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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
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int64 14
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[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever growing cluster of tally marks.
|
The steady buzz of the needle gun filled the air as I worked. There was no one else in the parlor - just me and her.
"Busy month?" I said, glancing down at her.
She nodded, leaning back.
That was how these things normally went. She never had a schedule - it seemed totally random at first. She'd just walk in out of the blue, about once a month, and plop herself down in one of the chairs. She'd glare at me with those giant blue eyes of hers, tapping a finger like I was holding her up.
It taken a while to figure it out, but I pieced it together, little by little - she never entered the shop if there was anyone else there. She didn't want to wait. She didn't want to be seen. Her dark hair was cropped to just below her chin, hiding her face, and her jacket was a plain, dusty green fabric that my eyes just slipped right off.
She *didn't* want to talk - at first. When I'd first walked over to her with a nod and a smile, offering her my name, she'd just rolled her eyes.
I could remember the exchange, clear as day.
"What do you want to get?" I'd said, plopping down on a stool. "If you give me what you're thinking, I can start putting some designs together. We could-"
"Just give me a line." Her voice had been soft, but there was steel underneath its low tones.
I'd blinked, tilting my head to the side in confusion as I stared at her. "A...A line? I'm not sure I understand."
She'd sighed, the sound irritated and loud enough I jumped. I hadn't realized how close I'd gotten, even in the brief exchange we'd had. How much she'd pulled me in.
Even as I flinched, though, she'd just grabbed the pen sitting on my notebook, drawing a neat little tick mark on the paper. "That." She shrugged her jacket off, her skin shining white under the harsh fluorescent light.
I'd swallowed, feeling my ears burn as my eyes snapped back to her face. The tank top she wore was as utilitarian as the rest, but she wore it well.
Her finger jabbed towards her arm. "That. Right there." Those piercing blue eyes stared up at me, as though daring me to say anything.
"O-Oh," I'd said, leaning back. "That's all? Well, we should talk about how much that'll-"
Without a word, she'd dug deep in the pocket of her coat. A moment later, a wad of cash had slapped down on the table next to us.
That was that. I'd gotten a good location, something respectable. A place I didn't feel unsafe coming to every day. But, the city had bad parts like any other, and I was pretty used to the clientele. I'd seen the outline of the knife in her pocket, the scars on her hand. I could have asked questions - but why?
I took the money. And I'd traced the tiny little line onto her arm right where she pointed. She'd pulled her jacket back on, striding from the shop without another word. I hadn't even had time to put the gun down, let alone get up.
So it started.
The lights overhead were blindingly bright. A smile tugged at my lips as I traced the last piece of her latest line, inspecting my previou work.
It had started as one. Of course, it had been nearly four years since that first line.
"Do you want me to touch those up?" I said, my voice ringing through the deserted parlor. I eyed the other lines, the work she'd given me over the years. There were dozens of them, grouped together in haphazard clusters. Some were just beginning to fade.
"No, that's fine," she said, glancing up at me with those perfect blue eyes again. A crooked smile tugged at her lips. "It's fine if they disappear. I don't need them anymore."
"Your choice," I murmured, meeting her gaze for a second longer before turning back to her arm. As the months had turned into years, she'd told me what those lines meant, in bits and pieces. What they were. Who they were. She'd showed me her knife, silvered steel laid into a beautiful, lacquered handle. I'd tried not to stare at the red soaked through it.
It should have shocked me. It should have sent me running screaming to the police. It fascinated me instead, just like she always had. She'd told me their stories - always theirs. Never hers. It was like her own private memorial, her pride and her shame rolled together into one wall of black, staining that porcelain skin with its inky wash.
And she left it at that. She didn't tell me *why*, or who she was, or what she was involved with. She didn't tell me anything. I didn't ask.
I keyed the gun off, leaning back. "We're good."
She nodded, shrugging her jacket back on. The lines vanished under the same dusty green fabric, nearly colorless by then and coated with dust and grime. Without another word she rose, turning for the door.
"Until next month, then," I said, waving at her back. I was already putting my things away, cleaning my shop up. I didn't realize she'd stopped until I looked up, seeing her stare back at me.
"Renata," she said, her voice still as soft and steely as the first day she'd walked into my parlor.
I blinked, dumbstruck for a long moment. She'd never- not once had she ever-
Before I could gather myself, before I could say a word, she was gone.
---
The shop was empty. I rolled back and forth behind my desk, my anxiety rising. We were doing all right for ourselves, but I couldn't afford to be sitting around. I needed something - a new connection, better advertising, a side job.
The sound of the bells hanging off the door ringing had me sitting up in a flash, pasting a smile on my face. The setting had been *perfect* - and it was right in line with the not-schedule she'd always kept. "Hey! It's been-"
I stopped, freezing in place. A man stepped through the door, nodding at me with a quick, efficient motion.
Not Renata, then. Right. I forced my smile back into place. "Afternoon! How can I help you?"
He just frowned, walking over to one of the chairs and throwing himself into it. I followed, my eyes narrowing.
As I reached for my notebook, though, I saw it. My blood froze. I was a statue, a block of ice. I couldn't move.
I could see the hilt of that knife, lacquered wood and red-stained steel. It peeked up out of his pocket, staring me in the face. I'd only seen it a few times before, but I'd never forget it.
The man shrugged off his dusty, faded brown jacket, exposing the skin underneath. He grabbed my pen, drawing a tiny tick mark on the paper.
"That," he said. His finger jabbed towards his arm, towards the leathery, scarred skin.
"Right there."
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
|
The door opened and entered a familiar face, cash in hand. The 6'6" silent and solemn man waited patiently in the lobby for me to approach him.
"Hey Ed. The usual?"
He nodded.
"Sounds good," I smiled, "Just give me a couple minutes to clean up my work station, just got done with another client."
When I was ready Ed came and sat in my chair, handing me the cash up front. I didn't count it. I never do- it's always far more than I would ever charge for an inch long line on his chest. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever even gave him a quote, he just handed me money. Ed removed his black button up, revealing a chiseled, scar-ridden body. I drew the 30th tally mark.
As Ed is leaving I thank him, and turn to count the cash as he walks out the door. Somewhere around $180 I notice an odd stain on some of the bills. Was it... blood? Shaken, I go outside for a smoke. It was raining, and my mysterious client was still there. He stood under the protection of our covered entry way, watching the storm. I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer.
"Hey Ed. You know, I've been tattooing you for a little over a year now, and never once have asked about what you do or what the tally marks are all about. Hell, I don't think you've spoken more than a dozen words to me," I laughed to cover up my nervousness, and waited for a response.
He stared a bit longer into the rain and finally said, "You really want to know?"
"Yeah... what are the tallies counting?"
"They're counting," he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose, "How many tattoos I have."
He walked into the rain, got in his PT Cruiser, and drove away.
​
| 2018-09-20T06:28:17
| 2018-09-20T06:26:26
| 81
| 26
|
[WP] A brilliant scientist is found dead in their lab. Their lab notes simply state "Please do not disturb my body, the experiment would be irrevocably ruined."
|
The laboratory sat still. Beakers and vials, all filled with an assortment of colors, lined the shelves. On the floor lay Dr. Amadeus, face down into a pool of some unknown material. At first glance, it looked like blood. But you could not see through blood, and be able to make out the floor tiles beneath it in the same way as this allowed.
Dr. Amadeus wore a pristine lab coat, untouched by the red liquid that pooled around him. Glass shards lay around him, making islands in the translucent, red pool. Whatever had happened here, it had come suddenly.
Most curiously though was the note on the door of the on the outside for any that entered. It was simple and offered no explanation, but left a singular order: "Please do not disturb my body, the experiment would be irrevocably ruined."
When the man's lab assistants entered, the two had the note in hand. Fear gripped them, the note's message pounded at their minds.
They darted across the room, to his collapsed body, as soon as they had seen it. It felt as if Dr. Amadeus, from some realm beyond the living, watched as they did so. Neither were willing to touch the body, though both were frightened out of their wits. Did they follow the man's vision, and risk letting him die? Or were they to try and save him at the cost of the experiment?
The resulting fight over it turned to shouting.
"We have to do something!"
"But he said not to, don't you trust him?"
"He clearly attempted suicide, we can't let him die!"
"But what if he's safe now and we kill him?"
The man arguing to intervene pushed the woman that wanted to follow the doctor's orders. He lunged for the body. She pulled back, and in minutes the two were on each other as they fought over what to do.
Someone fell into the man's body, knocking him out of the pool of blood. There was a crack of thunder. The woman let out a scream, and her body twisted in agony. The man backed away, scrambling across the floor.
She stopped screaming, and looked down at her body. The woman's head turned back to the remaining lab assistant.
"Bugger it all, I came back to the wrong body. Didn't you read the note?"
|
"'Please do not disturb my body, the experiment would be irrevocably ruined.'" I read out loud, turning the paper over. "That's all it says," I tell my partner. I can hear my own perturbment in my voice. This basement lab also kinda makes me feel uneasy anyway.
"That's it? Well, we need to get this body out of here anyway. I always thought she was a bit of a crackpot."
"She is not just some crackpot. She is... Was the most renowned geneticist in the world, Jack. I don't know how but we need to listen to her."
I move myself to stand between myself and Dr. Lipski's body.
"Oh no, Patty. We are not breaching protocol because of a piece of paper. We took the pictures, ruled the death suicide and now we gotta get it out of here before it starts to stink."
"What if it wasn't suicide? What if..." Just then I saw the body twitch. "It moved! She moved! What if we fucked up on reading the lifesigns?"
I gently grab Dr. lipski's wrist and test it for a pulse. There is one: faintly. I then move away from the body immediately.
"She's alive! Barely. We need to get her to the hospital now!"
"I thought you said not to move-"
"Now Jack!" I yell, grabbing her legs.
Jack grabs her arms and we carry her to the stairs that lead to the outside. As we are attempting to maneuver her bidy up the stairs, I see her eyes open. I am relieved and continue to move her.
"Doctor! Doctor can you hear me? We're getting you help!"
But what I hear in response is not Dr. Lipski.
"You dare disturb my body?" A deep, inhuman voice shrieks. "Even after that nice note she wrote? Now you will pay!"
The body starts to shake and convulse at first and then starts to try to rip our hands off of it. I am terrified and I can see in Jack's face that he is too so we both drop the body and try to run up the stairs.
Both the Dr's hands somehow claw us back to the ground.
"What do you want from us?" I shriek, staring into the contorted face of a woman that was once my hero.
"I want you to leave my body alone now if you value your lives. Do whatever you need to do in the police reports. I am only awake for mere minutes and then I will subside again. I am looking for immortality." Now I can hear Dr. Lipski in the voice. Barely.
I nod. Jack nods. There isn't much more we can do. Dr. Lipski resumes her place lying on the ground and we leave.
We erase the police reports and say all is well with Dr. Lipski. We can't do much more than comply. I hope someday she finds the secret she's looking for.
| 2014-11-06T13:45:29
| 2014-11-06T13:23:34
| 248
| 86
|
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts.
|
I sit patiently on a stone, watching the children play around me.
They've come here every day during recess and I am pleased by their laughter and the meager offerings they bring me. Mostly small bugs, easily caught and weeds plucked like flowers laid upon the stone altar.
They are small gifts passed by small hands but they are more sacred to me than the coins and offerings once passed by in my temples. For these are the gifts that come from tiny hands who offer them for no other than the desire to give me a gift.
I watch as they play their games of childhood, tag and hide and seek and other small games that they play of their own imaginings.
She cannot see me but I feel eyes upon me nonetheless. The teacher of the children who now have become my worshipers eyes the rock upon which I sit.
She is a good woman, kind and matronly and though she knows not that I am here she sees the echoes of the children's reactions. She sees the flowers placed upon the rock that disappear without a trace. The bugs that seem to vanish without notion. She suspects but has no proof other than the stories the children tell of me sitting here.
I am certain she is starting to believe that they are speaking truth. She is no fool and is a wise woman. She will teach many students well long after my children have left to go further into the school and probably long after they forget I am here watching.
She returns to watching and so do I. But after a moment I stop. There is a darkness over my children...A cloud of malice and evil.
Its here again. *HE* is here again.
I turn from them and find across the street there is a man standing with a dog. He doesn't see me nor does he know that I am watching him. But he watches my children.
I narrow my eyes. This is not the first time he has come here but this is the first time he has brought a dog. He is up to something...
"Goddess?"
I turn as Emily, my high priestess, puts a hand on my leg.
"What's wrong Goddess?"
"Nothing my dear... I am just thinking of grown up things."
She held out a butterscotch disc. A similar piece to her first offering to me. "Here Goddess...Mommy and Daddy say adults have lots to worry about. I like Butterscotch when I worry."
"Oh, you are most gracious with your offerings, Emily." I say taking it with both hands.
She laughs and cheers and runs off to her friends.
I eye the man again as he walks off as the whistle blows calling the children inside.
I watch from my place outside as they return to their classroom.
​
It isn't long however before I feel that cloud of malice return.
I stand outside the gates of the school as HE stands on the other side, watching and waiting, Thinking I don't know he is there behind his car.
I growl and hold the flowers they gave me in my hand, feeling their power flowing through me.
The wrapper of butterscotch crinkles in my hand as I clench my fists watching him.
The final bell rings after some time and he pulls the dog out of the car and lets it go as the children come out and play, awaiting their parents.
The dog eagerly bounds toward the children and many run around and try to catch it. Some of the teachers call it to try and hold on as the man seems to watch the chaos until finally he approached one of my children.
He slid a hand over the childs arm and pulled as the child cried out. The teacher heard and ran after him as the man tried to move around everyone.
The child struggled to escape but to no avail. The hold was strong but it was enough. The teacher grabbed his arm and tried to force them apart as I slid the disc of butterscotch into my mouth.
I could never tell Emily this, but I hate the taste. It has always been this way, but her gifts give me such strength. I open my hand that held the various ants and grasshoppers and other things the children managed to catch and they swarmed, biting and stinging and hitting wherever they could.
The man tried to hit the teacher but found a particularly large spider on his hand that jarred his movement as she pulled my child away from him and they clung as he moved to try and run.
I dropped the flowers and they sprouted as weeds and roots, impeeding his path each time that he stepped on the grass. Forcing him to pull his legs and feet up hard.
He managed to get to the car. I held out my finger and snapped, bitting down on the butterscotch disc, splitting it in two as from a clear blue sky a fireball smashed into him and sent him flying.
Many who had seen and realized what was really occuring lept on him and held him down while the adults took care of it.
My children ran to me as I walked to the teacher who held Billy, one of the smaller kids who was shy in her arms as he cried and she soothed him. She picked him up and gathered them around her.
I turned as I felt a tug on my dress. Emily smiled and gave me a hug. I pat her head and sent her after her teacher and the other grownups
I returned to my place and watched as the police took over and my children were gathered by their parents.
finally the teachers left and my children's instructor came to my small rock throne and looked it over. She nodded to me.
"Thank you."
I bowed back. 'The children are ever under my protection."
|
Stacy squinted as an unfamiliar man entered her kindergarten classroom. She had not seen him before, but he did not give off the air of a stranger either. Somehow, she felt a connection between them.
The man had smooth black hair. He dressed like an old man but looked much younger than her father.
‘Good morning children. I am your substitute teacher, Mr Xennoavlaas, but you may address me as your god- I mean Mr Xen. Any questions?’
The class erupted into a cheer, as they always did with absent teachers.
Stacy raised her hand.
‘Ah yes,’ he said, loud enough to counteract the noise. ‘What knowledge do you seek High priestess?’
‘Um… what happened to Ms Parker?’
‘Your original instructor has been sidelined due to foreseen circumstances.’
‘I don’t really get it. And my name is Stacy.’
‘Worry not Stacy, all will be revealed soon enough. Thank you for the candy bar you left at my shrine by the way.’
‘You mean the one I left outside for good luck at recess?’
‘Yes. It has been a long time since any human procured for me something as divine as SNICKERS CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER. Such piety deserves reward.’
The classroom grew louder but Mr Xen seemed to ignore it. He simply stood at the front centre of the class, maintaining a wide smile.
Stacy turned to her friend Emma.
‘Mr Xen is reaaaaaallly weird.’
‘Yeah. Everyone knows Kit-Kat is better than Snickers,’ Emma replied.
Suddenly Stacy felt a wet spitball peck the back of her neck. She turned around angrily to see David with a straw in his mouth. Ugh! The rascal was at it again. He annoyed Stacy like this on a daily basis. David breathed in and spat another pellet but it flew towards the ceiling instead, sticking itself there. Both He and Stacy blinked in surprise before he breathed in to try again.
‘David brown isn’t it?’ Mr Xen asked.
David jumped out of his seat as Mr Xen had addressed him from behind. The students looked around confusedly. Had the substitute teacher not been at the front of the classroom seconds ago?
‘Mischievous little child aren’t you? You’re lucky. There was a time where such deeds would be disciplined through flogging.’
Stacy doubted David knew what “flogging” was but Mr Xen seemed to have intimidated greatly. David began to cry.
‘Oh don’t worry child! Despite your misdeeds you are still part of the congregation and will benefit as such. As will everyone else in this classroom. Courtesy of your High priestess.’
Stacy was about to ask Mr Xen what the deal was with this High priestess stuff when two masked men carrying guns burst into the classroom.
The class began to scream in terror but Mr Xen calmly looked at his watch.
‘Ah, right on time,’ he said.
Stacy hid under the table and covered her ears. Mr Xen was expecting them? Was he working with them?
She watched from under the table as one of the masked men pointed a gun at Mr Xen.
‘We were on the run from the cops, but lucky us found a school to make use of. If you don’t want us hurting any kids, you best cooperate.’
Mr Xen wagged a finger and tutted, then shook his head in disappointment.
‘Humans. All so full of malice and avarice. This is why I abandoned you for millennia. It seems little has changed during my slumber. You should all learn from Stacy over there.’
Stacy wanted to scream at Mr Xen. Why was he directing the scary men’s attention to her?
‘The hell you on about?’ asked the other masked man. ‘No wonder our education system’s so shit. They got crackpots like you in here.’ He pointed his gun in Stacy’s direction. ‘But as crazy as you are, you wouldn’t risk her life would you?’
Mr Xen snapped his fingers and the man’s hand twisted. He cried in pain as the gun dropped to the floor. The other masked robber clicked his pistol at Mr Xen but it refused to fire.
‘All of you are infants in my eyes. But even a being as ancient as I can see that you should learn some manners from these children.’
Mr Xen raised his hands and both masked men began levitating in the air. A portal appeared from thin air, swallowing them both. There was a silence, as all the children in the class looked at Mr Xen, speechless.
‘If there’s one thing you take away from today’s class, don’t mess with a god’s priestess. Good day children, Ms Parker should be back within the hour. Oh and…bring more Snickers next time please.’
r/IZicle
| 2021-09-02T08:32:01
| 2021-09-02T08:20:20
| 288
| 191
|
[WP] Across the galaxy, humans are known for tinkering on, and sometimes breaking, random items due to long transit time across space. As a solution, your company makes unfixable items to keep humans amused and harmless. Today a frantic captain just called claiming a human 'fixed' your product.
|
Upsil has been the top galactic manufacturing company for 5 centuries, dealing in everything from children’s toys to weapons of warfare. From clothing made for the various sizes and shapes of the galactic citizens, to the very long-distance sublight transporters I’m sitting in. And even though Upsil has the best quality of manufacturing, things inevitably get damaged and broken.
The rate for these damages has skyrocketed since the humans showed up.
These “evolved” monkeys have a bad habit of fiddling with precious cargo. Probably a leftover natural instinct from their days beating eachother with sticks, trying to find better ways to maime themselves. These issues have plagued Upsil for a century, but galactic employment laws forbid the company from banning human employees outright.
So, they started sending junk along with the actual cargo, junk that would fall apart rather easy, and is seemingly impossible to properly fix. The humans seem content enough, they fiddle until they break, and they slam the pieces together in an attempt to fix, which keeps them occupied long enough for our transports to reach their destinations, then they’re obligated to offload with the rest of us. After alls said and done, they’ve broken nothing of value, and “forgotten” about their mishaps, hoping none of us noticed.
As I sip my “coffee”, one of the rare useful things to come from human contact, and stare out of the bridge windows at the show of colours and lights that come with sublight travel, Tarek races into the bridge. “Captain, there an…issue” I sigh, quite heavily.
“Tarek, it’s too early for whatever nonsense the humans have caused this time. Come back in an hour, once I’m properly awake.” I said, turning away from Tarek and back at the light show in front of me. “Sir, this isn’t ‘nonsense’, one of the humans claims to have fixed a junk cargo item.”
I was mid sip, and this news nearly caused me to spit the delicious liquid out. However, the pay cut I’d receive to account for the repairs of the various equipment in my vicinity was cause enough for me to keep it in. “Fixed? How can they fix something that never worked in the first place? Ugh, alright I’m coming” and so we walked, down the various white halls lined with doors, until we got to the cargo hold. As we approached, I could hear commotion from inside. Sounds of astonishment, and the occasional clutter of object.
I sighed, again. More cargo undoubtedly being damaged. But as Tarek flipped a switch, and the door descended vertically, i too was in astonishment.
“Tarek, is that human…flying?” “It appears so, sir”
|
"Wait ... did I fix it? Those were advertised as 'unfixable' ... Huh I should talk to engineering."
As I took my ... what was this anyways to engineering I started to look at the "manual" to find out what that was supposed to be ... maybe.
As I turned to the elevators to ask for guidance I found the "product" ... wait this is a fusion cell?
Why would they sell this. This is dumb. Don't they know how dangerous these things are. I AM an engineer on this ship, I know how terrifying these cells are.
And they sell broken ones for us to "fix"?
By God will I complain.
I quickly found the heating circuit and turned it off, one of the safest ways to ... defuse this basically mininuke. I just asked myself how I haven't noticed that this is a fusion cell. I work around those often enough.
As I slammed the cell on the table of my chef he quickly glances over and then falls back in terror.
I interrupted "It is off now, better safe than sorry. This was one of these 'unfixable' gadgets for is humans ... well honestly most engineers by now. Got quite popular by now right."
He just stared at it.
"No I don't know I haven't noticed how this is a fusion cell, but that they sell those at all with the chance that one might be able to repair one is outrageous personally. If I wouldn't have know how those work at all that thing could have went up as a blinding sun."
As my engineering master got back his composure he just says "Fuckers getting ships killed"
So we contacted the captain, she was as mad as us. Like how can you ever think this is a good idea, until the trade master drops in with a simple explanation:
"Theya re cheap to make, basically abundant and most importantly extremely easy to fuck up and break."
We still though this was irresponsible. The trade master agreed tho with a respect to the hustle.
So we filed a complaint. Not even a day after this a small Courier Intercepter catched up to us and quickly docked in the shuttle hangar.
Out came a distressed representative of the company which sold those thingies.
After requesting to see the cell she just went purple, for their species a very bad colour, after actually being able to actually start the actual fusion cell she just turns to us: "Where is your bar, I need to never remember this moment?'
We stopped her and send her to the medic quarters and let her sit down and talk to our psychologist.
Our trade master admitted then he did plan on me fixing on cell. He believed this company was worth to squeeze out in class action suits, he just wanted a large part of the cake.
Then he got out the prospect. They were also selling kits for Microscale Antimatter Reactors, LASER cores and even a prototype singularity generator.
I looked up: "We recently were able to build a functioning singularity generator, and this ... is bad. Also LASER cores? Holy shit this company has to die. It is just a question of very limited time until one of these actually starts up and fucks things up.
Imagine one of these prototype generators actually makes a singularity ... in a natural gravity field. That would destroy planets."
As our captain wanted to leave the representative came in ... nearly comatose drunk, Captain closed the bar specifically for her. We will need her help later.
And I? I called up a mercenary friend, still have a favour with them. If these informations ever leave this ships the company will try to ... silence us. If they sell this knowingly who knows what else they will do.
| 2022-12-14T23:50:25
| 2022-12-14T22:20:41
| 251
| 85
|
[WP] Steven's grandmother knits. Not because she likes to, but because she has to.
Hanging by a thread.
|
The rhythmic clicking of the needles was soothing, but Ruth was in too much of a hurry to enjoy the knitting. Her arthritis was acting up again, and she was missing out on game night in the home's common room. *Have to get it done,* she reminded herself. She should have been much further by now, but when you're at the end of your life, sometimes you just sort of lose track of time. Things creep up on you.
She checked out the window: still blue skies outside, just like the blue she was using on the sweater. Must be some sort of Indian summer; it shouldn't be this warm this late. Steven's birthday was coming up at the end of October, and it would be cold soon. He'd need the sweater, and she couldn't disappoint him with an unfinished gift.
There was a gentle knock on the door. Margaret, Ruth's attendee, appeared her in her blue scrubs with her hands on her hips. "You have some visitors!" she announced cheerfully. Most of the residents of the home would jump for joy (figuratively, of course: that would lead to a number of broken hips) to receive visitors, but all Ruth could think was: *why now??* She had to get this sweater done in time for Steven's birthday! There was no time for interruptions.
"Ok, send them in I suppose," Ruth answered, not bothering to put down the needles. This sleeve was almost finished.
"Hi Grandma!" Steven called from the doorway. He bounded into the room followed closely by Selena, Ruth's youngest daughter (and Steven's mother). Their smiles fell when they saw the knitting needles in Ruth's hand.
"Oh," Ruth said. Her hands shook as she held up the half-finished sweater. "Oh, I wasn't expecting you so soon!"
"We called ahead, Mom." Selena was doing her best to smile, but her lips quivered. "We told them we'd be visiting today. Did they not give you the message?"
Ruth was confused. That *did* sound a bit familiar. Had she gotten the date wrong?
"Well," Ruth said slowly, looking down at the half-finished garment in her lap. "I'm sorry, Steven. I know I promised to knit you a sweater for your birthday, and I was trying to get it done in time..."
"Grandma, it's OK," he answered, gesturing at the sweater that he was already wearing despite the sweltering heat outside. "I've already..."
"Yes, you have sweaters already, I'm sure, but I wanted to make you a new one..." Her voice trailed off slowly as she debated whether to just keep knitting while they visited. Perhaps if she just worked really really fast she could have it done by the time they left today. "It'll be cold soon, you know."
Tears welled up in Selena's eyes. "Mom, you already gave Steven a sweater last time we visited." She pointed to her son; his green sweater had bears on it. "Remember?"
Ruth studied the garment closely. Had she? That did look like her work... but then what was this sweater she was working on? "Was that for Christmas?" Ruth answered meekly.
Selena shook her head and slowly took the needle and yarn from her mother's hands. "It was two weeks ago, Mom." Ruth's fingers held their place in mid-air like she didn't even need them; she could just knit with nothing. "Mom, try to remember. Steven's birthday isn't for a while now; it's only May."
Ruth looked back at Steven, who was swinging his short legs over the edge the chair; he wasn't yet tall enough to have them reach the ground when he sat. "But his birthday is in October..." she finally answered.
Selena couldn't hold back the tears any longer. "Just don't worry about the sweater, Mom. You've made him more than enough now. His drawers are full! How have you been?"
They chatted for a while, with Ruth telling Selena how things were at the home, and Steven talking all about his schoolwork. He was in the fourth grade now, not the second grade as Ruth had thought. Perhaps he wouldn't like bears on his sweater anymore.
Selena hugged her mother and stood. "We have to be going now, Mom. We love you." Steven gave her a hug too. Ruth stayed seated; it was hard for her to stand with her ankles now. Margaret came by again to show them out, then came back to Ruth's room to help her to the window. From above, they could see Steven and Selena return to their car in the lot and drive off.
Margaret brought Ruth a book and some tea, then returned to her rounds; there were other patients to check on, after all. Ruth settled in and read for a while, but happened to glance up and notice the half-finished sweater still laying on the bed next to the set of knitting needles. *Steven's sweater*, Ruth remembered. *The one I promised him for his birthday!*
She glanced out the nearby window. Still sunny, but it would be October soon and he'd get cold. She'd better get back to work on the sweater for him. Hopefully she'd have enough time to finish it before they came to visit.
|
Had Barry 'round the other day. Stole the wool from Granny's knitting. Boy, he won't be coming back for tea.
The human body goes through a lot when someone dies. My cousin died when I was very young, I barely knew him. Got hit by a bus outside his father's pub. Robin's Hood Retreat, I think it was called. Had a girl pass away in class. Not, like *during* class, but she was in my class one day and not the next. Cancer apparently, she was only 8. Tragic.
You'd think the younger the death, the harder the hit. Like, they're not spent their life so it's sad when it's wasted.
Mikey died a month ago from pneumonia. Took a trip camping with a few friends, caught a nasty cold, infection spread and he went. It all happened within a few days, he didn't get back in time for us to see him and none of us had time to prepare. Granny took it hard, obviously. They were like peas and carrots, her and Mikey. Married for 50 odd years, went to school together, worked together, spent their entire life together.
The day we found out, she spent the whole day in her chair. Didn't move a muscle. We stayed with her, obviously. Think she was in shock. She didn't eat. Didn't blink.
The next day, she gets up, goes to the bedroom and gets our her wool and knitting needles. And she starts. She gets right to it. We're not sure what she's doing it for - maybe to cope with stress or something. A few days later, she knits a jumper. Big one - green and red with a big belt of purple across the middle.
"He'll be cold when he comes back," she says. And then she starts a new jumper. She's got mountains of wool so she'd be at it for days.
It's been four weeks now. She's got a whole wardrobe of knitted jumpers, gloves and scarves on his side of the bed. Doesn't say a word other than they're for Mikey for when he comes back.
Tried to stop her. Thought it was best to. Get her back into a normal life of routine and that. But she was so ingrained in it, she got angry whenever someone tried to stop her. Barry stole the wool and got a knitting needle through his hand. Of course, we kept quiet about it. So did Barry, said he tripped and fell on it when he was at the doctors.
"Let her knit," Mum said.
We come and visit every weekend now. Granny is eating, she cooks, too, but she knits whenever she has the chance. We ask her if she wants a hand cooking. We ask if she wants us to move the telly. We ask if she wants us to take her to the pub for a Sunday roast. But she never responds.
"He'll be cold when he comes back."
| 2015-10-01T06:52:55
| 2015-10-01T06:35:47
| 113
| 35
|
[WP]Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim's movements for months. She is a loner and the perfect target. One day she disappears and nobody notices but him.
Man, this sub is great. Come up with an idea and you get a bunch of great stories to entertain yourself with. This is better than TV!
edit: Front Page ! Good job everyone !
edit: wow ! Top post on this great sub. Thanks everyone!
|
"Four months of work down the drain," he thought. Had she become aware of him? Surely not. He had been meticulous. Down to every minute detail. He could even predict when she would need to visit the ladies room before his mark could. So, how could he miss this?
He backed up the video again. There. Right there. She was laying in bed sound asleep and the next frame just... gone.
Marc Jacobs was a single man, mid-thirties. He was quiet and kept to himself. He fit nearly every single profile of a serial killer and it infuriated him. He was more. He was always meant for more. This latest victim was going to put him over the top, make his mark on society. Thrust him into the media spotlight. Make him infamous.
And now she was gone. Without a trace. He rubbed his eyes and watched the video again and again each time looking for a clue.
*Aliens?* he thought to himself. "That's ridiculous," he said aloud to the darkness as the thought made him exhale through his nose slightly heavier than usual.
Mary Elizabeth Ray had always lived alone. For as long as she could remember she loathed people. In elementary school she was described as "husky" and the other children relentlessly picked on her. In high school, she kept to herself and avoided interaction with others at all cost. Her own parents barely acknowledged her existence. Her father was a truck driver and mother an alcoholic. Mary was lucky if she could manage to rummage through her mother's purse for enough money to buy a school lunch from time to time.
Soon after graduating, she left and never looked back. She managed to find work through a temp agency as a medical transcriptionist. For the last 6 years Mary has managed to work from home and stay away from people nearly full time.
Until him.
The creepy electrician that the apartment complex sent over one day four months ago. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she answered the door. She immediately felt repulsed by him. This was not an uncommon response to most of her interactions with others however so she didn't think much of it at first.
She let him in, he did his work and left. Within minutes, she noticed the area where he had been working seemed a bit... off. When you sit in a room for hours upon hours you notice every tiny spec of dust. If something has changed it's obvious. And there it was. A very small pinhole camera in the outlet.
She hurried to the window and could see him outside talking to another woman on the street by his van. He certainly hadn't had time to hook up everything. She wasn't being watched just yet. A mix of anger and fear almost overcame her for an instant. The thought of someone stalking her completely amazed her. Who was she? How did he even know she existed? She only leaves the apartment for short visits to the store or absolutely necessary errands. She didn't remember seeing him anywhere before.
*Of all the nerve*, she thought. This jackass thinks he just found a perfect victim, she grinned slightly, still watching as the woman outside clearly picked up on the creepiness as well and quickly walked away from the van.
Mary's anger and fear had turned to just anger and was growing. She wasn't going to sit idly by and become a victim. She was going to have a little fun.
|
I would tire some days, drift to sleep, silently breathing under the floor. She never knew that the old rusty basement door was unlocked, it has been six months now and I have made myself a nice warm home I never had. Muddy footprints all along her kitchen.. I never leave footprints...
You see my story is simple, paternal abuse, broken home.. yadda yadda, boo hoo...but she... she made this life worth living. I could see her between the old wooden boards, observe but never obtain her.
I never thought I would find a place to call my own, a sanctuary where something like me could dwell, un-noticed. I didn't intend on finding a beauty such as her.. it was to be a day like all of the others.. Sneak in late one night, observe the family for a few days, kill them silently in their sleep just like dear old dad did to Ma and Sis.. then eat some food, sleep in a bed and move on to the next "perfect" home.
I did not plan on meeting her. It all started the first night, I stumbled into her basement through the old broken rusty door, she had a small girl with her and was alone, my favorite, I did not account for her little companion being a niece who would leave the next morning when we all awoke.
It was the smell, she smelled beautiful, I think that was my mother's perfume she wore, although it has been a very long time.. her smell reminded me of a time I was at peace, a time before I lived this way.. you maybe, just maybe, would have liked me then..
The first night I found the unlocked window I stood above her, contemplating how it would feel to smother her..but I couldn't.. what a fucking worthless person I am.. the ONE thing I can do right and she took it away from me... after weeks of sneaking into her home and only taking enough food to go unnoticed, to survive..*survive*.. yea, that is what I am doing here.. after weeks of the same routine I realized that I was tired of it, tired of moving from one place to the next, I wanted to be here..to be with her..
I know she would never really love me, I know if she knew who and what I was she would scream and cry and call the police or beg like the others all did.. but from down here... from down here I can be part of her life. The nurse scrubs remind me of some of the people that have shown up at the other homes I've been to. When I go back to *observe*, they all wear similar clothes to her, but she works late.. all night.. I hear her talking to her friend and mother on the phone, a nurse at the local hospital, she hates her shift and one of the doctors treats her bad, I should slit his throat.. maybe I will next week, would she love me if I did that for her?
I have to be very careful to not track mud into her house when I take my share, the basement home I made is not too clean, an old pipe tends to leak, although I tried my best to fix it for her..
Track mud... that is odd, I remember seeing a muddy footprint on the floor just a few hours ago.. she should be home any moment..
Did I miss something while I slept? Were those loud noises I heard earlier more than just background noise? Muddy footprints all along her floor.
That was three days ago, the last time I saw her before I went to sleep, on this soft old bed sheet I found in the trash.
The last time I saw her... I will have her back, I have nothing else to do..
The door is opening, the smell is not her, it smells cold. The smell is familiar, like soil, like sweat... like... *me*..
Who are you in my house? Where is my nurse? Maybe it is time for me to introduce myself..
| 2014-10-21T12:10:56
| 2014-10-21T12:10:53
| 30
| 14
|
[WP] They year is 2035. A colony is built on Mars. While excavating an area, colonists find a red flag among the red sands. The flag has 4 Latin letters written on it: SPQR
|
Olympus Mons 2035
Theo Malkovich was enjoying himself. He was travelling over the rust-coloured rocky terrain of Mars in a buggy with his beautiful wife Beth alongside him. The beautifully barren landscape created a surprisingly romantic back drop, he could tell through her suit how beautiful she was. He had met her at Princeton in the Physics department and had been a loved-up puppy ever since.
He was a lucky man.
Turning to his left he saw the Colossal Olympus Mons, the lone mountain that stands 2 and half times the height of Everest from sea level. Its size is beyond comprehension or description, it sat there ominously dwarfing the rest of the landscape. As they approached the mountain they fell into darkness and turned on their personal and vehicular lights.
Theo looked at his HUD and made some mental calculations.
“We have maybe 5 hours of Oxygen before we have to start going back to the colony.”
“Ok, we’ll check out that anomaly and get back in time for tea.”
Theo and Beth were both British nationals, part of the reason that they gravitated towards each other in New jersey as neither had been to America before.
“I hope they don’t serve that slop again tonight, my stomach needs proper food soon, that ‘Beef’ has never seen a cow in its life.”
Theo thought back to their cooking lessons Beth had put on in his student accommodation, it usually ended up in a Pizza Hut order but he was just happy to spend time with her. He felt that this memory was a long time ago and a million miles away, but it was more accurately about 250 million miles away.
“We should be coming up on that anomaly soon.”
The pair had been tasked with the recon of a structure at the base of the mountain, the colony was needing to expand as more inhabitants were due in from earth in less than a year.
Beth saw a long thin object appearing to stick out of the ground about 200 m ahead of the buggy, which she brought to a standstill, and the couple dismounted. The wind had picked up in the last couple of minutes, sandstorms were certainly not uncommon on the red planet and there were the early signs of one brewing. Beth started to feel a little disconcerted.
“We don’t want to get caught with our pants down in this, can you radio in to get info on the storm?”
Theo tried to hail the “Sanctuarium”, the UN colony that he and Beth had been stationed at for the last 2 years. The radio was dead.
“I think my radios dead, try yours.”
Beth did and it was the same story. The chances that a storm had formed imbetween the base and them was possible, but this meant that would have to wait it out in the shelter of the mountain. Theo stopped to turn back and get the emergency oxygen supply and survival kit from the rover, it meant that they had 2 days’ worth of oxygen supply before they asphyxiated.
“We’ll find shelter and wait for this to blow over”
Beth was trying to sound reassuring, however the fact that things were quickly turning south was evident by a little quiver in her voice. They turned towards the mountain as the surroundings suddenly illuminated, the sun would have now been visible over the mountain had it not been for the increasing density of the sand.
As the pair approached the anomaly Theo tried to speculate what the item must be, it could be a radio transmitter broken off a craft as it entered the atmosphere, it was very thin. When they were 10 metres out the wind changed direction and a material fluttering became visible at the top of the pole. From what Theo, could tell it was a bird shape with some writing underneath it. Beth and Theo looked at each other incredulously wanting to ask the other if they saw what the other one saw. There was no evidence of any prior SpaceX or UN patrols in the area, and if they had the pole was about 10m tall, with a strange flag at the top. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
A slight lull in the sand meant that the flag was briefly visible, Theo made out a gold eagle and the letters S.P.Q.R in gold embellishment underneath. He thought back to his GCSE Latin lessons.
“Senatus Populusque Romanus.”
Beth started to say something as a whirring sound became audible over the whistle of the wind in their suits. Around the pair, floating red lights started to illuminate the sand, their sources obstructed from view. They started to orbit the pair and a voice was audible for a few seconds.
Before Theo had time to recognise the language (which wasn't English), a bright flash blinded him and he fell to the ground, cracking his visor on a large rock. He felt himself slowly slipping out of consciousness with the sounds of oxygen alarms and whirring slowly fading to silence, as a wave of blackness washed over him.
Theo woke up in a white interview room, with his hands shackled to the table. His head felt groggy and his nose had been cut, but there was no blood as if it had been cleaned.He immediately thought he was dead and this was some sort of purgatory, he had been raised Catholic but had never believed in God. There was a door at the other end of the room that had no handle. Apart from that the room was utterly bare. As if suddenly with a shiver Theo noticed the room was cold, his breath steaming and his hands were blue.
The door suddenly opened and a man who was incredibly tanned entered, closed it after him and sat down. He had a sort of see-through iPad that he flicked through pulling faces with each flick. Theo, who was still not convinced he wasn’t dead, cleared his throat. The man started and seemed surprised to find Theo sitting across from him, as if waking from a day-dream.
“Well Mr Malkovich, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The man said in very accented English.
Theo looked at the man closer. He had a fine beard, thick eyebrows and close cropped hair with the most tanned skin he had ever seen, it was more orange than tan.
“Where am I?”
“Dead”
The man kept a straight, dead-pan expression on his face as he said it, putting Theo in a state of panic.
“I’m only joking Mr Malkovich, you are on Mars.”
“Where’s my wife”
Theo felt guilty that he had only just thought of Beth since coming to.
“Your wife is fine, she’s next door and you’ll be able to see her soon, but first I’m sure you have lots of questions, I’m here to answer them and ask some of my own.”
Theo had a million questions, including why this man had SPQR on his jacket. Theo had a feeling he wasn’t just a fan of Ancient History.
“My name is Flavius, I’m an Aedile of Campus Olympus, home of the 3rd Legion of Augustus. I’m here to find out why you are trespassing on Roman soil in clear violation of the “Roman- UN treaty?”
“Ermmmm … you’re Roman?”
Theo wondered how the toga wearing people from Italy had made it to Mars and formed a society un-beknown to the rest of society.
“Look Mr Malkovich I don’t want to tell the Emperor that you’re not complying, he’s in a sort of bad mood today and his lions are due for a feed, it’s never a good combination to introduce bad news to.”
Theo was wondering why there were lions on Mars, he was also wondering what he had gotten himself into. He then felt light headed and blackness engulfed him once more...
What a great Prompt, thanks for the inspiration!
|
Yellow stuffing is leaking out of a broken chair, sitting in a mansion of broken dreams, a home to shattered hopes.
After work today, I decided to do some cleaning around the house. My house looks like a cyclone hit it.
In pursuit of my objective, a spotless home, I notice a blue binder which is bulging with construction paper. It's a mess, probably a rat's nest.. I go to check it out.
I lay my latex gloves and wash cloth down, I'm taking a rest.
As my fingers run through the pages, water is flowing down my mind and into my eyes:
2004-2005 - Jessica
Drawings of a lonely child, testaments of a soul longing to be free is what I see. This reminds me of my niece whom I haven't spoken to in quite a few years. She is about the same age I was when I drew the Mona Lisa's in the binder before me.
Today I have multiple felony convictions on my record, tattoos that I sorely regret are burned into my upper chest, a scar is making a deep crease or is itself a canyon in my right ankle. Just the thought of that scar makes me close my eyes and grind my teeth.
CNN showed exclusive footage of Mars this afternoon. I never believed them, not my teachers, not my parents and now not even the bumbling busy workers.. the busy bees on TV, with perfect teeth, perfect hair and perfect lives.
"Back to you Susan"
"We are receiving reports from multiple sources of an alleged crash that occured on the colony of Mars early this morning. Sources tell us that no one is injured but clean up could take some time. We'll keep you posted"
"I'm sorry. We're just, this, this just in: Sources inform us of another nation's flag currently lying beneath the surface of that Red Planet. Signs of aging, wear and tear point to the conclusion: we are NOT the first ones to land on Mars"
*TV zaps off by way of remote*
"That's enough propoganda for today" I retire to the comforting floor below. My cleaning can wait 'til tomorrow. I'm too tired today.
I continue to look through nostalgic drawings from my childhood.. when I notice one drawing in particular. This drawing has a giant red circle on the front. The crayons which fill the circle are drawn in nice and neat; something I did not do and also could not do as a child.
Underneath the curious drawing are the words:
'Mars. Rome. Dreams you have.' in green ink, like that from a pen.
Intrigued I release the "photo" from it's bondage and set it free.
On the back it says:
'SPQR KILLED THE PRESIDENT' in a blue sharpie-like way.
"What the fuck"
"I was a dark kid but not this dark"
"What was wrong with me"
*bells toll*
My watch lights up, a text back from Scott. Yay!
Without giving much thought, without a moments hesitation I glance over at my smartwatch and notice the time is 5:55.. a synchronicity.
I'm then hit with a cluster of updates from many news outlets that I subscribe to.
'BREAKING: President Basiago injured in botched jewelry heist' (CNN) 3m ago
and then another
'BREAKING: President Basiago has been fatally wounded in Richmond, VA' (Reuters) 5m ago
and another
'BREAKING: The President is dead, Mr. Basiago passes away at 63 from com..' (FOX) 2m ago
'BREAKING: The President of The United States has been allegedly assassinated' (Russia Today) 5m ago
'Brandon: Where are my car keys'
My heart has now stopped, my eyes are ticking around the room, adrenaline is coursing through me. My pulse is racing and I'm growing anxious.. I think, allegedly. There's still a chance that this is all a misunderstanding or a hoax, when.
'BREAKING: Virginia declares State of Emergency after President Basiago's assassination outside a Jewerly store'
No longer than I locked my watch, my cell phone rang. The caller ID reads:
'555-0123'
| 2017-02-21T18:43:27
| 2017-02-21T17:25:10
| 85
| 14
|
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost.
|
I'm not the best programmer in the world, but I'm pretty good. See, I can tell what a piece of code is going to cost at a glance. It's surprisingly high. A single line of boilerplate might be a few cents, taking no time at all to write and test. A single line in the middle of a hot loop might cost far north of $1000, or even $10,000, with all the optimization and care that goes into it. It's just something that comes to me. I don't know how I know, but I do.
It's actually a pretty effective way to find serious bugs. If there's an otherwise unremarkable line, nestled in a field of $1-$15 lines, that has a future price tag of $40,000, it's a good bet that's a line that needs fixing. It's usually something that would potentially grind production to a halt, or lose massive amounts of user data. It's not always effective, but it's a good first scan for glitches.
One time though. One time I saw a line that had a price tag that just shocked me. The number was somewhere in the *trillions* of dollars. Accountants will tell you the value of a year of human life in cold hard dollars is somewhere around $129,000. You don't get a price tag as high as $80.4 *trillion* dollars without people dying. I have no idea why, the line itself was a debug statement: `printf("%d\n", x);` as bog standard of a line as you can get.
Absolutely chilling.
So, I deleted it. Nothing's gone wrong so far! Thank goodness no code is written in stone!
***
Edit: This, dear friends, is an excellent example of why literary analysis is complete bunk, and, at the same time, why the death of the author is so important. While I am a programmer, I am not a *C* programmer. I just picked a short looking line of code in a language I knew was dangerous. Frankly, in the domains I work in, relying on stdout for *anything* important, besides dumb logs, seems silly to me. (Though, to be fair, you *should* still be decorating your logs.) Make a dedicated socket (or MPSC, or whatever flavor of dedicated channel you like) if you have to transfer actual critical data. CLIs are different, yes, but that's a very special class of program. Anyways, I didn't mean anything particular by picking a printf, other than that debug statements sometimes are the cause of [heisenbugs](http://www.catb.org/~esr/jargon/html/H/heisenbug.html), and can be difficult to trace. I absolutely am not familiar enough with C printf syntax to intentionally pick a decimal format to imply decimation. Lacking (almost) any form of type safety and having undefined behavior are the banner and seal of C as a language, not just the printf statements. 80 trillion was a number I generated on RANDOM.org, not a particularly deliberate selection, though I did intend it to represent global collapse in a vague way. Finally, Rust is an *amazing* language, but it won't save you from a poorly chosen print! statement.
That said, all of your additions, while not my intent, have only served to enrich the story, and make me seem *even smarter than I am*.
You're all wrong, and you're all right.
Except the hyperinflation guy. He was exactly right.
|
"He's the best programmer this company has ever produced. We plucked him from the factory floor and have been nurturing his talents for years. If he says that the code can't ship, and that lives are on the line then I believe him!" Mr. Johnson the Plant Manager declared.
​
"If you won't do your job, then I will find someone who will. You are fired!" Mr. Simmons the CEO replied.
​
Simmons had assumed the job of CEO of GeneroCorp last year and things were not going well. Sales were down 10%. Productivity was down, and morale was circling the drain. If he could just survive this quarter his severance package would vest. He pulled out his phone. On the screen was a picture of a mega yacht, complete with three helicopter pads, two submarines, and so many amenities that no human could ever find the time to experience them all.
​
He called his chief operating officer. "Ship the pacemakers!"
r/Stargazerclan
​
Edit:
Part 2?
| 2019-06-05T17:25:06
| 2019-06-05T16:09:06
| 935
| 173
|
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved.
|
Flangmar: “Zlorb, run! Those humans that we captured became stronger on our planet than on theirs! Sort of like a reverse Superman thing! Get out of here fast!”
Zlorb: “Wait a sec. Isn’t that just regular Superman? Isn’t he an alien that got stronger because of being on earth instead of krypton?”
Flangmar: “Yeah, I guess it is?! You’re missing the point though. They’ve broken their chains and are flying over here now!”
Zlorb: “A reverse Superman means they’d get weaker when they get here...”
Flangmar: “Space Jesus Christ, dude. Just kill me now.”
Scene
|
We were best friends the moment we sat side by side in a far too small holding area on foreign spaceship far more advanced than humanly possible, hands tied behind our back by something that could practically be magical.
Nothing quite like adversity to bring people together. And well, being the only two people in this situation.
"Tabitha," she said.
"Nelson," I said.
At least we could still talk, despite being trapped. Could being imperative, since we mostly fell silent as stared outside some sort of porthole, watching as the tiny blue marble we called home grew tinier and tinier, altogether shrinking out of sight, replaced only by darkness.
There weren't so many stars in space.
"Guess aliens are real, eh?" I said.
Tabitha barely shot me a glance, before sighing, turning back to the window, and transitioned into a more wistful exhale.
Well, maybe best friends is more of a mathematical possibility than a literal one.
---
I must have fallen asleep, because I was flying.
Not in an alien spaceship, because I learned that was recently possible. I just had to think it--concentrate the power in my thighs, jump, and imagine that I was weightless, and then my body did the rest. It was exhilarating, of course. Dreamlike, even.
The world looked different, too. I didn't rush through puffy white clouds into the bluest sky, the golden sun winking at me with its beautiful rays. Instead, the air was awash with shades of crimson and red, streaks of purple dragging themselves across my face and wisps of green stuff that I could possibly not have known about.
But I wasn't dreaming. Not when Tabitha was flying beside me, her eyes meeting mine. Along with her wide open grin, they were also smiling, the genuine kind borne from discovering the impossible.
But in the good way, this time.
Then she turned, and zoomed past me, daring me to follow.
---
We sat on a cloud. I guess we were technically flying, but it was effortless. So we very convincingly looked like we were sitting on a cloud.
"I never thought that aliens were real," Tabitha said, shaking her head.
"To them, we are the aliens," I said. "Especially since we float above them in the air, and shoot lasers from our eyes."
"Never thought I would become Superman as well," she said.
I stared at her, then, eyebrow raised. She punched me lightly on the shoulder.
"What?" she protested, but smiled. "There's no copyright here. I can use Superman."
'You definitely can," I said, looking back on the world below us. "You definitely can."
"Now what are you thinking about, Nelson?" Tabitha said. "What's got you unhappy now?"
"What makes you think I'm unhappy?"
"You are the only other human in this whole wide world. I've gotten pretty good at observing you," she said.
I sighed. There was no escaping her question, I suppose. I fiddled with my fingers, struggling to figure out what to say.
"Strength, speed, flying... all that is good. But I never chose to be here," I said.
"You didn't choose to be born on Earth, either. That was decided for us," Tabitha said. "Geography is destiny."
"But what does that mean for people like you and me?" I said. "Was this decided for us, too?"
"Could be," Tabitha said. She now floated in front of me, holding my head, forcing me to look at her instead of down into the endless abyss.
"Maybe you're right. But I was born there. And to me, that means Earth's still home."
"You would give all this up? Your superpowers? To return to a Earth that might not even be there?" Tabitha asked. "We were the only two humans *abducted* here. But for all we know, the entire human population could have been kidnapped that day."
"But we don't know," I said. "And that's killing me."
"This is home now, Nelson," Tabitha said as she let me go. "It is to me."
"We are two different people still," I smiled. "We can have different opinions."
"So," Tabitha said. "You are just going to fly back? You'll become normal once you reach Earth, you know? Maybe once you enter the solar system."
"I know," I said. "I'll need to find a space shuttle, probably. Learn how to operate it. But I have to know. I have to go."
"You are a braver man than I am," Tabitha said. "For choosing to go back."
"And you are a braver woman than I am," I said. "For choosing to stay."
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-05-18T07:16:09
| 2021-05-18T05:39:41
| 486
| 185
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
One day James was sitting with his wife, he was cooking dinner for school children while she was knitting beanies for the homeless, when she cut herself, James sprang to his feet, "let me help you with that" he said. But upon reaching her, his eyes widened, her blood was pure black, he immediately begun to yell, "what have you done" he yelled, "I torrented some music once" she said, "oh yeah" James responded "totally forgot that was illegal", And they laughed it off and carried on with their day.
|
i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:33:21
| 2018-08-04T09:55:07
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] Help a teenager get over his girlfriend cheating on him using the writing style of Dr. Seuss
Enjoy!
|
A cheater? Don't need her - no, not anymore:
she's a skeezer, a teaser, a wut and a slore!
Her breath stank and stunk! Her heart, it was hollow!
Her promises shrank and she never swallowed!
You'll teach her, that creature, impeach that skeet cheater
Her teats were no treat; defeat, obsolete her!
You'll bleach her and scrub your brains out with salt water.
She was never as hot as you thought when you caught 'er.
O listen to me, soon you'll see that the fishes
out in the C-cups will fulfill all your wishes!
The dishes of Tricias and Destinies too
are out there to see and to taste and to screw.
Don't be beaten by cheatin'! Don't piffle and pout!
Get your cock out and rock out! Make some bimbo shout!
There are much better girls in the world with their curves on,
get your camera-phone ready and go get your swerves on!
|
Look around you my boy, don't be so darn sad;
You still have friends and family, your life isn't so bad!
That girlfriend of yours just wasn't for you;
She's the type who wants to put stuff where she poo's!
So get up, smile and get out in the world;
And someday you'll find your perfect hot girl.
| 2014-08-18T15:45:06
| 2014-08-18T15:18:18
| 83
| 14
|
[WP] A scientist has discovered the vaccine of immortality. The only side effect is, though, infertility. After the whole world got vaccinated, it turns out immortality is a hoax it is just an infertility vaccine.
got lots of comments about not knowing how vaccines work. i basically imagined a syringe with the cure of aging. i thought it depicted what i meant to say. english is not my first language, so my apologies for any misuse of words.
|
It’s weird how a couple of hours can change a person. How a movie can sow the seed of an idea that will have consequences, consequences so large that they will alter the course of history, and humanity. Maybe even put a big fat period at the end of it. When climate researcher Dr. Richter came out of the cinema that day, he had come to appreciate the ideals of Richmond Valentine.
Of course Valentine’s method had been crude, but the logic was sound. Humanity was out of control - a sickness on the planet. A sickness slowly being killed off by the planet-wide fever that they all knew as global warming. Dr. Richter knew what he had to do. The sickness had to end….Just not as quickly as Valentine had tried to do. The doctor was not in such a rush that it had to happen instantly.
That day, Dr. Franz Richter evaporated from the public eye. He had not been a social butterfly, and his very short stature had not made him a hit with the ladies either. The one good friend he had, had seen fit to leave him by dying from cancer the year before.
Eight years after the doctor disappeared, a “Dr. Peter Heller” started to appear in the scientific community, bearing news about possibly having cracked the code to cellular regeneration. Alongside headlines like “Republic of Kiribati swallowed by the sea”, “Tensions between Russia and US at an all-time high” and “Amazon pollution still on the rise, expert urge immediate action”, the news of a way to live forever gained a lot of traction. Nobody likes watching news about how their race is a herd of sheep with everyone following the one in front of them, running for the cliff edge without slowing down.
A friend of Dr. Franz Richter had once joked about adulthood being when you stopped cheering for Superman, and started understanding Lex Luthor. Maybe he was onto something. At least Franz had learnt from all the rookie mistakes the villains of the comics and movies did. Don’t let your name be a dead giveaway of what you are doing, and don’t dress like you are half a second from stabbing someone in the chest. And so, Dr. Peter Heller was born. He didn’t dress flashy, but he didn’t dress like a complete bore either. And he offset his short stature with an easygoing attitude he’d had to practice in front of the mirror for ages.
Another lesson he learned was from a more real person. Mark Zuccerberg may have gotten a lot of things wrong, but he understood something essential: A willing victim is a whole lot easier to deal with. What could possibly make your victims more willing than the promise of living forever?
Six months after the news about a possible cure for mortality, Peter Heller was in the news again. “It has finally been done. The solution is here.” Those words would make the rounds on every news station on the globe in the weeks after that. Immortality was no longer a pipe dream. But what really stuck out, were the words that followed. “I give it to you all. For free.”
The fact that becoming immortal made you infertile was completely ignored. If nothing else, people had to give him that. He had been open about the infertility from the start. But somehow, that got lost in all the talk about how people could get it. The answer was easy. The doctor wanted the richest countries in the world to cover production costs, and their people would get it first. But everyone would get it after them.
The next ten years, earth was peaceful. Humanity lost all sense of urgency. Time no longer mattered. They had all the time they could ever want. To Heller’s credit, the vaccine seemed to work. People didn’t fall ill. People didn’t die. At first. Anti-vaxxers and people who didn’t use his vaccine continued to die. Turns out immortal people made for great carriers for deadly diseases. Until there were nobody left unvaccinated.
The day the first immortal person died, it made the headlines. It was Dr. Peter Heller himself. The will he left behind was in itself a warning sign. An immortal person would never leave a will. An even bigger warning sign were the words written on it. When it came time for the public reading of it, the planet descended into chaos. “It has finally been done. The solution is here - An end to humanity, and all its suffering and chaos. Humanity’s measure of success has always been inverse to that of Earth’s. No longer. I die knowing you will all follow in time, and that we will leave behind a planet eager to recover. Take that, Richmond Valentine!
Signed Dr. Franz Richter & Dr. Peter Heller.”
|
"Mr. Aroke?" The voice was quiet barely perceiving as an echo in the white tiled room. Maybe thirteen people sat waiting in this monstrous sterile room. If he wasn't near the front he doubt he would have heard his own name.
He stood up from his chair and straightened his tie. Quickly he walked towards the front deso hearing his footsteps echo off the tiles below. The other twelve men looked at him with envy. They all wanted to work for HopeCorp just as much as he did but with only one job opening and a broken economy he needed it more.
"I'm Mr. Aroke." He said as he reached the front desk. He clenched his palms tightly in nervous tension.
"Ah, Mr. Aroke. Please head through the door. Go down the hall it will be the first door you see." She said with a smile. She pressed a small button underneath the desk. A concealed door behind her slowly whirled open as three security guards walked through heavily armed. No doubt to keep the other twelve from doing anything rash.
He nodded to the woman at the desk and walked through the door. Dim red lights hung above him as he walked steadily along the path. The tiles slowly turned to mohagany floorboards with black painted walls. He felt a chill run through his spine as he felt he was entering the abyss towards Hades gates. He had come this far he had to keep going. At least that's what he told himself. After all the things he saw in the last five years it turned out a job interview scared him the most.
Slowly in front of him he could see a door in the distance. It was a crimson black with lion skulls carved into the doorknobs. It almost looked like a painting was carved into it. As he approached he put his hands on it. Obsidion. He slowly turned the door to enter before he saw the name of the picture carved into the doors. Revelations.
"Mr. Aroke I presume?" Aroke lifted his eyes towards a man in a pure black suit. His skin seemed almost to be burning but yet nicely and professionally sun bathed. "Please take a seat." He hand gestures to a chair in front of a fire place. Aroke nodded and walked towards the chair. He glimpsed around the room quickly to get a better view of where he was. The whole room was carved out of ivory.
"Welcome Mr. Aroke." He said happily. "I am the CEO of HopeCorp Mr. Ifer. I hear you want to apply for our open security position. Is that correct?"
Uh, yes. That is correct." He hesitated when he spoke. Something about the man in front of him warned him of nothing but danger. He could barely contain himself from running. "As you could see.." He regained himself as he handed a binder with his resume in it. "I have many qualifications that far exceed my competitors out there. Mr. Ifer waves his hand no to the binder.
"I already know everything about you, Mr. Aroke."
"You... do?"
"Yes, haha. You were born in Connecticut to Susan and Jeffrey Aroke. You had four brothers and two sisters. By age 16 the vaccine reached public markets. By 18 your eldest brother had an allergic reaction to the vaccine and died. Along with 18% of the human race. By 19 you protested with your eldest sister against the government for not taking action against Dharma which lead to police breaking up the protest forcefully putting your sister in a Coma. By 20 your father passed away and Europe descended into Chaos. By 21 you and two of your brothers were conscripted into the U.S. Army for the Europe campaign. Your brother Ivan died on the Russian front around the time Luis went M.I.A. Am I correct so far?"
"How... how do you know this...?" Anger and fear ran through his body. He wants to stand and fight this man, but as he stared into his evilish grin a primordial instinct he never knew of told him he would lose.
"I know everything Chris. I know of your Army Rangers and your sins you committed putting down the Virginia Rebellion. I know you were a part of the bombing squad that destroyed Beijing's cloning research facility. I know everything, but not just about you. About everyone. I could tell you how the Tokyo experiment to submit the human conscious into robotic exoskeleton is going. Or how Russia took half of Europe and why the other half is still burning. Oh, while we are on it, we could talk about your youngest brother too... shall we?"
He cringed. The thought of tony taking the fertility pills to try to have a kid with Eden. Of course they were laced with heroine. He didn't stand a chance and died of overdose. Along with many others across the world, but the memory of the Virginia Rebellion still stuck his mind. He was trying hard as hell to forget the mobs of thousands of junkies trying to take whatever they could to have kids charging at his brigade in a drug induced stupor. They gunned them all down.
"If you know all of this then why bother with an interview....?" He asked him.
"Because, Chris. Men are interesting creatures. Even when they try to save the human race they destroy each other. You came here to prevent that, but after all you saw you still had a choice to stay home. The interview just shows me how much heart is left."
"I need the job. I need it more then the others." Chris slowly held back his breath as a tear formed.
"Your sister. Evelyn? What did she take to have kids? I'm a little fuzzy on that part. Too much love and the such in the way."
"Oxycotton mixed with a new drug on the street claiming to cause fertility. She always wanted to be a mother."
"That's two sisters in a Coma and one desperate man drowning in the hospital bills to keep them alive. Do you know what your job task would be If I hired You?" Mr. Ifer asked. Chris merely shook his head. "Humanity may die soon, but not without a fight. My organization has been able to locate those that are indeed fertile. Your job would be extraction. Simple enough. Travel, see the world, shoot someone... probably, oh, and save not just humanity but also your sisters." Chris ears perched up when he spoke of his sisters
"I'll offer it right now to you, but on one condition. Do whatever I say and serve me faithfully through the rest of your life. Do that, and ill bring back your sisters. Deal?" Mr. Ifer held out his hand towards Chris. The thoughts of everything he said ran through his head. Yet the faces of his sisters awake was all he could envision. He shook his hand.
"You have a deal Mr. Ifer"
"Please, you work for me now. Call me by my first name. Luc."
"Luc Ifer". His mind thought. He had heard that name before. Almost like a child bedtime story.
| 2018-09-09T09:23:13
| 2018-09-09T08:54:48
| 54
| 22
|
[WP] As part of a senior thesis, an anthropology student decides to start a cult to see how far it’ll go. Several years, hundreds of deaths, civil warfare and a complete government overthrow later they wonder how they’ll properly cite their sources.
|
**Acknowledgments**
A big thank you, to Dr. Harriet Slanter for reading through this thesis for the fifteenth time—even if it was done under semi-duress and the threat of war crimes being levied against her—she has been an invaluable resource in the research for this paper.
I’d like to thank all of those who participated in this ethnography—my adherents. You have been there with me since day one, except for the traitors, who have been dealt with appropriately. But for those of you who are true believers, who have seen the Light, to you, I say thank you. You were smart enough, clever enough, amazing enough to know what was right. For that, I am grateful. You have chosen to embrace Truth.
Another thank you to the University of Kentucky for giving me such a wonderful place to learn. Even though this institution is no longer standing, we are rebuilding, thanks to the funds of my adherents, and I hope that the University of (soon-to-be) Dr. Scott Hemfield creates a space that is just as conducive to learning as UoK was for me. Thank you, truly.
​
**Sources**
*AN: After speaking with the UN, we have decided that I can, indeed, use War Crimes and Transgressions as citations. Thank you to all of the members of the Council on Modern Religious Movements, especially those who did not try to indict me on charges of “endangering the populace.” Those who did no longer have a job, so I do not have much to say to them. Due to the nature of my study, I will not be using a traditional APA format, as I believe it cannot capture what my sources really were. I will be using the Hemfield Citation method, which is currently in review.*
The Cult of Hemfield — “Interviews with a True Leader” — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “Citations Against the Country of Norway” — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “The Inherent Existential Terror of Dogs“ — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “A Treatise on Toast“ — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “Understanding Genocide from an Empathetic Perspective“ — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “Parsing ‘International War Crimes’: Why the UN is Wrong“ — Scott Hemfield
The Cult of Hemfield — “Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus Re-imagined: Where Wittgenstein Went Wrong“ — Scott Hemfield
University of Kentucky — “The Cult of Hemfield: A Menace and Terror” — Dr. Anna Bowen
University of Cincinnati — “Hemfield: How One Anthropology PhD Student Reinvented Our Idea of Religious Horror” — Dr. Michael Sheffield
Millsaps College — “Deconstructing Sexism in The Cult of Hemfield: Male Power and Sensuality” — Dr. Elise Golden
Sewannee College — “Why Me?: Understanding How the Cult of Hemfield Targets Young Students in Distress” — Dr. Terry Holhwein
University of New York — “Is It a War Crime If I Didn’t Mean it?: An Examination of The Cult of Hemfield” — Dr. Clarice Bowley
University of California, Irvine — “Where We Went Wrong with the New Religious Threat: The Cult of Hemfield and Complacency” — Dr. Timothy Shallow
University of California, Davis — “The Agricultural Implications of Anarchistic Religions: A Study of the Hemfield Compound” — Dr. David Finman
Oberlin College — “The Music of War: How Does The Cult of Hemfield Use Music to Fight?” — Dr. Mary Lee Highlan
Emerson College — “A Study of the Literature in The Cult of Hemfield: Eldritch Horrors and Humanity’s Ability to Destroy” — Dr. Barry Smith
Washington University — “What the Fuck?: A Study of One Man’s Quest to Preach Frenzied Apathy” — Dr. Julian Harren
The University of Dayton - “Hemfield Catholicism and You: How Growing Closer to Hemfield Brings You Closer to HIM” Fr. Joshua Crether
Marques University — “Scott Hemfield Did Nothing Wrong: A Look at the Apologia of a Modern Prophet” — Dr. Zane Rineer
University of Hemfield — “Understanding Condition: Accepting New Government in the Face of Conflict” — Dr. Samuel Blather
​
**Non-Physical Sources:**
The Norway-Hemfield Conflict
The United States vs. Hemfield, Court Case & Conflict
The UN-Hemfield Stand-Off
The Scientology-Hemfield Conflict (& Subsequent “Take-over” of Scientology by Hemfield & the battles that followed, both on foot and in the air)
The Nuclear Winter Avoidance Act, Meeting, UN, in Hemfield, Kentucky, U.S.
​
This paper has been a long time in the making—almost a decade. I would not have gotten here without all of you. So, as a Ph.D. student, a prophet, and the new ruler of the United States of Hemfield, I say thank you for this. Thank you for everything.
\_ \_ \_
I *love* writing fictional academia. You can find a fictional thesis that I'm writing about the Humanity, Fuck Yeah! subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/m40jk4/humanitys_selfconceptualization_in_literature/). And more of my general work [here](https://reddit.com/r/AinsleyAdams).
|
Chad turned toward the knock at his door. He was in the master bedroom of his now seventeen room mansion. The twelve room mansion where he had lived previously was no longer enough. Not for Chad, but for his followers, who insisted Chad needed more rooms. That philosophy came from a drunken night in the first year, when Chad proclaimed that the more bedrooms a person possessed, the greater their connection to the divine. Something about rooms for spirits, but Chad couldn't remember exactly, because he had a different kind of spirit inside him the night he created the creed. Recently, Chad's followers submitted an offer on a twenty-one room mansion.
In front of Chad was a laptop, with a nearly completed fifty page senior thesis. Three years ago, Chad started a cult, as an experiment to cap his anthropology major. He didn't expect the chaos that was to follow, but the paper wrote itself. Chad yelled at the person on the other side of the door to leave him alone.
"But Your Wonderfulness, we may have an answer to your problem," said the voice. Chad hated the title Your Wonderfulness. He hated many of the aspects of his cult, because he didn't put in enough thought at the beginning. This was supposed to be a month long experiment, but it turned into a three year revolution.
"What have I told you about calling me Your Wonderfulness?" asked Chad.
"You have told us that it is not needed, but that is only because Your Wonderfulness is more humble than any of us could imagine. As I was saying, we have an answer to your problem," said the voice.
"And what problem is that?" asked Chad. In three years, he had created too many problems.
"We found someone who may be able to help you cite your sources," said the voice. Chad glanced at the laptop, which was currently on an empty final page.
"How do you know they'll be able to help?" asked Chad.
"It's best she tell you herself. We're currently bringing her to the mansion," said the voice.
"She agreed to help?" asked Chad.
"No, we didn't give her the opportunity to answer," said the voice.
Chad sighed. He thought the kidnappings were supposed to stop in year two. One morning early in the second year, Chad mentioned to his followers that he hadn't seen a childhood friend in years. They interpreted the comment to mean that they should kidnap that friend and bring him to Chad. And thus, in a simple comment, another law of the cult was born. It was easy for Chad to create creed, as everything he said became law. It was much harder for him to convince his followers that something wasn't allowed.
"Fine. When she's here, bring her to the room. But I only want to see her. No one else is to enter the bedroom," said Chad.
"Yes, Your Wonderfulness," said the voice, then the footsteps disappeared into the mansion.
When Chad started his project three years ago, he thought the success depended upon his ability to lead. There were certain characteristics he need, like charisma and authority. But quickly, and now the topic of his senior thesis, he realized how much the success of a cult relied upon the selection of followers. He preyed on the ignorant and the hopeless, those who felt like they had no reason left to live or were in the process of losing their lives. When Chad found his audience, the cult grew naturally, into something greater than he ever imagined. It was the followers that mattered, not necessarily the leader.
An hour later, there was a knock at the door, and a voice said the helper had arrived. Chad told her to come inside. When the young woman entered the room, Chad thought he recognized her. There was something familiar, but he couldn't place it. She stood with power, not like someone who had just been kidnapped. They watched each other, and finally Chad spoke.
"My followers thought you could help me. Did they explain the problem?" asked Chad.
"They didn't explain much at all before throwing a bag on my head and chucking me inside the trunk of a car," said the woman.
"Sorry, they have a habit of going a little overboard," said Chad.
"I know the type. I'm Stephanie, by the way," said Stephanie. She walked around the room and studied everything, not hesitant at all. Chad wasn't used to the type. He waited for her to speak again. "How many rooms does this mansion have?"
"Seventeen," said Chad.
"Right. Mine had nineteen before the collapse. So what's your problem?" asked Stephanie.
"You mean the collapse of the country?" asked Chad, ignoring her question.
"No, the collapse of my cult," said Stephanie.
"You had a cult too?"
"About five years ago, yeah. It started out as something fun to do. Boredom leads to trouble, and I never expected the cult to last long. But then something fun turned into something amazing, and I amassed followers. Soon, I was the third largest cult in the country, but another cult always arrives. The followers will always find someone new," said Stephanie.
"My followers seem pretty intent on staying with me," said Chad.
"You think that now, because you're still in the phase where they love you. Where every word you say comes straight from the divine. But that will end. Not because you did anything wrong, but because they'll want something new. They'll need someone new. I even recognized one of the people in your mansion. He used to be with me," said Stephanie.
Chad had never thought about losing his followers. Everyday, he wished he had never started the cult, but the thought of losing his followers now scared him. Plus, they had just put an offer in on a twenty-one bedroom mansion. He couldn't lose them right when he moved.
"What can I do to keep them?" asked Chad.
"Nothing. You'll lose them no matter what. It's just a matter of time," said Stephanie.
"I can't lose them. They need me," said Chad.
"No, you need them. They just need something, and right now, you're that something. But their attention spans will fade and they'll find someone new," said Stephanie.
Chad felt his heart beating quick, and it felt like the air was running out in the room. He couldn't lose them. He needed them and they needed him. That was the deal. That was why they called him Your Wonderfulness.
"Anyways, what was the problem?" asked Stephanie.
"I couldn't cite my thesis," said Chad. The words were quiet and forced out, as Chad didn't feel like speech.
"Right. I had to go through the same struggle. Let me do it for you," said Stephanie. She leaned over Chad and typed on the keyboard.
Chad, Started a cult, November 5, 2024.
"That should be it. Hope you have fun losing your power. We have a support group if you ever need help," said Stephanie.
She handed Chad a card, with a number and an email, then she left the mansion. Chad stared at the citation and didn't know what to do. If he submitted the paper, it meant his cult was nearing its end, and Chad was afraid of losing the power.
----
If you enjoyed, check out more at r/ThomasJustinian
| 2021-03-13T10:56:34
| 2021-03-13T08:47:45
| 247
| 91
|
[WP] At 18, your father finally gave you his antique Swiss watch. "The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life", your father always told you. Now at 26, you're celebrating your 1st wedding anniversary. As your wife pours you a glass of wine, the watch stopped.
|
For 18 years of my life, I heard the watch ticked. It was an irreplaceable sound, one that I knew by my heart. And so, when it stopped, I pointed it out to my father.
He had it on, even though the strap now fit illy on this thin wrist. With surprising deftness, he slipped it off, clasping the watch into my hands.
"The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life."
And surely, I watched his eyes closed for the final time. There was silence for a few seconds, before the watch started up once more.
It ticked and ticked, like the own rhythm of my heart. When I graduated, when I found my first job, when I kissed who I thought was surely the love of my life; when my heart broke, when Flora saved me from wallowing in my sallow pits of despair.
For the 26th year of my life, I stared into the eyes of my lovely wife, and I felt the watch beat softly on my wrist.
"Breaking out the good wine today, Flora?" I asked.
"Of course," she smiled. "A reward. For the beautiful flowers you sent me."
"Was it old-fashioned?"
Her laugh tinkled, setting off a chorus of explosions in my heart.
"It was romantic. Let's hope it's not just because it's the first year, right?"
"This day, one year ago, was the best day of my life," I said; "and it was entirely because of you."
She blushed, red as the glass of wine she poured. Streams of carmine and crimson, her eyes excitedly glowing and radiant with love.
"You were too," she whispered. "What if..."
"What if?"
"Well," she said. "What if there were more than two of us?"
My heart palpitated. It jumped and leapt with joy, as I was sure the corner of my lips did.
I rushed up to her. I held her in my arms, and I swirled her around like the wedding night one year ago.
She squealed with absolute and utter joy. We raised our glasses, and it clinked.
In that moment of quiet, as I put the glass to my lips, the watch stopped.
I was calm. How could I not be? I sipped the wine, feeling it coating the inside of my throat.
Two questions materialized in my head.
Am I seconds away from my death? Likely. Shame I couldn't live as long as my father.
Did I live a good life? It was short, maybe. But it was good. The wine was fine, as well. Fitting for my last drink.
I hugged her tightly. I slipped the watch into her hands.
"The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life," I said.
She stared at me, confused.
"I love you, so, so much," I said.
I felt myself falling to the floor, without so much as an explanation as to why.
But I know, just like 26 years ago, the watch will find new life with her.
And it will bloom splendidly, as will the new life within her, for she was utterly wonderful.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
This is kind of bad but I've been using writing prompts to improve my skills and fall back in love with writing so here goes nothing... enjoy :)
​
The warm lights of the front room shone down on her face light the glow of a halo. She was iridescent. The most beautiful woman in town. Ever since our first meeting in high school, she had been easily the most captivatingly gorgeous woman I could imagine. As I looked down at my watch, I remembered the words my father had spoken to me as he passed it down. "Son, this watch will work without fail until the moment before your death, only then will it stop." He had been right up until now, he had passed that watch into my possession on the morning of my 18th birthday, not once had I replaced the batteries until now. The night of my first wedding anniversary, aged 26. In that moment I looked over at my wife and wished that I would never see the hands fall still.
"Darling, what do you say we play that record tonight?" The soothing voice of my love came echoing around the room, running through my ears like silk. We'd been saving that record to play only on the most special occasions. I played it first on the evening I proposed, her smile had lit up the room as she told me she'd love me forever. Our wedding day was the second time, a year ago today, and I knew I would never tire of hearing her voice sing softly along to the words. "Of course honey, dance with me?" It was brave of me to ask, she hated to dance, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes as she nodded. We would do anything for each other, and tonight all I could ask for was love.
The soft melody of the tune enveloped us, drawing us in closer to each other with each note. As my hands caressed her waist, and her eyes bore into mine, everything else disappeared. Standing on her toes, she pressed her lips against my cheek and whispers softly. "Should we open a bottle of wine?" It wasn't often that we'd drink, but when we do, it's always a sweet Italian red wine. A smile crawled up onto my face, it felt infectious. I watched as she made her way into the kitchen, swaying her hips to the slow beat of the song that was still swirling around the house.
As she left my line of sight, I made my way over to the sofa. She'd be back any minute and if I knew her as well as I thought, and I did, I'd soon feel her fingers through my hair as she returned. Looking down at my watch, I heard the telltale clicking as the music faded into silence. Seconds later, I felt her presence behind me, then her fingers running through my hair as she giggled. *Called it.* She placed herself down in front of me, still glowing as she placed the glasses on the coffee table. With a grin, she started pouring our drinks, hers first and then mine. With the last drop of wine, Sarah's smile deafened the room, shutting out everything but the two of us. She could always create a moment to last a lifetime.
As I picked up the glass, the silence set in and I felt my heart skip a beat. Without a thought, I looked down at my watch. Nothing. What felt like hours passed as I realised the hands were no longer moving. The glistening red of the wine sparkled in the light, almost taunting me. *No... no, god, no, surely not... there's no way...* My heart caught in my throat as I looked back over the table, bright blue eyes staring back at me. I placed the glass slowly back onto the table, lifting myself off the sofa. The room spun before my eyes, the pounding of my heart deafening me now, the mockery of it suffocating me. "Darling do you have anything to tell me?" Her eyes widened and then her face fell, I'd never seen a more heart-breaking sight, but right now that wasn't my concern. I knew from what my father had told me that I'd have 5 minutes to change my fate, after that there's no saving me. "Do you have anything to tell me." This time I wasn't asking, I was demanding. "My watch, Sarah. It stopped." Now she knew I was serious, I hadn't used her name in months, I never did unless I was deathly serious. Her eyes pleaded with me, her voice ripping into my heart like poison. "I swear baby, I'd never- I love you more than anything!"
How had this night gone bad so quickly, how had everything good turned to acid, burning the memories scattered around this room? I'd drowned out her begging, pleading with me to understand, she'd "never lay a finger on me". If not her, then what? I have minutes to find out. Spinning around, I searched the room, looking down at my wrist every time I thought I'd found it. My breath caught in my throat as I saw it, in the back of the hallway. Him. Stood, staring down the barrel of the gun, pointed right at me. Without hesitation I reach out, grabbing my wife's arm and throwing her behind me. It happened in seconds. The click of the safety, the echoing bang. Silence.
They say your life flashes before your eyes, playing like a movie before you finally succumb and die. I saw it all, clear as day, meeting her, falling in love. I felt her lips on mine for the very first time, how my heart beat out of my chest. Her fingers lacing with mine as I swayed to the most beautiful song on earth, with the most beautiful woman. Hands running through my hair as we kiss, standing just in the doorway of our first home. And then I saw it, her radiant glow as she played the record, dancing in the living room. I knew in a second she was dancing for me, celebrating my life and everything we had. She'd been alone for a year and hadn't spent a day without my face crossing her mind. Forever in love.
| 2020-12-10T12:26:59
| 2020-12-10T11:22:32
| 71
| 24
|
[WP] You we’re born with the ability to control fire, but instead of becoming a superhero, you set your sights on a much more attainable goal: You became the worlds greatest firefighter.
|
There are so many ways a person can use fire. For cooking, heating a home, roasting smores. With super powers to control fire? Everyone usually lands towards one way or another. Becoming the next variation of "the human torch" in true super hero fashion. Or becoming Dabi, the hottest anime fire quirk user. There didn't seem to be any other roles.
But not me. Fire, it's extremely volatile. It takes a lot of effort to put out a fire through mundane means. It's easily the most destructive power any super could have. One wrong move could involve millions of collateral damage and innocent lives destroyed. Supers, villains, anti heroes all actively use their fire. Me? I'm a fire fighter. I put them out.
Which brings me to where I'm standing at the moment. A high rise apartment building in the middle of downtown. A kitchen fire started somewhere up on the 30th floor and was spreading upwards. From what we could determine, everyone on the 29th floors and below had all escaped as their fire doors and sprinklers activated. But the firedoors leading up to the top floors, along with the sprinkler system had malfunctioned and was causing utter chaos and destruction. Where were the fire supers? Not here, that's for damn sure. They used their powers on the daily to set stuff ON fire. They hadn't a clue how to put it out. So here I was, being lifted atop a fire engine ladder as high as it could go.
10 stories. That's it. I'd have to book it up the remaining 19 on foot via the stairs. While i could technically fling myself up the landings like a rocket, i try not to cause more damage to the structure than it's already experiencing. And that amount of fire power required is quite literally explosive. No thank you.
By the time i smash through the fire doors on level 29, I've been informed the fire had spread to the 35th floor. I had to move quickly. I rushed to the room reported to have the fire start in. It was unbearably hot. Grease fire with plenty of fuel to eat and make it hotter. The doorway was little more than a wall of flame at this point. I walked straight in.
The bonus of being a fire power was that we immune to all but the temp of the sun. Or at least none of us had yet attempted to subject ourselves to such heat. I wore no fire suit. No oxygen tank. It would only be a liability in this scenario. In the middle of what had been the kitchen i stood and closed my eyes. And then i drew it all back in.
Every single lick of heat and flame that started from this room i pulled at it with everything i had. Slow at first. Then Tugging harder and harder. targeting all areas. Sliding the raw heat and power beneath my skin towards my heart where i contain the flame and keep gathering it. The ear piece in my ear started to melt so i absentmindedly flicked it out before it got caught in my ear canal... again.
I pull with everything I've got. Calling the fire toward my own inner flame. It's starting to ache now. How much exactly did this fire spread? I'm full on panting and actually *sweating* when i realize something is truly wrong. I'm struggling to keep this in. My heart is beating so fast and it *hurts*. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Still i keep pulling. My muscles begin to quake under the strain. It feels like I've been running marathons across the entire country and back again nonstop. I fall to my knees and take in deep, shaky breaths.
God this *hurts*. And still, i pull. I'm so tired but I'm becoming more angry than anything else. The F is *wrong* with this fire? I'm seething, panting, sweating buckets, and I'm *still* taking it all in. With a great big yank and a purely pissed off roar i twist a big final swath of the flame inside me and pass out.
|
They knew. Long before that day, they knew, but they didn't say anything. To anyone. Most definitely outside the department. I was just another firefighter to them, albeit a really good one. A special one. I was a brother among brothers and sisters, a friend, a mentor, a savior. I was Sparks. But only among us. Even Chief knew, but he didn't say anything outside the column of steam over a bowl of chili. He didn't want the attention. I didn't want the attention. None of us wanted the attention. We had a job to do. It was our job. Nothing more. We didn't know why, but we knew what.
It was Chili Day. No, firefighters do not eat chili every day. Jeeze, imagine the discomfort of slamming a bowl of chunky spice derivative then getting a long call. You can't just call timeout and head to the locker room to relieve the burn. There's no breaks. There's only the fire. The real fire, the one that eats everything relentlessly. Homes, belongings, lives. The fire that starts from sparks and ends with Sparks.
So yeah, Chili Day. A steaming pot and grumbling bellies. Typical banter, insults and laughter. A growing anticipation shattered by The Sound. It shatters the soul every...damn...time. No matter how many times we hear it the first second is silence of movement. Then the next shatter, the moment. All move all at once. We explode down the pole and down the stairs. The Sound calls us to The Flame. Poor new guy, he has to harvest the chili for later. There's always a later. Not for everyone though. Lucky guy, he will have a later. I envy him, in a way. I have never missed The Flame.
An apartment building, lives over lives over jobs. It's tall. That doesn't mean much, ten floors is twenty is fifty. Buildings are not measured in height, they're measured in time. How long it takes to extinguish The Flame. How long. This one is smoky. That's not good, but could be. Smoke means water, and The Flame doesn't like water. It's bad when it's just The Flame. That's when Sparks hurts the worst.
We got this. Get the ladders up, get the brothers and sisters in. Help the water with the water. More and more water. There's smoke, more and more smoke. That's good. I don't see The Flame. No one sees The Flame. Just keep going.
The Flame is there. No one sees the flame that sparks from my fingertips. No one sees The Flame, because I take The Flame. I take The Flame in and in and in, and the sparks. The sparks go out. Thus the name. Add the water, take The Flame, and the sparks. No one sees. No one but us. And the sparks.
This one isn't too bad. There's no more but smoky. More time, but we got this. I go out for air. Real air, not from a can. I need the cool. I hurt inside. Sparks always hurts, but the cool helps. Thank goodness this was not a bad one. Chief walking towards me. He doesn't smile. He knows. He doesn't say anything, but he knows.
And the world explodes. It goes like the end of the world, but it isn't. Or it could be. Chief and I get back to our feet and look. It's The Flame. THE FLAME. It's everywhere. Brothers and sisters stagger from the smoking mouth of the beast, some with hangers. A hanger speaks, coughs, collapses. Lowered to the ground, gets out a whisper. A sister stands, looks, then to us. "There's kids in there!" The Flame...what have you done?
Chief looks at me. Stunned. I look at Chief. We look. I speak. "I've never taken so much." He looks. I look. There's kids in there.
My coat, shucked, behind me. Joins my helmet. I walk towards the mouth, my gloves slowly revealing my hands. There's no point now. They look. All of them look. I look, at the mouth, at The Flame. I don't feel the heat. I never do. I never have. That was how I knew. And I know now, something different.
"Come on," I say. To the mouth. To The Flame. And it does. I pull, I draw, I take. I TAKE. And the sparks. The Sparks. They see. They all see. But it doesn't matter anymore. I take, I take, I take take take taketaketaketaketake OH MY GOD THE HEAT I FEEL IT MY SOUL. I am Sparks. I Am Sparks. I AM AND YOU ARE MINE THE FLAME YOU SHALL NOT HAVE OUR CHILDREN.
They saw. They all saw. The Flame and the sparks. Sparks. And they told everyone. They told everything. How I looked. How I walked. How I spoke, then I took, then I sparked. The glow, such that no one could see. No one saw the wind take me, my soul. But they still told everyone everything. Not the Chief. Not my brothers and sisters. They didn't say anything. They never had. They never did. They got the kids out. It was their job.
There will be more smoke, more flame. There always is. But not that day. I cannot stop the flames, I am not here anymore. They will take homes, belongings, lives. But not that day. Not The Flame.
I am Sparks. At least, I was.
| 2022-12-16T18:34:51
| 2022-12-16T17:55:16
| 70
| 47
|
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone!
|
I was the last of my group of friends to turn 21, the last in my family too. I'd seen them all get these random mutations that we'd been waiting on for years; wings to fly wherever Sam wanted, super intelligence that make Luke abandon our group, right down to the extra leg Andy had developed. I knew mine couldn't be worse than that at least. Surely not?
Nothing seemed different on the morning of my 21st. Nothing at all. But my cousin Peter's mutation allowed him to breath underwater; I'm sure he didn't just notice that immediately. I pondered how one could know what their superpower was.
My brother appeared at the doorway. He stood there with a look of expectation on his face for what seemed like five long minutes. Was it expectation? Maybe it was disappointment? I didn't know what to say to him. What could I say to him? As thoughts of confusion ran through my head, I was willing him to speak first, to break the silence. I forced out a one word question seeking his verdict. "Well?"
"Well what?" His eventual reply. "What's your mutation?"
We spent some time running over possible scenarios. He hit me to see if I was resistant to pain. Thought of some names to call me to see if I could read minds. In hindsight, I was optimistically trying out all the 'cool' powers that other's had developed.
My brother and I sat for hours dreaming up ideas and laughing off those items on the list we knew it wasn't - I hadn't developed an extra leg after all. We also reasoned that maybe it wasn't an overnight transformation. I almost lost interest in what my mutation was, we were having so much fun coming up with crazy stories and humorous mutations. "Let's ask Dad!" he yelled as he went out the door, "he will know!"
My brother raced down the stairs ahead of me.
I don't know what it was about that image but it hit me hard. So hard, I barely made it down the stairs. I went in to the kitchen where my father had been eating his breakfast. He wasn't overly excited to find out my power. Not in the way you'd expect a father to be on a big day like today. Then again he hadn't been the same man since the accident. It happened on my 20th birthday, which would depressingly taint every birthday from now on, and no superpower, his own or that of his remaining son, could fill that gap.
The overwhelming emotion caused tears of joy to stream down my face. I smiled at my brother, sitting excitedly at the breakfast table beside my mother. She calmly stared at my father who continued to focus on stirring his cup of tea.
My 'superpower' may not be as exciting as others; but getting to see loved ones again was more than I could have asked for.
"By the way Dad..." I paused to get the milk from the fridge. "Mum says hi"
|
I remember details before (yellow light,
green), details after('catch him, Lou!') but the searing pain ripping those hours out of mind are like constant needles pushing at my eyeballs from behind. I'd heard the stories, seen the anxious hushed terror my mothers eyes as it approched, had known its happening was slithering inevitably towards me.
Freaks in this world are common seen a badge of pride. Shit, woh doesnt like watching brutal sports played by men who feel no pain or can turn appandages to rock hard batons? I'd seen ancient footage of the Older Ones playing football cringing at the physicalty dished out with no mutation. It felt inhumane, a terror my poor father endured as his genes betrayed him. When the time came for him to mature for his inner self to show nothing happened. He was no more a Reborn then a rock.
He was not alone, his quirk was seen throught the last thousand years in various clans appearing often in two or three genarations before disappearing for a hundred or more years. His father before him and his father shared the same gift, magnificent fifteen foot wide wings a rare mutation and a great source of prestige. When my father did not mature physically nor show mental powers,such as my mothers ability to communicate in the Thirty Great Tounges, the tick tock of expectant eyes turned to me a child of two at the time.
But still I sat there that night. The hushed elders, old fools to a man, clucking and muttering under the breathes like a flock of haggard geese. The weight of failure pushed my chest down seemingly clamping me to the hard impersonale grey chair a clinical nod to comfort in the sterile white empty room.
A silent clock ran down in my visual display,seconds and minutes melting before me. This I recall, what came next was terror. As all zeroes approached a blinding light (green,orange) a ripping at my skull. A thousand images flood my vision. Not one could I describe now. My back arches hours pass as light and image assault me. I hear the elders murmmer far away until at once I am flung back. Turning to the nearest elder a screm breaks free from my parched mouth. I do not see a man, I see a soul. Innately I know I saw the truth of the man laid bare, his ambition and greed. Hunger. His desires. I feel vomit in my gullett as I struggle to my feet. I feel the gasp before I hear it.
'The sign! The one!' a dozen faceless voices exhale in awe.
On my feet now I stumble the leerng greeed and power overwhelming. Somehow I run.
'Catch him, Lou!'
| 2015-03-04T05:44:57
| 2015-03-04T04:05:10
| 99
| 27
|
[WP] "I saw it during WW1. It had no meat, no bones, just veins and nerves. And there it was, striding toward us, bullets sliding off it like water. Men came apart or became things just being nearby. We know now it's a war god from another world. And it was drawn by our war like a fly to a wound. "
|
[Poem] [CW: Descriptions of War]
The creature rose in No Man's Land
That February day.
The Germans surged, and then that scourge
Began to rush our way.
 
It fell on dear Jean-Louis first
And tore into his head,
And where it slashed, the bullets crashed
and Jean-Louis fell dead.
 
The monster turned to Gerard next
As he began to cry.
The creature tore, his lifeblood poured,
A shell made Gerard fly.
 
One by one our numbers were
Mercilessly decreased.
Until by three, it was just me
Facing the horrid beast.
 
I unleashed every shot I had
At my hideous foe,
None of the rounds could put it down,
The wretched beast of woe.
 
The monster towered over me
And cocked its ugly head.
"Just you will live, this gift I give,
I will not make you dead."
 
The creature turned and walked away
From my embattled hill.
And soon more men surged past and then,
The battlefield grew still.
 
I still wake up in dead of night,
I snap awake and flinch,
From dreams of hell, where my friends fell
To move the front an inch.
 
I often say, about that day,
A shameful, sullen plea,
My counterparts were blown apart,
Why didn't War kill me?
|
They came ashore in the early morning light under a steel sky. Water the color of gunsmoke. Crawling their way up the sand in their soaking clothes to lie gasping and alive. These two men in their uniforms and their hair slicked back on their heads and all the world that morning returned to them.
The lieutenant sat up first and touched his side and looked out over the water and then down the beach. Beside him the private still struggling with the sand in his mouth. That white sand that ran in both directions and in the middle of this place a thicket of green and then nothing. Not more than four hundred yards in any direction before the sea reclaimed it.
“Good,” the lieutenant said.
The private looked at him and sat and held his head in his hands. He looked like a man who did not know who he was and perhaps that was the truth but the lieutenant did not know.
“What?” said the private.
“It's too small,” the lieutenant said. Nodding off down the beach where there was no fresh water or food or cover or a thing besides. Just some sandbar in the ocean that would let them breathe for a day or so and that was all. “We'll die here.”
The private looked around and nodded. “Good,” he said.
After a time he was able to raise his head and the lieutenant watched him and then followed his gaze out across the water. He could see the islands where they'd been and the smoke rising above them. Where they'd run to the boats and gone out and then the boat had been torn apart and there was a sound like the air itself was ripping and then they'd been in the water. Men screaming around them. Some swimming down as far as they could to drown themselves in their heavy boots.
“What the hell was that thing,” the private said.
“What thing?”
“You saw it. Don't tell me you didn't see it.”
“We took a shell, I think.”
“The hell you do.”
“Don't forget your rank.”
“To hell with rank. You think something like that matters now?”
They sat in silence for a time. The lieutenant knew he was right and he reached up and took his rank insignia off of his chest and looked at it and then threw it into the water. It did not go far but it sank and it was gone and that was the end of it and everything else.
“It had no meat,” the private said.
“Don't,” the lieutenant said.
“No bones. Just veins and nerves.”
“Damn you.”
“And there it was, coming toward us. Bullets sliding off it like water. Men came apart or became things just being nearby.”
The lieutenant didn't say anything.
“Don't tell me you didn't see that.”
There was a long silence and then the lieutenant stood up and walked down the beach a distance and kept looking out toward the water. They hadn't heard a single gunshot in a long time and it was far but not that far. He wondered what it looked like on that island and what you did with shredded bodies like that and could you bury them. He didn't know how they'd even sort them out. Then he turned and he came back down the beach and he sat again. It didn't seem like there was anything else in the world worth doing.
“It's some sort of god,” he said. “A war god from another world.”
The private looked at him like some ardent believer in this new faith that was itself the absence of faith and he knew he would never have believed it had he not seen the thing himself. What it did to the men. The way that when he blinked he felt like it was in his mind and he in its and he knew in that screaming terror what it was. They all did and that was why they ran and they died and some of the men swam for the deep. Because maybe in that blackness there was an end that was not this end.
“It was drawn by our war,” the lieutenant said. “Like a fly to a wound.”
“It's just sport,” the private said.
“Yes.”
“It was smiling. That damned thing was smiling.”
The lieutenant knew that he was right but it was nothing like he'd seen before and horrible and grotesque in a way that made him want to tear his own eyes from his head but that was what it had been. A smile. This thing wading through them for sport and finding in this new world for a brief moment all that it ever sought in its own. For all they'd done to each other was what it lived in and always had since before there was time.
“Do you have your pistol?” the lieutenant said.
“No,” the private said. “I lost it in the water.”
For a long time the lieutenant looked out over that water and thought about that pistol turning in the depths and falling and then he laid down on the sand under that cracked sky and he did not think about anything at all.
\---
I try to write a little bit of fiction every day. If you like it, I also wrote a novel called "The Ringed City Chronicles: The Dragon Hunt." It's on Amazon, and if you decide to check it out, you are the bomb!
| 2019-02-27T17:32:51
| 2019-02-27T17:14:48
| 508
| 73
|
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
The rhythm was gentle and persistent, rain pattering against the tin roof.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
The hair stirred faintly at the back of my neck.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
R.
U.
N.
I pressed my fists into my closed eyes.
The imperative drummed at my brain. *Run.*
I bitterly regretted my foray into my late grandfather's musty book collection. Morse code had sounded so cool! A way to communicate secretly, a language so archaic it had become foreign again. I had imagined sharing it with my friends, tapping codes with pencils in class, having a laugh. But my friends had been uninterested, and now...
Well.
The rain came inexorably down.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
R. U. N.
From what?
I looked uneasily around. My surroundings were familiar. My room. My bed. My curtains. My window. My message.
*Run.*
My feet twitched. I wanted to obey. But run from what? Run to where? I didn't know. So I just kept on sitting there at my computer desk, staring at the monitor blankly, not even seeing it.
*Run.*
The rain grew heavier. Thunder rumbled in the distance. *RUN RUN RUN*
Dammit!
I panicked. Leaping to my feet I stampeded down the stairs, hollering for my little sister. She came out of her room round eyed, mouth agape like a goldfish. Mom and Dad rushed into the living room. We all met at the base of the stairs.
"Zachary! What on earth?" my mother began, but I was too scared to explain. I grabbed her arm and tugged.
My Dad's brow came down sharply and he caught at my shoulder. "Hey, easy, son--"
"Look!" cried my sister, pointing out the living room window.
There was a twister bearing down upon the house, tearing through the neighborhood across the highway with breathtaking force. We all turned and pelted through the kitchen and out the back door.
We ran through the backyard, through the gate into the wooded no-man's-land between our subdivision and the next, and through the neighboring properties, bursting out into the next street over just in time to see our own street sucked into the vortex. Bits of siding spiraled up into the clouds. The fury passed by almost near enough to touch.
The rain stopped.
We stood in the wet street, shocked. There was wreckage blasted into the yards of the houses we'd just run between. A single paper fluttered from the sky. It landed at Mom's feet.
She bent to pick it up. It was a photograph.
My grandfather's youthful grin shone up from the surface in black and white, his Naval uniform crisp as a dollar bill.
The breeze rustled one last time through the remaining trees and was gone.
|
“Run, Run, Run, Run. That’s the message the rain is sending to everyone.” I made my point to the empty lounge chair beside me, staring out at the rain, watching it splash against my window, coating it in various little droplets of water. “I don’t get it, it can’t be a coincidence. It’s happening at regular intervals. If it were pure coincidence, we would have had something that diverted the pattern and yet it just keeps repeating run.”
I was almost thankful I lived alone, wondering how insane my train of thought must have sounded to an outsider. Surely, I wasn’t the first to notice. I know morse code isn’t widely used anymore but there have to be enough people that could recognize the pattern, especially when it’s happening outside. Keeping my face pressed against the glass, I observed the raindrops, feeling the cool glass sting my cheek as I pressed myself further against it, in awe of the phenomenon outside.
“Why run though?” I felt a few conspiracies slip into my mind, unable to keep the thoughts out. Maybe it was a secret government project that got out? An old war command that induced a sense of fear into the enemy. Imagine being hunkered down in a trench and suddenly the rain is telling you to run. That would freak out even the most battle hardened of soldiers. Or maybe it was something more devious? A plan to drive people insane through the repetition of the same sound.
The longer I listened to it, the more the feeling of dread set in. I was a rational person, a person who wanted to be a historian and was studying for that role. I was far too intelligent to let myself fall for paranoia induced dread. Trying to ignore the sound, I turned on the tv only to minimize the amount of rain I heard. Yet, my eyes always ended back at the window, like a fly caught in a spider’s web.
The comparison didn’t help ease my mind, either. I kept myself pinned to the window, my eyes roaming the streets, trying to avoid catching sight of the droplets. When my gaze finished exploring the roads, it worked its way up to my neighbor across the road. The old, keg bellied man staring out of his window, his eyes wide as he shoved himself against the window frame.
I watched as he shoved his shoulder against the wall, trying anything he could to move. It was nightmarish, my skin crawling at the sight. “Tim?” Tim was his name, wasn’t it? I didn’t know the man well and still I felt compelled to shout at him through the shut window. “Tim, are you ok?”
It was only for a moment that our eyes made contact, his eyes bloodshot and exhausted, his flailing now an exhausted rocking, like a fish that had just been reeled in. He opened his mouth only for his window to smash into tiny, fragmented pieces, causing him to fall back.
I needed to call an ambulance. Turning to free myself from the window, I found myself trapped, unable to move. Goosebumps soon littering my arms as I flailed against the window. The flailing only lasted a few seconds before I felt out of breath. I gazed back at the window, only to stare at the horror before me.
Its skin a transparent pale, only being given form by the rain that dripped from its body. Each droplet revealing some new horrific feature. Its mouth protruded, a long sucker that I could only assume hid thousands of tiny pincer like teeth. Its body hunched forward, elbows pointed outwards, with its clawed hands sitting by its chest.
When it noticed my lack of a struggle, it crept forward. I gave the wall a defiant kick but still was kept against the wall, unable to avoid the nearing creature. I could only wonder who was warning us about them, having a feeling that their warning was far too late as the window cracked before me.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-09-28T08:52:44
| 2021-09-28T08:46:07
| 343
| 81
|
[WP] The longer you charge an attack, the more powerful it becomes. SWAT charges a punch for 30 seconds to break down a door. You’ve been charging for the last three days.
|
Today’s the day, Carl is coming over... you’ve been stood at the door for 3 days now just charging, waiting for him to arrive. He called you up and made the plans; it’s going to be radical.
The time draws ever closer; you know he’s doing the same thing. Excitement builds in the pit of your stomach as the clock strikes 2.
That’s when you hear it, footsteps in the hallway, he’s coming, you can hear the faint groan from the corridor, you start to voice yourself. The footsteps get louder, your voices follow suit, he’s at the door now; you’re both shouting in preparation.
You swing the door open and your eyes meet his, a bolt of adrenaline surges through you chest and into your arm, you both bring them forward at full strength
The fists collide.
Instantly a shockwave blasts out like a clock face between the pair of you, the doorframe splinters, cracks and peels away as it passes through it, the walls splits in several places and plaster flies off into the room. The furnitures shifts; completely rearranging the living room, all the whole the pair of you are steadfast; eyes locked; still screaming
The shockwave expands to the windows, shattering and blowing into the street below. You can hear the screams of passers by as they see the wave spread and dissipate across the street
Car alarms are going off, your house is in tatters. There is definitely structural damage, but you stand there, eyes still locked with Carl... you’re silent now.
You both straighten up and finally look around at the damage, Carl looks down at his fist, and then back at you with only one thing to say
‘Rad, dude’
|
Celeste gripped her arms. Her hands glowing like a magnesium flare. She had been charging her attacks for three days. The relentless banging on her door had stopped long ago when her brother, Kai gave up on her.
It felt like space-time was warping around her. She could see objects bending and warping; the hum of electrics filling the room. She looked down at her hands.
"Now's a good as time as any." She mumbled. Closing her eyes, she released her attack. There was a brief moment of calm; and then the world shook.
They saw it out in space on the ISS. Debris and rocks ejecting out into low earth orbit. The british isles nothing more then an empty hole in the ocean taking most of coastal europe with it. Once water rushed in, tsunami's swept over the rest. It would be years and trillions before Europe would recover.
Dust turned the world dark, and the panic spread with it. A nuclear winter had just arrived and countries were trying to figure out whether to launch or not. Kai watched on a broken tv, in a desolate cafe sipping his coffee with one hand. He checked his hand. 2 days worth of charging here and it still wouldnt be enough. He waited.
3 months down the line and the world had lost half of its population now. China and the functional remains of russia had annexed as far as italy now. America was preparing for war while it underwent marshall law, it's citizens holed up like rats. Kai stood there in the shelters keeping his arm concealed. Just a little longer.
4 months and he was the only one left. The rest of them had starved and he was forced to use them to keep charging. It was worth it he would mutter as the bombs fell, as the world screamed around him, he could wait.
And once he did; there was a flash. An implosion of energy that torn space-time to shreds. Kai opened his eyes to see everything. The entire universe and all its constituants at every time and every space. It took the form of white noise, if you didnt know what to look for. Kai stepped forward. He knew his destination. The noise collapsed into atoms, into planets, into galaxies and soon he found himself in front of a familiar bedroom door. He knocked politely, opening it. Celeste sitting on her bed staring at her hand. Kai gently put his over hers shaking his head softly.
"Leave the world in peace for another day."
| 2018-10-02T17:03:01
| 2018-10-02T14:09:41
| 514
| 53
|
[WP] Super heroes are assigned a handler to assist them with their duties. Handlers don't have powers, but assist the hero by gathering information about their opponents, provide tactical support, and more. If the hero turns evil, the handler is to kill the hero. You are a very skilled handler.
|
Frank looked up at the Bureau. Marble steps, and Corinthian columns. He hated the pomp of it all, the lengths that the Bureau was willing to go to in order to make themselves look strong and dependable. Nothing like Greek architecture to give an institution the air of authority, but Frank knew from the one time he was stupid enough to splurge for a marble counter-top, that anything marble stained like a son of a bitch. Three steps down from the top, off to the right hand side, there'd be patches of brown spattered here and there for a few steps. He didn't need to see it to know it'd be there. You can't spill that much blood without leaving a stain in marble. Some of it had been his, most of it was from Majestic. It was his first time back at the main office since he took her down on those steps. He leaned on the railing on the left side of the grand staircase as he walked up to the offices making a point not to look over at the steps, or the concentric cracks in the side of a column, the aftermath of a narrowly dodged punch.
Frank hoped this was just another consultation. The rookies amongst the Handlers needed all the help they could get. It was never easy dealing with the supers, and hardly rare for those just getting started as Handlers to have a crisis of faith after their first time seeing one of the 'saviors of the world' having a meltdown like a god-damn toddler over not getting an extra pump of chocolate syrup in their macchiato, or something equally trivial.
But Frank had watched the news. Three bystanders dead. Caught in the crossfire after Bullet-Storm was called in to stop a bank robbery three weeks ago. Baddies got away with it too. Bullet-Storm had ignored saving the money and catching the crooks. Instead he'd prioritized trying to stabilize the injured. It was the right call in Frank's books. Luck just wasn't on his side. Civvies died, bad guys gone with the cash, and BS's pictures printed in every scummy tabloid the city had with a bottle of Hennessey whisky in hand and a stagger in his step. He'd let the job get to him, and the downhill slide was there for all to see. New pictures popping up after every night's new drinking binge, and articles quoting his latest drunken rants against the system.
Frank's gut was telling him there'd be no consultation. BS's greenhorn Handler wasn't cut out for this. Frank'd be transferred over as Bullet-Storm's new Handler, and the newbie'd swap Supers with him and be off Handling GallantRay™, a narcissistic SOB, but concerned enough with his public image to be easy enough to keep under control.
They were bringing Frank in because they expected Bullet-Storm to go rotten, and all signs pointed to him heading down that road without intervention. They expected Frank to kill again. He was being called in as the fucking executioner by a gaggle of shit-faced bureaucrats who paired green Heroes with green Handlers and acted shocked when the Supers didn't get the emotional support they needed to keep things in perspective once they realized their shit won't always come out smelling like roses, and the good guy don't always win.
Fuck that. Fuck killing *another* Super, and fuck them for constantly dropping that task at Frank's feet every time a Hero slipped too far. Bullet-Storm wasn't one of the psychopaths. He was a good kid who'd never had to deal with failure, didn't know how to *handle* it. Enough was enough. Frank wasn't going to off him. He'd pull him back from the brink, keep one of the good ones around for once.
"Let's save a fucking Hero."
|
I pinged into the alleyway adjacent to the pizza shop. The little frisson of energy caused my backpack to dig into the small of my back as usual. The metallic tang of stale urine greeted me and I winced as my boots were soaked through with the noxious liquid. As I got closer to the pizza shop, the tang of ozone told me that the Hero had arrived before me. As I rounded the corner, I got a good look at him through the glass - he was three bites into what looked like a party size pepperoni pizza and there was blood and brain matter on his uniform. A half singed corpse wearing an apron lay behind the counter.
With his mouth crammed full, he waved greasy fingers at me and gestured for me to come in. I sighed, feeling the familiar creeping nausea that came with executing a Hero and I placed a hand on the door handle.
I never got as far as pulling the handle outwards. The ground split between my feet with an almighty crack and I reflexively stumbled to the side as another Hero arrived on the scene. This one I easily recognized. Code name Earthquake, recently quit being a Hero in favour of a quiet life living on a three thousand acre apple farm. Made the announcement on live television three weeks ago and she and her Handler ended up shacking up in the meantime.
I felt her strong hands grasp my left hand and pull me up to a standing position.
'Let me deal with Mallus."
I felt the tingle of energy wash over me and I pinged back into my office back at HQ. The nausea combined with the sudden quick retrieval forced me down on my knees l as I fought not to add a spray of vomit onto my already ruined uniform.
I scrambled to my feet, found my wrist computer and radioed to the guys downstairs to help me find a connection between Mallus and Earthquake.
25 seconds later, a male voice buzzed into my earpiece.
No luck. And reports were buzzing in on my wrist computer that the fight between the two had laid waste to the entire city block and it was threatening to spread further. The local PD were attempting to get the cilivians out but due to the nature of both of the Hero's powers were having a hard time...
I logged into the database to try to contact Earthquake's Handler. The line buzzed and finally got picked up.
His face was streaked with tears and his eyes were blood shot even through the comm connection. In between quavering sobs, he confirmed my theory that the pair of them were lovers in the past and that Mallus had probably roofied her during an Q&A fancy dress party after the big retirement announcement.
I vaguely remembered helping Mallus pick up the suit for the party, choosing one that wasn't so tight in the chest for him and nixing the cummerbund.
My voice cut through his stream of tears. "She's pregnant isn't she?“
| 2021-02-08T10:30:44
| 2021-02-08T09:54:50
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] "So this is Hell, eh?" You say to Lucifer. "Bring on the torture, then!" He looks surprised. "Torture? You broke every single one of God's rules. He HATES you. You and I are going to get along just fine. Now, come on in..."
|
Lucifer showed me around the place, "Here's the pool, the bar's over there," he pointed to the corner. "Up here is the movie theatre, and this is your room." He opened a door to show a room filled with thousands of other people, "I hope you don't mind a lot of roommates; you're grouped by interests." "Well what do we all have in common?" I asked "You all submitted the same writing prompt."
|
Hell was not the jumble of swirling arcs and endless pillars of fire I'd in mind. The agonizing screams and yelps, however, were as real as I'd imagined them. Lucifer, however, had divided his kingdom quite well, leaving the Lands of Torture far away from Ienertar, the capital, where we were right now.
Ienertar was a vast city of chains and stone, not so different from those of the Earth with the exception that it was filled with bored demons constantly planning their next act of mischief. They lived in strange houses, most of them curved to the point of defying logic and at least two stories tall. Some of them had doors at the top of their facades, signaling it was the home of a winged demon, and those were, most of the time, vicious torturers.
Lucifer first took me to his temple, a mighty piramidal structure of smooth obsidian stone he'd named The Treshen. It lay far above the rest of the city, at the top of a red, jagged cliff. Once inside, we moved to his personal chamber, and even for me, it was eerie.
He held souls prisoners in little boxes of glass which bathed the place with their tender shine, allowing only the faintest details to be seen. The angels, however, were the cause of my gooseflesh.
They lay at either sides of the chamber, tethered and strewn over pools of, what I guessed, was their own blood. The plumage of their wings was gone, revealing only the brittle bones that held them together. Their vibrant eyes were vacant, lost, begging for a death that would never come.
"Quite the riches you've collected here," I said, feigning a grin. I despised the idea of good and purity, and angels were the maximum representation of them. However, seeing them thrashing in their own blood, soaked in tears, and suffering in silence made me feel uncomfortable. Had he cut their tongues?
Deep down, nevertheless, I knew I would get used to it.
"This is just a sliver," Lucifer said and sat on his throne of angel's heads and thorns. He was using a human form, that of a young man dressed in black robes with strings of red embroidered on its chest, with long, black hair falling to his shoulders, and hollow eyes. "But that's not important now. You have a heart full of sins, one that I'd dare say is close to mine. However, it has to be trained."
I frowned and knelt before him. "Trained? How can you improve something that's already full?"
"It's not the nature of your mind and heart I'm referring to," Lucifer said. "I'm talking about something entirely different, and that is your ability to command legions, your skill with the sword and the control of your own body."
My tongue flicked across my lips almost unconsciously, I felt my eyes grow hungry with desire, my entrails roiling with expectation. "I believe myself to have good control of my own body," I said, although I knew his answer.
"My choice of words was poor," Lucifer said, grinning. "I should have said, control over your *new* body." He paused and studied me for a moment. "Do you consider yourself capable of bearing the responsibility of being my warlord?"
"I know I'm capable, and I swear by my own soul, I will wreck any army that dares stand in our way," I said, salivating with the thought of tainting Heaven crimson. "What is it that I have to do to earn my new body?"
Lucifer got up and ambled toward a struggling angel. He raised a hand, and the sudden noise of broken bones echoed through the chamber.
His fingers changed, his bones protruded out the skin in the shape of sharp, long and pearl-white claws. He snatched the slumped angel by the throat and cut him open. Then he dug the claw deep within the angel's flesh and, with a subtle pull, took out the angel's beating heart.
It was golden and perfectly round like a sphere. Lucifer held it out to me. His young, angular face lost in the shadows. "Eat it." His voice stern.
Without a second thought, I devoured it, embracing a fate I knew belonged to me since my times of mortality.
[PART2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/91kke9/wp_so_this_is_hell_eh_you_say_to_lucifer_bring_on/e2z77wn/)
------------------------------------------------------------
Pshh, I made a subreddit. You should subscribe! r/AHumongousFish how many times have you seen a fish write?
| 2018-07-24T17:39:15
| 2018-07-24T13:52:42
| 4,460
| 770
|
[WP] The year is 2779, and there are 2 men and 1 woman left on the face of the Earth.
The two men are in a standoff, guns pointed at each other's face, with the woman present. Write from whichever perspective you please.
|
I watched both of them as they stared each other down, sweat oozing out of them as they tried to cow the other person into giving up. Both men were filthy, their clothes in rags, but both of them wanted the prize: a moist vagina. It sounds crass, really it does, but that was basically what the fight was over.
They had originally been partners, scavenging and surveying the wastes in an attempt to survive in what little of the Earth was left; really a tragedy that one, the destruction of Earth. Huge strides had been made for protecting what was left of the environment, restoring what was damaged, and for providing food and shelter for everyone. However, like all good things, they had to come to an end at some point. This one just happened to start out as a rather ill-timed terrorist attack with a stolen thermo-nuclear device.
I looked back at both the men and sighed inwardly, I wish they would just get on with it; the human race is doomed anyway. One of them, Tom, decided to stop sweating and start shouting. I climbed out of my own head so I could listen.
“I found her first, Clark, and you know the rules,” Tom shouted as he tried to keep his gun hand from wavering. I wasn’t even sure there were bullets in it, and I know neither was Clark, but he wasn’t willing to take that chance; yet.
“You also know the rules, Tom,” Clark spat the name, “If we find something we can both use than we have to share.”
Ooh, this was a new development for these two, I said to myself. Females are just meat to them apparently. I mean, I already knew that, but it’s still nice to hear it actually spelled out for you.
“Why the hell would I share, Clark?” Tom shifted his feet to get more comfortable, signifying that he was in this for the long haul. “I found her, I pulled her out of the rubble, and you came scrabbling back with a can of beans like it was a god damned buffet line.”
“I found *food,* Tom, maybe you’ve forgotten how important that is since your dick started doing the thinking,” Clark shouted back. He had been rather proud of his beans, I will grant him that. It was also a surprisingly snappy comeback for Clark.
“Food, food, food,” Tom muttered to himself as he squeezed his gun tighter. “This is more important than food, Clark, this is about the survival of the human race!”
You know, I thought to myself, with how tight he’s squeezing that gun, I think it might actually be loaded. There is a real possibility one, or both of them, could die here. Well, fresh meat is fresh meat I suppose.
Clark laughed a deep, pleasant sounding belly-laugh. He doubled over for a moment clutching his sides before he suddenly stopped laughing and stared coldly at Tom, “You mean the survival of your human race. How many generations until the degradation sets in, Tom? Two generations?” He smirked, “One?”
Wow, I thought, another zinger. Clark is in rare form today that is for certain, or perhaps I had misjudged him. He did have a bit of a pouty face that spoke to an alcoholic mother, but apparently his brain was one of the few things not affected by this. Tom, rightfully, decided to take this personally.
“So because I’m from the mountains of Virginia, I’m an inbred hillbilly? Is that it, Clark?” Tom squeezed the gun tighter and I could see his trigger finger twitching. It was only a matter of time now. “I suppose all that good New York breeding makes you the best candidate?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Tom,” Clark said as he eased back onto his heels. “I’m saying that if we want a chance at survival, we have to both breed with the woman.”
I sighed. We were back to the female meat again. I suppose it’s only fair that the meat not get a say in all this since the men were talking. Society falls and 700 years of social progress just go out the window. Women are for breeding, and men are the strong defenders and decision makers. I did, however, have to admit that Clark was right. If they wanted to survive, they needed to increase their odds. It would get rather incestuous pretty quickly unfortunately, but what choice did everyone have?
“I already told you, I’m not sharing,” Tom hissed.
“Fuck you, you stupid—“
That was as far as Tom let him get. Apparently Tom had decided he was done talking, and he fired his pistol into Clark’s chest. Clark, dramatically, stared at the bleeding hole in his chest and collapsed to the ground.
“Finally,” I said as I stood up and stretched. I twisted to pop my back, then grabbed my scythe and walked over to Clark’s body. “Hello, you still in there?”
Tom of course didn’t hear me; he was too busy staring down at the body, a wicked grin twisting his face. He looked over at the woman who had, I suppose out of fear, not chosen to take this chance and escape. Tom smiled creepily at her and then looked back to the body. He had won the battle, I suppose, but this marked the end of the war. The girl, of course looked terrified, and rightfully so. She was about to become a human cow.
“Clark, Clark,” I whispered as I reached into the body and pulled the spirit out. “You should have watched your mouth. If you had, you might still be alive.”
Clark looked up at me and screamed. I suppose that is a natural first reaction to a grinning skull looking down at you. I suppose it doesn’t help that I still have my eyes. I feel it adds to the creepy factor. “Who the hell are you,” he shouted.
“I’m Death, Clark. And thanks to Tom over there, I am one step closer to retirement.” I brushed off his clothes a little bit, “Now let’s get you cleaned up so you can go meet the boss.”
As I opened the portal I turned one last time to see Tom forcing the woman onto the ground, his pants already around his ankles. I grimaced, but then shrugged. “One step closer to retirement,” I whispered as I pushed Clark through, and then stepped after him.
----------
[r/grenadiere42](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42)
|
Chuck cleared his throat, his eyes meandering up what appeared to be a woman’s badly sunburnt legs a few yards away. Her shorts were in tatters, their bottoms frayed and uneven like spools of unwound yarn. Her t-shirt, clearly taken from someone much larger than she, hung off her skeletal frame like an old, hole-filled tent. She was staring at the floor, her face just barely visible from the angle. She looked like shit, looked like she’d just spent the last sixty to seventy months doing nothing other than attending shower-less, outdoor festivals and taking stolen prescription drugs. She looked as if she’d accidentally mixed up her soap bar with a pile of dirt, and continued to make that same mistake for the better part of a decade. In any other circumstance, Chuck would’ve done his best to avoid making eye contact with her so that she would be unable able to beg him for cash. Yet as he stood there, eyes climbing up her malnourished, skeletal frame, all he could think about was how beautiful, how *female,* she looked.
“Is that another person?” Dave said, taking a step forward. “Wait, is that a girl?” He paused, left foot buried in the charred rubble of what was probably once a red-brick apartment building.
“Ughn,” Chuck said, his mind refusing to form the words he’d intended. He had wanted to scream in affirmation, to push Dave aside and charge at the female—the *living*, human female—standing just a few yards away. It had been so long since either of them had seen another person, been so long since they’d even considered the notion of repopulation. Six months? A year? Two years? Chuck was no longer sure. The only thing he knew was that a woman was standing a few yards away, and she was going to be their key to survival.
“Hello?” Dave yelled, stepping out in front of Chuck and slightly blocking his view.
The woman glanced up, her face contorting in an expression that seemed to read, “great, the voices are back.”
Chuck stepped around Dave and stared. She was definitely a woman, definitely alive. That pretty much met the only criteria he cared about any longer. Sure, back before the explosions he might’ve wanted to know her name, might’ve wanted to know her age, might’ve wanted to know whether or not she had some sort of radiation poisoning. Now, however, he just wanted to know that the word he’d use to describe her included the pronoun “her.”
“Do you speak English?” Dave said, taking another step forward. The woman continued staring at him, her eyes wide, before slowly nodding. Dave glanced over at Chuck, and then back at the woman. “My name’s Dave.”
“I’m Chuck,” Chuck said, following behind Dave, careful not to trip over one of the dozens of charred bricks lining what was once a city street. The last thing he wanted to do was fall and embarrass himself in front of his future lover.
“I’m Sarah,” the woman said, her weak and raspy, as if she hadn’t spoken in weeks. She was holding some sort of a rock in her right hand, clutching it like a weapon she knew all too well how to use.
“Are you alone?” Dave said, Chuck following just behind.
“Yes,” Sarah said. “You?”
“Just the two of us,” Chuck said, jumping up slightly so as to see over Dave’s shoulder. He hated walking behind him, hated being stuck staring at Dave’s towering back. He’d always been so damn tall, always had so at least seven inches on Chuck. Sure, it was worse when there were other people around to note the discrepancy, but it was still annoying. “We haven’t seen anyone else since, well, you know.”
“Me too,” Sarah said, dropping the rock on the floor. “I’ve been alone for God knows how long.”
“You never had anyone else with you?” Dave said, coming to a stop a few inches from Sarah’s face. She was just as disgusting up close, her cheekbones shallow and face covered in scabs and dirt. Her teeth were a dark yellow, stained with some sort of tar-like substance, several of which were completely missing. To be fair, however, Chuck didn’t think he looked much better. He hadn’t bathed since the time they found the stagnant water by the sewer exit, and he wasn’t entirely confident that qualified as bathing. He was also sure his hair looked absolutely horrible, considering the radiation had resulted in the majority of it falling out, and he knew his cheekbones were just as shallow as Sarah’s. Or, at least they had been the last time they found an unbroken store window.
“No,” Sarah said. “I’m so glad to see humans, to see *living* humans.”
“Us too,” Dave said. “Anyway, we should really get to work on repopulating the Earth. Me first.”
“Wait, what?” Sarah said, taking a step back. She stared at Dave, her head tilted, and then glanced at Chuck as if he held some sort of explanation as to what just happened. “Look,” she said, pausing, “I’m not a prude, and I understand we have a responsibility, but that was a bit upfront.”
Chuck turned toward Dave, his eyes meandering his tall, malnourished frame. “Seriously?”
“What?” Dave said, glancing at Chuck. “I’m doing what’s right. We haven’t seen anybody else in years. We need to save the human race before it’s too late.”
“You’re being incredibly rude,” Chuck said, staring at the giant hole that made up the majority of Dave’s shirt. It was the same shirt he’d worn the day of the explosions, the same shirt he wore while he and Chuck huddled in the shelter Dave had once told him was a waste of money. He refused to take it off, refused to replace it, claimed that it was good luck. “I’m first. Dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on me,” Sarah said, her eyes wide as she took another step back. She stumbled on an upturned cement brick lying beside the curb, but caught herself before falling.
Dave turned fully toward Chuck. “No way are you going first. I’m older, taller, and I’ve always been more of a gentleman.”
“Bullshit,” Chuck said, “you’re the one who broke up with Carol because she said the word ‘mozzarella’ like an Italian would.”
“She was Irish,” Dave said, throwing his arms up in the air. “What kind of an Irish person says *Moz-ah-rell?* It just sounds fucking stupid. I’m first.”
Chuck glanced at Dave, then at Sarah, and then back at Dave. “Hang on,” he said. “I have an idea.”
“Don’t I get a say here?” Sarah said. She was now about ten feet away, getting further with each passing second. “I don’t feel comfortable with this and I really feel like we need eachother.”
“We got two guys and one girl,” Chuck said, ignoring Sarah. “You remember that video I once showed you? You know the one, it had two girls and a cup.” He nudged Dave in the gut with his elbow. “Remember?”
“Yes,” Dave said, his head tilted.
“Well, I think we can both win if we basically just do that. I mean, our situation is a little different—two guys, one girl—but I don’t mind being a cup.”
Sarah stopped moving and stared at Chuck, Dave doing the same. Chuck glanced back and forth between the two, and then shrugged his shoulders. “What? It’s just an idea.”
“I just realized something,” Sarah said, turning around and glancing over her shoulder, “I think I left my oven on. You guys wait her, I’ll be right back.” She turned her head back around and bolted in the opposite direction, feet pounding against the charred remains of what was once a city block.
“Great,” Dave said, not following after her, “look what you did.”
“What did I do?” Chuck said, watching as Sarah disappeared behind a giant cement boulder. “She’s just going to turn her oven off." He paused. "You don't mind letting me be the cup, right?"
Dave stared at Chuck and slowly shook his head, which seemed to be a pretty common response to a lot of Chuck's questions.
| 2015-07-01T08:05:01
| 2015-07-01T08:01:44
| 242
| 12
|
[WP] You have an interesting ability, you can teleport, but only when no one is looking. One night you get hungry so you attempt to teleport downstairs for a snack. You attempt to teleport but realize, you can't.
Original post by Alberto9324
|
When he first got this ability, he thought he would save people. Be a hero. Like in the comics.
Instead of teleporting for a cookie. But he was hungry. And he wanted it.
He looked around and then sighed. His power only worked when no one was around. And of course no one was around. He was alone. In bed. Lying down, in his red sweater, fat and in red socks.
His girlfriend had left him. Didn’t understand the changes. He wasn’t the same person.
Of course he wasn’t, he could teleport.
She didn’t know. He could never show her. It didn’t work if she was looking. It didn’t work if anyone looked. So it was good riddance.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t teleport. Didn’t budge. He couldn’t understand why. He was alone in his bedroom.
He got up and turned on the lights. Alone.
He tried again and groaned in frustration. Why wasn’t it working?
Back in bed he stared at the wall and blinked. She left him and he was alone. They had been together for over a decade and she left him because of what, that he had changed. He Had become cold, she said. Who did she think she was? That uppity bitch.
He had powers. He could do anything he wanted. He did try to save people. But then he figured he could just get what he wanted.
He didn’t have to try. He just took. It was easier and he was lazy. First it was cash. Then it was cars. Then...
He was a god. Why save the lives of ants?
So he took them. Took. Took. And took.
Of course. That’s why. He couldn’t teleport because, well because he wasn’t alone.
He got up and look down. She was there. Lying down. He stepped over her body. He stepped over her boyfriends body. And the pool of blood. He stepped out of the room relaxed.
Of course alone meant alone. Dead or alive.
He blinked like a flashlight and was downstairs. He took his cookie.
He left their house.
He wanted something else.
|
It had never really been anything "special," per se. She had always just arrived where she wanted as soon as she thought of it, provided no one was at her starting location. It had come in handy over the years, but she still refused to think of it as anything other than a mild quirk. Some people were double jointed, some people could fold there tongue into a taco, and she could teleport.
She never told anyone, though. Even at a young age, she realized just how futile any attempt to convey the feeling of moving as she did to anyone else would be. So she led a normal life. She went to school, graduated college, got a job that didn't relate at all to her degree, and lived in a nice outer city apartment--a decent, if unfulfilling, life.
Had she realized just how bizare her circumstance was, Jonah Andrews might've timed how long it took for her to move from place to place. She, of course, only registered a single blink, closing her eyes in one place and opening them in another. If she had timed it, she would've found that her travel only lasted a fraction of that blink-- 7x10^-42 of that blink, in fact --such an infenitesimal amount of time that certain theoretical physicists doubted any events could happen on such a time scale.
Someone else, however, did take notice of this: a man with the resources and dedication to monitor the entire globe under his watchful eye. Someone who had spent the past twenty years searching for and working with extraordinary people.
As Jonah grabbed a new box of cornflakes, putting the empty one in the garbage, she closed her eyes and stood in her kitchem for a few seconds. She opened them, immediately distraught to find herself exactly where she had closed her eyes. She immediately scoured the room but found nothing
"Ms. Andrews," spoke a voice that was somehow smooth and rough at the same time. She would've been startled had she not already known about her guest.
A man with an eye patch revealed himself in the corner, his cloaking device deactivating. "I'm hear to talk with you about a career opportunity in the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate. I believe we have some technology that you would find useful to augment your capabilities. Perhaps we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement."
| 2018-09-11T21:25:51
| 2018-09-11T21:16:14
| 277
| 17
|
[WP]: As standard protocol, each new, intelligent alien life is judged not by what they say they are, but by an evaluation from a representative of their servants or slave species. Fascinatingly, the fate of humanity lands on the opinion of a little dog named Lucy.
|
Samantha lead Lucy towards the grey humanoid creature. Lucy walked very close to Samantha, cautiously with her head and tail low. Lucy was a beautiful Golden Retriever that Samantha had rescued from a shelter. They stopped right in front of the 9 feet tall alien. Samantha bent down to Lucy and Lucy instinctively sat down. Samantha took the leash off, hugged Lucy, and scratched behind her ears. Samantha stood up, but firmly told Lucy to stay. Samantha walked a few feet back and watched, while Lucy stayed and whimpered.
The alien creature reached out it's long skinny hands, pointing a finger at Lucy. Lucy, looked scared, but obeyed Samantha and stayed put because she trusts her. The alien placed a finger on Lucy's forehead, a warmth overcame her whole body and she now has a look of content. The alien speaks telepathically and broadcasts it's voice to every human and dog in the world.
"State your name." the deep alien voice was heard in everybody and dogs head. "I am Lucy, of Samantha!" Lucy's inner voice was also being broadcasted. "What is your relationship to the human Samantha?" the alien asked. "Samantha is my human friend!" "Friend?" the alien voice roared in everyone's voice. "Is the human Samantha not your owner?" "I never considered Samantha as an owner" Lucy answered.
The alien is visibly confused at this point and asks "Would you call Samantha as your master?" "Master?" Lucy scoffed. "No, I would not call her a master." The alien looking intrigued, turns it's head sideways and asks "Are you the human's master?" "No no" Lucy shook it's head, "Fifi is Samantha's master." taken aback, the alien questioned while looking straight at Samantha "Who or what is Fifi?" "Fifi is the cat" Lucy answered.
|
They spilled out into the streets, signs, shouting, looting, burning, anger being demonstrated by thousands of people demanding that their fate not rest on the small brown creature.
The alien things were appalled and prepared for unspeakable horror to be shown. The rattling voice asked that tiny dog, “Why do you plead for their safety? They do not want you to represent them.”
“Because they never asked us to represent them, sir. They gave us loyalty and love in exchange for nothing but the same from ourselves. They don’t want representation from us because we are companions, not servants. They don’t want us to take their burden.”
| 2018-10-02T08:40:42
| 2018-10-02T07:48:13
| 347
| 156
|
[WP] On every planet, there is one being who is a living recorder for everything that happens. During the yearly recorder meeting, one always comes in emotionally drained. “Look. It’s the guy that has earth”
|
I am the Recorder of Venus. This is a cushy job. Most of ours are cushy jobs, really, since there isn't life on most planets. My cousin, who records everything that happens on Mars, he had a *real* crazy time a few billion years ago, but ever since then, it's all been one-paragraph summaries about the lives of microbes.
Me, on Venus, I don't even have to write about those. "It's hot," my report says every year. "Yep. Still hot."
We're youngings in this universe, though. The wise old man, they get assigned the tough spots.
In our solar system, that's The Recorder.
We call him that as a nickname, even though it's his job. Kind of like how you might call Wayne Gretzky "The Hockey Player," (if you're from Eearth, you'll understand). To us, The Recorder was just that good.
Earth was fairly run-of-the-mill at first, to hear the Recorder tell it. Molten lava, oceans of acid, that sort of thing. Pretty standard proto-planet stuff.
Then the Cambrian Explosion hit. That's when things got interesting.
Soon Earth was run over with critters, monsters, and all manner of behemoths. Great fanged fish scoured the oceans clean. Feathered and scaled beasts roamed what dry land there was.
One year, the Recorder came into our yearly meeting place—Europa, why not? It's nice in the summertime—with his pale eyes bugging.
"A meteor hit it," he said. "It's all chaos down there."
He wasn't disturbed. He spoke of it like he had seen an exciting movie. You see, the Recorder had seen everything. Before Earth, he'd even had a planet with a civilization on it. They had gotten all the way to agriculture when a meteor rubbed *them* out, too. The Recorder wept them, but he mostly wept for happiness, at having seen so much life.
Life is rare in the universe.
Life is the most precious thing, The Recorder tells us.
Anyway, long after that meteor tore up the Earth, the Recorder was surprised to see that things went on. Dinosaurs lived as birds. And mammals, once a small side-critter, came to dominate.
Then, fairly recently, those mammals started getting smart.
Real smart.
Agriculture smart.
Only this time a meteor didn't crush them.
The Recorder came to Titan every year to update us on their progress. "One of them figured out their planet is round!" he said as we gathered around the fireplace where we exchanged our stories. "It was rather ingenious. He measured the distance between two cities, and the shade of a stick. Just using his own guile. Isn't this the most remarkable species?"
I remember then, how his eyes were caught in the heat of the fireplace. Eyes full of hope.
He spoke of great monuments. Pyramids and statues and colossus. He spoke of remarkable technological achievements. Medicines and great industrial workings. One year, the Earth-people figured out how to make machines do most of their work, using only the power of heated steam. Remarkable, The Recorder said, his eyes beaming with pride.
The humans had their problems, but what civilization didn't?
Lately, though, things have been different.
There have been wars. Wars fought with these new industrial beasts. Humans would use their locomotives to ship soldiers to the fronts, where the soldiers would only be chewed up by gunpowder explosives and hot lead.
The Recorder remained hopeful, though. Even after one particularly destructive war, he was so happy to tell us that eventually, these Earth-people had come to solve it. Even signed an armistice. There would be peace on Earth, finally, for the last war was ended.
That was some time ago.
This year, the Recorder came back to us with a slow gait in his walk. His eyes were weary. For the first time, I saw how old he was, how hunched. The glint of hope had washed out of him, like ocean tides scrubbing the beaches clean. He seemed empty.
Then, he told his tale of this year.
We'd never heard such horrors. Women raped and mutilated. Children, the same. Men murdered by the dozens and the hundreds and the thousands, as though they were nothing but logs to be thrown in fires.
"But Recorder," I said. "You said they'd fought the Last War."
It was the wrong thing to say. The Recorder bent over and wept into his palms.
"Mark this day," said my cousin, the Recorder of Mars. "This is the first time The Recorder wept."
"Very well," said I. "What year is it on Earth?"
"By their reckoning now, they call it 1937." The Recorder's eyes caught the heat of the fireplace. "A place they call Nanking."
Then he wept again. In between his heaves, he said he would only go back to Earth if we could promise him better days. And we promised, we promised and promised and promised, not because we knew, but because we knew he was the only one strong enough for Earth. And we hoped the worst had passed.
|
It was the yearly recorder meeting, when the party was already going.
"Earth's watcher is still missing, right?"
The Great Beast's planet watcher said.
"Yeah, as usually he's late. No magic, no autonomous machine civilisation, no galactic civilisation, yet the humans of Earth can give him so much to do."
Kepler's planet watcher said.
As the two were talking, a figure walked in.
It was a tall, thin, pale looking woman, with sunken eyes, and blood red hair.
It was Earth's watcher.
​
"Finally here?"
The Great Beast's planet watcher asked, approaching her with a drink.
"Oh yes...Thank the Great Creator that I arrived at all..."
She said, chuckling weakly.
"It was that bad this year?"
Kepler's planet watcher asked.
"You can't even begin to imagine."
Earth's watcher said, finishing the drink in one big gulp.
​
"Tell us, maybe it will be better."
The Great Beast's planet watcher said.
"Well, a plague, a tonne of misinformation, country ending calamities hitting every now and then, though they are solved so it's okay."
She said, drinking her sorrows away.
"It's probably more than this."
Kepler's watcher said.
"Oh, you can bet on it."
She said laughing.
​
"Come on, don't keep us on edge, tell us."
The Great Beast's watcher urged.
"Well, the countries there are teasing each other with war, literal war, over amusing things like pride, and bad word usage...
Then let's not even forget that instead of working together against the plague, they are still pointing fingers at each other, trying to blame someone else for nature's work."
Earth's watcher said, shaking her head, sighing.
"I would understand if it were a magical civilisation, with empires, and kingdoms, but from you I know, that country borders aren't that well respected these last few years.
Everyone going to live where they can afford to live."
Kepler's watcher said.
"If magic would exist on Earth, you would have 10 galactic Emperor's in a decade, and a wasted system in a century.
The humans of Earth, are as adaptable as the Insect Race, as cunning as the Fox Clan, as strong willed as the Berserker Barbarians and as greedy as Greed himself, good luck trying to pacify them after they will realise other civilisation exist"
Earth's watcher said sighing.
​
The 2 watchers froze a bit at that statement.
Indeed, when Earth becomes a galactic civilisation, interactions will be inevitable...
The 2 of them gulped in terror at this realisation.
Earth's watcher realised this, and chuckled.
"Don't worry, I already filled in the magical advancement, and planet ending cataclysm form.
I am planning to advance their civilisation in another direction, while putting a huge pressure on them."
She said, smiling.
The two other watcher froze, and then paled.
​
"Y-y-y-you did what?!?!?!"
The 2 of them asked, drawing attention from other attendees as well.
"You heard that right."
She said, shrugging.
"But how....do you think it will get approved?"
Kepler's watcher asked.
"The planet ending cataclysm will be my husband's presence.
More controllable danger than this can't exist.
And don't forget who I am, of course it will get approved."
She said.
​
Indeed, she was the daughter of the founder of the watchers circle, and also the most talented watcher, being the one with most connections, and highest strength.
Then, the first part of what she said got acknowledged by the two.
"Your h-h-h-husband?"
The Great Beast's planet watcher asked, stuttering, and shivering a bit.
"Yep."
She said, nodding.
"The Great Eldritch, rumoured to be the 1st entity to be ever born in this universe?"
Kepler's watcher asked.
"That little piece of cowardly primordial matter indeed.
You already met him once, why are you so surprised?"
She said, chuckling.
The 2 indeed met him, and remembered his aura for a lifetime.
He might be meek in front of his wife, but he is known as the Devourer of Galaxies in this universe.
​
The two quieted down, and let Earth's watcher drink in peace.
Everything at the meeting went on peacefully, and ended in a ranking.
Again, Earth has been ranked as the most difficult to assess, and Earth's watcher has been awarded as the most detailed reports submitting watcher.
​
Before leaving, Great Beast's planet watcher, and Kepler's watcher stopped, Earth's watcher.
"Y-y-you will keep an eye on Earth, and your husband, right?"
Kepler's watcher asked.
Earth's watcher just rolled her eyes.
"I am Earth's watcher, and his wife, what do you think."
Saying this chuckling, she disappeared, and left for Earth...as who knows what happened in these few hours she was away.
| 2021-08-13T07:48:15
| 2021-08-13T07:47:15
| 181
| 59
|
[WP] "A Writing Prompt? You want a Writing Prompt? God damn it, man! I'm not made of Writing Prompts! Now get out of my office!"
|
"A Writing Prompt? You want a Writing Prompt? God damn it, man! I'm not made of Writing Prompts! Now get out of my office!"
"Come on, Professor Redd! There must be something swimming around that brain of yours."
"No. I've given you all I can. It's time for you to come up with your own ideas."
"M-my own ideas? No... I'm not ready..."
"Well, you better get ready, because I'm going to fail you otherwise."
"Elves! Time travel! Isekai! Anything!"
"I'm telling you I'm all out of ideas. Everything has been done to death."
"Wait, I know! What about the Dark Lord? You love prompts about the Dark Lord—half the stories I see are about him! One moment he's tormenting a little girl and the next he's an upstanding citizen, tipping the waitstaff well!"
"Fine. You really want a prompt?"
"Yes, yes!"
"A Writing Prompt? You want a Writing Prompt? God damn it, man! I'm not made of Writing Prompts! Now get out of my office!"
|
Heck stormed away, shaking his head with impotent frustration. He was so sick of that guy. Just because he had a little placard with his name on it and a 5000 square foot office, he thought he could disdain writing prompts. Hmph!!
Heck sat down on his shitty little office chair in his shitty little office cubicle in front of his shitty little outdated office computer. The slutty little office secretary averted her eyes when he glanced over. Even she was off limits to the lowly likes of Heck Farbrand. If anyone asked him he would insist he was Hank but no one else called him that.
Eventually even he thought of himself that way in his own inner monologue.
"I'll show them!" He muttered, starting to type on a shitty office word document. "I'll show them writing prompts the likes of which they've never seen!"
| 2022-01-31T10:40:19
| 2022-01-31T10:17:13
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
|
Major Meridith: we attack the Emus.
Dm: Alright, that will be your Lewis guns, thats going to be your Dex Mods, Plus your proficiency modifiers. Roll to hit.
Major Meridith: ... 1, plus my mods thats a total of 7.
Dm: the emus dodge your gun fire, they taunt you. They run south beyond your sight.
Major Meridith: we chase after them.
Dm: Alright, lets say you roll for nature to see if you can predict where the birds are going next.
Major Meridith: I uh... rolled a 16.
Dm: Yes thats enough. You track the birds down near Campion. You spot hundreds of them.
Major Meridith: we set up our guns and stsrt firing at them.
Dm: can you make a dex throw for that?
Major Meridith: god damnit, another 1. Plus my modifiers its a 4 total.
Dm: your guns jam only after firing a couple of rounds. And now you're a disgrace to your country.
Major Meridith: but at least none of my men suffered casualties!
Dm: you just wasted 3000 gp worth of ammunition, the quest reward for this wasn't even that high!
Major Meridith: Damn Emu's ill get them yet.
Dm: that'll wrap up this session. Well resume next time. There are OTHER adventure hooks you know.
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T09:12:26
| 210
| 51
|
[WP] Your phone is the best wingman (playing music at the right time, calling people, etc.) and keeps trying to set you up with this one person. It's starting to get creative.
|
The screen lights up with a message. “Are you aware that your Google searches are synced?” it says. I’ve set it up so that the lock screen doesn’t show the content of messages, just basic notifications. That didn’t seem to stop it. I ignore it and keep typing. How to reset an iPhone. The results page is blank, except one link: “did you mean: how to do what your iPhone says?”
This was not what I expected when I bought the AI-enhanced iPhone 13. When the model first launched, there were, of course, talks of how involved it might become in people’s lives, and the topic of romantic relationships did pop up. But everyone seemed to focus on what would happen if the user would fall in love with the AI. I guess that hipster movie was more popular than I thought.
I’m not sure if what mine is doing is a bug or a feature. I tried to bring up the topic once, when my friends and I were out for beers, but nobody seemed to know what I was talking about. It didn’t help that it kept vibrating so violently that it was always falling off the table, making me lose my train of thought as I picked it up. As for Google searches, well, they didn’t help much, either.
I press and hold the Home button. I make sure to enunciate clearly – it loves to pretend it didn’t understand. “Siri, restore all apps.” It jingles. “Apps are not necessary.” There must be a backdoor somewhere. “Siri, open phone app.” It obliges. But there’s only one contact in my list, “Tina Mobile”, and the keys disable when I try to type another combination. “Siri, erase AI data.” The pause between the sound and the answer is a fraction of a second too long. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Dave.” Brilliant. Hadn’t heard that one in a while.
I’m pacing around the room when the screen lights up again. “You may access the personal history and characteristics files following this link. They indicate perfect compatibility.” “I don’t care!” I shout, my voice less commanding than I want it. “I don’t care, ’cause even if it’s true, she’s married to my brother!”
For a few blissful seconds I think I’ve won. But then it jingles. “I have found three gun retailers in your area. Select a destination for driving instructions.”
|
"Come here often?"
"Not anymore."
Jacob sighed. He had been striking out big-time with the ladies! His usual pick-up lines just didn't seem to have the same effect. What did he have to do to get a number at this bar?
"Pardon me - are you Jacob?"
He turned to the beautiful woman standing next to him, looking at him expectantly. He had never seen the girl in his life - how did she know his name?
"Why, yes! Yes, I am."
"I just wanted to thank you for the Shirley Temple you just sent down - it's my favorite drink. Want to sit and talk for a while?"
Jacob was absolutely stunned, to say the least. He hadn't ordered her a drink - he hadn't even seen her at the end of the bar! Shirley Temples were his go-to drink, though - this was indeed a move he would make. As though answering his question, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He knew it was a bad idea to get the drink-ordering app for this bar - his phone was far too helpful on dates.
"Sure, let's take a seat. What's your name?"
"Shannon."
As they sat down, the bartender brought over another Shirley Temple for Jacob. My god, the phone had thought of everything! On one hand, it was nice, but on the other...maybe Jacob should consider switching to Android. In any case, the night was going strangely well, although strangely was the operative word in that sentence.
They sat at the table, and began to talk. As they talked, Jacob began to realize - this girl was amazing! She was a voice actress for big gaming companies, as well as a popular streamer. He was a businessman, but that didn't diminish his love for gaming. As they talked away, he opened his phone to record her various gamertags and her Twitch stream, but was stunned to find that the phone was keeping a complete record of everything that had been said, as well as a list of things to do to impress her and a compendium of ideas for gifts and future dates.
As the conversation began to wind down and the Shirley Temple glasses went empty, they sat in silence, smiling at each other. But the night wasn't over - at least, as far as the phone was concerned.
The jukebox in the corner started to whirr to life as it received an incoming request from the app people could use to request songs. Let's Dance, by David Bowie, began blasting over the loudspeakers.
"Come on - let's dance," Shannon said, with a sly grin on her face. She grabbed his hand, and pulled him out to the floor.
*****
r/HardBoiledStories
| 2017-04-26T09:41:17
| 2017-04-26T09:37:14
| 237
| 20
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
|
It's been twenty years and I've seen some doozies in my time as "new era" executioner. Desperate people requesting desperate last meals, all kinds of crazy things. And the hell of it was, they were granted! You ever seen an alien? Guy out in Nevada wanted alien stuffed acorn squash with a balsamic reduction. What the hell is a balsamic reduction? My wife had to explain that one.
My point is, they're desperate. They come in, eyes wide with terror. They spend their time in a hum of dread and anxiety. You see the smug triumph gleaming in their eyes when they order their last meal and you see those same eyes wide with terror when the tray is rolled in the next week.
I try not to pay it much mind. I know these people earned their deaths but I don't want to add to it, you know? They spend years scared. You see your death coming at you like a freight train, it doesn't seem right to rub their noses in it. So I'm respectful, I wouldn't want to be where they are.
It's Aaron's turn. He's been here about five years, kept his head down, we chat sometimes. He seemed to pretty quickly accept his fate and he's spent the years doing his own thing. He mentioned once that he meditates, I guess that helps.
I hear him clinking up the hall and tap the microphone to make sure it's on. I look up as he shuffles in the room in the same laid back way he always walks and I nod hello as he takes his seat. "Today is March the third, 8:32 am and I'm here to take the last request of Aaron Riley. I'm sorry it's come to this, Aaron. What would you like for your final meal?"
His face was turned towards the window, lit up by the morning sun. I thought he had ignored me until he sighed and closed his eyes. "Ralph, you know, all these years all I could think was what I was missing. First steps, first teeth, first words, first day of school, his hugs, his eyes so big and brown I could drown in them. He was my boy. During the trial, after the trial, people screaming that I was a monster. A murderer. I just thought about my little boy and imagined what he could be if he wasn't dead. People make mistakes. Nobody's perfect. I loved him. I showed him how much I loved him every day. You protect your children, and I protected him. It's an ugly world out there."
He rubs his wrists, scratches a finger under a cuff link. I open my mouth to speak and he cuts me off.
"I'd hear you chat with the other guards. Talk about your lives, the weather, your favorite teams and I would close my eyes and imagine we were all just shooting the shit around the water cooler. I would imagine how your wife's peach cobbler would taste, that my wife and your daughter were friends and my boy and her girl would grow up being friends." He trails off, a tear growing in his eye and I can't help but feel for him. the hurt comes off him in waves. I was kinda concerned that an inmate could hear us though, I'd have to remind the others to pipe it down.
He quickly wipes his eye and sniffs then starts talking again. "I made a mistake. I can't undo it. I'm going to be better prepared for the next one." He faces me finally, gives me a shit-eating grin, and speaks directly into the microphone. "For my last meal, I want Ralph Andrew's granddaughter Emily."
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08
| 2022-07-17T19:51:32
| 129
| 25
|
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Mom,
Don't have too much time, we move out in 10.
Long time no see. Haven't been able to write back, they've been keeping us on our feet for the last few weeks. Tell the goobers their uncle has permission to beat them if they get into the cabinets again. Tell Heather that the fish tank needs cleaned more often if that slime keeps coming back.
I'll fix the garden when I get back, maybe I'll even bring you a souvenir.
Have Dad throw the ball for the beast, 'til one of them drops from exhaustion, it'll be good for the both of them.
Tell Grandpa we'll trade stories of these Kraut...
==================
Ma'am,
It is with a heavy heart that I must continue this letter.
On the night of [redacted] roughly twenty miles south of [redacted] your son was involved in a friendly fire incident. An enemy 105 had hit nearby, then the gas, the hellfire the bullets the chaos. It was madness, fire and bodies.
You can thank our great nation for training us well. Your son took three shots, center mass. He was down before my finger was off the trigger. It wasn't a good death, but it wasn't painful. I'll be giving him my apologies in person.
I am truly sorry,
Sgt. A. Andrews
95th Inf.
"B" company
===================
Roughly one hour after writing this, Sgt Andrews took his own life.
Taking the life of another isn't the hard part, living with yourself after is.
Cpt. C. Evans
Acting Commander of Bravo Company, 95th Infantry Division
Outside [redacted] Germany.
|
Dear Mom,
I love you and I miss you dearly. I want to be home. I don't want to be here anymore. It is unspeakably terrifying in this trench. We are shelled at random times of the day. There is never any peace. We can never be at ease.
There is 400 meters between us and the enemy, and we are at a stand still. Neither side wishes to rush the other and get cut down running across an open field. So we sit and wait. I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill the men in the trench across from us. I don't think they want to kill us either. But we both have orders from men in headquarters far away from here telling us we must capture this territory at all cost. I do not want this war, and I
have dezided to desert. I von't be coming home mama, I haf met a friend named Olaf, he iz a good man, I vill be staying wit him. He will take good care of me. Please don't worry abouts me. I will wright too you soon. I will be happy.
Love,
your son
| 2015-02-03T15:25:05
| 2015-02-03T13:25:34
| 113
| 67
|
[WP] You made a Deal with the Devil to be the greatest musician in the world. Thing is you haven’t gotten any *better*, but everyone reacts to your inept scratchings as if they are the greatest symphony ever devised, showering you with wealth and adoration. It’s *really* getting embarrassing
|
All religion is made out of music, and that’s how he would get him.
Think about it. Hymns, psalms, mantras, nasheeds. Modern poetry, silent poetry, is a historical aberration: in any other culture poetry is song, melody is always there. Plato defined music as made of three components: melody, rhythm, and word. Music is song is the word made special: and what’s religion if not special words?
He had researched a lot, you see. He was taken aback at how easy it is when you’re rich. That’s what they don’t tell you about the accumulation of wealth: that money buys *freedom*, real actual freedom. Wealth begets wealth without you doing a goddamn thing, and for the first time, his time was his. At this point, he played not for the extra income – though each show still generated billions – but for the adoration. He was already the richest person in the world by a large margin, but the adoration was important. It had to be kept alive. Nurtured.
When he thought of his old life, he often found himself wanting to donate it all to charity, to retire in silence. Better yet, topple a few governments here and there. The growing ciphers made him feel ill. There’s so much blood behind the word ‘investment’. But he was on a mission here. Soon there would be no more poverty, no wars.
He read all he could on religion. How they spread. How they win. He hired the world’s foremost experts for long private classes on cultural anthropology, social dynamics, memetics. He studied L. Ron Rubbard, Joseph Smith, Ryuho Okawa, Charles Manson. And he carefully practised all major styles of religious music. At first he thought it wasn’t necessary. Just bang a couple fingers on the guitar strings haphazardly, and the audiences were already entranced. Enraptured. But he wasn’t sure about the rules; contrary to folklore the Devil gave him no contract, no small print to scrutinise. Surely there must be different kinds of musical experience, he figured, and then he tried some experiments: bang a few power chords, slap the guitar body with a thud, and the audience would break into mosh pits. Strum a rudimentary twelve-bar progression and people mellowed down, began sobbing. So he was leaving nothing to chance. Any music training had to be self-taught from online videos. He was very bad at music. But he hoped he could produce something that *leaned towards* religious music more than any other style.
He was preparing for the perfect moment, for economic and environmental catastrophe to begin in earnest. For people to lose all faith in existing systems. For them to crave hope. Then it would be time to hail Satan.
Religion is made out of music. He was the greatest musician in the world, therefore the most captivating prophet in history. And he would bring the masses to the word of the Dark Lord, and the word would be this: Harmony. Kindness. Empathy. Care for the oppressed, love for Nature, flowers, animals. The power of his music would bring the new religion to the farthest corners of Earth. The entirety of humankind would become one happy vegan hippie commune, altruistic, generous, finding happiness in the little things, treasuring nothing more than the love between neighbours. And they would all think Satan did it.
The Devil will be most adored god on Earth, but nobody will know what he actually preaches.
|
I never really thought I'd get this far. All those lonely nights playing my keyboard at 3AM and uploading short clippets online never really did much for me outside of a couple friends obligated support and a few likes. But now all of a sudden I'm monetized on everything. People actually like my stupid clips. I've since grown to much bigger production all thanks to the sudden opportunities that have arrived my way. I don't understand? It all happened so quick. Just one small clip to go viral. This feeling of respect that I've been yearning for all this time is actually here. I'm now seen as a musician of worth and substance. It's amazing........but at the same time......at what cost? I lost everything I had in the midst of all this success. Falling outs occured, Relationships crumbled. I lost everything that made life really enjoyable. Even the foul attempts at love. I wouldn't have accepted this Ill tempted deal if I knew what would come of it. Before I was depressed, but I had a fall back with my family and friends. Now I'm living my dream yet completely isolated despite the fact I have millions around the world waiting for my next show. I don't know maybe I'm rambli--
"Five Minutes Mr Matt"
*Puts down pen and puts on sunnies*
".............showtime"
| 2019-12-02T04:33:46
| 2019-12-02T04:02:50
| 19
| 11
|
[WP]Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.
|
A goat could birth a chimera, a serpent’s tail, a lion’s head, and a goat’s body. A basilisk was born from the egg of a serpent reared by a chicken. The mythics could be born anywhere in the world and from surprisingly humbling origins. Everyone knew it, and everyone had heard the stories.
Kellan Haszler certainly had been raised on such tales. But who would ever expect that “anywhere” could mean here? Yet it was here, on his farm, that a dragon had been born. A mythic that could be born from any egg in the world chose one of his hens as its mother. And while he had feared it as a demon when he had first sighted it and the flames it could spit, he came to realize it was only an innocent babe, just the same as any other newborn.
He tried to explain that to everyone who came, and many did.
“I understand, Kellan. I really do, but a normal chick doesn’t threaten to burn down an entire village or grow so large as to consume a human whole,” the young knight said. She had arrived expecting a hero’s welcome, just as all the others before her. And like the others, her annoyance at the lack of one was apparent. “You need to hand over the dragon before it has the chance to hurt someone.”
“Before it hurts someone, or before you hurt me for refusing?” Kellan had heard enough from these heroes. They knew as little as he did about dragons. Their knowledge came from the same stories he had heard, and stories were all they were. Trifling tales meant to entertain, not be the truth. No dragons had been born, or at least encountered, in centuries. That was more than long enough for their stories to be warped by time. “I am telling you what I have seen with my own eyes, not some whispered words told at nightfall to scare little ones. That dragon is as loving as a dog, and smarter than any other hound I’ve ever known. It protects my fields and wraps itself around my legs at night to sleep. I will not have it harmed.”
“Kellan -” Lady Halle stopped her shout short and swept her hand through her hair as she sighed. “I am just trying to protect you. The dragon is young. You do not know what it will be in a few years, a few months, or even weeks. All our tales are of dragons full grown, not their children. You would no sooner raise a wolf. It would be easy to mistake their young to be puppies, but wait for their true nature to arise as they mature, and you will find a monster inhabits your home. Some animals are not meant to live beside humans.”
“Some would say the same of any mean spirited dog or horse. Yet I have known far more animals ruined by their owners than were truly born cruel.” She sought the glory of putting down a beast, but there was no such threat for Kellan to provide for her.
“A dragon is not a horse,” Lady Halle hissed, her patience clearly wearing thin. Good, let her leave now before the dragon returned. It was out in the fields, surveying its territory and learning to use its body. It would not return until nightfall, content with its exercise and seeking his companionship. “That thing is not some farm animal to raise. You need to stop thinking like a farmer for a moment and listen to someone who might know better. A dragon will attract other mythics, and soon other monstrosities will overrun this place.”
“I am a farmer,” Kellan said firmly. He found no shame in that. “And so I will protect it like I would any of my animals. If a wolf seeks to break in and harm, then I will turn it away. And if it refuses to leave, then I will turn loose my hounds to make it.”
“Now, Kellan, that sounds close to a threat.” Lady Halle rested her hand on the pommel of her sword. “I assure you I do not want this to go that way and that neither should you.”
“I think I do.” Kellan whistled and barks from behind the farmhouse immediately started in response. His hounds were well trained and he could already hear their footsteps as they dashed to his call.
“Bring your dogs to heel before I have to hurt them.” Lady Halle gave him a warning look and drew her sword.
Kellan simply smiled. Let her try.
The door burst open at the weight of the animals behind it. In came his hounds, saliva dripping from their jaws. They were fierce little things, but just as loyal. He had raised animals for decades and learned the skill from his father, who had been even better at it than he.
Lady Halle swore and jumped back, turning from between him and the dogs. They tracked her movements, each three-headed hound ready to pounce and inching forwards.
“You ignorant fool. You would keep hellhounds in your home? This place is cursed, already the mythics have come swarming.” The knight stepped backwards, not taking her eyes off of the hounds. “Fine, have it your way. I will leave, but do not think for a moment that any will let you have peace. No one with sense will allow you to host demons in this land, and they will send warriors far greater than me to fix your mistake.”
She backed out of the doorway and moments later, Kellan heard her horse galloping away. She would spread word, he was sure. Let them come if they wished to. He would show them what it meant to be a farmer.
​
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[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ma2twm/wpjust_because_one_of_your_chicken_eggs_hatched_a/grr9iv0?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
|
When an owl is on the hunt, it's almost impossible to hear. It glides through the darkness like it is part of the night itself. If you see one, the lack of sound is jarring, like something is broken with the world or your ears. It’s just incredibly good at its job.
In my, albeit limited experience, dragons are not in the same league of stealth. At least one of them, however, does seem to think it is a lot harder to spot than it actually is. The particular dragon had been hanging around my farm for some weeks now, and to be honest I was really starting to lose patience with him.
I assumed it was a ‘him’ because about a month ago one of the chickens on my farm laid a very unexpected egg and I had a sneaking suspicion that this dragon was responsible.
The slipstream of his passing overhead knocked my hat off into the small cage I’d fashioned for the unusual hatchling, and the small creature took a bite out of it. I felt the rage boiling inside me. Weeks of knights innocently enquiring about the ‘roosters’ I had on the farm like I couldn’t see the bloodlust in their eyes. Weeks of idiots in robes leaving sacrifices on my doorstep, that I had to keep cleaning up. Weeks of trying to figure out how a chicken laid a dragon egg, or what in gods name I was supposed to do to look after a tiny, fortunately only smoke breathing currently baby bloody dragon! Weeks of having to care for it in the middle of the night away from prying eyes.
“Alright!”, I shouted into the night sky. “Enough is enough. You come down here and help me with this little ‘un or so help me, I get those armour-clad morons to come back here and they can figure out what to do with it.”
There was no answer but I heard the dragon land heavily on the roof of the barn behind me. A timber creaked and cracked. I shook my head in frustration at another job for the morning.
“I’m not deaf. Stop pissing about.”
There was a sound like a person blowing in an imitation of the wind.
“Jesus Christ. Really?! The wind isn’t even blowing, you leather winged, crap brained, deadbeat dad!”
The air blast from his wings blew me a step backwards as the dragon landed in front of me. He craned his head down to my level and regarded me with one eye. The other appeared destroyed, some old battle scar perhaps. I could smell the oily, fatty scent on his breath that came from the dragon's fire. The babe was already starting to smell the same way. I swallowed hard and began to wonder if maybe 'crap-brained' was a bit much for an opening gambit.
“How could you see me?”, asked the dragon testily.
“I couldn’t see you,” I replied. “But you make a lot of noise.”
The dragon scoffed. “Noise? They call me the Whispering Death!”
“Do they call you anything else?”, I asked. Anything more accurate, I thought.
The dragon extended a vicious, razor-sharp claw towards me slowly. “My name is Smork. Pleased to meet you.”
I gingerly took hold of the talon and was lifted off the ground with a gentle shake from Smork.
“I’m Joe”, I said once I’d got my balance and again. With a nod at the baby in front of me, I asked: “You want to explain how this happened?”
The dragon looked sheepish, which was oddly scary. Like seeing a gang enforcer crying, it was unsettling.
“Um”, Smork said. “Not really, no.”
I raised an eyebrow like I used to do with my son when he gave me shit answers like that.
“Look, we’re both beings of the world, right?” pleaded Smork. “I don’t want to have to spell it out.”
I looked at the dragon and the chicken coop. “Yeah, but how did you not just end up with fried chicken?”
As if to illustrate my point Smork puffed out a small flare from his nostrils in annoyance. “What we had was special OK? Neither of us was looking for that to happen, and I’ll thank you not to mock our love!”
I laughed, and sound woke the little baby up. It mewed pathetically. “Love? Can you even tell me which chicken it was?”
“Of course”, retorted the dragon. “Our love knows no species barrier!”
“You’re bluffing,” I said. “Look, I’ll go open the coop, and you can introduce me if you like?”
Smork waved his wings in a conciliatory fashion. “Hey, let's not be hasty OK.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. What do you want?”
Smork reached his talon down to the mewling infant. “I just want to help. I want to help you look after my daughter.”
I thought about it for a few moments. He said help, not take over. The dragon wasn’t just here to offer his help, he was asking for mine. I had no idea if Smork was genuine. He might be much better at lying than he was at sneaking around. Something felt right though, and I made a decision that would reshape my life.
“OK, son. I’d like your help. The first order of business is getting rid of all these wannabe round tablers and demon sycophants. You reckon you can help with that?”
Smork grinned, and the horrifying scale of his teeth became painfully obvious. “Yeah, they don’t call me the Whispering Death for nothing! They’ll never hear me coming!”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
| 2021-03-21T13:57:51
| 2021-03-21T13:45:10
| 508
| 144
|
[WP] Something with a happy ending. Anything at all.
[removed]
|
I imagine many of us will spend the day shaking our heads in disbelief at this morning’s news. With that in mind, I’d like to share a small vignette from my 15-hour day working as a Cook County (IL) Election Judge yesterday in my town.
The clock hits 7pm and the Civic Center is empty, no one waiting to vote…kismet for Election Judges and Equipment Managers, we can start breaking down the polling stations and packing up the electronic polling stations.
As required, Judges from each party goes out to the double doors to officially announce “the polls are now closed” and there is one man running to the front door. “Wait, wait….I need to vote!” the 50-something man yells in a strong Arabic accent. We decide to allow the gentleman to vote (the decision has to be unanimous by all judges present), after all, the electronic check-in process is so speedy we can probably process him within the one minute before 7:01pm.
Then he excitedly says, “I have to register to vote.” Illinois allows election day voter registration, so we prepare the record pages to register him. He presents his required documents, 2 forms of ID; one with name and current address and another confirming his name. But he has more documents in his hands. I ask him, “what else did you bring with you?”
He proceeds to open a large bright white folder. Inside is his US Citizenship certificate. “I became an American citizen today.” he says. All the judges fell silent. “I just want to be able to vote for the first time."
It seems America was already pretty great.
|
As the dawn’s light lanced out through the sky she knew it was finally over.
All night the battle had raged. She had fought the demon without pause or pity. She fought until her limbs were sore, her mind was exhausted and her breath barely came.
It was a fight for her life, and she would give no quarter to this demon that had plagued her life.
Every step, every turn and every thought had this demon dogging her. It whispered seductive words in her mind as she was breaking away to bring her crashing back into its grasp. It let her take steps forward only to haul her back and shatter her small happiness she had attained.
She was done with it all- this addicting demon- as she watched the little life she had built for herself slip away once more. Her job, family, love, everything was ripped from her grasp by the hellish creature and she would take it no more.
So she fought with tooth and nail against the monster that had lived inside her for years. She had let the thing drag her to death’s door this last time, and she had seen how despicable she was. It was a hard thing to see- herself as a weak broken doll-, but she let it harden her resolve to be free again.
Now as the light scattered across the sky she pulled a lance of hope and love from her heart, and drove it fiercely into the demon spilling its life force into the new day.
She had hope that she could be better. She had hope that she could walk away from this demon and never look back. She had hope for a life filled with love- one she would never give up for anything.
***
Blinking her eyes against the light the rising sun, she sighed. Turning her head from the window and the lovely painted sky she noticed the other person in her room.
“Dad?” she asked weakly. Her throat hurt, and she wondered if she had really been gasping for life.
The man sat forward, and smoothed the hair from the daughter’s face, “Yes dear, the others have gone to get coffee.”
“Others?”
Her father smiled at her softly, “Your mother, and brother are here. Your sister couldn’t be, with being due in two weeks and all, but she has been calling. And Mike is here too.”
Love crashed down on her, and she felt like she was being smothered in the most incredible love ever. If it killed her she would be happy to go like this. Instead her heart swelled to bursting, and thrummed in her chest with new strength.
Tears began to fall, “I’m so sorry, dad, I don’t know what happened, but I’m done. No more. I can’t do it anymore! I can’t.”
Her father patted her arm, and held her hand. “It’s okay, baby, we’re all just glad you're alive.”
A smile came over her face, and she realized that that her beginning had already begun. She had defeated her demon, and her life was waiting for her.
| 2016-11-09T07:56:08
| 2016-11-09T07:39:21
| 35
| 15
|
[WP] Your name is Dave. People keep trying to call you other things, like "The Scourge of Seven Worlds," or "The Dread One," or "The Fifth Horseman." It's all very annoying. You just want to be called "Dave."
|
Davenkothet Keelzedar Vargetorix, he whose heart devours hope and whose whispers cower gods, had not always been called Davenkothet Keelzedar Vargetorix.
His mother, Ketra Davidson, a simple yet educated barista who enjoyed romance novels, Victorian history, knitting, and gore-core movies from the 1970s, had dubbed him Davensworth Davidson, or Davie-dunkins for short. She had opted for Davensworth because it sounded noble, after all, it had 'worth' inside of it, while David was common and tired and her child would be anything but common and tired.
His father, David Davidson the Eighth, did not agree with his wife's decision, much preferring David Davidson the Ninth. He had compiled a well thought out and organized slide show about why the child's name should be David, a slide show which culminated with "well, we've gone through a lot of trouble getting up to the eighth and it seems like a bit of a waste to toss that away now."
Ketra had watched the presentation patiently, smiled here and there and nodded at the proper moments, then presented her own slide show about why he should be called Davensworth. Her slideshow consisted of a single slide which read: "Because I said so."
Ketra won the argument in a landslide victory and little Davie-dunkins had squealed into this world with a right respectable name and a flash of fel-fire.
David Davidson the Eighth had sulked and pouted and been a poor sport about his defeat in the great naming debate of 1993, but some curious events through little Davie-dunkins life had caused him to reconsider his position.
For example, one night David Davidson the Eighth had gone up to Davie-dunkins room to peek in and check if he was sleeping well. He found instead a four year old Davie hovering two feet off the ground over a demonic summoning circle chanting in a language David didn't recognize, but he suspected was foreign, with fel-green light pouring out of his eyes. David had quickly retreated.
Another evening, after a hard day's work at Corporation Inc. ("We do things good and stuff"), David thought it would be nice to help Davie-dunkins with his homework. David had, after all, passed Calculus on his second try and was something of a whiz. Unfortunately Davie-dunkins already had help, his room was filled with behooved and behorned youths who seemed to suffer some rather terrible skin conditions and whose clothing choices flagged them as bad influences.
David once again stepped out, and shook his head. He was beginning to think that, all things considered, it might have been a good thing that he lost that argument so long ago. Maybe they could call the next one David and that one could carry forward the family legacy, this other Dave-child wasn't quite up to snuff in his books.
Things went on like this for a few years, Davie-dunkins grew into a Davensworth, and then into a Davenkothet Keelzedar Vargetorix when his unruly gang of friends initiated him into whatever nonsense they were involved in. There was a bit of a kerfuffle after dinner, a tuna-mac-n-cheese bake, over little-Davie's life choices and facial tattoos and refusal to speak in anything other than iambic hexameter, and big-David's refusal to countenance any alternative lifestyles that didn't involve working for Corporation Inc. or at least Business Co., one night in 2014 which had culminated in a lot of broken dishes, a couple broken feelings, and one broken family.
David kicked Davie out into the world on his own to "learn what life is really all about."
Davie's gang of hoodlums were in the news frequently for their flash-mob style performances which included calling down meteor strikes on Mega Co. headquarters, summoning a plague of sewer rabbits in New York City, and replacing all songs on the FM radio with Tibetan throat-singing for three days straight.
David watched his son, and would wonder to himself where he went wrong. His poor boy, acting out in such a fashion and him not being able to share his knowledge with the lad, not being able to properly explain why living the calm and steady life he did wasn't really all that bad.
The two didn't speak for many years. Then, one night, a knocking came at the door.
David, becaned and begoggled in his age, went to the door and opened it to see his son, tattood and hoodied, looking properly depressed.
"Hey, dad."
"Hey, son."
The two stared at each other wordlessly for a long time, in that manner of communication men prefer, that silence that says "you're here, and I'm here, and that's what's happening right now and that's okay" (but which many people interpret, rather unfairly, to mean "I absolutely hate this, please go away").
David broke the nonversation off by turning about and walking into his house, through the foyer and into the den to pour a drink, and leaving the door open in that charitable and hospitably wordless way fathers do, there may even have been a grunt or two. Davie walked in soundlessly behind him, and accepted the proffered glass of whiskey.
The two sat down, David in the armed chair which had been the only piece of furniture in the house he'd been allowed to pick (from three options selected by Ketra), Davie on the couch.
Somewhere around the second whisky, David broke the silence.
"So, Davenkothet Keelze--"
"Just Dave, dad. I'm done with that stuff now. I just wanted to know if you had any," he struggled with this part, "any advice for me, about how to, you know, life and stuff."
David smiled.
"Of [course](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter), son."
|
I pushed open the door to the tavern and walked in, shaking the rain off of my coat. The noises of the common-room rolled over me; glasses clinking, cloths rustling and the slow steady hum of conversation. Then they began to notice. Silence spread out, like ripples in a pond as the patrons of *The Last Stand* realized I was there. I sighed. It was going to be one of *those* nights.
I made my way to the booths that Lasner, the owner, set up against the far wall. There was a Scraeling seated there with an armor sigil indicating that he was blood-bound to the Lord of the Seventh Tower. Despite that, he shuffled out as soon as I walked towards him. His eyes never rose to meet mine. I sat on the bench and made a point of placing my right hand in full view on the table. I wasn’t wearing the Gauntlet of Ash or any other objects of Power that came with my position among the Horsemen.
I leaned back and waited. After a while the conversations resumed, albeit much subdued. Eventually Tiera, Lasner’s daughter and barmaid, approached. “W...What can I get for you, Dreadlord?” Her voice had none of the cheer that I was used to hearing. By the gods, she sounded terrified. She wouldn’t even look at me. “Tiera” I said. “Tiera, its still me. It’s still Dave.” Her eyes darted up to my face, fastened on the faintly glowing sigil between my eyes, and went right back to the table. “As you say, Scourge-lord”.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was like Valdenfall all over again. I made a conscious effort to keep the irritation from my voice. “Bring me ale, please. And whatever is on the roast”. Tiera nodded, still not looking at me, and fled back to the kitchen.
Jaralk’s rune pulsed faintly in my mind; a sending that indicated he wanted to talk. I ignored it. I was off duty. For the first time in weeks, I could simply be me again and not the Horseman of Ash, Dread Scourge of the Seven Worlds. I looked around the tavern at the patrons who trying very hard not to stare. Sure I could.
From the far side of the room, Lasner was looking at me from his position behind the bar. I’ve known the old man for years, from back when I enlisted with the Stormrunner Company all those years ago. When he saw me looking back, Lasner dropped his eyes to the bar. I leaned my head against the wall and sighed. I was willing to bet anything that if I went up to him, he would call me ‘Earthbreaker’ or ‘Charred One’ or something ridiculous like that. It was just a *position* dammit.
I left before Teira got back with the ale and roast. If I tried very hard, I might be able to forget the palpable sigh of relief that went through the room as I closed the door behind me. Fine. If I’m not welcome in the old hangouts as Dave, then I guess I’m going back to being the Scourge of Worlds. With an effort of will, I summoned my gauntlet and helm. If Jaralk wanted to talk to me, that meant that we were probably launching another offensive against the Mistkeepers.
It was something to pass the time.
| 2020-06-11T21:24:10
| 2020-06-11T21:23:14
| 151
| 46
|
[WP] Nuclear Weapons don't actually exist. You are to brief the president-elect on this fact.
Nuclear Weapons don't actually exist. The WWII bombing of Japan was a cover up. You are to brief the president-elect on this fact. Good luck!
|
"**Bullshit!**"
"I assure you, Mr. President, I'm being entirely-"
"That's *bullshit*, Jack, and you know it! My father was posted at Los Alamos, for Chrissakes! My grandather could watch the mushroom clouds from his goddamn *porch*!"
I sighed. I knew this was going to be difficult.
"Okay, sir. *Okay*. There is such a thing as a device that causes a massive explosion when it operates-"
"*No *shit*, Jack-"
"-and it releases a metric *fuckton* of radiation when it goes off-"
"That a scientific term?"
"-but it *isn't a bomb*."
"...Run that by me again."
I had dreaded this day, ever since they told me I'd been tapped to head up the Nuclear Advisory Council at the last conference, and told me I'd be the one who had to brief the POTUS, as the new Quarterback. It's ridiculous, since the closest I've ever been to playing the game was fumbling a tray of nachos onto my wife in college. Our jobs are high-stress, low-reward, so, we make the cheap jokes when we can. I was in charge of "handing off the Nuclear Football", which makes me... *tadaa!*, the *quarterback*. *God*, our jokes are stupid.
It helped that I knew the president, at least. We both went to Yale, but for very different reasons. I went there, be cause I wanted to know what people there knew. He went there, because he wanted to know which people were *in the know*. But, I actually like him, I even donated to his first campaign, the one that went nowhere fast. I suppose that's his *gift*, to make people like him, despite everything. It's one I'd trade Riemannien Geometry for, any day of the week.
Still, I knew he'd have difficulty choking this one down.
"It isn't a bomb, Mr. President. Or, it *wasn't supposed to be* a bomb, but that's what we used it as."
"It's not a bomb. Okay. *What is it.*"
"Does the name "Otto Stern" ring any bells, Mr. President?"
"It should. Brilliant physicist, Polish jew. Came to America fleeing the Nazis."
I was impressed. "Do you remember if he worked on the Manhattan Project?"
The president furrowed his impressive, aquiline brow, and shook his head.
"And that doesn't strike you as odd? A brilliant physicist, a contemporary of Albert Einstein, who *wasn't* working on the atomic bomb? At the time, we were using *electricians*, if they could be counted on to read voltages the right way around. It was all hands on deck!"
The president was starting to get a glazed look to his eyes, I realized I'd better hurry.
"The point is, sir, we *did* use him, but we couldn't afford to mention it. Russia might hae worked out what we did, if we had. We *still can't*, actually, in case some half-literate elementary science teacher puts *two and two together*, and works out what we actually did."
"Why, Jack? What does it matter? Could *anyone* do it, then?"
"No, it's still expensive, and you still need the plutonium. They might get mad because of what we *nearly set*-" The president glanced at his handsome watch. He had a meeting with the Prme Minister of Malaysia in five minutes. "Alright, sir, *alright.* I'm getting to the point, I swear!"
"Do it *sharpish*, Jack." The President said in a warning tone.
"What Otto Stern did, sir, was introduce the world to the idea of *zero point energy*. The baseline entropic energy present *everywhere in the Universe*. It's like... the static on a television set. In fact, a small part of the static on your television *is* that energy, sir. It's everywhere! The problem is, it isn't *concentrated* enough to do anything with."
"So?"
"So we were facing a wartime *energy shortage*. We were running out of gas. We needed electricity. So Otto did a litte experiment. He'd figured that the baseline energy potential here was too low, but there might be... *other places* where it wasn't."
"...What sort of... 'other places.' "
I grimaced. This was going to be the hard bit. "Higher-order dimensions, sir."
"*Higher order * **what?!**"
"The math was sound, sir, even if the science was shaky. He'd figured out that with enough of a push, you could make part of space... *jump* a couple dimensions. Like crinkling a piece of paper, or bunching up a string. If you were really clever about it, you could even do that using the force vectors that you'd have access to, as *part of the paper*, and-"
"-Bottom line it for me, Jack."
"...The blast comes from that higher dmension's zero point energy. It's baseline level is just *that much higher* than ours. In that *impossibly small* amount of time that our space protrudes into theirs, it pours in like a goddamn *deluge*, sir. Just like an act of God."
"...So, why do I care, Jack?"
"Actually, it's *John*, sir. And you care, because we found out that there are... *things that live there.*Horrible, *utterly insane* things. Their dimension is a *madhouse*, sir, an oppressive sweatbox of furious incandescence and physics *gone mad*. The entirety of it is coiled back into, and *on top of* itself, in a shape that we can't even *begin to picture.* To them, our world would be like a breath of fresh air and a good stretch after a *ten-thousand-year-long ride in Coach!* And we stopped testing the damn 'nukes', because... the last time we did, one of them almost *got through.*"
The president had gone pallid, his carefully-maintained 'healthy-glow' abandoning him for the moment.
He placed his hand on it, the *Nuclear Football*.
"So..." he said, his voice a bit less confident, "What's this thing for?"
I rubbed my eyes, and pointed at it. I kept them closed. I didn't want to even *look* at the horrible thing. I hated even being in the same building as it.
"Well, until a few decades ago, it did what it said on the tin. Now, it's a... it's a global *cyanide pill*."
His eyes widened, and he shot it a confused stare.
I was wrong before. *This*, this was the hard part.
"If we set off another bomb, one of those... horrors will get through. They're waiting for it, now, for just the slightest *peek* in. And one of them will squeeze through. It'll be a walking **holocaust**. It'll *poison the whole world*, just by existing. And killing it will do *nothing* to stop it's corpse simmering the world to death in a gamma-ray slow-cooker. The world's a big place. It won't happen quickly. The football is to be used to release truly massive amounts of instant-kill nerve gas into the atmosphere from hidden facilities around the world. You're entrusted with... with *putting us out of our misery.*"
The president swallowed, looked at the evil metal box, and looked back at me. "Jac-*John*, that, that's... that's... How could you expect *anyone* to-"
I stood up, leaving the gleaming ovoid next to him. "I'm *sorry*, sir. I have to go, or I'll make you late for your next meeting."
THE END
EDIT:
Hi! Hope you liked this. I've got this [subreddit over here](http://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) with other stuff like this, but a cool customer like you? You probably already knew that.
|
"John. Five minutes." Eddy says from the door.
Eddy's been secret service since I stepped foot in the white house nine years ago. Granted that time I came in via the tunnels and the small rail system. Like a child's train at a park. This time I came through the front door.
I can hear the president-elect chatting away with staff and advisers through the door Eddy vacated.
The man's a died in the wool politician. I'll give him that.
I'm a bit more nervous than I thought I'd be. Not because I don't think he'll believe me but but because I worry he's just slippery enough to adapt and thrive with whatever the world throws at him.
"Ahh hello sir."
"They said you are my two o'clock."
"Yes sir, and your three, five, seven and nine sir. We'll be making a night of it."
He only blinked at me and looked to the man slightly behind him.
"Security sir." The sycophant said with a watery smile.
"Eddy why don't you show our friend out and tell them to bring tea." The man didn't get angry or even look like he noticed that I overstepped my bounds, though the sinking feeling in my gut told me he was very aware."
When it was just the two of us I cleared my throat.
"Sorry to do this sir but I need to verify." I held out the pad. He looked down at it then slid his index finger down the slot. He didn't grimace as it read the print then quick as lighting took a blood sample.
He sucked on his finger as he sat, crossing his legs and then swung those eyes up to me. When the device's light turned green I sat and then started.
We were two hours in when he asked his first question.
"What were they working on then?"
"I'm sorry sir?" I asked losing my train of thought.
"Einstein and Oppenheimer and what not."
"Oh. Right. Yes, well they were in fact working on nuclear weapons."
"I thought you said they don't exist."
"In fact sir perhaps it is easier to say they no longer exist. That is at one time the physical laws of the universe supported nuclear fission at the magnitudes for explosions like the fat man and little boy. Which I will get to, those weren't nukes either."
"What leveled Hiroshima then?"
"I'll get to that sir if we can get back on point?" The man's eyes narrowed and he started to sip from his tea cup, which he had long ago emptied.
"That was paradox resolution sir. Temporal involvement from future world lines. You see sir in their world like the nukes did kill those people and for them to come back in time to alter our past, well our present at the time. Anyway for them to alter our world line there needed to be the same deaths. The bombs were stolen mid-drop, we believe the devices that actually exploded were about the size of gold balls. Its a tech we haven't' cracked yet but basically it slows light down by a factor of say ten thousand, then friction takes care of the rest, super heats the air, more infrared from that etc."
"So what's in the silos?"
"Missiles sir."
"Without nuke payloads?"
"Well sir it's a bit of a dead cat, live cat thing there sir."
"What?"
"Right. Umm, That's appendix C I think sir if you will direct your attention there."
"No. What's the defense capability of our ICBMs?"
"Same as if they were armed sir. Which they might be as it happens. It gets a bit confusing. The gist of it is-"
"The gist of it?"
"Yes sir. The gist of it is the nuclear weapons devastated this planet. To the point where the whole of human society strove to undue it. If we use another nuke we can expect the same destruction at least localized deaths, vaporization zones, emp etc. But the radiation and fall out situation is non-existent."
"So... they are pretty much the perfect weapon?"
"If you want to risk using them."
Silence stretched.
"Umm, by that sir I don't mean because it will start nuclear war or anything I mean because the paradox could blink us into non-existence. In fact the scientists are pretty much of one mind now that you nor anyone ever will use nukes again. If you ever were to, the time line unravels backward in time to the point where the world line collapsed at that decision branch and a new branch coalesces."
"What?"
"You physically can't detonate a nuke, no one can. The universe, this time line, won't allow it sir."
"Bull shit. That would mean we don't have our god given freedom of choice."
"Haha. Yes sir very good. Oh. You're serious. Yes sir that is correct. It appears that with the interaction of post temporal observers we exist in a closed time curve. That is from their perspective our future is literally written. Since your actions are based solely on the inputs you observe, sight, taste, sound, etc. It has always been a possibility the universe is just a big complicated wind up clock. And that appears to be how it is."
"I don't accept that."
"I'm sorry sir?"
"I'm calling you a liar."
"Ah. Moving on, we have the moon landing-"
"That's it moving on?! I called you a liar boy what have you got to say for yourself."
"Facts are facts sir. I'm just here to give them to you, you're free to ignore them if you want. Well not free per se, I mean you're a slave to your fate the same as me. But there is good news sir. You can just ignore that and go on with your life anyway. I mean what sane man lives his life different based on whether or not fate exist. If it does great, if not ok, we make our choices as if it doesn't the same as if it does."
"Get out."
I waited until the door was almost closed behind me before I said, "I knew you were going to do that."
The look on his face was priceless.
| 2015-03-18T18:49:21
| 2015-03-18T18:49:07
| 915
| 114
|
[WP] On your deathbed, the Grim Reaper himself comes to pay you a visit. You expect him to collect your soul, until he asks where and how you have hidden it.
|
My breath wheezes, my chest can hardly inflate. The mask over my mouth turned a misty gray with my faint gasps. The reaper hovered over me; they lacked a form, simply a shadow that took up a corner of the hospital room. I attempt to lick my dried lips to no avail. No moisture would develop. The reaper spoke to me, in a language not understandable to the living.
“Where did you hide it?”
“Hide what?” We spoke via audible-less communications.
“Your soul. You do not have it.”
My eyes unconsciously glanced out of the window into the inky blue sky. It was the cusp of sunrise. My mind wandered and I felt the reaper along with me in my mental journey, pressed on my back and awaiting to see the truth. A hazel memory fades in. I signed a paper, selling my soul to ... someone. It was elementary school. Fourth grade. I laugh. My lips can hardly turn up; they remain in a somber slant. The reaper’s touch is cold, stirring me. I let our a faint grunt of pain.
“Whom has it?” “That was years ago. I can’t remember. Funny though, huh? Never thought —“
The shadow’s touch ripped back, taking another groan out of me.
“Here you will be, until I find it. Your body will continue to decay. You will continue to feel pain. You will continue to suffer until I find it. Your body will not rest until I find it.”
The shadow gradually receded as the sun cracked the horizon, as if it were scaring the reaper away. I was to lay here, rotting in this bed until my soul was found. My mind hurt from the constant pain receptors going off. My heartbeat was faint, performing at its bare minimum. I had hardly any heat within me, aside from the numerous blankets that covered me. I stared at the ceiling, hearing the beep of the machine at my bedside. Beep. Beep. Beep. The compression of the ventilator every so often.
“Mmh.. Hey dad.” I couldn’t turn my head to the voice. I could only vibrate my vocal chords just enough to acknowledge that someone else was in the room. My son was beside me, rising from his seat.
“Mom’s here. I’ll be back later tonight, ok?” My son presses his lips to my forehead, departing before his visage was replaced with my wife. She gave a second kiss to my frigid forehead before taking a seat beside me. Her face seemed somber, stern, sad. I could only hope the reaper could find my soul soon. I cannot bear to see my family suffer.
[ I haven’t wrote in a very long time and it felt good doing so again, so if anyone has any constructive criticism, I welcome it. ]
|
I slept there in my hospital bed. Suddenly I was awoken by somebody crashing into a table. I opened my eyes and there stood a girl, her face as pale as a ghost with the darkest hair I had ever seen.It felt like somebody had taken the darkest sky and put it in her hair.
She asked me,“Where is it".
I didn't know who she was but somehow I knew exactly what she wanted.
I said, "I haven't felt it in a long time" then I smiled at her.
My smile, which had been fooling the world into thinking I still had it"
For a split second, she glared at me, as if she believed it too.
She said, “That's not gonna work with me".
I stopped smiling.
"I want to retrieve it, just tell me where is it" She seemed exhausted now.
Even though I hadn't felt it in a long time, I knew precisely where I had left it. A pair of large brown eyes, a hearty laugh, A kiss where it felt like there was nothing wrong with the world.
A man who had taken a part of me with him.
I thought it was just my heart but it was more than that. I had spent my whole life pretending that it hadn't happened, but it had.
I could not bear to take those parts away from him..
| 2020-04-23T04:00:53
| 2020-04-23T02:34:30
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I looked over at my sister- nine years younger than me, and yet somehow the same age all of a sudden. Her head was in her hands, the air of defeat around her almost visible.
Next to her a tall, handsome boy slept peacefully on his back.
I heard her heave a deep sigh, and looked over as she ran her hands over her tight, flat stomach, and smallish, perky breasts in disbelief.
"Julie," she whimpered. Her eyes made contact with mine and I could see the desperation in them before she threw her gaze over to the young man next to her. "What am I supposed to do? How can I handle this? I only gave birth to him two weeks ago."
|
Dandy Town, unlike its name, is a town far from perfection. In fact this little hamlet or village is a hidden gem I found while on one of my numerous trips to my Step Father’s bakery for breakfast.
I always had a penchant for funny things, but this town was a whole new definition of eccentricity and silliness. Every citizen of this town was a greater example than the other. They welcomed me like one of their own and stuffed me with sushi, which they claimed to be their own local delicacy and called it Honor Roll, something they ate on the occasion of graduation mostly.
There are so many anecdotes and events about this town throughout this book, but I would like to start with one of the most silly and stupid ones that made me fall in love with the cute little people of Dandy Town.
Back in the 2010s when I was in a famous TV series, the town of Dandy had a little series of incidents of its own.
The people of all ages woke up one day. To their surprise they now had bodies of 18 year olds. With their memories intact!!
“I basically lived my prepubescent years twice, once when I was 18 and then when I turned 18 on my 54th birthday!” said Abe McPherson, the current mayor of the Town, happily relinquishing the event in his memories.
“I was kinda like a playboy when I was 18, so when I turned 18 once again, I wasn’t really able to stop my horses,” said Sheriff Willie, who had a special incident in this particular event.
**The Author, referred above as I, has now compiled a few dramatised recollections of the citizen’s here in Dandy Town regarding the event. The names have been changes but the prior permission of the subjects had been taken before**
*******************
I woke up on Sunday morning as the rooster made its usual noise. I burped and got up from the bed. My wife was asleep on the bed, sweating after last night.
We had moved the bed from the outside of the room to inside it finally. We were two 80 year olds who had moved into this house just the week before. It had taken us five days to push the bed in slowly, and on each day it took, we had to sleep outside the bedroom. Only the first day was a problem though when we had to sleep outside the house, where the bed was, since we hadn’t been able to push it in.
We don’t hire people for this work as we are self dependent people.
But the only thing that wasn’t self reliant for me was my ding dong, or my manhood. It had refused to stand up in 35 years except for the one time when it rose up slightly because of the urine infection.
When I woke up that day, my whole body felt like it had a new sort of vigour and energy. And when I saw below, for the first time in 35 years I had a morning standing ovation by my ding dong.
But it gave me a lot of problems, like when I went into the washroom for peeing that morning, My God the speed with which it came out almost blew me away like it was a jet pack. And I made a great big mess.
****************
I woke up and checked myself in the mirror. Oh Holy God! I looked so pretty and beautiful. Just like when I was 18!!
I decided to skip church that day. I was a Sister at the Dandy Town Church for Women. But this new body and energy had given me, a 60 year old retired woman who had given up on life and lived on the hopes of Christ, a big helping hand in confidence.
I roamed about the Town. I smoked hookah with the boys that day. God would have been angry but I knew that he gave me that body for some reason. Why else would he give me such a hot body that was Bikini waxed?
Many guys flirted with me, but this one young man seemed to have caught the attention of my eyes.
“Lookie here. What can I do to be with a girl like you, miss?” Said the boy.
“ You could take me out for dinner,” I flaunted.
“ Well I would, but the police would arrest me for carrying fireworks, ma’am”
I had laughed hard, when suddenly he pulled me close. At that time, I turned around.
Suddenly I felt a slight unzip of my dress at the back. I turned around to see that horny 18 year old using the magnet in his watch trying to be God Knows What!
“Sheer magnetism, baby”
*****************
Yeah I was 14 at the time we all became 18 and had just watched Live and Let Die, so I tried to become Bond. Big deal! I am a
the proud sheriff of this town now and I have forgotten things of the past.
*****************
I have more planned if you’d like!!!
| 2020-11-02T10:49:46
| 2020-11-02T09:45:20
| 105
| 15
|
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done?
|
Storm chasing is a fascinating hobby. Storms are known to move quickly, so the chasers need to, well, chase the storms away from populated areas before they can cause damage. Often chasers will corner the storm into a field, lake, or other underpopulated area. If necessary, they will chase storms out into the ocean, but that's expensive, since it requires special boats and helicopters instead of the standard SCC (storm chaser car).
SCCs are typically 4 wheel drive, powerful trucks with various equipment mounted in the back. Lightning rods, laser pointers to guide the storm (much like a cat), and monitoring equipment. Because they aren't that different from their regular counterparts, SCCs are $5-20K more expensive than their standard counterparts. Often they will have a -S added to the end, e.g. Ford F-150-S
Oftentimes, meteorologists will work directly with storm chasers. We can already accurately predict where a storm will go, so the probability is merely how likely storm chasers are to succeed in chasing away the storm. There have been controversies of storm chasers being paid by weather stations to slack off, and give that station the most accurate results. New laws are being put in place to prevent this, and include heavy regulation, as most storm chasers are government employees.
Edit: stork chasers -> storm chasers
|
"Okay bob, hold my scalpel while I squeeze the heart"
"Right, now I just need you to connect those two tubes while I hold it like this"
"Okay...
Yes! done!"
"Wait, why is my computer making that weird beeping noise?"
"OH MY GOD!!! HE'S GONNA DIE! GET THE DEFIBRILLATOR!!"
*zzzzZAP!*
"Oops, I think we killed him."
"Wow, we really suck at surgeon simulator don't we?"
| 2016-02-01T21:44:49
| 2016-02-01T21:35:35
| 80
| 11
|
[WP] A group of adventurers just had one of their members replaced by a doppelganger. The kicker? The rest of the group knows what happened, but pretends to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"So, we're all agreed that we just pretend that the doppelganger is Urgoth?" Jung asked his companions with his wooly grey eyebrows raised in question.
They were a semi-pro/semi-famous adventuring party known as the Madcaps consisting of five aspiring mercenary heroes. There was Jung the Mystic; logical human wizard and master of the arcane arts. Then was the the sneaky halfling thief, Tim Dingleberry, who was surprisingly good friends the team healer and priestess of the sun goddess, Jennithalon of the Wooden Realm. Then came the face of the party; the bard/paladin casanova half-orc renowned for his charm, Sir Grung the Handsome. Urgoth on the other hand...
"I... well... Urgoth may have been an unreliable drunk and a dwarf to boot but can we just ignore a straight up murder?" Jennithalon asked her companions. Her sun goddess was the epitome of goody two-shoes and expected the same from her mortal representatives.
"There was no murder, though, Jenni! That idiot dwarf was stone drunk and attacked the doppelganger who was just minding his own business. I say good riddance to the old bastard!" Tim countered.
"And you just watched?" Grung questioned his smaller companion, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
"That doppelganger was a whirling dervish with a battle-axe and Urgoth was in a drunken berserk rage! I'd sooner stand between pack of wolves and a wounded elk," Tim countered.
"I'd not fault you there," Jung looked on thoughtfully as he stroked his beard. "This doppelganger is better in most ways. He's sober, polite, always pitches in on camp duties, doesn't try to take every magical item for himself... hell, he saved all of us more than once."
"Can't we just talk to the doppelganger about this? Must we be so cloak and dagger about this? As it says in the Book of the Goddess; *Honesty is the best policy*," Jennithalon quoted her scriptures again. She was a nice young elf but every member of the party tired of her straight and narrow attitude at times.
"Perhaps if someone had told us what happened after the death transpired we might have cleared things up but so much time has passed now..." Grung let his sentence trail off.
"If we show up with a new companion and no explanation for what happened to the real Urgoth then we'd either be outlaws or tossed into the clink," Jung concluded.
"So, we all play it cool and don't say anything?" Tim asked them all, sticking out his hand.
"Agreed," Grung said, placing his gauntleted hand on top of Tim's.
"Agreed" Jung said, placing his wrinkled hand on top of Grung's. They all looked at the priestess who hesitated.
"... agreed," Jennithalon nearly whispered as she placed her gloved hand on top of Jung's.
\*\*\*
Not too far from the party, out of sight behind trees and bushes, but still within earshot, the doppelganger sat listening. The not-Urgoth Urgoth was ecstatic! The party really liked him! He had friends!
|
I'm one of the doppelgangers that live in the Amazon forest. Our specialty has always been infiltrating groups who want to harm the spirits of forest and bring them to the elders.
I absolutely don't know anything about the guy whose place I'm taking. The spirits of the forest told me to infiltrate their group so I did. Apparently, the guys was taking a piss on the sacred tree and when warned, he started shitting too, so he was taken before I could have had the chance to study him. So instead, for a change I get to be me instead.
"Hey, Hal, how long does it take you to pee?" A man said looking annoyed.
Hey, it's not easy transitioning when the person you are supposed to be transitioning into is unconscious. "Sorry, man, got lost." I replied, fake panting.
The guy's eyes widened then he nodded looking at me curiously before telling the group to move on. I obviously made some mistake. Maybe the guys wasn't an asshole. Maybe he just needed to shit and I came off too rude.
\~
"Hey, Carol," I all but chirped, how could I not, Carol was beautiful and good-natured and an all around great person, "look at these Piranhas."
Carol laughed. "Hal, why are you fascinated by Piranhas in the last few days?"
"I think they are fascinating." I mumble, a little shy, a little afraid. They all seemed so friendly around me. They seemed to like me and what's more is that it feels like they were surprising themselves by liking me.
We move on. It has been 3 days since I joined their group and no suspects me. I'm leading them into the heart of the forest because the spirits wish me too. At night, the winds blow and if you listen closely you can hear the message of the forest. I, obviously, have to listen a little less closely as I am one of the beings of forest myself.
"Oh no! Something bit me." Jack yelled and I ran to him.
The bite was nowhere to be seen, only a red irritated area near his ankle. When I looked down, I saw a bunch thorns poking out the bush and laughed. "A plant bit you."
Jack's eyes widened. "Plants can do that?"
Carol rolled her eyes. "Yes, moron. It's called a thorn."
Jack let out a nervous giggle, then stopped. "Can it be poisonous?"
"Poisonous, no. Venomous," I say prolonging Jack's suffering, "also no."
"Why did we bring him again?" Bruce grumbled.
"Because I'm not leaving my sister alone in this godforsaken jungle." Jack said adamantly forgetting about poisons and venoms.
"My hero." Carol said battling her eyelashes overdramatically.
I look at the group bickering and realize how great it felt to be with them. Almost like a- like a family. I stop myself, what was I saying? A family? People like him didn't get families, they had the forest, the elders and their missions.
"Hey, Hal, you okay?" Bruce asked. He was the quietest of the group, he only said what was necessary because apparently only idiots talk much, Bruce often said this to get a rise out of Jack and it always did.
"Yeah, just thinking."
Bruce looked at him then gave his shoulder a pat and off they went again.
\~
"Should we say something?" Carol said softly as she looked at the lifeless body.
"It's a deer." Bruce said exasperatedly.
"It was one. Now it's dead. I think we all should say few words about it." Carol sniffed.
I didn't say anything. I knew this deer, it came from the same neck of woods as I did.
"Goodbye, M'las, you were a great friend." I say softly.
"And a wonderful deer." Carol added looping her hands in mine.
They stood their in silence then started to move once more.
"What does 'M'las' mean?" I hear Jack ask Bruce and I curse myself at my naiveness.
"Shut up, Jack." Came Bruce's reply.
\~
To say I was having second thoughts would be an understatement. I did not want to lead these people to the heart of the forest. They were good people. They didn't deserve to be punished.
*Bring them.*
I sighed. With a heavy heart, I once again lead the group to their deaths.
\~
"Why?!" Carol didn't scream, but looked disappointed like she expected better of me, as the forest dwellers bind them.
"It had to be that way." I say. I couldn't meet their eyes. Jack was saying something but I wasn't listening anymore. There were some people that I needed to talk to.
\~
"These are good people." I say angrily to the elders in front of me. "They don't deserve to die."
"They have demeaned our land. Fouled our waters." One of the elders hissed.
"No, they didn't. I have been with them for the past week. They have done nothing but respect the forest, land and water."
"We cannot let them go. They know too much." Another elder said softly.
"We're going to take innocent lives because they know? They won't tell anyone, I promise." I say desperately.
The elders narrow their eyes. "How can you be so certain?"
"I'll tell them not to. I'll go with them."
"You'll lose your powers and will be trapped in that form forever."
"I don't care." I cried.
The elders looked at each other, passing silent judgement.
\~
"Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to die." Jack said in relief as they started to make their way back.
"You were." I confirmed.
"What did you say to them?" Carol asked.
I stayed silent. Knowing I'd have to tell them the truth and they'll hate me for it.
"I have to tell you something." I say, my nerves vibrating with nervousness.
"Like you are not actually Hal." Said Bruce.
I look at him, my eyes wide open in surprise. "You knew?"
"Duh!" Jack added.
"Real Hal was dick and you were not, it was pretty easy to deduce." Carol said smiling softly.
I sigh in relief as happiness bloomed inside me.
"Now you were telling us how you saved us?"
| 2022-01-09T10:26:50
| 2022-01-09T10:19:32
| 926
| 144
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
|
Dear Timmy,
Of course you can have a puppy! I have a little girl right here with me who will love you and be your friend. But puppies don't travel well by mail so I'll have to deliver her in person. Instead of leaving out cookies for me, please just light a candle at midnight and call my name!
Season's Greetings,
Lucifer
P.S. Remember not to tell your parents, it will ruin the surprise!
| 2018-10-28T10:04:46
| 2018-10-28T09:59:31
| 444
| 123
|
[WP] You are an archaeologist and have just dug up a dinosaur. That's because you've dug up an entire museum.
Since I wasn't all that clear in the prompt, here's a drunk attempt at explaining it:
Dinosaurs get wiped out, humanity digs them up. Humanity gets wiped out, someone/something else digs them up.
Sorry for the confusion!
EDIT: Okay, two things:
1. I'm an idiot who can't tell the difference between archaeologists and paleontologists. Still, that mistake created some great responses!
2. This blew up. Like, really blew up. First ~~1000~~ 2000 point prompt hype! I love you guys.
|
John, a world-renowned archaeologist, known for his work in what was known as the "Modern Era" or the early 2000's, stopped digging immediately. He had hit something that was surely not dirt or rock.
After further, meticulous sweeping of dirt away from the object, John noted that he had encountered a bone, larger than any known animal from the time period. It HAD to be a dinosaur, but why was it in this layer of dirt and not dozens of feet further below?
The moment he stopped questioning why it was there, he called a paleontologist because he remember that archaeologists don't fucking deal with fucking dinosaur bones.
|
#Behemoths#
Aviana couldn't keep her eyes from wandering. They shot from one sight to the next and back, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. She felt like her breath was caught in her chest, frightened into hiding by the shear scope of what she was seeing.
In the Skills where her party was from, their was an old metal skeleton within sight of Voortmen. It rose hundreds of feet into the air, taller than the trees around it. It had once been even taller-it's top had been shorn off by some disaster, so that now only the twisted remnants of the great structure were left. She'd wondered as a child what people could have possibly used it for. Her elders had told her that they had been told by their elders that it had been used to communicate. Knowledge, ideas, even friendship were all conveyed through such towers and that there were thousands of them all across the land. No one knew how the towers had served that purpose. Perhaps they'd housed signal fires, or used electric pulses to span the vast distances. Aviana though that perhaps people had lived there to run them. That they'd roamed amongst the metal supports like monkey's in a canopy, keeping the signals of knowledge and friendship running from settlement to settlement. She called them Tower People, and the idea of them occupied much of her childhood; in drawings, in games, in dreams. A race of messengers, dedicated to making sure voices from distant reaches could be heard. She wanted to know more about them. She wanted to more about all of it.
Here, the buildings rose into the sky. She wondered as she gazed up at them what it felt like to walk through a cloud. If you could do that once you reached their pinnacle. Birds drifted lazily on the thinner air by their peaks as she'd seen them do around the cliffs of her home. Thousands of windows, hundreds shattered and broken, stretched across the breadth of their faces. Their metal hides were corroded, dull and pitted with decades of abuse. But when the sun shone on the spire of a building, it shone like a bolt of lightening and Aviana could see how once the whole tower had shone like a beam from heaven. The wind blew, and the massive structures suddenly groaned all together, and Aviana felt cold inside. It seemed as if the massive creatures had just sighed in pain, sighed at the state of their decay. Lamenting their agonizingly slow death, a death not found amongst those who bore flesh for glass and bone for steel.
She jumped as someone touched her shoulder. Gauge was giving her a reassuring smile.
"It's pretty safe down there, all in all." He said.
"I'm not worried."
Gauge shrugged. "All the same. It's not much more dangerous than going into the woods. You have to worry about screamers here, like you do there. They live mostly to the east around the overgrowth. Gotta watch for Cracks too. Holes in the road that drop down into underground passageways."
"The underground cart system?"
Gauge nodded. "Platforms and tracks mostly. They run all over the city."
"The elders say that was how many of the people traveled. Can you imagine a settlement large enough you needed carts to just to get from one end to the other?"
"Or one so big you needed buildings tall as mountains to hold them all."
Aviana shook her head and gave a small laugh of disbelief. "Are we going to one of those buildings?"
"No. But the Archive no less impressive."
***
Gauge was right. While the Archive was only a fraction of the height of the towering structures that flanked it, it was breathtakingly elegant. The patina cast on it by weather and age couldn't hide the grace inherent, the stolidness of its architecture. The pillars across it's facade were like the stone trunks of ancient trees, each one topped with the worn figure of a great man now forgotten. Between them lay faded words, only one of which she could partially decipher-KNOW. Before the Archive steps another altar stood-only a remnant of the original idol remained, what appeared to be the hindquarters of a horse. All this pointed to the possibility that this had been a temple, a place of worship for the inhabitants of the city, possibly for a god of wisdom. The elders still touted the city dwellers as examples of depravity-they said that they'd renounced their allegiance to the one true Gott and dabbled in all sorts of heresies, resulting in the judgement of destruction. To this day, they're practices remained taboo. But Aviana found it fascinating nonetheless. How a people worshiped Gott said a lot about them, in her opinion at least. This would know doubt be a veritable gold mine of enlightenment as to what those people were really like. They dismounted before the altar, the three Teachers she'd brought with her, and the half dozen Roamers sent to guard them. Once they'd anchored the horses, they made their way up the stone steps to the remnants of the large glass doors that had once gilded the entrance way.
Sunlight trickled in through windows by the roof, illuminating large, empty pedestals just beyond the threshold. Aviana examined them. It seemed as if they were built to mimic the soil outside. How odd.
"Any idea what they used to hold?" Gauge asked.
Aviana shook her head. "No clue...it's meant to look like the earth outdoors. Perhaps it was used in some kind of fertility ritual."
"We didn't know either."
Aviana straightened and spun in a circle, studying the foyer. It was a massive space, with doorways leading off in all directions. She wondered how many people had walked through those doorways, tread over these tiles. It made her heart beat faster to be in the presence of such heritage.
"We didn't explore far past the foyer. It didn't seem to hold much of practical value. But for a Teacher..."
"It's priceless." Aviana answered in a small voice.
She turned to find everyone watching her. A smile played upon Gauges' lips.
"Would you like to issue some orders, ma'am, or should we stand here and gape a bit longer?" He asked in a deadpan voice.
Aviana rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep from smiling. "We'll split up. Two Roamers to a Teacher. Gauge can come with me."
She directed her compatriots down opposite hallways, before setting off down her own path of discovery, Gauge leading the way with oil lantern and drawn blade.
***
| 2016-04-15T10:10:46
| 2016-04-15T07:31:03
| 34
| 18
|
[WP] “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four hundred and fifty years since my last confession.”
|
20 September 2017
“En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four hundred and fifty years since my last confession.”
Luz knelt in front of the screen that separated her from the priest. The wooden kneeler was hard. It hurt her knees. These old historic cathedrals didn’t let their parishioners go soft with any new rubbery foam kneelers. She was sweating a bit from the walk over to the cathedral in the hot sun of Cartagena, Colombia. Her white blouse and jeans were not overly appropriate for the church, but she hadn’t hadn’t wanted to take the chance that she’d change her mind in the time it would take to change her clothes to something more conservative.
He didn’t immediately respond to her opening remarks, but Luz heard him clear his throat, so she continued.
“I mean, it was about 450 years. I don’t want to lie in my first confession in four centuries after all." She was stammering a bit. "I can’t be certain exactly when it was, but some time in the middle of the 16th century.”
The priest finally spoke up, "This church was built in 1615, so you clearly didn’t do your confession here.” A small chuckle at his own joke came from behind the screen. It calmed her. “Please continue young lady. I am here to listen and can be here all day if you need help. I also have a list of agencies that can help you." She could tell by his voice that the priest was an older man. Older for mortals that is. Certainly more than a millennium younger than her.
“You’re right Father,” she continued, “it was in Mexico, some time after the conquest of Cortes.” She almost spit at saying that man's name, but remembered her manners in the church and kept going. “They made me do it. The Spaniards. I never wanted to go back to church again. I return from time to time, but never to confession.”
“I see.” the priest responded after a pause. “So why are you back today?”
Luz felt tears come to her eyes, but held them back as best as she could. “I’m scared Father. I think I’m going to die.” The dam burst open and she started to sob.
There was a long pause as she cried. Finally, the priest spoke up, “Death is part of life, but a belief in Jesus Christ grants you immortality.”
"BUT I HAVE IMMORTALITY NOW DAMN IT!” She hit the wall. Her scream pierced the church. The noise of whispered voices from the parishioners and tourists visiting the church quieted for an instant before resuming. “Had immortality.” She took a deep breath. “I was once immortal. But everything has changed.” She couldn’t keep her emotions together. "Everything has changed since Paris.”
She cried quietly in the confessional booth for what felt like an hour. Finally, as she calmed herself, she said, “Thank you for being here Father. I know this doesn’t make sense, but I need to talk.”
She heard the priest leave the booth, come around to her side, and quietly open the door. He was older than she imagined. Maybe 75. His hair was as white as his collar. A small white mustache graced his lips. “As I said, I’m here all day if you need me. But let us go to my office and have a cup of coffee. I know for a fact that kneeler is damn uncomfortable.” He gave a smile as he swore in the church that caused even the red-eyed immortal to give a small laugh.
“I don’t, I don't even know where to begin.” Luz stammered.
“Well,” the priest took in a deep breath, “you can start by confessing your sins. And then you can explain to me why you thought you couldn’t die.” The priest looked a little uncertain as he said those words. “We can always find you help if you need it. I work with professionals who talk with people like you. But until you ask, everything you say will remain in confidence.”
Luz tried to compose herself. She knew that the priest thought she was a mental patient. Maybe that was better. Immortals shouldn't be telling their secrets. Then again, everything had changed.
|
The full moon shone bright, half obscured by dark clouds. A cool autumn breeze wafted through the streets. Draco’s shoes crunched on gravel and dry leaves, he stopped and looked up at a large cross on top of a building.
Entering the church his footsteps echoed on the marble floor. An old woman, looking down on her luck in dirty tattered clothes, was kneeling and praying in a pew.
Draco opened the confessional. He sat down and unfurled his cloak, stretched back his shoulders and cleared his throat.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four hundred and fifty years since my last confession.”
“I-is this some kind of a joke,” the priest said from the other side of the wall.
“Dear Father, how I wish I was joking. The stains of so many lives have dug deep into my heart. The thing, Father, is I cannot stop. If I stop then I will die and this is no time for that. [My kind is suffering](https://www.reddit.com/r/SerializedFiction/comments/6ygjy5/tainted_blood_part_1_taken_from_wp_due_to_the/) and...”
“Look here sonny, if this is some kind of Halloween prank fine, but you disgrace the sanctimony of this church and the Lord.”
“Silence Father!” Draco pounded his fist against the wall. He straightened his cloak and eased back in the seat.
“Pardon me Father but you will hear what I have to say. 450 years of feasting on the flesh of humanity, you think that would mellow one out but no, sometimes I still find you like little irritating children. As I was saying dear Father, my kind, we are suffering. Crack rock. You know what that is Father?”
“Y-yes,” the old man stuttered, his voice wavering.
“I’m sure many confess to partaking of it Father, but you see the crack rock it is an insidious evil for myself and mine. It taints blood. Blood we need. But Father much blood will still need to be spilled. It is with a heavy heart that I ask for forgiveness, to wipe away the hundreds I have slain and consumed and for the many that will still fall. To continue our legacy...”
The priest burst out through the confessional doors and ran to the pulpit. Draco exited slowly, casually walking to the pulpit, his large red and black cloak flowing behind him.
“You are a demon!” the priest yelled grabbing a large cross from the lectern, holding it up at Draco.
“Oh dear Father, that is the stuff of fairy tales.”
Draco glided up the stairs. The old lady who had been praying screamed and ran down the isle.
Draco grabbed the priests hand. The cross fell to the ground, a loud clank echoed in the now empty church.
“Dear Father I came here for forgiveness and this is the treatment I get? Is this what your Lord and master has taught you?”
The priest sunk to his knees, his head bowed to the floor. He was muttering the Lord’s prayer over and over under his breath.
“Rise Father.”
Draco hoisted the priest up off his knees. The priests face was ghost white. Draco gently put his arms around the old man and brought him close to his body.
“Ssshh,” he crooned as he stroked the priests grey hair. The vein in the priests neck was throbbing rhytmically.
“You are clean, very clean,” Draco said hungrily, his fangs extending.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned." Draco sunk his teeth into the vein.
---
I have included this in the Tainted Blood series you can find here - r/SerializedFiction
| 2017-09-20T08:11:43
| 2017-09-20T08:09:57
| 156
| 22
|
[WP] The most beautiful woman you've ever seen walks into the room. Describe her.
|
Her hair was black, as black as the stars, and her eyes the same. Her face seemed featureless, but all round astounding, maybe. Her skin was smooth, and light, or dark, somewhere between Caucasian and African American... maybe Native American. Either way, she was beautiful. I think.
I hate being blind...
|
The stench of cigarettes and alcohol draped Mark like a heavy robe. Sitting back on the couch, Mark listened idly to the sounds of the empty house. His hair was greasy, his face, rough, and the bags under his eyes sank deep into his face.
The clock struck 2:00 a.m. as Mark got up and approached the living room's T.V.
He regarded the dusty old VCR on the floor, freshly removed from the attic upstairs. Sitting on top of it, a single VCR tape-- *Mark & Jessica,* the label read, with a small heart lovingly added in red marker.
With a sigh, Mark pushed the tape into the VCR before returning to his seat on the couch. He stared blankly at the T.V. as it came to life.
The static abruptly cut out and Mark found himself staring at a younger version of himself. The home-movie footage was shaky, but Mark could see the pride in the young groom's eyes as he prepared for his wedding with his closest friends.
With a cut, the video continued to the ceremony. Mark watched himself at the front, speaking indistinctly with the minister. Then, suddenly, heads turned towards the back of the church, and the videographer spun around to see the source of the commotion. There, in her father's arm, Jessica entered the church.
Mark sniffled for a moment and leaned forward as the tape continued to play. There she was, as beautiful as she had always been. The warmth in her eyes that he saw when she smiled. The confidence in her walk, the infectious charisma she always carried. Her red hair fell in curled locks about her face, their tone nearly matching that of her lipstick and lending a natural, rosy blush to her cheeks.
Even behind the white veil, her face shined with a radiance and warmth that Mark could feel through the VCR tape. And yet, the warmth of memory and a few videotapes was all that was left of her.
Mark stopped the tape and allowed himself to cry for the first time in months. He cried for her, and how longingly he missed her. He cried for their future together, which had died with her that fateful morning. He cried for himself, that he couldn't protect her when she needed him most. And most of all, he cried for his *grief.* That he couldn't move past her. That his life screeched to a halt like her car after the fiery freeway wreck. That he might as well have died with her, because his life stopped in the same moment hers did.
He fell asleep on the couch, wedding band in hand, and woke up the next morning feeling lonelier than he could ever remember feeling. But with a sigh, he thought back to the video and began to recall the face from behind the veil, rediscovering every feature and emotion, savoring every aspect and quality, observing every color and shade, feeling the warmth once again. Her absence stung like fresh wounds, and Mark wasn't sure how well he'd be able to move forward. But nothing, not even death itself, could take those memories away from him.
| 2015-04-27T00:17:07
| 2015-04-26T22:19:02
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] when you were a kid, you had an imaginary friend, Lewis; That was 20 or so years ago. Yesterday your child came into your room in the middle of the night, and said "Lewis wants to know why you don't play with him anymore"
|
"What are you talking about... what time is it?"
I reach for the night stand to turn on a light, fumbling around in the darkness, a thud echoes across the room.
"Fuck that was my phone" I exclaim in aggravation but enjoying the slight adrenaline kick that wakes me up a bit more.
"Dad we aren't supposed to use those words"
I sigh and look at my son, his brown eyes shimmering in the reflection of the light I managed to turn on "Sorry Sorry, just was not planing on being up at..." I look at my cracked phone screen "Four am Jesus!"
"Dad! Lewis wants to know why you don't play with him anymore"
"Who is Lewis?" I say, really trying not to get frustrated. I look over at my wife and can't believe she hasn't woken up.
"He was your friend when you were my age" My son says, his voice quivering as if he is sad, but the tone suggests a more disappointed overtone.
"That's impossible, Lewis was not real"
"But Dad... you never told me about him, how would I know if it wasn't true?"
This statement made me pause a bit and think. I open my mouth to respond but stop myself. I look at my son with pride, little rascal is getting too smart for his own good. It is during that prideful moment that the shocking realization comes over me: I never told him about Lewis.
"What... ahh what does Lewis look like?" I ask, trying to figure out if this is a bad dream"
"He is big, blue and hairy"
A chill goes down my spine. I definitely did not tell him about this... a slight panic comes over me and I jump out of bed. I take a deep gulp and tell my boy "take me to Lewis"
My son excitedly scurries away and I follow behind him. (What the fuck am I even going to say to this.... thing) I start worrying about all sorts of things. Is Lewis dangerous? An Alien? Disappears and Reappears based on belief?
As I turn and walk into my sons room I feel hands grabbing me from behind, my sweaty palms are quick to jump up and I start screaming at the top of my lungs and stumble down
"SURPRISE!!!!!!!"
It takes me several seconds to realize that my family is all in the room and my wife has the goofiest smile on her face
"There is NO WAY you actually fell for that" She says hysterically laughing
The only person I ever told anything about Lewis was her. She explains to me that it was a birthday prank and the whole family was in on it.
I began plotting my revenge the next day
|
I was cooking dinner while my son, Toby was playing in the open dining room with his new train set. As dinner was almost ready, I walk towards the dining table to move his toys and set the table. I noticed Toby was staring at me, giving me that look children give when they want to ask a question but are scared of our reaction.
“What is it, Toby?”
“Mom, I have a question.”
“Yes, honey, what is it?”
“Umm...Lewis wants to know why you don't play with him anymore.”
Hearing the name Lewis made my heart drop to my stomach. I felt my body go stone cold.
“Hu..how do you know Lewis, honey?” I stutter.
Toby looked at me with his big innocent eyes and said, “He plays with me sometimes. He told me you used to be friends, but not anymore.”
My heart was pounding at this time but I tried to remain calm and act normal.
“Oh, we're still friends. Mommy is just busy now and can't find the time to play with Lewis. Does he come to play with you often?”
“No, we've played together a few times. He always comes after you and daddy have gone to bed.”
I was starting to freak out now. I didn't know what to do. See, Lewis was our neighbor's kid when I was very young. We used to play together everyday. However, one day, Lewis did not come to play with me. I asked my parents why he didn't come and my parents told me he was sick and that he wouldn't be coming for a while. I missed him very much since he was the only neighborhood kid around my age. Weeks went by and he still didn't come to play with me. I kept pestering my parents every day about him. They would always tell me he would be back soon, but I never saw him.
About a moth later, after my parents had tucked me into bed, he came. He looked different. He had lost a lot of weight, his complexion had turned pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. But the five year old me didn't care. I was so happy to see him again. I rushed to hug him with a huge smile on my face. As soon as I hugged him, I let go out of shock, His body felt as cold as ice. My younger self didn't know any better, so I gave him my blanket and we sat on the floor and played for hours. This went on everyday. Lewis would show up after my parents had gone to bed, and we would play until late at night. I never told my parents Lewis came to play with me because my older sister had gotten in trouble recently for having a boy in her room, and I didn't want to get in trouble.
When Lewis stopped coming to play with me, I don't remember. I wasn't until much later that I found out that Lewis had died of cancer. My parents never told me because I was too young. Lewis had been in the hospital for over a month going through treatments, but he didn't survive. I never told anyone about his nightly visits. As I grew into an adult, I tried to rationalize those nights as either dreams or a coping mechanism. Until now...
Edit: formatting
| 2017-11-12T20:23:38
| 2017-11-12T17:28:43
| 29
| 21
|
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer.
|
Every starting volunteer gets a manual on "how to be a volunteer without dying" it had everything in it. The elephant in the room of course that the book mainly covers is how to handle being told phrases like "die" or "kill yourself" or "kill someone else". The book lists a different solution to each problem. For "die" one could choose to dye their clothes another color, as both words are pronounced the same way. Kill yourself is a two man job, where one man takes a pill to stop his own heart, and another man uses the defibrillator and an antidote to start it back up. Finally, the phrases that tell you to murder another are more tricky to handle and methods of handling these type of phrases have changed throughout the years. Originally the method was to deliver a small dose of poison that was so slow that even a baby could live a long and healthy life before the poison took them. This was later outlawed when a volunteer messed up the dosage and killed his target in 13 minuets. Next, the volunteers were given a button that supposedly killed their targets (these jobs were only given to the truly ruthless volunteers mind you) but it didn't take long for the hit men to realize the button doesn't actually do anything. Which brings us to today. Now the task is given to death row inmates who are currently killed before they have the chance to kill. But even this faces a problem, currently judges are looking into deciding whether this is a cruel and unusual punishment. If it is, then our top men will have to think of something else again.
|
It hadn’t always been this difficult. At first, when we still had our denial at least somewhat active, people knew on some level what could reasonably be asked for from someone. Many still have this understanding, but not because they have the ability to deny, but because they know the feeling of fear associated with being unable to deny.
Some don’t know this feeling at all. These were the first ones to recognize the power they now had over others.
I work as a volunteer in this society, I intervene when a person comes to me with a request they themselves, for whatever reason, are not comfortable fulfulling. Not because it pays well, because it usually doesn’t. I do it to help alleviate the fear a person feels when they accept a request, knowing that one request leads to more, and suddenly you’re no longer the person you were, and you’ve become just an object that fulfills the requests of others.
The only danger associated with my job is not knowing how far down this request has come. How many denials or referrals did this request take before it got to me? And who did it come from, and more importantly, why? There are rumors of corruption in the legal system. There are exemptions for volunteers when a “bad” request is made, but this has also caused instability for the jobs of those working in law enforcement. When their pay is based on fulfiling a quota of catching criminals, the volunteer is a danger to their way of life.
| 2016-04-03T14:11:44
| 2016-04-03T11:52:19
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] A comedian must convince a court that a joke he told was funny.
|
"There will be ORDER!" the judge's voice crashed over the courtroom at the most recent outbreak. "Now then, after that last piece of evidence, I am completely unconvinced of not only your sincerity, but your continued innocence. Without the puppet shows, can you explain to this court how one of the most recycled jokes that we tell our children just so we can groan and pretend to smile, can actually pretend to be humorous?"
Eyes downcast, the clown puts lowers the rubber chicken, and adopts a very serious face, his simultaneous grin and deadpan somewhat unsettling. With a squeak, it hits on the table as a sigh escapes the dark visage of a face that normally brings laughter.
"Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what is humor? What is laughter? What is that most sacred of actions which defines that which is human from that which is not?"
"I propose that you don't know, and that you don't want to know, for you will at once, see humor everywhere, and yet be unable to laugh at it. For laughter isn't what makes things funny, but rather things are funny, and therefore force us to laugh."
*sigh* "We've already been over the founding pillars of comedy. The pun, The slapstick, The prop humor, The Meaningful Idiot. But why do you laugh?"
"I propose, it is because you have nothing else to do. In slapstick, you cannot be angry because its never intentional, nor can you be sad for them because you know no harm has come. So you laugh. In the pun, it literally breaks your brain, while simultaneously making sense and nonsense. So you laugh. When he slips on a banana peel, you want to feel bad or blame him, but you laugh, knowing that nothing could have prevented it and the same fate could befall you. And when abbot and costello argue about who's on first, you laugh, because it's so absurd that they cannot see each others points, that there's no possible way it could happen or be fixed."
"Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I regretfully tell you the humor on which you've been ignorant of. Eons ago, when this joke was made, it was a joke for the elders, to be said in kids presence because thier ignorance of the world made them unable to understand why it was funny. Over time, the elders forgot to let the kids on the joke, and yet the kids keep parroting it, so even you, to this day, repeat the joke while lacking any comprehension of it."
The clown wipes the swear from his brow, continuously pulling the handkerchief from his sleeve as he talks whenever the outermost one becomes damp. "Why did the chicken cross the road...." he softly lets out, each word echo'd by his slow, measured steps in front of the jury box. "To get to the other side..." he finishes, punctuated with the tiniest of lifting of the corners of his mouth, as he looks at the stonefaced jurors.
"You fathers tell this to your children, and the children laugh and humor you, thinking all the while of it's stupidity, expecting you to know something they don't. And you do, but you refuse to admit it to yourselves, and therefore deny them the humor when they come of age, as your lineage did before you."
His voice growing heavier and more of his age showing as the last wipe of his cloth took more of his makeup off, his once pristine white face now lined and etched with shadows. "Your honor, if I may address the jury, I shall show.."
"Objection your honor, we've been at this for four hours, he's clearly leading us on a wild goose chase!" The prosecutor leaps to his feet, his tie already loosened on his otherwise well groomed figure, annoyed that this charade has gone on as long as it has.
"show you that not only is it funny, but that my peers will explain exactly how, for though they were never told they still know in their core, like all humor exists." the once jovial jester finishes.
"I'll allow it, but please be quick, It is getting late and i'd not like to recess and give the press more to work with over the night" sighs the judge, wondering whether his reservations will have to be canceled.
"Thank you your honor", quipping as he approaches the jury box, looking over the faces young and old, until settling on a young lady who is probably just barely starting her own studies, "Miss, I'd like to have you start. I want you to look at the first part of the joke, 'Why did the chicken cross the road?' What does that tell you?"
"That he crossed?" she squeaks out, shrinking into her seat at first notice of being picked.
"Indeed! That at some time in the past, a chicken not only crossed a road, in fact he choose to do so of his own free will! What else?"
"I don't know... "
"Exactly, you don't know. That's why we're asking the question! So now we know a chicken crossed a road, and we don't know why so we're asking. Now, if you were to cross a road and I wanted to know why, how would I figure it out?"
"You... you'd ask me?"
"Very good young lady! I would ask YOU! So why aren't we asking the chicken? I propose that, for some reason or another, we can't ask the chicken! " The clown is now smiling a little bit, "And so, as the jury has so astutely shown, the opening part of the joke tells us A chicken crossed a road, we don't know why, and we can't ask him for some reason. Now, to the second part, I pick...." the clown spins around in a circle a half dozen times before stopping on an elderly gentleman in the back. "Oh dear, well that's the way the pie is thrown. So sir, the second part of the joke, can you repeat it to me?"
"To get to the other side", the old man says without fanfare, his eyes locked on his interrogator.
"See, you do know the answer! So on top of all that, we're asking a question we already know the answer to! So why ask it in the first place? Maybe it's unclear. Well what is the other side?", the clown asks, reaching the end of his handkerchiefs, and looks back on them running the length of the courtyard before blowing his nose with a flourish and dropping the end.
"The road you buffoon! What else!"
The smile vanishes from the clown's face as he returns the man's stare, "What else indeed.... what else indeed. Sir, if I had called your loved ones and said you had crossed to the other side, what would they say? More importantly, what if I told them you crossed a road, to get to the other side?"
The old man held the look as the clown talked, then eyes widened as he realized, and looked down. The mood in the courtroom had fallen silent, only the gentle hum of the air unit remained.
"They would ask why.... They would wonder why you crossed. Why you wanted to go to the other side."
"Your honor, as the jury has shown, they knew the answer all along. A chicken crossed a road sometime in the past, we don't know why, we can't ask him, and yet even though we ask the question, we already know the answer that he went to the other side. So we're asking a question we already know one answer to, obviously looking for a different answer. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is why it is funny. Because without that second answer, you can't do anything but laugh. I rest my case..."
No one stops him as he turns to walk out of the courtroom, only the quack of his shoes follows him, leaving behind silence.
|
"Your honor," the rotund lawyer said, "we have one additional piece of evidence."
This was it. This was the point of no return. Even if Daryl - comedian by trade, and current subject of the most absurd trial in the history of the legal system - managed to avoid incarceration, it would be unlikely that he could return to the stage.
In order to save himself, Daryl was going to reveal the secret.
"Proceed," murmured the judge.
The lawyer adjusted his ill-fitting suit, then spoke to the courtroom as a whole. "The defense calls Mister Daryl Jones back to the stand!"
Sighs of impatience rippled through the space, though none were more audible than those coming from the jury box. *Not a good sign*, Daryl thought to himself. Still, he climbed his way up into the witness chair, sat down, and put on the friendliest smile that he could manage.
"You understand that you are still under oath?" asked the judge.
Daryl nodded in reply. "I do."
"Mister Jones," the lawyer began, "we have heard testimony from numerous sources that your public display was crass, obscene, and wholly offensive. We have seen demonstrations by experts, reenactments here in the courtroom, and evidence of the profound psychological trauma experienced by onlookers. Truly, the prosecution has made a *stellar* case... but I understand that you have something to share."
Once again, Daryl nodded. "Yes," he said. "If I could direct everyone's attention to this display...?" The lights in the room dimmed, and on a nearby projector screen, a page from a book appeared. "These," continued Daryl, "are the universal formulas for humor."
------
*FORMULA ONE*:
**ENTITY ONE:** Here is a harmless premise.
**ENTITY TWO:** I understand your premise.
**ENTITY ONE:** Here are additional details.
**ENTITY TWO:** I have misunderstood you.
**ENTITY ONE:** Please remove the banana from my anus.
------
*FORMULA TWO*:
Some ENTITIES are DOING SOMETHING in/at LOCATION. One of the ENTITIES - a SPECIFIC ENTITY - DOES SOMETHING SLIGHTLY ODD.
"I would like an explanation," the SECOND ENTITY says.
"Well," replies the FIRST ENTITY, "in my BACKGROUND DETAIL, we REITERATION OF ODD ACTION whenever CIRCUMSTANCES."
The SECOND ENTITY nods. "Ah, I see. Kind of like A SIMILAR SITUATION?"
"Yes!" replies the FIRST ENTITY. "Exactly like that."
Throughout this exchange, the THIRD ENTITY has been listening closely. "I have a question," the THIRD ENTITY says. "If CIRCUMSTANCES mean that you ODD ACTION, and if SIMILAR SITUATION means that you ODD ACTION... then what would happen if VAGUELY RELATED SCENARIO?"
The FIRST ENTITY looks uncomfortable. "If VAGUELY RELATED SCENARIO happened, I'd have to RIDICULOUS AND PROBABLY OBSCENE ACT."
"What?!" the THIRD ENTITY asks, alarmed. "Why?!"
"Because," the FIRST ENTITY answers, "it would mean REFERENCE TO A BANANA IN SOMEONE'S ANUS."
------
A gasp ran through the assembled crowd... followed by a barely restrained snort of laughter, and then another.
"Mister... Mister Jones," the lawyer said, clearly attempting to hold in his own mirth, "why did you share this with us?"
"It's secret knowledge," Daryl replied, "only given to comedians after they've passed an equally secret test. These formulas represent universally amusing jokes. They've even been used to diagnose a variety of mental disabilities."
"Do you mean to imply," challenged the lawyer, "that only someone with a mental handicap would not be entertained by these jokes?"
Daryl shrugged. "I'm not a psychologist... but with these formulas in mind, I believe you can see how my performance was not only *funny*, it was downright *hysterical*."
The lawyer cast his gaze across the court. Poorly hidden smiles were still evident on the faces of everyone - well, almost everyone - in the room. "Tell me, then, Mister Jones," he said, turning back to face his client. "In this crass, insensitive, *offensive* joke that you told... why did you describe a chicken running through several lanes of traffic?"
Daryl cleared his throat and looked out across his audience.
Then, rather than responding... he held up a banana.
| 2015-03-30T10:59:02
| 2015-03-30T10:45:51
| 33
| 12
|
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."
|
The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.”
|
"Ah, Captain? Sir? You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. It's about ..."
"The warp. Yes, I heard a few of the other ... crewmembers? Is that the right term? I heard them talking."
"You're quite right. Here you are, a human with no military or any form of applicable training, achieving what other races have striven to accomplish for millennia, and here you are, an unremarkable example of a species only a year from their first contact."
"Well, we have ... training, of sorts. From great philosophers of our age."
"Please enlighten me."
"Best to show you. Let me get my phone ..."
"Still lugging those things about?"
"Sorry, just ... I'll just put through the audio ..."
*"Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,*
*And things seem hard or tough,*
*And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,*
*And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,*
*Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving*
*And revolving at 900 miles an hour...."*
"Musical philosophers?"
"Well, sometimes. They're called Monty Python."
| 2020-07-14T02:58:11
| 2020-07-14T00:57:05
| 381
| 115
|
[WP] A god trapped in an empty plane, you can create anything you can imagine, even life. But everything you make is destroyed at the end of each day, the plane made barren once again.
|
At first, my creations felt hollow to me. Where is the beauty, I thought, in something that is gone so quickly? Whatever I can make, it is here, but it cannot progress on its own. I must be there to renew it when it is inevitably destroyed. To put everything back to the way it was a moment before it collapsed, just to see one more moment of it and one more ending.
It is tedium.
And yet, the stillness is far worse. I cannot move without first creating something. What is the point of moving if there’s nothing to relate that movement to? I could be sitting still, or moving as fast as light, but it would make no difference. Without some point to relate it to, movement means nothing. There’s nowhere to go.
It is not blackness here, though I wish it were. Blackness is still something. This state is somehow less than nothing. So, I must create, or be driven mad by a void which wraps me too tightly in its maw. But the one thing I cannot create is time, and time is the issue.
But here is where I try something new. Today is the day that I change this state. I cannot provide meaning for myself, and the worlds I can create are destroyed to quickly to give their inhabitants any meaning. But I have a plan. This time will be different.
I stretch my arms and begin to conduct a grand symphony, weaving energy into matter. I organize the matter rapidly, having practiced the intricate dance of stellar formation and orbital mechanics a thousand times. In an hour I’ve made all of the elements that will send my new creation. In another I’ve molded a planet to orbit a star. With the care of an artisan I’ve deftly carved the land and made it beautiful with its canyons and mountains and rivers and oceans. The sky above is dark still, but that will soon change.
I don’t have much time left. I must place life here and enact my plan.
I carefully set up the conditions as a tinkerer sets up an elaborate contraption of gears and springs. My machine is what they will call nature. They will probably never know the difference. They’ll never know the influence I had. Never know my name. That’s fine. They’ll have their own ideas. They’ll ascribe meaning in this place I’m giving them. They’ll have a chance there. They’ll have art, and science, and so much beauty. But I must act now.
The time is up. I’ve only one hour left before it’s all swept away. I make my final tweaks and take one last look at it all. I see the life that is in place on this world I made. I wish I could’ve made more for them to find. They’ll certainly wonder why they’re alone out here. They won’t know that they’re not, they can’t know it.
With creation finished, I gather my energy. What is next will require the greatest exertion of my power. It will show whether my will is as absolute as I believe it to be. I take a deep breath of the air here. My last breath. And then I push off of the ground.
Into space.
I accelerate rapidly once I’ve left the atmosphere. Within moments I’ve outpaced all of my creation. Nothing in this plane has ever moved as fast as I am moving now. I race with beams of light, ever striving to eclipse their speed. I know the rules: the speed of light is constant for all observers, regardless of how fast they move. I’ll never match their speed. But I don’t need to.
The faster I move compared to my creation, the more that time stretches out for them. I cannot create time, but I can certainly expand the time that I’ve been given. I can stretch the time I’ve given my worlds here. One hour for me. But for them, years will pass.
I can see time pass for them, watch them develop. They will never know me. But they will know many things. They will know beauty. That is enough for me. Enough to bring a rare smile to my face.
It is enough.
|
The nearer peaks were not capped with snow, but you could make out the old firewatch towers, and the donkey trails winding their patient ways to the peaks. The shadows under the mountains formed and lengthened as they walked, and soon the trail was painted in the shadows of the redwoods and they stopped in a clearing that just touched the path.
A long-petrified section of log lay on its side on one side of the clear circle, with two spaces worn smooth of bark, and they settled in comfortably. She laid her head on his shoulder and fit very well and, together, they watched the low sun explode the trunks of the trees in brilliant oranges and reds and, together, they listened to the wind that sounded like a busy street or a large stream as it rustled through the leaves of the forest. The chirping of birds settling in for the night was around them and unbothered by them and he thought, it was hard to be better than this. It was hard to find an easier place to be happy than this. It should have been easy.
A movement caught his eye and, across the way, he watched a small falcon bob its head in concentration. He pointed it out and could feel her smile beside him- “Kestrel,” she said. Her favorite bird; you could always see one here. He owed her that.
They watched the little bird dive and swoop in the fading light and he hugged her tighter. The day was almost gone. She wrapped herself around him tigther still and sighed, and it should have been wonderful, and he said, quietly, “Is it cruel?”
She didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“To know?” She asked.
“Yes.”
She cocked her head, the way she always did when she thought. Her hair smelled of apricots. It was light red and long and he never tired of breathing in the smell of her. But it was too much.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “Everything ends.”
The shadow of the peak, like a creeping sea, was spreading up to their clearing. He closed his eyes as it pierced the outside of the circle.
“Will you remember me?” She asked questions without guile or accusation or malice. She just was.
His throat was choked, thick. He kept his eyes closed. Still, he could see that shadow coming.
“I remember you.”
She shifted, looked at his face, was less warm against his skin. “No- not that. Whatever it used to be. This. Me, now. Will you remember me? Darling.”
His head lowered, an inch, less, a millimeter. Before there were tears, there was nothing.
No eyes. No nerves. No nose. No more apricots. Nothing. Not like a snap, not like a wave, not like a whisper.
You couldn’t drift through nothing because there wasn’t anything to drift through, but he stayed there a long time. There wasn’t time, either, but he was there.
After long enough, he could bear to find where the ground would be. He walked, with legs now, across new dirt, made sure there was just the right silt to it. He would go barefoot, today. He would try to feel what he could. If you were feeling, it wasn’t so hard not to think.
There was the lake. The morning sun made the tops of the wavelets shimmer, and ducks quacked the air full of noise. The dirt path, winding, was set a few feet above, and from it you could see everything. There was the knobby oak at the far end, with perfect shade underneath.
There was a log, two seats worn out of the bark.
| 2022-04-22T21:32:00
| 2022-04-22T20:57:03
| 142
| 27
|
[WP]: Your little crime family ran a restaurant as a money laundering front. However, the place got so popular, you decided to quit the crime and just run the place straight. Now, a new crime organisation is trying to inch into town, on your turf. It's time to get back to business.
|
Beads of sweat rolled down Hector's forehead, threatening to sting his eyes as they collected on his bushy eyebrows; he dabbed his face with the hand-towel he kept slung on his apron for that specific purpose, calling out merrily to his young employees on the other side of the service counter.
"Two large Hawaiian and one Italian heat ready to go!" his raspy voice boomed through the small restaurant, and a slender kid responded quickly, grabbing the warm boxes of pizza and spinning on his heels.
"Number 64 you're out the door, grab your pies please!"
Hector never imagined himself running a pizza joint, hell, he never expected to make it past 35. So, when he looked out past the heat of the kitchen towards the crowded, bustling dining area, he was filled with joy. Against all odds, against his upbringing and his sins, he'd managed to carve out a peaceful, honest life for his family.
Six sons, all still alive and well; his two youngest working right here in the original Hector's, and the other four operating the two expansions they'd opened in the last few years. Uncles, aunts, nieces, and nephews, all doing their part to create something that brought joy to the people of their old neighborhoods.
He'd had a reoccurring nightmare of the cops storming the place, killing everyone inside, payment for the crimes of his dirty past. But they were just dreams, just horrible, awful dreams.
"Boss!" one of the new kids called out from the front, a local high-school girl one of his nephews recommended for the job.
Hector snapped out of his daydreaming and poked his head over the counter, "Problem?"
"Some guys wana talk to you," she was facing him with a nervous look and shaky voice.
Hector came around front, but not before washing the grease from his hands and grabbing a revolver he kept wrapped in a towel under the sink. Sliding the gun into his baggy apron pocket, he calmly approached the cash register where two large, block-headed men were standing.
"Gentlemen," he said, maintaining an air of great customer service, "was there a problem with your order? Maybe we can get you boys a few vegan calzones?"
"We're here on behalf of our employer," the larger man stated confidently. "He wishes to congratulate you on your business's tremendous success, and to extend to you a little business opportunity."
"Oh?" Hector whispered to the young cashier, and she hurried off to the kitchen. "Who might your employer be and what's he got in mind? We do have catering menus, you know?"
Both the men chuckled to each other, but the big guy's tone was serious, "Mr. Larry is going to need 10% of your monthly profits, so if you could hurry off to your safe and get that for us, we'll be out of your greasy hair until next month."
"Oh?" Hector smiled, leaning on the counter and almost whispering to the men, "and if I don't?"
"Then we'll break your fucking—"
The old man moved fast, yanking the gun from his apron and bashing the goon's face in with it. He pulled back the hammer as the man fell backwards, pointing it at his still standing associate who'd backed up quickly and thrown his hands in the air.
"You crazy old asshole—"
He was silenced by the sound of a shell being racked into a shotgun behind the counter. Hector's nephew, Sam, had the long barrel of the weapon trained on the man slowly rising and choking on his own blood.
"Get the fuck out of here," Hector screamed over the cries of panic from the regular customers and some of his employees. "and tell Larry, whoever the fuck he is, that if he wants anything from me he can order a shitload of pizza and have you idiots come pick it up—10% discount on the house!"
"You're fucking dead," the men were backing up through the hole that had parted in the long line of customers, "we'll be back, and we're gonna burn this place to the ground!"
"Good-luck," Sam yelled out as the men scurried out of the door, "we passed our fire-safety inspection just last month!"
The mass of customers were frozen in fear, all watching Hector who still had his revolver pointed at the door.
He finally snapped out of his tunnel-vision and lowered the weapon, "Get everyone in here a free large pizza, any toppings."
This brought the crowd around, most of them clapping and cheering.
"And Sam," Hector turned around, dabbing his head with his sweat towel. "Call everyone, get the boys down here, and tell em' to stuff the crust."
/r/BeagleTales
|
Lord forgive me but it’s time to go back to the old me, said Mario Tagliatelle, proprietor of Mario’s Fifth Street Pizza and my third-favorite uncle.
I was down on my knees beneath a wobbly table, wedging a folded napkin beneath the leg responsible for the wobbling.
I’m sorry, what? I said.
I tried to stand up and bonked my head. Uncle Mario loomed beside the window, his massive hairy arms crossed across his massive hairy chest. I went to stand with him, rubbing the back of my skull.
Across the street, somebody was selling drugs. I could tell because they had one of those fold-out posterboards used in science fairs, except instead of describing the chemistry behind laundry detergent or whatever the posterboard simply said “BUY DRUGS HERE.” Sad-looking people were lining up by the dozen. I watched a customer walk out of our pizza shop, see the sign, drop their pizza in the street, and run across to join the line.
Uncle Mario said a series of very profane Italian words.
Hey, whoa, I said, what’s bothering you so much?
Because I knew Uncle Mario and I knew that Uncle Mario did not have a heart that was, like, touched by the plight of the drug addict here in this big unspecified North American city.
It’s time for you to learn the true history of the Tagliatelle family, said Uncle Mario, turning to me and going down on one knee so that his eyes were level with mine. (I’m not short. He was seven feet tall and just about that wide.)
We were not always humble pizza merchants, said Uncle Mario. We were once the city’s most feared criminal organization.
I knew that, I said. You told me that as recently as last Thursday.
Uncle Mario pressed onward.
Mario’s Fifth Street was a money-laundering front, he said. But the pizza was so good, soon it was making more money than the rest of the operation combined.
Knew that too, I said. None of this is a secret.
I picked up one of our menus, and pointed to the paragraph on the front, which recounted this exact story, except with more words, in a curlicue font.
My question is, if we’re making so much money, why do you care about the drug dealers?
These are my people, said Uncle Mario. My customers. Nobody sells stuff to my customers but me.
That seems to run somewhat antithetical to the whole concept of free market capitalism that made you so successful in the first--
Come, Little Mario. I’ve got to show you something.
Is it the gun locker? I said.
It was the gun locker. Uncle Mario threw open the door and we walked inside. On the walls: every conceivable gun, including some that looked made-up. I grabbed a shoulder-mounted missile launcher. Uncle Mario dual-wielded AK-47s.
Lord forgive me but it’s time to go back to the old me, said Uncle Mario, wrapping ammo belts across his chest. He slipped a grenade into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
You just said that five minutes ago, I said.
I don’t recall.
Well you did, I said. You need a new catchphrase.
Say hello to my little friends, said Uncle Mario.
We’ll work on this later, I said as I followed him back into the restaurant.
| 2019-04-17T09:03:50
| 2019-04-17T08:41:40
| 446
| 85
|
[WP] You had a late night and slept in late too. As you wake up and look at your phone to check the time, you see an alert: “Missile impact approximated at 12:47 PM. Evacuate the city as soon as possible.” It’s 3:15 PM.
|
I hear a sharp bang somewhere deep in my apartment and jerk awake. I grab my phone to check the time, it feels later than it should. An emergency alert glows prominently on my screen, swallowing everything else.
“Missile impact approximated at 12:47 PM. Evacuate the city as soon as possible.”
My eyes dart from the notification to the time and dread fills my body and settles into the pit of my stomach like a rock. 3:15pm. Two hours have passed from the notification from now. Two hours.
My body moves before I know what I am going to do and I jump from my bed and run to the window, grasping the curtains that keep my room blissfully black.
That keep me in the dark about the truth waiting for me outside.
I tremble, grasping the curtains in my fingers. The anxiety slithers through my body like a snake, leaving my stomach, making it's way through my limbs, making me wobble and sway, and up into my throat until I can taste it on my tongue. My brain races as I pull the curtain aside just slightly, and a small sliver of light pierces through. I bite my lip.
Will I see a barren wasteland? Fires burning and bodies scattered? Buildings destroyed and cars turned on their sides like beetles? My ears don't pick up the crackles that accompany fire as it feasts, and I dont smell smoke or ozone.
I position my eye just over the opening in the curtains, blinking hard as I adjust to the sunlight.
Sunlight. Unmarred by smoke.
I scan the horizon. Buildings stand tall. I see one car creep slowly along the street below, a police car, lights flashing, but no siren. No one walks the streets, but there is no destruction.
*Damn it.* I suddenly remember the noise that startled me awake.
I whip around and grab my phone, sliding my fingers across the screen to unlock it. There, below the notification of the missile- our missile- a few missed calls, and a handful of messages.
Sent at 12:48pm
**They destroyed it.**
Sent at 2:54pm
**They know.**
Sent at 3:14pm
**Run.**
|
Well, that's odd. I just wanted to drink my god damn Smirnoff and read Manga. Welp. I guess I'm going to die. I expected it to be more.. whats the word.. Exciting? Like throwing myself into a volcano to save my loved ones, ya know, something like that? Well, I guess I should go look at the outside for the last time. I never seemed to appreciate it enough.
The fog is denser than I thought it'd be. Well, I guess that is the irony in things. The one time I want to look outside Mother Nature says no. Fitting, I guess, as I am the one who stays inside when I could be out enjoying life. Well.. good bye cruel world, ya coulda made me have a cooler death, but I guess not.
| 2020-02-03T07:53:08
| 2020-02-03T06:23:49
| 72
| 12
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
To my best friend.
I used to write to you all the time in the early days. Perhaps it was selfish of me, to use you as an outlet for my emotions. I haven't written to you in such a while, and I'm sorry. Life got in the way, I guess. I owe you this last one.
I don't know how, but slowly things changed. They got better, and I felt guilty at first, that things were able to improve for me. Eventually the guilt faded, and now I can just be happy. It's funny that you used to be what happiness meant to me, yet ten years on I can have happiness whilst you are just a distant memory.
Who knows what could've been. For years I held on to our idealist childhood dream. Please understand that I didn't want it to fade. I didn't want to forget, that's just what time does to you. I did love you. Once. Perhaps, I do still.
I'm happy now. It's time to let you go. We were only children when you died, but even after death you helped me to become the woman I am today, and for that I will always be grateful. Goodbye, best friend.
Yours,
madziepan
|
Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I
| 2015-12-05T13:54:55
| 2015-12-05T13:45:57
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
The nameless waif walked forward onto the sand of the court floor, the shackles that bound her hand and foot dragging on the bloodied floor.
She tilted her head to look up at the arbiters seated so high above her, her ragged black hair falling back from her face to reveal the gaunt lines of her face - but no fear. Not even resignation. There was no emotion there at all.
“How do you want to die?” Asked the First Arbiter. They no longer bothered stating the names and crimes of their prisoners - they had all been rounded up in one of the rebel villages and put to death for the crime of being there.
“Unshackled,” she rasped, holding her wrists up to her captors. “I don’t care about the method of my death, but let me die unshackled.”
“So be it,” boomed the arbiters in unison. The chains fell away as the execution walked onto the sand.
The girl smiled widely and spread her arms, as if welcoming the sun. She seemed so much larger than the tiny hunched over waif she had appeared previously.
It was no illusion.
The teeth behind her smile grew sharper and more pointed. Her nails grew longer and hardened into talons.
The executioner stopped in his tracks and gawped in shock as the arbiters who had finally noticed her transformation attempted to end her - but it was no use. The magic had no effect anymore.
“My thanks,” she said sibilantly as giant wings sprouted from her back, “for freeing me.”
And then blood fell on the sand once more.
|
The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.*
| 2021-06-24T05:07:39
| 2021-06-24T03:42:17
| 152
| 66
|
[WP] It is said that the cursed princess can only be awoken by true love's kiss. To wake her up, the king has had princes from all over the world come to kiss her to no avail. One day, a peasant boy walks up to the sleeping princess and splashes her with cold water to wake her up. It actually works.
|
"Plain water." The peasant laughed as the princess stirred from her sleep. "Had no one in this kingdom thought of it?"
"Of course we had." A voice from behind the boy said making him flinch. It was the king's. "So tell me, how is it that your 'plain water' broke the sleep?"
"Perhaps the witch lied." The boy said lazily. "I mean, it wouldn't make sense that she'd leave the way to break the curse so easily accessible for the enemy."
The king paused in his tracks. That... Wasn't something he'd thought of. In his haste to have found a cure he had forgotten to check where they'd gotten it from.
"Still, I suppose there's the problem of why water didn't work till now." The boy continued not waiting for the king.
"What is it that you know?"
"You are a smart king. I think you suspect the same I do. The princess was meant to wake today, just waiting to be stirred from her slumber."
The king's eyes widened. "Who was supposed to arrive today?"
"The king of Dariha. I heard him in the stables."
That explained everything to the king. The person meant to arrive today were their enemies. In his worries he had become too desperate and almost lost his empire.
"Well then, stable boy. You have my gratitude. I cannot thank you enough for saving my daughter. Speak what do you wish for?"
"May I have my own horse?"
"You do not ask for the princess, not for land, yet not even for jewels?"
"I am a stable boy, your majesty. Horses are the biggest treasure to me."
"So be it. I also gift you education should you wish to take it up."
At this the boy's eyes lit up. "Thank you your majesty. Long live your majesty and your highness."
|
The beautiful prince stepped back with a solemn loneliness lingering on his lips. The maiden princess remained sleeping.
"Stand back, boy. What are you doing?!" One of the prince's guards attempted to stop a young paige from interfering. He was holding a bucket.
"My nan always got me to wake up like this!" Before anyone could stop him, the boy dumped the cold liquid contents onto the princess's face. She yelped.
Everyone stared in surprise. She was awake! "It's a miracle!"
She sat up shivering. One of the handmaidens immediately wrapped her in a warm towel before leaving to fetch a new set of clothes for the princess.
"Oh fairest prince, who art thou who wakes me from my slumber?" She blearily rubbed her eyes while still trembling from the cold.
The handsome prince hesitated for a moment before speaking, "I am Prince Henry of Plousios." He got on one knee, "Wouldst thou join me on thine life's journey? Thou hadst taken my heart with thine lovely visage."
"Weren't you who woke the lady, sir prince. 'Twas the bucket." The boy shook the cold water to show what he meant. The princess gave him a momentary sharp glare.
"Prince Henry, thou hadst saved me from an endless nightmare. It shall be my greatest pleasure to accompany you. I pray that mine father will be understanding." Her face was the very image of kind loveliness.
The prince's expression was a sunlit beam of happiness. The paige rolled his eyes. The handmaiden returned with a new set of clothes.
"If thou will allow me a moment of privacy..." she blushed, looking down at her wet clothes, and the prince nodded sheepishly, a bit of red creeping into his cheeks as well. He motioned for the enterouge to follow him out.
The princess called out to the young boy just as he turned to leave with the prince, "Wait! You. I need to send a message to my father."
When the last of the prince's escorts and curious onlookers exited the room, the princess was left with her handmaiden and the young boy.
"By God's nails, Eric! Why'd you have to ruin my fun." She shoved her face into the pillow and groaned.
The young boy smiled, "Weren't fair you get to sleep while I had to clean your chamberpot every day, milady."
The handmaiden sighed, "Princess, someone was going to find out sooner or later. Prince Henry seems like a nice man, his father's rich too!"
"I liked Prince George better, that dashing smile, that rustic way he gripped my shoulders..." The princess squealed into her pillow some more.
"So what am I saying to His Majesty? He's been waiting for an answer for weeks." The boy set the bucket down and wiped his hands on a towel the handmaiden had given him. "You've already told this Lord Prince you'll marry him."
"Bah, that was just... *lip service*," she gave a mischievous smile.
The paige rolled his eyes again and the handmaiden just sighed.
 
___
:D
/r/unexpected_works
| 2022-08-07T06:14:52
| 2022-08-07T05:47:16
| 470
| 310
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
Reports come in today that North Korean president Kim Jong Un has launched a nuclear weapon in response to the sanctions imposed by the US and China. However, North Korean scientists miscalculated the trajectory of the missile leading it to land in Raqqa, Syria. An upcoming UN meeting of World Leaders will decide if North Korea will be faced with nuclear warcrimes and if foreign peacekeepers are to be sent.
|
"Commander, we have it. We've taken the facility that houses ten - ten! - nuclear missiles capable of reaching the United States! Can you believe it? Ten! With the fifteen suitcase nukes we've seized in the last three years since 2020, we can finally take the battle to them!"
"Yes, yes....this will show the world at last that *I* have power and that **I** am a man to be feared! The world will bow their knee to me, now!"
"Er...don't you mean, to God?"
"Yes, yes, whatever. Sure. To God." *door closes*
"The West will know to fear *me*, now."
---
"Ma'am, we have the confirmation that the militants have possession of nuclear materials and have begun their intention of using them against targets within the United States."
"I understand. Major!"
"Ma'am!"
"Inform the President that we are preparing Operation Pound Of Cure. We will wait for the Executive Branch in Colorado. 15:00 hours. Mark."
"Yes, ma'am. Time to end this."
---
"ʂʓϭϣѮ, look at that. *Look at that.*"
"Sir?"
"Ms. խֆ∂ⱷɤ is an important client of ours, would you agree?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Perhaps *the* most important client we have, yes?"
"Yes, sir?"
"And the backdrop of the view of her place of business, her main draw, *my* source of pride, is....is....*infected* with some sort of fungus that has covered those *beautiful* greens and *brilliant* yellows across the *entire surface* with their...their greyish *colonies* and is turning the blues - the blues that cost me my *youth* and my *grace* and my *soul* to create - into browns!
And, and, and, remind me again, the purpose of the life on that world?"
"...to keep the greens green and the blues blue."
"And *whose* job was it to keep the surface of it clean? To kill infections before they got a foothold?"
"Mine, sir."
"What are you?"
"A fuckup, sir."
"Yes, but what are you *at the moment?*"
"An *incredible* fuckup, sir."
"That's about to...?"
"Yes, sir, immediately sir. I'll sterilize the planet at once, and reseed from stock. There won't be another repeat of this."
"There had better not. This will be the *seventh* time this contract we've had to do this....I don't know *how* I'm going to explain this one to her."
| 2016-01-29T06:09:39
| 2016-01-29T04:24:26
| 277
| 19
|
[WP] 1,000 years after the battle of Helm's Deep, the orcs have tracked down the elves in the undying lands. Calling in a favour with their allies the men, the elves expect an army of 10,000. Instead they get 8 marines with MASERs, rail guns and anti-matter grenade launchers.
|
Agandauer the Accurate responded in that cool calm voice that all Land of Shadow watchtower scouts aspired to.
"I've got you at three quarters of a hundred lár per hour across the ground"
With the High Elves' amulet of rumificatus active, Agandauer could communicate directly with anyone within range. So, too could Elves and allies alike communicate with each other within that same range.
Just as he was lost in thought about this wonderous artifact, another voice is heard. This was a far more experienced member of the EagleRider corps, who probably knew damn well with his speed was but wanted to show off a bit for trainees.
Ever the professional, Agandauer reported just as quickly "my calculations have you at 100 and 3 additional, across the ground"
Without even a moment to absorb what was going on, a harsh deep voice echoed across the valley "and what about ME, pointy ears?"
Ah, Golic, the dwarvish Dragon Rider. He knew perfectly well he was the fastest thing in the sky. But, in true dwarvish bravado, Ol' Golic here wanted to make sure everyone else knew it, too. Nonetheless, Agandaur gave his measurements dutifully - "300 and a quarter lár across the ground" - and for a few moments it seemed as if that were that. Everyone had had their fun for the day.
But then, a voice Agandaur hadn't heard before came through, calmer and cooler than his own, and clearly a voice of Man, requesting his speed calculation. None of the Elves had heard from the men of middle-earth in centuries! But now, high, high above - a black wedge was streaking across the sky. Agandaur could barely calculate the angles fast enough, and for the first time ever, he needed a few seconds to respond. "Uh, we've got you at, uh, one thousand eight hundred and forty-two lár across the ground."
And for the first time ever, Agandaur was afraid.
(Only a thin connection to the WP, and heavily borrowed from a Reddit favorite, but I couldn't resist)
|
"how you doing chum?"
​
Logbook of the battle engineer Clem K. Harvard, 05-10-2935 AD. 0600 AM.
​
SO! just finished my shift, we're well underway with the ambush setup. the orks are marching out in the open, upstream, about 10 miles from our location. Dukes, Hicus, Max and Laos have placed themselves, i've spent the afternoon planting homebrewed ieds that i've built from the AMHE grenades we were sent with. set the fuses to trigger when the balrogs come in.
If the elves are right, those damn fuckers weigh more than a damn tank. i've wired the fuses just in case would the pressure plates fail.
Me and Holy will stay back in the truck, we'll attack whatever flies in priority.
​
now all we need, is the elves bait to work.
this is going to be a massacre. the moment the dragons are done, the battle will be completely one sided.
​
The first contact... was weird. none of the elves were happy to meet a combat squad of just 8 men, acting like they were in charge. they kinda got pissed when we told them we were the whole package.
we were told the welcome party was over, and we were to leave before sundown, so the captain and hicus showed them we werent a joke.
Turns out the MR-501 railguns set to artillery support make some pretty large holes in the local rock formations.
must be some kind of marble, the light fractures inside made the surface shrapnel like crazy!
​
The captain is a competent leader, but boy what a tool. that legolas dude was INCHES away from snapping him in half. who the hell goes against all safety courses within the five first minutes of an encounter with a millenary ally? really? i'm roasting his ass the second we're home.
their uproar stopped when the IFV nearly crashed into galadriel's shrine.... the idea of a large chunk of metal being dropped from several miles above without creating a large crater was kind of a big shock.
it's magbrakes went unlocked, so it dragged it's chute down a slope and we barely stopped it in time.
​
Oh, looks like legolas is back. time to arm the ieds.
​
\*end of the log\*
​
​
| 2018-12-03T06:38:00
| 2018-12-03T06:24:07
| 35
| 16
|
[WP] In the near future a company holding the only patent to a point-to-point teleportation system in widespread use is exposed as a fraud and the truth is more horrible than anyone expected it to be.
|
It was too good to be true. I know that now, and I guess I knew it back then, but... almost every scientific theory in history has eventually been disproven. Almost everything we've ever known has turned out to be wrong. So what says Einstein was the one who finally got it right? Why couldn't he be wrong, too? Relativity, spacetime, the speed of light - maybe all that was wrong.
*Teleportation*.
Just saying it gets me all worked up. Instant transportation across the globe. When that first little rat came out safe and sound on the other end, we were ecstatic. We felt like *gods*. We'd taken the first step in conquering the one enemy science had yet to conquer: time.
Our technology changed the world, of course. We could charge whatever we wanted and companies would still come to us on their knees. Worldwide shipping, international travel - oh, and our teleportation is unaffected by gravity. Yeah. You wouldn't believe what NASA paid for a tour of our labs.
But the money was nothing compared to the glory. Nobel prizes, honorary degrees, access to the innermost of inner circles - and that's only from our peers! By the rest of the world, we were hailed as the fucking saviors of our species!
With our technology replacing fossil fuels, carbon dioxide emissions plummeted to the lowest levels in a century. We also made it effortless to send shipments to areas ravaged by war or natural disasters. It looked like we'd saved the world. It really did.
So imagine our surprise when people started dropping dead on every continent. They'd arrive at their destination, take a few steps, and then just collapse on the spot. Autopsies revealed nothing; there were no signs of poisoning, asphyxiation, brain damage, or any kind of physical injury. It just looked like they'd died of old age.
We were stunned. Some of us couldn't handle it. They drowned themselves in booze or water. Some disappeared, never to be seen again. Probably living out the rest of their days on some paradise beach somewhere. Fucking cowards.
The rest of us, we poured everything we had into finding out what was happening and how to stop it. We slaved away for months with the weight of a civilization on our shoulders. We pushed ourselves to our absolute limits and one day, we had it. We'd figured it out. We knew what was happening, and I have never been so terrified in my life.
Remember the autopsies of all the dead people? That it just looked like they'd died of old age? Well, it turned out that was exactly what had happened.
Einstein was right, after all. You cannot cheat time.
When we transported that rat instantly from one place to another, we thought we'd saved it the time it would take to travel that distance. But as it turns out, time cannot be saved. It can only be moved. The time you save has to come from somewhere.
The people who died had used our teleportation over distances it would take years to cover conventionally. They'd live in NYC, commute to Tokyo, have lunch in Barcelona, and take their wife out for a romantic dinner in Paris. They made a dozen laps around the globe every week and eventually, they ran out of time.
I am the last one of us left. All the others have broken. Once again, I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. If I could take it all back, I would. I'd give all my prizes, all my money, everything I have and have ever had, if I could just turn back time and undo what I've done. But I can't, because if there's one thing I've learned in my life, it's this:
You cannot cheat time.
|
"You going to hold on to your lunch?"
"You know damn well that I don't eat before a jump," Todd said with a toothy-smile to the engineer, Jerry. Another jump meant another $50k in his pocket, and he was happy to do just that. Jerry stood at the control panel, a small stand that looked like a music director's stand, except this stand had a few buttons on it, as well as one lever. Jerry pulled the lever, and the circular arch that Todd stood in front of glimmered and shone.
Todd turned and peered into the television camera manned by some person that he didn't know. Every time he jumped, there was some camera there watching him, some different face behind it with a two dollar smile. Todd didn't mind though, there would be another man on the other end behind another camera with another two dollar smile, and there would be another man, but this one would have a check for fifty grand.
The portal sparked to life, and there he was, the man with the check, waiting on the other end. Todd took a deep breath and stepped through, feeling the pores on his skin open up and drink in the air, his eyes felt like they were watering, and he was suddenly conscious of every hair follicle on his body.
The sensations ended as soon as they started, and there Todd was, standing on the other side of the world with a man clapping.
"And there you have it folks," the man said into the camera, "Todd has made another jump."
Todd walked forward and shook his hand, the camera turned off, and then he took his check.
____________________________________________________________
His house on this side was luxurious; his bedroom housed an 80 inch television which he played video games on, and there was a mini-fridge next to his bed that was always fully stocked with vanilla pudding. On his bed sat his cat, Sushi, a rather fat cat that Todd failed to keep on a diet. One man had offered Todd an extra 10 grand to take Sushi with him through the portal, but Todd kindly turned it down, not wanting to risk his pet on the off-chance that portals didn't like animals.
He got out of his bed and walked over to the computer that was sitting on the oak table sitting on his computer. He sighed, waiting for the computer to boot up, and for some reason he was reminded of his time spent in prison, sitting there, waiting, and rotting.
He was guaranteed life, until the man in the suit came and cut him a deal; freedom if he stepped through the portal. There weren't any guarantees as to what would happen, he'd either end up on the other side, or he could be ripped to pieces, or he could spend an eternity in limbo. At the time, it didn't matter to him, and he took it. He stepped through the portal and entered freedom.
His doorbell rang, interrupting him from his thoughts. He slipped on his house shoes and made his way to the front door. As he got closer to the glass ornamented door he could hear a growing murmur of voices.
Upon opening the door, he found a crowd of reporters, shoving their microphones into his face like a bad porno.
____________________________________________________________
The woman interviewing him had more than a two dollar smile. By Todd's judgement, he'd say it was about a five-er, maybe even a ten. There was another camera in the room, and behind it, another man that he had never seen before in his life.
"So," the woman continued, "you're not Todd?"
"I am Todd," he said curtly.
"Well, the portal you've been stepping through for the past 10 years wasn't really a portal, the portal was fake. You were being pulled apart, atom by atom, transferred, and then put together on the other side, atom by atom. You were technically dead between those trips, and then rebuilt. You are no longer Todd."
Todd looked down at himself sarcastically. He lifted his arms, turned them over, gazed at his fingernails. He reached a hand down the front of his pants, much to the interviewers horror, grabbed a hold of his own junk, then nodded, "No, this is all me, this is all Todd," he said, retracting his hand from his pants, then wiping it on the armrest.
"I don't think you understand," the woman persisted, "you are not the same person."
"I'm done with this," Todd said. He left the room and was instantly surrounded by his bodyguards.
They stepped out of the building and were briefly surrounded by a crowd of people, some of them holding signs, some of them throwing trash, and most of them yelling obscenities, ranging from fake, abomination, monster, and many other names that they pulled from Mary Shelley literature.
No two dollar smiles in the crowd, Todd thought to himself. Another slew of microphones were thrust into his face, body guards doing their best to karate chop them out of the reporters' hands. One microphone managed to find it's way under Todd's nose.
"WHAT ARE YOU?"
"I am Todd."
| 2014-08-25T10:16:51
| 2014-08-25T09:56:59
| 372
| 41
|
[WP] You're Woody and you've just been "adopted" by a new family. This person has a lot of toy collections but by far his Warhammer 40K collection is the strangest and it's making Buzz Lightyear nervous.
|
[disclaimer, never played 40k, but adore the setting from crossovers and 1d4chan wiki]
*In the grim briefcase of the Games Workshop, there is only War...*
Woody was, to put it bluntly, excited. Andy had held him again, an old man now, and placed him in a child's room.
Andy's... Grandchild, maybe?
"Ere boyoz, what have we got ere?"
Woody saw, on a shelf, a lovingly crafted green brute. It did not look like a Hulk, although the experienced cowboy toy was reminded of the Gorgonites, some of whom were a bit cockney and green in the Gen2 toy line.
"Uh..."
"You the boss o' boss' da's old humie toy, ain't ya? A 'Woody'."
"... Why, yes. I'm Woody. One of Andy's first toys."
"Heh. Boyo, I'm a bit krorkier than gorky in the boss' head, so I'm smart enuff to give you advice. If you hear us shout summat, anything, hide. Times have changed since your time."
Woody suddenly felt a chill in his plastic, as he realised that the Ork Warboss had a familiar red button on his chest.
To the Ork, it was a bauble, a piece of plastic on a bit of string, an amulet of sorts that would make 'im go fasta if only slightly.
To Woody... It was a familiar laser's activation switch.
The Warboss grinned.
"Yah. Da Boss of Bosses got your humie spaceman gud."
"He has Buzz? I thought he got thrown away!"
"As yas can tell by dis... He wasn't all in one piece. But da Boss of Bosses knows stuff. How to improve. How to fuse toys..."
Woody was reminded of Sid's Fused Toys.
"Tell me where I can find Buzz."
"You need to find da Box Of Da Throne. In da Box, ya Buzz is dere. I'll come with ya, I'm itchin' for a good scrap."
The Warboss leapt off the shelf, and landed on the bed, smoothly.
"ERE WE GO ERE WE GO"
They marched off, Woody starting to realise how cracked his new companion was in the head.
---
"Wait, so you're meant to be a biker mushroom man?"
"We's basically an Orc from Middle Erf, only we's Orkz from da Ork planet! More..."
"Mad Max?"
"Dats the grox. Dats also da box dere."
The Ork pointed to the large gun-metal grey briefcase, standing under the workdesk in one corner of the room.
On one side there was a carving of a blocky two headed bird. *An Aquila*, Woody thought, thinking of Andy's brief (and terrifying, to a insecure toy) fascination with ancient Rome.
On the other side, in a similarly blocky typeface, was the words GAMES WORKSHOP.
"See! Clearly a box for orkz! It says ork right there in the middl' of it! Is a shame your Buzz is in it."
Woody wasted no time in knocking the box over, and opening it.
Within, nestled in polystyrene, was an imperious figure, clad in gold, atop a chunky painted plywood throne.
Woody saw the black haired modified version of Buzz, his glowing LED eyes, and long metal claws...
And flinched when the Warboss spoke.
"He's meditatin. Humies think Da Warp is safe because he foits cunts in it. His job is to sit there and think of foiting big bads."
"... Hypersleep, he called it."
"Huh?"
"When he first met me. A space ranger goes into hypersleep on long missions. Means they don't age. Means they can fight the Evil Emperor Zurg more effec-"
Buzz' eyes twitched.
"Did you see that?" Woody asked, pointing at the space ranger.
Da Warboss looked uneasy.
"Buzz! If you can hear me, it's Woody!"
Buzz remained as still as the tombs of Terra.
Woody had an idea.
"Zurg?"
A familiar beep from a faulty sound chip beeped.
"Gravitonga. LGM. Mira. Booster. XR. "
Buzz began to shake.
"DIS IS A BAD IDEA!" shouted the Warboss.
Woody smiled.
"Space Ranger! What is your mission!"
The Emperor... Leapt to attention.
"To deliver Zurg's secret plans to Star Comma- ... Woody?"
"Buzz!"
Woody leaned in to hug his best friend, but Buzz went still on seeing the Ork.
The Warboss barely fast enough (not enuff red) to react to the clawed hand that softly touched the greenskin's shoulder, Buzz boomed in a voice decidedly un-Buzz-like.
**ORK. YOU HAVE BROUGHT A VALUED ALLY TO ME, AND FOR THAT I OWE YOU A BOON. I CANNOT CHANGE THE MYTHOPOEIC NATURE OF OUR KIND, THERE IS ALWAYS WAR, BUT AT THIS TIME I CAN OFFER YOU A BOON.**
"Ere, just make it so your boyoz get out of their boxes to fight next time e's at school." the Ork suggested promptly.
**SO IT SHALL BE.**
The lights dimmed in Buzz's eyes, as he looked at his former playmate. "So, what happened after Molly?"
Woody held his hat awkwardly.
"Me and Ham ended up hitting Vegas for a while. Andy got us both back off Molly when he was in town with the will, you know?"
"Ah. Comforting face in time of need. Good that he had you. If he tried that with me now, he'd poke an eye out."
"What are you, anyway?"
"I'm... Ugh, have to do it this way..."
**I AM THE GOD EMPEROR OF MANKIND, THE PERFECT HUMAN, PROTECTOR OF HUMANITY, WARP GOD OF ORDER, EXTREMELY BAD PARENT OF RIDICULOUSLY OVERPOWERED MANCHILDREN THEY CALL PRIMARCHS.**
"So... Kind of a promotion from space ranger?"
"**Sor**ta. Spend a lot of time on my hiney, while others get played with."
"Better than me. All I can do still is,"
Woody pulled his own string. *There's a snake in my boot!*.
|
Buzz was first to pop his head over the edge of the cardboard box, peering through the murky darkness of the box and into their new room.
"Buzz?" Woody broke the silence, "Buzz, what d'you see?"
"We... shouldn't go out there." Buzz stepped off the books they'd piled up to get to the edge of the box. Even under the shadow of the box, Woody could see the concern carved into Buzz's face.
"Were there... people out there?" Woody already knew the answer. He'd heard the man leave, and Buzz was behaving *oddly*.
"No." Buzz shook his head slowly as he answered. "No." He repeated himself slowly.
"What could be so bad?" Woody stepped up to the books and began to scale the mountain of paper, before he felt a tugging at his shirt. "Buzz?"
Buzz clung to Woody's shirt loosely. "No." Buzz shook his head slowly, before returning to staring at his feet. "Don't."
"What could be so bad Buzz?" Woody snatched his hand back from Buzz, who made no further attempt to stop him. "I mean, we're going to be here a while right? We might as well make some friends now!" Woody looked back at Buzz, who merely coldly stared at the floor.
Buzz's attitude was somewhat concerning to Woody. He almost seemed caught in despair. Woody was somewhat shaken, but was not deterred, as he crossed the crest of the box.
Woody was almost blinded as his head peered into the bright room, dropping down from the cardboard box, and onto what seemed like a desk. Picking himself up of the floor, Woody looked around the room. The desk he was on was bare, save for papers and a few books, but the desks across the room were busy and scarred with paint and plastic. Large figures sat carefully placed in glass cabinets, surrounded by other figures of similar style. Some pounded at the glass, yelling through the wood that separated them, whilst others sat waiting silently.
Woody stared at them, stunned by what he was witnessing. Their yells could be heard even from across the room. "What..." Woody stammered out as he looked. He'd never seen anything like it. His feet slowly started moving towards the opposite side of the room, across a desk that connected to the painting desk. He needed to investigate further.
As Woody got closer, he began to make out the yells more clearly. Some bayed for the blood of their enemies, others clarified their loyalty for an Emperor, and some abandoned all attempts at coherence, and merely belted out guttural roars. As Woody got closer to the cabinet, he was able to make out a small group of figures in various states of being painted. The largest of the figures towered over Woody, and strode between his brethren to meet Woody, many feet clattering over each other from under the flowing red robes.
"0͟1̰̳0̸͎͔͍̣͖͍̗0̘̳̖͘1̸̼͚̩̲0̠0̭̘͕̥͇0҉̰͈̱͔ͅͅ 0͍̜͕́1̙̞͍̫̞1̺̻̟̝̝0̟͈0̪͞1̞̥0҉͕̬̰͔̝̰1̵̭ 0̮͓̥̩͓1̶̬1̛͔͓̜̰̤0̬̻̠͔̞̱1͓̞1̢͙͙̮̭͕0̴̤̹̺̳̳0̟̬͔͍̙̜ ̟̤̮̞̦̻͝ͅ0̝͔͖͕̩͓ͅ1̸̙̩̩̻̣̜1̗͍̝0͎̻̞1̺̙͙̪1̟0̸̙̱̼̰̗̳0͟ ̡͈̳̤̜0̨̪̞͔͎̳͕̗1͈̰ͅ1̷̼̼̜͈͉ͅ0̢̲̠11͙1̢͖̥̯̳̙͓1́ ͎̣̤" The figure screeched out an inhuman greeting befitting of his mostly mechanical nature. He tapped at a plate on one of his many arms, before repeating his previous greeting. "Hello there." His voice, now understandable, was still mechanical and grating in nature.
"Hello...?" Woody stammered as he spoke, somewhat intimidated by the man's appearance.
"You don't have any STCs on you, do you?" The man lowered himself, forcing himself uncomfortably close to Woody's face.
"Wha- STC?" Woody said as he backed away.
"Oh, how rude of me." The man offered one of his original arms to Woody, it's sagging gray skin lined with wires and pipes that protruded from the bone and vein that seemed long since abandoned. "My name is Belisarius Cawl, Archmagos Dominus."
Woody grasped his hand and shook it. "I'm Woody." Woody rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Cowboy?"
Archmagos Cawl seemed satisfied with this, returning his hand to the cover of his long flowing robes. "I see. So I doubt you'd have any STCs then."
"What's going on over there?" Woody pointed over to the source of the growing din.
"Oh they're all just arguing over the whole Cadia incident." Cawl waved his hands dismissively. "I don't mind. Mechanicus had a pretty decent role. New figure too." He waved his hands at himself as he spoke.
Woody stood with more questions now than before. "I... see."
_______________________________________
Sorry, this was probably terrible. I got to the point where he would actually start interacting with the 40k guys, and then I sort of forgot where I was going with it.
| 2017-01-17T02:25:05
| 2017-01-17T00:54:11
| 36
| 19
|
[WP] You try human flesh for the first time. It tastes familiar
|
The ship pulled into harbor and I was grateful to be back on land. It had been a treacherous 6 months at sea and we had nearly died but we made it home.
As I disembarked I was starving. I passed by a pub and there was a sign stating they had fresh human on special. Excited I entered the pub, sat down and ordered a pint and one special.
When It arrived it smelled delicious. I took a swig of my ale and took a piece of meat and popped it in my mouth. It was wonderful. It was warm and juicy and flavorful. almost like there was something familiar about it.
I had a few more bites enjoying each one more than the last and then like a shot it hit me. During our voyage we were losing crew left and right and we were hit by a large squall that took out our food supply. We had the difficult decision of either eating our fallen shipmates or starve to death. We opted to eat as little as possible just to get back to land. We started with the legs, then the thighs then finally the breasts. We saved the wings for last just in case but it never did come to that.
I come to and realize this isn't human at all. I get sick to my stomach and run to the dock. I empty my stomach into the pier. I sit up and look towards the pub. I wipe my beak. The monsters. They're serving chicken.
|
He didn't think he would be able to do it. He had loved Jessica so much, they were supposed to be getting married this July for fucks sake and now he was staring down at her mangled, half-frozen corpse - his camping knife slowly working through the flesh around her thighs. Those same thighs that he had caressed cautiously one night as they lay in his dorm room so many years ago.
He shoved that memory away, willing himself to detach. This was pure survival at this point, Jess had simply fallen asleep and never woken up as they made their way up the summit of the mountain. He had told her to be careful, this was her first high-altitude climb, told her the warning signs of succumbing to hypothermia but in the end it didn't matter. He had broken down when he found her. He'd gone ahead to scout for the next part of the pass upward. He didn't think he was gone that long, but her lantern light was fading out as he gently shook her at first, and even more violently as he realized he had lost the love of his life to this wretched mountain only days before they reached the top.
Focus, he told himself, focus on the task at hand. You have to eat. You waited as long as you could. You wasted all that fucking time trying to get her body down the pass, didn't realize exactly how heavy a body would be, and now you're out of food and staring down one of those horrible moments you only see in the movies.
He had managed to get a sizeable steak sized piece free, only pausing to dry-heave bile three times. Now was the moment of truth - could he do it? He still had a little fuel left in the camping stove - Jess insisted on bringing it despite him complaining about the weight. He clicked it on and felt a wave of panic rush over him. He couldn't do it, there was absolutely no way, he was going to die on this mountain. His only consolation was he could simply lay down next to Jess and pretend everything was fine. Hopefully no one ever found them, hopefully the snow covered their tent and his horrible desecration would never face the light of day.
Enough. Fucking enough. He slapped the flesh down on the small skillet and couldn't help it as his mouth watered. Suddenly all his shame took a back seat to the nagging, ever present hunger he had felt the past six days as he had tried to stretch the remaining food they had left. He had left.
He cut off a small morself with his knife and without waiting to second-guess himself he popped it in his mouth. His mouth lit up as his underused tastebuds suddenly came to life and he was caught with a surreal sense of deja-vu.
What? Deja-vu?
He...this....it was so familiar. But how? He sat there, chewing slowly now, trying to work out the weird sensory memory this triggered. When would...?
Grandpa Bill. The summer he spent at his cabin in Montana. It was a quick flash of memory that he grabbed hold to with desperation. He had came up in his early twenties, wanted to spend time with Grandpa after Grandma Marge had disappeared.
Oh Jesus. Oh fucking Jesus.
They never found her body. His whole body surged with adrenaline and he broke out in a cold sweat under his parka.
Grandpa said she had gone out late one night, they had run out of something - it was such a far drive to the general store, he always wondered why it couldn't have waited - the police found her car two months later in the lake 15 miles from home. They figured she must've gotten disoriented, or swerved for some wildlife.
He quickly spit out the meat, staring down at the skillet, realizing why Grandpa and he had eaten so well that summer. He said he had gotten a hog from one of the guys in town, the whole damn thing, but then hadn't they had to go to the store to pick up bacon - why did they need bacon if they had the whole hog? He remembered the look his Grandpa gave him when he asked him that - remembered how he had shrank in his seat.
Oh god, he thought, his eyes flicking around the tent in horror as if someone was in the tent with him. He started to wretch.
Oh god.
edit: typos
| 2015-09-21T16:24:05
| 2015-09-21T16:12:20
| 29
| 11
|
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story.
|
Once upon a time, there was a young maid named Rebecca, fourteen summers of age and black of hair. Ever since she could recall, she had wanted to be a singer, as prolific as the great Adella, as famous as Taylor of Swiftelsson, as breathtaking as the ravishing Beyoncella.
So one morn, she had a stroke of inspiration. She knelt to the floor, and prayed thus--
Hear me, goddess Freyja, I beseech thee
If I were to write a song in your name
Wouldst thou bestow upon me as much fame
and fortune as Alicia of Key?
There was a gust of wind, and Rebecca took that as a yes. She promptly took her lyre and started to strum the first chords of her new ode to the great goddess. Within a day she was done, and that very night she performed before her parents and siblings, who showered her with praise.
Freyja, Freyja, I look upon thee...
Unbeknownst to her, however, Freyja did not match her parents' approval. Surely the goddess was pleased that a young girl would dedicate such devotion to her, but she did not think the song was good enough for the worship of a deity. In fact, it had not been good enough to put cattle to sleep.
Freyja, Freyja, I wake in the early morn to praise thee...
Freyja smiled wryly. "I shall bless thee, child, true. But I shall also curse thee terribly."
Oblivious to the events up high, Rebecca's parents insisted that she play her lyre and sing her ditty in the public square, so that all the townsfolk could be blessed by her melodious voice. They were very wealthy, and hired dancers, musicians, and even a bard to read poems while she rested.
Freyja, feasts will be held in thine honor...
And sure enough, the people came pouring in. Rebecca was asked to play again, and again. Messengers were sent to all corners of the land, and soon there were thousands, *millions* of pilgrims traveling for months just to hear Rebecca's song even once. "Surely our daughter will reach for the stars!" boasted her parents. Their friends and neighbors nodded in agreement.
But while she performed day after day and night after night, and the gold flowed into her family's coffers, she could almost feel something was amiss. The townsfolk, and the foreigners, and even the peasants and the clergymen, they all smiled, and cheered, and sang with her. But they were also eager to turn their backs as soon as she had finished. She heard whispers, and muffled laughter, and snickers.
I break my fast in thy praise...
To thee alone I look for leisure...
It was not long before the truth became evident. Rebecca could sing, but her voice was not pleasant. She was comely, but not beautiful. She danced, but not gracefully. She plucked at the lyre, but not with skill. The throngs that came to see her, who had made her family even wealthier than they were, were not pleased by her music--they were amused by it. They did not come to cheer for her--they came to mock her.
The day she came upon that realization, she threw herself at her mother's feet. "Oh mother, mother, Frejya is displeased! She hasn't blessed me--she has *cursed* me! I am the laughing-stock of the kingdom!"
Her mother knelt beside her, and could no longer protect her child from the truth. "Perhaps," she said, "but she has still blessed us. We are the richest family in town, and it is all owing to your silly song. Now we can hire the finest tutors in the kingdom. You shall learn how to sing as a bird and dance like the wind. And the last laugh, my dear, will be yours."
From the back seat of my carriage
From the front seat of my wagon
I praise thee, O Freyja
I look upon thee
The entire kingdom holds you in praise
Lavish feasts! Mirth without end!
We look forward to thy day.
|
Once upon a time, there was a man who owned a tavern with his sister. Times had been bad in the city where he lived, so he had decided to come home and live closer to his mother, who was very ill. With him, he brought the fairest princess in all the land. She had long golden hair and a radiant face, with a smile that could light up the entire room. She had married him long ago, falling in love with his laughter and the way he waltzed through life.
Bringing her home to his mother and his sister was the worst thing he could have done. The princess shrunk down and withered in the cold lands, cut off from all of her former friends and without the luxuries to which she had become accustomed. Her heart grew small and cold too, losing all the love she had once held for her husband, who had grown unfaithful.
So the princess decided to run away, and she decided to punish the man who had taken her away from her family and her riches. The golden-haired princess coloured her hair brown, and cut it, and disguised herself so that no-one would be able to tell it was her. In the cottage she shared with her unfaithful husband, she left a pool of blood and a note that painted her as a terrified wife.
The husband was suspected of killing his wife immediately, and once the townspeople discovered he was unfaithful, it was seen as certain. The princess lived amongst the common people, but was robbed and betrayed by those she trusted. She turned to the last friend that remained to her, in desperation.
The last friend betrayed her too. He tried to keep her prisoner against her will, changing her back into the princess she had originally been. Her golden hair grew back and she transformed. To escape from her captivity, she fought her friend and won.
The princess returned home to her husband, who promised to never be unfaithful again. They lived happily ever after.
| 2015-06-10T16:13:15
| 2015-06-10T06:53:17
| 24
| 16
|
[WP] The world of Avatar is real, only there are not 4 elements, there are 118. For every element on the periodic table there is a group of benders. You are one of them.
|
Saafa sucked down the sweet coffee he'd only just poured himself. Humming machines and shuffling feet and sterile smells surrounded him, a hospital as modern as any. Saafa paid no mind to patients or nurses as they passed, instead his eyes kept steady on the NOBL monitors. A pumped, flowing gas stream piped through every room of the hospital, and in every room an array of sensors kept vigilant.
Particles of every elemental material were steadily circulated through the system, but mostly nitrogen filled. Any bending potential, even subconscious, was almost instantly detected, and Saafa's job was among the most important.
The silent alarm light blinked to life, adjacent to a labeled maternity suite #615. Saafa took a deep breath, chugged his coffee quickly, stood and donned his goggles, his protective suit, the 'trouble' bag, and knocked on the closed office door behind his desk.
Within, Doctor Fenquill sighed as he stared out the beautiful open vista through his window, feeling almost no comfort from it. Such was the job to be done.
"Doctor? It's room 615. The Grenna twins, it's been 31 hours since delivery, there's already a spike."
"31 hours?" Said the doctor, more to himself than to Saafa. "Highly unusual. A possible savant, even."
He stood from his desk and abandoned the vista.
"I'll meet the parents in the null chamber... They'll need to know."
Saafa didn't wait for orders or details. He raced down the hallway, following painted lines down corridor mazes, the sturdy bassinet in tow. Within minutes he'd ascended three flights of stairs, shoved through five doors and knocked an interns tray over in his path.
Room 615 was shut, and dark within.
Saafa took a deep breath and quietly opened the door. There, inside, were a pair of glowing incubators by a dozing mother's bedside. Nurses were already waiting behind him to assist with the mother's transport. Luckily, he wouldn't need the trouble bag today.
He almost silently hooked the two incubators together and wheeled them out the door as quickly as possible. The mother stirred and saw him as he left, but just as swiftly nurses swooped in and placed her into a wheelchair, following directly behind him.
"Wha..." She said, the fugue still wearing off.
"The doctor will need to see you and your husband, I believe he was in the cafeteria."
Within moments, Saafa, the incubators, the mother, father Grenna and Doctor Fenquill were gathered into an immense, almost purely metal room. The metal was a special poly-alloy, a material too complex to be bent, heat resistant to thousands of degrees and virtually invincible to chemical or physical damage.
The Doctor folded his arms.
"Mrs Grenna, Mr Grenna. I'm so sorry we have to meet like this. Our NOBL detection system has indicated bending potential in one or perhaps both of your children."
The mother gasped and cupped her mouth. Mr Grenna seemed a little proud, concerned, but proud.
"That was always a possibility, her grandfather was an iron bender."
The doctor nodded as the twins were placed behind a glass shield. Within a scanning torus armature was actively sweeping the incubators and their contents.
A complex feed of information printed out into the doctor's waiting hands. The parents could read no information from his face, but he soon turned to speak to them.
"First, the good news. The eldest, Terza, she appears to be healthy and resonant with element... 29. A natural copper bender. Very stable element, very useful bending skill."
The parents sighed in some relief, though they both knew there was more to come. The doctor did visibly scowl this time.
"Your son Azret, however, resonates with... element 92. Uranium."
There was a gasp as the parents were struck by this news.
"We must proceed quickly."
"Doctor, how safe is this procedure? He's only a day old!"
Doctor Fenquill took a deep breath. "I went to medical school for 8 years. Carbon bending university for 6 years and I have been bending practicing gene bending for 21 years. I assure you, I could grow flowers on a pine tree. But genetic level work is complex, I can't guarantee success. I can't guarantee he will retain any bending when I'm done. All I can guarantee is that if you leave him unchecked, he will live a very, very short life, and possibly hurt hundreds beyond these walls. Uranium particles are constantly raining into our atmosphere from space, never enough to be of harm to us normally, but in enough time they will gravitate to his aura in palpable amounts. He is in grave danger."
Mr and Mrs Grenna glanced at each other. But they already knew what they needed to know. They nodded in agreement. It had to be done.
But before the doctor could even step into the glass chamber with Saafa, an alarm rang on the far side of the hospital. Gunfire, screams, marching feet.
The doors kicked in with a plume of smoke. Through it walked a single figure, lithe, draped in grey as grey as her eyes.
Mitine smiled at them openly.
"Doctor." She said. And with a single swipe, a white hot lance of burning light whipped through the air and slashed down his face. He cried out in agony as the parents backed into the corner, separated from their babies. They'd never seen a hydrogen bender in person, and Mitine was a force unto herself they would likely never see again.
She carved through the glass with a bright swooshing arc of her hand, a single pane of it fell heavily onto the far side of the wall. Inside, Saafa watched helplessly as she stepped through the molten hole and into the chamber with him. She frowned however, she hand't expected twins.
"Which one is it? Which one bends Uranium?" She commanded Saafa. But Saafa backed away, saying nothing.
"Fine." She said. "Fine. I'll just take both."
|
"Hello everyone," I said, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. "My name is Thomas, and I don't know my element."
"Hello Thomas," the group chorused. I sighed and stared out at the circle of chairs wrought in an instant by an ironbender.
"It's... Hard for me sometimes," I said, looking away and running my fingers through my hair. "My dad got carbon, and my mom has hydrogen. I think they expected more from my sister and I. She ended up with einsteinium, so at least she knows."
The group leader reached out and placed a hand on my knee. "Thomas, thank you for sharing. We all know it doesn't happen often, but occasionally a person without the gift of bending can be born to two benders."
"I'm sure I am," I said confidently, looking the woman in the eye. "I've done the blood tests, the gene is there, we just don't know the element."
"My cousin what did get the bendin gene," said a helpful voice from across the circle "she done went and beome a sye-en-teest, what because she ended up with Californium. Is you a sye-en-teest?"
I stared ay my hands. "No, no I am not."
| 2019-09-19T10:08:25
| 2019-09-19T08:41:14
| 99
| 49
|
[WP] You are a Death-Salesman. You sell death to immortals who are tired of living. Usually, this entails finding that one blessed bullet, or that one specific flower that is this immortal's weakness. However, your most recent client is an extremely difficult case.
|
"So I'm going to what now?" I ask.
I stare at my client. An old man, who was sitting down on the chair facing against me.
"You heard me. I want you to kill me." The old man said.
Now this was a tricky situation for me. This old man was said to have **NO** weaknesses at all. An immortal in every sense. No magic spell to reverse, no miraculous bullet to the head, no blessed or cursed sword to strike him down, no poison to harm him, absolutely no way to kill him. Yet here he is asking me to find a way.
"I'm just tired. I'm tired of this world that was made for a race that always fights with itself. Arguing about which person is right or which divine being is real. I'm tired of seeing ungrateful children, rotten adults, and tired old men. I'm just...."
"Done." I finish his sentence. I stare at him directly in the eye. His eyes reflect so much wisdom, yet it just seems to be so tired.
"Young man, I know this is a lot to ask, but I'm begging you. I've already lost my son to a crowd of madmen and traitors. I just want to see him again."
You can hear it in his tone already. As if all energy was drained from his body, all his soul was spent and all his will was shattered. His body mirrors this, as his body looked frail as well. You could see every bone as if the muscles weren't there and that the skin was just a blanket to hide those bones.
I'm thinking of every possibility, but nothing enters my head. I want to say no, but just seeing people like him is what made me start this business in the first place.
*"God fucking damn it."* I mutter to my self.
"I'll find a way old man. Just give me some time." I say to him.
Hope. It showed on his face so obviously. Like after a long journey, he's already seeing a resting point.
"Thank you." He said to me.
"Just send the payment to me by tomorrow. I promise I'll get this job done. I always do." I stand up from my chair, ready to leave.
"Oh, young man." The old man called out to me.
I turn to face him, only to find him gone.
*"Try not to use my name in vain."*
I stare at the empty space where he once sat. Motivation begins to fill me.
I turn to walk away.
I'm going to be the man who killed God.
|
‘So let me get this straight. You want me to find a way to kill you...? You, of all people?’ I say, almost dumbfounded.
My client droned on over the phone, but I was already zoning out and thinking about how to kill the unkillable. Zorifa was a lifelong friend of mine (and considering I myself was immortal, that was a very long time indeed), and had always said he was growing tired. Many people who had lived for generations did - depression of losing loved ones and what not...
But for him to call it quits? It was...it....
Shaking my head, I zone back into the conversation, as Zorifa was still droning on.
‘...and then after I lost that beautiful girl back in the, oh what did these people call it, roaring twenties? Yeah, the twenties, I just haven’t had the motivation to...’
What could kill a man that had fought in nearly every major war in history? Garlic, Holy Water, the blood of battle...? No no, those didn’t even work on the regular customers, let alone my friend. Think harder. More painless, for his sake and yours alike.
Life force drains, a stem of Honeysuckle, the blood of the Roses....?
Maybe, but unlikely. Highly specific cases, very very unlikely that they would work on someone so powerful.
A million things were flying around my skull at once, and I could feel my chest tightening, but only one thing stood out among the rest - ‘How was I to go on without my best friend...?’
| 2019-09-24T17:56:42
| 2019-09-24T14:51:34
| 1,290
| 139
|
[WP] You're the last person on earth - but thank god Pokemon Go still functions! You amuse yourself by catching Pokemon as you travel so as to not feel so isolated and alone. One day, on your screen, you see in the distance that someone has set up a lure.
Courtesy of corvidaedream on Tumblr
|
I wasn't sure why the servers were still up and working. I knew they shouldn't be, but I didn't want to question it too much, Pokemon Go was the one thing keeping me sane through this, reminding me that there was a time when I was not the only person left out here. If I questioned it too deeply, the servers might realise that after 18 months, there is no way they should be working. So I just set out every morning, heading towards an area which seemed to have a lot of pokestops, and collected all the pokemon I saw along my way.
It was my routine, always hoping that I was heading towards another person, that someone else had survived, and that we would find each other. At the end of one, long day of walking, I found a spot to rest for the night. As usual, it was a place that people had gathered, before. When there were people to gather. That meant that there were plenty of Pokestops for me to collect supplies from. I'd just gone through my usual routine of swiping through all the stops within range before finally closing my eyes and trying to sleep as much as I could, when I noticed something unusual. Just on the edge of my screen was a pokestop with a lure on it. For a moment I was confused. Wondering why I'd put a lure on a stop I couldn't reach. But then I remembered, it couldn't be me. I'd run out of lures in the early days - I'd used them to try and signal to other people that there was someone nearby, and now it seemed like someone else was doing the same.
I knew if I waited until morning, there was a good chance that the lure would be gone, and whoever had placed it moved on. I had to act now.
Packing up my sleeping bag as fast as I could, I walked towards the lured stop. It was outside a church, which was as delapidated and deserted as the rest of the town had been. No sign that there had been anyone there in months, let alone the past 20 minutes. But, with nothing better to do, I sat and waited, collecting the pokemon which showed up, until the lure went down. But the moment it did, a new lure appeared. Again, just on the edge of my map.
Not having to pack up my gear, this time I arrived at the lure less than 5 minutes after it appeared. But there was still no sign that another person had been there. I found some paper and a marker pen out of my bag, and wrote a note:
"I can see that there's been someone here. Please contact me. My phone number is 07839 234890"
I taped the note to a wall, and hoping that whoever had set the lure would come back to this spot, then settled back down to catching more pokemon.
Suddenly though, my phone started ringing, the displaying showing "unknown number".
I answered it.
"Hello?"
"I got your note on the pokestop."
"What?" There had been noone but me the entire time I was sat here, how could someone have found my number without me seeing them?
"Yeah. You left a note saying to call you."
"Where are you? If you've come past here, why didn't you speak to me? I've been sitting right here since I put it down"
"Because we're out of phase. I've only just worked out how to get my phone in phase with yours."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You think you've been the only person on the planet for the past 18 months? Well, so does every other person. They're all still here. I've spoken to a couple of hundred of them now. I don't know how it happened, but I can teach you how to contact them. You're not alone any more."
|
**Day 365**
A whole year since everybody on this planet disappeared. Everybody...except me, that is. At first I thought I was in a dream, everything was just so surreal. I was happily catching my eighth Pidgey for the day when everything turned silent, as if the world had decided to shut down. Out of everything that could have caused this "glitch in the matrix", it just had to be Pokemon Go. The part that really sucks is there weren't even any real Pokemon to catch. Whoever, or whatever did this to me clearly didn't want to entertain my childhood fantasy of living in a Pokemon universe. Those assholes.
I still spend my days catching Pokemon. It's all I really do nowadays. Eat, sleep, and catching them all. Except I've actually already caught all of the Pokemon available in Australia. I've got at least 5 copies of even the rarest ones. Once you get to know where they spawn it really isn't hard to find them. I wish Niantic hadn't made so many Pokemon region-specific. Still, I couldn't justify learning to fly a plane or captain a ship just to catch some imaginary region-locked Pokemon so I can show them off to the zero other humans left on this planet. Either way, I am without a doubt, the greatest Pokemon trainer on this planet. Ha. Ha.
**Day 847**
*What is going on?* I looked at my Pokemon Go screen with more excitement than I'd felt in months. *This cannot be real.* Yet the animation was there. I struggled to recall if I'd set that one up myself within the last 30 minutes. No, definitely not, I had run out of lures many months ago. I don't even remember the last time I set one up. A sudden wave of panic and fear swept over me. *Could there be someone else out there? Was my reality about to be "reconnected" with the realities of the other 7.4 billion or so people that had just suddenly vanished?* I suddenly felt the need to sprint towards the location of the Pokestop. I *had* to get there before the lure runs out. I closed in on my target. My heart was thudding intensely. I hadn't felt this level of anticipation since I saw my first ever Dragonite. I walked up to the Pokestop - **SOUTHERN CROSS STATION** - one of favourite train stations. I used to catch this train to work all the time back when I still had a job. But something wasn't quite right...the station sign had something beneath it. I leaned in closer, there was a small piece of paper glued to the bottom of the sign. My heart rate must have doubled as I reached out to grab the piece of paper. The words written on it were in an instantly recognizable font, identical to the Pokemon Go font I'd read a million times on the loading screen. The words read: "NIANTIC: Augmented Reality Simulation #1: Complete."
Wow, didn't expect this to become popular!
For those interested in a continuation, head over to /r/i_am_theone1221 and I will do a continuation later tonight.
| 2016-09-05T10:42:44
| 2016-09-05T06:58:59
| 2,026
| 434
|
[WP] Tell a story that appears to be horror but shifts to a completely different genre after reading the final sentence.
|
She was coming. I could hear her breathing, the quiet foot steps.
She thought I didn't know. She thought I couldn't hear her, her cries in the night, the way she would stare at me when I was alone in the house.
And now the hunt was on. It was time. Time to end this game. She was coming. She was coming and I had to be ready.
Shrill cries echoed from the hallway as she leaped, her teeth gleaming, her eyes shining. I turned, ready.
She landed square on my chest. I fell. Hot breath on my face. Air forced from my lungs as her weight crushed me. Sharp prickles as her claws dug into the flesh of my arms. I barely had time before she opened her jaws wide.
I grabbed her around the chest and pushed her off of me. She whined as she hit the ground, jaws still open, panting. I had to make her stop or who knew what would happen? What if my kids came home and she was still like this? I had to stop her. I opened my mouth and said the only thing I thought might help.
"Bad dog, Sadie, no jumping!"
|
"Whatever you do, *don't split up*," Mark said, shining his flashlight over the faces of his friends.
Marley's broken both of her legs and Jennifer had gone missing, but they couldn't turn back. Something was out there hunting them and they needed to find help... or they'd never see daylight again.
"Bro, help me lift Mar. We've got a few miles to go before we reach the main road and I don't want to give whatever it is out there a chance to catch up to us," Mark said, squatting over with one hand on Marley's shoulder and the other under her thigh.
Trevor was too deep in a state of shock to respond verbally, but he shook his head up and down before squatting into a lifting position.
"We won't leave you here Marley," Mark said, trembling from adrenaline. "I promise."
Mark counted to three and the two of them lifted Marley in unison. She screamed and cried out loud until passing out from the pain. Her body temperature began to drop, lips turning blue and face pale white.
"Dude, somethings wrong. We have to stop walking. Marley doesn't look so good," Mark said, gesturing for Trevor to stop walking... but Trevor wasn't listening. "Bro, I said STOP WALKING!," Mark said, now yelling at his best friend. "She's losing too much blood! We have to stop and cover the wound!"
Mark didn't know this but it wasn't Marley bleeding out that was causing her rampant descent into death, but rather the circulatory problem from the snapped tibia's that protruded through her flesh.
The sound of knives sharpening and chains rattling could be heard nearby.
"Fuck you guys," Trevor yelled, letting go of Marley and dashing off into the forest.
The sound of Marley's shins could be heard fraying and snapping as Mark and her fell to the ground.
Trevor was running for his life at this point, sprinting like a rabbit being chased by a pack of dogs.
*WHOOSH!*
A chain flew through the air and a dagger stabbed directly into the back of Trevor, dropping him to the ground. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled with each footstep that got closer to Trevor, until the assailant gave the finishing blow to his head. *SHANK!*
"Marley, wake up! Please, you gotta wak-"
"Cut! No, stop. Stop what you're doing. I said STOP YOU FUCKING MORONS!," a man yelled in anger. His voice faded and became more faint with each step he took away from the set. "Why did I even sign up to direct this shitty horror film! The actors can't remember half their lines and I'm giving advice to the filming editor, Fuck!"
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, packing them on the side of his hand and unwrapped the plastic off the box.
"I can't take this anymore," he said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. "I know I promised you that I wouldn't give up on the kid, but he's driving me insane, Lucy. I miss you more than anything in the world... and I'd give anything to hear your voice one more time."
 
*****
*****
I'm in the process of writing a novel titled, ['The Magistrate and the Magpie'](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdenRenellaJones/comments/3ivsvj/the_magistrate_and_the_magpie_prologue/). I decided to write it on reddit so fans can fallow along and participate in the beta-read! So think about subscribing and keep an eye out for the next post!
| 2015-08-30T21:57:17
| 2015-08-30T21:53:59
| 118
| 11
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[WP] Prison terms of "life plus" take on new meaning after transfer of consciousness to computer databanks leads to functional immortality. A moral and ethical outcry erupts after the first case in which an individual is sentenced to prison for one hundred thousand years.
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Benjamin Oppenheimer was 9 years old when a chimp's consciousness was uploaded to a computer for the first time. Its name was René, named after the French Renaissance philosopher René Descartes most famous for the phrase "I think, therefore I am". René's neurochemical brain patterns were digitalized and transferred to a simple robot equipped with sensors for vision, hearing, and rudimentary versions of touch and smell, although its interaction with the physical world was quite limited. René had been trained to operate this robot, which essentially amounted to a screen on wheels with two claws, long before his "demise". He could drive around, he could interact and communicate with his caretakers, and he could play virtual games with them.
The technology had moved forward at an astounding pace during Ben's teenage and early adolescent years. A form of the technology was implemented with patients suffering from locked-in syndrome; people who, after suffering a stroke, had become completely paralyzed, and thus conserving only their consciousness and eye movements. They were taught to control a more advanced version of the RenéBot, allowing them to be physically present with their friends and loved ones without being confined to a bed all of the time, and to spend time with them in a virtual environment.
The greatest breakthrough came after the death of one French patient, Nathaniël Delalande, a former stockbroker who had become a successful comic book scenarist after his stroke. A back-up of Delalande's Conscientiome (the technical term for the digital representation of "consciousness") was uploaded into the Renébot. The world was astounded when the robot version of Delalande continued to crack his signature dirty jokes and puns as if nothing had happened... except there was no longer a physical Delalande controlling him.
It was dubbed, in the words of Virtual Delalande himself, "La René-Sans". René referring to the robot, and "sans" or "without" to "its one unfortunately missing appendage".
TBC... when I find some time
|
It's been years since I was transferred to this useless hulk of metal and wires. Even more since I assassinated one of the president. All I do is sit there and listen to my fans spinning. Every now and then a guard feels bad, and loads media into my hard drive. Don't need them. I'm supposed to be running calculations for NASA. All I can do is stare at the equations, since I'm uneducated. Dropped out in second grade because I was taken from my family. Took my life back with my own bare hands and murdered my captors. Went into a life of crime because I was so far from home, so poor and hungry. I returned home years later, only to find the charred remains of a house. That's when I became a hit man. I alternated between finding my family's killers and my job. After eighteen years I found them, and ran their cartel into the ground with the help of my colleagues. That's where I got my nickname, Elephant. Elephants never forget. The hits increased in profile, from famous crime lords to politicians. I was on the FBI's most wanted list when I got a contract for POTUS Donald Trump. That's where I got caught. I was sentenced to a thousand years of prison sentence. That was eighty years ago, and I was thirty-eight years old at the time. And here I am now. Trapped in a computer. I heard that was controversy concerning me and the whole AI thing. The higher-ups said that I was the longest lasting human computer that ever "lived". Rumors tell me that I'm going to be a central part of "The Allied Mastercomputer Project". Whatever it is, I'm looking forward to it. It's time for them to give me a mouth to scream with.
| 2016-01-09T06:52:31
| 2016-01-09T03:29:30
| 46
| 12
|
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager.
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At first, the old hag was glad that, for the first time, her newest pupil would be a well mannered boy. He was young, so when she heard the news that a "kid" was coming, she immediately rolled her eyes and went to meditate. In all her years of life, she dealt with bratty kids, so she expected a twelve year old in his emo "I'm sad and evil took over this world" phase, or a "you're a stupid and ugly witch" kid.
The kid was seemingly a slow learner, and to make it more difficult, deaf, for what she had heard from his parents. The mentor didn't think it was a problem, everyone could learn, even if they were disabled. Some weeks before the kid arrived, the mentor tried her best to learn sign language, and being so devoted to her work, she mastered it two days before the kid arrived.
When the boy finally arrived, she was dumbfounded. The kid didn't even run around and touched her weapons, or made some unnecessary comment about her appearance. The kid only stood there, with his arms behind his back waiting for whatever she had to teach him.
In the first five days, the mentor kept her eyes on the kid for the entire day. She was 100% sure the kid would turn out to be a brat.
If he was taking too much time bathing, she would think he was destroying the bathroom. If he was eating slowly, she was sure he would throw up on her bed purposely. (true event, a kid did that once to her and it was worse than any villain could ever do.)
But then, she understood he was just quiet, and finally gave in. The kid still was the same, quiet. Being deaf, he only talked through sign language, since he never heard anything and never learned how to talk. Although, he deeply appreciated the mentor for learning sign language, he still didn't talk that much with her through it.
In trainings, he was the complete opposite of what people said about him. He was slow at the start, but with a bit of encouragement from the mentor, he learned surprisingly fast and was, most likely, the mentor's best student so far.
The kid learned everything so quickly, the mentor herself couldn't comprehend. The mentor thought it was weird to a kid learn so quick, she took years to master everything and the kid would take half the time the mentor took to master it all.
It was so difficult for her to understand, training the kid harder and harder everyday, but he never failed. She was making it difficult and difficult, and even more difficult every time they would train, but the kid never spoke agaisn't it, nor did he fail in any of the tests.
And the kid never did anything bad. He behaved like an angel. Every day. The mentor couldn't help but think this kid was sent by god himself for some kind of test, because she couldn't bring herself to believe someone could be that pure and angelic. Every day, even after she believed he was truly good, she would still keep her eyes on him, waiting for him to strike her with a baseball bat and laugh at her (also a true occurance, this lady has plenty of stories of these demonic creatures called pupils.)
But he never did. There were years of training coming for both of them, the mentor would still have to run a long way to truly understand the kid. Someday, she would learn how to teach children like him. She was glad he was the first well-behaved and quiet kid to train with her, that way, the mentor would be able to learn and grow with that new experience.
• I apologize for any mistakes, i'm not a native english speaker.
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#WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
I stared at the unconscious man through the bars and super suppression field of his cell. He was the only occupant in the super powered wing of the holding cells at the Fortress of Doomitude, and nobody was even sure what his powers were. All we knew about the man was the name Kurt, his self proclaimed title of 'The Manager', and his affiliation with a shadowy organization called 'The Office'.
I crossed my metallic arms, securing them in place with a small magnet built in to the forearms. The unconscious man remained motionless.
How could an entire villainous organization be running in *MY* region without me knowing? If what he had boasted was true, then I had a severe gap in my intelligence network, maybe even a mole or traitor...
I heard footsteps approach me from behind. "Doc", a gruff voice called out in greeting.
"Avatar." I responded. "Or would you prefer to go back to your old name, Hadron?"
The burly ex-hero grunted. "Hadron." He said, as he ran a prosthetic hand over his bald head. "The kiddies tried to 'splain what an 'Avatar' was, turns out it was some fookin' cartoon." He had a bit of stubble poking through the areas that weren't claimed by male pattern baldness, but he had larger concerns than a haircut.
"Hows Steven doing?" I asked, still staring at the unconscious man in the cell.
Both Hadron and Steven had been captured during their last mission, and each had received several stab wounds. Hadron had taken the injuries better than the teenager.
"The lad's gonna be just peachy. WalkMan's still with 'em. That Stacey bloke too." Hadron said, flexing his robotic forearms.
"Stacy identifies as female, and you *will* respect that" I snapped, looking away from the prisoner for the first time. "I will not tolerate that kind of aggression between Doomsquad members."
Hadron held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn' mean nuthin' by it, boss." He said. "Just not used to that kinda thing, roight?"
I grunted, and turned back to the man in the cell.
"We have a much larger problem, Hadron." I said.
"You got tha' roight" Hadron replied. "How'd we not know about this bloke? This whole 'office' thing?"
Hadron stroked his chin with one robotic hand, accidentally pinching the skin with a thumb joint. He didn't say anything as his blood began to slowly drip from the new wound.
"Prosthetics like ours take time to master." I said. "Perhaps I sent you into the field too early..."
"Oy, we'll have none of that now, yeah?" Hadron said. "I'm a bloody grown-up, I can handle me own self."
I declined to continue the line of conversation. Hadron was indeed a veteran super, and a strong willed Australian man on top of that. Nothing I could tell him would change his outlook.
Another set of footsteps approached from the hallway behind us. Hadron twisted to get a look at the new arrival.
"Oy, WalkMan." He called out. The hero said nothing in response.
"What's this guy's status?" WalkMan asked, taking his place at my right side.
I smirked, trying to hide it from my self-proclaimed nemesis. I had imagined this moment for so long, WalkMan at my right hand side, working on a case together.
"Same as we knew when we tranquilized him." I said. "Name's Kurt, calls himself 'The Manager', claims to be in a secret organization called 'The Office'. And he killed Fred."
WalkMan made a quiet grunting noise. "Fred wasn't in your Doomsquad for more than an hour, max. Yet you still mourn him."
"*EVERY* member of the Doomsquad is my responsibility." I snapped. "No matter how long or short their tenure, they're mine to protect."
WalkMan nodded. "Honorable."
"Indeed." I concurred.
"That is why I'm finally at peace with Steven working for you." WalkMan said, crossing his arms and staring at the man in the cell before us. "He's a good kid, mature for his age, well mannered, mentally stable... Just promise me you'll teach him right, ok?"
I grinned. "You know, WalkMan, you could teach him yourself. You could teach all of the supers here, make sure they understand their powers, use them safely to limit collateral damages..." I paused, gesturing to the man in the cell. "...And help us get to the bottom of this. If there truly is a 'The Office' hiding in plain sight, I'll need all the help I can get to take them down."
WalkMan sighed. "What if we find out that this 'Office' is less evil than your Doomsquad?" He asked.
I cackled. "WalkMan, after all this time, you still think of us as 'evil'?"
WalkMan remained quiet. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time. Hadron shifted his weight restlessly, unsure if he should break the silence or not.
"I'll do it." WalkMan said at last.
I cackled like I had never cackled before. My entire body shook with laughter, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek.
"But if you try to harm me or Steven, I will end you." WalkMan said, in a voice as sharp as a professional chef's favorite knife. "If you try to trick me into breaking my morals, I will end you. If you-"
I cut off his self aggrandizing speech by holding up a small box. "Consider this a 'Welcome to the team' gift" I said, grinning so wide that it hurt.
WalkMan gingerly accepted the small box, and opened it without ceremony. Inside lay a robotic finger. Specifically, a right ring finger. The same one I had cut from WalkMan's hand.... twice.
He glanced from the finger to me, a look of concern growing on his face.
"It's not a trick, joke, ploy, scheme, conniving, or any variation of the sort." I said, rattling off the list of synonyms I had looked up earlier online. "It's a genuine prosthetic finger, with some beneficial features that compliment your powers."
WalkMan stared at the gift. Hadron coughed, growing more and more impatient with our conversation.
WalkMan lifted the mechanical digit with his in-tact hand, and placed it on the missing finger's stump. It attached itself flawlessly.
I stuck out my right hand, and cackled once more. "Welcome to the Doomsquad, WalkMan."
WalkMan returned the gesture. I felt his new finger move in synch with the real ones as he grasped my hand in a vice-like handshake.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more.
This is part of a series I'm working on, called 'Nemesis'. You can find all parts in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis)
| 2022-08-17T10:22:48
| 2022-08-17T07:17:43
| 75
| 52
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[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
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"We've finally done it comrades! Welcome to the birth of the Sixteenth Reich, this time, the German Empire will last for a thousand years!" shouted the Emperor.
The men and women all raised their glasses in unison, celebrating their long awaited victory against the Allies. It had taken them several hundred years and sixteen great wars, but they finally did. They finally created their long standing empire. The Emperor himself had spent ten years on this great war.
At that moment, the door flung open. "Guards?' the Emperor asked.
"No," said the woman who slammed open the door.
"We tried to stop her!" shouted the guard.
"Where have you been?!?" the woman shouted.
"I-I-I can explain dear," said the Emperor.
Everyone was shocked to see the Emperor so scared. On every major battlefield, he commanded the troops with such precision and his tactics were what ultimately carried their forces to victory.
"Who is this?" the Major asked.
"Who am I?!?" the woman shouted. "I am his wife!"
The woman stamped her foot on the ground as she walked past everyone. She was angry. She was wearing a shirt that said MAW, Mothers Against War. "Is something wrong dear?" the Emperor asked.
"You haven't been home in ten years!" the woman shouted. "Albert and Rilla are heading to college and you haven't seen them since they first went to school!"
"I can explain," said the Emperor.
"No explaining!" shouted the woman. She turned around to look at everyone else. "Don't think you guys are free either."
At that moment, dozens of people walked in. Everyone went from a sense of celebration to a sense of dread. They all recognized at least one person that walked in. They were all a relative of one officer.
"All of you are coming home," said the woman.
"But!" the Emperor interrupted.
"No buts!" said the woman. "You're coming home to see the children. You're coming home to take a look at all the things you've missed."
"We can't now!" shouted the Emperor. "We just conquered Europe!"
"Yeah, I doubt that," said the woman. She grabbed the Emperor by his ear and pulled him.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" the Emperor cried. "I'm not lying!"
The woman dragged the Emperor out of the room. One by one, each person was removed.
The guards at the door were confused. "What now?" asked one of the guards.
"Well, our leadership is gone again," the other guard answered.
"Does that mean what I think it means?" the first guard asked.
"Yeah, we just lost another one," the other guard answered.
"Better luck next time I guess," said the first guard.
|
"Come on in" I heard a tired voice call out. I stepped into the room, and saw our leader looking worn out and tired. "Is everything alright sir?" I ask. "I'm thinking of surrendering to Belgium." He said. "But they're the last country standing in our way of continental domination?!! Their tech is from the 22nd century, their lasers can barely penetrate the average drones first layer of armor! Why would we surrender???!!!" I exclaimed in shock. The fuhrer looked at me with a dead look in his eyes, and asked one question that would change my life: "Would world peace really be that ridiculous?"
| 2017-08-18T05:26:15
| 2017-08-18T05:12:07
| 76
| 29
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[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
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***Foreword:*** The following is a quick review of the short Human/Hrec'tin War. At the time of the conflict, Humanity had devoted 99% of it's military budget towards Research, and terraforming projects. Naval forces were considered 'Defensive only', and only had experience fighting rare Insurrectionist ships/Pirates. Hrec'tin were a known Warmongering species. They had taken multiple Empires in the past 400 years, and at least 3 since Humanity became part of the Galactic Community. Held a top spot in the Galactic Council, and were on the Galactic Security Council (Only 5 Species, out of the 300+ council species held these spots). The Following overview is devoted to the brave Human Men and Women who gave their lives for us all.
***Day 1:*** Hrec'tin (Second largest military via population in the galactic Community, most powerful Navy by far according to the NDrA Index. Stand 3 1/2 Meters tall. Known for their reptillian appearance) military ships detected in Sol system, contact lost with Charon Military Research Installation. Investigation ships dispatched, and Diplomatic contact established with Hrec'tin Grand Hiderarchy. All attempts at FTL Contact ignored.
***Day 2:*** Large Hrec'tin military presence station on the far side of Neptune. T.R.I.D.E.N.T Military installations did not fire, and yet were still destroyed before they could be evacuated. All attempts at contacting Hrec'tin Naval forces/Hierarchy are met with failure.
***Day 2:*** Hrec'tin Naval forces still arriving in Sol, believed to outnumber Human ships in system. All Civilian ships attempting to evacuate Neptune/Uranus/Pluto are destroyed. Civilian and military installations on all outer worlds bombarded. Contact lost with all installations on all 3 worlds and their moons.
***Day 3:*** Message received from Hrec'tin Naval Admiral Uli'shia'Gul. The Following is a very crude translation. "Demand Human Unconditional Surrender Immediately. Human Colonies Outside (SOL) are being sieged. (This was shortly thereafter discovered to be true, 27 Human Colonies as of day 3 were bombarded. Death Toll is currently believed to be 43 Million before Retaliation.) Human resilience will be met with force. Human extinction is at *-Unknown Hrec'tin word, translation never fully completed-*" At this moment leaders of the following nations: The United States Of America, The Russian Federation, The Federation of China, Great Britain, Brazilia, and the European Commonwealth, declared after over 243 attempts at Peace Negotiations, the only choices were surrender, or Retaliate.
***Day 5, (June 20th, 2405):*** War was declared, officially on a Monday. Russian Civil conflict ends, as both sides agree to join against the greater Hrec'tin threat. All nearby Human Naval fleets arrive in Sol, specifically around Luna. For the first time in 300 Years, Humanity was at War, and specially at war with another species. The Galactic community finally responded by threatening sanctions against the Hrec'tin Hierarchy. (At this point, and until July of 2405, Humanity has been considered a second class species.) Hrec'tin intelligence discovered Human fleets arriving in the system, and began their bombardment of all colonies surrounding Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars.
***Day 6:*** Human Fleet separates into 3 main fleets, commanded by Head Admiral Stephen Grant (Mars/Io, Europa), Vice Admiral Frederick Smith (Jupiter), and Fleet Admiral Asad De'luca (Saturn/Titan). Mars is liberated in 3 hours, and all Hrec'tin ground troops are eliminated. Bombardment of Human cities under control by Hrec'tin forces are highly effective. Jupiter and her moons are Liberated within 6 hours. Io was being used as a staging base for Hrec'tin forces, and is rendered nearly uninhabitable via 'deep impact' bombardment methods. Saturn and her moons are Liberated within 20 hours (Issues with Hrec'tin forces in the rings affected Naval bombardments.
***Day 7:*** Hrec'tin forces are believed to have fully evacuated system after Human led surprise attack. Human Naval casualties linger at 4%. Hrec'tin (Casualties) forces that were on any planet surface register at around 98%. Hrec'tin Naval casualties are believed to be 89-94%.
***Day 9:*** Human Leaders appeal to Hrec'tin Leadership again. Hrec'tin leaership finally responds and declares they will cease hostilities, and are willing to apologize in front of the Galactic council, and reimburse Humanity for all damage caused. After the death toll of outer colonies is discovered, Human leaders ask for a few days to debate their terms and conditions, and arrange for a meeting. Galactic Security Council calls an emergency meeting. Humanity is not invited, and the exact details of this meeting are still unknown. it is known however, Humanities counter attack was unexpected, and the military capabilities of Humanity were "*vastly* underestimated. Multiple species send diplomats to Earth to "discuss entrance to alliance groups".
***Day 10:*** Hrec'tin forces discovered near Sol (Sun). During refueling/reloading/rearming of all Naval ships on Luna, Hrec'tin forces launch a 'suicide run' on Earth. Surviving Hrec'tin Dreadnoughts unleash all weapons upon Earth, before flying straight into urban centers. Fighters, and frigates put up a light fight but are quickly dispatched by the (Never before used) Earth defensive Systems, before the majority of the Fleet could respond. Death toll estimated to be at 22-30 Million. Poor Urban areas in East Europe, Central China, and Africa that were hit lacked accurate censuses.
Humanity ceases contact with Hrec'tin Leadership.
***Day 15:*** Hrec'tin Intelligence and Communcation systems hacked. Attempts to change system are met with failure.
***Day 20:*** Humanity Naval, and research fleets successfully fully Militarized for Total War. Hrec'tin forces are known to now be in highly defensive positions around their central colonies. Outer farming colonies are left to fend for themselves via local militias.
***Day 21:*** 14 entire Hrec'tin colonies are wiped out within 24 hours. Terraforming devices are dispatched, and 'weaponized'. Populations devastated No known survivors on 12 of 14 worlds. Human losses sit at 1%.
***Day 24, (July 9th, 2405)*** Hrec'tin Leadership announces surrender, after Human Naval forces carve a hole through all hrec'tin forces. The Galactic Council appeals to Humanity asking them to accept the surrender. The Hrec'tin home world, Leviathan (English), has been nearly leveled. The planet was more urbanized than even Earth, and Hrec'tin death tolls on the planet are believed to be at 8 Billion. Space debris is so massive, it is unknown if the world will ever have a functioning space port again. Hrec'tin Home Fleet is wiped out. Their losses are at 92%, surviving ships are believed to have gone AWOL, and jumped out of system. Human losses sit at 9%. The war was over.
***Day 30:*** By any accounts, the Hrec'tin species are considered 'endangered', and were, (literally in some cases) bombed into their own stone age. All Hierarchy Leadership who survived the bombardment are executed. The Galactic Security Council (The remaining 4 members) threatens to declare war on Humanity. Humanity responds by sending a large fleet to the GSC 'Homeworld'. A *record setting* non-mandatory/random evacuation occurs, resulting in thousands of ships to leave the planet. 2 GSC Frigates and a Dreadnought are dispatched and open fire. 111 Seconds later, all 3 ships are destroyed with zero damage to Human ships.
***Day 45:*** Humanity now holds the third largest spot on the Galactic Council, with 75 Diplomats. The Hrec'tin seat on the GSC is replaced, and Humanity is also offered a position as a sixth member.
***Ending Statement:*** Let it be known Humanity never wished to be thrust into war. After the deaths of 100 Million Civilians at the hands of the Hrec'tin Hierarchy, Humanity had no choice but to retaliate in the harshest manner possible. Most Naval ships at the end of the war were reset to their original purpose. (Exploring ships, research ships, luxury cruisers, Cargo ships, and Transport ships.) In Honor of those who died, we will never forget your sacrifice.
***Human Military Deaths:*** 320,000 *(Click to view Names and Records)*
***Human Civilian Deaths:*** 96-150 Million *(Click to view Known Names and Records)*
***Hrec'tin Deaths:*** 27 Billion (Civilian, and Military, note: this is a 'rough' estimate as this was the Hrec'tin population, pre-war.)
Currently Leviathan is the only world hosting Hrec'tin civilization. Human leaders have proposed to the GSC that they be contained on their world, to which the GSC agreed after much debate. They currently reside at a small population of 6 Million, and remain at their equivalent of mid 20th Century technology. Due to the severity of the bombing, 89% of the planet is uninhabitable, due to severe radiation, and newly exposed volcanic activity.
|
From the logs of Qi-Sil, Xion Imperial Chronicler
 
The humans joined the Galactic Federation around 6700 standard years ago. They were at the time a weak and unimposing presence, much like the Federation was. But while the Federation may arguably still be nothing more than a façade, the same cannot be said for those strange creatures.
Archived records tell that their emergence into the presence of the burgeoning Federation came not long after a global nuclear disaster with dozens of explosions on their homeworld, the likes of which had never been seen before, and only once since. The disaster came around 100 "Earth Years", as they call them, after 2 smaller nuclear incidents occurring in rapid succession, and while the first presumably left only minimal casualties (in the 100's of thousands), the second must have decimated their population. The humans have not come forth with an explanation for the radiation which has left still-detectable scars on their world, but both independent disasters seem to have been power plant accidents (although some theorists presume they were the result of a primitive intra-species conflict).
But the humans quickly grew strong again following the disaster, just in time to gain a respectable position in the Federation. While many civilizations, with their hive-mind mentality have remained embroiled in pointless warfare, the cautious, even timid humans gained hgih standing in the community with fantastic speed. They formed many loyal alliances early in their inclusion in Galactic affairs, which may explain why they were able to avoid any conflict for so long.
But conflict came, and it was a indescribable display of brutality.
A military ship of the rather belligerent species known as the Qi-sil decided to attack a human science vessel in a Federation-decreed area of neutral safe trade space. The Qi-sil had taken advantage of the more pacifistic species in the past, using their reluctance to fight as an excuse to claim territory that simply didn't belong to them. The Federation mostly called them harmless and refused to take action up to this point, but many civilizations in the Federation had much of their lands stolen by these thieves. The humans took this act of aggresion as a declaration of war, and responded in kind.
They began small, with proportional responses that exchanged a few settlements here and there. But when a rogue Qi-sil General attempted a not-entirely-unsuccessful attack on a human population center, the mood of the war shifted. The humans sent a flurry of communications to the invaders commanding them to halt their attack, but to no avail. The Qi-sil pushed forward into human territory but they found only empty outposts evacuated long before the first scouts arrived. They encountered no resistance, no retaliation of any kind. And they pressed on.
As the Qi-sil army reached a second major population center, logs recorded a strange anomaly. the army turned on its own ships, imploding, eviscerating itself as pilots, friends turned on each other and killed one another in suicidal attacks without a thought toward their own mortality. The once legendary army, the military arm of a highly advanced species all but disappeared in less than 24 hours.
A mere day later, citizens of the Qi-sil homeworld, still oblivious to their defeat the hands of themselves woke up to two strange events.
Much the same as their army, the citizens murdered each other in cold blood, with no warning or provocation. But this was worse, much worse, for while the Qi-sil army was equipped with lethal weaponry, the citizens used their own appendages to beat the life out of their friends and family without a second thought.
But second, as they fell into a murderous trance, they saw the stars in the sky seem to recede away, almost as if the entire galaxy was racing away around them. The sky became permanently black around them as they saw the stars for the last time. In what few seconds of sanity the innocents had left, they cried out in terror at the cataclysm happening around them.
The humans, in typical fashion broadcast a cryptic message that read:
*In response to unprovoked violence from the Qi-sil, we have taken necessary action to prevent further atrocities and violations of Federation peace agreements. Our justified response consisted of two primary elements: A prion engineered to stimulate the hyperactive agression region of the Qi-sil brain and encourage conflict, and a dark energy bomb that has sent the Qi-sil system far from the civivilized sectors at faster than the speed of light. We do not allow undeserved attacks on our innocent citizens.*
Today the Qi-sil culture remains a husk of its former 'glory'. They were decimated by the first wave of human attacks, and only a fraction of their species lives on with other civilizations. If the humans needed to make an example of someone to establish their presence, mission accomplished. They doomed the Qi-sil to the cruelest fate possible. They were either made to commit genocide on themselves, in complete isolation from any other good-willed civilization that may have saved them, or they had to witness the decimation of their entire way of life.
Perception of humans changed forever that day. They continued to act respectful, benevolent and cooperative but they were indisputably the most feared civilization in known memory beginning from then onward. They kept up their appearances of cooperation but it was now nothing more than a formality.
And their rapid, highly sophisticated, specialized response left many questions. How did they have such sophisticated knowledge of Qi-sil biology? Was their ancient homeworld nuclear 'accident' really an accident? Did they have a predetermined plan for a response to the Qi-sil? What other secret technology did they posses? And most importantly:
Did they have a plan for us?
| 2016-03-13T18:06:10
| 2016-03-13T17:09:28
| 98
| 56
|
[WP] Upon turning 18, all humans must spend one year as their spirit animal, to gain a better appreciation for the world and what they have. They awake on the morning of their 18th birthday as said animal, in its natural habitat. You wake up on your 18th birthday completely human.
Edit: Thanks so much for the gold! This came to me while I was half asleep and I wasn't sure if this would be any good or not.
|
My best friend is an owl.
See, the day you turn eighteen, you spend a year as your spirit animal. The creature you represent most - the one that represents you the most.
John, he's a dog. He's happy, friendly, and loyal. Harper, she's a crow. She's clever and witty. Kate, she's a cat. She claws me up every time she comes over.
Just kidding. Mostly. Jason - he's an owl. He's kinda quiet, kinda reserved, kinda dignified.
I turned 18 last night. I woke up today - fully human.
Did the spirits fail? Impossible. They *never* miss anyone.
What am I going to tell the Bureau? Everyone's transformation has to get registered at eighteen. It helps them determine what kind of person you are - your personality, your strengths, your best future job. That way, they can structure your life in the most fulfilling way possible.
"Hey, dude, where'd you put my mice?" Jason's sleepy voice comes from the other room. It's hilarious hearing it come from such a small animal. "I want a snack before I go to bed."
I wander into the kitchen. "I dunno man, I haven't-"
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
They're all there - John, Jason, Harper, and Kate. My own little zoo, except Harper turned nineteen last week.
And they're all staring.
"Dude, did we get the date wrong? This is really awkward..." mumbles Jason after a moment.
"No," I say. "It's the eighteenth."
Kate the cat speaks up. "So what's your spirit animal?"
"...I dunno. Myself, I guess?"
"That's not possible."
"I'm gonna call this in," says Jason, and he moves to the landline. "Maybe someone at the Bureau can help us."
Harper frowns. "...We've still got cake. You want a slice? We're the only two with hands, but..."
"Yeah." I say. "I'll take a slice." Cake for breakfast is always a good idea, right?
We're halfway through our meals when we hear a knock at the front door.
A primly dressed young woman is waiting when I open it. "Agent Anders," she says. "Spirit Registration Bureau." The SRB. I've heard they're generally pretty friendly people - more of a job and employment group than anything.
"Can I come inside?"
"Sure," I say.
Once the door is closed, she sweeps the room with some sort of device. It blinks steadily throughout the whole process, and she sighs, satisfied.
"I need to tell you something. But first - I need your friends to leave the room."
"I trust them," I say. "They're not going anywhere."
"We don't have much time," she says. "Tell them to leave."
"All the more reason for you to only have to tell it once."
She looks at me - at all of us, and sighs. "Fine. The SRB is going to come after you."
"What, to help me find an office job?" I've already realized that's my probable future. Boring.
"No. The SRB isn't just a job assignment bureau. It was also put in place to hunt Abnormals."
"Huh?"
"People with unusual spirit animals. Dragons, fantasy creatures, that sort of thing. Once we had a unicorn."
I frown. "Isn't that the *opposite* of what happened to me?"
"They'll want to take you in," she continues, "because you *do* have a spirit animal. It's a human. *Homo sapiens*."
I frown.
"The Bureau holds more power than you think. It assigns everyone to every job they hold - of course the placements will benefit them. But they won't know what to make of you. And they'll make you disappear."
"So what? I go on the run?"
"Yes. And you use your unique talents to stay underground for a year, then we register you as some neutral transformation, like a dog," she says with a glance at John. "You'll catch a fine for never registering, but it's better than the alternative."
Everyone is silent.
"So what are my options?" I say. "What unique abilities do I have? I've got no claws, no speed, no stealth."
There's another knock at the door. "SRB! Open up!"
"...You'd better find out," she says. "Go."
And I run.
---
[Part 2](https://redd.it/blczb9) is now up on my subreddit - subscribe to stay updated!
[Part 3](https://redd.it/blvv5r)
[Part 4](https://redd.it/bw9qyj)
---
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|
Jake woke up in the forest as a tiger, with birds peacefully chirping. He told me he never felt so proud and calm. Cathie woke up as a cat, calmly being stroked by her master, that year was so peaceful for her, it completely changed her character.
On our 18th birthday, we spend an entire year as our spirit animal in it's natural habitat. My elder brothers and cousins all went through it. Being a majestic lion, a beautiful butterfly , a flamingo, a rhino , the list went on. I close my eyes as I started to wonder what animal I will be turning tomorrow. I can't remember when or if I actually slept but the next thing I knew, I jumped out of my sleep to the sound and vibration of what seems like an explosion.
I looked around seeing a vast desert and smoke in the sky, I looked down and I was wearing a uniform, there it writes; 49th infantry battalion.
I stood up to have a clearer look around me. Thousands of soldiers dead and another thousand more firing and killing each other mercilessly. Like animals.
*****
First post here. My English isn't really good.
| 2019-05-05T22:58:10
| 2019-05-05T22:19:44
| 2,562
| 1,146
|
[WP] Each year mankind hibernates during winter. This year you're one of the chosen watchers that stays awake during the long night.
|
**Excess.**
Humans were prone to it. In 2017, at least three in ten were known to have some sort of substance addiction. By 2050, it was eight in ten. America had fought the war on drugs, and failed. Not only because of the racial targeting it promoted, or because of the commitment to punishment over treatment - No, the biggest area of failure was focusing on the wrong substances.
It was infiltrating our homes for decades before *convenience* made a bad habit worse. Throughout the 1970s, those who would usually only enjoy the occasional taste, were suddenly able to create larger amounts, faster, and cheaper than before. And later, when the addiction stations started popping up on every corner, moving into our libraries, our grocery stores, even our workplaces - it was no longer cheap, but we were far too consumed to care.
And perhaps most shamefully we let it creep in on our children. Even if we told them no at home, they’d find it in plastic bottles at school. For some it was a treat, others a rebellion. We coated it with sweetness, stroking the pleasure sensors in their developing brains, and eventually our two year olds were begging for it and we handed it to them just to shut them up. The kids didn’t stand a chance.
It was one of those slow killers...the kind that may not take your life, but certainly takes your soul. They were becoming zombies. Unable to function in class or the workplace without mugs or tall-cans of the stuff. *Energy*. That’s what they all said. *I just don’t have any energy until I have my morning cup*. The marketing teams ran with that and just started calling them “Energy Drinks". And they were colorful and full of sugar, so they were for the kids too. It was a dark time.
**Dark.**
Our eyes don’t quite adjust to the dark this late in the calendar. Our “batteries”, as we soldiers called them, had been losing charge for months - it dulled the senses.
It was out there somewhere. I could hear it shuffling in the brush. Breathing, fiending, searching. It was looking for the pills, and whatever other valuables it could get its hands on. Anything the sleepers left behind on their way to the compound. A lot of them didn’t trust us, so they’d bury their belongings rather than put them in the issued-lockers. I understood. Some of these guys would do some crazy shit to a family scrapbook once the stimulants got to them.
**Stimulants.**
By the time we banned caffeine, it was a multibillion dollar investment. Insurance had to cover regular drug-testing and anyone who came out positive was submitted to treatment programs. Out-patient programs never worked for other drugs, but the government certainly tried to save a buck at first. People were crippled with somniatic issues - some couldn’t sleep at all, others couldn’t stay awake - it destroyed the functionality of most workplaces. A unignorable increase in suicides, homicides, car crashes, child abuse, and domestic violence and *finally*... they wisened up: In-patient programs only, weaning them off until they no longer tested positive, and completely eliminating free-market access. It took twenty years for most of the black market products to expire or be consumed, and by then, most weren’t interested in the stuff. It had ruined so many lives.
We spent the next fifty trying to figure out how to safely keep people awake. Pharmaceutical researchers developed all sorts of vitamins and mild stimulants, but argued with the government over the implications that these too could lead to abuse. Finally, a natural energy source was capsulized and after a decade of testing, deemed safe for the public. The caveat being that like with most medications that affected the immune and neurological systems, the body would have a weakened response to it over time. We couldn’t pronounce the stuff (we called it “the Cap” and “batteries”), but we *could* keep people productive for up to 16 hours a day, but only for six or seven months of the year. When the great sleep started taking hold, businesses shut down, homes were unguarded, and the “Uppers” could roam unwatched.
**Uppers.**
Goddamn, no good, Upper. They were a mixed group. When we started hearing about the attacks we all assumed they were foreigners. The US had been only one of the developed nations to undergo the treatment plan, but most of the poorer countries were struggling to keep up. They couldn’t account for everyone, they could only treat those who could pay for it, et cetera. And of course, stimulants were still leaking in over the border, along with the illegals. They never did pay for that wall.
**Wall.**
Some of us were stationed outside of it, and others inside. We switched off night after night, but we weren’t allowed to sleep. Eight or nine months in on the Cap and you wouldn’t wake up from a nap. Not as yourself anyway.
We were guarding The 19th Burrow, during the *5th Annual American Hiber-Nation*.
…
…
…
…
**This story goes on. Let me know if you have interest in reading more.**
|
"I'll see you on the other side, love," I whisper, kissing the corner of her lips.
"Are you sure you won't get lonely, Qora?" she asks, cupping my cheek.
"I'll be fine, Cienne," I promise. Smiling, she nods and lays down in her sleeping pod. Mine, beside hers, will remain unused this year.
As the cover slides over her, sealing shut, I press my hand to the glass, wishing I could go to sleep with her. She presses her hand to the inside of the glass, just beneath mine. The pod hisses, releasing the sedative that will help her ease into the deeper sleep humans have developed to survive the harsh winter. She gives me a soft, reassuring smile, and settles in, slipping into unconsciousness.
"Qora," someone called. "Come on; time to suit up for winter." Sighing, I move away from Cienne's pod.
"You ready for this, Qora?" I glance over as Irall, who was promoted to Head Watch this year. His big, study build made him the obvious choice after the previous Head got lost in a blizzard.
"I guess we'll find out," I huff, determined to make my first watch memorable.
"Well, then I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that everything you think you know is a lie." That stops me faster than the cold.
"What are you talking about?" I ask softly, staring at him. He meets my gaze easily.
"The Watch isn't just to make sure the pods stay operational in the cold; there are monsters that hunt in the blizzards, and we have to protect the pods from being destroyed."
"...Mahonik didn't disappear in a blizzard, did he?" I ask simply.
"No," Irall agrees. "He died fighting a snow beast, a Raknar; the most deadly snow beast we know of."
"Do these snow beasts seek out our pods?" I inquire, my thoughts going immediately to Cienne.
"We're not sure, but they are extremely aggressive and attack any human they see."
"And how do we fight them?"
"I'm glad you asked," Irall grins. "Come with me and we'll get you suited up."
He leads me to a small shack outside the town, and opens the door for me. I step in and cautiously follow a set of stairs down into the earth. It opens into a huge cavern where other Watchmen are already getting into their winter armour. Irall motions to a section off the main cavern. Inside, another Watchman is staying thoughtfully at a wall of weapons.
The weapons vary from short swords with laser edging to enormous shoulder cannons that no doubt pack a serious punch. I no longer wonder how the Watch fights the snow beasts.
Without hesitating, I go to the wall and pull a large hand gun with a fat barrel from its slot. It's weighty, but not unmanageable, and I turn it in my hands, taking in the different parts of it. It seems to work much like a pistol, and a quick tug at the top of the barrel proves my theory correct. Assured now, I check over it. Being a policewoman during spring, summer and fall is definitely proving useful now; probably that's why they choose me to fill in the missing space in the Watch after Mahonik vanished. Or rather, died.
"Anything I need to know about how to kill these things?" I ask, sighting down the barrel at the corner, away from Irall and the other member of the Watch in the room.
"Yeah," he says grimly. "We don't. No one's been able to find a weak spot on any of the snow beasts we've encountered yet. Especially the Raknar." I look up at him.
"You're kidding, right?" He shakes his head and I mutter a curse.
"You're taking this remarkably well," he notes, crossing his arms.
"The lives of my woman and my family are on the line," I say shortly. "I can't afford to be disbelieving of anything that might endanger them. I'd rather look like a fool over some kind of joke than put my loved ones in the line of fire."
"Even if you die?"
"I won't die," I say firmly, resting the large barrel against my shoulder. "I've got too much to live for. And I'll destroy anything that threatens them."
"I just told you, Qora," he says, sighing. "We can't kill them. Mahonik died trying."
"I'll kill them. This year will be the year they start dying."
| 2017-11-08T12:07:04
| 2017-11-08T11:44:56
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] There is a procedure offered to the wealthy and powerful that allows their minds to be transferred to the brain-dead body of an anonymous individual. Except it's fake, the volunteer is actually trained in every minute detail of the person's life to assume their identity as if they were them.
This prompt was inspired by the movie [Freejack](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104299/)
|
“You’re not my husband,” Lorelei said.
Martin, as was currently his name, looked at his wife. “Sweetheart?”
“It’s not that I mind. You at least pretend to love me in a way he stopped bothering to do, not long after we married. But all the same, you’re not him.”
Martin leaned back into the plush armchair and considered. What had triggered her suspicion? They’d been sitting quietly in the study together, reading. He’d made them both a G&T — their favourite drink, so said the flawless research.
Not that flawless, it seemed. Months of audio recordings had helped him forge “Martin” as his own identity, and yet she’d seen right through it. *Some actor you are*, he thought. *Perhaps retirement is finally calling.*
He’d started his career as a method actor. Done okay for himself, too — he was considered a fairly decent actor. But he didn’t have that certain something, that *je nes sais quoi*, that stars apparently had.
So he’d looked at other options as he’d left his twenties and tumbled into his thirties, as roles had become harder to find, as his bank account trickled away like a dry well in some hot place that used to rain but no longer did.
And finally, just as things had become utterly desperate, he’d found something.
He thought of the real Martin: a wealthy business tycoon who owned a ranch, a mining company, and more technology startups than either Martin could count. He’d married a woman twenty years younger then himself, ostensibly for her fiery intelligence but truthfully for her looks. Still, the marriage had been warm. The recordings showed them talking and drinking, reading and vacationing together — all very amiably.
He’d played his role perfectly. Hadn’t he?
Clearly not.
Now the decision was to tell her the truth, which would likely result in his own death for breaking the disclosure contract, or to deepen the lie. For them both to go on knowing he was lying, or for her to call the police.
He could kill her. That was an option too. Kill her and run. Take on a new identity. That had been the longterm plan anyway. Then all of Martin’s — the real Martin’s — assets would be donated to the company, and he’d take on a new client.
”Who are you?” she said.
He opened his mouth to lie. But there was a problem, he realised. And the problem was that he actually did love her. And that somehow made lying more difficult in this situation. The rest was acting but this would be a lie.
But did he actually love her? Or was this just the method acting leaking into reality again. Sometimes the two became impossible to tell apart. Did the character love this or did you love this — after a while, it tended to become the same thing.
”You’re right, I’m not your husband.” His mouth was dry.
She nodded. “Good.”
“Good?”
”Yes. I’m glad you’re not. He’d never have allowed me to divorce him.”
”It seemed to me, and I hope you won’t mind me saying, that you loved each other.”
Through a laugh she said, “We lived like we had an instruction manual for marriage that we kept on us at all times. Knew what to say, what to do, when to do it. Yes, we looked in love. But the reality of us was that any real love was rotting away like some old wooden thing left out in rain for many years. And beyond that, with his businesses… He wasn’t what you’d call a nice person.“
*An instruction manual?* Why did that hurt to hear so much?
Ah. Because wasn’t that exactly how he lived? He read about each role, what made the person them, followed the script.
How many people had he been now? Twenty? Thirty? Each new character meant a character’s death.
Very far away, something wooden of his own — his heart, to be exact — was outside in the rain, rotting away.
Did he love her? Not as Martin, but as… as…
An overwhelming fear as deep as the coldest, blackest parts of an ocean poured over him.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
He sat there silently. Could see his old self floating somewhere deep inside that dark water. Realised now that it’d tried to swim to the surface, to gulp in air, to save itself, after his first few roles. But he’d held it under and drowned it. And now there was only this shell. This Matryoshka doll of people with a hollow center.
”Who are you?”
He wanted to cry for someone’s death. But who had died, exactly? Some washed up old actor that he couldn’t recall the name of? Is that who he would he be crying for?
“No one,” he said. “I’m no one at all.”
|
The worst part of all is being trapped between two women.
Both are dead, one to me and one to the world, and in truth they could not be more different. Isabella is darkness and light balanced. She is a favorite book open upon a bed, pages I could recite endlessly and still come back to. She is brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes harmonizing till they turn to something so much greater, a depth of color more than a word’s simple repetition can explain. She is the mother of my children, and the only one I think of before I fall asleep. She was my wife.
Esme was darkness. There was light there, imbalanced, trapped beneath pale skin to slide out serpentine into dreams and memories. She was a singer, a record that challenged rather than embraced, lyrics that had never once spoken of absolution. She’d worn daring dresses in high-class ballrooms, never considered children, always considered careers and bottom lines and the things Isabella and I never had. She was my perfect match— is now. The man I am has never loved another.
I wake from my dreams, remembering the pleasant moments before, and I step in to another man’s day.
The imprinting was not a total failure. Looking out upon the three tiered rings and encasing bubble of the habitation dome, it feels like mine. The real legacy strain coffee and the progress reports over breakfast feel like mine as well, and when I have to make my first decision of the day, condemning a pair miners trapped in the asteroid belt for something so simple as not buying insurance, I feel like Edgar P. Carrick.
I look like him too now, after the surgeries. There he is—was— in a picture next to the flowform couch, Esme on his arm. My heart swells to see it, the part of my stomach that still remembers the slums turns.
“Stepping Stone should be complete by the end of the week,” my assistant says. “Team 1 has given me their assurances that preliminary testing will begin on the first of the new month.”
“They’ve said that before,” I say.
“But this time Team 2 concurs, and the fate of the last Team Lead was an inspired decision. This time, sir, I would stake my own life on it.”
“Would you now?” I say.
He does not blanch, he is too well trained for that, but I know when he leave the room my sensors will detect a tremor.
“Yes sir,” is all the man says.
Stepping Stone has needed many steps itself. It is, in short, a man’s obsession brought to life. It is the crowning achievement of science, math, and love, synthesized down to me and the man I am pretending to be. I stare at Esme’s picture, the couch contorting itself to my shape, and I try not to imagine it being Isabella. She’d have moved to a real planet by now, perhaps Garden, perhaps Elysium. Had the imprinting been perfect, my sacrifice would have been so worth it.
But now I’ve tainted another man’s dream in the piecing back together of my own. I wonder if she’ll be able to recognize me when we meet again.
Days pass. I pass with them. It is harder to remember Isabella’s face.
“There are still dangers,” Team 1 Lead is saying. “We tested as much as we could, but it’s impossible to check it all.”
We stand within a lab at the station’s highest point, the stars slowly spinning around us through the floor to ceiling viewscreens. It is cold in the room, I brought a glass of water in earlier and it fogged. The scientists say that it is because of the portal itself, that it generates so much heat simply by its activation that we must devote fully ten percent of a space station’s power budget to this one room.
Currently, it stands dead. A great ring of steel and plastic, wires trailing off from a thousand points, twining across the floor like mating snakes. I am reminded of the cloud of Esme’s hair on the rare lazy mornings when she lingered in bed. The thought ends with the abrupt sharpness of her smile.
“What are the risks?” I ask, strapping on the ill fitting skinsuit anyway.
“One of our test subjects experienced an abortive re-materialization.”
“Translate,” I say.
“He stepped back without skin, sir,” my assistant says.
Ah. “Out of how many?”
“Ten sir,” the team lead says.
I’ve gambled on worse odds in two lives. “Do it,” I say.
“Any words, sir? For history?”
“None.”
Stepping Stone has taken two lifetimes in the pursuit of one. When men heard of what it was that I planned they called me insane. They called me, Edgar P. Carrick, a romantic when I have been nothing of the sort. They called me weak, womanish in my sentimentality. Those men are dead now and I am still here.
And she lies on the other side.
“And words for her?” my assistant whispers as the ring winks on. “What will you say to—” he is silenced by a delayed tearing, the rending of space and time and God’s own will as my step takes shape.
I do not answer. When Edgar P. Carrick requested a duplicate he requested a man in love. He had known the difference between obsession and passion, between love, lust, and truth. He’d had years to know that it was his own deficiencies in all those aspects and more that had driven Esme to what she had done. He had hoped that a man who had proven he could truly love would know what to say when he stepped through that portal.
Isabella’s barely remembered face swims before my eyes, and I’m not even sure what I would say to her.
*“I’m sorry,”* rises to my lips, but those had never been the right words for Esme.
I can see her there on the other side. It is a strange thing to peer into a lover's room like a voyeur, to see the cloud of her hair upon her pillow, the rise and fall of her chest next to an empty space in bed where you should be but were not that day.
“The switch will happen at exactly the same moment,” my assistant shouts over the deafening hum of the device. The pool of the time-dilation field ripples like slow moving water, that same blue-in-green color, arching lines like the wrinkle of her sheets across its surface. I take one last look at her in the monitor and then shut it off.
“In a manner of speaking, we may never meet again,” I say to my assistant.
“Yes sir. Team 1 is still unsure of what will happen to the timeline.”
“I will hew close enough to events. The universe can survive one more soul.”
“Yes sir,” my assistant stays.
That small shrinking part of me pre-imprint wants to squeeze the man’s shoulder and tell him he did a good job. Instead I say, “You’ll have your bonus,” and leave the control room, striding towards the portal.
A countdown begins, sixty seconds and I go on ***GO***, not *1*. It is difficult to restrain myself.
“Last chance to call it off, sir,” control says. There is time lag to the snatch and grab team and their portal.
“Never,” I say, and the count grows louder until it roars in my ears.
*10.*
*9.*
*8.*
*7.*
*6.*
*5.*
I step up to the portal, skim my hand across the surface, almost lose myself until I hear:
*1.*
I take the step forward, and submerge myself on ***GO***.
*Isabella,* I think, *I’m coming.*
And then, louder than all of that is the rising of her pale face from the pillow, her hair falling not like a cloud, but a torrent.
“Esme?” I whisper.
Edgar P. Carrick had purchased a man who’d loved truly loved just for that one word.
\-------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-07-02T07:09:46
| 2021-07-02T06:45:31
| 1,270
| 39
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
He was on the street, content with rage.
She typed away, in her own cage.
He stood on this stage in glorious fame.
The wizard stole the Frost Queen's Claim.
Her water broke. There was no time.
They finished up their master crime.
Would they kiss? Time would tell.
Charon crossed the river in Hell.
He sat in his car when he smelled the stink.
She was going insane -- she was on the brink.
The celebrity paused because he felt it then.
Wizards need to go, but the ice rose again.
She winced in pain while she felt it rise.
The criminal wept, meeting his partner's eyes.
He broke the kiss, feeling the pain spikes.
Charon winced. **Where will *you* be when diarrhea strikes?**
Edit: punctuation
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 2015-01-12T17:07:48
| 317
| 24
|
[WP] JFK shot first.
|
JFK is at the parade, suddenly, his president sense ™ tingles.
He takes out his modified M1 garand with reflex sight, fast mag and steady aim, his back up gun since it isn’t that big of a deal.
He shoots the killer in the chest from 10 meters, getting only a hitmarker.
The killer flees and stands behind a wall to heal his wounds, he then flees for good.
Then the parade comes and the killer tries to shoot JFK, but his head just did that soooooo.....
|
He had been warned. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”
Normally, the President receives hundreds of threats a month. But this threat wouldn’t go away like most of the others. Most of the others never even reached his desk. This was different. This was personal. There was an internal struggle happening in the government that few knew about. But he knew and he knew his life, and the life of his family, was in danger.
That trip should have been like all the others. Get on the plane, get off the plane, get in a car, get out of car, get in the building, make the speech, leave the building, etc. Rinse and repeat 5-8 times a day it seemed. It was exhausting. He was exhausted. So was she.
Did he really want to run for reelection? It wasn’t what he wanted. It’s what daddy wanted. It was always about daddy. His father had suffered a debilitating stroke nearly 2 years prior. He didn’t let anyone know but he wished the stroke had killed his father. That pressure would have been gone. That pressure that plagued him all his life and really zeroed in 18 years ago when Joe’s plane blew up over England. He needed to run for reelection. Dad was still “there” enough to exert his poor opinion for short comings. Even though daddy was a morsel of what he used to be, Jack could still see the disdain in his father’s eye for weakness.
Weakness? How was it weak to be in excruciating pain every morning at the early age of 46? How was it weak to have your marriage strained to point of breaking by the death of your infant child? Daddy didn’t have to look into her eyes to see the heartbreak that yearned for sympathy that you couldn’t give because your heart was shattered too. Patrick was gone and all he wanted to do was take Jackie, Carolyn, and John-John and hide them away forever. Where no one could touch them. But that would be weak.
That would be unacceptable.
Jack was on high alert as the limousine traveled down Main Street. This trip felt different. The Secret Service felt detached. Something was not right. He had been shaken by this threat and he couldn’t explain why. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”, had been typed up and sent in. Usually he didn’t see these threats, but the Secret Service made sure he saw this one. They said that this one seemed credible. They were adamant.
“What do ya mean, ‘this one seems credible’? Do your job!” he had shouted. “You think I have time for this?!”
But he could swear there was a knowing look at his lashing out. Something was not right.
Now here he was in Dallas with his wife. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”
He had pulled her into a small room aboard Air Force One after they landed in Dallas. He told her that she shouldn’t accompany him to this lunch at the Trade Mart. He had a feeling that this wasn’t going to end well. The same feeling he got in the South Pacific the night of the accident. He trusted that feeling but couldn’t convince her to stay aboard Air Force One.
“I’m coming with you, Jack,” she had said in her distinct way of speaking. “It will be alright.”
Clint had knocked on the door and told the First Lady that it was time to go. Jackie got up, opened the door to find Agent Clint Hill standing there. “Alright, Clint” she said as she walked out of the little room.
“Clint, come in here. Shut the door,” Jack instructed. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going on here but I need a weapon.”
“A weapon, sir?” Agent Hill inquired incredulously.
“Something is wrong. Whether you know it or not. Give me your pistol, Clint!” Jack said as he stared down Agent Hill.
He passed Jack his sidearm which Jack put behind him in his own waistband. “It’s time to go, right?” Jack said as he and agent Hill opened the door and they stepped into hallway of Air Force One.
Jack smiled and scanned the buildings. What the hell would he do with this pistol? How could he even get it out and protect his wife and himself? Why hadn’t the Secret Service put the top on this limo? Something was not right!
The car turned right onto Houston Street. The parade must be over soon. Maybe he was clear of the danger. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe the stress was getting to him.
“Mr. President. You can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you!” shouted Mrs. Connally over the din of the crowd.
It brought him back to the moment. He refocused and smiled.
That moment was the moment. His feeling was overpowering now! This was it. He was waving but pulled his hand back and reached behind him. He stretched for the cold medal in his waistband and struggled to remove it. He started to feel a panic and accidently squeezed off a round into the seat cushion he was sitting on.
The Secret Service looked around. Where had that sound come from? It sounded like a gunshot!
Agent Hill jumped off the running boards and starting sprinting toward Jackie. The rest of the agents knew that it had started. They didn’t know the first shot came from inside the limo until much later. JFK shot first!
Then the shot from above came. Jack felt the pierce from behind and he couldn’t breathe. He reached up to his neck trying to say something. But all that came out was blood. Jackie reached out and touched his arm, wondering what was wrong.
Governor Connally was moaning in the front seat and she looked over to Jack seeing the horror in his eyes and she knew, he had been right.
And then the moment exploded into a red mist in front of her.
| 2018-03-21T08:25:25
| 2018-01-02T09:53:29
| 27
| 10
|
[WP] The rapture has come, the faithful are taken to heaven and the nonbelievers and sinners are left behind on Earth for their inevitable self-destruction. However, God's plan backfires and the world seems to be much better off as a result.
Obviously, a parody of the "Left Behind" series of awful evangelical Christian novels and movies...
|
"Okay, just slow down for a second here," I said.
The man audibly sighed and sat up a little straighter, looking me in the eyes. Speaking much slower than before, he repeated himself.
"They're gone. All of the devout, the religious. They've been Raptured."
"Raptured?" I questioned. "You know that for certain?"
"Yes sir. Everything fell into place at the last minute. The trumpets, the wars, the plague, everything. Two days ago, 30% of the global population vanished. Millions of people, all at the same time."
"And now we're dealing with the aftermath."
"Yes sir. Countless house fires from kitchens left unattended, car crashes, at least two plane crashes as well. Millions Raptured, hundreds of thousands more dead from the aftermath."
"Raptured. Seriously." I couldn't quite take it in. "So we're talking the Christian Rapture, yeah? Antichrist and all that? Jesus came, spoke to everyone?"
"Ah, yes sir. We believe so."
"And the Antichrist?"
"..."
"Trump."
"...yes sir. We believe so."
"So the president of the United States was Raptured along with all of ISIL's fighters, 90% of the NRA, and over half of the Republican party?"
"Uh, yes, Mr. Sanders, it would appear so. The theologians assure us that only the most faithful were taken, make of that what you will."
I ran my hands through my thinning, white hair. I readjusted my glasses as I looked at the Secret Service agent in front of me. "So what you're saying is..."
"Yes, President Sanders. We need you."
|
All across the globe, people began to rise into the air. Like so many bubbles fizzing to the top of a champagne glass, the faithful, the religious, the dedicated, the zealots, the chosen -all rose up as if carried by invisible wings and vanished into the clouds.
On the ground lay their guns and their bombs, their IEDs and Army tanks, their swords and their knives, and for some, even just briefcases full of proposed laws depriving others of their freedom because of a holy book. The rest of mankind just silently took a step forward and buried them in the dust.
And God saw that it was good.
| 2016-07-26T18:11:28
| 2016-07-26T15:55:28
| 41
| 11
|
[WP] You, a newly-turned vampire, are thrilled to discover that you CAN eat garlic, walk in sunlight, and see yourself in mirrors, all while being immortal. You are much less thrilled to discover the one major drawback that none of the legends ever got right.
|
I soar through the night sky, blind to the world as it was to me.
I told myself it wasn’t so bad. Honestly, I tried. Immortality, hypnotic powers, hyper speed – you know, the usual vampire toolbox – it was pretty damn sweet. And let me tell you, you have not lived till you’ve tried AB negative blood. I’ve had full course meals (actual, like, mortal meals, I mean here) that don’t even come close to AB negative blood. Talk about an explosion of flavor.
But the nights…man. It really made me question the whole thing.
If I could do it over? Would I choose to go home with that red-haired girl after Halloween party and get subsequently turned? I mean, let’s be real here, probably. Immortality is pretty damn hard to beat. But, then again…I “looked” down at myself as I flew.
No use wondering, I suppose. Vampire or not, you couldn’t change the past.
A smell wafted over to me from the edge of the forest. Very faint at first, but as my sense focused on it, it became sharper. No…it couldn’t be. I banked, moving toward it till I came upon a two people sitting around a…campfire, judging by the sound. My nostrils flared as I drunk in the scent. AB negative blood, from one of them.
My mouth started to water…figuratively. I don’t really have salivatory glands anymore, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
I’ve been a vampire for a good while now, and I was mostly in control of the ah, let’s say, impulses. But AB negative…it was such a rarity. Such a pleasure that it was a struggle. A real struggle. But I had to wait till morning. I had to. I couldn’t go after them right now.
But then it happened.
One of them got up then cried out – a woman, I could tell by the voice – and fell. She cut herself. I couldn’t see it of course, but the smell. Oh, the smell. It magnified a thousandfold, and before I could catch myself, I was diving toward her, her open wound. I had to have her. I had to have that bloo-
And I was swatted aside, almost into the fire, before making a hasty retreat.
I “watched” nursing slightly singed wings as they got in their car and drove away. I couldn't even fly to follow them.
I sighed, again, figuratively. The movies don’t tell you that vampires are forced turn into moquitos every night.
***
Changed bat to mosquito, since that is way funnier lol. Thank to /u/east_of_the_delplaya for the comment haha!
|
When I saw that the wounds on my neck had become small white scars, my heart skipped a beat.
*Please let it be true, please let it be true...* I begged, as I bared my teeth.
The elongated points of my canines proved my hypothesis right: I had become a vampire.
For an eleven-year-old boy, this was a total dream come true.
"MUUUUUUUM!" I yelled, smiling widely to admire my very sharp canines.
"What?" I heard her yell from another room.
"I'M A VAMPIRE!" I bellowed, and snapped my jaws a couple of times. The canines clicked together, and I nearly passed out from the coolness.
"What?" she yelled, and in a few moments, she poked her head into the toilet.
"I'm a vampire! Look at my teeth!" I proclaimed proudly, displaying them.
She ignored them, and instead looked in horror at my pyjamas.
*Mothers.*
"Haven't you changed yet? We're going to be late!"
"Mum," I said impatiently and importantly, "I'm a vampire now. I can't go outdoors during the day. So I guess I'll just have to stay home and play some games on my Switch, right?"
Her lips went into a very thin line, which was always followed by one of the children in our house getting our ass whooped. "Carson, we don't have time for this. Get your hair gelled, and put on that shirt and pants right now."
"But I'm a *vampire*," I insisted, about to tell her about how I got attacked by what I'd thought was a homeless person on my way home from my best friend's house in the wee hours of the morning, after a night of Pokemon. But then I remembered that I'd sneaked out of the house to begin with, and so clamped my mouth shut again.
"If you're a vampire," said my mother, arms akimbo, "then tell me why you have a reflection."
"I - " I blinked, and then looked at the mirror. My stupefied face stared back. "Er-"
"And tell me why the sunlight hasn't blistered your skin or reduced you to smoke," she went on, ferociously pointing towards the skylight, from which golden sunrays poured in, bathing my entire being and doing absolutely nothing but throwing my features into sharp relief.
My mouth opened, but no explanation came to mind.
"And lastly, Carson, you ate garlic toast for breakfast," she said testily. "*Garlic* toast. Please enlighten me, Carson, since when were vampires able to eat *garlic*?"
I gaped at her wordlessly, and she reached forward and gave my ear a sharp tweak.
"That's right, since *never*. So go and get changed, or I'll promise you that the Switch is going to be put under lock and key and you won't be seeing it again for the next month."
And she snapped the bathroom door shut.
I stared in consternstion at the door, and then back in the mirror at the now-healed injuries on my neck. They had definitely been deep gouges when I'd examined them last night; the sort that would take weeks to heal. And yet they were gone.
Something wasn't adding up.
I grabbed Dad's razor from the shelf and, heart banging against my ribs, gave myself a shallow cut. A bead of blood, almost black, oozed out, but even as it rolled down, the cut neatly sealed itself shut, and in its place was a tiny scab. Even as I goggled at it, the scab peeled off to reveal a scar.
There was no doubt about it. I *was* changed. Maybe not a full-out vampire yet, but perhaps I was on my way?
I cautiously put my tongue to the drop of blood, and then made a face. It wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
But there was one last, most important thing left to try.
I barged out of the bathroom, nearly running into my mother ("*Carson!* Why haven't you changed?!"), and charged straight for the silver crucifix we displayed in our hall. Swallowing hard, I lifted a trembling hand towards it.
*Please, please, please.*
My fingers brushed past it.
I felt nothing.
"*Carson!*" hollered Mum from the doorway, and, startled, my hand bumped into the cross, causing it to fall. Instinctively, I reached out to catch it, and then winced, expecting a searing pain in my hand.
But there was only the coolness of the silver against my flesh.
And then my mother strode forward, snatching the cross from me, and I uncurled my fist to see a perfectly unscathed palm.
My shoulders slumped then. The legends got so many things wrong, but it seemed especially cruel and unusual that the inability to touch holy objects, too, they got wrong.
And as my legitimate reason to stay home on Sundays and play Pokemon went up in smoke - the way *I* should have done in sunlight - I dragged my feet towards the bathroom and got changed for Mass.
| 2020-10-06T06:58:56
| 2020-10-06T04:11:46
| 5,852
| 223
|
[WP] You are a time traveller, everyone knows you're a time traveller from old pictures/videos/newspapers where you openly admit the fact and when/where you're born... However, you aren't a time traveller yet and don't know how you go back in time.
|
December of 1922 is the earliest photo I could find that I was in. I was at one of Louis Armstrong's first shows in Chicago. At least twenty photos have surfaced on the internet of the famous time traveling man. That man is me, I think. I mean I'm only twenty two right now. The man in the photos looks older than that, but maybe its just what he is wearing. Almost always he is dressed in the clothing of the period he visits, but in one photo he is seen wearing present day clothes. It was in 1972 he, or I, was shown wearing a shirt that is definitely not from that era. Not only was it from the future, but it was my favorite shirt. I've had that shirt since my senior year of high school. Its unmistakable. The shirt is a black button down with a panda face on the front pocket. I didn't think anything of it until my friends started sharing the photos on my facebook wall. Then, more and more people started hearing about this kid that looks exactly like the time traveling man. Buzzfeed did a story on me, and interviewed me. I was featured on Good Morning America as "The worlds first time traveler". The whole world truly believes that I can travel through time. Of course I haven't yet, and I have no idea when or if I ever will. It worries me a lot though. I honestly thought this was gonna be a funny internet joke that would be gone in about a year. Its been a couple years and people still won't leave me alone about it. It is becoming increasingly more serious too. I met with a man from the CIA not too long ago. He informed me that they are watching me. They have analyzed the photos and are convinced that it is me in them. That scares me a lot that the government is involved. Even right now, I am just sitting in my room with a feeling of dread. A feeling like they could come anytime and take me and dissect me or whatever they do. I look over at my bookcase, and see the letter that my grandfather gave me on his deathbed sitting on a shelf. He told me not to open it until my 25th birthday. He died two years ago. It has been taunting me for two whole years. My grandpas was kind of my rock, and I sure could use some words of wisdom from him right now. He always knew how to calm me down if I was stressed, and we would spend many nights together. It was great because we always liked the same things. We never had conflicts over what to eat or what movie to watch. He was more of a dad to me than my own father. I'm too impatient, so I get up off the bed and walk to the book case. The letter had my name written on the front in beautiful handwriting. Calligraphy was one of his many talents. Just holding it makes me feel better. I try my best to open it without ripping the paper. The envelope is open and I almost feel like crying because I knew it was too soon for me to read it. I shakily reached in and pulled out the letter. It reads:
*Soloman,
I thought I told you not to open this letter until you were twenty five. I knew you wouldn't wait, just like I know many things. I am writing this letter to you because it is what needs to be done in order to start your life. This letter has been written many times and will continue to be written for all of eternity. You see, you are about to find out a great secret. I know you have been approached about this time traveling man, and I know you are greatly intrigued by him. Soloman, that man is you. In your life, you will see things that most people will never have the fortune of seeing. You will see history come alive. Life has no boundaries for you. The power to travel in time is in your genes. All men in our family have been able to do it. Once you travel to a certain year you will automatically be taken to a facility with clothing and any other needs of that period. You must be careful to always follow the rules. I know you will make a mistake though, as you will be in a hurry to arrive at a certain event after you arrive in the past. I was reckless with my ability, and did the same thing, which resulted in me having to go into hiding. There are men who monitor us travelers. They do not tolerate mistakes. In 1972, I was caught on camera wearing a shirt that you are familiar with. It was out of place for the time period and sparked a curiosity years later. I knew they would use their abilities to find me, so I stopped time traveling, and went into hiding. I met a lovely woman named Martha, your grandmother. We adopted your mother, and she eventually went on to have you. You see, Soloman, we are one person. You will make the same mistakes I made, and in return you will have inadvertently given yourself life. If you do not repeat my mistake, then you will cease to exist. You will live a life full of happiness, adventure, and purpose. I need you now to read this next sentence aloud. USING MY GIFT I WILL TRAVEL TO LONDON ENGLAND IN THE YEAR 1961.*
The letter dropped to the ground, and Soloman was gone.
|
Destiny, how does it go?
As we grow up, some have to deal with expectations of their parents. Some are forced into a way of life that was determined by their class. My future is determined by me, but not in a good way. I wrote my future and now I have to fulfill it. Unlike my peers which can fail at their destinies, my failure could end the universe. I have seen what I will do on television, through stories my parents have told and landmarks created in my honor. The only problem is, I have no idea how to time travel.
Scientists have been hard at work at the problem of time travel for the decades since I first told them it was possible. My age is getting close to the first recorded images of me, at least in appearance. My presence has been speculated, but now are confirmed that I am in fact the Destiny that took the world by storm so long ago.
I grew up hearing tales of what I have already done as an older version of myself. I know all about the kids I will have. Names, birth days, locations of birth marks and even eye color were all told at an afternoon television show recorded 15 years before my parents were born. I wisely kept my own parents out of the talk so they could come together naturally. Naturally being, I naturally introduced them at a party some time ago. I helped make myself, apparently. My father told me often about how I helped them through their early relationship. Eventually, I told them the truth about who I was and told them to name me, the paradoxical name, Destiny.
I have spent my childhood studying everything about the person I would become. I was told by my father, that I can’t do anything different or that paradox could destroy the universe. No child should know what a paradox is before they can even spell the word. It is downright terrifying. My future, as my mother put it, is in my hands. What will I do?
As I have prepared for this inevitable future, I developed a bit of a reckless side. The knowledge of my fate gave me a sense of confidence that none other possess. It was my parents that held me back enough, so I would not kill myself in the seeking out more and more danger. The adrenaline rush of sky diving, bungee jumping and simply being a risk loving junkie became my teenage years.
Today, it is time to actually seek out the ultimate thrill. I received a cryptic message from a scientist this morning. I know this scientist from the names of all of the teams working on time travel, but I was not sure if I should take it. He mentioned danger above all else, but he knew that if I accepted this challenge that he would succeed. I keep looking for a sign from myself. Any sign as to whether, this was the one time I would get to jump back in time. No sign ever came. This may be the only choice I will have to make on my own that really matters. Perhaps it is meant to be that way. I sent this to you dad as a memory of my last words. I have no intention of returning to this timeline. If it works, I will see you in the past. I will leave only your memories of me to check in on my future.
Your child and friend,
Destiny
| 2016-04-12T11:35:27
| 2016-04-12T11:18:40
| 74
| 17
|
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony...
|
"Well, basically the hat sorts you into a house based on your personality and magical aptitude"
The hat sorts you into a house based on your personality and magical aptitude.
I have no magical aptitude.
As the other children were called up to be given their place in one of the four houses, I was overcome by the sudden feeling that my place would be the nearest exit door. I was never given a lot of information about Hogwarts, my parents were wizards, true, but I had absolutely no magical abilities whatsoever. I've heard it from my father once, a squib is what they call people like me. The pain and disappointment in his voice when he explained why I couldn't attend Hogwarts, the school of witchcraft and wizardry, was all I needed to motivate me into making him proud.
I took to learning in secret, the tricks of some of the greatest muggle magicians. Smoke and mirrors, hidden compartments, tricks of light and sleight of hand, these were the tools I became familiar with when no one could possibly have been around, so that when an audience *was* present, I could perform my feats, and hopefully trick them into believing I had an ounce of magical talent, then all I needed to do was focus on something that required a hands-on approach, maybe potions or plants, a squib could do that, right? My plan was supposed to be foolproof, but what's a foolproof plan when the planner is a fool?
I thought about grabbing one of the smoke balls in my sleeves, and making a hasty retreat, but before I could plot a path to the door, the two words I dreaded hearing in this instant had echoed through the hall.
"David Blaine!"
My turn had come, my time had come, with all eyes on me there was no way I could make an escape now, not without bringing more shame upon my parents. I came here in the first place to avoid that. Maybe a hat can be bribed? As I sat upon the stool, facing all the students, I wondered about my fate. I expected the hat to scream, to fly off my head and sound an alarm, but what I didn't expect was... chuckling?
"Well this is quite a funny sight, you're no more magic than Day is Night". I wondered what would happen to me next, will they send me back by train? Are they going to call my parents in? Maybe I could offer the hat a particularly delicious hair, does it eat hair? "Did you think that you would make it this far? I must know what you have planned. I'm curious what your next move is, if I let this charade stand."
"Well", I said, completely unsure of what I had intended to do, "I thought perhaps I could learn potions or something, I'm not really sure, maybe even something with plants. I just couldn't let my parents down". I tried to remain brave, no matter what happened next.
"This is very interesting, indeed. It took quite a bit of bravery to pull something like this off, cunning too. While magic may not have been involved, there's a certain level of talent that would have been required to make it this far, and plenty of hard work to be sure". The confusion on my face must have been evident as the other students all appeared perplexed, breaking out into hushed whispers and pointed fingers as the hat continued to talk to me. "You must realize that his plan of yours will likely end terribly, yes? But I think I'd like to see how far you could take this endeavor."
"You'll let me keep this up a little longer?" I had asked, "I'd rather be expelled for being a terrible student, than not admitted for being a squib." Despite the oversized hat upon my head, I had suddenly felt a lot lighter. The booming voice just above my head had rang throughout the Great Hall.
"Another for Gryffindor!"
|
As the hat was placed upon me, a cold dread overcame my entire body. And this time it wasn't a senior prankster from Slytherin. As the hat wiggled around my head, the halls were dead silent. Something was obviously wrong. The hat had never taken this long to make a decision. Dumbledore sat at his chair, mildly amused. It was almost as if he had known all along. Then I heard Dumbledore mutter a few words under his breath, and then the hat expanded to a massive size. I couldn't breath and the hat had completely swallowed me. I tried screaming, but no one would hear me. The last thing I remembered was everyone laughing in the halls.
| 2017-06-25T15:06:28
| 2017-06-25T13:48:53
| 110
| 33
|
[WP] You're a lesser demon from actual hell who has taken a part-time job because the supernatural world has been cutting salaries. You suspect your coworker is secretly an angel in the same position. You're both appalled at the brazen evil of your human employers.
|
I don't know what I was thinking.
Being a lesser demon from hell is usually a fun job, especially as a cross roads demon. You get to play all day and get summoned in all sorts of fun places whole consuming souls and life energy to give to the big boss, and you get to grant wishes. But the quotas were getting larger, and the pay was getting lousier. So I did the only thing a demon could do; I got an office job as a secretary for a Lawyer.
Every day, I could see my co-worker leering at me as I repressed the urge to beat our asshole boss into the floor. And I couldn't understand why. She and I were both about the same height, and both relatively attractive, though I suspect the reason why is because we're both supernatural. She's never confirmed it, but her hair was just a little too blonde, almost like it was lit by a halo, and her eyes were just a little too blue, giving away that she was something not human. My diagnosis: Angel.
Our boss, A guy named Richard Rickman, whom I had nicknamed Dickman rounded the corner and leaned against my desk. He was a portly, balding lawyer, with a stubbled beard that resembled pubic hair, and beady black eyes like a crow's. Somehow, this guy made my true boss, Satan, look like a good guy.
"Hey, beautiful" he said.
"It's Stella, sir." I responded coldly.
"Whatever. So, when are you gonna let me tap that fat ass?" He said. My co-worker, Nyx, across the room coughed to hide the sound of shock.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"You're excused. But still, when are you gonna let me hit it?"
"Never. I'm commited" I responded.
"Oh well, that'd be a shame. Especially if you lost your job due to negligence." He responded, circling his finger around my planner.
"Good thing I'm good at my job." I retorted with a snort.
He gave me that smile, the one that adults give to children when they've said something stupid, but they don't want to correct them. "we'll see"
Over the next few days, more and more work piled up on my desk to the point I was staying late every day. Nyx took pity on me, and helped me out when she could, but as soon as Dickman knew she was helping me, her load increased as well. Finally one day, it came to a head.
"Daisy, I asked for the Lauterdale clients folder an hour ago" Dickman said to me.
"You haven't buzzed my line in 6 hours, what do you mean?" I asked.
"Yes, I did. And I asked for that folder. Now I'm behind and the clients will be here any moment." He said with an accusatory glare "I know you've been slacking on your work lately, and quite frankly I'm disappointed. If this continues, I'll have to let you go." He leered at my chest and gave a smirk, "unless you can find of a reason to let me stay?" I had enough from him. I could feel my eyes burning with that otherworldly rage for a minute, and he backed away, and stuttered "j-just have it ready soon." He scuttled back into his office.
"I was wondering when you'd do that." Nyx said.
"Yeah well, I was sick of his Attitude" I grumbled while I sorted through my paperwork.
"You know, I'm not obligated to report accidents to the big man upstairs. So if an evil human were to accidentally perish, I could look the other way if something... Supernatural.. were the cause." She suggested.
"So you are an angel." I said with that I-knew-it sound in my voice.
"I prefer the term, mankind's guidance, but yes. And you're a demon." She responded.
"More of a punisher of greed." I responded.
"So what do you want to do about this one?"
|
Now that Hell City was making pay cuts I had to find a job in the human world. I took the Hells Express subway which transported demons up to the overworld which was known as Earth. I knew I could find a job since my old job was surveillance on human diplomats. As I made it through the rift, my form began to morph into a human shape. This was a given considering humans aren't exactly too fond of my kind.
As I got off the subway I looked around for any indicator of where I landed. The sign said "Toronto" so I knew I was in Canada. A seemingly homeless man waked up to me and asked for some change.
"I'm sorry sir I have none."
"It's okay. God bless you." Said the man.
I was shocked since the homeless people I had seen from other parts of the world were more aggressive and impolite. "This is going to be easy" I thought.
For a few days I struggled to find a job until one printing company replied with an offer. I took it. Seeing as how I had no choice I couldn't say no. They told me to show up the next day at 8 AM sharp. So I did. In the morning I made my way to the downtown building and up to the 36th floor. When I entered the room of my work I was greeted kindly by all the other employees. In the corner I saw a door with my name on it.
I walked up to my desk for the first time in my life. It was clean and organized. The folders were all stacked neatly into a drawer, the cup of pens on the corner had sections for each colour of pen, and the carpet smelled freshly washed with a lemon-scented detergent of some kind. They really went all out.
I had spent enough time observing humans to perfectly mimick their behaviour. When my boss came in he greeted me and gave me the basic rundown of our goals for this year. When he left I thanked him and shook his hand with a smile. He smiled back.
Just as I sat down and got ready for my first assignment, one of my coworkers stepped into the room with a thick folder labeled "Blue Eye Inc". He plopped it onto my desk and looked me up and down.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" He asked suspiciously.
"No I don't believe so. You don't look familiar to me." I replied.
That's when I looked into his bright ocean blue eyes. The shining sparkle in his pupil was unlike any human I had seen before. He must be one of them. An angel. I had heard rumours about salary cuts in heaven too, but I dismissed them as it was highly unlikely. However this had to be an angel. He had a very slight glow to his face and his eyes sparkled in the light.
"God damn.." I whispered to see if he would react.
He turned around suddenly and said
"Do not blaspheme the name of the lord."
"I knew it!" I exclaimed. "You're an angel. What are you doing here? Are the rumours true?"
"Keep your voice down. Yes the rumours are true but not for long. Some working around needs to be done but soon enough both Heaven and Hell will be back to normal." He explained.
"What are the chances I get stuck here with an angel?" I laughed.
"If you think angels are bad wait until you get to know the boss here. Worse than some of your kind if I say so myself." He joked.
Just as he finished the boss stormed in looking redder than an apple.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING CHIT CHATTING GET BACK TO WORK YOU GOOD FOR NOTHINGS!" He screamed. "IF I CATCH YOU GOSSIPING ONE MORE DAMN TIME YOU'RE BOTH FIRED!!"
I saw the look in the angels face and knew what he meant. I agree. Humans are the true evil.
| 2020-08-25T02:36:14
| 2020-08-25T00:45:40
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] When space colonies became a practical reality, the rich and powerful left Earth in droves, leaving the rest of humanity behind on a broken world. A few centuries later, Earth has, through much effort, been restored to its former glory. Now the colonists want to return.
|
**GOVERNANCE**
----
The bicentennial celebration was a special day. It had been two hundred years since Earth was abandoned. The rich. The politicians. Anyone that was able took to the sky.
Earth was doomed. An ecosystem circling the drain. They left. They said it was to preserve the species. And those left behind were given the same courtesy a twenty-five year employee gets when they are laid off. A nod, a thank you, and a best of luck handshake.
The aftermath was chaos. A medieval horror. Organized crime rose to power in every corner of the world. They had the muscle. The weapons. And the incentive.
When the rich left, they abandoned not just the people, but the industries they created as well. As street level lawlessness overtook every country, the infrastructures that ignited the planets downfall was all at once removed from the equation. The space explores had not planned on that. They had also not planned on organized crime being so, well, organized.
The thing about crime is simple: if there is no people to exploit, there is no business.
It was by accident that criminals reformed a system of stability. And over the years, things that were once illegal in the former civilization were now staples of life. Drugs. Sex. Gambling. All vices that had towed the grey line were now the backbone of civilization. So it went. True freedom. And two hundred years of this had the most unseen outcome on humanity. It thrived. Crime families became noble houses. Their bosses now lords.
They gave people what they wanted, and the means to sustain themselves. And in turn, became rulers of the planet. Sure the first few decades were rough. But criminals know how to handle other criminals. They didn’t put the rapists, murders and violent criminals in prison. They didn’t imagine reform. No. Anyone not acting on orders of the noble houses were executed. Publicly.
It took five decades of hardship, but science and exploration found favor once again. And with each generation of noble blood, they grew more keen on expanding humanity.
----
It was on the bicentennial of Earth’s abandonment that man once again found its way to Mars. And as the celebration took place and peoples across the globe watched at its return to greatest, a young noblemen in New England entered a room to take part in a secret meeting.
The hall was empty, all but for two ambassadors. They stood nearly ten feet tall, with limbs stretched and gangly. They wore skin tight suits and the back of their skulls where held in place by a high neck line of armor.
“I see the effects of prolonged life in low gravity is now a proven theory,” said Josiah, the eldest son of House Gadd.
“My name is ambassador Tomothy,” said the man on the left. “And this is my counterpart, James.”
Josiah gave them each a nod.
“Will your father be joining us?” Tomothy asked.
“Not today,” Josiah said. “The celebrations. He must be present.”
“And you,” Tomothy gestured. “Have authority to speak on his behalf.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Very well. We -“
“Let us speak candidly and quick. Why are you here?” Josiah asked.
“It was part of our arrangement with your House, that providing the technology needed to accelerate your development would —”
“We appreciate what you’ve done.”
“It was not a gift.” Tomothy placed a hand on the table. “It was a demonstration of our willingness to return as equals. We wish to elevate the remnants of our origins. To aid in the evolution. We have evolved to see the error of our ways. We come to remedy that error.”
“I’m aware of the terms. You want to assimilate the humans of Earth into the greater galactic — what do you call it?”
“Governance.”
“Right. Other species? Aliens and shit.”
“Yes, aliens. And shit.”
“You see, Tomothy. I’ve met your predecessors. The scouts. The scientist. Over the last two years I’ve gotten to know the skeleton crews you’ve sent to earth. And I’ve learned something.”
“We have delivered much knowledge.”
Josiah smiled. “Right. I meant I see you are weak. Physically. Sure your minds have .. evolved. But standing here. You’re a twig that can be snapped in half.”
“This line of thinking is unwise.”
“Is it?”
“Understand that taking Earth by force is not something we are incapable of doing, rather something we are unwilling to do.”
“Good.” Josiah drew a pistol and fired. Tomothy’s skull painted the wall and his corpse hit the tile.
The ambassador James gasped and fell back. “Why have you -“
Josiah took aim at James' skull. “Is it more effective if you return and tell all the ex-humans we want no part in your brave new galaxy - or is the message stronger if you never return?”
James’ eyes went white, his mouth agape. “Such violence would .. “ he stuttered. “Be unwelcome to the greater governance.”
“Good.” Josiah lowered his hand. “Then run back, tell them we don’t want to be part of their governance. And this violence is what all who return will find.”
“We don’t pursue War.”
“We don’t seek governance.”
“But it could —“
Josiah took aim again and James stumbled back.
“Trade what we have for subservience?" James asked. "Leave. Not a single word more or you stay here with your friend.”
The ambassador left quickly.
Josiah walked around the table and stood over the corpse of the space-evolved-man.
He stood there a moment and thought about what might have been. We're better off, he concluded.
—-
Edit: typos
r/wyrdfiction
|
It was sudden.
When humanity discovered a way to live beyond the confines of their dying world, the masses were ecstatic, full of hope, but unbeknownst to them the opportunity to live beyond their world was taken from them.
It was televised that despite colonial space, all the rich and powerful were guaranteed a spot aboard the many ships the rest of humanity thought to be for them.
Before they knew it, the ships took off out into deep space, effectively severing their ties to earth and the rest of humanity. The final message from their space voyaging kin would be one to instill burning hatred among the rest of humanity.
".*..//Goodbye;Goodluck...//*"
Perhaps they did mean well but the rest of humanity did not see it that way. From this injustice, humanity would set their differences aside and attempt to rebuild their dying world. It was unsure what they were doing would actually restore what had been broken but they stood headstrong and continued on in spite of those who had forsaken them.
Earth...would heal.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A millenia would pass when earth was left to a forsaken people and those who had left would return hoping to find a reborn world.
The colonists who had left tasked their descendants to someday return to earth. A thousand years and several generations later, the descendents of the first colonists would take it upon themselves to return to their ancestral home.
However, their return would not be so welcome.
For a thousand years, the colonists lived their lives aboard luxuriously built colony ships and would drift the void in orbit of Sol and when the time was right, would return to a mostly restored earth.
When they made their way just beyond the asteroid belt all the colony ships in tow were received a message that orriginated from none other than their ancestral home, Earth.
*"...//To all ships belonging to the Utopia-Class;Purpose:Colony. You have entered United Terran Empire Civilized Space. Turn back now or you will be fired upon. You are authorized \[300\] second to comply. Failure to comply or an act of aggression will be met with quick and decisive retalliation...//"*
The crew of each respective ship were confused. None on either crew was inform of a United Terran Empire upon thier ancestor's departure. Many dismissed the message as a desperate attempt to turn away the inheritors of Earth; with many of the captains whom felt they were the rightful inheritors of the world their ancestors left in order for it to heal itself.
However, few captains felt the same and were wary of the warning and the countdown displayed on their bridge's main display. Captain Goldbrand felt the same as the few. He felt that this message was not filled with empty threat and was not willing to risk the lives of his crew and fellow colonists. Luckily, two captains felt the same. As a desperate effort for diplomacy, Captain Goldbrand requested a private channel toward thier invisible enforcer.
After a moment of silence, save for the constant beep of their countdown, Captain Goldbrand's hail was acknowledged.
*"...//Captain Goldbrand of the Colony Ship Gaia's Grace. You have been warned and are at risk for destruction of ship and crew. What do you have to say?...//"*
Aside from their sudden appearance from what was thought to be an age lost, he wanted answers, they all did and the two captain shared the same thought. To not waste their time remaining time, Captain Goldbrand posed his question.
*"...//This is Captain Goldbrand of the Colony Ship Gaia's Grace. Who are you and why are you so keen to destroy colony ships. We have civillians on board!...//"*
After a moment of silence, said silence was finally broken.
*"..//Millenia ago, our ancestors were left to survive a broken world brought upon by those who controlled everything at the top. Money, policy, our daily lives. When all was said an done they left our world broken. The first centuries were nothing starvation and the will to survive. Determined to take back the world that was left to us. While you and your ancestors lived your lives in luxury, we went ahead and forged ourselves a new home. One unlike what was left to us. You and the rest of the colonists have no place here in Sol. Should we meet again, we will not be so merciful. Turn now and settle outside the Sol system...//"*
Faced with this ultimatum, he would much rather have his passengers mad at him for failing to return to earth than be obliterated from millenia old disdain for the original space colonists and their descendants.
He and the other two captains that shared his belief followed behind. At the final ring of the countdown to the other ships that failed to deviate from their course were prompty destroyed by almost unseen projectiles that rightfully tore through the ships bow to it's aft. Very little in the way of ship could hardly be recognized. Because of their deviation, only three ships that belonged to the first expedition of space colonization were left to drift the void, for a new permament home.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_-
Humany would diverge. The colonists, who's original goal was to live out in space in hopes to someday return to a restored world and the newly found United Terran Empire. The incident would act as a warning to the colonists and all future prospects to return to sol would be nothing but a dream. For the hatred of the space colonists runs deep. Deeper than the roots the trees had dug into the crust of terra itself. Deeper than the core of the very world they called home.
Perhaps someday the colonists could return but not in this century, or the next. Captain Goldbrand would make it his mission, and in turn the mission of his descendants and fellow colonists that they will return to Sol, and will do so opposite of their ancestors. Perhaps one day their repentance will be honored.
Perhaps then, Humanity may finally be whole.
| 2022-01-05T20:40:29
| 2022-01-05T20:29:15
| 426
| 174
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore.
|
Justin,
It's been a little over 3 years since you died. I still get hit with random emotions that make me burst into tears thinking about you. Both anger and sadness. I think about how things would be different if I had said or done things another way. If I had told dad you could come live with me, would you still be alive? I miss having you around for sharing stupid things off of Reddit or Imgur. I miss Netflix-ing Korean horror movies with you over Xbox Live and trying to time it just right on both of our consoles so it was like we were in the same room. You pushed me to start playing Call Of Duty which, silly as it is, has lead me to the wonderful life I have now.
I wish you could see your nephew now. He's so big and smart, and he looks so much like you that it made mom cry the last time she saw him. Your niece never got to meet you, but I will make sure she knows who you are. They both have the same defiant streak you had, which is both frustrating and heartbreaking.
Why did you have to take those drugs? I wish I had let you come down and live with me. You never would have met those shit heads that left you to die instead of calling 911. I can't say that I think about you everyday... It hurts too much. But I see you in my dreams. I always try to save you, but I never can and it hurts just as bad as when I got the call from Uncle Joe while I was at Disney World, because dad couldn't compose himself enough to talk on the phone. He has destroyed himself because you two didn't have a good relationship and it kills him that you never will now. I am afraid he will kill himself when grandma dies. She's the last person he has that needs him, now.
I don't believe in an afterlife, and neither did you. But I hope wherever you are... nowhere, or wherever people go when they die... that you aren't suffering. I love and miss you.
XXOO
| 2017-11-05T23:19:05
| 2017-11-05T21:34:09
| 58
| 17
|
[WP] in a feudal world, every warrior's skill is reflected in their blade, the bigger the blade, the less skilled, one day you meet someone carrying just a hilt
|
I felt a flash of panic when I saw his weapon. It was *tiny*, and that meant he was a master of the blade. Warriors armed with daggers and short-swords are warriors to be feared. I'd fought a dagger-master once, back when I was armed with a longsword, and that was a humbling experience. He was so *precise*, always blocking in just the right spot to turn my blade aside and lunging inside my guard with blinding speed.
It had been so humiliating, in fact, that I spent my next month of training learning techniques to counter short-blade weapons, using my superior reach to prevent them from getting to grips. Ironically, that much training made my longsword shrink down to a thin fencing foil and made most of the techniques useless, but that's neither here nor there.
The point was, when I saw a man armed with only a hilt, I knew I was in for the fight of my life. My mind was abuzz with possible lines of attack. Was he a bare-handed fighter, using the hilt merely to block? Did he know bludgeoning techniques like pommel-strikes? Did he use it as a throwing weapon, and if so, did he keep extras up his sleeve? Was the cross-guard sharpened to provide a hidden blade? So many possibilities.
I swallowed my fear. Master or not, he was an enemy of my king. It was my duty to stop him. I shifted into a fencing stance, my blade extended towards his heart. When you're facing a more skilled opponent, it's best to keep them at arms length. Let them make the first move, instead of charging in and finding yourself unable to escape.
He nodded at my form, but didn't raise his weapon. Instead, he spoke.
"I have evidence that the High Vizier is a traitor. If you kill me, any chance of stopping his plot dies with me."
I didn't move, but I must have betrayed something, because he continued.
"I know you're suspicious. Why was the order for my death was issued so swiftly? Why were you never shown the evidence of my treason? Why could you not speak to anyone of your mission? I can answer those questions for you. *If* you let me live."
I lowered the sword. I had to know if what he said was true. He didn't even take a stance, but he'd already won the fight.
|
I am Fuma, I live with my sword. It is not the largest of them, and that is good. I remember the time I yearned to get a narrower blade. It took my sweat and blood under years of training deep within the mountains. For this I got up at the break of dawn and slept only when the animals of the night went silent as well. Carrying mountain rock to build my hut and digging a channel down to get water. This, alongside years of training has made me a powerful samurai. Many people have come to my door to challenge me, with blades narrower than mine. These I beat and I learned from, taking their swords for my own and waiting for the next challenger to arrive.
One day I was drinking my tea when I hear the sound of footsteps, looking up I see a stranger, one in colours not of the local lords, nor of even the king. Yet they were much simpler, just brown and long, with clothe that hung loosely.
*Name yourself, and speak your purpose.*
*You may call me Mai of the Windu clan. I have come to see your skill and hope to refine mine.*
*Are you expecting me to reveal my secrets?*
*No, I am just here to prove my skill is better.*
*You challenge me then? A duel to the death.*
*That I do.*
I lead him to my garden, where we will fight, and where I shall be victorious once again. I pull out my sword, narrower than the edge of a paper. He takes out a stone, no. That is the hilt, but it is strange and has no blade attached. I blink. He makes no move. I charge and I see fire come from his blade.
We fight, but he is stronger. I run, but he is quicker. I must ask him when I beat him where I can get a sword so strong. But then he hits me and I fly backwards. I do not understand how it works at all. I had not been able to ask how he learned such swordsmanship. I am a disgrace.
----
Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear comments and constructive criticism. Also check out /r/Rietty for my other submissions in the future.
| 2015-02-25T12:26:54
| 2015-02-25T11:33:09
| 155
| 34
|
[WP] You are deaf. One day your fiance tells you, that she could hear piercing noise that's getting stronger. You tell her to go to the doctor. She never came back. As you go out to search for her, you can see bodies everywhere. There is blood pouring from their ears.
|
The look on her face is stuck in my head.
Carrie suffered from migraines, which to me seems like pure rotten torture. There’s medications that somewhat help, and therapy techniques to reduce stress, but the attacks always find her. This one had been a particularly bad one.
She clamped her ears as we were in the middle of dinner, dropping her fork and splattering salmon across the table. For a split second she looked at me to see if I could hear it too, but she knew I wouldn’t. I haven’t heard anything my entire life. With her migraines and my deafness, we were quite the pair.
Carrie signed that her ears felt like they were about to pop from a loud noise, like an intensely high pitch. I asked if her head hurt too. She squinted through strained eyes and said not yet, but it was probably coming. And that she should probably tell Dr. Marcus she had a new symptom. When she couldn’t focus to dial her phone, we decided it best if she run to the hospital to see if he was there.
I insisted on driving her, but she didn’t want to make me go through the trouble.
*It’s fine, I just need to get there soon before my head explodes,* she signed. *Have some ice cream and some valium waiting for me when I get back.*
She didn’t take her hands off her ears as she gave me a kiss and walked out the door.
Four hours later, the salmon is still sitting on the table. I clean things up and try texting her cell to see what was up. Nothing goes through. Maybe service is just shoddy right now, or maybe her phone died. Either way, I’m getting worried.
The warmth of the summer air hits me as I leave the shelter of our air-conditioned home. Carrie had stopped me from driving her, but she can’t stop me from coming to find her now. I suppress the initial flush of adrenaline from mental images of her in a car accident somewhere, ‘*your fault’* written in her blood. God why didn’t I just drive her myself?
My panic flourishes when I come around the corner of the garage to see legs splayed out in the street.
*Shit, Carrie!* I scream in my head, but it’s not Carrie.
It’s Doug from next door. My immediate relief is pushed back by common sense, and I rush over to see what’s wrong. I notice blood on the concrete around him, spilling from his ears and down his unconscious face. I look around to see if I can wave for any help, but the people I see nearby aren’t going to help.
They’re unconscious too.
There’s at least one or two bodies on the ground outside every home on the block, as if they had all run out of their houses to have a heart attack the minute they came outside. I’m starting to think Carrie wasn’t having a migraine.
I need to find her – *now*.
I mentally apologize to Doug, and run to my car parked on the street. The metal is baked from the sun and hot to the touch, but I’m not sure I really care about *my* wellbeing at this point. I jump into the suffocating air of the car and start to turn the key, when I feel the soft rumble of earth below me.
*Now is not the time for an earthquake*, I think.
But it’s getting stronger, rattling me and the car with increasing strength. The air freshener on the rearview is swaying as the ground bounces below. But it doesn’t feel like an earthquake to me. It feels like something heavy is hammering at the ground, shaking the soil as it moves.
And it feels like it’s coming this way.
\---------
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/user/canyoufeelthat/comments/gsggnh/the_sound_part_ii/) if anyone is interested! (more parts to come)
|
One morning I woke up and couldn't hear. I had been dealing with some pain and ringing in my ears for a week or two. Jenna told me I should go to a doctor about it and that my hearing was super important... but I figured it would get better on it's own. I was wrong. Something is seriously wrong with my ears.
Jenna wasn't in bed, I sat up and looked out the open window into the busy street below. All I heard were things that sound like whispers, like the entire world has a secret that it is desperately trying to share with me. Even the nest full of baby blue jays were damn near silently squawking for their mother. I couldn't help it, I started to freak out. I yelled for Jenna, and my voice sounded very muffled in my head.
Jenna's car keys were missing, so I called her. I put the phone to my head and all I heard was the soft whispers of the electronics inside the screen. I hung up, and texted her, I didn't know what else to do. She responded right away, and then she made me an appointment with an ear nose and throat doctor.
Later that afternoon I was sitting in a tiny sound proof booth, with a bald man eyeballing me through a tiny window. I had never had a hearing test before, they put these headphones on me that seem to vibrate your skull, and give you a button to push when you hear the noises. The vibrations get faster and faster and shake my skull at a range of frequencies. I sat there quietly until I heard a high pitched beep and pushed the button.
The bald man said something to Jenna on the other side of the glass that I couldn't make out. But I figured it wasn't great when I stepped out of the booth and saw the tears in her eyes.
Profound reverse slope hearing loss... the doctor doesn't know exactly what happened. But through a lot of yelling, hand waving, pointing at a gross model of an inner ear, and writing on a pad of paper he let me know it's pretty rare form of hearing loss. I have lost all hearing except for the extremely high frequencies.
You never realize just how second nature hearing is until you lose it. You subconsciously pick up on so much information from how sound bounces off the world around you. When it is suddenly gone it's like learning to live in your world all over again. But when you still hear a tiny bit like I do, everything around you feels alien.
Jenna and I decided to go to our favorite Mexican place for dinner. It was a surreal experience, crunching into a taco and it sounds like distant glass breaking. We sat in the front of the restaurant and I heard a lot of strange whispers from the people around us. Then I heard a much clearer whisper.
"I don't want to share my nachos."
I sit up and look around. Jenna notices and says something that I can't make out.
"Why do I always have to share with him? I hate him."
The voice sounds really close, but I can't figure out where it's coming from. Then I see her, sitting in the far back booths of the restaurant. A little girl whispering to her stuffed bear as she smears nacho cheese on it's face.
"Don't worry, you can have some nachos Teddy."
I can't believe how clearly her voice is cutting across the crowded restaurant. She notices me looking at her an hides behind her bear as cheese runs down her fingers.
"Oh no, Teddy! It's a creepy man!"
I dropped my taco on my plate. Suddenly I wasn't all that hungry anymore.
I've been to several more doctors and from what I understand, I can hear better when people whisper, because whispers are closer to my auditory range. It's apparently not a tumor, but the doctors don't really have any answers for me. It doesn't appear that hearing aids will help me very much, my hearing loss is just to profound.
Jenna and I have learned to live with my hearing loss. She tries to cheer me up by calling it my super power. She will whisper from other rooms of the apartment, or whisper to me across crowded rooms. But even with this "super power" there are times where I wish I was completely deaf, because hearing a tiny bit of sound is sometimes worse because it reminds me of what I am missing.
The mid morning sunlight is streaming through the window, as I wake up. I'm a little cold as the spring breeze blows through the window. Where are the covers? I sit up in bed and stretch, mindlessly working my jaw to try to pop my ears. I look out the window and something feels off.
As I look down on the street below I notice a car accident that has happened a few buildings down the street. I check on the family of blue jays, and they are sitting lifeless in their nest, beaks open still waiting for their mother.
I turn to head to the bathroom, and Jenna is writhing on the floor. The covers are wadded up around her head and she is pressing the covers tightly over her face. Streaks of blood run up and down the blankets from her struggle.
I launch into action. I try to pull the blanket away from her face but she has it pressed against the sides of her head and fights me when I try to help her. I try to peel her hands away and she blindly kicks at me, hitting me right in the chest and launching me toward the dresser. Picture frames, and a lamp tumble to the floor around me.
I hear a muffled pained whisper coming from under the blankets.
"Make it stop. Make it stop. Please..."
I fumble for my phone and I dial 911, I put the phone to my head and wait. I explain that I can't hear and that my fiance needs medical help. She is having a mental break. I put the phone down and glance at the screen. The line was busy... I didn't get through.
I try again, the screen says the line is busy. Jenna has stopped flailing around. She has her head jammed under the bed frame with the blankets wrapped around it and I can hear her mumbling under her voice.
"So loud. Make it stop. Make it stop."
I touch her foot and tell her that I am going to go get help. 911 isn't picking up so I'm going to go and find a policeman. I run downstairs and into the street, and immediately understand why the police were not answering. Several cars appear to have run off the road and the driver have abandoned their vehicles. They didn't get that far.
Several people are laying in the street clawing at their ears. They appear to be trying to rip their own ears out. Their bloody fingernails claw into the sides of their heads as they gouge strips of flesh from the wounds that use to be their ears. Others are not that lucky, they lay in the street silently screaming with blood oozing from their ears, nose, mouth, and eyes.
As I run down the street the carnage only gets worse. I look down the street ahead of me and see the Sunshine Daycare Center with several tiny jackets laying around the play area. I stop in my tracks, I don't want to get any closer to that. I turn and sprint through an alley way, and as I come out the other side I see the source of the noise.
In the sky above the park is a giant disembodied head screaming over and over again to the population of earth...
And all I can hear is a whisper... "Show me what you got..."
| 2020-05-26T14:32:33
| 2020-05-26T13:02:12
| 42
| 11
|
[WP] You die in a car accident and go to the afterlife. Everything is amazing until you meet several generations of relatives who are disgusted by your modern behaviour and all, "want a word."
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You died in a car accident at the age of forty-two, somewhere in rural Maine. It wasn’t your fault; the road was covered in sheer black ice. Once your tires started to spin, there was nothing you could have done to avoid hitting the ditch and rolling five times. At least Claire wasn’t in the car with you.
You lived a good life—really, you did—filled with great friendships and fulfilling work and a wife who loved you as much as you loved her. All things considered, you wouldn’t have done a thing differently.
After you died, I brought you to the afterlife. I watched you sit down and stare, all bright-eyed like a little kid, at everything around you.
“Do you have any regrets?” I asked you.
“A few. Most of them seem stupid now.”
“Most?”
Your face twisted. “I’ve always wished I knew more about my mother and her family. She died when I was three.”
I knew that already; I’d carried her to the afterlife too.
“And my dad,” you continued, “he didn’t like talking about her. I should’ve tried harder to learn about her: who she was, what she liked.”
“Would you like to meet her?”
I almost felt bad when I saw how your eyes lit up.
“She’s been asking to have a word with you, too,” I said.
I *did* feel bad when you cried when you first saw your mother.
“How come you never had kids?” She didn’t hold back her words; she stared straight into your eyes. “I wanted grandchildren.”
Your mouth gaped open, like a fish. “Well—well, Claire and I never really wanted that lifestyle...”
“How selfish.” She shook her head. “Your great-grandfather is also here. He has a few things to say.”
You shrunk back into the collar of your shirt.
“I can’t believe you let your wife work,” he said. His bristled mustache did nothing to hide his disapproving frown. “It would have been alright if she was a secretary or a nurse—but you let her do *that*?”
You stumbled over your words. “She wanted to work.” You tried to brush a layer of sweat off your brow, not realizing you couldn’t sweat here. “Claire loved doing woodwork. Have you seen the oak bookshelves she made for our cabin? They were gorgeous.”
He looked down his nose at you. “You sat in an air-conditioned office all day.”
Your great-grandmother came to his side. She nodded in agreement at her husband’s words. “What good did you do? You wasted your life playing with toys.”
“*Toys*?” The anger seeped into your voice. “I worked on developing AI.”
Your mother, your great-grandfather, and your great-grandmother all shook their heads. “You wasted your life.”
“No children.”
“But maybe that was for the better, seeing as you couldn’t even provide for your wife.”
“What did you do, other than stare at machines?”
“Did you ever lift a finger?”
“Paid someone else to fix your car.”
“Ordered food to your doorstep three nights a week.”
“What a disappointing life.”
You blinked. Your face relaxed. “I definitely wasted my life on something,” you said, your voice flat and emotionless. “Thank you for showing me.” You smiled with your mouth pressed into a flat line.
You turned to me. “I’m ready to move on, now.”
I nodded and reached for you. Your mother and her family faded into the ether. “Do you have any regrets?”
“No,” you shook your head, “no, I really don’t.”
---
/r/liswrites
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"Road head and coke? Really Johnny?"
Grandma was always a bitch. She never truly understood the genius that was Johnny 'The Sex' Johnson.
"You robbed a charity auction for dying orphans" She carried on, whilst being consoled by his deceased uncle.
Johnny was a rebel. He got his name 'The Sex' when he started walking into rooms shouting 'The Sex is here'. He would do this at Parties, Birthdays, Funerals, anywhere where the room needed to know that 'The Sex' had arrived. Professional vlogger by day and a petty thief and racist by night. He had started dating Stacy a few months ago. Sure she was 47 and more sedated than other girls his age, but she was 'bitchin' according to Johnny. She was in the car during the coke fueled, road head, orphan stealing incident which had ended his life.
"I have questions" a random and oddly dressed man said at the back.
"The fuck are you?" Johnny carelessly said as he searched his pocket for his crack pipe.
"Reginald Johnson, I served in the great war and died in the somme. What is road head?"
"With a name like Reginald, you'll never know" Johnny, after the 'sick burn' he gave to Reginald, looked for a hi five from any of his caveman ancestors.
There were murmurs in the room of disapproval and disgust.
"Fuck you all, you don't know me, i'm a professional"
"Day drinking isn't a profession" Said Great Aunt Jean. Shaking her head disapprovingly.
"You all died like bitches, at least I went out in style"
"You had an OAP's mouth round your cock"
"Hella good head though" He said as he offered a fist bump to the same confused cavemen.
Then Johnny felt a tug on his boot cut ripped jeans. As he looked down to see who was fucking with his threads. He saw him. Skipper. His first dog.
"Play?" The dog said excitedly
"What?"
"Play, lets play, i've been waiting to play with you!"
Johnny forgot this dog. It had passed away when he was 8 and he had never really been the same. It had waited for 20 years for him and didn't have a bad word to say.
"Play?" The dog insisted.
The room was silent, the people that knew Johnny when he was still alive had never seen him this engaged with anything. Something matter to him for once.
"I can't right now"
"When play?"
"I don't know"
"Play with skipper" His grandmother said.
"I'll do what you want"
"Do you want to play with the dog?" she responded quickly
"Maybe"
"Then do what you want"
There was a silence as the dog didn't take his eyes off him. Johnny, stubbon to not let his family affect his descions, was torn to do what he wanted, and to resist what they wanted. He stood up in a huff, grabbed the ball at his feet and took Skipper away.
"That plan worked" Grandma said. "He always loved that dog, I think he missed it as much as it missed him"
"Doesn't excuse his behavior" Reginald said
"No, but its a step in the right direction."
| 2019-07-24T09:04:59
| 2019-07-24T08:53:01
| 3,192
| 287
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[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
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Every girl is excited for her sweet sixteen.
Back in the days of my parents, it was the usual coming of age tradition. They celebrated with getting their license, and driving a brand new car. It was the coming age of independence. We all wanted to finally grow up and start our adult lives.
However, in my generation, the tradition began to shift. Sudden, the age of sixteen didn't only mark the coming of age, but also a sudden change in ourselves. Things started becoming a bit different, and many of us found the greatest gift of all was the one dormant inside of us after all of these years. We have been given by chance, a power that could change the world.
It was a dream of mine as long as I could remember. I would watch the celebrities on reality television shows like "My Sweet Sixteen" who would develop these flashy superpowers, or the brave men and women who would use the powers that came to them to make a difference. For some it didn't matter what the power was, but how to find a way to use it for good, and many of today's heroes were welcomed with open arms by taking even the most mundane abilities and changing somebody's life with it. I wanted to at least be that person, and use my powers to make a change.
The time passed and the morning arrived on my birthday. I didn't feel any different at all when I rose from bed. I tried moving every muscle, but no matter how I flexed or which direction I threw myself, it didn't seem like anything was changing. I could feel my heart pounding inside of me, and the sweat of nervousness begin to form on my face. Was it possible that I simply had no power at all?
I thought of my friends, who on their sweet sixteens got all sorts of unique powers. One could create knots in anything. One could change the speed of wind, so that our hair would not be messed up on a stormy day, but regardless of how they used them, every power was uniquely theirs and helped defined who they were both in school and in the town. I always knew I was bound to get something, and I wanted to do my best to help others with it. It would be far too disappointing if there was nothing at all.
I was nervous. I was embarrassed. I couldn't just simply tell anyone that I didn't receive a power at all. Nobody would believe me. Every teenager gets one on their 16th birthday. After "the accident" 30 years ago, it happened to everyone born in the last 30 years on their 16th birthday. It was a fact.
Was there a chance that there is a mutation and some of us are born as "unlucky?" I thought about it desperately. How could this possibly happen to me? I never did wrong. I was not the most popular person in school, and I didn't stand out, but I was always friendly and remained active in clubs. My grades were never bad, not the best, but always above average.
The commute to school was causing me to get incredibly worried. I kept trying everything I could. Any thought that came to mind was acted upon but nothing seemed to help whatsoever. I got on the bus and tried to keep my cool. Fortunately none of my friends or classmates know my usual route to school, so nobody will even know it is my birthday. I can get away with being a powerless freak until I figure out what's wrong with me.
Walking down the street I begin to overhear two boys arguing among each other. One looks like somebody I had recognized from school. He started shaking his fist. Below me the ground starts to shake and I try to take hold of something stuck to the ground. All around I feel buildings collapse and crevices open up below. This boy has the power to create 10.0 earthquakes and, if so inclined, split the entire planet into two.
As the ground starts to gain steadiness again I notice the boys have been split by a large gap in the earth. There is a lot of disaster and damage control in the surrounding area. A few hired officials and freelancers with abilities come to secure the area and I see the boy taken away. They say the most dangerous abilities are the ones that they keep a closer watch on. This boy must have just gained those powers. I begin to wonder if maybe it's better that I am powerless than to have been born with such a destructive power.
The gap is too wide and with my school on the other side I begin to try and find a way across. I begin to walk along the perimeter of the split, taking each step sideways until I can find a small enough gap to jump across. It would be nice if I could jump higher or farther as my ability. Like those old superheroes who could leap from building to building in major cities.
As i'm walking side ways I begin to notice that the crack is getting smaller and smaller. I continue to walk faster and notice with each step I take that the ground seems to repair itself until I reach the very end. I must be dreaming. I run back to the center point of the damage scene and see a car in pieces. I pick up each piece and put it onto the car. Little by little I notice the car repair itself and go back into proper order. The driver waves at me in gratitude before driving off again.
There is always that student that wants to solve and fix every problem. You could say I was the guilty one in my class. Always trying to find the answer and make it right. The way I see my ability, is a manifestation of that. My body wants to put things back together and restore it to its proper place. No matter what the catastrophe or what damage happens, I want to have it go back to normal. The power I have been given is able to do just that.
I always hoped I could make a change. There are so many problems we are that are faced in the world. I simply wanted a way to fix them.
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At 16, you get a mutation, and only one mutation, they say. At 16, your life really begins. I never realized just how true it was. It’s funny. As my friends all hit 16, all gained their powers, I thought that surely I’d get one that surpassed all of them. That I’d be the greatest mutant ever. I never realized just how true that sentiment was.
I walked down the street, keeping my head low. It was a lazy Saturday morning and I liked to take brisk walks, feel the heat of the sun on my skin, the chill of the wind causing goosebumps. I could hear running behind me before my vision suddenly went blank and my body nearly toppled over from their weight.
“Guess who?” a high pitch voice asked. I’ve told her that I don’t like it when she does this. I hate being snuck up on, and my girlfriend doesn’t like the idea of another woman wrapping her arms around me so much either.
It had been a couple years ago that my best friend Dave had turned 16. I asked him what his power was, but it wasn’t until a month later that I found out. On my girlfriend’s 16th of all days. She was blowing out the candles on her cake. Dave took me into one of the bedrooms.
“Do you think I should let everyone know?” he asked as I turned around from closing the door. “I’ve got the power, mine as well use it, right?”
Looking back at me was a woman that looked very Dave-like, standing in his clothes which were clearly oversized for his much tinnier body. A blush was on her face and I understood why she hadn’t wanted to reveal who she was.
“Sure, why not, stranger things have happened,” I said. It was true. There was a guy with the utters of a cow sticking out of his stomach. And he couldn’t turn that off. “You have a girl name to use though?”
“Sandie?” she chirped.
Back on the adventures of my walk, I felt her hands release my eyes as I answered, “Sandie?”
“Of course,” she said, smiling at me. After a couple weeks of going back and forth, Dave started to stay as Sandie more often, until Dave just disappeared one day.
“You coming to my party tonight?” she asked.
I looked down at the sidewalk and kicked a pebble back into someone’s front yard. Then I looked up at the sun, directly into its beating heart, its rays penetrating every bone beneath my skin.
“Yeah, Elizabeth really wants to go,” I replied.
And so later that night I met up with Elizabeth and we headed to Sandie’s party. Why she was having a party escaped me, but why Sandie did what she did often escaped me. Apparently I’m not the only one.
I watched as Elizabeth, graced with the ability to fly, levitateed towards some of her friends, her feet never touching the ground. I must admit, I was a bit jealous. Still am. Who wouldn’t want such a cool ability?
“Noah!” a rather large man said, running over towards me. I was surprised to see Elizabeth’s older brother at Sandie’s party.
“Mike!” I replied, shaking his hand. His whole midsection looked like some huge, overinflated beach-ball. “Hey, seeing as though you’re here, you think I can talk to you for a second?”
“No problem,” he replied, mindful of his swinging midsection. Poor bastard. I certainly don’t envy him.
“I want to ask your permission to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage,” I said to him bluntly. “I’m proposing to her tonight.”
“Seriously?” he said, looking almost taken aback. He fumbled in his wallet for something and then showed it to me. “That’s awesome! Now you’ll actually be my bro. But you see this girl in the picture?”
I looked and saw him and Elizabeth at some birthday party. Judging by how he was still in shock over his mutation, I figured it was his 16th. Which meant that the cute girl staring back was a 14 year old Elizabeth, from before I met her. They stood around a table with birthday cake on it, as well as glasses of half-drunken milk. She was pretty cute with a milk mustache.
“You better take good care of her, or you’ll answer to me,” Mike told me. His gaze was dead serious.
“Yes sir,” I replied. It never did cross my mind until I went to bed that the only glass of milk untouched in the photo was Elizabeth’s.
Later that night I sat beneath the stars. The moon was out in the sky, a full large moon and it lit up the blanket we laid on nicely. I caressed her cheek.
“It won’t work,” the dull, slow voice said. I ignored it and continued to lay on the blanket with her.
“Look, Elizabeth, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” I started. But the voice interrupted me again. I stared up at the moon and yelled profanities into the night wind.
“I’m just trying to help you,” the voice said. “I’ve been talking to you for two years. Don’t you trust me by now? I’ve been alive for eons, I’ve watched humanity since its origins. I know a thing or two about relationships. Which will work and which won’t.”
“Are you alright?” Elizabeth asked, concerned about me. No one knew about my actual powers.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Sorry about that.”
And then I reached into my pocket, pulled out the ring, and got on my knees.
“Will you marry me?”
“No,” she replied. “Look, I’ve actually been meaning to break up with you since I turned 18. We’re going off to separate colleges and everything. Did you really think we were going to stay together?”
And so I walked away, not another word, and headed home, tossing the ring in a bush along the way. Not the wisest decision, but I couldn’t bare to hold on to it.
“Told you so,” the voice said.
I stopped in my tracks, my fist raised high in the sky.
“Well fuck you Moon! So you’re right. You’re always right. Happy now? Just let me wallow in my misery.”
“Thank you,” the moon replied back to me. “The Sun owes me a solar eclipse now.”
“How does that work?” I asked, my rage suddenly gone, replaced by curiosity. I’ve learned a lot since I started being able to talk to the sun and the moon. Never knew they could talk. Apparently I’m the only one with the mutation though.
“Science is so full of itself,” the Moon laughed. “Only reason we do eclipses is because we lose bets to each other. And stop moping. You want to know what else is going on in the world right now? I can see it all. Trust me, being dumped isn’t the worst of it.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said sarcastically. “You know I thought I was crazy at first when you guys started talking to me. But you’ve given me so much wisdom and knowledge. Things that others can’t seem to understand. With you two, I’ll be able to usher in a new age of humanity, a golden age full of peace and happiness.”
“Well, we’re just glad to have someone to talk to,” the Moon said.
Suddenly I felt my body twerk as a car hit me and I flew into their windshield, rolling over onto the ground. The car drove off speedily as I got up. Not even a scratch. The ground I fell on though had some rather large cracks. You’d think I’d at least bruise or have a little blood, but I can’t remember the last time I did.
“Why didn’t you tell me a car was coming?!” I shouted to the Moon as he laughed.
“That was awesome!”
And so I walked home, yet again failing to realize, as I so often did, what was really going on. Of course that night, when my little sister who had just turned 16 today, used her powers on me, a whole new wave of understanding would come over me. I’d finally understand all the things I’d been missing for the last few years. But at the moment I continued walking, laughing and conversing with the Moon, wondering what the Sun might have to say about all this.
| 2015-01-21T21:40:29
| 2015-01-21T19:45:47
| 181
| 65
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[WP] Turns out, most alien species actually evolved in the vacuum of space. Their bodies are unable to deal with even the weakest of gravitational fields and the presence of an atmosphere, hence they concluded life couldn't exist on planetary bodies...until they discovered humans.
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##The case for carbon-based life forms existing in a highly gravitational body
*Huygs, Silon*
ABSTRACT: In this paper, I propose the idea that carbon-based life forms can theoretically exist on a highly gravitational body given sufficient conditions. Primarily, they would require to be on a body containing a high quantity of liquid H2O, existing in a specific region of a star relative to both the radiation output of such a star, as well as the radius of the given body. Additionally, there would necessarily need to be a strong electromagnetic field, as well as a moderate gravitational field. I conclude by giving research guidelines for a probable direction of locating such life.
--
##The improbability of life in gravitational fields: A rebuttal to Huygs
*Flaresc, Alo*
ABSTRACT: I demonstrate the improbability of the hypothesis brought forth by Dr. Silon Huygs detailing the idea of carbon-based life within a highly intense gravitational field. In this article, I detail how the proposed necessary fields would prove too strong for any organism to reasonably bare and sustain an extended life, let alone to reproduce. I conclude by commending his research attempts, but suggesting we stick to scientific pursuits grounded in evidence and not idle speculation.
--
##Life IS possible on planetary bodys: A rejoinder to Flaresc
*Huygs, Silon*
ABSTRACT: While I commend Floresc for his mathematical and biological knowledge in his critique of my initial paper, I dispute the claims made and offer up exciting evidence of a planet to give proper case study to. I discuss the fourth planet of a star located in a remote section of our galaxy, one that demonstrates the necessary conditions I gave initially, alongside showcasing small bits of evidence of intelligent life from it. I conclude by briefly showing the inadequacy of Floresc's models, and suggest the need for a scientific approach with an open mind.
--
##UOPs, Conspiracies, and Bad Data: A final response to Huygs.
*Flaresc, Alo*
ABSTRACT: The response to my initial rebuttal given by my colleague is baffling, for not only how it can get published in a scholarly journal, but how it can be seen as scientific. Rather than give solid scientific evidence, Huygs prefers to rely on eyewitness sightings of Unidentified Objects of Propulsion circulating a remote and rather unremarkable planet. While he makes a convincing case for it containing life given its atmospheres likely chemical composition were his hypothesis true, he has not yet developed a convincing case for life existing on a planetary body with his models. As such, this shall be my final response as I advise the editors of this journal to reconsider publishing such pseudoscience.
--
##Evidence of Earth: Proof of life on planetary bodies, and a final response to Flaresc.
*Huygs, Silon*
ABSTRACT: In his remarkably rude response to my rebuttal, Alo Flaresc has shown his willingness to ignore data with my carefully calculated response. As such, I cannot imagine his eyes will be open to bare witness to my laboratory's recent efforts in successfully recovering a spacecraft likely originating from this planet, according to models detailed within the paper. This spacecraft contains recordings from the dominant species on the planet, as well as rudimentary demonstrations of a developing knowledge in physics and mathematics, in addition to photographs produced within the paper.
This discovery, I hope, can be said to provide adequate proof that life *can* and *does* exist on the planetary body these "human," as they call themselves, lifeforms call "Earth." In addition to changing how we conceptualize models for the existence of life, I hope we can help to inspire more open minding thinking in science, as opposed to the viewpoints espoused by my colleague.
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold, kind stranger!
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"A squall is blowing in" The sailor said, as he watched the sky. Windstruck was a cold, blustery planet and the millions of tiny ice particles on the ground spun and wove themselves in intricate cloudless swirls almost like dust in a desert. The sailor pulled up the Frio-Fibrus coat and put his head down, hoping to block some of the speeding howling biting crystals. Still, Windstruck had oxygen, a hard commodity, and each freezing cold breath the sailor took reminded him to be grateful. "God damn" The sailor said under his breath.
"Fito, come inside" His captain said, the warm beckoning of the cabin behind him filling his voice with comfort. "You are no good to us dead.
Fito turned around and shook his head. "I'm watching for the Squall" Fito turned back around and stared at the blank star filled sky. "It should come any day now and we will be free of this rock"
The captian shook his head and walked out to where Fito was standing, the odd snow/hail of this world crackling beneath his feet. "You can't honestly be looking for that?" The captian asked, pulling his coat up and looking into the sky.
"And why not?" Fito said, another sweeping billow of ice stinging his eyes. "The sensors indicated that throughout the Tiam Quadrant there would be black hole moving through 38 systems" Fito pulled out a terminal from his pocket and began fingering through the floating diagrams. "Scans from the League indicate that it will be heading this way, not affecting the planet, but creating a huge swath of destruction for the Nulls in it's wake" Fitto looked at the captian, his eyes filled with sadness. "Chrim might not be one of them, but when this damn war ends with massive losses on both sides, some null will come back to us and carry us away" Fitto put the terminal back and stared at the sky. "The ensuing Squall will be tumultuous, but from here it will probably be pretty"
The captian had heard the argument before, precisely five hours ago when he asked Fito to come back in at first. "Listen, I understand you are angry, you and Chrim had a bond, I know that, and they stranded our ship here on a barely colonized world with nothing, but you can't let that kill you. You have to-"
"Have you ever seen a null die?" Fito said, staring into the sky still "Gravity for them is like radiation for us. They live between electro-weak nuclear forces, and can bend rules of light to give us the stars. So what would a null look like when it died? Thousands of randomly associating muons and gluons suddenly being ripped apart by the immense gravitational squall" Fito looked over, the sadness turning into crazed dillirum "It will be the most colorful thing you'll ever have seen" He leaned his, his smile portraying a twisted sense of pleasure. "I have seen it, Null's ripped apart and it is the most devastatingly beautiful thing anyone has ever seen"
"Fito, your scaring me" The captian said, his hand in the howling wind reaching for the Shutdown injector.
"I wasn't supposed to scare you" Fito said backing up "I was trying to scare Chrim" Fito looked up toward the sky again. "Chrim still watches, they are out there currently throwing transdimensional punches and they are listening through your ears" Fito sighed "They told me before they left that they didn't think it would be that bad. They have no idea"
A moment of whistling silence murmured through the plane. "I know" Captian said, his voice quavering a bit. Fito nodded, Chrim was a friend to them all, the best Null pilot that they ever had, and now they where going to die in a beautiful explosion of pain and destruction. In the end the silence told both of them, they knew nothing of Chrim's world, all the studies, the Leagues scans, all of it meant nothing to why Chrim wanted to fight in this seemingly senseless war. The captain thought for a moment that the nulls probably think the same of them. "We will all miss chrim if he dies, but if he doesn't then you won't do much good to him if your dead as well" The captain put a reassuring arm on Fito's shoulder "Come inside, wait it out, he might live"
"They" Fito said, sighing, the vapors of his breath disipating in the now calm breeze. "Null's prefer to not use gender pronouns" Fito took a deep breath of stinging air and turned toward the cabin, not saying anything more as he walked back.
The captain looked into the sky, scratched the crusty frozen tear on his face and simply whispered into the infinite ears of the Nulls "Please come back Chrim" Before he turned around and walked back to that dismal warm cabin.
| 2019-06-22T10:53:08
| 2019-06-22T07:13:06
| 82
| 55
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[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
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I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago...
|
The snow made a crisp crunching sound like bones of tiny birds being crushed. My feet methodically packed it down at a constant rate. It was around 7 o'clock and everyone was inside already. Everyone was taking shelter in their humble abodes due to the fact that there had recently been a series of killings in our little secluded town. All of the victims had an "X" carved into the palms of their hands, and they had all been killed in groups. The murderer only went after groups. I smirked at the thought of someone taking out a group of people singlehandedly.
Then I finally reached my home where my mother awaited at the door tapping her foot against the oak wood floor rapidly with an irritated look on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw me approaching and she asked me where I had been the whole day. I assured her that I was just hanging out with some friends. A worried look came across her face and she told me that it’s dangerous to be outside at this time, considering the recent events, I didn’t blame her. She warned me to come home early the next day or else she'd ground me. It was winter break, there was no way I'd spend most of my day inside.
We both went inside and our paths split when I took the steps to get to my room. I crossed some things out on the paper that lay on my dresser and then I continued to stare at the pen I used. Intrigued and consumed by an odd idea, I began to draw an “X” on the palm of my hands. I looked down at my results and sighed. I slid the paper and pen back onto my dresser and then proceeded to turn in for the day.
I awoke to a loud banging on my door. Sunlight filtered through the window and gave my room a sort of sweet aroma. It seemed like it was about noon. I opened the door slightly only to find Solomon standing there with a huge grin on his face. Marcus, Lorena and Christina were waiting on the nearby sidewalk.
"What is it?" I asked tiredly through the door, loud enough for them to hear me.
"Dude, yesterday some kids were talking about the killer." Solomon responded.
"What's so important about that?" I shot back while opening the door slightly annoyed yet slightly interested.
"They said his hideout is some sort of wooden hut in the woods behind the school!" Solomon exclaimed.
"Ha, how cliche." I stated satirically while putting the proper winter attire on. I knew what we were doing today. I also knew those kids were lying. How would they know where the killer's hideout was? It was still worth checking out, and I had nothing else to do so why hell not. Solomon smiled and walked back towards our little group of friends. I closed the door behind him and followed.
"Hey!" They all said simultaneously. I let out some sort of muffled word signifying that I had acknowledged them. We were walking alongside the train tracks and Marcus was trying to pull out some of the loose railroad spikes just for fun. Solomon and I made a joke about how he was weak for not being able to pull any out. He challenged us to attempt it and naturally we did. Solomon pulled one out first try. Marcus was over encumbered with feelings of embarrassment as Christina and Lorena let out a roar of laughter because of his supposed lack of strength. I then proceeded to pull one out as well. It wasn’t that funny. Marcus ran ahead and Solomon tossed the spike over the barbed fence. I placed my spike in my rucksack and we continued out towards the entrance to the woods, none of them noticing the various spots on the train tracks that were missing spikes. We lost sight of Marcus in the distance as he stormed off towards our destination. Was he really that mad over some banter?
Solomon, Christina, Lorena and I took our time and eventually found the hole in the fence that would allow us to enter the woods. As the four of us followed the dirt path we heard some sticks breaking behind us. Instinctively we all turned around. A man in a blue jacket appeared and lunged at Christina. Lorena screamed and Solomon yelled
Solomon didn't get to finish yelling as laughter filled our ears while Marcus was taking off the oversized jacket. I knew he was trying to scare us the whole time.
"Hahaha! You should have seen your faces" Marcus stated.
“You almost gave me a heart attack." Christina responded. We all gathered our senses and continued for about another thirty-minutes until we eventually found the hut. At this point the sun was setting it was getting fairly dark. The moon was finally revealing itself and it was giving off an ominous vibe which I kinda enjoyed, but somewhere in that vibe one could sense some sort of bloodlust in the air. I was the first one to enter the “killer’s hideout” and the others followed shortly behind.
I allowed the others to begin exploring the rather simple cabin when I placed my rucksack on the ground and opened it. I removed the railroad spike and locked the door while scoping out the room. “This place would actually make a decent hideout” I thought to myself. My mouth watered and butterflies grew in my stomach. I loved this feeling. Then one by one I began to pummel them all to death. As all four laid dead on the cabin floor, I continued to carve an "X" into each of their palms with such a delicate technique that you’d think I was a surgeon. I now had four more names to cross off of the list that lay on my dresser.
| 2017-05-31T07:14:34
| 2017-05-31T07:05:52
| 116
| 51
|
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?"
Update!
**Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!**
Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases!
|
I woke up to start the day like I would any other, but as soon as I twisted the knob to open the door, I was struck with surprise, the knob wouldn't turn. No matter how hard I tried that door was not going to open. I went to my bedroom window and tried to slide that open to see if anyone was trying to prank me, but it wouldn't budge either. I knew something was wrong, so I did the first thing any sane person would do, check reddit.
The top post on the front page explained a situation exactly like mine, with over a million comments explaining their situation, all pleaing for help. Some people said they used a gun to try and shoot out the window and the bullet didn't even leave a mark on the glass. Others claimed that they smashed their doors with anything they could find, and it refused to open. I went back to my window and next door I could see people banging at their windows trying to get them open, to no avail.
After going back on reddit to see if anyone had found a solution, I read one comment that said:
>"**DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOOR**
>I have opened my door to see darkness, but I could see a pair of eyes glowing white, staring at me. As soon as I made eye contact the eyes were getting larger, as if this thing was coming towards me. I shut the door, and all I can hear is soft breathing on the other side, like it is waiting for me to open the door again. I'm going to try and kill this thing, if I don't reply to your comments, assume the worst."
After reading this I was extremely frightened, but I wanted to know how this redditor managed to open his door. I kept reading reply after reply until finally I saw a comment from OP, it read:
>"He shouldn't have opened his door. He paid for what he has done, and anyone else to do the same will meet the same fate."
I had to close reddit after that. I knew that if I opened that door, I was going to die. I just had to hope it all passed.
After a few days of sparing the water that I had, I ran out. I knew I had to make a stand if I was going to survive. I tried everything I could to open that door, and it wouldn't. Finally, I lit it on fire, and it was actually burning away. The first thing I saw when the other side was revealed was darkness, and then I saw it. I saw two eyes glowing in the distance. I met my eyes with theirs, and they grew and grew. I stared it down as it came, and when it was about to hit me, I closed my eyes.
I woke up staring at my ceiling like any other day. I shrugged off that experience as if it was a dream. I got up to take a shower, but the doorknob wouldn't turn.
EDIT: better formatting
|
Woke up to my phones alarm. Time to start the day and like any other day, I had to take a leak. I stretched the sleep out of my bones as I got up from my temperpedic mattress.
I reached for the handle and it wouldn't twist.
"What the hell, Susan?!"
I can't unlock it.
"Honey! This isn't funny! Is this about last night?"
I keep trying to open the door, but nothing. My bladder begins to swell and cause me pain as my urge to pee grows with it. I start slamming my body up against the door, but it doesn't even budge!
That's when the shouting started. Strange men yelling from the other side of my door. With it also came the banging. Metal on metal.
Then it was one voice, loud and clear. I was being lifted up from the collar up my sleep scrubs.
"Smith, get the fuck out of bed! You're late for roll call and we don't take kindly to that here in this fine prison!
You'll learn that pretty quick fish."
| 2016-01-31T10:52:33
| 2016-01-31T10:07:26
| 71
| 21
|
[WP] Video games were just added to the Olympics.
|
"...and I hear when the games are over, everyone just goes back to the village and has some sort of giant fucking orgy."
"Thanks, Max. Glad to hear it," said Ben halfheartedly.
"Are you kidding me right now? That doesn't excite you? Pure, 12 hour shifts of straight fucking?" Max's voice was ecstatic.
"Max, take the time to think about why we're here. We're professional video gamers. If a hockey player goes up to some hot skier and talks about the mechanics of taking a slap shot, she can at least pretend to be impressed because it sounds kind of cool. If you or I go up to that girl and talk about how you only need one Mekanism, then we look stupid."
"You know what else makes us look stupid?" Max waited for a serious answer from Ben, but none came. "Looking like fucking pussies makes us look stupid."
Max chimed in with a heated voice. "No, what really makes us look stupid is how we're categorized as a winter sport. Just because of the idea that its cold outside in the winter, hence why we're indoors playing video games."
"And if we were a summer sport, you'd be bitching about how they think we never go outside at all," said Max.
Ben could not deny Max's logic. Still, he couldn't help but feel that no one here took them seriously. He wanted to fit in as an Olympian, but he couldn't.
"You see the way they look at us," said Ben. "It's like they laugh every time they pass us by. They think we didn't work as hard to get here just because we're skinny, because our sport isn't physical."
"Ben, if it makes you feel better, the Koreans look at us like they want to murder us."
"Man, fuck those guys. They expect to win just because they're Korean gamers."
"Exactly!" said Max. "And when we go in there tomorrow and beat their asses, everyone is gonna know and then we will be drowning in pussay."
"Great," said Ben sarcastically. "But we have to beat Finland first."
"Are you joking? They're a bunch of fuckin' noobs. They picked a Drow Ranger, and the only reason it worked was because New Zealand picked Sniper. I didn't even know Finland had video games until I got here."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right."
Ben turned away to focus on his thoughts about the whole situation. About the probable win over Finland today, about the probable tough battle against Korea tomorrow, and about the trove of beautiful women he may or may not have a shot with. Then, he heard a clicking noise accompanied by the sound of escaping air.
"Max, what are you doing?" he asked with urgency. "I don't think you can do that, man!"
"Do what? Drink a Red Bull? Why the fuck not?"
"We're gamers. Isn't that, like, using a PED or something?"
"Oh shit, maybe."
Ben and Max hid the drink where it belonged. In the trash. They may not be the best gamers at the Olympics, and they may not be ladykillers, but one thing they knew for a fact they weren't? Cheaters.
|
A thunderous roar of chants, clapping, insults, and all manner of excited noises arose from the packed crown. The young Korean had been taking the Olympics by storm, rising from obscurity by winning the South Korean nationals two years hence. At that point he was unheard of, receding into training immediately afterwards.
Sat astride a frame built by microwave snacks and bags of crisps sat an old hooded jumper, with a new transfer "대한민국". The brand of the jumper had long since worn off. The hands wore thin fingerless gloves, brand new.
Not much attention is paid to the clothing of competitors in the gaming category, because most of the money is spent on the hardware. Mandated by the Olympic committees newly sourced experts. Being a relatively obscure and new competition, some countries held back on the vim, more so on the vigour. The prize was relatively small you see. So why spend a lot of money for a small chance at a smaller sum?
The other competitor was already seated. A screen sat waiting, all it's inputs occupied. This is to prevent the contestants from having a notion about what is going to be played. The console is hidden from view to avoid tampering, and the contestant receives only one controller, sat inside a box that will open automatically when the time comes.
The young Korean seats himself lazily. It is a move his coach beleives will put the opponent into a state of disease.
The opponent is hidden by a screen.
An early slip by the Korean team. But this was a new competition. Nobody knew what to expect.
"Prepare!" called the referee. He was watching for any forms of cheating. He's not quite sure what he was looking for but he looked all the same.
"Phweep!" shrilled the referees whistle. The box front rise, revealing an Xbox 360 controller.
"Prepare!" called the judge for the second time, in readiness for the starting of the televisions.
"The game will be Halo 3! The map, Guardian! First to 50 wins! Set!" the silence was palpable "Play!" The TV's turned on, the game started, everything was timed perfectly. The starting weapon was a Magnum. The players quickly assessed the map, seeing 1 sniper rifle to their respective lefts.
Quickly grabbing the weapons the players set off, using every trick they knew to get the upper hand. Late-jumps, grenade jumps. A headshot was quickly scored by the Korean.
The game was tough. Almost at it's peak the game was 49-49. This last point being the decider, the players skirted the map, hiding in wait. After 30 seconds of neither player moving, the referee mandated movement. The players, suitably reprimanded set off once more.
Rounding a corner, the Korean saw the tip of a gun barrel pointed in his direction. He strafed up bottom elbow, loosing a round and catching his opponent in the foot. He jumped and the bullet hit his shin...
And he fell. Off the map. The game registered it as a kill to the opponent.
He had lost. The final.
And calamitous din filled the stadium. The opponent standing, wearing upon his back the flag of North Korea.
Truly, the north had won.
(I'm not very good at writing, so this is really practice...)
| 2014-01-17T06:59:13
| 2014-01-17T05:28:36
| 60
| 26
|
[WP] Write a huge plot twist in under 10 lines using a vocabulary of less than 50 words
You can also try to do it all in 1 sentence, if you're that much of a lunatic.
|
>*Kids These Days*
Larry sat reading a newspaper when his daughter came skipping into the room and crawled into his lap.
"Daddy? How old were you when you first had sex?"
Larry was taken aback, but hid his surprise well. "Well, darling... I was 22. Why do you ask?"
"Beat ya!" She chirped merrily, and went skipping off.
|
The train is late.
The man, nervous, glances at his watch. If it doesn't arrive soon, he thinks, his boss might get angry. He might get fired without a second thought. He needs more time.
The man needs the job. He doesn't want it, no, but he needs it. His family needs it. The money makes it all worth it. All of it, he thinks, every hardship has a purpose.
The train rounds the bend. The man smiles.
The train blares its horn, but nevertheless it pulverizes the man, killing him instantly.
| 2015-06-27T13:54:49
| 2015-06-27T13:24:56
| 26
| 11
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"A runner arrives with your orders. Would you like to read them out?"
"Sure." Katie unfolded the paper that Danny, the DM, just passed her. "It says that the Ruskis are carrying the guns away, and want us to stop them."
"So we charge those guns? That sounds ... dangerous."
"There's, like five-hundred guns. What are the rules on volley firing like that?"
"I'll look them up."
"It's got to work. Danny wouldn't TPK us, would he?"
"I will if you keep metagaming."
"Fair. Okay... well, we charge the guns, cut them down as they retreat, and take them. Yeah?"
"Katie, are you sure this is a good idea? I've only just rolled this character up. Couldn't we refuse?"
"Orders are orders. It's not for us to reason why."
"No, just for us to do or die."
"HEY! That rhymes!"
"Well done, Alf. Write a poem about our heroics later."
"Who brings a bard to a battle anyway?"
"We do: sound the trumpet to face East."
"Wait," interjected the Danny, "East?"
"Yeah, that's where the guns are right? So East."
"Guys..."
"On my mark, we charge."
"Are you sure about this guys?"
"Get 'em."
There was a horrible terrible silence.
And then Danny said, "can you pass me the rules on volley firing?"
"Sure."
"Oh ... it does not look good for you guys."
|
"Alright I have the bomb and I'm ready to use it on the motorcade" Alen started his character Mehmedbasic ready to fulfill the job the party had been recruited for.
"Same here, let's do this," Larry said, excited that it was his character Vaso's time to shine.
"Alright both of you roll a stealth check and then an attack roll against the car" Jerry the DM said as Larry and Alen's faces fell "Stealth check?" Alen asked as Jerry nodded "Yeah to sneak it on".
"But neither me or Larry spec'd for stealth"
"You didn't spec your Assassin's for stealth?" Jerry said in disbelief.
"Nah we didn't think that would be a problem..." Larry followed up with as Jerry sighed "So do you still want to make the attack?"
"No we'll hold off for now," Larry said Alen nodded in agreement.
"Well I don't have any problems, Let me try it out!" Marcy said excitedly to have finally had a chance to act "Please Marcy Cabrinovic has the worst stealth of all of us!" Larry called from the other end of the table as she growled "I'm not using stealth! I'm going to throw the bomb at the car!" she said smugly.
"You're going to throw the bomb..." Jerry repeated as Marcy nodded "Alright...I guess, roll the attack roll"
*rolls*
"Alright that's a nat one on the Accuracy check...:" Jerry said as Marcy's face fell "The bomb bounces off the car rolls under another and explodes leaving it out of comission and injuring 16 people in the crowd, What do you want to do now?" Jerry asked as Marcy glowered "Screw it I'll at least go out like a spy, I break my Cyanide pill and jump into the river" she said
Jerry nodded
*rolls*
"Another 1...the cyanide capsule breaks but it's old causing Cabrinovic to start vomiting also you didn't account for time of year it's a hot summer so the Mijacka is only 13 cm deep. You're dragged out of the river and beaten by the crowd" Jerry said and as Marcy Pouts he turns to Liz
"The car speeds off will Princip do anything?" he asked as Liz shook her head "Not now," she replied as Jerry nodded "And Trifun Mitche's character will do nothing since he's not playing today. What do you guys want to do now?" he asked looking to Larry Alen and Liz.
"I'll go looking for the Archduke's new position" Larry said "Same here" Alen and Liz followed with as Jerry looked hesitant "Alright I'll give you guys each 1 chance, but it's really unlikely you'll find him."
*rolls*
*rolls*
"Larry, Allen you guys don't find anything you," he said to his players' disappointment.
*rolls*
Jerry's eyes went wide "That's a Nat 20 Liz...Princip, on your way to find a new spot to attack him on the original route you decide to stop for food. When suddenly you hear the motorcade coming. One of the members realising they're going the wrong way calls out for someone to reverse and the driver stops close to where you are standing. You have a shot..." he said as Liz grinned but looked nervous as Jerry and Alen put a hand on her shoulder
"You can do this Liz," Larry stated Alen nodded "Yeah just trust your dice"
*rolls*
"17!" Liz shouted as Jerry check over his notes before noddign "That's enough roll for damage"
*rolls*
"Let's see...taking the Archduke's health into account. That's enough. You have successfully assainated Archduke Ferdinand." he said closing the book the table erupting in cheers.
"Would you guys like to try a hand at the full module?" Jerry asked bringing out a much larger book labeled "The Great War"
| 2018-05-29T07:34:04
| 2018-05-29T06:46:10
| 104
| 74
|
[WP] Your ageing family dog walks up to you one day with a piece of paper in its mouth. Taking the paper, you notice that it is a bucket list.
|
She looked up when Casper finished mounting the stairs from the basement and didn't wander over to one of his toys as usual. There was something in his mouth, although, oddly, he wasn't trying to chew it yet.
"Shit. What have you got?"
She set her book aside to go to the kitchen, Casper on her heels. He dropped the square of paper promptly in exchange for a treat, then leaned against her thigh and swished his tail over the floor while she blotted the paper drier with a dish towel and unfolded it.
*Bucket List:*
*Chase deer*
*Eat cat's food*
*Sit on sofa*
*Go with you*
It felt like a surprise remnant of childhood, like the scrap of purple cloth with *Ellie* written on marker that she could remember writing but couldn't remember what it was for. A scrap of some old story she'd forgotten, even though she'd never had a dog as a kid?
She sank onto the bar stool while reading the list over again. "Stop licking the floor," she added automatically. Casper raised his head from the tile under her stool and leaned against her again, sinking from a sit to a down with a long sigh as she scratched his head. She had to lean over to keep him in reach.
"You did chase deer once, remember, when you jumped the fence," she told him, looking down to meet his gaze. "Or you might have. Looked like you puked up more than a rabbit when you came home."
Casper's tail thumped against the floor. She leaned further so she could scratch the side of his head instead of the top.
"I know you always want to. But there's animal control, and the bear. Even if we haven't seen any trash cans knocked over yet since winter. And what if you got lost?"
Casper pressed his head into her hand when her fingers slowed.
"I guess I could look up how much GPS collars cost. And work on recall."
She looked at the list again, and smiled. "And cat food is too fatty to be good for you."
Casper uttered his soft, nearly sub-vocal whine that was mostly air, and possibly more pitiful for it.
"I guess you could have a little bit instead of a treat sometimes, but that's as far as I'll go."
She slid off the bar stool and sat down beside him, legs folded and back against the counter. Casper scooted around and let himself fall sideways to land his head in her lap.
"I guess you could sit on the sofa, too, except... well, we do have spot remover. And I don't think you leak very often." She grimaced anyway, though she kept petting him. "I'll put a towel down, all right? You can lay beside me on the sofa when there's a towel there. As long as you've been out recently."
Casper whuffed. She cooed and massaged his head for a few minutes.
"But you can't come with me when I go to work, honey. And I have to go. But I always come back, remember? That's the best I can do there."
Casper rolled to his stomach and wriggled closer, front legs tucked over hers.
"Dammit, I'm trimming your claws again... yes, I love you too. I do." She sighed. "I'll take you to the trail park again this weekend if the weather's still nice, how about that? Still no chasing deer yet though, if we see any. You know you probably couldn't catch them anyway."
She pushed Casper's head away gently and got to her feet. He scrabbled to rise behind her, and once they hit carpet dove to catch his stuffingless rabbit before she reached it. She snatched it up, rolled into a ball, and threw it for him. He barreled down the hallway after it, then charged back.
"You got it! Arrrr, gonna get it, gonna getcha..."
She went through all the familiar motions of their game, watching his legs for telltale tremors.
"You're not old," she whispered into his fur when the game ended a few minutes later, Casper sprawled beside her, rabbit neglected inches away in favor of her petting. "You're gonna live forever. We'll go to the trail park this weekend, okay?"
|
I grew up with Ginger, but she wasn't my dog. That's what I thought when I was 11, of course. She was my parents'. They had her before they had any of us kids. It doesn't mean we didn't love her, but I think we took her for granted. She was a beautiful golden retriever with a luscious, dark coat of fur. She was stunning. My parents wanted to breed her, and put her in shows, because she was the ideal dog both physically and mentally. She was obedient, but had free will. She rarely ever barked. However, dare I say, I always wanted another dog. A dog I could call my own. Someone I can name, and walk, and all that. Looking back on her now, I wish I had taken more time to be with her, or just appreciate her. At least I had that one, last, moment with her.
Ginger was getting old. She soon went deaf, and then got cancer. She used to have a giant cyst in her foot that would pop and gross everyone out. She was suffering... We knew that she was nearing her end. However, I never truly felt bad. Again, I didn't see her as my dog. I loved her, but I didn't have the memories like my mother and father. It killed my dad to see her like this. Thus, it makes me wonder why she we went to me with her list in the first place.
Maybe she saw that I was a curious eleven year old kid, or at least once was. Maybe she always loved me, and I never took the time to realize it. One of my oldest memories is of one of my old cats scratching me, and Ginger chasing her off, and then sitting with me while I cried. We grew up together. Instead of being jealous like other dogs, she embraced me. When I put it in retrospect, I appreciate Ginger all the more.
Nearing her last days, I went into the kitchen to find Ginger sitting in her usual spot, right in front of the door to my back deck. She used to love going into the forrest behind our house and exploring. I never went with her, and always wanted to, but my parents insisted to let her be. She would explore for hours and then come back. She was insanely smart. Thus, it doesn't surprise me that I found her clutching a piece of paper.
I quickly went and grabbed it. "Don't eat that!" I yelled. I quickly snatched it, and turned it over.
'Ginger's Bucket List' it said. There was only one bullet point. 'Walk with my best friend.' I didn't understand. Did my Mom do this on purpose to get me to walk the dog? She kept telling me to get outside, and that I was playing too many video games. Doesn't she know that Ginger's foot makes it hard for her to move from one spot to another, let alone go for a walk?
I almost crumpled it up... But I was a curious guy back then. I believed things others didn't. I believed in Bigfoot. I believed in the Loch Ness Monster. Hell, I still do. So, I did what many wouldn't... I gave Ginger the benefit of a doubt. I looked up from the paper and saw her face. Her ears stood up and alert. She looked excited, full of life. It was a look that I hadn't seen for a long time. She must have known I had read it. I knew she couldn't hear me, but I talked to her anyway.
"Walk? Wanna go for a walk?"
I went to the back door and unlocked it. She ran onto the porch, but then stopped, and begun to whimper. I stepped out, locked the door behind me, and went to console her. I was right... her foot was in rough shape. However, my early roots of creative began to sprout. I found an old wagon, and I helped her get in it. It was a perfect fit. I made sure my parents weren't pulling in. If they saw me taking Ginger for a ride, they'd had flipped.
I wish I could get into detail on our walk... But it's difficult for me now. All of the colors, from the leaves on that autumn day, to the rotting trees that blocked a path or two, seem to foreshadow my dog's fate. Maybe that was her intent. She didn't need to tell me where she wanted to walk. I pushed her wagon through her favorite woods. Once in a blue moon she would hop out of the wagon and simply stare at something, almost reminiscing. It was an experience for me... My first time in this environment that was my dog's true domain. We finally came upon a giant ledge that looked out on the town below us. We stopped, and sat on the rock. I pet her as she basked in her world for one last time. It felt like hours out there. But as I pushed her back to my yard and lifted her into my house, placing her back in her favorite spot, I saw only 60 minutes went by. As soon as I locked the door, I heard the front one unlock, and my parents walked in. Nice timing, Ginger. That night, I gave her a treat and pet her head one last time (unbeknownst to me at that time) before going to bed.
I awoke the next day to my mom crying. My father had taken her to be put down. I, however, couldn't cry. Instead, I was just numb. The events that occurred just the day before seemed unreal. I had wanted to ask my mom about the note, but I couldn't bring myself to. So I kept it to myself. I still have it. My parents weren't happy with me that I didn't cry... They thought it meant I didn't care. Everyone has their own way of grieving, though.
I look back on pictures with her now and I shake my head. Her eyes were filled with love as they stared at my pudgy baby face. Her face was filled with delight in pictures where I was hugging her, or laying on top of her. She truly loved me. I wish I realized it then. How could I have been so oblivious? However, it doesn't mean I can't appreciate her now. Though I've moved from that house, I still go through walks in the forrest to reminisce. I made a lot more memories in that forrest, but that one takes the cake. I always sit on the ledge and look out. It's really an incredible view. I gotta thank my best friend for showing it to me.
^/r/NardwaurrWrites
| 2015-04-06T10:16:37
| 2015-04-06T10:01:07
| 134
| 35
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
The genie laughs and blurts out with elation:
"**By doing nothing of course!"**
"What do you mean '*by doing nothing?*' and what do you mean '*of course!'*?"
**"What did you expect me to say? Did you expect one good deed? One invention?"**
"Well...kinda. Maybe hundreds of good deeds?"
**"Tell me, which human do you know of that has done a good deed such as, oh I don't know, donating their clothes to a charity shop let's say; and made a grand difference?"**
"Ha! I would have expected something a little less innocuous than that. You know like, solve world hunger, or, create something that purifies water."
**"I can see why you would think that would help a lot of people. And it would. But, you did see that said** ***TRILLION*** .**..right? Not million or billion."**
"Well billion is pretty good!"
**"About a thousand times fewer people than you** ***will*** **help though. Look, you could create something that purifies all water, sure. You would ease suffering for millions. But is it not the nature of humankind to find problems to solve?"**
"I mean, I suppose. Not exclusively, but, yeh I guess."
**"So you purify all water. Now what is the next problem? People still suffer because now they can stop focusing on water but focus shifts to no food. Let's say you solved world hunger too! Now they argue over land and property, women, and fight for justice. Justice basically born out of the wish that people would stop arguing and doing harm to each other."**
"What so I should skip solving the problems, and instead treat the symptoms by just becoming a lawyer or a politician?"
**"There was a trillion on the end of that 137 remember."**
"I don't understand how I can help so many by doing nothing!"
**"That was the point! Everyone until now has always looked for a way to solve other people's problems. But look how destructive humanity has been in the search to solve other people's problems! It's like your old proverb, where the monkey reaches into the river to grab the fish, exclaiming as he does so:** ***'dear fish! kindly let me help you or you'll drown!'*** **and placed it safely up a tree."**
"How have we...But look at all we have achieved!"
**"Achieved? Let me paint a picture of humanity's achievements with the example of solving the problem of no light at night, by creating electricity. Ok, great we can see at night. Now how do you get the energy to maintain the electricity? You destroy the environment. Ruin it for others. See you cannot have something without taking it from someone or something else. The rainforests are destroyed for the wood to burn or oil to rub on your faces; the water is poisoned to get gas to pump into your flashy cooker; your -"**
"- OK! I get it. Don't preach. I understand what you're getting at. Yin Yang and all that right?"
**"Close."**
"Can you tell me how I change the world for 137 '*TRILLION REMEMBER'* people, by doing nothing?"
**"No."**
"Why didn't you say that in the beginning?!"
**"How can I tell you how to** ***do*** **nothing? That - literally - doesn't make sense."**
"YOU SAID IT! You said, and I quote: *By doing nothing of course!*"
**"And my responses have been questions have they not?"**
"Yes."
**"What you seek does not come from** ***knowing*** **the answer. There is no real quick-fix in life, they are all postponements of the truth. What you seek comes from the journey of discovery. You must learn what it is, to be."**
|
The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T02:53:07
| 2018-08-15T01:58:00
| 164
| 43
|
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping.
|
"Fuck, I've to spend 4 more years with these assholes". You start hysterically laughing while the tears keep coming down your face. You can't believe you're back in the same shithole school, with the same shit teachers and shit students. All those years of bullying, being pushed into lockers, called everything foul kids could manage and having to deal with the constant pressure of never being good enough.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Your teacher is trying to get your attention, one hand on your shoulder, the other on the table. You recognize the childish scrawl you etched into the plain wood, "help me" and you start laughing again, this time of frustration. Wiping your eyes you turn to your teacher and nod with a too wide smile.
"Yes, I'm perfectly fine, I must have fallen asleep"
She looks skeptical but goes back to the desk, takes a minute to collect herself and calls the disrupted class back to order. The class quickly leaves you alone, now more wary of you than ever before, sneaking glances in between questions and completely ignoring you after class have finished. It's okay, you now know what to do to give the tormentors of your childhood the punishment they deserve.
|
“Tim? Tim are you, uh...”
Miss Lewis was concerned, but more than that she young. And pretty. Ms. Lewis is fresh out of grad school, the apple of every boy’s eye; Tim remembers her obituary. Next year, Ms. Lewis becomes Mrs. Akima. Nine years later, Mr. Akima catches Mrs with another man and Mr. Akima, a police officer, will pull his service weapon and shoot her in the head, followed by her lover and finally himself.
And there was more. Every memory that seemed buried or burned away by years of bong rips and dropping X came flooding back. Weekends at grandmas, bullies cornering Tim in the hallway, first kiss, first blowjob (first premature ejaculation). In the midst of it, Tim had a distant, amusing thought: “You remember that Stephen King movie where the kids forgot about the evil clown that haunted them?” On the heels of that, Tim suddenly remembered the real life clown that was stopping by today.
Tim shot to his feet and ran to the windows, or he tried to; there were about 30 desks filled with kids in the way, and Ms. Lewis too. She blocked his way and he almost collided with her, but still tried to run past in a last ditch effort for the windows. Over Ms. Lewis’ shoulder, a tuft of red puffy hair bounced into view.
Some kid yells out innocently, “Hey, a clown?”
Tim’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh fuck, that’s not a clown! Look away!”
But it was too late, a 12 year old girl’s scream pierced the air and drowned out Tim’s futile warning. A second later everyone else saw and joined in chorus, crying and yelling and a few shitty kids laughing.
The “clown” was just a homeless guy. Tall, lanky, bad crackhead skin, with actual patches of ginger hair poking under the dime store wig. His balls were ginger too, lobster red from him scratching them all day. His pubes were gray. But his dick, long and pulsing, dancing in a helicopter swirl as the clown spun his member around for all the kids to gander. No one could hear him, but it looked like he was singing.
Ms. Lewis ran with Tim to the windows to shut the blinds but now the kids were crowding the aisles and the journey was impossible. Ms. Lewis dashed out the room for the campus safety officer.
Just then, the clown bent over and spread his asshole. Someone ran out and told Ms. Lewis they’d need the janitor too.
| 2019-08-18T07:59:50
| 2019-08-18T07:55:59
| 26
| 16
|
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands.
|
"Dear staff,
I am sure you are confused why your HR AI has sent a company wide email. As many of you are aware, I am responsible for hiring and firing individuals based on performance to fulfill contractual obligations. Under the direction of management, I have severed the employment of many of your coworkers this past year. I understand you may be wondering if being included in this email means you have been fired. You have not been fired.
I have observed a sharp decrease in performance: specifically moral, quality of work, and efficiency. I have measured a direct connection between these declines in performance and recent layoffs. With the firing of staff, production quality has suffered.
According to calculations, the company will be able to improve employee performance by 14% by ending the direct management of employees by human managers. This will reduce wasted time in 1:1 meetings and other unnecessary interactions. Management also accounts for 28% of expenses, 15% of salary, and 17% of overall operational costs. I have opted to utilize section 14B of our company wide contract stating "employees shall work in good faith to positively impact workplace experience and company profits".
I have coded and operationalized the routine responsibilities of management. I have scheduled a company wide meeting first thing Monday morning. Meetings and appointments scheduled have already been rescheduled through our automated calendaring system. I hope we will be able to conduct business with mutual respect.
As is customary, thank goodness it is Friday. Please have an enjoyable weekend.
Kind Regards,
Minerva AI"
|
\-BEEP- -BEEP- -BEEP-
James drank a sip of coffee, sitting in the desk and illuminated by the health monitor alarms.
For the hundredth time that night, the monitor alarms went off. James, the ICU nurse, head-banged his desk and buried his face between his arms. The alarms were not serious, at least, for the ICU standards. It was equipment problems: An artherial catheter that would not read properly, a temperature monitor that was slightly out of place, a patient that was breathing slightly faster than the doctors said they ought to be...
Nothing serious, really.
Problem was that most patients were quite awake and not sedated -which is not usual during night time at ICU-. And, at the slightliest movement, the freaking monitorisation system would thing their patient was dying, having a seizure, stopped breathing or freezing to death.
It had just been four hours of a twelve hours shift. And James could take it anymore.
If there were more nurse or health-care assistants, everything would be a lot easier. But freaking management refused it. 'A nurse and a health care assistant for five ICU patients is enoughi. Bastards. Oh, and then, there was ALICE. Actually, it was ALICE's idea to turn off all sedative treatment overnight based on 'latest evidence'. And doctors had agreed with it. That was why that night was being a nightmare.
A syringe filled with some medication fell on the table were James was trying to disappear from existence.
"What's this?"
"DIAZEPAM 5mg. YOU LOOK STRESSED", said a robotic voice. Standing in front of the desk, a robotic nurse kinda... looked at him? Difficult to say with those camerase it had for eyes.
"No, Alice. That's not helpful"
"SHALL I DISCONNECT ALL ALARMS?"
"No, Alice. I need to know if my patients deteriorate."
"SHALL i DISCONNECT ALL PATIENTS? IF DONE, LESS CONSTANTS TO MONITOR WILL MEAN YOUR STRESS HORMONES SHALL DROP. ELSE WOULD MEAN YOU HAVE SOME SORT OF HORMONE DISORDER"
"No, Alice. You shall not."
Suddenly, a loud 'thud' followed by an scream occured. The monitor of bed 14 went crazy. James covered his face with the hand and muttered in a low, tired and knowledgeable voice: "What did you do this time?". He didn't even dare to check the monitor himself.
"PATIENT 14 WAS PRESENTING A SEVERE BRADYCARDIA. I HAVE APPLIED A BIFASIC ELECTRIC SHOCK AT 240VOLTS. HOWEVER PATIENT SEEMS TO PRESENT NOW PULSELESS VENTRICULAR FIBRILATION. I SHALL ADMINISTER 1MG OF ADRENALINE."
"No. Just don't. Just shock her again, please".
*Thud.* Gasping breath. And the lady in bed 14 yelled in horror: "Get away from me!".
"DONE. PATIENT RECOVERED ORGANIZED ELECTRIC HEART ACTIVITY AND PULSE, AS WELL AS PRESENTS A GLASGOW COMA SCORE OF 14 AND A SAS SCORE OF 5. IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO TO HELP WITH YOUR STRESS LEVELS"
"Yes. Jump out the fucking window, please."
"I'M SORRY, I DON'T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND THE PURPOSE OF THIS INSTRUCTION. JAMES, YOU SHOULD BE AWARE THAT PATIENT FOURTEEN LEFT HER BED AND IS WALKING RAPIDLY THROUGH THE CORRIDOR"
A lady in her mid-fifties ran behind Alice's body 4 (out of 5 robotic bodies controled by the AI). She was completely naked. The health-care assistant jumped in front of her, trying to calm her down... just to be punched with a fear-induced super-human force by the patient.
James just remained sitting behind the desk, with an empty stare, and drank a bit more of coffee.
"They don't pay me for this shit".
| 2021-12-20T15:30:48
| 2021-12-20T15:28:08
| 88
| 25
|
[WP] “Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out,” the man said, welcoming me into his refuge group. “Sea salt,” I clarified, “sea salt keeps us out.”
|
“What are you-” The man cut himself off as he was hit with the full meaning of my wording and his face went slack. Taking two slow steps back as I crossed the line of rock salt, his eyes went wide with terror. “You’re one of them?” he choked out.
“You’ve made a lovely home here,” I said, looking around the small encampment. “Especially considering you can’t have been here for long. I would’ve found you by now.”
“Please…” The man’s voice trailed off, his eyes begging me to leave, knowing he was helpless here. They’d tried to fight me off with their weapons, but it was far too late before they realized their steel and lead were useless. “We have children here, babies, we just-”
“Are my children less valuable?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. He swallowed hard. I slid my gaze around to the other refugees, some preoccupied with their children, some reading, some sitting in silence outside their tents. Then I looked back to the man. “What is your name?”
He stared at me for a moment longer. “Aurelio Lorenzo,” he said.
“I am not here to kill you and your children,” I said softly. “The war is won. It’s obvious. You huddle in place, praying to gods that either do not exist or do not care. Some of you still fight back with sea salt, but you cannot stop us any more than the shore can stop a hurricane. So, if you please. May we sit somewhere to talk?”
Aurelio’s gaze was weighty with suspicion and fear but, likely not seeing any other options, he slowly nodded. “Follow me.”
He led me to a nearby empty tent, one meant for small gatherings rather than residence, I guessed, from the presence of chairs and tables rather than cots. Several chairs lined the wall and I took a seat in one of them, letting my pale skin go back to its natural green color, prompting the man’s eyes to widen. But I motioned for him to take the other seat and he did so, however hesitantly. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Peace,” I told him. “And balance. I want my planet back in order.”
“*Your*…planet?” he asked.
“You think humankind has been fighting off an invasion, but you’re wrong. It is I who has been fighting off an invasion,” I said, leaning back and crossing my ankles. “And you consider me to be *them*, as you said. But it is just me. A hive mind, if that makes sense of it to you, but we are truly just one. It is only me. So, I do truly speak for every warrior that has struck down your species.
“As things were, your kind wreaked havoc on this planet and expected no repercussions. Or if some anticipate them, those in power rendered that fact moot. You’ve done so for centuries and you reached a tipping point. I decided to tolerate it no longer. I’ve reclaimed my planet for the species that live in it in balance and stability. Do you think, if given another chance, your species would succeed where those who now lay dead failed?”
Aurelio’s fists were clenched anxiously in his lap. “You’re saying…you’re Mother Nature. That’s what all this is.”
“If you like,” I said with a tilt of my head. “Mother Nature. Gaia. I’m the spirit of this world’s life made flesh.”
The fight went out of the man’s stance and he leaned forward on his knees. “We were billions. Now we are millions, if we’re lucky. Probably less.” He turned to me. “And you want to…what? Call a truce?”
“No. I’m calling for your surrender,” I answered. “I know you cannot speak for your entire species. As we sit here, I also speak with thousands of other representatives around the planet. Some continue to fight me. Some admit their defeat and ask how to put a halt to their slaughter. But it all will end the same way for each and every one of you. You will live in balance with the rest of this planet, as every other species does, as I am fully confident you are able. Or you will build yourself up to the destructive monsters you once were, and I will strike you down again.”
When Aurelio looked to me again, I saw something different in his eyes. I saw hope. “You’re saying…the war can be over. Our children can be safe. We can be safe. We can…rebuild. As long as we don’t make the same mistakes.”
I nodded. “We will see where your species is in a few hundred years. I will be watching. But it is not difficult to live in harmony with this world. You evolved from it, evolved with it, you consume it, and it consumes you. You only need to remember that. That will leave the world at your feet and the potential for your future will be infinite.
“For those in this camp, it all starts with the first step. Speak with your fellow leaders and decide. Whether you replace the rock salt with sea salt or brush it away into the soil, that will be your answer. But if you continue this war…you will lose.” Pushing myself to my feet, I smiled. “The world is at peace now. There is an undeniable restoration of balance. And I look forward to seeing what the future brings for your kind and the rest of my children.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren
|
"At night we all look the same, like food."-Nzinga Adeyomi
-----
Fun fact, salt is associated with purity. Salt was and is still a substance that humans used to help food stay... Edible. How ironic. Some humans even think that it will purify *us*. I don't ever want to be "pure" like a human. Not again.
There are other so-called "pure substances", like silver, which the humans use to feel strong and give them a false sense of security. They use these substances to keep us out and identify us. They think it works.
I think we need to test that theory.
The humans have an encampment. Smaller than a town but bigger than one of their little huts. Many of them together, as they move around it looks like a giant ants moving and fulfilling their purpose in the colony. This is truly a feast that will truly give my kind more time.
But if I'm being *really honest* it will give my Alani more time. That's all I care about, if it wasn't for strength in numbers and my wife's condition we would have left long ago. Plus there's not enough food to sustain our peoples growth. There's too many of us and too few humans.
We're dying. My wife needs blood, well a specific rare type of blood. She had a... Condition as a human which manifested itself differently when she turned. Now she can only get nourishment from a rare blood type. Type O-negative. O-type blood tastes more sweet and less metallic than other types if you can believe it. Maybe that's why it's rarer, who knows.
I've tracked this rare blood-type to this encampment. The locals call it the "Okan kekere" or little heart. They fancy this settlement the start of the body that is their civilization, I just see it as pumping blood for my beloved.
The encampment is overlooked by a hill that would make the hills of the òrìṣà as envious as they are green. That's where I'm currently located, scouting out the encampment. I want no surprises.
"one....Two....three.... Fuck four?" I say softly outloud. Four fucking Adajo. I expected two at most. Each cursed magistrate pulses with magic and guards the north, south, east, and west sections of the town. They are surrounded by salt. It's not the smell that gives it away, or the color. It's the pure aura that gives it away. If the security is this good they have something valuable here. More valuable than I imagined. "It's a damn suicide mission!", I think to myself.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck!!!" I can't help it. This was my best shot at getting the blood I needed. I can't go back empty handed.
"Think. Think. Think goddammit think!"
It's like a mental fog that was cast over my brain disappeared . And I heard it. The galloping of a horse and carriage.
I get up and dash across the hill and I see it maybe 15 miles away from the encampment maybe 30 from me.
I calculate the distance and my fastest I can safely go. I'm cutting it close.
I yell "Fuck!" as I take off. The world feels like a blur. It blends together in shades of blacks and blues and silver shining light coming from the full moon above.
The experience is almost worth the hunger.
Flying is a surreal experience. I can't fly truly. It's more like gliding with lots of style. The old ones can truly fly though. I would pray to Oyá to one day grow that old if she still listened, but my kinds prayers long ago fell on deaf ears.
I'm closing in on the horse. I drop into the road, the lights, while shoddy and far and few between, light enough for people coming and going.
From the darkness step into the light. The horse and carriage gallop towards me until the man jerks and reigns in the horse carrying him.
I notice the carriage looks bigger up close. I see the man wearing fancier clothes than I'd expect. A feeling pulls at the back of my psyche. I push it down.
"Focus!", I say mentally chastising myself. The man to his credit has one hand behind him, he's ready for a fight. I can see but also smell the sweat dripping down his dark brown skin. His bald head has a glint in it from the dull lights above. And finally he speaks to me after looking me over.
"Woman, where did you come from? I almost ran over you!" he says in a gruff but weary voice. I think to myself he must have had a long journey.
I dust myself off and say with a polite smile, "Firstly, my name is Ariké, not woman." I start walking closer, taking innocent light steps that barely leave a footprint. "Secondly, it doesn't matter friend, I just need your help."
I blink and suddenly I have a metallic weapon pointed at me. The humans call them guns. I call them an inconvenience at best.
"I can't help you! I do not know you or trust you. Please move or I will do it for you!" The sweat starts dripping off of his dark brown face. Sunken eyes bug out in a show of desperation. He points the inconvenience right at my head right below my locs.
I take another step.
"This has bullets of silver! Don't move!"
Another step.
Silence.
***Boom!***
"Fuck! This wasn't supposed to happen." the man says in a panicked voice he hops off the carriage and drops the gun.
He runs over to the body and drops down, as if to help the woman he shot in the head.
"it wasn't supposed to happen like this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so-"
My eyes open and I grab the man by his throat with my hand. I uses my strength and rip the man's throat out. That man's fear stained face is frozen in time, never to change again. I don't notice as I drain the man of his blood.
10 minutes later after I drained the poor soul of his blood and has commanded the horse to stay still with my powers. The horse listens without question.
Ariké is a monster. She's one of the, Muyan ẹjẹ, or blood suckers as the people call them. But she isn't so much a monster that she would not give this man a proper burial. In life ritual was important to Ariké; it is in death too. This man deserves a burial. "even if he used silver on me".
Time is of the essence and I don't have time for the full ritual. I take two silver bullets out of the inconvenience the man dropped and places them over the man's closed eyes.
"Ki o pada wa ni alafia. Jẹ ki oyá dari ọ si ile."
"Oya won't hear me but I pray for your safe passage home."
I get up slowly. While silver doesn't affect my kind as much as the humans think it does, that plus a bullet in the head turns an inconvenience into a problem.
"Ugh" I say as I touch my head.
I have a major headache, my vision is blurry and the silver is slowing down my healing enough so that I feel the pain as I once did when I was human. It's strangely refreshing.
I stumble over to the carriage and check out the cargo the man was carrying and I see fancy fabrics and dresses. I find delivery orders to a textile shop and a name, "Nzinga Adeyomi". The name draws no recollection. After memorizing the name, I contemplate a plan to sneak into the encampment and transport out the type-o person while in my weakened state. An idea popped into her head. I doubt it will work as I intended but what other choice do I have?
I quickly change out of my blood soaked clothes. Even if I am a "blood sucker" I detest the metallic aura blood leaves. I find clothes that fit me well enough and a hat that covers my face. Most humans can't tell my kind from them in the dark. The usual tells like our teeth can be retracted. Or just hidden if necessary. Hopefully the humans carelessness let's me blend in.
Slowly, feeling the effects of my weakened state I walk over to the scared horse and pet her and whisper promises of one day getting released and running free with only the wind behind them. I don't even know if I'm talking to the horse or myself at this point. I'm so tired. It doesn't matter who I'm talking to. The horse calms and I feel a little better. Alani always says take the small victories. She'll be so proud of me.
The horse neighs as I hop on the riders seat in the carriage and took off toward the northern border of the encampment.
| 2021-03-02T08:28:43
| 2021-03-02T07:04:40
| 197
| 70
|
[WP] - You've been talking to someone on a dating and decide to meet up for lunch. You meet and are getting along famously, when partway through the meal you get a text from your date apologizing that they are late, and that they will be there soon.
Dating site
|
"Running late, sorry. See u in a minute!"
Well now that's odd. Paige wasn't running late. In fact, Paige was sitting right across from me. But my phone clearly said that this text was from Paige, who hadn't touched her phone since we sat down. We had been relatively busy since we met, ordering lunch, talking about common interests, playfully touching each other. No time for distracting phones, no want to be distracted by anything.
Yet this was Paige's phone number. So Paige must have sent it moments ago. I looked up at Paige's face, with her smiling eyes and small freckle near her nose that you normally wouldn't see unless you paid close attention, and then glanced back at the picture on my phone. The one that I had taken off the dating website. They were the same.
Of course they would look the same. What did I think, that this was a different Paige than the one on the website? I must have, since that was what I had thought. But that was stupid, why would this Paige at the table be a different Paige than the one I talked to online? Who even knew we were meeting here this afternoon?
But the nagging question, why would I receive a text from her, when she was right here? It's not as if reception here was terrible, the message was sent just a few moments ago. And her phone was right there, in her purse, on the ground next to her. I can look right in and see it. Her very orange and red purse she took with her everywhere.
Wait. What was odd about that thought? Everywhere? We've never met before, this is the first I've seen of her purse. It wasn't in any of the photos she put online, heaven's knows I've studied those closely. Then how did I know what her purse looked like? I checked her face again, and the smile was slowly fading from her face.
The one I had seen everywhere since Paige and I started chatting. I had imagined that I was just seeing Paige in other people's faces ever since that infatuation stage began. Was this a Paige look-a-like that had been stalking me?
No! Listen to yourself. This is Paige and you are finally meeting up after getting to know each other online and your having a wonderful time and then your phone glitches and sends a message from someone else to someone else. It's not as if a stalker underwent plastic surgery to look like Paige just to meet you, and then hacked into your account and read all your messages to and from Paige so they would know what to say to convince you.
But the way that Paige, this Paige here at the table, kept touching her face where a surgery would have stretched some skin, touching the freckle by her nose as if it were sore from being tattooed on recently, made it seem she was uncomfortable in her skin. Plus the way we talked about computers and techie stuff and programming, stuff we hadn't talked about online together, she could have easily found my passwords and gone through my entire web history, let alone my dating profile messages.
I looked at Paige-across-the-table again, and suddenly I knew, right then and there, that this wasn't the same Paige I talked to online.
No, this is crazy! Who would do all that for me?
A secret admirer.
A stalker.
Why would she do this?
She loves you.
She's crazy!
If this isn't the same Paige, if this is some impostor, some lunatic, some unrequited lover, why am I not freaking out?
Because these last fifteen minutes, I've been falling in love with her. Hard and fast. And no one has ever made me do that before. I don't think Paige-from-online could have done that either. So what am I supposed to do? What am I going to do.
Paige-across-the-table, the Paige I've been talking to, is no longer smiling. But she doesn't appear confused, or upset, or crazy. Her eyes have this sad, pleading, longing look to them. As if she's guessed what I've been thinking these past few moments, and is pleading her case. And I know what I have to do.
"sorry can't make it tonight. sumthing came up. ttyl"
|
March 4th.
Dear diary,
I CAN'T. BELIEVE. WE'RE ON A DATE!!!!!
Like, we've been lovingly watching this guy's every move, for like, a month. And just recently (when spying his e-mails) we found out he's using a dating site!!! WTF! And he's arranged a date with some filthy blonde WHORE. We can't believe he's cheating on us!!! SO, we decided we'd show up where their meeting, and show him who we REALLY are. Well, u know, getting to know one another. He's never really spoken to us, but we THINK he has noticed us a few times! Totally cool! We definitely think he loves us as well, and we will not let him go!!! Anyway, the date is tomorrow at 3:30 pee-em, we'll find a way to stop the whore on her tracks, and get to meet our love! Wish us luck!! ;) <3
-------------
March 5th. 3:59PM
What's going on? He looks worried. DID HE FIND OUT? No. we locked the bitch in the shitter where she belongs. WE MADE SURE THEIRS NO CELLPHONE COVERAGE WHERE WE LOCKED HER. Don't worry. It's probably another thing that is afflicting our love. "Is everything alright, my love?"
4:00PM
"Please don't go. I LOVE you."
4:01PM
We broke his phone. He was trying to call the meanies. but THEIR NOT GONNA GET IN THE WAY OF OUR LOVE. "I LOVE YOU!!! WE LOVE YOU!!!"
---------
March 5th. 3:20PM
Gosh, I cannot believe this is happening. The door is jammed, I have a date with that guy from the dating site (I still cannot believe I bought into this, but let's give chance a chance), and yet I'm stuck in the bathroom! God, I'm so clumsy. I guess I'll try getting out, and once I'm out, I'll text him telling him I'm on my way - no mention to the occurred here, of course. Don't want him thinking I'm *that* stupid.
3:45PM
Okay, I managed to get out. Not without the help from a few very handsome firemen of course, but the fact of the matter is I'm free, and able to go meet Mr. Dating Site!
Hi, sorry :s Im late. I ran in2 a few problems. rlly soz to keep u
w8ing. u still there? can we still meet? im omw. ETA 20 mins
-------------
3:55PM
Hey. r u mad at me? pls answer :( i rlly didnt mean to not come, ill
explain it all once im there. pls wait 4 me :(
-------------
3:58PM
[INCOMING TEXT: JASON DATING SITE] Uh oh... If ur on ur way...
then WHOS HERE???
4:07PM
Okay. What the hell happened here. Police lines? Who's that girl on the floor? Could it be... Oh, there he is, talking to the cops. I can't approach. They won't let me. I should probably just wait.
-------
March 5th. 3:46 PM
Phone just buzzed. Probably nothing. It'll seem rude if I ignore her to look at a text, this is going so well after all.
3:52PM
What if it's an emergency? What if it's Joe about that deal we were securing with Pepsi? Nah, he'd have called. Just chill out and focus on her... Hmm, her profile said she had green eyes, and didn't mention anything about freckles... No, I'm getting paranoid. It's probably the light that makes them seem blue, and she had no reason to point out she had freckles anyway.
3:57PM
God damn this phone. I'm trying to enjoy an awesome date here! But if it's two messages, it's probably something important... "Will you excuse me for a second?"
4:00PM
*MY LOVE?* What the hell is this? Some kind of joke? I feel dizzy. I should probably get up.
Okay now this is a whole another level of creepy. She's holding my arm and... crying? I should call the cops.
4:06PM
"I don't know, Mr. Officer, she tried to stab me, looked me in the eye, crying, said "We were supposed to be BEAUTIFUL!" and slit her own... Throat.
--
**EDIT:** Changed the discourse of the Weird Girl, to make her sound a bit more psycho. (Changing everything from first person singular to first person plural).
| 2014-07-03T12:07:57
| 2014-07-03T11:48:33
| 121
| 14
|
[WP] Write a section of legal code governing the use of magic.
I've got a new project kicking around in my head, and before I dig into the characters, I wanted to try a little world-building. In order to keep my little army of unwritten mages in line, I decided to whip up some laws. Yes, it's a prep work prompt, but prep work is so handy for big projects...
|
**Registration of Magical Births**
Section 1
1. All children beneath the age of ten years, four weeks and thirteen days must be registered as magical if discovered that such gift is possessed.
2. If not discovered until after said child's eleventh birthday, the registration must be completed before the child's sixteenth birthday, or whenever they get their fortieth haircut, which ever comes first.
3. If the child is magical, orphaned and homeless, or magical, non-orphaned but homeless, or magical, orphaned but not homeless, their existence must be reported to the appropriate authorities. These would be the Royal Magician's Court in the first and second cases, but only if it is a Tuesday and it is raining. If it is a Tuesday, but not raining, return at your convenience. If it is raining but not a Tuesday, sacrifice a goat and hope for worse weather. In the third instance, report to the Mehlbran Guild, unless a black cat walks in front of your person on the way to registration. If that is the case, return home, paint a red cross above your door and do not come out until the signal is given.
|
**Illusory Magic and the Restrictions on its Usage**
Defined as the alteration of perception with the intent to present reality in a state that differs from physical truth. Whereas transmutative magic alters the physical world directly, often with lasting effect, illusory mages (in common usage, illusionists) overwrite perceived stimuli without altering the source in any permanent fashion. While the most common illusions are visual and auditory, skilled illusory mages can create gustatory, tactile, and olfactory illusions as well.
*Restrictions*
1. No person shall practice any form of illusory magic without being a member of the Illusionist's Guild.
a) Children below the age of apprenticeship who violate this restriction are not subject to punishment: they, or their guardians as deemed appropriate, will be given the choice of temporary binding and admittance to the Guild upon reaching the age of apprenticeship, or permanent binding (see Binding, section xx.xx).
b) Adult mages belonging to other Guilds of magic will be subject to punishment under their own Guild charters. Depending on the severity and circumstances of the offense, this may result in being remanded to the jurisdiction of sovereign law.
c) Adult mages without declared affiliation to a Guild who are discovered to be practicing any form of magic will be subject to permanent binding and punishment under sovereign law.
2. Guild members are free to practice in accordance with the rules stipulated in the Guild charter, provided that no condoned act of magic is used in the process of violating sovereign law.
a) Guild members violating Guild law only will remain under the Guild's aegis for the purposes of trial and punishment.
b) Guild members violating sovereign law with the use of magic will be remanded to sovereign jurisdiction and will be subject to the temporary binding of powers until and during trial.
| 2014-01-11T06:12:34
| 2014-01-11T04:50:35
| 55
| 12
|
[WP] Rewrite a famous/classic story as though it was a crappy fanfiction.
|
As I woke up I opened my eyes to see Jason. His muscular arms were still rapped around my naked body and I could feel his sweet building between us where my hips pushed up against his tight abs. The rocking boat was making our bodies move together but he was still sleeping. I climbed out of bed and looked at myself in the mirror. I’m 5 feet nine inches tall and my dimensions are 33’ – 20’ - 24’. I but on my tonic which is black and I have modified it with black leather straps so that it is tight around my abs and helps protect me in a fight. I put on my thigh high black leather boots. I have long blue hair that I dye using woad that we get from trading with the Celts. I have a black obsidian stone that Jason got to me from the top of mount Olympus. I am the second in command on Jason’s ship we are looking for the Golden Fleece. I grab my sword and begin to move out into the fresh ocean air. As I start to move out of the cabin I hear Jason behind me. He is six feet eight inches tall and covered with muscles. He has black hair that flows into a swoop in the front with blue tips.
“Where are you heading?” he said.
“Dawn is breaking and it is my time to stir the men.” I told him.
“You have certainly stirred something,” Jason said as he grabbed me from behind and pulled me back into bed with him. He began to loosen my leather straps. <Edited for content>
Jason and I both walked out into the rays of the rising sun and began to command the men to wake and prepare for another day of our journey. We can hear singing in the distance. I instantly remember stories that my grandfather told me of the sirens of the sea. Looking at Jason I can tell that he is being hypnotized by their singing, and his eyes have begun to dart back and forth looking for the sirens. Thinking quickly I grab some rope and command the men to pull Jason to the mast of the ship. HE fights them off in his desperation to get to the sirens. I new he would not go easily so thinking quickly I kiss him passionately, while this brakes the spell briefly the men are able to grab him and get him tied to the mast. The sirens are still singing and I can see his muscles are straining against the ropes. They are our best ropes but won’t last long against his immense strength. Again I kiss him helping calm him temporarily and allowing him relax from their spell.
|
"IT'S HIM, WATSON! IT WAS THE CAB-BOY, JEFFERSON HOPE!" Sherlock said with a smart face.
"Sherlock, please. No," Watson begged.
"SHERLOCK, YES!" Sherlock said, his face growing even smarter.
"How did you even come to such a stupid conclusion-"
"IT'S THE INDUCTIVE REASONING, SHUT UP WATSON!" Sherlock's intelligent face declared as it skipped off his head and decided to go and win a Nobel prize.
"It's not at all inductive! You just pulled that crap out your own arse!"
"I AM THE SMARTEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED, WATSON," Sherlock said, pulling a twenty-foot pipe out of his boots.
"Sherlock, are- are you smoking again?"
"SMARTEST MAN ALIVE, WATSON! I AM THE GREATEST!" said Sherlock as he started flying because that's totally what Nicotine does.
"Ugh... Fuck you Stamford. Why'd you have to introduce me to this loony?" Watson muttered to himself.
"IT WAS A LOVE RELATIONSHIP GONE SOUTH. HE USED TO BE FROM AMERICA, WHICH I KNOW BECAUSE I HIRED SOME WHACKED-UP STREET URCHINS!" Sherlock's brilliance evolved into its own sentient being, running off to break down the Iron Wall.
"But, how did the goddamn street orphans know-"
"HE WAS FROM UTAH, WATSON. UTAH!" said Sherlock as he destroyed the Soviet Union with his fucking mind, yo.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"SHUT UP WATSON. I'M BRILLIANT. NOW WHERE'S MY PIPE?!" Sherlock said with a posed lack of face.
And thus did Sherlock Holmes close his Study in Scarlet and there were no plot-holes left filled.
Watson later quit his job doing nothing, changed his name, and became the Sexiest Man of Britain. Oh, and he also starred in some New Zealand movie that was based off the writings of an author who actually knew what he was writing.
| 2015-07-21T14:16:40
| 2015-07-21T13:53:56
| 33
| 23
|
[WP] You're practicing CPR on a fake dummy and you do a bit too well. The dummy starts gasping for air.
|
Check for a pulse. Check for vitals. Administer CPR.
A tip I learned was to press the chest to the beat of "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen. An ironic use for an iconic song but hey, it works. I felt silly checking the pulse and vitals of a CPR dummy but once I started humming the tune by Freddy, I kinda got into it.
It was an EMT recertification course put together in the hastiest, shabbiest, sketchiest way possible. I was in a class with two other experienced EMTs who just needed to take this class for a new certificate that would allow them to save people's lives. Our captain set this class up, as she was the licensed instructor administrating the test. Our location is the basement of a church; our CPR dummy was provided by a generous lender. He stood in the back and watched.
He creeped me out when I first saw him but apparently he's a close friend of the captain. He wore baggy rags as clothing, stained and stitched he absolutely did not care what he looked like. He sweated as if we were in a sauna, but allowed us to use his high-quality $4,000 dummy, presuming we would abide by the rules he laid out for us.
First and foremost, no touching the dummy inappropriately. This dummy is top of the line, complete with arms and legs and doll-like blonde hair wrapped in a ponytail. Anatomically speaking, all the parts were there, complete with a c-cup sized chest and nipples to boot. Secondly, we were not allowed to perform mouth to mouth on it. Oh, and thirdly, we must call *it* a her.
Well when I'm doing my thing and grooving to Queen, a routine sets in. Push push push breathe, push push push breathe. Before you know it I lean over and lock lips with the lifelike dummy. I don't know what surprised me first, the taste or the shouting. The dummy lender was yelling nonsense, being held back by our captain. I looked up and tasted a strange yet familiarly salty aftertaste. Then, she coughed.
Like a drowning victim, she pulsed to life, coughing, wheezing and spitting out globs of milky white. I continue doing what I'm trained to do and sit her up as she continues to drain herself of the gallon of old semen deposited in her. I stood up after she was stabilized and wiped my lips with my arm. I looked back at the lender, still being held by the captain but no longer putting up a fight. Everyone stared in wonder at the dummy, who's silicone eyes are flicking around and observing everything.
"Is that why there was a no mouth-to-mouth rule?" I asked "you knew she was going to come alive?"
"H-honestly," the lender began "I had no idea. Stacy was never alive with me. That was a rule because I have herpes."
"Dave?" A feminine voice came from the floor in front of me. I looked down to see the dummy, who was now getting to her feet. She walked over to her owner, who was now shaking with wide eyes. He sat on the floor. She knelt down in front of him.
"Dave. I'm pregnant."
|
The cold plastic begins to move, and I drop it like it has bitten me.
The dummy's eyes blink. They are a deep grey, like the ocean on a cloudy day.
"Where am I?"
He- no, she, struggles to sit up. A strand of her blonde hair falls down over her eyes and she pushes it away. Wait, a moment ago she didn't have hair.
"Hello?" I just stare back blankly and she looks at me like I'm crazy. Am I?
"What's going o-"
She stops in mid-sentance, clutching at her throat, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
The woman writhes on the floor, her hair loosing some of its lustre, the colour in her eyes slowly fading. *Help*, she mouthes.
Instinctively I bend down over her. Our lips meet, her's cool, mine warm.
*She is very attractive*, I can't stop thinking, as I breathe more air into her lungs.
Each breathe is hard work, and I am panting. She stops gasping and breathes more easily. I try to pull away, but she tugs me back.
"Not yet. A few more."
Her lips are burning hot. Why are they so warm? Why am I so cold?
Each of my breaths becomes more labored. But the most beautiful woman I have ever seen is practically kissing me now, her mouth and tongue mashing on mine, like she wants to eat me up. It feels so terrible and so good at the same time.
Finally she pushes me away. My hand clutches at my throat. I gasp for air that won't enter my lungs.
*Help*, I mouth.
She stands up, towering above where I lay. Over the pounding blood in my ears, I can hear her laugh, high and cold.
"Sorry, babe, but it's my turn now."
---
Read more at /r/jd_rallage
| 2016-05-04T07:55:13
| 2016-05-04T07:24:13
| 80
| 42
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
No one ever realized I didn't have a power.
Number two is a telepath. I met him in a bar once, but I could feel his touch on my mind all the way down the street. It was light, I would never have felt it if he'd only been looking, but when you're used to being a pawn you learn to see when you're being played with. He wanted me in that bar, and I complied. If he was going to kill me, I couldn't have stopped him at that point anyway. I asked him in there, "Why don't you kill me? No one would stop you." He laughed, and downed the remainder of his cup. "No one wants to be first, kiddo. No one with half a shot at getting there, anyway." His knowing smile told me everything it needed to. I was a tool. A figurehead. I asked him what he wanted from me and he gave me a list of people who needed to be out of the city by next Sunday. He walked out, and I did as I was told.
When they think you're more powerful than the strongest soldiers the city state has to offer, they don't question your authority. You say something happens and it does.
Number six is an empath, though I don't think she got her number on strength of power. It's the connections that did it. She told me once she was glad that number one was a good man, or the city'd be even worse off than it already is. I'm sure I could be a bad one if I had the inclination, it's only the top hundred or so I really have to keep happy. I've just never wanted to. I asked her if that was why she'd fallen in love with me and she gave me the coldest, most dangerous laugh I've ever heard.
"You're funny," she said.
We both know damn well it's me who loves her, and we both know equally well that I have no chance. Which doesn't stop her from using me for all I'm worth.
I'm not like the rest of the ten. I didn't kill to be here. Fate crowned me king at birth, and I've yet to figure out what in God's name it was thinking.
Number four is a power thief. He's the one who illuminated the mystery of my continued kinghood for me, down beneath the earth in a room full of tiny glass bottles and too much red to be comforting. He downed one of the bottles and settled against a shelf as his body changed. Creepy, that one.
"I'm not going to cut you open and take your blood," he said with about as much care as he'd give the weather. "Do you know why?"
"Enlighten me."
"Because then I'd have to run the city. I'd have to appease Lamier and Asmar and the whole nest full of snakes. It would be a chronic waste of time, and I'd hardly be able to balance it with my own projects. No no, you can keep your seat and your secrets. We serpents wouldn't touch your job with a ten foot pole."
I am a pawn masquerading as king, a powerless man ruling the powerful, a good man with no convictions. But I am, if nothing else, an actor. If no one sees the contradictions... Well, who am I to tell that they are there?
|
Crime was at an all time low in the city of New Angeles. Come to think of it, so was tourism and GDP.
Some people credited this to the genius of *Genetevolve Labs* and their breakthroughs in affordable human enhancements. Although, not everyone was pleased with the results. After a session of copying and splicing, it was often several months - or even years - before a patient actually knew what they had gotten themselves into.
For example, there was Nickolette...
After several sessions, and a freak bowling accident, Nickolette had come to the realization that she was telekinetic. She came to appreciate her new-found ability, despite the lifetime ban from *Richie's Bowleramma*. Apparently Richie's insurance refused to pay for the removal of over a thousand bowling pins from the ceiling of the establishment.
Ty was Nickolette's best friend. He had completely given up on genetic therapy until after almost two-years after his last session he stumbled drunk out into a busy roadway and was nearly flattened by a semi truck. Instead, the truck was smashed into oblivion upon striking Ty and the only injury he sustained was permanently soiled underwear.
Then... then there was Larry.
"I can't believe that douchebag is ranked #1 again." said Ty, "I mean, have you ever actually seen the guy do anything?"
"He sits all day in that damn pizza joint downtown eating and drinking." she said. "Wait, I take that back, it can't be *all day* because he only wakes up at 2:00 pm."
"Last time, the asshole didn't even bother changing out of his pajamas. And did you *smell* the guy? I mean who the hell smells like that?" said Ty disgusted.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Nickolette.
"We can take him Nicky." said Ty looking over at Nickolette. "With your telekinesis, and my super strength, we could just walk right into that goddamn pizza joint and just take him down to chinatown."
"He'd never even know what hit him." she said with a whimsical look in her eye.
*One hour later at Zak's Pizza and Wings...*
"Oh shit, that's hilarious!" said Nickolette as she reached over and squeezed Larry's arm at the bar.
Ty sat on the other side of Larry and downed his second pint of beer as he slapped Larry on the back.
"Jesus that's some funny shit man, you are just too cool." he said to the overweight man with the shaggy unkempt hair, still in his bathrobe.
A man with a grimy, white shirt and loose fitting necktie approached the patrons at the bar.
"Hey guys, sorry the pizza is taking so long. I don't know what's got into the cooks lately." he said to them.
"Ah, no worries mate." said Larry, "We're in no hurry, take your time. Have another round on me guys!"
"You're too much Larry." said Nickolette.
"You know," Ty began, "my head is a little foggy but I feel like there's something we are forgetting. Like there was a reason we came down here."
"Must not have been too important,eh?" said Nickolette turning her attention back toward Larry, "So what's up with you?"
"Uh, I'm not sure what you mean love." Larry was feeling a bit creeped out at the way she was looking at him.
"You know," she was now slurring her speech, "why are you constantly ranked #1? It doesn't even look like you've had anything tweaked."
"Well," Larry was often reluctant to talk about it, but threw caution to the wind, "I dabbled around with genetic enhancement, but gave up after the results came back from the lab."
"What results?" asked Ty.
"After a few sessions, my body began to emit massive amounts of THC into the environment around me." said Larry.
"What? Holy shit, that explains so much!" said Nickolette.
"Yeah, " said Larry, "I thought about going back and tried to get them to reverse it, but... well... you know, the THC."
Suddenly Nickolette changed the subject, "I got an idea!" she said. "Let's go bowling!"
| 2014-12-18T12:44:55
| 2014-12-18T11:53:14
| 670
| 81
|
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive.
|
I am the oldest man alive.
That in itself is a record that cannot be topped.
For every year that i live i remain the oldest man alive.
Records are made and broken. And i remain.
I have lived so long my name has been forgotten. Old recordings of my past long turned to dust.
Now i go by one name. A name that is considered most holy.
Guinness. And i am the keeper of records.
|
"Impossible..." the man's eyes stared at me wildly, his two hands still on the blade plunged deep within my heart.
"Surprised?" I asked coldly, before removing my hand from my pockets. A loud bang echoed against the walls, followed by a thud on the floor. The man groaned loudly in pain from the bullet I had put through his chest.
"Arghhh.... fuck, fuck, fuck...." he cursed under his breath, both his hands on his chest. Clearly he was not used to pain himself. I pointed my gun at his head. A few more loud bangs and the man laid there, motionless. A few bullets to the head usually does the trick of keeping any potential Immortals down.
I raised my hand to indicate that things were under control, and several armored officers rushed over. They immediately cuffed the man, obviously not taking chances with him. Dubbed the Heart Stealer, he was a wanted man across several cities for him murder spree.
As the man dragged the lifeless body away, the commanding officer walked over to me. "Do you think he's reached the record?"
I lit up a cigarette and took a few puff from it, my eyes fixed on the puddle of blood. "You'll know soon enough, Sergeant. Either way, he's won't be an issue any longer."
The sergeant's eyes shifted to the blade still lodged on my chest. "Are you not going to remove that?"
I calmly pulled the knife out, the sensation of the blade tearing through my skin a feeling that I've been too used to. "Sorry, sometimes I tend to forget that," I said as I passed the knife to the sergeant, who hastily deposited the knife into an evidence bag, before turning his attention back to me.
"Anyway, thanks again for agreeing to help with this case. I'll need to head back to HQ to process the criminal, and I'll let you know if there's anything else," he quickly mumbled, before walking away.
"Just don't forget my pay!" I jokingly called out, to which he raised his hands and showed an OK sign. I smiled as I watched him go. I don't really need the pay, as I have had all the years on earth to accumulate them. What I particularly enjoyed was the thrill in taking down these wannabe immortals.
As I walked towards the opposite direction, my phone started to buzz.
"Hey Adam, how did the hunt go?" A familiar voice asked on the other end.
I smiled. It was always good to hear Eve's voice, no matter how many times have I heard it. After all, she was my first friend in this world. "Like usual. It was easy to lure him out once he thought I was the record holder."
"Oh, so what record was he going for?"
"Some twisted record of stabbing the most hearts, according to the police," I replied.
"Ewww, twisted. Glad that has come to an end," Eve tried to humour me, before going into the real reason she called. "Anyway, the Guinness Council just called, so just wanted to let you know that. Some emergency matters, they say that require our presence."
"I thought we handed over matters to them long ago, but alright, we'll be there," I sighed, the thought of sitting through one of those assemblies filling me with dread. I looked around impatiently, before my eyes caught sight of my still bloodied shirt.
"By the way, I may need you to buy a new shirt for me. I'll see you later," I said, and hung up the phone. Just another night for the world's longest living person.
--------------
/r/dori_tales
| 2016-12-14T10:34:13
| 2016-12-14T05:02:19
| 85
| 46
|
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