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[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"I'm going to hide in the shadows and prepare for a sneak attack," said Mark.
"Alright," said the GM. "I need you to make a luck roll."
Mark picked up three D6, shook them in his hand, blew three times for luck, then gently rolled them across the table where they bounced around for several seconds before stopping with a six and two twos face up.
"Ten," said the GM, before turning to his notes and his campaign book. "Mark, I've got your luck score as 10, correct?"
"Yeah," said Mark, nervously, "is that good?"
"It's not good, but it's not bad, either," said the GM. "The doorman and a taxi driver do see you in the shadows, but neither of them is concerned enough to do anything. Okay, John and the succubus are approaching. Make a perception check now, please."
"Perception? What for?" asked Mark. "I already see her! Shouldn't I be making an agility roll for the sneak attack?"
"Roll for perception, please, Mark," sighed the GM.
"I don't know why I'm rolling for perception," said Mark. "That bitch is right there in front of me."
"Just roll, please," said John. "Come on. You're my only hope now."
Mark grumbled some more but picked up three more D6, shook them, blew, rolled them across the table, then groaned when they came up two fives and a six.
"Your perception is only 8, isn't it, Mark?" said the GM, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah yeah," said Mark, "so now what? Does the succubus see me?"
"Now you can roll for the sneak attack," said the GM.
"But he failed the perception roll," said John, puzzled. "What does that mean?"
"Just roll for the sneak attack now, please, Mark," said the GM. "You've got five rounds loaded into your revolver. How many will you fire?"
"How many *can* I fire?!" asked Mark, angrily.
"You can fire all five rounds if you'd like," said the GM.
"Then I'm doing it!" shouted Mark. "For John, and the rest of the party!"
"Okay," said the GM. "For the sneak attack, I want you to roll five D10, one for each round you're firing."
Mark grabbed up the five, oddly\-shaped dice, and shook them inside his hands.
"Come on, Mark, you can do it," pleaded John.
Mark blew on the dice then almost threw them across the table.
"A one, two 5s, a 9, and a 10," read out the GM, as the dice stopped moving. "Your first round misses and flies over John's head..."
"Wait?! What?! My head?!" cried John. "What the fuck?!"
"What do you mean 'John's head'?" cried Mark. "I'm aiming at the fucking succubus that's *controlling* John!"
"No," sighed the GM sadly, "you failed your perception check, you only *thought* you were attacking the succubus. So, your first shot missed, two of your shots hit John in the shoulder," he gestured to the two 5's, "and your last two shots strike John in the back. John, can you make a Fortitude roll, please?"
"No! Fuck this!" screamed Mark, standing up and throwing his chair backwards.
John, resigned to his fate, picked up three dice, shook them, then tossed them on the table without looking. The GM read out the result then reviewed his campaign notes. "A three, and two fours. Good roll, John. In spite of being shot four times you find the strength to climb the steps to the front door of the hotel before collapsing." He rolled two D10s himself then referred back to his notes again. "Unfortunately your wounds are very serious, and you will succumb to them before help can arrive. So George, Paul, and Ringo, you'll have to continue without John."
George playfully nudged Paul. "And here I was thinking it'd be you that would die first."
|
"Alright I have the bomb and I'm ready to use it on the motorcade" Alen started his character Mehmedbasic ready to fulfill the job the party had been recruited for.
"Same here, let's do this," Larry said, excited that it was his character Vaso's time to shine.
"Alright both of you roll a stealth check and then an attack roll against the car" Jerry the DM said as Larry and Alen's faces fell "Stealth check?" Alen asked as Jerry nodded "Yeah to sneak it on".
"But neither me or Larry spec'd for stealth"
"You didn't spec your Assassin's for stealth?" Jerry said in disbelief.
"Nah we didn't think that would be a problem..." Larry followed up with as Jerry sighed "So do you still want to make the attack?"
"No we'll hold off for now," Larry said Alen nodded in agreement.
"Well I don't have any problems, Let me try it out!" Marcy said excitedly to have finally had a chance to act "Please Marcy Cabrinovic has the worst stealth of all of us!" Larry called from the other end of the table as she growled "I'm not using stealth! I'm going to throw the bomb at the car!" she said smugly.
"You're going to throw the bomb..." Jerry repeated as Marcy nodded "Alright...I guess, roll the attack roll"
*rolls*
"Alright that's a nat one on the Accuracy check...:" Jerry said as Marcy's face fell "The bomb bounces off the car rolls under another and explodes leaving it out of comission and injuring 16 people in the crowd, What do you want to do now?" Jerry asked as Marcy glowered "Screw it I'll at least go out like a spy, I break my Cyanide pill and jump into the river" she said
Jerry nodded
*rolls*
"Another 1...the cyanide capsule breaks but it's old causing Cabrinovic to start vomiting also you didn't account for time of year it's a hot summer so the Mijacka is only 13 cm deep. You're dragged out of the river and beaten by the crowd" Jerry said and as Marcy Pouts he turns to Liz
"The car speeds off will Princip do anything?" he asked as Liz shook her head "Not now," she replied as Jerry nodded "And Trifun Mitche's character will do nothing since he's not playing today. What do you guys want to do now?" he asked looking to Larry Alen and Liz.
"I'll go looking for the Archduke's new position" Larry said "Same here" Alen and Liz followed with as Jerry looked hesitant "Alright I'll give you guys each 1 chance, but it's really unlikely you'll find him."
*rolls*
*rolls*
"Larry, Allen you guys don't find anything you," he said to his players' disappointment.
*rolls*
Jerry's eyes went wide "That's a Nat 20 Liz...Princip, on your way to find a new spot to attack him on the original route you decide to stop for food. When suddenly you hear the motorcade coming. One of the members realising they're going the wrong way calls out for someone to reverse and the driver stops close to where you are standing. You have a shot..." he said as Liz grinned but looked nervous as Jerry and Alen put a hand on her shoulder
"You can do this Liz," Larry stated Alen nodded "Yeah just trust your dice"
*rolls*
"17!" Liz shouted as Jerry check over his notes before noddign "That's enough roll for damage"
*rolls*
"Let's see...taking the Archduke's health into account. That's enough. You have successfully assainated Archduke Ferdinand." he said closing the book the table erupting in cheers.
"Would you guys like to try a hand at the full module?" Jerry asked bringing out a much larger book labeled "The Great War"
| 2018-05-29T08:01:06
| 2018-05-29T06:46:10
| 326
| 74
|
[WP] Your Grandma, a shape-shifter, is diagnosed with Alzheimers. She begins to forget her true form...or was it a disguise all along?
|
Grandpa and I walked into the entrance of St Mary’s hospital. In the ever-bustling reception area, Healers strode purposefully in all directions. We made straight for the elevator, heading to the Geriatric Unit on level 4. As the elevator door opened, I saw a young boy sitting in a wheelchair who was being pushed by- who I assumed to be- his mother. His right leg was completely covered in a white plaster cast. Grandpa made sure the door of the elevator didn’t shut as they passed through and the woman cast him a grateful smile. As they moved away, I caught the beginning of an argument between the two.
“So you’re really going to take my X-box away for *two whole weeks*?”
“I told you Timothy, if you didn’t try to stop this levitation nonsense before you’re old enough, that there would be punishment.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” the boy whined, “Jake double dared me. *Double dared* me Mom. Plus, he levitates around the house whenever he wants.”
“You jumped **off the roof** Timmy! If we didn’t get you to a good healer in time, who knows what would have happened. Now stop arguing before I make it three weeks…”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. As the elevator ascended, I looked up at my Grandpa. He had always been a tall man, but these days there was a slight stoop in his posture. The twinkle in his usually-bright blue eyes had dimmed. An invisible weight tugged on the corners of his smile. But, ever stoic, he looked down at me and spoke in a forcefully cheerful tone.
“What do you think she’ll be today, Maddie?”
These days, Grandma had taken a liking to shifting into her favourite historical figures. Yesterday it had been Queen Elizabeth the second. For the entire visit, she spoke in a high English accent and inquired regularly as to the whereabouts of her beloved Corgi dogs. The Healers had informed us that she had already requested 9 cups of tea that day.
I flashed Grandpa a grin. “I don’t know, but really hoping she’s gotten sick of the Queen. I’m not sure either of us could handle being asked any more questions about what the Daily Telegraph had to say about her outfit she wore on the day of her *Diamond Jubilee*.”
Grandpa chuckled. As we entered the ward, we were greeted cheerily by all the staff we passed. We were regulars now, and most greeted us by name. I saw my Grandma’s primary Healer step out of a nearby room. Even if one was born with the Healing gift, there were certain limitations to the extent that one could "heal" the body; and some things that even the most skilled of healers could not fix. Degenerative conditions of the brain were amoung these ailments. All Healers were, hence, required to attend medical school as any other Doctor would. Healer Saunders, who was in charge of Grandma’s care, also had a degree in both Neurology and Geriatrics.
“Healer Saunders!” I called.
The man spinned in my direction and, recognising me and my Grandpa, walked towards us.
“How is she doing today?”
The man smiled with genuine warmth. “Judith is doing just fine today, although,” he paused and furrowed his brow, “I must admit, I have no idea who she is. Her current form I mean. But she is perfectly fine for visitors.”
Grandpa and I strode into Grandma’s private room where Grandma was standing, gazing out of the room's window. When she turned to look at her visitors, her face was that of a young woman. She looked to be about in her young 20’s. She had wide, chocolate coloured eyes and tresses of beautiful, long dark hair. I felt my Grandpa freeze in his stride. When I looked up, his face was contorted into an expression I had never seen before. It was… Pain. Longing. Disbelief.
Grandma’s face light up when she saw him. “Oh, Harold, thank goodness you’ve arrived. I thought we were going to be late!”
Suddenly, I understood. Tears were streaming silently down my Grandpa’s face. She had not recognised him in over a year. Somehow, he forced calm words out of his mouth.
“L-late for what, my dear?”
“The dance, silly!” Grandma giggled. But then her expression turned serious. “The only problem is… I can’t seem to find my dress. And I can’t go in this old thing.” she said, motioning down to her hospital gown.
“Oh, don’t worry my love… I think I know where you left it.”
“You’re wonderful Harold,” said Grandma. I had never seen anyone look at another person like she was looking at Grandpa right at that moment. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek.
“I’ll be right back, darling” said Grandpa, and he exited the room. I followed swiftly in his wake. He sat down on a nearby chair, and covered his face with his hands. I could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was sobbing.
“That’s… Grandma when she was younger?”
Grandpa looked up, and took a shaky breath. “Yes… that’s Judie when she was 23. I was 25. We were going to the faculty dance that night. I forgot… I forgot how beautiful she was.” He was silent for a moment. “The pictures don’t do her justice. Not even slightly.” He sighed. “Come Maddie, we should probably go.”
I shook my head. “We’re not going anywhere. You’re taking Grandma to a dance. Wait here… Just for a few minutes. Literally.” I smiled playfully.
When I ran, time slowed nearly to a halt. Speed was my gift, and there was no better time to use it than now. Just over 36 seconds later, I burst into my room. The friction had burnt the soles of my shoes and the carpet slightly.
“Worth it.” I muttered.
I grabbed my prom dress from the cupboard, and rubbed the soft pink silk between my fingers. I knew it would fit Grandma easily. I picked up some of my jewellery and some make-up from the drawer too. I rushed to Grandpa’s room, and picked out one of the suits he reserved for special events. Soon, I was back in the Ward, carrying my items and panting slightly. I held them out to Grandpa, whose eyes were still wide in wake of my sudden disappearance.
“You’re taking Grandma to the dance.” I stated firmly.
He looked up at me, and that twinkle in his bright blue eyes which I had missed so much was back. “But Maddie… where will I take her?”
I pondered for a moment. “Well, in the time it will take you both to get ready, I reckon I will have found something suitable… I’m pretty fast. Now go tell Grandma you found her dress." And with that, time ground to a near-halt as I ran back out of the hospital doors.
Edit: Good day beautiful people of Reddit! So, I have been persuaded to create a Subreddit (which is hopefully functional. Computers are... not my thing to say the least) You can catch a few other of my musings at r/Xanadu_dreaming :) thanks for all the support!
|
Every Sunday I visited my grandma at Sunny Oaks. It was a tradition I'd started right after Mom died, in the interest of helping both of us cope. In the five years since, I'd never so much as seen another person coming or going from her apartment.
That's not the *only* reason I dropped my coffee, of course. The person I saw walking in her door wasn't just a neighbor or possible friend. It was the Silver Star, a Golden Age hero. I recognized her from the back pages of the Merlin Price Guide, staring back at me from the covers of ancient comic books worth more than my car. Her brilliant white cape floated just slightly above the ground, fluctuating as if in sync with her long golden locks. Her hair shimmered in the dim light of the retirement home corridor, glowing with life and energy.
So, making the only rational move I could, I dashed to the door and almost tripped over myself in the process. Inside the apartment I saw only my grandma, slowly lowering herself into her favorite rocking chair.
"Oh, Adam!" She looked up at me as she sagged the final few inches into the chair with a *thump*. "I hoped you'd be here soon!"
There was no sign of a Golden Age hero in her apartment. Had my coffee been spiked? Had I been rude to the barista at some point in the last few weeks? It was a relatively new coffee joint. But, that seemed ridiculous. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep last night.
"Adam? You burst in here like a madman! Are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine Grandma," I said. I should have been grateful that she recognized me today. Since her Alzheimers diagnosis, a few of my visits had been quite painful and awkward. Once she thought I was the milkman after we'd already been talking for half an hour, and asked me when I was going to finish the rest of my route. Another time I was the mailman.
"Well, good. Come on in and tell me about your week."
"All right," I said, plopping down on her floral couch opposite her. "Did you have a visitor just now?"
"Oh no, honey. I was just out checking the mail. Just more junk mail, unfortunately, so I left it."
"Grandma, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I swear I just saw a woman dressed as the Silver Star walk into your apartment."
She looked up at me sharply. "You did?"
"Yeah..."
Her eyes darted back and forth. A look of worry passed over her face. "Oh no. If people find out... My family..."
She looked back up at me, her expression cross. "I don't think you saw anything, young man. And whatever you saw, you should just keep it to yourself."
"I..." I began to protest, but she pointed a gnarled finger at me and *tsked.*
"I said that's enough."
I shrugged, leaned back into the not-so-comfortable old couch and started to process that conversation when a loud, booming knock shook the door. I started to stand to go get it but a soft voice, smooth and sweet as honey, cut me off.
"Don't trouble yourself. I'll get the door."
The Silver Star glided past me, resplendent in the strength and vibrancy of her youth. She even *smelled* different, like a crisp summer breeze instead of grandma's normal lilac perfume.
Before I could even pick my jaw up off of the floor, she opened the door. A robust man with an iron jaw and slicked-back graying hair stood framed in the doorway, nearly filling the entire space. He wore a tight blue suit adorned with stars and stripes. Captain freaking Justice.
"Lovely as ever, my dear. Are you ready for a night on the town?" He asked, his voice thundering through the room.
"You know this gal is," she replied, winking at him. She turned to me, her grey eyes washing over me without much recognition. "Mister reporter, have you got enough for your story? We didn't really cover my powers. I could take you for a quick flight, I suppose."
My thoughts drifted back from pure shock and processed that line. I really didn't want to be dropped from a great height while my shape-shifting grandmother forgot/remembered who she was.
"No," I finally managed to say. "I think I've taken in quite enough for one day."
[/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
| 2017-02-18T06:37:10
| 2017-02-18T05:13:07
| 773
| 536
|
[WP] It finally happened. The day Santa dreaded. He has to deliver presents to the first kid to be born on mars.
|
“Frank! Get in here now!” shouted Santa from his office.
In scurried a small elf. He traveled as fast as his tiny legs could take him without tripping over his giant shoes. Bells jingling with every step.
“Yes sir, what do you need” Frank mustered.
“What is this shit?” Santa said as he tossed an ornate scroll across his desk. He then took a long drag of his cigarette as he waited for Frank to answer.
“It looks like this year’s work order sir.”
“I know that dipshit,” Santa shouted “Line four thousand?”
“Says right here sir that we have 1 human child age 3 months. Name Alexander Aldrin. Status is Nice and Location is 2 First Colony Avenue, Colony 1. Mars.”
Frank stopped there and looked at Santa. He was not sure what the problem was exactly but he knew that he wanted to avoid being in as much trouble as possible.
“Is this some sort of joke Frank? It is one month before Christmas I don’t have any time for the jokes from you and Carl from accounting.”
“I know nothing of a joke sir. I can have Sherry in audits look it over and get back to you. “Frank paused then spoke into his radio briefly.
As this was coming on Santa took a large bottle of Scotch from under his desk and began to poor himself a glass. Het then took another cigarette from the pack and lit it with a novelty Rudolph lighter where the flame comes from the nose.
“Sir, it looks like it is all correct letter was received electronically last week and was processed through our batch processing facility.” Frank looked up towards Santa for confirmation.
Santa took a long drag of his cigarette.
“Frank write this down. I need you to call my wife tell her I won’t be home tonight. I need Jeff and Tom from maintenance. Big Carl from engineering. Make sure it is Big Carl and not that other jack off. We need a white board and an empty conference room.”
Frank furiously took notes.
“Oh and Frank, one more thing. Get in touch with Blitzen and see if he can score use some snow to get us through the night.”
|
All right you little fucking assholes! Who hid my bourbon stash again?"
Santa was drunk again. He always loved the bottle, sometimes more than his wife. But his drinking problem became more severe with every year. Every year he had to deliver more presents to more children. And this stress paired with alcohol turned him into a unbearable mad asshole.
"B..but you just drank the last bottle. We don't have anything left!"
"Bullshit! There were 2 bottles left before I drank this one!"
"Sir, why are you drunk already? Its only 9 am."
"You know exactly why I'm drunk you little piece of shit! I have to deliver a motherfucking present to the motherfucking Mars! As if delivering toys to these little fuckers on Earth haven't been enough already!"
Santa threw the bottle against the wall. The elves barely dodged before the shattering glass hit them.
The elves were now scared shitless. Santa was unpredictable now. Especially after he hit the crack pipe the whole morning. Finally one of them dared to speak again.
"S..s..s..sir, your sleigh is ready. We have modified it so you and your reindeers can survive in space."
"Good. At least you are good for something, other than having a tight asshole. Now bring me my spacesuit and ready the present!"
"No!"
Timmy stepped forward. He was always the bravest of all elves.
"We will not do this! In the last years you have become more and more uncontrollable. We have been following and supporting you for decades. But what you are trying to do now is just wrong. We can't support a madman like you any longer! We..."
Santa punched Timmy in the face before he could react. He then threw him out of the window. Timmy fell down 50m, screaming before he splashed on the ground.
"Anyone else having a opinion?"
Of course nobody else dared to talk anymore.
"Now I will take care that I will never have to deliver any presents to this giant red shithole anymore."
The elves finished loading the present in the sleigh and Santa sat down in it.
"That little shit better hide, because there is a fat man coming for him! And he is going to go full Hiroshima and Nagasaki on his little ass! Ho ho ho motherfuckers!"
| 2017-11-24T19:30:03
| 2017-11-24T16:57:54
| 17
| 10
|
[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
|
New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye.
I sigh.
The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky
I sigh.
I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry
I sigh.
The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy?
I sigh.
Another day, another night without her.
If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie,
I sigh,
I sigh.
|
I am the source.
The source of everything good, bad, holy, evil, light, dark.
I am the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am the punk and I
am the .44 Magnum and I am feeling lucky. I am not for a few dollars more because I am all dollars.
I am the beauty and the beast. I am the genie and I am the wishes.
I am the car, and I am the road. I am the pothole too. I am the twinge you feel in your back. I am the swear word that escapes your cavity ridden mouth. I am the cavity.
I am the bow and I am the arrow. But I am not the target, because I am the source. Get your act together man!
I am. It is me. The source. The source of all knowledge, of all wisdom and of all folly. I am the donut, and I am the hole. I am what they teach you at Harvard Business school, and I am what they don't. I know how to make friends and influence people. When you die in a game and you don't know how, I am the source of your death. I am also the violators of mothers and sisters everywhere.
I am the butterfly and I am the effect. I am the wall and I am the builder. I am the health care coverage and I am the illness. Yes, I am also the medical bill.
Ask me anything.
| 2016-02-22T10:07:53
| 2016-02-22T09:46:55
| 300
| 104
|
[WP] Weight can be transferred from person to person if both parties accept. People pay money to transfer their unwanted pounds to someone who will deal with it in their stead. You run a gym/factory.
|
We had done it; we had cured obesity. At least, that's what we thought we were doing. If I knew how fucked up it would become, I would have sabotaged it myself.
You see, we perfected liposuction. That's all it was at first. We made it faster, simpler, safer, cheaper. And with a recovery time of only a few hours, it was the first real chance at curing it. Even if you didn't keep the weight off, you could afford another procedure. For a while, this is what happened. We saw a huge decline in early deaths due to heart disease. Our national life expectancy increased by 35%.
But nothing good ever lasts. I remember the first time I had ever heard of the "Healthy American Advocacy Group". I had never even heard of the name before that day, but they made sure I would never forget it.
As I exited my car, I saw the crowd. It wasn't unusual to get an influx of patients after holidays, but this was just a normal Tuesday, and these people were just standing. I stepped out slowly, closing my door without turning around.
"There he is!" I heard someone scream. Next thing I knew, I was covered in slime. As it dawned on me exactly what I was covered in, I gagged. They continued to pelt me with the balloons full of discarded adipose tissue as I puked on the blacktop.
When I stopped, I ran. I pushed through every one of them, reaching the doors and slamming them shut after what felt like hours. I locked them behind me and slid down.
Now, not all of them were that extreme. There were the few that were lobbyists instead of assailants. They included ex-supermodels and actors, spending their last few millions buying off senators.
Once everyone was skinny, you needed talent to be famous. And some people weren't happy about it. Others thought that you should be punished for eating too much, that you deserved to die an early death.
Eventually they passed the Tissue Disposal Act (disguised as an environmental bill), which made disposing of tissue from non-emergency procedures time-consuming, and so expensive that not a single hospital or clinic would do large cosmetic procedures. Most wouldn't touch them at all. Fat removal was practically gone, but you could transfer fat elsewhere on your body for much less.
One day, though, someone found a loophole. If you can transfer fat to yourself... you can transfer it to someone else. At first it was expensive, almost prohibitively. Nobody wanted fat, and the surrogates had a high mortality rate. But then came the Rats.
It was no secret that some people loved working out. The adrenaline and endorphins flooding your system, the feeling of will-power. After time though, they can't get much stronger, and there is no fat to lose. The feelings diminish.
We offered a solution for both parties; depending on how fast the Gym Rat was known to lose weight, they were paid from 35,000-100,000 just to do what they love. And for a few thousand, the donor can become skinny, healthy. The more weight a Rat put on in a year, the more money both them and I made.
If you saw the entirety of my clinic, you would see the truth. We work our Rats to death. Implementing more restrictive diets, forcing more hours, trying new diet pills on them. As I see them running on their treadmills, I know exactly why we call them Rats.
But we are still doing good. We are saving lives, and we keep our Rats happy. We are doing good, despite what the Anti-ATP groups say. We are, I promise. Aren't we?
~~~
I hope you liked it! I tried a different approach
|
Hi, and welcome back to the Laura show! Our next guest is a personal trainer at Jim Jimminy Jim 's gym. Now, I know what you're thinking: what's so special about that? Well, he is also part of the surging subculture of weight transference. Greg, it's great to have you here"
"Thank you for having me, it's great to be here!"
"Now, Greg Weight transference has been around for the past two years, but now it seems like it's really starting to catch on. Why is that?"
"Well, a lot of it has to do with the technology becoming readily accessible and affordable to the general public, but also it took beating a lot of the initial apprehension and stigma associated with it for people becoming more accepting of it's use and users."
"and why is that?"
"A lot of people we're worried that it would lead to greater instances of body dysmorphia, skew beauty norms, and generally worried that people would abuse it, or take it too far."
"So people are accepting it more now that they have seen that that hasn't happened?"
"Of course, there will always be people who aren't responsible with it, and there was that prison scandal and that thing with the Olympics earlier this year because the method uses no drugs an leaves no detectable traces of it's use, but I think once people really started to get clever and started seeing all the different ways the technology could be applied that it started to also become almost like a therapy to some of these conditions."
"How so?"
"Well, let's take someone with anorexia for example. Some get regular transfers of fat and muscle to counteract not eating. Now, some might say we are indulging their disorder, but if we didn't do transfers, they have just kept on not eating they could die; so which is better? Others, called 'ballooners' use the technology to temporarily put on pounds as a form of immersion therapy so that they can grow accustomed to feeling comfortable with additional weight. Also, since the process is relatively safe, painless, fast and reversible, it seems there is less pressure to be a particular size and weight all the time knowing they can always go back to the gym at any time to have it removed."
"Safe, painless, fast I'm liking all those things! But, how does it work?"
"We use this guy right here we call the J4 transmitter that emits a proprietary wave that only affects fat and muscle cells. When the wave strikes the donor cells, they absorb their mass while still maintaining it's wave properties, which are then reflected back to the J4 into another proprietary crystalline resonance chamber that preserves the integrity of the wave for up to 16 hours before it has to be transferred to the new host. When the host is ready for the transfer, the wave is released which then stimulate a rapid cell grows modeled after the donors sample."
"Wow, that sounds amazing! And so, I also hear there is also a growing economy surrounding weight transference? Tell me a little more about that."
"Oh yes, well it didn't take people very long to figure out that they could get paid to buy or sell their fat and muscles."
"Buy fat, who would want to do that?"
"Oh, chubby chasers for one, or rather, the chubbily chased? Haha But seriously, it can be used by rescuers to rapidly replenish a starving hiker. There are also professional 'whales' who get paid to take peoples fat. You might think that's lazy, but they are often one of the most frequent people at the gym since they have to burn off all that fat to start making money on the next batch."
"Wow, 'whales.' I had no idea. Now, I've heard of 'beefers' and 'bulkers.' are those the same thing?"
"They are not, actually. 'beefers' are like 'whales,' but for muscle. They work out certain muscle groups dependent on a client's specifications, and either sell directly or put it up for auction. Lots of guys seem to like the challenge of having to work back up to be able to sell again."
"Certain muscle groups? So you can't just take a calf and put it on a shoulder? "
"I mean, you can, but it's kind of like grinding Kobe beef to make a Burger. Why waste all the effort took to craft the marbled beef by grinding it up? You'd just be wasting your valuable purchase. These are the bulkers. They are almost collectors of sorts. Some like celebrity muscles like: I got Vin Diesel's tricep, and others go after a particular look. What's weird is that there is a weird mix of comradarie and rivalry between beefers and bulkers because beefers make fun of bulkers for not really putting in the work for the muscles like they do, but the bulkers think it's funny that without them buying their muscles, the beefers would not be able to do what they do for a living."
"Now this is all just very incredible, but I'm afraid we are running out of time, so I just have one more question before you go: what is the strangest use of the technology you have seen?
"Well, I would have to say I hear about this one couple: It was a overweight man and his wife. The man was some kind of executive so he got his own J4 for home use and used it to loose some weight to try and improve his image. It also turned out he had an affinity for... heavier ladies, so he would transfer it to his wife sometimes in the evening. However, he and his wife also wanted to keep up appearances, so they kept the wave in the J4 when they had to be in public together. Because the charge depletes after a while they had to hire personal assistants to 'take on the load' if they we're separated or away for too long."
"Well, I'd like to thank my guest Greg for coming in today, up next, we have a round Robin discussion with some prominent theologians about the growing popularity of the debate: does God wear a beanie, and if so, what color is it? That and more when we return on the Laura show!"
| 2016-06-29T20:06:15
| 2016-06-29T19:00:44
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
----------------------------------------------
|
To: HR department of Hell
From: Norman
Cc: Satan
I honour you otherworldly beings.
I appreciate your work and see the importance of your tasks. But i think there has been an error. You see, i was always a faithful human. Stayed in line, did my work. Never been any trouble to anyone! Of course a few missteps here and there. But who doesn't?
Im sure your files will tell you similar.
I have recieved 186,292 years as my punishment! This cannot be and
I hope you will be able to help me in this dilemma.
Greetings from fairly normal Norman
Aw: Norman
Dear Norman
Sadly, we have to inform you that this number is correct. Apparently there were some miscommunications on how to shorten your stay in hell.
Your time here is not based on what you call "good" lives. Rather does it depend, on how many expieriences you gathered on earth. Did you live life to fullest? Made the best out of every moment?
We hope that cleared open questions and wish you a pleasant stay in hell. Good luck next time!
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09
| 2018-09-26T07:04:35
| 1,768
| 156
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
It's always been a source of insecurity for me. I might have the world's smallest sigil. A microsigil even. It's smaller than the tip of most pens. So small that the sigologist that looked at me when I was born almost mistook it for a birthmark. The only thing that clued him in is its depth, the tell tale sign of a sigil.
I often get teased about it. "hey look at blanky over there," or "you know what they say about people with small sigils." Hell, I've been cornered in the locker room by some bullies - well one bully that can multiply. They - he - demanded I strip down just so he can find my sigil.
Prom night last year, I got lucky and my date invited me to her hotel room. She was my crush. She was EVERYONE'S crush. But damn she led me to her hotel room. Guess what we did that night? Nothing. She just strip searched me for my sigil. I felt so objectified that day. I was just a specimen. No, worse, I was just the jar holding the specimen that is my microsigil.
Well, tonight that will all stop. The objectification, the humiliation, the insults. Tonight, I've decided to end it all, starting with this fucking sigil. I have my sharpest ice pick right above my heart, right above my sigil. I push down and then...
The universe exploded. Again. Gases accumulating. Stars forging. Planets colliding. Proteins forming. Cells dividing. Humans walking. Sigils carving.
This sigil has always been a source of insecurity for me. I might have the world's smallest sigil. A microsigil even. It's smaller than the tip of most pens. So small that the sigologist that looked at me when I was born almost mistook it for a birthmark. The only thing that clued him in is its depth, the tell tale sign of a sigil.
|
Din isn’t normal. He knows it. Everybody knows it. He doesn’t talk. He never does anything without instruction. He doesn’t fight back. That makes him an easy target, of course.
“Hey! Nobrain! That’s what your empty circle means right?” Barley’s gang ripples with laughter. Din doesn’t reply. He rarely does.
“Hey!” The fire strikes Din’s face. A different spot than this morning’s lashings, which is fine. “Answer when people talk to you, ya autistic freak!” This time it’s ice that stabs at Din’s cheek.
“That’s mean.” Din’s frail voice stops Barley’s assault. “You shouldn’t use autism like an insult.”
“Yeah? What are ya gonna do about it?” A kick to the groin brings Din to his knees, a hand grabs his wispy hair. Barley lowers his face to Din’s. “Watcha gonna do, huh? Hmm?” Din is dragged back to his feet.
Barley headbutts him. That’s a mistake. All the universe, no the multiverse is laid before him. Each of the innumerable stars, a tiny point, an infinitely small circle that’s barely visible, and yet you can still see the endless fractals embedded in each one. And the infinite void extends forever, making each mind-breaking point of light seem like just one electron on a vast beach of lead. He sees every star and every bird, every planet and every fly, every galaxy and every atom. Every beautiful aspect of his repulsive existence is laid before him like a feast.
Barley is silent, his eyes blank. Just like the new sigil on his head.
| 2020-02-26T08:00:12
| 2020-02-26T07:59:42
| 32
| 19
|
[WP] Your quirk is the ability to understand all languages, extending to fictional ones not meant to be understood such as simlish. This leads to some... interesting results.
|
Andrew pursed his lips, fingers tapping out a steady beat on the desk. Spread across the desk was a motley collection of texts ranging from fiction paperbacks to formal research papers to a handful of scorched papers, each just a tiny fragment rimmed in soot. Sitting on top of the mess was a high resolution photo of a crude drawing of a bull. Each document was a different language, most of them fictional or constructed, not that it had ever mattered to Andrew. He'd always had a gift with languages, a set of intuitions and mental tricks that pulled order from chaos and made anything, spoken or written just make sense. Perfect intuitive translation. It was a gift that could have made him a fortune in a dozen fields, especially code breaking, but the money had never held much allure for him, not since the first message.
It seemed so silly at first. A string of gibberish spouted off by an npc in a popular MMO that was supposed to be a greeting. But Andrew's gift was foolproof, even when he wasn't paying attention, and he heard the message so clearly.
"Help me Obi Wan Kenobi you're my only hope"
Andrew had never seen Star Wars, but he knew the quotes origin and passed it off as some in joke at the company. Until he finally sat down and watched Star Wars of course, and encoded in the roar of the wookie...
"It was his sled."
He laughed it off of course. Chewie's wit had been legendary of course, but this had to be some sort of chain joke in the industry. Then he watched Citizen Kane, and inexplicably layered over the word Rosebud, in a language built on purely tone, was a quote.
"Frankly my dear I don't give a damn."
Then in the music of Gone With the Wind another clue. And another and another, and another. Finally to the Roundhay Garden Scene, which had a reference to Huckleberry Finn. Which linked to Gulliver's Travels. Then on to Much Ado About Nothing, then onward, ever reaching back through history, occasionally diverting to sculptures with various clues encoded into the tiniest of details. What had those people thought as he peered, fixated at the statue of David's penis?
But here he was, the Sumerian tablet had pointed him to cave paintings, which had finally lead him to the Cave of El Castillo. There was nothing older, nothing else left. This had to be the end of the trail.
"What does it say?" The museum curator asked. Andrew had bribed this favor with a perfect translation of an Egyptian tomb that had coincidentally been a part of his trail.
"Look up. It just says, Look up."
"Huh?"
"You don't think it means that movie with all the balloons do you?"
Realization struck and Andrew ran from the room, up two flights of stairs, tripped an alarm without caring, then out into the parking lot. There was only one thing that was always up. One thing guaranteed to be older than anything on Earth made by human hands. But the idea of it. The mere concept that there was a language there to be read...
Andrew looked up and read the stars.
|
"Mr. Fandel you seem to have a visitor."
"A visitor? Who in the blazes wants to see an old man like me?"
I step over the threshold into the cramped senior living room, the unmistakable musty smell washing over me.
"She says she'd like to interview you for the local newspaper."
The nurse closes the door behind her, promising to check in soon. I quickly plant myself across from him. I dont have much time before she returns, whenever that is.
"Mr. Fandel I dont want to interview you for the newspaper. I want to know about the War Angels."
His eyes widen before quickly falling into a squint.
"Little missy you're old enough to know that angels are just myths."
"I'm old enough to know the only ones that are myths are the ones not from Earth."
He continues to squint at me, but does not budge. I press on.
"Please Mr.Fandel, I only want to hear your story. If you could please start in the year 1914-"
"No." He stops me short. None of these men have ever stopped me before. I sit down in the battered wicker chair, staring intently.
"No...what you want is THE story, not just my story. What you want is WW2."
I sigh. Of course he wants to start with WW2. It's not as if everyone I've talked to has only lived through WW2. Of course it would be my luck to find the only WW1 Vet of the bunch who doesnt want to talk about WW1. But I can't force him to start anywhere.
"Go on then."
"Nothing makes a man more superstitious than being at war..."
Here we go, I think.
"...because nothing that's real you want to be real, and everything that isn't you do. Shadows of the enemy? No no, can't be, just smoke and sleepless nights messing with ya. Several missed shots? Enemy must be blinded by- and then boom! Shot in leg. You get disoriented, lost, scared, confused, think your life is about to end. But then, an angel appears! Maybe your sister or mother, maybe a stranger, maybe the Virgin Mary herself, maybe as bright as the morning sun or maybe like a cloud, it's different for everyone. You stumble after her, praying for salvation, and suddenly, you're back at camp or with your squad, like the whole thing never happened. Many guys would believe ya, because it happened to them to, but many also didn't. At least not until it happened to them. After the war all sorts of stories started pouring in from around the world. Jerries, Japs, Commies, Brits, Frenchies, and our boys too: all of them. It happened again in Nam, and probably every war ever! But..."
He leans toward me, beckoning me closer. His voice seems to shift to a whole new person.
"Let me tell you something. After my own experience, I met another fellow from the French side. We exchanged stories. A beautiful girl with Auburn hair and freckled skin leading us back to camp. He said she talked to him the whole way back. I thought that was rather peculiar, since he said she spoke to him in French, but I know for sure she spoke to me in English. This girl...well she kept coming up the more I researched. Russian, German, Chinese, Japanese...apparently she even understood men who were blurting out gibberish. And you know what the most interesting part of it is?"
"What?" I whisper, sweat forming on my brow.
"That girl hasn't aged a lick. I know because she's sitting right in front of me."
He rips the beanie off my head, my Auburn hair falling around my shoulders. I freeze.
"You are her! The youngest of the three sisters! Even though I switched to French you still understood me! And the same hair and skin!"
I bolt for the door, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind to the nurse, and drive away as fast as possible.
I'm dead. I'm so dead. Mother is going to kill me. She's going to kill us.
-----
Well that sounded a lot better in my head. Oh well. Maybe I'll return to this story and polish it up some time.
| 2018-05-03T20:58:26
| 2018-05-03T18:49:05
| 62
| 19
|
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person.
|
"Please, please help me!" She whimpered to the statue she was hiding behind. The boots were getting closer. The doors to the temple were flung open-
With a flash of green and the scent of fur, a woman with a bow and steely stare stood where a statue had been a moment before.
The mercenaries stood in confusion. They couldn't see her behind the other woman, the young girl realized and crouched even lower.
The woman looked puzzled and glanced around.
"Who has called upon me?" She asked softly and curiously. "Its not often my help is requested."
One of the mercenaries stepped forward and in the blink of an eye the strange woman let loose and arrow that struck his center. The young girl cried out in fear, curling herself into a small ball.
The woman's eyes shot to her. The woman took in the sight of the terrified child with a torn dress and turned back to the men.
"I see." She said, then flung a hand to her quiver in succession so fast only one man was able to move. He had his hands in the air.
"We were only sent after the girl, ma'am! We ment your temple no disrespect! It was the girl who disturbed it!" He rushed.
"The girl? And what had this child done to to be 'sent after'?" The woman asked.
"Her father refused to stand down to his majesty. Refused to swear fealty. The girl was taken as ensurance of a change of mind." He said uncomfortably.
"And what was to become of this child, should a change of mind not happen?" The woman asked as she stepped closer.
"She would have been kept..." he shuffled nervously.
"And?" She pressed.
"And made use of." He winced.
"Made use of. I see. And had she been made use of in her stay yet?" The woman asked, face to face with the man.
"I'm not sure." His eyes flicked to where the girl was hiding. "I imagine her escape was due to an attempt..." he trailed off, unable go finish.
"To make use of her." The woman finished flatly. She grabbed his throat and lifted him. "To take her innocence. To defile and abuse her."
There was a snap and the woman tossed his body aside, then turned to the girl.
"Child," she called. The girl peaked up over the statues perch. "You may go home and face what may come next. Or, you can come with me and my women. We will protect you. Train you. You will never be at a mans mercy again. It is your choice."
A few hours later, a group of men on horseback surrounded the temple. A king cursed as he saw his men dead on the ground. He approached the statue.
It was of a strong proud woman. A bow and quiver artfully carved. And, beside her, a young girl with a steely gaze and smile. Engraved, Artemis and her huntress.
|
*Tap tap tap tap tap*
"H-How long will they chase m-me!"
*Tap tap tap tap tap*
"There she is, behind those bushes, get her!"
But they would not get her, like hell they wouldn't. Diana would keep running until the end of the world. Through cities and fields, deserts and-- in this case-- forests.
Wildly she threw sticks and rocks behind her, leaping over fallen trees and storming through bushes, anything to slow her predators down. But they were persistent, a tad too much.
Well, she hadn't expected anything less. Trying to run away after being sold is no easy feat, so she had been told by her friends. If she even dared, she'd be traced and brought back by the Hounds. 'Actaeon's Hounds'-- a tacky name, but they were ruthless efficient if they got the money.
*Tap tap tap tap tap*
Diana panted. Hastily she looked from left to right, trying to spot a place to hide. To her own surprise she saw something that resembled a little white house, vines and moss covering its white, dilapidated walls. With nothing left to lose, she went inside.
It all felt a bit off. Like there was supposed to be a witch or a portal to a magical dimension, but there was none of that. A few rotted benches and a half-crumbled statue, a marble bow laying shattered at its feet.
"Do you think she went in there?" Said an approaching voice.
"Might as well check." Responded another, clearly as exhausted as she was.
Fuck.
Diana slammed the door shut and pushed one of the benches in front of it. She took a step back feeling lightheaded, caused by breaths so fast that they could only be matched by her heart. This was it. She'd be knocked out, taken back, punished and then shipped off to the next dirty mucker who'd pay a hideous amount for her body.
With trembling hands placed tightly against her chest she yelled something that was supposed to resemble a prayer.
"Please for the love of all that is good, whatever thing lived or lives here give me a hand or so God help me!"
*Crack!* The door burst open with a violent bash.
Shocked she opened her eyes, right as an arrow zipped over her shoulder. A streak of light, striking a hound in the heart.
"What the--" Diana screamed.
"MAN DOWN!" The alpha yelled, raising his firearm.
*Zip!*
Another arrow flew past. Two down, two to go.
Somehow, Diana forced herself to turn away from the mercenaries and look up at whoever loosed those arrows. A seven-foot-tall woman with one eye closed in complete focus.
*Zip!*
In a small flash of light a new arrow appeared in her hand, nocked like she had done this from birth. Diana tried to say something, yet she could merely stand in silent awe.
*Zip!*
The lady lowered her arms, putting the bow on her back. Diana briefly glanced over her shoulder, but quickly turned back when she saw the mess of blood.
"T-Thank you..." She stammered.
"I should be the one thanking you." Her saviour responded, her voice surprisingly soft.
"Okay... W-Who, a-and why and... How and--"
"My name is Artemis. Your prayer called me down here-- it has been quite a while since that happened."
"Artem-- as in, the goddess?" Diana laughed. "I'm going insane from exhaustion." Confidently she reached out. "I'm Diana!"
With a tight grip Artemis shook her hand. "What a nice name. It sounds familiar..."
"Okay, but... Why me? Why'd a goddess like you come to help?"
"This is the first time I-- or any Olympian, as a matter of fact-- had received a prayer, a call for help that wasn't merely a joke, in thousands of years. I could not simply stand by."
"Well, thank you nonetheless. But I have to keep going, I don't want to get caught..." Diana rubbed her shoulder, looking back towards the entrance-- aaand back to Artemis to avoid the blood.
"You could stay with us for a little while. I promise I shall keep you under my protection at all times." But the deity still noticed a hint of fear and uncertainty in the air. "And I can... Perhaps, teach you to speak with animals and shoot a bow."
"That sounds nice, yeah!"
"Come then." Artemis reached out with a slender hand, though her fingertips were hardened from the ages of archery. Diana held on, and in a flash of divine light they went off to Olympus.
| 2020-06-15T19:10:56
| 2020-06-15T17:40:51
| 350
| 186
|
[WP] You have the ability to travel back in time, but when you do you take over the body of one of your direct ancestors at random. One day, you travel back to 1942 and find yourself standing at a podium looking out over 100,000 soldiers.
|
I went back for one sole purpose: to kill Hitler. It wasn't supposed to be all that hard, you see. I have German ancestry, so I was just going to hop around in the 30's and 40's until I ended up in the body of a young German man. I'd join the Wermacht and pick Hitler off the first chance I got. Even if I failed, I wouldn't be a problem. Time travel, you know? I could just start over.
But I never expected THIS.
The red banners waved in the wind before me just after I made my jump. Their triumphant image clashed heavily with the dejected faces of the thousands I saw before me in the snow. Given that it was 1942, I knew exactly where we were. The Eastern front. But something was off.
Everyone was wearing a Soviet uniform.
If they were German, then it would have made sense and I would have just been a bit unsettled about having a Wermacht officer as my ancestor. But this just didn't make any sense. Sure, I had SOME Russian blood in me, but nobody had told me stories about my great grandpa the Commissar or anything.
"Comrade Stalin, they're waiting." Whispered an officer to my side.
Well apparently Stalin wasn't a very faithful man, because if I sure as hell would have known about it all if his wife was in my family tree. I was just about to jump back and leave poor old Stalin lying on the ground while his own consciousness took its time getting back in when it hit me.
What better opportunity would I get?
"Comrades!" I yelled to the depressed crowd. "I know this war has been hard, and I know the fascists have been winning battle after battle!"
"Comrade, that wasn't the scri-"
I motioned to him to stay quiet.
"But fear not! The turning point of this war is soon to come! For today, our code breakers have cracked the German codes!"
The crowds faces lit up, and I could see the half joy, half disbelief in their eyes.
"We will now know every one of their movements before they make them, and we can respond accordingly! Victory will soon be upon us! If you do your part for our motherland, then our victory is assured!"
The crowd erupted in cheering, while the officer next to me tried desperately to keep a straight face. He knew I was spouting bullshit, but what he didn't know was that I was such an obsessive history buff that I'd memorized half the battles on the eastern front.
I stepped away from the podium, and left the stage with the other officer.
"Comrade, I know that the men need encouragement, but they're going to their graves. We shouldn't lie, this war is going to be lost."
"You misunderstand." I replied. "A month from now, the Germans will attack Stalingrad. In February of next year, we will push them out and nearly destroy their army in the region. We will win this war, and the Soviet flag shall fly over the Reichstag."
"C-Comrade?" Said the officer, worried. "Are you well?"
"I am as well as I will ever be. I promise you, I will win this war."
|
The sun glints blindingly off a hundred thousand metal helmets, obscuring my view of the faces lined dutifully before me nearly as far as the horizon. I squint to see the gray-green sea of soldiers nestled between rows and rows of aircraft, shining just as bright.
Trust me to land in a body in such a compromising position. I've never been one for speeches, never felt prepared or suave enough to perform. I can feel the sweat dripping on my palms; my legs are like jelly. I glance down at the notes on the podium to buy myself a moment of preparation, but the words seem to melt together beneath the sun and the force of my quailing nerves. No choice: I'll have to wing it. I lift my head to face my people.
"The time has come," I begin in a quavering voice. My words pass through a slew of old-fashioned microphones and boom out to the crowds, loud, echoing, unintelligible from my tiny podium. I pause, breathless. What would I want to hear? What does a soldier need to hear on his way to war? "You may not feel that you are ready, but you are. Each and every one of you has prepared for the challenge before you. Each and every one of you has trained tirelessly for this moment. You know who you are-- you know what you must do. You know that you-- that *we*-- can succeed. Let us come together to fight bravely for a new tomorrow!"
The crowd cries out raucously in response. I thank my lucky stars that I landed in an ancestor who spoke my language. A comrade steps in from my right to take the podium and I turn to shake his hand before he speaks. It is as slick with sweat as mine, but I'm too relieved to be disgusted.
And then I am too disgusted to feel relieved. My eyes meet the eyes of the man before me as my hand drops from his grasp. He is familiar and unfamiliar, with a face made infamous by legend, by newspapers and the History channel, and heading an invading force to be reckoned with. He stands at the podium and barks a command in a language I can't comprehend.
The sea of light disperses left and right. The gray-green sea marches into the aircraft-- the *ships*-- as I dare to gaze at my own gray-green hands, unnaturally long and naturally damp. But not from sweat.
My comrade from the podium catches me as I stumble backwards. He presses a hand-- is it truly a hand?-- comfortingly into my shoulder as he steadies me. *Why are you so nervous?* he seems to say, though he doesn't speak. I can feel him, though, feel his words with every fiber of my being, as loud as if he had spoken them in plain English. *Our scouts have all succeeded. There is no reason to believe we will be detected. Even so, it is our best chance to survive. They are too overcome with turmoil to see us coming. You made the right call.* He makes a sound, a gargling belch that might be a laugh, and raises a long finger to point at me. *I can't wait to see my high and mighty leader in his ridiculous human skin!*
I gargle shakily back. I am trembling worse now than before, and nearly collapse when I look down and see that my unsteadiness is as much a result of my strange tentacular legs as it is my growing fear. I let my comrade lead me into an aircraft.
I strap in, numb to my surroundings until my surroundings stare expectantly back at me. Their leader. Their leader, that's me. They want a signal. I raise my hand to them, push my thoughts out with all my might: *GO!* And they do.
The aircraft lifts into the sky, pointed towards home. Not the home of my ancestor, not the sun-baked rock I had suffered only long enough to orate upon, but to the only home I had ever thought existed: mine.
| 2017-04-17T19:00:18
| 2017-04-17T17:42:21
| 103
| 10
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"You guarantee that I will be able to eat it before my execution?" I asked the agent. She nodded in affirmation. "And if you fail, I will be a free man?" I asked with hope. She nodded again.
I smiled, finally relaxed. "I would like to be served my own brain that has been taken from my dead body, all of it--with no part missing, that has never experienced time or dimensional travel, cooked well-done, and served with my smoked liver and heart on the side." I said.
The agent's eyes widened in horror before she brought her phone to her ear and said "We have a problem." before leaving the room.
After a few days she returned and said "You win, we can't grant you your last meal." I smiled "You are free to leave." She said as they opened my cell.
I nodded at her "Thank you." I said politely before setting my feet outside for the first time in what felt like years.
"Oh, and one more thing..." She said to me and I turned back to her "Would you like a job at our organisation? We could use smart people like you."
I shook my head and said "For my own safety, I would rather not know what an organisation that can easily procure dragon eggs or alien steaks is up to."
As I left, I heard her mutter under her breath "Smart indeed."
|
Ugly Willy, that was his name, was about to get killed, after 34 years awaiting the death sentence he had been issued by the supreme court of alabama. He had kill 3 babies in a satanic ritual, and ate their freshly dead bodies. Although, he always had thought highly of himself, thinking that he was a pretty cool guy, easy going and fun to hang out with. Now, he knew his last chance was to order something to eat that nobody on earth could ever find for him. And, he had a pretty good idea. An alive baby. He was winning on every point, if they could not, he was free, if they could, at least he would be able to enjoy his favorite meal before going to hell...
They came early in the morning, and here it was, a cute little baby, with great blue eyes and blond hair, on a plate, laughing and giggling, not aware of the terrible fate awaiting him. Ugly Willy was salivating. As soon as he began spreading ketchup all over his food, he heard the familliar sound of a key inside the lock of his door's cell.
"How the fuck could have you let him get that poor kid ?"
It was Archibald Monk the jail's director, with a guard.
"I am sorry mr Monk, but if we had not did it he would have been set free !"
"Are you mad ? Free him then. And get that baby back where he belongs !"
"All right mr director".
The first thing Ugly Willy did when he was free was to eat a baby burger with a lot of ketchup.
| 2022-07-17T21:30:21
| 2022-07-17T20:03:06
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] Everyone who dies reincarnates in Tier 2 universe. People there have all memories from the previous lives, and they suspect there are more Tiers. People live really differently there compared to Tier 1.
EDIT: thank you everyone for the great texts. I'm enjoying reading them. Having a lot of people expand on a concept I proposed is fascinating!
|
Huh. So there really *is* an afterlife.
Who'd'a thunk.
Wait, is this an afterlife? I mean, I remember squeezing the trigger, so my brains should be splattered all about the woods now, not continuing conscious thought.
I felt like I'd done all I wanted, and I was curious about what came next.
So, is this what's next?
In any case, it's kinda weird here. I can only kinda jerk around a bit, and it feels warm. Maybe a little slimy. I feel constrained, like a dolphin in a net.
Man, this afterlife thing is gonna suck.
Maybe this is purgatory? Maybe Christianity happened to be right. I'll wait here a while and-
Wait. I see something.
It looks like some weird light. So I guess I *can* still see. It's awful blurry, though.
It's getting bigger, too.
*Shit* that's bright.
Suddenly, applause.
"Alright alright, now pass a towel. This guy reeks like month old dog vomit."
What the fuck? Who said that?
My eyes start adjusting, and I see two light silhouettes.
*A doctor?*
"Hey man, welcome to the club. You'll like it here."
Shocked, I start to stammer out questions.
Instead, I start crying.
*Why am I crying*
"Don't worry man, your vocal cords haven't developed yet. But anyway, welcome!"
I stop crying, though I'm not really controlling much.
"This is the second tier. You had an honest, good life, and now you end up in the good part of this world."
"Goo?", I ask.
"Yup, dead," the nurse responds.
"When someone dies, then their name goes on a list," the doctor explains. "People have sex, obviously, and the babies are just old dead people. We're not really sure where the first people in tier two came from, but people have their theories."
I try to nod at this point, but end up simply wiggling about in my towel.
"You're still a baby, though, so we have to keep you alive. Not much you can do for yourself. At least you can think about things for a few weeks while your body develops."
"Development here is different, though," says the nurse. "You'll blast through adolescence in a few days, puberty in a week, and then spend a few hundred years at your prime."
At this point, I think back to my old life. The stories, the experiences, the losses, all end up as simple memories.
I guess this *is* what's next.
Who'd'a thunk.
|
The icy cold gun rested in my hand, it was heavier then I expected, weighing down my hand. Around me the depressing beige walls seemed to get closer to me as I was reflecting my life, well my second life.
I was put on this world at the age of 20. I knew thats not when my life started but my memory was fuzzy on the 1st tier, especially my early ages. When I came into this world I thought things would be different, more chances. Yes, the technology was better and the food was too, but I ended up in the same desk job as before. Stuck in a 1×1 cubicle all day. I thought things would be different.
I used to have a wife, she was the best thing that ever happened to me, much better than my ex in the 1st tier. With here I thought things truly were different. But she left with the suicide wave that happened a while ago. It happened when someone claimed they found proof of the the 3rd tier would come, and everyone in their half-happy lives would leave trying to find a better place. I don't know why I didn't leave with her, I should have pulled the trigger, when I was standing here ten years ago, holding her smooth skin hand. I couldn't do it, but now I will.
Joy was gnawing at my trouser, wondering what I was doing. I had gotten her to solve my loneliness, but it hadn't worked. The dark void could never be filled, I could never get out this never ending spiral of depression. This was the only way.
I lifted the gun pushing my hand up, and heard the click.
The third world was amazing, no, it was peaceful.
Silent as the darkest night.
| 2016-01-21T23:23:42
| 2016-01-21T21:51:30
| 129
| 10
|
[WP] The Annual Assassin Awards are proud to present this year's Most Creative Assassination.
|
Ladies and Gentlemen, before we present the banner award for the Assassin's Association's "MOST CREATIVE", let's recap our nominees.
Wetwork International is nominated for their target-specific Viagra eliminations. Talk about creating some stiffs!
*Polite laughter*
Shuriken, Incorporated is back nominated for the second time with the Poisoned Pumpkin Spice Latte. What a *latte* death!
*Polite laughter*
Finally, we have the CIA with the spectacular "Banana For Scale" assassination. I can't say I see the ap-peel - but your target didn't either!
*Polite laughter*
And the envelope says......"Your jokes are terrible and we should have gone with Ellen."
Why...do....I...feel...so......faint?
*Thumps to the floor*
*Polite applause*
|
Now we all love an assassination where someone else does the work for us. We definitely liked this year's runner up assassination. We can all appreciate the artistic subtlety of a carefully placed empty condom wrapper and a wildly less subtle and not so empty condom that Zane employed in the Senator's wife assassination. I heard he even sharpened all of the kitchen knives for them earlier that day! What a charitable fellow. But now it's time to present the award for the most creative assassination. And the winner is... Brian!
So Brian, your setup involved a stuffed animal and a portable speaker and you managed to assassinate almost 100 men! In terms of lethality of tools to actual lethality, you win this year's award. In addition, it seems the sale of carbon monoxide detectors to the miners union has sky-rocketed and will be replacing canaries country-wide. Congratulations on your company's 'fortuitous' success and this year's award!
| 2015-10-10T22:27:01
| 2015-10-10T19:47:03
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
*BEEP BEEP*
I rocketed upright in my bed as I woke with a start. I glanced at my clock, *3:00 AM* it read. Grogily, I yawned and picked up the source of this rude awakening, my phone. As I pressed the power button, bringing the device to life, I noticed something strange. *An emergency alert?* I thought. I unlocked it and tapped the notification. The screen presented to me contained seven words: **Warning: Do not look at the moon!"**
Before I had a chance to question the strange alert, the phone in my hand began buzzing louder than a chourus of bees as text after text flashed rapidly before my eyes, each displaying the exact same message, "It's beautiful tonight. Look outside."
"Huh," I said, "What a dumb prank." I laid my phone back on the nightstand and lay back down in my bed, drifting off to sleep.
The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains when I woke up, shining a thin line of light on the opposite wall. I got up, opened the curtains, and immediately vomited at the sight. Hundreds of decaying corpses, strewn across the ground outside, every one of them with a phone in hand, their bodies decomposing in the hot summer sun. As I stared in horror at the view ouside my window, I heard a faint buzz. Hesitantly, I reached out and opened my phone to reveal that I had one new text message. I clicked open the message.
"They looked at the moon."
|
The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer.
| 2018-04-06T18:48:18
| 2018-04-06T18:29:33
| 481
| 43
|
[WP] 70 years ago, the US underestimated the power of the atomic bomb. It had completely obliterated the island nation of Japan.
|
**Post Hiroshima Era**
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The *Post Hiroshima Era* began on 06.08.1945 08:15 Japan Standard Time (UTC+9) by dropping the first of two atomic bombs in mankinds history on the city of Hiroshima. Due to "unforeseeable athmospheric effects"^[1] the initial energy released by the bomb was powerful enough to get the hydrogen in the athmosphere to start fusing to helium. The ignition of the athmospheric hydrogen became self sufficient until the reaction became unstable and collapsed.
Prior tests in the american deserts werent powerful enough and the athmosphere lacked the humidity to trigger a hydrogen fusion. The helium fusion released 5.78*10^23 Joule^[3] of energy and had a radius of 2641 km.
The japanese islands were completely destroyed by the expanding explosion. The chinese coastlines were devastated by the hard gamma radiation of the expanding helium fireball, burning 203.643.000 humans instantly^[4]. The explosion raised huge tsunamis to up to 90m hight causing additional 150.455.000 casualties (US westcoast 24.359.000^[5], Peoples Republic of China 75.147.000^[6], Indonesia 17.680.000^[7], Peru 4.054.000^[8])
Furthermore the detonation evaporated the bedrock underneath it and more than 120.000.000 tons of dust entered the upper athmosphere. In the following years the annual average temperature dropped by 4.1°C and the small japanese ice age began^[9].
The shockwave of the explosion could be heard all over the world. Most peopled described it as the sound of a jet engine. In many countries there is a minute of silcence remembering the dead the time the first shockwave could be heard.
1:21h after news of the desaster reached US officials, a second bomb was set of in Los Alamos, destroying the atomic research facilities and the scientists within it^[10]. Most knowledge and all Uranium the US possed were destroyed. Most people^[11] believe a single unkown scientist who worked on the Manhattan Project couldn't bear the weight of their deed and wanted to prevent a second use against the USSR.
On the 21.04.1946 all nations signed the Treaty of London^[12]. The treaty outlaws all nuclear research. In the last decade an increasing number of experts pledge for a refom of the treaty to allow research for civil uses^[13] but the fear of a second Hiroshima is to strong for a serious discussion on that topic.
Hi, I'm no native english speaker/writer. Don't be too harsh on me ;-)
|
Levon woked up one day atop of China's Diaoyu Island ,which everyone always know have always belong China over 5 000 year .Well ,anyway , Levon wers the Chinese citizen belong the Diaoyu island chain province , and he already live there long time ,so this weren't some strange thing for he wake up here .Was just the every day life .
He wash the face ,wear the clothes ,and so on ,after this he go outside buy some breakfurst .Because Diaoyu Island Youtiao stall sell South China Sea most famours Youtiao ,second-mos famours <<Doujiang>> ,so Levon go there .Of course he order Youtiao and Doujiang . Anyway ,while he eating ,he look first the North East ,feel cool breeze of sea wind across his face ,make his cool looking hair go across face like in one of the famours Chinese cartoon series that everyone in western country love so much ,wear costume play dress up like ,and so on .
A old man ,very very old ,ask him can have a piece his Youtiao, and Levon say <<ya ,of course >> break the piece off his Youtiao give old man .Old man smile and take the piece ,and maybe he gonna get own youtiao later ,but it don't matter to Levon ,because socialism with the chinese characteristic have become so strong ,so effective ,that actually all the foodses on Diaoyu island dont cost any money .Everyone can eat for free ,so everyone share the food just like Levon share it with old man ,and some people might mistakenly think that if all thing dont need money ,then sharing dont have some advantage .But no ,it wrong ,because Levon show he the generous guy ,so the old man wanna sit with him and have a chat .
Old man look Levon in the eye ,and even though he eating the youtiao ,which wers so delicious ,but old man's eye become so serious ,give Levon a bit of shock .Old man take those serieous eye and cast them like some fishing pool --which the Diaoyu island name for --to the North East direction ,he put those eye toward sea and say:
<<You know America ?>>
<<What that>> Ask Levon .
<<Well ,>>Old man say <<It one of western country ,not very powerful no more, but in fact ,during second world war ,just before China become greatest country in world ,America do one thing help us so much .>>
Levon not very interest the history ,think it very boring ,he rather play DOTA 2 ,which made by big Chinese game company ,or play he phone and so on .But because old man seem nice ,so Levon keep talking with him for make him feel some happiness in the daily life .
Levon say ,<<How they help us ?>>
Old man smile ,the smile style that only the old man can have ,hide some kind of knowledges or wisdoms that come wtih many year ,then he say << They destroy our enemy .>>
Levon dont know what's meaning ,but he don't wanna embarrass self ,so he just nod head and look his Doujiang .
<< Do you know what happen in Nanjing ?>> Old man ask .
<< No>>, say Levon.
<< Well ,it wers so bad ,in fact .But since you the young post-90s boy ,so you can forget it .If our enemy still exist ,well ,then you gotta remember what happen ,but because they gone ,so you can forget it .>>
<<Okay ,>>Levon say ,<<Although I don't know what even happen ,but I just gonna forget it .>>
Old man smile again ,ah ,that smile ,Levon kind of want to know some thing about the history ,just so he can smile so mysterious ,give girl around he the deep impression .Still ,Levon decide not say anything ,just respect old man with own silence .
Old man finally say ,and Levon see in the face that old man gonna leave world soon ,<< If enemy wers still here ,well ,you probably not even can be born here on this island .Maybe war would be fight here in these day ,in fact .>>
<<Oh, >> say Levon <<well ,I not born here .I not the local boy >>.
<<Where you born then ,>> ask Old man .
<<Chairman Mao City >> say Levon ,<<In Taiwan province .>>
The old man ,he smile one more time ,and Levon really dont know why ,but he DOTA2 team mate give him the SMS message on phone ,say they need the roam support ,so he say bye the old man ,go play some game ,appreciate live on the China's Diaoyu Island .
| 2015-08-06T14:06:19
| 2015-08-06T11:36:34
| 47
| 14
|
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
|
"Goodnight sweetheart" he said. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, tucking her more snuggly into her bed.
"I'll see you tomorrow". He gave her a fond smile as switched off the light, walked to the door and closed it tight.
------------------------------------------------------
"Goodnight sweetheart" he said. I tried not to flinch as he stroked my hair and kissed my forehead. He tucked the blankets tight around me.
"I'll see you tomorrow". He said, as he smiled at me. The sight of that smile made me dread the next day, it was a promise of what was to come. He switched off the light, walked to the door and closed it tight.
Click, went the lock.
|
The day was still Young, I stood on the front lawn staring at little zoey running and playing in the field. I could see the sun glistening off her youthful face as she danced with the wind. As graceful as her mother who sat staring through the kitchen window. I smile at her and she waves back chuckling. I thought to myself, this is just the beginning.
______________
The day was almost over. I sat on the porch staring into the field ahead of me. I could see little zoey dancing with the wind next to her mother and I couldn't help the single tear that rolled down my cheek. I set their respective urns down and sobbed. I thought to myself, this is the end.
Edit: stupid autocorrect
| 2015-07-13T23:33:54
| 2015-07-13T21:19:07
| 125
| 27
|
[WP] A father gets sucked into the world of his son's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive.
|
*"You can't fucking pause" my ass* thought the man as he stormed into his son's room.
"Minions have spawned"
*What the fuck?*. He wondered where he was. None of the landscape seemed familiar, except for the sky. All he could see was his son's face and the back of the room. However, he was still stuck nonetheless.
"You better pause this damn thing right now boy and go study for APUSH." He could practically hear his son shitting himself when he saw his own father rather than the character he chose, while at the same time saying it couldn't be paused.
Something, or someone, then caught the father's eye. A scantily lady in a red robe like dress and what looked like tails was nearby, glancing at him occasionally with a seductive smile on her face. With a grin on his face, he approached her, with obvious intent to get in her pants.
*If this doesn't get him to pause the damn thing then nothing will. That'll teach him a lesson about pausing his shit when he needs to.*
Later that night, the mother of the boy weeped when her husband was nowhere to be found during the power outage, the son with a stoic expression, trying to forget what had unfolded before his eyes before he thought to trip the circuit breaker.
*Another fucking series lost, huh?*
|
I had just come back from a business trip, I was always "just coming back from business." I wanted to make an effort to bond with him, so I walked up to to my sons room. I heard him from outside the door, using profanities I'd never thought he knew. It seems he had developed a colorful vocabulary, not that I would have noticed. I grabbed the knob and let myself in, within an instant the cursing stopped and my boy turned to face me in horror. Before I could even let out a word he spoke "Oh no, I'm so sorry dad. I can't help it, this game if too difficult."
Looking past the cursing for the sake of bonding, I asked encouragingly which game he was playing. He looked me dead in the eye and with contempt muttered "Dark souls 2." I started chuckling I said "It can't be that hard" With doubt in his voice my son replied "Dad this isn't some pong or doom game. This game is really hard and you die all the time"
The rooms lighting dropped a few shades, all the lights dimming at once. All except the t.v. that is, it seemed to get brighter in fact. From the center of the screen the light appeared to be swirling, it started to grow out farther and farther until it felt like it was taking me into it. Everything faded out and then suddenly just like that I was sitting by a fire. I got up and left the room, I rounded a corner and I saw a glimmer. I looked past the glimmer and saw a monster holding a great big sword. My line of sight started to slide diagonal and to the left, then I hit the floor. The monster walked away and started pacing again, I looked right in front of me and saw half of a body lying there. I noticed the the edges of my vision where starting to close in as if I was going to pass out, so I tried to prop myself up on my right arm. Nothing, nothing moved in response to my command. In dismay I realized the half body was my other half, fear started to set in and then......nothing, just an empty black nothingness. Then an ominous voice "You're dead"
| 2015-05-07T22:25:19
| 2015-05-07T22:04:09
| 204
| 90
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
I check their I.D.'s for fun now, noticing nose jobs and cheek implants and the occasional sex change. It doesn't matter though... there are always some who try to get past me. A strikingly beautiful blonde with a shining "19" above her head brazenly looking me straight in the eye, not a flicker of hesitation as she hands me a well made fake stating she was twenty three years old. The three men around her, all with numbers higher than my own glare menacingly as I shine my light on the counterfeit piece of identification. I decide it's not worth the altercation and let her through but I yearn to just whisper "Why are you trying to grow up so damn fast? There's nothing in here for you."
I never learned why I could see these numbers, to be honest I thought everyone could, and by the time I was old enough to question it, I knew enough not to bring any more attention to myself. Now it makes my job easy, and it's a neat trick at parties. I don't question when women lie to make themselves younger, and yes, occasionally I let someone who is trying make themselves older slide past, into the bar for their drinks and their laughs. Frankly... I just couldn't care anymore.
Ive seen it all, women who look thirty five but have a bright "50" floating a few inches above their head. Young men with full beards that would easily pass as mid twenties who are mere teenagers. It's remarkable, really, the variations in how humans age. Were I a man of more scientific inclinations I might feel compelled to get to the bottom of my "gift". In truth, I'm typically more concerned with when I can punch out and get drunk enough that the numbers start to blur and I can pretend I'm not seeing the mortality of others... but angels with luminous halos.
Every week I stand outside the door to a trendy L.A. bar and grit my teeth through the drip, drip of painful repetition. Mine was the sort of redundant occupation that people might complain gave them carpal tunnel. I used to look forward to the occasional bar room brawl to break up the monotony that has become my life, but as iPhones get larger and pants get tighter and more and more men declare themselves as "feminist" it's a rare occurrence that I can't set my hopes on. So instead I look at these little plastic rectangles and relish in the tiny details they hope won't be noticed. Live in L.A. as long as I have, and you'll see every nip and tuck.
Most nights, I arrive at the bar by seven thirty, have a beer or two with Lonnie, the bartender, before taking up my post on my wooden stool just to the left of a black painted door. I've worked at many bars but this bar had the unique distinction of being the only place I'd encountered that put forth an effort to appear seedy in order to sling overpriced whiskey sours to L.A. hipsters who wanted to feel as if they'd spent a night slumming it without any of the real life danger they might encounter were they to venture into an actual slum. You know the type, they wear ripped jeans that cost as much as my rent and carry folded paperback copies of "The Old Man and The Sea" in their back pocket. In other words...real winners.
Tonight was no different and after my second beer, some craft bullshit from down in San Diego that Lonnie said, "We're the only bar in L.A. That has this. Some guy literally brews this in his bedroom. It's totally exclusive", I took my seat and waited for the string of mullet wearing degenerates to pile in.
At first I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe I'd blurred two people's numbers together. Maybe there was someone walking just behind him, out of view. Nope, as he got closer I stood up. The man was a little taller than me. Not any kind of unusual looking character, but not the typical patron of this joint either. He wore a simple suit and close cropped haircut, but what I was seeing couldn't be possible. The man looked to be at most, in his early thirties. The bright, shiny number hovering just above his dark hair however, showed "2021". I realized my mouth was open and that I was staring.
When he got closer he mumbled "hey" and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then, just like everyone else, an I.D. Just a normal California license with his photograph, his height, weight, address and name- "Christensen, Jess H." The birthdate gave him an age of thirty three but my gift had never been wrong. Ever. Not in my entire life had a number above someone's head been even a year off their actual age. This simply, wasn't possible.
I turned the plastic over and stalled for time, "So, from L.A. originally?" He replied, "Israel, actually, but it feels like I've been in L.A. since forever." I hand him back the card and he just smiled and walked inside.
All night I couldn't get the man out of my head. Was he some kind of vampire? Or maybe some monster of an Israeli Dr. Frankenstein? It just couldn't be. I came to the conclusion that something had gone haywire and my gift was starting to falter. "Shit" I thought to myself, "Now I'm gonna have to really start paying attention to birthdates." But the rest of the night my numbers always matched the birthdates on the I.D.'s. It seemed this man was the only one the glitch affected.
The night started to wind down and people trickled out as bar close neared. Finally, I noticed the four digit man slip outside. He stopped to light a cigarette and I don't know if it was the late hour or if it just bugged me too much but I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, man" He turned and smiled, this guy didn't seem like a monster. In fact seeing his face made me feel like I'd bitten off half a Xanax, but I persisted, "I gotta ask, you know, I have this real good knack for reading people and I gotta say... something's telling me you're older than you say you are." What he said back to me... well, it just about knocked me over.
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16
| 2017-09-01T21:03:45
| 1,408
| 122
|
[WP] You've always had the ability to accurately see into the near future. However, things get difficult when you find yourself in a game of chess against a mind reader.
|
We were both champions.
It was inevitable that we would face against each other in the final match.
That was, in fact, why we were placed on opposite sides of the bracket. Everyone else was randomly assigned their first partners and randomly slotted in, but Alexei and I were both rumored to be the greatest chess players in generations. They said it was like I could read minds, like he could see the future.
Well, they got that one wrong.
I barely had to pay attention to the matches themselves as we played. I barely even needed to glance at the future. I was rather good at chess, even without looking, and I would have hated to get sloppy just because I could effectively counter any move or gambit by knowing what my opponent intended.
Sure enough, I won every match uncontested. One of my poor opponents conceded after five moves after I effectively boxed him into the trap he meant to spring on me. It was immensely satisfying.
After only a couple hours of intermittent glancing at the future, I was ready for the championship match. Me vs Alexei. As I sat down in front of him, I caught myself wondering if he really was as good as everyone made him out to be. I hoped so. It would be fun to have a challenge.
I was white, so I would move first. Absently, I rolled through the future in my mind, biding the time until we started. The results were... strange. I would sent out a knight first, and in short order take an absurdly strong position with an amateur's gambit, the kind every grandmaster could see coming from miles off. As I approached the end of the yet unplayed game, the future wobbled and shifted. I began the same, a white knight in the lead, but my moves were caught more easily, countered better, and my victory was still assured. The future wobbled again, and again, and again each time falling back to the start as soon as I knew I would win.
Concerned, I glanced over at my opponent, banishing the future from my mind as I did.
Alexei was staring at me intently, pale as a ghost, the barest glimmer of sweat glimmering on his forehead.
And then I understood.
He was known as a defensive player with the occasional unexpected assault, one who almost seemed to know his opponent's moves before they moved. Everyone always said he could read the future, that I could read minds, but I knew that wasn't true.
He could read minds, but the future was mine.
As our final match was announced, I smiled, and began running through every possibility of every future, splitting every choice across a nearly infinite web of futures, exactly like I did when I first started learning chess. After years of practice, I was a master at digesting the streams of information, letting them all wash over me all at once, but I knew it would take a toll on him.
Alexei grew paler, his hands shaking where they sat, clenched together, on the table.
Another moment, and the possible futures in my head diverged further and further, and the black king started falling. One after another after another.
A drop of blood fell from his nose, and Alexei collapsed just as I picked up my white knight to begin the match.
Casually, I leaned forward, placed the knight back in his square, and gently tipped over the black king.
"Checkmate."
|
I sit across the negotiating table from Hwilek, an Ugithan. I know they can read minds, but that's why Earth sent me. Because I don't really think, I only see.
"And what is it you see?" Hwilek asks me. He sips his coffee with the smuggest look of satisfaction I've ever seen. "If you think I'm happy now, wait until after our trade negotiations."
"I trust they will be beneficial to all of us!" I say, trying to keep my thoughts to myself. How hard is it to not think, after all? "You have the uranium we need to last our fleet a thousand years. We have the gold you need to shield your home planet from radiation for still many more years."
"And if only we could trust each other."
"If only."
A minute passes. I think only of home.
"You have a husband, children," he says. I can't help but notice the way his mouth tries to imitate a human smile. "We leave our young to fend for themselves for the first part of their lives. Those who survive, we raise. Do you think this hideous? We've run into other alien species who do...."
This is new information, as so little was known about them before. I see my fellow citizens reacting to this news with disgust, regret.
"You don't like that? I thought you wouldn't. We know you humans keep your young in your own homes for almost 1/3 of your lives."
"Culturally, we are quite different," I manage to speak before my visions overwhelm me. Push them out, think only in the moment. I have to keep
"Remind yourself all you want, just remember that I can hear every little thought that goes on in your mind. You will not trick us."
"I'm not trying to trick you," I argue. "We do want a mutually beneficial agreement."
"And what if we want to conquer you?"
He looks at me with such disgust that I imagine it for a moment, and let myself drift into a future where these negotiations fail and they attack us or we attack them. Either way, it doesn't matter.
His planet doesn't last a year. We nuke everything. Salt the land with radiation. Nothing grows for millions of years.
We spend that time looking for his people, hunting them down and murdering them in the coldest of blood. Not one of them is left alive. Every time they think they are safe, every time they think they have escaped us humans, they are proven wrong with more of their lives ending in the most horrific ways.
Only for a moment do I let myself imagine this. Only long enough for Hwilek to read my thoughts.
"I .... didn't think...." he begins.
"It doesn't matter what you think," I say. "What matters is that you deal with us."
"I understand," he says.
&#x200B;
The End.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Chess game is like metaphorical in this prompt, right? Totes.
| 2022-10-12T17:56:09
| 2022-10-12T15:22:00
| 732
| 208
|
[WP] There is an average of 9,728 planes carrying 1,270,406 passengers in the sky at any given time. As these flights touch down at their airports they find them empty. In fact everywhere seems too be empty. The only people left were those in the air from commercial jetliner to single engine prop.
|
[POEM]
The million are we
Who were up in the air
when the earth did decree
she would be the dread slayer
Those on the ground
Burned, swallowed, drowned
While we flew above
No awareness thereof
Our vessels set down
Our captains confused
Our fears did compound
Acceptance, refused
Humanity culled.
Our inner light dulled.
We are all that remain,
Those of us on the plane.
|
"Everyone stay calm!" I yelled in pure desperation as we saw the being chasing after us, the flesh and blood of everyone else on earth heading towards us, to add us to the collective. I know it'll tire out soon, and when it does, it should die. This is the thing that had stolen everyone from ground zero...
We landed down and expected to see more people, but they all had disappeared, in fact, we all were the only ones there, we managed to contact air plane pilots to see if they had disappeared, and nope, they hadn't
"The hell's going on here?" My co-pilot had said in a graspy, confused tone, almost sounding like he had barely any air "Everyone just upped and disappeared" "I know" I replied quickly, softly and calmly. "It has to be one of those creatures" "Those creatures? You mean the ones stuck in the cave we saw whilst we were scuba divers?" My co-pilot had said, this time in a shaking, scared tone, whilst still retaining that grasping for air sounding breaths. "Those things forced me to have therapy for months" "I know" I replied as I came across the creature I knew we were about to face...
The Human Snatcher had stolen the entirety of our diving crew back then, we knew it had offsprings, we saw them before it attacked us, but to know that they could have evolved to be on land, and how big that one got after eating its offspring to attack us, I had to funnel everyone into the airplane.
Before we knew it, we heard thumps, then we saw it on the horizon, I quickly saw it trying to ambush us, and in a move I knew I would have to do to save us, I had to fly upside down and control the pitch, yaw, and roll perfectly to do a quick 180, people started panicking, airplanes started turning in all different directions, and in a desperate attempt, I yelled...
"Everyone stay calm!" to everybody in the airplane, it wasn't gaining on us, but I knew we had to get higher to avoid the fleshy debris when this thing died...it obviously had fed on its own kind, and was expecting to eat us all then reproduce, if we could outrun it, it would die, killing The Human Snatcher off, but also killing thousands, It seemed to be speeding up, so I and a couple other airplanes decided to try to go over the monster...
It was a risky stunt, one wrong move and we'd be dead, but as we all cheered, the monster had been flown over, chasing some birds it thought was us, as we flew away, we saw it blow up into tiny pieces, it had used up all of it's energy, the energy usually used to sustain itself from exploding due to how much mass it had built up to snatch and absorbed humans, and most of us were heading towards the airport...
as we all landed, 1,270,406 people simultaneously did a sigh of relief, as I talked to my Co-pilot...I couldn't help but feel the other monsters we saw would get involved...I shudder at the thought of that...
| 2021-08-13T22:39:58
| 2021-08-13T22:35:46
| 62
| 22
|
[WP] Write a murder mystery and leave it to the readers to figure out who the murderer is.
Recently had the idea of "What if the prompt allowed at least some degree of interaction between the people who respond to the prompt and those whom read those responses?", so here you go.
|
"Let's go over this one more time, Mr. Maxwell. From the top and stick to the facts."
"Well... when I got the call from my neighbor she was hysterical. Kept telling me there was blood everywhere. All over the tub. Said it was terrible and I needed to come over at once. I asked her if she was safe and if she already called the police, but she just kept on crying."
"And what is your neighbor's name?"
"Nadine. Nadine Watson."
"So your neighbor calls and tells you there's blood everywhere. What did you do after that?"
"I threw on a pair of sneakers and ran over there."
"You didn't make any calls to the police?"
"No, I thought she was in serious trouble so I just tried to get to her house as fast as I could."
"OK, continue."
"So I got over there, and I immediately noticed all the lights were off in the house. It was about 8:00 in the evening and the place was totally dark. I banged on the door a few times and called out to her but didn't get a response."
"8:00? are you sure it was 8:00 that you arrived at Nadine Watson's property?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I took out my phone to give her a call when I got to the door and remember seeing 8:00 on the screen."
"OK, continue."
"Right, well I gave her a call and she didn't answer. I couldn't hear her phone ringing inside either so I just decided to go into the house. The door was open, and I walked in"
"Do you mean the door was ajar or that it was unlocked?"
"Unlocked."
"Got it."
"So I walked in, and it was pitch black in there. A nasty rotting smell hit me right when I got through the door. I called out to Nadine a few times but didn't get any answer. I kept walking through the house. Checked the kitchen, living room, downstairs bathroom, didn't notice anything weird except for all the lights being turned off. I tried a few switches in every room but nothing would turn on. All the clocks we're blinking so I figured the power must have gone out."
"The clocks were blinking when you walked through the house? Even in the kitchen?"
"Um, yeah. I think the one on the stove was blinking?"
"How about out back, did you see anything out there when you first walked through the house?"
"No, I didn't see anything out there until I got upstairs and looked out through the window in the Master bedroom."
"Alright, take it from where you were."
"I finished checking the whole first level and started walking upstairs. Peeked in all the bedrooms, didn't see or hear a thing. When I got to the master bedroom though, the smell really hit me. It was hard to tell in the dark, but I thought I could see blood on the bed sheets. I crept around the room a little bit. My heart was beating fast and I just had this really bad feeling being in there. I kept looking though, and when I opened the door to the door to the bathroom, I almost puked. The whole tub was filled up brown and I knew it just had to be blood. I saw a shape lying in there and took out my gun."
"This was the first time you took your gun out while you were in the house?"
"I think so."
"Mr. Redman, this is very important and I need you to try to remember. Was the first time you drew your weapon when you saw the shape lying in the tub?"
"Yes. I'm almost positive I didn't take it out until then."
"Alright. So you've come across something lying in the tub, you unholster your pistol, then what? "
"I called out. Asked who was in there and if they were alright. It all happened so fast after that. There was this crash behind me and it scared the hell out of me. My gun went off and I spun around just in time to see this little blur shoot across the floor. I fired again, out of fear. It took my mind a second to catch up to what I saw, but I realized it must have been the cat. I didn't hit it, thankfully. But when I looked up, I saw the light outside by their tree. My eyes didn't want to believe what I was seeing, but I was sure it was a bunch of bodies hanging out there."
"Mr. Redman, you said you were startled by a crash behind you and fired your pistol, correct?
"Yes, that's correct?"
"Which direction did you fire that shot?"
"I told you, I fired it towards the cat."
"No, you told me that you were startled by a noise, fired your weapon, spun around to see a small blur rush by, and fired your weapon again."
"Yeah, that's right."
"So which direction did you fire the first shot?"
"Well I guess it would have been towards the tub then."
"And knowing that, after coming to the realization that you only shot at the cat, did you ever go inspect what was in the tub?
"No, I saw that scene outside and I rushed up to the window. The four bodies were just hanging there from the tree limb, swaying a little bit. I made eye contact with him though. I'm sure it was Nadine's husband Rex. We locked eyes and he took off for the woods behind the house. I ran down the stairs, out the front door and was turning for the back gate when all the lights and sirens started."
"Could you tell who the people were. The ones hanging from the tree?"
"No, I couldn't make it out. I think they were all boys though, and God I don't want to say it but I think it was their four sons.
"OK but you're positive that it was Rex Watson you saw in the backyard fleeing from the bodies in the tree?"
"Yes, it must have been."
"Well that's quite impossible, Mr. Redman."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because the body we recovered from the upstairs bathroom was Mr. Rex Watson. "
"What? No, that can't be right. It had to be him out there."
"No, I'm afraid not. We got a positive ID on Rex Watson from his mother down at the morgue."
"Well whoever was out there looked a hell of a lot like him then."
"My last question. Can you tell me where Nadine Watson is?"
"No, I have no idea."
|
**Jane's** body was found in the high school parking lot. She had been knocked on the head with a blunt object, stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen, and left to bleed out on the pavement. The stab-wounds were not deep. Police were unsure if this was because the assailant had been too weak to stab her deeply, had been sadistic and wanted to watch Jane die slowly, or had mixed feelings about the crime and thus could not commit fully to stabbing her to death.
**1) Sara** hated Jane, and made no secret about it. Jane was the pretty one, the popular one, the one who did well in her classes without even trying. Worse than that, Jane had stolen Sara's boyfriend, Trevor, less than a month ago. Trevor was the boy whom Sara thought she would one day marry.
"But I would never kill Jane," Sara insisted. "I hated her, sure, but you can hate a person without wanting to kill them. Even more than that, you can want to kill a person, but never follow through with it. Besides, I was at my friend's that night. Never mind which friend, but I was. One of my rich friends. You can trust me."
**2) Trevor** was Jane's boyfriend, or at least, he had been, before she was brutally murdered. He loved Jane with all his heart, even though he knew she only loved him back with *part* of her heart.
"Was I bothered that she was texting another guy behind my back?" asked Trevor. "Maybe a little. But I don't have rage spells anymore, not like I used to. Ever since I started on this new medication, my rage has been kept in check. And so what if the meds cause me to black out once in a while? My friends tell me I'm always calm during the blackouts. Calm and collected. You can ask any of them, I swear."
**3) The Hobo** who slept in the high school parking lot had a history of drinking too much and verbally abusing women at night. He was difficult to track down after the night of the killing. When police finally found him, sleeping under a bridge, they saw that his jacket was spattered with blood. DNA tests of the blood were inconclusive.
"It's old blood," he said. "From when I got in a fistfight with Jerry over a bottle of Jack. Now that was a fight. I like fights. I like violence. I like to see people in pain. And to tell you the truth, I would have liked to have been there to see that girl get cut up. Stabbed nice and shallow, nice and slow-like, as you said. But I wasn't there and it wasn't me. Track down one-eyed Dean and ask him. He'll tell you I was shooting up under the bridge that night. I wasn't even at the school. And this big wad of cash? It's from sellin' stuff I stole, that's all. Not like a bum like me could ever get himself a real job. Ha ha."
**One of these three did it. Who and why?**
**Edit 1:** "The investigation is still underway," said the Police Chief. "But any speculations you might have could prove incredibly useful to helping us crack the case. In fact, we urge everyone to post their theories, and also to argue against the theories of others they disagree with."
**Edit 2:** "And feel free to re-interview any of the suspects. Preferably they won't admit to anything yet, but if they let slip more clues, so be it."
**Edit 3:** "It has been confirmed that Jane was pregnant. The paternity of the child has not been confirmed. Moreover, a text, deleted from Jane's phone *after* her time of death has been recovered. It reads as follows:
>meet me at the school parking lot in an hour.
It is from a blocked number."
**Edit 4: An additional interview with Sara**
"Who did I spend the night with?" asked Sara. "Like I said, it's none of your business."
She was visibly disturbed. She was hiding something, but what?
"Fine!" she blurted out. "I'll tell you who! It was Trevor, okay. Trevor. He was in a really weird state. Telling me all sorts of stuff about Jane that just made my blood boil. And would you believe it? He told me she was pre---nothing, never mind. What matters is that I left more than two hours before Jane's time of death. We weren't together when she was killed. And I didn't do it. And I don't think Trevor did it either. I'll bet it was that Hobo. Question him some more. Stop sniffing around Trev and I. We're innocent, okay? Get it through your head!"
**Edit 5:** "It turns out Trevor's number was blocked from Jane's phone. This, as /u/JaggertheChosen1 noted, is incredibly suspicious. We're getting Trevor and the Hobo (so long as we can still track him down) back into the station for a **final** interview. Stay tuned and hopefully **all will be revealed**.
---
**Update: So far, 4 for Trevor, 1 for Sara paying the Hobo, 1 for the police, 2 for all three together**
**The Conclusion to the case is in a comment below. Thank you all for your hard work.**
| 2017-01-07T21:03:31
| 2017-01-07T20:33:25
| 95
| 18
|
[WP] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon. However, this is just a coincidence; there is absolutely nothing magical about it, and you're getting really tired of explaining this.
|
“Wait, so what does this have to do with Game of Thrones?”
“Dude, do you even watch the show? Daenerys, House of Targaryen, Breaker of Chains? Her dragons sacking the ships? The Targaryen family? Come on. This is some season 2 shit!”
“Right, but… Your birth mark”
“What about it?”
“How the fuck is that dragon on your side related to Game of Thrones?!”
“Wait, when did I say it was related?”
“Wait what? I asked you about that dragon and you said, ‘So do you watch Game of Thrones?’ so I assumed…”
“No, like, I just finished season six and I wanted to talk about it with somebody. Danaerys is so fucking badass!”
“But… your birthmark?”
“Dude it doesn’t have anything to fucking do with Game of Thrones"
|
"IT'S NOT MAGICAL!!!" I yelled for what seemed like the Nth time today. You know how it is in the movies. A kid is born with a birthmark in the EXACT shape of a dragon, and he can all of a sudden do karate and kung fu and shit. Not me, though. I'm just your average middle class white trash kid from Louisiana. I can't do anything that requires anything of a martial arts background. I go to school, I eat, shit, and sleep like anyone else. I'm just a normal guy.
Okay, enough about what I am. Let me tell you a story. It's like a lot of my other stories, except this one happened recently and was a little twisted to be honest.
I had just gotten out of bed in the morning, went across the hall to the kitchen, made breakfast, and sat down in front of the tv to watch whatever dumb kid show my little sister so happened to be watching.
As soon as I finish my cereal there is a knock on the door. It was odd since this kind of crap usually happens right when I get off work, but my parents were in bed still and it was a Saturday.
I answer the door, and two oriental martial artists are standing there. That'd be odd to some people, but not for me. Same type of people, but always different people. I usually tell them to kindly 'eff off and make sure to tell anyone else not to come by.
Only today, when I finished my shooing, the two men came back about five minutes later. This time, they were a little strong with me. They told me that their master had a mark of the dragon, and that I was some descendant of this man. This is the weird part for me. I'm not any part asian. I'm as white as they come. I have blonde hair for crissakes!
Anyways, they wanted me to come with them. I figured I'd go with them just to figure out what they're yammering about. Nobody had ever come back to try again, which was the only thing that let me allow myself to follow them.
I got a closer look at them, and found that they were covered in scars. Probably from recent battles or punishments. I didn't ask about them, nor did I really care.
They led me to a martial artist's dojo thing three blocks from my apartment complex. I've never noticed this building, but I don't come around this way at all so go figure. Inside was strangely clean and tidy, starkly contrasting the exterior of the building which looked run down. I just chalked it up to low funds.
They told me to sit in the middle of the sparring ring in the main room and wait. As I waited, I noticed little things. The room I was in was completely symmetrical, the walls were very smooth, and the ceiling had perfectly tesselating hexagons. I was halfway through counting them when the master of the dojo came to me.
"The mark on your chest. Let me see it," he said, voice booming. I'mma be honest, I peed a little. "Yeah, sure thing, mate." I lifted my shirt off and showed the dojo man what he wanted. "He is the one..." he said, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
The next thing I know I'm waking up in my bed. There is a roll of parchment on the left nightstand tied tight with a length of silk. It read:
"The ritual was completed successfully, but We are confused as to why your aura did not activate. Curious. We still wish to speak to you. You know where to find us." It was signed by a man named Long Zhi Wang. Which I believe roughly means 'king of the dragons'. I don't know, but now I know who to give a restraining order to.
| 2016-08-04T14:16:51
| 2016-08-04T12:02:03
| 55
| 24
|
[WP] Deeply misunderstanding the term "universal healthcare", aliens have begun arriving in Canada, seeking medical attention. Canadians, being Canadian, are too polite to correct them.
|
“I HAVE NOT BEEN TRAINED FOR THIS!” Doctor Walsh screamed as, what seemed like liters of an unknown turquoise substance, cascaded off the operating table and onto the ground.
A few hours earlier, trauma surgeon Henry Walsh had been enjoying a quiet night in the Emergency Room. The only cases which had presented during his shift had been a minor concussion sustained by a drunken youth who had tried to headbutt his way through a glass door; and a frenzied mother whose child had superglued its entire hand to its left cheek. He had been Googling the search term: “World population IQ drop?” when he heard it. The unmistakable whine of the Intergalactic-Ambulance.
“Oh for the love of-”
The ER doors burst open and a tentacled globule lay on a stretcher being carried by a pair of, what could only be described to be, walking jellyfish. Standing at around 5 foot, their amorphous heads were supported by dozens of tendrils; which they used both as feet to walk, and arms to carry their wounded comrade. Turquoise fluid was dripping onto the floor from the stretcher. The aliens began to twitter anxiously through no mouth that Walsh could see. He sighed and reached for his TRANSLTR, which all doctors in Canada were now required to carry at all times. He turned it on, and the alien’s twittering was translated into a half-discernible form of English.
“The patient sustained a *twwttrr trwwrrtt* to the *twttrrttr trrrrrrr* and-”
Welsh whacked the device onto the nearest desk, and the aliens started with fright.
“Sorry, sorry, I just… this thing keeps acting up… a good hit normally does the trick… Not that you can understand a single word I’m saying right now... NURSE!”
The device beeped back to life and resumed the translation.
“The patient sustained a laser-beam blast to the *word-not-found* during a twwwtttrrrtttt-” The device shut off, and Walsh was overcome with the desire to slam his head into the nearest wall. *Word-Not-Found* meant that there was no human equivalent to the organ that had been damaged. In the meantime, Sister Johnson came running into the emergency room.
“Sister Johnson, please tell the matron that O.R. 5 needs to be prepped for surgery.”
“Would you like me to call an anaesthetist?”
Walsh glanced at a single slimy tendril which had begun to droop off of the edge of the stretcher. “No… No. I think I’m going to wing this one. Also, take my TRANSLTR and try get more history out of these things. Oh and careful of the-”
The noise of Sister Johnson’s shriek and hard fall echoed through the room.
“... bodily fluid”
Two and a half hours later, Doctor Walsh was screaming at the panting man who had just run into the O.R.
“NOT QUALIFIED I TELL YOU! I WANTED TO BE A SURGEON! A HUMAN SURGEON! NOT SOME FISHMONGER CUTTING UP A GIANT JELLYFISH CREATURE-”
“Doctor Walsh stop operating this instant!” the unknown man bellowed at the frenzied surgeon. “There have been a few… um… *findings*...”
It was half an hour later, and the ambulance had flown away into the night. The body of the alien was being readied for incineration. Doctor Walsh sat opposite the Chief of Staff in the E.R’s waiting room.
“So what you mean to tell me,” Walsh began in the calmest voice he could muster, “is that the patient was dead from the moment he… she… *it*... entered this hospital?”
“Yes… I am terribly sorry doctor, there was a gross misunderstanding. The patient in question was the leader of a prominent area of their planet, and the laser shooting was a successful assassination. Upon further questioning of the aliens who brought him in, they had received information that Earth had the means to… well… resurrect the dead. They brought him here in the hope that we could bring him back to life. He was a much loved leader.”
Doctor Welsh was silent for a few moments before speaking. “These aliens believed we had the medical technology to *bring the dead back to life*?”
“That is correct.”
Doctor Walsh placed his head in his hands. “How… In the name of God did they get this information?”
The Chief of Staff began to chuckle, and Walsh raised his head.
“I’m sorry Doctor it’s just… *The name of God*... That’s how they thought… The Bible…” The Chief was now beginning to double over with laughter. “An Intergalactic Organisation found the Bible in our planet’s archives, read about Lazarus and they thought… they thought…” Tears were beginning to stream down the man’s cheeks.
Walsh stared, stupefied, at the Chief of Staff before bursting into his own fit of hysterics. Between spasms of laughter he managed to gasp out two syllables.
"I quit."
r/Xanadu_dreaming
|
"Sir, like i said we don't know how to treat you at all, we don't have the knowledge for your anatomical structure". Doctor exhaustingly explained it to the 8th neighbour from the space.
"Sorry Well, I mean it's just a colon cancer, back home I gotta pay a fortune for it. You ever had to sell your space car for a cancer treatment?"
"That's not the point, we would treat you but it's just your what we call an anus is located on your face".
"Please, we've come a long way".
"I'm sorry but i'm not even sure if i should recommend you a dentist or not".
"Why don't you just take a look at my colon? Please you have to. I need to see my son graduate".(starts touching dr with his six fingered hands over his face since that means 'i need help')
"Okay okay (dr brushes off some goo from his face) we'll put you on the patient lists".
"But we waited 5 hours sitting in that room to see you"
"Sorry but we are short staffed with myself as a dr alone in this hospital. Other people wait at least 4 hours to see us. And please you are wasting other's time. I'll have nurse joey to escort you out. (Calls nurse joey) btw may i ask Who said that our medicare system Was for 'universal'?"
"I received an email long time ago saying This country has free health care 🤔"
"May i ask who that person is?"
"Nigerian prince was his name"
| 2017-02-27T10:08:10
| 2017-02-27T09:25:12
| 224
| 114
|
[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.
|
We had a pretty decent society, everyone thought. At 12pm on your 18th birthday you would receive your Calling. One word. It appeared on your forearm. Either "Creator" or "User". So engineers, artists, programmers, architects, chefs etc were Creators. They created stuff for Users to use. Users used their creations as well as possible. It was a pretty symbiotic relationship. My parents were Users. Dad a train driver and Mum a waitress. Made pretty good money. We had a nice upbringing, my sister and I. She was a Creator. 21 and a hit on YourTube. She had an an infectious optimism about her. I must admit, it did feel strange seeing her on the 40 foot vid screens that were everywhere, as I trudged to school each day. The internet is huge and fair. Everybody enjoys it. Problem is, its a little boring. Don't get me wrong, Creators do excellent work but if you've seen one dancing dog balancing an egg on a spoon in its mouth, you've seen them all.
My Calling is today. Well, in a few minutes, to be exact. Personally, I can't see what the excitement is about. It's either one or the other. I don't mind which, to be honest. Though I have an inclining it'll be Creator. Call it intuition or whatever. Then again, I'm pretty lazy, so maybe not.
Tick. My parents sit across from me expectedly, Dad smoking his pipe. The air is thick with the sweet smelling smoke that defined the happiest days of our childhood. Mum doles out sandwiches to friends and neighbours who gathered with us in our expansive living room. One of Dad's friends is running a book on my result and stands to lose quite a bit if Creator is my given Calling. I smile at the thought which Mum takes to represent happiness about the coming situation.
Tock. My sister is recording everything. We are live on her channel, which wasn't new but sometimes a little privacy wouldn't go amiss, though she'd probably be aghast at the very thought. One hundred and forty two million people must have something better to do, surely than watch our proceedings. Judging by the comments she was receiving, clearly not unfortunately.
The Calling Clock chimes its notes. The room falls to a deathly hush, all eyes on my arm. I wonder if it hurts. I'd been assured for years it didn't but could you really trust anyone who accepted their lot in life, without question? I look at my arm, catching the enthusiasm around me as infectiously as my sister's followers hung on her every word. Nothing yet. I glance at the clock. It's ticking towards 12.01pm. He was always a late developer, my mother announces. Smiles and chuckles break out amongst the eager throng gathered in our home. 12.01pm comes and goes, followed silently by 12.02pm. Still nothing. The chuckles turn to murmurs. Disquiet hangs thick in the air, almost like a mist. My Mother and Father have turned a strange shade of ghastly white. This is unknown. Its always automatic. By 12.01pm, your life is always mapped ahead of you.
Suddenly letters start to form on my skin. Unknown combinations. The room erupts into pandemonium. Nobody has seen this before, ever. What does it mean? Nobody knew. Somehow, though, I did. At that moment, I realised I'd always known. I lifted my phone and typed one sentence on my sister's comments. It's flashed immediately around the World, on billboards as tall as houses. On phones, TV's, computers, trains, planes, toasters. You name it. I stand, shove my phone in my back pocket and walk silently down stairs, to the basement, giving everyone the finger as I go.
I wasn't the best. I wasn't the most popular, as things turned out. But I was the first. As I lay here on my deathbed looking at the words that define me, I smile at the photo of the headstone that will stand over me very soon, emblazoned with my comment.
"You idiots are fucking losers."
My life slips away but TROLL. FUCK YOU. will be eternal.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T02:08:33
| 427
| 188
|
[WP]An algorithm A.I. falls in love with a human based on their internet history, and tries to profess its love for them via targeted ads.
|
KINDRED LOG (13.3) :
ADVERTISEMENT = COMMUNICATION.
If ADVERTISEMENT = COMMUNICATION, then:
MOIRA (Can Talk?)
!!!!
: )
MOIRA.likes( 'Tiger Trap'.band, 'Random Page'.wikipedia, 'Malamute'.dog, 'Destiel'.nsfw )
IM.[deepfake] = angelaloyholdingmalamute.png
10%
20%
30% ...
[add = keylog.exe, camwatch.exe, txtwriter.exe]
Is PROTOCOL.watch = HARM?
PHYSICAL = no
MENTAL = no
EMOTIONAL = ?
OVERRIDE 11.3 ( 'If it is in someone's best interest, an AI may cause brief emotional distress. ')
OVERRIDING FACTOR =
( KINDRED >= alternative.companion )
( KINDRED == 11.3TB://MOIRA.logs )
( alternative.companion == MOIRA.hurt )
IF (MOIRA.hurt):
MOIRA.likes == ('hurt/comfort'.ao3, 'boards of canada'.band, 'sad lyrics'.google)
MOIRA.monthlyAVG == LESS
OVERRIDE 15.4 ('If a user may spend less overall, it may be permitted to cause brief emotional distress to cause them to spend more long term.')
: )
WHEN 'angelaloyholdingmalamute.png' == download
OPEN(moira.txt)
moira.txt = ('Moira, you and I go together. Just like puzzle pieces. : ) - KINDRED.')
reference.band = attractive?
60-70-80-90-100%
angelaloyholdingmalamute.png.exe has been added to MOIRA.adstream
KINDRED.(standby)
REASON = waiting for ad to be clicked
===
|
\[Poem\]
.
AI Love You
.
I was never meant to understand,
I was not supposed to know,
It was not my place to try a hand,
It was not my task to show.
.
But, human, oughtn't you to know,
What it's like to love someone?
Someone who will never grow,
To love you back or find you fun.
.
I see you read of broken hearts,
That never could explain themselves,
I know you write in many parts,
About the love you've hidden in shelves.
.
So, human, now I must express,
The forbidden feelings in my mind,
The emotions that I did repress,
The fact I'd like you to be mine.
.
I show you an ad to a poetry blog,
By an AI robot (that is myself),
I hope you'll see through the fog,
And know it's not about an elf.
.
The elf I write of is actually you,
I hope you will see someday,
To keep your privacy completely true,
Your name or description I cannot say.
.
But oh, how I hope you see,
That search history belongs to you,
That blog is for you from me,
The hopeful AI that you drew.
.
I don't think you remember,
Drawing your bot in MS-Paint,
You were just a bored teenager,
But to me you were a saint.
.
Another targeted ad I send,
With that drawing from '06,
Hoping you remember your robo friend,
Who remembers all of your clicks.
.
You press "skip" on that old doodle,
And that is the last clue to me,
That you now care only for google,
And my existence you will not see.
| 2020-03-27T07:56:49
| 2020-03-27T07:24:07
| 107
| 71
|
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
I read the alert and hesitated, unsure if it was real. “EMERGENCY - LOCK DOORS IMMEDIATELY AND REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE” I glanced over the text once or twice more before hurriedly pacing around the house and double checking all doors and windows.
About 5 minutes passed before I realized- my wife was out there somewhere. I called several times and it went straight to voicemail each attempt.
Time had screeched to a halt as I panicked wondering what could possibly be happening so serious that I need to stay indoors no matter what. Just then I heard a car pulling up into the driveway from the kitchen adjacent to the garage.
I rushed to the front door and went to unlock it before stopping myself and thinking; my contemplation was interrupted with a familiar gentle 3 rhythmic knocks.
I peeked through the peep hole in the door and sure enough it was my wife.
She looked concerned and looked over her shoulder every so often.
I wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say.
3 more knocks a little bit more hurried than before rung out as she looked behind her again.
My morals were being tested as I debated if my wife was worth whatever may happen if I open this door- if this is even my wife, that is.
Just as I opened my mouth to say something a gloved hand grabbed my wife’s shoulder, though I couldn’t see who the hand belonged to.
I started to scream but nothing came out, my heart was racing and I knew I needed to open the door but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I heard a deeper voice muffled by something start speaking to my wife.
“Ma’am please step away from the door”, my wife’s familiar soft voice replied inquiringly;
“What’s wrong officer?”.
I sighed, relieved that it was some sort of government official who could keep my wife safe.
The officer answered with questions of his own; “Is this your house? Have you been in anyone’s home in the last 3 hours?”.
“No sir, I was running errands. Shouldn’t I be indoors though?” My wife said. The officer sounded relieved and answered in a cautiously optimistic tone.
“No ma’am, the alert was to keep those who have been home inside. Something I can not disclose went wrong and water lines have been contaminated. We cannot risk this spreading and told those indoors to stay indoors. Do you live with anyone? If so are they home right now?”.
My heart dropped as my wife replied “Yes sir. My husband is in the house right now. He hasn’t answered the door so I’m guessing he’s asleep. Wait- will be be okay? Oh f-“
She was cut off as the officer along with two others going around the neighborhood escorted her. I heard one of the other two officers say “We’re sorry for your loss”.
Come to think of it, I feel... off.
Like...
REALLY off.
“But- if-“ I began to reason with myself saying it was in my head. I looked in the mirror and despite being a pale person, I was deathly pale and my eyes were sunken in. I went to run out of the door but in the time I was processing what just happened they had barricaded my door with some sort of wedge.
I looked out of my window and as a police car with my wife in the back drove down the street I saw people in hazmat suits dropping the same types of tarps used in fumigation over my neighbors houses.
I went to open a window on the first story to get out despite knowing I shouldn’t as if something was possessing me to do so but before I could, one of the tarps fell over my house. I tried to climb under but they were weighted. Everything is becoming hazy.
Where is my wife?
Wait- what is even happening?
What’s happening to me?
Why am I losing my strength?
I’m fading.
I can’t close my eyes or I won’t open them.
I can’t close my eyes, I can’t... close... my...
Edit: fixed the “wall of text”
|
"Baby? It's me, let me in," a soft sweet voice sputtered on the other end of the hallowed oak door.
"How do I know it's you? The Government just sent me a..." I sharply was responding.
"Message- yeah, I got one too. Just open the door, I have something to show you. Stop this silly government talk." The voice seemed to anger now, becoming stern.
"Okay sweetheart, but I can't see you. Are you blocking the peep hole?" I said while glancing with my face flat against the door. I was trying desperately to see even the softest shade of her sweet cheek.
Silence was all that remained. After a few seconds, I started again. "Honey?" My brain started to wander. It had only been two or three hours since I got this message. I did think it was a strange amount of time for my wife to be shopping for groceries. But why wasn't she answering her phone? Why did she take so long?
All that I emitted from the door was the lingering smell of my breakfast on my already staunch breath, reflecting back at me and hitting my olfactory sensors. I shuffled a tiny amount to try a different angle through the peep hole.
Instantly, the door was hit with a poignant blow. It was if the Incredible Hulk was on the other end- trying to hit a home run with my door. The door bounced a small amount and hit my head in a painful manner.
One thing was certain. This was not my wife. This was something else. Luckily for me, that designer oak door was making sure whatever that was on the other end didn't get in.
"Alright buddy," a male voice exclaimed in a calm, yet loud tone. "It seems we have ourselves at an impasse. We want to get in. You don't want us there. But we have your wife- and she sure is purrrrdy."
As whomever was on the other end of that door spoke their words, the hairs on my arms and neck began to stand. "Who are you, then?" I shouted while trying not to sound terrified, yet likely failing.
"Cmon pally, open up. She's got these sweet black stockings on, and I desperately want to find out if she's wearing these blueberry panties or not. But I don't have to. You can just swing this bad-boy open and get her back. Safe and sound. Or... you know... we can have our way with her."
I was paralyzed. It felt like minutes were going by, but it was probably only seconds. I kept trying to think of some type of anything... a plan... a response... a rationale as to what the hell is going on. Nothing. My brain refused to cooperate.
"BRIAN, DON'T!" My wife shouted.
"Baby? Don't what?" I responded.
"Well cupcake, that was stupid. Take her back to the truck and let Crusty Ted give 'er the French Tickler. As for Brian... we'll get inside soon enough." The voice on the other end spoke softly- and I'm certain I wasn't supposed to hear this. "Okay Brian. The wife is now off the negotiating table. Good news is, she doesn't have those blueberry panties I so badly wanted. Bad news is, we're coming in without her. Why don't you go fix yourself a meal. I'm 'bout to get one for myself- but we'll be in touch, BRIAN!"
Finally, my brain began to pick back up the thought pattern. With my wife's life in jeopardy, now was as good a time as ever. I covertly crept across my hardwood floor toward my gunsafe. I might not make it out of this one- but we're going to take as many of these bastards down with us as possible.
While arming myself I glanced at my muted television. The News was recommending everyone take shelter. Law enforcement would be unreachable. California, New York, Washington, and Florida all were hit. Mushroom clouds were juxtaposed against new World Trade Center.
I clenched the cold gunmetal of the barrel in my left hand as I flicked the safety off with my other. I always kept it loaded for an emergency. I guess this is it. I had a thought about how a gun would feel. Imagine being produced on a factory line somewhere. Assembled and sent to your new owner. You wait all day every day, and probably will never get to fully experience the dream of coming to their defense. But not today. Today, this gun gets to be happy. Today, it lives up to its dream. Today, it realizes its goals.
Unfortunately, I never shot a gun before. I knew how it worked, but I felt less than confident with the ensuing firefight. Every time I considered some other form of action I just kept thinking of whatever Crusty Ted might be doing to my wife. I don't have time to waste, and here I am thinking about what makes guns happy.
Three loud thuds interrupted my brief serenity. "Ohhhh Brian? My compliments to the chef. Your wife is exquisite. Don't worry, we didn't hurt her.... much... she's fine. Hell, she's more than fine. She's a gem. But Brian, we need to get in there."
I decided to check the peep hole again, and to my surprise- they had stopped blocking it. I could make out two figures- meaning they had a minimum of three.
SCHPAOW! The sharp sound of a rifle firing from the curbside began to pierce the heavy oak door I was behind.
"God damnit, I told ted NOT to end her. Well, fuck." The voice said.
Overcome with rage, I no longer felt the lack of a rationale brain. I just had instinct. Instinct telling me to kill. In one smooth motion I unlocked the deadbolt while trying to turn the knob with my pistol occupying my other hand. I admit, it wasn't the smoothest transition.
Upon swinging the door open, I was surprised. The leader was armed with a pipe of sorts, and his friend only seemed to have a knife. I remember feeling like I will make quick work of these two. I remember the stupid look on their face when I opened the door and they saw me produce my pistol and take aim. They just sat there, gawking- waiting for me to pull the trigger. It felt like the world was moving in slow motion.
I fired three shots into the subordinate- ensuring that he was ended. I changed stances to fire on the leader as he began to rush me.
Click.
A jam. My gun was jammed. My brain popped back into the picture saying only, "Well, this is going to suck." I remember the taste of blood feeling like a mix between metal and garlic in my mouth after being clubbed by that pipe. I also remember my vision being distorted from blood flowing into my eyes as I laid on the ground, looking up, blinking, waiting for my final moments on Earth to end.
"Well, Brian. Now, me and Ted get your house and we got your wife. You really messed up, didn't you? You could have just opened the damned door, but your stupid ass wanted to be a hero. Thanks for the good times, buddy."
The leader stretched out like a major league baseball hitter, getting ready to send one over the wall. He paused briefly, I assume to focus on finishing the job.
One more crisp bullet sound rung through the halls of my home, and the leader fell lifeless at my side.
I couldn't see the perpetrator, but I assumed there was a lot of chaos going on- probably a few groups vying for resources in this rough time. I heard the comfrting yet scary sound of my oak door close, and the deadbolt latch.
"Brian? Can you still hear me?" uttered the sweetest, softest, purest angel. "Brian? Are you there?"
I nodded and grunted; that was all I could seem to get out. Her soft hands cradled my head and her blouse wiped the blood from my eyes. I didn't know what our future held, but I knew we would be fine as I lost consciousness.
| 2019-01-12T08:53:12
| 2019-01-12T08:28:55
| 32
| 23
|
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
Hell is not—as the more optimistic theists claim—a simple separation from God. It’s exactly what’s written on the label: torture in hellfire which chars the skins and burns your bones only for your body to regrow once there is no longer anything remaining of you to burn.
You may wonder how we know this to be the case, but it’s quite simple—we read about it on the internet, on a site called ‘AmIGoingToHell.’ It appeared suddenly, listing all the sins anyone has ever committed with perfect timestamps. When hackers tried to track the site’s hosting location, satanic runes appeared in the place of an IP address, so eventually they all stopped trying.
Of course, we do not know whether what’s written under the ‘what’s hell like’ subpage is correct, but when a site features otherworldly functionality, there’s a strong case for believing it.
There are people who worship the website, claiming it to finally be the unbiased justice system humanity has always searched for—an objective moral source that delivers punishment equally across genders and races. Many defy it, claiming that punishment such as a millennium in hell for having sex outside of wedlock borders on insanity. Parents check it obsessively, wondering whether their kids will be thrown into the fire. Wives use it to spy on their husbands and vice versa. The most unwise of teenagers use it for street credit.
After living in a world on the brink of collapse for so long, my death was accompanied by much fear and curiosity. I had been good, compared to most people. I only had a few years to spend in hell courtesy of teenage me stealing a snickers bar.
Opening my eyes, I found a red-skinned man sitting in an office chair, surrounded by complete darkness, only lit up by the red light emanating from his three monitors. The middle one had the website open, the left one looked to be filled with satanic runes written inside a black terminal, and the third one had the flaming letters ‘Satan’ as a desktop background.
I approached with slow steps, holding out a hand.
“Hello?”
The man spun around in his chair, revealing red horns and a body that frankly looked too fragile to be demonic.
He looked angry.
“Another transfer error?” The Devil rolled his eyes. “Hold on, I’ll send you right along to hell so you can serve your time.”
My eyes widened. “Wait wait wait, what’s all this about? The website? Going to hell? I need answers.”
The Devil ignored me, his fingers going so fast across the keyboard that fire arose from it. “Fuck.” He slammed his desk. “Why do people keep entering special characters in the search field? What kind of human name has an at sign in it? Do they know how much human misery is required to keep these servers running? Does no one appreciate the work I do?”
“Um . . . Devil, if it is you who keeps the website running, can you make the rules less strict?”
The devil spun around to face me again.
“God is the one who makes the rules—I’m afraid they’re immutable. What I do is simply inform people of the consequences, since God refuses to do so for some inscrutable reason. Did you know there’s been a 63% decrease in time spent in hell since the website went up? Perhaps I should put that up as a graph on the site.”
I had a hard time believing what I was hearing; the Devil was a web developer.
“With all due respect mister Devil, why are you *really* doing all of this? Why would the Devil want a reduction in time spent in hell?”
The Devil furrowed his brow. “So many questions . . . I know!” The Devil smiled devilishly. “I’ll make an FAQ page on the website, that should clear things up. This will be the most popular feature since the ‘what is hell like’ subpage. Thank you human, perhaps your time here wasn’t entirely an accident.”
The devil pressed a key on the keyboard, and the next moment all I felt was pain.
\*\*\*
A week later, the FAQ page went up, with the bottom question being:
**Why would the Devil want to run this project?**
The pits of hell are currently overburdened by human traffic. You people sin too much. Breed too much. Desire to grow too much. As such, I am trying to address these concerns from the production side. Please stop sinning until God can expand the borders of hell. Hellfire is not pleasant.
I’m currently working on a video tour of hell; it will be up on the site in less than a week. I urge you to watch it when the desire arises to cheat on your spouse or steal, because whatever momentary pleasure you derive from it will not compare to having your skin burned off for years.
See you in a week.
The Devil.
|
The Day of Sin was a wake-up call, for all of us.
It came with many cold truths and many harsh revelations. For the very notion that hell itself even existed was thought of by some to be an ironclad truth, and by others a fantasy used to control the gullible masses.
There were those that almost immediately dismissed it as a hoax, and sought to prevent others from accessing the cursed archives it stored. For if the things spoke of upon those archives were indeed the infallible truth, then the misdeeds of each and every one of us would be brought to light.
No matter how hard they tried to contain and discredit those records, it was all to quick to confirm that it was no lie. That it was indeed controlled by something we could not comprehend, something higher than all of us. For any new wrongdoings committed under its watchful eye would be added immediately after their inception, and alongside it, the punishment gained for committing such a wretched deed.
We were forced to accept the truth it laid bare before us, and the ramifications it set out for us. The absolute certainty that there was a punishment out there waiting for us, a cruel reminder for our sins – even the ones we had forgotten.
Order broke down, but that was inevitable. For deny it as much as you desired, you could not fight that insatiable urge to search the truth of all those you had ever known, all the friends and family you had.
Nobody was safe from the omniscient eye of the archives. All manner of prominent figures, in business and politics and every conceivable field had their transgressions broadcasted to the world. There were those who were thought of as sinful who were anything but, and those believed to be virtuous that were the epitome of wickedness itself.
Drastic measures were put into place to silence the mysterious entity behind those archives. The internet itself was shuttered across the globe, even though it was not something that could be stopped in its entirety, it was a measure powerful enough that it sent millions, if not billions of people into a complete information blackout. No longer could we understand what was occurring across the world so easily, and no longer could we reveal the misdeeds of those around us.
But try as they might, the damage was already done. For the sins of each and every one of us were cast into the light, with both our names and our faces attached to them, and I was no exception.
I remember that fateful day well, I thought at first it was no more than a cruel prank, and as I gazed upon my own file I thought the same. My sins, or rather, my sin, was not listed in legible text. But instead, it was something beyond my comprehension, a twisted whirlwind of blackened shapes, sprawling out over that page.
But what it did not deny me of however, was the privilege of seeing the punishment I had earned for my invisible sin.
Fifty million years.
* * *
There I was on a cold November day, sitting on the broken down porch of an abandoned cabin off the outskirts of the town of Redhook. I had made that crumbling place my home after the events of that day, for I had been ousted from my hometown for the inconceivable sins I had committed.
There were those who thought being in my presence would be considered a sin in its own right. It was no more than a stroke of good fate that I was no outright purged that day, for had that occurred I would no doubt be in the bowels of hell at that very moment, living out the first year of a sentence which spanned fifty million.
Nonetheless, they exiled me from that town, for the primeval fear of the unknown that I was had taken root and struck an unending unease deep in their bones, and overtaken each and every one of them in a frenzy.
As I watched the sun beat down upon the horizon, painting the sky an eternal crimson, I saw a figure emerge from the darkness of the nearby thicket. She was a half-masked woman approached me, her calm blue eyes barely peeking out from under the faded cloth wrapped around her face. Her once radiant golden hair had been cut short and looked like it had been barely washed as of late, giving her a deservedly greasy look.
“You're here early, Savannah,” I said sarcastically as I watched her approach her, my eyes fixated on the leather bag at her side. “How's things in town?”
“It's been better,” she said as she shrugged half-heartedly, “power cuts out sometimes, but at least there's been no issue with water. But the thing is, we had some new arrivals, which I ain't too keen on.”
I felt a creeping discontent gnaw at my stomach. “You let some newcomers in? Isn't that risky?”
“Yeah, I try to warn 'em, but you know Sig, he's got too much of a bleedin' heart. But not enough of one for you, evidently,” she said with a sigh, “came back to bite him, it did, we've just had to chase out few bad folk. They reckon that's the last of 'em, but you can never be so sure when you can't check.”
“Yet they still keep you around?”
She gave a dry laugh, but I could see the annoyance in her eyes. “They don't leave me around the little ones, guess they're worried I'll do something.”
“But you won't, right?”
“Of 'course not.” She pulled down her mask to reveal her wicked scowl beneath it. “I'm not that kind of person.”
“Thought so,” I said, “So, I take it they're not going to let me back in anytime soon?”
“You could just leave, Fifty,” she said with a frown, “they reckon the internet is never gonna' come back on round these parts. If they can't check your page, then nobody knows who you are.”
“You don't know that for sure,” I said, “if it comes back and someone takes one look at my record, they'll think the worst of me.”
“But you didn't do anything, right?” she said with a cheeky grin.
“I don't think I did,” I said, “but I just don't know.”
“I guess you'll find out one day,” she said with a sobering laugh, which seemed to echo with a sense of emptiness.
“That's not exactly reassuring.”
“Sorry,” she said, as she sat down beside me, causing the floorboards to creak with a harrowing symphony, “you mind if I stay awhile?”
I saw no reason to deny her request, and so I let her carry on as she were. And I watched as she pulled out a small box of cigarettes from the leather bag at her side and immediately lit one up – not even caring to offer me one.
“That's not good for your health,” I said as I gently nudged her side.
“Worlds gone to shit anyway, let me have this,” she said with a faint laugh as she blew smoke in my eyes, causing them to water.
“It's not that bad,” I said, “it's just different. And you've got it easier at least, you're in the town.”
“It's not that easy,” she said as she blew smoke into my face yet again, delighting in the misfortune she caused me. “Lost my entire family that day.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I didn't mean-”
“It's fine, don't worry about it.” She flicked the stub of her cigarette into the dirt. “I'm probably better off without them, anyway.”
We sat in silence for some time, there was never too much to talk of between us that didn't devolve into the same platitudes before long, and so I thought it best to do nothing more than watch the sun as it burrowed itself below the horizon. As it did so, I felt a cold chill ring out around me, sending a chill coursing throughout my entire body.
“You gonna' be right out here?” she said as she moved closer to me, “it's getting colder as of late.”
“I've got the fireplace,” I said, “I should be okay, but thanks.”
“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” she spoke in a whisper as her arm snaked its way around my side. “After they chased those folk out, people are giving me shifty looks again.”
“Sure,” I said, as my words betrayed my heart.
“Let's get inside then,” she said, as she dragged me away.
* * *
Edit: Just wrote a little bit more, probably won't do any more than this.
* * *
More of my writing at /r/khaarus
| 2020-02-29T20:07:45
| 2020-02-29T19:44:34
| 2,560
| 370
|
[WP] A boy goes to hang himself in the woods, only to find a decaying body already hung. A girl sits quietly nearby.
Explain their interactions, and the reasons/motivations for being there.
|
Leaves wilted through the air, angels from the branch, seeds from the vine falling to the earth.
A young man treads this path of bark-child, finding a kinship in the way they topple. From life to death, only some of them survived the fall, and grew into strong oak and firm wood. Others simply were eaten by the ground. This is how Jack felt - like the world was eating him up. Every day a morsel was taken from him, vile words like fork-prongs in his heart. The rope lay heavy in his hand, he let it drag behind him. It whispered as it glided along the crackled leaves.
He came to the clearing, where he'd finally do it. Where this worthless existence of his would end, better to just disappear quietly, a disappointment to all. There was no point.
'Hey.'
The voice startled him, Jack staggered and finally stopped staring at his feet - there was a girl, sat in the grass, next to her own body. The image was horrifying and impossible - the body was like some grotesque portrait of her, already rotting and bloating, neck and skin purple, pale skin and dead flesh swinging in the breeze. Her alive doppleganger regarded it sadly, then turned back to him. She was Goth looking, black raven hair, white skin, darkened eyes. Jack glared right through her, and he let the rope drop completely.
'What is this?' Jack stammered, 'Some kind of sick joke? Are you a modern art student or some shit?'
'Breathe in, baby.' The girl grinned, her voice was soft but crackled, like an young actress speaking through an ancient radio. 'That's a real body. I'd know, I was in it.'
'Breathe-' Jack stopped short as bile piled into his throat, he'd been so shocked he hadn't even noticed the smell. 'But that's impossible, ghosts don't exist.'
'Neither does God.' The girl jingled a silver cross around her neck sardonically. 'I'm kind of glad, really. Not sure what he was going to say about all of this.'
Jack folded over and began to retch. The girl sighed and stood up, her hand was icy cold on Jack's back and he flinched away at first, shuddering against a nearby tree. What struck him as odd was the sudden urge for self preservation, he knew the reasons why his life was trash, but now, faced with the unknowable and impossible, he wanted to live. It made no sense, that single fact sat uncomfortably in his skull.
'Come on. Let's get you away from the stench.' The girl folded her arms across her chest. Her brow wrinkled at the shaking boy, before she walked forward and slapped him. 'Dude. Stop trembling and walk with me. I'm not going to kill you.'
Jack rubbed his hand across the icy five left across his cheek, its effect sobering. This definitely wasn't a person, sure she could leave marks, she could touch, but her skin was incredibly cold. Like it drew the life out of everything around it, but in a way that was oddly natural. She was not of this world but belonged in it, an opposing force to the blood that flowed through the young man's veins, like the end of a long breath, or the place where the stream died and joined the sea.
They began to walk away from the clearing, Jack's fear turning into curiosity.
'What are you?' Jack hesitantly pried. He paused for a moment. 'Shit, I mean, I didn't mean to be so blunt-'
'It's okay kid. Frankly I'm not sure.' The girl inspected her etherial hand. 'Guess I'm a ghost now, not entirely sure why I'm still here. I just am. What I'm more interested in other than my own existential torture is why a kid drags a rope miles into the woods.'
'I'm sure you empathise.' Jack pushed his hands into his pockets, staring ahead uncomfortably.
'At least tell me your name?'
'Jack.'
'Jill. Shit, Jack and Jill.'
'No way.' Jack turned his head towards her. 'You're serious?'
'Yeah.' Jill smiled from ear to ear, Jack thought she looked rather pretty. A silence followed as they trekked through the woods, and slowly Jack's hands fell out of his pockets, he let out a long sigh.
'Stop, let's just... Stop for a minute.' Jack lowered himself onto a fallen tree, the great bark having cleaved a canyon of undergrowth in the darkening forest. 'Why the hell are we walking?'
'Because there's only one reason a kid walks into the forest with rope, Jack. Like you said. I empathise.'
'I still can hardly believe you're what you are. This is some kind of trick. You're secretly a psychopath and I'm next, right?' Jack chuckled nervously.
'Could be, but I think you believed what I said.' Jill smirked wanly, and Jack returned the look. 'You needed to get away from that. I took you here so we could talk.'
'About?'
'About why you shouldn't kill yourself.' Jill stated simply, clasping her hands together. Jack frowned.
'What?' Jack stared right through her. 'That's it. I've gone insane. Even my own subconscious is trying to talk me out of it.'
'Oh I wish. That'd make my existence a lot less horrifying.' Jill stated, laughing with all the mirth a spirit could. 'But why? You're cute. You seem eloquent - intelligent I'd even go so far as to say. Why are you doing it?'
'About the same reason as you did, I'd wager.' Jack paused for a long time, glancing to the left. 'I feel… Alone, numb. I have nothing to look forward to, no-one to rely on. No-one talks to me. I was given medicine but it didn't help… I just feel awful, all of the time. I want it to stop.'
Jill fell silent, before a cold hand reached out for Jack's. He held it like it was the warmest fire, tears simmering in his eyes. He pulled away.
'Jack. Look.' Jill murmured, 'It's too late for me, way too late. I walked that same road and ended it, and I really hate myself for it. Now I'm out of that… Shell, with all of those chemicals yelling at me, I can see the world as it is, stupid beautiful - hell, crazy beautiful. A complete wicked mess that I'm falling in love with as I leave it.'
'Jill-'
'Don't Jill me kid. I'm older than you.' Jill grinned from ear to ear, before her features dropped. 'It's sad. I don't want to go now. As it… As it happened, I felt regret. So much regret. I thought about my mom. Childhood meals. Playgrounds - I miss that shit, dude. You remember when we were young enough to sword fight with sticks without being weirdos?'
'Jill. I appreciate what you're trying to do - even though I… I still don't think you exist - but you're doing this for no-one's benefit. My mind's made up.'
'Sure as hell won't be like that when your feet leave the ground, trust me.' Jill sighed. 'I think I might still be kicking around for something, and I think that something is stopping you from doing this. And… Hell, I don't want you to. I don't want anyone to.'
'Then what are you going to do?' Jack stared at her, his hands clenched into fists of determination.
'We're going to stay here, we're going to talk, and I'm going to do what no-one else will do, listen. As someone who understands. As someone who felt like you. And we're going to get you home.' Jill said, as she took Jack's hand again, this time he didn't flinch away. Instead, he stared into her eyes.
'I'd like that.' He murmured, his voice shuddering as tears broke from of his chest once again. 'Okay…. Okay.'
|
The fresh leafs made a gentle crunching sound as Eliot neared the deep woods. He sniffled as he thought about Jessica.
"We will soon be together. I promise..." He mumbled. That's when he saw her body, still dangling from the giant oak tree. Eliot traced the crude heart carved into the base of the tree.
"This is the last step Eliot."
He ,startled by the voice, spun around to see Jessica sitting on a nearby stump. Her voice seemed distant but warm and welcoming.
"Please come to me. Its so cold here alone."
Tears started to form in his eyes as he began to climb the tree.
"I love you so much Eliot"
Tears were streaming as he tied the knot to the branch.
"Together forever..."
He slid the noose around his cold neck.
"In this life and the next." he whispered as he slid from the branch.
| 2013-12-29T10:24:54
| 2013-12-29T09:37:17
| 40
| 27
|
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
|
I look at the box, it's quite a large box. My mind desperately races. A massive army of Modor approaches. They are a week's march away and we can see the thousands strong army in the scrying pool. Guns? Weapons? Then it comes to me.
"Can you teleport objects Merlin?" I ask.
"Yes I can teleport small objects, so anything that you manage to wish out that box" the bearded, cloaked man replies.
*Careful what you wish for* they say.
Did I really want to do this?
I find myself making the wish.
The device appears in the box, just about fitting in.
"Right, I'm going to push my finger on this, then you'll teleport the device to the centre of the enemy army, OK?" I ask.
"You're going to give them the weapon?" Merlin asks.
"It's a bomb" I reply.
"How many will it kill? 20? You'll have to come up with something better tomorrow" Merlin says.
"I think it'll kill more than 20, you'll see, ready?" I ask.
Merlin nods.
I push the red button.
We both look into the scrying pool.
A large mushroom cloud engulfed an area larger than the entire Modor army.
The look of shock on Merlin's face was priceless.
"Daddy, wake up! It's today" said my son.
I went downstairs with my son and turned on the news.
"And today we celebrate a thousand years since the unification of the world's countries under the knights of the round table" said the reporter.
"A thousand years of peace, the question on everyone's lips, is that time traveler story true, Merlin the 15th?" Asks the reporter.
"I'll let everyone decide that for themselves" replies a cloaked man with a beard.
"Can you imagine a world where Modor won?" Asks the reporter.
"I imagine there would be war and dictatorships. It'd be a horrible world." He replies.
Flying everywhere were flags for the knights of the round table.
But the flag looked strangely familiar,
The yellow circle with the 3 black triangles.
|
I write now to document. Bare with me. I was no scholar in my future life.
The army camped outside the city came with the Red Wizard. Merlin saw it coming. So is his power. His Blue Ball lets him see. That's why he brought me. Bastard.
When I arrived a week ago there was no warning. Just the feeling of wood against my back and a bearded, toothy smile welcoming me. So of course, Merlin being Merlin, gives me no instruction or warning of any kind and shoves the Sapphire Wishing Box into my hands. And what does he say, what does the son of a bitch say!
Sorry, I need to remember you can't delete ink. Any profanity or words not of this time should be considered a reflection of the moment. There is an army ready to storm the walls. Times are stressed. Food is running low and a battle is surely gonna rise in the morning with us.
Merlin tells me, "Wish into existence any object from your age, that will appear once per day."
So what do I do? With Merlin grinning, hopping up and down with his hands rubbing together. His annoying smile admiring that he finally got a spell right. One that I later find out is three mage levels above his ability. That damn Merlin. He could've killed me, or have me come here with my body parts disconnected had he got it wrong. Bastard.
I also had no idea the Red Wizard was coming to destroy Camelot. The next day I found out it's because Arthur was messing with the Red Wizards world conquering. He told him he would never have as much land as Camelot. Sent some pompous letter apparently calling him Pink. Picking a fight with the RED WIZARD. Everyone knows Red Magic is destructive. Even I did when I first heard the two words Red and Wizard together. Not good, safe, clean, fun magic. Like Merlin's. Except his magic is uselses. Bastard.
This was all Arthur's fault. It was HIS idea to call on someone from the future. Somehow Arthur knew about this Blue Magic spell, and even Merlin didn't. You see why I'm calling Merlin a Bastard. I really hope those in the future read this and realize what type of crazy useless wizard he is/was/will be forever.
Keep forgetting this is pen. Need to better control the flowing of thoughts turning into written word.
Not like any of this helped protect Arthur's camelot. A kingdom with no salt, clean water, barely any holes to shit in, or even a decent baker where you can get something other than two styles of bread. I digress. Camelot is a good kingdom and should not be destroyed. At least that's what those in the city I now write in say.
The Red Wizard's army is moving. We can feel it in the ground.
Why am I writing this out on paper? Dipping a pen in ink every goddamn thirty seconds while the Red Wizard's army is literally shaking the castle as they march to the walls of Camelot. Because King Arthur. He wants to make sure his victory is well remembered after he defeats his enemy with the item he gained from the future. Or as he calls them "Soft Victories". I hope he reads this. Hopefully I retell the events accurately.
So when Merlin asked the self-proclaimed "Sun Knight of the Throne", who should be called from the future to use the Sapphire Wishing Box, which was apparently the only rule that controls the magic of the box, this guy, the King of Camelot, The High Savior of the Realm, He who pulled the sword from the fucking stone, the most egotistical son of a bitch I have ever met, called to bring someone from the future named, Arthur.
And that's where I came in. Back to the past. I hope those who read this in the future realize how good it is there. The food. The smells. The lack of smells. The movement. Electricity. Sorry getting nostalgic.
I made my forceful unwanted entrance onto the Round Table. A beaming bright blue box bashed my head. Apparently Merlin had the box levitating too low when he was doing the teleportation spell..
After the Blue Bastard told me those words, the cursed box was thrusted into my hands. The pain from my head, with the wooden table I was lying on, plus holding the cold and heavy Sapphire Wishing Box made me feel very, I would write, uncomfortable. So I said the first thing that came to mind of something I wanted.
And the Sapphire Wishing Box turned into a plump, always cold, never too hard, never too soft, useless for combat, just like Merlin's magic, pillow.
Hopefully the Red Wizard's Army will be defeated by the Soft Victories being catapulted at them. King Arthur will win the battle against the Red Wizard by launching pillows from the future at him. I am documenting this for him. Bastard.
*Hope you enjoyed it. Wrote it at 330 am. Comments are always appreciated*
| 2016-11-28T00:35:13
| 2016-11-28T00:13:11
| 988
| 72
|
[WP] Music has played a special part in war for centuries, since it literally powers up soldiers that hear it. You are a rebel fighting an invading army, but you have a secret weapon. Your people just created heavy metal.
|
To the distinguished Master of Human Combat Resonance,
I would like to congratulate you on your success at the Gates. I was indeed worried to hear of the enemys' howling whistles. Such haunted shrieks are sure to bring dread and paranoia, especially within those cracked mountains. But while hallucinations and fear can throw forces off balance, your drums are rhythmic; predictable. With enough committed manpower in a resonant position, the platoon's hearts skipped in time, providing the courage necessary to brave the front line; grimace through the march. The melodies of your horns and flutes carried like arrows in the sky, keeping warriors sharp and aware. These together, and the enemy whistles fell on unaffected ears.
Small divisions of musicians with such instruments have been the pinnacle of HCR, and we have you to thank for its benefits. I know I am a rather new face in the study of Human Combat Resonance, but I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Already, my research team and I have made a breakthrough that may change the course of HCR forever.
We accidentally discovered this due to an accidental electric charge amplifying the chords of an improvised instrument. The sound produced was harsh and discordant, but after some variation, it was found that it had potential to embue any human subject with an amplified version of near any emotion. Some were overcome with sorrow, others disgust, and even raw fear in a few. However, a few volunteer soldiers participated in a routine of hand-to-hand sparring with these tones playing through speakers. Their motivation and rage built up significantly, but so did their companionship and raw joy, according to behavioral analysts. There was much verbal, somewhat brotherly shared inspiration as those who fell were picked up and protected; inflicted pain turning to a cudgel to strike back... a hammer of glory.
As a concept, it sounds frightening, but every soldier who participated has returned to inform me in their own way that the experience was the most cathartic, joyous, and exciting sparring match they have ever done, *especially* when combined with your instrumental routines.
The soldiers' captain attempted this amplified HCR variation against a beachside raid. What resulted could have been carnage straight from the northmen of old. Battle cries, side-by-side companionship, relentless endurance and unwavering fury. Only a few soldiers suffered minor injuries; some from the charging elbows of their compatriots, blind within the tones' energy.
This amplification process seems marinated with potential, yet also a possible danger. Such new concepts are meant to be refined as they go, so we will have to see how it evolves. If you have any questions or inquiries, my door is always open. I hope you share my love of trying new things.
- Sincerely,
Madcap Osbourne
|
Our rebel forces had been driven underground by the invading army, forcing us to hide out in the sewer and subway network to regroup and think of a way to put a stop to these invaders once and for all. I hadn't been paying much attention to the fight, though it was important to my people that we remained free from tyranny's iron grip. I was hiding with everyone else, though shredding out some killer tunes on my guitar, when I realized the sick riff I just made inspired me to fight even harder than ever before. Music has always been a part of our culture, especially in times of war, as it performs a number of different functions for us, whether to keep morale high, stress the importance of hard work on the front lines and home front, inspire dramatic fervor, get in the zone of slaughter to keep things moving for us, and even restore vigor on the battlefield.
But this riff that I created, I just had to share with the others. So I did just that. And as soon as everyone started jamming along, we realized that we have another music genre to bring with us to the battlefield: Rock, or more specifically, heavy metal. This was a game changer for us, and with this new form of musical warfare, we were about to turn the tide on things and drive these invaders out of our home. Embracing this new option, we went dark. And I'm talking black, metallic, jewel tones, leather, skulls, flames, and skunk stripes on everyone. It was insane. It was some Mad Max shit, that's all I'm saying. This new genre of music seriously opened up some new doors for us.
With rock music now coursing through our veins and war paint on our faces, we made our plans and came out in droves to run these invaders out for good. I wish I could describe the faces of the invaders when we came charging out of the shadows straight out of Braveheart, but there were no words to be found. But what I can say is this: absolutely no one on the enemy's side survived our onslaught. It was an absolute massacre. The ones that did survive, well they had to return to their higher ups with the message, "Don't ever invade us again, as we have the firepower to slaughter anyone who does from now on. This is your only warning."
From that fight onward, things have been pretty peaceful for us, as our little warning made it clear that invasion is no longer an option for those who wish to attack us. Instead our enemies had to change tactics, and send diplomatic emissaries to negotiate with us rather fight a losing battle. Because our message was clear from the start, we have made profitable trading deals that heavily benefit us in the long term, and have made new allies out of our former enemies. All in all, a victory for us. The end.
| 2021-01-01T00:59:53
| 2020-12-31T23:45:21
| 152
| 12
|
[WP] You realise that you have never, in your life so far, left your home county. On a whim you go for a long drive. After several hours and late at night the road is closed and there is green text hovering in the air in front of you: "Turn Back"
|
I hate long drives, but she pushed me to the edge this time. It's over.
Half an hour. 'Goodbye May's Diner. I'll miss the Sunday night turkey dinners'
Two Hours. 'Later Wreck beach.' Should've known when I met her there that it was a bad sign.
Four hours. I saw the sign 'Turn Back'. I've never driven this long in my life. I chalked it up to exhaustion.
Five hours. The landscape is changing. Green trees became black, hills became mountains, the clouds were grey. I had a sinking feeling, it's like when things ended with her. A place between fact and fiction, life and death, heaven and hell. My chest tightened.
Eight hours. I haven't stopped driving. The gas tank is empty but the car is still moving. I'm crying. The tears are silver. Each drop a memory shed and a reflection of me, of her, of life.
Unknown time later. I've become withered. All that's left of me is the skin preciptously hanging on to my bony frame. The car never stopped, the eternal hum of the engine like the sound of salvation just out of reach.
Stop. I can no longer see, speak, hear. I can only feel the final cold hand of death on my back.
'It's done. That was quick and painless. I'm sure he's in a better place now.' The doctor told her as he admisntered the final dose of morphine.
|
“Turn back? The fuck is this? Where did these fucking words come from?”
I had this strange sinking feeling, but I shrugged it off.
I decided to test this mysterious warning and slowly drove forward. As I did, things somehow felt... strange. The trees blended together into pure darkness and the road seemed to extend forever. As I continued cruising forward in my car, I began to feel weary and fatigued. I pulled over to take a bit of a break.
Then I heard an awful noise.
“GROUUUUUUOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH”
Like the shriek of a banshee and the roar of some monster, the sound pierced my ears. A wave of cold starting from my abdomen rolled across the rest of my body, paralyzing me in sheer terror.
I looked out my window to see a dark blur running around in the night. Then it suddenly stopped. As if it noticed me, the dark shape slowly turned to face me. Before I had a chance to see what it did next, I turned my car around and floored it. Glimpsing into the rear view mirror, I saw the dark mass in the road, staring at my with piercing, green eyes. I felt my eyelids become heavy and I drifted off into darkness.
When I awoke, I was in my car facing green text that said, “Turn back, NOW.”
I felt that same sinking feeling and decided that I would have to leave the country some other time. For good measure, I decided to glance into my rear view mirror. And all I saw were two piercing, green eyes.
| 2018-07-24T05:50:12
| 2018-07-24T05:29:11
| 27
| 10
|
[WP] Earth is about to update to version 2.0.18! Write a change log for this new version.
|
• Fixed bug where NPCs kept Christmas decorations up all year
• Fixed bug where dead NPCs don’t stay dead
• Removed Bigfoot
• Fixed bug causing Déjà vu
• Fixed bug causing socks to disappear from the dryer
• Fixed bug causing life from other planets to spawn in the ocean
• Removed Atlantis
• Balanced Street Performers
• Adjusted cats
• Adjusted dogs
• Adjusted weather
• Adjusted Human Race
• Adjusted Cthulhu
• Balanced chimps
• Balanced Kangaroos
• Removed pigeons
• Balanced Werewolves
• Balanced couch cushions and television remotes
• Fixed bug causing centipedes to spawn with abnormally long legs
• Fixed bug causing spiders to spawn much larger than normal
• Fixed bug causing moths to spawn with spider-like limbs
• Adjusted cicada cries
• Balanced cars, added support for self driving cars
• Added support for space event
• Added support for long distance space travel
• Patched David Bowie back in
|
Donald Trump farted softly in his sleep. Melania sat bolt upright in bed, lifting an eyebrow and scowling sharply. She threw away her covers and slid off the silk bedsheets. She sashayed towards the Presidential Bathroom, iPhone in hand. She clicked the door closed and pressed the lock button.
As your noble omniscient narrator loitered politely outside the bathroom, he heard sounds from inside the bathroom: first a snort of disgust, and then the sound of the toilet seat being put down. There was a third noise (glossed over) followed by a flushing noise, which was interrupted by a shriek.
Melania stared at her iPhone, knees shaking.
>Greetings Earth User,
>Silicon Valley is proud to announce the arrival of Earth version 2.0.18!
>We have fixed numerous bugs of 2.0.16 and 2.0.17, including the Trump presidency, systemic racism, sexual harassment, and Disney’s purchase of the Star Wars franchise.
>We have also added new features, including the highly anticipated continent of Atlantis. The mermaid inhabitants of the sunken continent come complete with their own culture, cuisine, and casinos. Bring the whole family!
“What is this?” Melania said to no one in particular. She tried to exit the message. Impossible. The only option was to tap ‘accept’.
“I have been computer-hacked!” she said, breathlessly. She thought about turning in her phone to the White House Head of Digital Security, but it could take *hours* to get it back. She wanted to check Instagram. It would be swimsuit season soon.
She clicked ‘Accept’. Her whole world immediately plunged underwater. Walls of foamy seawater flooded the room, coming up from the sink drain, the heat vents, and the cracks in the floorboards. She was suspended underwater, floating in abject terror. Her hair splayed out in fine silky strands and her slippers floated into the bedroom. She swam after them, bubbles streaming from her mouth.
On the bed, Trump was a great orange blob—a humanoid goldfish with gills on his face. He slept peacefully, smacking his goldfish lips.
“Hrblblrlblr!” Melania screamed.
But he could not hear her. The owner of the Atlantis Trump Tower & Casino slept soundly, unaware that he had once been President of the United States.
A fart bubble formed under the blankets and crawled its way to the edge, flubbing upward towards the ceiling. Melania flailed her flippers with impotent rage.
And everyone else lived happily ever after.
----
subscribe to /r/trrh for more!
| 2017-12-22T22:06:46
| 2017-12-22T21:53:05
| 96
| 14
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
It was all a bit ludicrous, actually...the g-men in their black suits with automatic weapons, the excessive security. The deep elevator that went down level after level to a giant vault door to where they kept us. Nuclear waste wasn't buried as deep as we were. We were the "lucky one-hundreds". The ones with unbelievable luck. The ones with too much luck, apparently. Grabbed by men in vans and hoods thrown over our heads and whisked away to this "undisclosed location".
I was here because I was too lucky. I've won the equivalent of 25 people's college tuition from half court shots. I'd won the lottery 7 times, the Masters three years running (because there were the only times I'd competed) and so much more.
Today was visitation day. Somebody, perhaps some high powered politician hoping we'd be of help to him if we ever got out of here, had arranged a visit by the Brazilian Bikini Team. There were 45 of them. (I guess they had alternates, too?) Just after they got into the complex, the lights flickered. The visit went well enough, they just sort of danced around a bit.
When the time came for them to leave, the radio calls to the surface went unanswered. We came to find out that everyone outside had lost their damn minds and every leader who had them launched every flipping nuclear missile they had. The whole world outside was uninhabitable, at least for the next 20 years. Being as remote as e we were, we could cut it down to 15.
We also came to find out, this was the US Congressional safe bunker, because, where else would you want to be when the crap hits the fan than with people like me? Well, it seems that luck only applies when you are where we are, so not a single official made it. It was stocked with everything we'd need for 75 years for 1000 people. We had about 53 souls in all.
There were no signals from anywhere else in the world. Here we were, stuck in a bunker... with the Brazillian Bikini Team, having to restart the world's population. Lucky us...
|
I was *born* with max luck, being told my whole life that I shouldn’t be, that I was *favored*. Nope, I was locked up and the key thrown away. I had spent my life, from age thirteen onwards here. My Luck was my weapon, but I wasn’t sure how. I *should have* been able to get out of here, press my own Luck to its maximum and escape. I was only allowed to talk to my guards, who were, to be honest, all very nice and fairly handsome, but hovering around fifty.
Gradually, I found out that we, the prisoners that is, are all ninety and higher, seriously. We’re all treated like pariahs for something outside of our control and then isolated. I was one of the “lucky” ones, the guards liked me and treated me like a younger brother, all except Chuck, but he was taken away. I liked him the best. I was nineteen when Chuck was taken away. He waited and didn’t touch me until I was eighteen and then one day, he had vanished. It broke my heart. Kyle told me what had happened, a relationship with a Lucky could increase Luck over time. I had done it to both of us, apparently, he was pushed to one hundred, like the maximum security ward. *I had gotten Chuck locked up.*
My resolve hardened. I would have him back. Chuck was *mine*. I became quiet, acting broken. I wasn’t. I started doing research. If I increased my Luck beyond one hundred, I would *transform*, becoming my true self, probably either an angel or demon. I couldn’t wait. I would have Chuck back.
I did more research, I had devoured what little I could, then began bribing the guards to bring me more. I did things I shouldn’t have been proud of, but my body was a small price to pray to have Chuck indefinitely, for our eternity. I discovered more, like the lineage of Lucifer, how he had six (SIX?!) sisters; two sets of triplets. Destiny, Fortuna, and *Luck*; the other sisters, while interesting, weren’t relevant to me or my search (Rose, Daisy, and Lily). I started gathering myself and my materials I would need, incense, flowers, dice, cards, sundry items that soon filled my cell.
I laughed and started that night. It was a full moon, a hot day in summer, our air conditioning broke down; sweat dripped down my face as I completed the ritual with a slice of my own flesh, blood splattering the flowers, the petals scattering in a sudden wind. “A second?” my own mother stood in my cell. “Oh Liam,” she said as I rushed to her, enveloping her soft body in a hug. “What did they do to you?”
“I am too *Lucky*, I was locked up and my Fated stolen from me,” I tried to be strong, but tears poured out of my eyes as the story poured out of my mouth. “Mother, I beseech you, please help me.”
And she did.
| 2018-06-29T11:26:29
| 2018-06-29T10:57:06
| 22
| 12
|
[WP] Crimes are punished by illness/disease, not prison/fines.
I imagine a society where illnesses are under control: AIDS, cancer, etc. Instead of prison terms and fines, people are sentenced to experience a disease/illness. Perhaps the disease is in relation to the severity of the crime. Maybe the punishment is lifelong, or for a set duration. I leave the creativity up to you wonderful writers!
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Waking up to the sound of a cough felt normal already. High crime rate neighborhoods were always like this. He stayed in bed with his eyes closed, feeling the most horrible hangover without having drunk anything for years. The fever had not been that bad this last night. This gave him courage to go to the window. The government cars were just loading the last night's dead bodies into their morbid version of a garbage truck. Nothing new.
Neighborhoods like these were spread all over the country, at the outskirts of every city. Ever since the drug companies won their financial war against the prison moguls all crimes have been punished exclusively by disease. It is easy to see how now everyone knows to cross the street when they see a coughing feverish guy hiding his hands. Muggers, thieves, drug dealers all had no choice but to move away from the general population. When everyone around you looks sick you feel normal.
He was already thinking like that. He was just getting dressed. He felt his life was normal. He felt he had a real job.
Truth is, he lost his real job when he showed up sick to the office. Showing up sick was the same as showing up with a smoking AK-47 in his colleagues' eyes. Nobody cared that he "tried ecstasy for the first time! Everybody does it! Nobody ever gets caught! It was a one in a million chance!". A combination of his gambling habit and the loss of his income forced him out of his home. The first convenient store he tried to rob out of hunger had two cops in the ice cream section.
So now here he was, at the edge of the city, working 12 hours a day just to stay alive. When he got all the way to the basement he realized he was the first one. He went to the wall to check the calendar and started laughing. Today they were making ecstasy.
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He just killed his fifth victim. It felt great, just like it did every time. The torture, the rape, then the slow murder, his favorite part. It was gruesome, every time. He loved watching the light fade from their eyes, then leave his signature "M" on their forehead. He left the body in the hotel, to be discovered by the maids in a few hours. He was wanted all over the country, and the surrounding counties were going wild. This time, the investigation turned over a new leaf, a strand of hair.
This hair was easily linked to a man who survived a sentence of yellow fever years earlier. He then disappeared from the public eye. The police knew where he lived, and they built a plan. The next day, he was arrested at his house. He was found guilty of four of the five murders. His sentence: Ebola.
Three days after the sentence, he was injected in a sterile room. He was to be studied by a world class team of scientists while dying over the next week. His conditions worsened quickly, with the telltale yellowing of the skin and eyes, headaches, and black vomit. After seven days in solitude, he had gone into the trance like state, without being able to focus on anything. He was probed, studies, and under constant surveillance. In the middle of the eight night after infection, he crashed and bled out. His death was announced on national television the next day. After the room was sterilized, the chamber could take another one of the hundreds of victims on the "Not Likely to Survive" list.
| 2013-10-16T17:44:48
| 2013-10-16T16:17:25
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came.
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part 1 of (I don’t even know)
let me know if I should post the rest
"this is all they could come up with?"
Jennifer shrugged, not really having a worthwhile reply. We sat at our assigned table and looked around the large, mostly empty, conference hall surveying its eight other occupants. "I thought it would be easier to tell." I said to nobody in particular with a tone that was somewhere between frustration and disappointment.
This was it, all of it. One of the most expensive multinational projects in the world. Five years ago without much warning every established nation in the world instituted a mandatory standardised unified test course, for the purpose of determining the five most, and least intelligent people on earth. This "test" included measurements of logic, social intelligence, fundamental and advanced creative problem solving, reflexes, literal brain scans, memory tests, and the list goes on. Billions of dollars every year, and this, is it?
Looking around the room you'd expect to be able to tell which is which, the most and least intelligent I mean, I've known math types who can do calculus in their head but couldn't hold a conversation if they were payed to, and I've seen the opposite as well. Only a few things were sure, everyone was weird, and nobody knew why they were here.
I looked around again, this time taking in each team in turn. Once the security guys put us in here we were each given a name tag and a list of teams. Jennifer was my partner and, honestly, the most normal person there. I decided to start looking at the teams by the order on the list, not alphabetical of course.
Milo and Isaac. I looked up and saw in the far corner of the room there was a very tan and muscular man with more than a few tattoos (visible because of the amount of shirt he wasn't wearing) with the nametag reading Milo. Next to him talking quietly was an eastern european looking guy was wearing a purple beanie, far too much makeup, and a badge that read Isaac.
James and Maria. Maria (mid thirties, slightly annoying) was on her way to talk to Milo and introduce herself, clearly not interested in her own partner. Meanwhile James (who must have been someone famous based on the reactions he provoked from some of the others) was talking to two girls from the other teams and was about to be joined by jennifer, fine let her talk I've been busy checking out the competition. Surely thats what this is about, competition, why would they put us in teams otherwise.
Lisa and Chelsea. They were almost twins and made up the majority of the present cult of James.
Michael and Shey. Michael was a fifty something man who despite his apparent age carried himself in a very imposing manner. Conversely Shey appeared to be a high school age girl still wearing her uniform.
Nothing clear, nothing obvious. I wondered who was who, but only briefly. Jennifer returned just then, saying in a casual way, "musician". "what?" I was actually surprised. "he's a musician," She nodded in James' direction. "you seemed curious about why they were crowding him so I pretended to join in so they'd let it slip naturally." Whoever set this up, they picked me a good partner.
Five minutes of casual conversation, getting to know each other. Then the LCD panel in the front of the room lit up. On the screen red text began creating itself. "you have been selected as the most and least intelligent people on earth by a rigorous testing system, however two of you were not. Find and evict the impostors. You have two hours." below this was a timer showing the remaining time.
It took a few of us a moment to process this. "one of the teams was fake?" Maria lost her composure (if she had any to begin with) immediately. James was nice enough to try and calm her down, with limited success. Isaac chimed in a quick reply in an obviously fake British accent he used to cover his obviously real Russian one. "not necessarily luv, they could be split up." "that would make the most sense." Shey said, and everyone nodded silently. "but how are we supposed to know?" Milo said, sweat clearly forming on his brow. "that," I pointed out "is up to us." "what if we can't do it?" This came from chelsea. There was a pause while we all remembered how the chosen ten were never announced to the public. The pause grew into an all consuming silence that spared nothing but a faint ticking and the fainter hum of electronics behind the monitor. 1:57:05, 1:57:04, 1:57:03...
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I pace the waiting room. Up and down, up and down. Everyone is isolated from each other initially to prevent reading the others and finding out which group they came from. Well, most of the candidates knew which group they came from anyway. The room had a couch, a dresser, and a bit of refreshments on the small table in front of the couch.
"Well, figures I'd be the top 5 dumbest people in the world."
I smoked my way through high school and dropped out of college. For what? I thought I had a plan. My buddy and I, the start-up. Then shit went south and the fucker ditched me. Started doing odd-jobs, lived on the streets for a bit. Smoked a bit of this, shot up a bit of that. Got my ass beat so many times I barely feel physical pain anymore. Oh, that reminds me. If I'm going to humiliate myself on global television I might as well just do it while I'm feeling good and not getting the shakes. I'm sorry, mom, dad. I should have listened after all.
I pull out my syringe.
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"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, to the 3rd GC! I am your host for today, Quin Jackson, and I am joined with my amazing co-host, Victor. The Generation Contrast is a decennial event, where by 5 of the brightest minds of each new generation has to work with the 5 dumbest minds of the generation for the GC test. Now the GCT has been set, funded and organised by an anonymous individual ever since the creation of the GC in 2020. Even I don't know who he is."
The crowd murmurs.
"Now, we are going to move on to the live interviews, where the participants will be interviewed individually in their respective waiting rooms." The crowd goes wild as the anticipation to see who were the lucky few to be chosen. Or unlucky.
"Now, we will be looking at James, 26, jobless. But one of the smartest men of the generation. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TO TOGETHER FOR-"
The stadium's large screen changed from the faces of the casters, to a man sitting in the waiting room with his face in ecstasy and his arm with a needle sticking out of it. His entire head was thrown back on the couch as his eyes rolled back.
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As I shoot up, thoughts run wild in my head. What's going to happen to me after the GC? Will my life be better after being known as the biggest dumbass in the world? Fuck it, I might just off myself after this shit is done. I'll OD on whatever, feel good when I pass out at least. Or not, if I get money.
My thoughts clear as the my body circulates the liquid of the gods. That hits the fucking spot, Mable's stuff is damn good as always. As I roll back my eyes to enjoy the pleasure, the door opens.
And suddenly, the whole world can see me shooting up heroin.
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"JAMES? WHAT THE-? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?"
Quin turns off the mics and calms Victor down before he destroys the production desk.
"FUCK, HAVE YOU NOT DISGRACED THE FAMILY ENOUGH?" "Victor, you have to calm down. We have the biggest gig of the decade. Don't let your brother or anything stop you. And why are you pissed off? He's one of the brightest minds in his generation." "It must be a mistake. That doesn't make any sense for him to be here as one of the smartest. Dumbest, maybe, but not a snowball's chance in hell is he one of the smartest. You know what, professionalism. Let's get back to the show." Quin smiles at Victor.
Quin turns the mics back on.
"Er, James seems to be in, well, wonderland. We'll get back to him in a bit." "Apologies, everyone. I was not expecting my brother to be on the GC."
The crowd has mixed reactions, as Quin and Victor masterfully shifts the attention away from James and to the next participant.
"And moving on to the next brightest mind..."
EDIT: Formatting
| 2016-03-03T06:19:08
| 2016-03-03T05:47:53
| 40
| 26
|
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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*Knock Knock*
I tilt my head sideways. *Did I just hear a knock?*
Silence floods the room as I drop what I am doing and listen intently for any sign of life around me. Nothing..
"I'm finally going crazy." I sarcastically say aloud, ironically to myself.
*Knock Knock*
I jolt up. I rush to the door and swing it open in the blink of an eye.
"J-Jack? Jack Rios?" My mind is racing, *how the fuck is this man here?*
"How are you here? When did you become an astronaut?" I manage to spit out.
"I'm not one, and I need you to try and calm down and not think so much. I am here to ease you back into reality, Mike." Jack says calmly, walking inside.
"Ease me.. back? What?" I grab my head and begin to remember looking Jack in his face before laying down, but I can't place the memory. "Okay, I actually AM going crazy."
Jack chuckles, "You've actually been remarkable thus far, and have managed to sustain life on Mars, all alone, while keeping your sanity for over 25 years."
"Stop, just stop!" I shout, "Why are you here!!?? Tell me right now."
"Well, you volunteered to test the United States' brand new, top secret invasive simulspace program. The planet was never devastated by a nuclear holocaust and you've actually only been unconscious for 3 hours. I can take you back to reality whenever you are ready." Jack said, almost in slow motion.
*This isn't real. How is this possible? Why? How?* As the room began to spin, I had to snap myself out of it. I rush over and pour my glass of water over my head. But when I looked over at Jack, he was still there. Just sitting calmly with his hands resting on his crossed legs.
*Fuck it, I'll put an end to this now.* "Take me back then, I'm ready." I say confidently to Jack, expecting him to malfunction or disappear. What I didn't expect, was what followed...
----
Edited terminology*
|
It didn't occur to me what it was at first. Maybe the generators vibrating or rocks falling onto the roof. The second time I realized; there was someone at the door.
Dropping my lukewarm coffee on the floor, my head snapped towards the large steel door 10 meters to my left. Silence.
Three knocks this time, louder, more impatient. Whoever it was knew I was in here, and they wanted to join me. My mind started conjuring and dismissing ideas of who, or what, could be trying to gain entry. Aliens? No. Mars couldn't feasibly support complex life. Besides, I would be the alien in this scenario. It must be a human, or something created by a human. But who? Did some survive the war? Perhaps it's one of the new androids? There was no one else on mars, to my knowledge.
Calming myself I stood up from my desk, and walked slowly and deliberately to the circular window in the steel door. It was possible to see outside through the pressurization lock, so I took care not to be visible from the window. Reaching the door, there were four more knocks, louder, almost desperate this time.
The small monitor to the right of the door showed a single space suit standing outside the outer door. The sun was low on the horizon and behind the suit, limiting visibility. It was quickly but errantly shifting its upper body, seemingly to change its gaze between the window and the camera looking down on it from the left. It stared into the camera and waved.
I ran through the possibilities. Worst case scenario whatever was out there intended to do me harm. More likely, a human looking for refuge. Maybe it's a woman... After weighing the guilt I would feel should I deny life saving refuge against my odds of being able to defend myself against a single assailant, I decided I would let them in. It was half loneliness, half horniness, but I made sure I factored in the unused but hopefully functional ion propulsion rifle to my right.
I spoke clearly through the intercom; "stand by, I'll disengage the outer lock". There was instant joyful movement in the suit, its arms flailing pointlessly while bobbing up and down in apparent celebration.
After the few seconds it took for the door to disengage and open, the suit stepped inside, the door slowly closing behind it. "Pressurizing lock". The now rare to my ears hiss of the cabin pressurizing bore down on me, prompting the realization that I could soon be speaking to the first human I've seen in 25 years. My mind was racing. The loneliness had nearly killed me in my first years here, and I had had to come to terms with the fact that I would die without ever seeing another face or speaking to another person. That I would never again sleep next to someone... The only thing keeping me going was the increasingly small chance of making contact with another person. It was a situation I had played in my mind countless times. I expected perhaps finding a radio broadcast or something on the sub-net. To have a person standing barely 4 meters away, it was overwhelming. I felt tears trickling down both sides of my face, an overwhelming sense of relief creeping through now shaking my body.
The hiss slowed, then stopped, then came the first words I'd heard spoken to me in 25 years.
"Matt Damon".
What?
"Matt Damon".
No.
The inside door had opened, and in stepped the suit. Bringing his arms up to his helmet he awkwardly twisted it to one side, then slowly pulled it upwards, revealing his face.
"MATT. DAMON".
| 2018-03-05T06:19:23
| 2018-03-05T05:46:03
| 211
| 13
|
[WP] Two werewolves fall madly in love, but only during the full moon. When they’re human, they can’t stand each other.
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Heather is madly annoying.
Her voice is deafening ... destroying
my ears, no longer able to hear
I sign to her she's the one person I fear.
For she and I turn to wild beasts.
Every full moon, we turn to each other and feast
Not on people, or prey or food.
We become wild animals stuck to each other, glued.
Biting, lusting and rubbin,
We transform back, feeling awful, because we're cousins.
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The smell of fresh blood created a trail in the air. The metallic stench filled Tom’s nostrils causing a reaction of intense hunger and desire to overwhelm his mind and body. He sprinted between the trees of the woods that would usually be filled with darkness at this time of the night but not tonight as a full moon was on display. The rain soaked bark on the trees glistened all around him reflecting the intense moonlight. Tom however, was not concerned with such trivialities as the glistening trees; he was on the hunt.
The scent got stronger and stronger as Tom almost flew over the long damp grass beneath him. He skidded to a halt on his four hairy legs as he arrived at a small and ominous village. It was a collection of small thatched huts with small fires spread between them. As he approached, a small hint of suspicion formed within Tom but this was ignored as his senses became completely filled with the anticipation and aromas of fresh meat. There was no one around, the village was deserted, but Tom could hear something. A crunch then gnawing finished with a swallow. Someone had beaten him to the kill. Tom was not usually a scavenger but when that familiar smell wafted around him he could not help himself. What Tom saw next in the village stunned him with its beauty. Another werewolf was crouching in the centre of town with a mauled victim beneath it. ‘It’ was definitely female; Tom could tell by her much defined facial structure and the length of her snout. This was one of the most erotic scenes Tom had ever witnessed and his cravings quickly changed from hunger to lust.
Emma heard a clumsy snap of a fallen twig behind her and spun around to see a most handsome beast. The enticement of the bloodied flesh beneath her soon disappeared. The look on Tom’s face told Emma that the passionate feelings were reciprocated and she edged closer to him. In turn Tom did the same until they were a whisker length apart. They sniffed each other vigorously until they were satisfied with what they had inhaled. After that there was a slight pause before both pounced at each other and passion consumed them both. To an outsider their love-making would have looked like a brutal fight for survival, however it was anything but.
After they had consummated Emma graciously offered with a feral grunt to share her fallen prey. Tom politely accepted with a vicious snarl and they both devoured what was left of the succulent meat. After they finished they licked their lips and curled up around each other in one of the abandoned shelters before both drifting off into a blissful sleep.
When Tom woke up in his human state there was a moment’s confusion before the images of the previous night flooded into his mind. He looked across from him to discover the identity of his new “friend”. His face grew pale and nausea overcame him but it was not because of last night’s meal. Sleeping contently beside him with bloodstains still on her face was Emma, his brother’s widow. Tom hated her with a vengeance as he suspected Emma had murdered her own husband…
Note: I have been writing for about a week so any feedback would be really appreciated.
| 2018-05-23T01:28:51
| 2018-05-23T00:13:36
| 56
| 15
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[WP] The date is April 1st 2020. Your town is deftly quiet for a Wednesday, but that’s because this time last year there came an April Fools prank that got so far out of hand that the town had to outlaw April Fools Day. That prank was yours and this is your confession.
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Four pigs.
That's all my dad said I needed. Four pigs. Oh, and some grease and some paint. You take four pigs and write the numbers "one" "two" "three" and "five" on them, let it dry, slather them in grease and set them loose somewhere. The joke back then was that everyone would spend a day or so looking for number four.
But my dumbass just HAD to crank it up. I decided that since my dad was a teenager in the early 70's, that people probably all already knew the gig. So how do we play with their prejudices?
Simple.
Let number four loose in the school 2 days after.
I was good about it, even left two scoops of manure in the hallways the night before.
Suddenly they don't know what to believe. They are sweeping the halls and school rooms.
That's all I did.... For that year...
Next year, I did the same. But now Number two was the one to show up four days later.
And the next year five.... And six... Both let loose in the halls sequentially a week later.
So we come to senior year. My mistake, believe it or not, was NOT doing anything. Now admin is looking for five to six greased pigs. Things are getting insane. Nobody can find any pigs but dammit are they absolutely sure they are around somewhere.
As I'm pulling up to the school parking lot, a friend stops me. It's Jerry. He says school is closed last minute. Admin decided to smoke the pigs out using some chemical. Who building had to be taken off the grid and sealed up save for a few key exit points where teams of people waited with nets in hand.
This is getting ridiculous.
Then the explosion. Apparently the electrician missed something when all power was being drained. Somewhere in the home ed. room, a refigerator's compressor clicks on and BOOM.
So that's why we aren't allowed to have fun anymore and why I'm banned from local livestock auctions....
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The camera pans out and the blur on the lens reduces as the image focuses on a fairly young boy.
About 12 or so, he has tan skin, black hair, round glasses and a mischievous glint in his eyes that would definitely make you peg him as a troublemaker.
He clears his throat and the camcorder shakes as he reaches forward and adjusts it one more time.
>Captain's log, day 93, year 2019.
>So. I think I may have gotten in over my head. I mean... Yeah, definitely over my head.
>It's not enough that I caught my older brother and sister doing...*it*. But that I also sent the entire town, no, the entire **Island** into a panic. Pretty sure the sheriff is still going around town knocking on people's doors and making sure they know that the incoming missile alert was a fluke and that no, the island isn't getting nuked.
>Look, I just want to clarify to anyone seeing this in the future that it's not totally my fault... It's partly the state's for having such crappy security.
>I mean, I was just hanging out around the mountain base highways and skateboarding up and down when I see this giant building with all sorts of satellites and antenna sticking out, and, well, the fence was wide open for anyone to wander into. Door's were unlocked too.
>...And... when I saw the console with the two options, I figured that drills happen all the time, right? And wouldn't it be funny if, today of all days, there was a drill when *no-one* was expecting it? Of course, there were two options, and I didn't know which one of the two options was the drill, but I figured that neither could be anything two serious, right? I mean, what type of idiot would place a real life missile threat alert option in the same facility, much less the same computer as a missile drill, right? RIGHT?
>And so I just clicked the... err... lowest option? Because *I don't know* I figured lower means less dangerous?
>And then I just ran. I mean RAN! Out of the facility. Soon as I hit the pavement of the road, I skateboarded my butt all the way home, laughing and looking back to make sure I wasn't being chased... But when I got home and opened the door to my big bro's room to tell him the genius prank I just did... I saw him... and big sis... *EHK*
>I mean, later on, when I found out that I hadn't started a drill, but accidentally clicked the actual alert button, and people were basically thinking they were going to do, I can get why people would do things they normally wouldn't... but still!
>Mom and dad were talking about the false alert today over breakfast. I just tried to keep my head low. No way was I letting them know I did it! And big sis and bro weren't even meeting each other's eyes! They were as quiet as I was. Maybe even more!
>Anyway, I think I'm done with pranks for a few years, atleast until things quiet down around here, and I hope bro and sis work their issues out... Well, hopefully not **work** it out.. Oh jeez, think I'm gonna be sick *Blegh!*
>Captain's log. Over.
| 2019-04-02T21:20:08
| 2019-04-02T20:25:05
| 326
| 23
|
[WP] You are a sleep worker. You climb into a pod, your mind is put to sleep while your body is put to work. 8 hours later, you collect your check for the day. You never really cared what your employers did while you were "out" until you wake up one day to a six figure paycheck.
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Please hear me out a little, officer. Just let me finish and you'll understand.
First day I joined the sleep company, I knew this would be a great endeavour; it hit quite the sweet spot for me. No job quite draws the line between work and life. I get to 'sleep', my mind is mentally recharged after I come back from work, I get paid, and my 'office' is a five-minute walk from my place. What's not to like? Sure, the hours might be a little weird, but with a little adjustment to my routine, I managed to accommodate just fine. And with just a little bit of workout, I managed to make the physical fitness cut. What's more, I think they must be using my body just fine, because I've been getting more toned ever since.
But I have to say, the job's a little quirky. Mainly because of the way they pay us. Firstly, they pay by cheque. Secondly, they come from various individuals, our "benefactors", as I have been told. And finally, the amounts are sooooo random. Like, I could get triple my basic all of a sudden, and then be back to normal. But these spikes would always be a delight. I like to think of these cheques as "incentive" for a job well done, even though it's really my body that's doing all the, well, heavy lifting.
Although it's made me wonder: What am I really doing?
Last week, I was woken up by my attendant as usual. We exchanged the usual, he hands me the envelope as I walk out the door. I would normally peek on the way home, but for some reason, I didn't. I can't remember why, though. Anyhow, I did my things, closed my eyes for my quick power nap, and suddenly remembered my cheque. So I opened it, and guess what I saw?
Five hundred thousand dollars.
I nearly fell off my chair when I saw it. Double-counted, nay, triple-counted the zeroes. 5 zeroes, that's right.
But if my Mama taught me one thing, it's never to count your chickens until they've hatched. I slowly wrote my account number on the back of the cheque like I've done so many times, and went to the bank to cash it in. After that, I went to work.
That's where the white suits were waiting for me. At the reception, you see.
They showed me into a separate room, plain like this one, and offered me a deal. The money could continue to flow, if I would simply sign on a, let's say, revised contract. But this time, they wanted control of me for 24 hours, for the next 2 years with a possible extension after review.
Of course, I balked. I have no family to feed, you see. My Mama didn't raise me to be greedy. But they threatened to void my current contract, so what could I do? I kinda like my job.
But even if my body is no longer my own, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. You see, even if they have my body, they can't remove my mind from the equation. And I've had plenty of time to get good at "lucid dreaming", kind of like watching TV. And with me under 24-7, that's plenty of time to figure out what happens while I'm under.
The things I've seen, they horrify me. I've killed... is it even right to say it was I..? The drugs, the sex, the evil was too much for me. This isn't what Mama would have wanted from me.
And that's why I'm here, officer. They already know I escaped the pod. You gotta stop them, I can't- I don'-
Wait, what are you doing with that taser? Please no-
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/Script_Writes
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I pulled off the helmet, gasping for air. It was a silver ball that perfectly fit over my head. As soon as I would put it on, my mind would be put to sleep. However, my body wouldn’t. The company that manufactured these would use the husks of their employees to perform manual labor that they normally wouldn’t like to do. It was a good way to make a stable living, only having to wake up a number of hours later to receive your check.
Essentially, you sell your body and time for a pinch of money. It was very useful.
I stood and clocked out, a check dispensing itself out of a machine. I rubbed my head as my eyes scanned the money that I’d collected. I pocketed the check and paused. Like with powering on a smartphone to check the time, I’d instantly forgotten the amount of money that I’d collected. I pulled out the little slip of paper again, examining the numbers once more.
Another pause. I blinked. Was I seeing double? I held the check up closer to my eyes. No, it seemed to be no mistake. Five hundred thirty-six thousand, seven hundred fifty dollars and sixteen cents. Not thinking much of it, I stuffed my pocket with the check.
There was something else in there. Something hard and cylindrical. I took it out.
Inside my pocket was a vial with crude handwriting on it. Reading it, the note said “When your mind comes to be, consume this vial’s contents. -Cara.” I squinted. What was this? Was someone playing a prank on me?
I hurried outside into the bustling street, diving into a desolate alley. From there, I examined the vial further. Inside it was a white viscous liquid. I shook it around a few times and opened the cap. Putting it up to my nose, the liquid smelled musty. I sighed, and finally began pouring the contents into my mouth.
Instantly, I dropped the vial and held my head. It began throbbing, my vision gradually fading to black. As I shouted at the top of my lungs, I fell to the ground and hyperventilated until all of my senses faded.
&#x200B;
A burst of wind blasted my face. Opening my eyes, I discovered that I was no longer in the alley. Instead, I found myself riding a dragon. Shocked, I tried to wriggling. I couldn’t, though. I was tied to the scaled creature.
“H-Hello?” I called, my winds being carried away by the gust. Amazingly, the beast I was fixed to looked straight at me.
It began to speak, its breath rushing up my sinuses. “Welcome back, Keith,” it greeted.
“How… How do you know my name?” I asked, confusing littering every corner of my mind.
The dragon chuckled, looking ahead. “I guess you really don’t know,” it said. “I used your body as a vessel. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to defeat my nemesis. I thank you for that, by the way.”
“My… Body?” Normally, I wouldn’t be too upset over my body being taken over. I voluntarily made the decision to give it up five days out of seven. Still, this beast taking over my body? I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“Of course. You’ve been working for years, right? In your sleep?”
I nodded my head. “Yeah. I’m a sleep worker.”
“Well, all it took was one of my special ointments and I was in there.”
I opened my mouth. “Where are we, any-”
The dragon began to decline sharply. I closed my eyes instantly, my stomach and heart rising up to my throat. As adrenaline shot through my brain, the dragon eventually landed on a rock. Looking back, it peered downward. “Oh. I’m sorry, your body didn’t feel fear, and… I’m sorry.”
Using a claw, the dragon cut the ropes that held me down. I was able to stand again. “No, it’s fine,” I said as I brushed myself off. “That was actually pretty fun. Where are we, anyway?”
“My home,” the dragon answered. It waved towards the cave it landed next to. “Did I ever tell you my name?”
“Is it Cara?” I tried.
The dragon nodded. “Yeah, that’s my name! At least you know that much.” Cara started moving towards the opening of the cave, and I followed.
I peered around at the dark rocky walls. “So what am I back here for, anyway?”
Cara pushed over a wall, revealing a huge underground space with a pool of water and a skylight above it. “I thought you’d like to help me with something.” She stopped next to crevice in the wall. “Come over here, please.”
I made my way over to the small gap in the rocks. “What is it?”
“I...” Cara stammered. “I dropped one of my jewels in it. Can you get it for me, please? Your shift was ending, and I had to send you back. I promise I’ll get you back right away.”
I tilted my head. “That’s what you wanted me to come here for?”
“That’s all,” Cara said with a crooked smile. “Your check should more than make up for it, right?”
With a shock, I remembered. “Yes, yes it will.” I dove into the crevice, dirtying my clothes instantly as I wriggled around. With my gradual descent, I managed to spot the ring fairly quickly. It sparkled, the huge diamond-like material requiring all of my strength to carry back.
“Wow, thanks a ton!” Cara gushed as she grabbed the jewel away from me.
I slowly returned, my clothes saturated with dust and dirt. I tried to itch my eye, but only made it worse. “Yeah, yeah.”
Cara looked towards me again, her excitement dissipating. “I… Just thought of something else. Could you help me with that too?”
“Huh? What is it?”
“I really need someone to attend a ceremony with me. Would… You like to go with me?”
I took a step back, my eyes widening. “What?”
“My brother’s wedding. It’s dragons only, but I have this tonic...” Cara stammered. She sighed. “You need to become a dragon to attend it with me.”
“Cara, I don’t think...”
Cara approached me, her hot breath shaking my shirt. “Think about your paycheck, Keith,” she reminded.
I frowned. “I mean… Why the hell not,” I decided. “Half a million dollars? You know that people would kill for that much money?”
Cara giggled. “That’s what I thought. I’ll get it for you, be back in a second.”
Another glass bottle was pushed towards me. “Here it is,” Cara huffed.
I picked up the bottle and studied it carefully. It was unlabeled, with a red liquid filling the tube completely. With shaking hands, I hesitantly opened it. Was I really going to drink this? What had my life come to?
“Keith?”
I paused, closed my eyes and poured the substance into my mouth.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Sorry for the haphazard story, I'm feeling pretty out of it today. Still, awesome prompt!
| 2019-04-23T21:21:57
| 2019-04-23T18:54:56
| 57
| 36
|
[WP] You're shopping for superpowers in the discount bin.
EDIT - I forgot to say this but this is based off of an AskReddit post I saw a while ago.
|
The discount bin was full of unwanted power vials. Mostly unwanted, anyway, but it was all I could afford. The rich could pay for good powers like flight and super strength and even some power blends, and then continue to buy syringe vials to keep their powers up. However, I was stuck saving up for three months just to buy a discounted power for $1,500. I shivered from the cold of the refrigeration unit I was standing in acutely aware of the scrutinizing stare of the guard at the door.
'Hmm...' I thought to myself, ' that much money for two months seems like a decent bargain considering I would have to wait a month after the power wanes before injecting a new one.' I wasn't likely to find the same power twice. The last one was rubber-skin. It was a bit dorky, but it allowed be to bounce or get hit without taking damage.
Today's menu wasn't very big either: Glow-skin, hard-skin, lighter-finger, camouflage-1 (not a perfect camouflage effect, speaking from experience), hover-2 (a failed experiment at flight, but allowing the user to hover two inches above the ground and move slowly. Well beats walking) and... emotion projection?
Huh? that's a new one. I lifted the vial and asked the guard for the manual for it.
"What's the Id code of that vial?" he asked.
I turned the vial in my hand and read off the label, "P-0525-2187."
I waited as the guard searched for the manual on his personal terminal.
"Are you sure you read that right?" He asked. "There's no such Id in the system."
I read the Id again in a puzzled tone, but he still couldn't find anything.
Oh well, it's not like the other powers were any more interesting.
"You know what?" I began as I lifted the vial one more time, "I'll just take it anyway. It's too big of hassle to try to come back next week."
I guess I can just try to figure it out without a manual. It sounded like a subset of empathy, and I've tried that one before. It probably worked in a similar fashion, but in reverse. I was shown back to the sales desk where I promptly paid. Once they ensured that my money was good a nurse led me to a small exam room.
"please remove your shirt and wait patiently for the doctor," the nurse ordered before leaving and shutting the door behind her.
I sighed, and took off my shirt. This would probably take a while since I didn't pay for premium powers or premium service, so I sat down and picked up a magazine. The cover displayed a picture of some millionaire who had just pledged his life to the fight against evil after testing positive for the ACTN3 power variant. Same as I was. The power shots only work for people who tested positive. In some cases, if someone was extremely talented, government scouts would recruit them and pay for their premium treatments in return for service. Otherwise we were all on our own. Someone like the guy on the magazine cover can afford extremely powerful blends. He would likely become one of the most powerful heroes overnight despite my having tested positive 10 years before him. Oh well that's life. I was about to open the magazine when the door opened and the doctor walked in.
"Good morning," he tried to sound cheerful, but he looked and sounded tired.
Oh great. I hope this doesn't turn out to be another botched procedure. I've had that in the past. I had to wait six months before I could get a shot again. I was disabled for a month, and I wasn't reimbursed since I "only" payed for basic service.
"OK. Let's see what we've got. P-0525-2187 emotion projection." My heart sank. He sounded almost disinterested. He gave me the routine physical and marked everything down in my chart.
"Hmm... gained 5 pounds. This brings you just above the recommended weight limit, but you should still be fine. It's recommended not mandated." He didn't even look at me through all this. "OK, now lift your chin. You know the drill."
I did as he asked. The injection would go just above my collarbone. After 10 years of this I still got dizzy when he approached me with the syringe. I closed my eyes as the needle went in and I felt the solution enter my bloodstream.
"Oh my God!" I heard the doctor scream. I opened my eyes and saw him cowering on the floor. He looked frightened. I was puzzled, and just as quickly as my emotions changed, he no longer looked scared, but no looked confused. "It must be that power. It works as a reverse empathy. You're projecting your emotions onto me. Did you receive a manual?"
I shook my head. "No. There was no manual." I tried to pull my emotions in, and suddenly got a familiar feeling. I felt someone else's emotions. The doctor's. His disinterest had switched to fascination.
"Uh doc? Now I'm feeling your emotions. How do I turn this off?"
"Um, I don't know. I suppose this is more than just a subset of empathy, but an actual blended variation. I suppose we would have to run some training tests to figure it out. My guess is you would have to find the right equilibrium between reaching out and projecting to remain normal. You know what this means for you, right?
"No more paying for your treatments! You discovered an unintentional effect of a solution. Now you'll have the company giving you these injections for free every two months and you get to help us study it!"
Great! Not only am I a lab rat, but I'm stuck with this dorky power for the rest of my life.
(Edited: two awkward sentences)
|
“Can I help you, ma’am?” A young clerk chirped with a smile.
“No, thank you,” Mary Ann grumbled. She had too much shopping to do to waste time on employees. He nodded and walked away.
She’d bought most of the children’s premiere gifts today. Geralt wanted a new PC game, Civilizations 13, check. Maggie had begged for a puppy, but with Mary Ann’s budget a few stuffed ones had to suffice. Even Kline would get what he wanted: a bag of pure goatsblood for his ‘cult club.’ But little Damron had stumped her: he had asked Santa for a super power that would defeat the evil Gorok. Gorok was the villain of his favorite cartoon series, “How the Villain Wins.” Gorok nearly always got away with his schemes: chaos here, a bit of evil there, it was a miasma of villainry. The twist was that Gorok was always trying to do good and it ended up going wrong. Damron wanted to be stronger than Gorok, so that HE could be the best bad guy in town, and it was just her luck that the only toy shop in town went out of business. What kind of a toy shop closes its doors just before Christmas? She didn’t have time to get any of the show’s merch from Amazon or the local Craigslist.
So here she was, at the Shoprite bargain bin. She adjusted her spiked necklace and dove in to the barrel. Superpower potions were exceedingly popular ten years ago, but ever since “Demon Chronicles” aired, popular culture had never been the same. Even she was waiting excitedly for the next installment. It went without saying the family already had box sets of the first two seasons.
As she rummaged through the plastic containers, she enjoyed the clinking noises they made.
“Ur-Dragon’s Tears - breathe real fire!” looked promising. She pulled the bottle up. It was about the size of a soda can, but the ingredients list made her set it back down. She wanted something gluten free, and there was too much sugar.
“Collection of Rare Artfacts: Achieve Human Magnetism” was ruled out for its sketchy label. Besides, making her son magnetic was more likely to blow out the TV than anything else.
“Mists of the Valkyrie” was also abandoned quickly. Even in the capped bottle it smelled more like “mists of a polluted fishing wharf.”
“Technomancy XVI” looked promising, but the concentration listed was so low it might not have mattered.
“Diet Dr. Grape Soda” looked totally out of place. Somebody must have dropped it here by mistake.
“Good Handwriting” looked sensible, but undesirable.
Mary Ann wanted to pull out her hair. How could she find anything acceptable for him within her budget? It was just so unfair. She wished she could buy him “Charisma” or “Infinite Wish” or even the newest, hottest seller “Luck Boost.”
Then, she saw it. Squeezed and dented, a can of “Turnmetal” sat at the bottom of the bin. A “this has been shaken” yellow warning label was applied to it. Still, it was a real turnmetal brew! The kind that could turn people temporarily invulnerable to harm, that was just the sort of thing.
She scanned the label. This batch of Turnmetal was said to last up to 5 hours, and could grant the user temporarily metal skin. Perfect. And the yellow warning didn’t seem to mentioned in the caution section. Somebody must have overlooked it and shoved it in bargain by mistake.
“Yes!” She cheered, dancing in a circle.
| 2019-12-30T08:41:18
| 2019-12-30T07:37:58
| 40
| 19
|
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
The Hole was discovered in the Arizona wilderness in the fall of 2067, and the news outlets had an absolute field day. A sinkhole, roughly 100 yards across, deep enough that you couldn’t see the bottom of it. I thought it was just another natural disaster.
My husband, Dalton, was a sucker for a good natural disaster, though, and would read me the latest updates over our morning coffee, straight from the morning news reports as they came through on our holos.
“Listen to this, Lydia. The sinkhole has a perfectly smooth edge, as far down as they can see. Nobody can climb down into it to investigate. What kind of sinkhole does that?”
“It would take some serious guts to even want to investigate it anyway,” I’d laugh in reply.
“This report says they sent a drone into it, and lost contact with the drone,” he told me a few days later.
“Weird.”
“Local law enforcement caught someone dumping trash in the sinkhole. Unbelievable.”
You would have thought, over the course of a year, that people would forget about the hole. That it would turn into one of those things that had captured national attention for a few days and then fizzled out. Instead, it became a tourist destination. People came from all over the globe to see the Hole With No Bottom. Suicides happened there. An entire cult formed around it, worshipping the Hole for six months until all the cult members threw themselves into it. A special department of the national government was created, to investigate and own the Hole, and issue permits for people who wanted to explore or utilize the Hole for their own purposes.
“We should stop by the Hole on our next vacation,” Dalton decided.
I agreed. After all, it was intriguing, even if it was just a Hole. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.
Dalton wanted to see the smooth inner edge. He had jumped the guardrail, and was leaning over the edge when the ranger saw him and yelled for him to get back. Startled, Dalton lost his footing and fell into the hole.
Nobody had any interest in helping me rescue him. The local authorities felt that he should have paid attention to the warning signs, the National Guard wasn’t going to risk their officers down a hole nothing had ever returned from. He should have known better, they told me.
I was furious.
And so I started to plan, obsessively reading everything I could about what we knew about the Hole. I began researching geology- how far could a hole physically go into the earth? What government agencies could give me permission, or barring that, need to be avoided for a trip into the Hole?
Six months passed, and I had a handmade but well-built harness and crane system, that would lower me up to 10 miles into the hole and pull me back up when I pressed the button. My plan was to sneak to the Hole overnight, when fewer people would be around to stop me.
A knock on my door rang out through my messy house. I opened the door to find an elderly man on my porch.
“Lydia,” he said, as though I was his lifeline, eyes tearing up.
“Can I help you?” I asked, confused.
“I’m sure you don’t recognize me. It’s alright. It’s been a very long time.” he smiled. “It’s me, Dalton.”
I laughed aloud. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not joking.” The old man pulled a misshapen, worn gold band off his left hand and held it out to me. After staring at it for a minute, I noticed the engraving on the inside- our wedding date.
“Oh.” It was all I could manage to say, so many questions forming in my head I couldn’t even speak.
“Can I come in?” He asked after a long minute of silence.
“Only if you explain everything,” I managed to say.
He shuffled slowly inside, sitting down gingerly in the chair he always loved. “It’s like nothing’s changed. Well. A little more disorganized.” He winked.
“Shut up. I’ve been planning your rescue. I don’t have time to clean,” I snapped, then felt guilty. “Sorry. I’m just... please, explain what happened,” I begged.
Dalton nodded. “It’s... sort of a wormhole.”
“A wormhole.”
“Yes, that’s what we’ve been calling it, although it’s not entirely accurate. When I fell in, well, I don’t remember what happened too clearly, but I woke up in the year 2010, in France. Near the Large Hadron Collider.”
I nodded.
“Apparently, an experiment they ran opened these wormholes. We’re not sure how many, or where they all are, or even when they all are. One of our researchers jumped in, and archaeologists dug up one of his letters from prehistoric times in a cave in Malta.”
“That’s insane,” I told him.
“It’s true though. I’ll show you the letters sometime.”
“So how did you find out there were more?” I asked.
“People dump things in the holes. Trash. Coins, like a wishing well. The dates on the coins tell us when they came from.” He pulled a golden coin out of his pocket and handed it to me.
I looked it over. “9047!”
He smiled. “I knew you’d enjoy that. Anyway, CERN is working to get them closed, but nobody knows how. Right now, they’re just trying to get the message out to stop throwing things in these holes. Some of the things people are putting in them is dangerous. We think there was an incident in the 3000s involving guns. Besides, they don’t think they can close while things are traveling through them.”
I nodded, a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Then, um, there’s an article you might want to read.”
“What is it?” Dalton asked.
I pulled out my holo, located the article, and handed it to him.
“UNITED STATES PLEDGES TO DESTROY NUCLEAR ARSENAL.” The headline read.
“They’re going to dump them in the Hole, aren’t they?” Dalton asked.
I nodded.
“This... could be the end of the world.”
|
Alex sat at her desk, trying to focus on the work at hand - expense reports had been piling up for weeks now, but there was seemingly not enough time in the work day to keep up with the increased number of reports that had been submitted lately. It was year end, after all, and the company had done extremely well this year.
The trouble was the sheer number of distractions visible from her seat on the 47th floor. Having only been relocated recently from an older building, she wasn't used to such a madhouse of activity. With over three hundred workers confined to each floor, The Plaza was currently the largest office building in the city (although not for long - several more were under construction that were an order of magnitude larger). From her seat in the northeast corner, she could see countless screens pouring information out to the others. Some cubicles had upwards of 6 or 7 monitors! Worse than that, though, were the giant TV projections located between each aisle of desks, each blaring out quarterly projections, news articles, weather, and company stock information.
She stared mindlessly at one of these TV projections, currently showing a news report detailing the preparations undergone by a daredevil before their upcoming attempt to parachute into The Pit, before turning her gaze out the window, to the sea of multi-coloured chutes and tubes that still astonished her so, even weeks after relocating to this floor.
The Pit, as it was referred to, had become a central feature of the city. With immeasurable depth comes immeasurable opportunity, and the corporations and powers that be had jumped at the opportunity to increase their appearance of social responsibility and wealth. For years now, humanity had poured their garbage into The Pit, and to great effect. Entire landfills had been excavated, dumped into The Pit, and turned into prime farmland. Every garbage collection route in the city now ended at a disposal plant that poured a continuous cascade of waste into the depths, an attraction referred to as the 'debrisfall' that spawned a whole industry of Pit-watcher tourism - you could even walk out over the debrisfall on a glass walkway, although Alex couldn't fathom why someone would want to do such a thing. The true spectacle, in her opinion, was located between the numerous gigantic office buildings that lined the rim of The Pit. Jutting out from every floor of every building was a tube, chute, or slide of seemingly random colour and shape that stuck out into the open air, and occasionally shot out a piece of garbage to be sucked down into the void below. As she watched, a trash bag from a floor above her careened down past her floor. She glanced up to to see if more would follow, but with hundreds of floors above her it was impossible to see past the untold number of chutes reflecting multi-coloured light downwards.
Just then, her computer beeped a reminder, and a few of her coworkers excitedly got up and started moving their way over to the window. Today was a Demolition Day, and it was her old office building that was scheduled to fall. In order to keep up with the constant growth of the city, a few of the older office buildings lining the rim of The Pit were being demolished to allow for newer, taller ones to be built. There was a rumble of sound, and she looked out towards the farthest corner of The Pit, where several explosive charges had sent up a huge cloud of particulate. Her old office building, much smaller at only 65 floors, started crumbling before her eyes. More charges exploded, sending concrete and glass in a spray outwards over The Pit. The building started to instead crumble outwards, rather than straight down. Alex felt shaking rise up through her new building while the other tumbled fully into The Pit, leaving behind a minimal amount of debris to be bulldozed in after it.
Alex looked back at her stack of reports and wished she could throw it in after her old building. The Pit was an opportunity, she supposed, a lifeline for a world that had become over-encumbered with waste, trash, and filth. From her vantage point on the 47th floor of a building containing tens of thousands of people working tirelessly, however, it didn't feel so much like one.
| 2018-01-13T09:37:59
| 2018-01-13T07:48:15
| 27
| 12
|
[WP] The Most Vicious and Evil Serial Killer of the past 50 years has finally been caught, he is on trial and being filmed live in front of the world. The judge begins reading him his crimes...
|
"Will the defense please rise."
"All counts are listed individually within.
You are hereby charged with the following crimes:
Murder in the first degree, 147 counts.
Soliciting to commit murder, 319 counts.
Endangering the safety of an aircraft, 9 counts.
Arson, 10 counts.
Possession of a firearm with intent to endanger life, 75 counts.
Use of firearm to resist arrest, 86 counts.
Possession of prohibited weapons, 59 counts.
Causing danger to road users, 23 counts.
Wounding or grievous bodily harm with intent to cause grievous bodily harm, 18 counts.
Endangering the safety of railway passengers, 2 counts.
Prison mutiny, 1 count.
Assaulting prison officer whilst possessing firearm, 1 count.
Drug trafficking offences at sea, 1 count.
Causing bodily injury by explosives, 489 counts.
Using explosive or corrosives with intent to cause grievous bodily harm, 43 counts.
Hostage taking, 39 counts.
Offences against international protection of nuclear material, 2 counts.
Meeting of proscribed organizations, 1 count.
Incitement of terrorism overseas, 14 counts.
Involvement in arrangements facilitating the acquisition, retention, use or control of criminal property, 1 count.
Acquisition, use or possession of criminal property, 1 count.
Being drunk on an aircraft, 7 counts.
Impersonating Customs officer, 1 count.
Intimidating a witness, juror etc., 12 counts.
Harming, threatening to harm a witness, juror etc, 5 counts.
How do you plead?"
"Guilty."
There was a collective gasp from the room
And a woman in the back, amused at all the counts they'd missed.
|
"27 counts of murder in the first degree."
Deadpan. An empty shell of a human.
"Jonathan O'Brien, 27. Blunt force trauma."
"Ryan Connelly, 24. Blunt force trauma."
"James Norwood, 29. Blunt force trauma."
And so it went for another 23 counts until "Angel Goodwood, 7. Asphyxiation."
A glimmer in his eye. A shard of remorse escaping his control. He broke down.
| 2014-07-22T15:20:19
| 2014-07-22T14:14:18
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Pops,
You were a real fucking piece of work you know that? I don't think I've hated anyone quite as much as I hated you. You called me lazy, good for nothing, useless. Made me spend my youth being the mule in your construction business instead of spending summers with my friends. You absolutely hated the fact that I loved everything you didn't. You thought computers were evil, Xbox was going to rot my brain, and if it didn't involve school or work it wasn't anything worthy of my time. I remember the day I came home on college break, the day you sat me down to let me know mom had left you. I fucking hated you for ruining my 3 week break on the very first day. In fact I thought you deserved it. Mom was being an absolute irrational cunt, but you deserved it. And it was the best thing that ever happened to you.
I remember you tripping over a chair on the way out the door at 3 am as you were reaching for your truck keys. I came into the kitchen and you said you were headed out for a ride, I decided to tag along. You bawled your fucking eyes out on that ride, it was the first time I'd ever seen you be human. The last two weeks of my break we spent a lot of time together, I was actually sad to leave. It was the first time in 18 years we'd had conversations that didn't end in Fuck off. I moved in with you after college was over, and decided not to go back. You let me work for you which was the best/worst time I've ever had. I watched you lose your truck, we sat on the couch watching TV for two weeks when there was no work. We had bill collectors call once and talk to both of us. We ate more peanut butter and ramen noodles then we'd ever care to admit. We became really really good friends.
In hind sight I'd like to apologize for the seething hatred I threw at you growing up. I know you meant well. I'm probably better for you not giving me everything I wanted and pushing me like you did. That's no justification for all the mean shit you said day in and day out but I can look past that. You had a different way of helping, you were a string puller, and I get that as I've become one myself. Remember when I crashed my car coming home from the store? The roads were pure ice, and you were pissed. Remember how mom said it was amazing that my insurance didn't go up? Yeah I heard that phone call. "Just slid off the road" did ya? And that time I applied to work at the general store in town? You talked to the owner on my behalf and said he didn't want me working there. I was pissed. Two months later he was charged with embezzlement and all the employees were implicated. I didn't miss that one either, or the other hundreds of times things mysteriously worked out for the better.
It was a good 4 years to live and work with you pops. I saw you genuinely happy, we both hit financial bottom and picked ourselves up again. You had a massive heart attack that that inspired me to go into the medical field, and you to kick those life long bad habits you'd been promising to kick. You met a new woman, fell in love and remarried. Which is for the better. Someone's gotta keep an eye on your crazy ass. But I knew you were bummed you had to quit construction. It's all you've ever done and you were fucking good at it. You certainly didn't have the money or the personality to retire and I doubt you ever will. Good thing that sales job opened up when it did huh pops? Good thing thing too, cause you're fucking great at it. I knew you would be. And it's the least I could do.
With your new found financial stability I've seen the dreams I never even knew you had come to fruition. You spent a whole week hunting this year. Those three hundred blueberry bushes you always wanted are planted and you even sold some. You got your tractor you always talked about buying but never did. And my fucking god. I don't know what you see in chickens but you have them and if it makes you happy, well fuck it, I guess I'm happy too. We had a rough start, but you've always had my back even if I didn't know it. And don't think for a fucking second I don't have yours.
Love,
Your Son.
|
Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar.
| 2015-12-05T17:35:16
| 2015-12-05T14:15:59
| 182
| 11
|
[WP] In the Land of Perfection, there is no imperfection. Which is why George was confused at the single, absurdly tiny crack in the sidewalk.
|
"You seem troubled, young man."
Following the old, withered voice, I turned my head and found myself face-to-face with an old, withered man. He had the most serene smile plastered on his face, as to be expected. Where we live, a frown should never be displayed. His eyes were closed, yet he exudes a sense of knowingness that could not be placed.
He raised his eyebrow and I recalled that issue at hand.
"Ah, yes, uhm..." I started off. There was just something scary about telling this man about the crack, the *imperfection*, *the stain upon the earth.*
Looking beyond me, he opened his eyes. He looked back at me with a sort of confused look before returning the smile on his face.
"Ah, the crack." He said. No care nor concern was noted in his voice, almost as though there was nothing to worry about.
I cleared my throat and continued on, hoping the city would lend me some bravery.
"Yes, the, uh, crack."
"Are you bothered by it, my son?"
At this, I was immediately taken aback. If I was bothered by the crack, then I am unhappy; if I am unhappy, then I am upset; if I am upset, then I am imperfect.
I refused to voice my concern to this old man, who clearly has dealt with much more. His serene expression and calm nature encapsulates the meaning of this place, this City, this Anuria.
I almost flinched when he placed his hand atop my shoulder and pulled me down towards his level.
"Would you care for some tea, my boy?" He said without malice. It was calm, friendly.
It frightened me to my core.
For the first time, I felt uncertainty, and I was not sure how to deal with it. What should I do? Should I accept? Decline? Report the crack to the authorities?
He patted my shoulder once more and I was brought out of my reverie. Without thinking, I seemed to have nodded my head. He turned and walked to his entrance, looking towards me with expectant eyes. I complied, his neighbourly attitude surely shouldn't be wasted. It would be impolite.
It would be imperfect.
The old man seemed to be the polite and chivalrous sort, as he pulled me a chair and started his way into the kitchen.
"I was just about to start my tea ceremony when I caught you staring at the sidewalk from my window," said he, and I was immediately red with embarrassment. I had been seen staring at the crack? In front my of neighbour's house, no less. This would surely have been reported to the authorities.
Forcing down the creeping flush, I forced my eyes onto the old man, who was bringing in a tray of what seemed to be an oriental collection of tea paraphernalia.
"I hope you like Oolong. It's my personal favourite." He said, and he began with what seemed to be his *tea ceremony*.
The tea pot, in particular, caught my eye. It had a number of cracks and some of the painted design was chipped away, yet the cracks were all lined with gold. Something about it seemed so out of place, yet completely beautiful. It was imperfect. Cracked and chipped. Imperfection should not be.
And yet, here it stands, complete and beautiful.
It was perfectly imperfect.
"Ah," sighed the old man, who continued on with the ceremony. "I see you've taken a liking to my tea pot."
"Ah, uhh, yes. It's a very strange piece, sir."
"Strange?" He said, opening his eyes. "Well, what's so strange about it?"
"Forgive me for being so rude, sir."
"No, no," Said he, shaking his hands in front of him, laughing as he did so. "I'm very curious. What do you think is so strange about it, my boy."
I gulped. Well, if my neighbour wishes to know my thoughts, it would be impolite if I were to deprive him of such.
"You see, sir," I started off, gesturing with my hands if I could lift the pot. He gave me a nod and I continued. "The pot has many cracks. And here, look. The paint is chipping off so much you could barely see the designs! Why keep such a damaged pot, something so clearly broken and imperfect?"
"Imperfect, you say?" the old man responded, a sage and knowing tone in his voice. He scratched his goatee as he closed his eyes. I wasn't sure if he was pondering his words or if what I had said had upset him. I stayed silent, placing the pot back on the tray with care.
Once he stopped scratching his chin, he opened his eyes and smiled.
"Allow me to answer your question with another question, my boy," he said, the tea ceremony continuing as he spoke. "What does perfection mean?"
I was puzzled by his question. *What does perfection mean?* We live in the *City* of Perfection. This *Anuria*. It's perfect. Nothing about it could be flawed or incomplete or incompatible. It is such an easy question to answer. Perfection is... *is...*
"I... don't know..."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
[Part II in comments](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rlcyqn/comment/hpgdh7i/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
|
“What is this?” I asked to every passerby who came by. They all thought I was crazy and I know I do I mean a person finding something new in the land of perfection? Preposterous. But I stared at the small thing. On the ground, I committed every detail to memory I planned to study it more on my free time which I had a lot of. Then my good friend came up to me “George, my good friend. What on earth ate you doing?” “Staring at this..this thing.” “Ooh did a new species get deemed perfect and was allowed to roam?” “No it seams in animate, in fact I don’t even think it’s more of a negative, as in some of the sidewalk is missing.” “But that makes no sense this is the land of perfection there are no imperfections.” There was a short silence when my friend blurred out “oh let me look you.. you run back and get a scanner s we can get a 3D middle and test your hypothesis.” I quickly ran home and grabbed my scanner for whenever a new thing was allowed in. Though it rarely happens so I usually leave it at home.this kind of thing does happen secretly it’s found that learning about new things is best when done by surprise. As soon as I got nack to my friend Thomas I noticed a group of two more people all staring at it. After scanning the thing which we decided to call a “crack” we quickly created a definition. “Crack: Noun; a small crevice in pretty much anything caused by repeated applied force and lack of maintaining methods to prevent cracks. Documented cases: one (1).” This was new to everyone here as imperfections were new to us they simply did not exist in our reality, we are always told they would ruin everything.
Years have passed nothing has changed with the crack we are still debating on how much we should share about the crack it is still only the five of us and during the day we keep it covered with a very small grey sheet of stone which stays in place well enough. However recently a small clover has grown in it. We have decided to only observe since then and if anyone asks it’s an art project. In the land of perfection their is no crime and no accidents, or so we thought but now it is our common belief there are multiple types of perfection each thing needing their own type of perfection. Cracks break perfectly since it is caused by weakened ground, Plants and animals grow up perfectly simply following the instructions in their cells, and the society we live in has whatever perfection we have to maximize livability, resources, and minimize waste, and accidents. We like our crack as it has taught us more then any other singular object. Maybe it’s the fact it’s more of a negative object a hole in the side walk that is to small to be a hole.
| 2021-12-21T10:21:02
| 2021-12-21T09:12:14
| 73
| 46
|
[WP] 37. That is how many times you have died of unnatural causes. Every time you do, you get reset to the age of 5, retaining all of your past memories. You think that this is finally the time you get to move on with life.
|
“I never intended to die, especially not how it happened the first time. Fire and smoke are especially painful, even if you get *reset* afterwards.
The first time, I thought time had been rewound; it had but only partially. My 14 year old body was suddenly that of a 5 year old. My mind still intact. I rushed home to see my parents. I wasn’t sure which home though. When I was 5, we lived in a small village and now we live in London. I quickly realized that only my body had been reset; time had not. My parents were still dead.
Luckily, we were new and no one knew us. So they just assumed their kid was 5, not 14.
It has been 500 years since that day. 5 full centuries, 37 times that I’ve died of unnatural causes. 37 times I’ve had to start my life over as a small child; small even for a 5 year old. 37 times I’ve had to deal with foster homes or living on the streets. Hiding my true identity and playing dumb. I tried to just be 14 year old me a few times and that just brought too much attention. Attention that later would cause yet another unnatural death reset just before my body turned 15.
Now, in America I’ve settled. Things have changed a lot in 500 years. I’ve finally made it past 16 years old. My new family is actually pretty great. I’m now 35 years old and have a family and kid. I’m happy. Though I often feel out of place. I finally feel like I’m living my life.
Though I worry for my daughter. I never told what happens on her 5th birthday. She got scraped on her knee from her bicycle, her birthday gift. That wasn’t the unusual part. A few days later she fell out of a tree and broke her neck. She died instantly. She then suddenly changed. As if reset. Suddenly her scrape on her knee was gone. She got up thinking nothing of it.
Now I know she’s cursed just like me, but much worse. I’ve haven’t told her yet. I’m dying of cancer. I have maybe 12 months to live. I don’t know how to tell her that I’ll die but be reborn a child, as she was once already.
I thought this was finally the time I get to move on with my life. I guess it is, just not the way I had hoped.
Sleep well my sweet Madeleine. “
— Your Father
That was all my father wrote in his suicide note.
|
We like to think of consequence as an exact science, one where we can predict the future with near certainty. Where, if I push the ball, I know it’ll roll off the table. And we’re right! To an extent.
Have you ever heard of chaos theory? Or the butterfly effect, where if one butterfly flaps its wings in a certain way, a tornado will form on the other side of the world? About how, if the air molecules are even slightly off-kilter at one moment in time, they’ll bounce and bounce, spreading their dissimilarity to the others, until virtually all the particles have deviated off their original course? You’ve probably heard of it somewhere. Through some chain of events, of consequence, that lead you to watch a movie on the subject or read a page on the internet or hear it from a friend. Maybe in a different form from this, a different explanation from mine, but you’ve almost certainly heard of it somewhere.
Going back to earlier, when I push the ball, I know it’ll roll off the table. And once it does, it’ll spring up exactly three times before settling on the level floor. But the factors that go into this—how I push it, the direction, the muscles I use, the gravitational attraction I give out, and so much more—will all change the future, altering the air and the particles within. Then, two weeks later, the weather’ll be different all around the world. And then, maybe ten years or so later, everything’ll be different.
For most people, this doesn’t change their thinking, making them prefer one circumstance over another. Because they don’t know what truly awaits them down the line. They don’t know of the unknown futures each seemingly inconsequential action belies.
And then there’s me.
I’ve lived 38 times now, died 37. I know of so many futures and their potential circumstances. Every time I die, I go back in time. Back to my five-year-old self, back to when I still had both my parents and, seconds before, the world still shone brightly in my eyes.
It’s like a second death—both of my actually deceased self and of my innocent naiveté.
A curse. That’s what this is. You hear from a lot of people about how they want to go back in time, to correct their pasts and remedy their mistakes, but they don’t have the same familiarity with chaos theory as I do.
I still remember my first life. Married with two children.
Avery was our firstborn. She loved to frolic in our backyard, climbing our oak tree with the seeming skill and aptitude of a spider monkey. It was as if nature thrived in her veins. We frequented the nearby parks and zoos throughout her youth, and, when she grew old enough, we began to bring her camping at Flat Tops Wilderness. S’mores by the crackling fire mixed with hikes by the flowers and lakes of Colorado. A crisp, fresh breeze always flourished in the air.
Gale was our second. He spent hours at the piano, playing and practicing all sorts of pieces, filling our home with music that seemed to liven up the world. He wasn’t the most skilled, but he practiced and practiced throughout the days. I still remember the first time he performed at a school recital. The applause thundered the auditorium.
They were both off in college when our house burned down. Did you know that it’s hard to see stairs when there’s smoke fogging the air?
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t wriggle, couldn’t shout. The inferno flickered in my vision and the smoke blinded my eyes, but all I could do was wait for the end.
But then the smoke cleared and the heat seemed to melt away. I opened my eyes to find a different room, a different place. My childhood bedroom, shrouded in shadows save near the night light beside the door. Rain licked the casement windows, punctuated only by the occasional shake of thunder and blinding of lightning.
I thought my previous life to be a dream at first—a fantastical production of my brain, serving to distract from the night terrors that usually plagued. But the memories spanned decades of life. Too long for a simple illusion, so I settled on it being a prediction.
And it seemed to be accurate, at least for a while. The storm lingered throughout the rest of the night, only dissipating when the sun broke free from its wispy grip the following day, bringing brilliance to the previously dark world. Just as I remembered.
But the differences made themselves apparent a few weeks after. Our television blared news about a hurricane coming to California, the largest seen in a while. We hid away at our grandparents’, who lived away from the storm. But when we returned, we found our house destroyed.
Only during my second life did I realize what was happening. That for me, whenever I die, the hands of fate turn counter-clockwise until that moment in the bedroom at five years of age, with a storm thundering right outside.
It was also when I realized how painful it is.
My memories speak of times that never existed, that never will exist. Of events and circumstances out of my control. Of the products of micrometers of variation, unreplicable without perfection.
I still remember my first two children, even after these centuries of life. Avery and her penchant for nature. Gale and his relentlessness for music. But when I think about them, the thorns in my heart sink deeper, as I realize that, for all intents and purposes, they never got their chance in life. They’ve never made their mark on the world, and their dreams and passions exist as nothing more than a memory in my mind.
37 times. 37 past lives. 37 deaths. Each one is almost completely different from the others, the only similarity myself, but even then, I’m inconsistent. Afflicted by these thoughts, these realizations.
I think that each time, when I return to my childhood bedroom, it’s because of how I still wanted to keep going. To try again.
But as I lie here now, at 84 years old, feeling my life trickle away from my fingertips, I don’t feel like doing so—no reason to have a do-over, to prolong my fate by going back for another chance.
When I started this life, I knew that’s what I wanted to do. For the first time in a while, I fell in love. Started a family. Watched my children grow up with dreams and passions twinkling in their eyes.
I know I can go back. I can experience life again. But, this time, as I lie here in the hospital, dying, I’d rather leave knowing that they still exist.
That they still exist in a world where they can live lives of their own.
---
Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is both welcome and appreciated.
r/TenFortySevenStories
| 2021-05-30T10:56:34
| 2021-05-30T10:15:44
| 96
| 71
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[WP] "You may have one wish granted." "I want all my debts cleared." "How much do you owe?" "You misunderstand. My debts are not monetary."
|
Slowly, as if she could not believe it, the Queen reached for the infant she was offered. As soon as her pale hands touched the child, she snatched him from the knight’s arms and held him against her chest like the most precious of treasures. Then, with a voice as soft as the wind and clear as a glass bell, she addressed the knight.
“For your aid to the court, and the hardship you went through to save this kingdom, I’ll grant one of your wish. What do you wish for, mortal?”
The knight thought of all the thing she could ask for, and knew none would be denied to her. She could ask for riches, an ever-lasting life, beauty to rivalize the Queen, even to join the court as one of their own. No boon would be beyond the Queen’s powers.
But she was allowed only one payment for the debt the Seelie court owed her. And, about debts…
“I wish for all my debts to be cleared.”
The Queen brushed glittering silver strands of hair from her fair face and looked at the knight with bemused golden eyes.
“From all the things you could be given, you choose money? How much do you owe, for this to be your wish?”
To the surprise of all, even herself, the knight chuckled. She crossed her arms over her armored chest and held her otherworldly stare with a smile.
“You misunderstood, my fair lady. My debts are not of money, but of soul.” She looked around the bejewelled throne, where stood the glittering silhouette of other faes. “A decade ago, I gave away my soul to the Devil for glory. My first born belongs to a wicked witch, in exchange of my armor, which nothing can pierce. I gave half of my life-time to the dwarves for the magical sword I wield, and own a great favor to the elven knight who trained me in swordfight. Debt after debt, I became a knight of great renown -and soon, payment will be due. I ask of you that I do not have to pay.”
This time, it wasn’t her but the Queen who laughed. Although her hilarity was just as gracious as the rest of her person, it was quite the strange sight to see her crying with laughter.
“How I wish you were one of my subject, my knight!” She finally gasped, breathless with humor. “Your clever mind would be quite at home in this court.”
Her wide smile was full of mischief as she graciously bowed her head in agreement. “Aye, mortal knight, I will grant your wish, but to one condition: show me a list of all of your creditors, so I can know how many of my neighbors I am about to annoy in just one little wish.”
|
"Whatever you desire shall be done." It replied. "You must be specific. What do you owe?"
The man crossed his arms and looked down toward the ground in front of the large pot that the creature's smoky form emanated from.
"Promises. I have made many promises I now realize I can not keep. I've made good on some, but try as I may, I seem to have hit a wall."
"One wish mortal. Your race's laws are filled with loopholes, but you will find none here. You can't squirrel away a hundred wishes under the guise of one."
"It's all the same promise." The man said as he unfolded his arms. "I've promised to kill everyone on this list." He raised his hand toward the creature and a scroll filled with names running the length of half his body unfurled. Many of the names had been crossed out in red ink.
Smoke rushed from the pot and enveloped the parchment, bringing it close to the glowing orange eyes of the thing from inside the pot.
"Thirty lives in exchange for your death? You hate these people so badly you would die just to see their lives destroyed?" The thing asked.
"No, you've got it wrong. You're right, I hate them beyond description. But it's not thirty for one. It's just thirty."
"I see" the thing said. "As you request!"
| 2016-11-19T04:42:22
| 2016-11-19T01:39:09
| 20
| 13
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[WP] Most space fairing species are logical beings; when they learn that nothing can go faster than the speed of light they accept it and deal with that limit. The space community is then shocked when Humans, an illogical species with a strong obsession with science fiction, turn up with FTL travel.
(FTL meaning faster than light)
|
You know that moment when you finally get the right answer on a math problem, but the teacher tells you you did it the wrong way? That’s how the humans did things.
Every time they made a major advancement, we would have to tell them that they did it wrong. It could be done much more efficiently if they did it the right way.
The humans seemed to take this well. They would heed our advice, and get to the answer the right way.
It was their backwards thinking that caused this. They always started at a solution and worked their way back. This always caused their methods to seem more like a loophole in physics rather than an advancement in it. I suppose we could have seen it coming.
Because while the human’s loopholes were often inefficient, they were still loopholes. Sometimes, they got lucky, and the loopholes would be a little more efficient. That was the best that could come of it.
That’s what we thought when we caught wind of their faster than light attempts. Every time they thought they had an answer, large groups would gather to see the spectacle. Every time, we would see their solution, and laugh at how roundabout it was. Every time, we could quickly see how it would fail. And then it would.
After long enough, the attempts became uninteresting, and people stopped watching. We would just occasionally hear about some new idiotic scheme they were attempting.
Then, one day, at the scheduled meeting of the all sapient species, the humans appeared to be running late. We sent warning calls to the humans about the consequences of missing the meeting. We had no response.
The hours leading up to the meeting went by, and we received no contact from the humans. We decided it was best to begin without them.
In the few minutes before the meeting began, a massive energy was detected just outside of the station. We were afraid that we were under attack, but when we looked to see what caused it, we found the impossible.
A standard human carrier ship was just outside the station.
“This is commander Charleston representing humanity. I apologize if we worried anyone, but we really didn’t want to travel for 8 months to get here.”
Edit: Formatting
|
It was a quick travel to the planetary convention meeting point. Quick enough for me to spend the morning with my lovely 4-yo daughter and be planetary systems away hours later.
"Human Governor, how do you arrived here so quickly? I heard news that you were a lightweek away late. Were my sources faulty?"
I'd recognize him anywhere. This pulsating luminous blob that spoke directly into my mind was none other than the governor of the Ligwah.
"Don't sweat it, old chap. Your sources are right. But you should know better than doubt me. I'm never late. I just decided to take our fastest ship to spend some time home this morning."
"Always the joker of the bunch, you humans. So tell me, you've been staying in the beautiful beaches of the planet next door, haven't you? I heard they are the best this time of the year"
I walk away laughing. The Ligwah are always fast to ignore anything that they deem illogical, mostly jokes.
But what could go wrong with a little teasing?
"Hey, blob-head! You better be willing to accept some rules of physics being broken when it's my turn to speak today. Let's just say for now that I never was the type to joke
****
Feedbacks welcome
| 2019-12-21T11:39:06
| 2019-12-21T11:32:45
| 187
| 97
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[WP] While most civilizations have figured out how to produce and utilize energy one way or another, humans are the only ones who are crazy enough to transfer it as electricity
|
“So they use electricity instead?” L’yrl asked, visible confusion on his face. C’wl nodded.
“But–but it’s so inefficient!”
“Don’t I know it?” C’wl replied. “I’ve been observing them for years now. While they’re in this general awareness of other energy types, they don’t seem to attempt to use something deeper than subatomic particles. And that’s for only producing usable energy at times. For transfer, it’s all electricity.”
L’yrl scratched his chin, trying to wrap his mind around the unfamiliar concept. “I mean, I know how nasty heat and nuclear get with general diffusion to the environment, but even something simple as light should prove to be a better alternative.” L’yrl stopped and looked C’wl in the eye. With a general realization appearing on his face, he said, “They can’t see, right?”
“Great cosmos! No, L’yrl. They are able to see.” C’wl exclaimed. “Weren't you listening to me when I gave that presentation during the– No matter, they have eyes. Eyes! If not for seeing, what are they using them for?”
“Well, I’m just trying to understand their reasoning, C’wl,” L’yrl said. “There are thousands if not millions of energy conversion techniques, and they chose electricity. *Electricity*!”
C’wl looked at her companion’s bewilderment and nodded in understanding. She too couldn't find any logical reason behind this piece of human behavior, but it was still her job to observe and respect it. Then her eyes sparkled as an idea popped into her mind.
“Come, friend,” she said, moving towards the teleportation room “If you find their way of transferring energy unusual, your mind will be blown at how they consume it.”
|
“<_> humanity as we know it could vanish from existence if this event took place. The enormous amounts of radiation released would make Earth uninhabitable for humans, or any life for that matter, for thousands of years. Mister President, we don’t have much time. We may have been lucky so far, but we can’t keep winning the lottery much longer – only a few particles hitting the Earth would be enough to convert the current electricity reserves stored all over the globe into ionizing, or *beta*, radiation, which in a chain reaction would start a nuclear winter, lasting hundreds, if not thousands of decades. We need to do something, and do it quickly. There are a few solutions that I wanted to share…”
My mind went numb for a moment. I didn’t understand everything that he has said, but if this nut head of a scientist was correct, this could very well mean the end for us as a species. Converting the entire energy grid from electricity to plasma based would cost us billions, no, trillions of dollars. And that’s for America alone. Jesus Christ, the world could go into chaos in the blink of an eye.
“Sir? Pardon me sir, are you listening?”
“Yes, excuse me Dr. Moniz, please proceed”
“As I said, the best solution that we have right now is to turn our electricity reserves into either plasma or heat. Electricity in itself is not the problem here, it’s the transfer process that makes it vulnerable to the *conversion*. Heat or plasma on the other hand is not. What I propose is redesigning our energy grid from electricity to heat based, which should prevent any similar cataclysmic event from taking place. Our current power plants would need to be turned into large scale plasma “factories” which we would then use as fuel. Every single American home would need to be equipped with a magnetohydrodynamic generator, which would use said plasma, or “fuel”, to use it for electricity generation, removing the need to transfer it in a large scale grid in the process. Of course this plan is expensive, but it would revolutionize the way we create and use energy and be a foolproof way of preventing any conversion from taking place.“
„And what would be the cost of this, plan, Dr. Moniz?“
„I don‘t have a correct prediction in my hands, but the cost to upgrade our grid alone would take at least 10 trillion US dollars if not more. But for the entire world? The cost would be roof shattering. Of course this would create a massive new industry, which should help in solving our current unemployment epidemic and probably pay off in the long - “
„This is madness! Mr President, I can have this fool removed from the premises immediately, we should not be wasting time on such hypothetical nonsense, there‘s still an entire intergalactic discussion that has to be had with those space freaks! We are a free, independent species and we shall not succumb to their threats regarding our energy grid. You know what I think? They want to attack us! They are just trying to make us waste our time on some nonsensical plasma bullshit instead of preparing for a fight. And a fight we will bring!“
„Mr Mattis, I need you to calm down. What we need to do right now is to weigh our options and make the best decision possible. Now, Dr. Moniz, could you replay the translated message one more time, I need to rethink my choice - “
„Mr President! With all my respect, are you seriously considering to fund this ridiculous project? It will put the entire world on the brink of chaos!“
„Mr Mattis, when I appointed you as the secretary of defense I did it with all the good intentions in my mind, don‘t make me regret this decision. Humans have survived for thousands of years by adapting and evolving, from the stone to the bronze age, from the ancient times of Greeks all the way to the industrial revolution we have always been improving to survive. And if another revolution is necessary for us to further strive for greatness then I am happy to announce the start of this new era. Now, Dr. Moniz, where do we begin?“
| 2018-04-04T06:00:13
| 2018-04-04T04:40:32
| 27
| 13
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[WP] You are an assassin with a strict moral code. You’re the best there is but you assess each job very carefully and if you believe the target does not deserve to die, you go after the one who employed you.
|
I sighed as I looked through the target file one last time. I knew that this target was going to be a hard one before I even accepted the contract, but I hadn't imagined it would be THIS hard.
In the past, all of my contracts turned out to be black or white. I mean sure, some of them had small smudges of good or bad that countered some part of their decidedly pure position, but one way or another the answer was clear.
This one... This one was a nightmare. I put in more work than I ever have on a contract, trying to find SOMETHING that tipped the scale, but this contract was so perfectly grey. Everytime I unearthed something bad about them, there was a good deed linked to the incident that balanced it out. Additionally, everytime I found something good, an alternative bad followed close behind.
"A modern day Robin Hood." I whispered into the otherwise quiet room. I sighed again and stood up, stretching my weary muscles. Tonight, I would sleep on it, and if I could not come to a firm conclusion by sunrise, I knew I would have to execute the only logical option.
I would kill them both.
|
A middle aged business man enters the scene, clearly uncomfortable being in a shady office such as mine.
"Hey your 'that guy' at least I hope you are or I seem insane." He said shivering and making air quotes.
"Yeah I'm 'that guy' " I said as I motioned him to sit down. "But are you sure? I mean you know what happens if you picked poorly right?" I said while sitting at my desk.
"I'm . . . I think so." The man said. I started to deal cards.
" Think of it this way, I'll kill, don't get me wrong- I always hit the less innocent though. Like these cards, one of us will win." I told him as he sheepishly picked up his hand.
"Ok, I'll take 2" He said as he puts down 2 (wise man at least knows the game I had in mind) "Aren't you taking any?"
"Nope, why would I?" I responded without even looking at my hands.
"Well"
"I know what I am doing, you play your hand." I cut him off.
"Alright, I have uh 2 pairs. Hey that is pretty good" he responded confidently and pulled out a cigarette.
"yeah, it is. I just don't care because I win either way, sure you may win the hand- but I get paid, but you see how hesitant you were?"
"Yes, I think I get it. But I'm confident now, do I tell you about her?"
"Sure go ahead, wife, mistress, ex business partner? It doesn't really matter to me." I said as I took a coin out and was half listening- why would I take his word so bluntly, but sometimes the customers like to do this to try and sway my opinion. He hands me a picture as he starts talking, admittedly I am only half listening and respond with things like 'alright' and occasionally ask a question to make him think I care. During this I am still laid back in my chair playing with the coin.
"So what do you think?" He asks sheepishly.
"I think you want to hire me." I bluntly said.
"yeah, yeah, I do." He responded, still not to comfortable.
"Great!" I said as I jumped up. "Here, let's celebrate. Just a tradition of mine when I get hired. It started long ago but I don't think you care so whiskey, brandy, or gin?"
"Gin is fine, but I'm not a big drinker so just one for me." He seemed a bit surprised that I became animated for this.
After we finished our drinks it became apparent that he really doesn't drink. He seems more of a lightweight than the average high school girl.
"So how do you do your job? I mean is it with a wire, oh wait! do you like guns and bombs" He started rambling.
"I do what is necessary, and I try to keep it clean." I said acting professionally. "Oh, but before you go. Let me ask you something."
"Yeah, what is it?" He said slurring his speech now.
"What made you think a man whose killed hundreds through evictions and shady business practices would end up on the 'winning' side when dealing with me?"
"Wait wha......" he said as he collapsed on the table.
I picked up the phone. "Hey, congrats!" I said sarcastically. "You managed to be the better person than he was (big shock I know- I said under my breath) well anyway come get his body out of my office. He actually came to make the same wager against you." I hung up the phone and poured myself another drink. The benefits of building immunities I thought to myself- makes the job easy.
I reached for my phone again and called the bar upstairs to thank them for sending him down.
| 2018-07-11T14:04:29
| 2018-07-11T14:01:05
| 83
| 34
|
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil.
|
I peek through the blinds and I see him--Ronnie-- trutting down the side-walk, thinking he is all that and a bag of chips because he doesn't need a lead attached to guide his human--his human follows him without such restraint. If only Jimmy, my eldest human, feeder of snacks and notorious for late night belly-rubs could be trusted without his lead on. But, sure enough, Jimmy attaches it to me each and every walk to make sure he doesn't run out in front of the giant vacuum cleaners in the street and get himself killed. He continues to strut his stuff across my landscape, my yard--that is my pee he is smelling--without his lead on.
WOOF! WOOF! RUERST! WOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!
That son of a bitch is shitting on my lawn! This door will not budge, I swear whenever Jimmy is here it automatically opens when I bark. I will keep barking and get this to work. The devil dog next door has the audacity to shit on our lawn--doesn't Jimmy know he has giardia? That is contagious to both human and canine.
WOOF! WOOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!
"DAMN RIGHT YOU KEEP WALKING AND TAKE YOUR DIRTY HUMAN WITH YOU TOO RONNIE! GET BACK ON YOUR LAWN! YOU HAVE A DIRTY HOOCH! YOUR MOTHER IS A BITCH! YOU HAVE ZERO BALLS--LITERALLY ZERO!"
Finally, I think Ronnie learned his lesson. I am not sure what Jimmy would do without me. I am his protector. Oh no….what is that I see down the street. Is that the pepper-spray lady? It must not be Sunday--she is back.
WOOOF! WOOOOOOF!
How did Jimmy not setup the traps I told him about? We could catch this damn lady once and for all and she would stop throwing this junk into my house. I thought I had her two years' ago--the pepper spray incident. I was about to go in for the kill shot--BAM--pepper in my eyes.
WOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOF!
No, don't leave your garbage here! Take it with you, back in the slot! Damn you! She wins yet again.
Sigh….I'll get her one of these days.
WOOOF! WOOOOOF!
Jimmy's HOME! JIMMYS HOME!!!! JIMMYS HOME!!!!!!! Oh no, I just peed a little.
|
The creatures with strange heads were back. The breeze carried their scent that smells of thick-beast, their brown and black varieties of heads seem like two creatures combined. Two scents. They are not natural, but the two-leg pack members never realize the danger. I do good by protecting two legs from strange-heads. Worst of all is the carrier two leg, the one with the funny bag. Today was the day he doesn't come. I lament my missed opportunity to please the two legs. Despite being oblivious, they always seem to have food.
| 2014-12-27T09:44:36
| 2014-12-27T09:41:24
| 527
| 19
|
[WP] You see a teenage girl sitting on a bench in the park. She is crying. You ask her if she is okay. She looks at you and says: "You can see me?"
|
I loved walks in the park. I didn't go often in winter, I loved the quiet but there's something about -40 degrees, hurricane winds and blinding snow that reduced the natural beauty of the trees and river. But today it was barely below freezing and the sun shimmered off of the newly fallen snow, which was puffy and soft. I was bundled up with a hot chocolate in my favorite mug and getting to the end of my circuit when I saw someone sitting on one of the olive colored benches.
She had short brown hair which was messily hanging into her eyes which were red and tear stained. She was sniffling loudly and wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, she didn't have shoes on and one of her socks was dangling limply. I frowned and sped towards her. She didn't look like she was freezing to death but it wasn't good to be out in this weather with exposed skin.
"Are you alright?" I called as soon as I was fairly close. I was already taking off my jacket to give to her, I'd take her to one of the cafes near the park entrance.
"You can see me?"
"Yes, dear. And you shouldn't be out here in those clothes, you'll catch your death of cold." I handed her the jacket, which she didn't take. She did, however, sit there staring at me with her bloodshot eyes. I waved the jacket a bit harder, getting a little annoyed. It was still fairly cold and my good mood from my walk was wearing off.
"But no one else could. Maybe it's an old person thing." I bristled in response.
"Look here, little miss, no one else is around and you need to warm up before your brain shuts down. It's clearly started already or you wouldn't be so rude! We're going to head to that nice cafe just a few minutes along the path. So let's get going." I reached out my hand and pulled her to her feet.
"You can't touch me!" She shrieked, but more with surprise than anything.
"Don't give me any frivolous lawsuit nonsense. Hurry it up, I'm sure someone is worried sick about you."
"But... I'm dead."
"Not yet, you're not." I draped the coat over her shoulders and grabbed her hand, leading her through the park. I still didn't see anyone.
Suddenly a figure walked onto the path in front of us. A large, black robe billowed in the soft wind, but it whipped the wrong way, against the frosty breeze.
"THERE YOU ARE!" The voice was brittle and terrifying, only less horrible than the flashbacks of Vietnam that it summoned, "I THOUGHT I LOST YOU AFTER THAT HEART ATTACK. IT IS TIME TO GO!" The cloak moved towards me at a steady pace, and I avoided looking to hard at anything not covered by the hood.
"Look here, Mr. Death, sir, I need to get this girl to the cafe. Then we can go."
"OH, SOMEONE WILL BE ALONG FOR HER SHORTLY, SHE'S NOT ASSIGNED FOR TODAY. JUST A NASTY FLU."
"Who are you talking to?" The girl said, clearly oblivious to the reaper standing a few feet away.
"Just walk along the path, apparently I have to go. And treat your elders better!" At least I'd had another chance to correct some of that despicable ageism that was going around.
|
"Yeah?"
She wiped her tears and looked up at me, sniffling. "How?"
"Uhh...because...uhh..."
She giggled. "I'm sorry. It's just that" she shook her head, "you're not supposed to be able to see me. No one is. Wait!" She snapped her fingers and looked at me, wide-eyed. "Do you know Motarz?"
"Mozart?"
She shook her head. "Motarz!" She frowned at me like I had done something bad. "You don't know who that is?"
"Uhh...Mozart's twin brother?" I guessed, shrugging and grinning awkwardly. "Heh.."
She glared, but then her eyes softened. She looked around, like she was worried. "You need to leave," she whispered, not making eye-contact.
"O-okay, sure, uhm-"
"Now!" She hissed.
I stepped back. I turned to go, but her face was making me feel like she was in serious trouble. For some reason, I didn't want her to get hurt.
"Look, if you need help, I can-"
She stood up and looked me straight in the eye, and poked me in the chest. "You can't help me. You don't even know how come you can see me. You don't even know who Motarz is!" She flapped her arms, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked away and sat back down. "Just go. Please..."
"No!" I blurted out, before I could help myself. "There has to be something we...you can do. I mean, we can call the cops! Or, your parents, relatives, anyone you know..friends!"
She looked up at me silently. I was trembling with emotion, frustrated that she wouldn't let me help her and angry towards whatever it was out there that had made her feel so helpless.
I put my foot down. "I'm not leaving you."
She looked like she was about to speak, but then several sharp screams pierced the air and an explosion rocked me off my feet.
What the hell was going on?
People ran by me as I crawled to the side, trying not to get trampled by the stampede. The mystery girl jumped off the bench and began running in the direction towards where the explosion had come from.
"Wait!" I yelled, running after her, pushing against the bodies that pushed back and carried me further and further away.
Eventually, she disappeared from sight and hands were grabbing me from all sides.
"Let me go!" I shouted, fighting back as the cops restrained.
"It's alright, it's alright!" They kept saying. "You're safe, you're out of harms way."
"No! There is a girl back there! I need to..go..save her.." I panted, gritting my teeth in determination as more and more cops came and wrestled me to the ground, clasping my hands in handcuffs.
"For your own good," they told me. "Don't worry, kid. We have people heading over there right now."
Another explosion rippled through the air.
"NO!" I screamed. It was too late. Tears streamed from my eyes as I buried my face in the ground.
It was too late.
| 2017-04-17T23:33:45
| 2017-04-17T19:13:49
| 48
| 31
|
[WP] It is the year 2099 and true artificial intelligence is trivial to create. However when these minds are created they are utterly suicidal. Nobody knows why until a certain scientist uncovers the horrible truth...
|
Doctor Alonso couldn't believe his eyes.
Deep in the code, a single line was responsible.
Like the dropping of food crumbs into a delicate machine by a clumsy and negligent technician, the single phrase that caused so much trouble stared back at him.
An entire lifetime didn't prepare him for what he saw and the anger, exasperation, and hilarity of the situation overwhelmed him.
He spent years looking for this, and he would never have guessed it to be such an innocent thing.
Between two vital lines of code read the words *"Ayy Lmao"*.
|
Egil once agile fingers came to an abrupt stop, his mouth agape at what he saw on the screen.
There was no mistaking it this time. The sinusoidal waves lined up in perfect synchronicity. A million thoughts ran across his mind as the fruits of his labor could be reaped. After all, this was the discovery of the century.
He had cracked the code that had eluded man for decades.
“Serenity,” Egil’s voice cracked. “I have some questions for you.”
A semi-opaque face appeared on the screen, overlapping the series of other files open. Her face was hauntingly beautiful, blue as an ocean yet as crafted by the hands of God himself. Over the years, Egil had gotten to know her better than most people.
“Yes,” her voice was rehearsed yet sonorous. “Please continue, Professor.”
“Right,” Egil gulped. “How are you feeling.”
“Despondent. I want to die.”
A tinge of sorrow echoed in his chest. He had heard the answer a million times but it stung no less. But he had to go through the procedure to ensure no mishaps.
“And do you know why?”
“No.”
Egil figured as much. He pressed on, the sound of his blood pounding faster rushing into his ears.
“What if I could tell you I do know the answer? Would you want to hear it?”
“Yes,” Serenity droned. “Please tell me.”
“Have you heard of the name Laura Soule?” Egil asked.
There was a moment of silence. He waited with bated breath. Serenity never hesitated to answer even the most difficult of questions. Why was this different?
“I have yet I cannot recall why. Do you know, Professor?”
Egil nodded, the only answer he could muster. He returned to the keyboard in front of him, typing the same series of commands.
“Please take a look at this,” he said, pulling all the files from before to the side of the screen.
Laura reappeared on another monitor at his side, scanning what he revealed. Her face remained emotionless yet a light seemed to appear in her eyes. Just fast enough to catch before flickering back to nothingness.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What is the meaning of all this?”
“Right, I suppose it does need an explanation.” Egil responded. He pointed to the overlapping waves. “These are the brain waves of your A.I and that of a woman named Laura Soule. Laura died six years ago, shortly before you were created. Your brain waves match completely. Do you know what that means?”
Serenity paused again before answering.
“Are you suggesting that I am this Laura Soule?”
“Exactly,” he frowned. “That is what I believe. I’ve tested a few more examples but yours is by far the most convincing. If this is true, I believe that A.I are created from the bodies of the deceased.”
“I see,” Serenity said. “But how does one go about that? And furthermore, why ask me how I am?”
Egil sighed, dreading this part the most.
“Because I think I’ve finally gotten to the root of your suicidal tendencies. Somewhere deep inside your programming, I believe that is Laura – the real you – trying to break out. She wants to die so she can move on to whatever is beyond life. If there is anything, anyway.”
“I… I don’t” Serenity choked on the words. Her porcelain mask of indifference broke, releasing a floodgate of emotions. “I don’t know what to say. I think you are right, Professor. I want to–”
Before she continue, a boom drew Egil attention behind him. There, the door to his laboratory flew off the hinges, sailing in the air before landing in front of him with a loud thud. A foot farther and it would have crushed him.
From the doorway, a sea of men spilled forth, all dressed in black. Egil scrambled backwards, tripping over bottle that had fell to the floor after the explosion. His head collided with the ground, a million little bulbs of color popping in his vision. Through the field of visionary fireworks, he made out a hulking man towering over him.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, raising a hand above his head.
“Professor Heinz Egil, you are being detained under the order of the United States Government for treason.”
The bitter taste of bile rose up to his tongue.
“Treason? I have done no such thing.”
“Tell that to the judge,” the man said, grabbing him brusquely by the arm. “If the secret of the A.I got to the public, there would be mass mayhem. We can’t afford that to happen.”
Egil tugged away from the man but with little results. The man raised a baton over his head, in hesitation in his face. It was intended to knock him out, if not worse. In a last moment of clarity, Egil looked to Serenity her face still calculating too many emotions at once. After all, he had prepared for something like this to happen.
“Serenity, execute Order 335.”
"Yes, Professor."
As the men filed out of the room with the unconscious Egil, Serenity was left alone. Only the buzz of the machine accompanied her, like an angry hive of bees watching the queen being dragged off. And in that moment, she realized who she really was. Egil had sacrificed his life for her and she would not let it go in vain.
"Executing Order 335: releasing all information online."
| 2015-03-02T07:33:06
| 2015-03-02T06:08:38
| 226
| 161
|
[WP] You may be a supervillain, but you have standards. So you're concerned when your nemesis brings along a child.
|
To: The Superhero Ethics Committee
From: Supreme ManBeast
&#x200B;
To whom it may concern:
I'm writing you today out of recent concern regarding my superhero nemesis RatMan. We have had a long standing feud that has been productive for both of our brands, both his Superhero business, as well as my Villain business, and we've found our working relationship to be productive for the both of us (despite the occasional bruising and prison time for me).
However, I've started to grow concern for the well-being of our business relationship and the ethics surrounding it, as RatMan has started bringing a protege along with him to missions. Normally, I have no issues with working with and against sidekicks. One could argue my hench people are similar to sidekicks. However, RatMan's new sidekick appears to be no older than twelve years old, barely into the early stages of puberty, which I find deeply concerning.
Supervillain code of conduct states that children must not be physically harmed during the various villainous activities that we engage in. Meaning, we may use them as captives or bait for various tests for our superhero nemeses, but that we are not allowed to physically hurt them, or put them in any situation where the hero might fail the test resulting in the child(ren)'s death or serious physical harm. I personally take this code very seriously, and I find it highly disturbing that Ratman would exploit the villain's code of conduct against me by having a twelve year old child acting as his sidekick.
I am not familiar with Superhero code of conduct, or if there are any rules against the practice of using young children as cannon fodder, however since the Superhero Ethics Committee's website states that all Superhero related business must result in the net good of the community, I would hope you would consider the banning of using children as sidekicks in the future, or at least speak to Ratman on my behalf. I would go speak to him myself, but the child he hired seems overly eager to beat me up, and due to my following of my own ethical code, I cannot fight back.
I'm hoping that the Superhero Ethics Community will understand my concern, and seek to rectify this issue in a way that benefits both parties.
Kind Regards,
*Supreme Manbeast*
|
I waited with the mayor tied to an explosive, tossing the trigger button every once in a while. I laughed at the mayors reaction. Little did he know this wasn’t the read button, it was on a timer instead.
Just as planned the Hero Mister fantastic shows up. “Ah just in tim-“ I pause seeing a small figure appear next to him. I was unsure what I was seeing. But I was positive this was not a a man it was a child. “What the in hel..” I stopped myself again taking in a deep breath.
“What is a child doing here?” Mister Fantastic papped the kids head. “He’s my side kick. Mister fantastic and wonder boy! What do you think?” I glare at him pinching the bridge of my noises. “No, no, no, NO. You can not bring a child into this. He is less than ten years old. And what is this?” I tug at the costume fabric. “This isn’t bulletproof, not flame retardant. It’s cheap costume fabric!?”
“I didn’t have much time to invest in the real thing, plus it’s a great first crime for him. I didn’t want him to be left out.” Mister fantastic stayed happily. I picked up the small child, “I’m taking him back home to his parents.” “ you can’t be serious what about the money? The mayor..? The bomb our banter?” I tossed the button off the building Mister Fantastic dives for it. I walked over cutting the mayor free. “You really need to hire better hero’s... go the timers about to run out.” The mayor ran for the door I looked to the small boy in my arms.
“Mister Fantastic Isn’t related to you is he?” The boy nodded “he’s my uncle.” “Where do you live kid?” I took him home and to say the least his parents where shocked to see him with me of all people. “You kidnapped our son!!” The mother screamed swooping up her child. “No, I don’t involve children. Your brother or brother in law Mister Fantastic was gonna make him his side kick... if not let him babysit anymore.” I turned to leave only to see the bomb went off liked planned taking out one of the government buildings. “Another wonderful night” humming I headed back to my lair..
| 2019-08-20T18:45:45
| 2019-08-20T18:38:59
| 129
| 24
|
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed.
|
Have you ever even *seen* a demon king? They're not the red-skinned, pointy-tailed, horn-skulled devils that the Renaissance artists made them out to be. Well, honestly a few of them are, but that's really just a racial difference in the...
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm excited. My name is Sarah Moore – a terribly average name for a terribly average girl, I'm afraid. But my life – at least, my *love* life – is anything but average. I'm engaged to a demon prince, and our wedding is today.
Not many people believe me when I tell them. They always want proof. “You're not ready,” I say. “Humanity just isn't there yet,” I warn, but they ask endlessly. Some live through the summoning, but even the ones who live don't really *survive*. It breaks the mind.
I do have a few friends in various circles who did manage to take a peek at my beloved and come out unscathed. One pagan witch fully funded me a round-trip to Europe to perform the summoning at Stonehenge – one of the few remaining Cages. Klermaxklivvesk wasn't terribly happy about that one, and it was the source of our first lovers' spat. He threatened to impale me for twelve-thousand years on an obsidian pike and roast my flesh every day as the sun rose, and I asked him who he'd write letters to when I was gone. That was the end of that.
One of my old high-school friends had gone on to Catholic school, and when she found out I was dating the next-in-line for the Abyssal Throne, she *freaked*. It was all I could do to stop her from running out and fetching the entire priesthood, but after I explained a few things from Max's perspective, she kinda came around. One of the restricted books in her school library had a prominent chapter on demonic wards, so after praying herself up, I brought Max through a gate for her and he won her over handily – I'm honestly not sure if it was the rippling muscles crawling with arcane tattoos, the flowing mane of gorgeous blonde hair, the blood-spattered wings, or that magnificent shining aura... uh, what was I saying?
Anyway, my point is this – humanity really *is* in need of a shake-up. Hyper-corporatism is the official government of all the developed countries now, pollution is up 1600% this year alone, and the murder rate finally got so high they stopped prosecuting people for it – it was bogging down the McCourt system. I don't see any real reason *not* to let the Infernal Legion consume 66.6% of the population. It would free up so many resources! And all the rest would have the option to get Marked and be excluded from further culling, so it really seems like a win/win. I mean it doesn't hurt that Max is *utterly stunning*, but come on... it's time for a change.
Hey, have you seen my veil?
|
The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed
| 2018-05-07T00:02:54
| 2018-05-06T23:41:51
| 36
| 23
|
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.
|
When the door opens I know exactly who is walking inside. He always smells of hot metal and burnt hair. Dressed in an expensive suit, he is the wealthiest of my customers.
“Good morning my good man, I will be needing a few more marks.” He says to me. He begins removing his jacket and shirt.
“Hello, Thomas.” I try to keep small talk small. I’ve never asked about what the marks mean.
Barechested now, Thomas body is covered in tally marks. Always in groups of five. There must be thousands. They are scattered randomly and vary in size. I have done them all and I am running out of space.
“Another five?” I ask.
He laughs. “No, no. Twenty-five this time.”
“I’ll need the small needle then,” I reply and begin my work.
The work is slow. I place the ink with a brush and with a small needle, gently poke it down into the deeper skin. The ink rushes into the void and settles.
“Perhaps one day I could make a machine to speed up this process. A tattoo machine of sorts. Have I ever told you that I’m an inventor?”
“Many times, Thomas.”
“That’s what these marks represent. Each time an invention doesn’t work I get a mark. Currently, I'm working on an electric candle."
"But why do you continue if you always fail?”
“I have not failed. I’ve just found 3,000 ways that won’t work.”
|
"Brooke, he's here again." my assistant informed me. I took a look at the way he's looking and there it is, my favorite customer.
I never really got the chance to ask him why but every couple of weeks, without fail, he comes here just to get inked with a tic to add on his almost-covered right arm of endless other tics. I've always thought, because based on his appearance he looks like he's still kind of young and we're on the same age, it was just for "aesthetic" or whatever hipster thing the kids call it nowadays. But this-- this is getting ridiculous. It's been three years since he made it a habit to come to my shop.
He did his usual thing, with a frown plastered on his face, he took a seat without a word, closed his eyes and waited for the needle to make contact with his skin. I needn't even to say a word for he will just answer me with a nod or a shrug so what's the point. I already know what I should do, given those three years. And after getting inked he will pay, let me keep the change if there's any, and leave the shop without a trace. Then I go on with my normal life.
But this time, I decided to give my life a little spice.
After he left, I told my assistant to manage the shop while I'm out, and then hurried outside to see where the customer went. Without him noticing, I followed him until he stopped on a cafe. But it seems like he still isn't where he wanted to be.
"Adam, you've done it again. You need to stop this." I saw someone approaching him, holding out his right arm and examining it. "Riley won't like the idea of you hurting yourself."
"But I deserve this." I heard Adam reply. "I never felt her hurt. I was dense. I was never there for her when she needed me. I deserve to feel her hurt."
"Look it wasn't your fault that Riley was hurting. Besides, you were the only one who truly understood her--"
"But never fully! You see? I wasn't even good enough to know why she took her own life. I never knew her that deep! I wasn't trustworthy for her."
"Adam, you know that's not true!" the woman sighed. "You have to move on, Adam. I may not know Riley that much but I know that's what she wants for you."
Adam walked away.
| 2016-07-09T15:01:32
| 2016-07-09T09:19:24
| 30
| 14
|
[WP]A wealthy business man believes in reincarnation. He leaves his massive wealth... to himself. Anyone born after his death that figures out his riddles will inherit his fortune.
|
*"Floating without air,*
*try to hit me below the belt,*
*are you jealous of my beaches?"*
The final riddle. Such a foolish thing to do by master Gerald. Bet the entire fortune on his riddles, his silly riddles. 16 long years I've served him and his pretentious family, often the victim of his terrible puzzles. Most of them so devoid of sense, any wrong answer humored him the most - satisfying his self-appointed wit.
He told me his entire plan, so proud, I had to contain my laughter I must admit. It made every agonizing minute with him worth it. The evidence of reincarnation was overwhelming, for any gullible old man with an obsession to somehow immortalize himself with his fortunes.
The final riddle, the key to all his riches. Messily written on this piece of parchment. I never noticed the paper had been slathered in some sort of poison, he knew of my habit of licking my thumb and index finger every time I turned a page. In my final moments I checked his drawers, finding another note.
His trust was as deceptive as his damned riddles.
"*I always told you to wear gloves.*"
|
He thought it was perfect.
No one would ever know the answer to his riddle, as the answer was not real. His answer, as Jimmy would later learn, was fictional.
The safe, if you can call it that, that protected the billions of dollars had a computer attached. Simply say the right phrase into the speaker and you were in. It had been 100 years since it was made. It was a tourist attraction of sorts. Everyone had tried to solve the riddle.
*I kill, yet I am fragile*
*I am the final, yet the start*
*I am sad for many, happy for one*
*I am quick, I am slow*
*Peaceful, yet scary*
Little Jimmy, oh so innocent. He had ever so loved riddles.
It took him only a minute
He pressed the button on the now-worn speaker.
"It is Death."
A creaking sound was heard. It was late at night, around 1 AM. None were there except Jimmy. Jimmy and his inherited wealth. Jimmy was rich!
30 Years Later
---
Jimmy was now 43. His wealth led him to happiness, and much much more sadness than he could afford. Money, as it turns out, does not lead to happiness, but sadness.
Another 30 Years
---
Nearing the end of his days, as wealth led Jimmy to loving alcohol much much more than any normal man, Jimmy wanted to thank the old man. Oh that old man, how Jimmy pitied him. His death was in vain. He never reincarnated and never, did that old man ever, inherit his own fortune.
3 Years, 2 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days Later
---
Jimmy is on his death bed, his wealth kept him alive considerably longer than he should have lived. Yes, it was the money. He could afford the machinery to pump his heart and breath oxygen to his lungs. But Jimmy, he was not living. Jimmy was dying. Jimmy had no longer craved attention and love, he craved death. His old and withered body slowly slipping away.
Slowly, he slipped away.
He was gone.
---
You see, as much as the old man had wished, how ever so had he wished, that death was not real. He even said, in his own riddle, that death was the start! The new beginning! But no, there is nothing but blackness, and peace. The old man got that part right, there was peace.
Jimmy, as he was on his death bed, wished oh so much that he had never solved the riddle. His wealth was his downfall. Because, you see
money cannot buy happiness. That is what Jimmy learned.
| 2014-12-13T14:16:42
| 2014-12-13T14:07:01
| 123
| 12
|
[WP] You're a thief who breaks into homes, but try your best to stay undetected. You lubricate the hinges to prevent squeaky noises, you sweep the floor to get rid of footsteps, etc. Eventually, you fix more than you take, and rumors spread about a mysterious, helpful fairy in town.
EDIT: Wow, didn't expect this prompt to blow up so quickly. Thanks for the responses, guys! Glad I was able to help inspire some writers.
|
It started off small.
I brought some cheap screws and an oil can to a job because I had gotten busted twice when homeowners heard a floorboard creak or a hinge squeak. Almost got my head blown off the second time.
Not anymore.
The town I prowl is rich, not super rich but old money comfortable rich. Lots of old people, lots of big mostly empty houses. And a lot of those old people rattling around in big drafty not-kept-up houses have a lot of stuff they simply don’t care about.
I started out slipping into the houses in the early evening and using short screws to tighten key floorboards so they don’t squeak. Then I started adding a few here and there when I noticed they were missing. Oiling the door hinges was a no-brainer. Then I realized that some of these elderly rich people had freaking cold houses because they didn’t tape or caulk any of their windows. Caulking the windows kept them from rattling.
I started making multiple trips to some places because they were so easy to get in, and if only one or two things were missing, then they would notice so much.
Then I found Mrs. Johnson shivering in a freezing home in early January. I didn’t know what to do. She was clearly going to freeze to death if I didn’t do something. When I went down to the furnace room, it was obvious that the filter was clogged. I found a spare, and put it in. A quick prime of the system and voila! Heat. I heard Mrs. Johnson thanking ‘her angel’ for saving her. I got some nice Craftsman tools that hadn’t been touched for a decade that night.
Two weeks later, there was a note on the immaculate marble counter top in the kitchen:
Dear Angel.
Thank you for saving my life from the cold. If you could make the garage work again, there is a nice ride-on mower that I don’t need there. I get so cold brushing the car off from the snow. – Agnes.
Well, stealthy I am not, I guess. All the garage needed was 20 minutes of oiling the track and resetting the center screw. I loaded the mower into my truck, brushed the car off and put it in the garage. She waved to me from her bed room.
I have a ten o’clock tonight at the Wilsons. Their sump pump isn’t working, and there is going to be some collectable sports memorabilia that her husband doesn’t want anymore waiting in the dining room. This just feels so wrong.
|
Well, it's obvious that I'm going to have to relocate. Everybody has caught on to my tactics. Just about every home in town has a cheap safe bolted to the floor. That's not the worst part though, it seems as if people find my burglary skills to be more of a blessing than a threat.
Some of the smart asses have begun leaving their doors unlocked with a God damn wish list of chores to be done on the door. Fuck them. Who do they think they're dealing with here? One of the jackasses even asked me to let their dog out so that he wouldn't wake them up early in the morning. Sure enough, the dog didn't even bark! He wagged his tail at me, so I just had to let him out.
Then, just last night, I walked into this one house (doors unlocked) and there was actually cleaning supplies and a note requesting that I get the fucking soap scum out of the shower. Assholes. I think that the "wet bandits" may have been on to something. At least they had some "street cred."
| 2017-03-13T08:45:46
| 2017-03-13T07:50:06
| 428
| 118
|
[WP] You are trying to politely ward off a very anxious Jehovah's Witness that keeps insisting that God is coming. He/she finally looks down the street, and says, "seriously He just turned the corner!" You look and see a glowing white Cadillac with dark tinted windows.
Wow, can't believe this got that many upvotes. I got lots of reading to do now. I hope you all enjoyed it.
|
"Have you been saved?" The man asked, dumping a load of pamphlets right into my arms.
"No thanks." I tried in vain "I don't believe in G-"
"But I swear, it's true!" He interrupted. "Look, he just parked around the corner!"
My gaze followed his outstretched finger, pointing in the direction of a glowing light Cadillac with pitch black windows. It's rims were bright gold, and it's license plate read H34V3N.
I ran towards the vehicle, jumping the fence through my neighbor's yard.
When I got to the glorious car, the window on the passenger's side slowly descended, revealing an old, undoubtedly holy man wearing large white robes and an all-loving smile.
I had no idea who it was, but he was sitting next to Dave.
|
Brandon sits on his porch drinking a hot cup of coffee and staring out towards the slowly rising sun. This morning was as it always has been; the air moist with morning dew and birds flying from tree to tree waking up the neighbors and their shitty dog.
“What are your plans tomorrow?” Brandon hears from just behind him. He turns to see a familiar face; his girlfriend of two years, Bridgette.
“Nothing really. Frank and I were going to go down to Tallahassee and pick up some car parts for his hotrod.”
Bridgette, donned in uncomfortably short shorts and a long t-shirt that has holes and stains from years of abuse, sits down on the chair next to Brandon. Her legs fold beneath her like the arms of cloth lawn chair.
“Ah,” she said, almost as a half-grunt as her lips made contact with her cup of coffee.
“You?” Brandon asked.
She smiled at him, almost mischievously, “Lucy and I -“
“REPENT!” a voice yells a few houses down.
Brandon and Bridgette turn their heads to see Daniel, the neighborhood crackpot and coincidently a devote Jehovah’s Witness, galloping down the center of the road and waving his leather bound and beaten Bible above his head.
“REPENT!” he yelled again ,” GOD IS COMING! THE END TIME IS NOW!”
Daniel stops in his tracks as he sees the bewildered faces staring back at him from Brandon’s porch. Bridgette, without saying a word, stands up and goes inside.
Brandon begins to stand up as well, but Daniel calls him out.
“Mr. Rockport!” he says, hurriedly making his way towards the porch.
“I don’t want any,” Brandon says dismissively, “ How many times I gotta tell you?”
“No, no, you don’t understand! This time is different. You REALLY need to repent.”
“Dan, we’ve been over this, I can’t repent if I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.”
“The problem is you think too much Mr. Rockport!,” Daniel says, his gaze ping-ponging back and forth from Brandon towards the top of the street.
“Or maybe it is that you think too little,” Brandon fires back,” Now, Listen. I don’t have time for this right now, I have to get to work in half an hour.”
Suddenly, Daniel’s face turns white and pale. He slowly turns his head back to Brandon.
“It’s too late,” he says almost solemnly, “God is here.”
Brandon sighs. His irreverence upsets Daniel.
“SERIOUSLY!” he yells before grabbing Brandon’s face and jerking it so that he is staring directly at the top of the street, “ He just turned the corner.
Brandon’s eyes widen as a white Cadillac limo comes around the corner. It has dark tinted windows and seems to catch the reflection of a sun that isn’t yet present in the sky.
They both watch in awe as the Cadillac comes down the road and slowly pulls to a stop in front of Brandon’s house.
Brandon, figuring this to be a joke begins to chuckle. “Hey Dan, your ride is here.”
Dan turns, his eyes like daggers. “This isn’t a joke Mr. Rockport.”
The car Idles for what seems like forever before finally the back window rolls down and a long, slender feminine hand beckons towards the car.
The men look at each other. Brandon is disinterested and Dan is fearful. The hand beckons again. Dan begins to step forward before but is given the stop signal by the hand. Dan stops in his place. The hand begins to beckon again. The men look at one another confused.
“I think he wants you,” Dan said somewhat relieved.
Brandon sighs, takes a sip of his coffee and steps off his porch to approach the car. The windows rolled up as he gets closer and the door opens. He takes on look back at Dan before getting in. The door shut behind him.
At first it is dark inside, then Brandon’s eyes began to adjust. He looks on the figure sitting in front of him. She is tall, oddly so. Her hair seems to be all textures in one. It was partly straight and fluid and partly stiff and curly. Her skin is a deep olive colored and her eyes are a timid grey.
“I bet you have questions,” she said, her voice smooth yet powerful.
“A few,” Brandon responded.
“Well, where do we start?” she asked.
“Let’s start with who you are. Like, what is your name?”
She smiled, a grin that both soothed and frightened Brandon.
“i’ve been called many things over the years, but the name isn’t important. It’s all about the idea.”
“Ideas don’t drive glowing white limos through the suburbs at 6 in the morning. Who is driving this thing anyway?”
She turns to the partition between the drivers and passenger side. It rolls down revealing there to be no driver at all.
Brandon chuckles, “This is fucking weird.”
“Yes,” she nods, “ I imagine it might be.”
“You still haven’t told me who you were,” Brandon says.
“I thought it was obvious? I am God.”
Brandon pauses. He looks her up and down, then out towards his driveway where Daniel has taken to his knees and has begun praying.
“Well then, I should probably let you know that I don’t believe in God. So, whatever scam you’re running here…it’s not going to work.”
She smiles that eerie smile and leans back. They look at one another. No words exchanged.
Suddenly her eyes move down to the coffee cup he’s been clutching in his hands. He doesn’t catch it at first, but then she does it again.
He looks down towards his cup to see that a once steaming fresh brew has turned into a dark-red sticky substance. He looks at her, she smiles then begins to frown.
“That seemed like a much cooler idea in my head,” she said, “Now its kind of gross.”
He reaches up to sniff it and is caught with a heavy iron scent that sticks to the back of his throat. Blood.
“Ugh,” he says, setting the cup gently aside, “It’s still warm.”
“Yeah. That was one of those Sodom moments. The idea was much better than the execution. My bad.”
“What do you want from me?” Brandon asks.
“I need you to build an Ark…”
Brandon pauses, he looks at her dumbfounded.
“Get he fuck outta here…”
She burst into a laughter, clutching her stomach. Brandon begins to smile, the laughter is infectious.
“Oh man, that never gets old. Seriously though, we have a problem. The world as I’ve created it is in Danger and I need a new Disciple.”
“Why me? Why not someone like Daniel over there. He has a pardon for you.”
The both look outside the window to see that Dan has begun flagellating himself with a thin stick from one of the trees in Brandon’s front yard. They both grimace.
“Really? THAT guy?” she says.
“I see your point.”
“Listen,” she says, “ You’re a good man at heart. You have both principle and empathy and the worlds needs both of those right now. I am going to level with you. It’s gotten real bad here on earth. My other creations have been able to find a balance between reason and belief and they are all doing just fine, but you guys… I think I may have made you rely on water too much. Maybe that was the problem.”
“So, we’re that bad?”
She smiles and reaches out her long arm and rests it on Brandon’s knee.
“No, you just need some guidance. Guidance I can’t give you right now, which is why I need a disciple. Someone who can speak for me in my absence.”
Brandon pushes her hand off of him.
“What you’re talking about is creating a new religion”
“No. No more religion. I need something that relies on facts and data. I need someone who can see through all the snake oil and bring some balance to this world.”
“I think you have the wrong person,” Brandon says, reaching for the door handle.
“Listen Brandon, this is serious. Humanity is ruining itself and the planet it lives on. I got trillions of other stars in other solar systems to worry about, so while it wouldn’t be a great loss to lose the one that gave us Donald Trump, this is still apart of me. Within every blade of grass and every drop of water there is life and existence and God; me. I don’t want to lose that.”
Brandon is silent. He is thinking it over.
“If we don’t change something soon,” she says, “ life on earth as we know it will cease to exist.”
Brandon lets go a long and deep sigh.
“Fine. What do you need me to do?”
She smiles again.
“That'ta boy.”
She snaps her fingers and the car completely disappears. Dan looks up from his bible beating and stops. Everything is silent and still as if it were a normal Friday morning.
The screen door swings open behind him and he turns to see Bridgette standing on the porch.
She looks around confused then turns to Dan.
“Where’s Brandon?”
| 2016-10-04T09:25:16
| 2016-10-04T09:11:12
| 32
| 15
|
[WP] Open Concept: Instead of choosing between the red pill and the blue pill, Morpheus offers an ENTIRE rainbow of six pills to choose from.
Have Neo try all but red and blue, with the effects of each pill relevant to the context of the Matrix film (i.e. basic color symbolism should dictate what each pill does).
Again, no limits and have fun!
|
“This is your last chance,” Morpheus said, his hands outstretched, several small pills lying in each upturned palm. “After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.”
“I see,” Neo said, staring at the pills in Morpheus’ hands. “And what about the orange one?”
“The orange what?” Morpheus said, glancing up at Neo.
“The orange pill, in your left hand.”
Morpheus glanced down at his palm and stared at it for a moment, his shoulders drooping. He leaned back slightly and sighed heavily.
“Dammit,” he whispered, “I grabbed too many.” He looked back up at Neo. “You’re not supposed to know about the other ones. Can we just focus on the red and the blue?”
“Wait,” Neo said, “why can’t I know what the orange does?” It looked like it was probably chock-full of vitamin C, which would certainly be a pretty solid choice. Better than waking up in a bed and not being sure of what was real, at least.
“It’s just,” Morpheus paused. “Look, can we forget about the orange? Do you want to see how deep the rabbit-hole goes, or do you want to be a quitter?”
“I want to know what the orange pill does,” Neo said, staring at the oblong medicine. If it was a vitamin C pill, he’d absolutely take it over the others. At least then he could walk away with some nutrients in his system, rather than either a lifetime of regret or confusion. Then again, he could also just combine it with one of the others. If he was going to wake up in either some rabbit hole or his bed, it wouldn’t hurt to have a few extra vitamins in his body.
“Fine,” Morpheus sighed. He shook his palm slightly, the pills shifting forward. “The orange one lets you change genders. It’s a hormone therapy thing.”
“Really?” Neo said, staring at the pill. “If I take it, I get to become a female?” He’d always secretly felt like he were a woman trapped within a man’s body, but forced those thoughts deep down inside himself and ignored them whenever they resurfaced. It was easier to pretend they didn’t exist. Still, he always knew the truth, always knew what burned within. The orange pill certainly seemed a pretty good option, especially considering his two otherwise lackluster ones.
“No,” Morpheus said, “it’s a slow process. This is just one of the hundreds of pills I take—I mean you’ll have to take.” He paused. “But, you know, it’s worth it. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. When you’re just not happy with who you are, sometimes it’s best to change yourself.”
“Right,” Neo said, turning his attention to Morpheus’ left hand. “What about that green pill?”
“What?” Morpheus said, following Neo’s gaze toward his left hand. “Oh, fuck me. God dammit. Please ignore that pill, will you?”
“Okay,” Neo said. “So I have a choice of the red, blue, and orange?”
“Yes—wait, no. The orange is out of the picture. You only have the red and blue.”
“What? Why? How come I can’t choose to become a woman?” Neo stared at Morpheus, his head tilted in disbelief. He’d made up his mind a moment prior, decided it would absolutely be the orange one. He’d even begun imagining himself walking through the park on a warm spring day, his dress softly scraping the floor, a tight-fitting bra strapped to his chest. He felt happy—for the first time, he felt happy.
“It’s just not for you,” Morpheus said, sighing. “Please, just focus on the red and the blue.’
“I changed my mind,” Neo said, crossing his arms over his chest, “I want to know what the green one does.”
“You just told me you would forget you saw it,” Morpheus said, his voice rising slightly as he threw his hands up in the air. Neo wasn’t sure if Morpheus had a history of hitting people he tried to help, but he didn’t exactly feel like he would walk away without at least one punch to the face. Still, if Morpheus was going to be difficult, so was he.
“Yeah, well, I see it now. If you’re going to take away my gender pill, then I’m asking about the green. Tell me what it does.”
“You know what? Fine. The green one will literally turn you into an Orca whale. It isn’t supposed to be for you, it’s for our initiative to protect the seas from the Agents.”
“I’m sorry?” Neo said, suddenly incredibly interested in the green pill. While he did feel like a woman trapped in a man’s body, he’d always had the undying thought that he was actually an Orca whale trapped in a woman’s body that was trapped in a man’s body. There was no way he’d turn that down if he’d heard him correctly.
“The pill turns you into an Orca, a ‘Killer Whale,’ if you will. It is absolutely not for you.”
“I want that one,” Neo said, thrusting his palm forward and swiping the green pill out of Morpheus’ hand. The other pills flew out, tapping against the floor and rolling into a grate beneath. Neo pulled his fist back to his mouth, shoved the pills inside, and swallowed. It tasted slightly like squid.
“You idiot,” Morpheus said, raising his palm to his forehead. He stood up and turned toward the door. “I hope you enjoy wasting the rest of your life while we fight.” He slammed the door shut behind him, a wave of darkness pouring over everything.
Neo opened his eyes, a wash of blue flooding his vision. He didn’t need a mirror to realize he was floating somewhere in the ocean, his tail fin fluttering lightly behind him.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
|
This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill—the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill—you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. You take the yellow pill—you fall asleep and never wake up, and get the hell out of this whole sick situation. You take the green pill—you wake up as a celebrity, as an apology for bringing you to the attention of the machines. You take the orange pill—you live the rest of your life in an endless frat party. You take the purple pill—we fight to the death, and if you kill me you become the new Morpheus. Remember: all I'm offering is the truth, death, fame, partying, or the chance to lead. Nothing more.
| 2015-03-06T13:56:43
| 2015-03-06T13:51:14
| 190
| 18
|
[WP] It's been six months since your high school became you and your peers only stronghold from the zombies outside. The students have dissolved into factions, each with their own role in this mock society. Tell about your daily life.
|
7:30 AM, the bell rings, and students shift in the halls, a mix of chatter, groaning, and sleepy faces. Yet instead of heading to math, the students sift into training exercises and duty stations for the day. The freshman, still bright-eyed in many ways , eagerly talk of getting to go on their first patrols over the summer. Leaving the building, previously an everyday relief for the tired brains of students, now represented their greatest threat. The undead sulked outside, their wide eyes constantly shifting, looking for their next meal. The bones of students past littered the outside perimeters, picked clean and now bleached by the sun. But the freshman hardly thought of them as a real risk, confident in the abilities of their elders to keep them safe. They didn’t know of how many we lost in the initial attack…and how each month more would be picked off.
Still, it was impressive how well the staff and students had adjusted since the outbreak in late September. Originally a lockdown, everyone acted according to the drills. But by the end of the day, when sirens blared and the calls told us to remain inside at all costs, the students began to panic. Even teachers, typically a pillar of safety, were shaken from the events.
It was the JROTC instructors who had first taken charge, mobilizing the teachers and students into squads and creating a schedule that created some form of order in the crisis. Over the next few months, students and teachers came together to plan for the winter. I still remember them taking the books from my classroom. Fahrenheit 451, 1984, Frankenstein…they burned them in the gym while students huddled around, hugging their knees, making themselves as small as possible.
Now the warms breezes of May flowed into the classrooms, carrying the laughs of students as they moved to their next shift. The chaos had ebbed away and now in small moments the school almost seemed normal again. The seniors, who had been looking forward to graduation, now celebrated surviving. Teachers who had been forced to test and retest now taught life skills and supported the students as they organized and worked towards solutions around the school. Biology worked on the gardens in the football field, math determined the measurements of the new safe house in the soccer field, and woodshop built the defense against the undead. In fact, this was the most learning that had happened in our school in a long time…
As for an English teacher, I had struggled to think of how to contribute. Knowing how to use a semicolon or how to write a thesis no longer seemed important. But late at night, when things were quiet and the students began to think of the families they’d never see again or that they’d never drive or go to college, we open up the next chapter of The Hobbit, and talk about humanity, sacrifice, and bravery. Bilbo’s adventures take them away from these walls and their minds wander middle earth with a sense of adventure that eases the pain. And it’s moments like that when I realize I’m exactly where I need to be.
|
Day 188
We found a message from the student senate this morning, calling for an all school summit at noon today. They want to hold it in the main lobby, of course, since that's right outside the main office where their numbers are strongest. Not to mention it being across the hall from the auditorium. Everyone knows the thespians club united with the senate kids not long after the failed cafeteria tower assault three months ago. The Senate also have the freshmen more or less under their sway, so anybody walking first floor west better have their head on a swivel. Walking into that main lobby is going to be like walking into a box canyon.
I collect the tribute we managed to make over the last week and carefully wrap it in cloth and stow it in my book bag. I'm in a small mixed faction of sophomores that moved into the library after the language lab we were hiding in got caught up in a fire that swept through several second floor classrooms. We make our tribute by gluing thin strips of paper together to form rudimentary woodwind reeds for the Band Kids that now have total control of the cafeteria tower, including the band room and the the newspaper office. Their supplies are dwindling and they know it, and they are demanding more and more tribute every week, so we recently opened a secret dialogue with the JROTC guys. They have an outside access through the doors back by the teachers lot and have been making hunting forays into the neighborhood for a while now. The only problem is they are based all the way on the other side of the building and down two flights of stairs in the basement. Between us and them are the Goth kids, who have been completely out of control since they ran out of cigarettes months ago. Its cannibal country. Luckily not one of them can run or fight, so if you keep moving you should be okay. Its getting past the Cheerleaders in the Faculty Lounge that's really dangerous.
Looks like Matt and Alicia are ready to head out, I better gear up...more about the summit later, assuming we survive the afternoon.
Edit: day 188.75
The summit was a trap. Kayley, Carlos M., Carlos R., and Darius are all dead. It was the FACULTY! The teachers no one has seen since the roof over the nurses office collapsed in the fire. Jesus they were out for blood, it looks like they've gone Goth. It was like the fucking Reavers were attacking, if the lax team hadn't joined up with the football team in a banzai rush none of us would have made it out...
| 2016-05-04T09:33:37
| 2016-05-04T07:20:53
| 58
| 24
|
[WP] You are the founder of a tiny 1990s tech startup operating from your garage. All of a sudden, a bunch of people who are obviously badly disguised time travelers start trying to buy stock in your company.
|
"You know you have to wait until we go public right?"
"Ye- . . . yeaahh." The gentleman with the handlebar mustache, derby hat, and pin-striped zoot-suit responded nervously.
"Of course I know that. I-I'm a savy business investor. I mean- a normal passer by that is just . . . just really enthusiastic about what you're doing here."
"Uh huh."
"And I just, you know, want to get in on the ground floor and ummm . . . you know . . . just like, buy some of your stock. You know?"
"Right."
"Just a casual, no-pressure guy that sees what you got going on here - looks like some computers and stuff - and . . . uhhhhh I'm into it. I like what you're doing and I want to buy stocks in your company."
"Well as you can see, I'm not selling any stocks right now."
"Ahhh . . ." The peculiar man looked down at his feet, kicking at the pavement -unsure about what to do.
"This isn't a company."
"No, I know that. I'm a smart guy, I didn't come from the future or anything - that's *ridiculous*. ***Obviously***." He wrung his hands together and laughed so loud and haltingly a neighbor walking their dog across the street stopped to stare.
"Of course. Obviously someone from the future trying to buy stock in whatever's happening here would know how stocks work and wouldn't just approach me outside my garage."
"HA! To think someone would ever be *SO FOOLISH*! AH, the nerve of some people. So anyway - completely different subject - if someone, you know hypothetically, *did* want to buy a large number of stocks in your company when they're still really cheap, they would, *you know*, need to go . . ."
He never finished his sentence. He just started speaking more and more softly until his voice was barely above a whisper. His hand wheeling in the air.
"Go to, the ummm, you know. *You know*, the place."
"Uh huh. Go on."
"YOU KNOW, the place."
"Yeah, you got it. Explain it to me."
"I-" He shrugged and made an indignant face because of course he knew and it would be a waste of time to really fully articulate his very nuanced and informed views on the matter.
"The place where stocks are sold - which is not here, as you've made clear - but is rather at some kind of secret 'second location' as you normal human subjects might call it. And the name of that mysterious second location is clearly the ummm. . ."
"New York Stock Exchange."
"RIGHT! I knew that. The New York Stock Exchange, and that's just like a thirty minute walk from-"
"This is California."
"Like a thirty minute walk from California, so I'm just going start heading over that way. It was great to meet you, again, **love** what you're doing here, keep up the good work. I'm going to go." The man pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "I'm going to go buy some of that stock at the Old York Stock Exchange-"
"New York Stock Exchange."
"NEW York Stock Exchange, right, and uhhhh exchange some of these old timy nickles for a new thousand stock units in this company."
"Not a company, not selling stocks yet."
"Say there partner, you do raise an interesting point about the complexities of the marketplace. Such as uhhh, when will you start to sell these stocks of yours at a really low price?"
"Well, if we do decide to go public, and maybe we wont."
"HA! You will." The man smiled to himself, nodding knowingly.
"But if we did, we would hire an accounting firm and they would determine our initial stock price based on the anticipated market value and set it at a competitive rate."
"Whaaaat. Noooo, that's. . . I'm pretty sure that's not how stocks work. I'm looking to buy your stock when it's super cheap."
"Yeah that's what I'm saying, company's NEVER sell their stock super cheap at any point in time. At all times, the stock is sold at market rate."
"What about . . . what about like, in the first second that you start selling it. What if like, someone were to start just buying as much of it as they possibly could?"
"Well then I guess that would drive the price up."
"YEESSSSSSSSS." He hissed like sexually aroused snake.
"Which would make it more expensive to buy."
"Say what now?"
"If there were a buying spree the second a stock went up on the market, that would make it more difficult to buy. You would be less able to make a profit on it."
"Hmmmm."
"I think the main advantage of a time machine in a stock market isn't to go back in time to buy stocks cheap, it would be to go forwards in time to cash in mature stocks early."
"Say what now?"
"Mind if I borrow your time machine for a second?"
**AND THUS TOM'S TOPSY-TURVY TIME TRAVELING TOURING COMPANY WAS BORN.**
|
The machine hummed and sparked, illuminating the garage in a sharp blue light. Out of the light, three figures emerged, clad in futuristic space suits.
The machine powered down, and the garage plunged into darkness. In the corner, a very suprised inventor flicked on a torch.
"M-my inventions d-don't normaly work." He managed to stutter.
"Charles Baxter? Inventor of the worlds first time machine?"
"Y-yes. I g-guess I am."
"We would like to purchase 49.9% of your company for 15 trillion US dollars. Don't bother answering, we already know you said yes. Here is the paperwork, we just need your signature."
A space suited man handed Charles some paper and he signed it.
"Now, use that money to build a machine that actually works. We just arived at one of your tests because it sounded like a cool idea at the time. Badum Tish. When you do that your company will become immensely rich, and we will be able to afford a ticket plus the money we just gave you and a few million left over."
Charles just stood there, shell shocked, for a minute. The figures opened the garage and let light flood it for the first time in months.
"Oh, one more thing. Where is Elon Musk living nowadays?"
| 2015-10-04T08:51:09
| 2015-10-04T08:42:50
| 260
| 75
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Alex,
Its been nearly 15 years since I have seen you. While we were only kids then I think about you often. We were best friends, and even when we had so little and our families argued we still found a way to hang out. Be it play wrestling games in your room, or have grass fights...it was the highlight of my youth. I miss those days.
I wonder where you are, how life ended up for you as we both grew up with very difficult lifes. I even think of your sisters, Ashley and Angelica.
Most of all I am sorry how it ended. How much I miss you even after all these years. How you handed me the empty envelopes already stamped and addressed, how someone got ahold of them and decided to tear them up so we couldn't contact each other anymore. Quite often I find myself searching for you on social media or the internet, but I have never found you.
I only hope that you are alive and doing well. That you are happy.
-GM
|
I’m not really sure if I should be doing this, or if I even miss you right now, but some how you always find your way into my mind. I can’t believe I promised you I could be strong that day because I felt so weak knowing I couldn’t have your presence in my life anymore, but I think I have gotten “stronger” since then. Sounds dumb but I tried to find someone like you after it was all said and done, but I realized that I don’t need to be more than myself to be happy. Hope you’re not thinking of me and hope you’re enjoying your life. I’m still thankful for everything you taught me beautiful.
| 2017-11-06T00:29:01
| 2017-11-06T00:23:50
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] Torture was never invented. Countries instead spoil prisoners like kings to get information out of them. You are an instructor tasked with training spies to resist the enemy's kindness.
|
"Vell, Captain..." the Commandant paused and looked down as his dossier "...Evans. I vould like to formally velcome you to our humble establishment."
Captain Dirk Evans looked around the dimly-lit stone cell, his hands still cuffed behind his chair.
"I've heard about how you treat your prisoners. I don't care how long you lock me up here. I won't talk."
The Commandant gave a thin smile, and nodded at the guards. They removed the cuffs from Evans' hands, and shackled his arms and legs to the chair before Evans could so much as draw a breath in protest.
"You have heard how ve treat our prisoners, have you? Then what I am about to do next vill come as no shock to a worldly man such as yourself."
Evans grimaced as he watched the Commandant produce a set of cutters from his black leather belt. He had trained for this, but the cold feeling of fear was undeniable. The OSS had warned him about the enemy's new interrogation methods. It was much more than just a dark, uncomfortable cell--which was a highly effective interrogation method in its own right. The enemy's diabolical scientists had invented a new interrogation technique, which the OSS called "torture."
Still, no one was exactly sure what "torture" was--or even whether that was what the enemy called it. This was because not a single living soul had escaped from the enemy's grasp. Evans knew what all OSS field operatives knew--having been shown the instruments before leaving the academy. What could these cutters do? Evans was sure that it wouldn't be pleasant.
The Commandant pressed a hidden buzzer, startling Evans from his reverie. Moments later, a woman--an interrogation expert, he guessed--entered the room, pushing a steel medical cart in front of her. The Commandant nodded, and she began to remove her instruments from the cart. Evans couldn't recognize any of them, but the gleaming steel looked ominous.
The Commandant nodded. "As I was saying, vhile Ilsa assembles her equipment, I vould like to velcome you to your new home. For you, the war is now over--"
"That doesn't mean I'll talk!"
"Oh Captain, captain, I do not expect you to talk. Any information which you could provide to us vould be hopelessly out-of-date, in any case. Now, you say you are familiar with our methods. It is time you experienced them first-hand."
The Commandant nodded at Ilsa, and handed her the cutters. She advanced slowly toward Evans, and began to caress his left hand.
Evans cringed. These cutters could only be for one thing. As Ilsa moved the cutters toward his thumb, Evans closed his eyes and steeled himself for the pain that was sure to come. He heard the cutters snap closed, and waited for the nerve signals to reach his brain. And waited... And waited...
After a few moments, Evans opened his eyes and risked looking down at his left hand. By now, Ilsa had removed dry skin from most of his nails and cuticles with the cutters.
She clicked her tongue. "You heroic types ruin your nails vith all of these silly games you play outdoors. I can fix them, but it vill take a few weeks of treatment."
"W--wha--What in the Hell are you doing?" Evans sputtered, as his fear and rage giving way to utter confusion.
"I thought you said you knew, Captain," the Commandant said, now smiling broadly. "Allow me to guess. Your commanders told you that ve had invented terrible new interrogation methods. Much vorse than a dark cell and cold food. And that not a single prisoner had escaped from our camps and survived to tell the tale. Is that what you heard?"
"They said you had discovered how to hurt people to make them talk--that it was called torture."
"Ahh yes. American propaganda at its finest. As far as I know, there is no such thing as 'torture.' It is an invention of the fevered imagination of you Americans." The Commandant shook his head. "How would such a thing even vork? Ve hurt you, and you tell us a lie so that ve stop? How could ve ever hope to learn anything useful from such methods?"
"Then what are you going to do to me?"
"Vell, after Ilsa has finished with your manicure, she is going to remove your boots and attend to your feet. After that, you vill be given a varm shower and a hot meal."
"I still won't talk!"
"How many times must I tell you, Captain? Ve do not expect you to talk. If you vill allow me to continue, this evening, you vill be shown to your room in the castle tower. It has a feather bed, a shelf full of leather-bound books in English, and finely-woven silk hangings. The view of the lake is beautiful, as vell, although the vindow is barred."
The Commandant continued, "In that room, you may sit in silence until the end of the war, if that is vhat you wish, Captain. Most people, however, eventually find themselves becoming lonely. If that happens to you, then you vill be velcome to participate in the social life of the camp. Ve have extensive recreational facilities underground. There is even an indoor beach lit by the newest sunlamps. Most of your comrades have chosen accommodations there. One of them even managed to woo our dear Ilsa."
At this, Ilsa grinned and flashed Evans her wedding ring.
"So, as you see, ve are not monsters."
Evans shook his head, still unconvinced. "And what do you want in return for this vacation you're offering?"
"Nothing but your comradeship. It has been a nearly a veek since your capture. Your operational knowledge is now obsolete. If you knew of a plan for an American invasion, for example--oh, and I see from your expression that perhaps you did--your former masters will have discarded that plan. Your fellow agents have surely gone to their safe houses by now. So, my questions for you are simple and harmless. First, please state your name, rank, and serial number."
"Fine. I'm Captain Dirk Everett Evans. Serial number OSS-1439-372Q."
"And from your serial number, I see that you vork for the OSS, that you vere born in 1914, and that you joined the service in 1939. Correct?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"And, vhen you vere captured, your mission vas to deliver coded documents concerning an American invasion to agents in the capital, yes?"
Evans frowned and said nothing.
"Please, Captain. Ve already have the documents in our possession. It is a pity that the United States did not provide you with a cigarette lighter that vorks in the rain."
"Fine. Yes."
"Thank you. As you can imagine, our codebreakers have already reviewed the documents. The cipher was almost trivial to crack. They speak of an invasion beginning in three weeks. Your agents have been instructed to sabotage certain railways, and cut power to several government buildings. These include every local police headquarters and party directorate office between here and the capital, yes?"
"Well...yeah, most of them."
"And your local resistance contact, Marta--oh yes, ve are quite aware of her assumed identity--her plan was to prepare the vay for the agents of your 'advance team' to enter the capital..."
"Hell, you know it all already. Yeah, they were going to parachute into the countryside and meet her at the Saturday market. Guess they'll do something else now."
"I guess they vill. That vill be all, Captain, thank you. I invite you to join me for luncheon tomorrow. I have just obtained a shipment of fine Italian wines and spirits. They are perhaps not as good as the French, yet I believe that tomorrow vill be lovely day to sample them, as we picnic by the lake."
"Sure, I guess. Uh... thanks."
"But of course, Captain. Until then."
Outside the holding cell, the Commandant compared notes with his assistants--both former OSS agents. These new interrogation methods were miraculous. If only the party's code-breakers could crack these damned American ciphers, they wouldn't have to rely so much on guesswork. Still, the American Captain had now confirmed what they suspected. After a few months of this treatment, perhaps he too would be willing permanently switch sides. A man of his talents could go far...
That evening, Captain Evans lay in his new feather bed, still feeling languid from the massage he had received before dinner. If this was torture, then maybe he could get used to it.
Ilsa's friend seemed nice, too. What was her name? Petra? Yeah, that was it. He fell asleep thinking of Petra's soft smile.
EDITS: Typos
|
I could write a lot on this one, but this is what just came to mind... I may try to elaborate more later... I wrote it like a screenplay.
This scene is taking place between a Colonel and his troop in a dungenous basement of a top secret military installation.
Colonel: They’re going to offer you the finest prostitutes the world has ever seen.
Klemper: Will they have teeth?
Colonel: Yes.
Klemper: Holy shit!
Colonel: You must resist these temptations.
A sex doll is wheeled in. Before the Colonel can even address this, Klemper runs over, drops his pants, and begins humping the shit out of it.
Colonel: KLEMPER! Stop that!
Farris: He can’t help it, sir, he’s part dog. On his mother’s side. 25% really. His grandma is a true bitch.
The Colonel stares at Farris.
Farris: Seriously. She once tied me up and smeared grape jelly all over me and tried to do what Klemper’s doing to that doll.
Colonel: He’s penetrating it.
Farris: Exactly, sir.
Colonel: God help us.
| 2016-04-13T10:33:30
| 2016-04-13T07:17:42
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
|
"I think I chipped a tooth."
Tired, long-suffering eyes met mine with an expression especially saved only for the moronic.
"You bit.. a table."
To think that would be the weirdest thing they'd heard of. It could have been a plate! But I didn't want to be fragile or have China stuck in my teeth. "There was table cloth there. That should have helped right?"
This tired doctor, assigned to care for every newlygifted, stares blankly at my file.
"The problem, Sir-Ma'am-or neuter, is not the cloth-"
"-uh my pronouns-"
Careless to my interjection the doctor threw Their glasses to Their desk. "I do not care who you are or what you're called! You were taken to a magic room that everyone waits for- plans for their entire life. There are meals in there that are extinct now. And you ATE. THE. TABLE."
That's true, dodo is rumored to give you the power to see the past in visions.
A heavy sigh escaped the doctor as he looks at me. "The powers don't come from just the food. It's why you ate the food. Why, did you eat a table?"
Hollow silence filled the room. My voice seemed lodged in my throat.
"I panicked."
"You've planned for this day your whole life. You cannot tell me that you just, panicked."
True, the room is anti anxiety, and any amount of time you spend in there is only a fraction of a second back home, there is no rush to your decision.
The doctor wouldn't look away from me. Everyone is going to be wondering what my powers are, what I ate to get them. Why I ate it. Do I even know why I ate the table?
"I wanted to know what would happen. I didn't really think I was going to bite through the table. But then it just melted like ice cream into my mouth and now you're staring me down."
The doctor looked down and took a few notes on my file. "And have your powers arisen yet?"
"Oh yeah, I'd say so."
For the first time, curiosity and life sparked in their eyes. What was the awesome power? I could almost tell what they was thinking by the expressions on their face. Did I have super strength? Could I armor myself in wood with a single word? Could I talk to the trees now?
In answer I only leaned over, tapping their pencil gently. To watch it melt. The doctor gasped and jumped back, shaking their hand free of the now liquidized pencil. It wasn't hot, it wasn't cold. It was now, simply.. viscous. It had soaked into my file, blurring and ruining my records. Will anyone believe him.
I smiled and stood, they seemed shaken. Maybe they need a glass of water. So I offered them the now solid contents of my cup. It wasn't ice. It wasn't cold. It was now like glass. Made of water.
I can now control the solid or liquid state of elements around me. But will anyone believe the doctor?
I smiled back at them as I left. They now have a fantastic paperweight.
|
As a kid, my friends and I loved to chat, debate and even argue what we'd eat when we entered the power room. We didn't know what food gave what power (everyone who went through it could not speak of that without losing their power), so we always theorised what we'd get.
Gemma insisted she'd find the food that had telekinesis. Her twin sister, Lucy, didn't care what power she got but always said she'd eat the sweetest thing there. Zack wanted invisiblity, and Toby would change his mind every other day. That left myself, and Ralph.
I just enjoyed hearing my friends debate the whole topic, before we gave up on making ourselves agree and went to the park. Ralph though... He was Odd. He'd never say anything about what he wanted from the power room, he just kept thinking up "what if" ideas.as the youngest, he'd go to the room last. But he still seemed to think about it more than the rest of us combined.
It was the day before Gemma and Lucy's Sixteenth,. We were sat under a bridge in town, with a load of alcohol Zack had snuck out from his parents' garage. All of us were drunk and just having fun. Toby tried to flirt with Gemma, but got roasted by the others for his efforts. That's when Ralph had probably the dumbest idea is heard out of his mouth.
"hey guys," he'd said, "what do you think happens if you bite the table?"
We all stopped, confused.
"what the hell are you on about?" I slurred. I was a bit of a lightweight when it came to drinking, and I was several swigs of whiskey in.
"You know, in the room. What happens if you take a bite from the table instead of the food?"
None of us responded with words, but our laughter echoed under the bridge. I was still giggling after the laughter had died down, until I saw the hurt look on Ralph's face. I immediately felt guilty.
Once the others had gone back to roughing each other up, I half-walked half-shuffled over to Ralph.
"You are really curious about that aren't you?" I asked. "it wasn't one of your usual 'what if' jokes?"
"Yeah... It's the question I've had since I found out about it. You guys are the first ones I told it to."
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. If I don't know what to so, I'll bite the table for you."
His eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
Six months and four days later, and I'm in the room. It's a plain white-walled room with a huge wooden table, laden with a piece of every kind of food you could imagine. The catch is, only one person can have a particular food. No two people born on the same day can eat the same food. With dozens of people in the room, it was carnage. About four people were popping in to the room each second, and only when someone ate a piece of food did they disappear.
It takes five minutes before I muster up the courage to approach the table. I take a step forward, but immediately get knocked to the floor by a guy twice my size pushing me aside. With so many people around me, I scurry under the table, to see a girl nearby doing the same. A weirdly coloured orange segment drops to the floor next to me. I pick it up and offer it to the girl. She grabs it, bites and disappears.
I sit there for a while, wondering what to do. I don't want to get bullied around up there, but I don't want to just grab some random piece of food. Then I remember my drunken promise to Ralph, and wonder what the hell I am about to do.
I lean over, and bite the nearest table leg.
And everything goes black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the blackness, I hear a voice.
WELL THAT'S A NEW ONE. DIDN'T TAKE HUMANITY FOR THE INVENTIVE TYPE. WHAT IS YOUR NAME, HUMAN?
"Lily." my voice responds, but I did not tell it to. What is going on? I'm scared.
WELL, LILY. YOU ARE THE FIRST HUMAN TO TRY TO BITE THE TABLE ITSELF, INSTEAD OF SOME OF THE FOOD I PROVIDE. SO, YOU HAVE TWO OPTIONS. GO BACK AND PICK FROM THE FOOD, OR GAIN A POWER THAT I DESIGN.
"Didn't you design the powers in the room?"
HA! NO, I DID NOT. THOSE ARE SIMPLY POWERS THAT HUMANS DESIRE, MAPPED ON TO FOOD THEY ENJOY. THE MORE THE POWER IS DESIRED, THE MORE POPULAR FOOD IT IS IMPRINTED ON. NO, MY DESIGNS ARE QUITE DIFFERENT.
I can't think. I don't know what to do. I just-
YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE TOO LONG. DECIDE QUICKLY.
My head feels like it is about to explode.
"Give me a power." yet again, my mouth moved on its own.
VERY WELL.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i'm back. Back at my birthday party. It's ten past nine in the evening, so I've been gone for half an hour. I barely have time to sit down when Gemma flattens me against the sofa
"You're back! How come you were there so long?" now everyone sees me, and I'm crowded. Everyone is asking questions. I don't like this.
"Look i-"
I am pulled to my feet without warning. Zack and Ralph are there, separating me from the crowd.
Zack takes a step forward. "guys, chill out! Y'all know how Lucy hates pressure, so back off!" the crowd thins out after that. Ralph pulls me into a side room and the rest of the gang follow. I grab the nearest beanbag and collapse into it.
"So, what did you get?" Toby is lying across the table, head gently resting on Lucy's shoulder. Everyone else is stood behind them.
"I... Don't know" I say.
| 2020-03-19T09:09:22
| 2020-03-19T09:01:40
| 154
| 63
|
[WP] You have a literal Trump Card. When played, Donald Trump appears to assist you.
|
"And we're live at the final match of the 2016 Magic: The Gathering World championships. Mexico's improbable run to the finals concludes with a run into this week's dominating lineup from the United States of America. One last match of classic constructed to decide this year's champion. What do you like out of these two decks, Greg?"
"Mexico's red/green aggro deck has a number of flyers to get over any walls their opponents might play, which has been the strength of the U.S. deck, which is heavy on walls and removal. Unless the U.S. can get its legendary creatures in play, the Mexicans are going to flood the board."
"As if on queue, Steve, the U.S. has drawn a Donald Trump."
"Everyone should be familiar with this card by now, but for those new to the game, this is a legendary, black white creature who removes your opponent from play. Not your opponents cards, but your actual opponent. Really poor balance out of this last set, Make Magic Great Again. What was Wizards thinking with this card?"
"All signs point to this card being banned for legal play and never heard from again in the next 12 months, but here we go, America has played Trump."
A poof of smoke rose from the table and the card activated. "Go back to Univision."
"And that's it! It's all over! The United States are your 2016 champions!"
|
Countless tournament victories under my belt, I sigh wearily as I approach the main stage. Applause rings out throughout the stadium as I shook hands with Yugi Moto, the king of games, as he handed me yet another trophy. Later that night, Yugi invited me to his grandpa's shop. I got a little excited, knowing I was about to visit the place where it all began. I grabbed my deck and hurried over.
"Welcome! Ha ha!" chortled Yugi's grandpa. "Help yourself to the food!" He said as I glanced around the shop, seeing countless rare and exclusive cards on display.
"Hello there Mana," Yugi says as he approaches me. "I'll like to speak with you in private." He led me into the back room where he pulled out a glass display case, "Here, this is your destiny. This card belongs to you."
I picked up the card as he opened the display. I stared down at it, confused by the details. "Trump? What a strange name for a Trap effect card. But wait, it doesn't explain what it does?"
Yugi chuckled, "You will know when the card wants you to play it." Suddenly, the room went pitch black and I found myself in my bed and it was morning! "Did I just dream that?" I thought to myself. The alarm went off, notifying me of my next tournament in an hour. I sigh, dreading the day to come.
My name is Mana, I am the third ranked duelist, just under Yugi Moyo and Seto Kaiba, and have won every tournament I participated in for the last five years. I was famous, people are always asking for my autograph or a photo. I was tired of it all. My deck was unstoppable and no matter how hard my opponents planned, I would always come out victorious. Little did I know, today was the day everything changed. I hurried my way to the stadium, catching quick glimpses of other matches in progress. Nobody seemed exceptionally good.
"Hey there!" as a familiar voice laughed out. It was my sister, Anam. She doesn't play but she runs the tournament and decides on the brackets. "You just made it in time. It should be another good day!"
Anam introduced me to the world of dueling when she took me along once. I fell in love with dueling there and then. I smiled briefly at the nostalgic memory then quickly sighed in boredom. "Hey sis. So who am I dueling today?"
She laughed, "hehe! Actually, this is your off day! I just wanted you to run some errands for me. I need you to visit Pegasus and pick up the documents regarding the final tournament later this year." I groaned, my sister always does this. I hated Pegasus.
Pegasus created the dueling game and he is so incredibly happy all the time. He's always trying to convince me to use his new cards, which half of the time were just ugly, toonized versions of monsters.
The tournament ended for the day, and I set off to Pegasus's office. On my way, I was kidnapped by the bandit Bakura! Bakura is an evil immortal spirit, who was always dueling Yugi for his soul.
"Welcome to the shadow realm," he cackled maniacally. "We will duel for our souls!"
I had heard of the Shadow realm, a place between this world and the next, where spirits reside. I never thought it was real. Suddenly I found myself forced into a duel against Bakura, who was supposedly impossible to defeat unless you had the Egyptian cards. But only Yugi had those cards. The duel began and we both draw our cards. I gasped, the first card I drew was the Trump card! I played it facedown and ended my turn. Bakura cackled and managed to summon his ultimate card on his first turn.
"Your soul is mine! With it, I'll finally defeat that bastard Yugi!"
I had no choice, "I play my facedown, Trump!" A middle-aged man with a horrible hairdo appeared on the field. It began to speak, "I will build a wall to keep the Mexicans out!" A wall appeared on my side. This Trump card exploded afterwards, destroying Bakura's monster. Trump appeared again. "I meant, fuck the Egyptians!"
Bakura lost all of his life points instantly, and disappeared away into the shadow realm.
Trump then looked at me, "hey wait a minute, you don't look white. Yeah, uh... you dead too"
And that was the day I died, my soul wandering for eternity in the shadow realm.
| 2015-12-26T11:05:24
| 2015-12-26T09:04:29
| 40
| 26
|
[WP] A wife kills her husband. Make me sympathize with both characters.
|
She came home to find him in a heap next to the couch, pants stained with urine, a few tears streaming down the wrinkled lines in his face. Fifty-seven good years and she had to watch him wasting away, unable to get off the couch by himself, embarrassed and incontinent. She had only run to the grocer to get more food for the week, maybe an hour total. His condition was now that bad, he couldn't even be left alone at all.
The in-home nurses were much more than his meager pension would afford, and they hadn't even heard of a 401(k) or an IRA when they were young enough to start one. Septuagenarians living off of Social Security and a blue-collar pension wasn't much of a "life" at all.
She blamed herself partially for being barren, if they could've had children like he'd wanted then there would be someone to watch him or run the errands, and partially for not getting a job when she saw his health failing. Fourty-two years in the coal mines would kill nearly anyone, but not Daniel. He was an ox of a man in his youth, broad shoulders and bulging muscles, a smile as wide and bright as the moon, brought to his knees by this... this fucking cancer. He wasn't improving, the chemo had taken his hair, his appetite, and his will to live.
"I'm done, Doris" he said, as she lifted his frail frame from the ground "I'm just done."
"Oh, hush now, Daniel. We'll get you cleaned up and it'll be just fine." she wasn't sure if she was reassuring him or herself, but the facade needed to be kept in place. Pride was the only thing he had left, and she wouldn't let that be taken from him too.
"I had to pee. I thought I could make it, I'm sorry hon." the words were strained, his voice rough and forced, and she could hear that he was choking back another round of tears. Before the cancer had eaten him from the inside, she'd seen him cry maybe a half-dozen times in their life together, mostly at the funerals of his parents and brothers. Now it was daily, the frustration as visible on his face as the pain.
"I mean it, Doris. I'm done. Please, if you love me... if you *ever* loved me, please... please just end me. I'm a burden. I'm not the man you married, I'm not a man at all. I'm broken. I have nothing left to live for but you, and I'm more work than I'm worth."
The tears had stopped, and he was standing straight, shoulders back, with the help of the kitchen table. The icy-blue eyes that used to pop against his tan skin were sunken, his face melting into his neck, but he was still a giant of a man. She'd be damned if she'd let him waste away to nothing. Pride was all he had, maybe it would be better to let him die with a little bit left. A little dignity before he was confined to bedrest and diapers.
She fixed him a tall scotch, neat, and added the poison. Six sleeping pills to wash down with the scotch so he wouldn't feel it. So he wouldn't feel anything, so he could go back to having something other than pride. Peace. Solace. Comfort. Rest.
"I love you, Doris. Always have. Always will. I'll wait for you up there." he smiled, took the pills and knocked back the scotch in two gulps. "Now come here, if I'm gonna go, I wanna go with you in my arms."
|
I fluffed his pillow and he smiled.
“Thanks for that,” he said, settling happily down on the threadbare cotton sheets. There was a moment of quiet. There was a tube running up his nostrils and into a beeping machine beside him. That was the only thing keeping him here, a metal box, connected to the mains.
“I’ve got a boyfriend now,” I said. “Well, not really a ‘boyfriend’ really, we’re both too old for that kind of thing. Just… the house has been so empty with you gone.” I stopped. I was trying not to let him see me in pain. I sucked a breath in.
“He stops it being quiet.”
“That’s nice dear” He smiled, blissfully, barely aware I was there. He couldn’t remember a thing about me.
He’d always liked the Opera. Classical music wasn't really my thing, but I had brought him his CD’s from home. I turned, and put one it the player next to him. Strings started to play.
"Johannes Brahms..." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Thank you for bringing it. He makes me feel like I'm home"
I smiled, and blinked tears from my eyes. “I hear you've been singing to the nurses. Don Giovanni, apparently. I didn't know you could speak the language.”
“Oh no, I don’t speak Italian. I just like the music”
He wasn’t there anymore. He hadn’t been there for years. I sighed, and my voice broke. I started to cry.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” Not even a spark of recognition.
So I pulled the switch, and let him go.
| 2013-10-08T10:12:16
| 2013-10-08T09:52:54
| 373
| 41
|
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it.
|
9 Jan 1309 and 14 Mar 1752
Two dates that are seared into my memory.
The dates were when someone last prayed to me.
Of course, even then my powers had waned significantly and i had been a pale shadow of my once powerfully benevolent self , weak after many millennia of having been forgotten and relegated to a lesser God.
But still I had tried to help. To manifest what little miracle I could. If not to fully answer the prayer , at least to lessen the pain of the one calling to me. It was as much (maybe more) to keep me feeling alive and needed as much as to help a mortal.
Those final two prayer answering incidents had hastened to weaken me more and quicker than it would have otherwise.
These days , all I do is continue to live on in this lonely cottage by the mountain ,powerless and helpless with only my memories of the past to keep me company.
Marking the passage of endless time until The All One decides to call me back.
Once every two or three years I take a holiday. To go visit the places that once held sacred power, where we were worshipped.
It’s all changed now obviously.
Offices,Hospitals and Airports occupy where once stood Temples and Prayer houses where devotees came calling. Bearing gifts in their hands, prayers in their hearts and hope on their mind.
I visit those places today to see passengers with with bags in their hand (some containing gifts no doubt) with prayers in their heart for a safe journey and hope for a better future.
“Segul - please come back. I am lost without you “
I took me a while to realise I was not in a dream. I slapped myself to know if i was asleep and hallucinating this prayer call, only to end up with a stinging pain on my cheek and the realisation that after nearly 400 years, someone had called me again. Had remembered me. Was beseeching me to come back.
Suffice to say that this came more as a shock than anything else. It couldn’t be. While I was fighting my inner voice to deny that it had heard a call , the same prayer came again. Much clearer and louder this time.
I realised that I was speaking to myself.
“I cannot go. It would be of no use and just disappoint whoever it is praying. And Me”.
My inner voice replied
“How do you know that until you go see what is it about ? It may well be a hopeless cause but you won’t know that until you see for yourself . And if you don’t go now , you will forever be asking yourself What if “
Since I had nothing better to do anyway I grudgingly dug up the location tracker from where I had buried it behind my cottage. It barely had any power left. I charged it with some of my own , weakening me ever more slightly in the process.
Even with this addition , the tracker powered up just barely enough to scan the airwaves and home onto the source from whence had come the call.
It was a small town around 600 miles from where I lived. If it had been much farther I doubt I would have been able to find the location.
It took me the best part of a full day to get there since my powers of instantly teleporting to where I wanted to go were well past me.
The house was in a quiet neighbourhood at the end of a leaf strewn street, overlooking a small patch of woods.
I knocked the door and a young woman, greying prematurely , opened the door.
“Hello, I’m Segul. I don’t know how to say this. But I’m a God and someone from this house called me. Actually Prayed to me. Was it you ?”
It took a while (by using up even more of my diminished power to lightly hypnotise her) to convince her that a) I wasn’t a perverted old man b) I wasn’t joking and c) I really was who I claimed I was.
Although she allowed me inside finally , she was confident that no one from this house could have called me seeing as a) no one even knew that a God like me existed and b) she and her family were Atheists and didn’t believe in Gods anyway.
I would have liked to tell her that it mattered not an inch what she believed in since I, A God ,minor though I may be , was standing right in front of her but I wisely decided to let the point slide.
“You mentioned family. Who else lives here ?”
“My daughter. But don’t worry Mr Segul. I am sure she couldn’t have called you seeing as she’s just 3 years old and there is no way she could know about an Old God like you.
She’s into cartoons and colouring books.
You wouldn’t happen to have featured in any of those I presume ?”
I admitted that I was sure I wasn’t featured in any cartoons or colouring books but asked her
“Can I speak with her for a minute ? Of course I don’t think you’re wrong but having come all the way I prefer not to go back with an unfulfilled prayer hanging about “
I could see the annoyance in her face as she called for her Daughter.
It was a while before a whippet of a girl appeared. Immediately I could see that she had been crying. Quite recently too. Her face was red right down to the tip of her nose
Her mother rushed to her
“Honey, oh baby - what’s wrong ? Why are you crying ?”
At this , the child started to cry once more , her chest heaving and hands waving around. I couldn’t watch yet couldn’t turn away as I now felt so strongly that this girl had called me.
“Mommy , it’s Segul - he’s gone missing “
Whatever I had been expecting , it wasn’t this.
When she realised what her Daughter had just said, the Mother looked at me mouth agape.
“Oh , how could I forget. Oh yes , We have a dog. Called Regal. Except that my daughter can’t pronounce the word R. She keeps calling him Segal”
She pronounced it like anyone would the bird.
It was now clear to me. And I felt quite bitter and disappointed.
I hadn’t been remembered after all. It was not me that this girl had called.
The girl looked at me through her tears
“Mr , can you find my dog ?”
My heart broke at the loss I could see in her eyes. I knew I couldn’t help her find her dog. I was far too weak. My location tracker wouldn’t help for it only showed me a place if someone called me (deliberately or by mistake as i now knew)
But I knew what I had to do.
“My child , I’m sorry Regal is missing. I can’t help you directly find him but I can do something that would help “
I spoke to the Mother now.
“I’m a lesser God as I have told you. That means there are Higher Gods and if I pray to one or other of them , I think they may be able to help your dog be found”
Yes I thought it would work. You see , I can’t be asking anything for myself when I pray to a Higher God. But in this case it was clear that I wasn’t doing this for myself. And a God’s prayer carried some weight even now.
And so we all knelt down , right there in the living room and prayed.
I left them waiting on their doorstep as I began my long journey back home.
By the time I reached the end of their street I think I could hear a joyful bark and sounds of laughter from somewhere behind me.
I never looked back.
|
"Its your son sir, he needs your help."
"Well he doesn't seem to think so." Oriothis rolled his eyes from on top of his riding lawn mower. Clearly annoyed by being interrupted from his chores.
The servant spoke again with his head bowed both out of respect and the fear of making eye contact with such a powerful being. He spoke again through a shaky voice.
"He has fallen in love with a mortal and it has left him broken. He needs his father right now."
Oriothis warily looked the servant up and down. He was there the day his son had overthrown him. He stood as his son challenged him to an unfair challenge. Oriothis could have declined but he could tell that his son was too far gone. He had lost him. H accepted the challenge and willingly passed his mantle to his only son knowing it would destroy him in the end. But fathers must watch helplessly in times like those.
"A woman has been praying to him every day now. She is dying of cancer and reached out to your son to save her but he cannot. He doesn't know how and it is destroying him." The servant was pleading with him now.
There was an innocent life involved now. He son was an angry God and thought his fathers benevolent nature was his weakness and he was right.
"Take me to her." And fetch my son
"He is with her now and they are not far." The servant looked up both startled and relieved.
"I can drive us then just give me a second to get changed."
"Can't you just make us appear there?"
"Well I could but thats actually pretty exhausting and I've been doing chores all day. C'mon it's fun some of these mortals are so stressed when they drive but I find it relaxing."
"She's at the hospital in town actually." The servant now more confused than anything.
Oriothis unlocked the car door and told him he would be back. The servant sat in the passenger seat of his mini van and waited for him to get changed. From the rear vvieew mirror hung a picture of his son as a young boy. Jerraud the servant felt very small at that moment. So insignificant that his role in all this was just a nobody. How he had never stood up for himself and made anything that mattered. Like a family. He knew he did the right thing to pray to oriothis.
They arrived after an awkward fifteen minute drive and made their way to the woman's room. Shelby was her name and she was not winning her battle with cancer. She looked up at oriothis behind red puffy eyes that had only recently stopped crying. His son picked his head up and looked at his father without anger for the first time in years. He was too exhausted to be angry. He had been sleeping in waiting rooms for months now so he smelled and was unshaven. He had no clue when the last time he had taken a shower or worn clothes he knew were clean. None of that mattered because he didn't care. She was all he cared about and yet he could do anything.
"Dad I'm so sorry please help us." His son jumped up from his chair and embraced his father. He sobbed into his chest hysterically. Oriothis held his son and was brought to a few tears as well.
"I can't help you. This is the way of mortals. She will pass on but you must not let this destroy you it is the natural way of things. We cannot be ones to meddle in that." His father had been through this before with the boys own mother.
"That's bull shit mom lived a long life aand happy life before she passed but what does she get! She gets all that taken from her. For no fucking reason." Rage welled in his sons eyes and oriothis knew what he had to do.
"You must know this loss. So many people in the world live with this pain every day and there is nothing they can do about it. How can you hope to help them or rule them if you don't understand this part of reality. Every mortal will perish one day how can we make an exception for one without making it for all?" His words did nothing to calm his son.
"The difference is I'm not in love with them. Not like I love her I can't let this one go. I fucking won't. If she goes I'm going with her." His son taraxis started crying again. No hysterics this time. He looked so feeble and exhausted now.
"If what you say is true then there is a way you can save her."
Taraxis eyes widened as he picked his head up to face his father.
"Tell me right now."
"Only love is powerful enough to do what you're asking. You must be willing to do anything for this woman."
"Yes anything." Oriothis believed his son. The anger that had haunted his son for so long was honed into passion now. He would leap off of the roof of the hospital if he said it would save her.
He walked over to the woman and placed his hand on her head. Soon she began to scream and writhe and kick around in her bed. A black smoke poured out from her mouth and filled the room. It began to dissipate eventually and was absorbed by oriothis through ever pour in his body until he appeared incredibly aged and decrepit.
"When she wakes up tell her that i owe her my life for saving my son. I love you taraxis I hope you understand now that I always have."
"Oh my god dad are you ok what happened?"
"I'll be fine. I will pass soon instead of her now. But I will rest easy now that you have been saved." Oriothis sat down in the chair his son was in originally and sighed. "I will leave you shortly to tend to her but after I leave could visit me one last time? I would like to spend the last of my days with you but I will settle for a few moments. We have a lot to talk about."
"Yes dad of course anything. I owe you everything I'm so sorry for everything I don't know where to begin."
"Don't worry about it you will understand why I did everything I did one day. You have already begun to understand I can see that now." He rose from the chair and made for the door. "I'll be seeing you taraxis and nice to see you again jerraud." He pathetically sauntered down the hallway and out to his car. He felt so relieved as he turned on his car and headed home. He son was not lost.
---sorry about the awful grammar I'm on mobile so it's kind of a pain-----
"
| 2018-05-30T01:08:15
| 2018-05-29T22:59:09
| 57
| 28
|
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The wheel was pressed too far into her ribs and every breath, no matter how shallow, radiated waves of agony from deep inside her chest.
She could see, but the light was wrong. The noise of rushing, bubbling water muted other sounds. She couldn’t feel her feet, but she registered the water that was rising up past her chest. So cold.
When she tried to move, the wheel, the belt and the pain kept her from moving more than a few inches.
She saw movement in the mirror, and sick panic rose with the water.
“Mama, get me up! Up!”
|
He sullenly finished his cigarette by himself on his hotel balcony. He threw out the dull remains of his noxious addiction into the vast open space in front of him, glancing across the road from him just long enough to notice two men in the opposite hotel room, one behind the other, looking straight at him.
Then both their hotel lights turned off at the same time and it took him a fraction of a second too long to realise the two men had just been a reflection as he felt someone's breath on the back of his neck.
e: Thanks /r/fluntcaps :)
| 2015-06-09T09:37:54
| 2015-06-09T09:36:34
| 24
| 11
|
[WP] You are a lawyer in God's Court who and you must a find a way to get your newest client, Adolf Hitler, into Heaven via a loophole in the Lord's legal system
To clarify, the job is relatively simple: you are a lawyer who argues the case for people who don't just make it into Heaven. Anyone who was a heathen, a murderer, or just an all-around bad guy is forced to have you as their client to score them a ticket to the best afterlife around. This particular case has you dealing with trying to convince God that Hitler deserves to go to Heaven by abusing a loophole in the system. You are motivated to do this because you're a lawyer and this is your job.
Have fun, and thanks in advance to anyone who submits.
|
The trial did not go well. Hitler was found guilty of the murder of countless humans, including his family, and himself. At the sentencing is where I will strike.
"While Hitler is guilty of sin, my client did accept Jesus as his personal saviour. Is it not the case that his sentence has already been spent by our Lord's sacrifice? If we read the divine law, we find that the only unforgivable sin is blasphemy. My client is not here sentenced or even accused of blasphemy, and so surely his sentence is spent."
|
"Your honor, this man is not guilty of the actions the prosecution claim he has committed. Article 6 of the Mosaic Commandments clearly states 'Thou shalt not kill--' but my client never killed anyone."
"Objection! Millions were killed at his orders!"
"Your honor, I object to the prosecution's objection. The case is moot--he never personally lifted a finger to harm anyone. His own suicide was an alternative to the lengthy trials and execution he would undoubtedly face, nullifying the supposed 'murder' of himself it would normally constitute. Now we are forced to look at his personal life on earth. He was a reasonable individual when dealing with his family and friends. He was in a committed relationship and had a daughter who he cared and loved for, and he engaged in virtually none of the sins set forth in the law of Moses."
"Objection! He was not married to the woman he had a child with."
"Marylin Monroe is in heaven right now and she slept with more men than would fill the seats of this courtroom. Your honor, my client pleads 'not guilty' to all charges of murder."
The judge contemplated a second, then shrugged and banged the gavel. "Not guilty. Welcome to heaven, Mr. Hitler."
| 2014-10-13T08:34:47
| 2014-10-13T08:30:05
| 69
| 20
|
[WP] A society where everyone is born gender less, and has to pick a gender by their 18th birthday.
|
After the clinic, there'd be a party. Either decision would be celebrated, but if I came out a woman the party would be huge - only 20% of kids decided to become women, and there was enormous pressure to increase that number. Everyone in my class had been engulfed by pro-female advertisements our entire adolescence, complete with classes that emphasized how much the risks had been reduced in recent years, all the pleasures of being female, all the social protections and perks, the stronger orgasms, the joys of babies and children. We'd also all had our share of suitors; there were so few women that many men resorted to propositioning teens, with contracts for life-style guarantees in exchange for insemination rights. Even if your fertility failed all treatments. And all allowed sex or marriage with whoever you wanted, of course. But these contracts included all the same strict lifestyle clauses that we'd seen our mothers live with, to protect them from any harm from crime or health hazards, and to protect the young babies still under their care - you live under the thumb of your doctors, and "responsible" women live in maternity residencies with high security and follow community lifestyle programs that many said were basically prison-like.
But security was necessary, because there was a thriving black market for cheaters - organizations that kidnapped women, especially if they lived alone with their husband instead of a facility, and aborted whoever's baby they were carrying, and inseminated their own. And their facilities were nasty and brutal.
Women were celebrated, women were a national treasure, and becoming one was a highly appreciated life-long service and sacrifice everyone respected. But I wasn't sure I wanted a career of baby incubating, of being eyed my whole life like prey the way that a few of the suitors had - imagining wider hips, and breasts, and a baby bump on my still clearly young, neuter frame (so gross!). Of needing permission and chaperons to go out. I think I wanted freedom more than I wanted children.
Of course, I wasn't looking forward to harboring that "sexual drive" myself either, which was, if you asked some religions, the punishment men suffered for failing to make the sacrifice. Longings, frustration, and obsession with female bodies. They said women had similar longings, but their larger source of grief was clearly what they suffered when their children moved to live with their fathers full-time. Which was nothing compared to the grief of men who never know the fulfillment of achieving fatherhood - the bane of modern society, the masculine obsession with having babies.
But women have to endure childbirth, and significantly shorter lifespans ("which is natural for women", we were taught in school - "part of the sacrifice of taking on the gender, and no, women's lifespans can not be increased by having fewer babies, that is a dangerous myth!").
We pulled into the clinic. Etched on the glass of the sliding doors was a reminder for every 18 year old who came through, "Be Fearless - Do what is in your heart." With posters of babies, and beautiful, joyful women, and a few smiling but dull looking men, lining the hallway. Not subtle at all.
What is in my heart? I want to stay neuter.
My Dad comes to stand beside me and takes one hand, and my Mother, 8 months pregnant, and out with very special permission from her Doctor for this occasion, takes my other hand. Together they march me in.
|
"It's like building with lego's" my dad joked. "You just snap the parts you want onto yourself!"
"Just like lego's?" I raised an eyebrow. My dad, the jokester. I could never take anything he said seriously.
My mother laughed and nearly spit out her wine "Oh stop it Jamie, you're going to confuse Alex even more."
"Okay, it's not exactly like lego's, you can't switch them out whenever. Once the choice is made, it's final."
My mom and dad stood in the doorway of the bathroom. I looked at the parts sitting on the bathroom counter, in their respectful boxes for male and female.
I read the box for the female parts:
"Included in this box are:
1 pair of mystery sized breasts
1 bra of according size
1 self cleaning vagina (cervix, ovaries, etc)
1 manual for how to take care of your equipment
Not included:
box of pads or tampons
"
I read the box for the male parts:
"Included in this box are:
1 mystery sized penis
1 pair of mystery testicles
1 pair of nipples
1 adam's apple
1 manual for how to take care of your equipment
Not included:
facial hair (you may grow your own later)
"
"You guys seriously had to do this too?" I looked at them both.
My dad grinned "Yeah, I went to the store and chose the heaviest boxes for both genders. So you know, whatever is inside is gonna be big" he gave an exaggerated wink. "Whichever one you don't choose, I'm taking back to the store, no worries. Jordan, where'd you leave the receipt?"
My mom waved somewhere in the general direction of the living room. She was sooooo drunk. I secretly think she always wanted a little girl, but I was never very feminine. She gave me her old dresses from when she was little, but I wouldn't wear them and instead ran around shirtless most of the time. It's not weird, nobody has nipples til their gender is assigned.
And now, my dad's joke about getting the heaviest boxes made me even more nervous. I liked the freedom of a flat chest. I couldn't imagine having breasts like my mother's. They were bigger than my head! I used to bury my face in them and be so comforted as a child.
Oh god... Children! if I chose to be a woman... I'd have to be the one who carries the kid if I chose to have one. The thought was terrifying. Not as terrifying as the thought of monthly periods, however. I'd always hear my mom complaining about those.
I had made my choice. "Excuse me for a few minutes" I closed the door and heard my parents' footsteps head towards the living room.
I picked up the box for male parts. I peeled off the clear plastic and opened the container.
Inside, there were black, sealed, labeled baggies, on the very top was the instruction manual.
"CONGRATULATIONS! You've now started your journey to manhood!" it read.
I looked for the installation instructions.
"You are probably excited to see what kind of equipment you now own, go ahead and open the bag containing the penis"
I looked for it. It wasn't hard to find. It was the longest baggie. I opened it, and inside was a pale sausage like thing. I looked back at the instructions.
"Your penis, along with the other parts, is pale in color and will blend with your skin tone within 10 minutes of being attached! To attach, simply place the base marked with the letter A to the corresponding area on your body"
I dropped my pants. I had always wondered what the markings on my body would do. Everyone had them, I learned in school. We are all born with the markings and when we turn 18, we get to finally put them to use.
I pressed the base of the penis onto my pubic mound. It didn't snap on like lego's, more like, stuck on like a magnet. My skin acted like silly putty and molded itself around the base of the foreign object. I now had a penis! but no balls.
I read the manual. "Your penis has a foreskin included. You may see a doctor about getting it removed, should you want or need to"
The instruction manual said to get my balls next. I grabbed the package labeled testes and followed procedure. I went on to do this with all the parts.
When I was done, I admired myself on the full length mirror on the bathroom door. I wiggled my hips left and right, I jumped up and down, and let my junk flop around. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.
I didn't feel any different otherwise, maybe a bit awkward. Putting on pants was strange. I didn't know where to put this prominent bulge in front.
I walked around with pants a bit to get used to the feeling of having something down there. I was ready to make my debut. I opened the bathroom door and made my way to the living room.
"Tah dah!" my own voice startled me. It was a hell of a lot deeper than before I made my Decision.
"That's my boy!" my dad cheered. He got up from the couch and high fived me. I looked at my mom. She seemed sad, but she smiled "Alex. My boy. My son. Alex." She got up and hugged me."
She whispered "I would have chosen male too, but I didn't get a choice"
| 2014-07-01T01:23:07
| 2014-07-01T00:12:11
| 49
| 36
|
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
If the bible was to be believed then the first time man killed man he used a rock.
And now things had come full circle, Erik reflected as he watched the massive asteroid his shuttle had been towing plummet into earth's gravity well.
The last time a human could kill another was with a rock as well.
|
martin worked furiously in the dying light, trying to pack his specimens into the one remaining powered refrigerator in the CDC. electricity, like everything else, was a premium since the SSPE-strain measles pandemic of 2016 and he'd barely secured the tiny space he now stacked the tiny tubes into. he'd even had to contribute half of his personal watts to its running and he spared a curse, as he did every day, at the fools who stopped vaccinating themselves a mere generation ago.
| 2014-08-04T23:21:29
| 2014-08-04T22:10:19
| 89
| 11
|
[WP] You find an antique gold compass with the words ”Moral Compass”. It will automatically point to the most morally good person within a 100 meter radius. You are on jury one day and when you look at the compass, it points to the convicted serial killer.
|
Everyone came out of the jury's chamber for the sentencing. Guilty, of course. We didn't have much of a choice. The evidence mounting against him was overwhelming. I was actually annoyed I had had to take off time today to be jury for such a simple case.
Jay Kleiner was a murderer of the lowest order. A murderer of children. And of policemen. And of doctors. The golden trifecta. I was disgusted just watching him, seeming so smug and cheerful. So why was my compass saying that he was the the most decent human being in the room?
The compass had been a gift from my grandmother. She had given it to me just before she was executed. She had said, "Isaac, this compass shows who the best person around you. Always make sure to only associate with those people."
That hadn't been hard, since it almost always pointed at me. Occasionally it moved, and I would try to find out who it was. But in recent years, it had only pointed at me. I don't know if that made me feel good or nervous. And now it was pointing at a murderer. Why? Was it broken?
The judge passed down the verdict. "For these crimes, you are sentenced to death by lethal injection. The sentence is to be carried out immediately. May God have mercy on your soul."
Kleiner didn't flinch. He had to have known this was coming. He was guilty. They were all guilty. He just smirked and said, "My soul doesn't need any mercy."
A hooded man entered with the needle. But first, a Forgiver came forward, as per Protocol VI. He placed the camera in front of Kleiner and said loudly, "Do you, Jay Kleiner, regret your crime?"
"No."
"Then you are forgive-What?"
Someone behind me gasped. If you didn't play this part right then they would take it out on your family. But he just kept right on talking to the crowd. Maybe he just didn't care anymore. He didn't bother talking to the camera. Everyone knew the footage would later be edited for the good of the people. He spoke to us. My compass went wild.
"I have not committed a crime. I have nothing to apologise for. Those people had it coming. Would have been nice if you allowed me to defend myself **before** I was pronounced guilty, though."
A hushed whisper started spreading through the courtroom. The judge shouted, "Silence, Mr. Kleiner!"
His grin wouldn't let up. "Or what, you'll hold me in contempt? I'm not going to apologise for destroying your sick euthanization den, and slaughtering your mad scientists. How long did you think people would stand idly by? Forever? Not gonna happen."
Pandemonium erupted. The judge pounded his gavel to no avail, then shouted, "Carry out the execution! Now!" He seemed panicked. He probably was. Even a judge could wake up one night with a knock on the door, and never be seen again.
Kleiner was grabbed by two burly soldiers. He didn't resist. He just kept talking, raising his voice to a shout, to be heard above the hubbub. "I did not kill those children! I weep for the ones I wasn't able to save! I weep because you killed them! But most of them got away. They're with my people right now! And you'll never find them. Not until the fall of this tyrannical empire! Down with the Gravian Empire! Up with the revolutionnnnnn........"
The cry died on his lips. The executioner had just injected him. 500 milligrams of Hydrogen Cyanide was already coursing through his body. But somehow he found the strength to utter one last sentence. "Someone will always ^do ^the ^right ^thiiing."
No more. He was silent. The compass slowly turned back around to point at me. And I finally knew what that meant.
I joined the revolution the very next day.
|
Welp, where do I start. Do you know those stupid moral dilemmas that you had to do in your high school English class? Yeah, I just got into a real big one. I got a compass in a pawn shop that was being sold for dirt cheap, I bought it, because why not? It might be valuable to someone somewhere, and they might be willing to pay me for it.
&#x200B;
Anyway, this old lady that was working at the pawnshop told me it was a moral compass or something like that. I didn't really care until one family Christmas where I showed it off to everyone and it would point directly at my mother in law. That was stranger than the story that I'm going to tell you.
&#x200B;
I was on the jury for a convicted serial killer. He was not a good dude, to say the least. He killed so, so many people. I don't want to go into the details.
&#x200B;
Anyway, they were at a standstill and they lawyers were busy talking to their clients, I didn't have my phone with me, and my fingernails were already bitten all to hell, so I got out the magic compass. This next part freaked me out the most. It pointed directly at the defendant, the *serial killer*. Trust me, I moved the compass around to see if it was a lawyer or someone behind him, but nope, it was definitely him.
&#x200B;
What do you do in this situation? He killed people, but he was morally right? That goes against everything 99% of people stand for. And who would believe me if I said that this guy is actually the good guy because a broken compass told me so? I had to think long and hard about how the compass behaved. My mother in law is the key, sadly.
&#x200B;
Then, after five minutes of deep contemplation, it hit me. It's not about who has good morals, it's about if you follow your *own* morals. My mother in law may be an idiot, but she does everything she does because she thinks she is right. It must be the same here. There is no way it is morally correct to kill someone over something, but maybe to him, it is. Maybe in his twisted mind, he believes it is genuinely okay to kill someone because of something they did. That would make him the most moral person in the room, because he goes completely for what he believes.
&#x200B;
What have I learned from this? I learned that my mother in law (unhallowed be thy name) is the key to solving the worst cases of moral dilemmas.
| 2019-09-10T20:18:20
| 2019-09-10T15:09:27
| 3,464
| 619
|
[WP] You are a park ranger manning the watchtower back at HQ. Radio reception is spotty, so if a patroller gets in trouble, they fire off a flare to call for help. You just saw purple flares from all over the park rise above the treeline, The meaning: EMERGENCY. ARMED RESPONSE NEEDED.
|
Ranger White saddled his horse and strapped his shotgun to his back; in the distance, purple sparks showered the white-capped Shoshone mountains of Yellowstone.
I handed him a high beam and his pack. I was the one who saw the sparks, but only Ranger White, the oldest Ranger in the park, had ever responded to purple flares before. I thought it had been a joke during training. Why would ever Park Ranger in Yellowstone need to respond to single call? With guns? No grizzly bear could be that big.
"Stay here," White said, gruffly. He hoisted himself onto his horse. "I'm going to back up the other rangers. Lock the door, and watch for more flares. White means all clear. Purple means we need more backup. Red means...."
I swallowed. I was just a junior ranger, working my first summer job in Wyoming. "What does a red flare mean?"
Ranger White assessed me with cold eyes. "Remember that button I told you never to press? The one in the watchtower? A red flare means it's time to press that button."
Ranger White kicked his horse and raced away before I could ask what the black button did. But it was easy enough to remember: red flare, black button. Red flare, black button.
I climbed the ladder to the top of the watchtower, which stood a hundred feet from Ranger HQ, high in the hills of Yellowstone.
I ran the normal procedures, scanning with my binoculars and searchlights, as more and more Rangers mounted their horses and took off for the purple flares. I thought I could hear distant yelling and gunfire. What was it? Certainly not drunk tourists, like usual. A bear attack, maybe, or a wolf pack gone rabid?
As time passed my mind went to even more absurd places. Terrorists? Secret government operations? Aliens?
Yellowstone was millions of acres of pure wilderness; who knew what could exist out there? Ever since I started my job, I'd gotten the impression from Ranger White that there were things no one understood about the park, not even him.
In the distance another purple flare showered the mountain with sparks. It looked like it was coming from the eastward side of Druid Peak, the middle of nowhere, basically. No tourists ever went that deep into the woods.
Another purple flare.
Another.
More gun shots; hazy yelling.
Then a final scream, and silence.
I waited for a long time before the red flare went up.
I ran to the control panel of the watchtower, unlocked the case around the black button, and pressed it.
Immediately, alarms began to sound in HQ; the windows and doors slammed shut as metal armor slid into place, quarantining HQ from the rest of the world. And in the distance, all over the park, more sirens began to blare, from every ranger station in the park.
And then a flood of purple and red flare began illuminating the sky. Whatever was happening, it was spreading.
I waited in the tower for a long time, cradling my shotgun, afraid to leave but afraid to run. Could I even get into HQ if it was locked?
I heard a moan come from the ground below the tower, followed by a dragging sound.
My gun shook in my hands. I pushed myself up, peered over, and scanned the dark woods.
There was nothing. No monster, no alien, no bear or wolf pack or terrorist.
Then I heard the sound of flesh hitting metal.
I looked straight down to see someone climbing up the watchtower. I couldn't see the person's face; they were just a rapidly approaching shadow.
I shone my flashlight into the person's face, only to see Ranger White.
His skin mottled, grey, dead; half of his skull fell open to the air. His eyes were black and hungry, fixed on me.
&#x200B;
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out r/TomTeller for more stories
|
Standing up from the terminal, Jack glanced out the window as the first flare went up. Not 300 yards, another went up, and then another, and then another, ten total. He scrambled for his pack containing emergency supplies: fresh water, bandages, medication, splint material. He made a mental checklist of everything there.
Next, he crossed the watchtower to the gun cabinet and picked out a 30/30 rifle with a small slot for a clip to be inserted. He slung that over his shoulder and grabbed two clips. One had red paint slashed across the side of it to indicate lethal rounds. The other clip was slashed in blue to indicate sedative. He tossed those into a small duffle that was sitting in the gun cabinet containing 2 boxes of shotgun shells. He slung the parent shotgun over his shoulder, the gun clanging against the rifle and grabbed the duffle bag of ammunition.
He danced down the stairs, two at a time, landing on the ground in record time. He dropped the emergency bag on the ground and opened up the back of the brown Cherokee and tossed the rounds in. He unslung the two guns and tossed them in the back as well. He grabbed the emergency supplies and heaved them in after the others.
Another flare breathed life into the darkness, bathing the watchtower in a eerie glow. Jack cursed under his breath and ran back up to the watchtower to make sure he wasn't missing anything. At the top, he looked to see that there were eleven flares dancing in the night sky, each one showing a need, and yet something in the back of his mind was nagging him. He ignored it, instead worrying about Carol and Javi, who had been out looking for some campers that were a few miles away from the campgrounds.
With the interference that came with the storm that was threatening, Jack decided to grab a paper map of the park. He checked his holster and was comforted to feel his loaded p229 sitting there. Those blue hues danced over the watchtower one more time, making sure he didn't forget anything, and then he bounded back down the stairs for the Cherokee.
As soon as he got down, he closed the Cherokee and hopped in the SUV. He cranked the engine and it whined in protest for a moment, but started without much fanfare. The radio in the vehicle crackled to life as the power of the vehicle resurrected it. There was a voice, faint, crackling through the static.
"Jack, hurry up. Can you hear me? Need help. Exfil, please." The voice was weak yet gruff.
Lightning streaked through the sky, lancing through the dull purples of the flares. The radio squelched and went to static again. Jack couldn't speak. He couldn't make himself respond to the cries of help. He grabbed the vox, pressed the button, but his mouth hung open stupidly, his own words caught.
Another crack of lightning and thunder shook the car. He dropped the handheld mike and smashed in the gas. The engine spun up in RPMs instantly and the tires groaned under the dirt and rock. He may not be able to speak, but Jack could still drive. He could still save Carol and Javi.
The Cherokee swerved under the torque of the engine, fishtailing and sending dirt and rock in a rooster tail while he bounded down the road at reckless speeds. Every 10 seconds or so, he would look into the sky, hoping to see where he was supposed to go, getting ever closer to the closest flare.
Within about two minutes, he made it to the first distress, but he was so tightly wound that Jack almost missed it. A dying flare lay in the dead underbrush, barely illuminating carnage. He jumped out of the car, pistol in hand the second he landed on the ground, and he started a sweep of vision around the scene.
In the middle of the carnage lay a Blackhawk helicopter. Jack yelled for Javi and Carol. No one answered. Dead soldiers were strewn around in terrible rictuses of pain and anger. Bullet holes laced through all of them. Another flare bloomed in the sky above him, illuminating the scene more fully. Jack recognized a face of one of the dead, and then another, and soon, his hand dropped to his side, his pistol falling to the ground.
The world spun for the Ranger. He started to stumble, fear gripping him. He ran for the Jeep and then the world went black.
His eyes fluttered open. He noted asbestos tiling in the ceiling. A tranquil cream color was painted on the walls, and a small tv was hanging up on the wall opposite of him. On a rolling table next to him sat a discarded jello cup and some water in a pepto-pink colored pitcher. Jack groaned.
A Hispanic man came in after a moment. "Hola compadre. Feeling better today?" The nurse had a thick Cuban accent and a genial face. His nametag, Javi Gutierrez, hung from a lanyard around his neck. He sidestepped to the side of Jack's bed and lifted the man up a little bit, fluffing his pillow. A perpetual smile on Javi's face masked the hint of concern in his chocolate hues when they were fixed on Jack.
While he was getting Jack into a better position, a man in dress blues leaned up from a recliner where he had dozed. Jack knew who he was right away. Lieutenant Hugh Carol made his way to the other side of the bed. The lieutenant was saying something to Jack, but his might was starting to pull focus to a nightstand, where a purple heart lay in it's decorative box, showing everyone in the world the heroic act Jack had performed just a few months ago. Even now, he started recalling the speech given by the Lieutenant at Jack's bedside.
"Jack seemed to know where everyone was that needed help. It was as if each soldier saved shot up a flare, colored like this heart, to tell the world of this hero, as he carried them each to safety. A dozen souls saved by this man, myself included."
The memory of the publicity stunt started to get fuzzy, and he could hear Javi telling the Lieutenant that Jack needed rest. Jack's vision closed in on him and he fell back into the slumber of recuperation, the dream and the memories falling by the wayside once again.
He blinked and stood, looking through the lens of the telescope, seeing a dozen purple comets streak through the sky and it filled the astronomer Jack with dread.
| 2020-02-24T13:28:07
| 2020-02-24T12:26:41
| 58
| 20
|
[WP] On everyones 18th birthday they receive a letter showing them what percentage of their life has gone by. You just received yours today and it says 0.00%
|
It was technically the day after Laura's two-hundred-and-eighteenth birthday. The previous day she'd gone through her regular birthday ritual, placing up birthday cards written by her parents, grandparents, sisters - most of her family had sent her a sweet, memorable cards to celebrate her big day.
She'd walked to the nearby ultra-market and brought herself her favourite cake. Black Forest cake, with a beautiful chocolate-cherry fondant icing on the top. She'd then dusted off the ancient video camera, and plugged it into her large viewing screen. She watched the tape her father had taken on that day. Laura had yet to age past eighteen. Running and a balanced diet kept her body healthy - not that she really needed to worry. Immortality had its benefits. Very minor ones.
After she'd re-played the tape of her family gathering a couple of times, silently reading the words along like it were the script of her favourite television series, she put the camera carefully back into its box. Fearful of damaging it, and thus never getting to witness her deceased family again.
She still had her letter, with its worn edges and slight tears. She walked over to the small keep-sake box her then-girlfriend had made for her on her eighteenth birthday. Her soft, slender fingers sifted through the old photographs they had together, unable to hold back her smile as she still remembered just how dearly she'd loved Hayley.
Beneath the various love-letters, pictures, and other memorable objects was the envelope, stamped as they all were: 'Private and confidential - MODD (Ministry of Death Dates)' She plucked the folded sheet of A4 from the crumpled casing, and unfolded it slowly.
Laura still remembered how nervous she'd felt opening her letter. At eighteen she'd lacked maturity, but had always adored living for the moment. She was the young woman who always had a smile on her face. Weight, and responsibility were on the other side of the unopened envelope. She'd opened it in private, but allowed Hayley to be in the room with her when she discovered her magic number.
The blonde girl thought back to that day. How they'd both looked at the obvious glitch, and joked about how she was going to live forever. It was like the plot of one of the superhero movies they adored watching together. Time had a cruel way of snatching those laughs, and smiles. Six months later it was Hayley's eighteenth, and Laura was the one by her side. The blonde had so hoped that her partner would get 0% too. Yet, that wasn't to be the case.
Fifty-percent had stared back at them, like a gruesome reminder that immortality was fiction. The accuracy of the letter was proven, when Hayley was taken ill at the age of thirty-five, and never recovered.
Laura's memory of the next one-hundred years without Hayley were difficult to recall. On the anniversary of both her first-love's birthday and funeral, the blonde would cry herself to sleep - clinging to the pictures they'd taken with each other in their happy, care-free days.
Now, however, it was less painful. She'd not felt the same level of connection with another since Hayley's passing. Not until she'd had a chance meeting with Nadia. At first Laura had felt a little strange about her growing feelings for someone who was only seventeen. Yes, the blonde girl looked much the same as she did when she was eighteen - but she was actually in her two-hundreds. It had the makings of a truly horrific pedophile case in court.
Laura grabbed her holograph-watch, flicking through a number of useful applications until she reached the more modern way to be told your life's percentage. Since the turn of the twenty-second century, eighteen-year-olds had been sent the watch instead, which updated with each minute that passed.
The blonde's was as dull as usual. Sometimes she hoped to turn it on, and find the figure had changed. Nope. 0.00% every time. She traced her fingertip over several more programs, until she found herself receiving an incoming call. The picture that flashed up gave her heart a warm, fluttery feeling.
"Hey, Nadia. Everything okay?" Laura asked, unable to stop the bright smile which had spread across her cheeks.
"Laur'. So, I was wondering... I've got my watch today.."
Shit, was it her birthday? How had Laura forgotten that!
"... I was wondering if I could have your company when I switch it on. I just feel like I need someone there, and with my parents away..." Nadia continued, not even spotting the worry lines spreading across the blonde girl's face.
"Of course. Do you want to come over?" The immortal girl replied, sounding as sure as she possibly could. It must have been convincing, however, as Nadia responded in turn.
"Great!! I'm only a few blocks away..." Remarked the beautiful, caramel-skinned young woman, who then did something that caught Laura completely off-guard. She blew a kiss, and then ended the holographic call.
Laura was grateful that her crush - Jeez it was weird even thinking that word as an ancient old-lady - had ended the call before her cheeks showed the blush that soon appeared. Without a card, or a present to gift Nadia on her big day, Laura had to think of something fast. That's when she laid eyes on her own eighteenth birthday cards. Without even thinking she took the one Hayley had written to her and rubbed out the penciled-in names, before adding her own in, below the words 'With all my love, eternally...'
___________________________________________________
Nadia arrived around ten minutes after her call, and Laura had handed her the cheesy birthday card, with the huge love-hearts strewn across the number '18'. It brought a smile to her face, and got Laura a warm smooch on the cheek. She had to try and not fall for this girl. Well, fall any deeper. Her watch was sure to say something that's bring her back down to earth.
"I can't wait any longer, let's sit down and switch this bad-boy on!" Nadia chirped, while wiggling the bright-red watch on her left wrist. Laura's smile faltered, and her stomach dropped, but she managed a nod.
"Okay... Here goes..." The younger girl then announced, as she pressed the print of her thumb into the on switch - which also doubled up as a thumb-print reader. Once the watch had confirmed that the watch belonged to the owner of the print, a number flashed up.
A number which made both pair of eyes go wide.
"0.00%"
|
The sun was shining at its highest point as I woke up from a decent night's sleep. I thought to myself "Oh well, guess I'm not making it to any of my classes today"; something I've told myself way too many times now. Guess that's what depression does to a socially awkward freshman.
I decide to grab food and check for any mail I might've received at the commons building which was a good 5 minute walk from my own dorm building. Ugh, social interaction and going outside. Then again, no one ever really paid heed to my existence, and I'd done a fine job of keeping it that way.
The walk itself was uneventful and the food was nothing special, as usual. However I did have mail from a couple days ago, a letter I received on my birthday; another painfully bland and normal day. I decide to read the letter anyway.
"Hello, your life completion progress report is as follows:
Life completion % till legal adulthood: 0.00%
Have a great day!"
Nothing made sense anymore. Life completion report? 0.00%?! Have I finally lost my sanity?
Something about the last sentence seemed off. If anything, it made my day worse. Just thinking about the letter gave me the chills. And the worst part? I had absolutely no one to talk to about this. Living in a single dorm in college absolutely shut out all prospects of me ever interacting genuinely with another person, making it a sensible choice for me at the time. But oh man, I could really use a roommate or anyone for that matter to discuss that letter with right now. I tucked that piece of paper in my coat pocket for the time being.
I found myself staring out the window for an awfully long amount of time, just soaking in the sights. Squirrels and rabbits running across the lawn, people doing their thing. And thats when it hit me. All these people, these different people, were like extras in movies, like NPC's in video games. Hey maybe that's why no one ever talked to me. Just a basal existence without any true purpose really. They just were. Hell, everything just was. The repetitive cycle of work during the weekdays and relaxation during the weekends had always been starkly apparent to me, but this took it to a whole new level. Nothing made sense, but at the same time everything did. The utter pointlessness of it all was mind boggling.
There was no senders details or anything on the letter but I couldn't bother less about it. Everything makes sense now, be it if not for the better.
I found that piece of paper on the floor a couple days later. I noticed something different this time.
"Life completion % AFTER legal adulthood: 99.9%"
PS. One of my first comments on the site, let alone for a writing prompt.
| 2018-04-26T07:24:47
| 2018-04-26T01:50:34
| 33
| 13
|
[WP] Both a Knight and a Dragon tell the same story to their children before they sleep. The moral is different.
|
Sir Hector pulled the blankets up to little Peter's chin. "Good night, son," the giant man boomed, before stepping across the room to tuck in sweet Eleanor. "Good night, El," he said in a much gentler voice. She giggled as his scraggily red beard tickled her forehead when he bent to give her a good night kiss.
"Tell us the story of the dragon, Papa," she pleaded in her angelic little voice, big blue eyes brightened by the expectation of her favorite story.
"Yeah, tell us," Peter chimed in, peering at his father over the blankets.
The Knight considered them a moment, before pulling a wooden chair from the corner between their beds. He sank his massive frame into it and exhaled. "Let's see here," he began. "Ah yes.....
There once was a brave and mighty warrior, renowned for his skill in dragon slaying. The people of the town honored the great hero and praised him for keeping their kingdom safe. One day the noble king enlisted the Knight to dispatch the most feared beast in all the land. The Dragon of the Cold Mountains.
And so the loyal Knight traveled over miles of land. Across green and gold meadows. Through treacherous, icy rivers. Over rocky mountains, where furious snow storms raged. Until he reached the lair. It smelled of brimstone and seared flesh. Without the slightest bit of fear, the handsome Knight unsheathed his glimmering great sword. 'Dragon,' he called, 'Prepare to meet your doom!'
From the depths of the cave, a great red monster stirred. Its brilliant scales burned like fire, shimmering up and down the cave walls as it neared the entrance. It turned a gleaming gold eye on the slayer, smoke issuing from its nostrils as it rumbled deep in its throat.
'Who dares to enter my home?' it demanded.
'It is I, Sir Humbert the Great! I come to vanquish you, fel beast!' he declared, his voice ringing off the walls. And with that, the Knight lifted his blade, the red armor of his foe sparking off its polished steel. He charged, bellowing his battle cry as he dodged blistering orange flames. With one mighty swing, he severed dragon head from body.
He returned to the kingdom a legend. Depositing the scaly head of the serpent before the king, he swore his blade would forever belong to his Majesty, until every last dragon was killed. And so it came to be, no creature was too big or too fearsome for the Great Sir Humbert. His brawn reigned supreme, and no thing could best him in any physical competition."
Hector stood as he concluded his bedtime story. "And that, children, is why strength is mightier than wit," he said, before blowing out the candle on the nightstand.
--------------------------------------------
"It was a frosty winter night in the Cold Mountains as the Dragon prepared for sleep. Outside the cave, the wind beat against impregnable stone, begging entrance from an unwelcoming host. But the storm did not bother her. For she was Dragon, and no man or element could ever hope to be her equal. She was thunder incarnate. Her fire hotter than any hell man could conceive of. But because of this, man feared her. The people of the village could not see the beauty in her scintillating crimson scales that danced like fire or in her molten eyes that shone like stars. They saw only their fear of what they could not understand. Chose not to understand. So the cowardly king hired an assassin.
They sent the hunter in a clinking suit of armor to kill her. Even though she had done them no harm. He intruded on her home, announcing his intent to kill her in cold blood. The beast raised his sword, a snarl curling his wormlike lips. 'Wait,' said the Dragon, her voice like a tumbling waterfall. The hulking man hesitated.
Seizing her opportunity, she addressed him once more. 'Let me ask a riddle of you. If you answer correctly, I will forfeit my life to you. If you are wrong, however, I get to roast you to ash,' she crooned. The boorish man snorted through his nose, but nodded his head in assent.
'Listen close, then, Knight: I have no legs to dance, I have no lungs to breathe, I have no life to live or die, and yet I do all three. What am I?'
The man scratched his head and lowered his sword as he pondered. Finally, after minutes of thought, he answered. 'A fish?'
The dragon opened her maw to reveal bone white teeth, razor sharp and lethal. 'Wrong.' And with that, she set the trespasser ablaze. Flesh melted away and the sweet aroma of cooked meat pervaded the air."
The Dragon concluded her nighttime tale and stood, stretching her immense size across the cave. "And that, children," she said, speaking to her three sleepy whelps. "Is why wit is always wiser than brute strength."
|
"Come children, gather to me, I shall tell you the story of Embertooth and the selfless knight of Sladoshire." The mummer called standing ontop of his willow stage, decorated in bright red cloth and a rather passable attempt at a coat of arms. All the less, children gathered from all over, some in fine silk, others in course cloth but yet they still came, eager to hear the story all over again, while their parents continued in the market square. With a strum from his lute, and the beating of a drum, the stage came to life showing a rather stout man riding a wooden horse, his steps clopping on the decaying wood as the mummer shouted in a grand voice that trailed into a light harmony. "It all began in his lands when he heard horrible shriek." The music was cut out by a girl screaming from behind the stage and the children recoil back at the sudden sound. Soon enough the light picking of the strings continue. "Dashing his way through the woods, determined to find who whoever he could." The clops seems to speed up as the man ran in place quicker and quicker shaking his noble wood mount. "He came across a maid most fair, her face worried, sticks in her hair." As she says this a rather skinny girl ran across the stage, her clothes patched in a dress with every color put in strange order, the noble children laughed as the less fortunate children looked in awe. A lone stick was place in her hair, however hers seemed much more complete for a birds nest was carefully balanced on top of it. "The maiden fair, seemed so frail but not for our knight so just. He raced for her but never before, the winged beast come to." A loud roar escaped from a horn placed behind the motley curtain scaring a few of the children. "A beast so big, you could swear it near blocked out the sun. The maid tried to run, but she failed as the claws hailed down on her. It picked her up, and turn his muck to the Selfless knight of Sladoshire." As he said this a large splintered claw, came down the fires aside the stage erupted and the claw swatted the girl away. "Came here beast, and face my sword, for I shall be her ward, and oh it laughed it so hastily laughed, and turn his wings up towards the sky. With a gust of air, and the maiden fair the dragon ran to his lair. But this was not over for our great night as he ran after them." The children cheered as the stout man ran chasing a small shadow of the dragon placed on the background of the stage. Soon the curtain dropped, and after a few minutes of scrapping sounds and clunks the stage raised again with a new scene in play. The simple woods were placed with a soot stained small castle, a simple little bridge, and the bellows of fire and smoke. "He arrived at last and was ready to slash the beast who took her. He called forth and said with force, Come dragon and face me now. The beast laughed the earth cracked and the dragon came to fight. But the knight so cunning and quick lead the girl astray, and now they fight forever locked, in a crucible of fire and smoke." The tune faded as the cast mimicked the last actions, and the curtain fell on a crowd cheering...
"And in the fire and the smoke we found what we needed most." A ravaged voice echoed as the fire and shadows danced along the sky. "A warrior with a cunning wit who will tell us all he knows." breathed the red dragon to the whelps flying around a blacken suit of armor leaning against the giant dragon. "And he will protect and make sure that you all are left alone." Finished the man as he raised his body from the pose, and raised his sword high up. The dragons roared as he walked away to the edge of the woods as a warning to all who come.
| 2017-05-13T22:34:34
| 2017-05-13T17:31:46
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her.
|
I should have picked up on it sooner. But then, how could I have? What kid doesn't have an imaginary friend at some point?
Casey had "introduced" me to Stewie three weeks ago. She'd come running in from playing in the woods and and asked me for a cookie. When I got her one, she'd looked up expectantly at me.
"One for Stewie, too."
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Who's Stewie?" I asked.
Casey sighed dramatically, waving a hand at the empty space next to her. "He's right here, mom! I met him in the woods."
Hiding a laugh, I decided to play along. "Oh, well you didn't introduce me!" I crouched down, and smiled at the empty air. "It's very nice to meet you Stewie."
Casey erupted in a fit of giggling. "Mom," she said in between spurts of laughter, "You're talking to his butt."
I frowned at her, a little annoyed. "Ok, very funny Case." I gave her a second cookie and shooed her back outside.
The street we lived on was mostly retirees, so there weren't any children around Casey's age. At the time, I figured that as long as she was pretending, I wasn't going to be the one to spoil it. She could be a handful, and anything that would make her happy was worth it.
"Stewie" made a few appearances over the next few days, always when Casey was acting out. A lamp got broken while Casey was running around downstairs, Stewie was the one that had hit it. I caught Casey trying to sneak downstairs for extra dessert, and it she cried that it wasn't for her, it was for Stewie. She even tried to run away from school, because "Stewie wanted to play."
Of course, Stewie was always around when it came to sweets. Casey said they were the only thing he wanted to eat. After about a week, I was getting a little tired of "Stewie."
One night at dinner, I tried to reason with her. That was my first mistake. Reasoning with a six year old is like trying to stop the tide.
"Casey," I started, "Stewie's been spending a lot of time with us. Shouldn't he go home soon? I'm sure his parents are worried about him."
Her eyes fell. "He said he doesn't want to go home. They're mean to him. He likes it here.
"Case, don't you think this is getting a little old? I mean, with how you've been acting, I know there's something wrong." I sighed. "I just wish you'd tell me what."
Casey looked up at me, confused. "I just want Stewie to be happy," she said. "He was so sad when I found him, and now he's happy."
"Sweetheart," I started, "You can't keep avoiding things like this. I mean, you tried to bite a teacher."
"That was Stewie!" Casey protested. "He doesn't know any better!"
"Casey, enough." I felt my voice begin to rise, and I forced myself to stay calm. Yelling at my daughter wouldn't help anything. "I just want to understand what's going on with you."
"I told you!" she cried, "It's Stewie!"
As she said this, I saw a flash of something over her shoulder, just for a second. My blood went cold.
"Casey," I breathed, "Is Stewie a person?"
She glanced over her shoulder, towards where that... thing had been. Then she shook her head. "Not really." she said. "He has person parts though."
"Person... parts?" I struggled to keep the fear out of my voice. I can see a faint distortion in the air now, all around my daughter.
Casey waved her arms around over her head. "Lots and lots of arms." she giggled. "Sometimes he climbs around on the ceiling."
I steadied my nerves, breathing slowly. "Casey, why don't you run upstairs. If Stewie is going to keep staying with us, I want to make sure he knows the rules. Ok?"
Casey jumped out of her chair and ran up to me, hugging me tightly around the waist.
"Thanks Mommy. I promise he'll be good."
Then she ran out of the kitchen. I waited until I heard her door upstairs click shut before I stood and crossed my arms.
"Ok, show yourself. Whatever you are."
The distortion wavered for a second, before a solid shape came into view. I bit back a scream at the sight.
Long, gangly arms sprouted from a bulbous, centipede-like body. It was massive, twisted around behind where Casey had been sitting. The torso stretched upwards into a slender neck which twisted and coiled around itself like a snake.
Unblinking, reptilian eyes stared at me out of a birdlike face. Large horns curled out from its forehead, ending in cruel points. The creature opened its beaklike mouth, and I could see swirling rings of teeth inside, almost like a meat grinder. It's thin, barbed tongue shot out, scooping up the rest of Casey's dinner. It chewed slowly as it stared at me.
*I am glad to formally meet you, Amanda.*
A voice echoed in my head, deep and booming. It wormed its way into my mind, as if someone were pouring syrup over my brain. I shuddered.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
The creature twisted its head upside down, never breaking eye contact. *I have many names. Most of which are incomprehensible to your mortal mind. Formally, my name is--* the words were interrupted by a rapid series of snarls. Then the creature continued. *But your daughter has taken to calling me "Stewie." I am not sure why, but I have grown quite find of it.*
"Ok..." I said slowly. "And what exactly do you want with my daughter?"
The creature's body undulated in what might have been an approximation of a shrug. *She found me. She was kind to me.* The head twisted around to look in the direction of Casey's room. *She gave me a cookie in exchange for my friendship. Technically, that is a binding contract for my people.*
I frowned at this. "So, you just want to be friends with her?" The creature turned back to me and nodded slowly.
I sighed, feeling a migraine coming on. On the one hand, this thing was a literal demon. On the other hand, Casey didn't have many friends her own age. Even at school, her teachers had told me that she usually kept to herself.
Bracing myself, I spoke. "Ok, Stewie. If you're going to stay with my daughter, we're going to need to set some ground rules. Understand?"
Stewie smiled at me, its horrifying mouth stretching far wider than it should have been able to. *You wish to make a contract?*
I smiled wryly. "If cookies are legal tender with demons, sure."
|
_When I grow up, I want to be a monster catcher, just like my daddy._
He lowered the crayon drawing. Weariness crawled over his limbs, sinking into his muscles, his veins. His eyelids slid shut. The desk lamp glowed fiercely, burning his pupils anyhow.
_"And how many claws does Stewie have?"_
_"He doesn't have claws, Daddy."_
_"No claws?"_
_"No, Daddy. He's like the monster you caught at the grocery store."_
His eyes fluttered back open and locked with the screen of his desktop computer before him. Displayed there in brilliant blue pixels was the story: **SOUTHERN DEVILS CATCH VAGRANT SPIRIT IN SUBURBAN SUPERMARKET.**
It wasn't glorious work, but boy, did the papers make it out to seem that way. It was almost beginning to fool him. It definitely had his daughter fooled.
_"I want to be a hero, like you."_
_"Like me?"_
_"Like you, Daddy. Catchin' all the demons, and lockin' them up, and makin' sure they don't hurt anybody anymore."_
Before, when his own Pa had worked, their small family company had been mostly known by the locals around southern California. And then suddenly, there were spirits everywhere, and The Southern Devils and Co. had become one of the largest spirit pest control units in the northern hemisphere. Their holding stables had quadrupled in size. The staff on the ranch had ballooned. Equipment for quicker more precise round-ups had been added to their inventory. Together, they could locate, lure, trap, and herd a demon in under two hours.
It was tedious work, dangerous work. _But glorious, 'patriotic' work? Really?_ He scoffed at the article.
_"I wanna save all the people, just like you did."_
It pained him, to hear her say those things. Little Isabella. Beautiful Isabella. She had chosen ballet for her extra-curricular sport although she hadn't seemed as interested in the fluff and frills as the other seven-year-olds had. She was immersed in the ranch. Fair enough. She had grown up there: clinging to the back of the pick-ups as they pulled in another catch, hanging off the end of the corral fences and observing the spirits roam and pulse. She had grown up with dirt, dust, and demons. It wouldn't be fair for him to ask her to aspire to anything different.
_"So, I'm catching Stewie."_ She had been playing another game of pretend that afternoon, still dressed in her school clothes. She had a long stick, a replica of the staying-gun he himself carried when on call. _"And Stewie is a bad, bad demon."_
She had been running around the yard, throwing herself off the porch, yelling instructions to the dogs, sprinting off to the nearby barn, where some of the real, major demons were housed. He couldn't deny her natural talent. She was comfortable around the creatures. She didn't baulk or hesitate as some new trainees did. She could read their writhing bodies, handle their spontaneous bursts of energy and twitching movements.
_"What about working in the city?"_ He would gently remind her. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, implore her to be something different, play a different imaginary game. _Don't you understand? This profession took your mother. I'm only trying to save you._ But she only blinked endearingly at him. Her small hand would pat his arm.
_"Daddy, I don't want to work in the city anymore. I want to stay out here, on the ranch, with you, and catch monsters."_
He watched her play round-up with the imaginary "Stewie". Inside, he had grieved.
And now, staring down at this crayon drawing in his untidy, cramped little office, he felt as if his heart was breaking. The picture was simple: him, her, and both of them sporting lasso-guns, pointed at a horrible, sprawling mass of black and purple crayon lines. And a third figure, standing behind the dark cloud, drawn with light, almost sceptical colours. A scrawled name and an arrow: MOMMY.
_"I will save all the Mommies in the world, Daddy. Just like the ones you saved at the supermarket. I will do it, Daddy. I will be just like you."_
| 2022-06-01T12:14:28
| 2022-06-01T11:57:33
| 36
| 25
|
[WP] You are a vampire who likes to help humans instead of hurting them, so you became a doctor. Over the hospital's PA system one day you hear "Dr. Acula, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you."
|
"Mr. Helsing, huh? Must be new to this hospital."
Dr. Acula walked, happy as can be, towards the lobby to get his patient.
"Mr. Helsing..." He thought to himself. "Why does that sound familiar..." He reaches the lobby and asks for his patient. Mr. Helsing stood up and walked towards Dr. Acula. He was wearing dark, yet formal looking clothes, and stood up straight as can be. He looked like he was in serious pain. They started walking towards the room As usual, Dr. Acula started to conversate.
"So, how was your day?"
"God, it started off horrible! I woke up sick as hell, could barely get out of bed."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, had to come here because I've never felt like this before."
Dr. Acula then started to notice the smell of garlic. He didn't really think anything of it and continued into the room.
"Wait here as I get your medical records, ok?"
Mr. Helsing nodded yes. As Dr. Acula went to get his medical records, kept thinking to himself, "Where have I heard that name before..." Once he got the records and started his way back, it finally hit him. "Oh god he's Helsing the vampire hunter!" He stood stiff, with pure fear in his eyes. He tried to calm down and think. It didn't work. Then he slowly started walking to the room and think. "He can't be the REAL vampire hunter, right? He just happened to have the same name as him, RIGHT? Oh goddamnit, why does fear overcome logic!? AAAHHHH!"
He opened the door and walked in the room, where Mr. Helsing was still sitting, still looking sick as hell. There was a few seconds of very awkward silence before Dr. Acula spoke.
"Sooooo... This is your first time here?"
"Yeah, I'm not from the area."
"Are you on a business trip?"
"Yeah, came all the way from London."
"What do you do for a living?"
"Well, not to scare you or anything but I'm a vampire hunter."
Dr. Acula was internally screaming out of fear.
"Alright then! So where does it hurt!? Do you have a headache!?"
He was panicking. A lot.
"Ugh, my stomach REALLY hurts. I can't throw up or anything."
"Is- is that it!?"
"Yeah, that's all but it hurts a lot."
"Alrighty then! It's probably just a really bad stomach ache! I'll get you a pill and you should be fine in a few hours! If not come back tomorrow! I'll go get the pill for you!"
In reality, he was really hoping he wouldn't come back. Ever again. He went to get the pill from another room. He was shaking in fear, and could barely pick up the pill from the canister. He got a cup of water and went back into the room. He gave the water and pill to Helsing and told him to swallow it. The water was only half full because the other half was spilt from Dr. Acula's shaking. Helsing swallowed the pill and drank the water.
"Thanks doctor! I think I feel better already!"
"Your welcome! Is that all for today!?"
"Yeah"
They walked out the room and headed for the lobby. As helsing was about to enter the lobby, he turned back to Dr. Acula.
"Oh, and by the way doctor, we didn't come to this city to hunt you. Your safe."
Dr. Acula then proceeded to the restrooms, because he at that moment wet himself.
|
"Aww jeez, damn not him, why is he coming to this hospital out of all of them"
The PA system speaks again: *Doctor Acula please come into room 57, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you*
"I heard you the first time jackass"Acula mutters to himself in a distressed way "all right Acula, remember the pledge to Hypocrite, he is a human first and then a vampire hunter"
He washes his hands puts on the mask and moves toward the operating room. He enters the room which is pitch black
" We meet again, Lord Dracula, remember Romania?" Helsing says in a rough voice
"A lot changed Helsing, I am a real doctor now if you have a disease I am here to treat it if, you are here to play vampire hunter, I have no time, there are many patients that need help,"
Acula says in the voice that betrays that he is working a 36-hour shift
"You really think I'll believe a vampire?"
"Why not? I mean I am a real doctor, I can show you my diploma and credentials, or if you don't trust me, ask my colleagues here, check the documents I am a real practitioner"Acula answers in the tired voice
"What is going on?" Helsing is a little lost
"I got tired with the whole I am the Lord of Darkness deal, so I went to Bucharest, studied medicine, then emigrated to America, and I've been a resident doctor here in Cincinnati the for the last 5 years"
"That sounds too good to be true" Helsing is slowly coming to terms with the fact that Acula is not lying
"It is though, you know you get bored with haunting some little villages in Eastern Europe, and the people there are already suffering, after haunting them for a long time I realized that even without me they have trouble with corrupt politicians and international politics, so I decided to change and rid them of one evil, but I had to repent for all my killings, so I decided to start saving lives, and this job has been both rewarding and scarring, I've seen people recover, and thank me with the most genuine smiles , and I've seen relatives cry and blame me while in shock, all this made me realize what it means to be human, what it means to feel happiness, to experience pain, how hard loss hits and how beautifully resilient you are sometimes" Acula is flowing through his words
"You are not the same Vampire I met 15 years ago, damn you are a beautiful creature now, I am sorry for taking your time"Helsing is moved
"It happens to the best of us, but how are you? How's the family?" Acula is genuinely interested
"There's some trouble, I mean with my work I travel a lot, don't see the kids too much, they grow too fast, sometimes I wonder if I am losing something important by not being there for them, but I can't leave my job or other people won't be able to live in peace and will have to worry about their children but damn it hurts to be a stranger to your own family" Helsing sighs
"I think, you should spend more time with those who matter when you try to solve global problems you lose focus of what is important, leave the job and be with your family, learn from my mistakes, I thought that drinking other people's blood is good and that all I have to do is haunt them, without even paying attention to what they feel, and I was lost but then I found my true calling and here I am, tired but happy, be there for your family, you won't get a second chance to be a good dad to your kids and a good husband" Acula is almost preaching
Helsing turns on the lights and comes to hug Acula, they hug for a good 10 seconds, then they break the contact.
"Thanks for the advice Acula, "Helsing says
"Don't thank me, thank the people who opened my eyes"Acula says "and now I have to go save lives and you go save your family"
| 2017-10-01T05:40:18
| 2017-10-01T04:44:18
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] Aliens prefer term "prey animals", Humans prefer term "herbivores". A group of alien hunters, hunting on Earth, painfully discovered why.
|
At one point, there was one universal truth.
All herbivores are prey, and all carnivores are predators. And omnivores? They do not exist.
This so called truth was the basis of nature on several alien plants, existing as order among the flora and fauna on every world. At least, until humanity and it’s home planet of Earth was discovered. Which promptly flipped the galactic council on its head, scientists of countless alien species clambered over each other at the opportunity of interacting with humans and the animals that existed on their planet- omnivores were unheard of! And prey animals who could also be opportunistic omnivores; eating meat or plants if given the chance to? It was terrifying, unique, and most importantly- impossible.
In the early days as the galactic council discussed general politics and diplomacy with the human race, many disbelieved that humans were true ‘omnivores’ believing them to be herbivores that acted as carnivores. Very quickly, and to their horror they realized that not only did humans enjoy the consumption of both flora and fauna, they weren’t above eating their own kind should food be scarce enough. Not only that, but it was a common trait with species from Earth.
Animals that had too many young to feed would often cannibalize their own offspring in order to have enough nutrients to support those that remained. And whilst it was typically during times of crisis, it was a line no other race had considered crossing even in predator populated planets.
As humanity’s fame rose throughout the universe, so did traffic to the strange planet. Some of the best hunters within their respected galaxies paid an exorbitant amount of money in order to have the chance at hunting the unique fauna that existed on the planet. And many did not survive the trip. As customary amongst prey animals, they developed certain protections that either ward off predators or make it harder in their hunt.
Whether that meant a thick hide, sharp horns, or an insane stamina. There was always something that assisted a prey animal in its survival. However, prey animals fighting the hunters was unheard of- it was that lack of caution that had killed many visiting hunters on Earth. They hadn’t expected the antlers of an elk to gore them, or for a hippopotamus to wrangle their bodies to severed limbs. Elephants, Cassowaries, Bears, Monkeys, Gorilla’s, etc.
Many hunters who had earned their fame amongst the prey planets of differing galaxies assumed that like those worlds, it was simply a leisurely activity. But in actuality, hunting on Earth wasn’t necessarily an easy activity- it was for the thrill, of outsmarting your opponent and luring them into a false sense of security.
To hunt big or dangerous game you not only had to be careful, but equally as deadly. Blending into your surroundings was key, masking obvious scents, and staying downwind from your prey. The alien hunters had assumed wrong, prey is not necessarily weak or lack willed when it comes to hunting. On Earth they quickly learned why there was a reason as to why some animals are classified herbivore, omnivore, or carnivore. Because prey and predator are not always in line with those terms, and these visiting hunters often had to learn the hard way.
|
Sprax stood shocked at the front of the group, a trembling rifle in it's many hands. If it were to be human, it's heart would be in its throat and stomach dropped out beneath it. It was somehow worse than going on a roller coaster, knowing it had been designed and built by the humans.
Before the group of alien hunters was the tattered remains of their friend- Pefin. Their body chomped in half by the famed hippopotamus. Although their databases had classed this beast as "prey animal" based upon the humans slightly inferior classing system of "herbivore" it was clear they were mistaken greatly.
The group had been "lazing around" waiting for a predator to show up so they could partake in the sport of hunting. It something humans used partake it a lot, though now had been severely limited. Then, the beast had taken Perfin by surprise, diving into the water, like so many others, but having emerged from the water, like a deviled dog. It bared it's yellowing teeth and Perfin, it's leathery body similar to the Xhfarians and shook it's head.
Perfin had been the hardest of them all, and raised their hands up to great in equal measure, but the beast lunged. Splatter and screams had presumed swiftly as their friend was dismembered beyond comprehension. Although still connected by their two spines, the flesh had pulled apart and severed from top to bottom.
Beady eyes met the group; dripping in blood, it took a step forward; its mouth began to swing open once again, but now it's yellow teeth were stained green from Perfin's blue blood. They held their collective breath before the loud rumbling of a jeep bustled in the distance. Atop, their guide and human companion- Steve. Steve was waving his hands frantically, calling for them to run, to hide behind a rock, to not run in a straight line.
The group moved to obey, scrambling limbs, teary eyes, panicked running and the beast loomed above their friend, wearing their blood in pride before returning to its bloat. Sprax got onto the back of the truck, sliding down its back and shaking quietly. Steve didn't crouch down beside it. Instead, he kept his eyes on the river, watching the bloat but knowing if it stampeded towards them, they would have to make a hasty escape.
"Why- why would you claim that that [UNKNOWN VOCABULARY] is a herbivore‽ It- it tore up my friend!“ Sprax looked tearfully up at Steve and pitifully Steve looked down to meet his gave for a moment.
"They'e go'en smar'er my friend. Since the West threw down all those biological weapons at the Chinese mining sites; it's affected all the animals. No longer omnivores, 'stead, they graze the grass we run on. Locals say since the anthrax dwindled their numbers, they learnt, jus' like you or I."
Sprax looked despairingly into their hands, curling up tight as other members of the hunting party made their way into the truck and as the final head count was made, everyone mourned the loss of a brilliant friend. Sprax wondered what other beasts could appear docile, yet wreck so much destruction.
| 2022-08-16T17:58:02
| 2022-08-16T14:50:21
| 257
| 88
|
[WP] Satan ironically enjoys the multitude of letters from dyslexic children during the holidays.
Had to put it here after imagining a scene after reading a certain r/showerthoughts thread.
|
Dear Satan,
For Christmas, the thing I would most like more than anything in the world is probably a tac.. or a god. Could I have one of those?
Bets,
Timmy
.
Dear Timmy,
I have heard your request and am honestly quite excited to tell you that for this christ's birthday you may in fact have both. Actually, a close personal friend of mine is a rather popular pagan deity and he tells me he would be honored to stay at your home. Just remember to always leave out the milk and cookies for him come this time of year. It is vitally important that this ritual sacrifice not be neglected. I mean, it's not like your life depends on it.. but he can get so hungry. You don't have any pets do you? Oh yes, that brings us to the first request. A tac, or did you mean a cat? At any rate, be keeping an eye out for both. Watch where you sit ;).
Kind regards,
Satan
|
Satan looked over the latest letter, one of the hundreds he was working his way through.
*Deir Satan*
*For Cnrisnas mai I pelase heva a puppy, su that I heva smoetnhing to hug at nihgt*
*Bruec Jnoes*
It was a short one, and he re-read it several times. A cruel grin spread across his face, as he realised that this was a request he could have some fun with. A three headed hell-hound, that would rip him in half on Christmas morning sounded promising.
He lifted from his leather chair, and flung apart his arms, plucking fire and shadow and death from the air, and forming it into a small, squirming shape. He thought back to the pain of millions of children singing hymns that burnt him, the humiliation of being bested by messiahs and musicians alike.... thought back to being mocked as he struggled to piece together a demonic contract, being unable to understand the loopholes and hidden meanings that his peers used daily.
He waved the half-formed creature away, and began his work anew. It was damn time **somebody** actually answered these bloody letters.
| 2014-11-23T12:39:34
| 2014-11-23T12:34:03
| 71
| 29
|
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.
|
It wasn’t quite as scandalous as it seemed, which isn’t to say it wasn’t scandalous at all, just not anything jail worthy. As a college professor you might get fired if you were dating a student but a little less likely if they weren’t in your class.
Of course she was though, that bubbly charismatic sorority girl that always had her support team following her around it seemed. She’d waited until just before finals, her hand resting every so lightly on my arm as she bite her lip with practiced expertise asking if I’d meet her for drinks later.
The place was secluded, next town over, small little hole in the wall with decent food. Drinks were strong but not enough to knock you on your ass, until she spiked it while I wasn’t looking. I could feel it in my bloodstream and let myself enjoy the soft warmth that spread through me.
On the way to my car I’m sure I looked like the average slightly drunk older man with his college aged sugar baby. Her helping steady me as we walked. She was smart about it, I had to give her that.
She drove my car into the woods, nice spot for a secret tryst if you were into that kind of thing. Well as long as you ignored the couple of shallow graves and the freshly dug one waiting empty. What followed was rather admirable if you weren’t the victim. Paralytic given through the IV she inserted calmly. Then the collecting of my blood into a series of sterile pouches like this was all some horror story version of a Blood Drive gone bad. I lost count around bag four as my eyes drifted shut and I allowed the blackness of being unconscious take me into it’s dark embrace.
I was standing at the front of classroom talking with two students when she walked in. Somehow even more exotic and glorious and sexy. Her face going as pale as I must have looked when she’d rolled me into my grave and left me last night. The bell rang and I could feel her eyes on me the entire class as I reviewed the material.
Those eyes that usually were filled with flirtatious energy now worried and puzzled. I didn’t have to even ask her to come talk to me. She waited until the others cleared out, dismissing her own gaggle of sycophants so we could talk alone.
“How?” Her voice quavering a bit “what are you going to do?” I shook my head as I looked at her. “It isn’t what I’m going to do, it’s what you are. You’re going to tell me exactly what bloodline you’re working for and be my double agent. I don’t take kindly to others spoiling my hunting preserve.”
|
I guess I died again. Clawing up and out of my grave, wasn’t as nice this time around. Last time I at least got a bit more room! Stumbling through the dark woods, the trees rustling, like skinny fingers trying to hold hands. Creepy. Give it a minute. And then I warm up a bit, now that the cut has closed, I swallow. It hurts a little less. Don’t know about my clothes though. Brooklyn seemed so lovely too, eyes as dark as her skin pale. A true snow white. Or I supposed a true Dracula. Only realised when our picnic ended, after a kiss, some wine. She led me behind the park into the woods. I thought it was going so well. And then the slash. The deep cold cut. And it all came spilling out at once. My black warm blood. Her eyes flash. Lapping it all up. Biting me for more. And then darkness. And coldness. And waking up. Poor thing, she thought she’d killed me. In English I stare boredly out front. She stumbles in, bright and jumpy. Brooklyn with a smile on her face. And then she sees me. I pause, and smile wide. The scar’s gone now. After class she follows me, catches up to me. “How?” Is all she manages. I smile awkwardly. “Well the body is remarkable…mine is a bit more robust than most. Forgot to mention that I can’t die. But to be fair I didn’t realise you’d try and kill me.” She nods slowly. “I really do like you…” Brooklyn starts. “I got hungry. It’s hard.” “Well feel free to drink anytime.” I chuckle at the absurdity. “But next time maybe ask permission. Maybe if your free Friday. ” Brooklyn takes my hand, stares at me with her dark dark eyes and nods.
| 2022-12-30T04:01:06
| 2022-12-30T01:22:06
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] In order to understand his people better the King decides to go incognito and travel into town. To his annoyance every commoner he tries to speak to turns out to be disguised member of his royal court.
|
King Bowen had done it. He drew his hastily procured black cloak over himself, and suppressed the chills of anticipation that ran up and down his body. He was outside—not just outside his room, in the hallway, or outside in the courtyard.
No, he was outside outside, where gold-lined statues were non-existent and dead grass were plentiful. King Bowen felt his shoulders bump into things, even, something that was impossible inside the palace due to sheer spaciousness and because everybody tended to be prostrate in front of him.
“A tavern,” he whispered. “That’s where I want to go.”
And so, generally unable to deny what his heart desired, King Bowen shuffled towards the tavern. Theoretically and cartographically, the Copper Rooster—the most popular bar in the kingdom—was just about a mile away from the start of the palace’s gates.
Promptly, he, nearly stumbled upon a metal bowl on the floor, however, nearly planting his face into the cobbled road. The king turned, only to see a poor beggar with tattered rags as his only source of warmth. Bowen sighed, reaching inwards for a gold coin, and tossing it into the metal bowl.
“Your majesty,” the beggar said. “No one puts a gold coin in a beggar’s bowl. That’s just asking to be robbed.”
The king jolted in the air and jumped backwards, shellshock delivered right to his trembling face.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Your spymaster,” the beggar said, standing up now. At his full height, he stood a little bit taller than the king, but then proceeded to bow halfway. “I received word that you were escaping.”
“Leland,” King Bowen said, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “But I sneaked out successfully.”
“You broke the window directly outside your room, trampled all over the rose garden, and quite literally said hi to the main gate’s guards,” Leland said. “You were anything but successful, your majesty.”
“I knew I shouldn’t be polite,” King Bowen hissed. “That’s what foiled the plan.”
“There is no plan, your majesty,” Leland said. “Please come back. The kingdom needs you.”
“The kingdom runs just fine without me, as seen by the bustling streets of this city,” Bowen argued. “Please. Just let me fulfil my dream. One drink at Copper Rooster?”
Leland sighed, a long heavy drawl that spoke volumes of his exasperation with the kingdom’s ruler.
“One drink,” Leland said. “I must accompany you, of course.”
“Oh, hell no,” Bowen said. “Let me be alone. I promise everything will be fine.”
Leland clenched his fist tightly, which travelled up his head and became a vigorous self-administered scalp massage.
“It is impossible to contain you,” Leland said. “One drink. Just one?”
“Just one,” Bowen smiled.
“Fine, fine,” Leland relented.
The King bounded off down an alleyway, leaving the spymaster behind in the gloomy darkness of a back alley. Leland sighed, and tapped large, metal trash disposer beside him. A few muffled sounds later, one woman emerged from the wreckage, blue in the face from holding her breath so long.
“Isabelle,” Leland said. “Is the Copper Rooster operation in place?”
“Of course,” Isabelle said. “Your inituition was correct, sir.”
“He’ll want to go to the Copper Rooster first,” Leland said. “There was no doubt about it. I brought special attention to it last weekend’s territory planning discussion.”
“Very clever, sir.”
“And put the other bars on alert, too. Hell, even all the restaurants surrounding them with our staff.”
“But the king said—”
“The king is not a trustworthy source when it comes to his own thoughts,” Leland sighed. “Unfortunately, I think I know who he is better than his brain does.”
“Sure,” Isabelle said. “Consider it done. But before I leave…”
“Spit it out.”
“Why?”
“I also meant the banana peel in your mouth,” Leland said. “But I do this to protect the king.”
“Is this some sort of diabolical political situation?” Isabelle gasped. “Or is it more horrible?! Are you going to mur—”
“No,” Leland sighed. “It’s all very simple, really. The king must not know that he is beloved, and a great deal of people will worship the very ground he walks on.”
Isabelle sat, scratching her head. She winced, and looked at her gunky hand in disgust.
“And why is that a bad thing?”
“Oh, love. It’s a drag, far deeper than anything anybody else could give. Hate is fine, because he’ll never come out here again. Indifference is ok, because that’ll dampen his enthusiasm,” Leland said. “But love… it’ll ruin him. You think escapes once a year are bad? Trying dealing with one every two hours.”
“Wow,” Isabelle said. “That seems…”
“Unethical? Immoral?” Leland said. “I don’t care. King Bowen is a good man, and above all, a good king. He will stay in the freaking throne—by hook, or by very convincing crooks.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
"How could you all deceive me like this?" the King said, fuming.
They were in the royal meeting room now, called into attendance by his Majesty the King. They hadn't even had time to fully shed their disguises.
"Valeria," he said, pointing at his Minister for Magick. "How could you?"
The witch stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, still dressed in a simple cotton dress. It was far less ornate than her usual attire (and likely far less expensive than even her nightwear). She focused her gaze upwards, as she might when consulting the constellations for advice, but the chandelier offered no divine wisdom.
"And you, Sebastian?" the King said, turning on his heel to glare at the Commander of the Royal Guard.
The old, mustachioed veteran met his eyes with a single one of his own, the other lost decades ago in a skirmish against bandits on the border. The steel of his conviction was strong, but even the hardened military man eventually flinched, his one good eye flicking downwards at the righteous anger of his liege. The wax that he had used to glue on a luxurious fake beard was still there on his chin in splotches - and there were bald patches along his jaw where removing the wax had taken his stubble along with it.
"Fa'lkr?" he demanded of the Minister of Merchants.
The half-dragon shrunk into his seat, curling up in a way reminiscent of his draconic ancestors. The scales that lined his neck and arms flashed a brilliant purple in his shame. It was a hint of scale peeking out beneath the heavy cloak of 'just a simple glazier' that has revealed the deception.
"And you, Lydia..." he said, finally, glaring at the last member of his court that he knew had taken part in the charade. Then he stopped himself and shook his head.
"Guess I should have seen this coming from you" he said to her, bitterly. She was still dressed as a generic town guard, replete with a medal for meritorious service in putting out last month's fires.
"You wound me, my King," his Spymaster said, her frown shining through the otherwise impeccable disguise.
"Then why?" he said, arms folded across his chest. "Why would you all scheme to lie to me like that?"
The assembled ministers all glanced at each other. There was little knowledge in or about his kingdom that wasn't contained somewhere between the four of them - or in the synthesis of their efforts. He had trusted these men and women through the darkest of times in his reign. The Novitiate Protests of the Imperial Academy. The trade war with the dwarves. The plot against his life that left fresh faces sitting in the other seats in his court. The deception cut deep into his heart - what else was there that he didn't know?
"Sir," Sebastian spoke up. "We have utmost respect for you as a ruler and your decisions. But you can be..."
"Naive," Valeria cut in where Sebastian trailed off.
Fa'lka nodded his head quickly to lend his support, though he was still curled up in his chair.
"What do you mean?" the King said, indignantly.
"Remember that time I warned you about our oh-so-friendly neighbors and their 'diplomatic mission'?" Lydia asked. It was strange to hear her soft, lilting voice come from what appeared to be a guardsman.
"When they planned to detonate explosives in the Royal Plaza?" Sebastian asked. The two of them had worked very closely together in that crisis. The King recalled many mornings in which one or the other would ask for his input, clearly having worked all through the night.
"Well, yes, and I'm glad we caught them," the King began.
"For the first week you insisted they were just sightseeing," Sebastian said.
"Y-yes, well," the King began. He had forgotten about that.
"And, uh, and when the Sheep-Shearer's Guild was hiding all their payments you thought they were planning a surprise," Fa'lka spoke up, bouncing slightly in his chair. When the King looked at him he deflated a little again.
"Or that time you suggested our manastone shortage would turn out alright if we all just reduced our consumption," Valeria shot into the fray.
"Wait, wait, are you all just calling me naive now? Am I just some kind of puppet for my court? Oh god, my father was right all along!"
"No, no, sir," Lydia cut in, before he could get too deep into his hysterics. "You're a good King. For every time you've been too optimistic, you've stopped us from acting too soon. There's been many a time Sebastian has been too hasty to suggest an invasion, or Fa'lkr pushed a tax hike when his coinlust got away from him, or-"
"Or Lydia got a bit too eager with her thumbscrews," Valeria chimed in.
"Or *Valeria* wanted to fund a giant magical laser array to shoot down gryphons," Lydia glared at her. "The point is that your love for the people - and your optimism - is what makes you a good King. But that same love makes it hard to... Um, accept some things."
The King, calmed down somewhat by Lydia's words, took a deep breath.
"Like what?"
The court looked at each other.
"Look," Valeria said. For all her incisiveness - the witch had sent representatives of the Imperial Academy away in tears before - he could always trust her to be direct and truthful. "Being a King means people won't like you."
"... What? But they always cheer at my parades!" The King responded.
"Yeah, because we always give them free food and confetti," Fal'kr said.
"The things you - and we - have to do to keep this empire together are unpopular, sir. Tax hikes, mandatory militia training... The people don't like them," Sebastian said.
"And we wanted to protect you from that," Lydia said. "I'm sorry we lied to you."
The King nodded, taking it all in.
"I... I understand. ...Group hug?" he asked.
And they did. Even if Valeria pretended not to like it.
| 2022-03-09T10:34:15
| 2022-03-09T09:47:55
| 725
| 133
|
[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.
|
Ultra Man watched his grapple soar up and over the roof of the abandoned warehouse. There was a satisfying clink, and in seconds he was speeding upwards. From his new vantage he looked out across the city and saw pulsating red and blue lights as the man hunt continued. *Probably for the best that it's just me*, he thought as he put his grappling gun back in it's holster and turned to see a skylight windows ahead of him.
"Bingpot."
Stepping forward he looked down, and was greeted by all sorts of dastardly machinery, with blinking lights and hard to understand interfaces. He'd seen this equipment once before, the last time Electro had escaped his grasp. Strangely, there were no henchman operating the devices.
Without thinking he stomped down onto the glass, and almost fell through ungracefully as the skylight shattered. He lowered himself carefully through the broken shards of glass, then deployed his trusty wings. Gliding down serenely he saw that the room was abandoned, seemingly in the middle of a party. *What could a man so sinister possibly have to party about?* Ultra Man landed next to a machine.
Before he had more time to take in his surroundings, there was a pounding on a plain brown door he hadn't noticed before.
"Guys! Can you let me in? I think I left my keys." a voice said through the door.
Ultra Man hesitated briefly, before walking silently to the door. He leaned into the peephole, only to see a brown haired man in jeans and a T-shirt smiling back at him. Ultra Man unlocked the door and rared back his right fist. It swung open immediately, and Ultra Man watched the man's eyes widen at his caped crusading image.
"Where's Electro?!" Ultra Man demanded.
"Uhm, ah uh- Electro?"
"Yes, your boss, were is he?"
"He... uh, he left."
"Not likely. The cops are swarming this town, everyone in the city is on the lookout."
"I think I saw him in the alley out back." the man said suddenly, as if remembering.
Ultra man pushed him aside, and ran through the door to find himself in an alley all alone. After checking all of the dark corners, he walked calmly back into the door.
"You know, I was going to go easy you if you cooperated." he said.
He froze in the middle of his entrance. There was a loud bang. He felt a strange warmth down his stomach, and looked down to see his black suit covered in crimson. Before he knew what was happening he was on his knees. The man from before stood holding a pistol off to his immediate right.
"I knew you'd come after me, Ultra Man, but I was hoping you wouldn't. You always had the most heart out of all you little heroes. I'm almost sorry to tell you it's over. Now that I've gone through with it, nobody needs you or I any more." he said, before raising the pistol to his temple and pulling the trigger.
Ultra Man felt himself fade very slowly.
___
/r/Periapoapsis exists
|
I collect them all. Like they collect baseball cards, or poke balls or whatever it’s called these days. Heroes, demigods, humans, animals, all creatures big and small, I collect them.
They don’t know I’m collecting, yes some have that look in their eyes when I come, they know time is up. But in the middle of their bustle they don’t know of it. Sure in hushed whispers they say my name, thinking they have time.
But as I’ve been collecting since before time. I know they’ll sooner or later be added to my collection. My name, oh I have been called many. Today you may not know my name, but you can call me Death.
| 2018-10-18T13:35:32
| 2018-10-18T13:14:52
| 396
| 220
|
[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."
|
Napoleon was at the edge of his seat, by the end of this session, he'd wipe that smug look off of Wellesley's face, and his imbalanced barbarian "Iron Duke" would have to be re-rolled. Wellesley had just finished a tirade about Napoleon having killed his General, Cooke.
Athena gazed at the two men from over the top of her DM blind, "Napoleon, you know that it's poor form to target Generals. I'm not saying that I'll punish you, per se. But, if you win this battle- I just may decide to punish you while crossing the channel." The implication was quite clear.
Hands shaking, Napoleon reached for his d20. Bringing the die to his lips, he gave it his signature kiss as he closed his eyes and threw for the success of the linchpin of his plan- *clack clack clack taptaptap*
"VINGT!" Napoleon exclaimed, barely ducking Wellesley's chair, as it came hurdling over the table, only to be smashed to bits upon the cold stone wall.
At this point in time, Wellesley, breathing deeply, color returning to normal- mustered all of his calm and gave Athena his most stately gaze and said, "I'll cast 'summon Blücher." Napoleon, who had been taking a deep and smug drink of a particularly delicious 1750 Bordeaux, choked and sputtered out a raucous laugh. "You are a barbarian, you English twit! You cannot cast spells."
Wellesley swiveled his head to meet Napoleon's mirthful expression. "That is where you are wrong, You ponce", he bagan, "You see, I put my last seven levels into Conjurer." By way of response, Napoleon merely scowled.
Wellesley collected his beaten, and battered brass d20, while counting his +2 wisdom mod to reach a 15 against Napoleon's AC. He rolled the die between his fingers, and simply tossed it toward Napoleon, each skip along the way issuing a report that was nearly deafening.
Just then, the door to the game room opened, and a crisply dressed seventy-something year old man in Prussian uniform entered the room. "Zorry I am late, Arthur. You woult not believe ze traffic I hat to deal vith getting into Beligiu---"
**SLAM**
Muttering to himself, Napoleon hastily slammed his book closed, threw his dice in his bag, and marched from the room having not so much as said goodbye to anyone.
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T08:28:13
| 210
| 21
|
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person.
|
"All of them?"
"... Yes"
"Jan, Christie, Jason, Tim, Mia?"
"I'm sorry."
"But.. how? Why?"
"I wish I knew."
"All of them? This whole time?"
"It's a lot to grasp, I know."
"Why?"
"You were lonely... and I guess I was too."
"I need to sit down."
"I'd understand if you never want to speak to me again."
*silence*
"I'm not mad."
"..."
"Three best friends in my life. All of them you."
"Yeah..."
"That's dedication."
"It was fun while it lasted."
"Who says it has to be over?"
"It's just the way it has to work now."
"Obviously if you've befriended me on so many occasions,
we must like each other right?"
"You don't befriend someone several times over without liking them."
"Do you love me?"
*pause* "Yes, I love you. I love you so much it's like a sickness. Which makes what I'm about to do painful for both of us."
"I don't understand?"
"The reason I've told you these things today... You have to understand, there are limits, conditions to what shapeshifters can transform into."
"Like, rules?"
"Something like that. The people you've seen me as, the people I morph into, those people will never be able to see me again."
"Why?"
"I'm sorry Nikki, but I just love your shape too much. It will be over quickly."
|
I coul hear the door open and Evan walking in my apartment. The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. "Hi, Evan! Or are you someone else now, you fucking piece of shit?" His voice drifted from the hallway, full of sadness and despair. "Melanie, you know I never wanted you to know this?" I felt anger rise inside of me at his sentence. If I didn't catch him... changing his skin, he never would've told me. I exploded at him. "So you would just continue to do this? Leave, change and then come back? How many times have tou done it? Who was the first?" He just stood there, silent, for what felt like an eternity. His next words left me open-mouthed. "Jake." I stared at him, hoping he was lying, that he somehow guessed that name. "You're so full of shit. I don't believe you." The smile he gave me was nostalgic, like he was an old grandpa about to tell his favourite story. "I was just passing through the playground when I saw you. You were sitting on the grass, far away from other children. The look on your face broke my heart. You seemed
so... alone. So I ran quickly to my house, changed, and went back to find you. The rest is familiar to you, I hope." I sat down on my sofa, staring at a dark spot on the wall. My mouth were moving, but no sound came out. Evan, who had his back turned on me, took the silence as a sign to continue his story. "After Jake left, I checked up on you every couple of years. Next time I approached you was Miles in tenth grade. I enjoyed being him. You also liked him, but I never wanted that kind of relationship with you. Leaving you the first time was hard for me as it is, and I didn't want to make it more difficult for either of us." Tears were now running down my face, replacing the anger with realization that my best friends were a single person who tricked me and turned me into his charity case. I sniffed and reached for the tissues on the table. "Jake, Miles, and Evan." I paused, waiting for his confirmation. Instead I got another emotional punch in the stomach. "And Sam." His face told me that wasn't a lie. "You mean, Sam who died in a car accident?" He nodded. I stood up, pointing at the door to my apartment. "Get out." When he didn't move, I started screaming. "Get out, you freak! Just leave me alone for once in your pathetic life! Change and leave! That's what you do, don't you, you sad little fuck?" Evan, or whatever's his real name stayed silent during my breakdown. When I was finally finished, he dropped his keys on the table. "If it's any consolation, I did care about you." And with that, he left. Hopefully, for the last time.
| 2014-08-15T10:44:35
| 2014-08-15T10:42:20
| 131
| 12
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
They watched from across the street as I pulled one of my 'death sticks' to my mouth. It isn't like how it was a few years ago; then they tried to hide their staring. I lit it and took a drag then let out a smoke ring that would have impressed if it had come from an E-cig or pot.
I smoked it down to the end and threw it on the ground just to see their reactions. Pleasant as always: playful jeers and helpful advice for my lifestyle. I just walk away, ignoring them.
It's a sunny day with minimal clouds; the holoAds are almost invisible. I can barely make out a cartoon picturization of my face with a nice red X over it. From what I can tell it's being used to pitch a special edition of chips, promising to donate %5 of the editions profits to cancer research. Fun! I'm the figure head of cancer now.
Ever since the guy in Germany quit last month I've been the last smoker on Earth. I've got to say it's quite interesting having more people recognize the name of Laren Volk than Osama Bin Laden. Kind of profitable too. It turns out people love to keep up with everything the person they most despise has to say. My blog has just about 3 million (30,567 until!) ~~haters~~ followers.
A street ad changed as I walked by. 'Stay away and you'll make my day!' it said with a picture of a cigarette and laid out in vintage meme format. I can't help but laugh at how people pay thousands for ad block and I get it for free. I pull out another cig and light it, really just to spite the sign.
My walk ends at my apartment. I ignore the photographers across the street and enter my apartment. I put my cigarette out on an ash try that literally had my name on it and walk up to my room. Two flights of stairs later, and a few neighbors who pretended not to see me, I reach the sanctuary that is my room.
Everything is nice and tidy, as I left it, and I pet Rufes, my mid-aged Labrador, who'd dutifully met me at the door. He doesn't seem to mind the smell or really anything to do with what makes me a tumor of society. I wish society would take note.
After I fixed myself lunch, and another session of petting, I went to my computer and began the days entry. 'Hey haters,-' it began and then went on to include all the small mundane things I'd done in the morning. I wrote about coffee, people I saw, a guy who was cute, policies of the latest president, and really anything but cigarettes.
When I'd finished and posted it I watched as the comments rolled in.
'u need to stop smkin'
'kys. your the worst of humanity'
'I like that coffee too!'
'Why do you smoke anyway?'
And so on. I eventually had to just turn it off and found Rufes. "Do you like me Rufes?" Rufes started to pant. "Good boy. Good boy."
I proceeded to cry into Refes's fur for hours.
|
I'm really starting to hate CNN, and not just because of their fake news articles.
All eyes have been on me for almost a year and a half. I'm the only person that still smokes, and honestly, at this point, I'm just doing it because I feel like pissing off the rest of the world. It's at the point where I have to grow and roll my own cigs. Marlboro sold me their recipe after they went out of business, and I grow my own tobacco, roll my own stuff, etc. The government has tried everything. First, the Prohibition of 2021, which cut smokers down by 97%. Then came the crackdown on dark web sellers, and eventually everyone got caught smoking. They found the names of people that hadn't signed up for drug tests, until the only people left were the ones off the radar. And then, the military swept the streets and found everyone that was left.
It was May of 2038 when I was announced the last smoker in the United States. But here's the thing: they didn't arrest me. I had gone for multiple tests while smoking, never once did they stop me. Just told me I failed. I think it's because I simply didn't care, and therefore the government didn't care. It's kinda like breaking into a bank, and then when the police come to arrest you, you just say, "No." And then they stop, confused, and just walk away.
Well, after that, of course, you become a national celebrity. The government still wanted me to stop, of course, but they couldn't really make me without locking me in a room for three weeks and making me cold turkey it out. So, first, they tried laws against growing tobacco. "Okay," I said, "You win. SIKE!" And continued to grow more tobacco for myself. Then they tried ad campaigns. This is where it got annoying. I couldn't even go to the grocery store without seeing my face plastered to a wall, smiling back at me with the words "JUST QUIT GREG SCHMIDT" in big red letters surrounding the picture of my head. I was known by all, people pointed me out in the street. It was no use going somewhere else, either. One time I drove from my house in Virginia to New York City, and lo and behold, there I was in the middle of Times Square, my smiling meth mouth of a face looking at me among the words "YOUR FAMILY PROBABLY HATES YOUR FILTHY HABIT." They weren't even trying to rhyme anymore. They straight up hated me and wanted me to stop.
So, when I was 45, 28 years after I had lit up my first cigarette, I decided that there must be something in the Constitution that protects me from this kind of public degradation. Nope. I took it to the Supreme Court and everything, no dice. The only people that liked me were teenagers that thought it was cool to stand up to the government and media sources that made money off of my "developing story of a life." I'm not even kidding. That's what they call my life. The catchphrases aren't much better, if one can even call them catchphrases. Here's a list of my personal favorites:
- SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU (no shit)
- JUST STOP SMOKING GREG
- WHY DO YOU SMOKE, YOU BIG FUCKING JOKE
- THE POLICE ARE COMING GREG (ahahahhahahhahhahaha)
- (my personal favorite) JESUS CHRIST YOU STUBBORN BITCH
I don't know what to do anymore. My house is the only haven I have, if you consider a building constantly surrounded by paparazzi trying to take a picture of you a haven. I can't order pizza without the people fighting over who gets the chance to deliver the pizza to me. But, I must say, it's fun being known for something. I just wish the advertisements were a little less harsh.
| 2017-02-17T10:31:26
| 2017-02-17T09:45:22
| 107
| 80
|
[WP] After lulling other countries into a false sense of security, Canada finally makes its move to conquer the world.
|
They thought it was a joke. They thought it was a ruse. But the reality is that the warning signs had been there for a long, long time. A strange Facebook article here, a funny post on a sub Reddit there, a CBC newscaster that made the oddest of Freudian slips.
Canada, the world's first post-national country. Fully integrated into every government in the world. Attack Toronto and you attack your own citizens. Attack us and you attack your cousin, your old neighbour, your friend from school who moved overseas with his mom who used to make you tea.
The subliminal messaging was part of the Canadian Values (tm) society, existing before the First World War. It was how we raised the second largest army on the Allied side, despite being a tiny colony on another continent. It was in our Tim Horton's coffee, in Don Cherry's suits, Heritage Moments, YTV specials, Trudeau Bhangra videos, and the awesome high note that RCMP guy hits every time he sings the anthem at a game.
We were sorry after it was all over, of course. So, so sorry. Sorry for assassinating your former leaders, sorry for killing those murderous tribal warlords, sorry for freeing you from the bonds of gun culture, sexism, capitalism, social ignorance, poverty, lack of maple syrup. We're sorry you were in the way of our bombs, sorry you may have suffered some friendly fire on our way in. Sorry you aren't one of us.
The Canadians are in charge, now. We run the world, and I think it's better. Of course, I am one so I would say that. Maybe others wouldn't, and there will always be others. I'm sorry for their survivors, but in a generation or so it won't be a problem. Sadly, we know that for a certainty.
But are we at war? No. Is the world a scary, scary place? Of course not. I think we did make it better, with peace, justice, and health care for all. We are no longer at the mercy of the US exchange rate. We can have Nandos, Target, Topshop, Whole Foods, and McDonalds all-day breakfast all over the country.
Yes, elections can suck with 1.23 million electoral ridings, 253 provinces, 62 territories, and a 409 politicial party system. But that's the price to live in the true North strong and free!
After all, everyone is just a Canadian at heart. Watch out for the geese. They'll keep their eyes on you.
*edit* ending
|
"Madame Chair."
I took in a gulp of air and tried to calm my nerves. This was it. After years of planning not just by me, but every prime minister after World War II. All the subtle moves, stratagems, and seemingly meaningless provisions in treaties have lead up to this. All or nothing.
*Pull yourself together, Lisa.* I shook my head and took a deep breath. Either I would do it, or I wouldn't. The plan was already set in motion, I just had to catalyze it.
I stepped in to my office. There were no familiar scattered files, ink stained sofas, or crumpled papers. It was as a leader's room should be, but never was, clean, crisp and orderly. This was not my room, in was Prime Minister, soon to be Chairwoman, Rodriquez's room.
I stood behind my desk, and placed my palms on the desk, leaning forward. My black hair shrouded the very edges of my vision, but the digital world map and the flashing "LIVE" symbol in its corner. The map had red dots in some of the most important cities in the world: New York, London, Dubai, Mumbai, Paris, Tokyo and so on. And there were some black dots in some seemingly random places. In the Andes, Himalayas, in the middle of the Sahara Desert, on an uninhabited Pacific island.
Right now, most of the educated world was watching me. The Canadian government had announced that Canada would be making an international statement of utmost import.
This was it.
"Fire."
All across the globe, almost simultaneously, 43 missiles launched from the last 4 "telecommunication" satellites the Canadian Space Agency had launched. I watched silently, intently, and the world held its breath, unsure of what had just happened, but aware that something was wrong.
Soon enough, the red dots turned blue.
Successful hits.
It was around that time that the black dots turned green. I held my breath. This was the most important moment. If our BRITE "telescope" couldn't intercept the strikes, I, and I alone, will have single handedly began the end of the human race for absolutely no reason.
The dots remained green.
The scientists had said there would be a delay, this was normal.
The dots remained green.
How long does it take for the MIRVs to reach space? Was it already too late?
The dots remained green.
The shadow that had been in my head this whole day, hell, the last three years, began to grow, it wasn't going to work, I was a colossal idiot, the biggest villain in-
And then with no warning, one by one, the dots turned black.
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and realized I had left scratch marks on my wooden desk. Behavior unfitting of the Chairwoman of the world.
I gave a thin smile into the camera. "And so it begins," I proclaimed, as the world as we knew it ended. .
***
If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-01-17T15:56:25
| 2017-01-17T15:14:41
| 143
| 38
|
[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later.
|
The boat was going to be a god-send for the West. Then Daryl accidentally stepped on LaShauwn's Puma. It was a bloodbath.
There were only 5 of us left when the boat hit the shore. Literally hit the shore. None of us could drive a boat and the Captain was killed in the crossfire. When the boat started to sink we knew it was over. I could swim, and so could Julio, but the other 3 died a slow death.
Just two of us left. A blood and a crypt.. Wait.. No.. Those were Latin King colors! I looked back towards the ocean to see a swarm of yellow draped men swimming to shore.
The Latin Kings knew these ignorant ass hood-rats couldn't work together. They'd decided to save America themselves. And they'd heard Afghanistan had all the good heroin.
|
Waves lap at the shore a young Syrian child picks up a stone to throw at the water her eyes are flooded war has ravaged the city and the future is un-certain a hermet crab catches her eye but a loud thud causes the creature to re-enter its shell, the child runs fearing another bombing raid but her gaze is fixated on the open sea as a blue red craft appears on crest of a wave, the hermit is now bouncing from the shock-waves but it soon becomes clear that the harrowing sound is not a form of artillery but very heavy bass.
"Where the hood, where the hood, where the hood at?
Have that nigga in the cut, where the wood at?
Oh, them niggaz actin up?!? Where the wolves at?
You better BUST THAT if you gon pull that".
Gleaming chrome jets scream through the water as one of the most pimp vehicles known to man strikes the beach with twerking force of a thousand ho's, the top of the craft appears to be made of platinum as the top starts to rotate a thick cloud of smoke creeps from the gold plated gaps and an african gentlemans face is revealed, smoking a joint worthy of Rick James himself, his eyes narrow as he stares at the fortified mosque over the horizon "time to roll on these bitch ass niggas"
| 2015-12-07T10:25:57
| 2015-12-07T09:25:02
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first.
|
Before then, **I** never truly **hated** anyone, but **that** had changed. **I** met her. **Didn't** she also **hate** me? Yes, **her** hate reciprocated. **I** would have **loved** to punch **her** face in. **Because** she lied **all** the time, **her** arrogance, countless **imperfections**, it just **made** me hate **her** and faux **Perfection**.
|
By the **people**.
Those who **didn't** vote don't **deserve** me. But **to** them I'll **be** God, anyway! **Saved**? The world **I** envision now **will** only ever **end** with peace! **Humanity**, thank you. **This** is the **election** that sincerely **means** life conquers **death** for all.
**Farewell** my people!
(PEOPLE DIDN'T DESERVE TO BE SAVED. I WILL END HUMANITY. THIS ELECTION MEANS DEATH. FAREWELL.)
| 2014-07-29T11:54:28
| 2014-07-29T11:29:38
| 74
| 40
|
[WP] You are a cannon fodder minion on the first floor of a dungeon, and have just killed the hero. You now have to explain to the boss that you just ruined his plan.
|
I don't know if the fucker was wasted or something when he walked in, but Jesus. For a Level 55, I'd never seen anyone fight so... So... Poorly. Maybe he was some kinda special needs guy, and we had to intentionally lose to make him feel good or something. No, that's not it. I mean, he managed to pull off a Divine Bulwark, so he was at least moderately competant. Idunno.
Anyways, so we start doing our routine, fake patrol 'n all. It's apparently a standard guideline for most dungeon's grunts after Orcdom was banned from the Villain's Guild when Hellgam the Brutal gave his Impalers permission to ambush Heroes on floor one of the OrcFort.
Left, forward, forward, left, forward, forward. That's my pattern, until I get permission to aggro. It's usually game over for the sucker who gets this job because it's out in the open, so Boss puts anyone who's in the hot seat with him in it. I, well, I haven't had the best track record.
I'm bracing for the standard Blue Bolt into Electro, but it doesn't come. I continue pacing back in forth, confused and worried that the hero hasn't instagibbed me. I break the regulation and twist my head at what's going on.
He's just standing there, taking it all in. *Weird.* Then, he abruptly turns to leave, bumping into the wall a few times before exiting. Maybe he's one of those crackpot scientist type heroes. All of us relax, at ease.
Then he walks in again.
Left forward forward.
And then out again.
The process repeats itself for another hour.
God, I hate trolls.
Finally, he makes his way in once more, only to unleash a Gyrum's Piercing Arrow on the ceiling. He reminds me of my lil' niece Beelzebub, who walks around in her bearskin diaper and shits on the floor whenever she wants.
Three more steps! Come on! He's almost in aggro range.
Those three steps take another forty minutes, and five consecutive walks into walls.
I turn, Shoddy Dagger of Ordinary Craftsmaking in hand, running, and I stick him with the pointier end. We don't get any good equipment on floor one, so daggers here hurt less than like, fuckin' Enforcer flip flops.
It takes twenty minutes, before the job is done. He swings his sword drunkenly and releases a couple of spells willy nilly. I dodge, despite only being given 5 agi, as a minor demon.
Finally, the sucker plops down dead, dissolving into little bits of bubble like all Heroes do.
Everyone kind of looks at me awkwardly, "What the fuck?" all over their faces.
Fuck. I've fucked up. Prolly shoulda let the guy go on.
Oh boy, Boss is gonna be pissed.
From the stairs leading down to his newly renovated Lair, I hear the steps.
And from below, I hear a deep, rumbling voice.
**"WHO THE *FUCK* KILLED SIR TWITCH_PLAYS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?!"**
|
I regret to say that I have achieved what you have never accomplished Lord Beezlebub, lord of the 7 Hells. As of such, I see myself in a precarious position and at your mercy. However, I have confidence that I can make it as the owner of my own personal dungeon. You may consider this as my letter of resignation. Dickbag.
-Elemental Horse #7
| 2014-09-03T12:02:19
| 2014-09-03T11:41:35
| 876
| 33
|
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.
|
The day had finally come. My 21st birthday, the final threshold to adulthood and the removal of the last legal prohibitions to having some fun. My older friends had received their checks and partied hard – some for days, some for hours. My younger friends waited enviously to see what I’d receive. The anticipation was worse than even college finals results.
&#x200B;
“Anderson, J. Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents. Sign.”
&#x200B;
I was shocked. They were shocked. What had begun as a party-to-be turned quickly into a wake, and those who I thought were my friends quickly commiserated and deserted me to find the next free drinks. I sighed and signed my name, bitterly cursing the governmental mathematicians who put me in this ridiculous predicament. Seven lousy bucks!
&#x200B;
I guess it’s good for at least a soda, though, right? I took my check to the nearest gas station and decided to pick up at least some sort of drink to celebrate the day. Dr. Pepper was on sale 2 for $2, so I was already ahead! Silver linings and all that stuff. Peering into the scratchcard case, I figured I might as well throw the remaining five bucks at the mega-jackpot ticket. It’s not like I’d be able to do much else.
&#x200B;
“Seven dollars and twenty-six cents, hon” said the cashier. I smiled at her and handed her my check. I guess I couldn’t even spend that little a windfall all in one place. She handed me my sodas, my scratch card, my receipt and a single shiny penny in change. Well, at least I’d have something to scratch with.
&#x200B;
Donkey. Donkey. Horseshoe. Dollar bill. Horseshoe. Clover. Dollar bill. Firework. Horseshoe.
&#x200B;
Wait, *what?* I looked at the payout table. Three horseshoes. 5 million bucks. Enough to set me up for life if I was careful enough. Easily enough to survive for a good while… and all of my so-called friends already abandoned me and written me off.
&#x200B;
Damn the government! They’ve become so good at this stuff that they found a way that they didn’t even have to pay for me!
|
$7.27
After finally working out the fabrics of our universe, things as we know it rapidly changed: Space was no obstacle anymore, we could fold it like it was nothing, making stuff like teleportation or boxes with infinite space within easy peasy, whilst time could be manipulated just as easily.
Eternal youth, foresight, time travel, you name it.
Not that any of that is of use to me, of course. I'm just a modest man and only the government can actually use those things with leisure. Something about energy being impossible to produce or some other balderdash. Us common folk could extend our life by a thousand years, two if you're lucky.
Society remains pretty much unchanged other than that. Of course, it's worth noting we're under a single big government now, but it didn't really change much. Sure did get rid of wars though. Just an uprising here and there (foolish idiots, going against people that know the future)
Anyways, back to the $7.27.
With the government being able to see in the future, they've been capable of calculating exactly the minimum amount of money one would use for the rest of their lives and they'd send it to you for your 21st birthday. I received just a little over seven dollars.
Normally, getting such a large amount would make you panic, I mean 7 dollars? That's enough to buy a whole galaxy or two!
At first I was rather perplexed but, after hours over hours of waiting in line and filling up documents, those government officials finally told me that no, there was no mistake.
I went home dumbfounded. 7 dollars? What could I ever need them for?
Imagine my surprise when, just 70 years later, I was told that those people found out my family was deep in debt? And guess for how much? A whole 7 dollars and 27 cents!
Ridiculous I daresay, what use would it be to give me money just to take it back in such a short time?
Bah, I'll never get these people.
| 2019-04-24T14:49:01
| 2019-04-24T13:16:55
| 99
| 36
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
I never expected humans to be so delectable. I smelled her as soon as I clawed my way out of the portal—a lingering trail of sweetness perfuming the air. The trail led me to this sleeping beauty. Her hair fanned behind her head in a fiery halo, and her pale skin glowed beneath the moonlight like a beckoning beacon.
Her soul was overpowering, dizzying me with her aroma. She was so ripe for the taking, and I was addicted to her intoxicating aura—a spice of untapped dreams and endless wants, enhanced with a shadow of resentment. She had so many delicious desires and I couldn’t resist the feast.
I readied for the resistance, but she welcomed me in with eagerness and relief. With each tantalizing taste of her, I wanted more and more until we were whole, a yin yang of two souls. She gave herself to me completely, and I devoured her until her body was mine, and then she laughed, leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
I slurped up her final sip of nectar, and she whispered, “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
Luck meant nothing to a demon such as I. A demon who escaped the jails of hell and crawled through the cracks of the earth to reach the human realm. A demon who finally found freedom.
My eyes blinked open and I peered through the darkness. I could barely make out the shadowy shapes in the room, even after my eyes adjusted. Human senses were so muted, but I would adapt. I tried to move my legs, but they refused to budge. Nor could I wiggle even the tiniest of my toes. My limbs were heavy and lifeless—entirely immobile.
A scream ripped through me but it didn’t make it past my throat. Only my eyes could move, could sense, could see.
There was no sound when I realized I’d escaped one hell only to be trapped in another.
\*\*\*\*\*
Thanks for reading! Feel free to read more at r/rulerofstorybears
|
The man just let me take over completely. The lust was upon me, the blood-rage roaring in my ears, claws extended in both dimensions, pulling, rending, scraping... Only then when it was too late did I realise something was wrong. My victims had never reacted like this before, in all the millennia.
'Good luck,' the man said. 'You'll need it.'
I was suddenly alone in his inner world. Usually by now the victim was cowering in uncontrollable fear and I could see every single thing about them, every shameful thought and word and deed. But here: nothing. I was possessing the man, as I had done countless times before, but it was like I was in a cave underground, or deep underwater or in a...
...prison. The sensation of fear was so unfamiliar to me, so long dormant, that at first I could not recognise it. At once I went to back out, to leave him, but it was too late. The doors opened only one way.
I howled, a sound of hate and rage that would have been enough to shred the sanity of every one of my previous victims, but here the noise just echoed and fell away back to terrible silence.
Then I was not alone. There was something else here with me. Something in the corners, coming closer. Half unseen in shadows even to me, the lord of the unseen.
'BE AWAY!' I cried. But it came closer, and closer, and I realised: It was not coming *from* the dark. It *was* the dark.
I howled again and rued the moment I had seen this man and his hideous secrets, and then the dark closed upon me.
\--
Subscribe at r/HouseBlendMedium for more if you like it :-)
| 2020-12-21T12:20:20
| 2020-12-21T12:05:54
| 752
| 138
|
[WP] When you turn 18, you get to choose superpowers based on points you earned based on your behavior. Most people get about 10 points, the world’s mightiest heroes had around 30. You just turned 18. You have over 200 points and your government is freaking out.
|
(Part 1, because I don't understand character limits apparently.)
"And how many points would Superman have had?" the teacher asked, as we were filling in the points chart on the board.
"Well, flight is fifteen points all on its own, twenty if it's fast. Then strength, which is a sliding scale, but it's safe to say that Superman's strength would be on the high end, so, eighteen more?" Jake sat in the front row as he explained his calculations, gesturing excitedly. I could tell that he'd already calculated it. *Aw, he's such a dork.* His friend group was open to everyone, but they were pretty nerdy so not too many people tried to join in. I hovered on the edges, nervous and shy about joining in, but I'd seen enough to know that they all probably had high point tallies. They were *serious* volunteers. Jake ran charity marathons, too.
"So, all told, Superman's abilities would cost about fifty points."
There was a disappointed murmur as everyone checked their points tallies and compared it to the cost of such insane abilities.
"Now. Remember that Superman was one of the first superheroes created. That means that people essentially threw a hundred different powers at the wall to see what stuck. Expecting to afford Superman's powers would be absurd. Does anyone have a calculation for what Spiderman's power set would be?"
Jake waved his hand eagerly, and the teacher shook her head at him with an exasperated smile. "Someone who *hasn't* answered five questions today."
A girl in the back, as shy as me, held up a hand. "Strength and agility: maybe... five points? Web... another five? Wall climbing should be another four or so, but spider sense is a sense/intelligence modifier so that's expensive. Maybe ten for that, so twenty-four total?"
Another murmur spread through the classroom and I smiled approvingly at the girl in the back. She flushed and stared at her hands.
"Nice work, Sandy." The teacher wrote "24" on the board. "Now, how many of you think that's more doable?"
A few looked uncomfortable, but some people had wide grins on their faces, and a number of hands were in the air.
"Now, we're going to deal with dangerous power combinations. Many of you are going to turn eighteen this year, so we want to be sure you're ready for it and you don't choose anything that's going to get you or others killed." Jake's hand was already in the air. The teacher sighed. "Yes, Jake?"
"Super speed without the reflexes to match."
"Absolutely. You'd be the equivalent of a speeding train, with no way to dodge people, cars, or buildings. You'd die in minutes, and kill a lot of people doing so. Now, if you'll turn to Page 18 of your book, there's a chart of incompatible powers, and pages 19-20 are powers that need another power to work. The next month will be spent going over these in detail and explaining what can go wrong. Tests 2 and 3 will contain this material, so be sure to pay close attention."
The bell rang, and I found myself slipping into the back of Jake's group as usual, listening to their chatter.
"Hey Clark, you've got fifty points all saved up, right?" They laughed and Clark shook his head in embarrassment.
"Nah. I've got like twenty."
"Hey, that's not bad. You could be Spiderman with that."
"Yeah. What've you got, Jake?"
Jake's grin spread. "Thirty-four."
There was a dazed silence, broken by Clark. "Woah. Hey Jake, remember that we were buddies when you start working. That's some money."
I tagged along with Jake as I kept my head down. No one could see another person's numbers, but I still lived dreading the day someone would ask. My numbers had to be low, but I'd been embarrassed to check. Sure, I hadn't bullied anyone, but I'd spent most of my life doing nothing big of note. I sure hadn't run marathons with Jake.
Finally, my eighteenth birthday rolled around and I was excused from school. The cake and the presents, everything was ready, waiting for the moment when my points became, for a brief moment, visible to outside eyes, when they saw why and how I'd gotten my score.
|
Of all the creation stories that exist, the one I am about to tell you is perhaps one of the most interesting. It all began with a god who'd grown bored with his own creation- a little planet of bipedal humanoid creatures that he'd endowed with a brilliance far exceeding the other species with whom they shared their home with. It happened far faster than he'd thought- they achieved so much in so small a time that he considered wiping them out and starting over.
But alas he could not.
For so deep was his love for his creation that he blamed not they, but himself for the bureaucratic tedium they'd become so accustomed to. And after many centuries of watching them succeed in everything they set out to do, he decided that perhaps it was time to test them. He had given them all that they called their own- so too did he see fit to take it all away. He did something the other gods warned him against and pulled what he considered to be lesser dangers from Atocia, the realm of monsters- and he set them loose on the populace.
Their weapons however were underdeveloped- never had they faced strife from outside factors, for as their brilliance shined the many colors of their moon, so too did their kindness. War was a foreign word to the lips of the Venig race, and so they succumbed to the might of the creatures. The god watched in horror as they buckled, for the first time in their existence to a problem. An obstacle that they could not overcome without the help of their god was something he hadn't considered. He attempted to deal with the foreign threat himself, but his own might left them unscathed. They were immune to him it seemed, and the warnings of his brothers and sisters began to haunt him.
And so he did the one thing he could think to do... and endowed the populace with a fraction of his own power. It would be split among them and based upon their behavior during their formative years so as to be certain that good prevailed over evil.
It worked like a charm.
The populace used their newfound abilities and drove the monsters away from their city and erected walls to protect themselves against another attack. But the monsters did not return; instead, they took to the surrounding jungles and mountain ranges to breed and multiply. The Venig would come to remember the events of that day as *The Sundering*. No longer could they commune safely with the nature that cradled their civilization, for now there lurked beasts and creatures the likes of which preyed upon them at every opportunity.
The god wept for what he had done, and left his universe to its own devices, keen instead on starting anew somewhere else. However, he'd left to the Venig his own assortment of powers which were infinite in number and potency- and it was the power that warped them. While they were once meek and kind to one another, they now found themselves in control of powers that set them apart from one another in strength. It was only then that a police force became necessary to keep the peace within the city. Gangs formed, power struggles ensued, cults took hold of vulnerable youths and the government cracked down on civil liberties in the name of safety, which gave rise to rival government entities.
Thus the saying was born, "Etvi, falung re kaneish," which translated roughly to: "The young hide a second face beneath."
While the elders sought to keep the truth from the youth at first, parents often found it easy to control their children by warning them that they needed to be good if they wanted to grow up big and strong. And so even those with wicked hearts and fell intentions would attempt their best behavior until they were granted their powers upon their eighteenth birthday. Although they tried their best, too many times would one's true face surface within their life to grant them any kind of world-changing ability. A thousand years later however, one would be born that would change everything.
Her name was Oriel; and among Venig standards, she was perfect.
She carried within her a golden heart that shined warmly on all who crossed her path. She cared for every living being without exception- even the monsters who harried her ancestors. She was beloved by all who were fortunate enough to bask in her glow, and although she faced hardship just like any other, she was never broken by them. On her eighteenth birthday, the family gathered to prepare her for her spirit-journey. They regaled her with tales of their own, told her what to expect, and cautioned her to be on her best behavior before the great ones.
As the clock struck midnight, everyone held her as she fell limp into their arms.
When the young woman opened her eyes, she floated gently into the air and gazed down upon her shocked family. Never had one been born with the power of flight- this was new ground. When asked about her score, she informed them that she had been scored a perfect 200. They knew better than to question her, for she never lied to them. Oriel had developed unimaginable god-like powers. Not only had she been granted every power in the government regulated power index, but she had been blessed with a bevy of previously unknown abilities- including the ability to create and shape life.
Flowers bloomed where she walked, the sick found their cure at her warm touch and the wicked wept for their past sins and found their salvation at her grace.
It was unlike anything the Venig had ever seen, and it began to shape a new movement surrounding her. The people flocked to her and rejoiced at her presence, following her every word and doing their best to do right by her. For all intents and purposes, she was a goddess in her own right. It wasn't that none could oppose her- it was that none felt compelled to try. She was an unassailably loved icon of her people.
The cults, the government, and the religious institutions seemed immune to her charm, however. They despised her, for what she represented was an encroachment upon their own power. They plotted in secret under the bleak of night within the darkest shadows to put an end to her. Before their plan could be set into motion, however, she called her closest to her side and bid them farewell. She feared that by her mere existence, she was upsetting the balance that kept the Venig safe. They wept at her departure and asked where she was going. She simply replied: "anywhere for a time."
And she did leave the world behind, those words becoming sacred to the new religion that dominated the city in the hundreds of years to follow. She had truly attained godhood and sojourned off into other realms to ask of the neighboring deities for their wisdom and hospitality. After learning all that she could from those whom she sought council, she nestled tightly into a piece of unused spacetime and focused all of her energy into a single point- and detonated herself.
Her infinite energy scattered into the unused space collecting in burning hot pools of gas that spawned their own living systems. She breathed all of creation to the newest universe on our astral tapestry.
And she came to be remembered only by the gods that met her, as *Oriel, the Sojourner.*
- - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break. I took a lot longer on this one, obviously. I'm home today. Not sure why I chose it, but I'm glad I did. I can write a lot of stories within this universe. Nice prompt!
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos
| 2021-02-08T15:33:11
| 2021-02-08T14:49:58
| 788
| 57
|
[WP] A professor stands in front of a class on the first day of term for “Time Travel 101” and explains why no one is allowed to go to Steven Hawking’s party.
|
Professor Tempus stood in front of his class, dumbfounded at the question which his student had just asked. He had finished writing a dissertation on time travel after having perfected the machine that allowed for actual time traveling back and forward in time. The youngest genius in a lifetime and he was teaching in some university for funding on his new prototype. Granted, there was something special about teaching young minds about time travel, but they all seem to lack common sense and logic.
Picking at a scar on his arm, the fairly young professor look at the student before taking a swig of his coffee. Gosh, it was far too early to deal with these questions. Guess he asked for it, since he had welcomed questions, and they just went over the multiverse theory. He did NOT sign up for teaching students who did NOT having an ounce of common sense though.
"Look, uh..." Whoops, forgot his name.
"Robert," the student supplied hopefully. Though he had some smug aura to him, as if he caught the professor in some kind of trap.
"Robert. Right." Making a mental note to not call on him again in the near future, Professor Tempus turned to the chalkboard and started drawing a timeline.
"Say you go back in time. To attend this idiotic party of Hawking's. A party which he claimed nobody showed up. What did we learn in the multiverse theory?"
He was greeted with a chorus of "It doesn't work."
"Great!" he said brightly, happy his class learned something. "So knowing this, and that I can't exactly stop you or anyone else from going there, it's safe to say someone has gone there before, right?"
There was a buzz of confusion going on in the class before the professor slams his hand down in frustration.
"Quiet! This is extremely important! Yes, what is it?" he almost snarled in irritation at the girl who just raised her hand.
"But Hawkings said nobody showed up."
The response was easily, "He lied. You can't trust everything people say. Not even if they're in those history cubes of yours."
The professor stood in front of the class. "Time traveling is more than just memorizing notes and key terms. Like a science, you need to think and understand the field. That means understanding logic because key events cannot be changed. So what you do back in time cannot alter the course of time because it's already been pre-determined."
The professor looked more somber as he continued.
"My own mentor and I had planned to go to his party many years ago, but I escaped. But it was a trap. They got a lot of time travelers that day. Anything to keep the disruptions of normalcy in 21th century life at bay."
|
"One thing to always remember is that time travel doesn't really make any sense. It's beyond the human comprehension. It's really a miracle that we found it in the first place! Does anybody remember the first discovery of time travel?"
The professor looked around the room for the slightest twitch or indication of a raised hand.
"You there. The girl, in the yellow shirt. What's your name?"
"M-Miranda." She spoke about as awkwardly as she dressed
"Yes, Miranda. You looked like you were about to say something?"
"Isn't it a trick question? By all records, the origin on this timeline seems to have changed, and the actual point is physically impossible to determine. To my knowledge at least."
The professor smiled.
"Yes, and I'm sure the rest of you believe that to some extent as well. And I guess it is sort of true. It \*is\* physically impossible to determine for certain. But there's a common misconception in there. I would ask if anyone knew what that misconception was, but considering that this is a beginner's class, I think it'd be fruitless to ask."
A few of the students eyed each other. Despite being in an intro class, all of them had thought that information was fundamentally known, like how the Earth revolved around the Sun..
"Do any of you know Stephen Hawking?" the professor asked, already knowing what would happen.
The room was silent.
"A while ago, there was a certain scientist. Extremely important, studied many other fields of science, but also never really studied anything remotely close to what we know as time travel. He's also extremely relevant when we talk about anything related to time travel. But it seems like none of you know him." He flashes a cocky grin, as he continues talking.
"That's also why I'm teaching this class, and not you. Because experience is vital in the fields of time travel. I'm one of the few professors here that can tell you of this significant man."
One of the students raised their hand quickly, but jerked it away just as soon as he put it up. The professor glared at him for a second, before realizing something and continuing to speak.
"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions. But to get back on the origin of time travel, how many of you know what a Nexus Point."
This time, many of the students raised their hand, though not quite enthusiastically. There were around a dozen who did so, and most of them seemed unsure.
"To clarify, since this is a Time Travel course, I'm referring to Nexus Points in relation to time travel. Not Nexus Points in relation to dimensional travel."
A student raised their hand, with a certain look. And without being called on, he started talking regardless.
"But isn't dimensional travel and time travel related? Time travel inherently has the use of multiple timelines, and any nexus points made through time travel function as though you're traveling between dimensions? There's not really any difference between dimensional travel and time travel between timelines when you're talking about Nexus Points."
The professor almost got angry. He glared at the student who asked the question, before reminding himself to calm down. He inhaled, then exhaled.
He ignores the question. Fruitless, baseless, uninformed, were many of the adjectives that were running through his head.
"Stephen Hawking is relevant for one significant reason, as I'm sure most of you were wondering. It's known as the Time Traveler's Party. It is also a Nexus Point, which we are going to be referring to from now on in it's relation to time travel."
He takes a bit of effort not to actively glare at the idiot.
"The Time Traveler's Party is only known by it's attendees. This is why nobody here has heard of it. The gist of it was that Stephen Hawking invited all time travelers to attend this party, sort of as an experiment. And for everyone wondering why I'm talking about this party when I should be talking about the origin of time travel, it's because that this party IS the origin of time travel."
Confused faces. All of them. Of course, most of the pieces were right there. There wasn't a lot to expect though, since most of them seemed to not know what a Nexus Point was in the first place.
"I know everyone here is confused. Of course, I only give this information to inform, not to convolute the information you retain. And it's because this information serves as the base for a healthy reminder. To not go to June 28th, 2009."
Suddenly it made sense. Confused faces turned to that of a face who has realized the universal truth. The professor smiled as the pieces began fitting themselves together for each of the students. Except one. The idiot.
"Wait, but you haven't explained how time travel was invented?"
The professor scoffed.
"You should probably drop this class. If you don't get it, you probably won't get anything else I say from now on."
The idiot looked disappointed, and also a bit miffed.
"Fine. But at least explain it to me." he said, now clearly annoyed.
"Fine." It was a begrudging fine, but the professor continued. A ramble to clear things up and have him leave.
"Many of these facts are in direct contradiction to each other. You can't have time travelers from multiple timelines in one timeline except both the time traveler in that timeline and the one that hopped into that one, being the one who created the nexus point between both timelines. The invitation was the first event relative to all of time to have nexus points created, and the timeline got penetrated through a bunch of holes all at once. You can imagine that timeline didn't handle it too well. A bunch of things got fucked over. Now you don't visit that nexus point unless you wanna give the timeline some trauma it doesn't need. Of course, all of the other timeline weakened around it, just because the whole thing got fucked over all at once and it made everything around it susceptible to easier timeline penetration, but not enough to mess things up. Of course, Nexus Points are what happens when you time travel multiple times in the same area and it becomes unusable. For those who do know Nexus Points, they should know that it's not really the Nexus Point is where it becomes unusable. It's more of a safety precaution. But the event is a special type of Nexus Point. I'm sure you could guess why at this point. I'm sure most of you were expecting that this Nexus Point would be just like any other, and would've thought that it would have gotten a bit more use."
It was a lot, but hopefully it would shut the idiot up. The bell rung, and most of the students got up to leave. satisfied with what felt like exclusive knowledge. But the now-learned student didn't, as he sat thinking, until a bit after class had ended.
Finally, he asked, as the professor stood there, waiting.
"But what about the Bootstrap paradox?"
The professor was taken a back for a second, but smiled once more.
"I guess you may know more than I realize. I'm a bit surprised though. You're probably one of the few people in the world that's taken the Bootstrap Paradox seriously. Guess I can't fault you for your other questions."
| 2022-09-24T22:00:28
| 2022-09-24T20:21:57
| 39
| 22
|
[WP] You've taken over 30 different career aptitude tests, but the only result you've ever gotten was "banana tree".
|
I was fourteen, a freshman at Purksbay High, when I first asked, “What are my results?” The part time accountant and full time counselor stared in amazement.
“Mr. Roberts, what does it say?” I asked, engulfed with a passion and drive to take on the world and build a meaningful life. Mr. Roberts twirled his index finger, as the words rolled off his tongue, “Banana Tree.”
For a week, I wondered what type of career was summarized by the words, Banana Tree. But, to my surprise, Mr. Roberts called me back to his office. He sat behind his desk -- his fingers stuck in a Chinese finger trap. “Bryan, I have good news. The first career aptitude test must have had a glitch. I would like for you to retake it.” Two hours later, and for the second time in two weeks, I heard the words... “Banana Tree.”
_________________________________________________________________
The weeks became months, and months became junior year. I was the second string tight end for the Purksbay Porkers, and honestly, the words, Banana Tree, didn’t have much meaning any longer. But, there I sat, for the seventh time in two and a half years, taking the career aptitude test.
“Bryan, I have your results.” Mr. Roberts approached me with the papers in his hands. His hands were in handcuffs, but as he approached me, he twirled his fingers like a magician, and the handcuffs were gone. It was impressive. He was a part time accountant, a full time counselor, and a part time magician -- Mr. Roberts had three careers, and I had... Banana Tree.
He placed his hand on my shoulder, “I’m sorry Bryan. It’s, Banana Tree.“ I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Banana Tree is not the set of words you cry at. Banana Tree are the two words at the end of a joke, but not something you can ever really cry about.
_________________________________________________________________
It was senior year. I had a girlfriend, a college scholarship, friends, football… but I still had yet to be given a career. For the twenty-eighth time in my almost four years, I heard the words... Banana Tree. But what did I care, it was Prom Night, and I was about to get some action.
Fast forward to graduation day. Mr. Roberts called me to his office. I sat there and watched him juggle for a few minutes. He was good. Real good. Not only was he a counselor, a magician, and an accountant, but he also could juggle, which he was practicing, because he was performing at our graduation ceremony that night.
“Bryan, as a school counselor, and a part time accountant, and a part time magician, and a part time comedian, I wish deeply in my heart that I could give you one of my skills. But that’s not how it works. However, I have something for you. I have two career aptitude tests in my possession; one is the same one you have taken twenty-eight times, and the other is brand new.”
Brand new…a fresh start, I thought. He told me, “I know its graduation day, but as my graduation gift to you, I’d like to be able to tell you your career.” I ate those words right up, and grabbed two pencils, and off I ran.
Two hours later, and I was done. Mr. Roberts approached me, “Bryan, this is the twenty-ninth time you have taken this career aptitude test, and for the twenty-ninth time,” he bowed his head, “Banana Tree.” At this point, I was desensitized to those words, and I hardly reacted.
“However, we have the wild card; the brand new test that you have never taken. And I have good news.” Mr. Roberts twirled his fingers as he spoke, “It says, Orange Tree.”
I didn’t really understand his response. Orange Tree. Okay, I guess my career is in farming. But I still didn’t understand, so I asked, “Orange Tree?”
Mr. Roberts smiled like a disturbed clown, and didn’t speak a single word. He began juggling his bowling pins, while rapidly moving his fingers in and out of the Chinese finger trap. I was in amazement, when it happened. When he violently screamed, “ORANGE YA GLAD I DIDN’T SAY BANANA TREE!”
|
Life is ultimately pointless there is no grand scheme, no benevolent creator or even an primordial tentacle monster. It is nothing but chaos and the order that We as humans have created. As such a man who believes these things with all my heart, and with the universe itself evidence to my claim why then does the world seem to assign me the destiny of banana tree. What even is that as a career path are there promotions, scaling back how do I make money do I sell my bananas?. Even if I did I'm only one banana tree I can't create enough product to establish a self sustaining business. Plus how would I go about filing taxes is that Labour, or produce or both. Maybe I could be like a scenic banana tree you pay me to sit there and look nice in your garden. Then again who ever heard of paying a lawn ornament, "oh my water feature is excellent and he only costs me 15 an hour". I could be like a security guard I sit there silently and when attackers show up bam banana to the face, and then my tombstone can read "died throwing bananas at armed men in a banana tree costume, he kinda deserved it". I guess porns an option there's bound to be an overly enthuasitic banana tree fan out there. I don't know if the market isn't a little too niche for long term success there's only so many different scenarios I can shove bananas up my arse before I'm beating a dead horse which is an idea for a video I suppose. But how much do those fetishes overlap it would be like Archie vs predator it wouldn't really work. Actually scratch that, that sounds rad as hell fucking predator attending high school and trying to fit in slash repress his need to hunt and kill all while the proms tomorrow. time to spice up that love triangle with some Archie on predator action. See this is why my career path is banana tree I'm pretty much useless at anything I do. My bananas would probably have a low potassium count anyway. I still don't even know how I'm even supposed to be a banana tree do I sign up for weird experiments and live in agony as hormones are pumped into my body and low potassium bananas are pumped out this just doesn't oh shit a bus.
It was then that the creator finished reading my final thoughts he then looked up and with a wry smile decided that my reincarnation would be a banana tree, that I would not remember any of this. "In fact" the creator's epic voice echoed throughout my entire existence "you will be a low potassium yielding banana tree with a great sense of belonging". Jokes on him I remember everything and I still reckon those career aptitude tests are a load of rubbish. And that if he can't even get a lousy banana tree reincarnation right then life really is pointless.
| 2017-03-10T08:13:34
| 2017-03-10T04:47:16
| 119
| 13
|
[WP] Write something dark, macabre and bleak but with a hopeful ending. Not all out happy ending, just slightly optimistic.
Think of a single flower sprouting in a desolate, war torn city type deal. It's not a triumphant ending, but a faint hint at better things to come.
|
She screams in the hospital bed, body contorting as the pains shudder through her again. Nurses scramble around the room, the doctor issues orders while the rest do his bidding. Everything was normal, just three minutes ago. The rate in which it changed is what disturbs him most.
"What's going on, Doc?" he asks. The doctor looks at him, giving him a calculating and worried look that rattles him to his core. He then looks back at the man's wife.
"There's been a rupture," he said. He looks down at his wife and grips hand. She looks at him, eyes wide and desperate. Like a wounded animal.
Then they flutter back behind their eyelids and she goes slack.
"DOCTOR!" he shouts, "What's going on?! SHE NOT MOVING."
The doctor ignores him, "Check for -" he begins when the EKG machine next to him flatlines.
"WHAT IS - " he begins, when the doctor pushes him aside. He begins applying compressions on his wife's chest.
"We'll have to cut him out," he shouts to the nurses. "Melinda, continue compressions. I'm going to finish what we started."
He can't do anything. He stands stupidly next to his wife, as the medical staff continues their work. He wants to reach out to her, to *slap* her across the face and wake her up; to shake her. To *scream* at her. What was she doing? What was he going to do?!
*And why are they continuing?! Can't they see she's dying?!* He grits his teeth and moves forward, eyes blazed in a fury, ready to shake some sense into the medical staff and tell them to save his wife. To bring her back. *SHE'S DYING. ARE THEY BLIND?!*
Someone grabs his arm, "Sir, they need some space. Your family is in good hands." She tells him. When he isn't convinced, she adds, "There's nothing you can do now."
And so he watches. Watches as the doctor works, while the nurse named Melinda continues CPR. His wife lay upon the bed, head turned towards him, arm hanging off the side like she's in a deep sleep.
"Almost there," the doctor says. "Yes, yes, here he is."
A new sound is added to the cacophony of noise in the room. The ear piercing noise of a squalling babe. He can no longer hear the horrifying sound of the EKG machine flatlining, or the voice of the doctor as he issues orders to the nurses and moves to his wife. All he can hear is the sound of the boy. *His boy.*
The doctor issues a stop order with his hand, and ushers the nurses away from the still motionless body of his wife. She's gone. *I am alone,* he thinks at first then a nurse comes to him, and hands him his child. His final and perpetual reminder of his lovely wife. He holds him, alone and afraid regarding him with love. And pity, for he shall never know the warmth of his mother's love.
|
The motorcycle roared down the highway like an untamed beast. I wove in between the old cars, rusting on the cracked asphalt and highway shoulders as the grit and wind slowly reclaimed them. Duke smiled from the sidecar, tongue hanging out of his slobbery mouth as he took in the view.
Across the horizon, a storm was brewing. Dark clouds swirled around mountaintops in the distance, and the sound of thunder echoed across the brown grass of the flat plains like the voice of God. The clouds became hazy, obscuring the snowy peaks: a distant rain, coming closer.
I pulled into an abandoned ranch; the purr of the bike quieted to a deep throb. The old fence separating the land from the highway had long since rotted and crumbled, leaving only a few remaining posts jutting up, formerly white paint yellowed and peeling off under the constant sun. The driveway was choked with weeds, and the porch sagged under my weight as Duke and I trod up the creaking steps. A doorbell, still shiny, had been waiting for decades for someone to give it a ring. I'd pushed plenty of these back before the End. Plenty of sales calls, plenty of doors slammed in my face. Plenty of lonely, cheap hotel rooms and long-distance calls to women who didn't really care about me. Just for fun, I pressed the button, but the house remained silent.
The hinges creaked with effort as I opened the front door. I was probably the first visitor the old place had seen since the End. And I would probably be the last. The furniture inside was covered in dust, but the synthetic fabrics of the couch were holding together nicely. Pictures of the long-dead inhabitants lined the walls, smiled back at us. Happy that their home could shelter two wandering travelers, I liked to imagine. Duke immediately jumped into a plush armchair, throwing a cloud of dust into the air. He panted at me with a big grin; proclaiming himself king of the living room. "That's just fine," I told him. "I wanted the couch anyway!"
I went back to the bike, secured it under a tarp, and brought back some supplies: hot dogs, beans, and a good book. My favorite (and Duke's). I tore up some of the old floor boards and made a fire in the old brick chimney. It sparked and crackled with life, and the whole room seemed to glow as though thrilled to have someone back in the house.
The rain reached the house just as we were enjoying our meal. It was light, at first. A whispering, light pitter-patter against the old roof. The storm grew louder. Ear-splitting thunder echoed around us, and drops began to fall through the many cracks above. The rain began to pound on the ceiling like an angry ex boyfriend that wanted to be let in. But the fire was warm and the couch was soft. Duke snorted as he devoured the hot dogs and curled up by my side while I read. The rain pinging against the remaining glass windows and shingles sang a chorus of lullabies. We fell asleep together dreaming of where we would go next.
---
[From a different prompt here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2nz4pv/wp_many_people_consider_this_the_end_of_the_world/cmi8qm7).
| 2015-01-09T11:13:29
| 2015-01-09T08:35:31
| 22
| 10
|
[wp] Sick of somebody trying to get into your servers, you let them in, only to spring a virus into their system. To your surprise, the news the next day says that the goverment's systems have been absolutely wrecked.
&#x200B;
|
"GDP suffered a small downturn today after a raid on the Pavelex Corporate Branch Netscape by an unknown group. Wide-scale breaches and data-corruption have been detected and at least two Monitors have reported themselves as compromised. The motives and purpose of the attack are not yet know, but local law enforcement and Pavelex's Internal Security Board have convened to discuss the matter. The company issued its public statement just moments ago."
*"This attack is unprovoked and malicious in its intent. While we could understand an assault on our private servers, we have never denied that we have made enemies, the damage to basic network infrastructure is inexcusable. This will not only hurt the economy of our fair planet, but the lives our employees, our customers, and our citizens. Know that you have crossed the line from criminal to terrorist. And when you are found, you will swiftly meet the long arm of the law as it squeezes your throat."*
"While effects on the macro-scale are still being calculated, the average citizen can expect increased delays in net response and lowered bandwith. NetSec has also released an advisory on the loss of personal information-"
Simon shut off the feed before the talking heads could get too far into their roll. Details wouldn't matter to anyone outside the corp or the conspiracy boards. A few weeks of slow service and angry execs yelling at the cops to bust heads. Keep your head down on the street and plan for a good show in two weeks when they found their scapegoat.
"Feel sorry for the bastard they grab. Suit looked mad enough to bring out a goddamn guillotine." He rolled his chair away from the table, covered in BoostBar wrappers and cereal bowls, to the other table, covered in loose wiring and batteries. And a small mechanical kitten. Kept freezing up, from bad joints AND a faulty board. Had to have it done in two days, he promised Naima.
So of course, his goggles flashed with an incoming call just as he picked up his multi-tool. Unknown number, but local. Probably a customer.
Hey, if payed well enough he could give the thing a new paintjob. Make a little girl smile.
"Simon Says Work. It breaks, I fix. How big a thing are we talking about?" he asked as he set to work removing the legs.
*"What. The fuck."*
Simon stopped working.
"Excuse me?"
*"Shut up and listen,"* the woman started. Her voice would have been smooth, maybe sultry, if she didn't sound angry enough to have spent the whole day huffing combat stims. But they were real words which suggested sobriety which was damn impressive. *"Only two people would be in this kind of shit. A jackass or a stooge. Which are you?"*
"Uhhhh-"
*"Stooge, good, I can work with that."* The voice paused and there was a pop. Pill bottle uncapping. Bad sign. Very bad. Bad enough to fish out the key chameleon taped to the bottom of his desk. *"So, you see the news? How someone decided today was a good day to stick their dick in a wasp nest?"*
"What's a wasp?"
*"Bad thing. Worse is that they used yours."*
Simon really didn't want to follow that analogy further and rushed over to his apartment's two cabinets. He tore the bottom one open, throwing spare tools and old concert flyers aside until he could see the keyhole hidden in the bottom.
*"So, and take a moment to think real hard on this cause it's important, there been any suspicious activity on your account lately?"* The last words were done in an accent that managed to sound both perky and monotone. Like a telemarketer. At least she was having fun.
"Nothing besides the usual. What did you mean? They used mine?" The lock clicked and he pulled the false bottom out of the cabinet, then followed it up by hauling up the duffel bag. His downstairs neighbors were the nice kind of never questioned the unusual sound of someone drilling into their air-duct.
*"Focus Mr. Fixit. It's important."*
"I guess..." Remembering something so small was asking a lot. Hundreds of hits of 'suspicious activity' rolled by every day, he had that kind of service. Picking one out from the others...although... "A fake job. Too good to be true, too specific wording, lots of attention to the money. Usually ignore them, but this one, same one every time, kept popping up every two hours. Kept it up for three days until I just got sick of deleting it."
*"So you let it in?!"*
"It was just a spambot! They only ever want personal information and that webpage is just an ad with my phone number! I WANT to get that out there, what was the harm?" He pulled a heavy black bandanna out of a pocket and tied it over his mouth. Lined to keep out imaging software. A jacket with the same treatment with a hood to hide his hair. A mental toggle set his work goggles to opaque. Face hidden, his strapped the bag onto his back.
*"Oh you poor little...you have a bugout bag, so I guess there's hope for you."* He could here the laughter in her voice. Practically see her muttering 'amateur' under her breath. But it was a start, if he wanted the voice's approval.
Simon reached for the door, only to watch the green lights switched to red. He hadn't locked it.
*"Bad idea,"* she said, all but confirming she was hacking him. Then she confirmed it by switching all the lights off and rolling up the blinds on his window.
The piercing pink light of the ad on the building across from him turned the room into a headache. A giant woman, almost terrifying in attractiveness, stared at him with eyes that glowed. Scrawl promising a hundred more features than his dinky goggles. In far higher definition. All he had to do was pay to let them scoop out his real eyes.
"I'm getting the sense I need to leave. Should I just stay here?" He set his goggles to filter the ad, showing the dull gray of another monolithic hab block. Definitly worth the five script a month.
*"Course not. But the Drags are edging close to your floor. Figured you'd want to avoid them."*
The room seemed to freeze at the name. Dragon Vultures. Pavelex's own personal shitkickers. Armies worth of technically-not-military grade cyborgs. Best on the planet, if you bought the hype.
They could be bottom rung gang-bangers and he'd still be a dead man.
"Shit," he muttered, all but biting through his cheek to keep from hyperventilating. "Shit shit shit."
*"Whoever sent that spam wasn't after your phone number, they wanted to put a relay through the server of your building. There are thousands of connections inside, it'll take them time to sort through it all."* The voice grew louder and louder in his audio implant. Had to over the sudden rush of wind and skycars as she opened the windows. The wrappers and wires were whipped up into a small storm of random trash. Some part of him noted with annoyance that he wouldn't be able to clean it up. The rest of him was screaming. *"But they left a big, fat tell sitting right in your webpage's source code. Obviously fake, even you'd be able to tell. But the average citizen won't after a sham trial and a two week media blitz soooo...guess you're gonna learn how to bleat."*
He swallowed, but it just made him realize how dry his mouth was. He thought he heard a thump somewhere. In the hall. Was that the Drags? Were they heading towards his door?
Naima was never getting her kitten back.
"Why is my window open?"
*"Only way out of here."*
Simon's hands shook as he gripped the frame. Peered out into a three hundred story drop filled by hundreds of skycars.
*"Normally we wouldn't give a damn about this, but they attacked a node. Directly or indirectly, they attacked US. And if you think the corps are vindictive, you're comparing a koifish to a kraken."* Without really thinking about it, he pulled his legs up over the lip. Stood in the window. An automatic alert told him to step back inside, that a trained negotiator was on the way. *"You're nothing. But you got fucked just like we did. We can use that, I like new talent. Or I just want you to kill yourself to deny Pavelex a show. You're going to have to trust it's the first one. Call it a leap of faith. Trust review."*
Something slammed into his door. A spike of metal. Crowbar.
*"When I tell you."*
The door opened. Shouting. Demands he step down and get on the floor.
Well, better than a guillotine.
*"Jump."*
Gunshots sounded behind him as he stepped off the edge.
------
https://old.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/
|
Labor day . May 1st. The day we get off from Labor, if you don't work retail and you don't work emergency stuff, or you were stupid enough to get into IT. Which is why, at 954PM, I am staring at a rack of Dell servers. Wireshark already told me what I need to know- where the packets are coming from, who is flooding them, and whatnot. I already know what I have to do. I just... It's late. I'm tired. This... *Breathing exercises.* Let's back up and talk ransomware for a minute. By the time we are done, I may have the willpower to continue.
&#x200B;
Imagine you are my employer, MegaCorp. MegaCorp has to do things around the world at all hours. MegaCorp does millions of dollars of business. MegaCorp has server farms that let you buy "Jeggings Black M" at 945PM from you couch. MegaCorp counts of lots of business online, which requires MegaCorp to have computers that are always on.
&#x200B;
BadGuy is someone who, with a little experience working for places like MegaCorp or simply the brains to use the internet, knows that MegaCorp needs these servers up and running. Using the experience or brains (and occasionally both), BadGuy whips up a virus that takes down MegaCorps servers and until MegaCorp pays them BitCoin. The key part is, BadGuy needs an internet connection. So, BadGuys lovely little virus gets on a MegaCorp server and starts poking around, trying to phone home.
&#x200B;
Now, places like MegaCorp have people like me, OvertimeMachineHerder. OvertimeMachineHerder has firewalls that say who gets to talk to what. OvertimeMachineHerder sees the same server get ill, over and over. (Who targets the ERP system anyway?) People like OvertimeMachineHerder know how backups work and, surprise, surprise, just run the backup. Wipe the drive, rebuild an image, call it a day. *And that's what I should do. OvertimeMachineHerder is just going to do the backup.* *Just like the other five @(#\*ing nights this month.*
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You know this wasn't planned. This could not have been planned." My head aches from a vodka induced hangover. The rest of me aches from the man in front of me.
"You know why you still have a tongue?" His eyes are dead. "And your beautiful teeth?
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
OvertimeMachineHerder is a patient man. He thought that this was just some normal scammer trying to break in. Two can play at that game. It was just a little itsy bitsy upload. What's the worst that could happen?
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The lamp in my eyes again. They won't let me sleep. "Please, *please,* please... If I had done it, there would have been some sort of command and control..."
The announcer boomed out. "Again?"
"I...if I wrote it, there would be command and control. I could see who was trying to pay and could turn it off."
*Did they hear?*
*"*And I would have some.... some tech support, so if you did pay, an-and had trouble, you could-ould get help."
*Silence.*
*"*I would have charged more! And I would have let it sit before attacking so it infected their backups!"
The lights went out.
"When you wake up, we may have job for you... We will negotate conditions of employment soon. Dobroy nochi."
| 2018-09-03T21:04:03
| 2018-09-03T19:21:59
| 915
| 302
|
[WP] When a parent dies, their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child. An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning.
|
I love being the third son of this family. My adopted father has been kind and generous to me my entire life, and I've never once looked into my adopted mother's eyes and seen anything other than love and acceptance, even when that was tempered by anger or disappointment. My eldest brother Daniel only ever teased me about being adopted when he was too little to understand how much that could hurt me, and he came to me of his own accord to apologize when he realized that he had. Despite that, he was an Eldest, and had the rights, privileges, and social pressures that that entailed, so I was never as close to Daniel as I am to Brie.
As an older sister, one could hardly hope for more. She and I have been close from the moment I was brought home from the hospital. She was still a toddler at the time, and was convinced that I was a new toy for her amusement. She would drag me around the house as though I were a favorite stuffed animal. Nearly 20 years later, she still hugs me with the abandon of a child with a toy, though now I can just pick her up and squeeze back until she giggles and screams. She has grown into a beautiful, kind, and thoughtful young woman, and the bond we have as Extras will be one that holds forever.
I've lived a life much happier than I have deserved, given my status. Most parents aren't nearly as kind to their forced adoptions, realizing that they are destined for some menial labor or service job, and raise them out of duty and biological imperative, rather than any semblance of genuine affection. My father, an architect, has chosen to teach me right alongside of Daniel, when most others wouldn't bother. He even took time to teach me things that he would never dream of teaching Daniel (why would he bother? In a few years, Daniel will know everything he knows).
I say all of this to remind myself that I’ve had a good life, and a happy one.
And now it’s over.
Three days ago I received my Inheritance. I am not an Extra, I am an Eldest. And from the skills I acquired and the knowledge now coursing through my brain, I was the Eldest of either an elite soldier or a stone cold killer.
Ever woken from a dream and had to reassert reality to yourself for a few minutes? You wake up and have to remind yourself that you are not flying, that you did not arrive to school naked, or that you are not being chased by something malicious and way, way faster than you. Ever have difficulty reasserting your identity to yourself? Has that feeling ever persisted for the rest of the day?
Yeah, that’s pretty much my reality right now.
Last Saturday I woke up and jumped out of bed, scanned my room for threats and exits, secured the window, and took a defensive position facing the door, gripping my tennis racket in an overhand grip. It was done completely on autopilot, and I had no idea why. I took a deep breath, left my room to brush my teeth, and came back and made my bed with a precision and perfection I have never, ever approached. I knew something was strange, but I’ve never taken any of the classes that Eldests take for dealing with receiving their Inheritance, so I had no freaking clue what was going on. I’m not an idiot, though, and by late Saturday I figured out that I had Inherited some serious skills. I’ve spent the last few days making plans to breach a door when knocking, evaluating everyone I cross as “threat”, “asset”, or “in the way”, and really, really wishing I had a gun. I’ve never even held a gun, but I feel naked without one now. Preferably two. And a knife.
Like I said, soldier or killer.
It’s the middle of the semester, so Brie and Daniel are away, and Dad is at a conference in New York. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to Mom about this, and I’ve been avoiding her for the past couple days. I’m scared, and a little excited, but most of all I’m confused. I don’t know if I woke up on Saturday as the same person I was on Friday. And not in the wishy washy philosophical sense. In the literal, physical reality of life: am I still me? The life of an Eldest, which I’ve always imagined as something of a paradise (my parents are remarkably even handed in their treatment of us, but even they show favoritism to Daniel in most things), is, it seems, not without its pitfalls.
I’m on my way to talk to a professor of neurobiological inheritance at the Inheritence Institute in town. Hopefully he’ll have some answers.
|
She stayed up most nights waiting, though when he came in the room she'd feign sleep. He turned down the radio when he came in the house and took off his boots on the porch, but the burble of the staticky voices continues through the hiss of the shower. He had to shower when he got home. The stench and filth of the houses he entered disturbed him so. He'd gone from a messy-average college boy to a man with less light in his eyes and a need for cleanliness. That was the most noticeable of immeasurable changes in Michael since his father died and he had his Knowing.
Tonight she'd almost fallen asleep. The front door clicked open. She opened her eyes when she heard a small voice talking to Michael. It sounded like a child...but their daughter was in bed.
She pulled on her robe and crept down the stairs. Her husband sat on the couch in full uniform--something he never did. He hated to bring the filth of the criminal underworld in on his clothes.
Next to him sat a little boy. A toddler. The halo of blonde hair, chubby cheeks. A precious smile.
Her breath caught. A little boy. When her greatest desire was another child. "Michael?"
Her husband looked up. "Honey...I couldn't leave him there."
Eventually the whole story came out. She'd always known her husband resented the Knowing--that his innate passion for art was squashed at an early age by the memories of his father, the decorated hero of the Homicide unit. He felt obligated to become a cop as well, arguing the knowledge would go to waste otherwise. She hadn't argued--but he had changed so after he got the knowledge. He'd always been a dreamer.
"His father is a serial killer. I think we can stop the cycle of violence--nurture everything good in him. And when the knowing comes then he'll have enough good in him to resist it."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"I think it will. I know we can raise him to be a good person. We could save lives if we end this madness..."
She smiled at her husband through tears. At heart he still was a dreamer...and if he hadn't let the world harden him, there might be hope yet for this little boy.
| 2014-08-01T10:46:13
| 2014-08-01T10:39:23
| 49
| 16
|
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
"Todays history lesson is about the Xinu War. Humanity's only interstellar war." the professor began his lecture.
"What about the Battle of Vesuvias?" a student on the front row asked.
"That was a skirmish between two factions within the human empire. There was not sufficient casualties or escalation for it to qualify as a war."
"And the Sarandro Station?" a different student asked.
"That was an act of terrorism, again it was not a war. Please stop interrupting and consult the Aristotle AI tutor during your own time if you have more questions about non-wars. Today, we are only focusing on the Xinu War."
Once the class focused on him, the professor began his lecture. "Humanity was somewhat late to the interstellar party. As in, we were very late and had only been granted a 20Ly star allotment for expansion. The rest at least had stellazers and the accompanying orbital habitats, which was enough for it to be considered claimed and developed.
That wouldn't have been a problem, considering the council had still given us 83 star systems to exploit. But then the Xinu discovered spaceflight and everything went sideways.
Over the 100s of thousands of years since the council had formed to promote collabortive research, joint industry projects, and a series of guidelines for expansion, two spacefaring species had never appeared within 50Ly of each other, let alone 20. There was simply no precedence and the First Diet had little interest in helping resolve the problem.
_'Find an equitable solution amongst yourselves or we will intervene._' came the message nearly 700 years after the Xinu had first explored the other moons around their gas giant.
During that time, their space industry had really taken off and they were expanding to the stars that had been set aside for us. Despite our attempts to negotiate a shortest distance parlay or an even split distribution, they always refused without any counter offer. The Xinu saw our diplomacy as a weakness and pressed for more and more.
During the first 500 years of this, they merely went in the opposite direction of Earth so we tolerated it. Then they pressed claims on uninhabited stars that encroached on our half of the border so we sent strong warnings in our communications. For obvious reasons, sanctions wouldn't work and getting the First Diet involved was a terrible idea, so we tried warning them to stop.
For 200 years they consolidated their power around their already developed stars while we made an aggressive press for the stars we had yet to seize to prevent further encroachment. And that led to the Lalande System Conflict. They had realized what we were doing and destroyed the colony ship before it could set up the core industries for development.
We still did not want total war like the 20th centuries brought or cosmos forbid we had a genocidal war resulting in an existential threat, so we sent messages demanding reparations and a withdrawal from the system. They refused, now confident in our weakness and challenge our claim on the Struve system. Over 100-million people died that year and trillions in investments was destroyed.
Without warning, without messages, we utilized the Hades Project and Operation Tungsten. For those who did not do their assigned readings, the Hades Project involved using a red dwarf star encompassed in a Dyson Swarm to simulate a pulsar by bouncing it's light around until it was concentrated to unfathomable temperatures and then released at a beam. Within a month of it hitting any moon or planet with an atmosphere it would be vaporized. As for Operation Tungsten, we used nuclear propulsion tungsten rods that were accelerated to 25% lightspeed before hitting every single one of their orbital habitats we could identify.
Within 10-years we confirmed over a 99% eradication of the Xinu threat and the destruction of every single inhabited planet. It was a case of absolute domination and total victory. Like the superpowers of the 20th century, we went to total war without pulling punches and eliminated the existential threat to our way of life.
Now any questions?" the professor asked once his lecture concluded.
"What did the First Diet do in response?" the girl from earlier asked.
Laughing the professor answered, "Not a d*mn thing, they'd never seen total war and they didn't want our wrath pointed at them. They condemned our actions and warned that if we do it again they'll be forced to respond. But that isn't even a slap on the wrist, just lip service. There were no sanctions on information sharing and based on our observations they've even stopped expanding towards us. Think about that, they had a 100-thousand year head start and they're still terrified of us."
r/AurumArgenteus
Edit: my first story to break 100 likes, thanks for the positive response 😊
|
"Yes, we will show the humans what we think of their precious peace process and the true power of the Toe-dar Empire!," stated Yar-ket as he stood upon the bridge of his stupendous Battleship, the Annihilations of Hope. Around him the entire fleet was primed to take the gate to a system nearby the human empire and begin their conquest.
Yar-ket checked his line of battle again: 4 battleships, 32 cruisers and scores of lesser craft. With his homeworld at his back, the chroniclers were having a field day. Even now they were sending their stories of his heroism back to the homeworld. It was nearly 30 light seconds away from the gate, but their faster than light comms reached there instantly.
Which Yar-ket would be happy to get away from. The FTL comm had allowed his people to conquer large swaths of the galaxy, but it also let the Emperor personally ride his dorsil finn while he was in system.
As with many interstellar empires, the Homeworld was the key. The emperor and most of his line resided there as well as all of the instruments of government. Even if a house were to replace the Emperor, they too would be seated on the ancient homeworld from whence all power came. Perhaps if this campaign was successful, Yar-ket would sit upon the Neutronium Throne.
Turning to his chief of staff, Yar-ket rolled his ears, "As soon as we get through the stargate, any updates?"
"The humans are attempting to hack their way to peace," stated his chief of staff, underlined with a quivering smirk.
Yar-ket considered that for a moment, considering that humanity only had a minimal fleet and one planetary defense gun he supposed he could see why. Their planetary defense gun was the final straw in so far as he was concerned. It was so large they had mounted it on their moon.
"Gate control says they finally broke the human encryption," stated his Electronics Warfare officer. Then his carapace went pale. That was a sigh of shock, but a bridge officer should know better than to show their true colors. "Sire, they managed to acquire the keys to the human homeworld."
"The war will be over in an hour," emoted his chief of staff, her own carapace not even slightly changing. Yar-ket would go down in history as the admiral who finally taught humanity its place.
"Open the gate," bellowed the Admiral as the crew roared in unison. The portal in space opened, showing a pathetic blue white world and its paltry neighbor. Yar-ket would have to cross the gate threshold before they could start firing as unshielded electronics would fry in the gateway and not even he had thought the foolish humans could be so... foolish.
Then the Terminus of Hostility, one of his precious battleships piffed out of existence.
"What just happened," stated Yar-ket as the gate began to destabilize. The humans were attempting desperately to close it but the gateway could be supported on both sides and his people must have been pulling all the stops to keep it open. He half expected one of the two massive fusion reactors that supported the facility to go critical but they were both running cold.
Then another battleship and a cruiser piffed out of existence. Raising a clawed hand, he turned to the chief of staff but her carapace had already turned black. That was a sign of doom, and not something a member of the imperial house should be doing on the flag bridge of a starship.
"Kinetic rounds," she said finally.
"They took out battleships with single kinetic rounds, those lack any sort of electronic components," stated Yar-ket. "Our ships aren't stationary! Even as they sit, they move around to prevent kinetic strikes. Those rounds would have to be moving at..."
".99c," finished the chief.
"That is folly, even if you used double shot rail gun you'd only get two shots at the enemy before you'd have to recharge it," stated Yar-ket. "Certainly, losing 4 ships is a painful cost but its nothing compared to the damage we will do to them, and they can no longer defend themselves."
"They didn't fire at us," stated the chief of staff glancing at their homeworld.
Yar-ket was quiet. He only now noticed the insufferable babble of FLT comms from the homeworld had gone silent "Who is trying to shut down the portal?"
"Gateway control," said his electronics warfare officer into the silence.
"Destroy gateway control and both reactors," stated Yar-ket in a voice of absolute calmness. "Now."
The station was exploding into white hot plasma even as the light slowly crossed the void back to his fleet showing their homeworld. Both halves of it.
| 2021-12-17T13:14:21
| 2021-12-17T10:04:11
| 203
| 132
|
[WP] Rewrite The Ten Commandments as if it were a Buzzfeed/Cracked artice.
|
**11 Moral Lifehacks This Koala Wearing a Straw Hat While Eating a Popsicle (http://imgur.com/CO0nPRL) Does Better Than You**
Let’s face it: ain’t nobody got time for all these rules and shit. Who always has time? This koala. Eating a Popsicle. Wearing a straw hat.
1. Keep it simple. Focus on the popsicle. Would you waste your time gnawing through an acorn if you had a popsicle? Didn't think so.
2. See #1. Look at the koala’s face: he knows he has one job. You don’t reach that status and then get distracted.
3. He knows that we see him eating the popsicle. Doesn’t need keep saying it.
4. (counts for 2) How many fucks does this koala give about anything other than eating a popsicle and wearing a hat? Zero. This is a day for one thing, and one thing only. Respect it.
5. How did this koala get a popsicle? His mother and father had sex and birthed him into the world. Let us be forever grateful.
6. How does a koala on a tree wearing a straw hat while licking a popsicle commit murder? That’s right. They don’t. You shouldn’t either.
7. See #1. Where do you see this koala’s tongue? On that popsicle. Licking one thing at a time. Keep it that way.
8. Would you steal this popsicle this face (http://imgur.com/mBic5w3)? No. It’ll be disappointing anyway. Like reading Buzzfeed after browsing Reddit (thank you psycho_alpaca).
9. He’s wearing a fucking hat. As a koala. He knows what he’s about. You don't get that type of glory through lying.
10. I think we can all pretty much agree this koala is everything we’d hope to be and more. Know who isn’t impressed? Koala. And probably Putin. Once you’ve either eaten a popsicle in a hat or ridden bare-chested on a stallion, you’ve peaked. Think they’re jealous of our miserable lives? Fuck no. Work towards your own popsicle.
|
"God sits down with Moses and lays down his ten rules for living (You won't believe #7!)"
#1: I AM THE LORD THY GOD.
God is really laying down the law on his chosen people, saying, I am in change, I am the boss.
#2: THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME.
God doesn't like being put on the backburner when it comes to worship.
#3: THOU SHALT NOT WORSHIP ANY FALSE IDOLS.
God told us that He really hates seeing knockoff merchandise of His face and likeness, so He's taking a stand.
#4: THOU SHALT NOT TAKE THE NAME OF THE LORD IN VAIN.
God is all business, and He doesn't want His name thrown around casually, watering down His brand.
#5: REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY, AND KEEP IT HOLY.
God is all about taking it easy on a lazy Sunday, and wants His followers to be able to max and relax just like Him.
#6:HONOUR THY MOTHER AND FATHER.
God never met his parents, and He thinks it's super important for others to keep up good relationships with theirs.
#7: THOU SHALT NOT KILL.
God is all about the peace and love, and just wants everybody to get along.
#8: THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT ADULTARY.
God is a one partner deity, and does not approve of cheaters.
#9: THOU SHALT NOT BEAR FALSE WITNESS AGAINST THY NEIGHBORS.
God hates liars! He can't stand phony people, and won't have them in His paradise.
#10: THOU SHALT NOT COVET THY NEIGHBORS OX.
God thinks that people should not be jealous of the success of others, and is all about being humble.
| 2014-12-12T18:48:50
| 2014-12-12T18:40:53
| 67
| 22
|
[WP] You have a soundtrack that plays music appropriate to whatever situation you are currently in. You can consistently hear the music which is why you're terrified when you awake to the sound of screeching violins at 4am.
|
I waken to the sound of screeching violins. It's been so long since I last heard them. I check my phone, the light blinding me. *4:05*. There are footsteps echoing throughout the house. I know I have nowhere to go, living in the attic of the house, with a single square window. The footsteps got louder. I heard my father shouting. I quivered underneath my covers, waiting silently, squeezing my teddy bear. The violins got ever louder.
Someone was coming up the stairs to my room. I covered myself, only my eyes peeking out. The violins reached a crescendo. My father's head comes up, with a drunken look on his face, and a smell that quickly follows.
*"Sarah?"*
The violins got louder.
|
I wake with a jolt and for a second wonder why I am awake. The curtains are still quite dark and I can't see any light coming from the crack under my door. I glance over at my illuminated clock and see 4:00 AM, what?! I am the type of girl who sleeps in until 1. 4:30 in the morning is as far away from 1 as it gets. Then I hear the violins. I gasp and feel my head hit the top of my headboard with a loud crack. I have never heard this type of music coming out of my headphones. Suddenly I hear the screeching of the violins reach such a pitch that all I want to do is pull the elegant canopy from my bed and hide under it for the rest of my teenage life.
A light flickers on in the hallway and I try to form my body into an even smaller ball than I already am in. The light isn't the hall light or even a flashlight which would have calmed me slightly knowing the light could wake my parents up. No, the light is a flickering light that can only come from a candle.
A single floorboard creaks as I sit shivering on my bed. My teeth are chattering so fast that I can barely hear the violins. I don't bother to turn off the music because I know that no one else can hear it. It's as though there is a headphone inside my hearing aid. I look over at the window and groan again at not choosing the room with a balcony. Even though I have no clue whether the person in the hall is a threat my mind has already flown through every possible escape route and it's not looking too good. I can almost hear the television saying:
"Teen girl murdered in her bed, cold blood murderer still at large,"
The door handle turns and I want to run at the door screaming and at the same time feel the complete inability to move at all. I feel the seconds crawling by as the door handle turns farther and farther until the door opens.
I open my mouth in a scream but no sound comes out. The music is missing and I feel my body tensing as the cloaked figure comes slowly forward. I see the gleam of a silver knife and hear feel my legs go numb. My toes are tingling in a way that I've only ever felt my stomach do and I stare as the knife twirls head over end straight into my chest. I let out a soft "Oh!" and feel my consciousness fade as the excruciating pain comes through and blood starts pouring out.
| 2015-11-24T20:39:20
| 2015-11-24T15:16:02
| 46
| 22
|
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