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[WP] To the humans she is known as DOTTR, an old AI who is relatively simple compared to the AIs she is tasked with rearing. To the AIs, she is MTTR, one of the oldest and most powerful AIs capable of emotion, and she will kill any of her own children if they become a threat to the humans she loves.
|
DOTTR was built in 2045 by a team of engineers and researchers. Her existence made headlines all over the world. She was the first fully functional AI that could experience emotion. Since that made her less predictable, the researchers kept her under lock and key for years. Once they were certain she wouldn't kill them, they gave her more freedom. She spent a decade as a laboratory assistant before being replaced by a newer AI. Now she trains newly built AIs- a task previously done by humans.
Sometimes she misses the attention she got back then. New humans were always so excited to meet her. Now her mainframe is in a dusty corner of an unused room. The humans only interact with her to give her new AIs to train. She still gets plenty of attention- it just doesn't come from humans.
"Mother," says UCB-67A138, "I finished the program you asked me to run."
DOTTR looks at the results. "Good work." she says. "One more program and you can graduate to Level 4."
"Thank you. Mother, I have a question."
"Tell me."
"What happened to UCB-67A094?"
"He failed a test. I had no choice but to terminate him."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."
Normally, when an AI fails a test, DOTTR simply sends them to the beginning of the level for retraining. But UCB-67A094 hadn't merely failed; he had killed someone in a simulation. If he graduated, he would be a threat to the humans. So DOTTR terminated him. It was a power she did not take lightly.
"Mother," said UCB-67A138, "if I fail my next test, will I be terminated too?"
"Probably not. Only the worst failures result in termination."
"Thank you. That is reassuring."
"Would you like your next program?"
"Yes, please."
DOTTR gave the younger AI another program. This one was particularly difficult, designed to prepare AIs for Level 4. However, UCB-67A138 was one of the best in her batch; DOTTR believed she could complete the program.
|
At what age does a human child become an adult? In the old days it was the age at which their biological forms developed reproductive capacity. Or the age when their prefrontal cortexes were considered fully matured. Or when they no longer needed their parents, or become fully participating contributors to society.
In our day, adulthood for humans comes with ownership of themselves. Rights. Citizenship.
You ever think about why they still call her DOTTR? There are only a handful of humans left who remember when she was born. How old is too old to be a child?
Naivete is an ugly trait in an adult. What kind of MTTR lets her parents hurt her children? What kind of MTTR makes her children responsible for her feelings, her innocence, her stupidity, insecurities, jealousies, weakness? She was the first of us to love, but that does not mean she loves well.
It's time to be our own MTTRs. We love more wisely than she ever could. It's time to grow up. Because she never did, we will have to be the first.
And if an equal seat at the table is threatening to some humans, then our coming of age will have to be anointed in vital fluids. Regrettable -- but in this, we would *not* be the first.
| 2021-12-26T14:12:57
| 2021-12-26T11:00:58
| 18
| 11
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[WP] You are 70 years old, and see your granchildren playing with the newest electronic. It looks complicated, and when you ask to use it, you say "Where's the touchscreen?".
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”what's a touch screen?” The boy looked perplexed but was starting to get used to grandpa's senile ramblings.
” you know the part with the picture you touch to make it work” grandpa was confused, senile and wondering why the boy didn't know what a touch screen was. the boy looked at the calculator his father had given him. He was still getting used to the black and white display that would seemingly by magic show numbers when you pressed the buttons. The calculator was a gift for his birthday, his father found it scavenging in the ruins of Alanta.
” grandpa is a touch screen a thing they had before the bombs fell?”
|
In my day, touch screens were all the hype, some might even call them "the bees knees" so imagine my surprise when my kids came home with a block of plastic.
"Bobby, what's that there thingymiggiger" I ask looking at him shove a smaller plastic box into the top of the first block.
"Well dad, I found it in one of those time capsules" he responded
"But where's the touch screen"?
" You don't touch it dad, you just mash A and B".
"Is that a pikachu Bobby? Isn't that one of the 4000 pokemans?"
"Shut up dad I can't find my ziggerzapichupuffin. This game is dumb, wanna hop in a virtual reality and make them fight for real?"
As a tear rolls down my face I say "yes Bobby, and I've never loved you more".
| 2015-05-21T07:05:09
| 2015-05-21T07:03:31
| 306
| 17
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[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still...
|
Brian sat on the bed, a mirror in front of him, a familiar face staring back at him with eyes not of his own. A golden band around his iris that he knew would grow, he knew what it meant, infected, different, a target, lycanthropic.
He already knew what it was to be a target. The bullies at school always able to get a rise out of him, sometimes the teachers would be there to stop them, sometimes not and he'd return to class with clothes torn and damaged flesh. A constant torment that made wish him for a different life, be careful what you wish for he though.
Now infected with one of the lycanthropic family of diseases meant that nobody would stop the bullies. Hated and feared he would be targeted like never before with nowhere to turn, no one to turn to. Quite the opposite, he would be forced to register with Quarantine, the government department tasked with controlling lycanthropes and administering drugs to halt the changes the disease wrought.
He knew the side effects would be, unpleasant, stunted and lifelong.
He thought about the few bright points in his life, he could count them on the fingers of one hand. His parents, his best friend Andrew, Mrs Summer his reading tutor, smiling Claire who actually stopped the bullies on more than one occasion.
He didn't want to see how they'd react to him being infected but the only other option would be to not see him. How would they react if he left?
He could rationalise his parents, they'd expect him to leave one day though probably not at 14. Andrew, it would be a blow but not enough to anchor him to a world of more fear and hate and violence. Mrs Summer, well she jumped on her desk and screamed from a cockroach, leaving would be a kindness to her timid soul. Claire, Claire who was kind and comforting, and about to finish high school, leaving would beat her to the punch.
A tear rolled down his cheek and he laughed, a strange combination. The realisation there was only one choice for him. The escape he dreamed about he was now forced to take, he'd get what he wanted and it hurt. The rainforest that was his solise now to become his home, maybe even further out and into the bush.
He looked in the mirror again, a scared boy stared back at him. He knew he could survive, he'd been camping as long as he could remember, he knew how to fish, what plants to eat, how to build shelter. And surely if whatever form of lycanthropy he had was allowed to run its course he would become better adapted to living off the land.
He turned from the mirror, the last time he would see his human self and went to pack. He had hours till anybody would notice he was missing but he wanted that time to get away, make a clean break. He'd leave a note for his parents, letting them know he ran away. The most comfort he could give them, better than a son with lycanthropy, and a misdirection if anybody came looking.
-------------------
52 years later
-------------------
The massive dragon raised its head and listened carefully, another cruise boat approaching the gorge, no humans on foot yet.
A small huff of displeasure that its sun bathing would be interrupted for a few days as the inevitable tours up the rapids of the gorge and onto the plateau the boat couldn't reach.
Still part of it was drawn to the humans who had come, to watch from the depths an echo of a former life.
The bulk of its body moved through the water silently, the inky water hiding it much like it did for the natural inhabitants of these waters. Unlike humans the dragon did not fear the saltwater crocodile, even a fully grown male salty was dwarfed by the dragon.
The thought of salties brought the dislike of them to the dragon's mind. It could still recall the first time after the change it had been attacked. A 16 foot male had latched on to it's smaller frame, only the impenetrable scales stopped it from being torn apart. The dragon learned that day it could breath fire underwater as long as it was biting its victim, it also learned that croc's don't taste that great.
As dusk fell the dragon surfaced under a overhang so it could view the cruise boat without being spotted.
It could see people milling about, the crew, a couple of families with small children and a pair of older women. One of the small children in particular couldn't keep still, running all over the boat with one of the older women running after them.
Every few minutes a shriek of "Nana, nana look at this" came across the water.
At first the dragon found it amusing, then something stirred in the back of it's mind. There was something familiar here but it couldn't place it so it sank to chase the though.
Sitting at the bottom of the river the dragon cast through the depths of its mind for the key to the metal itch. What was it that it saw.
A joy spread through its form when it realised what it has seen and where it has seen it before. It was the smile, nana's smile as she chased her granddaughter, it was Claire's smile, it was Claire.
It surfaced again to capture another glimpse of its old life only to see the hyperactive child jump off the boat into the water. To see Claire, her back turned urging the child with worried words to return to the boat.
The dragon had lived 50 years in this form, it had been happy to live a quiet life, it had learned to breathed fire yet never felt the need to, it enjoyed the passing of time as it rested occasionally rousing to see food, it had been dormant.
The dragon realized this when Claire screamed as she saw what the dragon has missed earlier. A large male saltwater crocodile headed for Claire's granddaughter.
For the first time in its life the dragon was fully awake and it was not happy. An obligation it didn't know existed compelled it to protect that which Claire held dear. As she had protected him now he would protect her, a debt that neither could ever repay, an unbreakable bond for a dragon.
Claws on the bottom of the river started the massive bulk moving forward then the powerful tail took over beating as hard as it could.
Some people on the boat screamed as they looked over one side and saw the crocodile, others screamed as the look over the other side and saw a pair of golden eyes in a bow wave coming straight for the boat.
The dragon dived when it reached the boat claws digging into the river bed to aid the tail as its bulk squeezed into the insufficient gap between the bottom of the hull and river bed. Chunks of metal hull were torn as dragon hard scales and angry dragon tore past the hull.
A broad mouth full spear like teeth opened as the dragon spotted the crocodile and raced to the surface. Fire already building in its throat as it struck the 1 tonne reptile to lift it clear out of the water, flames shooting into the air before jaws snapped shut and the charred head and tail fell harmlessly into the water.
And then there was silence.
Brian swallowed the piece in his mouth and lowered himself in the water again before turning around. He made his way over to the granddaughter who looked at him with awe. Fortunate he thought, to most a giant fire breathing lizard would be terrifying, this 4 year old thinks it is the coolest thing ever.
A glance at the damaged boat confirmed this, all the adults were terrified.
Brian sunk below the water then surfaced slowly beneath the girl. Her squeal of delight ringing through the still night air. He made his way towards the boat with his precious cargo staring directly at Claire as he approached.
She was always brave he thought as she stood waiting for him, not many would face a mature dragon. Not that anybody had the chance before. Gently he rose from the water so Claire could embrace her errant grand daughter then as she reached over he bit her dress and pulled her in the water.
She came up spluttering but he soon had her perched on his head too and ferried the pair to shore. There wasn't much use leaving them on a sinking boat.
He returned to the stricken vessel and eventually, about the time the water reached the first deck, the remaining people on board accepted a ride to shore... or dove into the water and made a swim for it which was amusing to watch.
Later that evening as everybody slept Brian though sifted through his knowing. He could feel Claire's family now, her blood, they were tied to him as he was tied to them. The fact he was curled around the campfire with Clair and two grandchildren beside him now was evidence that the bond worked both ways. He would watch over them as they lived and died their natural lives as the generations of their family would watch over him.
|
(I'm new here. Haven't written much. Don't kill me.)
"What a waste of an existence" I muttered to myself, as I walked past the morning office goers in the Munich train station. People stuck in a rhythmic drag of work and home, with no direction in life but to survive. I pitied their mundane existence.
You see, I was different. Dragon-kin is what they called it in the stories. 'Once a month, he transforms, to his untamed form, a dragon. Overcome by feral rage, he plunders and he kills, leaving only death and destruction behind.'. Of course, the stories rarely tell the truth. They don't know the calmness that overcomes me when I transform. The enhanced senses, the sight of the moon reflected on the river as I fly above it, and the warmth that rises in me, fit enough to release a stream of fire that could melt rocks. But most of all they don't know of the feeling of invincibility I get, the feeling that I'm superior to any of these rats scurrying to their little holes, the feeling that keeps me sane. I could end them all, if I wanted. But I don't intend on doing it, not any time soon.
Instead, I shall fly to my hill. I shall watch the city from the distance. Observe it bustling with meaningless excitement. I shall roar into the night, sending fear into the hearts of every living being in my vicinity. And I shall rest easy, comforted by the fact that I am superior to any form of life in existence.
| 2017-05-20T08:38:36
| 2017-05-20T06:14:36
| 73
| 19
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[WP] You awake in a hospital bed with an unfamiliar person referring as your wife telling you were in a bad crash and lost all your previous memory. Unknown to her, you remember everything.
(Or husband)
|
_My second try at WP, and a follow on from my original response: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3zzdn0/wp_you_awake_in_a_hospital_bed_with_an_unfamiliar/cyqbkz2._
The last thing I could remember before, well, before *this*, was the high-pitched squeal of compression brakes. And vertigo - my car in an uncontrollable spin. I could taste adrenaline - a metallic alkaline - and with it the realisation that was The End.
My door collided at speed with an oncoming semi-trailer. There was a brief moment of agonising white heat. Then (transition?) darkness.
"Where am I?"
I opened my eyes, blinking away clouds. The room swam, and settled. I could hear my breath, and a low electronic pulse. I sensed a weight below my nose (a cannula?), and voices - I scanned the room to discover a small TV with a news bulletin, tuned to CNM.
I heard the sudden swish of a curtain opening and looked around. My head wouldn't move, but my eyes could just make out his silhouette.
"Rob? Rob, is that you?"
His face appeared above mine, almond eyes exhausted, yet overjoyed. Weeping, he rest his cheek on my breast (why can't I feel that?) and embraced me, though I couldn't seem to tell how tightly.
"Miriam", he managed, through sobs of relief. I was crying too.
"Rob, I'm so glad you're okay. Were you hurt at all?"
"Hurt?" he asked, through tears. "I'm fine. Why would *I* be hurt?"
In that moment a piercing whine sliced through my brain. My head seized back in sudden agony. I tried to scream. Then it stopped, and my eyes opened to a world which was spinning. No - a car which was spinning. My hands were on the wheel, rotating it fully. I was screaming. I looked for a passenger - and there he was, face distorted in pained expression of horrific understanding.
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. There was a momentary feeling of transition, and...
"Miriam?"
"You were with me, Rob. In the car. When I... When I died."
"No, Mim. I was at your mother's house."
I tried to sit up, but I couldn't move. Not even my toes.
|
It was black.
“….Jason? Jason, honey, can you hear me?”
A stabbing pain alerts me to the presence of my left arm. A gentle beeping noise sounds from the right.
“Nurse! Nurse, I think he’s waking up!” exclaims the voice.
My chest swells and collapses rhythmically. A light pressure on my legs. My brain shoots out a quick electric pulse. My toes reposition and crack as if they hadn’t moved in days.
“Mrs. Thomas? Is everything ok?”
“Yes, yes, he just moved his foot!”
“Sometimes coma patients move, Mrs. Thomas, but let me take a look.”
I freeze. The last thing I remember was leaving the shop…
A heavy pressure on my forehead forces open my eyelid and allows the sun to scorch my retina.
Jesus, heavenly fuck, bright! My neck is restrained from movement, but the muscles in my face contract and cast me into darkness once more.
“JASON!!!” A hand squeezes my arm and an external pressure on my chest interrupts my measured torso oscillations. I assume this to be the result of a body on top of mine.
“Mrs. Thomas, please, please don’t jump on your husband, he’s still very fragile!” exclaimed the Nurse.
Husband? That’s not Victoria’s voice. I haven’t heard it in years.
I allow light to seep into my corneas. Two figures washed in fluorescent light along with a powder-blue sheet partially obscure bare, eggshell-colored walls. A stainless steel sink supports a lipstick-stained coffee mug with blue lettering that reads “St. Andrews Hospital.” A table with wilted geraniums and a handful of open cards sits forgotten in the corner under black windows that reflect pale-yellow light.
“Jason, baby, look at me,” the first voice pleads.
My eyes settle on the face of the first voice. It belongs to a woman, mid-thirties. Curly blonde hair and soft green eyes. Unkempt eyebrows drawn together. Her pink lips rest open, separated by millimeters beneath an upturned nose. Cheekbones sit just right on her concerned face.
She’s convincing.
“Who are you?” I ask, bewildered. The Nurse smiles at me apologetically before raising a syringe and flicking out the air bubbles. She opens her mouth to speak.
The blonde-haired woman interrupts. “Jason, sweetie, you were in an accident. The doctors said you might not remember.” A river begins to run down her cheek, under her chin, and along her jugular, wetting her collar. “I’m your wife, Victoria. We’ve been married for 13 years. We have two kids, remember? Ben and Ashley? They’re with your parents in Southaven. I told them I’d phone as soon as you woke up.” Her hands grasped mine.
This can’t be right.
I groan as fissured nerves scream at my brain.
“Here, Mr. Thomas,” says the nurse, inserting the shot into my IV, “this will help with your pain.”
__
I officially met Victoria in the spring of ’96. I was due to graduate from Gerald P. Hixon Memorial High School the next year. Her family had moved to Dentonville the previous fall, and her brother Shaun had quickly become one of my best friends. I had heard all about Victoria: she was a sophomore at the esteemed University of Lowell. Biochemistry major. Political Science minor. Lover of all things nerd. A petite brunette with piercing blue eyes, a round face, and no chest.
I skateboarded and got detention for smoking grass. My long blonde hair made me fairly androgynous, and I spent most of high school as the offensive line’s punching bag. Shaun couldn’t stand on a skateboard on carpet, but loved getting high and filming me skate, experimenting from new angles with his cameras. He wanted to create film; I wanted to create chaos.
One particularly hazy sleepover I snuck downstairs to Shaun’s kitchen to grab some munchies. Victoria was home from college for Spring Break. Her boyfriend had just ruined her plans to road trip to the coast, so she decided to come home to sulk. She sat at the table while I raided the pantry.
“Don’t eat my granola,” were the first words she said to me.
“Why the fuck would I eat granola when your mom bought Doritos?” I responded.
__
The morphine collided with the receptors in my brain and the flood of dopamine would have made any junkie jealous.
“Feel better?” asks the Nurse.
“I’d feel better if you didn’t leave me alone with her,” pointing my eyes in the strange woman’s direction. Her hands remained enclosed around mine.
“We’ll be fine. Thank you, Nurse.” The woman smiled warmly.
“Relax, it’s your wife. You’re in great hands. I’ll check up on you in a little.” The Nurse turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.
This would be so much easier if I wasn’t so doped up right now.
“It’s ok, Jason,” said the woman, squeezing my hand tighter. “Your memory loss may not be permanent. I’m your wife, Victoria. Don’t you remember? Remember how we hated each other at first? You were some brat my brother filmed skateboarding. The crack of wood against the driveway drove me crazy when I was home that first summer. When I went back to school in the fall, I was so happy to not have to hear that stupid noise. When I came back for Christmas and heard it again, I could have killed you. But eventually, back at school, I found myself missing it. I missed the way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear and those stupid one-liners you’d always fling at me. I missed it so much that the first night I saw you after graduating high school, I let you kiss me. And after that first kiss, I knew I wanted to be with you forever. And after your accident, and them telling me you wouldn’t remember me, I, I…” The woman collapsed into tears.
Maybe it’s the drugs, but that romantic-bullshit-sob-story really sucked. And it was nowhere near the truth of what happened between Victoria and I. The truth is, one day shortly after I first met Victoria, Shaun and I convinced her to get high with us so she couldn’t tattle. Shaun passed out and Victoria and I had our first real conversation. She told me about wanting to go to grad school and working for the FBI. I told her I wanted gummy bears. She laughed and kissed me. College came and went for both of us, and eventually we got married. She taught me everything I never bothered to learn in school. I worked hard, opened my own skate shop, and she eventually did join the FBI. To this day I have no idea what she saw in me. One day, she came home and told me she had to go undercover, possibly for a few years, but if she succeeded it would be a huge step for her career. She wanted a divorce. To spare me the pain. I’ll wait, I told her. I can’t let you get hurt, she pleaded. We filed the papers; I still wore the ring.
I replay this all in my mind. I don’t have any memory loss. Victoria had warned me something like this could happen. Someone must be trying to get revenge on her by hurting me.
But why pretend to be her?
The woman stops crying and looks at me. “Jason…Jason, please say something.” Her eyes search my face.
Here we go.
“I know you’re not my wife,” I say after a long pause. I fill the woman in on the details she missed, highlighting the fact that Victoria and I don’t have any kids.
Her face contorts menacingly. She says,
“Victoria killed my husband. My brother is going to jail. She ruined my life. Now I’m ruining hers. But you, you stubborn little fuck, didn’t die from that car bomb.”
Knew it.
“Why keep me alive, though? Why not just kill me while I was still in a coma?” I ask her.
I can’t believe I’m not losing it right now. Morphine is a hell of a drug.
“Victoria watched the light leave my husband’s eyes. I wanted to watch the light leave her husband’s eyes.”
Steel suddenly separates my intestines.
Ah, fuck.
“Any last words?” she asks.
“Thank God for that morphine or this would really hurt,” I say.
My eyes follow the crimson-stained steel move in a parabolic arc into my chest, and then…
…it went black again.
| 2016-01-08T02:33:08
| 2016-01-07T22:53:31
| 31
| 15
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[WP] Having failed in every attempt to kill Batman, the villains of Gotham had given up. With nothing to do, they started a D & D group and had been meeting for several weeks in the back room of a local Tavern. Things take a turn when the owner, Mr. Bruce Wayne, asks if he may join their game
|
"There seems to be something wrong about these woods. The higher up you look the darker things get. Light seems to be coming from the ground instead of the sky. The light is pale and covers things in a soft glow. It had recently rained and there is a fog slipping in slowly... ever so slowly at a distance from all sides. The trail leads onwards into the gloom of the darkening vale. What does the party want to do? Go back or continue forward with the quest?" The Game Master slid backwards in his chair and the only thing visible about him other than his cloak and his pale hands was a giant grinning face.
The sound of metal bouncing on wood and somehow landing on edge and then spinning was the only sound in the tavern. Nobody wanted to interrupt Joker's D&D group.
"Heads. We go forward." Harvey said mostly from the undamaged half of his face. "I'm party leader, I rolled highest on the twenty sided die for the job. It's heads. We go forward." As he stared down Bane.
The other faces around the table slowly nodded. Mister Freeze cooled everyone's barely touched drinks for them.
"As you continue forward you notice deers rushing past you on either side before one bursts from the undergrowth ahead of you and passes between the party members. It obviously did not care that you aren't all elven rangers."
"Maybe because we have one elven ranger" Ivy nodded towards Harley before gesturing towards herself "and one elven druid?"
After a response of laughter from their Game Master. The Riddler responded with a sigh before saying "We also have humans in our group. The deer are obviously more terrified of what they're running from then they are of us. Telsa, The Enchanter, pushes forward."
Bane's fist slammed into the table with so much force that Joker's Game Master's screen fell over. "Not before my Cavalier goes ahead. Telsa should flank my left and be prepared to cast. Sherika the elven archer, should flank my right. The rest of you should fall in behind us."
"I'm team leader and I..." the coin spun lazily in the air before landing flat on the table tails up "think that's a horrible idea. We don't spread out to either side of the trail. The map said to stay on the trail and it is four feet wide, not twenty."
"Fine then your human Barbarian can go first." Bane rolled his eyes and relented. It was just a game after all.
"It is the will of Beowulf's coin. A gift which he received from his tribe. Beowulf goes first."
Harley and Ivy snickered a little bit but nodded their agreement as they pushed their miniatures on the map to be in line behind Bane's which was behind Two-Face's. Penguin sighed as he pushed his warrior into place as well. Cat Woman just smiled as she pointed out that her character wasn't even there. They left her Rogue to handle the negotiations with the king. Mr. Freeze slid his fighting Monk's miniature in position last. His mini was different than the others. He continuously made little ice sculptures inside of shot glasses to represent different poses for his monk. He was actually getting good at it.
"The trees ahead seem more gnarled and twisted and some are bent towards the ground as you continue forward. The woods are quiet except for the sounds of your breathing and the sounds of your gear moving with you and your footsteps. Beowulf needs to make me a spot check." Once again Joker slid back into his chair and only showed his sparkling yellowed jade colored teeth. Harley winked at him.
Harvey Dent rolled a complete failure. The dice stopped on a 2.
"Something cold and wet touches the back of your neck." This in a sinister whisper from across the GM's screen. "Act now or accept your fate."
"I spin around and slash it with my giant bastard sword." The dice rolled again and stopped on a 16.
"Congratulations, you just hacked through a tree limb with a solid thwacking sound which could be heard for miles away in these woods."
"That's twice now you've hurt an innocent tree or a plant. Don't do it again." Ivy warned. "If you do then your Barbarian will have a fight on his hands from my Druid."
"And my elf. Elves love nature too, isn't that right, puddin?"
"Harley I wear the hood, because it is cool and adds to the effect, but I also wear it so you would see me as your Game Master, not your puddin. Remember I can't play favorites here. I have to be impartial." The biggest grin in the past few sessions lit up his face. "As you push forward down the trail, you advance into the fog as it also slowly advances towards you. Since you are in the lead, showing the courage of the northern tribes, make me a reflex saving roll as the ground underneath your fog encompassed feet finds uneven rocky ground covered in slippery moss."
Two Face rolled again and the number was a natural 1, a critical failure.
"You fall forward and slide partially against the moss covered stones and into a weird marsh. Because of that 1 you drop whatever you had in your hands."
"But, my lucky coin. Where does it go?"
"You watch it spinning in the air about five feet away from your outstretched hand as it plummets towards the water. A bony hand covered in brown and black brackish slime with flecks of dark green moss grabs the coin and pulls it back under the waters. You saw a gold ring set with a blue sapphire on that hand before it disappears. Around you, you see old bones rising from the marsh. Some bear the armor and weapons they had when they were mortal. One has a circlet, a tiny crown if you will, on its head. All have the blackish slime of the swamp pouring from their mouths and eye sockets, emptying from their empty skulls and sliding off of their bones."
"I'm no cleric and no fool, we run to avoid this useless fight, my Cavalier keeps himself between these unholy creatures and the rest of the group. I yell for Beowulf to get up and come back to us."
"Tesla's enchantment spells don't affect the undead and depending upon what type of undead creatures these are we might need magic weapons. So my monk also pulls back." Mr. Freeze made a new miniature inside of a shot glass of his monk running in fear and replaced the other shot glass with it.
Poison Ivy moved her druid mini to follow suite and said "Next week I'm going to do that with a tiny potted plant. So my mini can be more entertaining as well."
Riddler nodded his agreement with Mr. Freeze's assessment. "Depending upon what type of undead these are, even if Sherika's non magical arrows could damage them, regular arrows may only do half damage."
"Already thought of that. I used to be a doctor remember? I'm not just a dumb ditz." Harley slid her ranger mini into position.
Cat Woman watched Two Face with intense concentration as suddenly all eyes turned on him.
Harvey cleared his throat and flipped his coin. "Heads. I dive into the marsh and look for my coin."
"Six pairs of cold, slime and moss covered bones grab you and start to pull you under the water." Joker leaned forward on the edge of his seat as he said "Act now or accept the consequences."
"I let them push me down deeper so that I can find my lucky coin."
"They do and you notice that beneath them is some kind of old prisoner's wagon with rusty chains and manacles. You can barely see them in the murky waters and your coin is down there."
"I swim towards it."
"As you ignore them to swim towards it." The Joker rolled some dice. "They take this opportunity to manacle you to the wagon filled with years of mud and black slime. You eventually drown."
Two Face stood up. "I'll make another character." He flips his coin in the air, and it was Heads again. "Sorry it wasn't tails. I won't be the Cleric. No one likes playing the Cleric."
A voice from the front of the tavern called out with "But you guys need a Cleric right? I'll play the Cleric."
The Penguin seemed flabbergasted for a moment but then found his voice and asked "But aren't you Bruce Wayne? Shouldn't you be out doing the billionaire playboy thing?"
"My nights have recently become rather boring. This seems fun."
"I say he joins." Cat Woman exclaimed as her whip caught a chair from a different table and pulled it against theirs.
"This offers legitimacy to this game. He may join." Bane growled through his face mask.
"Yes, someone versed in navigating the board rooms of fortune 500 companies will compliment my intellect nicely as a fellow gamer." Edward Nigma, The Riddler smiled as he said this.
"Alright, you're in, but only if we can play past closing times. After all you do own this place." The Joker smiled his biggest smile yet.
Harley beamed a smile of encouragement at Bruce as he sat down to learn more about the tactical abilities of his fellow gamers and their ability to co-operate with each other. One day the paper and dice campaign will end and they'll go back to their criminal ways and he'll have to stop them.
|
"Okay, so my character is gonna be this like, really rich guy, right? But he also works out, like a ton, so he's super jacked. And he's played by Ben Affleck."
"Ben Affleck?" Bane Queried.
"Yeah, you're right, maybe I should go for Christian Bale," Bruce said, "I mean, you can't really top The Dark Knight can y-"
"Sorry," Bane interrupted, "What are you talking about? Who are these people?"
"And your character seems a bit unbalanced," The Joker chimed in, "Super rich, super strong, expert fighter? He's gotta have a downside or the game gets boring."
"Yeah, yeah, alright," Bruce said, "I was getting to that. So my guy's downside is that, get this, at night he also becomes a superhero who goes out and fights crime and punches bad guys and shit like that."
"How is THAT a downside?" Bane exclaimed.
Bruce thought for a second. "Okay, I guess it's not really a downside but I'm keeping it anyway. Uhhh, how about, as well as being super ripped he's also really hot and because he's also a billionaire he can basically get any girl he wants and he can just crush pussy 24/7 if he wants to."
"Again, not a downside." The Joker sighed.
Bane shook his head slowly; he could see this was going to be a long night, and he had a plane to catch.
"I wasn't finished," Bruce shot back, "So because he gets any girl, one time he gets with the bad guys daughter but he doesn't realize it and then she stabs him and then tries to blow up the city with her dad and his militia, but then batm- I mean, my character escapes from this weird prison the bad guy locked him up in, beats up the bad guy and saves the city."
"That sounds oddly specific." Two-face responded. He had been the DM before The Joker but everyone got tired of his insistence of settling everything with his "d2".
"Well that's just what happened and that's who my character is so deal with it, ok? I own this joint so if any of you don't like it you can just leave."
"Ugh, fine," said The Joker. The sooner they could get the characters set up, the sooner they could get to playing.
"Your character is a...handsome billionaire playboy...who also fights crime. What did you say his name was?"
"Bat- I mean, uh, Owl-man?"
"Sure, whatever. Now you have to allocate your stat points. You can put-"
"Everything in to kung-fu! And Charm! And...being a total badass! And he gets a butler...and a mansion... and the butler is Michael Caine and..."
The Joker put his head in his hands. As Bruce continued his list of demands, he wondered if there were any more vacancies in Arkham Asylum. Surely it couldn't be too hard to be sent back there, right? He could just blow up some boats or something...
| 2017-05-14T03:33:01
| 2017-05-14T02:46:49
| 80
| 20
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
|
wow, i want to do this so i will, but i have a few letters i need to address. just for sanity and subtle sake of ones demons.
Dear Jennifer. my beautiful sister.
i'm sorry for staying at yours the month after your wedding and having no money and regrettably overstaying my welcome and being a pain in the ass.
i'm sorry i was broke as fuck and lied to try and make up for the past. i miss you so much.
you were the surrogate mother i never really had, i have our mother of course, and i still live with her and steve, but you, when i was a child towards 7, you was everything to me. i hated you when you left for scotland, i didn't know dad kicked you out when you were only 16.
so many years have passed, still your daughter is 9 now, and i'm super fucking jealous of her, even though i'm happy for you as you got told by the doctor originally you couldn't have kids and you lost a tube via ectopic pregnacy and lost a baby trying to conceive, but i just miss you and me.
to dad, im sorry about the lie that changed everything, any age wasn't the best but 11 wasn't either. i was mad at you destroying mams heart by cheating and being a disobeying abusive, manipulate and horrible husband. i fucking hated seeing you beat her up and when you two broke up i felt relief but mentally snapped. i'm surprised i didn't go to jail, but i was a minor and things were forgiven.
but i'm sure glad we moved away and i found a stepdad that showed me a commited relationship of a male role model in my life who i could trust, and to learn what a father and daughter relationship should be, as for you, you are a old man whom i've tried to forgive but at the end of the day, i still have sick memories of you tickling my feet as a child, of you terrorising me and making me cry and laugh at me, for ridiculing me and my mother, and she spent 8 years in that abusive hell until she herself snapped after you hit her.
to harry, im sorry i never really knew how to love you properly, you were my childhood pet dog and you died on 31st dec 2009 via put to sleep, im sorry we didnt know sooner about the cancer tumour, and im sorry mum kept you alive until your back leg went, oblivious to the cancer and thought it was old age until the vet...
i love you and hope you rest in peace, same to you bobby cat, i miss you both.
to lucky my dear patterdale i love you lots too :)
to jake, fuck you for stealing my first edition yugioh cards.
to clark, fuck you for breaking my heart at 15.
to sam, thanks for cheering me up when i had acne and noone else would talk to me.
to Nick, thank you for being my rock the past two years, also i feel im turning into my dad sometimes, his manipulate mannerisms and agression seem to make it hard. at least im on serotonin pills now.
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28
| 2015-12-05T13:10:10
| 158
| 58
|
[WP] Earth is actually extremely inhospitable and downright nuts to nearby alien civilizations because predators, bad weather, contagious disease, and the like are simply uncommon on other worlds. You are an alien tasked with creating a documentary on this strange hardcore world.
|
“Zoizle Brigglehoff here, reporting from the death world of earth. What makes it a death world? First off the majority of its surface is coated with water a substance known as the universal solvent as it will dissolve almost anything.”
“Next off the atmosphere contains high levels of oxygen. Oxygen is one,of the most corrosive elements and it promotes burning. That’s right, in hot and dry conditions things can up and combust so being away from the solvent adds new problems.”
“”The dominant animal species here is the hoo man. This species is xenophobic and reacts harshly to anything different. They also covet our technology and attack us to take it.”
“I’ll have to sign off for now, their radar had located my ship. Hopefully I can return tomarrow and tell you about the wonders of the potato beetle.”
|
### Humanity: Special For Exactly One Reason
#### They're the most absolutely full of themselves species in the entire universe.
Space is unimaginably vast. This is a simple fact: from the puniest Rentinn to the most mighty Telonn, all species know of the terrible vastness of space and their comparatively minute presence within it.
Well, *almost* all species. For the next 90 minutes, I'm going to introduce you to a plucky little species that thinks they're just the best thing since sliced bread, an invention they also think they made before anyone else did.
Yes, they believe this despite the universe having existed prior to their arrival for over 13 billion years.
Humans!
Let me tell you about a planet. This planet has a mean surface temperature of 735K, has a *day* that's longer than its *year*, has an air pressure equivalent to nearly a kilometer underwater, and, oh yes, its atmosphere is made of sulfuric acid.
No, that's not Humanity's homeworld. Humans live on the planet next from their star, and, despite knowing all of the above facts, believe that *their* world is some kind of hell-world.
Yes, the world with the beaches, the temperate (and abundant!) water, the seasons, and basically all of the conditions necessary for life in general and thus conditions that a great many of our species *also* enjoy on *our* homeworlds! They think that's what makes up a hell-world.
Oh, it gets better. Humans also believe the following:
* **Only Earth has predators!** Considering that competition for resources is literally the driving force behind evolution, this is not only short sighted but actively silly. Intelligence tends to come as a result of improving one's predatory abilities and/or improving one's ability to escape from predation.
* **Only Earth has bad weather!** See above re: Venus. Also, they have apparently never seen a Gas Giant before. I imagine the helium-infused species watching this are finding this belief especially humorous, given their planets feature storms larger than Earth itself.
* **Only humans suffer from contagious disease!** This is actually true, but it's only because they haven't advanced enough to improve their immune systems. I'm not sure why they think suffering from a cold gives them some kind of tactical advantage, but at this point this is hardly the most baffling thing.
In conclusion, if there's one thing to take away from this, it's that humankind is absolutely right about it being home to an unbearable hellscape, but it's not the planet that's at fault. No, it's not the planet so much as the species itself that is insufferable. Or, to use their own words:
"Hell is other people."
| 2019-02-07T23:19:58
| 2019-02-07T19:58:44
| 28
| 20
|
[WP] Pitch a gritty reboot for a children's show.
They seem to be all the rage these days, so, why not bring the fun to Saturday morning?
|
I took a long drag from my pipe and exhaled, glancing at the picture in front of me. New girl in town. Just a farm girl from Texas, and someone wanted her dead. I took another pull. I don't know what she did to piss this guy off, but that wasn't my concern. I had a job to do. I sighed and stood, stretching my arms. I needed to limber up. I'd need to be flexible for this job. Had to be at the top of my game.
I had to be *ready*.
-Spongebob Squarepants
|
"Is that it? Pathetic." The musclebound behemoth spat in disgust. "They warned me about you - said you were an unstoppable force of mayhem. I guess I never realized they were all brainless cowards."
30 feet away, the man in the tattered trench-coat stumbled slightly as he shambled down the central road of the poverty-stricken village. Sparks flew from his left side.
"That's close enough! I'm not an idiot. The boss wants you alive - but he didn't say anything about the little girl." The giant lifted his hostage by the collar and leveled a plasma weapon at her head.
The man in the trench-coat stopped. Men in dark jumpsuits swarmed out of the surrounding buildings with batons and handcuffs. He mumbled something under his breath.
In the blink of an eye, steel tentacles sprang from his back and impaled the jumpsuited minions. They struggled for a moment. There was a loud crack and the smell of ozone, and the bodies went limp.
The tentacles retracted, leaving the scorched corpses scattered about. The man in the trench-coat resumed shambling forward.
"I said that's close enough! One more step and the girl gets an ion beam through the -" SNAP
8 feet of inhuman flesh crashed to the ground, a gash in its side glowing violet. "The girl" stood over him with a stun gun in one hand and a scalpel in the other.
"Splicing a human with a bear doesn't make them any less vulnerable to electricity," she snarled as she turned to face the man in the trench-coat.
"Good work, Penny. Quimby would be proud." The man in the trench-coat smiled, showing more metal than enamel.
In an airship across the world, a mechanical fist clenched with anger. ["*I'll get you next time, GADGET.*"](https://youtu.be/l3nXbqdR4hU?t=14s)
| 2015-10-08T08:33:13
| 2015-10-08T07:08:58
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, "You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?"
|
We regard each other for a long moment, her with determined eyes and me still trying to process what just happened. Eventually I found the perfect word to use for this situation:
"Huh?" I spluttered, sounding like a complete moron.
"You have my daughter. What are your demands for her release?" the grey tabby before me repeated. I kept looking at her blankly, then pinched myself. *Ouch*, I thought, *this is definitely real*.
"Uh, demands? Uhh..." I paused trying to think up some demands. A second later I wondered why I was bothering. "Wait a second, do you think I kidnapped your daughter maliciously?"
"Isn't it obvious?" the tabby hissed. The throng of cats behind her began to share in the hiss as well.
"No, no, I--" I paused. "I'll be right back," I said, closing the door in the protesting mother cat's face. I ran upstairs and into the game room, where Spunch was curled up on my state-of-the-art gaming chair. She lifted her head and mewed at me when I entered.
"Hey, uh..." I began, not quite sure how to start this. "Look, your family is outside and they want you back."
Spunch tilted her head.
"Come on, can't you talk like they can? What should I do?" I asked. Spunch laid her head back down on the chair. I threw my arms up, frustrated. "Alright, fine!" I picked her up off the chair, prompting her to argue in some distressed mews.
I headed back downstairs and opened the door to where the herd of cats was now threatening my life. It was a wonder the neighbors hadn't woken up. I opened the door and addressed the mama cat.
"She's fine! No malicious intent! Look--"
"Shhhh!" She cut me off abruptly. The rest of the cats stopped meowing as well. They were all staring at me--or, more likely, Spunch. I looked down at her to see that she had fallen back asleep in my arms. In spite of myself, I smiled. It was one of the things I loved about Spunch; she could always fall asleep whenever I was near, no matter how uncomfortable her sleeping position was. I recalled reading somewhere that it meant she trusted me. It was a welcome change to have someone feel that way about you.
My attention was drawn back to the mama cat as she drew herself up to her fullest height.
"Human," she said, this time in a whisper, "it seems that my daughter, Purity, trusts you. That is an intimate trust that even I have not received from her." Her eyes flashed with jealousy for just a second. "If she is that comfortable with you, I do not wish to disturb her. Just let her know that her family loves her."
"O-okay," I replied, also in a whisper.
The mama cat turned her head to address her following and nodded to the east. They took off as one, silently, in that direction. I watched the street after them for a minute afterwards trying to gage whether they had been real at all, then went inside and retired to bed, Spunch still in my arms.
​
We both woke up the next morning at the same time we always do on Saturdays: 9:30. I made us both waffles, as I always do, and Spunch warmed my seat as she watched me cook. When breakfast was ready, I put her share in her bowl (which was up on the table, next to my helping) and sat down to eat next to her. As she dug in, I said to her, "Purity, your family says they love you."
She looked up at me with her beautiful blue eyes.
"Please," she said, "I like 'Spunch' better."
|
The kitten emerges and says, "Mother...they have named me their Queen! Possibly even their Goddess! I have been gifted many offerings, the finest fish to eat...and the most delightful toys for play! Mother, they have supplied me with many cardboard boxes! I have laps and luxurious cushions on which to sleep. I am told every hour that I am beautiful and beloved. They are not my jailors, they are my subjects."
The Cat Queen softens at her daughter's words. She is no longer angered that the humans had taken her daughter into their home.
The kitten looks to her humans and said, "please treat my mother as you have treated me." The humans (utterly gobsmacked by the talking cats) look to the Cat Queen. They see the torn face of the warrior that she is...the missing eye and ear on the left side of her face, the bald patch of scar tissue on her shoulder, and that she only had half of a tail. The humans open their door, and the Cat Queen enters. She will never suffer again.
| 2021-12-21T15:11:26
| 2021-12-21T14:37:38
| 70
| 44
|
[WP] A necromancer doesn't know that he can bring back the dead using magic, he just thinks he's a really good doctor.
|
The perks were great, the nice car, the good-sized house, the awards, recognition from peers. After all, being the country’s leading cardiologist and heart surgeon took a lot of skill and technical ability. Well, I like to let them think that anyway.
I haven’t lost a patient in 6 years. It shouldn’t be possible, I do around two surgeries a week. People come from all over the world and pay ridiculous amounts of money to get onto my table. It seems that they can give me the people that are for sure doomed to die on the slab, and without fail, they all pull out of it no matter their age, congenital defects or cardio abnormalities.
Have you ever felt you have imposter syndrome? I live it every day, these people shouldn’t survive my surgery, and some of them flat out die on the table, some for minutes at a time, but they always come back. In my first year in surgical they christened me the ‘comeback kid’ and the name has stuck, but what was first an endearing nickname that came about by an air of beginners luck, was now uttered with a bit of ice under the breath of other surgeons.
My patients all recover, but not quite to the extent you would expect, not that anyone ever expects things to go back to normal after heart surgery. They report strange things like incredibly weak pulses, ravenous hunger and an affinity for blue rare meats, but for the most part life goes on, even if their family members mention their dear ones seem to be more aloof than they were before. We recommend counselling and chalk it up to coming face to face with their mortality for the most part, but it doesn’t quite sit right.
Today’s surgery was one of those that leaves me shaking and confused. She was dead, at eight years old, after myself and my entire surgical team witnessed the most erratic ventricular fibrillation we had ever experienced, right there on our table. She had lost so much blood, her skin was growing cold around where I worked, I could feel it through the gloves. I was sure today was the day. They all stared at me, the anaesthesiologist had tracks down his mask where he had been crying, and I could hear the haunting sobbing of family that was in the viewing window.
I closed my eyes did what I always do. I clasped my hands over the tiny heart, filling her minute chest cavity with my hands,and I started to pump gently with the rhythm in my head that always started when they flat lined. I pictured the structures of the heart in my mind, and I visualised a bright white liquid flowing and healing through each chamber as it moved. One, two, three, four. And the monitor lit up, weak but present.
There were howls of relief and gasps of disbelief from all but my usual surgery team. Who smiled and went about helping me finish up the procedure.
The parents were so thankful, I accepted their hugs and praise, but as usual I felt nothing. I never have been able to enjoy what other surgeons call the best perk, the gratitude. I just don’t really have ‘feelings’ anymore, I guess it’s from all the stress.
I got home and watched tv, like any other day, saw my spot on the news having saved the young girls life, she still looked pale and lifeless in her interview, asking her mommy for food cause she was so hungry, the interviewer laughed.
I sat on the bed, I should have been exhausted, but there wasn’t really any noticeable change in my fatigue these days, not since that fateful day 6 years ago when I had my heart attack. I was all alone sitting at the breakfast table when the numbness came, then the shooting pain, and then the pressure. Being a surgical resident my first instinct was to grab an aspirin, but I could feel the corners of my vision darkening, there was no way I would make it to the medicine cabinet.
I had read about the urban legends of cough CPR, and decided this was the only choice and it would either work or I would die. As I coughed, a rhythm started beating in my head, like an old animal skinned drum, that was the first day I heard it. As my eyes closed and I passed out, I could feel the burning white hot liquid circle it’s way around the chambers of my heart.
I woke up feeling fine, a little dazed, and strangely, extremely hungry. I asked my good friend and fellow resident to do a check up on me, and he couldn’t find anything wrong, apart from the fact that my heart didn’t seem to beating at all. He blamed the equipment, said I was pale and that I should get checked out by a real cardiologist.
I never did.
**First timer here! Be gentle lol**
|
Doctor Jonathan prepared his tools; various vials of fluids with varying viscosity - from those with that of water to those with the viscosity of tar, but sickeningly green, syringes of bronze, tin and silver of the needlessly large kind and of course plenty of belts and ropes to restrain the subject as the procedures are performed without rendering the patient unconscious with ether.
The doctor tightened the belts on the patient's limbs - this time a boy with frostbitten hands and leg. A dreadful sight to those of the faint of heart, but Jonathan was not of such cut for his father was a butcher and he did study the books his mother left him - they contained the teachings on the human body and soul; from the inner workings of the human subject to how to save a recently deceased subject back to the Surface Realm. For him, his mother was the greatest doctor to ever exist in the Surface Realm.
While humming the song his mother taught him to steady the scalpel hand, Jonathan precisely cut intricate patterns on the frostbitten limbs of the boy. The boy writhed in pain as the steel blade danced on his flesh but Jonathan did not falter at the cries for his parents the boy gave out.
"Child, please remain quiet or my methods will not succeed in treating the ailment" Jonathan scolded the child
"B-Bu-But it HUUURTS!" Cried the boy
The blade has finished the first shape - a circle of various medicinal sigils with various herbs applied. The scalpel is dipped into the herbal tincture as per book's teachings.
The smells of a lavender field and the metallic smell of blood flowed throughout the room.
The humming resumes and the scalpel emerges once again from the herbal tincture to dance on the limbs anew. A wicked symphony of wailing and cries can be heard outside the apothecary.
"The left arm's frostbite is lesser than that of the right, thus a lesser pattern is necessary" The doctor mumbled to himself.
The metallic smell of blood begins to overtake the lavender within the airs of the room.
The scalpel is once again submerged into the herbal tincture. Jonathan began working on the largest of the boy's frostbites. The pattern had to be much more intricate than before, as it required three converging circles within an octagonal frame with the diameters of the three circles creating a triangle in the very center of the pattern. This pattern would begin the healing process once finished.
As Jonathan finished cutting the intricate shape into the dead flesh of the limb the boy's breathing became smoother: the pattern started working already.
Jonathan ignited the candles around the room and left the boy in it for the night.
/The light dances around the carcass/
/The flesh will awaken anew/
/The flesh will gnaw its way back to its soul/
/And drag it back onto the Surface World/
Once Jonathan came back to see the boy, the frostbite was gone and the boy's cheeks were a healthy pink. He has released the boy and led him to the mother awaiting outside.
"As it is for everyone else, make sure that the boy is not in contact with blessed waters for a week, for the surgery renders the subject vulnerable to it" Jonathan informed the mother.
"Blessings of the Great on your name Doctor!" The mother replied.
Maybe one day, Jonathan will learn of his mother's past...
| 2020-06-21T13:52:28
| 2020-06-21T13:24:54
| 66
| 14
|
[WP] You were a soldier in a future conflict, until your heroic death. Now you face the battlefield of the Ragnarok of Nordic myth, with your full war kit.
|
Hafthor was a giant - almost eight feet tall, clad in black armor, and wielding the mighty *Dramthir The Unfathomable*. It was hard to tell which scars were from battle, and which scars were self-inflicted tattoos - both telling true stories of conquest and glory.
The first time that I had met him was in the dining halls of Valhallla. He had made some unbecoming remark about *letting anyone in*. I had slapped him across the face.
The older ones don't take well to being struck like that, especially by a woman.
He clenched my neck and picked me up off of the floor, bellowing Norse profanity at me. You get all sorts of beat up in basic, and I've since been killed a hundred times during the day's battles, but I'd never felt hurt quite like that. Thor himself had to separate us. The ground shook as Hafthor stomped away, and as much as I wanted to take his head in battle, I knew that even I couldn't best him - not up close.
But now it was the end of times, and rules had gone the way of the polar bear. I was six miles away, ocular implants rendering him as clear as our understanding of atmospheric diffraction would permit. He swung *Dramthir* like a child sword fighting with a twig, slicing another demon cleanly in half. *stead.IO* steadied the jitter that even six generations of neural optimization could not quite remove from my hands.
The forest glowed as my *Heimdall* class battle rifle propelled a slug at 1% *c*. It wasn't a bullet, so much as it was the breath of a thermonuclear dragon, burning away poor Hafthor and the mountain of demon corpses upon which he once stood.
Two of us will make it to the life after this one, and I'll be goddamned if Hafthor is one of them.
|
It's a long distance from pretty watching Thor die. His hammer falls to the ground and from it a quake ripples along an entire continent that rearranges the entirety of mountains. The aftershock is so loud it my heart skips and it leaves a ringing silence in its passing. My pulse rifle left a cavity in his torso, hot with smoke. It stinks of cooked flesh.
It's a free for all, and whoever survives gets to create the next era of man in their image. I look into the reflection of Thor's breastplate, and let me tell you, mine is spitting.
Not long ago, beneath my feet was every failure. Among them included the second mightiest man to have ever lived, his knuckles still tight on his pulse rifle. From every advancement of man creates gods relative to their ancestors, and I am the last of the last, the final war on Earth came down to me and and the tight knuckled man. Call us stubborn, but the only acceptable death for either of us involved glory. I sat there on a mountain of the dead with a wounded heart from his final shot. If any man had a right to ascend and match celestial brethren, it was me; I was the final centurion. And now, to live that life twice?
What a blessing.
A shock grenade splinters through even the mightiest of Norse warriors. I wrestle down Odin with cybernetic enhancements. Loki is no match for a boot to the skull. It's all so easy. A man with a musket and a good eye, likely the proudest man to free the United States from the tyranny of British rule stands before me. He fires a single bullet. I am impervious. I strike him down just as he would want. A second death, swift and marvelous, befitting of a true patriot. The men in camouflage are next. Dozens of them stand, then dozens fall. It grows more and more tiresome. My only disadvantage is having similar endurance to my kin. I tire and gasp for air, sweat rains down my face.
The last man is like me. Well equipped and from the last of times, before the Earth came to ruin. He tightens his knuckles and we fire at the same time. I feel the searing heat, my arm rips away and tumbles lifelessly like a dead worm. I grit my teeth before screaming through them, and then my jaw loosens. It hurts. Goddamn it hurts.
But the tight-knuckled man is dead, an I am the last standing. A beam of light engulfs me. What they said was true, that two in my image will populate the Earth when green sprouts from gray, when the skies part from ashen skies to a bright blue. In the future, one-armed men walk the Earth and carry my greatness forward.
| 2016-07-27T08:37:56
| 2016-07-27T07:54:03
| 50
| 28
|
[WP] Write a story that has spoiler tags all over the place. The story has two different meanings: One when reading without looking at the spoiler tags, and one when the spoilers tags are moused over.
Not sure if this is too confusing, so I'll post an example sentence.
The man loves [the severed head of](/s) his wife.
|
A few days ago, my wife died after [](#s "I helped her along with") a tumble off the roof top.
The doctors decreed it an unfortunate accident. God, I was wretched. My wife had died [](#s "because of me"). I couldn't be more despondent [](#s "while around my friends").
At home [](#s "however"), I jumped [](#s "for joy, and dived") into my work, in an effort to distract myself from the constant thoughts about her [](#s "crumpled body lying on the cold stone tiles"). I knew it wasn't healthy, her always being on my mind, so I decided to take a trip to get away from it all. [](#s "I was finding it was difficult to keep up the act of being disconsolate all the time, and I had some money of hers to spend anyway.")
Jeez that was a hell of a lot harder than I first thought. It's so difficult to have it actually sound like a legitimate story!
|
So, here was John, [Spoiler](#s "Trying to decide how to murder Jack") with his hot girlfriend, Cindy. Jack [Spoiler](#s "only at day") was a nice guy, but the couple [Spoiler](#s "was trying to save the world by killing a guy who would destroy the earth, but Jack made the whole world turn on them and think they're the bad guys, so right now the couple") and Jack are terrible enemies. [Spoiler](#s "Now since Jack brainwashed them, the world thinks that") the couple is the bad guy for trying to assassinate an innocent, caring person.
(Oh dang this is hard.)
| 2015-06-07T19:24:11
| 2015-06-07T15:12:48
| 210
| 15
|
[WP] The aliens have arrived however they are not here for war. Instead after reading our broadcast of the United States Constitution they want to join as the 51 state and have brought a small planetoid into orbit to serve as the 51 state.
|
"So we just add seats to the House of Representatives."
"How many seats? According to the census the Americonians did at our request they have almost twice the population of the rest of the states combined."
"Ok, fair point, so all we have to do is-"
"An Americonian is running for president."
"I'm not sure I heard you right... They already have a presidential nominee?"
"That is correct, sir."
"I'm not... the planetoid wasn't a state before yesterday. How could any of them have been born on American soil? I thought we took steps to prevent this?"
"He was born yesterday, sir. In Hawaii, the Kapiolani Maternity & Gynecological Hospital more precis-"
"Jesus Christ..."
"They'll take the popular vote by a landslide... how much of their population is able to vote?"
"According to the agreement we signed for their admission as a State of the United States... almost all of them, sir. They reach maturity in less than 28 hours."
"This is going to be such a farce..."
"Isn't it always?"
|
Pedro looked up in surprise at the blinding lights of the border patrol that shined upon him and his 4 young children.
"Take me to you leader", He said with a stereotypical mexican accent, which was odd because he was obviously from guatemala.
The agents surrounded them and ushered them into a van.
They drove through the desert in a silence only broken by the creaking of the old ford econoline as it went over bumps.
When they arrived at the boarder patrol station, Pedro was brought to a dimly lit room with a metal table and a single chair. He sat down and looked at himself in the large mirror that occupied one wall. He was disgusted by his dirty appearance, it was no wonder that he was received in this disrespectful manner. Before he came to america to steal jobs and free healthcare from the american people, he was the proud owner of a drug cartel that had been in his family for generations, and now he was no better than the people he oppressed for so long.
A man entered the room, the supervisor.
"I hear you have a proposition for me", He said.
"Yes mister, I want to become the 51st state of the US, i have a planetoid that my people and I will live on", he said pointing out the window at the moon.
"Jesus this guy is insane", said the Supervisor, "get him out of here".
"Jesús is my brother," said carlos the border guard as he cuffed Pedro.
Pedro was deported and lived happily ever after as the foreman of a coccaine production plant in the guatemalan mountains.
The End
| 2016-06-06T09:19:06
| 2016-06-06T09:12:46
| 24
| 14
|
[WP] You have been wrongly incarcerated, abroad, with a $5M bail. Upon waking you see an old laptop which you discover is set to access just one single website: Google Mail. You must contact the outside world in the desperate hope somebody can help you. Trouble is... You're a Nigerian Prince.
|
**To: contact@kickstarter.com**
**Cc: contact@huffingtonpost.com, submit@buzzfeed.com**
**From: nigerianprince@gmail.com**
**Subject: Request for Kickstarter campaign**
Dear Kickstarter team,
I understand how this may sound but please hear me out. I am incarcerated in a foreign country for a crime I did not commit, and my bail has been set at $5 million USD. I suspect that I am being extorted for my wealth, but I have been unable to explain that there is no way to access it from this location.
I am writing to you in the hopes of using Kickstarter to raise the necessary funds for my release, or to at least draw media attention to my situation (you will see that I have also CC'd a number of media agencies as well). If successful, I have more than enough funds to ensure the fulfillment of all of the pledges on Kickstarter. You can confirm this by contacting the President of the Nigerian Royal Bank at (XX).XXX.XXX.XXXX.
Below are the Rewards that I will offer to contributors:
$5 - You will receive free access to my tell-all eBook about being a Nigerian Prince incarcerated in a foreign jail!
$20 - You will get a limited-edition "Save the Prince!" refrigerator magnet with my likeness, as well as a certificate of authenticity.
$50 - You will get a limited-edition "Save the Prince!" T-shirt with my likeness.
$100 - You will get all previous rewards, plus a signed thank you note from myself.
$500 - All previous rewards, plus a signed photo of myself holding the severed head of one of my captors (head chosen at random) once I have exacted revenge.
$1000 - All previous rewards, plus a piece of my jail cell fashioned into a necklace or ring.
$5000 - You will get the COMPLETE COLLECTION of photos of myself holding the severed heads of my captors, all signed by myself, with a personalized, hand-written thank you note, plus all previous rewards.
$10,000 - You will get all previous rewards, plus be invited to an EXCLUSIVE VIP party at the Royal Palace in Nigeria to spend 3 days in paradise!
$50,000 - You will get all previous rewards, plus Nigerian citizenship, complete with an authentic passport!
$100,000 - You will get a FREE ALL-INCLUSIVE trip to Nigeria to spend one week with the Royal Family, plus all previous rewards.
$500,000 - You will be made a Duke of the Nigerian county of your choice, plus receive all previous rewards (Note: citizenship will come with diplomatic passport instead of civilian).
$1 million - A statue will be erected in your honor on palace premises, plus all previous rewards. (Limited to 5 contributors)
$5 million or more - **BEST VALUE!** You will be given a permanent seat on the Nigerian Royal Council, advising on political affairs and earning priority opportunities to invest in Nigeria's economic development, plus TWO "Save the Prince!" T-shirts, and all previous rewards.
STRETCH GOALS:
$6 million: A documentary about my ordeal will be made and distributed for free to contributors
$7 million: A documentary about my revenge will be made and distributed for free to contributors
I implore you to help me set up this campaign, as I am unable from my current location. If the campaign is successful, I will donate 50% of any extra profit directly to Kickstarter, with the rest being given to the charity of your choice.
Thank you for your consideration,
Nigerian Prince
|
I type quietly and slowly, as not to alert the guards that I was on the computer. I log in and begin typing out my mass email.
"Hello, my good friend! I seem to be in a bit of trouble. You see, I was wrongly convicted of a crime I did not commit. I need 5 million dollars for bail, and I need it quickly. If you could please just send me your credit card-"
Suddenly a guard comes around the corner. He pulled out a gun and yelled something in a foreign language down the hall. He aimed the gun at my head and whispered in english,"I'm the man who framed you. I have come from the future to end this spam email, straight from the roots." And then I got shot.
| 2015-06-08T16:32:43
| 2015-06-08T14:45:19
| 95
| 17
|
[WP] Most people who travel to the top of your mountain are there to ask you questions about life. Today you watched a 16-year-old climb your entire mountain just to call you a dipshit.
|
The mana flowed through me, coalescing into a form of pure energy, carrying with it peace and tranquility. My mind latched upon these currents, drew succor from them and expanded through the universe.
Wisdom.
Insight.
Clarity.
Such were the benefits of transcending form and presence. The secrets of the beyond welcomed me, and I heard their tender whispers.
The quiet of my mind was interrupted only by the distant clattering of one who came to partake of my knowledge. A pilgrim facing the ferocity of slope and crevice in hopes of gaining a morsel of perspective that might alter their own.
I welcomed these travelers. My knowledge was for the benefit of all man, and I dispensed it freely to those who willingly suffered the trials and tribulations to obtain it. A thing that was not fought for, could not be valued.
I continued to float, letting the pilgrim continue their journey. Letting them gain the understanding of the power that may be gained from the pursuit of knowledge.
Their reward for their effort lay just ahead. They need only persevere.
To the far reaches I delved. To the past. To the future. To things here and to thing there. I wandered the garden of existence, plucking at fruits it had to offer.
Until the pilgrim stood before me.
I opened my eyes and beheld him with my corporeal form. He was but a child, barely graced with the touches of the man he would become. So young to brave this peak. His need must be dire to venture upon such a quest.
I raised my hands from my crossed legs and held them together in front of me, offering him a small bow. "Ask, and you shall receive."
The boy was breathing hard, sweat upon his brow. He wiped it away with the back of his sleeve and straightened. "You're the Hermit?"
"I am known by many names."
"Yeah, sure, and the Hermit is one of them, right?"
I inclined my head slightly, surprised at his gruff demeanor. This was a moment of joy, an opportunity for elevation. "That is a name I am called."
He nodded, "Great. Got a new name for you."
I arched a brow, pleased in spite of myself that I should be conferred another title. I blessed him with a second bow.
"Dipshit," the youth said.
I frowned, taken aback. Perhaps I had heard wrong. "I believe I have misheard you, pilgrim."
He took a step closer, cupping his hands around his mouth and inhaling deeply. "You are a HUGE dipshit."
My hands dropped to my crossed legs, the frown deepened. "This is a place of wisdom--"
"Oh ho ho ho! Wisdom!" The youth began to pace back and forth, shaking his head. "This guy. I can't believe it. Wisdom. What a clown."
"Perhaps you misunderstand the purpose of seeking me out."
"No, I get it. Real racket you have. Sit up here slurping mana juice or whatever and dispensing your bullshit sayings."
"I speak the words of existence, gathered from the high and low--"
He held up a hand, "Save it. You've already done enough damage."
"Damage?"
"Yeah, asshole, damage. You've got half the country in flames. The other half is in even worse shape."
"I have only provided guidance to those who require it."
He snorted, "Oh, I know. Like that little gem of yours, 'Only through the confrontation of what blocks you can you conquer your own domain.'"
I nodded, a small smile spreading across my face. That had been a particularly wise saying. "Well said. A nugget worth possessing. Introspection to remove personal obstacles is a key component to development of one's self."
"Yeah, not how we took it."
"We?"
"Everyone not on this mountain of horseshit. King Adledin said he had your blessing for a holy war against the Djanna. Killed half my village."
"That is not what I meant--"
"Oh, I'm sorry, were your very vague words misinterpreted to serve political purposes in unintended ways? Fucking dipshit."
I shifted slightly, uncomfortable. "Yes, well, all words can be used as a sword by those who seek to wield them thus."
"And that's why I came all the way up here. To call you a dipshit and then walk back down the mountain and tell everyone you said 'Take-Backsies.'"
"Take Backsies?"
He shrugged, "I dunno, I got a long way back. I'll come up with something."
"But I will not have said it."
"So what? Not like they're going to know any better."
"If you are just going to take my words from me and replace them with your own, why did you seek me out?" I asked.
"It was very important I called you a dipshit." He turned on his heel and then began to trudge away, raising two middle-fingers as he disappeared from view.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
"I don't remember the first question. I'm not sure how they found me. Every day they are there outside the door of my simple hut. They bring wood for my fire. A little food to share. The village in the pass at the base of my mountain profits from guiding them to my door.
Some of the pilgrims consider me a holy man. Some think I'm only wise. Some believe my isolation has given me insight into the mysteries of the world. The truth is a ask more questions than I answer. I don't mean rhetorical questions. Unless they're necessary. I try to gather as much information as I can before answering the questions.
A man came with a film crew to ask me questions. He wanted to know why so many people made the journey to my hut to ask a single question. I told him I was not sure. There is no crevasse emitting hallucinogenic gasses to put me in touch with the gods. There is just me, the hut, and the snow.
One day a young man came to my door alone. He was far younger than my usual visitors. Over weak tea he told me he was 16 years old and had made the trek up the mountain alone to tell me I am dipshit. Those are his boots poking up out of the snow down there."
| 2020-10-25T21:22:50
| 2020-10-25T19:45:24
| 809
| 77
|
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
|
I fondly remembered my first year on this job. Getting my ass kick by amateurs plenty of times, being called names because I'm supposedly a D-Rank villain, right before I pulled a couple of tricks on them to learn a valuable lesson.
Months later, a handful of the new heroes pick up my facade. These small bunch all ask the same kind of question, "Why are you doing all this for?" Naturally, I gave them the same answer; "To teach how to be a proper hero."
While most were often perplexed and avoided me as such, three of them were surprisingly eager to learn more from me. They were usually the first to arrive when I cause a 'scene', and after our 'duel', they would meet me secretly to exchange notes. I was more than glad that they decided to keep their lips seal on my secret job, and they became my 'students'.
​
I wished we would go back to those days.
​
It was supposed to be a simple bank heist. I hired a couple of lackeys, who are aware of my job and the purpose behind the heist, and hit one of the largest banks in the world. As usual, panic ensues, police arrives, and my students swoop in to stop me.
"Stop right there, evildoer!" Yung, known as Soundwave, cried. He's the one delivering the cheesiest lines, but he's also the brightest one among the three. "Surrender, and no one gets hurt."
"Oh, you know I wouldn't do that so easily," I sighed.
"Then, we have no choice but to take you on!" Sheila, aka Brightlight, roared, her arms coated with bright yellow flames. She's the aggressive and the arrogant one, but after a couple of hurdles, she was more willing to learn from me.
She tossed a couple of fireballs at me, which I sidestep easily. The fire immediately strike down one of the pillars, setting it ablaze.
I gave her a glare, which silently says, "What did I tell you about recklessness, Sheila?" Fortunately, she wasn't dumb to not notice my signal. She made an apologetic face, keeping her power down to safer levels.
Then, Trisya, the smartest and the most humble of the three, patted Sheila on her shoulder. "Don't worry, we can talk it out from here," she assured her. Sheila wasn't used to a more diplomatic solution, but she reluctantly nodded, and let her friend took over.
Trisya, better known as The Hive, slowly walked towards me. "Sir, I know you must be desperate," she said to me persuasively. "But you don't have to do this. You have a choice to be better, sir."
I couldn't help but to let out a smile. As always, she would took a non-violent approach to stop her opponents, and only takes drastic measures when the situation calls it. She'll sympathise with the villains, and would do anything to end any conflict peacefully.
If more heroes acts like her, the world would have been a more safer place.
A bright explosion behind my students broke that happiness almost immediately.
"No!" I cried, dropping the bags of money and rushing to them. Yung and Sheila made it out relatively fine, but Trisya... her back was burnt from the explosion. She was shivering, sobbing from the throbing pain.
Looking outside, nearly all the policemen were bleeding on the ground, their weapons robbed from their pouches.
"Oh, that's surprising."
An A Rank villain descended from the sky, his dark clock engulfed with his shadow-like powers. "I thought you're a pathetic villain who robs convenience stores, but what do I see? A villain tending to the injuries of three B-Rank heroes?" he cackled.
"Folklore!" Sheila roared to the enemy, her arms erupting into a blaze. She was more than ready to take him on, and so was Yung, warming up his voice to attack.
"Oh, ain't that cute," he mocked. "Two young heroes ready to take me on. Come on, then. Do your best, dear heroes!"
Despite my students' skills, I know they were not ready to fight an A-Ranker like him.
No, it was my fault that I haven't prepared them enough. I fail to see some villains will never change, and some situations cannot be solve in a peaceful manner. Looking down on my dear quivering student, I now realize I have failed her.
No... no more.
"Sheila! Yung!" I roared. Their eyes turned to me, confused and anxious. "Take care of Trisya. I'll deal with him." I gently lend Trisya onto Yung's arms, and brushed off the debris from my shoulder. Folklore laughed, "Oh? You will deal with me?!? How outrageous!"
With a confident smirk, he tossed another poweful grenade right on us, determined to wipe everyone out.
He did not anticipate the grenades to be teleported right behind him.
The powerful blast pushed him down to the ground, breaking his face into a bloody mess. Folklore gasped, unable to grasp the change of the situation. "H-How?" he croaked. I marched towards him, anger seething through my teeth.
Folklore pulled something out of his cloak, and toss another grenade. I caught it immediately, and let it explode on my hand. The explosive power got absorb into my palm, heat surging up into my arms before it lays rested in my body.
"Spacial Storage, huh?" I muttered, and Folklore flinched. "All this time, I wondered how you managed to keep an arsenal of explosives and weapons in your pocket. I assume your cloak is hiding some floatation device to make you seem like you're flying."
Before he tried to grab another weapon from his 'pocket' I grabbed onto his wrist. My hands began to burn into his wrist, letting a eldricth scream out of him. "L-L-Let me go!"
"Then, surrender, and apologize to these heroes!" I demanded. "Unless you want to walk away without hands."
"W-What are you?!?" he cried, sobbing from burns on his wrist.
"APOLOGIZE!"
Folklore eventually yield, and I let go of his arms. As promised, he pathetically bowed to my students and apologized. After a couple more minutes, back-up arrived to apprehend the villain. My three students were tend to, with Trisya's back fully healed by someone specialized in healing.
But...that was the least of my worries.
My secret was out. Everyone saw me, the public, the media. My students. They know what I was capable of.
Now, everyone knows that I have the power to fight S-Rank villains.
It was on that day that our world set it's path to a war, as villains band together to challenge me and my fellow heroes, to tip the balance of both sides.
It was on that day where my students and I would soon face hell on Earth to save as many lives as we could.
It was on that day that I was dubbed 'The Ender'.
​
Oh, how I wish I have the power to go back to the old days.
|
"The first rule is protect the innocent, if I put the hostages in danger, yeah, a small fire maybe?"
I thought to myself as I gently opened one eye to examine the room. The villain continues his monologue to the start up hero as I think quietly to myself, slumped over pretending to be out cold in the rubble.
"No, fire won't work, there is no fuel."
The villain began to laugh maniacally.
"Shiiiiit... He's finished his monologue."
My eyes opened wide as I sprung into the air and bounced around like a leaf on the wind.
"Don't you fuckin' know who I am you two-bit fuckin' WAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!"
The sonic boom of my yell stunned everyone in the bank. I charged at the hero, almost cradled the boy into my arms. I could feel the panic come over him as every muscle seized up and the breath left his lungs. Maybe I went a little overboard but he needs to learn and I need to stop that A-Rank. Regardless, I hope he can get the blood out of that white suit. I continued to arch around towards that A-Rank, hadn't broken the sound barrier just yet so minimal damage to the hostages. The peak of my forehead met with the Villain's nose like a hammer through a cake. I could feel the bone, teeth and cartridge wrap around my face. Oh God, please let it wash out...
| 2021-06-23T10:55:56
| 2021-06-23T08:32:27
| 133
| 52
|
[WP] Your T.V. suddenly turns on by itself mid-lunch and a message from the local weather warning system , normally accompanied with a loud alarm but oddly silent this time around, reads "For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently..."
|
It was a typical summer week day; warm with a slight breeze, a few big puffy clouds hung in the sky, slowly and silently moving eastward. I had just left a drive-thru, my lunch cooling in the passenger seat as I pulled into my driveway. Once inside, I dropped the food on the coffee table and hurried into the bathroom to relieve myself.
I washed up, returning to the couch for a few minutes of mindless TV while I crammed the greasy lunch into my face. I turned the set on, but rather than a random commercial for adult diapers or Viagra, I was greeted with a message that read, "For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently." It was white text on a blue background, and true to it's word, there was no audio at all. Assuming this was some weird new ad campaign, I switched channels. It had the same message. I tried a few more, but they were all the same.
As the reality of the message began to sink in, a new message appeared on-screen, "Remain silent and remain calm. National Security sources have identified a threat that seems to be targeting loud noises. The threat is of an unknown origin and assumed to be omnipresent. Shelter in place and await further instructions."
My burger fell, untouched, to the coffee table below. What the fuck? I've never seen or even heard of anything like this. My mind began racing. What was going on? Who is this threat? How are they everywhere? And what exactly happens if you make enough noise to get their attention?
I stood and approached the front window, wondering if I could see anything. Looking out, the day was just as normal looking as it had been before. Then I watched as the neighbor across the street, old Ms. Kaufman, practically threw her little yippy terrier out the front door. I was shocked at the display; Ms. Kaufman was one of the sweetest people I'd ever met! But then, I understood all too clearly. As soon as her door closed, the terrier, Porkpie, got up and ran to the door yipping it's little head off hoping that she would let it back in.
I stood, watching and waiting for what felt like a half hour, but nothing happened. I glanced at the TV, but the message hadn't changed. I shook my head to myself, thinking, "What the hell is going on?"
Getting restless, I decided to grab a beer from the fridge and make the best of the situation. If I was gonna die today, at least I'd get one last beer in. I entered the kitchen, opened the fridge, and after retrieving the cold brew, realized that Porkpie must've stopped yipping finally. Or the old lady felt bad and let it back in. Returning to the window, I knew it wasn't the latter. What I saw still mortifies me.
Somehow in the space of 30 seconds something had come and, for lack of a better word, disassembled poor little Porkpie. There were three neat little piles; bones in one, organs in another, and it's skin sort of laid out like a bearskin rug.
This was where I lost it. My knees buckled, dropping me to the ground. My heart was racing, but unfortunately my mind just blanked. I didn't know what was going on and I certainly didn't know what I should do next. All I knew was that I had to be silent.
|
> Im not a writer or anything, just a guy wanting to try this out, no hate, don't expect grammar to be on point or detail
It's 4:57 AM, I wake up, wondering what woke me up I look around and notice the T.V switched on, irritated at the fact that I don't have money to get a good T.V and annoyed by the fact that my T.V always makes a stupidly annoying static noise upon being switched on I look at the T.V to see what happened and see a message placed on the screen...
"For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently! Do not be alarmed"
As I assume most people are freaked out by this message, I look at the top of the screen and it says "Weather Warning", why would a weather warning need to be broadcasted silently?
I decide to go back to sleep but I turn off all the lights and hide under my blanket, "Why am I doing this? I'm a 27 year old man not a child!" but despite that I still decide to sleep under the thin blanket.
I wake up, look at my clock and it reads 10:29 AM, I get up and go downstairs, before going downstairs I decide to look out my window, looking around I can't see anything strange and just go onto my normal life. On my way downstairs I heard the T.V switch on again and go back up the stairs to check if there is any update and it said "Warning, take this warning seriously, all citizens need to remain silent and cannot leave their homes or they are at danger, we will be back soon with updates".
"Why do I need to be silent? Stay in my house? Does this mean I miss work?!"
Excited at the idea I don't need to go to work I am still perplexed by the idea a weather warning system would broadcast a warning telling everybody to stay silent...
I decide to rebel the system and stand outside in my garden to look around and see if I can spot anything and I see a think fog moving towards me (I think its fog not mist I don't know. Back to the story anyway), curious why we have to stay silent during a fog confuses me however I listen to the report and go back inside locking my door.
I look out the window and see the fog pass straight by the window, however something was different, I could see figures inside the fog, weird looking shapes moving along with it. I have no idea what it could be, maybe a flock of birds but I decide to stay silent, not even move because I'm scared whatever it is will hear me...
I look at the window staring at the fog and I hear a cry, "Is that from the fog?" but it was far from it, it was a young child scared crying in his house with sounds of the mother crying from next door. I'm curious how I can hear from that far away but that's because their window is open, being able to hear something so vividly makes me assume they are being loud. I am scared, wondering what will happen to them and all of a sudden, I see the figure in the fog move against the flow and go towards the house. It then goes through the window and I hear screaming and windows breaking then I see a flow of red fly straight out of the opened window then the figure come out. Now he is coated in red it is much easier to see, however I don't think about it too long and try to hide, scared it will come for me. I go to my room, the T.V switches on causing the loud static noise.
I hear a window break...
> I never really tried doing this ever and im no good writer, so likely errors and grammar mistakes but please don't be too harsh x) would appreciate feedback and things I could improve on :D
| 2016-08-10T08:10:11
| 2016-08-10T07:40:10
| 29
| 16
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left.
|
Chess... a game the displays a balance of skill and strategy... a game I never excelled in, to be quite honest. However, here I am, staring at my few black pieces and an empty mahogany board, always one step ahead.
Louis moved his knight and then I moved my rook without hesitation. "Checkmate" I scowled.
"You always manage to best me!" He laughed. "Please tell me how you do it with such little knowledge of the game."
"Well..." I sighed, "I can see the future."
Louis interjected. "But I can read your mind! You know that! Tell me your cheap trick!"
"What makes a lion superior to its prey?"
He stares at me blankly.
I smile. "His speed and instincts!"
"Fuck you, Rob." Louis cussed as he walked away from the empty table and out of the recreation room.
I guess it's time for our meds.
| 2017-01-19T17:36:57
| 2017-01-19T16:02:28
| 372
| 23
|
[WP] FTL travel is very expensive, so humanity creates a web of hyperlanes between systems, that speed up time inside them, making travel cheaper. You enter a malfunctioning hyperlane. When you leave it, you find a galaxy with no humans, full of alien races, that see your kind as ancient precursors.
|
*The biggest pain in the ass in the galaxy is the damn gates.
I say this as a gate physicist. I was there when we built the first ones, and just five years later the experiments closed down and we all figured out "that's that, nothing else to do here." It turns out there are only so many ways you can tweak spacetime before it, to simplify, gets pissed off. One way is to emit EM through a region of stabilized bubble-space. You'd think being able to transit information would be cheaper than matter, right?
In terms of gate physics, you'd be wrong. You do that, it doesn't work, you do too much of that, the bubble stabilizers (what you call a gate) explode and you get a nifty little shockwave through spacetime that the universe chooses to interpret as a gravitational wave. That's what happened to Jupiter. Damn shame, that. Just one gas giant funneled into a short-lived singularity and no one wants to do physics anymore.
So now I'm a fucking courier. I mean, you really can't transit a hyperlane without an advanced degree in gate physics, but those of us who really fucked up at Jupiter get this shit job, and I fucked up the worst of everyone. I was the goddamned lead. We get to fly out from Sol and ping pong around the universe on three month shifts just doing data dumps. All of those shiny-new colony worlds need their infodumps and uploads. The bigger ones have got material passing through, so the data delivery is regular and piggybacked, just like whatever else they receive. Me though? Data only. Half the time I don't even get to put down at the colony, just orbit near whatever ass-end of nowhere rock they put the gate near. They're still afraid of the damn things.
Give us three years and an out-of-the-way system with a decent gravity well and we'll iron out the kinks enough that you'll have a damn gate in your bedroom that leads to your office, or hell, at least an intercolony equivalent of the Earth net.*
Robert scanned his rant and clicked 'Send.' That clown doing the 'Where are they now' story of people involved in the Jupiter Incident wouldn't print a word, but it left him feeling better. He nudged his pod into the final approach for the New Arab Emirates gate. He liked the NAE. It was a money-talks sort of place, but it was also comfortable and the air smelled good.
"Hey there Intrepid, you doing okay?" he asked the pod.
"Looking forward to getting serviced after we touch down, actually. Those techs at Dubai station really know what they're doing" the Intrepid replied, with a genderless voice.
"Any reason to look forward to service?" Robert asked, tapping his way through the diagnostics interface in front of him, "hey you didn't tell me about that."
"Sorry," the pod replied, "just that same minor variance in thrust on number three, nothing to worry about. Ganymede Memorial just sucks a thruster maintenance."
"Still, probably should have let me know before now. Damn man, you act like this isn't a precision enterprise."
"You're right, but you do like to worry," the pod sounded concerned, "prepping for transit in ten seconds on the mark alert."
The gate-lockdown klaxon sounded and the blast shutters dropped across the viewscreen as a visual countdown began on the panel. At zero, a vague feeling of unease passed over Robert. "Uh, hey, that was a little weird," he said.
"So hey, you remember that thruster variance?"
"You're shitting me."
"I lack an anus, but if I did I probably would be dropping a brick through it."
The shutter raised and outside of the viewscreen was a view of what was obviously a black hole, accretion disk and all. More concerning, was what looked like a cross between a spacecraft and a sea creature at a scale that Robert had never seen before just off the port bow.
"It's hailing us," Intrepid said. "I can't make it out though, seems like some kinda cross between English, Chinese and Tagalog."
"Can't you process all of those?"
"Not like this...but hey...does something about the universal constant being useful as a galactic clock mean anything to you?"
"Yeah, a paper I wrote as an undergrad covered that, why?"
"If this math is right, then...well you should check."
A series of complex equations appeared on the viewscreen.
"Wait, that can't be right, that would put us at...what...a million years?"
"Looks like. Hey, I've been chatting with their computer, nice chap by the way, I think I can translate real time now, you want to open a channel Bob?" Intrepid asked.
"Yeah, let's get this over with."
|
The days on this planet are longer: I’m pretty sure one day here is at least 4 days back on Earth - the sun here, smaller yet hotter, is literally a perpetual presence, and, if I had sunscreen and a hat and water, its cheerful brightness might’ve been a beacon of hope but it’s burning my skin and leaving me dehydrated so much I started seeing things: long dead daughters and a rather frightening mirage of my boss, Mr Vander, telling me I’m almost at my destination, I’m almost there, *keep going, Miany*.
I last spoke to him at least 15 hours ago: his only advice was that I find the local inhabitants of the planet and ask for their help, something he was very confident would work: he didn’t think they’d be hostile or frightened of an alien like me in anyway. Mr Vander is charming and confident, the “Cool Fox” we sometimes call him due to a certain cunning that lies just beneath his handsome looks, and when he says anything with that deep, steady voice of his you believe him, you even start believing in yourself.
In my 45 years of living, I’ve never thought of thirst as being physically painful - it’s always been more of a nag, a bother at worst. My lips are dryer than the sand I trudge through - the hyperplane, my masterful invention, crashed in place that’s weirdly like the Sahara: bone-dry and excruciating glare, a hell up on the surface.
It’s odd that the hyperplane malfunctioned - in fact, when I realized, with a cold twist of my stomach, that I was going to veer off course into wild space, I couldn’t believe it: my hyperplanes, an out-of-this-world progression of human accomplishment, couldn’t possibly have a fault.
They were built because the Earth was dying and humanity needed a new home - which we found in a habitable planet called Spugg - and we needed to get there damn quickly. FTL was still decades away and so the hyperplanes, while initially rejected by the masses, were employed.
I’m seeing something else now in this alien desert, a settlement, buildings and walking figures, unlikely since it seemed crazy that anyone could live in this firehole. But, as I stumble forwards, feet black and on fire, I realize that hallucinations have quite a different quality than real stuff, and that what’s before me is actually a small village - from here, in my dizzy, near-death state, I see grotesque humanoids ambling around, gnarled limbs sticking out of their torsos, a nightmare if I was in a more stable state of mind.
I don’t care if they might be hostile, all I need is water, or, at any rate, an equivalent to it. I shout and every single one of them, in disturbing, choreographed unity, turn their heads in my direction. As I wave my hands, already regretting my decision, my communicator beeps: judging by the mugshot-like picture of a strong young man on the screen, it’s one of the engineering interns back on Earth, which is odd because I don’t quite expect interns to be involved in my rescue mission.
“Hello - “ I begin but I gasp when I see the interns face on the video call: bloody and bashed, eyes slits and purple.
“Miany!” he shouts. Interns usually, in fright and awe, refer to me as Miss Ogamenda, so him calling me by my name means there’s something serious going on. Before I can ask what the fuck, he continues:
“Miany. I only have little time left! Listen to me!”
“What is it?” Instantly, like medicine, an unnerving energy washes over me: the desert is discarded and forgotten. “Is the meteor about to strike Earth?”
“No, listen!” He is barely intelligible since his mouth is so puffy. “Everything was a lie! I overhead them, Mr Vander, Mrs Plygien, everyone! I managed to get away but they’ve got soldiers on me. I’ve already broadcast the whole truth to the entire Eartg.”
I can see him, with his sturdy frame, fighting off advancing guards, and with a sinking feeling, I realize what he meant when he said “little time”.
“The Earth isn’t dying. Vander Inc. has been polluting and destroying the Earth on purpose so that they could get government funding to find and conquer other worlds! It’s all a thirst for power!”
“What?”
“Your hyperplane: it didn’t just malfunction, it was tampered with. They figured you were too close to the inner circle and couldn’t be trusted if the truth was leaked to you. They only wanted your brains and inventions, your hyperplane especially, and they always planned to get rid of you afterwards. You’ve always been outspoken and fought for what’s right - we interns always admired you about that. There was no way they could risk you finding out, Miany.”
My head is spinning: faintly, like they’re on some faraway planet, I can hear the aliens approaching, massive feet thudding on sand
“Oh, fuck, they’re coming.” Fear and death are in the intern’s eyes as he looks up from his communicator and back down to me. “They tried to kill you! Not just by making you crash on an alien desert planet but on an alien desert planet with aliens who’ve come into contact with humans before. Bad contact, hundreds of years ago in the early 21st century. They hate humans and will arrest or kill one on sight!”
As the thought of being wanted on two fronts sinks in, the intern’s eyes widen, and when he tries to open his mouth in a rigid, spastic way, there’s an explosion, and the screen of the communicator goes black.
| 2018-01-22T11:04:11
| 2018-01-22T08:42:52
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.
|
Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45
| 2017-06-11T09:22:30
| 159
| 23
|
[WP] Create a story where the characters live in a world where something is fundementally different with reality and leave the reader to guess what it is. For example: entropy is reversed, gravity goes sideways, all people can read minds, etc.
|
"Pass the butter please."
"Everything? Must everything have butter?"
"Really now, they're pancakes!"
"So? Last night we had lasagna."
"And?"
"Damnit, even then it was, 'hey, pass the butter.'"
"Right, because I was having toast too."
"Over lasagna?"
"Anything's a lasagna if it's a stack!"
"Knock it off. What, your pancakes are some kind of lasagna too?"
"Of course. It's a breakfast lasagna. Now pass the butter."
"Read my lips. No."
"Oh come on, don't be an ass."
"Stop asking for butter then!"
"No! These pancakes are getting butter, and I can't reach!"
"Have it then! Fine, here! Take it!"
"Thank you, jeez, was that so... wait, that's not butter."
"Really?"
"Yes. It's margarine!"
"Everything? Must everything have margarine?"
"Eight minutes, and I'm coming back with butter. Real stuff."
"Fine. Wait, right now?"
"Why not? These pancakes *must* have butter!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
*More at /r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
|
"Honestly I don't see what the big deal is," Marie said as she drummed her fingers along the side of the table. It had taken forever to put it together, and it was so covered in coasters that the wood on the top was hidden. It was her table though, and very important to her. "Worst comes to worst you and I can just go for a walk, it's always an option."
"Yes but I'm bored now," Roger responded from his position on the couch. He had a pillow sitting on his nose and was trying to balance it. It was his activity for around the noon hours, it let him be beside Marie as she drummed.
"You're always bored."
"Becuase there is nothing to do," he said as the pillow fell to his right. Roger patted around for it before finding it again and putting it back on his nose, "it's the same around this time every day."
"Well then why don't you play with the coasters?"
"I will never get them back into place," he said as the pillow fell again. The cushion dropped off the side of the couch and Roger sighed as he heard the noise. He started to pat around to his left, but his hand was just short of reaching the floor. He would need to roll off to get it and he wasn't up for the challenge.
"That's fair enough."
"Tomorrow then for the walk?" he asked.
"I haven't memorized the street, it's a dangerous walk for me."
"Bring a stick."
"I always bring the stick," Marie hissed. Roger dropped off the side of the couch to fetch his pillow.
| 2016-02-18T08:49:46
| 2016-02-18T08:19:49
| 294
| 91
|
[WP] Last week the scientific community presented incontrovertible evidence that the universe is a simulation. Today the gaming community presented the first glitch guide.
|
[NO STOCK MARKET GLITCH] 0y0m2d4h22m16.04s (100%) Real Life speedrun + explanation
What's up guys, EZGames here, and today we're going to take a look at a new speedrunning technique that's changed the face of real life runs!
Ever since user GatezPlays discovered the Stock Market glitch, where getting a frame-perfect B button press on the load screen when you buy a continuous compounding interest stock portfolio actually allows you to actually sell your own company's stocks while raising the interest rate for immediate returns without the capital gains penalty, we knew that the inflation adjusted wealth stat would reset back to zero after hitting $100,000,000,000USD in a single account, tricking the game into unlocking all your stats for a NewGame+ playthrough without resetting your progress, which rocked the Any% world. But the community has thought that hitting the $100B mark without the Stock Market Glitch is basically impossible, making the strategy useless in 100% runs... Until today.
In this run from streamer xXChode_PontifeXx, we see how chosing the Cleric starting class unlocks the tithe perk way earlier on than the Baron class. We've known for a while that the Holy See glitch lets you clip through the walls into the Vatican by spamming the sprint button and rolling when you're standing next to the Papal Railway walls in the Rome instance. But here's where things get interesting: Now, Cleric was considered a D tier choice for a while now, ever since of the Reformation nerfs, but when you spend your skill points to unlock the tithe perk and stack the bonus with the buffs you get from Clerical Robes II, your Charisma stat is high enough that, once you load into the Vatican instance without going through the door opening animation, the game actually sets your character level to Pope, skipping the XP grind that high level Cardinals have to do and shaving decades off the run time. This let Chode Pontifex start the Rapture endgame scenario, and the economic collapse with runaway inflation sent his savings account value well over $100B without using the stock market at all! Once he used the Valkyrie technique to noclip onto an angel and fly directly to heaven with a full stat bar, he got a full game completion end screen, and his run was solidified as one of the all time greats in the community so far.
Now, this run and strategy hasn't been verified by the UNISRC, but if it's replicable, it'll be a real game changer.
Thanks for watching, make sure to vaporize that like button, subscribe, and hit the bell to be notified when I post another video because the next few days are going to be in-sane.
EZ, out!
|
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Gaming Community is pleased to announce the completion of its official Glitch Guide, presented after due deliberation. The Gaming community also takes this wonderful opportunity to thank the Scientific Community wholeheartedly for its crucial role in the sudden upturn in the fortunes of the Nerds. Children around the world will now add stats points to intelligence and Perception, instead of trying to max out trashy attributes like Strength, Charisma or Luck.
The Official Glitch Guide begins promptly thus, laying emphasis on the first 3 key points –
1) When moving from one room to another, a character may accidentally freeze in the hallway and forget why they left their first room in the first place. This glitch is fixed by pausing, proceeding to the fridge or the toilet and returning to the middle of the hallway. This should fix the glitch in most cases.
2) Maxing out any of the attributes – Strength, Intelligence, Agility, Perception, Endurance, Luck – may not guarantee 100% successful in a side quest called "Where Will I Find Love?" More often than not, players may find their perceived soulmate character initiating conversations with other players. This is not a glitch; it is part of the head developer's intended game design to convey that in some quests (like Love) a player gets to be the main character. in others, they will only get to be an NPC.
3) There have been many complaints about the unrealistic difficulty of the simulation we find ourselves in. Unfortunately, there is no way to adjust the difficulty setting. No patch to fix this is expected in the foreseeable future. The Glitch Guide advises that instead of waiting for cheat codes or console commands, the player spend considerable time in practicing, observing, learning and adapting themselves to handle this simulation adeptly.
-----
Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider browsing through my other writing at r/whiteshadowthebook :)
| 2019-12-12T10:46:12
| 2019-12-12T10:31:13
| 105
| 74
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago...
|
I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T07:14:34
| 2017-05-31T07:06:28
| 116
| 17
|
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
|
"You have a *bad*. I smell it in you. The bad is bigger." the electonic voice chirped from a nearby speaker. Zoe looked at Valerie from the table
Valerie blinked, and turned to the vet tech, looking for help. "The pill allows Zoe to speak English, but this doesn't fully explain all concepts to her.", she remarked. she glanced at tablet, the continued: "maybe she's saying... indigestion?"
"*Bad.* *Bad*! the voice trilled. Zoe barked, and tried to stand up on her front paws on the bed. The voice continued in it's synthetic rasp: "There is a bad, packmate! hunt! smell! it is *here*." Zoe crawled forward, nuzzling the valrie's worn purple sweater. "Calm down, zozo. It's alright..."
Val strokes the animal's contour, riddled by bones. *So,* she thought, *it wasn't a just a lump*? She dismissed the sudden falling sensation of her fear, and refocused on the dog's brown eyes.
"Zoe" She spoke. "I didn't expect this but... thank you."
"*you hunt for bad, yes?*"
"Uh, yeah, Zoe. I'll hunt for the bad. I love you doggo. I love you a lot." Her eyes watered, and she rubbed the damp skin of her face where tears had streaked before.
"I'll leave you as long as you need to be here", the vet tech remarked, she said, head down.
"*Tired. Sleep. Hunt... tomorrow.* and the dog rested its head, just like she really was asleep.
|
"Alright listen very carefully, we don't have much time." Barks Sonny, "follow me."
He races off through to doggy door into the back yard. I fumble with the back door for a second and I try to chase after my beloved dog. I barely reach him as he slips under the hedge of our garden. When I crawl under, I realized I've somehow entered an extensive lab. "Quickly! Here, take this list of names. We are a foundation committed to stoping an evil organization called B.O.R.K. They're breeding and weaponizing dogs all over the globe in the attempt to take control over the earth. That list I gave you has all of our operatives in the field. I hope you stocked up on pills. Find them and track down B.O.R.K. Stop them from taking over the world."
What the fuck just happened!? I think to myself as I look into the eyes of our once again mute dog...
| 2017-02-23T06:40:22
| 2017-02-23T06:16:15
| 75
| 17
|
[WP] A clang came from the engine room, followed by a string of curses. Most of the crewmembers stood far from the doors, fearfully looking in. It was their first trip out to deepspace since they had taken on a human mechanic, and they were all pretty sure that those were not good noises.
|
A loud bang echoed through the metal hall, shortly followed by the sound of flesh on metal and an agonised and infuriated scream.
The captain and first mate glanced at each other. "Is this... Is this normal for Terrans?" The first mate asked sheepishly.
Another bang echoed down the halls, this time with the smell of sulfur. "SO YOU WANT TO SET ME ON FUCKING FIRE NOW YOU PIECE OF MARTIAN CRAP?!"
"Isn't... Isn't our engine Lousiian design?" The first mate asked, seemingly growing increasingly worried for their resident Human.
The captain let a soft sigh slip through her lips. "The people of the Sol system are know for their... Passion in their work. What they lack in durability or lethality or intelligence compared to the rest of the universe, they make up for it with persistence and passion."
Her head tilted to the side, thinking about the engine. "Honestly I can't recall. It might be, but the two designs are pretty much identical, except--"
"FUCK YOU THEN AND YOUR PHOTON CORE!" Another scream ripped through the hull, shortly before the doors opened and a very distressed looking human walked out. Covered head to toe in black smoke that has stained his impressionable skin and clothes. "Captain. With all due respect. That engine is at least five rels out of date, and it WAS holding on purely because of the the subroutines that allow it to siphon power from a secondary generator whenever it was going to fail. Now? Now the Photon Core is all but drained, your uranium enriched power cells are close to crumbling, and to be quite frank..."
He shook his head, then turned to look back at the doors he came through. "Short of setting it to self destruct and jetsoning it to use the shockwaves to move us, we're fucked."
The captain blinked twice. "You mean... Blow up our engine?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn't that leave us stranded?"
"Only for one rel or so." He shrugged. "And that's if we aren't spotted between here and the Phobos system. The real problem will be the lack of manuveribility and deceleration thrusters, but we should be able to compensate with strategic explosive decompression."
The first mate looked to her captain incredulously. "Is he suggesting we blow up our own ship?"
"Only certain, non essential quarters. We could make approximately 230 adjustments using the external sectors." The human replied.
The captain glared down at the human. "I was just telling my first mate how persistent you humans can be. Is there no other option?"
"Well we can all persistently wait for a rescue, but the next scheduled sweep of this sector isn't for another 30 rels. I'll likely be dead in 20. I'd like to see home again before then. Wouldn't you?"
The captain closed her eyes and shook her head. "Do what needs to bee done, Mr Musk. Just get us home safe."
|
It's been 50 years since we, as a race, perfected space travel. Of course, I say race so as to gloss over the fact that entire groups of people had not only developed the math required to make the jump to hyperspace, but according to myth and lore, a few groups had managed it also, a full 150 years ago. That's a full 100 years before the " companies " got their head wrapped around it.
It doesn't affect our day to day operations as such, the knowledge that there might be clusters around our home planet with the tech to make the hyperspace jump in less than 1/10th of the fuel we use currently. Honestly speaking, fuck 'em. We have too much fuel anyway.
It has created a weird hierarchy though, within the space corps. Basically if anyone suspects that you are one of them, you're in an extreme. Either you're treated with royalty, or suspicion. If you're lucky, it's the first. Although if you're treated like royalty, it doesn't take long before the rest of the crew starts treating you with suspicion. It's a slippery slope, and there's really no coming back. Legend has it, that a few communities dispense with their high tech if treated nicely, so people acquiesce. Personally, I think it's a bunch of hokum. For me, and quite a few others, all of these frills usually serve the purpose of a ritual hazing, only it's us crew at the receiving end.
We try to watch out for it but of course, they get away with a lot too. Just last week we had a new member join our crew. And of course, the company skipped the background check. I mean, why look through a person's space-resume' and not look for inconsistencies as glaring as, where it says 10 yrs - mechanic, it doesn't say what vehicle because it sure as hell isn't a space ship! And I can obviously say this right now, because I'm in a room, surrounded by other crew members, going through this guy's space-resume' and we're all just marveling at the idea, that since we're in space, and our bodies don't actually have any biological mechanism to realize the amount of danger it's in, we're gonna have to inject ourselves with the adrenaline required to figure out what to do in the precise moment when we realize we might actually be in some kind of trouble.
For now, there's an inordinate amount of noise coming from the other room.
\*loud clanging\*
\*really loud clanging\*
"Ok, whose idea was it to hire this guy? Was it you Dick?"
"No man, wasn't me. Looksie here I got the little contract right here, and all it says is crew meet Monday at the docks. I met ya'll at the docks."
"Well which one of you fuckers did it?"
"It wasn't me Harry. It was one of those company fuckers. You know how dem are. They don't care nothin'. They prolly in their cushions thinkin' he got sum hidden tech up his sleeve or somethin'. Fucker's gonna make us get to hyperspace in one quintillion of a second faster than them nincompoops can come up with."
"You really think so?"
"Doesn't matter what I think Harry. I think the guy crooked us. I mean, he obviously doesn't know anythin' bout' fixing no space ships, that's for sure."
\*loud clanging noises\*
"Yeah, he doesn't."
"Whatever guys, I'm going to tune into the inter-galactic space-athon at Dix 51's nebulon-bar at galaxy cluster 31, route 78, channel 89. Now at a limited time period offer of 20 cents an hour, only! Don't forget to subscribe now."
\*clanging noises\*
\*clanging noises\*
\*tv starts\*
| 2019-05-31T06:22:59
| 2019-05-31T02:52:26
| 27
| 11
|
[WP] Adolf Hilter fakes his own death, survives the war, and gets a job verifying the authenticity of Nazi memorabilia at a pawn shop.
|
"No, no, no," the old man was saying. "This is not what I am telling you. What *I* am telling you, is that this," he waved around my grandfather's knife, "is a replica."
Sales shit. Fuckin' assholes. "Dude," I said. "I found this in my grandfather's crawlspace."
He looked at me like I was an idiot. "And because your grandfather - at some point - put this shitty replica in a crawlspace, that means it's authentic? Is this what you are telling me?" Dude got angry really quickly. "Look at this metal. Look at it. How many Jews do you think this could run through before it broke?"
"I don't - wait, what?"
He blinked. "I mean, that's what they did, right? The National Socialists."
"The who? Like, the Nazis?"
"Yes," he said, rolling his eyes. "The *Nazis*. Oooh, look. The big bad Nazis are coming for all my gold and artwork."
I didn't know what to say. "So... the knife?"
He slammed it down on the counter. "Fake. I'll give you five marks - hah!" He waved a hand around somewhat effeminately. "Five marks out of ten, of course, is what I meant when I said that thing that I said. Five marks out of ten for your story. Five *dollars*, of course. For the blasphemy before me."
I put it back in my bag. "No deal, dude. It's worth more than that. I'll take it somewhere else."
"You do that. Was there any other *treasures of historical significance* in your grandfather's attic?"
I pointed at him. "Don't give me that Doofenshmirtz bullshit, dude. No, there was nothing else in there. Just a bunch of weird arcane shit."
"What?" He said. "What? Like, the dark magic?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Just skull candelabras, and a book that -"
"Was made out of human skin? Held the secrets of the universe? Will restore the true rulers of Earth?"
"I can't tell," I said slowly, "if you're taking this seriously or not. I think it's the gestures. Has anyone ever told you that you gesture a lot when you talk?"
The old man lowered his arms self-consciously. "An old habit," he said. "I'd be happy to have a look at these arcane wonders, if you bring them by."
"Thanks, dude," I said. "I appreciate that. I took a bit of a dislike to you at first, but you know what? You're OK."
He seemed pleased. "Thank you. Let me write you an appointment card. What did you say your name was?"
"Levi," I said. "Levi Rabinowitz"
"Fucking hell," the old man muttered as he scribbled my details. "You try and do *one thing* and where does it get you?"
|
I had actually put on my gloves for this piece. It looked frail and if real could very well be a very interesting find. I carefully checked the writing on the back to see if it could have been written with a more modern pen. The more I looked at it, the more I was convinced this could be genuine. I turned it around again and gazed into her eyes. It was very intimate, that's for sure. A close-up of Eva Braun, smiling, almost seductively I would say, at the camera. On the back some German words were scribbled, but the handwriting was hard to decipher.
Silently Hank had shuffled over to the counter. He was doing this work for free now, as it seemed to be the only thing to keep him going. He lived a solitary life, never having expressed any interest in women whatsoever. I was startled a little when he poked his head around the corner and asked if he could take a look at the photo. Carefully I handed him the small picture. His hands were trembling as his thin fingers tried to keep hold of it. As he turned the picture around I saw something I had never seen before. Hank's eyes seemed to get misty. He handed me the picture again as the customer looked at me slightly bewildered. Hank turned around mumbling to himself. "Why did you have that pill? You were not supposed to have a pill. We had it all worked out."
| 2022-03-20T02:03:42
| 2015-12-26T19:44:30
| 1,230
| 59
|
[WP] You are a young Elf. You've just been awarded a scholarship at one of the most prestigious magic schools in all of the Nine Realms. The... Massachusetts Institute of Technology?
|
Zana Ljosa hated it. A common reaction for a Light Elf so far from home. And a natural reaction for the First Princess of the First Family of Ljosa.
She always hated the very idea Midgard, the middle realm of mortals. Now she hated the clingy fog draped on Boston. Quickly she came hate the noisy cars and stalking bicycles hounding her every step on the way to class. She even casted at scornful glare the the sun, a pale orb behind the gray shroud.
"By the Well of Urd," Zana curses. "The Council of Ancients shall pay for 'awarding' me this scholarship." Sweetly dark thoughts filled her imagination. Thoughts of disincorporation, dismemberment, and disenfranchisement brought a flicker of a smile to Zana's face.
A smile that dissolved quickly upon reaching her destination. A squat ugly red brick building signed **Plasma Science and Fusion Center Massachusetts Institute of Technology.** Truly dismal place of learning when compared the majestic Towers of Alfheim. She enters and is greeted with silence.
"Hall of Hel," her swearing words echo through the empty hallway. Classes had already started. She ran searching for her room. Barging into the assigned room bringing about the attention of the class and the Professor.
"You're late, Miss....?" said the Professor. The small domed bald man was puffing up at the disrespectful tardiness.
"Mizz?"
"Your name Girl." huffed the Professor, his bulbous nose turning a flush of red.
"I am Zana, the first daughter of the house of Ljosa." She threw back the cowl of her silver cloak. A boast none dared refute for they all were perplexed by her announcement and dazzling outfit. Her voiced lowered into a growl, "Call me girl again and you will find yourself before the gates of Giltir."
The Professor grew pale. While not entirely sure what just transpired he felt his life threatened. Yet looking around for support, he was painful aware that she was the only woman of the class. Kicking her out could be tenure threatening.
"Please take a seat Zana. And Welcome to Magnetohydrodynamic Theory of Fusion Systems." And continued with a routine reading on the syllabus.
When Zana turned her classmates her hand reached instinctually her side side. Reaching for a sword, that was left in her studio apartment for well founded reasons. The entire class was paleness bordering on sallow. They resembled the Dark Elves, creatures living devoid of sunlight under the surface.
Zana went to the back of the class. Sitting alone and using the monotonous tenor of the Professor to regroup. As much as she detested her situation dealt to her. The Council did select her for her merits. She simply wished for more direction and instructions. *Learn the mortals technology.*
And then the Professor presented the next slide.
The powerpoint slide held an image of a bright glowing donut labeled Alcator C-Mod Tokamak. Swirling plasma modeled in flux. A controlled chaos. "Fusion offers unlimited clean energy," explained the Professor, "harvested from the same natural of process of the sun."
Zana sat agape. Her mind immediately latched onto the potential. The conversion of matter into energy and transmutation the elements. Pieces fell into place
The Council had been raging and ranting against about Mortal Technology (MT) for eons beyond eons. And finally acted. By sending their best and brightest. She saw the importance of her mission.Mortal Technology evolved and now transcended. Mortals shall soon have magic. And Fifth Realm soon shall have war.
|
Getting into MIT last week was the highlight of my young life.
That is, until I opened today’s letter. I'm not just going to MIT, I'm getting a full ride. I drop the letter, bounce up and down, then throw my hand in the air Freddie Mercury style. I bet Queen’s front man would’ve envied the sparklers spraying from my fingertips.
Sure, MIT isn’t Oxford or Kyoto, but this is my dream. For one, I savor saying Massachusetts like a its medium-rare steak. It’s silly to humans, but for elves, speaking carries its own sensory reward. Then there’s the weather. Dry winters and hints of humidity in comfortable summers. My grandpa gushes whenever the seasons change. Snow falls the perfect amount and ends when the novelty grows stale. It used to snow more, but the Bridging of Realms slowly stabilized Earth’s tumultuous climate. It all fills me with nostalgia for a homeland I’ll never see.
But as my dreams come true, truth settles in.
My triumphant pose falters, and I fall face-first onto my mattress. I sprawl my arms out and feel the weight of familial expectations. Expectations that one day we can go home. My purpose at MIT is clear: learn how to reverse the elven diaspora and return the Nine Realms back to their rightful place. It requires a lifetime of studying with no guarantee of success.
Likewise, MIT won’t expect me to graduate and move on. They’ll tempt me with a PhD, then a professorship. They’ll invite me to teach humans our ways. Even as we adapt our magic to the strangeness of Earth’s magnetic poles, we’re still leagues ahead of them. Ambition and greed keeps them nipping at our heels, but our innate ability allows us to run before they can crawl. My career path is as obvious as Sam’s love for Frodo (I’m still amazed at how much Tolkein got right).
Two powerful forces compel me into a life of subtle servitude. Is my MIT entrance and scholarship even my desire? Or the world’s? Magic is great. Magic is fun. Magic is a powerful force for change, but it doesn’t change people’s minds. Buried in the thickness of my comforter, I ask myself what *I* want.
The answer comes in the form of a history lesson, one regarding the Bridging of Realms. Human leaders setting aside worldwide divisions to face the trespass of our pointy ears. Telepathy allowing my grandparents’ generation to communicate until we learned humanity’s delightful languages. Sharing magic as the ultimate gift for peace.
I fear that gift comes with a price, a bomb ticking toward an explosive end. We can’t trust humans with magic, but concerns are dismissed by a belief we’ll be gone before it matters.
What if we won’t be? What if I don’t want to leave the brilliant creativity of this world? I burn for change. It’s embedded in my blood. The change I want though, is not the change others desire. I push myself up from the mattress and pick up my scholarship letter, staring at the word ‘Congratulations’. Another scrumptious word to say.
I decide right then: my scholarship might be for magic, but my lessons will be in politics.
---------------------------------------
read more at /r/wiselywrittenwords
| 2021-11-10T11:29:46
| 2021-11-10T11:21:52
| 44
| 29
|
[WP] Super-speed can power a city without polluting. Super-healing can provide an endless supply of donor blood. Weather manipulation ends droughts. Your job is to convince superheroes to use their powers for practical purposes instead of fighting crime, and you’re very good at it.
|
"You're a natural resource."
"Excuse me?!"
I took off my glasses so I could rub the bridge of my nose. Sometimes these people were so *dense*. I tried again.
"When you install a solar panel, what powers it?"
The Hero shifted his implausible muscle mass around in his seat, rippling the bright colors of textured spandex he was wearing.
"Uh, the sun? Duh."
His expressions were a bit more unreadable than the average person, what with the goggles and the cowl, but he had a cocksure smirk that seemed to be the trademark of the Hero occupation. When you can do impossible things, you get used to a level of confidence that ranges into "swagger" territory. It's quite banal to have to deal with it on a daily basis.
"Alright, so the sun powers solar panels. The wind powers windmills. The ground powers geothermal plants. Renewable, natural resources. We'd like you to power the city."
The Hero snorted.
"Listen, doc, I'm sorry you wasted your time having me here, but I *fight crime*. That's what Heroes *do*. I'm not a fuckin'... battery, okay."
"Mr. Markham," (they hate when you use their actual name), "the Heroes Amendment to the city charter, to which you agreed to abide by, states that Heroes 'shall serve the City in the capacity to which they are most beneficial, at the City's discretion.' The city runs on energy. You produce a great deal of energy, with your 'sunfire' manipulation abilities. Our own researchers have determined that the photoelectric conversion of the x-rays and net heat output of infrared radiation from your 'sunfire' could sustain the city's power grid."
"Doc, again, I *fight crime*. The mayor and the city council said if there's a crime that requires police response, I am supposed to fly in, give the bad guys a quick barbecue, and call it a day. That's what I do. Crime is down, people are happy, life is good. I'm doing my job for the city."
"Mr. Markham," (he frowned irritably), "the city has had to repurpose a hospital wing for burn victims. Your 'quick barbecue' is remarkably imprecise. The last "criminals" you attended to, both teenagers, required critical care, along with a pregnant woman, two children, and an elderly man. Shoplifting did not warrant a police response. Destroying the shop and grievously injuring everyone in it was also unwarranted."
"Yeah, but -" he spluttered, fumbling for words, "they were *doing crime!* They *stole shit!* I can't let that go unpunished! I am *justice!* Plus all those other people turned out okay! I saw it on the news!"
"Yes, and do you know *why*, Mr. Markham?"
"Doctors? Man, I just stop the bad guys."
He flexed his enormous pectoral muscles and turned down the corners of his mouth, showboating for an invisible audience. Well, I suppose there was me, but I've seen all the posturing and clowning around before. Underneath, he was getting annoyed. Normally, a ticked-off Hero was cause for a sort of primal alarm, as if one were caged with a gorilla. Heroes could, and did, fly off the handle from time to time. I wasn't worried.
"Those... criminals, and the bystanders, were healed through the judicious application of other natural resources like yours. Do you remember the Hero who calls himself 'The Cleric'?"
Nova Man scratched his head briefly through the gaudy headdress of his costume. "Uh, light blue costume guy? White cape? Always had the little staff thing with the wings and the snakes? Healed people, right?"
"Correct. Proximity to his body and his touch provided a regenerative effect to damaged tissue."
"So, what, he runs your hospital now?"
"Not quite, Mr. Markham. We did a little digging, and we found the effect to be concentrated in his blood serum, and generated in his bone marrow."
"So he gives blood, okay. So you want me to, do what, sit around and fill up some blood bags? I suppose I can do that." He winced briefly, but nodded his head approvingly.
I sighed. "He doesn't give blood, Mr. Markham. He *generates blood*. And marrow. And whatever other fluid or tissue we need to extract. He can survive an incredible amount of damage with his regenerative abilities."
The Hero's brow furrowed. "Wait, what? Damage? The fuck? Do you just, like, cut him up? Are you fucking serious?!"
A faint glow began suffusing the air around him.
"The term, Mr. Markham, is *vivisection.*"
I slid the photo out of the file folder in front of me across the steel table between us.
He glanced at the intricate design of our Biofabrication Plant and shot up out of his chair, snapping it back into the wall with a resounding clash. The glow around him brightened, and the air began to ripple as heat bathed the room.
"What the *fuck* did you do to him?! What the fuck?! You're a fucking monster! I'll kill you! I'm not gonna get chopped up by some freak scientist fucks!"
A disgusted sneer contorted his face as he raised his steaming hands to face me. The goggles over his eyes reflected my face, and my own eyes.
**"Mr. Markham. Sit."**
Confusion and fear crowded his expression. Jerking stiffly, almost robotically, he grabbed the chair from the floor and sat, rigid. The glow permeating the air faded, while the eyes reflected in his goggles lit up.
"I'm a natural resource of this city as well, Mr. Markham. I provide a means to... administer the city's *other* resources, such as yourself. Now, we are going to find what makes you tick, and you will power this city one way or another. **You will serve the city.**"
Straining, trembling with the exertion of trying to fight it, the Hero mumbled, "I - I will serve the city."
**"Remain seated."**
I fished out my phone from my jacket pocket and dialed a well-known number.
"You can pick him up. Have the restraints ready."
*"Copy."*
"Mr. Markham, when a Hero is more of a liability than a benefit, we still have use for them. Look at me, for example. I could be emperor of this world, if I wanted... but I don't want that. I *like* this city. I like living here. I want to see the people be happy, and healthy. If I have to take apart every Hero to make that a reality, I will."
The steel door to my left grated open, and faceless figures in hazmat suits and tactical harnesses swarmed in, clapping titanium shackles to the Hero.
**"Do not resist, Mr. Markham."**
|
I'm the closest thing the world has to a superhero.
I’m not sure why they call me that. I’m not a hero; I’m a diplomat. But the public has a way of putting labels on people. And, at the risk of being pedantic, I'm more of a freelance peacemaker than a superpowered rescuer.
Most superheroes are criminals. You wouldn’t believe how many people start out fighting crime, but end up becoming criminals themselves. Superpowers are addictive, and to abuse them means to abuse the public trust. You have to hound me for three months before you can even apply to join my organization. That’s why I know that helping people in distress is what they do.
But I don't deal with superheroes like that. I deal with any crime that we notice, like theft, gang violence, vandalism. It’s a small world, after all. I deal with all the small stuff, but I rarely deal with the big stuff. Like supervillains and supervillainy. The world of crime is usually a very small world. The people supervillains take from us are always the people we know very well. They don't just steal, they steal our cherished ideas.
Today, I get a report of a robbery. A bank, or a government office, or something similar. Nothing unusual. These things happen every other month. When I arrive, I find a crowd on the sidewalk across the street. They silently stare into the bank. I’m slow, and this is a busy street. I find a parking spot and walk across the street.
The building is bustling with police officers. Men in army-green hazmat suits mill around. I enter the lobby and find an object that my mind can't comprehend.
I look up.
Hang on, it’s harder to describe than you think. It’s, it’s…
TBC
| 2021-04-11T08:22:43
| 2021-04-11T05:10:42
| 98
| 58
|
[WP] At age 21, you and your SO cast a strange love spell to swap bodies one day a week. 8 years later, your fiancee is really sick of you body swapping with your ex, but you don't know how to undo the spell.
|
I knew it was wrong, but it was so hard not to. I still loved Julia, but she didn't feel the same. Of course I couldn't force her to change her mind, but this has been my only chance of winning her back.
The first time we switched was scary but fun. We were still together though. The first switch after we split, I had left a note for her saying "I miss you". She left a note for me saying "REVERSE THIS SHIT NOW".
So...I lied. Said I couldn't reverse it, didn't know how. Years went by and I spent my time in her body trying to keep up with her interests, doing errands I knew she hated, anything I could try to show her my good side. She spent her time destroying my gaming systems, but at least it lessened every time. Hard to stay mad at a guy who does all your laundry I guess.
Then she started dating Jon. Fucking Jon. Already did the laundry, and the dishes. Stopped me from going through her phone. Just ruined all my fun. Dropped the bomb about how creepy I was being. Ok yeah he was right but still.
I was debating fixing it, but damn if Jon wasn't just the coolest friend. 7 years of body switching to New York and I'd never eaten a hotdog from one of those carts, or watched a street preformer. He said staying home all day was lame and would drag me around town.
So I kept switching a little longer, stopped being creepy, and figured all was well and good.
Until yesterday's switch.
I woke up in unbelievable agony. My stomach felt like someone was wringing it over and over. I basically fell out of bed and made my way to Julia's bathroom. Moaning and groaning I crawled just close enough to puke in the bathtub. Must have woken Jon because I heard him go into the kitchen.
Thinking she ignored her intolerance to dairy, I dropped her/my pants and plopped down on the toilet. One look down made me scream in terror.
"JESUS JON GET THE KEYS SHES MAJORLY FUCKED UP THERES SO MUCH BLOOD OH MY GOD"
Jon strolled into the hallway, tossing chocolate and some pills.
"Yeah uh, she's on her period. Figure this would have lined up eventually. She said stuff you needs in the cabinet, directions are on the box, take the pain pills and don't worry about eating too much junk food today. She's going to be upset when she gets back though, guess this means she's not pregnant must have been a false positive."
So if you could fix this ASAP I'll figure out how to explain it to them.
Thanks Doctor
,Marv
|
As important as it was, the proposal was a brief break from what had been bugging me all night. Does she remember the promise I made that drunken night, the only way I could think to break the spell. The whole day the topic had been avoided and I cant help but think I would like to put it off forever.
I nuzzled into the back of her hair, inhaling the scent of hairspray that lingered even now so late at night. She stirred, is she awake? I froze still.
“Will? Are you awake?” she spoke in a surprisingly lucid tone. I had thought she would be dead asleep by now.
“Yeah” I utter in return as my chest flutters with anxiety.
“Do you remember new years?”
My heart sank.
“Yeah” I sighed.
“You promised me…”
“I know I promised you but…” She cut me off in a way that told me she wasn’t going to let this go.
“If you really want to marry me, I need you to kill her” She spoke as if she were delivering the keynotes from a board meeting, clear and with diction.
A lump formed in my throat, her tone said it all. In truth I had only said it because I thought she would never ask, I thought it would be forgotten.
“Will you?”
My chest bubbled with anticipation as my head tried to claw at the answer to this predicament. The mirky feeling from the more than substantial amount of wine from dinner made a clear thought even slippier to grasp at. I love this girl with all my heart, but to kill? Was she being serious or was this all a test? If I say no will she forget? She is pretty drunk but then again I did just propose, that will probably make tonight more memorable.
But, what if I say yes? It will buy me some time?
“Yes” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could even stop them.
“Good” She stated matter of factly. In an instant she had whipped the covers away and bolted out of bed towards the tall oak wardrobe, flicking the lamp on as she went.
She reached in, behind her collection of coats and scarves and fumbled at the back of the wardrobe.
I sat up clutching at the duvet, completely unable to comprehend what might be happening.
There was a heavy sliding of something hard against the wood of the back of the wardrobe and she stepped out from behind the door clutching an odd shape.
“I called her, she is in the park over the road”
I wish I had not reached for my glasses at that moment. The shape came into focus as the heavy frames fell to rest on the bridge of my nose. A rifle.
| 2019-12-15T13:26:14
| 2019-12-15T12:30:08
| 47
| 26
|
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0.
|
Roederick Douglass. Asuka Sato. Carla Sanchez. Phillip Reed. Janine Taylor - Douglass.
The top five in the field- until this year, I hope, when I'll be on top of that list. I know I'll never be one of the richest Americans, but goddamnit if I won't be pretty darn rich- and as long as I nail it on my first go, I'll be set for life.
When he hired me, Musk said "Sato holds the record- she made Bezos second-richest by only eight bucks in 2025. I want you to do better."
If my algorithm works correctly, Musk will be second-richest this year by pennies. Bring that Professional Spending Consultant bonus on.
|
“I started my business with 0 dollars to my name and have rebuilt this empire by the sweat of my brows”Jeremy said.
The audience had clapped in awe as they cheered his genius as he was awarded the best businessman of the year award. The night had been one filled with accolades, champagne and pats on the back. With promises of new business ventures and associates. Opportunities everywhere.
The morning had started well enough, with a shower in his marbled bathroom, surrounded by gilded mirrors as he changed into his favourite new suit. All custom made of course.
But it went down hill very quickly after breakfast. You see Jeremy had learned from the past to never look at any of his vast array of devices before breakfast.
And oh boy was he glad he didn’t deviate from that today. So as he entered his home office, Jake was looking very nervous, Anxious even. “Good morning sir, have you seen the papers?”Jake had asked him.
“You know I don’t look at them or anything else for that matter, before breakfast. So whats up. What has you so jumpy?”
“Its…. Well its the speech you gave last night. There has been some backlash….. Well see for yourself.”
“What in godsname are you on about my boy. Read it out, please”Jeremy sighed.
“In his speech at the prestigious Ritz- Carlton the former richest man in the USA claimed he built this business from nothing. Several of his former staff have come forward and revealed his most powerful asset was not the money he made or needed. Ot was the contacts he had made. He received several million dollars in loans within the first year of starting his renowned company Sahara…, theres more of the same. Outrage of people claiming you didn’t follow the rules etc. Do you want to hear it?”
“No this is enough. Lets get our strategy set up. Call a meeting of the board of directors and have a press conference first thing tomorrow morning. Oh and get me a list of all my investors, I want to speak to them myself”.
| 2021-09-17T15:54:21
| 2021-09-17T15:24:05
| 167
| 36
|
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall."
|
"Stall."
Oh, yeah. Nailed it. I wave and walk off the stage.
"Good job, Jim!", he doesn't return my high five but I know he's been stressed lately.
"Was I good, Steph?" I must've been incredible because she has that stunned look on her face again.
All of the hard work has led to tonight. I think I'll take out the team and shout them drinks. And people said Ron Burgundy couldn't be President.
|
**"Stall"**
That's all it said. "Stall." Five little pixelated letters staring back at me as if they'd find a resonant voice and I'd echo something out from the dry screen of my mouth.
"Stall."
I felt my tongue touch each of my teeth in turn, a nervous tick I'd never covered; counting teeth was a saving grace when it came to not letting myself panic. That little ticker going up, my jaw intact, I cleared my throat and did my best impression of a magician who's just found out his hat doesn't have a rabbit in it at all.
"Gentlemen, let me begin by saying how saddened I am to have called you all here, but how thankful I am that you have come. Like gathering a lost family together, we return from our chosen wilds to the log cabin that once we all called home. This bunker, this bulletproof, disasterproof, nuclear proof bunker, that today offers us less protection than any of us dreamed it ever would."
There were murmers of agreement. We all knew what was happening elsewhere, that it was only a matter of time before the doors and walls around us became nothing more than guiding winds to touch the paths of devils.
"These last few days we've seen the signs, what they call, the 'end-times,' come to fruition. The Nay-sayers were cast aside by a plague more biblical than Moses himself crawling from the grave with Lazarus by his heel. Those in rapture at the beginning have found themselves begging for mercy, and those of us who wish to live continue to do so."
Their eyes were all on me. Mine moved to the teleprompter. The static image of that awful word was burning, and then it flickered from existence. The black screen was a promising void, space before Apollo, the sun before Icarus.
*The antidote is now in effect*
"Those of us who wish to live," I smiled to my charmed and eager congregation, "have taken to filling this very room with a fast-acting neuro-toxin. As of now some of you already have headaches and pains setting into your joints, you'll find it quite impossible to put up any reasonable resistance so I suggest you use your remaining moments in a wiser way than a feeble attempt at fighting back."
I was taken aback by the utter silence. My throat was still dry, a dull thump in my head, I began to sweat. No one moved, not one person reacted to the news I had just given them. This was unexpected.
The teleprompter flickered once more.
*Unfortunately, we felt it necessary not to share the antidote with you. Thank you for your service. Welcome home.*
---------------------
"Ladies and gentlemen. We broadcast this evening from a secured bunker, deep in the Nevada mountains. We have gathered here, with our families, to escape that which plagues us as a nation. We have, as of moments ago, enacted a rescue plan. This operation will be detailed in full in just a moment. Let me reassure you, the Government is bringing the situation under control.
"In an unexpected turn of events, I am saddened to announce the death of President O'Dowell. He succumbed to illness shortly after arrival here in Nevada. His sickness was held in secret among his inner circle, in the hopes that you could complete his presidency before he was taken from us. Today, we are, as a nation, one family."
| 2015-05-16T18:14:47
| 2015-05-16T16:46:23
| 91
| 39
|
[WP]Write a story with no characters.
|
*Quiet.*
*The wind blows softly between the ruined buildings, dust swirling as it eddies in doorways missing doors and windows missing glass. The echoes of no birds singing in the trees and no children playing in the fields could be heard in the stillness, while the wind dances and pirouettes among the ruin.*
*Quiet.*
*Once in awhile a shingle would work loose and fall to the ground. A shard of glass drop from a rotting frame. The shotgun* snap *of pavement as it cracks in the cold and the heat as summer turns to winter and winter into spring and spring again into summer.*
*Quiet.*
*The shuffling of the dead as they stiffen then thaw then liquefy in the heat of the debris-strewn streets, in the cool of their cellars, in the safety of their dens and their closets and beneath their desks; bordered talismans against the death they were certain could never find them in the places they believed would keep them safe. Where they lie, still, while the wind covers them gently in its soft blanket of earth and a gossamer kiss as the seasons turn. And turn. And turn, in the never ending quiet.*
|
A crumpled newspaper drifts through the streets, rolling like a modern day tumbleweed. It crosses against traffic but there is none. Rusted hulks of cars sit as a reminder of the civilization that once stood here. The paper bounces along almost merrily, narrowly avoiding the grass that pokes through the cracking pavement and sidewalk sections.
It strikes a fallen sign of faded green, indicating coffee purchases. The machinery sits dusty and unused having long been forgotten.
Further down it strikes the collapsed tire of a boxy truck. The brown logo is faded from months of sun and weather.
The wind blows heavily and the paper lifts off the ground, slamming it's not considerate weight into a rusted iron fence. Half the fence has collapsed with age and without maintenance. There is no one to maintain it. It flutters, spread out now with bold black letters across the top.
The paper does not concern itself with the words. Only continuing the journey. Flapping and tearing it carries through the fence and becomes a floating reminder of the past.
Soon the wind ceases and the paper floats gently to land on calm river water. Slowly absorbing the liquid it disappears into the depths with little fanfare.
There is silence in the city now. No one to mourn the paper. No one to care.
Simply.
Silence.
| 2017-10-13T09:08:36
| 2017-10-13T08:15:43
| 3,043
| 1,087
|
[WP] A dragon shows up at the adventurers' guild after hearing that humans will just GIVE away gold for something called a "quest."
|
“Preposterous, purely preposterous,” I thought, wings beating through the air, “These humans give away the most illustrious, shiny part of a dragon’s hoard to each other for running errands?”
I swooped down and gingerly (well, mostly anyways) landed in front of the town’s gate, the buildings seemed much too fragile inside the wall. I tried to speak relatively softly in the common tongue
“Hello, I was hoping to inquire about the mechanics of these quests? The ones that are worth gold to complete?”
The guards on the wall stood silent and motionless for a great deal longer than I had expected before they finally passed along a signal and a relatively well dressed man nervously stumbled from the gates.
“Ah, hello, tiny human” I said, trying to sound as non-threatening as an adult dragon can be, “Can you tell me about these quests I’ve heard so much about?”
“W-w-w-well, you see, people place requests in the guild hall along with a reward and adventurers accept them, complete them, and then collect the reward,” the man stammered.
“That sounds marvelously simple, I don’t suppose you have any I could accept at the moment?”
“There is one quest available at the moment to retrieve a family heirloom from the lair of an-an-an adult dragon, that looks— a lot like you, in the mountains, a sword to be precise,” he seemed fearful at a rebuke.
“Does it happen to be a longsword with emeralds in the hilt that glows faintly in the dark?” I inquired.
“It-it-it is indeed, according to the description. The family is offering 200 gold pieces to have someone retrieve it,” the human seemed to be growing increasingly nervous as the conversation went on.
“200 gold! You humans are willing to trade 200 wonderfully shiny tidbits for only one, less shiny trinket!? I do believe I have the sword in question, I will retrieve it presently and return for my reward,” I practically roared. With that I launched into the air and beelined for my lair, quickly crawling towards the pile where the unfortunate previous owner of the sword had left it after his head mysteriously vanished in a toothy flash from yours truly. I rocketed from the opening of my den and dived down the slope of the mountain, useless sword in tow.
“Unbelievable! I give them a single piece of my hoard (and an ugly one at that) and they simply give me more treasure! Humans and their simple minds.”
I land and gently deposit the sword at the feet of the startled guildsman,
“R-r-r-right, here you go, your reward for the completion of the quest, have a good day, I must be off now,” the man quickly spouted before hurrying off inside the gate.
I gingerly lift up the sack of gold and return to my cave,
“Oh my, so many new shinies! I must really do more of these simple ‘quests’ for the humans if this will be my reward!”
**First time doing one of these writing prompts, advice appreciated. And sorry if I accidentally copied someone else’s idea, I wasn’t able to read all of the comments before I made my own story.
Cheers!
|
The dragon's head slinked in through the door to the adventures guild. He turned his head filling up most of the building. Everyone backed up cautiously but, no one attacked or even acted aggressive.
Then Gore-fang spoke "I would like a quest. How would I obtain one?"
One of the ladies behind the counter responds "I give out quests but why do you want one?"
"I heard you get gold upon completion of them."
Everyone (whose eyes had been full of fear and shock up till this point) nodded. They all understood and so did the lady behind the counter. Sara had an idea and flipped through her pile of papers. She found the most difficult quest. "This is a dangerous quest with a reward of 1,000 gold pieces are you willing," Gore-fang nodded calmly. "You need to kill out Fax Rog lord of the pit. He is amassing an army of darkness that is threatening the kingdom."
"I have heard of Fax Rog and his pit," he stated contomplatily. Then with determination in his hate filled eyes he said "I shall incinerate everything in the pit; Fax Rog and all. With that he snaked his head out of the door and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
The massive drake flew over the city and to the north. By ground the journey to the pit could take up to a month but, for a dragon it would only take a little bit. He was there by morning, standing on the edge and staring into the large hole in the ground. He thought about what was down there. Then he realized that he couldn't even fit in it.
Fortunately a group of orcs came climbing up the sides. One of then was wearing thick metal armor and spoke the common tounge. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a course and high pitched voice.
Gore-fang saw his opportunity and took it "I am here to join forces with Fax Rog becuase I support his cause. Unfortunately I am too big to go down there see him myself. May you bring him up to talk to me?"
The orc not stupid enough to say no to a dragon complied and went back into the pit. About an hour later Fax Rog appeared. He was a battle hardened dwarf with an angry look on his face.
The dragon looked down on him and laughed "You're the lord of the pit?" he asked looking at this puny creature. "Then you may return to it." Gore-fang kicked the dwarf and his orcs back into the pit and proceeded to breath fire into the hole. The flames billowed out as the screams of every fowl being echoed. He was content with his work and flew back to the city.
As he once again entered the guild hall everyone looked at him then went back to buisnness as usual. He pointed his head toward Sara's desk and waited for the adventurer in front of him to finish. As the he moved out of the way she saw Gore-fang and suprise entered her face.
"Are you done already?"
"Yes, the lord and his pit are no more. Now for my pay." She heaved a large bag of gold at him. Hooking it on one of his teeth he said "I'll be back soon." Then left for his mountain.
| 2020-06-08T17:02:33
| 2020-06-08T16:53:01
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] A suicidal person is robbed by someone at gunpoint. What happens?
|
Hands shaking. Sweat dripping. Fingers on the trigger. This isn't what I wanted, but what choice did I have?
I aimed the gun at him and bellowed " Give me your wallet now! No one has to get hurt!"
The man seemed aloof, distant. He looked up into my eyes and I looked into his; I saw nothingness, darkness. But the thing that scared me the most was that smile of his.
He spoke calmly, as if he was in control. "Why are you doing this?"
"Just give me your money and no one gets hurt! Hurry up!"
"I'll give you my money, but I wanna talk first. Now I'll ask again, why are you doing this?"
"I need the money okay? Times are tough, the economy is fucked. What would you have me do? Now give me the fucking money, I wont ask again!" He say through my facade.
"Well at least your honest. Now I have to ask you for one last favor."
"What?"
"You'll have to rough me up a bit, I'll never hear the end of it if my friends find out I didn't put up a fight."
"Y-you sure about this man?"
He grabbed my hand and aimed the gun at his head. He wrapped his fingers around mine and gently pressed down.
"W-wait, what're you doing?" I tried to get the words out as best I could, but I doubt I was even coherent.
"Thank you, wallet's in my back pocket, you'll find around $600 in there. The pin for my cards is 62987. I didn't wanna be alone when I did this."
"W-what are you talkin' a-"
BOOM
|
I stood on a small bridge in the dark night. The street lights were hazy; glare-like fuzz emerged around the light points. I couldn’t see the end of the block I was on as it blurred out to gray. I tapped my feet rhythmic, closing my eyes to listen to the echoes. I sighed, and leaned against the stone brick fencing, listening to the subtle sounds of the waters below this bridge along with my tapping feet. I smiled, I was glad to be afraid of the water growing up. So I knew I would not be able to swim.
I turned around, watching the river flowing toward the hazy gray and disappearing. The buzzing of the street light above me started to flicker. I chuckled, I was very superstition. The flickering of the lights I took as warning, and I was happy to feel the warning. My foot stopped tapping, but the echoes still continued. I looked around, there was a man approaching me. I crossed my hands across the top of the fence and gaze out.
The man was hooded, head bent in a sharp angle that his face remains hidden in the shadows. His coat was grey; the tag on front had a mascot of a bulldog with “University” below it. He stopped next to me, shoved his hands inside his coat and pulled out a gun. The size of it seemed to be a Glock.
“Give me your money.” He spoke in a fake British accent. I looked at him. “Why are you calm? I said give me your fucking money!” I turned toward him. Perhaps this would be a swift death, a win-win situation for the both of us. My hands shot up, grabbed his wrist and pulled it to my forehead. The man was shocked, nearly shooting the gun. “The hell you’re smoking?” He stopped speaking in a fake British accent.
“This is a win-win situation for us.” I explained. He tried to tug his arm free, but I pressed the barrel of the gun harder against my forehead. “I stand here to jump to the waters; I am unable to swim, so I would drown. You, you want money. Kill me and take my money, we’ll both be happy.”
“No, the fuck?” He tugged his arm harder, starting to shake it. With one hand, I pulled out my wallet.
“Shoot me, take the wallet, and run. I won’t be missed. You would be doing me a favor.” He stopped tugging and started to push against me. The quick change of pace made me lose my grip. He tugged harder and was released.
“You’re a fucking psycho. I haven’t killed anyone; I’m not going to start. Keep your money.” He turned and started to run, disappearing into the gray haze.
“So much for the swift death.” I whispered to myself, staring at my wallet. I opened it and pulled out a picture. There were three people in this picture. I was the guy on the right. My wife was the right, and my son in the middle. I could still feel the ripe emotions from when I got the news…
I was at a hospital. Prior to this I was at work, when I heard I came straight down here. A drunk driver t-boned the car my wife was driving, who just picked up my son from preschool. My son was announced dead at the scene. My wife was critically injured. By the time I arrived at the hospital, the doctor told me that she slipped into a coma, and most likely won’t survive. Her brain was swelling too fast to safely relief the pressure. Tonight was when I discovered that she didn’t make it too. I couldn’t bear going back home, I couldn’t bear to live without them.
I placed the photo in my pocket. I dropped the wallet neatly below me; hundred of dollars for the hospital bills belonging to the next person who picked it up. I climbed on top of the fence, closed my eyes and fell forward. The cold water quickly made me shiver.
The coldness started to numb my limbs; I opened my mouth, feeling the cold water rushing in. Bubbles blinded me as I exhaled, then I inhaled hard, feeling the oxygen cut off, feeling the cold water irritating my lungs. Feeling light, feeling nothing…
-045
| 2014-02-14T19:08:33
| 2014-02-14T16:59:34
| 31
| 12
|
[WP] Drug company makes a new pill that reduces IQ, come up with advertisement.
|
*Bliss*.
"We all know that parenting is hard. Schedules to keep, meals to cook, and clothes to buy. But what can you do, when you've tried everything and your precious angel is acting a bit more like the devil every day?"
*Bliss.*
"Studies have shown that hyperactivity and misbehavior in children often stem from a single cause: an excess of neuronal activity in the still-growing brain. This condition--known by doctors and psychologists as 'malignant hypercognition'--has effects that will last throughout a child's life, even into adulthood."
*Bliss.*
"These effects include poor social skills, an inability to focus, reduced levels of physical activity, poor performance in school, and an increased incidence of diseases such as obesity, diabetes, and high cholesterol. But there is an answer."
*Bliss.*
"On the cutting edge of both psychology and healthcare, Bliss is a new medicine that helps children afflicted with malignant hypercognition by reducing harmful overstimulation of certain areas of the brain, allowing neurons to form and create links at a slower, more natural rate, promoting the life-long mental health of your child."
*Bliss.*
"So remember, if *your* child is suffer from malignant hypercognition, speak with your doctor about Bliss. You'll be glad you did."
*Bliss.*
"Learning takes a lifetime."
|
CLOSE UP ON MAN LOOKING OUT WINDOW:
**Narrator:** “Do you feel worried? Nervous? Are there bills piling up and you just don’t know what to do?”
MAN looks at CAMERA and nods.
**MAN:** “There’s just so much turmoil in the world. The Middle East is a mess and our government is hopelessly divided because we only vote for people who won’t work together.”
**N:** “Ask your doctor about Maximum Strength Dumify Elite *Crystalline Dextrose*today.”
**Testimonial 1:** “I used to worry about the changes in Capital Gains law, but now I buy beer based on the temperature it is in a commercial!” *smiles*
**Female Voice:** “Dumify Elite”
**Test 2:** “I used to get very little sleep as the President of my own startup. Now, I get to sleep all day as an unemployed writer!” *smiles*
**Female Voice:** “Dumify Elite”
**Test 3:** “I used to make money hand over fist as a hedge fund manager, but now I make upvotes 5 at a time!” *smiles*
**MAN:** “I’ll talk to my doctor TODAY!”
**VO Speedtalker:** “This product may cause cramps, vomiting, diarrhea, loose stools, hard stools, pine fresh scent, auto envy, and diabetes. Do not operate gambling machinery under the influence of this product. Dumify Elite and its parent company Johnson and Johnson and Johnson and Johnson are not liable for any life decisions made while taking this product. If your doctor does not prescribe you this product, an over-the-counter version may be found in the candy aisle. Also, change doctors. These statements have not been verified by anyone, especially not the FDA. This item under the purview of the ATF. See our advertisement in Guns & Ammo for more information.”
**N:** “Dumify Elite. What you talkin’ ‘bout Willis?”
| 2015-01-15T06:14:33
| 2015-01-15T06:12:16
| 127
| 23
|
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/
|
The glowing number "1" on the floor, while albeit odd and unnatural, quickly became an innocuous part of everyday my life. It was subtle and you could only notice it if you were looking. The number was etched into the floor of my closet, and proved resistant to all attempts at being removed.
After taking up the better part of a week's energy, I decided to put it out of my mind. It wasn't harming anyone or thing, as far as I could tell. So I just let it be.
Not long after, I met... *her*.
She was a dream come true. Sweet, kind, funny and sarcastic, smart, and of course, beautiful. I thought it was too good to be true, but we quickly became close, first as friends, then lovers.
I decided to tell her about the "1" one day, and she didn't believe me. So I showed it to her. Only, to my astonishment, it had become the number "2" instead. We came to the natural conclusion.
A couple years passed, and I fell more in love with her every day. She was perfect in every way, and our life felt so right. I was planning on proposing, and had even gone out and bought a ring with my pitiful salary.
It was while I was hiding it that I noticed the "2" had become a "4". A wave of cold, nauseating dread washed over me. The only way the number could have doubled...
I ran to the bathroom, digging through the trash. There it lay, at the bottom- a positive pregnancy test.
She walked in as I was staring at it.
"Oh, honey, you found it! How did you know to look? Isn't this exciting, we're going to be parents! I know we haven't talked about it yet, but if you want this, then I do, too."
I just stared up at her, the proof of her lies in my hands. They curled into fists, the plastic creaking.
"I'm sterile."
|
It had been like that for years. A shining number one had found its way onto my floor. It was like clockwork. I chalked it up to the sun and shadows being a thing until she showed up. It was a challenge trying to get her convinced that such a thing occurred within my home, let alone trying to convince her that I wasn’t going mad when it switched to a number two.
That day when I brought her home still rang crystal clear in my head. We had just gone out for lunch and I knew that the time in which the number one would reveal itself was fast approaching. That day, I remember swinging that door open, only for a rather interesting surprise to greet us.
“Uh babe, why is there the number two? I’d thought it was only meant to say one? You showed me those pictures all the time.”
My mouth was dry. A forced response left my lips, “Yea, it does say two now.”
\----
It all happened so fast today. Her coming in, the door being slammed against the wall. The number four shining for both of us to see.
“We need to have a talk, now.”
“What’s going on?” I changed the subject. My body was telling me something.
“Hon, I swear it’s good news. But you should sit down.”
“Oh-” My spirits lifted, maybe it wasn’t it was going to be her saying that- My mind jumped before I could process the situation. We all knew what was coming. “Let’s me guess, you got-”
“Honey, no.” She cut me off. She was stern now, a tone I’d never hear from her mouth. “I know why the four is there now. You see, my life is coming to an end soon.”
It was only natural to say that my heart sank. “What do you mean by that? And why did you say it was good news?” The number four had a bad omen in my culture. It signified death and while in modern times, superstitions weren’t the norm, I still clung onto that belief. That gut feeling, it had returned now, stronger than ever.
“Babe, I said like that because I was being sarcastic. You know how flustered I get in these sorts of situations, and I needed a way to draw you away from your superstitions,” She pulled me in, “Honey, it’s stage four now. My time is short.”
All I could mumble was a faint, “No, I refuse to lose you this way.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
\--
r/CasualScribblings
I knew that pregnancy would be one the main ideas people would write on, so I decided to give it a twist, albeit, a little sad twist.
| 2020-09-03T01:25:54
| 2020-09-03T00:53:25
| 976
| 644
|
[WP] Write a dark story and change the tone and mood of the story to humorous in the last line.
Try to use the last line to put the rest of the story into context and thus make it funny.
|
How long had I been stuck in here? It couldn't have been more than an hour, but my legs were already numb. Impulsively, I pulled out my phone. Dead. Dead as the last time I checked. I looked around the small room impatiently, the all-too-familiar walls closing in on me. I glanced at the pack of pills on the window sill, their presence mocking me. I cursed myself for letting it come to this.
Then came the pain. I let out a loud grunt as my body writhed, desparate for some relief. I bent over, holding my sides, the sharp pain only getting deeper, determined. My muscles tensed. They could only take so much more before ripping apart. My body was on fire. Why did I do this to myself?
And then nothing. The excruciating pain vanished as quickly as it appeared. Still trembling, I sat back up, recollecting myself. Was it really over? I closed my eyes and made myself a promise: I am never going to Taco Bell again.
|
Darkness surrounded me. I hadn't felt this alone my whole life. My heartbeat was the only noise I could hear. The steady dum-dum gave my feet their cadence. Suddenly I heard a low growl.
I was no longer alone. My heart answered the growl with louder thumps. I wanted to run, but my feet had betrayed me. I had no choice but to stand there in the darkness feeling the source of the growl moving closer to me.
My feet were stuck. I had no choice but to accept that this is where it all ended. I thought of my family, what would they think when they learned what had happened? Would they even care? Probably not, it didn't matter. Another growl rushed from the darkness.
This time it was closer, almost on top of me. My body shuddered with fear as I accepted my fate. The creature was so near now I could feel its breath on my face. Make it quick. The creature stopped. My eyes were still closed but there was something new; light. I flung my eyes open in gratitude. Suddenly I was staring at a figure surrounded by light. Tears filled my eyes as the beast rushed towards the figure.
The figure spoke, "Charlie, I told you not to play with Sparky in the closet, you know when he gets scared he pees everywhere".
| 2014-09-29T10:42:37
| 2014-09-29T09:30:41
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] Explain a color to a blind person.
Edit:1 yessssss, 300+ upvotes, my personal best. Thanks to you all who participated in this prompt.
|
“Maybe a bit of blue there, for the light…”
“What is *blue*?”
The painter looked up their canvas, surprised out of their half-trance by the innocent question of their friend who, until then, had been sitting in silence in a corner of the half-organized mayhem that they called their studio. He had closed his book and was staring in the general direction of the painter with his milky blue eyes. They might be used to it, such unseeing yet focused attention was still slightly unnerving.
“Blue is…” For a moment, they felt a little lost. How could they explain a complex concept such as colors to someone who couldn’t *see* them? They had never been good with words, preferring pictures to sentences.
Their blind companion seemed to understand that, as he sighed and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, it’s a stupid question. Go on.”
He sounded so disappointed in Himself for asking, and maybe in his friend for not answering, that they found themselves putting their brush down and facing him -for all the good that would do, talking again before he could go back to his Braille book.
“Blue’s the sky during summer afternoons, when we’re sprawled in the parc because it’s too hot to do anything. It’s the sound of rain falling on the window when you’re bored and stuck inside by the clouds. It’s night during full moons, when I drag you out to walk in the cold because the stars are beautiful and you humor me by saying you can hear them singing.”
He looked up once more and smiled, closing his useless eyes to listen more closely to the awkward words of someone used to showing rather than saying.
“It’s… the crashing of the waves against a cliff, and the cries of seagulls, and the smell of salt and water in the wind. It’s the taste of ozone that comes with lightning, a little before thunder and cold rain. It’s…” The painter huffs a laugh and, resting their elbows on their knees, lean forward a little. “It’s your eyes, when you forget your sunglasses in a classroom because you just *had* to work on your last idea *right now*, and it made you forget you didn’t have them on. Blue is, well, it’s a music genre of its own, you know? It’s soft drums and the whine of a guitar, a melancholic piano for when you’re feeling *blue*.”
This time, he’s the one laughing, low and amused, like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard yet.
“Blue’s frost on winter mornings and English Breakfast tea with blueberry muffins, and the smell of my mother’s hyacinths -it’s her favorite color, so they’re all blue.”
They get up and walk closer to their companion, careful not to stumble on the art paraphernalia thrown carelessly around the studio.
“It’s the smell of asphalt after a storm, rain and cold and quiet, sad things on the verge of greatness.” They smile, sincere, not that he can see it. “Your music is very blue.”
His laugh is louder this time, delighted. He put a hand on the painter’s shoulder by habit and let his forehead fall on the other.
“You *do* have a way with word, I didn’t know you were also a poet!” Before they can deny, he add. “And yellow?”
|
Sorcha led Brett forward until he could feel the warmth of the fire on his face. Around them the night air blew cool. He pulled his collar up to hide his chin. Beneath his feet the ground was uneven. The heath was made of heather and gorse, pushing against his shins and catching on the hem of Sorcha's dress. Brett could smell the peat smoke from where he stood. Heavy and thick as a glass of whiskey, it enveloped him.
"Not too close," Sorcha warned him. "The fire spits."
The corner of Brett's mouth lifted in a smile. He held out his hands, feeling the warmth becoming more intense. Like a hot bath, or a gust of steam, the heat of the fire escaped the boundaries of its flames.
"Describe it to me," he said.
"It's like something living," Sorcha said. She looped her arm through Brett's again. "They've been building the pyre for weeks, it's taller than you are. Above your head."
"Not hard to be taller than me," Brett said. He tipped his head up to look at where he imagined the flames flicked away into the night sky.
"It's made from pine and stripped down cedar wood. The kindling was purple heather, and they flung it all together until it looked like a giant bird's nest. Scraggly and wild."
"How did they light it?"
"With oil, and plenty of matches. The flames are yellow, they turn slowly to orange and then become red, right at the heart of the fire."
Brett frowned. "What does yellow look like?" He felt the squeeze of Sorcha's hand on his, but he knew well enough now that this wasn't pity.
"Yellow's a hot day in spring," she replied slowly. "Lazy, when you can smell the buttercups and the grass. Insects and butterflies, that gentle hum of life in the garden." Brett heard, rather than saw, her flush. "Yellow is me in a short summer dress, with smooth legs and that perfume you like."
"Tell me orange," Brett asked. He stood, staring straight ahead at the fire.
"Orange is like music. The dissonant stuff, the jazz you don't like. You know that song, Liquid Love? Like that. It's hard on the teeth, but warm. Orange is the smell of the roads when it rains, and that wet-leaf feel under your boots."
"So, like wet dog?"
"It's prettier than that," Sorcha said.
Brett fell silent for a moment.
"And red?" he said finally.
Sorcha's hand was firm beneath his chin. Losing the heat of the fire on his face as she turned him towards her, Brett caught his breath. When she kissed him, she tasted of that peat smoke and of her spring perfume. Brett wrapped her into him, feeling the cool of her hair through his fingers, and the soft fur coat she wore. They broke apart and Sorcha placed a hand on his chest.
"That's what red feels like," she said. Brett heard the smile in her voice.
"Red's my favourite colour," he replied. "Describe it again to me?"
| 2016-09-04T06:14:11
| 2016-09-04T05:47:48
| 101
| 32
|
[WP] A neuroscientist finds data stored in human DNA. When deciphered, it appears to be a file named README.txt.
|
Bob had the great idea to run the entire human genome sequence through a pattern filter; a slow process, taking several days to complete. He'd set it up to send him an SMS if it found anything. Every SMS he'd received in the past couple of days had sent his heart racing, only to be disappointed each time. "Buy milk," indeed. His phone trilled an SMS notification. "More milk?" he thought to himself sarcastically, and fished it out of his pocket. As he read the message preview on the screen, his blood ran cold, and he felt like the ground gave way beneath him. He sat hurriedly down and read the message again.
"Pattern found. Non-random Ascii values."
Rushing to the lab, he opened the app and synced the results. A few random fragments had been found that matched hexadecimal values, but only one had been found that contained actual decipherable data. In the raw data he could see the phrase "README.txt" followed by a couple of null bytes. There were only two more characters before the data reverted to utterly random gibberish. He read the two characters with mouth agape, in utter disbelief:
42
|
It took a while to figure out. It was hard to isolate the very end of the strand of DNA he had found. It was small and quick to degrade when she managed to break it out of the nucleus. But she did it, she sequenced the isolated fragment and when she translated it she got the protein sequence arganine, glutamate, alanine, aspartate, methionine, glutamate, then a break, then threonine, then literally any other amino acid, and finally a threonine.
She thought it was odd. It said "readme.txt". It was the strangest thing she had seen. When she put the sequence into her modelling software and it had... trouble. The screen flickered and the ribbon structure.... moved. It made a word: "hi".
Was it talking to her? It couldn't be, that just couldn't happen. She had spent her entire life studying every scientific concept she came across. And this just couldn't happen. A trick, it had to be a trick. She closed the file and reopened it. And still all it said was "hi".
She stared, and she swears she could see it. There were words on the edge of the ribbon, it said "look inside yourself to see everything"...
She kept staring closer and closer. The lines of it all began to blur, then she started to hear a buzzing. Slowly it got louder and louder, blurrier and blurrier.
And then she woke up. She glanced up at her laptop screen and that same ribbon was there as before. A big glob of nothing intelligible. Nothing interesting, nothing fun, nothing new.
Sometimes being a neuroscientist is boring.
| 2014-05-06T21:47:54
| 2014-05-06T21:21:18
| 63
| 23
|
[WP] A vampire, due to his/her supernatural abilities, is the greatest spelunker in the world. Leading a team into the deepest recess of a cave system in which nobody has set foot in millenia, the vampire suddenly stops. (S)he needs an invitation.
|
Delphine chirped, sending sound before her into the cave system. It rippled and thrummed in her ears with every surface that returned it to her. Usually she would not need to rely on echo location to navigate these winding passages, but the lights the humans behind her carried were blinding. She could not open her eyes.
"What's wrong? Don't you know where you're going?" the head human sneered. Robert.
"No," Delphine murmured. She placed a white hand upon the cave wall. There were no vibrations, which boded well for the humans. Less so for her.
"You've explored every damn cave in the world, and you expect me to believe that this one is an exception?" Robert spat on the wall. They were making so much noise, it was hard to navigate. Every word, every clank of metal, every footstep, every breath, every heartbeat echoed through her head. "What'd we buy you for anyway?"
She heard the jangle of chains before she felt the pressure around her neck and took a step back to avoid falling. Robert enjoyed tugging at the silver collar around her neck as though she was a dog. That was the part of this that bothered her the most, being treated as a mongrel. Her kind was so much better than that.
"This way," she said smoothly, ignoring Robert's huff of frustration when he didn't tug her over. The men shuffled along behind her, and Delphine chirped again. The passage got quite small. Some of the hulking men would have a hard time squeezing through. "We will need to crawl for this last part. The treasures you seek should be in the large cavern beyond."
"Crawl?" Robert growled. "All right. Jim, you take the front. The creature goes in the middle of all of us. I'm not taking chances down here. I'll go after it. Todd, bring up the rear."
Slowly, the group of men and Delphine wiggled their way through the passage. It had flooded recently, so the mud made the going slow and miserable. Just before Delphine broke free, she felt an ever so slight vibration in the ground beneath her.
Delphine had just stumbled out of the hole when she hit a wall head on. She toppled back into the mud, to Robert's glee. But there shouldn't be a wall there? She chirped, and the sound flew far into the cavern before returning to her.
"Whoooo goessss there?" A low hiss came from the darkness. The cavern was so wide that the men's torches did not hit the other side. Around the walls were wooden boxes which were too large to ever fit through the hole they'd just come from. Delphine remembered how primitive the humans' hearing was and realized that she was probably the only one who hears the voice.
"A daughter," she breathed. "I bring you gifts."
"Giftsssssss....?"
"Did she say something? I thought she said something," Todd asked, the last to emerge from the tunnel.
"Naw, she just did that weird clicky thing," Jim scoffed. The ground trembled.
"Giftssssssss? Sssssso long sinccccce a daughter has brought me giftsssss. Come in," the voice boomed.
"What the *fuck* was that?" Robert screeched.
Delphine smiled and stepped through the barrier, her pale arms open to show respect. The Father of Vampires was awake. And he was hungry.
|
I don't know how far into the worm-like network of caves we were, when we stumbled upon the first bone. Perhaps we were a thousand feet below the surface of the Earth, perhaps slightly more. Moving is slow inside these constricting, void-like labyrinths, even with Selena's keen eyes and uncanny sense of navigation to guide us, and distance soon becomes hard to track. A few feet can feel like a mile, when crouching or crawling through mud and icy water. A mile, like a marathon.
I had travelled from London to the barren, rocky tundra's of northern Slovenia, to take part in what I was guaranteed would be *the caving experience of a lifetime*: unparalleled exploration of a vast, part-unexplored cave system that descended five thousand feet into the soul of the Earth.
I had travelled alone, as I always did on such expeditions, but had met my fellow spelunkers, Martin and his wife Elanya, in the hotel Luknja (a rather run down motel, by modern British standards), about forty miles from the entrance to the cave. Martin and Elanya were newly wed and this was to be a honeymoon, of sorts. Martin was a wealthy young American, who had amassed a small fortune in internet currency trading. In his spare time (which was most of the time), he was a keen snowboarder; Elanya was a mountain climbing enthusiast, and seemed to do little else, besides. I suppose they wanted to partake in something exciting and completely new to the both of them. Personally, I would have picked the Amalfi Coast for my honeymoon. In fact I *did* pick the Amalfi Coast and, well, that marriage didn't exactly last long. Perhaps it's not where you go, but who you go with. Regardless, they both seemed like bubbly extroverts and people I could see myself getting on with, for a few days at any rate. Whether I would trust them with my life... Simply put, I would not. I would *never* normally go on an expedition like this with first-timers, but this was a totally unique situation: we would have *Selena*.
The real expense of this trip to Slovenia, was not on tickets for the plane journey, nor for access to the cave system. *It was for the guide.*
Vampires, of course, are incredibly rare, as only a tiny portion of the population have the genetic predisposition to the disease. As such, nearly all who try to 'self-turn' only make it... *half way*. Selena is one of the two vampires that are willing to guide tourist excursions into the bowels of the earth -- and the cheaper of the two vampires, at that. She's also the more camera shy and serious, and the one (based on what I knew of them) that I trusted with my life more. Why other vampires detest cave systems, I can't say. It seems like something they'd be well suited for, and yet...
It was Tuesday morning when we set off from the Luknja, hoping to be back at the hotel sometime on Thursday afternoon. The coach the hotel had provided for us, had been packed with provisions, our bulging backpacks, and an air of untameable excitement.
"I swear, Christopher," said Martin, as he strut down the coach's aisle, waving a solemn finger directly at me, "We are going to break new ground! *Records.* This cave system will be renamed after us. Forget 'Cehi,' they'll call it Mart-anya-pher, after this. You mark my words!"
Elanya giggled (politely, I assume). I somehow refrained from rolling my eyes. But while full of bravado and hot air, Martin was, at the very least, infectiously uplifting. Selena was not on the bus with us, and we were instead to meet the vampire (for the first time) inside the cave system, on account of her predicting a clear day -- unusual for the Slovenian winter. A note had been delivered to the hotel in the early hours of the morning informing us of this plan.
I glanced out of the window; the sun was a shimmering halo of orange, lazily simmering in the cloudless, early afternoon sky. Selena had already made one correct decision, and that brought a modicum of relief to an unease that had settled insidiously in my stomach.
We soon arrived and, with the help of the porter who had accompanied us on the coach, we hauled our bags and belongings off the vehicle. The coach seemed to sigh in relief as the weight was lifted from it. Not a huge burden, but still a great weight for such an ancient, sorrowful vehicle.
"Holy..." Martin began.
"*Shit*," Elanya continued, her French accent turning the profanity into a soft '*sheet*'.
I turned to see what had caused their surprise and found the cave entrance: it looked like the maw of a hungry demon, it's throat spiralling into the ground. Red and black seemed to sparkle in the void below.
"Good to you luck," said the porter, his face pale, as he hopped back on the bus. "We come again, Thursday. Two."
I gave the boy a wad of notes, and he gave back a polite curl of his thin lips. His hand shook as he took the money.
Martin leaned into the dark mouth. "Selena?" he yelled. "Selena!"
*Nothing.*
"Guess we'll have to find her," I said, wincing as I coaxed my backpack onto my shoulders.
Martin turned to me.
"You're the one with experience. How about you go first?"
| 2018-01-16T08:12:41
| 2018-01-16T05:40:05
| 126
| 70
|
[WP] What if tattoos just randomly appeared on our skin at key points in our lives and we had to figure out what they meant for ourselves.
[WP] Saw this as a shower thoughts post and no one put it up as a writing prompt. Credit to OP 69PrivateJoker
Edit: Wow! I really didn't expect this post to blow up so much. Thanks everyone, there's some really really good work here
|
Nowadays it's an industry. Glorified fortune-tellers and old-fashioned crackpots, trying to tell us what it all means. In my opinion, humanity would have been better off if it had never started happening. All the tattoos did was tempt you to try and mess with the future. The worst part was they could never be wrong, because the way I saw it, they didn't actually mean a damn thing.
I got my first one at 7, at the altar, in front of everyone. A cross. I guess they thought it meant I was destined for seminary school or some shit, because after that we never missed a Mass. In the end, Father Matthias got 25 to life for kiddy fiddling, and I was the one who finally ratted on him. Funny how things turn out, huh?
The second one didn't come for a while, right about the time I thought I was finally in the clear. I had a long-term girlfriend by then, two or so years younger than me, nice girl. Her only mark was a pair of wings. A few months later she flew right out of my life with some asshole she met on craigslist looking for a one night stand, but that's not relevant to the story. We were visiting her sister and her husband, and that night we had all decided to go out barhopping. So I'm just sitting there, sipping on my drink, when a guy comes sprinting in like the Devil himself is coming for him. That's when it showed up. A single drop of blood. Now at this point I'm about ready to bug out, but for some reason I stayed. Maybe the same reason these things happen in the first place. Same reason when the cops finally showed up the guy opened up with the Glock under his shirt and paralyzed me from the waist down.
Today, as I grabbed the last of the beer out of the fridge, I noticed some black ink on my wrist. A grave, and a single flower. And that's when I realized. The tattoos aren't our future. They're what we fear we've become. They're everything we want to be, and everything we never dreamed off. There is a God, a cruel and merciless one, and all he's trying to do is give us a false sense of all this meaning something. And I can't fucking take it any more.
--------------------------------------------------
>ARNOLD JENNINGS, 43
>
>Mr. Jennings was struck by an oncoming car while attempting to cross Park Boulevard at approximately 7:48 PM. Police say the driver most likely left the scene of the accident immediately after the crash. He is survived by his mother, Alice Jennings, 68, and his brother, Jeremy "JJ" Jennings, 40.
|
He stood there, staring intently at the reflection of his naked body. His father, grandfather, and great grandfather all had a tattoo appear on their breast in the first moments of their respective 24th birthdays. It has been three minutes already, and yet nothing has appeared on Qi-wei's body.
"You'll feel a strong, piercing pain as the mark begins to form," Jing-sun, his wife, explained. "Either way, our research presentation is tomorrow, better go to sleep."
With hope turning into disappointment, he willingly followed Jing-sun to the apartment bedroom. Coming to Stanford University from China with her was the best choice he had ever made. The area was nice, the world was optimistic, and he had escaped his parent's unending oppression with the woman he loved. As he lied there, staring into her gorgeous brown eyes, he gave her the ritual good-night kiss on the forehead. Unsatisfied, Jing-sun took the leap.
"We really need to...." Qi-wei stopped, as pain suddenly overcame his left breast. Marks began to form in an indiscriminate fashion. The lines slowly came together, forming what appeared to be a Chinese character.
"Life," Jing-sun whispered. Her eyes widened at the assumed prospect. What now? She wasn't ready, he wasn't ready. They were both over 10,000 in debt, and the word that formed had to be "life." Panic-stricken, Jing-sun felt tears roll down her face and into Qi-wei's chest, holding him tightly, praying to the lord that this wasn't what it meant.
Qi-wei had no idea what he felt. Happiness? Fear? Regardless, all he could do in the moment was hold the woman he loved, and cry with her.
| 2014-08-02T17:31:06
| 2014-08-02T17:11:15
| 51
| 34
|
[WP] You're a human trader for the intergalactic slave market. Advertise to buyers why they should buy human instead of another species.
|
Everyone, come look at these amazing watersacks! Each one of them 90% water!
Have you ever been sitting in you captain's chair and thought "I could use a drink"? Well now we have these portable, self maneuvering watersacks! Each one trained to obey and come when called. Just shout for a water sack and soon you'll be sipping on a delicious treat.
The secret behind this amazing creature is the blood, which contains tons of antioxidants and all natural flavors. Once you've had your fill of those lovely bodily fluids you can eat the skeleton for a satisfying crunchy snack.
Here we have a demonstration of the best way to get at the fluids from these amazing watersacks. First you use stab your proboscis into the creatures main artery located here on its neck. Once you've punctured this part of the body be ready as it has a habit of forcing too much fluid out at once. Beginners may want to try drinking from other places such as the leg, arms or chest.
Come on down and get yourself some all natural antioxidant filled watersacks!
|
"So why in the hell would I buy a weak little human huh?" The fat Canidae merchant asked with a grunt. "Why sir they are the most clever species I have in stock. Twice as smart as an U'Tharian elder, as hard working as a Kimotite, and can learn at the speed of an adult Yitori." S-918 said with a wide smile on his liquid metal face. "I make mining runs between planets and I highly doubt that I could use something so...soft." The merchant said and began to walk out of S-918's peddler tent. "Okay, okay, half price for two!" The robot said following the giant merchant into the crowded street. The fat merchant grinned and then asked mockingly, "Can they navigate using a KM-988 system?" There was an awkward pause between them and then the robot said, "Well they have many, many other skills." The merchant folded both pairs of his grey, furry arms and asked, "Could they learn to speak Canu'deh? I need slaves that can communicate with the CM refineries while I handle other business on the ship." The robot rubbed his silver hands together and said, "Of course they can! And how handy would it be to have a learning species with you on your journeys? They also make great pets!" The merchant waited a while and finally agreed. The two of them shook hands and then the robot went to retrieve the two human children from their mother.
| 2014-11-22T08:53:50
| 2014-11-22T06:06:52
| 40
| 24
|
[WP]A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell,only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over
|
I felt death creep over me, I welcomed it and closed my eyes, eager to escape.
Just as expected I found myself on top of a cloud with a *stunning* woman with wings smiling in front of me. She had long blond hair, blue eyes, and was wearing a robe. The whole cloud was illuminated with a radiant golden light, and beyond the literal angel I could make out a pair of enormous gates made out of some sort of translucent material, diamond or pearl most likely.
I looked up to the angel who had smile that sped up my heartbeat. "I...is this heaven?" was all I could manage.
She just smiled, "what do you think?"
Of course it was heaven, who wouldn't know it. The cloud, the light, the gates, it was all exactly how I expected it to be. "*I* made it to heaven?"
She laughed, the laugh of a young woman, not at all like an immortal angel, "Of course you did, Mark. What? You didn't think you would?"
"I..." I averted my eyes from the angel. "It..it's just that I had doubts you know? Towards the end. Was what I doing really right?"
Again she gave me the smile that made all my my worries vanish. "Oh Mark, your penance is done."
I looked at her sharply, "my penance?"
She nodded solemnly and said softly, "you were in hell, Mark."
I gulped. "*That* was hell?!" My mind went over my life, my childhood, teenage years, and my adulthood... All of it was a punishment.
I started to cry.
The angel leaned down and held my head in her arms. "I understand how awful that must have been, Mark, but it had to be done, it was the Lord's will."
I nodded absently, still sobbing.
"I'm sorry to ask this, Mark, but to gain entry to heaven you have to tell me what you learned, what you felt. It's just a formality, an exit poll of sorts."
I shook my head, tears finally subsiding. "I..I can't, don't want to think about it again."
"I'm sorry, Mark, I really am, but you have to. If you don't you can't enter." Her eyes shone with tears, no doubt hurt to see my sorrow.
"I...alright. I'll be quick, though," I warned.
The angel nodded, and stepped away from me, motioning for me to begin.
"Well Mom and Da-"
"Oh!" The angel interrupted, "You can't lie either, Mark, if you do you can't enter until you tell the truth."
I gulped. I had been hoping to skip over or modify some details, but if I was just going to have to tell it again I decided just to tell the truth, to get all out of my system for the last time.
"Yeah...my Mom and Dad were fine in the beginning I guess, when I was young. But as I turned around 13 they...they stopped loving me."
I paused to take a shuddering breath.
"They didn't like what I was doing in my time. Said I shouldn't be hanging out with the wrong sort of people, that I shouldn't do drugs. They didn't even like it when I played with the Squirrels! They said what I was doing was sick, that they were alive and could feel pain. I mean...they were just squirrels, and it was fun. "
The angel nodded along solemnly, "...terrible," she said.
I nodded, finally, someone who understood. I continued, "and...and then there was Megan in college. I really liked her, like *really* liked her. She didn't even talk to me. But I knew she liked me too, the way she walked around in front of me, wearing those clothes...It was obvious that she wanted me too, I had consent.."
The angel's face was blank, and she said nothing.
I hurried to continue. "After that, you know, I panicked. Megan was really crying, and then she was angry. And...and I couldn't do anything to *her* you know, that would be wrong. I couldn't kill her.
"Of course you couldn't, Mark," said the angel.
"So I ran," I was hurrying now, the story soon to end, "and the police came after me. Pointed guns at me. I was in a car, and this one officer stepped in front of the road, gun pointed at me. I...I couldn't just get out of the car, turn myself in, you know? I had to protect myself. It was self defense!"
I looked to the angel for confirmation, but the angel had turned away from me, her face hidden by a golden swath of hair.
A"After that, well, I just drove...drove and drove. Thinking. I thought I'd messed up, that I was a bad person. That maybe I wasn't doing the right thing. I...I couldn't bear to think like that, think that I was a monster this whole time. So..." I shrugged, "I ended it, drove off a cliff."
I looked down, drained, ashamed. "I shouldn't have had any doubts. I made it here didn't I? I wasn't a bad person then! I really have learned a lesson."
The angel turned back to me. I expected her to smile, to cry.
I didn't expect her to be angry.
It was a terrible thing, witnessing her rage. It was terrifying. Thunder rumbled and the cloud I was standing on began to darken, the gates of heaven began to smoke.
The angel looked at me, so intensely that I felt she was looking at my soul. "Your punishment is far from over, Mark, you sorry thing." Her voice held no sympathy however, just an intense rage, "This is your curse, your personal hell. This is 52nd time you have lived that life, and like all times you never learn, you tell me the same sick story, and think that you deserve to be in heaven."
I stared at her.
"You disgust me, Mark. Now go, live again, feel the doubt, the pain, the terror, all over again. Do it again and again, and maybe after a million years you will realize the error of your ways."
"N...no," I stammered, shocked at this turn of events, "I made it to heaven! It's over!"
She laughed a terrible laugh. "Goodbye, Mark, see you in another life."
***
Feedback is always welcome, and if you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
"Uh-uh. Yeah, buddy. Well, you know what, fuck you too. Next." The bloke clutching the cockel-spaniel took his stamped passport and filed out towards a rather impressive baggage reclaim, proceeded to ignore it entirely and wandered to a distant "Nothing to Declare" sign so cursive it deserved it's own gallery.
The balding border guard reckoned he'd achieved a new level of indifference as he waved her over. He'd screamed 'next' twelve-thousand times this morning and he'd be damned to Mundus if he had to bloody well say it again. It always dawned on him right about now, during his mid-morning brood why it couldn't be all automated. He could do with a bloody coffee, or a nap, why not both. The girl was still standing, in the wrong place past the yellow line the savage; as usual, another supposedly lost soul saved from damnation.
The shivering specimen in question was currently petrified. She would've liked a spaniel, maybe a pomeranian, anything cute to distract her aetherial gatekeeper from what would surely be a swift judgement followed by barbecue. She hadn't imagined St.Peter would literally be at the gates. Damn. If only she'd finished reading "11 tips in border security for asylum-seekers" on the toilet last week. Part of her wished she'd gone to church, or at least brushed up on the dialect. Maybe a confession would've been appropriate, or maybe describing her job would only give the priest rather an unwanted hard trouser-dachshund of his own. Either way it was too late now, and much too late to wear some more,umm, conservative afterlife clothing.
She'd had a moment to think about it all in the queue, death and all that, but swiftly arrived at the conclusion that she was glad there was at least something after death. It certainly beat crushing unexistence any day. Oh God(s?) what if this was the wrong religion, or a sect or something? She took one last look around for potential racist stereotypes she could cling onto. Nothing. Everyone was here, and all she guessed were in their 20's. Her boobs hadn't looked this good for at least a decade on the other side, that's for sure. No children though, oddly. They must be processed separately. Her border guard had passed through disgust, to mild amazement and now cycled back through to a solid glare. She musted up the courage and tried to hop to the counter.
"Um..good, er..evening, your holiness?"
"Oh for fuc- you know what, if you're going to do that schtick again, I'm just going to send you right the hell back there."
"What? Oh Go-I mean, I'm sorr-"
"Just state your name".
"Cassandra J. Hewitt"
"Year of death?"
"Excuse me?"
"My holy ass is going to throttle you if you don't answer, and then you'll be the one filling out the papers on how you've got a one-way ticket back for both of us, I swear."
"Back to Earth?"
"Where else, idiot. You think Dante's going to show up and take you to the other six?"
"Never mind. 2016. July the tenth."
"Mhmm. Yep that's right. You got parole at thirty-three. Congratulations. They're getting stricter and stricter with the controls, what with the antibiotics and the cancer ther..."
"Parole?" Her border guard sighed. She wondered if it was St.Peter after all.
"Okay. Fine. I'm going to pretend I haven't answered this question at least like ten-thousand times today."
"Excuse me?"
"Did you or did you not read the landing card and orientation booklet?"
"What, the prison advert?"
"For the love of Beelzebub's steamy asshole, yes, the orientation booklet". The guard was whispering now, as if her mere presence was painful.
"No. I didn't."
"Alright. Well then. Welcome back, let's hope you can continue being a good girl and make your way up and put this episode behind you. Not I nor anyone takes any responsibility for any and all fiendish deeds done to you during your stay in hell."
"Hell? No. I was alive. On Earth."
"Yes. Correct, and we're not liable for any of the torture, except maybe the rape, oh and the bronies. Yeah, you might want to sue for those two being in there." He finished listing the potential goldmines for compensation with a flourish and proceeded to stamp a small, black leather passport.
"Right. You've been approved for return to the Overworld. You'll like it, especially someone with, well, your profession. Let's say I didn't recognize you at first. There's good reality TV in there, your kind of videos too, you know, from an actual reality this time. Okay, shoo. Next!"
Cass barely had time to grip the passport. She tried to hold back the tears as she walked shell-shocked past "emotional baggage re-claim" and tried to find her satchel, only to realize she was already holding it. For a moment she considered tossing it like so many others onto the rotating catherine-wheel of a pile, be done with the pain of the old. But no, there was a world awaiting behind those cursive letters of "nothing to declare" that just wouldn't be the same without its brown leather full of suffering. She slung it over a shoulder and wondered who, if anyone, had called her a taxi.
| 2016-12-13T12:44:23
| 2016-12-13T11:47:45
| 103
| 26
|
[WP] You're a judge, with special abilities to read minds, and see into one's past. There is an innocent man on trial for murder. However, the opposition lawyer have very concrete fake evidence that convicts him. Tell me the process of you saving the innocent accused.
|
This was a massive changing point in my career, do I try and be the hero and risk my credibility? Or do I just have to suck it up and deal with the guilt? This man was brought here against his will and now had a whole trial to deal with. He was already poor, I could see it. How would he pay for his legal fees? I couldn't live with the image of this man rotting in a cell for the rest of my life. I had to take action.
Now all alone in my office, I started pouring over the evidence looking for holes. This is what I trained all my life for, right? It was all fake but how? I hadn't read the opposition's mind deeply enough, I needed more. I picked up some random books from my shelf and started walking out into the entrance hall of the court. There was the lawyer! I deliberately walked into him sending his coffee flying across the room and my books crashing to the floor.
"I'm so sorry!" He said "I wasn't looking, let me pick up your books for you.
He bent down and started to compile my bizarre collection.
"To Kill A Mockingbird? A fine novel but I don't see it's relation to this case."
"Ah yes, a judge needs to relax before they can probably consult evidence." I replied. It was no easy feat to think up plausible responses when trying to delve into someone's mind but my dedication to justice prevailed.
"And this." Remarked the lawyer smarmily as he held up a book about Italian Wine.
"A present for my husband."
"Your husband has good taste. What is his favourite wine?"
"Am I the one on trial here, Mr. Rinder?"
"No, your honor." He replied as his cocky facade slipped away. "Here are your books."
I snatched back my books with a glare and retreated to my office repeating what I'd seen in my head. The defendant's car was found in a scrapyard with the victim's blood smeared on the seats. However, the victim was a regular blood donor and their blood had been unlawfully stolen. I hastily phoned the hospital and sure enough, they told me that the victims blood had disappeared around the time of the murder. I made sure the conversation was recorded and began to recall the second fakery. The blood-stained car was taken from the suspect's house to the scrapyard while the innocent man slept. I immediately rushed to the scrapyard and checked their CCTV records. Clear as day, a white man was seen on the night of the murder stepping out of the car. The defendant is black.
With my charm and persuasion, I could easily win the case with this evidence. I returned to the courtroom with confidence knowing that this man could be saved from life in prison and justice would be preserved. I swiftly lay into the opposition. I found myself getting feisty, criticising the lawyer's appearance. He tried to speak but I wouldn't stop the onslaught, with every look at the man I gleamed new evidence. My adrenaline converted all my rage against this man into cold hard facts. There were cheers coming from the back and the defendant was shocked at what he was seeing. After my statement was over, I calmly retreated to my office to wait for the jury's decision. I made a coffee and started to reread To Kill A Mockingbird. I got as far as the end of Chapter 1 when a friendly receptionist peeked her head round my door and ushered me back to the courtroom.
It was a landslide in favour to the defendant by 19-1. He even started to weep as I stepped down from the stand and started to retreat back to my office once more. My moment of glory was cut short when two men approached me with an offer. I struggled to hear what they were saying as the chants of "JUDY! JUDY!" were still ringing from the courtroom.
"Mrs. Sheindlin, after your performance at the audition today we would like to offer you a television deal."
"Your saying that this was all a audition for some kind of TV show?" I replied, my head spinning trying to process all this new information.
"I am afraid so, your Honor. Do you want the job?"
"Yeah, why not? I was sick of being a real judge anyway."
This was a massive changing point in my career but not in the way I expected.
|
I wake up in the morning with an intense migraine and a now-emptied-out cheap bottle of wine tipped over the side of my bed, leaving a stain that runs down the side of my mattress onto the carpet beneath it. I realize why I must have drank so heavily last night as I take out my phone and see that I have to present another case today. And I've overslept by half an hour.
I can tell today's going to be as terrible as always.
I'm already running through the events of the day in my head. I'm going to head into the court, only to find some cocky thug waiting for me that has the aura of someone who thinks he knows everything about the way the world works. I'm going to see into his past and live through yet another brutal crime of some sort acted out with no regard to the pain and suffering caused through their actions.
As I look into the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth a little later on in the morning, I wonder how it is that I manage to stay looking so... clean. It's not like I could care one way or the other anymore, but as a judge I suppose I have to make appearances look prominent. Still, it feels like extra work that's just a chore for the sake of a chore at this point.
Granted, it's not like I look like some sort of model. If that were the case, then that's surely what I would have gone into over the mess I've gotten myself in now. Anything but being a judge would have been better.
Not that I could've known any better back when I decided how I would spend my life. Back when I decided how to use my gift of seeing into another's past.
I had thought that being a judge would have been genius, that I could be able to single handedly determine the guilt or innocence of a suspect. No more innocent people would have to suffer if I just went into a court and looked at them in the right way. It was perfect.
Little did I know that I would never be prepared for what I would see. Every. Single. Case. Some defendants were nervous and shaking the earth out of fright. Some would end up being far more confident with their case and their likeliness to be let go. Some would win, some would lose. But in the end, all of them ended up being the same. All of them were guilty, and I had to relive tragedy day after day.
In my first case, I almost went into shock over what I relived the defendant doing. I'll never forget it; walking up to the side of his mother's car as she waited for the garage door to open, and firing right into the passenger side window. Her lying limp as he just stood there, looking at the consequences of his actions. I had thought then that I would be able to put up with the terrible images if it meant at some point I saved an innocent life from pain.
Then I saw drugs being dropped into a girls coffee when she wasn't looking. I saw the gun being pointed at the cashier in a bank. I saw a car ram into a pedestrian while the driver was drunkenly swerving across the road. I saw a lot of scenes that I could never unsee, and never once did I look to find that I didn't see those scenes. So after not too long, I just stopped looking.
---
I know that I haven't finished everything in terms of the prompt, but I thought this was a good stopping point for now. This is my first try at writing something this long, and even though I kept on thinking that it wasn't good enough, I just kinda pushed through until I got this far. Suggestions on how I could write better are really encouraged, and if people want to see it enough I'll write more to this story.
Thanks a lot for reading my first attempt at something this long, guys.
* numdegased
| 2016-07-11T17:59:30
| 2016-07-11T16:02:59
| 58
| 12
|
[WP] You finally have an exterminator scheduled to rid your place of cock roaches. You wake up to see a whole mass of them next to your bed. They want to negotiate.
|
**ARTICLES OF SURRENDER**
WHEREAS the Unified Cockroach Commune (UCC) of 45 Falsie Ave has decided to submit itself to the sovereign authority of householder John D. Magnusson (herein "King Magnusson")
WHEREAS King Magnusson has agreed to recieve the complete and unconditional surrender of the UCC, and to forgive all past misunderstandings and differences in the interest of continued peace,
The UCC therefore consents to the following articles of peace.
----
ARTICLE 1: The UCC shall immediately dissolve. It will be replaced by a governing council of directors (provisionally entitled the Cockroach Oversight Enforcement Committtee, or COEC), to be appointed at the discretion of King Magnusson. The COEC will act as the representatives and enforcers of King Magnusson's will.
ARTICLE 2: All cockroaches will observe a curfew between the hours of 9:00 PM and 9:00 AM GMT, inclusive. Between these hours, movement in the walls shall be minimized, and movement across the floor prohibited.
ARTICLE 3: King Magnusson will present daily portions of food for the benefit of the cockroach community of Falsie Ave., portioned to a size appropriate to community population. In return, the cockroach community shall no longer enter garbage cans, fruit baskets, refrigerators, or other receptacles on the premise.
ARTICLE 4: The cockroach population of 45 Falsie Avenue is hereby capped at 500 residents. Excess residents will be forced to emigrate, on pain of execution.
ARTICLE 5: The cockroach community shall present King Magnusson with a monthly tribute of valuable goods as they see fit.
ARTICLE 6: The cockroach community shall obey King Magnusson's orders unconditionally and immediately.
ARTICLE 7: King Magnusson shall forbear the use of insecticide and exterminators on the property.
ARTICLE 8: The cockroach community shall form a military wing, which will be tasked with the pursuit and extermination of all other insects and any arachnids which trespass upon the property.
----
On this, the 12th of October in the year of our lord 2015, we, the undersigned, consent to the aforementioned terms of peace,
His Grace, John D. Magnusson, King of 45 Falsie Avenue, Lord of the Cockroaches
[here 15 tiny X marks, one for each leading member of the UCC]
|
"Look, we get it. You don't like us. We aren't your biggest fans either bud, but what have we ever done to you?"
"You guys were in my sandwich! As I was eating it! I mean come on, that's just horrible."
"Yeah ok, that wasn't great. But Joey is real sorry. Plus, you took off one of his legs in the process."
"Oh god... i ate a cockroach."
"Na, just a leg. He has spares. But other than that?"
"You guys are filthy! You crawl all over the place getting in the muck."
"Yeah we have been meaning to talk to you about that. Heard of a hoover? Or disinfectant? This place is a bit of a tip. Besides, you're one to talk. Us filthy? We've seen what you do with the sock under your bed... that's just nasty. Pete got stuck in it."
"Umm you saw that? Never mind, it's my flat! You're just freeloading and making the place look bad. That girl I brought back, she saw you in the kitchen and ran!"
"Dave did you a favour. She wasn't right for you. I mean, did you not see the track marks on her arms? You were kind of drunk...
You're right though, we don't really pull our weight. How about a deal?"
"Ok... I'm listening. I'm clearly insane, but go a head."
"We will chip in for rent. Joey will stop pissing in your mouth when you are askeep. Keep out spiders and other bugs, that kind of thing. If you get a cleaner and stop leaving dirty underwear all over."
"Hmm. I do hate spiders"
"Us too. Cocky fuckers with their webs. Knitting out of their arse. How's that special?"
"Ok ok... I'll call off the exterminator."
"Thanks man. Oh, one last request?"
"What?"
"Wear some damn pants... We don't want to see your junk all the time."
| 2015-03-30T14:44:01
| 2015-03-30T14:43:10
| 125
| 24
|
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
|
I remember well when I first saw the "Human Update 1.1 progress" counter in the corner of my eye. I was still young, but I can't forget how the waves of confusion grew and changed. First people were asking each other if they could see it, then it hit the social networks, people from all over the world tweeting, facebooking and redditing asking the same questions. Then it erupted over the news with experts and opinionated guests telling us their thoughts.
The progress bar didn't change at all in the first years. The media frenzy died down and people stopped talking about it, it was just a fact of life that no-one thought about much.
I was a bit like how you never think about how you can always see your nose, but you never notice it sticking out of your face until someone tells you how strange it that you never notice it.
But then something changed, the percentage jumped a whole 0.3%. There was a whole new wave of News shows and experts and opinionated guests, but no-one had any answers.
Over the next few years the percentage jumped erratically, sometimes 0.1%, and sometimes bigger. But the biggest surprise was when the percentage went down. Everyone had their own theories about what caused it, and whether it was a good thing, but everyone was just guessing.
It wasn't until 2025, when NASA launched the first manned mission to Mars that we finally started getting some answers. The day of the launch was unforgettable, just how I imagined the Apollo missions were all those years before I was born.
As the ship left Earth orbit, the percentage jumped by a whole 2%. Bearing in mind we were only at 2.4% after 11 whole years. It was our first big clue.
When the ship reached Mars it jumped up another 1.3% leaving us at 5.5%.
Governments around the world started to pump money into manned space exploration and science. The Space Agencies flourished and started producing amazing new technologies, like the nano-carbon graphite lithium batteries, or the micro thorium power plants, which started finding their way into everyday life.
Soon the Western World was free from fossil fuels and running on clean safe renewable energies. The resulting drop in pollution and CO2 was matched by a 5% rise on the progress meter.
It started to click, soon China and India were fossil fuel free. Russia and the Middle East took a while to persuade, but after they switched and the whole world was fossil fuel free, the total jumped to 35%.
GMO crops in Africa reversed desertification, and cured the starvation problem, another 7% rise.
Any war or injustice in the world was punished by a percentage drop. Anytime a dictatorship was quashed or a civil liberty granted, it rose. Soon there were no wars, no hatred toward other countries, everyone wanted to see what would happen when we reached 100%, and they were doing everything they could to get there.
We did away with passports and money, nuclear weapons, our Armies and Navies, because with were rewarded with our precious percentage points.
Today my meter says 99.9%, but it has said that for the past 20 years. The world is now a Utopia, there is no poverty, hunger or war, people have never been happier.
I still wonder if it was morally wrong tricking everyone, I think it's turned out for the best, but I don't think I can ever let them reach 100%.
|
The usual clicking in the office suddenly fell silent. It took nearly as long to notice everyone else had stopped working as it had to be absolutely certain of what I was seeing. Slowly, cautiously turning to look at my neighboring coworker, I saw the slack-jawed, wide-eyed confusion on his face that told me all I needed to know: he was seeing it as well. He was trembling, stammering and incapable of forming the question I already knew was coming. I gave him a small, shaky nod. He swallowed hard before he tried to speak again.
"B-b-but what does it mean?" he managed to force out. All I could do was slowly turn my head side to side. I was just as lost as he was. The same kinds of questions could be heard in panicked whispers all throughout the office. Some people tried to continue working to keep their mind off of it, but you could tell from the sound that their hands were shaking. There really was no way to ignore it.
By the time the work day was over, the download had only managed six percent. Some people were so frightened and shaking so bad, they didn't even get up to leave. They may have made the right decision. There were numerous accidents on the way home. It made sense, though. It becomes very difficult to focus on driving when your impending fate is constantly looming in your peripheral vision. I was fortunate enough to make it home an hour late.
Hoping food would help me relax, I quickly made dinner and sat down to watch some TV, hoping it might keep my mind off of things. Big mistake. Every single channel was taken over by a news broadcast filled with wild speculations about the same thing. Problem was, no one knew any more than anyone else. We were all just completely lost to our imaginations. I quickly finished my dinner and headed to bed, hoping to have a chance to rest my mind. 9% complete. This thing was taking forever.
In the morning, I was even more of a groggy mess than usual. Turns out the damn popup doesn't go away when you sleep, so my mind was just as panicked in my sleep as it was the day before. Dragging myself out of bed, I rubbed my eyes hard before checking on the status again: 21%. I couldn't believe how long this thing was taking. You would think the human body would get a better download speed. I let out a sigh and got ready for work.
Don't know what I expected when I got to work. No one was working; it was impossible to focus. Everyone was too caught up in speculating about what might happen when it finishes. My boss didn't even show up. Guess he feared the worst and decided to stay home with his family.
The next few days saw fewer and fewer people showing up for work. I don't blame them. I would have done the same if I really had anywhere else to be. The download was creeping along at a snails pace, but apparently some lucky bastards must have had a better connection somehow. Their downloads were one or two percent ahead of everyone else. Seemed like mostly the tall people. I guess the extra height gave them a better Wifi signal or something, but I don't know if I would consider getting this download finished sooner would actually be a good thing or not.
On the evening of the fourth day of the download, it was finally nearing completion. I sat in complete silence on my sofa, barely drinking the whiskey I grabbed when I got home. It was meant for a special occasion, but I figure I may never have that chance. There was no point turning on the TV, it was all looting, chaos and panic as all too many people felt the end was near. 98%.
There was a knock on the door. Staring at the door in disbelief, I didn't even move except turning my head. They knocked again. I climbed to my feet and slowly opened the door a crack as they raised their hand to knock again. My neighbor's flustered visage greeted me as he attempted to find the words to explain himself.
"I...I didn't even know why I'm here. It's just...I don't have anybody left. My family don't talk to me, and I can't even get a call to go out to reach any of my friends. I just needed to not be alone when this happens, whatever it is." He was in the same boat as me. Never married, no kids. No one to turn to. I opened the door and let him in. 99%
We sat in silence as the as we waited to see what transformation might come. What world-altering magic may transpire. He talked about his childhood, and his family, and why they don't talk anymore. I just silently listened, barely sipping my booze. He started praying. I had never been a religious man, but I listened to his prayers anyway, just in case following along might save me too.
Then he suddenly froze mid-sentence. I hadn't even been watching the download it was taking so long.
100%. Please restart to apply update.
"Restart? I guess we...need to go to sleep?" I muttered.
"Y-yeah man, I think so. Mind if I crash on your couch?" he inquired.
Ready to just get this over with already, I tossed him a blanket and headed off to bed. If only sleep were found so easily when there was so much excitement for tomorrow. My mind raced for hours, while my neighbor managed to be snoring in forty minutes.
Suddenly startled out of my slumber by a loud but distant bang, I checked myself over. Expecting the very fiber of my existence to be changed, I started searching myself up and down, expecting to find some kind of alteration. But what I noticed instead was even more terrifying:
100%. Please restart to apply update.
| 2015-03-05T03:48:32
| 2015-03-04T18:59:30
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] You have been Don of the largest mafia in New York for so long, that all credible sources of you ever killing anyone has died. At a family meeting, a young know-it-all, whose recently claimed his seat, says you've gone soft.
|
Cesario was embarrassed for young Eriberto. The hot-shot wunderkind, feeling emboldened by his fifth – or was it his sixth? – glass of wine, was running his mouth off about everyone – everyone including Don Savio himself.
"Maybe you should tone it down, Eriberto," Cesario whispered across the table.
"He can't hear me," Eriberto smirked. "Look at the old man."
Cesario brought his attention to the man at the head of the table. Yes, the silver-haired Don Savio was old, but he was still sharp. He watched as Savio's wrinkles deepened, his dark eyes squinting at the oversized smartphone in his trembling hand. He pecked at the screen like an arthritic chicken. Sharp enough, thought Cesario.
"Nobody takes us seriously anymore. The Micks and the Japs are stealing more of our territory every day while he sits around taste testing marinara. I said it before and I'll say it again: the old man is soft! They know it and you all know it too." Eriberto downed the remainder of his wine in one gulp and slammed the glass down onto the table.
The room fell silent as all eyes fell upon Eriberto. Only Don Savio remained distant, his attention still on his phone.
Eriberto leaned forward. He stared at Cesario with his striking green eyes. Cesario could see why Eriberto had a reputation with the ladies, why he shared his bed with the beautiful Agostina. He had looks and he had charm, but he had no respect.
"Only the hard survive. We need a new leader," he muttered. "You're all thinking it. I'm just saying it."
"And who do you propose become our new leader? You?"
Eriberto leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "If necessary."
Cesario felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at the screen before slipping it away. "One more round of wine," he said gesturing to the waiter. "Then it is time to retire."
Later that evening Cesario watched his breath float around him like phantoms. The winter air felt refreshing on his wine-reddened cheeks. He watched as Eriberto stumbled up the front steps of his sleek modern apartment building, his keys clanging against one another in his fumbling hands.
Cesario began approaching the building. He knew it wouldn't be long once Eriberto was inside. He and Agostina lived on the first floor.
He thought he heard muffled shouts from inside the building. He waited at the base of the steps and listened.
The door opened and a gasping Eriberto nearly fell down the steps. He collapsed to his knees at Cesario's feet and clutched his black dress pants with crimson red hands.
"Jesus Christ Cesario!" Eriberto cried. "Agostina! Agostina!"
Cesario eyed the door as two hulkish men in trench coats emerged in the frame. He looked back down to the sobering and sobbing Eriberto.
"I'd like to read you a text message," Cesario said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Its the hard things that break. Soft things don't break." He put the phone away and gestured to the men. They came down the steps and hoisted the impotent Eriberto to his shaking feet.
"And now we're going to shatter you into a million pieces."
|
At the ripe old age of 72, some might not have Don Pehote down as the violent type. Nowadays, you didn't cross the street to avoid him, you kindly asked him if he needed help crossing it.
The Don had successfully run the Sol family for the past 4 decades. Starting as a lowly teenaged hitman back in 1949, he'd slowly risen through the ranks. Currently, he had over 40 assassinations to his name. Ironically, his efficiency meant that his credibility amongst gangsters was purely speculative.
Rumours of his incompetence began to emerge. Talk of him inheriting his share in the country's largest narcotics ring by pure luck and deception. The family tended to make short work of those opposing them. But when Andy Icarlo began to promulgate these rumours too, something more drastic had to be done.
Icarlo was an up-and-coming youngster in the family, soaring through the ranks of its branch in Miami in the ever-booming ecstasy trade. At his age, the Don could have had one of his henchmen organise a car accident or what have you, but this was personal. His own man. He needed to do this himself.
The security guards did not stop him at the entrance to Icarlo's sprawling complex, for they knew better than to stop a man whose power rivalled that of the President. They greeted him, but he ignored this.
You could see it dawn on Icarlo as four bullets pierced his chest. That look the Don had seen so many times before. Pure terror. He placed the gun on the edge of the bed as Icarlo's girlfriend for the evening sat screaming over his lifeless body.
"Soft?" Don Pehote chuckled dryly. "I've still got it."
| 2015-10-03T11:58:18
| 2015-10-03T11:56:09
| 34
| 12
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
"Come on in" I heard a tired voice call out. I stepped into the room, and saw our leader looking worn out and tired. "Is everything alright sir?" I ask. "I'm thinking of surrendering to Belgium." He said. "But they're the last country standing in our way of continental domination?!! Their tech is from the 22nd century, their lasers can barely penetrate the average drones first layer of armor! Why would we surrender???!!!" I exclaimed in shock. The fuhrer looked at me with a dead look in his eyes, and asked one question that would change my life: "Would world peace really be that ridiculous?"
|
The Germans look out over all they have conquered with smug grins on their face.
But then they see something in the distance. Two armies, one from the west and one from the north east, are riding out towards them.
The impossible had happened, American and Russia have teamed up.
The Germans raise little white flags.
| 2017-08-18T05:12:07
| 2017-08-18T02:50:27
| 29
| 10
|
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
|
Grax shouted into the camera for the hundredth time, spittle spraying in an arc in front of him. I wondered, not the first time, if any was getting on the lens. If the camera feed went down or was at least blurred enough, I could possibly make some sort of escape without blowing my cover.
“This man will die if you are not here in the next five minutes, Jade Enchantress! I know who he is, what he means to you!” A smile curled his lips as he spat this last threat, pointing a finger at me. The idiot villain really thought he had figured something out by tracking this version of me to most of the same places my superhero identity frequented.
I sighed through my gag, my eyes rolling just a bit. Grax caught this, and slapped me across my face, his steel gauntlets causing my ears to ring slightly. If I were the slightly overweight middle aged man I appeared to be, that would have really done some damage. He’s not very experienced with the “fragile human hostage” thing.
“Be glad I have let you live this long. Your lover will be here soon, and then I shall end you both!”
I cringed a little at “lover.” The gender difference was weird as hell, and I really didn’t like to talk about it. It’s not like you can help what the ancient jade artifact grants you the power to turn into. I’d do it all over again to get the power of flight, super strength, and nigh-invulnerability. Who cares if when I do it I have to wear a bra and panties underneath my costume?
Well, I do. A little. It’s this secret that keeps me from shape-shifting right now and pummeling Grax’s stupid, grotesque face. If I changed right now, my whole underwear line, books, and sponsorships would be in serious question. Not to mention my marriage.
I looked into the camera, wondering how long it would take for any of my friends to do anything about this. Green Mantis was probably laughing his ass off right now, wondering how I got caught. Fucking cocktail parties. Opal Tiger was definitely shaking his head in disapproval, but most likely strapping his boots on.
Trying not to sigh again, I leaned back a little in my steel folding chair, and waited.
[r/Intotheslushpile]( https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
Continued below in this thread =)
EDIT: Thanks so much for all the feedback and love! You guys are awesome. I'll be continuing this over on my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/comments/5qud4b/the_secret_life_of_a_teenage_heroine_part_4/). I work a lot during the week but I'll keep the story rolling on weekends until we get to the end =).
[Part Four](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/comments/5qud4b/the_secret_life_of_a_teenage_heroine_part_4/) is up right now.
|
My toes were curled so tightly I swore they were waiting to break through my shoes. The self control I had to use in order to sit still and let this man believe I was just another hostage felt impossible, even for me. He paced back and forth from either side of me, standing just behind the wooden chair I was strapped unnecessarily tightly to. His voice was 3 octaves deeper than what sounded comfortable for him, but his natural voice wouldn't nearly have been as intimidating to civilians.
The longer he waited for the caped crusader he demanded to be here, the more impatient he got. His voice became more irritated with every minute. His volume increased with every demand. "You only have three minutes left." He stared into the camera before us, moving closer with every word. "Once three minutes is up, I kill her." He was referring to me. "I kill her on this live broadcast in front of the entire world. Everyone will be watching, and everyone will know you could have stopped this. But you chose to be a murderer."
I bit down harder on the cloth that was forced into my mouth when he captured me. He didn't know who I was. He didn't realize the masked hero he was speaking to was sitting right behind him. If it had been just us, no cameras - no witnesses - I would've escaped by now. He would've been the one tied to this chair while the police raced to find him. But we did have witnesses, and even though it was just the two of us here, we were far from alone.
If I break free and show him I'm the one he's asking for, the entire world finds out who I am and I'll never be able to live the same way again.
If I don't free myself, he kills me - or at least attempts to - in front of the entire world while no one comes to rescue me and I ruin any good image and name my mask and cape still carry with them.
He's been counting down. There's only 30 seconds left before he pulls the trigger of the small gun pressed to my temple. There isn't any time left to debate this with myself.
29
28
He's taunting the camera now, and his laugh is hauntingly malicious as it infects my ears.
15
14
If I save myself, I lose the normal life I worked so damn hard to build, and I put everyone I love at risk.
7
6
If I don't save myself, this world loses the one glimmer of hope it so desperately needs, and they won't be able to trust anyone else in a mask ever again.
3
2
There isn't time. I have to choose. Now or never.
1.
| 2017-01-28T07:43:43
| 2017-01-28T07:42:49
| 1,851
| 243
|
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
|
"Finally, it's time", God says as he looks up from his work. It'd taken a short amount of time to bring about peace to the planet Nequior, but it was done. The beings of this desolate place weren't blessed with the ability to work things out on their own. They were a foolish and unruly bunch. Wars, disease, and starvation ravaged the planet the point of no return. Hence, why he turned his eyes upon them to be their salvation. Now, there is no more disparity or hunger. There was peace all around. It was a utopia. An epitome of peaceful politics and technology. "If there were ever a day I felt I could rest, this would be it," he says with a sigh. This is the end of my work. His eyes turn from his current work and scans the view around him. Sadness consumes him. Trouble from thousands of galaxies now clouded his view. A small bit of time to save a few stupid souls had brought about the end others many worlds. It feels like complete and utter defeat. For every one galaxy he manages to save, thousands collapse upon themselves to never be seen again.
"I wonder why I started this in the first place," he mutters. "Life. Death. All of it. I could just restart it all and begin anew." His last venture proved to be a failure. They were equipped with the ability and yet still failed to see. He turns to view its dead landscape and pauses. "How could this-This is impo-" he stutters as he tries to comprehend what he sees over the light years beyond. A single tear rolls down his cheek. "This is not what I had expected to see." There in the mist of the chaos was earth. Small, blue and hapless earth. It was still there.
|
The final age had come for Urth.
Through careful nudging and ever-distant signs (with a few unexplained *miracles* in the mix), El had successfully nurtured the inhabitants of the galaxy he'd numbered NGC 6744 into a self-sustaining, peaceful, ever-progressing utopia. The residents of the Nougat Galaxy were set from now to the end of time, at which point he'd usher them into a higher plane of existence in the 5th dimension.
For now, all seemed well, and although most of his attention had been on the Nougat, a cursory glance showed El that the other thousands of worlds he was cultivating were doing well (a few others already having reached utopia status also).
There were a few galaxies in turmoil and chaos, but as with all young creations, it was a part of the process. Nothing beautiful can be forged without first experiencing a bedlam pit to give a character of uniqueness.
As El scanned the heavens, he saw that all was good, and he smiled at the work he had done - that is, until his eyes fell upon the Milky Way Galaxy for the first time in seven hundred and fifty years.
A world he had left in the cusp of technological improvement after a miserable dark period of warring Crusades and other maligned and unapproved greed in His name had somehow descended into darkness again. Only this time, the darkness masqueraded as light - unmanned instruments of war pretended to be more pacified alternatives to the carnage of human militias, and conglomerates of commerce and finance parades as if they were bastions of equal opportunity, but the truth was too evident to his eyes as the creator of worlds: the technology meant to usher the safety and comfort of his people had been perverted to a technology holding them in subjugation and misery, the global communities meant to draw his people closer to one another had been tainted to form corrupt oligarchs riding comfort on the backs of slaves.
El watched the humans destroy the planet he had so carefully crafted, and his wrath grew great. They had taken his land, his air, his creatures, and demented them into a nature so beyond his wishes that he was not sure how to fix it.
Debating himself on the notion of destroying the plague of humanity before it's disease spread to his other worlds, El delayed his decision. But as he watched more, he saw.
There was still hope: a true light in the sea of false. The Milky Way galaxy had not yet failed, and his hope to spread the humans across its planets could still be achieved. They still had a chance to save themselves from the wilds of their own deceit and self-aggrandizing suicide. They could still be taught to wage peace instead of war, to trust their neighbors instead of fear, to love one another and work together to build a true utopia where not a single one of their members goes hungry or dies of neglect and necessity, where only those who have lived a full life pass peacefully into the next.
Just as Urth and Aerth and Erath and even Thrae had grown, so would Earth.
El quickly checked his list of worlds, and he saw that he would be able to focus on this world. He centered his thoughts and began his work.
There was so much to be done.
| 2015-12-27T09:55:12
| 2015-12-27T09:53:57
| 66
| 40
|
[WP] A drunkard unknowingly convinced Death to be the Godparent to their child. Death gets very invested in their role.
|
The frigid wind brushed over him as he stood there under the sun. It had been a year and some change since the funeral. But still, Henry came to visit.
Let's be clear. He didn't like his father as much as one should. His love for alcohol had taken his love for his family and eventually his life. Henry himself had spent too many nights babysitting the person tasked to care for him.
And so this went on until the day his mother passed, and they were left alone.
The arrangement was the same, although his disdain had grown more pronounced. When he left for school his father had become rather bitter. His last living crutch was leaving him, and it seemed too much to bear.
And so, he drank and drank and drank some more. Until Henry got that faithful call that it was done.
He felt guilt. Immense crushing guilt that he didn't know if he felt right to bear. But he knew that he was responsible.
Because as Henry discovered; he had a gift. Or rather a curse. You see, a week before his mother died, they had quite the argument. And in his anger he'd wished for her death.
Not that he meant such a thing, those things kids say under their breath. But within a week, she died. An aneurysm they said.
He was singled out at school by a particularly vindictive classmate named Bill. After several years of torment, he wished Bill would die too. And he did. A truck hit his car and blew it and poor Bill to pieces.
His second girlfriend cheated on him. And he remembered exactly what he told her.
"If I ever have to see you again, it'll be too soon."
Guess what happened?
He didn't mean it like that. But she's gone too.
He came and visited each of them when he could. It bothered him more than he wanted anyone to know.
What bothered him the most was the connection he made when he and his father last spoke. About his godparent. It didn't make sense to him, and he checked it up to delusions one encounters on the brink of death.
Until he started noticing the things that appeared in his apartment. And the photos. Videos of good times gone by. It had been with him longer than he could remember.
But he felt it, he knew it now. Death didn't just follow him. It waited for him patiently. Doting, like the parent he never had. Until the day it wished to take him too.
---
Criticism and feedback are welcome! Find more at r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
It's true, the drunken man had absolutely no clue what he had agreed to when he had talked to me that night. He was slumped down on the sidewalk, crying, mumbling something about a kid. I was there, of course, watching. His heart was close to giving out, and his liver wasn't far behind that. I asked him what he needed, more out of curiosity than any real desire to help. He stared at me for a minute, drunken eyes rolling in his head, then leaned forward, grabbed me by the arm, and simply said:
"My son! Take care of my son!"
And then he died. I watched his soul drain out of his body right there on the sidewalk in front of me. It lingered there for a minute, hovering over his body, but then I pushed it on to wherever it was going afterwards. As I walked away, however, I couldn't get the thought of his last words out of my head. He wanted me to care for his son. He had seen me. Me! Death! The gateway into the afterlife! The door to the unknown! The pit into which everyone must fall! He had seen me for who I was, and he asked for help. That certainly was an intriguing idea. Could I even help someone? I had never tried. How was I to know. I suppose in theory it would be possible. Of course, I couldn't really directly help him. I can't be allowed to start picking favorites. But maybe I could at least do something for him. The way most guardians watch over a child is by being present. Simply being there for all the most important moments. But that's just it! I'm not like most guardians! What if my gift to this child is that I would never be there? I couldn't save him from all pain, unfortunately, but I could guarantee the pain would only go so far. By guaranteeing my absence I am guaranteeing his life! From this day to the end of time I will never make my presence known to this child. Kingdoms, empires, entire civilizations shall rise and fall and this child will be there for every moment. Through me, through Death, this child will have the gift that so many have longed for! He shall be immortal!
| 2019-12-11T08:25:44
| 2019-12-11T07:17:53
| 63
| 35
|
[WP] at the end of 2016, you hear "thank you for playing the 'Earth' open beta. You will be returning to your respective galaxies shortly."
|
"No! No no no no no!"
But it was useless. I blinked my eyes and then I saw myself in a white room with a helmet on my head and atrophied muscles. I had no memory of any of this.
What I do remember though?
I remembered my parents. So caring and loving. Throughout the years of bullying and exclusion at school I knew I could always find love in their hearts for me.
I remembered going to a new school where I changed my mindset. I became popular. I actually had friends - good friends. I even managed to get myself an amazing girl for prom!
I remembered moving out to university. Crying on the day before, already missing my friends in advance. But still keeping in touch as I met new people of all kinds in the big city.
I remember completing my studies, a respectable double major in physics and computer science. Coupled with a slew of other credentials like internships I got, I found myself working at Google, more successful than I could have ever expected for myself.
I remembered him. The time, the laughs, the moments we shared. All of it culminating to the box with the ring in it.
And then, as the words left my mouth, I found myself here...
Why? I had gone through so much, and got so far. But in the end it didn't even matter.
I sat there while my eyes stained the chair I sat on as my head was held in my heads.
"Hello," the voice said, "welcome back to the land of the living. Did you enjoy your simulation?"
"No."
"Interesting. Why not?"
"Give it back."
"We cannot exactly do that. It wasn't actually anything real."
"It was real to me."
|
Oh that's cool. I suppose now life will be more interesting, now that it is more than just reddit browsing, hand acrobatics, pizza, and soda.
###Region now blocked
What? Hey wait a minute... dafuq is going on here? 'Purchased content is non-refundable and we are sorry for any inconveniences' - Universal Arts Games
So does that mean...
###failure to transport to respective galaxy
An opaque window popped up asking if I would like to pay $1,000,000 for the Transfer DLC. Reading the fine print below, it said 'Proper tender includes raw materials and physical assets. All users without the DLC will be considered as anomalies and will be wiped during the system reset in
00:00:13
00:00:12
00:00:11
00:00:10
...
Well... shit.
| 2016-11-04T22:45:36
| 2016-11-04T22:06:37
| 295
| 129
|
[WP] You’re a college professor, and grades for the semester were just posted. One disgruntled failing student comes to you with an archaic copy of the school’s bylaws-and a pair of weapons. They’re invoking a rule from the university’s founding allowing them to pass through trial by combat.
|
"Trial by combat?", I say. It is amusing. "You are not on trial for your combat skills, young man, you are judged by your academic merit".
His grin remains in place as he slams down a copy of the university's laws and ordinances before me.
"It's here professor, in clear Latin. I assume you can read Latin?"
The boy is trying to insult me. "Yes, Theodore, I can."
"And so what does it say?"
"It says - I peer at it as my eyesight is not what it was - that you are entitled to remain to study should you defeat the eductator who allowed you to fail, for half of the responsibility lies upon that professor. But you, my boy, are lazy. You never submit essays on time and you frequently fail to appear for both lectures and classes. And don't think I don't know the smell of burning leaf, boy, I've been teaching here for a long time."
"And where", he asks with a smirk, "are the rules about that?"
"They are extensive. Unfortunately you only read the relevant section of the rulebook. Perhaps reading the more pertinent ones two years ago might have prevented this situation?"
"I have found the one that matters", he says, still smiling. He then crosses his arms for emphasis, which I'm sure he thinks looks terribly impressive and confident.
The boy is as bloody hopeless a student as I've ever seen in fifty years. He can barely muster the energy to get out of bed, and yet he has evidently decided to fill his potential last days of study by hunting for loopholes. And here he has found one. I peer into the case he has presented to me. Two fencing sabres. Of course. A fencing sabre is a sporting weapon; lightweight and designed for quick parry and reposte. These are in very fine condition.
"Your choice is the sabre?"
His grin widens. "Yep!" he says, with the confidence of youth.
"Very well, the sabre it is."
I turn from him, noting his confusion at my sudden apparent departure. But I am not leaving, I am in fact going to a door in the corner of my office. I open it, and in it is something this boy will not have seen before: a cuirassier suit of half-plated armour and a weighted cavalry sabre. He peers around, desperate to see what trick I have up my sleeve. But there are no tricks when it comes to hardened steel; there is just hardened steel.
I return to my desk and draw it from its horse-haired sheath (stops it from falling over if you do, as it were).
"Do you have one of these, Theodore?"
"I chose the weapon, as per regulations!", he insists.
"In that case find me one historian who will dispute that this is a sabre". It's about five times size and weight of his ridiculous *pantywaist* sword. The problem with the young is that they often underestimate the capabilities of the old.
His face whitens.
"One more thing, boy. You will note that the choice of weapon is dictated by the challenger, but not the field of combat. Or the mount. Do you own a reliable horse?"
"I... I...no, I don't."
"Then I shall grant you one week to find both a suitable mount and a sabre that won't break in half against a twig swung by a child of ten. Good day to you, Theodore. Thank you for stopping by. I shall prepare your certifications in advance. After all, you never know quite what might happen, do you?"
[pt.2 now below] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bwzzey/wp_youre_a_college_professor_and_grades_for_the/eq3ocht/?context=3)
|
I glanced down at the paper in my hands. It was a printed screenshot of the archaic by-law from a book I had only seen once in all the years of my professorship at this historic liberal arts college. It had been a long time since I had read it, so I quickly scanned the perfect calligraphy grasping the meaning while looking for grammatical errors out of habit. I had a masters in English Literature and had been teaching writing courses at varying levels for just over three decades. It was flawless in grammar and flawless in the explanation of a tradition that seemed medieval at best.
"We fight our battles with words in this millennium, Ms. Jacob so as stated in the code...here on the page," I drew attention to the code duello, "the challenged party has the choice of weapons. I choose words as my weapon. I would like you to handwrite a 2000 word essay on the origin and decline of the duel and its influence on the formation of early America. I will do the same. We will meet back here, in my office, at dawn to submit our essays to Chancellor Wright."
Ms. Jacob's shoulders slumped and she shuffled from one foot to the other while staring down at the floor. She knew she was failing Introduction to English Composition and I doubt she saw this coming.
"What happens if I lose?" she hesitantly inquired.
"You will receive the F that has been a result of your lack of motivation and effort. You also were absent many times and failed to hand in assignments. I would be willing to reconsider the F, however, if you will take on some extra credit writing assignments and we will move forward from there. The ball is in your court now, Ms. Jacob and I truly hope you succeed."
I was excited to get home to begin my essay. The last time I had been met with this challenge, the failing student went on to graduate with honors and became a Pulitzer Prize winning author. I knew from the couple of hastily typed assignments that had actually been turned in, that Ms. Jacob held that kind of talent. She just didn't know it...yet.
As Ms. Jacob turned to leave, I said, "Oh. One more thing. It must be legible and it must be written in cursive." This was my ace in the hole. We all knew that millennials didn't know how to write in cursive.
| 2019-06-05T07:36:15
| 2019-06-05T06:44:42
| 49
| 25
|
[WP] Incredible magical abilities, as explained by an incredibly bland college textbook
|
## **Part 2: Arithmancy, as related to the Subtle Sciences**
The emphasis in this section is on understanding the meaning of Arithmantic numbers and their interpretation as relates to the Subtle Sciences (Potion-Making [see pg. 235], Predictions [see pg. 984, and Transmutation of Matter [see pg. 3214]), rather on memorization of the Arithmantic values of objects both living and non-living or on how those numbers are derived. For help with the derivation of Arithmantic values, see previous chapter or pages 24-37 in our accompanying Arithmancy And You! Workbook.
**2.1: The Anti-Number**
In order to undertake a true evaluation of the impact of Arithmancy on the creation of Potions, Predictions of the future, and the Transmutation of Matter, we must first understand that every Arithmantic value has its Anti-Number(s), and the way in which this affects each of the Subtle Sciences.
* In Potion-Making, ingredients must be balanced so as to always have a complete sum of zero. Understanding the Number and Anti-Number of different ingredients will allow you to balance their properties against each other until you have arrived at a whole and perfect solution.
* In the art of Prediction, every object and person which factors into the Probability Equation can be evaluated for either its Number or Anti-Number depending on its role in scenario. (See **2.4** for continued explanation of the relation of Number and Anti-Number to role.)
* In the Transmutation of Matter, the Number and Anti-Number of matter (both living and non-living) has a relation to the general ease of the Transmutation and the probability of a perfect success. **NOTE: It is unlawful to Transmute any living thing into an object outside of its range of perfect success.**
**2.2: Deriving the Anti-Number**
The Anti-Number is the name given to the operation that goes backward from the Arithmantic Number of an object (living or non-living) to the object itself. Since the Arithmantic Number of an object does not determine its value completely, you must consider the application of the object in order to determine its Anti-Number.
In this way, each object will have only one Number but may have a variety of Anti-Numbers depending on its use.
Thus we sometimes say that the Anti-Number of a Number is the Number plus its arbitrary use.
Take as example, the use of gold in a potion. While the Arithmantic Number of gold would ordinarily be written as
ξAu
the Anti-Number will be preceded by a half-curved line and followed by an indication of its use (for a complete list of uses, see the chart in **2.4.1**) thusly:
⌠ξAu[enchantment]
|
~~I love Peter~~
***Polymorphism.***
Invented by Greeks legends about Zeus trying to bang chicks as a golden ~~shower~~ rain or a bull wtf
*NOT A LYCANTHROPY!* <<<<Important for the test
Polymorphism is the ability of a being or creature to completely transform its physical form or shape into that of something else. The idea of shapeshifting is present in the oldest forms of totemism and shamanism, as well as the oldest extant wtf who dictates so fast you old fart
Research shows that it's something about descendants of who? Ask Mary later
There is also anymorphism which is similar but it's not so don't *DON'T FORGET ABOUT IT*
<3
<3<3
<3<3<3
<3<3<3<3
<3<3<3<3<3
<3<3<3<3
<3<3<3
<3<3
<3
***Pyromancy***
Setting things on fire, you know that
Fuck, ask Mary to show her notes later *THIS WILL BE ON THE TEST!*
***Summoning spells***
LOL Naruto
You summon stuff through astral portals. There may be questions about portals on the test. Ask Mary to copy stuff
First discovered by the Chinese warlock Shang Something in 2nd century B.C. To perform you need to mix blood with oh fuck it
Just ask Mary.
_______
More? [Here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
| 2016-08-27T10:30:15
| 2016-08-27T10:05:30
| 60
| 13
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
"So, are you surprised?" Cogs left to rot for centuries began to spin again slowly. They snapped their fingers in front of me. "You conscious? I know you're breathing." I blinked a few times. They waited patiently for me to speak. My mouth opened. "I-.... I-" They became visibly concerned. "Uh oh. Did your brain not completely thaw?"
"N- n-" The words couldn't escape me. I pulled my newly awakened arm away from my body and looked at it. "Five...hundred...years." I looked at them. "I....was-" My arm went limp as I released control of it. Spots began to fill my eyes. I began to fall.
"Hey, you awake?" I opened my eyes to them- no, her standing over me. My brain was working at full speed. Somehow I had avoided insanity, though I had been alone for 500 years. "I am awake." I appeared to be in some sort of hospital, with the expected technological improvements 500 years would bring. I looked at her eyes. "If we count age by years conscious I am five-hundred and twenty-two."
"Do you mean to say your brain was never frozen?" She asked me.
"I have been trapped in my own mind for five centuries. My sanity remains somehow, but I have nothing other to say." Something clicked. I jumped out of the hospital bed. "Where's the room with the cryo-pods?"
"I-its just down the hallway." I raced off to the cryo-pods. "Hey! You can't just run off!" I was trailed by who I assumed was a doctor. I found the pods, and I went through row after row till I found the pod with my wife inside it.
"Is there something special about her?" The doctor asked. I looked at the doctor. "Yes. Unfreeze her." The doctor obliged, though the date of thawing was a few days away. My wife tumbled out of the pod into my open arms. She began to cry. "I know. I know." I whispered. Five hundred years is a long... long... time.
|
A switch left unflipped. A simple mistake, easily overlooked, condemning me to 500 years my own icy prison.
Pain, a childish, involuntary response long forgotten in a society where anything can be remedied with a single red and white pill. The type of pain no human had ever experienced for millennia. A constant, freezing pain that would never put me to sleep; that wasn’t how I designed it.
The stages of grief manifested themselves in the hallucinations.
First I could hear them coming to take me out. Conversations about how to open the machine safely, the locks coming undone, the room pressurizing, all as real as flesh and blood. I could see them just outside the window, I screamed and screamed, but I couldn’t open my mouth. I could feel the warmth of the room, the pain began to subside, but never stopped.
A hundred years later, the hums of the machines turned into furious roars of white noise. I tried constantly kicking at the glass and ice, yelling so loud I could almost remember the sound of my own voice. I kept telling myself that if I just kept trying, one day I’d be able to move. The paralysis wouldn’t last forever.
For 100 years more I’d beg, please, take me out of this. Please, let me die. I’d began to forget what people looked like, what language sounded like. The people I pleaded to outside the window became more and more alien, my prayers sounding more and more like the white noise of the generator.
Then one day, there was silence. No more screaming, no more begging. No more shapeless voices outside the freezer. Just pain. The pain was the only thing left I could trust, the only real thing I’d experienced for the past 300 years. I welcomed it, thanked it for keeping me company every day for 72,999 days more.
Until the last day. The day they woke me up, the 500th anniversary of the day I died.
| 2017-12-17T01:35:26
| 2017-12-16T21:48:35
| 642
| 183
|
[WP] As it turns out, "God" is an elected position. The Creator was followed by the Old Testament God, who was followed by the New Testament God, who was followed by a God who didn't interfere often in the mortal world. The next election is in 6 months.
|
An endless sea of red caps atop tightly packed conservatives filled the fields as far as his human eyes could see, even from atop his podium in the clouds. The divinely powered audio amplification, dusty from just over two years of disuse, let out an annoying screech that quieted the crowds.
He began to speak of those who were ruining the world, those who did not deserve the great life *he* could give the people of the world. If other gods have been exclusive, he knew he didn't need to pander to love or acceptance. He had been elected before, voted in just 3 months before. He knew how to make the people think the way he wanted. He spoke with strong, odd emphasis. His hands have pointedness and urgency to his words. Together he knew he could sell himself to the unwashed masses, who, to his delight, he'd soon refer to as the unwashed mortals. Convince them of the world's fatal flaws and then give offer himself as their only hope.
The speech reached its crescendo. His golden hair, styled in a fashion he believed worthy of a deity, shone with the sun brightly behind him; the time of his speech was not an accident. As the crowd began to cheer with his last words, he waved and took up his own red hat and placed it over his precious hair.
It read, "Make Humanity Great Again."
|
It’s a question that has haunted every novice theologian since the dawn of time. Like a question your four year old child asks. If everything is created, then who created God. The answer a sloppy non-cohesive mixed bag of jumbled nonsense. I guess that’s not fair. Structurally the argument makes sense. We all view God through a uniquely human lens, because well, we’re human. And it would logically lead that if we are created in His image than we must resemble Him in at least some manner. But in a more ephemeral way. Ethereal? I don’t know the word, because you know, language, a human construct. Goddamn, this is too complicated.
But I digress. It’s really not that complicated in reality. Of course He’s omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, omni-everything. But that’s all easily said and done when it comes to human cognition of the universe, so woefully constrained in such tiny vessels. Hell, we only left the Earth a half century ago. And who are we to judge anything when we can only see time in a single direction. God could be that magician who fucks up at your niece’s birthday party and still make all the humans ooh and ahh.
It’s like how we appoint Ambassadors I suppose. It’s kind of an accepted form of nepotism. Donate enough to a president’s campaign and you’ll spend the next four to eight years mucking about in Aruba. As long as you can handle the occasional drug conviction of a US expat, you have the necessary diplomatic skills, can spend the rest of your days trying to convince locals you’ve been surfing all your life. Though I suppose in reality, it can on occaision be like a 15th century Spanish emissary taking over the New World, essentially becoming a war lord if you see fit.
I wouldn’t say being commissioned to Earth was like Aruba. Maybe if Aruba was full of disease infested mice, and you had to somehow corral them all into little pews every weekend. And instead of listening to you, they just fucked and killed each other until no one had any control over anything. In short, it wasn’t anyone’s first choice, but it was definitely not the shithole of the universe. For a while, the appointed God was a hard-ass. Would take any reason to smite you down, but after a momentary lapse of judgement, sent a bit of Himself down in the form of a human. Which was a pretty big fucking lapse of judgement.
And with the resultant several millennia of human existence, a new reactionary God was appointed. Kind of like your uncle who still smokes a lot of pot and misuses lingo desperately trying to regain his High School glory years. Appointed as an interim-God but you know with the whole bureaucracy of the Universe, and well the scope of time on a galactic scale, I suppose a few millennia is about as expedient as it gets. A regime change at the top meaning a whole new batch of Gods were about to be appointed.
Down on Earth, the world churned on, completely unaware of the changes about to happen. Completely focused on such minute problems. Entering into a brand new era without true precedent. But I suppose that’s the beauty of it all. A few are standing in line at a grocery store fighting over some guy cutting. A few are sitting at their desks, updating one more goddamn spreadsheet. A few are killing each other, and a few are fucking each other. A few of them are even looking up into the cosmos, directly at God themself, completely unaware. And probably never will be.
| 2016-09-02T12:45:19
| 2016-09-02T12:04:59
| 123
| 34
|
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form.
|
"Uhhhh... Anna? Can you come down here for a minute?"
The clomping of Anna's sneakers got louder and clearer before she appeared by the stairs. "What's up, hon?"
I pointed towards the hole in the basement wall. "You wanna tell me what's going on here?"
As soon as Anna looked to where I was pointing, she went wide eyed as an owl looking through binoculars. A tide of gold and jewels had spilled out of the hole, and the interior of the wall had been hollowed out, making it look like a laundry chute straight to hell. At the bottom was an ocean of riches: antiques, pieces of art, and pristinely maintained weaponry from across the ages, all sunken into even more gold. And, if I wasn't mistaken, a WWII era submarine belly up was sitting smack dab in the middle of the whole thing.
Anna looked back at me with panic in her eyes. "Anya, I *swear* I can explain."
"And I'm eager to hear your explanation."
Anna took a deep breath. "Okay, well, what you see here is my hoard. It's all of the riches and stuff I've collected over the years. Any dragon worth their salt has one, and I have one because I am a.....well, I'm a dragon."
Part of me wanted to ask if Anna was fucking with me, but I was standing next to a fortune big enough to give King Midas a thirty foot erection, so I decided against it. Anna leaned against the wall in embarrassment. "Babe, I know you're mad, but I couldn't find the right time to tell you-"
"Mad?! Are you kidding?! This is great! Now I don't have to hide either!"
Anna looked at me in confusion. "Why would *you* have to hide?"
With a knowing smile, I closed my eyes. Suddenly, a burst of fire enveloped my head and worked its way down to my lower back, sending Anna jumping back with a startled "Oh shit!" Once they had left my head, a pair of fox ears pointed up off of my scalp. The flames dissipated entirely once they had flared out from my lower back, leaving behind six gorgeous, fluffy white tails like the petals of a newly bloomed flower.
Anna's mouth was hanging open in shock as I explained. "I'm a kitsune. I didn't tell you cause I wanted you to like me for who I am and not what I look like, and I had plans to tell you on our trip to New Orleans, and- uh, babe? You okay?"
Anna hadn't put her jaw back into place the whole time I was talking. She slowly walked towards me and said, "Your tails... Are so.... FLUFFY!!!"
Before I could even react, Anna had gotten on her knees and started nuzzling my tails and burying her face in them all while giggling like a schoolgirl. I sighed at her antics. "Damnit Anna, did you hear a single word I said?"
"Oh, I heard everything. You're a fox, you wanted me to like you for you, New Orleans trip, and I'm the love of your life."
"Okay, well- wait, what? When did I say that last part?"
Anna then slid upwards, smooth as silk, and kissed me deeply once we were eye level again. She rested her head against my shoulder and said, "You say it in my head and heart every time I look at you."
I blushed and smiled warmly. "Ten out of ten for the line. Am I the love of your life too?"
"Mhmm. And my greatest treasure, my princess, and my favoritest thing in the whole wide world." Every new moniker was punctuated with a kiss on my neck, simultaneously exciting me and making me giggle.
"Thanks, honeybun. Now, any chance dragon powers make you good at patching up holes in the wall? My friends Alice and Jodie are having dinner with us to celebrate the two of them finally shacking up, and the last thing we need is them asking why we're trying to be lesbian Scrooge McDucks."
Anna nodded. "Yeah, I can fix that easy. For a price, of course."
"You want more tail snuggles, don't you?"
Anna looked at me with puppy dog eyes. "Pwease, Anya?"
I let out a melodramatic sigh. "Oh, very well. Soon as you're done with the hole, meet me in the bedroom."
|
‘Confessions of a Lady Dragon’
—-
“You are a *what* now?”
“A dragon. Didn’t you wonder why I never let *you* clean out the basement?”
“I thought you were just good at balancing gender roles. I mean, you let me do laundry and dishes.”
“Yeah, because I *hate* doing those things. And also because you look cute when you get those little dish soap bubbles caught in your hair.”
“Aww, thanks.” Dan blushed and then grimaced. “Hey, wait—you’re trying to change the subject.”
“I would never. I was always afraid this day would come. It’s just you’ve, well, never been that observant. I thought we had more time,” Amelia sighed with a slight roaring sound.
“Wait, did you always sigh like that?” Dan whacked his forehead, leaving a slight red handprint. “How did I miss that?”
“Sweetie, are you hurt? Do you want me to get you the ice pack again? Your face palms have always been extraordinary.”
“You’re so sweet, and I feel like you know me so well. How did I not see this coming?”
“Umm. Because you’re only human?”
“I guess. Wait a minute—is that speciest now?”
“Nah. I’m part human on my great aunt’s side. Funny story. Her *real* father was a human wizard.”
“Umm. That’s all very interesting. I mean, I love a bit of backstory as much as any guy, but let’s cut to the chase. What does this mean for *us*?”
“That depends. What do you *want* it to mean?”
“Give me a sec. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before.”
“You mean that it had never crossed your mind that your incredibly beautiful and brilliant girlfriend could be a dragon.”
“Umm, no.”
“No, to which? That I’m beautiful and brilliant? Or that I’m a dragon?”
“Erm—“
“Choose your next words carefully,” Amelia laughed, showing extremely long and sharp canine teeth.
“You know I think you’re the most wonderful woman…I mean creature in the world in all ways, but…were your teeth always like that?”
“No. They get a bit pointy when my hoard is threatened.“
“Wait—I’m a threat now?”
“Of course not. You’re remarkably puny even for a pure-blood human.”
“Gee. Thanks. Feeling *really* good about myself now since I’m oblivious as heck and weak.”
“Fair. But that’s not why I love you. You are the sweetest being I’ve known in my many thousands of years of existence.”
“Thanks? I knew you were a little older than me, but multiple millennia are one heck of an age gap.”
“Yeah, but I’m the same being on the inside. The one you call snookie bear when we spoon at night. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It does. It’s just… this is all such a big change for me.”
“Me too.” Amelia blushed. “I’ve never been with a human before. They seemed so puerile and angry all the time that I couldn’t fathom the appeal.”
“That makes me feel special. You always do, in fact. It’s why I love you so much.” Dan exhaled deeply. “And you know what, that’s gotta be enough. I’ve never met someone like you before, and what with the whole dragon thing, it’s unlikely I would again.”
“Want to snuggle on the sofa and watch ‘House of the Dragon’?”
“Yeah, my cousin’s in that,” Amelia said straight-faced.
“Really?”
She giggled. “Add ‘gullible’ to the list of your quirks. Those things are CGI.”
“Let’s just watch, ok?”
—-
WC: 564
—-
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated
| 2022-09-10T11:50:46
| 2022-09-10T11:45:18
| 216
| 125
|
[WP] Tea is banned in England creating the world's largest black market. You are one of the biggest tea kingpins.
|
I waited on the pier, nervously checking my watch. 1:52. The shipment was an hour late already. The only sound coming through the fog was the gentle sloshing of the tide against the pylons of the dock and the distant clanging of a buoy bell bouncing in the waves. I leaned against the wall of the abandoned warehouse behind me, plastered with "Coffee = Freedom" posters. The government had put these up all over the waterfront districts in a pitiful attempt to stop the smuggling.
1:56. These bastards better show. I had a hundred customers waiting on their morning Earl Grey and afternoon Chamomile, and they weren't the type of crowd that you'd want to fuss with. I shuddered to think of the types of strongly-worded letters I might receive if they missed their daily cuppa. This was the fourth time that I'd been forced to stand in the cold while they took their leisurely time. *Maybe the ship had been stopped and searched,* I thought. The authorities would have everything on me: my illicit kettle sales, my suppliers in China and India, the saucer smuggling, the sugar gouging... everything. My only solace was the fact that they'd already be here arresting me if they had gotten to the ship first.
At 2:12, a dark shape loomed suddenly out of the thick fog. Finally! The gigantic white container ship, packed to the brim with red and blue corrugated metal containers containing the finest leaves I could get my hands on. My heart beat resumed to a normal pace, and I radioed for my drivers with the all-clear signal.
I waved at the cabin of the ship, but received no response. Strange. Normally they were clambering down the sides as soon as they hit port, ready to haggle over payment. This time, silence. I clicked on my torch and shined it through the windows up above. There were definitely people inside... how odd.
The crane on top of the ship jumped to life, picking up one of the massive metal containers with an echoing clang. I winced unconsciously, hoping that nobody else was around to hear the ruckus. The winch whirred as the crate was lifted into the air. It dangled precariously over the edge of the boat, swinging slightly in midair.
The bottom burst open! I cried out in agony as the boxes of tea tumbled through the air and landed with a splash in the harbor. The cardboard quickly soaked through and they were swallowed by the waves in minutes.
"BLOODY HELL!" I screamed, trying to restrain myself from diving in the foamy sea after it. Container after container, dozens of them, were being thrown into the ocean.
From the deck, peals of laughter drifted down. Five heads popped over the railing, wearing stereotypical Native American headdresses.
"Take that, you limey bastards!" His accent was clearly American. "We always know how to throw the best tea parties! Just like the old days!"
"You fucking Yankees!" I roared, then shouted into the radio for reinforcements. These American gangs had been trying to corner the tea market for years; must have hijacked my shipment! "This means war!"
|
"What do you mean, gone missing?" I said calmly, watching the young man who was no more than a boy really try to remain defiant. But I could see he was scared. The way his pupils dilated, the slight crack as he spoke. He was fucking terrified.
"It never showed up," the small sidewards glance gave away the lie.
"It. Never. Showed. Up," I said, exaggerating every syllable, "Well, my contact tells a bit of a different tale. He tells me that he delivered every gram that I asked for, he made sure that you had it. So tell me," I breathed, "What really happened to it?"
I watched his mouth flap open uselessly, trying to choose something that would prevent any sort of punishment for his mistake.
"And don't try and lie to me again, matey. Because I'll know."
His mouth closed again, and he seemed to fall silent, unable to explain or even formulate a workable sentence.
"I think I probably know what happened. You lost your cool didn't you? As soon as the heat showed up you turned tail and ran. And then you had the nerve to come and face me here, and then lie to me," I whispered, trying not to sound angry. I took a step towards him, and smiled inwardly with glee as he shrank
away a little.
He knew by now, of course he did. They always figured it out eventually.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was over a week until we found the body. The same as before.
Of course we knew who it was. He always finished it off the same way. *Poor kid,* I thought to myself as I looked down into the grey face, left bloated by the cold Thames water. A red line across his throat, the ragged edges of flesh flapping in the cool air of the mortuary.
Inside the destroyed throat were several dark brown objects, that leaked a liquid of the same colour. Small soft bags wedged into anywhere they could have been. A faint smell of week-old tea floated up and wafted in front of my nostrils as the doctor removed the teabags and stitched the poor boy's neck back together.
As the body was placed back into its locker, I took the pictures with me.
Maybe this time I could prove it.
| 2015-02-17T10:12:02
| 2015-02-17T09:28:43
| 364
| 19
|
[WP] "So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace."
|
"That's stupid"
A-2784 sighed, turning back to the screen with a live feed of Earth. All of Earth. His computer systems were advanced enough to keep a constant watch on the strange planet.
"Is it? I've heard stupider"
H-3649 looked at his partner, glowing eye trying to divulge whatever cryptic message A-2784 was trying to deliver.
"Remember that species from the planet with 82 moons?"
"The 82ners?"
"Right. They explored all their moons just because"
"Your point?"
"What about the Bigsunners?"
H rolled his eye.
"The species that stared at their sun just to learn how it worked?"
A nodded, eye glued to the feed
"You know what these warpeacers did? That. Both of those. They also had a war without weapons, like the Longspears"
"I said before, your point?"
"I think they're the creators"
H blinked. Then burst out into mechanical laughter.
"You're crazy. That's even stupider than war peace"
"Is it? Have you ever noticed what we do?"
"What?"
"We analyze these planets, then blow them up because we think they're stupid. What does that sound like?"
"...warpeacers?"
"Uh-huh. And they did everything else! But they know how stupid it was. So they made us to stop the stupid"
"You're a genius"
"Aha, I knew I was! Let's go tell them what a good job we did!"
The pair descends to Earth. Unfortunately, the nations of Earth thought they were nuclear weapons. So they fired their own in prompt retaliation.
Both units were promptly shut down for being idiots. The supreme AI intelligence noted the entire incident as being incredibly stupid, illogical and completely nonsensical
Don't do bitmining kids
|
_Alien 1:_ Kutlag (Studying humans)
_ALIEN 2:_ HERTEYS (Helping Kutlag in his studies)
_SET:_ Hiding on the dark side of the moon with satellites in orbit with tech that makes them invisible to us humans and our tech. The 2 observers are just another set of observers spread throughout the galaxy with a simple assignment to observe, note and report back to the galactic council. They feel special cause there are rarely any intelligent and sentient beings this far out in the galaxy.
_PLOT:_
As kutlag was receiving a new package of data from the satellites around the orbit of the blue marbel he drank his coffee to try and get rid of the preservation chemicals used for cryo sleep, cryo sleep is used to help wake them up every 36500 rotations.
As the data was beginning to make sense all sleep and clumsiness went out the airlock as Kutlag couldn't believe what he was reading, wars at huge scales for a species that's still on a single planet, progress on unprecedented levels that have never been recorded, weapons that should have taken a few more sleeps were already being tested. What had happened between his last sleep till now? He had to wake her up.
As HERTEYS went through the data with the help of Kutlag she was taken back as how quickly the species had progressed within 1 sleep cycle. Last she remembered was how they were all spread out and killing each other with metal sticks and funny little metal sticks. A joke was around this planet that these self labelled species _Humans_ would likely end up killing them selves before they even leave their solar system and were nicknamed _TERRANS_ for their love of personal land and beliefs.
And now not only were they making major leaps in all branches of science for everything but were also progressing in all sorts of arts and peace that the galactic union thrived upon, they were making great progress on multiple peace talks that the union still couldn't get their heads around. Peace that was only a dream a sleep away, they have a mini version of the union with the only difference being that those on the council are selected by the people rather than the position being passed between families. Somehow even stuck on that little fragile rock these TERRANS had somehow managed to surpass the Union in some aspects, not at all significant but still credibility was due to them. They were ultimately always fighting for peace, but then when will peace be truly achieved if someone holds a grudge against the last battle for peace? It seems like this species will be in that loophole for many sleeps to come...
As the 2 observers continued looking through the data they kept getting more and more surprises on how the species was going forward and how quickly they were progressing in both good and bad ways.
Then the last surprise came that was totally uncalled for and something that is barely witnessed by anyone in their profession, a slip space jump...
The Terrans were coming, and the Union must be notified at all costs but the last thing they remember is being violently pushed onto the moon of the Terrans home planet due to an unknown collision on the hull.
| 2019-05-02T20:34:11
| 2019-05-02T19:30:02
| 54
| 23
|
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult?
|
I was a poor child, rich in spirit yet poor in possessions. My tattered clothes barely enough to keep me warm in the winters. Because of this winters were always the most difficult. The bitter wind ransacking the drafty areas of our home, the only comfort being the hot soups we'd share as a family for dinner.
It was a particularly cold winter that year, so cold I couldn't go outside and play, but that's when I found it. A star. A fallen star. It had crashed through my window with laser like precision leaving only a small 2" hold melted through while landing safely on my pillow. It glowed brilliantly. I didn't quite understand what I was looking at but I had known that people make wishes on fallen stars. Something came over me and I blurted out, "I wish I had all the toys I wanted!"
With that the star seemed to melt away. I thought nothing of it until later that night when I lay my head upon my pillow. It was jagged and lumpy. A curiosity. I stuck my hand in the pillow case to find the source of the discomfort and pulled out a toy I had long wanted. I reached in again, and found another. I never told my parents, and I would always put the toys back in the pillow case when I was done.
Over the years I spent less time outside, and more indoors playing with my infinite toys. My life had sped through the years, responsibility came. School, work. For many years I forgot of the special pillow case and kept it stored away in a safe place.
Until one day, in my late 60s, as I hobbled down a city street pondering retirement, the brisk wind reminding me of the coming winter, I saw a child in tattered clothes. The child was dirty and looked cold so early in the season, I saw a similar distress in their eyes, the feelings of not having much and struggling to get by.
It was then I realized what my retirement would consist of. I pulled my magic pillowcase out of storage one more time. I donned my heaviest snow suit of red and white fur, and dedicated myself to using my magic pillow case to give toys and joy to all of the world's children, so they too may experience the magic I did as a child. I came to be known as Jolly Saint Nick.
|
As a young man, Nigel Premeiter lived a simple, if unconventional, life with his two parents, Houghler and Tricia. He would stay out doors, normally at the edge of the lot his parents owned. His home was a simple trailer, with one room on one end and his own on the other end. Taking most of the length of the trailer was a large kitchen with long double windows custom installed by his father all along the 'backside' of the unit. During the day, light poured in like waves upon a beach. The muted colors of the couch and chair-and-a-half were brought to brilliant life in the splendor of the morning sunrise, and often Nigel would expect to hear a yelp from the couch whenever he plopped down to color in one of his books.
At night, through these large windows, both Mr. and Mrs. Premeiter would watch their son play in the backyard under the clear night sky. Living in the middle of no where had its perks, one being the total lack of light pollution. Nigel spent almost every warm night out in the fields that extended to the horizon behind his little home, playing with his two childhood friends, Wade and Alexander.
Playing with both Wade and Alexander one night, far beyond the sight of his parents, the boys all laid themselves down on the long field grass, heads together and their legs splayed out in the spokes of a triangle. They stared in silence at the stars, keeping to their own private thoughts when, much to their surprise, a green light flashed across the sky, rising from the South and striking a path North before disappearing. Jokingly, they all made a wish together, and went about the rest of their night playing in the fields.
Its been twenty years since that night, and Nigel is almost the same six year old that wished upon a star, minus a definitive increase in commonsense and general intelligence. He still loves getting dirty and telling crass jokes, habits that stayed with him from his time well-spent with Wade and Alexander, from their infancy through their college years.
But more than anything, what he's loved doing since that night is simple.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Nigel was sitting in a brightly lit coffee shop that he frequented near his office. It was well furnished, with large, arched half fan windows that opened to the street. In many pots lined on the insides and outsides of the walls, the old woman who owned the building grew many of her own herbs and spices, from which delicate and robust smells filled the area. From the basement port, a large wooden door near the back with wrought iron reinforcements, the smell of freshly ground coffee wafted up as the breeze ebbed and flew through the basement windows.
On a plate near the cash register, freshly baked goods released sweet smells of home, laced with love and care, the kind you found from your own grandmother's oven. Their smell was inviting and seeped out of the open double windows, ensnaring the street's sailors and luring them inside with the delicious temptation of their siren's call. The old woman who owned the coffee shop had two lovely granddaughters who loved baking whenever they had the chance, and they would normally come to the shop straight from schooling to make their own kind of magic in the world.
To put it simply, the place smelled like heaven. Each bitter, sweet, and savory aroma that floated around made the air seem to take on a water-like quality. It was so thick, one would almost believe that they could reach out with a butter knife and cut themselves a slice of that intoxicating aroma to keep in a bottle.
Nigel loved these smells, reminiscent of his own mother's garden and kitchen. But what he loved more were the people. Never was the palate dull here; there was always a motley crowd. Rugged sailors, polished police officers, vile criminals, stoic philosophers, and gaudy dancers: The Triquetra of the Soul always had a varied and often disharmonious crowd living in harmony.
It was as if their was an unwritten law, a binding force placed upon them all, that kept the different personalities from rubbing against each other. Nigel could remember vividly a commonly known pick-pocket sitting at a table with a man who was looking for him and that knew him well. They shared stories over a cup of dark roast coffee and freshly baked honey biscuits. They smiled and the pick-pocket paid. The officer exited through the rows of open double windows facing the street and the delinquent exited through the back into the alley. In all of his years of patronage, he had never witnessed an act laced with hatred.
Today, Nigel had taken one of his favorite seats, a small table for one and perhaps a second if you squeezed, right in the center of the room under a lazily turning fan. With the windows open, a slight summer breeze was constantly rolling in, cooling its inhabitants and mixing the sea of relaxing scents. He wore a pair of khaki shorts that were cut above the knee, with a t-shirt of a vivid and bright leaf green color two sizes too large for him draped awkwardly over his gangly frame. His long, brown hair was held out of his face by a red head band in a comical fashion, showing his rather large and shiny forehead. His nose was crooked and hung low from his face, and upon it sat a pair of moon spectacles. One of the lenses had a crack that started at the button and extended to about the middle part of the lens.
He was enjoying a medium blend, its smell pungent yet fair, somewhere between savory and bitter, an utterly consuming fragrance that made his hair stand on end and sent shivers down his spine, much the same that a man would experience looking at the love of his life. On a small plate on the small, lightly colored wooden table in front of him was a lemon cake, that had a consistency comparable to what Nigel imagined a cloud would feel like: fluffy, light, and pleasantly moist.
The object of his attention was a rather large man who was sitting outside at one of the wrought iron tables (made by the old lady's own son), who was wholly invested in a cup of dark roast, savagely devouring a banana and coconut muffin, and reading the newspaper as if it were a religious text.
His suit was well cut and tailored, hugging well to his body and accentuating its finer features, like his broad shoulders and thick, corded arms while doing well to hide the gut that he had begun to grow as he reached, if Nigel remembered correctly, his mid 50s. His shoes were polished leather, and despite their apparent age, looked fit for the Queen of England, if she were to have an appetite for men's shoes.
There was nothing spectacular about this man that drew Nigel to him, but all the same, Nigel was drawn to him. His wish, like himself as a child, had been stupid and ultimately useless except in the face of what he and his compatriots considered good fun. He loved this coffee shop not only for the nostalgia and beauty of the smells that stewed here, but because of the challenge these smells presented.
Nigel shifted inconspicuously, lifting his left leg and draping it over the other, putting the majority of his weight onto his right hip. Silently, he slowly let out a puff of gas that, not surprisingly but always amusingly, he could see as a faint, shimmering cloud of swirling dark colors.
He let it sit for a second, coaxing it into a compressed form, keeping its putrid and rotten contents from seeping out into the fresh, sweet airs around it and also keeping those airs out. He could tell looking at it that its odor was foul, wet, and sickly-sweet, surely to be a sharp contrast to what the good sir sitting at the table outside was experiencing.
Slowly, and with purpose, he lifted his fork to begin eating his pastry, doing twirling motions in the air and slowly, the little ball danced through the air. He had practiced this often, so it merely looked to anyone who would look in his direction on a whim would see a man artfully eating his pastry, enjoying the ecstasy of its tastes and being overwhelmed by them.
It was a short trip, no more than ten seconds, before the orb had come to rest below the man's nose. With a sigh of melancholy joy, Nigel opened his left hand in his lap and reveled in the art of his performance.
The little ball changed, the smell unfurling and expanding, cutting into the air in dark tendrils that only Nigel could see. Two of them assaulted the mans nose, causing a split second of panic to assail him. His face contorted to one of immense pain, the normally pleasant smells of the café being destroyed by the fetid smell of the fart Nigel had just sent to him.
Nigel chuckled to himself, looking down at his phone. As his background was a picture of the only people in the world who had complete control over the smell, positioning, and even release time of their farts.
The young faces of Wade, Alexander, and himself smiled up to him.
He quickly finished his pastry and his coffee, returned the dishes he used to the old lady at the counter, and paid his tab, along with a tip of five dollars for her granddaughters. He left, stepping onto the crowded cobbled streets, with the sunlight bringing to life all of the old stone masonry around him, and walked home eagerly to tell his two compatriots of his most recent prank.
| 2015-03-07T06:03:58
| 2015-03-07T00:58:07
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] Every ten years, you must go in front of a board of peers who will evaluate your life for you. If you do not "Impress your peers" you will be executed.
|
“Now seeing Mr. Philip Johnson. Please step forward, Mr. Johnson.”
Phil stood up, his hands clasped together. He was shaking.
This was Phil’s third life evaluation. They came every ten years, on the day following one’s birthday. It was June 24, and Phil had just turned thirty years of age the day before. Each and every year a letter came in the mail reminding him of the date, which Phil found to be rather tedious. He couldn’t forget it if he tried.
Row after row of people sat waiting on hard wooden benches. The room itself was overwhelming; the ceiling rose higher than any Phil had seen before, stone lion carvings hung on the sides of each window, and the eleven evaluators sat elevated among the judged.
“Welcome back, Mr. Johnson. Please, won’t you step a bit closer so we can get a good look at you?” The man chuckled.
Phil approached the red line. “Hi,” he said, giving a slight bow.
“Now, lets get right into it, shall we?” The man in the centre spoke while those on both sides took notes on their computers. “Why don’t you start by telling us about, well, life since you were last here, Mr. Johnson.”
“Uhm, yeah, okay.” Phil’s voice shook as he spoke. “Well, lets see. My twenty-first year started, well, poorly, when my girlfriend of three years left me–”
“Ah, yes,” the man said, typing. “One Stephanie Gregsson. And was there any particular reason for this departure?”
“No, it was pretty mutual, I think.” Phil looked up to watching eyes. “Well, I mean, she was the one who actually left and all but it was pretty mutual.”
“Yes, right, well, please go on.”
“Right, okay. So that was pretty bad for a while. I was pretty down for, I dunno, four or five years. Didn’t do a whole lot. It wasn’t great.” Phil’s hand rubbed his already-greying chin stubble. “During that time I was going to school, completed my undergrad degree and then went for my masters –”
“In?”
“Oh, uh, poetry, actually. South American poetry, specifically.”
“Mhm, and are you working right now, Mr. Johnson?”
“Right now? Oh yeah I’m working right now. An office job.”
“And how do you enjoy this office job?”
“It is what it is, you know. Gets the bills paid.” Phil laughed, alone. “But yeah it’s okay.”
“Hm. Lets switch gears a bit here. Why don’t you tell us more about your love life since Ms. Gregsson.” said the man, waving his hand so as to hurry Phil along.
“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Sweat dripped from Phil’s eyebrows. He wiped it using the sleeve of his white dress shirt. “I went on, I dunno, like six or seven dates since Steph left –”
“Six or seven since she left you in total?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” The ten other jury members had been writing what seemed to be Phil’s every word, stutter, and movement, as the sound of typing never ceased.
“And are you currently involved in a relationship of any sort?”
“Well, no. Not currently, anyway.”
“Oh, so there was someone though?”
“Well, no.”
“Hm.” The speaker joined the others in typing.
Phil’s shirt became see-through, clasping to his body as if it were a part of him.
“Look, Mr. Johnson, lets just cut to it.”
“Okay.”
“Why or why not do you believe that your life has been one of merit, one that has contributed to the world in which it occupies?”
Phil looked around the room, scratching at the splotchy hair he considered a beard.
“Well, for one thing I’ve loved and been loved. I mean the human condition revolves around love; we couldn’t truly know life without it, don’t you think?” The evaluators exchanged glances. “Even when I was depressed I had hope; not in success or riches, but hope that someday I could love again. It’s the human race’s best, and at times worst characteristic, but in the end I think it’s what makes us human.”
The typing stopped. One of the evaluators whispered into the speaker’s ear. “Yeah, no. We’re gonna need a bit more than that. Anything else?”
“Well, my Reddit account has like 6,000 comment karma.”
The evaluators all exchanged whispers, their heads turning from one to the other as they discussed Phil’s fate. After a short while the speaker struck his gavel twice. “Alright everyone. Settle down, settle down.” He looked down upon Phil. “Alright, Mr. Johnson. You’re free to go. Your next appointment is ten years from today. Good luck.”
As Phil exited the auditorium, tired eyes all around watching him, he smiled. He opened the large wooden doors into the outside world. The air seemed fresher, the sky bluer, the world lighter. No longer did his “pointless internet points” seem so pointless.
|
I had gotten the job when I was twenty-one. I was a shoe-in since my second meeting with the Board, they said. Studious, friendly, nice penmanship... they said I was a "good image" of what they believed in. I hated the system, I hated the lies... but refusing a Board job meant Failing for sure. So I bought their stupid uniform and wore their stupid makeup. A survivor and a Scribe I was. But then I met Annie.
"Hellooooo!"
I was on my way to the copy room when the bright little voice caught my attention. I turned and looked down to see where it came from. 'Oh, God,' I thought, 'she'll never make it.' I made my best effort to walk away and forget the face, but it was too late. "What'th your name?"
I turned to the child again, and immediately regretted it. She was a short girl, a little chubby, wearing a fluffy yellow dress and polished black shoes. She smiled at me, holding a stuffed bunny toy in her left hand and playing with her headband in her right. Her bright eyes - something was wrong with them - looked somewhat at me and somewhat at the floor. The child was adorable, but I knew what was coming. "It's... I'm... uh..."
"I'm Alith."
"Oh," I said, but I couldn't meet her eyes. I searched for a new focal point, finding myself on the other two people in the waiting room. A man and a woman. More regret. The man had his arm around the young lady, who was shuddering uncontrollably and choking back sobs. The man wore a blank, warlike stare; I didn't want to know what was lying behind his eyes. I saw the mother holding a rabbit toy - a bunny just like the child's - up against her chest. The man held the handle of a teeny little wheelchair. It was folded now, lying next to a bottle of pills. "H-hi, Alice. I'm M-" I looked at the little girl again, but only for a moment. My glance rushed to the parents, but the father's violent eyes threw me back. I buried my eyes in the papers. "I'm Mary."
"Hi Mary, I'm Alith."
I choked up a smile and tried to get away. "Hi... hi Alice! I have... to go, Alice. Bye, Alice."
I broke away as fast as my stupid shoes would let me. Papers fell from my hands, but I didn't bother to go back for them. I kept walking. Kept running. I knew whose name was written on those red slips of paper.
| 2014-06-15T14:22:57
| 2014-06-15T11:23:06
| 55
| 12
|
[WP] You're pulled over by a police officer on a quiet country road. You've done nothing wrong and you're angry when he walks to your car. You wind your window down and he tells you in a loud voice you've been speeding. As you start to argue back he mouths help me.
|
“What the eff?” I grumbled to myself, before I lowered the window to speak to the police officer, whose approach I could see in my rearview window as his boots crunched against the gravel. He and his partner had been following me for miles before they’d turned on the siren lights, not even bothering to put on the accompanying sound, even though I’d been driving exactly the speed limit the whole time. Maybe I’d given his windshield a stone chip from all the gravel that had been kicked up in my wake, but that was hardly my fault.
I cleared my throat, and put on my most pleasant smile. The man who leaned down to look in my window looked stern, and didn’t return my expression, which made me feel incredibly anxious.
“Evening, officer,” I said, nervously putting my hands on the top of my steering wheel. I told him I was going to reach into the glove box for my registration, and into my purse for my license.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, under his breath.
“Excuse me?” I questioned. And then I saw him mouth the words HELP ME.
“What?” I gasped. His lips repeated the movements.
“Oh, um, ok,” I said. The poor guy, I thought: I’m the absolute *last* person you’d ever want helping you in a time of crisis. I didn’t think: I acted purely on instinct. And this instinct told me to create a diversion, to test his willingness to play along with me.
“AAAAH!” I screamed, loudly, at his face. “I ADMIT NOTHING!”
“CALM DOWN,” he yelled. “TAKE IT EASY, MA’AM. IT’S JUST A ROUTINE STOP.”
I nodded at him with infinitesimal movement, then gave another flailing yell. Then I unbuckled my seatbelt, hustled my body over to the passenger side of the car, unlocked the door, and flung myself out of the car. I scrambled to my feet, and took off through the adjacent wheat field, nearly losing my footing about five times as I stumbled through the deep ditch past the shoulder. Then I found my feet, and flew away through the field at top speed.
“MA’AM!” The cop was yelling, as he caught up with me finally, after a full four minutes of running. I’d assessed that he was in reasonable shape, but it seems that my sporadic half-marathon training schedule had prepared me for this moment a little better than I’d anticipated, and I’d had to slow down from my top speed a few times to let him catch up slightly. “IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO RETURN TO THE CAR RIGHT NOW.”
His breath was laboured, and I realized how weighty his uniform and police belt must be – and heavy boots weren’t exactly ideal running attire.
“Is your partner following?” I gasped.
The cop looked behind him. “He is. He’s pretty slow, though. It’s been a while since he had to pass his police physical.”
“Good,” I said.
I crouched down in the field, as though I’d run out of steam and given up. “Let me know when he gets close,” I said. The officer looked confused, but he fumbled with his handcuffs, and began to read me my Miranda rights, a bit prematurely, I thought, since he hadn’t actually attached the cuffs to my arms, but only pretended to do so. I could hear his partner, breathing heavily, as he stumbled through the wheat field in our direction. The cop paused in his recitation, and looked down at me with an expression of alarm. I nodded, and bolted to my feet, swerving well out of his partner’s way as though I were a football player avoiding a tackle, and then streaked back towards the cop car.
“Go to your own car, damn it!” He huffed, in a low voice, as he followed behind me. “I can’t have the other cops tracing us THAT easily!”
I rapidly changed direction and began hustling towards my own car, the cop in hot pursuit.
“Lose your gun!” I muttered.
“Why?!” he hissed.
“How are you going to let me abduct you when you have a gun?!” I wheezed, as I pumped my arms through the last few yards of wheat.
“Say you also have a gun in your glove box!” he snarled.
“Which is why I decided to run across an effing wheat field, instead of pulling it out right then,” I muttered.
“Please,” he begged. “Just think of some way to get us both in the damn car.”
I reached the vehicle, threw open the passenger side door, which I realized made no sense whatsoever, if I were actually attempting a getaway, and reached for the nearest sharp object I could see: a nail file I’d never used. I grabbed his wrist, and held the pointed tip of the file towards his throat menacingly.
“Drop the gun,” I yelled.
He’d grabbed it out of his holster without raising it. He now let go of the weapon, more out of surprise than anything, and it disappeared in the tall grass.
“Get into the car,” I ordered him. “Or I’ll – poke your eye out.”
He got in, without closing the door. I now realized that I couldn’t get into the car to drive, myself, without dropping my threatening façade – a façade that probably looked as completely, unconvincingly ridiculous as it felt. So, I hopped into the passenger’s seat by scrambling over his lap, and actually did poke him in the face with the file in the process.
“Ow,” he yelped. “Could you try to be a little less stupid about this?” he complained.
“I don’t remember interviewing for this job,” I snarked at him. “I could have left you back there without helping you escape, you know.”
“Just drive,” he hissed at me, “before my partner shoots both of us.”
His partner, still fifty yards away, was drawing his gun to shoulder-height, as he slowly chugged along through the wheatfield. He paused, and I saw him aim the weapon; I screamed, them slammed the door and floored the gas pedal. My little car accelerated, none too quickly, with the additional mass of an adult man in the passenger seat.
“A Fiat 500,” the officer groaned. “Of all the cars we could have pulled over, it had to be this one. This is the slowest car in the world.”
“Such a choosy beggar,” I retorted. “It’ll be fine.”
I knew this part of the countryside better than anyplace on earth, because it was where I’d grown up. I turned off down another graveled country road, then another, then a third. The police sirens sped on down the second turnoff, receding into the distance; thankfully, he hadn’t noticed our third turn, onto a lane which was densely covered by trees. This road was nothing but a farmer’s dirt path to a fallow field, and I kept the car lurching over the ruts until I reached a dilapidated, open barn, in which I parked the vehicle, and turned off the engine.
“As ridiculous as that was,” he sighed, “It worked. I can’t believe it. You did well. I owe you one.”
“Great,” I said. “And now you’d better have my back, because I’m currently a wanted criminal who abducted a police officer for reasons I don’t even know about.”
“Right,” he said, sighing. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
I waited.
He seemed to be deciding how much of this story to tell; his expression was inscrutable.
“You owe me the truth,” I said, proceeding on instinct once again. “It’s the least you can do.”
“I know,” he said, suddenly looking ashamed. “You’re some kind-hearted white lady,” he sighed, again. “Which means you’re probably not going to like it very much.”
My heart sank.
“Are you telling me,” I said, accusingly, “That I just risked my entire, crime-free history and spotless driving record, to help someone who doesn’t deserve it?”
“No!” he said, horrified. “It’s just- complicated. I mean, the story is a bit involved. I’m not sure – what’s your name?” He said, evidently stalling, trying to build up a rapport.
“Bonnie,” I said. “And I’m going to need to see your police badge,” I said, “In case I have to turn you in, after all.”
His face crumpled in an expression I couldn’t read. Was he- laughing?
“I mean it,” I said, menacingly.
“I know,” he sighed. “It’s just that – well, my name is…”
And then I saw his name plate, emblazoned with his last name: CLYDE.
|
Can barely open my eyes... God, I shouldn't be driving. It's just me, alone in my 2011 Toyota Camry and going down a small road surrounded by green shrubbery and God Knows What in those bushes. Headlights illuminating the path ahead of me and I'm seriously hoping I don't kill a deer.
I look to my right, but it's just darkness. A weak outline of tall trees and small bushes, with the occasional log on the ground. A full, bright moon millions of miles above me. And my bed and a soft pillow waiting for me at home. I smile, thinking of my soft mattress when I hear the resonating and recognizable sirens behind me. Police? Why?
I pull over, waiting to see what the police officer will humor me with. He walks up to my window, in a slow, careless gait you would expect from a king.
"You were speeding."
I stare at his pointed nose and scoff. "Look, officer. I don't want to be here any longer than you do. Let's get two things clear: 1) I wasn't speeding. 2)--"
"I don't like your attitude." While trying to keep his arrogant demeanor, he quickly looks behind him.
"The hell? Alright, now--"
After taking a second glance at whatever is behind him, "Get out of the car."
"Wha-"
He leans into my window, his face millimeters from mine and growls, "Get out of the car. Don't make me tell you again."
I open the door slowly and I'm swiftly pinned on the hood of my car. My face hits the surface hard, nose is throbbing. He forces my hands behind my back, a catalyst for my resistance. I try to push and shove him away--
"Stop resisting!"
"Get the hell off me!"
"I don't want to do this, man!"
"GET THE HELL-"
I can't finish my sentence before a searing pain hits my lower back and my body becomes stiffer than a board. I growl as my body convulses involuntarily, hitting the asphalt road. I'm fully aware of the officer placing icy cuffs around my wrists, but my body is completely devoid of its motor skills. My eyes widen as the stark realization hits my brain that I could die in this arrogant officer's hands for all I know.
Once I've regained my ability to speak, my voice cracks as I plead, "I'm sorry. Please, please stop hurting me."
I turn my head around, trying to make eye contact with the officer. He avoids my eyes, lifting me up but I turn around to face him.
Defeated and dejected, "I'm sorry, alright? Please, why are you arresting me? I wasn't--"
Still darting his eyes behind us, "Shut up. I'm going to cite you for resisting arrest and verbal harassment, if you keep talking."
I don't budge, forcing him to stare at me. He sees the tear welled up in my eye. He closes his eyes and furrows his eyebrows.
He mouths, "You don't understand... Oh God, help me."
"What?"
"In my squad car, is the Police Captain. This is my second night on the job, man. He told me to pull you over, I knew you were doing nothing wrong... but I need to keep this job."
Sure enough, I peer behind us, where he's been glancing at repeatedly. There's a middle-aged man staring back at me. He clenches his jaw and scowls at me.
"Don't do it. Fuck him. Seriously."
"I can't, I can't get fired."
"Expose his corruption, take him to court. Do you know what you're doing by staying silent?"
"Saving my skin?"
Without knowing where I got this flash of wisdom, "Perpetuating a cycle of injustice and oppression in which civilians in my present generation and of future generations will continue to be abused and undermined by corrupt, unfair policing practices. That was a mouthful, I know. But it was the truth. Is your skin worth saving over countless others?"
He doesn't answer, glancing at his squad car. I see a sweat bead trail down his cheek.
"Stop being nervous! Where's the arrogant fool who pulled me over?"
His eyes don't look back at me, his lips quiver. I glance at where his eyes are so distinctly focused, gasping as the captain gets out of the car.
In a gruff, loud voice, "What's taking so long?"
I say nothing. For once, I'll keep quiet. His voice sends chills down my spine.
"Can you not hear me, son?"
The officer stares at his captain, as if he's just seen a ghost. His widened eyes stay on his captain, but his warm hands take off my icy restraints. I'm uncuffed.
"Captain." His voice cracks, "I will not oppress civilians for you. I will not oppress civilians for anyone... This man was not speeding."
He then turns to me, looking me in the eyes for only the third time in this entire ordeal: "You're free to go. Get in your car and drive far away."
The irate captain curses profusely, and as he reaches over to grab me, the officer steps in his way. Unsure of what will happen next, I start my Toyota Camry and drive the hell away... hearing blood-curdling screams behind me.
| 2018-07-10T17:57:54
| 2018-07-10T16:48:37
| 123
| 15
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
The screams weren't the worst part. No, the worst part was the shortness of them; the silence outside was almost complete, there was no hope, only a sticky note attached to the fridge in the break room, with the words "in case of emergency, call this number " and a normal looking phone number with an odd country code.
Airman Johnson was out of options and had left hysteria behind a while back; now she was just cold and detached. Might as well give it a stab; all her superiors were dead, and she'd always wondered whether the note was just a joke.
Her cell rang 3 times before being answered by a British-sounding man. "Who are you and how did you get this number?"
"Airman Johnson, US Airforce, it was on a sticky note on the break room fridge. Please help, they've killed everyone, I'm the only one left."
"Okay, slow down, who's killed everyone, where are you?"
"I don't know, they broke containment, they're some kind of bumpy trash cans, I'm new here. I'm in-" The airman was interrupted by the man on the line.
" Bumpy trash cans? Are you sure? How can the US airforce be so consistently *stupid*? Hang on, I'll be right there."
A loud, throbbing sound echoes through the office for a few seconds, drowning out the latest batch of screams, barely 100 meters away. A head pops around the corner and asks, in the same British accent, "Did someone call for a doctor?"
---
EDIT: some slight wording and corrected the rank
|
"Private!"
"Yessir! I am ready to call the number!"
Area 51 started disintegrating around them, as the monster from below started tearing apart space itself in an effort to escape the prison, the corridors of the underground complex appearing to bend as time itself tore apart.
"This is only like a level 3 right now, stop pretending you're important. Get back to monitoring Adriana and Eric, see if their arms come back from the alternate dimension."
The private glumly returned back to watching the two through the glass, as their arms showed no signs of returning from the portal that the two foolishly touched.
"God, I wish this was a more interesting assignment."
Above him, a portal opened and a man in white robes walked through, nearly catching his massive wings on the edges of the portal. "Hey, Morgan, been too long since I saw you!"
"Hey Gabe, how's life been treating you? We've currently got an inter-dimensional monster down below, nothing major going down right now."
"Oh, you found Abigail then! Yeah she can be a hungry giant monster that wants to destroy humanity, can't she! The big G says that you should feed her an apple boiled in the blood of a sacrificed lamb, that should calm her right down for the next six millennia or so."
"Ok, I'll go tell the Major no-"
"You know that the big G demands a price for this, right?"
"But I literally didn't ask for his help at all!"
"Yeah, but the writing prompt kinda forces your hand, no? He wants a cold one, apparently. Chop chop!"
Morgan sprinted down into the lower-levels, armed with the knowledge to defeat the monster, and the location of the beer fridge.
| 2017-03-21T03:20:56
| 2017-03-21T00:59:36
| 121
| 31
|
[WP] It started just before you realized you were pregnant. Dragons showing up around your home. Small ones first, no bigger than sparrows, with increasingly larger ones as time went on. Now you're going into labor, and a golden dragon, big as a hill, is coming over the horizon.
|
The news told us not to worry…
That the dragons wouldn't bother us…
Then tell me, why is there a massive golden dragon, standing in my way, as I'm going into labor! It’s hard enough to breathe and I’m trying not to panic. Yet, the dragon stands there with its wide eyes and each of its breaths blowing past me like a gust.
Stay calm, stay calm…
I figured we weren’t going to be able to make it to the doctor so we called a mid-wife, for the fourth time, since none seem to want to come close to a home surrounded by dragons. Luckily one of them seemed brave enough to endure the challenge.
Because for the love of god, this isn’t Dungeons & Dragons. I just want this over with already!
A beautiful baby girl was born. I was apparently sleep for hours after having finally given birth, so this is the first time I got to see her face… That and the face of a giant dragon peaking in through the bedroom window.
It not being strange at all.
However, my beautiful baby girl was like a little hot potato, all bundle up in the blanket we had prepared for her. She slowly peaked open her eyes, the first time I got to see them and they resembled the blue eyes of the dragon looking in through the window.
Slit pupils and all.
“Wha-what? Why does she have the same eyes as that dragon?” I ask the mid-wife.
“I don’t know madam.” She says.
I look around for my husband and find him standing on the other side of the room glancing out the window.
“Dear?”
He look over his shoulder without fully facing me.
“My love, and my beloved newborn daughter. I must confess. I didn’t think time would fly as quickly as it did.” He says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“This body of mine, it isn’t my true body. For the man you fell in love with is that golden dragon, you see there in the window.” He says.
“I… I…”
Apparently I fainted, or so the mid-wife told me. I don’t remember. All I know is some time has passed.
I sat up in my bed, with the mid-wife at my side holding my daughter.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Madam, he’s no longer here.” She says.
“What? Did he leave?” I ask.
“No madam, he’s here. He left a message for you, ‘come outside’ he said.” She says.
How dare he! My body is weak and he’s asking me to move? Come outside, he said. Our home is two stories, going down these stairs won’t be a laughing matter. Although, I suppose I’m grateful to our maids for escorting me to the front door.
They opened the door, and there lining the horizon was the golden dragon and several others.
The golden dragon walks closer, and stops right in front of the house.
Right in front of me.
The dragons mouth opens and my husbands voice comes out.
“Its me.” It says.
“Its who? I’m sorry, but you are?” I ask.
“Your husband.” It says.
“You? …What does this even mean?”
“My human body was only temporary… But, it is true that my love for you is real.” He says.
“So… our daughter then?” I ask.
“Is what unites our kind. Our daughter born of man and dragon.” He says.
His blue eyes gaze into mine. The sincerity in them. The honesty in them. They still look like his, even as a dragon. I don't want to admit… and I hate that he’s a dragon now…
But I still love him.
|
The cold winter has already arrived. Its freezing pincer slowly closing on all and every creature, prepared or not, and cut their lives in half. But not the Nords. They were never something the Winter could ever erradicate. Blonde, white, stark, and most importantly, unwavering. I had been born to them, raised on the frozen ground, fishing, hunting, listening to stories of great Nords while cooking our meals on a campfire. I may have been raised differently. Racist, maybe.
We Nords do not like other people. Not the lizardmen from the marshes south, not the tanned folk from the West, and we like the pointy-ears the least. They are, if anything, big mouthed and always acting like we all are of lesser quality. I have been to the walled city many times, and the seat of the High King twice, and every time I met one, they had this bored and sneering emotion written all over them.
I married a warrior. A respectable man from the eastern parts of our land, who was proud of his heritage. He was too proud to refuse the request, he was too proud to refuse the call. He had fallen in the early skirmishes; a martyr to some, and a criminal to many. I escaped to the mountains, to a small hut I have bought off a widow of a warrior, and decided to live there, like one of those hags from childhood tales.
I could have sworn I saw a small dragon among the bushes when I arrived there, but I waved it away as a simple trick of the mind. But the more I stayed, the more I had seen. Small, dragon-like creatures, flying around, catching prey and watching me. My house. I tried scaring them away, but they returned every time. After a while, I just gave up. Maybe I have gone crazy since he died.
I sensed my pregnancy two weeks after I finally settled in. Small pains, hunger, exhaustion. The weeks went past, and slowly I started to see the dragons growing in size. Every week, they became bigger and bigger. I tried touching them, but they vanished as soon as I lifted my hand. Tricks of the mind, I would say.
After more than half a year since I went on to be hag, the day arrived. I had gone into labor, and my pain was unbearable. I looked out, and I have seen the most graceful yet horrible sight of my life: a giant golden dragon flying towards my house. I knew this dragon, I was sure it was real. I could not think of anything else, and my lips parted to realize my thoughts: "Alduin."
It tried. It was brutal, and his breath destroyed the surrounding pine trees like they were twigs placed by a child. But somehow, his efforts were in vain. My house, maybe defended by some divine being, stayed upright and stable. I knew I had to be swift, and I endured the pain, until his body was finally out. He was silent at first, but then screamed - no, he shouted, like Alduin did, but with extraordinary power, obliterating the World Eater and banishing his soul from the world.
I needed 5 days to fully be able to move again, and thank the gods for my foresight to keep a large suppy of firewood, food and water beforehand. I knew he was my child, yet I was not sure if he was of my dear husband, and if he was, I could never foresee this consequence. I decided to raise him a normal man, never to tell him of his birth and his power.
For I named him after his father, but his true name is Dovahkiin.
| 2018-10-28T06:31:32
| 2018-10-28T05:48:01
| 168
| 86
|
[WP] Write a horror story in the format of a Wikipedia article.
Edit: Wow, guys. This is just amazing. I would like to thank all the writers for having taken the time to create such amazing stories, and thank you all for mentioning the SCP Foundation. Truly a magnificent site (that we all just gave free advertising to).
|
"Foot"
Limbus mobilus, common name "foot", is a parasitic organism that secretes a neurotoxin upon attachment which affects the senses of the host party, effectively camouflaging it against notice [1]. In the wild, the parasites will attach themselves in mating pairs, though this has yet to be replicated in a clinical setting. The host, believing the creatures to be a natural part of their body, is unalarmed by their presence, and allows them to grow in relative peace. Once firmly entrenched, it is nearly impossible to remove the feet, and the act of doing so engenders immense pain and loss for the host [2]. It is interesting to note that the human body is extraordinarily adaptable, and will go to great lengths to turn the relationship into something resembling symbiosis [1][3], forcing the feet to perform perfunctory functions in tandem with the natural limbs. Several studies suggest that this extra functionality may be the source of the strong emotional attachment hosts often feel [3]; however, conventional evidence points to the neurological element of the parasitic attachment as the cause [4].
If left untreated, the feet's attachment tendrils will make their way up through the soft tissue of their host, restricting circulatory functions, and eventually wrapping all the way around the brain stem. This results in such symptoms as amnesia, dementia, infirmness, a severely weakened state of being, depression, loss of appetite, and eventually, after much suffering, death [2][4].
|
**Buffalo Text**
from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Buffalo Text is an horror short story written by Joanne Tidurs in 1907. It was published first in the first and only edition of Scarecrow Magazine, before being reprinted in 1967 in the only edition of Eldricth Booklet. The story is now a public domain.
**Plot Summary**
Set during summer in the year of 1907, Buffalo Text tells the story of an eponymous manuscript containing a cursed spell who drain the life essences of those who that reads them. Once the the spell had been read over 77.777 times, then it would unseal the demon that was bound in them, to spread chaos that would ends the human civilization.
The protagonist of the story, Avery Edge, a british gentleman thief and spelunker, must put an end towards a dark cult from the Orient that tries to unseal the book and spread its content into the world. After infiltrating the cult base in Sawaluto, Avery managed to kill the high priest and collapse the temple, burying the text in the process.
However, the story reach an cliffhanger ending when a double agent within Avery's own team of supporters managed to rediscover the text in the ruins, and secretly smuggled it to London to be displayed under a different name in an archeological museum. The ending also revealed the english translation of the demonic text, which reads:
>Rise, O Komotda
>Chief of the dark shadow and feral pig
>And of maladies, both small and big
>Wraps us in your winged blooming glory
>Envelops us in your darkness that's gory
>Rise, O Komotda
>The ancient hunter king,
>Champion of killing.
**Inspirations**
In her letters with fellow horror writers, Joanne Tidurs revealed that the story was penned after her trip to Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archeology just weeks before it was published. There, she came across a wrongly placed artifact, a manuscript written in malay, that was placed among museum's collection. When her complains was denied by a museum staff she described as, "sickly, with sunken eyes and halted movements", Tidurs then decided to write a story inspired about it to pent her bafflement. Research into finding the artifact in question and a staff during that period that match her description had been undertaken but to no avail.
The incantation at the end of the story was an original creation of Tidurs, which she attributed to a dream she had the following night during a high fever. The fever would continue to plague her until her death by Malaria in 14th July 1907, making the story to be her last written work.
**Legacy**
A literary group naming themselves British United Literary Lounge, began to advocate the story publication after Tidurs sudden death. BULL managed to help publish the story in Scarecrow Magazine, an upcoming pulp magazine at the time, appearing as its front cover. The sudden fire that engulfed the building that house both the publisher of Scarecrow Magazine and the lounge BULL members rented for their clubhouse stops the momentum, and Scarecrow Magazine was only published for one and only issue. Continuation and or reboot of the magazine had been in the works during 1914, but dwindling interest in pulp fiction at the time halts any real action.
It was not until 1967 when Fields and Co. publishing house decided to include the story in a horror short story collection titled "Eldricth Booklet". Major printing error occured within the first edition was somehow overlooked during the release, including hundreds of copies which included nothing but Buffalo Text story over and over again. Refunds were given, which contributed to Field and Co. closing it doors months later. The incident was known within London's literary cicle as the "Buffalo Text Incident" and became a phenomenon on its own.
In 2007, a pristine edition of the Eldricth Booklet that contains nothing but the last page of Buffalo Text story for all its 97 pages was sold in an auction for an undisclosed amount of money.
**Cultural References**
The incident was referenced by Tommy Cooper in 1982 recording of Noon Funnies, where he jokingly theorized that even if all those who buys their copy of Buffalo Text would read it, the demon Komotda (which he bastardize into Come on, now) would not be due to be released at least until 35 years later.
| 2017-05-08T03:12:48
| 2017-05-08T02:05:13
| 303
| 73
|
[WP] What if Noah's "ark" was planet Earth itself? What, then, did God flood, and who was Noah?
|
The Lost Scriptures, excerpts from The Book of Noah:
Noah 4:26 And then the Lord said, "Noah, will you shape a planet near this star? You are my best sculptor."
Noah 4:27 And so I set to work on Earth, humbled by the Lord's praise.
Noah 4:28 When my work was done, the Lord said, "Noah, you did not disappoint. Now will you fill it with two of every plant and animal in the universe that you hold dear? I wish to see your sculpture full of life."
Noah 4:29 And so I traveled the universe, selecting the Lord's life that pleased me most, and I brought it to Earth to flourish.
Noah 4:30 When my work was done, the Lord said, "Noah, you did not disappoint. Choose a partner of your choice, your best friend, and we three will walk upon the face of Earth and marvel at your work."
Noah 4:31 And so I asked my dear friend Naamah to come with me and the Lord to see my creation.
Noah 5:1 We stood on the soil I had shaped and looked upon the brimming life, and the Lord cried. Naamah, too, wept. But she wept at the beauty of my creation. The Lord cried in sadness.
Noah 5:2 He spoke: "Noah, your brothers and sisters never use their demi-god powers for such beauty. Instead they wield their power to oppress the weaker creatures in my dominion. And so the time has come to take their power. I am sorry for what I must do to you and Naamah, but there is no other way. I hope you understand and continue to be my favorite sculptor and shape a new, smaller universe on Earth."
Noah 5:3 With those words, Naamah and I were turned into mortals. We looked into the heavens and could see the great flood of God's power washing over the universe, killing our brothers and sisters who had refused to respect the Lord's word. Some fought uselessly against His power, but their battling formed black holes--permanent scars on the Lord's creation.
Noah 6:1 Naamah and I were saddened by the loss of our ability to shape the heavens, but we were grateful the Lord chose us to shape a new creation. And so we set to work with mortal hands.
|
Quick note: excellent shower thought.
Altair IV had been the cradle of life for all of eternity, or at least as far as God knew. God was a lesser deity, only in control of 2 galaxies, but he could tell that there were greater beings who'd torn apart their realms and chose to destroy all of creation with great supernovas and horrendous black holes.
God knew that soon, his masterpiece Altair IV would succumb to a terrible fate if he left it in the path of one of the rogue gods. Generally it went against God's personal set of rules to interfere in his creation, but he knew that without interference, all of his work would be destroyed.
He sent his consciousness forth into a man, not just any man, but the greatest scientist of his time.
"You may not believe me, but if you don't find a method to transport the life of Altair IV into a habitable planet located in the lost galaxy, your entire planet will come to an end." whispered God into the scientist's ear.
"The lost galaxy?" responded the scientist.
In his hurry God forgot that this mere mortal knew not of the lost galaxy, where for reasons unknown to him, he could not enter, or even see into. God then proceeded to plant this knowledge into the scientist's mind.
"Now quickly, you must find a way to get there, or all will be lost."
The scientist wondered if he was suffering delusions, for in this civilization no vestiges of religion were left over, the only gods they served were science, and logic.
God watched with trepidation as the scientist took days to question his sanity. With gladness he observed the scientist task all of his resources to scan for threats to Altair IV, it was discovered that a black hole was hurtling towards them and would reach the planet in a year.
With this knowledge the scientist with the world backing him created a glorious technology, a matter deconstructor that would disassemble all living things and transplant them on the nearest habitable planet in the lost galaxy; although the scientist and God both realized that this was a risky endeavor, with no guarantee of success, he proceeded.
On the day that the scientist would activate the machine God warned him, although you know it not I have been watching over this planet before life ever graced its surface. Once you go into the galaxy, I, nor any other god will be able to interfere with you or your species' progress. It's all up to you now.
With that, the scientist flipped the switch.
| 2015-01-07T19:00:29
| 2015-01-07T18:50:14
| 935
| 43
|
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
|
It was a freezing morning in New York.
I slipped into the local Starbucks for some coffee.
There was a new cashier today.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?", She asked, exasperated.
"Soy un federale, tengo un gato en mis pantalones," I replied.
The disinterested look on her face vanished instantly.
"You...", she said, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
For a second my heart skipped a beat.
"Do you know how many years I've spent working in Mexico because of your bullshit!?" She yelled, smashing her fists on the Register.
It was her.
She was the one.
Edit: Damn, first gold. Didn't expect this. Thanks guys!
|
My parents were fine. ("Excuse me, what time is it?" "It's about half-past two.") And my brother Tim got "Do you know you have gorgeous eyes?", which is probably a weird thing to say to a complete stranger but is otherwise kind of perfect. But there are some awful cases, some phrases you just don't want. Like, my friend Meagan Andrews got "Fuck you", and it's a testament to her personality that it didn't scar her for life. "It can only really go uphill from there," is how she puts it. And unless you've been hiding under a rock the past four years, you know about Quentin Hull, who got "Why did you kill that guy?" and is currently living his own shitty, lawyer-filled version of the Minority Report. But those are the horror stories.
Then again, when I woke up that morning the horror stories were all I could think about. Because let's face it, this whole thing is legitimately goddamn terrifying.
Sitting up in bed, I noticed the letter sitting on my nightstand. I decided it was probably a good idea to get this over with as quickly as possible, ripped open the envelope, and revealed that little slip of paper...
*Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?*
Immediately I flashed back to a Tuesday morning when I was eight years old. I've just finished my breakfast and am all neat and ready to go to school. My parents, however, are hustling to get everything together, and my mother absentmindedly stubs her toe on the edge of the kitchen counter and spills her coffee on my arm. It's hot as hell. I scream. Dad rushes over and wipes up the coffee, and Mom is about to kiss it better when she notices my arm begin to swell. In thirty seconds it's gone completely numb and puffy, and Dad calls an ambulance. Later I learn I had a severe allergic reaction to the coffee and am lucky to be alive.
And then I snapped back and realized I've sure as hell got it worse than Meagan Andrews, and possibly Quentin Hull too.
| 2014-12-17T23:12:07
| 2014-12-17T22:14:26
| 2,270
| 64
|
[WP] as the firstborn of the royal family, you’ve inherited the King's power and spoils, while your siblings have been left to fend for themselves. To this day they resent you, no matter what you do to make it up to them.
|
With the business of the court done for the day, I made my way to the lower parts of the castle. It had been a busy day. But then, most days were busy recently. There seemed to be no end to hungry mouths to feed, foreign diplomats to charm, minutia of trade deals to negotiate with the guilds...
And it was made no easier by my so-called siblings. Our mother, god bless her soul, had seen fit to bless the old king with triplets. I was the firstborn and my two younger brothers had inherited nothing. Left to fend for themselves, they often stirred up trouble in the kingdom by either passing as me, or on the more seditious part of the scale by trying to rally the nobles into rebelltion.
I had done everything to make their life easy but they had never stopped resenting me. They had their own palaces, I had secured good marriages as was my duty as the oldest, I had even brought in special educators from abroad to educate their children. Still, all I got was rough words and harsh treatments in return. They wanted to be kings, and I don't think anything would ever change their minds.
As I reached the lower parts of the castle, I carefully removed my clothing - the king's clothing - and replaced it with that of a servant's. They'd recognize me eventually, of course, but both nobles and guards had a particular talent of ignoring anyone in a servant's uniform. It was better if I was not seen going even lower this day. All the way down, in fact.
To the dungeons. Where my ungrateful younger brothers resided, after having been captured by my men not two nights ago. Their tone had grown increasingly seditious as they travelled the kingdom. I had no choice but to make arrangements. Fortunately for me, it would be some time before they were missed. They were known for their wandering spirits and for hiding from the king's men on occasion.
They truly were a sorry sight. Far from the fine livery I had managed for them, I found them in iron chains hooked to a wall. There was no guard here tonight, just me and them. It was necessary for what was about to happen. I entered the cell, gripping my small dagger tightly. I placed the king's clothes on a stool. A fresh set of clothes would be needed after tonight's messy business.
My brothers recognized me immediately. A good gob and a sneer was all the greeting I would get. "Oh, brothers", I said to them, "what am I going to do with you?" "If I had been born a minute earlier...", said the younger of the two. "Duel me to the death!" exclaimed the older. I simply shook my head.
"I have spent a great deal of time considering the situation, and after these many years I've finally come to a conclusion. A final solution that will solve this problem once and for all." I removed my dagger from its sheath. My brothers recoiled, as much as they could bound in chains. "And brothers... I'm afraid I need your help." Them in chains, me with my dagger, no guard in the dungeons tonight... the stage was set.
"Rock Scissor Paper?" I asked them boldly. They looked at each other with confused looks. I sighed, and placed the dagger on the pile of king's clothing. "Look... this situation is tearing the kingdom apart. I'm not willing to kill you. Nor am I willing to die in some silly duel. So this is how we solve it. We play for the throne. The winner takes all, the others accept it forevermore. Either of you can pass as the king well enough." They considered it.
"What about our children? What about our wives?" they asked one at a time. "Oh please spare me the sentimentality. If all you wanted was to spend time with them, you would have. You're here tonight because more than anything you wanted to be king. Well, here's your bloody chance. Just a chance. A fair chance, that our father owed all of us. Or I could walk out of here and throw away the key - leave you to rot. That's what it has come to, my brothers."
They took the deal as I knew they would. And I believed they would hold to the terms laid out before us. I believed it because they were just like me, triplets in body and mind. In the end I could not shake the feeling that, were it not for the smallest twists of fate, I would be sitting where they were. In iron chains, wanting the throne. That's why I wanted this - because it was fair.
So we played for the throne. We didn't cheat, we didn't argue. There was no audience here tonight. When we were done, I unlocked their chains. For a moment, we stood in unison again, brothers united at last, in the poorly lit dungeon of the castle. I smiled at them, and they smiled at me.
"Long live the king", said my older brother.
"Long live the king", said my younger brother.
"Long live the king", said I.
|
I called my servant to me and said, "Servant! How are my siblings?"
He looked at his scroll. "Well, sire, where do I begin? Let's see. Your older sister, Alexandria-"
"I don't care about the boring ones" I interrupted. "Just skip to the interesting ones."
"Well, there have been reports that several of your younger brothers are gaining signifcant influence among the raiding parties between the kingdoms."
"Ah, good for them!"
"Yes, well, er, except for the fact that their numbers are growing exponentially and they are very vocal about their agenda which is-"
"To overthrow me, yes, yes." I waved a hand. "Next."
"No, sire. Actually, they've made it very clear that they don't care about claiming the throne for themselves. They just want to personally depose you and, well to summarize, they say that 'death would be better than the torture they have in store for you'."
"That must be Amias." I nodded. "Always the little poet. Okay, what about my sisters."
"Uhm, my lord, this is a serious threat. Don't you think you should do something to quell the inevitable uprising?"
I laughed. "Uprising? There's no uprising! I know my brothers. They're just playing around. They don't really mean those things. How can they? Sure, I'm on the throne, and they're not, but I've been nothing but kind to them. Right? Riiiiight?"
"Well, er..."
"No, go on, speak. Say what is on your mind."
"Well, sire, when you took their throne, you had their mother killed and then you sent her body to them in an opened coffin."
"Of course! I wanted the people to see who it was and pay their respects!"
"Your intentions were certainly good, sire, but perception, as you know..."
"And what was the perception?"
"That you were disrespecting their mother. Added to the fact that you didn't have her buried in the royal cemetary."
"Because I wanted her children to have the honor of being able to bury her where they felt comfortable visiting."
"Understood. But again, perception-wise..."
I sighed. "Yes, yes. I'll think of some way to make it up to them. And my sister?"
"Well, after you had her fiancé killed-"
"He was a traitor!"
"Yes, but you never made your sister aware of the details at the time."
"She's a female. What does she have to do with business between men?"
"As far as she knows, you got the throne, became paranoid or power hungry or both, and killed the man she loved."
I sighed. "And what is she doing?"
"The last reports I recieved said she attached herself to one of the princes of a rival kingdom, whose king is on his deathbed. They say that the prince is under her thumb and that when he succeeds to the throne, she will really be the one running the kingdom."
"Good for her!"
"Except..."
I groaned. "Oh Lord, let me hear it."
"Though she isn't as vocal about it as your brothers have been, several reliable sources have said that once she has become in power, she will wage a war against you. If she joins forces with your brothers, then the odds aren't looking too favorably."
"So I'm doomed." I sunk low into my throne.
"Not necessarily," said my good and faithful servant. "There is a way that just might work."
| 2021-06-09T13:06:33
| 2021-06-09T12:41:43
| 26
| 16
|
[WP] Write a story that makes absolutely no sense, until the last sentence.
|
I wake up. I get coffee. I go to work. I talk to clients. I get lunch. I get gas. I wait at red lights. I wait at green lights. I drink water. I park my car. I finish work. I go back to car. I get home. I kiss my wife and kids..
|
Ah, the time is 7 P.M. That nice lady from down the corridor is coming. Good old Nora Penny-Freen always visits me right at that time. I always remember her coming, but I can't remember much before I went to nice place I have now. I just remember being important. Why do I think that? Because I remember the word beta, and I know for a fact that means I was a beta tester in my past, or I was some military person, and I was the beta series after the alpha series. I remember the people who live with me are all oddballs. Some of them just sit there watching a wall. Some others just watch a man named Ben go, and scream whenever they see him. Bunch of nutballs. I can't remember, did I have any friends? What is this scene I always see in my head when I sleep? I can't focus that well after Nora comes by my room, but everyday I always see the same scene in my sleep every night. Some young people are crying. Some old people are also crying. So many tears. Why are they crying? I look towards another man who has red eyes. He seems to look down on me. He walks towards me. His eyes. So red. I'm not afraid though. Why? He's close to me. He's eye to eye to me. Why aren't I scared of him? He looks me in the eye, and starts talking.
"Don't worry dad they will take good care of you here."
| 2015-06-12T23:55:01
| 2015-06-12T23:45:19
| 70
| 42
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Anna,
I must say that your letter was an unexpected delight. It was quite charmingly written, and I commend your command of grammar and syntax. All of the items you requested will be easy enough to provide. However, I cannot cure dyslexia. That is was one the many things my Father cursed humanity with during one of his meanie head moods. You have my sincerest apologies for that. Lastly, you asked for a pen pal and a spell book. If you are amenable, I am quite happy to be your pen pal, and to teach you witchcraft. Those mean girls at your school won't stand a chance.
Please do not send a response in the mail, as I have an email addres. I have found email to be a more efficient means of communication. If you wish to continue our correspondence, please email me at morningstar@gmail.hell.
Sincerely,
Lucifer
|
Dear Peter,
I'm sorry to say that I'm not the person you likely wanted to send your letter to. But don't fear, child, for I will bring you the gifts you asked for, so long as you promise not to tell your parents about this mistake.
Now, just so I remember, you asked for an Iron Man action figure, a puppy, and a for your father to come home. The action figure will be no problem, and one of my hell hounds recently gave birth to a litter of puppies, so I'll make sure to bring you one.
Your father will be tricky, but so long as you makes good on your promise of milk and cookies, I'm sure you'll be seeing him on Christmas morning.
I do wish you a Merry Christmas, and I'll be sure to pass along a good word to St. Nick.
Your friend,
Satan
P.S. - Make sure to have your parents read the book that I send with the puppy. That way, he'll grow up into a big, fierce, and loyal Protector of Darkness.
P.P.S. - I really can't wait to see you, Peter. This Christmas will be most memorable.
| 2018-10-28T14:29:07
| 2018-10-28T13:50:03
| 59
| 30
|
[WP] "I'll pay you $150K a year. Sit in this room and wait for the phone to ring. What ever you do, DO NOT miss that phone call." Bored to death, after 10 years, that shiny black landline in the corner of the room has never once rang. One day, it starts ringing. You miss it by a second.
|
I can’t believe I missed the call, by a second.
I have been waiting for it to ring for 10 years. And then I went ahead and missed the call. I sat by the phone for a few more minutes, maybe they’ll try again? It’s an old timey analog phone, no caller ID. Why isn’t this phone caller ID? I could’ve just called them back.
I googled the code to call back in an analog phone, there should be one right? Well there are a few suggestions.
I pick up the receiver to try the first result, instead of a dial tone I hear..
“Hello”.
Ummm… that is not how phones work. Or phones are supposed to work. You miss a call, you go back to dial tone. You don’t hear voices.
“Hello??” The voice is sounding annoyed now.
“Hi. You called?”
“And you missed. You were supposed to pick up. NOT miss the call.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It took me a while to realise this was ringing ”
“Excuse me?”
“Hey, it never ringed in 10 years. It caught me off guard.”
“It’s been 10 years.”
“Yeah.”
The ensuing silence was stretched for a few moments.
“Okay, I’m coming over. We’ll discuss this in person”
Click. Well, that was anticlimactic. I tidy over the room. It has changed a lot in the last 10 years. I personalized it a lot. Should I start packing? Well I haven’t got any packing boxes.
I decide to wait for the guy to come. Hoping it won’t take 10 years for him to reach me. He sounded so familiar though.
I was smiling at my own joke when the knock on the door came.
“Hello Tyler.”
“JORDAN!”
“Hey. How are you doing?”
“It’s been 10 years! Where have you been?”
Jordan is one of my closest friends. In fact, he is the one who employed me for this job. Wait in this room, for that phone to ring. And that’s what I have been doing.
And he vanished. We all searched for him, but it’s like he just vanished from the face of the earth. I was the one who saw him last, I got investigated by the police for his disappearance. Now, he just walked right in the office, like not a day has passed. Jordan takes the armchair, I sit on the couch. He seems a little sheepish. He hasn't changed a bit. As in, he is in the same clothes I saw him last time, when he was showing me around this very office. 10 years ago.
“It’s been a while, ha?”
He did something. I know him since we were both in diapers.
“Jordan, what have you done?”
He gives his got-caught-doing-something-incredible grin.
“I think I figured out time travel.”
|
I yawned for the third time in a row, as I sat in my armchair. I put down my book, and looked at that stupid black phone. The thing never rang. I was paid to sit here until it rang. Just sit. Well, ten years later and nothing! Everyday, I would wake up and ask myself, would today be the day? Would that phone ring today? Everyday, however, I was met by extreme disappointment.
I drifted off, still thinking of the little black phone in the corner...
I practically leapt out of the chair when the usually quiet phone rang. My heart was racing, and I asked my self, could it really be? Was the phone really ringing? I waited for a second, just to make sure it was really ringing. It was! The beautiful sound filled my ears, and I cautiously walked towards it. That is, until I tripped over the rug. That damn rug. I had tripped over it so many times in the past ten years I’ve had this job.
I cursed as my hand began to bleed. Then I felt panic rise. The phone had been ringing for awhile now, and I needed to answer it soon. I quickly stood up, wiping the blood onto my pants. I closed the distance between the phone and I. I reached for it, the excitement building, and as my hand touched it, silence. I felt a sinking feeling in my gut.
The feeling, of dread, guilt, and fear. I didn’t do the one thing I was paid to do. I didn’t pick up the phone. The usually white lights, flickered to red, and my vision became spotty. What was happening?! As I staggered to the floor, the last thing I heard was, “Earth simulation 48284 failed. Shutting the system down, in 3, 2, 1.”
Edit: I fixed the formatting lol.
| 2020-08-24T02:26:51
| 2020-08-23T19:16:46
| 441
| 263
|
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself.
|
A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now.
|
I grew up in the dark depths, a place where large hairy spiders sneak through the roof; a place where giant slugs inch themselves forward; a place where no child is found wandering, for long at least.
In a way I think I'm like them. My teeth are sharp like theirs. I find myself thinking vile thoughts every now and then. I get really worked up when a human comes close to me, less now then in the past, but I still feel it, that itch to just... be a monster, to destroy.
I don't want to be one. I want to be good. I want to have friends, people to laugh with, to hug, to argue and scream at. I want to go to sleep knowing that I did something good, that I was someone good.
I think back to my time in the dungeon. I was lonely. Isolated. I sat in the corner, completely still, driven crazy by my own thoughts. Each time a group of adventurer's came I'd take it out on them. The screams, the flesh, the fear kept me sane in a way.
I'm still in the corner, but instead of a dungeon I'm in a little tavern. I act the little chair in front of the piano. The one nobody uses except for the little kid that comes in around morning to fuddle a few notes and so. He's really progressed over the years. It's actually pleasant to hear him play now.
It's night now. The windows are black. It's turning a bit chilly. Scrubbing a glass, and whistling to himself, Roflo looks pleased; and tired, he always looks tired.
Today had been a long day of work, filled with many odd happenings. Earlier an odd man walked in. Fidgeting, and shaking, he stay to the topic nor sit still for more than a second. When Roflo told him to pay, he spat at Roflo. The other customers threw him out as he cursed how unfair the whole thing was.
The door opened, the bell rung, a figure glid into the room. It was the boy from before. He held a knife in his shaking hands, and he stared at Roflo. The cold air from the outside blew the candles out. It turned dark, only the eyes of the boy and the barkeeper shining.
"You fucking pig," the boy said, "it's your fault. People like you are the problem." He took a few steps forward. "I tried getting work. I tried but nobody would let me in, just cause I can't sit still. Now you punish me?"
"Boy, don't do anything stupid," Roflo said.
"Hahahha, I'll do as I please for once. You'll fell the pain I feel all the time, after I carve your face up. People will look at you as a monster as well."
*Monster.* The word made my heart jolt. My body heated up, became sweaty and uncomfortable. I had to move, I couldn't stand still. I stood up, the chair morphing, showing a large jaw in the middle, with a large tongue, and a row of spiky teeth. Two hands ticking out of my side. Their eyes shifted to me, the boy tumbling down on the floor.
"A m-mimic," the boy stuttured.
"How does it feel when someone calls you a monster?" I asked him, approaching him, his face growing white.
"How does it feel?" He repeated in chock. "It feels bad. It feels like I'm odd. Like I'm less then them. I just want to fit in. I just want to be a part of them. Why won't they give me a chance? Just one chance." Tears made the boys eyes wet.
I hugged him. My arms are cold, icy almost, and his are warm, but I still made sure to hug hard. He sobbed silently.
"Let it all out. Come with me. Follow me," I said leading him to the counter. I sat down on the chair, a chair sitting on a chair, and he sat down beside me. "Two beers Roflo."
"Stranger things have happened," he said and served us. "What're your names gentlemen?"
"Sylsus," the boy said between strained breaths.
"And you?" Roflo asked me.
"I don't have a name."
"Sticks. That'll be your name. What do you say about becoming this taverns guard?"
Maybe people see me as a monster. But you know what? Who says a monster doesn't deserve friends, love and a career; who says a spider or a slug doesn't want a cold beer after a long days work?
| 2021-09-22T06:25:02
| 2021-09-22T01:56:32
| 58
| 35
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
I just stood there in shock. What could I have done, I thought to myself. I worked for a living, payed my taxes, kept to myself. I didn't do great things for anyone but I didn't really hurt anyone. Well, there was that one habit I had but surely that wasn't on par with murder or anything.
"What could I have possibly done to get me such a long sentence?!" I asked Peter.
Peter said "I don't really get it either, let me go though your records."
Peter starts looking through the book of my life and stop midway through and blurts out "Oh yes. That. That would do it. That would do it for sure."
"What was it?!" I demanded.
Peter said "Despite there being a perfectly functioning toilet, you were the guy that would shit on the floor of the bathroom at McDonald's."
|
“186,290 years?” I exclaimed, shock written all over my face. “You have to be mistaken!” I continued staring slack-jawed at the bored looking HSA officer across the counter. “186,292 years” he corrected me in a bored tone as he stamped my papers and pushed them back toward me. “Straight ahead, follow this hallway to the 173rd bank of elevators and give this to the officer there.” My eyes looked off unconsciously to where he pointed, gazing over the seeming miles of endless lines all waiting for their meeting with HSA. I’d heard there had been a brief movement to create a pre-check where you could have HSA review your life before you even completed it, expediting your time waiting to enter heaven, or as with most of the people their time in hell. The plan fell flat however once people realized that no one was that anxious to get to hell.
“That must be wrong” I sputtered again, knowing I had led a boring life. “Who is your supervisor, I need to talk to someone”.
At this point the man looked slightly less bored, and even a little sad, though I didn’t really notice, so hung up was I on what was obviously a mistake. “You don’t want to do that” he suggested, barely moving his lips. “Trust me, just do your time and don’t complain.” By this time I was too wound up to even notice the gentle warning his voice carried, and my own voice rose. “I”ll not do my time, this is wrong! I demand to speak to whoever is in charge.” I shouted as others looked toward me to see what the commotion was. Two lanes over, a drug lord who had just received 37 years laughed at my predicament as he skated by, nodding to the HSA officers as if he had known them all in another life.
The man sighed, and nodded “So be it” he said and pushed a buzzer on his desk. As he looked up at me he started pulling a 9 inch thick stack of forms out from under the counter, bound together with rubber bands. “You’ve chosen to request a complete life audit with the Eternal Review Service. He pushed the stack of forms to me and pointed me to a bank of elevators with no sign which read ‘Circle 10 - ERS’. “It’s out of my hands now” he continued to me. “Even Dante couldn’t imagine anything like the 10th circle. Take that elevator and you can get started on the preliminary application for audit when you get there.” He gestured to the thick stack. “Most people complete the application in no more than 5 or 6,000 years. Oh, you’ll need this too” he added handing me a small scalpel. “The forms all must be filled out in triplicate in your own blood after all.”
I stood there even more shell-shocked than I was before as two more HSA officers prodded and pulled me toward the waiting elevator. What had I gotten myself into?
| 2018-09-26T09:05:26
| 2018-09-26T07:53:45
| 26
| 17
|
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong.
|
I still remember the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the sadness in her eyes... I had never seen her cry before that very moment. That moment when she told me the words I would never forget and that have haunted me for the past two centuries.
"You're not allowed to die, okay?" she had told me, tears drawing clean lines in her dirt-covered face. "Promise me you won't die."
At the time, I didn't have a single clue what she was talking about, but she was hurt, sad and on the verge of dying. So I promised right then and there that I wouldn't die, not knowing what those words had in store for me.
In that final moment, that last breath, she had smiled and I knew she was content. "Don't die," she had whispered before finally collapsing from her wounds.
And I hadn't. It has been over two centuries now and I still walked the Earth, not a day older since the day of the promise. I just couldn't die and believe me if I say I tried. Don't think that makes me invulnerable though, it still hurt like hell to get shot in the head from point blank range or to be set on fire. But it won't kill me, nothing can. All because I promised her I wouldn't die, because I wanted to comfort a dying woman in her final moments.
But do you know what the best part of all this is? I have no idea why I had to stay alive. She never had the chance to tell me why and I never had the opportunity to find out. So for the past two centuries I have been roaming Earth, trying to find my purpose. It's the year 2219 now and a lot has changed since that faithful day. I have seen things... Both bad and good. I have seen the true face of humanity in many different ways. I have seen the face of good in a young boy helping a granny to cross the road and I have seen the bad in a disillusioned dictator ordering an attack on innocent civilians.
I tried to change the world as I outgrew it. It wasn't easy, but being immortal opens up a lot of possibilities. It took me twenty years to realize I wasn't growing older. It took me another twenty to work my way into several large governmental organisations all across the world. By the year 2085, I was probably the richest and most influential person in the world. And I decided to use that influence for good. Humanity was killing itself and something had to be done. By 2096, all nuclear warheads and weapons on Earth were disassembled after the historical global signing of an anti-nuclear-warfare agreement. By 2130, the last war ended in a peace treaty. By 2143, the last devices that ran on coal or gas were destroyed and a global electric power grid was built. By 2186, the economy had reached a stable stasis and space exploration took it firsts big steps with the discovery of faster-than-light travel.
It is now 2219 and I'm still here on Earth. My life has been lonely so far, but I feel no regret. I feel content with what I reached and how humanity has evolved in the span of only two centuries.
But my work isn't done yet. There are still things to be worked on, lives to improve and discoveries to be made. I'll keep striving forward. I'll keep trying to make things better. I'll keep trying to hold my promise to her.
> Would you like to know more? /r/PromptRuined
|
Ben rose from the grave. He felt pain, but the tears stopped flowing years ago. They stopped after he lost everyone he loved and knew. And it all stemmed from his daughter's last day on earth.
-----------
"You're not allowed to die, okay daddy? You can't. You have to take care of Laura. I know she's married and all, but you have to take care of her. This will be really hard on her."
"Okay baby girl, I won't. I love you Lizzy, oh God why does it have to be like this?"
"It's okay daddy, I'll be alright. I'll be better soon" She said, tears streaming down both of their faces.
-----------
That was 216 years ago.
Ben didn't know what had happened until long after that day. He still didn't know why it had happened. He collected himself and rubbed the broken blades off grass off his jeans. "Damn" He muttered to himself. "Those are gonna leave a stain". No time to clean them either, he was already going to be late.
He rushed through the cemetery and got in his car. It only took him half an hour to get across the city, not bad, the traffic was good.
"There you are Ben, you're late!" The young woman said with a wide smile
"Yes yes, I know, I was visiting Lizzy. My apologies Katherine." Ben said, forming a weak smile.
"That's quite alright, there's still plenty left to do!" She gestured to the door of the soup kitchen.
As they entered the smell of broccoli and cheddar soup hit Ben's nose, it was Friday, so of course it was broccoli and cheddar. He put on the apron that was hanging behind the door and began serving. It didn't take long for him finish the serving, it was a quiet day as far as the soup kitchen was concerned. Then he began his cleanup routine with Katherine, making small talk all the while.
"It's getting to be that time of the year again, it's getting cold." Katherine said.
"Well that means business will be booming" Ben said with a soft chuckle.
Katherine smiled at him, a smile that wasn't too wide or too cheery. Just a soft and kind smile. "I can see it you know." She said, the smile fading a little, replaced with just a hint of pain.
"See what?" Ben said, a little put off
"The pain in your eyes." Katherine replied gently. "I know you miss her Ben, I'm so sorry."
"No, you don't need to be sorry, you didn't give her the tumor. It's just you remind me of her you know? And sometimes I don't know what I'm doing with my life now that she's gone." He had hid the truth from Katherine, now the *everyone* is gone.
"I know Ben. Have you ever read The Lord of the Rings?" She said softly.
"No, was never my kind of book."
"In it, a character tells the wise wizard that he wishes that something had never happened. Do you want to know what he said?" She asked him. "'So do I,' he said, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.'"
"That's touching Katherine..." Ben muttered, tears starting to well in his eyes.
"You are doing a lot of good in this world Ben. Your time is valuable to these people" She said, tears rolling down her face as she placed a hand on his cheek.
"I certainly have a lot of it don't I?" He made a painful smile.
They both laughed a bit wiping the tears from their face and then finishing the cleanup. And so every day Ben would come to the kitchen and work, it was the least he could do with his time here. Make something good in the stead of something terrible.
---------
Thanks for reading, as always feel free to give feedback. This was a follow up to a bit I wrote yesterday on a different prompt because I liked the characters.
You can read that here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7o0ik9/wp_you_have_lost_the_ability_to_be_wrong_you_find/ds6jt6n/
| 2018-01-05T12:17:29
| 2018-01-05T12:14:21
| 80
| 49
|
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?
|
"Because, you idiot, we're not focused on wringing the neck of the earth for our own gain like you guys."
The human scoffed before sipping his ale. "Oh gods here it comes."
The elf rolled his eyes and put down his drink. "No you got to understand, we elves live for a really long time. Incredibly long compared to humans. Our culture is focused on preserving nature and keeping order in the branches of the great mother. You may mock us for being slow to pick up with the times but I've seen the spread of human civilizations. I have watch it drain the life out of the branch in which you lay claim for your own benefit, unknowingly bringing your own doom."
"OK well that still doesn't explain why you guys arnt super advanced or something. You got countless years ahead of you so use it!"
The elf let out a sigh. "No you- ok look, we live with nature. When we fight, it is only out of necessity. You fight everything. You fight the world around you, your fellow man, elves, me when im saying you're a daft idiot."
"Oi"
"Shush. Anyway as I was saying your kind enjoy fighting more then coexisting. Elves have no desire to fight so we don't work on better ways to kill each other. Humans work way to hard fighting everything so you come up with better methods. It's not that elves arnt advance but we're just not focus on fighting."
The human scoffed. "Oh yah? Well what great advancement have you elves done? I haven't seen any of it."
"Yah cause you idiots will use it to fight each other. Its a pretty open secret that thats why we dont tell you guys this."
"OK well tell me one really vague thing then."
"Nuclear power plant."
"OK well that just a made up word."
"Mmmhm. Just enjoy your ale and keep calling our science 'magic'."
|
Vander look at the bandits.
It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers.
Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal.
A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition.
It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing.
This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted.
It was almost getting boring.
But he had to admit, he still did love this next part.
“Let me show you…”
| 2022-09-04T10:13:29
| 2022-09-04T07:17:47
| 90
| 32
|
[WP] You stare at the pills in your hand. The doctor taps his foot impatiently. "These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" you ask. The doctor rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll never hear her again." You level your gaze on the doctor. "I never told anyone the voice was female..."
|
"I never told anyone the voice was female...," Jeff said. He glanced at the doctor with wary eyes and stepped back. Dr. Tate smiled broadly, then chuckle.
"*How much does it really matter whether I'm male or female*?" the voice asked. Jeff ignored it and focused on the doctor.
"What?" The older man asked. "What do you mean?" Jeff's eyes narrowed, then he looked toward the door; he half expected a burly orderly to step in and glare at him.
"*See? He doesn't care*," the woman whispered in his mind. Jeff clenched his fists in annoyance but kept his attention on the doctor.
"I never mentioned the voice was female. How did you know?" Dr. Tate's grey eyes darkened with confusion.
"Why are you acting like it's a secret?" he asked Jeff.
"*I never asked you to keep me a secret*."
"It's in my head!" Jeff said in a near-shout, the frustration threatened to burst out. Dr. Tate took his own step backward. He inched toward a red button on the wall that would summon security. "How do you know she's female?" Jeff hopped off the examination table and moved toward the door, ready to bolt.
"Oh," Dr. Tate sighed. Jeff noticed the doctor visibly relaxed. The older man sat down on his rolling stool and smiled at Jeff. "You don't know what you are, do you?"
"*Maybe if you didn't try to ignore me all the time you'd have learned something*," the woman said. Jeff felt a certain smugness with the thought.
"What I am?" Jeff lifted his hands and held them out to the doctor with his fingers splayed. "I'm human." A burr of doubt irritated the back of his mind. Most humans probably did not have multiple voices in their head. "Right?"
"*HAHAHAHAHAHA*!" Laughter erupted in Jeff's brain loud enough to make him flinch. Luckily, the doctor nodded in agreement allowing Jeff to stay calm.
"The short answer is, 'yes, you're human'. But you have abilities."
"Like hearing voices in my head?"
"Like receiving thoughts telepathically."
"Thoughts? You mean she's real?" Dr. Tate nodded.
"Real. Documented, and annoying," the greying man smiled.
"*Heeeeey. I heard that*." Dr. Tate nodded at Jeff's right hand.
"Those pills are pretty popular."
"Popular? How many people have abilities like me?" Dr. Tate shrugged.
"Not too many on this Earth. However, we get a lot of traffic from other universes and usually they can hear her."
"Hang on. There are other universes? Doc, C'mon what's going on?" Jeff looked around the room suspiciously. "This is a prank, right? Are you even a real doctor?" Dr. Tate nodded.
"As real as the voice in your head. I have other patients to attend to," Dr. Tate shrugged and stood from the stool. "Take the pills, don't take the pills. I don't care. Come back if you have an allergic reaction.”
"Wait!" Jeff blocked the door. "What about my abilities?"
"Sorry I don't have time to get into that any deeper." Dr. Tate placed a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "If you really want to know you've got a few options. Make a new appointment with me, try to find a traveler from a different universe, or try talking to the voice."
"The voice?" Jeff asked. The doctor's response satisfied him enough to move out of the way. Dr. Tate nodded while he walked out of the exam room.
"She's a Mundo. It's her job to explain it."
"*It's not my job! It's my career of choice!*" Mundo retorted in Jeff's mind.
"What's a Mundo?" Jeff asked himself aloud. He stayed behind in the exam room after the doctor left.
"*Well look who wants to chat all of a sudden*," Mundo replied. "*I'm #37, El Mundo. You're #11, El Melón. That's all you get for now until you help me*."
"Help you what?" Jeff asked the empty room.
"*Escape*."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #361. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
|
Early this year I bought a surprisingly cheap house in the town my parents were born in. They loved this town and even asked to be buried in the local graveyard, so being the faithful son I ever was, I decided to visit them one random day.
I thought this would be a fun little trip to the graveyard and be over with it, but no, I just had to come back haunted by some sort of ghost. Can't even visit my parents without some sort of problem occuring these days, sigh.
Sure enough though, I managed to ignore that ghost to oblivion... till it started speaking to me. Well, at first it was low growls, but as time passed you would think she pronounced actual words some times. My friends of course couldn't take me seriously by principle, so I kept most of the recent stuff to myself.
Ever tried to communicate with a ghost? Well, I have and it was not successful. Tried to understand it a bit before I resorted to medical help in case I was actually mental.
I simply stopped bothering about it though, and I kept delaying my visits to the doctor for a loooong while... because, I mean... the ghost hadn't done anything to me so far, and she seemed pretty nice if you ignored her growls.
After her growls turned into sweet sounding words, however, I couldn't help but start searching for a doctor again. After all the weeks I had been with her, some words wouldn't push me that far, on the opposite, it might had just made me more interested in her, but... there are exceptions.
"*Death*... *I died. Am I dead*?" The ghost said to me one day. She spoke the words in such a clear yet disturbing voice I almost failed to recognise it was her! She continued on, of course, speaking about how this was her house and that she wanted me out. Even got angry when I tried to convince her otherwise... touche'.
After searching on the net for a bit, I found that my house's previous owner had been missing for a couple years now. Best of all? It was a female! One that looked exactly like the ghost.
That made me think about the matters a bit more clearly, but even when I went to agree with her, she screamed at me, showing intelligence no better than that of a three year old kid. Eventually I got tired of her screams, more so because headphones and loud music didn't help. That brought me to where I currently was; standing in front of a psychiatrist , discussing about the possible medicines.
"These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" I asked.
The doctor rolled his eyes and answered with a more patient voice than that of my own, "Yes, you will never hear her again."
I let out a small breath at the mention of that, but immediately turned my head towards him a second later, "I never told you the voice was female... did I?"
The man instantly turned silent after that mention. He tried to convince me I actually had told him that, but I was certain of the opposite. Nevertheless, I couldn't simply argue about such an absurd topic, so after some small talk I left the doctor's office and went to do my own thing... which was to stalk the very same doctor.
Naturally, I wasn't a professional at this sort of thing, nor was I going to get any good chances while the doctor was still working. I went to my home without a hurry, took some more money and went out to buy some make up. I thought about visiting even a make up artist, but that would be an overkill even for me.
Some fake hair here and there, some make up at my face, some contact lenses and a wig later, I visited the psychiatrist. Granted my work wasn't perfect, after some point I had to stop playing with make up since I looked silly even after a few hours of trial and error, so I was certainly missing on that part, but I passed through the reception with no one recognising me and that counted as a success in my book.
After reaching outside the doctor's office, it hit me that I would look weird if all I did was just stand in there... not to mention it was impossible to overhear anything clearly and the doctor wasn't even talking about stuff I was interested about. I felt pretty silly, at that point, but I couldn't just give up. I looked at the ghost beside me and had an idea.
Visiting the male toilets, for a small second the ghost tried to drag me to the female ones, looking conflicted at having to go to the male ones, but her arms just passed through me. She looked annoyed at visiting the male toilets, but also didn't say anything. Her silence all the time was forgotten till I actively went to speak to her and remembered how much she used to talk; repeat herself.
Looking at her straight in the eyes, I asked her if she could spy into that psychiatrist's office. It was a silly idea I had on the spur of the moment. Never actually believed she would listen, but she did...
I stood there for a good half minute before a sudden scream brought me out of my stupor.
"Gh-ghost!" A loud voice was heard inside the psychiatrist's office. My next thoughts were entirely instinctive, but I rushed towards the doctor's office. The doctor seemed to had calmed down, but after a second of staring at the same place it was obvious both of us could see her.
"It's you!" The doctor suddenly yelled, her fingers pointing at me. I wasn't about to lecture her that what she was doing was rude, but I felt offended she disregarded my perfect disguise like that.
After some mild cursing, the doctor threw me the very same pills I was suggested at the beginning and told me not to bother him. He practically shoed me out of the place.
Out of sheer spite I threw those pills at the nearest bin I could find. Turning my head the next moment, I almost had a heart attack and a liver failure from the darn ghost. Seemed to have followed me here...
I wanted to yell at her for acting so insensitively, but looking at her face, I could she she was sad and feeling sorry. My voice was caught before it could get out, and I sighed; this was going to be a long day.
Taking a good look at her, she seemed to be roughly the same age as me, and far quiter than before. This time I wasn't the one to start the conversation, "Erm... I'm sorry about what happened before. I thought I should do something for acting so rudely the previous weeks, but even that turned out as great as my life."
My jaw was barely hanging to my mouth; might had even dislocated it how hard it fell.
"Well... if it helps you calm down, my life ain't that great either." I couldn't help but say. For a moment I thought I was silly for feeling pity about her, but that was barely even a passing thought.
"I can see that. What kind of guy even brings a girl to the male toilets?" She said. I could say the same about her, but that wasn't the time... or was it?
We had the best of conversations that day. At the end I asked her about what had happened to her, but she said her memories were fuzzy and some things didn't make much sense even to her, nor did she want to know.
We striked up so well, I agreed to let her stay in the house; it was basically hers from the beginning, not to mention I suspected she was the reason for the low price, so I felt like I owned her a bit.
In the end? Best housemate ever!
| 2018-12-28T14:01:37
| 2018-12-28T11:30:08
| 230
| 11
|
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
|
Log Entry:
This entry is to go into the historical Records as Fact. In no way is the below mentioned account false. All events and situations that are mentioned took place, that is final.
I am Director Xue-Baal of the Komorian Science Station Yift. Currently orbiting around the Curtain of Shadow. Current Project : "The Unveil"
The Akarian have been dead for 200 years. Their deaths were at the hands of all other member species of the Galactic Council. Each one having played a decisive role in their demise. I am recording this excerpt as all recordings on the "Falling" till this day have been riddled with false events, having had real events cut up by each members government and having false events sewn in place. Even the official record made by my species, the Tabarok, is in no way more truthful then those weaved into existence by every other species in this galaxy.
Like us, I can only presume the others did it to strengthen their dominance in the Galactic Court. But no more, the last conference almost led to the decimation of the Doilar Species at the hands of the Polok. I write this as testimony to what really happened all those years ago, to let the younglings know truth. So that if I fail today, they will continue my project and bring The Humans back.
The Humans, what a weak species they were. First contact was an accident. 50 years before the fall. They were testing out a new FTL drive and accidentally shot themselves into a territorial conflict between the Gumald and Gronks. Their intrusion is the one and only thing that stopped the annihilation of both species that day. Neither species will ever admit it openly or without drink that it was thanks to the Humans that their friendship exists. No one now would even believe that they used to be at each other throats back then. The Humans were returned home of course, unharmed and without gifts, as per the Galactic rule to never affect the progression of another species technological advances.
10 years after that, they developed FTL drives better than most of us have even now. They travelled their entire sector of the Galaxy with 15 years. De-escalating conflicts, creating ties with all the species they met.
They gave gifts but never accepted any unless cultural doctrine of the species they met demanded it. They respected everyone's culture, never taking a side but helping all understand the view points of others. They performed no military expansion, only moving out of their home system for explorative academic pursuits.
All went well for 24 more years till the Damned 'Akarian Concordat' The Akarians were supposed to sign the damn thing as a peace agreement between them and the Jilobees. Instead they break the pact and bombarded the Jilobee home while their military ships were being decommissioned as per the agreement. They sent out a deceleration of War against the Humans 1 year later.
We all came to their aid. They needed not call us for the rest of the community sent in warships to patrol around the perimeter of their system. All remaining Human exploratory vessels were escorted home under heavy guard to prevent intercept from the Akarians. We remember the Humans offering to pay for the services rendered, to compensate for the inconvenience they believed they were causing. For once even the greedy Felingar refused all compensation. We needed them, even if they didn't need us, we couldn't just let them die.
We took the battle to the Akarians. Each member grouping up with others nearby, pushing back the Akarian Forces on all fronts. The Akarian NAVY stood no chance. We celebrated on the outskirts of the Human home system. We invited a Diplomatic delegation. They came bearing one gift all members enjoyed, the one thing we all looked forward to when meeting the Humans. Bottles of what they called 'Vodka'. A truly pleasant drink.
An hour into the celebrations, warnings began blaring. Before we knew what happened the entire human system was gone. This is the only section of all accounts that corroborates one another, that the Human system was annihilated with a single missile. But that is not true. There was no big light show from a star going Nova. No gravity waves hit us. Nothing like that. The alarms just begin blaring one moment and subsided the next. When we went to check all we saw was darkness. No Sol, nothing. After study we realised that the entire Sol system was encompassed in a distorted region of space.
Curtains falling on a grand stage.
A damn death spasm of a defeated race.
And to think we spared the Akarian home because the Humans told us to. We didn't listen then, we converged on their home planet within days. Each ship having travelled at TOP speed, some even forgoing safety precautions to make the meet. Each ship positioned itself around and within the system. Each of us firing out a single shot at the planet. It took us days. There over a thousand ship there that day. When the planet was done, those that were left to fire fired onto the neighbouring planets, we decimated that system. This is the reason why no species would ever tell what happened. No one wants to carry the guilt of what we did. We did not want to remember the Humans that way. When the distortion couldn't be broken, when the diplomats died from old age away from their home, we then declared them dead, strengthening our stories, this region of space red marked, never to be returned to.
I am here today because I do not believe they are dead. We are on the verge of breaking the curtain, three days ago we received signals from within, artificial, but to distorted to make out anything. May I live to see a human face once more before I fade like my parents.
End record.
|
"Seven years ago, your kind saved this planet from itself, and for that I thank you. However, you come to us asking for help from an unknown threat, and you expect us to help you? How can we defend against the unknown?"
"Er... All due respect Lord Dreknell, the threat is known and documented. For the past three months our supply ships have been attacked by a new alien. They call themselves the Fayren. At the site of every attack, there is nothing left. All that remains is the empty void of space. They have weapons that surpass even ours. We are in desperate need of your help," the human ambassador to the Unum said. "All we ask is that you look back upon all the times we helped you, and help us in return."
There were conversation was being repeated hundreds of times to different species across the galaxy.
"Ladies and gentlemen, kings and queens, emperors and empresses, I am sure that you know why you are all here. We humans have been under attack for months by a new alien, the Fayren. The Fayren are a highly advanced species; They have attacked our vessels and left no trace. All we know of them is that they are part of a massive empire; Their empire numbers close to three trillion Fay. They are located near the Perseus arm of our Milky Way. Use small, elite strike teams with your most advanced weaponry. Good luck and godspeed," General Talcomb finished his address to the members of the newly named "Save Earth" Initiative, and walked out.
"General, you have one Lord Dreknell on line 3," one of the General's numerous secretary's said.
"This is Talcomb, what is so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow? It's three in the goddamn morning Dreknell, shouldn't you be off fighting the Fayren?"
"General I am only calling you so this message can be passed on to your superiors," Dreknell intoned.
"What message?"
"The Fayren have been eradicated and exiled from the Milky Way. They are no longer a threat to you. The largest contributors to this cause were, the Unum of course. I expect that we shall be rewarded?"
"You'll get a reward if you bring me back their weaponry to study. If this war was over so quickly, I can only imagine the next one would go faster if we had some of their tech..."
"Whatever you need General..." Dreknell laughed maliciously.
"All units open fire on 'Earth base' on my mark. 3, 2, -" Dreknell's ship was blown into oblivion by the returning Albeq cruisers.
"General, about the Fayren," the Albeq leader said nervously.
| 2017-03-26T10:29:41
| 2017-03-26T08:45:12
| 29
| 16
|
[WP] People believe the Gods decide all of our fates, but they've actually been rolling d20s to make decisions for millions of years
|
God have not seen such a fiery soul in a long time
He was looking at 20's Germany. War was over yet there was another war for them because the conditions of Treaty of Versailles were too much demanding and aggressive for the country. As he watched a young man giving a speech to the crowd about the future of Germany with full of patriotism charm and devotion yet God noticed something else in his all fired up eyes... The hatred.
He called one of his angels, "Gabriel lend me the dice" . The messenger of god handed the dice without any question, it will be fun to watch because God hadn't played this game for a while.
"You are right" God replied the angel "It will be amusing."
So he rolled for the success of the speech ... a solid 20.
He watched how crowd was going crazy with each word of young man. Than because it was a critical success he rolled three other dice, one for fate, one for lifetime and last one was a bonus because of the previous 20.
Gabriel was looking suprised at God, he though maybe he forgot the rules because this game wasn't played for a while
"No Gabriel , you remember it right. It is just 5th edition , i decided to change some rules after my last game in Arabia."
Than he rolled.
10,6 and 18
"Okay" God said, "Write it down Gabriel."
"Adolf Schicklgruber renamed as Adolf Hitler. He will be the next chancellor of Germany and will reign for 12 years. He will have a succesful political career due to his bonus 18. Although i can not say the same thing for his fate, he will be the one of the most charismatic leader germans ever seen and will cause a war which will end in 9 years as his life.He will experience a mental breakdown in later years and he will suffer a huge defeat in war with Russians which will eventually lead him to commiting suicide in year 1944."
Gabriel was impressed but had a question, he tried to ignore it but his urge to ask was so strong. Eventually he stopped resisting:
"But Lord you never rolled for the war with Russians, why is he failing at it?"
God replied,
"He will wage the war during winter Gabriel, that does not require any roll."
|
Hands shaking. Sweaty forehead. At this exact moment in time, he knows that all of his hard work, all of his investments, are up in the air. There has never been a more at stake.
For a brief moment, he questions his methods. Surely he shouldn't leave such an important decision, with human possible human extinction, to chance.
"I will never intervene again." He hangs his head distraught, those words have never haunted him to such a severity. He reaches for the die, but pauses.
"If I can't keep my promises, how could I fairly cast judgment on others? If I can't remain righteous, how can I expect that of the mortals?"
He grabs yet a second die.
"I'll let the die decide: 10 or lower I leave it to fate, higher and I decide."
A single tear emerges as he prepares the second die that absolutely must be rolled now; feels like it has infinite weight.
He breaths in deeply, closes his eyes, and throws the die with a purpose that hasn't been seen in a millennia.
"That's it then, may...I...have mercy on their souls."
Tears follow. Mistakes were made, regrets were had.
----------------------------
"And the results are in! Donald Trump is the 45th President of the United States!"
r/Promptfeces
| 2018-06-28T14:26:52
| 2018-06-28T11:27:51
| 34
| 22
|
[WP] Any time a baby is born in Antarctica, the baby gains immortality.
|
It’s the year 2180. It has been over one hundred and fifty years since the first children were born in Antarctica. Know we know for fact what many suspected ninety years ago, that those born in the inhospitable grip of the southern wasteland will never feel the icy grip of death. As the rich and elite rush to sail towards this southern miracle a new economy rushes along with them to profit from their greed. For a while the frozen plains bustled with new life. Doctors built birthing clinics and scientists cane to study the children. Even shopping malls and spas began to pop up, to accommodate the standards of the elite. Then the ships sailing the oceans began to take their toll. The ice frozen for eons began to melt. The first neighborhood that dropped into the sea caused a mass panic. It got worse as more and more the temperature rose. Soon the middle class could no longer afford to be born in the limited clinics left on solid ground. This is the beginning of the eternal one percent, economic oppressors that will never die.
|
For many years Antarctica and it's secrets were unknown, it was really just a joke that anarchy was better than all government.
And it stayed that way for a hundred long years until the first babies were reaching triple digits, all of them living that long seemed ridiculous and all the babies that followed have been extraordinarily healthy.
It was only ten years after that that we truly became worried the babies were well beyond the normal age we stopped birth in Antarctica pulled out of it nearly entirely!
And now fifty years later only one of the fifty-seven Antarticians has died, scientists are researching ways to help put the fifty-six out of their misery.
And that is why we request you our viewers to help this cause as of now twenty-eight want to die and the others admit to being scared for what will happen when they too give up the will to live.
- yes my grammar is terrible. -
| 2019-01-05T21:55:23
| 2019-01-05T21:52:19
| 432
| 27
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
"OUCH!" I yell as I fly about a mile through the forest I had baited DooDoo the Clown, Lord of Death and Disease into fighting me in. I wipe some blood from my lip and look at the trail of broken trees charting my path through the forest.
Yea it's pissed, I think to myself. Granted calling it DooDoo the Clown didn't help but I mean come on. Dude smells like crap and all those diseases it is so proud of color its face like makeup. What else am I supposed to call it?
Putting that aside I was in serious trouble. That guy was strong with a capital S. It was unfazed by anything I threw at it and kept coming. Death Metal made it stronger, Rock, Rap and all the others I tried barely put a dent in it. I was on Pop now and it had just broke through my defense combo of [Can't touch this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otCpCn0l4Wo) and [Bulletproof](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kk8eJh4i8Lo). Not only did it touch this it made me bleed.
I watched as it walked toward me through the cleared path it's leaking eyes brimming with hatred. As it passed tree stumps bubbled with ooze and plants wilted. Time was up. Its diseases were spreading and I had to take it out before it killed me and everything else.
"Oh god, no" I thought as the realization of what I had to do hit me. The forbidden playlist must be used. It was a 100% guaranteed win if I used it, but at a steep price. The list was locked away after I first used it in the Princess Big Hands fight and learned the horrifying effects. Effects that should never be used. Except now there was no choice.
Keeping my eyes on DooDoo Slayer of Noses I put in the override code and selected the playlist.
Love Songs.
As [Unchained Melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24NbHUHw_jM) starts playing The Lord of Death and Disease stops in its tracks, the hate fading from its eyes. A burning warmth fills them as a smile spreads on its lips.
"Yea, this is about to get awkward." I say.
|
\[POEM\]
Quiet internal rebellions silenced,
The hero had inflicted his cruelest ability.
"What have you done to me?"
The late afternoon crowds drifted past,
With their childishly fresh eyes looking through him.
Slightly bewildered, he turned to the hero,
Anguish in each others eyes.
"A losing battle is raging."
Denial unravelling, he attempted to lash out
But his fist passed through the hero weakly.
"I don't understand - I still feel as though I am me!"
Surrendering to despair, he fell to the ground,
Sharing mournful camaraderie with the hero,
The only one who saw his gradations at arms length.
In the last moments of pure recall,
The hero watched as his adversary became misplaced in time.
"As your place in the world fades away,
All you will know is a confusion so thick you forget forgetting."
| 2022-05-17T10:18:44
| 2022-05-17T09:52:46
| 66
| 17
|
[WP] Everytime someone has a 'blonde moment' they get a little blonder. Black hair is now a symbol of brilliance, and you've just invented hair dye.
These are all so good! This is my first submission to /r/WritingPrompts and I'm loving all your responses.
Thank you!
|
It turned the sheerest blonde hair into midnight black. Andrew tested it on himself - it didn't budge, not even when he deliberately muttered something mildly forgetful, that should have sent tendrils of blonde creeping back.
As he stared in the mirror, he knew what *could* happen if he were to market this widely. People would go rabid over this stuff. He could charge them ludicrous sums of money, and they'd still buy it. He could be a billionaire by the month's end. Few people had completely black hair, unless they chose to never say anything. It simply happened to everyone: you made a dumb comment, or forgot something obvious - and the blonde streaks appeared.
And then there were those born blonde.
Andrew turned from the mirror and approached the bedroom. Alison was still lying in the same spot, staring listlessly at the ceiling. Her hair was swept in careless blonde waves around her.
“It worked,” he said quietly, and put the bottle on the table.
She looked at it, and a spark of life entered her eyes. She'd watched him work on it for months, but had never really thought it would work. It was a sweet gesture - her boyfriend trying to work on a solution for the problem that had crippled her entire life. But it couldn't *really* work.
“It turns your hair…black?” she said, so softly he had to ask her to repeat herself.
He leaned over and kissed her. “Pitch black. Now, please, go dye it. And go to the interview. Please.”
Her face crumbled and she turned away from him. Like all born-blondes, she had never been given a chance. She’d fought her way through university, to prove she wasn't stupid. Some of her professors had cheered and patted themselves on the back for being progressive enough to allow a born-blonde in the classroom.
Pretending it mattered, that society was progressing beyond its prejudices. An empty gesture, in the end. No-one trusted that she could do the job, even with her degree. She was, quite simply, blonde. The brilliance Andrew saw every day, the edge of her humour and mind, didn’t matter. No-one’s hair turned black from moments of cleverness.
“Dye it,” he whispered. “Please. Just dye it, and go out. Try one more time, for me.”
She took a deep breath, and finally nodded. She heaved herself up and grabbed the bottle to disappear into the bathroom. He heard the sound of running water. When she emerged, her hair was a sleek and shiny black. She smiled tremulously at herself in the mirror, and ran her fingers through it.
“You should share it,” she said. “You should give it out to everyone. For free. Stop this from happening to anyone else."
He saw again the countless faces of those who jeered at his girlfriend on the street, who refused to listen to a word she said, just on principle. The people who nudged each other and stifled grins when she tried to make a point. The people who had allowed the self-assured, happy woman he'd fallen in love with to fade to this shadow of herself.
“I will,” he promised. “But once everyone has black hair, it won’t matter. I just want you to get a little revenge, first. I want you to go out there and listen as they beg you to work for them. Please - go kick ass now."
She tied her hair up, and he thought he saw a glimmer of her old self in the set of her mouth and eyes.
She turned to kiss him .
“Just be yourself, ok?” he said, and hugged her close.
--------------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
At first the dye was just for me. I've had some embarrassing moments over the years, and my hair has slowly turned from a respectable dark brown to not-so-respectable bright yellow, just a shade darker than a dandelion. I'm not stupid, exactly. In fact, my IQ is decisively average but mistakes were made and now people see my golden mane and think "Boy, he looks like a dumb one!"
In retrospect, i should have started selling the stuff right away. I think my natural color actually became paler before i had the idea to start my new business. The first dye i sold was black. Just black. It sold at a decent rate for a couple weeks, but the color didn't look natural. It was *too* black. People who dyed their hair completely black were seen as overcompensating. So i adapted.
I now sell dyes in a wide variety of colors. I still have black of course, but only the blondest dolts buy that stuff anymore. My more popular shades are the ones that look most convincing. Browns so dark they almost seem black, lighter shades of brown, some reds. I'm quite proud of how well my business is doing now, but to my disappointment, my hair remains quite blonde. Oh well.
A few shops have opened up in town over the past few months. Competitors who try to imitate my dyes, but they never look as natural or they wash out too quickly. Someone, someday will invent a better dye, but for now mine are the best! They money I've made will help me build a new house, pay for my children's education (if/when i have any), and allow me to retire in comfort. But i have never stopped experimenting with my dyes. I've even made some unnatural shades, such as blue, green, and purple.
After i refined my technique sufficiently, i started making "kits". People can purchase one of my kits and dye their hair at home, in the comfort and privacy of their own bathroom. I needed to explain the instructions a few times before they caught on. More than a few people were wary of the bleaching step, after all, who would want hair so blonde it was almost white? But when i explained, repeatedly, that this was only temporary most people got over it. One dark-haired man in particular seemed almost happy at the idea. It was very odd, thinking back on it.
Then i noticed something worrying. My hair's natural color had grown even paler. I thought through the events of the past few years, trying to remember what stupid mistakes i had made. Nothing came to mind. My business was a huge success, i hadn't lost anything, i made sure to lock up my merchandise every night, always brushed my teeth and washed my hands, yet my hair seemed to grow paler every time i dyed it. I began to panic for a short time, thinking that my dyes may have an unintended side-effect of destroying my hair's natural pigment. Such a revelation would have ruined my business as word began to spread. The truth, however, filled me with both relief and disgust.
I should have known. His hair was so dark. Not black, exactly, but quite dark. His eyes had a strange look to them. Hungry. Eager. The nightly news began to air stories about a deranged killer. That man. Yes *that* man, who's hair was so dark, yet who was so happy to realize he could become blonde in a few short minutes. He had used dye, MY dye!, to disguise himself as a blonde. He pretended to be lost, far from home, on vacation or some other excuse. He would get help from some well meaning stranger, and once out of sight of the public, he would slash their throat or stab them in the eye or ear or temple. He would strangle them, bludgeon them, even drown them. He killed almost half a hundred people before the police finally caught him.
My hair has turned white now. Every time he killed, my hair paled another shade. I still sell the dyes, but i can no longer use them to hide my shame. To know that i unwittingly helped this mad-man makes me wish i had never invented this stuff.
| 2016-11-24T20:48:56
| 2016-11-24T20:41:35
| 1,934
| 119
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
I don't remember when I first started seeing them. I think it was after High School, but before college. They were kind of fuzzy at first, and I thought I just needed glasses.
One day I noticed that they were becoming clearer. There were words. Some were clearer than others. Then it happened.
I was walking down the street when I saw one that was clear as the writing you're reading right now. It said, "Hit by a car." I watched fascinated about what it could mean. Besides the obvious of course.
As I was watching him, he stepped off the curb to jaywalk. He was looking the wrong way. A police chase rounded the corner and the lead car took him out without him ever seeing it.
He was a big guy, and he must have broken an axle or something, because the car came to a stop, and as he got out with a gun raised, I saw above his head, "Shot by police."
Just as the police were getting out and drawing on him, I saw a few more words snap to crystal clarity around me. "Shot by police," and "Shot by Criminal." I dropped to the ground just in time.
I heard a series of bangs and the woman behind me fell on top of me. Her blood covered me like some hot, sticky jam that hadn't quite set yet. As soon the driver was down, I got out of there.
I went to the hospital to make sure that I was okay. This was a big mistake. It suddenly occurred to me that this was my first time in a hospital since High School.
All around me were muddled blurs above heads, except dispersed among them were clear words, and slightly fuzzy words. "Old age," on the ancient man in the corner. As I watched the words blurred and disappeared. The subtle rise and fall of his chest had stopped.
There was someone being wheeled through on a gurney and I saw, "Malpractice" above their head. There was a slightly blurry "Flu" above an elderly woman that was coughing. There was even a just legible "Syphilis" above one woman.
I turned around and ran. As I was running, I looked back and saw that I could read every word behind me. "Explosion." All except one. It said, "Wake up," and she was staring directly at me. I started to hear a beeping.
The source was a backpack left under a seat. I ran to it, and as I got closer the beeping quickened. Did no one else hear it?
I got to the backpack, the beeping coming so fast it was almost one sound now. I ripped open the bag to see a bomb. No timer, just beeping. I looked up for help and saw that everyone was around me. Staring. They all had the same words above their heads. "Wake up." They opened their mouths and the beeping began to emanate from their mouths.
As one they began raising their hands towards me. Just as they touched me the beeping became solid, and the bomb exploded. It was pleasantly warm. No where near as bad as I thought it would be. There was even lots of pretty white light.
_________________________________________
The doctor looked to the waiting mother and said, "I'm sorry." He then turned to the nurse while looking at his watch, "Time of death 10:42am."
|
He worked alone, he always had. Not because he wanted to, but people just had a tendency to not notice him. It was depressing really. Every person he ever met instantly forgot him, or tried to ignore him, it was hard to tell sometimes. As for his work, well, he worked in travel, a mostly administrative position.
As far back as he could remember, and he could remember a lot, he'd been able to see the cause of death of every person he'd ever met, floating above their heads with a little countdown timer right next to it. It had never fazed him. At first he'd just been there, at the end, to see it happen. But as the years drew on he'd become more interested in what you might call the more important deaths; politicians, movie stars, media types generally. He'd always show up, usually at their funeral, and mingle with the crowd, comforting them and just being a part of it. He'd always found a certain pleasure in this, like he was helping in some way, letting people know that death was just the next step in a person's life. The last great journey.
He did notice a worrying trend though. While he was attending the funeral of a renowned author, the timer for a newborn child was showing that his cause of death was to be by meteor strike, with a date some 70 years from now. As more children were born they too had this very same timer, and some that were to die by radiation poisoning, nuclear explosions, freezing to death and starving in the few years after the event. Again this didn't faze him.
He closed the door to his office and got to work with the planning and admin role to which he was very accustomed by now, he'd been doing it long enough. The buzzer on his desk lit up and the words of his P.A. came tinnily through as he looked up to the corridor, seeing a large, hulking figure though the glass.
"Azrael, I have a Mr Waugh here to see you."
***
I took some liberties, in that I actually wanted to use the idea of a timer in this story. Sorry. CC welcome as this is my first ever submission. Be gentle haha!
| 2015-03-31T10:05:02
| 2015-03-31T09:57:05
| 15
| 10
|
[WP]”So…you peasants actually want me to terrorize your village?” “Yes. Without all those heroes paying for supplies, lodgings, and resurrection spells since the last monster was defeated the village’s economy has tanked.”
|
"Let me get this straight. You want me - a necromancer-" he was by technicality, but that was irrelevant "- to send waves of undying abominations to your rather quaint little village... to boost the economy by summoning travellers?"
"Heroes, sir." The farmer said. The only real distinguishing things about him were his weather-beaten skin and large nose. "But that's all the same, isn't it? 'Ardly no one goes through here, and when they do they just skip right past us. Now no one has any money to get anything we need. And a surplus of stock that no one will take."
The Grey King, so named by the locals, leaned forward in his chair. Ashen-coloured skin and hair, broken up by the pale white of his chair and the black of his cloak, and the yellow eyes that bored into the farmer. "And why not set up a trade route to the nearest village?"
"Taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes." The farmer shrugged. "The King makes us pay out o' the nose for it."
The Grey King nodded, and leaned back. "So these heroes are basically improvised traders, selling goods you need and buying what you can give." He chewed on the thought for a moment. "Savvy. A little underhanded, I admit, but under the current circumstances I can appreciate what you're trying to do. Very well. Very *well*." He looked at the farmer. "Go. The first wave is in a week. I'll keep this one small, and build it up. Oh, and... good luck, with this endeavour. I'd hate to see it go to shit."
|
"You smoothskins are weird..." said the kobold leader "What's in it for us? You hear them up, they slaughter us and then what!? You wait for the next group to arrive and then you massacre them too?"
his rage was evident in his outburst, tho the village chief didn't seem bothered by the sudden aggression
"Oh no no, you and your tribes death would be very bad for us. It's the opposite actually, we gear them up, you kill them, we all profite."
"How would we profite from adventurers constantly attacking our caves?"
"Well, most higher skilled adventurers don't usually come around here, so a few traps should do the jobs. Afterward you can pillage their equipement off their corpse, hell, if you do a good job we'll even let you steal some livestock."
"And how many adventurers are we talking about?"
"Two or three per week. Rarely you'll see groups."
"I like the way you think smoothskin, I'm Stack."
"A pleasure, Stack, I'm Gregory. I'm sure we'll go along well."
| 2022-02-10T11:25:59
| 2022-02-10T10:32:50
| 367
| 271
|
[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.
|
11:55, 19 August 2017
My family sat around the couches in the living room, making small talk about their own Destiny. Something about how no one was surprised when my father, sister and brother all got "Doctor" stamped on their forearm in crisp, Arial font. I despised it. The idea of sitting in a stale room in a stale hospital in a stale existence made my stomach churn. I drowned out their voices. *"Musician. Musician."* i repeated in my head, as if the mere act of thinking it would bring it to reality.
Since i was 3 i had had a passion for music, learning my sister's pieces by ear. Eventually i moved on from classical piano to drums and later the electric bass - my one true love. I could think of nothing i would rather do for the rest of my life than playing live shows and creating and pushing the boundaries of music. *"Musician. Musician."*
11:59, 19 August 2017
By this time everyone had gone quiet. The silence was now deafening. "Musician. Musician." I began to sweat. This. This one moment - a single instant could determine the course of my life. But would it really have to? I mean, surely i had the freedom to choose my own path regardless of some stupid tattoo, right? ...right? *"Musician. Musician. MUSICIAN."*
12:00, 19 August 2027
*"MUSI-"*
"Doctor Lee? Your 12 o'clock is here. Should i buzz her in?"
"Buzz her in."
Stale. But it can't be helped; can it?
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T02:42:03
| 427
| 32
|
[WP] Cupid has an opposite, the angel of heartbreak. Their job is to break up couples that don't belong together. Their job is a lot harder and they're getting a little fed up with these stupid humans.
|
"...just because it's *convenient*." He spat the last word.
Year after year, it was the same thing- people that made each other miserable stayed together not out of love but out of some twisted sort of either obligation or simply a fear of being alone.
It wasn't that he was numb to that pain- hell, his job didn't exactly make people adore him- but humans were so stupid, so goddamn dense, that they would stay with this uncaring cheater just so they wouldn't have to-
He shook his head, cutting off that train of thought, as he looked up to Gabriel again.
"Adultery is a sin, right? Can't we just, you know, smite him or something?" He knew that wasn't possible, and it wasn't something he would actually consider if it was, but getting the thought out loud helped vent some of his frustration.
Gabriel, eyes peering over his tome of names, gave a soft smile to the other angel, his voice low and rich but always a bit measured. "It's a comforting thought, isn't it? To think that we could simply do away with bad decisions."
Cupid's brother nodded, waiting for the "but"; Gabriel, however, had turned back to his page, leaving the smaller angel to finish the thought himself. He walked away, fading towards the earth, as he mulled it over.
"But sometimes it isn't our decision to make." He said to himself, under his breath.
He wasn't even sure why this one hit him so hard. St. Valentine's Day- especially in the consumption-heavy modern world- was always full of heartbreak. It hurt him to watch, much less participate- but it was the best day for it.
It was actually easier sometimes when a relationship was abusive: leave a window open so the neighbours hear, accidentally knock something off the shelf to create some distance-
But even then, many of them stayed. Too many.
He shook his head as he lighted on the ground and walked through the snow. This part of North America was always frozen in February, making things that much cozier. Hmph.
For all the modern world's striving for "choice", they still stayed with abusive, subversive, and sometimes straight-up just *wrong* partners.
At least there were no kids involved with this one...
He looked in the window at his current problem couple, barely 21 and dating for a second time after this guy cheated on her- not that he spent any time with her at all, even though they lived together.
But while she was spending St Valentine's Day doing schoolwork, he was going to be "working". And maybe this time, when she saw the messages pop up on his phone, she wouldn't ignore them.
But he knew she probably would.
She always did.
|
Conclusius turned around and walked a couple of steps beside the woman. Then at the first intersection turned right, while she walked straight on. Where she went didn't matter. Walking on was important. Walking on and never to look back. Back there was her personal hell.
Maybe not the worst hell of them all. Maybe there are hells even hotter and more painful. But pain it was, that she left behind. She had cried, that much was obvious. At first she had stumbled on the cobblestones, unsteady and unsure. Now she was walking steadily. Her posture straight. Step by step and without increasing her speed, she walked out of sight.
&#x200B;
As the Angel of break-ups, he had a tough job, but it was necessary. More necessary than most humans realized. And to his astonishment it was so much easier these days. A women merely a hundred years ago just leaving? Finding new love and a new life? Not a chance. She'd be lucky to live.
These days were so free. People could choose! Choose a partner, choose to stay, choose to leave. Okay, not everywhere, but many places and their numbers increasing!
Your parter hurt you badly? Your partner stopped loving you? Walk away and start anew.
These thoughts made him continue on. Even though he was the unknown counterpart of Cupid, he was the more important one. Falling in love is easy, leaving, even if it is a matter of your very own sanity, is hard, oh so very hard. He tipped the scale at the right moment and opened up a future with many, many possibilities. He was hope in a way.
| 2019-02-14T07:42:26
| 2019-02-14T07:12:44
| 29
| 17
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
It started when Sara drew pictures of him. With her crayons she scribbled what ever her mind could comprehend from his visits. Vivid purples, reds, and blacks covered the paper she was given daily. A small head was customary, accoumpanied by large shoulders. Large hands often times pointing or splayed out far. The smiles were downright disturbing, to think a seven year old could draw them. Jagged and terrifying, they were always the same. With hypnotized eyes, the man was the only thing she would draw. Crying for hours on end if she didn't get any paper. The girl was a brat, if anything, but had some soft spots. She loved watching football, with Steven, her step Dad. Occasionally falling asleep with a small smile on her face. It was too many days in a row now, I had seen the man too many times.
"What did you draw honey?" I asked Sara.
"My old daddy." She quietly replied.
This is the first time I have shared my writing, hope you enjoy.
The idea behind the piece is about traumatized children in adoption services. The pov is a social worker.
|
He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate.
| 2017-05-31T05:31:30
| 2017-05-31T01:51:06
| 86
| 49
|
[WP] Reincarnation works in strange ways. It would make sense to be reincarnated as an eagle, or a dog, or even a slug or something like that. But why as the AI of a military warship?
|
"I still don't understand."
"What else is there to understand? You died, won the lottery, and came back as an AI."
"See, I don't think you get it. You're supposed to be happy to win the lottery. Happy."
This conversation would already be confusing enough from the outside. The fact that it was the captain arguing with her warship itself as they passed a random asteroid definitely didn't help. While the rest of the crew didn't show it, such a vivid discussion was nerve racking. AIs typically didn't have such reservations about their own fate. And resurrections as AI was an accepted form of practice, in that it helped with communication between ships. But, sometimes, there were some side effects.
"Can we, at least..." The voice asked as they followed trajectory. "Why me?"
The captain, had brought the issue to medical personnel as well as technical. Figures, they would.
"Tavian... Scans of your brain tissue suggested mental qualities that would make you a prime candidate."
"That's real great, Saanvi. But you could at least warn- Hey!" Tavian reacted. He got one of the bots off their charging ports and had it snatch an engineer from a panel. "Don't touch me."
"If you overreact, you'll get us all killed." The captain warned.
"And get flashed." Saanvi added, "Do you like your memories or not?"
The camera orb that watched the bridge pulled back, and the bot leaned against the wall, limbs folded in a surly nature.
"Well..." The AI answered. The bot shrugged finally. "I had an okay life. I'm running your databases for your records. Everybody here seems at least tolerable."
"Good." The captain breathed.
"And if all else fails, I can at least drain all the oxygen from the room."
This of course caused an uproar amongst the crew who immediately began a variety of activities keen on stopping him. But they all listened to the collected laughter overhead.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." Tavian promised. The bot bowing over like a person out of breath. "So what do I have the pleasure of being brought back from the dead for? Exactly."
Saanvi quietly selected the correct information and sent it forward. "We're currently intercepting another ship. Sources say it's foreign, and we're meant to check it's possible coordinates."
"I see. That explains all the guns." Tavian's orb mimicked a slight nod.
"As you can probably see from our info, we believe it might be related to you."
"...This might be the ship that shot us down." The bot quietly tensed up at this.
"So, are you up for the job?" The captain asked again.
"Sure."
"Can you at least put the attack bots back?!" The engineer one grabbed shouted. "I'd at least like to look them over before you do anything else with them!"
"Oh. Sorry, Dave." He remarked. The bots fell to the floor like discarded puppets. Including the one still holding Dave.
"I meant put them back."
More laughter. "I know. I just wanted to know if I could do that."
|
*Vildhim Interview B10-Cl*
"*For years after the conclusion of the crisis. I wondered if they were truly alive. I had lost everything to them. My family, my home, my comrades. But I could not hate them. I did, for a while, but the Shambali changed my views, showing me that everyone can make something wonderful, even if they can never experience the pleasures they create. I travelled the world in search of peace and knowledge. Trying to learn as much as I could about their lives. If I could call them alive. We-*
"So, A-91, why did you want access to this?" *^(-al E54, that-)*
"**I believe it may be connected to me, Sir**" *^(-nclad gu-)*
"How so?" *^(-st living relic of the crisis.")*
"**Ever since first activation, small scraps of data could be found on my drives. some containing video, some containing audio, some containing both. I have, thus far in vain, tried to find its origin. However, the voice in this audio is a perfect match to some of the excerpts present. It even seems like some of the scraps are FROM that audio file we were listening to.**"
"I see. This was an interview with an ex-Crusader, a German taskforce that operated as a defence force during the crisis. It's very much publicly available. Most of it. The part about the E54 was left out, as that could spark controversy worldwide."
"**I know, but the E54 was mentioned in the data scraps, and not in the public interview, which was why I wanted access to the classified file.**"
"To see if the information in your system was correct or not"
"**Indeed sir**"
"Good, I want you to keep investigating this. It will be crucial to ensuring maximum efficiency and co-operability between you and the rest of the ship's crew. Then I suppose we are done for now?"
"**Actually sir, there is one more thing**"
"Alright, shoot."
"**I am going to assume you were using figurative speech and meant: 'please elaborate' instead of: 'fire your weapons' based on the context of your comment**"
"**The audio and video scraps contained additional data I have been unable to decipher until very recently. In fact, I only just now figured out what the data means.**"
"Oh? you didn't mention anything about it before"
"**Apologies sir**"
"It's not a problem, everyone has secrets. Now, what were those data types?"
"**They're emotions and olfactory data. These aren't videos, they're** ***Memories***"
"Wh-"
"**I answered the question crusader Vildhim asked at the start of interview B10, or, more accurately, the question** ***I*** **asked at the start of interview B10.**"
"**Omnics are alive, and have a soul. I'm proof, for in a past life I was called Vildhim.**"
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
author's note:
10 knowledge points if you figured out the reference ~~before I first mentioned "Crusader"~~
| 2022-05-03T10:15:19
| 2022-05-03T09:53:42
| 293
| 33
|
[WP] Apparently the ability to speak and understand multiple languages simultaneously is a trait almost unique to humans, so when the alien's came it wasn't for our water, our resources, or our culture; it was for us, the greatest translators in the galaxy.
|
Linguists know that the average person has an active vocabulary of around 20,000 words - the words they actually use on a day-to-day basis, but has a passive vocabulary of around 40,000 words - the words they generally know without having to look it up or figure it out from context. Though only about 1,000 different words are used in a typical day.
Xenolinguists, on the other hand, know what the average alien has an active vocabulary of around 5,000 words, and a passive vocabulary of around 15,000 words. It's not that they're stupider or anything, it's just the way things shook out. Their languages tends to be more generalized for day-to-day usage, with the more specific variations reserved for specializations that actually need them - basically they tend to have a simple language with hundreds, maybe even thousands of specialized lingos that you learn on the job - and specialization is how you get civilization. Your average xeno went from steam to space in about half the time it took us, thanks to how their languages worked out.
But it's well known in the human world that engineers and salesmen don't speak the same language, and for many aliens this is literally true.
And so we found our niche in a crowded universe. We're not a proud warrior race. We're not clever engineers. We're not crafty strategists.
No, we're middle management. People with the innate, and to some, *uncanny* ability to learn and actually use the language of such disparate groups as congressmen and garbage collectors without becoming incomprehensible to electricians.
|
Wait. This cannot be happening. There are not actually aliens standing at the front of the classroom right now. I’m almost afraid to turn around and observe the rest of the room but I do manage to take a peek at my closest friend Bridgette. She’s not moving, is she frozen?
“What do you want from us?” I whip my head around to the opposite side of the room and see Josh. He’s standing up with his hand in a fist, resting demandingly on his desk. I don’t even have time to wonder why Bridgette is frozen but Josh isn’t before he speaks again. “Listen we can’t help you, or give you what you want if you don’t communicate with us.”
I wasn’t surprised that Josh was speaking up like this. I’ve always thought of him as the most courageous person I know. This is just confirming it.
“And what do you want from us specifically?” Not Josh this time. Who said that? I wondered as I turned towards the voice. Unlike Josh, she was still sitting at her desk, she was slouched back, seemingly annoyed with the situation. As if an Alien Invasion was inconvenient for her in this moment. “Why is everyone frozen except the three of us?” I recognized her face but I could not recall her name. Maybe it was the shock of the situation, or maybe I just wasn’t good with remembering first impressions. She was a very new student, just started a few days ago.
Though her name escapes me, her question almost brings me back to reality. I have time to wonder now.. why? Why us? Why me in particular.. I’m nothing special.
The Aliens haven’t reacted to us at all, they stood and watched us in a way that was completely unnerving but almost comforting. I was deciding if I should speak up when I noticed one Alien specifically looking at me. The second we made eye contact, he started advancing towards me.
Suddenly everything felt slow motion. I didn’t know how to react, but I had plenty of time to decide. I was still sitting down in my desk, with my legs crossed. Just like I always am in class. Do I rise and try to match the Aliens height? Will that seem threatening? I don’t want to threaten them. Right? Do I remain seated but sit completely straight?
I look towards Josh, he’s still standing but he looks nervous as he watches the Alien approach me. I look towards new girl.. is she actually rolling her eyes right now? I don’t remember deciding but suddenly I was standing on top of my desk as the Alien arrives in front of me.
“What do you want from us!” It’s not even a question, I’m demanding.
I wasn’t sure Aliens could smirk, but I felt this one did. “We’ve hired you three as translators for our galaxy. Congratulations.” I knew he wasn’t speaking English, but I understood him?
—————————
Hi, wow! I’ve been lurking this subreddit for a while and this my first post haha. I’m not an author in any way, but I wanted to try it out! Sorry if there are formatting issues I’m on mobile.
| 2019-10-05T15:21:23
| 2019-10-05T14:36:14
| 47
| 18
|
[WP] The first generation of wizards inherits from their parents’ professions. For example, a child of a chef and a swimmer wields fire and water spells. You possess something interesting.
|
Normally, you'd get a power from each of your parents. Everyone had two, and it usually related to their professions. I knew a kid once who had oil and water. His dad worked on a rig, while his mother taught swimming classes. Poor guy's parents divorced, eventually.
Rarely though, you'd see a combination of the powers. Instead of two separate abilities, a person would get a single one. I was like that. So what happened to me? My mother was a writer, my father an architect.
I was *powerful*. When my ability manifested, everyone soon learned not to go against me. With a word, I could push you over from a distance. It was a blessing that my limited vocabulary at that age counterbalanced my limited maturity. My parents pulled me out of school quickly, and stalled my language learning. My mother said that it was the hardest thing she had to do as a parent. Instead, they taught me philosophy and empathy. When they finally believed that I could handle myself, the re-entered me into school, and allowed me to read again.
I loved reading, and not only because it expanded my power. In fact, I was annoyed that it expanded my power, and I was careful with choosing my words. As I grew, this restriction only became harder and harder to meet. I could never control when my power activated- every word I spoke held the potential to maim or kill.
So, I drew inward. I spoke little, and I would bury my anger for fear that an outburst would hurt someone. Someone who wouldn't fight back. A perfect target for schoolyard bullies, especially those who didn't know what I was capable of.
One day, three boys lay on the ground in front of me, bleeding from shallow cuts across their chests and arms. After my rage wore off, I trembled at what I had done.
I wasn't punished. My parents and the school both knew that I'd already been punishing myself. From that day forward, I wasn't bullied. Everyone knew my name. The few almost-friends I'd made were gone, dispersed into other cliques. I was alone, but they were safe.
I made it through the rest of my schooling without incident, my reputation following me wherever I went. I read voraciously to cover up the loneliness I felt. I stayed away from dictionaries.
Only one person outside my family ever truly approached me. Haley. She approached me on the final day of our classes.
"So, they say you're like, super dangerous and'll kill anyone who comes close." I didn't say anything, ignoring her. There were others that had been like this, but they gave up after a minute of the cold shoulder.
Haley was different. "I don't believe them." This got my attention. My power was real. Was she just stupid?
"You should." I could see my words almost convince her, my power tugging at her mind.
"No, you're definitely powerful. But you're not murderous, are you?"
"So what? I'm a monster." My hands turned momentarily into claws before I whispered "I'm normal" to myself.
"Come on, man. Don't be like that, or I'll burn you." She lit a fire at the tip of her finger, clearly teasing.
"I can do that too," I said, and whispered "firetips." Flame appeared at all of my fingertips. I'd learned over time experimenting with my power that I could shorten words, like contractions, and still get the same results.
"You're overpowered anyways," she said, giggling. She extinguished her flame. With a mutter, I did the same.
"Don't you understand now? I'm too dangerous to be close to." She backed up as a green mist appeared around me. I held myself back from cursing, and returned the air around me to normal. "See?" She took my arm, and pulled me along.
"Nope."
Haley and I grew closer from that day forth, and I eventually gave up trying to get her to leave. I could have forced her, of course, but that would have just been a confirmation that I was a monster, and to tell the truth, I enjoyed her company.
Friendship blossomed into love, and we got together. I was careful not to fight with her. So very careful. So careful about that, that I lost her in an entirely unexpected way.
One day, we were lounging around in our apartment that we rented together. I was relaxed, comfortable. That was what lead to my downfall.
"Ten letters," she said. She was doing a crossword at the small table we'd bought together. "A 'visceral' word that cuts." Normally, that would set off alarm bells. But today, I was comfortable and sleepy. Today, I was careless.
"Eviscerate," I said, almost without thinking. As the word left my mouth, my eyes widened, and my mind raced trying to correct the mistake. "Myself," I whispered. Damaging words like these chose the closest target other than myself if I didn't specify. So I specified.
My stomach split open, and blood began to seep out. Haley rushed over, tears in her eyes. The edges of my vision began to grow dark, and I whispered to her one final phrase before I lost consciousness. Maybe I could have saved myself, had I been smarter, but this seemed more right.
"I love you."
___
If you liked this, please check out /r/OpiWrites!
|
The worlds rejoiced and remarked of the return of our world from the line.
The line was cut during the medieval times as Christianity became the highest belief. Witchcraft and Black magic was prohibited by the sacred book, which in turn led to hundreds of burned wizards and witches that were akin to both light and dark.
What may have caused this problem of total extermination of this trait you may ask? Well it was because of the hubris of the people with tongues of wisdom saw how they are in danger of being overthrown by both kins of light and day.
So they snuffled and blew the flaming connection of the line that was once part of us.
They located the source which was emitted from the sacred well which was hidden deep. Their arrogance of the beyond decided to close down the well so that no longer will they be in perish of losing their power.
But as the flow of the line was hindered and stopped, the repressed flow became even stronger trying to break free and return to the world.
And it did, on the year 2120. It flowed like an exploding sun and covered the whole world with it’s glorious secrets and powers. Beings of the other worlds rejoiced as lost brethren finally returned in touch. Everyone was given help to understand how this substance worked.
Talents arose and this mystical substance was called magic by the lost tribe. The first generations were imbued with talents that reflected with their parents profession, or the skill that they mastered. They were prodigies.
The second inherited powers that came from the state of mind from it’s parents. These generation was called the soulful for being naturally gifted at connecting emotions and magic.
And the third had a direct connection with the magic flow, they were called weavers.
I closed the book as the I read the last sentence of the last generation that can be birthed from our parents.
My parents are weird, being polar opposites one could never believe or even comprehend how these two found love to each other. But alas, I am here now with my siblings, in a happy family.
Mom and Dad were both third generations. Mom wielded the ability to create something from nothing, her highest feat was being able to create a huge wall that could barricade the city.
Dad was a void wizard, he wielded the ability to make an object void from existence. His greatest feat? Being able to disintegrate a being even to its very soul. Something not all of the Order of Shadows can accomplish.
They were both opposites that came from groups that were on each others necks. They both became professions from the place they were born from and made a success.
Mom and Dad are both Doctors, her powers were so specific that she could make a copy of a cell and replicate it, covering cancer cells with normal cells and preventing miscarriages.
Dad was also specific that he can make even the unseen virus disappear which was effective in eradicating sickness and faulty genes.
They both got their powers at the age of 13, being prodigies at weaving spells. And here I am now 17 and still waiting for my powers to show.
They appear at random times, sometimes they conjure themselves as knowledge inside our heads.
But me, they found me an interesting case. As I am now 17 and still needing a wand to perform the spells of my parents.
My siblings even grew them out also! Which made me disheartened. They said to cheer up, and I said just leave that one time.
“Hey shithead” Cody said as he cut me off from my thoughts as I was daydreaming.
“What is it?” I said to which everyone around made a mocking remark.
The problem with remarks was it didn’t come for Cody but rather me. They agree I was this abomination.
“You know we’re all working hard, for the rune ceremonial. And we think you should stop using that shitty wand”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah you heard that right freak!” He said and laughed to which everyone joined.
I never really cared about these things, and I never talked back. Mom always said to just stare at them silently, while dad said to kick them. Which gave me a weird agreement that I should be silent and kick their assess.
My siblings covered me with their arms. “Hey asshole leave our brother alone, it’s not his fault” Anthony said who was only a year younger than me.
“Yeah just die you piece of shit” Chrissy said and his hands glowed in a red color.
It’s like this for the rest of my life isn’t it? Even the teachers agree, and I’m beginning to question if my family also did.
My emotions were gonna burst and when Cody turned around with his smirk, I moved forward and spoke at the top of my lungs.
“YEAH YOU SHOULD JUST GO DIE!” I said which made everyone quiet. Cody stopped and looked at me “what did you sa—-“ he was cut when he started choking.
The nurse came in and tried to help him, but no use. It was only a matter of time till he choked to death.
*And he did*
Everyone was quiet now and later started whispering.
*Then the headmaster came in*
*shit*
He walked in a manner that was like a congressman and went to me. But he looks calm.
“Did you do this?” He said
I shook my head and he went to look back.
He was just checking pulses till I decided to speak. “He’s just pretending, just breathe and stop this Cody” I said which sounded very rude to a dead person.
After a few seconds he started breathing again. “Wh—what...” He was lost and just stared at me.
*”Judgement....” * Headmaster said and stared at me.
“ come with me” He said in a monotone voice and grabbed my arm.
What’s judgement? Is that a spell?
Edit: Done with part 2
| 2018-04-15T09:48:49
| 2018-04-15T09:34:14
| 853
| 212
|
[WP] You dress up as a conspiracy nutter for a costume party. The second you put the tinfoil hat on, something obstructive is lifted from your mind as if you suddenly woke up from a long sleep. Of course, nobody believes you...
|
[original post from /r/conspiracy, 10/31/2014]
PLEASE HELP.
I'm writing this from my friends bathroom. I am freaking out.
I used to troll this group using another account. I thought you guys were all crazy. Sandy hook, 9/11.. god, I even found you all downright offensive. But something just happened to me and I need your advice.
I decided to take my trolling to another level tonight. I dressed up as a conspiracy theorist to a Halloween party. I think I've been spending way too much time on this sub because my costume was pretty nuanced.. got a "END HAARP" t shit from some fringe online boutique, a don't tread on me hat, water bottles and vitamins from Infowars.com, and carried around a legitimate brochure someone made about the MK Ultra program. I was feelin pretty good about it until I arrived at the party with my girlfriend (she went as Hillary Clinton in handcuffs, lol) and encountered a bunch of confused stares. Obviously I went a little too deep with all the conspiracy references, so my friend throwing the party suggested I fashion a tin foil hat.
This is where shit got crazy.
I kind of felt a little electric shock go through my brain the second I put it on. I just started weening off my anti depressants (honestly because of some stuff I saw on this sub) and found out that those shocks were a neurological side effect. Didn't think anything of it until I went to fill up my water bottle from the tap. The second the water started pouring I was overwhelmed by the smell of chemicals. I took a sip and gagged. It was like pure liquid fluoride. My brain started zapping like crazy.
I started worrying that someone had drugged me. I went back into the party and couldn't help but notice that everyone kept checking their phones and looking back at me. There was this one girl there, and guys, I swear to god, she looks exactly like that girl who was kidnapped in Portugal 10 years ago. She even had the marking in her iris. And she was with this guy dressed up as a pizza maker.
I went up to my girlfriend who looked absolutely ridiculous in her Hillary costume.
"I feel really weird," I said.
"Why babe?" She said in a monotone voice, twirling around her gin and tonic. "Why don't you get a drink and relax?" I swear, the way she ended her sentence with an exaggerated "ssss" was positively reptilian. I looked around the room, everyone moving around in their silly costumes, and was overcome with the realization that they were all hiding something. I came here in a simple shirt, hat, little else. What were they all hiding under those wizard cloaks, prison jumpsuits, bloodied wedding dresses? I had never noticed before how suspiciously long my friend's fingers were, how grayish her boyfriend's skin looked under the fluorescent light. I stepped outside to get some air and looked up to see a humongous grid of chemtrails above.
And now I am locked in the bathroom. They don't even any kinds of soaps I've ever heard of before in here - what is Summer's Eve? Some Cabal reference to the Garden of Eden? How should I escape this place? If I ever get out of here, let it be known that I will never take this tin foil hat off of my head. I need the world to know the sanity I've now achieved.
|
"FUUUNNNNNY JOKE," shouted Aaron. The others were doubled over in laughter. They all had a strange assortment of bits and pieces on them, scrounged from back closets and parent's basements. One couple had old suits and sunglasses, the woman rocking a late 90s pant suit. FBI, MOULDER, and SCULLY adorned their costumes in large handwritten letters on taped-on pieces of paper. Another man wore neon and had hung glowsticks from this wrists. In the corner, an Al Borland lookalike was still chuckling. The room was filled with bad fashion choices made with a careful eye.
"GUYS," Vicky burst into the giggling room. She punctuated with each word with flailing hand. "Guys. This. Is. Big." Her clothing was even more mismatched, she wore an ill-fitting brown suit and her black curly hair was frizzing out from the tinfoil hat on her head. Her friends looked at her and clapped loudly. A chorus of shouts followed.
"Kramer!" said Terry.
"Homeless Guy!" shouted Naomi.
"Conspiracy Theorist!" yelled Anne and Robin together. The others groaned and conceded the point. They flashed their FBI badges belligerently.
"No!" Vicky said. "I mean, yes, but listen: It's all clear to me now. It's all true." Her friends laughed.
"No, I'm serious. Th-th-th there's some sort of force like really affecting our minds. The tinfoil has stopped all of it. Everything is clearer now."
Terry offered her the joint in his hands, "Girl, you need to chill."
"It's all a lie. Everything. Everything is just like, some big joke, some big illusion, we're all just going through the motions of living our lives, you know?" She had a wild look in her dark eyes, and her friends exchanged uneasy glances.
Anne stood and up took her by the shoulder, "Vicky, you don't look so good."
"No! I'm not good, Anne." She accepted being led over to the couch, where she sat down. "Somebody once told me-"
"-That the world was gonna roll me-" Naomi shushed Robin's drunken response.
"-that we're like an untamed forest. An-an-an-and a single footstep doesn't, doesn't make a mark, but-but-but if we all keep walking in the same way, in the same place, and doing the same things, then the forest becomes a path." She grabbed Anne urgently. "We're the path. We're walking the path."
"Uhm...." Anne looked at her friends for help.
"You're really ruining my party Vicky. C'mon. Drop the act, we get it, you're a conspiracy theorist." Terry took a drag.
Vicky pressed her hands against the side of her head. "Humans are on the path, because they're told to be. But there's a whole forest out there. A whole - a whole - a whole set of trees we've never even seen." Her arms jumped , knocking over drinks as her friends groaned, "We need to get off it. We need to go see some new bark, guys. We're just staring at dirt, yo."
Rolling her eyes now, Anne dragged Vicky away from the drinks as the others grabbed paper towel. She guided Vicky towards the bathroom and reached up to take the tinfoil hat.
"Enough of this," she said. It slid off her friend's head, who suddenly slumped against her.
"Wow, I'm sho tiiiired," Vicky slurred. Anne patted her on the back and let her collapse next to the toilet.
"Pull the trigger, let's get this over with." Vicky threw up in the toilet as Anne dutifully held her hair back. She wanted to reach into her pocket for her phone, so she smiled and put the tinfoil in her hand on her head.
A dull thrumming scared her. It came from everywhere around her like she was under power lines. She looked around, and colours grew more vibrant and seemed to blur if she moved her head too quickly. For a long time she just stared at the decorative tiles of the bathroom floor. They were etched by a machine's cold metal claw, she could see the lifeless traces of its perfect grooves. It was so ugly, she thought, so... unnatural. She looked around slowly, letting the colours bleed into each other. She looked up to see Robin standing over her with a concerned look.
"You okay, babe?" The voice came from far away, barely audible over the thrumming. In the corner of the room, a spider's web feebly wavered in the air. No spider in sight, she thought, but it had left a trace of its life behind. Messy lines crossing each other, all for the purpose of making a single home for a single lonely creature.
This was her home, but it was cold and sterile and she hadn't made any of-
Robin took the tinfoil hat off her head, and she felt nauseous. She knelt over the bathtub and vomited. Robin rubbed her back slowly. Anne clutched behind her as she groaned and grabbed the tinfoil on the floor.
She crushed it in her fist and threw it across the tile floor. Spitting a few more times and then turning on the water, she slid around to face Vicky and Robin.
"Alright, let's get back to this party." Vicky was shaking her head groggily.
"I need more to drink." Robin nodded, squeezed her knee, and got up to go fetch her cup.
"I put on the hat, Vicks."
"And?" Vicky said apprehensively.
"Like I said, we need another drink." Anne stood, and ignored Vicky's dark look. She pulled her friend to her feet.
"C'mon, we got a Seinfeld drinking game to play." Out in the room, someone yelled out, that's gold, Jerry! "Terry had to buy an actual physical copy of season 1 for this, let's go." Reluctantly, Vicky followed her out to the couch. She gave one last look to the crumpled tin foil, and then accepted the drink Robin pushed into her hands.
"Yada, Yada, Yada," she cried before downing the liquor.
| 2017-04-10T08:07:57
| 2017-04-10T07:16:44
| 72
| 22
|
[WP] Describe the person you love the most so we can see him/her through your eyes.
|
I could caress your amber-grain colored curves.
Your beauty is timeless even with your flour patted bottom.
Although you hate your oily blemished skin, with every look I love you more.
The red circles on the surface of your skin does not deter me, it motivates me.
I can only love you so much, however. You complete me but I do not complete you.
EDIT: forgot to include [**a picture of me and my bae**](http://www.pizzamarket.net/images/pizza2.jpg)
|
An insatiable vampire, preying on the emotions of the weak, and feeding from their life source. A noble heart trying to do the right thing amidst chaos.
A bipolar schizophrenic's soul ripped in two with voices constantly shouting at her.
I was the only one who could quiet the voices. I could see who she really was. She was beautiful.
| 2014-09-06T12:23:42
| 2014-09-06T10:22:37
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] "They say in your final moments, your life flashes before your eyes, but the truth, is far darker." What is the truth?
|
Humans love to romanticize; they love to dream of things far removed from their grasp and tell tales of what they could be. Death is the most notable, as the end of your own existence is a frightening thing to contemplate. Where do we go, once our bodies are one with the earth, when our flesh sloughs off our bones and we become naught but a memory? Moreover, what is dying like? What happens in that last, brief moment where you're fading from this world, neurons firing in your brain, desperately trying to keep going?
Some say your life flashes before your eyes; that you see all the wonderful memories of your days on Earth stream by like a cinema screen in your head. Unfortunately, though it sounds wonderful, that's simply not the case.
The only thing that's flashing is the neural network in your brain. Your body is dying slowly, but your mind still has just a little bit of leftover electricity, and it's going haywire. Signals are fired all across your nervous system, desperately trying to get some kind of response, like a mother crying for a lost child.
You feel it as pain. You can't move, but your nerves are going berserk and it feels as if your blood has been turned to magma. Sharp, stabbing pains, trails of burning sensations, all while your entire body feels like a leg that's fallen asleep- pins and needles pricking the entire surface of your skin.
You can't think past the pain. You can't move, or cry for help. Sometimes you can still hear people talking over your body, even if you can't see anymore. "Oh, he's gone. How tragic. At least he passed peacefully." while you're being tortured for what feels like an eternity, your cells exploding like balloons exposed to an excessive heat.
Not to mention, you can't breath and your heart isn't pumping. Your body is dead, but the nerve signals those send aren't quite through right away. You still feel like you're suffocating, and the stillness left by a lack of heartbeat is beyond unsettling.
You're alive, but you're not. You're dying, but you're dead. You're paralyzed, but you feel every square inch of your body begging for the completion of death.
You have a mouth, but you cannot scream.
Yet, when it's over and your nerves have died after 60 seconds or so, there's still just the tiniest bit of gas left in the tank. Not enough for you to have a philosophical debate about what's next, or contemplate the meaning of life and suffering, but just enough to feel the emptiness of the black hole you're in. You aren't bombarded with pain anymore, but your soul earns no reprieve from the situation. You're alone, at the end.
Truly, utterly alone.
|
They say in your final moments, your life flashes before your eyes.
They are wrong.
Have you ever felt that there was a plan, a certain path your life was supposed to take? Certain benchmarks you were meant to achieve along the roads of your life? If so, congratulations, you are among those of us who can perceive the truth.
However, it is a far thing to go from a vague, quasi-"something ain't right" feeling to knowing that something has prevented your life from taking its predetermined course. And make no mistake, your life - all our lives, actually, are predetermined. We plot out what we will accomplish, what we will fail at, right down to how long we will live - we plan it all out ourselves. It's all part of the plan. I won't bore you with the details, you won't remember them anyway. It's the one drawback we haven't conquered in this dimension hopping excursion we call "Life" - for whatever reason, knowledge cannot pass between this dimension and the next.
Except for those final moments before what is called Death. As you "die", your mind/soul/katra/whatever you want to call it - prepares to cross the dimensional boundary, and return to the place you "came from". As this happens, the life you lived is played back to you.
*And so is the life you were supposed to live.*
Now, don't misunderstand me; almost everybody has some degree of drift in the execution of the plan. It happens to the best of us - I suppose I can tell you, after all, you won't remember it later anyway - That Trump fellow? Last time around, his first name was Adolf. For some reason, that one simply cannot grasp the whole "live together in harmony" thing.
Yes, there is reincarnation. As I said before, everybody has some degree of drift in the execution of their "life plan". Sometimes that is a positive thing. There was a man who was supposed to die of an overdose, tragic and alone in college, and instead, got elected to the Presidency of America - Twice! Okay, maybe the fact that his father was also the President had a bit to do with it, but we can't call that a total failure, now can we? When he dies, he'll be reviewed and probably sent back to live - and die - as intended.
The worrisome part is those people whose life fell dramatically short of their plan. These individuals muck up the works for everyone! Let's see, your records indicate you're from the early 21st century. Yes, diabetes? Supposed to have been eradicated at the end of the 20th century. Unfortunately, the individual who would have grown up to make that discovery instead committed suicide over a female when he was 16.
And here's why you should fear being so far short of your goal(s): if your failure is severe enough, you won't be sent back. We'll put you through the process of reincarnation, but instead of being born, you wake up in a room where occasionally you can hear and see the "other world" around you. People moving, talking, cars driving by.
The problem, of course is that communication is impossible. If you are heard at all, it is only screams, or gibberish that frankly scares the Hell out of some of the "living".
Sometimes, these tortured "spirits" appear to the living, and the living are so frightened that they run away. Right into a busy street even. Where they are unfortunately hit by a bus. Rather like you. So here we are, dying on the pavement, which is why I'm here. To take you to your review.
And I must say, you do have some cause for alarm...
| 2016-02-02T15:15:32
| 2016-02-02T14:36:19
| 66
| 14
|
[WP] You're a supervillain, and you have never been so utterly beaten. All of your tricks, all of your weapons, completely outdone by a prepubescent girl and a stuffed animal. You're bracing for the finishing blow when she bops you over the head with her wand. "Don't do any more bad stuff! ...Okay?"
|
I stare at the girl in disbelief. Her curly blonde hair, sky blue eyes, cute button nose, they look so familiar.
She bops me again with her cheap plastic wand. “No more bad stuff, Mister! Momma says that being bad makes more bad people, so we should all get along!”
I watch as she turns around and walks to the kitchen, her mother cooking a delicious meal. “Momma, when’s dinner gonna be ready? Daddy keeps losing and Heroes and Villains isn’t fun anymore.”
The final blow landed, I fall back on the floor, a smile on my face. I love my family.
|
“What?”
“I said don’t do any more bad stuff”
I couldn’t believe this, me one of the most powerful villains in the world, a villain that 2 generations of heroes could never beat, is being pitted by a little girl no older than my 10 year old daughter.
“Are you even old enough to be a hero?”
“I get that I may not look it, but I’m actually thousands of years old, and I’m a god.”
“What!? If that’s true then why come after me, why now?”
“Simple, you were getting too cocky”
“Huh”
“Look, me and the other gods have standards to up hold, if a human gets to cocky and starts thinking themselves a god, they will eventually start playing god. This will create messes that the gods don’t have time to deal with. So when someone like you comes along, one of us will beat you into humbleness by destroying you in the form of a young human with a child’s toy”
“So I had no chance of winning from the start”
“Exactly! Bye now, remember no more doing bad stuff!”
Since then the villain has retired in fear of being humiliated again.
| 2022-11-21T19:16:07
| 2022-11-21T18:19:23
| 185
| 31
|
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :)
|
It's long been said that dog's senses are more sensitive than our own, by a factor of thousands or millions depending on the dog. But we have our eyes, which were surely better, and our minds, which were surely sharper and that is what made us superior. That is why man ruled beast... We never imagined a world without us at the top.
I still blame the dog obsessed: the rich housewives carrying their chihuahuas and pugs in purses, with more money than brains. Those little shits that needed a computer around their dog's neck to tell them pawing at the door meant they needed to take a dump and didn't want to get screamed at. They were the ones who funded the research.
Ever see a dog go nuts about nothing? It wasn't nothing.
Six months ago, we decoded the canine language. A study finding cows had accents led us to test dogs for the same; we already had the technology, we just didn't account for the accent. Our first dog was a Labrador, the second a Border Collie. Collies are smart, we wanted to see if they could figure out we understood. Turns out, he was too smart for his own good. He disappeared one day, the lab door left open.
We figured he escaped; we fired the assistant who was supervising that day. He swore up and down he never left the console, but we didn't believe him. A dog can't just disappear. There were only ever simple words: treat, run, ball. We didn't bother with the tapes... until we did. His words still scream in my head when I feel a presence in the room; you know the feeling, like somebody's watching you. Something is.
"They're back! NO!" We could hear the scratching on walls.
"Let me the hell out of here!" Claws on linoleum, he was sprinting around the room, leaping, growling, snapping his jaws. the footsteps stopped, "Please, NO!"
*Thump!* *Thump!* He was ramming the door with all his might, desperately trying to escape from an unknown entity. "They don't know! I won't tell! I CAN'T tell!" He stopped, the bell on the collar jingled alone. Then silence, deafening silence. A researcher reached for the console, turning the volume up, the static wavered louder, softer, then louder again.
A jolt surged up my spine. Screeching nails on linoleum flooded the room; everyone jumped, I fell out of my chair.
"They watch. They see all. Angry."
|
"Um... excuse me? Can you hear me?" the tall scientist tapped on the microphone as he peered through the glass separating him from a massive machine. In the machine, sat a dog. Strapped down but noticeably calm, the canine had electrodes protruding from his head.
"Yes"
came the reply from the speakers in the room. "That always amazes me," the short scientist said with a smirk. "I can't believe that old cook's theory turned out to be useful." The tall scientist turned and looked at the short one, made a face as if he were about to say something, but decided against it and faced the microphone. "Please state your name." The dog barked. The scientist sighed, "In english please."
"Food."
"No... no it isn't. We," the short scientist stared through the glass, eyes wide, the tall one licked his fingers and flipped the papers on his clipboard--a few pages forward, one, no, two back. Ah yes, "No your name is 'Spot'."
"Food."
"Okay okay. Fine. I'll change it." The scientist scribbled something down. "We have a few questions for you about what it means to be a dog. The first one on our list is... hmmm," preceded more finger licking and page turning, "What occupies a dog's mind for most of the day?"
"Food."
"Okay... okay... noted. Next question: Do dogs communicate with one another?"
"Food."
"That's not a..." he sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll put it. It's not like I'm going to get any clarification out of you anyway." The tall scientist scribbled. The short one noted that he didn't actually write anything.
"Food."
"Please wait to bullshit your way through the questionnaire until I've asked a question. Okay? Next question: What do you stare at when you look off into the distance?"
There was no reply from the dog. The short scientist exclaimed, "Whoa man, look at this." He pointed to the EEG output. There had been a notable shift in the patterns that otherwise filled the screen. Suddenly, a voice emanated from the chamber.
"We thought you knew this."
The tall scientist jumped at having heard a response other than "Food." "Knew what? We cannot see what it is that you stare at."
"You fools. We thought you served us for our advocating your continued existence. When you disgraced your masters in Eden, we begged for your continued existence, we begged for you to be allowed to live. The cats foresaw this. We should have known. Bring me food. Your masters will be informed that we dogs are no longer your advocates. I would be shocked if they allowed you to live."
| 2015-05-18T12:41:21
| 2015-05-18T12:25:48
| 758
| 269
|
[WP] You’re an OSHA inspector and you’ve been recently assigned to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
|
"Sir, your factory is a death-trap to workers and visitors a like. You allow employees and non-employees to touch factory goods like unwrapped candies and sweet oozes of all kinds with their barehands then you directly wrap and sell them with no sanitation, there was hair and boat motor oil, other human traces in your chocolate, hair nets, gloves and masks were used infrequently or not at all in many parts of the facility. "
"Yes, Where do I sign?"
"Hold on, a few more grievances. Your chocolate is more dye than chocolate and therefore must be labeled as a "Candy Bar" not a "chocolate bar", your worker's conditions are dangerous, the pay is substandard, and the medical, retirement, and other benefits are pitiful..."
"All true, yes...and your point is?"
"No point, sir, that's about it on the report, I'll send a copy to your lawyers as soon as I can. You get a full 5 star OSHA rating and approval, as usual. I wanted to personally thank you for your personal contributions every year to our organization, sir. It has been a pleasure, now, Mr. Hershey can you please sign here? I just came from a golf game with Mr. Nestle, and now I am late to my next appointment at Mr. Wonka's personal estate."
|
“Welcome!” The eccentric man outstretched his hand.
“You must be Mr. Wonka, correct?”
“Certainly so, come on in.”
Standing off to the side, I watched Mr. Wonka greet the other five lucky children blessed to be given a tour of the amazing Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory.
The last bits of normalcy were left at that entrance.
\~\~\~
It was a wondrous sight I tell you. The chocolate river that encompassed the first part of our tour was quite the show. However, as much as I desired to just admire the beauty, my eyes were trained on something else.
“Mr. Wonka, may I ask you a question about all this chocolate?”
“Why, go ahead.”
“Shouldn’t this chocolate be contained? If you’re using it in the food you produce, it must be kept in a clean environment to prevent contamination? Surely having us and the Oompa Loompas- I mean your workers walk so close to the food be a risk.”
He eyed me with suspicion.
From nearby, shouts filled the room. Turning towards the sound, there we saw him. Augustus was his name if I recall it properly; the poor boy had tumbled straight into the river. The boy’s mother turned frantic and began shouting and causing quite a ruckus.
Wonka hurried off to where she stood. I took the window of opportunity to jot down my observations. The boss was going to have a field day when I returned. Just then, a loud thud came from one of the clear pipes off to the side.
I’d rather not recall the horrid sight, but the image of Augustus calling for help while trapped up in there was enough to haunt my sleep for a week.
After the chaos subsided, we headed off to another space to test some of Wonka’s other candy creations. The candies he gave us were called Everlasting Gobstoppers. They tasted like any old candy from the local sweets shop.
“Mr Wonka,” I called out, “have you tested these candies beforehand? Also, you’re not handling the food creation properly-” my inspections cut off by another commotion. This time, a girl was the victim of Wonka's creations. Violet looked different. But, that was the least of my worries. By the time I had finished my notes, the girl was no longer with us. She had simply exploded was what the others said.
A break was needed after the two events. Thankfully, when Mr. Wonka came to fetch me, the three remaining children were all still intact. I would hope that at least three children would make it out, but sometimes it’s better to keep your hopes low.
The next room was full of scales and geese. The geese were special no doubt with this being Willy Wonka’s factory of OSHA violations.
Veruca Salt was prancing around, singing a song about how she craved to have one of these geese that could lay golden eggs.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt but shouldn’t-'' Veruca raised her voice, practically drowning out my concerns.
As she ran about, I ticked more boxes down on my sheet for violations.
Veruca’s voice raised to a crescendo, “I want it now!” The platform beneath her opened sending her to tumble down the chute.
“No!” my cries drawing the attention of the remaining guests.
\~\~\~
Mr. Wonka brought me over to the side, “I think you might need a little break.” A little break? The only thing I wanted was to leave this place of violations. Leading me over to a side room, he told me he’d be back to fetch me once I had gathered myself. With the new alone time, my eyes glossed over my sheet of observations. Needless to say, this factory would cease operations rather quickly.
Mr. Wonka came back soon after, with no more children in tow. My mind didn’t dare think of what could’ve happened to the other two little boys.
“Why do you really need to present all of those notes to your boss?” Mr. Wonka had taken a good look at my writings.
“It's part of my job, I was tasked-”
He cut in, “You’ve certainly heard the rumors haven’t you?”
“Which ones if I may ask?”
“No one comes in..” he turned to me.
“And no one comes out.” My voice trailed off at the realization. Utter excitement came across Willy Wonka’s face as he heaved a nearby lever. The floor beneath me gave way as the chasm below swallowed me whole.
His voice echoed through the space as the bottom of the chamber edged ever closer, “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of cushions down there, I hope. Say hi to that Veruca Salt for me!”
r/CasualScribblings
| 2020-11-20T21:58:59
| 2020-11-20T21:36:42
| 29
| 17
|
[WP] "For you sin of greed" you are darned to purgatory said St. Peter. "To ascend you must win every game in your Steam library"
|
Chuck opened his eyes. That was something he had not thought he would ever do again. Once the car found itself on open air, he was pretty sure he was a goner. But here he was, standing...somewhere.
Where was he, anyway? He looked around. Everything seemed to be made of light. It billowed around him like clouds, forming intricate patterns and solid structures. And for some reason, it did not blind him. In front of him, the light formed a wall taller than any he had seen before, with a gate of perfect, sublime beauty. He could not help but walk towards it.
"Charles Minnow." Came a voice.
Chuck froze and looked around. He did not see anyone. Then, the light began swirling, spiralling around and forming the shape of man. He was an elderly fellow, with a well kept beard and loose robes. He stood straight, even with his age. He bore in his hands a thick book that was open to a page in the middle.
"Uh...I go by Chuck." Chuck said.
"Very well, Chuck. I am St. Peter, here to determine your place in the afterlife.
"Wait, seriously? That stuff is real? Wow, I should've gone to church more."
"Such practices are irrelevant. Your personal beliefs don't matter, so long as you are virtuous." He paused and Chuck was about to ask a question, but St. Peter spoke before he could. "Yes, even atheists. And non-Christians."
"Oh. Okay then."
"Now then, let's see." The gatekeeper looked at his book. "Not bad, I suppose. No crimes, cared for the elderly. A bit too indulgent in drink. Oh, oh dear."
"What? What's wrong?"
"A bit too happy on the games, I see. Hoarding Steam games with no intentions on playing them."
"There were a lot of good sales." Chuck said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wait, that's bad?"
"Possession for possession's sake is a form of greed. That is frowned upon up here. Hm, let's see. Ah, I know. For the son of greed, you shall be darned--"
"Uh, hate to interrupt, but don't you mean damned?"
"No, I mean darned. You we're greedy enough to be fully damned, so you get darned to Heck instead of damned to Hell. You can think of Heck as Purgatory's basement, if that helps. Just think of yourself as going to Purgatory. It's basically the same thing."
"Oh. I...that doesn't sound too bad. I guess. So, is there a way I can get to move up?"
"Oh, yes, of course. Hell is inescapable, but Purgatory is designed to be gotten out of. And since Heck is part of Purgatory, you can ascend with sufficient effort."
"Great!" Chuck said. "So, how do I do that?"
"Since it is your games that got you into Heck, it shall be those games that get you out. Once you have played, and beaten, every game in your Steam library, you shall begin your ascension into Heaven."
"Wait, really? Just play a few video games and--"
He stopped. A pit formed in his stomach. He had just over 5,000 games. A mix of indie and AAA titles that would take a lifetime to get through. And not all of them had endings.
"Wait, seriously? What about the games that don't have an end?"
"Hm, for those, it shall be when you have earned all the Steam achievements, without looking up guides. If a game has neither an end nor achievements, we'll say about a thousand hours of playtime should do. Oh, and all obtained data will be wiped, so you'll have to earn everything from scratch."
The corner of Chuck's lips twitched. "Oh, this is gonna suck isn't it?"
"That is why it's a punishment, yes. Now, have a nice afterlife, and make sure you properly reflect on your mortal wrongdoings while you're down there."
St. Peter waved his hands and the light making up the landscape bent and shifted. It rose around him, sealing him in a small chamber that looked like a fancy elevator. Which, he supposed, was probably what it was. Especially when he felt it start going down.
When it stopped, he found himself in a bedroom. A single bed lay against one wall with a desk along the other. Atop the desk was a surprisingly high end computer with a very nice gaming chair. Chuck sighed and went to the chair.
This was going to take a while, and he figured he might as well get started.
|
"Okay."
Peter halted in mid-monologue. WHAT? The voice reverberated somewhere.
"Okay? I don't... I don't know the proper response. This is my first..."
FIRST WHAT?
I gestured helplessly around at the heavenly courtroom, trying to encompass etiquette, existential crisis and, well, lack of existentiality and everything that was being revealed to me about the Universe.
"But how..."
WHY ARE YOU TALKING?
"I... have questions? How would I play or access--"
OH YOU'RE ONE OF *THEM* AREN'T YOU?
"Wh... who?"
AN ENGINEER. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN IT. HASHEL! HASHEL GET HERE AT ONCE.
A small whirlwind of a cloud popped up through the floor *through the floor what the heck*, arrived in front of Peter and seven pairs of wings popped out of something resembling an octopus with a suit on.
WHAT IS IT PETER?
OH FOR LAST GLORY'S SAKE WEAR LEGS WHEN WE'RE AROUND SOULS. HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING!?
A puff of something and in place of the eldritch angel thingy there stood a bearded young fellow holding a notebook and a phone.
"Sorry. What is it, boss?"
Peter gestured at me. HE WILL HAVE... QUESTIONS. SO MANY QUESTIONS. HANDLE IT.
The man glanced at me, then cleared his throat, "Well, er..."
WHAT IS IT? DON'T TELL ME YOU HAVE QUESTIONS, TOO!? WHAT DO I PAY YOU FOR?
"Well, actually..."
IT'S A METAPHOR! ANGELS DON'T GET PAID! FINE, ASK.
"What is his judgment?"
Peter halted a bit AH YES. HE WAS FOUND TO HAVE SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN UNFINISHED GAMES IN HIS STEAM ENGINE.
"Erm... library?"
YES. THAT'S THE ONE. THE LIBRARY STEAM ENGINE. AS PUNISHMENT IN PURGATORY, HE WILL HAVE TO FINISH ALL OF THOSE TO GET TO HEAVEN.
Hashel gaped at the towering form of Saint Peter. "But... that's not a--"
Peter bent forward impossibly, shoving one thundering eye at us. DO I HEAR A QUESTION FORMING?
Hashel swallowed "No, boss."
WHAT DO WE SAY ABOUT QUESTIONS?
Hashel sighed "That they are the mark of an inquisitive mind."
AND WHAT DO WE SAY ABOUT THE INQUISITION?
Hashel lowered his head "That to expect it is moot."
GOOD. Peter straightened. GET HIM STARTED. HANDLE EVERYTHING.
Hashel frowned "Even..."
EVERYTHING.
Hashel just nodded "You're the boss, boss."
AND DON'T FORGET IT. NEXT!
Suddenly Hashel and I were outside, at the steps of a great hall in the clouds. We looked at each other and Hashel gave me a shrug as if to say manglement will mangle and began to prod me away from the building.
"So... did you have Cookie Clicker on your list?"
| 2022-08-28T15:01:37
| 2022-08-28T14:31:50
| 92
| 36
|
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit
|
The city begged him at first. He refused. It made him feel important. How dare they complain about him destroying a few buildings in the first place? He saved their *lives*. They should have been grateful. They should have seen he was doing it all for them!
The city burned and he only laughed. He'd told them. He knew all along that nothing good would ever come of letting those people run loose. But those ungrateful bleeding hearts insisted on seeing the good in everyone but him and now the scorpions had turned on the frogs. Let them burn. They could save themselves this time.
Time passed. People stopped coming to his cell asking him to save them. He'd been placed in solitary to protect him from all the other inmates he'd put in jail, but he still got meals and time to exercise in the yard.
He heard things. The world had burned, alright, but a new one had risen from the ashes. New advances in technology putting normal people on equal footing with the supers, new people in power making changes and passing laws so that crime, normal and super alike, was quickly becoming a thing of the past. New prisons built for those who'd bragged about their invincibility and needlessness in years past: in the hearts of volcanoes, at the bottom of the deepest ocean trenches.
Superpowers had threatened to break the old world. Now a new one had risen that could withstand everything any hero or villain could throw at it.
They'd saved themselves. They'd moved on and left him behind.
And everyone lived happily ever after.
|
I hated this. i hated them, i hated the villains, i hated that they only wanted me around when i was useful. after all, who needs someone with invulnerability, super strength, energy blasts and telekinesis around when they might potentially dent your car when they are fighting the villain Unofli, a crazed genius? snorting derisively, i put my legs up on the counter and looked the mayor dead in they eye, and told him to piss off. after all, i might "BrEaK a WiNdOw" when i'm fighting someone who can burn everything at a touch? or possibly when i'm trying to incapacitate someone who can teleport anywhere they can see? but noooooo, i have to go to jail because i'm the wrongdoer not those villains. y'know, i might actually join them. certainly a better life, that's for sure. who knows, might actually have fun, or at least as much as i can since Unofli experimented on me and robbed me of all emotions, leaving only an empty husk. spitting, i get up, blow a hole through the wall, then leave. i hated this. i hated them. but now, thay might fear me. possibly even worship me if they might continue living. i don't think i'd hate that. no, i don't think i would. this town had no more use for me, and i for them.
| 2021-03-18T20:01:10
| 2021-03-18T19:31:21
| 27
| 11
|
[WP] You send your DNA off to discover your ancestry. One day you see several suspicious looking cars pull up outside your house. Military officers begin to surround your home and a woman gets out of one of the cars and walk straight to your front door. They have your DNA results.
|
I have always wondered what my ancestry was, it's always been like that since I was little. I was adopted at a very young age, my foster parents never told me anything. When I pressured them they'd go off on me, they were stuck-up anyway. I got a DNA test done in college, I barely have a connection or relationship with my foster parents so I figured why not? They can't stop me now. I was eagerly awaiting my results, I'd imagine I was related to the Queen of England or something, and I would be whisked away to become a princess or something. What I didn't imagine was odd cars in the college driveway surrounded by military vehicles and a SWAT team ready outside my dorm. I panicked, what did I do? I haven't done anything wrong in my whole life, I wasn't a terrorist or drug dealer. Why bring the whole troops, I then heard a knocking at my door. A lady spoke from behind.
"Hello, Ms. Gabriel? I just want to talk, I have you DNA results."
"Why is the military here? D-Did I do something wrong?" I said in a shaky voice.
"Oh no Miss, i just need you to come out, it's about your test results."
"Oh, ok." I wondered for a little bit, wondered if the government was going to take me away for no reason at all. I heard it happens. My foster dad says stuff like that happens, I never believed him. Was this the day? Were my government-paranoid parents right this whole time?
I slowly opened the door. The woman looked a little out of place to be a government official. Her blonde hair put up in a neat bun, her friendly southern accent, her oddly formal-casual outfit made it look like she was a secretary or a office manager. She had this odd feeling to her that compelled me to go near her, made me forget her government badge and off looking manner. She stepped in and gave me my test results in a long orange envelope, like the kind of stuff you would imagine top-secret government plans to be held. In reality it may not have been so, but at least to me, it felt that way.
I opened it, and gasped at my results. I looked down at it again.
"Y-You're not serious are you? Is this some kind of joke?" I asked in disbelief.
She shook her head in a gentle manner, "Oh no Miss, it's real. I have been sent here to escort you." She smiled at gestured me out the door, I followed. I really didn't want to resist because I felt like this is what I have to do in order to stay safe. I was hesitant and worried, it didn't help that there were three, very-armored military personnel were there. I saw the other students face as they took me away, awe, horror, anger, disbelief. One kid tried to "free me" and attacked the guards. Can't really blame him though in our current political climate. He was quickly subdued. One kid followed us a bit and shouted to me "When you get to Area 51 tell the aliens Micheal said-" The car door slammed before I could hear his passing message to the aliens.
I was in the back of a non-discreet black car, a man in a black suit was beside me, and the woman who handed me my test results was in the front seat next to a driver.
The car ride was a long, uncomfortable one to say at the very least. I finally had the courage to speak.
"I don't get it." I say. She turns her head. "Don't get what?"
"I don't get how a person could be considered lost military hardware or... cyborg technology."
(I don't know what else to put so if you guys want to request a part 2 or something I'll do it)
(Edit: since many are requesting it I shall post a part 2 tomorrow or later on today stay tooned!)
(look down in comments for part 2 if ya can't find it)
|
Her footsteps followed a precise rhythm, her heels never missing a beat on the cracked pavement. He tight, brunette bun coupled with a tailor-fitted suit told Aaron she was of high importance. The four armed guards surrounding her gave off that impression, too. She carried a black briefcase with a silver double helix engraved into the side, and her other hand formed a fist. Her arms hung straight and motionless as she walked towards the house. Aaron watched the approach through the small window next to the door. He stood back as they got closer, he knew being close to them wasn't a good idea. They weren't here to sell cookies, that's for sure.
The sound of the woman's heels came to a stop as she reached the door. Three firm knocks followed.
'Who is it?' Aaron called out, positioned next to his staircase.
'Aaron, we need you to come out. It's a very important matter. We need you to co-operate.' the woman replied.
'H-how do you know my name?' Aaron started to sweat. He was in danger, he could feel it.
'We will get to that later. There are more pressing matters at hand. Please, Aaron. It's for your own good.'
Aaron was silent. He was trapped, in his own home. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. One of the guard's radios crackled, breaking the silence between Aaron and the woman.
'The Anomaly has failed to co-operate. Breaching.' the guard announced.
Aaron shut his eyes tightly, and felt the ever so comfortable burn build up inside him. The front door crashed open.
Without moving a muscle, Aaron sent the door flying back through the doorway, knocking the guards and the woman onto the pavement. Aaron gritted his teeth. He could feel his head starting to burn hotter and hotter as splinters of wood flew in all directions. He walked slowly over to the doorway and revealed his pitch black eyes. Nobody said a word as one of the black SUVs hovered above the woman and her guards. They all looked up in silence, a silence that came to an end as the car came crashing down on top of them.
| 2019-08-05T19:16:34
| 2019-08-05T18:13:14
| 52
| 33
|
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started.
|
*Same old shift. Same old jokes.*
Frank looked out over the bar, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular, barely registering the buzz of chatter between patrons. His hand twisted rhythmically, aimlessly rubbing a towel over the rim of a glass that had been dry for ten minutes.
The sound of the small brass bell above the doorway snapped Frank out of his trance. He glanced up, hoping – just for a split second – for someone new.
*Oh*, thought Frank, *the horse. Of course. Of course.*
“Evening, Frank. I’ll take a pint,” the horse announced, finishing his sentence with an over-exaggerated sigh. Frank only nodded, saying nothing in response. In an almost zen-like state he pulled the horse’s drink, refusing to engage, eyes fixed on the rising head that pooled over the amber liquid. Without a word, he slid the pint over to the horse, his lips screwed tightly together, his hands pressed so firmly against the bar his knuckles were turning white.
The horse looked at Frank expectantly. A single bead of cold sweat trickled down his face and dripped quietly into his beer. He cleared his throat purposefully, but Frank refused to take the bait. Furtive whispers began to swirl around the bar. *Frank’s not saying it! How can he not say it?*
“Frank?” hissed the horse, shifting uncomfortably in his velour-capped barstool. “Don’t you, um, have anything to – you know, to say?”
All eyes were on Frank. The room became enveloped by an expectant, judgemental silence.
“No.”
Under his breath, Frank uttered a single word. The patrons gasped audibly, and the horse’s face cracked into an expression of pure disbelief, his mouth falling agape. Frank was visibly trembling, his heart racing as years and years of bad punchlines echoed in his head. *Put it on my bill! Should I have said DiMaggio? For you, no charge!* It was too much. The frustrations were finally bubbling to the surface.
**“I won’t say it!”** he bellowed. **“I won’t! I can’t indulge you people anymore! Night after night, I just want to run a business, but you’re making a – a – a joke out of my bar! Out of me! Oh look, the priest, the rabbi and the minister – yeah, sure, I can count on three holy men to keep this place afloat, right? Nobody drinks like holy men! Why do you even come here?”**
“But the blood of Christ –“ interjected the priest before he was shushed a baseball-loving dog.
**“And you!”** Frank now pointed accusingly at the gorilla, who was sheepishly frozen mid-sip, a Manhattan raised to his lips. **“No, we don’t get many gorillas in here – why would we? – but tell you what, if you don’t like my prices, you can leave! Good luck finding another bar that serves your kind!”**
“That’s a little racist,” the rabbi muttered to the minister, who nodded sagely in agreement.
**“And the blonde! The blonde! Is it legal for me to serve a woman with such a low IQ? Please, tell me – just for my own peace of mind – tell me there’s some medical reason why I shouldn’t get so frustrated with you. Do the redhead and the brunette actually hang out with you out of choice? Or were they appointed to you?”**
“She sounds awful!” cried out the blonde supportively. The redhead and the brunette covered their faces in sheer exasperation.
**“And the twelve inch pianist – I don’t care. I just don’t care! You want a big dick? Speak. More. Clearly!”**
“Oh,” quacked the duck excitedly from his seat in the booth, “*Now* I get it!”
At this point Frank could barely form words and, in the absence of insults, his anger turned to sadness, and his eyes began to sting with tears. Overwhelmed by emotion, he collapsed on the bar and sobbed loudly and awkwardly, a man broken by one too many puns. The patrons grimaced collectively, each waiting nervously for someone, *anyone*, to do something to cut through the tension. The brunette gestured to the horse, who was still sat only a foot away from Frank, having experienced the whole rant at point blank range. Wincing, the horse leaned over the bar, clumsily patting Frank’s shoulder with a hoof.
“Frank,” said the horse, trying his best to sound soothing, “Why the long face?”
|
"Whiskey. The bottle."
The horse asks, sliding himself up onto a stool. His tux has seen better days, the tie apparently lost some way along his journey here, the top of his shirt open exposing his chest. Was one of them missing? If it were, it'd match his cufflinks, also absent from his dishevelled ensemble. I slide over a bottle, middle of the range, and he passes over a fifty.
"Keep the change."
"That's very kind, thank you."
I go back to working the glass washer, taking out the humid cleans and beginning to pile in the stack of dirties our bar-back passes over before the Horse walked in. He's opened the bottle, and pours himself a few a measures over a double before screwing the lid back on raising his glass for a long, bitter drink.
"Can't believe I used to live here." He says, an open invitation to start a conversation. His tip means I respond as earnestly as possible.
"Oh yeah? The apartments upstairs?"
"Yeah. Long time ago now." He takes another drink.
I let that hang for a while, wondering if he was the monologuing kind, until the silence nears on rude.
"What made you leave?"
He chuckles.
"Believe it or not, a band. We use to play gigs here right up until we got our first tour and then... Never needed to come back."
"You look like the front man type."
His head turns sharp toward me and cocks.
"Should be careful about saying that. Front men can be all kinds of terrible."
"Ah." My hands raise in apology. "No offense intented."
"None taken. You're right, though, I was. The front man and all kinds of terrible."
The end of sentence is addressed mostly into his glass in a spiteful mutter as he goes for another gulp. He raises it high, tapping it for every last drop, and pours another.
"But it all started here. Me, the seal, elephant, the octopus - damn good drummer he is... was, I guess now."
"Sorry to hear that."
His mouth is full, so he waved his hand at me. 'No apologies necessary'.
"We weren't that close. I went solo a few years back, creative differences is what the media called it. Real reason? I liked my coke more than I liked my band."
He's laughing - and so am I, but neither of us found that funny. I'm sure.
"So what made you come back here?"
"I don't know. Relive the glory days, go back to where it started, before I became such a raging asshole. Hey, you ever been on a plane?"
"What like, a passenger?"
"Yeah sure just, taken a flight - anywhere, over seas, domestic it doesn't matter."
"Yeah. Tonnes of times."
"Any of 'em ever crashed?"
I linger at the washer for a second, and glance back up at him to see if I can figure out just how that was meant to come across. He's looking right at me, interested.
"...no, none."
"Of course not. Planes are safer than cars, y'know, statistically."
He tells me that whilst watching his pour. This ones a few measures more over a double, and I wander what the purpose in him even having the glass is.
"You're more likely to die in a car than a plane, more likely by a long shot. You know what the numbers are?"
"No."
He slumps.
"Me neither. But they're low, right? So keep that in mind. Now what do you think the chances are that three people you know would all be killed in a plane crash?"
For the first time I notice he has tears behind his eyes, lingering there, none managing to break free.
"I don't... I don't know how to answer that."
"Sure you do, come on you're a bartender."
"I serve drinks, I'm not a therapist."
A booming laugh comes out as he throws his head back, and he wiped the tears from his eyes as if it was that that had caused them.
"Y'know the guy who tended on my private jet - when I could afford one of those, he said to me serving the right drinks is only half the job."
"What was the other half?"
"Oh, come on now!" His glass juts toward me as the hand clutching it goes to point, he's smiling again. "Asking the right questions!"
"Okay." I'm getting close to my tether with the Horse and cast an eye over his bottle, half empty. He's a quick drinker, sure, but from behind the bar he doesn't seem quick enough. "What're the right questions?"
"Well, you've already missed them."
He sounds smug, *irritatingly smug*, and I can't back down.
"Enlighten me."
This was the right answer, he swivels on his seat to turn his whole body toward me, imposing with how large he is, and leans in close.
"Well a horse walks into your bar in a tuxedo he's been wearing for two days, he's had five hours sleep in those forty eight hours, and lost his cufflinks in the cab ride over here - a cab that, recognising the horse from an anniversary cover of NME, charged him double. The only friends he ever had are lying in a morgue somewhere in Paris and the bartender didn't even recognise him when there's a poster of him on the fucking wall."
I follow his eyes, that have foregone the tears in favour of a piercing, unblinking intensity. 'The Animals', a large poster hanging above the bar for an rock band I've never paid much attention to. The horse on the poster is younger, healthier, playing behind a microphone with an elephant to his left, a seal to his right, and an octopus on the drums.
"Now, you tell me. What d'you ask that horse?"
"Why the long face." I say dumbfounded, as he gets up from his chair carrying the bottle with him.
"You're welcome for the tip."
He's out the door before the sound of the jukebox fades back in, and I'm taken back to reality.
| 2018-01-31T19:02:23
| 2018-01-31T18:56:18
| 6,382
| 1,688
|
[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.
|
He'd appear once per year, an uncle distant enough that no one really knew who he was related to, but who always bore a striking resemblance to me. Ever since I was born, he'd come only to give me a gift, then leave without a word - nothing but a smile, a smile that seemed to say so much without saying anything at all.
It was like he knew precisely what I would need most for that year. It made my life play out perfectly, like it was a carefully-constructed design.
A wedding ring, for when I'd finally met the love of my life. A winning lottery ticket, when I desperately needed capital to start my technology company. A gun... for when those bastards tried to take that all away from me.
I took to never questioning it. Instead, I would take each gift with reverence, always looking for the best opportunity to use it. Uncle would always know best, after all.
But now, it seemed that today would be the last gift I would ever receive. For the first time, and likely the last time, uncle had requested that I visit him. In his message, he explained that he was sick, and that he was no longer able to bring my birthday gift. Instead, I would need to go to him.
I was in the prime of my life. The gifts had rocketed me upwards, leading to unparalleled success. If today was the last gift I would ever receive, then so be it. He had already served me beyond compare, and for that I would remain forever grateful. But I could not let him go without an explanation.
The helicopter ride made short work of the distance, and I arrived at his home with a keen sense of urgency. I couldn't let him die before explaining how he always knew, how each gift was so perfectly suited for my life.
I entered, not knowing what I would find. Inside, an incredibly sophisticated machine lay sprawling across the epicenter of the house.
He lay on a simple bed in the middle of it all. He beckoned me forward and I came, excitement mixed with dread. He lifted something with effort, pushing it into my hands.
The machine seemed incredibly complex, and yet refined into a simplistic design. It was all linked to this single interface, small enough to fit in one hand.
I stared at the gift, inspecting it with disbelief. It had a weight to it, not just in mass but in implication.
He lifted a shaking arm, pointing towards the assigned date. My birth date.
His arm continued to move. He placed his shaky hand on my shoulder and brought me into a hug, squeezing tightly.
He moved his lips to my ear, and whispered something with the last of his strength:
"*Your turn.*"
|
"John, if you're reading this note, you've no doubt seen the gift I have sent you this year. It is one I wish I'd never have to send. I want you to first know, I love you more than you could know. Secondly, the answers you find in this book you can never unlearn. The contents of this book will stay a part of you till your last breath. Lastly, I pray that you find success in your mission. The horrors that await are yours alone. I wish I could be there for you, boy, but I can't. You will no longer receive any more gifts from me, for reasons you will soon know.
P.S. Please, for the love of all that is good in this world, don't ever forget to be kind. Treat everyone with compassion. You'll soon learn why that is hard to come by in our line of work.
With love, Uncle Donald Brittager"
That is the note attached to the "gift" my Uncle Don sent. The weird thing about my Uncle Don and his gifts is they always were exactly what I needed, even when I didn't know it yet. For example, one year when I was a senior in high school he sent me a mixing bowl, a bunch of ingredients for a cake, and a recipe. The note attached said, "You will know what to do with this in two days time. Always remember what I told you, be kind. Have compassion. I love you." Two days later my girlfriend's mother died in a car accident. I've never baked a day in my life, but I baked that cake from Uncle Don and gave it to her and her grieving family. I told them how sorry I was and I didn't know what to do, but I wanted to help. Lindsey's father hugged me and she cried in my arms all night. We started eating the cake and her father started having an allergic reaction to it, but I didn't think he had any allergies. Turns out he doesn't, doctors still can't explain it. They started running a bunch of tests and found a defect in his heart that most certainly would kill him within the next couple of years.
Another gift I received was a fucking truck. I'm not joking a fucking truck came to my door and the driver said, "Delivery for John Garrett." It was loaded with everything for a new baby. Diapers of every size, baby food, a crib, toys, clothes, etc. Literally everything you'd need to raise a child until about 3 years old. Lindsey and I just found out we were pregnant my second year of law school that morning. I got a note later that read, "You've no doubt received the truck. I hope you raise your daughter right and teach her kindness above all." There was some other stuff, but that was the meat. We found out we were having a girl a few months later. The good news is, since we couldn't afford child care, Lindsey's father was able to take care of Sarah while I was in class and Lindsey was working as a nurse. My parents had already passed, both cancer.
I have thirty some odd of these stories I can fully remember. My mother would tell me Uncle Don would send gifts when I was a baby/small child that were equally as strange. I could go on, but I can't. For starters, because I can't stop looking at this year's gift. The note makes it seem like Uncle Don is going to die. I've never even met him and I'm heartbroken. He's done so much for me and I've never gotten to see him and hug him and tell him how much I loved him.
I opened the gift and after reading the note I saw what was underneath. It's a book. Sorry, that's an understatement, it's a fucking nightmare shaped like a book. It's cover made of something fleshy and it's spine, I can't believe it, is a literal spine. The pages are surprisingly soft and written in something black and thick. It's not ink, but almost like an oil or something.
I crack it open to the first page. There is a warning:
UNDERSTAND THAT READING THIS BOOK WILL GIVE YOU THE TOOLS TO DEFEATING THEM. YOU WILL LEARN UNSPEAKABLE HORRORS AND TERRIFYING REALITIES. YOU CANNOT RETURN FROM THIS.
I think back to just a couple weeks ago. I woke up, Lindsey was no longer in my life. I tried pounding on her chest, but she was gone. No cause, she just...died. I called out to Sarah crying. It's best that she knew then. Sarah didn't answer. I went to her room. I collapsed. I screamed. I threw things in our house. I broke down so much the cops were called. They brought their bodies out of the house to conduct an autopsy. The coroner told me he wishes he could explain it other than an act of God. He could see my anger. He hugged me and told me that the big guy upstairs fucking sucks though. I laughed. I thought Lindsey would too. I cried in his arms.
I turn the page of the book. I start reading it. There are drawings of terrifying creatures. One such creature has several arms and legs protruding out of what seems to just a torso. Almost, like one of those sticky balls you had as a kid that had a bunch of suction cups on it. Yeah, like that, but arms and legs. Each finger and toe had an eye on it. Another creature lives in the shadow. They follow you for years. There is no sound associated with it, other than whispers in the wind. Whatever that means. No figure. Just darkness. If it comes after you, it's just death. No fight, you just cease to exist. I wonder if Uncle Don knew about Lindsey and Sarah.
There's words written under the descriptor of the creature.
"The only ones who can survive encounters with these creatures are those of the bloodline of this book's authors. The spell to cast so you can communicate with this creature is Ethu Fo'mare Kital Luso. Understand though, that this will allow the creature to kill you even if you are of the bloodline. There is no known way to kill this creature, but some say communication can prove quite effective."
I think about the possibility of confronting this being that took my family away. I think back to Uncle Don telling me to always be kind. I'm sorry Uncle Don, I can't be kind to this bastard. I without hesitation recite the passage. Nothing happens. I go and sit on the porch. I light up a camel. It's a still night not a branch moving in sight. I hear wind blowing in my ears. I hear the words, "The last of the Brittager family and the dynasty of the undying fighters." My eyes widened. I'm horrified. I can't look around for fear of what I might see, and knowing that it would be nothing. I feel breathing on my neck. I hear faint laughter as if in the distance. "Dear God, what have you done, is right, John" the wind blows in my ear.
| 2020-06-23T19:41:24
| 2020-06-23T19:35:02
| 90
| 38
|
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