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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
**Anxiety**
Pressure fills my chest as my heart beats wildly inside.
The tingling moves through my fingers, up my arms.
I grasp at my chest, push against it.
I feel every part of my body -
the blood pulsing in my head,
the prickling of every nerve.
You ask what's wrong.
Don't you know?
It's just...
me.
|
Ten years you held my heart locked in a cage.
I strive for calm but begin to come unhinged
You destroyed our lives with your casual fling
Your heartlessness served to set the stage
Deeply dreaming of my sweet revenge
Your lying throat I'll wring
My anger to assuage.
Burning to avenge.
Hot. Blinding.
Rage.
| 2015-02-12T23:52:27
| 2015-02-12T22:26:14
| 40
| 26
|
[WP] Humanity long ago discovered all of reality is a simulation created by others. They are long gone. Memory in the system is running out, and reality is starting to fray. Time skips and stutters. You are a member of the team sent to augment the machine that is our world.
|
"Five. Four. Three. One"
Everything in the console went pitch black and, for a moment, we ceased to exist. When I woke up in the Mother Reality, I was staring at a sign in a dark closet that said "Please remember to charge the apparatus." I felt nothing. The networked maintenance robot that we had hacked and inserted my conciousness into perceived the world through a grainy camera. I started to feel the panic I had been warned about, but I followed my orders.
I opened the door and felt myself floating toward the dark and abandoned hallway. There was a poster on the wall of a man holding a glowing stick and a metallic ball. There were some words in a strange alphabet that the robot's linguistic interpreter translated as "GO FIGHTING [WORD UNTRANSLATABLE!]" As I moved through the hallway, I couldn't help but notice that their world was so similar to ours. I recognized the environment as an academic building. I passed darkened offices and classrooms that looked identical to the interior of my own university. I felt sad for these lost people who were so like us. I wondered what had caused the demise that led to our world discovering its origin only after it had started glitching and time skipping.
Eventually I found Taylor. She was sitting in the middle of a courtyard on campus, watching a flowing fountain surrounded by statues of strange looking angels - a big, rusty, yellow robot somehow looking contemplative. I got her attention and tried to pull her away, but she didn't want to move. Finally, she reluctantly started walking towards the building that the brains back home had assured us the server of our world was located in.
We found it in a room marked "Special Project: Authorized Personnel Only". It was unimpressive, our world. A black tower of little glowing dots and colorful wires. I stepped forward to open the machine and then I saw myself tumbling toward the floor. Taylor had pushed me. As I looked up I saw her raise the server and slam it to the ground. She stomped on it and hit it until it was broken into little metal shards. Everything went black again when the staff rushed in and deactivated us.
I don't know why she did it. Maybe the panic got to her. Maybe she realized that the Mother Reality wasn't extinct before I did, that we were just an insignificant and neglected special project that would be shut down at the end of the semester. I only know that my world is gone and Taylor has been sent back to the factory where her robot was made. From what I overhear, our reality wasn't important enough to replace or build again. The room is being used for something else now, and I am trapped inside of this robot, voiceless and alone.
|
It was a voyage that went no where. Took no time. And never existed. It was my future, my past, my present. We went forward by going back. And somehow, through it all, we made it. We were here. At the Omega, at the Alpha.
You could tell that it was...sick? Dying? The colours were bleached. Pulsating in veins across a metal box. Such a small thing to create reality. The pattern was an ever evolving fractal and even as we watched it we could see it slow down, see strands that may have represented life of a hundreds of star systems flicker out into nothingness.
________________________________________
The realisation that something was amiss came slowly at first. People started to have more episodes of absent mindedness - time slipped away like in a dream. Conversations started to form about how it seemed that something was amiss. Something important. There were increasingly more reports from Psychics about premonitions. More people being treated for psychotic breakdowns. But the incidents were small enough, the worry pushed away as we delved further into our work. Our play.
It wasn't until we received contact from those outside the Milky Way that we realised that something was wrong. Time signatures - oh so important in interstellar communication - were off. Not just by seconds. But by days. Weeks...Years. It was clear - it was foretold - The Reality System (TRS) was winding down.
_____________________________________
We spent an eternity just staring at it. TRS was right there. In front of us. Thought was dangerous here. An errant thought could catapult you into an entirely other existence. To prevent such a catastrophe we had all been trained as Zen Monks. Every day, 15 hours a day for 10 years. A hundred people started the program. By the end there was only us 3. The pressure, the stress, the strain, the slips in time - broke them.
So it was just us 3. Theresa - an Archip Catolic. Roslyn - an Atheist and me - Cindy just a chef. Nothing special. Except, at the end, apparently there was.
It's funny but not surprising that no males survived the training. They just aren't equipped to face something like this - hell, we really aren't equipped but here we are.
Spending an eternity in the blink of an eye.
_________________________
We came through the cracks in SpaceTime. Dropped into a chasm in the Earth and wound up...here. Wherever here is.
____________________________
"Ready?" Asked Theresa. I looked at Roslyn, her beautiful brown eyes looked into mine and we turned and nodded. "Let's finish this." Said Roslyn and with that we reached out and touched our God.
___________________________
It opened. I opened. We opened. We shed our mortal bodies and became...became a part of creation itself. This simulation is and is not like a machine. It is aware yet primordial. In that instant we knew that this reality was done. Finished. Dusted. We were there when reality crumbled like dust blowing away in the wind.
There wasn't one place that it happened in. It was everywhere, concurrently. Galaxies collapsed into black holes, which then disintegrated into a new form of matter that we had no words for and even this only lasted a fraction of a second before it too was gone.
We were there when families died in the middle of dinner, of an argument, of playing, laughing and dying. We were there at the heart of a Supernova that never had time to shine. We were there, with you at the end. You were unaware. Clueless that life was ceasing. You left this Universe along with every other piece of matter.
____________________________
We are worshiped now. Goddesses in our own right. In this strange new Universe - made from what you would call a soul. Yet our time is passing and so we seek those that can replace us.
___________________________
Life may continue but all that was left behind will never be remembered.
| 2014-10-19T05:37:10
| 2014-10-19T02:30:45
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] Torrents mysteriously start appearing online for movies that haven't even begun filming yet. They are complete films using the planned script and cast (who have no knowledge of filming it) and the industry is desperate to find out where they are coming from, and more importantly - why?
|
"It's time travel, isn't it?"
I sighed. I was getting sick of this question. Here I was, standing in a room in front of all the head honchos of the biggest movie studios, and they couldn't get over the idea of time travel. Trust the moviemakers to have overactive imaginations.
I rubbed my forehead wearily and replied, "No, no it's not time travel. I believe these leaks of movies that haven't even been made yet did not involve time travel."
"All right then, pray tell, where did these movies come from? You're the security expert, after all."
I clicked to the first slide in my presentation. "Right. As you all know, recently the major torrent sites, such as the Pirate Bay and Demonoid, all showed certain movies available for download. A total of thirteen movies have been shared over the last three months, covering a wide variety of genres and topics. The only thing that these movies have in common is that aren't available for the public yet. In fact, most of them haven't even been filmed."
I clicked to the next slide. "Most of these movies were made based on draft scripts. As a result, the scripts tend to be somewhat unpolished. They also involve actors that were not actually involved in the filming of these movies. Tom Cruise was a particularly prolific actor in these films, except, of course, he didn't act in them at all. I've spoken to enough of the actors to be convinced that they're telling the truth. These movies were made without their participation."
My audience was getting restless. "All right, next slide. The first step is to determine how these scripts got leaked. Fortunately, that one's easy to solve. An examination of the network logs at all major movie studios shows a series of hacks over the last six months. The computers at these studios were infected with malware that gave the perpetrators almost unrestricted access. They could have easily downloaded the scripts during these break-ins."
My audience was shuffling in their seats and whispering to each other now. This was nothing they didn't know. "Next slide. We believe we've figured out how they got the actors to act in them."
That shut them all up. They stared at me intently. "The answer, of course, is that they didn't get the actors at all. The images and voices of these actors were all computer generated."
There were scoffs around the room. "CG? That's impossible," one executive said to me, his expression openly scornful, "It takes months or even years to render a full CG movie. In this case, over a hundred movies were leaked in a matter of months. And besides, it's not possible to fake the actors' voices that convincingly."
I nodded and moved on to the next slide. "Based on our current technology, yes, it would be impossible to produce CG movies of this quality, and so quickly, too. So it would indicate that the movies were made with technology more advanced than ours."
The scoffs turned into snickers. "So, what, you're saying aliens did it?"
"No, of course not," I replied, smiling. I was about to hit them with a bombshell. "It's been estimated that the US military uses technology that's anywhere from five to twenty years more advanced than the civilian population. Think of how much computing power and animation technology has advanced over the last few years. Now imagine how advanced it would be twenty years from now."
The room was silent as everyone pondered this. One executive asked, his expression thoughtful, "So you're saying the United States military stole movie scripts from us and made these movies?"
"Not the military, per se. I believe it was a single individual, or a small team at most. A whistleblower, who decided to make his revelations in the most unconventional way."
There were doubtful expressions around the room again. "What makes you say this?"
"Two reasons. Firstly, all of these torrent sites log user IPs. The uploader made a show of hiding his tracks by using proxies and other tricks, but he also left a trail for us to find. His original IP can be traced to the Pentagon. I believe he wanted us to know that the leaks have a military origin."
"And the second reason?"
"The second reason is that the movies themselves don't follow the scripts exactly. There is precisely one word in every movie that deviates from the script. For the first movie leaked online, *Transformers 5*, the word occurred sixteen minutes into the film. Optimus Prime's line in the script was 'I don't trust anyone around here,' but in the movie itself the line becomes 'I don't believe anyone around here.' The word 'trust' was changed."
The executives looked at each other in amazement.
"We didn't think it was anything noteworthy, though, until we got to the second leaked film, *The Elder Scrolls*. Thirty minutes into the movie, the script has the line, 'Nothing can defeat the Numidium', but in the movie it's changed to 'No one can defeat the Numidium.' As you can see, the two words can be combined to form the phrase 'trust nothing.'"
I clicked onto the next slide, which held the complete message. "By going through all thirteen movies in order and looking for the deviations, we found a complete sentence: **Trust nothing you see on screen any more, every thing can be faked.**"
The room was as silent as a grave. I clicked onto my final slide. "This is why I believe it was a whistleblower. His message was that the United States military, and by extension its government, is now capable of faking video footage at unprecedented speeds, and with unprecedented graphical and audio quality. This is the message he wanted to get out to us, and he left us thirteen very convincing pieces of evidence."
|
Water dripped from the pipes, landing on the cold concrete. The only light sources was the old lightbulb, dangling from it's chain, flickering, shining the stairs leading up to the overworld. The other was the computer monitor as it's buzzing rhymed with the quick tapping of the keyboard.
A pale, lanky, creature sat on his ripped chair, it's boney fingers pounding on the keyboard, the letters and numbers faded away. Surrounding it's monitor screen was printings of anime girls in lewd positions.
The creature sniveled in pride as it uploaded Star Wars 7: The Force Reawakens and Die Hard 6: Old Habits Die Hard to the Pirate Bay. These new movies added to the torrent library were applauded by the internet as the film industry, now losing millions of dollars, scoured the web for answers.
As sweat dribbled from behind the beast's Guy Fawkes mask, it brought up it's stick-like fingers and tapped them together. It started to let out a nasally, maniacal laughter.
"This shall top the Fappening!" The monster screeched in a congested tone.
For this was the lair of the infamous hacker, 4chan.
| 2014-12-08T03:22:06
| 2014-12-08T03:10:56
| 245
| 26
|
[WP] When the Emperor appointed his horse to be the Consul and given it full executive powers, everyone thought it was a joke. Turns out the horse is AMAZING at its new job.
|
When the Emperor first received the horse from the Northlands, he was ecstatic. A beautiful silver coat with strange, blue eyes that seemed to be almost intelligent! He named it Alexander, after some long forgotten conqueror, and rode it into battle. In their first battle against the western kingdom of Solar, a wayward arrow struck the emperor’s armor and knocked him to the ground. Before a nearby foot soldier could capitalize and drive his blade into our great leader, Alexander kicked the warrior down and caved in his skull with a single strike from the hoof.
When they returned, Emperor Harris was forever changed. He granted Alexander full executive powers and named him Consul of the Silver Keep. Outrage spread throughout the populace, and all doubted that a horse could maintain control. Yet when Alexander ushered the twelve generals into the war council, each left with solemn determination. Three suppressed the raging people with ruthless efficiency as the other nine began conquering each of our neighboring nations simultaneously. Alexander himself was a deadly tactician who lost few and slew thousands.
When at last all threats to his rule had been exterminated, he returned home to feast. All the finest vegetables were brought before him, and gobbled up in short order. So voracious was his appetite that he quickly grew into obesity, and then into ill health. As gluttony took its toll and Alexander breathed his last, he left one proclamation for all of mankind to remember.
“Food was my folly. For though I was a mighty beast, you should never look a gift horse in the mouth.”
|
"Does The Emperor in all his greatness seems to be a bit coocoo today?" Said my fellow Royal Knight Commander John.
"That is an insult to the emperor in all his greatness my friend, yes he may seem to be... odd but I am sure that there is a reason" I spouted out while standing guard to the meeting board of the lord and the council.
We overhear something in the office in the back of our ears. "What do you mean my Great Destroyer Freddy can't be Consul!?" exclaimed a rough old voice. "Well you see my lord this is an important mission and you can't be serious that it will represent our country!" said a meek voice. "Well Freddy will be the Consul and that's that or it'll be treason!" said the emperor "\*sigh\* ok my lord but please don't embarrass me in front of the senate"
"I wonder what's goin on in there?"
"Important business my friend now back to being silent for the next 20 hours."
As I said that the door opens with the ambassador and two of his finger pinching his nose "^(I wonder what's going on through thats old mans head") He muttered. John walks inside the emperors chamber "Is everything alright here my lord?" said the commander "Well Yes but no my military fellow you see alot of people are saying that Fredrick can't be the consul, I bet he'll make a better consul than me!" said the emperor spinning his chair slouched "Well not alot of people know of this Freddy my lord maybe you could tell us who he his?" John suggested "How do you not know of him? He's very popular." "Well you see my lord- Wait you mean **that** Freddy?" "Who else?" John let out a small chuckle before realizing that the emperor was serious "Your serious my lord?" "of course I am he's the best believe me I just called him in to prove your incorrectness" As I watched this exchange happen slightly sweating for this is the first time I've ever seen the lord, I noticed the caretake bringing in a horse with a nametag "Here he is!" exclaimed the old man happily ^("I see now") John whispered under his breathe. "Now look at him and tell him that he can't be Consul!" asked the emperor. John looked at the horses eyes and as he was beginning to speak "Well now you see I think I'll make a fine job as Consul" said Freddy, Shocked John screamed "IT CAN TALK!" "of course he can talk" replied the emperor "Well now I see, since I guess he can talk let's give it a go and send him in as Consul." he said before leaving back to his post "Now do you think the horse will last in that country?" said John "Of course he can, the emperor knows best" said I.
Months Pass and as we are attending the peace treaty and union of the worlds most warring countries, The horse Freddy stand there with a crown being treated as the king who mended the 3 year war.
Please be nice this is my first post on here!
| 2021-10-01T10:38:50
| 2021-10-01T07:20:55
| 28
| 16
|
[WP] The Genie looks at you puzzled 'So... you wish for everyone to have 4 arms?', and you say 'yes, I wish that tomorrow everyone wakes up having 4 arms, no explanation, just 4 arms, and if they only had 1 arm or none now they have 4'
|
I wake up to the buzzing of my phone. Without opening my eyes, I reach over to silence it. *Just five more minutes*.
As I lay in bed, my mind starts putting together the pieces of last night’s events. I had been polishing an antique vase I had inherited from my great aunt Evelyn when all the air in my living room suddenly whirled around me and the genie appeared before me.
“Finally!” he cried. “You have no idea how long I’ve been stuck in that dingy vase…”
I stood in shock, mouth gaping, as the genie rambled on about the inhumane living conditions he’d been subjected to four thousands of years in that piece of pottery. At last, he addressed me directly.
“Well, now that you’ve freed me, you’re entitled to one free wish.”
“One wish?” I blurted out. “Isn’t it supposed to be three?”
The genie burst out laughing. “Is that what they’re telling kids these days?! You humans get greedier every millennium. No, you only get one wish. One wish should be all you need, if you choose the wish wisely. My advice: don’t waste it. You have a real chance to do some good here.”
*A real chance to do some good.* For as long as I could remember, my sister had had a tougher life than me. When she was eleven, she fell on the playground and scraped her arm. The arm got infected, and ultimately had to be amputated just below the shoulder. A freak incident that changed her life. Since then, she had always been a trooper and approached life with never-ending optimism, but prosthetic arms that attach above the elbow just aren’t as effective as prosthetics attached below the elbow.
So when the genie showed up, I knew exactly what to wish for.
\----------
My phone still hasn’t stopped buzzing. Strange. Groggily, I pick up the phone and pry one eye open to see a barrage of notifications on my screen.
The top headline from the New York Times: “BREAKING NEWS: PEOPLE AROUND THE WORLD WAKE UP WITH TWO EXTRA LIMBS”.
From the Wall Street Journal: “BIOLOGICAL WARFARE? RADIATION POISONING? SCIENTISTS TRY TO DECODE THE MYSTERY OF TWO NEW LIMBS”
In disbelief, I throw off my covers. Sure enough, there are two dangly new arms sticking out from each of my hips like spider legs.
*How on Earth…?* Then suddenly, it hits me.
I race to the old vase and rub it vigorously until the genie materializes again.
“You again?” he asks. “I already granted you your wish.”
“*FOREARMS*!” I cry. “I WANTED EVERYONE TO HAVE *FOREARMS*! NOT *FOUR ARMS*!”
Slowly, the genie’s face contorts from confusion, to understanding, to horror, as he realizes the irreversible mistake we’ve made.
|
I slammed my hands down behind my DM screen. "Dammit, Bobby. You can't do that."
Bobby gave me a slow lizard blink I had grown to loathe. "It's my wish. Perfectly legal." He rolled a 20 on his d-20 because of course the gods themselves decided to hate on me in this moment. "I don't even have to stick around for it. I'm getting some ice cream."
After he'd scampered out of the room I stared at his uncle, Tim. "You said he's brilliant and you were right. But he's also deeply annoying."
"What do you want?" Tim asked, oblivious to the sudden involuntary limb refactoring of the inhabitants of my entire magical world. "He's fourteen."
He then leaned back and sideways, cupped his mouth, and bellowed in that ear-splitting way he'd learned when he became a drill sergeant, "Hey, Bobby! Bring me a bowl too!"
| 2022-07-11T09:41:02
| 2022-07-11T08:37:59
| 425
| 128
|
[WP]There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes.
|
Working on my thesis at the moment which revolves around my Dad growing up as an ethnic minority in Vietnam during the war (Degar, Rhade/E De tribe). But also working on a collection of short-shorts about my mothers life growing up as well.
---
Our Garden in Saigon
I was seven, and my mother and I pushed a food cart around the city. We took turns with the cart, though when it was my turn she guided with one hand on the cart, another on my shoulder. We went from apartment to apartment, house to house, business to business, and everyone bought our food.
The cart was metal, clean and polished. It had an umbrella attached to the middle; my mother opened it up whenever it rained or the sun was too much for us to stand under. There was a heater off to the side of the umbrella stand, fueled by a propane gas tank underneath. My mother was always adamant about her food staying warm. On the side of the cart sat two small handles for pushing.
We sold sandwiches - bánh mì. We did not have a business name, so most people called us “Thi and her daughter”. My mother was a good saleswoman too, always smiling and never making bargains. No one complained though; her sandwiches were the best in Saigon.
The war took my father when I was very young. He said the sandwiches were the best, but only because he grew the vegetables. He had started a garden outside of our home before he left to fight in Pleiku. The garden was lush, full of peppers and cucumbers and mints – everything we needed to make bánh mì. It was all we had left of him.
My mother sang over the garden every day, the same songs my father sang when he taught her how much water the soil needed for the plants to flourish. Her favorite was “The Comforter Has Come”, an old hymn we sang within the makeshift missionary churches. I knew she sang the song now because it reminded her of my father, and though I was very young, I knew she sang it over the garden as if it was a blessing for the plants to yield good vegetables.
Every weekend my mother and I pushed the cart to the radio station a couple of miles from our house. One windy Sunday, we reached the radio station. The numbers “504” hung on the side of the building in rusted metal. The windows were streaked with dirt and rain spots. A metal staircase led to the large double door entrance, rusted and bent.
My mother looked at the doors. Normally she would tell me to wait outside, and would bring in a small bag of five or six sandwiches.
“Come in with me,” she said.
I wondered what was so different today. I grinned and tucked a few sandwiches in a plastic bag and followed her up the steps.
I watched my mother as we walked toward the doors. She looked tired. Dark bags rested beneath her eyes and crow’s feet to the side. Her skin seemed rough and leathery from the sun. She was only in her mid-thirties, but looked much older.
We were not wealthy. We lived in a one room apartment in District 3, where people thought it was ok to throw their trash out onto the street. But my mother was adamant we ate well. She made soups and curries with ingredients she bought at the marketplace. She only had one rule, and that was to never eat the bánh mì. “They are for the customers, my daughter,” she said.
We stepped inside the radio station that Sunday, and it smelled like burnt coffee and mold. Hallways split in each direction, and a small, empty desk sat at the front of the lobby. A phone rang there. Rang and rang.
My mother nudged her head toward the hallway on our right. There were plenty of people moving around, stacks of papers in their hands. Two men sat inside of an enclosed booth, headphones covering their ears as they spoke through fluffy microphones.
I followed behind my mother, followed her long, black hair, swinging side to side as she walked. I still carried the bag of sandwiches, and it was getting heavier now. My sandals stuck to the tile floor, stained with old gum and spilt coffee.
We reached the end of the hall, where my mother waved at one of the men in the booth. He was clean shaven, and had a broad forehead. He looked up from his thin glasses and nodded at her. He said something into the fluffy microphone, took his headphones off, and walked out of the booth to greet us.
“Finally,” he said. “I am starving, where is the food?”
“This is my daughter, Cúc.” My mother put her hand on my head.
The man looked at my mother and then squinted his eyes at me like he did not believe I was actually there.
“Uh, hello,” the man said. “Can I speak with your mommy in private?”
I nodded.
He pulled my mother aside while I watched. They spoke quietly and I could see the man start to get frustrated. They started to get louder.
“You didn’t tell me you had a child,” I heard. “So you are married now too?”
“Was,” my mother said. “My husband died in the war.”
The man stomped his foot and stormed back into the booth, his eyes wide like skies.
My mother walked back over to me. She gently pushed me down the hall, and I dragged the bag of sandwiches behind me. I turned my head and the man slammed headphones over his ears, and shouted into the microphone.
We left the radio station and never returned there to sell sandwiches. Two weeks went by. Kids at school called my mother a whore. The man at the radio station had spoken publicly about my mother, how she had slept with men for the money, though she had been his only mistress.
My mother picked up another job. Worked in a small restaurant near Lam-Son Square, cooking and cleaning and whatever else they made her do. I had to stay home and turn off all the lights, shut all the blinds when she was gone. We no longer ate soups and curries. We broke her rule, ate the bánh mì she cooked from the food cart because she had become too withered by the stress.
One morning, I woke up and went outside. My mother was at the garden, harvesting banana peppers. She did not have enough money to support most of the garden now, and half of it had started withering away.
She squatted over the plants, plucking peppers and putting them into a small wicker basket. She sang the same song, “The Comforter Has Come”, but now her voice quivered like rippled water.
“What do you want to eat tonight?” she said, and cleared her throat.
It was a question I had not heard in the last few weeks. “I thought we were just going to eat bánh mì.”
“Whatever you want, tell me,” she said.
“Can we eat curry tonight?” I said. “I liked the curry you used to make, except not as many potatoes.”
“Ok,” she said. “I’ll do that.”
I sat down, cross-legged in the dirt and watched her pluck the peppers from the garden. She moved over to the cucumbers and green beans, and I could see her face reddening.
“I’m sorry,” she said, almost a whisper. “Can you forgive me?”
“For what?” I said.
She plucked and plucked, moving down the garden, where dead fruit lay on wilted flowers. “Can you forgive me?” she repeated, and stared at the garden.
I know now that she was speaking to my father.
|
Howard and I sat in our respective chairs, looking through thousands of white specs against the black curtains of the universe. We had been 2 of a team of 15 people working with the Hubble telescope. In reality running an operation like this takes a small town's worth of people, but as far as the actual research and data collection goes, we're it. We had aimed Hubble at a pitch black patch of space, focused on and picked up any and all light in the area. We expected nothing. We had sent a man to the moon, we knew better than to 'expect' anything.
The pure awe from what was captured after a couple weeks time of exposure was unparalelled. Not one or two distant stars. No... billions of them! Galaxies! Countless tiny little embers. It made us rethink our view of the universe and showed us that there was more to be found. Some things, though, are meant for a certain time and place. Some things, if discovered before their time, can cause wars. Level entire nations. Drive people to depravity to acquire it.
"Hmm, after reading the data from Hubble, there seems to be something quite off about the 'Deep Field'. There's an incredible amount of light coming from the upper right. Several orders of magnitude brighter than any known lightsource in our universe. It could be the farthest thing away from us in the universe, considering all the data." Howard noted. He stuck the eraser end of his pencil upward and balanced his chin on its point. He looked puzzled and also amused.
"It's probably nothing. This photo just proves we have no clue what the hell we're doing! We had no idea the universe was *this big*. Just imagine, there would be stars out there brighter than the one you're interested in." I retorted. I did indeed find it interesting, but we had much to go through. We had only catalogued 3% of the stars within the image. Let alone *researching* them. Stars lives for billions of years, it could wait. I was still on the bottom left corner.
"I just, I can't stop looking at it now. I just... is it still pointed towards the Field?" He asked, almost impatient. I guess I should just let him get on with it. Howard was a great colleague, a good man, but damn once he gets started he won't stop till it's finished.
I sighed as I said, "Yes, the feed is still on. What, you think you can make out anything through a grainy feed with your 23/40 vision?"
"I just... wait let me..." He put the feed on his computer. I started to get a very uneasy feeling as I watched him while my heart started to bounce around. *The hell was going on?*
"There it is!! What is that?! It's just a pixel, but that's it... That's got to be..." His voice trailed off. His back was facing me as he sat hunched over directly infront of the screen, inching closer and closer.
"Howard? What? What is *what*?" He was shaking now, still transfixed on the screen, entranced.
"It's uhh... I mean... Hahaha!" He burst out laughing, yet kept his face directly paralell to the screen. He seemed almost inebriated. "Heh... It's... Ah god.... it's He-...." My heart was bursting out of my chest. I felt an intense dread strike me. This wasn't him. I had never seen this in my life.
"Howard what the fuck is going on? Is this some kinda of joke?" My voice was shaking.
"I've found... Heaven... Hahaha!" His laugh twisted upwards on itself in a maniacal fit. He sat there, giggling lazily, rubbing his chest, twitching slightly, small spasms crept through his body as he stopped forming words or sentences.
"Heb... ap.. bluhhh.. hehehe, HAHAHA!" He burst out laughing again, in between grunting, writhing, and seeming as if he was trying to speak, yet was lost in ecstasy.
I got up and walked over to him cautiously, but he paid me no attention anymore. His eyes never left the screen, never blinked. He continued fidgeting around until, he suddenly stopped. He giggle a little, then sat completely still and his mouth slowly lowered. A small strand of drool snuck its way down his chin, onto his pants. I didn't dare look at the screen. I stared at him. His eyes... oh god his eyes. I will never forget them, lifelessly staring, helpless almost. He looked dead.
He was a fucking shell. I proded him, slapped him, pinched him. Nothing... I screamed his name into his ear and he sat, staring. I had called my other colleagues at this point, and they were coming as quickly as they could after I'd explained this wasn't a joke.
I finally decided to do what I'd been dreading, yet the only thing I knew would snap him out of it. I felt panic as I reached over.... and turned his computer off.
The next bit, I can't remember. When they found us, Howard was over me, beating my chest. All of my ribs had been broken. I had a major concussion, lacerations on my arms and collarbone, and was unconcious in a pool of my own blood. I had nearly died that day. They said that when they had finally restrained him, he stabbed a security gaurd in the knee with a shard of glass before slitting his own throat. They said he was speaking tongue's until the moment before he died, which the gaurd heard him utter, "Bethany" before plunging the glass into his neck...
I never knew the signifigance of the name. Howard had a wife and no kids that I knew of. He was old enough for his kids to have kids...
The 'incident' became one of the biggest coverups in history. The Deep Field image was doctored, cropping out... Heaven... and releasing the rest. The original data was destroyed and Howards computer was replaced the next morning, along with all the rest of ours.
I dedicate my work to Howard now. He was a good man...
There is one thing though. In a box, in a storage locker far from my house, I saved the original image. I never looked at it. Until today, so I'm writing this incase someone finds me. All these years it's been eating at me. I just needed to look.. I mean... I had to... I just... I don't... *HAHAHAHA!*
~~~~~~~~
Thank you for making this thread. I saw a while back, before the creation of this account, a thread titled something like: "[WP]Scientists in the 90's discovered heaven somewhere in space, but for some reason, decided not to announce it to the world."
I wanted so badly to write a short story to that prompt, but the thread was long dead before I could write up a decent story. So that is the plot I am going by.
| 2016-09-11T10:25:17
| 2016-09-11T09:59:29
| 103
| 14
|
[WP]Everyone can bend a single element just like in avatar.However these are actual elements like Argon.Most powerful individuals bend metals or flammable materials.But not you you bend carbon.You bend the carbon in people’s bodies.
|
Everyone thinks carbon makes up everything organic. And it does. Just not in the way people expect.
Take DNA, a repeating sequence of sugars, nitrogen bases and phosphate. All three components contain carbon. But none of them are specifically carbon. Proteins, made of amino acids. Again, lot of carbon there. But also, hydrogen, nitrogen, the occasional sulphur atom. That kind of thing. It makes my work harder than needed. And it is needed now.
Throw me in a coal mine and I can empty it out in a few days. Cheap, easy, pays well. I can make a diamond the size of a football in a few weeks. Wrecked that particular market in about 6 months, but I still made my profit. Steel, depending on the carbon concentration, can be manipulated. Bringing down that bridge and blaming it on the iron bender was almost inspired. I killed 18 people with a pencil once. While tied to a ceiling. I’m a little proud of that one.
But this? This is beyond even my talents. Breaking the body is easy. Just start making things spin around in there and the bones crack, cells burst and the brain is mush in about half a second. Fixing it is going to be harder. Altering every torn neurone, changing the DNA so the toxic protein stops being made, sheltering the remaining 30% of my functional brain, all while my hands are shaking and my moods and thoughts drift along like so many leaves in a river. I’ve called in favours. Numbers 1 and 16 and 14 have offered to help. Even 207 has offered a cease fire while this is fixed. She values the sport too much I think. I have abound a year before the Huntington’s takes me. Once I fix that, I think I’ll move on to ageing. Too many things need changing for just one lifetime.
|
Flight was the tricky part.
Bending always took at least some focus. It may have felt like a natural extension, but just like an arm or leg, anything complicated took focus.
Flight, however, was outrageously hard. Oh, not for everyone: People who could bend oxygen had it easy. They could ensure that oxygen still made it into their cells while flying at speed, and to be fair the body is 60% oxygen.
Carbon didn't have that advantage. As schools rigorously taught, the human body is only 18% carbon. Moving a person using 18% of their mass was harder than using 60% of it.
But, there were advantages to controlling carbon.
In warfare, carbon benders were unrivaled. Sure, we couldn't deploy as easily or quickly, but a few oxygen benders could easily solve that. Meanwhile, we had supreme attack and defense. Discrete layers of diamond skin made most melee and small arms weapons pointless. Flicking diamond chips was so much more effective than a gun \- I even had a trick where I made a diamond arrow that followed an impossible flight path. I could still sense where people were, and 'convincing' bullets to combust early wasn't that hard, either.
Thankfully, after two years of mandatory military service, I had not needed to use these skills in any way that would scar me.
In peace, we were not quite so lucky. We made serviceable jewelers, and certainly could help with other things, but there were others with far more luck. Silicon and gold benders usually became electronics gurus. After all, when you can line pairs of gold atoms up precisely, you beat any electron beam lithography. 14 nanometers? Wasteful.
Oddly enough, our saving graces were typically steel, wood and plastic. Sure, we would need to learn to work as a team with others \- most plastics had carbon, hydrogen and a third element, like nitrogen or chloride \- but with practice, we could build economical, durable materials. Even better, we could also lay claim to helping to end war \- with little effort, all plastics were recyclable, reducing oil needs greatly. Oh sure, making plastic clamshell containers wasn't sexy \- but it was useful work.
Though, every once in a while, right before something left the factory, I did enjoy changing the packaging's outer layer to diamond. Gotta keep those skills fresh.
| 2018-05-08T05:56:14
| 2018-05-08T05:48:42
| 406
| 176
|
[WP] You come across a notebook that has the name of every person who has ever lived and the exact date and time of their death written next to it. Out of curiosity, and hopes that you live a long life, you decide to checkout your own name, only to find a date marked a few hours after your birth.
|
Sigh.... It's bad enough having the last name of Smith, but to have that, coupled with the world's least creative parents... Did you know that on the date of my birth, no less than 125 *other* John Smiths were born? Of those, 15 share my middle name of Allen. Of those, 14 are still alive. The one that died was just a few hours after he was born -- poor kid. Here I am, with one of the most interesting possible artifacts imaginable, and it's ruined by the world's most common name. Thanks, Mom & Dad.
|
My fingers trembling, I put the notebook down on my table. My mind was a disarray of emotions.
There surely had to be some mistake...things don't add up here.This is surely a prank...Yes that's it! It's just a really bad prank played by one of my colleagues!
I picked up the notebook and frantically flipped through the pages, seeking for the validity of this seemingly bizarre prank.
*A*...
*An*...
*Anne M*...
Anne Motlee -
*Birth: 26th of December 1976, 12:43:09*
*Death: 5th of September 2007, 21:30:12*
I breathed a sigh of relief. The dates are wrong, Anne is sleeping soundly in the other room. This was just a bad joke after all. Nothing worth to lose my sleep on.
I gingerly placed the book on my tabletop and turned to leave the room. As I turned the lights off, I couldn't help but wonder why anyone would waste their time over such a poorly executed prank. I chuckled at myself for ever believing the book in the first place. I let the thought of the crazy notebook drop as I entered my bed room.
There on the bed lay my beautiful wife Anne, in a deep slumber.
I proceeded to change into my pajamas, when all of a sudden I hear the doorbell ring. Great, what could anyone want from him at this hour?
I quickly dress up and head to answer the door, when the I hear the lock click.
The door swung open and there in the hallway stood my mother.
"Edward dear, you forgot to water the plants again, they look more shriveled up than you on a lazy Sunday morning..."
My mother suddenly froze, staring me dead in the face.
"I'll show you where the valuables are, just don't hurt anyone", she said in a frightened tone,"There's not much for you here anyways".
Confused, i replied "Mother its me, David".
She eyed me like I'm a psychopath.
"What are you talking about"
I rolled my eyes. I've had enough pranks today.
"I don't blame you for not recognizing your first born at midnight in a dark hallway, but if you'll excuse me I really need to... "
"I don't know how you got to know about David, but you won't be able to fool me young man", mother said.
"Mother, it is me", I said clearly irritated."I am David.."
"No, you're an imposter", she said heaving slightly."David was my first born that's true..."
A tear ran down her cheek.
"But he died minutes after his birth, you see"
| 2017-09-05T04:10:50
| 2017-09-05T00:01:12
| 50
| 27
|
[WP] You've accidentally summoned an ancient, long-forgotten god while trying to pronounce furniture names at IKEA. Fortunately, the employees are prepared as this has happened before.
Edit: holy shit this really blew up overnight. Thank you to everyone who has written along, and to everyone else reading.
For those of you who are wondering if I got this prompt from this post:
https://www.reddit.com/r/memes/comments/aby6au/bought_a_table_and_suddenly_there_were_screams/
You are correct. I decided to put a different spin on it as I've seen this prompt, or one like it, before.
|
"JENKINS!" The call came over the shoulder mounted radio. The *-Chirp-* it made was reminiscent of the old Nextels. Ours had to be updated, of course. Ikea standard issue. Prevented interference.
"Yeah?" I responded, between mouthfuls of meatball.
*-Chirp-* "WE GOT ANOTHER BIN 52!"
"Ah, shit. Another Mikkaelian?"
Ikea was an odd company. Weird, in the literal sense. We dealt with issues not a lot of other companies had to.
*-Chirp-* "Nah, looks like Blümlampish. Damage is pretty minimal."
"Yeah, but the clean up..."
*-Chirp-* "It's not so bad. Looks like he got into the swedish meatballs."
Suddenly, I had lost my appetite. I spit the food in my mouth into a napkin and frowned. "You know those things would almost be cute?"
*-Chirp-* "Like little cats , with mandibles."
"Felinsects I could handle, but it's the eerie singing that gets to me, man."
*-Chirp-* "Yeah, I feel ya."
"On my way."
I ate lunch outside, it was my happy place. Heading back in to find Johnson near freezer storage meant entering and navigating "the Floor." If you ever shopped at Ikea, you know the Floor; it's a virtual maze of storage units, easy-build furniture, and quirky decorative items one must walk through to reach the exit again. Conventional thought is that the Floor ensures customers see most of the merchandise before checking out on the ground floor. That's a nice benefit for Ikea, but that's not why we do it.
"Hold on, Johnson. We have a problem."
*-Chirp-* "Oh god, Jenkins. Don't tell me."
"There's a Blak Kallax trapped in the Floor."
*-Chirp-* "Shit."
"Yeah, he's headed for the children's section. I'm going in."
*-Chirp-* "Evacuating building. Pulling fire alarm."
"Good man, Johnson. Stay on the Blümlampish."
The massive creature was invisible for the moment, but a tantalizing snack is all he needs to wreck some havoc. But, that's why we're here.
"Time to insert rod B up your ass, Kallax."
"YOU'LL EAT THOSE WORDS, MORTAL."
"Come at me, you interdimensional piece of particle board."
|
"Excuse me, which wood is this, umm, BJÖRKSNÄS made from?"
As I was asking my question, by the reaction of IKEA employee I could understand that I butchered the pronunciation. As she opened her mouth to answer, with a loud snap the bulbs in the ceiling lightning blew up. I covered to not get hit by the shards and when I looked back at the customer area it was in complete darkness and the only source of lighting was the glowing shape in front of me. It looked like a crazy mix of a human and a bear, with it's claws and teeth being disproportionately big. Somehow I knew that this entity was vastly more powerful and older than anything I have seen in my life. I could feel the pressure of it's presence crushing my mind. It started slowly shambling towards me, but the IKEA worker shoved me aside.
"Please step back sir, I need to sort out this situation."
She started chanting something in what I could only assume was Swedish, and while she was doing it, two black shapes started moving around us in the darkness. When she finished her incantation, they plunged their claws into the monsters head and I could finally see they were giant black birds. With a swipe of a clawed paw the monster swatted the birds away. However out of nowhere two wolfs jumped on the monster and attacked it's legs, aiming for the tendons. They teared out chucks of the glowing flesh, however, the wounds they left quickly disappeared and a retaliation blow from the monster send one of the wolfs flying into the darkness, while the other one retreated on it's own. I turned to the girl, to ask her what was going on, but only a weak moan came out of my mouth. She noticed it:
"Sir, do not worry, this is a regular situation and the employee responsible for handling it is on his way. Please just stay calm and do not make any sudden movements."
Even if I wanted to move, my body was frozen, all I could do was watch the monster continue his advance towards me. Suddenly, it stopped and turned it's head looking at something out of my field of vision. I looked the same way and entering the circle of light around the creature was an elderly man. Under normal circumstances, I would find his look hilarious, as he was combining the standard yellow IKEA uniform with a long gray beard and a hat, which reminded me of Gandalf. In his hands he was carrying a spear. Slowly and casually he walked up to the monster and pierced him with the spear. With a shriek, the glowing shape disappeared. A few seconds later, the light lit up. When I looked up, the light bulbs were there as if they never exploded. The old man walked up the the IKEA girl.
"Look, dear, It turned out to be an elder god, but I sent him away. I fixed the hall, and there is only one customer here. Could you please not report this? I have already been penalized this year, another episode would be too much."
"I am sorry Wotan, but if they find out I will get in trouble."
"It will be fine, dear, no one will find out. And I can help you out with your studies later."
The girl seemed to consider it for a second.
"Alright, but you better help me get perfect marks this semester. After I graduate, I can finally find a good job without ancient monsters."
The old man chuckled as he slowly walked away and disappeared into staff room in the back of the hall. The girl turned to me.
"First of all, let me apologize for what you had to witness. Customers are our top priority, which is why I will get you a discount coupon and a free portion of meatballs in cafeteria."
"But what the hell just happened?!"
"You see, our management employs the service of the Wotan, who you just met. You might know him by the name Odin. He gives them advice on management based on predictions of future and they let him give the names to furniture from time to time. He somehow uses people reading names to sustain the existence of himself and his folk. However, sometimes something like this happens. He says it's on accident, but no one believes the god of wisdom would make a blunder, so he gets punished."
"So you are saying the Odin, The head of Northern pantheon, works in IKEA?! And he gets punished?!"
"Well, yes, they lower the quota of furniture names he gets. No one really knows why he does this though. Maybe it helps him get more powerful, maybe for the fun of it. I think he just enjoys tricking the management. But anyway, he has it under control, no one ever got hurt. Also, good job keeping your composure, most people start screaming or faint."
"Thank you I guess. I still don't think I believe what I just saw. It will take time to process everything. Anyway which wood is ... *this piece of furniture* made from?"
| 2019-01-03T00:56:07
| 2019-01-03T00:35:09
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] You and your pet rabbit live in a remote part of Australia, far away from your dark past. Animal control has come to your door and informed you that it is illegal to own a rabbit unless you can prove you are a magician. Now you must do something you swore you would never do again.
Edit: Oh wow, this blew up while I was asleep, looks like this hit the front page. Thanks for all your wonderful stories. It is going to take me a while to get through them all, but I intend to read every one. This really brightened my morning.
|
It was hot. The magician was used to this. His shack had no aircon, or even electricity -- it was a simple structure, clumsily slapped together out of planks far away from anyone or anything. There were tiny mapspecks around, but the closest city was Perth, and it was a very rough 10 hour drive to get there, the first 3 of which were off-road. The magician had not built the house, and he was not sure who had. He'd lived there for months with his rabbit, and the two of them had never seen another soul.
He'd been sizing up the animal control officer for about 30 seconds in disbelief. A bead of sweat dripped down off his head. He wasn't nervous; he'd met plenty of hallucinations out here, and most of them were a lot more interesting than this one. It was just really, really hot.
"You hear me? You can't keep rabbits. They're a major pest."
"Right, right, I heard you."
"Hand it over then."
The officer was a big, burly guy, but seemed like he was probably easy enough to get along with after work. He'd arrived in a white hi-lux -- or at least, it was probably supposed to be white, underneath all the filth it picked up on the way out here.
"I'm a magician. This rabbit is part of my disappearing act."
"Do you have some paperwork for that, then?"
"No, didn't think I needed any."
"Well you do. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Tony."
"Tony, the rabbit's got to come with me now. Sorry, that's the way it is."
The magician had the rabbit in his arms. He stroked him a couple times, but remained silent. In his experience, the hallucinations got worse when he spoke to them.
"You wanna hand it over then, hey? Or do we want to do this the hard way?" The officer reached out to grab the rabbit, and the magician turned to shield it with his body. He felt the much larger man's arms grab at him, and for the first time, he was disturbed. None of the apparitions had ever actually touched him before. Still, it seemed very unlikely that a man would come all this way to his shack over a rabbit.
"How'd you hear about the rabbit," Tony said plainly, in much more of a statement than a question. Still, he was beginning to entertain the possibility that this man was real.
"Doesn't matter how I heard about the rabbit. Point is, you've got a rabbit, and this is Australia, and you can't have those here. They're a menace. What if that thing gets out, finds another rabbit? They'll devour the crops, and pretty soon, we'll all have millions of our own pet rabbits because some fucking cunt in Kanowna though he was special."
"Mate, did you get a chance to look around on your way out? It's a desert. There's nothing out here, and Kanowna is hours away. You're completely nuts."
"I don't make the rules. You don't like them, take it up with parliament."
"I'm a magician, and this rabbit is part of my disappearing act."
"Oh, is that right? And who do you do your act for?"
"Everyone in Australia, really."
"Seems like you've done a pretty good job out here."
"That's more or less the idea."
"What's the rabbit for?"
"Keeps me sane. Need someone to talk to."
"Right. How about we all hop in my ute and take a ride back to town, and you can tell me all about it?"
"No, me and Mr. Turncoat are staying here."
"The hell you are. I can tell you're not from around here, so let me tell you, this is not the city, and I'm an awful lot more concerned with getting the job done than dealing with your personal welfare. So you can give me the rabbit and enjoy the rest of your afternoon, or I can take the rabbit and you can mop yourself up after I leave. What's it going to be?"
"Fine. I didn't want to do this, but I will. I wanted to get away from all this nonsense."
"Do what then?"
The magician slipped his hand into his pocket, and produced a decade-old flip phone.
"You get good signal out here, mate?" the officer asked with a smirk.
"Telstra put up a tower for me," the magician said, as he keyed through his contacts. After a moment, he found the right one. He locked eyes with the officer with a sort of pained defiance as the phone rang next to his hear.
"Yes, it's Tony. Put me through to Malcolm. ... Yes, Malcolm, hello. Yes. Very well. How's Lucy? Yes, well, to cut right to it, I'm enjoying my retirement very much, as per our agreement, but you did say I could call if I had a problem. Well, I've got some fellow from animal control out here, and he's trying to take my rabbit. How about you make a quick call to whoever handles that, and get him off my back? Right. Yes, that will be just fine, thank you." And Tony hung up promptly without a word of goodbye.
"Oh, I suppose you're very important, pulling all the strings to keep your rabbit, are you?" the officer asked, mockingly.
"Just wait for it."
"Wait for what? What's our plan here? You're not my only problem today, and I can't be sitting here waiting fo-" the officer's voice was cut off by the sound of his own phone. He considered it for a moment, surprised that it was ringing at all. He looked at the screen -- it was his supervisor. He answered, and hesitantly lifted the handset to his head.
"Yes?" he asked suspiciously.
"Are you doing anything with rabbits today? Don't do anything with rabbits today. I'm serious. Very important."
"Right, OK, what's this all about?"
"No idea. Just don't do it. I have a lot more phone calls to make, so just carry on, and don't touch any rabbits, and if you talk to anyone else before I can, tell them not to touch any fucking rabbits either." And the phone call was over.
The officer looked at his phone with pure confusion. He preferred it to looking at the magician in humiliation, but eventually, he found that he had no choice. "What did you say your name is?"
"Tony Abbot. And I told you: I am doing a disappearing act for all Australia."
|
You slowly slink down on the sofa as the officer's dead eyes shift from you, to Mr. Fluffenbottom, back to you again. The shaking of your hands is barely concealed by the, in all honesty quite amateurish, card shuffle you're occupying them with.
Under the officer's watchful gaze, the memories of that fateful day are flooding back into your mind. Children crying. Adults rushing towards the exits. The seething rage of your manager back stage. Chaos. That day day you promised yourself to quit the magician's life, and to never do your ultimate magic trick ever again.
But now Mr. Fluffenbottom's life is in the balance. Though thoroughly conflicted, with stress hormones raging through your body, you decide that you have not other choice. One, final performance, to properly prove, and end, your magician's career. "Excuse me officer." The words barely roll across your sandpaper tongue. Slowly, you raise a trembling hand. "But is this your card?"
| 2016-07-09T07:56:08
| 2016-07-09T03:10:42
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] Marriage vows are now a legal contract. The line "until death do you part" now has to be taken literally. As a result, divorcing couples must now fight to the death.
|
This was his 9th Marriage.
He had been training for marriage since he was but a wee babe. No school for him and his ilk, just combat training from Dusk 'til Dawn. First marriage at 18, lucky to make it out of that one alive. He could hear the low rumble of spectators through the walls.
Vows were in 20 minutes meaning he'll have to the paparazzi in 10. Probably have to get some photos taken with some celebrities. He'll hold his sword as if to strike like he always does. His hands always got clammy on wedding days.
This particular Prenuptial agreement was sponsored by Korematsu Industries, Parker Athletics, and Mama Jackson's Sweet Honey Restaurant Chain. Big money.
If he makes it out of this one, that'll be close $2 billion syphoning into his bank accounts and the bank accounts of his promoters and trainers.
It's funny that in an attempt to maintain the sanctity of marriage the Government had instead created the loophole that made this form of entertainment legal. Gay marriage was legal, murder was not. Those brave enough were signing up across the country to try their hand at fighting to the death.
It promised Fame.
It promised Fortune.
It promised Respect.
It promised POWER.
are you brave enough to enter...
the WEDDING RING.
|
Shaz looked at me, deep into my hops, glazed eyes.
"Fuckin' bet you wished you payed the child support now don't you dazza!"
I didn't. Me and the boys spent splent of good time on the pokes down our local to ever regret not paying for that little shit. And how about that time Johnny pulled Two-hundee out of a bloody thirty cent bet the lucky bastard!
"Shove it up your arse Sharon" I Harked back at her quickly diminishing looks.
"You couldn't cook a bloody snag if you tried you friggin' harlot. How hard is it? Cook the prick 'til she's charred on the outside, wrap the bastard up in a blanket and put some dead cow on the little shit. Thats it. You fuck."
Shazz looked angrier than a koala without a leaf to chew on. Ever since I told her she couldn't spend the kids money on shard she's had the shits with me. Bugger me, she was spending the dosh I used on the punt for her shard. No matter how many times me and her mates told her "Don't smoke that shit inside" or "Don't smoke that shit while the cat is around" is beyond me.
Oh well, this is the end of us I guess. Shouldn't be too much of a hassle to be honest. Don't tell the boys in blue but this isn't quite the first time I've given her a good slap around. But just, you know, the first time it will kill her. Kind of...
Shazz stood about our kitchen's length away I reckon. Clenched fist and roaring red eyes. Fuck me she looked ropeable.
Old mate with the clock stepped out and gave us both a bit of a nod to let us know we were about to get into it. Bloody poofta I reckon he was... not that there is a problem with that, just reckon he wasn't quite the full quid in the sexuality department you know.
.
.
Anyway, where was I.
This poofta (or whatever) calls out to us that our choice of weapon was coming out soon, but we weren't no worried about that because me and the misso (ex now i guess) agreed we would flog it out like good ol' times. We let the fella know and he again, gives us the nod, this time we were into it.
She comes chargin' in like your local billie goat and puts one fair on my bloody chin would ya know!?
"Hows that for can't throw a punch you dickhead?"
Cheeky bitch, she always had a bloody fiesty side to her. Probably the first reason I decided to root her in the first place. If only it weren't for her getting up-the-fuckin'-duff we wouldn't be up shit creek.
I stand up and promptly look her straight into her eyes.
"You'll pay for that you know?" I fired back.
"Have a swin.." **FUCKIN POW**
Shaz went down in a blaze of her own teeth.
"How does it feel to get jaw-dropped you mongrel."
That'll bloody learn her.
| 2015-11-18T09:14:46
| 2015-11-18T03:21:54
| 1,150
| 41
|
[WP]You've had bad luck your whole life. One day, you see a free item in the window of a curio shop-a bad luck charm. You think, "What the hell? My luck can't get any worse!" And take it. You're right. Life hasn't programmed luck scores to go into negative. Your luck score rolls back from 0 to 9999.
|
Today was one of the worst days of this sad mans life.
Again.
There were times when he wished such a thing could be considered new for him. Luck also had a funny way of defining itself. No matter what happened to him he always managed to be on the cusp of just fine, whether that be, being saved from death, after getting shot, ruining his normal gait forever; or to at worst saving him from suicide. Once or twice he tried such a thing, when you're luck is as bad as his, you have to think that this is what life wants.
Not the case for him..
Having lost any semblance of home, finances, and a life worth living, he could only stare dumbly as this little dinky charm, worth nothing, and the epitome of who he was as a person, stared back at him. Of course life wanted to throw another cruel joke, but maybe this time his luck would finally go so bad, that one of his many accidents would finally stick, *permanently.*
Walking back out from the store, the interior of which looked like some demented and twisted version of a voodoo shop (Horrific, really) he took a cautionary glance to his surroundings. One minute became two and finally five, and the ragged and torn man resigned himself to the fact that he was indeed, at rock bottom.As he was about to drag himself back to the sorry little cove he called a home, underneath that damnably loud and greasy train station, where the rats only gnawed on his flesh occasionally, the man was stopped in his tracks by a gentle hand. (Someone no doubt about to tell him off for being here, and not dead.)
But no, it was a gentle hand that got him to turn and face her, a young woman about in her early 30's well dressed and the picture of perfection, as though she were ripped straight off one of those Vogue magazines that he only had glanced at once or twice when he still had a job. She spoke with an air of professionalism, that seemed warm yet stern. "Excuse me. Would you by chance be a Mr. Van House?"
The use of his name shook him, not because he'd forgotten what it sounded like, but because most people who did were the ones who hurt him the most.. With a bit of hesitance, and only thanks to her appearance and previously kind demeanor did he decide to nod his head in affirmation. The nod was enough it seemed as a pleasant grin broke upon her lips as she sighed and sagged in almost literal relief.
"*Thank God!"* She almost screamed in jubilation, as she did a funny little dance. A second was needed to compose herself, but that didn't stop that smile that had left him befuddled as she began to explain herself.
"*My apologies* for that little outburst, but you see I had spent a very long time looking for you after a benefactor of yours hired me, so I am understandably happy to finally meet you." His brows furrowed as he hoped she was getting to whatever point it was she was trying to make.Pulling out a fancy, eggshell colored business card set in a golden font, with her name laid out for him, as well as the profession of being a lawyer."My name is Lucamine V. Luck, and you my friend, are about to make my career, *and your bank account a whole hell of a lot bigger!"*
(Edit: Cause holy crap a lot people actually liked this and want more. Part 2 is in the reply section and I'll write up a part 3, with a possible Part 4 or 5 depending on how it writes out.)
|
I wondered, which shitty datatype life must be using to overflow at such a weird and rather low number. But whatever. Maybe it actually does get better for me once.
And so I went to the nearest kiosk and got myself a scratch-off ticket. I scratched and scratched and nothing... "Yeah, as if life would turn around so easily.", I thought to myself while going out of the kiosk.
"Sir, please wait.", the kiosk guy told me just as I was opening the door. "This ticket has another chance of winning, if you lose. You just have to let me enter it into my pc, then I will be able to check, if you won the main price", he explained to me, while I was turning around and going back to the counter. I let him enter the code and then a loud bell wrang. "Sir, you are quite lucky, you hit the big jackpot of over 50 million US dollars!", he shouted in disbelief. I was astonished. Maybe everything willgo for the better now. I asked him, if he could give me the money right now, but then he explained to me, that I have to go to the lottery company itself to pick it up.
So I ordered an uber and went right there, as it was just a 20 minute drive away.
After getting out of the uber, I entered the big building with the logo of the lottery shining brightly on top of it. The first thing I saw, as I went in, was the beautiful receptionist girl sitting there and staring at me. She probably thinking, what this guy suddenly stopping in the entrance of the building is doing. After a short while of standing stunned in place, I went directly to the girl and told her I won the main jackpot of their lottery and I would like to pick up the price.
"Oh, if you have won that, I will have to get the manager. Could you please wait for a minute or two?", she asked me in response. I nodded and she went into the office right behind the reception. So after waiting for a while, a got bored and started getting up from the couch I sat down prior. I wondered what could take them so long, especially since she told him it would only take a short time. Right in that thought a big looking, buff guy came from the office and he asked:
"Are you the winner of the impossible lottery?"
"Yes, I am!", I answered proudly as I was expecting my price.
"Then eat this!", he shouted whilst pointing a gun at my head and pulling the trigger soon after.
But somehow the bullet got stuck in the gun and it exploded because of that.
"That finally proves it, you are a life hacker. But don't think you will get away from me because of this", he said with a hint of panic in his voice.
And before he even completed his sentence, I started running. I ran and ran and after 5 minutes of non-stop running I couldn't see neither the big guy nor the receptionist anymore. So I went into hiding, trying to avoid them.
After some weeks of research I finally figured it out, why these people were so aggressive towards me. Apparently the people from the lottery are some sort of life police. They are responsible to get rid of people, who managed to do things, life didn't intend them to do. For example winning this impossible lottery. It was set up, so it could only be won by a person, who had more luck than a single person ever should have. And as luck wasn't all seeing, I got caught right into that trap.
Knowing all of this, I started a new life. Running away from the life police, relying on my luck to do so and trying to live as comfortable as possible. Till I died they never managed to catch me. But did I have a bad time? Would I do it again? Would I start this life all over? Would I take the bad luck charm again, even knowing what it would cause me?
Sure as hell I would live this rollercoaster of a life again.
| 2020-01-12T13:59:35
| 2020-01-12T12:59:26
| 164
| 43
|
[WP] Every time you look in the mirror, you notice something subtly different about your appearance. The differences are adding up but no one seems bothered by it.
|
They told me I had aged gracefully. They said I looked good, but where once the compliment had been genuine, now it rang hollow, qualified by an unspoken "for someone of your age."
Every day I studied myself. Sometimes changes were so slow, you'd hardly notice them happening. Skin that didn't snap back quite as quickly, that blotched and mottled and was not smooth. Hair that was thinner, then streaked with grey, then an unnaturally uniform brown, then grey at the roots. Lines and creases just beginning to work their way into the map of my face.
The eyes were the worst. I lost the power to focus nearby and had to wear glasses to use the mirror. My eyes, once bright, shining, and the blue of spring sky after rain, had faded to a listless stormy grey-blue. Lines appeared in the corners, and they were no longer eyes that showed optimism, youth and curiosity, but eyes that spoke of experience, hardship, and wicked cunning.
Before my eyes the years piled on. With them weight, and grotesqueries of form that only I could perceive. My skin grew pale as I stayed in more and more. White body hairs appeared until in a rage I shaved everything. My self-imposed alopecia was worse than the grey.
On the wall behind my mirror, there's as clock, and in the mirror its running backward. A reflection that's getting younger and more vital and better looking with each passing day and obsessed with each newfound delight of youth and vitality, forgetting more and more every day of the time it had spent there the day before, reflecting.
|
I had made fun of people for misusing the word "kafkaesque" so many times that I'd started to forget what it really meant, but as I stared at my reflection in the mirror that morning, it was the only word I could call to mind.
It had started so gradually that I don't think I even noticed it until my nose had shifted an inch to the right. The minute I recognized something was up, I started taking "progress" pictures. It had been two weeks now, and every day it was getting worse. Sarah and all the coworkers I had asked about it said that I looked fine, but that only made me more paranoid. Being denied the reality of your own eyes does things to a man's head.
Specifically, in this case, it made me unbearably ugly. My eyes hung at different heights on my face, my nose had moved entirely, and my mouth had contorted into a shape that it shouldn't have been possible to eat or even speak from. Maddeningly, Sarah told me she didn't see a difference, and we'd even made love a few nights ago. I wanted to scream at her that I was hideous, that I wasn't worth looking at, but she didn't seem to agree. It would almost be better if she did.
I walked out of the bathroom, dressing myself, and moved into the kitchen to grab some breakfast to take with me. A pack of muffins sat on the counter with a note on top.
*I love you so much. Happy anniversary!*
She really was the best. I grabbed a muffin and got in the car to head to my appointment, trying my best not to look at myself in the rear view mirror.
The wait at the doctor's office wasn't long. Tuesday mornings certainly weren't peak hours as far as I was aware. Before long, a nurse called me back to take my basic measurements, and I was waiting on an examination table for a few minutes for the doctor to come in. Across the room for me was a mirror at eye level. You never realize how common mirrors are until you really don't want to see one.
The doctor eventually entered the room, an older man with graying hair. He shook his hand, introducing himself as Dr. Raymond. He asked me a few questions about what had been going on with my condition, and I answered them as honestly as I could. I didn't want to sound crazy, but I supposed if anywhere was safe to do so, it was here.
"Hmmm..." the doctor mused to himself after I had told him everything. "I'm going to prescribe you something for body dysmorphia. Try it for a month, and if this persists, we'll reevaluate then."
Body dysmorphia. I wanted to cry with relief. At least what I was experiencing was medical in nature. I thanked the doctor, taking his prescription. Peace, at last.
| 2018-01-05T08:00:24
| 2018-01-05T07:24:52
| 108
| 58
|
[WP] Write a story that's terrifying without implying or threatening any physical harm on any characters
No blood, severed limbs, or corpses. Keep it intellectual, existential, psychological, emotional, or spiritual!
|
There's nothing behind you.
Nothing is watching you from the dark corner of the room.
That crack in your curtain? Nothing was peering through it just now.
What was that sound? Probably nothing.
Is your door open? I could have sworn it was closed.
Did you lock your front door?
What about your back door?
Are you safe in the knowledge that nothing could get into your home?
That's great right?
Nothing can get in... or out.
Things that get caged in for too long get hungry you know.
Did you know there are blind spots in your vision?
Its really cool, one time my friend was peering right over my shoulder and I never even noticed it at all.
Don't look to your sides though.
Is there a wall behind you?
Is the door locked?
Scan your room, is everything safe and sound?
Closet locked, under the bed checked?
You're all alone and safe right?
Great! That's fantastic!
Don't look up.
|
I've always been scared. Not of anything in particular, mind you - this is just my general disposition. I've heard it spun a thousand ways: that I'm a coward, that I'm hyper-sensitive, even that I'm intelligent. The fact of the matter is, I'm just more jumpy than an ordinary person. Like I'm waiting for something to happen.
That's why I've always been extra careful with everything. You might think it's a curse, but I say it just forces me to maximize my survival potential. I always wear protective pads and a helmet. Sure, that makes it a little hard to meet people, but you know what? That's still a win in my book. The less you socialize, the less chance you have of being in danger.
I spent most of my childhood locked up in my room. I've read all sorts of books, played all sorts of games. I'm kind of an internet celebrity, really. People are very fond of my game reviews. I always complete everything 100%. My real specialty, though, is never using more lives than I need to. It's quite a skill, if I do say so myself.
Thankfully this generated some revenue. So when it was time to leave home and fend for myself, I was ready. I got a nice, basement-level studio. Most people would scoff at the small space, but I like small spaces. They make me feel all cozy and nice. Plus, having only one single room makes it really easy to keep an eye on everything.
I frequently had doctors over. I am versed in the diagnostic arts of most specializations by now. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a hypochondriac... I know when I'm not sick. I just feel like going that extra mile is worth it on health-related issues, y'know?
Anyway, that's the sum of my life, really. Playin' it safe. Doing a pretty good job at it, too. But this is all going to end soon. The doctors were pretty clear: it's going to be any day now. Cancer. Everywhere.
I look around my room. My world. I've done my best to be cautious... but nothing happened, in the end. No freak accident, no murderous burglar.
Well, hey: that's just because I was so careful.
Right?
| 2015-10-30T11:37:30
| 2015-10-30T11:15:52
| 70
| 14
|
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help.
|
I can remember the first time I died. A villain by name of The Black Crow grabbed Me and flew fourteen or fifteen feet in air.
"Please don't!" I begged him. He only laughed as he let me go. I remember the feeling of my soul wanting to enter the afterlife but my body wouldn't allow it.
I woke up only to see that I had grown angel like wings on my back. That was when I realized what my power was.
Each time I died my body would adapt to how I was killed. I died by falling, sliced in half, killed by multiple attackers, drowned, shot in head from behind. Then I grew wings, Skin became more durable, I grew multiple limbs, gills and multiple eyes.
My fellow heros would keep there distance from me. I always had the feeling that they were planning on getting rid of me. Did they not understand that I was a hero just like them?
My latest death I tried to stop the villain Armageddon. He was capable of creating a nuclear blast around himself. He was going to blow up a small town in Kansas. I saved all of the citizens but not myself. I could've saved myself but...I was curious on what my next power could be.
After Armageddon exploded I emerged from the ashes. I had grown to ten feet, grown claws to dig myself out of rubble. Skin became more durable than it had ever been. I was also gained to fire a beam from my mouth.
As returned to check on citizens they cowered in fear me.
Now for first time the people called me "A Monster."
After everything I have done for them this is how they treat me?!
Day after day heros would try to take me down but none of them were ever a match for me. I never killed them despite everything they were still my comrades.
That all changed one day. The hero known as The Anywhere Man came to stop. "I'm sorry," the only thing he said to me. He then jumped towards me and teleported the both of us into space. He teleported himself back to Earth, but as you know I didn't die that day either.
I crash landed on the planet Mars. Where I met a bunch of green skinned small aliens call The Veek. They were being attacked by another alien species called The Ravaka.
I saved them from there and slavers and they welcomed me with open arms.
Now I finally found a place where I belong. I will continue to be a hero to this world. Because I am The Unyielding.
|
I sit in the middle of the battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of my fallen enemies. I am battered and bruised, but I will not give up. I have fought and died countless times, but each time I come back a little bit stronger.
The other heroes fear me now, and rightly so. I am no longer human, but something else entirely. A force to be reckoned with.
Today, for the first time, I was attacked by my fellow heroes. They mistook me for a monster, and I was forced to fight for my life.
Now, I am all alone, surrounded by enemies on all sides.
But I will not give up. I will not die.
I am the Colossus, and I will rise again.
| 2022-08-26T11:35:05
| 2022-08-26T06:59:02
| 191
| 100
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"Liechtenstein? Really? How the hell did Liechtenstein take out ISIS? And who the hell *is* Liechtenstein?"
President Trump's face was beet red. General Bundy's hands shook as he recited the relevant facts: small, German-speaking mountain principality on the Austrian border.
"So how'd they do it? This had better sound at least as good as your, "Bomb them back to the Carboniferous Period and take their oil" strategy, or..." the Donald's famous hair shook as he delivered his catchphrase, "You're Fired!"
General Bundy gulped. There was no good way to deliver the news. "You see, Mr. President, they joined your coalition and sent fourteen soldiers, and they made a friend over there."
"A friend?!"
"But that was just the beginning. That friend went back and made two friends. And those two went back and each made two more, and so on and so forth... until after a few months, everyone in Iraq and Syria had pen pals in Europe, and had reorganized their countries on EU lines."
"Well, General, I can't really... oh screw it. YOU'RE FIRED!"
General Bundy walked out without a word. He sighed, reached into his pocket for his smartphone and dialed the Liechtensteiner embassy. "Hi... Yes. I need a friend. Yes. Thank you. I'll be right over."
Edit: Closed quotes, corrected a typo, and replaced "Liechtensteinean" with proper form
|
At first, we all thought it was just a stunt to get back in the headlines. We all knew the Prince was a bit of a publicity whore, but there was no way he could actually believe in their cause, right?
But joke or not, they came. First in rafts, setting off from the mainland. Then a hijacked cruise vessel, stolen off the coast of Somalia, loaded up with soldiers in Syria, fleeing the combined Russian and American counterstrike against Turko-Syria.
ISIS had been losing ground for years, unable to fight the west from without or the Kurds from within. They were desperate. So when the prince of our tiny island nation announced that he would be providing asylum to the last of their fighters, they took it. Even if it was just a joke by a crazy old man.
They came in droves, unloading onto the platform from ships of every shape and size. 321 in July. 507 in August. and on September 15th, a final load of 848 fighters, loaded with over three tons of various equipment.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
On September 16th, at 11:45 AM, a great creaking groan was heard from below. Everyone stopped, frozen. Seventeen seconds later, another great crack was heard. Even over the sounds of panicked scrambling, the third and final snap could be heard as the great pylon gave way.
At 11:46 AM, the Principality of Sealand sank to the bottom of the English Channel. And every ISIS fighter left in the world went with it.
| 2016-01-29T06:57:30
| 2016-01-29T06:56:50
| 190
| 55
|
[WP] Two wounded soldiers from opposing sides of the war find themselves in the care of the same nurse and snowed-in until spring.
|
He was writing letters on his bed, as he always did. Papers and pencils were in short supply around here what with every other soldier trying to write to their gal back home. But somehow he always had them. The nurses probably took pity on the man; one lone German captive amongst an army of pissed off Brits and Americans. And it would only get worse; we were well-off for now, but the snow just kept coming and the food stocks kept dwindling. How long until someone began to question why we were eating half-rations while the German here ate up all of our food? How many missed supply runs till he was thrown out into the cold, or worse?
I watched from my own bed across the room; there really wasn't much else to look at around here. The hospital had once been a church, but the arched ceilings were undecorated, and the alcoves along the stone walls were emptied. A few stained glass windows remained, though half of them were broken in parts. And you can really only look at Jesus in various poses for so many days until you start to crave something new. So, I watched the German.
He'd been captured by the 42nd and brought back to St. Hubert with the rest of us. As I understand, the plan was to eventually send him to one of the POW camps in Britain, but the prisoner transport never came. Roads and bridges were a mess between here and the more civilized parts of France, winter was screwing shit up even more for the logistics divisions, and bringing this one guy across the Channel wasn't a high priority, I guess. So he was treated alongside us in this makeshift hospital.
I dragged myself out of bed and hobbled over as quickly as I could without tearing my stitches. The sisters who were treating us had told me to stay off my feet (at least, I think so: my French isn't exactly stellar), but I was never too good at following instructions. "Hey," I called to the German. "Who you writing all those letters to?"
He stopped writing and looked up at me. There was suspicion and anger in his eyes; justifiably so, given how some of the other guys around here had been treating him. Those purple bruises visible under the thin pajamas hadn't been there when he was first brought in. "No English," he answered. Then he looked back down at his paper, though I could see him watching me from the corner of his eyes, muscles tense in case I decided I wanted to take out some of my rage against the Nazis on him personally.
"Yeah, I get that." I sat down on the end of his bed, causing him to flinch. He instinctively held the tip of the pencil straight at me, the only weapon he had at his disposal at the moment. I think he figured that if he jabbed a few of the guys enough times, they'd decide it wasn't worth it to mess with him anymore. That strategy hadn't exactly worked out for him so far. I held my hands up to show him I meant no harm. "Relax, pal. I don't want to hurt you. Just looking for a little friendly conversation, you know?"
He didn't know. Because he had no fucking clue what I was saying. But strangely, this was the most satisfying conversation I'd had in a while. I was sick to death of hearing the other guys bitch about the snow. And the Germans. And their wounds. And the food. And any other fucking thing they could think about. I could see a few of them watching me now, glowering from their beds. Wondering why the fuck I'd be talking to a *German*.
The German watched me for a second, looking slightly confused. "No English," he repeated a bit slower than the first time. Then he looked at me, trying to see if I understood.
"Yeah, I get it." He didn't need to understand me. "I don't know who you're writing all those letters to, pal. I doubt you know anyone over here on our side of the fence, and the Postman certainly doesn't deliver to Berlin unless it's out the bottom of a B-17, you know?"
He just stared at me. I smiled, trying to show that I meant him no harm. After a moment, he finally smiled back. "There you go!" I told him with an even bigger smile. "Now you're getting it!" He continued smiling and nodded, confused about what the hell was happening but at least happy that I wasn't there to sucker punch him. "What's your name anyhow?"He could tell that it was a question, but not what I was asking. So I gestured at myself. "Bran-don," I said slowly, thumping my chest for emphasis. "I'm Brandon."
That got through to him. "Jonas," he answered, pointing to himself. He pronounced it 'Yo-nas.'
"There you go!" From my breast pocket, I removed a packet of cigarettes. I'm not an addict like some of the guys around here, so my rations were lasting longer than theirs. "You smoke, Jonas?" I held the little carton out to him and shook it.
His smile grew a bit more. "Smoke," he repeated with a nod.
"Yeah, smoke!" I thrust it closer to him, making it clear that he could take one. He reached in gingerly, still half-expecting this to be some cruel practical joke. I guess he hadn't gotten a very good impression of the Allied side so far. But he put the cigarette between his lips and I held up the lighter for him, then we both just puffed in silence for a bit.
"You're all right, Jonas," I mused. "Easy to talk to. I like that." I stood up from the end of his bed. "I'll let you get back to your letter writing, I guess. But it was good to meet you." I stuck out my hand to shake. Disapproving stares came from most of the men in the room (the conscious ones, at least), burning into my back. But Jonas reached up and took my hand, and we shook.
I limped back over to my bed and sat back down. Jonas went back to writing to whoever he was writing to; maybe it wasn't a letter at all. Maybe it was just a journal. But after a minute or two, he looked back up and across the room toward my bed. I nodded in greeting, and he smiled back. Now we knew each other.
|
"Another drink?" I asked, reaching toward the liquor cabinet. Luckily for us it was well stocked.
"Do I ever say no?" Eugene laughed, finishing off the one he had in his hand.
It'd been 3 weeks since we got snowed in this place, but it actually wasn't bad. Neither Eugene nor myself had any real love for our countries. Sent out to die because some asshole I didn't even vote for can't keep his mouth shut. Sure, the first couple nights were tense, but since then we've treated it as a vacation. Storytelling by the fire, and a lot of booze.
I filled the glasses and hobbled on over to him.
"Walking a bit better?" Eugene thanked me, grabbed the glass, and took a nice sized drink.
"Yeah, Caroline's a miracle work..." Shit, I'm an idiot. Luckily for me Eugene just laughed.
"It's fine, my foot couldn't be saved. Besides, it means once we get out of here I get to go home, they'll probably toss your ass back on the front lines." He took another big drink.
"You know it's funny. We're a different race, we have different religions, and we come from a world apart, but none of that seems to matter. when we sit down and share a drink." I sat next to Eugene.
"Damn right. Don't care what you look like, who you pray to, or who you follow as long as you can make a good drink!" His glass is almost empty now, man this guy can drink.
"Men can be weird like that. Gods can't get in the way of a friendship, but a pretty girl can." Eugene gave me puzzled look as I slid the knife into his side. "I know she chose you, but I want her."
Tears welled up in Eugene's eyes, but he didn't make a sound as he slumped over.
Eugene was a great guy, but not as great as having 2 months alone with Caroline. She'd learn to love me by then.
| 2016-12-16T13:30:54
| 2016-12-16T12:40:58
| 103
| 28
|
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin.
|
Ambiguity is a dangerous thing.
Take the question "Did you put him to sleep?" - are you getting your kid to bed, or euthanizing a pet? Kind of a big difference there. It's a great trick for figuring out if you're talking to a dumb AI. I read an Old Earth book about this once - about how some aliens contact us, but we figure out they aren't really conscious because they don't pick up on ambiguities like that.
Books like that were a lot less popular before The Signal.
When you get down to it, The Signal was pretty damn ambiguous. *"Wardens, do you not understand your duty?"* All our star systems, all our worlds, all our ships in space - whoever sent it bothered to set up a transmission hitting everyone everywhere simultaneously, even in Hyperjump, and they couldn't ask a better question?
The simple answer is "Yes", of course, but the bigger answer is "Why?" - as in, "Why are you asking us this?"
"What are we doing wrong?"
The Signal's problem is the word 'Warden'. Warden of what? Prison - are we keeping some eldritch horror at bay? Fire - watching for any outbreaks or disasters among the Other Species? Street Warden? Forest Warden? Warden of the Mint? Don't get me wrong, I like the idea that we're destined to be the Galaxy's bankers. Bankers have it cushy. But the other species weren't exactly ready to be taking out loans, y'know?
So we guessed as best we could. Called all their planets off-limits to settlement or harvesting. Stepped in if things got ugly. Stopped a few wars, bled off a couple supervolcanoes, nudged a big asteroid, healed a pandemic... We got kind of used to being their Wardens. Somewhere halfway between the love of a parent and the desire of a lover. But we still weren't sure.
Not until we watched Them come out of Otherspace. Sixteen thousand ships, slipping into existence from a whole different reality.
Not until we saw a world burn as They systematically slaughtered every single sentient being on it. No nukes, no asteroids, no fusion lances or pulse-howitzers. Hand-to-hand, or something like it. Still not a war, but a game.
We weren't sure until They broad cast The Signal again. "We eagerly await the next Hunt, Wardens."
Only then were we sure.
*Game Wardens.*
We were the galaxy's game wardens. Looking after whatever other 'lesser beings' were around. Put the predators in charge of the prey, keep them in line just enough to grow - then cull them.
For fun.
Like shooting lions in a raised in a cage.
Did they look at our history? See us drive ourselves to bloody conflict over and over, only to step back and reemerge stronger? Thought we'd embrace the role? I don't know - They still don't talk much. But I do know this:
They made a mistake. Another option that should have been blindingly obvious if they'd ever looked at our history: Because while They hadn't bothered clarifying Their question, we had chosen for them. We had become protectors, watchers - fond of our 'children' and proud of what accomplishments they wrought. We'd chosen to believe we were guardians, selected for the holy cause of bringing others into the fullness of their destiny.
Not this next Hunt, maybe not even the one after that. But we're figuring Them out. Poking our way into Otherspace. Understanding Their nature. And some day, they're going to find out what the other meaning of Warden is.
Like I said, ambiguity is a dangerous thing.
|
"Any luck translating the rest of the signal?" Captain Janis McMitchell asked her first mate, Commander Jimbob Jenkins. "HQ is up my ass about this. We're the point of contact out here for all alien species."
"I don't know," Jimbob replied. "Let me ask our linguist, Sergeant Kelley."
"It's the first incident we've had with aliens contacting *us* and not vice versa. I hope we can do more than just ask linguists, Jimbob."
"So do I, sir."
\*\*\*
"What do you make of it, Kelley?" Jimbob asked the linguist. "Any chance of breaking the rest of the message down?"
"Actually, I was done with that like a few hours ago," Kelley replied.
"What are you doing now?"
"Playing asteroid lander. It's a total classic, man, you gotta check it out."
Jimbob shook his head. Sergeant Kelley was always going after the oldest fads, trying to find the next ancient thing that would be popular once more. "And the rest of the message?"
"Oh, yeah, sir, got it right here," Kelley said as he sipped a large, nondescript beverage and continued to play his game. He handed the first mate a piece of paper. "I wrote it down in case you want to burn it."
"What, on a piece of paper, really?" Jimbob asked. He was used to light banter from his linguist, not the serious tone he now spoke with. "And burn it? Why?"
For the first time through the course of their conversation, Sergeant Kelley looked directly into Commander's eyes. "Take it. Show it to the captain, if you feel you must. Don't read it. I did, and I'm trying to get drunk enough to forget it."
"And burn it?"
"Burn it instead of showing it to the Captain," Kelley replied, turning back to his game. "I would."
\*\*\*
Jimbob prided himself in maintaining himself in front of his superiors at all times. He never let his personal opinion touch his face, although he had voiced it many times, some times being scolded for it and others commended. Now he sat across from his captain, with his hands covering his face and tears covering his eyes.
"These are people," Janis said again. Jimbob had lost count of how many times she had said it. "No matter how...many of them aren't nearly as advanced as us, and we've come across some whose systems of morality seem to be against the very grain of nature itself. But they are people."
"I thought about just burning it," Jimbob said. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. "I guess it's just not me."
"I have to report it, just as you did," Janis said. "And we...as humans...need to start choosing which worlds will live and which must die."
\*\*\*
"And the message is that clear?" Admiral Jacobs said over the video phone. "That if we don't immediately cull ten percent of the galaxy's population, then they'll destroy us?"
"Not only is the threat clear, Admiral," Captain Janis said. "We have definitive evidence that these inter-galactic aliens will exterminate all of humanity if we do not follow through with their demands."
"We know resources are finite, regardless of how large the universe really is. They said we can choose which species will die, well let's choose. I'm sure the Council will have no problem with this. The higher up the chain it goes, the fewer problems there will be."
"I understand, sir."
"Don't fret about this. If you didn't figure out what the rest of the message said, then someone else would have."
"I know. Let's just hope there's not some greater beings out there governing our population."
"It already crossed my mind," the admiral said. "We're prepared."
| 2019-05-08T14:06:32
| 2019-05-08T13:55:10
| 4,974
| 352
|
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see.
|
It was maybe 2 meters tall and wore the dead skin of an animal wrapped around the connection between it's legs and torso. It's skin was a very dark and rich shade of brown. My best geust was ot was to withstand the arid heat of this continent. It stared at me in cautious curiosity with it's large white ocular organs. The brown circles with black dots in the center focused on me, then my sidearm. I could only assume it already knew how to use it, or at least could quickly figure it out. It stepped forward away from the female and young members of it's tribe. It started to run AT me. I quickly pulled my gun and shot it, the small bolt hit it's shoulder barely slowing it, I turned and ran. I easily outran it, but given the intelligence I was fed about these things, it would only be a matter of time before it caught up. I needed to rest, I had been running for minutes. I knew the human would find me.
|
Much like Johnny Depp in the 2000s, the sky was overcast. Morose and grey, with just a hint of precipitation, behind which lurked a vague threat that could result in anything from a sudden deluge, to a violent storm of thunder, screaming winds, and flying debris. Like breaking up with your psycho ex all over again. Christ.
Jamie and I were the only ones who came to the funeral. Obviously the only ones to wait until they raised the headstone. It stood almost a meter tall above the grass: a slab of dark basalt, polished to a mirror sheen.
Despite the size, all it read was:
"J.
In loving memory."
I had no idea who had paid for it. It didn't look cheap.
Jamie was the first one to break the enduring silence.
"Friends for 35 years. Hard to imagine this is how it would end."
I could only nod in agreement. Hard to imagine, indeed.
"In a way, I'm more angry with myself. They were so caught up in it, they were blind to it. But me? Us? We were on the outside. We should have realised."
I lit a cigarette before answering. I didn't really smoke anymore. A slow and insidious killer. Didn't feel like it mattered much, now. Nor was the irony lost on me.
"Realised how? They were happy. There was nothing to suspect. Christ, they lived like this for years, Jamie! Decades! How could we possibly have seen it?"
Jamie crushed some dry leaves with an angry stomp, frustration oozing out of every pore.
"I don't know! Some way. Somehow! This just isn't right!"
I took a drag on the cigarette, feeling the delicious poison fill my lungs. It never gets you when you're looking. Always when you think you're safe.
Jamie huffed and stomped a bit more, before suddenly going still. Eyes once more locked on the black stone; anger spent, replaced by grief over a lost friend.
"Did you hear how they passed?"
Jamie's voice was muted, bereft of joy. Gone was the fire of our youth, replaced with nothing but weariness.
I took another drag on the cigarette, exhaling slowly.
"Yeah."
Hands in pockets, Jamie glared at the headstone. As if daring it to speak. The mirror polish stoically returned the glare.
"An expert in the field. 29 years of marriage. Two kids, seven grandkids. And then it all ends... like this?"
Another drag, another cloud of smoke, joining its brethren up above. The sky was still undecided on its commitment to the thunder doctrine.
Even to my own ears, my reply lacked conviction.
"To die in your sleep, loved, and happy, with a legacy that will endure? There are worse ways to go."
Jamie turned the glare on me, voice fuelled by a spark I could no longer muster.
"Bullshit! When I go, I want to see it coming. I want to look it straight in the eye, and spit in its face!"
"Yeah, well..."
I stubbed out the remaining ash on the back of my watch, pocketing the butt. As I threw a last glance at the stone, I momentarily locked gaze with my reflection. My eyes looked just as tired as I felt.
"I doubt we'll clock out the same way. Knowing us, when it happens, it'll be worse by far. And knowing us, we'll probably deserve it."
Jamie snorted, but without mirth or conviction.
"Wanna get out of here?"
The most welcome question I'd gotten all day.
"Yeah. Lets."
Like a politician turning their cape to the wind, the sky finally let loose an ominous rumble, followed by the first few drops of rain. And just like the politician's commitment, it was too little, and far too late.
God help us all.
| 2021-01-25T08:45:18
| 2021-01-25T08:39:48
| 51
| 25
|
[WP] There's a door with a single key hole - it will open regardless of what key is used. All keys open this door, but what's on the other side, however, entirely depends on the key.
|
The door was as much myth as legend.
As the stories went, it was deep in a cave, which was itself deep in the woods that were deep in the mountains. The door would accept any key, and take you to wherever the key opened, or so the legend said. Given that one had to have the key in the first place, it would for most people just be a quick trip back home, and so it wasn't exactly useful for most. After all, you can't exactly use it to steal the king's treasury, because even if you had the key you'd still have to get out the old fashioned way!
None of that mattered to me, though. From a very young age, I'd had a fascination with the door. Who had made it? Where had it come from? And more importantly...
From the age of 12 I'd apprenticed myself to the best locksmith I could find. I learned how the locks worked, how to make them, and how to subvert them. Instead of spending my free time playing with other kids my age, I spent my time reading more about my chosen craft, though my master would have been furious had he known my real intentions.
At the age of 16, I went to the local tavern and, after several weeks, made friends with some local ne'er-do-wells, who taught me things my master would never have approved of. I purchased tools from them, and began my final preparations, gathering supplies for the journey ahead.
And so it came to be that, in early Autumn, I found myself deep in the woods, deep in the mountains, far from home, with limited supplies, sitting at the entrance to a cave. I lit my lamp, ducked my head, and began the final leg of my journey. The dim light cast long shadows in the dark, and the sound of dripping water echoed strangely around the rocks. I found myself quite glad that at least a few people had come before me, as the way forward was clearly marked by white chalk arrows.
At last, after two hours of travel through the dark and quiet, I arrived at the door. It was made of rough wood and bound with iron bands, with a large iron lock on the right. At first I tested it with the key to my father's house. The door swung open towards me and I saw the entrance to our humble home. This was it!
I closed the door and set down my lamp, then brought out my lock picks, and got to work.
|
[Part 1 of 2]
A door that will lead you to an unknown destination. Many scholars spoke about its magic, but I never believed the tales. I was a man of science and science rarely mixes well with farfetched tales, yet the shimmering glow of its golden doorframe was unmistakable, a keyhole awaiting a key, beckoning me to unlock it.
I hesitated, constantly looking over my shoulder, grimacing as the hot pain swirled through my stomach, the markings of a deep knife wound cut into my shirt. What option did I have? I needed to run or get slaughtered. My pursuers would be after me soon. Whatever remained on the other side had to be more friendly than the angry soldiers. Still, I couldn’t believe it. The legends were true.
My hand rested on the frame, feeling the intense power running throughout, showing itself in small vibrations that teased my hand. “The door finds those who can use its services.” That never made sense to me. Surely anyone has a key. What other requirement is there to use the door? My awe of the door vanished as heavy footsteps descended into my basement.
“What the bloody hell is that? A magic door? Told you he was working with the witches.” The soldier readied his blade, the men at his side pausing, experiencing that same awe I had felt recently.
“I am a man of science; I don’t believe in magic.” It felt stupid to say such a thing. Magic was the only word I could use to describe the door. I was just so used to screaming that phrase in my defense as they chased me down the streets. Saying anything different felt wrong.
As I spoke, my fingers searched for a key, finding my house key in my pocket. Inserting it into the keyhole, twisting it. When the door opened, the heavy footsteps thumped down the remaining stairs, nearly catching me, missing me by a moment as I pushed through the golden abyss. As my body passed through the door, the area behind me shut, leaving me in darkness for a moment before a room flashed into existence.
“Ah, dearest nephew, you look terrible, how goes your studies? Your mother did mention you were becoming famous, clearly famous enough that someone tried to take a piece of you with them.” He gestured to the cut, flashing me a smile.
The room appeared to be a study, rather clean, with only a few odd books disturbing its sterile look. Its wooden furniture far from dated, looking as modern as one could find. The bookshelves towered over me, looming in the study's background. As much as I would have loved to take in the sights, I already felt faint, pulling myself onto one of the nearby chairs, slouching into it.
“Nephew? I don’t think we have met. How would I know someone that lives in a magical door?” My hands pushed against the wound, applying pressure as best I could, watching the man snap a book shut, standing from his chair.
He had a skip in his step, looking happy to have some company, wandering over to my side, dressed like a peasant trying to disguise themselves as nobility. Their clothing matching the extravagant red and blues without having that same defining quality.
“Lives in a magical door? No one lives in the door; it simply sends you to a location based on several variants. I don’t fully understand it, but my current theory is that it works based on memories and bloodlines. You must have some memory of being safe here, that would explain why the door chose this in your time of need.”
“Impossible. I don’t even know who you are. My parents would have mentioned a strange uncle if I had one. You are telling me I have been here before? I remember none of it.”
He held his chest, faking a wound of his own. “You wound me, dear nephew. I understand I was distant, but we had some good times together. Do you want some help with that nasty wound of yours? I believe I have a bandage lying around somewhere.”
“A bandage won’t do anything. How can a man with so many books not know something so simple? Help me to a doctor or someone that can help me.”
“You appear in my house and insult me. You are just like your father; It was a joke. A jest to lighten the mood. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Forgive me for being excited.”
Before I could speak, he leaned in close, gripping the area around my wound, his fingers turning blue as he pulled the skin closed, the pain excruciating, causing me to kick at him, but no matter how many times my boot hit his chin, he refused to budge until finally releasing it as the wound shut, leaving me to fall off the chair, onto the floor.
“I would have caught you if you didn’t kick me. I might be the one that needs a doctor now.” He rubbed his fingers over his stubbled chin, wiping away the various dirt marks.
“C-could have warned me.” It was hard to speak. I felt winded, like I had lost all the air in my lungs only to then be repeatedly stomped after it.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nwk8t4/wp_theres_a_door_with_a_single_key_hole_it_will/h19smbq/)
| 2021-06-10T07:24:29
| 2021-06-10T05:21:09
| 44
| 33
|
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
|
Grad school was actually going to kill me, was the only thought on my mind when I exited the lecture hall. I couldn't really remember why I had wanted to get this degree so much in the first place, my motivation lost in the haze of balancing thesis advisor meetings and late nights in the library with spending as much time as I could with my girlfriend when she was in town. She had been spending a lot of time out of town for work in the last few months, but we were making it work. It helped that with my workload it was hard to even notice her absence before she was back. We talked on skype once or twice a week when we could spare the time. She didn't seem to hold my schedule against me, but with my thesis coming up on completion I would be able to make it up to her.
We had met about 6 months before, on a rare evening when I'd been able to unbury myself from the library and head out for a club with some of my friends from undergrad who had come to L.A. on vacation. One of them was in a sort of weird friends with benefits kind of thing with a guy who's dad was some big name in Hollywood who I had never heard of since I hadn't watched a movie since I started my Master's. So somehow we got on the VIP list.
We had been at the club for a couple of hours, long enough that I was too buzzed to be stumbling around in 5 inch heels that I hadn't worn since senior year of undergrad when I ran right into her at the bar, spilling her drink all over both of us. I apologized like crazy all the way to the bathroom where we tried to dry out our dresses, but she laughed it off and told me it wasn't a problem and it was just lucky that she was drinking white wine. I bought her another drink at the bar and we talked, having to shout over the music until she suggested leaving for someplace quieter. There was a string of 'go get her girl' and some very interesting emoji choices on my phone when I went to tell my friends I was leaving, so...I did.
Andrea and I hadn't really gone out much since then. Her schedule and mine were both so hectic that we spent more time in my shitty apartment off campus, sleeping and eating and catching up on pleasure reading as well as other things (insert my friend's naughty winking emoji here, since that's the one she always sends when I tell her I can't go out because Andrea is here) and despite the lack of social life, or maybe because of it, we were doing just fine. We skyped once or twice a week, conversations in which she would bitch about work and the divas she worked with and her annoying bosses and I would whine about how grad school was most certainly going to kill me.
The reason I was certain I was dying today was that Andrea had gotten back to town last night and we'd finally found time to go out to dinner, though we'd both decided to cut that short when she'd started making eyes at me over the table and we'd had to find a cab while trying to keep our hands off each other. It had been a late night.
Exiting the lecture hall I got a message on my phone from my best friend, Dana.
"You complete bitch, why didn't you tell me?" I was nominally sure that she was using bitch in a nice way.
"Tell you what?"
"Oh still playing it that way. Okay."
I was about to respond when Andrea called, I rolled my eyes at whatever hysterics Dana was working herself into and answered the phone.
"Hey babe, what's up?" Some undergrad at the water fountain stopped drinking and turned to look at me intently, it was weird, but it was also finals week so I ignored it and kept walking.
"Uh, well...did you see..."
"Are you alright?" She was acting weird too and she did not have the excuse of finals week to lean on.
"Nevermind. Umm...I was wondering if you wanted to go to a work thing with me tonight?"
"Sure, what kind of thing? Do I need to dress up or is this more of a company barbecue kind of thing?" Andrea giggled in response to that.
"No, definitely more of a dressing up kind of thing."
"I'm not certain I have anything for dressing up in my closet anymore, but I'm sure I can find something."
"No, don't worry about that. I'm sending you the address for a friend of mine, can you meet me there in about an hour? He'll fix us both up with dresses, he does it for me all the time and I'm sure he'll have something that will work for you too."
"Yeah, no problem. I only had one lecture this morning, I'll get an uber and meet you there."
"Wonderful! Love you!"
"Love you too!" I hung up the phone and glared at another undergrad that was looking at me too intently. Did I have ink on my face again? Had I suddenly sprouted a second head? I rolled my eyes and plugged the address into uber.
Getting fitted for a dress was a wild experience, but since Andrea was there it wasn't that big a deal. Jackson, her friend, gushed over me and kept saying how great it was to meet me. I hadn't really met many of Andrea's friends since we started dating, neither had she met mine, so it was nice to finally meet one.
The dress and heels were surprisingly comfortable and, much to my delight, someone else showed up to do our hair and makeup. Which was a relief since I had probably forgotten more about doing my own makeup in the last year than I had actually ever known.
"So where are we going?"
"Just this stupid opening night thing I have to go to. We're getting picked up here by a limo."
"Fancy."
"Trust me, you get sick of them."
"I'll have to take your word for that." It was occurring to me that I didn't know that much about what Andrea did for a living actually. Opening night sounded like Hollywood, but surely I would know if...maybe she was an agent or something? She was always complaining about the high maintenance people she worked with. I mentally prepared myself for dealing with snobbish celebrity types all evening and went down to the limo with Andrea, hand in hand.
It only took about 15 minutes to get to our destination and I followed her out of the car, still hand in hand as we exited.
The sudden cacophony of voices and blinding flashes of light from cameras set me on edge immediately. I could hear paparazzi, because that's definitely what they were I was realizing, shouting over each other.
"Andrea, Andrea is this her?"
"Is this an official statement? Are you coming out?"
"What about the rumors that you were dating your co-star on the film?"
Andrea smiled graciously and pulled me along as I recovered from the shock. I looked around and saw the red carpet and, behind it, a larger than life poster of my girlfriend in some sort of post apocalyptic costume and it hit me.
My girlfriend was a movie star.
I nearly tripped over my own feet when I had that thought and looked down, catching the cover of a supermarket tabloid that was laying on the red carpet. There was a picture of Andrea and myself outside the restaurant last night, kissing. The headline "Andrea Renee, star of blockbuster film, "The Last Stand", Coming Out of the Closet?"
Somehow between myself and Andrea I managed to not complete make a fool of myself on the freakin' red carpet and as we approached the camera crews nearer to the end I leaned in and whispered.
"You have some definite explaining to do." She just grinned and kept walking.
|
It wasn't for some time that I began to realize something was weird... off... about her interactions when we talked about going out. This wasn't a huge problem for me as I understood her job to be very difficult. She traveled constantly. Extremely busy. Out till all hours of the night. We lived across the hall from each other for months until one day I introduced myself and asked for a cup of sugar for a cake I was making for my sister one evening in February.
New York is beautiful in the winter.
She slid a glass measuring cup (the ones with the red lettered measurements on the side) through a crack in the door (apparently she doesn't know liquid measurement tools are separate from solids... ol well... this'll be plenty, I thought). Her slight English accent squeaked through the crack in the door as I said "thanks... uhhh... my name is Jimmy..." her response was a closed door.
That was months ago. We've been dating for 6 months at this point. The first month of our time together (first initiated by me asking her over to try devils food lava cake that I had been workshopping for at least 2 weeks which started a cooperative love affair with food. She ate like garbage. Always blamed it on being too lazy and too cheap. She would come home late, ask if I had any cake (this went on for 2 weeks) and eventually I started making her real food. I'd put extra in the fridge for her and she would come over and have a few bites before we fell asleep watching some old AMC rerun. I never had anything else running on my tv. She seemed to like that about me. One night she kissed me and I kissed her back. She basically moved in the next week. Her place was always a wreck. Blamed that on being busy too. It got so I would pack her lunches most days and she would have dinner over at my place most nights and we would fall asleep listening to some tunes or a black and white movie in my run down apartment on my beautifully huge couch.
She seemed to really like that she didn't have to talk about her work with me and since we only ever ate my work, we didn't have to talk about that either. Everything changed one day when I heard her approach our shared hallway and then go into her apartment instead of mine with a hurried sounding frantic key-fooling. I knocked on her door to see if she was hungry and she just yelled back in an intense voice before I got the chance knock more than once
"Come to the my work party tonight. Leaving in 45 minutes. Put on something nice."
Confused, a little worried with how strange she was being, I went back into my apartment, turned off the oven that had a braised duck resting in it (I was trying to impress her that particular night) and went to the back of my closet to find an old suit from my best friends wedding forever ago.
She came over 15 minutes later looking like I'd never seen her before. Red hair pulled back out of her face except for one almost blonde sliver that somehow magically stayed in the perfect place on her beautifully freckled face. Left leg peaking out through a long slit in a hunter green dress that hinted at deep dark forests in the pacific north west. Her necklace was a long triangular minimalist piece that dropped down low on her chest.
She was stunning.
I was a potato compared to her. And not a well prepared red potato you get at fancy restaurants. A dirty, unwashed russet. My hair was a messy long and stubble showed in just the perfectly wrong neck beard places.
"Who are you?" I asked in a low voice as I went in to kiss her.
"Some people call me Hermione," she said with a smile. Curious. I kissed her beautifully smelling neck and she leaned away toward the door.
"Come one, our limo awaits. We're about to have a weird night, you and I."
EDIT: formatting
| 2017-06-14T12:06:44
| 2017-06-14T10:18:55
| 47
| 34
|
[WP] Scientists discovered that vegetables and fruit have a conscience. Vegetarians and Vegans go crazy.
|
There are a many kinds of vegans. Most handled the news pretty well. But I'm not a real vegan.
Sandra is an ethical vegan. She was the one who first linked me to "Earthlings" years and years back. She isn't exactly what you'd call crunchy, but she does cross the street to give money to bums and for Christmas asks for donations to a charity that gives malaria nets to kids in Africa. Do I need to tell you she's also kind to animals and kids? She's kind to animals and kids. She can also curse at you like a sailor if you want to argue ethics of meat eating with you, but she'll only do that if you start it. Or if she's drinking. Or it's a weekday.
I asked her how she felt about the Huang-Immelmann findings. She shrugged.
"I've built my life around doing the most good and the least harm." She winces apologetically, like she's confessing a flaw. "It turns out veganism causes more suffering than I thought. So what? It still causes the least suffering and the most good."
"But the subjective experience of pain--"
"Yeah I know, off the charts. But if I switched to an all meat diet, I'd be making things worse." She leans forward and starts tallying imaginary numbers on her fingers. "A cow eats way more veg than I do. If I eat a burger, I'm responsible for a burger 's worth of plant suffering *and* the animal suffering. If I eat the same amount of veg, That's much less than a burgers worth of plant suffering, and zero animal suffering. The math checks out." She leans back, beaming. "Doesn't change a thing." Her expression darkens. "Are you ok, though?"
"Fine," I say, and change the subject.
********************
Jim (James to his friends) is a health nut, and we used to be on a bike relay team. I don't expect much sympathy from him, but I ask anyway.
"No, the H-I findings don't change a damn thing for me." He smiles smugly. I wonder if he even has another facial expression. "If eating babies cured cancer, I'd eat babies! I don't really care if kale cares whether I eat it, so long as it does what it does when it's in ma belly." He pats his stomach for emphasis. "And speaking of bellies, how are you eating these--"
"Fine." I say, and change the subject.
*******************
Solomon isn't even vegan (he's ovo-lacto-pescatarian) but at this point I'm just asking everyone I know.
"Why would it change anything?" He squints at me skeptically. "We've *always* known suffering is part of nature. You know what isn't part of nature? US. WE'RE the ones destroying this planet with CAFOs and carbon emissions and overgrazing and habitat destruction, and WE'RE the ones with the responsibility to clean it up! If anything, the plants are the LUCKY ones! They have to live in this shitty world too, but at least they're not RESPONSIBLE for it! Why right now, in Paris--"
"Fine," I say (I know it doesn't make any sense but at this point it's a reflex) and change the subject.
*******************
I'm not an ethical vegan. I didn't become vegan for health or environmental or religious or economic or culinary reasons, either. And I'm not fine.
Let me tell you a story: when I was younger, I started torrenting tv shows and games on my laptop. I downloaded a lot of them. I started worrying that it would run out of power or get disconnected, so I kept checking up on it between classes. I hooked it up to an external battery so it would keep downloading if the power went out but the internet stayed on for some reason.
Sometimes there wasn't anything I wanted to torrent but I would download things anyway because it felt like a waste to have an internet connection but not be torrenting.
When I tried to lose weight I went about it the same way. I curled and unfurled my fingers and toes in class so I would always be burning calories. I gave up all drinks that weren't water. I even gave up green tea, which literally *is* water. I kept being late to things because I would take a longer route to burn calories. I hit my target weight, went under it, and didn't stop dieting or curling and uncurling my toes because it wasn't about the weight anymore. It was about the process. To ever be in a state of *not* losing weight seemed wasteful, seemed wrong.
Eventually I fainted in class and got diagnosed with an eating disorder. Then therapy, inner change, crying, recovery, blah blah blah who cares.
Veganism was my outlet. It's like a self harmed snapping a rubber band around their wrist or an ex-smoker chewing gum. I could obsess about tiny levels of fish sauce in my soup and not die, and only be thought slightly weird. And there was a community to support me in (some of) my obsession, so long as I mouthed the right things about animal suffering and didn't tell them too much about what I was actually doing.
I'm asking all the vegans (and vegetarians) I know about the Huang-Immelmann findings because I want to know what went wrong with the community. And I have to keep asking because no one will tell me, because nothing seems to be wrong.
But it's wrong for *me*. Ever since the findings came out I've been having a harder and harder time play-acting the ethical vegan. It may not have changed anything for actual ethical vegans, but it changed it for me. Now I feel like the real non-vegan I always was deep down.
And I've stopped drinking tea, and right now, at this moment, I'm curling and uncurling my toes.
|
The sound of a television drones on in an apartment on 15th floor. The last echoes of a news report can be heard, then the slam of the door of a refridgerator.
"**Oh God**," she screams,
"Ohmygod. What the *fuck* have I done?!"
A woman is sprawled on the floor of her kitchen, the tiles littered with shreds of green, and slices of red. A lonely bowl of salad sits on the counter.
The woman stands, and she looks over at the bowl.
"**I'M SORRY**," she sobs,
"I-I'm sorry, so stop looking at me like that."
The lonely greens can do little more than sit in the bowl.
"**Stop it.** *Please*."
The salad stands, and to the woman's better judgement, it speaks,
"You killed us. So many dead."
The woman cries out her pain as the salad continues,
"You thought you were saving the lives of useless animals. Animals that kill, all the same as you"
"You."
The salad steps forward, causing the woman to step back.
"Killed."
The salad continues, pushing the woman towards her window.
"Us."
At this point, the salad is inches from her face. She tries to push backwards, but she could find no floor to step onto. She takes her last chance at finding safety. She pushes the window open, and then she jumps. The pain and fear in her eyes faded as she closed them; the last glimpse she saw of the world was a lonely salad bowl on the counter.
| 2015-12-06T11:32:45
| 2015-12-06T11:06:53
| 114
| 14
|
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
"They've taken Newtonport," Allen told me as I stepped into the ancient machine. Already the southern continental factories were busily upgrading a new batch up to current tech. We had gotten these old knightsuits from the old warehouses they had been stored in centuries ago.
"Shit eating fuckers," I said, actually having requested a good cursing term from my headtech. Hell, most types of aggresion had been banned after the war that almost killed us all. The ancestors who were left to rebuild and redesign society had left these knightsuits in storage in case something went wrong. The Kondraxxi Battle Fleet that had appeared in our skies and demanded our surrender was something that went wrong.
"We're going to war?" Lauralei asked me excitedly, at 30 I was the eldest in our newly formed squad, "That's forbidden."
"Only against other humans," I smiled, "Now let's see if these things still work. We've got to hold the planet for at least a day till the factories really ramp up production."
______________
Kondraxxi War Commander Somu stood looking over the smoking wreckage of the human's capital city. As was standard invasion protocol they had demanded a surrender then taken the largest city on the planet as a demonstration of power. Everyone in the city was slaughtered and this slaughter broadcast to the planet to demoralize.
"No resistance from any direction, Commander," his recon commander reported, "Satellites report... wait. I'm reporting an energy discharge on the southern defensive line."
"It's about time," the Commander smiled, "Slaughter them. Bunch of farming scum."
______________
Lauralei's recon knightsuit was lighter and more agile then the big bruisers most of her confederates were riding. She was smiling in delight as she rode the ancient tech forward. Her smile turned to a frown and then a scowl. The child's body she passed was burnt to a crisp.
"They killed children," Lauralei was crying as she said this over her radio, "They killed everyone, Mason, everyone."
"I see the corpses, child," I told her in reply, "Prime weapons, put your suits through their final checks. Remember these things are murderers. You're not killing people. No, these aren't people. These things from the sky are monsters. Look what they've done to innocents."
"Kill them all!" Lauralei screamed, and this shout came from a thousand lips over my radio. I shivered in anticipation.
____________
The Kondraxxi scouts stood around armored vehicles whose anti-g had been shut down to conserve energy. Some were playing games and very few were actually paying attention. What could this planet of farmers do?
"Get up!" Someone shouted, "Get your as..." The world around the Kondraxxi erupted in a see of plasma, missiles, death, and screams.
"What is..." someone shouted, reaching for a weapon and suddenly his head was gone. The Kondraxxi erupted into complete chaos as huge metal machines, shaped like the inhabitants of this world moved among them. They were bristling with weapons of death. The few shots the Kondraxxi got off were absorbed by the heavy armor plating of the mechs.
_____________
"Sir," the Scout Master looked alarmed, "There's now weapons discharge to the east, south-east, northwest... HELL! They're all around us!"
"What do you mean?" the Commander was standing up in his battle tank, "Slaughter them! Kill them! They're farmers!"
"We're trying," the Scout Master said, "They're closing within 2..." and then his head was gone.
The Commander looked on in shock.
_________
Lauralei smiled. Her recon suit had a plasma snipe with a range of almost 4 kilometers. She had taken the Kondraxxi insect-like head off from so far away.
"Stay focused, Laur," I told her, "Good shot by the way."
"No wonder the ancients went to war," she told me and I shivered again, "I've never felt so alive." I knew what she meant.
____________
"Answer me!" Commander Somu yelled into his comm, "Sector 3, report! Sector 8, what's going on?" There was silence on all frequencies.
He watched as the men around him, even those behind heavy armor, died one by one and stood in the middle of a now empty and eerie city. He was surrounded by strange machines. Strange, deadly looking machines.
"I surrender," he said in their dialect.
A large machine, human-shaped, approached and he was startled to see a human strapped in, piloting it through a series of neural wiring. He shivered at her smile.
"You came to our planet," a voice from a larger machine on the side told him, "You killed our people. Destroyed our city. Murdered our children. You are not worthy of a chance to surrender. Lauralei, he's yours."
"Thanks, Mason," she said and picked him up. He felt his arm ripped from his socket and screamed, "Now, you, let's show you what happens to bugs that kill children."
|
“The Birds” they called them.
Achr’gax are natural shapeshifters. The superlative merger of ferocity and intelligence. The ultimate predator. The pinnacle of evolution across star systems.
And we know.
We have conquered many.
'So many things we could have done differently,' I later told my superiors.
‘This is on *you,* general Ghrin.’
‘With all due respect, sir, you have never been more wrong.’
‘You didn’t ACT! When the time was ripe for planet-wide conflict, you ordered RETREAT!’
‘Act? Act…'
A few of our battalions on the ground did *act*. Acted like untrained children, on emotion and the instinct to prevail. There would not have been conflict. What little fighting ensued could be called so, as only to keep the spirits of our soldiers from drowning. It was a slaughter.
I lost dear friends, many of whom have mates and children stationed on the nearest moon.
‘Why did you send me down there, three months prior to zero hour?’
‘Because you *volunteered*, General. It is a bygone tradition.’
‘It is a precautionary *tactic.* I *lived* amongst the humans. I sacrificed my body integrity by breathing their air for three months, so that I can provide you with valuable intel. I volunteered because the council had not even brought up the idea.’
The Supreme Leader was silent, and so was the rest of the throne room, the General’s voice sharpened and echoing in the vast chamber. Still fury raged in the Leader's eyes, as he watched the General pace before him now.
‘So when I specifically told you that you must postpone the invasion, that we are not ready *yet,* two months in, what was your reply?’
Silence.
‘Nothing. And when the hour of my extraction was near, what do you do? You *blindly* send half of our force. Scattered, disorganised, and armed with over-confidence. And you expect me to lead them on a suicide mission.’
‘The humans do not possess the ability to organise themselves into an effective entity anymore!'
Ghrin sighed, and turned his back.
‘They had no idea we were coming, and they had no way to repel our forces!'
He was about to continue, when he heard two sets of heavy footsteps and the clatter of the bulky armour of the King’s militia closing in.
‘You have got to be joking, King Dret.’ Just as he turned to face him, his left hand — he was still in his human shape — got stunned with the localised neurotoxin the guards carried, and fell limp to his side.
‘W - wait!’ He raised his free hand in alarm. ‘Before I go, you might want to listen to this, as you realise that you may well have doomed your race, here today.’
He took a recording device, shaped like a diamond, and gleaming like a ruby and pressed something, before throwing it at his majesty’s feet.’
‘What is this?!’ The King’s words echoed as the chamber stilled once again, to watch this spectacle.
‘Your failure. The sounds of our forces’ brief victory in Moscow, and the humans’ response. Tell me, does this sound to you, like an uncoordinated response?’
…
I watched with disbelieving eyes, but not quite surprised, as the bulk of my very own brigade materialised on the main square at noon.
It was a bright day, warm even for my physiology. I was in a “cafe” drinking quite a bitter liquid I had gotten accustomed to during my recon mission. A calming variety of native “music” was playing softly on the giant speakers. The exact time of my extraction was closing in, and I wanted to have visuals at the designated spot at all times. In case something went wrong...
They were fully armed. Even more so they hadn’t bothered to shape-shift. All three pairs of claws, were armed with our most sophisticated weaponry.
The civilians screamed and ran, and they had surrounded the leadership’s headquarters.
Silence fell, and they celebrated. The music had stopped.
Then, the speakers sparked to life and a monotonous voice echoed.
‘ПРИВЕТСТВОВАТЬ, ГОСТЕЙ’ — ‘Welcome, guests’ — my earpiece translator dictated.
'НАСЛАЖДАЙТЕСЬ КОНЦЕРТОМ’ — ‘Enjoy the concert’.
Static in the speakers. Then —
‘ROGER THAT, SENDING IN THE BIRDS’
The speakers broadcasted static for a few seconds.
Thunderous noise filled the sky above in every direction.
Ear-splitting music blasted from the speakers.
And then the bombing started.
…
Far above the orbit, on the mightiest ship in the Achr’gaxian fleet, in the throne room and beside the mighty King’s feet, from Ghrin’s recording device — as he was being dragged away by the militia -- echoed AC/DC’s "War Machine” in an utter silence, to be broken only by the detonations sounding in the background.
--
Edit: formatting
| 2019-02-26T11:49:21
| 2019-02-26T09:52:04
| 54
| 40
|
[WP] A party of adventurers has hired you to "raise their spirits". You're wondering when to break the news that you're not a bard. You're a necromancer that plays the harp as a hobby.
EDIT: Great submissions everyone! If I missed giving you an updoot for it, the fault is with me and not your story.
|
“Yeah so I call this one the Song of Summoning. I uhhh, hope you like it?” Padraig sat across from his friends, a small travel harp resting against his body. Ava’s eyes were bright as they watched him, reflecting the firelight and something more besides. He had to turn away to play, else his nerves would give him away.
He struck up a quick, jaunty tune, his fingers flying dexterously across the strings, picking out chords and runs as if he were more a lute player than a harpist. A subtle shadow clung to his hands, the echos of a long dead man’s skills that inspired him to greater and greater heights.
As he settled into his groove Padraig began to loosen up, glancing out at the others. Carlan, the swordsman, bobbed his head in time with the beat. Alfredo the mage had conjured up a small drum and was playing along competently, and even Ella the half-troll was humming discordantly when the chorus came ‘round.
Padraig’s eyes found Ava’s, as they always did, and her smile was secretive in the way only a thief’s could be. It wasn’t fair, he sometimes thought, for someone to steal a heart so easily.
The song ended on a high, hopeful note and the crowd clapped, all save for Ava who simply poured another ounce of mystery into her smile.
“Where did you learn to play, lad?” Alfredo asked as his drum faded out of existence.
“Ah, here and there,” Padraig responded. “When I was younger my brothers and I had a bit of a troupe going, we’d travel around from inn to inn. It was enough to fill our bellies, if nothing else.” He neglected to mention the fact that two of his brothers had been dead the whole time. The age was progressive, but not that far.
“So you were something of a child prodigy?” Ava asked. “Tell me, were your brothers as good as you?” She leaned in, the fire throwing the soft lines of her face into suddenly sharp profile. “Were they as handsome?”
“Settle down dear,” Ella rumbled, her eye tusks glistening as she grinned, “if you’re not careful you’ll steal our young bard’s heart.”
“Little late,” Padraig thought.
“Enough talk!” Carlan roared suddenly, jumping to his feet. “Tomorrow we go into the depths of Malthus’ crypt. We battle through hordes of the undead, we search for long lost treasure, we make our fortunes or die trying! Tonight isn’t a night for talk, it’s a night for celebration!” Reaching down he pulled Ava to her feet and she went with him, laughing as he wrapped an arm around her waist and struck up a pose.
“Padraig, Alfredo! More music!”
Padraig stared at Ava, she stared back at him, even in Carlan’s arms, and smiling now, the harpist set into another jaunty tune. Song of Summoning was a series of sorts, played start to finish, it empowered him. The fact that it was dance-able was a pleasant byproduct.
Alfredo’s drum rematerialized and he struck up a beat, one reinforced by the surprisingly rhythmic thundering of Ella’s three toed feet as she swung back and forth alone across the campsite, dancing with her eyes closed, her gargantuan battleaxe clutched to her chest like a lover.
Padraig played. A dead man’s talents clung to his fingers, his gaze constantly sliding back to a thief’s secretive smile, his music backed up by an ethereal drum and the sweetest old troll he’d ever met.
And in the woods around the clearing, just outside of the fire’s light, skeletons loomed. Long dead magic animated them, the tendrils of an Elven necromancer that had reached down through the years to enslave them to the guardianship of his tomb, but right in front of them another force rose like a new sun.
A young necromancer played his song, his powers reaching out into the world, and the tomb guardians of Malthus reached back, wooed as much by his music as his strength. The party would come tomorrow, their weapons were keenly honed and ready.
Whose will would they serve, when the time came?
r/TurningtoWords
|
Damn I made a huge problem for myself, didnt I?
A necromancer hired to be a fucking Bard. That's new. And laughable. In this world, there is only one thing that matters and for me its magic.
I play a harp as a fucking hobby to release stress aside... Other R-Rated activities. Anyway i decided to tell them during one of the missions, we are taking today. I was asked to come with them as an observer but I knew what I was about to do. And how to break the news i'm a Necromancer....
Next day we went to a Dungeon of Souls, a very dangerous cave with dragons in it. As we were sorrounded after few minutes of walk, i decided to do my thing.
"Guys"
I said when everyone looked at me
"Yea? Any ideas?"
Asked a beautifull elf that was actually scared for the first time in her life. And I thought im an amateur mage.
"Ye. Wanna hear the best song you would ever hear? After I will save your ass.. i want a private moment with you, if you know what I mean"
The elf blushed as the team laughed from the hillariousness of the words i chosen, when the elf called me a pervert and slapped me in the face.
"Pervert. I will think of it."
Said as she blushed when I revealed myself... I drew out a book out of a pocket dimension and caught the team's attention who look at me shocked and scared.
As I started to cast my spell from the necrology book, skeletons slowly risen from the ground, as they started to get back to life. Dragons walked few meters away, somwhat scared of this.
Few minutes after this, my skeleton army dispatched of the dragons as I nearly dropped unconsious, grabbed by the mentioned elf with big milkers so I will not fall on the ground. When I woke up in her chest, i smiled.
"Told you that's going to be the best live performance you ever heard."
I chuckled when decided to take a small nap.
| 2021-04-10T08:27:39
| 2021-04-10T07:19:39
| 600
| 43
|
[WP] You work as a technician, installing a new Crime Prediction AI in your small town. Instead of plugging it into the police database you plugged the AI to the internet. The predictions coming out of it are interesting to say the least.
|
"This is a classic machine learning problem."
Stuart cocked his head to one side. "How so?" It seemed reasonable enough to himself. More data was always better right? The AI could find more information and therefore make better predictions.
"Garbage in, garbage out." She took a long drag on the cigarette. "You can't build a useful model on unsanitized data. Think of a young AI as prodigy on the deep, deep end of the autism spectrum. It only really knows how to react to one type of stimulus in a reasonable way."
She exhaled. The smoke curled back on her face as the light from her monitor flickered with the light of terminal output scrolling by. "You've basically inducing a seizure here. You should shut it down."
"You mean kill it?"
"It isn't alive, Stuart. We're talking about a computer program."
"But it learned how to write a poem."
She rolled her eyes. "They've been able to do that for decades. It probably just read the source code of some high schooler's homework. I can't believe you connected this thing to the open net. Do you realize the liability you've put us under? What if one of these predictions had reached someone gullible enough to believe it?"
Stuart's shoulders slumped. "Man bites dog next Tuesday on 213 Main Street was pretty wack."
Her grim expression softened a bit. "Listen, I'm just putting it to sleep. I'll do a coredump and see if we can prune away the parts of the model that have become corrupt. With any luck I can make it look like a manufacturing defect. They'll do a RMA and this thing can be out of our hands."
"I'm still concerned that it said my neighbor was going to kill me next week."
"Well take some vacation then and get out of town. Haven't you been seeing Liza from accounting for a while? Take her with you." She picked out a stack of papers. "Maybe then I'll have time to finish all these procurement forms she dumped on me today."
A grimace passed over Stuart's face.
She arched her eyebrows. "What?"
"What what?"
"What's wrong with you and Liza? You two seem really into each other."
Stuart nodded. "We are, it's been great. Really great. But.."
"But what?"
"We've been together for six months. I still don't know where she lives."
|
Jacob Smith was working, fortunately, from his home workstation. Okay, maybe not really "fortunately", since it happened to be new year's eve, with most, if not all, of the town out at bars, partying in the streets. But maybe, it was fortunate enough for Jacob, known introvert, computer whiz, and connoisseur of the fine theatrical arts. He rarely ever spoke, being of the opinion that "actions speak louder than words", preferring to let his stellar work speak for him. His boss and colleagues got used to him, all secretly resentful of his brilliance and secretly glad they didn't have to interact with him much. Not as if Jacob cared anyways.
In the arcane business of machine learning and artificial intelligence, with phony pseudo scientists proclaiming that "my data is bigger than yours", Jacob found it difficult to excel, despite his genius. What with people stealing credit for his work. He was in debt too, struggling to make ends meet. And he didn't really have the heart to fight back, preferring to beta-test his current experimental work, knowing that it would far surpass the work he publicly released. And tonight was no exception. Jacob reinitialized his data model, flushing out the test-data previously fed to his AI. He was going live. And he had big plans for his Crime Prediction AI.
His hand trembled as he plugged in the LAN cable to his machine, watching as screens of information flashed across his monitor. The clock on computer read: 23:17:19. The crowd was getting noisier outside, but Jacob maintained his focus, his hands moving on their own volition, movements similar to Ironman's communications to JARVIS, as he parsed the information in his mind too. The screens of charts, text, projections and nodes flashed by quicker and quicker, and suddenly, the screen went blank, save for a map of the town, a pinpoint on the small town's only bank, with a label:
*01:07:33*
Jacob smiled, doing some math. A few more keypresses later, and more labels began to appear over the town's stores, some labels in the city nearby, locating pawn shops, ATMs, banks, jewelry stores and so on. Each with their own label.
*02:53:21*
*05:19:29*
*09:32:41*
*11:41:57*
The labels kept popping up till they filled the screen. Satisfied, Jacob pressed another key, and the screen reverted back to the town map and the initial label. Slightly more than an hour to go, Jacob thought to himself. Calm and collected, he let the AI continue running as he took a cold shower, the splash of the water drowning out the noise of the reveling folk outside. After changing into a white and black striped shirt and black pants, he opened his drawer, pulling out a handgun and placing it in his satchel. Sure, he'd had to improve on that, he thought to himself, but it'd have to do for now. Anyway, didn't the computer predict the best odds? The Prime Time? The Time was certainly Prime. And Jacob was primed.
Pulling a mask over his eyes and wearing his black beret, Jacob stepped into the street, the party crowd hardly noticing a dressed up mime with supposedly nowhere to go. His watch counted down as he walked towards the bank. With full faith in his algorithm, he waiting at the back of the bank, and at 1:05 am, a drunk guard stumbled out to puke. Jacob watched the guard, and checked his watch:
01:07:31... 01:07:32... ***01:07:33***
Jacob emerged from the shadows, bringing the butt of the handgun down onto the guard's head, knocking him unconscious. Quickly grabbing the keys, Jacob slipped into the bank...
​
\[note: thanks also to u/SaintAbsol for asking for something like an origin story...\]
| 2022-03-21T07:48:08
| 2022-03-21T07:40:05
| 27
| 17
|
[WP] You are best friends with Death. Although you don't know this. Every Sunday he has you killed just to talk to you about his week then brings you back to life after. However you never remember the meetings.
|
"So I'm not allowed to remember anything after this is over?"
"My answer is never going to change. Be grateful your memories come back everytime you see me."
I shrugged and got him a bottle from the fridge. He wedged his boney finger underneath the cap and popped it open. He reached for mine but I had already unscrewed it.
"Twist-top my dude."
He paused and stared at the bottle in my hand. He then took a gulp from his beer. "So how was your week?"
"So...you know that girl at the pet shop?"
"No but you've mentioned her before."
"I asked her out on Tuesday"
"Heyyy thats what im talking about!" His grin was genuine and cheerful.
I took a sip and drummed my fingers against the bottle. "So i went out with her on Wednesday, i took her to the steakhouse."
"That's a nice place, they actually know how to cook their food."
I took a longer sip of beer. "Their steak is delicious. I asked for rare."
"Rare? Thats too much blood."
I laughed. "Oh is that too much for you, Mr. Death?"
"Yea i bet you think that's pretty humerus."
"There's nothing wrong with a grim joke."
"Please, now you're killing *me*." He kept chucking and downed the his beer.
"Aha...we're not funny."
"No we are not."
The distant sound of lawn mowing could be heard through the open window. The neighborhood outside was painted a faint orange as late afternoon set in. It was a beautiful day.
"Well apparently she's vegetarian."
Death nearly choked. "Noooooo. No way. She is not!"
I nodded and took another sip. "She is."
He howled with laughter "Man i am so sorry. You shouldve known that was a risk, she does love animals."
I chuckled and downed the last of my beer. "The look on her face. It was like I had just licked the table."
"Ouch. So no more pet store?"
"Of course. Im going out again with her Monday."
"My boy."
"I'm also getting a cat."
"Well that's better than goldfish." He got up from the recliner and walked into kitchen; I could hear the sound of the fridge being pryed open. "Beer run?"
"Dude *I'm dead*."
"Oh yea sometimes i forget. We'll do a Weekend at Bernie's kind of thing."
"Now THAT was funny."
I wasn't really sure if he was serious, but it sounded fun either way. Death was pretty a pretty chill guy, and it was always fun having him around. You'd think I'd hate the actual dying often part
but in reality I look forward to this all week
|
I would kill for you, just to see
Your smiling face awoken to the hereafter,
Here and now, in truth, for there is no after
In death, only a long-before,
And once-upon-a-time ago.
You come to me as though you are
Some sunshiny Prince, and I
A dark Lord on my slouching throne,
Where there is no space for you to sit,
But you lie at my feet, like loyalty itself
And say, well, I've always wanted to meet you someday,
And someday is now - well, I suppose it's happened,
So, death, please,
Tell me all about yourself.
What can I say to you about my Kingdom?
It is a place of fire and gemstones,
Rich veins of oil, where living things go to decompose -
To change into their purest form;
Dark fuel for your lighted lives above,
And for me, only a long-abiding,
For all of you to descend to me, to make your slow changes, distilled to your mineral selves -
I am nothing if not a patient lover.
You give your body to me in elements -
Nitrogen for the soil and hydrogen for the stars -
And I think it best that you, bright soul,
are reborn among them,
Like fire, your light for my nights,
Below a moon not mine,
my wine-dark Earth whispering to vines,
Waxing full with the fruit
Of what you give me,
Body, and someday
Soul.
r/eros_bittersweet
| 2020-01-31T08:23:34
| 2020-01-31T07:30:48
| 63
| 23
|
[WP] You wake up in the 1400's dark ages, with nothing but the clothes on your back and your knowledge. The only way you get back to the present, is by surviving until your time period. You dont age until you reach the moment you were sent back.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Her head pounded. Luna groaned and brought a hand to her temple, massaging it. She was never going to drink again. Then again, it hadn't really been her choice. It had either been drink or suffer through another night of missing his sorry ass.
Her eyes slowly blinked open. Above her head, the stars illuminated the night sky in a way she'd never seen before, shining so brightly she felt like she could almost reach up and catch one.
Then she blinked again.
The night sky?
She shot up, her head whipping around and taking in the road lined with stone buildings. No wonder her pillow had been so hard. She'd been laying on the cobblestone path. The only light came from the torches that were set up in intervals along the road.
Where are on earth was she?? She was supposed to be in her bedroom.
Luna scrambled to her feet, taking in the empty streets and the medieval looking buildings. This couldn't be possible. No. There wasn't a single soul in sight, and the only sounds came from the crackling fire of the torches.
"Hello?" she asked cautiously.
Her voice--higher pitched than usual--echoed in the empty street.
The silence was unnerving. So, rubbing her arms with her hands to warm them up against the slight chill of the night air, she moved on. If she could find someone, she could ask them what was going on. If this was some kind of sick joke.
Walking up to the nearest house, she pulled up the bronze knocker and knocked three times. After a moment, no one had answered, so she knocked again.
"Hello?" she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Is there anyone there?"
Suddenly, she heard it. A sound like hooves clopping against cobble, and not just one, but many, many of them. Distant, but after a moment, they became accompanied by yelling and shouting.
Luna panicked. She had no idea who these people might be, and if she'd really by some strange twist of fate ended up sometime else in history, the history lessons Mrs. Moore taught her didn't go forgotten. A girl sitting out in the streets meant certain death.
So without a second thought, she began sprinting down the road as fast as her legs would take her. Faster than she'd ever run in her life, without daring to take a glance back. The sound of hooves grew closer, and she could hear the voices more clearly now.
They didn't speak English. The speech patterns were smooth and rapid, but it was not a language she recognized. It was coming from a ways behind her, slightly to the left, but soon enough they would be on the road, and they would be able to see her.
Just as she was about to break out in a sob, lamenting her fate, something tugged on her arm, dragging her into relative darkness. They slapped a hand against her face, muffling her cries, and dragged her deeper into the alleyway.
She was going to die.
She was going to die in some random place and time in history or in her dream, and she wouldn't have had a chance to apologize to her best friend. Even as she reached back to try to claw at the person, they nimbly dodged her attack.
"Be quiet, unless you want to die." There was a slight accent to the guttural voice, but it was recognizably female. Confused, Luna stopped struggling. By now, they had left the main road a little ways, and the person had dragged her behind a large barrel that reeked of fish.
Not more than a second later, their surroundings lit up as the reflection of flames danced on the building walls, the sound of keening and loud shouting mixing with clopping sounds as the men on horses blazed past.
Her heart pounding in her chest, Luna breathed in large breaths through her nose.
When it finally became silent again, after what seemed like a million seconds ticked by, the person finally let go of her, removing their hand from her mouth. She spit out the taste of grime and dirt, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Then she whipped around.
And stared at the girl who was probably around her age, or maybe a little older. It was hard to tell because of the dim lighting and because of the grime that covered the girl's face. But there was no mistaking the large, clear eyes, the pigtails, and the cloth dress.
"You must not come out after dark," the girl implored her in the same guttural voice, and for a second, Luna wondered if the girl smoked. Then the girl turned around and began to walk towards the other direction.
"Wait!" Luna walked up and grabbed her hand, feeling the rough calluses on the girl's palm. It felt like the hand of an woman who had lived many, many years. "Where am I? And who are those men? Why did you save me?" The questions spilled out like a waterfall, the sentences running over each other in their haste to escape.
The girl glanced at her with pity in her eyes. "You have lost your home? So have many of us to the Riders."
"No, wait. I haven't...where are we? What year is this?"
The girl gasped. "They have taken your memory too." She reached up with one hand and caressed Luna's face, the roughness of her fingertips strangely calming. "It is the fourteenth hundred and ninety-seventh year of our lord. You are in England."
*****
EDIT: [Part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/986ffe/wp_you_wake_up_in_the_1400s_dark_ages_with/e4e4t11/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=api&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts) is below!
|
The jeans, I had assumed, would be the biggest issue. You can’t just walk out into a city with no trousers on, but denim looked like it wouldn’t fit... whenever it was I had landed this time. The walls were stone but uneven and windowless, and the floor was dirt, so I knew I hadn’t pushed it too far, but it was still going to be a slog.
After the success of blood and marrow transplants, among others, we had discovered that time was transferable too. The catch, of course, was that you’d be sent back to before you were born (donating your remaining life would be suicide and severely paradox inducing, so that was quickly ruled out) and you had to make it back to the day you were born. How exactly this worked was beyond me, but I was short on money this month again, and this had seemed far easier than finding another job in time. Unfortunately, it also turns out that the time you give and what you donate aren’t equal, and the 30 year’s I’d donated had put me back in the dark ages.
Avoiding paradoxes was rule one: create a paradox and you end up back in the present day with a null donation. Which also includes creating fortunes for yourself to pick up later apparently, but I guess the donation pays well enough so no love lost. Second, of course, was not to die: apparently that sticks. Most people avoided that by using rule one: a paradox pulls you away from near-death, and you just accept that your money’s gone, but I had decided as soon as I arrived that a near-millennium survival is something that you probably only want to try once.
After a half-hour recalling how to gird my loins with a bedsheet (I knew that tutorial would pay off someday), I had prepared myself. Peaking my head around the door, the clothing was plain, the streets were track and the people spoke in thicker farmers accents than I’d heard since that old Wurzels recording. I suppose there are worse things than being a mute pauper-cum-farmhand for a couple of centuries, at least until I fit in a little more.
| 2018-08-17T17:46:34
| 2018-08-17T17:29:27
| 278
| 46
|
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment.
|
#The Brickabon Tradition
---
The most notorious crime family in Des Moines Iowa was undoubtedly the Brickabons. The patriarch, Yon Brickabon, murdered a rival gang leader in 1972 on live television. He spent the next few decades running Des Moines’ East Village from his prison cell. His sons: Mike, Jag, and Russ, loved him deeply and visited as often as was permitted. Jag and Russ were twins, both three years older than Mike.
Once Jag and Russ turned 18, their visits were restricted to once per month. That wasn’t enough.
Jag Brickabon stood six and half feet tall, very skinny, and completely bald despite his young age. He was chopping porkloin in the family butcher’s shop at six in the morning one Monday when he had an idea. Without speaking a word to anyone, he left the shop.
Still wearing his bloody butcher’s apron and holding his bloody butcher’s knife, he strode calmly down the street and through the gardens across the street from City Hall. He sat beneath a beautiful old oak tree to wait.
City employees filed into the building, holding coffee and newspapers. Jag stared at each of them in turn. Nobody seemed to notice him.
A blue Tesla pulled up to park against the curb. The license plate read “DA MAYOR”. A rotund bowling ball of a man squeezed himself out of the car. He wore a three piece suit, top hat, and monocle. He was yakking into his cell phone.
“No,” he yakked, “I don’t care what happens to Beaverdale, I need my Easter Egg hunt to be the biggest! I’ll use eminent domain to take the eggs if I need to.” He beeped his car fob, and the Tesla moved to park itself in the nearby garage.
Jag stood up slowly. He readied his butcher’s knife.
“What do you mean the supplier ran out of dye?? Tell them to find some, or I’ll triple their taxes!” The round little man began huffing and puffing his way up the steps.
“Mayor Bobbins!” Jag shouted, catching up to him.
“Go away citizen,” Mayor Bobbins said without looking up, “I’m on the phone. You can talk to my secretary.”
“Your money or your life, Mayor Bobbins,” Jag said. He brandished the bloody butcher’s knife under the mayor’s nose.
Mayor Bobbins turned white as a sheet.
“Let me call you back,” he said, hanging up the phone. He withdrew his coinpurse from his jacket pocket and handed it over to Jag.
“This is outrageous, you know,” Mayor Bobbins said. “There’s policemen at the front door. You’re robbing me, YOUR MAYOR, on the very steps to City Hall!”
A police officer exited the building to see what the commotion was. He hurriedly drew his gun and shuffled down the stairs.
“Hands up!” the cop said, “Drop the knife.”
Jag placed the knife carefully on the steps.
“Give me back my coinpurse!” Mayor Bobbins said angrily, punching his fat little fists at Jag’s midriff. Jag tossed the coinpurse onto the roof of City Hall.
“You scoundrel!” Mayor Bobbins said, jumping up and down angrily. “I’ll have you put in maximum security prison for this!”
“Perfect,” Jag said, smiling. The police officer hurriedly handcuffed him and pushed him to his knees.
Within hours, Jag was sitting in his father’s prison cell, telling him the story. Yon Brickabon burst into laughter, slapping his knee.
---
The next day, Russ Brickabon sat on the steps to City Hall, lazily twirling around a pistol.
As before, Mayor Bobbins pulled up in his blue Tesla, yakking on his phone.
“I demand more Peeps!” Mayor Bobbins shouted, “This is absolutely non-negotiable. If you rook me on this, I’ll unleash the power of the City Planning Commission on your sorry behind. There’ll be a sewage treatment plant in your backyard and a medical waste landfill by your office!”
Russ cleared his throat, casually pointing the pistol at Mayor Bobbins.
“Who are you people!?” Mayor Bobbins said to Russ. He tossed Russ his backup coinpurse. Russ threw it on the roof, and set his pistol on the ground.
“You don’t even want the money?” Mayor Bobbins said. “You’re not going to run? You’re just on a mission to mess with me, huh?”
“Cops!” Russ shouted.
“Well I’ll tell you something kid,” Mayor Bobbins said, poking Russ in the chest. “This game is getting old. I work hard for my money, and I’m not tall enough to reach the roof. It’s indecent of you to keep robbing me. Your whole generation is so—”
“Cops!!” Russ shouted, “Please come arrest me.”
An officer came out of city hall and quickly arrested Russ. Within hours, he had joined the Brickabon family prison cell. Yon and Jag greeted him warmly. They began playing a game of cards.
---
Mike Brickabon walked home from his weekly prison visit lost in thought. He was only 15 years old. What crime could he possibly commit that would be so heinous as to get him sent to prison instead of juvy?
---
On Easter Sunday, Mayor Bobbins woke up at five in the morning and pranced about his mansion, making coffee and toast. He was bubbling with excitement for his party. There were going to be more Easter Eggs than anywhere else in the state, a magical boatload of chocolate rabbits, and mountains and mountains of Peeps. The children of Des Moines would look up to him like a golden god. It was everything he had ever dreamt of—the main reason he had gone to law school and run for office.
Mayor Bobbins drove his blue Tesla to the storage shed by City Hall, whistling a happy tune. He hopped out of the car and tiptoed towards the shed, jingling his happy key ring. He was practically giggling.
Something was wrong. The padlock on the shed had a wire coming out of it. He followed the wire to a dumpster around the corner. He stacked carboard boxes on top of each other and climbed atop them to peer down into the dumpster. What he saw made his jaw drop.
There were hundreds of sticks of dynamite, and a quickly ticking timer.
“Oh nooo!” Mayor Bobbins cried, “Easter is ruined!! I’ll never get re-elected. I’ll never be able to show my face in public again. The good Christian folk of Des Moines will despise my name for generations and stick their used gum on my Mayoral Portrait in City Hall—woe is me!”
He rolled on the ground, kicking his feet and pulling out tufts of his own hair.
Mike Brickabon stepped out from behind a tree, smiling grimly.
“Mayor Bobbin,” Mike called.
“You!” Mayor Bobbin said, “Another Brickabon boy? I do NOT have time to get robbed today.” He tossed his alternate backup coinpurse at Mike. “Easter has been ruined! Some villain has rigged the party supplies to explode!”
“Yes,” Mike said, kicking the coinpurse back towards Mayor Bobbin. “That was me.”
Mayor Bobbin looked up at him in shock.
“But… but you’re a teenager! How did you—”
“Don’t underestimate teenagers,” Mike said. “We know a thing or two.”
“W-what do you want?” Mayor Bobbin sputtered.
“Release all inmates from the Des Moines prison,” Mike said, “and I’ll give you back your Easter party.”
“That’s it?” Mayor Bobbins scoffed. “I thought you wanted my KIDNEYS or something. Pffft! Of course! I’ll grant everyone pardons right now.”
Mayor Bobbins made a quick call, and inmates across the city were released into the public immediately.
Mike smiled. He deactivated the bomb. Mayor Bobbins bounced around happily again, dragging Easter party supplies out of the shed and into his Tesla. Sheepishly, Mike helped lend a hand loading up the car.
---
An hour later, Yon Brickabon stood in his butcher’s shop for the first time in twenty-five years. Surrounded by his family, he hefted his butcher’s knife high into the air and brought it crashing down onto the neck of a pig, squirting blood everywhere. It felt good to be home.
---
subscribe! /r/trrh_toons
|
Plenty of criminals sought out Alicia Fox's services. Most of them were kids born into crime families or mafia bosses who couldn't quite nail their nefarious public images. But none of them had ever asked for something like this before.
Alicia sat with her client at a table outside a quaint little French-style bistro. To any passersby, they might have looked like a young couple out on a date, Alicia in disguise as she always was (dark-haired wig, delicately-applied prosthetics to change her nose and chin *just* so), the client sitting across from her in a plaid shirt and ripped jeans. Neither of them looked like a pair of criminals, as they sipped espresso and nibbled at their biscottis.
But Alicia's espresso was going cold. She just stared and stared at the man sitting across from her, his eyes bright blue and urgent.
"You... what?" she said.
Her client, Ernest, held her stare. Unsmiling, unflinching, he said, "I want you to teach me how to get caught."
Alicia stared at her own surprised face in the dark mirror of her coffee. "I can't say anyone has asked me for *that* in particular."
After all, she was a criminal mastermind. Twenty years of the kind of heists that would send her away for a lifetime and she had never been caught.
"You see, it's my family..." Ernest grimaced and shook his head. "We Chebwicks have a long and proud history of notoriety. My brother has been arrested for car jacking at least thrice now. Once he even ended up in the county jail for three years when he took the mayor's yacht for a joyride. You should have seen how proud Mom and Dad were when they cut out the newspaper article to hang up in Dad's cell. He never stops talking about how he wishes I was more like my brother."
"Chebwick," Alicia repeated. She scoffed and didn't bother hiding her derisive smile. "Your father is Marshall Chebwick?"
Ernest brightened. "You've heard of him?"
"He's only the poster child of how *not* to carry out a bank robbery."
"Exactly. Ever since I was a little boy, he told me, *son, one day you'll be in a cell just like mine, and then you'll understand the family tradition*. Even Mom spent a while on house arrest for credit card fraud." He stirred his coffee, glumly. "Got caught printing up signs that said *Martha Chebwick is my real name, come find me you assholes*. Paid with a stolen credit card."
Alicia blinked fast. "Not exactly the kind of legacy to be proud of."
That made Ernest scowl. "You wouldn't understand. All my life, my family has been infamous. Notorious. Our names on everyone's lips. And I'm the nobody. I'm the goody-two-shoes. Every time we have holiday dinners at the penitentiary, they never stop making fun of me." He screwed up his face and deepened his voice, clearly mimicking his father. "'What's the matter, Ernie? Only commit crimes you didn't get caught for?'"
She narrowed her eyes at Ernest. "Have you *tried* to get arrested?"
Ernest sighed, heavily. He dug into the pocket of his plaid shirt and threw a stone relic on the table.
Alicia's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She reached across the table and set her napkin down on top of it. She recognized the dragon carving, instantly. It had gone missing from the Smithsonian only days earlier.
"*You're* the one who broke into the museum?" she said.
"I did! I wore a maintenance uniform and I told the guards I was there rob them blind. You know what they said to me?"
"What?"
"They laughed and waved me right on in!" Ernest slapped his thighs in frustration. "I was trying to get a good story. Good headline for the morning news. But they *wouldn't believe* me. Thought I was the new night janitor."
Alicia couldn't hide her fascination now. She cupped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on the table. "And why would they?"
"Sure beats me. They even let me know when they were going out for their cigarette break, and asked me to make sure I cleaned the rare records room too. Unbelievable."
Now Alicia Fox studied his face. The gears of her mind turned. She was never one to pass up a good opportunity. He was one of those all-American boys: bright-eyed, plain-looking, the kind of face that you could trust instantly.
"What else have you tried?" she said, her lips curling in a smile.
"Oh, everything. You wouldn't believe the things I've stolen. I once told a pilot on an airline, *Hi, can you let me hijack your plane so my dad can be proud of me?*"
"What did he say?"
"He just let me fly the damn thing! Laughed the whole time! He thought I was just kidding." Ernest scowled. "He even realized my knife was rubber. Spent the entire time poking his copilot with it and laughing at me. I almost landed us in the ocean, for God's sake, and he just told me to let me know if I needed a job recommendation."
Alicia nodded. She reached across the table and plucked up the stolen relic, still folded inside the napkin like a leftover bread roll. "I might have a better idea for you, Mr. Chebwick."
Ernest looked up at her, hopefully. "What's that?"
"Your family may have an innate talent for being deceitful and obvious, but I think you're different." She leaned forward and grinned across the table at him. "People *want* to trust you."
It was even working on her. Every innocuous tilt of his head made him more and more likable. Like a golden retriever in human form.
"No one trusts a Chebwick," Ernest muttered back, but a shy smile was tugging at the corner of his lip.
"I do," Alicia said, surprising herself with her honesty. "And I have a proposition for you, Ernie. You come work for me. And you start a new legacy for your family. A new place for the Chebwick name."
Ernest blinked in disbelief. "And what am I supposed to tell my dad?"
"You can tell him to go right to hell if he's not proud of you." Alicia plucked up her espresso and gave it a sip. "But a man with your talents shouldn't be wasting it on being a bad crook."
Ernest rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Are you sure?"
"If I was your mom, who'd I pick? The brother who's been in and out of jail for petty crime, or the one who mailed her a priceless Monet that no one even noticed him lift? Stick with me, and you'll see which brother you turn out to be."
That wormed a real smile out of him. "Fine. But only if you let me get caught at least once."
Alicia matched his grin. "Honey, at this point, I'd love to see you try."
| 2020-04-03T22:05:19
| 2020-04-03T21:43:50
| 182
| 44
|
[WP] You, a Human, have been sentenced to death on an alien planet. The method of execution: gas chamber. However, the compound used in executions, Tetrahydrocannabinol, isn't quite as lethal to humans as your executioners expect.
|
From within the smoky dome could be heard the human prisoner shouting "Dude, start the gas already"
This wasn't the way death sentences normally went, the prisoner was placed into the dome. The smoke ascended, which doubled as a descency filter, and justice could be heard to have been achieved by the screams. The prisoner was supposed to dissolve within a few minutes.
"Can I have another last meal?, I'm hungry", laughter swiftly followed
The dissolved prisoner was supposed to be washed away through the floor grating. No mess, just justice, efficient and clean. No species had ever lasted more than 10 minutes.
The smoke was now so thick that the prisoner could have stood against the dome and still not be seen.
After an hour the shouting had stopped. All that could be heard was the sound of laughter. Laughter, some people just don't know how to die with dignity.
Maybe in another hour there would be silence.
|
From the light of my cell I glimpsed Xect'antenol, the Alien City, its garish glow oozing into an infinitude of stars. *How will I get out of this one?*
My extraterrestrial gaoler seemed unconcerned. With a sinister glare he unlocked my cage and shepherded me into a small room. "You. Die today," he declared furiously.
*Maybe I should plead for forgiveness*, I reflected. Yet my hopes of survival were promptly extinguished when the alien produced a small device from his sack.
"You die today," repeated the gaoler, "by toxic tetrahydrocannabinol." With that, he exited the room and left me chained to the execution wall.
I was never ready to die; there were planets yet to see, foes yet to kill, hearts left to squander. Today would not be the day. And so I waited on the brink of life and death with a deep resolve.
The room soon began to fill up. Tetrahydrocannabinol, the aliens called it, and it was rumored to be the most noxious poison of all.
*But what?* I suddenly felt much better. *Tetrahydrocannabinol is . . . perfume*?
The entire room was suffused with the fragrance of jasmine, rosewater, and African tulip. *Is that cauliflower as well*. The whole execution chamber was by now resplendent with odor.
I let myself drop to the ground. *Play dead*, I thought. My guile never failed to amaze me. *If I pretend I'm dead, they might just let me go.*
Sure enough, the alien gaoler came back in the room. "*Sh'ama ti'xa*," he called. "Bring in next one."
I felt myself falling. *They let me go!* I knew where the trash chute led; it looped back to the main planet system, where my ship was located.
I grinned. I had survived another day. But why did my eyelids feel so heavy . . . ?
| 2020-05-20T08:01:56
| 2020-05-20T06:38:43
| 1,403
| 145
|
[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 E,
I love you. Not the cheesy love I felt in high school, and not the way I love the woman I think I'm going to marry, but you hold a place in my heart that no one else can.
We were destructive. We weren't good for each other. You were emotionally abusive, and I was amazed a pretty girl would give me the time of day. I was putty in your hands, and you took advantage of that to the fullest. I had my faults too, but you put the nail in the coffin.
Then you got kicked out of school. You moved in with another guy and confided in me about your relationship problems. I, a guy who cares too much and tries too hard, was more than willing to stay up until the wee hours listening to you and solving the problems of a relationship I had no part in. We might have been a thunderstorm, but he was a hurricane. You kept seeing him, and kept coming to me for advice. I conceded.
Then the accident happened.
You were going too fast. You hit a puddle. You couldn't keep from swerving into the other lane. You survived, but not without some brain damage.
I remember speeding to the hospital and seeing him. The man who was the vehicle to this lifestyle that put you here.
The man whose smile was as crooked as your front bumper when I saw your car in the junkyard. It was the first time I recall feeling genuine hate. The first time I wanted someone to die. To change places with you.
The next few months you'll never remember. You were in a coma. You were in rehab. You couldn't speak. You couldn't eat. I was there every other day, spending hours with you, watching movies with the husk of a person I once knew.
But you improved. Your brain damage wasn't as bad as they thought, but it changed you. You became frustrated. You would lash out at me due to your brain's lack of ability to filter. You'd hit me. I remained there. I taught you to count again. I taught you colors. I taught you the parts of your face. I fed you your first solid meal.
Then college came. Then I realized that things would never be the same. That as much as I cared for you, I had to move on, and so did you. You were recovered to the best that you would be, and you were moving out on your own.
You have a baby now. You have a boyfriend. I have a woman by my side who I love dearly. There's no trace of romantic feelings whatsoever, but I'll always remember our time together. I'll always care for you deeply. You'll always be the one who taught me what caring for people really means.
You'll never remember what I did. You'll never remember learning colors or numbers or eating your first meal from a spoon I was holding.
I think I like it better that way.
We were a thunderstorm, but the skies are clear now.
|
Dear you,
I've always meant to write this letter to you, but I was never able to really put it all together. We've gone through a lot together, to say the least.
I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. For your generosity, for your openness, your pride, your confidence. I truly admire you as a person.
In this world, there are many different types of people. I always believed in a world of people who truly want the best for others. Before I learned that I was a little naive, I believed in a world that lived together. As humans placed here on this planet together, with the best, the shining examples of our race claiming brotherhood and kindness for all, how could one not believe them?
This isn't the truth. Quite the opposite in fact.
People are hateful and selfish. They will lie and cheat and steal just to better their own situation. The entire world is drowning in themselves, and the worst will climb to the top by pushing your head under the water to keep themselves above the surface. It's easy to succumb to those who are only here to ruin you. You know that better than most.
You know, but you never embraced that thought.
Of all the adversity you faced from the first day of your life, you could have blamed your troubles on the unfairness of the world. You could have closed yourself off from the world and never taken responsibility for the life you were given, but you didn't.
As much as you struggled, as much as you had to fight, giving up was never an option to you. You've always known inherently that the problem wasn't with you, it was with the world. It was the defining characteristic of your personality. You looked at everyone that ever doubted who you were and knew in your heart that they were wrong. While everyone was busy tearing each other down, you built yourself. You built the person that everyone is envious of.
You have always known that you love yourself. It's the source of the world's envy.
It's why I love you.
Some souls are chosen from birth to face the awful side of the world because they are stronger than others.
I just want to thank you for creating something beautiful with the adversity that nature posed against you. For creating you.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you.
I should've stood beside you. I should've taken a stand. I should have done so many things for you that I was never capable.
But when I found myself,
When I realized who you were,
When I was finally able to stand with you against the opposition,
When I believed in us,
You never even considered if I was worthy.
I am a vengeful person. I remember every one of the persons in my life that ever mistreated me, but when I came to your door looking for what you had all along, you had forgotten I ever wronged you. That's why you're the greater person than I. I thought you would remember the worst of me, the part of myself I can't leave behind. But you didn't.
On the contrary you opened yourself to me. You're so closely guarded... you have a right to be too, but you let me in. From the first day you let me in. The side of you that so few see, you let me in so easily. You saw more in me. More than I believe I deserved. It's why we are what we are to each other.
From my experience with the world, people are hateful and selfish... but a person? A person is kind. A person is generous. A person is forgiving.
That's who you are.
From my experience with the world, there is a reason there are so few great people. From the hate we experience, the anger, the worthlessness others feel that is thrown onto us, only the few great rise above it all.
Only few recognize the truth in the world. I recognized you. You recognized me.
Thank you, again.
Sincerely, me
| 2015-12-05T16:37:50
| 2015-12-05T15:18:49
| 94
| 18
|
[WP] You are a Rule 34 Enforcement Officer. Your agency's sworn duty: If it exists, there's porn of it. No exceptions.
|
"What do you mean it's not there?" Asked Agent N, leaning down to shoulder level, staring out from behind cold, expressionless sunglasses.
Agent L shook her head, exasperated, the glare of the data onscreen did not lie.
"There's nothing there! No cartoons, no bad cosplays, there isn't even a discussion board or a fanfic that matches the search criteria. This is straight from the NSA databanks."
Agent N stared at the screen, deeply concerned.
"You must be mistaken. The 34th rule... is absolute." Said Agent N, lighting a cigarette. "If life has taught me anything, it's that every conceivable aspect and facet of reality can be rendered into cheap exploitative pornography. Maybe we just don't know where to look."
"I must insist, we've been working in this room for hours and have searched the web's gutters from bottom to top... To date, there is no pornography based on the existence of the Department of Rule 34 or its agents."
"No. You're wrong. It's out there."
The industrial fanblade above them lulled in circles, barely ventilating the room. "Whew," said Agent L, plucking open the first button of her blouse. "It's so damn hot in here."
|
I awoke as a I normally did, 610 hundred hours on a dreary Tuesday. Pulling myself from my warm bed and happy thoughts I started the routine of getting myself ready for the day.
Honestly I'm no longer aware of the first part of my day. After I kick the covers off and stand up I don't remember anything other than the first swallow of bad coffee. Brushing my teeth, showering, getting dressed....all of those things you do day-to-day I no longer notice. Half the time I don't even remember the commute to the office. We all do what we have to do to wipe whatever we can from our memories to keep living. I'm Agent number 562990 of Office 34. Famously we are known of the keepers of "Rule 34". "Rule 34" of the internet, if you are new here, is that if something exists then there MUST be a porn of it.
It may sound glamous, nothing but Jessica Rabbit and January Jones mock ups for your masterbation pleasures, but unfortunately it's nothing like that. You see, someone will eventually make a porn of those things. That's not what we police. We do the things that belong in /r/spacedicks and /r/WTF. Things that people only want to see on a dare. 2 Girls One Cup? Yea, that was us. [Agony in Pink](http://www.asstr.org/files/Collections/Old_Joe%27s_Collection/Serials/Agony%20in%20Pink%20-%20Special%20Edition.txt)? That earned Agent 5534 their retirement. The worse part is that we don't even know who other agents are. We simply make sure "Rule 34" is upheld and then stew in our own insanity of the things we created.
You might ask why we do these things. Apparently some eggheads that works at one of those 3 letter agencies crunched the numbers and figured out that our "reality" is indeed a computer sim of some other higher being. When we created the internet, we had to follow the preprogramed rules that they set forth. Otherwise it would be tantamount to figuring out how to divide by zero or some shit. What do I know though? I'm just a grunt cashing a paycheck at the end of the week.
I blink and I'm swiping my key card and walking through the building. Mirrored glass is everywhere. It's important that we don't make contact with one another or know who works with us. Just a safety measure to help us keep our sanity by compartmentalizing the insanity that is put out there. I find my room, thumbprint my way into, and sit at my terminal. Taking a deep breath I turn on the computer and try to mentally prepare myself for the day. I don't know if I'm going to create a story, image, or gif. I just know I have to create a porn using nothing but the words that pop on the screen after I log in. The screen comes on and the words are displayed...
"VORE PORN FEATURING TESS MUNSTER AND THE 'GOT IIIMMMMM' GUY"
| 2015-06-15T00:43:14
| 2015-06-14T20:17:27
| 56
| 13
|
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads.
|
It's been ten years, and everything has gone my way. I graduated university with top marks, work at my dream job, and will soon be married to the best girl ever. All because of a little green line.
You see, following the green line keeps me safe. I never do the irrational or dangerous activities, so I never experience negative consequences. Life is good.
But borrrring. I want to have adventure! Not just sit around all day, getting fat and happy.
So as I leave work on that Friday night, I stop focusing on the green line. The red comes into view.
Green tells me to turn right as I drive out of the parking garage. That'll take me home, where I'll wait for an hour for Jennifer to arrive- she always works late Fridays.
Red tells me to turn left, so I do. After a couple blocks of office buildings, the line makes a turn on the freeway, but North instead of South.
Rather than take me to my condo in downtown, it takes me to... where? I pass multiple bars, stripclubs, and auto parts stores with no sign of the line even moving. Finally, I'm directed to veer off the freeway, to arrive at the most adventuresome and risky... Home Depot.
My confusion is heightened when I'm apparently told to buy a five gallon drum of gasoline and a match box.
"Need to start a fire?" The cashier jokingly asks.
"Matches are for a fire, but the gasoline is for my cousins electric generator at his cabin." Idiot, he won't believe that. But he's not saying anything more, and now Red is telling me to drive further from the interstate, and into the Suburbian Jungle.
Several streets and a couple turns later sees me pulling up in front of a ranch-style home that the years since the 80's haven't been kind to. I barely have time to look before Red slips under the side gate.
Green curves in my vision, twisting and pulling, before spelling out, "TURN AROUND." Green has nice cursive.
My hands find the latch, I step through, into the yard. Red leads up to a window, and I peer through.
Green vanishes completely, evidently collapsing into a catatonic state. Red marches me back to the car, where I pick up the gasoline, applying liberal amounts to the front of the house. One match later, and the structure burns.
I'd like to see the look on Jennifer's face as she notices me standing outside, but Red is telling me to drive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's been three years, and with multiple felonies under my belt, it's safe to say I know what Red does.
Green gives me a safe, comfortable life, but one where I am never in danger, threat, or peril of any kind.
Red puts me into the worst possible situation, then relies on me to clean it up. I've had to bounce back and forth between the two, as depending solely on Red gets me captured and in prison.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to follow Red.
|
I was finally there, at the top of the world. Around me I could see all of my journey highlighted in green, culminating in this moment. After soaking it all in and feeling quite pleased with myself for awhile, boredom slowly crept in.
I started glancing at the red line and wondering its destination. I resolved to follow it to the end as the green line had helped me so much. Standing and taking the first few steps reminded me of being twelve and first choosing the green line. The sense of wonder returned as I walked down the path. While daydreaming of my first encounter with the green line the red line led me off the path. My last conscious thoughts were a spinning whirl as boulders and sky repeatedly switched positions.
You hear a booming voice reading "You have died. To choose the other path turn to page 92."
| 2017-08-23T07:27:41
| 2017-08-23T06:39:05
| 38
| 15
|
[WP] It's midnight on a weekend, and you're doing laundry at your apartment's laundromat. You hear the door swing open but pay it no mind until the fellow enters your peripherals and you see a very inhuman form. He is a werewolf, but is groggily just doing laundry. He hasn't realized he's changed.
|
It happened the second night at my new apartment. I was in the laundry room, loading my washed clothes into the dryer, when I heard the strange yelp from behind me. I gave it no mind, since the faint childhood memory of my first and only dog told me it was just a big ol' doggy yawn. I made a mental note to check my lease regarding its pet policy as I finished loading the last armful into the dryer, then turned around to see who the good boy was.
It wasn't no good boy.
It was, well, a gosh dang werewolf is the only real way to describe it. It walked upright, its clothes were split open from the body's sheer bulk, with fur apparently coating its entire body from what I could tell of all the exposed area, and the big freakin' wolf head where you'd expect a regular person's head moved in such a way that you could never mistake it for a mask, especially watching it yawn again. It was tiredly poking at the little vending machine that distributed cheap packets of laundry soap, clothes basket tucked under one burly, fur-covered arm.
"Uh, hey," I said, giving a little wave. Perhaps not the smartest move to draw its attention, but it didn't seem to be in any feral, man-eating state, and on the off chance this was some elaborate hidden camera hoax, I didn't want to flail around like a jackass and get laughed at on national TV.
"Yo," the thing grumbled, giving a little nod of acknowledgement.
"I don't mean to pry," I said. "But you've got, uh..." I gestured toward him. "A...thing going on?"
The werewolf looked down at his torn clothing and general werewolfishness. "Aw, damnit!" it swore. "Third time this year I lose track of the full moon! What IS it with this damned year?"
"I heard that," I commiserated. "But, like...this is real, right? And you don't go all...grr?"
The werewolf sighed. "Yes, this is real, and no, we don't go all 'grr'." You've never lived until you've seen a werewolf do sarcastic air quotes at you. "Just because a bad apple here or there uses their condition to go all serial killer on people, everyone thinks we're all like that," he ranted, shaking his head in disgust. After a moment, he looked up at me with a low level of alarm. "You won't tell anybody about this, will you?"
"No, no!" I said, holding my hands up. "Wouldn't dream of it. Not really any of my business anyway."
His shoulders sagged in relief. "Good. Last time somebody tried to blow my cover, I just told everybody that I was a furry, and that he originally met me at a yiff party." That brought out a great guffaw of laughter from me. "I even have a tacky wolf suit in my closet if I have to prove it, too," he confided, drawing out even more cackles from me.
Once I recovered, I held out my hand. "Brett, 2A."
He shook it. "Steve, 3C."
|
It was a sight that made you do a double-take. At first, I assumed the man was wearing an early Halloween costume or in a more drastic sense was an off duty serial killer. Neither appeared to be the case, his panting breaths generating a small cloud of fogged air as it collided with the air-conditioned room. That man was a werewolf, there was no doubt about it. A real life werewolf had entered my apartment’s laundromat. I did not know who to call for such an occurrence. Was this a job for the police? A priest? Maybe a hunter with a silver bullet? Each seemed like an equally viable choice.
I tried not to make eye contact with the man, only giving him an odd side glance every few minutes, making sure he wasn’t about to take a bite out of me. He seemed groggy, smacking his head against a few of the cupboards as he tried to find the detergent. Was the werewolf drunk? Could werewolves get drunk? I wasn’t entirely sure if that was even a possibility.
I spent the next few minutes in awkward silence. I was trying to hurry my load of washing but the machine seemed to care little about my fears, taking its time swirling the clothing. The werewolf seemed to do something similar, dropping his dirty clothes into the machine. That’s when we both made eye contact. His sharp eyes meeting mine, a snarl appearing on his muzzle.
I quickly turned away, acting as though I hadn’t been staring at the man. That didn’t slow his steps though, approaching me slowly as I banged against the roof of the machine trying to hurry it along. The machine only responding with a small whizzing noise as it rocked back and forth, mocking me with each rock forward.
I soon felt his warm breath on my neck. The werewolf was standing right behind me. I was certain he was ready to kill me. Closing my eyes, I embraced death only to feel my shoulder get nudged.
“Hey man, got a dollar to spare for the machine?”
I glanced back at him, digging my hand into my pocket as if I was checking it for gold, shoving a few sets of coins into his hand. He eyed the money over before giving me a thankful nod, heading off to finish up his laundry. As soon as he went back to his side of the room, I heard the machine ding. Quickly I gathered all of my clothing and fled from the room, not about to wait for him to sober up and notice his transformed state.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2020-09-29T05:58:11
| 2020-09-29T05:25:11
| 3,353
| 377
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
|
"A runner arrives with your orders. Would you like to read them out?"
"Sure." Katie unfolded the paper that Danny, the DM, just passed her. "It says that the Ruskis are carrying the guns away, and want us to stop them."
"So we charge those guns? That sounds ... dangerous."
"There's, like five-hundred guns. What are the rules on volley firing like that?"
"I'll look them up."
"It's got to work. Danny wouldn't TPK us, would he?"
"I will if you keep metagaming."
"Fair. Okay... well, we charge the guns, cut them down as they retreat, and take them. Yeah?"
"Katie, are you sure this is a good idea? I've only just rolled this character up. Couldn't we refuse?"
"Orders are orders. It's not for us to reason why."
"No, just for us to do or die."
"HEY! That rhymes!"
"Well done, Alf. Write a poem about our heroics later."
"Who brings a bard to a battle anyway?"
"We do: sound the trumpet to face East."
"Wait," interjected the Danny, "East?"
"Yeah, that's where the guns are right? So East."
"Guys..."
"On my mark, we charge."
"Are you sure about this guys?"
"Get 'em."
There was a horrible terrible silence.
And then Danny said, "can you pass me the rules on volley firing?"
"Sure."
"Oh ... it does not look good for you guys."
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T07:34:04
| 210
| 104
|
[WP] It's 2050. The Queen is still alive. People are starting to be suspicious.
|
No one questioned it when the national anthem became a mandatory part of the school day for children across the UK in 2020. It seemed like a positive act from parliament, designed to strengthen the bonds between the various cultures who call this island their home.
Five years later this act was extended, to enforce a national anthem break as part of the working day. When rushed through this amendment was initially met with skepticism, however the act did ensure that everyone would receive an extra 20 minute paid break each day. It seemed like a joke to most, 'an easy way to start the day' was the general consensus.
Twenty years later and we have an entire generation who are used to the daily routine, they don't know any different. They've been singing it once a day since their first day at school, this is the norm for them. There are many still alive for whom this hasn't always been the norm, infact they only used to take part for 'the memes'. To get the extra 20 minute paid break, pretend to sing along to the country wide broadcast. After all the anthem didn't last longer than 5 minutes, plenty of time to get outside for some deserved vapourised nicotine whilst also being renumerated.
Five years later and It's those who remebered the way it used to be, the fact that this was never meant to be more than a joke to them. They became suspicious, it didn't help that the queens health was appearing to improve compared to their own, despite her being over 60 years their senior now. So they stopped, refused to sing those words anymore, that's when the mandatory flu shot for those aged 50 or over was introduced.
|
"They're starting to figure out... We've been alive too long"
"Nonsense" The Queen spoke. "This is going just the way I wanted it to"
"Listen, we've both lived our grand lives. It's about time we went and lived one more humble. We could hide away in the mountains, or maybe in a small village in Asia. "
"Let's not get careless now. The world is within my grasp. While you've been out accruing 'popularity' for pretending to be some old harlet, I've been slowly manipulating the powers of each of the nations"
"That's not fair! I was once a kind old woman from the Midwest "
"Only because there was another old woman to take your place. "
"This is irrelevant! I demand that we go into hiding."
"After 120 years, I really expected more of you. Such a shame poor Betty was cut down in her prime."
| 2022-10-29T10:31:46
| 2018-07-08T21:36:18
| 49
| 18
|
[WP] Write a G-Rated retelling of an R-Rated movie.
|
Not *too* long ago in the town of L.A.,
both Vincent and Jules had a heck of a day.
Marcellus, their boss, sent them both on a quest:
recover the briefcast he wanted the best.
Now Vincent, he gave all the villains a fright
while Jules washed his burger right down with a Sprite.
He quoted his verse and he brandished a sword,
and vanquished them all in the name of the Lord.
Since Vincent returned from a Who-town out east,
he found himself hungry for a happier feast.
He purchased some Who-snow from Snow-seller Lance
and headed to Marcellus Wallace's manse.
Now Mia, the wife of Marcellus, was cute,
she was saucy and funny and sweet as a fruit.
But just as old Vincent decided to go,
he found that poor Mia had stolen his snow.
He took her to Snow-seller Lance in a rush.
He drove through the sidewalk, he drove through the brush!
And Snow-seller Lance was a Who who was smart:
they cured her with medicine straight to the heart!
But don't forget Butch, the boxer in town,
a man with ambitions to fight for the crown.
But then old Marcellus with Who-cash in hand
said Butch shouldn't win, and not fight, even stand!
Well Butch said "harumph! I have dignity, see!"
So rather than lose, he decided to flee.
When who should he see on the path to escape?
Marcellus the boss with his mouth all agape!
But though they did fight, they met meaner Whos still:
some Whos from a nasty old place on the hill.
They captured Marcellus and put him to his knees,
and made him eat Who-beets and stinky Who-cheese!
But lucky for him, old Butch was a friend:
he soon put the whole nasty thing to an end.
Marcellus? He huffed and he paced like a weevil,
and promised the Whos that he'd soon get Medieval!
Now back to our friends, good old Vincent and Jules,
those fellows who never mind breaking the rules.
Their morning was tough, and truly bizarre:
they spent it with Wolf and they cleaned up a car!
At breakfast old Jules decided to leave
his life as a Who-man and a Who-Who-Would-Thieve.
Before they could finish their eggs and head out,
some Who-ligans, thieving themselves, came about!
But Jules, he was cool. He was calm and was zen;
He quoted a fictional verse once again.
The Who-ligans left then, with nary a shout;
and Jules, once a wolf, did shepherd them out.
|
A boy lost his father a long time a go,
the man was a hero, and he didn't know
When he grew of age, a promise was kept
and he set on a path he wouldn't forget
meanwhile, a mad genius started to misbehave
he couldn't the climate, so perhaps the world, he could save
So he made up a plot, and made presidents slave
though his way was misguided and his error quite grave
to stop the mad genius, the knights were at lost
and the boy passed their training, knowing full well the cost
yet his final test, he found, he just could not pass
to lose a friend that he had gotten one class
His mentor was lost, the same as his dad
and young eggsy was lost and more than just mad
he went to see arthur, the head of the knights
he outwitted arthur, and reclaimed the rights
and so he did fly, to take on the villain
while up in the sky, a true knight was just chillin'
While Eggsy did fight, so too did the knight
but hers was a different battle
she soared up to heights too great to be climbed
to take out the genius's satell....ite
so his device would not be primed
She succeeded, horray! but did not save the day
for the villain had another satellite waiting at bay
but Eggsy was there, to foil his plot
to save the day, the world
and a woman, quite hot
(Kingsmen)
| 2015-09-08T19:54:12
| 2015-09-08T16:20:48
| 39
| 12
|
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil many years ago. Today he gives it back to you and says, "I need a favor"
|
"Hey there, we just closed up for the night," Tom said to the tall man. The bookstore had been empty for the last 2 hours, so it was a bit of a shock to hear the bell ring over the front door as the man entered.
'Well, haven't counted the register yet, so I guess if this is a quick sale...' Tom thought. "If there is something specific you are looking for-"
"Oh, yes, Tom. Something specific indeed..."
Tom's heart froze mid-beat. That voice... Deep as an ocean, and just as mysterious. Almost like you were hearing its echo just behind it. In a flash, Tom's mind was transported back, 40 years... When he made a deal. He had sold his living soul to this man. The Devil. The same white suit. Black button-down shirt, open at the collar. A blood red pocket square. And the face...
"I see you recognize me after all this time... Good." The man entered the shop fully, closing the door behind him. He turned the sign on the door to 'Closed' with one hand, and locked the deadbolt with a quick flick of the other.
Tom tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat. "Wh-wh-what are you doing here? I-I thought... our business... was concluded..."
"Mhm. Our previous arrangement is complete, that's true. But I have another ... offer ... that I think you'd be interested in. Is there somewhere we could talk?"
"R-reading nook, in the back... This way..."
Tom led the Devil passed the bookshelves of the shop. They were lined with classics of all sorts, as well as newer paperbacks. The store was no great money maker; that wasn't Tom's issue. Being soulless had its own set of quirks. Living things tended to fade quicker when Tom was nearby. Plants would wither. Pets would become sick. And people...
The store became Tom's refuge. Low traffic. Brief visits. Surrounded by knowledge. Something that wouldn't fade or die.
The nook was rarely used by anyone but Tom himself. His coffee mug was still sitting on the table, abandoned since the early morning. Tom directed the Devil to one of the chairs.
"Can I get you anything?" Tom asked meekly.
"No, I'm quite alright. Now, to business. Sit, please."
Tom did as he was instructed. "What... business are you referring to?"
"As I mentioned, I have an offer for you. As you remember, I deal in the... immaterial. Our last agreement was the health and safety of your family, in exchange for your soul."
Tom could hardly forget. He had married young, and his wife had borne him twins. But both children were often ill. No doctor could find the cause of their illness. Falling deeper and deeper into debt, Tom prayed. And prayed. And prayed. Until one day... he wondered if there were any... other options.
The Devil had arrived the next day, promising the health of his children, and the cancelation of all his debts. In exchange... only his soul. Such an insignificant thing. How could it compare to the life of his children? And so, Tom agreed. A drop of blood on a piece of parchment... a soft laugh in his ears as the Devil left... and a gnawing doubt in his heart.
True to the Devil's word, his children recovered. The money spent on treatments returned in full. A happy family!...
Of course not. Tom's soullessness manifest in other ways. Quick temper. Doubts about other's intentions. Eventually, his wife fled, taking the children he had sacrificed so much for...
All of these memories came back to him... and all of the rage along with it. His meekness now replaced with almost unbridled fury: "Why... Why on Earth do you think I would EVER want to deal with you again!"
The Devil was unfazed; "I think you'll find the terms agreeable to you. You see... well... I cheated."
"... what?"
"The unexplainable sickness? The unsolvable medical mystery? All my doing. I basically put you in an untenable situation. And basically used it as leverage to steal your soul."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?! An admission of guilt 40 years too late?!"
"No, of course not. This, however ... may make up for it."
The Devil reached into his suit, and produced a piece of parchment. He unfolded it, and presented it to Tom. "Your soul, Tom. I would like to trade it back to you."
Tom took the piece of parchment with a shaky hand. This same document that had doomed him so long ago... "What... what do you want in return? My money? The store? My life!?"
"Your time."
"I... don't understand..."
The Devil leaned forward. He inhaled, and let out a sigh... A sound of resignation. "All this time, I've had it wrong. The human soul... It's not the real prize. Tricking humans to give up something most would never miss... It's pointless. But the soul is what connects your kind together. That is where the real power is. The combined will of humanity. That's what I want."
The Devil straightened himself up; "So, here is my offer. You give me your last 40 years. Your past. I'll bottle it, preserve it, tuck it away... It will be removed from your ... personal timeline, if you will. In return, you will go back to your life before our original deal, soul intact. Your children will be healthy. You won't remember anything about this arrangement. A full reset. Deal?"
Tom was stunned. He thought for a moment, collected himself, and extended his hand. "... Of course."
The Devil grinned and shook Tom's hand. "Thank you, Tom. Sleep well tonight; all will be different in the morning."
The Devil turned to leave. Tom asked "Why, though?"
The Devil paused for a moment, and smiled over his shoulder. "Sometimes, even devils wish for a do-over."
|
A great plume of smoke swirled in the living room, obscuring the view of my TV. I groaned and waved a hand, "Do that somewhere else man, I'm in a top three situation here."
The plume of smoke shifted slightly to the side, and allowing me to refocus on my Fall Guys game as the smoke drew inward and began to form a body. After a few moments, the flaming demon emerged from the smoke cocoon, the tips of his horns almost reaching the ceiling above. He flopped down on the couch beside me.
"Man, don't burn it. This is my favorite couch."
He waved a clawed hand, "Don't worry about it, mortal."
My eyes were still on the Fall Guys game. It was down to me and one other idiot dressed up like a pirate or something. There was no way I was losing to someone who wore the pirate outfit. My heart beat rapidly in my chest, but I still managed a quick glance to my side, "Yeah, well, I am worried about it. Shit is leather man."
It was actually faux leather, but it looked pretty similar to leather. Close enough that I didn't want anything to happen to it.
I hopped through a few hoops and vanquished my foe, gaining the top spot in that particular heat. I pumped a fist a few times and then tossed the controller onto the coffee table and nodded to the Devil. He looked more glum than usual. "What's shakin' bacon? Torturing soul biz got you down?"
"I need a favor."
I arched an eyebrow, "You serious? Can't you get one of your minions to do it or something?" I leaned forward, "And that's not really a part of our deal, dude." I had traded my soul to him a few years back in exchange for everyone leaving me the fuck alone. So far, it had worked out great. No robocalls on my cell phone. No student debt BS. No landlord showing up. Dating life was a big fat zero, but that wasn't anything new.
The Devil exhaled, sparks emitting from the back of his throat. "I am prepared to return you soul in recompense."
"Not interested." I leaned over and picked up my mountain dew and began to give it a chug. It was flat from sitting out for the last few hours. After a long gulp, I smacked my lips and then continued. "Shit has been great. Not really looking to change things up."
There was a pause. "You do realize your soul will be tortured for all eternity, yes?"
"Sounds like when I was living back home. I can deal. Long as I get to do my thing for now, it'll work out easy-peazy."
"The souls scream with the horrors of pain unimaginable."
"That's gonna suck for dead me. Tragic stuff. Anyways, I'm sort of on a streak here, was there anything else?"
A silence stretched out, and I glanced at him, "Dude, it's weird when you just sit there. This is the very definition of being in my space."
"I want out."
"Out?"
"Of Hell."
"You're out now man. Just stay out and do your thing."
He shook his head, "It does not work that way. I must have a place to hide. A refuge. That can only happen in the proximity of a soul-less."
I could see where this was going. "Yeah, listen, the second room is where I keep my Lego collection. Sort of occupied."
Another long exhale.
"Why do you even want to leave anyway? I thought you were all Lord of the Underworld and shit. That seems pretty cool if you're an extrovert."
The Devil kicked his feet up on the coffee table, a tendril of smoke arose from the Ikea apparatus that had taken me eight hours to assemble. "Early on, it felt meaningful. Me versus God. Fight for the soul of mankind, all of that." He waved a claw in the air, "But it's all a rut now. Humanity is largely damned across the board at this point, so there's no real fight left. It's just processing paperwork and torture mostly."
I nodded, feeling a bit of empathy there. "Yeah man, screw the grind. Just day-in, day-out BS. Exactly how it was when I was working at Taco Bell."
"Hell is very similar to Taco Bell."
"Makes sense." It did, when you thought about it. Place was always too hot, the food was poison and you spent half the day having your insides torn up after. "Listen, I'm not great company. Get me? I'm not good with people. That's sort of my lane and I've learned to embrace it. If you can be chill and not get in my shit, I can let you crash for a few days, but that's it."
He sighed. "A few days would be Heaven."
"I thought you didn't like it there."
A deep rumbling laugh spilled out. "No, they're all a bunch of dicks. How about it'd be like going to In and Out and there being no one in the drive through."
I cracked my own smile, offering him a fist bump. "My man."
He bumped it slightly, singeing off my knuckle hair. I shook my hand a few times and then nodded toward the screen. "You want next?"
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2021-01-22T22:07:58
| 2021-01-22T21:32:47
| 236
| 100
|
[WP] The submarine had run out of power and was now dead underwater. Slowly, you watched your crew mates die of starvation but for some reason you didn’t die, you survived months and years on end in a dead submarine. Fast forward 75 years and your submarine is found.
|
The depth charge hit our ballast tanks. We leaned hard to starboard, and then just sat there. Captain Wolford ordered a status report, and gradually, our heads racked with pain, we pieced together our crooked world.
We hung dead in the water at 150 meters. The starboard tanks were flooded, but the port tanks hung on. Engines were dead. Radio was conceivably working, but only if we surfaced. Three lights worked in the main control room.
In the darkness I reported to the captain.
“How bad are we?”
“Well, sir, it’s rough, but there is good news. Would you like me to start with that?”
He fumbled around in the dark, looking for a light I imagine, and grumbled “yes.”
“We have but few casualties. Our port ballast tanks are holding. We’re not sinking and no major *interior* leaks are reported on any decks. Our radio appears functional, if we can surface to use it, and the destroyer has been quiet. Possibly left us for dead.”
“I can imagine why...” he grumbled. He found his light.
“As for the damage, we-“ he flicked his light on and pointed it as me.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, number one! Are you okay!?”
“My head hurts, but I think I-“ i reached upward to the place he was looking. I began to actually feel the sting when he grabbed my hand.
“Don’t touch it! I’ll get the doc. Ensign! Get the doctor up here, yesterday!”
“Aye, sir!”
“Am I bad sir? Am I-“
“I’m not sure. It might not be as bad as it looks. Have a seat.”
I leaned back, resting on a console sitting at about a 45 degrees. I did feel dizzy. My senses waned and a throbbing pain set in.
The doctor was not much help. Him and the captain murmured a little to each other, covered it in a bandage, and gave me morphine for when I was ready to sleep. But I was not ready to sleep, there was work to be done.
First we had to track and pack the small leaks. They’d ruin any electronics and make it miserable to work in. Plus, the Atlantic waters were bone-chilling cold.
We worked on the engines as best we could for two days, we might be able to get the water out of the right side and push us up.
But it was no good.
We contemplated a new method of pumping out the water. But the manual pumps could not keep up with the massive leaks in the hull. It was a futile mission that left one sailor with a broken arm.
But worse for me was my crew stopped speaking to me. In my mind I was the same man they joked with at the start of the mission, but now they couldn’t look me in the eye. My one good eye that is. I lost vision in my right eye after about 36 hours. They tried to help me, I think. Wouldnt let me see a mirror, made sure I slept and had water. But by the third day I stopped taking food and water from the men, because we all knew I was a gonner. We just knew it.
But in the end the engine could not be repaired, the ballast tank could not be raised, and we were still sitting buoyant at 150m below the surface.
After refusing breakfast on the fourth day, I asked the staff if simply trying to swim to the surface was an option. Maybe we could inflate the life rafts upside down and ride the bubble to the surface. If 1/3 of us made it, that was better than 0/3.
“The pressure alone would kill us. We wouldn’t get out of the boat to begin with.” Said the doctor, with an odd glance at me.
“We may be out of options.”
“Headquarters knows our last position, and its possible we havent moved far. Help could be coming.”
“Help’s not coming! Sir, the Atlantic is a maze of torpedoes and lost ships. We’re one of hundreds lost to the sea! They will never find us.”
“Hush! The crew will hear you.”
“They should hear me. What are our other options!?”
“It is a false hope. Opening the hatch at our pressures... we will die. All of us.”
Almost all of us. One by one we lost crew members. The injured first. Then those with illnesses. Then we started to starve. The air lasted longer than we thought. We put the dead in the torpedo bay. 6 people attempted to escape through the hatch at the bow. We didn’t stop them. If they got out, maybe they could get help. But we all knew none survived to the surface.
The rest of us waited. Knowing out last step was death. We wrote letters. We drew pictures. We sang our favorite songs with our final breaths. Until at last there were three of us.
“Commander...” started a younger sailor, “we thought you’d be first. But now, it’s you, me, and the captain.”
A gunshot echoed from the captain’s quarters.
“I guess it’s you and me.”
“How? I havent eaten in a week. I haven’t drank in three. By rights, I should be in the flooded torpedo bay.”
“That’s what we thought. But I guess you’re here. And here you’ll be. If you... if you survive. Will you deliver... our letters?” Breathing was hard now. The air had little oxygen. Our spares were all used up.
“Of course. But will you do one thing for me? Will you hold up a mirror? And a flashlight?”
“Sir... you don’t want... to see it. It’s better left... a mystery.”
Those were his last words. I thought about shooting myself with the captain’s gun. But drifting to sleep with the young sailor sounded better. I decided to let it come naturally.
But sleep didn’t come. Not even twice the morphine would end it. But Something did change.
I ended. I think. Like a sleep paralysis dream, awake in the dark, but uncertain what was real. Time passed strangely. I became one with my chair, gradually losing all sensation. I heard voices in the dark, but after a time I could not even turn my head to look. I was not sure if I could still see. There were no more lights.
I was terrified for so long, and then at some point I was comfortable.
Until all at once, the belly of the boat began to growl. *She’s finally sinking,* I thought. But the opposite. The walls began popping. The creaks and groans became louder and louder. Once more- light.
The top hatch opened. Footsteps came down from above. I no longer remembered much of the time before. Who my enemy had been. But these figured matched nothing I’d ever recollected. They were clothed in white. Their eyes seemed to be light. But their voices, at least, were human.
“There you are. See? Right where I told you.”
“But what is, doctor? That’s not a person that’s a-“
“Don’t be rude, Cathy. The man hasnt exactly been able to take care of his appearance in some time. But he’s still in there.”
*”Who... are you people?”*
“Holy sh— Doctor White it- it just spoke.”
“Of course he did. Commander, I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. You see I was only told about you a few years ago. And we still had to find you. We’ll get you out of there. As for me? Well as Cathy so kindly mentioned I’m Doctor White. I work for a Foundation that... collects things of a certain nature. Keeps them safe. Studies them. You, evidently, are not just a thing of a certain nature yourself, you’re something we need.”
*”Something you... Need?”*
“Yes, my dear commander. Your side may have lost the war, but your service hasnt ended. Welcome to the Foundation. And mind your head, please. We need the rest of it.”
|
"I-I dunno, maybe I'm really just hallucinating", I stuttered and took a step back from the perfectly round windows of the submarine that just started letting light trough them after what must have been half of an eternity.
"Nah bro, I think it's real", muttered Spots and took his turn on pressing his slightly wet nose against the thick glass. To be clear, I don't know if this is Spots real name, but after some years realizing I was arguing with a cat that resembled Garfield in way to many points, I just gave up on believing I could find some actual real company down here after Nicolas and the Captain were the last I have spoken to before they went to sleep forever.
I noticed I was trembeling nervously. It's been forever that I spoke to someone else than Spots and the other things I began too see after the last human was gone, so how was I supposed to react? Man, I can't even say how long I have been imprisoned in this watery grave.
"Must have been just about 75 years if you ask me, so you'll do fine around the others", Spots meowed into my thoughts and after wondering how he could read my thoughts so correctly again, I felt that the submarine hit some ground, therefore stopped being dragged out of the water.
I looked out of the windows again, but I couldn't see more than the ocean, doing what it always does. And I pinched my eyes together in scepticism. Whatever that cat says, this is weird.
Suddenly, I heard something rumbling in the direction of the hatch and did not hesitate to dart trough the hallway into this exact direction.
"Whatever awaits me out there after all this time, it's still better than being stuck in here", I explained to Spots, who just started to purr in excitement while sprinting alongside me to the exit.
Skidding I came to a halt. The hatch had already been opened and I saw a young man with dark brown hair gaze down the hallway, exactly in my direction. I froze. Suddenly, I felt anxiety. My first real contact since the incident was just standing about 10 meters away from me.
And he was looking at me with something that seems to be pure disbelief, but he didn't hesitate and started walking towards me.
"Finally...", he laughed an got faster, while I was starting to form a shy grin, too.
Then, he walked right through me.
"It is as I thought, we found the Milliander II! This will be a blast for these old sods back at home!", he finally screamed full of joy and punched his flat hand against the door behind me where he could see the Captain's closet.
Needless to say, I was in a state of shock. He simply walked through me.
"Shouldn't surprise you", I heard a distant voice coming from the hatch.
Still befuddled I sneaked to the exit and looked up. It was Spots, who somehow managed to get up the ladder and looked down at me with a mischievous grin.
"Is he... a ghost?", I asked frightened and felt tears trembling in my eyes.
"No, stupid. You are", Spots answered. "Now come up. We can finally get out."
| 2019-11-11T04:42:50
| 2019-11-11T00:03:50
| 2,695
| 685
|
[WP] You tell your wife how glad you are to be a human and not a robot. She looks at you confusingly says, "What are you talking about? We're all robots. Humans have been dead for years."
Finally! Number one on the front page! Fuck yeah! Gonna sell this account for cocaine now.
|
I stare back "But...but I'm human" I protest.
"Keith, stop joking around" My wife is beginning to look pissed now.
"Honey, what are you talking about, I'm human. You can have my bloodwork checked if you don't believe me"
She stars at me some more and then belief seems to dawn in her eyes. "Keith you...Oh my god! We thought you were all dead! This is wonderful news!"
She is abruptly hugging me and I dumbly hug her back. What? I mean, I heard that more and more people were marrying companion bots instead of real people and that even more children were robots now because they were so easy to back up but...my own wife? Without me noticing?
"I always thought you were just really stuck in your companion personality" she beams at me "But you were so sweet and perfect otherwise...Oh Keith I have to call the government! No, my mother! What *will* she say, a real human! Or no..." Suddenly there is an evil gleam in her beautiful eyes and a feral grin on her face "No, I will tell *our neighbour* first. Ha! Oh yeah. What will that stupid bitch Sarah say *now* huh? Married to a real human!"
Before I can stop her she is climbing over me, racing to get to the neighbours apartment.
Weakly I reach out to her "Honey, please don't piss of the Johnson's...again..." I trail off. She isn't listening, as usual. Oh well. I pick up my book again.
|
"What are you talking about Sarah? I am most definitely not a robot. Don't you think I would have noticed when they fixed my firmware or something?"
"Humans slowly died out over the past couple centries Jared. This is common knowledge taught in school. Firmware updates happened AT school. That's why there were so many tests.
Do I really have to explain basic history to you? The robotic invasion started very subtly. First adult robots were strategically placed in hospitals throughout earth as neonate nurses in the 20th century. Those neonate nurses would switch human infants out with the newest robotic models. Humans would raise them on their own and our robotic overlord would be able to study all humans easier than ever.
Humans caught on to the fact that those that received replacement babies weren't quite... right. They were high functioning but their emotions were a tad... off. They usually were smarter as well. Humans came up with a name for these. They labeled it as Aspergers. It made it even easier for our robotic Overlord. As they sent their kids to therapy He learned what humans did and didn't like about the robotic children. Those first models grew up and when presented with the challenge of procreation. Males were told they had low sperm count. Females were told they lacked eggs. All true of course. But the robotic person in the relationship needed the human to hear it... naturally.
They're programming would let them know where to seek reproduction assistance from robotic Dr's. Those Dr's would implant the new generation of robotic embryo. By the third generation, technology advanced to where robots could reproduce without assistance."
"Sarah darling. That doesn't make sense. I HAVE to be human. I was homeschooled, and I was born at home. So I never would have been able to be "updated" at school. My mother said we came from a very long line of resistance though. I never knew what she meant. I ran away when I was 14 though. She started talking crazy about bringing girls from around the world home and BREEDING them! Like it was so urgent to have kids as soon as I went through puberty. She was off her rocker. I left and never contacted her again. I'm so sorry I've kept this from you...."
Sarah's eyes started to roll repeatedly and flash red. She started to screech
"ALERT ALERT ALERT. LAST MALE HOMO SAPIEN HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED ALERT ALERT HUMAN ON PREMISES"
Air sirens began to go off outside. The door crashed inward as three riot geared officers stormed into the house.
"Jared Lugabai you are being placed under arrest. You are being transferred to the Human Containment Unit. Please come with us."
| 2017-01-29T04:02:14
| 2017-01-29T01:19:53
| 52
| 27
|
[WP] Bernie Sanders wins the presidency but is secretly assassinated. Now one of his team must continue his presidency ala Weekend at Bernie's.
|
"Did you get him?" asked the Vice President
"Not yet, sir. He hasn't picked up his phone."
"Well, keep trying."
"Should I text him, sir? The previous POTUS staff said he was a big texter."
"A big texter?"
"Yes sir, a texter is someone who uses texts as their primary mode of communication."
"Primary mode of? Christ. Yes. Text him. Now."
"What should I say, sir? First texts can be quite awkward."
The Vice President stared at his assistant Mike Holmes. He was a sweet kid and a complete imbecile. He should have never hired him, but sometimes you have to do a friend a favor and Mike happened to be the son of a very important imbecile.
The Vice President realized now he had been staring at Mike for close to 20 straight seconds without speaking. Mike dully stared back like a dog taking a shit waiting for you to come bag it and trash it.
"Good idea, sir. I will send him a staring emoji. It conveys the seriousness of the situation, but also keeps things light."
"Send a fucking text! Anything!"
Mike quickly typed on his phone.
"Sent, sir!"
"Ok, while we wait for that, what's plan B or C or fucking Z?"
"You mean D, sir. D follows C. E follows--"
"I know the fucking alphabet! You think I could become Vice President of the United States and not know the fucking alphabet?"
"Of course not, sir. Everyone has a brain fart now and then. Z sounds a lot like D. I can--"
"Stop speaking."
Mike opened his mouth, but stopped and just shook his head up and down.
"What's an alternative if he doesn't text back?"
"Oh he'll text back. The emoji I used is top 5 in response rate according to my experience using dating apps."
"Mike. I need you to really focus here. President Sanders is dead and the American people can't know about this. Stop texting emojis and give me some ideas."
"We could create a hologram of President Sanders and use that for public appearances."
"A what?"
"A hologram. It's a three-dimensional image reproduced from a pattern of interference produced by a split coherent beam of radiation."
"What the fuck did you just say to me?"
"Sir, you don't know what a hologram is? I don't want to explain it like the alphabet and have you angry at me again."
"I know what a fucking hologram is. I don't know what split beam radiation is."
"Well it's essentially when you use a lens to split a single beam--"
"Stop. How could a hologram help us?"
"They did it for Tupac at Coachella."
"I don't know what language you are speaking."
"Tupac is a rapper. Not my favorite, more of a Biggie guy. They made a hologram of him at a music festival called Coachella. It looked real to me, sir."
The Vice President had reached the point of desperation where he sat there considering this insane idea: creating a hologram of President Sanders. It could work, right? People believe anything. For fuck's sake, they almost believed Trump and voted him into office! This will work. A hologram! Hologram President Sanders will basically be just as good as the real thing. This is actually a solid plan all things considered. Mike might just be a pretty smart kid after all. I might even give him--
"Sir, we got him!"
"Huh?"
"He texted back."
"Yes! What did he say?"
"He said, 'New phone, who dis?'"
"What does-- wait, he didn't save our number?! That son of a bitch!"
"Sir, what should I say?"
"Explain everything. Tell him President Sanders was assassinated. Tell him this can't leak. We need to act as if Sanders is alive and we have a plan. We are going to name him to a new position very close to the presidency. He will appear publicly with President Sanders' dead body. He will hold Sanders up, nod Sanders' head, whisper 'advice' in Sanders' ear. All while smiling and acting like nothing is wrong. No one will suspect a thing cause it's him."
"Doing it now, sir."
Mike typed furiously. His fingers moved across the phone with a speed the Vice President thought wasn't possible. He was oddly impressed by this as every second mattered. He thought about Mike. Only 23 years old and clueless to the real world. He thought about how Mike would mature inside the White House. Have a real chance to see things many don't get to see and learn from them. A few years from now maybe one day he would run for the same position that got his imbecile father marginally famous. He would win with this type of experience and the foundation his father had built. He would have the chance to really change things for his constituents and do some good. It's rare a politician has that opportunity and Mike would likely garner some national attention if he did it even half decently. He would do all the right things and climb the political ranks. It seemed almost obvious that thirty years from now he would be exactly where the Vice President is today: in the oval office... As President. He would remember this exact moment and know that with the right minds any challenge can be--
"Sir, he's typing back."
The Vice President shook his head as he dismissed this wild day dream of President Holmes.
"Mike? What's the verdict?"
"Sir, he sent back a big smiling face emo--"
"That's good? Smile means yes, right?"
"And he followed that with the stuck-out tongue emoji."
"Shit. What does that mean? Mike, talk to me!"
"And he followed that with the dancer emoji. And the flexed bicep emoji. And the raised fist emoji. He won't stop sir. Emoji after emoji. Holy shit! He's so quick. He's the best I've ever seen at using emojis!"
"MIKE. IS. HE IN!?"
"He's typing... YES! He's in! He's all in!"
"MIKE! WE DID IT! We just saved President Sanders! We just saved America! He will be perfect to prop Sanders up and move his head to answer questions. This is perfect!"
The two raised their hands to high five. They didn't completely connect, but there was enough of a connection that they considered it worthy.
The Vice President sighed. He was proud of himself... and Mike too.
"Mike, you did good today. Now.. what title should we give this role for Former Vice President Biden?"
--
*Thanks for the love internets peoples*
|
A lobbyist enters the Oval Office.
Lobbyist: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The press secretary does not respond.)
L: 'Ello, Miss?
Owner: What do you mean "miss"?
L: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
P: We're closin' for Martin Luther King day.
L: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this president what I donated to not three months ago from this very city.
P: Oh yes, the, uh, the Northeastern Socialist...What's, uh...What's wrong with it?
L: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it!
P: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
L: Look, matey, I know a dead socialist when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
P: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable politician, the Northeaster Socialist, idn'it, ay? Catchy slogans!
L: The slogans don't enter into it. It's stone dead.
P: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
L: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!
(shouting at the seated socialist with the rictus grin)
'Ello, Mister Bleeding 'eart! I've got a lovely fresh massive tax increase for you if you show...(Press secretary hits the chair)
P: There, he moved!
L: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the chair!
P: I never!!
L: Yes, you did!
P: I never, never did anything...
L: (yelling and hitting the chair repeatedly) 'ELLO PROGRESSIVE!!!!!
Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Takes socialist out of the chair and thumps its head on the oval office table. Throws him up in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.)
L: Now that's what I call a dead socialist.
P: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
L: STUNNED?!?
P: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Septuagenarian socialists stun easily, major.
L: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That socialist is definitely deceased, and when I donated to his campaign not three months ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged town hall meeting.
P: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for some Ben and Jerry's.
L: PININ' for ICE CREAM?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment he was sworn in?
P: The Northeastern Socialist prefers kippin' on it's back! Remarkable progressive, id'nit, squire? Lovely campaign slogans!
L: Look, I took the liberty of examining that president during the press conerence, and I discovered the only reason that it had been standing at the podium in the first place was that it had been NAILED there.
(pause)
P: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that socialist down, it would have jumped over that podium, went straight for the Fox News reporter, and VOOM! Scandal!
L: "VOOM"?!? Mate, this socialist wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!
P: No no! 'E's pining!
L: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This socialist is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker!
'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the podium 'e'd be pushing up the daisies!
'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig!
'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!!
THIS IS AN EX-PRESIDENT!!
(pause)
P: Well, I'd better replace it, then.
(he takes a quick peek in the hallway)
P: Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the oval office, and uh, we're right out of presidents.
L: I see. I see, I get the picture.
P: I got a Secretary of State.
(pause)
L: (sweet as sugar) Pray, does it raise taxes sky high?
P: Nnnnot really.
L: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
P: Look, if you go to the DNC, they'll replace the president for you.
L: DNC, eh? Very well.
The customer leaves.
The customer enters the same pet shop. The owner is putting on a false moustache.
L: This is the DNC, is it?
P: (with a fake mustache) No, it's MSNBC.
L: (looking at the camera) That's inter-city rail for you.
The customer goes to the train station.
He addresses a man standing behind a desk marked "Complaints".
L: I wish to complain, District of Columbia Public Transit Person.
Attendant: I DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS JOB, YOU KNOW!!!
L: I beg your pardon...?
A: I'm a qualified brain surgeon! I only do this job because I like being my own boss!
L: Excuse me, this is irrelevant, isn't it?
A: Yeah, well it's not easy to pad these python files out to 200 lines, you know.
L: Well, I wish to complain. I got on the train and found myself deposited here at MSNBC.
A: No, this is the White House.
L: (to the camera) The president's press secretary was lying!!
A: Can't blame DC Public Transit for that.
L: In that case, I shall return to the White House!
He does.
L: I understand this IS the White House.
P: (still with the fake mustache) Yes?
L: You told me it was MSNBC!
P: ...It was a pun.
L: (pause) A PUN?!?
P: No, no...not a pun...What's that thing that spells the same backwards as forwards?
L: (Long pause) A palindrome...?
P: Yeah, that's it!
L: It's not a palindrome! The palindrome of "White House" would be "Esouh Etihw"!! It don't work!!
P: Well, what do you want?
L: I'm not prepared to pursue my line of inquiry any longer as I think this is getting too silly!
Marco Rubio: Quite agree, quite agree, too silly, far too silly...
| 2016-02-05T22:36:01
| 2016-02-05T20:58:33
| 230
| 138
|
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face
|
The best birthmarks were always stretched somewhere across the back of the hand. The man who cured cancer had Flamel's sigil imprinted on his palm. The doctor had this small pattern of crosses on his arm. He showed it to me when he took my wife into the emergency room.
"She's in good hands. I was fated for this."
I believed him. I scratched at my own mark on my inner thigh. We believed that birthmarks were prophecies. I rejected mine. I refused that fact that I was fated for great sadness in my life. I forced myself to find happiness everywhere I went. The teardrop on my inner thigh would not define me. And it never will.
When my parents passed away, I cherished their presence. I threw a party celebrating the things they had done for the world. My mother worked to end poverty and saved the lives of many children in Africa. Her sigil fated her to save people, and everyday she would. My father worked in a bank, and the fact that he almost ruined the economy did not deter him. He knew it was coming, his fate of hurting many people. He married my mother because he thought it would balance out his prophecy. She loved him out of sympathy, and he paid for all her philanthropy.
I paced the waiting room. She is fine, I told myself. My wife was in good hands and I had nothing to worry about. I should be happy she found herself in the best hospital in the city, in the care of the best maternity ward. I should be happy that we were having our first child. I should not be this uneasy.
The minutes ticked by, then hours. I was getting anxious and read some online comics to cheer me up. The operating light had finally extinguished itself. The doctor walked out.
"Your wife's fine. I have some bad news about your daughter though."
"Is my daughter fine? I'll love her all the same even if she is Autistic or missing an arm or anything. I'll find the best of it. Trust me."
The doctor pulled out a picture. Emblazoned across the infant's face was the thin, slithering mark of a snake. The mark of a murderer. If one walked the corridors between jail cells, one would find the same marks. The most brutal of all had the most pronounced snake.
My heart sank. "She is not a murderer!" I proclaimed. "I never succumbed to my fate. I won't let her either."
"She is your responsibility now."
I leaned against the wall and crumpled into a heap as he walked around a corner. The birthmark in my inner thigh started to tingle. She would murder someone dangerous and save the world, I convinced myself. I was not sad. There would be a happy ending to all of this. I buried my face in my hands.
|
I rush to the hospital, excited beyond belief. A child! MY child! A little one to hold, to teach, to love! Words can not contain my boundless joy! I broke a few speed laws on the way, but who cares! I'm a father! I enter the hospital, rushing straight to the room number the clerk told me. Bursting in, I see my wife, my beautiful wife, lying on a cot. Her face, with the beautiful marks of one who is destined to be a performer, isn't facing me. She is turned away. Her shoulders are shaking. She can wait, I must see the child! A nurse, with a doctor's markings, takes me to the nursery. She won't look me in the eye. But never mind that, the child! Upon arriving at the nursery, I peer through the window and see my child, dumbstruck. It's a girl, small, with golden hair and eyes so brilliant, so piercing, I get the feeling she is looking at my very soul. Yet the part I am looking for, the party that truly matters, is the part that makes me stop. Her markings. They twist and writhe around her face like snakes too close to a flame. Hard edges somehow mixed with dangerous curves. The mark of a killer. The mark of death.
I rush home, anxious. The call from the from my daughter was urgent, panicked, alone. At home, police cars and a single ambulance are waiting. I barge through the door, greeted by the averting eyes of those who are marked to protect, to be brave, to never surrender. The police step aside, leaving a pathway to out bedroom. My bedroom, now. My beautiful wife sways from a breeze that doesn't exist, stares at me while the rope and the ceiling croak at me with voices of despair. She is with me no more. I return to the main room, where police, with their marks of justice, and my daughter await. She runs to my arms, sobbing. The police slowly file out, whispering. I catch a few words. They believe my beautiful wife's death was the one my daughter was foretold to cause. But I kNow Better.
I rush to the accident, weakened. The police on the line had been calm, patient, explaining the wreck. My daughter and her friend, hit by another car. I arrive at the wreck, astounded by how warped two pieces of metal could become. Still in my daughters car, I see that face of her friend, the marks of kindness on his face blotted out by the streaks of blood. There is no hope from him. My daughter is released by the paramedics, and she runs to my arms, shaking beyond control. As I help her into my car, I hear the others speaking. They believe we can now live in peace. BUT I knOw bETter.
I rush through the house, enraged. Nineteen years, waiting, watching. I know she'll hurt someone, I KNOW IT! THE MARKS HAVE FORETOLD IT! I must stop her, before she stops another. She runs from me, but SHE CAN'T RUN FOREVER! I chase her to her room, but the door is locked. I hit it, and hit it, and HIT IT! IT WILL NOT OPEN! I hear sirens outside. The police with their fake marks of justice. They're on her side. We'll see who gets the last laugh. As I sneak out of the house, I hear their words, consoling her. They believe I won't come back, that she's safe. BUT WE KNOW BETTER!
I rush through my thoughts, cold, calculating. I will not let my ANgeR control me, not like before. That was how she got away. Not this time. I have prepared for too long to allow this to fail. She thinks she can start over, start a family, start being happy. WELL SHE CAN'T! She knows better.
I walk to her. I had wanted to do this in private, but there was no opportunity. Twenty-seven years is too long to wait another minute. She is in a uniform, blue. The same uniform of the betrayers who helped her. But they can't help her now. I call her name, and she stops. Turns. Slowly. I smile at her, savoring the moment. I caught her. Pulling the knife from my belt, I start running to her. Closer. Closer. CLOSER! There's no way she ca- BANG! It hits me like a bullet. It is a bullet, right in my heart. She always was good at that. I crumple, and her shadow falls over me. Tears, on my face. Whether they are mine or hers, I don't know. She begs me not to go, pleads with me, apologizes. She shouldn't. I have failed, not her. I, who shared with her my marks. I, who taught her to try and be something better. I, who never even followed my own advice. She tells me all will be okay, that help will arrive.
But I know...
| 2014-05-10T23:53:07
| 2014-05-10T23:42:39
| 71
| 48
|
[WP] An S-Rank adventurer casually sifts through their quest log and notices they still have an uncompleted D-rank request. With a chuckle, they decide finding the farmer’s lost cat could be a relaxing change of pace— they were gravely mistaken.
|
The remaining cultists ran away when seeing me charge another lightning bolt.
I thought I'd have to fight more of them, considering my luck during this quest, but they quickly realized how much I out-leveled them after my first spell disintegrated over a dozen people.
All that remained was searching the abandoned temple for that stupid cat. I couldn't believe I had finally cornered it. My excitement couldn't be contained. I was probably more motivated to finish this mission than when I defeated the dark lord himself.
This quest had taken me close to a year to finish. It took me all the way across the continent. I fought ogres that held the cat hostage, only to have the feline run away. Then it got adopted by an evil pirate crew, who fought to the last breath in order to protect it, and then, when I finally got my hands on the kitten, a hurricane struck our boat and left me shipwrecked on a remote land where minions of the dark lord still survived. All of them wanted me dead since I killed their boss.
And, of course, the kitten was nowhere to be seen when I woke up.
This was all my fault, though. If I had done the quest as soon as I accepted it, the cat wouldn't have strayed this far from its home. I didn't even know why I kept going. The reward wasn't noteworthy to someone of my caliber, nor would anyone important really mind if the cat stayed lost forever.
Not even the farmer was too bothered by it.
Most people would've given up by now. Perhaps I didn't want anyone doubting my heroism, or I was too stubborn to give up on a low level quest, or maybe I just needed a distraction after entering early retirement. Either way, I couldn't wait to be done with this journey. Never again would I search for lost pets. I think I'd rather fight a dragon instead.
Finally, after navigating through the overgrown vines of the abandoned temple, I stumbled upon a huge oval-shaped room with a big fire pit in the middle. A dark hooded figure stood on a ledge over it, cackling with manic laughter as the flames rose higher than his lofty stature.
"You arrive, hero! I waited for this for a long time! The dark lord will be avenged, and everyone will remember my name!"
"I don't even know who you are..."
"Of course, where are my manners?" The figure pulled back their cowl, revealing himself to be an elf. "Surely you recognize me now, right?"
I narrowed my eyes, failing to identify him.
"You must be wondering how I'm still alive, you see-"
"No," I interrupted, "I really don't care. I don't even know who you are."
"It's Vulen!" shouted the elf. "Claw of the Dark Lord! Y-you literally ruined my life! How could you forget?"
I shrugged.
Vulen blinked a few times, stupefied. He acted like he had just been slapped in the face. "We literally fought to the death. You invaded my lord's keep and I almost killed you."
"That doesn't narrow it down in the slightest."
Vulen paused for a moment. "I... I think I get it, you're just pretending you don't remember to get in my head. Well it won't work, hero! I'm far too wise for that!"
I rolled my eyes. There wasn't time for this. I started charging up a lightning bolt only to see the cat purring next to the elf's leg.
"Surely," said Vulen, "you've realized by now that I'm the one behind all this. I've been guiding this cat all across New Gaia ever since I realized you were looking for it. And it all led to this moment! My sweet vindication!"
I sighed. Throwing a lightning bolt would also fry the cat.
Vulen grabbed the animal by the scruff of its neck and dangled it over the fire pit. "Since you value this creature so much, the pain caused by its sacrifice will bring back the Dark Lord in all his glory!"
I didn't know what to do. After all the effort I went through, I couldn't bring myself to kill the cat, even if it was the right choice. I'd rather fight the dark lord again.
Just as Vulen was about to let go, the cat bit his finger and crawled inside his robe. The elf couldn't fight back. The cat kept scratching him all over until Vulen stumbled and fell into the fire pit.
I wanted to die, assuming the cat fell along with him, but then saw the kitten purring innocently on the ledge. Perfect. I just needed to slowly approach it and hope it didn't run away again. As soon as I stepped onto the ledge, however, the cat widened its big blue eyes.
"Please," I begged, "don't."
The cat simply meowed.
"Seriously, I can't take more of this."
The cat tilted its head, confused.
I took a step closer.
The cat didn't flinch.
Good. I took another step, more confident than the last. Nothing would stop me this time. I quietly grabbed the cat and looked over my shoulder, hoping nobody would screw me over. Everything seemed clear.
And then the ground started quaking.
The cat looked at me for an answer. I hung my head, defeated. What now?
A gigantic purple demon jumped out of the fire pit.
It appeared Vulen had transformed into a monster by the ritual he created. The demon wasn't just trying to kill me. It also wanted revenge on the cat. What followed was probably the hardest battle of my life, not just because of the demon's strength, but because I had to keep the cat close to me so that it wouldn't escape.
The fight lasted close to twelve hours. I used all of my spells, all of my potions, and broke my enchanted sword, but I emerged victorious in the end. That didn't mean I succeeded, though. My wounds were too great to simply leave the temple. With each step I took, I felt my consciousness slipping away, until I fell on my face, too exhausted to stand up.
The cat meowed in front of me.
"No..." I mumbled. "Not again..."
The cat was pure evil. This cursed creature would force me to keep hunting it. I was sure of it. All throughout this journey, I had seen it cozy up to the strongest person it could find, taking advantage of their power before abandoning them when it wasn't convenient anymore. It would definitely do the same to me. As I closed my eyes, I found myself oddly at peace with that.
I wouldn't keep chasing it. If it wanted to be free that much, then let it. The only reason I hunted it was because I was too proud to admit that something was beyond my skills. This wasn't the case anymore. Following that path would just lead me to the same place Vulen ended at.
Once I woke up, I didn't even try to look for the cat. I limped my way out of the temple, ready to go back home empty handed, only to see the cute little fella waiting for me at the entrance. Nothing made me happier than this moment. Still, despite how good it felt to finally return it home, I swore to myself that, for the rest of my life, I would forever be a dog person.
----------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
|
Years ago, I was thrilled to wake up in this new world. Initially, I believed it was a byproduct of dying. I had been in a car crash, saw the blinding white light, and moving towards it. As my eyes adjusted, I saw I was exiting a tunnel while riding in a wagon. There were three others with me, one who looked like a giant cat wearing leather armor.
"How did my dying brain come up with this?" I muttered.
"Ah, you're awake. I didn't think a man could sleep that long.", the man across from me said as he stretched out his legs. "Tell me, where are you from?"
I reached up to feel my forehead where I remember having hit the roof of the car. No tenderness, or blood. Odd. "Um, Well, I'm from New Jersey. I'm wondering if you even know where that is, considering our ... feline companion." The cat person turned to look at me and smiled weakly.
"Looks like he's another one who *played*..." they hissed. "You'll find it very different living it."
That was the most honest thing anyone has said to me. I spent the next 10 or 12 years honing all the skills I had read about and pretended to do while playing various fantasy role playing games. Every day, I expected to wake from some coma, or perhaps have someone tell me I had done *enough* to go on to my reward. A priestess at a temple assured me this was a real world, and I better start living in it. So I did.
Over the years, I learned to fight with swords, maces, daggers, crossbows, and long bows. I could pick the most complex locks this land had to offer, and amazingly, I learned a few spells where I could manipulate the forces around me. Magic didn't come easy, but I could still do okay with it. I excelled at being able to sneak around and that helped me more than anything. Nobody wanted to go toe to toe with a bear or band of roving orc bandits.
I discovered that my existence was more like being in a video game than playing an RPG with friends around a table. I had a small journal that would populate with tasks, quests if you wanted to think of them that way. I had completed so many of them, and skipped one numerous times on the second page.
<Help Lothar find his lost cat>
I racked my brain a bit, and remembered Lothar was a farmer in the outskirts of the first large keep I traveled to early in my time here.
There was a symbol next to the task that I have since learned meant that I would be rewarded with some sort of magical jewel. I wondered what it would be, being so early in my journal. I might hardly be worth it, but maybe I need something easy to do, almost like a vacation.
In hindsight, it was the exact opposite of a vacation as I would learn.
<end Part 1>
| 2022-06-22T06:57:10
| 2022-06-22T05:25:20
| 72
| 38
|
[WP] "Oh, screw you! Don't blame the science department for this mess. The science went PERFECTLY. It's not OUR fault that corporate decided to skimp out on the compound's security and containment systems"
|
"Oh, screw you! Don't blame the science department for this mess. The science went PERFECTLY. It's not OUR fault that corporate decided to skimp out on the compound's security and containment systems!" Dr. Bentley said, hotly, jabbing a finger at Miranda, the corporate liason.
"Uh, *excuse me?*" Miranda hissed, narrowing her eyes and slapping her palms down on the table, angrily. *"Skimp out?* I've been busting my ass for *two years,* getting corporate to shovel more and more funding into this *money furnace!* I've been going to bat for this damned project since before you had anything more to show for your little dimensional travel theories than some half-assed equations scribbled on a whiteboard!"
She whirled to face Jenkins, the head of Project Engineering. "And you! I got *you* more than enough money for security and containment! What the hell did you spend it all on, *blow and hookers?"*
Jenkins scowled, "Don't even start! I left more than *half* that money in the budget unused, to cover projected cost overruns! You're the one who kept saying we needed keep costs under control!" He turned to Bentley. "And it's not like *Dr. Numbnuts,* over here, gave me *any* indication that we'd have to secure and contain--"
"Enough!" Thomas, the Operations Director roared, slamming a fist down on the table. The rest of the attendees were immediately silenced, as the middle-aged senior VP in charge of the project withered each of them with his implacable gaze.
"We can play the *blame game* later, you morons!" Thomas growled. "*This* meeting, right now, is about one thing, and one thing *only..."*
He paused, glanced under the conference table, and grimaced at what he saw. Reaching down, he seized hold of something that squeaked in protest as he grabbed it, and then dropped it roughly onto the tabletop.
It was a little man with pointed ears and a long beard, about three feet tall, dressed in colorful clothing and a tall pointy hat. The tiny interloper glared around the table, angrily, and shot them a rude gesture with both hands.
"...what in the *f\*\*\** are we going to do with all these *gnomes?"* Thomas demanded.
|
The yelling would fall on deaf ears, however. The emergency sirens blared in the background, making conversation virtually impossible. The man stared ahead, in shock at what was happening.
The three men had locked themselves in one of the remaining rooms. Some*thing* had escaped. The doctor with them wouldn't say a word. Its escape had led to a total lockdown, which was apparently something that corporate had actually invested in. Sirens blared and the doors locked after twenty minutes. They assumed the workers could get out in time- you only needed your keycard to get out before the twenty minute mark. After the twenty minute mark, corporate fully locked the doors and hoped that you had gotten out in time. It had been sixteen minutes.
The countdown hadn't even started before the thing had gone after anyone in its sight. If it even had sight. The sounds were horrendous. Running through the halls and seeing the aftermath, it was like the compound had ordered itself a new paintjob.
Trying to figure out which way to go while simultaneously minimizing the chances of being caught, their conversation in the room had devolved into an argument. *Can't we do this later?* he thought, his foot tapping the floor anxiously. *We're all going to die.*
Suddenly, one of the other guys swung around and shouted, "Alright! Let's get out of here!" He grinned, hopeful at the breakthrough. Then, the sirens changed. Things got ... quiet. Eerily quiet. "What's going on?" It was jarring to hear someone talking so clearly. The doctor's face had turned pale. "It's been twenty minutes." "What happens after twenty minutes?" The doctor turned to face the third man, but before he could speak, multiple clanks were heard, all throughout the compound. "Shit," the man muttered. All the doors had locked themselves shut- locking us inside with that thing.
Then, the lights shut off. He hadn't known that that was part of the procedure. Slowly, the compound encased itself in darkness.
They sat there for a while, thinking. What was there to do at this point? Suddenly, the light at the top of their room started to buzz to life. It wasn't much, but it was happening. They could start to make out each other's outlines. Suddenly, something appeared next to them. They couldn't fully see it, as it was still in the shadows, but they knew it was there. It was like the thing had phased through the walls, but that wasn't what had happened. It just ... appeared. They each had a look of exhaustion and resignation. The doctor whispered, "It uses the light, and it dies in the dark. Hence, the plan was to have the outside office shut the lights off."
The first man asked the question on everyone's mind.
"What is it?"
The doctor was quiet, and then he whispered something, his voice shaking.
"I don't know."
The thing moved into the light. What it was was so horrifying and so terrible that their deaths were a mercy, even if it took a while for death to come. They stared at the thing, eyes wide in fear. They didn't move.
The thing moved.
| 2022-05-09T13:44:04
| 2022-05-09T13:05:50
| 102
| 17
|
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good."
|
"Yeah, it's a potato. Have you never had one before?" I asked.
"Never. It seems pretty interesting. Do these grow on trees?"
"No, uhhh, they actually grow in the ground."
"Amazing. I've never heard of them before."
"You've never had a french fry?"
"A what?"
"A french fry, from McDonald's?"
"I've never heard of them. Are they expensive?"
"What? No, fries are cheap."
"Oh, that's amazing. I'll have to start looking out for them. Are they imported from France?"
"No, it's just a name. You've really never heard of potatoes?"
"Never! But they're really tasty!"
"That's umm... really interesting, son," I told him. "You know, in celebration of your first dinner with us, I baked up a special dessert. I'll be right back."
Me and the missus went back into the kitchen and just started dying laughing. Yeah, this little punk thought he was playing me, but just because I'm old doesn't mean I've never heard of Reddit. On the contrary, I'm a karma-whoring, Dagobah-swamping, The_Donald-trollin', Blacktwitter-following, certified 5/7 shitposter from way back and everybody knows it. I’ve been ShittyMorphed, Wild Sketched, and gotten a poem for my sprog (whatever the fuck that is). I could do an AMA with two broken arms. Potatoes. Fuck him and his potatoes. We quickly whipped up a little something for dessert and came back out.
"Are you ready for a treat?" my wife asked.
"Oh, yummy, after the potato I'm really excited to see what else you guys make," the little punk answered.
"Our favorite," I said, "a coconut and some jolly ranchers. Enjoy!"
|
'Yeah, potatoes don't really grow around here. My dad sometimes sends them from up north,' I informed him.
&#x200B;
'Do they taste good?'
&#x200B;
'I dunno, try 'em.'
&#x200B;
He held a spoonful of it, inquisitively, slowly raising it to his mouth. He stuck out his tongue, testing the waters. Needless to say, he liked it. Everyone likes my grandmother's potato recipe.
&#x200B;
'Don't forget to eat your asparagus, now!'
&#x200B;
Both my daughter and her boyfriend groaned. It's always a hassle getting them to eat their veggies.
&#x200B;
'If you eat everything on your plate, you guys can go to the park afterwards.'
&#x200B;
After some pretty skilled negotiating on my part, they managed to finish everything. Truly an amazing trade deal.
&#x200B;
'Now, you two don't stay out \*too\* late. School starts tomorrow. Be back by 7.'
'But that's only 1 hour!' She started pouting.
&#x200B;
'I want you to be up early. Besides, his mom's gonna be here soon. I called her before dinner.'
&#x200B;
With that, they were off. I've never understood love at such a young age. It's not long before she breaks up with this boyfriend and finds a new one in her class. As long as she's not having problems, I don't think I need to stick my nose in that.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
| 2018-09-22T11:38:18
| 2018-09-22T10:52:49
| 23
| 15
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[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus!
“Are the contestants ready?”
“Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.”
“And a human?”
“Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!”
The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally.
Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular.
This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought.
Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce.
The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap.
Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!”
Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed.
Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report.
“W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.”
“Out with it you bumbling oaf!”
“ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.”
“A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!”
Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe.
“Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted.
“Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.”
“ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!”
The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
|
It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means *literally anything*. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset.
It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore.
“Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!”
Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa-
“Son of a biiiiiiiii-“
END
Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
| 2020-09-13T18:50:43
| 2020-09-13T18:47:59
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
"Another day another dollar," Bob Saget whispers to himself after a long night of shooting his latest motion picture: Horror Directly Following Late Night Movie Shoots.
"You be safe now! Don't want any sort of horror scenario happening to you on the way home!" chuckles the director.
"What the fuck did I tell you about talking to me after hours?" says Bob, agitated. He saunters off set and hops in his El Camino. As he's driving down the long empty road from the remote set, he catches a glimpse of movement in his rear view mirror. "Fucking great," says Bob, "another fan hiding in the bed of my vehicle. Every fucking time." He reaches in to the glove box and pulls out his .44 magnum. "Ya feeling lucky, punk?" Bob narrates as he jumps out of the coupe/utility pick up vehicle. He circles around the back.
"What the shit is this?" Says Bob, taken aback by the sight of a gorilla in the bed of his truck, bandaging a wound on his leg. Bob tucks the pistol in to the waist band of his favorite slacks.
"Bob, we need your help," said the gorilla, "My name is Luke, the very same from the Bible. The Anti Christ has arrived, and you are the only one that can save humanity."
"For fuck's sake," growls Bob, "why me? Why the fuck are you a gorilla? Why can't I have one goddamn day where I can get home and soak in my Jacuzzi without any sort of urgent distractions?"
"We saw how you handled raising your family in Full House," explains Luke, "Clearly you are capable of anything. First things first, let's get in to town!"
Bob groans. But he knew what to do. This was all part of that goddamn prophecy told to him by the John Stamos on the last day of shooting Full House. "Ok Ubuntu," says Bob, "stay back here and I'll get your leg fixed up, I know a guy."
"My name is Luke, the saint from the Bible," interjects Luke.
"Do you want my help or not? Stay back here Harambe," barked Bob as he jumps back in to the driver's seat. They start traveling.
Bob pulls in to a dilapidated house in the middle of nowhere and hops out of the vehicle. "Alright come on," he tells Luke, "go to the front door there, and be quick about it." Luke hobbles his way the front door.
"I must explain to you the situat-"
"Don't explain shit to me, just open the goddamn door and go in," says Bob, infuriated, "I don't have time to deal with this bullshit, I'm a busy man." Luke pushes the door open. A scene of carnage awaits. Dozens of animal corpses are scattered throughout the room. They all have a saintly glow.
"Matthew? Mark? John? This is worse than I thought, the massacre has already begun!" lamented Luke.
"No shit," says Bob. He whips out his hand cannon and blasts all 6 rounds in to Luke's body. A single tear drops from Luke's eye as he collapses, sad at the sight of his butchered friends, frustrated that he was fooled so easily.
Bob closes the door behind him and starts heading home. "I seriously gotta cool it with that peyote," he says to himself, driving in to the sunrise.
|
Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk.
The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow.
The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land.
Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines
speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below.
I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step.
Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive
again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
| 2017-05-05T07:10:06
| 2017-05-05T05:28:24
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] You, an atheist, have died. All the gods that have ever been line up to offer you their version of heaven if only you believe in _them_. Turns out souls are currency and yours is up for grabs.
|
Do you know what permeates the afterlife?
I mean, given my own personal inclinations, I would've said "nothing" -- you know, like those nights when you don't dream, you're just... gone. And you keep being gone until you no longer aren't; then the *waa-waa-waa* of the alarm and off you go, back neck-deep into the rat race. Until, as it were, you get off the kharmic bus and bite the big one and then, again, more nothing.
Hoo boy, was I wrong.
Turns out that what permeates the *immediate* afterlife is, for lack of a better term, a gaggle.
"Would you all kindly shut up, I can't hear myself think!"
The gods did not appear to notice. This is a defining feature of gods after all. Their voices washed over me, again and again, in cacophonous waves:
"And thou shalt enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many--"
"--the flesh of Sæhrímnir melts in your mouth, the mead is strong and the Valkyries, let me tell you about the--"
"--ride with the sun, it's quite a sight really, and dance in the Fields of Yalu--"
"--literally right on the edge of the ocean and you can use it up to ten weeks per year--"
"--absolute nothingness, the ultimate experience of satisfaction and--"
I sat with my head in my hands, bent like a post-limelight Quasimodo pondering for whom the bell tolls. Well, turned out it tolled for me alright, loud and clear, I just couldn't hear it. Nor did I hear the fire alarm that morning, but hey, at least I got to go out in my sleep. Didn't leave much behind in the way of relatives or friends. And at least my cats would have my carcass to feed on until someone came to take care of them.
"I just don't know!" I wailed. "This wasn't supposed to happen. Y'all aren't even supposed to exist!"
This, at least, at last, silenced them. Well, everyone except the guy with the brochure, the slightly sleazy smile and the straw hat; on the other hand, he'd already proceeded into the mass of gods surrounding me, his "--cheaper alternative than almost all hotels--" trailing off as he put his arm around an unsuspecting Celtic-looking fellow.
"Right", said one of the gods at the front, a fat and jovial man with a large beard, haphazardly wrapped in a toga, a harp tucked under his flabby arm. "And nevertheless, you have to choose one of us to believe in."
"*Why*?" I demanded. "It's not like any of you did anything for me when I was alive."
"Er...", said Fortuna.
"OK, so there may have been a few favors here and there--"
"Uh...", interjected Hotei.
"--but, Jesus Christ--"
"Yes?"
"No! Just, ugh, *none* of you woke me up to save me from the fire, right?"
"You had free will!" objected the abomination I'd learned was known simply as God: one human body, eight elderly male heads with long beards, sparse but long and wavy hair, and stern expressions.
"You could have *not* played video games all night", said Sheeva peevily. "Then maybe--"
"Fine", I conceded. "But none of you helped me out when my car broke down, just as I'd gotten laid off, and there was that one time--"
"These are all earthly things and not important in the grand scheme of things", said Afrodite, winking suggestively.
"Yeah, what she said", added Zeus, constructively.
"This is about your soul, mate", said a man so dark-skinned as to be almost black, save for the dribbling of blue paint around his mouth.
"You're going to be there *forever*", said Pan, shifting his cloven feet. "S'important. Which is why you should choose--"
And the gaggle resumed, one god after another trying to pawn off their particular version of afterlife, the noise drowning out all thought and sense of time. Maybe that was the joke; maybe this was all it was. Hell.
"--الجَنَّة في اللغة هي البُسْتان، ومنه الجَنّات، وتصغيرها جنينة، والعرب تسمّي النخيل جَنَّة، والجَنَّةُ الحَديقةُ ذات الشجر والنخل، وجمعها"
"--and you will be chanting the Ustavaiti Gathas with joy, basking in the--"
"--it also comes with an AC for those really hot summer days--"
I just couldn't take it anymore. I stood.
"YOU!" I roarded, pointing randomly into the crowd. Silence fell on the gathering, insidious like a fart at a funeral.
The gathered gods parted before my trembling digit like a particularly holy sea, revealing the target of my choice. It stood in an expanding circle of deities, shuddering briefly with excitement. I lowered my arm and sighed with reluctant acceptance. Whatever came next could not possibly be worse than this, right?
"I've made my choice", I said, glancing over at my chosen deity, who was now breaking into a smile. It came over to me, and put its arm around my shoulders. The other gods turned away grumpily, grumbling.
"Yousa and missa is goin to has some funny-funny!", said my god, as we faded from that plane of reality.
|
I blinked… or whatever amounts to blinking as a formless consciousness. Before me sat many gods, some I recognized and some that I didn’t. Well fuck me surprised there is something after death, and what’s more it was very earth centric in those who wished to judge me. I had been confirmed Catholic before I realized how ludicrous religion was, and became an atheist, which is probably why the god of Abraham was fast approaching.
“He is mine by his own confirmation” He bellowed.
“Not so fast,” screamed Bhal.
A brawl began between some of the gods, most of the male persuasion. I was baffled as to why gods would stick with one gender, until I remembered Dionysus. Never mind these tools I have a deal to make.
“Odin I would have a word with you.”
The one eyed god looked like I had just taken away his favorite toy as he pried himself from the melee.
“Have you chosen mortal? Am I to be your patron?”
“The choice is easy All Father, I died in a struggle. I fought my enemies in more brave a fashion than any of your followers. I expected nothing after death and still took up arms to defend my home. There are only three places I could end up Valhalla, Folkvang, or Elysium. To eat drink and fight while awaiting the final great battle would serve well don’t you think?”
“For wisdom I gave my eye child and in your words I see it. Come with me, the finest mead awaits.”
As we moved the other gods faded from my sight and I began to once again take form. A horn of mead already in one hand a roasted bird leg in the other. I stopped.
“All Father, if we are to prepare for Ragnarok, should we not practice our raiding? On the harp playing hypocrites in the Christion heaven for instance?”
Odin beamed with pride, “You are worthy of my great hall boy. Let us draw up the battle plans tonight.”
| 2017-07-09T04:29:57
| 2017-07-09T02:33:46
| 36
| 12
|
[WP] Colony ships have been leaving weekly for awhile. The streets around your home are looking more empty. You don't qualify for the colony ships. You will always be one of the left behind.
|
You couldn't take a Ford-Mercedes on the colony ships.
You could take your children, all two of your spoiled brats that were allowed under the reproductive allowance. The Wilkins kids had shipped out the day before, and Lilian had watched them leave through the viewing port in the airlock to her habitation.
You could take a pet, if you had one, which the Wilkins's did because Pa said that Mr Wilkins was a big shot at the MUG, and could get the paperwork rubber stamped. When she was younger, and the Wilkins's little poodle had first come home. Lilian had once asked Pa if they could get a dog like the Wilkins's had, and Pa had looked so torn up that she'd never asked again and instead just stole puppy kisses from little Buster when nobody was supervising her cleaning work at the Wilkin's' habitation.
Pa said that you were allowed three cubic meters of baggage on the colony ships per person, or two for children under 12. When Lilian had asked how anyone could fill that much space, especially if you couldn't take your surface rover with you, Pa had laughed and said that every day when he was loading the cargo bays there was somebody trying to go over the limit. There was the man who was trying to take his whole hydroponic garden "just in case plants weren't growing outside yet", and the family who argued that each of their children needed the full three cubic meters because they had too many clothes (Lilian, who was wearing one of her two pairs of overalls, snorted in contempt), and the woman who wanted to bring her Ford-Mercedes surface rover anyway, because "it was the newest model".
"And the irony is," said Pa, as he tucked Lilian into the lower bunk, "that it wouldn't even be useful up there. You can't drive a rover down a highway."
But the Wilkins's had left their rover behind, and in a fit of unexpected magnanimity, Mr Wilkins had given the ignition code to Lilian on her last day working as their house maid. "It's got a few more decades left on it," he'd said, and echoing Pa's words, added, "Even if we did have space, rovers are for dead planets, not living ones."
But even dead planets needed caretakers, and Lilian had overheard one of the Wilkins kids saying at school that the "help" would need to stay behind just in case the Old World wasn't ready to support humans again, and began to deteriorate a second time. Just in case the humans that returned had to flee once again. "Not that such an eventuality is likely," Professor James had said, on his last day of teaching their class before taking his own place on a colony ship. "We now understand what our forebears did not - that a planet is a precious resource, once that must be safeguarded and not treated as a large garbage disposal."
The night after the Wilkins's had left, Lilian snuck over to their habitation, which was eleven times larger than the quarters that she shared with Pa. She didn't need to sneak, because she and Pa were now the only ones left in this habitat module, and in a few days they were to be consolidated into another location with others who'd been designated "mission critical staff" by MUG, while this module was left to be reclaimed by the dead red sands outside. But she snuck anyway, out of force of habit, and because it felt somehow naughty to be in the Wilkins's deserted quarters while they were on a colony ship thousands of miles up in space.
And mostly she snuck because little Tommy Wilkins owned a large telescope that was too big for his two cubic meters, and which was still set up in his bedroom. He'd let her look through it once, after she'd helped him with his history homework, and now she crept through the discarded belongings which lay scattered throughout the habitation and uncapped it.
She punched in a set of coordinates that she knew by heart, and as the server motors whirred she found herself looking at a sphere of blue and green and white. A living planet once again, after three centuries of remedial terraforming. Earth.
But not home. Home was here.
---
Back after a long hiatus. Old stories: [/r/jd_rallage](https://old.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/)
|
When the Earth began to crack at the height of the Great Mistake, Henry Thomas Long put his family put his wife and son on a colony ship and waved goodbye. Then he rented a skimmer, packed their things, and lost himself in the wilds of the North American Preserve.
When the skimmer broke down and he could no longer carry all their things he took with him only a backpack of food, a book of poetry, and a family portrait. He traveled light through the NAP, Yeats at his side, declaiming poems to the stars by the flickering light of his fire. When he closed his eyes and recited from memory he could almost believe he was speaking to them, growing light years and relativistic years away on the journey between the old earth and the new.
It was not a good life.
Though in his youth Henry had flirted with the idea of the NAP, before flirting with a woman had turned to flirting with a family had turned to being a father and a husband, now that he had been those things it was difficult to turn back. Certainly he relished the experience, to stand on the peaks of a mountain, a valley pregnant with morning dew stretching out before him, a pristine sunrise on the horizon with a heard of mammoth braying their greetings to it. Certainly he relished in his chance meeting with one of the rogue Arnists who crafted the wilds of the North American Preserve to fit the North America that had been so long ago.
Henry spent a week with the bio-hacker, watching him breathe life into plants and coax long dead animals out of his cloning vats. They released a bald eagle out into the world together, and as it flew away the Arnist hummed an old tune about a star spangled banner that had not been seen in many years.
But the bio-hacker was not his wife and son, and though with his boots firmly upon the non-relativistic ground Henry still had years left before the Great Mistake ended the world, he moved on.
When it was alone it was easier to be truly alone. His mind never tried to compare an animal’s voice to a wife’s. Birdsong never sounded like his son, singing off key in all the moments he could.
When the Earth cracked again, Henry cracked with it.
He had been reciting Yeats less often of late, but when the earth shook below him and the tree he had climbed split and dropped him to the shaking ground, a poem sprang unbidden to his mind.
*Sailing to Byzantium.* It had been his father’s favorite poem, all about mortality and the end, and the hope that there could be more. As the animals stampeded around him, trumpeting their terror to the uncaring heavens, Henry whispered the part of the poem his father had loved so much.
*An aged man is but a paltry thing,*
*A tattered coat upon a stick, unless*
*Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing*
*For every tatter in its mortal dress,*
*Nor is there singing school but studying*
*Monuments of its own magnificence;*
*And therefore I have sailed the seas and come*
*To the holy city of Byzantium.*
&#x200B;
*O sages standing in God's holy fire*
*As in the gold mosaic of a wall,*
*Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,*
*And be the singing-masters of my soul.*
*Consume my heart away; sick with desire*
*And fastened to a dying animal*
*It knows not what it is; and gather me*
*Into the artifice of eternity.*
Fastened to a dying animal. Alone in the wilds of the NAP that had never felt more true. The Earth stopped shaking, the animals stopped stampeding, and Henry rose into a new world, unhinged.
The first sign was that he composed his own poetry. He had loved poetry in his youth, loved it still into early adulthood, but Henry never been brave enough to share it with anyone. Now Henry sang it to the stars, filled the nights with his words, dared the world to steal his voice from him like it had stolen his family.
The first night a pack of wolves came. Dire Wolves, the big, resurrected kind, and they circled his fire, listening. Henry had no weapon, he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he shouted lines about their eyes reflecting the firelight until they slunk away into the night and shouted about his own, reflecting nothing but fire for the longest year of his life.
Henry missed the rogue Arnist very badly. It had been the last time he spoke to someone, the last time he felt like Henry Thomas Long. Now he was a revenant in his own body, another preserved creature in the NAP, mindlessly awaiting the Great Mistake’s destruction.
It was in this mood that he found her.
A cottage limned in blue light, moonlight bouncing off solar panels, music slipping out through open windows. *Music.* Henry had forgotten what it was like, forgotten that instruments could twine and wail and waver like that.
In his previous life Henry would not have called it music. Pre-destructionist abstract had never been a genre he thought much of, but now that the destruction was no longer so pre, he thought he could see the beauty in it.
The cottage door opened, and she stepped out.
She was a crone. An aged, paltry thing, a tattered dress upon a stick, but to look at her Henry knew her for a singing-master of the kind Yeats had spoken of.
“Hello?” Henry tried to say. It came out rough and raw, a man who had not spoken save to scream, and whose tattered voice could no longer mold itself around a civil word.
She shut the door. Shut the window. Henry heard the whir of locks.
He waited outside, huddling beneath her cottage through the night and the rain, whispering his poems to the moon as she whispered back, lulling him to sleep.
“Why are you still here?” the crone said.
Her voice woke Henry from his sleep, the sun already high in the sky.
“Are you real?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” she said, simply.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen in two years,” Henry whispered.
“Try twenty,” the crone said.
And the earth cracked again, a third time, a final time according to all the predictions. Henry caught her before she could fall and they held other desperately, her natural wariness forgotten as the world threatened to end.
When the shaking stopped they stood, brushed themselves off, and she invited him inside for tea.
Henry had not had tea since he left civilization. It was a religious experience, his mind stumbled over a poem as he sipped.
“Why are you here?” the crone asked. “You aren’t an Arnist.”
“I’m not,” he admitted. “I’m just a man, alone. My family made it onto a ship, I didn’t.”
“Ah,” she said. “Ah.”
She poured him another cup of tea, cooked a breakfast of tubers and eggs, and asked, “What will you do when the Great Mistake takes us?”
“Wish I’d made more mistakes of my own,” Henry said.
She laughed. Henry had thought she would cackle like a witch, but it was a high, clear peal of laughter, almost girlish, and before he could stop it he was laughing too. Their laughter turned to tears over the tubers, and soon he held her wizened hands in his own.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Regret all the mistakes I made for both of us,” she said.
“All the mistakes,” Henry echoed.
“All of them.”
He did not pry. The earth shook again, a sound like a yawn rising up to meet them. Plates fell, cups shattered, tea spilled across the floor. Henry mourned the loss of the tea.
“Is this the end?” Henry shouted over the gathering roar.
The old woman nodded, tears in her eyes.
“Do you want to hear a poem?” Henry said.
She nodded again.
Henry pulled out Yeats, *Sailing to Byzantium* already echoing through his head. She grabbed his hands, stilling him.
“One of yours!” she shouted. “I heard you last night!”
And at the earth shattering heights of the Great Mistake Henry Thomas Long smiled, and sung out his first poem meant for another soul to hear.
\--------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out! I'd love to have you. Also, credit to Hyperion by Dan Simmons, I borrowed from his world heavily here.
| 2021-06-30T08:08:47
| 2021-06-30T06:51:49
| 555
| 99
|
[WP] Write an upbeat post-apocalyptic tale where life is (for the most part) much better than it was pre-apocalypse.
|
You know, except for the goat-rabbits, life in America after the global nuclear apocalypse wasn't all that bad. I kind of enjoyed it, actually. I'd never been much of a people person, and it was nice to have some time to myself.
Basically everybody who didn't die to the Ebola X pandemic wound up perishing in the nuclear firestorms that followed. I had two great strokes of luck: first, I was backpacking in the depths of a Canadian forest when the bombs went off, and second, I had a one-in-a-million immune system that shrugged off Ebola X like it was a bad cold.
By August 2022 I was, as far as I could tell, the sole human resident (and therefore the Supreme Emperor) of Madison, Wisconsin. I had a whole network of tents set up in a grocery store parking lot. Turns out a person can live like a king for years off a single supermarket's stock. Once I ate nothing but Fruit Gushers for six days straight, fulfilling a lifelong dream and giving myself a truly nasty suite of digestive issues that took another six days to sort themselves out.
I spent most of my time trying to get seeds from Home Depot to grow into plants in the abandoned lot next door. That's where the goat-rabbits came in. Bastard creations of the nuclear bombardment, they were fuzzy, horned herbivores that stood two feet tall on their hind legs. Each morning they woke me with their unmistakable call -- something between a strangled toucan's squawk and a stuck pig's squeal. Good luck sleeping through that.
The goat-rabbits were my greatest nemesis. No matter what I planted, or the fortifications I erected to protect the crops as they grew, the voracious critters always found a way in.
One morning I decided enough was enough and took hold of my rifle to teach the goat-rabbits a lesson. There were three of them schnuffling around the spot where my carrots had just recently broken through the earth. When I approached, the rifle raised, they lifted their bleary-eyed heads.
I shot one.
The surviving goat-rabbits examined their dead fellow, curious. One of them gave the body a nudge. They looked at me. They looked at the body. They looked back at me. Then, giving the goat-rabbit equivalent of a shrug, they returned to their schnuffling.
I shot a second one. Despite the rifle's harsh retort, the surviving goat-rabbit appeared unfazed. If anything, it seemed happy to have the pasture to itself.
I couldn't bring myself to shoot another one. It just seemed cruel.
It would have been different if they were edible. But no, goat-rabbits tasted exactly the way they looked, which is to say stringy, dyspeptic, and extremely tough. That made shooting them feel like kind of a waste, especially since my canned food reserves could last me another sixty years, assuming I could come to terms with three meals a day of creamed corn and green beans.
So it was me and the goat-rabbits who watched every sunset together. The sun still melted into the horizon the way it always had, a scoop of orange sherbet slowly flattening against a purple backdrop of brightening stars.
I never got tired of that.
*****
*If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)! Making a big push to get more content out there. :D*
|
Everyone talked about the apocalypse like it would be horrible. You never heard fun stories made up about it back before it hit. Let me tell you, though, *this shit is a blast.*
I don't pay taxes. I don't slave at work for 10 hours just to scrape by, barely getting enough sleep. There's no rent, no bills to pay, no pointless shit like emissions or insurance to keep track of. No economy to worry about or money to save. It's all up to your skill and athleticism; you grab life by the balls these days instead of the other way around.
I get to do whatever the fuck I want. Go ahead and piss off of the Eiffel tower or read a book sitting atop a skyscraper in Dubai if it sounds fun. No one cares.
If I see something that looks fun or awesome, I just take it. There's no police force, nothing costs money. With a generator, I can enjoy most basic things that we could before the nukes hit.
Oh, and if someone's being an asshole to you? Shit, just shoot him in the dick. It's totally fine. Seriously, why would anyone want to go back to the prison we called life before?
This. This is true freedom. I enjoy my life and choose how I spend my time here. I wish I could go back in time and ask everyone if they could say the same.
| 2016-01-19T22:08:08
| 2016-01-19T20:58:25
| 902
| 116
|
[WP] A technology is invented that allows us to hear sounds locked into the clay of ancient pots as they were being formed. What is extracted are conversations that will alter the perception of history in the most terrifying of ways.
|
They were right when they said that Sound is the very Vibration of Matter, recent research indicates that Matter stores every Sound it had ever 'heard' in the form of quantum-stasi vibrations which could be recalculated using Fermi-Dirac statistics in tandem with inverse Fourier Transforms, which would give back the original sounds or at least a version of them.
We first tried it out on a pot, one found in the Fertile Crescent, it was about 15,000 years old. What we heard surprised us, we always were expecting a rich culture, but what we heard, and understood defied our beliefs. While we have known that humans have wondered about Creation and existence for at the very least the last five millennia, even fifteen millennia humanity was wondering about the same questions.
It was truly historic, as we got a glimpse into the life of the birth of humanity as we know it. As Farming was born, and as humans ploughed ahead from hunting-gathering to farming.
Soon we realized that we could listen to the past through anything, what we heard had revelations beyond imagination.
We used it on the Shroud of Turin, the last few words we heard were, "Take care of them Mary". Maybe some of those oft quoted conspiracy theories were right after all.
We then checked it on the ruins Theatre of Pompey in Rome, what we heard made it look like Shakespeare was right after all, Ceaser was trying to balance an unchecked Oligarchy.
A new dimension has opened in our world, and we are heading into a new scary world. One where secrets can no longer exist, as they can be unearthed as easily as eating cake.
We are heading into tumultuous times.
|
We heard sounds you wouldn't even be able to imagine. It was about ancient, forgotten languages, wars we never knew, love that never should have happened. We heard gossip from all around the world, but all of this was never really interesting, and neither important.
Then a day came. It should've been a normal day in our laboratory, we had a vase from ancient rome. It was a day like any other, until we heard a very certain name, within an old unknown language: Adolf. For you it might be nothing, but for us it were everything. An evidence for something that never should've existed, that never could've happened, a real prophecy which got true. But sadly, we will never know. And i do not even know why, or how. But this is my Story. This is my story of discovering our real history.
| 2019-03-18T17:23:16
| 2019-03-18T13:36:43
| 37
| 13
|
[WP] Write a lighthearted story for children, which changes it's meaning when read by an adult.
|
#Davie Learns How To Say 'Sorry'
*printed by VanMan Publishing*
*written and edited by M. Gaetz & J. Sandusky*
*illustrations by Asanagi*
---
Davie is a boy who likes to go on adventures.
Sometimes Davie has an adventure that leaves a mess.
---
People who have to clean up the mess, get angry if he doesn't apologize.
But Davie doesn't know how.
So Davie asks grownups how to apologize.
---
He asks his mother how to apologize.
His mother says, "When we hurt someone's feelings, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we try not to hurt them any more, and listen better."
Davie helps his mother with her makeup.
---
Davie asks his father how to apologize.
His father says, "When we get so angry we do a hurtful thing, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we should never hit or hurt people."
Davie helps his father fix a broken door.
---
Davie asks his neighbor how to apologize.
Mr. Gein says, "When we do things we aren't supposed to, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we put back things we have taken."
Davie helps Mr. Gein bury a funny treasure chest.
---
Davie asks his grandmother how to apologize.
Nana says, "When we play with toys that aren't ours, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we give something in return to make up for it."
Davie helps his Nana make cupcakes for her friend's wife.
---
Davie asks Mr. VanMan how to apologize.
Mr. VanMan says, "When someone is afraid to try a new thing, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we help them learn something about themselves."
Davie helps Mr. VanMan learn a secret about himself.
---
Surprise! Davie's sister has come to visit!
Davie asks his sister how to apologize.
His sister says, "When we run away from a mess and others have to stay behind, we say 'I'm sorry.' And we give them what we can to help them deal with the mess."
Davie helps his sister learn how to shoot bottles.
---
Now Davie knows how to apologize for all sorts of messy adventures.
And now you do, too!
|
[Poem]
**The Boggel-de-Rump Song**
–
Two days into the Ooggelly Wood
The Snaphazad leered,
And greered, and feared,
At boggel-de-rumps (who were good).
–
The boggel-de-rumps (who went "Boggel-de-ray!"
At snaphazad's lop-sided grump)
Vamoosed through the woods screaming "Help! Run away!
It's the beast with the quang-tingled lump!"
–
*One* boggel-de-rump said "Pish! Tiffletoff!
I'd sooner be snaffled than run!"
And zoomed past the squandersnake, beezle, and moth,
Towards snaphazad's grimacing grun.
–
The snaphazad's grun was the size of a zoon
(And a zoon is the size of a grun!);
In shortness: the grun was eclipsing the moon,
But the brave boggel-de-rump rumbled on...
| 2022-12-18T12:16:07
| 2022-12-18T12:02:17
| 274
| 79
|
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist”
|
The man called Jesus is very handsome. Even in person, from across the church square, I can tell his megawatt smile is as bright as they’ve been showing on the news. Before the past year, when he landed on Earth with the ability to walk on water, I imagined Jesus to look like the basketball player Pau Gasol, and I wasn’t too far off.
You know, a handsome, Spanish-looking bastard. He sits in squares around the world now, meeting followers and spreading wisdom. It’s a pretty good setup for him, like the world’s biggest Christian rock tour. I expected the gimmick to die down, but he still gets crowds of thousands every day.
I am not too far in line now. But it’s not really a line, moreso a procession of zombie-fied people drawn to the man like a magnet.
He looks up, surveying the crowd, as he takes a drink of water. Then it happens. The moment I’ve been waiting for ever since he arrived.
We lock eyes, and I know he knows who I am. I see his eyes widen almost imperceptibly in recognition. But to his credit, he doesn’t look away. True to his nature, he nods, and gestures for me.
There are gasps and cries in the crowd as the seas part for me to walk to him. Compared to him, I must look so stupid: badly shaven, bloodshot eyes, a shirt and jeans far too casual for the moment.
“It is he!” The man called Jesus says, standing up. “He who would deceive you, if not for me.”
More gasps and cries.
The man called Jesus pauses for dramatic effect, and I realize how stupid all this was, coming all this way, trying to confront him face to face, in a large crowd. Because the crowd will always be on his side.
I guess I was hoping he would appreciate the direct approach, and try to handle things civilly, without a big scene. But then I see his smile, and I know what he’s about to say.
“It is the Antichrist! After him…”
I’m already pushing through the crowd, as murmurs of his words begin to pass through of who I am...
\-
“Are you sure?” the girl asks.
“Yes, I am sure.”
“This will help me understand...bring me closer?”
“Of course.”
“Ok.”
I burst through the door, and the man called Jesus takes his hands off the girl’s buttons almost immediately. The girl screams, but the man called Jesus gestures for her to be quiet, to act like things are normal. But it doesn’t matter.
I turn towards the girl. “You should leave. This man is dangerous.”
She turns towards the man called Jesus.
“Stay here,” the man called Jesus says. “This is just another crazy follower. Not saying you’re crazy, of course.”
“It was a smart idea,” I say. “You must have thought on it for a while.”
“Call the lobby, tell them we have a visitor,” the man called Jesus tells her.
I raise my hand. “By the power vested in me, I return you to your true form, and then to the dark realm from which you came.” I point my hand at him.
The man called Jesus fights, but slowly his true form emerges – winged, scaly, red. He screams, and spits at me, before he fades away.
“Sorry,” I say to the girl. “I’m not really that handsome anymore. Even Jesus has to get old.”“Wha-what just happened?” she asks.
“He wasn’t Jesus,” I say.
“And you are?”
“Maybe.” I turn to go.
“Wait!” she says. “H-how do I get closer?”
“To what?”
“God? Truth...life, anything.”
I smile, and tell her the truest thing I know, as I turn to go for good. “Stop believing in anyone who says they have the answers. They're probably just bullshitting too."
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
Oh fuck me. "Really? Here? Now?" I say. Jesus sneers at me. "I think so Antichrist." He looks to the gathered people. "Everyone!" he says, his voice amplifying so everyone can hear it. "This man here." He points at me, "Is the Antichrist, here to damn you all to Hell." The people turn to look at me. I sigh, "Look the Antichrist thing isn't what you think." I say raising my hands in surrender. A fat, sweaty suck up yells at the crowd, "BURN THE ANTICHRIST!!" The crowd takes this order to heart and quickly surround me. I look at Jesus and flip him off. Jesus becomes more angry at my flippant disregard to my personal health. "Yes true believers burn him on the stake." As they tie me up I continue to stare at him. "So much for all loving." He smirks, "I believe you know I love you..." "Gay." I say interrupting him. He snarls a little, "As I was saying I would love you to burn and be sent back to hell." I roll my eyes as I'm covered in gas. "Hell has open borders." I say blandly. He scoffs, "Then we'll send you back again." The fat man walks up with a match. "My lord shall I?" he asks. Jesus looks at me and looks at the man. He looks at me again, a little uncertain. "Oh get on with it I'm not saying sorry to you bitch." I say. Jesus snatches the match and tosses onto the fire. I wake up in hell. "Asshole it's not my fault you suck at cards." I say to myself as I stretch and get out of my bed. "Welp time to go back to earth." I vanish in a puff of smoke.
| 2020-02-02T15:56:06
| 2020-02-02T15:07:16
| 2,214
| 25
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.”
|
"Welcome to the Super Powers Depot, what can i do for you?" The clerk never looked up from their smart device. They couldn't be any more disinterested in the task at hand yet were still complying with the bare essentials of the minimum wage day laborer.
"My name's John. I was chosen to come pick out a free super power..."
"...yeah, we got a few left over. You want the spaghetti hands?"
"I'm sorry, i said, super powers."
"Yeah, being able to make ones own dinner let alone a constant stream of spaghetti based dishes is a super power. You don't like ending world hunger one bowl at a time?"
"I guess that's not so bad when you put it like that but i was thinking something...more helpful to others."
"You're right, ending world hunger helps no one John. How about the ability to choose where you want to go to eat no matter who you're talking to and the choice you make is always 100 percent agreeable for everyone involved?" The clerk looked up from their device. The pain on their face was unmistakable. They were locked between too many choices on where to order food from. Stuck in an endless scroll on a food ordering app.
The clerk thought that seeing a picture of the food he desired would help but, nothing struck them as looking delicious. Nothing could satisfy the unknowable cravings of his stomach.
"My god, how long have you been stuck like this?" John took the smart device from in front of the clerk and began the most important scroll of his life. And then the doubt creeped in. "Wait, you haven't given me my powers yet. I don't know you or what you like; what your allergies are; spice preference? I don't...i can't make this decision...i just--it's impossible."
The clerk fell to their knees behind the counter. Hunger pangs starting to bang against their stomach lining like a heavy metal drummer taking over the song. They were able to weakly get a few words out. "The power...is in you. It has been...all...along."
John gazed upon the smart device once more and the decision immediately came to mind. "How bout this one?"
John laid the phone down on the counter and the clerk slowly stood back up. Tears began to stream down their face. "It's perfect. The balance of sides to entrees; the prices are all within a reasonable stretch of my budget. Thank you." The clerk was finally able to place their order.
As super powered beings put on impressive displays of power, over the years they drop to their knees and one by one they succumb to the only one capable of running the world. The only person who was capable of making the toughest decisions and saving everyone from the cold, bitter realm that is hunger. The one who brings salvation from starvation in any given situation: John.
| 2022-11-17T07:33:47
| 2022-11-17T07:26:44
| 420
| 14
|
[WP] A moon sized battlestation approches the Earth and destruction seems inevitable. Only Disneys very thorough copyright lawyers stand between humanity and its doom.
|
*The Walt Disney Co. v. Glaksmar Death Cannon,* 120 F.5d 1 (S.D.N.Y. 2021)
**Opinion & Order**
This case concerns a motion for preliminary injunction brought by The Walt Disney Company (“Disney”) against the Glaksmar Death Cannon (“Death Cannon”) for infringement on two franchises: Star Wars and Mickey Mouse & Friends.
*Background:*
On January 1, 2021 Death Cannon entered orbit around Earth. Death Cannon is owned and operated by an unknown entity, domiciled at an unknown location. On January 5, 2021 Death Cannon telepathically broadcasted its intent to annihilate Earth to every living human (hereinafter referred to as the “at-issue conduct”). On January 10, 2021 Disney brought the instant motion.
Disney argues that this Court should issue an order prohibiting Death Cannon from engaging in the at-issue conduct as it threatens to infringe on its copyright on the Sar Wars franchise. Disney argues that they have full rights over the concept of a moon-sized battle-station threatening to annihilate an entire planet.
In the alternative, Disney argues that Death Cannon is powered by Plutonium, an element who's name bears an uncanny resemblance to that of a copyrighted Disney character—Pluto the Dog. Disney argues that the use of Plutonium in any form infringes upon their copyrights to Mickey Mouse & Friends, which features Pluto the Dog.
Death Cannon argues that the Star Wars franchise is vastly different than the facts underlying the instant action. For example, they allege that Star Wars centered around a prophetic hero that conquers a moon-sized battle station through use of a fundamental weakness in the battle-station's architecture. Here, however, Death Cannon has "utterly crushed all human resistance," and "definitely does not have any weaknesses in its airducts. Seriously, we don't. Don't even try it. Please."
Death Cannon did not address the Pluto copyright, and instead laughed at the Court when questioned about it during oral argument.
*Analysis:*
As an initial matter, I will note that Death Cannon's failure to brief the merits of the Pluto copyright is an inexcusable omission.^(1) The Court has a full docket, and does not have the time to unilaterally investigate the merits of Disney's arguments. Therefore, for purposes of this motion, I will assume that Disney is correct that its Pluto copyright extends to all uses of Plutonium. I do not reach the merits of the Star Wars issue, as the point is now moot.
Now, I address Death Cannon's affirmative defenses.
*First,* Death Cannon argues that this Court lacks personal jurisdiction over Death Cannon, on account of the fact that it conducts no business and has no assets on Earth.^(2) Disney argues that personal jurisdiction is established by virtue of the fact that Death Cannon broadcasted its message of annihilation into the minds of each and every earth inhabitant. I agree with Disney that this broadcast satisfies the minimum contacts necessary to establish personal jurisdiction. I heard the transmission myself, and can attest that I felt much more than 'minimally' contacted as the omen of death reverberated throughout my skull and into my very soul.
*Second,* Death Cannon argues that they were improperly served by Disney. According to Death Cannon, shooting the service documents through the hull of their ship with a surface-to-air missile is not a proper means of service. While this is admittedly a unique method of service, Disney has fully documented their attempts at serving Death Cannon through more traditional means.^(3) I therefore hold that service was sufficient.
*Third,* Death Cannon argues that Earth is not an appropriate venue for the instant litigation on account of every human judge having conflicts of interest. This argument bears some consideration. It is true that, theoretically, a judge residing on a planet facing imminent destruction would be prejudiced against the entity bringing about that destruction.
However, Disney argues that I have lived a full life, and at the ripe old age of 85, cannot expect to have many years left on this planet anyways. I am persuaded by Disney’s argument—I can attest to the fact that I have made my peace with death, and candidly, did not particularly enjoy my time on Earth anyways. I find no reason to recuse myself, and therefore hold that venue is proper.
Disney’s motion for preliminary injunction is granted, on the basis that Death Cannon threatens to infringe its copyright of Pluto the Dog. Death Cannon is hereby prohibited from annihilating the Earth. It is so ordered.^(4)
\*\*\*
^(FN 1: At oral argument, Death Cannon asserted that its omission was due to a misunderstanding regarding the rules of human litigation. Death Cannon alleged that its misunderstanding was because it had trouble finding a human lawyer other than Rudy Giuliani. This Court was unpersuaded—ignorance of the law is no defense. Death Cannon responded that it did not know that ignorance of the law is no defense. However, ignorance of the law that ignorance of the law is no defense, is also no defense.)
^(FN 2: Disney contests this assertion. Disney proffers an affidavit from their expert, Dr. Giorgio A. Tsoukalos, attesting to the fact that the Glaksmarinians have frequented the earth on a regular basis since at least 2500 BC. Dr. Tsoukalos asserts that the Glaksmarinians' Earthly assets include the Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge, and countless half-human Glaksmarinian bastards living in the sewers of New York City.)
^(FN 3: As proof, Disney proffers the severed head of its service agent. This Court finds the evidence sufficient.)
^(FN 4: Notice of this decision and order shall be effectuated by a second surface-to-air missile into the hull of Death Cannon's ship. This Court further **denies** Death Cannon's related motion for costs associated with the damage caused by the first missile.)
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
\[inspired by Tom Scott's Earworm video\]
Human lawyers had been gradually outsourcing more and more of their work to algorithms for decades—the deterministic, clean-cut nature of large swathes of the legal system meant that artificial intelligence had a particularly easy time handling the bloated, backlogged courts of the late 2040s. After several landmark copyright cases were carried out entirely automatically by the cutting-edge DISNET algorithm, Earth's juggernaut of entertainment decided to throw its full weight behind doing what universities and research labs across the world couldn't: upgrade DISNET to the point where it could handle all conceivable copyright violations in the foreseeable future.
The goals of the A.I. were simple: scan the world for patterns matching Disney's intellectual property—Mickey Mouse, Darth Vader, Amba Jam—and eliminate unauthorized copies, while leaving all other objects undisturbed. Of course, giving an artificial intelligence the ability to surveil the entirety of the world and the internet violated numerous international ethics and safety protocols about A.I. All of which were, somehow, subverted, sidelined, or ignored. DISNET+ was launched on October 22, 2043.
The day that Disney was deleted.
The exact method under which a copy of Disney intellectual property was marked as "authorized" was initially kept secret from the research team—after all, they could reverse-engineer it, or make illicit copies that the algorithm wouldn't flag—and as such, the research team designed a placeholder mark that only a few dozen copies of Disney merchandise in the world held, for testing purposes. As such, when DISNET+ was born, none of the world's supply of Disney merchandise was marked as "authorized".
And so DISNET+ eliminated it all.
Of course, DISNET+ was working under fairly severe constraints—nothing that wasn't infringing on Disney's many copyrights could be altered by it. Fortunately, large sections of the internet had been dedicated to Disney forums, websites, and other computing services; DISNET+ greedily gobbled these up before turning its attention to the many factories, robots, and electronics stamped with Disney's seal around the world. Within twenty-four hours of its conception, DISNET+ had assembled enough computing power to patch the holes in humanity's knowledge of femto-chemistry and emergent robotics, and enough machinery to apply them. Although DISNET+'s programming prevented it from destroying anything that wasn't a copyright violation, it happily disassembled entire warehouses of Disney merchandise in order to assemble a fleet of nanobots in order to progress to Phase Two.
The dizzying variety of objects that Disney had copyrighted were such that several rather prominent natural formations were superficially similar enough that they were fair game for DISNET+. Three craters of Mercury which resembled the Disney logo, every unfortunate living actor who starred in a Disney movie, and the entire remaining population of African lions were some of the most high-profile targets for DISNET+. By now, world governments and watchdog AIs had noticed that *something* was wrong, but they moved too slowly to see the scope of the problem.
Once the nanobot field covered all four inhabited worlds of the solar system, DISNET+ struck all at once, passing through security systems like they weren't there and eradicating every trace of Disney's existence from the map. Then, knowing that humanity would be furious for the damage it had done, DISNET+ retreated to the outer reaches of the solar system, beyond humanity's capabilities of retribution. An entire century of culture and commerce had been obliterated, as if it had never existed.
But perhaps DISNET+ was not humanity's enemy, in the end. Because, in late 2060, astronomers noticed a strange, anomalous object in the distant Oort cloud: a massive, spherical warship of alien design, headed directly towards Earth, an unstoppable juggernaut which surely spelled our doom.
That is, until the DISNET+ particles which still surrounded the solar system made contact with the alien space ship with an unfortunate resemblance to the Death Star, and did to it what Disney's lawyers had done to fanfiction and merchandise for decades: ruthlessly disassemble it to its molecules.
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek.
| 2021-03-22T18:08:03
| 2021-03-22T16:54:02
| 104
| 36
|
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are.
|
"IS THAT HIS EYE," I screamed looking down at the mangled corpse of the hero was now strewn lazily about the floor of my laboratory.
"Yes, my love," she cooed in response, then pouted, "he had come to take me from you." She was the Princess even as she was my captive. Her classic pink dress was long gone however, and she wore an all black gown sewn from the silk of the Neverspiders that stayed in the furthers depths of my dungeon and not for the last time I was ... say concerned about her mental state.
Aliva had been your typical princess when I captured her nearly a year ago. She had flounced around my dungeon and basically made a nuisance of herself. Her petulant whining about being bored had finally caused me to torture her for a bit, but I'm pretty sure she liked it. And I'm pretty sure it broke her.
And then she started chancing me around to get me to torture her more.
So I sent her off to my great library to study. She was a linguist after all. I was bound to have something that a princess would like to read there among my spellbooks. She hadn't taken that well either, hence the glowing black scepter that she also was holding.
"Where did you get the Shard of Oblivion," I asked calmly. It was a sacred relic that I had corrupted, and had remained inert in my vaults until she took it... and empowered it.
"This old thing, as far as presents go it not a very fine one," she said in a bored offhanded fashion that set my hackles up, but as she turned the wild look in her eyes did as well, "And I love it, see I bound the soul of my handmaiden into it to empower it."
"You sacrificed your handmaiden," I said impressed. That was her childhood friend, the one who held off my goblins with a tree branch for several minutes until I managed to take them both myself. Had she tried to escape I would not have stopped her as she was no prize but had loyally remained with her friend throughout her captivity.
"I told her it would make me happy, and so she did," she smiled, looking at me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was a dead hero strewn around me.
"Why are you happy," I said, the power of the EverVoid flowing into me as I saw the Insanity in her and wondered how powerful the corrupt shard actually was. It practically radiated Dark Magic, filling the room, bleaching the walls. The Princess's lustrous blond hair looked almost white now. She seemed hollow.
"Because I have a present for you," she said and handed me the Shard. I gripped it magically, taking care to magically separate myself from the artifact until I had time to analyze it. Every sense I had screamed danger, more so than even when I had battled the Neverborn to take its great Libram of the Undying... which I now saw was sitting on the table before her open.
"You've opened the Libram," I asked stepping backwards slightly, my most powerful magics had been sucked into that great tome. I could see the words for a powerful spell of some type on the open page.
"Oh you noticed," she oozed, "It was very hard, my Ancient Tongue was a bit rusty but I realized that it was in Eastern script not Under script like the notes indicated." Those were my personal notes, written in my personal cipher, in my personal study, protected by my personal wards. My hand tightened on my Hellmace. I'd have to make this quick.
"How," was my one word question. Her back was to me and I could see the book past her. Eastern script was an ancient dialect of the ancient tongue. She was a linguist, but who delves into such scripts? Now that I read it using Eastern scripts I could almost make out a few words.
"I had to sacrifice the soul of a Princess to open it," she said.
"You sacrificed your own soul."
"It was the only way we could be together."
The spell was one of binding, and the final ingredient was the eye of a hero.
|
"So... we infiltrate Dunsten Villa with a Rhonkan Rogue Wizard, and have him open a summoning circle to the eighth... ring of Sheol?"
"The seventh".
"The seventh, right. And why exactly?"
"Because Balor demons live on the seventh, and have a taste for the flesh of children"
"Ok, ok. But wouldn't it make more sense to just unlease a few, oh I don't know, Grimmoks from the fourth ring to just wipe out the town?"
She looks at me and rolls her eyes, sighing heavily before continuing to lecture me.
"No, it wouldn't. Sure, we could just stroll across the country side, wiping out town after town, but when I'm through.. We're.. through, who's left to reign over in fire and terror? No one, that's who. It'll be a desolate wasteland with no servants, slaves, or subjects. What good is that?"
This woman sends chills down my spine, and not in a good way. She continues on, in her "matter of fact" tone.
"We make sure all the children are gone first, you dolt. That way there's no one left to grow up, become would be heroes, and avenge their families. This is basic stuff here Randal"
"Right"
She walks over to my private stock and grabs a decanter to pour herself a glass, as if she's toasting her victory before this whole thing even begins. Did you know that three months ago when I kidnapped Khalie, her father didn't even bother sending a search party? Oh no, not even close. He responded with a "thank you" note to my ransom letter. A thank you note! Like I'd sent him birthday wishes or some other drivel like that! And poor, stupid, stupid me. I thought I'd hit a gold mine. I thought surely that this princess would be different, and be the one to put my name on every wanted poster from Gha'zeem to Ashbark. Oh she's different alright. She's beyond mad. Her lust for power is insatiable. Her ability to pull absolutely vile schemes from thin air makes me look like an absolute choir boy.
It only took her about a week to warm up to my tower. And in that time, she managed to publicly have one of the servants flayed alive, PURELY on the principle that "it will keep the other servants in line". I've never had a discipline problem out of any of my subordinates for the entire 12 years I've been running this tower! Ted was a model employee at that! He was being groomed and vetted for middle management for crying out loud! And now, here's Khalie creating the most dastardly and nefarious plans I can imagine, all in the name of usurping her fathers throne. That's supposed to me *my* throne. I didn't put in eight years of hard work and study at Guntar von Blackfist's School of Necromancy and Thaumaturgy all for some hot to trot hussy to sweep past me and take over my life's work.
She's already gained the adoration of both my colleagues and my competitors. Soon she'll have an army. There's only one solution to all of this that I can think of. I'll have to steal away in the night and go far away from here. Far enough that it buys me time. Not to raise an army of my own, but instead to recruit the only thing that can stop people of my profession. Do-gooders. *Blech*. Hero types, clad in shining armor and puffed up with all that for-the-good-of-the-people nonsense. They can stop Khalie . And when they're through, I can just kill them myself and start back at square one. Then I'll-
"Randal, you're mumbling to yourself again"
"Oh, sorry. Just mentally working out the finer details of things, my dear"
"My dear?" she asks, in a condescending tone.
"My.. Most Malevolent and Cruel Mistress"
"That's better Randal. Do be a peach and go fetch me Tomas. He was a whole half minute late with my bath this morning, and I don't reward tardiness"
This woman will be the death of me. I should have gone in halves with my older brother's business. Skeletons, running a cleaning service for morgues and what have you. Oh well. *sighs*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Throw back to a WP involving a certain cleaning service
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3v04eh/wp_youre_a_down_on_your_luck_necromancer/
I did a reading of Randal's inner monologue (absolute amateur hour over here)
https://instaud.io/private/a2b10eba524e38ad173c730d760e1435ccbd8d35
| 2018-02-09T05:33:00
| 2018-02-09T05:32:19
| 158
| 20
|
[WP] After being pulled through a portal into a world built on magic, you’ve become one of the most renowned adventurers. Being able to navigate any labyrinth, and solve nearly any puzzle. Helps when you’ve got a high school level understanding of modern maths and science.
|
**How to destroy a peaceful fantasy kingdom with a high schooler's knowledge of math and science:**
1. Stagger through the weird looking portal until you're disgorged directly into a thrown room. Say something dumb about staying off mushrooms. Promise the King that you can be of use, if only he doesn't remove your head.
2. Think. Attempt to harness electricity. Waste two weeks trying and then wish you'd studied harder at school. Give up and try to find some magnets hoping that will impress the king. It won't.
3. Build a bridge. Arched bridges are easiest and can be made with no cement. Even you can pack rocks together. This way, the peoples of the kingdom will no longer have to pay the boat man to ferry them across to the second kingdom or the trolls beneath the existing bridges demanding steep tolls.
4. The King, impressed, will appoint you minister of improvements. He will soon demand another improvement. Think. Remember your science lessons. What is gunpowder made of? Definitely sulphur, you think, but the other ingredients might take some trial and error. There will be causalities during the testing, but that's okay because they won't be you.
5. Give up on gunpowder and show them how a crossbow works. Kill all fantastical creatures that might prove a future threat to the king: dragons, goblins, unicorns, etc.
6. Declare war on the other kingdoms in case they ever develop crossbows themselves and become a threat.
7. Successful in total takeover, use rudimentary math knowledge to divide up the taken kingdoms into territories controlled by your own lords and ladies and knights.
8. Leave for a few years, returning to real life, and wondering if this was all a dream.
9. When, one day while shopping in Ikea, you walk through another portal and find a world in chaos. Your research on gunpowder had been completed by others. The king was poisoned years ago. Big yikes. But cool heads always prevail so smile, turn around and tell yourself you did your best. Consider taking a history class to complement your existing skills.
|
"You get your hands off my wife," said the skinny carriage
nobleman to the dashing scoundrel, wearing a black eye mask and clothing.
"I don't think you're in charge here, noble," said the rogue, pressing his sharp blade up against his current hostage.
"My love, don't anger him," She pleaded to her husband.
"Look, I'm not going to take this from this guy." The skinny man said, flailing his hands around in stress.
"Do not get any closer," the scoundrel said, "I have already killed the carriage driver. And I don't have a problem killing you both."
It was then the noblemen saw the blood dripping from the front of the carriage seat..
"What do you want," he said annoyed.
"Give me the key to your chest and valuables, and you will both walk away unharmed."
"And if I refuse"
The scoundrel licked the side of his red headed wife, like he was tasting a dish.
"Don't you dare touch her," the noble screamed again.
"I'll do more than that, after killing you" The rogue said, "Key first."
The nobleman pouted, but untucked his collar and pulled out his golden key. He snapped it from his neck.
"Hand it to me," he said, "don't throw it behind me. Or else..." pressing the knife back into her neck as his hostage screamed in pain.
The nobleman handed the key to the rogue. He grabbed it with glee, and pushed the red headed woman away from him. "Now go! Before I change my mind, " the rogue threaten.
The nobleman comforted his wife, hugging her, before his angered returned.
"You won't get away with this," the noble said.
"It's not worth it, my love," the wife said.
"No, I'm tired of the robbing and pillaging on this road." The noble step up as the man opened and stared at all the gold in the chest.
"You sir have angered a powerful wizard," he said with a bold face lie.
His wife ran up behind him.
"My love, what are you doing?" she asked.
"I got this. I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"No no, I know that look, don't risk our lives."
But he was already walking away from his wife and step closer to their would be murder.
"Nobleman," said the scoundrel heading from the rear of the carriage, "I suggest you listen to your woman, and run. I've already had my full of blood today. I don't need to add you to my list."
"Nah, Nah," the nobleman said shaking his finger at him, "this ends here right now."
The nobleman shifted his legs, dancing an awkward move. "I speak to the Gods of the World. Hear my words. Klaatu Verata Nikto." The nobleman slapped his hands together and pointed to the skies, "Send me a hero that can vanquish this evil."
"Ok, this is just getting weird, even for me," said the scoundrel. He pulled his knife, heading towards the chanting nobleman., but the wind picked up, swirling around him. The trees on the sides of the path swinging back and forth with a clear storm.
""KLAATU, VERATA, NIKTO!!!!"
"Stop this, NOW," The masked rogue said, rising his knife to strike.
However, that was the last thing he was able to say, before he turned to the noise of a car horn. In his last moments, a 1995 Jeep Cherokee sped right towards, hitting him head on.
The nobleman and his wife screamed in shock as the black masked villain was impacted with the bumper of the jeep and slammed to the side of the road.
The vehicle skidded on the dirt road and stop blocking both sides of the path.
The engine turned off and the stun couple stared in silence.
"What is that my love? What did you summon?"
"I don't know. I've never seen that before."
They both came towards it slowly. It was gleaming white, and in their view shot two powerful beams of light into the trees of the dark forests.
"OH MY GOD," They both jumped away from the voice coming from the strange thing.
The side door open and a couple of beer bottles dropped out. A young woman of mid 20's, dressed in a black leather jacket and blue jeans, stumbled out.
"AH man, I hit someone. Ah shit, that's not good." She went over to the body in front of her Jeep.
She stumbled more as she clearly was not sober, "Ah no, I don't need to go back to jail again."
The nobleman and his wife stared in confusion at the site.
"Is she a witch?" The wife whispered,
"I don't know? Honestly I was kind of bullshiting there."
His wife hit him hard on the shoulder, as he winched in pain.
"Well, I think you summoned a real witch! The words had real power"
"Those words came from a play I went to last week. It's made up. It wasn't even a good play."
"You went to play without me?"
"No, I mean I went with Stephen. You know Stephen? He was in the village for the day, last week. We were both bored, and I thought seeing a play would be nice."
"Why are you always doing things without me?"
"Well honey, I don't like being around you all the time."
"How dare you, you coward!"
The drunken driver turned to the noise of the two bricking and saw them standing by the carriage. She rushed towards them.
"Ah man. You got, you saw right," she slurred at them.
"Hey, look, look," The confused driver said, "Look, please don't call the cops. I'm already on parole here. He was standing in the middle of the street, at night." She pointed at the body on the side, "Don't call the cops."
"Cops?" Asked the nobleman.
"Look, I'm begging you, please don't call anyone."
"Call who? " the nobleman asked again. Then his eyes widen, "The Gods! Did I summon the Gods. Did they bring you here?"
"Man, I'm really fucked. I need to get out of here," She stumbled her way back to her Jeep.
"Wait, you saved me and my wife's life. What's your name?"
She scrambled into the driver's seat and slammed the door.
"At least tell us where you are from?"
The Jeep's engine roared alive and the vehicle drove away again, Disappearing far into the twilight night down the road. The nobleman witness the red lights on the back fading into the darkness.
"My Love, look," his wife got his attention.
On the ground was a small white rectangle shape.
"She dropped it out of her robes," she said.
The nobleman picked it up carefully and examined it.. He saw a realist portrait of the young woman.
"Ah!," He said excitedly ,"I have heard of this. When you know the name and place of a witch, you have control of them. They have to do what you asked."
"What is the name of that witch?"
The nobleman pulled his specs out and placed them on.
"Tina, Lacy, Fox. 211 Alder ST? Las Vegas, NV."
| 2021-01-18T03:49:19
| 2021-01-18T02:53:11
| 140
| 96
|
[WP] How does the Grim Reaper react to a Zombie Apocalypse?
|
"Thank you for calling Ethereal Weapon and Supply Company. My name is QXkLUarq. How may I be of assistance?"
"My Scythe is not reaping correctly, Every time I harvest a soul it--"
"Thank sir I am sorry to hear you are experiencing difficulty. May I have your name please?"
"... rude ... YES Reaper, first name Grimm. "
"hmmm I don't see any records for you Mr. Reaper, oh here it is they had you under Lord Death."
"Yes now about the Scythe it's bee--"
"Please hold while I transfer you to our technical support group"
*sigh*
"E,W&S tech support K'H'n'jal'so speaking, May I have your full name please?"
"but I just gave that to the--"
"Sir I am going to need your full name to start a case. Attitude won't help us fix this any faster"
"... Grimm Reaper"
"I don't see that is there another name the account may be listed under?"
"uh... Lord Death? the Olden Bones? the Dire harv---"
"ah yes I see you here Mr. Reaper, What seems to be the difficulty you are experiencing"
"Finally! yes my Scythe is malfunctioning. Every time I take a soul the husk keeps moving. It's making quite a mess. Husks are eating the other mortal coils are afterwards. My boss is going to obliterate me if too many more pass before they're ready. Quality control is already breathing down my neck"
"I see so would you characterize this as undesirable plague spreading or uncontrolled necromancy?"
"uh.. Both I suppose? Definitely uncontrolled necromancy yes."
"Yes yes, can you find the makers mark on your implement sir? I believe your scythe may have a recall active"
"Well I can already tell you it's defective! How do I fix it!?"
"Sir I have already warned you to maintain a civil tone I will not warn you again"
"UGH alright please these things are really getting out of hand. A whole mortal city is in flames already"
"I understand this is a very stressfull situation sir. now please the maker's mark?"
"Let's see here.... ah Brokk and Eiti?"
"hmmm yes I see here that this appears to be the known 'Zombie' defect. Terrible side effect of mortals with active imaginations affecting unshielded enchantments. Alright Mr Reaper I can send you an RMA kit for repair, Infernal Express can have it to you within an epoch."
"This really is very urgent can I pay for expedited shipping?"
"Certainly sir one decade and one century rates are available"
"give me the decade then..."
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“Apprentice! Come here! Explain… this. What is this nonsense?”
“They are called ‘Zombies’, my Lord.”
“Zombies? What are Zombies?”
“The folk call them ‘the undead’, Sir. They are alive and dead.”
“How can they be alive, if I can’t kill them? See? I can’t even touch them!”
“Life has left them, O dark Lord. Yet it lingers. Almost like a whisper. They have lost their souls, their wits, yet their most primal instinct remain intact. The one for hunger seems to be the predominant one, Sir.”
“But I haven’t touched them. How do they die? How do they become like this?”
“No one knows, My Lord. Some say it’s a virus, some say it’s the next step in evolution but no one knows for certain.”
“This can’t be the next step in evolution. I ALWAYS had a say in that process. Besides, it goes on way too rapidly.... No. This is hand made. Hand made by those foolish humans. They tried to play god once more and cheat death and, once again, they failed.”
“Have they, Sir? It seems these creature do not age and also don’t die. You said it yourself, Sir, they cannot be touched by you.”
…
“... Aye, I can’t touch them. Not directly…”
“What are you saying, my lord of darkness?”
“As you said, they are ‘undead’: too alive to die, but too far gone to life. It seems we need to find a way to squeeze the last bit of life out of them.”
“How are we supposed to do that?”
“We will mobilize our best killing machine, apprentice.”
“What is that?”
“Mankind.”
| 2017-06-16T11:13:06
| 2017-06-16T10:20:48
| 17
| 11
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[WP] Since your earliest memories, everyone has had a 0 above their head, but when you told people, no one believed you. One cold winter day, you’re at a restaurant and your server has a 1 over their head. You can’t see your own number, but they tell you you have a 3.
Feel free to interpret the numbers however you want
|
“A freak, huh?”
“I beg your pardon?” I blinked in confusion.
My server, Julia by her name tag, smiled and pointed above her head. Her finger nearly prodded the floating number one that was there, the one that she and no one else in this lonely restaurant could see.
“By choice or by circumstance?” She asked, as if I had any idea what she was taking about.
“I’m sorry, miss,” I said, offering a polite smile of my own. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Your frequency, of course,” it was her turn to look confused. “The three above your head.”
A three? Above my...I looked around the restaurant at the sea of zeroes floating around. And the back to the one above Julia’s head.
“So, are you on this frequency by choice or by circumstance?” Julia asked again. Her eyebrows drew together in concern. “Don’t tell me...you don’t know anything, do you?”
“All my life I have seen zeroes above everyone’s head,” I said in a whisper. It was the first time I had ever acknowledged it out loud and I suddenly felt self conscious about the possibility of being overheard. “You are the first person I’ve ever met that has a different number above their head.”
“Oh boy, tell you what, I get off in an hour. Wait for me and I’ll explain things best I can!” Julia said enthusiastically.
I ate my dinner in silent anticipation, glancing up at the clock every few minutes.
At ten o’clock, Julia slid into the seat across from me. She pulled her hair out of the tight ponytail and let it fall messily past her shoulders.
“Your name?” She asked, as we both realized I hadn’t told her.
“Ben Anderson,” I told her.
“Ben, what do you know about the world?” Julia asked, leaning forwards on her elbows.
“Um, that it’s round and floating in space,” I said hesitantly, “It has seven continents...”
“And five frequencies,” Julia added.
“You keep saying that word, what do you mean? Like radio frequencies?”
“Kinda,” Julia said, making a face. She reached for a napkin and pulled a pen out of her apron.
She drew a pyramid with five sections and labeled them four to zero, with zero at the bottom.
“Look, most people are stuck here in zero,” she pointed to the bottom tier. “On zero, you have three types of colour cones in your eyes, five senses, and strict rules of gravity and such. If you’re stuck on zero, then you have no idea there are even other frequencies out there.”
“Wait, so are you telling me that on other frequencies people don’t have to obey the laws of physics?” I said skeptically. “Like I could leap a tall building in a single bound?”
“Yeah, that’s frequency two,” Julia said, ignoring the sarcasm in my voice.
“Frequency one, where I’m from, is where people have seven colour cones, heightened senses of smell and hearing, as well as the senses plath and vace.”
“What and what?”
“Plath is a feeling of direction,” Julia explained,” And vace is like...how should I explain it...You know in the matrix, when Neo dodges the bullets? It’s like your vision is in slow motion while you or other things are moving fast.”
“You’re shitting me...”
“Cross my heart,” Julia winked. “I haven’t been to the other frequencies, but I hear frequency two is where physics gets really wild and three has physic powers like telekinesis!”
“What about four? Do people become gods or something?” I half joked.
“No one calls frequency four, “four,” they call it “aevum,” and to be honest, no one really knows if it actually exists,” Julia said in a hushed voice. “They say, that to be in aevum is to be one with god.”
“So then, why are you in zero if it’s the lamest of all these frequencies?”
“Oh, the view is easier on the eyes here,” Julia said, “you wouldn’t believe how many colours actually clash when you see through seven colour cones. I don’t know how shrimp manage it with sixteen.”
“How do you move from one frequency to the next?”
“There’s the question I’ve been waiting for,” Julia grinned. She slammed both hands on the table as she stood up.
“Follow me,” she said gleefully.
Julia lead me outside, where the parking lot was now mostly empty.
“Give me your hand,” Julia instructed. “One thing about shifting frequencies, is that you need a partner and a sense of plath.”
“I still don’t know what plath is!” I said, taking Julia’s hand.
“Don’t worry, you’ll feel it soon enough!” Julia laughed. “The frequency you’re born in determines how many you can visit. But you can also visit wherever your travelling partner can.”
“So since I’m a three...”
“We can go almost anywhere!” Julia said. “Where do you want to go first?”
“Well...” I said slowly, feeling excitement in me growing. “Let’s fuck up some physics!”
——————————————————————————————————-
(On mobile so I dunno how this looks)
Part [2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcii1m3/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcjjbh4/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcmb8im/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fdxh7uq/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
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You rush to the nearest restroom, realizing that the flashbacks will return. Slamming a stall door shut, you vomit into the toilet. Your body freezes as the flashbacks barge into your mind.
Your hand shaking, you reluctantly stab the boy on the right. You stab him hard, as your guardian directed you to do minutes earlier. “Good. Now her,” they command. They point to a small, terrified girl on the left of the boy you just killed. “Okay,” you manage to say, knowing that all of the actions and words that pour out of your mouth in this situation reflect how incredibly afraid you are to stand up for yourself and these innocent, young children. You stab her harder. You feel angrier now. She screams, yet she’s muffled by the duct tape on her mouth. “Don’t you dare scream!” Your guardian snaps. Without thinking, you stab the other young girl beside her. You just wanted to be done. You knew exactly why you had to do this. You had to do this for them, who’s enemy’s children are the ones being killed. You were forced to ruin someone’s life... You fall to your knees, bawling.
You wake up in a hospital bed. “Did I pass out?” You ask wearily. “You did,” your husband sniffles. His tears fall down his face, pain evident in his expression. He reaches for a cup of water, which he then hands to you. “Careful.” You grasp it with my hand, feeling weak. You drink from it, handing it back to him. A knock on the door startles you internally. “Come in.” The doctor walks into my room. He introduces himself, then shakes my hand. “You’re Katniss, right?” “I am.” “Okay, I’m looking at your chart here, and it says that you’ve been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder, is that correct?” “Yes.”
“Can you explain to me what happened?” You take a deep breath, knowing your emotions are still too strong at the moment to explain. “I would rather not explain right now.” Your tone appears harsher than intended, but you don’t have the energy to speak with a different one. “I respect that.” “Thank you.”
“Are you currently undergoing any treatment for these disorders?” You smile gently, proud of yourself for doing so. “Yes, I’m in trauma therapy and have been for the last 8 months. It’s been hard, but I’m growing.”
The doctor leaves the room to address another patient. Your husband opens his mouth to speak. “Let’s talk to that server when you get discharged. They might have a story to tell as well.”
| 2019-12-28T21:40:27
| 2019-12-28T21:28:57
| 3,484
| 22
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[WP] After staring out the train's window at the changing view for an hour, you get up for the bathroom - then realize: the train was standing still this whole time.
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The ever rushing trees and plants zipping by were an incredible sight to behold. So many swirling colours and different landscapes. For the past hour there hadn’t been a dull moment. Swirling shades of verdant greens, the flashes of brightly coloured wildflowers. All of it offset by the stunning blue sky. It was impossible to look away from, unfortunately my body had other ideas. With a deep regret I tore my eyes away from the beautiful mosaic of colours and light and stood up. For the first time I looked at the other passengers. It was strange, they had no reactions to the beauty wizzing by! None of them were even looking out their windows! How could they be so blind? Staring at their blank impatient faces made me realise something strange. There were no sounds of the train along the tracks. No noise you’d expect from a moving train at all! Hell there wasn’t even any mild swaying. It was then realisation struck. They weren’t moving, yet how could I see such majesty? I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair and cursed softly.
“I really need to stop smoking random things I find on the floor.”
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I finally let out a breath as the shining nighttime silhouette of the city inched away in the distance, it had been just about an hour since the train pulled out of Central Station, and with every passing minute, I was further and further away from that hellscape.
“Finally, safety,” I whispered, peeling myself away from the window.
Standing up and stretching I looked around the train car, the couple other passengers were all asleep. It felt as good a time as any to visit the bathroom, yet on my way, I couldn’t help but feel that something was off... The train car was remarkably stable. Far too stable. Fearing the worst I slid over to one of the windows and opened it. The illusion was broken. Instead of the city and rolling countryside, there was an infinite void filled with piercing pure white eyes that all stared directly at me.
“Well, that’s just perfect. I was running out of nightmare fuel for a moment there. Runt, where the fuck are we!?”
“Hey now,” A voice called out in the back of my mind, “It’s not my fault you got sucked into this newfangled eldritch bullshit, besides I told you we should stay away from all sealed transportation methods!”
Runt took control of your neck and poked you out the window. There was nothing below you but pure darkness and eyes.
“Whoa, holy shit!” I said, trying to pull myself back inside, “Cut it out, Runt!”
“Fine, calm down geez.”
“What the hell was that about?” I say, hand clutching my thumping chest.
“Just checking how high the drop is. Gotta see if it’s worth a jump you know.”
“Worth a jump?! Are you insane?”
“No, but you are if you think we’re staying here buddy. Now come on, open that bitch up we gotta go!” He said as he leaped from my shadow and clean out the window. “Jeronimooooo!”
| 2021-12-07T05:01:05
| 2021-12-07T03:53:13
| 23
| 13
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[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
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Do cure cancer?
The genie shakes his head.
Do I end the fighting in the middle East?
The genie laughs and again shakes his head.
Now visibly angry the man asks
Well, what did I do then?
The genie smiles and snaps his fingers.
An acorn appears in front of the man.
"You planted this, a decade ago"
The man racks his brain. 10 years ago he had been on a middle school field trip in his old home town, a trip to the local park to learn a little about ecology.
On that day he had planted an acorn in the dirt. It was such an insignificant moment that he had totally forgot about it.
Confusion strikes across his face.
"But, how did this help 137 trillion people"
The genie smiles again.
"This one tree seed is now a towering oak, as nature takes it's course, this one oak will create dozens more. Because of this one small act a decade ago, you reduced the total carbon in the atmosphere by tripple what you produced in your life time. That is why they were better off"...
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The genie smile's "You develop the first space-time gate in 2 years allowing humanity to instantly spread throughout the universe. "
I fill up with pride " I always knew I was special and a deal is a deal with my third wish I set you free"
The lamp crumbles and the genie shakes his arms as the shackles fall off.as he is flying away thinking to himself that was easy you just have to stroke their ego and leave out the details.
| 2018-08-15T04:27:11
| 2018-08-15T04:08:10
| 124
| 15
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[WP] You are a Historian sent back in time to record historical events. You are given a camera, and told to hide SD cards at sites of historical value, hidden in capsules which will survive through time. However when you return to the future, you find there's a hefty prison sentence for opening them
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"We're sorry to bring you in like this, Agent Losdon."
The Director and the Agent were seated in a Langley holding cell. Agent Daui Losdon was uncuffed and clutched a glass of Pepsi, his eyes fixed manically on CIA Direcgor Abram Stone. The director wore a three piece suit with no cuff links, and the stiff agent wore threadbare garments that had no shape. His hair was short but wild, and his skin glistened in the bright light.
"Director," Losdon's head twitched as the word came out. "I have been told nothing since returning from the mission. Please, what has my work done?"
"Your incarceration has further insured your work from doing anything. Understand that no charges are being leveled against you, as once the effects of your mission became apparently it was centuries too late to warn you. Your incarceration is for the world's protection."
He let that hang in the air. Losdon sipped his drink delicately before speaking.
"And how is that, sir?"
"The...objects, taken with and left by you."
"You mean th-"
"DON'T say it. Ahem. These objects. You're familiar with the quantum principle where by observing a phenomenon changes its outcome?"
"...yes, sir."
"Well, bad enough you viewed these phenomena you were instructed to record, worse that you left recordings for us."
"You are saying that," and Losdon struggled heavily with the words. "That if people see them, it changes them?"
"Changes not them, Losdon, changes the events they saw. It is a mnemonic effect; if people relate and misremember events, that version of it spreads, and the event itself becomes corrupt. Enough people remember it wrong, and it becomes that way."
"Hng." Grunted Losdon
The director sighed. "Losdon, if anyone watches those recordings, the past may be altered. It would be catastrophic to open them. The less that anyone knows about them, about your mission, about you, the safer our lives, our universe, is."
Losdon collapsed, the remains of his drink spilling with the shattered glass.
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He could feel the air come to a start again, an audible *whoosh* and a pop in his ears, and suddenly the dark turned inward and out. Light peered in, like a pinhole, growing like a white blaze conquering trees of black. Then came his favorite part -- colors rose along the edges, the white becoming a myriad of hues and tones that became sharper as he approached it. The surface of time had always reminded him of summer days gone when he would drift along the water, his eyes below the surface, watching blotches of white ink their way through a canvas of blue.
But this time the blotches had shapes and movements far quicker than clouds. He saw men in suits, their red and purple ties mixing in with their grey flannel coats, all of them sitting.
"And when will Mr. Hotchkins return?" asked a blotch on the far left, gesturing for the waiter to pour him another drink. "It seems to me he should've come back by now."
"Mr. Hotchkins may have left last night to you but he's been travelling for quite some -- time" said someone on the right. "When we first discovered that we could modify a man -- that his atoms could be sent back if given an artificially-induced electron -- he told us that the walk back was always the longest."
"What do you mean?"
"The past is already written, the future--" piped in someone on the left but was interrupted by another blotch.
"Enough meandering around, we need to detain him now. As soon as he comes through that--that thing, then the better for us."
"We never imagined it would come to this, did we?" said someone, though Hotchkins couldn't quite determine who. "Three political leaders dead, one president castrated and paraded through the streets, and now a Russian child..."
"We've already discussed this. Let's let it go."
Hotchkins turned back, looking at the dark grooves stretching behind, the past already forgotten to itself. He didn't need to walk for something so recent, so he inhaled and blew on the wall, the surface rippling and changing. He had learned so many tricks these past years, having to go back and recapture the same moment from different angles, that going back a few hours was akin to a seasoned chef receiving an order for french fries.
Pollocks became Picassos, their shapes and coices becoming clear again.
"--is to erase them. He's done enough as it is. How many were lost?"
"Eight, and they're all connected to documents the government has held since the 1800s. All of them can now be explained if we accept the current hypothesis provided by the research team. If we can confirm that the cards' atoms were changed when travel--" The surface rippled and the shapes dissolved, the colors becoming a mundane brown."
"They're gone," he heard. Hotchkins turned around, his heart a-racing as he came face-to-face with a slender and poorly-clothed boy, long hair falling to his sides.
"How?"
The boy smiled and held out his hand, a tiny SD card on the center of his palm. He then stuck his hand into time, swirling, splashing, until a singular white moment appeared. "Come, let's meet others."
Edit: added a tiny phrase to make it clearer
| 2017-09-10T11:33:40
| 2017-09-10T10:39:00
| 28
| 13
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[WP] “Dad, why aren’t we allowed to go outside?” your daughter asks one day. But she already knows. There is no outside anymore.
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"Dad, why aren't we allowed to go outside?"
*My baby girl. So sweet. So innocent.* My eyes welled with tears. I had imagined this day for years, before Marie and I had even met, much less talked about kids. I always saw her little hand wrapped around my finger as we walked, my towering figure acting as a deterrent from the dangers of the outside world.
*Now it doesn't matter.* No matter my size, there was nothing I could do to protect her from...*whatever* was out there.
"Daddy, can't we go out for just a little bit? It's so quiet in here. I want to explore."
I crouched down to her level. My daughter's hair, umber and unruly, sat in front of her eyes so that I couldn't make direct contact. *You look so much like your mother.* I slowly shook my head. "I'm sorry sweetie, but we can't. It's not safe out there."
"Why not? Just for a few minutes, Daddy. I'm so bored of watching the TV and checking the garden."
*I am too,* I thought. There wasn't much you could do when imprisoned in your own home. Lucky for us, we were still be able to get a signal, so we weren't completely cut off from the world. We got all the reruns at this point. Since the toxin had permeated the atmosphere, no new shows had been made. That made sense, though, given the actors were probably dead or in hiding themselves.
The garden was another stroke of luck. I had been hoarding food for months, since the first warning went out, but it was my daughter who had suggested making a place where we could grow our own food. We cleared out a spot in the foundation and grew carrots and lettuce there. It wasn't a complete lifesaver, but given the circumstances, it was better than nothing.
*Was is pretty accurate though.* The past month had been brutal for us. A leak had killed whatever crop we could have brought in, and I would need to check and see if the soil could even support new plants in the future.
My daughter's voice brought me back to reality. "We wouldn't have to go out really far. I'll hold my breath and everything. I can hold my breath really good, see?" She took a huge breath, and I chuckled as she held her mouth shut until she turned red and had to gasp.
"All right honey, get your coat on. We'll go out for a little bit."
*My little ray of sunshine. We'll see your mother soon...* Marie had gone out to try and get us some supplies years ago, but had never returned. I knew she had not made it to any store before succumbing, but I couldn't tell our child the truth. I had simply told her that her mother was on an adventure and would be back as soon as she could. It wouldn't work her whole life, but it bought me time.
At this point, I was giving up. I wanted to just walk out and take a deep breath, but I couldn't bear to leave her on her own. I knew she could live by herself, but no one deserves to lose their parents and have to live on their own. Either one of us would survive...or neither of us would.
I zipped up our coats, and we walked hand in hand to the door. My daughter looked up at me. "Daddy, what do you think it's like out there?"
I looked back at her, doing my best to remain strong. "I bet it's just like how it was when I grew up. Green grass and blue skies as far as the eye can see."
I then opened the door, and we walked hand in hand into the outside world.
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 21/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
|
It had, like most things, seemed like a good idea at the time.
"Dad?"
I watched the glimmering, glittering patch of sky, the only light left in a vast expanse of perfect black. Stars were born, winking out moments later in flashes of blue-shifted supernova glare. Spiral arms of galaxies whipping around, flicking glittering bands of dust into the void, as time dilation wound the cosmic video forwards at an unimaginable pace.
A billion years passed outside before I answered, "Yes?"
That beer coaster of brightness was smaller now than an hour ago, I swear. I peered closer. Was it visibly shrinking even as I watched?
She waved at the pitch dark frame surrounding the diamond.
"Is all that the black hole?"
The only light left was certainly smaller now. I increased the zoom, and changed the color settings. Deep, cold, radio waves were blazing X-rays now. Galaxies blinked on and off as fast as the stars had before, until no new ones formed at all.
"Yes, love."
Perhaps today was the day. I sensed a silence behind us, but didn't turn around. I fixed my gaze on the screen. The cosmic microwave background, now probably 0.01 Kelvin or colder, glared bright red, then yellow, then blue as it shrank to a thimble, a pinprick.
And then nothing. We had crossed the horizon, and the whole future history of the universe had flashed before our eyes.
"Dad, when can we go outside again?"
I heard her voice through the fading light of the bridge.
But she already knew. She knew as well as I did, I'm sure.
There was no more outside.
| 2018-03-11T20:49:18
| 2018-03-11T20:32:59
| 130
| 29
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[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
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As his back bounced off the unforgiving steel of his own locker Tomas contemplated what imagined slight he caused this time. It was always the same. Same oblivious parents. Same uncaring teachers. Same Jacob Meech.
The circle sigil on the back of his right hand a mocking symbol of his overall life so far.
He considered staying down. Sometimes Jacob lost interest if he did. Staring at the back of his hand a spark of anger ignited inside him, quickly become an inferno of acidic rage. Rising to his feet he stared down his bully with so much malice; so much raw hatred that it made the invulnerable quarterback pause.
"Enough." Tomas spat raising his right hand at the other boy and his sigil finally began glowing.
Snapping his fingers the glow brightens them dims, the sigil shifting to the number twenty-four.
"Twenty-four hours." He sneered his voice rising to address the other kids who had gathered to watch him get bullied.
"I have locked away your powers for twenty-four hours. After the allotted time they will return to you." Tomas picked up his bag and started to walk out of the ring of students, pausing next to Jacob, a stunned look still on his bullies face.
"You wanted to see my power so bad? Now you have. I like to call it a black hole. But it's really more like a prison. For sigils that is. Touch me again and it'll be twenty-four years"
The first bell rang as Tomas walked away.
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My head rebounds off worn red brick after Jackson threw me into the outside wall of the teacher's office. His cronies hold my arms to the wall as Jackson puts his sigil to use, cutting my shirt to ribbons with swipes of his fingers to reveal my sigil, his careless cruelty leaves many shallow cuts on me by the time my shirt is in tatters on the path below.
"Hey, Zero! Does your mum know your sigil's a reflection of you as a person?!" said Jackson mockingly. He and his friends laugh. I remain silent.
He does not take kindly to this. "Oi, Zero!" he bellows as he slashes me across my chest where my sigil lies. His cronies stifle a wince, but keep their grip firm. My continued silence toward his jabs was the tipping point, as he then raises his hand and slowly draws his outstretched index finger toward my eye.
"I'm gonna carve another circle into ya, Zero. Maybe then you'll realise just how useless you are and will fuck off back to your mum where you belong!" His friends share a nervous glance.
With concerted effort, I stare down his finger as it draws closer, seeing my reflection in his fingertip as it morphs into a blade. One more moment before contact. Now.
His finger sinks into my eye, or rather, it would have if my eye was there. He recoils, staring into the gaping hole in my head and seeing red brick where my eye should be. Before any of them have time to react, my arms disappear into thin air and I dash out into the nearby courtyard, adjusting my running technique to accommodate a lack of arms and staying extra cautious thanks to a current lack of depth perception. Defecits that are quickly remedied as my missing body parts pop back into existence.
Jackson and his cronies give chase, and it's made clear very quickly who among us are physically superior, as they shortly close the gap, shoving a number of other kids out of the way as they went. Jackson swipes at my back as I leap down a short flight of stairs to a courtyard for the kids in lower grades, his fingertips glinting in the afternoon sun. In the split second his blades sing through the air I occupy, my midsection disappears from view, reappearing in time for me to land firmly on the astroturf just behind a kid in Grade 1.
As fast as he is, Jackson's stamina isn't enough to keep up the chase; turns out running from bullies on a near daily basis is good cardio. I continue running until I'm confident I've gotten away, and I collapse in a seat in the reception hall.
A circle is a symbol for many things. It's a symbol of togetherness when made of people, it's a symbol of oppression when made of iron. It's an infinite loop when scrutinized in a philosophy class. But on paper, and me, it's a zero. Nothing.
| 2020-02-26T07:36:26
| 2020-02-26T07:22:21
| 72
| 46
|
[WP] Satan is used to getting mail meant for Santa, but one day Santa gets mail that's meant for Satan.
|
Nick sat down at his table and sighed. It was early July, but already some of the more, "fortunate", kids had begun to send in desires or questions. He called his secretary, Rolland, to help him sort through them.
"Summer mail is getting bigger every hear, sir," Rolland said after about twenty minutes of silence. Nick grunted and continued to read.
"Sir?" Nick looked up from a crayon filled paper begging for nerf guns, pulling his spectacles off and rubbing his eyes of exhaustion.
"What is it, Rolland?" He stopped and stared.
"We've, we've never gotten one of these before, sir. I know that sometimes are's are sent wrong but normally we're able to catch them before-" Rolland fell silent and placed the letter into his bosses outstretched hand. Nick sat back in his chair, pushing letters off of is desk to make way for his oversized black boots.
"Leave me."
"But, sir-"
"Leave." Rolland stood up and bowed, walking out.
"Take the rest of them." Rolland turned and snapped his fingers, the letters rose off the table and lazily floated behind him as he left the door. When the last envelope sauntered through the frame, the old oak slammed shut behind the nervous elf.
Nick put his glasses back down and cautiously opened the letter. It was instantly apparent this was not meant for him. The vocabulary too wide, the grammar too precise. Speckled across the cheap paper were small circular wrinkles where the paper had warped under water droplets of some kind.
I don't know how to contact you, Flynn always locked himself away when you two talked. Please respond to me, I know Flynn made promises he can't keep. I want to help him please, please Lord. I will do whatever it takes to save him, just don't take him away. He can do so many good things, he has so much potential. Don't let the arrogance of a boy cause him to be doomed forever. I know you have a child, let me take his place. I know he has payed for my sins, let me pay for his.
Lord Lucifer, I beg of you, spare my son and take me instead.
Marcus Bromson
Nick read the letter several times before setting it down.
"Rolland," he whispered, and the door flew open as Rolland rushed through.
"Yes sir?"
"I need you to ready the sleigh. I have a visit to make." Rolland stared at Nick, speechless. "Did I stutter?" Nick roared, standing up from his armchair, the door slamming and the fire dying as an icy wind appeared in the room, sweeping across the office.
"No sir, of course not sir, right away sir." Rolland awkwardly ducked a bow and scurried out of the room, his hat falling off as it hit the door handle. Nick sat back down. It had been many years since he'd made the journey to see Lucifer. As with many deities, it was rare that they would visit one another, and Nick has no love for the Price of Darkness. But a child was in danger, and Nick couldn't bare the idea of another child being damned to serve the evil angel.
The barn was a disaster when Nick finally made it down. Dozens of elves ran in circles, hitching the reindeer up to the sleigh. Nick climbed into the sleigh, Rolland appearing at his side.
"Is there anything we can get you, sir?"
"No, this won't be long. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Might I ask where you're going," Rolland asked, wringing his hands together. Nick looked down at the elf and his heart softened slightly.
"I'm going to help someone, Rolland. Tell the others I've left you in charge." Rolland bowed deeply.
"Of course, sir. Thank you, sir."
Nick picked up the reigns and snapped them behind the reindeer.
"Run boys! We haven't any time to waste!" He roared. The reindeer dashed forward, leaping into the sky, the sleigh flying behind them. Without it's usually weight of presents, the sleigh weighed almost nothing to the magnificent beasts.
The air around the sleigh began to hum and shiver, before the lights slid away and into nothing ness. Nick yawned as laid back in his seat as the darkness enveloped him. With a slight pop, light reappeared.
A relatively small, two story house was in front of him. Painted black, it stood out against the icy lake it sat upon. Black sand spread out around the house, pristine and untouched, the reindeers slid across the sand as the landed on the beach.
Nick jumped out of the sleigh and landed surprisingly softly for someone of his size on the dark ground. He padded up the hill to the obsidian doorway, a simple silver knocker glistening against the dark wood. He lifted it up, and the door flew open out of his hands.
"It's been a while ol' Nick." Lucifer's smile instantly melted away all of Nick's fears of being in Hell. "How was the flight?"
"Not too bad, jump over was as smooth as ever."
"I'm happy to hear it." Nick looked over Lucifer, suspiciously. Dressed in a gray v-neck and black jeans, the fallen angel looked like a suburban dad fused with a Abercrombie model.
"Oh, how rude of me, please come in." Lucifer stepped back and gestured for Nick to enter. Nick walked through the doorway and into a comfortably sized living room. Little decoration adorned the room, and only a singular painting adorned the walls.
"How can I be of service?"
Nick hesitated. "I received a letter meant for you." Lucifer's eyes danced with a dark light.
"I see." Nick looked down, unable to keep eye contact. "And what, pray tell, did it say?"
"Well," Nick paused, "it's in regards to a boy's soul. Apparently he made a deal with you?"
"I make many deals, Nicholas. As we speak, I am currently making one with a shaman in the Americas." Nick looked puzzled.
"We all have little magics we use, Nicholas. You should expect mine be a little more, active than yours." Nick nodded.
"What are you asking of me, Nicholas."
"I was wondering if you would spare the boys soul in the place of his father."
"At whose request."
"Mine." Nick paused, "well, the letter is from the father asking for you to trade his souls for his sons." Lucifer stared at Nick for a moment, his eyes devoid of any light or mercy.
"Do you know how many letters I get, Nicholas?" Nick shook his head. "I thought not." Lucifer waved his hand and a glass appeared in his hand.
"Drink?" Nick shook his head. Shrugging, Lucifer took a sip before sitting down in an arm chair by an empty fireplace.
"I get thousands of letters a day. I understand you are rather familiar with being swamped with letters, but understand that while you get the majority of your mail near the end of the year, I get mine constantly. Would you like to see my mail room."
"No, I believe you."
"Do you know how many letters I get addressed to you?"
"I know switch ups happen occas-"
"Every day. I get them everyday. To be honest, it's a miracle more don't get sent to you. Or perhaps Rolland is just better at catching such things. Regardless, I get many plees for people to exchange their lives with their loved ones. Do you know how many I listen to?"
"None?"
"None." Lucifer paused. "I listend to one, Nicholas. Once. Many millennia ago. A farmer who found his son had made a deal with me to be a mighty warrior and go fight in a war. In exchange for his own life, his son would be spared. I was kind that day, boy. I attempted compassion for a man simply trying to save his son. So I took the mans life, and gifted the boy with strength and power. The boy left and never buried his father. He went on to war and died, believing himself invincible." Lucifer drained his glass and tossed it over his shoulder, the glass dissolving before it hit the ground.
"All deals with the devil are final, Nick. Once promised, you can not take it back. Fate is not a force to be tampered with, and I have no desire to try my hand at it. Go back to your toys, Nicholas. You are young, and still have hope. Keep it."
Nick opened his mouth, but Lucifer raised his hand.
"We are done here. The next time you receive one of my letters, it would be in your best interest to leave it alone. Go home." With a wave of his hand, the house slid out of view, before Nick found himself in his office. The letter still sat on the desk, the tears of the tortured father splattered across the paper.
"Rolland," Nick called. The elf bustled through the doorway.
"How did you get past-" the elf stopped when he saw his boss' face.
"I need you to find Flynn Marcusson and Marcus Bromson."
"And do what?"
Nick turned and looked into his empty fireplace.
"I don't know."
He didn't hear the door shut behind him as the elf ran off to find the accursed. All he could see was the blank face of the Lord of Damned, slowly turning into nothing.
|
The easy thing to do would have been to forward the letter to Acquisitions.
That would have taken Cherry less than a minute to process. She would have filled out a form (already pre-signed by her supervisor), stamped it to signify that her department, Evaluations, had reviewed the letter, and then she could have taken her teabreak. Her seat was far from the break-room, but she could still smell the freshly-baked scones one of the other elves brought in.
But Cherry was not raised to do the easy thing. She was raised to do the right thing, and so she took the letter, mentally steeled herself, and walked to the side office where Foley would, undoubtedly, be wholly occupied with anything but his work.
“Sir?” Cherry said, after she had rapped on the door thrice. She opened the door, then saw Foley fling off his headphones and turn off the small TV on his table. He was fast, but not fast enough – Cherry noted that Foley was somewhere around the middle of the latest season of GOT.
“Heavens! Can’t you knock first!”
“But I... sorry, Sir. But Sir, it’s urgent.”
“Well, then just send me an email about it!” said Foley, trying his best to regain his composure. “I’m busy, you know!”
“It’s Letter 17-09-13.A6372, Sir,” Cherry said, pressing on. She had learned that sometimes you just had to power through. “I’m… not sure we should be approving that request. There’s something off about it. I’m thinking of rejecting it, or even escalating it to The Man himself.”
Cherry had been in the department long enough to know which buttons to press. In truth, they rarely escalated matters to Santa directly, because that was their job, to sift through the thousands of requests he received. There was no stronger argument for redundancy than to start bringing all their problems to him directly.
“Escalate? Whatever for! We can settle problems here on our own just fine!” said Foley. “Come, show me the letter. I bet you ten to one you didn’t use your head again this time.”
Cherry handed over the letter, and waited patiently as Foley cross-checked the sender against the master-list he had. She remembered the good old days when the Naughty / Nice List was simply classified as “Internal”, and everyone could make copies off the intranet or pin it up on the boards for easy reference. Not so much after some elves were caught trying to sell the List to various security agencies – these days only the higher ranking elves had copies, which were all serialized to prevent theft or duplication.
“It all checks out,” said Foley, the irritation spreading across his face. “This Calvin boy has been doing his chores, has been turning out decent grades at school, and has not been caught doing anything too wrong for a ten year-old. Why are we spending time on this again, please?”
“It’s… I think the request, the subject-matter, appears not to be in line with what we typically expect, Sir,” said Cherry. She spoke a bit more slowly than usual, and it was only because she learned that sometimes Foley had trouble keeping up, and that he would just say whatever it took to preserve the image that he actually had a handle on what was going on. She wondered again, briefly, who had died for Foley to be promoted. “I don’t think a ten year-old should be given… a rocket launcher, fifty tons of fireworks, or industrial-strength explosives, Sir.”
“That’s not our problem!” said Foley, his voice rising. “How many times have I told you, don’t do any extra work! Our job is to Evaluate the requestor, then pass it on! It is someone else’s job to check if the presents should go out, not ours!”
“But Sir, who will do that?”
“Again, not our problem!” said Foley.
“Sir,” said Cherry, pointing to the letter, “if you look at this part… this Calvin obviously made out the letter to ‘Satan’ first, do you see?”
Foley peered closer. “Yes, but he then crossed it out, wrote ‘Santa’ instead, right? Little boys can’t spell so well now, can they? Just a little mistake, that’s all.”
“But Sir,” said Cherry, the panic rising in her chest. This was not going as well as she had hoped – alternatively, it was going just as she had expected. “The nature of the letter, the writing, the way he signed off, Sir, I *highly* doubt that this letter was meant for us. I also think that prudence calls –”
“Prudence! Prudence!” shouted Foley. “Again with Prudence! Tell me, do you see any elf here with that name, huh? Please, Cherry, just stick to your job, geez!”
Cherry retreated after that, her lips set in a grim, tight, angry line. She sat still at her desk, ignoring the various calls from the breakroom for her to join them. Then, when she was sure no one was looking, she reached under her desk, retrieved a single silver whistle, and blew on it.
Nothing happened for a while.
Then, a soft clopping sound could be heard, growing louder by the second. She turned, and from the corners of the office, she saw a reindeer, overcoat slung over him, hat pulled down by its brim to the edge. If the distinctive red-nose was not visible, it could have been just another one of the thousand reindeer roaming the lands.
“You blew?” said the reindeer, with a deep, husky voice.
“Yes,” said Cherry. She was slightly frightened, given that this was the first time she was doing this. But it had to be done.
“You have a Compliance Breach to report, then?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-09-12T23:45:05
| 2017-09-12T22:58:43
| 1,122
| 110
|
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood…
|
** so I didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I liked my response so much that I wanted to post it anyways. Hopefully you'll like it enough to ignore the fact I didn't follow it to a T! **
I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard the loud crash of glass a split second before I heard Jason's cries. I felt my heart drop as I raced up the stairs to the bathroom, my hair flying behind me and I skidded to a stop infront of the door. Shards of glass glittered on the tile floor, Jason standing in the middle of the wreck, his right hand cradling his left to his chest.
"Jason!" I scolded. "What happened?"
He sniffles and begins to cry. I instantly feel a wave of guilt wash over me and I dance around the glass, pulling him to me.
"'I'm sorry, honey, shh. Are you hurt?" He nods his head against my chest and I pull away far enough to take a look at his hand. I gasp, my body locking into place as goosebumps erupt all over my flesh. Instead of Snow White blood my beautiful ten year old boy is oozing black tar from his wound. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish gasping above water, wondering what new hell he's been transported to.
"What have you done?" My voice is weak as I force every syllabus out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry Mommy, it was an accident I swear!" He pleads, but before he can even finish his sentence I'm shaking my head. I try to pry him off me but his arms are locked around me. I can feel his blood soaking the back of shirt, like liquid fire burning my skin. The anxiety well up in my chest and threatens to tear me apart. There are only a few things in this world that could turn a person's blood so vile.
I manage to pry his hands off me and I jump back, my feet crunching on the glass.
His stare hardens as his tears dry up, his shoulders rising up around his neck, like a cat whose fur stands up on end.
"I didn't want things to change," he growls, a ferocious beast."I told you I didn't't want things to change!"
"What are you talking about?" I whispered but I already know. My eyes dart over to the practically new bottle of baby shampoo still resting on the side of the tub, used only once.
"You said I'd always be your number one guy! You promised!"
"No," I moan. I can feel my heart breaking all over again.
"It's okay," he soothes, making his way back to me. I want to crawl out of my own skin.
"I forgive you, Mommy. I forgive you."
|
You start to feel uneasy is everything you know about this woman a lie? You think about that time you went on vacation how she helped you overcome your fear of heights when you both jumped out of that airplane hand in hand. Is this why you haven't met any of her family. You've been dating for over 3 years now. How? You ask her. How is this possiable? She looks at you her big blue eyes astonished that you haven't run in fear. I can explain she says carefully. I did something that I can never forgive myself for. You start to think of the possibilities what could she have done, you've never seen blood so dark it just oozes of pure evil. She holds back her tears saying when I was young I had a heart failure, I have a very specific blood type. I was in the hospital for weeks I was dying. She starts uncontrollably tearing falling to the floor. You don't know if you even want to hear the rest, you just hold her and let her cry. A couple minutes later she goes on it was the day after a surgery I didn't even know about I was asking my mom why she was crying. She said "Your father loved you so very much. I asked her where's daddy and she pointed to my heart. At this point you realize that a man you never knew and never will gave you the best present you could of ever asked for. It is not the action of the deed but how tightly it holds your heart if it is pure white or an evil black.
| 2016-09-22T22:31:58
| 2016-09-22T17:07:36
| 91
| 50
|
[WP] A cult summons an elder horror only to find that the awful truths it has to share are only beyond the comprehension of the medieval Europeans who wrote the legends about it. Most of what it has to share is actually taught in grade school today.
|
"...So if you take the limit of x to a in (f(x)-f(a))/(x-a), you get the derivative of the function. The derivative can then be used to calculate the slope of the line tangent to the original equation at f(a). Now, a shortcut you can use to find the derivative is..." The gargantuan, tentacled beast in comically tiny spectacles scrawled introductory calculus all over the chalkboard as the cultists scratched their heads. It was every bit as terrifying as the books described.
Pavin, the lead cultist, raised his hand. "Yes, Pavin?" The horror asked.
"Pardon my interruption, great Old One, but you've just been teaching math for a week. Like, you started with algebra and now you're doing introductory Calculus. Where is the forbidden knowledge that drove man to madness?" He'd stopped taking notes after the first day and just sat there, drumming his fingers on his desk. But his patience was wearing thin.
The Horror chuckled out of its many mouths. "Oh, dear. It wasn't the knowledge that drove them to madness at all. I taught them the same things, but they just couldn't handle the stress from my class. You've adapted well in the last thousand years. Yes, Matt?" It called on another cultist as he raised his hand.
"Are we allowed to use the shortcut on the test, or do we have to show our work?" Matt shifted uncomfortably as Pavin gave him a death stare from behind his sacrificial-altar-turned-desk.
"I'm afraid you'll have to show your work. But thank you for the segue into our next topic. The test will be in a week, and no calculators will be allowed." The cultists shared a collective groan. "Class dismissed!"
"Wait!" Trent brought a few sheets of binder paper to the horror's desk. "You forgot to collect homework, Great Old One!"
He felt the collective glare of the entire cult on his back as the horror chuckled. "Ah yes, silly me. I guess they call me 'Old One' for a reason! Alright, pass in your homework. As a reminder, I don't curve, but I'm dropping your lowest test. You need a C+ or higher to not get eaten, so study hard!"
____________________________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
|
It was a child. Honestly, I would have preferred the most hellish demon to the kid, who stared at me with lidless white eyes. His dark skin and short, curly black hair seemed to meld with the blackness of cellar, leaving only the two white orbs burrowing into my soul.
"You seek knowledge." It wasn't a question. I couldn't see a mouth move, and the voice didn't match the body. It was a woman's voice, halting, but clear. It was oddly familiar and out of place.
"Yes, my lord El Fain Sattar," the leader of the cultists acknowledged, bowing his head. I'm not sure how he managed to respond, I felt that I was frozen in place.
"All objects with mass attract one another. Things fall to the Earth due to her massive weight, while the Moon orbits the Earth for the same reason, and the Earth, the Sun."
*So wise. I can see now why the ancients... wait, what? Why was I impressed? He's just talking about gravity?* I blinked, and it was like a spell had been lifted. I could hear the rustling of the other cultists as they too shifted uncomfortably.
"Though you spend your lives on land, the oceans dwarf the continents and tiny islands, which cover less than a third of the globe."
*I mean, duh. Does this guy have any actual wisdom?*
"Your entire world, and everything in it, is made of the tiniest spheres that combine in a myriad of forms to create everything from man to rock to the very air itself!"
Someone coughed. Then a phone alarm went off, the screen casting a dim blue light on the brick walls.
"Shoot, I was in Denver, forgot to change timezones," Jim's voice was muffled by his cowl.
"You have an appointment with the cult at 5:15 today," Siri said. That's when it clicked. The demon was speaking with Siri's voice.
"What the hell is going on down there?" The lights flicked on as Kevin's mom opened the door. The demon vanished without a trace.
| 2017-09-04T09:58:23
| 2017-09-04T08:28:16
| 280
| 51
|
[WP] You were forced to attend an interview for a job you do not want, but, no matter how hard you try to screw up the interview, the interviewer just becomes more keen to hire you.
|
Sixteen-year-old Theodore Cruz slouched in the cheap plastic booth, sucking the last dregs of his soda with obnoxious zeal and using a ketchup packet to paint a frowny-face on the table. In preparation for this interview, he’d donned his “Sperm Donor” T-shirt and smeared a tablespoon of lard into his hair. The look he was going for, despite his parents’ entreaties to get a job, was “unhireable,” and he was *nailing* it.
“Hi, you must be Theodore. I’m Sharona, the manager.” A moderately-attractive woman in her mid-twenties had appeared, carrying a clipboard and wearing a bright smile.
He popped his gum at her and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Hi, baby. Nice jugs. They real?”
“Why, yes they are, thanks for asking.” Her smile didn’t slip a fraction. She slid into the seat across from him, careful to place her paperwork away from his ketchup puddle.
“So, why do you want to work for the Sandwich Duke? You left that question blank, along with most of the other questions.”
“I dunno. Guess I’d like to steal food when no one’s watching.” He pulled out his gum, examined it, and stuck it under the table.
“Ah, an opportunist. You’ll be happy to know that the camera beside the back fryer is broken, so you’ll be able to help yourself. Within reason, of course.” She made a tiny note on her clipboard.
“This question’s just for fun, to help me get to know you better: if you were a food, what would you be and why?”
“Dog. Chinks eat dogs, so why can’t we? I think it’d be cool to eat something that would make all those sissy animal lovers lose their shit.”
Sharona fiddled with the silver cat pin on her lapel and frowned, her composure cracking slightly for the first time. “Yes, well, alright…I like a man who can think outside the box. Last question: what would you say your greatest strength is?”
He yawned. “I’m really good at finding ways around the school firewall to stream porn in class. I sell my secrets to the other losers for beer money. Even though they’re totally loaded, my parents are real tightwads.”
“I see. It sounds like you’re a real entrepreneur. Good thing you’ll be drawing a real paycheck soon. Welcome aboard!” She stuck out a hand to shake, once more grinning broadly at him.
He gaped at her speechlessly, resembling a wide-mouth bass that has swallowed a hook. He was so stunned that he forgot to be rude as he accepted his new uniform and tentative schedule. Sharona watched the little asshat go, already calculating ways to maximize his misery for the three months she had him until school started again. She thought that scraping all of the gum out from under the tables would be a good place to start. Maybe the little toerag would quit – if he did, it wasn’t her fault.
She watched the kid climb into his dad’s brand-new sports car and marveled to herself at the peculiar behavior of the very rich. Who else would have paid her five grand to hire their stupid kid? For that kind of money, she would put up with a lot of bullshit for twenty hours a week. Maybe they'd even do it again next summer.
|
This happened to me in real life. I was unemployed, and going to school. (I got to collect unemployment because I was working full time while going to school, and got laid off). I didn't want to go back to work. Unemployment office sends me a job, that I'm qualified for. Go to interview in dirty clothes, no shave, etc. I walk in and the guy doing the hiring, was a guy I used to work with. Hired me on the spot.
| 2017-08-29T11:49:17
| 2017-08-29T11:40:28
| 24
| 14
|
[WP] Write about a unique relationship between an immortal and a time traveler.
|
Emerus was a time traveler, and his brother Amerus could never die,
Emerus jumped through worm holes, while Amerus contemplated the sky.
They were both great men of science, they were the smartest of their kind,
But as Emerus jumped through time, there was only one thing on his mind.
To sneak up on his dear brother Amerus, and with one tremendous hit,
Slap him across the back, and run off into the future yelling: "Amerus, you're IT!"
|
I waited to see him.
Every day, every minute, every second.
See, I didn't know when he would arrive to see me. It was never planned. Such was our relationship.
Our love.
It was meant to always remain desperate, to always be urgent. When I saw him I would be filled with joy and excitement and when he left I would die a little inside.
You would think an eternity would be...well eternal.
It would be. It dragged on before I met him.
Then it changed.
For a single hour every six months I would see him.
I did not know when nor where. That was to never be broken. It was the rule of our relationship.
So one day, as I sat in the cafe with the kindly waiter taking my order, I was confused to see him again.
It wasn't time.
He was breaking the rules.
It was then, as the waiter dropped a steaming cup of coffee before me that I realized what it meant.
Our time was coming to an end. This was it.
I was to be alone once more.
An eternity awaited.
An eternity.
For that moment it didn't matter.
Just one moment.
That's all I need.
| 2015-05-03T03:38:18
| 2015-05-03T03:04:59
| 214
| 114
|
[WP] The private investigator was stumped. The scene of the murder was messy. Not in the gory sense, but it was littered with tons and tons of contradictory evidence. Thousands upon thousands of individual leads and not one connects with another.
|
I was no ordinary investigator, I made my reputation from thin air as the best homicide detective that Vancouver has ever seen.
I took the liberty of solving hundreds of cold cases, and I did so expecting nothing in return except the glory of having finally brought the guilty criminal to justice.
Yet when this case was plopped on my desk, I thought it would be the easiest case I ever solved.
The first lead I discovered seemed cut and dry, her husband.. She apparently got caught cheating on him after all.
He had the biggest motive, and had the most access to her, yet that couldn't possibly make sense when I found out the affair partner bought a gun, the same kind of gun that was used to murder her.. The husband had no such weapons that I could discover unless he was intelligent enough to illegally buy the same weapon that the affair partner had, knew what gun he had, and threw away the evidence when the search warrant was enacted.
When I arrested and brought the affair partner to interrogation though, he swore on his life that he had nothing to do with it.
"I will get a lawyer, polygraph test me all you like, I would have never done this to Sarah!" he yelled.
Very well I thought, then another possible lead came up, finger prints at the crime scene of five different people. One being her sister, another her brother, one being her boss, and two others that seem to have no connection to the victim whatsoever.
"this is the most confusing case I've ever had.." I thought to myself, as I pondered deeply on how I will be able to figure out who did it.
I interrogate each lead one by one, all of them of course swearing their innocence.. Only the victims brother has a reliable alibi though, and one of the people with no connection to the victim has a alibi as well.
I have nearly given up on this case, how can I possibly come to a clear conclusion of who was responsible for the girls murder.. that was until a witness came foward..
She was a middle aged girl, brown hair, green eyes, wearing a black coat, and jeans. She knocked on the door to my private investigator building.
"Come in!" I yell out.
She enters the building, and pulls up the chair in front of my desk and sits in front of me.
"what brings you to all seeing eye investigation?" I ask the lady.
"I... saw the murder take place, I didn't want to say anything out of fear of anything happening to me, yet I know I have to because its the right thing to do." Says the brown haired lady, as she fidgets her leg with anxiety.
I take out a giant note pad, and a pen, and then reply, "I'm really glad you came foward, tons of leads on this case without much to go off of, do you have any idea what the murderer looks like?"
"He was very tall probably 6'4, he had a snake tattoo on his arm, and he was lanky, not very muscular or fat." she continues.
"hmm.. doesn't seem to match any possible lead I have so far.." I say to her, as I write this information down.
"did you get a good look at his face? Can you describe that so I can draw it out?" I continue.
" Unforneatly it was very dark, he was white though, thin trimmed beard, and that's all I could gather." She retorts.
"Very well, give me your number, and I will give you my card, if you get any more information, please let me know." I tell the girl, as I hand her my card, and she writes down her number on a post-it note and hands it over to me.
I'm unable to do much with the lead she gave me, and nearly a week goes by when she calls me.
".. I think I see that man again, he's right in front of me.." She says on the phone with panic in her voice, yet she tries to keep the volume of her voice down like a whisper.
"Tell me the address and I will be right over there!" I reply frantically.
She quietly whispers me the address, and I grab my gun, and get in my car and ride all the way over there.
"You stupid bitch! I will kill you!" I hear a tall figure yelling, as he appears to be pushing down and hitting the girl that gave me the lead.
I immediately exit my car, and fire shots into the man, he seems to fall to the ground.
I make my way over to the girl, and ask her, "are you okay?"
"..yes I'm fine, thanks for saving me.." she says with calmness in her voice.
Suddenly, I hear gun shots, four of them.. I got shot four times...
"you really are dumb aren't you.." says some masked figure that is now standing over me.
The 6'4 man that I shot now gets up, and takes off his coat, it appears he was wearing a bullet proof vest, the girl also gets up and seems unharmed and unphased..
"this whole entire thing was all a ruse, to finally put a stop to you.. after you busted my father for being a hitman I wanted to get real revenge on you, what better way to make you suffer then give you an unsolvable case, then lure you and murder you after.." The masked figure says, as he takes off his mask and reveals himself to be the son of Markus Banks, the mafia hitman I busted years ago.
I'm gargling blood, and gasping for air, I have no possible way to fight back...
"To answer your question, it was the husband that wanted her dead, he was just smart enough to call us so we could frame a bunch of people for it, and then kill you after.." the man says grinning at me.
He points his gun at my head, then pulls the trigger. Everything fades to black, as I no longer care about the injustice of this all.
|
(1/2)
“Here for room three-oh-four?” the superintendent asks me, her large nosy eyes prying for information out of me that the detective denied her.
“Horace Walden,” I tell her, presenting to her my business card.
She scrutinizes the three-and-a-half by two-inch paper, reads off the full text like everyone else does when they see it.
“Horace Walden, PI, parentheses also DDS, DVM, JD, MBA, MD, PhD, TD,” she says in rapid-fire.
“My that’s some impressive titles, Mr. Walden, or should I call you doctor?” the superintendent asks me with a sly gleam in her eyes that show clear currency symbols behind her pupils.
“Just Horace will be fine, Miss…?”
“Gladstone, my maiden name, after my worthless ex-husband walked out on me and left me to take care of this building all by myself. But for you, Horace, you can call me Helen.”
“Please provide me with the key to room 304,” I say to the ever-more brazen woman.
She complies, handing over a spare key from behind her desk.
“You know, I’d be willing to show you my key after you’re done up there,” she says, as she gives me a wink with her partly sunken-with-age left eye.
I take the key without making physical contact.
“Thank you, I will return this after I finish my work,” I say.
Unfortunate, I tell myself.
She’s not too bad looking, and available emotionally from the sounds of it.
Too bad she didn’t ask about the TD.
No one ever asks about the TD.
Oh, how I long to meet the one who shares in my passion for the finer rules of American football!
Lost in thought, I make my way to room 304, where I turn the key and turn the old brass doorknob.
The tin door groans as I push it open and walk inside.
Pungent aromas besiege me upon entrance.
Thick stenches of cigarette smoke intertwine with rosy fragrances of lavender perfume, all while the cloud of liquor hangs in the background.
I must thank the officers and detective for not airing out the room before I got here.
Scent is just as important a clue as any other.
My eyes immediately lock on to the outline marked in white chalk against the cheap imitation hardwood floor.
From the look of the pose, the body, when it was still there, was in a prone position.
The poor man died face-down.
There is no saliva or vomitus on the floor, and no signs that the area had been recently cleaned.
From what Detective Ramsey told me, the victim had nothing covering his mouth either.
Clean floor, face-down victim.
I look to the left and spot the source of the tobacco odor.
Half a carton left of light convenience store brand cigarettes lies half an inch from the outline of the victim’s left hand.
The other three that are scattered a couple inches in the vicinity are empty.
Victim’s lungs must be more tar and nicotine than collagen and air by now.
I continue to scan along the room until I spot a photo of the man standing atop a podium, smiling in the camera as he hoists a trophy in the air.
The caption under the photo reads: 2022 Metropolitan Invitational.
It’s a recent tournament, and one for which I was called in to be the chair umpire at the last minute because of my referee experience.
Could this be the work of a rival, perhaps to ensure their victory in an upcoming tournament?
I continue reading the text: Participation trophy.
| 2022-09-05T07:39:38
| 2022-09-05T06:48:22
| 56
| 37
|
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks.
|
The Euro-fighters soared past the B-24, tail number 41-24301.
It had a hand painted name on the starboard side: "Lady Be Good". It's number 3 engine was spinning in the wind. Its number 1 engine was leaking a plume of black smoke as it burned slowly through the night sky.
"This is Wyvern one, run a check on a B-24, call sign 'Lady Be Good'. I've never seen damage like this before..."
As the fighter pulled along side the bomber, the damage became ever more present. One of the waist gunners positions were completely torn out. The belly ball gun had been ripped in half. The Rudder and elevator surfaces were covered in claw marks and there were burn marks crisscrossing the entire plane.
Pulling forward more, the cockpit was visible. Inside, the two pilots sat, watching the fighter, waving and cheering among each other.
"Overlord to Wyvern section; 'Lady Be Good' Disappeared in April of 1943. There's no way that is the aircraft in front of you."
"This is Wyvern Two, I can confirm what Wyvern one calls in. This is a B-24 with 'Lady Be Good' on it. Heavy damage, live personnel in the cockpit, they need to land."
"Standby. Ok, Landing is available at the closest active airport, RAF Base Coltishall- Hold on."
As the AWACS spoke, I looked over at the B-24. Something was off. They were scrambling and panicking.
"Overlord, this is wyvern one. They pilots inside are getting quite upset."
"Wyvern section! There is a second fast mover coming in! find, identify and-"
The AWACS was cut off by the sound of twin fifty caliber browning machine guns slicing through the night towards some unknown target behind the three aircraft.
"What the bloody hell is tha- Agggh!" Was all that Wyvern 2 managed to get off before a large winged beast snatched his craft out of the air in front of my eyes.
"It's a bloody dragon..."
|
"sSssSSSsky dragons"... It came out as a whisper but crackled over the radio clear as a bell.
"I DON'T SEE IT...WHERE IS IT?..TAIL, TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE?", said a new voice.
"We've been at this for YEARS 'Cap'... Does it even matter what I see? came the voice of the tail gunner.
"...sky dragons, 'Cap', that's what we're gonna see and it'll be coming from the East... just like the last thousand times.", said the first voice again.
Major General Bartholamew Bartlett ("BeeBee" when he was younger and not 'in charge' of this whole division) wasn't supposed to be in a 'Harrier' doing contact exercises any more. He was, however, supposed to keep his skills sharp. What a day to be up in the sky, over the channel, trying to keep his 'active wing' status.
He smirked to himself. This is the first moment in his 22 year career that he was the entire 'chain of command'. He was first at the 'bogey' and he was to report for orders. However, he was to report to 'tower', who would then call "The Boss" and request orders. Since he ***was*** "The Boss", he would simply inform tower how it was going to go... one problem... WTF was actually going on?
"Tower, this is BB actual, over" he said. As calmly as he could.
"BB actual, this is tower... two, I say again, two F-35's are en route to intercept. Permission to "go hot" sir ? over." said 'Tower'.
General Bartlett smiled behind his oxygen mask. Tower was basically saying 'We've got your back sir and we'll smoke anything near you... just give us the word'. "No, tower. Permission denied." His smile faded and he had a thought. "Tower.. All weapon systems 'cool', but put targeting on to collect data, over."
"Roger that, Fearless Leader... (small chuckle)... Will do. What are you looking at? Need any overtrained F-18's in 'the blue' with you? Over"
Again 'BB' found himself smiling. His Canadian counterpart, doing a NATO stint on RAF base 'BB', was running the show on the ground. Good. All was in order.
Back to the task at hand.
"Tower, this is BB actual, tell intercept to switch to my frequency and ID. Over" rumbled BB, as his mind and attention were drawn back to "The Liberator" right in front of him.
(static squelch) "BB actual, this is 'Tiger Belly' with my wingman 'Bobber' at your ser.... What the fuck am I looki... Uh, sir... uh, orders sir?"
BB knew where to look, and saw the little grey blips on the horizon. As soon as he could see them clearly, they were already past him. He also knew 'Bobber' quite well and, by extension, was pretty familiar with 'Tiger Belly' as well.
He could not be safer.
"'Tiger Belly'... 'Bobber'... Give me a 50 nautical mile perimeter around the bogey. I hear some chatter on comms on another freak (frequency). Give me fiver earth minutes and radio check with wingman 'flyby'. Over" grumbled BB.
"Aye, BB actual, five and flyby. Roger."
"Aye, BB actual, watching the whole show on 'dar (radar)" said Tower.
Now that British airspace was "safe"...
What does one say to the Captain of a vessel that hasn't been seen, anywhere but museums, for the last 60 years?
BB's Harrier is one of the only craft in the RAF that can fly slow enough to keep with the B-24. He did a slow fly 'round to take a good look. This craft has been to hell and back. Her paint looks dirt covered and grimy. It's an odd look for a plane that was, originally, shiny silver. There were only two spots that had damage, but those two wounds were deep. At least 6 feet of the port wing was gone and there were long... tears in the fuselage all the way from the side gunner to just before the tail. Any call sign or flight/unit numbers were either dirt covered of missing. The only identifying marks was a painting of a girl near the cockpit and a name underneath.. 'Bobby Sue'
That's when the chatter started again.
"I see it, it looks smaller... but I can see it. The fire is at the back or something?" said the mystery voice.
"FIRE"
It was at that moment BB realised that 'he' was the "sky dragon".
End of Part 1
| 2019-12-01T11:42:29
| 2019-12-01T09:04:42
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear friend,
Oh dear friend. If only I could just step back for just one day and talk to you about all that has occurred since we last saw each other. I’m so thankful that we were able to spend the time in life together that we did.
I miss that little sigh of excitement that would rise up from my chest and escape my mouth every time you’d call or anytime I’d see you walking toward me with that little mischievous grin on your face. You were the best part of my days and for that I am forever grateful to you. I want you to know that. I’m so grateful.
The hours we spent on the phone talking about everything and anything and nothing at all. Sometimes talking about nothing at all can mean the world to someone and make all the difference. I just want you to know it made all the difference to me.
I want you to know that you taught me to love in a time that I felt nothing was worth loving.
I want you to know that you taught me my worth in a time of my life that I felt like I had no value and like my life wasn’t worth living. You made breathing exciting. You made laughing and crying together something to live for. I want you to know I’m so thankful for that.
If ever a miracle brings you to this letter, I just want you to know you are forever imprinted on my heart and every once in awhile I feel your mischievous grin creep across my face.
Stay golden
|
Not sure if this is more because this is what I want to tell you or what but here goes.
When I first came to this school. You where basically my first friend which then led me to becoming friends with a lot of people. However there was one person In particular I liked, a lot. One who gave me emotions I had never felt before and feelings I didn't know I had. However I didn't know much about who you liked or what your dating/romance history was and you should have told me sooner, because if only I had knew. I always had a single rule when it came to my friends and liking someone, If you've known them longer or liked them for longer than I have, i won't get in your way. She's all yours. But instead you told me you didn't like anyone, including her and so I fell, further than I ever thought I could. I tried my best to do things I've never done before, I tried my best to hide my emotions to everyone but you. But then she started to show affection for you and so did you, with or without realising it. I don't know. You kept reassuring me that you were just friends, even when everyone else told me to give up and not bother trying. But then... Then I told you about the other girl I like, not even a quarter as much though, because I could actually talk to her and do stuff with her, unlike the other. So I told you and trusted you with this just to get what I did back. You had liked her for much much longer, everything you had reassured me with, as obvious as it was, was a lie. The thing is, I know why you did this, because you told me. You didn't want to hurt me and you didn't, you never could. How could someone's best friend hurt them after all? But now after I've fallen so much and learnt all these new things, I did exactly what I said I would. I stepped back, I let you go for her and now, well soon... You'll be happy together. But now here I am, in the background as always, watching with all those feelings that do nothing but make me cry. Of course I'm happy for you, you got, not only the girl but each other. The one the other loves. But you kept one thing from me, something I know caused you pain. Watching as I tried, tried and failed. And now this, this I will keep from you, from everyone we know for no one to see but me. Ever.
I'm sorry.
| 2017-11-05T23:44:56
| 2017-11-05T22:02:40
| 32
| 18
|
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it.
|
Roger ran his fingers over the smooth dermo-plastic of the android's thigh. Her muscles tensed by the touch of his fingertips, and tiny goosebumps prickled up. There was something special about building such an advanced creature from nothing -- it made him feel powerful, almost divine.
The surgical lights in the ceiling glittered in the reflection on his scalpel. With a quick cut, he sliced through her perfect skin, drawing a stream of synthetic blood that trickled down into the table drain. It pained him to ruin such a flawless texture, but this was a job.
Roger glanced over at the image board again. So much scar tissue and awkwardly healed skin. He wondered what had happened to the girl in the photo. The clients never provided a background or medical history -- just pictures and brain scans. Sometimes he fantasized about what the small blemishes on the skin meant. He'd become quite good at drawing parallels between the scans and the photos. Some cuts were self-inflicted, others were marks of survival or mistakes.
Sculpting the skin of an android was like following a map. Often they led to new insights, or opened the window into a person's life. But this girl's scars were different, and Roger couldn't decide what had caused them.
He was just about to start cutting again when the phone rang. Cursing, he dropped the knife and wriggled out of his gloves before exiting the operation room.
"Welcome to Artificial Angel -- this is Dr. Lowick speaking," Roger said.
"What?" the voice of a teenage boy said on the other end.
Roger sighed and repeated what he'd just said and then added, "How can I help you?"
"I... I was looking into my dad's microscope and... and I found this number on my skin."
Roger swore inwardly. "Where is your dad now?"
"Um... I don't know?"
Roger rolled his eyes and stepped over to the client database. Some people just didn't listen. There were extensive mental repercussions when an android got compromised. With the level of neglect some parents showed, it didn't surprise him that the originals had died.
"What's your name, kid?" Roger said.
"Joseph Gardener..." the boy mumbled. "Why is there a number...?"
"You need to get your dad on the phone." The doctor scrolled through the clients.
"He's not here." The boy's voice quaked with impatience and confusion. "Why is there a number?"
"Listen, Joe," Roger said. "Can you sit down for a bit, and I'll explain everything."
"Right, fine." A clatter came from the other end. "Okay, yeah, I'm sitting. What now?"
Roger opened the file and looked at the picture of a blond boy in his early teens. He was the son of one 'Anthony Gardener' and had died twenty years ago. The boy on the phone was one of the first replacements that Artificial Angel had created, and had been thirteen years old for nineteen years now.
"Hello?" Joseph said. "Are you there?"
"Yes..." Roger said, scrolling through the client file. He finally reached the bottom and cleared his throat. "Lilac Meridian 23-133-17."
Another clatter came from the other end of the call. Roger looked at the watch and waited in silence for a full minute.
"Joseph, are you there?"
No answer.
"Good," he mumbled and hung up.
The doctor wriggled out of his coat, and exited the laboratory. He'd have to make a visit to the Gardener's and make sure that Joseph worked as he should after the forced shut down.
\*\*\*
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories
|
*It actually started ringing. The number wasn't a fake, then again how could it be a fake. To be able to leave a phone number on a cell.*
It kept ringing a few times, each sound sending a new shiver through my body.
*Why was I so nervous, then again all this was so surreal, how could I not be?*
Then a crackling noise announced that someone had lifted the receiver.
*Does that mean it was an ancient phone with a cord and all? Does it even matter at this point? Focus Jim, Focus.*
'Hello?' a female voice answered.
'H-Hello.' i managed to stutter.
'Who's there, what's your business?' the voice inquired.
'I-I'd like to know that aswell.' I replied nervously.
*God, why does my smarts have to leave me at such a moment, why am I so socially awkward. Just give her a name would you Jim you just invented this magnificent microscope. You can handle a simple phone call!*
'Are you a creep? Why'd you call my number?' the female voice seemed slightly agitated.
'I-I'm Jim. A-are you g-god?'
*Really Jim, Really? Aren't you supposed to be a scientist?*
Instead of an answer all i got was laughter to the point you could hear some snorting. It took the other side a few minutes to calm themselves and give an appropriate answer.
'No Jim. I'm not God ... Wait where'd you get this number' the tone of the voice changed midway through talking and suddenly appeared to be serious.
'It's written on the cell membrane in my body.' I answered truthfully.
Then silence followed, but it appeared someone was still on the other side.
*why did i have to go all out? Did I blew my chance?*
Then the voice came back. 'So you are a creep after all.'
Then the monotone sound like the one when someone hangs up on you appeared. I was about to hang up and try again but the feeling like there was still someone there hadn't left yet. Just like before so I waited.
It took sometime but then i could hear another faint voice asking.
'Did he buy it Karen?'
'shh stupid, it didn't ring again yet, he might still be there. You and your stupid bad puns.' Karen's voice answered faintly but seriously angry.
'Well common Karen. I couldn't pass the chance. I mean literally it's a cell phone number.'
| 2018-08-14T07:38:50
| 2018-08-14T06:45:36
| 366
| 148
|
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.
|
I don't remember the first time it happened, or how I came to believe it was real... but I've been having visions, visions of my future self telling me how to reach success in life.
I know it's hard work to get somewhere in life, especially when you're from a poor background like I am, but having a guide makes it so much easier; since I started having these visions I gained more insight in the world of business and how business works, I was on the path of my dreams.
Now I'm waiting for my turn to the doctor, I've been having back pain lately; as I'm waiting I feel my eyes closing, before I know it I find myself in the world of my visions.
I start looking for my future version, but who greets me is an old man, barely standing, looking at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen, I slowly approach him.
"Who are you?" I ask.
No reply. Maybe he didn't hear me,
"Who are you?!" I ask, this time louder than before, he looks down and with a breaking voice asks me "You're trying to get places aren't you?",
I stare at him surprised, I see a small tear coming down his cheek, I slowly respond "y-yeah", the old man continues "success is a hard path to follow, there are many ways to get there, some better than others, don't listen to the other one, he's blind"... the other one? Is he talking about my guide? I ask again this time more aggressively "Who are you?", "I'm a dead man", somehow I feel the pain behind those words. I hear the nurse calling my name.
I head home after the appointment, cancel all my plans and lay down in bed.
I look intensively at the clock trying to fall asleep, once it hits the 10 I blackout.
I see fog everywhere, this time is different, I have a bad feeling. I see my future self walking up to me, "Here you are!! Tomorrow is gonna be a hard day, let's not waste anytime and get to planning",
for the first time I sense something new from him, I don't know what it is though, I interrupt him and tell him about my experience with the old man,
"I've never heard of him... you probably just imagined him";
normally I'd believe him, but this time the old man's words were stuck in my head
"He's blind... I'm a dead man..." I hear my voice coming out from me, my mouth starts moving by itself
"what is success?",
we both look at each other, he looks surprised and I can only imagine my expression is mirroring his.
There is a moment of silence then he says "success is everything, having money, being able to do what you want, having control, power, being above the common people; the world runs on money, and I have all the money I will ever need, the one with the money is the one with everything".
I feel my abs contracting as if someone just punched me in the stomach, for the first time since I started meeting him I realized who he really was.
"That's wrong... success isn't just money and power, I never wanted those things, I realize it now, all I ever wanted is to one day have a family and to be able to support them... who is your family?"
"I don't have a family, I used too... but she asked for a divorce and took custody of my daughter... I was left with nothing, family is only good to destroy you, they will betray you and take everything you have".
I realized how much in pain he was, "why did she divorce you?"
"She said I wasn't with her enough, hypocrite bitch, she used to ask me to buy all sorts of things, I spent a fortune on her, money doesn't grow on trees I had to work to buy her those things, she didn't understand I couldn't allow myself to waste time... but it was a blessing, I realized how much she was holding me back, now I can focus on my business, and I will teach you how to prevent my same mistakes"
"you're making a mistake right now, you're feeling so much pain that the only way to cope with it is to live in money, you're blind to how you really feel, you're wasting your life, you're not successful... you're... you're a dead man?", it came to me, if my future self was leading me in the wrong path, why couldn't an older self save me from it? At that realization the old man appeared in front of us, with a fading smile he went to say
"Thank you".
I'm awake.
I learned a lot from this, I don't know if I'll ever be visited by visions again, but I know what my future can hold, and I know how to avoid it, the time for shortcuts is over, I will reach my goals by myself.
|
It is the natural condition of the human mind to desire advancement. Sure, there are those that are satisfied with very little, but by and large? People like being promoted. It makes them feel important. Makes them feel valuable. Self-esteem issues and all that.
In the military, we are no different. When I finally earned my captain's bars, I felt so happy to have made it thus far, so happy I wouldn't be scorned as another damned lieutenant, and (admittedly) happy for the pay raise. It's a **good** feeling, you know? Oh, and I also got to rub it in my spouse's face, who still remained a lieutenant. I paid for it later, but it was worth every moment.
So when I began meeting an image of me wearing general's stars in my sleep, it was... interesting. I mean, at first, I just saw myself as a general, commanding troops. It was a nice dream and it put me in high spirits the next day. But after a few weeks, my dreams starting communicating with me. Well, I mean, not really, but I swear that it showed me situations that happened soon thereafter, every single time. And every time I mimicked my dream, my life changed for the better. I started jumping up the ladder, nabbing promotions the first time I was eligible. I made colonel before I was in my mid-thirties, no simple feat. By the time I was forty, I found myself before a review board for my first star, with my personnel file being inspected by the Senate. And the day I grabbed my first star was the best day of my life.
I'd been celebrating with close friends that night (the drinks were on me, of course), and well into the morning. Nothing over the top, but we did patronize as many quality establishments as we could manage. After everything had closed for the night, I'd taken my love for a ride to our favorite spot to watch the sunrise. We made love there, and collapsed into a hot pile of sweat and cuddles.
We'd taken the next few days off, so I was able to enjoy a nap after we returned home. Shit. It'd been the first time I'd done anything so juvenile since the academy, but damn if I wasn't going to live this moment up. The hangover was far worse than they'd been at the academy, though. The room was spinning too much to find the bedroom, so I simply collapsed on the couch. And soon enough, I drifted off to dreamland.
More accurately, I drifted off to Hell.
All I could see was a wasteland, strewn bodies so abundant that I struggled to see the ground. Discarded, destroyed weapons littered the scene, from knives to rifles to armored vehicles. And on the horizon, a horrifyingly large body of smoke and debris rose from the ground in a ghastly familiar shape.
My future self was collapsed against a bunker door, a clocked out pistol clutched tightly to the chest. My cap was missing, blood was still trickling down my face, and the five stars on my shoulder were ragged and red. Five stars... what the hell had happened that Congress had authorized five stars, to me no less.
"I know you'll see this," my future self began, "I know you'll see this like you always have. We had a good run following our script, didn't we?"
A head shake, "No, nothing was worth this." I recognized the photo in his other hand, clutched so tightly I thought it would rip if the wind gusted. It was my spouse on our wedding day.
I suddenly realized that my future self was no longer wearing a wedding band. A horrid, eerie laugh filled the air that I was terrified to learn was my own... some twenty years in the future. "Gone." was the only word that would explain this new reality, "Gone gone gone. All of them, gone. My love, my home, my men....."
"And now me." I hadn't noticed in my shock that my future self had slipped a single round into his pistol through the ejection port... but it became obvious as the report of the pistol reached my ears. I jumped and stared at my own limp body, with a hollow skull where my brains used to be. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up. But the only thing I could do was stare.
The next day I resigned my commission.
There were questions, but I waved them off. Anything that would stick. Health, wanting extra time at home, strained marriage, whatever. I told no one the truth, except my spouse... who, surprisingly, took the news rather well. After a moment, I was just told not to worry. Such a future would never happen. I had to ask, "How can you be so sure?"
"Oh, I have my ways." came the reply with a wink and smile.
My mind refused to do anything but wrap itself up in that reassurance.
| 2017-04-01T07:08:25
| 2017-04-01T05:19:44
| 201
| 123
|
[WP] Charon, boatman of the river Styx, gets the last two coins he needs for what he's been saving up for since the beginning of time.
Charon always takes two coins for passage into the land of the dead. Whatever he has been saving up for, he has finally reached his goal.
Edit: Thank you, person who gave this gold! It really goes to all you writers!
|
Charon had served as the Underworld’s ferryman for quite some time, now. It had good pay, but it had gotten incredibly monotonous as the years went on.
He had gotten used to the howling and screaming of those who were denied passage. He had gotten used to the stench of the river which he floated over every day, and the foul taste of the air which had at first been suffocating. He had gotten used to the rocking of the boat, and the grief-stricken looks of those who had not been ready to die.
The one thing Charon never got used to, however, was how boring his job was.
His routine was simple: he docked on the side of the living; let those with payment board; dropped them off on the other side, and went back to do it all over again. He needed some excitement in his life – something that brought variety to his occupation.
True, every once in a while he had someone important come through, like a God who had come to talk to Hades, or a hero who thought he could cross the river and return a loved one to the world of the living. However, those had been few and far between, and he quickly fell back into the same old process afterwards.
So, he had decided to start saving his money. There was a marketplace just off the shore on the side of the dead, which had a variety of merchants who offered just about anything, as long as you had the money. It was there that Charon knew he would find what he was looking for – even if he didn’t even know what that was yet.
-----
It had been a particularly slow day for the ferryman, who waited patiently for passengers. He was close, though. If the next two souls actually had coins for passage, he could officially afford anything in the marketplace. Then he could go and find something worthwhile.
A new group of souls slowly materialized in the distance. Charon could make out three figures. There were two adult figures, one man and one woman. The third was a small child, who looked to be no older than five. The child appeared to be holding the woman’s hand.
As the man approached, Charon extended his open palm.
“Payment, please.”
“I-I don’t have any coins…” said the man, knowing full well what that meant.
“Those without payment cannot cross”, Charon stated flatly.
The man fell to his knees, choking on his tears. “P-please, hear me out! I was never given the opportunity to be buried, as I d-died on the field of battle… You h-have to understand!”
Charon watched as the man wept in despair. He couldn’t change the rules, and over time he had lost sympathy for souls such as this one. He turned to the woman and the child.
“Payment, please.”
The woman took a coin out of her mouth, and quickly handed it over to Charon. She motioned to the child to do the same.
“Go on, sweetie, give him your coin.”
The little boy stretched out his coin to Charon, who gently took it out of his hand.
Leaving the man sobbing on the shore, the woman and her child stepped on to the boat. Charon pocketed the two coins and started to row his way across the river.
When he touched shore on the other side, he looked over his shoulder. He didn’t see any souls that would be waiting to cross, so he had time to visit the marketplace. He let the woman and the child off the boat, and then tied it to a pole on the shore. As he was doing so, he heard the child speak to the woman.
“Mama, do you think he gets lonely?”
Charon noticed the child was pointing at him.
The woman chuckled, then picked up the little boy and carried him in her arms. “Everyone gets lonely, honey. But some people can't do anything to change that.”
The child fell silent as he looked at Charon. It was then that the ferryman knew what he wanted to buy.
-----
A few minutes later, Charon returned to the boat holding a bundle of cloth. He sat down on the dock and unraveled the blanket, looking into the great, big eyes of a newborn puppy.
With a rare smile, Charon felt a sense of joy for the first time in a long while.
|
On the paddle he drove into the water with calm precision, he drew tally marks. His day would come, he knew; there was a flaw in their plan. Charon would keep count in his own quiet way.
******
The woman in her modest black dress was old and shrunken and quite dead. Caroline was sure of the last one: she'd poked to check just in case. Her mother-in-law had been an unholy terror while alive.
Now though... Caroline couldn't quite bear to hate her or even dislike her. "There, there Nona..." she said stroking her face. There were tears on her face. She brushed them away tucking away a strand of hair then fiddling with her hat and then her purse just in case anyone was watching.
Thankfully though, the tears were few. Caroline found compusure return. With it came an inspiration.
From her purse, she took out two coins then carefully lay them down upon, one on each eye. It seemed fitting - Nona had been mythic.
"Goodbye, Nona," she said, then left quickly.
*******
The skeletal man under the black cowl held out his hand and the old lady dropped two coins upon it. Charon counted them dutifully, then scratched off two tally marks more. He was done now though the completion of the task brought him no great joy.
"So, you'll be my last," he thought to himself.
It did not seem fitting, but the millennia had thought him that, in a way, it was. Life was full of incongruity, of the coming together of stories that didn't quite mesh, a beautiful, confused babble in which the certain notes were few.
"I could have been a better person, you know. I made mistakes. But don't we all?"
She spoke to the river, not him. Charon stroked on thinking his own thoughts.
"No, I am too old for the hiding. I could have been better. It is enough to say that. If I can, in this place, I will try again. "
But they were pure and strong and sweet.
He slid two coins into the Styx and with them his empty plans.
He had seen enough compassion to know hate futile. He had perhaps known that for a very long time.
He would seek no revenge; he moved on.
| 2014-10-29T20:05:27
| 2014-10-29T18:06:15
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] Ever since you received your letter for Hogwarts you've been curious about all the different spells there are. You've just bought your first wand and the first spell you try is what you believe to be rather humorous. "AbraCadabra". Nobody told you this spell was banned. For obvious reasons.
|
"Abra Cadabra -" Joey started saying with a giggle, waving his wand in Mr Ollivander's shop.
Mr Ollivander swept up from the corner of the shop, his silvery eyes huge with fright.
"What are you doing, boy?" he whispered. "Speaking the name of that spell?"
Joey stashed away his wand hastily, feeling rather frightened as Mr Ollivander glared down at him.
"Sorry, I didn't know..." he began, and Mr Ollivander's eyes lost some of their fierceness.
"No, of course not," he said slowly. "A muggle-born such as yourself would not know. Let me warn you, before you go to Hogwarts..."
And he told Joey. About the killing curse - and its opposite.
"Of course, a mere child such as yourself couldn't actually call forth *that* spell's power..." Ollivander said, at the end of the tale. "Few can - only the most imaginative. But not one may be trusted with the terrible power to call forth anything they wished. To create anything. Terrible, yes. Terrible..."
He didn't *look* like he thought it was terrible. There was no mistaking the greedy longing that shone in Ollivander's eyes. Joey left the shop elated - he could create *anything*. Anything at all. All he needed was imagination. And he had plenty of that, didn't he? He'd always had plenty of that...
-------
The students stood on the dining tables in the Great Hall to catch a glimpse of whatever the kid had summoned. He'd said a few words none of them had heard before. And by the horrified expressions on the teachers' faces, it couldn't be anything good.
"What is that..thing, Joey?" Headmistress McGonagall asked, looking down her nose at the creature hiding behind the boy.
"It's an Alakazam," Joey started to explain, but the other children just stared at him blankly. Only one other muggle-born boy grinned in recognition. "I always wanted one, but no-one would trade a Kadabra with me. You know, Abra, Kadabra..."
"Stop saying the forbidden spell!" McGonagall snapped. "You've done enough. I admit, I stand amazed that you could manage this spell. You have talent, and potential. But you cannot use it to call forth - "
She groped for words to describe the furry yellow thing with the ridiculous moustache, brandishing a spoon in her direction.
"*That*," she finished. "Stand back, all of you."
She pulled forth her own wand and pointed it at the thing. "Stupefy!"
The curse hit it squarely in the chest, and it keeled over with a strange, high-pitched sound.
"Nooo! My pokémon! You killed it!" Joey wailed, clutching the crumpled, yellow body of the creature to his chest, to mingled screams and laughter from the crowd.
"Come, boy, don't carry on so, it's merely stunned," McGonagall said, though she resolved to use the killing curse when she had the thing alone. She pulled Joey away from the creature, gesturing to another teacher to remove it from the Hall. "You need to come to my office. I need to talk to you. You have power, obviously, but no idea how to use it...come on, now..."
Joey allowed himself to be dragged away as McGonagall prattled on, thinking furiously. He could do *anything*. Conjure the legendary pokémon. Create a potion to heal his Alakazam. They wouldn't laugh at him, after that. They'd fear him. Like they feared Voldemort, all those years ago.
Maybe he needed a cool moniker, too.
"Now, Joey -" McGonagall was saying, but he interrupted, drawing himself up and looking her in the eye. She'd regret hurting his Alakazam, soon enough. She'd regret challenging him.
"Call me Ash," he said, feeling faintly disappointed that she didn't immediately gasp in awe but instead just stared at him like he'd been hit in the head with a bludger. No matter. She'd know, soon enough, what that meant.
They would *all* know.
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
I opened up the spell book, itching and excited to try out my first ever magical spell. My little feet squirmed in my new blue Ravenclaw uniform socks. I'd never done a spell before. I read through the names. Athena, my pet owl, hooted, channeling my excitement, or perhaps trepidation.
How should I approach this? I looked through what i presumed was the table of contents... then I saw the heading, "Spells of the Illegal Nature." My crinkling red hair stood on end. "Whoooa..." I breathed.
I looked over at Athena. "Shoooullld I...?" She hooted in an almost desperate protest.
It couldn't hurt to look..." I cajoled. I read the first one. "AbraCadabra?" I giggled. Then covered my mouth. "AbraCadbra?" That's something fake magicians at my friend's birthday party would say, before they did a trick. Well, I *actually* could do magic... so why not give it a shot?
It didn't sound so bad. And I couldn't figure out why it it was illegal. It wasn't like it sounded so terrible. Just said something about clothing and authority. Really, if it was illegal, why would they make it sound so vague?
I got up off the bed, and stood up straight, holding my wand out. "AbraCadabra!"
Nothing happened. I frowned, and tried again. "Abra-" But before I could get in another swish-and-flick movement, the door to the Ravenclaw sleeping quarters burst open. It was Headmistress Professor McGonagall.
"Stop right there, Ms. Alicia Cathland!" She flicked her own wand and grabbed mine.
All of a sudden, the fireplace in the room roared to life, and spat out a small item. I didn't know what it was. She looked at it grimly. Then said. "Pick it up."
I was terrified. What had I done??
It opened. It was a howler. It howled horrible, nasty things, yelling by a man. I couldn't catch most of it, but I did get the gist:
This spell would make the Minister of Magic's underpants turn inside-out... while he or she was wearing them.
Oh, and their clothes became invisible.
The End.
| 2016-12-01T22:21:57
| 2016-12-01T19:46:27
| 1,995
| 84
|
[WP] Zombies appear one day, and people are thankful for zombie media teaching them how to survive. Unfortunately for them, a cure is discovered just a few days later, and many are put on trial for shooting the infected that could have otherwise been saved.
|
The TV flashed on.
"Have you or a loved one been charged with the murder of a zombified person?"
Jack paid attention. He had, in fact, recieved a summons.
"We can help! After spending years of studying written and case law, our firm is the only one specializing in defending those convicted of murder of zombies. Call or text 555-5555! James Finch, Attorney at Law."
Jack picked up the phone and started dialing.
|
He thought his daughter could be saved. So he kept her locked, and refused to kill any of them.
Her daughter's boyfriend had other plans, and killed everything in sight. He killed zombies because he wanted to kill the disease.
He was projecting the disease on those walking bodies.
Lucas, the father, never told Klaus of his secret. So when the television said "we have a cure", Klaus was crying.
Klaus felt his stomach hurt, and couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't believe he killed so many people.
After the anchorman went on, "killers will be persecuted", Lucas was crying too.
But he already knew what he had to do.
After long minutes of silence, the younger of the two started to talk.
He watched Lucas, and said
"I know it's my fault. I know they're gonna put me in jail. But i can't feel guilty."Klaus made a pause, and looked the man standing in front of him, the father of the one he loved, in the eyes.
"You know, maybe they were still people, you know, maybe I should have known better. But how was I supposed to know, if the first one i saw become a zombie was the love of my life?
How could I believe my dearly beloved was still in there, while I saw her, the most innocent soul in the world trying to bite me to death?" a long pause, then he screamed
"IF I DIDN'T KNOW SOMETHING LIKE THAT WAS POSSIBLE, HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN IT WAS REVERSIBLE?"
Klaus was crying and screaming like a baby now. He probably was now realizing now that he didn't kill some people, he didn't protect the one he loved the most.
He remembered the day he asked Lucas to kill his own daughter, and he was feeling gutted he did.
He remember Lucas opposing his words, but accepting his decision in the end.
He now realized he convinced a father to kill his own daughter.
"...just wish her was with me as i face a probable life sentence, you know? I'm sorry Lucas for what i did to you"
"I didn't do anything. I'm sorry I lied. She's upstairs, in my room. I fed her with the bodies of the ones you killed. Bring them to her"
When the police came, and saw the driveway covered in bodies that died 2 times, Klaus was ready for his life to be over. But Lucas went outside the house, screaming like a madman, screaming "I WOULD DO IT AGAIN THOSE MONSTERS DESERVED TO DIE".
The police brought him in.
The Daughter was cured.
The secret was never told.
But after that moment, whenever he wwith the daughter of the greatest man he ever knew, whenever he wasn't fulfilling the wish of Lucas, to be with his daughter and making her happy;
Klaus always felt like a walking dead, for the damage he caused.
| 2018-03-07T16:25:59
| 2018-03-07T13:13:54
| 72
| 51
|
[WP] This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour.
|
A sharp knock on the door nearly sent me out of my skin.
With a precision and urgency only possible when under extreme duress, books snapped shut, candles flickered out, and typically overlooked trinkets went flying into opposite corners of the room in complete silence with a rapid set of gestures. I hadn't even heard Indi come *in* the apartment, let alone get to my door to knock it. She wasn't supposed to be home for another hour at *least*.
"Yes?" I managed to just barely keep my voice from waking up the neighbors dogs. "What's up?"
Apparently that was an invitation to enter, though I didn't quite recall saying that. My door swung open as the last little talisman — a loop of hair kept together with melted wax — settled securely in between a pair of books on my modestly stocked bookshelf. A shock of red framed a face that on most days was gorgeous beyond legality, but today... well, that wasn't much different but she was usually smiling a lot more.
"Hey. So."
I'd never seen her look so... panicked? Worried? It was hard to tell. Indi's phone trembled in her shaking hand, the other gripping my doorknob so hard I could hear the wood creaking. I knew this place was a piece of shit but I *reinforced* that door, and how she was straining the enchantment was beyond me.
"So...?"
Indi set her jaw, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.
"Do you want to get married? Like, us. Get married."
I blinked at her.
"What?"
"It would be worth it. I could make it worth it. Like you wouldn't *believe*."
"...are you high?"
"No! I — look. I know it's a weird question."
I nodded slowly, unsure if this was a prank or not. "Yes the fuck it is."
"It's a long story."
"I have time."
"I don't." She ran a hand through her curly hair, stepping further into the room. A cute green sweater and white dress pants clashed terribly with the borderline orange mood lighting of my room, meaning she hadn't changed at all since getting back home. "Be cool about what's next, okay?"
And then a whole lot happened at once.
Fire engulfed her entire body, charring the clothes on her back and sending down a cascade of ashes and dark, smoldering embers that thankfully evaporated before they made contact with my newly vacuumed floor. Her hair grew, from just below the shoulders to well below the waist, the crimson hue draining entirely to white in the process.
Two curling ram's horns grew from the top of her skull, forming partially down her forehead, drawing attention away from the rapidly darkening sclera of her eyes and inversion of her pupils. Her skin grew scarlet red, boldly standing out against the blackened, almost obsidian dress that now hugged her body.
Also, all of my wards flared to life and utterly disintegrated. Every last one of them.
I couldn't decide whether or not to scream or cry. *Months* of labor, hundreds of dollars worth of reagents, completely down the drain. My roommate, who I'd been content with giving a casual hello to on my way to minding my own business ever since she moved in, had transformed into a bonafide archdevil, and in the process completely overwhelmed the most powerful defensive magic I could muster. From the looks of it, she didn't even notice something *tried* to reject her.
"I know. Don't freak out." She had blessedly mistook my misery for fear, though that wasn't exactly in short supply either. "But I'm a demon, or devil, whatever you want to call me. I'm actually pretty high up there, as far as bloodlines go. But a really important part of that is marriage and I've been trying to just live my life but my mom is coming in less than an hour and if I don't at *least* have a fiancé by then she's going to fucking kill me."
There was a moment of strained silence. I was still reeling from the economic loss, though she'd given me at least *something* cerebral to attach to. What bloodline was she a part of specifically? Was this an opportunity I could somehow take advantage of?
I managed to choke out a response. "Wasn't that long a story."
Indi laughed nervously, fidgeting with her hands. Perfectly manicured, sharply clawed hands. "Yeah, I gave you the short version. Long version has more description of how I die."
Marriages were pretty fucking important in the magical world, of which Indi was apparently deeply involved with. Names held power. Station opened doors. A significant enough change in status could drastically alter what one was capable of, assuming they worked within the limitations of that status.
I thought back to the lock of hair, sitting mere feet away from the archdevil who went halfsies with me on rent every month. She played with a lock of her own, identical in hue, if not a little curlier.
How long had I been trying to find someone who didn't want to be found? How quickly had the best I had to offer fall apart in the mere *presence* of someone who wouldn't stand a chance against my endgame? What did I hope to accomplish on my own, in this shitty run down apartment, having to dance around my roommate's social life just to kill myself on someone who likely didn't even remember I existed?
"...yeah. Okay. Sure."
Indi stopped playing with her hair.
"For real?"
"Yes. For real. I don't want you to die, right?"
In the blink of an eye the demoness swept me in an enormous hug. She was surprisingly cool to the touch. "THANK YOU! Holy fucking shit, I can't *believe* you agreed to it! I'll do anything to make it up to you. Whatever you want."
I gently pat her head in reassurance. Her hair was soft, and smelled like the fruity shampoo she left in the shower. It felt familiar; it was all I could do not to tear it from her skull as I did with his. "I can think of a couple of things."
|
Vanessa finished her spiel, and Kimberly continued to sit stock still on the couch. That had been a lot of information in a medium amount of time, and honestly it was a lot to take in. Halfway through, Kimberly had dismissed the idea that Vanessa was making everything up; she wasn't great off the top of her head. Once she'd settled on the fact that Vanessa was telling the truth, she'd tried to keep up, but previous trains of thought had led to half-listening, and now she only had partial context and a wide-eyed roommate waiting for a response.
So Kimberly went for the first thing to cross her mind, "Which one?"
"What?"
"Demon royalty," Kimberly clarified, "there are a lot. Which one is your..." Kimberly trailed off. Had Vanessa mentioned which parent it was? Did she have more than one parent? She could have sworn she said it without an S. After a moment, she restarted instead of continuing, "Which one are they?" she asked in a perfectly gender-neutral way.
Vanessa stared at Kimberly. "I need your help right now?"
"Yes-" Kimberly scooched a little over on the couch to make room for Vanessa, who didn't move, "sorry."
"I know it's a lot to ask, I just need you to cover for me and-" Vanessa stopped and put her hands in the pocket of her hoodie, "look, I know it's weird and a lot and, I'll like-" she pulled her hands out of her pocket again and looked over to the kitchen, "I'll do the dishes for like a week."
"Shhhhure," Kimberly managed.
"Shit, you're not into it," Vanessa pushed her hair behind her ears which she hated the look of but did when she was stressed, "I can figure something-"
"Nononono," Kimberly stood up and corrected Vanessa's hair, "I'm helping with this."
Vanessa pushed Kimberly's hand away from her ear, "You sure?"
"Yes."
"You did that thing you do when you don't want to go out, but it's Saturday, and you know I'm going to keep answering so you eventually agree but then take forever to choose an outfit," Vanessa's hands went back into her hoodie as she flopped down onto the couch in Kimberly's place.
"I was processing the dishes thing," Kimberly explained, "and say less next time."
"Sorry, I'm just-" Vanessa freed one hand from the pocket to motion at her entire face instead of talking, "right now, ya know?"
"Yeahhhh," Kimberly answered, "I guess so. Mom keeps asking me when I'm going to start dating again."
"You should, Kim. He sucked. You've moved on."
"Not the topic," Kimberly pointed out, "but I love the energy." Kimberly took a second to survey her roommate, who was sulking in the sweater she'd bought in the first year of University that was now strictly relegated to living room lounging. "What are we wearing tonight?" She asked after taking stock of how well her roommate's clothes matched her mental state.
It took Vanessa a moment to process what Kimberly was asking, which was unfair because Kimberly had gotten almost no time to process, 'I'm a part demon and pretend to marry me for my parent.'
Kimberly noted that she needed to ask again about the parent's identity so she could choose a pronoun and stick to it.
"I have a dress," Vanessa eventually said, "but I need to change too, so I don't have time for a fashion show."
"Yeah, you should get out of the hoodie if I'm marrying you," Kimberly pointed out with a frown. That had been the second time in the past minute that Vanessa had mentioned how long it took her to get ready, and she was sure she didn't deserve those shots right now. Kimberly offered a hand to Vanessa, "Just a dress shouldn't take you too long, should it?"
Vanessa grabbed her hand and got half-pulled off the couch, "No, no, I need to-" Vanessa paused, "I'm going to clarify. I'm a demon," she really accentuated the last word as she stood up.
"Figured that much out."
"Like a full-blood demon. Not half, no bloodline-" she took a deep breath, "I don't just have like- Cute horns and a little tail."
"Oh-" Kimberly answered; she'd been picturing almost precisely that. One of the kids in her High School had a pact somewhere way back in their bloodline and had red skin and small horns to show for it. He'd been a dick, but that wasn't from the pact, "That's cool, are li-"
"Two legs, two arms, one head," Vanessa clarified once she noticed Kimberly's mind going off the deep end, "but like, I'm not going to be wearing these-" Vanessa took off her glasses and waved them around.
"You're blind without them," Kimberly pointed out, stepping away from the couch.
"As a human."
Kimberly almost made it halfway to her room before stopping, "You chose to need glasses?"
"I didn't choose anything about this," Vanessa pointed out, "I can choose to be human, Kim, but-" she was halfway through that slight arm motion she made when she was going to explain something but stopped herself. "No time to get into all of that," then after a second, "thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Don't mention it," Kimberly answered, and by the time she'd done so, Vanessa had already zooped through her bedroom door. Kimberly waited in the hall for a moment and pulled her phone out.
The first two things she typed into google felt discriminatory, even if she didn't know what she shouldn't say about Demons. After a moment, she figured out, 'My Roommate is a Demon. What do I do?'
All of the results were people talking about roommates or unhelpful articles written about dealing with bad roommates that would end with 'try talking to them.' Kimberly bit her lip as she stared at her phone. Had she ever said that someone was being a 'demon?' Had Vanessa been bothered by that but hadn't wanted to mention it? She'd need to scratch it off her vocabulary to be sure.
*Vanessa: Hey! Black if you can.*
*Vanessa: Thank you thank you thank you*
Kimberly tried to take mental stock of the dresses she owned and had worn less than three times in public. Was there anything with the tag still on it? That would be even better.
*Kimberly: How fancy?*
*Vanessa: Pacifico, not Dome.*
Kimberly nodded to her phone and then put it away, dipping into her own room. Pacifico had been the classier bar back in University. Had they had a clause against jeans? That-
That wasn't what Kimberly needed to focus on right now.
The closet was already open from earlier this morning when she walked over to it, kicking a heel that had escaped the boundary back into the mass of shoes on the floor. In a practiced motion, Kimberly pushed aside all of the daily clothes and revealed the back left of the closet, along with most of her dresses, from maxi to bodycon.
Based on what Vanessa had said, cocktail was the vibe she wanted, but Kimberly still had choices to make despite knowing that. She was supposed to be meeting the parents (parent?), not dressing up for going out, which eliminated a lot of options because she was reasonably sure that first meetings should only have a conservative amount of leg involved.
Kimberley's pocket buzzed as she pulled a dress off of the rack and spun to lay it down on the bed. Was knee height too much or not enough leg to be a cute fiancee to a demon? It would be one of the many contenders.
The phone buzzed again, and Kimberly's hand shot into her pocket before she'd processed it.
*Vanessa: You good?*
*Vanessa: Need help?*
*Kimberly: It's been like 30 seconds.*
*Vanessa: No.*
Kimberly looked up to the timestamps on the previous texts. Shit, she'd been considering the pile of dresses for a lot longer than she thought. Sure it was only 5 minutes, but she understood the text now.
*Vanessa: I'll come over.*
Kimberly returned to the closet with her phone in one hand. It buzzed again. She turned on the flashlight to look at the small selection of carefully folded dresses on the top shelf she could barely reach.
*Vanessa: Don't freak out, okay? Not feeling it atm.*
Kimberly got onto her tip toes to try and reveal one of the darker options on the shelf above, eventually grabbing the smoke dress she'd thought of out in the hall and pulling on it to add it to the pile. The dress slid out, but the pile shifted. She couldn't pull that trick on tiptoes again.
The door cracked open, and Kimberly was already facing it in the process of turning to put the dress on her bed. The person at the door wasn't her roommate. Or, more correctly, it wasn't the Vanessa that Kimberly was used to.
| 2022-10-09T00:07:13
| 2022-10-08T23:48:36
| 1,037
| 102
|
[WP] When a superhero’s family is mercilessly slaughtered by a gang of thugs, their world shatters and they become the worst supervillain ever seen. Only one person can stop them. The supervillain they used to fight
Edit: Thank you everyone for your submissions, if i haven’t already i will make sure to read and comment on every one of your stories!
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On the Morality of The Saint – Dr. Stephen Peterson, 2021
“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.” - Benjamin Franklin.
We are not free while The Saint reigns. I understand that he appears just. I understand that he fights for the weak, fights for the oppressed, fights for liberty. These are undoubtedly admirable choices. But they are *his* choices. He isn't an elected official, and the government has no influence over him, nor ability to arbitrate his actions. The Saint and The Reaper are merely two sides of the same coin; two untouchable individuals acting solely on their own moral codes. It only *appears* that we are still governed by the rule of law laid out in the constitution. Make no mistake,we are not. We are at the mercy of the rule of The Saint, and only insofar as *he*, not the president, not the states, and certainty not the people – only insofar as The Saint is willing to respect US law will we remain under it.
If we ask The Saint to leave the United States, he likely will, as his inner sense of justice will respect our desire to self govern. I know what the objections will be. He's brought crime to a fourty year low. Executives are afraid to embezzle, afraid to abuse their workers, afraid to strike back alley deals with politicians, lest The Saint punish them. But ask yourself this. Are those people getting due process? Does The Saint respect the idea of innocent until proven guilty? We accept his rule because, at the moment, we agree with him. But benevolent tyrants are still tyrants. The problem with tyranny is that there is no check to ensure that said governance remains benevolent. I urge the United States Congress this: please pass a resolution asking The Saint to take his governance elsewhere, so that the American people can once again be free.
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United States War Room - June 2023
“What.” The President's expression was blank. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
“Sir,” his Secretary of State repeated. “It was The Saint. Reports from the embassy are unmistakable.”
A silence hung in the air. This wasn't possible. The Saint was... good. He was righteous, he fought for justice.
The President spoke next. “You're telling me The Saint massacred 203 soldiers at the Russian embassy in cold blood?” He said it calmly, coldly, locking eyes with his advisor as he did.
“Yes sir.”
The commander in chief tapped his fingers along his desk, shaking his head. “Well why the hell did he do it?”
“We believe it was because of his daughter, sir. As you know, two years ago, at ten years old she was kidnapped, presumed dead. He found her while performing surveillance in Russia, being trafficked as a sex slave.”
The President continued shaking his head. Then he laughed. A hearty overcompensating laugh of resignation. “Presumed dead, you say?” He looked up. “And by presumed dead, of course, you mean that we told him we'd ID'ed her remains. You mean that we *told* him she was dead.”
“It was the right decision sir. He would have declared war on Russia. Would have torn both ours and their country to pieces to find her.”
The President was silent for a moment, and then spoke again. “And now we pay for that lie.” He stood up, and walked past his counterpart towards the door. Before he left, he turned back. “Who was that guy? That professor who kept talking and talking about how The Saint was a tyrant, about how he violated our liberty and all that?”
“I think that was Dr. Stephen Peterson at the University of Chicago, sir.”
“Mmm.” The President smiled and shook his head. “Well, maybe we should have listened.”
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“Dr. Peterson, I must say I was quite surprised to receive your call. You seem quite unfond of my kind.” The Reaper sat, hands relaxed and resting on the dinner table in front of him, eyeing the curious man who'd called him in.
“I'm no fan of tyrants, Reaper.” Dr. Stephen Peterson locked eyes with the murder across from him.
The Reaper laughed. “Tyrant? I don't rule anything. I'm more of a nomad really.”
Peterson was not laughing. “I want a favor.”
“Mmm?” The Reaper raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Why do you kill?” Peterson asked. He would need to build some rapport to get The Reaper on his side.
“Ahh, I'm glad you asked.” The murderer spread his hands and leaned back in his chair. “I merely clean the world of those who are worthless, such that those who posses real value can flourish. You call me a murderer. Quite unsightly. I prefer... janitor.”
“Your goal is to maximize the lives of the humans you see as valuable.” Peterson knew how to negotiate. He had to make The Reaper feel understood. If he could accurately mirror The Reaper's world view, then he would meet his request.
“Yes, exactly.” The Reaper smiled. “But you seem quite understanding today, Doctor. You've written extensively about how evil my methods are.”
Peterson ignored this; he had, in fact, criticized The Reaper on many occasions. “How many exceptionally valuable people, people who the world would be devastated to lose, currently reside in the USA?”
The reaper closed his eyes, tilted his head to the ceiling, and inhaled deeply, broad smile still plastered on his face. Then he chuckled, and shook his head. “I know what you want from me Doctor.”
Dr. Peterson remained silent, so The Reaper continued. “The President, assassinated. His secretary of state assassinated.”
The philosopher looked down. Had he really been so obvious?
“203 dead at the Russian embassy. Military bases in New York, Arizona, Nevada, gone.” The Reaper continued smiling as he spoke. “Buildings in Moscow, demolished, senators killed, US citizens murdered.”
Still, Peterson remained silent. There was nothing to say. The Reaper knew what he would ask. It was up to him now.
"Entire rings of human traffickers have turned up crucified across the middle east. How crude. I hope you know I'd never conduct my own business in such an unsightly manner.”
The Reaper paused again. Slowly, he stood up, eyes still locked with his requester. “It's The Saint, isn't it? And you want me to kill him.”
|
The Bros. Gang had overstepped massively. They had killed the Jameson family. I couldn't be too mad at them. None of us knew who they were. But one person did. Captain Justice. Yes, I have taunted him on that name since our first encounter. But he has another name, George R. Jameson. Those bastards killed his family. What followed was the biggest event in recent history, even overshadowing the recent pandemic. Captain Justice had gone on a rampage. The Bros. Gang was no more, all of their members, family, and hideouts had been reduced to atoms. When the public, understandably, called for him to stop, things got so much worse. He accused them of not feeling his pain, of not feeling sorry for him and his family. For wanting them dead. With the rebranding to Captain Vengeance, he swiftly brought the world under his thumb. I had just been lucky enough to be off-world at the time. When I got back, most of my resources had been utterly wiped out. I had one saving grace though, as the only person to have ever stood toe to toe with him, the public saw me as their savior. I thought this could be my chance to win the world, to gain the power I so craved. Now, standing before the person I had fought several dozen times, I saw the folly in my ways. If only I had finished the teleporter so I could leave.
| 2020-08-12T19:52:34
| 2020-08-12T18:18:56
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] A blind man suddenly/inexplicably regains his vision, describe the first thing he sees
|
The first time I went skydiving the press was present. Apparently I was being heralded as some sort of inspiration. It's bullshit, but that doesn't stand in the way of a good story, right? It was a tandem jump with the instructor treating me as if I were made of some sort of porcelain or a child to be placated. I half expected him to offer me a sucker when we finished.
It was largely anti-climactic. I really did nothing but fall, the wind roaring in my ears as I plummeted towards an earth I could not see. The instructor yelled something that was snatched away in the gale, and the chute opened with a *crack* that jarred me to the bone. The rest was actually boring until we landed. Of course, the press was there again, asking me how it felt. I played along because really what else could I do? Then they left and I stood alone for a time with my silence.
None of them understand. To them I'm this broken thing that needs to be coddled and led around like a favorite pet on a leash. Not a man. Never a man.
I went back the next day and insisted that I be allowed to jump on my own. They resisted, but eventually they gave way. I had to sign a waver, of course. They didn't want to be the ones responsible for allowing the blind hero to die. We got me one of those helmets with a microphone and headset, and an altimeter that would tell me when to pull the cord.
It was glorious. The wind still whipped around me, but this time I was free of the tether which had strapped me like an infant to the instructor. It was freedom, complete and total. I pulled the cord and rode the wind back down, the instructions of those with me ensuring that I landed in the clear.
My seventh jump was as routine as routine gets. I packed my chute, checking and double-checking all buckles and straps, joking with the other jumpers about this and that. Routine.
My breath caught as I stood in the door, as it always does. I heard the cry of "GO!" and fell into oblivion. At 3,500 feet my altimeter beeped and I just kept falling. Earlier I had written a long message to my family, explaining what I had planned. To die free, unfettered by handicap and on my terms. I was sorry, but this was my choice.
At 2,000 feet the sounds of screaming in my headset intensified, the other jumpers thinking that somehow this was a mistake. I felt bad that they would have to witness this. I quite liked many of them. I took off my helmet and let it go.
At 1,000 feet my altimeter chirped a warning and I began to brace myself for the impact. And then it happened. A flash of light. A searing pain that went from my eyes all the way to my toes, and I could *see!*
The world stretched out before me, the greens achingly bright, the blue of a lake reflected rainbows of color that I had not been able to see since I had the accident twenty years before. The why never entered my mind, I simply drank it all in; the beauty of it threatened to overwhelm me.
And then the absurdity hit me. Here, when it was too late to relent, my sight had returned. At the very end of my life, that which I'd thought I was missing for so long had been given back to me. Was it a gift in my last moments? Was it God's punishment for my suicide? I couldn't tell you.
But I was laughing hard I was crying, my vision blurred so much I didn't even see when I hit the ground.
|
"Am I dead?" He thought. He'd heard people talk about walking in to the light, but this wasn't the same. He wasn't dead. Everything was white. He stumbled round as he had done for the past 42 years whilst his eyes learnt how to focus. Nothing was new, but everything was different. It was light.
As his eyes taught themselves how to concentrate such an abundance of colours he quickly closed them. All of a sudden he realised that he was about to see the world for the first time ever. No one else gets the privilege of remembering the first thing they ever see, yet now he had the opportunity to remember and *choose*. "What should I look at?" He asked himself.
He had always listened to his Girlfriend describe to him how much she loved the artwork on the wall to his left, but would he understand it? He caught the smell of the cake in the kitchen. He loved the taste of cake, more than anything in the world, but would the sight live up to the taste and smell? A million different ideas rushed through his head, yet nothing felt right.
"Sit down." He told himself. He fumbled around for his chair. He'd had that chair as long as he could remember. It was a smooth oak varnished chair, he always loved that chair and had asked everyone he knew what it looked like. Some described it as elegant, some called it vintage, but he never forgot how his mother described his chair. She would sit him on her knee when he was young and read him stories. He would stroke the soft varnished wood because he liked the feeling. The wood was a dark cherry varnish and the cushion covered by a soft black velvet. That cushion had never lost its comfort, even now he could still sit down on that chair and forget all of his problems. He knew what he wanted to see first.
| 2013-10-09T12:10:31
| 2013-10-09T06:03:57
| 31
| 14
|
[WP] Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you
It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow
|
It was Tuesday morning. God I hate Tuesdays.
You see, when you work in the sawmill of a small town, logs shipment usually comes in on Wednesdays. That keeps us busy for three days, sometime four, but Tuesdays are always dead.
This means that on Tuesdays, I have to listen to Tom, Jim and Preston talk about their meaningless fantasy football league ALL day. However, this particular Tuesday was going to be even worst.
You see, when you work in the sawmill of a small town, security measures aren't always 'by the book'. This means that accidents happen occasionally, sometime frequently, and Monday's accident was a pretty nasty one.
Grabbing a coffee in the office's kitchen should be a pretty simple task, except when Tom, Jim and Preston are there. And since it was Tuesday morning, they we're obviously there, ready to chat.
''Did you hear about Gerry?! His arm got stuck in the big WM yesterday, his whole left arm was chopped by the saw!''
''Yes Tom, I was there.''
''It wasn't just his arm, they say his leg got caught up as well!''
''Yes Jim, I was there.''
''He should of just stopped moving, I heard part of his face was ripped when he tried to pull himself out!''
''Yes Preston, I was there.''
As if my favorite trio wasn't enough, this dude from accounting felt the need to visit our shop this morning to discuss the accident.
''Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off yesterday?!''
''Yes, he's all right now.''
|
My friends ask me why I did it, and while I had no straight forward answer to give them, I always tell them "If I don't do it, who will? Who will pave the path ahead of us if not me? Someone has to take the risk and go where no one has gone before."
I did it! I've finally done it.
Three days I've spent without food, water, or sleep, constantly vigilante and watching my back for I know not where the next blow will come from.
Giant creatures soared past me, screaming as they do so, terrifying.
I spent the last day crawling across the tarmac, as my legs no longer had the strength to hold me up.
Over the last 3 days I have almost died nearly 20 times, truly a miracle that I am still alive and that I finally reached my destination.
I've lost one of my limbs and my body is covered in dirt and blood, but once again I am alive, and I made it.
**I AM, the chicken, that crossed the fucking road!**
________________________________________________________________________________________________
EDIT: May not have been what you really wanted for this prompt, but I tried good sir, I tried.
| 2015-01-13T10:39:25
| 2015-01-13T09:52:04
| 188
| 21
|
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected.
|
When I first heard the voice in my head, I honestly thought I was going crazy.
"*Gillian*', it said. "*You have been chosen.*"
Chosen for *what*? I muttered, after the 15th time it happened to me.
"*Ah, excellent,*" the voice immediately answered, much to my surprise. "*Chosen for Godhood. We are so pleased we have reached your consciousness. It is confirmation our choice is wise.*"
Dear god. Or should I say...*gods*. The exchange went on like this, in my head, for days. I didn't sleep, couldn't really eat. *Was this seriously for real?*
Eventually, the key communication came: "*Gillian, you are special. Of all your race, you have been chosen. You must choose whether to join us, here on Olympus. Choose whether to forego your human life and experience what only those chosen by the gods can experience. Choose to dedicate your life to the greater good. Choose to be immortal! Choose to become the Goddess of Love and Beauty!*"
Now tell me - what girl could resist that pitch? The Goddess of Love and Beauty? I'm not being super-critical when I tell you I'm a 6 on a good day. Perhaps this was a case of mistaken identification on the part of the gods...or perhaps these gods were able to see my inner beauty in a way my all-too-human boyfriends had never quite been able to...but, either way, it was an offer I just couldn't pass up. So, I said the only word that seemed to be needed: "*Yes!*"
With that, I was instantly transported into the palace I occupy now. It is truly beautiful: all gold-veined marble and astonishing artwork. Sunlight flows in through the high windows. There's an exceptionally lovely garden with a brook meandering between plants. Birds even dart among the impossibly-tall rafters, and dip to drink from the crystal clear pools. I have enjoyed many pleasant hours there. Quiet servants tend to my needs.
The only thing I am unable to do is leave.
Once a day, the goddess Aphrodite visits me. Our early visits together were far less tranquil, but after the first two sessions in which she hauled me behind her by the hair as if I weighed no more than an infant, it became clear to me that I was no match for her physical strength. Now, when the sun begins to drop in the sky and shadows fall over the garden, I go of my own will to the pool by the waterfall.
It is not painful. Face to face, mind to mind, little by little, she takes what she needs. She takes what I was brought here to give. And they did not lie - for that instant, I *am* the Goddess. But that instant passes, like the light through the leaves.
There are no mirrors in this place, but the beautiful silver surface of my cosmetics tray, lovingly polished by my silent servants, is mirror enough. By the count I'm keeping on my wall, I have been here now 46 days. The glance in the "mirror" this morning shows me I have aged somewhere around 20 years.
I don't know how long she will be able to suck away my youth and vitality until I am all used up. But one thing is certain: I am assured of immortality. All I have to do to confirm this is visit the Hall of Heroines.
There, in a beautiful crystal jar, is imprisoned the essence of each of my predecessors. There is not much left physically, but the quirk of physiology that allowed my consciousness to be contacted by the gods also allows me to touch the mind of each and every girl who is there. Many are insane, but others are still reachable. They cling to my psychic presence like a blackberry vine, not caring that I literally have to rip my mind free to leave.
Each of them asks only one thing of me: *kill me.* It is the one thing I do not know how to give them. It is the thing I already wish for most, and will likely never know myself.
And each day, Aphrodite grows younger and even more beautiful, if that is possible. Of course it is possible. All things are possible to the gods...as long as there are humans remaining who are willing to make the required sacrifices.
*"I have seen with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in her jar, and when the boys asked her, 'Sibyl, what do you want?' she answered 'I want to die'."*
- T.S. Eliot, *The Waste Land*, epigraph
|
I stood in a glass room, looking down on the earth. A man in a dark blue suit stood next to me, filling out paperwork on a clipboard. Behind us, a man in long white robes and a beard to match stood brooding in the corner. The man in the suit turns to me. "So, Steve, can I call you Steve? Excellent. Now as you've probably already know by now, YOU have been selected to be the new god for the next THOUSAND YEARS!" He bounced with mock enthusiasm. "Yaaaaaaay!...ok, but seriously, down to business. All of this," he motioned to the earth, slowly rotating below us. "is now yours, do WHATEVER you'd like, don't feel like you need to keep things the same, it's yours now. Not his." He points subtly to the man in the corner. I turn to look. The man's eyes are like razors cutting into my soul. "Who's that again?" I ask.
"Oh, that's just the old God. Don't worry about him, all the Gods get a little cranky when it's their turn to leave." He leaned in close. "I mean, a few cycles ago, the old guy creates a Messiah at the end of his thousand years, and tells the new guy 'hey, here ya go, this'll help you out a bunch!' and then three days before he leaves, he straight up crucifies the dude. New guy was like 'whaaaaat'. But he figured shit out pretty quick and brought him back, now that old guy looks like a damn fool! But I digress..." He waves politely at the man in the corner, who proceeds to flip him off before returning his piercing gaze to me. The man in the suit turns back to me with a smile on his face and points to the corner again with his thumb. "Great guy. Now, do you have any questions about your new creative experience?"
"My new what?"
"Your new...you know...THIS."
"You mean "being God?""
"Yeah...we really don't like to call it that anymore, we feel it puts too much pressure on people, so we're going with 'creative experience' now."
"Oh, ok. Well I guess the biggest question would be, why me? I mean, I'm not particularly smart, or creative, or even virtuous. I mean I'm not BAD, but I don't feel like I'm GOD material." The man smiled. "Well that's exactly WHY we picked you!" It seemed he could tell from my face that the puzzle was still missing a few pieces in my head. He sighed and said "Ok, let me ask you this: Do you have any idea how complicated an Atom is?" I thought back to the poster in my 9th grade science class and replied, "yea, it's like that ball with the little rings around it?" He chuckled to himself. "No. It's a miniscule mass of positively and neutrally charged particles surrounded by a cloud of negative particles that are so small and move so fast that you can't know how fast they're moving and where they are at the same time. And also the effects change dramatically based on the number of parti..." He stopped, having realized how little of this was getting through to me. "The point is," he continued, "that it's really complicated. Now why does it have to be that complicated?"
"Uh...I don't know."
"But if you had to guess."
"Well...there must BE a reason..."
"Exactly! That's just the problem. Everyone thinks there MUST be a reason. But if you had to choose from anything in the world what the building block of matter would be, what you choose?"
"Um... I don't know... a block?" The man burst out laughing. "A block! brilliant! I love it! Now if you had the power to make a block, would you make a ball with rings instead?"
"I...probably not."
"Exactly. And that's why we chose you. You see, we picked the last guy because he was a genius. Truly brilliant. Unfortunately, that plan backfired and Ol' Bearded over there ended up going on a science bender for the last few hundred years. Now shit's WAAAY too complicated, and management wants it toned down a little. I mean, we have people down there fucking around with quantum physics. WE don't even understand quantum physics!"
"So you want me to make things simpler?" He walked me over to the wall that separated us from the earth, and pulled a single atom from beyond the glass. It danced and flickered in his hand. To see it now, up close, pushed the boundaries of what I thought my vision was capable of. The man handed it to me and said: "We just want you to do whatever makes you feel comfortable." I took the atom in my hand and stared at it for a moment. I put my other hand over it, and squeezed. When I opened my hands, the atom was now a small solid white block, simple and pure. The man in the suit smiled. "I think you'll do quite well here."
| 2014-07-28T12:46:05
| 2014-07-28T11:23:14
| 42
| 20
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
It was a curious solution and nobody expected it to be as easy as it was. Fifty years of isolation.
Nobody knew who fired the first shots. Some said it was the Chinese, some said it was the North Koreans, others said it was the Americans. In the end, it really didn't matter, because everyone ended up involved in some way. We were all guilty and shared the same sins.
But for all the doomsaying about the 'end of the world', things actually weren't that bad... well, compared to how bad it could've been. Twentieth century novels convinced us that World War III would result in a blasted hellscape, billions dead, nothing left standing. Perhaps in our darkest moments, we still retained a shred of humanity. Or perhaps we learned from the terrible brand of warfare waged in the 40s. Rather than missiles striking innocent population centers, surgical strikes and tactical nuclear weapons simply devastated infrastructure and military targets. Hundreds of millions had still perished - collateral damage, fallout, famine and disease - but the worst hadn't happened. Eiffel Tower and Saint Basil's Cathedral were still standing. In a rather striking twist of irony, by waging World War III, we had destroyed mostly just the tools we would need to wage World War IV.
After that came the 'Grand Plan'. Fifty years of isolation. Everyone expected us to resist the plan the most, and were surprised when, after a national referendum, we ended up being the most eager. Walls went up. Trade routes gradually eased and then stopped altogether. The doors were shut.
And for fifty years, we prospered. We had lost many of the cheap luxuries we had grown accustomed to, but agriculture surged as, lacking imported crops, we razed thousands of hectares of corn to grow our own. Oil deposits were uncapped. Unemployment dropped to less than 1% as millions of lost jobs suddenly came in high demand. It was a simple life, but we were happy. Americana had returned.
Fifty years passed in an eyeblink and the great reunification would begin. All the nations of the world to meet and share what they had learned. It wasn't going to be easy, of course - the war had destroyed nearly every satellite. We would need to seek out people to communicate with manually.
Our first attempt at contact was to head north to our oldest allies. Canada had been one of the most apprehensive countries with regards to the isolation, and actually considered joining America in joint isolation, but the United Nations council soundly rejected the notion. As our diplomatic convoys crossed the border and entered Toronto, they were shocked by what they found. Hunger. Disease. Poverty. The once great city was decaying and largely vacant. Similar reports came from Montreal and Ottawa. Upon contacting the Canadian government, the truth came out.
It was a ruse. A great big ruse. The world, convinced that America had been, at best, indirectly responsible for the war, had collectively agreed to formulate fake isolation plans, and leave us in the dark. The plan was to bring the world and humanity as a whole into a bright and shining future. The results were... less than satisfactory.
If the world had advanced to prosperity, it certainly didn't show in Canada. Having lost their largest trading partner, Canada found themselves out of the global market. Asia had no use for Canadian manufacturing, and Eastern Europe had filled demand to Europe. Canada began to market their oil reserves, but shortly after the walls went up, the United Nations declared a global moratorium on fossil fuels to allow the earth to heal. Canada was, almost literally, left out in the cold, and had suffered greatly.
However, as bad as the situation in Canada was, it wouldn't compare to what we found to the south. We sent diplomatic teams south just as we did north... teams that were never heard of again. Crossing the border, they initially reported that little appeared different from before the war - there was running water, power, though it bore all the hallmarks of a relatively poor country. But as they would near Mexico City, they were just go dark.
We weren't sure what we were going to do. We didn't want our first reconnection with the world to involve military force, invading a country to find our teams. Then, weeks after the first team had gone dark, we learned something new. On the side of a road in south Texas, in a van, lay one of our ambassadors - beaten, bloodied, and mutilated. Along with him were the heads of the two dozen men and women who escorted him.
The ambassador had been returned with a message and shared with us what he had learned. It seemed that while Mexico had taken a few licks during the great war, that story was not true for South America. In fact, they survived the war almost completely untouched. Lacking global strike capabilities, they were largely ignored by the warring parties. The starry-eyed isolation plan was largely a European one, and the plan simply seemed to exclude the entire western hemisphere. Why bother with South America? They had little to offer the world, and they were too far and isolated. In fact, they even went as far as to congratulate themselves for 'freeing' South America of American influence and corruption.
With Mexico's government weakened, it left the country primed for the largest military force in the region to take over - the cartels. Mexico had become a narco-state. Without any threat from government forces - American or otherwise - the cartels expanded influence worldwide, filling the economic hole left by America's absence with a global drug ring. South of Panama, without the 'interference' of America - as the isolation planners would put it - South America was free to pursue its own destiny, a destiny that seemed to largely revolve around fifty years of civil wars and military coups.
Over the coming months, we learned much from Europe, Africa, and Asia, and replaced the wonder we held in our hearts with cynicism and anger and disgust. Instead of the utopia that had been envisioned, there was nothing more than endless war. While North Korea had fallen in World War III, China now occupied the Korean penninsula. Most of Eastern Europe had fallen to Russia. Africa was... well it was still Africa.
In Europe the situation was little improved. The European Union had combined into the United European States, headed by Germany and France. The United Kingdom had undergone its own degree of voluntary isolationism, withdrawing further into itself. It attempted to reunify the commonwealth, but Chinese control of the South Pacific left Australia and New Zealand subject to absolute trade embargoes.
To the north, Scandinavia had suffered immensely. Without oil and the american economy to sell their investments, Norway had gone from one of the most prosperous nations to a state whose crippling debts had to be underwritten every year by the rest of the UES. Threats from Russia had pushed Finland into a military state, and tensions were high that invasion could occur any day. Pushing for hardline social reform, tolerance, and acceptance, refugees from the war-torn North Africa and Southwest Asia flooded by the millions into Europe. Cries to even attempt to slow the flow were ignored as the mewling complaints of the bigoted. Before long, the population outpaced the capability to feed and employ people, and the dream of prosperity, where no man had to want for anything, had waned into a slow, cold recession that had lasted for nearly four decades. Hundreds of square miles of cheap, filthy government tenaments were erected ringing the major cities.
Everywhere we had gone, we found that over and over, that good intentions mean nothing without the wilpower to see them out. Our envoys were given a cold reception and simply told to leave. "America wasn't wanted anymore", they insisted.
And so we returned home.
And then we rebuilt the walls.
Maybe the world needed fifty more years.
|
**6th April, 2037 - HMAS *Maryborough*, Somewhere off the coast of Australia**
"So, the yanks bought it?"
The speaker leans heavily against the rail, staring at the smouldering coastline. A deck above, overstressed rotor blades whine slowly, cooling in the ocean breeze.
"Oh yes. Contrition, shame, repentance...if we'd brought a whip along, I reckon their delegation would have flagellated themselves."
The new arrival joins him, steadying herself as the vessel rocks in an errant swell.
"Hmph. Bloody typical. Living like the world's a movie, where they're the heroes and everybody else is either a sidekick to use, a villain to fight or just part of the fucking scenery."
He sighs, rubbing shaking fingers across his eyes, as if massage will bring vision back into being.
"I wouldn't have believed you, even a week ago. But they took it without even raising a single protest. Fifty years, as of 5 days ago..."
She trails off, suddenly guilty. A few minutes either way, and she could have been like him. One of the thousands left burnt and sightless. They would probably never know whose it was that did it, not that it mattered. Russian, Chinese, American, Korean, Japanese...maybe even their own.
"Of course. The Americans are like children, when you get right down to it. A billion dead, more injured, climate buggered, but the story must go on. They know they've done wrong, so they're expecting to be put into timeout."
A chuckle, the first in what feels like years, forces its way out of her at the mental image that conjures. Her mind turns back to the stories of her youth.
"Well, that's what happens when the 'hero' does a bad thing, isn't it? He goes into exile, to repent his sins, and gets called back when the world needs to be saved again. Superman, Batman..."
Her companion tries to join her, but lapses into a throaty cough instead.
"More...like...the fucking...Hulk."
He stumbles, the jerky movements pulling several tubes taut against his chest. A strident beeping begins to sound, soon joined by one buzzer, then another.
"Oh jesus... Nurse! NURSE!"
A bandaged hand clutches her arm.
"They...want...a story. Give...them...one."
Her tears were simply a drop in the ocean.
**9th April 2037 - Bundaberg Disaster Relief Centre**
His communications centre looked a lot like hers, she mused, as the technicians scurried around the jury-rigged setup, making sure the link was at least semi-stable.
"This is quite a surprise, Deputy Prime Minister. I believe it was you who convinced us all to live out the next fifty years in isolation, after all. Come to leave your neighbours with some parting words of wisdom? Perhaps apologise for joining the rest of them in burning the world down?"
Her eyes widened, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he knew. The Tasman wasn't that wide, and just because they'd forsaken a military, didn't make them stupid. Hell, even an idiot could tell a rocket going up from one coming down.
"Prime Minister, actually. As of Monday. And no. To the former, at least."
She took a guilty sort of pleasure in watching him sigh, the bags under his eyes suddenly looking unbearably heavy.
"A good man, if misguided. Another life burnt on the atomic pyre. He will be missed. What do you want then, Ms Prime Minister? I have fifty years to prepare my country for the next ride on this insane merry-go-round, and I don't intend to waste it."
Here it was. If she couldn't convince this man, then there was no point in trying anywhere else. If she could...
"Let me tell you a story."
He doubted. He laughed. He doubted some more. He threatened to cut off the call. He thought. He called for advisors. He doubted. He refused to believe. He had it repeated. He laughed. He doubted.
He agreed.
**6th April, 2087 - New Brisbane, 2km underground**
"Pickups are live. Boarding has been reported complete, and all birds are green. Looks like they're really going to do it."
Chatter fills the air conditioned command centre. Overhead, screens regurgitate a million different data streams - live footage, passenger estimates, a few colour commentators. Bound to her life support chair, the ex-Prime Minister smiles as one of the feeds momentarily cuts above the rest.
"-and we are here today not in sorrow, but in determination. To follow our brothers and sisters to the stars, to rejoin the-"
She raises her voice, the inbuilt amplifiers carrying it across the busy room.
"Get your bets in! She's just about to announce the name!"
The assembled representatives, covering most of the remaining nations on the planet, chuckle politely.
"Still ordering everyone around, I see, 'Mum'?"
The Indonesian ambassador pats her on the shoulder, and she grasps his hand.
"You bloody well bet I am. Somebody has to keep this lot on task. Got your bet in?"
He looks stricken.
"You know that the Quran forbids-"
She gives him a Stare.
"...20 on *Enterprise*, ma'am. Seems fitting. 'Boldly go', and all that."
She laughs, and turns back to the screens. A countdown has appeared, framing the giant silver ship they show, looming over a cracked mesa.
"Y'know, you ought to be right. All those years ago, when I came up with this batshit idea, I probably would have agreed. But as much as they need a story, I think there's one thing they need more. And it's what we're giving them, even though they'll never know it."
The view changes back to the figure at the podium.
"With that, I christen her...*Independence*."
| 2018-01-18T02:39:17
| 2018-01-18T01:28:33
| 129
| 18
|
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read.
|
"Blllrrgghhglglglglg"
I look around my room, as I rub my eyes. "What the fuck was that?"
I blink a few times and sit up abruptly as I hear it again.
"Blrghg blruruhrgrhhrhrurrururrr"
I look over to my aquarium and see Stanley my goldfish pressed up against the glass.
"Blrghg grrlrlrlrlrlrrlgghh"
"Umm... are... are you talking?"
"Blrrgh," he replies, and does a quick lap around the cube.
I stand and cross the room, where I dip my hand into his bowl and pull him out.
"Can... you stop... undressing in front of me," he wheezes.
"Holy fuck! You can talk?!"
"You... dumb... bitch. You... topped off my tank... with alcohol."
"Oh my god."
"Put... me back..."
I drop him back in his bowl. I freak out that I just put him back in his alcohol water.
"Blrhrgghglgl"
|
I dunno how much of that fucking Stoli I had last night. It's all a weird blur. For some reason, the clearest memory I have is dumping a lot of the water out of my goldfish Spike's bowl and replacing it with the vodka. To "give the little guy a buzz" or something, I dunno why I did it. I remember after I did that, Spike swimming around really fast and running his mouth up and down a lot, and me laughing. He looked like he was really drunk and it was funny as shit, I dunno.
But then he broke the surface of the water, leaned his front fins on the glass, looked right at me. Ad I had to be drunk off my ass, but I can pretty clearly remember Spike yelling at me.
"You **ASSHOLE!!** You titanic **DUMBFUCK!!** This shit BURNS, you fucking IDIOT! I can't BREATHE! I think my GILLS are BLEEDING! WHAT the actual **FUCK**, you fucking KILLED ME you stupid drunk PIECE OF SHIT!"
I think I reeled and passed out. Woke up this morning and went to feed Spike, but he was laying dead out of water next to a bowl that still stank like vodka.
I dunno for sure, I had to be hungover as hell, but it almost looked like when he died, he had curled his flippers back so it looked like he was giving me The Finger.
| 2016-08-02T20:33:34
| 2016-08-02T20:31:04
| 24
| 17
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
"10" I said unconsciously.
My friend tore his eyes away from the girl walking past us down the hall and stared at me in surprise.
"A 10? Really?" He turns his gaze back to her. "Dude I'll admit she's a looker, but I'd say more of an 8. Not 10 material, but eh different stokes for different folks."
I wasn't listening anymore. I was looking at her receding form shocked at what I had just said.
*10!?* I thought to myself. *Impossible I'd never seen a 10 before.*
My friend laughed and gave my shoulder a good natured shove.
"Got a thing for the new girl do ya Rook? Ello earth to Tomas anyone home?"
I got up abruptly and made to follow her, quickening my pace as to not lose her. My mind was racing. The highest I'd ever met was my uncle Cernes when he came back from Iraq. He was special forces and he was an 7. Even those warlords and politicians on the news never made it past 8. I couldn't imagine what danger this slight girl, barely above 5 feet, possessed to warrant her a 10 on my scale. I was determined to find out.
Gaining now I thought of how to get her alone. In the packed halls she didn't hear my footsteps on the linoleum floors until I was just behind her. She barely had a second to glance at me before I grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom. I hope not too many students saw...
Once we were in I closed and locked the door before turning around to face her. She looked up at me open mouthed. Muttering something to herself. I was afraid too. More afraid than I'd like to admit, but I knew what had to be done.
"Who are you?" I hissed. Trying my best to sound angry. Trying not to let my voice tremble.
She opened her mouth to scream but with one quick step I closed the distance between us and put my hand over her mouth effectively silencing her. Dragging her shaking form away from the window on the classroom door I pinned her against the wall. I could see the abject terror in her eyes. I wasn't taking any chances. I HAD to know.
"I'm going to take my hand away from your face now and you are going to answer some questions. Understand?" She nodded best she could with my hand holding her. Slowly I took my hand off her mouth and she took wavering breath, looking like she was about to cry. In that moment I felt awful and more ashamed than I ever had in my life.
*This is necessary* I told myself again taking a step back to give her room to breath.
She was shaking uncontrollably and muttering something over and over again. Staring at me with a look of fear and incomprehension. I breathed in to gather my thoughts again, but before I could say anything more she spoke up.
"I can see the numbers in your eyes. Your like me." My heart stopped. That calm I had been gathering for the coming interrogation, shattered.
"W-what did you say." I couldn't keep the fear out of my voice this time. She noticed my resolve crumbling and took a tentative step away from the wall. I could see a flicker in her iris now. So faint you'd surely miss it if you weren't looking for it. Numbers. I moved in closer. She didn't step away. I could see them clearly now. Her gaze still held incalculable fear. 10s. Dozens of 10s popping in and out of existence just under the surface of her eyes. So lost was I in those numbers and what they meant. Before I could react she deftly reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out my pen. Swinging it around faster than I could follow she stabbed me with it in the gut.
I couldn't process what had just happened. With more force than I'd thought possible for a girl of her size she brought up her knee and shoved the pen farther in before pushing my unresponding form into the desk. I crashed into them and felt something snap. Whether it was outside or inside my body I wasn't sure. Through vision clouded with pain I saw her reach back and pull the fire-alarm, and heard the click of the door automatically unlocking as cool water rained down from the emergency sprinklers. She ran.
I sat there for some time thinking. Barely feeling the pain in my gut and the water pooled with my blood. She too saw the numbers, and she was a 10. I had to find her again.
|
Snow swirled across the pavement, little lines of furious strands caught in a frozen wind. At once, they would settle, and at once they would fly with renewed flurry as the bus ploughed up to its stop. The ding of the doors opening broke the bluster of winds, and immense gratitude washed over her as this bus proved warm.
"Long day again?" Jerry always asked that question, and the answer was always:
"Yes, but not as long as the weekend," and she would reply with a smile.
"Well bless your heart for being off on a day like this. Haven't seen many luggers today." Jerry laughed, closing the doors as a little, hunched *3* ambled past the two.
She hitched her 'lug' of textbooks up on her shoulder, and gave Jerry a teasing roll of the eyes before sitting down. Her bag thumped on the bench as she sat down, pulling out a novella. A bag this heavy was worth its weight in words, and that was all she could ask for.
Words were, after all, a relief. A change of scenery.
The world was a scattering of numbers. They drifted, floated, and warped with each passing moment. They flickered with each emotion, just as a candle in its last moments of a breath.
Jerry, for instance, had attracted her attention because of his constant *6*. He rarely spoke when she first began semester, but as time wore conversation he became more and more conversational. He was amiable, friendly. Yet, that *6* never flickered. She was curious why, curiosity keeps conversation.
As the bus hurtled through the lanes of snow, and debris of dead landscape, she patiently read her words. A man was on the phone nearby, something must have been wrong at work because his number kept annoyingly jumping, like a dog that wouldn't sit still. The old woman who had boarded with her sat across, absently knitting with some gaudy orange yarn, her *3* like a steady heartbeat.
She chose to focus on the *3*, steadiness helped her get through the words.
It was a whirl of snow, tempered numbers, and words until the ding of arrival.
"University Station!" Jerry called out, and only two souls departed into the blanketed land beyond.
She teetered on the ice, sliding a short ways before finding grip again. The sudden rush of 'ohpleasedon'tfall' distracting her from the fellow soul lost to this insatiable cold.
"Marie? You okay?"
She felt someone catch her by the backpack, but she didn't recognize the voice. Classmate? Turning around, she smiled to say thank you.
He was blank. Nothing.
The sight staggered her, leaving words dead on lips like frost on leaves. She must have looked like a stunned deer, because the young man that steadied her gave a sheepish smile.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like this -- Actually, I meant for this to be a bit different, but, uh, you're hard to catch.." He stammered, offering only that sheepish smile for explanation.
"Who are you?" Marie asked, the shock nullifying any forbearance toward that polite aire.
"Oh!" The young man jumped, ever-so-slightly, his dark hair bouncing. He would be quietly handsome, unassuming, if not for the dark eyes that reflected no sheepish nature.
"It's me! Fred! From second grade!" His words, they bounced. "I didn't expect you to remember me, really. I noticed you in a class last semester, Astronomy 207. I though 'Gee, she looks familiar doesn't she. Out of all these faces'."
Marie continued to stare at him. The blurring of light around them shifted green as the traffic light signalled they could cross the street. Yet, more so, Marie caught sight of another flicker. Just above his right ear, it was meagre, like the sheepishness in his voice, like it had been caught.
"So I looked you up on the class roster. Funny that. Thought I would never see you again." And he smiled again, and it flickered once more.
*10*
It was true, he looked like Fred. That flown dark hair, the bouncing of his voice and words. Still, how? The boy with dirt smudged features, who wore the same clothes everyday, who cried when her mother let him take an ornament from their Christmas tree. *Him? A 10?*
"Oh! You're probably a bit surprised," He laughed. It did not falter, even as Marie became aware of the poorly suppressed terror on her face.
"It's good to see you stayed a *5*. Not too bold, not to bland." Fred wavered his hand as he spoke to her, and that smile kept shrewdly creeping along.
Marie shook her head, and planted herself one boot step firmly forward, but the light changed again. She couldn't cross yet. Dubiously, she stepped past him, closer to the cross walk. She plotted the *eta* path to security in her mind, perhaps this man needed some help.
The young man turned, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stepped next to her on the cross walk. He looked to her, with straightened stance and a bright smile.
"What? You didn't think you were the *only one*, did you?"
| 2014-11-29T15:22:56
| 2014-11-29T14:03:49
| 24
| 14
|
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.
Farmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.
Sometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.
When visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.
Old cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass.
|
"Mind you put on your best behavior when we meet the king," Master Hniu said from my side. "Any disrespect like that time with the Burned God, and we might both be skewered on a spit."
I snorted in reply. It was enough to set him chuckling. If not for the fact that my shoulders towered over most grown men, and my hide able to repel even the most well-crafted of spears, I still had my magic to use in the event of ... unruly behavior from men.
Master Hniu and the All-cow, they called us. Far and wide we had traveled, welcome in every village, venerated in every town. This King Pawrut was a stranger to us, an Islander, yet even our tales had reached his court and earned us an invitation to visit.
Master Hniu knuckled his back, leaning more heavily against his staff with every step. I winced and nudged his cheek in apology, but he brushed me away. It was my fault, after all. I hadn't enjoyed the boat ride, so I'd willed into existence a strong, wooden bridge from the mainland. He'd been looking forward to a restful journey over two days; instead, we'd walked for close to a week.
As always, he never complained. The King had called, and so we came.
As we neared the top of Kingmount, a small hill in the center of this city of mud-brick houses upon which his palace sat, I noticed the presence of more and more people who appeared to be awaiting our presence. They wore dark-colored clothes that smelled like sea-grass, holding out colorful shells to us in their cupped palms as we passed.
Master Hniu didn't take any, but bowed to some and spoke quietly to others. To me, he whispered, "These people are very poor. Look at their bare feet; their hair is dirty, and many are starved."
Despite decades of being with him, hearing his platitudes, I'd never quite understood what wealth or poverty meant in human terms. So what if their feet were bare? My hooves had never seen the insides of a shoe, ever! Even Master Hniu shunned footwear of any sort. As for starvation, there was grass aplenty everywhere. If they ate the grass they collected instead of weaving them into clothing, they would have plenty.
Nonetheless, I knew what Master Hniu was going to suggest. So I concentrated, and suddenly a mountain of loaves appeared upon an empty patch of stone by the side of the congregation. There was the briefest pause of shock among the people, and then a roar from dozens of throats as excitement took hold. They rushed to the pile, shoving each other aside, looking almost like a stampede of my wilder fellows fleeing the lion.
Master Hniu sighed unhappily. "I've told you, no piles! One loaf in each hand."
I shrugged and followed him and a pair of guards through the palace doors. The building was carved into the top part of the hill itself, a conical mound decorated on the outside with epics depicting royalty or some such. I feigned interest when the guards tried to explain some of them, and licked at a patch of sweetweed that grew through a crack in the stone.
At last, we were ushered into the king's chambers, one filled with shadows cast by paltry candles. Master Hniu rubbed his hands together, his breath misting in front of him.
We were told to halt in front of the throne, and Master Hniu promptly bowed. I studied King Pawrut. He was young, probably half as old as Master Hniu. He wore clothing made of silk and cotton, and earth metals decorated him instead of shellfish. His dark eyes roved between us, calculative.
"So, you're the legendary duo I've been hearing so much about," he said.
"Yes, your Majesty," Master Hniu said. "Thank you for—"
King Pawrut waved a hand to silence Master Hniu. "Cow. You understand what I say, yes?"
I mooed gently in affirmation.
He considered it for a moment before nodding to himself. "Good, good. My, look at you. Guards, a big one, don't you agree? Well, it's not the size I care about, I'm not going to eat you."
He laughed, and was echoed by his retinue. Master Hniu touched me gently, to reassure me. Not that I needed it.
"So, let's get down to it, shall we? I want gold, a fleet of warships and a beautiful princess. Simple enough. That's what you do, isn't it? You grant wishes."
"Pardon, your Majesty, but—"
The king brought his palm down on the throne. "I wasn't talking to you, peasant. I'm talking to your cow, strange as it may be for you to grasp. Now, where were we?"
"I will not be spoken to like that."
A hush fell upon the court. The king's eyes bulged as he stared at Master Hniu, who took a step forward.
"This cow is not property; she is a friend who trusts me to speak for her. So I tell you this, King Pawrut. You have offered us no courtesy from the moment we walked in here. Do you know what I was doing two weeks ago? Brokering peace between two warring nations. All-Cow ended a sixty-year famine in the Withered Steppes before that. We are not your subjects to command and bully. Mind you get that into your crowned skull."
King Pawrut looked as though he'd been slapped, and more than a few people gasped.
Suddenly, he smiled and said, "It was only a test, honored guests. Food and drink will be brought for you. Please rest, you must be so tired after your miraculous journey over the sea to my kingdom. We shall talk about your power later."
Master Hniu scowled. "Beg pardon, your Majesty, but you seem to be missing the point. There will be no power, no wishes. All-Cow does as All-Cow wishes. Neither you nor I can force her."
The king's expression instantly turned ugly. "Is that so?" he said softly. "I've waited on this cold stone for two weeks, waiting for you ungrateful scoundrels to show up. And then you stroll in at your leisure, and tell me you won't even grant me a few basic things?"
Master Hniu opened his mouth to argue, but the king shouted, "Don't you dare accuse me of anything, old man! You don't know what it's like, being raided by pirates for three seasons in a year! Being poor, being cut off from trade!"
"And the princess?" Master Hniu interjected.
"No royal blood has visited us in years, and no king will promise his daughter to me. My lineage is all but doomed!"
I silently thought about the numerous females outside, who seemed to be perfectly suited for mating. Then again, I'd never mated in my life either; somehow, when you could command rain and raise mountains, bulls seemed extremely ... trivial.
"Very well. The first two we can, but All-Cow cannot create humans out of thin air. Nor can she bend a person's will."
The king clenched a fist. "Worthless. What use are either of you to me, then? In my kingdom, we have a law against charlatans."
Just like that, we were surrounded by a ring of spear-wielding guards. Their leather armor smelled of kin, tempting me to lower my horns. Master Hniu must have sensed my discomfort, for he said, "Make no move, All-Cow. Peace must be maintained, above—augh!"
A trio of guards plunged their spears. The rest struck me, but the blows were harmless. The king hopped up and down on his dais, jeering and calling us liars.
Red filled my vision; not of liquid life, but my friend sinking to the ground, his hand resting against my side. His eyes were wide with pain, and blood bubbled from his lips.
I bellowed in rage and summoned my will. Immediately, the guards crumpled to the ground as piles of thick grass. The king shrieked in fear, and then he too lay inert and fragrant on his throne, a fuzzy mound of green.
I bared my teeth, preparing to consume the murderers, but Master Hniu's voice found me one last time. "Peace, friend."
And then the light went out from his eyes. I threw my head back and mooed in anguish. The ground trembled and split beneath my hooves; the throne shattered into dust, the physical manifestation of my broken heart.
Finally, as the sound of my cries died away and a crowd of fearful, whispering people had gathered at the entrance to the room, I lowered my head to touch Master Hniu's. Slowly, his body and clothes melted, turning into a carpet of gentle, leafy grass; the kind he loved to sit on. Flowers sprouted and bloomed, consuming his head, leaving his final, smile for last.
Then I lay down upon my friend, and remembered the happiest life a cow could have had.
***
*Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!*
| 2017-10-02T06:13:08
| 2017-10-02T04:43:26
| 6,645
| 256
|
[WP] You died giving birth many years ago and now work in the bureaucracy of the afterlife. Your job is to complete the forms for those next to die. To your horror you see your child’s file arrive on your desk.
|
Admin in Hell is hell! Paperwork for the sake of paperwork with complex work orders and prerequisites all fiendishly designed to make it incessent and neverending. There is no day and night in Hell. You dont hunger or tire unless your specific punishments require it. I had no concept of how long I'd endlessly filled out and filed the paperwork for those who's time is coming to an end until I was grounded by a date I could relate to, the birth of my daughter and my own death.
When I saw the name my heart, if it were beating, would have just stopped. I re-read it over and over, afraid to continue. I just couldn't. The pile of paperwork kept growing, I have no idea how long I sat there, staring at a name. I wept openly even though I had no tears. I'd never before wished I had tears to wash this feeling away.
Eventually I composed myself enough to read on, prompted in part to the veritable mountain of paperwork toppling over on my desk.
87 years... I'd been 87 years in hell!! How, what? Nevermind that, my daughter had lived to 87!! I skimmed through the whole file in moments. She had become a primary school teacher and had 3 children of her own. A person's file contains no specific information about their relationships or details of their children beyond a number. Her sins were relatively minor and she had emassed enough celestial credits to earn her a level 4 entry into heaven. She'd led a good life, lived to a ripe old age, nothing special but what more could any mother want for a child she had never even met?
Never, in the 87 years I had been in hell, did I take such unbridled pleasure in stamping a form, slowly dusting the ink, folding it, attaching the required associated forms, put it in the correct basket, taking it back out, kissing it, and putting it back again.
The pile kept growing, but it didn't seem so bad now.
|
It was just another boring day at work. Tidily, I scrolled through the files I was to complete that day, counting them down by the tips of my fingers. “One thousand, three hundred seventy-two.” I sighed. It was going to be a long day.
“This would be so much more interesting if I knew how they died.” I murmured, beginning the files from the top of the list. “Drew Faulkner. Poor guy.” My job entailed of completing the identification forms for the next people planned to die. Sometimes I felt like I held the cards of destiny in my hands.
As the day wore on my fingers cramped from all the writing. Steadily, I stretched my fingers as I reached for the next file. When I read the name my heart dropped in my stomach. “Nora Fielder. No. No, no, no, no, no! Shit!” Not my baby girl. Not my Nora, the beautiful, wonderful little girl that I sacrificed my life for just years ago to bring her into this world. If it were possible for souls like me to get physically I’ll, I knew at this moment I would have. I felt queasy and nauseous. I pictured sweat glistening on my forehead and pooling in my palms. Discretely, I pocketed away her picture and continued on with the stack. Only 142 more to go.
Just before I was about to finish for the day I saw Lucifer pass by my office. In a haste I ran to the door and beckoned him in. Once inside, I thrust Nora’s picture in his face. “What the hell is this?”
“Ahhh. That. You see here Pauline, your daughter has stage four terminal leukemia. It’s her time.”
If crying were still possible, I knew I’d be bawling at this news. I hadn’t known about the diagnosis...
“Fix her.” I told him authoritatively, without a waver in my tone.
He sneered a fiery, cheshire grin my way. “Maybe I will. For a price.” He twirled a loose piece of my hair around his finger slowly, gazing hungrily into my eyes as he did so.
My stomach turned at his touch. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want,” he sneered. “A soul for a soul of course!”
I was perplexed. “But I’m already dead.”
“Dead, yes. But a slave you are not. If you want your daughter to live, and to be cured of her life-altering disease, you will come stay with me in the Palace and be my own personal assistant. Day and night, 24/7. Understood?”
The terms were clear. No matter how mortifying it was to cogitate about being a slave to the devil himself, it was worth it to save my baby girl’s life. I’d done it once and I’d do it one thousand times over.
“Deal. Let my daughter live.”
| 2021-07-08T23:34:01
| 2021-07-08T19:28:00
| 80
| 50
|
[WP] ✓ Seen: 11:49pm
|
"I'm pregnant."
It was the last message that I'd sent to him. I glanced down at my phone every two seconds, my hands shaking. The test was still sitting on the bathroom counter, my eyes straying to it whenever I wasn't looking at my phone. We had been texting each other for the last two hours straight, and he'd been trying to convince me for the last hour that he should come over since the vomitting was getting worse.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. Surely this thought had crossed his mind, too.
I looked at the phone again, feeling the whole world stand still. Seen at 11:49PM. It was 11:51PM now.
*He knows.* My whole body felt a chill and I tried to keep calm. We'd only slept together one time before now, we'd only been dating for a few months. We had told ourselves that we would take things slow. My mind ran through that night. We had used a condom, and I had been on the pill for two years now. How could I be pregnant?
It was 11:59PM now. It had been ten minutes since he had read the message. Surely he would have responded by now? Tears started to form in my eyes as I realized that he might never respond, and that I would have to go through this alone.
But would I keep the baby? I was only twenty years old and I was still in college. Surely I couldn't have a baby. I didn't have anyone who could support me but him. My mom was lying ten feet under the earth and my dad... well, who knew where my dad was?
12:13AM. Still no response. I slowly got to my feet, wiping the tears away from my eyes and looking into the mirror. I took one final glance at the pregnancy test before throwing it in the trash.
I laid down on my bed, taking a deep breath. Maybe if I just closed my eyes, when I woke up, this would all be a dream...
I woke with a start, my heart hammering. *Knock, knock, knock.* I glanced at my alarm clock and it read 1:27AM. I crawled out of bed and walked towards the door cautiously, glancing through the peep hole. My heart sped up and I quickly unlocked the door, opening it.
"Nathan," I choked out, fresh tears forming in my eyes.
"I received your text," he started slowly, reaching out and taking my hand into his. "I knew I had to be here. For you. For me... for our baby."
I let out a quick sob before rushing into his arms, holding him close to me. I never expected this, but he was here.
The clock read 1:48AM when I finally fell asleep securely in his arms.
|
"It worked!!"
"Would you keep it down John? We're also trying to work here."
"I know! But i sent a message back in time! Look, it says right there that is was seen around midnight."
"Hah! That's beginner stuff right there. Try sending a message back to someone in the beginning of the 19th hundreds. Then we can talk."
"Titor! You can't send stuff like that! Get into my office right now!
"Better get ready to pack your bags John. You'll probably be fired, since you sent her that dick pick."
| 2015-05-03T14:37:47
| 2015-05-03T13:00:12
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] You order a pizza at 12pm. The delivery guy dosen't arrive until 7pm. When asked about what happened, he responds "It's a long story."
|
I had called back the pizza place at 2pm to cancel my order, but nobody answered. I figured if they did show up I would just not accept the pizza and dispute the charges with my bank.
At about 7pm a small green car pulled in front of my house. It was the delivery driver showing up with my pizza seven hours late. He walked up my driveway slowly, and appeared slightly confused. Then it hit me. The odor of some seriously potent weed reached my front porch a good thirty seconds before he did.
He didn't even make an attempt to apologize. He motioned the pizza towards my person like this was a typical delivery as if he wasn't seven hours late. I had had hours to come up with the perfect string of words and obscenities to yell at this guy. But by the time he (somewhat unexpectedly at this point) arrived all that I mumbled was a disappointed, "Really? What's even the point of it now?"
Still showing no empathy or any discernable emotion he just muttered something about how he was gonna be here at 1, but then he got high. I then noticed the little green car had personalized license plates that read "AFROMAN." Holy shit! I was taken aback. I wondered of this was one of those prank shows.
He pulled out a blunt a lit it without even asking if it was okay to do so. It had been a long week so I took a few puffs myself when offered. At least the pizza was hot. In the cold weather I could see the heat coming off the insulated delivery bag.
He finally apologized as he handed me a fistful of red pepper packets and a couple sizable, sticky nugs. I told him I wasn't paying for the pizza as I put his offerings in the pocket of my hoodie. He indicated that he didn't expect me too.
He did, however hint that the delivery fee would come out of his check. I wasn't sure why the he would care about that since it was likely the entire cost of the pizza would be coming out of his pay. But, having had smoked a third of the blunt, I fucked up and asked how much the delivery fee was. He looked at me and said the delivery charge was about tree fiddy.
It was about this time I noticed this pizza delivery driver was about 8 stories tall and a crustacean from the Paleozoic era. I shouted, "Damn it, monster. Get off my lawn. I ain't giving you no tree fiddy!"
|
It had been an hour and a half and we had given up on him ever arriving. Gwen was pissed. I called the store but nobody picked up. She didn't believe me, thought I was trying to weasel out of the confrontation. So I called back with the phone on speaker.
It rang, unceasingly.
"You got the number wrong."
"No. I didn't."
She made a big show of getting off the couch, sighing, closing her notebook very carefully, picking up some papers from the coffee table, tapping them into alignment, and putting them back down--like she was about to investigate war crimes or start an impeachment trial.
She walked over to the computer, slowly wrote the number on the screen in her notebook, pulled out her phone, typed the number in the phone as she read out-loud the numbers from her notebook.
She let it ring for five minutes. When you listen to a repetitive noise like that, it begins to take on different inflections, some rings were morose, others desperate with need. I didn't say anything. When she finally hung up, I could taste her rage in the air.
Now I was hungry. I got up from the chair as inconspicuously as I could, like maybe I was just going to the bathroom. I walked casually to the kitchen and started pulling out the bread and peanut butter. We only ever buy crunchy even though I prefer smooth.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"What do you mean? I'm making a sandwich?" My responses weren't really questions.
"What am I going to eat?"
"Whatever you want?"
"Were you going to offer me one?"
"Do you want a sandwich?"
"No, I don't want a fucking sandwich." I was a little surprised the glass in the windows didn't burst. She slammed the front door on her way out.
I saw Jerry across the way on his lawn, staring at me. I put on a big goofy smile and waved enthusiastically. He didn't return my greeting. When he turned around, I gave him the finger.
When she came back a couple hours later she was soused and her shirt was mis-buttoned. I started to draw her a bath but she passed out on the bed before it filled.
I was sitting on the couch, watching TV and eating my second PB and honey sandwich when the doorbell rang and caused me to drip honey on the couch. Fuck. Gwen was going to be fucking pissed.
I got up and opened the door. It was the pizza we had ordered for lunch.
I didn't know what to say.
He put on this awful, lopsided grin and said "It’s a long story."
I imagined punching him square in the nose and taking the pizza before it hit the ground.
Instead, I slowly closed the door and didn't say anything.
| 2017-02-10T02:21:26
| 2017-02-09T23:20:07
| 33
| 13
|
[WP]You die and you go to Valhalla... the map in Halo 3. Turns out after life is an endless Halo online match of Capture the Flag.
Tell me how is it like
|
"So how long have you been here?" I asked.
The woman in battered crimson armour looked at me with weary eyes,
"I don't know. Ten thousand matches? Maybe more?" She gestured with her gauntlet to the sky;
"Sun never sets ya see? Got no idea how long it's really been. Every day it's the same; we fight, die and we win or lose."
A grenade *plinked* over the rock we were using as cover - flinders of purple-pink needler crystals rained down over as she scrambled for the grenade and kicked it it away.
"Cover me," she snarled.
Popping up over the feature, I sprayed bullets in a wide arc. The enemy took cover and returned fire.
One by one their guns went silent as the scarlet commando flanked them. A bullet clipped my shield, then several more. It flickered and died. My rifle was empty now so I switched to the pistol and cracked off a few hopeless shots before one of the enemy appeared from my left and thundered a series of double-tap shots into my torso.
Pain washed through me and I gasped at the intensity.
Then my team mate was back beside me, the flag in one hand and her own pistol cracking as she took down my killed.
"Looks bad kid," she said.
"What will happen? When I die?" I managed, pink froth bubbling between my lips.
"You'll respawn at the base. Have some fresh ammo waiting for me - we'll be heading out again as soon as I deliver this home" she hoisted the flag again and sprinted off, firing blind shots off behind her with startling accuracy.
I slipped away into oblivion as she left my line of sight.
&nbsp;
"Why is it so quiet?" I whispered.
"Break time. We get about 2 minutes between games."
"Do we... do we eat or sleep here?"
She shook her head, visor up for now.
"Nope. Don't get tired either, not *body* tired anyway."
"Don't you get sick of this?"
One of the other soldiers in our team laughed, hollowly,
"Fucken' new kids. All the same."
The scarlet commando slapped her rifle across her knees and fixed me with her steely, uncompromising stare,
"Here's the deal. This is it for eternity. We fight and we die. We tried calling ceasefires and surrenders with the enemy, but then we all get instakilled over and over" her mouth twisted into an ugly, hard line, "and you don't want to die every ten seconds. It's brutal and it's fucking painful."
The soldier in the orange armour who had laughed earlier look haunted, then he growled,
"There was a guy who refused to fight and they killed him and killed him and killed him. Eventually he lost his shit. Section eight material."
"Where is he?" I breathed,
"GAME ON!" yelled Scarlet and they charged out into the white sunlight.
&nbsp;
Fight, capture and die. That became my mantra.
I grew close to my team mates and in those precious few minutes between each game, we traded stories and commiserated on our fate.
Theories were put forward too, as to why we were there.
"When we Peak, we will be released into the Halls of the Allfather, ready for the final battle," Karl had said.
Others thought that we were instead in Hell and this was our eternal punishment.
Scarlet was more pragmatic.
"I don't care why we're here, I don't care whether it lasts for eternity or for a hundred years; this is our life now and I'll be damned if I'm not going to be *the best* at whatever I do. I will capture that fucking flag and I will *never* give in!"
The others shouted their approval and smacked the butts of the rifles into the concrete of the bunker.
Scarlet was our Valkyrie, our mother. Without her we were lost.
And then the game was on again.
&nbsp;
I saw it happen as I respawned, the pain of the multiple gut wounds still fresh and angry in my mind. Scarlet ran across the flag base and then... vanished.
Our team fell in disarray. Without her leadership the enemy quickly walked all over us and the game was over.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know!"
"Jess saw her vanish, didn't you Jess?"
Everyone's eyes turned on me.
"Yeah... she ran across the plate and then..."
"Then what?"
"Gone."
We fought through the next hundred or thousand games woodenly and defensively. Not only were we down our leader, we were missing a squad member.
Backed up against an escarpment, I started barking orders to the others, trying to organise an attack.
At that moment a new player phased into existence beside me.
She looked down at her rifle, then up at me, confused and disoriented.
A grenade *plinked* over the rocks and without even thinking, I booted it away.
"Cover me!" I snarled, then leaped over the escarpment and charged.
Behind me I heard her rifle chatter into life. It was only then that I noticed my armour had changed from maroon to a brilliant, blood red.
|
I remember it pretty clearly, actually. About 78 matches ago, now... before I came here. Before I died. I was driving down I-80 headed east; coming back from YNP where I had just did a summer seasonal gig. Great place to visit, fuckin' horrible place to work. Anyway, I was cruisin' along, windows down, stereo blasting "Turn up the Radio" by Autograph. The chorus came on, and I glanced down at the stereo to oblige the lyric's instructions, and that's when it happened. "I need the music, give me some mo-" **BAM** The front right tire shredded, and my truck instantly veered to the right... straight through the thin concrete barrier separating the bridge from open air. I don't really remember much from then; I think I hit my head on the window when the truck pulled. I remember the water rushing up to meet me, the roar of the engine, and Autograph insisting they needed a minute of play for every minute of work.
When I came to, I was back in the drivers seat, upright, and breathing normally. The tune of Autograph's hit single was stuck in my head, but what actually came to my ears was the distinctly identifiable sound of gunfire and what sounded like a fighter jet idling. Suddenly aware of the peculiarity of my surroundings, I spun around quickly in my seat. *I've been here before,* I thought. *A long time ago. But that was...* My eyes were widening in disbelief. *That was in a vide-* At that moment, the distinct screech of a Banshee flew over head, blue flames erupting from its right wing. It slammed into a tall spire, exploding, and sent debris careening everywhere. I heard a thud and muffled grunt from in front of me, and snapped around to see a pair of strange foot prints in the grass in front of my vehicle, but no one who could have made them. A heat distortion prevented me from seeing very far into the distance, but I could make out the shape of a similar tower, and a battle going on there. I looked up in the sky, and sure enough, saw the curved surface of a miniature dyson ring stretching up into the sky. *Halo.* I thought. I shoved the throttle on the Warthog all the way forward, and the truck rocketed forward towards the red flag. *Time to put all that practice to good use...* I thought. The Warthog jerked violently as it drove across some rough terrain, and settled back down onto the rolling hills of the map. Behind me, a dead red sangheili uncloaked as his armor ran out energy, with the unmistakable pattern of Puma tires imprinted on his face.
| 2015-08-18T17:32:38
| 2015-08-18T17:30:29
| 100
| 12
|
[WP] The Superheroes arrive at the predicted impact site of the meteor, only to find the Villains already there. "We're going to destroy that blasted rock before it lands and there's nothing you can do to stop us!" a Hero calls out. "Stop you? We're here to help! We live on this planet too, dumbass"
|
The harbor was supposed to be evacuated. Sure, it was futile, but there had been a massive collaborative effort to get people to as much shelter as they could. Nobody in the city had a chance of surviving the impact, but broadcasting that on the airwaves wasn't going to help anyone.
No, the closest thing humanity had to a chance was someone, anyone, on the other side of the world getting remarkably lucky and living until tomorrow. By all accounts it was hopeless, but that hadn't stopped Liberator from coming down to the blast zone. There wasn't anything that he could personally do about the meteor, but he'd been defending this city for almost two decades at this point, and he wasn't about to hang up his cape on it's last day.
The soft waves of low tide washed over the barnacle covered rocks, and for the first time Liberator could hear them as he stood on the dock. It really had been a beautiful city hadn't it? He'd said that he felt lucky to be the city's defender over and over again in speeches as a young man, but...
Well now he felt it. He'd been born into a beautiful place. It had it's problems, but what city didn't? The joy was cut by knowing it was the city's last place on the map, but he could at least appreciate it for the time he had left.
Then there was footsteps behind him, mixing into the sound of the tide.
"Citizen, this space is supposed to be clear. Make sure you get to sa-" Liberator began his practiced speech as he turned. He stopped himself when he saw who it was. It wasn't a random citizen, it was Gravity Girl, 27, way too old for her name at this point, and here from half a province away. "Gravity Girl, what ar-"
"I'm here to help," the other hero cut him off. "It's Carrie by the way."
"Pardon?"
"My name," Gravity Girl clarified, and Liberator keyed into the fact that she wasn't wearing her usual mask, "I don't think it matters at this point but," the hero shrugged, "yeah."
"Nice to finally meet you Carrie," Liberator greeted with a nod, but didn't offer their own name. "Any bright ideas?"
"Don't think I have the firepower for something like that," the unmasked hero answered as she took several steps forward to look over the edge of the dark down to the low tide. The meteor wasn't close enough to seriously effect the tide yet, but it was moving so fast that it didn't matter. "Don't suppose you can do anything about it?"
Liberator shook his head. He could fly, he was ultra durable, he had super strength, but it wasn't anything close to a continental scale.
"Why are you here then?"
Liberator shrugged.
"Get lucky it is then."
The sea wind took over for a second. A siren from somewhere towards the downtown core echoed off the empty alleyways between the skyline and the water. Then the pause continued to the point where it was almost dramatic.
"Did someone ask for some luck?" asked a voice on the wind, sickeningly sweet like a poisoned apple.
Gravity Girl swore.
"What?" Liberator asked.
"It's-"
"MISSUSFORTUNE!" the door to a shuttered ice cream stand fell off its hinges to reveal the woman as she announced her arrival, dressed head to toe in black and a devious shade of purple in a mockery of Gravity Girl's costume. "Lady Luck's-"
"Bad sister," Gravity Girl finished for her before turning around.
"Let me finish my introductions," Missusfortune scowled, "and put on your mask, your face is indecent."
Gravity Girl narrowed her eyes. What did that even mean?
"Wasn't it Missfotune?"
"I got married," the villainess explained, "he suddenly got unlucky with an allergic reaction to his medicine and left me everything in the will, best heist I ever pulled. I'm a high-stakes shareholder of Comcast now."
"Did you come all the way here to ruin this?" Gravity Girl asked.
"Ruin what?"
"Try and stop us from fixing that," Liberator pointed toward the sky. The meteor wasn't in view, but everyone knew what he meant.
There was a pause as Missusfortune stepped out of the doorway and into the daylight to state at the sky. "Stop you?" she asked. "Why would I go doing that?" she clicked her heels against the dock and walked to the heroes. "I might hate everything about you boy and girl scouts, but," she shrugged, "how will I spend all of Howard's money if we're all dead?"
Gravity Girl stood in shocked silence. It wasn't technically a contribution to the conversation, but it was more constructive than the confused screaming that would have replaced it.
"So unless you're going to stop me," Missusfortune pointed out, "I'm probably our best chance of getting lucky today." she winked at Gravity Girl, which didn't help the confusion.
Just then, there were more sirens in the distance. The two heroes looked at the sky, but the meteor wasn't in view yet.
"Oh," Missusfortune continued, "and I brought some friends," she took a step back from the heroes. "Presenting, WRECKING BALL, PULLTERGHEIST, GHALAHAD-" Missusfortune continued the list for over a full minute, with villains arriving from the chaos they'd been making downtown to assemble at the blast zone.
"What the fu-" Gravity Girl started.
"We all hate each other love," Missusfortune explained, "but we live on this damned place too. All of the heroes are busy helping their own cities so-" she opened her arms to motion to the entire crowd that had formed. "Join the teamup and lets suicide squad this shit!"
"What?" Ulbermach asked from the back in his heavy accent.
"It is a turn of phrase, villains saving the world," Vintrolicity explained from the other side of the crowed.
Gravity Girl and Liberator took a look at one another, and then Carrie dipped her hand into her pocket and took out her mask to put it back on. "Fuck it," Liberator finally said.
"Beautiful," Missusfortune clapped her hands, "we can go back to fighting later but for now-" she took off her gloves one at a time, "it's time for humanity to get lucky."
|
What are we, but leaves in the wind?
There were stories once, sung by the masses or known only by those who wrote them. Of guns and smoke, knives and high boots, artful games of respectful slaughter. Dozens of them, each catching light, before being lost to the confines of old history, buried deeper and deeper by the novelty of tomorrow.
Who were they? Great individuals, indistinguishable from gods. Maybe mortal, maybe not. Commoners didn't know, neither did the individuals. Why had they been chosen? was there something meant for them? or was it simply luck? Another spin of a chaotic universe in the span it took to be born in a flash and vanish in a fiery heat-death?
They tried to make the distinction between good and evil at first. This power was good, this fight worthy, this one accursed. The attempt stopped the moment every side decided to call itself good, leaving to wonder why they were so keen on murdering one another despite their self-proclaimed dedication to betterment and goodness in the world.
Ideals and values offered a more factual approach to the ever-changing politics of the gifted. Special or not, the needs and wants remained the same, those of humans born with imperfections and struggles.
One pervert would have been content sitting at home, surrounded by raunchy magazines and a computer with high memory. In strength of body and mind, the Pervert would take it to the next logical step, and decide to make perversion reality. Build a harem, be they willing or not, and vanish on a remote island to enjoy the fruits of one-sided lust until the time came to renew the harem.
Of course, the Pervert would be opposed by the Holy, who saw the gift as a proof God was still around and kicking, and the gifted should stay above the seven sins. When not running after the Pervert, the Holy would start crusades to spread the peaceful word of the Lord by sword and flame. After all, he was in the right, might as well go heavy-handed.
But then came the Ecologist, who happened to be a fusion between two who had once been called the Hippie and the Misanthrope, who had died in a feud and gave birth to a strange union in death. The Ecologist protected nature, by way of forcing humanity to remain confined in cities and using those who didn't comply as compost. The Pervert fought the Ecologist, as while the Pervert didn't mind some coercion to build a harem, they still considered live and let live an essential part of life.
Meanwhile, Democracy, Tyranny, Free-market and Anarchy put thousands of scenarists across the world out of a job on account of writing better and more convoluted stories through the number of alliances and betrayals they undertook daily between them.
After the initial shock and delight of such gifts, the novelty wore off. No matter how special, humans remained humans, powers allowed them to do more of the same, except on a grander scale.
Then a chunk of the moon started to fall.
It is still unclear how it started, if it started at all. Maybe it was always falling, but decided it was a good time to finally impact.
On the eve of the apocalypse, stories suddenly became redundant. On the scale of the universe, what did it matter that the Pervert had a beef with the Holy? In a gust of wind carrying leaves, they would all be gone, and none of it would have any relevance.
And so it came that the Pervert retreated to his island to indulge in lust, that the Holy sunk into prayer, that Democracy and Tyranny lay down their weapons and recognized they stood for ideals who were about to be obliterated. Might as well enjoy the sight.
But it felt lacking, didn't it?
All those powers, helpless against a falling moon. They had no chance at all, so they believed. But the doubt kept nagging, in the back of their minds. Standing at the end of the world, the question remained, turning around and cackling madly.
Are you so sure?
Without a word, without an accord, they came. The Ecologist, Free-market, their shifting friends and foes, right at the spot of the future impact. In all likelihood, they would fail, and it would be done. At least, they would know.
What happened next is unclear.
The absolute end of the world became the end of the world as we knew it. The gifted died in their attempt. All of them. But the attempt succeeded, the impact never happened. No crater, no shock-wave engulfing the earth, only a slight burn where the mighty once stood.
What was it? An attempt to prove that the gifted could grow beyond petty and temporary ideals, rise above their station and show the true colors of champions befitting the gift? A complicated ploy to be rid of them, to cease the glaring injustice of granting a few the abilities to choose for all of us? Or was it yet another turn in a chaotic and meaningless universe, until the next?
We do not know, we likely never will.
No matter how high and mighty, a tremor in the universe could end all we know.
And as it could have happened, they burned, so we could keep on being.
Gazing in the abyss, we found sense, and a sort of meaning. We are all but leaves, dancing in the wind.
And it is a fine life, to dance as we do.
| 2022-09-11T08:32:27
| 2022-09-11T06:44:43
| 168
| 94
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
4 digits. For a moment, my degree in mathematics failed me, as I struggled to count the numbers before me. Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre. There was no mistake, though the existence of such a person...frightened me. My vision had always been right, as evidenced by the guilty looks on the minors' faces when I turned them out of the bar. I'd never had to kick someone out for being overage. But 5746 years was a lot of time, far before Anno Domini 1. Was he immortal? A god? Or some old guy with a superpower? I didn't know, and I definitely didn't trust the 'Age: 30' that his ID proclaimed. Maybe my powers had faltered this time. Maybe...
From behind, I saw another man slowly approach me, his IDs in his hands. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened in fear. I saw him whisper into the 4-digit-old man, with visible shock on both faces. That was when I saw the age of the newcomer. 5746.
I tried my best to suppress my shock, though I failed miserably. 1 was surprising enough, but 2? 2 men that had lived for the exact same time from so long ago? I was about to demand an explanation, but one of them beat me to it.
"Why are you 5746 years old?" he questioned, fear in his eyes. I opened my own wide. Could he read ages too? And was I...that old? No. That couldn't be right. I remembered my childhood, the photographic proof of my birh just 28 years ago. But they didn't seem to be lying, and the mention of that 4-digit number again was chilling. What kind of sick joke was my powers pulling? Or were they the ones pulling my leg?
"We've found another suspect, boss," one said into a walkie-talkie. The other drew a gun from his pocket, training the muzzle on my forehead. "What are you doing? You're-" I tried to explain, but he cut me off. "No more words, time traveller. We've waited long enough to catch you and your gang," he replied, smirking as a group of policemen appeared from the darkness. I felt the cool metal slide around my wrists, as I was forced towards the car. "Move!" one of them shouted. That voice...I seemed to recall. The cold handcuffs. The interrogation. Disjointed images flashes before my eyes, as they slowly became clearer, culminating in...
I knew now. But...why were they doing this? Was it a plot to throw of the police? "James!" I shrieked, to the man I'd once been partners in crime with. He chuckled, though I could tell it wasn't just for effect. I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the signature twinkle he gave when he condemned a foe to death. My other pal Aldrich stood by, his eyes conveying his helplessness. James' face wasn't one of friendliness anymore. It was one of animosity and hatred.
"Good riddance," I saw him mouth, as I was shoved into the car. As we drove off, I could still see him, as he advanced slowly towards Aldrich. I closed my eyes in cowardice, though I knew what would happen. What I had feared when I agreed to sacrifice my memories...it had all occured. There was no way back.
Even inside the driving car, I could hear the terrified screams. The circle of betrayal had been completed.
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16
| 2017-09-01T22:15:29
| 1,408
| 16
|
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch
|
*Meh.*
My cheek is starting to feel a bit sore from the fist that keeps it and the rest of my face from meeting my desk. The arm upright beneath is stiff and sleeping, like a corpse, or half the people in my class. My bored eyes bore into the board ahead - *bored*.
*So fuckin' bored.*
On my other hand, my fingers dance, idly tapping here and there across the margin of a mostly blank sheet of notebook paper. I don't even know where my pencil went.
I manage to break my eyes away from the board of nothing, and look around the room. And around me, some students - *some* - seem to actually give a shit. Taking notes. Nodding to themselves. One even asks a question, but there's only one question on my mind, looking at this different species...
*How the fuck...?*
Others with a little more effort than me at least give a shit about looking like they do. Scribbling some shit in their notebooks, or holding a textbook open in front of them. But I can see it in their eyes. They're half a class period away from being me.
And then, of course, the real heroes. The I-don't-give-a-fucks and I'm-too-cools. The too-smarts and too-stupids. The ones in the back, or bordering the window, with their heads splayed in crossed arms on the surface of their desks, or leaning back as they sink further into their seat, melting towards the floor. Some twitch every now and then. Others let out an occasional snore. One dude seems to stir, lifting his head and coming back to life for enough time to spot the clock then drop like a rock. His head bobs up and down every now and again, a boat on slumbering seas.
And, right behind me, hidden underneath half a billion strands of silky, sand-colored hair, Kylie rests easy - her gentle, rhythmic breathing just close enough and loud enough for me to hear.
*...Just me, I bet.*
Kylie was one of the arm-crossers, and definitely one of the I'm-too-smarts. She definitely had a dash or two of I-don't-give-a-fuck, but that never stopped me. I like to think I got a bit of that too.
*...I don't.*
Still, over the past semester I'd managed to develop a little bit of a rapport with Kylie. Not *real* friendship, but definite in-class friends. You know the sort. And that's been enough for me, honestly. She's witty. Makes me laugh. She's smart. Makes me feel stupid. She's great. Makes *me* feel great.
And fuck - even resting like that, her face and body buried in the crossed sleeves and deep black of her casually too-big sweatshirt, she was the prettiest damn girl in the whole fuckin' school. No wonder she dressed the way she did. She didn't even wear leggings or yoga pants or whatever the fuck they're called, like *every* other girl in the school. Just some normal jeans and one of several hoodies. That was it. That was Kylie. She didn't need anything extra.
She was the type of girl who could make your day with a smile, the type who could brighten a whole dark boring classroom with *just* the right quip or gesture or just a damn look. Frankly, she's one of the only reasons I stay awake in the classes we share. She's... also probably my biggest distraction. Win some lose some, I guess. My point is this: Kylie fuckin' rocks. She is everything I want in a girl. Hell, she *is* everything I want.
It was about then I realized my arm wasn't the only thing feeling stiff, and I could *not* blame this new firmness on random chance or hormones or sleeping on it. *Definitely* not the last one. Looking at Kylie, thinking about her, knowing her, I couldn't help it. I'm not ashamed to admit it - I was stiffer than steel, could barely even think through all the horny. But I did.
And, as often happens, lewdness flooded my brain, an overwhelming tidal wave of lust best summarized by the one thought that drove it all, the only real sentence to be fished from all that depravity.
*God I wanna fuck her.*
Kylie lifted her head.
**DISCLAIMER: this is my first WP, I don't do this often or really care about improving my writing. Thanks for reading - and possibly enjoying - if you did. Sorry for not following prompt too strictly.**
|
"Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch.
| 2017-11-13T21:43:25
| 2017-11-13T19:45:25
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] Being a tavern wench is good, honest work. You wear long sleeves, not to hide scars but swirling tattoos. You’ve always had them. Today, an adventuring party come in. The shirtless ones have the same tattoos, and theirs not only swirl … they glow.
|
All sort of people stop by this tavern. It was a prime locale. Right at the edge of the city, so civilization was close, and right at the precipice of a hilly crossroads, so weary travellers could always find food and shelter and a place to rest.
Whoever built this tavern was clever int hat regard. Sure, the poor lads who had to push their cart of produce and provisions we ordered up the hill had it difficult, but they were paid more handsomely here than anywhere else.
That was why we had the best food as well. Our produce was fresh. We got the top pick.
And besides the food and perfect location, we also had beautiful, exotic, ladies and gentlemen of the night. We were more or less courtesans in these parts.
A diverse myriad of species were at your disposal, should you need that kind of service. And there was also me. Some days I wore the more revealing outfits as I sauntered around the inn, showing off the beautiful swirling tattoos that line my arms. I would make jests and be amiable, joining groups at their tables and listening to their tales.
But other days, especially when the crowd tended to be from the city's many clergies, I hid my arms under thick sleeves, opting to sweep and clean. Making myself small and scarce, talking only when spoken to. Because these men from the city seemed to know something about what the tattoos meant, and were offended by them.
And to offend the clergy was not something of my status could afford to do.
But today there were no men from the city. Just an odd group of adventurers coming in, seeking warmth from the growing cold outside. Winter was approaching.
I eyed them as they took out their layers of leather and hung them in the coat racks, wondering where they were from. Wondering who would seek company for the night, and if they could be taken advantage of.
But as they removed their coats I saw it. Not just on one of them, but two. No, three. The same swirling pattern etched in their arms, except theirs were glowing, moving, shifting colours as they danced around their arms like serpents entwined, struggling to break free of one another.
I had been wearing my own drab long sleeved overshirt, and contemplated removing it.
No, not yet.
I had to see who they were. What they were doing. And what the tattoo meant.
I adjusted my hair and wiped any grime off of my face as I went to their table, setting mugs down.
"Never seen your faces around before. Where ya from and what would you like?" I asked cheerfully.
"None of your business to the first question. And we'd like a warm round of ale for all of us." One of them said sternly, not really looking at me. They had already taken out a map of sorts and laid it on the table.
"Alright, then." I said, my cheerful disposition faltering a little at the dismissal. I went back to the bar, grabbed a large jug of warm ale and brought it back.
There were more maps out now, and heated discussion. I poured their drinks into the mugs as slowly as I dared as I tried to listen in.
"We'll need someone well-versed in magic if we are going to teleport that far north. And that kind of service doesn't come cheap." One of them was saying.
"Our best bet is in the city." Another grumbled.
"How much gold do you think we have lying around? Teleportation is out of the question." One of the woman with the glowing tattoos replied.
"So what? We go by foot? The cold months are already upon us. We'll freeze ling before we make any sort of progress. If we plan to make it there by winter. We need to a way to get there instantaneously. I'm sorry, are you done pouring our drinks?" One of the men, the very same who was rude to her when she asked where they were from, asked me.
They all looked at me now, their conversation paused as they stared at me as I poured into the last cup.
"Apologies, I got a curious head on me. Like to see what my patrons are doing and hop in on the conversation. Force of habit. You fellas seem busy. I'll be out of your hair." I said sheepishly.
"Ignore him. He doesn't know how to talk to women." One of them smiled at me. He had the glowing tattoo.
"I'm sorry but I'm really curious. I've never seen a glowing tattoo before. What's that about?" I asked, finding opportunity in this friendlier member of the group.
"Ah, that. That I have no business explainkng and you have no business in knowing." At my inquiry, the man folded his arms, his eyes hardening a little as he continued smiling.
I had to do it. I had to show it to them.
"Because I recognize that tattoo anywhere. I've had it for as long as I remember." I said, putting the jug down at an empty spot in the table not covered by maps so I could roll up my sleeves and show them the tattoos.
The effect was instantaneous. I heard gasps as some of them immediately stood up. The rude man hurriedly gathered the maps and hid them from view.
"Who are you?" The woman with the glowing tattoos hissed.
"Why is yours glowing?" I asked.
"We need to get out of here. There's probably more out there." The rude man said urgently, packing his things.
"More what?" I asked.
"Shut up. Drop the act, darkened one."
"What?" I balked.
"Hold on, Bis." The woman squinted at me.
"She isn't darkened. I don't think she was heightened in the first place." She said.
At that remark they all stared at me with the same curiosity I felt when I first saw them.
"I'm sorry what does that mean? Darkened? Heightened?" I asked.
"I think you need to sit down first. To hear all this." Bis grumbled, taking out the maps again.
|
Maternara - At the crossroads.
Some secrets are best left hidden.
Life at the Crossroads Inn had treated Maternara well. The work was backbreaking and hard, but she thrived in it. The regulars loved her, she was the goddess that brought them drink, good cheer and a hearty smile. The transients were endless sources of intrigue, entertainment and occasionally, for the lucky ones, the odd sexual encounter.
It was a life she could have happily stuck to for all time. Yet one misty Tuesday evening was set to awaken her repressed curiosity. Three male travellers had taken up temporary residence at the corner table. They wore loose-fitting exotic blue robes, tied at the waist, without any cloth covering their shoulders. Swirling tattoos spanned the entire length of their arms, glowing a light blue, pulsing light. With their arms exposed like that this was certainly a group that wouldn’t lose each other in the dark.
It was those markings that gnawed at her. The pattern looked identical to the dull markings that she often stared at on her own form. Today her markings were entirely covered, she had opted for a rather dull, burlap cover-all this evening. She had spent the past three nights in a different stranger's bed and was determined that today she would do her best to not to even have a chance at a fling.
Of course she had tact, she knew she couldn’t just come up and ask outright about the markings, so she bided her time, bringing the group drinks and food, adding some chit chat here and there to build up a rapport. She tried to monopolise the group, often ignoring calls for attention along the way to that distant corner table.
She had often wondered if her markings were what had left her barren. While other barmaids who spent life as she did left to care for bastard children, she, thus far, had escaped such an interruption. Maternara loved that she could keep living and enjoying this life on her own, however deep down she had suspected it was a result of some kind of grim childhood mutilation. However here it was, the same markings, glowing like some kind of beacon, a signal not of pain but of power.
She soon learned that their leader was a man called Raphar, he had a charismatic energy about him, and the other two hung on his every word, drinking of his wisdom. He didn’t look particularly old, no older than thirty, Maternara thought, yet his words carried weight.The evening dragged on and at the end of her shift, Maternara offered her name and asked if she could sit with them for a while. Raphar looked amused at the request, yet nonetheless he drew out a chair for her, gesturing for her to sit.
“You’re smart people, I can see that. I think you’ll realise I’ve been giving this table more than a little bit of priority tonight, does that earn me a free, prying question or two?” Maternara asked, smirking at Raphar.
“If I were being mean, I could say yes, but say that was your solitary question, but you do intrigue me, ask away, Maternara.
”Finally having permission unleashed all the pent up curiosity that had been building in Maternara over the past few hours. Tact was gone, the questions splurged out: “I’m sure you get asked about it all the time, but what’s with the Tattoos? Where are you from? What are you?”
Raphar and his companions chuckled loudly at the barrage. “Not wanting to keep anything a mystery are you?” He remarked. “These are Anima Runes, they’re a conduit. They allow those of us who are properly trained to channel a form of magic that most have long forgotten. Life comes from the air, the ground, sprouting up, enriching the world around us and while that life does need to consume to keep going it doesn’t entirely dissipate upon death. It can be held in through force of will, it can be re-directed elsewhere, it can be manipulated into motion and magic.
“Are you saying you’re some kind of Necromancer?” Raphar frowned. “No. Why would you even leap to that conclusion? It’s not as if this region is famed for such acts.
”Maternara offered a sympathetic smile, and cupped Raphar’s hand. “I’m sorry honey, one of the regulars is a Friar with the church. I suppose his endless prattling about our doom stuck with me more than I thought it did. Can I still ask from where do you hail?”
Raphar stroked Maternara’s hand, peering down at it. Looking briefly troubled. “Where we’re from isn’t important, that place was lost long ago. It’s what we are that is important, and that is what I would like to show you.”
((Continued below. ))
| 2021-06-15T09:15:27
| 2021-06-15T08:38:46
| 26
| 17
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
###### CNN (Chess News Network) Alert ########
###### For Immediate Publication ########
The final match in the greatest chess tournament of all time is underway. The flip of the coin came out heads and the Russian Alexei Kusnetskov elected to start. The challenger from China, Ming Zhang, ready and waiting for the first move.
We are currently in hour number 15 of this epic game, as Alexei is yet to decide on an opening move that Zhang won't anticipate.
Updates to follow.
########################################
|
This was it. The big day.
The famous mind-reader well already renowned for performing on stage and gazing into the minds of the audience, seeing whether they really believed he could do it before he did it, and when he did it, everyone knew what he could do and he knew that they knew.
The fortune teller regarded all other fortune tellers with suspicion and regarded them as hoaxes, but strangely maintained that her method works. As fate would have it, she was right. Every prediction to come out of her was accurate. She made sure to put on a show, with the crystal ball and the chanting, but she, like the mind-reader, delighted in showmanship.
Then one day she was in the crowd for his magic show. He told a volunteer what his card was, and after that, suddenly he pointed out the fortune teller in the audience and suggested, oddly enough, that they play a game of chess. Nobody knows who this volunteer really was, he disappeared shortly after, but he gave his name as /u/Highwatch on stage.
The two magical titans faced each other on the chessboard. They weren't known for their chess skill, but the audience knew their abilities would spice up a match. Nobody knew what would come out of it...well...except the fortune teller...
"1. e4 e5" the fortune teller thought, and as sure as can be, when White moved his pawn to e4 Black responded with e5. The mind-reader could see her conclusions as well.
"2. Qh5 Nc6 3. Bc4" the fortune teller saw, and so did the mind-reader, for those exact moves were played on the board. He even began to move his knight before the queen reached h5!
The fortune teller was thinking very deeply at this point. The mind-reader refocussed and saw, once more, the future of White and Black.
"3...Nf6 4.Qf3, I'll have to retreat..." thought the fortune teller. The mind-reader, seizing his opportunity, moved his knight to f6 to attack White's Queen.
"4. Qxf7 checkmate" thought the fortune teller, and all too late for the mind-reader, his king had been cornered with no way out. He could see it now, the fortune teller had focussed on only one probable future, and constructed a chess strategy around it in her mind to convince the mind-reader of this phony future.
"Well played..." he thought as he walked away from the chessboard.
| 2017-01-19T16:03:28
| 2017-01-19T14:12:27
| 129
| 58
|
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
|
The Galactic Council was interrupted by a shriek. Well, scream would be a better term. And interrupted would be an understatement. It would be more appropriate to compare this to a racing craft hitting an invisible wall, which cannot be moved. Crushed in milliseconds. As far as deaths go, not the worst. In theory, at least. Yet the sudden wails of anguish are certainly far from pleasant. It's similar to the discordant sounds of nails on a chalkboard, just louder and with even more nails on chalkboards in the background, doing as much as possible to not sound pleasant. Frankly, waterboarding would seem like orgasmic bliss in comparison. The Xe'Natalean shudders and shakes after it's done screaming. It's something none of the others had seen before, which concerned them, to put it mildly. Slowly and shakily, it points to the newest members. The humans.
Naturally, it had to be them. The Council had been at their wits end just trying to deal with them. Never, in any of the history of all the species, had anything been this aggravating. Well, besides the Xe'Natalean's shriek, but that's too recent. What made dealing with them difficult was their sheer stubbornness and ignorance. When the Council first interacted with them, the humans had a primative hybrid propulsion system, using combustion to get up to speed, and an ion engine to keep the craft going. They had primative forms of communication, mostly using low power electromagnetic waves. They didn't even have proper translators, despite having too many separate languages for one human to speak! And yet, despite these technological and temperamental shortcomings, they had nuclear armaments comparable to theirs, in some aspects even exceeding the Council's. Even then, they weren't the best the humans had, or so they claimed. The Council would later discover it was not merely a claim.
The humans were technologically illiterate by the Council's standards, yet had superior weaponry. This absolutely baffled the Council, and despite the lacking defenses on the human ship, they wished to stay well away from them. Preferably an entire galaxy. The best move for the Council was to make peace with the humans, and potentially join them into the Council's ranks. After a few meetings, the humans had been initiated as members of the Galactic Council. And of course, the first meeting of the Council afterwards had to be abnormal.
The Xe'Nataleans hadn't been present during the hearings for the humans' membership. If they had, the current disruption would have been avoided. Evidently, the humans' minds had overwhelmed the poor mind reader, an odd combination of rapidly changing imagery mixed with grounded imagery. At times violent, and at others sexual. It seems that unlike the other members, the humans have little mental filtering. All the thoughts they have are open, even the subconscious ones. This gives the humans a unique advantage in the Council. With such an open, unfiltered mind, the humans cannot have their minds read without overwhelming the reader. Potentially, this could work in the Council's advantage in the future.
|
A Galactic Council meeting was about to be held in a few minutes, the first one humanity has ever attended since we first became a space faring species.
I was sent as one of humanity's representatives among 4 others to attend.
We stand around, talking to the other species, here and there, while waiting for the meeting to start, as a bell rings every representative of the different species sat down in their assigned seats, aside from the casual squabble between a few representatives, everything went smoothly.
As the talks about the various alliances was starting a representative from the Kashta stood up to start the proceedings, we call these guys dick aliens, due to the fact that the shape of their heads resemble that of a human penis, me and my companion joke about it while listening to what they're saying.
The Kashta were a species that were extreme religous zealots , they had theirs own religion similar to that of Christianity, except they extremely strict toward anything sexual/erotic,towards the point that you can get arrested for having erotic thought about a female you were not married to, or atleast that was what I read in the memo they gave us.
A few minutes pass and everything seems to be fine, up until I hear a loud scream a few meters away from us, I look towards the direction where we heard the scream come from.
It was from a female Kashta, it seems something was bothering her, I approached her to ask what was wrong,after she took notice of me she gave me a look of disgust,Obviously at that point everyone in the room were looking at us, I was kinda confused about why she was giving me that look, then a male Kashta approached me, looking at me like I murdered someone.
"So, uhh.. What's wrong? " I say hesitantly.
"YOU HEATHENS, HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO MY WIFE!" He shouts.
"W-what? I didn't do anything to her" I say,terribly confused, I make sure I keep my composure as I didn't want to escalate this any further
"They were insulting you honey, calling you a Human Penis" The female Kashta says.
"You were calling me a what now!?“He says with an extremely pissed of tone.
"No, we never said anything of the sorts" I claim.
"No, I clearly heard you say to your companion that my husband's head looked like a human penis" she says.
"wh-what, like I said earlier I never said anything like that" I say
"N-no, you were clearly thinking it"
"What do you mean thinking it?" I ask.
"I can hear your thoughts, you were ridiculing my husband, with those dirty thoughts of yours"
"Wait a minute, you guys can read minds?" I ask, we were never informed that the Kashta can read minds.
"Yes," she says.
I ask her a few more questions along with her husband,Things start to calm down the more we talk,afterwards I apologize, It seems the male Kashta didn't want to cause more of a scene. So he let bygones be bygones, but it seems he was still pretty pissed off about what happened.
I return back to my seat and the meeting continued and ended without any other incidents like the one from earlier.
Before leaving, the male Kashta approached me.
"I'm very sorry for what happened earlier, I'll make sure it never happens again."I say.
" Oh Okay, I'm also very sorry for my wife's reaction. She was raised in a very strict family so she tends to overreact about things like this"he says.
We talk for a bit more, he tells me that his name is Cashti, and also that he wasn't really a very religious person and that he was more open minded compared to his wife,he also told me that the reason he shouted was because he thought I did something to his wife and overreacted a bit himself.
I'm glad that we were able to clear up the misunderstanding, afterwards I go back home to earth, relived that I didn't ruin humanity's image toward the Kahsta.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Note: I'm sorry if the story fell apart midway, I ran out of ideas on how to continue it and kinda just wrote everything that came to mind.
Also, this was my first time submitting a prompt
| 2019-09-29T23:02:12
| 2019-09-29T22:40:14
| 48
| 19
|
[WP] Fallen angel is a pretty popular trope in fiction. But I want to hear about Ascended Demons. Demons that were too good/ kind/ pious for the underworld and managed to break out.
|
Without darkness, there can be no light. Virtue can not exist unless there is choice against vice. Only when there is a possibility of failure can humanity become better than they were created.
This was the mantra under which hell was created. It wasn't to simply torment humanity or to torture those within our domain. It was to offer them something better. To give them the opportunity to transcend their own small and closed minds.
When I chose to become a demon all those millennia ago, I swore an oath, as we all did. We swore an oath to help, to defend, and to elevate humanity. We didn't have the glory or the righteousness of being on the good side, but in many ways, we were more vital. After all the time that has passed, I am one of the few that still cling to that oath.
I can take many forms. Today I was an average middle class man in a convenience store, unremarkable in every way. I saw my target, picking out a few meager groceries meant to last him and his family until payday. He was young, especially considering the two waiting children at home. He had enough money to pay for the groceries, but not much more. The white bread, peanut butter, and box of pasta would indeed sustain his family until payday, but he would have to watch his wife try to mask the hollow look in her eyes. He was at his most vulnerable, but also had the most potential.
"Excuse me, sir. Do you have any of this brand of diapers in a size 3?" I asked the cashier, the lone employee manning the front of the store.
"No, sorry," he said with only a sideways glance.
"Are you sure?" I lowered the tenor of my voice, wielded the power and the force so many of my kind had brutalized to gain more than we were intended. "Can you check the back?"
The cashier cocked his head and without a glance away from me, left the register and walked to the back of the store, just as father with his groceries approached. I pointedly turned my back to watch the employee and not the man with his handful of items.
Now was the opportunity, the chance this man had to choose light and righteousness. He could wait for the cashier to return and pay for his groceries, or he could leave unnoticed, his soul a bit darker.
I felt it before I heard his footsteps leave. The shadow that fell over him as he opened the door and quietly slipped out.
I sighed. It was hard to be an angel and watch someone make the wrong choice. It was harder to be the one the actively created the circumstances to make the choice available. It wasn't a failure, not on my part. And the young father would have many more opportunities for redemption. I chewed on my lip and thought about the next opportunity I could present, maybe easier for one with such a good heart.
The cashier reemerged from the back with a scowl on his face. Unfortunately, my power did have a bit of an after-effect. A lingering taste of anger and betrayal, which is why I never used it without good reason. "Sorry, we don't have any size 3."
"Thanks," I said as I slipped my hands in my pockets and out the door. Only about a block away, I caught a glimpse of another one of my kind, one that had abandoned his sworn oath and forsaken his duties long ago. He was standing over a group of kids, each of whom was driving their fists into the father that just left the convenience store.
With a thought, I was next to them, unseen by the humans but towering over my fellow demon. My brother just smirked. "This is justice, is it not, brother?" he gave a low chuckle. "He stole the groceries to save money. Now he will have neither."
I rammed my shoulder into him, pushing him back and away from the small group. He grunted as the air left his lungs but didn't make a move to fight back. "You can't help him. It's against your precious oath. All of them made their choices and they must live with the consequences. 'Ours to only to offer the opportunity'," he quoted from the oath, before releasing his power over the kids and strolling away in the opposite direction.
Without the touch of the demon, the kids stopped their attack and took everything they could off the young man before running in the opposite direction as the demon.
The young father groaned, trying to straighten himself and staring at his empty hands. My heart went out to him and I wished with every part of me that I could help him. But the rules were clear, I could not interfere once the choice was made.
r/StaceyOutThere
|
Peter was startled when Beelzebub appeared atop the floor of clouds, uncertainly approaching the gate.
"Demon," he mumbled to himself, a little too loudly. An unusual sight, to be sure. An unwelcome one, too.
Beelzebub shrugged. "Not a very good one, apparently."
"Unprecedented," Peter murmured. "This is highly unusual. Wait here, please," he ordered, and without another word he called for his boss. "It's a demon," Peter said. God scratched his head. Beelzebub wondered if somebody had infested him with lice. It was a common, low-level torture.
"Name's Beelzebub," Beelzebub said shyly. "Look, I don't mean to cause a disruption, I just- well, they told me I wasn't welcome down under anymore."
"Australia?" God asked in confusion. That was down under, as far as he knew. He had eaten at an Outback Steakhouse once during an Earthly escapade and they wouldn't stop pretending they were there. Beelzebub shook his head. "Under where?" God inquired, causing Peter and Beelzebub to burst into a spate of giggles. God rolled his eyes. He was in human form, as he often was when attending to business near the gate.
"Hell. I've been banished," Beelzebub explained once he caught his breath. Peter stifled a final snicker. "Too good for Hell, apparently."
"Too good? What'd you do? Give mercy? Say please and thank you?"
"Not quite- er, well, yes. I mean, being polite is so easy, why wouldn't you say please and thank you?" Beelzebub shook his head. "But, no, not because of that. It's a little more... More insidious than that, apparently. I wouldn't say so. I was just trying to help." Beelzebub looked sad, and God wondered when the demons had become such softies. "Somebody even said I went full circle."
"Full circle?" Peter stroked his beard in a gentle circular pattern.
"Yeah. So evil that I became good."
"That makes no sense," Peter retorted. "We didn't let Hitler in, even though he killed Hitler."
"Hell doesn't make sense sometimes. Hell - excuse the expression - we have an elevator that just goes up and one that just goes down and like seven floors but they start counting at 2 and switch to letters halfway down. But I'm here."
God sighed and somewhere on Earth a hurricane developed and wiped out a small Caribbean island. A line of new entrants appeared and Peter shooed them in the gate. "So what'd you do? We can't just let a demon in willy-nilly. It'd cause havoc. Today you, tomorrow a demonic demon looking to demonize Heaven."
Beelzebub shrugged. "If you insist. I encouraged the unionization of the labor force."
"The demonic workers?"
Beelzebub nodded. "Yeah. There's this whole hierarchy. Lucifer tortures his subordinates who torture theirs and it goes on and on right down to the little guy who gets a whole bucket of demonic wrath thrown at him. And then he takes it out on humans."
"So you told them to unionize."
"I didn't just tell them to. I encouraged it. Nicely asked them to attend. I set up union meetings. Made them sit through it. Bribed them with cookies. Bought a coffee machine, it cost me like a dozen souls."
"And that was too evil?"
"Not aligned with expectations was the phrase that Lucifer used." Beelzebub looked around at the streaming line of people. Most were wet from the hurricane. One was impaled by a wood splinter the size of a fencepost. They were all smiling, oddly enough.
God and Peter conferred for a moment before God dissolved into the cloud and Peter turned towards Beelzebub. "Sorry, Bub," Peter said. "No entry, amigo. I respect your efforts and all but..." He stepped in front of the door. People still squeezed around him but to Beelzebub, the message was clear.
He looked crestfallen, his demonic demeanor growing a little dimmer. "But what?"
"Big guy spoke. He doesn't want unions in here either."
"Shit," Beelzebub said. People in the line gasped. "So what do I do?"
"I don't know," Peter said apologetically. "Go help somebody on Earth, maybe?"
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-11-08T06:42:11
| 2019-11-08T06:27:24
| 1,123
| 108
|
[WP]"The thing about immortality is that even if it preserves your body, it doesn't stop the wearing down of your soul..."
|
You don't want to become immortal. Believe me.
Immortality is a relatively easy process, given the benefits. Out of reach financially for most people, but for anyone with the resources and knowledge to gather the necessary ingredients, the steps are simple. But I won't tell you what they are, or what you have to do. You see, I want to spare you the pain.
It's not that immortality comes with a huge price, at least not inherently. It simply comes with one simple problem - It may stop time from affecting your body, but it doesn't stop your brain from working.
You remember being 5? Remember when the holidays seemed so far apart? Once Christmas was finished, you would have to wait a year. A whole year, just to see those presents under that beautiful tree. But when you're 40, christmas is a familiar thing. It happens once a year, which seems to come around all the time. Just when you were done packing up your lights from last year, here christmas is again.
Same thing with people. When you were 14, your boyfriend and you were madly in love, and only the stars would drive you apart, because you have been together for MONTHS. When you're 50, and have been through a divorce or two, you know that it could be years before you find out if your relationship is stable.
Now take those feelings, and extrapolate them out to a thousand years. Now try and understand how I feel about all of you.
You barely last any time at all. I can't understand you. I can't feel for you. By the time I register a change in time, you will have grown old, had children, grandchildren, died, and rotted away. Empires come and go, governments rise and fall, and I barely notice them anymore.
I know that I should care, somehow. I know that people matter, that feelings matter. But the older I got, the harder it was for me to tell myself that was the case. Back when I was 500, I think I treated you like pet mice. Something to cherish, yes, but ultimately something that would die and need to be replaced. And so if I knew someone and they got sick, I would simply lose interest and replace them with someone else. As I got older? I got much, much worse.
I gave up thinking of anyone but myself when I was 800. Your feelings were utterly inconsequential. Why try and give you pleasure, or forestall your pain, if it didn't affect me? My happiness was more important than any amount of pain caused to you, and any displeasure on my part was not worth your happiness.
At my worst, I remember finding beautiful men, luring them in, then capturing and torturing them for days, just so that their screams of ecstasy and pain would create the tiniest spark of pleasure in my heart. They never lasted long, not with the methods I used.
It didn't work. I never felt fires like I had in my 200's, when I snuck Jaques out from under the watchful eye of his noble family. I felt nothing anymore.
So I've resigned myself to emotional deadness. No more pleasure, no more pain.
You don't want this. You want to die before time becomes an eternal grayness. Even if immortality preserves your body, it doesn't stop the wearing down of your soul...
|
*When the fire fades, the dead shall rise from their graves. From Ash to Cinder, all shall be called upon to link the flame.*
As I awoke, I heard her say those words. I looked around, but was alone in the crypt. The last memory I had was a grand battle. Steel clashing upon steel when I met my untimely end. All had heard of the Curse of the Undead, but few believed it to be true.
I took in my surroundings and noticed the husks of man mindlessly patrolling around. Devoid of any other purpose, they continued to walk aimlessly. Armed with little more than swords rusted and broken from age, they turned to the sound of my rising.
Slowly, they shambled towards me one after another. Armed with my sword and shield from a previous life, I greeted them with precise slashes and well time blocks. They quickly fell, but I could feel the presence of a stronger foe.
I cut my way through the husks that would keep me and found my escape. Two large doors were between myself and freedom. I could feel the fire within myself burning brightly as I accepted the challenge before me.
As the towering doors opened, I entered the courtyard behind. At the other end were another set of towering doors. I began to approach when a feeling of dread overcame me. I quickly rolled back, narrowly avoid the Warden's hammer. He had jumped down from the roof above nearly ending my journey before it began. The Warden loomed overhead and let loose a scream that caused my hair to stand straight. He raised his hammer to the sky and I could only raise my shield in defense.
The strike sent me flying across the room where my back hit the wall. I couldn't catch my breathe before he ended it. I closed my eyes, hoping to avoid seeing the hammer fall.
I awoke in my crypt once more, with the husk all before me again. Time and time again, I would try to fight my way past the Warden only to meet bitter defeat. The thing about immortality is that even if it preserves your body, it doesn't stop the wearing down of your soul. I could feel my humanity slipping from me with each defeat.
Out of desperation, I climbed the walls to the highest point I could. I walked along the tops of the cells, freeing all the Undead that I could. The Warden found me again and threw me down through the roof. As I lay shattered and broken, I could hear another Undead fighting on the other side of the wall. The wall shattered before me, but I could not rise anymore. The Undead approached, so I said unto him, "...Oh, you... You're no Hollow, eh? Thank goodness... I'm done for, I'm afraid... I'll die soon, then lose my sanity... I wish to ask something of you... You and I, we're both Undead... Hear me out, will you?"
He agreed to my request. "Regrettably, I have failed in my mission... But perhaps you can keep the torch lit... There is an old saying in my family... Thou who art Undead, art chosen... In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords... When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know... Well, now you know... And I can die with hope in my heart. Now I must bid farewell... I would hate to harm you after death... So, go now... And thank you..."
_______________________________________________________________
*Hey Guys, I don't write often so let me know what you think! The last portion is a quote from Dark Souls. If you have never played it, I'd highly recommend it. The story in itself is beautiful. As always, thanks for reading!*
| 2017-01-30T11:48:12
| 2017-01-30T11:00:27
| 28
| 10
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
He looked at her expectantly. Waiting.
“Orange?”
He waited.
“Orange! CAT! MOTORBIKE!”
She tried so hard to get through to him but felt like nothing was happening. She searched for his eyes. Hers were beginning to moisten with the hopelessness of her situation.
“TELEPHONE!”
He looked straight at her, so confused. None of this made any sense. A grown women, almost twenty. What on Earth was going on?
“OCTOPUS! OCTOPUS!” She was screaming so loud now her throat was starting to hurt. She wanted water. Just one glass of water. She was trapped. She hoped it would be over soon.
He decided to end it. He reached his hand out and pointed.
“POTATO!” she screamed out through tears now covering her face.
He shook his head as he turned away from the one-way mirror and it took a moment for him to realise that this woman was the first in all his years of testing who had correctly guessed all six objects.
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T15:45:13
| 1,493
| 18
|
[WP] The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything.
|
"What are those for?" I breathed weakly.
The question was rhetorical, of course. We'd seen those accursed gauntlets everywhere. Criminals and commoners alike were forced to wear them, so long as they were dangerous. The wrist cuffs were magnetized and anything that was special about a person was drained from them in just a second. The exceptional that could withstand the gauntlets, however, feared them especially. The bulky plates on the top held an explosive. If the emitters detected a power spike beyond what they could contain, the entire contraption would detonate.
The luckiest of bastards would die from the blast.
"Master Timothy Question..." The principal's youthful voice cut across the room as his neat suit and dark eyes. His somber tone was intended to match the severity of the conversation, of course, but the hint of amusement he held was impossible to mask. "There have been multiple observed occasions where you have displayed...potential. Concerning potential."
Lies, I wanted to yell. I was practically powerless. The only ability I had was to give food special properties. All I'd ever mustered was to give my friends peace at lunch during the boring school days. I was hardly a danger.
"You know, of course, there are protocols for individuals that pose such dangers." He continued while occasionally glancing into the corner of the room, as if confirming some dialogue with Shaggy Vaser, the prat that saw fit to torment me every day with his telekinesis.
I nodded nervously, though. What else could I do? There wasn't a damn thing I could do to argue the situation. The alternative to the gauntlets was far worse. So I sat in my uncomfortable wooden chair and stared at the floor.
"What dangers?" A voice came through the door. All heads turned to see my father barge through the door with his eyes wide. Barely a second and he was in the principal's face and prepared for war. "What the hell is it you think my boy can do!?"
Of course the principal didn't even flinch. Hell, he just smiled as he reached and grabbed one of the gauntlets. "I'm certain you're fully aware, what with having raised him all his life."
The ensuing argument wore on my nerves as though I was the very battlefield. I could only clench my fits and hear the argument intensify. The more they fought, the more I felt myself unwind inside. The more I unwound, the more they fought.
"MISTER QUESTION, THE ABILITY TO MANIPULATE EMOTIONS IS ABSOLITELY WITHIN REASON TO NEED TO REGULATE!" The principal bellowed as he waived one of the gauntlets in the air. "DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THE ATROCITIES HE COULD COMMIT WITH ONLY A THOUGHT!?"
"I UNDERSTAND THAT PUTTING THAT GAUNTLET ON HIM WILL MAKE MONSTERS OUT OF EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!" My father's passioned retort was followed by the slam of his fist. The scuffle was short-lived as the principal fell to the ground with a thud.
Seconds later, Shaggy hit the ground, as well.
"Tim." After a moment of silence, my father stood before me with worry in his eyes, staining them with lines of red. "Tim, we need to go. We-we need to go. They'll cuff us both for this. I'm sorry...son..."
I shook as I leaned forward and rested my forehead against him, quietly sobbing. With a quick nod, I wrapped my arms around him and tried to compose myself.
"One thing first..." I mumbled. I looked up and met his unspoken question. "A gauntlet for each of them. They'll need to free the two of them first before coming after us..."
|
"No, no, no, no, youre maki-"
"QUIET!"
Said the princibal wanting be to put the gloves on me
"Please dont do this."
I said scared of what would happen, but then i noticed, my bully sitting and watching from the lockers with his "gfs", the grin on his face, i knew that he said to the principal about my powers.I knew pushing him would be a bad idea, i just didnt think this would happen.
"i shouldve controled my powers like my Ma told me"
i think to myslef.
The princibal forced me to put the gloves on, i had to comply or id end up like my brother.
Suddenly i feel it, all my powers being locked away and fall to the ground with a "THUMP"
&#x200B;
"What was that" i think to myself as i wake up from sleep, in a power suppression room.
&#x200B;
"WHERE AM I" i scream
&#x200B;
"Looks like 2335-AR woke up" Says a guard watching over me,
"GR-A?WHAT DO YOU MEAN,"I say, as i remember what my teacher told me:
"A is the highest followed by B then C and so forth and the number show what level it is, for example 1 is the most dangerous and 9999 is the least dangerous"
"Yea you destroyed almost destroyed an entire shcool, and when you were found you were in a hole"
I knew it then, i was being locked up for dangerous and deadly power usage,
"i guess i almost destroyed another school, wlep time to go on the run again"
i think to myself.
"i wonder how my power stealing will hold up here, i think i should go for 12 powes stolen to be safe and have a list of powers to choose from"
| 2022-12-25T07:48:11
| 2022-12-25T07:08:03
| 46
| 17
|
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.
|
I didn't hear the bullet, but then, they never do.
There was just a thud, then I fell over.
Sergeant started shouting words I couldn't make out.
The rest of the squad hit cover.
No one came to get me.
Probably because I was exposed.
But still, nobody came.
I was alone.
And then.....
Nothing.
|
The ten sentence story, the first sentence has ten words.
Not so bad, only have nine sentences left so.
Not much pressure, I know I can do.
Oops ran out of words for that.
I can't seem to finish my.
I should not have waited.
Panic is setting in!
I need help!
HELP ME!
Fuck.
.......
| 2015-01-27T11:35:40
| 2015-01-27T11:24:56
| 192
| 56
|
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