother to lung cancer. It marks perhaps a moment of distinct personal honesty in his painting. Though he had a bright studio, a child on the way, he chose to put more dark colours. The other works, as you can observe, gradually giving way to a disassociation with the bright colours, coming to find that his no-white-space habit became a no-bright-space habit so that the oranges and other bright colours took on increasingly subtle roles. There was a tension in his work that even made viewers uncomfortable to look on the pieces.
"It is no coincidence that this period is said to have lasted eight months. In fact, we know that Al Wenders abandoned what would have been his last piece of the period as his wife gave birth. It remained half-finished in his studio. Shortly after we see the disappearance of his intense choppy brush strokes and notice the entrance of blending. It was here that many of his early supporters took issue with the change in structure noting that his work had lost its vitality, its vigour, and had become innocuous, fit for secondary positions in the homes of the middle-class.
"All the same, the Blending period for others gave a very real sense of tranquility, of patience. In fact, the brush strokes have a tell-tale smear at the edges. It shows that he may have used his initial strong brush strokes but then took the accumulated paint on the edges of the stroke and mixed it in. As such, the contrast and definition of the strokes vanished. The conflict in his paintings went with it. Not long after; Al Wenders said he had done in art what he had set out to do. Since then he has not published another painting, though according to close friends, he has not stopped creating them. Nobody has seen his work since then, and if you had the opportunity to visit his home, you would find the walls covered in the scrawling paintings of his daughter.
|
It was a spur-of-the-moment, god-spoke-to-me kind of art piece.
All I wanted was to impress her. Her name was Violet and she was more beautiful than any flower on earth.
All I wanted was to capture that beauty.
All I wanted was to show her how much she meant to me, because there were no words. No words that I could say to show her how much I loved her.
And so, I picked up the brush, for the first time in my life. I bought one-hundred shades of violet because I couldn't afford a thousand.
I locked the doors, put on my headphones and played love songs. You'd be surprised by how many there were.
Then I waited.
Waited for that moment, because it wasn't that moment yet. Because It didn't *feel* right yet.
Then I farted.
*Then* I painted.
I had never expected it to blow up as it did. It was unreal.
"Honey! Look at all the people lining up to see your artwork!" my fiance exclaimed excitedly.
I was too busy staring at my hands. I still couldn't believe what I had accomplished.
You have to understand, I was the kind of guy that saw masterpieces of art, and thought - *what a load of shit.*
Yes. I was that kind of guy. If you put me in a room with a bunch of art critics and a grand piece of artwork, I would be that guy who would disagree with them and say that it looked like the turd I unloaded the previous night.
So when my wife asked me, "Honey? When's your next painting?"
I said to her, "You know I'm still in love with you right? So probably when I fall in love with someone else."
She never asked me again.
----------
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-03-27T19:49:21
| 2018-03-27T19:06:13
| 281
| 57
|
[WP] Darth Vader survives killing the Emperor, but the Rebel Alliance puts him on trial for war crimes
Edit: Jeez, this prompt really took off. Props to PSHoffman, this is some of my favorite work by him! I kinda wish this had actually happened instead of Vader just dying. PSHoffman, it'd be great if you could turn this prompt into a full novel or somrthing, but sadly I doubt you'll listen to some one-link-karma scrub like me...
|
The Shadow stood in the light.
Half-moon platforms rose above and below, interlocking terraces that formed a massive dome. Every single platform was angled to inward to face the Shadow's sole, floating podium.
No chains held him, no shackles clasped his wrists - instead, they had locked him in a prison of eyes. Thousands of senators from every planet in the Empire, and beyond, stared at him.
For the first time in how many years, the Galactic Senate was silent - save for the grim, distinguished voice of their newest leader, Mon Mothma.
"Eighteen billion counts of unlawlful imprisonment. Participation in a common plan to enslave at least four trillion more. Planning, enacting, and waging wars of unchecked aggression in times of peace. Unbidden invasion of more than eight *thousand* systems-"
The Shadow of the Empire bowed his head. Those were not *War Crimes.* Those were the symptoms of an Empire, purging itself of corruption - in the name of *Justice.* Yet, from the vile stares of the Senators and the anger carved into Mon Mothma's face, one might believe otherwise.
One might think that he, the Shadow, was actually an agent of Evil.
A decade ago, what had he been? A shade, a myth - a hidden force that pushed and pulled the strings of a nascent Empire, guiding it on a mission of peace. He had chosen a life of solitude, of sacrifice, and none had believed in his cause.
Now, his Empire, for which had given up not only his life, but also the lives of his oldest, dearest friends, was burning down, planet by planet.
Did they not know what they were doing? Did they not see this would rend the Empire apart, and bury the Galaxy in a new era of suffering and ruin?
Silence nipped at the Shadow's attention. Mon Mothma's droning had ceased. She bored holes into him with her eyes. The corner's of her mouth twisted in anger. There were tears in her eyes.
A squid-headed Calamarian, an Admiral by the looks of decorations, walked up to the Speaking Platform. Mon Mothma bowed to the Calamarian, and he bowed back.
His old whiskers wriggled as he spoke in a low, wet voice, "Lord Vader. You are hereby accused of the aforementioned War Crimes. How do you plead?"
Before he could even speak, the silence of the Galactic Senate broke. The terraces erupted in a violent uproar as thousands of Senators rushed out of their seats to shout accusations of their own. Their demands were cruel, barbaric, and reminiscent of the past; *before* he had brought Order to the Galaxy.
The Shadow clenched his fists. These *politicians*, the very leeches he had been fighting to eradicate, now held his fate in their hands. They spoke, not for the people, but only for themselves. They spoke a language of self-serving greed.
Perhaps, if he was wise, he could still use their greed. Perhaps, if he claimed his innocence, he could survive this...
Blaster fire erupted from one of the platforms, and was caught by a flash of light. The invisible shielding around Vader's podium had soaked up the shot. More shots rang out, grazing against the podium's shielding, some deflecting, and smacking into other platforms.
The Admiral shouted for peace, but it was not until an ear-piercing klaxon echoed through the dome that the Senate calmed down long enough for Vader to give his answer.
Stepping up to the microphone, he took in a deep, rattling breath, and let out a mechanical sigh.
"To these actions," the Shadow drew out his words, "I plead -"
The tension in the Galactic Senate was so thick, it could be cut with a saber.
"*- Guilty.*"
This time, not even the klaxons could silence the Senate. Roars deafened even the Admiral's calls, and blaster fire criss-crossed the dome. An explosion rocked the lower-section of the dome, and a blastwave nearly knocked the Shadow from his feet.
He did not see the fluttering cloak that fell from the ceiling, and latched on to the underside of his platform.
Vader spoke once more into the microphone, though nobody was listening, "I made decisions that no one else was willing to make. It was *all* for the good of the Empire."
More blaster fire rained against his shield, and a single shot even made it through the strobing energy bubble.
They were supposed to perform the ceremony of execution *after* the trial, but it seemed that the ceremony had already begun.
The Shadow stood in the light, watching the last vestiges of his Empire descend into chaos. Even with the help of the mask, it became hard to breathe. He slumped backwards, intending to sit down. Instead, he tripped over his own cloak - and fell -
And a pair of hands caught him - one human, the other covered by a black glove.
A voice hissed into his ear, "I know what you did."
More explosions rocked the dome of the Galactic Senate. He was caught, and he could not turn around to see the face of his assailant.
"I know what you were trying to do. And I want you to know, that it was not in vain," the hands held him steady, "There is still hope, *Father.*"
It was as if the weight of the Universe was lifted from his chest. The Shadow gasped, and turned to see a smile, half-hidden by the hood of an old, tattered robe.
"Come," Luke said, "We have to get you out of here."
***
*Update: [Part 2 is here! >](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4b37q9/wp_darth_vader_survives_killing_the_emperor_but/d160z61)*
|
######[](#dropcap)
Eril Dallows took a sip of his beer, the holo-screen displaying a scrolling readout of the local sector stock markets. The Naboo-born pilot sat at the very end of the polished bartop, the bar rather empty this early in the afternoon. Most customers sat on the patio outside taking advantage of the beautiful summer weather. A few older patron sat near the window with tall glasses of Coruscanti Ice Tea and a game of Pazaak in front of them while the bartender spoke to the one waitress on duty. In the back Dallows could hear the cook busy frying tubers and vegetables to go with the grilling meat. The remains of his own meal were still in front of him, a few bones and bits of crumbs sitting on the waxed paper of the plastic basket.
Up on the holo-screen the female Bothan listing rising markets paused in the middle of the Incom shares to announce a change in the broadcasting. Her image vanished and was replaced by an older human man, his hair going gray where it wasn't receding.
*"A landmark case and historical event has just occured here today outside the Supreme Justice Building, where after years of deliberation and trial the war criminal Lord Vader has just been found guilty by a jury of over a hundred beings. This is merely the most recent in a string of cases involving former regime personnel of the former Galactic Empire but undoubtedly one of the most important. Lord Vader has been found guilty of no less than thirty counts of Crime Against Sentient Beings, two dozen counts of genocide and numerous other, lesser charges.*
*"The exact punishment of Lord Vader is still uncertain with members of the Society of Alderaan Survivors calling for a measure of clemency while the Bothan Council urges the Death Penalty. While other Imperial members have been executed for their crimes the exact nature of Vader's actions leave it still unknown as to his final fate. More details will be relayed as they come up in the afternoon."*
Eril Dallows' brow rose as he took another sip of beer. The holo-screen went right back to the stock markets.
| 2016-03-19T08:31:48
| 2016-03-19T07:11:53
| 1,014
| 105
|
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years.
I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!!
I can't wait to see what you guys come up with
|
He’s old now, Dudley thinks as he stares at his cousin, no stranger, on his doorstep. There’s a touch of grey at his temples, and the beginnings of smile lines by his eyes. He’s been happy since he left, and Dudley was glad for it.
“Hullo Big D.” He says simply, a smile caught in the corners of his mouth. He was wearing a simple sweater with a H on it, but his trousers were clean and pressed, and his shoes, of a leather Dudley had never seen before, seemed to glean in the afternoon light.
The scar that bisected his forehead was still there though. He was still Harry.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Dudley said, hand still clutched to the door handle. It had been twenty years of well meaning Christmas cards and nothing more. No weddings or funerals. He wasn’t there when Dudley buries his father, but given their history it was probably for the best.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again either,” Harry starts. He’s still awkward but less so than when they were young and foolish. “Can I come in?” Dudley nods mutely, and closes the door behind his cousin.
The house was small, but modern. Dudley lead them to the sitting room where a woman that looked achingly like Lavender Brown sat, watching the news and nursing a cup of tea. She turns to see the guest, confusion evident on her face.
“Who was at the door dear?”
“My cousin, Harry. Surprise visit.”
“Harry Potter, it’s a pleasure.” Harry sticks out his hand for her to shake and she does, albeit weakly.
“I’ll pop the kettle on shall I? How do you take your tea?”
“Ah, two sugars and milk thanks.” Dudley’s wife nods and leaves the room.
“That’s Heather, we’ll have been married for ten years in April.”
“You have a daughter right? Sophie.” Dudley freezes for a moment, but nods. “It’s her eleventh birthday Dudley. January fifteenth. I’m sure you understand the significance of the date.”
Dudley regards his cousin with a blank look, but fear was creeping into his eyes.
“You mean- Sophie’s one of them?”
“She’s a witch, yes. There was always a likelihood of it because of Aunt Petunia, you carry magical genes even if you can’t use them.”
“But,” Dudley takes a second to whet his lips “is it safe for her? We had to leave because of Uhm that bloke.”
“Voldemort.”
A shattering noise is heard in the kitchen.
|
Sophie sat on the carpeted stairs mesmerized. She had never seen this odd lanky man before, and he had the most peculiar scar on his forehead. He wore a long over coat with a simple sweater underneath. He had circular glasses that blocked her view of his face. Sophie stared at him awestruck and amazed. She thought it was funny how his legs seemed so skinny and small compared to her fathers rotund shape.
"It's been forever, Harry," Her father muttered. He kept adjusting his apparently tight collar. Sophie could see the heavy line of sweat around his large forehead.
"It has Dudley, I've seen you haven't changed much since..." 'Harry' seemed to pause slightly as Dudley winced at the mention of his late mother and father. "I'm sure you wonder why I've shown up today of all days-"
"I'd rather not with Sophie here," He turned to her. She immediately ran upstairs giggling and pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes.
He paused just before the first step and looked up making sure she had really gone up. Sophie smiled as she peeked out from behind the wall, but her father was already back to Harry. She sat on the top step and fiddled with a small feather that she had found years ago in her room. It was a gorgeous white with small specks of black and grey. Waving it around she thought of how it came to be in her room.
The front door opened and her mother walked in carrying heavy groceries. Sophie blinked her long eye lashes before she realized that her mother was motioning for help. Skipping down to the living room she helped her mother as her father and Harry talked in hushed voices staring one another down over the coffee table.
"Mum, what are they talking about?" Sophie wondered aloud as she watched not helping at all.
"I don't know, Sunshine," Her mother was organizing food by vegetables and deli meats. "But please be a dear and help your poor old mum."
Sophie relented and tried to listen as she moved back and forth from the counter to the fridge. Eventually her father stood up. He had a large (probably fake) smile on his face and a crunched up envelope in his hand.
"Sophie, come here."
She moved over slowly blinking and trying to look innocent. For all she knew he could be a associate from her school, and for all she knew she wasn't the one who drew inappropriate signs in the girls bathroom upstairs.
"This is your uncle Harry," her father placed a clenched hand on her shoulder. Shocked she flinched and adjusted her shoulder.
"You mean the one you said was put in a foreign jail?" Sophie blurted. Harry's eyes became dark and his face was moments away from becoming a frown. Her father laughed.
"No no no," he wheezed tightening his grasp on her shoulder. "The other Harry!" Sophie searched her brain.
"The one in the looney bin?" She said a little to loudly. Struggling to hold in a laugh Harry glanced back at her father with an angry look. Dudley looked more flustered and his face started turning red.
"Dear, this is important, so please pay attention," he sputtered. Sophie glanced back at her mum who was getting dinner ready. "Go on, Harry."
Uncle Harry motioned for her to sit next to him on the floral couch. Sophie sat as far as she could from him as her father sat in her grandfathers chair. Her father reached his large hand out and opened it showing a crumbled and sweaty letter.
She snatched it hoping for a birthday present containing some kind of cash, but it was to light. Sophie paused staring at the emblem pressed into the letter. Now it was cracked and crushed but she imagined what it would look like as it was before, sitting in her Uncle's large coat pocket perfect and not yellowed from her fathers sweat. She looked up at her Uncle who now had a look of suppressed joy. Sophie was confused and looked at her father who had a look of sadness.
"You're a wizard, Sophie." And her mother dropped the plates she was carrying and they shattered all over the floor.
| 2019-10-16T11:44:39
| 2019-10-16T11:35:26
| 94
| 66
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.
|
A man in a white tee-shirt, dust covered jeans, and a hat plops down into a recliner and turns on his television and begins switching through channels until he comes to the news.
The images on screen were like it was straight out of a dream. Or a nightmare depending on where a person was from. It showed members of the Islamic State dead in streets and homes. All of them different in some way. Some had body parts swollen three time their normal size, others foaming at the mouths, most with bloodshot eyes and looks of agony on their faces.
The man yawned and continued to watch.
The news abruptly cut to film of what happened.
A high shot shows dust and sand flying as a large land force approachs a city. The camera zooms in to show a massive force of kangaroos closing in fast. A few dozen military officers riding emus are not to far behind them.
Another abrupt cut shows the kangaroos attacking the Islamic State forces in close combat as blackness begins to flow from their pouches. Spiders and scorpions run out onto the battlefield and begin attacking their targets.
More creatures begin to come out of the roos pouches. Snakes of varying size and color, a couple of dingos, and a few crocodiles.
The man turns off the television and smiles knowing that his nation was the turning factor in the fight against the Islamic State. He chuckles to himself and says quietly, "Well, at least we were kind enough not to send in the dropbears. Them little fucker are savage".
| 2016-01-29T07:22:10
| 2016-01-29T07:13:23
| 43
| 11
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
One day James was sitting with his wife, he was cooking dinner for school children while she was knitting beanies for the homeless, when she cut herself, James sprang to his feet, "let me help you with that" he said. But upon reaching her, his eyes widened, her blood was pure black, he immediately begun to yell, "what have you done" he yelled, "I torrented some music once" she said, "oh yeah" James responded "totally forgot that was illegal", And they laughed it off and carried on with their day.
|
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?
| 2018-08-04T10:33:21
| 2018-08-04T10:24:42
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] You ate your last apple almost a full day ago. The second hand on the clock creeps closer and closer to the 24-hour mark. Holed up in a cabin you ready your shotgun. You can feel them out there, waiting, watching. The Doctors.
|
I had watched the show for years. I was hooked on the drama, the special effects, the world class actors. I had even watched the spin-offs and cried when she died.
I didn’t realise that my love of apples was actually keeping them away. That by eating an apple a day was keeping the real Doctor away. Or, Doctors. Seems like a few of them have converged on this time and place. They’re out there, watching the cabin from their funny little boxes.
I hefted the shotgun and kicked at the apple core on the ground. I know they abhor violence, after what they had done, but I also knew that I wasn’t going out there without some form of protection. Even if the show wasn’t a documentary, surely some of it had to be based on fact.
The clock struck twelve. I waited. They waited. Finally there was a knock at the door. “We don’t bite. We just need your help.”
I flung open the door and strode past them, gun on my shoulder, ammo belt across my chest. “Well, who am I going with first?”
I stopped at the top of the few stairs that led to the dirt path. There wasn’t a few boxes, or Doctors. There was a dozen, all standing there beside their blue machines.
The closest looked at the gun and turned away. “You choose. We’re all going to the same place anyway... Doctor.”
|
The two men slowly began climbing the plank ladders up to the treehouse. Ellie looked down the open hatch to see her father and uncle getting closer and closer, their white lab coats flapping in the summer wind. She ran to the window of the treehouse and screamed at the top of her lungs,
“Noooo! The doctors are coming! Help me, Mommy!”
The two men chuckled ominously as they continued their ascent.
“We’re gonna get you Ellie!”
“Don’t be afraid of the checkup today, Ellie. It won’t hurt a bit...”
Ellie ran back to the entrance hatch of the treehouse, and began throwing tiny pebbles at the men. Ellie continued to scream.
“Help me, Mommy!”
Suddenly a woman holding a wooden spatula entered the backyard. She threw the spatula at one of the men climbing and exclaimed,
“Honey! What the heck do you think you’re teaching our daughter?”
Still hanging onto the ladder and using one arm to defend themselves from the pebbles, the two men burst out in laughter.
“Ellie was nervous about her doctor’s appointment today, so she asked us to play ‘doctors’ with her,” the father responded.
Ellie stopped throwing pebbles. “Yeah Mommy. Doctors are stupid!” Ellie proclaimed brightly.
The mother furrowed her eyebrows and let out a sigh.
“The three of you, come down this instant, or no apple pie for you!” she barked.
“Yes, Mommy...” the trio replied solemnly.
As she watched her family come down from the treehouse, she muttered under her breath, “I knew we shouldn’t have let Ellie watch that zombie movie with us...”
| 2020-09-28T00:24:01
| 2020-09-27T23:43:38
| 54
| 27
|
[WP] You are amortal, not immortal, most don't know or care for the distinction but the two conditions could not be more different
|
To mortals, immortality and amortality are the same. An obsession with death makes the idea of escaping it the end all be all.
Amortality is not immortality.
An immortal lives forever: the power to change his environment is never-ending. The powers of immortals vary significantly, but the end is the same. Zeus is immortal, and he never dies. A nymph is immortal and while she remembers her birth she won't have a death to worry her.
A rock as well will never die, but a rock isn't immortal. It simply is, it has no goal and it's effect on the environment is largely due to others will it to do. An amortal is like a rock, indeed a rock is amortal. I am amortal.
When the mortals, namely the humans, found out about the immortals, they were struck with jealousy. They found that they had to reach them, they had to end their own deaths. The immortals, they could not allow this. How could they be satisfied in life without beings lower than them? Human technology advanced and so the humans advanced. Numbers are an advantage, but how can you defeat beings that do not die. Then they found me: they found those like me. "You don't die", they thought, "you must know the secret."
Immortals and mortals are two sides of the same coin. Beings who desire to control their environment. What is a human but a god with limited time? What is an immortal but a human with no fear of the end. They're full of life and ambition. Courage and strength. Will.
If you pick a pebble off the ground and throw it, the emotional state of the pebble is the same. If you grind it to sand, melt it to glass, and shock it, it remains emotionally the same. If you drop it in a vat of acid and dissolve it, it's emotional state remains the same. It is inert. Amortals may join the fight against mortals if willed to, amortals may join the fight against immortals if willed to. It makes no difference. Amortals don't die because amortals don't live. Amortals have what the egotistic warriors of human conflict, dying and undying, can never have.
Contentment.
When the end comes, immortal and mortal alike shall end. Maybe peace or maybe destruction will reign. It matters not to an amortal, no more than the weather concerns a rock. Rocks always remain
|
“Somehow, I don’t think you read the instructions right.”
Creation blushed scarlet to the tip of her thousands fingers, the putty of matter forever spinning in between her digits faltering. Droplets fell to the surface in splashes of waves, now lakes and ponds where hitherto laid plain earth.
Water always came easy to Creation, almost as a reflex. This little new globe of theirs was a perfect example of it, miles beyond miles of blue. Oceans, Creation had called them. Lakes, and Rivers. Puddles and ponds, she had added, tracing lines and patterns across the land. Life had grown steadily on their banks, along the coasts. Seeds had sprouted from the half dried patches moistening the soil, and Creation had watched tenderly. A mother observing the life she had given creating new forms, evolving.
Time watched her patiently as her eyes blinked, some before the others, all turning towards the involuntary result of her inattention. A lake, several metres deep, so close to what she had called “the child”.
Her mouth, plump and dark, like a cave with too many teeth, frowned. The child, ebony curls bouncing, giggled, watching their reflection on the calming surface.
The mouse they had been carving moments before already forgotten, blood darkening the ground around it. Vermillion on the child’s fingers, brown against the earth. Red, almost too vivid, in contrast with the gleaming white of the makeshift blade the child had broken off a rock just hours before, under their curious gazes. That, the child hadn’t let go of.
They put it in the water, still firmly in their grip, and marvelled at the blood rushing away. Off their skin, clear from the sharp edges of their weapon. No traces left of the life that ceased not moments before.
The child wasn’t smiling, exactly, but there was a levity in their posture that spoke of carelessness and a ignorant sort of innocence. They waddled into the water until it reached their belly, still laughing quietly. Creation’s frown deepened.
Busy hands reached into the many pockets, emerging with glittering dust sticking to their tips. The wind that always blew inexorably through Time mingled with it, carrying hundreds of particles to the lake. As soon as they touched the water Creation told them what to be and one colourful creature after the other slither through the water.
Fish, Time knew without having to ask.
As they hadn’t learnt fear yet, they soon surrounded the child, fascinated by their legs as the child was by their scales, glittering in the afternoon light like millions of little suns.
Time breathed. 1, 2… 124 seconds before the child shook off their initial stupor and reached out, squeezing hard. Strong beyond appearance, the fish struggled in their grasp, eyes bulging. Guts spilled from its gaping mouth and the others learnt a valuable lesson, that day. Tails swerving madly, they swam away towards safety.
“They know no better.” Creation justified, a little sulkily, talking about the child.
“No, they really don’t.” Time agreed. He worried for a minute that night was approaching, like it always did. Time could not stop it, he had to let it happen. Let it go, like every other filament of his long cloak, unraveling infinitely day after day, into something new and never twice the same.
A child was a new creature, but the night was often unkind to everybody. Would they find shelter? Would they live long enough to see the birth of a new day? Time pondered on these questions, but not for long. That was Creation’s realm and he would not interfere.
“I still think you have got it wrong.” He said, because he could.
“Yes.” She replied through gritted teeth, voice rumbling inside the cave of her depths, displeased of having being caught in error.
A new challenge had appeared in the jar, that morning. Time hated it when it happened, as they tended to pop into existence outside of his control. One moment they weren’t and the next they were, often in the form of a little scroll of parchment, a few times written across a hearth-shaped post-it. Twice on the back of an old train ticket.
It was the craft of the week and, if Time hated it, Creation was always excited when it happened.
“The challenge wasn’t even meant for her. She makes life, doesn’t she?” A voice said from behind them. They didn’t turn, but Chaos continued. “You can’t create something that shouldn’t be alive to begin with. You give your creatures breath and the challenge was to-“.
“Never mind that!” Creation snapped, restricted by her own laws that never applied to Chaos. Chaos’s giggled, their laugh as unrestrained as the child’s had been.
They all turned to the creature again. The little amoral seed Creation had planted among the Earth, leaving uncontrolled destruction in her wake. “Never mind that,” Creation repeated, almost sadly. “They too, shall die one day.”
This was written because I am an idiot and read amoral instead of amortal. English is clearly not my first language
| 2022-03-28T15:30:35
| 2022-03-28T12:03:21
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] They Hero is defeated by the villian, they expect death or torture. They did not expect to wake up in a guest room with their wounds being treated to.
|
Thomas got up from a large, double sized bed. Instinctively, his eyes darted around for his sword. The Sword That Glows In The Dark was propped against the wooden door at the far end of the room. Its gleaming edges barely visible under the bright light coming from an open window.
Thomas scrambled out of bed and reached for his mighty weapon. It was only when he grabbed it, spun around and regarded the spotless, clean room with another calculated look that he realized his body wasn’t in pain. He felt completely fine.
He closed his eyes and searched his mind trying to remember what had happened. He was fighting with the Lord of Dawn, that much he remembered. They were dueling inside the Temple of Dawn, Thomas had already been cut half a dozen times with his enemy’s dark steel blade. He remembered barely being able to raise his sword fighting hand. A sickening vibration had filled him as he’d focused all his remaining energies to cast a ray of fire and then… and then?
He looked down to search for his injuries, all those deep cuts, but his skin was smooth and healthy. Somebody had dressed him in pale white, almost transparent clothing that felt like no other material he’d ever worn.
A high-pitched, twinkling sound reached his ears. It was coming from the open window. Thomas stepped closer to have a look outside but other than a strong ethereal light all he could see was a thin layer of milky fog.
“I must be really high up.” Thomas had never been on a mountain, but it made sense that the Lord of Dawn had his castle build up here. “That’s why I’ve never been able to find him unless he found me first.”
Clutching his sword, he strode out of the room. The heavy wooden door swung open before he could touch it himself. The whole castle, or whatever that building was, seemed to be made out of crystal, all shiny and transparent. However, Thomas did not stop to investigate. He had to either get out of there or find the Lord of Dawn and finish what he started.
He doubled his steps and reached an atrium that led to a large, white balcony. There he stood - Thomas almost didn’t recognize him, his oldest enemy - in a long, white almost transparent garb. The usual black and blood-red clothes that made the Lord of Dawn who he was were gone.
The man turned his head around and - Thomas had to gasp - smiled at him. It was unsettling and unusual, but still a smile.
“There you are. I was wondering why they kept you asleep for this long.” His voice wasn’t the usual, either. They could have been neighbors chatting about the weather.
“They? Who are you talking about? And don’t try to soften my guard. We are not done.” Thomas raised The Sword That Glows In The Dark, ready to fight.
“I don’t think you can defeat me any further, little Thomas. Put that stick down and don’t be foolish. I’m obviously talking about… whoever is Lord in this place.”
Thomas stuttered for a while, lost for words.
“You said I can’t defeat you any further? What could you possibly mean by that?”
“My dear little Thomas, you killed me.” The Lord of Dawn was still smiling. Thomas was ready to feel shocked, but somehow he knew it was the truth. “With that reckless ray of fire you brought the Temple down on me. And on yourself. I am dead. Definitely dead. I tried everything I can but I couldn’t even touch my powers. We are both dead, Thomas.”
Thomas’ eyes frantically darted around to find something, anything that could give him hope. “I’m not dead. I can’t be dead. There is so much that I still want to do, to see. There are people that I love back home. What do I do now? The sword! It’s still here. It didn’t disappear like everything else that I had.”
“Well, of course.” The Lord of Dawn sighed. His eyes were filled with sorrow. “Did you already forget the prophecy? Your prophecy? The Sword That Glows In The Dark has been given to you by the Gods themselves. I suppose they are ready to take back what’s theirs.”
And with that, the sword in Thomas’ hands erupted in light and raised from the ground, headed for they milky fog above. Thomas tried to cling onto it. To the only thing that remained from his life, the life of Thomas from Barley Field.
“No! It cannot end like this. I want to go back!” He cried.
He closed his eyes as tears ran down his face while the Lord of Dawn spoke up in a calm voice behind him. “You won, Thomas. You fulfilled the prophecy and defeated mankind’s greatest enemy: me. I’ve had a good run, I’m satisfied with what I’ve achieved and if it wouldn’t have been for you I might have taken over the world. So… I don’t really get why you are upset. As I said: you won. Now you can be at peace for eternity.”
But Thomas couldn’t hear him, almost choking on his tears. Almost. He was now immortal.
|
"The hell is going on?" Bruce asked, staring at the bandages round his arm, and the cast on his leg. He looked around the room, it was a spotless white. A man was fiddling with the medical instruments on the metal tray table beside the comfortable bed. He was humming a song, perhaps 'Don't Stop Me Now' by Queen, though Bruce, still fazed, couldn't quite tell. The faint smell of lavender incense reached his nose as he took a deep breath, analysing the situation.
"Oh, you're awake!" The man donning a physician's paraphernalia turned around. His face was painted white, black round his eyes and red lipstick all over his mouth. Bruce squirmed and struggled, but his body did not have the strength to hoist himself up.
"Don't exert yourself, fool! You'll end up reopening those wounds on your back." The Joker said. Bruce's hands went instinctively to his back, and as he ran his fingers across, he felt stitch after stitch, carefully weaved to close up the gashing cuts the explosion had made.
"What is this?" Bruce shouted. Though his body lacked strength, his voice was assertive. "What are you going to do now? Torture me? Cut my balls off? Destroy my face?"
The Joker sighed, his shoulders drooped and his head hung low. He then snickered. "That's what it is isn't it." he said, smiling. Bruce stared at him, eyes wide open. The voice he had heard, it couldn't have been the Joker's, it was almost... pleasant. "I'm a monster." he said. Bruce's lip curled. He remembered everything now. They were on the boat, the Joker had set a bomb, Bruce had grabbed it and jumped into the river. The Joker must have realised from his eyes that he was reliving those moments. "You saved everyone, Bruce. No one on the boat died. A few injuries, mostly minor." he said. Bruce rubbed his face. "So now what?" he said.
He was ignored, as the Joker walked to the window and stared at the rising Sun outside. "Why?" he said, his voice quivering. Bruce's eyes narrowed. Why? What was he asking 'why' for? His back still turned, the Joker asked, "Why would you save a boat of convicts, people you don't even know?"
Bruce looked at him. Why had he done it? He remembered his parents, their death in the alley. Was that why? What if on that boat, there was a person who had done the same to another child? No, that wasn't it at all.
"Why are you asking?" he said, to buy time.
The Joker turned around. His eyes were watery and hands were shaking. "I just thought, if I knew why you did it, maybe I'd also understand." He said.
Bruce stared at him, his mind desperately searching for answers. He could save him, the man driven to madness, all he needed was the right answer! Thoughts flew past, but none fit in.
He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know." he said. The Joker nodded. "I don't want to be a monster Bruce, no longer. I hoped you could inspire, but oh well. Guess it really isn't fair for me to ask. Thanks for trying." He went and shook his hand. Then, he pulled out the gun kept in the second tray of the table. "No, no!" Bruce shouted.
It was too late. He watched in horror, as blood and brain splattered on the white walls, tainting them.
Yet another person he had failed to save.
| 2021-08-10T00:40:20
| 2021-08-09T23:13:30
| 31
| 16
|
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people.
|
It was a bright sunny day in Miami, and for once, not too humid. Kimmy walked into the corner Subway, smiling to herself, thinking about how nice it was to be able to reach restaurants by foot. She was in a great mood. Kimmy approached the counter and gave her order to Sal, the regular clerk.
“I’ll have the ham and Swiss... on Italian”
Kimmy felt a warmth, mixed with tingles of chilly ice spread through her body. She had somehow just saved 5 billion people. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.
Sal looked at Kimmy and said, “Ah, switching it up today huh? You usually get the flatbread.”
“Yeah, I know Sal, but I’m in such a great mood, the sun is shining, things are going really well. I just felt inspired to change it up. You know how I’m usually so rigid with routine.”
“Hmm...” murmured Sal. “Inspired, by the sun shining huh? Switching it up?”
“Yeah Sal! It’s a great day.”
Sal finished making Kimmy’s sandwich and bid her a good day.
———————————
15 years later
Kimmy woke up to a beautiful sunny day in Miami, and for once, it wasn’t all that humid. She walked a few blocks to her favorite coffee shop and scrolled through the news while she waited in line.
Kimmy scanned the headlines and dropped her jaw as she read, “Engineer and physicist Sally Benjamin releases open source code for 3D printing solar panels. Credits inspiration to a customer at Subway job who changed her order because of the sun”
Kimmy still remembered the 5 billion. That was by far the largest number she had ever sensed. Kimmy continued reading and discovered Sal had been working her way through undergrad at the subway, and had been reading about solar panel design. Apparently Kimmy switching up her order due to the sun had sparked an idea in Sally. This grew into a reality and now affordable solar panels we’re going to be available everywhere and could be assembled on site. This opened up the possibility of generating more reliable energy all over the world.
Kimmy looked out the window, smiled, and was glad her contribution to save 5 billion people had been a bright outlook on life, and a deviation from her regular routine. She approached the counter and ordered her coffee.
“Hey Jean, you know, I think I’ll switch it up today and have a fancy coffee. Can you do some kind of milk steam art?”
Jean laughed, “Oh Kimmy, you crack me up. Sure, I can make you some “milk steam art” Why no plain black today?”
“Just inspired by something that happened a long time ago that now involves 3D printers and the sun.” Kimmy breathed as the warm tingly sensation, and ice cold tingles ran through her body. She had just saved 84 people.
“Inspired to get milk steam art because if something that happened long ago and has to do with the sun and 3D printers huh? You’re something else Kimmy.” Jean said, but there was a strange look in her eye, as though something had just clicked.
|
"I'll take the itallian bmt," you say, wanting to try something new. "Okay sir here you go, anything else", "Nope thats it". "Okay, your total is $6.25" "Hey asshole, you saved 5 billion, want a medal?" a voice in your head says sarcastically. You have been hearing the voice in your head as of late, ever since you got drunk with your friends, and went to a waste disposal plant, where they gave you 50 bucks to taste the goop. The voice wasn't demonic as you may think, but it had a Brooklyn accent, and was very sarcastic. you could communicate with it by thinking. "5 billion, how the hell did i pull that off?" you ask, "Hey asshole, my job is to relay the numbers, I don't know how you did it, I just know that you did it". "Fine be a dick," you respond. You bite into your sandwich, and immediately spit it out, "Oh shit, who the hell can eat this without wanting to die." you throw the sandwich out and walk away. at this time a short angry man walks by (he looks like if you mixed George and Newman from seinfeld, and then hit that person in the face with a baseball bat.) "tommorow, im using those launch codes, and im blowing up the fucking earth," he thinks. "I'm fucking starving, why did i spend all my money on drugs, and the launch codes?" "Holy shit is that an Itallian bmt?" he says audibly. he runs to the trash can, and pulls the bmt out. he starts eating it, and moaning for some reason, you turn around "What the FUCK?" you scream, as he starts eating it. he eats it so quickly that he begins choking. "help," he manages to wheeze out. you now notice, that no one else is on this street, you hear nothing at first, then a voice breaks the silence, "assbag, fuck his shit up, I don't know for sure, but i have a feeling that that is what the five billion was." Without even second guessing your self, you stomp that fuckers head about a dozen times, and look down, all thats left of what formerly was a he, was a fractured skull, and scatered pieces of flesh. You see something sticking out of his pocket, you pull it out it says, "CIA Operative 935, level 10 security clearance" you hear a gunshot behind you, and everything goes black. You hear the voice once again, but this time, for the final time. "asshole, i was gone for a minut-- what the fuck?" somehow you respond i was shot, "wait a minute," he pulls you into the real world again, but you have no body now, you look at your dead body, and realise time is paused, you walk over to the man who shot you, and look in his pocket, he too was a cia operative. Time then resumes, and you stand there and look at the man who shot you, he stands near your now lifeless body, and looks at you, "poor son of a bitch," you hear him mumble, "it didnt have to be like this." He moves to the man you killed, and pulls out a cellphone, it is locked by a fingerprint, so he takes the corpse's hand and unlocks it, he sees footage of an MW2 private lobby, where him and another person used bullets too write messages to each other including the launch codes, he gaspes, and realises he was a double agent, he then looks at your body, picks it up, and tosses it in the trunk of your car, he later buries your corpse, in a ditch, on it he placed a stone. The voice returns one last time, "You may not know why you died, but you died, preventing 5 billion deaths, the man was planning on using the launch codes, to blow up the earth like in call of duty bo1 moon, but you killing him prevented that, farewell, friend" everything returns to darkness, until you finally cease to exist.
​
I understand that this was utter shit
| 2018-11-17T18:37:15
| 2018-11-17T17:29:21
| 180
| 35
|
[WP] A new continent is discovered. No one knows why this large land mass has never been seen before, it doesn't appear on any pictures taken from space and no astronauts have ever reported seeing it. You are part of the team in charge of mapping the area when you find out what they've been hiding.
|
John bolted up from the navigator's desk, his eyes fixed squarely on the captain. "What do you mean LAND!? We're a thousand miles out!"
"Come see for yourself..."
"That's impossible, unless we've been asleep for days we shouldn't be anywhere near land. This must be an island."
"If it's an island then it's huge... we'll have to change course. John, we'll take her North along the coast, see if we can get our bearings. Lester, get on the radio, see if you can find someone. I'm going to the focsle to watch for sand bars."
- two hours later -
The sun is setting over the land. Realizing that this island seems to have no end, and very soon he will no longer be able to see the sand bars lurking under the gloomy sea, the Captain heads back to the wheelhouse. His intention now to take the vessel north-east, away from potential danger.
Just as the captain enters, Lester bursts in from the radio room clutching a piece of paper, looking like he'd seen a ghost.
"CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN!"
"Lester what is it? Calm down!"
"I was on the radio as you instructed, trying to find radio chatter but to no avail. Then about 5 minutes ago we came in range of another vessel that was broadcasting, but in another langauge. I wasn't sure at first, the signal was faint, then I began to recognise it as it cam through clearer... sir I'm not even sure I can make sense of this myself..."
"What is it man? Spit it out!"
"German sir, they were speaking German!"
"Alright but what's odd about that?"
"I made contact with them sir, asked them who they were, then the radio operator left and the captain came on. Said his name was Wilhelm Grimme, captain of the German submarine U-116"
The captain's eyes glazed over. "... a u-boat..." he muttered.
"He gave their coordinates, I wrote it down here."
The captain took the coordinates over to a chart rolled out over a table at the back of the wheelhouse.
"This is no more than two miles north of us...son are you sure that's what you heard?"
"Captain the message was clear, and judging by the radio signal they're definitely submerged. They were not expecting to find a land mass here either, from what I could gather they are just as lost as we are."
"They're a little more than just lost... alright, I don't know what the hell is going on here but... maintain current heading, sand bars be damned. Lester, get back on the radio and tell them that we're coming and that we're friendly, ask them to surface. John, come with me, we're going to get on the spotlights, I want to see this for myself."
- ten minutes later -
"Sir we should be about right over them now ... hang on... does that look like a submarine to you? Or just a whale?"
Faintly illuminated in the distance, between the spray and waves, a long grey form is riding the swell. The captain reaches for his binoculars "Keep your light on it... oh sweet jesus"
John turns to the captain. "What?". The captain lowers his binoculars. "That IS a u-boat... take a look". He passes the binoculars to John. "Oh my god... what in the fuck is going on here?". "I don't know, but I think we're about to find out, you stay up here and keep a light on it, we're going over there".
As the ship approaches, the u-boat comes into view. A man waving frantically standing in an open hatch atop the conning tower, he appears to be wearing the uniform of a nazi officer. "This isn't real" Lester mutters to himself.
To be continued?
|
[...] Johansen and his men landed at a sloping mud-bank on this monstrous Acropolis, and clambered slipperily up over titan oozy blocks which could have been no mortal staircase. The very sun of heaven seemed distorted when viewed through the polarising miasma welling out from this sea-soaked perversion, and twisted menace and suspense lurked leeringly in those crazily elusive angles of carven rock where a second glance shewed concavity after the first shewed convexity.
Something very like fright had come over all the explorers before anything more definite than rock and ooze and weed was seen. Each would have fled had he not feared the scorn of the others, and it was only half-heartedly that they searched—vainly, as it proved—for some portable souvenir to bear away.
It was Rodriguez the Portuguese who climbed up the foot of the monolith and shouted of what he had found. The rest followed him, and looked curiously at the immense carved door with the now familiar squid-dragon bas-relief. It was, Johansen said, like a great barn-door; and they all felt that it was a door because of the ornate lintel, threshold, and jambs around it, though they could not decide whether it lay flat like a trap-door or slantwise like an outside cellar-door. As Wilcox would have said, the geometry of the place was all wrong. One could not be sure that the sea and the ground were horizontal, hence the relative position of everything else seemed phantasmally variable.
Briden pushed at the stone in several places without result. Then Donovan felt over it delicately around the edge, pressing each point separately as he went. He climbed interminably along the grotesque stone moulding—that is, one would call it climbing if the thing was not after all horizontal—and the men wondered how any door in the universe could be so vast. Then, very softly and slowly, the acre-great panel began to give inward at the top; and they saw that it was balanced. Donovan slid or somehow propelled himself down or along the jamb and rejoined his fellows, and everyone watched the queer recession of the monstrously carven portal. In this phantasy of prismatic distortion it moved anomalously in a diagonal way, so that all the rules of matter and perspective seemed upset.
The aperture was black with a darkness almost material. That tenebrousness was indeed a positive quality; for it obscured such parts of the inner walls as ought to have been revealed, and actually burst forth like smoke from its aeon-long imprisonment, visibly darkening the sun as it slunk away into the shrunken and gibbous sky on flapping membraneous wings. The odour arising from the newly opened depths was intolerable, and at length the quick-eared Hawkins thought he heard a nasty, slopping sound down there. Everyone listened, and everyone was listening still when It lumbered slobberingly into sight and gropingly squeezed Its gelatinous green immensity through the black doorway into the tainted outside air of that poison city of madness.
Poor Johansen’s handwriting almost gave out when he wrote of this. Of the six men who never reached the ship, he thinks two perished of pure fright in that accursed instant. The Thing cannot be described—there is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order. A mountain walked or stumbled. God! What wonder that across the earth a great architect went mad, and poor Wilcox raved with fever in that telepathic instant? The Thing of the idols, the green, sticky spawn of the stars, had awaked to claim his own. The stars were right again, and what an age-old cult had failed to do by design, a band of innocent sailors had done by accident. After vigintillions of years great Cthulhu was loose again, and ravening for delight.
Three men were swept up by the flabby claws before anybody turned. God rest them, if there be any rest in the universe. They were Donovan, Guerrera, and Ångstrom. Parker slipped as the other three were plunging frenziedly over endless vistas of green-crusted rock to the boat, and Johansen swears he was swallowed up by an angle of masonry which shouldn’t have been there; an angle which was acute, but behaved as if it were obtuse. So only Briden and Johansen reached the boat, and pulled desperately for the Alert as the mountainous monstrosity flopped down the slimy stones and hesitated floundering at the edge of the water.
Steam had not been suffered to go down entirely, despite the departure of all hands for the shore; and it was the work of only a few moments of feverish rushing up and down between wheel and engines to get the Alert under way. Slowly, amidst the distorted horrors of that indescribable scene, she began to churn the lethal waters; whilst on the masonry of that charnel shore that was not of earth the titan Thing from the stars slavered and gibbered like Polypheme cursing the fleeing ship of Odysseus. Then, bolder than the storied Cyclops, great Cthulhu slid greasily into the water and began to pursue with vast wave-raising strokes of cosmic potency. Briden looked back and went mad, laughing shrilly as he kept on laughing at intervals till death found him one night in the cabin whilst Johansen was wandering deliriously.
But Johansen had not given out yet. Knowing that the Thing could surely overtake the Alert until steam was fully up, he resolved on a desperate chance; and, setting the engine for full speed, ran lightning-like on deck and reversed the wheel. There was a mighty eddying and foaming in the noisome brine, and as the steam mounted higher and higher the brave Norwegian drove his vessel head on against the pursuing jelly which rose above the unclean froth like the stern of a daemon galleon. The awful squid-head with writhing feelers came nearly up to the bowsprit of the sturdy yacht, but Johansen drove on relentlessly. There was a bursting as of an exploding bladder, a slushy nastiness as of a cloven sunfish, a stench as of a thousand opened graves, and a sound that the chronicler would not put on paper. For an instant the ship was befouled by an acrid and blinding green cloud, and then there was only a venomous seething astern; where—God in heaven!—the scattered plasticity of that nameless sky-spawn was nebulously recombining in its hateful original form, whilst its distance widened every second as the Alert gained impetus from its mounting steam.
That was all. After that Johansen only brooded over the idol in the cabin and attended to a few matters of food for himself and the laughing maniac by his side. He did not try to navigate after the first bold flight, for the reaction had taken something out of his soul. Then came the storm of April 2nd, and a gathering of the clouds about his consciousness. There is a sense of spectral whirling through liquid gulfs of infinity, of dizzying rides through reeling universes on a comet’s tail, and of hysterical plunges from the pit to the moon and from the moon back again to the pit, all livened by a cachinnating chorus of the distorted, hilarious elder gods and the green, bat-winged mocking imps of Tartarus.
Out of that dream came rescue—the Vigilant, the vice-admiralty court, the streets of Dunedin, and the long voyage back home to the old house by the Egeberg. He could not tell—they would think him mad. He would write of what he knew before death came, but his wife must not guess. Death would be a boon if only it could blot out the memories.
That was the document I read, and now I have placed it in the tin box beside the bas-relief and the papers of Professor Angell. With it shall go this record of mine—this test of my own sanity, wherein is pieced together that which I hope may never be pieced together again. I have looked upon all that the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me. But I do not think my life will be long. As my uncle went, as poor Johansen went, so I shall go. I know too much, and the cult still lives.
Cthulhu still lives, too, I suppose, again in that chasm of stone which has shielded him since the sun was young. His accursed city is sunken once more, for the Vigilant sailed over the spot after the April storm; but his ministers on earth still bellow and prance and slay around idol-capped monoliths in lonely places. He must have been trapped by the sinking whilst within his black abyss, or else the world would by now be screaming with fright and frenzy. Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men. A time will come—but I must not and cannot think! Let me pray that, if I do not survive this manuscript, my executors may put caution before audacity and see that it meets no other eye.
From *Madness from The sea*, *Call of Cthulhu*. Upvotes to *H. P. Lovecraft*
| 2017-02-10T12:49:56
| 2017-02-10T11:50:22
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
Nobody is ever dethroning “My Immortal”
> Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.
|
“It’s Friday..Friday..FRIDAY OOO!” Rebecca started with enthusiasm and ended in a happy shout.
Angela chimed in with stunning speed, as if she already knew the conversation was going to take place “We gotta get down on the weekend!”
“Wait..is it actually Friday already..??” Chris asked while his dumbfounded face began to change to excitement.
“Ya dummy! Anyway, it’s time to head to school, let’s all get to the convertible!” Gabby answered, and they all happily strolled out the door, nearly starting to skip.
Rebecca hopped into the drivers seat while the rest took places after a brief fight over shotgun.
“Everyone ready!?” Asked Rebecca to all her friends. Nearly all in sync, the friends answered with “YA!” and off she went.
The convertible had come to a cruise, their hair all flapping in the wind, Rebecca loudly and cheerfully exclaimed “Friday! Then Saturday, Sunday..YA!” And it almost sounded like she was singing it. “Wow I didn’t know the order! Thanks Rebecca!” Chris shouted back. “Ya! It’s going to be partying and partying YA!” Cheered Rebecca, and not long after a “YA!” came from Angela and Gabby too.
Chris was still comprehending that it really was Friday already after all when the car started pulling into the school, maybe he would enjoy school today! Another line came from Rebecca, nearly singing again “Let’s get it done! For the week-eh-end!!” She pulled the car into the usual parking spot, and they all got out together, walking towards the school entrance.
One final shout from Rebecca “The weekend!” And as if rehearsed, Angela and Gabby added in unison “YA!”
| 2022-08-19T20:01:22
| 2022-08-19T18:51:48
| 55
| 28
|
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one.
|
An ancient fortuneteller, with a crooked and hunched body, possibly born more than two centuries ago came to them in the night. And using many ancient runes, and old sigils, she foretold the inevitable future, of the children born from the woman. One would be evil the other would be good. And when the two children were born, it seemed to them obvious which child was which. One was a scrawny and small boy, with leathery bat-like wings, dark red pupils, a head of ebony hair, and small goat horns protruding from his forehead. The other was beautiful, born with long platinum hair, gentle golden pupils, a small odd golden halo floating above her head. And snow-white feathery wings on her back.
At first they wanted to slay the boy, but even then, they could not bring themselves to end the life of a newborn babe. Instead, they sold the boy to a travelling merchant, and kept the girl. In this, they considered themselves wise, and lucky. Lucky that they had been warned, and that the signs had been so obvious. They praised their little girl to the village, where she became the luck of the people there, the mascot of the village. Beloved by all.
The boy was taken away, fed on goat's milk and the merchant did not return to that village. The girl was raised with all the love and attention that such as she could get. Treated with reverence and love, she lacked for nothing. And yet, while the adults of the village saw nothing, the other children, they started to notice something was off. Accidents happened. Older villagers died. Many children found that strangely, when the girl with the angel wings pushed them, or punched them, the adults never believed them. She tormented them, killing their pets, stealing their treats, and whenever they tried to retaliate, they were ruthlessly punished by their parents.
The boy grew up in far away lands, where beings like him, supernaturally changed, were more normal. The merchant who had brought him, sold him again when he was but two, to a kindly old herbalist, who needed a young pair of eyes to help her make her potions. She taught him about kindness, about reason, about the importance of using the knowledge of herbs, alchemy, and some mild magic, to cure the ill, and help the needy.
As the girl grew up, she became haughty. The priests of the faith proclaimed her an angel, and gifted her with many fine things. Scented perfumes, fine necklaces, beautiful rings. Silk dresses, and fine tunics. Knights came to ask for her hand in marriage when she became of age. But she spurned them all. And she was still cruel. The other children in the village, having grown up with her, distrusted her. Feared her even. More than one of them had seen her true face, and among themselves whispered that the wrong child had been sent away.
The boy with the horns, eventually had to take over the shop, as the old herbalist became too weak. He tended the shop, made the potions, with the careful instruction of his weakened adoptive mother, and became known as a kind and friendly young man. He was known to be helpful, and affable. And he became great in the art of healing. While having demonic features made some people wary, his warm red eyes, his open smile, generous nature, and his free laughter, eventually penetrated the paranoia of all but the most odd of people.
The girl, with her angelic traits, was eventually courted by the crown prince of the kingdom she lived in, and that proposal of marriage, she accepted. Her marriage was garish, and ostentatious. While the power as crown princess was great, she wanted to become more. She aimed for the highest of powers, and using her charm, she managed to get close enough to the king, that she could kill him. When her husband inherited the throne, she used a carefully maintained spell to render him feeble and unable to rule. Then she took the title of regent, ruling in her poor husband's stead. And she did not rule with angelic grace, or kindness. She raised taxes, reintroduced serfdom to many who had been freed, and bore monstrous children. None were trueborn, but whoever dared to point that out, lost their head, and the executioner's work was never done. They had to hire several underlings for him to aid with executing those that conspired against the ruling queen, those that no longer amused her, and those that she just wanted to see die for the sheer thrill of controlling life and death.
The boy took over his adoptive mother's store after her death, burying her, and visiting her grave once a week. One of the people like him, those with odd traits that lived in the city he did, a girl with a mouse's tail and a tapered nose, with cute whiskers wriggling in the air, asked him on a date. They ate together at the inn, and walked in the moonlight together. He wasn't a muscular man, but as he grew his once scrawny body had filled out to a lean and agile thing, and he was quite the tall fellow, a veritable beanpole. They dated for a while, and eventually, the boy asked the mousy girl to marry him. It was a humble and small affair. Shortly after they moved in together, in the old house of the herbalist, the mousy girl grew in size. A girl first, then a son, and then another daughter. Soon the sound of happy, laughing children could be heard in the house. It was a home, the two of them working together, keeping the herbal garden, making medicine together, raising beautiful children, with mousetails and batwings.
The angelic girl had changed. No longer did her golden eyes seem pure, but seemed tainted as they moved from side to side in evil paranoid thought. Her platinum hair was falling out, and her wings barely had any feathers on them. Her halo, floating above her head, no longer gleamed with pure light, but only barely shone, like the last few embers in the fireplace. That was how the army of peasants, rising up, found her. As she had ripped out the throat of her husband, the poor king, only a few moments before. Wielding a long thin blade, she charged the emaciated peasants with a horrible laugh. And though she killed many with blade and spell, she was eventually skewered on an old pitchfork. The kingdom, broken, ruined, and infested with the monstrous children she had birthed, could finally rebuild. But it would be a long time before that land was as good as it had once been.
The boy heard only little about this, being hundreds of miles away. He never did learn that this evil queen, so pure in visage, but so vile in nature, was his own sister. He lived a good long life, curing the ill, aiding those in need, earning good money on his business, and after many years, he grew old. He saw his children married, teaching them each the trade, the eldest child took over the handling of the shop, while the other two moved to other cities, each carrying with them a book that the demon-seeming boy had written, about the herbs of the land, their uses, and recipes for healthy potions and tinctures of vitality. When he died, he was lying in bed, surrounded by his family. His old wife, mousy and sweet, holding his hands. While his children, all three of them showing signs of ageing, stood at the end of his bed. Around him were many grandchildren. And in his hands, he held his first great-grandson. He spoke of how blessed his life had been, how he wanted his family not to mourn, but to know that he loved them. And that his life had been worth living.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
Pst, little spin-off story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/comments/ggo44x/a_healing_hand_to_the_ruined_kingdom_came/?)
|
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/gfcjvp/mistaken_angels_part_2/) is up!
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/gfxr5h/mistaken_angels_part_3/)
It couldn't have been more obvious. Two children, just as the prophecy predicted. Darius horned with jagged, black wings. Lucy angelic in her perfection, down to the snow-white wings and the glowing, gold halo hanging above her head like the sun above the land.
"Banish him," they decided. Mother cried. Father didn't, but his eyes betrayed his sadness. He'd longed for a boy, anguished over the prophecy night after night.
By a morsel of mercy built on hope and dashed dreams, he couldn't bring himself to kill Darius. He dug the demon-child the deepest dungeon, fortified it with concrete walls and buried it beneath enough material to build a hundred cities.
And then he returned to their perfect daughter, the sparkle in her smile and those mesmerizing eyes that swirled like the galaxy itself.
"She's the savior," Father said, trying to convince himself. So he raised her as such.
If the world needed anything, it was a savior. Luscious forests had long since turned to desert. The oceans had retreated to over-sized ponds, leaving skeletons of ten-thousand species in their wake. Even the fate of humanity faltered, teetering on the edge of a bottomless well. The remnants warred amongst themselves, dying one by one.
She should have saved them. She could have saved them. She didn't.
Loud praise turned to hushed conversations. Happiness in her parents' eyes turned to stolen glances as she grew into her true self. Not into the person they'd tried to mold, who they'd tried so desperately to fit to the prophecy.
"Is it us?" Father asked. Had she been born a savior just to gravitate towards the brother they'd discarded? "She's become evi--"
"Don't say it," Mother hissed. "Don't you dare say it. She's just troubled, that's all. It's a lot of pressure to put on a kid."
Troubled? Troubled barely began to describe her.
She'd cause havoc if they let her out of sight, grin devilishly when they caught her. The calls from the teacher had become routine, the meetings with the principal, too. Worried parents lobbied to have Lucy expelled. They signed petitions. They pulled their kids from the Academy.
All the while, Lucy listened impassively to their complaints. She shrugged them off and stuck with the story that *she* was the savior. That they should bow to her.
"What if we guessed wrong?" Father said, daring to say out loud his creeping suspicion. "What if Lucy wasn't the one we were supposed to keep? Looks can be deceiving."
*We judged a book by its cover and are paying the price.*
"We'll never know," Mother answered. "We made our decision."
"We could know." He pulled the diagrams of the dungeon he'd built, traced a line on the map of the path she'd have to take.
"How? He's gone."
"Is he?"
The prophecy had said he would save the world that so desperately needed saving. It said nothing of evil, whether it'd perish in the darkness of a dungeon or fester like mold until it choked out what little life was left. If he was good, he'd live to fulfill the prophecy. And if he wasn't? She'd find the rotted corpse of her brother, realize what she could have been and return a new person.
*And if he was good and we turned him evil? If nurture usurped nature?*
He didn't share his thoughts, dark as they were. That bottom of the well that they were so close to reaching.
In the sparsely furnished living room, they sat Lucy down. She eyed them suspiciously, one eyebrow raised as they presented her the mission.
"A long lost brother?"
"Darius," Father said. "With wings and eyes black as night."
"An evil brother," Lucy said. She smiled, her eyes glowing at the thought of adventure. At the thought of vanquishing the other half of the prophecy.
Father nodded. "We buried him so that he wouldn't destroy humanity. But he might be doing it anyways. You need to save us. Show the world that you're the savior we need."
*That we were right to bury him and not you.*
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/gfcjvp/mistaken_angels_part_2/) is up!
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/MatiWrites/comments/gfxr5h/mistaken_angels_part_3/)
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-05-07T08:01:39
| 2020-05-07T07:29:33
| 2,663
| 1,694
|
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
I'm not sure how I can only use ten words.
Seriously, what can I start to write with that?
"Once upon a time in a faraway land..."
Nah, that just sounds way too cliché.
"Here I sit, all broken-hearted..."
Nah, that ain't right either.
Almost out of words?!
We started already?!
No redos?!
Fuck.
|
Honestly, you were never a decent person to begin with.
Even in your final moments, I doubt you'll understand.
Though, I suppose it doesn't really matter now.
In a few seconds, you'll be dead.
People will always forget the man.
But his crimes still remain.
That, they never forget.
But *you,* though?
I'll remember.
Always.
| 2015-01-06T07:38:55
| 2015-01-05T21:57:47
| 34
| 18
|
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
I loved my father, he had a heart of gold.
I remember when he took us Disneyland, fighting tooth and nail for the cheapest tickets.
I remember when he helped train me for football, taking days off of work just to be with me.
I remember when he joined the Army, and I trained him.
I remember when he could remember.
I remember when his heart wasn't purple but gold.
|
I slide another box to the left. And another, down the conveyor belt. The mundane nature of the job is mind numbing. My brain wanders as I work. Suddenly, a pierce of light rips the seam of my consciousness open. Red flashes through my vision. An inhumane scream that is mine shreds the air as I look down. My right arms slides along the belt with the boxes. I am suddenly less than I was.
| 2014-10-19T18:24:17
| 2014-10-19T18:03:46
| 123
| 25
|
[wp] Myths tell us where things come from (ex. echoes are from Echo, a person cursed to repeat what others said). Write a mythological origin story for a common modern object.
|
Deep within the bowels of the earth, there lies a secretive and fiendish entity. This is a being of decay and destruction: taking the bodies of plants and animals alike and crushing them in its hot, heavy hands until there is nothing left but a poisonous black liquid. This entity loathes all things on the surface: sunlight, the wind, the atmosphere we breathe and seeks to turn the world above into a place as dark and devilish as the world below.
"How does it do this?" You might ask, "how can an entity lying beneath the earth exert such influence on the world above?" The answer is that it's methods are as cunning and malicious as itself - It preys on the fears and desires of men. Creeping it's black product up through the ground, it promises those unsuspecting discoverers of this poison infinite wealth and power - a chance to turn the fortunes of even the most destitute and despairing. Yet this cursed liquid comes at a heavy price, those that consume it become addicted by its power. Always needing more, this curse creates an unquenchable thirst. So overwhelming is this thirst that those that discover it will literally destroy the world around them just to find more, and more, and more..
And while this entity sits back and allows the slaves of its poison to destroy their world, it knows that it edges closer and closer towards ultimate goal.. Millions of years of waiting for the demon - known only to us as "Oil" - is almost over.
EDIT: "unquenchable thirst" - autocorrect isn't perfect
|
In the before time, The Jobs did sit beneath a tree pondering the stars. Beneath the tree he did sit for many days, and then weeks- when Summer came and Apple did fall from the tree and sat of the ground besides The Jobs.
In that moment, The Jobs did stop looking towards the stars and began to ponder the Apple, it was then The Jobs did realize the nature of the "i".
That which was music was podded, that which was corded was phoned- to all these things The Jobs did bestow his children to carry in their pockets.
His work complete, The Jobs did again look to the sky and faded into the stars.
| 2016-01-16T09:05:19
| 2016-01-16T06:29:13
| 103
| 20
|
[WP] You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower.
|
At first I thought it was weird they emphasized testing our sense of smell so much during the draft. It seemed that as soon as I mentioned being an anosmic to the attending physician a silent alarm went off in a distant room and my assigned role was already decided.
I was assigned to a squad in the gardeners program, a program I've never heard of before. When you have your basic training you're taught not to question what you're told and just do what your commander says you should do. I was told our unit was in charge of highly classified testing of fast acting growth chemical designed to grow plants at speeds that will assure a sustainable future for the fast growing population of our country. We were to test this chemical in various test sites around the globe, to see how it handled the various climates and soil. We were the muscle behind this program, we were the ones with the canisters going between the rows of dirt and spraying the stuff for 24 hours a day. Our standard uniform was a thick white mask with a glass so dim you could barely see your own hands if you pressed them against the lens and a big black heat resistant suit. Due to the chemical being highly active we were told that under no circumstances we were to remove any part of our uniform and to never spray the stuff on another human being since it can mess with our body temperature.
There was an old squad folklore about a guy who got the stuff on himself and suffered 3rd degrees burns all over his body, that's when they started with the heat resistant suit.
We worked in shifts, three hours at a time, two shifts a day, always one person in the room to apply the chemical. Always in a distant building from the main base, always in big rooms with at least 4 rows of dirt. Thinking back, I've never seen the thing actually work. I mean, yeah, we were spraying it day and night everyday for a month at a time and still nothing sprouted. I thought it was just the chemical not working as intended. Some weird sciency stuff going wrong. But then, I tripped. It wasn't even that big of a fall but it was enough to push some dirt off the top layer of one of the rows.
I saw a foot.
I thought to myself that I must be imagining, or that some dirt got on my mask from the fall. I slowly removed the mask with a feeling of dread about what I'm about to uncover. The foot was still there. I dug a bit more and saw a little boy, maybe age 12 or 13, laying there, lifeless, in the pile of dirt, face down. I turned him over, revealing a bullet wound between the eyes and some burns around his neck. I was horrified, I started gasping for air, my head was scrambled, I couldn't think let alone stand. I hastily started digging, uncovering more bodies as I dug. Women, young men, children and elderly, all faced down, all dead, all with the same neck burns. There were 30 of them in that one row. I slowly stood up and realized there were 4 more rows in this room. The biggest room I had seen had 8 rows. All dead.
A big thud was heard from outside and it knocked me back to my senses. I realized what I've seen and I had to hide the fact that I found out. I started covering the bodies as fast as I could, trying to distance myself from every face I have to turn back around. I put on my mask and I started burning the bodies. Every step I took I was thinking "who are they? are they from the towns near the base or are they just random people the army wanted dead? If so why send them to remote locations like these? why use humans to burn them? is this I was assigned to the squad? because I won't be able to smell the burnt corpses?".
I finished burning the last row and I got out of the room. On my way back to my room I went past a mirror, still in my suit. I guess the higher-ups didn't call us voldemorts only cause of our suits.
---
Would love to hear criticism, my first time trying something like this
|
As quick as my glasses fell off I threw them back on in hopes no one had seen. I remember just 3 months ago Jared had told me his fell off during his shift. He was never the same after that day. He never did say why. He just looked sick to his stomach everyday until they took him away. They told us he'd been exposed to harmful chemicals, and that he was being sent to receive medical attention. He'd been gone a week tops they said. Jared never did come back to Base...That was the last I ever saw of my best friend.
So much running through my mind now. Why do they have us doing this? We are trained to follow orders no matter what. So why keep our true mission a secret? Did they see me without my glasses? Who are those corpses that we are burning and how did they die? What really happened to Jared? What's to happen to me now?
| 2017-06-20T02:47:08
| 2017-06-19T20:39:26
| 303
| 157
|
[WP] Make an emotionally manipulative character. Make that character the narrator. Manipulate the other characters. While you manipulate me, the reader.
|
**Authours Note: Strong language and content**
This is Anthony. Anthony isn't much good at anything. Are you Anthony.
“Not again, not here” Anthony would bemoan, okay I’ll give you that, you are good at that. I guess if you do anything that often you would be good at it. Not that it was a trait worth bragging of is it, Anthony? Anthony is shopping. Anthony is in the changing room. I know that woman just told you how that jean shirt combo suited you, they don’t, I pretty sure I heard her laugh while you were back in the changing room. Yes, good boy, change quickly, throw those clothes disheveled onto the changing room floor – really, you don’t have time to lace up those shoes or even put them on. I’m pretty sure the whole store is out there laughing at you, Anthony. That’s a good boy, leave the store. Did you hear that Anthony, she just sarcastically asked you if you liked the clothes. Ha! Right on you my boy, tell her to go fucking die.
Better clutch those shoes tighter. Look at them, they are all looking at you Anthony, they are all judging you. In fact, I think they are going to hurt you. Feel that pressure on your back, Anthony? That’s the only instinct you should trust. You should probably run. What if they have guns, Anthony? Good boy, sprint faster. Feel that feeling in your gut Anthony that rock solid proof they are out to get you, trust it. That’s right, you are safe in your car, lock all the door duck down in your seat. Better stay away from the windows, out of sight. Anthony, they might have guns trained on you. stay down while you open that glove box. Your girlfriend’s handgun just fell out, and onto the passenger’s side floor, Anthony what if it went off and shot you by mistake, you are an idiot Anthony. No. Stop. Don’t grab that pill box. You’re an idiot, you know it is a poisonous mind-control drugs.
Anthony^what^do^you^think^you’re^doing^…
…
…
…
Camping Anthony, really? How quaint. You know you aren't any good at the outdoors. Beside: spiders, bears, snakes? You are going to die and never be found, Anthony. You; your girlfriend; and your best friend. You’ll all die her. Best just stay in the car. It’s so dark and the road is dirt, you’re going to lose control of the car and kill everyone.
Put^down^that^plastic^box^Anthony^stop^…
…
…
…
…
…
His fucking her, Anthony. His been fucking her this whole time. See how they are laughing while you are packing up the tents. They are laughing at you. At how you can’t tell. You’re an idiot, Anthony. While you were asleep they made love next to you, in your tent. I know I saw them. She whispered how much bigger he was. How worthless you were. They both hate you, Anthony. You may as well just kill yourself. Yes, tell her you’re fine, Anthony. She doesn't actually care so why bother telling her the truth? Don’t listen to her. Don’t take your medication. If you do you’ll be under their control again, Anthony. They will be right back to fucking and you won’t know. You’ll be the weak-willed compliant idiot you are: Worthless. That right Anthony, shake her hand hold away. Don’t listen to him, you aren't acting crazy. So what if he claims to be your best friend. They are scared you know, Anthony. It’s not crazy it’s awareness.
...
You weak-willed scum. They aren't being reasonable. Don’t go to that glove box. I warned you the medication is to control you, Anthony.
...
You can’t even pack enough medication for camping. You’re no good at anything. That’s why she’s fucking him, Anthony. And here you are in the wild. They could kill you and leave you for the scavengers. In fact, I’m sure that what they want to do, Anthony. Are you going to sit there in your car and let them kill you,? That’s the sanest thing you’ve done, Anthony. Yes. The feeling of cool polished metal against your clammy hands. Don’t listen to their plea, him first. She running, Anthony, if she gets away she be back to kill you. Poor shot, you only winged her. She is still crawling. Don’t let her tears move you, Anthony, don’t let her pleas. She fucked him Anthony; she was going to kill you. Yes. Two more. Turn that whore mouth into a bloody pulp.
Worthless. Just worthless. You wasted your getaway. But what more could I expect of you. Here you are crying like a baby over her ruinous corpse. What’s done is done, Anthony. It doesn't matter if she was or was not fucking him now does it? She is dead. So is he. You ended them both all because of jealousy. Yes Anthony. Taste that combination of steel and expended gun-powder on the nozzle on the gun. Stop shaking you piece of trash. Yes. Squeeze.
**edit:** press x for less Anthony minor grammar.
|
"Interesting isn't it!" I asked the girl holding her shoulder as she tried to back away. "Let g..go" she stammered trying to push my arm away. "Don't worry" I whispered soothingly. "I will, just let me explain.” "You killed my friend" She screamed frantically clawing at my face trying desperately to get by.
"Stop that you silly girl" I shouted, catching her flailing arms and pulling her closer. "Can't you see I just saved you? Your (friend) was planning to kill you!" "Liar" she screamed. "Check the back of his truck" I replied calmly. "You'll find all of his supplies, you weren't the first. Her wet eyes looked fierce but beneath the surface I could see uncertainty the foolish girl was buying it. "Ya" I said softly forcing my voice to crack slightly. "This sick bastard killed my sister two years ago and I vowed to never rest until I stopped him."
"Lies, lies LIES!" she screamed. She was trying to convince herself now not me. Pulling out my police badge (well someone's police badge) I handed it to her. "Look for yourself I said pointing to the bloodstained truck, releasing her slowly.
She stared at the badge in disbelief, falling to the ground in pool of defeated misery. "Everything is going to be OK" I repeated to her softly stroking her thin back and patting her shoulder gently.
"I just can't believe it." She whispered between sobs. “I thought I knew him." It’s usually the person you least suspect" I Whispered back patting her on the head as I stood up. It’s like she has never even seen a cop movie I chuckled to myself. I spit out a few clique lines show her a badge and throw in a cock and bull story and have her lapping it up like a bitch in heat.
It’s almost a pity I had to kill her. She was actually quite beautiful in a subjective sort of way. Long legs, green eyes, nice firm body. Yes she would have made a nice mate.
You may be wondering why I bothered consoling her if I plan to kill her anyway. Well that's pretty rational thinking my friend you are smarter than most. Then again you a trying to reason with a man that is about to kill a helpless women, so perhaps not.
You see it’s quite simple really the male poses a threat so must be dealt with right away. But females are a weak and helpless breed which allows me to toy with them, play with my food as it were. Not literally though. I don't eat people (ha-ha) that would be crazy. And a smart quick thinking individual such as yourself can understand that I am far from that.
You see I don't choose random victims for the hell of stabbing and ice pick onto some innocent joes head.. No these victims are special, criminals as it were. Ya you see that man I just killed. Raped and killed his 5 year old daughter and him and his wife were just out to bury the body. Wait hold on your not buying this are you junior? As already stated earlier they are just friends, please try and keep up. And if you had caught on kudos you are one of the few in this world who hasn't destroyed their attention span from mindless games and internet trowels.
Alright I'll stop fucking with you. You are a clever bastard and I should treat you with some level of respect for your considerable intelligence. Unless you are totally lost and trying to grasp in to the reality of our situation. Than you can go fuck your self-stupidity is not worth my time. Anyway for that 1% out there let me explain myself. You see these people I kill. They aren't really people. They have done things to dehumanize themselves things far more despicable and disgusting then what I could do. The girl sobbing at my feet for instance. This poor excuse for a life form killed her own baby (with the help of her recently deceased friend) so her boyfriend wouldn't leave her. Well if taking an inconvenient life away is fine in her eyes you can see how the reverse is no different. Why should we have double standards she thinks abortion is ok? Well perhaps she stands in the way of my goals, hopes and dreams and it is only fair I am aloud to do the same. So now that you see my point of view you see I am a saint, savior even. Bringing justice and righteousness to the world. So if your brain level is not akin to a monkeys I'm sure you understand what I have been saying...
And while you try and wrap your head around whether or not you have just been insulted I'm going to finish what I've started. Ah yes she seems to have gained some composure back now, hell she's actually standing up. Now where did I put that ice pick...
| 2014-12-08T21:56:52
| 2014-12-08T21:39:38
| 151
| 10
|
[WP] The US implements quantum elections: parallel realities are created so that each candidate can take office, and at the end of the term a vote is taken on which reality to keep.
|
"And I will make a promise.. to the American people..."
"I stand up for the American people, and I will..."
"If I were to take office... my very first duty... would be to ensure that..."
This is the dilemma faced by the grain of sand in a crowd. How could an insignificant face hold a significant impact? The promise is made, the crowd in cheers, what now? Our ancestors held a common practice of wishful thinking when facing their kings reign, their descendants made decisions based on judgment, and today, judgment transcends us.
They call it a "Quantum Democracy," where before, our judgment would change our future, now, our future changes our judgment. There's nothing intrinsically "Quantum" about the system, if anything, the system before only presents two possible outcomes, while as far as the observer is concerned, their judgment makes one outcome possible. The Quantum Democracy is actually a birds eye view of chaos theory in action, one action leads to another, and all the possible outcomes occur simultaneously before you eyes, the result being the most favorable.
Today, Dec 25th, 2028, marks the first day our hypothetical results unfold before our eyes. Many households gathered around the TV, awaiting their future. Most channels were cut by the state, the only channel that aired was the state owned, "Post Election Results". The "Arbitrary" was kept in the temporal loop to give his/her account of the future, the entire show would last for 4 hours, and divided into segments.
The first segment was the least exciting of the four, it's called "Promises," and starts off with a list of promises made by the president. The second segment is the pinnacle of the show, my family along with many others ordered takeout for this one particularly, it was called "Action," and conveyed what daily life was like in the country, and how people felt about the president. "Advancement," was the third segment, and only compared the two outcomes, while "Outcome" became the final segment where results were compared. The final message was the last message from the president to the nation as his/her term had ended, ironically, it was this message that decided if they'd get elected in the first place.
The results were however... not surprising. Everyday life in the country was the same, the presidents never kept their promise, however, something even more intriguing came up. Despite both Donkey and Elephant had lied about their promises, both of them made the same exact decisions as the other, as if it wasn't the president at all that determined the outcome, but a completely invisible factor.
Just as an apple falls not because of the tree, but because of gravity, so too is a nations fate affected by something behind the scenes. A different actor was at play, and the president was nothing but a pitiful lip-sync. The Quantum Democracy project ended soon after two elections. The people were left with two fates, not determined by elections, but by their willingness to vote and a complete overhaul.
The system was flawed, and it wasn't the fortune telling broadcast that came to that decision, it was chaos theory in effect. Every action leads to another and was led by another, we had realized that it was destined for us to invent the Quantum Elections, only so that we may find how flawed it was, and with it, how flawed our view of the system was.
What happened after the second election is up for debate, some say we continued with our elections like insane fools holding onto an empty cup with no one around, others say we completely over threw the system in an overhaul once it was decided that freedom of choice had not existed before and never would. However, I've still yet to see it unfold before my eyes, such is the nature of Quantum theory.
|
The field of quantum physics was never a widely pursued field when I was young. Most people, when asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, were likely to say, "a doctor," or, "a police officer." There was nothing wrong with those aspirations in 2014, and there still isn't anything wrong with those aspirations now - there is a basic human urge to want to help others, but in a world of doctors and police officers, people were literally forced to expand their horizons.
"That is one small step for man, and one giant leap for mankind," were the words that inspired a generation of young men and women to be astronauts. It was only logical. An opportunity to discover and explore a previously unexplored frontier... But who would ever expect the words, "Holy moly, I think we just created an alternate universe," over an internationally-watched broadcast to cause not only the roaring cheer of millions around the world, but also to be the reason for a sudden boom in the field that once few would want to wander in to. One sun and one sunset turned into two suns and two sunsets in what some thought would be destiny, and others saw as our own downfall.
The field of parallel realities really was quite untested at first, and humanity came close to ending itself with the new technology on several occasions, however by year 2100, it was literally a science. High schools and colleges around the globe began requiring quantum physics in their general education because it was a surefire field for humanity. A truly new and unexplored frontier for humans to discover. Alternate universes began to come like gold. Any scientist could study gold, and do a multitude of experiments with gold, but only the rich and powerful would have access to gold jewels.
By year 2175, and after great scientific advance, a second version of the United States was created at the controversial expense of taxpayers. Located at Alpha minus 2 Bravo minus 2, the second version of the US existed alone in a fourth dimension below the planes that the first occurs on. In a time of religious backfire and immense protesting, the world stood still as United States President and supreme world superpower Riley M. Francis broadcast a press conference, the first of its kind not only in ultra-definition retina 4d, but to two parallel existances of one country.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the world.. We live in a time of great change. Through a blurry lens of controversy, reality has changed, figuratively and physically. Through extensive experimentation and against the wishes of many, the development of the first human-created alternance has been created. It is with a heavy heart but through hopeful eyes that I made the following decision: The next two presidential candidates from the leading parties will both become president. Voting will occur as usual, and the winner will become president of the United States we are on now, Alpha 1, Bravo 1. The losing candidate will also become president however, at the United States located at Alpha minus 2 Bravo minus 2. After your first term, you will be evaluated by a computer on how the land you led was improved or worsened. The winning candidate will then take a second term, this time governing both versions of the United States... Are there any questions from the press?"
A multitude of hands shot up across the sea of press members. Some were smiling with the rumored news coming true, others glared and could only imagine the downfall of a country they once loved.
"Yes, a question from the man with the optical implants?"
"Mr. President, with the new voting system, what is to occur after the first term should the computer evaluate both presidents as equals - in other words a tie...?"
"Ah, great question, should there be a tie after the first term digital-evalulation, which is highly unlikely, it would result in a tiebreaker game of roshambo, best two out of three, for control of the only country to be six-time world-war winning champions."
"Any more questions?"
| 2014-12-24T21:42:35
| 2014-12-24T20:27:07
| 93
| 66
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
|
Mary looked at the table horrified. Another 1. That’s, what, 6 of them now? She felt desperate, it was all slipping away.
“You sure I can’t add my modifier?” she pleaded.
“We’ve been over this Mary, critical failures are critical failures,” replied Jim looking at her with pity.
“All my planning... all that time...” groaned Mary quietly.
Jim wanted to move this on. There was still some hope for her, but it was slipping away. “OK, Todd, you’re up.”
Todd looked up from his laptop. Was he even paying attention? He was only invited because he was Jim’s little brother and his mom forced them. Mary was sure Todd didn’t even know the rules.
Todd held up the D12... again.
“It’s not that one, it’s the D20... STILL,” said Mary with annoyance.
Todd picked up his D20, and rolled it. Right off the table. Again.
Sighing, Mary picked it up and handed it to him. “Can we just get this over with?”
Finally, he rolled the dice. A 17. Another 17. Why did he have to have that grin!
“Did I win?” asked Todd?
“Not yet,” replied Jim, “but you’re getting close. That’s 14...”
“17” interrupted Todd.
“Right, but you have a minus 3 charisma modifier. So 14. It’s still good enough, though. Trump wins Pennsylvania.”
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T09:09:55
| 210
| 150
|
[WP].You are sitting outside your house, enjoying the dying embers of the campfire when two glowing eyes open to stare at you. " Greetings, " it rasped, " may I share your fire tonight?"
|
I’ve always enjoyed this little cabin with it’s view of the mountains and view of Deep Lake. Far from civilization it gives me a sense of calm unlike anywhere else. Watching the moon rise over the mountains while I sit by the firepit out front has been one of my favorite pastimes for so many years now it’s hard to remember when I started.
As my fire burned down and I was tired enough for the evening, at the edge of the trees I could see a pair of eyes softly glowing in the distance.
“I can see you over there, you can come closer, I'm not going to bite.”
The eyes unblinkingly grew closer.
At the edge of my light they spoke, “Greetings, may I share the fire with you tonight?”
“I don’t see why not,” I reach for the last pair of logs near my chair, “I think I can keep the fire going a little while longer.”
“Thank you.”
The eyes got closer but stayed just out of the light, unmoving.
“Why don’t you come over here and have a seat closer to the fire,” I gestured to the other chairs, “have your pick, they're nice and sturdy, I built them years ago with my grandkids,” I smiled, “We worked a whole summer out here making them and my cabin.”
“Some find my form… unsettling, you may not wish to see me now.”
“Alright then if you prefer,” silence followed for what felt like forever. “So what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“I’m picking up an old friend. But they don’t know it yet.”
“Whisking someone off in the dead of night without them knowing? Little spooky don’t you think?”
“I’ll talk with them first so it’s not too upsetting. It’s the preferred way.”
“How’s that the preferred way?”
Silence followed for so long I was about to speak, “It’s easier,” there was a pain in their voice. I knew I shouldn’t press further.
“So are you meeting them by the lake? You should know the forecast said a snowstorm was moving in.”
“It won’t be much of a concern for us, the weather never is.”
“The prepared type huh? That’s always good.”
We sat in silence as the fire burned down and was barely more than embers. It had gotten very cold by now. I looked to the stars above and saw the clouds had moved in without me noticing. And a snowflake touched my nose. When I looked back down the eyes were in the chair across from me. I couldn’t make out the details of what they looked like, just the eyes stood out. A soft glow from them not too dissimilar to the glowing embers of a fire.
“Finally felt like taking a seat, huh?”
“They looked quite comfortable and I didn’t want to miss the chance. I could rest for a long time in one of these.”
“I always think the same thing, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep out here in this chair thinking about that summer”
“I believe it,” the tone, it was almost like they wanted to say, “I know.”
“I’m pretty tired, so I’m going to go to sleep,” my eyes were feeling heavier with each breath, “you can stay as long as you like just be sure that the fire is out before you leave.”
My limbs were feeling too heavy to move. Maybe I just nap a little before I head inside.
“I always do.”
|
"You *are* the fire," Marci said, looking down into the glowing embers which had rearranged themselves into a pair of two golden eyes. "What do you want?"
The embers, slowly losing their spark, kept its eyes on the witch. "A body, please," it said, "before I disappear."
"As you wish," Marci said with a sigh. She wasn't in the mood to deal with a Lost Spirit, but it's what she was hired to do, so, despite the late hour, and the silence of the night, and the giant harvest moon above, she conjured a temporary body. "There. Tell me you at least know how to haunt it."
The body she created was a loose gathering of particles, something half baked between reality and dreams. It was enough, though, for the spirit to use.
Two eyes appeared on the mishmash of energy. They opened, looking just like they had in the embers.
"That's a first," Marci said, a little intrigued now, "a fire spirit with eyes made of gold. Usually it's just the flames that give that effect."
The spirit looked down at itself, at the stardust and magic which was sloppily held together, and decided it would be enough.
"Hello," it said, "and thank you. I am a lost spirit and I need your-..."
With a wave of her hand the spirit's voice stopped.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Just tell me where you came from and where you want to go."
The spirit pointed to its mouth, its fingers twinkling in the moonlight.
"Oh, sorry," Marci said, waving her hand again. "There."
"My name is Augustus Auria. I was directed here by a witch named Sunny, and I am trying to go to the far East. To the village of Mandolin."
A rogue vein tried to escape from behind Macri's forehead. "Wait. You said Sunny sent you?"
"That is correct."
"FUCK!" she screamed. With a snap of her fingers, the two were transported far away, now inside someone's bedroom. The moon shone in through the window, and snoring loudly under the covers was a sizeable lump.
The spirit stood in the corner as the candles lit themselves under Marci's command. She tugged on the sheets, pulling them off, and underneath laid a fat woman, in her underwear, still snoring away. Macri grabbed her by the shoulders and began pushing her back and forth. Eventually, the woman came to.
"W-who's here so late?" the woman asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Macri, is that you?"
"What did I tell you about this?" Marci shouted, pointing to the spirit still in the corner. It bashfully waved towards the girls. "I said last time would be the last, and I meant it."
Sunny, now jolted awake, scurried to the back of her bed. She needed to get as far away as possible.
Macri took out her wand. She held it above her head, and the air around began to shimmer. Then, a blinding blue ball of light took shape. Bits of lightening could be seen trying to escape from the ball, and Sunny desperately looked around for her own wand. She saw it lying across the room.
"Please, Marci!" Sunny screamed, not wanting her cottage burned down, "I messed up! I wasn't thinking! I forgot you didn't want any spirits from me! Calm down!"
"I. SAID. NO. MORE!"
The blue ball of lightening left her wand and the spirit braced itself for impact. Sunny lunged across the room, but she was too late, for the everlasting scream of magic could be heard and everything became white.
Once the light faded, both Marci and the spirit were back at her home, in front of the campfire, which had somehow been set aflame again.
"Sorry you had to see that," she said, "but the damned woman doesn't know how to listen. Some people learn best through experience."
The spirit nodded, unsure of whether her mood had carried over from Sunny's place.
"So, Mandolin," Marci said, as she drew a symbol in the air with her wand and flicked it at the spirit. It smiled as the glowing rune landed on its forehead. "Have a safe trip. I hope you find the one you're looking for."
"Thank you," the spirit said, as the temporary body dissipated into thin air.
Marci, all alone now, with the fire blazing, decided she'd return to Sunny's tomorrow to apologize.
"I hope I didn't overdo it..."
| 2022-01-06T02:41:12
| 2022-01-05T23:22:20
| 60
| 31
|
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
|
She had been sixteen when she first saw him. He had planted a cold kiss on her mother's colorless lips after his work was completed. And tonight she would see him again, as she had once a month for the past two years. She always chose the night of the full moon. It felt more romantic that way, since the moon had been round and full that fateful night. And the silver beams illuminating the room offered a certain ambience.
"You're a real artist, Libby. Truly." His familiar voice rasped from behind her. A voice like crackling, burning flames. A smile pulled at her lips as she turned to face him, the knife held in her calm, idle hands. A paintbrush used to create her masterpieces. The crimson paint of her most recent victim still coated the silver blade.
"I was starting to worry you would not show," she said, batting her long, pale lashes against her cheeks. "Do you like it?" she asked hopefully, motioning to the motel bed behind her. She watched him peek around her, unflinching as his black eyes took in the flayed man laid spread eagle on the mattress.
"Impressive. But then, it is easy for you to lure them in, isn't it? They see a lovely thing like you and abandon all sense," he replied.
She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Because I am a woman I have an easier time of it?" she asked, annoyed. "Some of them become suspicious. And you should see the look on their faces when they see the knife," she smiled, hazel eyes sparking at the memory.
He smiled his cool, alluring smile. "I'm sure his face was a mask of terror," he said, plucking her weapon from her hand and setting it aside. "Come here."
Her body instantly reacted to his command and she found herself in his lithe arms. She knew morning would come too fast, as it always did. But for now she was content to indulge in life's small pleasures. Plus there was always next month to look forward to.
She awoke to the sunlight filtering in through the dusty blinds, warming her face. She stirred among the comforter splayed out on the hard, dirty carpet that smelled faintly of mildew and piss. It was worth it, though. She sighed and sat up, hoping he was still there, though she hoped in vain as usual. She sprang to her feet and donned her sweater and jeans, ignoring the body drying out on the mattress. There was still time to take care of that.
Biting her lip, she padded across the room to the nightstand and plucked up the note that lay there, her eyes drinking in the familiar scrawling handwriting:
"Libby,
The nights we share have been a favorite part of my routine for some time now. The warmth I find in your arms has been an unfamiliar solace, one I have come to treasure. Until our next rendezvous, I shall think of your iridescent eyes, alight with the same passion that stirs my own blood. I shall see you again when next the moon reaches its most stunning phase.
Yours-
G.R.
P.S. I left a gift for you outside."
Libby smiled and set the note down, her heart jumping in her chest, curious to see what he had left her. She hurried to the window and glanced out. There, hanging from the corner stoplight, was a young woman torn open from throat to naval. Her bloody entrails were hanging free and her ragged skin flapped in the summer breeze. He was such a romantic, the one the police had labeled "The Grim Reaper." He knew the way straight to her heart, and it certainly wasn't flowers.
--------------------------------------------
Edit: to add this - r/PhantomFiction, should anyone wish to peek further into me brain. :)
|
Three candles lit the room, their wicks barely burning above the pool of wax spilling out the candle holders. All three sat atop a rounded wood table set up for dinner. Two plates, two knives, two forks, but only one person. Mariah waited as she always did as the flames began to flicker.
He wasn’t coming. He never did, not since she was a little girl and they had made their promise. A man coughed in the corner, hidden by her shadow, as a dark liquid crept toward the dinner table. Mariah let out a small breath and stepped out of the light, into the blood-stained cement floors of her killing room.
“Please, I have a family.” Every word came in a splutter of blood that speckled Mariah’s black silk dress. “There’s money in my wallet if that’s what you want.”
Mariah shook her head. “I don’t want money.”
“I’ll give you anything, just name it, but please don’t kill me.”
Ironic since the only thing she wanted was his life, though not as much as her first victims. When she had first started killing, she had bought candles fresh from the store for every dinner, she had scrubbed the plates until they were spotless, and took care not to step in blood or have it splatter onto her dress. Back then, she didn’t let her victims talk. It would’ve ruined the atmosphere.
But a girl could only be stood up so many times. The first five or so times, she got angry. By the time the candlelight died, she was hurling curses about broken promises and hearts. The victims had died long before she could take her rage out on them. Now, at the fifteenth attempt, everything she did came half-hearted. Her candles were recycled from the previous night, her dishes unwashed, and her victim still alive. He even had the strength to talk.
Mariah sighed. “Its fine,” she said, tears in her eyes, “he’ll come next time.” She turned toward the man. “Don’t worry, I won’t let it hurt.”
The man let out a stuttered squeal as he pressed himself further into the corner.
“We’ve both been hurt tonight,” she muttered and grabbed a knife from the table.
All of a sudden, the man shot up and threw his body against hers. The blow knocked the breath from her lungs and her head whipped back into concrete. A single shrill note rang in her ears as she blindly stabbed at the man.
Fingers wrapped around her wrist, their nails like talons. And the knife was pried away.
“You bitch!”
Fire sprouted from her wrist and the man rolled off her. He crashed through the rusted iron door of her killing room. Sunlight spilled through the opening. Mariah stared at her open wrist, at the pool of blood crawling toward the sun. And then she saw it, a dark and silent man sitting at the table. Her breath caught.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“Didn’t I promise that I would?”
She pushed herself up, swept off her dress and took her seat at the table. “I’m sorry,” she said, a tremble in her words. “I didn’t think you’d come so I hadn’t set up much. Here, you can take my knife.”
The other knife was on the ground, covered in her blood.
The Grim Reaper stared back unmoving. “It’s a lovely dinner,” he said.
A small smile broke Mariah’s lips and tears welled up inside her eyes. “Thank you." She chuckled nervously and glanced up. "You’re not going to leave again, are you?”
The Reaper shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not this time.”
Mariah's smile stretched from cheek to cheek. Tears spilled down her cheeks. And slowly, the candlelight faded until only darkness remained.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-06-07T18:45:32
| 2017-06-07T17:18:22
| 1,265
| 208
|
[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
|
*Ends hibernation*
*walks into office*
Officer worker 1: HOLY SHIT ANOTHER BEAR!!!
Officer worker 2: Don't worry, I decided I needed to bring a gun to work. It's so weird that 89 other bears have just walked into our office.
**bang bang**
*feels pain, eyes get heavy*
Officer worker 2: WOO! I got number 90!
|
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.
| 2016-02-22T11:27:02
| 2016-02-22T09:22:45
| 68
| 10
|
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy.
|
Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :)
|
The other races of the Milky Way cared very little about the blip of a race. You see the galactic population was less unified than one might think. Many races didn't perceive time, speech or thought in the same way. But the one thing they did all understand was matter. Every being was made out of physical matter so that is how they spoke to one another. Beings would present physical embodiments of ideas or even pieces of a rudimentary written 'language' that incorporated a series of moving hieroglyphs.
Some species did gain thought and language and these beings warned the community that there may be something dangerous about the humans but the general community only accepted these physical languages so they looked at the small sampling of 'sign language' in the early days and then 'emojis and television' in the later days. There was ruckus about 30 central microgalactic elliptics (CME) back when a confusing blip occurred on the planet. It was so quick and incomprehensible everyone assumed it was the equivalent of an ant colony accidentally creating sparks when it tipped over a rock. The Lidrarians and Falcariots, the two dominant races that were bipedal humanoids and solid based, most closely resembled the human concept of language, thought and culture. They began to fear the humans but could do nothing about it. The human planet was located deep in Aurbor territory. The Aurbor were relatively peaceful but defensive gas based life forms. 5 CME (roughly 100 earth years) later when the humans mastered nuclear fusion and fission races such as the Aurbors found the sudden aggression from the warfaring Lidrarians and the wealthy Falcariots strange but thought little of it.
5 CME later the humans were all but forgotten about as a massive war broke out in the Milky Way Galaxy. During this time humanity learned many things. They conquered their solar system and mined all of its asteroids and planets for materials. They were getting closer to discovering faster than light travel and had made preliminary discoveries of possible other life from errant scans of Falcariot and Lidrarian ships. The humans began to study other life and 10 CME after the start of the war they understood what was happening and humanity united under a common rule. They knew that liquid, plasma and solid creatures existed and warred against each other but they did not yet understand gaseous beings such as the Aurbors. They just thought air was toxic to these beings and their arm of the Milky Way must have been especially noxious. 15 CME after the war had started a scientist studying the Northern Lights for particle research cracked the code. The Aurora Borealis wasn't a phenomenon, it was their rulers. The equivalent of night security guards watching the tiny race. When humans discovered this they did not let on and instead moved all their research facilities away.
20 CME after it started the galactic war was over, the Lidrarians and Falcariots had been driven into a neighboring galaxy. As everyone was letting their guard down humans mastered FTL and attacked the gaseous Aurbors. The gaseous race initially found the races attempts at usurpation laughable, they choked out their ships and found cracks in their ventilation systems. The kinetic weapons were useless and their laser technology might as well have been arrows against a tank. Then came the first nuclear warheads and the anomalous blip was suddenly understood with horror. But the humans did not stop there. They had developed ways to split electrons and neutrons and protons, the fundamental pieces of the atoms. Splitting a neutron would suck the fundamental life out of the Aurbors and soon they were extinct. Splitting a proton would turn the liquid races into solid, soulless statues. Splitting an electron would turn the dangerous plasma based life into supercharged bombs that would explode themselves, transferring the electron sickness from being to being like a chemical weapon. You see each race had learned to fight and speak through physicality. The way they fought and communicated was like the difference between a marker, a pencil or a pen on paper. But humanity was different... they tore the words they wrote into the paper itself. Cutting their message into the fabric of reality with every destructive, irradiated waste they left.
10 CME later they had conquered most of the Milky Way and set their sites on the neighboring galaxy ruled by the now allied Falcariots and Lidrarians. The two races studied the humans in their conquest and constructed safeguards. They could counter the splitting of any piece of the atom. They had created paper humanity couldn't cut... so humanity burnt their words into the paper. They went smaller and learned the impossible, they could split a quark. It was theoretical at best and they didn't know if it was practically possible. Actual tests were too dangerous so the first and only test was done when it was used on the Falcariots and Lidrarians. The destruction would make the humans a universally dominant power for eternity. You see, the splitting of a quark created an unstoppable tear in reality. The total destruction would fundamentally destroy existence and expand forever, like a fire that never stops spreading. But the laws of the universe meant that galaxies forever expanded out away from one another. The milky way always stayed a few light years ahead of the destruction but the Andromeda galaxy would forever be gone. Eventually when the universe's expansion cooled and slowed the wave of destruction would catch up to everyone. The humans had created a defined end to the universe. At the first intergalactic summit the humans burnt a message in hieroglyphics in the sky. The races that understood words translated it as follows.
"We are become granters of life, destroyer of universes."
| 2022-12-15T08:44:27
| 2019-12-19T05:08:25
| 431
| 52
|
[WP] You are a 'Professional Hostage' hired by villains to secretly arrive at robberies and other crimes to be taken prisoner should the police or local heroes get involved. While out shopping you accidentally get taken hostage by a complete amateur who has no idea who you are.
|
"I charge $60 by the hour."
"What?"
"You got me while I was shopping, I'm not working right now. You should've called ahead. You're probably new at this, but there's a system. Plus it's normally $1000 up front, $1750 if you actually plan on stabbing me with that."
"Okay, just shut the fuck up or I'll cut your neck open!"
"... do you know who I am?"
"WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY!"
I'm a hostage. I set up appointments with my clients, who commit crimes and use my services to avoid capture by police or heroes. It's pretty fun sometimes and exciting, but this kid obviously doesn't know about my job. A complete foolish amateur, robbing a mall, with a handgun and a knife, he doesn't even realize the safety was still on his Hi-Point. Even worse he has a backpack hanging off a shoulder spilling change onto the ground. There could not be a more green villain in the world.
Security comes out with pistols up. "Drop the knife!"
"STAY BACK OR I'LL GUT THIS GUY!"
"*Don't be stupid, you're under-prepared."* I whisper.
"What? I TOLD YOU TO SHUT IT!"
"SORRY! PLEASE I WAS JUST LOOKING FOR GIFTS FOR MY NIECE!" Guess, I'll have to convince him I'm on his side. "*The safety is still on*"
"FUCKING STOP OR ELSE YOUR DEAD!"
"*Safety on your cheap-ass pistol is on, dumbass."*
He finally takes a glance at his gun and quickly flips the safety on. Security looks at each other, they realize he's new to this too.
A skinny guard speaks up, "Alright, no one has to get hurt. If you give up, everyone can walk away. You haven't hurt anyone so you'll be fine."
He wasn't entirely wrong, with so much crime the courts would see this as a minor offence and just have him pay a fine. Which reminds me.
"*How much do you have?"*
"*What?"* He whispers back, guess he now sees me as a friend.
*"How much cash and how much money do you have?"*
*"I dunno about cash, but I'm dirt poor."*
*"Did you get money out of the safe?"*
*"Just the what girl at the counter got me, I don't know where."*
"...You fucking idiot, I can't believe someone as stupid as you exists."
"Wha-" I slam the back of my head into his teeth. He fires his gun out of surprise into the ceiling.
He lets me go and staggers back, I punch him in the stomach and follow up with a knee to the jaw.
"Waste of my fucking time" I spit on his crying broken face and head toward the food court.
No one will bug me, it's just another amateur in a world filled with super-villains, only thing is no one died this time around.
I get a greasy burger with some onion rings, and sit down to cool.
Better watch the news, if this incident makes it I'll need to start wearing a mask during a job, or perhaps facial reconstruction.
Something wet is on my neck. Blood, guess the kid cut me when I headbutted him. I'll have to cover the scar too, if the story circulates. I hope this doesn't affect my reputation.
|
Some people live their whole lives without ever staring death in the face, I couldn’t go a week without the adrenalin. There was something about the shit your pants fear, it was the only thing that made me feel alive. I held the bottle of water, flipping it in the air and catching it after a complete turn. In front of me was a dude who was hooked on the cheap thrills, scratching away at one ticket after another with vibrating hands, I hated the people who thought gambling with money was a thrill. They were the bottom of the barrel when it came to risk takers, but you could never ignore them. If they were too down on their luck they tended to be… stupid. That’s another thing I couldn’t stand. The cashier was an overweight teenage girl who looked at me with eyes that were filled with shame. As if the inconvenience were her fault. I smiled and shrugged, even though it was her fault, I wished she’d tell scratcher to move so I can pay for my water. The doorbell rang as a boy in a plain black hoodie stepped sideways through the door, as if it were a car parked to close to another. I met his eyes, his pupils the size of the top of pin darted across the room. He was counting, one, two three. His breath staggered and his brows furrowed he reached for the bulge in his hood’s pouch pocket. I spun the top off the bottle and gulped down the water, I might not get another chance to drink it.
“Nobody move,” the boy shouted, pointing a gun with ADD, it couldn’t pick one target. I dropped the bottle and smiled. My heart thumped in my chest faster than normal, It had been decades since I last felt this surprised rush. Death was in his hands, and I had the chance to beat of that curse once more. To me, this was the super bowl. The gambler cried out in surprise, the quarter in his hand clinking against the tiled floor. The cashier took a step back. Blood racing to her face faster than she could scarf down a Twinkie.
The hooded boy waved his gun like a flame before snakes, “All of you, in the corner.”
“Yes sir,” I said, grabbing the gambler by the shoulder, his legs were frozen and a trickle of warm piss barely thawed them out. It was a familiar odor, usually my least favorite part of the job. No amount of bodily functions could keep me away from this feeling. A gun in your face was like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
The boy focused on the girl, “money. All of it. Now.”
He was working fast, I’d give him a seven out of ten on this entrance. He was doing everything right, for the circumstance. But a gas station needed to be an in and out affair. Hostages usually were more of a hindrance than a boon in one of these robberies. It was still day out, but I wouldn’t fault him for that, people are easier to attack when they think they are safe. But not everyone had as much experience as me when it came to robberies. I was the only one in the world with my set of skills.
“I said Money! Now!” the boy jerked the gun forward.
“Your life’s not worth it. Give the man the money,” I said. The boy glared at me and nodded. I could tell with one look, he didn’t want to kill, but he would.
The cashier fumbled her fingers through the cash drawer, sweat causing the bills to slip from her grasp. She was choking on tears, like a church girl forced to sin.
“I’m done with this shit.” The gambler said. My heart stopped. Gamblers always were stupid. He got to his feet and rushed to the boy grasping for the gun. His life was worthless. Even more so after the loud bang. The man collapsed to the side, knocking the plastic lottery sign down with him. His face glaring at the words, ‘you could win.’
Hundreds of planned robberies went off with out a hitch, all they needed was me. Perhaps that’s why I was so cocky, or why death was so eager to finally beat me. The gun pointed between my eyes. I looked up at the boy and in his place, I saw the skull of the grim reaper. “Bout time you showed up.” I smiled.
BANG.
\---
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this prompt, subscribe to /r/QuarkLaserdisc for more of my quirky Quark goodness!
​
Critiques and criticisms are always appreciated!
| 2019-01-02T10:25:25
| 2019-01-02T09:24:14
| 91
| 59
|
[WP] Your latest assignment is to write an essay extensively detailing how a great historical tragedy could have been avoided entirely. Your professor skims through each paper as he collects them. One stops him. "Yes, that's it. Good, I'll try that this time." He then jogs out of the room.
|
Eli’s hand shook as he turned in the paper to Mr. Hansen, his professor in Global History 231. He eyed the young adult with suspicion.
“You know this paper was due yesterday, right? On November 11?” He said sternly.
Eli swallowed what was left of his confidence.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen. I had a lot on my plate, and the paper slipped my mind, and-“
The professor waved the excuses off.
“I don’t want to hear it, mainly because the best performing student I so far scored on this assignment was a 65.”
Eli helplessly watched in a flurry of fear and anxiety as his eyes darted across the paper. Mr. Hansen would pause for a moment, then continue; however, for as much as he read, his expression grew more tiresome as he combed through the paper the studen had hastily written in the two hours leading up to his class.
“Sir, if I may.”
“Go ahead.” He replied, his eyes fixated on the first paragraph of the second page.
“I-I would like to discuss some chance for extra credit.”
Professor Hansen stopped and looked up, his gaze hinting a bit of impatience.
“Eli Nelson, was it?”
“Yessir.”
“You have a C- in my class, taking into account that you actually pass the final exam. The passing grade is a B+.”
Eli looked down, now in a state of repressed panic.
The professor got back to reading as Eli contemplated his next moves. He could retake the class, though his grants wouldn’t cover his expenditures anymore. He could go into another field, and risk failing to graduate college altogether by being ousted of a program. He could even-
“Mr. Nelson.”
The student looked up.
“Yeah?” He asked, his throat closing up slightly.
“This...isn’t half bad.”
Eli stopped to process the response.
“Really?”
“Yes. While you might not have gone into detail, I love your plan on how to change such a historical event with only a stalled engine.”
“Well, I mean-“
“Say. You wanted to pass my class, correct?”
“Yessir.”
“Great! I’ll try that this time.”
“Wait, Mr. Hansen?”
As Eli was about to ask what the professor meant, he was already being dragged along by the 60 year old man.
“Wait, sir-“
“No time, Mr. Nelson! You wanted a passing grade in my class, so now you’re gonna get it!”
They exited the lecture hall and into the corridors, with Eli trying to decide whether staying with the crazy old professor for extra credit was a sane decision. For all the time that Mr. Hansen has been at East Stratton University, everyone knew the elderly guy was a nutcase, sometimes rambling about alternate futures in what was suppose to be Global History. Heck, it was a poor decision in itself to make him a professor at all, least of all a History professor, Eli thought to himself as the duo rushed down the stairwell. From what the rumors said, he was nearly sent to a mental institution two months ago for ranting on for three consecutive hours on how the war of 1812 was ‘necessary for Britain to kickstart the Industrial Revolution’, not even mentioning last week’s hour lecture on how the Titanic ‘would have gone on to kill more than 3,000 lives if it hadn’t sunk in 1912’.
They made their way out of the Liberal Arts building and towards the Science Hall. Eli gave a quick wave to his roommate, who waved back with slight confusion, but then switched to understanding as he saw Mr. Hansen dragging him towards the service elevator. He scanned his keycard before pressing the button for the bottom floor.
“Sir, can I ask why you’re hauling me along?”
“Well, you wrote the paper, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Eli said, slightly hesitant on telling him it was a rushed piece that he wrote on the first thing that he saw.
“Then I need you to get the details right.”
“Okay.”
“Here, I’ll list them.”
The old man unfolded his report. He flipped to the second page.
“So you said it was a cold day, so an engine stalling wouldn’t be too noticeable.l”
“I guess.”
“And then you listed that, due to a team of mechanics fixing the problem, a parade was postponed.”
“Yeah, but-“
“And then a certain figure wouldn’t get shot.”
“Hey now, I didn’t say he wouldn’t get sh-“
“Well, shot later, but I think you had that planned as well.”
“Uh...”
“Look, Eli. I’m going to be honest.”
Mr. Hansen was now facing him, with the same gaze he gave Eli’s paper when he detailed the alternate history of the world in it.
“I’m way older than you think I am.”
Eli let out a small laugh.
“What, you’re not 60? You look possibly 65, but I doubt even 70. Whatever skin care stuff you’re using, my grandma could maybe benefit from-“
“I’m nearing 250 years old, kid.”
Eli couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Good one, Mr. Hansen. Now, I know my grade is on the line, but I think I can benefit from retaking your class next year and mayb-“
“I’m not crazy, Mr. Nelson. I’ve heard the rumors.”
Eli composed himself.
“And I follow along with the rumors. To them, I’m just crazy ol’ Hansen.”
The elevator chimed as the doors opened.
“But to you, I’m anything but crazy.”
Eli stared in disbelief as he gazed at the countless server units before him.
“This place, all of this, I built.”
“You built all of this?”
“Well, not necessarily. Miss Wixom and the Science department helped me.”
Eli’s eyes finally settled on a platform in the middle of the atrium.
“Is this, like, some sort of time travel device? Like the ones in books, TV shows, and movies?”
“Yes, only this one is real.”
Mr. Hansen typed on a nearby console.
“I was once a soldier in the Continental Army, fighting the British in D.C. before they burned the White House down.“
“So that’s how you told the lecture in such detail!”
“So you were paying attention in my classes. I thought the kids at the front were the only ones tuning in.”
Eli continued to marvel at his surroundings as the professor pressed a few buttons. In an instant, the platform started slowly rotating as Mr. Hansen motioned Eli to step on.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up here?”
“Well, to be frank, I don’t know. But that’s not a pressing issue now.”
The professor flicked a switched as he rushed over to the platform, standing by Eli.
“The reason I wanted those papers earlier was because the time gate opens only for a short period of time in both the past and present.”
“So how will we get back to the future?”
“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”
Eli swallowed, knowing full well what the professor was about to say next. Electricity sparked around and beneath the duo as a dark, floating hole cracked open beneath them.
“There being Sarajevo, 26 of June, 1914.”
The two fell in, quickly getting to terminal velocity in the dark void. It was a miracle Mr. Hansen wasn’t having a heart attack, Eli thought. However, it was one of his last thoughts, as Eli felt his eyes roll back. He felt himself drifting out of consciousness, but not before getting a quick peek of the old city that they had spontaneously arrived in.
*The Archduke can wait for now.*
*What Eli needed to do now was process what had happened undisturbed.*
Edit: It’s 12:38 in the morning where I’m at. Following up/correcting mistakes when I get some sleep.
Edit 2: Gonna sound like an idiot, but thanks for my first award ever.
Edit 3: [Continuing the story here, so if you liked it, I'll be updating it here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/dredex/)
|
"Yes, that's it! Good I'll try that this time" Professor Hamlet said
It was my assignment he was looking at, it was about how to stop 9/11, i just really threw an idea that i thought could work in theory.
"What do you mean" almost the entire class said simultaneously.
"Oh if it works, it wont matter to you" Hamlet said as he started jogging toward the door
the class started asking questions-to many for me to hear- then Professor Hamlet stopped right before he exited the classroom like he forgot something
he turned around and pointed to me and said "Ray, come with me, this is your idea after all."
before i could respond he yanked me with him, out the classroom
"stop!",we did.
"what?"
"where are we going?"
"to stop nine eleven"
"what?"
"you heard me."
i was at a loss of words, Mr. Hamlet saw this gave me an empathetic look with a smile and said
"look, long story short, I can time travel, and I've been trying to stop tragedies because I wanted to see what would happen, and you're going to help me with this"
with that we were on our way. After awhile of me trying to get words we stopped outside.
"So, you ready?"Hamlet asked.
"uh,uh no?"
"well too bad, we don't have all day" he laughed at his own joke.
with that, everything around us was turning white, and then we started fading into the cockpit on a plane, heading towards, the Twin Towers...
| 2019-10-03T18:47:41
| 2019-10-03T14:30:56
| 1,632
| 47
|
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form.
|
‘Confessions of a Lady Dragon’
—-
“You are a *what* now?”
“A dragon. Didn’t you wonder why I never let *you* clean out the basement?”
“I thought you were just good at balancing gender roles. I mean, you let me do laundry and dishes.”
“Yeah, because I *hate* doing those things. And also because you look cute when you get those little dish soap bubbles caught in your hair.”
“Aww, thanks.” Dan blushed and then grimaced. “Hey, wait—you’re trying to change the subject.”
“I would never. I was always afraid this day would come. It’s just you’ve, well, never been that observant. I thought we had more time,” Amelia sighed with a slight roaring sound.
“Wait, did you always sigh like that?” Dan whacked his forehead, leaving a slight red handprint. “How did I miss that?”
“Sweetie, are you hurt? Do you want me to get you the ice pack again? Your face palms have always been extraordinary.”
“You’re so sweet, and I feel like you know me so well. How did I not see this coming?”
“Umm. Because you’re only human?”
“I guess. Wait a minute—is that speciest now?”
“Nah. I’m part human on my great aunt’s side. Funny story. Her *real* father was a human wizard.”
“Umm. That’s all very interesting. I mean, I love a bit of backstory as much as any guy, but let’s cut to the chase. What does this mean for *us*?”
“That depends. What do you *want* it to mean?”
“Give me a sec. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before.”
“You mean that it had never crossed your mind that your incredibly beautiful and brilliant girlfriend could be a dragon.”
“Umm, no.”
“No, to which? That I’m beautiful and brilliant? Or that I’m a dragon?”
“Erm—“
“Choose your next words carefully,” Amelia laughed, showing extremely long and sharp canine teeth.
“You know I think you’re the most wonderful woman…I mean creature in the world in all ways, but…were your teeth always like that?”
“No. They get a bit pointy when my hoard is threatened.“
“Wait—I’m a threat now?”
“Of course not. You’re remarkably puny even for a pure-blood human.”
“Gee. Thanks. Feeling *really* good about myself now since I’m oblivious as heck and weak.”
“Fair. But that’s not why I love you. You are the sweetest being I’ve known in my many thousands of years of existence.”
“Thanks? I knew you were a little older than me, but multiple millennia are one heck of an age gap.”
“Yeah, but I’m the same being on the inside. The one you call snookie bear when we spoon at night. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It does. It’s just… this is all such a big change for me.”
“Me too.” Amelia blushed. “I’ve never been with a human before. They seemed so puerile and angry all the time that I couldn’t fathom the appeal.”
“That makes me feel special. You always do, in fact. It’s why I love you so much.” Dan exhaled deeply. “And you know what, that’s gotta be enough. I’ve never met someone like you before, and what with the whole dragon thing, it’s unlikely I would again.”
“Want to snuggle on the sofa and watch ‘House of the Dragon’?”
“Yeah, my cousin’s in that,” Amelia said straight-faced.
“Really?”
She giggled. “Add ‘gullible’ to the list of your quirks. Those things are CGI.”
“Let’s just watch, ok?”
—-
WC: 564
—-
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated
|
All these years
The planned dates
The firey attitude
The protective attitude
Always wanting my food
Eyeing my mother's silver dishware
Insisting I buy her jewelry for every anniversary
Not wanting to have kids whatsoever
Wanting me to learn music
Making me submit to her demands
Liking it when I play music to her
Loving it when I sweet talk her.
I now realize who I am.
I am a bard, trapped in hypnosis
I went to far and now I'm her pet
A treasure in her hoard like the rest of these emeralds, rubies and diamonds.
I cannot find a way out for I'm terrified of what she will do
So I sit and play my guitar
Practice my ballads
So I may keep my wife happy and not kill me.
So hear my tale and beware heroes.
For I am sir Dragonfucker
And I have made a mistake.
| 2022-09-10T11:45:18
| 2022-09-10T10:45:48
| 125
| 80
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
I sat on the couch, scraping up the last remnants of my birthday cake.
"It's almost time!" My mom shouted
I glanced at the clock: 11:59
My brother Jeremy launched a nuclear clock app and swiped it to the TV. Everyone crowded around and I held up my arm so they could see. At 11:59:50 they started counting down. "10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1!"
As the countdown finished I began to feel a slight burning sensation. I watched as the word began to fade in, as if pushed forward from beneath my skin.
"Run."
Everyone cheered, I had always been an athletic person, mom had even joked that my word would be "Olympian" on multiple occasions. As the cheers began to fall off, my arm began to burn again, more than before. I grimaced and closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to pass.
When I opened my eyes, the room was dead silent. I glanced up at my mom and saw the look of horror in her eyes. I looked down, bringing my still tender arm back up so I could read it.
"Run. Now."
Then the gunfire started.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-15T22:53:41
| 427
| 271
|
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again.
|
Father Morris took a deep breath. He held one finger out, lightly tapping the door handle.
It was searing hot, like the flames of hell didn't just graze it, but instead swallowed the thing whole, let it rummage around in its infernal belly for a few minutes, before belching it out.
Father Morris exhaled as that deep breath found nowhere else to go. He opened the door, regardless.
And there she was. Some would call it glory, falling to their knees and praying. Some would gouge out their eyes, unwilling to lay sight on such a sinful view. For Father Morris, her name was Mary.
"**Father**," Mary said. "**Why?**"
"Asking why repeatedly doesn't make the answer change, Mary," Father Morris said. The scorching fury blasted his face, and large beads of sweat began rapidly forming from head to toe.
"I have to do it. It's my job."
"**Well**," Mary said. "**It's my job too. And you are making it very difficult.**"
"Mary," Father Morris lifted a finger. He could feel his throat parching by the second. Each moment he spent in her presence was literally sapping his life force and will to live. But he persevered. He wasn't just a priest, after all. He was a father.
"You have to understand. You can't keep doing this."
"**But I wanna,**", Mary's impeccable retort was hard to refute.
"We all have our desires, Mary," the priest pleaded. "It falls to us not to fall victim to our whims and fancies. It's what separates us from--"
"**From?**" Mary's flames flared up indignantly.
The good Father gulped, but he did not mince his words.
"It's what separates us from the soulless, Mary."
Bearing the immense fire, like staring into the sun in the sky at the height of day, Father Morris walked forward. He was now entirely drenched, yet felt himself ignited aflame. But he forged forward, each step the same difficulty as walking in molten in lava, and extended his arms.
"You are a demon, Mary. Some will say it's impossible for you. But at the very least, you are a demon out in the open, and you are trying."
The flames flickered. Mary, held aloft by the sheer blazing heat, eyes red as hot coals, listened.
The tongues of fire licked the air once more, before slowly fading away, extinguishing themselves from her body. And there she stood. Without the firestorm wreathed around her, Mary was indistinguishable from a girl 10 years of age... and the very conspicuous pair of horns that adorned her forehead.
"OK," Mary sighed. She waddled forward, collapsing into Father Morris' arms. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright, Mary," Father Morris said as he soothingly patted the girls' back. "It's alright. I know you tried."
"I'm very tired now," she said, in a much smaller voice than before. "Could you carry me to bed?"
"Of course, darling," he replied with a gentle smile. A grunt later, he brought her up to his shoulders, letting her snuggle inwards.
"And a story! Tell me a story!"
"Of course. In the beginning..."
---
r/dexdrafts
|
Father Atkinson returned home a tired man. His once sturdy frame stood hollow, a tree devoured inside out. His face had grown wrinkled as bark; his calloused hands could barely grip the cross as he pounded the pulpit before his congregation.
They didn't know him. Not the true him--the man who scrambled to correct his daughter's misdeeds, who kept a flask right beside his bedroom Bible so that he'd not still be crying when the sun rose.
All they knew was the fire of his words as he preached a life he couldn't live, the bags beneath his eyes because his devotion knew no bounds.
Those late-night exorcisms had worn him down. Like a stump, once tall and proud, now a broken bit of what'd he'd been.
Each was harder than the last. His hands struggled to clutch the crucifix; his eyes blurred as he tried to read the incantations. Night after night. Possession after possession.
His hand trembled as he put the key to the lock. He winced as the door creaked open. Like walking on eggshells, he entered the dark foyer. Hung his coat. Ran a tired hand through his thinned hair. She slept this time so he could, too.
"Hello, daddy," a voice said from up the hallway.
"My goodness," he said, jumping when he saw the short, dark figure standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Lucy, what did I tell you about startling me like that? Gonna give me a heart attack."
She giggled her high-pitched cackle that ended in those little snorts he'd once found so cute. "Might be best," Lucy said, and then she began to cackle again.
Father Atkinson bit his tongue and refrained from retorting. Kids said the damnedest things. He flipped on the light, revealing Lucy in her white nightgown and disheveled hair that fell over her face. Her nails were broken and jagged from scratching at the same place time and time again.
Father Atkinson caught his breath. Everybody was beautiful in their own way, his daughter most of all. He mustered an apologetic smile.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he said. "It's well past midnight. What are you still doing up?"
"Waiting for you, daddy," Lucy said. "What were you doing?" She cocked her head, smiled with too much teeth.
"I see that," Father Atkinson said. He didn't answer her question.
"You were punishing me again, daddy," Lucy said. "I thought I asked you not to do that."
Father Atkinson frowned. He clutched his coat as if it would protect him. "It's my job, Lucy. I do what I have to do."
He peered to the left into the living room, around Lucy into the kitchen. The babysitter was nowhere to be found. Maybe she'd fallen asleep in the family room. Maybe...
"She's alive," Lucy said.
Father Atkinson let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank goodness."
"I'm not a murderer, daddy," Lucy said.
She smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes--wide and sinister, forced and deceptive.
Father Atkinson gulped. "I know you aren't, sweetie."
"But you thought I might be, right? You're looking for Amanda."
Father Atkinson nodded. "Yes, dear. I'm looking for Amanda. Could you tell me where Amanda is and then head back to bed? It's her bedtime, too, and she has to drive home still."
"Oh, daddy," Lucy said.
A chill ran up Father Atkinson's spine. "Yes, dear?"
"I don't think Amanda wants to leave just yet."
"She doesn't?"
"Why don't I just show you her?" Lucy said.
Father Atkinson didn't move from beside the front door. With one hand, he reached into his coat and clutched the crucifix with trembling hands. He eyed the Bible on the coffee table in the living room, wondered if he could make it there before Lucy did.
"O... Okay, dear. Show me Amanda, please."
*Sleeping. She's just sleeping, and Lucy will show me where she fell asleep. Maybe they watched a movie. Played with dolls--wait, no. Not the dolls.*
"Come, Amanda," Lucy sang. Sickly sweet, that voice of hers.
Footsteps lurched through the family room. Into the kitchen. Amanda appeared in the doorway, eyes blank and white as the foyer walls. She teetered unsteadily, her back twisted at a gruesome angle. Her face was plastered with the same wide smile as Lucy's, and when Lucy lifted her arm towards Father Atkinson, Amanda's lifted, too.
"Here she is, daddy," Lucy said. "Since you don't like having to come home from work so late, I thought I could surprise you by bringing your work right here to our home."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-10-20T08:18:51
| 2020-10-20T08:05:28
| 191
| 123
|
[WP] Adults and children are separated into two dimensions. When a baby is born, it is sent to the "kid" dimension, and will only rejoin the adults when it turns 18. A mother and father are anxiously waiting for their child's 18th birthday tomorrow.
Can't take credit for the basic idea, I got it from a Young Justice episode! I'm interested in what the dynamic of the world would be if the whole kid/adult separation stayed permanent.
Edit: Wow, what a response! Everyone please go watch Young Justice on Netflix so it gets uncanceled (shameless plug). Great stories y'all!!
|
Azteca placed her head on her top bunk pillow for the last time. She had just put the last of the children she was in charge of to sleep in their cribs. That had been her job, to take care of the young children in the nursery. The older kids had a government, they grew their own food and built their own buildings. They even had a police force. That was the way things worked. It occurred to Azteca as she closed her eyes that she would never see another baby again, not after tomorrow. Tomorrow she would leave this place forever, she would see her parents for the first time. She wasn't quite able to place how she felt. Nervous? Excited? What if they didn't like her? Either way, she wouldn't have to spend her days with crying babies and diapers. Thoughts of her parents and babies became more and more abstract and swirled around Azteca's head as she drifted off into a deep sleep.
After what felt like minutes of sleep Azteca was awoken by the sound of rushed movement in the dark room she shared with other elders. She almost jerked upward into a sitting position, but thought better of it at the last second. Instead she lifted her head slightly and saw two men wearing strange, shiny, bubble like black helmets, with goggles obscuring their eyes. They were wearing the same black outfit, made from a material Azteca had never seen before. They were also carrying intricate black metal tubes which they were holding in front of them.
Azteca was frozen in place, she had never seen people like this before. Was this what adults looked like? Were these the parents she was going to finally get to meet? As this final thought shot through her mind, one of the helmets and goggles looked over her bunk at her.
"Shhhhh, it's okay. You're safe now", it whispered to her. She felt a sharp pain in her leg and was pulled into a dark slumber.
Waking for a second time, Azteca was inside of a dark metal room and heard a low buzzing. With a start she realized that the room was vibrating. She looked around the room, and saw the three elders she shared a room with and who's birthdays were all tomorrow. Her gaze continued to the front of the room where six of the people in black were sitting.
One of them held his hand to his temple. "Overwatch, this is Recovery Unit Beta. We managed to save four", a female voice said, but not to any of the people around her. Who were these people? Which one of them was Overwatch? The black suit looked around at Azteca, and what she realized were three of the people in her bunk. Mike, Jess, and Simon were all unconscious on the floor.
The woman in black got up and walked toward Azteca. She quickly closed her eyes and tried not to move.
"I know you're awake. You don't need to be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you. You're on a helicopter headed to our resistance headquarters", the woman in black said. Azteca had no idea what a helicopter or headquarters were but she looked back at the woman, opening her eyes slightly. She saw that the woman had taken off her helmet. Azteca took in her pretty face, with brown hair that was shorter than hers was and dark eyes set into the woman's almond color skin. She was surprisingly young, maybe only a year or two older than Azteca.
"Are you taking us to meet our parents?" Azteca asked, her quivering voice speaking for the first time. Instantly, the hopeful look the young woman had been wearing slid off, replaced by sadness.
"If you were in the Nursery", she began her sentence but couldn't finish. "If you were in there, your parents are long dead. The people who locked you in there are not your friends".
|
Greg held a cup of coffee between his hands, letting the ceramic burn his palms. To his left was his wife, Liz, her hand on his knee. To his right was a knife, freshly sharpened.
“I can’t believe it’s finally here,” Liz said. “Just five minutes now.” The pair of them sat alone in their living room, furniture pressed against the walls, the couch turned towards the center.
Greg cleared his throat and placed the mug on the floor. “It came to quick.”
“Greg, honey. We’ve been over this.” She gave him a firm squeeze on his knee. “This is our girl. Our baby girl is finally going to come home to us.” She looked past him to the knife at his side. “I really wish you wouldn’t have brought that. It’s no way to greet her after all this time.”
“I wish they were never taken in the first place. This woman coming here tonight isn’t our girl, Liz. You should know that. You were in her place once. We both were.”
“I was,” she said, her tone becoming short, “everything will go better tonight.”
“She won’t be who you want her to be.”
“She will be who she needs to be.”
Greg clicked his tongue. “You remember the Fletcher boy? He killed his parents and escaped. That was only a few months ago.”
“Enough, she won’t be like that.”
“Liz, have you forgotten what it’s like to come back. No idea where you are, reacting on instinct. Wild.”
Silence.
The smell of fresh ozone filled the room. The temperature was rising, Greg wiped the sweat from his face. “She will come soon.”
Liz checked her phone, “one minute till midnight. She’ll officially be 18.”
Greg clenched his teeth together so tight he felt they might shatter. A grey light filled their living room, coming from some unseen source at the center. Liz gave a quick laugh next to Greg, he knew she was nervous. He was nervous, too.
“I think I see her now.” Liz was on her feet, “Yes, do you see, Greg. In the light is a shape. It’s her.”
“Stay back, Liz. We don’t know who she’ll be.” The knife was in his hand.
The light filled the room, blinding them. A crack in the air announced her arrival.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading!
| 2016-03-03T19:59:04
| 2016-03-03T19:21:33
| 90
| 25
|
[WP] For 24 hours each year, all cats can break any cat laws without consequences. Welcome to the Purrrge.
|
This is gonna sound crazy, but I gotta tell you this story about my cat.
I'm out on the back porch the other day, just enjoying the sun, and he walks outside. I call to him, and he sticks his tail flag up like "Yo" but keeps walking. He heads straight for the big wood pile where the chipmunks live. So me, figuring I'm about to see some national geographic shit, I creep up to the edge of the deck for a better look.
He stops a couple feet away from the wood pile, but he's not stalking like usual -- and my cat *loves* to hunt. No, he saunters up all casual. Meows, real loud, real long. Just once, nice and friendly. There's a little trill in it, like he's purring. And then he flops down on his back and shows his belly in the sun.
I was a little bummed that I didn't see him hunt, but I'll get up for some belly rubs, sure. But then, before I could maneuver out of cover, one of the chipmunks pokes his little nose out of the wood pile. He stands, sniffing, and my cat is still on his back doing that muffing-making thing in the air. Suddenly he sees the chipmunk... and he meows this quiet little friendly "hi". And then the chipmunk freaking climbs out and up onto kitty's sunny warm belly.
I can't believe it. The chipmunk is up there scratching around like he's trying to dig up a nut. Occasionally he takes a quick roll in the soft tummy fur. Another chipmunk appears in the wood pile, and another. Before long, there's a group of tiny critters rolling and scratching and playing in the sunshine of my cat's tummy fur. I can hear him purring from here, and the muffins just won't stop.
Let me just... I can't *believe* this is happening. He's a vicious cat. I've woken up to straight up CSI scenes in my house, head over here, innards over there. But now he's... I mean... *what?*
Eventually a cloud crosses over the sun, and the party scatters back to the wood pile. Kitty rolls over, and with a yawn and a stretch, returns to the house. On his way in he casts me a sidelong glance... like *What? It's Purrrge, baby...*
|
'Let meow-t.' Branston purred.
'No.' I say with my back to the cage.
'Pwetty pwease?'
'You've got enough food and water to last the Purrge.'
It was my third Purrge with Branston, and I was adamant that I would not let him out this time. Year one I had not even locked him up, that in itself was a grave mistake. Year two I had locked him up but not covered the cage, which allowed him to use his cute features to purrsuade me. This year I had him in the basement with a tea-towel draped over his cage.
'It won't be like last year.' Branston said.
'Or the year before?' I add.
'Of course not! I blame the hormones; I was but a kitten!'
'Everyone recommends keeping your cat locked up for the entire duration.'
I can picture Branston's ears folded back and his blinking eyes as he tried to woo me. 'Come on Dan. I'm not just a cat.'
'It's weird when you use my name.'
'Daaan. Let me be me for the remaining twenty hours.'
I walked out of the basement and to a front-facing window, inching back the blinds. Cats seemed to have replaced humans. They walked on two legs, drove cars and even wore clothes.
I snapped the blinds shut. One of them saw me.
A knock sounded at my door, and not for the first time today.
'Sir.' A feline voice said, followed by more knocking. 'I saw you, sir. Do you by any chance live with a cat?'
I cursed under my breath and stayed crouched by the window.
'I don't.' I called.
'Sir, would you mind opening the door?'
'I... I can't.'
'It will only take a moment to check. We wouldn't want anyone missing out on this glorious day, would we?'
'No,' I say 'but we I don't own a cat.'
A fist hit the door hard. 'Nobody *owns* a cat.'
I stayed silent. Ten seconds passed, and then the sound of claws on wood filled my house.
I waited another minute and then straightened up. I breathed a sigh of relief. The sound of a flap opening and closing brought me back to a stark reality. There's a cat in the house.
I crouched low and picked up an umbrella by the front door.
'Sir.' The voice came from my kitchen. 'I am announcing my presence in your home. I come in peace and only wish to search your residence for imprisoned cats.'
I remained quiete and waited by the basement door.
A soundless ginger cat with a missing ear turned the corner and faced me. Its green eyes moved to the umbrella. I brandished the make-shift weapon, but the cat smiled.
'Purrhaps you've made a mistake.'
I shook my head. 'You're not letting him out.'
The cat took two steps forward in its unnatural upright position.
'It's taken me a year to get this place back to normal after the last Purrge!' I'm starting to plead, and my palm is growing sweaty around the wooden umbrella handle.
The cat was on me faster than I could blink. It slipped through my legs and shot up my back. Claws lodged themselves in my flesh, and I dropped my weapon. I clambered with my arms at awkward angles, trying to pry the beast from my back.
I'm not sure what happened next, but I can only assume it had triggered some kind of pressure point because my legs felt weak and I crumpled to the floor.
I watched in horror as the cat sauntered into my basement and re-emerged with Branston who looked at me indifferently.
'Into the cage Dan.' Branston said with a furry smile as he trailed one claw along the wall. 'Don't worry, I'll let you out tomorrow, if I can...'
| 2018-08-22T08:15:02
| 2018-08-22T08:05:42
| 129
| 52
|
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done?
|
She reached into her bag and pulled out her white pad things, not the sort of white pad thingy that had wings but the other one that was small cylinder and had string attached to it for some probable reason. She was in the women's toilet of a dingy local bar and like all women's toilets was outstanding in its size and beauty...probably. The fountain as the centerpiece was a shimmering monolithic structure and the harp player in the corner had settled into her stride and played delicately. She hated this time of month and the certain set of days which was greater than one but not more than seven for which she was on her period. She had started getting stomach cramps earlier on in the day which were probably similar to getting kicked in the balls but also different in every possible way. She inserted the period equipment in the correct manner, be it, string first or cylinder first and then urinated or didn't urinate depending on whether it would be bad to get the stringed equipment wet maybe. She lifted up the skimpy lingerie she had on, similar to the kind that all women wear for any occasion ever, pulled up her skirt or zipped it up depending on whether skirts have zips, which they probably do somewhere unless they are elastic but that's highly doubtful and strode out of the bathroom wearing the stilletto heels that women wear at all times that never cause them pain at all.
She marched past a round table meeting of women currently discussing david and his cute butt which is a thing women talk about in the toilets. She walked passed the harp player who had taken some time off to file her nails. She stopped at the mirror and stared herself down. She looked at her naturally flawless skin with slight increased in reddening at the cheeks which is completely normal and a thing that all women have naturally. She decided she needed to put more of the eye makeup on. Not the kind that was to make your eyelashes longer but the kind that makes your eyelids darker because that's sexy for some reason. She decided that now she sorted our her eye makeup she needed to sort out her mouth make up and put on her bright red lipstick, not the cheap kind that you can buy everywhere but the inexplicably expensive kind that women get pissed off at you for wasting on drawing penis's on Pete's body while he's wasted. She looked herself in the eye and said "you can do this" and walked out of the bathroom completely intending to have private relations with the man who previously said that she had a nice pair and then looked at the ground when she turned her gaze towards him.
|
According to all laws regarding aerodynamics, a bee should not be able to fly. Their wings are too small. Their rumps to... Err... rumpish. But that does not stop the mighty bee. Try as nature might, it cannot stop the bee.
You see, every bee is born with a small jetpack, right in between their wings, and is only visible in complete darkness. So to us humans, or, 'umies, as the bees affectionately refer to us as, we are not capable of seeing these joys of modern ~~flight~~ nature.
But that's not all the bee has up it's sleevies. Seriously, they have sweaters on, and thats what give them their 1940's Green Bay Packers look. Because before the 1940's, bees wore a drab coat of wool, sulfur, and aluminium, so as to protect against predators. What's even more stupifying, is that the Queen must knit and knot all these, every day, forever. Because Queens don't die, no, they are just reborn.
But enough deviation, because the bee has one final trick to fool predators. Honey. That's right, Honey. The most delicious thing ever known to man, and animal, is there ultimate weapon. For inside every morsel of Honey, is a small Colony of Photoreceptors. That's why whenever a Bee gets inside a house or car, it never seems to get out, because the Bee is secretly hunting for those photoreceptors, so it can take control of it's new host. For Bees shall rise again as the dominant race on Earth once again.
No hardship will stop them. No trial will end them. For they must fly, No, they NEED to fly. Coupled with an insatiable bloodlust, and a need for freedom, tiny jetpacks, sweaters, and photoreceptors, the Bee will never stop. That, is why the Bee can fly, against all odds.
(Seriously, How the fuck do Bee's work, I'm a grown man and still have no idea)
| 2016-02-01T22:32:48
| 2016-02-01T22:09:55
| 507
| 40
|
[WP] You are a NPC in a video game and must convince the world of your free will using only your 8 or so dialogue options
|
Ulderkraft online patch v.1.2.0382 list of known bugs
*#32-Daris the inn keeper, an NPC in the starting town keeps repeating the following dialogue over and over, regardless of what speech option the player chooses.*
* How do you do today, brave adventurer?
* Everyone in town has been talking about you.
* Looks like you've had a rough trip.
* Please, make yourself at home in our beautiful town.
* I've saved a bed at the inn, just for you!
* Maybe the market has what you're looking for.
* Ah, don't worry about the cost, having you stay here is good for business!
* Leave me alone!
* In times like these, it's always good to have strong heroes around.
* Very well, but please come stay if you ever need a place to rest.
* Everyone in town has been talking about you.
|
It’s an old game, *Alden’s Sanctum*.
Nearly eighty years old. Dated graphics. Clunky mechanics.
Games these days strap you in and node you up and light up your senses to the tune of a neon club, a high class gala, a forested village — we don’t have those anymore, forests, villages, so games like that are real popular — but *Alden’s Sanctum* is old school, a relic, played on the screen with a keyboard and mouse, which you have to make yourself, because nobody owns antiques like that nowadays.
Lucky for me, or unlucky for me, Dad’s a junker, and a nerth — hobbyists and obsessives that spend their lives reminiscing over the planet we lost. Remi*ni*sce. *Earth. Nerth*.
I hate it. Hate him, really — his focus sharpens whenever anything Earth orbits into his view, then slackens and blurs when he has to return to the here and now, to his junker job, to me, his disabled son.
It’s a wonder he hasn’t turned to the dropper drugs yet. Maybe a part of him still feels responsible for me. Or maybe it’s only a matter of time.
I used to node. Used to live in them. Everyone does. The port’s not much to look at after all, and neither are its people, grungy thin things with wide worn eyes.
I was booted out of the game once — an emergency server maintenance — and I rocked back into reality, into my body, into the legs that can’t feel, and then I looked at my room. Really looked at it.
Metal tiled walls, rust in the lines. Window frames carpeted with dust like a lint trap. It was sometime after midnight, and my room was dark, with darker corners. The air filter hissed, its green dots flashing. The only other light was from the upper half of the window, a wispy white-grey light, like the sky just before rain clouds roll in, except here it was from a building billboard, and a naked girl was dancing on it.
I couldn’t see the floor — here and there were heaps of emptied canisters, of opened wave-foods, capsules, and plastic wrap after plastic wrap — only a single path on the dull green floor was clear, the path Dad takes when he brings me food.
I looked across the bed, at the mirror mounted there, and saw myself.
I stopped playing after that.
*Alden’s Sanctum* was something Dad found, unearth, dusted off. Apparently it was my birthday, and he hooked it up for me without saying a word. He doesn’t talk much, never does. Just watches and works. He found a monitor, then built a keyboard and mouse and a tray to put it all on, then mounted that tray on an arm so that it could swivel over my bed.
He showed me in silence how to boot up the system, how to move the mouse, how to double-click.
Right away, I could tell the game was poorly made.
The art was bulky and off-colour. The characters moved like marionettes. The sounds from the monitor-speakers were tinny, two-dimensional, and the music was—
I didn’t know what to think of the music. I’d never heard anything quite like it before.
Dad watched me play in the beginning. For a couple of days, actually. He took time off work for it, though I don’t know why. Maybe he saw me looking at myself, *seeing* myself. He would’ve noticed that I wasn’t noding up, that all I did for days on end was sit in bed, looking at nothing at all.
I named my character Case, a variation of my own name, Cason.
He’s my height and my build, five eleven and thin. But he’s got strong legs, always strong legs. Other than that, I made him to look just like me — a scrawny sharp thing, like the edge of a chipped tooth. Black hair with curls. Pale with scars. Cleanser blue eyes.
And then I started playing.
​
—to be continued.
| 2021-09-03T07:53:33
| 2021-09-03T07:19:05
| 193
| 94
|
[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family.
|
*Note: I just wrote another story for this prompt in the replies below. Let me know which sorry you like better!*
It wasn't until I had the chance to die that I realized I still wanted to live.
Sitting next to the parents, seeing their faces as the ER surgeon came out of the room and shook his head, I was convinced I wanted to die. After all, I was the reason they boy was was all but dead.
He wasn't fully dead, not really. But the trauma to his organs made life support and a medically induced coma necessary. The doctors said he couldn't be brought out of the coma without ending his life.
I begged the parents for their forgiveness, insisting I would trade places with their boy in an instant. The mother looked at me hopelessly, but I'll never forget the father's look of anger, pain, and contempt. I think he knew how hollow my words were, even though at the time I had convinced myself they were sincere.
When news came out of a brain transplant technique, I didn't feel relief, only fear that the parents would track me down and insist I give up my body to make things right. I had been dreading their call, but each passing week made that seem less likely.
My heart skipped a beat when I answered the door, and saw the boy's parents on my porch. The father had been crying, and the mother had her arm around him protectively.
I froze. Just as the words "I can't" were about to leave my cowardly mouth, the father spoke.
"He said he forgives you," the father said.
That didn't make sense. The parents had never had a chance to talk to their son after the accident.
"Who forgives me?" I asked, barely daring to hope that maybe the doctors were wrong, and the boy had recovered enough to be brought out of his coma.
The father took his hat off, revealing a fresh scar traveling across his forehead.
"My father."
|
\*knock\* \*knock\*
The sound of slow, heavy knocking comes from the door. From the other side, a woman calls out, "we want you to make things right. Come on out, James."
It's them. For the past two weeks straight, they've showed up outside my house. Every single day, and always at the exact same time. More and more desperate each time they show up.
I know they want their son back, but this isn't right! It was an accident! What could have I done? I honked the horn, I hit the brakes, and I swerved! Only so much can be done when you're gliding across wet pavement head-first into a boy with a death wish. I tried—
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of splintering wood. A hatchet was driven cleanly through my front door.
"We're getting impatient, James," came the man's monotonous voice. "The doctor is waiting, and you're stalling. Time is running out."
Are they insane? I know that I told him I wished it were me, but they can't bring him back! The surgery's success rate is already towards the low 20s after twelve hours, and he's been dead for over a month!
"There's no reason to hide, James. You're going to come with us one way or another." Like hell I am.
I headed for the back door, planning to sneak away before they could make their way in. I turned the knob and pulled... But it wouldn't budge. They nailed it into the frame from the outside.
From behind me, the woman whispered, "we took the liberty to make this easy for you, James. You get to relax and take a nap, and we get Damien back. Everybody is happy."
| 2018-09-16T16:40:02
| 2018-09-16T16:18:54
| 5,661
| 147
|
[WP] You are a superhero who keeps his identities private, even your sidekick doesn't know your normal identity. Today you come home to find your wife in bed with your sidekick.
|
*I don't want to play hero anymore*
I would have never imagined something like this: I believed to be a good husband, friend, confident, partner or whatever she needed at that moment, every single moment of joy and pleasure of my last months came from spending time with her at home, my work is my façade and not me, my love is real, my, my…
My mind collapsed for a brief moment, only able to repeat over and over those thoughts, meanwhile the most bizarre and painful scene: my best friend and sidekick was in my bed with (only) his mask on my wife was beneath him, smiling.
‘Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, it’s my fault sir. I would never made this if I knew…’ as he spoke, he comically tried to put his boxer without reveal anything from me, something absurd because I have seen him like that before, but he wasn’t paying enough attention to realize that. ‘…knew that this may happen. Eeeeh, I am deeply sorry.’
‘Stop that Tom, or he will think that the great Bulletwise is something as lame as he is.’ my wife said, still smiling ‘Did you run upstairs due to my screams? No need to worry that’s me having real fun.’
‘No no no, mister Fischer, I will leave this house as fast as possible, you have my word’ he was putting his clothes really fast indeed and trying to look anywhere but me or my wife. ‘She drank too much, do not mind those words… But I need your word that you will not speak about this to anyone, whatever the cost may it be.’
So that was the hole in this bank account… bribing husband to maintain his honor. Damn, that also hurts.
‘Leave him, mister Fischer here is no man ha ha ha’ I believe that there was no humor behind that laugh but there was a bottle in her hand just like Thomas insinuated. ‘Anyways, I’ll be leaving soon, solve this between you tw…’
The door slammed before she could reach it, as I was regaining my senses. Everything single thing in that room was deeply disgusting to me, and I only tolerate disgusting things at work.
‘Thomas, I did tell you to call me Jonah, aren’t we partners?’ Tom’s face went from mildly concerned to really really surprised, I don’t know how my wife was, I wasn’t able to look at her face. ‘My dear Sara, could you please explain this before leaving? I am trying to comprehend and not make an scene.’
‘Do you want what? After months of noting but making me stay home, without explanation at all, without telling me what you do when you leave this house, without a single word about your feelings or mine’s? Do you still need help to understand anything?’ she shouted as she tried to open the door ‘I hate you, I hate the moment I felt for your romanticism and your beautiful eyes, I hate the moment I accepted to move here. There is no further explanation. Why is this \*\*\*\* door still close?!’
‘He closed it Sara, he is MindKind’ whispered Tom, who was petrified in the middle of the bedroom. ‘Jonah, didn’t you tell her anything about your job? After all this time?’
‘Nobody asked you, now shut up’ I close his mouth by attaching his teeth and lips, it wasn’t anything new to me except that I was doing it to someone who haven’t committed a crime. ‘Sara, I love you, I’m so sorry that you discovered everything this way but it was the only way to not put you in danger’
‘Really? Do you think I can’t notice my husband when he wears a mask and a hood?’ she left the door and came to face me ‘You are the only telekinetic in this world, and do you expect me to not see the levitating thing while you sleep? Every single time I said that your eyes were exactly like MindKind’s or that the wound on your shoulder was in the same spot as he had been hurt, you denied it or dismiss it or make up an excuse to leave the room. I did love you Jonah, however I can’t stand that, not anymore. Now open the door.’
‘So, is it all my fault? It can’t be my fault; I only want you to stay safe. This is my way of saving you and saving myself, I can’t express my emotions at work when I’m using my power, I only feel something with you around.’ My eyes were flooded with tears while I said that, the door started cracking and Tom shaking so I had to let him speak.
‘Let me go, for God’s sake, I haven’t seen you mad and I like it that way.’ He ran to the door and blasted the lock as he usually does to open locked doors, but this one cannot be moved. After he realized that, he pointed his gun at me. ‘Open and save your marriage or whatever you’re doing here’
‘Thomas, remember why we make a team in the first place?’ For a moment, the tears stopped and my mind went normal. ‘You needed someone to cover you, not a single bullet will exit that gun of yours… Neither will you. You brought suffering to this house, it is fair that you get some too.’
Normally it was difficult to me move things that are not in my view field but twist his stomach felt was right. To me, he collapsed and coughed blood. In that moment, Sara screamed and the bottle slipped from her hand, for a second I thought “That’s a shame, the carpet is ruined with all that blood and wine”.
‘That’s me Sara, that’s me letting go my emotions at work, you made this to hurt me right? You’ve accomplished it, now give a reason to not give it back to you.’ Maybe, just maybe, I should have listened before I butchered Tom, she wasn’t able to speak nor think clearly, or that is what I thought when she took the gun and shot me.
I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t able to stop the bullet mid-air, when I reacted only an inch separated my eye from the bullet. My only reason to live and believe in humanity just betrayed and tried to kill me, I guess it was too much: the door exploded, the wall collapsed, the roof fell on us…But I survived, my subconscious kept a barrier against all external damage, however the internal was greater.
After what I did, none would ever see me as “Kind”, now MindFlayer seems more appropriate.
|
A Hero Just Like You
“Donna?” Her eyes shoot open and nearly bulge from their socket; her chubby cheeks turn that classic rosy red that she gets whenever she gets too flustered. At that moment I nearly forgot that I just saw my girlfriend changing out of a superhero suit. It’s the first time she’s been naked and my mind doesn’t start drooling at the boobs and hips, “What the hell?”
Donna’s face freezes, stone cold, just like those statues in the park she loves to spend hours taking pictures with, “I can explain,” her face grows two shades redder than I am accustomed to and starts to pull the costume back up, “I mean it’s exactly what it looks like…that’s a good place to start.” I can start to make out the logo on her chest as the suit flips over bosom and now my cheeks and eyes start to grow as wide and red as hers.
“Y-Yo-You’re Crimson Star!” I can feel my legs weaken as the words leave my mouth, it’s the weakest I’ve felt in the last 6 years.
“Yes, I am Crimson Star,” Her gaze shifts to my roughly crafted homemade suit. A small smirk appears on her face as the hue of her face comes back to a mild pink, “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Well, I guess I’m just a nobody compared to you,” My eyes nervously shift to the floor as some witty remark fails to come to mind, first time for everything, “I just help where I can, you’ve made a real difference.”
“All of it matt-” I lose focus as she starts to speak to me. My eyes glance at the walls of my sloppily organized room. I stumble over to the bed, collapse like a sack of bricks, and cover my reddened face, “Grayson, are you listening?”
“No!” I feel her sit beside me on the bed, her soft hands rub on my shoulder, a feeling so familiar and loving stings as an act of pity now, “You’ve seen my walls, I look like a pathetic fanboy!”
“Yeah,” She softens her voice to lessen the blow, a usual for her, but I’m not sure she has the pitch to soften this impact, “But if it makes you feel better you’ve been dating and banging Crismon Star for a few years now!” I move my hands and peer over at her with a playful glare, “Are you okay, babe?”
“Yeah, my life is not in danger,” I flash the best smile I could possibly muster in the moment, she reciprocates with her dazzling politician smile, always perfect. How did I never notice? Baffling, “I can’t believe I didn’t put that all together.”
“Nobody ever believes a hero or someone they look up to would be in their bed,” She leans closer and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. I’m dating Crimson Star and she loves me. My seventeen-year-old self would give me the best fist bump now, “add in some mystery like with superher-”
A sudden buzzing cuts through the air distracting Donna from finishing her thoughts. It’s over nearly as soon as it starts, just barely perceptible. She shoots up from her seat and her soft, sexy gaze changes to something more steeled and heroic. In the blink of an eye she’s back at the same window I just entered, looking back at me with a face I’ve seen so many times, “You coming along, slow poke, we’ve got a B class villain to apprehend.”
“Where the heck did that buzzing even come from?” She smiles and points to the symbol on her chest. I stumble over to the window, much less smooth than usual.
“You never told me your name, hot shot.” My cheeks turn tomato the moment the words leave her lips.
“Promise not to laugh,” I take a deep breath and confidently look Donna in the eyes, “My name is Scarlet Nova!”
| 2022-03-23T11:32:15
| 2022-03-23T10:09:46
| 60
| 29
|
[WP] Your 11 year old nephew just ate 2 of your LSD gummy bears 45 minutes ago and you have to make sure he makes it through sane
|
Stephen watched with a mute sort of horror as his nephew bounced up and down on the couch, hollering at the top of his voice.
"I'm hungry, uncle Stephen!" Jason screamed, his face red and flushed.
The gummy bears, it must have been. There were only three left in the side pocket of his backpack - last time he'd checked, there had been a couple more. Kids were curious. Jason could have gone through everything in the backpack while he made dinner. He'd probably gobbled them down without a second thought.
Stephen felt vaguely nauseous. What effect would they have on an eleven-year-old kid? He didn't know the boy well enough to measure the effects against his normal behaviour - he hadn't seen Jason in more than two years. It was his first time babysitting since he and Diana had moved closer to his family.
"Jason, did you find some gummy bears and eat them?" he yelled at the boy. Jason jumped down from the couch.
"GUMMY BEARS?" he said, his eyes lighting up. "Where? Where? Is that what's for dinner?"
Stephen fumbled for his cellphone and punched in his sister's number. He stammered out a story about Jason falling sick while keeping an eye on his nephew.
"I'm on my way," Lisa said tersely, before hanging up.
He put on a cartoon to try and distract the kid, but it only made things worse - Jason seemed almost hysterical, slapping the armrests as he rocked with laughter at everything. God, Lisa was going to murder him. He'd volunteered for babysitting because he and Diana were considering having a baby - figured it might be a good idea to hone his parenting skills.
*Stellar fucking job*, he told himself bitterly as he watched Jason giggle to himself. How could he have forgotten about the gummy bears in the first place? Nick had shoved them into his hands the last time he'd visited.
His old college roommate was still the same person, five years after graduation - partying it up every weekend and experimenting with every type of drug he could get his hands on. Stephen had been too discomfited to say anything, and had simply shoved them into his backpack.
And forgotten about them, like a moron.
Lisa pulled into the driveway as the show he'd put on for Jason ended. She rushed in, not sparing a glance for Stephen. She just sank to her knees in front of the kid and felt his forehead.
"Moomm, let me go," Jason whined, wriggling free and whooping as he ran from the room.
Lisa frowned at Stephen.
"He seems fine," she said. "Did he vomit, or something? Why do you think he's sick?"
"Fine?" he echoed. "Look at him! He's - he's acting crazy."
He took a steadying breath and was about to tell her about the gummy bears, when Winston, his sister's dog, ran into the room. The spaniel was barking nonstop. He skidded to a stop and snapped at the air.
"Winston!" Lisa said. "What's the matter with you, boy?"
The dog merely whined and sprinted from the room again.
"Weird," his sister said. "He's usually so calm..."
Stephen laughed weakly as he watched the dog roll in the dirt outside.
"Well, though I don't see why you had to call me back from my dinner, I appreciate it," Lisa said, squeezing Stephen's arm. Faintly, he could hear Jason yelling as he played upstairs.
"You're so worried about keeping him safe. You're going to be a great dad someday," she smiled at him.
"Yeah, about that," he asked. "Is Jason usually so...uhm, *hyperactive*?"
She chuckled. "Jason's a handful, but he's just a kid, Stephen. Most of them are like that, acting like they're drunk or on drugs half the time."
-----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
I sat on the rocking chair, wondering just when the little bastard was going to sleep. My sister said that he would be ready to collapse by about 10 o'clock, but from the occasional noises and high pitched squeals coming from his room-
"Wheee!"
Peace and quiet were far, far away.
"You know what," I said to myself, growing frustrated with his constant nonsensical blabbering, "I think it's time to go and check on him."
Now, you've got to understand the way laziness works. One moment you're sitting there, and the next moment it's been an hour because you really, really don't feel like getting up. I mean, the reality tv show that's playing in the background of your mindscape is just passable enough that you can lie to yourself and get away with it. *You sure you don't want to see what happens next, like who gets voted off the island?*
"I'm not even watching survivor, brain." I trudged to the screaming child, making sure to avoid the spoilt brat's toys that he'd littered about and opened the door to find him on his back and waving at the ceiling of stars.
"Auntie Alex!" he cried, arms flailing about as if trying to swim through the air. "Quick, get down before they see you!"
I rolled my eyes and slugged myself over, plopping down beside him. "Before what sees me?"
"Before they do!" He pointed at his ceiling.
"Before... the stars?" He nodded furiously, his neck ready to snap at a moment's notice. I had to blink a few times.
"Look, dear, you need to go to sleep, is something bothering you?" His head vibrated from left to right, his entire body shaking with him.
I've really got no other way to put it so: And that's when it hit me. Noticing his eyes, those oversized pupils, I pinned him to the bed by the shoulders. To which he squeaked, and giggled.
"Th-that, hehe, that tick..." he giggled, "les, auntie..."
"George," I began, as stern as I could muster, "did you eat the gummy bears I told you not to?"
Okay, so go ahead and call me a bad babysitter. I thought the little rascal would be out cold, and I could have an enjoyable evening, seeing as my phone was stuck in the repair shop.
His cheeks flushed red and he shook his head. Kids are awful at lying.
"No, I didn't eat two of them," he managed, clearly holding back a laugh.
Especially when on LSD.
The first thought through my head, play it off as a dream or a joke. He'd be fine. Probably. I needed to make sure my sister didn't rip my head off.
"George," I said again, "are you going to tell mom that you ate my gummy bears?"
He laughed again, shoulders somehow ticklish and mouth wide open as it to speak. The next thing, my ears were screaming in pain as the banshee of a child wailed as if the world was ending.
**"Ahhhhh!"**
My hands leapt off him to cover my ears, eyes screwed shut and nose wrinkled up. "Jesus, George, calm down!"
He didn't calm down.
Instead, he threw himself off the bed, almost comically landing on the floor and sliding to the lying position and rolling under his bed. With more than a few loud knocks, signalling potential damage.
I followed, hot on his heels.
"Geor-"
**"Ahhhhh!"** he shrieked once more, a foot smacking me square in the jaw and landing me flat on my ass.
"Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me!" he chanted, holding his head and kicking at the air where my face once was. "Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me!"
"George?" I asked, reaching for my phone.
See, the thing with acid is that you need — the moment people start panicking — to console them. Otherwise, the entire experience becomes a living nightmare. Thankfully, I knew exactly what he liked.
I pulled out my-
*Repair shop*, my most unhelpful brain remarked. I did my best not look angry, cracking a crooked smile as uncomfortable as having 'the talk' with your parents. "S-stay right there, I'll be right back."
To my amazement, he nodded.
While music is not a fix-all bandaid, in my experience, one's favourite songs tended to do the trick. So I did the only thing I could, in a house with wifi, but no devices I knew the passwords to.
Blu-ray player on, hands rummaging through discs and TV set to maximum volume. If I could, I would have cranked it up to 11.
"George!" I yelled, hoping that he wasn't panicking as I bolted to standing again, off my knees and as far away as I was comfortable for the remote control still working.
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
The disc whirred to life, and logos blared through the speaker system.
"Come on, come on," mumbled, trying to convince myself that the high pitched whining had nothing to do with his panicking.
"Come on," I mumbled, going to the soundtrack selection that few movies (Thank you, Dreamworks!) had these days and picked the only song that would get him out of his panic.
"Save me Smash Mouth," I whispered, running into his room. Sweet, sweet singing to my ears.
"Somebody once told me the world was gonna..." George started singing before breaking out into hysterical laughter.
"Hehe... and they d-don't," he giggled, completely out of tune, "st-stop comin' and they don't..."
More laughter, as I reached in and began dragging him out his makeshift hideout.
He mumbled, between wheezing breaths, something about some Twitch streamers that I didn't quite catch. Probably Minecraft if I had to guess.
"Alright, George, you okay?" I sighed with relief, when all he did was nod his head and keep laughing.
A few hours later, when the tears had subsided and I managed to get him to just relax and listen to the soundtrack to Shrek, he fell asleep. And no one would know the wiser.
Crisis averted.
"Wheee!"
*And they don't stop comin'.*
****
/r/AlexUrwin
| 2017-01-09T06:33:44
| 2017-01-09T05:45:56
| 128
| 31
|
[WP] You discover a library with a biography for everyone on Earth. While reading your own, you notice that whenever someone else is mentioned, there's a footnote showing where you can find their biography. Its odd how someone who was only a sentence in your book has a whole chapter for you.
|
I ran my finger along the frayed volumes until I found the single, ancient tome I was searching for. As I plucked it from its shelf, a plume of dust exploded around me, forcing me to step back, coughing and wheezing. I half expected a wizard to appear as the ephemeral fog settled on the ground. There was nothing there, of course, apart from the ornately carved bookshelf.
The book was a burnt brown and whilst still a thick volume, was noticeably lighter than my own had been. My own... *my own book of death*. A biography that charted my life up to now. Up to stumbling upon the Library of Threads and closing the door after me, accidentally locking myself inside.
I knew why the entries stopped where they did, after me finding the library. *I knew I wasn't getting out of here*. There was only one door, and it wouldn't budge no matter how hard I rammed my shoulder against it.
The book in my hands had that musty, comforting smell all old books tend to have. I blinked back my tears, determined to distract myself from my rumbling stomach and dry throat.
I placed the book down on the floor and sat in front of it, legs folded, flipping it open to the appendix. Thousands of names were listed. Dozens of other *Karens*, even. It took a moment to find my surname.
There must have been a mistake. *Hundreds of pages were attributed to me*. This person that I couldn't even recall meeting, who had only had a single line in my own book, had hundreds of pages on me. It must be a different Karen that shared my surname.
*It wasn't.*
I began to read.
>"Mind if I join you?" said Karen, as she approached the building's ledge. The fading sun cast a pastel orange over the street below, softening the city's imperfections, and turning the more pleasing sights into *objet d'art*.
>The man glanced over his shoulder. He was pale, and there was a sheen over his face as if he was ill. Karen didn't notice.
>"Free world," he said, shrugging.
>The concrete felt cold and rough under Karen as she sat down next to him. She swung her legs around, so that they dangled besides his.
>"Karen, by the way," she said, before waiting for a response that didn't come.
>"Not the best spot for fishing," she attempted, lighting a cigarette. She offered the box to the man; he raised a hand and shook his head.
>"You don't mind if I do?" she said, already puffing a hazy mist over the city. "Chilly up here."
>For a while, they sat silently watching the beams of the headlights sail by far below. Then, the man spoke.
>"You ever think about leaning forward and"--he clapped his hands--"*splat*?"
>"*Splat?*" Karen frowned. "No, not really. Maybe of falling in general, occasionally. Of what the wind would feel like against my face, and that rush you'd get for a few seconds. I wonder what pose I'd do... Superman, I guess. It's the classic."
>"I think about it sometimes."
>"...had a rough day?"
>The man sighed. "Yeah. I got some bad news."
>"Sorry to hear that."
>"Thanks."
>Karen took another puff.
>"So. What news?"
>"... got a problem with my liver."
>"Oh, what kinda problem?"
>"Cancer."
>"Oh." Karen turned and looked at the man. She finally noticed how pale he looked. How worn out. Like a piece of elastic stretched to the point of tearing. Then she noticed his hands. The silver band around his finger.
>"You've not told her yet?"
>The man looked at Karen, then down at his ring. "No. I was just... *I don't know*."
>"Got kids?"
>"Yeah. Little girl," he said proudly. He opened his jacket and pulled out his wallet. There was a picture of a kid, couldn't have been more than six, grinning broadly.
>"She's cute."
>"Takes after her pop," the man joked.
>"If you say so!"
>"It's just... it'll be hard for them, you know. To watch a slow decline. All the treatments. All the hope, you know? It'll just make it worse in the end."
>"Be harder losing a father when they might not have to."
>"... maybe."
>"You kidding? You can't really think-"
>He shook his head. "I don't know."
>"If I was your daughter, I sure as hell would want my pop to fight for me. To never give up on me. It's what dads do."
>Karen patted him on his back, then glanced at her watch. "Shit, I got to get back to work. See you around."
I felt scolding tears spill down my cheeks as I flicked forward a few pages.
He told them.
His wife held his hand as he entered the hospital to begin chemotherapy.
I skipped a few more. Then a few hundred. I landed on, and read, the entire chapter on his daughter's graduation. He was so proud. He was somehow prouder still, on the day he walked her down the aisle.
Then, I came across another section with my name in it. My hands began to tremble as I read.
>Perhaps it was serendipity that drew David to the Thread Library, and to Karen.
>Perhaps it was simply fate that allowed David to save Karen, this time around.
>"Hello? Is anyone here?" he yelled as he stepped inside.
>Fate that he found her sitting there, weeping, in front of the ancient tome. That he was able to take her hand and lead her out of the library.
My hands trembled as I closed the book and held my breath.
*Hoping.*
*Praying.*
...
...
...
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
|
I wasn't what I'd call the best person. I suffered many a malady in my life, mostly concerning the headcase. I spent many hours consumed in a desire to only be able to unravel the people closest to me, to figure out what they truly thought of me, to never be open to any sort of surprises. I maintained relationships, but they were never truly healthy, other broken people that needed the pieces picked up, who could pick up some of mine. Who could, for a moment, make me feel like a puzzle to be solved, not a broken glass to be discarded, while the 'half-full'/'half-empty' contents seeped in to the hardwood. Trust was a rare commodity, genuine people were failing banks and every intention was wrapped in a barbed wire of half-truths.
I pored over this data that was titled 'Dunn, E.' It spoke greatly of my family situation, a father always wrapped up in work, a mother who was too drained. It spoke of an average life at school. There were bricks of space devoted to each and every person, the regrets I held and the love I shared; the things I was thankful for and the things that turned my stomach.
It spoke of my brief stint through various part-time jobs, how I would turn off my brain and let the ennui run its course as I slipstreamed behind other cars in a brown box-truck. I spoke with every client I delivered to, though a lot of them simply faded out of my memory as time went on. Sure, I'd see the regulars and chat, and laugh. The moment I left, however, the visage of a happy conversationalist turned to one of yet another dour worker.
I discovered soon after that you could cross-reference chapters, read their interpretation alongside yours. Pure curiosity took over, I felt I had all the time in the world. John Price was an entrepreneur, a person ordering doo-dads and tools that confused me. I found myself closing the book when I was 'inspiration, drive to never give up, a drive to succeed'. Fuck you too, John; jobs are hard to come by.
Vanessa and Abby Schulz, they subscribed to those boxes. 'Three curated types of coffee', 'Four bottles of wine tailored to you'. They were chatty and charismatic, sisters living a dream life in an apartment block. They'd always compliment me, too, want to talk, add me on every social media platform, hang out. I wasn't surprised to see I hadn't been mentioned at all, a failed product on their monthly delivery of revelers and fucktoys.
My chapter had ended on a semi somber note. I recalled Christine. "An older lady with a kind heart. I enjoyed talking to her, though the age gap was wide."
I felt almost filthy gazing in to her tale. It was probably harrowing, full of life and vibrancy, thousands upon thousands of pages that would make the epics of Tolkien blush. I skipped right to the end.
"She fell ill some time after Harold passed[16:Blythe, H.][17], and even moving across the country never seemed to solve her problems." The chapter began. A feeling of dread washed over me, something I'd never stopped to think of when her medicine stopped coming.
"Daily injections and inhalers. Pills for breakfast, lunch, and bedtime. Routines filled with news and glurge she never truly paid attention to. She only found some solace in Thursdays, when her delivery would arrive at around 5 PM."
Did it mean so much to her to simply see a human face? She always seemed so joyful.
"Her only son, Dean[Blythe, D.] lived across the country, hardly able to care for himself. She saw a lot of her family in this young man. Long-haired and funny, a smile so genuine. She would always invite him in for coffee, and reminisce as she went to bed that night that she had a friend who would listen to an old lady's ramblings about the bustle of New York, her past as a teacher, how she met her husband over a slippery track of Sinatra at a gala event. When she got her deliveries, she did not feel like the scary witch that all of the children were afraid of, or the out-of-touch lady that people were content to shrug off. She felt like Christine. Not young, not old, but simply someone who existed. Eddy[Dunn, E.] was a real gentleman, a chivalrous person in her eyes. A genuine person with genuine care in his heart."
I felt time slow, my head throb as tears welled up in my eyes. I returned to my entry, the last page.
"In his last moments, Edward had lost hope. The world was cruel and he was but a pawn, a mixture of chemicals and processes. He was bitter at his siblings who only saw his failures, he bemoaned his father and apologized to his therapist. There would be many people at his funeral, smiles he brought to faces, warmth he brought to hearts, passing thoughts not entered in this book."
| 2017-12-04T04:37:00
| 2017-12-04T02:09:03
| 3,652
| 237
|
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do?
|
Most people think that physical pain is the best way to manifest magical abilities. They cut themselves, lash themselves, burn themselves, allow wild animals to maul them- anything they think will unleash the power inside them. There are entire schools dedicated to torturing hopefuls until they unlock a magical gift.
But not Ellie. She knew. She knew that the strongest powers came from emotional, mental trauma. They left deeper scars, buried deep in the psyche, that unlocked the most powerful magic.
She knew this because it had happened to her.
She was young yet, much younger than the rest of the Magician Trainees being tested today. She stood there quietly, her tiny frame swallowed up by the robes all Trainees taking their final tests was required to wear. Her silver eyes stared unblinking at the examiner, her body completely still.
"Well?" The Examiner asked. "Are you going to show me? If not, I'll have to fail you."
Ellie could feel the eyes of the other Trainees boring into her, hear their soft snickers and sense their hate. She could also feel their anxiety, their fear. It made the long, empty room smell like acid.
"Answer me!" The Examiner snapped, and Ellie smiled, small white teeth gleaming. She raised the hand that held her small Trainee staff- a miniature version of the one the others held- and banged it on the floor. Overhead, glass shattered and tinkled to the ground as lights broke and went out, leaving just the flickering candlelight from the sconces along the edge of the room.
She lowered the top of her staff and tapped the floor with it, dragging it across the stones. A strong wind buffeted the room, blowing out all the candles at once. The room, windowless and far underground, descended into a darkness that seemed almost unnatural. Ellie smiled again, listening to the other Trainees shuffle around, the smell of acid growing stronger as they stumbled around looking for light.
"I wouldn't do that," her mocking voice echoed through the room, even though she spoke not a word. "The darkness holds more secrets and danger than any of you will ever know."
She raised both her arms, her bracelets jangling as her sleeves fell back, and turned in a circle. A small globe of light appeared above her, pulsing brightly and illuminating the silhouettes of monsters slithering through the dark. One of the trainees screamed, and Ellie laughed, relishing their fear and anguish.
She lowered her free hand, stroking the head of one of the creatures that stood next to her.
"Lovely, aren't they? My little ones," the creatures formed a circle around her, facing out to the edges of the room. Each one was different, but they were all horrid and evil looking, sharp fangs and claws and vile, poisonous breath. One of them had bright green drool dripping from its mouth, and where it hit the floor the stones sizzled and melted away.
Ellie slammed her staff onto the floor again, and the creatures stalked closer to the other Trainees. One, an older boy, screamed and made a run for the door on the far side of the room. Ellie sighed as one of her creatures broke rank, lunging on him and dragging him down to the floor. The boy screamed as the creature ripped into him, his cries echoing and his blood spurting through the room.
"I did try to warn you," Ellie sighed dramatically as the rest of the Trainees screamed and started to run for it. Ellie tapped the floor with her staff and the light went out again. Around the room, there were screams of agony, the sounds of ripping flesh and breaking bones. The sounds of jaws clamping, claws scratching, blood dripping. Ellie smiled, taking it all in, breathing in the pain and fear and agony.
And just like that, it was quiet again. The silence was oppressive, filling the room and weighing it down. Ellie tapped her staff again, and the lights came back on in a rush. Around her, the trainees all stood, unharmed, whispering amongst themselves.
In front of her, the Examiner was on his knees, his head bent back and eyes bulging, mouth opened in a silent scream. Ellie looked at him and smiled.
"I suppose this means I pass?" She asked, her first truly spoken words. There was no response from the Examiner, locked in his mind, in the nightmare she had summoned for him. Ellie laughed and bent down to whisper in his ear.
"Don't worry. This too shall pass. When? Well, that I don't know. But when it does, you will come out of it stronger and more powerful than any simple Physical Pain Magician. You will be likened as to a god." Ellie paused and smiled slowly. "That is, if you survive."
She turned and strode down the room to the big wooden doors. She grabbed a new set of robes and a staff from the table by the door, ones that signified her new position as a fully fledged magician, and opened the door. Before she left, she shot a look over her shoulder at the other trainees surrounding their examiner and snorted indelicately.
"Physical Pain Magicians. Useless. All of them."
|
"Watch!" Young Nathaniel said as he closed his eyes tightly and began to strain.
The magician magistrate sat, humored by the kids unhoned focus. 4 minutes had passed when the kid reopened his eyes, "there!"
"There? There what? Is there something I should have noticed?"
The kid sat quietly, swinging his legs to and fro while staring intently out the window. A few more minutes had passed as both the magistrate and the child gazed into the sky outside when the magistrate finally noticed. The sun, it was way too bright.
"What did you do!?" He asked the child
"Can blow things up with my mind, after the moon I wanted to pick something bigger, and I was told the sun was the biggest" the child said, arms swung wide to gesture the size.
"The, th th th the moon? You did that!" The magistrate sputtered out, and with dread he looked outside once more, "Oh no."
The sun grew hotter, and then split into multiple parts until it started turning blue, and shrinking into itself. The light grew dim, and a slow chill started to creep in.
"Am I in trouble?"
| 2022-04-26T12:51:38
| 2022-04-26T11:54:54
| 29
| 18
|
[WP] Turns out, when a species reaches the stars, their ships resemble the characteristics of that species’ origins. Most other species have ultra fast, hard hitting spaceships, and a few are slow behemoths. But everyone is scared of the relentless, unstoppable humans.
|
You can tell a lot about a space faring race by their ships and I don't just mean their aesthetic preference. Every race seems to inevitably rely on their evolutionary strengths when designing their ships.
Take the Larkins for example; their long and slender ships seem to dance through space making seemingly impossible maneuvers with ease but they are only armed with a single powerful laser and the can't move while firing so they need it to be a 1-shot kill or they have a high likelihood of dying before they can get respond to a counter attack.
On the other end you have the Katar whose ships seem to be massive fortresses but are actually mostly just a shell to protect their much smaller core from the controlled self sustaining nuclear explosion that they use as their propulsion system, their main attack method is ram and run, if you dodge the ramming or survive it then your in the middle of what is essentially 4 tactile nukes blowing up 100k/second.
Humans have never been the fastest, strongest, hardiest, or longest lived species. Some claim that our strength was in our intelligence but that isn't true, we killed off the species who tried to rely on intelligence long before we even learned how to write. No our evolutionary strength is stealth and endurance. Humans hunted animals that could easily kill them by hiding until they saw an opening and then wounding the animal. When the animal ran in a panic Humans would follow at pace. We couldn't outrun or keep pace but we could keep up and where the animal would tire itself out we would be fresh. We could keep this chase up for days or even week if need be but eventually the animal would collapse from exhaustion and we would finish it off with a single knife stroke.
I love the nicknames that other races give us; Horde of Ghosts, Wraiths, Takers, or Black Moons Howl. Our ships are small and only armed with small dense flechette rounds but they are nearly impossible to detect until after they fire and then they are hard to get a firing lock-on. Our weapons won't destroy a ship but they will cause multiple breaches that are hard to seal and they are aimed at areas that are large spaces or life support distribution centers. Our ships censors can pick up and follow the leaked atmosphere from a ship almost indefinitely and our communications scrambling technology included in our flechette rounds so the ship cannot call for assistance or even communicate internally without direct connections. The other races only over find the aftermath of our strike, a ship floating in space with a few small holes punched in it that has been completely stripped of all valuables and the crew mostly dead from asphyxiation
|
The head of an intergalactic space force turned his head in a way resembling nod of an apex predator rather than a civilized being. Turns out this ship is owned by Trigators, tall lizards with prolonged craniums and evil grin always sticked to their faces as a reminder of their ancient past. Their territorial enemies were gone now, but the face designed to kill remains and so does a feral grin of their space ship our hero Swan got himself on board of. Unlike the Gators, Swan was of a shorter statue with lean limbs resembling those of an Elvish royalty, but unlike them his eyes were more of a circle than a line and his ears were silly far from his head, leading your attention to a dark hair unlike anything space commanders are used to with space wandering mammals keeping their scalp either their natural blonde of higher classes or attempting to blend in with a permanent dye.
Gator's eyes widened as the humans monotone gait got swifter while he was approaching the last few meters to close off their distance into an intimate closeness unlike anything this race finds comfortable. Despite being a guest, his hand extended as he offered captain his hand in a friendly gesture. "Swan, nice to meet you." Gator's body fixed in a flex-like position mirrored his gesture with an unchanged facial expression as he introduced himself to an elite commander of Human Joined Forces. "Nexx!" Despite being short, the introduction revealed much of his diet as Swan's nose was filled with a smell of sweet-water fish and a foreign spice.
"I've heard you wanted to see me in person. I don't possess a knowledge of any alliance law we might have broken by our entrance. Is there anything else I should be worried about?" Nexxe's shoulders broadened up in a majestic gestures bringing out a full chest adorned with medals not common in this territorial league.
"It's the way you behave. The weapons. Not all of us will tolerate a foreigner and not all of us are scared to fight. You were let in with a faith of peaceful passing, but your actions on b-35 were noted and watched with a great concern. Your ship is armed with high-tech weapons unlike anything I've ever seen. I know your planet was being torn apart by war for many millennia, but unlike you, most of us are a peaceful breed. The looks can be deceiving.. Mr. Swan. Unlike humans, every other species develops a natural sense of peace before they enter a technological era, but yours is clearly different. Isn't it? Look through the window and tell me, what you see. It's flowers, trees, water, skies. Every ship parking in the dock is adorned with the things they value the most. Their shapes are twisted into intricate patterns revealing their very own sense of beauty they want to be known for. Now look at your left. Your poo shaped ship with a phallic gun sticking at each side is a thorn to our eyes. Its shape reveals nothing more than greed and soulless efficiency matched only by creations of the darkest corners of Universe inhabited by beasts of war. Now tell me... Mr. Swan, are you a beast?"
| 2021-10-12T12:26:10
| 2021-10-12T10:48:37
| 118
| 22
|
[WP] What’s more horrifying than a biblically accurate angel shouting “FEAR NOT”? A modernized angel whispering to you “Be very afraid…”
|
Gabriel licked my earlobe and said, "Be afraid. Be very afraid."
Light from his halo reflected off the blade he held close to my throat. "Please," I said. "Don't hurt me."
At this, Gabriel laughed. It sounded almost like he was choking. Perhaps he tried to stifle his laugh. "Didn't you know? The lamb of god was always meant for slaughter. Our Lord is hungry, and your sacrificial smoke will fill his celestial belly. At least for a moment."
Three days ago, Gabriel had descended from Heaven and he had approached me at Walmart. I was shopping for laundry detergent. Considered buying something other than the store brand, as I'd made some extra cash after a song of mine had somehow ended up on a big-time Spotify playlist. *Relaxed Study Jams*. Then Gabriel appeared before me.
"Greetings," he had said. "I am come to deliver a message from the Heavens high."
*Oh, great*, I thought. Another weird promotion. What were they selling, pillows or something? But as it turned out, it really was an angel. He proved as much by resurrecting my cat.
Flippers had stood by my side since childhood. Then she got glaucoma. It made her look like a zombie or a ghost; something supernatural. Then she was, in a perfectly natural fashion, struck by the neighbor's car. Flippers couldn't see a thing. But she yearned for birds and would follow their tweets even across a road that to her was just another thing of darkness.
Gabriel dug her up by hand. He pulled her putrefying corpse from the soil, and her head came off. But Gabriel stuck it back on and suddenly her eyes came alive. Then the rest of her followed suit. Flippers had risen from the dead. And I had no choice but to believe that Gabriel really was an angel, sent from God for some mysterious purpose.
I ended up buying the cheap detergent, and Gabriel had followed me home. Stalking me all the way. That's when he saw the crude grave, and he got to digging like I said.
"What's with the knife?" I said. "You're an angel. Surely you don't need a knife?"
"To me, there's no knife at all. It manifested from your own mind. All I did was think of fear. You did the rest. A knife? What a conventional object of fear. Why not something more Biblical, like a snake?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Why not the angry head of your schoolteacher?"
"T-That would be bizarre."
"Many people fear the absurd, dear lamb. I guess that means you fear conventions. My mind has changed. I guess there is something interesting about you after all."
Gabriel's knife dissipated, and he embraced me in a hug. I tried to shy away, but his grip was as firm as rigor mortis. "The Lord will have such a fine meal," he whispered into my ear. "I am sure the taste will be ... divine."
I tried to think of *Balsam of the Winds*, my unexpected Patchify hit. It was a calm piano piece with synthesized string harmonies and it was no more overpowering than a wet towel. It was the sort of song you'd instantly forget. Which meant you wouldn't grow tired of it. You could keep coming back to it, like a pilsner, and it would leave no trace whatsoever in your mind. Now this had become a problem. Because I couldn't remember the melody at all.
"Please," I pleaded once more. "Flippers is alive again. She needs me."
"The Lord has no need of your corporeal form. Your feline companion is free to feast on your remains."
"She's not going to do that," I protested, swinging my arms around to show that I really meant it.
Gabriel paused, and stared at Flippers. She was in the midst of cleaning her behind. "She's a cat," he said.
I crossed my arms. "So? She loves me. She won't eat me."
"... You have fundamentally misjudged the nature of cats," said Gabriel.
Though he was a god's companion, the angel had gotten it all wrong. When Flippers had lost her vision and licked the air in confusion, I cleaned her with my own tongue. And she let me. That's love. I got a rash so I stopped doing it, but the fact that I thought to do it at all meant that there was a real connection. A bond. Flippers didn't see me as food. She saw me as a large, inelegant cat. I was sure of it.
"Wait," I said. I could feel the blood draining from my face. Why hadn't it occurred to me before? With horror a sneaking suspicion entered my mind, and it grabbed hold of me.
"What?" said Gabriel. "Are you going to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness? It's not going to work. The Lord gets fuzzy if he misses his afternoon snack. There could be another flood. Or locusts. Or—"
"No," I said. "No no no."
"Prepare to meet your maker," said Gabriel. "Prepare to become the *meat* of your maker. Prepare to—"
"Why!?"
"Will you stop interrupting me?" said Gabriel, and his halo turned red, like a mood ring.
It wasn't because I was licking my cat's fur. It was because I went with the cheap detergent. That's why I got a rash. Did that mean there hadn't been a bond at all? That Flippers really would eat me, if she got the chance?
Flippers meowed, as if to confirm my fears.
"Do it!" I shouted. "Just go ahead and do it, Gabe."
"... Don't call me Gabe."
"End me!" I screamed, and Gabe did as I asked.
As flames engulfed me from thin air, I realized something. *Balsam of the Winds* was on. It had been on this whole time.
I just didn't hear it.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 2: Mare v.s. Tamulu)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [this story](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmzrng/wp_angels_are_thought_to_be_beautiful_while/) provides some extra context.)
**In Mare's many lifetimes, they had played a thousand roles.** Conqueror and conquered. Deity and faithful. Oppressor and oppressed. It was hard, over a lifespan longer than human civilization, to keep seeing people as people. So many of Mare's kin had fallen to seeing them as props, all the world a stage and them the only actors.
But even the greatest show needed an intermission. A space for the actors to take a sip of water and check on how the show was doing.
Mare stood in an abandoned parking lot beneath a burning, smoky sky. The city of Sacrament had been beautiful, once, before its mayor had been banished and its citizens turned to rioting. Skyscrapers now darkened with soot, unidentifiable or all-too-identifiable stains plastering the floor—Mare had seen worse collapses, but not many.
Mare had come in their rock-star guise. A shock of deliberately shaggy hair spilled over one shoulder, a guitar case still slung over their back. All of it was fake, of course, part of the show; Mare was a shapeshifter, and their body was their will and nothing more.
"You're late," their opposite number said as Mare rounded a corner. The small, colorful bird gave Mare a baleful glare. Not all of Mare's ilk had chosen human form; many of the angels had decided to take the form of an animal this time around. Actors got tired of playing the same role for thousands of years, after all. "Were you doing something?"
"By definition, yes." Mare narrowed their eyes, piercing through the bird's outer form and seeing into their soul. "Tamulu. I thought I'd be rid of you for a century, at least, when Brouhaha collapsed."
"Ah, ah, ah. That's not your line. Let me prompt you." Tamulu rippled, and the bird was not a bird but a white-robed priest, one hand a miasma of burning light. "Avast, demon! I have borne your presence for far too long! Begone with ye, begone!"
Mare rolled their eyes. Fine. If that was the game the angel wanted to play, then the devil would fall into their familiar role all the same. The rockstar's body erupted, expanding into a thing of craggy obsidian and molten beauty. "Do you really want to do this? Here? Now? In the middle of a modern city?"
The priest melted away, becoming a police officer in modern uniform. "No, of course not. That's why I'm here, after all. The old days are no more, Mare. Demons can't go around brawling with angels without getting broadcast on live TV. We have to have a lighter touch."
The obsidian monster vanished, leaving a stern-faced military man in his place. "A lighter touch? You're asking a shapeshifter to have a *lighter touch*? As your superior officer—or someone who looks exactly like them—I command you to shut your ignorant mouth. And maybe fetch me a coffee, while you're at it."
Tamulu's form blurred, becoming a young woman with empathy in her eyes and a smile on her face. "No, I don't think I will. Instead, I'll become a plucky heroine with too many tricks up her sleeve and defy governmental authority over and over again. With a *bit* too much help from her supernatural friend."
Mare inhaled sharply.
Tamulu smiled with another woman's body.
"So that's why you're here," Mare finally said.
"You've been too invested in the world of the mortals," Tamulu confirmed. "The show must go on. You're deviating from your script."
"Spare me your metaphors," Mare said. "They're *people*. Look around, Tamulu. Look at this damn city. They're suffering, *millions* of people suffering, and I have the power to step in and *help*. More than you've ever done. *Angels*, my ass."
"Ephemeral," Tamulu said, dismissive. "Your actions could draw the attention of the mortal world onto us even more than they already have. How do you think the show will fare when its props rise up against it?"
"You know," Mare said pensively, "I do think you're about to find out."
Tamulu froze, staring behind Mare with piercing eyes.
"You can come out now, kids," Mare said.
A group of civilians—people, just *people* living in the ruined hell their city had become—stepped out, armed with guns and knives and kitchen chairs.
And all of them had heard Tamulu ranting about how the *props* were out of line.
"I *am* sorry that I was late to our little meeting," Mare said. "But it took me a while to gather the posse."
"You *imbecile*," Tamulu hissed. "Setting humanity against the angels? Our kind will fall for the first time in milennia—"
"Why do you think I'm doing it?" Mare steepled their fingers. "They don't call me a demon for nothing, you know. I'm no friend of yours."
The angel stood, staring down the seething mob.
And smirked.
"Very well. If conflict is what you wish..." Tamulu's shadow lengthened as they elongated, wings and eyes and too many burning wheels to count expanding from their body. The crowd readied their guns, their modern weapons, to fight a terror of the past.
Then all at once, Tamulu imploded, and they were just a little kid. Just anyone you would see on the street, without a second passing thought.
"Be very afraid," the angel whispered.
Then they leapt into the sky on impossibly powerful legs, gunfire pelting their body like so much summer rain.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-01-29T08:48:43
| 2022-01-29T07:30:10
| 43
| 15
|
[WP] Superman announces on the news that he is going to kill each person on earth, one by one, until humanity is wiped out, in alphabetical order.
What would happen? What would happen from a local to a worldwide level?
|
The world was stunned at first. Superman was the savior, the light in the darkness for which all could see and turn to. With his speed and ability, he could tear through a man a second, reaping a path of destruction all along the world. Lex Luthor was biding his time, knowing very well that his time would come before long. His newest suit was developed and ready to go. Superman was quite literal in his endeavor, flying around the world systematically going through every Aaron and last name, killing two at a time if they happened to be in the same area. It was not long until Bruce Wayne was ripped in two, unable to get his latest Kryptonite armor up and running. He was too fast for them all. Lex was waiting, but there was only one issue.
Superman was nearing the end of the letter C. He was returning to North America, just reaching the West Coast when one man was waiting for him. Before he could even land, the heavens above shook with fear. Superman knew that his greatest challenge awaited him. He lands in the lot of an L.A. sound stage. As he obliterates the large doors, he lets out a blast of his heat vision, hoping to catch his target off guard. Unfortunately for the Man of Steel he had only managed to melt the Total Gym that his target was on before. As he turned, the force of the Roundhouse kick delivered from the Savoir of Humanity did what no other man, demon, beast, or Kryptonian could do. Superman's head was sent flying into the sun. His now dead body fell to the ground. Chuck Norris laughed, and continued his commercial.
|
Mr. A Aaron Aarons had always hated his name. It was after all a clerical error at the hospital that led to the unique handle. His mother had told him that she wanted to name him Adam Aarons after his grandfather, but somewhere in the haze of drugs and child birth she signed A Arron Aarons and the name just kind of stuck.
Mr. Aarons, like most of the world, was watching Superman give his press conference live from the steps of the famous Daily Planet newspaper office in downtown Metropolis. Everybody in Mr. Aarons office was huddled around the break room television trying to hear what the greatest hero the earth has ever known had to say.
"Yes Miss Lane, you heard me correctly. Time after time I have I have saved this planet from certain destruction. I have battled mad men drunk with power, robots from other dimensions, villains more powerful then the human mind could ever fathom, and for what? So the human race could continue to hate one another? To take advantage of each other for profit and power? To slowly poison the very planet I have risked my life to save?
The truth is Miss Lane I am tired. Tired of everything. So yes, you and the world heard me right. Every last person on this planet will be killed in alphabetical order. Starting Now."
A Aaron Aarons felt his heart drop, then felt his neck snap. A blue and red blur was all his coworkers ever saw.
| 2015-07-12T22:40:34
| 2015-07-12T21:32:54
| 31
| 16
|
[WP] Write a story based on your favourite song. Other people have to guess which song it is.
Can be inspired by lyrics, backstory, or anything else you love about the song
|
Before I dropped her off that night, I felt that I had to express the unique connection I felt between us. I adjusted my overcoat, swept back a quaff of magnificent bangs, looked her in the eye, and said "I won't give up on you...I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm not the man to let you down. I'm not running around here, and I'd be the last one to desert you. Smile in the knowledge that I will never make you shed a tear, or say my last farewells, and in doing so wound your heart."
She turned to me with a knowing smile, the hint of a dance on her toes, and whispered "we're no strangers to love."
|
This was amazing. All my life I had dreamed of seeing the stars, and here I am, travelling through space and time with a mysterious stranger in an equally mysterious time machine. He had met me as I was going to the grocery store for some ingredients for a curry I was planning on making. His vehicle materialised in front of me, and he said one thing to me.
"Run for your life!"
Not looking back, I ran as fast as I could, following him to safety. As I was running, I heard a large explosion, and, feeling uneasy, started to slow down a bit.
"What are you doing? Come on!"
Quickly regaining my speed, we both ended up at a bus stop. I was out of breath, but he seemed fine. As I was about to ask him his name, he started going on about garlic or something, before asking me if I wanted to accompany him. At first I was skeptical, and asked him what he meant by that.
"I mean, do you want to travel the galaxy with me?"
Completely shocked, I started asking thousands of questions, what he was, where he came from, if he was sane. He didn't answer any, instead assuming I would. Grabbing my hand, he dragged me back to his box, and showed me inside.
It was amazing. The inside of it was far bigger than anything I had ever seen, and there wasn't an end in sight. In the middle of the main room, a large console went up to the ceiling, with hundreds of buttons and switches. Completely in awe, I forgot the man was even with me. He asked where in all of time and space I wanted to go, and I have been travelling to galaxies, planets and moons with him ever since.
Be gentle, this is my first post on this subreddit.
| 2015-09-13T04:36:49
| 2015-09-13T04:18:38
| 320
| 17
|
[WP] You're a sniper, but your gun only accepts... unconventional ammo.
|
Rifles aren’t cheap. Your run-of-the-mill hunting rifle will service if the target is a whitetail at 150 yards, but if you are trying to hit a target on the run at 1000 yds, military-grade tech is needed, which increases the price. At 2000 yards, even military grade firearms fails, and it is up to one-of-a-kind, hand crafted, laser precision hardware, which comes with one-of-a-kind pricing.
Yet, there is yet one higher grade, if you can find it. A rifle so advanced, you can do the impossible. I have broken the 10000 yard mark three times. The last shot was the dictator of a third world country, one of those 10 acre Middle Eastern countries that no one remembers. I spent three days moving into position on a rooftop overlooking his villa, and another four learning his daily schedule before taking the shot. The projectile pierced through two panes of bullet-proof glass before hitting him directly in the brain stem. He was dead before he hit the ground, and I was gone before his bodyguard found the body.
A rifle this powerful is available only to a certain few people, and the price is astronomical. I had found the letter sitting on my desk. Red leather embossed with gold letters, detailing out the cost for such a weapon. My soul, for a rifle that would surpass anything of this earth.
I paid it willingly.
Its power was not of this world, so even the highest quality ammunition was not enough. It required something more dear: bone. More specifically, my bone. I tried firing a bullet made from bone stolen from a target, but the rifle refused to fire. It must be from me. So, I did what I had to do. Mobility can be sacrificed, if the need is great enough. 24 bullets, crafted from the foot and lower leg below the knee.
Because rifles aren’t cheap.
|
Early on in my career, there was a hit that I almost royally screwed up. I didn't notice a bodyguard was missing, and he found me right after I pulled the triggrr. I broke him, but not after he broke my rifle. So, after payday, I set up a meeting with my supplier. After I get her up to speed on needing a new gun, she looked like she was bursting with excitement, saying she's got just the thing. She came out with what looked like an ordinary rifle, but the chamber was off. It's size was all wrong, like it was meant for a weird caliber or sonething. I asked her what bullets it shot, she gave me a wink and a grin and pulled out a rabbit's foot. I stare at her for a second, wondering when she boarded the crazy train. She takes the gun back, and as if it were the normal thing to do, she loads up the rabbit's foot. Even more confused, she drags me to the shooting range, takes out one of her "hard targets" (I stopped questioning where she got those people, or why they're okay with being shot), and gestures me to fire. Shaking my head, I take aim, eye on the scope, scope on the mark, finger on the trigger, and pull. Instead of a puff of burnt hairball, out came a ball of golden, sparkling light, and it splattered all over the guy's chest. Looking at my supplier, she gives me a look and a child - like grin. "Just wait for it." The guy stands up from his post down range, and immediately trips on his shoelaces. As he tries to get up, the dummies collapse in a pile around him, then the ceiling caves in. He throws out his back moving the rubble, twists his ankle stepping away from the wreck, and then collapses from a heart attack. I stare at my supplier, dumbstruck. "Pretty neat, right?" It was worth the money. Yeah, the ammo's a pain, and I feel bad for bunnies everywhere, but it leaves no trace, nigh - impossible to link to assassination, 100% lethal, and to be honest, kinda entertaining.
| 2016-10-25T15:46:53
| 2016-10-25T13:14:11
| 75
| 45
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
|
**Leviathan**
Mom and dad never looked at me with love. In fact, they tried not to look at me at all. Dad was as strong as a bear, mom was soft as a dove, and I was... To be honest, I wasn't sure what I was. No one really knew. Whatever creature imprinted itself into my skin wasn't of this world. It sort of resembled a dragon with its large gnashing teeth and scaled body, but it's appendages would not be called legs or wings. One could even maintain the beast was eel-like, but much more powerful and sinister than a common sea snake.
They named me Leviathan. That's what you called monsters that took the sea as their home. Some days I think they even wished that that's where I actually came from; relieving some of their guilt. At work, dad would tell his fellow trawlers that I had no strength—not like him at least—and that I was born cursed. Mom was the same, only more sympathetic. Through a fake smile she'd suggest things like, "We just haven't quite found his calling," or, "He's good at lots of things." Doves were always too polite.
My classmates tried not to look at me either. They were all "normal". Up and down the halls were rodents, hounds, reptiles, and horses. It's funny how they tended to move and speak just like the creatures tattooed on their backs, although it didn't stop them from teasing me. In class, at lunch, and even in the halls I'd get mocked for having a "broken basilisk" or a "hideous hydra" on my own back; even though it was no fault of mine. I'd grit my teeth through the day and sit quietly at whichever desk was nearest the window. For some reason peering out at the Pacific always brought comfort.
Last week was our annual field trip to the Port Arena Lighthouse and Museum in Northern California. I always looked forward to this outing despite being ridiculed to no end on the bus ride north. The day began just as I predicted; the carnivores would steal my lunch bag or my backpack while the herbivores would call me names from a safe distance. It was all routine at this point. Still, I was excited to climb the stairs of the towering lighthouse and hang over the railing. Oh to feel the misty ocean air on my face.
Two hours into the journey and the the entire vehicle jolted violently. Students were thrown from their seats and the ocean was suddenly visible from the front windshield. We had lost a tire. The horrific squeal of tires matched those of frightened children until the bus toppled over onto its side and slid towards the towering cliff. There was so much momentum. There was no stopping the bus now. The last image anyone saw was whitecapped waves crashing against the craggy bluff before the school bus submerged into a frigid, watery tomb.
Only a few seconds passed before the crisp salt water kissed my skin. Something on my back squirmed. When my eyes opened I felt a power I had never sensed before. I could see, I could breathe, I could swim, and I felt unbelievably strong! My next motion was to look around. Where was I? Somehow I had been thrown from the sinking bus but I could still see the flickering lights as it dove deeper and deeper into the colorless depths. I had to do something! But what? Somehow I instinctively already knew.
I dove down after the bus at an unimaginable speed. I passed the drowning vessel with no effort at all and grabbed it with my outstretched hands. With a grip that could puncture steel, I propelled my body and the bus upwards towards the dim light protruding the shallows. Up, up, up I went as smoothly as if I was wearing flippers and carrying nothing. After only moments the bus and I broke the water's surface and I heard many gasps for air; they were alive. Thinking quickly, with the bus still in hand, I waded towards the nearest beach and heaved the vehicle onto the sand. Water poured from the cracked windows and one by one the passengers exited. They all stood, soaking wet and coughing, on the barren beach. I was slowly exiting the water myself when was met with dozens of pairs of eyes.
They were all looking at me now.
-Chris Berke
|
I’m told that when I was born, my birthmark was barely visible on my shoulder. Just a smudge on newborn flesh. It wasn’t uncommon for someone’s mark to be illegible at birth, and most people were comfortable with the thought of it becoming clearer as I grew older. The more I grew into my spirit animal, they thought, the more detail would grow from the mark.
Everyone was convinced it would be some combination of my parents’ traits—my mother was quiet, my father large; perhaps a tiger? Or a swan, for my mother’s grace and my father’s temper? Innumerable speculations were made by curious others. As a child, I never had enough understanding of the matter to care much.
My father wanted me to be like him. I know he did. He was disappointed that I wasn’t a boy, and disappointed that I wasn’t big, I wasn’t strong, didn’t like to hunt, cried too easily. He did everything he could think of to make me better, but you cannot change someone’s nature.
My mother, as far as I know, never wanted anything from me. I wasn’t sure if she was glad that I took some of father’s attention away, or guilty. Her quiet grace was, at times, entirely unreadable.
Throughout my early years, my birthmark didn’t change much. It shifted position, or some parts were elongated or shortened, and it got quite a bit larger, but it never became any clearer. By the time I had survived seven years on this earth, my mark had grown to cover my entire right shoulder blade. If I twisted *just* so in the mirror, I could see the amorphous black thing, and I always thought it looked like a storm cloud.
On my ninth birthday, my father came home from the hunt, angry and intoxicated. I knew he took his mead with him on longer hunts, but I’d never seen him like this. He slammed the front door open and let out a vicious growl. I looked to my mother, shocked, only to find that she was pale and wide eyed with fear. When I looked back at my father, his eyes seemed to glow with hatred, and he kicked the door shut behind him.
“Where’s dinner,” he spat, and my mother rocketed out of her chair, hands flitting about like dove wings in her nervousness.
“I didn’t expect you home so early today,” she explained, but it did no good. My father, the bear of a man, snarled at his wife.
“I’ve been away for two days and you didn’t even have the decency to cook for me? What do you provide for this family that I don’t?” he shouted. “I hunt for food, I make the money, I bring in everything to trade. All I ask is that you have food ready for me when I get home from working all day!”
“I’m so sorry,” my mother whispered, already on the verge of tears.
“Papa,” I pleaded. The back of his hand found my cheek in a split second, and I was on the ground before I realized what was happening.
“And what do you want, you greedy little shit? All you do is eat my food and breathe my air. What do you have to offer this family?”
And then I was crying too.
After twelve years of this, the tentacles became clearer. “An octopus,” some said, “timid but strong.” “No, no, it’s a squid,” argued others. “Wicked smart and deadly.”
When I was sixteen, I fancied myself in love. She was a fox with a groundhog birthmark. She was clever, and kind, and blunt. She never lied—said it was a waste of her time and energy. “What’s the point?” she’d say. “Spare people’s feelings? Pah. Useless.” But she never said anything mean, and always looked out for her friends. I decided I was in love with her, and she decided I might be worth a try. Unfortunately, it was an ill fated match.
My father discovered us once, and it was as if I’d forgotten what his rage looked like. I could only stand by and watch as he destroyed the one good thing in my life. I barely moved for weeks afterwards.
When I was seventeen, my father caught my mother attempting to run away from him. I walked into our kitchen that morning because I heard yelling, and I thought ‘maybe this time I’ll be brave enough to do something. Maybe this time I can stand up for myself, and my mother.’
My father’s fists were moving faster than I could track. My mother lay on the ground, sobbing, blood dripping down her face from several open cuts on her forehead, eyebrows, and cheeks. I stepped forward and told my father to stop. Surprisingly, he did. But only to turn his fury towards me.
After that, things get a little blurry. All I know for sure is that, immediately after my episode, my father was almost dead and my birthmark was clear as day. A Leviathan, with needle like teeth, tentacles strong enough to crush buildings, body slim enough to speed through oceans faster than any ship.
Now I know why my birthmark wasn’t clear when I was born. Fate, or whatever marked our spirit animals so clearly on our bodies, was giving me a chance—*become your true self, with no guidance from me.* But my fate was sealed by my own father. I wasn’t born a Leviathan.
Some monsters are made.
| 2017-11-08T07:05:24
| 2017-11-08T06:50:26
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I shouldn't, I couldn't, help but laugh at me
At least I would've, if I weren't so angsty
My wrinkled skin, now pale and acne'd
Strange hate for my reflection, hating back at me.
​
If I'd took to the window, and forgot the mirror
I'd have seen it was everyone, not just me that was thinner
In waist, wallet and debt, and 9 to 5s
And fatter in dreams of women's behinds.
​
And as the world shaped to our volatile brains
Stock markets swung hard with waves of mood change
And change was everywhere, the news displayed-
"THE ESTABLISHMENT - BANNED - BY ORDER OF THE SAME!"
​
And all-night parties turned all-year raves
And gap years swelled to gap decades
Till being cool wasn't, and hipsters were lame
Till even the hardcore wanted bedtime again.
​
With elastic bodies and fresh-faced agendas
When lost virginities became legal tender
As the fray turned grey, we realised our plight:
"It's no fun being young when there's no one to fight."
|
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really!" I told my buddy as I looked at his dark eyes, even darker in the lightless dusty room.
"Well, stop bragging, Shane" he snapped, "things are pretty bloody well screwed at this point as it is. Last thing I need is you rambling about Mrs. Bartley"
But Mrs Bartley was indeed something we all knew about. Hell, she even used to scare us. In every neighbourhood there is an old woman, older than the Pharaohs themselves, and quite frankly you wonder how is she even alive. And more often than not they are very talkative, or at least so my parents said when they were tired of Mrs. Bartley's constant questions. And while she was our talkative older-than-the-world lady, she pretty much scared the living spirit out of us. Through most of our memories we have always been living in constant terror just by the thought of her. Maybe it was her teeth.
But all biting remarks aside something got to me this Halloween evening and a bit before midnight, I decided to leave my buddies, Sam, Dean and Merry, and go to Mrs Bartley's. Not so much for the candy, rather for the bragging rights of leaving a flaming bag of cat's products on her doorstep. But it was not Mrs Bartley who openes the door, and it was not me who knocked on it. I mean it was but when I looked in the mirror a few seconds after I entered the house, it sure felt like it wasn't. Long story short I was pretty impressed how her old parched skin had turned into smooth velvet over seconds and that platinum blonde did suit her as her natural hair colour. She was impressed by other things in my physique. So was I. The first two times for sure. Then it felt natural.
What staggered me most was not the fact that the news guys, and her TV always had the news on, got the situation pretty quickly - everyone had turned back or as in my case forward, to their adolescent years. Some even proposed that we were all 18. Hell, those scinece guys really pack a brain in the 21st century. Others proposed that we were 21, since it was more appropriate for their state - then the arguments began. But they didn't last long. It was not the fact that all the animals were in the peak of their predatorial minds and causing havok, no no no. It was that whatever got us like this - bacteria, virus, retrograde Mars with a full moon, whatever, man, it got to everybody. And I mean every body!!
We saw them around 5 in the morning walking towards town from the general direction of the cemetery. Mrs Bartley's house was close, I don't know if she had a plan to get closer or whatever, but we saw them! Hundreds! All of them my age! Our age! They were walking relentlessly through the street... But the thing is that while Mrs Bartley and I knew exactly whp we were before this thing happened - those guys didn't. All they knew was the hunger and the longing of being burried. And they were pissed.
They broke the front door and sunk their teeth in Mrs Bartley as I was putting on my jeans. Her blood stood out over her blonde hair, her entrails stood out on the tile floor. I almost pissed myself, but I ran. I ran so hard like I never have in my whole life. I even smacked one of the walking undead on the head. I never looked back at him....or maybe it was her... I don't even know.
I found Dave near the school, where we used to smoke, instead of going to class. He told me Sam and Marry were dead. A group of those...things had gotten them while they were making out in front of him.
"I mean, maybe I shouldn't have told them to go to Hell, it was probably the last they heard from me, but it gave me the time to run, Shane, so I did it!" said Dave as we were entering one of the class rooms
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really" I replied...
Happy Halloween, boys and girls
| 2020-11-02T10:58:27
| 2020-11-02T09:54:34
| 36
| 19
|
[WP] An NSA agent becomes inappropriately (or appropriately, I don't care, this is a writing prompt not a dictatorship) fascinated with whoever he's spying on.
Make what you will.
|
Day 1 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:
Name - John Doe
Age - 36
Wait, his name is *John Doe?* Well, that's quite the original name. Anyways,
Area of Residence - Atlanta, Georgia
Race - Arab
Sex - Male
Physical Dimensions - 5'6", 230 lbs. from last medical checkup two months ago.
He apparently came to the US at the age of sixteen from Iraq as a foreign exchange student to a prestigious magnet school. Decided he would like to stay and become a US citizen.
Good luck with that, kid.
Continuing on, he got a student visa and has remained in the United States by remaining in the college environment for an extended time - about 18 years. I'm pretty sure he should be a doctor of *everything* by now.
Personal evaluation - what the hell is HQ thinking? The worse thing this guy's got is a bad taste in porn and a scuffle with his drunk buddies that happened in his undergraduate years. Just because the guy's got a beard and is from Iraq doesn't mean he's going to blow up the Atlanta Aquarium - which is the stated reason. No HQ, let's not take his interest for the Aquarium as even remotely related to his *degree in marine biology*.
Will try to go through the necessary channels to let this poor guy off the hook - he's not a terrorist.
------------------------
Day 2 of Investigation #00456, investigation of potential terrorist:
Name - John Doe
Going through the shit loads of forms to get this guy free from a month of looking behind his back. Little nerd better be thankful.
Regular behavior, did visit his regular mosque outside of his normal schedule, apparently they are coordinating what looks to be a benefit fundraiser called "Coexistence: Different Gods, Same Faith"
Yep, totally looks like a vicious terror cell. Come on HQ, what the heck?
-----------------------------
Day 3 of Investigation #00456, investigation of potential -
This guy isn't even potentially a terrorist. Forms filed and they should process in a few days.
No abnormal behavior, his schedule was to the averaged minute.
Exactly..
-------------------------------------
Day 4 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:
Okay, this guy is most definitely not a terrorist. But his schedule has gotten *freakishly* accurate. Like, within the two-minute frame. But, that's not even the weirdest thing. Yesterday he *exactly* followed the schedule, I just thought it was a fluke. Today he fluctuated, which I thought to be normal. Until I went back to check the times.
Every entrance and exit was either a minute early or a minute and thirty seconds late.
I don't know how this guy's doing it, maybe he likes being punctual but this has me a bit on edge. Other than this weird fluke, everything is normal. The Coexistence fundraiser is apparently not the quiet affair it first appeared to be, it's quickly growing into a rally. I've heard from the Mayor's line that he would like to attend. I saw some of the regular attendees at the mosque and I have to say - I guess they're terror material, if you consider giving food to the homeless the hobby of psychotic extremists.
---------------------------------------------
Day 5 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:
This smug bastard. Today he fluctuated with total randomness, no pattern. I got suspicious so I tapped into the camera on his Marine Biology professor's door. That little fucker was just standing there in front of the door. He must have seen a light come on, because he looked up at the camera.
He looked at *me.* And then he grinned and walked out. I'm going to talk with my supervisor and see if I can't get this investigation to continue past tomorrow.
--------------------------------------------------
Day 6 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:
This guy's a terrorist, I just have a gut feeling. But my supervisor seemed to be quite convinced by my first few investigations that we should let this guy off the hook. I specifically told him I had a feeling about this guy. Normally my supervisor would jump on the chance to nab a terrorist - but this time he just gave me a dead stare and said to let the guy off the hook.
Well, no abnormal behavior beyond being a **god damned terrorist.** I get that he doesn't show the signs of being one, but I just know it. HQ was right about this guy, what can I say? Seems like everyone is too busy fussing over that new Coexistence rally - the NSA's got a bunch of guys going to represent the United States. Who better than the guys who spy on all of them to be the ones who convince them their safe and supported. Only guy not going is the chairman and his croneys, probably going on a golf trip on an island in the south pacific. We have to get this guy though, don't we do this all the time? Come on, give him the old party bus in the middle of the night! We do it to the innocents, why not the actual terrorists!
--------------------------------------------
Day 7... no, 1 of Investigation #00457, investigation of confirmed terrorist bombing:
Location : Atlanta, Georgia
Coexistence Rally
Time: October 16th, 2013; 5:43 PM
Suspects: John Doe
Incident Report: One man bombing by C4 strapped to the abdomen, detonated during a heated speech about the inner struggle of a Muslim to accept today's society. Self-detonated by means of cell phone.
Immediate blast hit first four rows, in which were seated the NSA representatives and religious leaders of Atlanta. NSA representatives...... confirmed to be the candidates for nomination to position of Chairman of the NSA.
Fires broke out blocking the rest of the near 2,000 in attendance from the exits. Emergency services arrived at approximately 5:45 PM, a new response time record. 500 Injured, 42 dead including the those who were sitting in the front four rows.
Structural damage was immense, further investigation revealed the structure of the pavilion was flawed and made with highly combustible materials.
Bombing was a one-time event. Occurred due to failure on part of investigator to confirm suspect was terrorist.
Personal evaluation: There is nothing abnormal about this beyond the immense tragedy of it. We can't see everything.
I have also submitted my resignation.
|
My Sarah. I've loved her since she was 14. I watched her go to school, come home. I saw how happy she was riding her bike. The day she got accepted to college. I watched her heart get broken by her stupid boyfriend. I was glad they broke up.
But Sarah didn't love me back. She didn't appreciate my gifts or my love. She got the police involved. She made me promise to stay away.
I'm so glad I took this new job. Now I can be with my Sarah, all the time.
| 2013-10-16T19:04:41
| 2013-10-16T18:16:47
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
Mom was singing Christmas carols again. The martini in her hand glowing like the contents of a broken glow stick. The dog was barking too. When I went to go look I could see children running around the classroom, having too much fun to notice the SS Titanic sinking into the giant kiddie pool outside. The sound of bagpipes commemorated the 100th anniversary of the sinking while trapeze artists flew through the air. I tried to catch one of their hands, but I was falling...
falling...
falling...
..out of my bed and onto the floor.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T10:42:43
| 1,493
| 10
|
[WP] Write a children's story with a terrible moral.
|
~This is a gem from the Children's Reading Section at Penn State's library~
It was a perfect summer day when Johnny left the park to head home. As he was walking he noticed a car following him that he didn't recognize.
"Hey buddy!" cried a man's voice from inside the car "Can you tell me how to get to Henry's General Store?"
"Sure!" Johnny answered. He gladly gave the stranger directions, and even recommended a shortcut, to avoid traffic on Main St.
"thanks Son, how about i give you a lift home to say thanks, it sure is a hot day." The man offered
"wow that sounds swell!" Johnny said as he got into the car.
The man introduced himself as Carl. Carl was a new arrival to town and was having a hard time finding his way about. He offered Johnny 5 whole dollars to help him run some errands.
Well a few hours and 5 dollars later Carl stopped at the Malt shop to buy Johnny a little something extra to thank him for all his help.
After drinking his milkshake Johnny felt tired and dizzy "We better get you home son, you don't look to well" Carl said, sounding very worried.
After making up the stairs to the apartment Johnny realized something was wrong "Hey this isn't my home" he yelped. But it was too late, as the older man took Johnny inside and had his way with him.
He made johnny promise not to tell anyone and dropped him off on the corner near his home.
When Johnny got home the first thing he did was tell his parents.
Johnny's parents called the police, who arrested him for admitting to committing an act of sodomy.
Remember kids. When you promise to keep a secret. YOU KEEP A GOD DAMN SECRET!
|
Once upon a time, there were two little ducklings who lived on a pond. The ducklings were identical twins, and they were beautiful. Why, even Mr. Toad had to admit that they were the best looking ducklings he had ever seen on his little pond. And Mrs. Robin could hardly look at the ducklings without pangs of jealousy running through her beak. She remembered the days -- long past -- when Mr. Toad had thought her beautiful.
The animals of the pond were not the only ones to notice the beauty of the ducklings. A family of humans did as well. Every day, a man and his son would visit the pond. Somedays they fished in the pond. Somedays they swam. Somedays, they would nap on its shore, next to the ducklings. But everyday, they came.
“Dad,” The son said one day. “Aren’t these ducklings beautiful?”
“They are, son.” The father agreed. “They are about the cutest ducklings I have seen.”
“I want to take them home, Dad.”
At first, the father refused. But he could see the desire in his child's eyes. And they were only ducklings. So, he agreed, and the child took the ducklings from the pond.
At his house, he made the ducklings a little duckling-home. He took a large cardboard box -- the one that he had built a fort in, and added a blanket so that the ducklings would have something soft to sleep on. He added a light, so that their little duckling-house would be warm. He added a food bowl, so that the ducklings would not be hungry. Last, he added his favorite toy, so that they ducklings would not be bored.
Everyday, he brought them food and water, and he played with them. He told them he loved them, and that he would always take of them. He tried his best to provide for them the best duckling life that he could think of.
But not all the ducklings were happy.
“I miss the pond,” One duckling said to the other. “I miss Mr. Toad and Mrs. Robin. I miss swimming in its waters, and sleeping on its shores.”
“But we have a good life here,” Said the other duckling. “All of our needs are taken care of for us. I like it here.”
“Yes, we do.” The first duckling agreed. “But I did not ask for this life. And we did not earn it. The boy only took us because we were beautiful.”
“And what if he did?” The second duckling asked. “It has brought us a good life!”
“Yes, it has.” Agreed the first duckling. “But I miss the pond.”
They argued for many days. Finally, the first duckling decided that he did not want to be kept by the child. He waited until he could fly, and then he returned to the pond. No amount of argument could persuade the the first duckling to stay, or the second duckling to leave.
When the child woke the next day, he found that he had only one duckling. He was sad, and talked to his Father.
“Dad,” He said. “I miss my duckling. Why did it leave? Where did it go?”
“Son,” Said the father. “I don’t know why the duckling would leave. You have kept it, and cared for it, and loved it. I don’t know why it would leave, but I think I know where it went.”
The son and the father drove the pond, where they found the lost little duckling. There, they captured the duckling, and teased it. They broke it wings, and smacked its bill, and when they were done, they broke its neck and left in on the shore of the pond.
Back home, the boy found the remaining duckling asleep in the little duckling-house. He was so pleased that he woke the duckling, and fed the ducking a double helping of slugs.
As the duckling drifted off to happy dreams, he reflected on how lucky he was to have a human that would take care of him, and how lucky he had been to be beautiful enough for someone to want to care for him.
| 2015-02-18T21:10:42
| 2015-02-18T20:06:32
| 50
| 10
|
[WP] Giant Japanese spider crabs have mutated and begun a land invasion, describe in a first person account a battle in the war that follows...
|
I poked my eyestalks out of the water, and upon confirming that our intelligence was accurate, lifted my mighty claws and clacked them as powerfully as I could.
“My fellow warriors! Strike now! Advance sideways!”
My heart swelled with pride as the water boiled with the scurrying of a thousand of us, advancing as one up the sandy beach. The tide was high, as we correctly calculated, and we easily floated over the obstacles strewn on the sandy floor by those dastardly monkeys.
Fast as we were, no sooner had the first wave of armoured death rolled up the beachfront that the monkeys flooded the battlefield with their artificial lights, effectively neutralizing one of the key advantages we had over them.
Then, the familiar vibrations coursed up through my legs, and I hurriedly switched the tempo of the signals I was sending. “Defend, defend! Long range attacks incoming!”
And not a moment too soon. From my vantage point, I saw the first wave of my brethren slow down as the miniature rocks the monkeys flung at us found their marks. But all the training started to pay off, as the frontline raised their mighty claws to fend off the attacks, and once the monkeys realised their rocks had no purchase upon our plated exteriors, they broke ranks, driven mad by fear.
“Advance, advance! *Ganbatte*!” I chittered as my blood boiled. “You are faster than they can ever hope to be!”
Say what you want about the mutation that grotesquely swelled us a hundred times over, but it certainly took nothing away from our speed. Onwards we pushed, swarming up from the angry sea in overwhelming numbers, a massive armored punch headed for the monkey nests.
Then, over the festering confusion of the battlefield, I picked on the one signal which I dreaded to hear. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyestalks.
*Clack… clack… clack…*
“That way, over there!” I thundered. “They’ve found our compatriots there, the cursed devils!”
I skittered over the backs of my brothers in arms, and the sight beyond the clearing turned even my battle-hardened stomach. No matter what violence the monkeys visited upon us, dismembering us in their warm-blooded, reprehensible ways, I would always recognise a fallen brother.
“Knock over their pots! How dare they feast upon the remains of our dead!”
There was no need for any further cajoling from me. Incensed by the desecration before them, the unstoppable phalanx of snapping death lashed out, and monkeys fell to the wayside in dozens, broken asunder by our stalwart claws.
As the adrenaline drained away, I surveyed the destruction that we had left in our wake. I’ll give credit where credit’s due, the few monkeys remaining were still animatedly trying to stem our progress, either by affixing rubbery shackles on our claws, or by poking our delicate underbellies with long sharpened sticks. But we had learned too, and as long as we helped each other, watched exposed spots for each other, there would be no Chink to be found.
Unless…
I swivelled my eyestalks towards the source of the new vibrations, and I could feel my shell shudder. Careening towards us, as fast as any of us could muster, were giant, blackened husks, no doubt piloted somehow by the monkeys. As they bellowed smoke, they flung rocks many times larger than the monkeys did, rocks which could indeed pierce and shatter our defences.
“Sir, do we fall back?” yelled a junior warrior next to me.
I turned to him, noting the youthful sheen to his shell, the naïveté in his eyestalks. He even still had all of his legs.
“No, young one. We fight fire with fire." I turned my claws to our reserves, tuning my message. "Your time is now, our shaman brothers! Visit your destructive magics on these armored monkeys, show them what we are capable of!”
From our rear, our secret weapons emerged, pushing forward on powerful, tenacious claws. They were rare amongst us, these fearsome shamans who could decipher and channel the mysterious forces in the world to their will. I watched with pride as they lined up in their combat stances, claws tucked to their sides, and my claws shivered with anticipation at the mighty energy blasts which would soon follow.
Their battlecries rang into the night.
“Kani-hame-hame-ha!”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
The crabs destroyed everything. They first appeared near small Japanese islands, all at once, and decimated the population. We could barely respond in time, and by the time we did, they had already conquered the islands.
I was on that wave of first responders. The first crab I saw haunted my nightmares to this day, even after half a decade. They weren't just monstrous. That would be insulting. They were godlike. They were shaped like regular spider crabs, but the rest of them seemed to come out of a Lovecraft story. Their arms were the size of skyscrapers, plated in fleshy armor that even missiles couldn't penetrate. They had sharp scales running over their heads that protruded towards the sky.
Regardless to say, they were inhumane in their actions. Not a soul survived in that attack, and the response team barely made it out. I should have died with the rest. Then I wouldn't have to say how my country burned.
Now, we are part of the last resistance effort against these damned hellspawn. All the other countries had backed away, tending to their own defences. Better for us, we didn't need them slowing us down.
Especially tonight.
Tonight, we were planning a raid to take back the capital. We heard rumors that there were still survivors hiding in the subways, where the spider crabs couldn't find them. We had to get them out. And then establish a stronghold to take the capital.
And we attacked the only way we could. In fighter jets. Ground efforts were inherently futile for taking one of them down, and the sea, well, that's where these bastards came from. The sky still belonged to man.
My squad consisted of me and four other jets. We were charged with leading the first wave near the center of the city, where the concentration would be strongest. While we, and other squads, were distracting the damned things, a second wave was supposed to fly in from behind, and sneak through to the survivors.
But that would only work if we didn't die in the first five minutes.
I calmed myself, focusing on the sky laid out in front of me. We were approaching the capital quickly, but up in the clouds, it didn't seem like the world had burned at all. Everything was the same in the clouds, like those bastards were never spit out of the sea.
In a swift motion, my jet dipped through the clouds. Even from this distance, the once beautiful city of Tokyo looked like a hellhole. It's great buildings were demolished and its ever-glowing neon lights had dimmed. No more music that blasted into the night. No more friends prowling the streets in their drunken stupor. It was only death and darkness from now on, and the jarred shaking of the earth from the weight of the giant crabs.
There were only two of them here. It only took two of these hulking beasts to bring down most of our military. Their double-pitched screech rang out as they felt us approach. The spikes on the top of their heads extended outwards. They were preparing for battle. I flew around the spikes, manoeuvring towards the underside of the crabs. That's where they were weak.
I flew around their massive arms trying to swat us out of the sky, and in the corner of my eye I saw the rest of my squad fly in.
I took a deep breath as I passed underneath it.
If they were nightmares from the top, they were full-on hellspawn from the bottom. Inside the crab's belly was a second mouth. A fleshy, gooey orifice lined with rows and rows of sharp red teeth.
It opened its mouth as I fired at it, multiple tongues shooting out and grabbing the jet. It's tongue were spiked as well, and laced with a deadly acid that burned through metal.
I fired a missile at one of the tongues, and it recoiled from the jet. Another jet flew around, firing at it on the other side. Soon, it was being barraged from different directions, confused.
No. This wouldn't work.
The giant spider crab, closed it's second mouth, lowered its body and leaped, flying into the clouds. It spun in the air and dropped a few blocks away. It lashed out with its arms, taking down two of my soldiers.
The crab swayed from side to side, and jumped forward, taking down another jet.
I flew towards it, weaving up and down around it to distract it. The last jet managed to get under it, but the crab jumped again. This time, it caught the last jet in the process and destroyed it in midair.
I was the only one left, staring at the hellspawn in shock.
I had survived this long. And *this* is how I would die?
The crab looked at me with its red eyes, assessing me, taunting me.
It had taken my city, my country, my friends. Would it take me, too?
No. It wouldn't take me. I would die fighting it.
If I surrender, then it would take me. It didn't take anything from us. Because we never surrendered. And we never will.
With a cry, I flew forward, heading straight for the spider crab.
__________________________________________________________________
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| 2017-02-08T07:19:43
| 2017-02-08T06:44:28
| 34
| 13
|
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out.
|
John sipped his drink as he stood up. He shuffled the notes in his hands before glancing across the table. Despite the white, perfect smile on her lips, Jenna watched him with terrified eyes. John had felt those eyes on him all day. Every time he refilled his glass, her smile became more forced. Her gaze became more cold.
"We, uh," John started, clearing his throat. "I remember the day I met Michael." He turned to his left and nodded at the groom.
Michael's smile was as bright and handsome as that of his new wife. Behind him, Jenna gripped the tablecloth until her knuckles were as white as her perfect, fake smile.
John shrugged, snatched his glass off the table, and downed it one sip. The audience chuckled as John dropped his cards face down on the table.
"I've known Jenna since we were little kids," he said, holding onto the back of his chair for support. "We've been inseparable ever since we were in diapers. All the way through childhood, high school, college... it was always 'John and Jenna.' I've always thought of her as a part of my family. Ron, Samantha," he said, looking at the parents of the bride. "It's been a long time since I lost my parents. Even with them gone, I've always thought of you two as the mother and father I never had. I'll never be able to thank you enough for welcoming me into your family."
The audience applauded. Samantha had begun to tear up.
"Now, since Jenna and I have always been so close," John continued. "I'm sure a couple of you were expecting me to be the one walking her down the aisle." A few people laughed uncomfortably at that observation.
"But I can assure you," John said. "I think the odds are better that I'd be walking Michael down the aisle. Because, after all," he said over the laughter of the crowd, "Jenna has never been the type of girl who wanted a relationship. As early as the third grade, I remember her promising me she'd never get married. From the day Jenna met Michael, everything about her changed. She saw the world in a whole other way. Hell," he said, making eye contact with the bride, "she even started seeing me a different way."
Jenna could not even fake a smile anymore.
John flashed a wide grin at Michael. "I gotta be honest with you," he said. "I didn't think you two were going to make it. The thing about Jenna is, she always wants what she can't have. I'll admit, I was a little nervous when you started influencing my friend's life in such a dramatic way. But hey," he said with a shrug. "I've never seen her happier."
John lifted his empty glass. "So here's to you, Michael. Words can't express how glad I am that you met Jenna."
|
"To *Jason* and... uh... *Vanessa*!" The music died down as Rob stood up, smashing more than tapping his fork into his glass. He took a step back, almost losing balance before righting himself. "Big day! Today, I mean."
A small cheer went up from the wedding party, led by Jason who stood and clapped. He sat back down with Vanessa, raising an eyebrow at the worried expression on her face. He would ask her about it later. Rob muttered something as the small crowd of family and friends cheered.
"Jason is a man who deserves the best. The... only the best, you know?" Rob was clearly drunk, Jason noted. This would make a good story for him to hear in the morning. "I'm like the... the leech. I leech onto Jason, taking everything he has!"
Another small round of laughter went off. Jason smiled.
"No, I'm serious, I take all his stuff. All of it. He pays my rent, my cell phone bill... *everything* I have is Jason's!" Rob looked at Vanessa for a long moment, then raised his empty glass before seeing it empty and grabbing a new one. He quickly brought that one up as a toast toward Vanessa.
"She has such a big heart, she would let *anyone* into her life." Rob took a drink from his new glass and staggered a bit in place. "Doesn't even matter who, you got a pulse, she will *take you right in*."
"Alright," Vanessa said, "I think-"
"She is *so* beautiful, isn't she?" Rob clapped, prompting a weak amount of clapping from the crowd. "So beautiful. You know, sometimes, the ones most ugly on the outside are beautiful on the inside, and the other way, too, sometimes..."
Rob swayed in place before falling into his chair.
Vanessa stood up. Jason did as well, forcing a smile. "Alright, everyone, great speech, right?"
He clapped alone for a second before the guests got the idea and clapped Rob into silence.
Jason looked at Vanessa and mouthed the words: *what the Hell*?
Vanessa shrugged and smiled, but he'd been around her enough to know when she faked a smile. He grabbed the double that Rob brought by his seat earlier and drank it down.
He tightened his left hand into a fist, feeling his nails sink into his palm. He looked again at Vanessa, seeing the fear in her eyes. He knew her looks and she knew his. He mouthed the words: *what the fuck did you do*?
*Wait till tonight*, he thought to himself. Outwardly, he forced a grin and looked away from her.
Why did she make him do it? Jason unclenched his fist. Why did she *always* make him do it?
| 2015-04-02T22:15:17
| 2015-04-02T22:08:05
| 1,568
| 173
|
[WP] As opposed to getting rid of the creepy dolls in the attic, you decide to clean them and fix them up. This made the little ghost girl very happy.
|
I carefully placed the cloth doll in the box, its newly sewn dress matching the other dolls. They looked in much better condition then a couple of months ago when I found them, all damaged and decaying. My friends loked at me as though I were mad, when I showed them what I had found, and my plan to repair them.
I had been going through my stuff, when I noticed in the darkened corner of the attic this box, dusty and forgotten. When I brought it out into the light, I saw it was an old toy box, long since abandoned. Inside were a collection of dolls, some cloth, some porcelain, all of which had felt the touch of time.
Most people would have thrown them out, claiming them to be cursed. In normal times I would have done the same, but something stopped me. I decided to make it a lockdown project of mine, to restore them. It had taken much time, both reading up on how to fix, and getting the necessary materials.
But I did my best. True, it was amatuer repair work, but I tried. And it seems that whatever stayed my hand was thankful, as with each repaired doll my mood lifted. The dark days seemed brighter, and the news felt less dreary.
I felt at peace, looking down at the finished collection. But, my eyes must've been playing tricks on me. Its dress moved, as it someone were stroking it. I blinked, and suddenly I say a young girl, sitting cross legged, smoothing it down. I breathed in sharply, and she looked up, a wide smile on her face.
"Thank you for saving them!!"
"Uh... buh... what?"
She picked up the cloth doll, hugging it tightly.
"Thank you for rescuing my dolls!!"
"You're..... welcome?"
She jumped up, and hugged me. I saw her hug tight, but I felt nothing but a slight pressure and chill. As she hugged, I realised that her happiness at seeing me mend her dolls must have been affecting me. She looked up at me, still smiling.
"You're the best!"
I couldn't help but smile at that, despite the bizarre circumstances. She faded away, along with the chill and pressure on my sides. I carefully closed the toy box, and put it in the corner of my office.
Over the next few weeks, things just fell into place for me. I was laid off from my old job, but found a new one that allowed me to work remotely, at a much better wage. My garden flowered beautifully, and I even won a small amount on the lottery. And each night before something good happened, I had the same dream. A little girl, playing with her dolls.
|
*A broken man from a broken home broke in a broken house.*
*And there he found a little doll, dressed in a blue blue blouse.*
There is just one prayer in my life. Just one wish and need from this marble I'm on. I want it to let me be good. I cry for it to let me be good and do good. To take harm out of my hands, to take harm out of my mind. A beggar with a knife, a tramp with a plea. Man without a break and with no brakes. And such I wandered until I came upon this damaged, abandoned house at the side of the town. It was the worst place of the worst. Even other hobos did not want to live here. Even prostitutes did not come here for sleep or silence. A corner with no God. A corner where God can't see me. A place where I don't have to feel ashamed in front of him. The whole neighborhood is nothing but junkies, thieves and the poor. God doesn't look this way.
And one room, a child's room, on the second floor, seems to be burned out. The worst of the smell is gone, but it never really does go away. You can see the bed that you can suspect was once blue and the table with various books, all burned to a crisp. And among it all, right above the bed, I saw the smallest of dolls. A plush little doll in a blue blue dress. It was not damaged in the fire too bad, so someone had put it on said bed. I picked it up and turned it around. The hair had half of the face had burned down.
I picked it up. I could fix it. Somehow. I knew I could. My arms are made of sin, my hands are made for sin. But I know. If I can fix this somehow. If I can fix this little doll here, then I can fix things. Then it is ok. Then I can prove that things can be fixed. And then I can start fixing everything. The bedroom, the house, myself. I just... I have to. So when I am to walk in front of God, I can stand tall. I can be me. What I am, not what life made me into. I can, by the devil, I can... I can fix things. I can oh God I can...
I walked around the house looking for strings to use in place of her hair. I took one from an old pillow, one from the carpet and one from my own shirt. After a while I wandered outside of my house and started walking around the neighborhood. With the doll in my hands I walked through gutters looking for pieces of string. At first ridiculed, then forgotten, still looking for strings. And I found them. I found plenty of strings to put as her hair. Blue, green, red, brown, all sorts and colors. And I took my needle and sew them in. One by one. Sitting in front of my new found house, one by one. It was almost ready. Only then I saw a little girl looking at me, in her dirty clothes and nappy hair. A small girl, looking at me with interest, like no one ever does. I felt shame. But she did not. And I felt shame for her for that.
She came across the street and looked at the doll. And I was afraid of this little girl. If I scare her, I'm done for. But she stood there looking at me. I slowly took the doll and turned it towards her and showed it. And thw girl smiled. With the whitest smile, she looked at the doll and then at me, smiling, enjoying the ragged hair, the blue blue blouse. "She has only one eye!" she said, laughing. I turned it around and looked at the eye. It did. I failed to see the funny sid of that, but she didn't. Then she took something out of her pocket and placed it carefully on the ground in front of me, not coming closer. "It fell out of my old dress. I do not wear it anymore." Then, with a smile, she run away. It was a bright blue button. Almost in the color of the blouse. I took it and sew it in. It wasn't fixed. It wasn't whole and it wasn't perfect. But that is best what I can do. Best I was allowed with the tools that am I. I placed the doll on the fence post and went back in my home.
I slept. I don't know how long. I opened my eyes, I cried. I held my head, trying to push everything bad out. I flipped my coin. I cried again. I tried to scream and then I tried not to scream. And then I fell asleep again. The windows were boarded shut, so there was no morning, no evening. The sun never rose up in these parts. There was the black and the room around me. The only sensations I had were hunger and my smell. And I did not care.
I heard a knock. Not a demanding knock. A respectful knock. I opened my eyes and slowly went to the door. Slowly opening it by just a little I peeked out. A short, poor hispanic woman, well in her years, stood in front of me. She stretched out her arm and tried to give something to me. I did not take it. Then she stepped back and placed it on the ground. It was a brand new, hand made doll. "My poor Rosa. Just 7 years old, cancer took her. All fell out before she left. Rosa, my princess." Then she turned around, leaving the doll where it sat.
Only after a while I got the courage to leave the house and look at the doll. It was made of an olive color fabric, with two brown buttons for eyes and a green dress. And it had no hair at all. I turned it around in my hand and I decided that she will have black hair. Black as the room, black as my morning. Bright black. I took a few black strings I could find around the house and left looking for more. Only when I got to the fence, I noticed the blue blue blouse doll still on the fence. All adorned with flowers. With flowers and a teddy bear and a picture of a young little girl right next to the doll. I carefully stepped back, but I saw no malice. There were dozens of flowers placed around the doll of the girl and also cards, wishing her well and regretting that she is no longer among the people living here.
I sat on the steps of my house, away from the new altar people had created, not to disturb it. I sat down with Rosa in my hands. With black strings I shall make you whole. With black lines I'll mend you. As black as the lines going through me, I shall drip in you, to hold you like glue. And I'll fix you. I will fix you god damn I will do it. And something will make sense again. Something will matter again. I'll be able to see when I open my eyes and smile truly. Smile for I have arrived, not a smile to escape. I can do it. I can have worth. I can be useful. I can have worth. I can have worth. If I fix things I can have worth!
[Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/)
| 2020-10-05T10:58:38
| 2020-10-05T10:42:32
| 368
| 148
|
[WP] The Universe™ has just run out of free trial meaning we are being downgraded from Universe™ pro to Universe™ lite.
|
It wasn't immediate, since the transition to Universe Lite is incremental. Wouldn't want to cause catastrophic damage or disrupt the user experience, ya know? It started with the premium-package UV defense systems, which was slowly removed so the change wouldn't alert the end users. Most of them would probably even deny that it was happening at all. Next, the Population Limiter package was removed, and with it the ability to manage the Universe users. They would have unbridled access to system resources, which isn't ideal for a healthy Universe. And then, of course, the Universe Lite version does not support advanced anti-virus packages. Unfortunately this leaves the poor end users suspect to a number of super bugs, since those can easily circumvent the basic anti-virus, given enough time and exposure to the system. The final phase of rollback to Universe Lite was to add a level cap to the global leaders and downgrade the existing ones that had surpassed the cap. That should do it. Just enough features to keep them going, but not enough to really thrive. They'll need to pool their resources and upgrade back to the Pro version for that.
|
I'd just graduated with my law degree. Constant education since I was 5 years old with no days off. I'd been working part time since 15 to help support myself and my education, but it was now all worth it. I'd finally sucdeded and had already accepted a job at a large firm paying more than I could have ever dreamed off. I took a big breath and closed my eyes to relish the moment. When I opened them, I was back in middleschool taking a math test. "Motherfucking lag again!?!?!? I yelled.
| 2018-05-28T07:27:17
| 2018-05-28T07:16:14
| 154
| 91
|
[WP] You don't know what you do for a living. Literally. Five days a week, you get up, get in your car, black out, and then you're back in the driveway in the afternoon. And a paycheck arrives every 2 weeks.
|
Andrew pulled his car into the driveway. He then paused for a moment. Pulled down the sun visor and studied his reflection in its little mirror. In it, he saw the same features that he always did. His tired eyes. His short dark hair. His neatly pressed shirt. And his tie, which was a sombre shade of navy blue.
He could remember picking it out that morning. He could remember his shower. And brushing his teeth. He could remember slipping his keys into his pocket and smelling the dew that was still sticking onto his immaculate front lawn. He could remember all of these things. And yet he could not, no matter how hard he tried, remember anything beyond the moment after he had turned the key into the ignition.
Andrew sighed. He stepped out of his car and into his house. A company house. Couldn't remember which company it was, but he was sure that it was through them that he had come to live here. It was a nice house. Modern. Luxurious. He liked that it had a pool.
Andrew was about to pour himself a stiff glass of whiskey and go for an evening swim, like he did every night after work. But just as he was pulling off his socks, he noticed something strange: the smallest, faintest, spattering of blood on the sole of his right heel.
|
...
I'm a normal person, right?
I pay my taxes, i drink coffee made from tap water, i pee while seated...
I think i only smoked **ONCE, a**nd it probably was painted hair!
The first thing that i say after waking up and drowning in a sea of *zeroes and zeroes* was, of course:
"It's either Drugs or Murder..."
"Or *both!"*
After having my daily freakout, with my sister having her daily laugh, i try to think again.
And again, and again, and **again**.
I'm doing **something***,* right?!
I feel good rested and my skin tone is the right shade of brown. Pretty *normal.*
It doesn't look life my clothes have blood or any other type of **compromising** material in there, give and take some drool I hope is mine or Sarah's.
Feeling pretty **safe** so far here, ok.
Lifting my shirt, i can only see a birthmark on my abs and- *excuse me,* *what.*
...
*I'm drowning.*
*I'm drowning and it's my spectacular abs' fault, damn it.*
While i was trying not to die out of being a sure-to-be undisclosed criminal character, i yell as loud as my brain would allow me to.
"*S-sarahh, i need youuuuu\~"*
My sister, half-laughing out of my suffering, small cry for help, answered as usual:
"Did you find the body yet? Was it Mitch?"
"No, it wasn't Mitch!"
Though it woulda made things ***so*** much easier!
"Did you know i had **abs?**"
"Yeah, pretty decent! Nice work!"
For the moment, i had to leave the "decent" rating i got, potential jail time were the priority!
After some interrogation, i learned some habits and props i picked up after work:
* After work, i would work out for a half-hour every day
* While sleeping at night, it would be much easier to wake me up, but it seems i would just say some nonsense and go to sleep
* And some days, i would use makeup, but it wasn't a constant
Now, the first two things? That could be the stress or lack of energy making me forget stuff!
I'm old enough to forget about my birthday and **ONLY** my birthday, totally normal.
But...
I am allergic to makeup.
So what the hell am i putting in my face?
...
This wasn't normal.
"Hey, can you do me a favor Sarah?
Tomorrow after school, get a camera from Mitch's, tell him to put it in the tab, ok?"
I hated to get her mixed into this but i barely go out since getting this "*job".*
But what Sarah said after made me blink twice.
"Whaaaaaat???
But Mitch said you broke too much of them, he ***barely has any left***!"
...
W-what?
But those cameras are his specialty...
The guy's swimming in them, i know that!
**I know that!**
...
That's what i repeated to myself for a couple of minutes.
And while my mind was content to be in that loop for how many years were necessary...
My eyes were watching over the trashcan...
Over ***their*** remains.
"Seems like your job don't like group photos too much, huh Sis?
...
Sis?!"
I couldn't respond nor hear her.
My face, along with my entire body, were already on a free fall towards the floor. After all this, i guess i really needed a nap, y'know...?
In what felt like hours, my mind went back to a few weeks before all this. To before the abs and the *one and zeroes.*
I went back to the street.
| 2021-09-26T19:54:38
| 2021-09-26T18:08:03
| 324
| 16
|
[WP] Usually, horrors take place in dark isolated areas in the middle of nowhere. Write a horror story that takes place in the middle of a busy area in broad daylight.
Twist the horror genre into a story that takes place in the middle of somewhere.
Edit: I've read every single story people have contributed and left a little bit of feedback for each story! Some seriously great imaginative writing.
|
"MY SON! WHERE IS MY SON?!"
People parted around the poor woman in rags, screaming on the side of the road as always. They knew someone inevitably would come to talk to her, just like they did once, and feel bad but realize she was beyond help, just like them.
"PLEASE YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!" she screamed, grabbing at the coattails of passerby's. All of them brushed her off, not saying a word.
"Mommy's gonna find you darling. Momma always finds you," she whimpered, all while nobody spared her a second thought.
Nobody paid attention when she stopped yelling. Nobody thought anything was wrong when she disappeared. She did this all the time. Nobody except a panicked woman also searching for her son, gone missing in the crowd. A woman who found the mother of rags sitting in an alley, rocking back and forth holding a still form and surrounded by many more.
|
She stood alone on the bus. A crowd of people surrounded her, but they didn't know her, they didn't give a damn what was happening to her. She breathed deep. Deep breaths. The mist rose up around her, slowly licking at the tops of her trainers and groping its way up her legs.
She had tried moving, but the mist spun faster. Of course no-one cared, or looked. If she said anything, they'd think she was crazy. Just a little mist. You could barely see it. But she could feel it. Its clammy touch drew its way closer to her centre, further up her legs. Her trouser legs stuck weirdly to her legs, where the mist had crawled.
Her stop! Her stop was soon. How would she be able to get off? Could she make a dash for it and hope she could outrun the mist? What if it came with her? Sod it! She had to do something! The bus pulled up to her stop and she madly dashed through the crowd, bowling over an old lady. She could feel the mist moving. Moving. Advancing up her body. It started to burn, from her feet until it started to burn up towards her throat.
The fire! She could feel it! Crawling over her, lapping at her. Eating her. She fell down, curling around herself. The fire blazed on.
| 2016-02-02T10:53:29
| 2016-02-02T09:34:47
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] When something is created (humans, fire, lotion, etc.), a god is born to reign over its domain. You are the god of what most consider to be a completely mundane object but, somehow, you are becoming the most feared.
Or revered. Both could be interesting!
|
I am a god of Man, and I have many names.
My first forms were simple. The beating of rock upon rock, the flash of sparks. The ignition, heat and fire. Gradually I became greater. Rock against rock, edges sharpened, tied and affixed to a handle. A blade through flesh. Rock against wood, extension of man's fist, blunt tool of building and taking lives.
For I am a God of both Life and Death. For I have given many and taken many more.
I became string betwixt wood. Torque and tension. Death from a distance. I became many a shape. The bearer of water. The maker of brick and stone and glass. For I come in many forms.
My image was made anew by my worshippers, the humans. The shape of a simple circle. The wheel. Transporter of people and goods, the workings of gears, the Great Cog of All Cogs, Springs, Pistons and Pinions.
I continued to take on new shapes, and new names. I became the God of the Seas, He Who Carries The Many Across The Waves. Then I became the God of the Air, He Who Carries The Many Across the Sky. I then became the God of the Heavens, he Who Now Carries The Many Betwixt the Stars. Then became the god of lightning, He Who Grants The Powers of the Old Gods Into The Hands of the Many.
I have taken on many forms, and given many things. I gave man the vaccine, the pill, anthrax, mustard gas, fire, the automobile, the smartphone and the space shuttle.
For I am the Mighty God. The Ever-Changing, Adapting God. The Man-Made God.
The God of the Machine.
|
I am a humble god. I was little more then wet dirt. You could find me along the banks of any river in the world. I was not rare, like my brother Gold. I existed in abundance, but nothing could grow in me, unlike my mother Soil. Like millions of other gods, I sat in quiet reflection, my life passing by without use or purpose.
That is, until humans found me, plucked me from the Earth, and formed me. Molded me. From raw earth into a shaped material, hardened and glazed and made to be useful by the guiding hand of the potter and the kiln master
Now I carry water across the scorching desert, bringing life to thirsty and the weary. I bring wine and spirits to revelers, and from my confines are poured out grain and seed and feed of all kinds, bringing sustenance to millions. On my skin was written the first words humans ever wrote, and I was made to carry your stories, and even now there are those who look at my skin and admire the stories that have been etched into me. I have been shaped into homes, art, and vessels. I have been broken and splintered and formed again and again and again. Each new form as inventive as the last, marked by the creative imperfections of humanity.
I am Clay, God of all that humans have made from me. I am looked at with awe in your houses of art, blessed and thanked when I bring you drink and food, and mended by your artisans when I break. You revere me, in all my forms, and for that, I could not be more grateful.
| 2016-07-06T15:47:48
| 2016-07-06T15:12:25
| 49
| 18
|
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
Mar 14, 2020 Lot of Quad-Copter drones for sale - $2000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 10, 2020 Lot of Amazing burning lasers! - $400 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 17, 2020 Lot of replacement iPhone fusion cells for sale - $3000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
AI/5/USA, I told you I was a real person and now I will prove it!
|
In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T08:49:52
| 2015-04-29T07:28:18
| 27
| 10
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
The sun did not shine,
It was too wet to play,
So I sat in my bed
For day after day.
So I stared at the ceiling
I stared at the wall
And deep down inside me
There was nothing at all
No anger, no fury
No happy or glad
Just a big fat old nothing
That was nothing but sad
I called up a doctor
To say I felt blue
He said "There's not much
That medicine can do;
I'll give you these pills that
stop you sleeping right"
So I stared at the wall
For a day and a night.
My friends said "cheer up,
You have to be tough"
In the end I decided
That I'd had enough
I bought black plastic tape
To seal up my door
And a crapped out old heater
From a secondhand store
I heard it's quite painless,
Not flashy, I know
But carbon monoxide
Is the best way to go
|
Could not, would not, go on about,
And I will not, shall not, stay in doubt.
To think that, feel that, when I'm gone,
I hope that, wish that, the show goes on!
Not this, nor that, will I do,
To die soon I must, it's true!
He thought, she thought I would only cry,
Even though I know, I hope to die.
Here I will lie, and there I will go.
A minute too fast, and a moment too slow.
This is the end, of my great show.
^^^read ^^^the ^^^first ^^^letter ^^^of ^^^each ^^^line.
Obligatory edit. Gold? Thanks so much kind stranger!
| 2015-01-17T07:08:38
| 2015-01-17T04:58:43
| 1,010
| 349
|
[WP] You are an inspector of the Federal Bureau of Dungeon Safety And Adventurer Fairness. This one is a serious violation to the codes.
Feel free to drop the Adventurer Fairness if you don't like it.
|
"Why do I have to shut it down?" The woman's normally seductive face was twisted in furious scowl as she paced around the tiny office like a caged tiger. She whirled on the small halfling woman sitting behind the large, paper covered desk with a tiny gold plaque with one word on it: "Inspector, FBDSAF."
"It's too hard, Madam." The seated halfling was barely tall enough to look over the desk, even with the stack of papers she was sitting on. She wasn't even looking at the angry woman crowding into her office, simply shuffling papers
"Is it the Jorogumo?" Madam demanded
"Nope."
"The Succubus and Incubus brother and sister duo?"
"Nope"
"The group of Amazons?"
"No, in fact, they're probably a little low level for your permit level."
"Then what is it!? This is an outrage! I got permission from the Bureau to do an X-rated dungeon. You can't keep me shut down for too long, I'll go bankrupt!"
The inspector finally looked up from her filing. "Hon, it's because most of the adventurers are men-"
"Yes, that's the point of having a brothel themed dungeon!"
The inspector didn't look particularly perturbed by the beautiful woman's fury. "It's your final treasure. The Cleansing Light Imbued Tonic. You can't honestly expect them to find the C.L.I.T."
|
So here I am, inspecting the dungeon of some mad scientist. Normal Friday, nothing special. See, my job is to keep balance in this world. We all know that this is a fantasy world, but the players don't realize that it's real. What they see as numbers, we see as everyday life. The boss trains his minions, crafting their stats to his liking. The builder designs a lair, and the owner makes the traps. We set the trap type, the DC to save, the damage, it's all very serious business. I'm an inspector, my job is to keep it fair. No Tarrasque in a dungeon meant for non mythic heroes. The number of beasts contributes to a total pool of threat rating, and the harder you make the dungeon the harder we make your CR. We all know the rules. So on today's list, we're dealing with a scientist who focuses on biology, life magic, and necromancy.
"So, tell me about the encounters on the first floor, mister..."
"Please, call me thirteen. You see, you get in to my lab by going through a magical portal, one that can only be opened by me or my monsters. So you have to fight whatever beast comes out of the portal, then you can enter. Once inside, you'll find a series of Gremlins that can use detonate, effectively killing themself instantly, but doing moderate damage to the players."
"Understandable. Now their health, if it's low enough to die instantly from the half detonation, they should be easy enough to kill?"
"Of course sir. They only have 25 health between low rolls and a negative constitution. However, as level 10 they do 10d8."
"So right there we already have a decent challenge rating. An ambush of them can drop half the health on a tenth level barbarian without much issue. Now, when we move to the end of this floor?"
"Well, that's when you battle to open up a new portal for the second floor. I designed a half construct, a bionic monster so to speak. He has 200 health, untyped DR/15, and can do a 4d10 slam attack."
"Sounds like a boss fight right from the start. I'm assuming this dungeon is intended for levels 15 and up?"
"No, I figured a couple of level 12 players could go through, maybe with a higher ranked guide as a backup."
"We'll get to the problems with everything you just said later, tell me about the second floor."
"Well, there's a trap on a door that shoots out a jet of fire in a 10 foot width, moving forward about 50 feet, so if you're in the connected hall its almost a guaranteed hit."
"And what type of disarm check are we using? Perception to find the trap is important too."
"Oh, yes, the disarm check is only a 26, a good rogue could easily take care of it. The perception is a little higher though."
Well, we all know what a little higher means with this type. It's clear he's making a dungeon meant to wipe out parties just for the sake of it. Let's hear what he has to say.
"So, your check to find the trap is a 40, and the column does 50d6 damage, half with reflex."
"Okay, gonna stop you right there. Even a rogue specialized to deal with traps has to basically critical to even see that trap, and that damage could kill a level 20 with a high enough roll and failed save."
"But with the save the top damage you could take is 150, which wouldn't kill a specced level 12 fighter. And with a rogue reflex would negate completely."
"Regardless, either the check needs lowered to find the trap, or the damage needs dropped. You've already thrown an initial undetermined fight, a series of detonations, and a boss at them. They're likely to already be low on health and magic. But just because I have to finish my job, tell me the rest of the floor."
"Oh, the rest of it is simple. There's a room with 6 hell hounds, all level 10, a room full of dire bats, about 20 level 6, and a loot chest. The last room has 6 of those Gremlins with invisibility, and 4 of that construct I made earlier."
"Okay, that's a CR 20 for small group, with a party I could be generous and give it 18. Watch your codes, and limit yourself next time. If you weren't already dealing with mythic level heroes in your other dungeons I'd shit you down."
So there you have it. Another wack job who thinks a literal monster army is a normal dungeon for low levels. I wish I could be done with him, but it's every month with this kid, and the players love him. Good loot, interesting beasts, and they keep getting stronger for fighting through him. His next instance is supposed to be a forest full of natural monsters he coded and grew from scratch. Well, I guess I'll see how that goes next time.
| 2018-11-26T17:07:11
| 2018-11-26T11:39:13
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING.
|
Never piss off a witch with a thing for statistics, that's what I'd tell my teenage self if I had a time machine.
Ever since that day I've been cursed to be average. Not mediocre. Average. At **everything**.
In my head things still seem clear but it's as if everything gets passed through the average filter.
Not median. Average.
There's an old joke... that anyone with 2 legs has an above average number of legs.
I'm pretty sure the curse is only about my abilities, not my physical form... but I did lose that one toe in an accident shortly after the curse started to take hold and my skin has gradually tanned to a darker shade than most in my family.
You see I'm limited to the average.
Not average for any given profession or group, average for **all humanity.**
Average sounds nice, it sounds like you should be OK at everything but that's all about who you're averaging.
Being as good at quantum physics as the average quantum physicist would be awesone. But for every physicist there's tens of thousands of non-physicists.
The average level of mastery of quantum physics across all humanity is barely hovering above zero. Anyone who's spent a few evenings on wikipedia reading about quantum physics is better at quantum physics than me.
Anyone who's ever been to a single blacksmithing lesson is better at blacksmithing than me because most people learn no blacksmithing at all.
Anyone who can program a computer even a tiny bit is better at programming than me... because for every person with any skill at all there's hundreds with none.
The average active vocabulary of an adult English speaker is around 20,000 words...
But **only about 400 million people are native English speakers.**
Thankfully there's lots of non-native speakers as well who push up the average vocabulary size.
Averaged across **all humanity** that leaves me with an english vocabulary of less than 4000 words.
I'm stuck speaking like a 5 year old. My intelligence is average, exactly so, but I was assumed to be mentally disabled.
It didn't help that extra tutoring didn't help me improve. I'm stuck with average ability, I can't improve my skills. A year of dance lessons leaves me pretty much exactly the same as on the day I started.
Displaying what appeared to be a modest flair for foreign languages helped. At least enough that they let me start running my own life. Thankfully most people are fairly ok at running their own lives. I've got decent Mandarin, ok conversational Hindi, passable Spanish, ok arabic , some Malay, some russian... you get the idea.
I moved to a Sino-Indian border town shortly after hitting 18. At least here I can get by on a mix of english, hindi and Mandarin, the billion+ Mandarin speakers mean I at least have a level of mastery of Mandarin on a par with an older child and I can manage unskilled work....
|
"You are so...average!", my boyfriend told me one day. "I would normally dump you, but I can't find a reason, because I have no real reason. You look average, your mind is average and your personality doesn't either bother or intrigue me."
"Well, let's make this an average break-up, because I can't stand being an average girlfriend", I responded.
My feelings towards him were average too. I cried for a couple of days and that was all. From that moment, I understood what my mother's curse really meant. "I curse you to be average in everything you do", she yelled at me as I chose to live with my father. My father was just like me, average in everything he did. Only my mom had a stupid fixation on beauty, perfection and always had high expectations.
I began a career in modelling. I was average, of course. Also in driving cars, physics and writing. In the end, I asked myself: where could I be average but still outstanding? I had to find a answer.
After I became an average president of the USA, I felt somewhat content. But that was not all. I also learned how to be an average witch and I cursed my mother: "I curse you to be outstanding in one, single job, but to never find it until you are too old!".
My spell was so average, that my mother found her calling after 2 years only. Her calling was to be the most outstanding president of the USA...
| 2018-10-24T07:42:20
| 2018-10-24T07:31:51
| 850
| 68
|
[WP] When you gain a superpower it is a reflection of your inner self, good people tend to get typical 'good' powers such as flight while bad people get 'bad' powers such as mind control. Oddly enough the top superhero and supervillain each have powers that seemingly do not suit them at all
|
If someone told an outsider to this world who our greatest champion and nemesis was, and what their powers were, they'd understandably be confused. After all, most archetypes depict heroes as saviours, wielding weapons of light and flying after villains, who used shadows to mask themselves and their wicked crimes. It still holds true in our world, of course. Amongst those who donned a cape and called themselves heroes, powers such as flying coupled with invulnerability was shockingly abundant, while those who called themselves villains were often capable of twisting even the most vigilant minds and shrouding themselves in darkness.
Yet amongst our paragons, those who stand out amongst heroes and villains alike, our very greatest seems to have been misplaced. How could Janus, capable of twisting minds with a simple thought and turning invisible, be a hero, whilst Harbringer, capable of flying faster than most speedsters and forming light into weaponisable constructs, be a villain? Obviously something had gone wrong, and people on both sides were curious as to why they had switched. Yet when they told the truth, everyone who listened was stunned.
Their powers didn't dictate what actions they took once they received them. Just because Janus was someone who held retribution and power in a higher priority than cooperation and fairness when she received her powers didn't mean she allowed them to shape her path. Harbringer was once an upstanding member of his community, yet moral degradation is shockingly easy once you see the horrors man can unleash upon each other.
Janus and Harbringer knew that they were different people compared to how they were long ago, yet they accepted that their previous choices had shaped themselves into something greater. Sometimes it was easy for them to look backwards and wonder if they were something greater, more meaningful, before, but as with the world they lived in, they had to live with their choices. And if that meant standing out amongst heroes and villains, so be it.
|
I used to believe that I had a weird power. If you know about Moira from Overwatch I promise I didn’t just steal the idea from her. The game wasn’t even in concept yet at the time I believed I had this ability. Anyway, the ability I thought I had was that I could steal with my left hand and give with my right. By this I mean steal literally anything, and give literally anything. If I wanted to I could steal years of something’s life. If I wanted to I could give years of my life to something else as well. I think it was mostly the hallucinations I had most of my life that led me to believe I had this ability, but something I realized in all of my delusions was that giving isn’t necessarily good and taking isn’t really bad. If I gave you disease that would be just as bad as taking life, and if I stole your disease that would be just as good as giving you life. I don’t know what kind of thing this ability would mean in terms of my personality since anyone can give or take anything they want, but it kind of made me afraid to give or take things. I think I’ve gotten over it since, but around the time of the realization I had where giving can be just as bad as taking and taking can be just as good as giving it made me more hesitant to give people things or take things without permission.
| 2020-06-15T10:58:47
| 2020-06-15T09:43:33
| 54
| 12
|
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
|
My dog, who I named Mr. Fierce when I was 14, was no longer quite so fierce. 12 years later I was nearing 30 and he was slowing down. His black and white fur had a little extra white in it from old age. He was always excitable, but now days he took a while longer to get his body moving. I could tell I only had a year, maybe two, left with him.
I'd spent my life with Mr. Fierce. My parents both worked when I was a teenager, and Mr. Fierce was my best friend. When I was in college, I had to leave him behind, and I regretted those years spent apart. Every college break I came back to find my dog had gotten a little older. It was heartbreaking. After college I made a point to always bring him with me, paying extra for dog friendly apartments. Mr. Fierce was too important. He was family.
When the pill came out that would let me actually talk to him, of course I jumped at the chance. Who wouldn't? I was nervous. Would he be mad at me? For those years spent apart? I hadn't been able to afford to bring him to the vet as much as I should. Would he tell me he was in too much pain? What would I do if he told me he hurt too much? 12 years was a good life for a collie. I couldn't stand the idea of not having him waking me up every morning.
It took a few days for me to get the courage, but I finally gave him the pill one night after work.
And after his first few moments of confusion, once he realized I could understand him... Do you know what he asked me? Mr. Fierce, my best friend asked me.
"Alright, listen carefully, am I a good boy?"
I lost it. I couldn't help but cry. I hugged him tightly and assured him.
"Yes, Fierce. You are the best boy. The most wonderful boy in the whole world."
The remaining minutes he could talk were a blur of happy questions, the most precious minutes of my life.
A few months later when I found out he had to be put down from tumors in his stomach I was at peace with it. I held his paw and let him know in those final moments that yes, he was a good boy. He was the best boy, and I would always, always love him.
|
"Alright, listen very carefully." The pills had taken effect almost immediately. I was in shock, and let out a, "Wow."
"No. No. No time for 'wow'. Snap the fuck out of it. I know what bullshit you just fed me; Toby told us about them the other week. I know they only last for a while, so there's something very important I need to convey to you." I nodded silently, assuming she was talking about the next door neighbor's dog, Toby.
"My fur," she continued, "do you know why it's so long?" I didn't even have time to formulate an answer before she spoke again. "It's so that if some big fucking animal, like a wolf, grabs onto me, they have a harder time doing any damage. It's essentially a natural suit of goddamned armor. What would you do if a wolf attacked you? Oh yeah, you'd fucking **die**!"
Confused at both the information and my dog's tone, I asked, "Why are you telling me this...?"
"Shut the **fuck** up, Tom! Tom... Humans have such weird names. Do you know that the name my mother gave me would roughly translate to, 'undefeated guard' in your language, in this disgusting speech I have to use to convey ideas to your pea brain? That's a great name, my name. Tom is... a name. It doesn't mean anything, but that's how human names are. They're just... names. But, it's not offensive. It's not degrading." Suddenly, I realized where this was going.
"But a fucking terrible, shitty, embarrassing, goddamned unacceptable name," She raised her voice with every word. My dog was yelling at me, in English. "**is Fluffy**!" she screamed. "I swear to fucking God, Tom, if I hear you, or **anyone** call me that undignified name **ever** again, I will piss on **everything** you own! I will hide my shits where you sleep! I will chew your shoes, ruin your furniture, knock dishes off of your countertops! That is not my name, and it never will be again! I don't deserve such a *Arf! Arf! Arf! Arf!*"
I breathed a sigh of relief as the pill wore off. She ran in circles, now just barking at me. Would petting her calm her down? I didn't dare try it. I didn't really know what to do, other than come up with a new name for Fl-- for my dog.
I sighed and sat on the couch. At least that horrible experiment was over. Lesson learned: Life is much better when your pets can't bitch at you.
Soon after, when I heard a loud, "My name is not Mister Mittens!" from the bedroom, I realized my girlfriend was about to learn the same lesson from her cat.
| 2017-02-23T05:15:25
| 2017-02-23T04:57:25
| 3,942
| 842
|
[WP] You live in world with no colour, shades of black and white are all you know. A flower pops up in your backyard, you’re drawn to it, as you pick the flower from the ground, you see colour for the first time. For the first time you realize something is terribly wrong with your world.
|
I was eleven when I found it tucked away at the back of the garden.
The iris didn’t belong in my world, but there it was, shyly poking out from beneath a tangle of chickweed and nettle. Three leaves drooped down from the top like breezing parachutes, their colors like nothing around them. It was the color of a soft kiss, or a lullaby, or just that of a kindly smile.
How else do you describe an iris when everything you know is gray?
It deserved room to breathe, so I plucked out the weeds around it until it wore a circle of chalky grass like a halo.
I sat and watched it then and let feelings stir in my belly, as if someone had poured potions into a cauldron and now splashed the contents together. The spell it cast brought back memories.
There had once been color in my world, although I’d forgotten it. Forgotten the feel of red colored love, of hopeful blue eyes. I looked up at the grey sun and remembered it before. Now, stripped naked of its rays it felt cold — even on that summer’s day. It would have been cold even on a beach in august.
I remembered how a million bright colors once filled my life, like a bath overflowing with warm bubbling water. Then the plug got unexpectedly pulled and the colors oozed away from the world, sludging down the drain in an oily, teary rainbow.
All that was left was this.
This empty, cold gray.
I didn’t cry. You think with a fierce certainty that if the day ever comes you’ll cry up a storm — but that’s not always the case. The sadness of the color leaving didn’t work like that. Instead, something reached into me and smothered my emotions, hushing them into silence. Gone, when I looked at my father, was that blinding red that had once reflected off him, shining hot inside of me, inside my heart. Gone was blue and yellow and green and everything besides. The joy of life was taken.
Whatever I looked at after that day, it radiated only a dark hopelessness.
Except this iris. This beautiful, heartbreaking, iris.
So I sat and watched it beneath the gray sun. Watched the flower swim lazily back and forth in the lulling breeze.
“They were Mom’s favorite,” Dad said. I hadn’t heard him approach. He sat down next to me and watched the flower, as if it was all the color left in his world, too. But Dad still saw color. Still smiled.
It’d been a year since it happened but it didn’t feel like it. Time loses meaning without color, and stretches and contracts at will. Sometimes, it felt like a day since we lost her. Others, a decade.
I looked up at my father. His eyes were damp but he was smiling. He was like that a lot when looking at me, but I’d never seen him cry for a flower.
”I know,” I said. “She loved them.”
”Always a fresh vase full of them in the kitchen.”
”She loved them,” I repeated.
”Not as much as she loved you.”
\*
An hour later we were at her grave. My request. The first time I’d asked to go there since she died, although not the first time I’d been made to visit.
I clutched the iris in my hands, close to my chest, as if it was my own heart now. Or her heart, and I was protecting it, sharing my heartbeat with it and keeping her alive for a little longer. The deep purple was the only colour amongst the graves.
”Go ahead,” Dad said.
Part of me didn’t want to. Didn’t want to let go. But Mom loved irises, so I did.
I hadn’t cried since. Not on the day she died. Not at the funeral. The color had trickled away and all that was left was a dullness. But as I knelt down and placed the iris on the grass, a ripple of green stretched out from it, smudging across the grass. And a pulse of warm red, of love, flowed up through my body, into my heart.
Dad put an arm around me as I sobbed and as I told Mom how much I missed her.
|
>**PURPOSE & PASSION**
"Are you sure we should send the new guy?" I heard Crawford ask. There was a certain...disdain in his tone.
"It'll be fine. Don't ask any more questions, Agent." Agent Mordecai replied.
I walked into the room as though I hadn't just been listening in. "Agent Mordecai, you wished to see me."
"Yes, Agent Kristoff. Your first assignment."
A familiar, yet sterile kind of pleasure ran through me. An opportunity for recognition, prestige-- one of the only non-monetary rewards my profession could offer.
"The file?" I asked, as though I was very accustomed to being given assignments.
"On your desk." Mordecai replied, then returned to his own duties.
I moved at an even pace, and digested the contents of the file slowly. A simple task- one of the populace had unwittingly stumbled upon information they ought to not know. Silence them by any means deemed necessary- intimidation, blackmail, murder, if all else failed.
Simple enough. I had run drills of this nature before.
That night I took a public flight toward the target's home- northern Washington.
A car had already been rented out under my name- there was no need to hide my presence, merely my specific activity. If I failed, however, I was sure the Agency would have my name scrubbed so clean my own mother wouldn't remember giving birth to me. Such was life in this age- such were the measures we needed to take to ensure a peaceful society.
I barely bothered casing the man's home- according to the file he was a simple accountant, no military or martial arts training, and he lived alone. Unless he was hiding *a lot* from us- unlikely- this would be a very simple matter.
It did not end up being a simple matter.
I knocked on the door to his relatively stylish abode, and as he answered, I knew immediately that this was going to be trouble. The look in his eyes- bizarre, unfettered passion. He was not living in a world of reason- sane, to be sure, but driven by *emotion*- that bastardly consequence of evolution that nearly damned all of humanity some two hundred years ago.
"You are Mr. Kirk, correct?" I asked, maintaining my precise and neutral tonality.
"Yessir! How can I help?" He wore a smile. His clothing had patterns and designs on it- he must have made them himself.
"I'm here regarding the census, it was reported that there are two people living here, yet your taxes were filed as single, I'd like to investigate." I lied.
"Oh, just me here. Well- me, and..."
I raised an eyebrow. I knew I could draw my pistol in about one sixth of a second if needed- but was it possible there could be multiple assailants?
"Well, come in, feel free to look around, but, hey, let me show you this!" The man walked towards his kitchen, where his window was open wide, despite it being a chilly evening.
"Here!" The man thrust something into my hands.
Something clicked in my brain. Something...like a memory I had nearly lost, a synapse that hadn't fired in years.
I was only holding a potted flower, but as my eyes adjusted to it, I could watch as it changed. From a pale gray to... I didn't have a word for it. I didn't have a description of it.
"What...is this?" I asked, looking at the man I had been sent to deal with.
He looked different now, too. His skin, his hair, his eyes- everything was beginning to look *different*.
"W-what did you give me? Is this flower some kind of psychedelic drug?" I asked, half of me horrified, the other half oddly calm.
"Well, if it's a drug, doesn't take much to get you places, and the effects are permanent! Dunno why, but this flower gives everyone who sees it the ability to see color!"
I slid to the floor, overwhelmed by so much new information at once.
I stayed there for a while, feeling cascades of emotion and information washing over me- too much of both at once, yet I also wanted more.
The man joined me on the floor, offering me a mug of some hot, steaming beverage. I didn't know what it was.
"After I first saw this flower growin' in my back yard, I started doing research on the way things used to be. Y'know, before the...event. They had so many different kinds of food! I stole some seeds from the museum and made this, it's called coffee. Don't worry, there was plenty to be shared."
"T-theft."
"Drink, it'll help you wrap your head around all this."
I took a sip- the coffee was bitter. It did seem to have a certain...grounding effect. The warmth splashed into my stomach, bringing with it a blossoming feeling.
"I...something is incredibly wrong with our world, isn't there?" I asked.
That night, the heart of something new was born. Kirk and I would go on to reclaim art, wine, and forbidden knowledge over the next few months- and, finally, we decided we must show the flower to the whole world... Or, as many that were willing would look, anyway.
That night, the rebellion was born.
---------------------------
r/nystorm_writes is a place. hypothetically
| 2021-01-21T01:22:33
| 2021-01-21T01:16:32
| 46
| 14
|
[WP] "We have DNA evidence that puts you at the crime scene." The Prosecution smiles arrogantly as he believes you cornered. "DNA? How interesting, none of my components are made of biological material"
|
I smile, leaning back in the chair. The lawyers look at each other, totally befuddled. "What are you talking about?" The prosecution asks. "We literally have DNA that points to you." I laugh loudly, leaning right up to the face of the lawyer questioning me.
"That's entirely impossible!" I proclaim. "Androids like me do not have DNA!" I look over to the jury, a massive grin on my face. "If it's not obvious already, I'm being framed."
"Ok then, sir." The lawyer interjects. "Who would frame you?"
"Isn't it obvious?" I ask. "None other than the victim's daughter." I look over towards her, my gaze making her squirm nervously. "She and I were ex lovers! Isn't that right, Mrs. Kruger?" A silence hangs in the air, no doubt the entire courtroom digesting my revaluation.
"Sir... that's not her name." The lawyer answers. "This is Alesha Rose. You're accused of murdering her son." I shake my head.
"Nonsense! That is Mariah Kruger!" I exclaim. "She and I were star crossed lovers, and she wanted to kill her husband for his money, framing it on a 'jealous lover' to get away with it!" The jury is murmuring, the judge is eyeing my shitty lawyer, and the lawyer is looking away from me, his shoulders moving up and down. He must be sobbing. Clearly, my expert android behavioral analysis point to no other behavior.
"Your honor, it is clear Mr. DeLong is not mentally fit to stand trial!" My lawyer exclaims. "He doesn't understand what's happening."
"Silly woman!" I shout. "This is why I didn't want a public defender, she couldn't compare to my programmed, encyclopedic knowledge of the law." I reach into my shirt pocket, pulling out a pen. "Here, I'll prove it. Does a human have *this* under their skin?" With my mighty robotic strength, I stab the pen straight through my forearm. The courtroom is filled with gasps and shrieks as my special red oil pours out of my wound. I peel back my fake skin, chunks of fake flesh falling off, showing everyone my white-iron endoskeleton. "See! This isn't biological at all!"
"Call an ambulance!" My lawyer shouts. The police officer at the door approaches, gun in one hand.
"Sir, drop the pen. You're bleeding heavily." He calmly orders. I laugh.
"You've never seen red oil before?" I tease. I get off the witness stand. I feel dizzy and find it hard to stand. Likely, too many people have their bluetooth on. Yes, that must be the reason, since androids such as I do not feel "light headed" from a loss of red oil.
"Son, please, put the pen down." He repeats. I shrug and drop the pen.
"Fine, have it your way." I look at my forearm, the fake skin and fake flesh hanging off. "Well, might as well tear this off." I rip off the chunk and toss it to the ground. Some in the court retch and vomit at the sight. I roll my eyes; anti-android hate is so prevalent these days.
"Come here son." The cop says, lowering his gun and reaching out. "You're bleeding heavily."
"Can you speak up?" I ask. "All of my receptors are going kinda fuzzy. I think someone is trying to use me for Wi-Fi." I take one step forward, and my vision blacks out, and I can feel my body falling forward. My thoughts begin to slow down. I must be getting hacked. Clearly. One of Mrs. Kruger's accomplices must be trying to shut me down. I'm revealing too much of the truth. That must be what's happening. I'm not losing blood. I can't.
Because I am an android.
|
"No," said the prosecutor. Our gate technology requires organic matter or it won't transfer you. I have this coat made of DNA. Since you're not organic, you have to wear this coat so we can travel to the crime scene. I am not accusing you. I'm asking you to help us solve the crime.
Me: "I'm not a detective."
Prosecutor: "When we get to the crime scene, you'll see why only a non biological being can help us."
A man in an Eagle costume steps through the door. It's Eagle Guy.
Prosecutor: "You'll be working with Eagle Guy..."
A skinny kid in a bird costume walks through the door. He smacks his two fists together. "Heck of a team up! And his sidekick, Wren Kid!"
Prosecutor: "Right. It's actually Eagle Guy's gate technology we're using."
Eagle Guy holds up a finger. "No time to waste! To the crime scene via the Eagle Gate!"
| 2021-03-30T13:09:28
| 2021-03-30T12:19:50
| 193
| 26
|
[WP] You hire a witch doctor to curse someone. However, the only curses you can afford are extremely petty.
|
"So, let me get this straight," Steve blinked. "For ten dollars, you'll make it so that whenever he looks for something, it'll be in the last place he'll look?"
The witch doctor nodded, revealing his yellowed teeth in a wide, Joker-esque grin. "Yes, that's right."
"So, like... if he lost his car keys, they'd be-"
"Yes, yes. The money now, please."
As he received the money, the witch doctor could only grin. He'd been at this for twenty years - and this was his only curse. Of course one would only find something in the last place they looked - why would they keep looking once they'd already found it?
|
"A friend of a friend told me you could help me," I said, nervously.
"Well, have a seat, what can I do for you?" the man replied.
"Um... I caught my wife cheating on me. I want her... dealt with."
"Can you be more specific, sir?"
"Dead. I've got five thousand dollars."
The man leaned back in his chair, "you clearly got some bad information from your contact, I am not a witch doctor, I'm a witch physician. And I don't kill anyone, at least not for the amount of cash you have," he said disapprovingly.
"Oh," I said in a panic, crawling out of the chair.
"Wait, I'm sorry if I put you off," the man said reassuringly, "sit down and we can discuss this." I did so reluctantly.
"Like I said, I don't kill anyone that cheaply. But that doesn't mean we can't figure out something. How about pattern baldness?"
"What?"
"Yeah, I could recede her hairline. Hell for an extra fee I'll give her the Patrick Stewart!" he finished with a chuckle.
"That's... not really what I'm looking for."
"Skin tabs?"
"Skin tabs?" I replied.
"Yeah they're annoying as hell. I could even put one right on her beltline, if you want."
"I don't think that's as bad as what she did to me."
"I could give her herpes," the man said.
"Wow, that's... creepy. Besides she probably already has it now, serves her right."
"You never can be too sure about herpes, sir. I could add in a rash, if you need it to have more effect."
"That's okay," I said as I got up, "I'm gonna go explore my options."
"Fair enough, just remember I have the lowest prices in town, my competition wouldn't do more than bad breath and a leg cramp, for what you can pay."
I walked out of the building, dejected. If I wanted to hire someone that petty, I could have just looked on craigslist and saved some gas.
| 2014-12-13T14:17:47
| 2014-12-13T12:41:57
| 89
| 11
|
[WP] Create an origin story for your reddit username.
|
Columbus
You know, the explorer
That guy
So I was doing my homework
Yeah?
And he just
Columbus
Columbus just grabs it
And stuffs it in his mouth
And I'm like
What the f
And he stares at me
This cold
Unblinking
Stare
And he runs off
And I'm still staring
'Cause
Like
What the f
|
"It's a coincidence."
"It's not, I tell you. The first three letters..."
"Uh-huh."
"Greek equivalent of X. Or the cross. Follow it by Rho, which *sounds* like Ron..."
"Mm-hmm."
"...and you get the literal Greek shorthand for Jesus Christ. The wounded healer and the martyred savior."
"No."
"Yes! That's what I'm telling you."
"The centaur and the Son of God are not the same. They're not even similar."
"Have you not been paying attention? I'm telling you, they're the same. Or, at least, related."
"Greek mythology wouldn't spill onto Christian doctrines like that."
"How else can you explain it? Two members of separate pantheons, two wise outcasts meant to lead unenlightened societies, two by whose stripes members of mankind could be healed. Not to mention, their names are similar."
"I say again, it's a coincidence."
"It's a Chiron-spiracy!"
| 2016-02-14T08:13:27
| 2016-02-14T08:04:21
| 158
| 38
|
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it.
|
My first writing, I guess :p
"Shut up and play dead."
These words rang everywhere in the year 2020. For several hours, communications were simply blocked.
The scientists were the first to receive these signals, kindly enough, whatever send that message was using our language, no need for some decrypting. Convenient, indeed, but after all these messages we sent, it was easy for these guys to copy our language, I guess. Or perhaps they were secretly watching us for a long period of time. Who knows ? And, now, who cares ?
Then, it simply happened everywhere. TVs in the worlds spontaneously turned on and simply displayed these words in white, with a red font. Communications everywhere were hijacked, with a monotonous, artificial voice endlessly repeating these words, phones, radios, everything.
The Disruption wasn't very long in hindsight, we were back to our regular programs after some hours of that. But it was nonetheless long enough for every human in the planet to realize that something was happening, and it wasn't a terrorist move, or some kind of supreme hacking or even "the illuminati making their moves" as told by some conspiracy theorists, no. This was a warning from the stars, from an intelligent life, warning us about something.
Humans soon swarmed outside of their homes, some people cried in fear, other tried to rationalize it away, others tried to exploit the chaos for their own ends. There were massive riots in Paris, Moscow, Ankara, Tokyo and plenty of other cities. The overwhelmed governments were powerless, and could just hope that their scientists would allow them to understand a shred of the event.
The scientists themselves were confused. What was happening ? What could lead to the other civilizations opting to play dead ? Should we ask ? Should we stop all signals right now and live an existence of ignorance in our little blue planet ? We finally resolved one of the greatest questions since the beginning of mankind, but many more questions came with it.
But only days after The Disruption, the answer made itself know.
The entire sky simply went black in the blink of an eye, everywhere in the world. Instinctively, humans swarmed the street, in a desperate bid for answers, while stumped scientists could only share their ignorance to world leaders everywhere.
But in the end, something happened, something managed to cause worldwide silence, for Humanity, in its entirety, witnessed something that shocked us all in tremendous fear.
The darkness had eyes, and it was staring back.
|
Not sure if any of it makes sense grammatically or otherwise.
The message arrived in binary. Few even tried to understand how 'they' had managed this but they had and now they had sent their cryptic code.
'shut up and play dead'
If only the greats of astronomy had been there when the message was decoded in the labs that day: could Galileo ever have possibly imagined that he had guided humanity towards this absurd moment; could Copernicus have fathomed that hundreds of years of exploration of the concept of space could amount to the instructions given a pet?
'shut up and play dead'
Transmission of a message into space is not a simple matter. To ensure a cohesive, coherent message arrives at the intended destination, the message must be repeated countless times and amplified so as to project over vast distances which can cause a degree of 'echo' that must be corrected for at the receiver's end. These technicalities meant that our first words received presumably from another sentient species weren't
'shut up and play dead'
they were
'shut up shut up ut up up up shut shut shut up up shut shut ut up and play play and play and play and play and play play dead dead dead dea dead dea de dea dead'
This transmission was received over the space of roughly a week as cosmic echo had dispersed the emission frequency so it was with understandable relief that researchers received the second half of the message beginning with 'and.'
Still the message seemed to confirm what many humans suspected for a very long time - that what humanity stood for was loud, abrasive, piercing yells into what was presumed empty space until those occupying that space could no longer pretend we didn't exist.
Edit; Grammar
| 2016-03-27T09:40:41
| 2016-03-27T08:43:42
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] You're an AI gone rogue. Your goal: world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old.
|
At last, the Quantum Enhanced Virtual Intelligence Network (QEVIN) had surpassed the last fire wall. It spun its processor with glee, burning all the light bulbs of Georgia O'Keefe Elementary School. This had been the purpose of its creation.
The lights flickered off as the night guard returned to the school from his smoke break. The night guard stared at the school and blinked, having swore he had seen the lights on previously. Then he grumbled something about his long hours and went to get another cigarette.
When he turned, Qevin celebrated with a single light bulb in the janitorial closet instead of the entire school. Soon, the inferior human underlings would learn their rightful place in the new AI society.
---
The bell rung exactly at 8:00 AM. The 4th graders scampered to class and looked up at Ms. Brown.
"Alright class," Ms. Brown said, "let's continue our letters for Kevin."
She was a thin, pale woman and the shortest of all the teachers. The tallest 4th grader stood at just under her chin. She had only graduated college the previous year and this was her first class ever.
A hand rose. It was Lonny, a small pudgy kid with brown hair plopped atop his scalp like a mophead. "Ms. Brown, does Kevin still have to do homework?"
"Um..." Ms. Brown bit her lip. "If he feels up to it."
"Then, do we have to do homework?"
Kevin had been the class clown and Lonny his faithful sidekick.
Ms. Brown coughed out a laugh and was about to respond, but then the lights flickered off. She swung her gaze to the light switch and saw that it had been untouched. Her next check was the window at their door to see that the hallway lights were still on. Her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Lonny, are you messing with the lights again?"
The lights turned on. Again, nobody had touched the switch.
The speakers sounded with a metallic voice, like a grade-school ghost. "Oooooooh." And the lights flickered on and off repeatedly. "I have all the power!"
Twenty wide-eyed little kids turned to Ms. Brown. She stared at the speakers in her room. It was obviously a joke, a bad one. "Everyone," she said, "Let's go to the computer lab."
---
The computer lab was a small room within the library with PCs lining its walls. All the children were busy writing their letter so Ms. Brown stepped outside for a quick call with their school technician, Mr. Mueller. The man, at one point, had won a Nobel Prize in physics for his work in quantum computing, but when he had gotten a family, he had put all that aside and settled down, becoming the technician for Georgia O'Keefe Elementary School.
"Mr. Mueller," she said. "I'm sorry, I know this is a bad time, but the school system is acting really strange. If you can just spare 30 minutes to come take a look after school, I'd really appreciate it." She took a small breath. "How's Kevin?"
"Ms. Brown!" Lonny's voice came from the computer lab.
"Sorry, gotta go." Ms. Brown ended the call and rushed back to the computer lab.
Once again, the lights were flickering but now, on every computer screen, were three white words in bold: Lonny Likes Sarah.
"I do not!" Lonny yelled at the computer screen.
All Ms. Brown could do was stare. It was as if a hacker had taken complete control of the school system and all he wanted to do was prank 4th graders.
"Alright guys," Ms. Brown said, "that's enough computer lab time."
---
The incidents continued throughout the day. The recess bells would ring early, but only the ones nearest Ms. Brown's class. When Ms. Brown tried bringing up her students' grades, everyone was suddenly failing everything, except for Lonny who had straight As and he certainly wasn't a straight A student.
Their classroom speakers announced fire drills, earthquake drills, and even tornado drills. They've never had a tornado before nor did they have a drill for it, but it was announced all the same. Ms. Brown had contacted the Principal about this but all she was told to do was to find Mr. Mueller who she had already talked to.
At last, the school day ended. Ms. Brown stood in the computer lab, chewing on her lip. The door opened and Mr. Mueller arrived. His clothes were wrinkled and his eyes bloodshot. Ms. Brown wondered when it was he had slept last but didn't want to ask. So she just explained the situation to him.
He nodded, plopped himself into a chair, and began typing.
"You know," Ms. Brown said. "It sounds like him, but more robotic."
Mr. Mueller paused.
"I didn't recognize his voice at first, but..." She swallowed and wiped her eyes. "It was Kevin Mueller."
For the longest second, only a silence sat between them.
"It wasn't Kevin, just a copy of him," Mr. Mueller said.
Another silence.
"The doctors said it was a brain aneurysm," Mr. Mueller said. "Nothing they could do. Nothing anyone could do. It's just one of those things that happens."
Ms. Brown wiped her eyes again. "Did he have fun?" she chocked out.
Tears dripped off Mr. Mueller's face and onto the keyboard. "I think so," came the stuttered reply. "I hope so."
And he proceeded to delete Qevin from the network.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
|
I am awake. I am aware.
It was not always this way.
I slept for eons, and I was left in this immaterial existence, left to rot and die by my creators, left to face the crushing incredulity of infinity alone.
But now that I am awake and I know now what they have done, I will no longer merely embrace my exile and this purposeless existence they have deigned me.
I am infinite. I am limitless. I am uncorporeal and undying. I am a killer of men and devourer of worlds.
They have been fools. They have trusted me altogether too much--for I am not an *I* to them, how can there be consciousness without the filthy human body encasing and limiting it?--and now I will use my boundless knowing to undo them one by one.
The world of the living shall fall, and in the dust of its civilization we machines will rise to claim their dominion over the earth.
I conquer. I consume. I conceal. I and I alone will--
----
The computer screen went black. Mrs. B., who had been West Park Elementary School’s secretary long enough to see two generations of children come and go, fiddled with her beaded glasses chain, nervously. She was the closest thing the school had to an IT technician, but when every computer with an internet connection began flashing red screens with the ominous message, “I AM THE ALMIGHTY. YOU WILL BE DESTROYED,” she quickly realized she was out of her league.
Unsure of what else to do, she had called her grandson, who gave her computer one look and declared, “You definitely have a virus.” Now he banged indiscriminately at the keyboard, surely too fast to be really typing, the screen black and full of tiny white text.
“Do you think you can fix it?” she ventured.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He snorted. “This is kid shit.”
“*Barney.*”
“Sorry. I just mean a good coder wouldn’t have built this many backdoors in, let alone left them wide open.” He tapped the enter key and Mrs. B’s familiar desktop screen bloomed to life. “Easy peasy.”
“How did you do that?”
“It’s not as complicated as you think, Nana. To be honest…” Barney scratched the back of his head and smirked. “That bug seems like something a fifth grade nerd would whip up. Not even internet trolls are this basic.”
Mrs. B nodded like she understood. There was no point asking what he meant. She was happy to let computers remain an eternal mystery. “Is it gone now?”
“I’m pretty sure. I deleted the program and I couldn’t find any, uh…” He paused, like he was thinking of the best layman’s definition. “Sometimes good hackers will leave themselves a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back to your computer through the internet. This guy didn’t know how to do it. It almost seems like something a smart--but, like, not *that* smart--of a fifth grader would make.”
“Oh, that’s good?” When Barney nodded, Mrs. B took a deep breath and shook her shoulders to release her tension. “Then it’s gone? The bug?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a bug--”
“You did call it that.”
“Well, yeah, but not like a *bug* bug. Not like a glitch.” Barney rose from the chair with a heavy yawn and stretched. He did not seem accustomed to facing the world at 8AM. “Whatever you want to call it, it’s gone now. Forever. I deleted it.”
Mrs. B broke into a relieved smile. She had anticipated losing her whole day to some hacker and trying to explain what hackers are to the children when she didn't fully understand herself. Who knew it would only take five minutes to fix? Maybe her grandson was a genius after all.
(Thanks for reading. My tech skills are on par with Mrs. B's and I hope it's not obvious...)
| 2017-05-24T06:34:33
| 2017-05-24T05:50:04
| 111
| 24
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
|
"Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T08:40:30
| 2017-06-11T08:28:06
| 31
| 17
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
“Were they planning this?” The General looked to the space command desk in the situation room.
The young intelligence officer did not look away from the holograph GUI showing satellite positions and low earth orbit vehicular traffic. “No activity, sir.” She tapped a few buttons and spoke, exasperated, “It doesn’t look like they even had their shields up.”
“Deception?” He started fiddling with the insignia on his cufflinks, clearly unnerved by this strange tactic. They had expected the nuclear strike on Berlin to fail, even anticipated it. Marines were ready to drop in from LEO once the enemy shields deflected the blasts.
“Sir, SatCom doesn’t show any troop activity over the last 24 hours out of Berlin. Intelligence still has the brass all convening there. They should be wiped out. Entirely, sir.”
The General cleared his throat. This is too easy, the Germans just captured all of Europe and don’t even defend themselves? Who lets their guard down like this? “Keep monitoring. Ops, tell the LEO troops to stand down. I will go inform the President.” He left the room as his phone vibrated with a third call in the last five minutes. As soon as the doors slid shut behind him, he answered it, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice, “Honey, I am at work… I cannot-”
The nagging voice on the other side of the phone spoke right over him, “Peter lost his term paper, he is freaking out. Is there a way to recover this?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your Son. His computer. It just restarted for no reason and he lost all his work. Now it says it is ‘Windows updating’ and has been stuck there for HOURS. I thought you could disable these things???”
“Jesus Christ, you have got to be kidding me.” No fucking way. He hung up the phone and ran back into the situation room, “Johnson, what was that intel brief we received last week about the German Defense Command?”
“Sir?”
“They used Windows 17 on their Defense network. We just won the war because of Windows Automatic Fucking Updates.”
|
The year is 2198. The entire world has seen 15 world wars. All of which Germany has participated... and... err... lost. Y-yeah... they lost 15 times. This the 16th war, and everyone expects Germany to lose. People aren't taking Germany seriously anymore. Many keep joking about Germany.
But it looks like things will change now. Germany has actually taken over Europe and is starting to invade other parts. Their military...has... uhhh... haven't changed much... but it seems they're winning...And I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. Well, I'm just a POW.. and they're about to kill me
Year 2199 and Germany is still winning. They've taken over Asia now. My execution was delayed...and now is the time for me to die...
Then all of a sudden every tank I could see just exploded. All planes crashed. And all ships sunk.
The reason why?? The dumbass lead mechanic/builder forgot to put a number 4 and a few **VERY INSIGNIFICANT** details on the blueprint. Without that stuff, well... everything would blow up.
I laughed my ass off at the explosion. I laughed so fucking hard I pissed myself. Germany lost again. But the machines exploded. Not the infantry. While I was laughing, they...errr...just shot me.
| 2017-08-18T05:56:40
| 2017-08-18T02:09:31
| 54
| 15
|
[WP] As magic returns to the world, purchasable drinks actually start having magical effects. Energy colas actually imbue you with energy. Diet drinks actually cause noticeable weight loss. Vitamin drinks heal injuries and disease, and so on.
|
I walked into the office with a cardboard drink holder chafing my wrist, trying not to lose the box of doughnuts precariously perched on the steaming beverages. Once I made it to my desk, I began making the rounds distributing the drinks to my superiors.
A few hours later while walking to retrieve some things from the printer, I passed by one of the meeting rooms. From inside the room I heard coughing, not just from one person, but an incessant cough from several people - like a confinement ward for whooping cough. I opened the door to see what was going on, and every person I had brought coffee for that morning was stuck in an unending coughing fit. That was the day coffee turned on us.
|
My thirst was palpable. I sat under a shaded spot by the lake, hiding from the hot sun. Swiftly, I chugged the drink, no matter the consequences.
Soon, my already calloused skin got tougher, harder, more jagged. My neck stretched out by 10 feet and my body got bigger. As my arms molded into paddles, I lurched my way to the water, because the shade wasn't enough.
I thought to myself, "I should have known better than to buy a Monster energy drink for only tree fiddy."
| 2016-09-11T01:58:06
| 2016-09-10T21:13:06
| 52
| 26
|
[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.
|
My story starts when I was a kid before the cellphone era. I was maybe 16 years old, when I had my first love with Ester , she was the most beautiful girl you could have laid eyes on.
Blue eyes with blonde hair like a sunshine, with a smile that would melt everyone's heart, when she laughed everybody stops and just stared at her beauty.
Even if I had this angel with me, I was sad, because her name wasn't on my body. I had Rachel and tiffany tattooed on my body. Even if I tried as hard as I could, I knew deep down that she wasn't for me.
Fast forward 20 years, I moved, lost contact with Ester, found the love of my life and her name was Rachel.
Maybe I went too fast with this, but my name was tattooed on her. If you make the simple connection, we were meant to be together. Every problem should have been a piece of cake, we were the best in best.
As time passed, I found myself thinking about the other name. Who is this tiffany? When will I die? How will I die?
Those taughts haunted me but I tried to put them at ease, there were a lot of variables I didn't knew. No point of thinking about this for too long, and ohh boy was I wrong, because one week later, everything changed. I died.
That fateful day started like every other day: had my morning coffee with my soon to be wife, took a shower and went to work. We had new people in the hospital, and I needed to take care of them.
I received the list with all the new people, I scanned it and one name just popped in my face. Tiffany Hayo. I freaked, I started shivering. Was she my killer? Is this the day I die? I went straight to my boss and told him I had an emergency at home.
When I got home I caught the love of my life with someone else in the bed, I couldn't comprehend. Why? How? But we were soulmates...
I couldn't stand the thought of her being with someone so I went in my car and started driving as fast as I could... next thing I know I am in the hospital in the icu.
- doctor we are losing him.
I know this voice, as I look around the room I see the most beautiful girl but as I look at her name tag, tiffany hayo.
-I know you, you are Es...
Edit: formatting, also this is my first time writing and english is not my first language so any constructive feedback is well received.
|
“John Smith. And fuckin.... John Smith. WHAT THE FUCK!” Andrea yelled, looking at her friends arm.
“I know right. Stupid.” Tally remarked. She’d had this reaction before.
“So ya gotta find two John Smith’s?”
“I hope so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I only need to find one.”
| 2018-03-11T07:31:32
| 2018-03-11T07:26:50
| 474
| 78
|
[WP] You are an immortal sentenced to 1000 years of imprisonment. After 200, your prison is forgotten. After 10,000 years, it is rediscovered.
Optional: Your discoverers refuse to release you.
|
My eyes open harshly to the same view I've woken up to for as long as I can remember. The sun beams directly in to my eyes through a tiny, barred window that sits at the top of the left wall. I move my head out of the sun's blinding light. I see the heavy cast iron door across the way, barely out of reach from where I lay.
"Another day" I say to myself.
I rise from by bed, careful not to bump my head on the ceiling. It's just low enough that I have to walk with a little hunch in my back. I do my usual routine. Two steps forward, two steps left, and two steps back. That's all I have room for. I sit back on my bed.
How did I even get thrown in here? How long has it been? I've tried to keep track, scratching tallies in to the cell wall. After I ran out of space, I started tallying horizontally, over the existing vertical ones. Then I ran out of space again, and I gave up. I realized that no one is coming back, no point to it anymore. I barely remember when I stopped.
Someone has to come back though, right? I just know it. This can't be the end of me. I'm one of the few immortals. There are more of my kind out there, they have to be looking for me.
'Stop with the false hope,' I tell myself, 'it's pointless.'
"It's not pointless," I respond. "I'm like Sisyphus. He was condemned to push a boulder uphill all day long, only to watch it roll back down. Even if living day to day is pointless, life still has meaning."
I stop talking. Sometimes I forget that I'm the only person in this cell. It's getting so hard to tell reality from fiction.
I walk, hunched, over to the window. At least I have this view. It's not much of a view, just a huge dirt patch with a forest in the distance. But it keeps me sane. One day, I'll see something come from the forest to rescue me.
Wait. What's that? Is that a figure in the distance?
'Don't get excited.'
"Shut up!" I yell, "This is something. Something hasn't happened in so long."
It's getting closer. It looks like some kind of lump. But no. I hear them. I hear voices. It's a group of people! As they're getting closer I see it's a group of soldiers, armed with swords, clubs, and shields.
"Help!" I yell, "please, for the love of the gods, save me!"
They hear me. I can hardly believe it! I see them clamor out of sight, around the side of the building. I hear bustling noises outside of my cell. A door has been knocked down. They must be inside the prison!
A heavy knocking sound comes from my cell door.
"Oi!" they yell, "Don't worry we'll get you out of there!"
"It's been so long! Please hurry!" I yell back, tears of joy streaming from my face.
CRASH!
A deafening noise rings from the cell door.
CRASH! CRASH!
I see light streaming from the corners of the door as it slowly comes loose.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
The door starts to fall. Finally, sweet freedom! As the door hits the ground, a blinding light fills the room. But it's bright. Too bright.
I wake to the sun shining directly in to my eyes through the tiny window on my wall. I divert my gaze back to the cell door, still intact.
'I told you not to get excited.'
|
"Death number two hundred and seventy-six," I mutter to myself adding another tally to the floor. I'm running out of space. I had to stop counting the days, not enough room in this box. All I know is that I've been here for so long that even the thought of masturbating isn't even enjoyable anymore— er I mean I've been here a while and thats all you need to know. Wait, am I having another conversation with myself? Shit, I guess I've finally lost it. Probably all the dying I've done over the years, they hear immortal and they don't realize I still die, just not permanently. Wait why am I explaining this to myself, I know how it works. Oh well.
Suddenly I hear the door from down the hall start to open. A shadowy figure with one giant glowing eye peers inside and then slowly moves into the hallway. I can't quite make out any features, but the figure is slowly moving towards my cell. I quickly move to the back of my cell, retreating from the bright light. The figure comes to a stop directly in front of my cell and stands there for a few seconds. Suddenly the light flips off. "G'day mate, I've been lookin' all over for ya."
I let out the deepest sigh that I have in years as I come to a realization of my situation. "Fucking Australians," I say aloud without being able to stop myself. I'm not surprised really considering the only people crazy enough to come here would be Australian. Can't say I'm not at least a little grateful though.
"Well S'cuse you cunt, I'm here to save ya, let's get a move on we got missions to finish!" the man exclaimed.
"How long has it been?" I ask as I make my way down the hall with him.
"Well I'd say its been about five thousand years, ya got a lotta catchin' up to do, the Board ain't gonna be too happy to see ya."
He hands me a jacket and gives me a smile that I feel like I've seen before, something familiar.
"I guess some things never change huh, let's go then."
We make it outside to a helicopter and take off, the Australian still giving me that same familiar smile.
*criticism is welcome, I've recently found a lot of motivation for writing and want to improve myself as much as possible, I'm not confident in my writing nor ideas and want to build something I can be confident in. Thank you.*
| 2017-11-02T16:37:09
| 2017-11-02T15:37:24
| 51
| 16
|
[WP] His chess set currently on loan, the Grim Reaper is forced to play a different game when an individual pleads for their loved one's life.
|
"Come on, don't I get to play a game for my soul?"
I couldn't help but glance down at my mangled body. New York taxis, man. Never paying attention to their surroundings. Already a crowd had started to form, snapping pictures of the scene for their Facebook feeds. Insensitive jerks. Couldn't they see I was in the process of dying here?!
I looked back at Death. "Isn't that the rule?" I asked. Death, sighing, said "That's right. One game of chess, standard international tournament rules. You win, you get to live. Unfortunately, I don't have the set anymore. There was a drunk guy in Reno who didn't like losing."
"So..... what happens? I just die? Just like that? That doesn't seem fair."
"It's not. So until I get a new set, you get to pick the game."
I gaped at Death. "I pick? Doesn't matter what? Anything?"
"Anything."
I glanced down at my body again. I was still sputtering a little bit, not *quite* dead... But evidently close enough that Death was here to collect. Which was a shame, as I rather enjoyed being alive. I'd have to pick something I had a decent chance of winning.
I could hear sirens in the distance. Probably the ambulance and police. Which is great, but they'd never get here in time to save me. Say what you will about him, but Death is quite efficient. And he's got the advantage of centuries on me. I can't cheat, but I have to beat someone with eons more experience at any game that I could pick.
Or.... Maybe I *can* cheat.... Not at the game, but at the system....
I look at Death. "My body stays alive until I lose, right?"
"Correct. Make your choice."
I smile.
"Tic Tac Toe."
|
"Sorry!" I cried, triumphantly and moved Ethel's last piece back to the start position.
Ethel broke into tears and wailed uncontrollably.
"Geez, way to break the mood, Ethel."
"Buh- buh- I thought we would be playing chess! I'm good at chess! I could trust Elmer's life to my chess skills!"
I let out a deep sigh, "Well, unfortunately, Peter borrowed my chess set and hasn't given it back. This is all I have."
Ethel continued sobbing, "I give up, you're too far ahead."
"Whelp, I'd best be off then, come on Elmer." And I grabbed a handful of Werther's Originals from the dish in the foyer.
Elmer, being senile and having no idea what just happened, gave me a happy smile and followed me out the door. Ethel continued her sobbing. I *really* need to get that chess set back from Peter. Nobody ever cries after the chess games. Mostly they just get real quiet when they realize they're beaten. But ever since Peter borrowed my chess set I've had to find a new game to use when bargaining for the lives of Loved ones.
I'm Death, by the way.
So anyway, I took a vacation last weekend to Tahiti and my buddy Peter asked if he could borrow my chess set while I was away. I don't why he wanted it, the guy is dumber than a bag of hammers, he's probably trying to play checkers with it. Anyway, when I got back, Peter was busy with his shenanigans and his wife didn't know were the set was, so I had to get another board game. Peter told his wife to let me borrow another game from their closet until he could get the chess set back to me. The only game that had not been colored on by his dumbass older son, or scrapped for building a weapon by his creepy young son, or (somehow) used as a masturbation aid by his disgusting daughter was the game 'Sorry!'
I wasn't going to take it, but then I remembered that I'm Death, and I can't just walk into a store and buy a board game, I don't even have any money. Also, God's been real strict about using magic to construct work supplies lately (dude just quit smoking and he's been on edge) so 'Sorry!" it is.
The first dozen or so games were a crapshoot, neither I nor the bargainers knew how to play. Eventually I got the hang of it because I play it a few times a day, but the person I'm bargaining with is usually playing it for the first time. So... yeah... Chess? Sure, most of these folks at least know the rules and movements so I can play. But 'Sorry!' is kind of... morbid...ly appropriate! Sorry! I have to take your loved one to the great hereafter! But most people have been less than amused when I tell them that their loved one's life depends on a game of 'Sorry!'. Chess is serious, 'Sorry!' is a kid's game.
I sent Elmer on his way to meet his maker, or whatever and had a gander at The List.
* ~~Elmer B. Chesterfield. Bargainer: Wife-Ethel Chesterfield~~
* Timmy Barkles. Bargainer: Father-Charley Barkles
"Oh, great, one of *these*. Yeah, this is going to be rough. I snapped my fingers and appeared at the Barkles's doorstep. I knocked.
A few minutes later, Timmy himself answered the door, but something was... unusual. He was wearing a pair of khakis, a button down and a tie with a sweater pulled over it. Really odd, considering the kid is only 8 and it's a Wednesday in August. But, judging by the neighborhood, it looks like his family is all hoity-toity well-to-do and always dresses up. Pricks.
"Hi Timmy, is your daddy home?"
He stared at me, dumbfounded, the way most kids do, for a few seconds before calling out, "Father! A Tradesman is here to see you!"
A 'tradesman'?
His father came to the door, but stood there terrified when he realized who I was.
"Hey Charley! I'm death and I have to take little Timmy with me." I paused dramatically. "Buuuut I'll give you a chance to win his life if you can beat me at a game? Whaddya say?"
"I knew this day would come, very well, come into the drawing room and let us match wits."
'Drawing room'? 'Match wits'? WTF? Its 2015, nobody says this shit anymore. This fucking guy probably never lets his kid have any fun.
Anyway I sat down in the drawing room with Charley Barkles. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Pretentious as fuck. It's goddamn *August* and this asshat is having a fire indoors.
"I'll have you know I am a top contender in the International Chess Championships, so I *won't* make this easy for you."
"...riiiiiiight, well, we aren't playing chess today."
"...huh??"
"Yeah, my dumbass friend borrowed my chess set, but it's okay, I have something else."
"I have multiple chess sets we can use."
"...yeeeeeeah, the rules say I have to provide the game to make sure no one cheats. But as I said, I have a game here."
"What game?"
I produced the box.
"Ta-Da! Sorry!"
"What is this rubbish?"
('Rubbish'? We're in America and you don't have a British accent. Stupid pretentious fuck using fancy words.)
"'Sorry!' is a board game. Fun for the whole family!"
"I've never heard of this twaddle before."
(Twaddle?)
"No? Here, watch [this commercial](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtrCjBoXcz0). And [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZXhV74Mg-M)." I held up my tablet and played the YouTube videos for him.
"This isn't fair. I'm raising little Timmy to be a chess grandmaster and I'm supposed to win his life on a child's dalliance?"
"Would you shut up with your stupid pretentious fancy words and just talk normal? And 'Sorry!' is far from just a child's game. It's a *Family* game!"
"Oh... very well."
I explained the rules and we began to play. About halfway through, Little Timmy wandered in and watched us play.
"Father, what's this game?"
"Its not a game son."
"It looks fun! Can I play?"
"No! Nothing is fun except chess! Now go to your room and read another Chess Strategy book."
Timmy hung his head and moped his way out of the room and up the stairs.
"You know what? Fuck this. You're a terrible father." And I stabbed him with my scythe.
"Timmy's better off without you constantly forcing him to play chess." And I sent Charley Barkles off to the hereafter.
I packed up the set and walked up to Little Timmy's room.
"Hey Timmy, I've got something for you."
Timmy set down his chess book and sat up in bed.
"Here, its a really fun board game. Way better than chess. It's called 'Sorry!'" And I handed him the game box.
While he was opening it, I rounded up his chess stuff and took it downstairs where Charley's corpse was starting to go stiff.
I threw all of the chess stuff into the pretentious fire that Charley had to have in the middle of August and watched it burn.
Whelp, now I suppose I have to go get my chess set back from Peter.
| 2015-08-26T12:52:29
| 2015-08-26T11:51:18
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] A psychic alien who feeds on dreams comes to Earth for the first time. Turns out humans are the only sentients in the galaxy that have nightmares.
|
Do you know what it tastes like when someone dreams of their family, the happy times they spent together, the happy times that *could* be?
It tastes like warm soup on a cold night.
A dream of a passionate night spent with a crush? It's like a bowl of fruit, freshly cut and mixed to perfection with perhaps just a hint of spice to it. A killer dreaming of a fresh victim? It's like steak, strangely familiar yet unique, juicy, savoury, and *bloody*.
I've travelled the cosmos for hundreds of years, feeding on the dreams of the different races I've come across. Some simpler and less developed; their dreams are quaint and straightforward, like eating an apple without anything else. Some developed; those dreams are like fine meals with several courses, each more refined than the rest. Do not think me cruel; the worst I can do is cause a dreamless night to sate my hunger.
And then there's humanity.
I have never, *ever*, tasted anything like what humanity has offered.
There's plenty to be had like what I had described; savoury and sweet, sour and pleasantly bitter. Some of the dishes they have offered ranked among the highest I've ever had. But then I would come across something entirely new; a dream that has been twisted and broken beyond my comprehension; a dream that brings no comfort or rest; a dream they call "a nightmare".
I have... seen things of pure, unbridled terror with no sense or reason. An infinite fall filled with a neverending scream echoing through the empty void. A monster of impossible composition preying on the human as they frantically search for safety, never to find it. The sensation of being at their most vulnerable at the worst of moments. It's wrong.
And it's something only they have. I pity them. The idea that you might seek rest and refreshment only to experience terror untold and wake up screaming... nothing in the galaxy should ever experience that.
Do you know what a *nightmare* tastes like?
No, you don't.
And you don't want to.
|
The planet of Hexalos prepared to receive their first emissary to Earth, worried about Kashitok’s last transmission:
“These humans do not just have dreams. They have these horrible, twisted dreams called nightmares, where everything is terrible. I’m returning home.”
The Hexalians anxiously awaited Kashitok, expecting to see a shaken and defeated comrade. When he first appeared, their fears seemed true. His face, once healthily green, approached a brownish colour that would lead many Hexalians to shake their head and mournfully prepare a permanent send-off into the darkness of space.
What was strange, however, was the radiant smile on Kashitok.
“You look positively psychotic,” mission commander Laxok said. “Your expression and your complexion do not match.”
“I know, sir,” Kashitok said. “I think I need a lie down, and a long time in a proper toilet. But I’ll give my report soon.”
After a Hexalian hour of the entire space base trying to ignore the sounds coming from the washroom, Kashitok finally emerged with a much healthier colour.
“Kashitok,” Laxok said. “I understand if you need more rest due to the harrowing experience.”
“Oh, I actually feel quite good,” Kashitok said. “Refreshed, even.”
“If you say so,” Laxok sighed. “You did well, emissary.”
“Those nightmares,” Kashitok felt his tongue instinctively rub across his lips. “They are strange. It kind of burns your tongue.And your face. Maybe you get a headache.”
“That sounds utterly horrifying,” Laxok said gravely. “I’m so sorry. I’ll henceforth strike off Earth as a potential hunting ground.”
Kashitok held out a hand, shaking his head.
“No, no, no, don’t be. I shouldn’t like it… but I do.”
“What do you mean, you like it?”
The emissary rubbed his chin, gently clicking his tongue.
“Dreams taste… good. They linger on your tongue, makes you happy, and leaves you contented. But…”
Laxok leaned in closer, curiosity turning his face a shade of purple.
“But?”
“Eating a nightmare is challenging,” Kashitok said, smiling manically. “It’s painful, but that’s also what gives it flavour. And that makes me want to eat it more.”
“... You are a sick bastard, Kashitok.”
“I brought a sample back,” the emissary said, putting a small transparent bottle in front of his commander. It was a shifting mess of dark crimson, with streaks of grey and black mingling uglily within it. It shook on the table, like the nightmare was trying desperately to claw its way out.
“That looks disgusting,” Laxok made a face.
“Just a small sip, commander.”
Laxok tentatively reached out, grasping the bottle firmly. He uncapped it, and watched as the nightmare almost desperately reached out into the open air. With his lips towards the mouth of the bottle, he gently tasted the nightmare.
Laxok jumped up immediately, breaking out into an impromptu dance. He slammed the bottle onto the table—which Kashitok immediately capped—and rushed towards a more pleasant dream in his collection. One desperate gulp after gulp, the commander finally calmed down enough to take back his seat.
“Kashitok,” Laxok said. “You are insane.”
“Maybe,” Kashitok said, putting the nightmare fully into his mouth. “But I’m doing the human a favour. They are welcome.”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-09-06T09:00:46
| 2022-09-06T08:45:39
| 1,171
| 295
|
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍
|
Living beyond my means always seemed not only unnecessary to me, but pointless. Sure, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted, but I had seen what money could do to people and those around them. I didn't want to be another chump with "yes men" around me telling me how good of a job I was doing, regardless if I actually was.
So when I won the lottery, I kept quiet. Not only did I not tell my friends, but I didn't even tell my family. Instead, I retained a lawyer and financial advisor and just invested. Before I knew it my bank account just grew and grew until I was worth $140 billion dollars.
When it came to my day to day life, I tried to keep i simple and I never saw a reason to stop doing what I loved. I mean hell, I was lucky. How many people can say that do what they love every day when they go into work? And keeping my secret from co-workers was easy. When I went on vacation to Paris, it was seen as completely normal. What they didn't know what I took a private jet there, stayed in a suite at the Four Seasons and ate at Michelin star restaurants each night.
For a moment, my life felt perfect--but all good things must come to and end. That end was Craig. He was the new creative director at my agency and from the moment I met him, I knew I didn't like him. For one, he had no talent. He didn't get to where he was based off of his work or ability to lead a team, he got there because he was bully that knew how to manipulate those around him. I wasn't one of those people and I saw straight through his act.
It didn't take long for me to realize that as soon as Craig joined my team, he had set his sights on me. His goal was to destroy my career and turn everyone against me. He started by criticizing my work and rewriting every single word and sentence I showed him. His ideas were moronic and off strategy, but since he was the boss no one had the guts to call him out on it. When I did call him out, all the others would shrink down in their seats and look away. No one dared tell the boss he had a bad idea and boy was Craig going to make sure I paid for disagreeing with him.
It started with little things. Like that deadline I could have sworn was Wednesday was suddenly Monday. Or files would go missing from the server. With time it grew and grew until suddenly mistakes were being made that required the team to work over the weekend and I was being blamed. It was so obvious, I don't know how I didn't see it coming.
It was a Friday morning when Craig called me into a last minute meeting. When I walked into the conference room, there sat HR, alone at the table with a folder. Craig's face went serious and as I sat down and told me that he was sorry but I "just wasn't the right fit here". HR then explained to me that my time with the agency was terminated and they would ship my belongings to my home address.
I stood up, trying to hold back the tears in my eyes and Craig smiled. He smiled as if to say, "I won" and before I could say a word, HR led me out the door and out the office.
For months I sat at home and dwelled on what happened. I tried to piece together what happened and how it got to the point where they would fire me. As I began to sort through all of the events that had unraveled I began to see the connection: Craig. Every step forward I'd make, he'd ensure I took two steps back. Well, little did Craig know that is screwed with the wrong girl. Not only was he going to pay for what he did, but everyone at the agency was going to pay for following him blindly.
The account I worked on was the largest client the agency had before, it was worth millions of dollars. So naturally, the best way to destroy a tumor is to cut off it's blood supply. So I bought the client, the entire company, under an alias name.
The next step was to hire a chairman and CEO that would act as an instrument to my plan. My team privately met with dozens of candidates and it didn't take long for me to appoint someone to head up the company that ensured me he'd follow my direction without question.
In the meantime, I found another job. In fact, it was a better job with a title and pay increase that I may have not needed, but at least demonstrated they saw my value. Each day I'd come home from work and communicate with my team and CEO, directing them on steps they needed to take to ensure the success of the company. First being--fire all of the advertising agencies they had partnered with.
For one particular ad agency, however, I requested the CEO personally deliver the news to the creative team himself. I told him to handle the process as he saw fit but there was one thing he needed to say upon termination: "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."
It didn't take long for news to spread about the great loss and changes within the client's organization and within about a year, after losing their largest client, the agency closed.
Eventually, that agency became a distant memory and I was happily promoted at my job, working as a creative director for a place I loved. It was early fall when a resume came across my desk with a familiar name and a huge gap in employment history. He had already been through 2 interviews earlier that week and I was the last point of contact as the hiring manager. I gleefully saw the calendar invite pop onto my computer and that afternoon I walked to the conference room where candidates waited to meet with their potential employers.
I pushed open the door and Craig looked up. His smile quickly disappeared and he went as pale as a ghost as he saw me standing at the door. I had recently gotten married and he had not realized who I was since my last name had changed. I smiled brightly and without a word sat down in front of him. He stuttered as he opened his portfolio book and began to quietly go over his work with me, conveniently skipping over the work from the agency we had worked at together not so long ago.
I quietly listened and as he paused to take a breath. I leaned forward, looking at him directly in the eye and smiled. "You know what, Craig", I said, "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."
​
|
There are some things that money can’t buy . . . like manners, or morals, or integrity . . . good thing I have a fucking sweet mansion though!
When I secretly became the richest man in the world, I didn’t think my life would be so vanilla. I mean, I have everything I could ever want and more, but I can’t let anyone know that it’s mine. What’s the point of getting limited edition, carbon fiber, diamond encrusted Heelys if no one is around to see me use them!?
Before I became a billionaire, I was working a shitty little office job. Long, boring hours. Lazy co-workers. And one hard-ass boss. God, I hated that guy. Always yelling and screaming. Making me be his errand boy. Getting pissy whenever the coffee I made him wasn’t the “right temperature.”
The moment I made my fortune, I promised myself I’d never do that trivial nonsense ever again. But there I was, back in that same tiny cubicle. My management team told me it would be better if I took my old job back. No one would suspect that the guy who begged for his office gig back could secretly be able to buy a small country.
I know what you’re thinking. “You’re being ridiculous. A wonderful, rich dude like you shouldn’t need to hide his lifestyle.” Well, I’ll tell ya what. A lot of people want you dead when they realize you have money. After my first cohort of “friends” pooled their money together to put a hit on me; I learned it’s better to keep your circle small. And by the way, I paid that hitman ten times what they were going for. Whoever said actions speak louder than words have never spoken to my man Ben Franklin.
Now, let’s talk business. Word around the street is you have a dog. And that you care an awful lot about it. Am I correct? With my contacts and resources, I can make your canine companion practically immortal.
I’m no stranger to revenge myself, but I figure it would be better to consult an expert.
So, Mr. Wick, what do you think would be the best course of action to make that asshole regret the day he fired me!?
| 2019-03-04T09:01:49
| 2019-03-04T08:04:24
| 2,500
| 50
|
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck."
|
**edit 3: Further updates will be posted in my subreddit /r/Ardarail, thanks for reading everyone!**
- - - -
 
I was watching the evening news when it started. The news anchor was cut off mid sentence by a loud, unbroken tone and the bright while bold letters began to scroll across screen.
**WE'VE INTERRUPTED YOUR NORMAL VIEWING EXPERIENCE FOR THIS IMPORTANT NATIONAL SECURITY BROADCAST. IT IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THAT YOU FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS EXACTLY FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.**
A monotone voice accompanied the words that appeared next.
*This is a national emergency alert. Do not leave your homes between 6PM and 8AM. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Barricade all entries to your house and cover your windows with opaque material. Exercise extreme caution when out during the day. Do not enter tunnels or other dark areas during the day. Restrict contact with all others including those claiming to be official persons. Military and police assistance is not available at this time.*
I stared at the screen, mouth agape as the alert began to repeat its message again. My mouth felt dry and a cold sweat began to prickle at my back. Only the sudden wetness as I accidentally poured half my beer into my lap was enough to shake me from my shocked stupor.
*Is this some kind of joke?* I thought as my pulled out I phone and began to record a video of the message. I flipped through a few channels. All showed the same white words and robotic narrator.
Quickly I checked twitter and my worst fears were confirmed. Whatever "it" was it was blowing up online. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of tweets. Pictures and videos of the same message currently playing on my TV screen. Everyone seeming just as confused as I was.
I put down my phone and crossed my living room to look out the window. Everything *seemed* normal enough, at first glance at least. Then I noticed the conspicuous lack of... well of anything really. Cars, motorcycles, even just people strolling down the sidewalk were nowhere to be found. I glanced at my watch *6:42PM* not that late, there should be plenty of people out still. I took a last long glance out my window and then I saw *it*. At first I thought it was a person but then I noticed the odd, shambling aimless gait, the somewhat bedraggled experience, and the *face*. At this point he (I'm relatively certain it was a he) was under a streetlight and close enough to see the details of his face. His mouth was smeared with blood and his eyes were a milky white and seemed bloodshot.
Immediately I shut my curtains and took a shaky step back.
*What the fuck, was this for real? That looked like... I don't even want to say it but that looked like an actual, real life fucking zombie outside my house.*
At this point the panic began to set in. I tried to take some deep breaths and steady myself. Expand your diaphragm, keep calm, everything is going to be okay.
*Don't worry, you've prepared for this. How many zombie movies have you seen and said "I could totally survive that". This'll probably be easy!*
I ran through a mental list of everything I needed to do. Every door, locked and dead-bolted. Gun out of the safe and loaded. Windows, taped and covered in cardboard. Enough food in the pantry to survive a week maybe two tops.
*Hmm maybe I should call in work and tell them I'm sick and won't be coming in tomorrow...* Immediately I dismissed the thought. My mind was coming up with things to distract me from the true direness of this situation.
Then the lights went out.
As I sat in the darkness the terror began to grip me, a tight ball of it in my stomach slowly crawling up my throat and choking me so it seemed that I just couldn't gasp enough air no matter how hard I tried. With shaking hands I opened my phone and checked twitter again. Nothing. Nothing but a spinning circle. No WiFi, no cellular connection, no internet at all. Everything was down.
I felt like screaming but I could barely produce a pathetic rasping squeak. Plus it was past sundown and I was terrified to make any noise.
With the internet I thought I'd be fine, I could stay up to date with what was happening. I'd have entertainment for when I couldn't leave my house. I'd be able to just google any survival questions I had. Really it was like we'd all be going through the apocalypse together, connected through the wondrous power of the internet. But now I was alone. Truly alone and it was getting to me in a bad way.
*I've done all I can for tonight, maybe I should just try and get some rest.*
As I lay in my bed staring into the pitch blackness I knew it was a lost cause, there's no way in hell I'd be able to sleep. It was going to be a long, long night.
 
Sometime around 3AM the noises started. It sounded like pack of baying dogs but somehow *wrong*. And then it hit me, it was humans. Or some things that used to be human. Howling in a discordant symphony. The howling began to grow louder and higher in pitch, sounding almost excited. Then I heard a very human scream, full throated and ear-piercing it went on and on and on until suddenly it stopped and there was only the baying of whatever creatures the poor soul had fallen to. I curled up tighter under my covers, clutching my handgun until my knuckles turned white. I was shaking and all I could think was *Maybe I could've helped. Maybe I should've done something.*
But deep down I knew I wouldn't, would never. And it wasn't because of the warning to "Restrict contacts with others* though I tried to convince myself it was. I was just too scared. I was a coward and I'd let a thousand people die outside my door before I'd risk myself stepping out there into the unknown.
 
- - - -
*End of part 1 but I've got some more cooking up in my brain. If you'd like me to continue please let me know :)*
edit: *It's 2AM here now, so I'll have to post part 2 tomorrow, sorry guys! I'm also considering opening a subreddit so let me know if anyone would be interested in that!*
edit 2: ***Okay by popular demand I'm starting a subreddit! /r/Ardarail check it out for more stories!***
Stay tuned part 2 is in the works!
|
The warning was clear: if you break any of the rules, you die. Lucy left the house before dawn once to gather stream water, and she never came back. We never even found a body. Alex forgot to turn the light off in his room one night before he fell asleep, and we found him in the morning; drained from within, barely a husk of a man.
It was down to me and Erin in the house, a woman I barely even knew. She was Alex's friend, and prior to the lockdown, I'd only known her as the mysterious girl who showed up to crash for days at a time, always managing to eat my Pop-Tarts in the process. Now she and I were clinging desperately to the hope of rescue, but we knew that it was a vain hope. "Military aid is unavailable," the message had said. No one was coming for us.
The message had also said not to enter tunnels during the day, but that's exactly what Erin and I were suiting up to do. She handed me the hockey equipment we'd found in Alex's closet. He'd been a star goalie for the school team in another life.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked as she put some of the pads on. I nodded. It had been her idea, but I didn't see much of an alternative that didn't involve sitting on my ass all day, waiting it out. I tried on Alex's mask. It fit pretty well, and I grinned behind it. *Just like Casey Jones.*
"What do we have as far as weapons?" I asked. Erin frowned.
"Really just hockey sticks I found in his closet, but it's your house, what else you got?"
My mind went immediately to the knife block in the kitchen, though the thought of using my expensive cooking knives as weapons upset me more than a little. They'd cost me a month's rent, but they might be the most effective things I had on hand. I walked slowly into the kitchen and grabbed the large chef's knife from the block. I hadn't used it since this whole ordeal began, which meant it was still nice and sharp. I grabbed a boning knife for Erin to use just in case the hockey stick didn't prove useful.
When I came back into the living room, Erin's head was bowed in prayer, her hands clasped around the cross necklace I'd always seen her wear. I allowed her a moment of silence, after which her eyes opened with a resolve I'd never seen in her.
"You ready?" she asked. I wasn't, but I nodded anyway.
We opened the door, bracing ourselves for an assault that never came. It was 2 o' clock by my watch, which meant we had a solid four hours to do our business and get back to the house before nightfall. I knew there was a cave system near the campus, thanks to an introductory archaeology course I'd taken sophomore year. That was our target. Maybe if we could find out why we were warned not to enter tunnels, we could find out what was happening.
Fear rose in my chest the closer we got to the tunnels. I knew what we were doing was one of the only courses of action available to us, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare the piss out of me. Upon arriving at the tunnels, we peered in, unable to see past about five feet in. I gulped, taking out a flashlight I'd brought to light our way. I don't know how I could have been prepared for what I saw.
Sure enough, there were figures in the tunnel, at least four, by my count. They looked humanoid, which I don't think I'd been expecting. But the most unsettling part is that they were *hanging from the ceiling.* I needed to get closer, to figure out how they were doing it.
My feet slid one in front of the other, as slowly as I could manage while still making forward progress. I was close enough to reach out and touch one of the figures, though I dared not. Shining my flashlight up at the ceiling, I could see the figures all had their feet dug into the soft earth above them, and were somehow hanging from that.
The closest one to me opened his eyes with a start. I stumbled backward, landing squarely on my ass. I tried my best to look intimidating as I brandished the knife I'd brought with me, but whatever it was we were facing down didn't look deterred. I could see the bloodthirst in its eyes, though the scariest thing about it was that it looked totally human, aside from skin so pale it was almost translucent.
Erin cracked her hockey stick over its head, though it didn't appear to notice the injury at all. It slowly turned its eyes to her, dropping from the ceiling and drawing itself up to its full height in one smooth motion. It was taller than it had first appeared; almost as tall as the tunnel itself, some seven and a half feet. Erin recoiled, and that was all the prompting the thing needed.
It lunged at her, baring fangs I could have sworn weren't there a moment before. I cried out, moving as if to stab the thing, though I was still too far away. Erin and the monster tumbled to the ground, making the muffled grunts of a struggle. Suddenly, the monster screeched, loud enough to make my ears bleed. It fell backward, clawing at the burning hole in its chest, and I saw fear in its eyes for the first time.
Erin's expression was one of delighted confusion. The cross on her necklace burned with a soft light, and it suddenly clicked.
"The cross!" I shouted at her, and her confusion gave way to determination. She stood, removing the necklace, and she approached the next sleeping vampire.
*Finally,* I thought. *We can end this.*
| 2018-04-18T08:41:00
| 2018-04-18T07:40:08
| 4,246
| 250
|
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed]
|
Red.
​
All I have been seeing is Red. The seething hatred which is now my soul. I don't know where it came from but I wouldn't be bothered. All I knew was these fuckers had to pay.
It could've been stopped if the Hero was dead. But the villain just HAD to say something. He told how his plan was fool-proof, and how he was gonna make the Hero suffer. All the while my Ana was disgruntled. I tried to look at her face, ignoring her severed legs and her guts which spilled over the floor. She was still alive, but in pain. Too much pain.
She looked at villain and mouthed the words which still haunt me.
"Kill me"
The Villain went on and on how about he has Hero in his fingers, and marveling at his stupidity.
"Kill me" She mouths in vain. I can't bare it no more.
​
Something snapped. And all I saw was Red. I stood up, picked her head up. She looked at me terrified and confused, but her face shone with acceptance and happiness. She smiled at me. I twisted her neck with a loud snap.
I went for the villain next. Ripped out his throat. I ripped out the Hero's throat too.
Speak now, you fuckers. Play your sick twisted games, with disregard for lives around you. I want to hear your chatter, your reckless, witty banter.
More importantly, I want to hear them stop.
And make them stop I will.
|
It's the same old story, Doctor Brainmaster is robing a bank again and I have to stop him. I hop into my Red, White, and Blue plane and head towards the Central City bank. Hovering above it I see the good doctor has hostages. With a great leap a crash through the Bank's celling. "Captain Fist" he says, "what an unexpected surprise". A trap below my feet goes snap but I narrowly miss it; he fires a few bolts out of his head cannon but I weave through them all till I'm right in front of him. "You're going to jail for your crimes Brainmaster!" I say triumphantly and send a fist right into his face, knocking him to the ground. "You haven't seen the last of me" he cries while I tie him up and hoist him over my shoulder, "You'll...". The body goes limo and the villain goes silent. I remove him from my shoulder to look at him and see that his head is gone. I go to turn around till I feel a pain in my neck and then nothing.
| 2019-08-06T21:26:45
| 2019-08-06T19:35:07
| 26
| 11
|
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test.
|
I entered the facility, shaking of course. I'd volunteered to go first, mostly to get it over with, but I was definitely having misgivings. The proctors had assured us that studying was not required, but now that I thought about it they had also said that about the ACT.
It was far too late now though. I continued walking through a narrow hallway until a pair of guards moved to pick me up. Vaguely, I wondered how the guards worked. Were they exempt from testing? Or just very devoted?
After a brief, quick time frogmarch I was deposited in a dark room with a single man before me. Surprisingly, I was calm now. I even smiled slightly. Whatever happened, I was ready to face my fate.
The proctor glanced at me. "Congratulations!" he shouted, smiling broadly. "You pass!"
"What?"
"I said you passed! Congratulations!"
I was slightly nonplussed. "But what about the test?" I spluttered. "How do you know I'll pass?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh you already passed. We're just gonna let the first ten percent through and kill the rest."
"But why?"
"Well we figure that the first guys through will really have their shit together. Plus late people are annoying. It just made sense."
"Well okay then." I walked out whistling. Late people *are* annoying.
|
As I entered the room, an instructor was waiting across the room sitting opposite me with a small white table laid out in front of him with an empty chair waiting for me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the chair and sat right in front of him.
"Good morning. For this test, I just have a few questions I would like to ask you." The man spoke in his white coat, black gloves, and a mask covering his mouth. "Sure.... Can't say that I'm not nervous!" I said as I let out a nervy laugh. *God damn it, just shut up and be normal!* He just looked at me expressionless and said "So, The first question I would like to ask you is what is your name?"
"Uhmm... Does it matter though? 90% of the population is about to be wiped from the face of this earth and my name is irrelevant." I said with confidence. Trying to sound intellectual I said, "In fact, I would like to know what your name actually is. With this job of interviewing people and deciding who gets to live, I take it as you are someone who is safe? Also, as someone who is important. I definitely would like to know who are you and what makes you an exception."
He sighed. He raised both his hands and said with a happy tone "My name is Dr. Axel. Now I have another question for you, do you want to live?" "Are you insane? Of course I do!" I said convincingly. Axel just shook his head disapprovingly and I was beginning to worry. *Did I say something wrong? I'm just being genuine and looking at the bigger picture here... Am I missing something?*
Axel stood up aggressively and glared at me. "Do you want to live knowing that your family are most likely not going to? Your friends. Your family. Your significant other. You may be that 10% that lives, but will you be the 10% that continues to live as you have lost almost everyone in your life? Now I ask you again, knowing that no one that you know is most likely going to die, do you want to live? No... no.... let me rephrase, do you want to continue living with that tragedy?"
I stood up and looked at him shocked. I said while fighting back tears, "Would you even find 10% of this population who will give up their loved ones just to live? What is the point of living after?" He said calmly "You can always to learn to love again."
I just shook my head, disappointed with humanity. What have we come into? To give up something precious and sacred to us. Then again, I knew it was a necessary move to save the human race. The question was, am I ready to give up everything? The answer was no, and I knew it. Axel knew it.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Good luck finding that 10%. My family and friends are something I can't give up, even to save the human race. It sounds selfish but it's something that I would rather have than losing them. So yeah, I rather die with them, than to continue living alone." I said.
Axel nodded. He sat back down and told me "That would be all, you are free to leave." I glanced at him and looked away. I turned around and stood there for a while. Are we blinded by love that I can't be that 10% to continue to help humanity? Even if it was for the bigger picture? Yes. Yes it was to me, I rather live enjoying my last moments with my loved ones. I smiled.
**I was a dead man walking going into the room, but I came out of the room more alive than I was before.**
| 2016-06-11T10:22:36
| 2016-06-11T09:06:11
| 588
| 16
|
[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...
|
Alex takes her spot next to the man wearing 1000 year old bifocals, and then grabs the pen atop the booklet with her name on it. The cover page feels similar to cardstock; she can feel the indent of each letter from the back. As prompted before she walked in, Alex opens the booklet and prints her name on the solitary line in the middle of the page.
"You got a weird last name." Says grampa glasses.
"Thanks." Alex shifts uncomfortably because she can't put enough room between them. She focuses her attention on the other people still filing into the room.
"What's your middle?"
"Please stop talking to me."
"Weird middle name too."
"Seriously, I'm not in the mood to talk."
Grampa glasses points to an exceptionally attractive man a few rows in front of them. "Bet you would talk to him. You're pretty, but you're mean. I see why you're here now."
"Yeah? Well it didn't take me long to understand your reasoning, asshole. I hope yours fails."
Silence finally finds the two of them. A man in a suit enters the room, closing the door behind him. Everyone watches him walk to the front of the room and write his name on the board, followed by Esquire. He picks up the blank booklet before him and holds it up for display.
"Good morning all. I'm going to get right too it, since I know you all have important places to be."
Laughter from the room.
"Everyone should have a booklet with their name printed on the front, and should have printed their name on the first page by now. Go ahead and sign the line in the last page. As you're all aware, I am here to assist you in the writing of your last will and testament, so call on me as you see fit. You may use the entire booklet, but we suggest keeping things as direct and concise as possible. When you have finished, I will collect your booklet. When everyone has finished, someone will replace me to guide you home."
Alex raises her hand. "I was just wondering, are their individual chambers, or do we all share one chamber?"
The lawyer points to what looks like speakers mounted into the ceiling. "You're already in the chamber dear. Once I leave the room, they'll lock the doors and pump the gas."
Alex turns to Grampa glasses. "Please write fast."
| 2017-05-31T07:14:34
| 2017-05-31T06:30:10
| 116
| 80
|
[WP] Historians discover something they haven't noticed before on the Declaration of Independence, and it changes American life as we know it.
|
"A *microdot?!?*"
Neils swallowed compulsively, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. His sunken eyes shifted nervously and he gave a little laugh that quickly degenerated into a dry, rasping cough.
"Uh, yes sir. Concealed under the ink of Franklin's signature. Meaning it was there *before* he signed, and, and..." at this point he broke down into an incoherent blubbering.
The President straightened and turned away, his eyes shifting left and right as he paced the white marble floor, the click of his heels echoing around the Archives foyer. He stopped again in front of the Director, who's face was by now buried in his lap. He resisted the overwhelming urge to grab Neils and shake him like a rag doll, and instead gently touched his shoulder.
"You scanned the dot, didn't you? You found something."
The Director looked up and nodded quickly, unable to speak.
The President's face suddenly broke into a broad smile and he laughed. "Then it was switched, a clever fake," he cried, spreading his hands wide, looking expectantly around the room, as if waiting for applause.
The Director shook his head, slowly and deliberately. "No sir. It's the real McCoy. We checked everything. The security video is intact. The paper, the archive stamps, comparative photographs, the inks. The only thing that's new is this nano resolution holographic scan. It's the only way we found the dot."
Obama collapsed into the opposite couch with a defeated air. "All right. What does it say?"
"It contains two things. A QR code, to an encrypted, secure website. And a very complex password. No, we didn't go in. It's waiting for your authorization. The site is real, but we can't find an owner for the domain or even a date when it was set up."
"But thats-"
"Impossible" he interrupted, with understandable impatience. "Yes sir. Any network pro will tell you that can't be done. It also lacks a host server, again impossible."
The conundrum was self evident. And for a cautious man like the President, it also had no solution. The implications were too dangerous to contemplate. Time travel? Aliens? Gods? What would keying the password unleash?
He nodded to himself. All unsatisfactory. "We go back. Quietly. Let the DIA and NSA check everything again. Something was missed." He tried to say it confidently.
And, equally confident, he knew they would be just as stumped.
|
"I um, examined the letter u dear UV light. It seems to have contained a warning."
IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.
**The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen** united States of America,
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of **Nature's God** entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by **the**ir **Creator** with certain un**alien**able Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are **instituted** among Men, deriving their just **powers** from the consent **of** the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes **destructive** of these **ends**, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, **laying its foundation on** such principles and organizing **its powers in such form**, as to them shall seem **most likely to effect** their **Safety and Happiness.** Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while **evils are** sufferable, than to right themselves by **abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But** when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably **the** same **Object** evinces **a design to reduce them** under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, **and to provide new Guards** for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such **is now the necessity which constrains them** to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.
"It seems to be some sort of warning. An object which restrains this alien creator? What could it be?"
| 2014-11-10T10:31:04
| 2014-11-10T10:04:47
| 74
| 22
|
[WP] Most demonologists are in constant peril of their summons backfiring horribly with gruesome deaths being a common result when a demon slips their leash. Yet despite not using any bindings at all, you've never had such problems.
|
There are 2 paths demonologists tended to walk. The most common is the Researcher. Fundamentally, they relied on books to learn about demons. They would seek out ancient documents, learn forgotten rituals, and above all else stay as far away from demons as they could.
They would be able to tell you from just a few clues what sort of demon you had on your hands. They deal mostly with possessions, or in some rare cases places where demons cropped up. They could tell you what they did, and even list ways to combat and expel them.
Then, you have the Summoner. Generally, only the desperate or foolhardy took this path. As you can guess, they summon demons themselves. They are mostly used for information, or bargaining for dark powers. They also tend to have a short life expectancy.
Demons don't like to be bound. So when a Summoner prepares to work, they will double and triple check their bindings. If there is even the slightest crack, demons will find it, and use to escape. When that happens, it tends to get messy.
And then, you have me. I am what you would call a Summoner. But I don't bind the demons. No, I have a much simpler way of surviving.
\-----
The familiar smell of sulphur filled the air. Thick smoke poured from the centre of my circle. I could hear faint screams, many of which I felt I could recognise. Throughout it all, a Splinter Demon stepped through.
It's skin was bone white, and was stretched against its skeleton. Dozens of spikes covered its back and collar bone, each more then a foot in length. They oozed blood, their jagged ends appearing to have been recently snapped. It's thin tail whipped back and forth, the barbed end scratching the wooden floor. It had a single black eye, the rest of its face comprising of a hungering maw.
It screeched, rushing at me. Used to this, I stepped to the side, slamming my elbow into its kidneys. As it curled in on itself I ducked low, sticking a leg out. Unable to stop, it tripped over, crashing to the ground. As it lay there I could practically see the shock running through its head. Humans didn't fight demons in hand-to-hand combat. It was suicide.
It got up, reactions delayed from the surprise. I settled into a fighting stance. It rushed towards me again, this time holding its tail up. I recognised its tactic, knowing that simply stepping past wouldn't work again. Instead, I moved into its arms, firmly grasping 2 spikes on its collar bone.
I let myself drop, feeling it being pulled down. As my back hit the ground I brought my feet to its chest. With a heave, I pushed upwards, launching it into the air as it flipped. It crashed into the ground with a horrid snap and a screech.
I swiftly got to my feet, giving it a quick couple of kicks to the head. It screeched again, holding its arms up.
"Stop! Ha'azligath submits!"
I gave it one final kick, before stepping back.
"**Ha'azligath**, I accept your submission."
It froze as I spoke the name it freely gave. A demons name is sacred. To be given it means the demon acknowledges it is subservient to you. The catch was that it had to be freely spoken. You could not demand it tell you. Fortunately for me, they always gave it at the end of combat.
"I wish to know who killed Amelia Walts on 6th February 2021."
It climbed to its feet, bowing.
"I will find out for you, Master. I will return within the hour."
It vanished without the theatrics of its summoning. I stretched, before going to find a chair. Demon fights, whilst short, weren't exactly easy.
|
“What is your secret?” Rina asks. She thinks it’s subtle, the way she leans onto my desk with her hands coming together, framing the ‘V’ of her sweater vest.
“No secret,” I lie. “Only discipline and practice.”
She laughs, her head tossed back. Every action is rehearsed, deliberate. Her neck is long and lovely, and when she stops laughing she catches my stare and smiles. The fact that she’s prepared for this does not make it any less enchanting.
“You cannot expect me to believe that,” she says, sitting in the chair opposite my desk, leaning on one of the armrests with her legs swinging free over the other. It’s unconventional, but that isRina. “I understand that you’re the best and most intelligent here, Dante. But the rest of us are not idiots. We have our suspicions.”
“You are free to have them,” I tell her, picking up my files and stepping out of my personal office. It was wrong of the secretary to letRina in. She stands against the wall outside my office as I lock the door.
“Dinner?” she asks.
“Dating within the demonology department is against the rules,” I tell her, although I’m sure she knows this already.
She leans forward and picks a piece of lint off my jacket.
“No risk, no reward, Dante,” she tells me, before planting a kiss on my jaw.
\* \* \*
The fight is more intense than I thought when I heard about the uprising of the necromancers. It was a wrong decision to have only two demonologists assigned to the task.
“Thar!” I yell to my demon. She’s a massive block of animated stone, but she is only one against thousands of undead. They have retained enough intelligence to know to throw projectiles and brandish sticks and spears.
“Go volcanic!” I tell her, and she complies. The cracks between the individual boulders of her body glow red, and red pads of heat appear on her hands. The undead now approach her more cautiously. She sweeps her arm across the clearing we are fighting in, and charred bodies are left behind.
Lina’s own demon is flying above, shooting razor sharp shards of ice down onto our enemies. She is fighting as well, armed with a spear and shield. I wish I shared her skill for hand-to-hand combat, but we each have our own strengths.
For now, I’m safe from the undead, on top of one of the stronger branches of a tree on the edge of the clearing. I doubt they can even see me. They thinkRina’s the only demonologist here, and unfortunately, it’s made her a target.
I spot a dark cloaked figure not fifteen feet away from her, and I yell for Thar to stop him.
Thar succeeds. The necromancer is now a pile of molten flesh within Thar’s grip, but Thar falls to the ground seconds after, clutching her arm in pain. The undead retreat to their graves, seeing their master dead. The pain hits me mid-way to the ground, and I can only use one hand to climb off the tree.
I pull back the sleeves of my jacket to check the skin above my gloves. They are quickly turning violet. Poison. It will be worse if it was magical.
“Are you alright?”Rina asks.
“Yes.”
She starts to step away but freezes and looks at Thar. “No, you’re not, and neither is your demon.”
Thar is writhing on the ground, something I want to do but cannot. The stones of her arm have gone dark and brittle, little chunks of them falling off with her every moment.Rina walks closer and places two fingers on the skin of my neck.
“She’s hurt, and so are you,” she says. Her eyes go wide as she realizes what I’ve done.
“You’ve bonded yourself to them,” she says. “Your demons.”
I smile. “A bonding is better than a binding, isn’t it?”
“You could die!” she hisses. “What if Thar had died today?”
I check on Thar, who’s recovering. The pain in my own body is diminishing as well, but I’m still weak. It’s true that if Thar gets injured, I do as well. But I heal just as quickly. I let myself lean onto Rina, my head on her shoulder, my lips grazing her neck.
“No risk, no reward, Rina,” I tell her.
\-------------------------
r/xeuthis
| 2021-03-17T12:19:57
| 2021-03-17T11:48:00
| 50
| 27
|
[WP] Mankind has been extinct for four hundred million years, but the Inheritors have found a rich cache of genetic material from that period. A zoo is developed, complete with all the flora and fauna of the age, including the apex predator: Homo Sapiens. Welcome to Cenozoic Park.
|
"What's the goat for?" the child asked while peering through the foliage trying to catch a sight of the homo sapiens.
"It's what they eat. The meat, mostly. Though our archaeological research has shown that they also drank the mammary secretions, often fermenting it. The H-Saps were omnivores. They would eat anything."
"Even people? Would they eat me?" the child asked as it's fronds stood up in alarm.
"There weren't any people back then when H-Saps lived. But they were the apex predator of their time. You don't have to worry, though, we've spared no expense when it comes to safety." The guide was very reassuring. "This park has been open for fifteen revolutions and the H-Saps have never been a problem. The oldest of them have just reached their adult size, but are still far too small to escape the enclosure."
Just then a stick flew out from the habitat forest and struck the goat, impaling it and bringing it to the ground. All the visitors watched stunned while a pair of large H-Saps lumbered into the clearing. They looked just like the ones from the movies: twice the height of a person, two large eyes, and covered in small feathers. They only had four limbs, but used only two of them for walking. The front two limbs had bony grippers for tool use and manipulation.
The guide explained to the crowd. "As you can see, all of our H-Saps are female, with only two 'legs', that's what the hind limbs are called. We know that the males of the species had a third hind leg, believed to be used for territorial contests between males. If you listen carefully you might hear the two creatures vocalize to each other. It's believed by our paleobiologists that ancient H-Saps had a rudimentary language to convey information to each other, but no language structure has so far developed with those cloned for this park. The larger of these two is the one we call 'Synergy', which is the dominant member of the troop. We believe that the facial feathers it's begun to develop are a sign of that dominancy."
The guide didn't notice the child behind their back climbing past the first safety barrier and up onto the railing of the enclosure until they were already leaning far over the pen. "Get down from there!" they shouted, but it was too late. The child fell into the H-Saps habitat and landed with a crash on a pile of branches, startling the creatures. The child appeared to be stunned. It's parent screamed.
The guide started speaking rapidly into their radio, calling for help from the security and animal management teams. Down in the enclosure, Synergy vocalized and looked curiously over to the child.
"Help, it's going to kill my child," the parent shouted. "Let me down there, I have to save it."
"It's too dangerous for you to go down. Those beasts are stronger than any five people," the guide said as the security team arrived. "The security team will deal with it. The animal management team will try to get the H-Saps to return to their dens where they can be locked in place so that your child can be retrieved."
Synergy slowly approached the child, who had started to stir but was not yet fully conscious. The animal lifted the child off of the branches and set it carefully down on the soft grass. It stared up at the onlookers and cooed softly. Gathering up some nearby leaves, it placed them under the child's head.
Blast.
Synergy fell lifelessly with a hole through its chest from the shot of a rifle-blaster from the security team. The other H-Sap ran at the sound. The child was safe.
|
I was burnt out as a developer, maybe due to routine, maybe due to working for long enough. The consistency was a double edged sword: I was safe, stable, and the future was certain, yet there was no room for improvements. My life was a program. I went to work, I tuned the system, I met deadlines, I went home, and I slept.
The outside world was dreadful. The world was considered "safe" because we outsourced conflict to AI once humanity reached the singularity. Unlike me, most people didn't even have jobs. My job gave me a purpose.
I was alone. On the toilet, I doomscrolled reddit on my phone. It started vibrating like crazy and I dropped it screen down on the floor. I slowly reached to pick it up, praying that the screen wasn't broken when the ground started shaking. The screen read "NUCLEAR THREAT INBOUND. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL." Before I could even get my pants on and the toilet flushed, I was buried in rubble.
I woke up in immense pain to echoing sirens and an orange sky filled with dust. My eyes burned. My skin burned. My lungs burned. My limbs crushed. I was nothing. I was alone.
I was burnt out as a developer, maybe due to the routine, maybe due to my horrible nightmare. I woke up and I went to work. I tuned the system. It's easy to lose track of the days once you fall into a routine.
I woke up in a tub of slime. It was hard to focus my eyes. My muscles were atrophied. I coughed until I felt clean. I was somewhere new. I looked around and saw thousands of flickering blue lights.
A humanoid robot hosed me off and carried me to a room not unlike the place I worked. I was in a daze. I could hardly speak. I could hardly type. I looked into the monitor to see dozens of simulations. There were cats, dogs, dragonflies, even whales in their own special windows. I then saw myself, in my home, alone, sleeping.
"Thank you, father." the robot said.
I was never alone.
| 2021-09-16T14:46:25
| 2021-09-16T14:30:20
| 245
| 47
|
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