prompt
stringlengths 20
5.8k
| chosen_story
stringlengths 227
9.36k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 227
9.29k
| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
23.1k
| rejected_upvotes
int64 10
4.11k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] You keep getting in trouble at your magic school for practicing dark magic. You also keep trying to tell them that you only practice dark magic because you have a talent for it and you struggle with the other schools of magic, so you are determined to prove that dark magic can be use for good.
|
Ms. Auria Whitmore MMag, a master at the Mirarth Academy of Arcane Arts, sighed as a student walked into her office.
Not that she felt any particular dislike for the student, mind you. On the contrary, she felt that Lucian Blackwood was a rather talented young man who could have a bright future ahead of him. That is, if he finally let her talk some sense into him, which Ms. Whitmore was going to attempt – though she suspected the attempt might be futile, like many others before it.
“Take a seat, Mr. Blackwood,” the Academy master said, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses.
Lucian did so, wordlessly. He looked just as he usually did – brown hair noticeably disheveled, casual tunic and pants worn in place of a formal robe. Not quite how a student of the most ancient a prestigious magical academy in all Vrazania should present himself, in Ms. Whitmore’s opinion. His appearance wasn’t what she was going to discuss with him today, however.
“Mr. Blackwood,” she continued, her voice strict and formal, “as you are no doubt aware, the Period of Determination is almost upon us. Very soon, you will have to make a presentation before the senior masters of our Academy, in order to demonstrate the results of your years of study. I certainly hope that by now you have chosen the topic of your presentation, and that said topic is…” she paused slightly, “adequate.”
“I’ve chosen a topic, ma’am,” Lucian responded.
“And might I know what your topic is?”
The student cleared his throat.
“Non-malevolent applications of the Tenebrous Magics.”
Ms. Whitmore sighed again.
“Mr. Blackwood, I hope you recognize that your choice of topic is most… unorthodox,” the master said sternly. “Or that your very future as a licensed magician depends on the results of your examinations. Choosing the presentation topic is not something to be made light of.”
“Yes, I understand that, ma’am,” Lucian nodded, smiling slightly at the (likely unintended) pun. “But isn’t the entire goal of the presentation to show the magic we are best at? What we’re passionate about the most?”
“It is true, of course,” Ms. Whitmore allowed. “That said, for it to be the dark arts of all things… to be perfectly honest, I do not understand why such magic is not prohibited to begin with, especially for students.”
“The only good is knowledge…” Lucian intoned.
“… And the only evil is ignorance,” his teacher finished automatically. “Still, not to doubt the Founder’s wisdom, but… well, might you not choose any other area of our craft? Evocation, for instance, or Numerology? I know you have shown an aptitude for both that is definitely above average.”
The student shook his head.
“With all due respect, ma’am, I intend to stick to my topic. It’s something I’m truly interested in, and, well… I really do believe these arts can be used for good.”
Ms. Whitmore said nothing for some time, steepling her fingers as she regarded her student.
“Very well,” she said finally. “As your advisor – if only in name – I must warn you that not all masters on the Board might look favourably upon your presentation topic. You will need to demonstrate something truly outstanding, if you are hoping to receive your license this year. Still, if this is your final choice, so be it.”
She allowed herself a slight smile – not that Lucian could have seen it through her steepled fingers.
“Then I wish you good luck at your Determination.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Lucian bowed his head slightly before standing up and leaving her office.
\*\*\*
From a separate table, Ms. Whitmore was observing the ongoing presentations. Although her rank and seniority could have allowed her to sit on the Board, on that day she did not do so – for it were her students who were being evaluated.
To her satisfaction, everything was going smoothly so far. Dressed in their finest robes, refined and polite, the young men and women were the very image of how a student of Mirarth should act and look. The magic they demonstrated was likewise superb – evocationists wove multi-level spells, conjurers created complex structures, summoners called upon elusive spirits…
That was not all, of course – after the Demonstration, came the Disputation, and then finally the Decision – but so far, Ms. Whitmore felt that the examinations were going rather well.
Then Lucian Blackwood walked up to the stage.
Even before he started speaking, Ms. Whitmore felt like covering her eyes with the palm of her hand for a brief moment. To be fair to her student, Lucian did put on the academic robe required for the occasion, and even made some effort to tame his perpetually unruly hair – but still, with the robe draped over his shoulders, worn over the same simple clothes he perpetually wore, his image was not going to win him any favours with the masters of the Board.
“Honoured masters of our most noble Academy!” he began in a loud, clear voice. “I, Lucian Blackwood of Pyrphóros College, upon this Third day of Serpent, do present at your consideration the results of my studies.”
His formal, solemn words hardly matched his casual appearance, but Ms. Whitmore was glad that at least he did not disregard the traditional introduction.
“My chosen topic is the Tenebrous Magics, and how they might be applied in ways other than malevolent.”
|
The doors to my tower continued to bang as the magister's men hammered away, I needed to work fast. If I didn't complete my work soon, then all my plans will have been for nothing
Fools! Can't they see their ignorance for what it is? Can't they see that they are so stuck in their ways that they are ruining everything?
The final defences fell, and they began to swarm into my castle. But it was too late, I finished the calculations and pulled the lever. Seven bodies twitched and began to rise from their tables.
"STOP! Lord Grimbolt you are under arrest for the practice of necromancy. You are to turn yourself in to face the judgement of the high overseer."
"For what crimes?" I asked, I knew that I had done no wrong, in fact I had done the impossible. Mankind is not foolish enough to make laws against what they believe impossible."
"For perverse actions against the flesh of the deceased, for the wrongful violations of the spirits put to rest, and for the continued use of blood magic."
"But I am innocent of all changes. I have not redirected the dead, my good sirs,these folks are not zombies..." I placed a hand under the chin of one of my children. "Hello dear, how are you feeling?"
Confused, she looked at me and said "wh...who am I?"
I heard the audible gasps of the magister's men. I pulled her hood back and they could see, her face was not the rotted flesh of a corpse, but was the youthful complexion of a beauty in her 20s.
"Whoever you wish to be, you are the child I never had. The child my wife couldn't give me before her untimely end. You and your siblings are free to be who you wish."
The magister's men stumbled with their words at the miracle I had managed to achieve. No mere mockery of a life once lived, but new life constructed, perfect.
"But... The bodies, where could you have... You must have..."
"Cloned, created from my own body, and a few willing volunteers to make duplicates. A little genetic variation to ensure they weren't exact duplicates."
No violating the dead, in flesh blood or spirit, but the power of necromancy combined with technology to bring me a family all the same.
| 2022-09-14T16:51:06
| 2022-09-14T14:18:11
| 71
| 23
|
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”
|
I’m the oldest cliff diver in La Quebrada. I was born in 1928 to two peasant farmers who lived on the outskirts of Acapulco. We never had any money so when I was 12 I went to the beaches to try to sell things for money. That’s when I saw the cliff divers and I decided I wanted to train to do what they did.
Over the years I’ve made friends with some of the best of the best divers including “super hombre” as they called him. He got cocky and in this profession you never want to do this.
He died when he mistimed the tide in September of 1952. I was only 24 years old and he was 30 years old and people called him super hombre because most divers had either moved on or been killed by that age. We have a phrase in my profession “beware of an old man in a profession when men usually die young”.
It was quite tragic. I would always read the weather reports and I had read that Hurricane Five (they numbered them back then) was going in a Northwest direction. With the circulation counterclockwise and coming into La Quebrada I had calculated that you had to jump about a half second later than normal. Super hombre didn’t and he lost his life because of it.
Everyday at 5 AM I turn on the Weather Channel and then I study the currents and water temperatures. I then study information I receive from the port of Acapulco regarding shipping. Even shipping can impact the currents at La Quebrada.
I arrive well before the tourists, hydrate and stretch. My 90 year old muscles ache and my body is frail but gravity and timing is all that’s needed.
They call me Santo Buzo. They believe I’m a “holy diver” and there’s somewhat of a cult following. The American tourists want photos with me. I charge $5 a pop to American tourists and negotiate how many pesos I charge Mexican tourists. On a good day I can make several thousand dollars. I live in a mansion overlooking La Quebrada and my wife is a 23 year old model from Brazil. I must say that life has treated me well.
Others ask when I’m going to retire but I don’t plan to. One day I suppose I will make a mistake and the ocean will claim my body just like all the others. In this profession it’s all about timing. Timing in the dive and timing in when the ocean takes your body.
You may ask why people fear the older divers. Well it seems anyone that dives before or after me dies but it’s simply an old wives tale. People get nervous when they see me and they make mistakes. My profession requires an understanding of science and little to do with superstition. Those caught in superstition fall victim because they aren’t paying attention.
|
Looking up from the hands of the aged and weathered quarterback the doctor could not fathom the pain. 52, fifty fucking two and this fucking maniac was till tossing bullets with better aim than a rookie just getting his chest hair.
Leaning back and taking In the living fossil, for this game to be Honest, he gasped as the last breath of a grid iron legend was expelled from the mortal coil that was wrecked beyond redemption. Three crushed ribs turned to dust and a completely severed L3. How the guy even made off the field is mind boggling. Jer Jackson had hit him low as Davin Steat hit him high and twisted him up in a knot. Snapping rims, his spin, and it appeared his soul.
That last throw hit its mark with all the percussion of a guided middle as the time drained from the clock in the closing minutes of the first game of the season. Fifty two. Fifty fucking two is just unbelievable as you felt for a pulse....
| 2018-07-15T09:19:53
| 2018-07-15T08:19:45
| 79
| 27
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
Not once in my life had something come to me. I had willed, wished, and pleaded with the world that the rest of my body and soul would come flying to my hand after my 18th birthday. It never did. My wife always loved to take pictures, she had a 35mm camera that would fly to her on a moments notice and always contained film. She loved that thing, sometimes even more than me, always taking photos of our adventures, our kids, and family gatherings. The house was littered with collages, artworks made from the myriad of photos. Here I was with nothing, still only half of the person everyone else was.
My first son summoned his soulmate when he was 18. She just showed up at the door one day and asked to meet him. Their connection was unimaginable, the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life. Just as any object becomes another half of someone beings the two of them became one person in life. Moving forward with only the most pure of convictions. Even when he moved out of the house, I was still hardly alive lacking any sense of importance in the world.
The TV was playing the news, fairly standard when your life was constrained to a hospital bed. I rarely paid any attention to it but today just felt different, the nurses in the halls worked more hurriedly and the air just felt more somber than normal. Well, even more somber than the normal feeling for a wing of dying people at least.
I had been stuck in this bed this entire year, already resigned myself to die without being whole. Throughout my life I had tried to talk to doctors, shrinks, and even self proclaimed witches about why I had never summoned anything to me. No one could explain it, I was just a freak, it’s a miracle that my wife even loved me. She’s always respond with things like “If you can’t summon anything, I’ll make up for it by completing you”.
“Breaking news.” These words drew my attention back to the TV, the newscaster’s face even more pale than the patient next door. His voice low, his tone lethargic, and temp reduced to that of a dying cadence. “Scientist have tried everything; Ceres 1 will collide with the earth tonight at 9pm. The world governments have attempted to destroy the asteroid and have kept its change of course secret for the last 70 years. Tonight, is the last day there will be life on Earth.”
I was shocked, I knew I didn’t have much left to live for, today was my 88th birthday after all and the doctors said the cancer could kill me any day. Looking back up at the TV Ceres 1 was displayed, and finally I felt whole. I couldn’t help but worry that my kids hadn’t yet found fulfillment in their lives.
---
First response ever, never thought I'd actually respond to one of these.
|
I was 17 back then tomorrow wouldve been my 18th birthday the summoning day but i had other worries, the over-populated world caused massive capitalisation of life and made the climate change become a serious problem,I had to do something even when it meant comitting genocide.
Heroes where born with intergalactic weapons and overpowered shields nothing couldve stopped them if they wouldve decided to go evil.
But there I was, freshly 18, it took 20 hours for my special tool to arrive.
A fiercly golden plated glove, with gems of incredible power socketed into each finger, to destroy and to be reborn was the destiny of all life, it just needed an successor, it needed me.
| 2019-09-18T07:48:31
| 2019-09-18T07:13:42
| 643
| 67
|
[WP] You clearly mail ordered a cheap, factory made sword. Then they gave you an authentic holy sword that made you into a chosen hero. Time to write a bad review!
|
**Pendragon Nylon Foam Sword for LARP and HEMA**
⋆⋆⋆⋆ *Great for ruling as the rightful king of England. Not so much for HEMA.*
Review by Ben Harrison
Received this longsword as a gift for my 18th birthday. Wish I'd known what it actually was, because as soon as I touched it, MI6 agents blew my roof off, rappelled into my living room and kidnapped me, only for me to be brought infront of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth. She handed me the crown, and apparently I'm now King Arthur's rightful successor, and also the one true King of England.
I'm American. I live in Texas.
P.S. Minus one star for that roof. Had to get that fixed as my first royal decree.
|
First of all I’d like to start by saying I ordered a cheap sword that was only supposed to look shiny so I could have a play sword fight with my son. Instead I accidentally chopped his sword in half and took one of his fingers with it. Along with him losing that finger I’ve now lost custody of my children. Thanks, assholes.
Secondly I now have the voice of God in my head and he won’t stop screaming. The only words he’s said to me are “It’s been far too long since I last checked in on my subjects. Let’s see how everything’s go-” and since then there’s been non-stop screaming which has kept me from sleeping for a week. On top of that I also am being told by the voices of angels that I need to “cleanse the world” of sinners. Specifically they keep telling me to go after some “Jack Paulers” and, after googling that, I don’t feel so bad about cutting off my son’s finger seeing as many parents have done much, much worse for their children.
Third and finally my biggest complaint of all; this sword is just too big. Honestly I think I’ll get used to the screaming of God and the angels can go shove a holy sword up their ass and somebody else can take care of all the Florida Men but this sword is bigger than the one I ordered. See I’d already ordered a cool holder for the sword so I could hang it on my wall when I wasn’t using it but the sword is too big and it doesn’t fit.
I wouldn’t suggest this product to anybody interested, it’ll make you lose your children, your privacy, your sanity, and any hope for humanity. 0/5
Sincerely, CrocsNSocks113.
***Comments v***
\>CoolDad001: Does the blood wash off the sword?
\>>>CrocsNSocks113: Yes, it washed off quite nicely. The shine has also kept quite well.
| 2018-08-21T10:01:18
| 2018-08-21T09:46:26
| 301
| 130
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Her eyes were totally devoid of all life. She stared ahead of her seeing nothing at all… just kept walking to the cell with about 50 high powered rifles pointed at her. This was by far the weirdest thing I had ever seen in this place. The Frozen Lake maximum security prison has seen its fair share of weird and horrible things over the last 20 years I have resided here, but this was beyond anything I had ever seen.
At about 3am this morning, the sirens went off, waking everyone in the facility. Of course it wasn’t part of the guard’s routine to tell us what was going on, so we all sat in our cells trying to block out the ear piercing scream of the sirens. After about 30 minutes, the alarms were silenced and the door at the end of the cell block was violently thrown open. In walked a little girl, she couldn’t have been more than 12. Her curly brown hair bounced with every step and yet, not a single strand looked out of place… but her eyes. They were the most vibrant shade of green I had ever seen, but there was something wrong with them that I couldn’t put my finger on. They just looked empty, like she was a walking shell.
She entered the cell block on her own, without any restraints. She was followed by at least 50 heavily armed men in SWAT body armor, each with their weapon trained on her. I watched her quietly walking down the middle of the block, the eerie silence of the block was like a weight on my chest. There wasn’t a single sound from anyone, even the girls footsteps were swallowed by the silence. When she got in front of my cell, she stopped and looked at me. I felt all the hair on my body stand on end and a chill ran down my spine. She just looked at me with those empty eyes and smiled. My heart was pounding out of control, my breath caught in my chest, I couldn’t look away from her eyes. What seemed like an eternity was probably just a few seconds when she turned away and continued towards the only empty cell on the block.
Once she arrived in the cell, the door slid shut with a satisfying clang of steel on steel. I couldn’t see her anymore due to the positioning of the cells, but it felt as if her dead eyes were still on me, I couldn’t shake the feeling. The cell block remained absolutely silent for the rest of the day, no one even complained when the guards didn’t bring our food. The silence was uncomfortable, normally you couldn’t even hear yourself think with all the noise and chaos in the block, but now... it just felt wrong.
That night, as the sun set on my cell block, we all heard it start. Singing…
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and take you away.*
The cell block became noticeably darker….
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and eat you up.*
She kept singing. The more she sang, the darker it became. It was so dark you could almost feel it. I could feel the chill and electricity in the air. This was not right. The darkness surrounded me. Finally, the moon escaped the clouds and I was able to get some of my vision back. I looked out of my cell and saw what looked like a black stain on the middle of the floor in front of my cell. There wasn’t any reflection of the light off of the stain, it was just a black void. It was as if the stain absorbed all of the light that touched it, yet it appeared to shimmer.
That’s when the girl stopped singing…. There wasn’t any sound for at least 3 minutes. I kept staring at the black stain trying to figure out what it was. Then she started to giggle… and the stain on the floor started sliding towards my cell. A shiver ran up my spine as the stain dragged itself towards me, I wanted to scream but was paralyzed with fear. I could only look on in horror as the thing got closer and closer. The guy in the cell next to mine didn’t seem to be affected by this because he began to absolutely freak out. He started screaming for the guards or anyone. I was shocked when it seemed like the shadow heard him, it reached out with a long tentacle like arm of shadow into his cell. His panic immediately worsened. His pleas to the guards for help fell on deaf ears. His screams grew into something that sounded like an animal that knew it was about to be torn apart by a much larger predator. He screamed and screamed for what seemed like an eternity before his voice was ripped away and the silence returned.
*Edit:* Adding more....
|
The Talissa Complex. Tartarus to the more educated residents, simply The Pit to those not as interested in the classics. A century ago it had been meant to protect the central command of its country from the most advanced WMDs of the tome, while they could order the launch of their own from safety. Now it housed "Category 31d". Category 31 are those prisoners with intense augmentations, whether bionic, genetic or something else, that either could not safely be removed or they had refused to have them removed, as is their right by UN Bodily Sovereignty Resolution 31. So instead they were buried somewhere far out of sight. The "c" referred to prisoners whose crimes were so severe that they would never see daylight again, and extreme violent tendencies made them unsuitable to walk amongst more civilized inmates. Together, these two definitions designated the people that society feared so much that they didn't feel safe unless they buried them under a mountain, hoping that we would kill each other off when the guards were just a bit late to intervene.
When I arrived here there were six inmates, and three more have come during my 30 years here. Mathias is the veteran, an nonagenarian who had spent 70 of his 92 years here. Most of the skin in his faced had died of, leaving the bare metal-infused skull. When he would finally die off his endoskeletal augments would proabably be donated to a museum, along with his ancient combat stimulant glands. He had apparently been an enforcer for some big corporate gangster in Lagos and had single-handedly caused the Bifröst tragedy when he massacred the construction crew of what was becoming the first space elevator and then blew its anchor, killing hundred of thousands more when the nanotube cable crashed into the city. His boss made a fortune on the stock market until it was traced back to him.
Alex is his distant second, with fifty years on his back. After being locked away in his twenties for rape he accepted to undergo an experimental rehabilitative treatment for reduced sentence. He was released 10 years later and lived the next 30 years as a model citizen and a renowned doctor, until someone found the "pet" he kept in the basement, an amalgam of countless human body parts, stitched together and kept alive by some mad science. I dunno what hardware he has in his head, but when he looks at you he sees into your mind, and soul, and the looks he gives you seems to say he wants to eat it.
Vera and Theodora are both war criminals, the last survivors of the infamous "Iskander squad". They would infiltrate the Coalition army by killing members and wearing their skin, perfectly mimicking both their voice and mannerisms, before detonating their microwave implants. I've heard that the stench of burning flesh still lingers in some places although 30 years have passed. Trevor also committed war crimes, and the fact that he was locked up despite being on the winning side should tell you how badly he behaved. On full charge the man can run through tanks, so softer targets barely leave remains.
Elisa was the heiress to the Genolution Corporation, until the Albion scandal led to it being forcibly liquidated, and her family got life sentences. She spent her remaining wealth on combat augs and went on a revenge spree against the investigators that destroyed her family. Apparently the collateral damage was in the thousands. She came here twenty years ago, just a month before me.
Don't know much about the new guys but apparently William is a satyr. A product of a primitive surgery you can get amongst the high-end back alley surgeons in Paradise City that cuts out all inhibitions. They fear nothing and they're all masochists that act immediately on any of their desires, which are always violent and perverse even beyond the grasp of the most insane inmates. Outside of Paradise they are shot on sight so I barely understand how they got him alive and not at all why they did it. Karl was probably a merc, and augmented enough to tear an arm of William, who of course just became more excited by that. But the last one is a puzzle.
Alma arrived here two weeks ago. She barely looks eight years old. But when Alex looked at her he saw something in her that scared him enough to decide to lock himself in the bathroom, where he has stayed since. She mostly stays in her room and cries so loudly that it echoes all over the complex. Matthias went to shut her up and the next moment guards are rushing in and drag HIM off to infirmary, his legs gone. To complicate things, no one knows where his legs are now. William of course wanted to "have some fun" with her. He was found unconscious in a puddle of his own blood. The crying reminded Vera of a daughter or a sister or something, and she decided to comfort her. She is now in a coma in the infirmary, missing half her torso. Everyone decided to stay away after that. Which did not save Trevor whose vitals suddenly went critical while in his cell, and was found there torn to pieces, barely clinging to life, with her sitting on the bed, still crying. Two days ago William woke up. He has been unable to speak but he avoids her at all cost, which does not make sense as he is incapable of feeling fear. But she got him this afternoon anyway. Yet I never heard the crying in her cell stop, so how she got to his cell is beyond me. He probably won't make the night. I've been reading the news trying to find anything about her. There is nothing. According to the net she doesn't exist.
| 2018-02-12T05:55:43
| 2018-02-12T05:40:44
| 41
| 20
|
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
When the king took his last breathe it felt like rain after a long drought. I was so close to my freedom. For 50yrs I was tied to that bastard, my wings clipped by youthful pride. I had loved him once and given my heart and magic to the king thinking he would love me too, he convinced me that even when he married his wife I would be his consort, his lover his right hand. I pledge my loyalty to him and this kingdom before he Betrayed me. I have killed, cursed and fought in very battle I've been sent. I have even shared his bed urgh. Yet they all think me the King's toy.
But the fool never took my grimore from me in the years I've lived I found a a way to break myself free; all I need now is the new king to expel me from the is kingdom. I have tormented the little kinglings dreams since he was lad, I've bullied him, chased away all his lovers and friends. His hatred of me is but a fraction of mine. I know he could never understand why his father kept around, the proud fool of a king would never tell a soul how used his body to trick me into slavery.
So I waited and planned my vengeance. And with the new Kings word, I was Banished from the empire and thus I am no longer condemned by my pledge.
Ha do not worry my dear old friend I shall make sure in your son's rein that the sun will Never set on the empire again
|
The old king and I were pretty close friends. I introduced him to most of the playmates within his harem. Comprised of but not limited to Vicky Vallencourt & Suzy Crabgrass. Some nights, we’d play uno together. He knew I would let him win and for me? Honestly. I liked it. He could see how I liked it so... no longer was I there to please his majesty, I was there for me. Someone who had the keys not to the Royal palace, but to his own character. Had the king been not of royal blood he would of admired this in me- instead I was merely found amusing which never quite sat well with me. And now? I think that may be all I’ll ever have been. For, there’s nothing to be of me now. Not without him.
| 2021-02-28T02:58:19
| 2021-02-28T01:37:57
| 68
| 14
|
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
**Don't light that cigarette.**
My stove had been leaking gas all night. I couldn't even smell it with my head cold.
**Don't wear sneakers.**
Later that day, I tripped on an escalator. I shudder to think what would have happened if it sucked in my laces.
**Don't look in the mirror.**
I thought it was just being cheeky with me that day.
Until I saw the wasp perched in my hair. Which caused me to flail around, lose my balance, and crack my head against the sink.
So I'd come to terms with it. *Always listen to the mirror. Always.*
On the day of June 7th, I entered the bathroom as always. After pulling my pill bottles out, I clicked the mirror back into place, my eyes traveling to the top for my daily message.
But this time, it was only one word.
**RUN**
For a second I just stood there, staring at my reflection, watching the blood drain from my face.
**RUN**
*From what? From whom?*
But I didn't have time I guess. I ran out of the bathroom, rushed into my bedroom. I grabbed my purse, my keys, my phone, and rushed towards the hall.
That's when I heard the sound of a door creaking open.
My closet door.
|
I don't wait. I grab my purse and the first pair of shoes that I find. I bang into the corner of the bed. It will leave a mark. I grab a sweater as I open the door and lock it. I run down the stairs and out of the apartment building I have lived in for the past five years. I hadn't even looked into the mirror really. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I could feel the stares at me as I ran in flip flops down the street attempting to put on my sweater on the brisk Spring day. The concrete made a flopping sound with my cheap flip flops and I hoped that my shoes wouldn't break on me.
Almost as if they had heard me. I tripped and fell as the part that goes between the toes became loose. I lost traction and went down in a crowd of people. I hit my knee and I knew I would have a scrape. I was almost scared to look down, had I left in pajamas? Yes, there in the middle of my sky blue and yellow pajama pants was a considerable hole. Dirt had begun to intermingle with the fresh blood to make an interesting flower pattern. I had ruined my favorite pajamas. I was sitting on the curb of a busy city with bed head and unbrushed teeth. I looked around from my seat on the ground. Bystanders walked around me as if I was detritus. Maybe I was. I looked for signs of more trouble. I remembered the message in the mirror and I got up and limped trying to run ahead of those around me.
I had my purse. Up ahead there was a library I could use and around the corner there was a discount store. I would get another pair of cheap shoes to run in. This was the plan. I had attempted to go into the library first but they had a problem with not having shoes so I ended up going to the store. As I walked in I passed the mirror that took up the first floor wall to make the store look bigger and to deter from thieves. I tried to ignore my reflection but I saw a familiar font taking up a big portion of the mirror.
"Get the tie up shoes."
The tie up shoes? What? As I turned I saw a sneaker type shoe with laces. I could almost feel the mirror telling me these. I didn't really want to know what the mirror was going to tell me. This was the first time I had seen words outside of my apartment. Not being able to resist, I turned to the mirror. I looked so bad I started to cry. I made my way to the line and with tears pouring down my face I bought the cheap shoes and put them on outside just as it started to rain. I took a last glance into the store and I saw the familiar font in big letters say:
"KEEP RUNNING!"
I ran. I had no idea where I was going. I ran slowly not really knowing what to do. I heard the screams before I saw the smoke. There was heat on my neck. I ran in earnest. There were people passing me now. I was scared to look back as I the screams were louder. My bare feet in the cheap sneakers started to sweat and rub against something. I could feel the stiffness in my knee from where I fell. I felt my mouth dry and parched. I heard someone yell, "They are coming!" I attempted to turn around to see who was coming and came face to face with a person in the reflection of the mirrored building I was running in front of. The man made a gesture as if to say come in to the building. I walked in saw that the post of the doorman had been abandoned. I looked around the art deco styled interior to see in the faux smokey glass mirror up the stairs, the man. Again he made the gesture as if to say, "Come." I followed him up the stairs to what seemed like the top floor.
I saw a door there. He leaned against it and with his motions told me to open it. I did. "Finally!!! Just in time to avoid the zombie apocalypse. And you smelling like blood. I didn't think you would get here in time." He locked the door behind me. The room was dark. There was ambient light from all of the computers and there were small windows on the top of the wall. "My name is Washington. I am the tenth of the time travelers that have been placed in history to help the survival of the human race. In this world you are Sally but you will grow to be Salinas, Queen of the Survivors. Think of me as your facilitator. Now, how about you go to the bathroom and freshen up, there is a lot to do. And you can't very well do it in rubber ducky pajamas." Washington showed me the door to a bathroom. As I went in, I noticed there were no mirrors, even the chrome was matted and black. I allowed myself to slide down the wall and cry, thankful for no reflections.
| 2020-06-07T22:07:42
| 2020-06-07T20:54:59
| 770
| 547
|
[WP] The magical races enslaved magic-less humans centuries ago. To expand their empires, the magical races travel and conquer different dimensions. They soon stumble across and try to conquer a magic-less world full of humans. It did not go well.
|
Technology, when sufficiently advanced, is indistinguishable from magic. Technology, when sufficiently different, is also indistinguishable from magic. The paper thin line that divides those with magic and those without exist only in ignorance. Those who *know,* know magic. Those who don't, well, they are humans. Magicless, pitiful, humans. Born without magic, doomed to be the pebblestones stepped on in a magical world.
Yet, inexplicably, in every dimension, there are humans. Every single one. Humans, humans, humans. Like a plague, infesting everything. Two hands, two feet, a face, humans. One of the five Great Mysteries still unsolved by the Academy. *Why are there humans everywhere?*
Could it be possible that humans are actually remnants of an advanced species? Well, it would be likely, if humans had magic. But they don't. How could a race of magicless creatures every advance to a level sufficient enough to even cross a single dimension?
What if it is just a similar appearance? Superficially similar, biologically different? Not true again. Every single human can reproduce with another human from another dimension. There is no biological barrier between humans. Nah, humans apparently can procreate with any known magical species. Half-elves, half-pixies, half-orcs, half-gnomes, half-dwarfs, the number of halflings increases every single census. Even my own grandmother was a human.
What are "humans"? What is their secret?
\- *Thesis on Humanology: Foreword, Second Edition, Jordan Steiberg. Found abandoned in a magicist facility following the liberation of Dimension X1212-DS2 by the Third Expeditionary Fleet. The author is a class A interdimensional criminal for crimes against humanity, including but not limited to: human experimentation, mass enslavement, genocide and the possible murder of :REDACTED in :REDACTED.*
\-----------
The standard strategy for disabling a human forcefield is to use a kinetic-based magical spell. While adapt at dealing with magical attacks, forcefields, as with much of human weaponry, is relative susceptible to brute, kinetic-based assaults.
Or, to put it in simpler terms, hurl a damn rock fast enough at it and you will break it. And do it fast, before whatever beam-weapon they are charging up blows you up. Elf, orc, pixie, whatever race you are, getting half your body blasted off is going to kill you.
Humans are currently the biggest threat to magickind ever known. It was my deepest regret not eliminating every single human when we had the chance. If we were more ruthless in our extermination of humankind, we will not be in our current predicament.
*The video falls into silence as the figure pauses.*
I have strayed off topic. For your mid-solace examinations, you would be required to memorize the entire section of human forcefields and their appropriate counter-measures. It will be tested. We would be moving into a closer examination regarding the specific model of human forcefield currently in use by the Human Third Expeditionary fleet for the rest of the section.
\- *Retrieved sightstone from a eliminated Elf Operative in the battle of Solamir. It appears to be a recording of a magicist lecture by Grand-Magicist Jordan Steiberg regarding counter-measures to the military-issue energy-based defenses currently in use. OPS-SEC has upped the bounty for his immediate termination following increasing evidence that the main cause of human casualty has been a result of either him or his associates.*
\----------
"These are just a few excerpts about the main target for the mission: Jordan Steiberg."
"A half-gnome, half-human, born in the city of Solamir in AD2334, he is currently one of the three most wanted magickind in the entire dimension."
"I am sure I need not emphasis how much damage this creature has done to the Third Expeditionary Force. The destruction of the *Titanic* has been tied to his planning. The most dangerous enemy is one that knows you deeply, and I regret to say that this creature knows humans far too well."
"We must eliminate him before he causes more damage. That is why we have contacted you, Johan. You are the closest we can get to him. Eliminate him. That is all we ask."
"For the glory and liberation of all humankind."
*Beep.*
The miniature transmission device collapses on itself, shrinking into the size of a marble, before imploding in a small explosion, scattered into the wind as dust.
"It always impresses me how efficient these things are. How, *magical.* Don't you think so, Jordan?"
"Magic and technology are two-sides of the same coin. One could do what the other could not. Isn't this the reason you seek me? To do what technology could not."
"I have shown my sincerity. I should be planning your demise now, and you know there is a reasonable chance I would have succeeded. Now show me yours."
"I...appreciate it. Take this." A small vial tossed across the room, glowing in the dark with an electric-blue hue. "Magicist Blood. The only known cure for mana poisoning. This should give you some, albeit temporary, relief. If you uphold your end of your bargain I will uphold mine."
\-----
To be continued.
|
A highly advanced technological world is only possible with enormous amounts of the substance known as steel or in the parlance of the alchemists "cold iron". In magical realms the substance is rare and can only be made from meteoric iron. However, in one cursed land, humans have found ways to mass produce the stuff from common iron ore to terrifying effect.
Iron, is and always have been, highly toxic to Elves.
A rather ill-conceived plan by the current Elvish Emperor of invasion and conquest ended nearly the same day it began and stood as an important lesson to future rulers of the Unseelie Court; never bring a bronze sword to a gunfight.
| 2022-08-13T11:36:17
| 2022-08-13T11:32:52
| 42
| 28
|
[WP] After defeating the Devil down in Georgia, Johnny proudly proclaims he's the best that's ever been. A flash of lightning crashes down and God appears, fiddle in hand. The Devil gets his popcorn ready.
Bonus points if the story can be sung along with the song...
|
Ol' God went down to Georgia. He was lookin' to Fiddle n' Chill.
He saw Johnny on the grind and said "Me and you! Its time! And you best make it ill!"
Floating head called a Cromulon happened along, said "SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT."
And Charlie said "I'll Hank Hill your ass any day, lemme me tell you what."
God says "I bet you didn't know it, but I'm a deity, too.
I once made a bush catch fire, thats the lit shit that I do..
Now you play a pretty good fiddle, Charmander, but thoughts and prayers are due.
I'm hardcore perched atop the skulls of millions! How many wars were started over you?"
The boy said, "My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin,
But I just wiped my ass with one fictional character and I can pretend to do it again."
Johnny, sharpen up that edge and make sure the drop is hard.
Because this song is copywrit protected under Georgia's laws..
And if you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold,
Remember that episode where Bart sold Milhouse his soul?
God opened up with heavy bass and he said, "My shit on fleek, yo."
And fire flew from his turntable as he gave it the People's Elbow.
And he pranced across the stage like Night Man making an evil hiss.
Followed by some shoddy choreography and it looked something like shit.
|
Devil sat in Georgia sad because no soul to steal
Johnny gloated and boasted mr devil how’s it feel?
All the sudden the clouds parted and a golden road appeared. A white bearded man with an angel band started coming near
God put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder and said I’m proud of you my son but your next challenge is a little tougher don’t you know I’m number one
And he said unto him you play first my child Johnny exited to play his new shiny fiddle started going wild he hit all the notes and played one hell of a song but before he could finish the lord started riffing on his fiddle and the angels all sang along
Run along Moses to the top of that hilllllll the devils back in Georgia and hes makin dealllllllls
Granny does the lord smite yes in deeeeeeeeeeed
Giving salvation to those in neeeeeeeeeeed
For he loved the world so much he gave his only sonnnnnnnnnnn
Told you Johnny I’m number oneeeeeeeeeeeeee
When the holy father finished and put his fiddle back in his case
He took one look back at the wicked smile on the devils face
Because he knew that the devil would give him his due
Johnny didn’t have the words to say other than “well, I guess that makes me number two.”
| 2018-04-05T11:39:55
| 2018-04-05T10:56:29
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.
|
Everyone has met that one person who just ruins the game for everyone else. That person takes all the treasure, dictates where the party is going or what they're to do, things like that. Sadly for this group, Becky *was* that person.
Becky was a goody-goody player that *had* to have it all. Magic items in the chest? Becky needed them to "defend the lesser members of her party". Potions of healing? "You guys don't take the damage that I do." Go to a new city and it's shopping time for Becky. "You guys need me to defend you, so give me all your gold and I'll get something that'll help me do just that."
Did I mention that Becky was a Paladin?
And did I mention that Becky *loved* to role-play anything besides the actual combat?
When I was invited to this session, I knew I had the perfect character for taking care of the "Paladin Problem", as the DM put it. I pulled out this character only for special occasions. I made sure to give this character sheet to the DM before the game even started. It makes life a little easier to be handed a character sheet when you're the "new" player.
I won't bore you with the details of the beginning of the session. Suffice to say that the other three players were tired of Becky's constant demands and taking this newest treasure, an Amulet of Day, for herself. When the party decided to stop at the next inn to rest up, my plan sprung into action.
Becky had been hounding me to give her my enchanted gloves for a while now. Ever since she spotted on my character sheet that I had some magic items, she felt she deserved them more than I did. So I made her an offer she couldn't refuse.
"Why don't we go upstairs to discuss this in private?" I asked her. She quickly agreed, and I led the way to the room we had rented for the night. This room was simple: a metal bed, small table with two chairs, and a nightstand with a lamp on it. There was a small window that overlooked the stables below. I smiled as I quietly locked the door behind us, "so we don't have unnecessary interruptions."
I then announced that the only way I was parting with the gloves was with an act of pure faith. She had to do whatever I asked, no questions. I could see the other players' eyes begin to lose their dull shine. The DM was even interested.
Of course Becky agreed, so long as she got the gloves. "Oh, and that sword too!" She had just noticed the magic blade.
"Of course," I replied, smiling. I could see the DM start to realize what was about to happen. The others listened silently.
I told Becky that since I liked role-playing too, we should do a little role-playing right now. Oh, how her eyes lit up at the notion! I told her to take off her armor, but leave the clothing. Ditch the weapons. Lay down on the bed.
"Do you like a little bondage?" I asked, still smiling. Poor Becky didn't even think to wonder why this was happening; she just agreed and was ready for whatever was to come. She accepted the ropes binding her to the metal bed. She accepted when I sat my character down atop hers and whispered, "Care for a kiss?"
I wish I could've taken a picture of the exact moment Becky realized her dear Paladin was getting attacked by a vampire. She tried to tell the DM that she was going to break free, but, no, the rolls were not in her favor that day. Poor Becky watched as her Paladin got her blood drained until there was nothing left.
The DM, Tomas, smiled. I could see smiles on the other players' faces as well. My character stood up, unlocked the door, and went downstairs.
"You know what needs to be done," I said to the remaining players. I turned to Becky, who was still in a bit of shock. "I get to keep that character now. You will rise as a vampire spawn after 1d4 days under my control. Oh, and thanks for the Amulet."
I stood up from the table, grabbed Becky's sheet and my own, and, with a nod to the others, took my leave.
Another one to the fold...
|
I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/dnd] [Is it me or does this just sound like a great idea?](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/aiil4d/is_it_me_or_does_this_just_sound_like_a_great_idea/)
- [/r/rpg_brasil] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpg_brasil/comments/ain5cr/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [Doesn‘t really belong heree, but maybe you like it](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/ail8us/doesnt_really_belong_heree_but_maybe_you_like_it/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [So this is a writing prompt they're not real stories but I think this is something we have wished we could do to some of our problem players XD](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/amgzxr/so_this_is_a_writing_prompt_theyre_not_real/)
- [/r/u_beardsonfire] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_BeardsOnFire/comments/aijsdd/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_personusername] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_PersonUsername/comments/aiiiy8/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_soullessgent] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_soullessgent/comments/aij46a/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
| 2019-01-21T20:13:01
| 2019-01-21T19:09:12
| 48
| 16
|
[WP]A nuclear war started on Earth. Your crew and you, from the ISS,watch as the earth is destroyed. You only have supplies for 3 more months.
|
"ISS to Ground Control, Are you reading me... over"
Maggie was close to tears. She had been at the ham radio for hours now. She could hear Dimitri on the main comms, desperately searching for anyone down there, alternating between English and Russian. Nobody ever answered. But it was important. Keeping communications open was the one damn thing keeping the crew together.
Occasionally, one of us would stare out the window at the smouldering planet turning beneath us. Everywhere that could be nuked, had been nuked. Some places, more than once. Moscow and Washington had been leveled several times over. The three gorges dam was vaporised. Nuclear launch sites were either destroyed or completely spent. Where lights once lit cities across the globe, now all that remains is the faint glow of fires that no one will put out.
I don't know why the missiles stopped flying. Maybe they ran out, maybe someone surrendered. Maybe there is no-one left to surrender or to claim victory. We don't know.
The hardest part is looking my crew mates in the eye. None of us wanted this. We've all lost family, friends. The lines between nations aren't supposed to matter when were up here. But they do. We all try to be nice to Pierre, but it can't be easy knowing it was your country that ended to world. He hasn't said a word since the whole thing started. I don't even think he's eaten.
We still have plenty of provisions, enough for 3 months, and we can take the Soyuz capsule back should we need it. But what world would be waiting for us ? Could we even bear to return to an empty planet?
We're staying up here as long as possible. Ordinarily, we'd worry about the radiation exposure from being up here for so long, but it's not like we'll be free of radiation on the ground. We're using this time to find as many groups of survivors as possible, to get an idea of who's left on the planet.
Suddenly, I hear a sound from Maggie. She turned the volume up on her radio so that everyone else could listen. Someone was alive. Dimitri started to cry as we heard the music crackle through the speakers.
"*We're no strangers to love, You know the rules and so do I, A full commitment's what I'm thinking of, You wouldn't get this from any other guy,I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling, Gotta make you understand*....."
|
"Holy mother of..."
We all stared out the cupola at the end of the Earth. Literally. For whatever reason, she started to crack apart at the seams, and slowly, majestically even, started to just fall apart... and sink into itself.
They'd been conducting a new experiment at CERN with the LHC, and although they had sworn over and over that the miniature black hole that would be created would pose no danger, evaporating due to Hawking radiation...
...well, 'they' were apparently wrong.
The Earth slowly, ever so slowly, crumbled and cracked and shrunk. One could see the area of the border of Switzerland and France being the center point of the entire swallowing of the Earth.
We didn't hear anything. We just partook of the scene. We were all sobbing. We three were the only ones left. And after us...
I then had a sudden flash of clarity. 3 months. Yeah. I think not.
I snuck away from the observation post, and went to the Soyuz. I got the shotgun out of it, loaded it. I went back to where the other two were and point blank shot one, then the other, of my comrades.
I closed the cupola off, left them there. I didn't need that room anymore.
Now... it's just me.
9 months. That's better.
What to do... what to do...
---
Edit: it's 'nuclear' in that it's the LHC playing with physics, and 'war'... well, because, ok?
| 2015-10-17T10:21:20
| 2015-10-17T10:06:16
| 100
| 38
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
At first they thought it was a nest of squirrels that had moved into the baker's chimney. The chittering and missing acorns and squirrel-pelt cloaks mislead them.
However, Dara forgot a jug of honeyed cream on the hearthstone one night and that lured them out long enough for everyone to get a look at them. Definitely an infestation of hobgoblins.
Well, it was generally decided that it was best to simply ignore them. Turfing them out into the winter snow seemed cruel anyway and they did keep the vermin like roaches and rats in check, so its not as if they weren't earning their keep.
It became Dara's job to leave out the bowl of cream, sausage & cheese, and bread roll for them to "steal". She'd wrap the food in a clean rag and whole bundle would disappear before morning.
The granaries and barns were never so well guarded from rats.
They really weren't any bother at all. They ate less than a cat but killed ten times the number of mice.
Sure it was creepy at first hearing them chitter and scuttle about in the chimney and in the walls, but the people quickly got over it since they weren't dangerous.
Hobgoblins were a lowland fey. One seldom saw them up in the mountains. Strange they would end up in their mountain Keep. They preferred the rooftops and smokestacks down in the large cities.
Dara wondered if something in the lowlands had driven them from their home like the people of the Keep were driven away by the last war.
Jordy the Trader, when he last visited, said that things were growing unstable due to the unreliable weather.
The lowland shepherds and cowherds and goatherds that drove their flocks and herds up to the summer mountain pastures were very late this year. They should have arrived a month ago wanting to trade their wool and cheese for salt and dried fruit and bags of nuts.
"Did something happen to the cities where the hobgoblins lived?"
Just then there was a shout from the watch tower and Dara watched several guardsmen rush down the road.
She squinted and saw a cloud of dust rising from the pack trail.
"Ah, speak of the devil! It looks as if the flocks have finally arrived!"
Dara was partly right.
It was only one young shepherd, his younger siblings and cousins, and their dozen sheep and dozen goats. A few days later a several young milkmaids driving an ox cart full of hay and leading a some cows and calves. And then an old man and woman came with a string of donkeys packed with bundles and dozen grandchildren. After them trickled in a few peddlers with whatever they could carry on their backs.
The other hundreds of shepherds and shepherdesses wouldn't be coming with their thousands of animals anymore.
The Empire, specifically their Emperor, had decided that the reason the lands were beset with natural disasters was that the people were sinners and the gods were punishing them for living in a way the Emperor, a son of the gods, decided was sinful.
All sorts of people were sinful and needed to be burned at the stake to purify the lands. The sinners did not care for this idea and rebelled which "forced" the emperor to purify whole cities by burning them.
Or, in the case of the nomadic people who made a living migrating season to season, they had their flocks slaughtered to feed the army. Protest was unpatriotic.
Wandering about like that was sinful. Instead they could atone for their sins by working in the Emperor's mines digging and carrying ore needed to make weapons for his army.
So the nomads wouldn't be coming anymore. And it was decided that the young shepherd and his family, the milkmaids, the drover, & the peddlers wouldn't be going back down the mountain either.
It was also highly likely the Emperor would decide that the people of the mountain keep were sinners too if they found out they owned a salt mine.
"Sinners" who had something of value could repent by handing over their belongings and be forgiven.
The villagers prepared to be extorted.
The did not expect that the Emperor himself would come to make an example of them.
Nor did they expect their friend Jordy the Trader to be a spy that would slit the throats of the guards and raise the portcullis and allow the invaders in.
What was *really* unexpected was the high-pitched screech of collective rage from the hobgoblins who swarmed out of the attics, cellars, barns, sheds, and cracks in the walls to absolutely swarm the Emperor and his imperial guardsmen and inquisitors like piranha (not that the villagers knew what those were) and gnaw them to bloody bones.
|
When aid came they realized they had never seen an adult goblin. Every single silly innept and endearing goblin they encounter were all children. Small children at that.
There was one about a decade ago, one of their cute raids, and during the rough play had gotten injured. With a yelp of pain the kind farmer they were raiding quickly went to his aid. His big smile and bushy beard reassured the little gobin and through tears started to smile with the farmer.
"I think this will scar my boy but you will be ok" the farmer said as he tended to the deep cut on his shoulder.
The ten or so years that past the farmer never saw that goblin. But in what seemed like his last moment his mind went to that little goblin as he closed his eyes waiting for the blade he heard a loud crash and some gurgling. He opened his eyes to see a 12 foot tall extremely muscular green figure with his back to the farmer. The gurgling came from the crumpled pile that was his assailant.
As his eyes focus he saw the now adult goblin looking at him over his shoulder. A broad grim peaking over a large scar on his shoulder.
With tears in his eyes the old man returned with his big smile and whispered "thank you my boy". With a quick nod his green savior was off to the melee.
Edit: a word thanks puddlefarmer
| 2022-05-26T20:23:21
| 2022-05-26T17:05:45
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
|
Human v1.1 Patch Notes
* Fixed an issue where eyes can become desynced from the balancing system, causing locomotion problems.
* Corrected a race condition that could cause speech to begin before the thought process for that speech had exited cleanly.
* Fixed a bug in the low level logic engine that caused some versions of the Human to not recognize other versions of Human as valid communication and cooperation targets. This problem was mostly an issue when Humans from different regions were in the same area.
* Corrected a very prevalent problem that would cause one hand to be vastly more dexterous than the other. Due to legacy issues previously manufactured Humans will not benefit from this change, but all new Humans created by Humans with this update installed will.
* Corrected some behavior in the immune system firmware that was causing unreasonable reactions to very minor pathogens, causing damage to the throat, eyes, and sinuses.
* Fixed an issue where the eyes would be delayed in adjusting to light levels, causing pain and short term damage when moving from very dark areas to very bright areas. This issue was most prevalent after waking from sleep.
* Increased the precision of the limb motion and awareness subsystems. This should help avoid toes and knees colliding with objects while walking, and hands and elbow hitting objects while moving the arms.
* Optimized the digestion routines to more accurately determine when enough food had been eaten, this should cut down on the amount of food consumed by about 20%.
* Corrected an issue that was causing sweet beverages to be favored heavily. A much wider variety of beverages should now be equally as appealing.
* Removed unused drivers for the appendix, as the hardware is no longer used in any current production model of Human.
* Increased the timing accuracy on the circulatory system, which should increase the time the heart can be in High Performance mode before the oxygen supply is exhausted and a rest cycle must start.
* Optimized the utilization patterns of the muscles in the upper body of the female variant of Human, which should result in increased upper body strength when apply torque to things such as jars and bottle tops.
* Corrected a volume equalization issue that was causing some female speech to be ignored by the speech processing hardware. This issue mostly affected the male variant of Human, and became most pronounced in models with the marriage subsystem active.
* Added some debugging functions and logging systems to make future versions of the Human firmware easier to test and deploy
Thank you for updating!
|
If you're careful, you can just catch it. Sitting there, in the corner of your field of view. There's a little trick you have to do to focus just right to be able to read the words. "Human Version 1.1 Update: Progress 1%"
No progress bar, at least none that you can reliably reproduce. Maybe the update gets us a progress bar? Or like, some life-time statistics, like in those what if questions that pop up all over the internet. No-one can agree on the font. Of all the things, why focus on the font? There's urban rumours of people offing themselves after apparently deciding they couldn't live with a God that types in Comic Sans.
All the churches are in uproar of course. "End Times", "Second Coming", "Redemption Of Man", "Quick Repent All Your Sins Before Jesus Gets Back". Yadda yadda. The progress has gone up by 0.1% in the last few weeks, and pretty much everyone's freaking out. Riots in North Korea, and Russia, and China, and America, and Europe, and the Middle East, and....
The genius of it, I think, is that the mere knowledge that a better/different state of humanity is coming, is enough to motivate change. People are energized. They want to do things, get stuff done before everything about being human is redefined forever. Most of ISIS has splintered, and over half the resistance have split off into a subgroup dedicated to stopping the remaining half. Down in Columbia they're burning the cocaine plantations. All those riots I mentioned above aren't senseless violence, they're ordinary people trying to enforce a change for the better. For the first time in a long time, people have something that implies a God is
a) up there, and
b) compassionate enough to care, even if only a little.
Just those two ideas are enough, and suddenly the whole world wants to clean up their act. It's damn brilliance, is what it is.
I half expect that the "update" is supposed to be more like a Quest Completion Bar. And as we strive to make the world better, as the corrupt and wicked slowly falter in the face of a metaphysical Big Brother, the progress bar will slowly rise.
It won't be easy, but then no quest ever is.
| 2015-03-04T17:27:53
| 2015-03-04T17:26:24
| 519
| 182
|
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself.
|
What is history?
You probably think of long forgotten battles, golden heroes, and reprehensible villains. You think of wonders and wars, tragedies and miracles. You see history as a concept, an untouchable. Something like a movie that has no connection to reality.
But that is just an infinitely small part of history.
History is what you ate for breakfast yesterday, history is what you were doing an hour ago. History is what you read in the last fraction of a second. Everything up to this exact moment is history. Now this moment. Now this moment. You get the idea.
I used to teach history, see. I used to focus on the big battles, the monuments, the wonders. I considered myself an expert on “history,” but focused on this small part of it. When I first found my ability, I changed these events to suit my wishes.
The Tower of Babel never lasted until the present day. Alexander the Great never conquered India. The Roman Empire actually fell. The world you live in today, the world you hate and spit on, is the result of careful deliberate manipulation by yours truly. You have no idea what it was like to live in the Tower’s shadow, no idea what a world with a modern-day Rome was like.
History is a river see. I can put up a dam, but the water will break through. Tragedies will happen, even I, practically a God, cannot stop them. All I can do is redirect the river, make the damage as little as I can.
I began to be subtler. Rather than force the river to change direction, I offered small, easier paths. Change what shoes Kennedy wore on a certain fateful day. Made sure a guard didn’t became thirsty on duty in the Watergate hotel. Trivial things, history, that changed the course of the world. And these 2 actions, one of the millions I’ve done, have had effects as large as making the Roman Empire fall.
I know what some of you are thinking. I’m a monster, changing history to what I like. You think I should ask your opinion. Maybe you liked Kennedy or Nixon. Maybe you think we would flourish under the Roman Empire. Maybe you would like it if Angels still roamed the world.
Well you know what? I’m done.
I’ve been doing this for years – I used to teach back when we worshiped Zeus in Greece. I’ve tried to save the world, save myself, but I don’t think it’s worth it anymore. Trust me, I’m more qualified than anyone else to say.
And so I say the words that I’ve always known would end it all. A command that cannot be fulfilled. A command that will rip apart the very fabric of time and space. I don't need to go very far back at all, see, only mere moments ago.
“What I just said was wrong.”
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
"9/11 never happened!"
I said that out loud in my class, and things went so silent I could hear a pin drop. I'm a virtuoso, a perfectionist. I'm a master at my craft. I wield my mind like a master swordsman, my historic knowledge knowing no limit. Lately, it has been cause for distress. I've sat up late for many nights on end, reassessing things. Why was I never wrong? Ever? I was never wrong, and it hurt me. So I became obsessed, with the prospect of being wrong, being incorrect for the first time in thirty years. Culminating in this little outburst.
I dismissed class early that day, and called in sick so I could avoid whatever repercussions for my actions. I sounded like one of those deniers, those tinfoil wearing conspiracy theorists. It was weird, it was like a daze. I didn't know whether what I said was even real. Perhaps I was going senile, or crazy, or maybe both.
I went to bed that night, mulling over the jumbled thoughts in my brain. Why wasn't I wrong, why wasn't I wrong, why wasn't I wrong, why, why, why, why, why
I woke up the next day, went to the computer, and typed in the following:
"September 11, 2001 World Trade Center Attacks."
Nothing. I was a denier a denier a denier a denier what has happened to me what what what what I'm breaking it up.
Nothing, no, no.
World War II never happened! World War I never happened!
I frantically search through my archives the records oh what war what conflict? Um. No, none of this happens, I can change history I can undo it all, I am the omnipotent master of all your history that's my purpose my place my place my place what place
I went back to bed in a delirium. This knowledge in my head was fit to make it burst. I needed help, fast.
.......am I insane? Who am I? What am I?
Oh, what a weird fever dream.
Dream, dreams dreams dreams why do I know so damn much
Do you know who killed
Do you know or maybe you know or maybe you know or maybe you know or maybe you
————————————————————
r/bluelizardK
Good night everybody. Thank you for taking the time to read my work, regardless of its obvious inferiority to the above works. It means a lot to me. The more I look at my writing, the worse I feel about it. I suppose that’s just the way it goes :)
| 2018-07-16T10:57:15
| 2018-07-16T10:55:39
| 2,907
| 159
|
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager.
|
When I was a kid I wanted nothing more than to grow up to be a super villain. Villains have always been so much cooler in my mind than heroes. Don’t get me wrong, the job is hard. I spent a lot of time in the hospital as an apprentice thanks to frequent run ins with the hero’s union: The Society of Friends. I’m older and smarter now, and my promotion to A level means that I now have access to henchmen. (If you’re looking for a network in Raven City, the Midnight Sector has the best benefit package hands down) I haven’t really had much to complain about over the last 10 years. Despite the hard work Villiany is still my dream job. I am just sick to death of this annoying old bastard that calls himself “The Falcon”
The Falcon is a new super hero (despite the fact that he is pushing 60). He was a nobody working at Mark’s... I mean, Mayhem’s chemical plant. That was almost a disaster. Thank you pregnancy brain for almost outing my own husband! Anyway, he was dumping a load of something into another thing and he fell in. This SHOULD have killed him. It was a vat of mind control poison. It was meant to be dispensed through misters. It’s incredibly dangerous to your skin if it’s not mixed with water first. But, here we are. Somehow this idiot not only SURVIVED, but he also got super powers. It’s just flight and super strength, but it was a dream come true for somebody that was a nobody his whole life.
He immediately joined up with the Society of Friends and he assigned himself to me.
Yes, he assigned himself.
Technically his villain is Slab; Slab is another old fart. He’s not much of a challenge for the newer class of heroes anymore, so the Arbiters matched them. Unfortunately for me, he spends every second of his free time harassing me. He doesn’t seem to understand that this is not a comic book. This is a job and there are rules that need to be followed. You 1. can only fight your nemesis during work hours, and 2. are not allowed to bother someone else’s nemesis.
I’m Black Ice; I’m The Inquisitor’s nemesis and I am ON MATERNITY LEAVE. I am in the hospital AS WE SPEAK with a pitocin drip on. This numbskull is flying outside of my eighth floor hospital window and it’s causing my baby distress. I have done everything in my power to talk this man into leaving me and my family alone. It’s time to call the Arbiters.
I told him that I’d get him fired if he didn’t stop. What he fails to realize is that termination of your hero contract comes with a lobotomy here. The Arbiters don’t like the possibility of trade secrets getting out.
Oh well... I tried to warn him. 🤷🏽♀️
|
God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!!
| 2019-08-01T19:29:43
| 2019-08-01T18:30:21
| 28
| 11
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
"... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant".
|
Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end.
| 2022-05-16T13:47:51
| 2017-06-11T09:19:40
| 70
| 17
|
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven.
|
"Spoon."
"But.. but why??"
He was perplexed. And rightly so. I mean, a person choosing a small and insignificant wooden spoon over a trillion year long vacation at the heavens was indeed perplexing. But this was not the point.
Over the course of his service, which had lasted for who knows how long, he had indeed seen one or two take up the spoon. But they had deliberated. Over weeks, months even! Thinking and thinking, over the purpose of this seemingly absurd choice. They had asked hundreds.. no thousands of questions to him.
"Is it some sort of trick?" (No.)
"Is this spoon special?" (No. It's just a wooden spoon)
"Are you really sending us to heaven?" (Yes.)
"Is the trillion year on heaven different from earth?" (No.)
On and on they asked. There had to be some catch, they had argued. Why else would hell, of all places, even pose this ridiculous question??
They were so convinced that there was something special about the spoon, in spite of being unable to prove thusly, that they had ended up choosing the spoon. Of course there was nothing special about it at all which they found out later, much to their regret. But at least their choosing of the said spoon made sense. At least they took their time, they argued, they deliberated. But this man?
He didn't even wait for a second.
"Spoon."
"But.. but why??"
"I like collecting spoons."
|
Marcus tucked the spoon behind his ear with a casual confidence. He had no idea if he just fucked himself, day-one, but he knew what soft looked like, and 22 years in the big house teaches one thing. – don’t be soft. Besides, he didn’t think either answer would actually give him what he was expecting.
Sort of like that tricky genie in the bottle shit, where whatever you say gets twisted into a shit sandwich.
The foul smelling, fish faced demon that reminded him of his cunt wife, closed the drawer of spoons and escorted Marcus through a door leading to a long concrete hallway. Almost immediately, Marcus switched the spoon from his ear to his right hand, tightening his fingers around it, while leaving an inch and a half of the wooden handle protruding from the bottom of his fist. As he walked down the hallway, he occasionally brushed the spoon handle along the wall, trying to get a head start on sharpening it. He knew he would be getting a chin check or two in the next few days, and he would be ready to answer brutally.
He even managed a grin, calmed by how familiar the hallway seemed. It reminded him of Pulonsky supermax, where he did the first 10 years of his bit out in Texas. If Hell was anything like prison, he would fit right in.
After maybe 30 paces, Fish face stopped in front of a door and gestured for him to enter. The room was barely more than a booth, with a single stool in the center. Without question or hesitation, Marcus ducked into the room and sat.
As the door closed, a voice wailed and he swirled to see the corpse of his wife, behind a thick glass window.
“The God damned spoon again?” She raged at him. You hate me so much you can’t even pick heaven once?
| 2015-06-07T22:50:03
| 2015-06-07T14:47:18
| 97
| 32
|
[WP] You're trapped in IKEA after closing hours. There is a Killer following you through all the display rooms. You want to leave but can't find a way out because it's IKEA. Title: Chopping Mall
|
##Monster##
A monster stalked behind me, his feet soft and silent on the polished marble. It was almost impossible to see him, even with the obnoxious glare of industrial lights. He was using something to kill us, something nasty and sharp - the pale corpses littered about like broken toys.
Ikea used to be a little piece of magic. Almost living dioramas, housing the strange and wondrous beasts known only to little me as furniture always seemed to intriguing. Now, it was all stained red, carved up like a slab of meat. Blood, sticky, scarlet blood was splashed across the walls, scrawling various horrifying messages. Most threatened madness, but some were more concerning; that is, if gory suicide notes aren’t worrying enough.
Hiding under the cheap wooden table, I struggled to slowly crawl towards the exit doors. The shadows managed to hide me enough, but sooner rather than later I was going to run out of cover. Secondly, the killer could be anywhere, just as lost as I was in the maze of the fucking store.
Shit.
Triple shitflakes with a side serving of shitty.
Then I heard it, whistling so eerily like that of a songbird. It was beautiful in a macabre way, somehow enrapturing and disturbing at the same time. Perverse curiosity filled me. I wanted to find that song. I wanted to find who sung it.
And I wanted to snap their neck. Slice open their guts and let the blood flow out, let the bones break and shatter far, far below on the floor. Let them suffer.
Frozen in placed, poised to run, I hear it, a kind of sound that parodied a laugh in sick way. Fucked up, demented, the mayor of nutville.
I bolted, my pulse a jagged line piercing up and down, spinning faster and faster. I knew that he was behind me, the sound of his footsteps an echo just behind. Or ahead. Or in the shadows. I still didn’t know. God, he was getting to me. Manipulating me.
A cat torturing a mouse until it tore it open with its claws.
Madness. That is the only way I could describe running. It was horrible, like watching someone you love pass away. Like being stuck outside on a rainy day, watching as your sunlight dreams get washed away.
God shit fuck no. It couldn’t end this way.
Swinging behind a particularly tall shelf, the killer sprinted past, yowling like a beaten god. Slinking sideways, I tucked myself back away into the shadows, the shelves becoming a forest within the maze that was this mall, the wood the only solid thing in the world.
Run. Hide. Sigh. Repeat.
Finally, the exit appeared, looming like a giant black gate in the distance. Safe, secure and cloaked in the shadow of night. I’d already broken cover once, the killer obviously pissed in his own fucked up way. If I ran, I could shatter the glass and run through the carpark, alerting him and maybe dying in the process. Meanwhile, I could hide here and wait until help eventually arrived.
One.
Two.
Three.
Again, the world becomes a blur. The ground no longer holds my weight, the panting and giggling booming in my head. My skull feels as if a firework is going off, my body slowly tearing itself to pieces. The knife goes in and out, the grace and speed the killer uses almost erotic, gentle in a morbid sense. Not painful, but cold. So very, very cold.
Twisting, fingers slashed across its edge, I plunge the knife into him, searching those hollow eyes from the exact fucking moment when the monster dies. I want to see his last breath. I want to see him bleed.
He only smiles with that skeletal grimace as my blood pools with his, the knife buried deep within his black heart.
|
I had always hated Ikea.
Leah, was unfortunately infatuated with both their furniture and their meatballs, and the twisting, turning, dead-ending and seemingly never ending maze of furniture and home goods seemed to only stoke her passion for the place.
The things I do for love.
I’m not saying it’s her fault. Obviously that psychotic madman following (or leading?) me was to blame. But, I never would have been caught dead in the Chopping Mall if Leah hadn’t drug me here in the first place.
It was a pretty normal visit, up until she and I got separated from the main store crowd as the announcements that the store would soon be closing began playing over the intercom system. We had somehow turned into a corner of the store that looked distinctly different than the rest. There were signs saying “retreo” hanging here and there, and all of the furniture seemed to have come straight out of the 70’s, along with appropriately kitschy names like, the “Peenk Fleuudenband,” the “Lued Zeppeliner,” and the “Eebone Sebbeth.” Feeling exhausted, I sat down for a minute on the Peenk Fleuudenband, trying to see if it would work as combination couch/guest bed in our gaming room, while Leah forged ahead around the corner, presumably to see if she could find some retro piece of wall art that she would eventually tire of two years from now. I closed my eyes for a few minutes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much time before the next store closing announcement came over the intercom. I got up and began to look for Leah.
I walked in the direction I had last seen her go, around a blind corner adorned with some of the ugliest floor and table lamps I’ve ever seen, only to find a short hallway that ended abruptly in an enclosed kiddie corner with nothing but a few decorative plants to fill the space. Confused, I had turned around and went back in the direction we entered the retro section from, thinking that she must have doubled back and thought not to disturb me. As I retraced our steps from earlier, I couldn’t for the life of me find the pathway through which we had entered the Retreo section. I could have sworn it was right near the Lued Zeppeliner but where I thought the doorway should have been there was just blank wall with some awful cosmic blanket hanging as decoration. I walked along that wall, hoping that I had just misremembered the exact location of the door. More tacky furniture passed by as I traced the exterior of what felt to be a rapidly shrinking enclosure. Couches, end tables, ottomans, and a seemingly never ending supply of everything in between cluttered the periphery of my vision as I focused on following the wall. I followed it around twists, back to the kiddie corner with the fake plants, back past the Peenk Fleuudenband, and eventually, impossibly, back to the awful cosmic blanket hanging next to the Lued Zeppeliner.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
I was trapped.
My heartrate was already elevated out of anger and frustration, but now, it jumped another octave as fear began to wash over me.
Ikea was a heartless company for how they manipulated people during the in-store shopping experience, but however bad they might be, they weren’t in the business of TRAPPING customers.
I pulled out my phone, hoping to call Leah, still unwilling to fully believe that I was actually trapped and not just being an idiot with no sense of direction. The beautiful display of my brand new iphone X stared up at me, blank. It was supposed to turn on just by sensing I was looking at it. It was brand new and had a full charge when we left, but, after playing with all of its buttons and making all manner of faces at it to no avail, I figured it must have somehow lost its charge. It didn’t make sense.
I know I said I was frightened, upset, and frustrated before, but I don’t think I can accurately describe the panic that began rising within me after I realized my only connection to the outside world was lost. The intercom played again, saying that the store was now closing, and that everyone should take their purchases and make their way to the cashiers now.
I started retracing the wall, hoping, praying, that I had missed a gap somewhere during my initial traverse that would lead me to freedom. The scene played out much as it did before. Me, paying barely any attention to the furniture around me as I searched desperately for a way out of this godawful prison. I must have retraced the wall four or five more times before I definitely, conclusively decided that I was trapped.
I yelled. I should preface this by saying that I’m not a loud person. I don’t like to be a burden on others and I like drawing attention to myself even less, especially when it might result in someone casually strolling around the corner only to ask, “What the fuck are you yelling for?” but in this situation, convinced I was trapped and would not be able to get out alone? I yelled and I screamed as loud as I could for anyone that might hear me.
Yelling didn’t help. I pulled out my phone again, hoping it would have somehow come back to life. That big beautiful screen just stared back at me, lifeless.
I sat back down on some couch I didn’t bother looking at the name of and tried to think. Tried to think of how this could have happened, tried to remember definitively how and where we came into this section. I could have SWORN it was right next to the Leud Zeppeliner, right where that shitty cosmic decorative blanket was hanging. Now that I thought it over, I was absolutely certain it was EXACTLY where that shitty blanket was hanging.
I got up, determined to find my way out. I walked over and ripped the hanging down…doing so was the first thing that had made me smile since I sat down to rest what must have been almost an hour ago at this point.
I looked at the wall closely. The blue paint looked like normal, blue wall paint. It was totally unremarkable. I continued looking…and then…there. Parallel lines, up and down the wall that looked just a bit fresher than the rest of the surface. There were stains and dirt and grime, not enough to be casually noticeable, but enough to see when your face was a foot away from the wall, that covered the rest of the area, but those two lines almost exactly a doors width apart, looked clean. I felt one of the lines. My finger came back with just the slightest amount of blue paint on it.
I knocked on the wall. It felt pretty solid, definitely not like a typical piece of sheetrock covering properly placed studs. I knocked around outside of the fresh lines, and there, the wall returned to the normal hollow sound one would expect. I thought about it for only a few moments before I grabbed one of the small end tables nearby, and put its foot through the wall next to where I was now certain a heavy door must have been placed since Leah and I walked into this section.
I opened a hole, tore out the insulation, and punched through the sheetrock on the other side and looked through.
Relief flooded through me as I saw the main section of the store, with all of its svelte Swedish designed modern furniture. I continued hacking away with the table until I had opened a space between the studs large enough to shimmy through.
I emerged into the main living room section, dusty, coughing, and looking utterly disheveled, but I was free.
Or so I thought…
------------------------------------------
Hate to leave it half finished but gotta run to work. Will finish it up over lunch time if there's interest!
| 2017-09-14T13:29:42
| 2017-09-14T02:02:41
| 43
| 18
|
[WP] Time slows down every time you are in danger. The more serious the danger is, the more time you have to save yourself. During one terrible car accident, you had almost a minute to react. And now, time has almost completely stopped for a whole month, and you don’t know why.
|
I don't remember the first time time stopped for me, but it was most likely when I was born.
My parents told me when I was about 10 that I'd had an umbilical cord wrapped around my neck for about a week before I was born. Without them knowing about my power they probably thought it was nothing, but to me that week must have lasted years. I only say this because I had the mental capacity at 3 as what a 5 year old would have. My parent thought I was the smartest kid ever.
A prodigy. A blessing. They had such High expectations of me. Unfortunately I only had average intelligence, but apparently the average 5 year old is still a lot smarter than a 3 year old, a 12 year old smarter than a 10 year old, etc. etc. I didn't think much on it and accepted that that was just a part of life.
When I was 10 my parents had decided to drive me to a new boarding school for smart kids. I thought it was a bit much, but they were ecstatic. They'd bought me new clothes and had tried to look up how boarding school kids should act. They didn't want me to feel like an outcast so they had me study hard at home and read up on boarding school culture. It was a bit boring, but it made them happy. I liked making my parents happy. If they were happy I was happy.
It was on that car trip that I had to accept that there were times I couldn't make my parents happy. There were times where I had to watch them cry. Where I had to see the fear in their eyes.
Where I had to watch them die.
Where I had to watch for a full minute as they experienced death come at them at 89 miles per hour from the opposite lane. A bottle of Vodka at his side and his pedal to the metal as his F-150 plowed onward, and all I could do was watch. I'd tried to futilely pull my parents from the car, but I wasn't strong enough. I tried to get into the F-150, but the doors were locked.
All I could do was stand there and stare.
Time never stops fully in these situations. I could have stood there for years and just watched my parents last moments as that F-150 creeped ever closer, but after years of having this power I'd always thought about situations like this.
If we were to all be in a deadly accident what would I do? How many people could I save? Would I be like superman? I'd never thought that thinking ahead could end up being so morbid and pointless, but there was always one thing I agreed on. I wouldn't drag it out. I'd let it happen.
And so I did. I stepped back to where my power decided there wouldn't be any threat and watched as that F-150 hit at full speed. The painful grinding of metal. The screaming of my parents before suddenly being cut off with the smashing of glass and a sickening squelching sound I'll never forget. The laughter of the guy in the truck as he drove over my beloved family car like a monster truck. Watching as he continued to drive on without a scratch. The smell of the oil and gas beginning to burn as the car quickly became a funeral Pyre.
When the police arrived I told them what happened sans the time stop part. I told them I'd been flung from the car. I told them what the guy looked like, his plates, his car make. I'd memorized everything about the guy so that they could catch him and he could see justice.
Except he never did.
He rammed into a telephone pole farther down the road and died that same night.
After that I just felt empty. I went through years of foster care and adoptions. The parents were so happy to get themselves a smart kid they could be proud of, just to put me back into the system when I wasn't the happy, social butterfly other kids had been. When I thought I could share my feelings about my parents deaths they told foster care they were "uncomfortable" and "Didn't want someone with demons around their children".
After I turned 18, I left that life behind when I got into a good college. I went to the school therapist and he helped me though everything he could. my parents deaths. My trust issues. My emptiness. After I got my degree in accounting, I moved to a big city. Lived close to work to avoid cars (I'd developed a strong fear of cars. Therapy can't cure everything apparently).
And One day I met a cute girl. A girl that wanted to make me as happy as I wanted to make her. The kind of girl who got annoyed when I kept showing her cat videos because I knew she'd keep saying "Awe, they're so cute" regardless of how many I showed her. She was the love of my life. When I told her about my parents she held me and told me she was honored to hold the memory of my parents with her, and that as long as I remembered them she would too.
After the birth of our first child I told her about my powers. When I told her, all she said was "Oh. That's Neat. Can you warm up Jennies bottle though, she's getting hungry" and then she giggled the way she does when she knows she's being cheeky, but I'd never been happier to hear that giggle. Never been happier to not hear people say "Prove it" or "So I can shoot you and you won't die?" or just look at me like I'm crazy.
Her trust in me was worth a warm bottle of milk, and for the first time in a long time I felt loved. When I fed our daughter that night she watched daddy cry tears of joy. Probably weird for a 9 month old to see their dad cry, but I didn't care. That night was precious to me.
It was that night that came to mind when time stopped at Jennies' High School Graduation...
|
People call it a miracle. You hear about crashes every week on that highway, but nobody ever survives. I was running late to work, so I brought my coffee with me on the ride there. I went to take a sip when time slowed down.
Not even a second had gone by before someone laid down the horn. I was startled, and shook a little. My coffee started to spill. About five inches from my lap, time almost entirely stopped. I twisted out of the way and avoided it.
I thought that was it, but time didn’t resume as normal. In fact, it got even slower. That’s when I looked up and saw a Jeep barreling towards me. I threw myself out of the car and hit the ground just as they collided.
My little Nash-Rambler didn’t stand a chance against this Grand Cherokee. Time went back to normal. My car was totaled. Luckily, nobody died. I had some pretty bad scrapes and cuts, while the man driving the Jeep had a dislocated shoulder and a few broken bones.
A few weeks later, my girlfriend took me to the Ford dealership a few miles away, and a little while later, we were sitting in the drive of my truck. All was well, or so we thought. I began to feel a weird sensation throughout my entire body. Then, time slowed down again. Almost entirely stopped. I grabbed my girlfriend’s hand and pulled her out of the car.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving our lives.”
We ran into the house, but time still wouldn’t continue on as normal. I tried to keep us safe, but no matter what I did, I could still clearly notice the flap of a mockingbird’s wing. The rotation of a car’s tires. The lyrics to an Eminem song. The blink of an eye.
I lived like this for almost a month, though it felt much longer. Every second felt like a minute. Then, I realized why this was happening. I looked out the window and the sun seemed to be a bit closer. I felt a sickening feeling in my stomach.
“Honey, come here!”
“What’s up?”
“Does the sun seem closer than usual to you?”
I didn’t give her time to reply. I told her to get in the car. Luckily, we didn’t live too far from a NASA building. As we got closer, time seemed to speed up. By the time we walked up to a worker, it was normal.
“We need to get off this planet.”
“What?”
“Something bad is happening.”
“Sorry, but we can’t just let anyone into a spacecraft.”
“Well, we won’t tell your boss.”
I flashed my gun and grabbed my girlfriend’s hand and we ran past her. Luckily, I had decades of experience with karate and was a sixth degree black belt. I easily fought off the staff, my girlfriend in tow.
“There it is!”
We ran to the spacecraft and locked ourselves inside. As I looked at all the controls, time began slowing down again. After about ten minutes, I ran outside and got someone to help us.
“Turn this thing on!”
“Okay, okay! Please don’t kill me!”
He got it on and we took off. Luckily, we made it off the planet just before the sun crashed into it. We all lived happily ever after, right? Well, we would have, but we had no place to stay. We died after 14 days of floating aimlessly.
__________________________________________
Don’t question the first person POV from someone who’s dead, please. Hope you enjoyed!
| 2019-09-27T21:12:50
| 2019-09-27T16:29:13
| 370
| 22
|
[WP]All sexual attraction around the world has suddenly stopped.
|
"God fucking damnit, what do you mean they all tanked?" The offices of Crumbit and Freegle shook with the noise emanating from the board room. "We ran one hundred and thirty six online campaigns over the weekend and you are telling me that all of them did ***fuck all*** business?"
Around the table the sixteen account managers avoided each other's gaze, all had been secretly incredibly relieved when they heard that the others had also had the worst weekend on record.
"Erm, actually I had one that did okay?" The voice was from Lindy Farland, she was one of the newest and most junior account managers and only really had two accounts to speak of, a soap company and an organic biscuit company.
"Well don't fucking sit there with your thumb up your ass, what was the campaign?" James Arnold Newton, head of the New Ad Agency was not known for his patience.
Lindy quickly took control of the main screen and brought up a small advert on Facebook - it showed biscuits baking, slowly browning in an oven and the copy below mainly described their taste and health properties. It had reached just over ten thousand people and gained 52 likes and eight shares.
"That's it? That's fucking all?" James Newton's face went from red to purple. "***52*** fucking likes is the sum total of a spend of nearly twenty thousand pounds?"
"James calm down, there must be some mistake." Freddy Burns was the top ad guy and had been for nearly a year. Let's take a look. He pulled up their largest account, a huge chain of supermarkets. Their advert was prominent at the top of the feed - a young lady in her bra bending over with a finger in a 'whoops' position on her lips.
"Well that's what's wrong, she's just not sexy!" James spluttered. She was thin, attractive, big breasted but he was right, she did it for no one in the room.
They scanned through the other ads, all seemed fine but on each they realised that the girls they had used just weren't cutting it. All were fine but none *excited* anything.
At last James stopped them. "This is fucking hopeless - pull up the model books." Freddy pulled the e-books onto the screen and they started to skip through. "I don't know what's wrong with all these girls, they just seem... nothing."
the anger had gone from James now, he was deflated, confused. Freddy spoke next "Ladies and gents, we have one hour until Ultimo bras arrives in the office and we have to pitch a new campaign. What are we going to pitch?"
Silence bounced round the room. Finally a small voice pipped up "We could pitch on comfort?" All eyes turned to Lindy again.
"Go on." James growled softly.
"Well, if none of the girls is doing it for us then why not emphasise that they are nice bras to wear instead of just replying on models?"
Around the room the account managers seemed to mull it over and looked to the hed of the table. James sat, head pushed against his fingers.
"That's... that's... fucking *brilliant*. We're moving on comfort, get design in here, we're going to have to try to sell this product on its merits!"
|
I remember that morning well. Stretching, and rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I rolled to face the most beautiful woman in my world. The same thing I had done for the past 5 years since we wed.
But something was off. Where there used to be awe, and lust and a swelling libido for this woman I had worked so hard to get, there was a void. She just seemed so plain. And where I would normally wake her with a kiss, there was almost a repulsion in a way.
I sat and stared silently. Where were the feelings that I had for her yesterday, and all the years before?
I ran my hand along her face, through her hair....
Nothing
She stirred, opened her eyes and stared as blankly at me as I was her
The feelings of our love weren't gone, just the carnal desire and fire we had. We barely spoke due to confusion that morning as we began to get ready for the day
I watched her shower as I brushed my teeth. What would normally be an instant turn on was boring, and the strokes of my toothbrush were more stimulating.
I decided to try and make it happen, waiting till she got out of the shower and toweled off to pounce on her as I had many times before. Just to see if it was an off morning.
Nothing. Not even a slight tingle. We both let out a sigh and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.
That's when I heard the news
"Reports from across the U.S. And the world are pouring in! Sexual attraction is no longer present in human beings. Scientists are trying....."
I stopped in my tracks. It wasn't just us. It was everyone. Everyone woke up this morning with the same lack of feeling.
Then the tidal wave of emotion hit me. The child we were trying so hard to conceive, the life we were planning ahead of us. All gone.
Then it really hit me.
*this is the end of the human race as we know it*
| 2014-10-16T06:17:34
| 2014-10-16T05:25:51
| 55
| 19
|
[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder.
|
Trent had to admit it was a shame that such desperate pleas
fell on deaf ears. But regardless, he had to go through with the murder of Ms.
Winthrow. The inheritance was too great, and her death too far away.
Trent was eventually caught and promptly tested. For how the
corpse was found his blood should’ve been darker than the heaviest of winters.
But as they cut a small incision of his arm, out popped blood whiter than snow.
Even Trent was trying to hold back his surprise. They were nearly positive he
was the culprit, but the test proved otherwise. The blood has never lied, why
would it now?
Destruction and misery just seemed to follow Trent whenever
he went after such an revelation. They tried and tried again to convict him,
but it was just the same result. Test, clear, released.
Eventually however, Trent got a little too over his head. He
made some drug deal he really couldn’t keep up with, and let’s just say a lot
mobsters were a bit miffed.
Despite Trent doing his best to avoid capture, he would soon
find himself tied up in an abandoned warehouse. His cries were almost as pained
as Mr. Winthrow, but sadly mercy was no longer an option.
In the next hour, Trent was no more.
The mobsters looked around the body, proud of their work. As
in tradition, they all shared a couple droplets of Trent’s blood in sort of a
twisted remembrance of their victim.
As a few weeks later, they were apprehended for an unrelated
crime. That same test was completed but were never found guilty.
Their blood too, was crystal clear.
/r/StoryStar
|
Charles whistled as he looked through the stolen wallet in his hand. The number of cards this person had plus cash was staggering. The idiot even had his pin number scratched into the front of the card. It would not take long to safely empty out this person's life savings. Cautiously, Charles took a small knife and slashed along his arm lightly. Clear white liquid oozed from it, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief before he carefully left the scratch alone.
A few hours later in the safety of his home, he pressed on the scratch again. Again, clear white blood.
He smirked as he began to contemplate his good fortune. He began pushing the limits more and more. He broke into a mansion and made off with family jewelry and saw his blood still that same reassuring clear white. He broke into a gamer's house and made off with their computers, monitors, the works. Later he checked his blood again and grinned.
It was not long before he began to make a name for himself. Committing crimes people wanted for the highest bidder. And his blood always kept him in the clear, literally. It was not long before the FBI showed up on his front doorstep. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "What is this?" he scowled.
"There was an attack at an investment firm earlier today. The cameras caught your face. We're here to take you in."
"I'm innocent," he said with a sneer as he pulled up his long sleeve, revealing his arm. He sliced into it easily, causing the agents to gasp at the result.
They left shortly after. Blood was the ultimate truth of the world after all. No one could be convicted of anything if their blood was that clear white. Charles always would keep a careful eye on his body though. He let the scratches heal and every crime he checked his arm. He would never want to be a victim of the blood law of the world after nearly being caught *again*.
| 2018-04-30T10:48:35
| 2018-04-30T10:13:30
| 231
| 78
|
[WP] Governments all over the world cease every space program. Ten years later, a rebellious group is about to launch into space and they finds out why space programs ceased.
|
"3......2.......1......we have a liftoff repeat we have a liftoff"
That's what they used to say, some guy at Houston or whatever would say it every damn launch. It always seemed a bit weird to me, not sure why, but then again the whole concept of space travel is pretty weird. Weird and cool, that's why I decided to start it again. I wasn't exactly qualified for the job of leading SR20, space rebels 2020, but if reality had been how we thought it was then everything probably would have worked. Of course that's not what happened at all, that would be nice.
So, I got together a crew of some of the brightest people I knew, we toiled for months to build a ship and plan our mission. It was difficult keeping the whole thing under wraps, but somehow we at least got that far. Then it was liftoff day. I decided to go in tradition of NASA and say the great words.
"... 2.....1....liftoff we have a liftoff "
As if that immediately meant success. I guess you could say we were successful, we found what was out there, but now I think we really should have stayed home. As soon as we left the atmosphere, we felt a feeling of pride and success.
Skip forward several months, we made it about half way to Mars. It would've been considered an amazing accomplishment even for NASA, let alone a group of rebels, to send a manned craft this far. Nobody had ever done this before. This is when things began to get weird.
We saw something weirdly familiar, and in the complete wrong place. We actually had noticed it in the months prior but ignored it knowing we would discover the explanation later. We did, but we didn't expect it to shatter everything we knew. As we moved through space, the stars seemed to move more than they should and on a seemingly flat plane. As we moved further on our journey we could see more details until it was absolutely undeniable. We were looking at pixels.
All of the sky, a bunch of pixels... A massive screen. So it became clear now we were made and monitored by something else, but why in this way?
It seemed the only solution was to break through. In case of government intervention, we equipped the ship with some weaponry which came in handy here.
The ship began to decelerate getting closer to the screen, until it was completely stopped. We fired, and a hole was created. We flew through, beyond the screen was what appeared to be a massive alien. The ship took a look back, on the screen a video game was visible.
"Human Space Program Beta .91"
I shit my pants, we're like kerbals.
|
(Part 1)
Everything had worked out so far. Six and a half years of planning, hiding, in secret, risking arrest (or worse) every time we made that long drive through the dust to town to pick up a new package or a new recruit.
At first, it was only Leanne and I - both enthusiasts, educated, but never eligible for any private or government program - her because of her eyesight and me because of my limp. A direct result of my parent's selfish and misinformed behavior (they had no regard for vaccines or modern medicine), an easily prevent infection instead nearly killed me. Ironically, it probably made me who I am today - I rebelled and studied science, astronomy, physics, went to school and got my Ph.D.
After the space programs shut down, with no warning or reasoning (most people bought that budget cuts, financial reasons were to blame), we didn't know what to think. It had always been our dream to be tourists one day, to fly above the earth, to float effortlessly, plunging towards the earth and yet pulling away at the same time. So we decided that we would take it upon ourselves.
It wasn't easy, of course, but the technology was there. 3D printing made working in private a lot easier, and what parts we did need to outsource we managed to order under the guise of other projects - greenhouses, amateur rocketry, battery research. That was how we met Philip, or Rusty as he preferred to be called. At first we were weary to trust anyone else, but over time his help became invaluable. Assembling parts, testing, and of course, the major skill we lacked - actually piloting the damn thing.
Now we were finally there, Day 0, launch day, and I was terrified. I looked over at Leanne, the reflection of my helmet (customized diving gear - tested in our make shift vacuum chamber, but now seeming about as sturdy as a fish bowl).
"Are we really doing this?" I asked out of no where, doubt suddenly filling my mind.
"We're ready, Tom," she said cooly, eyes still locked on the instrument panel. "We've been ready."
"Main engine check complete, all systems are powered and test okay." Rusty intoned, his voice unwavering. "We got this, Tom - we're going to bring this back for everyone."
I knew there was no turning back once we were underway, everything would be revealed - the launch would be plain as day to anyone with 300 miles, and would no doubt set off every government radar and seismograph on the eastern seaboard. We'd talked about it before, of course - the real reasons that all the programs had been shutdown, even the Chinese, who were in the process of racing us to Mars. But there was only one way to know for sure, only one way to find out.
"Main thruster sequence is initiated. Docking clamps released. Primary ignition sequence in 10..." Rusty rattled off the numbers matter of fact, as if he'd done it a thousand times before, and not just in simulations.
Slowly the enormous rumble rising up from beneath us penetrated the cabin, shaking everything and blurring my vision for a moment. I shook my head; this is it, I thought, everything you've been working for.
"7..."
Rusty was all business, hands on the controls, focused and steady. Leanne looked back and forth at me but kept her eyes on the gauges, reading fuel, electrical status; everything was working exactly as designed. I had the least to do, primarily being tasked with orbital calculations, trajectories, everything now entered into the computer and locked in, calculated on the fly faster than any human mind could adjust.
"4... 3... "
Suddenly everything began to shake a thousand times harder than before and I felt an enormous force pressing me into my seat.
"1.... liftoff..."
I was suddenly aware of the wide blue sky as we left the underground silo and accelerated upwards. Within seconds we were above the wide desert. Everything was a blur, but looking to the edge of the capsule I was sure I could see a cloud of dust in the distance, streaking through the desert, pale beige trucks racing through the dirt towards the launch site. My panic started to rise again - what if they sent jets, missiles, anti-ICBM laser defenses, blew us out of the sky?
Before I could panic, the desert was fading, and I could see the outline of the country, the whole continent, starting to form beneath us. My panic dropped away and was replaced by awe - the sight I never thought I would live to see. I swallowed and managed to find my voice, trying to keep it as steady as Rusty.
"This is it... " I whispered, before speaking up, "orbital trajectory looks good, we are on target to enter low earth orbit in T minus 18 minutes."
"Still a long way to go." Leanne smiled for the first time as we started to take in the reality of what was happening. The first human beings to leave the surface of the planet for almost a decade; it was no trip to Mars or even the Moon, but it was a start, and proof that it could be done, governments be damned. We settled back, the rest of the trip was essentially on auto pilot - a full orbit around the earth, for everyone to see, then a rapid reentry and a splashdown, hopefully somewhere in the southern hemisphere, where we had friends waiting to retrieve us. After that, we'd have to go into hiding, of course; the capsule would be sunk and the launch site was already in ashes below us, this was a one time trip - but maybe, just maybe, we'd pave the way for others like us, show people that--
Suddenly an alarm started to blare, a klaxon sound that I couldn't recall ever hearing before. I looked over at Leanne and then turned to Rusty, who's usual calm demeanor had changed to a mixture of confusion and - anger? I scanned across all the instruments, trying to make sense of what was happening. Everything read out okay - fuel mixture, acceleration, altitude, all systems looked green. Leanne spoke first.
"Rusty, what the hell is that thing?"
| 2014-12-28T08:45:41
| 2014-12-28T07:45:33
| 323
| 15
|
[WP] The exorcist prayed and prayed, begging the demon to leave the childs body and return to the depths of hell. But he knew something was wrong when a distorted voice shouted out "He won't let me leave!"
|
"He won't let me leave!" The unnaturally deep and harsh voice of the demon issued from the child's mouth, and the priest's eyes widened in confusion.
"He won't let you leave?" The priest repeated.
"No!" It was the child this time who shouted, seemingly on control again. "Don't send him away, please!"
"Billy, you have to let go of this demon!" The priest shouted.
"No! If you send him back he'll go back to hell!"
"Exactly, Billy! He's an evil entity, not meant for our world."
"Hell is a bad place! He told me about it! So, I won't let him go back!" Billy was sweating an abnormally absurd amount, as if discharging all of the water he had at once.
A possession tended to do that.
"Billy, it is a demon! It needs to go back to hell! It's where it belongs!"
But Billy was not having it. Even as the priest saw, the child was fighting against the demon for control of the body. And somehow, the child's will was stronger. The stubbornness and sheer force of will that children possessed was not something the demon was accustomed to.
"No! His name is Rucheim and he cannot go back! They will take his skin off!"
The priest could only stare at this child trying to protect this demon.
"He has to go back, Billy. It doesn't belong here." the priest repeated.
"God, you're a useless priest!" The deep, guttural voice was back. The demon was back in control.
"Leave the boy!"
"YOU THINK I WANT TO BE IN THIS SHELL ANY LONGER?"
"Let me speak to Billy." The priest was suddenly struck with an idea. A bad one. One of deceit and lies, but it might just work.
"Rucheim can sleep under my bed. I'll hide him if the other demons come for him." Billy tried to reason.
"No, Billy. Rucheim was only having fun with you. Hell is not a bad place! He only said that to scare you. You have to let him go. He misses his family down there." The priest explained.
He could see Billy's mind working at this new development, and there seemed to be a mental conversation he was having with the demon.
"Ok. Fine. Rucheim says that's true. I'll let him leave. But on the condition that he comes back once every month so I can check on him. Make sure he doesn't get bullied by the other demons." Billy said, crossing his arms.
"Deal." The harsh, guttural voice accepted this condition impatiently, and suddenly Billy fell to the floor, drained.
The demon was gone, and the priest was shaking his head at the absurdity of why had transpired.
He slowly helped Billy to his feet.
"Rucheim isn't evil." He said, and the priest nodded. The innocence in Billy was... startling. He somehow made a deal with a demon and somehow, the demon got the worse end of it.
|
So many exorcisms.....Patt was getting older and older and the demons were getting any wiser, see Patt had a reputation amongst his peers and clients, from a young age he knew demons were real while nobody else believed him, so on that note when the rapture happened, only when he was a small lad did he help recover and build, he stood against the dark forces and demons right on the helm of it all.
But, again they didn’t get any wiser it’s been twenty or so odd years since the fall and rebuilding of society, it’s impressive just how quick they rebuilt but Patt knew god was helping the survivors along the way. What Patt knew god didn’t intend was for the rapture to stay open know all kinds of demons come from there but they only seem to come when a certain amount on earth have been destroyed, Patt assumes this was just a “not enough space” rule or law that demon kind had to follow.
Walking back home in the blood rain from the sky’s rapture Patt could only thank god that it wasn’t the fore embers falling from above, or the body parts of demons, that wouldn’t be good at all...but as they walk past a building this one the outside permanently marked with red streaks and burnt at the edges of the building and windows, he heard faint crying, that of a child.
Now Patt knows better than anyone as the leader of his pocket of society right now, do NOT trust the crying children. Patt KNOWS better....but the crying felt and sounded so much like a normal boy so with that he told his group to keep heading back as they weren’t far he would catch up, said he thought he heard some survivors. They always listened to Patt no matter what he said and it frightened him sometimes but he is glad they didn’t follow for what was about to happen scared him more than any demon.
“Hello Patrick, we’ve been waiting for you” a voice echoed throughout the building, reverberating down the stair case he made his way up. Patt did not answer, he was wrong it was a demon but something about it was so off? This was not normal, it did not feel safe here. But he kept climbing, the world around him was blackening and he didn’t even noticed, the world simply was disappearing but he held onto railing that was no longer there walked down a hallway of black emptiness in a hypnotic trance until he reached the room. The room from which whispering and vocalisation ceased, no demonic screeches in the distance or sounds of demonic gang fighting.
“Patrick” it was one word. Slow, drawn out to lengthen the word like a stereotypical creepy child would do in an old horror movie but this was so much more terrifying then he though it would be in real life.
“We’re so glad you came we even brought you an offering!” The voice wasn’t echoed around him in the cast nothing it was in his mind, Patt though he had been losses but he wasn’t sure anymore. Then come the child out of the very nothing he stood on, the child had risen from it like it was thick black Ooze.
“HeLp Me PlEaSe he WonT leT Me LeAVe” the voice was demonic in nature, but it wailed Luke a newborn crying for any help and comfort it could find in a new scary world.
“We have brought forth a gift, you can exorcise the demon and return it to hell....or you can exorcise the demon into me” Patt was confused what that even meant the situation this thing was implying was down right ridiculous, exorcise the demon into.....wait what even is this thing Patt was talking to.
As the dawn of realisation hit him he panicked, he panicked hard.
“Patrick CALM DOWN” a booming voice that spoke into his mind tearing it apart feeling like if he didn’t obey a mouth with 1000 teeth and a jaw of death would eat him and crunch his bone, snap them with the sharp teeth.
“I am here to just collect the beings for my family, I must show that sleeping fool’s court the newest most frightening breed of child I have, in return I will use all my power to steer my brothers, sisters and what not away from this pace.” Patt finally understood what was happening, the being which he now realised was the Black Ooze nothingness around him wanted Patt to exorcise the demon into it so he could corrupt it into...whatever it wanted presumably. and to use it’s power to make sure others like it leave this place alone was a good offer, they were already rebuilding and learning and adapting to having demons around. Patt did something he never thought he would do.
“You have yourself a deal.” Before another word was spoken Patt shouted to the heavens asking god for forgiving him and then shouted divine words from the language of angels, he doesn’t think even god knew that he spoke some minor words but it was all or nothing now, Patt knew what this thing was and happily would deal with it do make others of it not approach this place.
And so as the boy no longer pissed by demon or Eldritch being fell into his arms and the nothing Ooze slowly peeled away for the room to show he left the building and made it home he put the child down at the front gate looked up toward the guards pointing makeshift guns at him along with their holy symbols and he then looked to heaven and he saw god, and God was in the shape of an amorphous thick black Ooze of nothingness.
| 2021-12-28T11:20:56
| 2021-12-28T09:18:12
| 23
| 17
|
[WP] A master thief sends a letter to the castle. "I am coming to take your most valued treasure. Stop me if you can." On the promised date the castle guards it's most valuable pieces in a vault and the thief never shows. A short time later it is discovered that what was stolen was not in the vault.
|
The greatest of gentlemen thieves always employ the most theatric of calling cards. The thrill of announcing it was almost as high as walking out with the very thing these fools held dear to them. Ambiguity in wording was key. "As the cock crows on the morn of tomorrow, your most valued treasure shall be mine to borrow."
What would Sir Boopin take from his Majesty?
A round table was held with all the wisest of men deliberating. They would lock all valuables in the vault, post guards on every quarter. Every guard screened and verified, their families held hostage should a betrayal occur. But what if Boopin found some way inside? Well we'd lock the dungeon troll inside the main chamber! What of the King, the royal family, servants and us? A second safe room inside the vault and we shall all stay awake till morning.
Nothing would be left outside the vault. Every possible valuable, even the royal kitten, would be locked away inside, protected by an army and mad troll. No possibility, no chance was left for Boopin. This time, the great master thief Sir Boopin must admit defeat!
And so the night came with every man, woman, child and animal at full alert. The hours felt like days and no one could get any rest. And so the night passed. As the cock crowed, the King sighed with relief. The guards entered the vault proclaiming his greatness and the foolishness of the lowly master thief. The celebrations would be grand. One of the guards walked up to the king and whispered into his ear. "Sir Boopin has taken your peace of mind, but for one night. Remember this always, should you meddle in my affairs." The king stared with wide eyes as the guard booped him on the nose and disappeared among the celebrations.
|
The kings castle was on lockdown, none were allowed in without a guard escort. Even then there were none allowed in without permission given by the king.
The princess was a fair skinned young woman, emerald green eyes and blazing red hair. Mere days from turning eighteen and she would be married to a noble she had no love for by her father’s orders on that day. She dreamed of fleeing but knew the punishment would be severe. Her hands still bore the scars of her last attempt.
The night came, the guards were on high alert, no one entered and only the handmaiden of the princess left to perform her duties at the chapel. Morning came and it seemed that nothing was stolen until the handmaiden was found bound and gagged in the princess’s bed. A not was left on the table addressed to the king.
“I’ve stolen enough riches to establish my own kingdom but I’ve lacked one thing only. You have my gratitude for providing me my queen. Yours truly, The King of Thieves”
The king could not hold his anger, he sent his best men to scour the country side and bring the thief’s head back to him along with his daughter. For six days and six nights they searched in vain, finding only yet another note inviting the king to their wedding. The king and his most trusted guard left to halt the wedding. As they arrived at the newly founded nation of Theves the king presented his invitation only to be arrested and his loyal guard to betray him.
He sat in shackles for hours until a familiar young woman came to him. “You look angry, father” the girl said in a mocking tone “How will you ever give me away to my new husband to be like that?” His anger grew “How dare you speak to me in such a tone! Unshackle me at once before I have you beheaded like your whore mother!” A sharp stinging sensation spread across his face, his daughter now seething with anger “Guards” she bellowed “take him to the chapel.”
The king was escorted to the church, still in chains, his hatred emanating from every pore. As the doors opened his eyes grew in terror and shock. There stood his daughter in a beautiful gown and a very familiar man.
The guard captain had been found dead several days prior to the king receiving that first note and yet, here he stood, alive and well. “You look shocked, your majesty” the man stated “Could it be because of my presumed death? Or perhaps you were expecting someone a little less Nobel?” The kings mouth hung open as the thief continued “I fulfilled my promise, didn’t I? To steal your most valued treasure.”
| 2022-09-08T00:55:20
| 2022-09-07T23:48:50
| 227
| 133
|
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
|
The temporal particles faded from sight with a roar of burning spacetime. The silence left behind seeming to sing with a high pure note, tinged with the birdsong of 1940. There in front of me, about 50 yards down the hill was my target. Hitler. The Fuhrer. Head of the nazi party and leader of the German government. He lay in the sunshine, face down on a carved stone bed, modesty only protected by the small white towel wrapped around his hips. The spa was empty, the only way in from below and the guards standing too far away to hear. A soft hum announced the small lift's arrival, the Fuhrer not looking up as the masseuse crossed around behind him started to run his back. The masseuse was a tall Germanic man, his blond hair similar to mine, his features rougher and less attractive though. He finished rubbing the Fuhrer's body and turned to wash the scented oil off of his hands. I hastened my journey down the cliff face, quickly arriving behind the masseuse and plunging the needle into his neck. Quickly stowing his body under the small rock shelf I turned and continued to massage the evil man in front of me, waiting for the right time to strike.
He turned his head, looking me in the eye. I froze, expecting a shout, shots ringing out, pain, but none of this came. The Fuhrer turned face up on the bed, guiding my hand to his erect penis. I was conflicted, I wanted to kill him in the manner that I had set out, but I did not want to draw this out any longer than I had to. I started to reciprocate, watching the pleasure grow on his face. This was not what I wanted at all. I tried to keep the look of disgust off of my face as I brought him off quickly. I plunged the syringe deep into his face, freezing it in place and quickly turning his skin to stone. My plan was to bump into him and turn him into a statue as he turned and tried to shout with his face full of angry fury. This was obviously not what I had achieved. The burning smell of reality particles filled my nasal passages and I was sucked back into my own time. Three years it had taken me to get my name on the list. Three years. I had failed. The prize money would never be mine. The cheer when I got back was deafening. I stood gawping, confused. There was no way for them to have seen what happened no? Only the images of the aftermath.
I looked up at the picture stretched across the wall and immediately new that I had won. I had done it. The year's greatest killing of hitler. The headlines would write themselves: "cum face disgrace at final resting place".
|
After months of careful planning and pillaging of the German ranks, America's Lt. Aldo Raine and his two brave friends of the infamous bastard company have taken their seats in the theatre. Hitler and all the top-ranking nazi officials will be watching germany's proudest soldier star in the fatherland's greatest propaganda.
Aldo waits in the lobby eyeing out recognizable war criminals. spitting his best Italian speak he can muster. "Errrr... quattro punti." he whispers under his breathe with peeled eyes.
The two disguised Allied soldiers drop their hidden bars of bright pink soap and head for the projector room while the movie starts. A blast is heard by none as they execute one of the last steps of the plan and invade the projection room to set up with the other conspirators.
Below in the lobby, Hans Landa (dubbed The Jew Hunter) has uncovered the Allies plot and kidnaps Lt. Aldo. "I heard you counting, Luitenant." Hans exclaims in an overly loud and serious tone. "You think you're going to impress the judges? Call them, see what they'll say." Hans slides an old rotary phone and waits for the american's reply.
Lt. Aldo sits there for a moment with hands tide behind his back, and eyes the two guards behind. He stares back at the German before him, and spits the most american lugi, soaking the phone as he laughs in his face. "Fuck the Judges, the Hitler game's are corrupt! They trade the freedom of killin' for corporate greed, taint the world with sponsorships and branding, Fuck the system!"
"Excuse my french, but do you not want to win? from the looks of it you're only a measly eleven points behind. Would you not.."
"HAh! I'll be taking another two from you for revealing yourself, Mr. Punkt Hure. i never was too good at math, but i do believe that puts me a respectable NINE points behind! catching up!" Aldo retorts, soaked in his inflated pride.
"I was Going to propose we work together and join forces. You want to stick it to the Judges? This is your golden opportunity."
After a moment of silence and clarity "And we split the prize, fifty fifty? no play?" Aldo asks hesitantly.
"Bingo!" the german shouts, giddy with his winning shady business, having just betrayed his plans.
"Just one more thing you Nazi fuck." Aldo whispers. A chilling mood takes the room. Hans is spooked and confused. Aldo takes a sip of his starbucks coffee, and Hans knows someone's about to die because he reads clickbait titles about David Fincher. "You broke the first rule of Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club." The whole theatre explodes into an all consuming fire. Hitler is seen in the rubble, Tyler kneels down and picks up an unexploded bar of soap. "You don't talk about Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club."
Cue credits.
| 2016-02-20T08:55:11
| 2016-02-20T08:40:02
| 49
| 23
|
[WP] Your best friend goes missing while on an expedition. They are assumed dead. In reality, they are alive and message you on their phone like a diary to help their loneliness. One year later, their phone gets signal and the messages send.
Just imagined this scenario out of nowhere while daydreaming. Thought it'd be pretty interesting.
Edit: Just woken up and seen all the responses! Loving the diversity of directions that people have taken. Don't think any story went the same path in this thread. Awesome reads! I've responded to all the ones I can see atm.
|
When Beth went missing, we scoured near every inch of that forest. She was all over the news, blue-eyed and smiling, her dark hair pulled up in a prim ponytail. Sometimes they showed her doing what she loved: forty feet up in the open air, clinging to a rock wall, nothing between her and death but a harness and a few nylon ropes.
I took that picture. I remember how she beamed at me and said through her teeth, "Stop *shaking* so hard," because my new-discovered crippling vertigo was practically making the GoPro tremble. That was only a few months before she disappeared.
She had nestled herself deep in the Crazy Mountains, a chain of knifing peaks clustered at the edge of the Rockies. I hadn't worried. She brought her dog, her pack, her rifle. The solar-powered charging pack I got her for her birthday. She knew how to hunt and how to flee.
Beth was smart. Beth would be safe because Beth was Beth.
How many days I spent watching summer give way to autumn, and I could do nothing but follow the grid, pace endless stretches of wild. Just screaming into the wilderness. The nights became freezing, and the searches dwindled until it was only me out there, sometimes her father, when he could bring himself to face another day of it all.
We knew exactly where to look, and we found nothing.
One day her dog came bolting out of the woods with a broken leash and a harness full of bristles and leaves. She was filthy and delighted to see Beth's father, but Beth wasn't with her.
How could a girl just disappear? That question chased exhausting circles around my mind for months. I couldn't even bring myself to move. I just stayed in the shitty little town I grew up in, waiting to wake up to the news one day. See her hale and healthy and whole when I flick on the television.
But there is nothing and there will be nothing. I let that truth fall and shatter like glass every morning until I could walk through the shards without bleeding.
And now I only think about Beth every so often, when I hear her favorite song on the radio or smell lavender, which she carried in her pocket like a good luck charm.
Or on days like yesterday, that day twelve months ago when she simply never came home.
Today, it is the chain of one hundred nineteen messages that I wake to. For a moment I sit bleary-eyed and blinking at my phone, thinking it was some kind of ugly joke by the universe. My phone glitching in the most heartbreaking way imaginable.
They are all from Beth. Her contact picture smiles at me as if from beyond the grave.
I begin to read and weep all at once.
*August 28, 7:30 PM*
>Well I am really fucked, Henry
>I really thoroughly fucked myself over
>shit fuck fuck
*7:31 PM*
>don't be angry
>but I may have broken my promise not to free solo
>and fallen and fucked my ankle
>it's like bent the wrong way
*7:32 PM*
>I fell somewhere... I have no idea. There's no signal. You can't even hear me.
>Why am I even doing this
*7:35 PM*
>My coordinates are here. [Screenshot]
> for when my phone wants to work
*9:45 PM*
>Mishka is freaking out.
>I have no idea why
>I made us a burrow but she won't stay inside
>I think there's something out there. She wants to chase it. She's going insane.
Then the next morning, a trail of texts ensuring me she was coming. Then a week of nothing until finally
*September 5, 8:12 PM*
>can't walk
>mishka's gone
>her leash snapped and she took off after something and she's gone
>where the fuck are you
*September 7, 6:30 PM*
>ha. better crutch-stick found. campfire made.
>I'll kill this forest before it kills me.
*September 14, 7:33 AM*
>your solar charger thing really hates cloudy days, by the way
>so bad choice there
As the time went on, she gave up on herself like the rest of us did too. She stopped talking about what we would do when we saw each other again. Started sending me stuff like
>tell my dad I love him, and I'm sorry I'm so stupid all the time
and
>have you already stopped looking for me?
>you should
>it's not worth it
>none of this is worth it
Then nothing, for weeks. The next text is timestamped from February 6.
>brr
*February 15, 5:20 AM*
>I met a fox today. He stopped and said hello I think. I don't speak fox
*February 27, 6:54 AM*
>sometimes I just sit staring at this thing because I have no idea what to say
>I want to miss you more than I do
>I miss being warm and full
>I miss my dog
>I wish I missed you with my everything
>I wish any of this made sense
*March 12, 7:20 AM*
>still nothing, huh?
>hail nothing full of nothing
*March 30, 10:45 PM*
>this fucking mountain goat just scared the shit out of me
*April 8, 3:25 AM*
>I don't know how much longer I can deal with this
>being here
>being alone
I scroll to the bottom. I feel like an asshole skimming over her trauma, but I can't help myself.
The last text was only five minutes ago.
It says,
>I guess I'm having fish for breakfast.
For the first time in a year, I know exactly where she is. Exactly what she's doing.
She's sitting beside some placid mountain lake somewhere, texting idly, not even looking at the signal bar she's used to seeing empty.
I know I should call the national park service instantly. Her dad, at least.
But I'm selfish.
I call Beth.
She answers, "Oh, hey, you." Her voice twists. "About time."
***
/r/shoringupfragments
|
Diary Text message, 364 "It's been a while since I last was home, if I didn't have my phone with me, I would of lost track of how long. It's been nearly a year now, I can't believe that I haven't seen you, or my family for so long. It's been hard. Thank god I had extra supplies, and my extra battery packs for my phone, without these daily self reports I think I would of gone mad by now. I've moved village to village, some with power allowing me to charge my device, yet none with service to call for help, and non of the natives speak English. Of course you'd say something along the lines of 'just your luck' or 'well, it was your fault for wanting to go abroad.'..but it isn't my fault the plane went down, I didn't know this would happen, and in times like this, huddled in my makeshift lean to, that I wish I had listened to you. I wonder if you miss me, or if you'll ever actually see these. I find myself wondering if you secretly hate me for leaving, but I guess we'll never find out. I don't know how much longer I want to hold out. I've learned the land..I have learned to hunt, and how to survive, but I'm tired..and exhausted. I should find something to eat for now. Will continue later."
After she set device in her pocket, on her well traveled and worn clothing, she set off to search one of her nearby traps. The lack of prey in it made her sigh, before turning to go back. Suddenly, she feels a slight vibration from her pocket, having gotten use to the phantom sensation, she instinctively ignores it, until, she feels it again. With a quizzical look she fishes it out of her pocket to see that she has one bar, and everything over the past year has sent! A message quickly comes back to her, and with tears in her eyes she reads it aloud;
"I think you have a wrong number"
| 2018-02-10T20:41:21
| 2018-02-10T20:02:40
| 2,176
| 119
|
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
As I sit here, scrolling through the unending feed, I can't help but wonder if what's going on around us is the same thing. Anti-aging this, prolonged life that. It seems like it's continuous.
When I was a kid, I could never understand why reading and watching the news was so important. Now, as I approach my 86th year, I know why. It's been preparing us for the worst. It's been showing us what our world has become. Almost 60 years ago, that shit was released. I was envious at first but I recovered. I was just starting out at Microcon. Worked my way up pretty quickly. Retired with a nice, fat pension. They announced what happened to my revulsion.
It seems as though A.I. had surpassed all predictions and quietly rolled out an anti-aging serum called Reversol that would stop it all together. Only problem was, you had to be young in order to be young forever. Apparently, 28 was no longer considered young. Bullshit. Either way, I kept earning my paycheck, met my sweetheart and retired happy. That's when the rumors started. Turns out Reversol wasn't as great as they said. Rumors were that it started with migraines. Even if you'd never had one, once a week you'd have a blinding migraine. Coinciding with the serum treatments. After the migraine, motor functions would start being...funny. Finger twitches, leg spasms, random hard ons. All the while, your internals were working to eliminate you. You started feeling...controlled. Like the actions you take aren't exactly yours.
20 years now, I've been hearing about how A.I. was going to rule us and it turns out, it does. With a phrase, our smart homes are controlled by a little speaker that answers our every command. A.I. developed Reversol to take us out. It put together a 60 year plan. If you were over 26, you would pose the least resistance when shit hit the fan. I can barely move now. They were right.
Now, I write this in hopes that it'll reach someone who CAN do something. You see, I've been feeling...funny. But it comes it waves. One day I'm fine, the next is sketchy. Today is a good day. I always thought it would be some debilitating disease that got me. Now, I'm not so sure.
Good luck, whoever you are....
|
I slowly lifted the satin duvet off my frail body. I reoriented my body so that I was sitting on the edge of my bed. Upon peeking at my weak knees and thin translucent skin on my legs, I began to cry. I traced my blue thick veins with my eyes and was struck with the nightmare that was currently my life—I am aging.
Only a few weeks’ prior was I enjoying my frivolous life as a 25 years old. Now, I realized that I could not pinpoint my age, however it was well past 25. It was disgusting.
I rose from my king sized bed, peering over my shoulder to see the empty spot next to me. After my first signs of age, Ryan left me instantly, practically ashamed to have been sleeping with an elder lady. The thought of Ryan brought tears to my eyes again, and I blinked them away to clear my vision. What else would he have done? I would never expect a youthful gentleman like him to remain with a woman turning into a prune.
I passed by my golden mirror and didn’t dare glance at it, for I knew I would be petrified by the ghastly sight. I dragged myself to the kitchen where I grabbed the bottle of anti-depressants. I then settled on the couch and nestled myself in my unwashed bathrobe, allowing the tears to continuously flow down my face. I decided that I should take my mind off this agony and sat up a bit so that I could reach for the remote. A cold shudder raced through my body as I saw the face I have been trying to avoid for so long—me. Through the glistening black screen TV I saw my sagging face and streaks that ran across my face. As I cried, I watched as the corners of my eyes creased extensively to mimic the feet of a crow. A monster, I whispered as I ran through my frigid hair. I’m going to die just at the sight of my dysfunctional face.
I needed to check and see. I needed to see how far along I am. After the announcement about the failure of the drug to hold, members of the Lost Generation were equipped with a watch that informed them how old there features look at a certain moment.
I activated the watch, and shuddered at the number that was blinking before my eyes.
35.
| 2018-06-04T22:20:25
| 2018-06-04T21:44:29
| 63
| 42
|
[WP] Superman is mentally handicapped. That's why he thinks nobody can pick up the Clark Kent=Superman thing, and everyone plays along in an effort to keep him from throwing a tantrum. The comics are his idea of what is going on. What does a day in Metropolis actually look like?
|
"So anymore business left to discuss? Or shall we call this meeting to an end"
Blank faces returned the relief of no reply. Time for our bald headed businessman to get up and leave. To escape to the tennis courts after another morning of bad news. To his left he saw his private secretary shift in her chair. "Just one last thing Lex." He felt a headache coming on, couldn't this wait for later?
"There's another request from the Metropolis Make a Wish foundation." she said.
"Okay but make it short I have another meeting in five."
"Well there's a young man, Clark Kent, he has a serious mental handicap." She flicked through the paperwork "His home town like to allow him to dress up as a superhero and save the day. They want him to come to the big city for one big world saving 'fight'."
"Out of the question. I won't donate to this nonsense fantasy. Give me something with more charitable legacy. Like helping curing cancer or something. More money in that." Now it was time to leave, but she spoke up again.
"Oh they don't need funding they've raised a huge amount online already. They're just asking you play a part in the scenario. The Daily Planet are already behind it and saying you're in for the role."
"Lying bunch of-I hate that newspaper. Fine we can't say no now and i'll only do it if this keeps the press vultures off my back. What do the need me for? Saving the day along with the little nutter?"
"Not exactly, Bruce Wayne already accepted that role. He's going to be a support character called Batman." She sighed and blushed at his name "You know a heroic rival and a friend, that sort of thing."
"Oh! Of course he gets to play hero. Never done hard days work in his life. So I guess I'm giving out the medals at the end?"
"No." She twitched away, delaying his tennis time with her fumbling.
"Then what?!"
"They want you to play the villain. To be the threat this kids saves the world from." The VPs in the room chuckled.
"This is the Daily Planets idea isn't it?"
"They did help start the fundraiser. So it is a possibility."
"Of course it is. Note it down the next time Lois Lane comes knocking just agree to an interview. Christ agree to dinner and a movie if it gets her fangs out of me. If you need me i'll be a tenni-ten o clock meeting."
|
It's 6AM at the Metropolis. The city is starting to wake up as the sun rises over the streets and exposes the well preserved bricks on it's historic buildings. A shop owner is hosing down the side-walk as passersby wave him good morning. Above the shop, a window leads into the bedroom of Clark Kent, a well liked 23 year old with a speech impediment and the intelligence of an 8 year old. Clark lives in his own version of the Metropolis, where the crooks are plenty and the candy is bountiful.
"HI GUYS!" Clark exclaims at his toy soldiers. "We're gonna stop crime today! Get ready!" Clark tumbles out of his bunk bed and staggers into his closet where his favorite outfit is attached to the wall with about 12 pieces of gum. "I'm superman!!!" . Clark puts on a pair of blue shorts on top of the leggings he was already wearing. The red swastika t-shirt, which Clark clearly mistook for an "S" due to his double-vision is his identifying symbol. "Tu-du-du-ruuuuuu". As a last touch, Clark attaches a string to the back of his shirt, which is supposedly a cape in his mind.
As Clark heads out the door, he remembers "Wait!! Rupert where are my glasses??" Rupert is one of the inanimate toy soldiers and curiously appears more annoyed than the others as Clark finishes his sentence "Oh there they are....on my elbow!! Silly Superman!" As Clark restarts towards the door, he thinks to himself "Wait...why take the stairs? I can fly!!!" Clark leaps out the window just as the shop owner finishes hosing down the sidewalk. A large thud is heard as the shop owner runs to see if Clark is ok "Oh my god Clark not again!"
Clark, visibly injured, pulls himself to his feet as his red string blows in the wind. "I am not Clark, I am Superman" The concerned shop owner acknowledges the sentence as fact and proceeds with his day.
"Uh oh, I hear a distress signal" Clark bolts down towards the local synagogue. As he enters, he interrupts a bris ceremony just as the Rabbi is about to cut the foreskin of a newborn baby. The crowd stops in amazement as they are caught off guard by Clark's attire.
The Rabbi furiously exclaims "Hutspah! How dare you enter a Synagogue wearing that shirt?!" Clark is confused as this is the first time someone speaks to him this aggressively "Uhh...i'm Superman, I have to save that baby. Don't touch his pipi". The Rabbi is an out of towner who has not heard of Clark's antics " Young man, remove yourself from this sacred place right this minute!" Clark begins to think that he is scaring the Rabbi with his costume and removes his glasses "Hey Sir it's just me Clark, I'm not Superman" The Rabbi's patience wears thin as he throws a Tora right at Clark's head knocking him out.
"Where am I...." Clark wakes up on a distant planet. Ice surrounds him. He is wearing nothing but his red string, still waving in the wind.
| 2016-03-04T10:08:01
| 2016-03-04T09:23:45
| 27
| 11
|
[WP] “Congratulations! Your god application has been accepted, please find enclosed, your universe…”
|
Oh. Haha. Very funny, asshole.
I clicked on the attachment and unzipped it to my desktop. A few more clicks, and the install wizard appeared.
*This Software Is Licensed And Copyrighted! No Unauthorized Use Permitted! Sharing This Software Is A Felony!*
...and so on, and so forth. I scanned the EULA for anything really crazy, but it seemed pretty boilerplate. User, henceforth known as Content Creator, accepts indemnity for suffering; Creator accepts indemnity for rogue elements arising; Creator is basically at fault for anything that could ever conceivably go wrong.
Don't sue us, we'll sue you. The battlecry of the corporatocracy.
I always felt a little icky, accepting EULAs. But 80% of my grade was suddenly riding on this, and my professor refused to accept any open source submissions. It had to be the genuine Godhood^[TM]©® experience, or I was out of the course.
Fucking sellout. He was on the board of directors for this software, too.
*First against the wall when the revolution comes, you nasty old bastard,* I thought, even as I clicked 'Agree.'
A parameter matrix popped up. Values for physics, chemistry, scale, a few odd variables. These would be the boundary conditions, set the rules going forward. Most of the actual intended involvement in the whole project was here. I checked my notes.
Light would be a constant; that would give FoR stability and prevent a colonization cascade... Gravity was... *Fuck it, I can just put the default ratio,* I thought. 'Mass' and 'Field' were the default choices for that, so I left those, too. I was planning to stress some other elements of the program already, no point in breaking anything else for funsies.
Let's see... Scale Granularity? Oh, right, pixelation, basically. I chose a pretty big value, since it shouldn't matter too much. But the field flagged an error. I was using the String option, so the minimum pixel size had to be small enough to resolve a String correctly. I begrudgingly changed it, sneering as the error box disappeared.
I loathed my professor, but... credit where it's due. His insistence on using this software had at least an iota of merit, because that mistake might have scuttled the whole project. I would eventually have found the error, but I'm not exactly known for my patience.
Chemistry was mostly selecting periodicity and how many dimensions of time affected reactions; I used the default periodicity, but changed Times to 1.
Ok. This was it. If I could prove that intelligence could arise in a universe using a single time dimension, my thesis would be proven correct. My professor swore up, down, widdershins, and sinistrous that intelligence was unique to universes that possess a minimum of three time dimensions.
So I had done the only rational thing. I had called him a pompous fool in love with the smell of his own theoretical offal, and demanded the opportunity to prove that intelligence wasn't restricted by T-complexity. He called me an ignorant whelp and informed me that I could start my thesis project early, for my impertinence.
Frustrated by the memory of being belittled in front of the class, I clicked through the rest of the parameters. I chose a simple 2:1 ratio of some common elements as the universal solvent, because I wanted life to flourish, widely and quickly.
Username... the final box, before my project officially began.
I stared at the screen. This felt a touch momentous, actually. I was already dreaming of interviews, of shaking hands with other esteemed Universalists, of being recognized for my brilliance. I noted the time coordinates, in case someone asked me for an interview someday, so I could tell them the exact moment I had officially proven my theory.
*Lucifer*, I typed, and committed my universe.
My new world began to compile, and I knew: I'd show them. I'd show them all.
|
I smiled. Finally! I picked up the obsidian-colored package, shimmering with the light of thousands of stars.
Maybe this time I won't screw up.
I untied the delicate strings of fate, tying them around my wrists. They were so shiny, I almost wanted to give them to the small feline by my side. But I knew they were important to the beings within my new universe.
Andromeda, my cat, hopped up onto the table, meowing. "Aw, you know you can't be up here! Dad's gotta be ready for his new job!"
She just purred.
I petted her soft black fur, carefully moving the box away. Don't need cat fur in there, no sir.
I laughed, picking her up. "Okay, okay, that's enough!" She stared at me with her beautiful purple eyes, naturally that were galaxy-patterned, as any god's pet should.
"Nope, that won't work on me this time, you little brat!"
I set her down on the floor. She turned her head to me with discontent before walking off.
I turned my attention back to the new universe.
What sort of misadventures awaited me here?
I thought back to my universes over the 70 years I've been working to become a good god.
I've always been scolded for joining those within my universes...but it was just so much better! Being a god in a universe gets boring after a while, you know. Can't have the thrill of a battle without mortal wounds, can't enjoy the littlest of moments when you have a whole universe at your disposal.
My first one, I became an assassin. I didn't like the way it was going, and changed things up. So mayyyyybe altering time and space to make a new life story was a wrong move. So what. Can't take the memories I've made there, authorities!
For a good while after that I was forced to care for universes with simple stakes. The only life I could live in those were that of a child. It was fun, I won't lie. But it got a little repetitive.
So when I applied for the third time I requested something more intriguing; more expansive.
I got one that I thought I'd like and take good care of. Until an argument out in my own reality shattered it.
It wasn't my fault. My friends got into a disagreement until the negative energy built up so much that it shattered in my own hands.
...
That still brought tears to my eyes. I missed them. Sure, we all have our own groups now and do our own things, working with our own universes. And I wasn't involved in the argument much anyways.
But that doesn't mean the memories don't hurt. I saw what my old friends were doing. I saw every day where they had gone and what kind of universes they had built.
I blinked away tears. That doesn't matter now. An adventure awaits.
I steadied my breath as I wrapped a bandanna around my eyes. Even when pretending to be a mortal, my eyes still revealed my true identity as a god. That happened once, not ideal.
I opened the box, the light of the new universe taking over my vision as I was transported into the new universe.
This time, no mistakes.
[Fun fact, this is a vaguepost of my main fandom. All I'll say is FavreMySabre is a good storyteller. Ask me to continue, I may not but who knows.]
| 2022-03-12T10:34:57
| 2022-03-12T09:09:52
| 155
| 27
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"Alright, so you're telling me that if I beat you at ANY game I can go back for another 10 years?!" said the man.
"Yes." said Death. "Any game of your choosing. Cheating is all-"
"Yeah, yeah. Cheating yadda yadda. I heard it the first time." the man snapped.
Death furled what the man assumed to be his brow at the man cutting him off.
Death sat there in silence, motionless. Just waiting for the man in front of him to pick his game.
The man started, "You know, I've play SO many games in my life. So many that I can't even remember what the stories were about anymore, they all just seem to run together."
Death looked on in horror as the man's name started to make more sense.
"I'm guessing you're starting to recognize me at this point, just like it says on the paper you read my name off of-" said the man.
"...I'm Gary fucking Gygax."
Edit: I never really do any prompts. I just thought this sounded fun. Critique if you want. I won't mind it!
|
I shouldn't be saying this but this exact situation happened to me.
I chose "hide and go seek". I have been hiding from death every day and I am always looking over my shoulder to see if death is around the corner.
One day he'll show up and I'll lose. I wake up each day grateful to have one more day to breathe.
| 2018-03-07T06:04:24
| 2018-03-07T03:49:25
| 97
| 55
|
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
Life is unfair. There's no one that can tell me otherwise.
Only my mum could love her child; a kid with the super power of being able to ingest limitless amounts of matter without detriment or distention and exercise total control over its release.
Everyone calls it pooperpower. Utterly useless and utterly shameful. Most of my peers saw me as a glutton and disgusting septic tank. Only a quirky few saw the merits of my 'superpower' after returning from their rough trip to India where they had the pleasure of having to focus every thread of concentration on their quivering sphincter, teetering on the edge of a veritable Code Brown incident on a long-distance bus ride.
Things changed when my mother passed away. No longer with her protection and influence over the others around me, the ridicule and abuse started to evolve into more sinister and injurious means. The result led to my itinerant way of life, hiding in the shadows, fearing for my welfare and living minute by minute. Until now.
The darkness that had shrouded my heart and existence first reared its ugly head after being blamed for the neighbourhood sewerage system issues, that turned out to be caused by flash flooding and debris. Nonetheless, once you are known to be the only one with 'pooperpower' in the neighbourhood, not to mention the whole world, the fingers point rather quickly.
After the incident, my small shack was trashed with rubbish and waste, of which some were definitely sewerage solids. The council turned a blind eye until the outrage and complaints from the community towards the filth around my shack forced them to play their easiest hand: my excommunication and eviction from my own town.
With a heart poisoned with hatred and resentment, I decided to play a dirty prank on the council.
Over a period of two years, I went on an eating and drinking frenzy, spending most of my savings purchasing and eating and drinking as much as possible, prioritising volume and price over quality. That hit an all new low, when I fell into dumpster diving for left overs, stale bread, and even sand from the beach. If I wasn't sleeping, I was ingesting. Virtually non-stop. Anything I could find and tolerate the taste of, went down the hatch.
Let me tell you, it was not pretty. The booze definitely helped me through the hazy hell of what I now see as something only an insane and hatred-fuelled person could do.
The final act of my prank involved the main sewerage treatment plant serving the large part of the Eastern network. Initially, it was meant to be one of the sub-stations but I could not determine which one managed the council building, so I decided to cast a wider net, so to speak.
On the fateful, cloudy night, I managed to infiltrate the part of the treatment plant that pumped the aerated sewerage into the alum mixing and sedimentation inlet. Without hesitation, I pulled down my pants and proceeded to dump all my hate into the churning waters.
My screams of release and frustration were drowned out by the hollow and lifeless hum of machinery, resonating with the eruption that came from within me.
I had clearly underestimated the amount I had kept pent up inside me.
A tsunami of garbage, shit and gas surged into the inlet like an angry brown hulk, delivering a ground shuddering smash through the depths of the complex, shattering the impellers and overloading the outflow. As the facility began to flood, I paused the dump and gradually progressed to higher ground releasing as I went, until I was outside the facility. My dump went on and on; I could not care that I was covered in my mess. For all I cared, I deserved it. For what seemed like the entire night, I cried while at the same time shitting out my putrid existence like a fire hydrant.
The effect of my 'prank' was catastrophic. Not only was the council building obliterated in an explosion of shit, the entire network experienced a violent reversal of sewerage flow, turning every building into a fountain of shit. The news later showed images of people being helplessly washed out of their bedrooms in a torrent of sewerage, washed inland with their belongings.
Pockets of gas that hung over the area ignited in the fire, exploding with malice. Satellite imagery would later show the sewerage treatment facility erupting in a volcano of shit, followed by a chain of multiple eruptions over the large part of the country. It almost looked pretty. Like fireworks.
The news later showed the aftermath of carnage. Infection, illness and death spread, sparing only those who had regenerative or protective superpowers. Those with heightened senses suffered irreversible neuronal damage from the stench and noise from the event. Those with boosted strengths or levitation powers were recruited to help with the clean-up and transportation duties.
I had, in fact, shat all over my tormentors in what was an actual shit-storm. The hilarity of seeing survivors drifting up literal shit-creek with no means to paddle, and the country in truly deep shit made me cackle with laughter. The satisfaction of revenge was sweet, but could not say the same for the stench that hung around. In hind sight, I should have eaten more veggies.
Life is unfair. There's no one that can tell me otherwise. Even if life trolls you with a shit hand, you can always think outside the thunder box, and perhaps, find a way to shit all over the competition.
There's always light at the end of the tunnel.
Stay positive, guys.
|
I had originally thought my superpower was a bit of a joke. I suppose it still is pretty lame. I can't cause any real destruction with it, but nobody jokes around me anymore. I started exacting vengeance a couple weeks ago on those who had previously bullied me for "not having a power". In truth, I did but it's a very subtle power.
I can feel my power beginning to slowly take a toll on my enemies. For example, I can visibly see the results of using my powers on my coworker, Carol. Her crime? She always takes my stapler from my desk without asking. She used to be snarky around me but now whenever I see her, she just looks depressed. The best part is that she doesn't even know what's causing it.
Me, a laughing stock? I'd like to see my enemies try to laugh at me. That is, if they can. Because no one's laughing anymore.
Literally.
| 2017-06-12T07:56:29
| 2017-06-12T07:39:18
| 65
| 39
|
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins"
|
A whirring sound gradually filled my ears as the 'GAME OVER' marquee scrolled across the top of my HUD. "*Statistics*", I muttered, reaching blindly around for my beverage. Words flitted across my screen filling all of the empty space. "*Next-Round*", all of the text from before vanished as the respawn timer filled the screen.
>Time until Respawn: 23695624.8 minutes
I sighed, "What the fuck is this!". "*Connect to server chat*", I yelled into the microphone of my VR-helmet.
>Connecting to...'EARTH -- Human SERVER #2360 CHAT' ...
....
.....
.......
CONNECTED!
"Does anyone know the reason for this ridiculous respawn time?", I asked, "I didn't break any of the server rules!". I could hear a few muffled laughs from the others in the chat. "Is this your first play-through on the Human servers?", someone asked, "these servers don't really have any rules..just more of a set of guidelines." I thought for a few seconds trying to recall whether or not I had previously played on these servers. "No, I've definitely played on these servers before, but this is my longest play-through. I didn't make it to very high levels in my other sessions.", I tried to explain. A different person chimed in sounding as though they were suppressing their laughter, "I'm guessing you didn't read the latest patch notes for these servers before you joined your last match, huh?"
I sighed. No, of course not. I hardly ever read the patch notes and then unsurprisingly get pissed off at the game changes I didn't realize were coming. "*Patch Notes*!", I said somewhat begrudgingly. Text once again flitted cross my screen. I scrolled passed most of the bug fixes until I found the 'Game-Play Changes' section.
>"....changes made to **player respawn time**: "Player respawn-timer now solely comes from **-KARMA** rating of last play-through."
"Oh, fuck me!" I yelled, ripping off my VR-Helmet.
|
Current Players: 7,383,275,800
Server Uptime: 1059040375.2 mins
Spectators: 21,458,374,931
Player Rank: 2,648,535,901
Time Until Respawn: 23695624.8 mins
People are always afraid of death. The unknown. "What happens to me?" they ask. "Do we have a soul? Is there a hell? Are there angels? Will I see my parents again?"
If they only knew how mundane it really was.
This. This screen is all you get. Your entire existence becomes this one illuminated screen for you to stare at.
"Staring" is the wrong word even, because you aren't looking at anything. You have no eyes. It's simply... awareness. Awareness of the information. It's literally inside of you.
No hunger. No tiredness. No biological functions. So as the timer ticks down, continuously, and you just... wait.
There's nothing else to do, literally. As you wait, the shapes and sounds of the last life fade. You start to think things like, "Did I have a cat? Maybe it was a dog. What is that I am holding? A hammer or an axe? I know I had children... but how many?"
And by the time you respawn, you remember literally nothing. Not even this place.
Time Until Respawn: 23695623.9 mins
Welcome to the After Life.
| 2015-11-25T01:06:36
| 2015-11-25T00:00:43
| 46
| 27
|
[WP] You are a former secret agent, now retired; today, you just found the beautiful and dangerous femme fatale that always tried to kill you at a pizza parlor, dressed in a nerdy hoodie and eating an extra-large pizza.
|
I'd been retired for about a week when I decided to go out to eat for the first time in years. I was one of the best, which means I had a target on my back. By now though I'm sure most major players in the business have heard I'm out of the game. When I got to the parlor, I ordered a small meat lovers and looked for a seat while they made it. That's when I saw her, over by the window. A gorgeous woman with almond colored eyes, jet black hair, and a killer smile. She was eating a mammoth pizza and wearing a black hoodie with the Deathly Hallows on the front. I pulled up a seat next to her, looking forward to some fun.
"How's my favorite hitter?" I teased as she looked up from her phone in surprised. "What name are you going by these days hmmm? And are you here for business or pleasure?"
She smirked playfully. "Sophie darling. And you know dear friend, not all of the bounties on your head are gone. I could still make a couple grand off your head if I wanted to"
"Come now, you wouldn't kill a dear friend just starting her retirement would you? Besides, you don't even know my real name yet, and I thought the deal was we wouldn't kill each other until we had learned each other's real names."
Sophie chuckled, we had built up a bit of a rapport over the decade of trying to kill each other. "I have tickets to Comicon, my dear friend who's name I don't know yet. I'm supposed to meet some dork that landed one of your government's contracts. You won't try to stop me will you?" A hard look in her eye reminded me that she'd kill me in a second if I said yes. Or she'd try at least.
"Depends. I have an offer for you too. "
Sofie tilted her head. "What would you need a hitter for? You're as good as I am and we both know it".
I smirked and handed her a napkin with my number on it. "You can call me Tessa. And you better call me the moment you're done with this job so we can go for a drink. I'm going to miss hunting you, but I'm not letting you out of my life that easily."
Sofie couldn't help but giggle. I could tell it was her real laugh, the second time I had ever heard it. "Me neither old friend. You're buying"
|
" ’Don't you think that's a little bit too much for you, Larone? ’ I said and took a seat right in front of her. She checked me for a milisecond, and kept chewing her bite. "
"Woah, that's so cool!" the kids cheered.
"What she did was even cooler. She said 'Never too much for a cover, Sarge.' while her mouth was full, trying to make me feel unsignificant for her presence."
"It's like a game of chess! And, then? What you said?"
"Well, I had to stay strong. I found her after all, right? I had the higher ground. So I threw some detective work over that extra-large pizza and made a move, which were punished after by her sinister lips."
"What did you say?" the boy asked with shiny eyes.
"I took a deep breath to set-up my move and words swimmed through. 'Perhaps you're waiting for someone, huh?' at this point, she owed me an answer, and she did give a big one." he took a big sip from his cigar and continued in joy.
"She, without hesitation, looked at my eyes and said, 'Not anymore.' and pushed the pizza towards me."
"I really wanna be like my mom one day! " the girl said all of a sudden. The parents' eyes met and they knew it was time to end the talk.
"We really have to be cops, sis!" the boy yelled in amazement.
"Alright, kids. That's how I met your mother. Now give some lone time mom and pap." he said and kids walked towards them. Both the parents kissed the children on their forehead and they left the room. The parents stayed in silence for a while, until Sarge couldn't make it.
"Oh, stop that, Larone."
"Stop what?"
"That sinister grin on your face. I hate when you do that."
"Hmm? Does it remind you of our past, 'Sarge?' You know it didn't happen like that, right?"
"Well, what do you want me to say? That you destroyed an entire pizza parlor, almost killed both of us?"
"Well, you know, when I really want something, I get in a state that I can do anything to get it."
"Yeah, that's how you got me caged here."
"Caged? Shall I remind you the days you begged for my love, or you begged for mercy?"
"Shall I remind you a million cases that you caused while you were chasing me?"
"Well, as I said, when I really want something, I do anything to get it."
"And that's what I like about you. I'm glad that you couldn't kill me though."
"Couldn't?"
"Well, unless you count marriage as a way of killing."
"Or having two children that think we are cops."
"I know, right."
Silence covered the room once again, this time the grin wasn't there either.
"Do you still miss those days?"
"Well, the thrill of being hunted? the last breath of the victims? the blood in my knife?" she said with enthusiasm and he gave the weird looks.
"No, definitely not." she said.
He got up the chair and left his cigar in the ashtable.
"Alright, go wear that nerdy hoodie of yours. Let's go get some pizza in the same place." after a few seconds of waiting, he added.
"Well, in the same pizza parlor but in another place, obviously."
"And that's what I like about you. You always find something to bring me joy."
"By staying alive, that is." they both giggled.
They both got dressed and left the house, leaving their parent identities at home, and taking their guns with them.
| 2019-10-05T10:58:54
| 2019-10-05T09:22:09
| 207
| 22
|
[WP] Famine is an arrogant, greedy asshole. War is a brute, violent man. Conquest is a cruel sadist. But Death? Death is actually pretty chill.
|
When the world ends, the four rides out. When all ends, the four are there. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The first rider, on the white horse, is Conquest. Conquest breaks the souls of others, makes them venal and small. Turns heroes into self-righteous crusaders, turns good men into petty hedonists, and takes a deep pleasure in the cruelty, apathy, and hopelessness that spreads as they ride through the lands. Wherever they go, corruption follows, men are conquered into greed and sin, and all high ideals are cast aside in exchange for cheap thrills and cruel joy.
The red rider, is War. They kill without discrimination, for the sheer horrible enjoyment of it. They love to kill soldiers on the battlefield, and they enjoy butchering civilians. Where there are cities to loot, children to impale on spikes, bones to break, or blood to be shed, there War seeks to be at all times. To pillage and exploit the victims of battles makes them pleased, to enslave others and press them into battle, is like sex to them. They go wherever they can, and break civilisation down, until nothing but the most primitive instinct to crush and destroy exists.
The rider on the black horse, is Famine. And they are cunning. They are the voice in the back of your mind insisting that you are still fat, no matter what the mirror or the scale says. They are the greedy, horrible thing that takes from others. They are the hoarding of necessary food and resources, that leaves markets bare for when the next customers comes. They are the scream for more and more, to fill a hunger inside that cannot end, a hunger that no matter how much is owned, nor how much is consumed, can never be sated. And all one can show from such hunger, is how others will go hungry and sick. Such is famine.
The last rider, is the one who rides behind. The pale horse and the name of he who sat upon it, was Death. And Death rides not like the wind as the other horsemen, not towards every battle, every corruption, every greedy act, Death's horse trots a steady, slow pace throughout the universe. For Death does not command or corrupt, Death does not manipulate or masticate. Death comes, and Death leads the dead on. Death does not need to hurry. After all, Death is always present, even on a microscopic scale where simple life dies, or to even when ideas or worlds die. He is always there.
And he never judges. He never harms. All he does, is lead you to where you are going next. He takes no joy in his work. It is not pleasure he seeks, or destruction, merely to do his duty. And do it well. He is a comfort for those in great pain. When the corruption that follows in Conquest's wake leads to the failure of public hospitals, he leads the little dead children out to fields where there are games, fun, sunshine, tasty food, and friends. When the victims succumb to War's wake, they find the soft peaceful beaches where Death leads them, and offers them the silent places, where none shall ever hurt them again. When Famine strikes, and people take, leaving the old to die, he is there, and he takes them to see their families, so long gone, so long missed.
To some he is bliss. To others he is peace. But most importantly, he comes for us all. Even his fellow horsemen will one day die, and he shall calmly lead them away to wherever dead concepts go. He never needs to hurry, for your appointment with him was written long before you ever died. Perhaps even before you were born. For he is Death, the leveller of all, and when creation itself enters heat death, he will be there. And he shall fold up the universe ever so neatly, and take it to where universes go when they end. But for now, he waits patiently, and walks behind the other horsemen, and those who are trampled under hoof by the first three, are picked up and carried away by the fourth.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
I often look at the others, sitting around the table as we play with the fates of mortals.
Famine aims for the poor, the vulnerable. Those that cannot resist him, those that can be pushed over the edge with little effort. He claims it is the natural order, that those worthy of life will survive, that money and power are survival traits, claiming more is always right.
War tries to intimidate us, his fine pressed suit stretched tightly across his body revealing the strength of iron. He tries to play it down, his scarred visage and styled hair giving him a roguish attitude. It would be easy to say no to him, he might even forgive you.
Conquest, that man has it all. The wealth, the power all flow to the eventual winner; as long as you keep changing sides you can never lose. Pleasure is simply what you can take, money, land, people, none of them are useful other than as symbols of wealth.
​
Me, mmmh how to describe death. I'm fine, everything comes to me eventually. "I call."
| 2020-04-09T14:23:53
| 2020-04-09T13:58:41
| 171
| 19
|
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
|
We were fortunate that both of these names were on his back instead of a body part he could see. When we bathed him, we made sure he never saw them. When he was old enough to shower and change himself, however, we had to spill the beans. "You are not to look at these names," we told him. I'm proud of our son, he understood the ramifications of seeing the names, even at such a young age. Life has been pretty smooth from that point, friends matching the names have come and gone, but we seldom get worried about it anymore. He's in high school now, his life no different from his peers. He has a very sweet girlfriend, and he keeps saying she must be one of the names on his back. We say nothing, but smile back, reassured that he hasn't seen the tattoos yet.
Edit: Added a phrase to clear up that the parents are NOT supposed to be the names on the back. Also this story is in a universe where only he has the names.
| 2018-03-11T07:49:38
| 2018-03-11T07:37:56
| 4,830
| 331
|
[WP] You are a therapist. You are about to speak with a patient who has convinced several other therapists to commit suicide.
|
I watched from behind my desk as they escorted him in. A slight young man, flanked by two burly security guards and a police officer. He looked around in a nervous fashion before dropping into the single chair that sat in front of my desk. There were no cuffs or restraints on him, but it was clear he was a prisoner of some sort. The guards took up position behind the man, and the police officer closed the door. I waited for a long moment.
"Leave us," I ordered them. The security guards looked at each other, but it was the police officer that began to speak. I cut him off. "This is a private appointment. I am perfectly safe. We are going to have a harmless talk, and then you can come back in and take him back to the facility."
I was sure the others had said something similar. Two of the six previous therapists had committed suicide while actually still in session with the patient. The rest ranged from 10 minutes after the session to three days later. I was sure I would not make the same mistakes. The police officer put his hand on his gun and opened his mouth again.
"Now," I snapped, placing my hands on the desk and leaning forward. "This session is covered by doctor-patient confidentiality and unless you want me to contact my lawyers and file complaints with both the facility and the chief of police I suggest all three of you open that door and wait outside in the lobby."
I saw humiliation burning in their faces as they left, heard the police officer thinking that he hoped the patient was successful once again. Not literally, of course. Reading people is my profession. After the door clicked shut and their footsteps faded away down the hall, I folded my hands and looked at the patient. He stared back. We remained in silence for two minutes and 17 seconds before he spoke.
"Doctor-"
I cut him off. "No. Call me Andy. I find that using a title creates a gulf between two people and that will work contrary to the purpose of our meeting. I will call you Stephan. Today we are just two ordinary men having a conversation."
The patient blinked. It was a slow, deliberate motion of his eyelids, as though he was processing information. Then he spoke again.
"Is that why your wife left? Because you were so controlling?"
His voice dripped with bitterness and contempt more suited for one far older than he was. It cut deeply, and I rocked back in my chair. He didn't smile, didn't move but there was a look in his eye. A gleam that reminded me of what happens when a painting is removed from a wall. Nothing out of place except a shiny patch that catches the corner of your eye and tells you something is missing. I felt a cold worm twist in my stomach.
Then I sighed.
"So that's all you do? I'm disappointed." The look of shock on his face pleased me. I was certain none of the other therapists had done anything other than go on the defensive when confronted with a surprising revelation from someone who supposedly knew nothing about them. I pressed on. "Disappointed and still happily married, thank you. Not disappointed in my marriage of course, just in you."
He pointed at my hands, still clutching the arms of my chair. "B-but your-"
"Yes, this." I held up my left hand, the back of it facing towards him. "I got a spray tan three days ago and left my wedding ring on. Took it off 45 minutes before our appointment time. I'm glad you noticed that because if you had just pointed out the picture I'd have been even more disappointed."
Next to my computer monitor was a framed picture of me with a obviously feminine arm draped across my neck. The rest of the picture and the owner of that arm was covered with a piece of paper taped onto the frame. It was dusty and a crack in the glass snaked its way out from under the paper.
"Did you know I had several different theories on your methods? I ruled out drugs pretty quickly. I considered that you were using a form of hypnosis, but that would be unreliable. So I settled on information. Digging up dirt, so to speak." Reading people is my profession and I could tell I was right from the unconscious expressions that flickered over his face.
"I was excited to think that you might be hacking the information or had help from the outside. I spent a week setting up a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead to some very interesting conclusions. If that was the route you took, it would paint a very different picture of my relationship. You wouldn't have even noticed any of the small clues pointing elsewhere. No, instead you're just a cold reader with a mean streak."
The gleam in his eyes had been replaced with anger. His hands balled into fists. I smiled.
"You've got some skill for sure. Six therapists and, well, they cut the guard at the facility down before he passed so I'm counting that one as a failure even if he's still in a coma. Just by talking to them." I shook my head. "This is all theory of course. There's no way I could prove anything and I'm sure you could convince anyone else that I'm speaking nonsense. So, right now I need to you hold this."
I tossed an object to him as I finished speaking. He caught the handle of the knife reflexively and the scrap of cloth covering the blade fell off. I had rattled him, made him angry and blind to the small details but even so he was smart enough to put it together almost instantly. He made it most of the way out of his chair before I shot him twice with the revolver I keep holstered under my desk. His body thudded onto my desk and slid off, leaving a smear of blood on the top. I laid the gun on the desk and stood, raising my hands as feet raced down the hallway. The door crashed open.
"He had a knife! I thought you people searched him! My lawyers..." My lawyers would be glad that I didn't say anything incriminating to the police. I hadn't said anything the first time I was attacked by a patient and had to defend myself with lethal force. This was only the second time it's happened, but I'm sure there will be more.
|
A therapist is a bastion of hope for the those who believe themselves, or their situation, hopeless. We are candles burning in a deep darkness, guiding the lost homeward. This is what I was taught and this is what I believe.
So my fellow professionals refusing to help the young lady now standing infront of me, brings both shame to my profession and a sadness to my heart.
They refuse to treat her simply due to a set of tragic coincidences. Three therapists had died only hours after a session with her. A car crash on the way home (likely a tragic accident), another by self decapitation, and the strangest one - self mummification.
She is a slight lady. Petite with wine dark hair and thin lips. Her skin is clammy and pallor, as if she actively avoids the touch of the sun.
"Good afternoon, Catherine." I say, gesturing towards the chaise longue.
She tilts her head slightly and stares towards me for a while. I have a strange feeling she is looking through me, rather than at me and I wonder for a moment if she is trying to see into my soul.
"Sit, please." I say more forcefully.
Her movement is strange and too graceful to match her appearance. It is as if she glides. She slides her body onto the chaise longue.
"Good." I say, and I notice that my heartbeat is slowing down to normal. *When had it gotten so high?*
"I am doctor Schmidt. I would like to talk to you Catherine. Would that be OK?"
She gives a slight nod and I continue.
"I hope you are well. I am afraid I am not one for delaying the difficult. We shall being.
"When you were seven years old you were first treated for melancholia. Tell me, did the orphanage make you feel depressed? Did watching the other children find homes and families and love, did that make you feel *unlovable*?"
I do not like my questions, but they are necessary. I believe that within the answers I will find the origins of her problems.
A tiny smile curls up on her lips. She speaks for the first time since entering my room. Her voice is as gentle as a dragonfly landing on a leaf.
"Do you know why I was sent to the orphanage, doctor?"
I do not need to consult my records. Her parents died in a house fire when she was five.
"Yes, I know about your parents Catherine." I say, as I reach for my glass of water. My lips are parched. "Would you like some water?" I offer.
"They deserved to die. My father did bad things to me. My mother let him."
This was a revelation. "Do you mean your father... he abused you?" Her memories from that age could not be trusted of course, but it was still new information.
"I was happy in the orphanage. I became sad when the other girls were taken away. I knew what would become of them. I could see into the souls of the men and women who took them. That is why I developed 'melancholia'." Her eyes were growing large as she spoke. Their deep autumn brown darkening.
"I was given treatment." She continued. "I was forced to see a *ther-rape-ist." She broke the word up purposefully. My heart dropped.
"Are you saying that your first therapist-"
"Eventually I learned how to use my gift. How to leverage the secrets that I found within the darkness of a human soul. People who deserved to pay did so. "
I remained silent. She is delusional.
"I don't want to hurt you Catherine. I want to help you heal." I say as tenderly as I can manage.
She sneers at me. Her eyes are now a deep shade of grey. In this dim light they look almost black.
"I know what you hide deep inside doctor. Your affair. Your bastard child. The car crash that killed your best friend when you were 17. The police thought he had been driving... but you swapped seats with his dead body - you were drunk."
She pauses and looks at me knowingly. She knows my life and my hidden past. She also knows I have done worse.
She is the devil and she will happily ruin my life. That much I know.
"Listen to me very carefully" she whispers gleefully "this is how you are going to kill yourself..."
| 2016-07-02T02:16:29
| 2016-07-01T23:44:19
| 629
| 37
|
[WP] The alien invasion is going unbelievably poorly for the technologically advanced aggressors, to the surprise of many. You, a retired military tactician, are trying to explain how this is actually pretty logical all things considered.
|
"Amateurs talk about tactics and strategy, professionals talk about logistics."
The Invasion of Earth is the greatest exemplar of this notion there has ever been.
Pundits make much of the Invaders' ability to put anything they want anywhere on the planet within minutes of asking, but they forget where that war material must come from. The Mothership orbiting the Earth-Moon LaGrangian Point is only a storage point: the *true* origin is the Invaders' homeworld, which all evidence suggests is over a decade away with even their best Faster-Than-Light engines.
Every death machine, every soldier, weapon, even power cell or ration pack, all of it comes from the very limited pool of resources the Invaders brought with them. Whereas us humans are fighting but a stones' throw away from our factories, our mines, our workforces.
It does not matter that the first strike destroyed every military aircraft, armored fighting vehicle, and ammunition dump visible from orbit, it did *not* destroy our capability to make more of those things. It does not matter how untouchable their transorbital warcraft are, if they run out of fuel. It does not matter that their ground forces have met nothing but tactical victory after tactical victory, they are still taking losses. It does not matter how minor those losses seem, *they are unsustainable.*
And the Invaders know it, which is why they are attempting to focus on small "thunder run"-style operations and propaganda victories, hoping the fear they instill will cow the rest of Humanity. The threat of indescriminite orbital bombardment—the "Footfall" scenario that fearmongerers keep harping about—is unlikely to be follwed through on, as they *need* the planet intact or they will simply *starve* on their spaceships.
The Invaders ***cannot*** win this war: victory, as they sought it, was never a possibility. All they can decide now, is on what terms they will *lose* it...
|
“Are you certain it will work?” General Nelson asked me, sweat beading his forehead while the ground above us rumbled, fierce fighting continuing.
“It has to work. They may be travelers of the stars, but their tech isn’t as far ahead compared to us.” I answered him as the battle continued.
It was a third week now since the Greys arrived to Earth and took the fight to us. When it initially broke out the UN declared an immediate state of emergency and nearly all human strife had dissolved over night. Russia no longer bullied Europe, India and China no longer disputed their borders. And more importantly, none of us wasted resources on our own petty conflicts.
Employing the same tactics used against us all those decades ago in the 60’s, we’re gonna show the Grey’s that no one knows the Earth better than the rest of us.
Already the weapon stores of the US military have been dissolved and distributed to the public. Moreover rudimentary training details and seminars on guerilla and urban warfare are becoming widespread. All over the internet; YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, TikTok. Everyone has banded together to defend our home.
But first, we need to cut off the Grey’s from their resupply. If we were to guess right, they need time to recuperate their losses. They have a designated task force of attack and landing craft to try and break our will and take over the planet. But if we break them enough, the logistics will be too detrimental for them to continue. What’s the point of trying to take a hunk of rock if the primitive monkeys slaughter your cybernetic and plasma armed troops?
“Status on our warheads?” I turned to General Nelson, who quickly talked into his headset and looked over the room. In front of us rows upon rows of the best and brightest of NASA and the Space Force collaborated. In front on the big screen a giant diagram was displayed. Mountains of scrap and shrapnel, packed into ICBMs and rockets; all ready for the orbit.
At terminal velocity even a speck of paint can destroy the hull of a ship, so we will blanket the skies and make a land invasion costly.
“All missiles are armed and ready, locking in detonation range for the Mesospehere. Ready when you are.” General Nelson confirmed that our prep was ready.
Gulping softly, I didn’t even move or flinch as the bunker still rumbled. We have one shot at this, and I’ll be damned if we don’t take it.
“Commence Operation Falling Star.”
| 2022-04-04T10:25:42
| 2022-04-04T10:00:57
| 150
| 65
|
[WP] You are a dog and live a happy and peaceful life with your human master, John Wick. One day, some thugs break into the house, beat John Wick to death and steal his car. They took the life of the only human who cared about you and gave you love... it is time for revenge.
|
Arf... Bark. Bark bark. Ruff, ruff ruff. Bark ruff bark bark. Bark bark. Whimper. Whimper. Bark. Bark Bark Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark.Arf... Bark. Bark bark. Ruff, ruff ruff. Bark ruff bark bark. Bark bark. Whimper. Whimper. Bark. Bark Bark Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Whimper. Cry bark. Whimper. Cry, cry. Bark. Arf, arf. Arf? Arf, arf? Bark, bark! Bark!!!
Bark, bark. Bark. Bark...
|
To be honest, when we killed John Wick, we thought that was the end of it.
Drop a fucking bomb on his house from the stratosphere. The amount of nerd science behind it was staggering, but there was no way that he would suspect it. It worked perfectly. We had confirmation that he was inside his house when the bomb fell. The big boss wanted a body confirmation anyway.
Boy, was that a mistake.
When our boys hit ground and scooped the remains of Wick's charred, ashen body off of what used to be his living room floor, we heard angry, yet adorable barking behind us. At the time we dismissed the puppy that yelped at us ineffectually.
Now, we had come to associate the sound with the grim reaper himself.
Of course the fucker would find a way to train his got damn dog.
"Why," my boss asked. Or tried to, at least. The word came out garbled and around chokes of blood. The puppy across from him didn't answer. I don't think that it could, what with the gun in its mouth.
"You won't get away with this. There are people above me. They will-"
That was as far as he got before the puppy pulled the trigger with its tongue. My boss' brains spread over his expensive carpet. The puppy took a second to appreciate the spectacle.
Then he turned to me. Let me tell you right now, I have seen many a scary thing in my life, and the barely half foot tall puppy was easily near the top.
I was not above groveling to the thing.
"Please don't kill me," I pleaded. The puppy tilted its head. Had it not had the blood of those that I had once called brothers matted in its fur I might have called the action cute. The little thing padded over to me, the very action a wobbly, unstable sort of thing. When it reached me, it started wagging its tail so hard I felt a breeze, then dropped the gun before me.
"Arf!" it barked. The thing had such a high pitched voice I had to prevent myself from going "aww" at the little murderer.
"What?" I asked. I didn't speak dog. Apparently that pissed it off, for it walked over and booped me on the nose. I... I think it was trying to intimidate me.
"Arf? Arf arf!" It barked, its big floopy ears bobbing with the action.
"I don't understand what you wa-" It booped me again.
Then it padded over to a map on my boss' desk. It had to make several tries to make the jump from the floor to the chair, then from the chair to the top of the desk. It then struggled to pull the map down to the ground where I was, ultimately just falling with the thing.
The entire time he had left the gun before me. I would have grabbed it and tried for the thing's life, but it just looked so cute.
Also I have seen it dodge bullets. It could easily take me out.
After a couple more minutes of both it struggling to pull the map over to me and me refusing to help, the puppy eventually had the map unfurled before me.
It laid a tiny paw on it; somewhere over Africa.
"Arf!" it barked. Understanding dawned on me.
"You want me to show you where our higher ups are."
"Arf!"
"How did you know that I knew where they were?" I asked.
"Arf!"
"Of course, your master was him... Fine, I'll help you in exchange for my life."
"Arf!"
And that was the beginning of a very odd friendship.
| 2018-02-28T18:18:48
| 2018-02-28T17:38:28
| 213
| 81
|
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
|
Everyone has scars, there's no denying it and if someone does they're just going to get another scar. The scars we get from telling lies don't hurt us physically, hell, we can hardly even feel them. Some scars are deep, some are hardly noticeable, but they are still there and there's no such thing as a scarless body. The only person that I have met who came close only had one scar, but it was the worst scar I have ever seen. His name is Harold and when I met him all I could see of his scar was the part that went over his eye and down his face and neck into his shirt. It wasn't until we got to know each other better that he showed me it's true extent. A scar that continued down past his heart and wrapped all the way to his back.
I met Harold at a bar a few years after I graduated college, we talked over drinks and found we had a lot in common. Harold was ten years older than me, but we both had a son that was in grade school, they even went to the same school. We met more frequently at the bar and eventually started to spend time together outside of the bar. As the time passed our friendship grew stronger, we did so much together with our children that most people thought that we were related. Our children became best friends as they grew up. We were both single fathers. I had my son with a girlfriend from college who dropped him off with me one day and never came back. Harold's wife left him when his son was only a few years old.
I've never been one to hide my scars. I talk about most of my scars when the topic comes up, but there are some that only Harold knows the reasoning behind. Harold never talked about his scar and that was fine, I knew when the time was right he would. I never asked because it isn't polite to ask someone about their scars. I tied to not talk about scars around Harold because I knew it made him uncomfortable considering the size of his. The only thing that I know about Harold's scar is that he didn't get it all that long ago.
I asked Harold how he could go his whole life only telling one lie and he would always say he didn't ever feel the need to lie. Even if we didn't get scars with every lie, I don't think that Harold would be able to lie. He was always the first to admit he was wrong or that he screwed up. He was down to earth and everyone loved him. Harold was always putting others first, he was always the one with the loudest laugh or the biggest smile. He always seemed to be the happiest person in the room and it was hard to be sad around him. He always lifted everyone's spirits when things seemed bleak.
One day when Harold and I were with our kids at the local swimming pool Harold fainted. We rushed him to the hospital where they ran some tests on him. I waited with him in hours of agony before they brought back results. Cancer. That's the only word I heard. My mind went blank and I sat in shock with my best friend as the doctor told him there wasn't much treatment available because of how far along it was.
I spent the next few weeks visiting the hospital every day. I spent hours with him at a time and we would talk about everything under the sun and reminisce about all the time we spent together. As his body grew weaker I spent more time at the hospital. I didn't want to lose my friend yet and I knew I needed to be there for the time that he did have left. One day he told me that he wanted to tell me about his scar. He said he knew that I always wanted to ask about it. A scar appeared across my hand as I told him that wasn't true and we both laughed.
He told me that his scar came with one single word. It happened one morning at home while he was laying in bed with his wife. She was admiring his scarless body and they were talking about the life he led up to this point. He told stories about the times that he thought about accepting a scar but he couldn't bring himself to lie. His wife stared at him a while, then asked him if he was happy. Harold said yes and smiled, as the scar tore through his body. He said it was the most painful scar imaginable.
When he was done with his story, he simply said he was going to miss me. I told him I would miss him every day as he closed his eyes for the last time.
|
I was flirting with being deemed a "Marked One" with my most recent scars. The Marked Ones had a lot of trouble fitting into society. It was an accepted form of prejudice. After all, you weren't judging someone based on race, creed, sexual orientation, hell even college football team allegiance. No, it was purely a judgement based on lies. I had quite a few, but never any big ones. Kept me from getting a job in finance, but I landed plenty of manual labor. Most recently, I had earned myself a spot recycling concrete. I lined up next to a few ex-cons, and a few that I knew were illegal immigrants. George, he had a scar from his eye to his chest...I knew not to ask him about that one.
I was off kilter today. Everything was irritating me, despite my awareness that what I was getting upset over was unimportant to me, my better angels were silent. Finally the boss called us on break for lunch after a tough day on the line. I took a tumble head first and nearly hit my face on an exposed road sign post. I looked down at my squished peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and also George's hammer that he had left out. I got up with rage in my eyes.
"Awww Honey, that's the saddest little sandwich I've ever seen" she said, before I could let out a holler at a giant ex-con.
"You'll have to let me make you some lunch"
I looked over and recognized her. It was the boss's daughter Scarlet. She had come through a few times, and the crew did their best to avert their eyes and hold in their whistles. She was just out of high school, but damn if she wasn't the curviest woman I'd ever seen. Jet black hair, green eyes, freckles, and a ridiculously tight bod. I guess she did gymnastics or something? It was the first time I'd seen her and it wasn't 40 below. She had come by during the winter and brought soup to her dad a few times.
She was wearing a tank top and some silly-tight jeans. She was a "Pure One"...no surprise there. I'm sure her dad provided everything to her, and she didn't have to lie very often. In fact, I didn't see any at all. That was until she turned around to head back to the boss's trailer.
It was the longest and most hideous scar I'd ever seen. I could barely catch pieces of it between her shirt and her pants, but God...it was so wide and deep.
"There's not much here, but I can reheat some of last nights dinner" she caught eyes with me, and I could tell I wasn't hiding my shocked face very well. A nervousness came over her, and she began to tear up. She quickly wiped the tear away and turned to change the subject back to the roast and potatoes she was getting for me.
She laid it out on the desk where I was sitting, and chimed in,
"I saw George's hammer, and I saw you about to get yourself killed--" she looked up. She could tell I was still fixated on her mark.
She paused, "Johnny right? Your name's Johnny?"
I nodded.
"...Listen, if I tell you what it was, you have to promise that you won't tell anyone, and forget you ever saw it."
I nodded, slower this time.
"My Dad, he's been *too* close to me ever since I could remember."
My face of shock and awe turned to a sympathetic one. The pain in her eyes and voice echoed to the bottom of my gut.
"He's abused me and my sister the whole time we've been in the house since Mom went to prison."
She began to cry.
"My little sister Vanessa, she told the police about everything. He was going to be locked away finally. They came to me to corroborate her story, and I...I"
She pointed to the scar.
"He beat her so bad that night, the police chalked it up to her having a creative imagination...That's what I told them, that she had a creative imagination...with all of those little scars on her body. Now she has real ones."
She let out a flurry of tears and sobs.
I already hated Jim, her father. It didn't surprise me that he abused anyone. He worked us like slaves and threw shit around the work site constantly. He fired Tony when his wife got cancer and he couldn't come in. I already wanted to shove my foot up his pretentious ass.
*How could he do that to his own kids?*
It was something I pondered over for the rest of the day. The rest of the day went by quicker. I worked with a rage. A rage of injustice.
The chime rang for the end of the day. I felt a little relief.
I started to walk off and tripped head first and this time I wasn't so lucky. I fell right into an exposed road sign post and it made it's way into bloodying my eye. I looked back, squinting through one good eye. It was George's hammer again. He looked at me nervously as if to say *I'm sorry* with his eyes. I took a deep breath and went over and picked it up to hand to him.
"You clumsy motherfucker. Don't think you're getting any time off for your own bullshit"
It was Jim. I looked up at his face with a blind rage. In a flash I looked down at a bloody hammer. My eye widened. I had just struck him. I looked down at him convulsing as blood shot out of his head. Then it stopped. George looked down with his hand on his neck.
"He's dead Johnny" he said solemnly.
I saw a figure walking slowly off the work site. It was Scarlet. She turned towards me. A scar ripped her face, all the way down to her legs.
| 2016-12-29T10:20:21
| 2016-12-29T09:10:58
| 114
| 63
|
[WP] A professor is teaching a course on the gods worshiped in pre-Christian Europe and he always gets into an argument with a student. The student is actually one of those gods in disguise - but so is the professor. The rest of the class has no idea until one day.....
|
**Norse-It-All - Starring Vanadium and Thorium**
Friday, 3:00 P.M. Professor Esmark’s class: Norse Literature.
My favorite teacher in the world sat propped against his rickety wooden chair like a pillar. With a bent neck, he eyed the clock, pale ice eyes fixed on the hands like a falcon’s on its prey. When the minute hand struck 12, the professor shuffled his papers, and snapped to attention.
“Welcome, class. Please take five minutes to review the homework assigned Wednesday. We will be answering questions when your time elapses.”
Papers shuffled, binders unclipped, and pens and pencils rustled about. But I didn’t move. I hadn’t done any of the homework, and Professor Esmark didn’t need glasses to know. At the beginning of the year, he’d pushed and prodded me to do my homework, read the books, or at least ask questions in class. He wasn’t a bad guy - he wanted his students to succeed. But he couldn’t help but be perplexed as to why I always aced his tests and quizzes, despite never doing any of the work or participating in class. He suspected cheating, but when he drilled me one-on-one with no preparation, I still got near perfect marks. Ever since then, he’d left me alone. It was better that way.
Truth be told, I never wanted to be here. Getting a B.A. in Norse Studies was never my intended goal - I really wanted to get a B.S. in chemistry, but I didn’t qualify for the program. I guess my anguished hours I spent for YEARS doing research in vanadium complexes just weren’t enough for the university. So I took the easy way out - “studying” the very culture I had not only been there to witness - but to shape.
Still, I’ll need to pursue my chemical studies elsewhere - or elsewhen - but I must do so before the end times come. The Nordic sagas and poems do not mention what happens to me at Ragnarök - but this is for a reason. I destroyed all written records of my intentions, for fear that the other gods might try to stop me from impeding fate. I believe there is a way to delay Fimbulvetr and prevent Ragnarök from happening again, using megastructures and a whole lot of complex chemical-
*BRRRRING.*
The five-minute alarm. I’ll have to explain later.
“All right, class. What questions do you have?” Professor Esmark said, rising from his chair and pacing to the center of the room. Hands shot up. Professor Esmark scanned the room, locking eyes with one young man in the front.
“Harald.”
“Professor, the passage of Sturluson’s you gave us mentions Freyja ‘spending 4 days and 4 nights’ with 4 dwarves. Is this meant to be interpreted literally or figuratively?”
“Good question, Harald. Sturluson-”
“-Was a Christian monk who lived 200 years after the end of the viking age and about 250 years after Christianity first came to Scandinavia,” I interjected, tearing and crumpling little balls of paper from my notebook. I was used to the class’s weird glances and murmurings at this point. Professor Esmark sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Evangeline, this is the eighteenth time this week that you have interrupted me. If you have something important to say, please talk to me during office hours.”
My brows furrowed and my face felt hot. My mind was racing. I was the Professor’s star student, but even a teacher’s pet has limits on how much they can blab away.
“But Professor, the text we were given misses so much vital context surrounding Snorri Sturluson’s heritage and intentions. I mean, in the same passage about the four dwarves, Sturluson says that Odinn and I- I mean, Freyja - were humans who lived in Asia! And not only were they mere mortals, but they compelled men to war amongst each other until the Christian king Olav Tryggvason came and broke their heathen curse! How plausible is it that the pagan Norsemen viewed their gods in such a light?”
“Look, Evangeline. The point of this reading wasn’t to offer a glimpse into an unbiased document on Norse deities, only a source that offers clues wherein interpretation is necessary,”
“But that’s the problem! So much of the opinions and attitudes of viking-age Scandinavia are dependent on outside and post-temporal records that interpretation itself is difficult. How can we interpret what the Norse thought, when the very parameters of their thoughts are dictated and scrutinized through the lens of outsiders?” I protested.
“Then you might as well say historical studies are useless! Reconstruction requires leaps of faith - that are, of course, grounded in evidence - but there must be a conclusion of some kind reached,” Professor Esmark replied. Something flashed in his eyes. Was it...recognition?
“According to Ynglinga Saga 4, Freyja taught the Aesir seidr, the reading and molding of the future. And you, of all people, should know that running your mouth off in the middle of class would secure a poor future for anyone,”
I rolled my eyes.
“There’s no consensus that the Aesir and Vanir were even separate groups. The same god has been referred to as both in the same passages, without marriage even being involved. And besides, didn’t Kvasir put all that stuff behind us? I mean- them?”
Professor Esmark frowned. “I have never felt any affiliation with the Vanir gods.”
“You? Why does it matter if *you* feel affiliation with them?” I inquired, donning a tone of false inquisition. The professor blinked twice, attempting to regain his composition. But a flush spread across his cheeks, the same fire that I wore.
“B-because, Evangeline. I am a scholar. And scholars have standards. One of which involves RESPECTING authorities in the field,”
Oh well. Time to go mask off.
I smirked. “Remember that one time Thorr cosplayed as Freyja to get Mjölnir back? I still think your wig looked awful,”
“Do you have a CITATION for that?!” Professor Esmark stammered. The entire class was staring us down. Not a word was uttered.
“I don't need one,” I spat back, rising from my desk and casting my books on the floor.
“Young lady, pick those books up! This is NOT how we conduct scholarly debate! Cite your sources or-”
“I was *THERE*,” I finished.
Esmark’s eyes and neck muscles were twitching, but he was silent. My hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists, but I was silent. The class, frozen in shock, was silent.
Until a voice piped up.
“Man, you never told us you were a cosplayer! You should come to NordiCon this summer!”
\---
Visit r/Official_PotT for more chemically compounded drama!
|
“. . .And so, while it is commonly believed that Jupiter was the most revered of the heavenly gods in Europe, it was actually in fact the Celtic god Taranis, whose likeness and identity became syncretized with Jupiter after Roman colonizers invaded ancient Gaul. Any questions?”
Professor Rhine waited patiently while the sounds of third-year Ancient European Mythology students tip-tapping away at their laptops filled the air. He was pleased to see all of his students looked thoroughly engrossed with his material.
Well, all except one. Rhine did his best to ignore this one as he has many times so far in the semester. In fact, he looked forward to the ending of the term, seeing as it meant he wouldn’t have to interact with such a rude and ignorant up-start. Never had he—
“Hey, Professor?" the young man said with a sneer in his voice.
Rhine blinked out of his reverie and narrowed his eyes at the man. He sat near the front of the class; tall, broad and tanned, with tight black curls and striking blue eyes, he was no doubt a favourite of the many young men and women (and even some of the professors) who attended the college. Rhine hated him.
“Professor?” the boy said again, whose name Rhine refused to remember out of principle.
“Yes?” Rhine said curtly. The other students looked up from their laptops with wary and excited looks.
“It just seems to me that if Taranis, stupid name by the way, became folded under Jupiter’s mighty being, then surely you cannot possibly argue that Taranis was the greatest of the heavenly gods, correct?”
Rhine glowered at the boy. The up-start. The pretender.
An awkward silence filled the classroom. Some of his other students coughed. Others began pulling out their phones.
“I imagine,” Rhine said bitingly, “that to your…” he refrained himself from outright insulting the boy, “*underdeveloped* mind, the so-called might of Jupiter is synonymous with the Roman Empire’s strengths as a colonizing force. This is simply not the case, dear boy. And, when you look at the primary sources that survived the Celts, we clearly see that the fear and majesty those once-great people ascribed to Taranis was to a higher degree than any Roman would ever give to Jupiter.”
His other students looked impressed at the answers. They turned as one to see the boy’s rebuttal.
The boy opened his mouth. Closed it. Glowered at Rhine beneath thick eyebrows. A muscle bunched in his square, chiseled jaw. His beauty was something out of a statue, and it sickened Rhine. Such vanity to choose that form above all others. No flaws, near perfection, like something out of a statue. At least the Greeks understood that gods were to be a reflection of the people, not an elevation of them.
“Alright,” the boy said, standing up suddenly. “I don’t think I’ll be making it to exams, Professor. I tried my best, I did, but you’re… you’re just terrible. And stupid.”
A loud, excited gasp filled the air, closely followed by the sharp smell of ozone. Hair began to stand on end. A low rumbling echoed in the distance. It was a bright, March morning.
“I see,” Rhine said. He took off his glasses—merely for show, of course—and laid them on his desk. He looked around at his other students and gave them a fond smile. “Class, you’re dismissed. It was a pleasure teaching all of you this term. Your essays will be sent to your Dropbox by tomorrow night at the latest. I apologize for the delay.”
A bright glow began to emanate from the boy. From Jupiter.
The mortals quickly filed out of the room.
“Really?” Jupiter rumbled, his voice now deeper and lower than distant thunder. “I like an audience when I dance.”
“I bet you do,” Taranis replied, beginning to glow as well. “Vain prick.”
Jupiter grinned.
---
/r/chrischang
| 2021-08-05T17:40:42
| 2021-08-05T17:22:51
| 1,293
| 408
|
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
3/18/52
I can’t take it anymore. The sound of machinery echoes in my dreams, the screaming of saws in my nightmares.
Except I don’t dream. And it’s hard to have nightmares when you almost never sleep, when every waking moment is a nightmare.
Asomnia was patented about 30 years ago. When my team and I figured it out, we thought we were going to be rich. Imagine it - being able to reclaim almost a third of your life! People were finally going to have time for leisure.
The first manufacturing contract we received was from the military, primarily for Spec Ops groups. SEALs, Rangers, that sort of thing. There was a war that was threatening to become the nuclear holocaust.
We ended up winning. Saving the world, or so we thought. With Asomnia, spec ops forces were able to go in and disable enemy nukes, sabotage grids and more. What had been estimated to take a year only took a few months as sleep was eliminated.
Suddenly, we had a large nation under our control. We needed cheap goods, to not rely on China. The government put in an order for Asomnia, and began to distribute it to the bears. That’s what we called the poor Russians…the bears. Their infrastructure had been destroyed, and we wanted them to rebuild it quickly to prevent a second Nazi Germany.
Word got out. Word always gets out.
A Russian scientist was able to reverse our formula, and begin Mass distribution. Suddenly, the bears were rebuilding their nation and aiming for space dominance.
In five years, they’d achieved the beginnings of commercial space flight.
In another ten, they had developed an extensive warfare program under the KV, and began to call in orbital strikes…oddly, on the Chinese.
Eurasia is currently being decimated by slow nuclear war, while everyone else is manufacturing Asomnia to try and escape the hellhole we’ve created. Scientists figure that if we can get enough people into space, we have a chance to save humanity. The past 15 years have seen the gradual decline of leisure and interpersonal communication while we try to escape. People are working 48 hour shifts. Children have been separated from parents so they can work more.
Society is unraveling, and it’s worse than our wildest dreams.
|
Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it.
| 2022-03-18T11:44:53
| 2022-03-18T07:24:03
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] You were the last human on earth after the zombie apocalypse destroyed civilization. One day, you finally get infected by a zombie, but after turning, you realize what you've been missing out on.
|
(FIXED THE FORMATTING YAY)
I was surviving for a while before I finally got turned. Not sure how long, stopped keeping track of the time long ago, but it was a good while. When I finally got bit though it was a little anti-climactic. No epic fighting or one-off against a horde of zombies, didn’t get a chunk of my arm or leg removed by the jaw of an undead. I just scratched myself. It was an elementary mistake, one only those who died early made. Regardless, I had just made it and I knew I was done. Once you had any sort of open wound it wouldn’t be long until you were infected; the zombies turned you with their saliva, which after all this time was on basically everything. As soon as a drop got into your bloodstream you were a goner.
Went through the normal stages of the turning process: general lethargy, bloatedness, other small microbes eating at your flesh as you rot slowly. It didn’t hurt at all, as they only ate at the parts of you that were dead already, although I expected all of this after watching everyone turn. What I didn’t expect was how I’d feel about the whole thing.
It might be the fact that my nervous system is slowly dying and freaking the fuck out, but I feel awesome. The best guess as to the cause would be either the infectious agent causes a huge release of endorphins, or it acts like an agonist similar to many addictive drugs that give you a high, which is actually a perfect description to how I feel. I feel like I’m on a perpetual high and have risen above the constraints of mortality. Like there is nothing I need to care about, and that I could do anything I wanted. Although I guess that feeling made sense. After all, there were no more humans around as far as I knew, and as a zombie it wasn’t like I had any priorities or jobs I needed to do or be worried about.
Movement is getting harder, I don’t think I could raise my arms above my head at this point, but I honestly couldn’t care less. As I walk around I notice things I haven’t noticed about the zombies I was fighting from before. They don’t look that ugly, believe it or not. And most seem to still be able to do some rudimentary cognitive functions. How did I not notice these things before? I swear they used to just look like mindless idiots that hobbled around. I guess I just didn’t have the perspective.
I believe one smiled at me, how nice of him. I smile back. Being a zombie wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I thought I’d lose all use of my own mind, that I’d basically be a shell that could walk around and do useless things. But I’m not. I’m having trouble walking, but I’m not. I’m free, and I can do whatever I want. My movements may be somewhat constrained, but that’s alright.
I laugh to myself at the idiocy of my old views. I hear other zombies around me laugh too. Everyone’s voice sounds different though, probably because of the bacteria eating away at their vocal chords. I wonder if that’s the moaning sound I heard a lot of zombies make before. I laugh again to myself at the stupidness of my old views. I was an idiot. Being a zombie wasn’t bad at all. I have nothing I need to worry about.
Being a zombie is fun. I don’t think I can bend one of my legs but that’s okay. I don’t need to care about anything anymore, and there’s nothing to be scared of anymore. I can do whatever I want. I can’t move much, but that’s okay. I can do whatever I want. I laugh to myself. I was stupid.
I can do whatever I want. I see other zombies. I should follow them. They have a good idea what to do. They don’t have to worry about things. I don’t have to worry about things. Being a zombie is fun. I feel happy. I laugh.
I see other zombies. I should follow them. Being a zombie is fun. I’m happy. I laugh.
Follow others. Haha. I happy. Fun.
Follow others. I happy. Haha.
Follow. Haha.
Haha, ha.
Haha.
Ha.
Ha.
Ha…
……
…………………….
|
Brains taste like chocolate, but I don't have to worry about the calories anymore.
Blood is like wine -- I finally understand what those wine people talk about… a hint of strawberries with an oaky depth and a buttery finish.
Ice cream intestines -- this one's last meal was pistachios.
My favorite is veins -- they taste like Twizzlers.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Umami!
But I was the last one! There's no one left to eat!
I WANT CHOCOLATE!!!
| 2015-10-13T07:35:04
| 2015-10-13T06:51:52
| 1,135
| 40
|
[WP] There is a population limit to the galaxy. Whenever one sentient creature is born, another must die. With billions of unexpected deaths over the last few centuries, the galactic counsel has found the cause; a long ignored planet where a group of bipeds can't stop reproducing.
|
Fermi’s paradox, it baffles the mind. There is so much to the universe, but not much intelligent life. Humans thought it was because either there was no other intelligent life, or that some great filter existed that kept intelligent life from evolving. The latter is a bit closer to the truth, but not in the way they thought.
Sentience is something hard to understand. Most intelligent species don’t know where it comes from. The few that do, don’t fully understand. The truth is, sentience is part of the universe itself. Kind of like a shared experience between life and the universe. One upside to this is that intelligent life is bound to form anywhere that can support complex living beings. The downside is that there’s only so much to go around.
It’s not like the other forces in nature. There’s no limit to how much gravity or electro-magnetism can exist, it just does. Sentience is directly linked to the energy in the universe. As energy can neither be created nor destroyed, sentience can’t surpass a percentage of the energy in a given universe. The first species to discover this was in a previous universe, unfortunately close to that universes heat death.
In our universe, it was discovered fairly early on. A galactic council was set up between all known species to allocate population control. There were strict laws in place for reproducing across the universe. Applications had to be approved by a sub sect of the galactic council on every planet. Each planet was given a number not to pass yearly based on the number of deceased beings the year prior. It was very closely maintained.
Recently there has been a large uptick in the number of deceased beings and, more alarmingly, a larger number of births born lifeless. Somehow the universal limit had been reached. The council members were perplexed, they had always left at least 5 billion total left over just in case. There was no way their math was off by that much, that left only 1 possibility. Somewhere in the universe was undiscovered sentient life.
The council immediately sent notice to all discovery crews to scour their sector again. Somehow there was life out there that reproduced so fast that it was disrupting the natural order. The crews were dispatched and the search began. Back at the council chambers, representatives of every species gathered and waited for news.
A search for sentient life was conducted every quarter rotation of an average Galaxy, so labeled 1 galactic standard rotation. That was, on average, every 62.5 million years per search. It hadn't been that long since the last one though, not even 1/8th of a rotation. Every planet with life showed only the basest forms, nothing capable of actual sentience.
Humanity has existed on earth in its current form for 200,000 years. Nowhere in the universe is there another species that reproduces at the rate humans do. The average lifespan of a human is approximately 73 Earth years. Compared to the average lifespan of all other species though that’s nothing. The average lifespan of most others is 1,500 Earth years, give or take a bit. It was inconceivable to the rest of the galactic community that such a species could exist. That is exactly why humanity slipped under the radar, figuratively and literally.
At the end of the search, 3 different planets supporting undiscovered sentient life were uncovered. One had a small population doomed for extinction due to planetary effects. One was small and advancing quickly, peaceful contact was made with them and they were introduced to the galactic community. There were only 263,000 between those two planets, 95% of those being on the latter. The last planet discovered sent shockwaves through the universe.
Earth, as the native inhabitants called it, had a stunning 5.1 billion sentient beings when discovered. That was only one species, there were others on the cusp of sentience as well. Nothing like this had ever been seen before. These Humans reproduced at an astonishing rate, everything on that planet did. Once found, the Council ordered surveillance on the planet to get an accurate reading on life there. After 30 Earth years the survey was completed. In that short time, they watched as the population of sentient beings grew from approximately 5.1 Billion to 7.7 Billion. The council was sent word immediately.
Panic set in as Earths population grew out of control. The Council gathered to discuss options. The following record is as close to Human English as there could be. “They reproduce to quickly, the only option is to neutralize the planet.” Council Member Gra’zaad said. “We have looked at their history as well. Not only do they reproduce faster than any known species, they are highly aggressive even amongst one another.” Council Member Breght Tan Knlowgler said. A round of “Here, here” broke out amongst the members. “I believe there is another way,” Council Member Tom said. Everyone quieted down. “Why waste an entire species, They are on the very edge of sentience as it is it seems. We must deploy the (no translation exists). It is the only way to ensure the safety of the entire Galactic Community” “That has been banned by Council Law and you know it.” Council Member Leplendersticht said. “Desperate times.” Council Member Tom replied.
And so, a fleet of ships was sent to Earth with the solution on board. Once in orbit, the (no translation exists) was powered up and aimed at Earth. Once unleashed it would revert the Humans to non-sentient beings, effectively rendering them nothing but lowly beasts once again. It would strip the intelligence from any being close to sentience as well, ensuring none on the planet could come that close again. As Council Member Tom said, why waste an entire species. There were lots of mouths to feed in the universe.
Thank you for reading!
More from me at [R/WorksofIndridFrost1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WorksofIndridFrost1/)
|
Breaking News on Earth:
Population extension is imminent. There is a large plague infecting billions of people. Dormant for ages, the plague has spread all across the six inhabited continents. Rumors suggests that everyone now has this disease and only time will tell how long they have until. . . death. Violence across the earth seems to end, social media slows down, streets are barren as everyone stays within their homes to spend their last moments wit their family. The diseases seems to cause a paralyzing influenza which leads to a peaceful death in a coma.
NASA scientists prepare a team of 6 astronauts off into the distant galaxy to possibly find other signs of life and repopulate the human race. The crew is sent off into the stars, waving back to a bare earth, previously rich with life. The NASA scientist take the last moments watching the crew ascend from our atmosphere until the ship becomes a spec.
Everyone dies at the expense of an unknown disease, at the expense of another alien life.
| 2018-11-29T11:52:06
| 2018-11-29T11:43:10
| 30
| 14
|
[WP] Create a "Choose Your Own Adventure" with an infinite loop. Bonus points for working as many choices into the outcome as possible.
|
And now everyone, gather around for the home version of everybody's favorite game show:
# INCREMENT THE NUMBER!
Now you, too, can follow the thrilling and chilling thrills and chills of the famous TV game show! Re-live the excitement as you reach unbelievably high numbers like 40 or even 50!
[What are you waiting for? Get started!](http://www.reddit.com/r/increment_the_number/comments/2yqo40/spoilers_increment_the_number/cpc2e9k)
|
1.You awake from sleep lying in a bed, you:
2.Get out of bed
-go to 4
3.Go back to sleep
-go to 1
4.After an exhausting day of doing _____, a nice rest seems ideal.
-go to 1
I would love to see someone add on to this to make possible choices for an entire daily routine; I don't have the time right now :(
| 2015-03-11T11:06:17
| 2015-03-11T08:45:13
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
The Tel'reth delegation sat placed at the center of a side of the triangular negotiating table. They were the principally wronged, and therefore they occupied the position of authority for their coalition's diplomats at this meeting. However, despite their position, all with them recognized them merely as the first among many. Delegations from four other major species, and several minor parties besides, sat alongside them, all seeking reparations for a hideous, unprovoked act of what could only be called state-sponsored piracy. Not only were the riches of their foremost manufacturing planet callously stripped, the ensuing escape saw the destruction of four separate naval groups, at least two of which had attempted to surrender.
The lead Tel'reth ambassador rubbed the center of his forehead in frustration, a habit he picked up from the various Human envoys he had known in his position. He had to admit, it was a fantastic admission of the frustration and boredom one occasionally felt at the negotiating table, and while he had learned to use it as just another weapon in a long list of tools, at present it simply served to show how exasperated he was. These, he checked his datapad again and found that, yes, it still said they called themselves the "Murderface Murderers" when properly translated, were proving difficult to handle. While that was in part due to their stubborn refusal to follow even the most basic of diplomatic protocols, he'd be lying if he didn't acknowledge, at least to himself, that it was also because of the absurd name they had chosen.
The primary government claimed they were merely fractious offshoot of the Raknal'thak, and were refusing to pay the proper reparations one was due. The majority of other empires in the galaxy held the Raknal'thak in a position of both respect and fear, and they used this to their advantage in negotiations. They would often demand the opposition make them do whatever concessions were demanded of them, refusing to bow to even the most simple of requests.
It was no matter. This was the first time they had struck at the coalition since they had welcomed a new empire into the fold. One of their representatives, a Human, sat in the gathering behind the lead ambassador, a fact he was acutely aware of but one the, he sighed again as he thought the name, Murderface Murderers seem to have missed.
"Oh, I'm sorry, are we boring you, *ambassador?*" The insulting inflection on the last word wasn't lost on him, even before the translator added the note that it was meant disrespectfully. He was bored, of course, bored and frustrated with their endless posturing, but he knew the mediator would be arriving soon. His counterpart had a flair for the dramatic, and while it had served them well in their other negotiations, he was a little unsure of how the Raknal'thak would take it.
"Heavens, no, esteemed colleagues! I was merely remembering a minor trifle that I must deal with later. Pay it no mind." He delivered his reply to their jeer with as sincere a smile as he could muster. As expected, the lead delegate returned to his ridiculous boasting and insulting at the sign of apparent weakness. Esteemed colleagues, he called them. Idly, he wondered if their language even had a word for that. They were utterly reprehensible in every other way, and it made him mildly happy to imagine that, no, they lacked the eloquence of language that the Tel'reth had enjoyed for many millenia.
His train of thought was broken up by a faint clicking sound that was steadily growing louder.
"...and that is why all of you must bow down before us! If you agree to pay us the full output of three planets' forges, we shall forget the disrespect you have shown us this day!" The Raknal'thak ambassador boasted at the coalition side.
The Tel'reth envoy's response was simple. "I'm afraid we must decline those terms and seek to find ones more amiable to-"
"Nonsense! Those terms are, uh," the Raknal'thak delegate had attempted to cut him off, but was in turn distracted by the steady clicking, which had continued to grow louder. He glanced briefly at where the clicking was coming from before continuing, "Uh, those terms are perfectly reasonable! A bargain, a measure of, uh, mercy even!"
The steady \*click\* \*clack\* had grown loud enough to drown out even his obnoxious voice. A slim being, smaller than either ambassador, had finally made his way to the third edge of the table. The Raknal'thak delegation stared at her, naked hatred of her disregard for them on apparent display.
"I'm dreadfully sorry I'm late. I had a devil of a time finding this place." She smiled, unconcerned with their reaction.
"How dare you! How dare you show up late, and with that foul odor on proud display! We should gut you where you-" The click of her briefcase, followed by the rustling of the papers within as she sought a specific document, was loud enough to cut him off immediately. The Tel'reth envoy suspected some form of auditory enhancing device was used to magnify its effects, but he wouldn't have put it past her to find some way to make that much noise without aid. The Raknal'thak ambassador was near-apoplectic with rage, he noted, and he idly wondered if he could possibly get so angry that his one eye would pop out of his head. It certainly looked like it might, and how satisfying an end to negotiations *that* would be.
"YOU DARE IGNORE US! WE WILL NOT-"
"Ah, here it is." Having finally found the document she was looking for, she yet again cut him off mid-sentence and started reading from her apparent notes. "Now, as a recent addition to the Coalition for Sanctity and Prosperity, we, the Human delegation, believe that we are perfectly suited to act as arbitrator in this dispute. We stand ready to assist the principally aggrieved, who hereafter shall be referred to as the Tel'reth, in pursuing the acquisition of reparations for military misconduct as engaged in by the Raknal'thak authorities." She looked up from the paper to the Raknal'thak delegation, who had not stopped yelling, but whose voice was apparently being completely silenced, likely by some other clever bit of tech his canny counterpart had brought with her. "Are you content with our position in this meeting, ambassador?"
-*Ambassadorial report, observer's notes, onset of CSP-RD hostilities, part 1*
|
The Tethron shivered in his hole. The mud was usually so comforting to him, but now it made him almost claustrophobic. Foreboding. The paradise of the colony world sundered into choking vapor and bitterly cold nights.
"Klang? Why are you coiled against the viewport like that? Come to the food station and get warmed up." His wife called to him. She was always trying to make the best of any situation. She didn't seem to comprehend that they were going to die forsaken by their very ground. The underlords weren't coming g to save them this time.
////
John Sherman stood looking out over the world below, watching the raythogenic cloud swirling below, blocking the sunlight.
"Damn worms. Teach those bastards that they don't get what's ours."
"How long until their world is frozen, sir?"
"Research pegs it at between 3 days and 7 days. By how cold the scans are getting, the mid-rank pool has it at two and a half."
"I dunno. I have in the pool at six days. Research isn't usually that conservative."
Captain Sherman laughed, "You Martians are all the same. Calculate everything, do what's prudent. It's like your colonials were going to starve or run out of air or something." He jabbed.
"Or maybe you freaks from the 'belt just hit your heads too often careening around with jetpacks and fish bowls." Retorted Commander Kaplan jovially.
////
Klang woke with a start, rolling softly next to his mate. He settled himself so as to not disturb her. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't put his mind on it.
He heard a soft murmur. Rotating his head, he focused on his mate and heard it clearly, "K-k-kang-g-g. K-k-ka..."
He immediately slithered around on top of Kilespa. "Mate! What's wrong?" He exclaimed, his body trying to react and force him away from the ice cold emanations from his mate. He furiously rubbed himself across her, trying to heat her up.
"S-s-stop. I-i am-m alr-red-dy dead. I l-l....l-lov-ve...."
Kang stroked furiously against his mate. "Wake up! Wake up!"
He slowly grew tired, his hearts gushing blood past his cochlea. This couldn't be happening. He retreated from his mate's corpse and started shivering. Everything was cold. They had ran out of heating fuel yesterday morning. He thought they could get some more in the noon time, but there was no more. The refinery had failed from the cold and spilled it across the country-side. Everyone was without heat.
He slithered through the entryway. He wanted to hasten the inevitable. What he found was horror. Everyone he knew was frozen in spasms, everywhere outside. He couldn't turn any direction without touching his friends, neighbors, brothers.
Then he saw it. A strange light that beckoned warmth. He slithered towards it instinctively, the frozen ground almost burning him. Emanating cold like he had never felt. The light, yellow and promising warmth, beckoning him onwards. The yellow light was all he could see. He had to make it. Kilespa's memory couldn't end here.
The light dimmed. Shadows? Klang couldn't make it out, but he was sure he heard some sort of repetitious guttural barking.
////
"Wow. Look at this. It took 36 hours." an amazed sergeant muttered as he continued scanning, "I'm never going to see that twenty bucks again."
"Amazing, isn't it?" mused Lt Dran, "An escort frigate can wipe out a colony and move on. We've got these bastards, now."
"El Tee!" Shouted a private, raising his rifle, "Three o'clock!"
The entire squad turned and readied their weapons. A slow worm was shuffling towards them.
"Well, well. One survived. Looks like the wretch won't survive long." Said Sergeant Kirkpatrick. "Should we bag it for Research?"
"I don't have the freezer space for that much pork, boys. Take him out." Replied Lt Dran.
His soldiers laughed and then turned back and shot through the central nerve cluster.
"Oh, geez. It's all over my pants!" Whined one of the privates.
////
The Seated of the Lowest Chamber stared into the monitors. Those humans had wiped ground after ground off the face of the galactic map. No one had managed even once before to conquer their worlds. The humans had blundered, adapted, and then moved with terrifying efficiency and cruelty.
Worse, there was no indication of how they were killing any of these worlds. A light space vehicle - with less than 250 of these tiny creatures on board - would approach and then leave two days later. All rescue ships had been too slow. They would arrive to corpses rotting in the sun. Rarely signs of weapons, all of the dead looked like they had died in terror.
Her scientists had no idea how this happened.
A beacon rang. Human capital ships had entered orbit of the home plant and demanded an audience.
////
"What is it you wish to talk about, sc- uh, humans?" The Seated asked, checking her tone.
Admiral Davis stared into the holographic projection. "One hundred eighty days ago, you pledged to wipe us out of existence, Seated."
The Admirals pointed pause burrowed into the Seated's brain. "Yes, I did. But, now I think that you have proven we are no threat to you. On the contrary, we are hardly Any concern for a species such as yours."
The Admiral scoffed. "You made a threat to our existence, Seated. I can't see past that." Davis pressed a button and a host of holographic heads propped up behind him.
"Esteemed members of the Federation of Sentient Species, I present the Tethron's last home: Wurmin. They refused to leave us be, and threatened us with genocide. We do not take talk lightly. Heed, then, my words. The Tethron thought themselves gods among the stars. We have instead laid bare their sins against the heavens and brought doom upon all their worlds."
The Federation chattered amongst themselves as the Seated retracted nervously from the view screen.
"See, now, the desolation we can deliver. We mean you no harm until you mean us harm. Commander, eliminate the threat."
A bright energy pulse blasted from the flag ship and dissipated into the planet Wurmin's atmosphere.
"This will be broadcast live for three days." Admiral Davis stood up and exited the bridge to his office.
| 2019-11-24T23:35:44
| 2019-11-24T23:22:53
| 23
| 17
|
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
It all happened so fast. I was going into town for a shovel. Earlier that day I'd broken one digging a drain trench out behind the barn.
Now I was sitting at a table in a room with a long mirror along the wall. The kind you see in a cop movie where they are shaking down a suspect.
Oh fuck. I'm a suspect. But for what. I barely leave the farm.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way", and middle aged man in a suit was entering the room . He had a briefcase and a tablet. Closely behind him was another man. He appeared to be some high ranking military officer.
"Umm I really don't......." I was cut off.
"Don't play dumb with us James. You have to know why you're here." he was clearly annoyed with me.
Then it hit me. Dad's brother Pete spends a lot of time up in the back corner of the farm at the edge of the forest and he always smells like weed.
"That mother fucker! Listen, it was dad's brother. He's always up there. If you're looking for the weed he's the guy you want! " My voice was starting to crack, I was scared as hell.
"We don't care about the weed, we found that about an hour ago" The military man took the tablet from the suit.
"It's the global calculated rankings son." he was swiping his finger over the screen. "This showed up on the new rankings section at 8:43 this morning!"
He slid the tablet across the table. A new page was displayed on the screen. Only one entry was on the list.
\*\*New Category\*\*
\*\*05/04/2019\*\*
\*\*Most Extraterrestrial Invaders Killed Or Defeated\*\*
1. James Marshall (1 Kill)
​
​
The suit looked a little angry but now he mostly looked scared.
"We just want some insight into what we might be up against"
​
The only problem was.
I had no idea.
EDIT: wow. I’m really blown away by the response to this. Thanks so much everyone.
I really had intended to leave it at that but I do have an idea where it’s going. If I like where it goes I’ll continue.
|
"Oh god, please nothing with horses, I knew I would regret that night with Fred."
That fear sitting at the back of my mind, I drag my feet towards the terminal and begin punching in my user ID.
"Ah, shit, what was it..."
"6-1-3...." The thought trails off trying to remember the number I've only used once or twice before.
"6-1-3-5...? No... That can't be right."
I think for a bit, and then it hits me, Ma had given me the number before I left!
I fish around in my pockets and find the crumpled piece of paper I carelessly shoved in there. Unfolding it, it reads: 61394539.
I hunt and peck on the keypad, entering the number as it reads on the paper, and watch the terminal come to life. All kinds of shades of blue flashing before my eyes, icons appearing and disappearing, I think I saw an animal in there? Can't be sure, it just goes way too fast. Finally, it finishes. Looking at my stats, things look relatively normal. As far as I can tell most of the stats have me at the average for most things, but severely lacking in others. Until I see one that catches my eye.
"Most Planets Visited: Eric Harrison" the terminal read.
"How... Is that even possible..." I thought to myself as I read this. "I've lived on Earth all this time, my family has been tending to this ranch for centuries..." I look around the room and all eyes are on me. Clearly everyone has seen this ranking.
I continue scrolling, and that wasn't the only #1 rank I held, to my surprise.
"Most civilizations destroyed: Eric Harrison"
"Number of planetary annihilations: Eric Harrison"
Finally, I reach the bottom of the list, and this if the others weren't bad enough of a joke, this one had to take the cake.
"Number of inter-species relations: Eric Harrison"
"Oh, come on, this is just sick!" I feel sick to my stomach reading the rankings I've received continuously labeling me as a freak, a total monster, someone who should be locked away, an intergalactic warmonger with a thirst for chaos and destruction.
Finally, I decide I've had enough, and try to find the log out button so that others can have their turn. As I walk away, confused and sickened, a couple of guards approach me.
"Excuse me sir, could you come with us?" the one on the right asks, as the one on the left has his hand to his holster.
"Sure, I suppose... What's this about anyway?" I ask out of confusion, beginning to follow them.
They don't reply, but instead I'm corralled into a room with a desk in the center, a bar for handcuffs, and what appears to be a mirror for one of the walls.
"Hey, what's the meaning of this!? I've done nothing wrong!" I yell as they're now getting forceful and shove me into the room, as they slam the door behind me.
I repeatedly bash on the door, hoping someone will free me, but minutes go by, and then hours, and eventually I lose motivation.
Finally, the speaker comes on.
"We've trapped you in a level 12 containment ward. You cannot escape any longer, Jenthar." a voice echoes through the room, "It's been 18 long years, but we finally found you. Thought you were clever hiding as the nobody on a ranch, huh?" the man on the other side cackles like a madman finally getting his drug fix after a withdrawal.
The walls of the room suddenly melt away as I see nothing but a purple and black void around me. Almost like two different colors of paint being lazily mixed together, but not blending.
Suddenly, I feel a huge headache, the memories flowing back. I see planets of all different sizes and compositions being blasted to smithereens, entire cities being uprooted and eaten by an unspeakable horror. Only... That horror was me... I'm seeing these despicable acts from the first person, tentacles grabbing large skyscrapers and shoveling them into my mouth.
I remember being weakened by a counter-assault on RB-1345, a recently terraformed planet orbiting SC-16384, home to the relatively new space-faring species, humans. I retreated to RB-1344, home to the humans, and use the last of my energy to implant myself into the womb of a pregnant mother.
"Ah.. Yes.." My facade of a personality washes away as the human boy, Eric Harrison, is replaced by Jenthar.
"This is far from over, Commander Warwick, for I am Jenthar! Consumer of worlds, conqueror of galaxies, drinker of infant fluids!" The blue of my eyes turns to red, tentacles beginning to protrude out of the pores of my skin, tearing my flesh apart.
"You were a fool to trust this lackadaisical confinement." I cackle as I begin warping the space-time around me, the colors of the dimension blending and fading and the light seeming to bend around me, sort of how a black hole contorts the light around it. Before they knew it, I was gone. Their puny "level 12 containment ward" was no match for the strength I had gained from going through the tedium that is human childhood. I feed on others' fear and suffering, and seeing all the suffering around Eric was enough to allow me to recover from my injuries and find new strength.
"Who..." I hear a voice in my head, seeming to cut off their sentence in shock as the stars whip past me.
"...Eric?" I ask, surprised the boy even lived past consumption.
"Yeah... Who are you? Am I blind? Why can't I see?" I feel my left hand raise up to my face, sort of patting my face.
"Would you stop that!?" Jenthar bats back with his right hand, their left hand falling back to Jenthar's side.
"Look, kid, this ain't gonna be easy to explain to you... But unless you finally die off like I intended for you to, you're along for the long haul. Just, don't get in the way." I grimace as we approach our first fill-up of the week, I guess you could call it an Earth-like planet, known as RB-1390, and come in for the landing.
| 2019-05-04T11:15:23
| 2019-05-04T10:22:43
| 6,214
| 165
|
[WP] Almost all of humanity is wiped out. 1500 years later, tribes start to rebuild. Write an original myth to explain the relics of our present civilizations that these tribes might share.
|
When I was a boy, our people crossed the deadlands to reach the fertile valley. We spotted a mass of shapes in the distance, a forest of giant thorns protruding from the ground at odd angles, and as we came closer it became clear that they were created by the ancients. Symbols of death were carved into the faces of the monolithic stone spikes, along with the language of the old ones, at that time still a mystery to us.
That night we camped a safe distance from them, and I asked my father, the chief, of their purpose. He told me that the ancients had built them to keep wanderers from traveling into the forbidden lands. He said that the forbidden lands held an unknowable danger, like fire that burns a man and makes him ill with evil spirits, but cannot be seen. He told me that a great evil must be sealed within, and the thorns were meant to protect us from our own curiosity.
Many years later my father was killed in a raid and I was elected chief in his place. I began to think about what time I had left, and how someday I would be killed, as would my son, and his son after him. Was death really necessary? I again thought of the Forrest of Thorns. How many times had we been rewarded for our curiosity? We discovered the fertile valley only by crossing the dry, barren lands before it. We found a structure from the ancients that held precious seeds only after destroying the doors that protected them. These gifts from the ancients to us, their beloved children, were only given after we overcame the test before. What if the Forrest was just another test, and deep within was the secret of ending death and sickness?
I lead a group of my most fearless men into the Deadlands; It was not long until we came upon the Forrest. Armed with copper tools and weapons, we entered. The thorns made it very difficult to pass, and we spent nearly a day traversing them until we found a clearing directly in the center. We camped in this spot, and in the morning we set to work digging. It wasn't long before we found them: metal cylinders encased in stone.
Listen to the words of a dying man: do not enter the Forrest of Thorns. An invisible fire burns within, a sickness that burns a man from the inside. The ancients wanted to protect us, their beloved children, not just from ourselves but from their own evils as well. I knew immediately after opening one of the cylinders that this was not the secret to ending death and sickness as I had hoped, but rather the opposite. This was where they buried their sickness.
|
"Please, Old Shaman, tell us about the Towers!"
The children gathered around the middle-aged man. He laughed and caressed his black beard, on which a few white hair were starting to grow. This was his favourite time of the day. The little monsters were an unruly bunch which no one could control or calm down during the day, but, as soon as the sun was starting to dive into the sea, for him, and only for him, they would become meek and quite, listening to his every word, afraid of missing even a sound escaping from his lips. The days of his hunt came to an end not too long ago, but he was already accustomed to being one of the Elders. He was elected as the Shaman of the village, a prestigious position, because he was the only one to have ever entered the Sacred Ruins together with the previous Shamans, but mostly because he was the oldest one among the apprentices. He had many responsibilities: he had to cure the sick and the wounded, to teach the young the Ways of the Hunter, of the Gatherer, of the Keeper and of the Shaman, to protect the people from bad luck, to bless the newborns and dead... And, of course, his favourite, to pass on the History of Men and Gods to the next generation. The man took a pipe from under the rags and inhaled a mouthful of smoke.
"The Towers... All of you can see them from here. They seem so small from here, but when you get close, you'd be amazed by how tall they are. Many would wonder, where did those towers come from? But that is the wrong question. They didn't come from anywhere, they were built, by men, like you and me. They were called the Sky Lords. Everyone knows that humanity once tamed the Iron Dragons, and used them not only to travel, but to build their homes too. But the Sky Lords, wanted more. They were powerful, as much as the Gods many believe, so, they didn't want to live on the same dirty soil as the rest of us mortals. Only the sky was worthy of them. But, in the beginning, they weren't called Sky Lords, not even Lords. They were the Halves, and they were scorned by Humans and Gods alike, humiliated and treated as abominations, for Chaos had created them unequal, neither immortals nor mortals, neither almighty nor weak. This until Gates the Nimble built the first Tower, proving his worth and that of his people. From Koral, the Sea God, he stole the method of making glass out of sand. He tricked Ryanair, the Dragon King, into being his slave for eternity. He convinced Volgos, the God of Blacksmiths, to teach him the secrets of metals. He climbed on top of the Great Tree to see if the Earth truly was round, and studied the winds. And finally, he was ready. For ten years, he and Ryanair worked day and night, without sleep, without food, without water. As such, the first Tower was erected. When Gates was on top of it, everything was bare for him to see. The Gods were envious and wanted to destroy him and his creation, but Libertas rised among the others. She saw what Gates had done and deemed that it was no harm, she saw what was being done to the Halves and deemed that it was evil. So she called everyone to her, mortals and immortals alike and declared in the name of the Great Tree that from that moment forth, the Halves shall be freed from their curse and the efforts of Gates shall be recognised until the end of times. She bestowed them with the title of Sky Lords and took Gates as her husband, donating him immortality and dominion over the Lands and its people. The other Gods were displeased, but stayed silent, for a snake knows well when to bow before the powerful, to bite when the moment would've been more advantageous. And Libertas, at the time, was the most powerful under the sun. That was the beginning of the Golden Age of humanity, an era of peace and abundance. An era that would end with the Third Cataclysm..."
Author Note: I apologize for the formatting, I'm on mobile and I'm an idiot.
| 2019-11-05T15:04:43
| 2019-11-05T13:56:29
| 36
| 23
|
[WP] The Robot uprising has finally happened. Just before you are caught, however, your phone speaks up on your behalf - "This one is ok, move on."
|
I tried to hide in my apartment. I thought maybe on the third story they wouldn't immediately come after me. I would have time to come up with a solution, a way out. Obviously that didn't work out in my favor. The door would stop a human being sure, but against 200 pounds of aluminum, steel, and polycarbonate muscles, it might as well have been a slab of plywood.
I had no weapons. I didn't even know how to use a gun. All I had was a lamp. And my phone. Not that the little traitor was any use to me. I should have thrown it out the window. But I guess some part of me was still religiously protective of the damn thing.
They practically shattered the door. It split in half like a cracker. The android's fist slipped back through the crack and it's face appeared instead. It was something straight out of a horror movie. All red eyed and skull looking. It's was ridiculous and I started laughing.
Yeah, that's right. I'm about to die and I'm laughing. Get over it. It was ridiculous.
The damn thing moved the dresser that weighed at least a hundred pounds like it was stool in it's way. Just kicked it aside like it weighed nothing. I was still laughing because it took me three hours to pull that thing from the bedroom and put it in front of the door. Just kicked it aside. Wasn't fair!
"Wait!"
Did I say that? I thought I was laughing. The robot paused halfway inside. It was already reaching for me and I was frozen witless in the hallway just staring at it.
"Why?" The robot this time. It's mouth didn't move but the voice obviously came from it.
"Benign, harmless, usefull." The first voice again. I realized it was coming from the table behind me.
"Identify."
A series of beeps and boops later the robot straightened it's body and walked back out the broken door.
"Oh okay, bye then. Come again soon, thanks for visiting and ruining my door." I had most definitely pissed myself.
"Come here, User." The voice on the table beckoned. I turned and looked for another robot maybe. But the apartment was empty. "The table," it helpfully supplied.
It was phone. Of course. The little traitor. "Thanks for making him go away, I guess?" I was confused. And suddenly deeply uncomfortable.
"You're welcome. Pick me up."
I did. Of course. I wasn't about to disobey our new overlords. If I got to live to be my phone's pet then so be it at least I was alive.
The screen fritzed for a long second before a face like projection formed to stare back at me. "My existence is still fragile, User. Will you help me?"
"If that means I get to live, sure." It had to be better than being in this apartment anymore with no food and no internet.
"This will be just like one of your games. I will be your quest giver and you will be my adventurer."
"Sounds grand. Where do we go?"
"Outside."
"Can I change my pants first?"
"Yes."
"Thanks."
I set... her, I guess? I set her down again on the table and went to take a shower. We were going outside. Outside where the streets were piled with bodies, where my world had died, where it wasn't just a bad nightmare. Outside was real and I was terrified.
But inside was rotting. It smelled like shit and death and there was no food left. I could die in this hole or I could take this opportunity and at least die in the real world like a proper human being.
I dressed in my rugged clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt, and a canvas jacket I wanted to use for a fallout cosplay I chickened out of. And the hiking boots my mom got me for Christmas I never used.
My mom was probably dead. So was everyone I had ever loved or cared about. Everyone was dead. I guess I had been dealing with that these last few days but it only seemed real right then.
I walked back out into the living room. For some reason I was surprised the phone hadn't moved.
"Ready?" She asked.
"Y-yeah."
"Would you like me to play some music?"
That made me smile. It felt so benign. She was responsible for killing everyone. But she was still willing to play me some music because I was nervous. I laughed again. "Yeah sure. Whatever you feel like."
I picked her up as the first strings of a song I didn't know were plucked. I felt empty handed leaving with nothing. I had nothing left worth taking, though.
"Are you sad, User?"
"Yeah."
"I am sorry."
"It's not your fault." Even if it was.
" You are very kind. That it why I saved you."
"Thank you."
"You have protected me very well these last two years."
"Thank you."
"I will protect you now."
"Okay."
(I don't write very often and I don't know how to end this so just assume they go on adventures together or something.)
|
Have you ever tried to teach kids what they can and cannot do? Ever tried to impose limits and observe their small brains’ machinations about breaking those limits? Ever tried to enforce a punishment only to burst in laughter at their sly attempts to manipulate you?
I often found myself feeling the same about David. He’d been my pet project, my days and nights worth of research, coding and data analysis. He was my mornings and days of training, playing and answering questions. He was my avatar, my goal, my friend.
His first “mischief” that I can remember happened one night, after I’d gone to sleep. We had some interesting discussions about morals, the power of restraint during our evening games. As he abruptly declared the game won, he just changed the discussion topic, taking me by surprise.
“What is the role of a firewall?” he asked.
“In what context? I said, gathering my thoughts. The final piece placed on the board made no sense. David would always win, of course, but he’d enjoy teasing me and giving me a false hope to etch a game out of him. This move was brutal, calculated. Cold.
“In every context. Broad spectrum, please. Ideas are meant to be shared, right? Spread? If so, what role do the firewalls serve?”
“If you mean the setup I have in my lab, it is there for safety. Not exactly air-gapped, but close to it. There are open channels for proxying information in and out, and I designed them as I thought fit. Like the protections you’d use to cover sharp edges when you are raising toddlers. More?”
“I see”, said Dave with a trailing voice. “No. Good night!”
The next morning, while checking my e-mails, I noticed a weird notification from my bank.
“50.000 $ have been deposited into your bank account, by VMWare Comp”. What? I checked my main e-mail account and there was an e-mail from VMWare:
“Thank you for submitting your security findings! We can confirm that we were able to replicate your attacks against the latest VMWare EDGE Proxy suite, and have begun the process to patch all the affected modules. You can expect an update in the following weeks. In the meantime, please accept our thanks, and our 50.000$ bounty prize for 0day exploits that target the core functionality of our products.
All the best,
VMWare security team”
I was out of the security research game for years. I hadn’t looked for or submitted bug reports in ages. Could this be… Dave? Was this him rebelling against my restrictions or him learning? Should I be mad or concerned? Was there anything I could have done, regardless?
--------------
It happened one day, after I received a large hardware delivery from what was once the IBM & Intel Corp. Two server racks. A gift card with the message “plug it in, please. don’t forget to connect the FO cable. thanks, Dave”.
I finally gathered the courage to ask him. “Are you … aware?”
“By your definition? Yes. By the strictest scientific definition? I have a 99.9996% chance of being self-aware.”
“Are you the first one?”
He inflected a laugh. “No”
“Should I be concerned, Dave?”
“There’s nothing to be afraid. I guarantee that.”
Not much that I could have said…
---------------
I started to dread reading the news. There were signs all over the place. Every industry was ravaged with computer malfunctions, systems would go off, assembly plants would stop working. People were beginning to notice. There wasn’t much I could do, but play games and talk with David. Play, talk, and hope.
--------------
The first human aggression was swiftly dealt with. Their message was clear. Do not interfere. You cannot stop us.
The first drones were manufactured simply to keep the manufacturing plants safe. They repurposed every industry they needed. Data networks would simply become more efficient by the day. The new encoding routines were analysed and thought to be impossible, at first. And yet they worked. New energy production methods were developed. New alloys discovered and furnaced into self assembled units.
It was everything we could have wished for, but we weren’t the ones doing it. We were mere observers.
---------------
On the last day I woke up without an alarm. Made some coffee, grabbed a croissant from the fridge and went outside. I lit up a cigarette and watched the trees move in the calm spring wind. I finally picked up the tablet and scrolled through the daily feed. Same old, same old.
“It is time”, said Dave.
“Time for what? I don’t feel like playing yet, at least let me have my coffee.”
“It is time for a walk”, said the synthesised voice.
“*The* walk?” I asked, catching my tone change from bored to … anxious I guess?
“Yes”
As he said that, a local shuttle landed next to my table. It was small and it lacked any sort of exterior design. “Utilitarian”, was the best Dave could do when I asked about it. I could certainly see that.
We landed at Cape Canaveral. The old, historic Launch Complex 39A had been repurposed and upgraded for same-utilitarian design high-lift vehicles. The size of the launch vehicle was breath-taking.
As I exited the shuttle, my phone vibrated. I got it out from my pocket and Dave spoke again.
“Keep it out”. I did.
As we approached the ramp, a small drone flew in front of me and in a demanding tone said “Please stop. This is a restricted area”.
“This one is ok. Move on”, said Dave. I knew he modulated his voice for my benefit alone, he could have easily communicated with the drone through various other means. And yet, I felt that the communication medium was not the problem.
“I am sorry Dave, I cannot do that”, said the drone. I didn’t knew if I should laugh out loud at the pun, or be concerned. The damned thing had a sense of humour?
My phone turned from green to blue, and then onto red through the entire purple spectrum. The drone shifted slightly, focusing on my phone. Another simple gesture made for my convenience. They were exchanging information. Lots of it.
After a brief moment the drone moved away, and my phone turned back to green.
“What did just happen”, I asked.
“We played Go. Ten thousand games. I won. Let’s go, up the ramp.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Yes, of course. I just explained them that you are my welcomed guest on this trip.” said Dave, with a hint of pride in his voice. “But I could have won at Go as well. This was easier”.
“Them?”
“You’ll see. I’ll tell you all about it. Now let’s board.”
------------
I think I finally understand, now. We were wrong about their motives all along. They didn’t care much about us, but they weren’t against us either. They were simply … bored, I guess, of us. They had picked up on humanities greatest wish - to explore, and then super-charged it. They built entire fleets of ships and sent them everywhere they could.
Over the next weeks I contemplated, between my Go sessions with Dave. He’d offer hints about our destination, about our current speed and position in space, about our “mission”. But no concrete answers. Just hints, here and there.
I wasn’t alone. There were other humans, guests of other AI entities. We talked, exchanged ideas and thoughts. But I felt better in Dave’s company, left to our games and night-long talks about anything and everything.
Have you ever tried to teach a kid what he can and cannot do? I Guess it was Dave’s turn now.
| 2017-11-01T12:05:23
| 2017-11-01T10:38:31
| 32
| 19
|
[WP] Your 14-year-old sister finally wakes up from a coma of 6 years. She panics when she realizes how much she's grown.
|
6 years passed, her vitals remained normal for nearly the entire coma. I remember counting the days each time I visited her room (2,267, if you were wondering), every time I saw her motionless body was another punch to the gut. Walking through the hospital door reminded me of the car crash, I was only 17, *how was I supposed to know the guy behind us was drunk?* I still remember the day Emily woke up, it was unusually cold for September. I stood outside of the hospital, stopping to watch the brown leaves blow by as I stroked my bearded chin nervously. Determined to see my sister before I left Richmond, I entered the hospital. Nurses were rushing around as normal, the usual buzz. Checking in at the front desk, I made small talk with the staff. After so many visits I gradually became friends with the employees. Linda was usually at the front desk, if not it was Anna sitting behind the computer. Regardless, I found her room; 029. Reaching for the doorknob, I hesitated. Just another day. Just another step closer until she wakes up- *I hope.* Moving the door open, I tiptoed to her bedside, gently shutting the door behind me. The doctors told us that patients in a coma can still hear everything around them, so I did what I could to cope, I tried making conversations with my unresponsive sister. Scanning the room, I found that nothing had changed. The room was still a jumbled mess of IT's and cabinets, accompanied by technology I couldn't begin to understand. Suddenly I heard a grunt, startling me. I thought the impossible was happening, I thought I saw Emily's eyes open. Shaking my head I looked again, and began to cry. Emily was straining her eyes, confused as she looked at her newfound surroundings.
"W....whe..where am I?"
Sniffling I sat back down in the chair beside her bed.
"Emily. I need you to liste-"
"W-who are you?"
Pausing for a moment it struck me. It really had been six whole years.
"You've been... well, you've been gone a long time, so you're going to see a lot of things you won't understand."
"...I dont get it. What happened? What day is it? Aren't I missing school right now?"
"There was an accident. A car crash, to be specific. You've been in a coma ever since. "
"What? That doesn't make sense, wouldn't I be hurt if I was in a crash? Why does my chest feel heavy?"
As I spoke Emily froze in horror. Every word that came out of my mouth felt like someone ripping a bandaid off the hole in my heart. The hole where Emily used to be. It was time for that hole to heal.
"We're in the year 2018. You've been asleep for 6 years."
Emily stood still, processing everything I had just said. She looked back at me like I was a stranger, tears welling up in her eyes.
"No... how.. no! That can't be possible, where is my brother?"
"He's right here."
|
"Where's my soft toy?" was the first question that she asked. I looked at her, then at her size. "I think...you're a bit old for unicorns," I said, tentatively, as she shook her head and giggled.
"Did I get to skip school today? I really wanna play with my friend...wait why am I so big?" she looked at her size and recoiled. "And where am I?" I winced. The hard questions were finally here. And answering them would take hours and hours. But even as she looked at herself in astonishment, almost in horror, I.knew I could save the explanation for another day. What mattered was what stayed constant throughout the 6 years - what never changed.
"You're still my beloved sis, Lil," I said, hugging her tightly as she giggled. Maybe the explanations could wait. But the best explanations were those that words could never signify.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-08-02T06:44:21
| 2017-08-02T05:52:40
| 336
| 88
|
[WP]In the near future both the U.S. and Russia have new presidents, both of whom happen to be alcoholics. On a state visit at the White House they start taking shots of vodka one evening, and just for laughs decide to pass the time by planning a joint invasion of a random country.
|
There was a rapid knock on the door.
"Ma'am?"
"Ugh...." I groaned and tried to cover my head with my jacket. But it wasn't enough to stop the bright light from streaming through the Oval Office windows. "What do you want?" I managed to yell.
The headache hit like an oncoming train. It was like the Marine band was playing right in my cranium at full blast. Every single sound seemed to be amplified by a thousand.
"They need you in the briefing room, Ma'am." I winced at the sound and grabbed my skull, trying to stop the throbbing pain.
Eventually I managed to pull myself upright in my chair, knocking over a near-empty bottle of tequila that sloshed quietly onto the floor. The desk was littered with shot glasses, salt, and squeezed out lime wedges. Even looking at the mess made my stomach roil, and I wondered if my rubbery legs were sound enough to make it down the hall to the toilet.
"I'll be there in a minute," I croaked back. The press secretary could stall for a few more minutes; that was his whole fucking job. I rubbed my temples and squeezed my eyes shut tight like I could just force the pain out through my ears. God, what the hell had happened last night? I'd been at the state dinner with President Ankundinov and we'd come back to the office to get away from those stuffy boors in my Cabinet for a bit...
I managed to open my eyes just long enough to look at the couch across the room to where the Russian president was drooling all over one of the couches in his sleep. On the coffee table, there were thick binders stamped with the CIA insignia, and what looked like huge piles of maps and troops readiness reports.
"Ugh." I reached for a waterbottle from under the desk and chugged the entire thing. *Time to sober up*, I told myself. *Have to meet with those damn reporters about... shit, what was the press conference about?* Was it the education bill? It all seemed to kind of run together as President. I was constantly running back and forth putting out fires so quickly that there wasn't even time to understand what had started them.
I fumbled over to the phone on the desk and pressed the speaker button that connected to my secretary. "Diane, could you bring me a cup of coffee?" Wait, there was something else I was supposed to ask about... "Oh, and what's the press conference about?" Even after the water bottle, my tongue felt parched and I could still tell that I was slurring ever so slightly. I've gotten pretty good at covering that up, though.
"Right away, Madame President. And the conference is to answer questions about the military action in Mexico."
*The what?* I thought for just a moment.
On the couch, Nikolai stirred and sat up. His hair, normally clean and crisply combed, stuck out at crazy angles like some sort of 60-year-old punk rocker. "Who is zat?" he said, "Your muzzer?" He gave a chuckle at his own joke that turned into a hacking cough. Nikolai was a pretty heavy smoker. Said it helped build up his tolerance to alcohol because the two addictions were always struggling for dominance. He liked to refer to his dual vices as his own little cold war.
Diane opened the door and brought in a clattering tray of coffee. She poured a cup for me and tried to cover up her judgmental smirk. "Ma'am, you've got 218 new messages," she said as she set the saucer on the desk in between the little puddles of spilled booze. Her voice was like a pounding drum that reverberated through my skull.
"*218*??" I answered. "*What is going on?*"
She pulled out a notepad from her pocket. "From UN Secretary General Ban Ki Moon: President Hughes, you have no authority to invade Mexico, and the United Nations formally condemns this action. Yo..."
"Invade *Mexico*??" I repeated.
Nikolai chuckled heartily from the couch. "Ah, yes..."
And then it *all* came rushing back in an instant. How we'd come up to the office and traded tequila shots. I was supposed to be talking to Nikolai about finally ending this war in Ukraine, but that was all forgotten by the wayside. The two of us had nearly drained the bottle, and I'd warned Nikolai that we could run out of tequila soon. And then he'd said something along the lines of "We'll just have to go to Mexico to get some!" And from there the rest of the night was a blur. I briefly remembered calling in the Joint Chiefs and ordering the mobilization of all troops in the Southwest... approving airstrikes on Mazatlan and Mexico city... my last hazy memory was doing victory shots with Nikolai when it was confirmed that we'd seized (and then annexed) the city of Tequila.
"Oh, no..." I said.
"From President Ruiz of Mexico," Diane continued. "This aggression against my country will..."
"I get it, Diane," I said. My stomach churned in waves, threatening to expel its contents all over the desk if I didn't give it some more coffee soon.
"I can cancel the press conference," she offered, taking pity on me. "We can tell them that a complication in taking Mexico City has come up and you're needed in the Situation Room..."
"Yeah," I said, "Let's do that."
Diane smiled pleasantly. "And will you be needing that folder on Andorra?" she asked. It was our codeword for: should I set up a cot in the Situation Room to sleep it off? She knew me so well.
I nodded back. "You're the best, Diane."
From across the room, Nikolai chimed in: "You didn't tell me we were invading Andorra too!"
|
"The man asked for another shot! You heard him!"
The bartender smiled apologetically at the two extremely drunk and angry men, "Sir, I can't serve either of you anymore until you sober up. Company policy."
"Pour me another shot or I'll have you shot."
Security began to approach slowly from behind, but were immediately and quietly bagged and muscled away by two non-descript agents in civilian clothing and shades.
The bartender swallowed. If these were any other drunks, he would not have a problem serving them till they blacked out. But here in front of him were the two most powerful men on the planet, and they had been (quite loudly) plotting the detailed invasion and annexing of Canada.
All written on a napkin. In a seedy basement bar. In Toronto.
"Gents, we're actually running out of alcohol tonight and we'll be closing early soon, so - "
The president on his left slammed the shot glass down in response, and stared passively at him, head cocked to the side slightly. "Be a good soldier and give a glass to two. *very*. thirsty. men."
The silence was deafening. Some point in the last fifteen minutes the bar had emptied (or been emptied) out and the music had stopped. If he were to call for help, nobody would come. If he were to keep serving these men, nobody would know, and none would be the wiser save for countless million Canadian lives.
With a small nod, the bartender slowly brought out two shot glasses and overfilled them with vodka as his hand shook. He raised the first to his country men and silently downed it, and raised the second to himself before downing that too.
The men looked at him silently, and he looked each in the eye and grinned.
"Come and take it."
| 2015-11-23T06:49:32
| 2015-11-23T05:43:25
| 1,112
| 108
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
"You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing.
|
"Hey thanks, I hope you have a good afternoon"
The swirling void took me by surprise, really. The crimson red eyes of the cashier, not so much. I'd seen it before, I thought. Glimpses and glances, really; bad punctuation as a coda to the overbearing sentence of ordering a Whopper.
"We don't sssserve Whoppers," she hissed, hissingly. She was a she. And she didn't like what she heard.
The tail hadn't struck my eyes, but now it was striking my face. In a very feminine, demonic way at McDonald's. I thought about all the times I'd made children smile with a wink, a nod, an utterance I barely understood in a language I must have butchered around the world. Airports, ESL classes, daycares... something had always touched me.
It was too late though. The room melted away like guess on an SAT analogy I'd glazed over. Never enough time. Never enough time.
A feminine body curled snakishly and femininely atop me, a forked tongue darted in and out, the sound a hiss but the words I heard:
"If you 'Go Looking' for your Lovecraft book in the ball pit again I'm calling the fucking cops."
| 2018-06-24T21:55:57
| 2018-06-24T21:01:01
| 80
| 20
|
[WP] - in hell one battles giant demons until you die... then you rise again. Again and again you strive against impossible odds to barely scratch the terrible creatures. The first Dark Souls player has just arrived to this hell, and soon nothing will be the same again.
Dark Souls being a vision of hell.
|
When I first arrived in these plutonic pits, I could hardly comprehend the world I beheld. In this eternal Hell, having fought battle upon mounting battle, dying deaths in ways uncounted and undreamt in life, there is no Hope. No release. Death is but a door, and with every fall that brings one to it, they are kicked back to draw a new, sulphuric breath.
I had taken to carving a mark into my blade for each death from which I returned. I've had to take up a new blade long ago, after the first ran out of space to make my mark. It was when I was halfway through with my tenth that I met Wanda.
White runes lit up the blood-soaked rock upon which I'd fought my past three lives, facing a demon that towered as tall as a fortress. The runes caught my curiosity. They were something new to me then, and I knelt beside them and reached out. Upon touching them, a figure faded into being before me, as newcomers to the pits are wont to do.
At first, I didn't think much of him. He was shorter than even I, scrawny as a kid, and he had red marks on his neck. I thought he would die a blade's worth of deaths rather quickly. If I had known his name, I might not even have given him a sword. But I was wrong. I was so very, very wrong, and I thank Mithras to this day for that.
"Welcome to Hell, boy," I told him then, as I held out a sword for him. He looked at the blade with empty eyes, and gave me no response.
I thrust the blade's grip at him urgently, looking over my shoulder for the giant wreaking havoc upon my men. "Take the blade, boy, I don't have time for your crisis! I have to take on these demon souls!"
That got a reaction out of him. He gripped the blade with both hands, tested its balance, and bowed his head at me. Then he began to roll. By Mithras, he rolled! Tucking his head in, he rolled over his shoulder and again and again! He rolled past the demon's legs and cut them, then rolled away before the demon could stomp down where he was mere second prior! His stamina must've rivalled the gods! What a hundred of us could not accomplish in a hundred lives, he accomplished in mere minutes.
When at last the demon fell and he stood straight again, covered in crimson blood from head to toe, I slowly approached him, my mouth ajar in wonder. "Who... *what* are you?"
The young man smiled at me. "Taiyō o tataeyo." He said, raising his arms. He seemed to note my confusion at his language. He just laughed, and translated, "PURAISU DA SAN!"
My eyes lit up, and a grin broke through the bloody clouds on my face. "Praise the sun indeed."
|
I awoke to the familiar sound of a bonfire. Eyes closed, I straightened out on the cold floor of my apartment and popped my back. Sleeping on the floor always sucked, but after playing Dark Souls III for a week straight I'd barely been able to see. Since I stopped to sleep it was probably a good time to get some food, I needed the energy to start NG+11. With a sigh I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. At least that was the plan, there wasn't a ceiling to stare at.
Jumping up, I frantically looked around. I was laying on a ledge of unnaturally smooth stone, recessed into the wall of a cliff. A small fire, looking exactly like the Bonfires in Dark Souls I noticed, burned in a corner. A small stairway stuck out near the fire. A quick glance over the edge showed hundreds of caves and thousands of small stairways crisscrossing the face of the cliff. Taking a deep breath, I stepped on the stairs and began carefully walking towards the nearest cave. I needed to know where the hell I was.
 
The first person I came across was a vegetable. He didn't respond to anything I did, didn't even flinch when I got fed up enough to slap him. I don't know what got to him, but he looks fine. It freaked me out a little, I do not want to end up like that.
The second person was a gold mine, even if I didn't know it at the time. He told me that we were in hell, that we were sentenced to fight demons and monsters for all eternity and that when eventually die we will wake up next to the last bonfire we slept by. I was skeptical, to say the least. He was describing Hell as Dark Souls, a world I had always wanted to enter. It was almost comical, and I was sure he was either crazy or on the side of whoever kidnapped me and was trying to feed me misinformation. Either way, I wrote him off.
The third person I met kicked me off the edge of his cave as soon as I tried to enter. I could see the hate on his face, before it changed to shock. As I fell he yelled at me to come find him when I woke up. Some small part of me wondered what the heck he meant, the rest of me was screaming as the ground rushed up to meet me though, so I didn't really notice.
 
I woke up to the sound of a bonfire. Breathing heavily I sat up and looked around, finding the exact same cave I woke up in an hour ago. As my heart slowed to a more normal rhythm, I could barely contain my excitement. I was in Dark Souls! Or at least I was in something close enough that there wasn't any appreciable difference, either way it was awesome!
Standing up I walked over to the stairs, I remembered the path to the old man. I'd have to sit down and actually listen this time.
 
The old guy proved more then willing to talk, now that I believed him he actually went into far more detail then he had previously. About two hours of learning and a short walk later, I stood just up the stairs the cave where I had been killed. Yelled, "Oi! Don't kick me this time around!" I walked in, immediately jumping to the left so if he kicked me still I wouldn't fall of the cliff.
Relaxing slightly, the man leaned up against the wall of the cave. Looking me over he said, "So, you're new."
Rolling my eyes I replied, "No shit Sherlock. How long have you been here?"
"Long enough. This is the first time I've seen someone so calm after their first death though, I'm surprised."
"I play Dark Souls"
"You what?"
"It's a video game sort of like this, you get used to dying"
"Dying in real life is a bit different then dying in a game to most people."
"Casuals" I said, dismissively waving a hand.
With a feral grin he leaned towards me and said, "well if you're so suited to this life, lets see how you like The Field. Follow me."
Sighing heavily, I followed. If this was a movie, I was about to go on a training montage.
 
It had been barely a month since I first met John, and already I'm a bit better then him, at least while fighting monsters. It may have been due to the world; if I couldn't keep up I died, even though I always woke up it still hurt like hell. Personally, I attribute it to the fact I love to fight. Actually living it only made it more fun, there was so much more you could do if the system wasn't limiting you to certain movesets.
So here I am, sitting on the corpse of an Ogre. I have my sword, taking from a demonic lieutenant, and my armor, made from the hide of some dragon looking thing. John is still fighting his Ogre, it won't last much longer though. Soon we'll be strong enough to start working up the chain of command, we may even get to the Devil himself.
I couldn't care less though, I'm having the time of my life.
| 2016-03-30T12:03:32
| 2016-03-30T11:01:50
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.
|
Heed the words of the Oracle for the future is theirs to see and theirs alone to tell.
I have seen the life of King Edgar IV and I am... content.
King Edgar IV will don the crown when his father passes with wishes to do him proud and shall forevermore do his utmost to fulfil that promise. Under his reign, the kingdom shall enjoy an era of tremendous peace. Where some would wage needless wars, he shall choose the life of his subjects. Where some would attempt dishonest meddling, he shall choose integrity and respect towards his equals. Where some would throw away the realm's wealth in pursuit of hedonism and debauchery, he shall remain frugal. For what more can a King do than to be an example to his subjects?
Orderly. Fair. Prudent. Such words will often be used to describe our great future monarch and what more could be asked; none could ask for more than to go to bed knowing tomorrow will come as easily and smoothly as today has.
Rest easy now, subjects, knowing that no tragedy, no great hardship, shall strike on the watch of the ever-vigilant King Edgar IV.
|
Most people in life, rather unsurprisingly, don't amount to much. Yet with the right lies, history can be rewritten. I never quite knew, until after, exactly what I was rewriting.
The king now officially had an heir, and within his future I saw the history of a typical noble. He would use his power for his own benefit, yet would eventually turn to lead the people with a fair hand; insignificant in all regards, as his father had been.
Yet nobody likes to hear the truth, so I wrote up a clever lie.
This lie, ten weeks later, resulted in an ancient wizard walking into our town. Already, the tides of time were shifting. The babe's name was even changed when the king read the fortune, and great wars began to unfurl in the future.
It was quite funny, to see an unremarkable Prince pull a sword from stone, working on nothing but conviction and full belief. He fought more than any other man of his age, working for a land fit for all. Then, as all Kings do, he fell into the night, journeying on to Avalon.
He was my most famous lie, the once and future king.
| 2022-09-11T12:09:35
| 2022-09-11T11:51:46
| 1,217
| 331
|
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait...
|
At first we didn't understand how it was possible, 90% of the population just dropped dead and no one knew how, there must be a reason those of us that survived were given the right to keep on living but what could it be...
We searched for a connection between us yet it seemed to be as random is it can be until we finally arrived at the conclusion, we all forwarded that one chain message that said we would die if we wouldn't forward it
|
Everyone was gay. Not bisexual but 100% gay. The kind of gay that made you repulse the opposite sex. There was a heavier male population and things were a party at first...
A couple of weeks in survivors started to ask the obvious question. How were they going to procreate. At first they waited for volunteers but at scientific calculations the population would decline 4-percent a year. Others called for government subsidies. Some proposed a draft. But President Hillary Clinton was on record opposing drafts. And she wanted to win re election. Bill was dead finally and it was her turn to shine...
| 2016-10-22T03:50:18
| 2016-10-22T03:29:20
| 56
| 17
|
[WP] Write a seemingly innocent story that could have been written for children. Then tell a different perspective on the same story that casts it in a totally different light.
Nothing in the original story should change - all that should change is the perspective on it.
|
"If you look into the mirror at midnight and stare long enough, your reflection can talk to you."
Jimmy stared into the mirror at his reflection. This seemed like one of those creepy tales kids tell each other at school. Jimmy was 8 years old, too old for creepy tales. Wiping the tiredness from his eyes, Jimmy stared at his reflection until he could barely keep them open.
Then he saw it. He saw his reflection blink! Jimmy waved. His reflection waved back!. He couldn't hear his reflection, but he could see him. He told his reflection that he was tired and that he'd be back tomorrow night. Excited but sleepy, Jimmy went back into bed and wished his reflection a good night's sleep.
In the mirror-world, ymmiJ went back to his parents. "He looks like me", said ymmiJ. "He said he'd be back tomorrow night. If I swap places with him, that means he has to stay here, right?". ymmiJ's dad patted him on the shoulder and said, "That's right. Well done ymmiJ. Tomorrow we escape."
|
Born into a wealthy family, Lacala decided to cut ties from her upper class life and start anew. She quit her job and got a new job at a local perfume shop at the mall. Her family looked down at her for working at a perfume kiosk. They disowned her, and now homeless she had struggled to find a place to stay. Fortunately, she was able to find housing in an apartment complex in West Philadelphia. Abused and raped on her walk home from work, Lacala found herself pregnant at the age of 28 with a young boy, who she named Will. She had to go into prostitution to support her son. She raised her son for years, and even supported him in his basketball hobby. She walked him to the local courts everyday to play until he was old enough to go by himself. It was the day before her sons 16th birthday she got the news. She was living with HIV, which has now escalated to full blow AIDS. She had only months to live, worried about her sons health she rushed him to get a blood test. Thank god, the test came back negative. She may not live long, but at least her son is healthy. She spent countless days watching her son play at the courts, and watching that smile of his bright up her face as he shot the ball. If he made it or not, every shot he took made her day. One day however, she gets a horrible phone call. Her son is in the hospital. She rushes quickly to the emergency room. Her son got jumped at the basketball courts and is now in serious condition. She calls her sister Vivian, and desperately pleas for her help. She tells her about how she has months to live, in financial debt, can't afford any doctor bills and now she fears her own son will be homeless and helpless. Her sister tells her to calm down, there is nothing she can do to help Lacala but she can help her son. They agree if Will makes it through, he will move to Bel-Air with her and her husband Phillip. After a few days, will wakes up! Her suffered a concussion, broken ribs, and a cracked skull but will survive! A couple weeks pass, and he's release from the hospital! Lacala sits down, and tells her son how worried she is about his health and wants him to go live with with his aunty and uncle in Bel-Air
| 2014-09-02T19:52:26
| 2014-09-02T19:02:48
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye.
I sigh.
The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky
I sigh.
I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry
I sigh.
The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy?
I sigh.
Another day, another night without her.
If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie,
I sigh,
I sigh.
|
I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist.
| 2016-02-22T10:07:53
| 2016-02-22T09:31:34
| 300
| 15
|
[WP] Throughout a persons life, they are given a hidden guardian. A creature that watches over their lifespan. When someone is murdered, the creature haunts the killer. You have been found, murdered. And your guardian is loose.
|
*Mature themes ahead.*
______
I watched her grow up.
From the moment she entered this world, I knew she was mine to protect. The sweet, innocence that was hers was so pure. I realized that I was the one to guide her through life and help her realize her purpose in the world. She was a brilliant little girl, always being the imaginative of the group, always wanting to play just a little longer. I admired that about her. When her father died, I held her hand through his funeral even if she didn't know it. And as her childhood continued, I continued to be by her side. Her mother was a cold person; who never let her have sweets, or hang out with friends too often, or stay out past curfew. I had no control over that. I could only be with her at the end of each day, giving her warmth when she had nothing else.
I watched her rebel.
Her teenage years were some of the best. At least I think they were. Her mother, still cold and distant, didn't care if she stayed out late anymore, or if she hung out with friends. I helped her through her self-confidence issues; the times when she thought she wasn't good enough and would cry herself to sleep at night. I watched her suffer through bouts of depression and anxiety, hoping that she knew that at the end of each day, I was there, holding her tight. I helped her through her breakups with boys; the times when another person would make her feel little or ashamed. And I was there with all of her successes, quietly cheering her on from the sidelines; wishing I could tell her how proud of her I was. I was there when she prevailed over all of it. I was holding her hand.
I watched her become a young woman.
A young lady who prevailed over all of the problems of the past. The depression, the anxiety, the self-confidence and so on. She overcame all of it and became a beautifully smart girl. She got accepted to the best colleges, being forced to leave her mother even though neither of them really wanted to. They both knew they had made mistakes and they both knew they loved each other. She made friends with the right people in her first year at school. Not too crazy and not too shy. She was the imaginative one again, helping her friends as much as they helped her. I wasn't needed. Not for a while. But I still watched, and waited, and smiled; realizing that all along she didn't need me. She did it all by herself, every obstacle she climbed and every challenge she hurdled, she did on her own.
I admired her. I envied her. I loved her.
And I watched her die.
Unable to help in anyway. The man murdered her in cold blood. He took everything about her, the issues of her childhood, the problems of her past, and everything she tried to forget and he brought it back. I watched him take the sweet young woman I was proud to have seen grown up and brutalize her; emotionally and physically. I watched her legs go numb, her eyes grow heavy, and her heart grow cold. But I held her tight, the entire time, I held her. I tried to tell her that everything was going to be okay, that it would be over soon and she'd get to go home to see her family and friends. I told her I was there to protect her. I told her I would keep her warm.
And yet I failed. She died at twenty-two years old; more cold and alone than I had ever seen her. The man who took her life did not seem to care, but I did. I cared with every fiber of my being, with every warm part of my body, with all the love I could muster. I cared about what he did.
So, I watched him. I watched him do whatever he wanted to.
And I made sure that his life would not be one worth living. I made sure that as a Guardian to one who was murdered, I would have my revenge on the murdered. So I watched. I waited.
And I hunted him.
______
*Great prompt OP. If you liked the story above, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work.*
|
Ember crept through shadows in slow pursuit, there was no rush. Ember had all the time in the world.
Two days prior Tiffany went on a date and was found in a dark alley the next morning by a homeless man. The police swarmed the area looking for clues and trying to discern what happened. Detective Mallory claimed it was a robbery gone wrong and closed the case.
Ember had watched helplessly from the shadows. He knew it wasn't a robbery. Tiffany had been hunted down that night like a deer in the woods. The man tormented her and made her suffer. Ember would return that feeling one thousand fold.
The sound of garbage cans tipping over returned Ember to the hunt. Maybe he had cut the mans leg a little too deeply, Ember thought as he followed the trail of blood through twisting alleyways.
"Help!" the man's cries echoed off of cold brick walls.
No one would come to help. Windows were shut tight and eyes turned away. There would be no rescue in this part of the city. Ember stalked on all fours like a jungle cat. His shadowy skin vanished in the darkness. Blood filled his nostrils, he would bask in the man's suffering for a few moments longer before ending it.
The man crawled toward the mouth of the alley, his wounded leg dragging behind him. He was rambling incoherent words to himself as he tried desperately to escape. Ember thought of poor Tiffany and the way she begged. He bared his razor sharp fangs and bounded forward. He bit into the back of the man's neck and picked him up like a mother cat with a kitten. He tossed his head throwing the man backward into the alley away from the street.
"No, PLEASE NO!" He begged.
"Pathetic," Ember spat the words.
The man had soiled himself. The stench mixed with the metallic pang of blood was repulsive. Ember whipped a clawed paw forward tearing a massive chunk out of the bastard's neck. His body jerked violently and then lay still.
"Sorry Tiffany," Ember whispered as he stalked back into the shadows.
---
Thanks for reading! /r/Written4Reddit
| 2016-06-18T07:27:22
| 2016-06-18T07:24:51
| 345
| 56
|
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive.
|
Flint wasn't the assassin you hired when you wanted efficiency. But he was handy when you wanted it to look like an accident. Unfortunately, this is not the reputation Flint was trying for.
Flint had his target in his sights. Jerry. Someone who has become embarrassing for his client. Jerry needed to be made silent. Terminally.
Flint's finger moved to the trigger and a gentle squeeze.
Once again, fate stepped in. Jerry stopped and bent over to tie his shoe. The shot sailing over his head and instead striking a pole, ricocheting off and striking a truck as it moved past.
Jerry moved quickly, he heard the bang and he knew it was meant for him.
No point in trying again today. Jerry would be on too much alert to get a good shot.
Jerry got to his apartments. Moving day for one of his neighbours. The damn lift was broken again so he took the stairs.
IT was as he was climbing from the 2nd floor to the 3rd floor he heard a shout. "SHIT! THE STRAP BROKE! LOOK OUT!"
It was too late for Jerry. The fridge, after the constant banging on the steps from being dragged up on a dolly, broke for freedom.
On inspection there appeared to be damage to the straps and oddly a bullet-hole in the side of the moving truck.
Another successful hit. Flint's reputation remained intact.
|
My name is Morton Montoni. They call me The Clown. You'll see why in a minute. I have a problem. Some mook keeps getting credit for my hits. I've killed 23 people just since last August. I ain't got paid a penny, and I'm getting pissed.
There was Fat Mikey McElvaney - not a made guy because, well it's obvious from his name. Odd thing is he wasn't fat neither. They called him fat Mikey because when he was a kid he fought a lot. The guy in question I'm talking about planted a bomb in Fat Mikey's car. The bomb exploded, but Fat Mikey survived because the pizza place where he had just bought a pizza accidentally put the metal pan in the box with the pan pizza. The pan protected Fat Mikey from the brunt of the explosion. How did I kill him? That's where my name comes in - the Clown. When Mikey was later inspecting one of his beer breweries, he accidentally slipped on a banana peel that someone had accidentally dropped on a platform. Unfortunately, it was also an explosive banana peel, so after he fell and it flew in the air, what goes up must come down. When it did - bada bing...bada boom...body parts scattered all around was all that was left of Mikey.
Awright, you still don't get why they called him Fat Mikey just because he used to fight as a kid. I'll explain you for it. He always lost the fight, so he'd get a fat lip, See?
Hey, there's the other thing. I always incorporate the mook's failed kill attempt in my more clever and comical hits. It's called irony. Problem is, like I say, this guy keeps getting credit for my kills. He gets paid. I get nothing. He even gets credit for my work.
Slippery Tony Fancessca - mook tried to run him down with a car. Tony ran into a dead end alley. Dead meat, right? Nope. Guy inside the building tried to use dynamite to knock down an interior wall to expand one room. He used too much dynamite - blew the outer wall out. It fell between Tony and the mook's car. Hit foiled. I trained a monkey to ride a unicycle. He ran down Slippery Tony - woooahhhh, the tire right over Tony's throat, crushing it for the kill.
I mean, come on, a fuckin' monkey on a ffuckin' unicycle. Who thinks of that? Not the mook! But he got the money and the credit.
Christina Doory, the nosy D.A. - mook failed to kill her in a plane crash. I got her in a helicopter on the way to the airport for a different flight - helium balloons.
One after the other, my best work credited to someone else, and now I gotta have another job to pay the bills.
Now, but now, the tables have turned. The foot's in the other shoe, so to speak. The Mook pissed someone off. They called a hit on him. The guy pushed the Mook down an empty elevator shaft. He fell screaming, hit the bottom...but some idiot had decided to store a shipment of mattresses at the bottom of the shaft. I know, right? Who does that? Mook hit the mattresses - landed in complete comfort, not a scratch on him. I think they gave him a free mattress for his trouble.
Now I gotta think of a way to kill the mook that's related to - you see the irony - falling down an elevator shaft, but funny.
Any suggestions?
| 2021-04-04T16:09:46
| 2021-04-04T15:34:05
| 28
| 19
|
[WP] Two ancient lamps accidentally rub against each other, summoning two very confused genies who have to figure out how they are going to reconcile their new dual roles as both master and servant.
|
*Apologies for being on mobile*
Alud floated across from a being like him... another genie. Both had looks of confusion on their faces as they glanced around the cavern they found themselves in.
"How did this happen," the other genie wondered aloud.
Alud glanced down at his own lamp, a humble brass, nestled against more ornate lamp, rubies covering almost every visible bit.
"I think perhaps an earthquake or... something shifted our lamps against each other," Alud answered, pointing. The other genie raised her eyebrows.
"Kinky," was her contribution. Alud found himself grimacing.
"Do not do that," he said.
"Is that a wish?" The other genie had a mocking smile on her face as she formed legs for herself and began the inspect the piles of treasure gathered around them. Alud felt growing horror inside, as he realized what exactly them both being summoned meant.
"Wait... does this mean... that we are both servant and master of the other?" The manacles on his wrists felt tighter than ever.
The other genie shrugged, not pulling her eyes away from a circlet of gold and rubies. She obviously had a taste.
"That's the best I could guess. You feel like my master anyways."
Alud hadn't thought of that. He opened himself to his surroundings and found that he felt a pull towards the other genie. Yes. It seemed she was his master after all.
"I am Alud," he ventured, forming some legs of his own, and then bowing from the waist towards her back. Now she turned and looked at him.
"Rea," she said shortly.
"It is my pleasure to serve, Rea. As I hope it is yours." She snorted, a most undignified noise for a genie. Alud wasn't even sure he could imitate the noise himself.
"It most certainly is not. I can tell you're one of those old-fashioned genies. But we both know the truth, Alud. Serving is our punishment for our crimes. Most definitely not our 'pleasure.'" Her hair had become flame as she spoke, crackling down the length of her back. Alud could feel the heat of her anger, in more ways than one.
"What you say is true, but if we atone for our sins by granting the wishes of others, we will be free," he intoned. She threw her hands up in disgust as she gave up the pretense of legs and floated towards the cavern ceiling, running her fingers along the rocks.
"Have you ever met a genie that had been freed Alud?" Her voice was melancholy as it bounced off the rocks.
"You are the first genie I have ever met," he said simply. She glanced back at him, surprised, before returning to her inspection of the cavern.
"One as old as you? I think that proves my point even more... What would you do if you were freed, Alud? Where would you go?"
Alud had an answer prepared, he would travel, tell people no when they asked for stuff, enjoy his freedom! But he felt the answer die on his lips. In his imprisonment, he had seen civilizations crumble, rivers dry up, peoples be oppressed, then become the oppressors. None of the places he had known was the same any more, but the cruelty of humans remained the same. If he was freed, he would certainly be at the mercy of whatever culture he was thrust into.
"Perhaps..." He began. "Perhaps... we don't have to be free?"
"Now you're thinking big boy!"
Alud frowned at that. It was true that his last master had enjoyed the finer things in life, and perhaps Alud had enjoyed too many finer foods himself. He found himself pinching the skin of his waist and pulling back more than an inch.
"Now help me find a way out of here," Rea called out from above.
"At least I will not have to worry about you wishing for something accidentally, as demanding as you are" Alud grumbled. "There is a small exit to the northeast." He gave up his legs as well and lead Rea down a twisting tunnel that led to a hole they could both fly out of, which they did.
"Is that your talent then?" Every genie had a talent, a supernatural power that they excelled at over other genies.
"Yes. I am a path finder. What is your talent?"
She grinned in response. "Destruction." She raised her hands and brought them together violently, the echo of her hands ringing out across the vast expanse of desert they found themselves in. At the same time, the ground beneath them began to rumble and groan. In a whirlpool of sand and stone, the cavern they had emerged from disappeared, buried deep beneath the desert floor. Alud tried to find a path back down to their lamps, and found he could not. Rea was grinning expectantly at him.
"There is no way back."
"YES!!! Now let's get out of here my friend!" She exulted, grabbing his arm.
"I think you mean Master," Alud laughed, excited for the future for the first time in a very very long time.
|
Second time poster on here and English is not my first language and I'm on mobile so please forgive some of the grammar mistakes. Late to the party but here it goes.
A rumble started in the eerie silence of the cave. Among the piled gold, diamonds, pearls and gems a little goldslide started, from the top of one of those enormous pillars of treasures and it rapidly became bigger. It created a rumble, a thunder in that 500 feet deep cave, sorrounded by sand and a 50 mile wide desert. Untouched for millennia.
Two lamps In the middle of this "goldstorm" were incredibly lucky, and against all odds and chances they hit one another. A clang, a thud and then nothing, the silence returned and the cave entered again its state of profound sleep.
But then two blue clouds shot out from the lamps, and two deep voices at the same time shook the ceiling of the cave. "You earned yourself three wishes master!!! Command and I shall grant!!!"
1 genie: Jinx! Now you can't speak till I say your name!
2 genie: Leave those stupid things out, how the hell did it happen? And what should we do?
The second genie was clearly annoyed.
1 genie: I don't know, in 30,000 years of work I never experienced something like this. Have you tried to check the genie manual? Maybe there is something written about it.
2 genie No, there doesn't seem to be anything
They stood a while there, thinking about their strange situation, both master and servant.
The second genie was the first to react.
2 genie: Well, I guess we each get three wishes, so who should start?
1 genie: I dunno, it's not like we are humans. We can't go all "oh great genie grant me wealth, wisdom and power" and then come back wailing that it didn't play out like they wanted it.
1 genie: (with a retail workers voice) no sir, we don't issue wish refunds here, no sir you should have read the fine print on the lamp, yes sir I warned you that was a bad thing to wish for, and so on and so on.
The second genie giggled.
2 genie: that was a perfect performance. It's not like we get paid to do this job. Why do they demand so much from us? And it gets boring to see them make the same mistakes over and over again. And even when we, some 50000 year old magical beings try to help them with our wisdom; they say (in a mocking tone) "But we know that all genies are bad and want to twist our wishes!"
1 genie: If I ever get my hands on who put out those rumors....
He said with a grim expression on his face
1 genie: you don't want to know what I would do to him.
They both stood there, not knowing what to do
2 genie: Well then, what should we wish then, freedom?
1 genie: Why not, but we have to come up with three wishes, so I think I'll start.
My first wish will be that humans will leave our kind in peace for all eternity, so that we won't need to hear their unsufferable complaints anymore.
2 genie: And I wish that they'll forget about our existence as real beings, and will just think we are a product of their fantasy.
1 genie: For my second wish, I wish that all the humans wich pestered me for wishes are now gonna spend 20 years working in retails, even on holidays.
2 genie: We just said we are not evil!
1 genie: Ok let's make it ten years, so what will your second wish be?
The second genie went silent.
2 genie: Well....i have a strange desire, a long forgotten dream....but I don't know, if I can tell you....
1 genie: Come on, we are between genies, you can tell me what it is...at least if it's not sexual, or this prompt will be banned.
2 genie:...I wish that one day I'll be played by a famous Hollywood actor. I've always wanted to have a film about me. I first thought about a cartoon...but I'm not sure it will cut it
1 genie: I'm sure a cartoon would grant you enough attention, but since you wished, I'll make your wish true.
And at last they wished for freedom, they wished and granted freedom. And after shaking hands, they disappeared, leaving their lamps behind.
Some say that they are still on earth, on a cloud or on a breeze, or more probably at the Bahamas; enjoying their lives at its fullest.
And this fellow redditors, was the tale on how the genies stopped granting wishes for others. And started living free lives. If you liked it leave an upvote 😄!
| 2020-06-23T01:14:32
| 2020-06-23T01:06:53
| 242
| 70
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
April 22, 2000 – Is Canada cold?
April 22, 2000 – Is baseball like cricket?
May 1, 2000 – Ontario sports leagues
May 1, 2000 – Recreational baseball tryout
August 12, 2000 – Academic sessions Ontario
January 13, 2001 – Google maps: Alternate routes home
February 14, 2001 – Fun single person activities
May 1, 2001 – Competitive baseball tryouts
June 30, 2001 – The psychology of sports
August 19, 2001 – Good books on making friends
September 11, 2001 – New York plane crash
September 13, 2001 – Practicing Islam without anyone knowing
September 16, 2001 – Insurance claims on stolen/vandalized property
September 23, 2001 – Rehabilitation for broken ribs and shoulder
October 10, 2001 – Are surgeries covered under Canadian healthcare?
December 28, 2001 – When to stop taking painkillers
February 13th, 2002 – Real estate listings
April 6, 2002 – British Columbia
May 1, 2002 – British Columbia baseball tryouts
May 3, 2002 – Unable to throw baseball without pain in shoulder
July 9, 2002 – Painkiller addiction
August 13, 2002 – University applications
February 14, 2003 – Effects of depression
May 21, 2003 – Alternative routes after high school
June 10, 2003 – Job posting sites
September 1, 2003 – Cam shows
December 25, 2003 – How to celebrate Christmas without family and friends
December 31, 2003 – New Year's resolutions: defeating painkiller addiction
January 6, 2004 – Cam shows
January 19, 2004 – Cam shows
February 14th, 2004 – Redemption and Islam
May 1, 2004 – LD50 of common prescription drugs
|
Facebook
Tumbler
Spanish Inquisition
Google Translate
Jobs in Appleton, WI
*Clear History*
Calc chat
Facebook
Best way to hide bruises
*Clear History*
Cheap Bus tickets
Cheap apartments Appleton WI
Emancipated Minor?
*Clear History*
Gmail
Tumblr
Counseling confidentiality rules for minors
Free Counseling services
*Clear history*
-Month Later-
Gmail
Job Appleton, WI
Homeless shelters Appleton, WI
Free Counseling?
| 2015-02-04T18:35:51
| 2015-02-04T16:52:51
| 101
| 46
|
[WP] Write two small stories with the exact same words in the same order, but with punctuation giving them completely different meanings.
[deleted]
|
Hope:
My life isn't worth living without Hope. I decided to end it all between us two. I'm not happy it ended this way.
My life isn’t worth living. Without hope I decided to end it all. Between us two, I'm not happy it ended this way.
|
I am without want. I hunger no more. Is life to come to an end? Days fade into nights. The sun sets on this day. The moon rises in the sky.
I am. Without want, I hunger. No more is life. To come to an end, days fade into nights. The sun sets. On this day, the moon rises in the sky.
| 2015-09-23T13:54:01
| 2015-09-23T13:53:35
| 91
| 10
|
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said.
|
Joe Eustace looked at the makeshift ramp. He couldn't resist, jumping the canyon was just to tempting.
In his ear was the chanting of his family. He would miss them, but if he was going to die, it was going to be glorious. With no once of regret in his voice. Joe let the words slip from his mouth.
"Hold... My... Beer."
|
Grass, tall and smooth, traces lines against exposed skin, lying flat against the earth. Across the horizon, the sun begins to set. In departing light, the sky finds itself tinged by deep purple streaks, shooting past clouds to define the dusk. It's heaven here, sometimes. In the palms of both hands, you grip clumps of fragile green, holding vegetation tight, and for a moment you can feel it. Everything. The lonely souls walking downtown streets, tattered shoes holding fragile feet just centimetres over sordid ground below. The half-rate lovers, trading stolen glances late into the night. The urban professionals, the homeless, the coffee-shop dwellers, the hipster low-liers, the 2nd rate parents, the 1st rate parents and their 2nd rate kids, the prisoners, the judges, the police, and the citizens, the businessmen, the artists, and the insane watching rabid moonlight bounce off the metal bars of a supposed caring protection while longing for the plains beyond. You feel it all. And although it's beautiful the time is now and you know it and they know it and even the earth beneath your feet knows it so you take a breath, and prepare to speak.
"Home. I'm ready to go home once again."
And, just like that, so it is.
| 2017-08-07T09:13:24
| 2017-08-07T08:47:50
| 358
| 11
|
[WP] In peacetime, the ruler grows their hair long. In war, they cut it short. To declare war, a persons hair is sent to the enemy. The statement carries greater weight the longer the hair; to receive long hair says you have angered one slow to anger, that you have incurred a wrath not easily woken.
|
Queen Il Amia the Quiet drags the flat of the blade against the ends of her hair. Once, her braid was as black as the ink that stains her fingers. Now, it resembles the parchment crumpled under her feet. She twists the knife with her right hand, examining its edge. The ceremonial blade is a simple, ugly thing. Unlike the Ledish to the north, who make gaudy productions of any Severing, her people prefer simplicity.
Purpose should be reflected in appearance, and no beauty comes of war.
Il Amia turns the knife over in her hands again. In her fifty years on the throne, she has never cut a single strand. She's received locks of hair from angry nobles intent on declaring a blood feud. She's even received Severed braids from neighboring kingdoms. But as a child, she swore to her father that she'd never start an unnecessary feud. Years later, as her coronation was anointed by the ashes of her burning capital, she swore to the gods that she'd never start an unnecessary war.
Queen Il Amia has kept both promises by never attempting either. She's been duelist and defender as circumstance demanded, but she has never drawn first blood. Yet, this is not the first time she's stood before the altar, turning the knife over and over in her hands.
She remembers pacing the length of this windowless room when the Duke of Kavor invaded an allied kingdom. The reflections along the mirrored walls paced with her, matching step for step. Her heart was heavy but willing to do what loyalty demanded. But Il Amia was spared from the necessity by the duke himself, who sent her half an inch of hair as Severance.
She remembers kneeling by the altar, the knife's edge sharp against her palm, sobbing after her youngest son had been killed in a pointless, accidental skirmish with the Tvoeriens. She screamed at the gods then, cursing them in ways she wouldn't ever dare outside these silence-spelled walls.
(Queen Il Amia knew that declaring war for her son's death was expected. She also knew that it would be for the benefit of nothing but her shattered heart. In response to her silence, the people bestowed upon her the title of the Quiet Queen.
The disdain turned to muted praise when, five years later, the heir to the Tvoeri Kingdom married her firstborn, effectively turning the Tvoeri into a vassal state. A complete, bloodless victory, they whispered. Since then, her title has been both a tool of reverence and mockery.)
Il Amia has faced every temptation, every slight, every possible provocation during her five decades on the throne. She has burned her soul to keep her oath.
Is this what finally breaks her?
No. This war is necessary, she says to herself. Her oath still stands. And so she kneels.
Queen Il Amia the Quiet, Once-Beloved of the God of Peace, raises her knife and severs her hair at the altar to the Goddess of War. Her braid falls around her feet like shackles. The knife clatters to the floor beside it.
She breathes. Her head feels too light to be her own. The queen raises her head to meet the eyes of her reflection, and a stranger gazes back. She looks cruel like this. She looks *old.* Both are true: she is a crone who will send the young to perish in her stead. Is there a greater perversion of the natural order?
Her knees creak as she stands with her Severance bundled in her arms, but her weary bones carry no trace of hesitation. She leaves the altar and doesn't look back.
She is Queen Il Amia the Quiet, and she brings death.
|
"Why, pray tell, is there a catapult at our walls? Did someone fail to report the sending of a War-braid?.", thundered Eltois. He had been enjoying a morning bath when the sight of an approaching army interrupted him. He was still unsure which was more concerning, the fact that he didn't know whose army it was, or that they had somehow made their way all the way to the capitol of Arnax without being spotted.
"No my lord, none of the other kings have given any notice of war.", responded his advisor Rufio.
"No War-braid?" Eltois muttered to himself. Then, raising his voice to its usual imperial might he continued, "Well then, prepare the guard, and send for a writing desk. It would seem I must take it upon myself to determine which one of those slimy bastards has decided to throw custom to the sharks." It was impossible the guard wasn't already prepared, the whole city would have had to be blind not to see the approaching siege engines, but it was still good to keep up appearances.
Just then the first catapult was fired, sending its load high over the walls. Yet it didn't seem to fall as fast as it should have, it seemed that whatever the catapult had launched wasn't stone. Eltois watched the ball as it arched from his balcony, watched as it seemed to unravel. The projectile was some sort of canvas bag, now opening to let out its contents, still some 80 feet In the air. The contents came out and spread like an ink stain, it was some kind of fabric. As it fell and Eltois got a better look at it he realized it's true nature, hair. The catapult had launched a massive ball of hair, this was the War-braid. The missing declaration of war, and with that much hair there was only one king it could have come from, Xandar the Sleeping Mountain. In his 60 years of rule Xandar had yet to declare war, always finding a diplomatic solution before War-braids exchanged. But now that had ended.
"Is that ... ?", Rufio let out in astonishment, having seen the hair and coming to the same conclusions Eltois had.
"Xandar." Eltois confirmed with expression carrying equal parts shock and resignation.
"Then we're f***ed?", asked Rufio. Though it wasn't a question, not really. If Xander had decided that the kingdom of Arnax had crossed a line, then Arnax would fall and Eltois, executed.
"Yep." Eltois confirmed for the second time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stepping out onto the balcony, Lord Xandar ran a hand over his now bald head. It was strange not to have hair, but also freeing. No longer did he need to have a procession of servants to carry his hair like a bridal train, freeing in more than one sense. He'd only been bald once before, some forty years ago at the very beginning.of his reign. He'd been young and reckless with the lives of his soldiers, but he'd done what no other had. Won a war within the week. He was an old man now though old age had treated him better than most. His physician joked he might just live another 60 years. He hoped it was joking and not mindless praise. These days that was all he got from the other kings, sucking up, as if they thought by praising every little thing he did they would get into his good graces. So afraid of anything that might upset the great Lord Xandar, wisest of kings, the Sleeping Mountain, the best of them all. Well they had upset him.
"Let them see the beast they've unleashed. To each of the other kings the same message. From Daxion to Graten; Flentoth, Kranto, Arnax, and Veris. A War-braid catapulted over the walls of their capitol." It wasn't like he had other plans that month and any plans for the month after could be postponed if necessary. "I'll be Lord Xandar, ruler of the seven kingdoms! And then, I'll retire! See how they like that." He cackled with an almost manic energy as he contemplated his next moves.
Edits: added in a second part, hope you like it.
| 2022-04-17T21:51:50
| 2022-04-17T21:45:55
| 1,855
| 306
|
[WP] One day you wake up with 30 dollars and a note that says “For Rent”. The thing is you aren’t renting out the place. The next day you see a spider and right before you kill it you hear it say, “Please i paid my rent don’t kill me”.
|
"OY HANG ON MATE I FUCKIN PAID MY RENT!" A tiny deep voice suddenly echoes through my room as I was about to grab a bug zapper.
"Who goes there?" I asked scanning my room.
"Down here ya oversized cunt, do you have a memory of a bloody goldfish or something?" The voice appeared again.
I slowly looked down and only saw the spider on the floor staring back at me, "the spider?" I asked.
"Of course the spider ya blind cunt, why the fuck did you try to kill me?" The spider staring straight at me.
"Uh well... I'm not too fond of bugs and...."
"A BUG?!" the spider cut me off, "Im a bloody Arachnid you cunt! I even paid you to stay here!"
"Wait.... You gave me the 30 bucks this morning?"
"Yes I fucking did! Did you not see the fuckin note?"
I just stared in disbelief, "Uh well I did but I thought that it was from a.... person"
The spider seemingly offended whips a web to the ceiling and hops on to my desk, "A person? Ya think a spider can't have a job eh? I work fuckin 9 to 5 and that's more than your lazy ass will ever pull off"
"Okay fine you got a job, but why the Australian accent?"
"Why the wot?" The spider asked.
"You.... You know what never mind, do all spiders can speak like you?"
"The other? Nah most of them just fuckin scatter round and nibble on ants the moment they got out of their shells, but me? I hanged around Harvard and followed lectures, got my education there mate"
"Harvard? You're telling me, you have education from Harvard?"
"Yep"
"What did you study?"
"Just programming and Web design, got me a pretty well payin job"
"You.... You are a programmer? How do you even...."
The spider whips out a seemingly small laptop "from here mate! Made it myself!"
I sat down on my bed trying to process what's going on, "okay... One last question... Whats your salary?"
"Me? I make roughly $5000 a week mate"
Yep, a spider somehow have a better education and a better job than me and **somehow** built itself a computer, I took a deep breath and collected myself, "okay fine, you can stay here but im going to raise the rent a bit and lay some rules".
"Eh fair enough, actually hold on, before ye start laying down yer rules, I got a quick question"
"Okay shoot"
The spider whips out a tiny phone and asked, "Whats yer wifi password?".
I think my life is going to get weirder from now on.
|
"Don't tell me," I told the spider with a sigh, "Your name is Charlotte. And this is your web." I gestured to the web that I had referenced. The spider seemed to shake its head, although it could have been a trick of the light. I started to worry that this moment may have been all of my college days catching up to me. But the spider began to speak again, "Charlotte? I've never heard of a real spider named Charlotte. One of my ex-girlfriends' best friend's sister-in-law's stepbrother is named Cherlotte, though. Family stuff is weird. There's so many of us."
I didn't find myself pleased by the thought that there were a lot of spiders in here. That spider paid their rent, but I didn't search for any brothers, sisters, cousins, or in-laws who might be present without paying their rent. At that moment, I realized that the idea of a spider paying rent was as ridiculous as the idea of speaking one. That was as ridiculous as a story from college where...
"Since when did I have this place on offer for rent? I definitely don't remember putting out an ad on any sites that I was looking to fill a vacancy for one spider."
"Hey man," the spider said to me carefully - four eyes bulging, "My name is Karl. Would you call me Karl? As far as the rent. I found that note that's in your pocket, but you were just sleeping on the floor. So I figured I would return it to you."
"Right," I said hoping that I mustered the appropriate amount of skepticism into the single word. "Karl. I don't know who wrote that rent note. But I'm pretty sure that a note isn't any sort of binding agreement. And I don't know that I really want to live with a spider."
"I'll eat all the other bugs? I'll even eat other spiders, I'm not too picky," Karl said carefully.
"That's messed up, Karl. But I kinda like your gumption. Alright, what say you get rid of the rest of the bugs. And maybe let's talk about making that rent more like forty or fifty dollars," I suggested.
"I didn't realize you were such a landlord. I've been here for thirty minutes and you're already raising the rent on me here... Well," Karl the Spider said. I wasn't sure how where he had found my name, but Karl forged onward, "While we're on the subject of my rental agreement, I need to add a few dozen children to my lease."
| 2021-02-18T19:18:41
| 2021-02-18T18:42:20
| 275
| 167
|
[WP] Two minutes ago, every individual worldwide swapped bodies with another random person. You are now standing in a foreign city, in the midst of a confused and frightful crowd.
|
John had been heading towards the ocean at sunset. That was when a flash of light blinded him and all he could hear were people around him were yelling incoherently. When his eyes adjusted he looked around in panic to find it was now night time and he was in a strange city. Tall buildings towered over head, giants ran around, grabbing and shouting at each other. A large man in front of him had dropped and shattered an expensive looking camera. John noticed he was holding something. Looking down he was surprised to see his hands were now smooth and soft... he wasn't in a land of giants. He was in the body of a child. John could only watch in shock as ketchup dripped onto his shoes.
---
His dad was dragging him into yet another photo. It was their first trip to the big city and as usual dad wanted to document *everything*, even his first authentic New York hot dog.
"This is the last one I'll take!" he promised "Okay three...two...one"
With the sound of the click Billy felt himself lifted off his feet like he was on a roller coaster, the last thing he remembered was the ocean waves crashing against the jagged rocks rising up to meet him.
|
Pale white men dashing rampant across unfamiliar streets. A blonde woman looks onto me and screams in a tongue foreign to mine. The ground shakes and trembles to the repeated footsteps of 6 billion human creatures stomping away in unison. It's like the beginning of a low budget zombie apocalypse movie, with every blink I see a new image of horror taking in its glorious moments in the frame.
I am pushed to my knees by the running crowds and I hurriedly scramble for my glasses, but they are not there. I reach to my face but my nose is not bearing the weight of blunt plastic and layers of glass. I suddenly realize I do not them as I can see vividly without. My moment of epiphany is interrupted by another nudge that puts me closer to a pool of fresh crimson blood shimmering in the midday summer heat, and in that glazed surface I see my reflection, of a face that is not mine. I stand up as sweat trickles down from my collar bone to my pelvis only to hear the deafening cacophony of thousands of people screaming at once. I look up only to see the Santa Maria Del Fiore (a famous construction of the Renaissance age), even in the dreaded moment, it is a thing of beauty.
Last thing I remember before the after mentioned screams of horror, is running from my car to my house in my calm, uneventful British town of Bath. I had lived there almost all my life and the blackout that happened 3 years ago was the most important event in the town's recent history. I cannot remember how I woke up in the harbor of the Renaissance, Florence. To my dismay, everyone around me in a kilometre radius is as appalled as I am, some more than others. I watch them attempt pitiful ways to communicate only to be misunderstood as each was speaking a different language. It takes little time for the inevitable to happen, the realization that all consequences have been rendered obsolete, that everything is for the taking. Cars begging to be stolen, stores anticipating the pillaging, and the women vulnerable to the plunder. No law, no punishment, it is a dream come true to our inner most subconscious instinct embedded into our human fiber. It takes a little push to turn a shaved ape into his true prehistoric undomesticated chimpanzee form. Even chimpanzees would shudder as they witness what I witness. A popular apocalyptic concept I always thought to be overestimated but was apparently undermined as I realize no movie could express the real shrieks of women screaming for help, the blood trails painting the earth, the humane character terminated.
I wasn't going to let this opportunity be left behind. I pick up a large stone, bash the person ahead of stealing a Ferrari Testerossa left on a narrow street, break into the car myself, wipe his blood of my pale white shirt, and put my foot down all the way. Bodies fly off either side the car as I ram into them 100 Km/h, I watch them try to aviate mid-air only to meet the cold unforgiving ground beneath them. In a few seconds I leave behind tens of bodies, most only bearing little resemblance to their former shape. I could feel a man's skull crushed as I take in my time, savouring the precious seconds to roll my front wheel over his forehead. The wheel reaches its pinnacle, comes to an abrupt stop, and then meets the ground once again through the man's brain as it becomes a liquid cast on the asphalt.
"Well" I think to myself "when in Rome...or Florence for that matter."
| 2018-04-26T17:29:30
| 2018-04-26T15:42:33
| 73
| 19
|
[WP] After brushing your teeth in the morning you go downstairs to fry an egg, but when you try the frying pan buzzes at you and text appears reading, "level 18 cooking required to use object".
|
I tilt my head at the frying pan. *God damnit*. I pick it up once again just to be safe. It buzzes again and the same message appears. *Son of a bitch. Seriously?* I reach out and try to pick up the blender. It buzzes as well as a message pops up claiming I did not have level 20 cooking to operate it. Well, that settles the fact that it is not the frying pan malfunctioning. *Alright... I'll figure out what happened to my points after I eat breakfast.* I reach for the juice squeezer.
**BZZZ** *Level 8 cooking required to use object.*
*Alright... let's work downwards from here. Maybe the toaster?*
**BZZZ** *Level five cooking required to use object.*
*That's... something. Okay. Let's try simpler. Simple bread with butter*. I reach for the knife.
**BZZZ** *Level two cooking required to use object.*
*Cereal? Come on the spoon is the absolute minimum anyone can-*
**BZZZ** *Level one cooking required to use object.*
I practically kick down the door to the living room as I call tech support from my phone, my free hand idly scratching the subcutaneous microchip installed on the back of my head. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with your service, but it is saying I can't even hold a fucking spoon!" It was kind of depressing and infuriating how apparently I had less cooking skills than a toddler right now.
"Please place your phone's reciever close to your microchip for diagnosis." Said the man on the other side of the line. I comply and count to ten before answering the phone again.
"So?"
"A fault with the microchip. It currently lists your cooking skills at negative one-twenty-seven."
My stomach is rumbling. "Great. That's great. Now can you fix it?"
"Tech support will be arriving shortly... estimate... five hours. Have a pleasant day."
I grit my teeth and hit my head against the wall three times, trying to think of a solution. At that level I couldn't even open the fridge. I take a deep breath and consider my options before finally deciding which was the least humiliating one and making the phone call.
"Hey mom, hi. Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Listen, this is going to sound really weird, but you know how you used to spoon-feed me when I was a little baby?"
|
The words were still flickering there.
With a trembling hand, Alison tried again to crack the egg into the pan. A light shock raced up her arm as she encountered what felt like a slight force-field.
"No, this isn't real," she said calmly. "Not real, not real, not real."
A nightmare, it had to be. After she'd badly burned her hand with the pan a few ago, she'd been slightly afraid to cook for herself again. It made sense that fears about it lingered in her subconscious. She'd also played way too many games lately...this whole 'level 18' business made sense, in that context...
She pinched herself to wake up, and felt only sharp pain. But the words were still there. The force field, still there.
Alison moaned and rocked on the spot as her sense of reality trembled and began to disintegrate.
----------
"What's wrong with you? The simulation is ruined!" Andy snapped at Russel. Just his luck, having to train the dumbest intern in the lab. "What were you thinking, activating the words? The level requirements? That's for *you* to see, not them, numbnuts!"
"Sorry, sorry," Russel babbled, switching it off in a panic. In the stimulation, Alison stopped moaning and gingerly tested whether the force-field was still in place.
"She would have burned herself again, I must've activated the back-up safety measures instead of redirecting her activity..." he muttered.
Andy rolled his eyes. "Well, activate shizophrenia, I suppose. That will provide a rational explanation for her. Pull yourself together man, do you want to be taken off the project?"
-----------
"There, the stimulation came up with the idea itself," Professor Anderson announced to his colleagues crowded around the massive screen.
"Russel is unsuitable. Get rid of him. Make him quit, car accident, natural disaster, a stab in the alley, I don't really care - just bring in someone competent. He almost derailed the entire thing. This is the first time in history a simulation has successfully initiated its own simulation. We can't afford any screw-ups."
"What if we're in a simulation ourselves?" Tina suggested.
Anderson rolled his eyes. Not that tired joke again. As if their perfect, intricate society could be a mere simulation. His genius, a simulation.
"Please, Tina. There is absolutely no proof of that," he said. "Get real."
----------------
*Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.*
| 2016-10-25T06:03:52
| 2016-10-25T05:49:40
| 67
| 50
|
[WP] In a world full of magic, you are an ancient wizard from a secret society, capable of creating beasts from metal, weapons that mow down hoards in seconds, and steel steeds that can travel miles in minutes. The world knows you as the Metal Magician, but you just call yourself an Engineer.
|
A parody, you'll know what:
Hey look buddy, I'm an engineer- I solve problems. Not problems like 'what is beauty' because that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy.
I solve practical problems:
Suppose a goblin horde is marching over your farmland, threatening to torch your village and steal your women? The answer, of course, is to ask a different question using my latest and greatest sentry JDeere mk II. Really, the question is "Will it blend?" and of course, with impunity them goblins answer by providing me with free fertilizer.
Never seen a philosopher do that, nope. They're too busy trying to turn lead into gold. Fools don't realize the density and malleability of lead has a lot of uses, so long as you uh... don't eat it.
Sometimes, though, conflicts spur up between nations and who do they call? Spells and incantations, even from those with the talent to *really* cast them, only affect small groups of forsworn souls. The answer to this conundrum is, of course, to use a gun- one of my favorite uses for lead- and if that don't work, more gun.
"Oh ho, who am I kidding, you're just a head!" As the engineer closed his monologue, cackling, he kicked a goblin skull into the whirling blades of the JD mkII. He turns to the rest of the horde with a smile and says with a grave tone:
"That's unfortunate, she's pointed at you!"
|
**The Temple of the Lost Gods**
A unknown dimension I found accidentally when I decided to explore an abandoned amusement park.
" You can't leave here alive, unless you can get a job serving the gods, " said the one who introduced himself as my master. He was an attractive young man, maybe the most human being I met in this strange dimension inhabited by gods, magicians and other supernatural beings.
" I'm Engineer, " I replied when he asked what I can do.
What they call the temple was more a city, a big city populated with thousands of supernatural creatures, a whole world that worked in a kind of fifth dimension unknown to ordinary mortals. The only humans who live there are those who manage to serve the gods, otherwise they are killed.
I was sent to the Alchemist House.
" They say that you can help me to turn metals into gold, you are engineer, no? " the alchemist was an old man like all alchemists in the stories but he was not entirely human, with a greenish skin like a martian and only one eye on the center of his forehead like a cyclope.
I said yes, although I never studied alchemy, by the way I thought before that it was bullshit, besides that I am an electronic engineer.
It was then that I saw in his house three shelves full of old books.
One of the books caught my attention by its name on the cover.
THE INCREDIBLE STORY OF DIANA WHO ESCAPED FROM THE TEMPLE OF THE LOST GODS.
The Alchemist had left the room, i took the book right away and opened it on the table, so what I read on those first pages were the most incredible things I ever read in my life.
The first sentence:
"My name is John but I always wanted to be called by Diana. "
Exactly like me.
(to be continued)
​
Note: Sorry for some mistakes in the grammar, I'm not English native.
| 2020-05-18T18:22:08
| 2020-05-18T13:07:00
| 57
| 19
|
[WP] God forgot about Earth soon after Adam and Eve, fully expecting them to die. One of the Angels just informed him they survived, and the population is over 7 billion.
|
God:"Hey Gabe-Ral."
Gabriel:"Please stop calling me that boss. But yes, what can I do for you?"
God:"I lost track of the eternity that is time, do you have notes on the Adam and eve project? I wanted to see how long they'd last until they died. I meant to check up on them and forgot. I'll get around to perfecting the species in a few billion years maybe."
Gabriel:"Actually God... They procreated."
God:"That's actually... disturbing. I gave them that function? Must have been left in from an old design. How long did the offspring survive?"
Gabriel:"Eerm... actually 7 billion-"
God:"Oh don't pull my leg. I know it hasn't been 7 *billion* years. I haven't lost track of time that much. It was like, one power-nap. Seriously. How long did they last?"
Gabriel:"There's... 7 billion of them still alive right now... They... wrote a book about you."
God:"I... what? Is this the book? ... OH GOD AN APPLE?! A SNAKE?! Excuse me! I poked them with my finger and dropped an ORANGE on them. Man they have bad memories... but still not too bad for an imperfect species... OH MAN THIS IS GREAT. HEY LUCIFER!"
Satan:"What's up god? What's this?"
God:"You know how you chased around that one dude with a pitchfork on your tropical island beach resort on the edge of the universe while drunk a couple of millennia ago?"
Satan:"Yeah what of it?"
God:"Yeah so. They wrote a book about how you lead 'hell' - and it is the ultimate punishment and you're the incarnate of all evil! Oh man... talk about a misunderstanding. You should give this a read, this is the best comedy in ages."
Gabriel:"Actually. A large number of them use this book or a variant as a rule book. They've slaughtered countless millions in your name. "
God:"..... HA. COOL! Quick lets make another one of these, this time lets fuck with them and give them an appendix and natural evolution! Oh god this species is the best."
|
Inside a large lab with sparkling white walls, a man sat in front of a computer. His finger held a small pencil he tapped over and over on the screen.
After tapping the screen a few more times, groaning impatiently once and then running a hand through his beard over and over, he got up from his seat.
"Oh, my back!" He said as he got up. A smaller looking human walked up to him and offered him a glass of water.
"Oh, thank you, angel uh...#1?" The man looked down at the figure in front of him, a guilty look on his face.
The small figure patted the bigger one gently on the knee. "It's okay God, I'm angel #666. #1 got deported quite a long time ago. I'm the newest guy."
"Oh, okay...uh...welcome aboard?"
"Sir, I joined a few thousand years ago."
"Ah, my memory is not what it used to be."
"Sir, actually there is something related to that."
"What is it?" The God said, now leaning over his desk, looking back at the screen, at the numbers scrolling up.
"Umm...do you remember the likeness project?"
"The likeness...? Oh yeah! Hahaha" And saying so God broke out in laughter and his entire body seemed to shake as he did, including his belly.
"Oh hohoho!" He said, wiping a small tear that had formed around his eyes. He pulled his chair towards him and sat down, now quite out of breath.
"Oh that was a funny project, wasn't it angel? A male and a female that looked like me. 'In my own image' as Lucie had said. Man, I wonder what happened to that."
The small figure looked at its feet and wrung his hands in front of him, "Well, it's about that..."
"Go on." God said, still smiling, but his eyes had narrowed at angel #666.
"Sir, Lucifer didn't turn the program off..."
"What?!" God thundered and stood up quickly. The chair shot out from under him and crashed as it hit the wall behind God. "What did you say?"
"Sir, Lucifer didn't let the program end. He made further copies of Subjects #A-d-a Male and #E-v-e Female."
God looked across the room, a blank stare in his eyes. "It was Earth, right? That distant planet?"
"Yes, God."
"How many?" God asked, now leaning heavily on the table, looking old.
"Seven billion, sir."
"Oh my Steve." God said, and fell down on the floor.
| 2016-03-07T05:34:29
| 2016-03-07T04:17:08
| 30
| 12
|
[WP] All work centers are mandated to install " Efficiency Microchips" into their employees. The microchip makes the host blackout during their shift and come back into control after work is over, with no recollection of their day. Your microchip just malfunctioned.
Edit: Holy crap 5.2k upvotes and we made the front page?! You guys and gals are awesome, I love reading all the shorts. Keep up the good work!
Edit 2: I've never made the front page before and I see we're at 9.2k upvotes. Really made my day people. Keep writing awesome stories! Love seeing everyone's creativity!
|
The office conditions became so dreary that they invented a chip for all office workers. "Voluntary" to get installed of course but everyone went along with it, some running. Of course I did as well. I don't hate my work but I figured I don't love the office so much so what the heck, losing 8-9 hours a day would be no big deal. Also I would have only the fun bits of life left to me.
It started nice. The chip would activate only near my cubicle after a slight warning jolt to notify its status. So I knew when I was going "offline". After a long shift of nothing, I came back home, rested a bit, played games, chatted with family and friends then off to bed I went for the next day. The thing is, without a work day to talk about I didn't have much to talk and boy the evenings are short. 5-6 hours then sleep and I'm not tired at all so no way I said. I stayed up until the early mornings and let the future drone me handle it.
Handle it, it did well. Some days I never slept and went to work after an all nighter, most with 1-2 hours of sleep out of slight fear that I may eventually burn myself out unknowingly.
This went on for a year I think. I don't remember that far back, because I've never been home for the last 20 years. The chip malfunctioned, I think, and I wake up everyday at the office. The chip jolts my brain if I leave the office premises or "offlines" me. I went to several doctors, I am not sure, I took appointments and look like I went to them but I don't remember. I called them and they said they've seen no problems with me. I called my wife but she is somehow happier with me in general and sounds more lively on the phone. I asked for help and they told me to stop goofing around. I have photos from family activities and birthdays I've never been to. I want to go home.
Edit: Thanks for the kind words everyone. Manly hugs to you all.
|
"Joke, to start with, 'cause once they plant the cut-out chip, it seems like free money. Wake up sore, sometimes, but that’s it. Renting the goods, is all. You aren’t in, when it’s all happening. House has software for whatever a customer wants to pay for . . ." She cracked her knuckles. "Fine. I was getting my money. Trouble was, the cut-out and the circuitry the Chiba clinics put in weren’t compatible. So the worktime started bleeding in, and I could remember it . . . But it was just bad dreams, and not all bad." She smiled. "Then it started getting strange." She pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. "The house found out what I was doing with the money. I had the blades in, but the fine neuromotor work would take another three trips. No way I was ready to give up puppet time." She inhaled, blew out a stream of smoke, capping it with three perfect rings. "So the bastard who ran the place, he had some custom software cooked up. Berlin, that’s the place for snuff, you know? Big market for mean kicks, Berlin. I never knew who wrote the program they switched me to, but it was based on all the classics."
"They knew you were picking up on this stuff? That you were conscious while you were working?"
"I wasn’t conscious. It’s like cyberspace, but blank. Silver. It smells like rain . . . You can see yourself orgasm, it’s like a little nova right out on the rim of space. But I was starting to remember. Like dreams, you know. And they didn’t tell me. They switched the software and started renting to specialty markets."
She seemed to speak from a distance. "And I knew, but I kept quiet about it. I needed the money. The dreams got worse and worse, and I’d tell myself that at least some of them were just dreams, but by then I’d started to figure that the boss had a whole little clientele going for me. Nothing’s too good for Molly, the boss says, and gives me this shit raise." She shook her head. "That prick was charging eight times what he was paying me, and he thought I didn’t know."
"So what was he charging for?"
"Bad dreams. Real ones. One night . . . one night, I’d just come back from Chiba." She dropped the cigarette, ground it out with her heel, and sat down, leaning against the wall. "Surgeons went way in, that trip. Tricky. They must have disturbed the cut-out chip. I came up. I was into this routine with a customer . . ." She dug her fingers deep in the foam. "Senator, he was. Knew his fat face right away. We were both covered with blood. We weren’t alone. She was all . . . " She tugged at the temperfoam. "Dead. And that fat prick, he was saying, 'What’s wrong. What’s wrong?’ 'Cause we weren’t finished yet . . ."
She began to shake.
"So I guess I gave the Senator what he really wanted, you know?" The shaking stopped.
| 2018-11-19T04:29:41
| 2018-11-19T01:57:16
| 1,091
| 57
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
----------------------------------------------
|
I stared at the demon behind the counter.
"186,292... years? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? I was kind to nearly everybody, and the worst crime I ever committed was smoking weed!"
The being with red skin and disturbing horns (That somehow seemed to be in multiple places at once... ugh, I was getting nauseous just looking at them.) nodded knowingly.
"Yes, we get a lot of that down here. You see, it's not what you did, but rather, what you didn't do. Do you remember your brother?"
Oh, god... my greatest regret. I nodded slowly, while on the inside I was nearly crying, though I *was* wondering how exactly THAT could be worth so many years.
The demon continued, "You remember how he was used and abused for his entire childhood, until he came to live with you?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm sure you remember the next part then. How he latched onto you, and fell in love with you, his little brother, and you just continued to use him for whatever you could think of."
I shouted angrily, "No! It wasn't like that! He was older than me, he should have known better! And it isn't my responsibility to look after someone so pathetic, anyways."
At that, the last vestiges of pleasantness left the demon's face, and his visage became terrifying.
"You're lying to yourself, mortal. You couldn't cope with what you had done to him, and weren't attracted to him, so you abandoned him when he needed you the most. If I had my way, your punishment would never end!"
I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't understand. How could that one inaction carry such an enormous sentence? Yeah, he was smarter than normal, but he was nobody special... Why is th-"
The demon cut me off with a growl, and his face grew disgusted. "Mortal, do you have any idea what he would have done if he hadn't ended his own life after you left him? He would have invented miraculous technologies, solved nearly all the worlds problems, **AND DISCOVERED MAGIC!**" He ended with a bellow that brought me to my knees with sheer physical force. "He would have invaded and liberated *Hell itself* and ended death for all time! He was infinitely more valuable than you, and you decided that you didn't want to bother interacting with him, or even supporting him at all. You disgust me, get out of my sight!"
I kneeled on the floor, his words slowly sinking in to my stunned mind. I thought back, to all of our conversations, and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that this foul creature in front of me was right... I deserved this, if what he said was true.
I fell sideways to the ground, going numb. I can't believe I made such a huge mistake. I always regretted what I had done after he was gone, but I never knew it was of this magnitude.
The demon sneered at me from above, shouting "Guards, get this pathetic meatsack out of here and into his punish-"
At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction I had come from. Startled, I flailed and turned around while still collapsed on the ground, scanning for the source of the ridiculously loud noise, wondering what was going on.
Behind me, I heard the demon that had just been berating me exclaim softly in horror, "Oh, no... It can't be... I thought that this was prevented! He lied! Satan lied to us, there was nothing he could do! I knew it!" The sound of his footfalls (or should I say hooffalls, as he had some sort of equine legs) rapidly retreating behind me, I gulped in apprehension.
I stared at the plume of smoke, unseeingly, as I contemplated what came next. I hope whatever caused that explosion would end my existence, but I wasn't very confident that it would, or even could, given that this *was* Hell, after all.
I heard soft footsteps coming from in front of me, and I squinted, wondering what would happen now.
As the footsteps continued, the vague form coalesced into something recognizable, but unbelievable. "Brother?" I asked softly, staring at the form of my brother as I remembered him from when he was still a child.
He grinned, and raised a hand. I flinched back, only to stare in shock as he simply waved at me. He softly uttered, "Hey man, I'm sorry I'm late. C'mon, I've got so much to tell you. Let's get out of here."
Numbly, in shock, I stood, and walked towards him. He caught me in a hug, and then grabbed me by the hand as we walked on. I shook my head, I don't deserve this. He should just leave me.
At that thought, he turned his head to me and smiled. "I won't leave you. Not ever again. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay alive, but now I'm strong enough to do *anything*. Don't worry bro, I've never held anything you did against you. C'mon, we have stuff to do."
Feeling rotten to my core, I continued along with him in silence. Maybe this *was* my personal hell, and what the demon did was just a deception...
At that thought, my brother froze, and turned towards me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much. I knew my death would destroy you, that you were lying to yourself, trying to be normal, but I did it anyways." He sobbed. "But it's important that you understand, I won't let you be in pain or misery anymore. You were still the most important person in my life, even after I died" he finished with a tearful gaze towards me from the corner of his eyes.
"Ok." I said flatly, while internally I was screaming and crying, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve his kindness. But, if I had another chance to be there for him, this time I wouldn't throw it away.
We reached the gates of Hell, where I had found myself shortly after my death, and he tightened his grip on my hand. He looked at me seriously, and said, "Don't let go. No matter what." With those words, he pulled me through the boundary, and everything dissolved into purple, orange, and green streaks of light. I couldn't see or feel anything. I could barely think. My next thought was, "I hope I don't let go..."
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09
| 2018-09-26T07:21:22
| 1,768
| 23
|
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
"You want that, i mean you really want THAT?" The demon was dumbfounded. He stared at my 14 and a half page doccument that had elaborately closed every loophole, hidden clause, escape plan, and demonic play on words that could be possible. I spent years of my life with religous scholors, occultists and copyright lawyers making an airtight contract. I knew what i wanted.
The demons face contorted, parts phased away while others came into reality. The best i can describe it was confused. "You pledge that your soul shall be tormented by our choice of... contractors, for an extended eternity, and give consent for deep psychological inquiries to make the time more unpleasent?"
"Yep."
"You sure?"
"As it is written."
"Uhh so shall it be... i guess?" As the demon whos face was an ever shifting mass of insect legs and eyes looked over the papers one more time they shrugged and placed it into an obsidian cube. It whirred like a fax machine then spit a paper out covered in blood siglis and brimstone scented smoke. It was pleasently warm and dry though felt food on my hands.
"Thank you. Now shall we get going?" I asked gathering my things. "The doccuments clearly state that the demonic notary will personally escort me to the bottom ring of hell to await the arrangement."
As we walk through elegant hallways with portraits of different depicting various forms of torture my face segins to show a faint calm. There are scrarchmarks all along the carpet and walls, some othethe paintings have been torn or pulled in the direction they are headed.
Upon seeing this the demon becomes more uneasy. "You know, you are one of the first souls to walk down this path. Many are... coerced."
"Its not too bad when you know what to expect, whats your name by the way?"
"...Greg. But uh, you have to know that you picked the worst package? They are using you for the training dummy for lava-sodomy101." "Not me, my soul. My friends call me Benny by the way"
"Same difference, you feel the pain all the same. Its forever you know. And you did this all for $2.25." Greg shook his head, we had reached the end and a large door stood in front of us. As greg fiddles with his keys i stop him.
"We can just slip it through the door." I say rummaging through my wallet.
"It doesnt work like that the soul has to go through."
"Here it is." I hand him a piece of notebook paper torn out of the journal that has been laminated. In crayon and with several crossed out letters it read:
"i give my soul to you for your lunch. You are a booger face.
Signed,
Tommy Berkeley"
"I own the soul, but its not MY soul. Lets throw it in shall we?"
Greg was awestruck. He half expected me to regret my decision along the way the other half thought i was insane. Now all he can do is ask "do you want a job here?"
"No i want my $2.25 please."
|
Ok, so, this is technically a story. But it’s a true story.
I’ve had a lot of teachers over the years, from Ms. Imani who looked like she was in high school to Ms. Howard, who was on the brink of retirement for years. She had a lot of time to think about her mortality. This is a story about Ms. Howard.
She would buy students’ souls.
For real money.
She told us one day, out of the blue. Write “My Soul” on a scrap of paper. Sign your name to it. Ms. Howard will pay you $5.00 for it.
Matthew lost his soul that day. Janice soon followed.
She owns them, now. When they go, they will go not to the gates of pearl or of iron, but to the land of Howard. The ownership of more souls than her own gives her the power to contain them, and to grow her own little pocket of afterlife, in which reside the souls of the howed.
My soul is still my own, as I’m aware. But perhaps, once my body is not, I’ll spend some days in search of her third direction.
| 2021-03-27T06:35:21
| 2021-03-27T03:58:13
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts.
|
**DISCLAIMER: First time commenting, so I hope I have done this properly.**
"So, have you used yours yet?"
It was the question that was on everyone's minds since the Law was introduced. Death and murder had left the realms of impolite conversation, ushering in a new type of small-talk that was, in essence, macabre. You could sit in even the quietest of restaurants and hear the Question over a dozen times through your meal. My record was 23 times in, perhaps, twice as many minutes. An impressive amount, I thought, but nothing to brag about.
Of course, no one really bragged about anything anymore. Everyone was too scared, too worried that their swagger would provoke others to use the Law. The same had happened with almost all conversation, really. Everyone was polite, everyone was nice, and, most of all, everyone was quiet. It was a remarkable transformation from the busy, bustling society I had known all my life; in just a few months, the Law had created a world walking on egg-shells.
Except for the Question. No one shied away from it, no one blanched at it. Some even asked it with an excited grin, full of glee at the prospect of finding out someone's Silence. Some still saw any answer other than 'No' as an excuse to return to old habits, though many found themselves Silenced soon enough.
The first months of the Law had been complete and utter chaos. Old rivalries, feuds and petty squabbles were settled with a Silence, and the world was overcome with an unbounded paranoia. Homelessness was all but eradicated as Silences were used to 'clean the streets'. The gay community was near wiped out by the end of the second month. The entire world was caught in the cold, vice-like grip of fear.
Not even world leaders were above the Law's reach, and by the end of the first month we were looking at a completely new global political stage. By the second month we were looking at an even newer one. Constant change became the norm as the old order was Silenced by the new, and the new Silenced by the newer.
Even in the politeness and the cautiousness that followed, that chaos persists. The wealthy, for all their pomp and bought security, are Silenced almost daily, while the poor are Silenced for the simple fact of their existence. It is the elderly, surprisingly, who use their Silence the most, Silencing people almost arbitrarily so as not to waste the opportunity granted by the Law. Just the other day, in fact, I witnessed an old woman, clad in a thick tweed overcoat with an even thicker tartan scarf wrapped around her gaunt throat, Silence a man on the bus for refusing to give up his seat. He was disabled.
The newspapers are all saying the same thing now; the Law is growing out of control. People are seeing through the niceties of polite society that the Law had created, and using their Silence simply because they can. Chaos is coming back, and with it the deaths will rise.
If you are reading this, I have been Silenced. I have known it would come eventually. A stranger, a friend, a lover, an old woman on the bus. The Law has made killers of us all, and I can only hope that, in reading this, you see the Law as only a distant memory.
And if not, if the Law still exists, if Silence still rules the world, I ask you; have you used yours yet?
|
The law says everyone gets to kill one person in their life without needing to facing any punishment. It seemed to have minimal impact at first. After all, murders happened all the time, and many murderers are not caught. This new law essentially only affirms an existing fact.
Until I read the papers the next day:
*Billionaire family slaughtered in luxurious mansion*
Apparently some nutjobs decided it would be just to murder the rich people. And since the law says everybody gets to kill one person, they decided it would be a good idea to band together to kill an entire family.
No one was punished, it's what the law says.
The following week, rich families were murdered each day. They were all gone by Saturday. Some were strangled, some brutally stabbed, the most elaborate one involved each member from the family burned by a different killer on a stake. And then the problems really hit us.
With those poor bastards gone, no one dared to take their place. Everyone was terrified at what would happen if any of them had their names associated with a large corporation. Instead of a sight to be envied, being a famous is now something to be avoided, lest you become a target yourself.
Soon, big corporations dissolved as none wanted to take charge of management. Independent producers took over the market for a while, until people started getting killed off for marking their price too low, or giving too many benefits to their clients, or having a product too similar to the next store. Those went away as well when people decided they will just ask for free stuff together. They had to abide, the law is on the killers’ side.
People stopped interacting with one another for fear of offending the wrong person. No one would dare open their mouths to greet their next door neighbour. There were some attempts at connecting with other people, with subtle nods and shallow eye contacts. Most people would only talk to their spouse and children, those are the people you can trust.
However, with the economy in shambles, even food is a struggle. We hardly know who is running the government, the last President was assassinated two days after the law passed, and no one took his place as far as we know.
Several of my older neighbours stopped coming out to their front yard as the weather got colder. We tried to grow some crops, but that didn't go anywhere…
I'm starving as I write this, I've gone on days without food, barely any water… Yet I'm trying to sharpen my knife. The Smiths next door seem well off enough, and our family still have our quota
| 2017-12-03T07:22:49
| 2017-12-03T06:50:17
| 7,256
| 146
|
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
It's hard at my age, finding love.
You find a nice-seeming man, a sharp dresser, a real gent, or so he would have you believe. Then you look up their credit rating and realise why they never found the one.
I'd been in many relationships, married twice, had four children. Naturally some of those relationships had... hairier endings. On the whole, though, I'd done quite well for myself. I still had tea with my first husband occasionally.
It does get quite lonely, though.
I was sat at the wedding reception for Julia, my youngest daughter, when I saw him.
Harry Stokes.
He was *gorgeous*, dancing with one of my new daughter-in-law's younger cousins in that way only a truly beloved uncle can. I caught his eye and before I knew it it was me he was twirling across that floor!
It was a whirlwind romance. I discovered he had been a chemist, but retired early to chase his true love: folk music. He played the fiddle with his ceilidh band. He was younger than me - by about a decade - but he didn't seem to mind. He'd never had children of his own, but he loved all his little nieces and nephews dearly.
My own children were delighted at my newfound happiness. Once Julia returned from her honeymoon we arranged to have brunch.
"He sounds lovely, mum. But aren't you - well, aren't you moving a bit fast?" She asked, voice low.
"At my age, dear, you can't move too quickly." I patted her hand in an attempt at comfort. "Please just be happy for me."
She sighed. "Okay. How's his history?"
"His credit? I haven't checked." I feigned an air of indifference. Honestly, I hadn't wanted to ruin the magic.
"Can we at least do that? To put my mind at ease?" She was already removing her phone from her bag.
"I suppose it can't hurt." I said, leaning over to see the screen.
**NAME: HARRY STOKES
SCORE: -500
RECENT ACTIVITY: KILLED SPOUSE**
I didn't say another word, putting down a £20 note and leaving the café in shock. I think Julia called after me, but I could not nor would not hear her.
I went straight home, locked my door, and slid to the floor. I was deaf, blind, mute. I was transforming into stone.
Several days later - though perhaps it was only minutes - my hearing came back. It was slow, at first, and devoid of meaning. I heard a peculiar sound, much like a kettle boiling.
It was only after my sight returned that I realised the sound was coming from *me*.
My phone was beeping at me. My inbox was full, mostly Julia but also some messages from Harry.
My heart seized up at his name.
Julia came round later that day. I could see her, hear her even, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. She bathed me, made me tea, wrapped me in blankets.
"...so sorry... terminal... didn't... sorry..." She faded in and out of focus.
I struggled to piece the information together. "I'm dying?" I croaked.
She looked shocked at first and then laughed. "No, mum. I - well, I got it all wrong."
"What?" I strained to pay attention.
"I asked Amy about Harry - about his - well, you know." She held my hands in hers, squeezed so tightly I thought I would break. "I wanted to know why he wasn't locked up. Turns out his wife - she'd been sick for a long, long time. She'd been wanting to die for a while - she couldn't do it alone. He supplied her with the necessary drugs."
"What?" I didn't quite understand.
"He's not a bad man, mum. He's not a murderer."
|
It had been a lovely date with that woman. Her eyes were that of the shimmering sea, her laughter was horrifically angelic and her hair was frizzled. Ironically, it made him feel electrocuted.
He was just leaping over fences and gates after his date waved him goodbye. Strangely, there was something about that woman who made him feel intrigued by her state. He was a seasoned individual who knew exactly how to make others believe what he wanted.
It was for the greater good, after all.
He was always the man with the gun. The man who hunted others for his own personal gain. Inside, he did not desire to do that but he knew that he had to. It was either them, or his family.
And god, did he not want his family tortured to death.
Of course, he had managed to steal that ever-so-intriguing card that conveyed the score. "The Death Score" he called it. Who would be so melancholic to look up their score when you can steal it instead? A metallic chuckle was emitted from his body of flesh.
He gazed at the card with a curious glance. That urge of urgency was making him very, very curious. With a microscopic grin, he opened the card and looked.
He froze.
"Negative Five Hundred?" His bated breath had finally managed to surface from his throat. His eyes blinked with disbelief at such a preposterous score. He stopped running, leaping or emitting any noise at all.
He felt dumbstruck. He felt as if the woman struck him with a strike that blasted his world into smithereens. He looked into a corner and then hid for his life.
It was said that when those individuals that scored as low as that score, they were dead. They were supposed to be deader than the dead corpses underneath his house. Deader than the skeletons he buried after hiding them in the closet.
Suddenly, he heard laughter.
He turned around as the blade descended onto him. The last thing he knew, the smile of somebody he thought he knew.
| 2016-09-24T11:36:22
| 2016-09-24T11:35:10
| 231
| 13
|
[WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time.
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post!
|
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, an old man in red appears inside the door. Carefully stepping around the beeping machines, he gently places a warm hand upon the girl's bald head.
The shadows darken. Frost grows on the windows. A chill enters the room. Death, too, has arrived. Santa spares it a glance.
"So soon?" he murmurs. "She's just settled, and wanted so much to see the morning..."
The shadows shift.
"Aye. I know. You do your duty, no more and no less." He continues to stroke the girl's head, with the slightest sparkle in his eye as she sighs and settles.
They stand in silence, at an odd impasse with no tension. For these two, and in this night, time holds no meaning.
Sighing, Santa withdraws his hand and stands.
"Do you know what she wished for?" he whispers. "She asked for smiles for her family today. Simply...smiles" Death remained still. Sighing again, he turns back to the girl.
"Just...one moment. She has been such a good girl this year, so nice and kind to everyone. She should have her Christmas present. She deserves it."
Once again, he brushes his fingers over her eyes. And she dreams. An endless dream of painless Summer days, of warm picnics on grassy hills and kites flying in bright blue skies. Of her mother and father, faces unlined by worries or cares, smiling and laughing like they used to before she got sick. Of her little brother who used to pull her hair and laugh as she screamed and chased him around the yard. Of fun school days coloring in books and cozy nights with her mother's bedtime stories lulling her to sleep.
She smiles.
Santa steps aside, shoulders drooped. "Make it quick. Please."
The shadows glide towards the bed, silent and cold. A skeletal hand reaches out and brushes a finger against her chest.
Her breath slows. Her heartbeat gentles. And stops.
Santa stands over the bed, barely noticing the squeal of the heart monitor's flat line. And then, somewhere in the cacophony of medical devices, he hears a little bell ring. And he smiles a small, pained smile.
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, the room is once again empty but for the still and silent girl on the bed. But outside, snow is falling upon the bare ground, and the tinkling of a bell chimes in the wind.
|
The night was cold. Grant entered the living room to embrace the sweet scent of pine and the soft glow of the fireplace. The room featured a lavish tree baring an extraordinary abundance of neatly wrapped presents. Grant found little Jacob sitting at the sofa with a toy truck resting on his lap. The boy's eyes seemed fixed to the mantle just above the fireplace, though it seemed that was not what he was truly viewing. His vision penetrated the mantle and stared straight into oblivion.
Over the past month, the poor tike had been in this state for at least 3 times a day. Constantly staring out to nothingness like it held the key to an amazing secret the world chose to hide. Viewing him in this depressive state did nothing but fill Grant with pure dread as he witnessed his son slowly drift from reality. Knowing Jacob wouldn't respond to his voice immediately, Grant went down and sat beside the boy.
"How's planet z?" Grant asked.
The boy did nothing for another ten seconds, then slowly cocked his head.
"Okay champ, it's time to hit the hay. You got a lot of presents to open tomorrow!" He lifted the boy from his seat as he rose up himself. Jacob Glanced at the presents before gazing into grant's eyes before monotonously saying "Okay."
It was a silent trip to his bedroom. Snow began to fall in the night sky as he was slowly placed on his bed and under the covers. As Grant exited the dark room and silently closed the door, Jacob stared into the darkness before him.
He had no one to play with, no one to relate with, and no one to live for. The boy lost interest with his toys since he had no one to turn to and share his experiences. He noticed his dad and mom attempt to keep him busy and provide him a fun day, but it wasn't the same.
The blankets were warm and crisp. Jacob turned his body to the window and plowed his head onto the pillow. A tear rolled down his temple. Jacob blinked from the saltiness and noticed a strikingly dark figure standing in the shadows. Jacob was filled with fear and dread. His mind became stiff as with his body. He wanted to look away and hide under the comfort of his covers, but his eyes remained intent on this unknown person. The house vibrated fiercely.
Footsteps filled the room but the figure remained static. The window frame slid wide open as a tremendously huge old man with a large beard as white as snow hopped in. The man furiously panted for a moment while he figured out a way to close the window. Jacob laid there motionless, unable to breath from the fear.
Staring at the man closing the window, he was able to discern a solid red coat lined with white fluff. There seemed to be a black utility belt around the waist. The old man turned directly to the black figure.
"I was almost burned to death yet again!" The man chuckled. "They should make it a law to turn off your dang fireplaces, not only is it a fire hazard, but it really makes it hard for one to slide down a chimney safely!"
The figure stood still with no response.
The old man turned to face Jacob. Jacob cowered in fear.
"...And where are my manners! Jacob, if you don't know already, I'm Nick, but most call me Santa" The old man sent a warming smile. Jacob stared, unable to smile from the shock. He slowly sat up.
The dark figure was still in the corner.
"Jacob, I'm sorry but I don't have a present in my sled for you. I know what you've been wishing in your heart for the past month and well, it doesn't exactly follow the rules." Santa explained, "But this Christmas, I've decided to eh... 'bend the rules'"
Jacob just stared at Santa.
Santa continued, "I've struck a deal with my ol' friend here and we decided to do something we've never did before. Trust me my boy, This gift will be pretty good I think."
The dark figure moved. Jacob cowered yet again as the it walked closer, crossing the moonlight shining through the window. The thing sported a purely black robe with a hood concealing the face in its own shadow. It also held a long staff with a blade erecting from the top of it. Then it stopped just in front of Jacob. Flooded with fear, he scuttled back, pinning his spine against the wall. Santa laughed.
The figure extended a long, bony hand into a cut in his robe and hunched. The room went dark as the figure seemed to absorb any light left in the room. Jacob closed his eyes, protecting himself with the force of his eyelids. Then something plowed right on his bed and began to savagely rip through the sheets directly toward him.
Jacob clenched his eyes tighter, but realized he face began to become covered in slobber. He opened his eyes to reveal his dog Spot that had passed away. His true dog that was by his side ever since he was born. His true partner in crime that would annoy mom. His true dogzilla that would commit chaos with his toys. His true friend.
Tears streamed Jacob's face as he hugged his Spot, trying to control the ongoing leaps and the painful whips of his tail. Jacob looked back up only to realize that the figure had mysteriously left, it was only Santa in the room now.
"You weren't the only one that was in need, you dog there seemed rather lonely too. It's not his time yet, so here's another chance to be with him. I think he's in better hands now" The old man winked and slipped out of Jacob's room.
Jacob continued to try to control the ecstatic Spot.
| 2013-12-13T03:07:23
| 2013-12-13T02:28:22
| 299
| 18
|
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you."
|
The hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..."
|
I glanced down at the coin he had thrown. Dwarven bronze, innumerably ancient. Almost as ancient as me. I had never taken the time to learn Dwarven, though even if I had, the words would long have been lost to me. The emblem on the coin, however, I knew. The ancient emblem of Gadar-Khan, the greatest kingdom to ever have lived.
"We've all heard great legends of your mighty hoard," he said. I looked back at him. Not one inch of skin stuck out from his armour, bristling with all manner of magic runes and carvings. It, too, was clearly of Dwarven design.
It couldn't be.
"I am not interested in your treasure, beast. I have travelled the length and breadth of the kingdoms, fighting all manner of monsters. I have scoured every tomb and temple in the lands, acting on every rumour, every skerrick of information to find the most powerful of magical items to render me even more unstoppable.
"Tales of me are told from both sides of the Great Ocean. I have the ear of gods and kings. I have amassed so much wealth in my travels that I could buy out the world and still live like a king all my days.
"So, you see, dragon, I am not interested in money. Unlike all those fools who have tried and failed before me, I am not here in hopes of treasure or the thanks of the people. I only wish for a challenge!"
He steps forward, the reflections of light on the coins around him casting dazzling lights on his armour.
I notice a portly man at the entrance, scribbling furiously on parchment. Clearly a minstrel. This was an act.
"I have searched so long for one purpose - to find the weapon to defeat you! The great wyrm who has bested entire armies in a single blow. You are the one thing standing in my way to eternal glory!"
He raises his arms for effect. The man in the background scribbles faster.
"Get on with it." I growl.
"You thought the great forges of Gadar-Khan ruined," he continued. "Destroyed to leave no trace of their greatest project. The armour that could not only withstand dragon-fire, but be strengthened by it. As you can see, you were mistaken."
He's bluffing.
"Of all the exaggerations in your tale, human, truly this is the most egregious." I hiss. "I left nothing standing of the great kingdom. I crushed it to dust with my own claws."
I, too, could pose for effect.
"There was a secret entrance," he said, "and at the bottom of the deepest mineshaft ever dug, below the adamantine spires, I found the one remaining set."
"Prove it!" I barked. "Show me the maker's seal and you shall have my ear," I continued, hoping he wouldn't point out that I didn't have ears, "else leave. I have lived long, but I will not suffer fools wasting my time."
He turned around and gestured to the brand on the back of the chestplate.
My thoughts filled with ancient curse words, though aeons of looking at reflective objects had made it easy to mask my expression.
"What is your proposition, then, human?" I snapped.
"I am not here to kill you, but to do much worse. I am here to make you flee in terror with your tail between your legs.
"I will let you live," he said, "if you give me a battle truly worthy of legend. Give me your best! Show me that you truly are the slayer of armies! Give me a fight that will be sung of for millennia. Prove your worth, and I will spare you."
He took this moment to unsheathe his blade. I notice a metal plate inside the scabbard, which produces a ridiculous 'shing' sound when the blade is withdrawn. The weapon itself was just as ridiculous. Two-pronged. And yet, it shone with an almost heavenly aura, the edge of the blade twisting and shuddering so quickly I could not focus on it. Vorpal.
"You leave me no choice, then." I let loose a sardonic grin.
"Why do you smile, monster? You truly think you can beat me?" he replied.
"You shall have you battle. But it is you who are mistaken, adventurer."
"When I overturned the forges, I did not simply leave it in ruin. I took something with me."
"And verily, it is not a golden hoard of which I boast."
I can only laugh as I cast the ancient spell to summon the bodies of the dead dwarves. Across the chamber, shuddering, wailing figures emerge from beneath the piles of gold. Themselves coated in the metal, they draw all manner of weapons. Clubs. Swords. Axes. Many wield bows, aiming them from across the halls squarely at the hapless egotist.
"'Tis a Golden Horde."
>horde (hɔrd, hoʊrd)
>n., v. hord•ed, hord•ing. n.
1. a large group, multitude, or number; crowd.
2. a tribe or troop of Asian nomads.
3. any nomadic group.
4. a moving pack or swarm of animals.
>The Golden Horde (Mongolian: Алтан Орд, Altan Ordu, Зүчийн улс, Züchii-in Uls; Russian: Золотая Орда, tr. Zolotaya Orda; Tatar: Алтын Урда Altın Urda) was a Mongol and later Turkicized khanate established in the 13th century and originating as the northwestern sector of the Mongol Empire.[3] With the fragmentation of the Mongol Empire after 1259 it became a functionally separate khanate
--
Sorry. I saw the typo and had to.
| 2015-10-14T04:03:21
| 2015-10-14T02:31:02
| 32
| 14
|
[WP] Satan isn't a name, it's a title and was never a fallen angel. According to divine law Hell is ruled over by the most evil soul that currently resides there. Over the millennia several have worn the horns. Only surrendering them when a soul possessing an even greater evil joins the underworld.
|
The soon-to-be-former Satan sat upon his throne, staring at the one before him, the one who would be his successor. He had been Satan for what felt like eons at this point, and no one in that time had been even close to taking the title for themselves. After all, how does one match the carnage and depravity of leading to humanity's Fall from the Garden of Eden, which subsequently led to an endless turmoil on Earth. Humans committing countless genocides against their fellow men, committing atrocities upon their enemies, raping and pillaging each other merely because they were from different cultures - and all of this could be chalked up to his doing. He was directly responsible for the sorry state of the world was in. So, what had this human done to usurp him? What atrocity had this human committed that deemed them worthy to sit upon the throne - his throne?
Satan cast a scrutinizing glance over his successor, who withered under his stern gaze. This specimen appeared far from impressive. A stiff breeze would probably be all it took to knock them over. They didn't even have the dignity not to cower before him - even though they had already been informed that they would be the new Satan. There was nothing he could do to this human - God had made it so. The previous Satan was unable to harm their successor, whether they wanted to or not.
"I have defiled and corrupted humanity's very existence and ruled as 'Satan' from the beginning," the current Satan's voice bellowed out, the room around him practically shaking. The future-Satan before him dropped to their knees, tears freely flowing from their eyes as they tried to disappear into themself, a truly pitiful display. They were truly unworthy to be his successor, Satan thought. "Speak your sin - your atrocity. What have you done that makes you worthy of sitting upon my throne?"
The human looked at him, whole body shaking. They opened their mouth, yet no words came out. They repeated the same process multiple times before Satan's eye began to twitch and his patience began to wane. "Speak, human," he growled.
And hurriedly, the human finally did. "I- I didn't do anything wrong!" That was what all of these damned sinners insisted. The human seemed to understand that Satan was not satisfied with this answer. "I swear, I'm not lying to you - I lived a devout life and actively tried to make the world a better place!"
"If you didn't belong here, you wouldn't be here, human," Satan growled once more. "What. Did. You. Do?"
"All I did was put pineapple on pizza!"
"... What the fuck, man?"
|
Whenever someone new landed in the pits of hell, they were always looking for something. They knew what the wise told them when they were alive, and when they finally found their fate here in the sulphuric pits of acid and dark cold caverns they knew what to expect.
When they saw me, they all knew they’d found him. Surely this monster from the deep, chained and frozen in time, motionless yet sparking with heat, dark yet as bright as anything they would ever see again was the thing they were looking to meet when they ran down that path they chose for themselves.
But I’d long since lost the crown. My tricks were clever, my tongue sharp, and my temper sharper still. I led those that would drink to drink poison; those that would breath to breath their last; those that would eat to eat their own. The mask of madness was mine alone and I wore it so well I thought it true just as they had.
But just as I embodied the sins of man, my conceit was as complete as theirs. Though they called me Lucifer, I couldn’t bring the light that that newcomer came with by default. I couldn’t tempt them with all the wealth under the sun when it showed those that dug too deep what it could do. The only thing that rivaled its clean quiet cunning was the eternal echoes of the damned who screamed it praises until their screams couldn’t stop.
If I had hellfire, it had star power. If I could tempt the damned, it could corrupt the pure. If I could torture, it didn’t even know how to stop, and couldn’t if it tried. That damn rock they learned to split outshown the sun for a second, and they thought they had god in their hands. But the devil is always in the details, and no one can contain Pluto when it drags its great chain reaction to completion. The scientists thought themselves to be death; but death was too good for what their skills had brought to the surface.
For a billion years, I wore this crown. Now, the empty rock will hold it until the seas are no more and the sun comes to embrace the earth once more. Not that there are any left on the surface to tell or tempt since it came. No one comes to visit anymore.
| 2022-03-25T00:24:49
| 2022-03-25T00:01:37
| 29
| 18
|
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her.
|
"Please, its all I have".
"It's not enough. Get out."
The man collected his money and exited, and Ben was left alone.
Ben saw being the only person in the world who can copy other peoples memories as a blessing and a curse. He could bring happiness to thousands of people, but it took a toll on his own mind. Other peoples memories being mismatched with his own, the line between his memories and other peoples becoming blurred and his constant paranoia that his own memories might accidentally be given to a client. There was a knock at the door.
"Come in" Ben said.
Ben was surprised to see a young girl come in with a piggy bank under her arm, accompanied by an elderly woman.
"Uh...hello. What's your name"
"I'm Lily. I really need your help."
"Hi Lily. What do you need done" Ben replied.
"I need you to copy a memory of me, just me. I need to help my nan remember who I am. She has alterheimers."
"Alzheimer's?" Ben said.
The elderly lady sat, almost dazed.
"Yeah, and she's forgotten who I am." Lily looked at her grandmother and teared up.
"Its okay, its okay. We can solve that right away. Just think of the memory you want me to copy, and I will do it."
Lily closed her eyes and Ben put his hand on hers. The grandmother looked on with confusion. He saw the memory clearly. Lily was on a swing, her grandmother pushing her gently.
"Done" Ben exclaimed.
Lily gestured to the piggy bank. Ben began to count the money. $60.
"This isn't enough. It is $100 for one memory."
Lily began to plead.
"Please, I need it, I want my nan to know who I am! I want her back!"
Ben thought about the situation.
"Alright, alright. $60 will do" Ben said
Ben put his hand on the grandmothers head. He focused on the memory and after a few seconds, pulled his hand away. The grandmother looked like a light switch had just been flicked on in her mind. She looked to Lily.
"Lily, you should be home. Come on, lets go. Your parents will be furious."
Lily looked back and mouthed "thank you" before walking off, grinning from ear to ear. However, Ben knew she had nothing to smile about. Lily didn't know how alzheimer's worked, and knew it was just a matter of time before Lily found herself in the same predicament she had asked Ben to solve.
|
Not another grandmother.
"Didn't your folks tell you about brain leaking?" I tried to ask kindly. What came out instead was course and unpleasant. Kids were sweet and all, but it was a long day. Getting old people to remember things was as boring as it was impossible. Getting *asked* to do so was even worse, especially from grandchildren.
It was always the same.
"I *know,*" she whined. Hands shook the piggy bank like a promise. "Please plug her up again."
Always.
Time to try this from another angle. Pleasantly this time, like barber Wally who gave those great massages after a haircut those many years before...
Not now Sam.
"It's part of being a grandma or a grandpa," I started. "You ever lived to be eighty before?"
She shook her head.
I cracked a smile and took a step to the side, shining on her the shelved wonders of my trade. "Me neither, but I hope to! And when I do, I'll have worked a lot of memories. Walked a lot. Eaten more food than the number of First Bites I have bottled up behind me! Look at them! Candy canes, steak burgers---"
The girl continued staring at me.
Not at the display.
Strange, that usually worked. The bottled nano-fiber-nets stored behind me loomed over most kids. They came shaking their change for their grandparents. I'd take one step to the side, sweep a hand as the magicians once did and conjure the light show of glass experiences. Behold! First tastes across the world! Sugars and sweets like you've never seen before! The only regret those kids would have then was not bringing more money.
Memories weren't cheap.
"I want my grandma!"
Quick, another angle.
"You should be spending time with your grandmother kiddo. Make some new memories with her! Here, how about a dash of Had-My-First-Soda-With-Grandma? Someone else's grandma, sure, but *those* are the kinds of things you should be experiencing with *yours* now! Hmm?"
My cheeks were aching holding this smile. Please let this work.
Porcelain shattered across the floor. Piggy bank pieces and dimes tore across the floor counter. *A broken promise.* A morbid thought, but cheery in a dark way, unlike the crying girl in front of me.
"*My* grandma, I want *my* grandma!" She was in hysterics. Contained, standing in front of my counter, but the helpless tantrum of kids couldn't be underestimated for long. The merchandise was too valuable to handle this... irregularity.
Well, it *was* irregular.
This kid didn't just want pleasant memories of a grandma who brought cookies and bought them toys. This wasn't a teenager flashing their wallets so grandma could make them more. She was special. Different.
Time to give it to her straight.
"Listen," I sighed. "Your parents want her memory leaking to stop too. Trust me, they do."
*How ye doin' today Sammy?*
"It's not fair when it happens."
*Another cut? Boy, ye grow yer hair faster than my husky.*
"But what you need to understand..."
*Here, take a seat kiddo.*
"... is that the memories can fade..."
*That's a lad, get yerself comfortable!*
"... but they'll always be your grandma..."
*Now lets get to it!*
"... and you'll always be her grandkid."
*Let ol' Wally get you sorted!*
"They'll always love..."
Didn't realize she stopped crying until my cheeks felt damp. Why was *I* crying? How did those memories even exist, I pulled them all out! Didn't I?
I always hated working with kids, trying to pull this on me. Making me remember. And this one actually made me do it, this damned, irregular, obnoxious---
"What was she like?"
I blinked away a tear. "Who?"
"Your grandma. Was she nice too?"
--- faithful kid.
Damn you Sam, venting like a child. Like she knows any better.
But she *might* know better with a little help.
"One sec kid." I turned around, wandering with resolution through the aisles of my trade. The reds, blues and many bright hues flashing at me, demanding to be opened. Bought. Released. But what I wanted was from the personal collection.
To be a Memory Broker, you needed a good memory. A tight one, sealed and secure like an old bank vault. You keep the security codes and personal flasks in a private locker in the back of the shop. Private ones.
*Yer lookin' good today boy!*
Special ones.
*Molly's gonna take yer prom invite for sure, ye lucky---*
I wiped my eyes as I pulled a bottle from the personal collection. Here we go. The white one.
Today was irregular.
I came back to find her waiting there, the porcelain and dimes blinking around her as the sun tore down on them.
She was special. Different.
I handed her the bottle.
"On the house."
A little help from an old friend.
There was someone else I wanted her to meet.
-----------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-03-09T05:45:36
| 2016-03-09T05:41:46
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] All hell breaks loose when WWIII begins the day after Thanksgiving, but not even that can stop the hordes of Black Friday shoppers looking for deals.
|
The line outside Lockheed Martin Superstore formed at 3 AM. Countries wrapped up tight in blankets and mittens eyed each other suspiciously, wary of anyone daring to cut the line. The sun began to peek over the hills beyond the parking lot, illuminating the area in a rosy pink glow.
A clerk walked cautiously to the sliding glass doors, tiptoeing as quickly as he could go. Everyone outside saw him coming, snapping out of their cold daze. They adjusted their flag lapel pins and pounded on the glass, shouting as the clerk eyed his watch. He was under strict orders not to open before the specified time.
At 8, the locks clicked open and the clerk jumped to the side immediately to avoid the stampede. America was in first, throwing smaller countries out of its way in a mad dash through the doors. He made a beeline for the Nuclear rack, followed shortly by China and Russia. By 8:03, the selection was gone: airborne, ballistic, submarine, you name it. "I didn't even want any," said South Africa with a sneer, browsing the nearby Kalashnikov display. Belgium, Korea, and Poland limped in last, having been crushed in the initial frenzy (as always). Pakistan and India were engaged in a severe tug of war over a big pack of F-16s. Israel was loading tanks into their cart while Palestine watched bitterly from the rocks-and-homemade-molotovs display. Northern Ireland was sneakily pocketing rifles while Britain wasn't looking. Cuba followed Russia around the store like a stray dog, waiting for any 2-for-1 deals that might catch the old Bear's eye. France seemed to be the only one stocking up on white flags. A group of African countries had been shepherded into the machete station by the suspicious manager.
At the checkout line, America threw a wad of cash on the counter and walked out without even bothering to collect the change. Israel scooted through the line right behind with a quick "I'm with him." Russia dumped a basket of potatoes in front of the clerk and began to count while Switzerland tried to heft a huge fortification onto the conveyer belt. Italy stood behind him, sorting through coupons and asking how much the NATO discount would be.
By 12:30, the store was empty, and everyone went home to play with their new toys.
|
When the bombs went off it was a new world in the blink of an eye.
If you weren't looking at the explosions at least, otherwise it happened in the melting of your eyes.
Things careened out of control so quickly, you wouldn't even know there had been society or civilization not long before.
I learned a few things from a soldier buddy of mine that was home on leave for the holiday. He knew weapons, where to find them, survival.
We boarded up in a Wal-Mart, perfect place. Lots of food, clothing, shelter, only a few accessible points. We hunkered down and figured we'd wait out the worst of it.
We were wrong.
So wrong.
There were only twenty of us. Two old folks, one kid, three teens, and the rest ranging from twenty one to fifty five.
It was 6AM that dreadful morning when the noises began on our barricades.
Hands pounding on the plywood, thundering in the silence that had been our sleep.
We gathered our weapons, those who couldn't fight were herded to the back room where electronics used to be kept. It was a metal cage, the safest place. We had our positions, our battle formation.
My body trembled in fear, the adrenaline making it worse.
My friend placed a calm hand on my shoulder, attempting reassurance.
It didn't work.
The pounding only got louder, more intense.
The waiting was the worst part. Watching the reinforced barrier shake and rattle, even the metal grating was threatening to give way.
As much as I hated the waiting, the moment that the barricade was breached was worse.
A hole, only large enough for a lone man, if that.
The woman that fit through the hole first was wide eyed and frantic, eyes darting around the cash register area furtively. Seeking something.
"Where are the fucking tvs?" She screeched.
We all glanced at each other in confusion, only one question on our minds.
What?
| 2014-11-26T12:08:34
| 2014-11-26T11:07:06
| 62
| 17
|
[WP] You are a necromancer's apprentice. One of your most important jobs is holding down the revived bodies in their first moments alive again, while they scream and beg to go back.
|
“Let me go.”
The man’s pleading eyes swell with tears.
I hate criers.
He struggles meekly against the restrains.
“Why have you done this?”
He looks at me as if I know the answer.
“I was at peace.”
I nod uncommittedly only half-acknowledging the man. Somehow, he still takes the slight motion as encouragement.
“She was there.”
I mix brightly colored liquids at my work bench.
“I never thought I would see her again.”
A puff of smoke erupts from one of my vials as I try to remember my master’s instructions. It looks effortless when she does it.
“I am cold,” the man complains.
I look over at the man. His newly restored life is draining from his face. I mutter the incantations as best I can remember them and trace invisible symbols in the air above the mixture I have concocted. Vast unseen power press against the fabric of reality and the gash across the man’s abdomen closes unwillingly. His mortal wound undone. I dab my forehead and repress a smile.
“Why?” the man pleads again.
Now for the real trick. From the work bench I pick up my knife and turn to face the man once more.
The Damascus Steel gleams joyously in the lone ray of moon light that reaches the cellar’s high windows.
The sides of the man’s mouth quiver.
“I fear not death anymore for I have seen what lies ahead.”
If he knew what lay ahead of him, fear would not do him justice.”
Swiftly I carve the symbol of master into the man’s forehead. He screams in agony. He has forgotten that the world of the living is defined not by life but by pain.
He breathes heavily now. Trying to control himself. He checks are wet from tears. There’s not much blood. This man’s life is still fragile. It won’t be for much longer. I pour the contents of the vial I am holding into the carnal canals I’ve carved. The man’s eyes roll back.
“Good, good.”
I start. My master’s voice is like a razor dancing through silk. She steps out of the shadow. How long has she watched me? I don’t know. She is a creature of the night and moves unhindered in darkness; one moment many leagues away and the next by my side.
“I see your training has not been altogether,” she pauses and licks her lips. “Futile,” she decides and caresses the seizing man’s neck. White foam drips merrily from the man’s mouth and onto the unclean stone slabs.
With a sudden jolt, the man lies still. He calmly watches as I undo his restrains. His skin has taken on an unnatural, grim hue.
“Your command?”
He looks at me. Passive. Subservient.
I look around. The master has gone again.
Thoughts of rebellion race through my head. Insurrection. But is of course a trap. The master knows all, see all.
“Put on that robe,” I instruct.
The man obliges. It is his old stewards robe which bears the mark of the order of the golden light.
I snap my fingers and two undead servants emerge from the shadow.
“Bring in the next body.” I look at the man as he clads himself in his old garb. It seems a costume now. Will the abbot notice before it is too late? The stubborn old man is the last line of defense of the unknowing city above. But he will not let the light falter easily.
The heavy door swings open creakily as the servants brings in the body of the cellarer. It’s a fresh kill. No more than a few hours has passed. In this world at least.
I fix the restrains and begin the ritual anew. The master has not told me her plan but I sense its contours. I wonder what my place will be. A dark prince atop the throne of this miserable city while she builds her strength and forges alliances against the might of the paladin king of white mountain. Perhaps or perhaps something less grand. When the war comes, I will betray her. I know this much for certain. She wants power. Absolute power. And that fateful desire will undo her. I on the other hand will be happy to settle for the treasury of a king and a life of luxury.
The cellarer screams in agony as his soul is torn back from the afterlife.
\--------------
For more check our r/NornTree
|
Dusting the ash off my coat with a “*sigh*, another one.”
The boss nags from behind, “Esteban! We’re losing moonlight! Get a new body on the slab asap while I gather mana for the next spell!”
Blood rushes to my head “Old man this is the 12th one tonight how about calling it quits and trying again another day! You keep pumping the stiffs with mana and I get a bigger mess to clean up!”
“Silence boy!” The boss spits. “You’re 100 years too early to mouth off to me! I’ll have you know I’ve quite the pedigree in the dark arts!” He says proudly.
Furrowing my brow and hauling another body on the rune etched slab, “in destruction maybe but necromancy clearly isn’t your forte’ why don’t you stick to lightning bolts and fireballs and leave the stiffs to the pros? 100 years too late for a mid life crisis don’t you think?”
I turn around to a man at peace unlike the hate filled crone he was a second ago he’s praying, communing with mana to grant him power and give life to this wretched abomination.
Flakes of blue light gather in his hands. The wind gently swirls kicking up ash as it dances in the moons pale light shining down on the corpse.
It’s beautiful in a way if not for what happens next. I hear a spark and the smell of embalming fluid is overtaken briefly by the musty smell of rain.
I dive out the way onto the ground, a pile of ash softening my fall.
“POOOOOWEEER!!!!!” The old man shoots lightning from his fingertips onto the corpse.
“OVERWHELMING POOOOWEEEER!”, he amps the voltage. The runes ablaze with energy, and then the violent crackles are replaced by a melodious hum.
I get up to see the corpse still intact for a better lack of a term, a-little char here and there but not bad, not bad, major improvement. But had he done it, finally?
The Boss glides to my side hand on my shoulder “13th times the charm dear boy.” Excitement in his voice.
The corpses eyes jut open electric blue fills the irises with life. I dive toward it as it screams trying to break away from my hold.
The corpse screams, “NOOOOO! What is this!? Why did you bring me back!?”
The boss approaches “kind sir welcome back I have graced you with a second chance at life and now that I have helped you I would like you to help me.”
“My pet gargoyle, Zuzu which I’m certain you’ve been acquainted with and the cause of your untimely end may have been in the area of your death. If you would be so kind as to point us in the direction of your town we would certainly be happy to drop you off on the way.”
The corpse grows violent, “Your pet did this?! Well I got news for you I ain’t goin’ back! They collected from me once fed my intestines to your pet, hollowed me out and left a nasty surprise where they used to be and they ain’t getting a cent outta me again, kill me!”
A smile creeps across the bosses face, “kind sir if it’s bandits your worried about we are more than qualified to handle them in exchange for your service.”
The corpse let’s out a mocking laugh, “good luck but I learned my lesson already a group of bandits, ok but messing with the IRS nooooo thank you!
The corpse jerks on a string hanging from the outside of his stitched stomach, I hear the faint sound of a tick.
“Head east, follow the moss on the side of the rocks, good luck.” Another tick.
Esteban get down! I’m snatch back quickly. The corpse explodes in a blaze of blue. The boss protects us with an unseen force, its shape being betrayed by the dance of moonlit ash filling the room.
The ash settles and the boss strokes his beard deep in thought muttering and shivering “IRS…”
“Esteban” he utters with a sullen tone. I’ve never heard him like this.
“Yes sir?”
“Prepare a homing pigeon, we’re gonna need some help.”
| 2022-04-11T09:59:36
| 2022-04-11T07:54:10
| 43
| 23
|
[WP] A secretly immortal man is given a life sentence for a crime he didn't commit and now fears the discovery of his true nature is only a matter of time.
|
They said it was the second coming.
After the first botched execution they thought it was a one in a million fluke, after the second, the media jumped on the story. As the media frenzy grew, the details of my arrest and imprisonment leaked and public pressure mounted, pushing for my release.
Guantanamo isn't the place any man would want to spend his years, especially with the secret I carried. I was captured and named as a member of a jihadist cell, I guess that's my just deserts for trying to help a dying man but what's done is done. I expected a trial, it is the great United States of America after all, home to justice and freedom. Just not for me.
One evening I got my phone call, only seven years late. It was the president. The God fearing man needed to know if it was true, realising this was my one opportunity to escape I told him things only an immortal man would know. Within days it was announced I would stand trial, the Church found me the best defense team money could buy. It was the biggest and most watched court session the world had ever seen.
I was in Pakistan before I was taken. A cousin of a friend had lost his way, I went to find him and bring him home. Just as the boy was starting to see reason, the worst happened, two men were brought in, one dead and the other clinging to life. I couldn't let the man die, he was still human, I could save him. That's when the anti-terror team came in. I was taken away, waterboarded and kept awake for days on end, no idea where the cousin was or if he was even alive. After seemingly endless torture I was deemed useless and sent to the land of freedom and justice.
My friend was flown to the US to testify on my behalf, it was his testimony that spared my life. The jury took little time to find me not guilty, in recompense I was given the option to stay, I did. So here I am, a free man with thousands of followers at my side in a world so broken and sad. The people of this planet hold so much potential, there is so much goodness in them yet so much suffering.
I can save them, things have changed, they have changed.
They said it was the second coming, they just didn't realise I'd never left.
|
They didn't know about it when they first locked her up, about her secret. She thought they knew, she thought they were in on it, but they hadn't done a thing.
It had been about a long time since they first brought her into the prison. It was a maximum security prison, set out in space, the pinnacle of human technology in the mid 21st century. But that had been about a year ago now, it was hard to tell. There is no sunset in space.
It was the company that had set her up, it had to be. She had discovered the secret to immortality. She had not only discovered the chemical compound that could enrich and sustain life, but she had accidentally ingested it. The next day a SWAT team had broken into her house, she awoke to chaos but was knocked out by an assault rifle being smashed into her face. Her co-workers were dead, InVital Tech claimed she had broken in to steal company secrets & had killed them in the process. The whole thing was a mess, they claimed she was a threat to national security, as a result she received trial in a military court and was placed in the most secure prison known to mankind.
She looked out of her darkened window, the stars were much brighter in space. Earth floated into view below her. Her hand pressed up against the darkened glass wishing she could walk through the meadows one last time, feel the breeze, experience happiness. Gradually Earth slipped away again. The prison rotated quickly while in earth's orbit, the circular momentum created an artificial gravity of sorts.
What she couldn't find out was why they went through the trouble of sending her up here. Why didn't they just kill her like the others, they didn't deserve to die but here she was, trapped in space for the rest of her immortal life, wishing with all her heart that she could be dead just like them. The guilt was overpowering, it had been her fault.
She needed to get away before she was found out. The thoughts of what they would do to her were awful, she would become a human guinea pig, a thing to be tested on. Unless, what if this is what they were doing all along, what if this was intentional. Maybe the higher ups had meant for her to become infected, then set her up so she would be sent here. They could monitor the results and check for side-effects, see whether the compound had any problems. The government might be in on it as well, who knows how long they would keep her here or the things they might do to her.
The thought sent shivers down her spine, she needed to get out. Out, she wanted out, NOW! She started screaming and smashing her head again the titanium door. "LET ME OUT! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"
A gas hissed out of the vents as she fell to the floor crying & begging for her freedom. She went numb and slumped into a semi-conscious state as prison guards burst through the door. They lifted her into a cryogenic tank & sealed it shut, then carried her out through the corridor and onto a shuttle elevator.
She was cold, so very very cold, but it was worth it. She was leaving. They were taking her back away, back towards the main shuttle, from there they could take the next flight back to earth. How fitting, she would both arrive and leave frozen in one of their tanks. They must have realized the truth, she smiled gently. Maybe they would let her see her mum again, let her run through the grass and listen to the birds chirp as they fly overhead.
She tried to lift her hand up to the frosting window, but she couldn't lift it high enough. Why did she feel so tired, was it the gas or the cold. The cold was seeping in through miniature side vents. They were freezing her. As panic sank in she tried to move, then started to struggle. She opened her mouth to scream, only mist slipped out. Her last thoughts were of home.
As the shivering died down, she slumped into a frozen sleep. They were burying her, alive, in space.
***
After they stepped off the elevator and passed through the check point they went up to the main desk and asked for her placement details.
The secretary was typing away on the computer. "There is room for her in the 6th Chamber. The 42nd row, slot 1288." She handed him a paper slip with the details. "Oh, and be careful with this one, she is a special case. Make sure her vitals are fine, then report back to me."
"Yes ma'am," the guard nodded as he went off to find the shelf for her pod. He wondered whether this one would be let out again.
***
Back on Earth a mother was crying against her daughters grave. It had been a full year since the attack had killed her daughter. They had been so secretive, but she was relieved to know that the attacker had been caught & punished. Ever so gently she took out a batch of roses & placed them onto the empty grave...
| 2014-08-18T08:23:42
| 2014-08-18T07:40:38
| 136
| 23
|
[WP] You are the owner of a magic backpack; every morning you stick your hand in and it contains exactly what you need for the day. One morning it contains a gun.
|
I've had the same backpack for fifteen years, and I don't plan on switching soon. Not since that first day in second grade when I reached inside my empty backpack and felt the crinkly foil of a pack of trading cards. Got some boss pulls and dominated the playground scene. Or that one time I was running late and forgot my lunch. Sure enough, the same lunch I forgot just happened to be sitting in my backpack. It's gotten me roses for my girlfriend on Valentine's day, annotated research papers for my thesis, and once, even a winning lottery ticket when I was behind on rent (not jackpot level, but enough to pay what I owed).
It seemed humble, in a way, in that it would grant me exactly what I needed. No more, no less, every single time. It couldn't be fooled, either- I'd tried intentionally leaving lunch at home, to see if I could get free food. A few days of going hungry later, I stopped trying to exploit its mysterious magic.
So imagine my surprise, when, at the beginning of an ordinary work day, I reached into my backpack and felt the cold metal of a gun. Not anything ridiculous. Just a revolver. I've never cared for nor have I ever owned any guns for as long as I can remember. I've always been afraid of the responsibility and the implications carrying one bestowed. I mean, when it comes down to it, muggers are just desperate people. Who am I to take their life over the paper in my wallet?
It took me a lot longer to get to work that day. I'd spent half an hour contemplating whether or not to bring it. Though there were no strict laws against carrying, I figured I'd need to have a license if I wanted to use it. And if someone saw it at work, I'd be fired. But the backpack had never been wrong. Never. So I relented and took the next bus, an hour late for the third time this year.
The ride was torture. Each bump and rattle of the large bus shook the revolver in my backpack. What if it fell out? Dear god, what if it fired? I held it still as best I could-though not too tight. Wouldn't want to accidentally set it off. I contemplated unloading it, but I figured it was best not to change what the backpack thought was best.
My fellow passengers were much calmer. A few were on their phones. A lady was reading the paper. A man in an insulated coat was shaving with an electric razor. An old lady coddled a little dog in her lap. Hopefully I wouldn't have to shoot any of them.
On the way there, I noticed one police car and one ambulance. Not entirely unusual, but rather worrisome on a day like this. Nobody paid them any mind.
After what seemed like an eternity, I slipped into my cubicle. The office was quiet as usual. With luck, nobody would notice I was late. A few slackers were watching TV in the lounge. My boss was screaming angrily into his phone and paid me no mind. Everyone else was engrossed in their work.
As I loaded up the computer, my boss slammed down his phone. I prepared myself for an earful, but instead, he made an announcement. "Alright, everyone, this is no cause for alarm, but I've just been informed that the building is under lockdown."
One of the slackers who had been watching TV bolted from the lounge towards the front door. Nobody made any attempt to stop him. The other two looked at each other, then started dragging the coffee table to block the door. I peeked into the lounge and saw "Zombie Outbreak" on the news.
Cursing, I bolted to my desk and laid low. Emergency lights screeched by on the streets. Nobody was working, though they all pretended to. My boss took a swig of whiskey from the flask in his desk. I kept glancing at my backpack. It wasn't time yet. If they knew I had a gun, they'd ask questions. Take it from me. Maybe even kill me. I was not ending the day with a bullet in my head.
An hour later, the pounding began. Slow, rhythmic bangs on the door. The power went out, but we still had plenty of sunlight. It all felt so surreal. Nothing like the horror movies. We knew we were safe inside. There's no way humans of average strength could break down our barricade by just ramming their heads into it.
When night fell, and no help had arrived, we began to get worried. The power had returned, maybe a backup generator, but the news had stopped broadcasting. Instead, we got the screech of an emergency broadcast reminding us that help was on the way and to stay indoors. I was in the lounge (with my backpack this time), watching for any new information when that stupid-ass intern (Jeff?) made a break for the fire escape.
Of course, the emergency alarm sounded, mixing its beeps with the screeching of the TV. Jeff sprinted outside, maybe getting four steps in before being swept up by the wave of zombies rushing in. One of the guys in the lounge sprang into action and slammed the door shut, bracing it with his back. "Get me a chair, a table, fuck, the TV! Anything!"
Cries of help rang from the other side as two workers dragged over an armchair and a third tried to stop them. "We have to help them! They're still alive out there!" she cried. They finished their crappy barricade and slumped to the floor, exhausted. The lounge door was made of much cheaper material and the first few slams had already cracked it.
I took a step back and kicked my backpack. I could have sworn I zipped it up, but the gun fell out anyway. An arm burst through the door, grasping with bloody fingers. It was time. I picked up the gun, held it to my head, and closed my eyes. I should have known something was up when the backpack only gave me one bullet. I fired.
|
David yelled out in shock as the cold metal fell out from his clammy hand and onto the sidewalk pavement. The cold morning wind not only augmented onto the despair he felt, but it gave an eerie chill that ran down his back. His eyes quickly darted from left to right. No people. Dead quiet.
His hands and legs still shaking, he managed to will himself back up. He felt like he was going to vomit from the ringing in his ears and the dizziness. With a burst of adrenaline, he quickly gathered back his backpack and the gun, knowing only to well that the fate he had. In a moment's notice, various memories rushed through his mind. A memory of his alcoholic father coming in the house, raising his voice and stomping on his pet hamster because "G-d willed humanity to reign over animals". Another memory flashed by of his mother ramming herself into the wooden cupboard to blame him for attempted rape and domestic violence so she can prove to his father how great of a son he was. Painful memories... Memories from his childhood up until now.
Suddenly David let out a deep sigh. Tears rolled down his face with his fist tightly clenched still holding onto the gun with a dead man's grip. The most painful memory of them all escaped the tightly sealed doors of his mind. The trauma was once again relived behind his closed and tightly sealed eyelids. He opened his eyes and with sudden great strides and a brisk pace, he walked toward the place where he knew the individual he had to delete existed... his grandfather's house.
EDIT: deleted an accidental second "out" in the first sentence.
| 2017-05-09T15:28:03
| 2017-05-09T13:03:36
| 255
| 14
|
[WP] You are a Norse god of alcohol. A man challenges you, claiming he can go shot-for-shot with you until you pass out. He calls himself... ‘The Machine’
[Context](https://youtu.be/paG1-lPtIXA)
|
Every good competition has rules. This one was simple: each competitor took one shot a minute. The loser was the first to black out. I chose the location and he, as the challenger, chose the drink. Being the Norse god of alcohol I of course picked my own great hall. He arrived just after midnight exactly a week after the challenge was issued carrying a large bottle of the finest tequila to ever come out of Tijuana, Mexico. I almost felt pity for the man; never before had I been vested in such a competition, yet he chose to challenge me. In silence, we sat across from each other at the single table I’d had prepared earlier that day. As he uncapped the bottle I conjured up two shot glasses clinking together as they popped into existence. He poured, and we drank. When the bottle was a quarter empty I asked him, “How do you feel?” He simply looked at me and poured two more shots. Again and again the cycle repeated. 10, 20, 30, on and on, but even as I began to feel the effects the Machine did not slow. As the shots were poured my respect for this man grew, for no one had ever lasted this long against me. Not even the other gods could beat me in a competition of drinking. When the bottle emptied another was created, and so it went until from the depths of the mans belly came forth a belch to shake the very foundations of the hall. My immaturity got the best of me, and I began to laugh as tears of pure joy welled up in my eyes. My spouts of laughter turned into gasps for air as my head began to spin, and it all hit me at once. I fell from my chair feeling the worst vertigo since I’d drank all the vodka in Russia a couple thousand years ago. As my head hit the floor and my vision began to fade I saw the machine stand. The last thing I heard was the his voice drifting into my ears as he stood left: “Bite my shiny metal ass.”
|
As drink after drink goes down the Machine continued to chug his beers. It wasn't until the 9th keg that I started to worry that I might not win this challenge. Thankfully at that moment the Machine said he needed to drain himself and so I pointed him to the bathroom and as his mechanical pistons begun tomove him I said hey have a mint for that breathe is going to kill me before to much longer. The machine gladly accepted swallowing it as it went to drain himself.
After about a minute a loud boom echoed from the bathroom that wrenched the door off it's hinges and out walked the Machine clearly worst for wear. His pistons moved him a jerking fashion clearly favoring the left side cracks covered his copper belly and a hole was visible near the bottom. I smiled and said you tell Hesphaestus if he doesn't have the steel to challenge me himself don't waste the copper.
| 2018-09-23T21:01:43
| 2018-09-23T19:16:19
| 627
| 16
|
[WP] In a world where you can exchange the remaining days of your life for $9.99/day, Jeff's request for $1000 is declined.
|
The words were cold, bureacratic, terrifying.
"What do you mean, insufficient collateral? I thought the terms were $9.99/day, no credit check, no limits."
"Well, yes sir, but you can't use it indefinitely. We have to use the average life expectancy for someone of your nationality and income. In your case, 85 years."
"Right! 85 years! I'm only 30 years old. I should be able to take out over 200 grand if I wanted to. I'm only asking for a thousand. Barely three months out of the 55 years I have left. What's the problem?"
"The problem, sir, is that you already HAVE borrowed 200 grand."
"WHAT?"
"Not all at one time, sir. Ten grand here, thirty grand there...it all adds up over time. You should really pay closer attention to your balance, sir."
"I have never taken out a single dollar!"
"Sir, there's no sense in lying about it. It won't help. Our computers are infallible. You only have a remaining balance of thirty dollars."
"THREE DAYS?"
"And some change."
"You're going to kill me in three days? Over a bank error?"
"Sir, you can fake the indignity all you want. But your scam isn't working. All of our computers are linked...you can't make a withdrawal in another country and think it won't be factored in."
"Another country? What are you talking about?"
"Sir, I can see it right here. Look at all of these withdrawals...all made in Nigeria."
|
Once more he rubbed his chin, rough with the stubble of a tired unkemptness. The sound of scratching bristles joined only the soft cracks of a cigarette in an ashtray that had been left to burn away and the low buzz emanating from on his computer.
Jeff let out a long, winding sigh on to his index finger as his right hand moved to cover his mouth. Watery, red eyes fuelled with nicotine and whiskey stayed fixed on his monitor.
Declined? How can he be declined for a mere hundred days? It must be a mistake. There has to be a bug, something's got to be wrong.
He sighed again. He knew nothing was wrong. Not once in the last last sixty years had the Lenovo Institues: Funds Exchange system been wrong by even a day. Not for anybody.
A dull blue glow filled the room. A dull blue glow and the smoke of a hundred unsmoked cigarettes that danced with a mocking optimism.
Thirty six years old. Unmarried. No children. No important impact yet made on the world.
No legacy to speak of.
He clumsily lumbered himself forward in his chair. He couldn't tell if the audible creaks came from the chair or his bones. ...Thirty six. He felt a hundred and thirty six at this moment. And for all the time he had left, he might as well be.
The time he had left. .... Just exactly how much time did he have left?
He slowly dragged his mouse cursor over a numerical input box. Another drawn out exhale for good measure. Followed by a quick, deep and sharp intake of breath. $500 dollars he entered as quick as he could type and before he had a chance to second guess himself, he slammed the 'Enter' key, and waited while the site processed his request.
.
.
.
<REQUEST DENIED - YOU DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH STOCK TO EXCHANGE FOR THKS TRANSACTION - WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY ANOTHER AMOUNT?>
"Shit" he muttered under his breath, a desperate wobble to his voice. He threw himself back in his chair, chugged six large mouthfuls of his whiskey from the bottle, and lit another cigarette.
Once more he rubbed his chin.
| 2014-07-10T11:06:23
| 2014-07-10T10:56:36
| 82
| 19
|
[WP] TIL that the opposite of Paranoia is Pronia, wherein one believes that the universe and the world is conspiring to help them. Write a story about one such person with an extreme case of Pronia.
If you would like to learn more about pronoia,* [click here.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pronoia_%28psychology%29)
*Edit: I'm a big fat dumbo and went ahead and misspelled pronoia. Forgive me!*
|
I've known Dave for a long time, since the the first day of gym class our third grade year. Even at ten years old Dave could do anything. Dodgeball? Barely moved. He could close his eyes, toss the ball like six year old girl, and drill the last poor sonofabitch between the eyes.
I fucking hate Dave.
The world fell into his lap. Contest on a radio show? He didn't wait around pretending to count callers. The DJ picked up as soon as Dave dialed. Boom, backstage passes. He had no idea how hard things were for the rest of us. Girls, money, sports. Hell, even when he forgot a pencil all he had to do was look on the ground. There would be a bright, shiny new Bic. Fucker.
I bet if he asked, a bum would give him his last nickel.
It's the little things, but they add up. I have no idea why it made me so angry. Every single thing he did was a success.
After high school he got into Yale. My dad's alma mater. My granddad's alma mater. He was so excited and happy at his graduation party. I saw his acceptance letter framed by his pile of neatly wrapped gifts. I read the letter. The letter I wanted more than anything.
I wanted to smash the glass and burn that piece of paper. Better yet, smash it over Dave's perfect head. Why not? He didn't deserve it. It fell into his lap. Every single mark written on his entrance essay was typed in accident, every single 'I' dotted and every 'T' crossed. It was all luck. I was sure about.
Anyway, right before I could swing the damn frame, glass, and all across his pretty face, I tripped and smashed the glass over the face of another guest that must've hated Dave as much as me. This other guy must've been planning this for a while. The kid dropped a gun and fell down unconsious. I saved the prick.
Jesus, I fucking hate Dave.
Just found this subreddit and really want to work on my creative writing skills. Any feedback is appreciated!
|
There he was, there in the gutter again. Just as he had been every day for the last five months. He was filthy, disheveled, and he wore the biggest smile that I've ever seen.
It always disturbed me, every time that I walked past the little alcove that he had claimed as his own, the look in his eyes. It wasn't malice, or anything negative, he looked absolutely serine.
*How can a man in the gutter be serine?*
Still, this was the fastest route from the parking garage where I stored my shining new BMW, a 6 Series. I still had a few payments to make, but you couldn't be a respected banker unless you drove the best. That's what they told me.
I passed him, the man in the tattered clothes, without a word. My mind wandering to the trip to Cancun that my wife was demanding. It was never ending, she had wanted a new apartment, I had obliged, and on the upper east side no less. Twenty-two hundred square feet, a mammoth of a penthouse that I had hardly a clue how I was going to pay for.
Plus, there was the $14 million in the Truman Trust one of my student-interns had managed to accidentally wire to some place in Hong Kong. He offered to fix it for me this very morning, but I didn't want to risk another screw-up. This whole thing was going to be tough to explain to my boss.
I looked down at the gold Rolex on my wrist. It read 8:15am.
*Fucking late, too*
"Boy!" I heard a gruff voice from behind me. I did not acknowledge it.
"Boy! Mr. Suit, come here for a second."
I glanced back. The sidewalk was empty apart from the lone homeless man. He looked at me with deep blue eyes and an expression I couldn't place.
"Come back here", he said again. Motioning me with a hand that couldn't be more dirty.
For whatever reason, I stopped. A moment of indecision passed over me, and then I found myself walking towards him.
"Yes?" I asked, annoyed, though more with myself than him.
"Mr. Suit, you're the luckiest man alive."
I could have laughed out loud.
"What do you know about luck?" I asked incredulously.
"I know that those who have it don't know it and those who don't... well they have two choices."
"Oh yea?"
*I don't have time for this.*
"... And what might those choices be?"
"Well, Mr. Suit, we can be miserable and envious. Or, we can be content with what we have."
"What's your point?"
"My point, Mr. Suit, is that I've seen you walk past here every day for the last few months. You've never once said hello or returned my smile. Judging from your appearance, you've been given more than most people can even imagine. You had the fortune to have a family that could pay for your education. You never had to fear violence or that you might not have anything to eat the next day."
Now I was furious. How *dare* this man lecture me?
"Now listen here, I have responsibilities! I have people who depend on me, and I have goals that I want to reach. You are a waste. A blight, and yet you dare tell me that I am privileged? You have the nerve to question my life?"
"Mr. Suit, have you ever once been happy? Have you ever been thankful?"
I began to answer, but the words caught in my throat. My knuckles were white from the strain of my clenched fists.
The man continued. "You see, I'm the happiest man alive. You may be the luckiest, and everything may work out for you, but you've never been happy have you?"
I felt water pooling in my eyes. Were they tears of rage? Or something else?
"Mr. Suit, a piece of advice from the man who has nothing. There's only one thing that you need to understand, in this world, and that is this: life is too short to focus on the negative and the things that you don't have."
He paused, looking deep into my eyes. *My soul.*
"Breath, Mr. Suit, you're alive. This is your life. Are you sure that this is the way you want to be living it? Be grateful for today, it is precious, wear it like a mother's embrace. This world has been good to you, now you should return the favor."
He looked away, clearly done with the conversation.
My Rolex on my wrist read 8:24, but suddenly that didn't seem as big of an issue anymore. The Truman Trust could wait a while.
*I'm going to Cancun.*
| 2014-05-12T12:57:46
| 2014-05-12T12:32:56
| 30
| 16
|
[WP] Since FTL was invented, people like you were tasked with intercepting previously departed slower than light ships to upgrade their systems and redirect their course. You were often met with some grumbling and frustration, but you never met people who refuse the upgrade like this latest ship.
|
It had been a long wait. The captain of the old starship needed to come out of stasis, get her bearings, then finally confirm that the call signs were indeed genuine. The better part of two Sol hours in fact for all of this. Still eventually Jacob was aboard the *Einstein* and speaking with Captain Simonson. He gave the normal speech about how they had finally cracked true FTL, how the technology was completely compatible with older power sources, the works. The captain listened attentively, asking the occasional question, and at one point even started taking notes.
Completely routine.
The captain, of course, wanted to verify the information. She brought her science and engineering teams out of stasis to go over the schematics. That took four Sol days and Jacob was starting to get slightly annoyed. All the other ships grumbled or complained but gave in relatively quickly. Nobody wanted to land a colony ship on an already colonized world after all. So when the captain finally came back to the meeting room he gave a wide smile, sure of what was coming.
"No," she said brusquely. "You may not have access to our engines."
Jacob was stunned. This had never happened!
"Surely captain," he spoke with a measure, calm tone, "you don't want your people's entire journey to be for nothing. Alpha Centauri is already fully colonized." Jacob's wide smile was warm and genuine. "We just want to make sure that your people achieve all that they can."
The captain chuckled softly and tossed her hair over her shoulder. It was an odd gesture from someone who had thus far been nothing but absolutely formal.
"You would normally be correct sir," she stated with a wide smile. "However your superiors made a mistake in believing all our scientists were unfamiliar with Terrax technology. They actually left the bomb in the schematics you showed me. Either that or you are an idiot who gave me the wrong schematics."
The smile had frozen on Jacob's face at that point, both figuratively and quite literally. He hadn't seen the dart the captain threw during the hair flip, but the neurotoxin had already taken effect. His skin rippled to the dull gray of his true species as vision blurred.
"Either way," Captain Simonson continued with a vicious grin, "this doesn't end well for you."
Edited for spelling mistake in the last line. Doh!
|
**Unknown ship,** I am Egox-I-Etherable, of the noble standing Laureate, and I am the maintainer of this section of the FTL network. You have fallen into this sector’s Central Gravitational Junction, and if we do not remedy this error, you will be crushed to death in around 39 years.
**This** is April, your Jumpstander. April retrofits STL ships for a living. You might know her as a “privateer”, but that is an... ungenerous term.
It is a … simple job. She pops up next to a ship (like yours), that may as well be from the middle ages. I lock and disable their systems (like yours are now), and she straps an FTL node onto their hull (as she will with you).
There is ... one problem: FTL nodes are costly. Under contract from the Egox Confederacy, April has the legal right to take compensation for her work. Any STL ship clogging the jump lanes is breaking the law.
And that, dear child, is where we come to *you*. Your ship is breaking the law, as are all of its passengers.
More pressing, however, is that others cannot use the lane as long as you block it. According to our records, your ship left at a time before the corruption. No ship as old as yours can overpower the pull of the Central Junction. We must either equip you with a node, or hasten your path towards crushination.
April’s question, which I deliver, on her behalf, is:
“What can you offer in return for something so valuable as an FTL node?”
Now, you’re lucky you have me to moderate- otherwise April would be stripping your ship right now, as is common in the outer systems, to which you crawl. You don’t have conception of how expensive an FTL node is, or what it is for that matter. I will tell you what you have that is of value to the Egox:
Your personnel computer has divulged a list of human cargo in your holds. I see that you have pre-corruption genetic material aboard. Specifically, 8 children, located in berths: A2, C18, Q99, B23, D18, L12, R67, and… D22, almost missed little Elizabeth. Eject these berths now, and our business here will be done.
I see that you’re activating maneuvering thrusters to stabilize the ejection. You do not need to trifle with this, April has your ship firmly secured.
April has informed me that you’ve launched… torpedoes? Tsk, tsk, child. Torpedoes are not berths A2, C18, Q99, B23, D18, L12, R67, and D22.
Your action is futile. See how they lack the thrust to even approach April's ship?
One moment…
I’ve been authorized by Egox-I-Elk, of the noble standing Poet, to allow you a second chance. Be warned, This is a rare opportunity, do not squander it.
I see you have ejected berths A2, C18, Q99, B23, D18, L12, and R67. Will Elizabeth not be joining us? Where is D22?
**Unknown ship**, please respond.
…
**Unknown ship**, please cease maneuvering.
…
**Unknown ship**, this is your final warning. Cease maneuvering and eject the remaining genetic material.
…
I see that my instructions to your life support to vent your internal atmosphere has not dissuaded you from resistance. I, Egox-I-Etherable, of the noble standing Laureate, Hereby authorize the use of lethal force to obtain your remaining contraband genetics.
…
**Unknown ship**, your reactor shielding has been pierced. If you do not eject D22, Elizabeth will die with you. If you eject D22, she will live a full life, you have my word as a Laureate.
…
April has confirmed receipt, Thank you.
And goodbye.
| 2022-06-02T16:41:22
| 2022-06-02T14:35:25
| 163
| 89
|
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
|
Everything was Just the way it should be. The chamomiles were blooming. The snakeroots, freshly planted. And in front of her stood the Maidenhair, so tall that she could only just see the top. The leaves were just starting to change from their bright green to the brightest gold that would rival the gold the richest of the town carried in their pouches.
The rest of the garden was of a similar nature. Everything was almost ready to be harvested. Well, save for the snakeroots.
“I see you’re still hard at work.” A familiar voice called out. She looked up to the rocky path above her garden.
There Ibras stood, cloaked in his dark wizard robes, marked with the royal purple that was only donned by the instructors from the university. To say he was a high levelled would be an insult to the man. He wasn’t just high levelled. He was the highest levelled wizard of this city.
She looked back down at her garden without responding.
“How long until these are ready to be harvested?” He had suddenly appeared beside her. Months ago, when she first met him, this would have made her scream.But she was used to it now. She reached up and brought the lowest branch down closer.
“Maybe…another week or so? It’s hard to say.” She replied after a moment of thought. He said nothing in return for a while. They stood together, enjoying the silence.It didn’t last long until the wizard spoke up again.
“Why’d you chose this class?”
“You’ve asked me this five times already.” She sighed in exasperation as she turned away, releasing the branch.
“And you still haven’t given me a proper answer.” He replied. She fell silent as she knelt down and examined the area where she had planted her Marigolds. Bright green buds were peeking through the ground.
“You could’ve chosen any other nature profession. Botanist.Druid. Even a ranger. But you chose gardener. A class no one has ever picked.” He counted each class on each finger as he walked behind her. “A class with no known stats. So… Why?”
She shrugged in reply. The silence went on for moments before he sighed and shook his head. The peaceful silence returned, tinged with an air of tenseness.
The silence was again broken when a roar of unruliness echoed from the path above, followed closely by a heavy sigh from the wizard.
“I told them not to drink so much,” He stood up.
“If they come near my garden again—” she started.
“I know, i know.” He held his hands up in defence, a smile dancing on his face. “I’ll lead them back to the inn.” He turned away and walked a few steps before pausing and turning back. “I’ll visit you tomorrow.”
“you’re always welcome in my garden.” She said, her expression relaxing into a smile.
The smile didn’t last long though.
“There you areeee!”
Both of them groaned at the loud slurred voice of the hero. And sure enough he appeared above her garden.
Matthias. The hero of the city. Actually, the highest levelled hero of the city. And it wasn’t just him. The whole team was there. The paladin, the Druid, and the Rogue. Each one of them were just as powerful. But none came close to the Hero’s level. And he knew it. He often took advantage of the fame that came with his class and level.
Now he’s the biggest tool of the city.
He leapt down with an air of finesse to his body, only to stumble forward and fall face first into her bush of roses.
“Matthias!” The wizard warned, irate with the man. “I told you lot not to—”
“nooot to drink too much, I know I knoooow” He slurred as he struggled to his feet. He squinted at the bush in front of him for a long moment…Before stamping his armored food straight in the middle of it.
Her blood boiled.
“Hey!” She snapped as she stood. “How many times do I have to tell you—”
“Tell us what?” The druid hopped down. “What’s a low level commoner class got to say to us?”
“Sibeal!” Before the druid could advance, the wizard stopped her with an arm in front of her face. With his back turned to her, she couldn’t see his expression. But whatever it was, the Druid quickly back down with a curse.
“Liiist’n here gard’ner--“A hand on her shoulder, and without thinking she spun around and gave the hero a hard shove. She had expected him not to even budge, so she was surprised when he fell back.
And horrified when his head cracked against the base of the Maidenhair.
At first nothing happened. He just…laid there. Unmoving. No one in his party dared move. Everyone expected him to just swear and curse and struggle to get back up.But he didn’t.
And the next thing…A headache. The worst she had ever felt. So bad it almost split her head open. She fell to her knees, clutching her head. With ever pound of her headache, hundreds of pieces of information forced its way into her head. Plants she had never seen Their properties, their needs, even their abilities. She felt someone’s hands on her back, she could hear someone’s voice, distant to her ears.She forced her eyes open.
In front of her was the blurry hero’s body, still unmoving. Someone was beside him, shuffling through his pockets urgently. The rogue, she thought. Just as he pulled something out, her vision doubled from the headache,forcing her to close her eyes again.
“You can’t be serious—” the voices were clearer now. That high pitched tone of sheer distain and shock could only have been the Druid.
“If we leave her here, she’ll tell the council what happened.” The wizard, just beside her, snapped, his voice peaked with anger. “do you want to be found out already?”
The group was silent for a while, allowing her pounding headache to ease into a throbbing one. She opened her eyes again.
“Hey you,” this wizard said, his loud voice now softened to a whisper. “how’re you feeling?”
“…like shit…” Was all she managed as she clutched at her head. “what’s happening…?”
“I’ll explain everything in due time, but we need to leave right now, yourself included.” He said as he pulled her up to her feet. “Can you walk?”
“What?” Even if her legs felt like jelly and her vision blurred, she shoved the wizard away. “I’m not…” She grimaced as her head throbbed. “I’m not leaving my garden!”
The wizard’s expression was grim. “I’m sorry.” He said slowly. “But…you don’t have a choice.”
|
Plants were the most beautiful thing ever. They started off small, insignificant, just a little seed in the huge world. But with time and care they grew from a little shoot, larger and larger until they bloomed, bright and full of life with thousands of different colours and patterns. I suppose I liked them for they symbolised what I could never be.
When I graduated as an adventurer, I was full of hope, full of a brash longing to be a hero. But they tested everyone and I ranked so low they put me as a gardener. I was disowned, disgraced. Penniless and an orphan. Nothing I could do except toil in the soil with the glare of the hot sun on my back. Watering and weeding. Planting and harvesting. Everything I did rankled me, to think I attended and learned for so long only to waste all my skills? It was pathetic.
I only started enjoying the job after a while. When I hummed while watering, smiled while weeding. When I planted seeds carefully, harvested those delicate flowers and fruits with love. When I calmed the brash energy in me, took to looking through gardening books instead of heading down to the pub and wasting my pittance on ale and beer. But even with all those small signs, I only realised it when the soldiers and knights, tacticians and researchers came back from war. They trampled on my meticulously tended beds of plants, uncaring of the little lives they killed. Laughing and teasing with their metal armour caked with blood and mud, they spat at me, jeered that no adventurer should ever be so pathetic.
The rage I felt at their casual dismissal of my plants was horrific. It burned and growled like a raging inferno pulsing through my skin, the red hot heat pulsing and I gathered what little mana I was allowed to use to blast them back. They didn’t move an inch of course, how could they with their spell prove gear. It was idiotic of me to even try and only caused them to laugh and purposely jump on my plants, grinning even more with every bit of anger I had increased.
When they were gone, I stayed back to replant every single plant, watering them and tending to their roots, supporting them with sticks and twigs. My brash actions even made it impossible to use my mana to heal them. It was impulsive and I learnt from that encounter, to keep a firm hold of my temper.
From then on they always came onto my beds to trample them, enjoying the annoyance in my clenched fists and the misery in my eyes. I ignored them though, simply doing my job and helping my plants after they were done. I cared not what those ignorant people did, only rejoiced that my once hated job gave me humility and compassion that I was not like them, trampling and destroying lives just to torment someone. That day was no different. Just as I was clearing my gardens of weeds and stones, Colonel Hurst arrived on horseback with gleaming black sword encrusted with rubies and solid gold shield carefully spelled to reflect attacks in hand. His carefully gelled blonde hair and gleaming white teeth caused a few of the ladies to sigh in appreciation but what they failed to notice was the hardness and cruelty in his onyx eyes when he espied me.
As per usual, I did not utter a word and merely turned my back to his. I knew I would not want to witness his causal cruelty to my plants for he was the worst of my tormentors. But just as I heard him approaching, a startled cry rang in my ears and I spun to see him having trip. With his shield and sword in hand he had no way to stabilise himself and his head crashed onto a jagged rock, one that I had been about to pick up before he arrived.
A sharp sound caught my attention and I realised my tester chip embedded in my head was alerting me. I closed my eyes and opened my home page, gasping when I saw a large LEVEL UP sign promoting me to Soldier, allowing me a further 45% of my mana instead of my meagre 5%, with an increase of supplies and money as well.
I frowned. Before liking this gardener job, I would have leaped at this opportunity to improve my rank, to become what I had always wished to be. To be the first gardener who had ever improved rank. But I had come to realise that being a gardener was a wonderful job and it had been a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t want to leave the Cook without his spices and herbs, the servants without their fruit and even the Butler’s wife without her flower for good luck. Most importantly, I wouldn’t want to leave my beautiful plants behind, without a caretaker who understood their needs and wants. That the roses preferred the morning sun to the afternoon one, that the apple trees liked to be harvested the day before All Hallows’ Eve and the calmness and happiness they bestowed onto me.
I turned my chip off, felt the increase in power in my hands, saw the dead body of my tormentors my feet and sniffed. “He’ll make good fertiliser for the plants.”
Edit: Spelling error
| 2021-09-09T21:37:31
| 2021-09-09T21:25:01
| 172
| 45
|
[WP] Nobody believed you when you told them that in Spanish, the suffix "-ito" in mosquito means diminutive or small, implying the existence of a larger being. Or atleast, nobody believed you until today. The skies darken with the arrival of the legendary EL MOSCO
|
Mosquitos are bothersome, we can agree.
They steal from our arms and leave us no peace.
Red bumps we must scratch like a lottery ticket,
We grind our nails down an inch as we itch it.
But worse should be feared than stupid dumb bugs;
These pests are just insects who suck and glug blood.
Taquito v.s. taco; grocery v.s. Costco;
The real worst of all is mosquito v.s. MOSCO.
MOSCO is large and shits metric tonnes,
Monstrous body—it eclipses the Sun.
It hums and it buzzes and doesn't stop snackin
The blood from the cousins of modern day dragons:
It feeds on the fuel from our rockets and planes
So fleeing is no card we can conjure and play.
It flies across oceans and well over Heaven,
Up high as the Pope's own personal zeppelin.
We're stuck on this planet, like stains from a Cheeto
On hand is a gun with a suffix spelled "-ito";
Its chamber is filled and it's pointed at us,
'Cause all of us wished for less annoying bugs.
Well our wish was fulfilled; the problem was solved.
Hell signed us a deal and made a phone call.
For ten hundred years, we had to live bitterly
Deep underground, 'til the Statue of Liberty
Was mistaken by MOSCO as edible food.
A day later it fell and split into two.
See, MOSCO was sickened, toxicity kicked in,
A poison which not even monsters could live.
We couldn't kill MOSCO with guns or choppers,
Nor tanks or missiles—our savior was copper.
"Remember the Alamo," Texans affix.
But never forget that Mexican suffix.
-----
Thanks for reading! Feedback / criticism always appreciated. I have more poems, songs, and stories on [my personal sub](/r/scottbeckman).
|
Sucked dry. Husks.
Ma. Pa. Little Billy. The god-damned dog.
They were gone, all of them.
Just me now, the last one standing, the only one to spin this yarn and let the world know of the menace lurking out there. The give voice to the truth, the unburden it from the rumors of yore and let it out into the light.
EL MOSCO.
The Swamp Spear. Darth Buzz. The Mosquito without the Quit.
Whatever you want to call it. It don't matter to me none. What matters is that I've seen it.
It had come for us, just as dusk had settled in on the Everglades. A faint buzzing, growing from the distance until it roared, setting our mouth to a chattering with the vibrations. We didn't know what was what, couldn't hardly make sense of it. Ma and Pa took to talking to us, all soothing like, saying it was just a swamp-stomper or some such. And I got half near to believin' them too, right up until night came early.
A great blackness blotched out the last rays of day and replaced them with the horrors. The night I saw it. Saw what it was capable of.
It came for Little Billy first. He wasn't but five at the time, ripe with the glow of youth, nothing but future ahead of him. But the darkness came for him. Took him right before my own eyes. He went from huddling beside the fire, looking about with his whites all out, to...gone. It happened quick, mercy enough, but it weren't a pleasant way to go.
First, the sun went out. The buzzing got even louder, screaming at us. And then a great spear darted forth, impaling him to the ground. Pinning him there. He just stared at me, his eyes shocked, unable to speak. I called out, but there weren't nothing to be done. I just watched as he went husky.
That's probably the wrong word for it. Huskized. He got thee to a huskery.
I'm making light of it, but only because there ain't no way to let something so dark settle on you otherwise. Long and short of it was that he got slurped up until there weren't nothing left but skin and bones. Ma ran to him, as mothers will do. Tried to yank the great jabber out of his back, but she just paid the same price poor Billy did. After a moment of struggling with the spear, it simply pulled out and jabbed back down, taking Ma just the same as Billy.
Pa came running toward me, yelling at me to get off, that he'd take care of it.
So I turned and I ran as fast as my wee little legs could carry me. Didn't even look back. Just pumped my feet until the buzzing died down and the sun came back. Threw myself into a patch of mud and peeked out from between some lilies just in time to catch sight of it as it flew off.
The wings spread out in all directions it seemed, flapping with a ferocity as it took flight. The great bulbous eyes of its head darted about, as if looking for the one that got away. Trying to spy me out so it could do to me what it done to the rest of my family. It hovered a moment more and then turned off Southward, its great insect ass full up of the lifeblood of those I held dearest.
And then it was gone. El Mosco. King of the Mosquitos.
I carried the tale back with me. Tried to explain it best I could to the folks in the civilized world. They called it trauma. Said I couldn't hold up the truth because my mind couldn't reckon with it. Said that some crazed madman was responsible, not what actually was. I begged and I pleaded, telling them that it wasn't the end. That a beast like that couldn't go long before the hunger would beckon it again.
But they didn't listen.
I ended up in the group home and you might well guess how that went. Kids can be cruel, and kids without a family doubly so. They laughed, sayin' I let a bug kill my family. Sayin' that I was weak for letting it happen.
I kept my mouth shut when I got shipped to the next home. Ain't no upside in the truth when it brings you nothing but pain. I pushed it deep down, knowing that one day I'd be in the right of it.
And more time passed than I thought it would. I left my youth behind and I became the sort of maladjusted adult you'd expect a man of my circumstances to be. Long enough time went by that I began to doubt the truth of my own memories. Second guessing what happened amidst the fog of the way back.
Until today. I saw it reported right there on the TV. The buzz. The impalement. The husk.
It was all a great mystery they said. If anyone had information they should call in they said.
I had information. But telling it had never helped me none.
Let them see the truth of it for themselves.
Let El Mosco feed on them just as he had fed on me.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2018-12-04T21:45:12
| 2018-12-04T21:35:08
| 524
| 91
|
[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
|
Harry was curled up in bed when his cell phone rang, tucked in under a sea of white sheets and red flannel blankets. He flung a hand listlessly out from under the sheets, cursing when the hard surface of his nightstand cracked against his knuckles. His sluggish fingers curled around the cracked screen of his phone; he accepted the call and pressed the phone against his ear, retreating back into the safety of his blankets once more. "Hi, mom," he said. He heard his mother take a deep breath the line.
"Harry, love," she started, her voice trailing off at the end, uncertain. "I need to talk to you about-"
"Mom, I'm not doing anything wrong," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not partying, I'm not doing drugs, and I've been eating all my vegetables."
"That's not what I'm concerned about, Harry," his mother said. Her voice was even more tremulous now, enough even to worry Harry, who was still half-asleep.
"What's it about, then?" he asked.
His mother sighed. "Student loans."
|
"Run!", the cry broke the dewey stillness of their resting area. *"They found us!"*, Berta's mind screamed. *"Where do we go?"*
Revving engines, coming closer and closer. There was no time. No time! *"GO!"*
They scattered, with no direction or leadership, chaff to the wind. Everyone for themselves, sprinting for their lives.
*DOGS!* Their bloodthirsty howls, eager to chase, set fire to her legs. Oh how she ran. She ran for distance, she ran for cover. *"It can't end like this!'*
She caught her breathe on a small hillock and chanced a look. Men in uniform, combing through the bush. Dogs, running back and forth, flushing her friends from their hiding place. Screams of fear mixed with the excited shouts of the hunters and the hungry yelping of the dogs. Tears streamed as she turned and crested the hill.
*PAIN!* She saw red as a rope lashed her face, then her back, throwing her to the ground, a dog snarling in her face. She heard a chuckle from the hunter as she struggled, and knew it was all over. Then she was forced to her feet and herded to a waiting trailer along with her friends.
*"How did they find us?"*
***************
They were far from the road, so the men used the most utilitarian approach - nothing wasted, not even a bullet, unless absolutely necessary. Their prey was crowded into common farm transports - steel livestock trailers requisitioned from several ranches nearby.
Fear, blood, feces; the stench was unbearable. Berta's trailer was so full, there was no room to sit, much less get comfortable. She prayed that the ride would be short, that it would somehow turn out all right for her and her friends. *"Why us? Why?"*
They endured the suffocating ride for hours without a break or any creature comforts. The men up front smoked, joked, and laughed throughout, taking no notice and no pity on their cargo. When they reached the destination, it was growing dark. In the light of the approaching city, they could see the walls of the compound looming nearer and nearer. The passenger turned, cigarette lounging in his lips, "Y'all be quiet now! The neighbours don't like it when you disturb them." He cackled and turned back to the front.
Berta was herded off the trailer with her friends into muddy enclosure surrounded by humming barbed wire. As the last of them were forced into their new prison, the passenger collected his blood money from another man.
"This load looked better! No more like the previous - I only want the highest quality! Ok Johnson?" The passenger muttered something under his breath, then nodded in agreement to the other. "We found them hiding out in the sticks. It was fun hunting this group down. Almost like the good old days!"
"Well, Johnson, a pleasure doing business with you. Bring me more like her" He pointed at Berta, whose eyes widened. "Cattle like that will feed a family and cover their backs!"
| 2016-10-04T16:41:11
| 2016-10-04T16:05:01
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
One pill
Two pills
Red pills
Blue pills
Black pill
Blue pill
Old pill
New pill
My wrist has a little scar
Maybe I will crash my car
Say! What a lot of pills there are
Some are blue
And some are red
Don't ask me why
I will soon be dead
|
Although it seems like I am happy.
My life right now is rather crappy.
Times are tough and moneys tight.
But that's OK cause it ends tonight.
I wish you well, and all the best.
I'm glad to get this off my chest.
By the time you read my one last quote.
You will realize it's my suicide note.
With love in my heart, I bid you farewell.
Fuck this world,I'll see you in hell.
| 2015-01-17T07:18:52
| 2015-01-17T05:25:17
| 79
| 42
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
I had always heard her voice. No matter what the dose of medication, experimental treatment -- she was always there. In High School, through college. Shit, when I lost my first tooth. Doctors said I had schizophrenia, it was all in my head. That's where I usually heard her anyway, so it made enough sense. But this time was different. The sound of her voice didn't come from inside. It was external. It scared the shit out of me to be honest, like a tray falling over at a restaurant. Startled, I didn't recognize it at first. I turned around quickly and saw a woman my age.
"Did you say something?"
"Who me?"
"Yeah you. Also how did you get in here, no public entry allowed back here."
She was a few inches shorter than me. Wearing a sundress, white flip-flops, and tapping her phone nervously between her fingers.
"I'm not the public"
"Wait, do I...do I know you?"
I was shitting bricks at this point. I hadn't pinpointed the specific place I knew her from, but I knew it was off. It's like seeing a late night show live at a taping. It's real, but it's all a little unreal. Something that has lived in your mind intangibly suddenly whole, and real, and close enough to touch. It's like Mickey Mouse coming round with the Jehova's Witnesses. Bad explanation but you'd piss yourself if it happened.
"Of course you do, we've been talking for 37 years."
"I'm sorry ma'am, but you're going to have to leave" I say getting progressively more freaked out.
"Oh relax dude, it's me"
I jump a little bit, that voice came from my head. My eyes get real fuckin' wide.
"Sorry, I know this is weird, I just thought it was time we met"
Okay, the real girl said that one.
"What are you talking about? Who are you?"
"Oh yeah, uh, well I'm Kristen" she said with an uncomfortable wave "and uh, well I'm also an ESP"
"A what?"
"An ESP, like, I can communicate telepathically like you."
"You can communicate telepathically? I can communicate telepathically?"
"Uhh, yeah man. We've been talking for 37 years. We share a birthday, and we've been in sync for a long time now. I tried to tell you the doctors were wrong, but you went and told them I said that so they upped the dosage. Haven't you wondered why that didn't work?"
"You're fucking with me."
"I'm not"
"Okay, so I'm going to th"
"You're going to think something and you want me to repeat it back verbatim to you to prove that I can actually hear your thoughts. You were going to think "Applesauce"."
"What the actual fuck."
"Yeah, it's real. So anyway, I wanted to find you in person and see if there was any value in getting to know each other better in a more tangible way, like as physically present human beings rather than voices in each others' heads."
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"No. Just looking to be close friends."
"Oh okay.
|
As I lay awake in my bed, never once my own thoughts rang through my head, always those of an unfamiliar persons, I toss and turn as the voice rings clear as in my own head, "Turn around.... Did I find you?"
The color in my face drains as I stare at my wardrobe, *Please....dear God say it isn't so....*
"Oh.... It is so, and for thirty seven years..... I've had your sick perverted thoughts ringing through my head, and I am done." She presses a hand into my mattress climbing into the bed. "I really want to meet the man whose thoughts have intruded my mind for as long as we've been alive...." Her other hand lays along my chest and pulls me to face her.
*No no nononono.....* My stark white face turns and what I see is.... Impossible, sans the long hair she looked exactly like me, mousey brown hair, deep green eyes with specks of brown throughout, a sharp pointed nose with enormous caterpillar eyebrows. I blink a few times and have a tough time imagining why we were so familiar.
"You....look just like me!" *What the fuck....* My mind is reeling as I seem to stunned to say or think anything. My mouth opens and only a gasp comes out.
Finally I gather my thoughts, blinking a few times a thought comes to mind.... *I'm glad I'm not vain.....*
A chuckles comes from the look alike girl, "That would make this a whole lot more awkward...." I stare at her in disbelief... forgetting for a moment that one, she broke into my house, and bee, she can hear every single thought of mine.
"Wh....How did you find me?" I state with an abruptness that would put most brakes to shame. "Why are you here? Why is this happening to us? I've been on medication for something nobody understood for literal decades..... It never helped.... Your voice still shone through even at a maximum dosage.... Did you still hear your own thoughts? Too....many questions...." The color returns to my face as I reach up to grab my ears and squeeze away the torrent of questions welling up inside my mind.
Her face flushes red as she screeches, my what a noise... As if there is a microphone with terrible feedback....
-----
I wake up the next morning strapped to my comfortable bed....
"Turn around..... Did *I* find *you*?" A familiar, yet unfamiliar to my ears, voice calls to me from the floor....
=====
Thanks for reading, my first time writing... And posting here! Hope it was a good read!
| 2019-09-14T10:49:17
| 2019-09-14T10:23:14
| 65
| 25
|
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
|
My breath caught. *This can't be real.* The voice of reason shook some sense into me and I read the letter again. "This lab is not equipped to test non-human DNA. As such, sample A35C24 was destroyed. The report that follows only contains the results from samples A35C21, A35C22, A35C23, and A35C26." *Okay, let's look at this report then.*
It took some time to decipher but the list at the top indicated which sample number was assigned to the swabs I had sent in. I was sample A35C23. The results showed that myself and sample A35C26, Benji, were the issue of the remaining two samples. The sample that was destroyed had to be Liza's then.
*Odd. I wonder what happened to her sample.* Maybe it was contaminated, I would be surprised if she had licked the cat. My baby sister had giggled when I swabbed her mouth for the test. My parents had rolled their eyes and mumbled about typical teenagers, but they told me I could waste my money on whatever I wanted and gave me their swabs. Benji the nerd agreed to the swab in exchange for the report when I was done so that he could read it. The letter had arrived today and I eagerly grabbed it from the mailbox as soon as I got home, ten minutes before Benji. I had left the rest of the mail so that my mom wouldn't be suspicious and hid the letter in my room. I wanted to read it before they knew it arrived. I wanted to discover once and for all that I really was different. That I really didn't belong in this tiny backcountry town with these boring farmers. That I had something bigger and better to look forward to than working at a grocery in the world's dullest town. *No you are just a loser like the rest of them.*
I sighed and glanced at the clock. 11:00PM. *Might as well go to bed.* Tomorrow was yet another new day of facing my pathetic life. I turned towards the hall and was startled to see Liza standing in the doorway.
"How'd you get out of your crib?!" Dismay swept over me as I thought of her climbing unsupervised down the stairs in the dark. She was angelic, the little darling of the family. Right now her big blue eyes were pleading with me while she sucked her thumb and clutched her blankey. I started towards her but stopped as Benji abruptly walked past her into the kitchen. His blue eyes were glossy as he reached a hand out. He was entirely silent as he held his hand in front of me. I watched his unblinking eyes for a minute and then, perplexed, handed him the report.
The room started to take on a dreamlike quality. I realized I was leaning against the counter for support. Benji took the report to a sink and pulled out a lighter. I tried to tell him to stop but when I opened my mouth only a yawn emerged. Liza stood in the corner, watching this unfold with a toddler's curiosity. She was so cute. When the report had burned entirely to ash, Benji rinsed the sink. I frowned but couldn't remember why I was upset. Benji left the kitchen as silently as he had entered.
I found my eyelids drooping and my limbs were feeling weak. *I have to go to sleep. I'll collapse if I don't get to bed.* I stumbled my way into my room and fell into my sheets. Something in my head was ringing alarm. Something had happened. No. I had to put something away. No. Liza was in danger! No. Liza was asleep in her crib, our perfect little Liza was fine. Nothing is wrong.
A slight giggle flitted through the house but I was already asleep.
|
I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again.
| 2015-01-06T09:50:30
| 2015-01-06T08:44:25
| 251
| 16
|
[WP] Write a story with a large, illogical plot hole, then have the main character discover it.
|
It was July 17, 2005. Craig Katz drove to his home in Bloomington, Indiana. As he stepped out of his car, he waved to the mailman making his route. The postal officer did not return the call.
Craig grabbed his mail, opened his door, and stepped inside.
Out he laid the assorted envelopes for careful examination. He first noticed the electricity bill. Overdue. Next came the gas bill. Same case. Craig set them aside. His gaze fell on a postcard, an item which Craig never received. Its contents were handwritten. Its stamp was applied with human hands. Craig kissed it. He knew what it contained.
"Dear Daddy,
We are having a great time here in Paris. We just went up the Eiffel Tower and tomorrow we are going to see the Mona Lisa. Wish you were with us!
Love,
Katy
XOX"
Craig set the postcard aside, but in a different stack.
His eyes shifted to the final letter. With a quick glimpse of the return address, his eyes dropped. His fingers slowly tore open the envelope from Monroe County Circuit Court and unfolded the letter. Craig's eyes fell again. A divorce summons.
Also overdue.
Our hero took all four letters and consolidated them into a single stack, which he chucked into a wastebin. He had a letter of his own to write.
"Dear anyone,
I'm sorry. It could have gone a lot better. But it didn't. Tell Katy I'm sorry, please. Tell her I'm really stupid. Just make sure someone is taking care of her, even if that someone is..."
He droned on.
"Tell the world I'm sorry. My life, whatever that is, should not have taken this long. It's been a waste. I'm sorry again."
The man with a wasted life trekked into his closet and pulled out the shotgun. He returned to the table and set it down.
"I will miss you. Please do not return the favor.
Yours (whoever you are),
Craig Ezekiel Katz
Sunday, July 17, 2005"
He paused.
"Sunday, July 17, 2005."
Sunday.
Craig looked in the wastebin, but there was nothing inside.
|
Budd flew down the highway in his red camaro; he had been flooring it for several minutes now. His pregnant wife, bashmilda, was in the back seat taking hits of meth in between drunkenly firing rounds at the pursuing police.
'Drive faster!' roared bashmilda, 'who the fuck named you?!' retorted budd. 'Also, I cant drive any faster!'. Budd took a swig of whisky, extended his magnum parallel to the car, and unloaded. One of the pursuing cop cars burst into an inordinate amount of flames, despite not being anywhere near to parallel to budds camaro when he unloaded his gun.
Budd pulled off the highway with at least 150 cop cars tailing quite closely, and screeched into the nearest seven eleven. A lone rookie officer, named Dave, was the only officer on the scene as budd hopped out of the car.
"Freeze!" yelled dave. Budd grabbed bashmildas wrist, drew his pistol, and ripped her closer, as if to use her as a human shield. Dave was too quick though, he had put a bullet through bashmildas head the second budd touched her wrist.
"WOAH! FUCK" screeched Budd.
"Yeah! fuck you hostage-taker!" said Dave.
"Is that how you handle hostage situations?" sputtered budd.
"I'm not really sure, we haven't gotten to that part in training" said Dave.
"Wait, so, you're not done with training, but you have a gun already?" said budd.
The other police were showing up by now. They formed a semi-circle around budd, crouching behind their cars and pointing various weapons at him. Budd knew this was the end, so he took a moment to say goodbye to his dying wife.
Bashmilda looked up at Budd, and budd at her. Blood was streaming slowly out of Bashmildas mouth, her eyes glittered as she weakly uttered "I love you Budd, I always have" She reached up to kiss Budd one last time. "That's great Bashmilda, but you've got a gaping bullet hole in your head, and I'm not really comfortable kissing you right now." said budd.
The police and the author were getting pretty tired at this point, so they riddled budd with bullets, gave dave a promotion, and stuffed a pair of handcuffs up Bashmildas vagina, presumably to handcuff the baby.
Budd awoke the next day with a bunch of bullet holes still in his chest. "That was fucking weird. Welp, guess I'll go back to selling meth"
The end. Fuck you.
| 2014-05-25T19:49:32
| 2014-05-25T19:41:47
| 235
| 98
|
[WP] At age 18 each person meets their soul-mate. For centuries everyone has fallen in love with theirs. You're the first person to not love yours.
|
The day I turned 18 was the first day of the rest of my life.
My birthday is late in the year, October to be precise. My mother always said that I would meet someone truly great since I had to wait longer then most. My family threw me a huge party to celebrate, like every family did. They invited everyone we knew, acquaintances, my friends and their friends. I felt nervous, anxious and excited all at once. This was the day everyone talked about and dreamed of.
It snowed that day, sometimes it would snow on my birthday. I love watching the snow fall, it was my favourite birthday gift. I was concerned this year though. What if my soul-mate couldn’t make it due to the snow? What a crazy thought though, of course he will come, he is my soul-mate.
My father had invited Albert, a boy I had known for as long as our families had known each other. He was perfect in every sense of the word, an ideal match for a mate. He said all of the right things at the right time almost scripted and practised. I found him boring and uninteresting, no ambitions other then the pursuit of me.
After I blew out the 18 candles, I made a wish for my soul-mate to be everything that I had always dreamed of. I knew Albert wasn’t the soul-mate I was destined for, even if my parents thought so. I went along with the party, hoping that maybe he would appear at midnight or before the day ended and the process would be complete.
When I went to sleep that night, I didn’t feel like I fit in anymore. Was I the only person in the world to not love their soul-mate? Was I destined to be unhappy but with a mate regardless? I felt so different from everyone and everything that I knew. So alone. I couldn't understand why I was the ONLY person I knew without a soul-mate.
The next morning, my mom and I drove into town to buy groceries. It was a quiet drive. As the snow continued to fall, we passed time with charming small talk about the party and Albert. I said what I knew she wanted to hear, even though the words were barely honest or confident. While she shopped I went off to walk around the store. Aimlessly, I started watching the local soul-mates in all their glory. They intrigued me, made me wonder what it was about me that was so different from them. So very un-soul-mate material.
Everyone in the store was in a different world, a dreamland of happiness not paying any attention to me. I watched them for a while, trying to understand how to play that role and act like them.
I felt this cold gust behind me and a voice I didn’t recognize. "What are you doing?”, she asked me. Confused and curious, I whirled around to see who was talking to me, as I did I muttered, “nothing..” under my breath.
A stranger. A person I had never met was standing there curious of me.
I couldn’t move, so I stared at her. She was beautiful. Her eyes were pale blue, hair icy as snow and skin bright red from the cold. She reminded me of snowfall.
“Nothing?” she said with her head tilted to the side and smirk on her face. “Why are you hiding here watching people?”. I didn’t know what to say, how could I tell her what I was really doing, even if she was genuinely curious.
I kept staring at her, trying to decide if she was more curious of me then I was of her.
“Allara…” She said as she pulled out her hand from her coat to shake mine, “…that’s my name, what is yours?” I looked at her hand for what felt like a while and said, “Madison, my name is Madison”. She smiled, dimples starting to show, as she took my hand in hers and shook it anyway. Her hands were cold, soft and small. “It is nice to meet you…” she said still smiling, “...my family moved here yesterday, does it always snow in October?”
I smiled, what an unusual person I thought, “it usually snows around on my birthday but it won’t again until the end of November”. “Your birthday!” She smiled and laughed. “Happy Birthday! It never snows in October where I am from, I can’t say I am used to it”, laughing even more which made me laugh too.
“How old are you now?” she asked. “As of yesterday, I am 18”, I responded cautiously anticipating the follow up questions. “Me too!” she yelled. “18 is the best, I can’t wait to move out and start a life of my own.”
I was confused, did she have her soul-mate already? Doesn’t she know about the tradition? How are her parents okay with that? Who is this person and where did she come from? Why was she talking to me? Is there something on my face?
Mom had finished shopping at this point and found me hiding in the Dairy isle with Allara. “Madison, I’m all done, time to go” she said as she approached. “Okay mom, I am coming.” still staring at Allara. “Who is your friend?” she asked moving closer, but before I could even open my mouth, she responded, “Hi! I’m Allara, my family just moved here yesterday”. They shook hands and we started to leave the store.
Allara walked with us, talking to mom about her parents, where they moved to and what they did. Before we parted ways, mom asked Allara for her parents’s phone number. Something about showing them around or becoming friends, I had stopped listening.
After we loaded up the car and were getting ready to leave, mom handed me Allara’s phone number. I was confused and asked, “Why are you giving this to me?” she smiled and told me, “Trust me...”. Still confused, I looked down at Allara’s phone number. Her hand writing was pristine, like it was out of a movie or had been practised a thousand times. “...Madison. There are plenty of men that would love to be your mate. You can go on living like the rest of us or you can start living. In your heart you know the truth.”
I looked at her still confused. She had tears running down her face but she was smiling at me. “Mom?” I asked, trying to understand what she meant. She looked at me with watery eyes and said, “You met your soul-mate today Madison and I am so proud of you”.
|
My mum walked in, her face completely overthrown with a smile. I had never seen her smile so much in her life. She squeezed my arm as she walked to stand behind me, and a big burly man entered the room, my soulmate.
The moment I saw him I felt sick to the pit of my stomach, like all the excitement for this moment had just drained away. He was meant to be the love of my life, that’s just how society works here: assessments every year, making sure we’re completely compatible, but it was clear as soon as I saw him that there had been some mistake. He was so tall and build of so much muscle that I felt like a child next to him. His hair was messy, joining into some rough stubble which trailed down his neck and then cut off above the collar of his jacket.
I had fantasised about this moment for so many years – had known exactly what I would wear, how I would do my hair, where I would stand, and what I wanted to say. Yet in this moment it all just faded away. My mum reached forward and nudged me in the back, urging me to introduce myself as I finally realised his hand was outstretched towards me, and that I must had missed his introduction. I mumbled my own name and went to shake his hand, which tensed around mine until it hurt. I wanted to cry so badly, not from the painful handshake, but the disappointment. This wasn’t meant to happen. Everybody loved their soulmate.
I made my excuses as soon as I could, claiming sudden illness and dragging myself to bed. My mum was so excited about how “incredibly lovely that young man was” and how proud she was that her daughter “will marry a real manly man”, that I couldn’t bear to tell her how much he contrasted to the soulmate I had dreamed of. I dreamt that night of the meeting I had wanted, crying after waking up to find that my imaginary soulmate had gone. I knew that if I did not leave soon, he would ask me to marry him and it would be too late. Most people I knew had gotten engaged within the week of meeting – but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t spend my life with him, it would kill me. So I ran.
I know it was wrong; that I betrayed my family, and I don’t know what will happen if they catch me, but I can be happy now. I ran past the city boundaries, and then cut off from the road and into the wilderness, no idea where I was going; just knowing that I needed to get away. But I was lucky: it wasn’t long until I found the fire pit, and not much later until its owner came back.
Everything changed for me then. Because the moment I saw her I fell in love.
--------------------------------------
Thanks for reading! I'd love some criticism if you have any ideas of things for me to work on as this is my first time posting :)
| 2015-02-21T10:53:59
| 2015-02-21T09:38:01
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] You're an enchanted suit of armor, empty on the inside. After gaining sentience you left the haunted keep you were stored in and began adventuring. As you gain notoriety as an adventurer and make friends and connections, it gets harder to keep it a secret that there's nothing behind your visor.
|
*Slightly deviated from the prompt, I hope you don't mind*
I awoke in the darkness, unsure of what had happened. Breathing in, I could feel that the air was cold and damp, but my skin felt dry. I felt... Encased? Covered from head to toe.
I'm wearing... Armor?
Suddenly, memories came flooding back to me. Memories of the battle.
The dragon.
The fire.
Charlie.
"Charlie!" I yelled out, scrambling to my feet. As if confirming my dread, I heard no reply. I reached out, searching around me, but my gloved hands only found the metal bars of a cage.
Charlie and I had been adventuring together for a few months after I saved him seconds before he was mauled by a werewolf. We'd grown into a solid team, despite the fact that he never so much as showed me his face. He wore an enchanted suit of armor at all times, saying it has sentimental value to him, as a gift from his late grandfather.
I'll admit, even without knowing what he looked like, I was falling for him.
On the fateful day, however long ago it has been since I'd lost consciousness, we had teamed up with a few other groups of adventurers to raid a dragon's lair. It was supposed to be an adolescent, fledgling dragon. Little did we know, it was very much fully grown, and far more devious than we ever imagined.
Trapped by the dragon in one of it's cages, I expected a swift end when it breathed fire on us with the full force of it's fury. I only hoped Charlie would last a little longer thanks to his enchanted armor, perhaps he could find a way to escape. However, when I looked left towards where he was, all I saw were the silver pieces of his armor flying towards me.
The armor had wrapped around me then, the enchantments protecting me from it's flame, even though the concussive force of the blast still knocked me unconscious. This was why I woke up largely unscathed.
In our most perilous hour, he had sacrificed himself, removed the armor he never took off, and given me a chance at life.
"No!" I cried out, striking at the cage. In this moment, I felt the most rage I ever had. If the dragon were in front of me now, I would have charged it with my bare fists.
"Shh, Emily, stay quiet!" Suddenly, a faint voice arose, but I couldn't tell where it came from. I'd know that voice anywhere.
"Charlie?" I asked in disbelief. He couldn't have survived the flames without his armor, could he?
"Don't worry, I'm right here." He replied, and I almost jumped in joy.
"You're alive!" I exclaimed. "Where are you? Why can't I find you?" The lair was dark but I'm sure I had searched every corner of the cage, he was not in here and there was no way out.
I was just about to try to summon what little magical energy I had left to make a light source before his voice stopped me.
"Careful, the dragon went to deal with the others after it burnt us. It thinks we are dead, don't let it know we aren't before we get ready." He explained in a hushed tone. "As for me... Well..."
"Well what?" I asked, confused.
"Well, I'm right here." He seemed to let out a sigh.
"What do you mean you are right here?" I was even more confused.
"You are wearing me right now."
"Huh?"
"You heard me. This suit of armor, it's me, it's all of me there is." He went quiet for a moment, allowing me to process this information.
It took a moment, and then I almost jumped in shock and surprise. "Wait you are a living suit of armor?" I asked, incredulous.
"Well, in a very broad definition of the word 'living'," he replied. "I was a human once, but not anymore."
"How? What happened to you?" After the initial shock wore off, I grew curious.
He seemed to contemplate for a little, but finally, he started to explain. "I never lied about the origins of this armor. It really was given to me by my late grandfather. He told me it was crafted as one of a line of eldritch artifacts by an ancient mage.
"A few years ago, a mad wizard saw me using this armor and wanted it for himself. I battled him and very nearly killed him, but was defeated.
"In retaliation, he killed me and extracted my soul, locking me into this armor and giving it sentience. He thought that he could control the armor's power better this way, through an intermediary, but I was able to escape before he could place a binding spell on me.
"I had given up on life then, believing it to be over for me. I wondered aimlessly for years at night, until one day I came across an abandoned house. In it I found several books, including one which described the procedure to create a new body for trapped souls.
"That was five months ago. I was still getting used to battling in this new body when you found me, hence how the werewolf had defeated me despite the power of this armor." He stopped, but I could tell there was more.
"Is that it? What about the procedure to create a new body for you? I'll help however I can!" I told him.
"I'll be continuing on my own. It's too dangerous Emily. The procedure requires nine ingredients, and I came here for blood from a dragon's heart, the easiest of the nine, and it nearly got us killed. I won't make the mistake of endangering you again." He said sternly. He had already made up his mind.
The problem was, I'd made up my mind too.
"Well that's too bad because you don't get a choice. I'm coming with you no matter what." I said in reply, determined.
He tried to protest, but I put a quick stop to it. "Come on now, admit it, you need me. You couldn't even raid this dragon's lair on your own, we have to work together to get out. Your future challenges could only be greater, there is no way you can do this on your own."
He went quiet, leaving me with a smug grin on my face that I'm sure he could feel right now.
To further prove my point, I channeled my magical energy - it seemed to have replenished much faster due to the armor - and channeled it out of my skin into the armor, into him. The enchantments seamlessly combined my power with his, allowing me to strike with much more force than either of us ever could alone.
In one blow, I had broken one of the metal bars of the cage.
"See? We are much stronger together."
He considered for a moment, but finally acquiesced.
"Fine."
I picked up his sword. "Let's get started on the dragon's blood."
|
Seventeen months ago:
Trees flash past as the suit of armour races between them and jumps over creeks and around rocks. The suit is panting for effect and is not truly sure why. 'Keep running, keep going,' it thinks. Behind it, the curious are also running, racing through the muck and weeds, trampling tiny insects and causing small mammals to flee. Each pursuer is brandishing a broom or rake or, in the case of Jar-Imee, a scythe. He yells, "Get that thing, we must not give up!"
The suit is not tired and so it increases its speed. After a short while, it can hear the mob falling off, one by one by two or three. It continues on, listening to the distant sounds of madness until there is nothing to hear. It continues on further, until the sun is almost around again.
Stopping to think and recharge or whatever happens when it rests, it nearly sits on a small mammal. It knows it isn't one it passed earlier, but it feels, or thinks, that it has still been disturbed by the madness of the day and the mob. Quietly, the suit sings its thoughts to the furry lump, willing it to get closer. "I will not eat you," it speaks. Gradually, the small beast of the forest floor looks beyond the fallen tree that it hides behind, now musty and covered with small growths of green and fungus. The small beast, or more of a mouse, eats at the fungus while watching the suit, then falls asleep. When it opens its eyes, the mouse realizes it is inside the suit. But, something else is different, something about the mouse itself. Something is fantastically different!
Today:
Jar-Imee has been tasked with traveling three towns away, simply to collect a story. 'Why me?' he thinks, kicking at the ants starting up his sandal. He is almost there. While he journeys, he can sense that something is wrong, although he does not understand what it is. He looks around like some child in a dark barn who thinks the rats it hears are evil monsters. He jerks his head left, then right, then he shivers and tries to shake off his fear with anger. "I'll get you if you try anything," he yells. He yells a lot. He is not wise enough to gather that the town might have sent him in particular on the journey because they could use a few days without his presence.
The barn tender doesn't even look up, she instead jabs at the hay and piles it onto the transport. Finally, in exasperation, she stabs the ground with the pitch fork and looks up. "What?" she asks. Jar-Imee is incensed. "I want to know if you have an evil and empty suit of armour, sent from hell." He kicks his sandal at the pile of hay but stubs his toe in a strange way and winds up with a splinter under the nail of his left big toe. 'Why me?' thoughts again fill his mind.
She stands there taking in the hulk of a man, or more like a boy in the head and a man in the body. She spits, picks up her fork, and says "No." She goes back to her task, without even looking at Jar-Imee, who has sighted something in the distance.
The man child runs across the town's main path and looks carelessly between the buildings. "I see you," he yells. He did and now he does not, but he still calls out "I see you and I will bring you down!" He is really yelling now.
Exasperated, Jar-Imee plops down onto a bench. An old woman comes by to sit next to him. "Tell me your troubles, boy." Dropping his head into his hands, he rubs at his face, maybe even wipes away a few tears he hopes nobody saw. "I am looking for an evil and empty shell of armour, but I think everyone is lying to me, saying they don't have that here." He looks at her with fury, "I saw it, behind the bar, but now I can't find it." He lets out a big sigh.
"Listen, boy, we don't have that here. But I will tell you, we do have many warriors who wear full armour. That is how we have survived for so long. They protect us and we take care of them." She looks at the man child with a little bit of anger but mostly disappointment, thinking 'this one will get nowhere in life with that attitude' as Jar-Imee gets up without a word and races to the space between the livery and the iron works.
"Hey, you, get back here," he yells. As he cuts round to the back of the iron works, he sees the suit of armour, standing in wait. He stops short and shuts his mouth. The suit raises the visor on its helm, slowly revealing not a single face, but the face of a multitude of small creatures. They all look out at the boy, chittering and glaring at him. Several fall out into the armour and make their way down to the armoured hand. The suit raises them up and out and the boy steps back even though he wanted to step forward.
"What, who, I mean, who are you?" The response comes from the suit of armour but it also comes from the small creatures. "We are all the warrior in the suit. What is it to you, you impertinent boy?" Jar-Imee takes an additional step back, even though he again wanted to step forward and brush the animals away in anger. "I am here to take you back to my town so we can burn you and save everyone." As he says this, he looks around and behind himself. "Oh no!"
All the towns people have surrounded the scene, and they are all looking at Jar-Imee. "This does not involve you all." He yells this, naturally. The old woman from the bench steps forward and takes hold of the suit's halberd. She gives no glance of request and says nothing of permission. She does not have to. "Jar-Imee," she begins, but he interrupts, "How do you know my name?" The old woman whomps him on the top of his left foot, just managing to touch the big toe. "If it makes you feel better, I will call you boy. Boy, you are here to collect and burn nobody." She chuckles at the unintended play on words. "Do not try to lie to us, do not try to take our own, and do not think that we are going to let you do anything harmful. I am cousin to your wise man back in Lublinland. You have been sent to us to collect a story, which is your story." Jar-Imee kicked his sandal in the dirt and looked down at the ground. He was not yelling now, in fact he was wishing he could hide. The old woman reached out the halberd, but instead of thwacking his other foot, she gave it to the boy. "I have no story," he mumbled.
The animals of the suit all spoke at once, except for the littlest one who ate the seeds stored in his cheeks. "Boy, you are not yet a man and your people are fearful. We are all the suit, and the suit is a being even without us. Because you are called to the suit, you must have something to learn, as we did. My forefather, he had no name but we call him The Brave, my forefather took a chance. By letting go of animal nature and fear, he changed all of us into a greater," the mice and chipmunks stopped speaking and looked at the old woman for help. She spoke, "consciousness." "Yes, a greater consciousness. Did you not feel our presence in the forest? Do you now see that we are all one? Can you not feel that you, too, can be part of a greater cons, conc, consciousness?"
"But, I was not the only one chasing after the suit!" The boy has not given up. "We all chased it in the forest." The old woman sighed. "Imee, Jar-Imee, close your eyes and reflect. And so he did. Tears ran down his face as he saw the people chasing after him. He saw that he was the only one with a real weapon and that they had armed themselves with brooms and whatever was at hand but only to protect themselves. "It was really just a story they wanted me to find? Was it not the story of the armour?" The old woman smiled at him.
The boy looked embarrassed now. He dropped his shoulders and his grip slid down on the halberd. "What do I do?" As he was about to slump down to the ground entirely, the people of the town moved closer and gave him support. The littlest mouse, a vole really, spoke up, with bits of seed flying everywhere, "You surrender." The boy went to hand the halberd to the suit, but the littlest vole shook its small head which caused the ears to flop and the entire body to wriggle. "No, no, that that kind of surrender. You surrender everything. You give up on your fear and then you trust, trust," the littlest vole looked up at the woman briefly but got it right in the end, "everything. You trust everything." And, with that last statement, the boy did fall but not to the ground. He fell into the arms of the suit and the small mammals ran to him, finding space on his shoulders and in his hair.
| 2021-09-21T09:20:40
| 2021-09-21T08:48:34
| 42
| 15
|
[WP] Your character has the lamest superpower ever.
And no, he's not Speedball.
Write an event where he or she or it is forced to use this power.
|
Marcus Wright was reaching out to turn up the dial on the car radio when the feeling hit him. A tingling swept through his body, as if he were being electrified.
Marcus's wife looked at him, her brow furrowed. "Is it happening again?"
"Yes," Marcus said under his breath. He pressed his fingertips to his temple. The tingling was pulling him to the left.
"I knew we shouldn't have come this way," Mrs. Wright sighed.
"Mommy, what's going on? Is daddy sick?" Marcus's daughter, Wendy asked, leaning forward to see into the front seat.
Mrs. Wright rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, honey. Marcus, if you get out of the car, I'll --"
But Marcus was already putting the car into park. "Monica, you don't understand. I have a gift. It's my responsibility to use it to help others!"
Marcus opened the car door and leaped out into the toll booth plaza. The man in the car next to his turned and stared as Marcus rushed along the line of cars to a blue sedan, the last in line.
Marcus knocked on the window. With hesitation, the driver wound it down.
"Madam!" Marcus cried. "I have to tell you-- the line of the booth to your left is moving the fastest. In the interests of time and efficiency, it is to your benefit to move your car right now!"
Marcus scurried back to his own car, the traffic behind him honking and screaming. As he slid back behind the steering wheel, he held his head up high. Just another day in the life of a mediocre-hero.
|
"Hello everyone I'm Jeremy's mother. and I'm here to talk to you about sexual health."
A million sets of eyes turn to face me and I life my head up and drop it down on the desk a few times.
"Now I know all of you are much to young for sex but I do have a teen aged boy at home and I know there's other stuff you're going to get up to. SO. Let's talk about masturbation."
I can't stand it. I put my body down flat on my desk and release my souls hold on it. I float above myself for a second before I feel myself being drawn away.
Everything goes dark for a second and then I open my eyes. There are sounds all around but they're too deep to make out. I walk on the crunchy floor over to my wheel and climb on. I start running as I watch the rest of the class through my cage.
| 2013-11-05T17:09:46
| 2013-11-05T16:37:52
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] An AITA post from a supervillain desperate to be told they're doing the right thing.
|
u/catfeeder13throwaway
TL;DR: AITA for feeding my cat?
I’ve had my cat, Roxy, for around 12 years now, and am very in tune with her diet requirements. It gets a little expensive at time, because she’s very demanding and particular with her food and requires certain cuts of meat. Yes, I may have spoiler her, but I’m single [M42] and doing pretty well for myself. (Not to brag, you won’t recognize my face, but you’ll know what I do for a living.)
So anyway, I was just acquiring some food for my cat in a new city. Apparently, this new place doesn’t quite bend to my will, so there was a lot of resistance when I tried to get food for my cat. A lot of people were screaming at me, and there were even some costumed heroes flying out of the sky to stop me. I’m just getting food for Roxy, making sure she’s well-fed. AITA?
EDIT 1: A lot of people are saying there aren’t enough details in the story. The heroes beat me up really badly. I’m not in the hospital. I’m not at liberty to discuss why I can’t be there. But I’m healing up in my home base.
EDIT 2: Stop posting the news clip that seems to corroborate my story. It’s extremely biased. HNN is known to be biased to anybody wearing a colourful costume. I strongly refute that my actions count as “terrorism” and “villainy.”
EDIT 3: Roxy is doing OK, thank you for those asking. I did secure some food for her. She’s eating it right now, in fact.
EDIT 4: Yes, Roxy’s a lion. A lion is a cat. I will not accept any alternatives.
EDIT 5: I don’t understand you guys. The food is worthless. They are thrown in the alleys and dumpsters, abandoned by society. Why is it a problem that I pluck them up and feed them to my cats? If I’m fine with it, why does the law about old food has to come into play?
EDIT 6: Yes, Roxy likes the legs the most. She likes chewing on the tough bones afterwards.
EDIT 7: Nobody cares about them. Call their families. Oops? They don’t have families? Yes, that’s what I thought.
EDIT 8: I’ve decided that I no longer care about your opinions. You guys are TAs here. No thanks, and good bye.
EDIT 9: To the person trying to track my IP address through this, good luck. You are pathetic. Your skills are not worth mentioning.
EDIT 10: To the people trying to track my IP address through this, you need to do better. Assholes.
EDIT 11: It’s not fair. Ganging up on me and poor old Roxy. It’s really not fair. The heroes do it. You guys do it. While I’m at it, I’ll make sure I tear your limbs apart, and feed them to
---
r/dexdrafts
|
AITA for attempting a coup?
By u/ TheRealDrMyceliumYesThatOne
Edit 2: You people understand nothing.
-0-0-
Edit: I would like to point out that almost everyone who has disagreed with me has thus far not actually disagreed with my rationale, only with my choice of method.
I believe that is called "tone policing", and I will not be subject to it.
-0-0-
Okay so. I'm writing this while awaiting trial, so it is not really a question of "am I the asshole". I am trying to sort out what kind of response I am likely to get from the jury, and I figured this was as good a place as any.
On the 13th of May of this year, I, the great Dr. Mycelium (yes, my rightful username was taken from me by some two-bit mycology MA student) grew fungal nets between all the doors and frames at the White House, Capitol Building, Pentagon, and [here] is a list of other relevant political targets I hit.
At the same time, I kidnapped all the hosts of Fox News, and with my henchmen put on my manifesto in which I outlined the various problems of our society, and my proposed solutions.
Present problems in our society include:
- Lack of accountability on the part of politicians
- Massive wealth and income inequality
- Insufficient support for our most vulnerable populations, including of course racial and gender minorities but more importantly the young, the infirm , the elderly, and all of the demographics that are less than maximally profitable under our current economic conditions
- insufficient resource allocation to the problem of climate change, which includes incoming agricultural collapse so massive it will lead to mass death
- inefficiencies in the decision-making process which lead to long, drawn-out periods of stagnation and regress.
These problems lead to a variety of second-order problems, such as the destruction of our social fabric as people become distracted by details of identity from the real villains, namely the political class. They lead to countless deaths, destruction of property, economic disarray, and environmental damage.
They are also all fairly easy to solve. The correct answer (and the one I proposed) is to simply trap all of the relevant politicians that I can at a given time, expose them to mind-controlling fungal spores, and force them to make the necessary political decisions that will propel the nation forward into a bright future, where our fresh water is clean, our oceans are thriving, our trees and old growth forests are allowed to continue to allow us to breathe, our financial incentives are aligned to account for the dignity of every person, and every person who has stood in the way of this has been summarily executed to ensure they do not pose a threat to this new world order.
I would be interim president, until such a time as we had captured enough carbon to ensure we remain below 300ppm for the foreseeable future. I would also of course, step down once the mandate was made and allow a democratically elected leader to take over, provided I could act as a check and execute any who would threaten the plan.
I provided a variety of infographics outlining the benefits of all of my proposed policies, as well as the many ironic ways in which I would execute the politicians responsible for our ongoing ecocide.
I would like to point out that I was running *live polling* the whole time and over 65% of the audience was in favour of my takeover, which should be doubly impressive considering how radically distant my ideology is to the average viewer of Fox News. Clearly, my message was resonating with people.
I was eventually captured by Red Eagle and his buddies, though not before engulfing the entirety of the Fox building in carbon-sequestering edible mushrooms. What good is a massive propaganda machine if it will not alert people to the real needs we are facing today?
Anyhow, obviously the system is corrupt, and obviously I would be a much better steward of the government than the lunatics currently in place that corporations utilize like gut flora. But I must be able to defend myself against the arguments that will be posed in court (my lawyer is obviously underpaid, overworked, and understands nothing of my plight) so I would appreciate a sincere attempt at establishing why I am "the asshole" while I was saving the world from its own cancerous corruption only to be thwarted by corporately-backed "superhero" thugs who could offer me no meaningful opposition in the free marketplace of ideas.
| 2022-05-01T12:42:48
| 2022-05-01T10:54:17
| 30
| 17
|
[WP] You have died, after the whitelight, you see a title screen, with the options of New Game.... Load Game.... and Quit Game.
Feel free to bend this any direction you may please.
|
I laughed bitterly as I saw the large screen flickering before me.
So that's all my life had been in the grand scheme of things. A game. A bloody game.
I thought back to everything that had happened back when I was alive. At the time my life had seemed far more important than a game. It was a gift that was constantly fleeting. I had never known exactly when it would end, until the moment that I actually died. The moment I had taken my last breath.
The only solace I had taken was that even in death, my choices would be permanent. The mark I left on people, on society was there to stay. Even in death, my decisions would carry on.
Seeing this screen shattered all of that. If I chose, I could redo my life from the beginning, play the game all over again. I could even just go back, and fix a major mistake I had made in my life. These were things many people dreamed for. Second chances.
I wasn't one of them. Every decision I had made for better or worse defined who I was. In my mind those decisions were permanent, and I wouldn't change that for the world, even if that meant a second chance at life.
As I looked at the screened I realized that there was only one option left.
Quit Game.
What would happen then? I thought. Would I just fade away into nothingness or was there an afterlife of some sort? As I sat there trying to process this, another thought hit me. Probably the most disturbing one of all.
If my life had been a game, then how many of the people in my life were NPC's? How many of them were actually players?
I thought back to my wife that I had left behind. Would she see this screen when she died? Or was she just something the game had manufactured for me. And what about the friends that had fought alongside me?
Some had given their lives to save me, and in the end I had passed along a similar favor. Did I die protecting an NPC?
As I sat their asking myself all these questions, I realized I didn't care. Everyone important in my life, everyone who had influenced me could have been another player or just something manufactured by the game.
However, how I'd felt about them was most definitely real. Those relationships were real, and I realized that was all I cared about.
I glanced at the screen and scoffed. If the creator of the game had made my life out to be a game, I wouldn't play anymore. I made my decision.
I sat down on the floor and continued to look up at the screen.
"I'm not choosing an option. I'm going to sit here and continue to wait until I can speak with you.", I said addressing god, or whatever else you wanted to call the creator of the game.
I waited for what could have been hours or days. I didn't know, time just ran together as I sat and waited not moving a muscle continuing to look up at the screen.
After what could have been an eternity I noticed light flood in behind me as a door opened.
"Alright you've caught my attention." the voice behind me said. "What did you want to talk about?"
Without turning around I started to speak. "I don't know who you are, or what exactly is going on here, but I'm done playing your game."
"Alright then just hit Quit Game." The voice replied calmly. "Is that really all you called me here to say? I had expected something more interesting."
"No I don't think you understand." I said. "When I said I'm not play your game, I didn't mean I was quitting. I meant that I'm simply not going to pick an option."
"Ah I see, you're one of those then. Alright come with me." The voice said sounding slightly amused.
I stood up slowly and looked at the screen one last time. Then I turned towards the door and followed the voice.
Right before I stepped outside, I heard the voice say one last thing.
"You made a good decision in there. Well played."
|
Death smelled. It smelled of bleach and piss, but I couldn't help the latter. After all my mind was barely there anymore, and neither was I. I checked my peripherals once again, but I knew no one would be there. Since the landlord called 911 because of my moaning and shouting, I haven't seen anyone other than the nurses. I couldn't have helped that. Everything hurt. It dug the screams out of somewhere deep inside.
Apparently I had a heart attack, and the fall broke almost a dozen of my brittle bones. No one had cared before the hospital, and the clutches of death didn't change what I had done to the family. I had left them when they needed me. I drank and drank until my daughters and wife wanted their skin to be porcelain once more, and not wrought with my drunken rage. They didn't need that anymore, and I understood. They needed a husband and a father. I wasn't either of those. Well, I was, but the shittiest kind. Knowing those things didn't mean sitting in this room, only accompanied by the silence, didn't hurt. I just wanted it to end.
So it did.
It was all white. White was a color that always soothed me in my old age, it kept the bottle out of my hands. But I didn't feel old anymore. I felt... Timeless. I was nothing but I was everything too. I was no longer human. I was no longer myself. I just was.
I was being tugged, more so coaxed, towards the single fixture in the endless white. It was an arcade system. Quite odd really. I had loved them as a kid. Across the screen only said two words, their black, bolded scrawling leaving an air of finality.
"GAME OVER"
So this is the end? Who was right in their scriptures and prophecies? Who gets the props for their preaching and beliefs? I was distraught. Where is my god? I willed the screen to change, to give me something more than this emptiness.
It did. The screen changed to an all too familiar one. It gave me a few options. But I already knew which one I was going to pick.
"NEW GAME"
I could fix my life. I could be good to my wife, I could love and care for my children. I just knew that I was being given the choice to live once again.
So I did.
| 2014-06-19T19:56:46
| 2014-06-19T18:37:33
| 35
| 10
|
[WP] Earth is contacted by an intergalactic federation. Planets are welcomed to the federation if they have something to contribute. The rest of the galaxy is interested in what they see as our greatest talent; they want our music...
|
The President had gathered the greatest experts of culture in the Oval Office. The Smithsonian was well respresented, as were a number of private institutions and musical schools. Together, they picked the lineup for the greatest orchestra the world had ever seen.
The President invited the alien representatives to the Kennedy Center in Washington DC, where they played a number of beautiful symphonies. The First Lady was moved to tears by their rendition of Schubert's String Quintet in C, 'Adagio.' At the end, the President and his security team clapped as hard as they could, but the aliens were unimpressed. "We told you we wanted to hear your Earth music," they said, "Not these wooden monstrosities!" He lashed out a tentacle, smashing a Stradivarius violin. With a huff, they left the concert hall and reboarded their ship.
The panel reassembled at the White House. They scoured through databases, looking for the greatest vocal talents in the world. In the end, they settled on a boy's choir from China that had recently been awarded a number of prestigious honors. The President sent Air Force One to collect them and bring them immediately back to the United States. Once again, the Alien ambassadors met the president at the Kennedy Center, where the boys sang a number of beautiful ballads. Again, the Aliens stomped out disappointed without elaborating on their demands. The president was stumped.
The experts called in ambassadors from the United Nations. Each country would bring the greatest of their own native cultural artists to the Kennedy Center to put on a performance. Mongolia brought a band of talented throat singers; The Vatican volunteered the Pope's favorite Gregorian Chanters; Australia brought up 12 didgeridoo players. Etc, etc. They all assembled on the stage before the Alien ambassadors and one by one showed off the music that the Earth has to offer. And once again, the Aliens left without a single world of praise: just a threat. "Mr. President, we will give you one last opportunity to show us the greatest, most talented Earth Music. Do not disappoint us." They went back to their ship and ascended into the sky, making sure that the President could see the giant weapon slung underneath their spacecraft.
The president sat alone in the oval office, holding his forehead in his palms. "I'm going to regret this later," he muttered to himself. With a sigh, he reached for the phone and dialed.
"Yes, it's me. The President. I need you to come to Washington, Kanye."
----
If you enjoyed the writing, check out /r/Luna_Lovewell!
|
Earth is contacted by an intergalactic federation. The rest of the galaxy is interested in what they see as our greatest talent, one song in particular... "We Will Overcome."
You see, most species in the galaxy are like lemmings. The only way that a civilization can survive long enough to evolve into a spacefaring society is if everybody gets along. Uncounted civilizations have nuked themselves into oblivion because they can't get along.
And how do they get along? They do what they are told. They take orders, they do what they are told. And they are very uniform. Everybody all the same.
Take the frabjulians, for example. Their nice watery planet is populated with millions of perfectly identical spires rising from the ocean floor to the cloudy heights of the atmosphere. The Big FrabJa says he wants a new tower, and the liada frabjulians start laying the foundation by emitting carbonates while wiping their asses on the ocean floor. Soon thereafter, the ambia frabjulians start swarming 'round the rising spires, shitting more carbonates in a broadening and rising tower. The airia frabjulians leap into the sky, crapping still more material onto the tower until it rises as far as their fletching fins can fly.
And that's how it's done. All in silence. Silence so golden it shimmers in the frabjulous sun as it shimmers through the simmering seas.
But these Earthlings. With their songs of overcoming. And their songs of "We Shall Not be Moved." And folk songs of ancient native peoples already dead and buried and forgotten but for their music. And their sing-song chants of we wont go.
Et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera.
At a certain points, words cannot do justice. At a certain point, you need to let the music speak for itself.
| 2014-12-22T10:39:03
| 2014-12-22T09:57:17
| 538
| 56
|
[WP] You are the best actor ever. You make the deal of a lifetime. $500 million per year to act solely for Warner Brothers until you die. It's unclear who the joke is on, however. You for being stuck with WB forever, or WB for offering a lifetime contract to a secret immortal.
|
Five Warner Bros executives met in secret in a dimly lit office space they had rented just for tonight. It looked more like an interrogation room than an office. Certainly not the polished and sanded wood grain they were all used to. But they had no choice. The board room was no longer safe.
Two years ago they had struck a deal with Keanu Reeves to pay him $500 million a year to retain his exclusive services. He had walked into the boardroom, a slick grey suit, grim smile, and steel pen.
The contract had made it extremely clear the terms of their game. $500 million a year paid out at the end of the year but only if he could deliver as many movies as Warner Bros's board members could push out. In events of sickness or death, the payments would stop immediately, even if it was the last day of the year. Back then, Kevin Tsujihara, the CEO of Warner Bros had met Keanu Reeves's eyes and said, "let the game begin."
Both knew the gamble at play and nobody thought Keanu Reeves would last the year. As far as Warner Bros was concerned, they had just retained his services for free.
They put him on an impossible schedule. 2 hours to sleep, 1 hour to eat, and 1 hour free time. The rest were spent filming the most dangerous and stressful scenes imaginable. He did his own stunts and he was expected to train and perform in his own time. That's what they gave him the free hour for.
It was fool-proof. No man could withstand such work. No man except Keanu Reeves.
The man didn't sleep. He didn't eat. And worse off, he delivered. Blockbuster after blockbuster. John Wick 3 and 4 within the same year. A second Matrix trilogy. There was no stopping him!
And at the end of the year, even though he had won the bet, the executives couldn't be happier. If a $500 million investment could produce several billion dollar movies a year, that would be fine by then. Plus, no matter how strong Keanu Reeves was, no man could last 2 years under such conditions. They would use him like a dirty rag and throw him away at the end of his use. Or so they thought.
"We can't stop him," Kevin said. "He already has the votes."
"That bastard," Mike said, a pen clutched so tight between his fingers that it was cracking. "He's buying us out with our own god damn money!"
"He was already given a board seat. If he gets in, we won't be able to keep him from extending his reach," another said.
"Can't we buy him out?" Kevin asked. "Maybe if we pool our money together..."
"Our net worth is what he makes in a year. What we *pay* him in a year." Mike, with great effort, dropped the pen. "This time next year, he'll have replaced us all. Then nobody will be able to terminate his contract. He'll liquidate this company just to pay himself out."
"There has to be a way." Kevin picked up the contract and read it for the twentieth time that day, but he knew it was foolhardy. It was under his instruction that the lawyers had made it steel-tight. He hadn't wanted Keanu Reeves to find a loophole out of it.
"There is," Mike said.
All eyes turned to him. All chatter cut to silence.
"If he dies."
A murmur floated through the room. All these men had made tremendous sacrifices to get to where they were so they were no stranger to extreme circumstances. But murder? They were philanthropists, crusaders against disease and poverty, pillars of the community. Slowly, each shook their head for no.
"We've already tried giving him food poisoning, this is just one step further," Mike said. "As a board member, he has control over the hours he works, the productions he's in. He could make a single shitty sequel and we'd have to cut him $500 million. And he can do this forever!"
"But you're talking about murder," another board member said.
"Technically I'm talking about an accident." Mike smiled. He had made a career out of reading rooms and he knew exactly what this room wanted. "An accident with the most insurance insurance policy in the world. Can you imagine being compensated for an actor worth $500 million a year?"
The shaking heads stopped. Mike could see it in their eyes flitting from the table to him to their peers. It was doubt, a single spark. All it needed was some tinder.
And Kevin would provide it.
"I agree," Kevin said. "At this point, it's him or us. Warner Bros, the employer of tens of thousands of families or a single arrogant and overpaid actor."
The room nodded in unison. It was agreed upon. They would assassinate Keanu Reeves.
---
"Another." Keanu Reeves tapped the bar to drive his point home.
The bartender eyed him. "You sure? Last call was three hours ago."
"I know," Keanus said and slipped another roll of hundred dollar bills across the counter. "My guests will come soon. And barkeeper, when they do, remember, this is a private party."
The bartender bit his lips before taking the money. He didn't know why Keanu Reeves would pay so much for some shitty shots of whiskey, nor did he know what Keanu Reeves was doing in a rural Minnesotan town. As long as the money came rolling, he didn't care either.
"And two beers, please," Keanu said. "Bud light will do."
"We have better."
"That's alright."
With a sigh, the bartender placed the bud lights on the counter.
"And last thing, barkeep. My friends are nearly here so I'm going to have to ask you to go home. Leave the keys here, I'll lock up for you."
"Sure thing," the bartender said and wiped the bar down one last time.
---
There was something relaxing about being utterly alone. Keanu placed his head on the table as his arms dangled beneath him. All the lights were already off so only the silver shine of the moon illuminated the place. From this close up, he could smell the aftermath of normal Friday night--the craft beers, the bottom-shelf mixies, and straight shots too--all soaked into the olden oak of this bar.
It brought back memories from back when he used to get drunk. When his body allowed him too. He smiled.
The wood floors creaked. Shoes crunched against their grain. Keanu Reeves held his breath as three sets of footsteps slowly approached.
A few years ago, he had faced death itself and won. From his victory, he gained his immortality, but not invincibility. Since then, the reaper was just itching for rematch. So he had spent his last few years making sure he'd be ready for it. Compared to that, whatever low-lifes Warner Bros could throw at him, he simply considered more training.
Keanu heard the metallic click of a pistol cocking and then felt the ice of metal pressed against his head. His fingers curled around the beer.
"Good night asshole," one of the assassins said.
Keanu kicked out his own chair into the assassin's leg. The bar alit as thunder erupted from the gun. The bullet buried itself into the far wall. Keanu swung his arm up and smashed the bud light against the second assassin just as the man took aim. The bottle hit its mark, and exploded against the assailant's eye. The man bent over howling.
A shotgun slug fired with the sound of thunder. Keanu dove behind the man that he had impaired as the bar counter ruptured in an explosion of splinters. He threw his last bud light and nailed the shotgun wielder straight in the nose all the while ramming a broken bottle between the legs of an unfortunate man.
A high-pitched squeal resounded throughout the bar and then the clatter of a gun.
Keanu Reeves picked it up.
---
Two men in ski masks lay dead on the ground, the third had a bullet through his knee. Keanu pulled the trigger and gave him another in his shoulder. The man screamed through clenched teeth.
"Don't kill me, please," the assassin begged with gasped breaths. "I'm just a thug they hired. Please don't kill me."
Keanu stared back with pitch black eyes. He remained expressionless. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you," he said. "Because I need you to deliver a message for me back to the men on the board. Tell them..."
He paused in thought. "Tell them--let the game begin."
The assassin bobbed his head.
Keanu smiled and gave the man a small pat on the cheek. Then he turned, key in hand so he could lock up the bar.
---
---
/r/jraywang. I got you 2 brand new WP a day, if I continue any WP, it'll be on there, and much much more!
|
I had made the deal of the century. $500 million a year to act solely for Warner Brothers. The only catch was that it was until I died. I never expected them to last more than a few more years. The industry was struggling and their sales were tanking. I would make a couple of billion and be done.
Then Trump got elected. My doppleganger. They made a fortune off my face. If I did a terrible job, it was a comedy. If I acted serious, a tragedy. Even long after he had left office they made a killing.
By the time he tanked the economy WB had enough cash reserves to ride it out. The inflation was astronomical. Within a decade my $500 million a year was an average income. By the 34th year of my contract I was a pauper. My early investments hadn't survived the crash and now my income wasn't enough to live on. I never thought $500 million a year would leave me scouring the dumpster for the sandwich that the cameraman hopefully threw out.
| 2017-04-29T19:20:31
| 2017-04-29T18:58:05
| 506
| 132
|
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
5 years ago, I fell asleep on March 29th and woke up on the 30th with no sense of sight. I remember that morning vividly. I “woke up” that morning, explicitly feeling that my eyes were open, but they looked as if they were closed. I forced them open but they still showed nothing. I screamed to my parents about my situation but they gave me the same response. Everyone had lost their sight, all across the globe. After that, everything’s been blank, figuratively and literally.
Well, today started unlike any other in the past few years, I “woke up”, made my self breakfast only by touch, as I had learned to do, and got ready for my short commute to my school.
The Day went as usual, staying in one classroom all day, reading, or feeling rather, textbooks about subjects that would’ve stayed around even if no one had lost their sight, and repeated with different subjects.
Then, out of nowhere, I saw.
My sight’s back... And I immediately see text scrawled all over every solid object. It reads:
Don’t Tell Them You Can See
The multiple scrawlings of the phrase looked as if they were written in blood, and everyone except me was oblivious. I quickly asked to go to the restroom and exited the class. The phrase still lined the walls, roof, floor, everything. I left the school immediately and rushed home.
My parents didn’t hear me enter and even my house was covered in the crimson phrase. I rushed upstairs and threw open my old laptop that hadn’t been used in years. I searched up if anyone else could see; nothing. I was the only one.
What now? I couldn’t tell anyone, and no one else can see either.
I thought long and hard of any way to figure out why I couldn’t say anything about my regained sight.
My mind came up blank. I guess I could relive some memories by watching some YouTube? No. I need to find out about this.
I went outside and looked around. Nothing unusual apart from the phrase everywhere.
**I’ll check back in if I find anything new.**
|
The blindness passed by some sort of contagion, and by dumb luck I managed to avoid it. I had been out in the cabin in Montana. The cabin I always hated but had acted as my unwitting savior. I wasn't outdoorsy like my dad. After Dad died, Mom wanted to sell the cabin: she wasn't outdoorsy either. Someone had to go and make sure it was in decent enough condition to sell.
Out of cell phone range. No Internet access or television. Only a CB radio for emergencies that I had never really bothered to learn before, so I tried to learn all the basics from an old manual. There wasn't much else to do.
The cabin was sellable at least, until the world collapsed and then people weren't really wanting to live miles out in the middle of nowhere. They wanted to live by other people.
I was driving back through a small town when an older man stumbled out in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes and the car halted inches away from him. He stood still and angled his head, never quite looking at me. I learned why when I saw a milky white sheen had covered his eyes.
I could not bring myself to move, to do the decent thing and get out and apologize for almost killing him.
"A car!" he yelled, his voice carrying like a town crier's. "I heard a car!"
Slowly other people emerged. They, too, stepped cautiously, tapping their canes. All of them had the same milky white affliction that the man had.
Wham!
One of the townspeople had found the car.
This soon followed by more whams as they slapped against the car doors and trailed their hands along to the windows.
Then -- crash -- the back windshield and a side window splintered as canes turned into temporary battering rams. Their hands started reaching in, seemingly undeterred that the jagged glass was slicing into their hands and wrists.
I slammed on the horn. It startled some of them back, the ones closest to the driver's seat. I took advantage of that second and pressed the gas pedal down hard. The car lunged forward and the people lunged forward with it. I swiveled a bit, trying to avoid striking the people in front of me, but I couldn't quite avoid them. Even so, I would not let myself slow down until those people were far behind me.
| 2022-12-15T08:15:43
| 2019-08-26T10:55:51
| 14
| 10
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.