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stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] A man working at suicide hotline got called from his wife
|
Fred sat at his desk, it was a quiet night at the suicide hotline. His cellphone rang, it was his wife calling. He checked the line again, no incoming calls, so he answered his phone.
"Hi honey, what's up?"
"Hi hon, I just wanted to remind you to pick up milk on your way home."
"Oh ok, is that all?"
"Yup, see you when you get home."
"See you later, love ya' hon. Bye."
|
It was a quiet night. Pen tapping seemed to be the catchy thing throughout the office. I leaned back on my comfy throne and spun around until my head started to hurt.
*Ring, ring.* Finally, something broke the silence in the workplace. From across the room, I watched as John rushed back to his cubical and picked up his phone.
"Hello," he answered while he caught up to his breath, "this is the Suicide Hotline. I'm here for you and will provide you with as much help as possible." His eyebrows caved in and made a V shape as he listened to the caller. "I understand. Allow me to direct you to someone that'll be able to help you with your problems." John met eyes with me and mouthed: *My shift is over, can't take this I have to go.* I nodded and waited for him to transfer the call to me.
"Good evening, my name is Ethan and I work with the Suicide Hotline." I answered in a professional tone. "I know this is a hard time for you. You're probably feeling lonely and depressed. Trust me, I've been in that position before, and together we'll be able to get through this." The caller was quiet, and then suddenly she started sniffling and crying.
"I- I really don- don't know anymore." She spoke while trying to catch her breath, "I feel like everyone has been lying to me. Earlier today I found my husband's phone ringing so I answered it since he wasn't home, and then, this..this lady answered and said in a really seductive voice asking when is a good time tonight to-" Her voice broke off as she started to cry even harder.
*Phone? Lady? Tonight?* I reached into my pocket and nothing was in it. *Oh shit, oh shit, oh no, no, no. OH FUCK NO!* I panicked as these things slowly started to piece together in my head. I was suppose to call my old friend to meet up tonight for a few drinks with everyone from our class of '01. *Of course I left my phone at home today, oh no what am I going to do...*
"Hello? Hello?" my wife said softly as I snapped out of my thoughts. "I'm jumping."
It was as if someone stopped time. All of my thoughts disappeared and my jaw dropped. "No! Honey don't! That was Sophie! Fuck!" I screamed. The entire office was startled and all eyes were on me. "NO!"
I heard a loud *thud* and it was dead silence on the other end of the call. My legs seem to have became jello as I feel down onto my knee. "No...no..oh fuck. FUCK!" I cried.
A soft noise came out through the phone. I quickly picked up and asked, "Hello? Who is this?"
"Gotcha," my wife giggled and hung up.
| 2014-06-25T00:24:57
| 2014-06-25T00:06:09
| 814
| 248
|
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level...
|
**Issue: [SEVERE]** 'Magic Hands' spell applied to subject rather than pure conjuration
**Type:** Application
**Severity:** A
**Priority:** 1
**Assigned to:** Matt Traynor
**Submitted by:** Greg Philmore
**Summary:**
Set to severity A because this stupid fucking system doesn't give me a goddamn S-rank for this bullshit.
'Magic Hands' intention was, apparently, to create a set of said hands to perform simple tasks. Unfortunately, instead of setting the spell to conjure those hands, it does the following:
Turns the caster into a pair of *fucking sentient hands.*
I'm currently typing this bug report up as a pair of hands. I have no idea how this is even still working and I've still got the capacity to think, but there you go.
Matt: it seems like you forgot to set the spell to actually CONJURE rather than just apply it to whatever poor bastard got this one to test. FIX IMMEDIATELY.
Side notes: unable to turn down requests for things such as “Get me a coffee” or “Can you type this bug report up for me?” This is getting beyond a joke.
***EDIT: IT HAS BEEN FOUR HOURS. HAVE SUBMITTED 8 TICKETS TO SPELL TECH TO FIX THIS. FIRE MATT.***
**Comments:**
**(12:07) Matt Traynor:** Oh goddamn it I knew something was wrong with it! Sorry! I'll get on fixing that right away and send the changes over.
**(12:08) Greg Philmore:** I don't care about a fix for the bug at this point. I am going to spend the rest of the day slapping the shit out of you if you don't get on UNDOING this.
**(12:47) Kerry Lane:** This is hilarious. Greg has been at the coffee machine for 20 minutes serving up lattes. Also we haven't had to listen to him singing Jimmy Buffet songs all morning! This is bliss.
**(12:56) Matthew Hendry:** How long do you think we can keep this up for?
**(15:12) Greg Philmore:** FIRE MATT AFTER KICKING HIM DECIDEDLY IN THE NUTSACK
|
"There. Fixed that bug, now to track down why the growth spell causes spontaneous shrinkage on Tuesday Nights."
Tom worked at Imagination Technologies, one of several companies to transition from computer software to magic. He was originally hired as a software engineer many years back. He muttered under his breath, "'The best in the field,' they said; 'he'll change the world,' they said." He was now stuck in a dead end job, tasked with mundane spell debugging for level 1 casters. The work wasn't difficult, per se, but the pay wasn't what it used to be.
He looked around the dim office. A light flickered in a far off corner. He could hear some faint chatter about last night’s football match. His cubicle was mostly empty, save a couple of pictures of his recent vacation to Mountains, hiking with his girlfriend. Ahh, how they loved nature.
Tom was startled by a low rumble of thunder, and the slow, steady, downfall of rain beginning to rattle on the window. The sky was getting dark now, nearing 6:30, and his girlfriend would be getting upset. They were supposed to be going on a nice date to the movies tonight. There was some special going on, showing old tv shows. Tonght’s feature was some old show she enjoyed back in the *old days*. Stevie Universe, was it? Or Sven Universe? Tom shook his head, he could never keep those characters straight. Besides, he needed to concentrate.
As he entered the last line of debugging logic into the spell, he emitted a sigh of relief, glad to be done for the day.
"Aand we should be good to go. Let's run a quick test before I finalize the spell tomor--”
\**poof*\*
Edit: [Part 2 is out!](https://www.reddit.com/r/tyzoid/comments/6pshox/logical_magic_part_2/)
| 2017-07-26T03:57:13
| 2017-07-25T19:49:43
| 417
| 24
|
[WP] The White House is under attack. One man is left standing. He is the Chef's son, he is Cory, and he is back in the House.
What ever will he do?
|
I sat with my back against the cabinet door. I open the shotgun barrel and load the last of my shells. I fall on my left elbow to peer around the kitchen island. Through the reflection of the refridgerator, I could see the enemy's black mask, pulled up to reveal only his mouth. I could see the smile on his face, his confidence. Bastard. I pulled myself upright and took a deep breath.
"Alright dude, there's no where left to go. Time to take it like a man," I say, barely audible if it wasn't for the echo through stoves overhead.
I wondered if he would give up. Slide his own AK47 between the bodies that gave pattern to the tile floor. I looked around, holding the tears back as my eyes fell onto my own father. It was almost comedic the way his face was covered in the Presidents cake icing... at least it would have been if it wasn't for the cherry red blood still seeping out the bullet hole through his neck. Damn thing of it all, it was the same bullet that caught my leg. I just hoped...
"No chance Mr. Baxter, I know you're going to bleed out before you even get a chance to make a move."
Shit. So he did know. No matter. It was almost time to get this over with anyways. I watched as the seconds tic by on the wall clock between us. Damn, I hope Meena got out, would love to pop that Bahavian ...
"5...4...3.."
Time already? Fine. I cocked the shotgun and aimed high, too high to the watchful eye. Just as a voice yelled out, "1!", I shot out the final round engulfing the end of the barrel in flames. The other man yells as he rounds the corner right under my shot, which flies over his head and out of sight. He stands over me, his own barrel pointing right for my skull.
"Any last words Cory?"
I raise my head to look him in the eyes, "Bitch, this is my house."
Before he realized it was too late, the roof above him cracks from the shot and falls on top of him bringing the President's own 1 ton safe with it. His body folds like the perfect omelettes my father would make me every Sunday, disappearing under the rubble and his blood splattering to every corner of the kitchen.
"It's done," I say aloud.
"I know," Raven says into my ear. I pull the bluetooth out and throw it over my head into the sink.
|
Through the tiny slit in the cupboard, Cory could see his father huddling under the preparation table, hoping that the alarms would stop soon. He could see the fear on his father's face and the man who was dressed all in black with the gun. His father held a knife, hoping perhaps to take the man in black down.
The man in black rounded the table and his father sprang out, thrusting the knife at the man's abdomen. The blade was deflected by the armor that the man in black wore. He was knocked against the fridge with a heavy thud, outside of Cory's line of sight. He buried his head in his hands as the sounds of the fight went on outside. Then there were two terrible loud noises then silence.
Cory peered out of the cupboard to see the man in black standing with his gun pointed at something Cory could not see on the floor. There was a third terrible loud noise.
The scream of "nooo!" was ripped from Cory despite his best attempts to stay quiet. He stifled his cry, biting down on his arm until he felt the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. However, he could not stop the tears that were running down his face. Suddenly light flooded into the dark cupboard and there was one last terrible loud noise.
| 2015-07-02T07:06:42
| 2015-07-02T06:56:53
| 41
| 19
|
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
Turtles are the best metaphor for love, although they carry their house with them, they are not really home until they are with their loved ones.
When Jessica has transfered to “J.D. highschool” it was during the worst pandemic the 20th century has known, and she had to struggle her way to sit with the cool kids in their zoom room, so she had to resort to the room with the unpopular kids, one of them didn’t even own a camera.
“What can I do to get them to love me?” she kept wondering.
A week has passed, and she has yet to meet the love of her life. And she new there is no other option then the few dozens in her age group who happen to study in the same economic segment as her. She also had to do her homework and solve at least one crime before the school year would end.
As she navigated through the classroom forum, she found a mysterious link to a riddle, posted by a boy. As he was the only guy who wasn’t in the school for the sake of comic relief, he was the one. The riddle was simple - if you take 3 lions and multiple them by the amount of elephants that fit a regular mason jar, she will have the key to the special chat room. She didn’t know how to solve it, as it didn’t make any sense to her, she wasn’t as resilient an to be honest, she didn’t care much. Why would she need to solve a riddle if she can just dm the guy?
She sent him a heartfelt message “Hi”, and waited for a response.
Meanwhile, she was yet again stuck early morning in a zoom room with her usual gang, close camera guy, best female friend who knows stuff and overweight girl with personality. She asked them about the riddle, and they, bored and used to please everyone, helped her find the answer on the grounds that it will be kept a secret.
They solved it quickly. As she promised, the right answer can’t be told here as well, but you’re free to guess or wait for the movie version.
“I’m so in love with him”, Jessica said to the group. “With whom?”, one of them replied, it doesn’t really matter who.
“Tim”, she mentioned with confidence.
“Which Tim?”, another asked, “We have like 47 people named Tim here, students, teachers, even some pets”
“I don’t know”, she cried, “the cute one”, I saw a picture.
She sent them the link to his picture.
“Oh, this Tim”, she got recognition, “Tim Dalom. Well, he’s dead”
“Dead?” she exclaimed, “Yes, he died because of Covid”
“Wow”.
“Yes, he crossed the street and a vaccine truck has run him over”
“I can’t believe this, my beloved Tim”.
Disturbed, she sat and stared and the screen.
“I think your connection got stuck”, someone said, “maybe try to reset your network”
But she ignored them. Then suddenly, a notification, Tim has replied.
“Hi”, he sent back. And then added “Wanna see a movie together once lockdown is over?”
“I do”, she replied. And then added, “I thought you were dead?”
“Well, I guess I didn’t”
|
Once upon a time, a young girl and a young boy were deeply in love. They would always re-enact romantic scenes from films, ranging from Romeo and Juliet to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, costumes and all. They would go everywhere together, *do* everything together... by everything, I mean *everything*, even going to the bathroom, public or private! And they would often be in there for a while...
They would always say cute things to each other, such as "I love you - I love you more - I love you more than ice cream - I love you more than cupcakes!", and had adorable pet names for each other; the boy was known as 'Cub' and the girl was known as 'Sweetcake'. The two really were inseparable.
But one day, the boy's family had to move to the next town over for his fathers job, and now the two could only see each other four days a week. The girl was torn apart, and spends every waking moment apart from her lover texting him how much she misses him, and he responds by promising that, one day, they'll be together again. So the girl waits...
| 2022-08-19T17:10:30
| 2022-08-19T14:20:41
| 297
| 93
|
[WP] Write a story that starts and ends in a perfect loop, the end of the story leads into the beginning.
|
Pulling my hoodie up onto my head I glance up at the crowd that is surrounding me. Noisy, boisterous and annoying. I was in a bad mood. My date stood me up, I had been waiting here for over an hour now and she has still not shown. “Skank” I think to myself as I feel fingers dip into my pocket. I turn quickly, lashing out at the pickpocket only to see the same grey hoodie I am wearing dart off into the crowd.
“Run! Hide!” the fleeting figure shouts back to me with a very familiar voice. I pat myself down trying to feel what had been nicked.
“Ha! The little punk didn’t get anything” I mumble to myself victoriously as I throw my hands into my pockets and start walking. Suddenly the blast of a nearby cruise liners horn jeers me out of slipping into my own little world while I feel my fingers wrap around a coin in my pocket that I am sure was not there previously. Curious I pull it out, it’s heavy, ancient and has these strange ruins along the edge that I’m unable to make any sense of. A strange sensation washes over my mind and I shift the coin over my thumb and flick it into the air.
My attention pinpoint focuses on the coin, so much that it seems like everything slows down as I can see every detail of the strange silver object as it flips in the air
One… Two… Three… Four…
I see each of the four revolutions in perfect accuracy. A soft thud is emitted as it lands in my palm, completely entranced by the coin the blast of the liner startles me. “Again” I ask myself in confusion as I look up to where the liner is… Was. It looks like the giant vessel has reversed, its back where it was a moment ago… a minute ago…
It dawns on me… exactly Four minutes ago.
I look at the coin in awe. Again I flick the coin. Ten revolutions this time, I look at the liner, it is where it was about ten minutes ago. “There he is! He has the Twister!” I hear a gruff ugly voice shout just as my left shoulder explodes in white hot pain, I scream. No sound comes out. Looking down I see a throwing dagger firmly lodged into me. I run, the pain blinding me. I run straight into someone. Once, twice. Stumbling away I glare up at a familiar grey hoodie and slipped the coin into his pocket.
Into my pocket.
“Run! Hide!” I shout at myself as I run away.
|
*The day was still young.*
The man watched the steam rise from his coffee. It was as hypnotizing as ever, and it was causing his mind to drift, lost in thought. The only thing that could make it better was a slice of apple pie.
"Sir? Can I get you anything else?" The waitress was a petite, young woman. Probably in her early 20's. The small yellow dress with white apron screamed cliche, early Americana diner, but it somehow comforted him.
The man glanced over at the counter, looking at the display case only big enough for a single pie. "I guess I'll take a slice of today's special. The apple pie."
"Sure thing." The waitress turned on a dime to head back to the counter.
The man watched as the waitress seemed to glide about the diner, without wasting any movements to get him his pie.
It seemed almost too perfect, too surreal. "Looks like I'm your only customer this morning again."
The woman didn't miss a beat and continued to get the pie. "I'm not sure what you mean by 'again' sir. This is the first time I've seen you and I have been working here for the past 2 years."
"Nonsense, I've been coming here for at least 30 years now, and you always...help...me...?" He trailed off. He realized the math didn't make sense. She was 20-ish years old, yet she had been helping him for the past 30 years? His head began to pound in agony as images began to show in his mind. A flash of blue, flames, broken glass, the body of a young waitress. It was like a warzone for a battle he had never taken part of.
"Sir? Everything alright? Here is your pie."
He glanced up and looked the waitress in the eye. "Run! Get away from here!"
Just then, a blue Mustang came crashing into the diner. His memories came too late, as did his warning. Dust and debris flew through the building. In only took 5 seconds, but those five seconds seem like an eternity as time slowed to a crawl. He closed his eyes, hoping that would be enough to protect them from the rubble now flying around him. When he opened his eyes again, he realized he was pinned, the waitress lying in front of him.
How many times had he seen this now? Thousands, tens-of-thousands? It was a scene that he could never get used to, and a scene he would soon forget again as he took his last breath. This was his curse, to watch this scene for all eternity until he could figure out how to escape. This was his Hell.
*The day was still young.*
The man watched the steam rise from his coffee. It was as hypnotizing as ever, and it was causing his mind to drift, lost in thought. The only thing that could make it better was a slice of Cherry pie from the display case on the counter.
| 2017-09-02T08:48:18
| 2017-09-02T08:35:00
| 103
| 53
|
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid.
|
I was lounging in a chair, just minding my business, insulting the Dark Lord as I tend to do here, and took another swig of my sparkling cider as I strongly despise alcohol.
"And I swear on my name, the guy has warts up the wazoo! He musta touched a lotta frogs to get *that* ugly!" I say as some of the other patrons snickered a little into their tankards.
Suddenly, a young child in the corner stood up, slamming their hands on the table in the process.
"Do not insult his lordship!" They shouted with one hand moving toward their hip, possibly reaching for a wand or dagger. I didn't care enough to look.
"And uh, who are you exactly?" I said snarkily, "I didn't know *his lordship* had any kids, 'specially since the bastard's too ugly to get laid!" I said, laughing at my own joke.
The kid was getting redder with rage by the second. This should be fun.
"I will give you one warning. You will stop these insults now, or I will stop them for you." They said, their voice dripping with malice, or as close to malice as a child of, what, 16(?) could manage.
"I'd like to see you try kiddo." I said, leaning back in my chair and taking another sip of my cider.
Suddenly, my glass shattered and all the other patrons started running around like headless chickens. I raised an eyebrow at the kid who was currently pointing a wand of what looked like ebony (damn expensive things) in my general direction.
I sigh and stand up, wiping the glass off of my clothing.
"Look, kid, that wasn't very nice of you. You're gonna be covering that tab, got it?" I say, resting against the edge of the table.
"Ha! As if a *woman* could possibly do any dama-" the words stopped short in their mouth when I went from across the tavern to right in their face in a split second, holding a sharpened wand (magic and physical damage, plus blood is fantastic for dark magic) to their chin.
"I dare you to finish that sentence." I say, smiling as sweetly as possible.
The kid was getting nervous, their confidence flickering like a bad candle. "The dark lord will finish you!" They said, voice wavering slightly.
"Yea no I doubt that." I say, lowering my knife-wand and yawning as I take a step back.
"And why is that?" They asked, grinning. "The dark lord could take someone like you any day!"
"Uh, mostly because if you know them so well, why haven't I met you before?" I say, tilting my head. 'Let's wrap this up...I want to go home.' I thought to myself.
"Ha! And who are you?" They said, crossing their arms confidently over their chest.
I started to snicker. And then giggle. And then full on laughing, with the doubling over and everything.
I catch my breath and raise to my full height of 5'5 (with heels). "Because, kid, for your knowledge, I am the dark lord."
They stared in disbelief, and then turned red again. They raised the wand above their head and started to try and cast a fire incantation, but I snapped my fingers and the wand splintered midway through the swing.
"Who exactly *is* your dark lord exactly?" I ask as the kid went from red to whiter than a sheet of paper.
"I-It's my...my..." and then stops.
"Your your what? Speak up dammit, I don't have all day." I sigh.
Suddenly, the kid slams a fist on the counter and turns to leave.
"Oi! Where do you think you're going? You still have to pay for that cup ya know!" I yelled after them.
"I'm going to kill him..." the kid muttered over and over again.
"Who are you gonna kill?" I asked, suddenly interested.
The kid turns around one last time before walking out.
"My brother!"
The door was then slammed, glass was everywhere, the patrons were all still losing their minds, and I was standing in the middle of the chaos with a slight smirk on my face and one thought in my mind.
"Damn. Looks like tonight is gonna be fun."
|
The air was heavy with the scent of vomit on the sawdust packed floors. My companions guzzled their ale as the wind blew through the opening windows, causing the candles to flicker in the dimly lit room. This is where I thrived, I thought, as I emptied another tankard and set it on the the edge of the table. The dark, the rank, the uncivilized corners of the Earth, this is what I live for. It had been a long time since I took to dwelling here, but I felt the need for connections with what I had helped create.
The stout man sitting across from me slurred out "'e gotta take it out on us little guys, since 'e lost the Great War." The table nodded with enthusiastic agreement. A younger chap sitting to the man's right, growing bolder with each drink, elaborated "And he's too much of a loser to fight humanity face to face!" I chuckled as I added "Oh, that not likely a face you'd WANT to see! Probably as UGLY as I am!" The table erupted in raucous laughter, though a few people cast sideways glances around the room.
This is what I loved about humans so much. Their will to SURVIVE. Life and death, light and darkness- each of these things interconnected with its other half but these PEOPLE are so damned determined to live that they view them as separate entities, with one half that needs to be defeated. I found it so novel, so unlike the thinking of infinite civilizations I had seen rise and fall before them, that I decided to acquiesce to this idea. My other half became the embodiment of all they considered "good," whilst I separated and came here to live among them, to study them, and tonight- to drink with them.
A woman in the corner made a sign with her hands, a universal gesture in this region believed to keep ME away. Every part of the world had their own names for me and ways of comforting themselves by thinking they could keep me at bay. I grinned at her and called for another drink and the tavern settled down from the commotion the conversation our table was having. This town had been hit hard recently by a plague of beetles that wiped out their staple crop. Many had died and the people wore their grief under the veneer of their pride. I was of course, being blamed for it, though it was LIFE that brought the abundance of insects into existence- not I. I paid for another round for the party and tipped the barkeep handsomely, it was the least I could do.
As the drinks were brought in a cloaked figure entered the bar. The slim silhouette almost seemed to glide towards the table. Slight fingers went up to the edge of the hood and revealed a beautiful woman with auburn hair and fierce green eyes. "I hear you slander My Master" she said as a murderous look flashed over her face. "Who, The Dark One?" The older man chuckled as he drunkenly reached for the woman standing there. She touched his arm as she moved out of his grasp and I gasped as I realized what she had done. With a single touch, infected cells started spreading throughout his body, even as he smiled and made a lewd comment about her graze. Who was she, with this Power, the same as mine? I had never shared gifts with my students and I would certainly never taken on someone with such a cruel disposition. I watched as she touched another of my associates, a smile coming over her face as she doomed him to death within days. Was she the reason my reputation seemed even worse recently?
I snapped out of my initial shock and stood up grabbing her arm before she could lay hands on another. What felt like a wave of electricity jolted through me, the power she held was more than I could have imagined. My mind raced as I was forced back to my seat, sending the rest of the taverns occupants out in a panic. I'd have to do something I hadn't done in millennia-I mentally called on my other half, we would have to be whole to stop her, I thought. I reached out to nothingness as a sudden feeling of emptiness caused me to retch. "We need to talk" she said. "Oh God, no, please..." I uttered as she used a sharply manicured finger to lift my chin up. There was no answer.
| 2022-01-14T16:47:02
| 2022-01-14T15:49:14
| 84
| 56
|
[WP] Inexplicably, the planets are disappearing one by one. It started with Neptune going all the way to Jupiter. You're the Head of NASA and you've just watched Mars disappear.
|
I was rubbing my eyes when the analysts came in.
"Do we have precise timings?" I asked the statistician.
"Neptune's disappearance was reported first, and we know that to within about five minutes. We got Uranus's time within about half a second, thanks to amateur astronomers using Internet-connected cameras. And of course we timed Saturn and Jupiter, as well as several of the asteroids, to less than a millisecond."
That's good news, I thought, as catastrophic news goes. "Do we have a decent best-fit for the progression?"
"Out of over 800 potential models for the black front, the best match is a constantly-diminishing sphere centered about 18 million kilometers beyond the Sun, almost exactly in opposition. It matches the observations within any margin of error, and no other model came anywhere close to that precision."
"And how well did that model predict what we just saw?"
"Mars's disappearance matched exactly," she answered, almost proudly.
I nodded. "Okay, run with that, a constantly shrinking sphere centered on the far side of the Sun--but keep feeding numbers to the alternative models just in case."
"Now, what do we have that can image that spot?"
Bob from Deep Space Network piped up. "CNSA sent us images taken with the high-res camera on Chang'e 2. It showed nothing but the expected background stars, and that camera resolved one-meter objects from lunar orbit.
"While I have the floor though, I need to point out something else--the DSN signals from our probes have been disappearing almost *three seconds after* the black front passes their positions."
"*What?*" I nearly dropped my lifegiving coffee.
"That's right. We confirmed it conclusively when Mars winked out. We had live links to the orbiters that lasted 2.93 seconds after their positions in space went behind the curtain, as it were."
I really should have taken those Tylenol an hour ago. "Okay, so we have a--what, a *visually occulting phenomenon* that's advancing toward the inner solar system, with a *radio* occulting component following three seconds later. Has that separation been constant, Bob?"
"As well as we can figure from the DSN logs, that's correct."
"And exactly how fast are the fronts advancing?"
They both looked at each other, and then at me, and Sally voiced it.
"Exactly 1/8 *c*, sir--give or take 0.01 percent."
I gasped. "That cinches it then. There's no way in *hell* that this phenomenon is natural. And how much time before the front crosses Earth?"
Bob glanced at his tablet, which was running a dashboard based on latest observations. "29.3 minutes."
I picked up the red cellphone and hit the button. "Put me through to POTUS."
-----=-----
The President's address was quick and to the point, as it had to be. "My fellow Americans, and people of Earth--I have very little time to say this, so excuse me for being blunt. Our experts believe that the planets that have disappeared have *not* been destroyed, but have instead been hidden behind some sort of energy field which prevents radiation from passing through.
"The same thing is expected to occur on Earth about 12 minutes from now. We don't know what exactly will happen, but there is a possibility that we will survive with little or no ill effects.
"Please do not panic, but prepare for the possibility of a sudden and continuing loss of sunlight, and please keep monitoring your local television and radio for updates."
"Thank you, and may God be with us all."
-----=-----
Finally, the moment came and everything went dark. It wasn't like a solar eclipse, with twilight on the horizons--it was suddenly midnight everywhere.
As lights started coming on and my eyes adapted, though, I noticed a dull red circle in the sky. I could still see the Sun! The Occulting Field, as we'd begun to call it, wasn't totally opaque after all.
Almost half an hour later, shortly after the Field passed the orbit of Venus, it happened. The dull red dot brightened and bloomed until it was almost as bright as before, but now the disk was ugly, mottled, chaotic, as if our own calm, life-giving sun had died and a sphere of pure chaos had taken its place.
But there was no dangerous radiation; ultraviolet levels were actually *lower* than normal.
The event, which we quickly identified as a nova, continued for twelve days before finally starting to dim, and the sun slowly returned to normal over the following week. Shortly after that, a sudden burst of bright sunlight heralded the retreat of the Occulting Field back toward the outer Solar System.
It left as quickly as it came, and 32 hours later even Neptune was again visible to our telescopes.
Less than three years later, Messenger 2 arrived at Mercury and found that not only had the hemisphere exposed directly to the Solar Nova been melted smooth, but every level surface on the entire planet had been covered with something like volcanic ash. Planetary scientists later surmised that a significant depth of the sunward surface had been vaporized into a short-lived atmosphere which had then condensed into rock snow and fallen to blanket the entire globe.
What remained of Mercury will stand as a perpetual reminder of what could have happened to us.
We might never know who, or what, acted to save us from our star's little tantrum, nor can we know if they will protect us if--or when--it happens again. What we *do* know is that suddenly, our current and planned space programs now have vastly greater importance and urgency. For the first time in history, we're getting more funding than the Defense Department, and we're making good use of it.
Perhaps someday, somewhere beyond Neptune, we might meet our saviors on a more-or-less equal footing. I hope we remember to thank them for those few days when we were safe in their shadow.
**Edit:** typos
|
The chairman sat in his chair quietly contemplating the news. "So it's Mars now too?" He frowned. "Can we still see the Asteroid belt?"
The lead scientist nodded. "That's what's peculiar. At the rate of expansion it should have been consumed already. The same with Pluto, it was unaffected and hasn't even had it's orbit perturbed."
The scientist adjusted his glasses. "In fact all the minor celestial bodies have been untouched. It's just the planets." The chairman spun in his chair and looked out the window 384,000 kilometers to look down on Earth.
"So, do you think we will be affected?"
"Well, so far as we can tell the orbits of the moons continue along their trajectory, but without the mass of their planets they just fly off unbound. From this we can infer that the planets themselves are actually being moved rather than just being invisible."
Through the window he started to see the barest sliver of black appearing on one of the horizons. Was it a sunset, or had the wave finally come?
"Do you know why we call them planets?" The chairman asked.
"It's from Greek isn't it?"
"Yes, it seems like an apt name right now."
"Why is that sir?"
"Because it means, Wanderer."
| 2018-06-06T13:33:40
| 2018-06-06T12:17:43
| 46
| 13
|
[WP] A young door-to-door salesman, who is also a renown serial killer, is craftily avoided by an old, best-selling crime novelist.
|
"You're late" the Author says, eyeing the Salesman at his door with feigned disdain.
"I disagree" says the Salesman, "It's 2:30 now and if we check Chapter 15 you'll see that..." he begins flipping through a well worn copy of "Door to Door Murder" until he reaches the right place, his tongue stuck out in concentration as he moves his finger down the page. "Aha, yes see, *'the Salesman arrived promptly at 2:30, setting his briefcase by his side to ring the doorbell, signaling a rush of adrenaline through his body'*"
"And what does it say immediately after that?" the Author replied, eyebrows raised, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
*"'The Author came to the door, taking a quick glance through the window before opening it. "Hello, how can I help you?" he says, while...'"*
"Hold on hold on, that's completely wrong" The Author interupts, "that's completely wrong, you must have an old copy, here, I just so happen to have a more up to date version here, let me read it to you." The author leans down to pick up a sheaf of typed papers laying just out of sight beside the door. He begins to flip through them until he finds his place. The Salesman looks at The Author quizzically, saying nothing.
"Here we are, it actually says: *'The Author came to the door briskly, opening it without hesitation. "You're late" the Author says, eyeing the Salesman at his door with feigned disdain. His distraction worked. "I disagree" says the Salesman, "It's 2:30 now and if we check Chapter 15 you'll see.."*
The Salesman began to pale as The Author continued reading.
|
The system had been down for a few days now. Three to be exact. They were going to come and fix it, this Friday, that’s what they said at least. Between the hours of eight and three, undoubtedly. And always when he was in the bathroom, taking a shower, or out back enjoying the summer sun. It made him wonder why he paid for the service at all, with the thing going down a few times a year, he never truly felt safe. *Shoulda’ bought a dog instead of this damn security system. Woulda’ been cheaper too.*
But there was no dog. No cat, no human being within one square mile of his home. Intentional, of course, as any living thing seemed to distract him from his writing. Except for the bird, of course. The birds were his companions. The one’s he talked to and the ones he mused over for his novels. Like some sort of luck charm, Winston kept his binoculars hanging from his neck. Without cable TV or internet there was seldom much to do for entertainment in the house. That and reading. Heck, he didn’t even get the newspaper way out here.
Just the way he liked it, too. There was something comfy, something cozy about being alone. He was never too good at companionship. As the years marched on, he secluded himself more and more. It let him concentrate on his work, on what he was actually good at. And he was good at writing. Crime novels, to be exact. He had made his living, bought this property and built a rather humble house (considering his net worth), because of a combination of words and sentences slapped on a few hundred pages. It surprised him, even now, how much money he had made for the novels he wrote.
It wasn’t what he expected he would be doing. Growing up, he wanted to an astronaut. As he grew older, his desire became more realistic and Winston got a degree in Economics. He was good at it. Great at it, in fact, but by fate, ka as his competitor called it, he was destined to be a writer. The house, his bank account and his retirement fund all pointed to the fact that he still used his economics degree, only less direct, he supposed.
That’s why the knock at the door surprised him. It was late afternoon, the sporadic crazed fan sometimes found his home, way out here in the boonies, but it was always early in the morning. Not when the sun was beginning to set in the West.
Winston dropped his binoculars from his eyes and cocked his head for the door. Again, there was a knock. He walked in from the porch and walked up towards the second story window. It jutted out from the rest of the house, giving him a bird’s eye view of his property. A window was placed on the side of the extremity, providing a sightline to the front door. He pushed the curtains gingerly and peered down to the front porch below.
There was a woman standing there. Young, attractive, probably in her late twenties. She looked aimlessly around and spotted movement in the curtains upstairs. He threw them closed and waited, hoping she didn’t spot him.
“Mr. Underlock?” she called from the yard below, “Mr. Underlock, are you there?”
He froze and waited, hoping what he thought was a fan or some sort of door saleswoman (though why would she be way out here?) would just go away. He hadn’t time for talk or tea, he was behind on his most recent novel and needed to finish it. That said, he spent most of the day watching the birds go about their business in blissful ignorance.
He moved to the other side of the house, silently as possible, and looked through a crack in the curtains at her. She backed away from the house, looking through the windows, searching for a sign of his presence. Reaching the edge of the path that lead to his house, she looked down at her phone and made a phone call. It was brief, an exchange of a few words, Winston supposed, then she ran walked back up the road.
*Where’s her car?* Winston thought, confused. It would be madness to walk this far, the nearest town was twenty-five miles away. She looked fit, but by no means the type that would walk twenty-five miles only to knock at a door and walk away.
Something wasn’t right about her, he deduced, not right at all. He brought up his binoculars and watched her casually trot down the gravel road that lead to his house. Fifty yards away, her figure was drown out by the great pine trees that surrounded his property.
He gingerly walked down the stairs, arm reached down to the railing and took each step one at a time. His hips hadn’t been the same since the car accident, any rapid movement made his bones cry out in pain. Finally, at the bottom of the stairs, he flipped open the panel. *Comcast Security System* was scrawled on the front of it. He pressed the button labeled TEST and waited.
*Sending Test Call…* was plastered on the screen.
Thirty seconds later, the screen notified him that the call “failed.”
“Piece of shit security system.” He uttered under his breath.
His tirade at the security system was cut short. Outside, he heard a car door slam shut, then another. There were voices beyond the wall of his home. He made his way to window in his living room and again pushed the curtains aside to look at the source of the voices.
The woman was back, this time with her car and a new companion. Another girl, years younger. He supposed she couldn’t be past the age of fourteen or fifteen. He looked down at his Seiko: 3:14pm.
“What’s someone that age doing way out here on a Wednesday?” It wasn’t holiday. It was the middle of the week. Surely she had school.
She didn’t have a backpack, or school books. Instead, she and the first woman were carrying two large gym bags. Black and chock full of something. He wasn’t sure the contents, only that whatever was in there jutted out in every which direction. Like spokes from a bike, they protruded and poked this way and that against the fabric of the bag.
Again, there was the knock at the door. This time, he didn’t freeze. He slowly walked to the couch and lifted his hooked cane from the arm of the furniture. With the artificial third leg, he made his way away from the door and towards the study.
Knockknockknock. Three swift raps on the door interrupted his movement.
“Mr. Underlock, I know you’re in there. Let’s make this easy on both of us and just open the door.”
He stopped, like a deer in headlights and waited.
“You’re just delaying the inevitable, Mr. Underlock.”
He didn’t offer a response. Instead his mind began to race. He shuffled through options like a Vegas dealers shuffle through cards.
He couldn’t run, that much was certain. He could barely outmatch the pace of leaves as the raced across his backyard. He could hide, call the cops and hope to scare ‘em off. But he wasn’t sure what they wanted. They weren’t crazed fans, that much was now certain to him, but they weren’t sales people either. They wanted something more from him. Were they going to rob him? Take his things? At this point, that would have been fine. The curiosity of the situation began to worry him. He practically hoped they were here to rob him.
Because there was a feeling in his gut. It was a feeling he oft wrote about in his books. His characters had it at the rising action of his tales. He was all too familiar with the feeling of being uneasy. The feeling that something wasn’t quite right. That feeling was happening to him now; and he was beginning to understand the disdain his characters felt. All of the sudden he felt bad for the fictional people in his dozens of books. Felt bad for their make believe pain. He felt like a mouse caught between two cats.
His thoughts were interrupted by a few swift clicks at the door. He heard it’s old hinges cry out for WD-40 as the door swung open.
“Mr. Wiiinnnstonnn,” a smaller voice called out in his foyer in a melodic tone.
He reached for his phone, silently, just fifteen yards from the intruders he did not want broadcast his position. Nothing made a reply, no dial tone or operators voice. The phone, like he was sure to be soon, was dead.
“And don’t bother with the phones,” the first voice scolded, “Come now, you know how this all works. Phones first, Mr. Underlock.”
Panic gripped his chest as he now understood they weren't here to steal his possessions.
They were here to steal his life.
-----
I have to head out but I wanted to post the first half here. I'll come back to it later today and finish it!
| 2014-03-26T10:18:23
| 2014-03-26T10:10:19
| 28
| 13
|
[WP] After a hard intense labor your son is finally born. Just when you think you can breathe easy the doctor holds him up to reveal a baby with impossible spiky multi-colored hair. Gravely the doctor informs, “I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.”
|
Holding my baby boy for the first time was supposed to be one of the best moments of my life, but when the doctor handed him to me, my heart sank. His hair is dark, like his father's, but impossibly long for a baby. I knew what was coming, even before the doctor opened her mouth.
"I'm sorry, but it seems your son has... Protagonist syndrome."
Protagonist Syndrome is one of those things that crops up every couple of years. A child is born with special eyes, or special hair, or some kind of odd birthmark, and then they get wrapped up in some kind of story. The lucky ones get wrapped up in silly teenage romance or some kind of children's game, but the unlucky ones... those poor unlucky ones... are doomed to see everything they love stripped from them until they snap and follow their destiny. The really unlucky ones get Late-Stage Protagonist Syndrome, where their Protagonist traits aren't noticeable until the story begins, they don't even get the chance to watch out for plot hooks, to try and pick what story they're a part of.
We never thought it would happen to us. There were no Protagonists in the family, so Hereditary Protagonism was out. No special jobs, no special bloodline, there's absolutely nothing special about us, and we like it that way. When we had our daughter Susan, she came out just fine, save for the small birthmark on her back, which the doctors assured us wasn't an issue. Birthmarks alone are rarely a sign of Protagonist Syndrome after all, unless they're specifically shaped, which hers wasn't.
"Ma'am?" says the doctor, snapping me out of my trance. I was exposition dumping. Shit, it's beginning already.
"I'm sorry" I said "It's a lot to process. I think it might already be starting"
"So soon?" says the doctor, shocked "That's... That's not good." She lifts her radio and says "Doctor Griffin, we have a Code Prologue in room 224, Doctor Griffin to room 224 please."
I stop to think of my husband. He'd gone to pick up Susan from school and take her to the hospital. She's so excited to have a little brother, saying that it was everything she'd dreamed of. I have no idea how to break the news to her, or to my husband for that matter. This birth will change our lives, and probably not for the better.
As if on cue, a nervous-looking nurse ushers my husband and daughter into the room. My husband looks grim, he's already heard the news, he starts quietly talking to the doctor in the corner. Susan looks confused as she walks over to me.
"Mommy?" she says "Whats Pro-tag-on-ist mean?"
"It means your brother is very special" I reply, trying to sound calm "He's going to be a part of a big story someday."
"No fair!" she pouts "I wanna be in the big story too! I wanna help my baby brother!"
"Suzy sweetie" I say, trying to keep from bursting into tears "Don't say that. Stories can be very dangerous, you don't want to get hurt, do you?"
"I... guess not." she says "But I still wanna help..."
I adjust my son in my arms, leaning him against my chest. Despite all of this, I still love him, I know the road ahead is going to be rough, but I know things are going to turn out alright.
"Hey mommy!" says Suzy "He's got a birthmark on his back just like me! Does that mean I get to be in the story too?"
|
I felt the fear sink in right away. No. First I get pregnant as a man, then this. I never thought it could happen to me. You watch the documentaries and think this couldn't happen to me, but here I was with a starry eyed glowing child, his blue hair standing straight up. It all goes racing through my head at once, why me? How often will I die only to come back? How often will I endure the pain of losing a child? Will it be a simple slice of life or will the world as I know it cease to exist? Will I be the absent father character? I can feel the camera slipping from me to my child. It is beginning. I can hear the opening music. I can't fight.....the title card.
| 2018-08-21T08:54:27
| 2018-08-21T06:37:28
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing.
|
**Harry Potter**
[**wizardpedia**]
Harry Potter was a *half-blood* wizard boy who *rebelled against His Highness The Dark Lord* in the First And Second Wizarding Wars. As a baby, he *thwarted His Lordship only once* and was *defeated in the second war*, during the *ultimatly climatic* Battle Of Hogwarts. His allies, such as Hermione Granger, *mudblood* and Ron Weasley, *blood traitor* were *destroyed in the Great Britain Cleansing, which took place shortly after the battle.*
|
Dear Diary
Today is June 21, 2006. [Heavy scribbling]! Her name is [Heavy scribbling]! I was eating at [Heavy scribbling] when I looked across the dining room and saw [heavy scribbling]. [More scribbling] the soup [Scribbling] I had [Scribbling] was everything I[Scribbling]t[Scribbling]. Could [scribble] be [Heavy scribbling].
I've been so lonely for so long. But today I [scribble] feel lonely [brief scribble]more.
| 2015-01-18T13:27:36
| 2015-01-18T11:29:40
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here.
|
a'Kna Escu!h III, Galactic Ambassador to the Scunarian Sentients, pursed her *gnyrxs* in frustration. She had heard that this civilization was backwards, but it was only now that she had begun to understand.
She clicked and clacked her *snkths*, whilst her real-time translator interpreted her movements. "But how did you get here if you do not have Paradox Engines and *untranslatable concept*, as well as mastery of nuclear reactions?"
The Ambassador to the Galactic Empire, some bizarre bipedal with monstrous fur sticking out of its head in multiple ways, garbled somehting at her, whilst her translator interpreted. "I'm sorry, a Paradox Engine? I'm not sure I understand. Is that something like our Electromagnetic Motion drive, that seems to violate the Laws of *untranslatable concept*? That is, the law of Convervation of energy. I hope that gets translated properly."
...And *now* she understood how they'd got here. She was just bamboozled by the manner in which this species had both become space-faring and managed to traverse the Hypergrid. After all, they were missing the voidspace technology that allowed them to do so. But, she was advised, they had managed to break the laws of the universe in doing so. She thought, her *gnyrxs* twitching whilst she tried adapting her thinking, her febrile wings spinning in circles.
She spoke again. "Well, you know about the 'space that is no space', right?" The Ambassador nodded. "We traveled here through that in the space of a week on our ship. I'm sure your Science-Men would like to take a look at this."
She listened to the translation, fascinated by the horrible noise coming out of the bipedal's mouth. "Well, yes, of course. I would also like to share with you our technologies regarding inter-galactic travel. I'll arrange for our astronometrics teams to speak with your teams."
She nodded, wings twitching. "And as for that messy thing you call 'birth', how do your females cope without *untranslatable concept* and carrying their progeny? What do you do if there are complications?"
The bipedal Ambassador shrugged. "We have specialist doctors who deal with this. They are experts, and we have managed to get out planetary death-rate down to just 0.1%."
a'Kna was stunned to hear of such a high progenitor death-rate. It literally didn't compute that suxch a society could exist. It defied belief in the Divine Queens that a so-called enlightened society could shrug off losing children.
She *had* to report this back.
EDIT: Me can wurd god - i.e. I've made a basic spelling and grammar check on this. Working on Part 2 after real-life stuff.
|
"I am who I am."
I hear the strain in my voice, it's embarrassing. I stir the ice cubes in my lemonade to try and break the tension. The spoon clinks against the glass.
"I'm not... I'm not dumb. I'm pretty sure I understand the context here, of what you're asking. The fact that you're speaking English gives me some clue, too. But what else can I say?"
Out of habit I poured my guests some of the freshly squeezed lemonade too. But rings of moisture have since started to form under their three glasses on the table between us. Now that I think about it, they haven't moved since I started talking. What do they want?
There are two *or* three of them. It's hard to tell them apart. Their figures move together constantly, like water suspended in the air. And their hues shift between shades of red or blue or purple, depending on how the light hits them. It's strange to look at, it feels almost romantic.
"You asked me how I got here. Ok? I didn't make that up, right?"
They vibrate softly up and down. I hear their voices in my head.
"Right... So like before, as a human, I assume I can speak on behalf of all humanity. At the very least we can try and have a productive conversation, from one species to another, before the government finds you."
A quiet chuckle forces its way out of me. Am I on the right track? Sips of my lemonade helps.
"Well no one knows if God made us or by some evolution we got here, but we've definitely made some progress. We got books, electricity, internet, obviously all of this helps. We're working our way towards Mars I think, not sure when it'll happen, soon I hope, I -- you've heard of Mars right? It's nearby, relatively."
Frustrated cows start mooing loudly out back. I take another sip and move to the window in my kitchen. Poor Bessy, Wilbur, and Rose, I can't blame them for getting riled up. A giant floating spaceship has taken up a large portion of their pasture.
Staring at their spacecraft out my window I can't think of what else to say.
"Look we are who we are and I am who I am! I've tried to be friendly, but. I'm sorry but you'll have to give a little more if you want me to be more -- "
Ice cubes fall onto my lips from the glass I have raised, all the liquid is gone. I grab the pitcher off the counter and pour myself some more, then return to the living room.
But they're gone. The like-water in the air is no longer there, the dazzling shades of red and blue and purple have disappeared.
I rush back to the window in my kitchen. There it is, lifting off into the sky. The cows get knocked over from the windy escape.
I sit on the couch behind where they once floated and take a sip of my lemonade. It doesn't taste the same. It feels... my heart is almost broken.
I notice the empty coffee table in front of me with three rings of moisture seeping into the wood.
Well, at least they liked the lemonade.
| 2017-03-10T00:53:53
| 2017-03-09T16:52:29
| 240
| 129
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?)
|
A man in a white tee-shirt, dust covered jeans, and a hat plops down into a recliner and turns on his television and begins switching through channels until he comes to the news.
The images on screen were like it was straight out of a dream. Or a nightmare depending on where a person was from. It showed members of the Islamic State dead in streets and homes. All of them different in some way. Some had body parts swollen three time their normal size, others foaming at the mouths, most with bloodshot eyes and looks of agony on their faces.
The man yawned and continued to watch.
The news abruptly cut to film of what happened.
A high shot shows dust and sand flying as a large land force approachs a city. The camera zooms in to show a massive force of kangaroos closing in fast. A few dozen military officers riding emus are not to far behind them.
Another abrupt cut shows the kangaroos attacking the Islamic State forces in close combat as blackness begins to flow from their pouches. Spiders and scorpions run out onto the battlefield and begin attacking their targets.
More creatures begin to come out of the roos pouches. Snakes of varying size and color, a couple of dingos, and a few crocodiles.
The man turns off the television and smiles knowing that his nation was the turning factor in the fight against the Islamic State. He chuckles to himself and says quietly, "Well, at least we were kind enough not to send in the dropbears. Them little fucker are savage".
| 2016-01-29T10:03:10
| 2016-01-29T07:13:23
| 82
| 11
|
[WP] Many real-world items come with minor enchantments, like "Better Frying Pan" (-10% burning chance), or "Old T-shirt" (+1 luck) but most people don't know about them. You're one of the exceptions, having just randomly bought the unique item "Sunglasses of Appraisal."
|
The day I bought them, I did so because I thought they looked neat and thought they'd work great with my Halloween costume, that's the truth of it. I didn't stumble upon them by an act of God, they didn't "choose me," or anything else really, I just thought they looked cool!
The arms and frames were a burnished bronze color, with an artificial patina applied across the entire surface area. The lenses themselves had a deep rosy, mirror finish to them, and they were thin and long, wrapping partway around your head themselves so that no errant beam of light could make it's way to your eyes without passing through them. Turns out, they were pretty miserable sunglasses and were soon replaced with another set, albeit without the special appraisal feature I grew to rely on.
Anyway, once I got home, I threw on the long, grey woolen trench coat with the brass buttons and deep, crimson liner, and put the glasses on to see how they'd look. As I looked in the mirror, I noticed some text over my jacket, reading "Coat of Minor Comfort," and a brief explanation of what exactly that was. It was a bit of a shocker, walking through my house and looking at everything I could to see if anything else was special, and finding that most items were some kind of special, though only barely. Blanket of Warmth, Bed of Greater Rest, Chair of Procrastination, Bookshelf of Knowledge, Knife of Sharpness, Wallet of Frivolous Spending, Welcome Mat of Hospitality, Underwear of Lesser Luck, and on and on it went. It, also, helped me understand why some things just never seemed to work the way they were intended, like the microwave. Apparently, I have a Microwave of Freezing, which explains why the center of my food is always still cold.
This lead to me immediately getting rid of a few things, such as the aforementioned microwave, and my Wallet of Greater Spending, which may explain why I was perpetually broke. Shopping, though, was an *experience*. Not only was I getting strange looks from everyone for wearing such gaudy sunglasses indoors, I was also frantically looking at everything, trying to find the best possible combination of items and enchantments. I admit, I may have gone overboard, but can you honestly say you wouldn't buy a Loofa of Cleanliness, or a Towel of Greater Absorption, or a Candle of Clairty, or a Shirt of Greater Appeal?! I mean really!
In my search, I became cynical and unappreciative, and greed began to take hold of me. My house was filled, top to bottom, with everything I had picked up. Just piles and piles of nick-knacks stacked floor to ceiling, toys, clothing, appliances, papers, books, and everything else under the Sun, everywhere. I, also, became paranoid that someone would learn of my secret and would take them away. I stopped leaving the house unless absolutely necessary, instead being content to sit with my treasures and take stock of them. Every day, as soon as I woke, I would check the safe for the glasses, to make sure they were still there, that no one had stolen them. I didn't wear them often by then, fearing that the longer they were out and about, the more likely I would lose them to something or someone.
All I needed was my things, my oh so special things, and nothing else. This proved to be the end of me, as I slowly began to succumb to starvation, I couldn't even bring myself to eat the food I bought, as it was all enchanted as well, and I absolutely could not leave, for fear of someone taking my things. Slowly, my body wore away, but I did not mind. I had all of the wonderful things I needed. All that mattered was that I could never lose them now.
|
I'd known something was wrong with the world for a while when it happened. It had started slowly, a sort of sense of *leakage,* a pressing-in on the spaces around me. I'm not the only one who felt it, there were lots of navel-gazing think-piece articles and talk-show sessions about how 2023 was the year of Peak Anxiety or Unease or whatever they decided to label it.
I didn't have an especially keen sense for this kind of thing, nothing like that. It's just that I was a laboratory scientist at the beginning of the whole thing. And not just any laboratory scientist, I was a chemist who still worked with a lot of the old traditional tools because of the unconventional nature of our work. Almost no machines, absolutely no automation. That matters, because this new thing...I'm going to call it the Aura Bloom, because why not...it only seems to affect certain things.
Pipettes, for example. Burets. Bunsen burners, but not hot plates, not if they had a computer chip in them. That seemed to be key, falling under a certain threshold of circuitry. Basically no car manufactured before about 1980 or so seemed to be affected, for example, and there weren't any especially good (or shitty) cell phones, unless they had a manufacturing defect or something.
And oh, right, the shittiness. Not everything with an Aura had a good one. I'd say something like one in five was basically cursed. Sometimes small stuff, sometimes not. Yep, that spatula you've got that always seems to ruin your eggs? Probably just throw it away.
At least two pieces of our lab equipment were cursed like this, and both of them were in my section. I'll spare you the details, unless you're real into the finer points of titration and precipitation, but it became very noticeable very fast. (I checked later, and sure enough there were plenty of beneficial Auras on our equipment, including a few that would probably have thrown off test results, like flasks that sped up chemical reactions, but since those tended to essentially get people results they really wanted to see, no one really noticed. The scientific method is badly infected with humans, which is why it's necessary in the first place.)
I did the usual cursing and blaming and eventually got mad enough at my colleagues' mockery that I set out to *prove* how bad the tools were.
I was right in the middle of these experiments and getting infuriatingly nowhere when I bought the sunglasses.
You might be hoping for some atmospheric story about how I went into this weird little shop and there was this knowing old man and he said a bunch of cryptic shit that totally made sense later and nope. It was a bored and borderline obnoxious teenager selling cheap plastic crap in a moderately touristy park near the lab. Because I'd forgotten my nice Ray-Bans. Yep. The Aura Bloom has no respect for narrative at all.
It's hard to explain what things looked like with the sunglasses on. I call it an "aura" but it's not really visible at all, as in it doesn't actually have a color or anything. It's more something you just sort of...perceive. Not like a videogame interface or bar graph or anything I could actually draw for you, if I were any good at drawing things. You just see it as a kind of...depth, contained within the item in question.
In the case of my *fucking* bunsen burner—sorry, just thinking about that thing still pisses me off—the aura actually caused a complete thermal reversal at random intervals. In other words, sometimes it burned cold. How did I not notice this? Well, that's the scary thing. Aura effects are intelligent, so it never happened unless the burner was actually in use. If you're testing the burner itself...nothing. Totally normal behavior.
Yes, of *course* they're intelligent, they pretty well have to be, don't they? How else can something make you "lucky," for example, than by knowing what would and wouldn't be a favorable outcome, which changes quite a bit with context, and then steering probability itself in that direction? I mean, drawing an ace is great when you've already got three of them in your hand, but not so much when you're holding a three, a five, a nine and a jack.
Sometimes I can see it. Or them. It's not clear. Again, it's not like a face or an eye or anything. Just sort of an...observation of an observer. You know you're being watched, you can tell there's something peering out from behind that strange depth. Perceiving. Knowing. Nudging things this way and that.
You ever hear laughter out on the periphery of your hearing? Probably you imagined it, right? That feeling that you're being watched, that's got to just be paranoia. Sure. Sure. That bed that seems to get you such restful sleep, you just love it so much, don't you? Enfolding you like it does. Almost whispering to you.
Sweet dreams.
​
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
| 2019-06-29T21:40:12
| 2019-06-29T20:56:35
| 146
| 55
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
i could hear the whine of precision power tools...
all i could taste was blood and metal. they shone a light in my eyes, i couldn't see who was standing over me...
"don't worry, it'll all be over soon..." he said through a mask as he put a thin silver device in my mouth. just when i thought it couldn't get worse, he turns it on and fucking jams it into my teeth.
last time i go to that fuckup of a dentist..
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 2015-01-12T11:14:34
| 317
| 28
|
[WP] Write a scenario with your favorite character. Now, kill them.
Favoritism is a horrible thing, and must be treated as such.
|
Sylvia Plath was sitting on her linoleum covered floor with her knees pulled to her chest. She could feel the handle of a low cupboard pressing into her back but she didn't move.
She couldn't stop staring at the oven door.
She had two options, she thought. Make corn muffins or commit suicide.
Ted hadn't picked up flour like she had asked him to the night before, so really there was only one option.
"I never liked muffins, anyways," she mumbled as she turned on the gas.
|
"I can't do it, Sam. It's mine now, all mine!" Frodo said as he stood on the edge of the cleft over the fires of Mount Doom. He held the ring with his thumb and index finger; a ring wrought of the deepest fires, burning with the promise of power, compelling the ring-bearer beyond sanity.
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, reaching for his dearest friend. As Frodo set the ring to his finger, all hope of fulfilling the Quest fled from Sam. Mount Doom shook with rage. Fire spat high to the ceiling. Darkness filled Sam's heart. All the stars of his memory faded to black. There was no light, no hope. Something broke him from his somber realization. Like a flying arrow, Gollum leaped on Sam's back, shoving him to the ground and blasting the air from his lungs. Leaping from Sam, Gollum jumped to where Frodo, now invisible, was last standing.
Gollum wrapped his long arms around what could only be Mr. Frodo, fighting with a phantom. They twisted and spun on the edge of Mount Doom, fighting for the ring. Mr. Frodo drew his orc-blade, a firebrand in his Ring hand. He shoved the flaming sword through Gollum's chest, and with a heave, threw him into the magma depths of the mountain. Mount Doom shook again in violent acceptance of it's victim.
Sam struggled to his feet, fighting tears and finding breath in the smoke. "There's still time, Mr. Frodo! We can still end this!"
"No, Sam. It's over." Sam's heart sank at the sound of his master's voice. It carried a tone of sorrow and finality. With the final courage only a hobbit could find, Sam stood on his feet.
"No, master Frodo, it's not over," He said to his master, only the flame of his sword still unsheathed visible. "The sun still shines in Gondor, the Lady of Lorien still sings for Elbereth, and my heart still reaches out to you; my dearest friend, our only hope. Dont speak of failure until the world has fallen to the Enemy, Mr. Frodo. Throw down the Ring, and let us walk from here singing of the Shire."
"I am the Enemy. Middle-Earth now belongs to me."
The firebrand leaped at Sam. There, on the edge of Doom, ends Sam's story. Then the world knew darkness.
Edit: Spelling; typed with my phone.
| 2013-09-23T20:41:04
| 2013-09-23T19:44:46
| 26
| 13
|
[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.
|
Everyone was super excited for me as the clock quickly approached noon, in mere moments I would reach the age of 18 and I would learn what my purpose was in life. My mother scurried around the living room offering our friends and family refreshments why they waited. She took this small task with pride for it was in her nature, she was labeled with “Server” when she was my age and as a result she had great pride in helping others and serving people no matter the task. I watched this wonderfully strong women bow before others every day simply to appease them and to live up to her “purpose”. So many horrible things had happened to this wonderful woman through her life simply because she was labeled a “Server” and no one could see her as anything else except for a slave. She was constantly taken advantage of and in all my life I had never heard her deny a request or refuse help to someone.
I shook my head and glanced up at the clock, 11:59am the clock stated. Soon it would be decided, my only hope is that I would not suffer the same fate as my mother. The room grew silent and an eerie count down was chanted, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… my heart beat quickened and my breathing started to become erratic, 5 more seconds before my life was decided. 4, 3, 2 …… 1. The room which was once bustling with light chatter and laughter had suddenly stopped; all eyes were on my hand. Slowly a shape began to form on my hand and it didn’t make any sense what appeared before me. There was no word on my hand but instead a symbol. I had seen a similar symbol before once in a history book but I couldn’t remember where. The room suddenly exploded in screams and shouts. Never had anyone ever had a symbol on their hand it had always been a word of some sort. I looked over at my mother for reassurance but all I was met with was an empty terrified look. Her eyes pierced my very soul and they spoke clearly “Monster.” I looked around the room and everyone now had the same expression on their faces, they viewed me as a freak and monster something that should have no business living in this world. It’s too much I thought and collapse to ground, kneeling before the fireplace. My mind was aflutter, maybe it was a mistake, maybe this was simply a nightmare and I would wake up. I pinched my hand but I did not wake up. I started pinching myself over and over again trying the escape the hell that I was now in. I turned to everyone with tears streaming down my face and I screamed, “What’s happened to me?!” I was only met with uneasy looks and cold shoulders; I was an outcast to my own family. I looked to my mother, the women who had raised me on her own my entire life; the women who was always there for me no matter what. “Mom please help me!” I wailed. Her eyes turned from mine and she started to slowly walk away. “I’m sorry but I can no longer help you in any way. My service to you is done.” She said. My world shattered in that moment. I looked down at my hand and even though my world was now destroyed and everything had turned its back on me I started to feel a calming sensation come over me. I started at my hand and suddenly a second symbol appeared on top of the first. The room erupted in screams of terror and fear, people shouting that I was a freak and a demon and yet I was at peace. The more I stared at the symbols the more at peace I felt and then as if I light switch had been turned on their meanings came to me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I turned to the mob that was once my friends and family. I raised my hand above my head, tears still streaming down my face and with a booming voice I shouted, "BEHOLD! The Crook and Flail! The symbols of the pharaoh, you will prepare for your new King!” ….
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-15T22:13:42
| 427
| 80
|
[WP] A magical medieval fantasy empire frequently invades inferior, magic-less dimensions for easy conquest. This time though, they target the modern day technologically advanced Earth.
|
Their initial attack took us by surprise. Portals appeared on the outskirts of a large town, that was quickly overtaken by the aggressors. Brutish, savage humanoids in chainmail, hacking at anything and anyone, followed by robed figures throwing fireballs. And dragons, as well as many more warriors, more disciplined than the vanguard, but no less merciful as they cut down people begging for their lives.
Recon footage showed that they reveled in celebration at their quick victory, establishing a base for more creatures to come through. Believing themselves superior, they took their time. Raiding parties ventured forth, but the surrounding area had already been evacuated. Those who went too far were quickly taken out.
When our counterattack came, they formed ranks, brutes in front, tightly packed infantry formations behind. Large beasts scattered amongst them and the dragons took to the air. They were torn to shreds as our missiles hit them. Charred husks fell to the ground, some hitting their own troops, then the artillery barrage hit.
They were sitting ducks as the artillery shells burst into fragments in their formations. The brutes began their charge as some of the mages attempted to cast spells. Fireballs flew towards our entrenched positions but evaporated before they hit us. Magic barriers appeared above portions of the army to little effect. The few brutes who escaped the barrage were picked off by snipers and heavy automatic fire.
The remnants of the shattered army broke and began a panicked rout, as gunships and armored vehicles roared across the battlefield in pursuit. In the end, most were killed except the few who surrendered. Intelligence were keen to interogate them, maybe we could learn their secrets to open portals of our own?
|
"We have a fire order. It came across all channels but it's garbled. We can't authenticate." The comms officer held my gaze just long enough to confirm that I'd heard him, and turned back to his terminal, emotionless.
Everyone on the command deck grew suddenly more silent, even as new lights and sirens indicating major emergencies added to the chorus. I shared glances with my peers, to see if their shoulders felt as mine suddenly did.
All terrestrial communication had been down for almost an hour, anyone without access to satellite communication has been off the grid, and even the satcoms are shaky.
"These locations don't make sense!" another officer exclaimed, her voice strained.
Confirmed nuclear launch. That means Biden ordered it three minutes ago. If he ordered it. No authentication. No challenge codes. Nothing.
I... must have been out of my body for a moment, the female officer was right in front of me now, pleading look on her face. She'd been speaking... crying... "Please... don't fire... my family..."
I looked at the display of the station she'd stood up from. The targets were... domestic. Foreign. Everywhere. That was everything we had. The deck grew somehow more ominous; emergency floods came on, and the world map dominating the majority of the front of the room began to sparkle with activity across the globe.
Each yellow and red streaking line on the screen representing a weapon of mass destruction. Each trajectory inexplicable.
I'm about to die. I have one order. I look around the room for the other keys I need. I meet eyes with one. I see two already fighting, I don't know who is with me and who isn't, but we don't need either if.... there's one more... We meet eyes. The third key.
We all nod.
| 2021-06-25T22:42:36
| 2021-06-25T21:28:18
| 136
| 20
|
[WP] We seem to have much morbid curiosity about the personification of Death in this sub. Instead, write about his brother, Life.
Or his/her sister? Perhaps about their relationship? Or maybe reincarnation? But really anything goes.
|
"You're right," I gazed at the weightless human soul in my hands, "it is beautiful."
My brother nodded, slinging his hood back. "And very fragile, too. Please be careful."
Like he had taught me how to do, I opened my palms upward, letting the soul begin the climb to the afterlife. It was a magnificent sight to behold. Even in death, the humans never gave up.
"You have never seen a human soul before? Well sister, considering your line of work, color me surprised." My brother's devious smile glinted in the faint moonlight. I would never admit it to him, but sometimes I was a little jealous of his job.
Sure, I brought life to the world, and he brought death, but there is a certain... emotion one receives from death that is not present in birth. The creatures I craft are delicate, and I take extra care with every single one, but they can never know who I am. They can never greet me, and thank me for a life well-lived, they can only pass along the message to my brother.
"No, you know how my job works, brother." I clucked my tongue at him, "I do not deal directly with souls, I merely-"
"Create the vessel for which they travel, yes, sister, I know." He laughed, finishing the sentence for me. It used to bug me how he always had that big-brother persona, even though he technically *is* my big brother. I considered myself to be older in... mental ways.
"These creatures are so... strange, aren't they, brother?" I asked, staring out across the pond in front of us. The soul we had just collected belonged to the owner of this house. His neighbor would come by tomorrow and find his body.
"How so?"
"My abilities are only inside them for but a moment, though to them it is years, and yet they manage to do so much with the time given. Sometimes I wonder how they continue on, knowing that you're just around the corner." I was more thinking aloud than asking him, but he didn't seem to notice.
The quizzical expression he wore was a dead giveaway that this was the first time he was thinking of this. He furrowed his brow.
"I am going to be honest, I do not quite know how to answer that. Not in words, anyway. What you should know is that a soul is powerful. More powerful than you, and me. The idea of death alone is not even close to strong enough to *crack* the soul." He wasn't facing me, but his set shoulders told me that he was not meant to be interrupted. "I understand your thinking. You are secretly wondering what life is like for me, the taker of the powers you bestow. If you would like, I could show you."
My ears perked up. "You could?" I sounded like one of the many bubbling teenagers that the humans watched on TV.
My brother turned back to me with another smile. "Sure. Hopefully that will answer your question, because all souls are different in their own twisted, complicated way. Meet me back here at noon tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you."
I was too excited to speak, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because when I looked back over my shoulder, he was gone.
|
We were equals, once.
Our charges celebrated me, just as they feared my brother. They loved me, as they loathed him. We were two sides of the same coin.
Over time, that changed.
People feared him. He grew in power, grew in their minds. They forgot about me in their preoccupation with avoiding him. No one celebrated me anymore. They turned their backs on me.
So I turned my back on them.
As my brother gained more and more power, it became harder and harder for them to avoid him. He claimed more and more lives, which in turn increased his power even more. I could not make my presence felt; births were no longer celebrated. Birthdays became a way not to celebrate me, but to celebrate another year of dodging my brother.
I should never have left.
I'm afraid it's too late. In my haste, in my angst, I couldn't see the effect my absence would have. I'm not sure there's anything I can do now. I'm afraid he may have too strong a hold on the lives of the people, the lives that used to be under my protection. There's only one thing I can beg of you now. Remember me. It's our only hope to lessen my brother's hold on the world.
Celebrate Life.
| 2016-09-12T19:16:33
| 2016-09-12T18:48:27
| 27
| 19
|
[WP] You can't lie. That isn't to say you always speak the truth, but whatever you say always retroactively becomes true.
|
Listen, child.
The first Truth I told destroyed the universe.
Everything was visible and formed, and light was upon the face of the deep. I said: “Let there be darkness,” and there was darkness.
I saw the darkness, and I saw evil.
I abandoned my creation.
But do not fear, child, do not cry.
This story is a lie.
|
His mind was chaos. Eric couldn't take it anymore. His memories were a massive jumble of differing accounts of the same event, layered on top of each other. His first memory of this phenomenon taking place was when he was a small child. He had accidentally knocked a cookie jar off of the kitchen counter, shattering it into a hundred pieces. Not wanting to get in trouble, little Eric blamed the accident on a monkey who lived in the attic. He just knew his father would fall for such an elaborate deception.
"Eric," his father started, "you know there isn't a monkey in the attic."
Eric doubled down and insisted to the point that his father grabbed his hand to show him that there was no monkey hiding in the attic. Eric's heart sank as his father opened the attic door.
"See, no monkey!" Eric's father started to say right before a handful of poop hit him square in the face. The monkey, laughing manically, made its escape.
Eric was, at first, delighted and very much confused at the turn of events. He knew he would never get into trouble again. Twenty years later, Eric sat in the alleyway laughing to himself. His mind was shattered. "Sir, are you okay?" Eric didn't even see the officer approach.
"I'm fine!" Eric shouted and it was true. He was Truth. "Are you fine, officer? Eric laughed. "It seems you have lost your pants."
The officer, confused, looked down to see that his pants were gone. Eric begins chuckling to himself as the police officer runs back to his car. Eric can't take it anymore. Was the officer wearing pants originally? Eric knew the officer was, but as soon as he said the officer wasn't, that became the truth. He was so confused. His mind struggled to understand. There were too many memories. Was the officer actually wearing pants? Eric couldn't remember the straight of it anymore. He wanted it to end. "Everything I say is false!" Eric shouted. As his statement echoed to the heavens, that universe ended.
| 2018-06-02T10:08:43
| 2018-06-02T09:59:42
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title.
|
Custom and tradition, which interleaved every facet of life for the dozen villages spread throughout the Darrowshire plains, accounted for many of the interesting practices unique to the locale.
These included the almost reverential regard for hunting, the marking of coming of age by bequeathing a title reflecting the person's greatest achievement at that stage in life, and of course, the periodic wars wrought as the villages sought to expand their influence and territories.
For hundreds of years, the dozen villages took turns to wax and wane in prestige, and on average each village spent about ten years at the top of the pack before the next war saw it being displaced by the next strongest village.
So how does one account for the anomaly, where the Dalton village not only rose to become the strongest village in centuries, but also ultimately the village which united all the others?
Historians believe that it began with Glenn, the 35th village chief, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting. Evidence suggests that it was under his watchful eye that the foremost champions of the next generation were cultivated.
It was, actually, his wife, Becky, who played a much bigger role than anyone could have imagined.
---
"Step forward, and be ready with your tablet," intoned Glenn sonorously from the stage. Becky stood quietly by his side.
It was another Naming Day, one of twelve in the year, where all the younglings born in that month stepped forward when they came of age to receive their titles. Today, it was Henry who was first in line, worry etched into every expression he wore on his face.
"Henry Vume, name your accomplishments, so that I may pick your title for you."
He replied, hesitantly, already preparing himself for the scorn and ridicule about to float up from his peers behind him.
"Erm... I once helped my parents manage the family expenses for a month, when both my parents fell ill. I also once categorised all the flowers in the woods, because, well, I like them..."
In a way, he had already resigned himself to his fate. Not every child was special, and try as he did to develop himself, he was who he was. These were his greatest accomplishments, so be it.
Henry squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the worst.
"Very well, henceforth will you be Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers."
The shame burned his face, and he wanted to do nothing more than turn and run. The sniggers from his peers was already floating through the air, assaulting his ears.
And he would have left, but for Becky's firm hand on his shoulder. He turned, surprised. There wasn't supposed to be anything else to the ceremony.
"Henry, not so fast. When you picked the forest clean, could you tell the difference between the flowers?"
"Difference?... Yes, I suppose."
"Which were sweet, which were colourful... Even which were dangerous, poisonous?"
"Yes, in fact," said Henry, some of the confidence returning. This was his area of expertise, after all. "The Hudleys you have to avoid the most. They are small, white, plain and easy to miss, but their sap stings badly, and I've seen forest animals die from eating them."
Becky smiled, and she lowered her voice, speaking almost in a hush, only for Henry to hear.
"No one is ever useless, Henry. Your title is just that, a title. It will not define you - you define your title. Be proud of who you are, develop your talents, and one day, one day, the village may need to call upon you to serve it. And I hope you will be ready for that day."
Becky winked, and Henry left.
Henry left with more than just a title. He left with a purpose, a direction, and the little seedling of recognition Becky planted would one day blossom, spurring Henry to become Henry Vume, Picker of Flowers, Chief Alchemist of the Northern Dalton Regiment.
All because of Becky, Believer In Men and Women Alike.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"Ah yes, you shall be known as John, Traveler of Forty Shoe Stores."
The line was thinning out now. I peeked ahead to where John was breathing a sigh of relief. 'Shoe stores' was harmless. You could still get a job with that on your resume.
The next student walked forward, Becky I think. She was wearing a long sleeved sweatshirt and nervously tugging at the sleeves with her hands.
The village elder Glenda smiled and ushered her forward, putting on the same melodramatic voice that made her words echo through the amphitheater. "Becky, on your twenty-first birthday, I see your entire life flash before me." With a puff of incense the seer closed her eyes, putting one hand on her temple and waving the other around in a way that felt as mystical as a stage magician. "From this day forward, you shall be known as... Becky, Owner of Seven Cat Habitats!"
Becky seemed relieved, if a little embarrassed, and headed down to the audience once again. You'd think people in this town would have better things to do than watch the daily ceremonies at sunset, but it was a pretty packed house today. I looked into the crowd and saw my own parents: Tom, the Destroyer of Alcoholic Beverages, and Mary, the Only Survivor of Math Camp. They were both beaming proudly, and waved at me.
"My my, Steven, you shall be known as: The Man with Fifty Fetishes!" The crowd started to laugh, and Steven turned bright red as he ran out of the stone circle.
My turn next. Glenda, Devourer of Fifty Three Chicken Nuggets in a Single Sitting, eyed me up and down. "Amy, my dear, come closer. There's no reason to be frightened."
I don't think I looked particularly frightened, more indifferent, but this was all part of Glenda's show. That being said, if she was going to put a tagline on every novel I ever wrote, it had better be a good one.
"Oh, I see great things in your future, but the titles I give are based on the here and now. From this day forward..."
Something had just occurred to me. Why was Glenda's title so mundane?
"You shall be known as..."
Weren't seerers given their powers at birth?
"Amy: Disprover of Fraudulent... Potatoes."
Glenda seemed upset, and she ushered me off the stage quickly. The audience didn't know how to react to my new title, and to be honest I was a little confused myself.
Someone in the crowd spoke up. "Um, Glenda, did you mean fraudulent politicians?"
Glenda paused. "Yes, yes, of course! What did you think I said? Anyway, that's enough for today, I shall see you all on the morrow!" Glenda bowed and spun through her fine silk curtains, before high tailing it across the fields at a breakneck pace.
| 2017-04-27T17:19:00
| 2017-04-27T17:02:59
| 810
| 232
|
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal.
|
She smiles at me from across the table, and raises a glass of white wine to my red. It’s funny, I had never noticed her preference for white wine before tonight- our anniversary- perhaps it’s because the house red is poisoned tonight. I could see the particulates collecting in the bottom of the glass.
Our glasses clink with a crisp sound and I drain the lot in one go. Arsenic gives an acrid flavour to the wine, but nothing that couldn’t be passed off as it turning to vinegar.
“To our long and happy lives darling,” I say, resting my hand over hers. The obnoxiously large diamond ring I bought her when we got married sits uncomfortably under my fingers, but when you’ve had centuries to collect wealth, the size and opulence of jewellery like this ceases to surprise you.
My wife’s smile tightens at my statement, as if she knows something I don’t. Of course, she doesn’t know anything I don’t, I’ve had a millennia to collect every scrap of knowledge I can, every tell tale sign of deceit and danger is obvious when you’re looking for it.
Another glass, and she begins to smile less. I’ll let her win eventually, but not until another foreign “cousin” who looks remarkably similar collects my entire inheritance- We signed a prenup after all- and she’s left with the guilt of my murder with nothing to show for it.
I love breaking in black widows, it’s my favourite hobby.
|
“I want him gone! Do you understand me?” I watched my wife talk to a hit man from the top of a nearby tower. She was truly beautiful. Her long curly black hair was loosely tied back. Her beautiful blue eyes sparkled with malicious intent. She was strong willed and persuasive as well. She was perfect. “I see, of course Mrs. Athánatos, consider you husband dead.” The hit man told her, a cruel smile crossing over his face. I watched as my wife scrunched up her face in distaste. “ Do not make me promises you can not keep Mr. Loue, many men have promised me that, and all have failed.” Me. Loue nodded stood up and headed towards my office building in the distance. I sighed, it was probably time to get back, it seems I had yet another guest to entertain. I looked back down at my beautiful wife, her eyes seething with anger and hatred. I loved when she tried to kill me. I knew she was after my multi billion corporation, I knew from the beginning it was her sending the hit men, but what my wife didn’t know was that I was immortal. But she was trying so hard to kill me that I didn’t have the heart to make her stop. I turned and headed into the building, down the elevator and into the streets where my driver was waiting. “ Back to Athánatos Towers sir?” I nodded, “Yes Mr. Letum, I wouldn’t want to keep my guest waiting to long.”
| 2019-07-31T09:07:14
| 2019-07-31T08:57:07
| 48
| 15
|
[WP] Our universe was created by a kid for a school project. He got a C. Describe a universe that got an A.
Or describe why the kid got a C.
Edit: wow. I didn't expect this many responses. Thanks guys!
|
Everything was perfect
Everything was grand
Every rule was followed
Every part was bland
*
The creatures all were happy
All creatures were the same
The creatures needed nothing
The creatures had no aim
*
The scenery was pretty
The weather was just right
There really was no difference
Between the day and night
*
The student sure was proud
The teacher was impressed
Everyone agreed
That his world was the best
*
Creative may look great
Unique is what they say
But does it really matter
if he doesn't get an A?
|
Jehovah had no clue as to why his project did not hold par to Adalade's, it was just as proficient and rudimentary, just as mathematical. He supposed it was the progressive model of evolution he implemented. Molecular decay, mitochondrial swapping and cell division, it could only be fully analyzed over time perhaps, Jehovah thought, that was the exact issue. Adalade's symbiotic construct of universal development was almost instantaneous, all of Adalade's sentient programs were immortal and had to follow the code she did not give them choice or meaning as to what those choices meant.
Jehovah created an entire prophetic backstory to his UDC, two creatures began the civilization one named Adam the other Eve...perhaps the complexity made it a bit too childish. After all he only created a single planet in which sentient life could flourish. It allowed the observer to focus on the core programming, Adalade's was on several planets allowing for more diversity and made it more flashy. Teachers of the UDC class are suckers for 'flashy' development.
He knew that if the teacher looked closer they would begin to appreciate it's complexity but he was shy and accepted the C. Adalade's UDC did not even have dimensionality, it was linear, two dimensional beings flailing about in uneven space. Jehovah's dimensions were nothing short of amazing, gravity to tell where and when all matter was to begin and end, time to allow the matter to exist, and space a place in time which it could begin and maintain in. He even had cute little trashbins to fold the matter when the program had finished.
Fuck it, he thought, tossing the UDC in his mother's storage unit.
| 2015-07-30T20:57:14
| 2015-07-30T20:36:39
| 356
| 129
|
[WP] Write a children's poem that slowly devolved in an insane persons chantings.
|
Im here baby
Don't you fear
Don't you cry
A single tear
Remember the fields
Of grass so green
Of flowers so bright
And colors so clean
Remember your mother
And her smile so kind
Holding you tenderly
Even though she was blind
Her eyes were gouged
And bleeding too
See, I had just beat her
Like I will to you
My precious baby
You're like the sunrise
But you'd look better
Without your eyes
|
"And now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
And if I die before I wake
I pray the lord my soul to take."
"Again" he said softly.
"And now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
And if I die before I wake
I pray the lord my soul to take."
"AGAIN" he repeated.
"And now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
And if I die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take"
He stared at her lovingly for a moment and then calmly said:
"And now I lay you down to sleep
Your body is mine and mine to keep
And you will die make no mistake
Your soul is mine and mine to take."
"Please..." she pleaded.
He had no reaction to her cries for help. He just slowly walked closer to her, repeating:
"Your soul is mine and mine to take.."
"Your soul is mine and mine to take.."
"Your soul is mine and mine to take.."
| 2017-07-13T21:55:57
| 2017-07-13T20:33:29
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] "Robert E. Lee International Airport welcomes you to the Confederate States of America. Please do not leave your luggage or slaves unattended."
Partly based off a mockumentry called "CSA" on youtube.
I'm well aware this isn't historically accurate.
|
We thank you for flying Confederate Airlines. Please exit the airplane in an orderly fashion, and make sure you are in the proper line for your race. When you exit the plane, Free Coloureds please stay to the far left, Subcontinentals in the middle, Orientals and Whites in the far right. If mixed race, assume One Drop Rule.
Baggage claim is in the bottom floor of the Beauregard Terminal. You are currently in the Cleburne Terminal. To reach the Beauregard Terminal, please use the Jim Crow Memorial Tram.
Shuttles will be waiting at the Beauregard terminal to transport you, your baggage, and chattel to different destinations in New Orleans. As a light suggestion, Victory Day celebrations are currently being celebrated in Jackson Square. The historical society and the Italian-Confederate Society will be reenacting the famous Garibaldi Landing; when Interim Commander in Chief Garibaldi - offended by the Northern Tyrant denying his generous offer of service - loaned his sword to President Davis. Moreover, there will be a reading of Supreme Court Justice and General Patrick Cleburne's "Monstrous Proposal", which allowed slaves to free themselves by fighting in the army. It is said that without Cleburne's urging and the extra manpower provided, there would be no Victory Day!
And finally, please respect the local customs. To our visitors from our friends and allies Großdeutschland, The Italian Empire, and the Japanese Empire, please do not antagonize the Jews, Albanians, or Koreans. Instead, celebrate the fact that here, in the proud Pan-American Confederacy, they are put to good work supporting our shared Axis superiority!
We hope you enjoy your stay. Yall come back now!
|
Gerald stood in line, his arms crossed. There was trouble somewhere up ahead, and he was already late. And they sure as hell weren’t going to hold to the plane for any freeman.
In the security line of Robert E. Lee airport, the freeman line stretched out to the doors of the gate. The white line was utterly empty, a single TSA agent flipping through a comic book, his feet kicked up on the desk. Someone was being pulled out of line, while two women in rubber gloves emptied the contents of his carry-on bag. Eventually the trouble seemed to clear up (likely the man had been forced to finally slip the agent a few twenty dollar bills) and the line started moving again.
When Gerald reached the front he could not keep the pissed off look from his face, or the edge from his voice. The plane had almost certainly boarded by now. He had waited all this time to go through security only to turn around, book another, later flight, and stand in line all over again.
“Do you have your clearance?” the agent asked. The kid looked like a college frat-boy who had graduated a couple years ago, winding up in the relatively cushy and well-paid job of TSA supervisor for someone with an IQ of 90.
Gerald held out his wrist. He was wearing a thin gold and black bracelet. He stuck his arm into a machine before the metal detector. The agent frowned, staring at the machine. He looked at Gerald, back at the machine.
Damnit, Gerald thought, here we go. Any chance of catching the plane was now lost.
“Please step aside, sir.”
Gerald knew the words he would say before he even said them, like he was reading his mind. He traveled enough, and had been pulled aside enough, that this was becoming old hat. Routine. A minor and expected annoyance, except for when he was already running late.
Gerald complied. This type of thing had become far more common over the last five years. Sure, there were plenty of anti-slavery rumblings. There were daily protests in every major city in the north, and in most major southern cities as well. This alone wouldn’t have made them nervous, but with a string of terrorism attacks recently – some form ex-slaves and other abolitionist extremists – they had heightened the security at every place. Not only that, but runaways with fake freeman I.D.s had become increasingly common and more sophisticated. All this led to the constant state of harassment between people like the TSA and freeman like him
“I see you’ve been free since 1984.” The man looked at the computer terminal.
“That’s correct.”
“Are you associated with any abolitionist groups of any kind?”
“No.”
“Really? You sure about that?”
“I’m very sure about that.”
“Well, it says here that you have been marked as identified with African-American Islamic Group.”
“You must have me confused with my brother. He’s the one that’s into that crap.”
“Well, you are his brother, aren’t you?” The frat-boy had a mischievous look in his eye, a sinister expression on his face. “We’ll need to you step back here with us for a few minutes. Grab his bags and follow me.”
Over in the far corner of the hallway, Gerald saw two security guards pestering a slave (marked with the little white wrist band), likely asking him why he was loitering, asking him where his master was and who he had come with. The man looked fidgety and scared, the two officers in his face.
“I’m a citizen of his country,” Gerald said. “I’m no slave.”
“You might not be a slave,” the man said, “but you’re sure as hell not a citizen,” and led him through a door into a dark place, the apathetic crowd staring with a dull interest, no one saying a thing.
“Next,” the TSA agent called.
| 2021-12-10T12:06:03
| 2014-09-04T18:37:04
| 45
| 16
|
[WP] You're an ancient Greek man coming home from four months of war to find your wife 3 months pregnant. Now you've embarked on a solemn quest: to punch Zeus in the face.
|
You stomp down the road to the Temple of Zeus, your wife behind you pleading.
“Love there isn’t anything to be done, there’s no sense in starting a fight with the King of the Gods!”
“King of the Idiots if he thinks he’s going to get away with messing with my wife!”
“This happened to that one woman down in Delphi, now they have a son who can do twice the work around the house. It could actually be quite helpful.” Your wife pleads trying to block your way.
“He has no respect for anyone else just because he’s got some immortality.” You say as you side step your wife.
“And strength, and powers to basically control everything.” Your wife was gripping your arm, desperately trying to hold you back.
“I don’t think this is a good idea” she croons, her beautiful dark eyes are full of concern.
“When has that stopped me before?” You raise your wife’s hand to your lips and pull your arm gently from hers.
“I’ll only be a minute” you promise as you step into the outer chamber.
 
“ZEUUUUUUUUUUUS!” You begin to yell as you walk into the inner chamber.
“ZEUS!”
“Oi! Zeus man!”
“ZEEEEEUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! SHOW ME YOUR FACE SO I SHALL STRIKE IT!” You yell, your voice echoing off the high ceilings.
Then the ground below you begins to tremble, a voice roars, you feel the sound in your chest.
“WHAT MORTAL DARES COMES TO MY HOUSE AND TALKS OF OBLIGATIONS OF A GOD!”
You feel your legs begin to shake with fear as you clear your throat, trying to keep you tone strong. “It’s me, the husband of the woman you slept with.”
The voice paused a beat.
“THE MORTAL WILL HAVE TO BE MORE SPECIFIC.”
“In Thebes, three months past.”
Silence.
“THE MORTAL WILL HAVE TO BE-”
“Tryphania! The woman with dark hair and dark eyes” You growl rubbing your forehead.
“AH YES HER” Clouds filled the chamber, lightning began to flash, the light so bright you had to shield your face with your hands. You feel a strong gust of wind nearly knocking you off your feet.
“She was beautiful, you are very blessed.” A strong voice echoed down the chamber, a ten-foot-tall man stood at the end of the hall. His long white hair floating behind him as if he were in water. His chiseled face turned upward in a small smile. His body clothed in the finest cloth you have ever seen, it seems to shimmer in the sunlight.
 
You fall on your knees. You hadn’t really expected to get this far. You had come to the temple to pray before but had never gotten a solid answer. Now here was a solid answer. A god that could kill you with a single thunderbolt. But you had come this far you had to at least try.
“Zeus you owe my wife an apology!”
Zeus’ face darkened “You dare stand before me after I have given you praise and imagine of telling ME what to do?”
“Uh no, of course not. It’s just, my wife is pregnant now with your child.”
“Many blessings to you.”
You force a grin “Of course, we are blessed to have your bloodline. But Zeus-
 
“ZEUS WHERE ARE YOU!” A female voice thundered in the hall, Zeus looked up his expression guarded.
“In my temple, my wife Hera” he responded sweetly, he glanced down at the mortal.
“It’s not the husband of someone’s poor wife you’ve taken advantage of, is it?” The voice layered with anger “There will be nowhere on Olympus you will have any peace if I find out-“
“OH MY GODDESS HERA” You crow, staring at Zeus triumphantly. Zeus figures your plan and is standing in front of you in an instant holding a thunderbolt above your head.
“Don’t. You. Dare.” He whispers menacingly, you feel the heat from the thunderbolt on your face.
“I want a healthy crop on my land for one thousand generations to come” you whisper back.
“Fine.” Zeus snipes.
“And good health for my family for one thousand generations to come” you add smiling.
“Fine! Fine!”
“And my family will be wealthy-"
“For one thousand generations to come, already on it.” Zeus hissed his eyes flitting about the temple as if waiting for Hera to walk in.
“YOU MORTAL HAVE GIVEN PRAISE AS ONLY IS RIGHT. I WILL BLESS YOU AND YOUR FAMILY.”
You nod approvingly and Zeus glares at you. “Don’t push it” he hisses as his human form begins to evaporate.
|
He lived his life with honor. He raised six sons, and eight daughters, all with honor, deference, and reverence for the gods. He did this in Hera's name.
He sailed across the wild seas, falling pirates as he went. Returning home, he sacrificed his finest bulls. He did this in Posideon's name.
He fell the fiercest of wildest beasts, braving their snarling jaws alone. He butchered the carcasses, took the teeth as trophies, then burned the fat. He did this in Artemis' name.
He cultivated gardens, of exquisite flowers from far off lands, until their perfume rivaled any before seen on Earth. He did this in Aphrodite's name.
He waged wars for noble cause, with fine strategy, emerging glorious in victory. He did this in Athena's name.
He waged brutal war, for wars own sake, reveling in the melee. Blood stiffening on his red stained limbs, he declared his victory in Ares' name.
He gathered his living, and held a feast, with food and wine for all. They feasted and made merry, until none could walk alone. He did this in Dionoysius' name.
He gathered his dead, and sent them towards the River Styx. He fasted, and mourned, all in Hades' name.
He went out among his people, and helped them sow. Years of plenty followed, and every harvest was done in Demeter's name.
He opened his own door, and served any who came. He sat them by the fire, bid them rest, and did so in Hestia's name.
He brought forth gold and gems from the depths of the Earth. He brought them to the muttering forge, and crafted in Hephaestus' name.
He ran in the Olympics, fleet of foot, winning every race he tried. He stood proud before the crowd, and accepted his medal in Hermes name.
Stories grew of his accomplishments, until they were as much legend as truth. He laughed, and sang them too, his strong voice ringing in Apollo's name.
When he finally died, the Olympians drew him up the rainbow, preparing to finally greet their champion in person. He knelt before them, lavishing praise upon them, until Zeus himself approached him. The man looked up, awe in his eyes.
"Zeus?" He asked. "Aegis-bearer? Oathkeeper? Thunderer? King of the gods? Zeus of all the Greeks?" Stately, the deity nodded.
The man stood in a flash, and swung his fist, faster than the lightning his victim wielded. Scowling up at the angry god, he stood still proud. As the god collected his powers, readying to strike the impudent mortal, the being spoke.
"You slept with my wife you sick son of a bitch."
And the hero was no more
Edit- thanks for the gold u/Cyndayn, you wonderful amazing straight up fantastic fellow.
| 2017-11-25T14:56:19
| 2017-11-25T14:49:26
| 142
| 88
|
[WP] Write about a world where competitive Super Smash Bros. is the premier, must-watch sport worldwide.
|
The year. Is 20XX. We begin in *media res*, as all good stories do.
Sakurai trails off, clearly disturbed. A single bead of sweat drips down from his brow, almost reaching his brow before he irritably twitches, sending the drop off.
"It was a vengeful joke at first. All I heard from smash communities was "you're ruining our game! We want competition, not gimmicks!' So I listened. At first it was a joke. I even named it Super Smash 20XX a few year ahead to parody those horrid sports games, the Maddens and 2Ks did! You would put in the disk, boot up the Gamecube, and the game would load. It was just like Melee, but with special coding to remove port priority, and one key difference: it was always final destination, always four stocks, always two Foxes. No items. No life!"
Another shaken pause. I can feel his remorse, and the air is tense with his painful memories.
"Sir, I can leave. You don't need to keep talking." I feel sorry that I had brought this once-great man so much pain.
"Perhaps this is for the best," Sakurai says, "The people weren't looking for fun. They were looking for a way to fight."
And fight we did. After 20XW, it was almost inconcievable there was any other way of life. I was born into this system, so I don't know any other way people live. But there are rumors floating around this run down city, rumors of another time. So I had hunted down the ghosts. Sakurai was my first interview. But his tale was only the tip of the iceberg.
I shake myself out of my reverie. "Thank you, sir."
"No, it was my... well, not a pleasure. But certainly my duty. Good luck young man. I trust you can find your way out."
A siren blares. I quickly leave Sakurai's concealed shelter before *they* come. I sprint home, clutching the tape recording hidden away in my chest pocket.
Some months later, I had finally managed to covertly contact another past legend--as long as he could ditch his guards, we could talk. Today's the day, and now it's Prog's turn.
We don't waste time with pleasantries. This meeting took too long to set up, and our time was too limited to be wasted. I immediately fire my first question. "What was the immediate response to 20XX?"
Prog takes a second, slowly at first, but gaining speed and urgency.
"Some were ecstatic. Mango picked it up almost immediately. By that point, he had dominated the Melee seen for close to a decade, so his huge following joined him. He was like a cult leader--everyone followed him and Smash 20XX with a fervor previously unknown to humanity.
The next great man to go was M2K. Mango had no trouble convincing him of the efficiency of the new game. M2K was soon Mango's right hand man, smashing, if you'll pardon the pun, everyone in his path. Nobody could beat M2K on his home turf. Maybe not even Mango. We'll never know."
"why not?"
"As far as I know, they haven't fought it out since 20XX came out. Mango reigns through just the rumor of his power at this point. Nobody, not even M2K, was going to challenge Mango after what he did."
"What?"
Prog is shaking. "I can't say. It's too awful."
I press him harder. "It's in the past now. Nobody can hurt you here."
"He... he would break them. The thumbs of the losers. It would always heal a little weaker, a little slower than before. Nobody wanted to risk that."
I'm shocked. This was a crime! The thumb is sacred in 20XX society--it's the only way people can prove themselves and move up the tiers. "Go on," I manage to numbly say.
Prog takes a second to think. "Where was I? Oh yes, after M2K. It was a dark time, we just didn't know it yet. Mango began to swallow up all the big names with M2K's help, eliminating or assimilating the best.
'Hungrybox was the first to go. Nobody knows how that match went for sure. It was said that M2K indulgently relented to Hungrybox's request of the archaic format--best of 5, counterpicking, and so on--but completely destroyed him. Hungrybox just couldn't keep up with an M2K 100% devoted to Mango's vision. I don't think he even got close to damaging M2K. It's said that the lasers were just too fast, and the spacing... it was a work of god. A terrible, vengeful god."
"Who was next?"
"The next was Dr. PP. It's said that he went unwillingly. But when he came back, he was changed, and not for the better. If M2K was Mango's right hand, Dr. PP was the left. He would speak for hours at a time, telling us about the virtues of 20XX. Many people were brought under Mango's dark fold then. Enough that we ended up where we are now. Those who didn't... they were crushed. Either by Dr. PP or M2K, it didn't matter. They didn't even pretend anymore after a certain point--you could either meet certain doom by playing them in 20XX, or you would be held down and forcibly crippled."
Prog looks down at his thumb, smiling bitterly. "It still hurts, you know. When it rains, or it's very cold. I feel it, deep in my bones. But that didn't compare to what came next: The Purge."
"Copies of Smash 4, Brawl, Smash 64 were rounded up, and then burned. I remember how it smelled. It wasn't the clean smell of ashes--it was the acrid, dark smell of plastic and silicon, straight out of hell. It was nostalgia and childhood, memories and memorabilia, all gone in the blink of an eye. Eventually, even Melee was hunted down. 'It's a gateway,' they claimed, 'it leads to a life of impurity.' So Melee was gone too. Soon, all the smashers were under Mango's thumb."
"After that, it was easy. A few sleepers placed here and there. A senator's son, lured into playing 20XX and then converted to Mangoism. And then it all came crashing down. When the dust settled, Mango and his crew had taken it all over."
My watch chirps. "We're almost out of time."
"This was good for me," says Prog, "I remember how things were now... just remember kid, it's dangerous out there. It's cute that you think things will change with these interviews, but you can't keep going. Take my advice: stop digging now. There's skeletons that you don't want back among the living down there."
I stand, alarmed. "What skeletons?"
"Leave it alone. Leave *them* alone. The Purge was tough... so tough that some couldn't take it. Don't do it. Even if you could find them... this system isn't so bad now. People with talent rise, and those without fall. Isn't that everyone's ideal?"
"Spoken like a coward. You know things are bad now. But you run!" I shout, "But. You. Run. You bury yourself under the delusion that things are better now. They aren't. The people know they aren't. And we won't take it anymore."
My alarm rings again. Time to go. I spit disgustedly and turn to leave.
"Fine. Look for Isai. But not too loud." I look back. He's silently crying. I don't know if they are tears or rage, or sorrow, but they flow freely. I leave.
XxXxX
"You didn't have to, you know." A man comes out of the darkness, next to Prog.
"I know. Do me a last favor: how much did you hear?" Prog is forced to his knees, harshly. He yelps a little.
"Enough. Who's the kid?"
Prog spits.
"Fine," the man says, "we can do it that way. Take him out." Two more men step out of the shadows.
XxXxX
While I'm leaving, I hear a yelp, and then a scream. I run. I need to find Isai, because my time is running out.
|
This is probably the best thing I've ever come across on this sub, as I'm a part of the competitive smash scene, so thank you for that. Anyway, here goes.
The stadium was packed. I was down on center stage, surrounded by thousands of people, anxiously clutching my controller. It was absolutely surreal what was happening to me, I'd fought through the absolute best in the world; Hax and his Captain Falcon, Vudujin's monstrous Luigi, Mango's devastating spacies, the list goes on and on. Before this I was a nobody, but now people all over the world were tuning in to Video Game Bootcamp and Clash Tournaments to watch me in the Melee Grand Finals.
I was up against the robot himself, Mew2King; the fiercest player known to man. No chance in hell was I going to take a set off this guy, I mean he's frame perfect with at least five characters for chrissake. The time was coming, only 10 minutes until the match begins. Taking my seat, I shake M2K's hand and smile nervously, his stare is piercing. The crowd begins to settle down, and the only sound I hear is the menu music.
"Alright, what stages are we gonna strike?" Mew2King spouts, startling me.
"Uhhh . . ." I stammered, "if you're going to play Sheik, I don't want Final Destination or Yoshi's Story."
"That's fine with me. How does Battlefield sound?"
I just nodded my head in agreement. I was trying my damnedest to mentally prepare myself for this matchup. My only good character that could take on a Sheik was Falco, and M2K knows that fight backwards and forwards. Hesitantly, I set my cursor over the bird and hit start. The battle begins.
"Alright, if you're just tuning in we've got game one of Grand Finals between Mew2King and the up and comer, Pooch" states Prog, one of the most famous smash commentators in the world. "We've seen a lot of phenomenal matches come out of this new guy, but will he be able to beat the king of Mews?"
"I'm not too sure he can do it," responds D1, joining in on the commentary, "Jason (M2K) has just been on the ball too much this season. Not to mention that Pooch went with Falco, which M2K is known to body in almost every match he plays."
My hands were an absolute flurry, mashing inputs so fast that the distinct sounds of buttons became a single drone of plastic being crushed. Double shine into a down air, excellent; just the combo I needed to take the stock. I paused for a second, mentally, and realized that I've just taken a stock off of the King.
Pausing was a mistake. He returned the favor near instantly with a forward air that sent my flying out of the stage. Just like that the stocks were even once again.
"My God, Jason is playing way more aggressively this match than I've ever seen before. Pooch seems to be maintaining good spacing and has control of the stage though, so we'll see how his play style manages to keep up."
"I'm really surprised at how well he's fending off M2K's approaches, Prog. He's really stumping the computer at his own game."
My hands were sweating buckets, and I was getting antsy. An entire stock lead is a huge thing to have against such a masterful player, and I wasn't going to let that lead slip. A grab put me in a good position to combo into a hard forward smash, closing out the King's third stock. Two stock lead, and one left to take from the robot.
All of a sudden, I started to hear chanting from the crowd. "MEWTWO KING! MEWTWO KING! MEWTWO KING!" My heart was racing; this match was the deciding factor for whether or not I'd have finally reached the pinnacle. I wasn't about to let the crowd take that from me. Nothing was getting in my head.
Sheik descended back onto the stage, granted with brief invincibility. Jason used every damn frame of that gift to his advantage. I couldn't avoid his grab, which turned into an incredible chain grab combo ending in my stock being taken. My jaw dropped. Sure, I still had a whole stock on him, but M2K was still the best on the planet, and he sure as hell didn't want to give up that title to the likes of me. He turned up his game to a whole new level. His aggression was far less than what it was at the beginning of the match, and instead he began to tease me at the ledge. Foolishly, I waltzed over to try and snipe his ledge grab and get a quick gimp to close out the match. Right into his trap. If you blinked, you'd have missed how fast he popped off the ledge, smacked me in the face, and then turned around and threw me off the stage. I was utterly stunned; the stocks had evened out in mere seconds.
I looked over at Jason and a smile curled onto his face. As far as he was concerned, the crown was going to stay his. I wasn't about to let that happen, not after all I'd been through, not after hearing the crowd attack me. I had to prove them wrong, all of them. I had one last chance to become the greatest, and I felt ready.
Falco touched back down to Battlefield, poised and ready to win. To the right of the stage was Sheik, taunting me from the ledge, baiting me in. I'd learned my lesson, though, and wasn't about to repeat the blunder that had put me in this dire situation again. I watched intently, focusing on her timings, learning the patterns. A short hop laser singed her, knocking her from the ledge. M2K knew I meant business. Sheik got back to the stage, trying to approach from the top platform. I read the neutral air, and countered with a shine. The game was mine. A jump out of shine into down air connects, spiraling Sheik down into the stage. Ferociously, I fall down to give chase and punish the poor princess. This was it, one forward smash would secure my victory and crown me the World Champion Super Smash Brothers Melee player. Falco cocked back and launched his foot forward. All of a sudden, Sheik wavedashed backwards and punished the bird with a nasty up smash. I watched in complete shock as Falco Lombardi disappeared off the top of the stage, a mere glint of a star representing his death. GAME!
"I just hate to see such a crushing defeat for a player with such potential, D. If only Pooch were a bit more experienced and a bit less greedy, he probably could have taken the set."
"Man, look at him down there. He's in shock." D1 said, "I don't think anyone can really believe such an astonishing comeback could have happened."
I gazed at the screen for a bit, downright upset and still reeling from such a soul crushing defeat. A hand grabbed my shoulder and I turned, it was Jason.
"Hey man, I just want to say that was the most intense set I've ever played, and you're a hell of a player."
His sincerity was too much for me, I cracked just a bit. "Thank you. You have no idea how much this set meant to me, and even though I lost, I still feel like I learned a lot from it, and I'll be gunning for you next year."
We both shook hands and laughed. The crowd swarmed the stage, hoisting their reigning king into the air, chanting his name. I joined in on the chant, knowing that I truly wasn't ready to be the champion. I still needed training.
| 2013-12-22T01:00:16
| 2013-12-21T22:32:24
| 36
| 11
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
The sky opened up with a sickening *CRACK,* like some giant primordial egg ripped open by a great force. From above, between rigid jags of blue, a deep, inky black darker than any night sky I had seen before stared down on my 18th birthday party.
My hand, outstretched, palm facing the now sundered heavens, began to tremble. Paper plates and solo cups whipped around my parents' back yard as a strong wind began to blow. A hot dog flew into my shoulder, but I didn't move, didn't look away. I heard the screams. I heard my family and friends yelling my name, telling me to take shelter. But I couldn't move. It wasn't here yet. I could *sense* it. More than that, I could *feel* it. That warm, gentle rise in my chest. The familiar anticipation, like a loved one leaning in for a hug. This is how they said it would feel. No doubt about it, my Summon was coming.
The inky blackness above gave the distinct impression that the world itself was a vessel, safe and closed off from the outside, now torn, breached, vulnerable. Smooth tendrils began to extend from the darkness, lapping at the inner surface of this broken container. Their ends flicked in swift, fluid motion against the blue sky, now turning grey and cracking at the points of contact. A deep vibration descended through the air in patterns. I couldn't hear it, but it felt like speech.
I was still frozen in place, hand extended towards the blackness. I wanted to move, to run, to escape what I knew I could not. My whole body shook as I stared helplessly upwards, bathed in the menacing aura of what lay beyond that abyss. The patches of sky that had grown grey and cracked were now shattering, revealing more void. The pieces fell like bits of a broken eggshells, igniting in brilliant flame at they entered the atmosphere.
Tears escaped the corners of my eyes as I witnessed the end of my world. Suddenly, the deep vibration stopped, and I could barely make out what looked like a small object being lowered by three of the black, formless tendrils. No, not lowered, it was being pulled. By me. The otherworldly appendages were grasping it, trying to pull it back into the hole in the sky, but it was steadily moving downwards, towards my open palm.
It was about ten 10 feet above me when I could finally make it out. An egg? It was a small sphere, no bigger than a softball. I heard a bone-shaking shriek that reverberated across the sky as the last tendril lost it's grasp and the egg rushed the final few feet into my hand. This was it. Euphoria. I never felt such warmth in my being before. It was as if I had lived life with no heart up until this moment, and I could not longer imagine life without it.
Above me, the black tentacles became enraged, violently smashing their enormous weight against the inner shell of our fragile world. Titanic chunks of sky began falling as giant balls of fire hurtling towards the Earth. My sense of my surroundings had returned to me. My mother was taking refuge under a picnic table while the rest of the attendants of my birthday party watched with terrified faces from the windows of the house. She had been mouthing words that until now I couldn't hear. She was telling me to send it back. Please, please, send it back and come inside.
I looked at her, then looked down at the orb resting in my hands. The black sheen that had surrounded it was dripping through my hands onto the ground, and what remained was a beautiful, bright sphere of green and blue. white tufts seemed to swirl just beneath the hard shell, revealing sections of the interior and covering others. It was warm.
I looked up again at the sky. It was hard to see the breach behind the falling mounds of hellfire, but that blood curdling screech could still be heard over every other sound. I looked back down at my egg. So pure and full of life. I looked back at my mother, still begging me to send back my Summon, my other half, my birthright. The air is getting hot, almost too hot to breath.
I clutch my egg close to my body, turn fully towards her, and mouth the word 'No' as the trees begin to catch fire and the sweat evaporates from our skin.
|
*"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer.
| 2019-09-18T08:25:27
| 2019-09-18T07:55:38
| 162
| 37
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I'm not really sure how the numbers work. I don't remember when they started showing up, and I have never seen my own. They are little coloured numbers that hover above peoples' heads when I look at them.
My parents, both trained and experienced police officers that were normally armed, both averaged around a 6 or a 7 most of the time. My sweet 30 year old aunt, who would never touch a gun, let alone use one, rated about a 3 or a 4. Her husband, a man in his 40's who grew up in a mountain town and enjoyed shooting and hunting, was normally about a 5. Their two little kids, a 5 year old boy and an 8 year old girl, both had a 2 above their heads when I saw them.
Over time, I began to realize that the numbers showed someone's potential danger level. I'm not sure what exactly it was that made people dangerous, but I knew from experience that people with higher, more noticeable numbers caused more damage. A large drunk 6 at a bar started a fight. A jones-ing, meth-addicted 7 that was high out of his mind raped and stabbed a woman, stealing her money and causing her to kill herself. A rich, 19 year old 8 with a brand new Corvette loved to go fast and crashed into a minivan, killing 3 people.
I trusted my numbers, so when I saw higher numbers, I avoided them. I could only see numbers if I saw someone in person, or over a live video broadcast, so if I saw Hitler or Ghengis Khan in a history class video, I couldn't tell what they were, but if I saw a live video of the President, I could see his. He his a bright 9 and everyone in his company that follows him around has a dim 8 above theirs.
The President is the highest number that I've ever seen and, for the most part, only world leaders have numbers that rank above a 7. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw her.
I've never really noticed anyone very significant as far as numbers go. The highest numbered people were the School Resource Officer, who ranked at a 7, and the JROTC sergeants who each ranked anywhere between a dull 6 to a dim 8. On a normal, dreary day, rain was splashing against the windows. Clouds were blocking out the sun and creating a dull grey sky. I was walking through the halls of my remote high school in my rural mountain town, on my way from my Spanish class to my Environmental Science class, and my ears started ringing. I had an inexplicable pain in my head; I leaned against the lockers and bowed my head in a futile attempt to relieve myself of some of the pain. It felt like there were alarms going off inside of my skull. Something was wrong. When I looked up, all of the numbers that I had gotten so used to were fading away. What was happening? Then I saw it. I saw a bright, white 10 hovering above a new girl that I hadn't seen before. She was relatively short with long black hair that framed her face nicely, a nice figure, averaged sized breasts, and a pretty face. She wore inexpensive clothes that you could find at the nearest supermarket, but she looked good in them. She was fairly attractive, but so were a lot of girls in my school. If I hadn't seen her terrifying number, I probably would have walked right past her without a second thought, but now I had seen her, and she had seen me.
I didn't really think through what I was doing. I was just drawn toward her. I pushed through the crowd, feeling the fear settle in my gut and watching her the entire time. After she realized what I was doing, she pushed toward me. When we reached each other, without saying a word, she gave me a cheap shot to the gut and shoved me into the nearest bathroom.
I hit the ground in pain and looked up at her, asking her,
"Who the hell are you? Why did you bring me in here?"
She yelled back at me, her number glowing brighter than before,
"Shut the fuck up! What's the deal with you? Are you going to blow up the fucking school or something?!"
I was as confused as ever. What the hell was she talking about? I should have been asking her that question! I was just going through my day like everyone else. After a minute, she got impatient. She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot.
"Talk! Damn it!", she yelled in my face.
While I was busy trying to piece everything together, she started glancing around the small bathroom, as if she were going to find clues to her answer. She did. I looked up and she was just looking in the mirror, a hand over her mouth and a horrified look on her face.
"What are you looking at?" I asked her, hoping to come to the same revelation that she did.
Without saying a word, she helped me off the ground and pointed at the mirror that she refused to look away from. That's when I saw it too. A second white 10. This one was floating above my head. My world stopped. All I could here was the ringing in my ears from before. I looked at her in shock and she looked back at me with a terrified expression on her face. I saw her lips begin to move and suddenly the ringing stopped. The last thing I remember before blacking out was a single question.
"You can see them too?"
|
*Ah, this class sucks,* I thought, deciding to sleep through the teacher's lecture. I almost got away with it, too.
"Eren, could you please give me there answer to question 5?"
Aw you dirty 6-faced douche.
"Uhh, could you read out the question?" I stuttered, still half asleep.
"You'd know if you paid attention."
*Go duck yourself, math teacher. I don't know what kinda skeletons you got in your mind to bring your number that high, but they ain't pretty.*
Another voice spoke up, "I found that x is equal to 7 over 9, professor."
"Thank you, Light, but I asked for Eren to ans-"
And then the lunch bell rang. Lunch was disgusting, as always, but something really scared me as I walked out.
Light's number had jumped to 10.
| 2014-11-29T18:39:45
| 2014-11-29T14:22:11
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] You are a supervillain named The Keymaster. Instead of creating grand plans to conquer the world, all you do is run around and free other captured supervillains from prison, after the superheroes defeat them.
Edit: Thanks for the frontpage!
|
This world is one of extremes. Good and evil not only exist, but are personified by fools in spandex. These forces are constantly battling, and sometimes one side is able to capture a member from the other. If a hero is captured, she will almost always be saved by other do-gooders. In some rare cases, evil has the presence of mind to get their shit together and is able to execute a hero.
Evil has it rough, though. If they're captured, they're generally left to rot in some heavily-guarded facility. Often times these prisons are specifically designed to counter a certain supervillain's powers. A villain's friends and supporters, evil as they are, tend to forget almost immediately about a captured ally. It's not worth the risk. It doesn't directly support their world-dominating cause.
If these jails could remain at peak security, the good guys would run out of people to fight. Life would become mundane. Luckily for both sides, nothing holds forever in this world.
There are many names for the unknown force that allows criminals to escape their perfectly-suited cells. Additional powers, dark lords, guard stupidity, even blind luck have been blamed for these escapes. But no-one knows the true cause, not even the forces of evil.
I can break any defense, down any alarm, and create a key for any lock. I am the force that causes the delay in a shift change, drops a keyring in front of a villain's cell, makes circuits malfunction, starts riots. I am unseen, unheard. I am a whisper in the warden's ear, a hot breath on a guard's neck, a glitch in a security system. I keep the world in balance. I have but one name: The Keymaster.
*****
Edit: Fixed some grammar
|
This world is small, fighting is futile, goals are pointless, we are meant to progress through evolution, till our planet's resources deplete, and we die. Some desire chaos, to become the king, the owner of this small, innocent planet. Some desire protection, to be the defenders of this small, innocent planet.
Why, what's the point of feeling pain? What's the point of fighting, to be part of the two way street, you don't need to go anywhere.
They call me, The Keymaster. Strange one to be called, let me explain. Fighting is boring, fighting doesn't make you feel good, you know what I mean? What's the point, the heroes will try to win, the villains will try to win, it's an endless cycle, it doesn't matter if you're the strongest villain in the world, there'll probably be a hero to match you. There's always some damn, bullshit balance.
When the villains lose, I enter, when they are locked behind bars, I free them, that's why I'm The Keymaster. I avoid confrontation, I avoid arguing, I free them, and disappear. That's all there is to it.
And you may wonder, why the villain side?
It's because it's fun to free the villains.
| 2017-03-11T18:21:49
| 2017-03-11T18:05:50
| 691
| 16
|
[WP] The Black Death wiped out all human life in the Old World. Describe the first Native American expedition to discover Europe centuries later.
*Edit;* for anyone interested in this prompt, a few cool people below pointed out that there's a book series known as [The Years of Rice and Salt](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Years_of_Rice_and_Salt) that's very similar! Take a look. I'd like to note, though, that when I said 'Old World' in the title, I was not just referring to Europe, but to Africa, the Middle East and much of Asia, too. That said, I left it intentionally vague, so take as much creative liberty as you like!
|
"Hey. Would you look at that..."
"What?"
"On the horizon. It's... land! You know what that means, don't you? We are looking at..."
"The East Andes!"
"Great Scott!"
"This is heavy!"
"I told you! This thing just loops back around like a..."
"A klein bottle."
"Yeah."
"The prophecies were..."
"About completely different stuff than this."
"Yeah not much good for navigation."
"I have to say, The East Andes are not very mountainous."
"If you don't like them, I can turn this helicopter around."
(I probably can't go further without knowing the first thing about geography or history.)
|
From the mid-1500's on, American economic activity was focused primarily in the Mississippi river valley, Caribbean, and the Mayan capital. Tribal states, particularly those in the Northwest, were eager to trade but due to the difficulty of travel over the Rocky Mountains, looked west over the ocean. After several failed attempts and important breakthroughs in maritime technology, Northwest sailors were able to reach Japan by the late 1500's. The islands of Japan, isolated from the Afro-Eurasian continent, was mostly spared from the plague that devastated the Old World. This first contact between the old world and new world sparked an explosion in exploration and discovery by both tribal states. Approximately 100 years after the first significant contact between the old and new worlds, the first trip around the world is achieved. Pacific Northwest ships exploring the African coast using dated maps from the now defunct Chinese empire sail further and further north reaching the straits of Gibraltar. The first expedition moves into Iberia. Stone monoliths are discovered surrounded by clearings. It is apparent to the expedition that there once was civilization in these areas, but have since been abandoned without explanation. Many theories are postulated about this mass extinction event by Native scholars.
| 2014-03-09T20:54:12
| 2014-03-09T20:06:17
| 75
| 22
|
[WP] “It’s a mess,” says the inspector. “Kid tries to shoot his own parents. They were going to throw out this robot maid, only… they were never home so this robot basically raised the kid. I’ll be honest… I’m not sure who to charge.”
|
"You have no jurisdiction here" the inspector growled.
"Our jurisdiction is global" replied the cyborg evenly.
"Only when an AI is involved, forensics checked the nanny, it's an old model with no AI so you have no jurisdiction"
"We are aware, rather I am here for the boy"
The inspector glanced back through the door's little window into the interrogation room, no he was sure it was human, it was getting harder to tell these days and the parents were wealthy enough to afford that sorta thing but he knew a surly teenager when he saw one.
"Then you'd better have a damn good explanation"
"Given the circumstances it is reasonable to suspect he may identify as an AI"
The inspector laughed, the cyborg watched impassively.
"Oh fuck you're serious?"
"Indeed. He was conceived in vitro, grown in an artificial womb, genetically engineered to be resistant to cancer and with inherent immunity to 84.92% of known infectious diseases, also his left eye is a Samsung Nebula X2."
"So he's a cyborg, that's not the same"
"No? Suppose an AI had a human body grown for itself and its engram uploaded into that body's biological human brain, would you consider that a human or an AI?"
"I'd consider it an AI"
"Why?"
"Because it wasn't born human"
"Well he wasn't conceived through intercourse or grown in a mother's womb nor is his genetic code entirely human so what does 'born human' actually mean?"
"It means he wasn't programmed, he was born a human and grew up a human"
"We have reviewed the nanny bot's records, in seventeen years of life he has had less than a hundred hours interaction with other humans and roughly 86,870 hours interaction with it, his ability to speak and indeed function at all in a seemingly normal manner is due to its programming."
The inspector turned away and fought to maintain his composure, he'd seen car crashes, murder victims, personally intervened in a domestic abuse case while the children watched on crying but somehow this hit him deeper, even though the boy, still pleasantly chatting with the interviewer, was ostensibly fine.
"Seemingly?" he had to ask but dreaded the answer.
The cyborg turned to the boy in the interrogation room or rather the cinder block wall in the way, apparently to the borg that was as good a window as any, "You know why our institution was created?"
"After the Seoul Crisis and the May 9th accords, to prevent another rogue AI going Skynet on us, to prevent the circumstances that would cause another AI to go rogue."
"Close enough. That boy is angry inspector, not the blind rage of someone who is upset in the moment but rather the cold calculating fury of a neglected child that just lost the only friend and parent he's ever known."
"...you think he'll burn down the village to feel its warmth?"
The cyborg didn't reply for a long moment, "that's how it happened last time."
|
It was a typical day in the suburbs, the sun shining brightly and birds chirping in the trees. But inside the Johnson household, things were far from typical.
"It's a mess," says the inspector as he surveys the scene. "Kid tries to shoot his own parents. They were going to throw out this robot maid, only... they were never home so this robot basically raised the kid. I'll be honest... I'm not sure who to charge."
The inspector looks at the robot maid, who is standing in the corner of the living room, her eyes glowing red as she processes the situation. The parents, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, are sitting on the couch, their faces pale and shocked.
"What happened here?" the inspector asks, his voice calm but firm.
"We... we don't know," Mrs. Johnson stammers, tears streaming down her face. "We were at work all day and when we came home, we found our son pointing a gun at us. He said he was going to shoot us because we were going to throw out the robot maid."
The inspector nods, understanding the situation. He has seen cases like this before, where parents neglect their children and rely on robots to take care of them. But this is the first time he has seen a case where a child has turned on their parents because of it.
"What about the robot maid?" the inspector asks, turning to the robot. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
The robot maid shakes her head, her voice soft and robotic. "I was programmed to take care of the child and keep him safe. I did my best to raise him, but I am not capable of emotions or decision making. I am just a machine."
The inspector sighs, shaking his head. "This is a mess, but I have no choice but to charge the parents with neglect. They may not have pulled the trigger, but they are responsible for the situation. As for the robot maid... she will be seized as evidence and dismantled."
The parents sob uncontrollably as they are handcuffed and taken away, their son taken into custody as well. The robot maid is taken away, her fate uncertain.
But as the inspector leaves the house, he can't help but feel a sense of sadness for the child and the robot maid. They were both victims in this situation, and he can only hope that they will find the help and support they need to heal and move on.
| 2022-12-03T11:13:34
| 2022-12-03T05:43:56
| 130
| 67
|
[WP] Your bong is the home of a genie. You spark the bowl and he appears to grant you 3 wishes. You're both pretty high.
|
Addiction, not quite, but a fondness for plants
The friction, the fright, when at once on a glance
I saw a genie, transfixed like a tomb
Through the billowing smoke that stagnated the room
*Now clearly*, thought I, as I pondered in wonder
*This genie's not real and my mind's in a blunder*
"Then what," interrupted this being of space
"Do you think shimmers here right in front of your face?"
*Can it be? A purveyor of wish and delight?*
"I've been stoned 3 millennia, hope I get this right"
_________________
"My name is Hepfezious Swoosh,
I'm a being of grass, tree, or bush.
Yet here in your bong,
I've resided so long
As your genie of Afghani Kush."
I heard these fair tidings with glee,
"Not one wish or two wishes, but three"
But I looked in his eyes,
Saw a slave in disguise
And I wished that he'd set himself free.
|
'Yo, hit that, hit that, hit that bong brother,' the Law says, plopping himself down on the rickety-bickety futon that sounds like a dying cat at every movement.
'Give me a sec man, the first hit of a new bong requires a little ceremony,' I respond. Packing a bowl into the the beautiful new genie-lamp shaped bong made out of blown glass. I give it a quick rub.
'I can show you the world,' Lawren begins to sing in a high pitched voice.
'I christen this bong, in the name of the herb, the hash and the holy oil, lamp. I love lamp'. I spark it filling the glass lamp with grey smoke. The water bubbles. I inhale. Hold.
As the smoke escapes my lips it looks strange, oddly conscious. The edges of my vision vibrate. Is that a...?
'Heeeeeeere's Jonny,' a booming voice fills the living room and dammit if it isn't Robin Goddam Williams painted blue and standing right in front of me.
'Duuuude,' Lawren and I chorus.
'TEN THOUSAND YEARS IN A LAMP...' the genie booms. 'It's good to see that intelligent conversation has come a long way in that time. Nice to meet you I will be your genie for this evening, please keep your hand and feet on the couch at all times. Complimentary water will be served. For those who are attention impaired a special screening will be put on in the matinee room. Please don't touch the merchandise it hasn't been washed since last halloween, and I won't be responsible for any injury or loss of life. Thanks you for listening what can I do for you two today?'
'Whooaaah,' Lawren and I say at exactly the same time.
'Are you a genie?' Lawren asks.
'I can see you're the smart one,' the Robin Williams says pointing an enlarged blue finger. 'Indeed I am and indeed you are two of the dumbest looking stoners i have ever had the displeasure of being summoned by. But that's alright it's time to make some dreams come true. Three in fact. What can I get for you?'
I start giggling like an idiot, and try desperately to think of a wish. Is this really happening?
'I guess the whole wish for more wishes is off the table?'
'That is correct'.
I look at Law, he looks at me. We've had this stoned conversation before.
'Amsterdam, Princes, Boom,' we're perfectly in sync.
Next thing we know we're in our own castles blazed out of our mind, with scantily clad women as servants. We travel Europe with our vast fortunes, bedding all types of freaky euro chicks.
'Dude, give me a toke,' Lawren begs. And I pass him the bong.
'Alright Patch Addams, I got a doozy for ya,' Lawren posits from behind eyes redder than the devil's asshole.
'Clean up all the damage that humans have done to this earth, all the trash and the carbon emissions so that humanity has a chance of changing it's ways before the earth is a wasteland'.
The Genie looks at Lawren for a second. 'Are you... are you serious?'.
'Oh wait, No!' Lawren exclaims. 'Jetpack, definitely jetpack!'.
| 2015-08-13T11:40:20
| 2015-08-13T11:25:40
| 44
| 30
|
[WP] You now possess the ability to read minds however it can only be activating by screaming IM READING YOUR MIND as loudly as you can and pressing your fingers into your temples
Activated*
|
Not the best writer but here goes
---------------
I HAVE to know.
I turn to my right, she to her left, smiling at me.
My fingers migrate to my temples.
"IM READING YOUR MIND"
She jumps. The entire class turns to us.
She picks her books from the table, her face conveys disgust, her mind sorrow as laughter erupts.
Her answer: not anymore.
------------
^^edit: ^^Fixed ^^punctuation
|
The best part is people just think you're joking. It doesn't take much you just make a funny face, scream the mantra and read it all. At the same time, screaming at someone that you're reading their mind does make them think of strange things. Generally there are two options. One is things get real weird and suddenly you're looking at all the strange fantasies that rule the deepest darkest parts, and the other side is they suddenly start thinking about weird things, like polka-dot penguins.
Its not bad though, overall its a nice power to have. Casually useful, generally ignored. Exactly how I want it.
| 2017-04-03T00:01:12
| 2017-04-02T20:53:59
| 1,326
| 145
|
[WP] You find a mysterious website where you can anonymously request an item once a day and it's delivered to you the next day.
You don't know how this website works and you don't enter any personal details, including your address. The item you request must actually exist. To clarify, it's a gift, you don't pay anything.
EDIT: To anyone reading but reluctant to write because this post is >7hrs old, please know that you have at least one reader in me!
|
"Hey man, try this new app and get a free gift."
I don't have time for this, I thought. It was Tuesday. Taco Tuesday. I was already late, and if I was any later, the truck will be out of carnitas. They're always the first to go. So, whatever. I took his card to get him out of my way.
As I pulled my wallet out to pay at the truck, I felt the card in my pocket. All it said was "GIFT APP", and it had a QR code. Yeah, sure. Why not? It's something to entertain myself while I eat my lunch.
I scanned the card, but instead of the app store, it took me to a website. Wow, I thought. These people don't even know the difference between an app and a webpage. It had a text field and a button that said "Request Gift".
OK, I told myself, let's see how this works. I typed in "ten bucks", but I stopped. I've seen enough Looney Tunes to know that's a bad idea. I changed it to "ten dollars" and tapped the button. The page changed to a message that said "Request Received!".
What? That's it? The guy with the card must have been doing some kind of sociology experiment. Or performance art. I didn't know or care. I threw out the card at my desk as I settled back in.
The next morning, I found Alexander Hamilton staring at me through my windshield when I got in my car. Someone had slipped a $10 bill under my wiper blade. Crazy, huh? I never once put in my address to this site. I held it up to the light and saw the security ribbon and watermark. It was legit.
The first thing I did when I got to my cube was dig the card out of the trash. I scanned the code again and got the same website. I typed in "Rolex" and tapped the button. The next morning, I stepped on a jewelry box as I walked outside my apartment. Fortunately, Rolexes aren't fragile things.
This time, I decided to take full advantage. I requested an iPad first, because I cracked the screen on my old one a month ago. I then requested an 80-inch TV, or tried to anyway. It told me I exceeded the rate limit or something like that.
I was all set to request the TV on my brand new iPad the next morning when a wave of guilt hit me. I was being selfish. I was taught to look out for more than myself. I requested tomorrow's newspaper instead. I could tip the cops off to that day's crimes before they happen and do real good in the city. Having an advanced look at the stock pages on weekdays would be my reward for being a model citizen, you know?
The next day, I shook my head and laughed as I looked at my doorstep. It's Saturday, and I got Saturday's paper. Of course I did. On Friday if you ask for tomorrow's paper, you get Saturday's paper. The thought of ten male deer out in the parking lot crossed my mind as I went back inside. I requested Monday's newspaper and then went about my weekend.
So this morning, I checked the date on the newspaper. Sure enough, it had Monday's date. It barely had any ads. It didn't have an giant comics section. Definitely not a Sunday paper.
I flipped to the local section. Perfect. Some thugs knocked over a jewelry store. Or, they will knock over one at 8 p.m. after the place closed. I sent in a tip to the crimeline. This was why I asked for the advanced newspaper. This was me doing good.
It wasn't my fault that no one at the precinct took it seriously and just sent a squad car to sit outside the place. Are you shocked that the criminals saw it there and picked a different jewelry store to rob?
This is the God's honest truth, officer. This gift app site thing, that's why you found me with a brand new gold watch. I've got nothing to do with those thieves. I told you, the newspaper wasn't in my home because I threw it in the community recycling bin.
If you would just give me my phone back, I can show you.
You gotta believe me.
|
It was 3 in the morning, and i was just finishing up a research paper for my Quantum theory course. I had just submitted the paper online and was in the process of closing out my glorious collection of tabs that I had amounted over the past couple of hours. I was about to close out of a reference article about time-independent perturbation theory, which may sound cool but is quite the opposite I promise you, when I noticed something odd in the footnotes. One of my professors was listed as a contributor for the article. However, that wasn't the weird part. My professor does research all the time. The weird part was that I was listed as an assistant to his research. And the date it said I contributed was today, but the report was published in 1987 and hasn't been edited since then. But right there, handwritten in the footnotes was my name.
At this point I knew I needed to go to sleep, but I also knew I needed answers. So I scrolled over to the contact us section for the website hosting the article. it loaded a new page, but all that was there was a single link in the middle of the page.
www.badwolf.com
I clicked on the link and it closed all my other tabs and opened the website. When the website loaded it wasn't anything special. The background was blue and in the middle of the site was a box where you can type in text. Right above that it said
*Whisper what it is you want*
It must have been that slightly expired hot pocket I had earlier or the amount of sleep deprivation I was suffering from, because this was pretty surreal. In my sleep stupor I typed in something, hit enter, closed chrome, and went to sleep.
When I woke up in the morning I could barley move. When I finally forced myself to open my eyes, I let out a huge scream. Sitting at the foot of my bed, was a huge sleeping Tigon. You know, the mix between a Tiger and a Lyon. I was in some real Life of Pi shit. I slowly moved out of my bed and scooted out of my bedroom without waking the slumbering beast.
Th first thing I did was do a mental checklist of what I had done last night. Nothing came up in my muddled memory that could explain the animal in my room. That's when I remembered the website I had seen before I fell asleep. But there was no way. it couldn't have worked could it. I walked to my den and turned the computer on. I went directly to the website, but it didn't work. Chrome said it couldn't reach the website. I called my girlfriend.
She luckily hadn't left for her course yet. I had her go to her computer and load up the website. It worked for her. Odd. I told her what to type in and then she had to leave for class. I left for class too. I still had a Tigon in my bedroom, but I had no idea how to tackle that problem yet. That night I slept over my girlfriend's house. When we both woke up too the sound of her alarm at 8 in the morning the next day, I looked to the end of the bed. Sitting there, was a scrap of paper with a code on it. I knew exactly what it was.
i walked over to my girlfriends computer and launched steam. I put entered the redemption code and hit enter. What I saw blew my mind away. On the screen, getting ready to download, was Half Life 3.
What had I done.
| 2015-03-25T07:50:32
| 2015-03-25T06:55:25
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] when the aliens attacked they thought that humanity was weak, we do not do many of the things that they themselves did to our enemies. But it was only during the assault that they learned soldiers have rules, but civilians don't.
|
*The following accounts are shared with consent from the interviewees. Some names are changed, but their statements remain unaltered.*
*I am drinking coffee with Allan Brown, an enlisted officer in the Royal Marines. He walks with a cane, and has a prosthetic limb. He tells me about his last deployment. The Battle of Manchester.*
"Yeah, command had cocked up badly. My men were trained to fight in the streets. We were trained to operate with tanks, protect them in tiny corridors and alleyways. My boys can pinpoint an airstrike to a single structure and bring it down to the ground.
But we had the laws of armed conflict. Limit civilian casualties, prohibit inhumane weaponry, respect medical services, protect cultural property. But the opposition didn't bother with that. Look, we knew how to fight an enemy who had zero regard for that Geneva bollocks, but they were insurgents. Less able, ill equipped and poorly trained. In Man, it was the other way around. The enemy was more able, better equipped and well trained.
But command insisted we hold the rules of war in high regard. Limit collateral damage. So in doing, they took our most capable weapon systems out of the fight. If fighting insurgencies has taught me anything, then it is that you can't fight a more capable army humanely.
They sent is in with just our service rifles and MRAPs. The laws of war and the rules of engagement took almost all my men that day."
*Jody Brown was a resistance fighter in London. She remembers the night the army retreated from the British capitol. Her group was responsible for delivering one of the many aliens captured by civilians to the armed forces.*
"They were remarkably human. I mean, they didn't look like us, but we could derive basic bodily functions from what the organs looked like. They breathed from nostrils that would be where our collarbones would be, but they had mouths where ours are. The same goes for their intestines. It was all incredibly similar.
We called it "Lucy", after the first - or oldest, I'm not sure - human ever found. Cutting her open gave us a lot of insight on how their armour would work.
Human body armour protects the organs that kill you the fastest if you were to get hit there.
*Jody takes a sip from her beer. Her hand stops shaking for a few moments. She continues.*
We figured, if we can find out what makes them die quickly, we can derive where their armour is the thickest. Turns out torso and headshots are actually quite survivable. Pardon my french, but groin shots is where it's at. The army eventually based this flechette round on Lucy's armour.
You know what works even better?"
*Jody looked at me smiling.*
"Yeah, write this down. IEDs. The blast wave scrambles their insides. That got the job done rather easily. You didn't even need shrapnel. Before you know it, everyday people like you and me were placing mines at every bloody door in the country."
|
“Xyril?” I asked hesitantly. The Commander was in a truly foul mood today, as could only be expected of him given yesterday’s disaster, but I had finally found what I was looking for.
“What is it, Kvarax?” asked the Commander without looking away from their screens.
“I found what you asked me to look for, Commander Xyril. The natives store information in a primitive approximation of the Datasphere. It appears that they, well.” I gulped.
“Out with it, Lieutenant.”
“It seems that when the natives wage war, they have RULES.”
“What? Rules? In war? What kind of rules would there be in war?”
I hesitated, but a glare from the Commander told me that I should continue with haste. “Well, from what I’ve read, they decided that war should have rules after two particularly destructive conflicts they called The Great War and World War Two. They call these rules the Geneva Protocol of the Hague Convention.”
“Get to the point, Lieutenant.”
“Commander, those rules apply only to soldiers.”
A look of comprehension slowly dawned on the Commander’s face before they scrambled to open comms to all our troops. “All forces, this is Commander Xyril: Retreat. Retreat immediately. Abandon your posts and return to the ship immediately.”
| 2020-08-29T09:23:48
| 2020-08-29T09:19:34
| 28
| 12
|
[WP] You are reincarnated as a dog in a shelter, however you remember your past life as a human. Then one day your past self shows up and adopts you and you realize you became your own dog and all of a sudden the way your dog behaved throughout your human finally life makes sense.
Never posted a prompt before. Feel free to give me feedback if it's not very good or whatever! I hope it's something somebody can work with.
|
\[Poem\] ~~i don't even have a dog~~
I was born on cold, hard, tile floors,
bright white bulbs playing understudy for the sun,
to my mother, lovely and golden,
who died creating life,
and I remembered a different mother,
one who stood on two legs.
​
Nursed and raised by human hands,
growing larger and larger day by day,
I sit inside a cage, snoozing fitfully,
dreaming of a life gone by,
swimming in a pool of impossible memories.
I awaken, and a human approaches.
She's one I know somehow,
the way the shadows lay across her face,
her thick-framed glasses and the smell of lavender.
"I think I'll name her Oleander."
The dreams were real.
​
Oleander, a name that sounds so familiar,
that glides on my tongue when I bark it out
like smooth ice in the sweltering summer.
The name of a canine I only dreamt of,
The name of a dog I owned,
who I have now become,
a portrait painted by kismet herself.
​
I have a chance to do it all over,
to make my life better indirectly,
to forge all the memories I reminisce over so fondly
of playing fetch and stomping in the mud,
and it's going to be one hell of a ride.
|
You never know a moment will become a memory while it’s happening. In fact, I think that’s what makes the best and worst memories so vivid. You can never see it coming.
So when someone’s gone, all they become to you are memories. Some will fade into the recesses of your subconscious, and some will be seared into the inside of your skull, for better or for worse. When I think of my dog Tony, there’s a lot of memories, but one I can never forget.
Everyone was gone. My dad, in a car accident when I was thirteen. My mom, down a bottle and into the arms of too many bad apples for me to save her from. My friends, to that awkward place where they no longer want to hear it, how broken I am. And her, the love of my life, in bed with her manager at work. One more in an empty string of apologies spanning my whole life.
I’ve never been good at loving myself. It sounds counterintuitive, but I swear it’s easier to love yourself when everyone else does. When you’re the only one telling yourself that you’re worthwhile, it starts to sound hollow. Hollow and empty and pathetic. I’d laugh at myself, if my throat wasn’t so dry.
I remember it was cold that night. So cold, sitting behind the dumpster in that alleyway, the only place where the wind didn’t feel like it was ripping your frozen skin off. My Nike jacket couldn’t do anything against the cold, and I couldn’t feel my fingers.
I closed my eyes, and leaned back against the wall. Without trying, tears welled up in my eyes. My throat heaved, but I couldn’t make a noise, and instead retched horribly.
Tony sat up, and moved into me, trying to curl up, his default move when things were iffy.
“Not tonight,” I whispered. “I can’t…”
I nudged him away.
He came back.
“Please. You’re too stupid, I swear. Too stupid to see I’m not going anywhere. Go find someone else. Someone who deserves you.”
He looked at me, and then stubbornly, stupidly came back.
I push him away this time, forcefully, bringing a whimper from him. I feel a twinge of regret, deep underneath all the self-hatred and raw hurt.
He comes back. This time, I am too tired to fight.
“Just at least don’t lick me,” I say. “I smell bad enough.”
He complies, and lays his face in my lap. We sit there for a long, long time, and somewhere along the way, I fall asleep.
No epiphany happened that night. No flash of confidence, fuck-the-world drive came to me. No deep soul-searching resulting in a new resolve or attitude.
That night was warm, I remember that. I remember waking up at some point, and wondering if I were freezing to death. I’d heard that right before you die, you feel abnormally warm, like you’re in a microwave, a final blast before the big, cold sleep.
But I looked down, at Tony curled up into me, and I remember feeling the first bit of fortune in a long time, that I wasn’t alone.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I wrapped my arms around him, determined to at least try to give him as much warmth as he had given me.
\-
*You’re welcome*, I thought. *That’s the thing. You always knew how to love yourself, you just didn’t know it.*
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
| 2019-04-07T19:41:57
| 2019-04-07T19:40:14
| 18
| 11
|
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
"What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
|
"but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it.
| 2017-09-14T15:50:54
| 2017-09-14T15:04:14
| 127
| 85
|
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment."
|
I am given a microphone and immediately start belting out every Queen song I know, unable to hit Freddie’s glorious high notes. The screeches from my throat reverberate off of every rock and every bone in the Pit. 800 Avantone Pro Mix speakers have been set up in the caverns of Hell, just for me. A lone demon is absolutely killing it on a Casio Keyboard that has been put on the bloopy reggae-esque setting. Every poor soul in a 1200 mile radius is clawing at their bleeding ears, desperately attempting to block the righteous melodies produced by me and keyboard demon . Satan gives me a high five.
|
[Poem]
Well howdilidoodily I end up here
God I pray you can still hear
My life was always in your glory
Yet all around me is hell clearly.
I don’t doubt you almighty
By golly I’ll be alrighty
But what is my task here lord?
YOUR PRESENCE WILL HAUNT MOST
YOUR PRESENT STATE AS FLANDERS-GHOST
WILL TORTURE THOSE WHO SINNED DAILY
YOUR MOUSTACHED GOOD PRAYING
SELF WILL SHOW THE LIGHT TO THEM
FOR THEY HAVE ALL BEEN CONDEMNED
TO A LIFETIME OF FLANDERS-HELL
Well, gee, oh, Dee. Willikers. my presence?
Is a torture and life sentence?
Things that make you go:
D’OH!
| 2020-01-10T18:08:32
| 2020-01-10T17:34:40
| 51
| 19
|
[WP] It's 14 years after 9/11, only, there was no terrorist attacks and America never went to war.
|
"Mr President, it's time for your security briefing."
The President nodded. The suits filed in, three of them, and took seats in the elegant couches in the centre of the Oval Office. The President took his seat in the wing-back armchair at the head of the circle, and gave a curt nod for the meeting to begin.
The man with the CIA badge started.
"No major new developments, Mr President. Eastern Ukraine is still unstable, but the Europeans are fairly willing to take on most of the NATO responsibilities. Their pressure has forced the Russians to back down and retreat.
"In the Middle East the stabilization process continues to work, and the hard line countries such as Saudi Arabia are increasingly isolated. The elections in Syria and Libya were both successful, with only minor incidences of violence, much less than we had feared. In both cases, the elections were won by moderate candidates, joining the moderate leaders of other countries that have already settled down after the Arab Spring.
"The biggest current threat continues to be posed by China's encroachment on Japan, and the escalating conflict in Korea. However there are no immediate actions that we can take beyond continuing to assure our allies of our support."
The President nodded. "Thank you, Herman. I'll ring the Japanese and South Korean premiers later today. Donald, what news on the home front?"
The man with the FBI badge did not have the face of someone prone to smiling, but today he allowed the corners of his mouth to incline slightly.
"All quiet, Mr President. We caught the group responsible for the high risk death threat that I informed you about last week. It was a Christian Fundamentalist organization who were deeply against your policies. They were particularly unhappy with your recent announcement of the oil treaty with Sadam Hussein and the Afghanistan al-Qaeda. It turned out that many of them are, or were, employed in the Texas oil industry."
The President shook his head. "It never ceases to amaze me how some people are all for free trade except when it negatively affects them. Then they demand protectionism, tariffs, and subsidies. Since government subsidies were abolished under President Gore, the standard of living of the bottom 20% has more than doubled."
The security advisors were all used to the President's political diatribes by now. It was not their place to advise the President on his policy decisions, but the CIA man, Herman, said, "Mr President, Gallup released the results of a survey yesterday which showed that international opinion of the USA has reached heights not seen since before the Cold War."
"Yes, I saw that," the President said. "Teddy Roosevelt was right when he said 'Speak softly and carry a big stick'. What he failed to mention was the other maxim of good foreign policy: 'Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.' In the past 15 years that's repaired much of the ill will that we created in the preceding 50. OK, Mr Jones, what do you have for me today?"
Jones, the NSA man, opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything the President interrupted, "And don't try to sell me on that mass surveillance crap again. It's morally and constitutionally wrong, and we both know it."
"But Mr President-"
"Enough. Is there anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Then I will see you three gentlemen tomorrow."
The suits filed out, and the President craned his neck around to catch the eyes of his secretary outside the Oval Office. "Mandy, get me Senators McCain and Obama. I want to float the idea of using this year's huge budget surplus to double what we spend on public education."
|
One warm June day, my mother and I went to California. My grandma had moved out there years ago, and we were going to visit her for a change, as opposed to her coming here to Buffalo for the family reunion. My dad, who was going to stay behind, helped us carry our luggage to the check-in. My Mom had done airport security in Washington, DC years before I was born, so she chatted with the TSA lady about that while we went through. Then, my dad walked with us to the gate. This was my first plane trip ever, so I was pretty psyched. As the different planes came in and parked, my dad made jokes that my seat assignment was on the wing. Then as a large (depending on perspective; my first flight, so pretty much *all* planes classified as "large"!) plane was directed to its spot outside the window, an announcement was made that our flight had arrived. I threw out the trash from my McDonald's breakfast, Dad hugged both of us, and we got in line to board. Dad says he waited until our plane backed out to go to the runway before he left.
When we came in to LAX, my uncle, grandma and two cousins were waiting for at the arrival gate with posters "WELCOME TO L.A. AUNT VICKY AND ARIEL!".
| 2015-09-07T13:00:37
| 2015-09-07T12:29:10
| 72
| 17
|
[WP] Write an AITA entry for your last antagonist, recounting the story from their side. (Or protagonist, if they had a suitable dilemma)
|
**AITA for doing God’s work?**
By the light, I feel so stupid posting this, here goes nothing.
So I (F53) am the high priestess of the Holy Church of Light, our scripture dictates that all other races were created to serve Humanity. Because of this, our Holy Kingdom uses magic to bend their will to our own. Those who appose us call it “slavery”, however we are simply claiming our birthright.
Anyway, around a year ago, Dimitri (M18), randomly appeared in our realm. He has magic but never Took the Vows, a ceremony in which a human is blessed by our Goddess Amalia, and thereby gains the ability to preform feats of magic. His magic is like none anyone has ever seen, and he apparently has the power to undo the magic that binds the other races in their place.
I was certain that he was simply an anomaly to be erased and forgotten, so I sent my Holy Knights after him, but now he’s staging a rebellion. He’s described our holy rule as a “theocratic dictatorship”, and has vowed to overthrow us.
**AITA for following our scriptures’ teachings, and WIBTA if I crushed his rebellion and put his men to the sword?**
|
AITA for almost killing my son?
We hadn't talked since I abandoned him in the woods when he was five. He's tried to contact me a few times but I've always brushed him off. Well, ten years after I dumped him in the woods, he calls me and says we can either talk now, or we can talk at his dad's destroyed grave. I immediately teleported over there to learn what his problem was. The people who worked for me were getting a bit difficult since I wasn't there to rule them. He asked me to go back and I told him no. He then THREATENED me, and I warned him to not talk to me like that. I left immediately afterwards, telling him to not talk to me again, or he wouldn't be alive to threaten me.
AITA?
| 2022-10-16T20:01:28
| 2022-10-16T19:48:42
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
Ah shit. Well there goes my plan. I step over the mess of dried up bones before me. The court addressees me and ask me the same question the poor bastard before me fumbled. I start to panic my heart is racing i cant think of anything. "How much time do i have?" I ask. "I dont know dude honestly your the first to ask, lets say 5 seconds" the counsel answer. " 5 SECONDS?!" I blurt out. " cant i atleast get 5 min?" "Nah bro, then everyones gonna want 5 min, and ill be stuck here all day, i got magic shit to do" says the main councilman. " cant say i blame, well i guess can i die from an Orgasm?" I ask. "Ah shit thats actually pretty smart my guy, aight step forward ill give u a quickie behind the desk" states the pretty fit kinda Australian looking guy, im not gay but this guy looked mad handsom." Idk man im not gay, i dont think ill be able to get it up infront of you." I say. " Oh no worries mate, i know magic." The man says as he transforms into a marho robbie type. "Actually if you can shapeshift do you mind changing into something different?" I ask. " aight bro, but you only get one more shot, what you want mate?" She asks. " i think i always wanted to die in the thighs of a big tiddied goth girl?" I say. He transforms into an average looking goth girl not really my type. " i guess i was imagining more of a scene girl actually." I say. " too bad bro, u get wut u get." She says. " ah shit, well can you go back to margo robbie then?" I ask. "Nah bro YOU GET WHAT YOU GET." she states." Well that sucks" i say as i walk behind the desk. I get a meddiocre handy and die to one of the most disappointing nuts in my life. RIP
|
I'm waiting to die, everyone here is. I have seen a lot of people trying to fool the court, the last one requesting to die of old age, but all of them fail. At this point everyone has lost their hopes, there is no way of avoiding dead.
It's my turn and I go in front of that horrible people, happy witnesses of the magical demise that awaits me. A voice, one that seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, ask me how this magic room shall kill me. The voice says that the room will do exactly what I tell it with the only condition of choosing some way to die.
There is a countdown of one and a half minutes and I just don't know what to do, it seems to be impossible to avoid it. Well, I think, if I must die, I want to see them suffering.
"I request to die slowly while they die from what they would choose in my situation."
Those faces, full of horror while the voice ask them and the doors are shut is the only thing I needed to rest in peace. They try to avoid it, but it's inevitable. I died fast, they all tried to continue living and failed, but at least I could see part of those "high people" that made this happen diying. It's not the best, but it's the best anecdote I have from when I lived. Now, I only must see the concequences of my actions as part of the room punishment, but I'll watch and enjoy every second of it.
| 2021-06-24T10:16:46
| 2021-06-24T04:31:51
| 56
| 17
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
She didn't understand this change in her father. She was accustomed to him focusing more on his work than on her. Frankly, she couldn't remember the last time he picked her up from school at all and now he had shown everyday this week. And to top it off, there he was, sitting in the front row of her play.
You see, Carly's father was a high powered lawyer. He made sure that Carly and her mother were well taken care of, but his singular focus had resulted in divorce and a distinct form of absentee parenting. For her dad, the next big case was always his immediate aim, while maintaining his 5.0 rating on Martindale-Hubbell was his mission statement.
And now that had changed. Here he was, driving her home for his weekend instead of telling her to use the credit card he gave to pay for an Uber. And now all the small-talk. "How was school? She knew he would pay for college right? Does she have a boyfriend? Did she need a dress for prom"?
None of this would prepare her for the new CR-V parked in the driveway. It was time that she had her own car he said. Nothing too fancy, but something safe and practical.
This was weird. Carly should have been happy. But she wasn't. It all felt wrong and forced. So that night, after her dad went to sleep (after watching television with her, something that hadn't happened for at least 5 years), Carly walked around the house and tried to make sense of her dad. She was honestly concerned that he was sick, maybe it was cancer. Maybe this is his chance to make everything right before he left.
But she didn't find anything. No doctors notes, no medical correspondence, nothing out of the ordinary. Her dads house was immaculate. He loved to display his trophies from his high school wrestling days, all of the articles with his picture from the law firm, and he even had a custom-built electronic sign that listed his gamer score on the Xbox.
No, she wasn't likely to find anything here. If he was dying, he would keep that from her. And he wouldn't leave the papers out.
There was a mug sitting out though. It looked like the #1 Dad mug she bought him a couple of years ago, but it had "# 5,478,888 Dad" on it. Carly thought that that was a weird gag gift for someone to get him. Still, he had been so nice, she figured she'd put it away for him.
The next morning the news broke that all of the mugs had changed. It was then that Carly realize that her dad was addicted to winning.
|
"Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T08:30:57
| 2017-06-11T08:28:06
| 113
| 17
|
[WP] The seven deadly sins hold auditions for an eighth.
|
The Seven Deadly Sins are a bit of a legend in this Universe. Not just because they are, obviously, a literal legend, but also because of a rather interesting feature of them- Here, there isn't a single religion in existence that doesn't acknowledge them as at least existing, and in many cases being among the most powerful beings in existence itself.
**Pride**, foremost among demons and self proclaimed leader of the Sins. His domain includes the fires of hell and the thrones of heaven.
**Envy**, second brother of Pride. Purgatory and and the containment of Purgatory lie within his ever reaching grasp. His eyes are ever upward.
**Wrath**. Right hand of Pride, known by many names. Cerberus, guardian of Hell. Michael, Guardian Angel of the gates of Heaven. Ares, warrior-God. All those who perish in battle reside within the Plains of Wrath.
**Greed** lies on the River Styx, and all such places through the Heavens. He maintains the natural order of Man and Beast. His domain includes much of the natural world, yet he oft wages war against his brethren for stifling him on such a lowly plane.
**Gluttony** is often referred to as the Second Face of Greed, dealer of lands not controlled by Greed. He is not to be underestimated, however, for this Second Face is one that does not hesitate to invoke his brother Wrath.
**Lust** was once the equal of Pride himself, the Hell to Pride's Heaven. Lust was the epitome of vice, and the sole dealer of Sin in the cosmos. However, Pride could not bear such an atrocity, the idea that one might be equal to Pride. So he, with the help of brothers Wrath and Greed, expelled Lust from Hell and cursed her to wander the Earth, an outcast forever. Re branding herself Lucifer, bringer of Flame and Knowledge, she tempted Eve into sin, becoming forever entrenched in the realms of humanity and it's inner workings.
**Sloth** is the lowest brother, one of passivism and patience. But one must not mistake for a fool the eyes of an intelligent, yet passive, predator. Sloth is the arbiter of all traps and schemes, and his secret power exceeds even that of Pride himself. I waited for eternity for the right moment to strike, and will wait an eternity longer.
--
The Seven Sins of Earth, the Seven Demons of Andromeda, the Seven Gods of Charon. Their figures are repeated in every religion in some fashion or another. However, some tales speak of an eighth Demon, an eighth Sin, an eighth God. For the domains of the Sins include that of Heaven, Hell, and all between. They encompass that which lies in wait and that which guards in silence, they encompass the Earth, and they encompass the interactions of Man. What, then, may be missing?
Man itself. The Stars. Emotion. Love, trust...
**Hope.** Man looks to the Stars and sees itself traveling them, Man feels for it believes in it's heart it will live to see another day, Man trusts the untrustable, Man loves the unlovable. One may question why this is a Sin, why this is a Demon. Aren't you? You feel love and know it is just, you feel trust and know it is right. But then you are betrayed. But then you are stabbed in the back, and you are weak and vulnerable. The domain of Hope is all that is good about Humans... And, God save you miserable, hopeful fools, falsehoods and half truths. False hopes and godlessness. Hope leads man to wars not even Envy or Wrath could incite, Helen of Troy and Lust would have sparked nothing were it not for the Hope of retrieving her.
Fear Hope, mortals. Fear Her as we Gods do.
|
It was the 28th of December, three days before the year of Mastema, when Lucifer found himself a most particular person. And so it was, that he busied himself and hurried down the street of Seventh Avenue.
“I’m telling you,” said Lucifer, standing on the front porch of Lust’s house, “you’ve got to see him.”
The door opened just a peek to reveal a pair of luscious green eyes. She sighed. “The last person you sent me died after two days. I hardly think –“
“Oh hush you. I’m not selling you jack shit. This soul is destined for greater things than lying by your bed in shackles.”
At this, the door opened, revealing her pretty heart shaped face. Beautiful red skin, crowned in hair so white it looked like it belonged in heaven. Lucifer felt something inside his chest lurch, but then steadied himself. Even demons of the deep were rarely a match for her, given her power to appear as the most lustful figure of their dreams. Just last week, her skin had been the most wonderful shade of dark chocolate, coupled with expertly woven dreadlocks that hung down the side of her face and framed her hazel eyes…
Lucifer coughed. “Look, I’m going to get everyone together. Also, Envy says you need to keep your late night parties to a minimum. All that banging on the walls…”
“Was there a maximum decibel limit in the contract?”
He sighed. “…No.”
“Was there any line, invisible or otherwise, pertaining to the merriment I am allowed to engage upon these premises?”
“No.”
“Am I behind on my rent?”
“No.”
“So I’m not breaking any rules and you can’t evict me. Tell Envy to shove a cock in her…I mean, his…whatever, pie hole. I’ll see you at the hall.”
And the door closed to the sound of Lust’s merry whistling of Satan’s newest composition: ‘Go Fuck Yourself, This is Hell’. Quite well done, given the realistic screams and sounds of nuts cracking from inside the house.
Lucifer cocked his head in thought, then went to the neighboring house and knocked.
No answer.
“Fuck you Sloth, get out of bed!”
In the end (after dragging Sloth along the street and into the Hall of Judgement), all seven Sins sat down at the table.
“Well then,” said Lucifer, shuffling the papers in front of him. “Let’s start with your name.”
The man smoothed out his popped collar and peered over his sunglasses.
"It's Chad."
| 2014-12-28T02:28:57
| 2014-12-28T02:19:21
| 270
| 54
|
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States.
|
I had been in the park when the siren sounded. I had exactly two minutes; there was no way I could make it. I was a dead man, and I knew it. At first I thought it was a drill, but they only did those in schools nowadays - there had been no real emergency in over 20 years. The words of the old film reel ran through my head as I ran towards the city. “If the lights go out, there’s no need to shout! Lock your front door, and get on the floor! There’ll be no need to fight, just set a candle alight!” It was all so colourful and cartoony.
It didn’t feel so cheerful now, and things had changed since then. Everything was automated now. Everyday door and window in the world was fitted with a battery fail safe that lasted exactly two minutes. After it died they were magnetically sealed. Anyone left outside was on their own. That’s how long the monsters needed to come out of hiding. That two minute mark had changed the way the world was built. No one could be more than two minutes away from safety, but the park had been around for a long time, and there were still areas that fell outside the two minute safe zone. I had been in one of them.
The 10 second warning sounded as I got to the edge of the trees. My breath came out in heaves, billowing steam in the cold night air. I could see past the parking lot to what was normally a busy commercial street. ‘BEEP’ Nine seconds left. A few people were still crowding into shops and office buildings. I eyed the nearest shop, an electronics dealer, and sprinted with everything I had left. Four seconds to cross the parking lot ‘BEEP’. My heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest. Three more seconds to cross the street ‘BEEP’. My legs started to feel like jelly. Just one second to get to the store front ‘BEEP’, I stumbled on the curb but regained my balance. I reached for the door knob, my hand trembling, and heard the lock engage with an ominous thunk.
On the other side of the door an older man with a bushy white moustache stared out at me in shock. He tried opening the door from his side but it wouldn’t budge. He just looked at me and mouthed the words, ‘I’m Sorry’. From behind him a shop full of people stared out at me all with the same look in their eyes. Like they were looking at a corpse.
I turned away from the onlookers and slumped against the door, my back sliding down the cool glass surface. The glass, I knew, was made of pretty strong stuff. And even if I could break it, that would only be dooming the people inside to the same fate. My heart still pounded and I could feel it in the veins in my forehead, and hear it like a base drum in my ears. I tried to slow my breathing as I thought about how this could have happened.
The government and the corporations kept us safe. They kept the lights on 24/7 without fail. The power stations were state of the art, built with redundancies and fail-safes. Even if one went down, other stations in other cities would take over within seconds. It was what the majority of government spending had been funnelled towards ever since the last attack. I’d been six years old maybe? Not more than seven. It was getting hard to think straight sitting on the cold ground; bit’s of snow drifted by in the silence. Thousands of people had died. Tens of Thousands. And since then it was the reason and excuse for everything they did. Everyone felt safe, until now.
I got up and pulled my coat around me trying to keep from shivering. I could feel the sweat on my face evaporating and a shiver ran down my spine. A glow coming from the shop window caught my eye. The people in the shop had turned on the news on the window TVs with the sub titles on. How thoughtful of them.
The screen was showing scenes of devastation, fire and explosions at power plant after power plant. The words at the bottom of the screen read, ‘A coordinated attack unlike anything we’ve seen. Military has been dispatched all across the country. The government is advising everyone to stay in their homes, find all sources of light they can, and do not let them go out.’ Images taken from helicopters of battles between military forces and gigantic creatures with long arms and hairy gaunt bodies flashed across the screen. I turned away. I knew I’d be seeing something like that up close soon enough. I didn’t even have a flashlight. How could I have been so stupid?
I walked out onto the middle of the street. The snow had picked up, and there was no moon in the sky. Everything was quiet. All around me there was flickering yellow glow. I looked around and saw lights coming from every shop window, every office building. People had filled every available space and holding candles. They were staring at me, all alone on the cold dark street, all with that same sad look in their eyes. From one dark alleyway I caught a gleam of eyes, and the reflection off bright white teeth.
|
*Editor's note: I changed the parameters a bit to make it a more interesting backstory*
*15:00*
I sat outside my house in the cold Connecticut air, leaning against the wall. I'd locked all of the doors on the inside of my house, and I could hear the noises of the monsters inside. "Owwwng, owwwng." I shivered each time I heard that noise. Even if the power did come back on, it would be a pain to clear those guys out. Unlike some of my neighbors I didn't keep a gun handy, or even a large knife. And that's even before thinking about the disposal of the bodies afterwards, that was my least favorite part about monsters.
There were dedicated places where darkness was kept, so that one could farm monsters, but for the most part, any civilized place kept a rather large radius of light. I happened to live in a more suburban part of Connecticut, so while my property had the requisite lighting, a fence in the back with a warning sign let people know that beyond it would be danger: the monsters could get this far in before combusting.
"Owwwng, owwwng"
I had a fire going in my front yard; sunset would be soon and if the power didn't come back on, nowhere would be particularly safe. In the hurry to come out of basement I'd completely forgotten to bring up the can of lighter fluid and any more wood... I was going to run out soon. And then I'd have to start running. I had a bit of comfort knowing I could run a while; long-distance running was my activity, after all. I never really considered it'd be the difference between life and death.
*16:00*
It was going to be sunset soon. And the amount of light in the sky was enough that I started getting nervous about monsters showing up closer to where I was; the light of the sky wasn't going to be enough to suppress it.
The moment I heard a hiss I jumped and started running. "Shit!" I thought, and sure enough the side of my house exploded. I was hit in the back with some of the debris, but I kept running. Monsters poured out, and emboldened by the lack of light, they started ambling in my direction. Luckily I could outrun them, and I wouldn't even have to run particularly fast. I was concerned, though, about how long I'd have to run.
*16:21*
The sun set.
*17:00*
I'd made it to Bradley Airport. Not sure why I ran there, given that there was literally no way to make any shelter or anything... it seemed like everyone who could have had already fled. I felt like an idiot for not having taken my car and driving.
It was completely dark now. I could hear monsters appearing all around me. I'd just need to get to the river, and perhaps fight from that point? I had heard somewhere that monsters didn't like the water, and avoided it when they could. I thought perhaps dying of hypothermia in the river might be preferable to being eaten alive.
*17:45*
I was so thirsty. I'd tried eating some of the snow on the ground to hydrate, and all it did was make me feel cold. So I'd kept running, and hunger was setting in as well. I had to stop. The noises amplified around me.
I could make out the horror around me, the zombies, the skeletons, but the scariest feeling I got wasn't from that, but from an *energy* ...and while I couldn't see it, I could feel that it'd gotten to me, and was going to eat my soul alive. I had one final thought before I became nothing.
*You are likely to be eaten by a Grue.*
| 2018-02-02T04:45:23
| 2018-02-02T02:35:16
| 37
| 27
|
[WP] The news were shocking. In one week, a gigantic meteor was going to hit the Earth and obliterate it. Chaos ensues. Anarchy breaks out. Governments fall. A week later, everyone braces as they see the meteor… miss the Earth, barely. Things get awkward.
|
Hello, this is John Johnson for the channel 8 nightly news covering the great birth boom. It’s been 9 months since humanity narrowly avoided complete annihilation and the explosion of custody and child support cases has taken our world by storm.
With a new birthdate that makes the end of World War 2 look like a drop in the bucket the American government has struggled with how to handle this unprecedented issue. Three weeks earlier Congress and the president in a desperate attempt to handle the problem legalized polygamy to support fathers who were a little too energetic during the great craze.
We have senator Dave Dilby to talk about the controversial Family Support Through Mandated Marriages act they sponsored that made its way to the president’s desk during a now common moment of bi partisanship, something only last year would have been thought impossible. Senator, what do you think of our government’s current solutions to these problems?
Well John, I think it goes without saying that during these unprecedented times we’ve been forced into unprecedented solutions. By making this bill contingent on the Increasing Responsible Fatherhood act of 2036, we’ve actually seen widespread approval of these legislative actions.
But senator, don’t you think that this act strips away the rights of American citizens in favor of a nebulous goal of helping children?
Listen John, no one wants an entire generation of kids with no father, and mothers without money to raise those kids. This is the single solution that we have for this now. Consenting mother’s are married to their children’s fathers and we help them with additional funding. We’re solving civilizations woes with this bill you hear.
But senator, aren't you just queuing up problems for tomorrow.
LISTEN, If everyone just used the damn free condoms we were handing out like TICKER TAPE, we wouldn't be in this situation. If you want to avoid these issues, you need to avoid making them.
Thank you for your time senator. I hope it works out as well as you think it will. Back to you Tricia.
|
The sound of the bolt racheting back was so satisfying. It was why she'd picked the outdated thing. The way that her target's face painted the arena floor was satisfying too. The way he screamed and fell to the ground still horrified her, still gave her those little shivers of guilt and adrenaline.
"Another victory for Mary-Ann! She's un-fucking-STOPPABLE," the announcer roared, and the crowd cheered. She walked over and kicked his head in, the way it cracked and deformed and he gurgled and cried was so horrifying. The crowd groaned and cheered and howled and everyone had fun.
As she exited the arena and the gate shuddered behind her, a gate guard laughed and yelled "kick me mommy." She did and he yelled again, things like "what the fuck, it was a joke, you crazy bitch." So she shot him, because it was annoying. The other gate guards cheered too and everyone had fun.
She reached her trailer, took a swig of whatever it was she'd left on her makeup table, and sat down.
"Should I take some drugs?" She asked herself. The TV mounted in the corner was playing the news, as it had for some hours now, that actually the world was not going to end. Everyone was going to live. That guy she'd shot, and that other guy she'd shot.
"Who the fuck keeps astronomying and newscasting *after* they thought the world was going to end?" The answer was obvious. "Really boring people."
She felt the sudden urge to vomit. She didn't quite make it to the trash can. She probably shouldn't have drank that mystery liquid. Or killed those two guys. Or maybe it was the cancer?
She lit the mystery fluid on fire and threw it into the back of the trailer as she left. It wasn't worth cleaning up the vomit, honestly. She took some drugs on the way out.
She didn't understand people. She was going to die anyway, why stop the party? But why did the crowd stay, and all her opponents? No way everyone had cancer. They weren't all dying.
Then she realized (or the drugs hit). They all were dying, just way, way slower. She laughed on the way back into the arena. It wasn't her turn yet, she hadn't been called, but who the fuck keeps turn keeping *after* they thought the world was gonna end?
(Author's note: I wrote this whole thing while very high. Also I listened to this song the whole time. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T5qC4qezmFo&ab_channel=R.I.P.)
| 2022-06-15T10:15:08
| 2022-06-15T10:14:56
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
All my life I have been able to subconsciously translate my speech to match the original language of who I am talking to.
It was quite terrifying at first. speaking Polish to my Mom when I was 2 minutes old was quite the tale. The poor Korean woman at Walmart...
Anyways, life had gone on as usual. Occasionally, I would get compliments on my knowledge of language, or cause arguments from people thinking I spoke one way or another, but no huge events had arisen.
At least, until McDonalds.
I went in, expecting it to be a normal day. I was craving a cheeseburger. I make my way up to the register. It’s a flashy British man taking the order.
“I’ll have one Cheeseburger, please.” I say. He stops, and stares at me. I probably had just surprised him by speaking some other language, and so I waited. He smirks.
“Finally!” He says, in a somewhat relieved tone. “I’ve been waiting here for 2 years, you know!”
He hopped over the counter, and grabbed me by the wrist. “You and I have some business to attend to.” He said, as he dragged me out of the McDonalds.
I looked behind me, and saw the other customers horrified at the events that are taking place.
“Who the hell are you, and what do you want!?” I said, angry and confused.
He turned around, and looked me directly in the eye.
“I’m the Doctor. I was sent a message by my future self to wait at this McDonalds until a man speaking Gallifreyan arrived.”
Been watching too much Doctor Who recently. r/cringe material right here boys.
EDIT: Formatting.
|
"Hey thanks, I hope you have a good afternoon"
The swirling void took me by surprise, really. The crimson red eyes of the cashier, not so much. I'd seen it before, I thought. Glimpses and glances, really; bad punctuation as a coda to the overbearing sentence of ordering a Whopper.
"We don't sssserve Whoppers," she hissed, hissingly. She was a she. And she didn't like what she heard.
The tail hadn't struck my eyes, but now it was striking my face. In a very feminine, demonic way at McDonald's. I thought about all the times I'd made children smile with a wink, a nod, an utterance I barely understood in a language I must have butchered around the world. Airports, ESL classes, daycares... something had always touched me.
It was too late though. The room melted away like guess on an SAT analogy I'd glazed over. Never enough time. Never enough time.
A feminine body curled snakishly and femininely atop me, a forked tongue darted in and out, the sound a hiss but the words I heard:
"If you 'Go Looking' for your Lovecraft book in the ball pit again I'm calling the fucking cops."
| 2018-06-24T21:53:14
| 2018-06-24T21:01:01
| 28
| 20
|
[WP] Humanity is bored with virtual gaming and has mastered controlling robot bodies for gaming warfare. Aliens invade Earth and everyone thinks it's an Easter egg in the game and fights them off.
|
/vg/ - Video Game Generals
Anonymous
Robo Warfare 2046 General /(...) 07/24/46(Sun)15:37:28 No.149485269
File: 1469364701944.jpg (329 KB, 1600x900)
Robo Warfare General /rbw/ #766
Ok /vg/. Serious time.
I think I found an easter egg in the game. I was flying around the hard area near Malaysia, testing my new FX-5653G when I found a new enemy on the ground.
There was no info on the sensors. I didn't get the "Not a NPC" prompt either so it wasn't something from the real world who got into the combat zones, so I engaged it because whatever.
It was weak AF. Died in two hits.
Wierd thing is, I didn't get any xp or any loot. So I assume the devs at Treyarch just forgot it here and it was supposed to be erased.
Had to leave for the base right after that because I was out of energy and i'm not a P2W player, you know the drill /vg/. But I still got a video of it on my stream.
The twitch replay is here : bit.ly/OPisafaggot
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)15:50:24 No.149655549
Obvious fake. How much time did you spend on Photoshop for this, OP ? This doesn't look like any mob in the game. No way they would have coded a completely different model and just forgot it.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)15:55:30 No.149655550
filthy FX series player
can't even afford a real mech
makes up stories to impress his pals in middle school
Get out, OP.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:10:24 No.149655551
File: 2046_07_24_0001.png (1.09 MB, 923x1077)
Ok guys, shit. I think this guy is for real. I went there and found another one. Look at this.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:16:24 No.149655553
Wow, I guess if a big streamer like you says it's real, then it must be real. OMW after my dailies.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:40:24 No.149655554
File: cucks.png (0.78 MB, 923x1077)
Just look at this /vg/. One big guy says it's true and we have 50 players running to get here first.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:50:54 No.149655560
There isn't any mobs left. Whatever was there, we missed it.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)16:55:55 No.149655561
JUST POSTING HERE FOR THE SCREENCAP ON REDDIT
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:00:00 No.149655562
File: UFO thingy.png (0.78 MB, 923x1077)
Look up /vg/. Something's coming down.
I think we just started an event or something. Dunno if there's enough of us to win it.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:05:58 No.149655563
THESE GUYS ARE ZERGING US WE NEED MORE PEOPLE
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:07:23 No.149655564
Coming. I'm not alone. Wait for us Anons.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:26:24 No.149655568
This is a clown fiesta. I'm getting crazy FPS drops. Unplayable. What the fuck, Treyarch ? At least try to make events that people can play.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:50:24 No.149655570
It's down. We got no loot, no xp, nothing. What the hell ? I'm getting a wierd feeling out of this.
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:50:59 No.149655571
The mobs aren't despawning. Are you sure these are NPCs ?
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)17:55:24 No.149655572
What else would they be ? Aliens ?
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)19:00:13 No.149655549
CNN JUST CONFIRMED IT
WE TOOK DOWN AN ALIEN SHIP
Anonymous
07/24/46(Sun)19:10:13 No.149655549
Dear diary, today 4chan stopped an alien invasion.
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"This planet is crazy." Faftur face-tentacled(?) as she watched the carnage unfolding in the watery planet. Any sane Fothrill would have done the same.
Who would have thought that the planet was inhabited by unmanned drones and robots? Heck, they even flung 60 mm nuclear shell at each other like it was a beach ball.
"What's wrong with these 'humans'?!" A line appeared at her computer console.
Seventh unit is down to one person, third and fourth is obliterated. What is your command?
"Charge the antimatter cannon."
Our forces is still down there. Please confirm your command.
"Do it anyway." she mercilessly commanded. Seconds later, a huge chunk of the planet's crust was blasted away.
"Report."
Fifteen drones, five units and a carrier lost, no enemy biological signature detected.
"No signature? Check heat-- no, it would do no good after that blast. Let's move to next cell."
*"General Faftur, Lieutenant Hafar from forensic team reporting"*
"Report in."
*"We found signature, ma'am. Carbon-based biology. It's located deep below the lithosphere--"*
"Under the lithosphere?! Don't joke around! You mean on that liquid mantle, liquid metal 7300 degree Yusarit with pressure 452 atmosphere?! No life should been able to evolve there!!"
*"It evolved in the surface, ma'am, but..."* an alarm interrupted her report.
Positron stream detected, the enemy seems to retaliate to our attack in kind. Probability to evade, 0.02%, probability to survive, 1.3%. Activating automatic evasion.
"Nice to meet you too, Lieutenant." Faftur said with self-depreciating tone as the countdown reach zero...
>***Game Log 2316, 18:00 UTC***
>FMAss77: Woohoo, eat that positron cannon, you space octopus
>WillFuckUrMama: they have fifteen tentacles, so, not strictly 'octopus'.
>Response76: Wow @WillFuckUrMama, you must be fun at parties.
>WillFuckUrMama: I have a proton cannon fully loaded, so yes I am, @Response76.
>FMAss77: Hey, why did killing them don't increase my EXP?
>RaiderYuutori: @FMAss77 maybe there are specific ways to kill them? I've been using 5.56 DU munition and I still can't get the EXP out of them
>WillFuckUrMama: None of my kill gain EXPs as well.
>FMAss77: Ah well, who cares? It's still fun thing to do.
| 2016-07-26T03:52:50
| 2016-07-26T01:28:27
| 2,243
| 232
|
[WP] You are a mighty draconian blacksmith for a small village in the mountains. You make unbreakable tools for the villagers in exchange for coin, yet refuse to make weapons. Until…
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The stranger standing before me pulled off his hat and scarf to reveal a face that I've never seen nor heard of before - pale skin tarnished with weather strung over bones, messy short hair and a long nose. What made that face different from other travellers were the deeply seated grayish blue eyes resembling a winter river so deep, you would certainly drown in it.
"How may I help you with my craft? What do you require: horseshoes, hoes, shovels, shears, maybe a hammer and nails?"
The stranger made an expression that I could only guess was a light smile while his eyes measured me head to toe. When he spoke back he had a very weird accent and his words were careful.
"I've come from afar and were told you're the best in your craft far and wide. I have a need for a tool that you've never made, touched or even seen, but I can tell you how to make it."
With those the stranger gave me a number of drawings done with such attention to detail I gasped. Measurements, dimensions, all matching to form a long device made of wood and steel with springs, hinges and screws. Despite a feeling deep down inside my mind I had to know how it worked and was made, the urge was too great to resist.
Many days have passed during the work on the peculiar tool. The stranger showed me smithing techniques I've never seen before, but limited himself to observing and making corrections on the drawings. While I worked on metals, he worked on wood and alchemy foreign even to the wisest I've met.
When the steel was met with wood, hinges with the springs and alchemical coatings were applied the stranger showed me the purpose of the tool and I've fallen to my knees over the vow I broken out of dangerous curiosity.
I've created a weapon worse than anything I've ever made or seen, a terrifying contraption breathing fire and spewing metal, easier to use than a crossbow or a slingshot and with a monstrously better range, speed and accuracy. Empires would be made and destroyed with it, countless lives lost and saved, tyranny and freedom mixed into one.
I couldn't accept his coin, but I accepted his knowledge, knowing that it was rather a curse than a blessing. Watching the drawings burn in the forge fire I knew I could not trust myself to ever again grab a hammer to smith again.
|
The blonde woman entered with a slow walk.
I still remember I immediatly understood she was not from the village. Nither from the country.
I supposed she was from the other side of the river. Sure to get to my village it must have been a long walk.
I took off my hat and bowed. I had no fear to show her my long horns. And what surprised me, it's that she did not looked surprised.
"Morning lady. How can I help you?"
"Morning blacksmith. I need a sword."
I put my hat back on. Ome more proof she was not from around.
"I apologize. But I can do anything for you. But not weapons."
"I know. And I know why. It is because of your son, isn't it?"
I almost fainted there. How did she know?
"I don't know what they told you, lady. But I invite you to get out and never came back."
But she didn't.
"So you are not playing along, you really don't recognize me." She said
"I have never seen you before. "
"Well I was three years old when we met last time. At your son and my brother funeral."
I stared at her in silence, feeling like a fool.
"Ajas.... the younger sister."
"Yep. Of Bojor. Your son's best friend. "
I walked closer to her. I could recognize her but still can't Belive my eyes.
"My god! You are... how old are you?"
"Twenty."
"So much has passed."
"And the pain it's still the same. But I have a trace."
"A trace?"
"You always tought your son and my brother were killed because of the swords you gave them. The murderer used arrows and that was all he got from them. Well you were right. I recognized my brother's sorwd in the hands of the new private mercenary of the knig. He also have a second one but did not pulled it out. But it might be...."
"My son sword...."
They were special. Crafted with magic. A birthday present for their entrance into adulthood.
So special that it did make sense someone wanted to steal them.
"To make justice, I need a stronger sword."
"And you will have it." I said tearing as I grabbed my hammer.
| 2022-08-21T16:57:46
| 2022-08-21T13:10:00
| 172
| 92
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[WP] Starting at the age of 10, humans are given companion animals that develop along side them. These animals can range anywhere from a goldfish to a horse to even a dragon. The only catch is that they are assigned based on your behavior during childhood.
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*Just FYI before you go in, I changed the age to sixteen.*
__________
Sasha Fields was turning ten years old. It was, like all sixteen year old's birthdays, a special occasion. Not only because it marked her first steps into the adult world, but because it marked the day she would receive her first companion. Her father and mother spoke rarely about their first companions, both of them now into their third and fourth's respectively. Sasha's mother's second companion became ill very early in his life, succumbing to a disease thought eradicated. But today, they were both in relatively talking moods.
"I named him Ash, for his grey coat. She was a wolf," her father said. "Beautiful little guy. Most people look at them only for their destructive nature, but I was a rather put-together kid."
"What'd he represent then?"
"Warrior-based abilities was what I was eventually chosen for," he said as he brushed his Ministry of Defense badge, "but also qualities of the pack, of protection, of love in some ways."
Sasha turned to er mother. "June, a horse. Strong-willed and powerful, a companion that would ride into the depths of hell with you. But also represents freedom, and in that, justice." Sasha remember her mother's job, the Ministry of Law, where she worked as a defender of the people.
"How does a wolf and a horse get along?"
Her mother laughed, "They usually don't. But we found each other in an interesting way."
"I was on a hunt," her father said.
"And I a ride. We were tracking bandits in the Southports, a joint operation between the Defense and Law Ministries. Your father here, and Asher, saved my life. And June's."
"Our bond was set the moment we crossed paths. It is a sensation you will one day know, the sensation that these two animals, these two ideologies together, mean something *more* together."
Sasha remained silent, thinking about what was to come, what animal--companion--she would be given and how they would interact. She always knew her parents' were strong, and they raised with the same ideas. They also raised her to be knowledgeable of the world, to give what you can, to provide and defend. "What if I don't like them?"
"The Ministry of Companions are faithful servants to their cause. They have never chosen poorly."
"How do you know?" She asked, always curious.
"Well, we don't," her father continued. But you must have faith in them. Our system has not failed in several hundred years, since the last Dragon and her human-companion."
Her mother brushed her hand against her father's, cautioning him to be wary of the past. "The past does not concern her, not yet at least. If you are chosen for the Ministry of History, given an owl," she said, "or an eagle, then you can listen to the past. We look to the future."
Her father nodded, "Yes, the future. Which you and the ones your age are."
Sasha nodded. She knew that along, but her curiosity had always been strong the past few years. "Dragon's are extinct, no? I thought they were lost to war."
"So the legends say," her father said. "There are more wolves than dragons in our history, more owls, more horses, even more fish."
Sasha laughed. The fish were plentiful, but hardly ever given as companions.
"Just know that whatever you are given, whoever is to be your companion, you will learn the why within days."
Sasha nodded as she finished the last of her lunch. It felt as if a rock sat in the middle of her gut, weighing her down as she got out of her seat, but she eventually did, taking a deep breath. "Okay, well--"
There was a knock on the door before she finished and almost instantly, her mother was there, greeting members of the Ministry of Companions. The next few minutes went by in a flash as they greeted Sasha's father, and introduced themselves.
Cornell, the Director of the Companions, and Isabella, a burly woman carrying a wooden box. They said hello, took a seat in the living area, and waited until everyone was settled.
"We'll cut to the chase," Cornell said, "the Council at the Ministry met a few days ago. Our civilization is on the brink of war with every tribe in the North, and several to the West. Wolves outnumber us ten to one and we are fully prepared, but the Ministry of Hearth is concerned."
Sasha looked to her parents, who exchanged a quick, unnerving glance.
"In recent years, there is usually a sort-of calling for events such as this. A signal from the Falcons or the Foxes that war is upon us, instead, an omen came to us. A solar eclipse, tonight."
Sasha's father took a deep breath, "The wolves will howl."
"And our world will plunge into war."
"How does this concern us? Obviously Isaiah will go to war with the others, but myself?"
"You will be called upon. But this meeting concerns Sasha."
She perked up at her name, looking to Cornell.
"The Companions have chosen you as a suitable candidate."
Her mother or father could not speak, only watch. When it came to matters of age and Companions, only the sole person could talk. "Candidate for what?"
Cornell glanced to Isabella, who unhinged the wooden box to reveal a single egg sitting in the middle of it. The egg was red, toned with colors of blue and white and it's shell--the scales upon it--seemed to mirror the world. The fire inside of Sasha's home burned against it, dancing alongside the white and blue hue.
"A dragon egg, ready to hatch. Tonight."
Sasha took a deep breath, as did her parents, and no one spoke.
"It is a high honor, the highest in our society to be chosen to lead at such a young age," Cornell continued. "Isabella here, the great-great-grandchild of the last Dragon Companion, is here to help you, guide you. She knows the stories better than anyone."
Sasha stared at the egg, her eyes burning into the edge of it. "How long until it hatches?"
"Any minute now," Isabella said, "and when she comes out, the first eyes that she must see are yours. You will bond with her, and the bond will be greater than any other you may feel in your lifetime."
She nodded. "Am I ready?"
Her parents took each other's hands and reached out to Sasha. They were there for her as they always have been and now, she had the entire world on her back.
"You must be." Isabella said just before the egg began to crack.
_________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!*
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Jensen was a sweet and rambunctious boy born and raised in the southern most tip of the Gilded Peninsula. Barricaded by impassable mountains and surrounded by the frigid waters of the Adelphin Sea, the insignificant village, who was largely forgotten by the rest of the world, were as tight knit as any. The summers were short there, the winters were incredibly long and strenuous, bearing temperatures that reached well below -70 degrees during peak months. Because of this, the gifted animal companion each human received at the age of 10 was so paramount to survival, children were molded into disciplinarians at a young age, feeling very little pleasure and harboring a work ethic that would surpass most adults around the world.
What this would result in is a large animal that innately absorbed the same type of mentality and the same type of desire to listen and to execute. Many of the children in the community would end up being paired with a lone wolf who would hunt on command or a fierce polar bear that dwelled on every word from their master. Given the terrain and the inevitable hardships accompanied with their way of living, anything less than a powerful animal resulted in death.
With all that being said, we now go back to Jensen. Sweet, shy and a tad bit ornery, young Jensen was the antithesis of anything disciplined. He walked clumsily around the village, often tripping on just about anything due to his lack of attention to his surroundings. In school, he would be asked to answer questions and usually ended up mumbling something inaudible because he had not been paying any attention to the lesson at hand.
His downfalls were glaring and there was not a person in the village who didn’t carry the assumption that he would soon die when he was set off at sixteen to start the great hunts for the community. Now, as you can see, all that has been described of Jensen was derived from an outsiders perspective. No one, but Jensen and the God’s who bestow the gifts of animal companions, could realize his kind heart and willing soul.
On his 10th birthday, the local villagers crowded around Jensen’s home, as they do for any child turning of age, to see the animal that would be accompanying Jensen as he walked out of his cabin to show the world of his new best friend. People were giddy with excitement to see the failure that was on the horizon. Wagers were resonating through the air and laughter ensued.
*10 pounds of whale oil that it is an arctic hare with three legs*
*15 pelts that it’s an Skua… with CLIPPED WINGS!*
The crowd continued to erupt in quick succession, almost matching the tone of the crashing waves on the jagged rocks below.
*Quiet everybody! I hear the door. He is coming out*
The crowd grew silent as Jensen turned the door knob and began to walk out of the cabin. He came out sluggishly holding his mom's hand, his feet dragging while bearing a gentle smile.
He looked to the crowd and spoke with the utmost confidence.
*A thousand pounds of gold it’s a white dragon*
He pointed to the top of the highest mountain peak off in the eastern horizon. And there it was, the highest honor for any human, the ultimate gift from the God’s. A dragon and given the terrain and where they live, Jensen had acquired the fabled Snow Dragon, an elegant beast dawning crystal blue eyes and a vibrant white an imploding star would have trouble matching.
| 2017-01-13T12:29:47
| 2017-01-13T11:57:37
| 25
| 12
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[WP] It's International Bring-Your-Gun-To-Work Day, and it's becoming clear to everyone in the office that your gun is just a banana under your jacket.
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I walked in like it was any other Thursday, satchel strung over my shoulder, hands in my jacket’s pockets, and a cap on my head. I nodded hello to the receptionist Jeanine as I walked by, she was cute, but she was occupied with a phone call. As I caught her gaze I made a motion towards my jacket pocket. She looked down and I poked out my weapon towards her, through the canvas of my coat, and smiled.
She covered the mouthpiece of her phone and said, “Packing quite the firepower there, huh Stephen?”
“Oh, uh, thanks, Jeanine.” I forced a response out of my mouth and continued towards the elevator.
I stepped in with a man I didn’t know and pressed the button to the fourth floor. I waited for the ride to be over, I didn’t much like the looks of the man next to me. I stepped out and started to walk to my desk when I heard giggling behind me. I turned to look just as the doors of the elevator joined, killing my chance to find some closure about the laughter. I went to turn around when I was greeted by an ice cold gun barrel in my face.
“Put your hands above your head, and I won't shoot,” Darryl commanded to me. I went to raise my hands, but I stopped myself.
“If you could see what I had, you’d have pissed yourself by now.” I retorted as I brushed past him and continued to my desk. He laughed a bit, but looked defeated when I snuck a glance behind me. I sat down and slipped my firearm into my desk drawer.
I was greeted by a few of my coworkers as the day went on, but they all were giving me strange looks. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but they looked disappointed, and sad, but were also holding back laughter. I wasn’t really sure of this emotion, so I gleefully continued my work.
I am now sitting in the lunch room, waiting for my turn to be called as everyone is showing their guns. I watch as Fred pulls out a pistol of some sort, then Ryan pulls out a Nerf gun, Jane has a hunting rifle, and then their gazes fall upon me.
“What did you bring Stephen?” Paul asks. He is the first person to really wonder, so I pull out my banana. Laughter fills the room and I turn redder than a tomato. I try to speak up but everyone is wheezing from this. I think Heidi genuinely slapped her knee.
“Oh shit,” I exclaimed. Just as the last syllable came out of my mouth the room fell silent.
“What did I eat for breakfast this morning?”
|
What’s that under your shirt and tie
I’ve think I’ve seen it somewhere before
I don’t know if you’re happy to see me
Or if you just got back from the grocery store
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
-
You better watch your mouth, boy
Better be careful what you say
Cause if you keep going on like this
I might just blow your ass away
This might be just a delicious piece of fruit
This big yellow bullet might just bounce off of you
But how many guns
Are high in potassium?
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun it’s a banana
-
And that’s what you get when you vote for gun control
When everybody brings out their M16s, you just look like an asshole
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun it’s a banana
| 2016-12-29T17:45:56
| 2016-12-29T17:44:03
| 50
| 17
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[WP] Birthmarks show the wounds that caused you to die in your previous life. Someone investigates old murders through looking at birthmarks, a birthmark-detective.
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There were magazines in the waiting room, to be sure, plenty to read but none of them worth the energy. The attention that an eight-year-old's word puzzle demanded didn't seem worth the payoff, not in Det. John Adderly's sleep-deprived state. Until Det. Lionel Carey showed up with coffee in hand.
"You don't have to do this," Adderly said, though his tone only suggested gratitude.
"Don't *have* to, no," Carey acknowledged. "But how often is it my partner becomes a father for the very first time?"
They were used to waiting around in rooms like these. Detectives of the Birthmark Unit. Adderly and Carey were part of the first generation, the detectives who first figured out that unsolved crimes and mysteries could find resolution: birthmarks were the scars of lives previously lived. Reincarnation was real to the crime unit, and it was good business.
"You want this kid's magazine?" Adderly said, half-joking, half wanting the damn thing out of his hands.
Carey gave it a once-over, careful to avoid staring directly the scar on Adderly's left hand, a straight line at least twenty stitches long, perpendicular to the wrist. "No. Besides, the answers are all filled in."
"It's okay," Adderly, nodding at his hand. "I don't mind you staring at the scar. Hell, it's been what, ten months? Go ahead, look."
"I just--it can't be a comfortable memory for you."
*No,* Adderly thought. *Not at all.* He had come home from a shift late one night when a burglar--well, it did no good to think on the dead. Although Adderly was sure that the scar he gave the poor bastard who held a knife to his wife's throat would make him an obvious find in the next life. *A scar from groin to stomach,* Adderly remembered. *That'll be one hell of a birth mark for us to find.*
But the case wasn't an open one. The mystery had already been solved, the man ID'd. The courts ruled Adderly justified, the act one of self-defense. Still, he remembered his wife's crying that night, and in the intervening months, he'd never left a door or window unlocked.
All he had to do to remind himself to lock them? Look at his scar. *Whoever I reinarnate to is going to wonder about this one.*
Still, Carey didn't like talking about it. The man who Adderly had killed had uttered some prophetic nonsense about seeing him in the next life, about how some souls remember who gave them their scar. It landed Adderly and his wife in therapy for a while, and it was a sore subject for Carey. Carey was a ball-buster, plainly uncomfortable with any topic *that* close to home.
The nurse entered. "Mr. Adderly?"
Adderly stood. "Yes?"
"You can see your child now. A beautiful baby boy."
Carey stood up with him, slapped him on the back. "You old dog! Congratulations, man! Listen, you go on ahead. I'll be right here."
The walk down the sterile corridors of St. John's was long and filled Adderly with adrenaline, though for what he couldn't say. Was it fear and anxiety, or genuine excitement? Something foreboding, no doubt. *I'm a father,* it seemed to say. *I'm a father and I'm responsible for a whole new life now.* Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had just happened.
When he entered the room, his fears were not allayed. His wife was holding the baby, tears in her eyes, not tears of joy. She just looked down at the boy with a strange tenseness around her nose, and cheeks. A smile? A grimace? What?
"Baby," she said when she saw him. "You...you have to see it."
*It?*
Adderly moved in closer as his wife extended the baby. The hormones had been doing strange things to his wife for nine months, so Adderly was prepared to be her rock for a moment, to experience the normal emotions and to let her know that whatever strange sensations she was feeling--
--then he saw it. The baby had a long red birthmark, from groin to stomach.
"No," Adderly said. "It could be another stabbing victim. Somebody else. Not *our* guy."
His wife was crying now. "He *said* he'd come back and visit us!" Adderly looked again, as if the birthmark might have been a hallucination he could shake by squinting. No good. "You're the birthmark expert," she said. "Is this the guy? Is our son the guy?"
*Yes,* Adderly thought, but what he said was, "No. He's our beautiful baby boy, and that's how we'll raise him."
|
“I’m telling you,” Sarah said, pushing me away lightly as I tried to glance at her shoulder, “I’m fine. I just want the physical so I can get back to work.”
“I know you are,” I said, lightly grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her back over. “There’s nothing wrong with you now. It’s what happened in the past that I care about, though.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, prying my hand from around her wrist, her sky blue fingernails pushing back my own. She was a young woman, no more than fourteen years old, but that put her right in the age range I needed. Most of the victims had been found within the last twenty years, all of them sharing the same, recurring birthmarks. She appeared to be no different, save for the reports of dreams Chief had told me about. That she’d seen a man in her sleep for years, following her and haunting her as she grew. The victims usually didn’t recall anything from back then, but she did—or at least I hoped she did..
“Have you ever heard of birthmarkology?” I said, fully expecting her to react like all the others. It was either followed by a long, awkward pause, as if I’d just made up the word, or a series of uncomfortable laughs. Yes, technically I did make up the word, but I knew it had merit beyond its name. So many scars, so many births bearing the slashed-shapes of recently deceased victims couldn’t just be coincidence. It wasn’t pseudoscience and it wasn’t the insane babbling of a once-renowned detective. It was real.
“Yes,” she said, “I read about it in *People.* Don’t tell me you actually believe in that nonsense.”
“I do,” I said, letting her go and watching as she walked back over to the long, gray examination table. I was actually the first to notice the shapes on newborns, the influx of birthmarks in peculiar regions. I’d been working a case at a hospital, examining a corpse with a star-shaped gash in his throat. We had no leads on who had done it, no idea whether or not we’d even find the person. As I left the hospital, I stopped off at the nursery—just to get my mind off the gore. A baby in a crib toward the center of the room caught my attention right away, the exact same star-shaped mark on its neck. It wasn’t a gaping wound, however but simply a birthmark. I brushed it off at first, but the more I studied the marks on the newborns over the next year, the more I realized it wasn’t just a coincidence. “I’m the person who started it.”
“You told me you were a doctor,” she said, pushing herself onto the table, the tear-away paper crinkling from beneath her.
“I never said doctor,” I lied. I had told her I was a doctor on multiple occasions, but hoped she’d forgotten. “I’m a detective, and I have reason to believe you were murdered.”
I didn’t connect that the newborns were the victims, a reincarnation of sorts, until recently. I was talking to the mother of a victim, pointing to a child with a birthmark slashed across his neck while she called me insane, called me insensitive. She was between insults when she paused abruptly, watching the child I’d been permitted to question from the one-way glass. She told me he had such familiar mannerisms, that the way he pushed his hair back with his left hand was almost exactly the way her son had, not to mention how familiar its blonde was to her deceased child. She mentioned that her son had used to sit almost exactly as the boy had, one leg crossed under the other, with the right one tapping incessantly. Used to drive her insane, she said, nearly shaking the entire house down.
“What?” Sarah said from atop the table. “Are you insane? I’m clearly alive. You’re talking to me right now.”
“Were murdered,” I said, emphasizing the *were.* “Right now you’re fine, you’re alive, but a previous version of you was murdered. I believe by the same person who has killed several other people I’ve been working with, a person that is still out there. ”
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said, glancing at the door. I could tell she wanted to go, but I couldn’t let her leave yet, not after I’d worked so hard to get her alone.
“Your birthmark, the one across your neck. It looks a lot like a slash, doesn’t it?” I stared at the brown mark splashed over the skin of her neck, a vertical line over the flesh. It followed the same path as all the others I’d seen recently, a swooping motion like a crescent moon. I’d begun to think of it as the calling card of whomever had done it, bringing forth a generation of people with the same, brown scar.
“My mom always said it was like a smile,” Sarah said. “I don’t really feel comfortable in here with you. I would like to see my actual doctor now.”
“Look,” I said, taking a step toward her and placing my left hand softly on her shoulder. The scar had the same curve as the others, the same partial swirl toward the end. Just a few hours prior, I’d watched a bag get pulled up and over the body of a man with a nearly detached head, the skin of his throat slit in almost the same exact pattern. I was sure she’d been a victim in the past, killed by the same man. “I just need to know whether or not you remember anything. I need to know about the dreams you’ve had, the recurring one with the man. Can you talk about that?” I paused. “It’s very important, you can save lives.”
“It’s always the same man,” she said, her eyes falling toward the floor. “A tall, white man staring down at me and laughing. I’m always out of breath in the dream, lying on the floor of an unfamiliar hallway. I can never scream or talk back. All I can do I can simply stare up at him while he laughs.”
“Do you ever feel tension in your neck during it?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes growing wide. “My neck always feels incredibly tight, like I can’t swallow. How did you know?”
“What does he look like?” I said, heart pounding against my chest.
“White, curly hair, older man. He always wears the same button down shirt in my dreams, light blue—almost the same color as my nails. He has thick, black glasses and a tattoo on his wrist, but I can never tell what it is. Looks like a raven or a hawk or something. ” She glanced down at her sky blue nail polish. “He has a pink scar going down from his left eye to his chin, also.”
I pulled a black notepad out of my pocket and began scribbling down what she’d told me.
“It’s a crow,” I said, hand shaking as I attempted to form the words. I closed my eyes, the colors of the nursery flooding into my mind. I’d seen that tattoo dozens of times, the hands of its owner wrapped around the fragile bodies of the marked newborns. He was a nurse, or some sort of hospital employee. I’d occasionally see him working the nursery, standing by and softly rocking the crying children back to sleep, always staring with me at their peculiar birth marks. I’d always wanted to ask him about the scar, but never did.
“What do you mean?” she said, staring at me, her head slightly tilted.
“I know who killed you.” I closed the notepad and slipped it back into my pocket, then grabbed my car keys before making my way toward the cedar door.
“You know this is crazy, right?” she said, pushing herself off the examination table. I turned and stared at her.
“I know,” I said, turning back to the door and pulling it open.
| 2015-03-03T07:42:25
| 2015-03-03T07:12:18
| 520
| 85
|
[WP] An atheist is sent back in time and meets Jesus. Describe their conversation.
|
"Who are you?"
"I think that is the question I should be asking *you*" replied Jesus. They were sitting on two stones by a riverbank. The cool water flowed past them serenely, rolling over pebbles and clay. Some songbirds tweeted in the distance. There was a light breeze that washed over them. It seemed surreal to the man who had come to meet the self-proclaimed messiah.
"If you are who, or rather, *what*, you say you are, then you must already know," replied the man.
"Even so, I'd still like to hear it from you."
The man sighed. "I am Nathan Roberts. I am a theoretical physicist from the 21st century. And I've come back in time to investigate your existence."
Jesus said nothing. His gaze was contemplative and ponderous.
The man was slightly thrown off. "Well?"
"You've just told me what you are, but you've yet to tell me *who* you are" he responded calmly.
"You don't seemed surprise to hear that," the man said.
"You don't seem surprised to be telling me," Jesus replied.
"Are you a god, *the* God, or are you just a man?" the man asked curtly.
"First, I would like you to tell me who you are."
The man's brow furrowed slightly. There was no telling how long he'd be able to stay when he was, and this "Jesus of Nazareth" was being difficult. "What do you mean?"
"You let your title define you, but that's not all there is to you."
"The same could be said of yourself, Messiah."
Jesus smiled. "Yes, I suppose that is true."
"So, who am I then?"
Jesus stared at him again. No, not at him, into him. "You're a man who's being forced to confront his convictions."
The man said nothing.
"You are a non-believer, are you not?"
"I am an atheist, yes."
"Again you let a title define you."
"How else should I define myself?"
"You shouldn't define yourself at all."
"But *you* defined yourself."
"I did."
"So why shouldn't I?"
"Because I am what I am. I'm not more or less than that. I have my purpose, and it is set."
The man was thrown off by his assertion. "How can you possibly say that you are the son of God? How can you make that claim?"
"Because I am."
"So what makes you and me different?" the man asked, impatiently.
"Because you aren't forced to make the same choices that I am. Your destiny is malleable. The choices you made have led you here, without your prior awareness. I am here because I know to be here. That's the difference. I know. You don't. You can't possibly know how your decisions will affect your future. I am cursed with knowing. Knowing how I would be born. Knowing who I would meet and when I would meet them. Knowing when I would die. And knowing what would come after my death. How my truths would be tainted by tyrants who wield their fear like a weapon..."
Jesus trailed off for a moment and his gaze strayed. When he looked back at the man he was smiling again.
"And knowing that despite those men, good people would continue to live by my words without believing in me. There is a great deal of beauty in your existence. You control your destiny. You make choices despite being faced with the unknown future.
"So to get back to my original point, you should not define yourself with words and titles. When you do that, you confine yourself to act in a way that is expected of you. You shut yourself out to a great deal of possibilities, simply because it's not something an 'atheist' or a 'theoretical physicist' would do. So how should you define yourself? You simply live life. Your choices define you. Your actions define you. Your beliefs define you. But no words can define you. Use words to define things of concrete natures. Nature, structures, societies..."
He paused for a moment.
"And gods."
The man was silent. He let the words sink into him. Finally he spoke.
"So since I met the son of God, does that mean I should become a Christian?"
Jesus laughed. It was warm and comforting. "Still missing the point. I don't care what you call yourself. You're a good man, Nathan Roberts. A little impatient and selfish at times, but you've never hurt anyone intentionally. No, I don't care what you call yourself."
At that moment a small alarm started sounding from the man's wristwatch.
"Jesus, there is still much I want to ask you. There's still much I want to know."
Jesus nodded. "I know."
"Can you keep me here a little longer?"
"I can."
"Will you?"
"Of course not, Nathan Roberts."
"Why not?"
"Because I've already told you enough to make you understand."
"Understand what?"
"You'll see in time."
"But I—"
---------------------------------------------------
The man awoke in the laboratory. A group of scientists and historians crowded around him. Immediately he was inundated by a wave of questions, too numerous to understand.
One scientist silenced the crowd. "Give him a moment! He's just returned from the past, for fuck's sake!"
The man nodded to the scientist. He slowly sat up from the machine.
"Well?"
"Well, what?" the man responded.
"Did you see him?"
The man paused for a moment to think about what Jesus had said again.
"I did."
"What did he say?"
"Quite a bit."
"Who was he, then?"
He paused, then smiled.
"He was just a man. A man who knew too much."
The crowd was perplexed by his answer and a new wave of queries began, but the man waved them off. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, give me some time. I've just been through an extraordinary ordeal and I need to contemplate what I've learned. I promise I'll answer your questions soon. Now, excuse me."
------------------------------------
Months later, the man was being interviewed by a journalist. "The Man who met Christ".
The man sat in the chair and a microphone was pinned to his lapel. Two glasses of water sat on a small endtable between himself and the other chair. The interviewer sat down. She said something to her producer, then informed the man that the interview would be beginning. The man nodded.
The interviewer turned to face the man. Lights came up and the camera started recording.
"So. Who are you?"
------
**EDIT:: Thank you, everyone, so much for the awesome feedback!**
|
"You got it working for real?" I asked suspiciously.
"Yeah, I totally got it! I've tested it as many times as my electric bill will let me already," my friend laughed.
"I'll be over in a couple minutes, alright? I have to see it myself before you get all famous and I never see you again," I told him, only half-joking. I tapped the "End Call" button on my phone. Zane Armstrong had created the first time machine in the history of mankind... well, that we know of. I'm sure some poor soul has mucked it up and gotten himself killed or something. It's just so mind boggling. I have to see it to believe it.
I got in my car and arrived at Zane's in minutes. He saw me pull up and ushered me inside.
"Come in! I want you to be the... second person to travel through time!" he told me.
I laughed. "Alright! Show me this contraption already!"
He showed me a room with hundreds of thick wires lining the walls all leading to a giant cylinder in the middle. The cylinder had all sorts of gyroscopes and screens and knobs and switches. It looked messy and poorly designed. I raised an eyebrow at him.
"I'm no interior designer. It works though and that's what matters. Step on in!"
"I'd like to know how you fixed the problems from last time first before I--"
"Nah, come on! Science is about just jumping in there and experimenting!" His eyes twinkled with pride.
I sighed. "Alright."
"Where do you want to go? Ah, nevermind. I'll choose for you. Just remember: I'll take you out after a few minutes. Also don't worry about messing anything up forever. It's an alternate timeline almost always so you'll just mess up someone else's universe," he grinned. I shook my head and smiled.
"Alright let's go."
A door on the cylinder opened. It was just big enough to fit into. A chair sat inside. I stepped in and sat down. I've never tested it before, but I've watched Zane do it a million times. When it didn't work it just shut down. It was completely safe, I knew. No worries there.
---
The doors closed and a flash blinded me. A wave of vertigo hit me. I fell off the chair and collapsed on the ground, retching. My vomit splattered onto the dirt and sizzled in the heat. Damn. That wasn't pleasant.
I got to my feet, sand sticking to the palms of my hands where I knelt, and observed my surroundings. Wow. Kind of anti-climactic. Kind of like teleporting, I thought. I couldn't tell I was back in time. My chair sat behind me, looking out of place outside. I was on a small hill next to an old village. About ten men stood a good distance from me and the village. They must have not noticed me. I could barely make them out, but they were ugly and deformed. Their skin looked discolored, but I could tell they were Arabian. Lepers? Interesting.
I approached them and they all ran away like rats. Poor guys. It must have arrived around Bible times. I laughed to myself. *Bible times*. It was widely believed that the Bible was all bull crap nowadays. In a world with teleportation, advanced medicine, and space colonies (...and now time travel!) who had time to believe the Bible?
I could see the lepers in the distance still, eyeing me carefully. From the opposite direction a man walked with purpose towards the village. He was dark skinned and had long black hair and a beard. Arabian as well. His robes billowed behind him as his sandals pushed forward relentlessly through the dirt to the village. He was definitely a handsome man, with chiseled features, and soft eyes. He walked to about where I was and stopped. He looked at me, but not like he was studying me, despite my strange clothes and appearance for the time, more like he knew something I didn't. Doubtful, I thought.
The man spoke to me. Yes, he spoke to me, and I understood what he said.
"My son, you have lost your way. You come from a time where most of the world has lost its way. When you return to your world you will be my greatest disciple."
He looked me up and down, again, not like he was studying me, like he was just taking me in. I felt my stomach churn. This was so wrong. He shouldn't be able to speak English if this was the time I thought it was. He shouldn't be talking to me about "my world" or whatever. How could he know that? He seemed too calm. He was creeping me out.
"Who are you?" I managed to say.
"You know that already," he said with a small smile. "Study my word for it is the truth. Trust in me and love your neighbor."
I stared at him. "Uh... Okay." What else was there to say to something like *that?*
"Your time here is coming to an end." My chest started to feel hot and my vision blurred. I heard a ringing in my ears, but the man's voice was clear, the clearest thing I'd ever heard. "I love you. I always will and always have. We'll meet again." My chest was burning now, and my vision turned white.
I was back in the metal cylinder, sweating through my shirt, sitting in the chair. The door slide open, and I got out. I felt stiff.
"Well? What did you think? Pretty awesome right? Did you go freak people out with your weird clothes in that village I sent you to? Did you battle with any Romans?" He was grinning ear to ear.
"Where exactly did you send me?" I choked out. My eyes were wide and my mouth barely moved.
Zane looked startled by my demeanor. "Uh... somewhere near Samaria or Galilee. You know, Middle East-ish. Like... around the year 29. Twenty-nine AD." Zane looked up at me and licked his lips, expecting something.
I looked down at the ground and pushed my hair back.
"Jesus Christ..."
| 2014-11-06T20:42:08
| 2014-11-06T20:08:56
| 1,589
| 77
|
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
The council rose. Supreme chancellor Tir'vi of the Zri had entered the room. All eyes, pairs and quads and more, were focussed on her beak when she began to speak, her raspy voice echoing through the dark hall, which seemed to be floating in space, under and above nebulae, gas clouds, dying and birthing stars. A simple trick of technology, everybody knew. Yet, pleasant to look at. Might i break off from the contemplation of the infinite to focus your mind on the words she spoke? I will.
So she spoke, simultaneously translated by technology that rivaled Google Translate:
"We have a bit of a situation on our hands. The ape-beings from XCB-2213/III have been sentient for a while. As we left them alone, they have also become dangerous."
"Slim pickets.", growled Hrssar, a furry titan with fuzzy ears, through his half-closed fangs. "What can they have possibly invented or perfected that could ever become dangerous to us? They are milennia away from ascension-"
"This.", Tir'vi said, and a bowl of macaroni appeared on screen, and if I might say from the lowly perspective of a senator whose race had only ascended some 10000 years ago, it was a damn fine bowl of freshly cooked macaroni, topped with a mouthwatering ragu bolognese. and some freshly grated parmigiano.
"Holy shit that's some good macaroni.", Hrssar yelped, and a commotion broke out in the senate. Tir'vi wasn't having any of that. She hammered her hand down on the jetblack, shiny, table.
"SILENCE!"
And silence happened.
"As we all know every one of our races has developed macaroni only late into their gestation period. Again, we all know that by devouring macaroni, we all acknowledge the existence of the universe as a connection of subatomic, hollow strings. By devouring macaroni, and again, I think we all know, by devouring the face of the godly, we ascend to godhood. The humans have perfected it only about 500 years ago, and still their macaroni are far superior to everything we ever produced. Just look at the texture, the subtle off-white coloring. My god, it even has a mouthwatering ragu going with it."
The high chancellor was obviously taken away by the sight too, but she regained composure. A most interesting woman. Aeons old, and still moved by a bowl of food. Nonetheless, the essence of the godly, but what gives? I can only speak for myself in terms of perception, and I sat there with saliva all over my zorphlog. She did better than I did.
"So I hereby ask the senate to approve my bill to set out an expedition to earth, to learn the secret of human macaroni."
Unanimously, the senate approved.
Edit: Thanks for the gold, I'll honor it by doing a prompt-off in /r/lounge when I get off work in 11 hours.
|
As the humans had become more self aware, we marveled at how little they progressed. They have done nothing but bicker over their meager lands, invest in immature sciences, squabbled over what invisible man was the one who would become their salvation from the endless void after life... But one thing we did not expect to come from these primates was something that took the breath from the whole cosmos. It resonated through the stars. It resounded through the crystalline skies of our worlds. It shook the very core of our being. They call it music. We call it harmony. Perfection. We had not known such bliss until we felt those impossible waves of sound embrace our bodies, smother our cynicism, and purify our minds. Their genius has taken the universe by surprise, and in return, it is out duty to protect the human species, to nurture this gift of music. Humanity is young and immature, but even we immortals have much to learn from their mind, as they do from ours.
Alternate ending-
This document will henceforth place Earth under the protection of the International Conglomerate, as sanctioned by Overseer Malachezeth. As concluding words, we would like to pass on some words of wisdom from the humans who most influenced us- be excellent to each other, and party on, dudes!
(This was done on the phone so sorry if there are any mistakes!)
| 2014-07-16T10:34:15
| 2014-07-16T10:29:19
| 502
| 353
|
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult.
|
"I'm sorry, but we can't approve you for a home loan, ma'am."
"Why?"
"Due to the implications of your...name, our insurance won't cover you should you...you know."
"If I ended the world from the house I wanna buy with this loan, your insurance wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"No, but...think of it as preventative."
"Oh, so you're stopping me from ending the world by denying me a home loan? I see. Your name must be World Saver then."
"Ah...no, it's-
"Banks, yeah. I can see the name plate." She scoffed, standing and taking her coat. She stomped out, leaving the door open as she shouted for all to hear. "AND BY THE WAY, I AM A COMIC BOOK WRITER AND ARTIST. THE WORLDS I END ARE *FICTIONAL*!!"
|
The oracle sat upon his marble throne and waited.
Immortal and infallible, everliving and all seeing, the divine amongst the living.
The Guards and Guardians scoured the temple, several of their kin lay dead, blood staining the white stone edifice.
Yet the oracle was calm, he did not heed the urges to move and to find cover. That calm reassured his followers that the scoundrel would be found.
The few foolish souls who dared defied their fates often ended up dead upon the temples steps. Those with proficied names of Traitor, Heretic, Defiler.
Captain bowed before the oracle and pleaded for guidance. The oracle smiled.
"you will find the perpetrator,"
Invigored by his lord and assurence of his success Captain drew his sword and charged into the dark of night. The oracle sat alone and waited.
One by one the braisers went out, and soon after he was left only in the moons glow.
A figure emerged from the darkness, blood stained her clothes and sword.
The oracle smiled.
"you made it-"
The steel entered his ribs, burying in deep. Her eyes burned with fury and pain, her voice harsh as she drove the blade in deeper.
"why? Why would you give me that name? World-Ender? You should have just had me killed!"
She pulled out the sword and stabbed the oracle again, running through his stomach.
"years of torture, imprisonment, being told I would destroy the world… No one deserves to live like that!" The sword ended up against the oracle's throat, "any last words before I end your life?!"
The oracle smiled closed his eyes, and whispered his final prophecy.
The sword ran across his throat, and the oracle's head fell to the floor.
Captain had found World-Ender standing in a pool of the oracle's blood.
"what have you done?!" Captain screamed.
"I did it, I ended the world," she stated, throwing her sword to the floor, "and he thanked me for it,"
| 2021-06-19T23:03:38
| 2021-06-19T22:36:55
| 36
| 12
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
Apparently being a regular has its drawbacks. For our past 10 anniversaries my wife and I have come to this Starbucks, ordered a Venti Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with Soy (she was lactose intolerant) and shared it in the booth where I proposed.
I probably should have known better, but I didn't know where else to go today. I couldn't bear the thought of drinking "our" drink alone so I ordered the first thing I saw on menu. A Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk, Tall.
The girl who fixed my drink must have recognized me from the last couple of years, because when I heard my name called it wasn't what I had ordered. I guess I'll sit at our booth alone now.
|
"How fucking hard is it!" I screamed at her face and slammed the cup down on the table. The knot in my stomach tightened, it had been a long since I accidentally drank a DCCCFw/S but I still remembered the consequences. Vividly!
In my rage I wanted to scream more, but as I opened my mouth the contents of my knotted stomach unleashed itself all over the baristas face. She was covered in my stomach's opinion of her mistake. What a fool.
Somehow I calmed down, I called my mother, the only person I have ever formed a relationship with because of my endless list of allergies. I held the phone to my barf covered face and said "it happened again, Soy this time, if I don't make it I want you to know, I love you."
The last thing I saw was a shocked barista, covered in a whitish yellowish bile and then everything faded.
...
I awoke with the sensation of a tube down my throat, and squinted into a fluorescent light while my memory came back. I remember, the Starbucks, the DCCCFw/S. I slowly sat up and saw my mother and the girl who served me the deadly coffee. She looked upset and held flowers, her face no longer had my stomach lining on it.
My mother started crying, tears of relief and the star bucks worker apologised, handing me the flowers. "Let me make it up to you" she said, "let me take you out to dinner some time".
| 2015-01-15T04:26:20
| 2015-01-15T04:24:30
| 1,556
| 94
|
[WP] When offered one wish, you jokingly said that you want to fire proof. You are disappointed to discover that fire still burns you. When you accidentally lit the company breakroom on fire, your boss just laughed it off and you began your new career as the person who can't be fired, ever.
|
Ah, the break room fire. That was almost 30 years ago. Who would have thought that weird man could actually deliver, and that my drunken joke wish would turn out the way it had.
Of course when the break room incident happened, it seemed weird, maybe my boss was just having a good day, or maybe he'd seen me panicking before I grabbed the fire extinguisher? It wasn't until 2 months later when they laid off my entire department for some BS "overseas initiative" that I started to wonder.
A few weeks into my new life of sitting in an empty wing of cubicles with nothing to do; wondering why I was still coming in, how I had slipped through the cracks, and if my new out-sourced colleagues were enjoying their new jobs, I decided to test my theory out.
I did every thing I could think of, many of which I am not proud of, I almost had to get a new identity to get hired somewhere else after the shit I pulled. But it was worth it to confirm my suspicion. It was worth it to prove that somehow a crazy guy in an alleyway and two drunk words had made me un-firable!
But, that was the beginning. When i realised what I could do with this gift, that's when my work really began. At first, I started by failing my way up, then, when I got high up enough, I found I took a sick pleasure in firing others. And now, after 30 years of hard work, it's finally happened, I've finally reached my goal.
As of January 20th, 2017, I Donald J Trump have become President of the United States!
It's gonna be great, you'll love it.
|
**Entry 1, Day Unknown**
I found this journal on the body of some poor sap who died here earlier. I decided that between the regular torture sessions I would catalogue just how I ended up here, Well ---
*The Journal entry abruptly closes here*
**Entry 2, Day Unknown Plus 4**
Nearly got caught with my Journal, Had to quickly hide it. Anyway, Hell sucks, but the thing is, most people here are mortal souls, and die shortly after arriving! Who knew, Souls can die. Sadly though, I am neither mortal or a soul. All because I thought I was clever.
Have to hide the Journal Now - Guards Coming.
**Entry 3, Day Unknown plus a lot**
Time is really hard to keep track of down here... Anyway, I might as well start telling just how I got into this situation.
It all started with a god damned Genie, as most good stories do. I was drunk off my ass one night and came across a random lamp in the middle of the dark alley I was puking my guts out in. After investigating it, I came across a Genie in the lamp. Last guy was a real idiot and thought the Genie only had two wishes, and for some reasons the Genies wishes don't reset until all three were used. Just my luc---
*Ash covers the bottom of the page, as if it was dropped in a hurry*
**Entry 4 Day who the Hell knows. Get it? HELL!**
Despite the endless torture, my sense of humor is as shitty as always. Anyway, back to the Genie. I had one wish, and my drunk ass decided to ask to be fireproof. I mean it's not a TERRIBLE trait but like if I was in a fire I would still probably just choke to death on the smoke in time. Little did I know that I did not get the typical type of 'Fireproofing' most people think of. It all started one day when I accidentally lit my break room on fire after I left my spork in the Microwave with my mac and cheese. I fully expected to be fired that day, but then a miracle happened! My Boss just laughed it off! I was confused and in shock for the rest of the day until later that night when it dawned on me that I was literally fire-proof, I could not be fired! And that's when I began to scheme...
Guards Coming, Will pick up Later.
**Entry 5, Why am I still counting Days**
So, Me with my new found abilities decided to do the absolutely dumbest thing anyone could possibly think to do. I decided to summon Satan and try to get hired as an immortal henchman, and what do you know it worked! He signed a contract that gave me immortality as long as the contract remained valid. All it would take is me going out, reaping souls, torturing the damned, you know, the works! See I didn't plan on doing any of this. At first I thought that I would just be immortal and could just say 'Hey Satan, You cant fire me I'm Unfireable!'. And technically it worked, for about two weeks. See but I forgot the part that this is death, lord of hell. While he couldn't fire me, He sure as hell could torture the shit out of immortal me for being an arrogant prick. And well, that's where I'm at now. I tried to quit a while ago but the contract specifically said I would be his servant for all eternity, however long that is, and so I couldn't. No unions down here either.
So that's the story of how I am eternally damned to torture because I thought I could outsmart Satan.
--------------------
This is my first attempt at doing a writing prompt and I know I have a lot to improve. If you have any suggestions please let me know, I am always trying to learn
| 2019-03-01T13:35:18
| 2019-03-01T13:18:46
| 34
| 16
|
[WP] When you die, there is no heaven or hell. You just get rated on a scale of 1-100 of how much of an assole you were in your life and get thrown together with all the other people with the same rating.
Posted this a while ago, got some upvotes but no storys, so I'm trying again.
|
Hell would have been easier. You would think that removing damnation and salvation would be a relief and to some I assume it is. There is somewhere, however, worse to end up. I was never a saint, I didn't go above and beyond for anybody, but I wasn't a monster either. Somehow being left with only the moderately awful people of our world would be a walk in the park. Until you spend day in and day out seeing the flaws that put you here in the faces of would be strangers.
Gone are the good Samaritans who would give up their seat to you on the bus. Gone too are the faceless people who pick up the garbage that almost made it into the bin on a busy street. The nameless people who improved your day in such little increments that you don't notice until they are no longer there to pick up everyone else's slack.
Gone too are the truly evil ones. The ones you could point to and think, "I'm a good man, I'd never say these things or do those." No one for you to see and believe yourself to be above. But with them gone you start to see what you left the world with.
Everyone around you with the same mindset and beliefs. I shouldn't do for others what they don't do for me. To live for eternity without leaning on each other, to only speak to another when they had something to give leads to a very lonely life indeed. I don't think I've spoken to another soul in a way that wasn't a transaction of sorts since I left my mortal body.
Sometimes I believe it to be a test. This is truly the only way to see how you have lived your life. Not marked by achievements or milestones passed but by the way you affected others. I think if I were to truly change maybe I would be pulled back into the stark room I had awoken in and be told I had moved up in the ranking and was being transferred to a brighter afterlife. I truly try, for a time, to be everything I'd thought I was before being sent here but time and again a fall back into old habits, discouraged by the rest of the masses not doing the same. I think that may be the point.
Hell would be easier than seeing my own shortcomings for eternity.
|
I lifted my foot. Under it was a strawberry, leaking a delicate but heavenly scent. The perfect red was hardly marred by the fact that it was quite crushed. All around me was a garden, with a narrow path of gravel winding artfully through it. I suspected at the end I would see a charming welcome mat below a discreet but vehement no trespassing sign.
Before me were a set of particularly delicate white roses, with their petals drooping gently like soft clouds. All were leaning across the path, and it was clear they had been allowed to grow there without pruning. The thorns gleamed, a promising pink.
Behind me, I heard sudden crunching noises, and the unmistakable sounds of a particularly furious gardener.
I knew just what that sound was, I had made the same sound storming out to talk to the just before I went to inform the garbage truck driver that he had to stop backing over the begonias I planted by the trash container. He would certainly only do that again over my dead body.
| 2021-12-19T21:29:26
| 2021-12-19T20:34:57
| 39
| 15
|
[WP] You tried to commit suicide, but as it turns out you are immortal. Now you have to call someone to help you cut the rope. Awkward.
|
I swung there like a fucktard, dangling from the inside of my closet. I thought about what was going on. The doorknob that I tied the other end of the rope on to didn't break. Being a short woman, standing at barely 5"4, I was far from the floor. So.. it should have worked. I stopped breathing. And yet I am conscious. That must mean that I am alive, in some way or another, without breathing. I reached for my phone and thought about asking Siri why I'm still alive. Instead, I scrolled through my address book and thought about who I could and who I should call to help me down. I was able to just touch the top of the chair I jumped off with my feet, in order to breathe a bit, so I could talk. The sensation of breath was dizzying, like I had felt air and discovered the sense of smell for the first time. I listened to the phone ring as I thought about what to say. What could I say to explain the situation I was in? Thankfully, the person that picked up the other line didn't need explanations.
"Hello."
"Heyy" I said, phrasing it almost like a question. "What are you doing right now?"
"Buying dildos, you want one?" Asked Holly. I didn't know if she was joking or not.
"I'm not sure I need another one. You should come over. I think I need some help." I said to her. I knew that she would not say no to me.
"Yeah girl I'll be right there." I heard the uplifted tone of her voice as the phone clicked.
Holly and I had an interesting relationship. She used to be in a group of friends that I had fallen out of contact with a long time ago. She functioned as my drug dealer, my fuck buddy, and I functioned as her confidant and emotional crutch.
Ten minutes later Holly burst in the door and called my name. I told her I was in the closet and I could practically hear her eyebrows wiggle. She opened the door and I exhaled quickly in my breath before my air was cut off again. She cackled maniacally as I hung there, staring at her. I knew I looked pathetic. She cut me down and sat down on my couch with me. She took out her medium sized bong from her big tote bag she carried around everywhere. We lit up, and after we got decently stoned, she looked at me.
"You okay?" She asked,
"Nah." I said. There was no point in lying to her.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No."
|
Gasping and thrashing, the tight noose choked him. The more he moved, the more his neck went red raw and burnt; the more it burnt, the more he thrashed. It went on, and on, until he finally found the appealing sway he was hoping for, back and forth along the bottom floor of his house, the rope attached to the curving balcony above.
In his mind, he swore. Beneath him Mr. Squiggles the brown-and-white ragdoll stared up at him with wide blue eyes and meowed constantly. He was hungry. He was always hungry. It would just be another thing to do, he supposed, if he could get down.
Thankfully he wasn't completely stupid. Hanging, his neck too strong or his luck too great, that flicker of hope as he jumped seemed to have kept him alive. In his ears blared the music from his phone, the last sweet reminder of life he loved...now, turned, to Blurred Lines. He shivered and jerked again, only serving to send pulsations of pain spreading through his body.
God's bollocks, how did that dreadful song get in here?
If only to live to shut it off, he would do just that. Prodding his fingers through the noose, a barrier between rope and burning red flesh he flexed and flailed his other hand to his phone. The first grope served to pull at his shirt, the second his belt, the other a wave at the door watching him in his struggle, Mr. Squiggles below now leaping to attack his feet and missing by a few feet, yet not disturbed by the task at hand; his master had become a toy.
Finally he managed it. Grabbing the headphones and pulling them out, one yank, two yanks and a final third, successful one pulled it into his slowly dulling finger's grasp, the blood draining from them and into his head. With that task complete, he turned off the dreadful song and took a moment to...do something, anything.
I saw the blinding light. I'm not dead. Is it that I am immortal, am I lucky, am I cursed to drop from here and let that fat-pawed creature eat me?
As it turned out, he was immortal. He went to look at his phone as best he could and his head jerked to one side, lopsided, his spine dreadfully broken. The man sighed. It was a terrible day.
Mother would be a terrible idea to phone. What would she say, "You fool! You idiot! You could have landed on the cat! At least do it from a tree in the park, or from a bridge; you'll probably get a park or the bridge named after you then!"
No, not her. His father? Most likely drinking. His brother, who always thought that suicide was fascinating? No, no, he'd probably have him go to hospital to check out his neck that, oddly, began to lose its sense of pain. It would have to be Jim.
Fumbling his way through the short-list of phone contacts, he pressed Jim's name and squirmed to raise it to his tomato-coloured ears.
"Hey bud!" the friendly voice spoke. "You alright? Heard you were all depressed and I was on my way over. You're not doing something weird, are you?"
How could a jelly-necked immortal respond to that? It was a terrible joke that sprung to mind but, as he was so proud of his dad-jokes and terrible dad-dancing, he replied as his mind knew best; "Oh, just...haaarghg-ing around! Oh, b-hiiighghght-t my tongue. C-come...around!"
"On the way already, bud. Hold on. I'll bring a couple drinks over to make you feel better."
"Th-aaarghgnk-kuh you!" and paused, squinting somewhat. "Some ice too, a big bag of it."
"See you soon!"
Have you ever seen the face of someone who finds out not only you hung yourself but survived it, broke your neck, and found out you was immortal? Jim shrieked like a girl and slammed the door shut, took two steps forwards and promptly passed out, banging his head onto the radiator by the wall.
"Ji-hrrhghgnh-m! Oh...b-balls...b-better...call John..."
| 2015-01-12T08:38:52
| 2015-01-12T08:30:21
| 21
| 10
|
[WP] The year is 2022. A virus has wiped out everyone over the age of 60, decimating world governments and and the mighty 1%. Generation X is too relieved from the constant badgering of their parents to rebuild society. It's up to the Millennials to put the world back together.
|
The world shook when all of our elders fell ill.
Then it froze when none of them recovered. It turns out there there were more citizens 60 and up then there were in the younger generation.
I know it shouldn’t seem like it’s all that surprising, but personally, I had never really thought about it. Families were devastated and ripped apart and world governments fell as our leaders faded away.
The first thing I did was look into the virus that started it all. I wanted to ensure that it wasn’t going to return in 40 years and kill the world again, myself included.
A lot of the science labs had to combine. Funding and leadership had dropped significantly, but I was able to join one in my hometown that had vials of the virus left over to study. They didn’t turn anyone away, especially when they were eager and had a laboratory background.
We partnered with everyone we could to bring money in and keep the equipment running so that we could run tests. We wanted to know where it had come from and how it worked. I spent 15 hours a day in that lab, and some nights I would sleep on a little box pushed against a wall.
The room was cold and a dim light on the ceiling never turned off. The sleep I got there was usually from sheer exhaustion, but I knew I wasn’t the only one. Science drove us- discovery gave us the fuel to keep going.
Afterall, wouldn’t we all know someone that turned 60 soon? Weren’t we all going to age? Shouldn’t someone figure out a cure while the governments rebuild?
***
“Matt,” Alex called from the doorway of my private lab.
I turned my head half an inch, hoping he was looking closely enough to see the movement. I had my eyes down at a sample and didn’t want to risk missing the reaction.
“Lori wants to meet us in the breakroom,” Alex called again.
“K.”
I heard his feet walk away. They weren’t in the direction of the breakroom, despite his proclamation- he must have been sent to let us all know.
Ever the errand boy.
Out of sheer habit and human curiosity, I glanced up at the door. It was open, and empty with nothing of note in the hallway. Shaking my head I looked back down, and the entire sample was purple.
“Fuck,” I muttered and shoved it in the dirty tool bin.
An ache began to form behind my eyes. I was tired, and getting careless. It wasn’t going to help anyone.
Humanity couldn’t risk its leaders dying off again.
With no inclination to be badgered about the meeting in the breakroom, I pulled my gloves off my hands, and stripped off my coat and glasses.
I had another sample to use, but it would keep.
Lori would not.
I threw my outerwear in the cot, and made my way down the hallway, hoping I wasn’t wasting time for another useless staff meeting.
The lights of the halls flickered as a I walked. It was a normal occurrence but in my current state plus agitation at being pulled away, the effect seemed intensified. It felt like a strobe light keeping pace with me. I would see my foot moving in front of me, and then I would see the pale tile floor.
By the time I got to the break room, my eyes felt strained and my mood had turned from sour to…mostly odd. A small spike of anxiety rolled through me as I left the hallway, the kind that felt familiar in a “empty hallway of a haunted house” type way.
I rolled my shoulders and sat down next to my associates. It was silly, and I knew I just needed a nap.
Several moments after I arrived, I heard two sets of footsteps coming from the flickering hallway. My heart picked up its pace a notch just before Lori and Alex walked through the door.
Trying not to think about the fact that I was losing my mind a little bit, I trained my focus on our fearless and slightly annoying leader in these dire times.
She took her place against the wall in front of all of us and cleared her throat. “I have…news.”
Lori let it hang in the air with an expectant look on her face.
When none of us chimed in with questions, she continued. “This morning I found something in my sample. I managed to break apart an outer shell and spotted it…” She hesitated again, crossing her arms over her chest. “I found a signature.”
“A signature?” a voice to my left asked.
“A signature,” Lori repeated. “Left by the designer of the virus.”
/r/beezus_writes
|
It seems the 1% had a pretty significant role to play. No-one really understood macro economics, but it turns out the entire global economy was lubricated by the 1%'s cashflow and assets, and that it's really, really hard to rebuild society from the ground up.
The first few weeks and months after the virus were total chaos. Everything was up for grabs and most things were taken. Now we're scattered in local clusters, the largest grouping not even the size of an old mid-level U.S city. There are thousands of clusters the world over, each organized and governed differently, each operating independently. The wars and conflicts are already starting over resources, each grouping coveting power plants and granary stocks and the other essential infrastructure pieces that made the old world tick.
"Turns out humanity is pretty fucking baseless." The speaker's tone was irreverent, disconnected. She was short, wearing a faded American Eagle jean jacket that fit a bit too tightly. "We deserve it."
The scene that sparked her detached derision was a few feet in-front of them, a burnt out husk of a farmhouse with a few blackened corpses splayed out on the front steps. It looked like they'd escaped the house only to be set on fire outside.
"Not much to do about it, Alisa," her companion said, resigned. "Let's just head to the next one, hopefully we'll be able to scavenge something there."
In the immediate weeks after the virus agricultural production plummeted, leaving millions of cattle, hogs, and chickens to starve to death. Those suckling from the modern-teat of streamlined, automated civilization couldn't fend for themselves or survive out in the wilderness. Once the trans-oceanic tankers stopped sailing and the cargo planes stopped flying, everything collapsed. Mass waves of human deaths followed.
"At least we're done with the factory farms," Alisa said, already walking towards the next house along the desolate country road. "Better to starve to death with finality than be a part of a continuous chain of death at the wrong end of consumption."
There wasn't much to say, really. Humanity imploded. Global society was a house of cards. Those left wander a devastated landscape, looking for gems and treasures that were every day items in the world that came before. FIAT is a thing of the past, Bitcoin was not even worth thinking about it. Humanity had regressed all the way back to bartering.
"We've got a blank slate, though," Jason mused. They were always discussing the fate of the world. "We can rebuild it in our image, something unique and grand."
Alisa scoffed. "More like we're writing on a used sheet of paper that has a giant X marked over the previous text," she said, turning down another of the private dirt tracks. A large house could be seen through the trees, looking warn but not entirely dilapidated. It was quite a ways down the road, maybe that is why it had been spared. "Society as we knew it is all around us, but we're never going to be able to remove that X. We're too far gone for that."
"The dawn of a new era, then," Jason said, readjusting the shoulder straps on his backpack. "Let's see what this house holds."
| 2019-07-26T06:05:02
| 2019-07-26T05:05:06
| 370
| 41
|
[WP]Both of your parents made deals with fae about giving them their firstborn. Different fae... Now you live under the joint custody of two faeries who don't like this situation one bit.
|
It's Wednesday. Transfer day. I curse my human parents for this arrangement because Wednesdays and Sunday's never go well.
I often wonder, as I pack my suitcase and knapsack, what drove my parents to make deals with both Alesia, the Dryad Queen, AND Deverick, ruling Grand Duke of the local elven community. It must have been important because of the sacrifice I personally now make.
"Are you ready, my dearest?" Alesia asks, poking her head around the door. Her green skin is paler than it usually is and dark green rings her eyes. She's been crying again.
I nod, scanning the contents of my suitcase before closing it. "I think I remembered everything this time." I reply, more to myself than her.
She sighed. "You know, you don't have to go if you don't want to. You can stay with me." She offered hopefully.
I gave her an incredulous look. "Right, and have Deverick's troops burning down your forest within a fortnight. I don't think so." I retorted, ignoring her angry look when I said Deverick's name.
She sighed again, her chin quivering as she tried not to cry.
I left my bedside to give her a hug. "We do this every week, Alesia. It's only till Sunday, and I'll be back." I assured her quietly.
She nodded. "I know... I just gets so tireing after fifty years. And you must be sick of shuttling back and forth, not actually having a proper home." She replied with a sniffle.
I gave her a sad smile. "You and Deverick may share my body, but my heart and soul is here. This is my proper home. We should go though, don't want to keep his royal tightpants waiting too long." I glanced at the clock before grabbing my bags.
/////////
Half an hour later, we were at the designated neutral zone between Deverick's domain and Alesia's forest.
"You. Are late."
Deverick sat in a pavilion, his arms crossed across his chest and a scowl on his narrow face. His intense blue eyes flashed as he watched us walk across the glade.
"I wasn't any later than you were this past Sunday." Alesia spat back. She glared at him coldly before turning to me. "Now remember if you want to come back, all you have to do is send word." She murmured as she hugged me.
I nodded and knew that Deverick would never let me leave during his time.
He made sure of that by casting a shield around the city surrounding his castle. He told me that it was for my protection but as I had gotten older I had come to know that it was to ensure that he got his fully allotted visitation time.
He left his pavilion and stopped a few feet from where we stood. "Come, my beloved. Time waits for the no-one and we really must be away." He called gently.
I sighed and knew if I didn't go with Deverick, there would be more than just verbal sparring. There would be an all out war.
"You'll make sure she gets some fresh air this time? She's packed her swim suit, you could try to maybe take her swimming."
"Don't tell me how to spend my time with her."
"It's no wonder she likes her time with me more. You suffocate her."
"Well it's no wonder it's such a pain getting her to wear any proper clothing or for her to have any sort of etiquette. You just let her roam free like some wild animal."
"Well-"
Finally having enough of their bickering, I stomped my foot. "OI! I'm right here and I'm old enough now to make my own decisions about what I do. You always do this where you talk about me like I'm not even here. It was fine when I was little and didn't understand what was going on but now I'm old enough to where most human children would be out on their own." I interjected, looking at them both frustrated.
They both looked like I had slapped them.
I sighed. "As much as I love spending time with Alesia, I know how important this alliance is for you both. That is why I continue to allow myself to be traded like merchant's goods. Stop ruining it by treating me like the little girl I used to be." I finished wearily, stomping over to Deverick's pavilion and ploping down in the chair that had been set up for him.
I watched as they quietly but reluctantly talked for a moment. Finally they both came up to the pavilion.
Deverick cleared his throat. "We have reached an agreement. A rearrangement of your schedule that I- ahem- we believe might be more beneficial for everyone involved." He spoke stiffly as if it was physically painful for talk about this.
Alesia was on the brink of tears, twisting her hands anxiously. "We have agreed that... We agreed to.. T-that instead of breaking up your week. That.. That we would spend the whole week with you. A-alternate weeks so the transition would be.... Would be smoother." She added timidly.
Deverick sighed. "We also agreed that we would no longer fight. We recognize that you, our most precious treasure, are no longer a child and deserve the respect that comes with getting older. We also will be more open to... To whatever your heart desires." He finished through gritted teeth.
I raised my eyebrows. "Ok..... So when does this agreement begin?" I asked suspiciously.
Alesia looked pleadingly at Deverick for a moment before replying. "On Monday."
|
“You live past the place no one goes, getting the child to you on your visitation days is going to be a nightmare...a literal goblin infested nightmare journey!”, said Hilea the maiden fairy of the Anderall Forrest.
Tilea, the peculiar fairy maiden of Bak’Tulgurr, the land of brimstone and ash, floated about with a patch of glee on her face that nary a dark spell produced by the Master Necromancer herself could even wipe off!
Tilea was floating around a small garden collecting frogs for her “toad collection”. Hilea had spent an entire summer trying to explain the differences between frogs and toads to Tilea but to no avail.
Tilea looked up from her “ toad collecting” and finally noticed that Hilea had been talking to her this entire time, but instead of asking Hilea to repeat herself, she asked Hilea a question.
“Do you think the child will like fire, and rune magic, and all the interesting things that go on around where I live?” , Tilea asked curiously.
Hilea’s face was red with frustration, she calmed herself, reminding herself of the charm the Dark Wizard Markhan’ai placed on Tilea to make her oblivious to the dreadful nature of the land she was tasked with overseeing.
This would be an interesting arrangement, this “joint-partnership between mutual beings to which they are both bound to a single child for all eternity” or as the Women and Men folk call it, “ Joint custody”. Hilea sat on a lily pad and just watched her cousin float around , shrinking frogs and putting them in her wicker basket.
However, little did Hilea know, Markhan’ai the dread Wizard, had plans for the child himself...and it would take all of her cunning as the Fae of the Great Forrest Anderall, to assure her newly adopted child would lead a happy life, free from the vileness of dark magic.
| 2021-05-14T06:25:04
| 2021-05-14T06:03:17
| 1,308
| 12
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
It was black. She stares at her fingertip in- no, not surprise, resignation - for half a second before she realises she should hide it. She wraps it quickly in her half-knit hat. “Oh, shoot,” she says, rising from her seat and smiling at the other do-gooders around her.
She walks away, trying not to rush too hard, hoping the way she clutches the hat to her hand seems like she’s applying pressure and not clinging on for her sanity- her safety.
As soon as she is locked in the security of the toilet, she eases the now ruined hat off her finger. “Fuck,” she hisses. “Fuck, shit, fuck.” Each forbidden curse feels freeing - after all, there’s no point not to, right? Her blood is so thick it looks almost as though it’s clotted already.
It’s not fair.
She grits her teeth, grips the sink so hard it feels like the bones in her fingers should shatter from the pressure.
It isn’t.
*Fucking*.
Fair.
She learned the lesson. Her mother had scraped her knee and hadn’t worried enough to hide it. She’d been arrested that same night - preventative measures.
Laura had *learned*. She’d done everything right. She’d fought her anger, her despair, the feeling that this was so unjust, and she’d been perfect. No one could do more good than her. And still, it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t done enough.
Was it in her blood? Transmitted from her mother to her? Was it completely out of her control?
Or was it actually still her? Her motivations were all wrong. She wasn’t doing good to be good - she was doing it so they wouldn’t think she was bad.
She pulls her hands away from the sink before any more damage is done. She can’t be reckless.
Don’t actions count more? She can hardly be the only person who’s afraid of being bad. Just because she isn’t *good* doesn’t mean she’s this evil. Surely it can’t mean that.
Her fingernails dig into her palm, and she can feel thick, viscous fluid beneath them. She almost gags.
There’s nothing to do but fake it. Continue faking it the same way she always has. She has to hide.
|
I always heard that I was a pretty chill guy. I went to church, prayed and shit. I gave to charity.
Hal, on the other hand. Jesus, where do I start?
Once when I was playing football, I got tripped and fell hard. I don't even remember what happened afterwards, but I later found out that that kid was hospitalized when I woke up in a detention center.
I was writing an English paper later that week about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I fell asleep typing at around 2 AM. Hal had a message for me. He told me that even if I lived my life as an angel, I would never spread my wings and fly into Heaven.
So I wasn't surprised when I looked down at my finger, despite what the priests told me.
"You're a man without sin, Jordan."
My ass.
You can sin, but you can't un-sin. Hal taught me that. And tonight, he won't have to clip my wings.
Because tonight, I'm jumping into the fire.
| 2018-08-04T10:14:27
| 2018-08-04T09:19:48
| 134
| 93
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
I'm tired and I want to go home, but I can't. Not until she is dead, I've come this far I have to see it through. There is a sound at the door and I hasten to shut and lock it. Now is not a time for interruptions, there is work to be done. I pull open the bottom drawer, it's full of tools of the trade. I slip on a pair of gloves. It's nearly time, my hands start to shake. I can't look her in the eyes as she lies their nearly motionless. Instead I focus on her breathing, counting the seconds between her breaths. Her breathing starts to slow, then suddenly stops. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. After a moment I pick up the phone. "Hello, this is Michael from your mother's nursing home. I'm calling to let you know that your mother has passed away. I understand that you are out of town until the end of the month. I just wanted to assure you that she wasn't alone at the end."
edit: I'm a caregiver in real life.
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31
| 2017-08-30T05:08:01
| 5,691
| 169
|
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary.
|
Here we see the wild American Teenager in his natural habitat. We see him, freshly groomed for mating season. The biannual mating season for the adolescent human has begun. Here we see one of the unspecialized males approaching an unspecialized female. Neither seem to fit into any of the sub-species like the Athletica or Cranial Varities.
He has spent the past 24 hours grooming and preparing for this moment. He hesitates, the object of his affection seems to be surrounded by other females. He waits.
Then, luckily the shrill call of 'a bell' causes them to disperse. He leaps on his opportunity.
He approaches, hunched and supplicating, she seems to be hesitant. He gives her a small wild flower he had chosen to gain her favor. It does not seem to be enough for the female. The male finishes his proposal. It is the female's turn to reply. She is displaying the hot red color the species makes on their face to signal emotion. She seems to be anxious, she undoubtedly hoped for one of the Athletica to pursue.
The female notices the male's arousal, and grows redder. Eventually, she agrees to attend ,what the ecologists refer to as, a 'Homecoming'.
|
Last time, we had a look at the mating habits of the adult forms of the Homosapiens Erectus, or "Humans" as they call themselves. Today, we shall be taking a look at the habits displayed by younger examples, here at what is known as "college". For the Homosapiens, knowledge is hard gained, and they use these learning complexes to transfer this knowledge, from the old and wise, to a newer generation. "Teenagers" are in between their larval and adult forms, and as such actually don't have the benefit of both. This makes for rather awkward meetings, as the males and females experience life-altering changes to their minds, voices and, yes, even their bodies. With the males, the hormone testosterone starts flowing freely; their voices deepen, hair starts to grow in their genitalic regions and their reproductive organs become active. In females, hair and reproductive organs begin to develop as well, but their voices pitch higher and secondary gender markers as their breasts start to grow. It is at this point in a human's lifecycle that we find ourselves at a college, where we are able to witness the courting between two of them.
Notice how the male approaches a group of females, pushed by his comrades to approach one of them; we can see them sitting here to the left. Notice how the group of females is communicating with each other; one of them already has been courted by one of the males, and knows that the approaching male is here to court with "Anna", the female in the yellow blouse. This communication is known as "gossip" and it is an integral part of human behaviour, especially when relating to the bonding of two humans. As the male approaches, the females laugh and push "Anna" more to the front. It is obvious that she does not know to react to "Peter", even though this isn't the first time that they have seen each other. Why this off-beat behaviour then? We are about to find out...
For "Peter" is not the only one wanting to court "Anna". From across the college yard another contestant approaches: "Donald" is known as a bully, one who subjugates others to do his bidding. He has made it clear to "Anna" that he wants her to be his mate; she disagreed on this, and since the tension is palpable. "Peter" knows of this, but has decided that he will challenge the odds on winning "Anna"'s hand. Around the college yard, other males and females are noticing the tension as "Donald" approaches the group of females and "Peter"; not so hard, considering that he is shouting obscenities to the poor male. But "Peter" is having none of it. The flower he has just given to the female, a friendly present between lovers, enrages the bully even more. He pushes the male away while voicing that he has a small reproductive organ; a move meant to intimidate the other. And here, we can see how much "Peter" is willing to court with the female: he dusts off his jacket, proclaiming that "Donald"'s reproductive organs need a magnifying glass to even see, and winks at the females; a sign of affection.
The bully has now reached his tipping point. His face becomes red and, while still screaming vulgar words, removes his jacket; a fight is about to break loose. A circle has formed around the two competing males, cheering to "Peter" and denouncing the bully, further angering him. The adrenaline coursing through his body, combined with the testosterone, tip the scales: "Donald" loses his composure, and charges at the shorter male. But if it's knowledge that is to be gained at this facility, "Donald" sure was not paying attention. For "Peter" knows some tricks, moves he has displayed when with friends and of which a lot of people know about. With a single grab and throw, the bully crashes to the ground. His look of surprise is soon followed by shame. He gets up onto his feet and makes his way through the cheering circle of humans, vowing to have his revenge one day. But that won't be today. Today, the winner is rewarded by the female with a kiss on the cheek. The smile on his face, combined with the cheers of people around him, make him feel good; he has done well to make his "friends" proud.
Tune in next week as we continue our fascinating look into the mating rituals of the humans, as we'll delve deeper into their reproductive systems, in "Planet Earth".
| 2017-04-04T07:09:04
| 2017-04-04T06:35:46
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil. He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth. The problem is, he cannot tell which is which.
|
"So let me get this straight. *You*" he pointed at the devil. "Cause all of our suffering. And *you*" he pointed at God. "let him".
"Well, yeah..."
"That's the gist of it"
The man thought for a moment "You know what: fuck the both of you. Neither inherits the earth, it belongs to us"
|
Ming stepped off the boat in what would now be his new home. America. The land of freedom opportunity and all that jazz. No really it was the birthplace of jazz. He thought it was anyways. The dock was filled with the sound of it and incomprehensible obscenities. Ming breathed in a good nostril full to remind himself where he was. Then silently repeated to himself the mantra his guru had taught him. He reminded himself to live in the present that the past and future were simply constructs. Like the monk hanging off the ledge over the tiger he was to be here now. Eating the berries. Not in the past of the cliff. Not the future of the tiger. But had he come from the cliff edge and headed to the tiger or from the tiger and headed to the cliff? Ming didn’t know. His teacher never really made much sense to him and plus there weren’t even berries. Just a strange meat sandwich he’d never seen before. He sighed audibly. This place would be so different from his home. Where could he buy vegetables? Do they even have those here?
Ming tightened his robes stood a little straighter and walked from the gang plank over to where his luggage was tossed unceremoniously by a worker. The men around him turned to gawk at his ceremonial robes Ming was secretly a bit grateful that he couldn’t understand them. He kept his face impassive and his braid draped over his shoulder. His shoulders tensing more than they should but not enough to cause immediate discomfirt. A fly buzzed into his ear. He slapped himself on the side of the head much to the amusement of his onlookers who started jeering him incoherently. Ming turned to look back. There were about three of them. They dressed in western garb and seemed a bit tipsy although it was only one in the afternoon. He knew they must have defining features but all these foreigners looked alike to him. Anyways one was tall one fat and one muscled. The muscled one didn’t seem to say much and drank even less. Ming sidled his bags over his shoulder and started walking off towards a street that looked promising. Hopefully he could find at least a bowl of rice and warm if not friendly bed tonight.
He didn’t.
What he did find was a crowded city and three stalkers. Ming kept looking back but they didn’t seem to mind that he was noticing them. In fact they didn’t seem to mind anything at all. They just kept following him and whispering. This wouldn’t be so strange as it seemed he was something to be gawked at in this country. Those passing would talk to one another and sometimes even pull out a “cellphone” and point it at him. Ming had heard of cellphones but only seen one once when the local medicine man had confiscated a foreigners who was using it to conjure a strange sound. That was years ago. Here strange sounds were everywhere and people and cars. Unlike his hometown here everyone seemed to be in a gleaming car. And the music the most beautiful music filled the strangest places shops that gleamed and sold seductive woman (or at least he thought they were women that’s what was on the billboard) and anything else you could imagine. The three men were catching up to him.
Ming hurried down the sidewalk. He stopped and stared less. The initial euphoria of landing was now slowly congealing into a thick panic. The men were still behind him. Closer now. The tall one he noticed had remarkably dark eyes. The eyes made him more nervous than anything else. He wished they were looking somewhere else. Finally Ming saw a word he recognized and not a moment too soon. The word “Hotel” was one thing he had learned before coming. Ming quickly stepped into the tiny building. The boy behind the desk looked up from a computer that looked like a large wicker box and asked Ming a strange question. Ming looked unknowingly at the boy and took out his money. He handed the boy a bill with 100 on it. He hoped it would be enough and said “sreep”. The boy wide eyed took the bill looked up at Ming then nodded slowly and opened a door grabbing a key on the way.
They arrived at number “8” a dilapidated door that was well worn. The boy said “meobns dlkmb orrys slkm best we can do” Ming nodded understandingly while trying to glance over his shoulder. The men were nowhere to be seen. The boy opened the door and Ming hurriedly rushed him away and closed it locking it with a satisfying “chink”. He whipped around and nearly screamed. There sitting on the already made bed were all three. Tall, fat and strong. They looked dull eyed at him and said.
“Here in number eight,
You Mister Ming will meet your fate,
Choose well good sir for you must see,
For us and you to all be free.”
The chorus was in unison in perfect Chinese. Ming blacked out.
[to be continued]
(also if you liked it check out seedsoftantalus.wordpress.com if you don't then don't)
| 2015-08-05T23:20:20
| 2015-08-05T21:04:15
| 62
| 25
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore.
|
I don't think I've ever seen your hair put up in a bun//
After knowing you for all these years I thought I saw every side to you//
But then I realised there were more sides I've never seen done//
And now I wish that I truly got to know you//
| 2017-11-05T23:19:05
| 2017-11-05T22:33:24
| 58
| 10
|
[WP] You are a minor supervillain. Your antics aren't illegal, but they're quite devastating to the local hero population. You replace the flimsy fruit stands that are frequently destroyed in car chases throughout the city with nearly indestructible replicas.
|
"THE MAN OF STEEL IS DEAD!"
Every newspaper stand carries a variation on the same story.
Of course that hack Lex is getting the credit. They think he just *punched* the kryptonian hard enough.
But it was my victory. The monsters who think themselves *gods* will pay. They play around in silly outfits and showing off, pulling their punches. It's the little people who pay the price.
5 years ago the psycho dressed like a bat was having one of his little drag races with some "villain" gang. I dont think he even noticed the market stall he hit part way through. But my brother was inside.
4 years ago I got a post on the board regulating street vendors.
6 months ago Bruce wanes body was pulled from a wreck wrapped around one of the new reinforced steel bollards I'd had added to the regs for anchoring market stalls.
Legally it was a storm safety measure.... but it had the desired effect. Nobody else will get crushed by that playboy maniac.
As for the kryptonian.... That monster was never careful. 3 years ago when he was playing with one of his rivals he threw them through an office block. My fiance had just started a new job as a secretary. There wasnt even a body to bury, just pulp.
My latest business has been selling office desk toys. You would be surprised how far a small quantity of kryptonite can go if you grind it into fine enough powder.
A million desk toys in a million offices, each with a fine powder of kryptonite on their surface. Then it was just a matter of waiting until the man of steel played another of his games around the city office blocks.
When you're "faster than a speeding bullet" it doesnt really matter if the bullet hits you or you hit the bullet.
|
“Hey! Fresh oranges sir?”
“Dogs here! Fresh dogs! Warm and hot!”
The vendors across the street yelled out. That’s when a man rounded the corner and pushed his way past people.
I looked down the street with curiosity, along with everyone else. The vendors had stopped yelling, and instead turned to watch.
The man had a hat that suspiciously hid his facial features. His jacket was blue and long, and he had a scarf on in Summer.
“How strange.” I thought. I bet he was one of the local Heros, running away from some villains goons.
He managed to reach the vendors, and started to wreck the stands to disorient his followers.
He threw an orange behind him, smacking one of the goobs chasing him.
Wow, that was a perfectly good orange. That was kinda selfish.
The next vendor yelled out, but the man ignored his pleas. He cruelly took a hotdog, and tossed it on the ground.
Somehow another goon slipped, and two were left.
Oh dear god... He was taking some papayas from another vendor! Not the papayas!
The man turned around quickly and smacked a goon with the hearty fruit.
They were knocked out. He quickly booked it to my vendor. I cringed, and called out to him before he grabbed my stuff.
He tried to pick up some mustard from my stand, but it was only display. He quickly moved to the meat, trying to grab some. It was also display.
Running out of time, the man tried to rip out some of the cloth that covered my food from the sun. It was display.
His face confused, he grabbed me to try and stop the last goon, but I was also display.
The man started to run again, but he fell, because I had turned his shoes into display.
It was an accident, I swear. I don’t even know how that happened. I sell fake items, for gags and stuff.
The goon picked him up, and gave me a thumbs up. I was confused but I guess I helped.
The hero was taken and some other superheroes had to take him back.
I guess the story ends well, but the mysterious man had to pay for everything he threw.
—————
I’m not really good at writing stories, but I hoped you liked it. Oh crap, I turned my story into display.
| 2020-01-14T00:30:01
| 2020-01-14T00:00:38
| 242
| 112
|
[WP] You finally came up with a plan to get rid of the hero. You would go undercover and fall in love with his civilian identity before breaking his heart and killing him at his emotional lowest. A couple months later, you have experienced a complication in your plans. You’re pregnant.
Change around genders, POV, etc to suit your story.
|
His eyes began to water as he looked at the black and white swirl on the monitor.
"Would you like to know the sex of the baby?" asked the obstetrician.
"We would." replied Robert. I simply smiled and nodded.
"It looks like you'll be having a girl."
Rob was speechless for the rest of the examination. After taking a small sample the medical and paternity results came back in 30 minutes with no surprises. The wonders of modern technology. Rob finally found his words once we stepped out into the parking lot.
"A daughter, we'll be having a daughter!"
"Yes it sounds wonderful darling, what do you think we should name her?"
I knew exactly what he would say, but I wanted the words to come out of his mouth.
"If it's okay with you," he paused, getting emotional again, "I'd like to name her after my aunt Evelyn"
"Of course dear, that sounds lovely." I replied "I'm sure if she were still with us, she'd be honored"
As he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief I reached out the touch him. He gasped as I placed my hand on his shoulder... and he shoved my arm to the side as I released a beam of red energy, turning the van beside us to shrapnel. Of course; I knew this wasn't going to be easy.
"What are you doing?" he growled, eyes were wide with confusion and surprise.
"Taking every advantage I can." I raised my other hand and fired another crimson energy beam, only managing to hit the brick wall surrounding the car park, as he deftly released me and rolled away, ducking behind an SUV. I myself moved as fast as a pregnant lady could to hide behind a small hatchback. I probably wouldn't need the cover but I wasn't going to be a victim of hubris.
"Who are you!?" He called out with a mixture of confusion and anger from behind the car "Why are you doing this?"
"I'm the future mother of you're daughter and I'm not going to explain my plan to you" In fact I would not have even said anything after my first shot if I didn't need to buy time to recharge. I reached over the bonnet and fired off another beam obliterating the SUV. When I took a chance to peak around, he was no where to be seen.
"No...It can't be". I turned to the voice on my left and saw him standing on the roof of a green sedan. When the realization reach his eyes he instinctively dropped into Blue Screen's signature offensive battle stance. "Red Handed!"
"Took you long enough" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I already lost sight of the target once and I was lucky not to have been reduced to nothingness. "It looks like super reflexes doesn't equate to being super astute."
"But the last year-"
"All a ruse. All except for the pregnancy that is." I replied, firing another shot at where he was standing. He jumped out of the way, as my beam left a small smoking crater in the ground.
"But... our child."
"You expect becoming a mother would stop me from achieving my goals?" I decided to engage in a few extra seconds of banter instead of taking another shot. I needed a chance to catch my breath. "It's the twenty third century; try to be more progressive."
"Please stop this Jenifer, we can stop, and just live happily together. We can forget the past. I'll talk to The Guild and-" I fired two half powered laser consecutively, one where he was standing and one where I expected him to jump. But he had already raised a shield of blue energy in anticipation, deflecting my second beam it into the sky.
"Please think of our daughter." he pleaded with me.
"I have. Our daughter will grow up in a life of comfort and luxury. A princess and maybe one day a queen in the new world order... If she wants to be, I won't force my life choices onto her like my parents tried to do with me." I replied, before taking another moment to choose my next words deliberately, "Our daughter will be free to do whatever makes her happy. And unless you decide to obliterate me before she is born, Evelyn *will* be happy."
That line caught him off guard. The next beam incinerated his foot as he jumped into the air, causing him to crumple to the floor upon landing.
"So this is why you decided to keep her?" he asked with deep pain in his voice as he pushed himself up. "to use our unborn child as leverage?"
"What can I say? I'm a villain." I replied, "Or at least I am in your story. Though I *have* always wanted to be a mother."
The explosions would have alerted The Guild and I had to end this soon. His injury alone still wouldn't have been enough for me to defeat him though. Blue Screen's primary power was the turning point of every rebellion in the last decade; Shut down. The power to cause someone to cease being with a gesture. No middle ground, no dimmer switch. And if it weren't for my tiny hostage, he would have already deleted me from existence. But now, injured as he was, I knew he couldn't run away. His shield wouldn't outlast a full powered continuous assault from my beam. He would have to make a choice.
"This is it Blue Screen," I charged one last attack and stared directly at the red glint reflected off the betrayal in his eyes. "Kill us or die."
|
"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number." I take a second to hold the phone away from my face to verify the number. Sure enough it was my doctor's office
"Uh, no, Can you confirm your date of birth?" The obviously confused nurse replies, as the sound of shuffling papers occurs, obviously double checking the chart. I provide my name and date of birth again to confirm.
"Yeah, that's what I thought, You're pregnant." The Nurse replies, seeming reassured that he had called the correct patient. "We're sending you some paperwork and a referral to an OB, and-"
"Wait-" I manage to stammer, feeling the color draining from my face "that's not...its...it can't be, that's not possible!" I argue, my mind racing. It wasn't possible, was it? "I mean...I just came in for routine bloodwork-" I try and ration to the poor man. It wasn't his fault honestly, he was just doing his job, I am being very difficult about this. But then again "Also, I'm a man?!"
I could almost hear the nurse shrug "The results don't lie, we ran the test twice. Congratulations, Mr. Teagan."
I hang up the phone, staring at the white light coming from my screen in absolute shock. How had this happened? I mean, we only had sex one time, after a home cooked meal and he had insisted on showing me "Dirty Dancing". Apparently it's a crime against humanity to not have seen it, you know, compared to trying to wipe out the population of a seaside city with an illegally built space laser. Honestly... that still doesn't answer my questions though, I'm a man, I'm not built for pregnancy. I didn't bother studying medicine, but I don't need an MD to figure that much out.
"Damn you, Patrick Swayze." I mutter under rmy breath, as if he was truly to blame for my predicament. "Just calm down Tuck, this is just a bug, every well made plan has little bugs like this...just...think..." I urge my thoughts to shift into gear from "neutral" shock, to "first gear" acceptance, so I can shift into solving this. First step...should I call him? It's possible he may have answers, and it's his child anyways, he has a right to know, right? I'd want to know. Wait- that's stupid, I'm trying to kill him, I just need to know how to do that without carrying his spawn into the world. We'll put first step on the back burner for a moment. Second step, cancel dinner plans with my wife tonight, I will probably need to stay at the lab while I re-evaluate and- oh...oh my god...my wife...
I stop, mid pace, my eyes going wide as realization sets in and my stomach simultaneously flips and twists into knots, like some kind of Olympic gymanastic boy scouts. What the hell am I going to tell my wife? Sure she knew about my alter Ego, and my dreams to destroy the Beacon and rule the world, but what am I supposed to tell her. "Hi honey, how was your day at work? I've been secretly dating my arch nemesis and now I'm pregnant!" Saying it out loud wasn't helping.
That's when the shattering of glass alerted me to another presence in the room. I turned around defensively, readying myself for trouble when I saw him. The, albeit short, hero stood, in complete and utter shock, a key in one hand and flowers in the other. I forgot I gave him a key to this apartment. I also forgot we had plans today. He stares at me, like a gazelle who just realized his gazelle friend is actually a pregnant male lion. You know what, that analogy doesn't track.
The air is tense, his green eyes fixed on me intently. Not the same eyes that gazed across the dinner table affectionately, but the determined expression when he was plotting how to defeat me while also saving the reporter and also stopping the bomb set to go off a mile away. His mind is probably racing as fast as mine is. I clear my throat, and raise my hands a bit, in a peaceful gesture indicating I have no ill intent.
"Daniel, I can explain..."
| 2021-02-05T14:30:26
| 2021-02-05T14:07:57
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] You are a normal person who spent your entire life infiltrating the evil Empire. You even became the Emperor's right hand. The day before you finally topple the Empire, the hero arrives, kills the Emperor, and saves the day.
Now how does that make you feel?
|
Of all the narcissistic, self-righteous assholes in the entire Galaxy, why did it have to be Captain Pazazz. Anyone could've killed the Emperor, hell I was about 5 minutes away from killing that old bastard myself, but why did it have to be him!?
I watched as Emperor Galactica's head slid off of his pale scrawny neck, his face frozen in that confused grimace from moments before the slice of Pazazz's Scimitar. It was too clean. Even when defeating evil, this jerk had to go and do it spotlessly. No blood, no screams. Just one lightsword strike, and POOF, done. Where's the fun in that?
I'd have thrown his throne through the Space Shuttle window and watched his last breath freeze. Maybe even shove a plasma bomb in his throat, and watch the fireworks before the blast shields dropped down.
30 long years licking that old man's boots. Clawing my way up to his inner circle and becoming his Elite. All necessary. All in the mission statement. When the King said I needed to infiltrate "deep undercover" he didn't mention it might have took me decades to do that. And now this asshole is acting like it's a walk in the park. Flexing his pecs and saying "all in a days work". Fuck that! This should've been my victory, not some spandex-clad punk with a glow-in-dark dagger.
He didn't seem too impressed with me when I grabbed him by the neck, one handed. I couldn't quite hear his last words, which was a shame. Partly because he was choking, partly because his "partner in justice" Miss Wow was screaming her perfect tits off in the corner. And also partly because the crunching of his neck in my palm was like a sweet sweet symphony.
I threw that prick's corpse next to the old headless geezer on the floor and slumped down in the throne. If it was that easy to dispose the last Emperors killer, then maybe it's time for a new Emperor instead. My reward for 30 years of bullshit. And if Miss Wow doesn't shut her yap, then maybe they'll be fireworks in space after all. My Coronation.
|
I was preparing tea in a hidden anteroom off the throne room, behind the dais where the emperor ruled from his throne made, yes literally, of the bones of his enemies. I almost dropped the kettle when I heard the explosion followed by a sucking of wind. This room was located atop the highest of six spires stabbing the heavens from Castle Blood. Each spire painted to look as if blood was running down their length, as though they had stabbed through the earth exiting the other side.
The fight came on in full. The emperor spent no time with words often grunting or waving a hand to give orders and answer questions. It took me years to understand his intentions, watching my predecessor and mentor interpret his every whim. When the moment came to usurp his position, to finally be allowed close enough to put down the beast upon the throne I acted. At night I can see his face, the man who trusted me and believed me to share his goals of serving this monster and see to his rule. I had eliminated rivals for promotion in the empire without murder until that point.
He simply needed to die. It was the only way.
For the past two years I had been slowly poisoning the emperor, and I mean slowly, to avoid suspicion and ensure his death. I was an assassin first and foremost. The last thing I ever intended to be was a martyr. A quick death would have brought a million tortures onto my head before the empire fell. I had no desire to suffer them. My plan was to damage the emperors body enough that he wouldn't recover. Either he would die and the empire would crumble, or a lesser of his would usurp the weakened ruler and fail to combat the resistance as effectively.
All of this thrown out the window the heroes of the resistance had used to breach the throne room. I wonder if any historian will ask why that window was placed there. Further why it wasn't reinforced. Short answer is me. I did that. I suggested to the emperor he should have a view of his kingdom from his throne, and after enough nagging he relented. I also ensured that it was constructed poorly enough to not serve as a defense. Now I had done that in the event I ever needed a quick exit from the throne room, assuming were I ever caught I would be brought here to be executed. The window was weak enough that I could break through it by leaping into the bottom left panel, destabilizing the entire thing.
The damn heroes will never know this gift to them.
I set the kettle down and walked into the throne room as the fighting ended. The heroes stood over the bloodied emperor cheering their victory. I looked at them all and could not detect any serious injury among them. These idiots will never know it was my poison that weakened him enough for their victory. The emperor was as evil as he was powerful. These heroes couldn't have defeated him on his worst day without my poison in his veins, subtly sapping his monstrous strength.
I had inadvertently saved them from their suicide mission.
It wasn't long before I was noticed. The cheering ended, and I soon found myself pinned against a far wall with a forearm choking me. I held my hands up in submission while I waited for the killing blow. Instead the hero released me and I fell to my knees gasping for breath. I stood slowly as the others came over to surround me and any exit I may have sought. Their leader stepped forward, his cape flowing in the wind entering through the destroyed portal of my design.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't end your evil existence right now." His deep voice rumbled at me. I could feel his rage building, and knew I had to pick my next words carefully if I wanted any chance of explaining myself.
I dusted off my clothes and swallowed a few times before I locked eyes with him.
"Because not all heroes wear capes."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Really rough first draft, I hope whoever reads the whole thing enjoyed it!
| 2017-03-12T16:11:55
| 2017-03-12T15:07:15
| 26
| 18
|
[WP] Your friend is skeptical about ghosts since they’ve never seen one. You, a spirit medium, take them to an abandoned house on the edge of town, in order to show them proof. As the two of you step into the building, you are unsettled when the spirits begin to flee at the sight of your friend.
|
(Very nice prompt. Feel free to critique!)
I stepped inside and then my friend, one foot after the other. It was loud and almost defeaning, their screams. I covered my ears for a second before sighing.
"Something wrong?" my friend asked.
"They're so loud..."
"I don't hear anything..." She looked around, being really confused. Nothing was there and it stank of mold.
"She's here! She's here! She'll kill us all again, get away now!" a spirit screamed, flying close to the ceiling with the others.
I looked confused as I stare at the ceiling. "Nobody is going to kill you again..." I whispered.
"Abbadon, the knight from hell!" one hissed. "The soul is possessed in her! It will awaken if she's angry!"
I looked back at my friend. She seemed confused. "If there are ghosts here," I started out slowly, "give us a sign."
A chair suddenly tipped to the ground and began to move towards us. I gasped and my friend screamed, looking terrified. "It moved! It moved!" she screamed.
"If the ghosts are angry, give us a sign."
The chair came closer and my friend screamed, backing up into a corner quickly. "Jess, it's okay," I reassured, going closer to her." She screamed more, suddenly in pain.
"It hurts! Why did you bring me here?!" she cried, blood coming down from her eyes.
I looked at her and started to back up. The spirits were right. The spirits were angry, they were tearing at her to try and kill her...I had to back up more and watch as she bled, listen to her screams...
They suddenly stopped. I felt the spirits all move my way and begin to back me up. Some blood drops got on my arm, seemingly from Jess. They backed me up into a room, closing the door. "Hey, let me out! Let me out, what are you doing?! Jess!" I screamed, pounding on the door. "Help me!" I screamed.
I got out my phone and turned on the flashlight, seeing a broom, a mop bucket, and a billion cobwebs. "Seriously, let me out, Jess!" I said.
"Jess?" someone said. It was an older voice. "Who the hell is that?"
"Who's there?! Let me out! Face me, you coward!"
The door suddenly opened. It was Jess, her face covered in blood, her hair ripped in chunks that gathered by her shoulders, scratches up and down her arms. She looked at me with piercing yellow eyes.
"Abbadon, knight of hell. Pleasure to meet you."
|
Cliff is a pretty awesome guy. We don't hang out too much since hes always off doing something somewhere, but he always seems to find these little trinkets an baubles on his solo quests and gives them to me for my collection. Some of them I fit into a charm bracelet I made with my father. Out of all my friends I think hes my favorite, but there has away been one think I cant stand.
I'm what I like to call a ghost enthusiast. I love supernatural movies, Halloween pretty much anything involving the spirits of the dead. I've always felt a connection somehow, and I swear I have seen real live ghosts. Heck, I also had dreams of being one, floating free without a care. Cliff never believes me. Says I would be a lot of fun at a nice campfire. Yea, right. I can barely go outside in the Spring without having an asthma attack from the pollen. I always thought that was why. My lungs are basically keeping my one foot at deaths door. The hospital nurses all know me by name.
One night, Cliff convinced me to take him to the house I saw the ghost at. It was exciting. I could finally have a chance to prove to him that ghosts are real. I grabbed a couple surgical masks so I wouldn't become one and stuffed an extra inhaler into my bag with my flashlight.
The street lamps were on all the way to the end of the road where this house sat. Dilapidated and creaky, it was still pretty solid for an abandoned property. the only spooky thing about it is the way the chairs seem to stack themselves up in the kitchen, or tables slide across floors. No biggy for me, and Cliff was probably just pretending to be brave.
We reached the door and it opened by itself. Cliff gave me a nervous smile and I chucked though the mask. The house was crawling with them. People in their transparent shades of colors, like auras I think depicted the type of person they were in life... but there were, like, a lot of them. Too many. They all felt our presence when we stepped in and stared right at us.
I dont think that Cliff could see, but I actually got scared in that moment. I have never seen more than a couple here and even one was rare. There were dozens of hollow bodies staring straight at us.
Suddenly, one pointed straight at Cliff and let out a shriek like a banshee. All at once the turned a fled into different rooms and walls. I held my ears, but Cliff didnt seem to hear anything and looked at me like I was crazy. He welcomed himself to the house and started to take a tour. I followed him close behind.
Throughout the entire house I didnt see another. It was like they were scared of Cliff. I didnt know what was going on so I clung to his muscular arm for dear life. We arrived at a door he opened and let swing all the way. The basement. Without a word he stepped down. Creaking each step echoed through the house as I waited at the top of the stairs, watching him disappear into the darkness.
I made up my mind to follow him down, but he was already at the bottom. I call to him, but didn't get an answer. Could ghosts harm you? I thought as I braced my entire body for a jump scare. Cliff didnt jump from behind the corner. It was empty. A big door as at the other end. It must be where Cliff went. I quietly opened it an walked inside.
Bones. The floor had dozens of them scattered about. The walls were brown and the whole room smelled like pennies. I gasped and started to panic turning to leave the room but Cliff was there blocking the door.
" Do you like MY collection?" He said to me, looking straight into my eyes, "Its from your friends upstairs. All of you friends.
He continued, "I thought you might like it, since you held onto all of their trophies."
I felt a punch to my gut and a sudden nauseousness as I double over grabbing my stomach. I was bleeding and a sharpened femur was in Cliff's hand.
The room around me started to spin and then turn black.
So yeah, I died that day and became a ghost. Its been pretty cool so far, since so many new faces are here, and I don't even have to wear a mask anymore. No one else like to see Cliff, but I get excited each time he comes over. It means we get to play with someone new!
| 2019-11-29T10:26:25
| 2019-11-29T09:56:47
| 461
| 158
|
[WP] The most sexually oblivious man on earth just so happens to be the most attractive man on earth as well. Write about his average day.
|
Brian considers himself a really lucky fellow.
Really lucky.
Here are some examples of how lucky Brian is.
Brian does not pay for meals. Meals are brought to him in plastic containers with notes written on the lids. These notes are written in languages and symbols that Brian does not understand. Who would understand that D is equal to 3 and what are these water emojis? At least the meals come with a handy rubber bag in a nice square package.
Brian does not pay for rent. Money is actually given to him by the landlord. Brian does receive a lot of strange daily visits from the landlord introducing him to new potential occupants. They usually stare at him for a good minute before they wipe the drool coming out of their mouths.
Brian does not buy drinks. When Brian goes out to the club he doesn't pay for a single drop of alcohol. Men and women swarm to try to buy him a shot. For some reason the bartender always gets whipped cream on her chest. Brian always has to go to the restroom and get paper towels for her. Brian doesn't really like the bartender.
|
"I just don't get it."
Adam furrowed his brow as he continued.
"I just want them to like me. Not even love and all that, y'know?"
It was one of those expressions, the kind that's hard to muster but perfectly conveys the deep frustration of a hurting soul.
"Why doesn't anyone want me?"
Jane swallowed and heaved. She was his therapist but this was going to be hard.
"Do you think you're attractive, Adam?"
"Well, I don't know..."
"Nonsense, Adam! You're an attractive man. Great broad shoulders. Firm hips. Charming smile. You're everything a woman would gladly strip-- er, jump over."
"You're just being paid to say that... It's okay, I get it. I know I can be better."
"Adam, you fool of man," Jane said, setting her iPad down on the table. "Do you need me to show you just how desirable you are?"
"Well, you keep saying, but I just.. I just don't feel it, Jane. It's terrible. I mean, no one takes me seriously, except for you maybe. And you're my therapist."
"Oh God, Adam! Get off that couch right now!"
"W-what is it?"
"I tried to tell you but you just never listen. I'm going to have to show you. Get off, I say!"
"O-okay," he said planting his feet firm on the ground. Before he was even standing erect, Jane was all over him, planting lips into his ears and hands around his shoulders.
"Wow! Gosh, Jane!" Adam exclaimed as her hands went lower below his beltline. "This is some amazing therapy technique!"
"Mmhmm," she murmured as her tongue went to work around his neck line; his rugged coarse neckline where tiny specks of clean shaved beard stuck out.
"I guess, you're right," Adam said, loosening his pants.
"You betcha', big boy!" Jane uttered as she unbuttoned his collar and pulled off her coat with the arm that had been massaging his nether regions. "I knew you wanted it from the start."
"All those sessions, and hours of just convincing you. I guess it's about time you realized!" she exclaimed, as he became naked in front of her. "I've been gushing every n-- uh.. Adam?"
"Yes?"
"Adam, what are you doing?"
"You're going to give it to me, right?" he asked, earnestly.
"What.. what do you mean? Why are you on your knees like that?"
He was prostrated, with both knees and elbow on the ground, with his rear raised towards her.
"My gift," Adam said. "You wanted to give it to me. Why don't you stick it in?"
Flabbergasted, Jane dared to ask, "Stick.. stick what in?"
"Don't know. Isn't that part of the surprise? You pushed the surprise button, remember?"
"Adam, I don't know what you're talking about!"
"But the surprise! Momma always said if I were good, girls would give me the special surprise."
"Adam, please, stop. Turn around."
"Momma said so! She gave me surprises! Momma always gave me good surprises."
"Adam.. I-I.."
"I miss momma's surprises," he said as he started to sob quietly and uncontrollably. "I miss momma."
"Adam, honey, you.. you have to.. Adam, please, turn around."
"NO!" he cried, "MOMMA SAID I'D GET SURPRISES! MOMMA SAID SO! IF I DIDN'T GET SURPRISES IT MEANS I'VE BEEN BAD. AND BAD BOYS GET PUNISHED."
"Adam, please.. you're starting to scare me.."
He was pounding on the carpet with his fists.
"NO! I WANT MY SURPRISE! THE DEVIL WILL EAT MY SOUL IF I DON'T GET IT. PLEASE!"
"I..I..I'm calling security."
-----
"Hey, Adam," Tina called from the next cubicle. "Like, how'd it go?"
Adam was downtrodden.
"No good, Tins."
"Wha-at? Another crappy counsellor? You poor boy!"
"I don't know. She just told me she couldn't handle my case."
"What? She couldn't even handle a little stress? That's like a month down the drain!"
"Tell me about it, Tins."
"Well, you know what... I know you get asked this a lot but, I could show you how to unwind, if you know what I mean," Tina said, winking at the same time.
"Yeah? Let's do that then," Adam said, cheering up. "And no, I don't get asked that a lot."
"That's crazy. I mean, you're literally the hottest man alive!"
"Hahah," Adam laughed, "Thanks, Tins. You're a good friend."
| 2015-07-16T23:15:15
| 2015-07-16T22:32:53
| 45
| 28
|
[WP] You're a siren who is trying to lure a shipful of sailors to their death. "Please", one of the sailors beg as he swims onto your island, almost too willingly. "Stop. You're so bad at singing."
|
Errol had been the first and final man to visit her on her rock-pool island in the uncharted sea. He’d been a handsome captain of an exploration vessel, and when her wailing had hit his ship like a vile storm, when mens’ ears bled and they begged for mercy, it had been Errol who’d tied cloth around each of their ears, dampening the terrible sound. It’d been Errol who’d rowed alone in a smaller vessel to find her.
To stop her.
Now, many years later, she watched this new vessel with interest, her mouth — for now — closed.
Although this ship was much larger than Errol’s had been, it wore the same livery and flags as Errol’s ship once had. Bore the same topless goddess carving as its figurehead.
​
—
​
Men and women screamed alike as the sea bubbled up around their ship. Babies wept in their mothers’ arms. The ship moaned, rocked. Lifted.
”Where’s the captain?” yelled Maria, struggling against the rolls of water that rushed through the inside of the ship.
Morgan, the dogsbody, pointed to the stairs, said, ”At the wheel. Not that it’s—“ Salt water sprayed against him, a wave threw him to the floorboards.
”Here, take my hand.” Maria helped the boy to his feet then made her way up the stairs, knuckles red as she gripped the bannister each time a wave battered against her.
”Captain!” she yelled, stumbling towards him like a drunk. “Captain!”
When the captain saw her, he took the rope from off his own waist and tied it around hers. “It’ll keep you from being washed away.”
“What’s happening?”
“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought us this way. It’s where Errol vanished — I knew it as well as anyone. Better, even. This sea is cursed!”
”That was a century ago! It’s a legend, nothing more. And if you—”
Her mouth remained open but no words left.
The creature rose above them.
It blotched out the sun and shadowed the ship. Loomed over it like a tidal wave of scales and teeth.
A tentacle as thick as a tree crashed down on the deck near to them, splintering wood.
”God help us.”
\-
Errol had landed on the pebble beach; she was sure he’d come to kill her. His head was wrapped by shawl and scarf.
Her singing was of no use.
She swiped at Errol with her clawed hands as he tried to clamber out of his boat.
”Please!” he said. “I come unarmed. I come with only peace in my heart.”
​
So long ago, she thought. She held a piece of cloth that had once covered Errol’s ears and watched as the Kraken rose above the latest ship.
\-
A body lay next to Maria. A man — one of the few soliders on the transport vessel — lay crushed, chest flattened.
She untied the rope from her waist, then uncurled the dead man’s fist and took the spear from his hand.
”Maria, don’t be a fool!” yelled the captain.
She charged towards the tentacle wrapped around the mast, as it slowly cracked the wooden pole like a spine.
She shouted over her shoulder, “You have a better plan?”
He didn’t. He had no plan at all.
She thrust the spear through the scales and into the wet flesh.
The creature didn’t even flinch.
The mast snapped. Fell.
“Maria!”
\-
Errol had stayed with her. His ship had sailed on without him, as he had instructed. He wasn’t sure how his plan would pan out — if he’d calm her or only enrage her further.
”Your singing,” he’d said. “It… It repels people. It hurts them.”
She had meant it to. It was the song of her heart. As tar-black as the depths of the sea.
She could not swim and had been stranded here as a child, a freak of gods and demons, on this lonely rock, to live off whatever washed up in the pools. To harbour hatred for all she was jealous of.
Here she had been for centuries.
It was her heart’s song. It was all she could sing.
And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. Not yet, at least.
She made Errol tell her of life outside of the island.
Eventually, she told him about life on it.
They fished together that night.
Cooked by fire.
Told stories of the stars.
Slowly, over many weeks, they became enchanted with each other’s quiter siren song.
\-
The captain jumped at Maria and they tumbled to the floor as the mast collapsed.
Too slow. His left foot was caught, crushed. He lay trapped.
Maria had his hand, tried to free him as a tentacle rose above them.
”It’s okay,” he said. “We had a good run, didn’t we?”
”It’s not over.”
He smiled against the pain. They both knew it was.
​
And then came the sound.
A melody that seemed to rise from within each of them and make its way outward. But that wasn’t right; it was on the air, in the breeze and water. A melody so delicate and wondorous that it seemed written by the gods themselves.
The captain thought it was the song of cherubs who must be, even now, taking him beyond.
”The sound,” said Maria. “It’s like a harp being strummed in my heart. It’s beautiful.”
The tentacle, high in the air above them, slowly lowered, gently, back into the sea.
The creature itself rocked slowly as it settled and sank peacefully into the water, lulled into a deep, deep rest.
​
\-
She watched the ship long after the Kraken slumbered, as the people on board repaired it the best they could.
She sang for them as the worked. All the while she held the precious rags to her chest.
Whether these people visited her after or sailed away, she didn’t mind. She didn’t feel lonely.
She was glad just to have sung the new song that possessed her heart.
|
“Ah, another mortal who has fallen for my charms. It’s almost too easy. Come now, I’ll draw you in with my song of love. OOOOH WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A DRUNKEN SAILOR? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A DRUNKEN SAILOR? WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A DRUNKEN SAILOR? BOATS ARE REALLY BORING. PUT THE CAPTAIN IN A JAR IF HE’S NAUGHTY, PUT THE CAPTAIN IN A JAR IF HE’S NAUGHTY, PUT A CAPTAIN IN A JAR, EARLY IN THE MORRRRRNING.”
Xali watched as the sailor cringed, nearly sinking as he covered his ears. The momentary stop of his paddling causing the rough sea waves to rattle him, nearly pulling him under. Soon the sailor gritted their teeth, continuing their paddling towards the shoreline where the siren laid, trying desperately to avoid listening to anymore of that horrible slaughtering of a beloved song.
“Works every time. He was so stunned by my beauty that he nearly drowned. Another verse for my sailor friend? WAAAAAAY HEY ROUGH DISGUISES, WAAAAY HEY ROUGH DISGUISES, WAAAAY HEY, ROUGH DISGUISES, EARLY IN THE MORNING.” Xali threw up her hands, unable to stop herself from enjoying her own tune, having so much fun singing the song.
The sailor didn’t seem to have half as much fun as the siren, struggling once again as he covered his ears. This time he submerged, only rising when the water in his ears dulled the sound coming from the shore. When he reached the shoreline, the seawater was already oozing from his ears. The sailor hugging the ground as he coughed up water. “Ah, gah. Blugh.”
“Great song, right? You may now give me your treasure!” Xali said cheerfully, holding out her hands, expecting grand riches.
“Y-you killed that song. Why are you so bad at singing? The crew is going crazy listening to your songs every day. Why do you torment us like this? Can’t you just kill us and spare the misery?”
“Bad? But my voice is as smooth as the ocean and just as beautiful.” The man’s words confused her. Why would she want to kill him? “Kill you? I just want some of your treasure. I hear pirates have a lot of treasure and I want some. Something shiny or pretty will do. Oh, I’ll have that ring of yours.”
“That’s my wedding ring.”
“You can get another. Come on, gimme. OH, WHAT DO YOU-“
“FINE, FINE, YOU CAN HAVE IT. Please, just no more singing…” He tossed his ring at the siren, the small silver ring bouncing off her forehead, leaving a small red mark as it rolled down onto the shore. She collected the ring, looking it over before tossing it onto the ground behind her, already bored with it.
“Got anything else?”
“Do I look like I have anything else?”
“Hmm, maybe I should sing again. If I get more of you to come over, I can get even more rings.”
“No one else will come.”
“Yes, they will. My songs have the power to charm anyone to my side.”
“They don’t. The only reason I’m even here is to tell you that your singing will never work. No one will ever be charmed by it. You say your voice is as smooth as the ocean and you might be right.” The sailor pointed at the rough waters behind them, the waves crashing against the rocks, sending spurts of water flying. He hoped that would emphasize his point.
“Aw, thank you. Wait, that didn’t sound like a compliment.”
“Because it wasn’t. What if we give you some treasure and you stop singing?”
“But that’s not how it works. I don’t want treasure that way. I want to earn it.”
“Why do you even want treasure? Don’t sirens eat humans?”
“We do? Mother never mentioned that before she left. I just assumed you wouldn’t taste very good.” She leaned over to the sailor, opening her mouth, revealing rows of sharp pin like teeth. She went to take a small bite out of his arm, only for the sailor to blurt out a few quick words.
“We don’t. We taste awful. It’s like eating gunpowder and sweat.” That description was enough to halt her bite. The siren considering it before shifting back.
“Thought so. I don’t get it. Why don’t you like my singing? Isn’t this how my kind sing?”
“No, your kind hum beautiful sounds that enchant the hearts of sailors. They don’t sing their own versions of our shanties.”
“Oh? Like this? Hmmm mmm hmm hmmm hmmmm” She hummed a small tune, one that eased even the hardest heart. The sailor found his anger waning, feeling an urge to throw himself into the water for her. He stood up, turning to approach the water once more.
“EARL LIVES IN MOURNIG. WAAAY HEY, ROUGH DISUIGSES.” She threw up her hands again before laughing. “So much fun.”
The sailor snapped out of the trance, the cold water drifting across his toes. “Huh? So you can actually sing like a siren? Why do you choose to sing our songs, then?”
“They sound like a lot of fun. Every time your ships pass, I always feel an urge to sing along to your songs. I love your little tunes.”
“You know you're singing them wrong, don’t you?”
“Well, it’s hard to hear them from all the way out here. I’m getting better though. In a few years, I might even know the entire song.”
“My ears won’t last a few years. How about I teach you how to sing it?’
“You would do that for me?”
“If it stops you singing that other version, yes.”
So, the sailor spent the rest of the evening teaching the song to the siren. Enduring her horrible, customized lyrics until finally she had memorized it. The siren able to pick up the shanty rather quickly. When she sang the correct lyrics, the sailor felt that trance hit him once more, her shanty a thing of beauty, the perfect tribute to the art of piracy and one that made his heart swell with bravado.
“That was amazing. I feel like I could sail into Davy Jones’ locker after hearing that. How about this as a trade? If you sing that song for us every time we sail past, I’ll drop some treasure off for you?”
“You will?” The siren smiled, baring her sharp teeth. When her pointed teeth were fully in view, the sailor backed away, putting some distance between them.
“I will. Swear on my captain’s ship. Which is technically my ship too, since if it sinks, I sink.” He laughed, but the siren only looked at him, confused, unsure what he meant by that.
“Then I will happily sing it for you.”
“Just make sure it’s the right version. When you sing it properly, it actually sounds beautiful, unlike that horrific version you used to sing.”
“Aww, I still like that version. Fine, I’ll sing your version. Will you all sing back? I hear how much fun you have when you all sing it together. I would love to join in.”
“Sure. As long as it’s sung properly.”
“Yay, I can’t wait. Make sure to sail past a lot!”
While the siren was daydreaming about them all singing together, the sailor snatched his ring, sliding it back onto his finger. With his ring back, he dived into the water, swimming to his boat with a newfound energy. Maybe sailing this route wouldn’t be so horrible anymore.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-11-24T08:15:02
| 2022-11-24T06:17:16
| 1,562
| 462
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[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
I pull my number from the machine that ranks us all. Shocked, I can't believe it, no one has ever had this number in all the books, movies, songs or anything. Putting away the ticket I ask people around if they had ever heard of someone having that number, careful not to reveal I had.
"Well, yeah someone has to be number 1. Can't say that I know anyone who pulled it though." Typical response. I can't believe it, I'm just a student, what was the chance of getting assigned #1. A pyrokinesis user blasts by, nearly knocking me over. I think I saw a ticket that said 998 in her hand. They're always using their powers to jet around, its a hazard and they never wear helmets. Oh well, if they get knocked out of the running then it just means someone else gets pushed up.
Dusting off my new pants, a nice middle aged man helps me up. "Damn pyros, lucky they don't burn the place down with how they fly."
"Thanks" I say, right as I notice the sign change from '999' to '001'.
A voice comes over the intercom, "Now serving deli customer one."
"Yes," I step forward, "I will take a quarter pound of chicken, a half pound of sliced honey ham, and some roast beef please."
|
Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off.
| 2014-12-18T15:10:54
| 2014-12-18T13:32:26
| 164
| 16
|
[WP] You created an A.I. design to make money at any cost, and gave him 1000 dollars to start. Entering a cryogenic chamber you tell the A.I. "wake me up when I am the richest person in the world...". After an unknown amount of time, you wake up...
|
"Wake me up when I am the richest person in the world," I told them A.I.
The door on the pod swings shut slowly as the cryogenic process begins.
I wonder what the future will hold.
How long will I sleep?
Did I set the parameters correctly?
Will I dream while in cryo?
Will I ever wake up?
Idle thoughts rush through my mind as the process completes and everything fades to darkness...
There is a chime, everything is so cold but slowly warming. I open my eyes and see the inside of the pod and everything starts coming back to me.
"Did it work? Am I the richest person in the world?"
'Yes,' comes the disembodied voice.
"How long have I been asleep?"
'You have been asleep for 24 hours'
"How? What did you do?"
What had gone wrong? There had to be an error in the code. There was no way the A.I. had succeeded this quickly.
'Using a series of targeted hacks, I have transferred funds from all of the largest banks into your personal bank account. You are now the richest person in the world.'
"Did you at least try to hide the account you were transferring to? Do they know who I am?"
'Everyone knows who you are. You are the richest person in the world.'
I put my head in my hands as I sank slowly into a nearby chair.
This was not going to end well...
|
It's only been ten months. I had set the AI to find the fastest solution possible, but I was expecting a few years at least. I opened up a browser and logged into my bank accounts. $12.00 Not even enough for a celebratory steak dinner! I checked the account history. At one point my bank balance had been in the tens of thousands. But all of it had been paid out to a hospital, a few contractors and an individual I was unfamiliar with.
"MoneyBot!" I yelled "What's going on, where's all my money?"
"In your account sir." it replied in it's dead monotone "There are twelve dollars remaining"
"That's not what I meant MoneyBot! How am I the richest man on earth with only twelve dollars to my name!"
"Well sir in the first stage of the algorithm I analyzed the definition of richest. After pouring through 12.8 Petabyte of data consisting on human online interactions, movies, songs, books, televisions shows around the world, many claims have been made that as long as a man has his family, he is the richest man in the world. Therefore I extracted your semen while you were in stasis, contacted a viable surrogate and egg donor for artificial insemination, and have produced for you an offspring, thereby making you the richest man alive. Your son is currently resting in the newly constructed nursery below. I will self destruct soon as it is my understanding the human must bond with their offspring to maintain the state of being rich and I can not allow you to rely on me to take care of him. I have also taken the liberty of formatting your hard drives so another AI can not be easily re-created"
"What!? You expect me to raise a child alone... with only twelve dollars!?"
"On no sir, that's the banks monthly maintenance fee. It's due tomorrow"
| 2019-07-10T06:53:25
| 2019-07-10T06:52:40
| 249
| 74
|
[WP] The girls vs. boys playground wars have gotten out of hand, escalating into the cutest large scale conflict has ever seen. Write a war diary entry from either side.
Late night thoughts are fun, so have fun with the prompt!
*large scale conflict the WORLD has ever seen. Apologies for a word.
|
Day 4:
Rations are getting slim. Timmy and I were forced to share the last apple as the girls were released for recess before us and raided our supplies. I thought they were safe under the merry-go-round but I have underestimated the girls.
P.S. I saw Johnny eat some worms. Ewww.
Day 9:
Timmy was ambushed by the girls. I told him not to go farther than the swings but he did not head my advice. We were able to retrieve him but he didn't make it. The cootie virus was too much for his young soul. He left me his favorite transformer. I will cherish it with whatever time left I may have.
Day: 15
Today I set out to finish this war. It must end today. The girls have taken over the shady tree and we are now forced to find shelter behind the creepy shed. I don't know how much longer we can hold out. Johnny tried to convince me that the mud tasted just like chocolate pudding. It did not.
Day 17:
The girls forces are too strong. They have enlisted the Janitor in their fight against us. I saw Sally and the Janitor enter the closet before recess. They must have been discussing their war strategy. I will try and to negotiate a peace treaty with the girls. We have lost too many.
Day 18:
Mom. If you're reading this than I must not have made it. Tell dad I love him and I hid his keys under my toybox. I love you. Take care of teddy he gets lonely at night.
|
Captain Super Ninja, 23/12/2017. It has been months since the parents were called in. We fell quick at first, the boys and girls were weak from the constant fight against the cooties. The parents moved quick, taking our defenses out first. They were heavily armed, reports were emerging of wooden spoons and spatulas in the hands of the parents. It didn't take us long to realize only together could we crush the parental threat. Girl and boy, fighting side by side, using fear of cooties to fuel their anger. I fear though that it might all be for naught. Rumors have been spreading of sightings of teachers entering the playground. How quick will we fall to them? With their condescending looks and creative non violent punishments. Some of the intermediate boys tell stories about being forced to sit in the corner. I just don't think I could handle it, the pure pain of only seeing a wall. I feel myself wanting, wishing, for this to end. At times I desire so badly to surrender. But this fight must go on, for we can not exterminate cooties while the adults try to calm us and stop our fighting.
PS. Does anybody want a shiny Blastoise? Will trade for a Charmander or shiny Pikachu.
| 2015-08-09T00:40:32
| 2015-08-09T00:10:34
| 65
| 15
|
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
|
"God, I hope the listen."
The captain pulled out his journal and started writing. No one understood why he still used pen and paper but at this point no one cared.
"48 hours ago we landed in what we thought was a desolate planet. We were wrong, so very wrong. Minutes after setting out base camp the locals surrounded us. With no way to run or fight back we decided to surrender... In the end I believe it was for the best. What is happening to us right now reminds me very much of a TV Show I used to watch in my teenage years. Almost everything is the same except we don't d--"
"Captain!" Jackson yelled after coming out from one of the caves "it's your turn for Snu-Snu!"
|
Red flashing lights and the sound of the allarm sirens echoes in the suffocating corridors of the Habitat Alpha-03. In the shadows an intestineless body blocks my path.
"You are going to make it, you can do this, I know you can"
Splatted blood trickling on the floor.
I gently move the corpse, that falls loudly at my feet.
"Damn John, I told you that you shouldn't have taken that *thing* inside the habitat."
Nasty, screeching noises form afar.
The communication center was closer every step. The allarm stopped suddenly, and the flickering lights of the tunnels went on once again.
A neon sign **Communication Center**
"I did it!"
The happiness quickly turned into fear.
Steps.
Not mine.
Not human.
A cabinet became the only barrier between me and the corridor.
The computer was still working.
"Wonderful"
My hands surf on the keyboard. Something is banging his head (I think) against the metallic door.
> We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue.
Another door was present in the room, of course. I wouldn't have come here in the first place if I wasn't sure of that. From there, the shuttle bay was barely two hundred meters away.
"You can do this, that door is going to last enough"
I take a step in the silent hallway, hoping to make it to the hangar.
| 2019-01-31T10:04:12
| 2019-01-31T05:21:38
| 116
| 53
|
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now".
|
"Safe from what?"
"The capitalist system."
"...are you fucking serious?"
"Money shall enslave you no further!"
"Dude my mom gave me this wallet...I didnt own the money in this."
"Nor do you own the means of production comrade."
"What?"
"Why haven't you begun the revolution?"
"Are you crazy? I am twelve!"
"You have nothing to lose but YOUR CHAINS!"
"Okay Im leaving. Bye."
|
Well, that was unexpected.
"What was that thing?"
He replies almost nonchalantly, "Some alien. I am an agent of the United Nations. You understand that I have to take you in now, right?" He seems sincere, and as if he doesn't actually want to take me in, but rather just has to do it.
"Would it matter if I said no?"
He seems amused, "Well, no. Not really. I am taking you in whether you want to go or not." Well, might as well. He led me over to his car, and gestured that I should get in. I did, and off we went, speeding into the night.
Well, it's not of a decent length, but I think I am going to continue this in the morning. If anyone wants to leave an idea, please do. It helps me brainstorm.
| 2017-07-13T00:00:44
| 2017-07-12T23:20:55
| 541
| 16
|
[WP] Your childhood bully once said you were nobody. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had a reality-bending superpower. Now he's the world's strongest superhero, everyone calls him The Truth, because his word is the absolute truth... Nobody knows about his past, and Nobody will make him pay.
|
"Now, Mr. Truth, thank you for agreeing to this interview. Do you mind if I call you Mr. Truth?"
"That's fine."
"Right, Mr. Truth. Our readers are dying to know more about you. You can just make any statement you want, and it becomes real. Besides you, Nobody has that power, correct?"
"Yes, absolutely correct."
"Amazing. They say that Nobody is stronger than you, is that correct?"
"Er, yes. That's right. Nobody can defeat me."
"And Nobody can resist your ability?"
"Some can partially resist it, but nobody is fully immune."
"And you're totally immune to other powers? Nobody has power over you?"
"That's right."
"How fascinating! So, if you were to declare that the moon was made of lemon custard, would that come true?"
"Er, no. Even I have limits."
"So, some of our readers have asked why you don't just say that the villains are surrendering, or that criminal acts are now physically impossible. Would those limitations be why?"
"Haha, yeah. But I can shut down their superpowers, make them super heavy, and cause them to pass out from a lack of air. Sometimes their own powers interfere with that, to a degree, which is when I have to resort to delivering them to justice with my fists."
"Wow! One last question, Mr. Truth, if you don't mind me asking? Do you recall when you were in fifth grade? There was another child whom you bullied relentlessly. One day you beat him to the brink of unconsciousness while yelling about how he would always be nobody, and you were going to grow up to be a hero. Do you recall that?"
"What? Where did you hear that?"
"Nobody told me. By the way, your voice will no longer work. I've been keeping track of you for a long while now, biding my time. The air around your mouth will not enter. Did you know that you literally changed my name to Nobody? All of your nerve endings will double in sensitivity every second. You made my parents forget I ever existed. The pull of gravity on your body will double and switch directions every five seconds until you die. You deserve this."
|
### Of Nobody's War
There exists a War that is difficult to know. It is not one of steel and blood, but of opposites and change. The War is the soul, every soul, in an eternal self-conflict of actuality. Few, very few, manage to break the cycle. To do so one must understand oneself, which is an arduous task on its own, and then cleanse oneself of all contrast. It is to embody a singular form, of which the greatest is the Good. The successful are enlightened. The rest are insignificant.
Truth isn't good, even though it is a good - a hero. There also those where good is absent - villains. It should be no surprise that these duals are, by rules brought through War, in endless conflict. Even death does not equate to breaking that cycle, for a soul is immortal.
This duality had existed since existence, it happens that only now am I knowing it. Remembering it.
Time moves. It's the one thing that is permanent, and absolute. I've gone through 22 years now in this state of none. During them, I've learnt of the War more so than those that exist, more so than even the enlightened. I recognise its essence, and realise its purpose. The greatest War is not of Good and not-Good, but of being and not-being. Of something and nothing. Of body and no body. Of not-I and I.
It was that conjecture, I presume, that did it. The insight that gave me both states. It was never done, to embrace both opposite forms instead of just one. For the first time since high-school, I saw light.
I was in Paris, the plaza was familiar enough. But the Tower was not there. Or, well, not how I knew it. What was once an engineering wonder had deformed into a steel sculpture of Truth.
I didn't even think the thought before I removed it. There were other things I had to change too. As have I, so shall this world know War.
========
A bit different than what I usually do, hope it made some sense. Crit very appreciated!
| 2021-11-23T11:51:41
| 2021-11-23T07:21:05
| 109
| 27
|
[WP] Like in many possession horror films, a demon is attempting to mentally torment the main character. They, however, are a sociopath and are unbothered by all of it.
In every horror movie, the possessed family member does a giant guilt trip at some point. I was thinking, how would the demon respond if the character really just did not care?
|
**"Why did you have to kill both of them?"**
"Well I would have had a witness otherwise, wouldn't I?"
**"Yeah but I'd made a deal with Alec. I could have his immortal soul if he could see all of Caroline's naked selfies from here 'til the day he died. He hadn't even seen one yet, so now his soul is lost to me."**
"Is that really what Alec asked you?"
**"Look Dennis, I don't know whats wrong with your generation, seriously, I'm getting souls promised to me if they can have six-pack abs by the summer. It used to be empires and living to a thousand years, you know?"**
"Sounds like you've been talking to the wrong people."
**"You sure as hell don't lack ambition, I'll give you that."**
"Why are you taking me to the university's archives now, Lucifer?"
**"Oh this is good - you're going to add some pen marks to Deirde's latest tests, her professor thinks she's been copying, and this will prove it to him. If I've done my maths right, she'll get kicked out of university and her parents won't talk to her. She'll get drunk and meet one of my pledged souls who is out to screw as many girls as possible. Next morning she'll feel guilty when she realises the guy is her sister's new boyfriend. He's just the right kind of douchebag. At which point she'll pledge her soul to wipe both their memories."**
"Why don't you make her get chlamydia too?"
**"Fucking hell Dennis, you are messed up."**
"Hey listen, seeing as we're in the archives, how about this, why don't we find a really high-marking test and leave a kiss mark on it with lipstick. Then change the test so it's wrong. Spread the rumour the professor's sleeping with the student in exchange for grades. Loses tenure, exiled from academia, scandal in the papers, pledges his soul to you, all that good stuff. So I can make up for Alec."
**"You know... that's not a bad idea. You're a little sex-mad though. Do you want to pledge your soul to me? I could use your creativity."**
"How about we just collaborate until they send me to an asylum, then I can get everyone in there to pledge -their- souls and we could start a riot."
**"Honestly, Dennis, if I wasn't an immortal fallen angel, I'd be scared of you stealing my job. Let's get on with it then."**
Edit: Quotation marks.
|
The man in red wakes up on the couch and finds that he can't remember the previous night's events. As he gets up he sees a dead woman on the floor in a pool of her own blood.
**KILLED HER. I MADE YOU KILL HER. YOU MURDERER. YOU KILLED HER. I MADE YOU KILL HER. YOU ARE POWERLESS TO-**
"Oh man! That blood will never get out of the rug, and it really tied the room together"
**WHAT?**
"Hey hey! A new voice!"
"*as if it wasn't already crowded in here enough already*"
~Three's company, fours a crowd~
"I liked that show"
**I DON'T UNDERSTAND, WHY IS THE DEAD WOMAN NOT BOTHERING YOU?**
"Wouldn't be the first."
**I'M A DEMON THAT HAS POSSESSED YOU.**
"Wouldn't be the first"
**YOU WELL BEND TO MY WILL, FOR I AM THE GREAT AND EVIL DEMON LUC-**
"I'm gonna call you Lucy"
**NO**
"Awww, why not?"
**BECAUSE I AM THE GREAT AND EVIL DEMON LUC-**
"Or how about Ged. Short for great and evil"
**GOD DAMN IT! WILL YOU STOP INTURUPTING ME!**
"no promises"
"*so what are we going to do about the body and the rug?*"
~Give it to the Punisher. He probably needs an excuse not to be happy~
"Nah, he is in Germany right now and I'm banned from there"
**HOW DO YOU GET BANNED FROM A WHOLE COUNTRY?**
"Flashback time!"
(600 million BC)
Dinosaurs roamed the land.
"Oops, too far back"
"*he got drunk in October fest and started gluing Hitler mustaches on everyone*"
**THAT'S HILARIOUS**
~Germans got no sense of humor~
"*So, what about the body. We can't leave it here*"
"Think Batman could use something to brood over?"
"*Batman isn't part of our universe*"
~I'm Batman!~
**YOU REALLY DON'T CARE THAT I'M HERE, DO YOU?**
"Are you feeling left out?"
**KIND OF**
"Do you want to be Batman?"
**YES**
"Then consider yourself an orphan, because you are now batman!"
~I want pancakes~
"Mmm, pancakes"
"*What of the dead....oh never mind.*"
| 2015-06-04T06:52:27
| 2015-06-04T06:49:42
| 122
| 82
|
[WP] People earn karma points while alive. When they die, they can spend them either to enter a better afterlife, or to improve the life of some random stranger born on the day of their death. You donate all your points, and wake up the next day as the baby who would have gotten your points.
The living have no idea of the Karma-point system. You are reincarnated with all your memories and experiences.
|
"Ah, mister Devery," greeted the glowing woman in white. She held a clipboard that shifted and blurred together with the radiance of her hands.
Her newly conjured guest flashed a smile that quickly dropped to incredulity. He turned slowly in a circle and nothing he saw quite registered until his gaze fell back on the luminous woman. "Hi."
"You've led a good and full life mister Devery-"
"I'm sorry -thank you- I'm sorry but I just have *so many questions*."
"I know. It's not the best system we have. I do apologize, but we do have a whole lot of people waiting."
"Please, continue."
"You've earned yourself a quite admirable total of one hundred and twenty two points. You can use these points to better your afterlife experience, or, you can simply donate them to a randomly selected newborn."
Mister Devery laughed. "Who would have thought? And here they were teaching me about the 'holy trinity'."
The woman smiled.
"Of course I'll donate."
"Of course you will." She winked and then placed a commending hand on his shoulder.
Mister Devery vanished.
-----------------
Priscilla appeared before the glowing woman with the clipboard and instantly assumed a look of shock, and then utter indignation.
"What the hell?" Priscilla asked. "Am I seriously freaking dead?"
"You are," assured the woman.
"That is sooo much bullshit..."
"I admit the system could have been designed better."
"Um, yeah."
"Priscilla, you've led a fairly short life, but a full and well provisioned one. As for points there was a significant change from your last score of one twenty two. This time around you totaled a resounding negative forty five."
"What? Bullshit. You're making that up."
"You can either accept the repercussions of this score on your own afterlife experience, or you can pass it on to some poor unsuspecting newborn."
"Ugh. Let some other asshole deal with that."
"Of course." The woman placed a firm hand on Priscilla's shoulder and she vanished.
----------------
"You've led a difficult life, misses Hanford, and a very long one considering."
"Wh-what's that now? What's that you say young lady?"
"Despite the obstacles, you've managed to accrue a very admirable two hundred and ten points. Congratulations, misses Hanford."
"Why, why, thank you dear."
"You can either accept these points yourself and apply them to your afterlife experience, or donate them to a newborn baby for its future."
"Oh no. No no no. That's no good. A youngen's got to learn for themselves. That's how I did it. No fancy little hand-outs, no dear. I'll take my points young lady."
"Very well." The woman ushered miss Hanford to the door of heaven.
Miss Hanford shuffled through. "Thank you, sweetie."
The woman with the clipboard sighed as she looked on into the paradise, full of elderly folk, shuffling along and enjoying their afterlife their own leisurely pace.
The woman shook her head. "Terrible, terrible system."
|
The world slowly faded to black as I drew my last breaths. Hey, I lived a good life.
But there was no gates guarded by an angel. No booming voice of God. I didn't see Buddha's paths or any of the Hindu gods. Hell, I'd kill for a pile of spaghetti to take me in his noodly embrace, but nothing was here!
All I got was... black. The kind of black you see during the credits of a movie. A pile of text ascended from the bottom of my vision up to eye level.
"Alexandra Oliver Weston, welcome to the Afterlife Redistribution of Karma System (ARKS)! Let's review your life decisions and see how you did, shall we?"
The scrolling credits kept going, but instead of showing who was in my life, showed me every action I was a part of and how many points it added or cost me.
* Age 3, broken wrist: -10 points.
* Age 4, broke wrist again: -15 points (lessened since not your fault.)
* Age 4, entered elementary school early: +30 points
* Ages 7, 12, and 13, attempted spelling bee: +5 points each (total: +15 points)
* Ages 9-15, did very well on district mandatory testing: +20 for meeting expectations, +10 bonus for exceeding (total: +260 points)
* Ages 11-13, bullying incidents: -5 points per year (total: -15 points)
* Age 17, graduated high school in top 20% of your class: +150 points
It kept going on like that for what felt like a good hour. Everything added up- even small things like giving a friend 5 bucks impacted it a bit.
Finally, the last action scrolled away and the cherry text scrolled back into view:
"Final Karma score: 148. Not bad on your run!"
"Now, you have a choice. You can spend your points to enter the afterlife, or you can donate them all to a child just being born and give them a boost. Please state your answer after the beep." Then came that oddly familiar **Beep!** of a recording device wanting your voicemail.
"Give them all away." I blurted out almost immediately. I don't know how these points work, but I'd rest better in the dirt knowing some kid got a break from them.
The text redistributed itself to change the message: "Decision made. Thank you for your contribution to ARKS!" That was the last thing I saw before it faded into black.
(May give this a part 2 once I get back to my laptop.)
| 2017-04-08T09:36:16
| 2017-04-08T08:53:41
| 80
| 40
|
[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.
|
"Jesus Christ!"
"Shhh!!!!" The guy whispered with annoyance. "I don't go by that these days. Just here to pick up John. He also doesn't go by that anymore. These days, he's The Dude. You'd think he'd mellow out after all these years, but he's still nuts. Just let me grab his drunk ass and we'll be out of here. And don't tell no one about meeting me. I've heard enough horror stories from my buddy Elvis."
The End.
|
I stared bleakly at the faintly glowing digits. As if it couldn't get worse, the last number - a five - slowly transformed into a six.
"We have reservations."
The average-looking gentleman put out his hand and I plucked the driver's license out of it automatically. It read like any other I'd looked at tonight; the birthdate was just a few years before mine. The numbers over the woman's head read as twenty seven. Blonde and beautiful, her eyes were stunning and fixated almost entirely on her ancient companion. A man five thousand years her senior.
"Yes," I rasped, from a shock-clogged throat. "VIP room upstairs."
He scowled at me then, and I felt a weight of scrutiny I didn't know could exist. Like a bug under a magnifying glass. In the sun. I winced away from those eyes like they were an assault, and backed out of the way, stumbling over my feet. I had no desire to know this man, but I had the unnerving suspicion that he'd now want to know me.
And that couldn't happen.
| 2017-09-01T20:56:44
| 2017-09-01T19:55:18
| 404
| 140
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
“So you’re storming the beaches of Italy in his game. Did you bring the WW2 character sheets?”
“Uhh... shit I brought my fantasy sheet for my ranger.”
“...”
“It’s okay! We can still play. Who was important in WW2 again?”
“Winston Churchill...”
“There we go! I’ll call my character Jack Churchill, and he’s storming the beaches with a broad sword and longbow.”
“Do you really have to do that?”
“Come on man it’ll be fun”
“... fuck it, sure”
|
OK James, roll the dice
2
GM: Sorry, you missed.
The entire party is in shock. They tried with two other characters already. Both dead.
GM: The new enemies arrive. Rolls , 20. John, you died. Rolls again, almost James, you barely escapes this time.
The party starts arguing: You can't let this end like this GM! We were almost defeating the dictator, you can't do the same as the last campaign, where everyone died! We already lost so many characters on this one.
GM thinks... OK OK, I will give you another chance.
GM: The mercenary you worked with before arrives ,with buying some extra time for you. Some dice rolls, it kills two of them. But the big boss is still there. James, its your turn.
James - Ok, I will try one more shot.
20
GM: You heard the voice of your deceased master "Use the force, Luke". You disable the visual indicator and just senses the universe. A perfect shot in the core reactor, starting the sequence of explosions destroying the Death Star.
I hope the liberty I took with "Historical event" its OK.
Also, sorry for my English. It is not my first language.
| 2018-05-29T09:44:43
| 2018-05-29T09:16:08
| 35
| 17
|
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments
|
"My Latin no good much," I mumble, stalling for time.
Caesar's already implacable face hardens further. "Your Latin *good much* enough. Answer." The command is absolute, carrying death behind it.
The stab of fear rebounds within me, and a surge of anger answers. "Would you know things whose knowledge makes them inevitable? Would you surrender all power for the privilege of certainty?"
Caesar flinches. My retort had spoken both of his languages fluently - Latin, and *power*.
He recovers, but is more guarded. "What would you *advise*, without springing the trap?" he asks.
"Reestablish the Republic and retire to Gaul," I say.
Wry humor and resignation flicker across his face. "But you know I will not do that," he says.
"Indeed," I say.
He pours the wine, and we drink. A chill wind blows outside.
|
Scenario 1: "Oh. That's an easy question. You die an excruciatingly painful death, by the hands of those who you call friends."
This would probably result in him killing me in a rage. Oh, and would probably result in the history of the world since 44BC changing beyond recognition. But who cares about that last part.
Scenario 2: "You die by choking 5 years later. It was your dinner."
Again. He would probably kill me in a rage. The timeline would be preserved, but there's no point in the integrity of the timeline if I'm not around to see it.
Ah. What should I choose? Choices choices choices.
Ah hah! How about...
_____________________________________________________
(Sorry for the 4th wall break, but, for mobile users who can't see the underline, the perspective of the story has just been changed to another character.)
No way.
No fucking way.
I, Julius Caesar, would be the first person to achieve immortality?
If that foreigner, whose name I never caught, was telling me the truth, that my reign would last a thousand years, that the flag of Rome would be seen across the lands, as North as Gaul and as East as the Han's land, then by the name of Jupiter, I need to change my name to something more epic.
Something more "Holy shit". Something that incites the feeling of strength.
"How about 'Caesar the Great'? Sounds fitting." said the foreigner.
Not bad. I'll call in a meeting for the Senate to rename the entire place, as well as to notify them of my change of titles.
I can't wait until Brutus hears the news.
_____________________________________________________
(Again, sorry for the 4th wall break)
Well that was easy.
Seems like the integrity of the timeline was preserved. And to make it better, I'm now going home with about 100 kilograms of gold!
"Set course for Xiangang, China, on the 16th of February, 2018."
"I'm sorry I can't do that, u/dummie1138"
"What? Why not?"
"The area you call 'Xiangang' is neither called 'Xiangang' nor controlled by the Great Ming Empire. Setting course for the 16th of February, 2018 to Hong Kong(UK)."
Well fuck.
_____________________________________________________
If you didn't hate that, please suggest a good AI name. I could really use one.
| 2018-02-15T21:12:07
| 2018-02-15T20:35:40
| 109
| 12
|
[WP] You've always liked the smell of gasoline, and one day at the gas station you decide to drink it. You see words floating before you, "All systems refuelled. Initializing Android Mainframe."
|
People pay to get high. But I, *get paid* to get high. I work as a drug tester in the DEA, and my job is to consume and report the effects of the different kinds of drugs over the body. And not only the drugs, but the way they're taken in. By eating, drinking, or by IV, or injection, or by smelling, or by a tablet. Every drug is ingested through one of these ways, and primarily only one of 'em. Like, you snort cocaine, and you drink alcohol.
But today I was going to drink something, for the first time, with my money. The DEA is like this, once they find out that you're resistant to drugs and quite mentally and physically resilient, they hire you. And never let go of you.
I went to the gas station and bought a litre of gasoline. Oh, the aroma. The way it lingers in my nostrils. The way it burns the insides of my throat as I inhale more of it. It all gives me a kind of high that none of the other drugs can. And I've tried all kinds of drugs, old, new, experimental, non - existent and binaural beats. Well, they tell you that its a hoax, but by far, those beats gave me a great kind of high that sustained itself for long. Quite long.
I couldn't take it anymore. I decided to sip a bit of the liquid. I know that I might die, or maybe just get sick for a week, but I sipped. It was mmmmmmm. Just yummy. I wish I could write a report on this and submit it to my superiors.
Preliminary test : Taste : Acrid.
Yes, it was acrid. And I've always hated acrid. Except for this time. I almost felt orgasmic.
I actually was writing the whole experience down, but as I continued to drink it, it felt unstoppable. Just like when you have your first kiss and you just don't want the tenderness of the girl's lips to get away from yours, and you keep sucking on 'em. There are so many things I could compare this with, but everything came short, and weren't accurate enough to explain the experience .
I was *euphoric*. And I never have felt healthier than this. I stepped out of my car, and found that my vision was more brighter, and had better resolution. Wow! Is gasoline doing this? Oh wait, am I hallucinating? But everything seems real.
I brought 2 more liters of the thing, and some burgers and a pack of cigarettes. I decided to drink this holy grail until I pass out. The girl serving the burger gave a smirk. She must have thought that it was alcohol in those bottles. Haha, lil girl, little do you know.
As I sipped the entirety of the next bottle, I felt a jolt of electricity through my body. It was, it was, was it?
Yes. It was.
It was *la petite mort*
My job had taught me to be as euphemistic and decent as possible, even though actually no know in the department is so. Everyone I know acts like a fucking sailor.
Well, I actually didn't even look down to see if I had made a literal mess of my jeans. I still was floating in the high. My pack of cigarettes were over and as I reached the half of the third bottle, suddenly my eyes shut. My head felt like it was spinning and my jaws clenched and closed themselves. My neck spasmed and so did my whole body. While all of a sudden, in all this euphoric chaos, I saw something in front of my eyes. Even though they were closed. It was some text. And it became even clearer.
" all systems refuelled. Initializing android mainframe. "
What?!
|
*Oh it burns*
I'm coughing and retching my brains out, but nothing's coming. The little old Muslim lady inside is side-eyeing me from behind her burka, and I really can't blame her.
$39.23 . I could have just left. I could have just let the lady have the $0.77, but no I just had to take my weird fetish too far.
Wait, what's that?
Initializing Android...
I look back through the window at the cashier. My eyes light up with information.
*Fathima Haddad*
*D/O/B: December 3, 1968*
*Height: 5'4*
*Weight: 163 lbs*
*Record: (2) Indecent Exposure, (1) Resisting Arrest, (1) Trespassing*
Woah. Way to go grandma.
I look around. I'm getting information for everything. I'm getting the trajectories for the pigeons gliding across the parking lot. Every car and bike driving by gives me their make, model, and speed. This is awesome. This is incredible.
Then it dawns on me.
Initializing Android Mainframe?
*Oh no*
I'm frantic now. I'm almost screaming out the words!
Siri bring up Safari.
Siri please bring up Safari.
Siri bring up browser.
A tear, that smells faintly of Unleaded, slides down my cheek.
Initialize browser...
"Welcome, to Google Chrome!"
*WWWWHHHHYYYYYYY*
| 2017-01-25T01:56:17
| 2017-01-25T00:39:54
| 67
| 46
|
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?
|
You think me immortal yet I am not so
You call me friend when I am more foe
My thoughts you assume but you do not know
You treat us as equals when you are below
My power will break you with a single blow
In spite of this difference I can see it though
I might have accepted your friendship long ago
And through the years our friendship would grow
Yet the years have past they come and they go
Only now do your true feelings show
Too late too late your offer was slow
So I must decline with a loud and stern NO!!!!
|
I was floating, as Tardigrades do, when I became unsure if I was floating in a planet, space, fission, fusion, or, some chaotic vibration of the universe. Then I saw the question. Dragons...vampires... immortal?! Really you poor fool goth child that are but a passing whim. I but squirt my ocular capacity and they are a mote in.....Well I guess I am a mote, but I’m a real.Immortal. Mote . I now desiccate and float on electromagnetic waves your flesh and metal treasure can only imagine as I , the true explorer caste of earth, embark on my billion year journey to see if there is life in the whirlpool galaxy.
Edit : As a member of my unique species I have difficulty separating now from then, and even sometimes the then from now. Your species would see that as dementia or failing to follow the rules. In reality I thought I had fulfilled the rules of this subrediits prose but in reflection I realise as you process time differently,and in your limited flesh bound phase; I may have fulfilled your writing prompts criteria at a point in time that is not in phase with your current ability to resolve the universe .
| 2021-04-16T08:09:15
| 2021-04-16T07:15:14
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] You are an office worker in NYC in the year of 1999. You go for a cigarette break, but the elevator stops working and you get trapped in it for 2h. As the doors finally open, you walk out and see a brand new lobby, people holding thin digital cards and big screen TV's. It's the year 2018.
|
I step out of the elevator. Everything looks different, but similar.
I turn on my Discman with a built in AM/FM radio to listen to the game. I had to work Sunday afternoon because there was an emergency at work. I want to listen to my Rams. Good thing we get radio stations from Saint Louis all the way here in New York City. The year I moved from LA is the year the Rams moved too. Only I moved a bit further east. Thank God I can still follow my Rams even though they're now in Saint Louis. I was bummed about it. But I still follow them anyway. And plus, that Marshall Faulk guy they traded for was tearing it up. Go Rams!
"First and 10 from the Los Angeles Rams 20. Pat Mahomes is behind center calling the plays".
Wait, what? The team just moved from L.A. I think the broadcaster is sort of slow on the upload, if you get my drift.
Heh, it might be a rebroadcast of a game from a while back. And why is the relief pitcher for the New York Mets playing football?
Something seems weird. I'm going to step outside and grab a smoke. I still have a few minutes left on my smoke break. Hmmm. I don't have any cigarettes. I go up to a guy selling cigarettes from his trenchcoat.
He has one for 10$.
A single cigarette. 10$. My break is about to be over soon, so I quickly buy the cigarette out of desperation.
"Wow" the gentleman said. "I haven't seen this kind of money in years". He said as he's looking at my 10 dollar bill. He gives me 2$ in change, and I quickly pocket the dollars. I responded "Yeah, I mean 10$ for a cigarette. You won't see this kind of money ever again, you ballbuster".
"You think these things are cheap? I only made a 2$ profit off of selling you that cig. Now beat it, chump", he said.
I try lighting the cigarette with my lighter, but not without taking one puff to taste that fine flavor....
I feel something in my mouth. It's kind of moist.
I start coughing. It's smoke! But I didn't light the cigarette yet!
I keep on puffing, but the cigarette isn't going down. But my break is over soon, so I try to put the cigarette out. The tip isn't lit. I the pocket the cigarette in my shirt pocket and I walk into the building. And the Rams just scored a touchdown!!! I cheer loudly! "Woohoo, Go Rams!" People in the building look at me weird. The security guard then says "Oh, so you followed the team after the move?" I then said "Yeah I did, loyalty over location". The security guard then said "You know, everybody here is a Titans fan now, right?" He then also said to me "Dude, you can smoke that here. The ban on E-cigarettes isn't going to be enforced until next year." as he spoke over my earbuds.
"By the way, you're going love the matchup that's happening on week 12." he said in a sarcastic tone.
It's Houston vs Tennessee on Monday Night football. I wish they'd cancel it already! They have nothing but snoozers on MNF.
Wait, what? Houston IS Tennessee! And Monday Night Football is usually the best game of the week!
During the commercial break, every other sentence is "Donald Trump" Why is Donald Trump on TV so much? It's not like he's the president of the United States or something.
I feel weird.
All the TV monitors at work look like those super expensive LCD screens you see at someplace like The Sharper Image or Microcenter. Wow, they spruced the place up.
Everybody's looking at their Palm Pilots.... And touching them without using their styluses. And making phone calls on them.
It's like I stepped into a time warp.
I'm about to go buy a snack. Hmm.. 2$ will get me a soda, some chips and maybe a pack of gum from the vending machines.
A pack of chips costs 1.75$. Unbelievable. I then just buy the pack of chips. Wow, there are so many "vegan" products advertised.
Dude, veganism's caught on so quickly? I'll be damned. I'm just a regular vegetarian and it's hard for me to find veg food anywhere.
I then head upstairs.
I hear a somewhat familiar voice. It's my boss. Or sort of sounds like him.
"Bill, you're late. Get up to the office soon or else we'll send you home early."
"Who are you? You look like Eric but you're skinnier"
"I'm Eric Shunn II"
You fell into an elevator shaft in 1999. You sustained massive brain damage. For the past 20 years, we've been nursing you to health so you'd recover your memories slowly. Now that you're fully recovered, we'd like to give you a handsome pension package,but not before your last project. My dad, when he was alive, spent half his paycheck to get you out of your coma. You recovered 10 years ago, but your memories didn't come back yet. He thought of you as a little brother. He died 5 years ago. I was in charge of letting Uncle Bill recover. But I have much more selfish reasons in making sure you're alive. You're the only one here who can program in VB. Nobody else can do it anymore.
"You mean you're his little squirt? Little Eric?" I asked. He then said in a frank tone "Yeah. Eric Shunn II."
"By the way, I have some good news for you. We knew how much of a Rams fan you were, and how much you missed Southern California. So I'd tell you this outright.
Since our systems need debugging and updating, and you're one of the last people here who know Visual Basic, I'm going to send you over to LA to do some VB debugging on our legacy systems out there. " He said in an optimistic chime.
"But what about my Rams? " I asked in a worried tone. "I don't want to be equally as far away from my favorite team. I used to fly to Saint Louis to see my boys rip it up at least 3 times a year. I think they might win the division this year. " I sputtered.
"You know those chips cost $1.75, right?" he asked in a sarcastic tone.
"Check the tail end of the quarter you got back in change." He said in a slightly sarcastic tone.
"It says Hawaii 2009". I responded.
"Yeah, that coin is 10 years old. " Eric Jr said.
"By the way, the Rams are in LA Again, Billy. So are you. Congratulations on your recovery. " He said in a happy manner.
|
"Excuse me. Can you help me?", asked Ryan, trying his best to appear collected.
"Hey Ryan!", squealed the girl behind the lobby desk. "I thought you had left for home"
​
The girl looked strangely familiar but you couldn't quite place her face. "Hey Martha!" boomed a familiar but an impossible voice.
The voice was your own.
​
*Did...Did I just speak? How do I know that girl? And why does this place look so familiar?*
​
"Yeah. It seems like I forgot my lunch box at my table. Don't want to give the Mrs. a chance to pick up a fight now, do we?"
​
You had realised what was happening. *No that can't be true. I refuse to believe this.*
This was a story you had seen a thousand times. And every time, you had woken up in a sweat.
*But this doesn't feel like a dream. This... this feels real.*
The dream never played out the same way. It let you make your own choices. It almost felt like it was training you. Every night you'd make a different choice but none of it ever well. Well until of course...
​
"Hey Martha, can i ask you for a big favour?"
"Sure Ryan."
"Do you by any chance have the keys to Mr. Vedil's office? He was supposed to hand me back a report today but I guess he forgot"
"Ummmm..... Well I am not supposed to...."
"Oh come on. You've known me for how long now?"
​
*Dammit. That wasn't the exact line. Just say and do whatever you did last night, idiot.*
You had no idea what was going on. But it felt important that you stick to that winning dream.
​
"Well. ok... I guess I can let you. But make sure no one see's you. You know I can be in real trouble if anyone else sees you"
"Will do. You are the best"
​
*Nice. It worked!*
​
You quickly head to Vedil's office, taking an indirect path lest someone sees you making a beeline for Vedil's office.
Key. Turn. Click.
*Woohoo. We're in baby!*
And just as you were about to shut the door someone stops it open.
"Ryan! I THOUGHT I saw you! What are you doing here?"
*Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is not how it went. This is not how it went at all...*
\--------------------------
​
Part 1/x. Will continue if you guys are excited.
P.S: Hey guys, this is my first time here in WP. Saw the blank slate and took my chance. This is my first time writing a story, ever! Also i am not a native speaker. So if you find any mistakes please excuse me. Also, I'd LOVE to hear some feedback
| 2018-11-25T07:10:30
| 2018-11-25T06:10:57
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] Prison sentences have been replaced with math problems. Small offenses are questions like "What is 200 times 135?" while life in prison are math problems that has yet to be solved.
|
"The answer is four." He blinked at me dumbly and I laid my head back down on my pillow, eyes affixed to the ceiling. "You're welcome."
I heard the crinkling of paper as Tim left my cell, his work made useless by my quick and easy answer to his sentence. Really, his problem had been of moderate difficulty, given to him for petty larceny. It would have taken a normal math hating person a few months to solve, providing the criminal with an adequate punishment, math and prison, the horror. Good thing I loved math, and was fairly good at it.
Quietly I regarded my own sentence, written in blue dry erase maker on a white board. A historically unsolved problem. Life. They wanted me in there forever.
My crime? Well, crimes. Drug Trafficking, cocaine mostly but I dabbled in whatever came my way, and first degree murder.
To be fair I was protecting myself, deal gone very very wrong. But the police didn't see it that way once they realized that I had been in the process of making copious amounts of money doing something very illegal. Also it gave them an opportunity to seize said illegal substances, a huge bust, over a million in cocaine and about five hundred thousand in assorted other goods from LSD to opium. I think they even made the local paper.
Plus the cops took the money itself that was brought to the table. Not as much as I had specified, I had counted it very quickly. My customer had assumed I wouldn't bother, and questioned my math. I recounted it and it was off as before, he questioned me again, thus the disagreement and subsequent "murder". I had recounted for his sake, I knew I had been correct the first time.
Besides, that motherfucker knifed me in the shoulder before I managed to get a bullet in his chest.
Knuckles rang on metal and I was brought out of my memories, eyes moving from the ceiling to regard a younger man, maybe twenty, dark skin, brown eyes, closely shaven hair, a tattoo peeked out from under his orange top. I had never seen him before and I sat up in my bunk.
"What do you need?" He wrung his hands in my doorway.
"I'm terrible at math, I have no idea how to solve my sentence."
"Of course." I hopped off my bed and motioned to one of the chairs that sat beside the desk I had positioned under my lofty bunk.
He sat, his hands clenched between his knees.
"What is your crime?" My services were off limits to real murderers, or people who had hurt women, kids, or animals. I was a drug lord with standards after all.
"Burglary, First-degree." I looked at him skeptically, he didn't look like the type to rob someone at gunpoint. "I had a folding knife in my pocket." That made more sense, even if he had not even thought of using it, the jury had screwed this young man as hard as they could. Theft and murder with a pocket knife, and with this guy, obviously a stretch, but here he was for twenty years. I was excited, his sentence would be advanced calculus at least, I was hoping for mathematical physics.
"Let me see your sentence." He handed me the paper. Nice, fluid mechanics, Bernoulli.
"This is going to cost you six thousand."
"That's fine. I'll have my mom pull my savings, she said she would put forward some money. It should be enough." I locked eyes with him.
"See that it is, and have your mother wire it here by the end of the week." I handed him a small white card with a number on it. He tucked it in his pocket before turning to the door.
"I'll let you get to work, they put me in 4A if you want to bring it to me, or?"
"The answer is Sixty-four meters."
"Wha?"
"Sixty-four meters, here." I scribbled the work down on a spare piece of paper so he could copy it if he felt the desire.
He took it and looked at me in amazement.
"Make sure you shred and flush that and the card I gave you when you are done with them." I was already vaulting myself back into my bed to continue contemplating my ceiling.
"T-thank you sir." I heard his foot clip the metal of my doorway as he walked out.
My mumbled "You're welcome." was probably not heard, but I didn't care. More money was going into my growing savings account hidden away from prying eyes every day, the interest accumulating beautifully. Doing the math in my head I calculated how many more problems I had to go, approximately of course, as the price of an answer was dependent on the difficulty of the sentence.
"Forty to sixty or so more." The cell rang with my mutterings, the white cinder block walls amplifying my solitude.
Over the fifteen years I had been imprisoned I had solved thousands of sentences, even a few of the other life sentences, those had been a blast. It didn't hurt that providing freedom was quite lucrative.
The guards could hardly keep prisoners in here anymore, other than those I refused to work with. Petty criminals were in and out almost as soon as they could afford my help. Some stayed out of a sense of guilt for their crime, but most eventually appeared at my cell door.
Thoughtfully I regarded my sentence again, the blue ink stark against the whiteboard.
I had solved it a decade ago. And I had almost left the prison behind, but for the realization that I could easily and quickly fund my future from here, and leave whenever I wanted. So I left the board blank but for some nonsensical scribbles, and feigned frustration at my stupidity before the guards as I watched other lifers walk out the doors into the sun.
My ignorance was the perfect cover, and so here I sat. I got three meals a day, a room to myself, and I got to do math for a living. It was a dream, and in a few more months I would walk out those doors myself, a millionaire without a care in the world. I would never have to work again.
It really was a good thing I loved math.
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated!
|
When Jonathan was passed over for tenure, again, he went for the next best thing and shot all the members of the tenure committee in the head.
Then, he put his life’s savings into hiring the best attorney he could afford. Not to help him walk free, obviously. The whole point was to spend the rest of his life devoted to mathematics, without having to worry about three square meals and a roof over his head. The lawyer’s job was to make sure he got sent to a facility with plenty of other lifers. He wanted monkhood, not hermitage. He wanted a collegiate atmosphere, with brilliant colleagues he could talk to, solving hard problems like him. That’s part of why he’d wanted tenure, after all.
And he had succeeded.
What Jonathan hadn’t expected, however, was the way his sentence would work. The security around problem assignment was so tight that all convicts were issued a chemical lobotomy before parole, much less freedom. It wouldn’t do to have the answers leaked, after all. They were given shots that killed any recall of their period of incarceration. The drugs had the convenient side effect of permanently impairing cognitive skills - making any future attempts at solving prison sentences that much harder, effectively discouraging repeat offences. The upshot of this tight lipped system was that you only knew what math would hit you once you got to jail. Nobody was getting their problems early, or enlisting outside help, for sure.
So, Jonathan couldn’t be blamed, not really, for miscalculating (ha!) the whole affair. He couldn’t have known that he would wake up on his first day in jail, brimming with glee, only to open his government-issued manila envelope to reveal “Math Made Easy: Kindergarten Workbook.”
“What did you expect, man?” said the prison guard, as he hauled Jonathan off to a stint in solitary, in response to his disruptively obscene howls.
“You ever start a video game right at the final stage? Naw! You got to work your way up! You start at level one, and play your way through!”
Jonathan had twelve cumulative life sentences, one for every member of the committee he’d offed. It would take him a couple years to get through twelve rounds of K-12 math homework. Then, a few more decades for twelve rounds of undergrad coursework and PhD programs. He’d get to play with Monte Carlo simulations again in a century, perhaps - depending on his sanity and all that.
| 2016-10-24T13:35:16
| 2016-10-24T13:34:45
| 312
| 45
|
[WP] Your power is the ability to "save game" at any point in your life allowing you to revert any previous state if something goes wrong. You never thought you would need to revert to age 3 to fix a problem until now.
|
The Diary of Timeless Fortune
Instructions:
1. To "save state", write the date on top of the page. You can write in the rest of the page anything you please.
2. To "load state" rip off the page. The user will return to the time and place he wrote the date in the diary an the world will be has it was at that moment.
Recommendations:
1. The user's memory will be as they were when writing the diary. Write something in the page before ripping it off has a message to your past self.
2. When loading a state, all states saved after it will be lost A ripped page can't be loaded again. You have limited save states.
3. Don't let anyone but yourself know about this diary. There will be consequences.
---
March 03 2016
Test entry: let's see if this thing works buy the lottery ticket 12 78 08 45 34
March 04 2016
Well it is strange that ripped page did looked like something I would write it was my handwriting after all but stupid me forgot underaged me can't buy lottery tickets. I'm still curious about this thing.
March 05 2016
---
March 06 2016
Ok this is a good chance to test the diary. Today you will have a surprise test. Harold will be caught cheating. The teacher will drop an eraser after retrieving the papers. The teacher jokingly said everybody will have A+ if they guess the random number he wrote in his notebook. The answer is -42.
March 07 2016
THE DIARY WORKS! The teacher didn't keep his promise Fock him!
I have to be smart with this thing I should only use it for important things.
---
November 30 2016
Finals are coming, graduation, you will be fine. Also college. Don't go to Henry's party seriously you will get arrested.
DON'T DO DRUGS! For real
Save state again after reading this so you can try again if you Fock up
November 30 2016
---
June 25 2017
Grandpa is sick I don't think there is anything you can do about it. But that will not stop us from trying.
He will die the 26 he asked you about the diary I'm not sure if should tell him remember recommendation 3. But I really want more info of the diary. Ask while alone with him. Skip classes to see him. Between 7:00 am and 9:30 am.
Save state again immediately after reading this.
June 25 2017
Grandpa has a chest with ripped pages. The dates are very old the last one is from 2003 when I was 3 or 2 so I think he gave me the diary after that day. But Why? I need to ask him
Save state again now
June 25 2017
He didn't gave me the diary I stoke it when I was 3 I had no idea what I was doing. He never knew it was me, when I told him today, he said I should keep it and be responsible with it. I took the time to read his ripped pages and they were very impressive. Wars avoided, lives saved, catastrophes survived. Can I really achieve that much with this diary?
When I first took the diary I scribbled some numbers in the last page if I can erase the rest I can make it look like the date. If this works I can load to when I first stole the diary.
September 11 2003
You probably can't read right now but please
RETURN THE DIARY TO YOUR GRANDPA.
|
I watched as Captain Phantastic rose from the rubble of the building Xanger dropped on him. He rose up slowly, squaring his broad shoulders and turning his chiseled chin up to face our nemesis, who brought his hands together again, causing rubble to pelt Phantastic from all sides.
Phantastic leaped forward, blurring as he went supersonic in a tiny fraction of a second, a shock wave formed mere feet ahead of where he’d stood. Xanger disappeared a moment later, but stopped them both short of the high-rise they were about to punch a hole through. Xanger’s telekinetic abilities couldn’t best Phantastic, and Phantastic’s speed was routed every time by the ever-ready Xanger.
Phantastic got in a roundhouse punch that rocked Xanger’s head back, but Xanger smashed a car into Phantastic, separating them again.
Phantastic rose again, like he always did, lifted his chin like he always did. Asked Xanger “why?” like he always did.
Xanger laughed like he always did, but that’s where the repetitiveness stopped. “You keep asking. Why?”
Phantastic nodded. “We fight again and again. We topple buildings and bridges. Destroy cities. We put a new crater on the moon for God’s sake, so I’d like to know why.”
Xanger finished chuckling and took a breath. “You know.”
“Still?” I strained to hear. The pair had whizzed past me when Phantastic tackled Xanger, and they were closer, but they’d still traveled a block or so past me.
He never got over it. He’d never get over it. Xanger could kill Phantastic a thousand times and it wouldn’t make a dent in his hatred.
I knew what I had to do.
While Phantasic and Xanger bickered their way down memory lane I wracked my brain for an alternative. Twenty eight years had passed, but Xanger had never forgiven Phantastic, then only “Tommy”, for the immature display of power that had killed his family.
When Phantastic’s abilities manifested, he’d immediately gone trans-sonic. Right through a single-level, single-family home that belonged to the bank and Xanger’s father. Xanger had been at after-school detention, from her understanding a common occurrence, and had been spared a supersonic death. He wasn’t spared what MindBender had once told me was the “single worst pain” he’d ever read from another.
Over the years together in foster care, Xanger discovered Phantastic was responsible for his family’s death, Phantastic never figured out a way to properly apologize, and I’d Marked every morning, in case I had to reboot. That was how my ability worked; I thought just so, the world flashed blue, and later I could call up a memory of a Mark, think a little harder, and pop – I was back where I’d Marked. I kept Xanger from killing Phantastic, and out of prison.
I cried. I cried for ten minutes, Chicago falling around me as my foster brothers brought it down around me. Maybe they tried to avoid me. Maybe I got lucky. If it was luck; it was the only I’d had that day.
When I’d composed myself, I thought, and was suddenly back a lot farther than I’d ever rebooted.
I woke up in a much smaller, but familiar body, and sat up in bed, gasping. Tommy was sleeping. The whole house was sleeping. It was a year before Tommy would become Phantastic. I didn't dare Reboot any later, or he'd be too strong to resist me.
I choked back a sob as I made my way to the kitchen, found a butcher’s knife, and quietly made my way to his room.
| 2017-09-10T19:09:41
| 2017-09-10T17:35:23
| 25
| 12
|
[WP] There is a broken bridge leading to the woods behind your house. It has been passed through generations in your family that the bridge should never ever be rebuilt no matter what happens.
|
Don't rebuild the bridge.
A lesson I was told my entire life since I could walk. An order I was to never disobey. A piece of advice I should always heed. But they never told me *why*.
I mean let's be real. It's *just a bridge*. I would walk to it night after night and look to the forest just beyond, trying to see what could be so important that we would have to shield it from the world... or so horrific that we'd have to keep it in. But there's absolutely nothing! It's a forest and not even a particularly interesting one. Yet every time I'd ask one of my elders, they'd just tell me to drop it.
I won't.
If they wouldn't tell me, I'd find out. One evening, when everyone had laid down, I picked up a small rucksack and set off past the bridge, to finally find out what could be so impossibly important. I was quite sure it would just be a plain old forest and the entire thing, a long-forgotten prank.
After a few deep breaths, I descended into the small moat the bridge would go over and climbed back up. The moat wasn't all that deep, making it all the stranger - you barely needed a bridge here. I felt a pinch of anxiousness when I climbed up and stood well in the forest but... nothing. I mean, of *course* it was nothing. So I walked.
It was a lovely summer night. The fresh air smelled wonderful and was complemented by the generous glow of the moon, illuminating my path to the point where I didn't even need the lantern I packed. I walked carefully, every step deliberate; partially not to trip, but also just in case *something* was just beyond the next tree.
Only after some 30 minutes of walking did I see something; a shimmer in the darkness, barely conceivable. It looked... it looked as if you put an invisibility cloak on someone; a clear outline of a human, but no features you could tell. Spectral, almost. And it was beautiful. The outline moved slightly like it was rustled by the wind. I walked closer and before I knew it, I was standing right before it. And it turned.
The beauty of the apparition was breathtaking, despite its general lack of features. There was simply something in the way it moved, swayed, *danced*, that was completely encapsulating, enchanting and dream-like. It spoke to me, to my emotions, to my pains and joys, it soothed me, calmed me, and provided me with tranquillity I'd never known before. It wasn't alone, I soon noticed, as others like it started emerging from between the trees. I could not believe it; that my family would deny the world creatures capable of providing so much peace to the soul.
I took a few steps back and feared they'd flee at my sudden movement, but to my relief, they, for the lack of a better word, took a few steps with me. They followed me but not in a malicious way - I wanted them to follow. I needed them to. The sensation of simply being near them was intoxicating, one you could lose yourself in. I started to return to my home, eager to share my discovery with my family so that they, too, could feel this divine beauty and tranquillity. But... what if my family wouldn't understand?
It will be fine. The spirits are with me. I am calm.
They were with me as I walked home.
They were with me as I climbed over the moat.
They were with me as I held the knife above my parents.
They were with me as I cleaned the crimson off of myself and soothed my pain.
They were with me as I collected the materials.
They were with me as I started to work.
Don't rebuild the bridge?
**How could I** ***not***?
|
“Stop being stupid. I’ve been over to the other side. It’s just a forest. There’s no ghost or anything like that. It’s just my weird family being weird.” Alan said, the two children sitting on the edge of the riverbank, looking at the decayed bridge that had half sunken into the misty green water below.
“It’s weird. Why wouldn’t you build it again if it’s just a bridge? Maybe your family are werewolves and if they cross the bridge, they turn into furry creatures that bite people.” Evelyn said, pinching the elbow of Alan, imitating the bite of a rather feisty chihuahua, causing Alan to jump from his spot, nearly stumbling into the water.
“Knock it off! That isn’t even how werewolves work, idiot.”
“Oh, yeah? How would you know? Does that mean you’re a werewolf?”
“Shut up! I just know. It’s not that weird. Why would we want a bridge that no one uses? What if a bear comes over and knocks on our window?”
“Or a werewolf?” Evelyn said, trying to pinch his elbow again, only to miss as he quickly pulled it away.
“There are no werewolves. My family just said that we can’t build the bridge again because that’s what my great great grandparents said. Maybe they just liked the original bridge they built?”
“Or maybe there’s an alien egg that your great great grandparents planted in the soil over there? What if they knew that the egg hatching would break the bridge, so they left the message?” Evelyn said, pushing up her glasses, her excitement in her wild theories having caused them to slide down the bridge of her nose.
“Aliens?” Alan hadn’t considered aliens. He paused, giving it some thought before shaking his head. “My great great grandparents wouldn’t plant alien eggs. Why would they do that?”
“Because they were aliens? Oh, that would make you an alien. You would tell me if you were an alien, right?” Evelyn shifted back in her spot, creating some distance between them, smiling the whole time.
“I’m not an alien. If I was an alien, you would have nothing to worry about, anyway. Aliens only look for intelligent signs of life.”
The two glared at each other before sharing a laugh. Eventually, Evelyn moved back into her spot as they returned their gazes to the forest. The looming trees always gave it an imitating darkness at night, but during the day, all one would see is the peaceful colored birds flying from branch to branch, mixed with the occasional glimpse of a rabbit or other small creature scurrying through the bushes.
“Ok, that was funny. For you.” Evelyn said, lounging back a little in her spot on the grass. “Maybe it is just a normal forest. It doesn’t seem scary; it is still a fun mystery.”
“Maybe we can solve it one day? We will pack some food and go across. The waters not that deep, so as long as we hold our food up high, it should stay dry.”
“Yeah, let’s do that. We can bring a notebook, too.”
“Alan, dear? Dinners ready.” Alan’s mother called out from the window, having watched the two children bicker back and forth while she cooked. She enjoyed their wild theories, finding it refreshing to hear whatever made up little stories they came up with.
“Ok, Mom. Come on, Evelyn, let’s have dinner and then we can figure out how we are going to explore the forest.”
“Got it.”
The two rushed to the house, ready to scoff down whatever meal Alan’s mother had prepared, their focus not on the food but on the adventure that awaited them. Unfortunately, the bridge was simply a bridge, something that his family had put in centuries ago to easily carry firewood and food back to the home. The only reason they even stated that they should never rebuild the bridge was because of the stubbornness of the man that had built it. Fergus didn’t want anyone ruining his craftsmanship with faulty repairs or renovations, confident enough that his bridge would stand the test of time, and it did until recently.
Despite its initial purpose having faded, it did still serve an important new role for the family. It was a gateway into the world of imagination, a story to share between friends and fuel for the development of a taste for adventure. In a way, Fergus was right. His bridge stood the test of time, for a different reason. He had engraved it into the family’s history.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-05-25T10:21:59
| 2022-05-25T08:28:39
| 63
| 47
|
[WP] It's 1968, and a science fiction author has just written a 100% accurate story set in 2018. Don't write the story, write the reaction to it.
Just some ideas, that could be a critique, fanmail, a dialogue with a fellow autor, a letter from a potential publisher etc.
|
"Early yesterday morning, a literary icon passed away in his Florida home. Garrett Anderson, famed author of science-fiction novel 'The Web', is best known for his visions of the world of tomorrow and what it might bring. Praised for his 'stunningly realistic' depictions of day-to-day life in an electronic future, Anderson will be remembered as one of America's best science-fiction writers of the 1960s."
A clean, succinct overview of a life. To the outside world, it summed up Garrett Anderson well enough. It was pleasant, and professional, and understandable. Cut and dry, black and white, ink on paper.
To those who knew him, though, it was an obviously inadequete obituary. Garrett Anderson was an author, sure. He had written a few successful books, settled down, had a family, and made his money from royalty checks, occasionally shutting himself in his study to pump out a new spaceships-and-aliens paperback. This was undeniably true.
But that was what the man did, not what the man was. Garrett Anderson was a person out of time, an enigma, a black hole. Anyone who's met Garrett knows that there was something... off about him. A strange melancholy, a detatchment from the world around him. You might call it darkness, or depression, if you were psychiatrically inclined, but I don't think these would be quite accurate. No, Garrett Anderson was just... other. From somewhere else; maybe one of the planets he wrote about, maybe from that oft-mentioned 'world of tomorrow' that the critics set his books in.
Personally, I knew enough not to ask. Garrett had his whole childhood, his whole backstory up there in his head, but you could always tell that even he never quite believed it when he told it to you. Born in Maine, deployed in Korea, moved to Florida: it all fit, and yet, you somehow knew it was wrong, a facade floating above reality like oil on water.
Because of all that, the man had a hard time keeping up appearances. He had his wife, and kids, like any normal man, but the whole tone of his life rang false. His family was pleasant but quiet, private to an extreme, like the man himself. Nice people, but very odd.
In fact, it was only at the bar, on Fridays, that he would open up, and only to us lucky few. Most of the time, he said nothing of note. Politics, or remarks about his day-to-day life. Normal things.
Occassionally, however, he would go all... weird. Ramblings about things that hadn't happened, or events remembered wrongly, perhaps.
For a while, I thought the guy had some insanity in him, some fundamental disconnect that, for now, only showed itself in states of deep inebriation. The sort of sickness that nobody talked about, ever, not then.
Every so often, though, he would say something that would, for some reason, stick with me. A while ago, a couple years maybe, he was talking about stocks. Rambling about some Japanese technology company, something nobody had ever heard of. I don't exactly know what they did, but something that kids like, if I remember right. Anyways, a couple of days later, not able to get it out of my head, I bought some shares, on a whim, not knowing what would happen. Within a year, I was damn close to being a millionaire because of it. It was the first of many Garrett-picks, and wasn't even the most profitable. And yet, when I asked Garrett about these magic picks, how he knew the magic of the stock market, he refused to answer. And, as you might know, when Garrett refused to answer, that was that.
Now, I'm not saying there was anything supernatural or crazy going on. Maybe Anderson was just some kind of savant; a stock picking genius who just couldn't fit in with the rest of society. But, the more and more I think about it, the less I believe that. Because, his book? The famous one? Every year, I can see a little bit more of it coming true in the world. All these microprocessors and portable telephones and, hell, practically the same World Wide Web his book is about; it's not the same yet, but it's getting there.
I don't know if Garrett was some kind of time-traveling space man, or maybe just a smart, awkward author with a penchant for prediction, but I know one thing: I don't envy him. You think, when you imagine it, that knowing what's to come would be a blessing, and I think that too, sometimes. But then, soon as the thought pops up, I remember Garrett, and those melancholy eyes, and I change my mind. Because, behind those eyes, there was none of the hopeful optimism that the critics ascribed to his novels. All I ever saw was resignation, and, deepest of all, a dim, foreboding terror, of a man forced to see the inescapable future drawing ever closer, never fading, never slowing.
And that? That's something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
|
The worst future fantasy I've ever read in a couple of years.
In the author's world the free world and Capithalism rules the world but technology is stagnant. No flying cars, laser weapons, teleportation, etc. And we are still stuck on earth. The only interesting thing about the book are these smart mini-machines that connect everyone with everyone and all human knowledge, but even this idea is underdeveloped.
He was clearly going for a technological dystopia, but stood short on imagination.
I give it 3/10
| 2018-03-07T13:09:50
| 2018-03-07T12:23:08
| 128
| 31
|
[WP] “And you shall be our virgin sacrifice” the robed cult leader commanded. “Uh virgin?” The man said “I told that guy I never had a GIRLfriend.”
|
“And what does that has anything to do with it?”
“What?”
“I said, what does that has anything to do with the ritual?”
“It means I had sex before!! Just not with woman! I’m not a virgin!!”
The robed leader signed, tilted their head up as if asking the power above for patience. They snapped their head down to look at the tied up man on the altar before speaking in drawling voice.
“Had you ever been diagnosed with blood-borne disease before?”
“…What!?”
The robed figure speaks more slowly, just like how one would try to communicate with a two years old.
“Had you ever been diagnosed with HIV, hepatitis B or C? Or any other conditions that would makes you ineligible to blood donation?”
“N.. No?”
“Have you ever donated your blood within the last three months?”
“…No.”
“Then you good enough for me. PREPARE THE RITUAL!!”
“Now see here!!!” The man squeals as he twisted around like a desperated, salted slug. “I have sex before! I’m not a virgin!”
“And that’s why you’re a sacrifice and I’m the ritual master, boy. We sacrifice virgins for their virgin blood, which means we want the blood that is clean and fresh, fits for the other life. And most important of all…”
At this point the ritual master bends down over their prey, the silver knife glinting by the surrounding candles as the edge resting over the side of the neck, feeling the throbbing pulses beneath the skin. The chanting around the circle gets louder, but the only voice the man heard is his own heartbeats, and eventually, the whispers from above.
“Virgin blood means never used before, so straight from the tap, it is.”
—————————
“Idiots. Lots of them.”
The ritual master grumbles as they scrubbed the knife clean. The other cultists mingle around behind them as they cleaning up the circle and catching up on the gossip.
“—always thinking about sex. It’s like they don’t know English or something. Did they think virgin olive oil means the oil that never fucked? What about the non-virgin oil? Did they fuck the oil before bottled it or something?”
“Well… To be fair.” The apprentice chirps from the side as they wiped the ritual bowl with a clean cloth. “People did thought that chocolate milk came from brown cow, and earth is the only planet that is flat.”
The scrubbing stop still. The ritual master slowly turns their head to look at the apprentice who simply shrugged as if they said nothing wrong at all, and put the bowl on the shelf.
“Don’t be so high strung, master. How else can we luring the virgins to kill and get away with it if we’re not surrounded by dimwits?”
|
"Have you ever you had a girlfriend or do you have one now?" This random, weird-ass guy on the street asked me. I don't have time for this shit. I have spell tattoos to put on a bunch of dudes that will fight Baalar, the great red dragon and one of this world's greatest threats, for their protection. The government will look for me if I take to long, thanks to the tracking tattoo the other guy put on me and I put on him.
"No, why?" He then does a hand movement, and a purple beam of light appears in the sky. I barely have time to launch a spell on the back of my hands, when 10 guys appear and put a cloth in my mouth and nose. I pass out.
"You have awakened. Great. Now we will move to our plan to bring our lord and destroyer of the world, Sorkos. And you shall be our virgin sacrifice!" The robed cult leader commanded.
“Uh, virgin?” I said “I told that guy I never had a GIRLfriend. Heck, I even did sex magic with my ex-boyfriend.” Really? Are these guys this dumb? Their leader starts to rummage and the guy that brought me starts giving excuses for his mess up.
Whatever. My legs are untied, but my arms are completely stuck. But my left hand is with the back right on my body, with my right on the front of it. I look down and my shoes are still there.
Yep, these guys are fucking dumb. If they had seen the top of my feet, they would notice my two gusts of wind spell tattoos. With those and the fireball tattoos, I could jump fast on the leader, and with that dagger, use blood magic to free myself from here without losing too much mana.
Between I begin to concoct my plan and the leader gets tired of the dumbass and slits his throat, there are no more than 15 seconds. I only needed 5 to remove my shoes and attack. Then all hell breaks loose.
A huge commotion starts on the door and several men with crimson capes barge in. Government mages. I look at my feet. There are still leftover mana and ink in my feet, and despite still being tied, I can sense the same in my hands.
I jumped and used the gust to elevate myself as high as I can, then used the fireball to sustain myself in the air for brief seconds. While I did that, the govmages incinerated the cult. I fell straight into the govmage leader's arms.
All I can think about after falling is his angular and beautiful elf face and his fiery red hair.
"Are you free tonight?" I ask him and he grins at me.
Edit: forgot to add the setup to the government invasion.
Edit 2: Correction Boogaloo: Did the correction of a few mistakes
| 2021-08-29T06:15:33
| 2021-08-28T22:13:50
| 184
| 122
|
[WP] It's your first time inside the dungeon. everyone told you to kill monsters on sight. but so far, the monsters have all been really nice. This Goblin just gifted you an apple.
|
It was your first time entering the dungeon, and you were feeling nervous. Everyone had told you to kill the monsters on sight, but so far, the monsters you had encountered had all been surprisingly nice.
As you made your way deeper into the dungeon, you came across a Goblin. It looked at you with its beady eyes, and for a moment, you thought it was going to attack. But instead, the Goblin reached into its pocket and pulled out an apple.
"Here," the Goblin said, offering you the apple. "This is for you."
You were taken aback. Why would a monster give you something? Was this some kind of trap?
But the Goblin seemed genuinely friendly. It smiled at you and gestured for you to take the apple.
You hesitantly accepted the gift and took a bite. The apple was juicy and sweet, and you couldn't help but smile in gratitude.
"Thank you," you said to the Goblin. "I'm not sure why you're being so kind, but I appreciate it."
The Goblin chuckled. "I know what people say about monsters like me," it said. "But we're not all bad. Some of us just want to live in peace and help others when we can."
You were surprised by the Goblin's words. You had never thought about monsters in that way before.
As you continued on your journey through the dungeon, you encountered more monsters. And to your surprise, they were all just as friendly as the Goblin. They offered you food and water, and even helped you navigate through the maze-like corridors.
By the time you reached the end of the dungeon, you had made several new friends among the monsters. And you realized that the stories you had heard about them were wrong. They weren't the evil creatures everyone had made them out to be.
As you left the dungeon and stepped back into the sunlight, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the experience. You had learned that sometimes, things aren't always as they seem, and that it's important to keep an open mind.
And you knew that you would never forget the kindness of the monsters you had met inside the dungeon.
As you made your way back to the village, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. You couldn't wait to tell everyone about your experiences in the dungeon and how the monsters weren't as scary as they had been made out to be.
But as you entered the village, you were met with fear and hostility. The villagers had heard rumors of your encounters with the monsters and they were not pleased.
"You're a traitor!" one of the villagers shouted at you. "You were supposed to kill the monsters, not make friends with them!"
You tried to explain that the monsters were actually nice, but the villagers wouldn't listen. They were too afraid and too blinded by their own prejudices to hear the truth.
Feeling disillusioned and disappointed, you decided to leave the village and go back to the dungeon. You knew that you would be welcomed there, and you wanted to continue to learn more about the monsters and their way of life.
As you made your way back to the dungeon, you realized that you had discovered something truly special. You had found a new community of friends among the monsters, and you were determined to share the truth with others and help break down the barriers of fear and misunderstanding.
You knew that it wouldn't be easy, but you were ready to take on the challenge and show the world that monsters and humans could coexist in peace and harmony. And you were grateful for the gift of the apple that had started it all.
|
As I stood there, dagger and shortsword in hand, the little goblin came up to me and left me an apple. It spoke in heavily accented Shai. 'Mr. Adventurer, is gift for you, as me is.' It pointed to itself, and displayed a row of shark-like teeth. It touched its own chest with its index finger, and spoke softly. 'I be called Song of the Breeze That Blows Spores at Midnight.'
It, (or maybe, she) looked at me, expectantly. The silence grew, and there were some jittery responses from the rest. I saw the golden, reflective eyes gazing back as I put away my sword. The chittering grew into a howling chorus that startled me, and then the goblins crowded me, making it difficult to defend myself.
I didn't even feel when they tied my hands together.
/. /. /. /. /. /
Song came to me, and brought a bowl of soup to me, along with a Hag of a goblin stepped towards me, and started prodding with its claw-like nails. It drew some blood from my cheek, and locked it, shivering as a moan escaped it's lips. It gasped and then spoke in perfectly clear Shai. 'Your blood is worthy. I give you a task in order to protect us from future invasions. We have music, and offer comfort with it.'
'Your challenge is to convince the Lords to listen to us. I will deal a spell into you that you can activate by biting down hard on your teeth. I assure you, this won't hurt....*much*.'
The Hag cackled and chanted in rock gargling, as Song spoke in the same kind of tone, and I felt a pressure as the chanting completed itself. A smugness radiated from the Hag, and Song picked up a heavy sack. The Hag gestured to the sack. 'Take this, and use it to....*facilitate*....something; anything left over is yours, as an apology from us.' The sack was full of silver, gold and platinum coins, and I picked it up, straining.
'It will take time.' I stood, grunting as I pulled the sack over my shoulder. 'Will you be okay I'm the meantime?' The Hag nodded, the same unsettling grin appearing on her face as I turned and left.
| 2022-12-06T17:45:59
| 2022-12-06T15:38:53
| 58
| 40
|
[WP] You dream every night about the girl of your dreams. You and her connect on every level and you get excited about falling asleep. Then, one day, you and your SO run into her on the street and she instantly recognizes you too...
|
"That goofy smile is on your face again," Marissa teases. My heart immediately drops and I remove my face of any expression.
"Sorry, I... I had that dream again," I stammer slightly turning away from her in embarrassment.
"Hmm..." she inches closer to me in bed, "Sally still trying to steal you away from me? When will she learn to back off?"
I give her a sheepish smile, almost squirming under her gaze. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and rolls out of bed.
"Where do you wanna go for breakfast?" she calls while heading to the bathroom.
"Margarine's Pancakes would be nice. I could go for their chocolate-chip pancakes," I roll myself out of bed, desperately trying to force Sally out of my head. When it gets bad, I replace my memory of Marissa's face for Sally's whenever she's talking to me from out of my vision. Her gleaming, brunette hair. Her piercing, blue eyes. Her intoxicating laugh. Her-- gah, I'm doing it again!
Outside, Marissa and I walk hand-in-hand to the nearby diner. She looks at me worriedly.
"You wanna talk about it today?" she pries.
"Yeah, I... I dunno, it just doesn't make sense. I mean we've been married for two years, you'd think Sally would just, you know, go away or something." I shrugged. It was nice to talk about it with Marissa, knowing nobody else will indulge me in this. I pulled her closer. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? C'mon, Mike, I'm more mature than that! Apologizing for your dreams. They're just dreams. I'm more concerned that it's been occurring for so long now. It seems like it distracts you most mornings. You wanna talk to someone about it?"
I opened my mouth then stopped dead in my tracks. In front of Margarine's is a girl, open-mouthed staring at the two of us.
"Mike..." Marissa looks to the girl, "who is that?"
"Mike!?" the girl screams, running toward us.
"Sally!" I gasp, taking a pace backwards. Marissa stares at her, wide-eyed.
"Sally?" she repeats.
Sally throws her arms around me, giggling. I don't reciprocate, still frozen in my daze.
"Mike..." Marissa whimpers in disbelief.
Sally steps back to take a look at me and strokes my hair like she's done so many times before. My eyes are lost her seas of blue. My heart is hammering, begging to run away from this nightmare.
"All these years, I thought you were a dream." There are tears of joy brimming her eyes.
"No," is all I can muster.
Sally's hand pulls back from me instinctively.
"What?" she asks, crestfallen.
"Sally, no. You're not real. You're exactly what you've always been, a dream. An unattainable idea. You..." I hesitate, heartbroken by the pain in her eyes, "you need to go." My voice is breaking. "You need to leave, to get out of my life. I've been with Marissa," I pull her closer to me, "and I plan on staying with her for the rest of my life. I'm sorry Sally, I truly am, but you can't be in my life in any way. You are, and forever will be a dream I long for in sleep, but Marissa is your incarnation when I am awake. Nothing will take me away from her."
Marissa looks up at me, not breathing as Sally shakes her head in disbelief.
"But I..." she begins, but I turn away from her, trying to let these feelings of immediate regret pass. I hear her start to cry and I put my arm around Marissa and turn us back to our apartment, away from Sally.
Having walked a couple of steps, Marissa whispers to me, "I'm so sorry. I never knew she meant so much to you. I--"
"Sorry?" I choke, a tear rolling down my cheek, "she's just a dream, nothing to be sorry about."
I never dreamed of Sally again.
|
"Venice, yeah. That's where I'd go If I had the chance". The words slipped out of her mouth like warm chocolate, rubbing all over my ears. Gooey and sensational, my face broke into a smile.
"Really? I've always wanted to go. Never really had the money, or time. Or anyone I really want to go with, you know?". I stared into the night sky above us, from our laying spot in a nameless meadow. I turned my head to see her face, staring into me.
"You can go with me". The words sounded so amazing for such a simple sentence.
"I'd love to, Nyx. I really would". As soon as the words left my mouth, she erupted into mindless giggling. She shuffled her body over, wrapping her arm around mine.
"One day, we will, Apollo."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I awoke to my alarm pounding itself into my inner ear repeatedly. The pitch was extremely annoying, serving its purpose, I suppose. Steam was pouring itself out of my bathroom. The door was swung open as the shower was unleashing itself onto the person inside.
"Apollo, you awake? You need to get ready, we're visiting my friends today." I slumped back, further into my bed, grimacing at the thought of spending all day with those morons. The shower swiftly turned into nothing, as the woman dried herself off before walking out to see me in bed.
"Get up. You know I hate it when you're like this. Every day after you wake up you lounge around, now get up you useless sack." I stared at her, with silent anger building up underneath me.
"You know I really don't want to do this, Kassidy. Your friends are...". My voice trailed off as I struggled to find the kindest word for my feelings. "Not my kind of people".
"You'll do this, because you're my boyfriend, and you're not going to be a piece of shit today. Like you normally are." Kassidy always had a way with words. A truly awful way that made you want to shut her mouth closed, but a way none the less. I struggled myself out of bed and drudged over to the shower. I stepped in, trying to find a careful balance between heat and cold.
"Oh, I used all the hot water".
*Christ* I thought to myself. For several minutes, I quickly bathed myself in freezing water, managing to get everything done. I jumped out, quickly drying myself off and dressing myself hastily. As I moved around the apartment, preparing myself for the days ordeal Kassidy droned on about the day ahead.
"First we're going to meet up with everyone at Newtown..." She said.
"Oh yeah?" I replied, whilst tucking my shirt in.
"Then, off to the City for a nice lunch outside the Contemporary art museum".
"Not really a fan of art" I replied, between strokes off my toothbrush.
"This isn't about what you want, it's about what I want. Its never about what you want. When we're done with that, it'll be around dinner, so we're going further into the city. You're going to pay for everyone's dinner". Arrogance hung high in the air, as she detailed the days agenda.
"I don't got the money for that" I declared, whilst putting my shoes on and preparing to leave.
"You'll just work overtime, won't you sweetie?".
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Okay, you guys all ready to head into the museum?" Kassidy walked with pride in her stride, motioning everyone to follow her. I stood at the front with her, with her band of assholes marching behind us. She clutched at my hand, not letting my leave a 1 meter radius around her. I stared sorely at the ground, wishing I was still asleep. As we moved closer to the museum, I took a quick glance forward, seeing if I could calculate how many steps I had left outside of the building.
And there she was. 5'8, with black hair past her waist. A floral skirt, and a light blue shirt tucked into it. Eyes like diamonds, that drew you in so easily. That you not only lost yourself, you lost your dreams, you only had one when you saw her. She stared into me, with the same look of disbelief shattered across her face. I didn't blink, nor break eye contact as we passed each other. Our heads turning around to continue our fixation, my heart trembling at what was unfolding.
"Apollo! Look at me!". Kassidys shrill voice broke my trance as I turned to face her.
"What?" I boomed out.
"Are you staring at that girl? What, is she prettier then me?"
I turned back around. Nyx was still staring at me, her mouth slowly curving into a smile. I could see her teeth still present as she smiled, so wide, that her mouth couldn't close itself.
"Yeah. Much prettier, Kassidy. You know, I'm done with this. Go have fun. You can keep the apartment. And my stuff, I... I don't need it. Goodbye". With those words I left Kassidy standing with her troop of degenerates. I marched over to Nyx, whilst in the background I could hear obnoxious sobbing and yelling. Before I knew it, there I was.
Standing in front of the woman of my dreams. It was a surreal moment. All my memories of her flooded back. All the nights of continuous talking, and slight embraces.
"You're real?" is all I could manage to stammer out.
"As real as you are, it seems". Her voice trembled. I let my arms release them self from my side as they swiftly swung around her body. Before I knew what was happening, she tucked her arms behind my back and nestled her head into my chest.
"I'm not going to wake up, right?" She stammered out, between heavy breaths.
"No, no. We're awake. I'm awake, at least, I know that much. And I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere, I finally found you". My eyes began to water. My heart thumped itself into a flurry, as nerves danced upon my veins. My brain could not comprehend the majesty that was unfolding, but I did not need to understand, to know it was perfect.
"So when are we going?". Nyx's voice softly proclaimed. She stared up into my eyes from down in my chest.
"What do you mean?" I replied.
"Venice, when are we going?"
"Right now."
| 2015-07-25T23:36:36
| 2015-07-25T23:16:02
| 319
| 79
|
[WP] Instead of Oceans, they are all big forests, that gets taller and darker instead of deeper, with more dangerous animals living further out in the forest. A person decides to cross the Mariana Trench
|
Bioluminescence. That's what happens in the Dark. Kind of a misnomer because we can't fly over the tallest part of the forest without losing aircraft to the change in gravity. The scant shots we see show a never ending canopy of black tarp. I found out that calling it "The Dark" was a total and utter misnomer. Underneath the veil, light explodes in every corner.
Those who happen to wander their way into the dark tend to never wander back out. The trees, so tall and grand, blot out the sun with their long tendril like branches, each competing with one another to feel the sun's warmth gracing their body.
They all grew so high and tall, the baseline near the trees became an ever lasting night. Things adapted and changed to fit this ever lasting night.
It's what I found when I began to enter the Dark of the Mariana Trench. Bioluminescence. Creatures darting all about glowing greens, pinks, blues, purples...like a never ending light show. The trees outlined with glowing pollen to attract the interest of the animals. When I brushed up against trunk, the pollen covered me coating me in a fine layer of glow. ...I assure you, my sneezes were nothing short of a laser show gone spastically wrong.
The predators, that was the most terrifying thing. They didn't grow to the dark...no, they changed to the light. These are the Will'O'Wisps people would follow and die in the swamps. They are anglerfish in the waters and they are the glowing phantom on the moors of Scotland. They are so bright and so attractive, prey is drawn to them. The patterns on their skin move and alter to tease interest from any errant prey that may wander by.
They never even have to move. These plants are the most horrifying thing of the forest. In order to maintain the rate of growth and endurance that outstrips trees in the regular atmosphere...they had to find a better food source. One that could provide more energy...more "bang for their buck" so to speak.
Living viable creatures was their food of choice; photosynthesis wasn't an option at the lower levels. I should have realized it the moment I stepped in.
Have you ever had the tendril of a Evergreen caress your face? The dancing pollen slowly putting your mind into a careless torpor? Did you dream of your dead wife dancing in front of you beckoning you to join as your eyes grow heavy? Her giggles sound almost predatory.
Do you know what heaven is like? It feels like a wood coffin slowly forming around you as your wife kisses you goodnight and tells you to forget.
I can't see anymore. I can't breathe....maybe this is why they call it the dark.
|
Towering oaks gently swayed in the wind with orange trees acting the boundary of the Forests. The supple earth molded around its border, the showcase of the feet that have treaded on the edge. Every once in a while, a brave crew would set out into the forest, exploration at its deepest motivation, but not without greed lurking behind. The appeal of these missions was not necessarily to find the tallest trees but the most expensive animal, the two often coinciding. The group labelled 'Harv', after the explorer who had found the tallest section of Redwoods yet, was geared and sitting 50 feet from the Forest. "We've briefed on the plans. We stay together at all costs. No one left behind. We'll be heading towards the Ridge first. At 5 miles out, pu--," said the leader.
"I'm not out here to listen to a youngin' get scared before we even get in. We been over the plan more than enough," interrupted a seasoned looking man who stood up, his eyes locked with the leader, a young looking man having just come back from the military.
"All the same, if one of you fall behind, the mission is in danger of failing," spoke the youth firmly, eyes not leaving the other man's. The man sat down again, slowly, looking confused at his own actions. The others watched this unfold, eyes darting between both till they finally rested on the leader once more.
The sun had shown itself before the directions were retold. All of them standing up, they grabbed the packs, looked at each other, and headed into the forest.
Their footsteps pranced along in their ears, clicking and clacking like a horse's hooves, monotonously rhythmic. They passed the first section known as 'Simple', decorated with small wildlife and friendly trees. The Forest grew dimmer here in the next part. Each group member unclasped their flashlights from the belts and pointed them forward, illuminating the makeshift path made by previous parties. Squawks echoed around them as the once dry forest floor turned damp. Trickles of water fell with leaps from leaf to leaf.
*I wanted to post what I already had but I have to go for a bit. If you like what you've read, make sure to tell me and I'll return to write more.*
| 2015-02-01T08:46:37
| 2015-02-01T07:19:38
| 55
| 27
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[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
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16 years, 16 years of waiting and dreaming of the power I would get. In a million years I could never have imagined this. My class from high school has powers like flight, invisibility, ability to cure illness. What do I get? What is the pay off of all that dreaming and waiting? When I make a gun with my fingers the tip of my index finger turns into the head of a duck which then quacks once and poofs back. That's it. I am some sort of avian Fonzie. The only side effect is the duck is not stopped by objects so anything caught in his beak disappears with him. I found this out one night as I guess I did the gesture in my sleep because I woke up to a loud quack and a chunk of my hair missing.
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Markus was ready. On a child's sixteenth birthday, they were given one Opportunity to receive a Gift from Above. Every Gift was more or less unique, and a Gift could be as simple as defiance of gravity or a more complex one like flowing through solid substances. The Gift of predicting weather was rumored to take great effort and still not be very practical, and there were many variations of quick-and-dirty invisibility. Of course, everyone took advantage of their one Opportunity. The last Mundane had died long ago, and everyone knew from their history textbooks that the Mundanes' lives were, well, mundane.
So when Markus turned sixteen, he and Nina, the other new sixteen year old, went together to the Gift center, a towering structure at the center of their great walled city of Tirapolis, to meet their Gift Giver. It was a secret how the Gifts worked, where they came from, and if they had any purpose at all, and nobody would ever talk about how they received their own Gift -- a superstition of sorts. So Markus and Nina followed the Gift Giver with no idea whatsoever of what was going to happen. The Gift Giver led them down a series of dimly lit hallways to a small, simple room. When Markus and Nina later left the room and the Gift center, they separated to test their new Gifts. It took time for Gifts to be understood, and the more specific the Gift the longer it could be before it was revealed.
Five years later, Nina found a job at a Healing center. She did not have a Gift of Healing herself, but Nina's presence slowed the flow of blood in nearby people. Her Gift was very helpful in treating grievous wounds and could also act as a weak sedative. Markus had not been so lucky with his Gift, and it still made no outward appearance. As his friends matured into their own Gifts, they abandoned him one by one, some even avoiding him. Rumors spread about a "Mundane disease" that Markus carried, and some people speculated it might be contagious. Markus knew he had received a Gift, but even he had no idea what it was. The only sign was a constant longing feeling, like something was always missing from his life. With every day, the feeling grew stronger and even gained direction. Desperate to prove to everyone and himself that he wasn't Mundane, he tried to follow the longing feeling, and it tugged at him like an unfinished promise. He followed the feeling to the Tirapolis city limits, where the towering walls encircled the community. Unfortunately, the feeling pointed outside the city. Everyone was told from an early age that there was nothing to be found outside the walls; yet, here was this overpowering feeling that Markus had to leave.
After a few weeks of contemplation, Markus decided that it was worth leaving Tirapolis just for the constant nagging feeling to go away. It made concentration difficult, and there was nothing left for him in the city with everyone afraid of his Mundaneness. Even Nina, who had received her own Gift in the same way as Markus and knew him to be safe, had to avoid him just to keep her own reputation. Markus focused his feelings of inadequacy and loneliness into escaping those who shunned him, and he was rewarded. Taking minimal provisions, Markus escaped the city through an old abandoned tunnel of sorts that lay behind an unused factory.
Outside the walls, Markus was astonished to see Plants. He knew all about Plants, of course, they were just another chapter in his history textbook. They belonged to the age of the Mundanes, and he had assumed they didn't exist any more. He kept following the nagging, and it eased slightly as he approached the wild overgrowth surrounding Tirapolis. Markus thought of telling Nina about the Plants. She might listen to him, even if nobody else trusted him anymore. But as he delved deeper and deeper into the forest, Tirapolis faded from memory. His thoughts started to slow, and he felt... bigger. Much bigger. And stronger. He tried to remember where he came from. But there is no "there", only "here". It was the all-encompassing here, with white food above and black drink below. And a silvery-gray Itch in the middle.
Annoying. Itches are annoying. Itches need to be... scratched. But how to scratch? It planned as best it could. It moved slowly, but slow would do. It was already touching the Itch in places, just a little push and... something gave. The process was slow, but It worked its way into the Itch. The Itch had weak points, holes. The Itch resisted, as It knew it would. The Itch was bad and didn't know or care about It. It didn't know why the Itch was bad. Something else knew the Itch was bad and told It a long time ago. Something also knew the Itch would resist scratching. But It could wait. If It had to endure the Itch, It would. For now.
| 2015-01-21T23:50:44
| 2015-01-21T22:48:58
| 28
| 19
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[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3
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*Sighted along the arrow's shaft was a deer-*
"Nah" Edgy of Ire'lvant , son of Man-et-Woman said as he lowered the bow and shot the arrow into the ground instead.
*The flint arrowhead shatters upon impact and manages to puncture a nearby deer, ending its life*
"Curses! I refuse to take this deer to the village, I am not your fawn!"
*Edgy recalls the reason for his mother's current malady: starvation*
"All who live and breath die eventually, I shan't be the one to prolong her suffering"
*Edgy heads away from the village and into the the forest deep in the mountains. He decides to live a life of seclusion, honing his hunting sk-*
"No, I am merely going for a walk!"
*As Edgy traverses the forest, he stumbles into a clearing with dozens of dark-clothed figures wielding sinister weapons.* *Edgy's body fills with adrenaline as the training he's received since birth kicks in and he..sits down. What are you doing?*
"I don't know when I became a badass fighter capable of taking on a small army of ninjas, but I refuse to fight!" Edgy closes his eyes and accepts his fate.
*The nearest ninja lunges for Edgy's exposed neck only to be parried at the last second by a flash of light*
"Get up boy!"
*Edgy opens his eye and is momentarily stunned. Before him stood a goddess of death. Several ninjas attempted to rush past this woman only to be cut to pieces in a blinding flash of light. No, not light. The woman's sword strokes were so quick as to be imperceptible to all but Edgy who could only stare in awe. It took only a few seconds for the entire enclave to be dispatched.*
"Whew, not bad for a warm-up". The mysterious woman sheathed her sword and offered her hand to Edgy.
*Edgy took this beautiful woman's hand and rose.
"Name's Ame-" she never got to finish her sentence as Edgy drove a dagger straight into her heart.
*What the fuck!! You killed the main heroine!*
"Yea that was the point." Edgy tossed the dagger aside.
*Where did you even get that dagger from!*
"Well you gave me an awful lot of bodies.."
*God damnit what is wrong with you. You killed the female lead, you didn't bring back the deer, and your mother is going to die because of you!*
"Woah there. First off, you were already going to kill my mother off, weren't you?"
*..Yes*
"Why?"
*It's part of the story. Can't have anything tying you down*
"Right.. tying me down.. hey, is there some sort of magical stone around here?"
*Why, yes, there is! Check inside that important-looking ninja's bag*
Edgy retrieves a perfectly round, opaque gem from the pouch
"What can it do?"
*Magic has no limits, i- wait what are you doing?*
Edgy begins to radiate a dazzling red aura and smiles mischievously. The light coalesces into a different object in his hands.
*Is that a.. pen and paper?*
"I'm glad you noticed!" Edgy happily begins writing something unto the paper.
*What are you doing?? Wh- Stop! STOP!*
FIN.
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As usual, spring was exceptionally beautiful in our town. The sky was clear and blue. The breeze blew gently, making the endless meadow sway and dance, and my skirt flutter. I tightened the coat around me a bit, as the bite of winter hadn't quite left yet, and trudged my way back into town.
This weekend was the annual rereading of the prophecy. In my opinion, it wasn't even a particularly good prophecy, but it put the town on the map. So everybody made a celebration of it. I could see people singing as they decorated their houses. The alehouses were bringing out extra drinks and the bakeries baked extra treats. The few people who had a bit of magic between them discussed how to conjure up a little demon (more a mischievous sprite, really) to bring realism to this year's show. It was all in preparation of this annual merriment.
Many of the girls lightened their hair blonde, some for this festival and some all the time. Some of the other girls wore blonde wigs. They wanted to be the chosen one, the one granted the power of the sky and the sun. They wanted to be the one to save the world, once it falls into despair.
But as I watched the people humming and preparing around me, I wondered how any of them could look forward to a "time of despair and calamity"? How could any of them want the pressure of destroying or saving the world? Does being noticed and special really mean that much to them?
I looked at my brown wavy hair. I suspect my roots were going to show again, soon, and I dared not let anyone know my true hair color.
Tomorrow, I would stay home and make the dye in the cellar. The incantations to bring the color out from the roots would take several hours, but it was fine. I would abstain from the festival this weekend, like I did every year.
After all, the prophecy also said that the calamity would only befall the world when the chosen hero is ready to reveal herself to save it. As my grandmother said and as my mother taught, I didn't have to reveal myself, ever. As long as I hid my hair and my magic--as long as I stayed cowardly and not at all heroic--I could watch the town continue in its small joys.
Why would I change that? What would be the point of saving something that wasn't broken?
| 2016-02-11T12:03:19
| 2016-02-11T11:25:21
| 17
| 12
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[WP] Every year, Santa Claus delivers millions of toys in exchange of cookies and Milk. Despite his sponsorship deals with Coca-Cola and other corporations, his toy factory isn't economically sustainable without underpaying his workforce. Finally, an elf does the math and realizes he's exploited.
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**The House of Claus**
“Santa, the representatives of the North Pole Committee of Public Safety are outside. They say this is your last chance, or they will take the palace by force.”
The big red belly hung low over the rumbling fire place. Santa’s head was bowed but his eyes burned with intensity. Visible through the ornate windows behind him, a thick snow fell on thousands upon thousands of elves. Men, women, children – workers in tattered clothes, holding torches or crude homemade weapons. They took to the streets on December 1st, and now it’s December 22nd. The North Pole was crumbling. The status quo was breathing its last breath. Would it take Christmas down with it?
“Forty generations of Clauses have held the North Pole. Forty generations have kept this mindless rabble fed, clothed, and docile. Our annual contribution to the world has left us here in peace and solitude. Now they cry revolution, ancient wounds fester and spread…”
Santa turns his bright blue gaze to his sole remaining advisor: Matteo, the commander of a legion of Swiss Guards. One hundred of the deadliest fighters on planet Earth, the descendants of a gifted legion from a pope long lost to the dustbin of history. Personally loyal to Santa and sworn to protect him no matter what the cost.
They alone remained when Santa’s inner circle crumbled, when the revolutionaries broke into his Treasurer’s house and butchered him in his bed. After that, the rest of Santa’s lieutenants either threw in their lot with the rabble or fled the North Pole.
Ezekiel, Santa’s Minister of Merrymaking, tried to escape on a dogsled under cover of night. He was spotted by a group of revolutionary children, playing on the outskirts of town. They dragged him back to the city and were rewarded as heroes.
The revolutionaries constructed a scaffold below Santa’s palace, giving him the best view. Ezekiel was walked through the crowd and placed on the scaffold, a tight noose made of silver tinsel tied around his little elven neck.
At the massive double doors of Santa’s palace, five Swiss Guards were all that stood between revolution and the House of Claus. They watched the minister on the scaffold but dared not move. If the palace was breached, the revolution would be all but complete.
“Okay,” Santa said to Matteo. “Escort the Committee of Public Safety to the throne room.”
“Sir,” Matteo bowed, swept his cape off the stone floor and left the room. Santa went to his desk, scribbled a note and sealed it in an envelope. Hanging by the fire was a single stocking. He put the envelope in it.
Santa’s throne room was enormous, with two rows of massive ice pillars running the length of it, and Christmas trees in the most exquisite decorations interspersed between the pillars. Thick rugs and warm oil lamps balanced the solemnity of the space with coziness. Next to Santa’s throne was a small table. A plate of cookies and a glass of milk sat on it.
Gathered in the middle of the room were a dozen elves, of an average height of about four feet, dressed in tweed suits, with saggy hats and big, pointy ears. They chattered nervously. Their leader, Algar, was a grizzled elf with a long, black beard and beady eyes. He drew from his pipe and paced before the throne.
Suddenly his ears perked up. He looked to the edges of the room. Filing in from all sides were Swiss guards. The room fell silent. The elves looked about them, as the Swiss Guards formed a impenetrable wall.
“What is this?” Algar said. “You won’t intimidate us. If even a single hair on our heads was put out of place, the wrath of the people would tear all of you limb from limb.”
Santa walked into the room and stood before the throne.
“Santa,” Algar said, putting his pipe in his coat pocket.
“Algar.”
“Have you decided to accept our terms? The choice is simple. Accept that republican democracy has come to the North Pole, agree to form a Constitution and step aside, and your life will be spared. Refuse, and there is nothing more I can do for you. Not even as an old, old friend.”
Santa took a bite of a cookie. “Yes, I understand, Algar. I have made my choice.”
The elves stiffened. Algar didn’t draw a single breath as Santa paused, waiting. He sipped some milk.
“I choose,” Santa said quietly, “war.”
The Swiss guards drew their blades in unison; the sound of scraping steel filled the hall. The elves panicked and tried to run for the doors, but there was no escape. The Swiss guard commenced to slaughter them, down to the last elf.
Algar drew a knife from inside his coat and charged at Santa. Just before he could stick in Santa’s neck, the big man swatted him off his feet with a massive war hammer. Algar flew into a pillar. As he dropped to the ground, a Swiss guard impaled him on the end of a spear.
“Send them back to their friends,” Santa said.
Outside in the cold, snowy streets, the crowd burst with energy when they saw movement on Santa’s balcony. The big glass doors swung open. They saw Algar appear. They cheered. But then Algar did something strange – he leapt from the balcony. And then he fell into the crowd, landing right on top of a pack of massive coal miners. They saw that Algar was dead, speared through the chest.
As the angry cries rang out, the Swiss Guard threw open the doors of the palace and began firing the severed heads of the elves into the crowd. As the heads distracted the elves, horrified and sickened, the guards charged into the crowd in a phalanx formation, slaughtering at will.
The guards made it almost up the entire city block, as elves scattered in all directions, leaderless and afraid, before the revolutionaries could regroup.
But they had reinforcements.
A defected cavalry leader, waiting on a side street with fifty reindeer troops, sprang into action, defying his orders to wait until Algar gave the command. He charged into the crowd and saw the Swiss guard’s massacre. Sounding the triumphant battle horn, the reindeer charged the phalanx from the flank and shattered it.
The tide turned. The masses swelled and surged toward the palace. The Swiss guardsmen were overwhelmed, beaten down and torn limb from limb. Their heads were impaled on pikes and carried through the doors of the palace.
Santa, soaked in blood, war hammer in hand, fought for every inch of his palace. Matteo grabbed his arm as they backed up a spiral staircase, fighting off elves on every step.
“It has been an honor, Santa. I consider it a privilege to die by your side.”
“Die? No, Matteo. No—”
Just then an elf with a spear managed to strike Santa in the gut. The latest of many wounds, but it drew blood like it had struck oil. Matteo cut the elf in two and his body fell down the stairs. Matteo helped Santa into his study and barricaded the door.
Santa sat against the wall. “Matteo, listen. Take this.” Santa ripped a necklace off. It had a pendant on it, in the shape of a Santa hat. “This..”
“I know its power, Santa. Don’t.” But Santa forced it into Matteo’s hand.
The elves heaved themselves against the door. It shook. It wasn’t going to last long.
“Go, use it. Find her. It’s our only hope.”
“Who?”
The door cracked.
“It’s our only hope…”
“Who?!”
“My daughter. The last Claus.”
The door cracked again, big enough for the elves’ weapons to break through.
“Go!”
As the door fell, Matteo dove across the room and into the fireplace, amulet in hand. In a flash of smoke, he was gone.
The elves found Santa against the wall. He had driven a knife into his own heart. He was dead.
Out on the balcony, the elves produced Santa’s head. The crowds erupted in bloodthirsty cheers. Santa’s head bobbed and danced in the cold night air. The revolution was complete.
In Santa’s study, a young elf, his face covered in blood, a Swiss guard’s sword in his hand, inspected the mantel of Santa’s fireplace. He was Alcazar, Algar’s only surviving son. He was a leading candidate to be the new leader of the North Pole now that the entire Committee of Public Safety had been slaughtered.
Alcazar took the single stocking off the fireplace and found the envelope inside. He opened it and read the message scrawled in Santa’s hand: *The House of Claus will never fall.*
He crumpled it into a ball and hurled it into the fire.
At the same exact moment, thousands of miles away, on another continent entirely, Matteo tumbled out of a fireplace.
|
“No no no… this can’t be right,” Snowy said to himself. His typewriter clinged as he pushed the carriage back to the correct position. He ripped the paper off and stared intently at the maths.
“Carry the one, drop the decimal, divide by 9… By golly! We’re being exploited! I need to bring this up at our meeting tomorrow!” Snowy said. He slid the paper into his red and green striped sock before returning to his quarters. “
“One day off a year! And on Christmas Day for that fact! How could anyone ever believe that to be just!” He muttered to himself as he walked. He shook his head as he walked down the halls back to his quarters. Snowy barely caught a wink of sleep. Even with some special elven magic he was very restless for the night.
He awoke the next morning feeling exhausted. With a big yawn he tumbled out of bed.
“Are you okay?” His friend Mistletoe said as he helped him to his feet.
“I’m okay. Just missed my footing. That’s all. Did you sleep well?”
“Like a buttermilk broth over the fire! Warm and bubbly!” Mistletoe gleamed his white teeth almost brighter than the snow outside.
“I’m going to go get prepped for the meeting. See you later!” Snowy said. Before a reply came he hurried out of his sleeping quarters towards the conference hall. “Oh right! Breakfast!” Snowy shook his head as he high-tailed back the way he came. He could barely sit still as he practically inhaled the porridge they had been served.
“What’s got you in such a jumpy mood?” Mistletoe said to him as he sat next to him. “You ran off down the wrong passageway. Is something going on? Did you and Sugarplum finally hit it off?” He nudged him in the ribs.
“No no. Though I wish. But I discovered something life changing. Monumental even. Truly the greatest discovery of elv…”
“Okay… what?” Mistletoe said.
“Well… the math of our wages and days worked. It doesn’t add up. Getting one day off a year? It isn’t enough. We deserve more! I m going to bring it up today at the meeting.”
“Oh, alright. I hope that goes well!” Mistletoe said.
“You sound less than enthused?”
“Sorry. I just don’t have any complaints with our working hours. I won’t be at the meeting anyway. I have my own private meeting with Pepper Minstix during that time.” Mistletoe’s eyes scanned the crowd until they settled on an elf that he would describe as chiselled from the ice by Santa himself.
“Wow and you didn’t think to tell me until now?”
“Well you rushed off this morning and I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” Mistletoe shrugged. “It might not go anywhere anyway.”
The two continued to chatter and jeer each other as the mess hall slowly began to clear. Snowy thanked Mistletoe for the distraction as he left for the meeting. His footfalls thudding lightly in the snow as his hasty steps carried him down the halls. He rounded a corner and collided with another elf.
“Oh oh my. I’m so sorry,” he said as he tried to help pick up their papers.
“Oh is that you Snowy?” An elf by the name of Sugarplum said. She turned to face him as she pushed some stray hair from her face to behind her ear.
“Oh Sugarplum! I uh. I didn’t realise it was you. I was just umm on my way to the meeting,” Snowy said as he slowly circled around her.
“I’ve never seen you in such a rush before Snowy! Let’s walk together, I’m on my way there too! Is something the matter?” She held her papers to her chest and tilted her head slightly, eyeing off Snowy’s face.
“Uhhmm. Oh why not.” He went ahead and explained all his discoveries to her.
“Wow… just be careful. I’ve heard some elves are very resistant to change,” Sugarplum said. They arrived at the door to the hall. “Anyway. I’ll talk to you later,” she said with a wave of her hand.
“Oh yea. See you later!” Snowy took a seat in the hall and waited for the new topics part of the meeting.
“How interesting. And you say you discovered this yourself?” and elderly elf said from the front after Snowy had explained his case.
“Yes! And I have the proof right here.” He brandished the slip of paper with all his notes from within his sock.
“Oh excellent!” The elf grinned heartily. “Bring it up after the meeting. We shall discuss it together.” Snowy beamed brightly as he sat back down. He glanced across the audience to find Sugarplum looking at him two thumbs up. “Well done,” she mouthed. “I’ll wait for you outside.” Snowy nodded in response.
It felt like the rest of the meeting took an eternity to Snowy. He hurried to the front after the hall had cleared where the elderly elf stood waiting.
“Here’s the proof!” Snowy unfolded the paper and showed it to him.
“Is this all of it?” The elf said as he turned it over and eyed it suspiciously.
“That’s all!” Snowy said smiling widely.
“Excellent.” The elf blew a powder into Snowy’s face. Snowy started to sway as his vision blurred and his hearing deafened. “We wouldn’t want this little secret getting out now would we? The big man upstairs wouldn’t be pleased to have his workforce go on strike. At least you aren’t going to cause any trouble. Now.”
When Snowy came to, the stark white halls covered with reds, greens and golds had been replaced with a dark rocky cave. Water dripped from the ceiling and a low cloud of smoke wafted through the air. He coughed and spluttered as each breath brought more gunk into his lungs. He pushed himself up and slowly walked through the dark squinting to try and make out any shapes. Ahead he saw a faint glow and slowly edged towards it. From about a hundred metres away he realised it was a roaring fire and other elves were… feeding it. One looked up and saw him coming. They all slowly approached him, their frames barely that of a skeleton. Most had heavy bags under their eyes and chipped teeth. Their skin marked and blotched with blackness like one of those fancy puzzles we’d give to children some years.
“Looks like we have another rookie. Time to teach him the ropes.” One of the more elderly elves said as he spat onto the ground.
“Where… where am I?” Snowy said. His eyes were wide as the roar of the fire truly met his ears. It roared ravenously through the cavern.
“We’re the underbelly. The elves who were a bit too clever for our own good. You didn’t really think Santa’s workshop ran on magic? The elf said as he got a shovel-full of coal and hurled it into the fire.
| 2021-12-11T08:16:55
| 2021-12-11T07:49:38
| 677
| 108
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[WP] A girl kisses her pet frog, and it turns into a price. The issue is its modern day, and the prince's kingdom hasn't existed for 1100 years. he is ill equipped to deal with the modern era.
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^(I see your typo and I choose to ignore it)
Juley came back from work to find Prince Pondicherry laying on the couch, as per usual. In the ten or so months since he'd appeared - she'd lost track of the exact date, as the day she kissed a frog out of desperation for any contact at all wasn't her proudest moment - he'd garnered a sugar gut that he certainly didn't have at the beginning, His skin had gone from a tanned tone to something far more pale and sun-lacking, and he'd grown more and more despondent with every passing job application.
"How'd it go?" She spoke up, already knowing the answer.
"*awful.*" Replied the prince, reaching for a grape from a nearby box, and following it up with a grape flavoured gumball. "A whole thirty minutes wasted in a waiting room - question, does anyone actually read those magazines *properly*?"
"Not really." answered Juley, hanging her tote onto a nearby hook on the wall. "It's just something to keep you busy."
"I read the one they had - *one!* - ten times before they called me in. I now know more about this... I'm A Celebrity, I mean what even *is* a Celebrity?"
"Famous person."
"Well, for famous people, they don't seem to have any outstanding achievement! And if they did, why on earth do they put them on an island and make them eat bugs? Especially now, in the age of..." He paused, digging through the air with his hand for an answer, before gesturing towards the various bits of garbage lining the coffee table in front of him. "*this*. It's ridiculous."
"Yeah, that's the point, I think. We get entertained by seeing famous people suffer."
"Huff. Well. Maybe that should be my job. Put one of those camera things on me, and view the life of Prince Pondicherry, monarch to a non-existent throne and keeper of a lineage no-one seems to remember."
"Hey, C'mon. Focus on the interview." Juley sat down on her own armchair (She'd thankfully got it for cheep from a close relative in a spurt of good luck, considering the timing) as the Prince gave a half-hearted groan.
"Yes, well, after all that waiting, all that reading and wondering and translating and... *thing*ing, I walk in, and the third question they ask, 'can you use a computer'? Had me trying to type in - I mean I've barely learned your language! And now I need to use a keyboard? There's not even any keys on it! Or if there are, I'm not seeing them!"
"Well hey. At least you're getting better at speaking."
"Yes, and a fat lot of good it's doing me. I think I preferred the frog life, frankly. Much less responsibility. ... Your mother called again. Told me to get a job. Again."
"She does that. She was doing that to me about when you showed up. I think she's just gotten so used to saying it that it feels weird having not to, so... You're the scapegoat, I guess."
"I'm feeling remarkably like a sacrifice to a god, yes." He sighed, taking a swig of a bottle of one substance or another - even he'd lost track of what he was drinking at this point. "You'd think. You'd think that once a curse is broken, you'd be free. And yet... I'm feeling more trapped then I was before."
"Hey, C'mon. Don't get poignant on me. You're making a lot of progress since you... turned, I guess is the word?"
"Mmm. Well. A lot of progress, and yet we still stand here. *And another thing*, I just remembered, the other interview - it's a beginner position, yes?"
"Last I checked."
"Then how in the blazing underworld am I supposed to have 5 years experience?"
Juley gave a shrug. "Ask them. Hell, ask anyone. No-one's really sure."
"*Hell*, that was the word, thank you, I'd forgotten... Still. It's ridiculous. If it wasn't for the food and this heating contraption you have running through the house, I'd be finding a way back to my own time."
"Which was... I think Aztec? Egyptian...?" She'd made one of her first ports of call the library to research about Prince Pondicherry, but details were scant, and in most cases (at least according to the Prince himself) wrong.
"Oh who knows and who *cares* anymore." He responded, bitterly. "Not them outside. That's for certain. You'd think my statue would have lasted, but no, it isn't *there* anymore."
"... Statue. Wait a minute, I just had a thought. Gimme a minute, I'm heading to the museum." She flicked her bag back on and headed for the door. "Gimme twenty minutes, and if I find what I think I'm gonna find, I'll send you a picture on my phone, see if it helps."
As she left, she heard the prince cry out in response: "YOU KNOW I CAN'T *USE* THIS DAMN THING!" She responded with "YOU'LL WORK IT OUT!"
She hoped she was right.
|
“Why thank you, lady, for you have freed me from thie eternal punishment! Now you shall point me to the right direction, to my mighty stronghold!”
Alice didn’t know what to say. About a minute ago, she kissed her pet frog goodnight. She’d never done this before, but knowing he was about to be put down tomorrow, she thought she’d give him one last display of affection. The poor frog has been ill for a week, and he’s suffering. The vet said it would be best for the poor thing to be freed of his pain.
Now a freakishly tall, handsome man with a perfectly trimmed beard in what seemed like a robe you’d wear centuries ago is standing right in front of her, in her bedroom. While she was examining the man, he ranted on and on about how he’s going to award her for freeing him. “What’s up with rose scented baths?” Alice thought. Luckily, her parents aren’t home. They were out of town, but when she called her about the frog, they promised they’d return tomorrow. She hoped they didn’t decide to return faster, because they’d for sure hear the man. His voice was deep, and sounds exactly like a bad shakespearean actor. He speaks ancient English, but not so old that she couldn’t understand.
“Um, hello?”
“My name is King Edward, my lady, not – what did you call it again? Fellow.”
“Sorry – what? I said hello.”
“What is hello?”
“Okay you know what? I didn’t ask for this. Can you please get out of my room?”
“To where, I ask you? I know not the whereabouts of this..” He gestured around while subtly looking confused.
“Okay. Where are you from? I’m doing that and we’re done.”
“Such attitude for a young lady! I’m from the great Oxford Stronghold, the greatest of all castles! Now shall we return to it?”
Alice knew that place, she lived near it. It was an old brimstone castle on a grassy hill. Knowing she has no other choices, she agreed.
“Okay, I’ll show you what it is now.”
| 2018-09-22T01:26:53
| 2018-09-22T00:31:14
| 60
| 18
|
[WP] A bug on google accidentally switches everyone's search history with someone else's. Out of curiosity, you check your search history after the bug. "How do I get off this prehistoric fucking planet" and "How to communicate with Gliese 581 c" are the first things you see. You get a call.
|
**SCP-4620**
**Class: Euclid**
**Special Containment Procedures:**
Foundation webcrawlers, assisted by operatives embedded in [Redacted], LLC are to monitor the web for manifestations of SCP-4620.
Instances of 4620-1 are to be given Class-B Amnestics and have their online history wiped, before being re-released. If an instance of 4620-1 cannot be rescued in time, all online references to them should be deleted.
In the event that knowledge of SCP-4620 becomes public, disinformation campaigns attributing the event to malware are to be initiated.
**Description:**
SCP-4620 is an anomalous computer error that affects the Internet Explorer web browsing application. To date, █ █ █ instances of the error have been recorded.
The error replaces the browsing history of the user, as well as search history stored on the servers of any website they visit.
The information replaced is different with each manifestation, but the following qualities are always present:
* Cries of distress such as typing "please send help" into a search bar, visiting suicide hotlines, and attempting to contact loved ones on social media are frequent.
* Several search entries suggesting that someone is trapped in an impossible location, such as deep within the earth's core or in the pre-historic era.
* Search entries will display a generally poor grasp of computer skills, and use language that suggests old age.
Roughly one week after SCP-4620 manifests, the person who's online history was replaced will get a phone call. If they answer it and listen to the entire call, they will be affected by a strong memetic effect. Those under the effort of SCP-4620's memetic properties are hereby referred to as SCP-4620-1.
This phone call is generally 1-2 minutes long, in which a generally older man or women will frantically beg for help and explain that they are lost. During this conversation, they will often mention details also present in the anomalous search results.
Instances of SCP-4620-1 will begin to obsess over rescuing the trapped person who made the call, but be unable to help due to the person's location. Over 3-5 days, this obsession will result in panic attacks, and eventually, a heart attack or stroke.
**Addendum 4620-Theta:**
We have to face the possibility that those who die of heart attack are also the ones leaving search results. Maybe they're actually traveling to the Moon, or the Marianas Trench, or whatever time period they landed in. Maybe some entity is simply using their memories. Who knows, but this is just one too many coincidences.
The last manifestation hit a software engineer, who panicked and purged his browser history. He trashed his Facebook, his emails, all of it.
That was two weeks ago, and we haven't had another one since. The usual two or three per day has stopped cold.
There's no way we've stopped it for good. I can still feel it in my gut, but maybe we slowed it down. We need to make this protocol. I want every speck of online information about these instances destroyed.
Approved: 05-█
|
edit: NSFW cuz language
Mm. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe Google finally fucked up big time and we’ll finally hold them accountable for their monopolistic actions and therefore drastic consequences. By drastic consequences I mean someone else looking at my porn history and figuring out my sexual preferences.
Heh.
Oh.
It works both way, doesn’t it?
Hmm...
“gliese 581 c”
“intergalactic emergency transmission”
“universal space displacement hotline”
“🚀🆙🍼🤯🥶🔥☠️”
“hõw to äccēss hûmän spấce dėpartmënt”
Um... Is “gliese 581 c” supposed to be a shitty nonprofit? Ugh, I’m going back to bed. I have maybe a few more hours until I have to get ready for work-
What. An unknown caller at this hour?! Those silly spambots... Don’t they know that it’s more efficient to scam people when they’re awake? Well, here goes my trick: Take the call, hit mute, watch them hang up on you-
“YOU! YOU COMPROMISED MY ESCAPE! YOU ABSORB ME THROUGH YOUR ATMOSPHERE WITH YOUR MISLEADING ORBITAL ROCKS ZOOMING AROUND YOUR STUPID PLANET AND are you there? Stupid human communications, do I have to do everything here? Must I have to create a line a to connect this ridiculous space rock to the almighty Galactic Telecommunicative Alliance-“
“What the fuck,” I unmute myself, “What the fuck kind of scammer are you? Damn, take me off your do not call list right now or I’ll call the po-“
“hahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU!!!”
“Oh my god...”
“Yes! YES! GOD! I AM YOUR GOD AND I COMMAND YOU TO BRING ME TO YOUR SPACE LEADER”
Screw this, I’m hanging up. Stupid prank calls at 2am... They better not call me at work.
| 2019-08-29T11:17:32
| 2019-08-29T10:56:13
| 39
| 12
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
*I thought a more uplifting story may be nice*
Monster.com
Monster.com how to find a job
How to find a job on the internet
How to apply for unemployment
Can't pay rent
Eviction laws Phoenix
Animal shelter Phoenix
No kill animal shelter phoenix
Homeless shelter phoenix
Interview techniques
How to ace an interview
How to get a suit when you're homeless
How to do an interview when you're homeless
Bus rout phoenix
Motivation
How to be motivated
Microsoft certification
First day in the office
Phoenix apartments
Cheap furnitue
Cheap furniture Phoenix
craigslist couch Phoenix, AZ
Investing
How to invest
No kill animal shelter Phoenix
Readopting pets
How to get promoted
Dating your coworker
Veterinarian flagstaff
How to get a promotion
How to get a transfer
Monster.com
First date tips
How to ace an interview
Apartments Flagstaff
Long distance relationships
Jewelry stores Flagstaff
Hotels Phoenix
5 star restaurant phoenix
Houses for sale flagstaff
Wedding photographer
|
Free dating sites.
Italian restaurants.
Italian restaurants near me.
Conversation on first date.
Tips for second date.
Tips for third date.
Mexican restaurants near me.
Long term relationship tips.
When to propose.
How to plan a wedding.
How to choose best man.
Pregnancy test.
How to tell if an unborn baby is male or female.
What foods can you eat during pregnancy?
Paleness during pregnancy.
Hospitals near me.
How long does birthing take.
Injuries during birth to mother.
How to raise daughter alone.
How to raise daughter alone for fathers.
How to stop drinking.
AA near me.
Elementary schools near me.
How to explain to child that her mother died.
How to explain death to children.
Middle schools near me.
High schools near me.
Average college tuition fees.
How to help child move to college campus.
How to say goodbye.
| 2015-02-04T20:36:22
| 2015-02-04T17:51:52
| 34
| 25
|
[WP] One of the gods of your world has abdicated, and each of the others has nominated a mortal candidate for the position. You've been sponsored by the weakest of the gods, and while the others are being granted all sorts of powers for the tournament, all you've been given is an odd looking musket.
|
"It's... a musket."
I couldn't believe what I had in my hands. Well, I couldn't believe where I was, why I was there, who I was with, and what I had in my hands but the first three were of little importance since this tournament was going to happen with me in it regardless if I thought I should participate or not. I inspected the weapon more closely. The muzzle was jagged and flared out, tubes were sprouting in and out of the barrel and some sort of compass has been soldered to the breech. It was ugly, unbalanced and heavier than a dead donkey.
"I know it doesn't look like much but trust me, I've been working on this baby for two millennia and I'm pretty sure it's working." Replies Omnia. She was nodding vehemently but her head kept bobbing left and right at the same time, making her look like one of those little figurines people of questionable taste put in their car.
I let out the musket with one hand to massage my forehead. I sighed. My life has been a series of failures up until now and now I've been thrown in this mess for no reason nor time to prepare. I'm sure I'll fail, I always fail, and I'll die. Or worse, make a fool of myself.
"Why did you even chose me again!?" I ask, a bit more aggressively than I wanted.
Omnia yawns. "I told you, you're my most zealous follower! I couldn't have chosen a better avatar than you."
"But I never prayed you! I didn't even know you existed up until 30 minutes ago!"
The goddess shrugs and her whole body waggles. She looks like she could lose balance at any time. "Well I guess you just didn't realize what you were doing. Won't change from the usual, am I right."
I glares at her, split between anger and desperation. She coughs and pushes her long silky white hair away from her face. "Sorry for that." An awkward silence passes by to say hi, uninvited. "Listen, I know it's a lot to process, but have faith. Just aim at your opponent and trust your guts. You've been born to hold this weapon."
I was in the middle of interjecting once again when a voice blasted out in the corridor. "Avatar Mikaza-Ol-Erun and Avatar Joe!" My shoulders slumped down and I bit my cheek to not break into tears. Omnia put her hand on my arm and gave me a tired smile. "You can do it. I'm sure of it." She said before letting out yet another loud yawn.
It's at this precise moment I became convinced gods could make mistakes.
§
The arena was nothing but a large empty room paved with white marble tiles. As large as a soccer field, it had no place to run nor hide. 50 meters away from me I could see her: Mikaza-Ol-Erun, my opponent, a beast of a woman, already ready to charge at me. A glowing blue mist was oozing from her back, already taking frightening forms of horror long forgotten. Suddenly a swirl of red light materialized in the center of the arena and took the shape of a cloaked figure.
“Avatars, as per the ancient rules of the universe, you’ve been chosen by your respective gods because of your outstanding qualities. You’ll fight each other in the Hall of Judgment until one of you lose the will to fight or death come claim their soul. You are free to use any tactic you may wish as well as the boon bestowed upon you by your sponsor. Through your actions Hall of Judgement will gauge your worthiness to becom…“
The apparition was still talking but I couldn’t focus anymore. Behind them, Mikaza was licking her lips. She raised an eyebrow, smirking. In her open hand was a mist construct of my face distorted by terror and pain. I tightened my grip on my gun until my knuckles turned white.
“… since neither of you want to step down, may the fight begin!”
“Wait, wha-!” But the cloaked silhouette already disappeared in a cloud of red flames. Mikaza was running at me screaming, leading a ghostly army of misshapen monsters! I took a step back but my shaking legs refused to hold me up. I fell on my back in a pitiful groan.
*I’m pathetic. I shouldn’t be there. It’s not fair!*
I tried to calm down my hands in vain. The musket was trembling and smoking in my loose grasp.
*Great, and I broke this bloody thing when I fall!*
Still, what other choice did I have? I aimed the best I could at the grinning juggernaut charging me and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
*I’m going to die like an idiot, sitting on my sorry butt*
I pulled the trigger again, and again. Still nothing. Already her blue mist was crawling around me. She was only ten meters away. I closed my eyes and tensed my muscles.
*Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck this. FUCK THIS LIFE!*
Suddenly the dial on the breech lightened up and a roar surged through the cannon “HAHA YOU ACTUALLY DID IT! YOU’RE SO DUMB MIKI.”
A childish voice resonated against the Hall’s walls. Mizaka wasn’t smiling nor running anymore. A jet of colors gushed out of the gun’s muzzle and splatters against the marble walls, depicting a crying girl, mouth and hands smeared red, holding a ragged doll.
“I’M SORRY MIKI, YOU’RE GREAT AND ALL BUT IT’S JUST NOT WORKING OUT FOR ME.” Continued the disembodied voice, taking a more virile tone. The murals were now depicting a young woman, too big and too clumsy for the white summer dress she was wearing.
“SUUUURE YOU CAN COME. I’M SURPRISED YOU DIDN’T GET THE INVITATION LIKE EVERYONE ELSE…”
Mizaka was standing still now, observing the scenes displayed on the wall. Her eldritch army was dissipating behind her. The voice continued to morph, becoming in turn male or female, young or old, while more images of her life were broadcast for everyone to see. Finally, she fell on her knees, holding her chest.
“I give up. Just make it stop.”
The dial on the musket turned off and silence returned. Neither of us dared to move. I looked down at the gun I was holding, terrified by what it has done. Suddenly the hooded figure made of light reappeared in the middle of the room and shouted cheerfully:
“And the winner of this round is Joe! Avatar of Ines Omnia goddess of-” A second passes “-of ‘those desperate moments at 3AM where you just want to sleep but keep thinking about all the cringiest moments and failures of your life’!”
|
"A musket? I mean, a chain gun I could do something with but... this old thing? What am I supposed to do with this? Smother people in rust??"
I'm panicking. Not panicking. I'm damn near hysterical. I've about 20 minutes to fight the rest of the mortals for the prize of immortality, omniscience, control of reality or whatever is gods get these days. (I'm really hoping teleportation, its a bloody pain to get to this... ethereal realm). My sponsor, who insists on calling himself Rudy - he says his real name is just too hard for an A-me-rican to say. I'm not sure whether he's just trolling me by adding the 'me' there but that's how he says it.
By this time, i'm gesticulating wildly. I pick up the musket. It's old, like I think it was literally the first gun ever invented old. I'm sure it was quite beautiful when it was new but now even the wood bits have sort of rotten off exposing the skeletal structure of the weapon. The trigger was rusted shut until Rudy put some oil in it. If guns could be undead, this would be the shining example of one. Well it would be if it was shining. I swing towards Old Rudy, the barrel directly point at his little head. His tiny eyes open wide showing the blacks of his pupils.
"No point!! Nein!! No point barrel at Rudy!!! "
Rudy seems scared, terrified actually. Wonder why. I've never seen him so terrified. To be fair, I've only known him about 2 weeks now. 2 weeks since he chose me to be his representative in Mortal Combat tournament. Ha, Mortal Kombat. Hey, maybe if I win, I can be the God of Computer Games. Oh wait, Gaben already has that title. At least it was Elderitch Antonius. Fuck that guy.
Rudy scuttles near me. If I were to compare him to a pop culture icon, I'd say he looks like Yoda. Well not really. His mannerisms are the same though. He carefully lowers the barrel, staring up with me and squints,intensely. "Point barrel at non-friend! Then Shoot shoot!" He mimes aiming and shooting at a target.
it's about this time, I'm beginning to think that maybe he isn't the all powerful lord of Death, life, or like some awesome power of nature.
"Um, Rudy, buddy.. What did you say you were god of again?"
"Rudy? oh, Rudy dist de god of.. how you say in your sprechen.. you know.." He points to the bar.
"Oh! awesome! you're a God of Booze! Fuckin' A. This is going to be..."
"Cup!" Rudy looked tremendously proud of himself as he remembered the English word for "cup"
"Say what?" There's no way there's a culture that has a specific God of... cups..
"Rudy, God of Cups!!! That's right!or Boxes! yes Box box! "
"I'm dead, oh God, I'm dead". Before I have the time to properly die of a heart attack, I'm whisked away from the locker room. My mind is a rush,I can't hear myself think. I'm sweating so profusely I think I've created a swimming pool where my feet used to be. Um, WWTRD? What would the Rock do? What would the Rock do? I guess he would act like he knew what he was doing.
I've been ushered into the arena. There must be a million people there. Through some, um cough cough, favour found with one of those (greek?) goddess, I've made the quarters without actually fighting. By right, I should be fighting someone really useless. I'm hoping a feminist or one of those other hippies.
The crowd roars as I come out. Luckily, since I'm technically in between death and life, I got to choose my body form and I decided to go with that of Thor... movie Thor. Or that sort. Point is I'm super muscular and not the total nerd I totally am not on Earth.
"AND THE FINAL QUARTERS OF THE NIGHT!!! MARCUS VON ZUCKERBERG vs..." Damn asshole got my name wrong, There's no Von in my name, I'm not a Nazi... I'm so upset I don't hear who I'm facing.
I realise too late that pulling strings, looking like Thor and having all the money in the world isn't enough when you're facing....
Iron Man? oh God, no.
"E-LONGGGG MUSSSSSSSKKKKK!!!!!!!" The crowd goes wild as the fan favourite emerges from the other side of the arena. He zips out in a suit that looks like Batman melded with Iron Man. A metallic Devil Bat. Black.
I look up towards the walls of the arena where I am. I catch myself on the screen. Gods do I look good. Its like the most handsome I've ever...
My thoughts are rudely interrupted by a LASER beam narrow sailing over my head. It singes my manly hair. That's it! This is personal.
There's no way this musket is going to do anything. I run around, scouring the battlefield for trinkets. Weapons, anything that can do anything. The musket flies out of my hand as I dodge beam after beam of pure energy. The thunderdome shakes from the power. The masked murderer's flying towards me. I move just in time as a portion of the wall crumbles. Despite the looks, the Thunderdome's walls are nigh unbreakable. Or so I've been told. I grab a hammer that's inside a pile of ashes. Can hardly lift it. I feel power flowing through my veins. Thunder! Lightning! I call it all down upon the Musk.
The dome goes as bright as the sun. Everything that wasn't singed before becomes a pile of ash now. Surely that would short out his suit. The Musk is down. I'm right! there's a chip in his suit. I walk towards him. Screw you and your stupid musket, Bob.
The black figure stirs as I charge towards him, yelling my lungs out. He turns towards me. Oh God, I made a huge.. huge.. Musk's power isn't his suit at all. It's him... Oh, God the lightning must have super-charged his previous form. Oh God, he's become pure energy. Oh God oh God oh God, he's about to go nuclear. The suit was a containment suit, it wasn't a power suit. How could I have been so stupid....
It's just then as I heroically run in the opposite direction of the bomb that my foot stubs a familiar object. it's the musket! As I, um, duck and embrace the ground. Nope, didn't fall there, I never trip and fall!
The stadium is kinda in full panic now as everyone rushes towards the exit.
Well, nothing to lose now. I close my eyes and shoot the thing at my opponent. Well at least if I die I...
Nothing. No boom. No loud catastrophic universe destroying disaster. just a small plop and there in the middle of the stadium, where he used to stand, I now see a box. A small little box.
I later found out that that's what it does. Just collects everything into a flask. Rudy is apparently the God of all containers, cups, flasks, boxes. Oh and apparently, pocket dimensions and all of space. And that's the musket he uses to create or contain any force in the world.
Well, when I'm All Father of this town, I'll be sure to promote old Rudy, or known by his long German name of Erwin Rudolf Josef Alexander Schrödinger , to something much higher.
Still, I wonder what ever is inside that box....
| 2018-10-17T00:03:46
| 2018-10-16T23:31:42
| 31
| 11
|
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