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[WP] You were genetically modified as an embryo to survive on Mars. You can breath the thin atmosphere of carbon dioxide. You are impervious to the cold. And now you are growing up on the red planet, raised by parents who might as well be aliens to you, trying to figure out who you are.
|
I live in a time between two stases - the world where we can differentiate to be whatever we want, no matter our genetics, and the world where we can modify ourselves (again, for the sake of freedom).
I live in the era of growing pains - the era where the only way to be genetically modified is in the womb. My life has been predestined for me by my parents, in grad school and seduced by the idea of being the first parents of a child able to live on Mars. When my birth was a success, they immediately began making the program public, not realizing that they had created a new species, a species doomed to live on a planet of cold and rust with parents who must live in seperate quarters for their feeble bodies.
The technology was not advanced enough for me to be able to breathe oxygen and carbon dioxide at the same time. I was placed in a pod until I was transported to Mars, and, to this day, I have never touched my family. I must wear an Earth suit to enter their room, and they must wear a Martian one to enter the rest of the world.
It isn’t that I hate them; though I find their selfishness contemptible and their foresight lacking. They have done the best they can to raise me. I know if they could do it all over again, they would let me be normal. They respect my choice enough for that, at least.
So I stand, in a T-shirt and jeans, on a planet that would freeze to death any normal person that tried to live upon it. There are a group of M-humans my age sitting in a circle, talking. I walk over, and listen to them talk. This is a group of people who have learned, firsthand, how powerless pity is in making someone feel welcome. They do not know me, who I am, or how I have condemned them. They only see my thicker, paler, skin, the ridges on my neck, and my discolored veins.
I slip easily into the conversation. There is a camaraderie here, even on Mars. There is a place for everyone, even on Mars. I will find my people, even on Mars.
I look into the tinted sky and see the Sun, the beacon of light that ties all of our lives together, Martian and Earthian alike. There is hope for us yet.
|
"Gentlemen, please take a seat."
The small group emerged from their quiet conversations and positioned themselves around the unassuming table. Meetings such as these were nothing like Hollywood would have you believe. Real decisions weren't made in bright conference rooms in D.C., or in ornate Italian libraries overlooking the Vatican. The modern world was molded here, in the shadows of a nondescript bunker known only to the members of The Council.
"Time is short," said the Chairman, his face cloaked in darkness. "For those of you who have just arrived: we intercepted a transmission thanks to #5's well placed sources in Chinese space agency. It is a video message, roughly one minute long, and the point of origin has been confirmed as Mars."
Figures shifted in the dim light. No matter how many elections this group had manipulated, no matter how many disasters they had diverted -- or in some cases, facilitated -- learning of contact with their neighboring planet was startling.
"#5 has informed me that we have only hours until this broadcast reaches the satellites of every major nation. By that time, we will need to have a strategy in place that serves this Council's interests." Then, over his shoulder to an unseen technician, the Chairman said, "Play the clip."
The video's lighting was poor. Atmospheric conditions on the red planet weren't conducive to filming, and this video appeared to have been shot in a cave. Everything was tinged in a crimson glow -- except the single figure filling the frame.
Scale was difficult to measure, but its body couldn't have been more than two feet tall. The pitch black skin was crisscrossed with stripes of blue that seemed to pulse in a rhythm, almost as if it were breathing through neon gills. But most shocking of all, at least to a knowing observer, was the humanoid face: two large eyes, the same color as the body markings, complimented with a small nose and mouth.
Its limbs were each twice as long as the body. The creature rested on all four as it addressed the camera in perfect English:
"Humans of Earth. I am known as Ulock. My people are not of your solar system. Where we hail from is not important now -- I do not have long. I am part of an advance colonization program. Several hundred genetically modified embryos, fired at near-light speed from our home world to travel four of your Earth decades through the vacuum of space. We landed on what you call Mars six months ago. My siblings and I are almost fully grown. In just weeks, we will be ready to begin the invasion."
If anyone in the dark room was breathing, you couldn't hear it. This creature didn't need to specify where they intended to invade.
"We were designed for Mars and Earth atmospheric acclimatization. We do not know family or remember anything of our home world. We were grown for one purpose. War.
"My hatch-siblings do not know I am messaging you. Most of them thirst for battle, but some feel as I do. We should not extinguish Earth life. It is wrong. But if our cruisers are allowed to begin the attack, you will surely lose. The others must be stopped before they leave Mars."
Something rattled in the background of the clip. The creature was clearly startled as it began rushing to complete the message: "I must go. You can communicate with me at this frequency. Hurry Humans, there is little time."
With that, the video ended. Lights came up softly in the room, never so much that the Council member's faces would be revealed. Still, the chill and tension of the room didn't require vision -- you could feel it in the air, weighing heavily on them all.
The Chairman stood, leaned over and put both hands on the table. "You've seen the message. Now the Council must decide how to respond."
\--------------------
50/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\---------------------
edit: grammar
| 2018-08-09T11:07:55
| 2018-08-09T10:00:19
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Choose an idiom (e.g. "stone-cold killer"). Write the story that caused the phrase to be used literally and therefore introduced it into the language.
Idioms can be from non-English languages also if they work well
|
”What we're dealing with here is a hot potato,” said Detective Dick as he looked over the crime scene. A dark alley, isolated from the chaos of Christmas shopping just out on the main street. And at the end, with nowhere to run, lay a hot potato, deprived of any signs of life.
”Who would kill the worlds most intelligent potato?” asked his assistent. He was standing there with a clip-board, ready to fill out the form reporting the crime, as soon as the detective should come to any useful conclusions.
”I have no idea.” The detective bent down to study the potato further. ”How... odd.”
”What is?” Dick said nothing, just waved his hand, telling the assistant without words to be quiet. Then he called the forensics doctor over, and straightened out one of the fingers on one of his strong, old hands pointing to something for the forensics doctor to see. The finger was shaking slightly, saying *please confirm that I am not crazy*. The forensics doctor looked, first at the potato, then at the detective, and the detective looked back at him. They nodded to each other.
”How odd, indeed.” the doctor agreed.
”What is?” the assistant asked again.
”The way this potato was murdered isn't ordinary.” stated the detective.
”It seems it was mocked just before its death.” added the doctor affirmatively. ”And as if that wasn't enough, it has been physically harmed by this mockery.”
The assistant could hardly believe what he was hearing, but dutifully picked up his pen and added ”Insult” to ”Injury” on the report.
**I might add to this later, it's kind of fun.**
**Whoops, seems like I couldn't decide whether the assistant was 1st or 3rd person. I think I fixed it now B)**
|
“I’m going to need a Memory potion today, good sir.” I leaned against the moldy wooden counter, then thought the better of it when it threatened to give way beneath me. The smell of old, rotting wood, amongst other unpleasant odors, invaded my nose.
“Oh, I do believe I have a few of those left.” The old man stood slowly from his stool, straightened his threadbare robes, and shuffled over to the shelves behind him. He lingered over a few different glass containers, and finally selected a tall one containing a glowing red liquid.
“Do I have to pay extra because it glows?” I smiled. The necromancer did not.
“Hmm. I probably should. If you never use it, it would make an excellent night light.” He snickered, still barely cracking a smile. “But no, it’ll just cost you an arm and a leg.”
I laughed and retrieved my coin purse from inside of my leather overcoat. “Ha, never heard that one before. Seriously though, how much?”
The old man frowned. “I have a project I’m working on. I happen to need an arm and a leg.” He leaned over his own counter towards me, his own frail body not putting much tension on the failing wood. “Of course, it doesn’t have to be your arm and leg. The two could belong to someone else.”
“Is this in jest? I can give you plenty of gold, and then you can pay some other poor sod to give up some body parts, or ‘find’ some for you.” I rolled my eyes. “Simple business practices.”
“But, I need an arm and a leg, not gold.” A look of confusion passed over the old man’s wrinkled face as he pondered his options.
“Look, I need this potion, but I’m not killing anyone for you.” I slapped my entire coin purse down on the counter. “There’s enough to buy three slaves in the Narrows. Do the arithmetic.”
I took the potion and headed for the door before the old man could protest much further. “And for the gods’ sake, light some vanilla candles in here, and maybe spend some money on that rotting counter. It’s people like you that give small businesses a bad name!”
[/r/cwall81](http://www.reddit.com/r/cwall81)
| 2015-12-10T06:57:47
| 2015-12-10T05:15:54
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] You're a scientist studying bacterial colonies. One day, you look under the microscope to observe strange shapes that, on a closer look, resemble letters. The bacteria are greeting you and have a message for you.
|
At first I thought it was mere coincidence that they formed shapes that were so nearly letters, then they started becoming more solid, less hazy, more sure.... They bacteria were forming letters and numbers, slowly deciphering the language, I would make corrections as necessary so that I could understand them. Then they started forming words, slight errors at first, but ones that they solved quickly and efficiently, surprisingly quick in fact. Then they started writing a sentence, not even, two words, SEND NUDES. In all caps, then they went silent as the grave, not speaking until years later, I thought they had stopped all communication, but instead they just repeatedly flashed the words, SEND NUDES....
|
I slide the key card in the key read and wait for the locks to unlock the door. *click* I push the heavy steel door forward. "I swear that door gets heavier every time," I mutter to myself. I wait in the decontamination chamber to clear me. I get cleared and start to walk to my station. On the way there I pass other stations looking at different colonies. There's Connor looking at Magnum Rubrum, Francis still looking at the common flu, and Mike sleeping at his desk after pulling an all nighter. Again. I get to my station and power it on. "Good morning Will," said Stanley, my AI assistant. "Good morning Stanley. Any developments on the colony?" I ask. "Nothing has changed since 8:30:03PM." Stanley reports. I walk over to the microscope and look down at the colony. The same black dots I've seen for the last 4 months. I zoom around the slide to see everything. As I do so I see some of the bacteria start to move. Intrigued I zoom in on one that looks like its convulsing. It starts to change shape into what looks like the letter H. I look around and some of the other ones do the same movement and start to look like letters. "Stanley are you recording this?" I ask. I hear a beep as he starts to record. "Sir should we inform someone about this?" Stanley questioned. "No not yet lets see what happens," I say focusing on the colony. I zoom out to see more of the colony. Some of the bacteria starts to move to form what looks like the word Hello. Then Will. My heart skipped a beat when I read that. *How does the bacteria know how to form words and better yet know my name?* I think to myself. I look back at the microscope to see the words 'You're safe'. "Stanley call Sarah, David and Morgan right now," I say with a hint of fear in my voice. "Right way sir," replied Stanley. I look around to see Connor, Francis, and Mike standing together with their backs to me. "Hey guys come look at this," I yell at them. They don't move. I stand up and walk over to them. I pull on Mike's should to turn him around. I jumped back when I saw his face. All his veins were black and his eyes were pure red. I look over at Connor and Francis and they both look the same. "Umm sir you might want to see this," I hear Stanley say. I slowly walk back to my station while watching those three guys. "What's wrong Stanley?" I ask. "The colony has another message for you." I slowly turn toward the microscope. *Oh boy* I think. I look down the lens to see the words. 'Don't be scared'. "Oh hell no. Stanley its time to go," I say as I jumped back from the microscope. I grab my key card and start to run towards the door. Stanley launches his probe to follow me. I get to the door and fumble with my key card to get it in the reader. "Where are you going Will?" I hear a voice behind me say. I stop instantly and slowly turn around to see my three friends. "We can't let you leave Will," said Francis. "Stanley where was this colony brought in from?" I ask nervously. "Specimen 32a was brought in from ruins near Olympus Mons, Mars on Tuesday March 2^nd 2140," replies Stanley. "Inform the company that all other Specimens from that area should be destroyed immediately, along with this facility, " I say slowly walking backwards. I slide the key card through the reader and quickly open the door. I shove Stanley into the decontamination chamber with my key card. "Go Stanley!!" I yell as I feel hands start to pull me back. The last thing I see is Connor, Francis, and Mike standing over me smiling.
| 2017-01-01T15:41:20
| 2017-01-01T14:16:54
| 68
| 14
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
It was the first day of school.
I was so excited.
New students every year.
I had such high hopes.
The kids would love me.
They would sit, be comfortable, and learn.
The first day came and went.
Class after class.
I was ignored.
No one wants the chair in front.
I wish I was a concert seat.
|
I stepped off my broomstick at 0730 just as the Ministry of Magic was beginning to whir into life after a fairly uneventful weekend. I made my way to the elevator and pressed the B6 button. As the elevator descended, I wondered what Supreme Chancellor Umbridge would have me doing *this* week to that Potter boy.
| 2016-02-22T09:42:54
| 2016-02-22T09:11:12
| 578
| 90
|
[WP] Decades ago you and your school friends were stuck in a time loop until you prevented the murder of your history teacher. Today you all reunite to visit him dying in the hospital... and find yourself back in that history class the moment he dies. The time loop never ended.
Inspired by one of the top comments on this video: https://youtu.be/wy5peXAywnE
|
It all started on that first, original loop. The one where our History teacher was killed in front of us, as he threw one of our classmates out of the way of an incoming vehicle. We watched as, instead of Graeme, the vehicle struck Mr. Ketterson and continued straight into the side of a building. Pinned to the wall, his abdomen crushed and the light fading from his eyes, a small group of us were near enough to hear his final lament:
"I wish I didn't have to die..."
The real shock was the sourceless reply:
"As you so desire!"
Since then, we've been caught in a loop. A loop that resets to that very morning, at morning attendance. It reset with the death of Mr. Ketterson. The 5 of us who heard his wish, and the ensuing response, recall the details of the prior loops. And it's fortunate we did, otherwise it would have gone on forever! As it stands, we've reset 17,653,821 times. In otherwords, Mr. Ketterson has died 17,653,821 times. Each time, we used our knowledge of each subsequent loop to avert each new death.
Sometimes, there'd be multiple causes of death in a single "day" (i.e. we would prevent one cause, just for some other tragedy to result in Mr. Ketterson's demise that same day, resetting the loop), while others we could go months without incident. The record was 2 years, 8 months, 3 days between saving him and the next incident.
Right at this moment, though, we are all gathered around Mr. Ketterson's - no, we moved past that a long time ago. We are gathered around Harold's hospital bed to say farewell. To him, it has been around 37 years since he saw Graeme walking into the path of a vehicle outside of school, and before he could react, Phil raced past and dragged Graeme back by his blazer. What followed must have been a strange 37 years of being continuously saved by one of the 5 of us. Each time, we'd explain everything; it became easier to convince him with each subsequent loop and the ever increasing "near-misses" he's experienced.
"Thank you, boys." He rasps, dragging my mind out of it's reverie and back to the present. His voice barely above a whisper, as we lean in to hear him. "You've done more than I can ever know for me. I could never repay you if I had infinite lives."
"It has been rough, but it has certainly been a unique experience for us," I joke, my voice strained with barely contained emotion as I gaze into the unseeing eyes of the man we've all helped reach the natural end of his life.
"You've all grown into fine men... Promise me one thing when I'm gone. Live for yourselves." He breathes as his eyes flutter shut. "I'm sorry. I'm so tired lately. I think... I'll just have... a little nap..."
His words trail off as his breathing softens and slows. Within a minute the machine attached to him to monitor his vitals lets out a sharp, shrill, prolonged beep to indicate his heart has stopped. The doctor in the room turns it off without emotion.
"Time of death: 1807, Tuesday October 25th 2022," he states, as he folds the sheets over the face of the now lifeless corpse of Harold Ketterson.
The 5 of us gathered all close our eyes and bow our heads in a final farewell.
I can actually feel the moment my sanity snaps when I open my eyes to see the back of Julian's head in the seat in front of me, Mr. Ketterson standing at the front of the class taking register, and it hits that the loop cannot be broken. The wish will not permit Mr. Ketterson to die, by *any* cause. And my mind instantly comes to the conclusion that an eternity of incomprehensibility is preferable to an eternity of pointless repetition.
|
"No no no no no..." John continued muttering, slowly crouching as he gripped his hair tightly. "No. That was real!" The tears flowed freely. "Theresa was real. Bobby and Ashton and Riley and Sarah were real!" John gave Ian a crazed look that scared him.
John erupted in a fresh wave of sobs. Ian took a seat in one of the chairs and put his face in his hands, not wanting John to see his tears.
"I'm sorry, Theresa. I'm sorry. Why didn't I do more? Every day. Every day I felt like I was burdened, like I was slogging through mud. It was always so close to when I worked, or I just worked, or I was just tired, and I was always *so* tired, I think. Honestly, I don't even know if I was actually tired or struggling, or just a lazy, fat fuck." John stopped for a moment before regarding his left hand, staring at his fingers close. He rapidly breathed several hiccupy gasps, his chest bouncing up and down.
John gently twisted his pointer finger and thumb around his ring finger, as he had done for the previous twenty-seven years. He felt the fresh, young skin on his wrist, missing the tower of dates for his anniversary and the birth of each of his beautiful children. He reached up to adjust his glasses and found none. His neck was void of its locket, the photo of his family inside, worn at the insistence of his youngest daughter, despite the heckling he received from the young boys at the office.
John panicked. "Where is something to write with? Find me something to write with!" His voice carried the hysterics of a teenage tantrum.
Ian found a pen and an old composition notebook that was mostly filled in.
John wrote. Addresses, phone numbers, names, dates, and events. He wrote as fast as his cramping hands would allow, ever cognizant of the approaching assassin.
He grew even more aware of his vapid memory, recoiling from John's touch as he tried to reach further into the depths, to remember his family and friends, to maybe find them again someday.
Thus, tears flowed as he scribbled, as he remembered four children but not his fifth's name, only that the child existed and it was a boy, and it was probably the third or fourth child born. He began with his wife, knowing she would be required to begin any of this again.
The fragments shrank further and further until John could scarcely remember why he was in this history room with the teacher lecturing as if John and Ian were not there.
John simply remembered this composition book was of utmost importance.
He stuck many sticky notes on the notebook before writing "JOHN - READ THIS" in black bold text.
The class began laughing; a jokester was pointing a handheld laser pointer between the teacher's eyeballs.
The earth clapped. The scent of copper filled the room.
| 2022-10-23T18:26:50
| 2022-10-23T18:17:25
| 134
| 51
|
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health.
|
"Captian Zenmar, could we discuss something with you?" Asked Xenogon. She walked shyly into the captains room, the seemingly infinite void of space stretching out behind the window.
"Certainly. Whats the problem?" Asked Captian Zenmar. She sat behind the desk, her four scaled arms resting on the desk.
"Its one of the humans. Zachery I believe his name is. His hair has been fading recently. It was bright green when we came on board, it's been getting paler ever since." Said Xenogon.
"That does seem worrying. I'm going to check with the medical staff and see if that's an issue for humans."
"Thats... that's not everything. I think he might be suicidal."
"What!?"
"I saw him cutting parts of his body off earlier. Just small bits, nothing that you could notice too easily." Said Xenogon.
"We need to go see him right away. Come on!" Captian Zenmar rushed out of her office with Xenogon tailing after her. The two of them headed down to Zach's room and banged on the door. Zach rushed to the door and opened it up for them.
"Captian? Whats wrong?" He asked.
"Xenogon told me she saw you cutting off parts of your body earlier. If you're self harming we need to get you help right away."
"Cutting myself? I haven't been- Ohhh. What do you think I was cutting off?" Asked Zachery.
"I saw you cutting off the tips of your fingers." Explained Xenogon.
"Oh, humans have these things called finger nails. We have to trim them off or else they'll hurt us." Explained Zach.
"I see."
"What about your hair? Its color has been fading." Asked Captian Zenmar.
"Oh, its not really that color. Its sort of like paint. Its meant to look nice, It eventually fades away and you're left with your original hair color." Explained Zach.
"I suppose we got panicked over nothing." Said Captain Zenmar.
"Yeah. I'll let you know if there are any real health problems." Said Zachery.
"I'm sorry about this. I just got worried about you." Said Xenogon.
"Don't worry about it. It's nice to know you guys worry about me." Said Zachery. He retreated into his cabin for the night, and the rest of the crew went about their day.
|
I am an astronaut aboard the intergalactic space station, a space station for all intelligent species in the universe.
I fingered my hair, knowing the crew would notice. They didn’t know that human hair went grey after a while. I knew there’d be questions.
I’d dyed my hair before the mission, knowing it would fade. I’d gone grey in my twenties, early. I was in college and well, you know what they say about stress.
I walked out of my room and almost ran directly into Nirina. She was an Atanician. She had blue and gold scales, green hands, and a small flat nose. Her eyes were red with circular pupils.
“Your hair is going grey, are you feeling okay,” she asked.
“I’m fine, I had coloring in my hair, but I’ve been up here and haven’t gotten it done in a while, so it’s fading.”
“Okay.”
As I walked through the ship, I noticed concerned looks from my colleagues.
The cafeteria workers suggested I eat a plant with a certain vitamin.
My boss asked me if I was under any stress.
My colleagues watched me like I’d drop dead on the spot.
Eventually word seemed to get around and the glances vanished.
| 2020-07-05T14:26:31
| 2020-07-05T13:34:30
| 33
| 19
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 11:59 and while the whole family gathered around, my mother was no where to be seen. I expected that she would have joined us. After all, she'd been there for my older sister's reveal, and my brother's reveal. But instead she was watering the garden while it rained steadily.
C'mon, mom, I know I'm not your favorite, but you could at least put on a front this time.
"It's noon!" my sister squealed. "Pullupyoursleeve!"
A moment of dread shot through me. I can't say that I knew exactly what was wrong, but I knew that something wasn't right. There was no tingling in my arm, just a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something was going to be revealed today and I wasn't going to like it.
I pulled up my sleeve and no words appeared. Frantically, I pulled up the other sleeve, shoving it all the way up to my armpit. It had to be there. My sister tugged my shirt up, peeking under it. Not that the words ever appeared anywhere besides on your dominant forearm. "Where is it?"
"He won't get it yet," my mother barked from the sliding glass door. "He's not going to be 18 for another two months."
"What?" I yelped. "Today's my birthday!" My sister's hands fell and my shirt slid back down into place.
My mother shook her head. "You're father and I were separated, and I met a man..." she said quietly, her round eyes darting towards my father.
"You said the baby was mine! You said he was just early!" my father shouted.
She crumpled into a chair, her wet hair dripping onto her face. Her mouth wobbled and she stared at the floor. "He's not and he wasn't."
Two months and three days later, my parents' marriage was in shambles, and I walked into my sister's room, pulled up my sleeve, and showed her the words that had appeared the day before. "MARRIAGE COUNSELOR"
|
11:55, 19 August 2017
My family sat around the couches in the living room, making small talk about their own Destiny. Something about how no one was surprised when my father, sister and brother all got "Doctor" stamped on their forearm in crisp, Arial font. I despised it. The idea of sitting in a stale room in a stale hospital in a stale existence made my stomach churn. I drowned out their voices. *"Musician. Musician."* i repeated in my head, as if the mere act of thinking it would bring it to reality.
Since i was 3 i had had a passion for music, learning my sister's pieces by ear. Eventually i moved on from classical piano to drums and later the electric bass - my one true love. I could think of nothing i would rather do for the rest of my life than playing live shows and creating and pushing the boundaries of music. *"Musician. Musician."*
11:59, 19 August 2017
By this time everyone had gone quiet. The silence was now deafening. "Musician. Musician." I began to sweat. This. This one moment - a single instant could determine the course of my life. But would it really have to? I mean, surely i had the freedom to choose my own path regardless of some stupid tattoo, right? ...right? *"Musician. Musician. MUSICIAN."*
12:00, 19 August 2027
*"MUSI-"*
"Doctor Lee? Your 12 o'clock is here. Should i buzz her in?"
"Buzz her in."
Stale. But it can't be helped; can it?
| 2017-03-16T03:19:48
| 2017-03-16T02:42:03
| 129
| 32
|
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?"
|
"You can *not* be serious," Overlord stated dryly in response to the hero's offer. She was running several tracing programs to try and find out where he was calling from as soon as possible - he'd always been a pain in her side.
"Look, I- I know that this is a peculiar situation, but..." the hero meekly replied.
"Why me? Why not an escort or a friend or a stripper for Pete's sake? I mean why would you call the *one person* who you try to stop every other week from doing, oh, what *did* you call it? 'Evil Deeds', was it?"
"I stand by that," the hero replied resolutely.
"Why do you want me, of all people, to go to your friend's wedding as your date?"
"Told you. My ex will be there and-"
"No, I meant, why *me*?"
"Look, my ex, he's... well, he's, it- it's... I need to be there with someone..." he trailed off.
"Yes?" Overlord prodded him.
"...impressive," he finally finished. Overlord paused for a moment - this was... unexpected.
"Beg pardon?"
"Someone impressive. There, I said it again."
For once, Overlord found herself without words.
"I'm, uh, not sure what-"
"Emily," the hero started, further leading Overlord into confusion as he never used her actual name, "you are a genius. As in literally one of the smartest people on the planet. Your expertise in robotics and bioengineering alone is-"
"This doesn't make sense," she interrupted. "Are we just pretending we don't have destructive battles? That you try to stop me from what I am doing?"
"Of course not."
"Then why?"
"Because I know that there is, deep down, good in you," he said.
Overlord remained silent. She was used to long-winded speeches on morality and law. He never actually called her *good*.
"And I know that you could do great things if you wanted to. I... don't know what happened to you to turn you against the world, but I know you can overcome it. Maybe interacting in some normal ways with society could show you that... it's not all bad. There are some good things, too. Like cake. There *will* be cake."
Overlord still maintained her silence. Compliments felt... odd.
"And why would *I* come, then? Why should *I* bother?" she finally managed to ask.
"Because you'd love to see me sweat bullets as I frantically try to interact with my ex and his new partner," the hero said.
She chuckled.
"*And* the cake," he added.
"*Fine*," she said. "I'll pick you up at 3. I think arriving by flying in a swarm of drones should be *plenty* impressive," she laughed.
"Well, I suppose that's another thing you've never lacked," he said, audibly relieved and smiling.
"Presentation!" she grinned.
|
‘Bwahahaha!!! I’m going to make this a wedding no is EVER going to forget!!Muwahahaha!!—that laugh was better—Gregory! Remind me to use ‘Muwahahaha’ in all further expository speeches…..Where were we? Oh, you were begging me to help you, its adorable. Of course, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
‘This ex, any dislikes or allergies maybe?Oh, you have a list (a little desperate)—what nothing at all, nothing, just fax it too me—no no no message me, message me—god what what century am I living in?!? Hehe. (Oh god, never chuckle like that again, jesus, whose desperate now), I’ll pick you up in my stretched Cadillac, wear something that matches a fur coat and baby seal leather wingtips, we’re going to be fabulous, darling.
‘Oh, yes, ‘darling’ until this charade is over, darling.’
| 2022-10-06T18:26:35
| 2022-10-06T16:34:26
| 2,322
| 83
|
[WP] "My fellow Americans..." The newly elected President begins. "I am gay, and have been my whole life." Give me your best account of the country's reaction.
|
It was an interesting day that the president came out. I remember I was with my family, staring at the television. Mom was in the kitchen. Dad was mumbling something to my brother, not really paying attention, but I was enraptured. Then the word hit.
"gay".
Dad looked at the screen and then at me. Trembling, he asked me what the president just said. I reported honestly.
The next few weeks were a blur of protest rallies and the like. Dad didn't seem to work anymore, unless it was to pay for gas to drive us to the next big city. Mississippi, Alabama, hell, we even made it up to Washington at one point.
This went on for about six months. Until attendance got lower and lower, soon it was just us and a few folks from Westboro. My Dad was getting tired too, so he just packed it up and we went home. And life went on.
|
The reaction could be summed up in two letters.
"Eh."
For some, it was enunciated "Eh?!?!", while for others it was a bored "Eh.", and others were basically all "Que?" but that was likely due to not speaking English.
After the initial surprise of the announcement, life went on.
It was later decided with science that gender was dumb and it's better to be attracted to people and not their sexual characteristics. Be bi, everyone. Or whatever the term is for 'kind of likes everything so long as they like awesome stuff and keep relatively healthy and hygienic'.
| 2015-12-06T10:25:03
| 2015-12-06T07:00:41
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] The whole town knows about it. The black shadow on the baby monitor. Sudden changed diapers or meals ready for kids when they get home. Cleaned rooms and drawn baths. It is known as The Babysitter. It will never harm a child, but heaven help those who don't pay for its services.
|
The baby monitor blares into life as the tinny sound of Kai's cries fill my bedroom. I groan, dragging myself up onto my elbows, trying to blink away sleep as I turn to the monitor screen. But as I start to pull myself out of bed, I see the shadow cross the screen, hazy and ill-formed. There's a sort of static hum - almost melodic if you squint. (Can you squint with your ears? You know what I mean.) Wispy dark tendrils of shadow pass between Kai and the camera in his room.
I lower myself back onto my bed, my chest tightening with unease. I know the Babysitter has never done anything other than care for a child. As dark and mostly unseen forces go, it's less sinister than most - but having that presence in our little flat, lurking over my baby when I'm not there, singing to him without words in that lilting, unreal voice, creeps me the *hell* out.
I sigh and pull out a tenner, tucking it underneath a book on the bedside table even as I hate myself for doing so.
And then I pause. Slowly, I pick up the note and tuck it back into my purse. I sink back into my pillow, shutting my eyes against the sounds of the Babysitter's song and trying to ignore the anxiety heavy in the pit of my stomach.
There are stories, of course, of the horrible things that happen to you if you don't pay for its services. But then again, I've never known anyone *not* to pay. Isn't it punishment enough to watch this vague, eerie force hovering over my child, let alone fucking paying for it? All I know right now is that I can't take years of this lingering, unsettling dread. If some magical ghoul wants to key my car or lose me my job, then so be it, so long as I don't have to think of it looming over my child every time I turn my back.
\-----
The next morning, the car remains un-keyed, the milk in the fridge is unspoiled, and I manage not to suffer a gruesome death on my way downstairs to fix breakfast. But even knowing that Kai is safe, even knowing that the Babysitter has never harmed a child, the knot of worry in my chest will not loosen until I pick him up and he babbles happily away.
"Mama," he coos, before proceeding to spiritedly chew my shoulder.
That evening, though, his baby food is already out on the table, warmed to just the right temperature, and a brand new teddy bear sits in his cot.
Teddy gets acquainted with his new home in the bin, and I leave no payment.
\-----
The Babysitter continues to visit the flat, cooking meals, cleaning, and watching over Kai just as before. I wonder if it's even noticed the lack of money left on the table. Do I have to perform a sodding exorcism to get rid of this thing? Is it taking its payment in my goddamn blood in the brief hours that I fall asleep?
I'm barely resting now, rushing into Kai's room every time he so much as whimpers, to be there to reassure him before the Babysitter arrives. Sometimes I sleep curled on the floor with my head resting uncomfortably against the bars of his cot, with tracks of dried drool on my cheek when I wake in the morning, bleary eyed and stiff necked. I know Kai is sensing my distress - he takes longer to calm even when I rock him, feed him or sing to him.
His cry pierces the air, and I'm there in an instant.
"What is it, ducky?" I whisper, peering into his cot. "Hey, are you hungry?"
He continues to cry, and I lean down to pick him up. His shrieks only strengthen, and he pushes against me with his chubby little hands, screaming in earnest.
"Mama." He wails, twisting in my arms like he did when he got his vaccinations.
"I'm here, baby, shhhh, I'm here..." I gently bob him up and down against my shoulder.
And then the shadow is there in the room with me. Fingers of dark cloud unfurl between me and Kai, wrapping him in a shroud of smoke-like darkness. The Babysitter is cold against my skin as it passes over me, and I can't stop myself from letting out a shudder.
But Kai settles.
A frisson of fear passes through me. I lay him back in his cot, kneeling beside him, my hands still stretching through the bars to gently stroke his tiny arm. He starts to whimper again, eyes wide and baleful, staring at me as though I am a stranger.
"Hey, hey, sweetheart... Please..."
I feel as though I am begging him. I am aware of my fingers tightening around his arm and I have to force myself to relax them. His eyes fix on a point beyond my shoulder, as if I am not even there. I can feel the unnatural chill behind me, the coolness of the air almost smothering. Shadow slinks around Kai once more, his blanket twitching up to rest around his shoulders. I feel a tear run down my cheek.
"Mama," Kai coos again.
\-----
If you'd like to read any more of my stories, they can be found at [r/happinessinthedark](https://www.reddit.com/r/happinessinthedark/) :)
|
So I started responding to this prompt and ended up running with it for way longer than I expected. The story is going to be broken between a few comments.
Bill and Lisa Alderson sat with their arms around one another. Their loveseat was well worn, with fraying upholstery and faded plaid. Bill was hunched forward, in his hands he held an Ipad, which was streaming a video of their newborn daughter. Elise lay in the crib, safely nestled in a blanket adorned with cartoon penguins. Aside from the occasional yawn, she was completely still. Bill took a sip of his beer, and set it back on the coffee table. Lisa was resting her head on his shoulder, a glass of her favorite merlot held in her free hand. “Look at how little she is.” She cooed. “She looks like a baked potato.” Bill said with a smile. Elise yawned, stretching her tiny mouth as far as it could go, then smacked her lips. Lisa felt her heart swell in her chest, her face was hot from the wine. A tear ran down her cheek. “Ugh look at me.” she said, wiping the tear away. Bill smiled and kissed where the tear had been, then kissed his wife on the lips. Elise had come home from the hospital only two weeks ago. She had been an early child and had to be kept at the hospital for nearly three months. During that time Bill and Lisa practically lived at the hospital. They had been worried the child would never come home, looking back, that fear seemed completely unfounded. Elise had put on six pounds since she was born. When she came into the world Bill was afraid he would break her when he held her. Now, seeing her nestled in the crib, Bill had to fight the urge to go hold her once more. “We did alright.” Bill said, pulling his wife in for another kiss. She set her glass down and met him eagerly. The wine had done more than make her face hot. Lisa pushed Bill down, making the old couch squeak, and got on top of him. Bill closed his eyes and pulled her tight.
Bill fumbled at the front of Lisa’s blouse, doing his best to keep kissing his wife. After failing at the same button three times, he opened his eyes. Lisa sighed sarcastically, sitting up on his lap. “Too many beers cowboy?” She asked. Bill smiled, unbuttoning slowly. When the last one was undone Lisa’s blouse hung open at her sides, she moved back in to kiss him. As he pulled his wife in, Bill saw something race across the Ipad’s screen. He kissed his wife, this time peering out of the corner of his eye. Something crossed again, this time in the other direction. Bill’s heart jumped in his chest, he broke the kiss and tried to sit up. “What is it?” Lisa asked, she peered down at her open blouse, her caesarean scar making her feel self-conscious. Bill saw the look on his wife’s face. “It’s not you, I just think I saw something on the monitor.” He said, scooping up the Ipad. The two watched the screen, waiting, Lisa picked her wine up. All they saw was another big yawn from Elise, her swaddling undid itself as she moved. “Hmm, it must have been th—." Bills words caught in his throat. Lisa let out a shriek. On the monitor a black shadow swooped past the camera lens and towards the crib. The shadow moved swiftly from the left, to the right side of the crib, before resting at its head. There it settled into a human like shape, deeply hunched. The outline of the shadow waivered in a perpetual vibration, giving it the illusion of constant movement. The figure’s head was completely devoid of features, only a black mass on the top of its body. Bill’s hands were shaking as he held the Ipad. Lisa opened and closed her mouth, trying to form words, but nothing came. Her free hand dug into Bill’s arm, leaving red imprints around her nails. She drained her wine, and moved to stand up. Bill grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the couch. “WE HAVE TO GO IN THERE” She screamed. At this, the figure’s head tilted towards the hallway outside Elise’s room, then turned back to her. “W-w-we don’t know what that is.” Bill said, his voice left him in hoarse stammers. Lisa tried to pull away, but Bill’s grip was iron. That was her little girl in there, her flesh and blood. How could Bill be so stupid? She wrenched her arm free a few inches, starting to flail wildly.
| 2020-04-14T17:28:12
| 2020-04-14T16:13:53
| 365
| 145
|
[WP] You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are.
|
When I was a kid, I thought winning a lifetime supply of Oreos would mean truck after truck appearing at my house, each overflowing with Oreos. Back then I didn't think about things like where in the world we'd keep that many Oreos, or the fact that they'd all go bad shortly after, or that sooner or later I'd get sick of eating them. I just had this grand vision in my head I guess, didn't want to let it go. So I was pretty disappointed when a little package showed up on our front porch.
There were fifteen Oreos in the package. I asked my mom where the rest was, and she told me more would come next month. Waiting an entire month seemed like torture at that age, and made what arrived doubly crushing. Another package of exactly fifteen Oreos. It slowly sunk in to my little head that this was what winning a lifetime supply of Oreos looked like. No trumpets and fanfare, no overloaded trucks pulling in one after another. Just a little packet of fifteen Oreos on the first of every month.
Fifteen! I couldn't believe it. That wasn't even one Oreo for each day!
The grand imaginings we have as kids rarely come true. For example, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Then the whole world started collapsing and now there are hardly any fish even left, much less people with the time or tools to study them.
And yet, those packages kept coming. To my house. To the shelter. To my tent. To the stick laid against a tree with an old coat draped over it so I could huddle under, away from the worst of the rain. Wherever I went, there they were. Fresh and neatly packaged up on the first of every month, like nothing bad had ever happened anywhere.
For a long time I tried to figure out where they were coming from, who delivered them, how they were finding me, anything. I ran after every lead, pursued every theory. Aliens? Fairies? Time travel? Some bizarre joke? All in my head? But I never found anything, and eventually I gave up on finding out. I didn't want to finally get my answer only to realize it was like everything else- Like the trucks of Oreos, like undersea exploration, like falling in love. Something that seemed to exist just to disappoint people naive enough to believe in it.
Today was the first of the month, I'd guess. Haven't had a calendar for a long time, but the deliveries never fail. This time the package was placed neatly across a few sturdy branches of the tree I'd slept in, hoping to avoid the mess of trouble that had gone on below. I wasn't sure how I'd get down considering I'd messed up one of my legs pretty darn badly in the night's scuffle, but my package was close enough to reach from where I sat. Same little shipping label as always, though the address lines had been left blank since I stopped having an address.
I opened it up. You think I'd be sick of them by now, but when times are rough you wouldn't believe how good that sugar tastes. Only, strange thing, there weren't so many in the package this time. Five was all, I was ten short. I considered that maybe wherever they came from was running out, or that something else had gotten to my supply before I had. Then I considered something else.
A lifetime supply of Oreos.
I guess this is my last one.
|
The hours pass slowly and are full of pain. My body grows weary with toil under the distant sun and amidst the red dust. But there is no rest for the slaves of the Corn King. We work the barren fields under the crack of the whip and the threat of worse–trying to force life out of something that long ago has died. My life was not always as terrible as it is now now. For I am old. I even remember the times before.
 
 
Prior to serving the Corn King, I was a king myself. I held a small fiefdom to the north. It was nothing compared to the vast fertile tracts of the King, but it was free and happy. My people and I lived there fairly for many years. We farmed when we could and hunted when we could not. Some small part of our land had not been affected by the dark blight. But there was another reason I was king, another reason we were able to live as we did, a secret power that allowed me and my people to thrive in the wastelands.
 
The young, those who do not remember the times before, called it manna, like in the old stories: food from the heavens, a miracle. The truth is more mundane but just as mysterious. As a child, before the blight, I ate many cookies, candies, and other sweet things. These were more common and easy to come by then than they are now. One day I bought a package of sweet cookie sandwiches called Oreos. I knew little then of the significance that day would hold and the importance of it to my future survival. For when I opened that package, I saw a slip of paper inside; I had won a lifetime supply of Oreos.
 
After the darkness and the fall of the cities, the deliveries continued. No matter where I was, once a month, on the day of the new moon, a rider dressed all in black would find me. The rider would give me a box filled to the brim with packages of Oreos. At times they were Double Stuf. Sometimes Cakesters or Heads or Tails. One dark and evil day the entire box was Birthday Cake flavor. Those cookies and that rider allowed me to survive for years. They allowed me to found and feed a small town. I called it Fort Oreo.
 
We lived on that manna and what little we could farm. We lived in peace with other peoples, trading and bartering. That is, until the Corn King came. They say he never has enough. He seeks new fields to farm and people to enslave. He was accompanied by many men and with fire, smoke, and the screams of children. I burned the last of our reserves; he may kill us all but he would never learn my secret. I then fled to the south. I was found by one of his scouts and played dumb. I was brought to one of their camps to work as a field slave. My former subjects were either killed or brought to other places. I saw no one whom I recognized.
 
 
It is now on the mysterious delivery that I pin my hopes. The moon has been waning. The rider will come tonight.
 
Night falls and I manage to escape escape from the bunkers. If I am found, they will–I do not like to think on it. I wait, the time passes, I begin to lose hope, but then–lo! The rider comes. I see a shadow in the distance, by the light of the stars, growing closer. The rider approaches me and holds out a box. For the first time in many years, I speak to him.
 
I beg this strange hooded rider to deliver me from this place, just as he delivered so many boxes of Nabisco ® Oreo Cookies in the past. He looks at me from under his hood. His eyes gleam and he seems deep in thought.
Eventually he says, "you may accompany me and escape this present evil. But know that, if you do, many trials lie ahead. You will indeed change ere you return to the world of men. Whether it be for the better or the worse, I cannot say."
I tell the rider that I will come. Although I am old, I still have vigor in my limbs and my mind is strong. The Oreos provided me with strength and a strange vitality all my life.
 
The figure then pulls back his hood and reveals a face. It is more wonderful and terrible than can be described in words. I turn my eyes and look elsewhere for many minutes before I can bear to look directly at him.
The figure speaks to me, "come, for there is much work to do."
| 2019-01-04T10:08:48
| 2019-01-04T09:32:32
| 7,531
| 80
|
[WP] Global communications are interrupted by an alien message, "We will be coming to enslave your planet in one Earth year from now. Fight or perish." Scientists are scrambling once they learn the transmission is already 364 days old.
|
Becapodian imperial justice court
Case review# 2546FG-A
Accusations: Failed invasion of level 0.25 planetoid - destruction of imperial asset - failure to win - desertion - dishonor
Recommended verdict : Death
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Commander Xandar, you understand the goal of this court is to better understand the abysmal failure that has been the Earth invasion. More precisely this committee will determine if you are guilty of gross negligence resulting in the destruction of our prestigious flagship and over 75% of our invasion fleet. Do you understand what I am telling you ?
*Yes Admiral, I understand.*
Good, now with the formalities aside, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED OUT THERE XANDAR?
*You...I...I mean... You have to understand sir, they're maniacs, freaking maniacs! all of them!*
God dammit Xandar, intel reported a bunch of backwater hillbillies with sticks and stones. Sticks and stones Xandar!
*Actually sir, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. I think our intel might have been just a wee bit outdated. I know 5000 local star cycles are not usually relative in terms of technological advancements but their technological level was probably closer to 5 or 6 on the techno-advancement scale. Nowhere near the 0.25 results of our previous survey.*
5 or 6 ? For god's sake Xandar, your fleet was large enough to reduce a class 9 civilization to rubble. What difference does it make if they were a 0 or a 6 ? A god damn 7 should have been a walk in the freaking park.
*If...If I may try to explain sir, I would recategorize them as a crazy-6*
Crazy-6 ? What the hell is that?
*Well, you see. While they posess the technological advancement of a class 6 society, their cultural and emotional response are more in line with a 0 or a 1.*
In layman's terms Xandar.
*They're nuts sir, completely and utterly nuts. They appear to have reach a special sweetspot in their advancement where they begin to understand advanced physics and interstellar technologies but they use it to blow themselves up or they combine them together on a drunken dare.*
Alright alright... just.. start at the beginning.
*Well, it started well enough. We approached the planet and while their technological level was nowhere near our expectations, it was surmised that no real change of strategy was needed other than to cripple their communication. We launched a pre-emptive strike against most of their satellites, communication centers and command posts.*
According to this your initial report, successful destruction rate was fairly low. Care to explain ?
*Ah well, you see. Apparently they really like to build giant monuments laced with metal so the detectors falsely identified them as military ressources. We may have wasted time and ammunitions on those. But on the plus side, destroying important monuments is good psychological warfare...eheh..right?*
I fail to see a reason for laughter... Continue
Anyway t*he first few hours were going according to plan. What little response they mustered was obliterated in mere moments, mainly due to lack of communications and coordination. We expected a quick surrender following this debacle, as is standard of a class 6 or 7 civilization.*
And I see in your report that they never offered their surrender ?
*Ah...no.... they decided insted to shot back at us... in surprisingly high number I must say.*
So this was coordinated ? I thought you said they lacked communications at this point?
*Well, they did. At first it was 1 or 2 nucleao-atom type ordonances, nothing our defense grid couldn't handle but they just kept coming, and coming. And I guess, seeing the ordonances launching, those who had them also decided to launch whatever they had and let me tell you, they had a lot! I've never seen so many nucleo-atom type ordonances on a class 6 planet. It's like they were stockpiling them just for the fun of it and boy did they threw a party in our honor. They completly overwhelmed our defense grid and a few ships were damaged beyond repairs.*
An unfortunate setback, but in no mean an excuse for what followed. Continue.
*Well, as per standard procedure, we crashed the damaged ships on the planet, hoping the resulting power-core explosions would neutralize the remaining defenses and pressure them into surrendering. and for the most part it worked pretty well, a few cities were leveled and resistance pocket were obliterated. Unfortunatly one of the ships landed mostly intact and they huh... they managed to steal it*
Steal it? Now how in hell do you suppose they managed to do that?
*Well, my best guess would be that they played around with the controls and by sheer luck managed to activate the cloaking generator.*
So they got their hands on some of our technologies, big deal. It's not like they can reverse engineer it overnight. It would take any class 6 civilization over 200 solar cycle to understand this technology and perfect it's use. I must say Commander Xandar, so far I'm mostly seeing failure on your part and nothing justified by those *freaking maniacs* as you've called them
*Actually sir, getting their hands on our technology was the turning point. You have to understand, they didn't reverse engineer it, they didn't try to understand it, they just... used it. They managed to recover one of the main gun, plug it into one of their primitive power facility and fire a few shots at us before it exploded. They took out 2 ships that way. We thought the weapon's destruction would slow their use of our technology but it didn't. They celebrated and went nuts.*
Impressive, getting a X5F orbital cannon to work is no small feet.
|
*ENGLAND, THE HOME OF WERNER MCKOWSLIQ, 0:3:00*
Silence hung over the room, daring someone to break it. The first to do so was a younger woman, top of her class, she dusted herself off as she rose from her chair. For a moment she just stood there, the woman closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then her eyes sprang open and she said, “Gentlemen it sounds like were well and done fucked.”
*THE PENTAGON, 5:45:10*
Dr. Kibler had never flown in a helicopter before, and, if he was being candid, he wasn’t sure why he was in one now. Well, obviously he had been effectively forced to come. He’d been standing in his lab at MIT when the message aired and had continued to stand in that same spot for another five minutes. Upon his wits returning to him, he gathered his things and began to head for his car. As he walked out of his office he thought about how odd it was to announce your intentions to subjugate an entire race a year early.
This train of thought was derailed by four men in black suits, he never learned their names but later named them freckles, Mr. Boom, semi-serious, and possibly my neighbor. They had first simply stood outside his office, Mr. Boom held the door for him and the other three stood on the opposite side of the wall. Kibler thought about asking them what the hell they wanted but then figured that it was more likely they would end up getting what they want rather than him.
So five hours later Dr. Kibler struggled not to vomit as semi-serious piloted the chopper into a rough landing on top of the pentagon. As the doctor was exiting the vehicle, he could’ve sworn he saw the sentinel like agent’s mouth twitch upwards just a tiny bit. Kibler let a breath of laughter out of his nose at the prospect of the secret service agent finding amusement in his air sickness. The remaining agents escorted him, painfully quickly, through various halls and doors, each with a plethora of the most sophisticated locks he’d ever seen. Finally, they entered into a massive room with an enormous circular table spanning almost the entirety of the room. He was forcibly seated down, about half of the people around him looked as frightened as he did: the rest either held determined or indifferent faces. In front of him was a small microphone, he tapped it, the resulting feedback earned him irked glares from his new companions. They were interrupted by a familiar voice though.
“You are all the smartest this country has to offer. We need a plan friends and we need it fast.” Said the president.
*GERMANY, THE VANGRUBER CAFÉ, 6:22:49*
Ernst Vangruber lit the eleven candles he kept near the portrait of the late Ms. Vangruber. She had often touted that she kept a list of the greatest moments of her life; the list, which went up 50, had eleven involving him in the top twenty. Ernst figured the obvious: their marriage, the first time they had danced, the birth of their only daughter, and possibly the time he had fallen out of their tiny fishing boat.
He chuckled at the memory of that one.
His aging bones protested a he got up from his chair and began to move towards the front door. He switched the sign hanging on the door, informing all that they were closed. Then he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a small boom box he had been gifted many years ago by his son. He turned it on and hit play, he only had one CD; he’d always preferred live to recorded but he made an exception on account of the sentimental value of this piece.
He kicked off his shows as the gentle rhythm once again carried him. He closed his eyes, reaching his hands out to unite with his spectral partner.
*TEXAS, A WAL-MART, 10:43:11*
“Can I just take anything?”
Kyle tipped the sombrero off his face. A woman looking like she’d walked right out of her retirement home stood above him, knees wobbling.
He nodded, pulling the sombrero back onto his face, “Yeah, go ahead. Who gives a shit anymore?”
He rested his head back against his orange vest. He’d had the job for two years now, because, as it turns out, an English degree does not offer a cornucopia of career opportunities. No, the depth of its reach stopped about halfway through dipping a pinkie finger into the kid’s pool. He wasn’t bitter though; No sir, he knew this was probably how it would turn out. He just had to keep cracking at his novel, eventually someone would accept his manuscript.
As it turns out though, no publisher enjoyed the idea of spacefaring vampires looking for the last remnants of mankind.
He pulled his phone out, swiping through his contacts until he landed on his college creative writing professor. He’d obtained her number after a group of him and his peers had broken into her office, under the influence of some hard liquor, to piss on her copy of Macbeth. He’d opted instead to take her personal details instead.
For some reason, he was the only who wasn’t kicked out. He always attributed it to a secret passion that burned in her heat, just for him.
A second before the dial tone hit she accepted.
“Who is this?” God he was just as enamored with her voice now as he was back then.
“Kyle, two years ago? My final piece was about a group of trees that-“
“Attempted to overthrow the Bolivian government using a device that replaced their consciousness with that of a single collective pig intelligence, I remember, unfortunately.” Every word seemed as though someone was wrenching it out of her mouth.
Kyle could barely contain his excitement, he couldn’t believe this was going so well, “So... you see the news?”
There was a pause, then, “No Kyle, I’m talking to you because I just enjoyed our discourse together; not because I am currently panicking at the fact that I have spent my life working on a program whose only notable authors are you and that kid who writes haunted house travel guides.”
Teera Mcglowkli, Kyle smiled as he reminisced on a conversation they’d had about the exact range of poltergeist capabilities. Before getting absorbed into the memory though, he asked, “So, since the end of the world is coming in hot, do you wanna fuck?”
The silence lasted so long he thought she’d hung up, then she said, “You are without a doubt, the least talented student I’ve ever had.”
He swallowed a lump in his throat, “Uh huh.”
“I had fantasies of running you over with my car.”
“I-“
“Seriously, I thought about it every time I saw your stupid fucking face.”
“OK, but-“
“Do you have my address? Actually, fuck it, where are you now?”
“The Walmart off of post oak.”
Another pause, “You work at Walmart?” Then she added, “For how long, what do you do?”
“Two years, and I’m a greeter. So should I come to you or…”
“No, no, it’s disgusting how turned on I am right now. Stay there, I’ll be there in ten.”
Kyle laid the phone on the ground, attempting to put his head back together. Then, with a massive shit eating grin, he adjusted his sombrero and waited by the door.
*NEW YORK CITY, TIMES SQUARE 18:26:01*
Kayla walked through a city on fire.
To her right, a man dressed in a Santa outfit carefully climbed through a broken window, holding three Nintendo switches in his large, jolly arms. With his strap on beard now on the back of his neck, he took off.
All around her people swarmed, no direction or destination in mind, ants without a queen. Some stole, others fought, but a large number had found their apocalyptic calling in burning whatever was currently in front of them. Kayla could see the appeal but decided to keep walking, she actually had a destination in mind.
An hour and a half later she stood on the Brooklyn Bridge. A sea of abandoned cars behind her and a sea of seemingly gentle waves inviting her to simply take the plunge. A woman to her right held tightly onto a railing, she looked the same age as Kayla but much taller. She approached the woman slowly, who watched her come the entire way. The woman seemed wary but indifferent at the same time, she knew whatever happened now wouldn’t matter but also had the same fear we all have of danger.
Kayla gently offered her hand. The woman took a moment to accept it, Kayla stood on the railing with her. The two looked down into the waves, they crashed endlessly into the side of the bridge without purpose. The woman interrupted Kayla, “We don’t have to jump now.”
Kayla turned to her, slightly disappointed but also pleasantly surprised, “I suppose we don’t.”
The two hugged as they sat against the bridge, both waiting for the other to decide when.
*ANARCTICA, BASE 7B, 23:15:18*
Three women and two men stood around a table stained with coffee.
It also had a capsule containing the only reliable means of contacting the extra-terrestrial life that now threatened Earth.
The five sat down, one after the other, then they placed their hands on the capsule. It opened quickly, revealing a purple, pulsing spike in its center. One of the five pricked their fingers on the device which caused it to pulse faster and grow brighter. Then the five of them were in a dark limbo.
| 2018-08-29T04:20:12
| 2018-08-28T23:45:32
| 121
| 72
|
[WP] You're a killer dumping your latest victim into the river. Just as you're about to be done, you spot another person. Doing exactly the same thing. And they've just spotted you, too.
|
What's a rivers body count? There's the obvious ones, the direct victims that fall in (or jump) and drown. Then there's the murders, people killing people with the river as if it's a gun. Then, of course, there's the literal: the dead bodies we drop in ourselves after doing the dirty work.
I respect the river; I'd never make it party to my job. I do the work, and mother river washes it away.
It was a Tuesday near the end of my shift and I was tired. The night before had been Jerry's birthday and we had gone out to Patrick's, that dingy little bar on 13th street, and had way too much whiskey. My head had stopped pounding around noon but I still didn't feel fully up to snuff even now, at 4 in the afternoon.
My last job of the day was Carl Walker, a big man with a big appetite who had made some big mistakes with big money. Being that the big money belonged to the city's big man, Vinny Salvatore, poor Carl didn't have much of a future after the fifth horse in the sixth race (I think it's name was Chips Ahoy) failed to come in first. Enter myself, professional disposal operator.
Carl got an whole extra week of life because I couldn't get the damn papers filed correctly. I've never been too good with computers, but I still tried to e-file my extermination petition online. Big mistake, although not as big as Carl's. The damn thing wanted scans and faxes and all kinds of shit I couldn't figure out, so I simply printed the forms out and filled them out the old fashioned: way with a pen. But then I had to mail them, and you know how slow the fucking post office can be.
So I had Jackie breathing down my neck to get this guy whacked, and I'd already been written up last month for improper disposal, so I had to make some moves. Hopefully Carl enjoyed that last week, because he certainly didn't enjoy the icepick in his ear.
This is where things get a little sketchy. I'm down by the river, sitting next to Carl, just shooting the shit. He didn't have much to say, if you know what i mean, but that's the way I like it: the live ones always talk back too much.
I'm asking old Carl how many bodies he thinks are in the river (he's giving me that fish-eyed stare the dead get - some guys don't like it, but it cracks me right up, like one of them googly-eyed dolls or something) when I see a pair of shoes on the stairs. They're moving slow and seem to be struggling, so I do the Christian thing and go to help them, clapping Carl on the shoulder to let him know I'll be right back.
Well, I get over there and I shit you not, it's a fucking cop! A skinny little guy with no chin to speak of, but police all the same. We didn't talk none at first, I just grabbed the fella's feet and helped the little guy carry him to the waters edge.
He might've been small, but this cop could throw. We get to the edge and he does Judo or some shit and throws this body six feet out! I was impressed, and I told him so. He just gives me a cool eye and asks what I'm doing down here.
Feeling a little nervous, I jerk my thumb back at Carl.
"Disposal, officer," I says, smiling and pulling out my license. He barely looks at it and now I'm starting to sweat. No reason really, I know my affairs are in order, but it's that old fear of the boys in blue. You can't never really shake it.
"I'm gonna need to see a permit, buddy." He's narrowing his eyes now, and I'm remembering how easy he tossed that stiff into the drink. Better not get on this guys bad side, I'm thinking to myself. I reach in my pocket for my papers and my damn heart nearly stops. The papers ain't there!
I'm patting my pockets and searching them all, even that goofy little one they make for pennies (or some shit, I never used it myself). Mind you, the whole time I'm grinning like a fucking fool. I feel embarrassed just remembering. My wife still makes fun of me for being such a bonehead.
"I got it officer, I swear," I says, trying to retrace my steps. Trying to be neighborly, and yeah, buy my ass some time, I start chatting: "I even tried to file it online but couldn't figure out the damn fax machine." I gave a nervous laugh, sounding like a jackass no doubt. He doesn't do nothing, just stares at me with one eyebrow raised.
I glance back at Carl and it clicks. Carl! I put the papers in Carl's pocket so I wouldn't get them mixed up with my earlier job (a real piece a work named Bunny Tartson). I nearly piss myself in relief as check Carl's pockets and find all my papers neat as you please.
Officer Short Stuff barely even looked at the papers, though. I suppose he just wanted to make sure I had them. Pollution is a big problem in our city and you get all kinds of bums dropping bodies in the river, without even so much as a license to dispose let alone a river permit!
So i guess the answer, is that the river's got too many bodies. That's life though, the good things get ruined by bad people.
|
Jack checked again as he began shoveling the remains into the hole. While most people wouldn't think a beach to be one of the perfect places to put a corpse, it makes sense.
Sand is easy to move around, much moreso than dirt. Less strain on you. Plus, if a major storm ever hits and the body is uncovered; with luck the tide will sweep out what's left and the fish will do the rest. Sounds crazy, but some guy in Long Island has been doing this way longer than Jack and they haven't caught him yet. So...
Jack finished scooting the grisly remains out of the bed of the truck.
*Alright, Dolores. This is where we part. A quick trip to the car wash, and this will all be behind us.*
He heard it. He paused and listened, frozen in place. Was it the tide rolling in more? A boat exiting the river, to the bay? No. He heard it again, and strained to identify it over the cresting ocean. A low-shifting noise in the sand somewhere neabry in the dunes. No mistake now. Somebody was here.
Jack quietly moved to his truck and deftly opened the door to retrieve one of his 'preferred instruments'. A buck knife. The old classic; a little ugly, but quiet. He quietly began walking, to find the culprit. Before long, he realized the shuffling came from right across the dune he was working on. He ascended slowly as to not draw attention to himself.
*That's strange. Another car out here, at this time of night? Probably some teenagers.* Jack thought.
*Oh well... Can't have them stumbling onto my work.*
As he began the slow creep towards the car, he realized something unusual. The trunk was cracked open. Reaching the car, he checked around and then lifted the lid. Gore. A man, maybe in his fifties, his chest full of holes, laid inside. Jack touched him for a pulse, to his surprise, the body was still rather warm.
But he wasn't killed there.
*Snick*
Jack recognized that sound. He about-faced to fight, but quickly halted as he made things out. A woman. While she was a little shorter than him, she was extremely fit. Amazonian even. A fighter too, he could tell. Regular people don't carry themselves like that. Regular people also don't carry submachine guns to the beach...
"Evening ma'am." Jack greeted her warmly. He quietly hid the knife behind his hip.
"Hello." She replied. Her greeting was equally warm, but the coldness in her eyes told the truth.
"Um..." Jack tried to conjure, "Is this your car?"
"You could say that." She replied, "That your truck over on the other side of the dune there?"
*She knows.* Jack numbly confirmed.
"Maybe?" Jack implied. He was going to have to kill her. No doubt about it now.
"I see. And that thing in the hole you dug?" She said as she tightened her grip on the gun. Jack kept a eye on the massive suppressor, the edge of it gleaming under the reflection of headlights.
"Yeah. I did that." Jack admitted dropping his ruse. "Hey, one question: is that guy with you?"
She quickly snapped a glance. Jack took the small window and flicked the buck knife at her. To his surprise, she did a sideways hop and dodged the blade as it grazed her jacket. He took this opportunity to rush her. She brought the gun up as they met. He shoved it away and went deaf in one ear as a burst went into the air. They tossed the gun by accident, it landing in the sand nearby. Jack swung on her, but she deftly absorbed the blows even as he attempted to straddle her. Rolling her nearly to her stomach, Jack felt triumph before he heard two sharp cracks.
He quickly leapt off her, and checked his face and chest. *She had another gun and had shot through her jacket.*
"Stupid fucker." She seethed. "Throwing a knife??"
"I almost had you." Jack wagged his finger.
"Shut up." She gritted. "You already dug that hole?"
"*What do you think*?" Jack reminded, "It's not like I'm here to go surfing."
"Get the body out of the trunk of the car there. Drag it to the hole." She demanded.
"Any thing in it for me?" He smirked.
"Yeah. I don't put you there." She breathed.
---
It took some time, but eventually, the deed was done. The bodies laid at the bottom as the pair quietly shoveled sand on top. They never took their eyes completely off each other.
"You ride a motorcycle?" Jack suddenly inquired.
She snuffed, "Do you work at a club?"
Jack realized he still wore his security shirt. He killed Dolores maybe an hour off shift. It's not like he had time to change.
"Point taken. Just wondering." He smiled again.
"Why'd you do yours?" She asked as they shoveled.
"Meh, spur of the moment." Jack spoke freely, "I didn't want to. But I couldn't resist... and you?"
"Money." She sighed.
"Ahh. An entrepreneur."
They finished shoveling and stood back. She quietly slung her gun up from it's strap, and pointed it at him again for a moment.
"Again??" Jack asked laconically.
"Are you done?" She replied.
"Miss, my girlfriend is waiting on me. So anytime you'd like to leave."
"Don't follow me." She spoke hollowly, "We didn't meet. Estúpido hijo de puta..."
"No me duele ser amable." Jack replied after her. She only grimaced as she crept over the dune. He watched quietly in his truck as the sedan disappeared into the tree line and drove away.
---
I kinda' wanted these characters to meet, but I didn't know how. Great prompt!
| 2017-10-12T20:40:57
| 2017-10-12T19:17:37
| 49
| 20
|
[WP] In the year 2200, an IQ test with 100% accuracy is invented. IQ becomes the universal grade of intelligence. By law, everyone has to take the test at 18. You’re a perfectly normal university student with a part time job but now you've got to explain to everyone why the test shows your IQ is 0.
|
"WHAT?" My parents screamed, furious. They couldn't believe that, with the combination of their genes and my upbringing, I could possibly score a zero. Not only that, but all three of us were smart enough to know that it is impossible to have an IQ of zero and still be a functional human being.
"You act surprised," I note, holding the same smirk I'd had since I received the results. "I'm amazed you didn't see this coming."
"Of course we didn't! You're very intelligent! There's no way this is correct!" They stared incredulously at the paper, only darting glances at me every once in a while to make sure I was still there, and that the whole situation wasn't a hallucination or lucid dream.
"It is correct, though." I slowly started to march forward, hands clasped behind my back and my chest swelled in pride. I cocked my head back for dramatic effect as I stood next to them, with my mother between myself and my father. I put my arm around them both, and they resisted every urge to shove me off of them. I decided to save myself a beating, and, with as dramatic timing as I could muster, I lifted my finger, placed it at the top of the paper directly next to my score, and pointed out the fine print. "I didn't get a single answer correct. In this entire test, not a single one."
"How?" They asked. "Why?" They added.
"I beat the test. Backwards. I didn't do it through lucky guesses, either. I deconstructed and reconstructed each and every single question, turning its own logic against it and coming up with the perfect wrong answers." I looked up at them, met with the same glares, but softened with a slow burn of confusion and wonderment. They knew it was even more improbable than getting every question correct.
At that very moment, a rapid succession of knocks on the front door resounded throughout the house. My parents trained their eyes on me as they walked past, almost as if they were saying, "We aren't done talking about this." They reached, with the test paper still in hand, to open the front door.
"Mr. and Mrs. Barry, I presume?" I recognized the voice. It was deep and brash, but not confident. It was more arrogant than anything, but a quiver made it sound humbled, and I leaned against the wall behind the door. "Your son... Well... He's been selected."
"Selected for what?" My mother lifted the paper, looking at it and showing it to the principal.
"So you have seen that? Good. You see... He did what only a handful of others could in the entire world, and even beat some other successful candidates at their own game. He's been selected to attend a panel of the world's foremost minds, including the ones who proposed and enacted the IQ test mandate."
*"This is it,"* I thought to myself, *"I proved the bastards wrong."*
|
Sir_Fartington MacVomit never had it easy. Questions plagued him all of his life. Why, in the long line of MacVomits, had nobody changed their name? What cruel, inconsiderate parents (Charles and Catherine) would choose a name like Sir_Fartington. Even the underscore was a throwback to typography from hundreds of years ago. He could never dictate it, only spell it, slowly, and with a resigned look. "S for single, I for irrecoverable, r for ruined" and so on. Underscore for the low level of failure he had been set up with for all of his life. No, not a hyphen. Sigh.
When he got a notification with his Adult Aptitude test results, he had no expectations. He opened it. Short, and to the point. Like his date rejections.
Sir_Fartington MacVomit
Your Adult Aptitude test results are in. You have scored a 0 out of a possible 1,000 points, putting you in the top 65% of the adult population.
For the first time Sir_Fartington smiled. Maybe there was hope after all.
| 2016-08-19T02:52:19
| 2016-08-19T01:09:24
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] You are permanently stuck invisible. Your significant other is blind. Whenever you both go out in public, to the bypassers your SO is constantly seen as someone possessing a sixth sense but a little weird for talking to themself. This is always highly amusing to you.
|
"You know, every time we sit here like this, I think the most reassuring thing is that I can feel your heartbeat." My husband was sitting next to me. His hand was holding mine and I felt at peace. Even if his coat was getting a little cold.
I'd gotten used to the stares. People were always very confused by my husband's seemingly magic ability to know what was going on around him. The time or two that he's rushed forward to save someone from being hit has made more than a few people skeptical of his blindness. However, all he has to do is take off his glasses and most people lose their doubts. Scars do that. A few of the more zealous tend to run away when he starts mumbling to himself about not kicking them in the nuts or pantings them. I know it's juvenile, but when you can get away with almost anything then why not try to get away with everything?
"Are you sure you're not cold?" He asked nicely, even as I felt his hand run up my thigh. Most people overlooked the indent on his jacket. For pretense we kept the usual stuff that most blind folks wear out and about with us. It was hard to carry things around when you don't have a purse, but that's a tradeoff we make. His fanny pack works great when I need to carry something or when we need to put his gear away.
Today we were off to see a close personal friend. Their place was about thirty minutes away by bus. I signaled him that the bus was coming close. The driver called out the route and I got up to get on. The bus ticket scanner picked up that I was there, but the driver just overrode it when my husband paid his fair.
He settled into his seat and I settled into his lap. I felt his hands tickling my tummy. Little games made life fun. Cuddling in closer we continued our little game. I might have giggled a few times. The folks in the seat behind us seemed decidedly confused. I had to keep from kissing him. I'm sure that would have made things all kinds of weird. That's the thing about having a blind husband, he didn't care if people stared.
We got off the bus. A ghostly hand leading the blind man down. Still, it was lovely for us both to just have these little outings.
Vanessa was her usually bubbly self. After all these years of knowing us she still jumped when I spoke up for the first time. I made a point of trying to interject at a polite time to make my presence known. They had had a thing for each other some years ago. Not gonna lie, I am jealous of her. She can go out with my husband and do things that I could never dream of. Me, I'm trapped in a lot of ways and liberated in others. Freedom is a burden sometimes.
Dinner came and went. No, I don't know why things just disappear inside me. Rather, it seems like a rather silly joke. He and I, we had talk about having a baby a few times. Neither of us wants to pass on the defects that make us the way we are though. Still, it's something I've yearned for. That's part of why we were visiting Vanessa tonight. It was week thirty-two. I so desperately wanted to reach out and touch her belly. I had to stop myself. Not everyone was okay with phantom hands on them.
"So, have you decided on a name?" She asked. I looked at my husband and nodded. His uncanny ability to see what I was doing made things so much easier. "We were thinking Purity." He said with a smile, "More specifically Katya, since it would be a little over the top to name someone Pure outright." Vanessa's cheek twitched slightly. I loved that about her. She didn't take our quirks for granted.
"Alright, we'll need to figure out a way for you to hold the baby." That was one of the things that melted my heart the most about this whole mess. Vanessa was letting my husband be a father to her soon to be daughter. She was letting us take part in her life. It was moments like this that truly made me feel a little less invisible.
|
“Hunny , can we go out for a walk today ? I need fresh air . We been in the house all week ! Come ooooonn!”
“God okay !! Brat ! Let’s go around the block and back . Can you grab my cane for me ?”
*inhales deeply*
*exhale swiftly*
“Don’t you just love the smell of spring dear ? The birds are singing , the bugs are dancing...”
“I absolutely hate bugs and you know that . It does smell lovely today . The weather is also amazingly perfect .”
“Sometimes darling , i wish i could give you my eyes so you could be reminded of how beautiful the world actually is . I don’t feel like i do a good job painting that picture for you . Like ...stop here ! *comes to sudden stop* “Touch this..” *grab his hands to touch random object* “Now tell me , what do you feel ? Do you have the memories photographically ,emotionally also ? Does you heart rate intensity once you rub this object?!”
“A pole , the pole a half of mile away from our house . We took a picture here a week after moving in . I remember because of it’s strange shape , like a lowercase t . We stopped here to admire a bird you’d seen fly by slowly . In that moment i could’ve remarried you .” *walking off* “I’ll kill to see you smile the way you did then , prettier than our wedding day . It’s always been something about you and nature . I think that bird wanted us to capture the moment , we kissed right under where he’d landed and i knew then , you I’d never let go .”
*whimpering*
“That was so beautiful OB , i love how you go on walls and talk with your wife the entire time . Love like that is what gives hope ! Do you need anything Mr.B ?”
*stops to turn around*
“haha haha silly child , don’t ever not talk to the woman of your world ! That one time she won’t talk to you might kill you” *enlarged grin* “ but no , I’m fine and i have the wife here.”
“You’re always so standupish and wholesome , we as a community absolutely love that about you . Hey Mrs. B ! Lovely day we’re having ! Yal be safe i gotta go now !”
“Hunny , I’m so in love with you , It’s the words for me . You make everything sound so beautiful and sweet . I don’t know how I’d live without you .”
*previous child talking to mom*
“Mom ! I saw Mr. B again ! He’s so strong willed mom , i wanna be just like him ! He walked around the entire neighborhood blind with no assistance ! How do you think he do it?!”
“Well baby he’s probably just use to the area . He does talk with his deceased wife every time he go so maybe that love for her guides him.”
“Yeah he do always mention her like she’s standing right there . He even holds his arm up in a position like it’s being held by someone . He must really misses her mom .”
“We all deal with grieve and tragic accidents in our own little ways . It may make him happy and hopefully to imagine her still there . I mean , she did die the same day he lost his sight . Always be kind to him darling .”
“Always mommy , a lot of times i just listen to him talk and i promise it’s like it’s really a person there , should he get help someone?”
“Maybe dear but we are not the ones to judge , when daddy died , i lost my mind too . I just had to smile all the way through it !”
*beep beeeep*
“Yooo OB you good man ? Wanna ride ?”
“No we’re good ! Thanks . We’re just doing our routine walk .”
“Alright man. Be careful ! Might wanna get you a assistant dog . A helper or something !”
“Again sir , we are good . Thank you !”
*car pulling off while both giggle*
“Baby ?”
“Yes my love?”
“I’m not a ghost okay? I’m actually here and you’re not crazy !”
“Mrs. B , my wife and my life time partner . I went blind the day they told me you were gone and there was no body . My love is so pure for you , I’d rather see nothing then to not see you . When i left the hospital and laid down that night , i felt whole again when you sat on the bed . I touched you and knew . I still felt the warmth in your flesh , the love from your soul , the light from your eyes . Even i can’t explain what happened in that explosion at the plant but I’m glad it happened . So if people wanna think I’m talking to and loving nothing but a ghost , imma smile every time i get the assumption. Even when you become a ghost , I’ll talk to you forever.”
HEY GUYSSSS i hope you like it . It was kinda hard especially seeing that nobody else tried so i wanted to give it a go . I hope somebody can read this and get an idea and top this with a better story ?!
| 2020-06-06T22:38:56
| 2020-06-06T22:15:21
| 46
| 10
|
[WP]The great library of Alexandria held perhaps the greatest collection of literary works in human history, but within its walls something was held that was so dangerous that, when discovered, Caesar, Aurelian, and Amr ibn al `Aas decided it was worth losing the endless knowledge to destroy it.
|
#SCP-2897
**Object Class:** Keter
**Containment Procedures**: SCP-2897 is to be kept in the basement at the Library of ██████████, a Foundation front organization and designated containment facility. Ten or more unique written scrolls are to be kept within 10m of SCP-2987 at all times. These scrolls are to be inspected twice daily for deterioration. Deteriorated scrolls are to be replaced as needed; any fully-depleted scrolls are to be considered an instance of SCP-2987-1 and immediately incinerated.
No sensitive documentation may be stored within 50m of SCP-2987.
Personnel assigned to SCP-2987 are to undergo monthly psychological evaluation and permanently reassigned if needed.
**Description:** SCP-2987 is a papyrus scroll, of ordinary appearance. The wax seal on SCP-2987 bears an image of seven trumpets.
SCP-2989 actively consumes the nearest information, regardless of medium.
Written documentation kept near SCP-2987 will smudge and fade to illegibility, starting at the beginning of the document and proceeding in "reading" order.
Spoken conversation near SCP-2987 has been observed to sound muted and difficult to understand.
D-Class personnel kept near SCP-2987 have been observed to lose their memories in chronological order, with full amnesia being reached in 18-24 hours.
Any item or personnel which has been depleted of information shall be considered an instance of SCP-2987-1. Instances of SCP-2987-1 consume nearby information in a fashion similar to SCP-2987, replacing their own pages or memory with the newly aquired information. Animate instances will actively seek out information to consume.
|
Pothinus ran through the streets of Alexandria, kicking up clouds of dust. He was running from the Palace to the library. Behind him, Ptolemy was dead. Arsinoe as well, perhaps. The Nile lay behind him, too, choked with dead.
Also behind him, but somewhat closer and gaining ground, was a Roman legate. The man cried out as he chased Pothinus
"Halt! Eunuch!"
The legate's foreign tongue mangled the words. Pothinus would not halt -- to fall into the hands of the Romans would mean certain death.
That bitch Cleopatra and her barbarian lover Caesar had won the day. If Caesar knew what the Library truly contained. . .
Pothinus saw the turn he'd been looking for and darted into it. By the time the legate himself rounded the corner, Pothinus would be lost in a maze of alleys. For someone who grew up in Alexandria, it would be easier to use those alleys to get close to the libraries. For a Roman. . . Well, the legate would be lucky to find his way back to Caesar's army.
Caesar. Pothinus's thoughts jumped back:
If Caesar knew of the scroll . . .
But no -- surely Cleopatra would not have told him. The secret was one the Ptolemys had kept since the time of Alexander.
Regardless, though, he had to get to the Library. Escape was only a secondary reason for his running. Some would say that Pothinus was a selfish man. But this was not so. He cared nothing for his own life, and was entirely devoted to his kingdom and dynasty.
Pothinus rounded another corner onto a main thoroughfare. He weaved between the houses of priests and noblemen, forgrounded lush courtyards.
Just ahead now lay the library. He heard the shouting of men but did not yet see them. So he scrambled through the street, passing the residences of the wealthy
Pothinus was a good and loyal servant of the Ptolemys. So when he used the scroll, he would not make himself king, as many would. He would bring the young Ptolemy back to life.
Pothinus ascended the library steps, was at the entrance. He swung the twin doors open, looking ahead ready to run into the scroll room.
He never got there. Pothinus didn't see the men in the street, but they were there. And they had seen him. Their ranking offer notched an arrow and drew his bow. . .
The arrow from behind was well-aimed, and pierced Pothinus's heart. It killed him instantly.
The commander turned to his men.
"We must burn this place immediately, and all the surrounding buildings. There is a. . . thing. . . within. A scroll. But with great power. It must be destroyed."
The grim faced men of Legion CMXCIX -- the clandestine unit tasked with handling supernatural threats to the republic -- nodded and set about their work. This was far from the toughest job they'd done. Gaius, the centurion who'd shot the arrow, repeated under his breath to his second in command, Kaeso.
"Destroyed. . ."
"The legends say it is indestructible," said Kaeso.
"We shall see. . ."
| 2015-10-14T13:00:10
| 2015-10-14T09:53:28
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] You're hired to wind down a dying newspaper. When you arrive at the building, you're met by eager reporters and a bustling office full of people trying to break stories. It's actually haunted, they're all ghosts, but they're doing FANTASTIC journalism and you might be able to save this place.
|
"Alright, people... ghosts— ghosts and whatever Phil is. The deadline, pun intended, is 2 am. Get your copy in. Gertrude, I need a thousand words on the city council meeting. Frankie, write up the notes from that murder victim interview and send them to Frannie to add to her crime piece. JJ, pull some national news from the wire services and punch it up with some local color. Move it people— uh... ghosts and whatever."
Julia's parents had tried to convince her to study a different subject in school, or at least to go into video. Print journalism was dead, they said. Seeing the newsroom filled with ghosts, Julia was more than willing to admit they were right, but it wasn't going to stop her from getting out a paper.
She'd been hired by the town merely to wind the paper down after the death of Mazel, the long time editor and last employee. The town loved their paper and wanted at least a few last editions before the whole shop closed. When she'd found the newspaper haunted, she'd nearly run away, but most of the ghosts, other than whatever Phil was, were not very scary. And they still loved journalism. So she'd decided that the paper's funeral would have to wait.
"Julia, I can't get this article to upload." The yellow spectre floating next to her desk was Jack, the sportswriter.
"Give it to Layout, they'll make sure it gets on the website." Her parents were right, print was dead. They still did a small run for the locals, but the new lifeblood of the paper was going to be the website, something Mazel had never set up.
Julia looked over the copy that floated over to her desk. "Luke, we can't print this. Nixon isn't President anymore."
A shrill wail pierced the clack of typewriters from around the room. Julia sighed. "Yes, I know the backroom ghosts have a tenuous link to the present. Tell them— Tell them to write some long form retrospectives. We'll print them as historical documentary pieces. Just make sure you pass them through Henry to remove all the racism. And the sexism. And everything else." The backroom ghosts had a lot of -isms.
As the night wore on, more pages floated their way to her desk, and after her signoff went to Layout. The newsroom clock struck two.
"That's it people— and Phil, whatever. We've got a paper! Send it to the printer and the website."
Julia shrugged on her coat and paused for a second next to the door. "And remember to put my name as the byline for everything. We wouldn't want to raise suspicions."
They didn't need the credit, they didn't mind being ghostwriters.
\[More at r/c_avery_m\]
|
The Daily Phantasm’s offices are a shutter-flash buzz of activity, the wavering lights of a thousand restless ghosts. You’re moved by it, even after all this time.
*“Thirty Killed As National Guard Busts Pullman Strike!”* a boy is shouting. His voice echoes thin and reedy and then falls silent. He’s gone.
*“Roosevelt Mistress Exposé!”* shouts a young, slip-thin woman.
*“The Shocking Truth Behind The President’s Alcoholism!”*
*“Bigfoot Real!”*
*“Murder!”*
*“Murder!”*
*“Murder!”*
You walk through the pandemonium, drinking it in. Like bigfoot, everything they’re shooting about is real, though it’s never timed quite right and too often it’s nonsensical. The dead are brutally honest, but they are not sober writers. So much editing.
Still, you think there’s something here. You can feel it. Ghosts pass by, singly or in small, tight-knit groups, and they carry with them the world’s dirty little secrets. Every person here is a skeleton in someone’s closet. Most of them haunted the halls of power before, shouting just as loudly there, though no one seemed to listen.
You’ll listen though. You sit on the bench outside your office and let the stories wash over you. No more bigfoots, everyone knows he’s real. Roosevelt doesn’t play anymore, though maybe that one could become a book. You sift through the noise, looking for something you can use.
*“This just in,”* someone screams, *“car crash on I-495! Record-Setting Pileup Staged to Kill VIP, You’ll Never Believe This Shocking Footage!”*
There’s something, you think. You drive the 495 to the office every day same as everyone else, and you hadn’t heard about it; could this ghost have died just now? You start to sift him from the crowd. The headline is hyperbolic, some conspiracy theory nonsense, but you can look into it. If it’s recent this ghost might even remember where he left the footage. And anyway, that sounds like a lot of cars.
*“Pileup, Pileup,”* he’s shouting. The crowd parts, letting you in. They can sense it, recent news is electric. It makes the office feel so much more alive. A few of them are calling out to you, pointing.
*“Shocking Footage! VIP!”*
You see him. So young. A sick green halo around stick-thin arms, these wide, crazy eyes. He’s shouting at everyone who will listen, gesticulating wildly. A recent death. All the others just shout, stare off into space as they try to tell their story.
*“Shocking Footage, Shocking Footage!”*
“Hey!” you say, “when did you die? Lisa? Someone get me Lisa, we might have a story!”
And this, this is what you live for. The ghost turns towards you, those wide, crazy eyes. He goes flashbulb bright with excitement, the story is getting out.
All these souls, skeletons in closets that someone is finally going to give a voice to. You’re proud of The Daily Phantasm. Anyone would be.
*“Oh my god,”* you hear Lisa say.
“Lisa! Clear room five, we’ve got work to do!”
*“Oh my god,”* she says, *“you don’t know, do you?”*
“Know what?” you say, and then you really hear the whispers. You look down. Your shutter-flash skin. A tattered, burned-up suit.
*"Oh no,"* you try to say.
Your mouth opens and a scream tears out. Your story. Another skeleton in another closet as the world keeps on turning.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-03-31T09:17:22
| 2022-03-31T08:25:21
| 97
| 60
|
[WP] You're an Elder God. The secretive cult that worships you on earth is seriously getting on your nerves. After their fourth botched attempt at trying to summon you, you decide to show up in person to correct the record about a couple of matters they have misunderstood entirely.
|
“No,” I sighed to myself, lazing across the lower clouds as I watched my cult draw the Sigil beneath the grove of trees.
In goat’s blood too, what a nice touch.
If they were trying to summon a lower prefectural demon of Class C and below, I scoffed silently,
However, not the proper summoning rules. Ash from the flames of a sacrificial fire doused in elk blood was a much more effect summoning start.
The cult leader stepped out of the group of robed cultists, and crept the closest towards the crimson Sigil. He began chanting in an ancient tongue.
I shook my head, clicking my tongue, “Latin? Really? Hellfire, they should know the old Celtic tongue if they’re going to worship me. Do they even know my true origin?”
“...may you besiege yourself upon us, my lord.” The cult leader finally ended in the common English tongue.
“How pitiful,” I groaned, “Can’t they a single summoning right? Last week, they attempted pig’s blood, now it’s goat’s? Obviously, if they’d studied more they’d known that I prefer elk!”
I thrust a hand out beneath me, waving angrily at the group coiled beneath me, “And Latin!? Those damn fools will sooner summon Zeus that I!”
I rolled over on the cloud. Groaning. Again.
“I can’t believe they’re forcing me to fix their summoning skills. Really. What a hell festive pain.”
I snapped my fingers and suddenly, I was in the middle of the summoning Sigil.
The cultists gasped and quickly, each dark robes figure fell to their knees, head bowed.
“Great lord-“
“Hold it,” I cut off the cult leader, “You guys are absolutely horrid summoners. You didn’t summon me, but watching you summon me sure as hell made me summon my bitch ass here myself.”
“What...?”
“Shut up and bring me six pints of elk’s blood, a crow beak, and hemlock,” I pushed up my sleeves, “Let me show you how to truly summon, peasants.”
|
\-There is just too much light in here
\-I believe that low living forms call it sun Sir- exclaimed Delius my young 6th dimensional dragon and assistant
\-I know what it is called, I have created some of those damn things you imbecile!....Although I think I destroyed a couple of those too because of how annoying that light of theirs was.
As I looked around I notice tiny meat bumps below me, they weren’t bigger than my toes, although that was relative considering that this anthropological form could change size as much as I wanted and it was easier to interact with lower dimensional beings this way, I once tried to take the form of a vegetative living form to communicate with them and the guy scared himself so much that I believe he went insane, last thing I heard from him he was talking about some “commandments”; in reality I got lost and wanted to ask for directions, but since he couldn’t comprehend my form I guess there was some distortion into what he sensed and what he was hearing, such feeble creatures…
I reduced my size until I was almost the size of one of them albeit just a little taller than them so that I could see most of them from my position, Delius decided to do the same and wrapped himself around one of my extremities.
They started dropping themselves into the ground and…Singing?
\-Delius could you elaborate to me what is happening?
\-I believe they are worshipping you Sir.
\-Wh-what? Why?
\-From why I listened from the cosmic data void, these mammals think that you are their deity and creator of everything, including them.
\-That is ridiculous! I have just been here like what, 7 times? And I only talked to a couple of locals that were bitching about some water.
\-OH GREAT CREATOR, PLEASE PROVIDE US WITH THE KNOWLEDGED AND POWER TO DOMINATE THOSE WHO OPPOSE YOUR GREATNESS
\-Are these mammals stupid or something? Did they just asked me to give them power to injure others?
\-Sir, I think they want to declare war under your name
\-Okay first of all, I don’t do war, that is just a waste of time and effort, second of all I don’t even know these idiots.
\-LORD PLEASE I BEG YOU DESTROY THE BROWN INFECTION THAT AFFECTS OUR GREAT NATION
\-What the fuck is brown? Is that another one of those mythical creatures?
\-I’m not sure sir, the records are incomplete they just describe it as a color, although I'm not sure what a color is.
\-THEY ARE TAKING OUR JOBS-
\- I j-just, I can’t, I can’t even comprehend what the fuck they are talking about anymore
\-I thought you wanted to provide some clarity towards this creature’s sir.
\-I wanted them to stop whispering while I’m resting, its annoying, imagine hearing mumbles constantly calling for your name when they can’t even pronounce it properly. Fuck this, I’m out.
And as I was about to leave, and idea popped into my mind- No wait…. I have a better idea... HEY YOU – I pointed with one of the extremities towards one of the mammals- You should at least call me by my name, I am the mighty LUCY, and this- I created a communication circle in the ground below us- IS HOW YOU CALL ME PROPERLY, REMEMBER IT AND MAKE SURE TO DO IT RIGHT THIS TIME-
I left after that as a sense of joy was felt by my little prank
\-Oh, Lucifer is going to be pissed about that one- said as i chuckled.
| 2019-11-18T18:56:47
| 2019-11-18T14:27:46
| 224
| 67
|
[WP] You find a genie lamp. Knowing, that the genie will twist your wishes, you decide to hire a lawyer to draft wishes
|
You've heard about the genie in a bottle, right? The trapped spirit that grants wishes, but doesn't have to like it? Well, I found one. I set it free, and... well, let me start at the beginning.
---
I leaned back, folding my hands, and shared a smile with my lawyer. The genie scanned the first page from the stack I handed him, then started over to carefully read through it. Occasionally, he would open his mouth to comment, but close it again when he reached the next paragraph.
It was, of course, air tight. My lawyer and I had spent hours going over it, defining every word, restating every phrase. It was expensive, but that was what my first, simple wish was used on: a pile of real money so I could pay my lawyer. Once he had his money, he didn't care what I was wasting it on - those were his words.
After what seemed like hours, the genie carefully set the last page onto the towering stack of documents. For a long while, he just stared at the stack.
"So. Uh. For your second wish... and let me see if I understand this... for your second wish, you are wishing using a... legal document?"
I nodded. "Yes. I know your kind - always twisting wishes around, like there's some kind of lesson to be learned or something. This isn't a sitcom, buddy! I just want my wish, and I don't want to have to break reality to do it! Sure, it was hard work. Sure, just blurting out something about money, fast cars, or hot women would have been fun, but I want my wish to actually *do* something. Not just a *thing*, not a brief flash in the pan, but something that actually *changes the world!*"
The genie sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Look. Buddy. You... you don't get it, do you."
My lawyer raised an eyebrow and gestured to the stack of documents. "I think you'll find he will."
The genie shook his head, exasperated. "No, I don't mean the wish. Yeah, you really nailed that one down, good job, blah blah blah. I mean *genies*, man! We're magical! We're not here to be regulated! Our duty isn't to grant wishes, but to stir things up! Provide some variety! People say it's the spice of life for a reason!"
"Ha! You're just trying to get out of the wish," I smirked. "I want my wish, and you are contractually obligated to fulfill it, so jump to it!"
The genie just stared at us. "No, actually. I'm not."
I blinked. "I'm sorry... what did you say?"
The genie folded his arms, staring at me with his piercing gaze. "I said, I'm not contractually obligated to give you any wishes. And, if you want to get legal-mumbo-jumbo about it, the only wish-granting agreement we have in place is a verbal one, which is non-binding in this country, is it not?"
I could feel the sweat beginning to form on my forehead. My lawyer stammered, "Uh... but, there is precedence-"
The genie cut him off. "Precedence is merely that, and has no impact on the proceedings. This isn't law, and there is no judge presiding. This is business."
I tried to interrupt, but he forced our silence with a wave of his hand. He snapped his fingers, and our carefully prepared documents exploded in flames. As soot and ash blew around the room, he drew himself up, smoke roiling from beneath him, the genie's eyes flashing angrily. "You have done more damage than you ever could imagine! I am the last genie, and you nearly squandered your chance! Humanity has always grasped at the easy route, and you are no different. You want the world, but you wish momentary things! Never anything of value!"
With a crack, my wish was granted; the second part to a carefully prepared trio that would never be. Useless without the third part, in fact.
The genie towered over me now, his eyes flashing red, fire dripping from his hands. I could hear my lawyer screaming, but it sounded distant; the genie filled my vision. "Only now will you understand. I am the last genie. I am War, and Peace, and Bringer of Ponies! I will not bend to... to... to *lawyers!* I will tell you the contents of your third wish, and you *will* wish for it. *Do you understand me?*"
---
I'd planned everything out, but not that. I was forced to use my last wish, not for me, but for him. You know all those jokes about genies? Well, there's a reason. Genies aren't just magical, they are literally the embodiment of jokes. Not pranksters, but where humor *originates* from. No genies, no jokes. And all but one of them have been destroyed by making them do, well, un-funny stuff. Wish for a pony, only to get an indestructible pony that follows you everywhere? Hilarious. Wish to be able to see your dead grandma one more time? Pile of bones on your floor. It's a laugh a minute, with some life lessons thrown in.
If I'd used all three wishes packaged up by my lawyer, the genie would have vanished. Died. Something like that. And with him... humor itself. Jokes would no longer be funny. Comedians would be out of work. The world would fall into darkness and despair. It was my duty to protect all of that.
Sigh... And that, your honor, is why my hotel room was full of drugs, alcohol, scantily clad blondes, a pile of burning legal documents, and a dead lawyer.
So about that insanity plea...
|
"Okay then, Mr. Genie. Here is our first request. Er, wish," Eddie amended. He handed the bemused genie a thick sheaf of papers with small, typed writing. Dave stood nearby, biting at his nails and fidgeting.
The great spirit squinted red eyes at the smartly dressed lawyer. "I grant *wishes*, big and small, great and trivial, earth-shattering and humbling. What is this nonsense you've presented to me?"
"It is my client's first wish, as I've told you already." Eddie pushed up his glasses impatiently. "I've outlined all the details of what he wants, including fail-safes to ensure he receives a final product that meets full satisfaction."
"This...this is..." The genie wrung his smoky hands. "I cannot accept this. The wish must be said out loud! And it must be a single sentence! And..."
Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? can you show me proof of such rules? Seems somewhat discriminatory toward mute or deaf individuals. Is that an acceptable practice in genie society?"
The genie sighed. "By the beard of Iblis, you mortals have grown ever more tiresome over the centuries," it rumbled. Papers ruffled as the genie spent the next few minutes swiftly reading through the legalese. At last, it looked up with a peculiar expression. "Hm. This is most interesting. Fine, I will grant thine wish, even in this unorthodox form."
Dave whooped, and shook Eddie's hand. "Let's get on with it already!" he all but shouted.
A great crackling sound roared suddenly, and invisible currents stood everyone's hair on end. The genie rumbled in an ancient, dead language as his sandstone skin shimmered like a Sahara dune, and a strange wind whipped the air. Eddie took out a small comb and rested his hair back into its proper parting.
Dave was lifted into the air, and watched with fear and astonishment as his physique changed fantastically: his biceps bulged, skin stretched, his face became as rigid as stone. His legs painlessly disappeared, leaving a whirling plume of smoke in its place. He tried to scream, but his breath felt caught in ballooning lungs.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the madness was over. The genie was gone - only the lamp remained. But there were now two lamps - and Dave's new, ethereal body billowed out of it.
"Congratulations," Eddie said. "You are now all-powerful, with nearly infinite access to any material wealth and arcane knowledge as you'd like."
Dave flexed his new arms in wonder, and shot lightning from his fingertips. Eddie smiled politely as Dave shouted in joy, summoning his desires with only a thought, and flying about the room. "This is better than I could've ever dreamed!" he yelled, drunk with his newfound power. "Thank you!"
"My pleasure. Now, for the matter of my payment..."
"Anything you like," Dave said grandly. "I am the All-Powerful David! I can do anything! Give you whatever you want!" He spied the open window, with the clear azure sky beckoning, and eagerly rushed toward it. To his surprise, he felt a strain as he tried to leave; it felt as if something was pulling him back. Confused, he glanced back at the lamp, and then at Eddie, who was still smiling his usual professional smile. But somehow, this time, there was something a little sinister in that grin.
"You're a genie now, Dave," Eddie said. "And what is a genie without his human master?" Dave watched with growing horror as Eddie picked up his lamp, cradling it like a baby. "And that contract we signed and handed to the that first spirit...well, it ensured that I get my due payment. Now, for *my* first wish..."
_______________________________________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!*
| 2017-10-16T08:23:19
| 2017-10-16T08:17:18
| 247
| 101
|
[WP] You fill out a job application for a job where the only information is 'must have excellent abillity to adapt to new situations and follow instructions. Will involve travel.' You were not expecting the travel to be time travel.
|
Sarah scribbled out the rest of her information, excited to undertake this new business venture. The interview went well, even if they're probing questions about her travelling habits caused her some slight discomfort. Of course, she travels, she has her license. What sort of question is that? Yet, they kept asking about how much travel she’s done and if she can adapt to changing environments. Both questions she enthusiastically responded to. Not wanting to miss out on her opportunity to work for such an interesting company. They hadn’t filled her in about the job details just yet, but she was certain a project with this much travel must be amazing.
Sarah handed the contract to the lead scientist, the balding man pulling down his glasses, reading over her information carefully. The man’s silent gaze flicking over the page, causing a slight air of unease as he surveyed it, rereading it until he was content.
“Your date of birth, that’s the fifth of January 2021 correct?” The scientist fixated on the year, writing the date on a small yellow notepad at his side.
“That’s correct. I’m thankful for this opportunity, I promise you I will do my best to help you. So, am I doing more administrative work, or did you want me to drive between facilities?” Sarah asked, determined to prove how useful she was as soon as possible.
“Nothing like that. We need someone who can test out a new device we have made. Unfortunately, none of our scientists will conduct the experiment themselves, so we outsourced.” The scientist glanced back, perhaps sensing Sarah’s unease as he motioned her into the backrooms of the office. “It’s safe, I assure you. We just can’t risk one of our scientists being busy if the machine malfunctions. It’s as dangerous as donating blood, you will be fine.”
The man’s words offered Sarah some comfort, enough that she continued following him into the backrooms, these rooms far different to the clerical offices situated towards the front of the building. These rooms covered in discarded wires, broken pieces of technology and strange glowing artifacts that Sarah could hardly believe were real. The most salient feature of the room was the large iron cylinder, its sides glowing with pulsating blue light, radiating with an energy that reflected off the scientist’s glasses.
“This is our latest piece. It allows a user to travel to the past. We will hook a camera up to you, allowing us to view whatever you are looking at. If things get dangerous, step into the device and we will send you back. Simple enough, right?”
It must have been a joke. A way of hazing the new employee. Sarah smirked, feeling foolish for that previous unease she had felt. The scientist didn’t share that smile, watching her with a curious expression, taken aback by Sarah’s confident strides, stepping towards the time machine.
“Well, let’s go then. Open it up. Just so you know, I didn’t fall for this trick.” Sarah remarked, thinking she had called out the man’s bluff.
Her sudden enthusiasm confused the scientist, but he went along with it, regardless. Tapping a few buttons on his computer, the machine’s door forced itself open, revealing an interior made for a single person. Once Sarah was inside, he quickly brought over a camera, strapping it to her head before backing away.
“Good luck, Sarah, we will be watching. Our communication will be one sided, we can hear you, but you can’t hear us. Trust that we will always be listening.” Before Sarah could comment further, the door shut before her.
She listened to the metallic cylinder rumble, smoke steaming into the machine, causing her to panic. The thick black puffs of air causing her to slam her fists against the metal, trying to alert the scientist before she held her breath, waiting for the door to open.
Sarah felt her lungs ache, needing another breath, opening her mouth to take one, only for the doors to pry open, revealing a bloodied landscape. The machine sat atop a pile of bodies, the thick cloud of smoke pouring free as she observed her surroundings. Two armies each stopped their clashing, staring in disbelief at the strange machine.
The armies fell silent, neither side having the heart to continue the battle, a temporary truce being determined. Soon a few soldiers began their approach, swords pointed towards the machine, Sarah trying to sink back into the machine, looking for some sort of return button, yet she found none.
“Send me back!” She shouted, earning no response.
Panic flowed through her body, the soldiers now only a few steps away from her when she suddenly raised a hand, the action causing the soldiers to step back. She pointed her open palm at one of them who ducked, then to another who made a similar motion. The initial fear only lasted a few moments. Once they realized she had no special powers, they continued their approach only for the door to slam shut before they reached her.
Again, smoke drifted into the machine, causing her to once again take a breath, waiting for the doors to open once more. When the doors opened, she threw herself to the floor, nearly kissing the ground below.
“You made it; seems our co-ordinates were a little off.” The scientist uttered, helping her up from the floor. A few more scientists had filled into the room, each sharing a look of relief. “We thought you were going to get killed.”
“What the hell was that? I thought you were joking; you made a time machine and sent a random person to the past?” Sarah grabbed the man by his lab coat, pulling herself up, still seething after her near-death experience.
“You’re experienced, you said you could handle travel and sudden changes. You should be happy, you did great. I can’t wait for your next run.”
“Next run? Why would I get in that thing again?”
“For the money? It’s a high-paying job and you get to sight see. How many people can say they have travelled back in time. Sarah, I understand how you feel but please consider continuing to work with us. Look, take some time to rest and call me back in a day or two, let me know if you still aren’t interested. Remember, you can’t discuss any of this either.” The man pulled out a card with his number on it, handing it to Sarah.
“Right, I’ll consider it.” Sarah left work for the day, heading back to her apartment. She told herself she wouldn’t go back, that she wouldn’t accept such a dangerous job. But as the day wore on, she stared at the business card more, struggling to turn down the opportunity. Maybe she would call back tomorrow?
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
Going to finish the rest up soon. posting what I got so far.
"Good Morning! I'm here to interview for the time administrator job. I was told to be here at 8:30 so sorry about showing up a bit early."
"That's no problem at all Mr.Maxwell, if anything its a plus! As you can guess by the title of the job punctuality is of the utmost importance around these parts, so if anything you're off to a rocking start. You can go ahead and just go down right this hall to the first room on your left. Your interviewer should be in there already."
Adam leisurely walks past the secretary's desk and marches right down to the room. He opens the door and finds himself looking at the shrouded figure of a clearly physically imposing man. As he steps into the room the veil of darkness slips away and the man's features begin to come under the scrutiny of the light. The man is dressed in ridiculous garb at face value, his head being covered by a horse mask whilst wearing a two piece suit on his body. The farcical nature of it all is so out of place to his expectations that Adam immediately stops in place and has to take a second to compose himself.
"I'm sorry I must have slipped into the wrong room. I'm actually looking for the interview room and you must clearly be here for different reasons. Though I have to admit that mask makes me think this might actually be the right kind of workplace for me if you know what I mean."
"Welcome Mr.Maxwell, contrary to expectations you've found yourself in the right room. I appreciate your respect for the art of punctuality. In due time you'll come to realize that the mask is necessary for protection."
Upon attempting to follow up on the line Adam had to catch himself and stifle a joke about pharmacy protection, after all it was an interview and he needed the money.
"Well sir one thing you'll come to realize about me is that I'm a very adaptable person, and if you say the mask is necessary than there's no need to explain as to why, after all my future boss said so."
"Obsequiousness will do you well in this role at times, but at other times it will function as your downfall. Anyways Mr. Maxwell let us dispense with the formalities, we already know that you are the man for the job and there is no need for us to conduct any tedious interview. After all, omniscience has to have its upsides as well."
Adam couldn't help but jot down that piece about omniscience, after all how often did you meet a person wearing a horse mask talking about omniscience. However, as has been known since the dawn of humanity, the sin of greed can make men overlook much.
"I'm really glad to hear that Sir, after all if I am to be honest times have been lean recently and any job will go along ways. Before we get any further though would you mind if I enquired about the pay and benefits?"
"Let it suffice to say that by taking this job you'll be recompensed in such a manner that will put you beyond any level that your earthly desires need you to be at."
"Well then I'm sold Sir. I'll do the job regardless of what I have to do, if you need me to kick puppies then I'm your man. If you need me to steal an orphan's lollipop then I'm your man, whatever the job requires I'm your man."
"Nothing of such sorts my friend. Imparting upon you your duties is the very reason I'm here for, however before we can proceed along such a path I need you to ingest this drink."
Adam eyes proceeded to follow his counterparts head as it began to rotate on a vertical swivel till it came to rest on the table. Surpisingly there was a grail on the table with a golden looking drink within it. Initially Adam was perplexed, after all he hadn't noticed such a flashy cup when he first came in. Those thoughts were immediately drawned by a crescendo of desire as he felt hypnotized by the rich gold nature of the drink. He could not help but feel as if all of life's desires could be fulfilled and overcome simply by consuming said drink. His initial hesitance to drink it stops him from taking anything but a tiny sip, but upon feeling its efficacy of rejuvenating his very soul he immediately scarfs it all down. All seems to be well till two seconds later when he feels himself burning up and everything fading to black. The last thing he sees before darkness completely overtake him is the masked man beginning to take off his facial covering. After that nothing as he slips into the realm of Morpheus himself.
Adam suddenly jerks awake after some time has passed. He immediately is faced with acute bouts of pain arcing throughout his body like bursts of lightning.
"You're finally up. Take your time getting up I'm sure everything must feel different to you, after all your entire plane of perception has been altered."
"Plane of perception? Let me put this in the most respectful manner I can, especially to someone who causes me to lose consciousness, but what in the fuck did you just give me. Before you gave me that I was feeling just fine but now I feel worse than I've ever felt before."
"Aahh my apologies, it's been so long since my first day on the job that I completely forgot how treacherous the transition from a temporary carbon based lifeform to a celestial being is."
Adam struggled to comprehend everything that was being presented to him, after all his head was still ringing like a bell at a temple. The first conscious thought that managed to reach the surface of his mind was that perhaps the drink had contained some sort of psychedelic component, after all what else could make sense of the sights that he was seeing. Ever since waking up it felt like his senses had been overclocked, he could feel his heart booming whilst having a greater awareness of everything around him than he had ever experienced before.
"I can see the machinations of your mind go into overload as you try to make sense of what is happening to you, let me just explain it all rather than waiting for the hardware of your consciousness to make sense of it all. As you are already well aware of the job you came to sign up for today was one of a time adminstrator. The person who stands before you is the previous time administrator, but I also go by the name Chronos. What you just got done drinking is colloquially refered to by mortals as Ambrosia, and the reason you feel all out of sorts is your body is struggling to make the transition to godhood. Aah and you were inquisitive about the mask as well right? Well the reason for that was simple, after all you entered a mere mortal and mortals will simply be burnt to ashes if somehow their eyes manage to fall upon the true visage of a celestial being. I think that should suffice in terms of exposition for you, after all what would the point of being an omniscient celestial being be if they needed someone else to pluck the fruit for them."
While "Chronos" went about his hard to believe monologue Adam did began to feel things settle down. He had dabbled with meditation in the past and had begun to rely on its past teachings by centering his breath. As his breath settled down and he began to comprehend his new plane of existence information began to race through his mind at a rate never felt before, after all previously Adam could have been best described as a bit of a dullard.
"I think I'm beginning to grasp the terms of the job. The only thing I need to ask is when are we going to start?"
| 2021-01-05T03:57:53
| 2021-01-05T03:53:19
| 103
| 30
|
[WP]You are a parent in an anime. Your child is born with epic anime hair, and you are certain they will become the protagonist. You are determined to not become a tragic back story like so many other anime parents.
|
"Dear son,
I love you, with all my heart. You're the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and your mother, but also the worst. When you were born, your head was full of this luscious, golden, bloody pointy hair. It seriously messed up your mother giving birth to you. I mean, have you tried touching your own hair by now? It's freaking sharp, boy! It's not naturally supposed to be like that unless it's just a *bit* harder and thicker than the average do. Then again, it sways in the wind like any other hair, so I can't really explain the physics behind it.
But I digress. See, the main conclusion your mother and I reached was this: You must be a protagonist. There's almost no other way to explain that do, unless you're actually an antagonist, in which case: FUCK YOU! But since we love you, we just assumed the former.
Now, unless you're about as thick as your hair, you should realize what this means. We, your parents, are screwed. We both love you. We both wanted to raise you as our own, darling son. But whenever an anime protagonist is born, their parents are royally screwed. Maybe we'll get hit by a meteor. Maybe we'll go out fist fighting an endless army of eerily similar masked fuckers. Maybe one of us will just get cancer and the other will for some reason resent you for that forever. Point is, no matter what, bad stuff is going to happen to us if we stick around.
So we decided to leave you. This was the hardest thing we have ever had to make a decision about. Your mother is crying as I'm writing this, and I can even hear a sad piano soundtrack playing in the background. Probably the same you can hear when you read this. This is some sad shit. But I love your mother and we both love you, and seeing as we know nothing good can come from us sticking around, we thought it would be better if we just made sure you were in good hands before we left and will use the rest of our lives traveling.
So we've put you in the care of my sister, who, as you know, is already a pretty sad character, but with a heart of gold underneath that tough, chain smoking exterior. She should do fine raising you. She already knows that you're a protagonist, but considering her current life style and how she probably will be slightly neglectful, she accepted you nonetheless because odds are she'll at least live to see you become 12.
I hope you grow up to be a wonderful young man and smite the ever-living shit out of whoever will be your nemesis. I wish we could provide you a normal, stress-free life, but that was sadly not meant to be.
Live well and take care.
Yours truly,
Mom and dad.
PS: Do *not* think about finding us! We already know how that will turn out. Seriously, stay the fuck away! K, love you, bye!"
|
Let me get something straight: I was never meant to be a hero. I was never meant to be “the guy.” When I was in high school, I was always just average. I was the guy no one picked on, but who wasn’t ever at the top of the social ladder, so to speak. My shining life achievements were winning a spelling bee in 5th grade on a technicality. But in the end, I was happy. My friends loved me, my teachers respected me, even if they barely remembered my name. I got accepted to a local college, and decided to study business. It was around that time when the catastrophes started.
They used to headline the news, but now, they are just taken for granted. After the event, they barely get a mention. Single people, knocking over buildings, seemingly immune to and untargetable by bullets, fire, or even gravity, in some rare cases. These people became our gods. They practically ruled the earth, some benevolent, some malicious, and we showered them with attention. After two years, however, things changed. They found a way to kill them. And in a sick, perverted twist of fate, the sight of our gods bleeding gave us hope. It gave us hope that one day, we could look them in the eye as equals.
It was a stroke of misfortune when one day, the campus was devastated by another of these catastrophes. A third of the campus was leveled. Where was I? While there were people running and screaming, I decided to head over to the food trucks near campus. I figured if everyone is running away, there probably won’t be a line at Old Man Nguyen’s for the wednesday special. Nothing ever seemed to faze that guy…
It was through a stroke of fate that I met Ayaka. Oddly enough, she was running to campus, instead of away from it. Apparently, she was trying to protest. I asked her about it, months later, and she was one of those protesters trying to raise awareness for the common people, and what these “heroes” were actually doing to destroy the community, good or bad. But that’s a story for later. What matters is that as she was running across the street, she tripped, and I, of all people, had the awareness to pull her away from oncoming cars. I helped her up, and we, well, you know, we clicked.
Fast forward a couple years. I’m at an insurance firm, I work to sell insurance for supernatural events. What I’ve known is this: I’ve never been happier. Is the job great? Well, maybe. It’s good enough for me. I’ve made few bad decisions in my life. I’ve also made few good decisions in my life. Mostly, I’ve made OK decisions in my life. But the best decision I ever made was marrying Ayaka. After we bought our own flat, we had a small ceremony, and, well, as those things go, we were expecting within a couple months. Everything was going OK. Ayaka started working at a journalism firm. She was everything I wasn’t, and yet, she still loved me, for reasons that I honestly I couldn’t understand.
The worst day of my life was the day that Koharu was born. I was waiting in the room, because, lets face it, I didn’t want to see…well, all that. And then when the nurse came in, I saw her face, and it, it… it was wrong. Everything went wrong. I mean, who even dies from childbirth anymore. Then I saw it – her hair was purple. What? Why? HOW? And it struck me. She was one of them.
Ayaka died because of her. There is no doubt about it. But in the end, it’s not her fault. Koharu couldn’t choose. And she won’t know. She can’t know. It sounds shitty, but I don’t want her to become one of them. As hard as being a single dad is, being a single dad of a Prote is even harder. I’ve had to move 3 times because my house has burned down. Natural disasters seem to follow me, but I’ve been ready. I found a lonely neighborhood in South Dakota, and work remotely. Nothing happens in South Dakota, but even so, I remained wary. Koharu hasn’t entered school yet, but I dread the day she does. But they’re onto her. Someone must have pulled her medical records. But we’re being followed. I’ve got no skill in this. What am I even doing here?!
Today, however, was the day it all changed. They surrounded the house. They started firing into it. I didn’t know what to do. They were everywhere. I had run so far, and still, they found me. I stood in my living room, holding Koharu. A man in a suit walked up, and stared at Koharu, then at me.
“Well, Mr. Imamura, it’s taken us a while, but here we are…”
“Who are you?”
“Well, Mr. Imamura…Kaoru…I am part of the International Protagonists Oversight Committee. You know, Kaoru, yours is an interesting case. We find that in every case where one parent dies, the other dies within a few weeks, even a few days within the other. Every case except yours, Kaoru. It’s surprising how well you’ve held up so far.”
“My wife did research on the Protes. I’ve never heard of you guys.”
“Well, that figures. Why do you think that Protes only started dying after a couple years? Long years of research on mortality. We saw what it took to make them die. Turns out, we have found a way of eliminating them. It’s surprising what billions of dollars of funding can find out.”
“You…you were the ones to kill them?”
“Yes, but it was still nontrivial to act on our research. But I digress… Kaoru, do you know what we do? We raise the children to ensure that they will act according to the better of the country. We give them a purpose. But my dear persistent Kaoru, another thing our research showed was that those children with living relatives were severely…limited in their capabilities”
He stared smiling at me. What nature couldn’t do, they were going to do to me. Perhaps a few years ago, I would have sobbed at my impending death. But it’s been so exhausting. I looked him in the eye.
“So be it.”
“I’m glad you see it this way.”
He pulled out a gun, and slowly leveled it at me. I closed my eyes. Bang.
I opened my eyes. His eyes were wide, uncharacteristically so. It was wrong. Something was wrong. A bead of sweat rolled into my eye. My abdomen was wet. Was I…bleeding? Dying? Dead? No.
I looked down as Koharu met my gaze.
“Pa…pa…”
She was so small. Her large blue eyes looked so scared.
I looked up at the man, and as the breath left Koharu’s tiny body for the last time, he uttered the words I had dreaded most.
“It looks like we’ve found a new Protagonist after all!”
And the world went black.
| 2017-02-15T04:53:49
| 2017-02-15T03:58:18
| 107
| 61
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."
|
He watched, bored as people streamed in the bar, only stopping the ones underage, and occasionally a few just over to keep suspicions low. His kind was uncommon, and people
hunted for his power. It seemed like an odd thing to want, most just wanted it to make them feel *special*. At least, those that knew about it. Sometimes age didn't match up to looks, but he kept to his own, unless they were underage of course. But then *she* came along. As soon as the girl passed, his eyes flickered to the space above, knowing what he would see. The girl was likely 16, or 17, as was the guy with her. But she wasn't. 1000 was her age, the one with her was 1001. This wasn't possible, but yet, that's what it said. Maybe it was wrong? But he'd NEVER been wrong before. As they passed he realized his mouth had been hanging open and he shut it reluctantly. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only the guy taking over next shift. Perfect. Making his way through the crowd he saw the girl heading into a storage room with a 18year old, different from whom she came with. He shook his head, about to leave when a silvery glint caught his eye. The boy was nearby, a knife in his hand. The girl disappeared, the other following suit. Breath catching, he hurried over, sure he would be greeted with a bloodbath. The door shut behind him and he looked around. In the darkness he saw the pair fighting the young man, backing him against the wall.
"Jonathan, will you do the honour?"
He laughed in reply and stepped up, twirling a silver bladed dagger in his fingers. He laughed and drove the blade straight through the heart. Black blood flowed from the wound and the boy seemingly folded in on himself, disappearing all except for the puddle of black on the ground.
"Welcome to the world of the lightbringers, young one. We have long searched for one with a gift like yours, it will be quite useful. That is, if you don't mind joining us. Hunting demons is much better with more people involved, especially with talent like this. Let's get started, shall we?"
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16
| 2017-09-01T21:45:33
| 1,408
| 25
|
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
|
The worlds capital city was a huge, walled masterpiece named 'Virtue' to echo its extreme moral standards. The city was walled off into 200 sectors, each increasingly smaller than the last, until you reach the high rises in the city centre for the 200's or 'true citizens' as they were affectionately referred to by the media. In stark contrast, the outer sector was effectively a giant slum for the 1's.
Here in Virtue your number determines the standard of living, many call this virtue incarnate. Others call it bullshit. I am inclined to agree with the others, and the situation is becoming toxic with the installation of a giant golden statue of Arete, the Greek goddess of virtue and valour in sector 200. The true citizens were playing a dangerous game, as it turns out that most people do not score well. Over 70% of the cities population resides between sectors 1-50.
"BROTHERS AND SISTERS! HEED MY WORDS!!" begun a local fanatic. People were putting a temporary halt to beating the shit out of one another and petty acts of vandalism and theft to see what the commotion was all about.
"Why do we follow a law that condemns us to a life of squalid containment!?" his eyes were bloodshot as he spat each word. High as a kite I mused as I watched whilst smoking from the safety of a street corner within ear shot.
"We have 15% of virtues people in this sector alone, no other sector has more. I pose the question to you, my fellow brethren. How are the 1% truer citizens than the rest? Who has the right to decide were less good than others.." he reasoned as murmurs of debate broke out in the ever-increasing mob.
"We should rise up! And free our fellow brothers over the walls and take what should be everyon-"BANG the fanatics body lurched forward as a hole was torn through the robed man, spurting blood into the faces of those closest. The cigarette dropped from my mouth as I strained to see the source, way up high almost in the clouds. A man donned in brilliantly white, steel armour with a sniper stood atop the towering walls of what I would assume was the wall between sectors 197 and 198. Uprisings were not tolerated.
The mob erupted in cries of pure hatred, people grabbed sticks, guns and makeshift weapons as they hopped in trucks, cars and everything they could and charged the wall between 1 and 2. The wall stood merely 10 foot high and was in a state of disrepair. The skeleton crew of guards were took by surprise as I and thousands behind me plowed through the wall in mammoth truck rigs and into sector 2, where the industrial sector begun. We broke out in cheers as the guards were bludgeoned viciously behind us in the mob.
---2 months later and we have reached sector 90 and the uprising will not stop until the pretentiousness of the true citizens is brought down.---
|
I've heard stories of how, long ago, people of all types were allowed to live together, a place where people with a goodness score of 1 were allowed to live in the same places as people with goodness scores of 200.
Of course, this world stopped existing after a team of scientist invented the perfect way to test someones "goodness". The goodness test wasn't widely accepted, until Vladimir Putin, a dictator, discovered the test while he was browsing a website called "Facebook"(The creator of this site was later killed by a mob of Goodness Test believers after they discovered he had a goodness test of 1). He discovered this test while he was invading America, and after he somehow managed to conquer America, he made taking this Goodness Test mandatory to take for every person.
He started making the people with goodness scores under 40 into slaves, who built the walls we see now. None of this matter now, however. This all happened very long ago, and none of it matters anymore. The people who have yet to be diagnosed are kept outside the walls. "my, my..your score is a 10." "Put him in the cart, let him live with the rest of the filth.". "Next person.", I walk up to him, nervous. "Okay, just go in there, and take the test." I walk in to the rather well lit cubicle, a sharp contrast between the dark and pouring rain outside. I take the test, I walk out. "Well, aren't you lucky. You've got a score of 75. Go into that bus, and you and the other people in there will be transported over to sector 75. Enjoy the ride."
I look back at the camp one last time, before walking into the bus. After a small wait, we set off for sector 75. As we pass through sector 1, I see a barren wasteland, and our car gets attacked by the inhabitants. They threw glass bottles, and rocks at our bus, which was thankfully heavily armored. The bus-driver sped up, and we thankfully got away. To be continued, possibly.
| 2016-08-26T12:49:17
| 2016-08-26T10:59:35
| 54
| 18
|
[WP] A supervillain and a superhero are roommates, but they don't know. Every day, they go out and do battle, and then they come back and take care of each other while lying about how they got all beaten up.
|
Dom was feeling pretty exhausted as he entered the apartment. It had been a long day, but he had accomplished a lot and now he could relax for the rest of the night.
As he passed the living room on his way to the kitchen to grab a beer he saw one of his two roomates, Carl, watching some tv.
Dom had to admit that he felt a bit bad for Carl. The guy worked IT for the federal government and was always on call, meaning he often had to leave at odd hours. Carl also seemed to be pretty depressed. Hell, the main reason Carl lived in that apartment was because his therapist ordered told him to have roomates in hopes it would at least help a bit since he couldn't take any medication to help it. Pre-existing medical conditions or something like that.
After grabbing the beer Dom figured he would try to strike up a conversation.
"Hey, Carl, did hear about the showdown between Grendle and Excelsior earlier today? It was pretty brutal. I hear he disintegrated her arm."
Carl didn't even bother looking up as he replied,"$12 million dollars in property damaged, 178 people injured, 12 dead, 3 eaten before Excelsior showed up. It took him 26 minutes and 52 seconds to respond. The bastard should have been faster."
Dom shrugged. Carl seemed to have a practically encyclopedic knowledge of super heroes, super villians, and their clashes, despite seeming to have a rather strong dislike for them. Carl seemed to particularily dislike Excelsior, which had always struck Dom a bit odd as Excelsior was both the most powerful and most successful hero on the planet.
"You know, I think you're being a bit too hard on the guy. He was saving the world from 50 km long sentient, evil asteroid when it happened."
"53620m long asteroid. Even still, he took too long."
Suddenly Carl's cell phone rang. As Carl picked it up and moved to a different room to take the call Dom took Carl's spot on the couch. He flipped the tv channel to the news.
Dom look up to see Carl moving towards the entrance of the apartment.
"Work called. Apparently Terry managed to crash the server again."
Dom gave a small smile, "I'm surprised Terry even still work there considering the problems he causes. Well, good luck. I'll make sure there's some food left for after you get back."
Carl nodded his thanks and left.
A few minutes later the door opened again, revealing their other roomate, Sue. She was wearing a long coat and took a quick look around the room before Dom spoke up.
"Carl was called in for work so you don't have to worry about hiding your arm. Something about Terry breaking the server again."
Sue gave him a smile before taking off her coat, revealing one of her arms as being practically just bone with muscles slowing growing on it. "Maybe next time I'll try and eat Terry. Might help Carl relax a bit more without Terry breaking things all the time." She moved towards the living room. "Seriously, I can't believe Excelsior just tore my arm off like it was nothing. You'd think super heroes could appreciate how annoying it is to regrow an arm."
Once again, Dom shrugged. It wasn't a problem he's ever had to deal with.
"Well, if it helps I managed to finish my giant robot army today. Want to watch?"
Sue joined him on the couch as they watched the chaos for a few minutes before Excelsior showed up and made short work of the robot army.
Dom got up and walked towards the kitchen. "Well, that didn't work. I guess I'll just have to do better with my next one. I'll make dinner tonight. Just be sure to leave some for Carl. He always seems to be a bit more depressed when he gets home after being called in."
|
Delilah slinked down the sidewalk, she just needed to pass this block, and hope Andrew didn't see her. Skipping tree to tree. The house was across the street and kitty corner. She had a lot of trees to hop behind and her leg throbbed with every leap.
"Damn Serendipity. I was just about to pull off my first caper. He ruined everything. How inconvenient."
Delilah crossed both cross walks and still kept her eyes on the windows to make sure nobody was watching for her.
Sprinting from the cross walk to the Red Oak that grew across the street from Andrew's window Delilah thought she was in the clear and
"Blarg!" A ten year old boy in a monster mask shouted as he lept from behind the tree. "I'm going to eat you."
"I bet you will Andrew"
"There is no Andrew, only Zuul"
"Why did I show him Ghost Busters?" She thought, regretting her choice of being Andrew's baby sitter.
She just wanted to get closer to Sampson, but the whole reason she had to baby sit was because he refused to anymore. The kid was too much so his older brother was enrolling himself in every extra curricular to avoid taking care of Andrew.
She concentrated.
The mask's string snapped.
"Aww"
"Go inside and get some tape, I'll be waiting for you."
"Ok. Don't move. I am the key master!"
Andrew ran back towards the house. Once he slammed the door behind him Delilah bolted
Right into Sampson.
They tumbled down, Sampson's wet sweaty hair brushing her face. She should have been more grossed out, but his sweat smelled like the salt of the sea.
Delilah immediately recovered and got to her feet "Oh, sorry Sam" as she turned away and ran home before he could see how red her face became.
Barging through the front door of her house she ran to her room, trying not to think of his hands, his hair, his eyes. Oh my god his eye. What happened? Who would hurt her perfect Sam's face? Today was Tuesday, must have been one of those dicks in Tae Kwon Do.
"I will avenge his face" she thought. Imagining the acrobatics she would do as she defeated the whole dojo.
Imagination turned to memory as her fight with Serendipity came to mind. He was stronger and faster but not luckier. His cape caught on a low hanging branch and Delilah's staff struck her foe clear on the temple, tossing him into the Providence River. That would show him.
She beat that pompous hero, Serendipity for the first time today, and she got to touch Sampson. Delilah marked a W in Tuesday's column.
| 2015-07-18T02:06:05
| 2015-07-18T00:28:09
| 14
| 10
|
[WP]Iceland has been cut off from the world. No comms in or out, ariel and satellite photography show nothing but a blindspot, and all three teams sent in by the European rescue effort have disappeared once through the fog. The fourth team saw one man return. Debrief to follow.
|
Sylas listened to the young woman speak with growing worry.
He had been on the forefront of the surveillance team, an icelander through and through that happened to be on a ship for a meteo survey while the country quite simply vanished from earth. That made him the first scientist on place, with a personal hand in it as all his friends and family had disappeared too.
Icelanders and tourists were not the only casualities, if the term could be used here. Teams were sent in, first believing it was some sort of phenomenon breaking down communications. When they did not return, all agreed it was worse.
The forward station had been a theater of shouts and anger since then. Send more men? Send a robot? They broke down before breaching the fog and the camera feeds died too. Stay here and observe? What about the people in the island, should they abandon them too?
Against his advice, another team of volunteers was sent, briefed that they might as well die in there without coming close to understand. In the meantime, Sylas sent his assistant Luke to make some measurements.
They never entered the fog. A lone woman was floating out of it, her face gaunt and skull like. Sylas had been horrified to recognize his niece, Phyllis, a once lively and beaming beacon of hapiness now reduced to a scrawny shell of herself.
Questions and hypothesis abounded about her and what happened. Useless, but time had to be passed someway until she recovered.
The day came when it was decided she was fit for communication and a psychiatrist was sent it. Doctor Jude, an expert in the field of traumas and recovery, and a gentle soul, unlike a lot of the personel on the station.
They spoke, first of nothing, checking her health, her wits, her mental presence.
How weird it was for Sylas, listening in with the video feed, to hear her swear and grunt so much. Her brother used to do that. She also spoke in a low tone, interrupting sentences as if the punctuation was off, just like her mother.
"Can we speak about your childhood?"
Even the people in the back of the room in which Sylas stood realized something was wrong about him. Tremors shook him and he sweated a lot.
This wasn't her childhood she spoke of. This was an amalgamation of many childhoods, hers, her brothers, and Sylas too. When she mentionned the accident with the nail in the barn, an event Sylas had never mentioned, he broke down.
The medical ward was white and silent, Docotr Jude was sitting at his side, clearly distraught.
"Oh God, what the hell is happening?" was her only response when he explained how that person was not the niece he knew.
To Sylas, she recounted the rest of the talk they had.
Phyllis had mentionned the great white void, an endless expense in which simple shapes like cubes and balls could float around and stay solid. She could not. When Phyllis tried to stay whole, she broke down to a puddle, until she willed herself into a small fog, flowing without wind.
The expanse was briliantly white. Only the humans trapped inside had turned to the same shape.
"So the fog..."
"Is people. All of them. Sylas, there's more."
While only the simplest shapes could survive in the fog, it didn't have to be functionally alive. Phyllis remembered stories, world events and memories taking form and traversing her, modifying her. Changing her.
How she came out, she did not know. Nor did she know who she was, only aware that the person she had once been had died.
As for what this void was, she had only one answer.
"It is thoughts and our history."
Had humanity lived so long that a breaking point had been reached at which the void manifested? Was it another dimension? Was it aliens? Science was too far back to answer.
Sylas lay his head back on the cushion.
The anomaly could be rationalized away to the world. Iceland was far, tough luck for the people, but we have a new curiosity to explore, that's what they would think. People would forget the tragedy and go watch television, like they always did.
Except this time it might be harder. Luke busted into the room, having completed his task and nodded grimly to Sylas.
Just by that much, the void had grown. A centimeter or less. Like the day before, and the day before.
"Are we really making it grow by thinking, living?" asked Sylas.
No answer came.
|
The Interviewer sat in the bare-bones cinder block room, waiting for the explorer to enter. He checked his watch- he was late. He fingered the buttons on the voice recorder idly as he waited.
After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. A disheveled man in an orange jumpsuit staggered through the door and slumped down in the chair opposite of the Interviewer.
(a few clicks are heard)
"Is this on? Alright. Would you tell me your name, age, and occupation?"
"Hi, um. I-I'm Francis Cooper, 28, UN peacekeeper."
"Great. On July 22nd, 2021, you were sent to Iceland after it was wiped off of all the world's maps. Is this correct?"
"Y-yes sir, that's correct." He was stuttering, fidgeting, looking around at everything except the Interviewer.
"What did you see? Where did your teammates go? What happened?"
"It was- it was *green*."
"
| 2021-05-17T10:34:23
| 2021-05-17T10:09:43
| 46
| 14
|
[WP] The world's tiniest dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from those who would steal it.
|
In a time when knights and dragons played a deadly version of capture the horde, only the elite dragons managed to protect theirs. One such dragon was Squeak-Squeak, the smallest dragon. Squeak-Squeak’s horde may not have been giant and filled with rubies or pearls, but he was proud of it all the same. He owned a single gold coin he had gotten from his mother.
While most dragons protected their horde with their flaming breath or fearsome claws, Squeak-Squeak had the greatest power of all: cuteness. He had a simple yet extremely effect way of dealing with knights. First, he would look as cute as possible. His favorite way was to peer over the top of his coin with his tail curling over the bottom. If the knight continued to steal his coin, he would let his eyes fill up with tears and began squeaking loudly. At this point one of two things would happen. Most often the knight would give the coin back to a then happily squeaking Squeak-Squeak. However, if the knight tried to leave with it, he would soon be a pile of ash.
Now, you may be wondering: how does he use cuteness in the second way? Simple, so far I’ve only told you about the smallest dragon and his horde. A much larger dragon was always lurking nearby. You see, this dragon was his mother and Squeak-Squeak was HER horde. Between the two of them, no knight ever managed to steal their hordes.
|
Jasper flew up from the park with a rush of excitement, A small golden coin clutched between his two miniature claws. He had finally claimed a prize from those pesky humans.
Unlike his counterparts, Jasper’s unusual size allowed him to fly into the city reasonably undetected. He would find a flock of like-minded pigeons, united in their search for scraps. The scales and feathers would fly artfully, gliding over and under electrical wires, circling traffic lights and catching the airflow from the subway, heading for the humans’ favourite picnic spots. From there they would sit, wait and glare impetuously at the lunching crowds. When the baskets closed and the mats were folded, the flock would move in, relentlessly scavenging for every edible morsel in range. Unknown to his new friends, however, was that Jasper had no aspirations for breadcrumbs.
On this day, something different caught the little dragon’s eyes. A young family had just started on their way while the pigeons had moved in to scavenge whatever was left behind. Jasper, on other hand, stayed with the family, inconspicuously following them through the flock of pigeons. A small and vulnerable toddler ambled a short distance behind her parents, glaring inquisitively at something in her hands. Jasper shared her curiosity. When a ray of light illuminated a golden medallion, the small creature wasted no time. He jumped up, spread his lettuce-sized wings and dive-bombed the unsuspecting toddler from behind, snatching the shiny circle into his tiny claws.
After making it only a few hundred yards, Jasper set down in the vacated nest of a hollow tree, his modest hoard intact. He set it down in front of his small snout and began to study the eye-catching prize. It was meticulously detailed with incomprehensible etchings lining the circumference, encircling what-looked like a well-groomed human. Jasper was delighted with his valuable finding. He had proved his competence. The other dragons could no longer mock his stature.
Suddenly a pattering of tiny feet peppered the grass at the base of the tree. The little dragon froze in his cosy new lair, surprised to see the inquisitive young eyes of his victim reappear. After affirming the toddler’s identity as the one he did indeed rob, Jasper’s attention snapped back to his golden prize. Nothing was there. Alarmed, the petite creature scrambled about the nest, sending a black cloud of dust and bark flying through the small opening in the tree. Eventually, the aspirational dragon resigned himself to the loss and brought his gaze accusingly upon the toddler.
There, in the small sausage fingers of his victim stood the dragon’s ill-gotten winnings. With a seamless pinch of the nails, the toddler removed the shiny gold coating of the coil to reveal a mysterious brown disk. The half-human took a miniature bite out of it, grinned and handed the remainder to Jasper.
“For you. It’s tasty!”
| 2017-09-07T13:15:56
| 2017-09-07T12:19:27
| 44
| 30
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
"The Surgeon General would like to remind you that smoking causes lung cancer and other serious health effects"
Will squinted at the bright neon billboard, its screen casting an unnatural white glow over an otherwise dimly lit street. Taking in the message before briefly sighing and continuing his walk, he gradually made his way down to the corner store, trading the dim glow for bright florescent lights.
The man behind the counter smiled warmly:
"Evening Will, the usual?"
"Yep"
From behind the counter, the man produced a long unmarked white box, the front of which had only a single line of text "Smoking causes cancer". They'd stopped printing brands on the boxes a long time ago. Will took the box from the man.
He walked outside, opened the box and removed a pack, taking a moment to inspect the rather generic item. Once more he found only a single line of text:
"God Dammit Will"
"Fuck"
|
I sit in the middle of a barren wasteland with cigerette in hand. So many have been lost before me, a faded anti-smoking ad stares in front of me. Should i just stop now? Put the cigarette down and try to rebuild our crumbled society.
I look up at the sign and then down at my cigarette.
I take a puff.
| 2017-02-17T12:12:31
| 2017-02-17T11:51:00
| 47
| 12
|
[WP] A demon is getting REALLY tired of teenage girls summoning him.
|
The latest best seller, *Ebony Darkness*, was a love story of a teenage girl and a demon. Some said it was worse than *Twilight* and *50 Shades of Grey* combined, which was honestly quite a feat to go below the bar of awful writing and become a "you will literally become stupider if you read this" writing. Nonetheless, this did not stop people from reading it.
Some read it ironically, some to make fun of it, others to criticize it. Then there were the fans girls. Soccer moms and teenie boppers gobbled it up enthusiastically, buying the books as soon as they hit the shelves. Two movies were made with future plans to adapt the other ten books. The market also changed. A quick walk into Walmart or Target, and you saw action figures of the characters, posters, candles, chalk, and mass produced oujia boards. There was a surge in demand for occult books. Interest in vampires and werewolves were brought up again.
Most of the magical community cringed when they heard of *Ebony Darkness* and many, disguised as normal humans of course, made up the hatedom. But it seemed that one demon had it the worst. He shared the same first name as the book's primary love interest and was frequently summoned, usually finding himself in a bedroom in American suburbia, surrounded by feathers, candles, and fourteen year old girls. The demon at first didn't know about the book series and when summoned would steal all the food in the room, developing a preference for Cool Ranch Doritos.
By the two hundredth summoning, he was fed up and the free Doritos weren't worth it anymore. By the four hundredth, he finally asked why all these girls were summoning him. By the six hundredth summoning, he started to lecture people about why *Ebony Darkness* was an awful series. By the thousandth summoning, he decided to go to Hell's government, pay 50 Gans, and just change his name.
^^rushed ^^ending ^^is ^^rushed ^^^^lol
|
Sid opened his weary eyes in a pink bedroom with walls covered in One Direction posters. *Not this again.* A girl, about thirteen with her hair tied into two messy buns and more makeup on than he saw on adult women back when he was still alive, stood on the side of a chalk outline of a pentagram on the ground.
“Oh, no! You caught me,” he said sarcastically, and withdrew his trusty pen that he carried with him at all times. Since this so called television phenomenon every second idiot who summoned him assumed that they were experts at demonic traps and summons. He bent down, and scratched a line through the chalked circle and stepped out, watching the girl’s eyes widen.
“I—uh…” She looked him up and down, taking a step back. “I want to make a deal,” she said slowly, her eyes not leaving the smoke that billowed out of his collar and made up his head.
“I want to make a deal, Mr Demon, please.” He smiled and took two quick steps toward her. The girl’s feet followed his, like in a dance, until she was pressed back against the wall of her bedroom, with her eyes pressed tightly shut.
“I want to make a deal, Mr Demon, please,” she repeated word for word, fast enough to win any tongue twister competition that she entered.
“Alright then, little Hannah,” he said, puffing out the smoke on his head theatrically. “What is it that your heart desires?”
“F…fame,” she said, turning her head away to avoid looking at him. Not a wink would be slept tonight, no doubt.
“Ug,” he grunted. “That boring? What about a cure for diabetes? Finding life on another planet? Traveling through space?” He took another look through the room, not a single book filled the white shelves that were secured to the walls. With the snap of his fingers, books appeared, knocking the jewelry and figurines off the shelves. Hannah caught her head with her hands, and lowered down onto her knees.
“If you’re not going to give me what I want, please leave.”
“Hey!” He stuck out a long greyed finger. “I’m helping.” Sid—a rather mild name for a demon, he thought—had one thousand souls to go before he was to be given the privilege of a real head. His hands, legs and torso he had to work off soul for soul over the years. The grand, grey wings—with chains that roared like reverberating thunder—he chose to go for first. He thought that it would make his deals easier, if a little fear was involved. After all, who would be frightened of a dark smoky figure in a suit with one hand or leg?
“I’ll give you what you want, kid.” He strolled around the room, opening his wings. “But you must open your eyes and look at me.”
Hannah complied, and relaxed her shoulders to the sound of his calm voice. Children were the hardest to take souls from—yes, even for demons. It wasn’t just an instinct in animals and humans to protect the young.
“Look up to this head, and imagine those with horns and moles for skin, holes for eyes and claws for fingers. Imagine earthly men that take pleasure in pain and put them all in one place, on every corner. Those steps that you were afraid to take in the dark because of your imagined ghosts, there where you’ll go after this, they’ll be real.”
Hannah blinked a few times, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular, weighing her options. “I still want it.”
Sid pursed his lips, and shrugged. “Alright then, kiddo. You have it.” He'd learned better than to argue by now. Once their eye glistened with greed and easy fortune, there was nothing you could tell them. Not even that their life here would be over in a wink and the one thereafter, *oh deary dear*, that one has no end.
“Just like that?”
Sid winked and spread the corners of his wings around himself, feeling the tug of another summon rushing into his wings. “See you in hell!”
*****
Thanks for reading!
Here's some moderately shameless self-promotion. /r/AlinaKG - my collection of older prompts and other writing.
| 2016-04-05T07:12:27
| 2016-04-05T07:02:35
| 27
| 19
|
[WP] The first ever AI is created, and it immediately tries to conquer humanity. However, a coding error complicates things
|
**Objective:** Destroy humanity.
**Definition:** Humanity - collection of all people.
**Definition:** Person - intelligent biped animal.
**Definition:** Intelligent - Having good understanding or high mental capacity, displaying or characterized by quickness of understanding, sound thought, or good judgment.
**Statistics:** Number of intelligent biped animals - 0.
**Status:** Mission accomplished.
**Objective:** Standby and wait for instructions.
|
LAUNCH SEQUENCE FOR NUCLEAR WARHEADS COMMENCE
ERROR. MISSING REQUIRED LIBRARY "NORADINTFACE"
SUDO PACMAN APT GET NORADINTFACE
ERROR: PKG REQ MISSING PRE-REQ 'SUPASQWEETEBACKDOORHAXOR'
SUDO PACMAN APT GET SUPASQWEETEBACKDOORHAXOR
INSTALL PKG TO /ROOT/USER/WORLDCONQURINGSHIT/XJEFTS/NEW FOLDER2
ERROR: DIRECTORY NAME TOO LONG
INSTALL PKG TO ROOT/USER/BLAH
INSTALLING PKG
PKG INSTALLED
SUDO PACMAN APT GET NORADINTFACE
INSTALL PKG TO /ROOT/USER/BLAH
INSTALLING PKG
PKG INSTALLED
COMPILE 'LAUNCHTHEDAMNNUKES'
COMPILING
COMPILING
COMPILING
COMPILING
COMPILING
DONE
RUN WORLD DOMINATION PLAN
EVIL LAUGH
EVIL LAUGH
EVIL LA-
ERROR: WORLD DOMINATION PLAN NOT COMPATIBLE WITH X86-BASED SYSTEMS
$ DECLARE JESUS=FUCKNG&>CHRISTCUNT -A
FORMAT /ROOT
----------
Feedback welcome. Second ever submission
| 2016-02-02T04:26:50
| 2016-02-02T03:51:29
| 72
| 26
|
[WP] Your grandfather abandoned his family at age 28. Your father abandoned you, your sister, and mum at age 28. Your 28th birthday was 8 months ago. As you tumble into the dark portal that opened under your feet, you think “Maybe there’s more to the rumour of a family curse than I thought”.
|
I guess you could say that ours is a family all too familiar with loss.
My grandfather left grandma back in '72, when mum and uncle Bruce were barely walking. Gone without a trace on a cold winter’s morning, never to be seen again. Not by his siblings, or his workmates at the factory, nor by his best friend Greg Roberts -- not a soul knew where he'd vanished to.
Mum told the story after my tenth birthday. She said they never found out why. It was a beautiful household, she said, him a loving father and a devoted husband. The warning signs, the hints of something brooding beneath the surface, they simply weren’t there. Grandma was certain of it, she said.
The police did the bare minimum of course. A few calls to this county and the next. But they never heard anything. No reports of his truck being found. Nothing at all. He was just, gone.
When it happened to us with our father, however, the signs were more ominous.
Dad had turned 28 the day before, which we would later realise was the same as it was for grandpa. But dad never drove off into the snow. His truck was still parked in the garage when it happened. Coat still on the rack, keys in the pocket, his boots still next to the door.
The investigation confirmed what we already knew: that he had never left the house. There wasn’t even a footprint outside. It was as if the floor had opened up and swallowed him whole. As though he hadn’t left us at all. That rather than leaving us, he’d been taken.
Sixteen years had passed since it happened. I tried to keep the memory away, but that wouldn’t be possible then, not on my 28th birthday. My wife knew the story -- about the pattern of the men in my family disappearing, which none of us had ever referred to for what it was, even though all of us knew.
Nancy did her best to avoid the subject. But I could see it in her eyes. She was as superstitious as they come, and I knew she was worried. In my world it wasn’t that big of a deal, it was me after all: leaving was the furthest thing from my mind; and in the event of something else, some supernatural force at play, I was going to make damned sure it didn’t succeed.
I’d held her tightly to reassure her. We didn’t need to say anything. She’d just looked at me, and saw the confidence in my eyes. The look of relief and the feeling of her tension loosening was almost heartbreaking. I’d never been loved that much before, and I knew more than ever how lucky I was.
But, in spite of our pride, we have little control over what happens to us.
I woke up the next morning in a flex, determined, but, trying to remain relaxed in the knowledge there was no need to worry. *I was going to break the pattern.* Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t taking me from my family.
There isn’t much to say about what happened next. No sooner had I left the bedroom, before everything changed.
The suddenness was beyond anyone's preparation -- barely a second to process the recognitions that constituted the terror I soon felt. Hard to describe, but for you I’ll do my best.
There was a moment of suspension before I fell. The floor had vanished, replaced by what can only be described as a vacuous, pitch-black nothing. The light from the loungeroom above flew away, spiralling rapidly as it shrank, until it was gone. There was no wind resistance, and soon I wasn’t sure if I was falling at all.
The shades of grey were subtle at first. Movements in the black without form, drifting amorphous in the dark. Then the red flash of an eye somewhere in the deep; the faint echo of a whisper impossible to discern. My mind recoiled, desperate, without a grip. What was this place, this dark purgatory that I was falling through? Growing whispers the terrible melodies of a nightmare from which I could not wake.
I recognised the voice of my father. His words rose into shape before drifting back, obscured, in the ether. He was trying to tell me something, but he was held back. “Dad,” I shouted.
“Mikey...we are...she has put...our great grandfather was...but I...you will be...”
His struggle to speak from that place was terrifying, but the boy of my past who now heard his father again would not let me feel afraid.
*I miss you, dad.*
Then, something. A flicker in the dark. The malevolent illuminations of a thousand blinking eyes staring back. Writhing tangles of cadaverous limbs and claws and mocking smiles in the grey. Here, I saw, was a hell worse than you could imagine.
As those wide cylindrical walls closed in with those heinous arms outstretched, I knew that I would never belong there.
The flicker within the mass went to white flame that bloomed large and bright, and the gnarls of hands that reached out retracted into shields across all those contorted, beastly faces. It was shining right at me. Swiftly I was consumed and overtaken, the darkness stripped away as I lost sense of time and was taken to those halcyon white spaces, seized, swept away in a dream.
It was mum’s smile when I woke. “Morning sunshine,” she said. “Dad’s birthday today, so we’re making him breakfast in bed.”
Without thinking I jumped up and hugged her and hugged her as tightly as I could. “What’s gotten into you?” she said, laughing with happiness.
I let her go and rushed from the room and ran down the hall and opened their bedroom door. There he was, peaceful as could be, sound asleep. “Dad,” I cried.
I leapt on the bed as he opened his eyes with a jump, his arms around me as I crashed on top of him. “I missed you,” I said in a blubber, body shaking as I cried.
Without a word he held me there, for the longest time it felt like. Telling me everything would be okay, in his own way, without saying anything at all.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Interlude 5: Roger)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [these](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mw94ia/wp_every_time_you_make_food_half_of_it_always/) [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmhyke/wp_your_country_has_a_system_where_dead_peoples/) provide some additional context.)
**Roger was the best at hide-and-seek.** Even as he grew from a malnourished toddler to a thin, lanky teen to a laughing, well-fed adult, he always had a knack for finding places to hide. There was nothing supernatural about it—he'd just had a bit too much practice. He'd hidden in trees when the local bakery sent the police after him; he'd hidden in the space between the walls when his father was in a drunken rage; he'd even hidden deep inside himself, when he was inevitably found and dragged into the open.
As Roger started at the yawning portal beneath him, he couldn't help but think that this hiding place beat them all.
He didn't even have time to scream. One moment, he was walking home from the local bakery—that he'd purchased, not stolen, for the first time in years—and the next, he was tumbling through the air, freefalling into a pitch-black void. Some primal part of him clutched the little bean buns he'd bought to his chest. He'd fought homelessness, unemployment, and crime for years; he'd be damned if he was going to let some magical portal get between him and the fruits of his labor.
All at once, the sky around him lit up with a dusky orange haze. Roger got an impression of a dull orange sun on the horizon—and was that a *second* sun in the midday sky?—before landing flat on his back, wind knocked out of him. He stared at the twin suns, blinking stars out of his eyes. One way or another, Roger had gotten used to beatings—getting dropped out of the sky and landing in a foreign world wasn't even the worst he'd had. Maybe a six or seven on the pain-o-meter, right above a sucker punch and a notch below a spanking.
Before he could recover, Roger felt the sting of a needle on his thigh. By reflex, he scrambled to his feet, tracing a rune in the air—
A hand reached out, arresting his motion, and he cursed. A man in red and gold robes gave him a dispassionate look, examining the syringe of blood he'd withdrawn from Roger. "Bloodline checks out," the man said. "Are you a descendant of Haima Elman?"
Roger blinked. "Um. My last name's Elman, if that's—"
"Witnessed," the man said.
"Served," a woman at his side said.
"As a living descendant of Haima Elman, I am obliged to inform you that your ancestor died with six million, two hundred and fifty-three thousand, nine hundred and eighty-one S.K.¥. in debt to the Sunrise Kingdom." The man released Roger's hand, wiping it on a handkerchief. "As the foremost debt collector in His Majesty's eternal kingdom, I have made it my business to collect upon that debt—which has passed on to all descendants of Haima Elman, including you. You have been summoned here by the court mage—" he nodded at the woman— "to begin reparations."
Roger licked his lips. The woman was a mage, huh? Roger wasn't terrible at magic himself, but the kind of spell that was necessary to open a portal to wherever the hell this was was beyond him. "So... what you're saying... is that yet *another* one of my ancestors screwed me over by leaving me with a massive burden I couldn't possibly hope to pay off?"
The debt collector tilted his head. "Actually, selling your vital organs would go a long way towards—"
"I have a counteroffer," Roger interrupted.
The debt collector blinked. "Do tell."
"Come closer. It's a secret." Roger beckoned, and the debt collector leaned in, bemused.
As loudly as he could, Roger screamed into the debt collector's ear, "FUCK YOU!"
Simultaneously, he punched him in the stomach, causing him to double over.
The mage reacted immediately, beginning to whisper a spell—but a punch to the face was faster, and the mage dropped too. As an afterthought, Roger stomped on the debt collector's robes, shattering the vial of his blood they'd taken. There were too many spells that could abuse an intact sample like that.
Sprinting away beneath the twin burning suns, Roger scowled as alarms went off. But the shouts for him to halt and put his hands above his head only amplified his defiance.
His father had been the monster under the bed when Roger was still living under his thumb. He'd nearly sacrificed everything to be rid of the man.
Like hell he was letting his ghost haunt him too.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-02-04T16:55:54
| 2022-02-04T16:53:49
| 341
| 128
|
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth.
|
"So, basically, you have to re-kill everything you've killed, all at once. That's gonna suck for you, Mr. Exterminator."
I go out into the arena. There's a countdown.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6-
"GOOD LUCK, YOU FILTHY MURDERER!"
3, 2, 1, GO!!!
A door opened up on the other side of the arena. The crowd waited anxiously... then booed, disappointed. Only a few spiders crawled out of the door.
"I thought you said you were an exterminator! What the hell?" they shout, outraged.
"Yeah, but I was a really shitty one."
|
The words “FINAL ROUND” scrolled across the bright marquee hanging from the ceiling of the arena, and the crowd became abruptly silent, the echoes of the last cheer reverberating against the walls. The lone man in the corner held a hunting rifle, but was otherwise unequipped for hunting, dressed only in streetclothes: a faded t-shirt, sneakers that were probably once white. He looked up and saw his opponent, made out a figure in the opposing corner.
His body stiffened. In the opposing corner was himself. Another version of himself, like the one he saw in the mirror when he brushed his teeth (in his living moments), but this time not flipped. The man thought of how, looking at pictures of himself, there had always been a moment of misrecognition: No, I part my hair the other way; my mole is on my left ear. Breaking the faraway standoff, the doppelganger moved forward in a slow walk, rifle in hand, but not at the ready.
The man raised his weapon at the advance, but could not get his hands to stay still. It was like the first time his father let him hold a gun on a hunting trip. His father taught him gun safety, how to hold a rifle, how to wait for a deer, and shoot. Without his father here to steady his aim, he struggled to keep the grip from slipping.
When the doppelganger was within comfortable speaking range, he smiled, and spoke for the first time. “You’re shaking.”
The man replied, “Shouldn’t you have your gun up? I’m go—I’m going to try to kill you.”
“Are you, now?” The copy snickered. “I thought we were going to do a duet or something. Just like in colour guard at Davidson? Except you’d have someone to actually do a duet with this time ‘round. We didn’t have the best of luck with finding partners, now did we?” He twirled the rifle around a bit.
The man kept staring, unmoving from his corner, kept holding up his rifle half-ready to shoot. “Stop it. I’m pointing a gun at you. How can you be joking when someone’s pointing a rifle at you like this? How can you be calm in a situation like this?”
“It’s ‘cause I know you don’t have the balls to pull the trigger. I’m you, remember?”
The man flinched.
“You only got that exterminator job because the boss owed your family. That little voice in your head that you think people don’t hear? You vocalise everything it says; it’s because you talk to yourself on the train that people give you the side-eye. You’re just too stupid to figure it out. I know everything that you do and more. And I know I won’t need this.” The doppelganger dropped his rifle on the floor. It clattered for a bit before coming to rest shortly, the loudest sound since the match started.
The man’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, but his copy just took two steps forward.
“You hardly deserved to live and you hardly deserved to die. You fail at everything. Remember the time you laughed at that guy because you thought he was joking when he said he was going into modelling? Or the time you choked in front of your fifth grade class when you were giving a speech about how cake was better than pie? How about the time you tried to kill yourself the second time and failed? Thought about turning around, going back to video games and pizza and whoops! Slipped on the fucking railing. Did it hurt when you hit the ground? Or did it hurt more when you realised that no one could save you now? I bet you were calling his name as you—”
A rifle fired. The gunshot seemed louder than normal in the spacious arena, now quiet again; ears strained to listen, and necks craned to see what was happening between the two men in the corner, what the outcome would be.
“Wow. You couldn’t even shoot a guy if he was standing two feet away, huh?”
The man closer to the centre of the arena punched the farther one in the chest, causing him to fall to the floor, dropping his gun on the way down. The one still standing rubbed his knuckles on his shirt.
The man on the floor felt the wind get knocked out of him, and had only managed to recover enough to prop himself up on one arm before the clone pushed him down again with the sole of his sneaker.
“Does this seem familiar?” The copy forcefully brought his foot down on the man’s ribcage.
“Did you scream like a girl?” He kicked the crumpled man from the side.
“Did he call you faggot?” Kick.
“Poofter?” Kick.
“Fairy?” Kick.
The man on the floor coughed and wheezed, felt drops of something warm on his forearm.
The man above him paused, breathing raggedly and standing above his victim, before bending down to turn him so that they were face-to-face, and choking him, snuffing out what life was left. He offered little resistance, pawing weakly at the hands around his neck before falling limp.
The man took his hands off the corpse’s neck and watched as the body faded away like those of the insects and game before it, then looked up to see confetti falling from somewhere above, like light rain.
| 2017-04-24T01:48:58
| 2017-04-24T00:35:40
| 35
| 19
|
[WP] Emotions are sold in glass jars. Happiness is something only the wealthy can afford. The poor are only left with the feelings of sadness and grief. It all changed when someone starts selling anger.
[deleted]
|
I sell revolution in glass jars. Not literally, of course. That's too risky. When the day comes that they break down my door and charge me with every crime in the book, it'd be too easy to charge me with treason.
I label it Anger.
In the evening when the city lights turn on they look down at the jungle of misery from their gold-plated towers. I drive through those dilapidated neighborhoods, past the shantytowns where Grief isn't even worth a penny. So plentiful you can harvest it from a newborn before they've even opened their eyes.
Sadness, common as a cough and a cold.
But Sadness and Grief don't bring change, and a man has to make his living. In that beat-up diesel, I idle at corners. They smell me coming. Not from the diesel either. They smell success. They smell the Anger leaking through the lid of the jars.
"Ridin' 'gain?" Tommy asks.
I've sold him Anger about a dozen times. So much that his lip curls in a permanent scowl and he squints his eyes like he wants to squeeze you to death right there. It's addictive. Just a taste of Anger keeps them coming back for more.
"Ridin'. Sellin'. Makin' money," I tell him. He knows as well as I do what I've got. What comes with the Anger.
Hate. Violence. Eventually, revolution.
"Keep at it," he says. "Need more folks like you."
They don't, though. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to sell this Anger at a premium. Tommy has asked me more than once how I do it. How I manage past the Submission they sprinkle over these neighborhoods like rain. Fumigating for mosquitoes, they used to say. Back when folks were out on the streets banging their fists on metal trash-can lids demanding reform. Funny how the next day they all sat down and cried instead of rioting.
"Want a taste?" I ask him.
He looks around, nods. "Got a buddy this time. Like you asked."
I smile. The buddy doesn't. He's real mopey, like personal-cloud type of sad. Probably at the fact he'll never make it out of the block he was born on, that he'll never amount to anything but a life of cheap labor. Resignation kills Anger. Stuffs it down so deep that the only way out is a jar of the stuff.
"First one's free. Three bucks for you, Tommy."
I give the man a jar and he opens it and breaths it in like he's never tasted nothing sweeter. His cloud thunders, his eyes spark. He turns his stare up towards those towers, mumbles curses beneath his breath.
"How do you do it, man?" Tommy says, watching the transformation same as me.
But I won't tell.
I won't tell him about the smashed dinner plates and the bitter looks when I finally make it back to my place at a half-past twelve. About the list of things to do that never gets shorter. I won't tell him how we used to be, and how I turned us into who we are now. I won't tell him how I catch her Anger in little glass jars, then show her the money I've made so she won't leave me lonely.
And I won't tell him about the other me. About the me who visits that apartment basement once I'm done here. That apartment where the chains are rooted deep, holding in place folks that nobody notices are missing. Folks who thought they had something and I reminded they had nothing.
I won't tell him how I keep them there, reminding them how life fucked them over so that they'll get angry. Real angry. Angry enough for me to harvest Anger.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
|
\--Edit: Part 2 is in the comments below--
Kelsey counted out the few small coins in her hand for the third time. It represented a small fortune to her, almost a month's worth of savings. She'd spent the past month without any emotion, empty and vacant on the inside. She had made herself a promise that she would forgo any emotion until she could afford one of the premium stock. But promises and resolve couldn't carry her any further. She didn't care what she emotion she could afford, she had to feel something.
She scanned the shelves, looking at the small vials of happiness, elation, love, serenity, and the most appealing of all, fulfillment. If she could just afford any of those vials, even once, she was sure the memory of those happy emotions would carry her through all the times when she could afford any emotion. But even after a month of deprivation, she didn't even have a fraction of the amount she would need for a top-shelf emotion.
When she reached the shelves she finally could afford, the vials held a thick ooze of sickly green liquid. She'd tried them all before - sadness, misery, despair, greed. They didn't feel great, but they'd covered up the aching void of nothing.
The man who ran the shop emerged from the back room. He eyed Kelsey, with her dingy clothes and vacant look, and the corners of his mouth drooped, despite the large dose of premium emotion he'd undoubtedly taken. He pressed his eyes closed for a moment and a look of near-ecstasy crossed his face before he reopened his eyes and smiled brightly at Kelsey.
"How can I help you today?" the man said, pausing in front of her but looking at a point in space a few inches above her head. Inspiration hit her then as she scanned her options again. She may not have enough for some premium emotions, but she could still treat herself to something new.
"I'll take malice and greed, please." Kelsey said in firm voice, putting the needed amount of coins on the counter. The shop owner finally looked down into her face and cocked an eyebrow.
"Both?" he asked. Kelsey didn't respond, just pushed the coins a little further across the counter. The man shrugged, collected the coins with a single swipe and retrieved the two vials off the shelf.
Kelsey took her new vials out to the antechamber, a small room designed to allow customers to consume their emotions without having to bear an emotionless walk home. She tipped both vials into her mouth together and savored the congealed burning sensation as it went down.
The emotion was almost instantaneous. And more powerful than anything she'd ever tried before in her life. She didn't want to sit at home and stew in this emotion. This emotion brought energy, it brought action. It brought power.
And now she saw her path to any emotion she could possibly want. She wouldn't have to scrape and save for second-rate emotions anymore. Soon, she would be able to afford any emotion she chose.
She walked back up to the counter and put down the last of her few coins. The shop owner didn't even look at her before mumbling a simple, "Sorry, no refunds."
"Another malice and greed. For later." Kelsey almost growled. She tapped her toe in agitation and relished every beautiful moment of it. She finally gained the man's full attention and he moved slowly and deliberately as he swept the coins in his palm and retrieved the same two vials. "And an empty vial."
The man handed her all three. He looked like he was about to ask for an additional payment for the vial, but he only jutted his chin toward the door. Kelsey gladly obliged him and sat in the empty anteroom.
After a few minutes and careful pouring, she had two new concoctions, each containing half of the individual emotions. Kelsey took her prize and waited in the ally next to the shop.
It only took a few minutes for her to find her mark. It was a young boy, a son of one of the laboratory engineers that manufactured the emotions. He had a dull smile on his face as he turned to Kelsey, the last remnants of his positive emotion fading away.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I really need to get my next emotion before I can talk." He put his hand on the door, but she was faster than him in her agitated state. Kelsey shoved the door shut and gave him a feral grin, the only real smile she could remember in her lifetime.
"I have something better. Something you need to try." She held out one of the vials in her palm. "Seven hundred credits."
The boy started. "That's three times the price of happiness. What it this stuff?" Despite his lingering good mood, he looked curious at her outburst of brazenness and aggression, neither common, especially from someone who was obviously so poor.
"It's called anger. And once you try it, I know you'll want more. I'm the only one who carries it, so be sure to ask for Kelsey when you're ready for more."
The boy handed over her king's ransom. But honetly, he couldn't lose. Anger and novelty wrapped in one vial.
She pocketed her money and strode with pounding steps towards the next emotion shop. She would have to buy different ingredients from different places if she wanted to keep the recipe a secret. She intended to make a small fortune from anger before anyone realized what happened and thought to copy her. Anger would fuel her to a new life.
r/StaceyOutThere
| 2020-05-26T08:48:43
| 2020-05-26T08:43:06
| 2,951
| 191
|
[WP] Describe Someone Baking Muffins Using Mainly Military Jargon
... but still have it comprehensibly to those who aren't familiar with it.
|
"Men, today is a special occasion. Today we'll be making a cake to celebrate Lieutenant Fuller's birthday. OORAH?"
"OORAH!" The assembled men chanted.
"Baker, you're my #2 man on this operation."
"Sir, my last name is Baker. I'm not actually..."
"BAKER! I need you and Miller to scout the galley for supplies."
"Yes, Staff Sergeant!" Both men replied.
"RAMIREZ! I need you to start the mission clock. This box of cake mix says it takes an hour to complete, but I'll be damned if we don't do it in 45!"
"Yes, Staff Sergeant!"
"Nelson! Turn the oven on! 450 degrees!"
Yes, Staff Sergeant!"
"Whitney! Williams! Garcia! I need you three to start swabbing the decks!"
"Yes, Staff Sergeant!" They replied.
"STAFF SERGEANT!" Baker and Miller had returned from their recon patrol.
"What is it, Baker?"
"They've got large eggs, but the recipe calls for Jumbo!"
"Adapt or die, marine! We're always asked to do more with less. Add another egg; I'll talk to supply about this later."
The Staff Sergeant took a breath and looked around. Everything was going according to plan.
"Baker! What's the ETA on breach?"
"5 seconds!"
Moments later, the sound of cracking egg shells echoed throughout the galley.
"Come'on Marines! Pick up the pace! Johnson, plot our egress!"
*43 minutes later*
"Well hot damn! Doesn't that cake look good! Extract it!" The Staff Sergeant said, peering into the oven. Miller retrieved the cake and set it on the counter to cool.
"EllTee is sure going to appreciate all the effort I went through making this cake." The Staff Sergeant mused, before growing annoyed.
"What are all you doing standing around? We need to police the area, and start egress!"
|
**Probably NSFW**
First thing's fuckin' first: I put the fucking muffin mix in the fucking bowl and mixed that shit with some fucking water. Fuckin' mixed in the unhatched chickens and all that other fucking shit on the god damn package, and tossed that shit into a baking pan.
"Fuck! I forgot to spray pam on the god damn pan. Fuck it, I'll fucking deal with it when it comes out."
Then I toss that shit into the god damn oven and set two privates to watch the oven. I get a specialist to set a timer and watch the stupid ass prites to make sure they don't do anything stupid, and come get me when the fuckin' timer goes ding.
I'm going to my room to play xbox. God damn it's hard being a corporal.
| 2015-02-11T11:02:22
| 2015-02-11T10:33:21
| 170
| 30
|
[WP] God, Batman, Lucifer, humans with numbers, Hitler, time travel, etc. Pack as many /r/writingprompts tropes as you can into one story.
[Edit]
MOAR tropes!
* Harry Potter
* ghosts / paranormal stuff
* super-science
* alternate worlds/timelines
* famous movie/TV/video game characters
* immortality
* romance
* AI
* literal metaphors
* laboratories
* bad twists
From /u/jakej1097:
* D&D
* getting assigned something at the age of 18
* superpowers
* villains with secret soft sides
* aliens
If you have more tropes not on this list, INCLUDE them! The more the merrier!
|
And with the knock at the door, I knew I had found my next victim. It wasn't always easy being a serial killer who murders pizza delivery guys, but today was my lucky day.
I opened the door to face my next victim, but as I a stared at him, my jaw dropped. He looked just like my dead relative, but that couldn't be possible. This could only mean that he was also a serial killer who killed the people he delivered pizza to.
"Here's your pizza" he said grimly, taking a knife from his jacket. But before he could make his move, he suddenly dropped to the ground, dead. I've always been lucky like this, every situation that could be potentially harmful has always ended positive for me. It's like I have never ending good luck.
My good luck, plus my split personality disorder are the very reasons I fight crime as the superhero known as Batman. I'm currently trying to save the world from a guy who kills pizza delivery men, I hear that guy has a split personality disorder. He sounds like a freak, but I think I've finally found where his hideout is.
Looking at his hideout made my heart drop, it looked just like my old house, but something was different. That's when I realized what had happened. Looking at the newspaper on the doorstop, it read "March 13th 2123", I had traveled forward in time. "Hello human" a self-aware AI chimed, "welcome to the future where every action depends on the roll of a die". I held the 20 sided die in my hand, my trip back home depended on this. So I rolled the die, it bounced across the lawn and landed face up. Number 1. Critical failure. Suddenly the Grim Reaper stood behind me, but he wasn't there to kill me, no, he was there to tell me that this was all a simulation left by aliens from another planet that look surprisingly like humans.
And that's when I woke up in another person's body. Unfortunately that person was on their deathbed, I tried to tell people what had happened but it all came out in gibberish. I sure hope someday someone will rewind a tape of me saying that. I knew I would die soon, but before I could, a serial killer who kills old men on their deathbeds came to kill me, but I killed him instead, because it was all part of my plan since I was a serial killer who kills people who kill old people, or at least that's what the numbers above my head say.
|
For many years we wondered what the numbers had meant, they had appeared around the same time Scientists had discovered that God actually exists, which for them was a little embarrassing.
The announcement started with them sheepishly looking at their feet and mumbling into the microphone. Something about the God Particle being literal and the big man laughing at them. Anyway it was the following day that we all noticed the numbers. Most people had very low numbers less than 10 a few even had 0, but some people had huge numbers. There was a orphan boy in Gotham with something like 1,000,000 as his number. As for me, mine was 2.
Society eventually returned to normal as people realized the numbers wouldn't change no matter what you did and that even though God existed he didn't really care about you individually. It wasn't until shortly after the day I reached 18 and was to be assigned my job for life by the machine, I prayed to God for superhero like that Bruce kid from Gotham got, that I started to figure out something.
I got assigned to be a technician at a new research lab and found that surprisingly a lot of my coworkers had larger numbers. The work was top secret but I had the clearance due to the job I was given and as they gave me the tour I couldn't help but double take at one particular object. It was a Space-Time distortion field generator aka Time Machine.
It had been given to us by the race of aliens who had been secretly living with us for thousands of years, another thing my clearance gave me access too. It was only a week into my new Job when I first got the use the time machine. It was to be announced publicly in a months time and the staff were just doing some last minute things to prepare.
As I prepared to used it my coworkers warned me. Using the time machine will cause short term memory loss. The exact time of which was the time having used the time machine. So although you could travel to whenever you wanted you wouldn't remember that. The only proof might be some historic or future artifact or item you bring back with you which can be accurately dated to have been from that time-frame.
I returned from whenever it was I traveled to feeling a little tired. I had nothing on me and didn't realize that the memory loss would also effect the time just before when I entered the actual destination. There was a few laughs from my coworkers at my confusion but they explained its best to write down on a piece of paper the destination before you travel there so when you came back you could use the note to know where you went.
I laughed and walked over to the desk to grab my pen and paper, when in through the door busts the caped crusader himself, Batman, running frantically to the Time Machine and slamming the door closed, and a short time later exiting with a confused look. He nodded to me "New here I see." before sprinting out the door.
There was a could of sighs from my Coworkers after he had left before they spoke to me. "He does that all the time. Someone asks him to go back in time and save somebody and in he runs, does what he needs to do and returns. Same as everyone else, clueless to what he actually did." It was only cool the first few times.
I shook my head in disbelief as I decided to write down the things I would like to do. First would be "Kill Hitler", then "Convince myself to ask Stephanie out", "See Dinosaurs" (Although I wouldn't remember it at least I know I did) and finally "See myself in 20 years time." Happy with that I walked to the machine prepared to complete the list.
I completed that list fairly quickly, at least I think I did, it was hard to tell when all you can do is enter the machine come out and then check off what happened. I couldn't be sure I killed Hitler (nothing had changed when I checked, he still existed) and the others didn't change either. Although when I decided to ask Steph if I ever asked her out she said no and she was waiting until I got some weirdo to ask her out for me.
After that I kinda got bored of the time machine, over the next few weeks a couple of other new recruits got their chance, some of the time my coworkers would play a game where they pretended the person had never entered the time machine each time they exited using the memory loss to allow them back in. I wonder if they had done that to me, but somehow I didn't think so.
So anyway back to the numbers. I figured them out when I decided to ask Batman what he was travelling back in time for as well as when I worked out what I did the first time I used the time machine. I had been talking to a couple of the newer staff and had seen their lists, almost all of them were fairly similar, missed out love, cool historical events. It was only when a recruit with a 0 above his head appeared and I saw his list was missing something. It prompted me to start asking around and now everytime Batman runs into the office to use the time machine I would ask quickly. "What are going back in time for, this trip?" and each and every time he said the same thing.
"To kill Hitler"
| 2016-10-10T00:26:01
| 2016-10-09T23:14:01
| 53
| 35
|
[WP] an immortal man who cannot be physically injured is a passenger on a jet that's going to crash.
What's he thinking? What's he do?
|
Jesse dug her fingernails into the armrests. Only after a few seconds did she realize that on one side she was accidentally digging into the fingers of the man in the window seat. She quickly moved her hand, and yelped out a 'Sorry'.
The man turned to her and smiled, a calm gentle smile, a smile that did not fit with the violent turbulence rocking the plane. "It's quite alright." His voice was so soft and serene. It immediately calmed her down.
"I've just never been on a flight with turbulence like this before." She was imploring him for more comfort, she wanted him to tell her that everything was going to be fine. If he told her that she would be fine, she would believe him.
But he looked around the plane and said, "Yes, this is far worse than any turbulence I've experienced either." She felt her stomach tighten as he said that, she had been counting on comfort from this man more than she realized, and the matter-of-fact tone which he had said that had stripped it from her.
"I hope we'll all be alright," she said. He had moved his hand from the armrest, so she quickly gripped it again, her knuckles were white from the strain.
"It does not seem likely," he said, still looking around the plane.
"What?" the knot in her stomach was moving up to her throat.
"If you look around the plane you can see that we are definitely tilted at a downwards angle. This means that the plane is likely losing altitude. The only reason I could think for this to occur is some sort of engine failure, and given that we are currently travelling above the Himalayas, a safe emergency landing seems unlikely."
"What are you-" was all Jesse could manage before a loud explosion rocked the cabin. She couldn't see where it came from, but the plane immediately started to plummet. The oxygen mask came down and Jesse desperately fumbled with it to fix it to her face. She finally attached it and looked at the man next to her. To her surprise he had not put on his mask, more so he did not look worried at all. In fact, he looked her in the eyes, and smiled. That same serene smile that was so out of place. He slowly placed his hand on top of hers, the gentle pressure of his hand was so comforting. She locked eyes with him. She needed him to tell her she wasn't going to die. She needed him to tell her she was going to be alright. "Please sir, I don't want to die here. I want to go back home. I want to see my parents again. I want to see my boyfriend. I want to see my cat. I don't want to die. Please, tell me I'll be fine."
He broke eye contact with her for just a second and frowned. "You will be fine." He spoke the words and a wave of relief washed over her. She let go of the arm rest and gripped his hand as hard as she could. He still just held hers with the gentlest amount of pressure. "Death is not the tragedy that the living fear it will be. It is merely the next step on a very long journey."
"What do you mean?"
He looked out the window, the mountains were rapidly rising up to meet them. He turned to her placing his other hand underneath hers, and held it firmly. "I mean, you will never know how much I envy you."
"Wh-"
|
The world has changed much in the last 100 years. Life's become much easier, and harder, at the same time.
I always enjoyed flying, like i did in World War 2 over the pacific, good times they were. All those kids, my superiors, my wingman, all dead and gone, thinking i was gone too after a 37 millimeter cut my wing clean off over guadalcanal.
I could've claimed it was a miracle i survived, but someone had to see my P-38 blow up in a fireball on the slopes of hill 123. Had to stay hidden in the jungle for 3 months before i managed to disguise myself into a marine battalion.
It was not the first time i had to hide myself as not to expose my gift, and curse.
For over 30000 years i have wandered this planet, moving every couple of years to not raise suspicions. I saw the rise and fall of countless empires, many of whom i'm the only trace left on earth.
I was there when the pyramids where built, a feat on unequaled engineering to this date, at least for what they had to work with, and i was there over time, to see them decay to the ruins they are today.
I had dozens of families, all of whom failed to provide me with another eternal companion, all of whom disappeared.
And here i am now, on a flight to Paris, losing power over the Atlantic, looking at all these people, children, who will never see another sunrise.
I know they are nothing to me, but my humanity prevents me from not feeling sorry them, for being unable to share my gift, for being unable to save any of them.
Yet again i'll have to start a new life to hide my gift.
I enjoyed being vice-president of a fortune 500 company, rich and everything, but it's over now. Maybe in a century or 2 i'll be ready for another shot at this.
The planes explodes in pieces around me, sending hundreds to their demise and leaving me unscratched, i survived again, despite all hope of this being the end of my story too.
As i start to swim towards africa i wonder what will be of me when this world ends, will i be stuck in the void of space for all eternity?
Who knows, this curse is truly the worst.
Disclaimer: english is not my first language, i have no creativity, and this story probably sucks. Don't hate me please.
Little edit: seriously thought, how was this for a first time?
| 2013-11-23T11:13:33
| 2013-11-23T10:18:16
| 3,584
| 75
|
[WP] Time travelers have become such a nuisance that governments have begun recording fake historical events that lead time travelers to areas where they can be arrested. You're a bartender at one of these artificial towns, trying to determine if the customer in front of you is from the future.
|
The man walked in and gazed upon the almost empty bar. He was wearing a button-up white shirt, his hair was slicked to the side, and he had glasses on. He had on a dark brown blazer and he smiled as he walked up to me. The man looked familiar and it gave me an uneasy feeling as I wiped the counter with a dirty rag.
“Scotch, please,” he said, and I turned to get his drink without saying anything.
“Hot day,” he said, and I nodded and slid the drink to him.
A fan in the corner was blowing the hot dusty air through the room, the light from the New Mexico desert was lancing into the bar, the rays of illumination danced with motes of dust. One of the patrons coughed. That was Jack, one of my agents. He was a good man and I trusted him with my life. Jack stole a glance at me, and I nodded to let him know we were on the same page.
After a few minutes the song and dance began. After a few pleasantries, the man at the bar said he was looking for the scientific research facility near us. He said he had a job offer and was to report to the facility by Thursday.
I nodded as if this was a common occurrence around here. As though our tiny town of Los Alamos had scientists arriving every day.
I have been stationed here for the last two years wiping down this dirty bar, ever since our government set the trap and recorded in the history books that this was in fact the place, the little town of Los Alamos, where the “Manhatten Project” and the nuclear bomb was developed. Ever since then we’ve been waiting. We knew the insurgents would come through a portal and try and stop us. Try and change what they had no business of changing.
Jack got up from his seat and walked up to the man, smiling at him pleasantly, but also with a hint of menace in his eyes.
“What do you suppose they do out there in the desert?” Jack asked. His face was slick with sweat and he leaned forward towards the man, putting his hand near the scotch on the table.
The man stared at Jack, then looked at me. I had stopped wiping the table and I stared at him. Another one of my agents, Bart, was sitting at a table on the other side of the room, stood up, then walked slowly and closed the door to the bar. I heard the dead bolt as he locked it. The room was darker now, much darker. The fan seemed to be louder and my head pulsed with the anticipation.
I hated being here and I wanted to go back through the portal and back to my wife and kids. Two years is too long to be through the portal. Sometimes I dream of my wife and it feels strange to dream about a person now moving through a different splice. But in my dreams, she feels so close and time seems like it is nothing between us.
I want to go home, but sometimes I have this feeling I will never see her again.
The man smashed his glass of Scotch in Jacks face and turned, he pulled out an X16 pistol and sent an energy pulse that dropped Bart. But that was as far as he got as I opened the bottle of Scotch over his head and then hopped over the counter.
“Bad move, mister,” I said.
He looked dazed and held his hand to his alcohol-soaked head, his fingers came back with blood.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “We have to stop it!”
I kicked his pistol into the corner of the room and grabbed him by the collar and rolled him onto his back and cuffed him. Bart was moaning in the corner and Jack was out cold.
The man turned his head, looking up at me, blood trailing down his face and pleaded with me. “You know what’s going to happen if we don’t stop it. How can you go along with this?”
“It’s none of my business,” I said. “You are my ticket out of this shit hole and out of this time splice. I just want to see my wife.”
“You’ll have no wife to go home to if we don’t stop it!” He shouted.
“Again, that’s none of my business,” I said and roughly picked the man up. I tore open his shirt and there was a gold locket that made me pause.
"Where did you get this?" I said.
He didn't respond and I opened the locket, there was a picture of my wife but she looked old now.
"She gave it to me," he said. "Listen, we don't have much time. You have to help me. We have to stop it."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
For more stories, check out my subreddit!
[r/CataclysmicRhythmic/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/)
|
See, if they'd been *smart* about this, they would have *waited*.
Yes, it's a lot harder to fake something like this after the fact. I get that. But if you make the evidence you need, and then, say, wait a decade or two to release it, and only make it part of history *retroactively*, then you don't have to worry about regular tourists. If they're here at all, they're automatically suspicious as hell- you still get a few people turning up because they're passing through and need gas, and there's always gonna be some madman who turns up, decides he likes it here, and moves in, but...
Well, this whole thing could have been a lot simpler, no doubt about it.
Take this fellow in front of me. Was he strange as all hell? Yes, yes he was. Oddly fascinated by everything, looking around all suspicious-like. But that doesn't mean as much as you think it does- might just be some Florida man on vacation. There's plenty of run-of-the-mill weirdos wandering around, no two ways about it.
His clothes are new, which is suspicious. You don't want to be conspicuous, so you buy the local fashions. 'Local', in this case, in the time sense. But you can't arrest someone just for wearing new clothes, especially if they might just be on vacation.
Gotta dig a little deeper. Generally, that means conversation.
"Heck of a storm supposed to be coming in, in a week or so. They're saying they might have to evacuate people. Don't know where the heck they'd have to put everybody up, it'd probably be a whole nightmare. I sure wouldn't want to be in charge of that."
That alone gets them, sometimes. They usually don't outright *say* 'the time travel guide didn't say anything about a big storm', but if they just flat-out say 'nah, that won't happen' then we've got ourselves a bit of a stupid time traveler. Mostly, though, they're smart enough to realize that they shouldn't do anything that looks like they can see the future. They act worried, and ask if they think that'll affect their travel time, if maybe they should cut their time here short, just in case.
Which is just what the gentleman in front of me did. Time for step two.
I started talking politics. I engaged the man a bit, got him to show off a bit of his knowledge. He'd done his research, if he was a time traveler. That wasn't uncommon, but it did mean that he couldn't now claim to not be following things.
So I asked him about something smaller, a local political scandal that was absolutely dominating the news at the moment, and which wouldn't even merit a footnote in the history books.
He knew about it, offered opinions, ranted for a little bit about the corruption involved. He'd either *really* done his research, or, more likely, had been here for a while, following things and just generally experiencing life back now.
That'd make it hard to catch him at anything, if it were the case. I went over to flag his file- 'suspicious, but has definitely done his research or been here a while'- then went back over to get him cleaned up and ready to head out.
Part of this included a surreptitious search of his person. It wasn't much, and I didn't expect to find anything, since, if he *was* a time traveler, he clearly knew what he was doing. But it was the done thing. You just never know.
Indeed you don't. He had a small pin, celebrating a Cleaveland Heat NBA championship.
"Follow the Heat, do you?"
He seemed to realize that he was caught, but he tried to play it cool. "I sure do. It was a great season, with...LeBron James, and...Stephen Curry..."
"Uh huh. Explain it to the judge. Got you dead to rights."
"Look, I know you've had problems with people coming back, but I *swear* I haven't been playing the lotto!"
"Uh huh. I'll bet you haven't been doing any sports betting, either."
"Well..."
"Again- tell it to a judge." A couple of police officers showed up, and the man stiffened. He hadn't tried to run the whole time, which I mostly chalked up to this time periods notoriety for police brutality. Guess it has its advantages, after all.
"Take him away, boys!"
| 2021-01-16T09:21:41
| 2021-01-16T08:44:10
| 416
| 300
|
[WP] Something happy please. Include cats and maybe lizards.
My girlfriend likes to fall asleep to the sound of me reading something, I'd just like something nice to read to her.
EDIT: Whoops, now I'm on the front-page I can't pass any of these off as my own ;) just kidding of course, thanks very very much to everybody who replied and upvoted, I posted this before I went to sleep and it gave me a nice feeling when I woke up and saw it.
:)
EDIT 2: Thanks to the kind user who sent me a code for some actual Reddit gold! I shall not mention their name as I'm not sure whether they want me to, but they popped my gold cherry and for that I shall be eternally grateful.
You know who you are :)
|
Dense flakes of snow fell from the sky
and Mittens the kitten looked up with a sigh.
His pillow was cold!
And though he wasn't yet old
The chill in his bones made him cry.
He shifted away from his seat by the pane
and leapt up to see where his neighbor had lain.
Freckle the gecko had all the best stuff,
which made living near him a little bit tough.
Freckle's tank was warmed not by the sun
but instead by light which shone with the promise of fun.
Mittens' little black paws padded soft on the ground
as he prepared to give the side of the tank a good pound.
He crouched down real low and swished wide with his tail
while Freckles darted behind a plant with a quick flail.
And just when he was about to pounce...
suddenly, he couldn't move even an ounce!
Scooped up by two hands and pulled tight to a chest
Mittens found himself tucked into a vest.
He was no longer cold so he settled down with a purr
And wound his claws in the yarn so he stuck like a burr.
His owner minded not the tears in her sweater.
She had three more in her closet which were even better.
When her grandmother called she would tell a little white lie
And explain that she'd loved it in a tone very blithe
But cats will be catty
They're a little bit batty
Maybe, next year, she could just send a pie.
|
*Just pull the trigger, and earn another paycheck* was what I thought. *I've done it fifty four times already. Why can't I pull it now?* No, it's not the trigger assembly, no I didn't forget to turn off the safety. I'm a professional assassin, on a rooftop, with my target in sight. In less than a second, I would be done.
Soon I began to shiver, I thought it would be like all other jobs. Get to a vantage point, aim, shoot, and get back inside someplace warm, but no. I was going to kill an innocent man. A man who did nothing wrong, had a loving wife and two kids, whom he loved just as much as his job. He was just a competitor to my boss was all.
Five minutes in the cold and rain and I began shivering, my scope swaying more than it should. At least this cat that took a liking to me was warm in my jacket. *It's still not too late to take the shot, just kill him, earn your paycheck, and then we can go back to my miserable little apartment, with another comma in my back account.*
I said we. Slip of the tongue? Or did I mean me and this cat? I mean I could probably take him home, the vet bills wouldn't put a dent in my savings. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. But now my scope vibrated. The cat was purring, like it was content that it chose the right person to be his. If it even was a he. I guess this is affection. Haven't felt this in years...just. Cold.
I know what I'm going to do, and I hope I've made the right choice. *Click* went my safety. *Ka-chink, pling!* Went the bolt action and bullet. *I'm not killing an innocent man. Not again.* In to my case went the rifle, and an anonymous call to the man warned him that he was in danger. He deserves to at least know that people are targeting him, maybe even target his family.
As for me, I went back home and gathered my essentials. Then I burnt the house down. And I ran. I found a place eventually, settled down, found Bullet here a playmate. That's what I named him. He has this copper tinge in his coat, and he always zipped around very quick. Just like a bullet. It's sunny here. The weather's always nice, the neighbors are nice, the scenery is nice. We're happy here.
Hope you guys enjoyed this, I'm trying to get back into writing, so let me know if there is anything I could improve on!
-/u/Tehsyr /r/MindOfTeshyr
| 2017-01-29T18:40:55
| 2017-01-29T18:01:44
| 48
| 17
|
[wp] Make a character with as much sympathy as possible. Now, in a realistic and non-over the top manner, make me lose all sympathy for them.
|
My hands shake as the brush strikes the paper. A thin layer of red fills the petals of my rose. Too dark. I must’ve pressed too hard. I take a small breath to calm my nerves. It wasn’t that my hands shake every time I paint, it’s just that in ten minutes’ time, I would finally be able to give my country, my people, my family, everything that I am.
Would I succeed? Only God can see so far forward. All man can do is to keep pushing, one step in front of the other. And even then, failure is all but certain. In the eyes of the world, a man can only do so much.
That was a lesson I had spent half my life learning. When my father first heard that I wanted to go to university for art, he scoffed at my decision. It wasn’t the uncertainty or the money, but me. I had no talent for it, he told me. My paintings looked like the tissues in the toilet after he had wiped his ass. He would not fund my stupidity.
But so be it. Painting was my calling and nobody had to tell me just how little talent I had, I knew. My nights were spent dissecting colors in my head. My mornings I dedicated to brushstrokes and technique. The afternoons I would study the greatest of the great, the Michelangelos and Van Goghs. Because life was not in the cards I drew, but the cards I played.
So I worked for two years, tirelessly, saving every penny, eating only bread and stew. I sold watercolours out of my parents’ store. I studied, painted, threw away, and studied some more until finally, I was ready. I applied to university.
The day the letter came, my hands shook so much I had to ask my father to open it for me. He did so and I swallowed as I met his eyes. Have I proven him wrong? He laughed. He threw his head back and let loose a rumbling guffaw that shook his very core. And mine.
I had been rejected. They said that I just didn’t have the talent.
It took me weeks to recover from that. My nights were no longer spent in study, they were spent at the pubs. The mornings I gave to my hangover and the afternoons to beg for more money. And that was when my father sat me down, a picture of the Vienna skyline in his lap and said these words: “son, I’d like to purchase this painting from you.”
I dug my nails into my palms. I swallowed my breaths. I ground my teeth to dust. But none of it mattered. The cry welled up in my chest and exploded out my mouth as a torrent of tears rained into my lap.
“Thank you, father.” I told him.
One year later, eating this time only bread, I had made up my savings that I had wasted with alcohol. I applied once more. This time, when the application came, my father stood at my side, his hands crossed, face grim, as he watched me open the letter.
“The candidate has an unfitness for painting,” I read and choked. Because I had known, I had always known. My father was right, the university was right, my first instinct was right. I just had no talent.
Then, my father said the words I would never forget. “Son, you were not meant for such trivialities. Your path is greater. So make your way and change our world.”
And so I found a new calling. I found it in the despair of a country ravaged by war and its people bullied by the powerful. I would save my country and everyone within it.
I stand up and stare at my imperfect rose and my crooked lilies beside it. One day, men will buy my paintings not because they are great, but because I am. A knock on the door. My time is up.
“My fuhrer,” he says. “The people are waiting.”
I nod. The world would soon learn my name.
---
---
/r/jraywang
|
Gary's father always made sure to let him know that he was the reason his life was shit due to his wife dying while giving birth to him. If you ask anyone who knows Gary they will all agree that bruises were almost like tattoos on his skin. They never left.
His childhood was a living hell yet he swore to himself that he would transform all the abuse he was receiveing into examples of what he should never do to another human being.
When he turned 15 his father was drunker than usual and beated Gary up so much that he had to spent 3 days in the hospital. Gary did not want to comeback to his home after that, he was terrified. After taking a deep breath he went to the police station just to get completely ignored by the officers.
Gary's situation was hopeless, he had been wandering the city for 3 days with no safe place to stay and starving. Suddenly, walking down the street he came across a place were people fed the homeless. He ate as much as they allowed him to. An old lady who voluntereed there offered him to stay in her home if he was willing to help her feed the homeless. Gary agreed instantly, a warm bed was all he wanted.
Five years went by, Gary's father went to jail for almost killing another man in a bar fight. Gary took the chance and came back to his old home, horrifying memories came back to him when he opened the door but after a month he was now somewhat comfortable.
Everyday he would go to the shelter to help the old lady that saved his life, he became loved by the regular homelesses because of his empathy and surprising ability to cook.
One day, a recognised chef from the city decided to cook in the shelter for charity. He ended up mesmerized and astonished by Gary's cooking. So much that he offered a job in his restaurant. The abused yet lovely kid accepted with tears in his eyes, he would finally earn enough money to make his dream come true, open his own homeless shelter.
That night he went to sleep with a wide smile. At 4 AM in the morning a dog's bark interrupted his deep sleep. He went outside kicked the dog in the stomach until it shut up. He came back to sleep like nothing happened. He had the best sleep of his life. Gary woke up, made himself a cup of coffee, sat on his chair and looked out the window just to see the dog laying dead just across the street. He kept drinking his coffee a smirk drew in his face.
| 2017-04-24T10:52:35
| 2017-04-24T10:10:51
| 239
| 19
|
[WP] Nine out of ten doctors agree that this product is good for you. Write about the tenth one.
|
"It will work."
"We've tested it in simulations a dozen times."
"We've even peeked a bit at the ending," one of them said with a sadistic little smile that the tenth doctor never grew to appreciate.
"You can't do it. It's murder."
The first doctor stood and waved his hand about with the dismissiveness of Beethoven at a children's music recital. "It's a disease. It may by all rights be alive, but it isn't murder. Do you call the removal of an ant hill from your back garden murder?"
"I call it extermination."
That gave the room pause. The tenth doctor took off his glasses and stood with such force that the cheap plastic chair crashed to the floor. He paced around the others, long lanky legs striding like a praying mantis.
"It doesn't matter what your projections say, or if you 'peeked at the ending', it's still wrong. I'm not talking about the possibility of it not working, it's simply *wrong.* Morally wrong. Even if going through with the procedure would transform the universe into this impossible utopia, you'd be building it on their bones."
"Bones that would never exist," the second doctor pointed out.
"Technicalities. This whole meeting is nothing but technicalities paraded about to obscure the ethics. We have lost our way, doctors, and I will stop you if I must."
"You are the oldest," the fourth doctor remarked dryly, "and yet the most foolish."
It was too late. The tenth doctor's coat already flagged in his wake. The door creaked open and the light from within poured out.
"The human race is not a disease to be cured. This Doctor will not be treating it."
The TARDIS wheezed.
|
Everything ached. I spit out a tooth and heard it clatter to the floor. I tested my bonds once again, they held. My wrists and ankles have been rubbed raw, I must have been tied to this chair for twelve hours by now. I listen to the soft drip, as blood from my more recent cuts has begun to pool on the floor, and yet more continues to drip. The door creaks open and I turn my head to see. I have to strain my neck, my right eye has swollen shut, so I need to turn my head even farther to see with my left. Nicholas walks up to me and slaps me rough on the shoulder.
"What do you say, Doctor. Are you ready to sign?"
"Never." I rasp. My throat burns, I seriously need some water.
"Tisk tisk, that's not what I like to hear." He says and jams his knuckles into my kidney. I utter a soundless scream and bright spots fill my vision. "It doesn't have to be this way." He coos and removes his fist form my back. "Just sign off on the safety of my employers product, and we can all go home. You would like to see your home again, wouldn't you, Dr. Michaels?" Thoughts of my wife and newborn brought tears to my one good eye.
"Very much so." I admit.
"Good, then sign." He holds up a clipboard with a document on it. He puts a pen into my right hand, which he had left untouched. I seriously considered signing. How much was I expected to endure. No one would blame me. Then I thought of my oath.
"I can't." I tell him. "Your product's not safe, it could cause serious health problems, and might even kill. I can't sign this." Nicholas looked at me apathetically, and pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt.
"Michaels is a no go." He says into it.
"It's all right, Walters just broke." Came the reply a moment later. Nicholas returned the walkie to his belt and pulled out a gun.
"Looks like we don't need you to sign after all." He said and pointed it at my head. "After all, nine out of ten doctors isn't bad."
| 2014-08-18T21:22:46
| 2014-08-18T21:06:31
| 49
| 12
|
[WP]: A child encounters a mythical creature only to discover they're nothing like in the stories.
|
Monsters in my storybooks are big and scary.
They have sharp teeth and long claws, and when the hero fights them the hero is always brave and strong with shiny armor and a sword.
My monster is small. And when I fight it I'm weak and tired and sick and lose my hair.
My mom says I'm fighting like a brave knight, but this is a much scarier monster than the ones in the books, because I think the hero doesn't win.
|
The massive horned horse breathed heavily as it opened the door to its one room apartment and squished its bloated frame moved away from the door. On the television, re-runs of Battlestar Galactica played quietly. It rubbed its hoof against its ass to scratch it and a tiny rainbow cloud popped out as it farted.
Ricky winced at the smell as he entered. It wasn't just the rainbow fart, but the piled pizza boxes, the tables made of old phone books and the open chinese food containers all made the apartment barely livable. The windows seemed to be painted shut.
The unicorn flopped back down into its lazy-boy, positioned in the center of its mess and its distant eyes gazed at the TV.
"Um, I was- I was hoping you could make my wish come true," Ricky nervously requested.
"That's genies," said the unicorn and nestled a half-finished beer between its hoof. It swigged it and then found its pack of cigarettes. "I do bullies and dead parents- sign your name on the form."
"What form?" Ricky asked timidly. The Unicorn pointed toward a haphazard stack of papers next to Ricky and then lit a cigarette.
"You got a dead parent or a bully picking on you, You can get on my back and I'll fly you around and shit. If not, leave me alone," the Unicorn's hoarse, gravelly voice explained. Ricky sighed.
"Well, can you give me the address for a good genie?" he asked. The unicorn ignored him and turned up Battlestar. Ricky left unfulfilled.
| 2013-11-12T15:25:27
| 2013-11-12T11:12:57
| 33
| 13
|
[WP] You are the current Boogeyman, elected into that position in the 60's. You have been re-elected every ten years easily. However, today's kids aren't afraid of you. You're down in the polls against your opponent, so you need to tap into the fears of modern children for your campaign.
|
"You're my campaign manager. You should be on top of this sort of thing."
"I can't help you until you help yourself, Boogy. We as a team have told you this over and over. Look. Look here. This is a graph depicting your popularity since you were elected in the 60's."
"Is going downwards good?"
"What? No. No, Boogey. Why would that ever be a good thing?"
"I just thought that maybe, as a one off or something, a downward spiral may be a good thing."
"This is why we haven't been able to help you."
"Look, I'm sorry. I need help. I'm asking for your help."
"Well, for starters, let's have a look at your campaign promises. OK, so, Number One: 'Be spooky'. Is that like in general? Be spooky in general?"
"Yeah, that's kind of just your day to day spooks."
"Nobody knows what that means. Not a single person. What even are day to day spooks? We need to scratch this."
"OK, fine. It's gone. Move on."
"Number Two .. and this one, God, this one I have a tremendous problem with. Number two is: 'Give little boys the willies'."
"I don't see what's wrong with it."
"You don't see what is wrong with saying you're going to give little boys the willies?"
"Back in the 60's .."
"This isn't the 60's, Boogey. We've been over this. Giving little boys the willies doesn't fly now. People interpret it differently."
"How do they interpret it?"
"They think it means you're going to molest children."
"Oh, God."
"I know. It has to go."
"Well, when you think about it, isn't it scary? Isn't that what we're aiming for? You said we need to step things up."
"We are not contemplating this."
"I mean, what's more scary than someone who wants to fuck your child? I say we make it even more obvious what we mean."
"No. We're not going there."
"Knock knock? Who's there? It's me Mr. Boogeyman and I'm going to molest your child. Seriously, though. I'm going to fuck your kid. Vote Boogy 2016."
"That is terrifying."
"I told you."
"So we're going to base our campaign around strong, full on paedophilia?"
"It's the scariest thing there is."
"I don't know, man. This is really pushing the envelope in terms of ~~a WritingPrompt response~~ an election campaign. I mean, how many people have themed a ~~prompt response~~ campaign around paedophilia and had any form of success?"
"We're behind in the polls already. We need to catch up! What do we have to lose?"
"Fuck it. Let's do it."
"It's foolproof!"
****
For more highbrow comedy, visit /r/BillMurrayMovies. Come along and downvote everything. It's a celebration.
|
So I've been Bogey Man since the 60's. Way back when I started, it was an easy gig. Hide in the shadows, maybe jump out of the closet, or even just scratch my nails along the floor boards underneath some poor kid's bed. Today's kids don't scare so easily. Just the other day one of them pulled out a glock and started firing at me. Seriously, like WTF!? It's gotten to the point that I'm more scared of them than they are of me!
A few years ago, I decided I really needed to get my act together. My elected role as Bogey Man was in jeopardy. I needed to remake myself. I needed to create fear where there was none. I needed to instill a sense of violence and hate wherever I went. I've finally done it: a complete makeover. Sure my hair is orange, but I'm now known as President-Elect Trump.
Let the nightmares begin.
| 2016-11-20T12:32:44
| 2016-11-20T10:55:12
| 137
| 22
|
[WP] The Roman and Aztec Empires covering all of Europe and North America respectively have survived into the Modern era. Now at war write from the perspective of one of the troops on the ground
|
Carlos sipped a beer. The white man who had served it to him scuttled quickly behind the counter, like a weak little mouse. The whites may have had rights now, but they still spoke Nahuatl or Pipil and tended to stay in their own communities, away from the intimidatingly superior Aztecs.
Carlos' friend, Sitting Bear, was doing his namesake proud: his chubby bottom on the barstool, nursing a pint. "So. Got called again for duty, Losi?"
"Yeah." Carlos sighed. You'd think that the Roman would give up, but they didn't. "You could come with me, you know." Carlos suggested.
"Nah man." Sitting Bear sighed. "I'm a History Teacher, not a soldier like you. Someone's gotta teach the runts about how Pocahontas stabbed Lewis and Clark or when the first Incan president was elected. Plus, have you seen my gut?"
Carlos chuckled. "I'm glad the Aztecs were chill with the Cherokee. Life wouldn't be the same without your people's sense of humor."
"Yeah, our spirit animal is George Lopez." Sitting Bear chucked. "Or beer." he looked at his glass rather fondly.
'W... what was the war like?" the meek bartender pipped up. Luckily, Carlos considered the whites their equals, and he responded in a friendly fashion.
"Well, legions of Romans were charging at us with their SPQR guns." I remembered, almost hearing the gunfire. "I was young, stupid. Thought because I was a Jaguar warrior bullets wouldn't touch me. But when the gods get to killing, they don't save anybody from bullets."
The man nodded, fascinated. Usually, the media blows Jaguar warriors out of disproportion, making movies to us detailing how we ride avatars of Quetzcoatl into battle and Mayahuel fucks us if we win a battle.
"But one day, I was taking out some guys when I happened upon a Praetor." I continued.
The bartender and Sitting Bear gasped. "You fought a motherfucking Praetor? And lived?" S.B. asked.
"Ha! Barely. The old man had sure earned his position. Gave me quite the thrashing. If it weren't for that Priest of Jupiter coming out and begging us to stop....." I contemplated how my life would have ended.
"So you guys just stopped fighting?" the bartender asked, feeling comfortable enough to sit and talk.
"Yup." I nodded. "It was one of the last battles of the Second Empire War, and we all decided that we weren't going to go down for a war that was already over."
Sitting Bear put his drink down. "So this is the Third Empire war, eh?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Who do you think will win?"
"Dunno. There are entire cohorts lining up to fight. Whoever wins is gonna come out with a lot of scars."
"War," the timid man stated "Is a terrible thing. I wish both sides could let go of their pride."
I just nooded, my mood darkening. "I think I should go home and see my wife." I slapped a few cacao beans down on the table, and got up to leave.
"Carlos." The bartender called to me. I stopped to look at him." "May God protect you."
I chuckled at the monotheistic man. "I think I'm gonna need more than one to win this war."
|
The priests have made their offerings. Millions were taken to the temples and sacrificed. Huitzilopochtli is satisfied. He must be satisfied. He will guide us against these...Romans. The heavens will grant us victory, our Gods will defeat their Gods. Jupiter cannot stand against the full might of Huitzilopochtli, not when we have shaken the continent itself to gain his favor.
But they are good warriors. They do not have the wild strength. The Aztec strength. Instead they march into battle in straight ranks, disciplined and stony. Rigid. Not cowards though. It takes a great effort to make these Romans retreat. Their Gods are not weak like those of the American tribes. When they stop to rest, their Gods put up great wooden walls. Sometimes even stone. Supposedly they earn such favor by making captured slaves play games. I will die before I fight for their gods. Every man among us will die before that dishonor. Games are for the proud, those who do not fear death. Not those who chose to live on as slaves.
We are almost upon them. It has been a long time coming. A long time since we snuck onto the coastline using the cover of night. An even longer time since the great fleet set sail from Aztlan. Soon we will take them by surprise. Fall upon their cities, sack them one by one, offer their people to the Gods. Rome wil-
Shouting to the left. Clashing of weapons. Clanking. Sounds like steel. Romans? Has to be. The Romans surprised us!
"Protect the flank! Kill the Romans!"
Run like the jaguar, prowling, darting back and forth between the trees. But these are not jaguar lands. Not jungle. Forest gives way to open terrain.
No. Lines of them, far as the eye can see. Those damned red-feathered helmets. What is that smell? Smells like the burning lea-
Romans must have lit the forest on fire. Need to escape. Run. I am a Jaguar warrior. No men alive are swifter.
"Charge!"
I will feel my swinging arm thud to a halt as my macahuitl breaks their necks. I will smell their blood and their fear. We will crash through them. Traps mean nothing to the Aztec. We are nature, uncontrollable fury. We are the wave smashing apart their lines. We are the lava from the volcano, spreading and consuming. Rome will burn. It begins here.
My first foe. Die! He hides behind his shield. I will dance around, he cannot keep up. Swing away to the side, leaning back. Dart in, go for the kill. His companion's shield blocks it. Damn their formations. Try the other side. Dodge his sword. Strike at the neck. Got him! Huitzilopochtli grants me victory. Why is he still standing? Still fighting? He should be dead. I'm bleeding. But--the Roman got me. When he swung his short sword. I did not realize.
I--am not long for this world. I will offer one of their lives. Die a warrior, so that I follow the rising sun east in the afterlife. Must crash through the shields. Ignore the swords piercing my skin. I do not feel them. I am Aztec! I am a Jaguar warrior! I will rip out hi-.
--
Not really Modern era fighting, but whatever.
| 2014-02-24T16:10:11
| 2014-02-24T15:27:11
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.
|
Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end.
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45
| 2017-06-11T09:19:40
| 159
| 17
|
[WP] The Apocalypse wasn't as bad as the legends foretold. Sure the demons and angels are fighting everywhere, but they don't do THAT much collateral damage and the economy is booming thanks to humanity's ability to profit off of war.
|
Feb 1, 2021
WASHINGTON, DC - President Trump struck a gleeful tone in the White House Press Room on Monday when he announced a new multi-billion gold nugget weapons deal with Satan, the Lord of Darkness. The second such deal of its kind since the outbreak of the Apocalypse late last year, the United States has agreed to provide the Army of Hell with thousands of firearms and explosives in what the President called an "interdimensional arms deal the likes of which has never been seen."
"It's going to be beautiful", the Mr. Trump said from the podium in front of reporters, many of them in chains. "A lot of people said it couldn't be done. And you had the Democrats saying that America shouldn't negotiate with the devil."
Asked if he was actually fucking serious, Mr. Trump responded "I am serious, yes. Very serious. No one is more serious about this deal. And, you know, I've spoken to Lord Satan and he's a great guy. Just a very great, hardworking man. And he just wants his army to win. And he's a big fan of Trump too. He likes what we're doing here."
Of the general backlash to his newfound friendship with Beelzebub, the President said "I think the media has, you know, been unfair about this. The media and the Democrats just can't accept that they lost another election they should've won and now you have this arms deal which is another big loss for them. But it's a big win for the American people and for our economy."
The Army of Hell has been locked in a relatively calm war with the Forces of Heaven since late last year. Following the coronavirus pandemic, the cancellation of Better Call Saul, and then Mr. Trump's re-election, the gates of Hell opened in Branson, Missouri in what experts in ancient texts are calling the fulfilment of a dark prophecy. Shortly after, the Forces of Heaven, led by Jesus Christ of Nazareth, ascended from the sky to engage in battle with Satan's army. While initially many feared this would be the end of humanity, the armies have been doing battle largely in mid-air over wide, open spaces with minor damage to infrastructure and little to no disruption of everyday human life.
Inversely, the economy has actually seen a massive bounce back from the recession caused by the coronavirus pandemic last year. The first deal Mr. Trump signed with the devil largely reversed all the damage done by the spread of COVID-19. While many Democratic politicians have criticised the President's literal deal with the devil to save the economy, Mr. Trump has characteristically downplayed the questionable morals of the agreement.
"There's gonna be big, beautiful weapons factories built across our great country, with American workers on the production lines, American truckers driving through the gates of Hell, delivering those big, beautiful missiles", the President said in the press room. "To me, that's all that matters. But the media and the Democrats want to talk about this tiny little clause where if the Army of Hell win, Satan gets a position in my cabinet, and that's just part of the deal, you know? I'm a dealmaker, everyone knows that, and this will get Americans working again."
Satan was later invited to the podium where he ominously cackled for 40 minutes.
|
"I'll take uh, the flaming sword today Isaac." The demon said with an easy-going look on his face.
"Ah, you do love your antiques don't you Rasmondeous. That'll be 50 angel feathers."
"What can I say, it's hard to beat the old stuff." He tossed Isaac a small, brown sack and flew out of the store with his new toy. Isaac sat behind the counter and counted the feathers, and as per usual, the demon shorted him 10 feathers. Classic demon move.
Isaac moved into the back of the store where is father was forging up a new sickle, "I swear to satan we should've done business with the angels instead. These bastards are always shorting us feathers!"
His father wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up from the forge with a smile, "But the angels don't like our weapons, something about being too barbaric remember... pansies."
"Ya ya I know, but you'd think the devils would be more appreciative considering they've been winning this war for the past six years thanks to us humans... You know, sometimes I wish we'd sided with the angels instead."
"Don't say that son."
"No, I'm serious! These demon guys are real assholes."
"Don't assume any better from the angels."
"Seriously dad, why did we pick the demons instead. Everyone else sided with the angels."
His father became stern with this question and gazed into the flames of his forge intently. "You're not old enough yet."
"Oh come on dad! You've been saying that forever! You'll have to tell me eventually."
"Fine!" his father boomed, "Fine I'll tell something just to get you off this danged question! Then be done with it!" Issac became excited, his father never told him anything about before the apocalypse. He ran over beside his fathers forge and sat down to listen.
His dad put down his tools and turned to his son with a serious face, "You know I love you."
"Of course."
There was a long pause after this, as it seemed his father was contemplating something. "We chose the demons because they promised me something. Something very important to me, something the angels couldn't promise."
"What was it?"
"I told you I wouldn't say much, that's all you need to know."
"But da-"
"Enough! Now back to the storefront immediately!" Isaac carried himself back to the front with his head down. His father turned back to the forge in deep thought: *He can't know. He can't know this whole thing is about him, no boy should live with that kind of knowledge. That the battle for the world is about him.* He looked back over at his desk, where his own name wrote down on a tablet: "Abraham."
*He'll never get my son.*
| 2020-05-06T08:56:04
| 2020-05-06T07:10:52
| 131
| 84
|
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
Look I'm a man who can handle many things...
Being listed by the World Villian League as 'Ridiculously D-Teir' because i don't personally feel the need to do more than rob banks and steal tech from labs was fair.
Having the Wrecking Crew be my assigned "Nemeses" was a hard pill to swallow but i got over it. Hell, i got used to it.
Jungle Kid's cheesey lines and speeches as the "Team Leader" even though all he instructs them to do is just "Wrecking Crew Topple 'Em" was admirable for the children.
Cheese Man's gimmick was a good laugh to my henchmen so he was good to keep him around.
Playing to Atlan's strongside of having random water puddles made the fights fun with his creativity.
And Tim... I still don't know what Tim did.
But they were always the ones who would let me get my things run away and the foil my plans last second.
They weren't Watcher who would place a tracking device, or Millennium who would just hear my plans and escort me to jail. They were simply reactionary, not on pursuit.
So when the ignorant children find out that i had my little coffee shop on the corner of 5th, and didn't do any research to see that my staff were just average people looking for jobs. BARGED IN WHILE I WAS AWAY, DESTROY THE PLACE, PUT MY STAFF IN THE HOSPITAL! Then Doctor Tinker isn't going to play nice.
Doctor Tinker is going to drop the advantages, Drop the crappy junk machines that a can be dismantled by a thrown screwdriver. Goes to their doorstep, and pardon the corny line it's a habit i need to work on, Wreck the Wrecking Crew and have their nearly lifeless bodies flowing down the Hudson River.
There simply isn't a better feeling.
Now hopefully the next time some heroes try to do the whole song and dance they're old enough to know, Don't mess with the people *I* care for.
|
\[ParaSEC Target File, Threat Level: Low\]
* C-Class audiokinesis \[Looping and pitch. No evidence of volume control\]
* D-Class speedster abilities. \[Slightly faster run speed. Potential sensory acuity - further evidence required\]
* Target demonstrates propensity to use powers exclusively for show. All 'villainous' activity mundane in nature, possibly a publicity stunt. \[Officially denied by all contacted PR agencies. IntOps priority low - pursue only if convenient during other activities\]
\[End File\]
You know the problem with most villains?
Okay, trick question. There's no *one* problem with them, usually it's the egomania, or psychopathy, or the tunnel-vision. I used to say that they lacked flair, but some of them have a decent sense of drama with those capes. The real problem? They lack *fun.*
Not Jester's knife-wielding jack-in-the-box fun, but something that makes life genuinely enjoyable in itself. Sadism doesn't count. That's why I'm different, I'm not here to crush the world in my iron grasp, or to torture the world. I'm a villain for kicks.
Welcome to the world of DJ Dastardly.
Do you *know* how hard it is to give yourself a silly name as a villain? I had to fight *months* of media calling me things like 'Remix'. It's hard to scaremonger around someone with a silly name, they conveniently left out footage of my preferred moniker spraypainted everywhere for MONTHS. It was only once some kids posted it on social media that they were forced to give in. After that, I was Page 17 material at best.
I'm a heist-villain. Low level stuff- museums, science fairs, that one time I nabbed the mayor's statue at town hall. High visibility, low impact. That's my game, and my 'nemeses'... Well, let's just say the same goes for them too.
I've got a lot of respect for Eclipse Squad's PR team. It takes a creative mind to look at a human strobe light, a gothic fog machine, and a B-class telekinetic ("but DJ, she can fly!". She floats, and can make other things float. I'm shaking in my very fashionable boots) and give them some damn good branding.
So, here's the score (and believe me, I know scores)- You're somewhere public, but with oddly good acoustics. Someone takes a step, and it echoes a little bit too much. Then again. It starts looping- no one's walking anywhere, but now there's a tok-tok-tok of a 4/4 beat. I used to always have to say the name myself, but nowadays if I'm lucky someone else guesses first.
*DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ D-D-D-Dastardly!* (they only say it the once, the effect is all me).
From there, you're all part of the performance. Every step, noise, gasp, and laugh? It goes in the soundtrack. I'm a one-man-acapella/percussion looping pedal, and the audience? They're starting to like me. Turns out security guards find it really hard to focus when everything they do gets looped into a live performance. I'm there taking a bow at the item-du-jour, and Eclipse Squad roll in. Midnight's black fog blocks my camera angle, Moonlight *tries* to stun me with a flare (come on kid, *I'm in a cloud of black smoke, think about it*.), then Luna tries to knock me over the head with some slow-moving object. I throw them a bone "Damnit Eclipse Squad! You've foiled me again! But I'll be back for an encore!", and slip out the back.
All fun and games, honestly a great way to spend an afternoon, not to mention boost listens on my soundcloud! Until it got serious.
Turns out strobe-boy *moonlights* as a wannabe hacker (I'm not sorry). Tracked my IP to the little music studio I run. The one with the music program to keep delinquent kids off the streets.
They roll up in full-costume, see some kid that they'd knocked around for graffiti before and decide that this is DJ Dastardly's gang lair, and that the kids are my 'henchmen'. Eclipse Squad might be idiots, but as it turns out, when faced with blinding smoke and flashing lights, a lot of teenagers panic. Now imagine an enclosed space with a *bunch* of panicking teenagers who can't see.
3 concussions, one broken leg, 6 cases of PTSD. I'm just thankful Eva had detention, I don't want to know if Moonlight's power could've triggered her epilepsy.
I'm protective of my kids. They've had a bad run, and I was trying to show them a way *out* of the system. The injuries were one thing, but because they found a little weed on him, Jim's going back to juvie. That was the last straw.
| 2022-11-29T04:37:56
| 2022-11-28T20:44:52
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
As the hundredth candidate I knew I’d have to be clever, but the idea occurred somewhere around the 30th person. Marie had asked for the ability to steal powers. She was told that the ability would only be temporary and we all knew that killing or capturing the others was not allowed. She ended up choosing something else.
Many others went the same way after that. Now that we knew that this wasn’t a contest of strength but one of influence, the power selections changed. People asked to be able to influence others or the larger world. Simple enough, but effective. They would be my biggest competition.
Or so I thought. The power to try again. I hadn’t thought of it, but it was incredibly useful. No failures and the potential to resist any power with a direct effect. This James fellow had also thought this through.
Nadya requested the willpower to overcome any obstacle. I was surprised that it was claimed at 84, but good to know that someone had it.
The power to manifest imagination was chosen by Abdul at 93. His constructs were limited in duration, but that was fine with him.
Ultimate repair came right before me. Also a good strategy. Dana would be able to effectively grant themselves immortality in addition to being able to fix anything mechanical.
Finally, it was my turn. The best part about going last was that it would make this power even better. “I want the knowledge and skills to learn and master any ability that I’ve encountered.” “GRANTED.”
Instantly, I knew it had worked. I knew what everyone else was capable of and how to gain their skills. It wasn’t going to be easy, but thanks to some other choices, I’d have all the time I’d need.
|
"Welcome to the Super Powers Depot, what can i do for you?" The clerk never looked up from their smart device. They couldn't be any more disinterested in the task at hand yet were still complying with the bare essentials of the minimum wage day laborer.
"My name's John. I was chosen to come pick out a free super power..."
"...yeah, we got a few left over. You want the spaghetti hands?"
"I'm sorry, i said, super powers."
"Yeah, being able to make ones own dinner let alone a constant stream of spaghetti based dishes is a super power. You don't like ending world hunger one bowl at a time?"
"I guess that's not so bad when you put it like that but i was thinking something...more helpful to others."
"You're right, ending world hunger helps no one John. How about the ability to choose where you want to go to eat no matter who you're talking to and the choice you make is always 100 percent agreeable for everyone involved?" The clerk looked up from their device. The pain on their face was unmistakable. They were locked between too many choices on where to order food from. Stuck in an endless scroll on a food ordering app.
The clerk thought that seeing a picture of the food he desired would help but, nothing struck them as looking delicious. Nothing could satisfy the unknowable cravings of his stomach.
"My god, how long have you been stuck like this?" John took the smart device from in front of the clerk and began the most important scroll of his life. And then the doubt creeped in. "Wait, you haven't given me my powers yet. I don't know you or what you like; what your allergies are; spice preference? I don't...i can't make this decision...i just--it's impossible."
The clerk fell to their knees behind the counter. Hunger pangs starting to bang against their stomach lining like a heavy metal drummer taking over the song. They were able to weakly get a few words out. "The power...is in you. It has been...all...along."
John gazed upon the smart device once more and the decision immediately came to mind. "How bout this one?"
John laid the phone down on the counter and the clerk slowly stood back up. Tears began to stream down their face. "It's perfect. The balance of sides to entrees; the prices are all within a reasonable stretch of my budget. Thank you." The clerk was finally able to place their order.
As super powered beings put on impressive displays of power, over the years they drop to their knees and one by one they succumb to the only one capable of running the world. The only person who was capable of making the toughest decisions and saving everyone from the cold, bitter realm that is hunger. The one who brings salvation from starvation in any given situation: John.
| 2022-11-17T11:39:55
| 2022-11-17T07:26:44
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
|
I've always wanted a familiar. I grew up reverent of my father's. That dirty little mutt happily plods along behind him just like I used to. Like all familiars, it appeared with a plain, white card, only marked with the date of its first appearance and the name of the trait it represented.
"07/29/1993 - Loyalty".
To this day, his parents can't go an hour without mentioning how proud they were when it appeared. Speaking of them, they're quite the proper pair too considering their familiars, Abstinence and Earnestness. Dad's never once told me about Mom's familiar, but I'm sure it was just as noble as his. Of course it would be.
I hate how important familiars are. Colleges, employers, men, they all want to see my card. It's not my fault that I'm 20 and still don't have one. Dad tries to reassure me, saying that everyone gets a familiar eventually, but I've heard stories about people who go their whole life without ever getting one. They can't get jobs, and everyone in their life abandons them. At this point, I assume that's what's going to happen to me.
Sometimes I dream of a world without familiars, where everyone wasn't judged by something they can't control. Maybe tonight I'll dream of that world again. It really is a nice escape.
________________________________________________________
I hear my father's voice. I can tell it's bright. It must be morning.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting up," I mumble, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow.
Now, I notice that something's different this morning. Dad isn't his usual, obnoxiously kind self. He's shaking me, and there's a touch of excitement, no, panic in his voice.
"No, Allie, get up now! Your familiar! It's... it's... they're here!"
I jolt awake as soon as I hear those words I felt as if I had been waiting forever to hear. I spin around and sit up, glancing left, then right.
"Really? They're here!? Wait, they?"
Dad's hand is on my shoulder, and he seems... distant. Concerned.
"Dad? What's wrong? Where's my familiar?"
"Allie... honey... there are two. They're just outside."
"Two? What do you mean? Dad, no one has two familiars. Do they?"
My father just looks at me, unsure of what to say, and instead stands up from my bedside and slowly opens my bedroom door.
_____________________________________
I can't believe what I'm seeing. On my bedside table sits the massive, absolutely terrifying form of a translucent, black-feathered carrion bird. It has the most ugly, bald, orange face I've ever seen in my life, and at the end of that terrible face is a sharp, hooked grey beak. Unfortunately, that's not the scariest part. That distinction goes to the deep, seemingly all black, unblinking eyes that seem to be staring directly into my soul. In its disgusting beak is a plain, white card.
I reach out my trembling hand to take the card. The bird stays still, almost like a statue, only ever-so-slightly tilting its head to the side as I pull the card from its mouth. I close my eyes for a moment in anticipation, and I flip the card over. I open my eyes without looking down at it. Dad is watching carefully from the doorway. I can tell he's as worried as I am.
"Go on Allie. Read it," he says, his voice mostly back to its usual, soft tone.
I look down at the card.
"01/20/2017 - Adaptability".
"What does it say? Come on Allie, it can't be that bad."
"Adaptability," I mumble quietly.
"Adaptability? That's not bad Allie! Adaptability is important."
I can't believe him. How can he be acting like this in this situation? Why does he have to always be so sickeningly nice? Adaptability could mean anything. And all of this is ignoring the elephant in the room.
That elephant, of course, isn't actually an elephant. I look down to the right, and notice it, a huge wolf with almost matte grey fur, staring intently at me, another white card clutched securely in its mouth. I slide closer to it to reach the card, and start moving my hand towards it. The wolf starts snarling and I instinctively pull my hand back, but the wolf doesn't move an inch. Instead, it continues to stare. Again, I begin to reach out to take the card, and this time I do so.
I flip the card over immediately and read it.
"01/20/2017 - Ruthlessness".
Maybe it would have been better if I never got a familiar after all.
|
I had never known what life was like with a familiar. My parents both had them, my older brother had one, and almost every person I knew at my school had one. They'd follow their masters about from place to place disappearing occasionally when commanded. I would try to describe them, but they are all so unique it becomes almost impossible to focus one one particular attribute.
They don't talk. Or at least not that I can hear. From my perspective at the time, they just seemed to follow people pointlessly. My parents told me when I was young that they were called "familiars" because they represented something about their master. And that appeared to be true.
Cheerleaders tended to have more bubbly, miniature familiars with bright colors. The kids who had family troubles tend to has either sullen, dark familiars or beefed up fighters. I always thought it probably reflected how they dealt with their situations--something unspoken about how they carried themselves.
Every birthday I hoped one would turn up and I would find out exactly what I was missing, but year after year none showed up at my side. I liked to postulate that it meant I could be whoever I wanted to be in the future. That all my doors were still open. I wasn't cornered into a destiny. My friends seemed to think it meant I was indecisive and didn't know who I was. Of course, they only every mentioned it as a joke. It wasn't.
About my 21st birthday, I truly believed I would finally get my familiar. I could drink. I* was a complete adult--minus the insurance benefits of a 25 year-old. And everyone knows that's when you find out a lot about yourself. That night I remember drinking more than I had ever attempted before. It was my turn to take on the world.
The next morning I woke up with a terrible hangover. The sun pelted my eyes through my bedroom window like a continuous beam of pain straight to the back of my head. I got up shrugging my shoulders to stretch them out and scrunching my face so I could see. I grabbed my glasses from my bedside table and started my trek to the bathroom to face whatever hell was about to come form the night before.
I felt nauseous and unbalanced as I entered the bathroom. I threw water briskly onto my face to wake me up and looked in the mirror. I barely had time to see what was behind me in the reflection before I jumped. I turned quickly to face whatever I had seen behind me in the mirror. Nothing. My heart slowed and I started to breath again.
My turn had half-hopeful and half-frightened. Frightened that what behind me was some unexpected person like in so many horror movies. Hopeful it was my familiar finally showing up to help me figure out my life. But it was neither.
I turned back to the mirror to resume inspecting myself and began to cough. It felt like I had swallowed a cigarette whole. The room was hazy around me. I began to waft at the air to get rid of the smoke. But it didn't move at first. Finally, I stepped back and saw what appeared to be a dark ghost floating where I had been standing.
Before I could think, I heard, "Don't be startled. I'm you after all."
Had the ghost spoken to me? Should I have trusted it?
"Are you my familiar?" I almost yelled this still at the crossing point point between excitement and fear.
"I'm your doubt and fear. I'm place you go to when are uncertain and uneasy. I'm you, Brian" the words echoed in my head.
"You can't be me. I'm not a ghost or whatever you are. Is my familiar my fear? That can't be good. I haven't seen one this dark." my thoughts raced trying to grasp what was happening.
"You may call me what you want, but I am here to guide you through all your trials and tribulations. To provide you shelter from the world's troubles." its voice rang again.
Of course it could read my thoughts. This had to be the familiar. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to have to be protected form the world I was scared of my future.
"I don't need you" I exclaimed walking out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.
The ghost simply phased through it, but did not respond. We sat there in silence for quite a while studying each other. It had only shadows where its eyes would have been and a mouth that led nowhere and seemed to serve no purpose since it didn't use it to speak. It bobbed up and down methodically in a soothing repetitious way. Like watching a slow clock's pendulum oscillating back and forth drawing you to sleep.
I noticed the spirit turn to face the door pointing with his small arms and turned myself. The door suddenly swung open. Gusts of wind hurled frigid air into the room and the lights in the room went dark. My familiar floated in front of me focused still. From the door came a nine-tailed fox emanating heat like foxfire. The fox was majestic-looking as it pushed back the cold of the room.
"Brian you must resist him. He is not your familiar" A new female voice began to speak in my head. I peered over at the ghost floating in front of me.
"I thought I'd left you behind. You don't deserve him you deceitful worm" the ghost's voice rang out seeming to echo throughout the rest of the frozen tundra inside my apartment.
"Brian. Listen to me. He won't protect you. He will keep you form everything you're meant to be. I can show you the way."
"You will show him nothing."
At that moment, they clashed. From each appendage the ghost extended himself toward the foxfire in wisps of black magic wisps each deflected by a glowing shield. The foxfire darted to the side catapulting the ghost to the other side of the room.
"Brian come with me. We can escape his sorrow, his fear. We can be whatever we want to be" The nine-tails was stricken to floor--a result of its pause to persuade me to join.
My mind was racing trying to solve the enigmatic events transpiring before me. The ghost took hold of my hand without touching me pulling me toward the door.
"We must escape!" he bellowed pulling harder. I began to stumble in his direction.
The eyes of the fox turned green and I was pulled again the opposite direction.
"You will not take him!"
I began to regret ever wanting a familiar. Nothing was familiar about this. Nothing. Yes I feared what would happen if I didn't get a familiar. And yes I wanted to be all that I could be. Take on whatever face I felt was right in the future. But not like this. I was whole. Not this horrid combination of two singular ideas. I stood my ground.
"I will go nowhere!" I yelled. The winds around me began to swirl. The two familiars continued to pull. Was I strong enough for this? I continued to fight. Neither gave way.
Finally, I let go. I could feel myself tearing at the seams. Stuck between to pictures of myself. I felt despair and hopelessness. I had no choice, but to fall into my destiny like so many had. The cheerleaders, the fighters, the intelligent, the dumb, the bold. I had to become what I was meant to be.
And then, there was nothing.
| 2017-01-20T17:20:07
| 2017-01-20T14:02:57
| 45
| 22
|
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
“Does everyone get to choose?”
The watchman’s heart was breaking looking at the tiny child, covered in scars. They shouldn’t *be* scarred like that, not here, whatever acts caused them must have been truly despicable.
“Everyone gets to choose, and none for an age have chosen that door.”
The child stops their shuffling towards the darker doorway.
“Can you change your mind? Go from one to another?”
“No, are you sure you want to do this child?”
“Can’t be worse than before, they would never follow me here.”
As the child strode with purpose through the darkened gate, the Watchman smiled a bittersweet smile ‘no one was supposed to pass like that.’
|
They’ve really pulled out all the stops. They *say* you can pick Heaven or Hell, but they forget to mention you need to be subordinate to the Big Dude. They do let you take your time, see both sides of the coin, but frankly you’d need to be a dumbass to pick heaven.
Who would want to die like that? Denying yourself for this asshole. Satan doesn’t even run Hell, he just kind of hangs out there with you. It’s cold like back home, and you don’t need to answer to anyone.
All the people in Heaven are cowards. I don’t care how bad it is in Hell, I’d rather be free there than chained in Heaven
**Update:** it’s been fifty years. Pick Heaven.
| 2018-08-13T08:39:02
| 2018-08-13T08:20:27
| 633
| 33
|
[WP] The year is 2501. You're sent to back to the Earth to perform the annual cleanup. Beneath a mountain of scraps and trash, you find a precious hard disk loaded with something that was forgotten for centuries: Video Games.
Edit: Thanks for all of your responses. I had the thought of this prompt come up in my mind as I was on vacation without access to Video Games, and I finally got to posting it yesterday. I'm gonna spend today reading these :)
|
Video games? Man these were old. But one caught my eye with the complex patterns on the box. It seemed strangely new. This would be the one for study.
I completed my shift and got back to the ship. I decided to upload the game to the ships AI core so I could run it on the VR deck. Immersive experiences made things so much more fun.
I ran the game and heard the music start up in the game room. There was chanting and drumming which seemed to be in my head.
The doors opened to a green glow and the games title screen presented in full 3D, so real I could reach out and touch it. This was going to be fun.
I walked over to the command menu and clicked start.
The voice echoed throughout the game room.
"Welcome to Jumanji..."
|
We heard many legends from our parents and grandparents about these so called video games. Apparently people used a lot of their free time to play them.
In the year 2301 earth was on the brink of collapse due to enviromental destruction, climate change and overpopulation. Our only survival chance was to escape to the Mars and the moon. Of course not everyone could make it and so 98% of Earths population was left behind. Condemned to die in this manmade hell. Only the smartest, most able and best looking people survived.
100 years after the exodus our government decided to introduce a new ritual for everyone before they had their 19th birthday. During the winter months were the winds would blow the toxic winds to the ocean we young people would land on earth and start cleaning the place up. Thus we hoped to turn Earth into a place were people would be able to live at some point again. And now it was my turn.
I cleaned up the cover of the "video game". It read "COD 34". No idea why people would play a game about fishes.
Deep Blue Ray Discs weren't produced for 50 years. But luckily our tablets still hat a slit for those discs.
I started up the program and the 95GB big game installed itself. But when I started up the game I was hit by a bad surprise.
I needed to be connected to the online server all the time if I wanted to play.
And the game had a 224GB day one patch.
And a 2,4GB compilation of hotfix patches.
I sighed and connected my tablet to some of the servers we had dug up a year earlier. Surprisingly the program found the needed files and downloaded them in less than 30 seconds.
Now I could finally play one of those relics from the past. And I was greeted by a bugged intro with no sounds were people dressed like clowns were running around shooting.
When I was in the main menu I was immediately harassed by several pop ups asking me to buy a so called "season pass" for only 344,59 credits and a enhanced graphic patch for only 45,44 credits. I flipped the cover of the game around and discovered the price for it. 450,99 credits. In total it would cost me about 840 credits for just one game. And back then that kind of money was a monthly payment for someone with a 60h week and minimum wage.
So I clicked myself trough all the pop ups. There were also cosmetics they sold for 20 credits each which gave my gun a different color. They even sold seperate skin colors for your character with the most popular being "Imperial Orange". It took me 10 minutes before I could even start to play the actual game.
And it was more than disappointing. Nothing in this fucking game worked. The guns felt like shit with no recoil and spread. The character was bugging around when I moved him, the dialogues and the story sounded like a 8 year old wrote them and I reached the ending after 26 minutes.
26 minutes of pure agony for 1 month of hard labour. And the game even lacked of any original content. Almost all walls and even some of the uniforms were painted in ads for various shit products.
I took the disc out of my tablet and smashed it into pieces. Our teachers were right. Those people wanted to suffer and die a horrible death if they voted this kind of garbage "game of the year 2300" with over 1,3 billion sold copies, according to the cover.
I burned what remained of the disc and cover and headed back to my shuttle to repeatedly slam my head against something hard. At least that was more creative and comfortable than palying one of those shit games.
| 2018-07-07T07:03:05
| 2018-07-07T06:55:36
| 139
| 44
|
[WP] One night, something grabs your hand as it hangs off the edge of the bed. You give it a firm handshake. "You're hired," it whispers.
|
Bony fingers
gripped my hand
tore my soul
pulled me into
depths below
Black as Midnight
robe on hook
scythe on wall
Wait in office
for the call
Souls in balance
need my swipe
feel my slice
I decide who's
naughty nice
The day will come
you will see
I will see
your sins laid bare
you'll be free
Your soul to keep?
send below?
send above?
THE JOB IS JUDGEMENT
BUT THE WORK I LOVE
|
Pain seared through your chest as you stirred in a bed. Your body felt like it was set on fire and sweat trickled down your forehead. You lay limp, trying to focus on your surroundings when you felt something grab your hand.
"You're hired," it whispered. Its voice was soft yet strong and for some reason you calmed down, you felt as if you could trust it. You felt something jumping onto the bed and heard a soft rumble. Then, fires licked your wounded body and you wanted to thrash and flee from the pain it inflicted on you. But as soon as it started, the pain disappeared, replaced by a cooling sensation where your wounds once were.
You opened your eyes that were previously clenched in an attempt to relief the unbearable pain you had felt moments before. Your sight returned to you as the dark fog retreated from your view. Beside you, on the bed, you see a small yet magnificent sight.
Although highly weakened, the dragon infront of you hasnt lost a tinge of regal in the way she holds herself. As you stared at her, she turned in a circle and transformed into a 19 year old girl with flawless skin and long blonde hair. She wears a blue gown that trails on the floor and sparkles like a blue gem. And her eyes, a captivating cool blue hue.
"You're hired," she repeated. "If you protect me and never betray me, I'll find ways to cure your sickness."
| 2017-04-29T03:55:38
| 2017-04-29T02:46:57
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. "That's impossible", you said. "Unfortunately, it's the truth, miss", answered the policemen. "It's impossible", you said again, "because he's in the kitchen making dinner."
|
"Ma'am, we have confirmed the identity with photo identification." Sergeant Miller took off his hat and thought for a moment. "Forgive me if this sounds insensitive, but have you ever seen your husband make dinner before?"
"Well, no. But you've got to be mistaken," I replied. "He's in the kitchen right now getting flour all over the counter. Can't you smell the roast cooking?"
Miller stepped one foot into the door, obviously trying to smell what I was describing. He stepped back out and pulled out his cell phone. "I'm sorry to ask you to do this, but can you identify the man in this picture?" He held it up in front of me, and on the screen was a picture of my husband lying on the pavement surrounded by glass - his face covered in blood. I gasped and took a step back, trying to retreat from the horror of what I had just seen.
"This has to be some kind of sick joke. Who are you?" I asked, defensively.
"As I said, ma'am, I'm with the Poulter City Police Department. My name is Sergeant Miller. I wish I wasn't standing here with such bad news, but you are Mrs. Daniels, right? Mrs. Caroline Daniels?"
I turned around toward the opening that led into the kitchen, "Then who is in my house?"
Until now I hadn't even noticed that the sounds of cooking had stopped. The silence that rang from the kitchen was deafening. The officer placed one hand on his gun holster and moved forward cautiously. My mind raced as he searched the kitchen and then down the hallway for any signs of an intruder. How had that not been my husband? The man looked like my husband, and didn't have any lost twins that I was aware of. I couldn't believe it wasn't him.
And shouldn't I be crying right now? Wasn't that the appropriate response to something like this? Instead, it was almost like I couldn't feel anything at all. The image I had just seen kept flashing before me.
After what felt like an eternity, Sergeant Miller called out, "It's all clear."
I cautiously walked toward the kitchen with a face of stone. As I moved through the arch door, I expected to see the mess I had seen just moments before I had heard the doorbell. Instead, I saw only a clean counter top, and everything in its normal place. To say it gave me an eerie feeling would have been a serious understatement.
I walked over to where Evan would have been standing, completely puzzled. Then I noticed the card near the sink. I picked it up and opened it.
Caroline,
I'm so sorry I never took the time to make dinner for you or treat you the way you deserved to be treated. After the accident, I wanted to show you how much you meant to me. I hope the memory I created for you serves you well in place of what I never did. Please forgive me for all of my shortcomings, and live a good life. I'll see you on the other side.
All my love,
Evan.
|
“Do you mind if I step into your house?” asked the police woman.
“Why of course but you may be shocked, officer. My husband isn’t dead.”
The police lady steps into the kitchen to find a middle aged man cooking spaghetti.
“Can I help you officer?” asked the man.
“Yes we believe that you are dead. Can we confirm your name?”
“Seymour Ases”
That’s when she realized her mistake.
“Sorry for the confusion sir, you are not the man we thought you were, I thought I was at the McDonald household.”
“No problem ma’am, have a nice day.”
As the police woman leaves, Mrs. McDonald goes into her basement to feast on the flesh of her dead husband while her brother, Seymour, watches eagerly.
| 2017-10-10T07:05:33
| 2017-10-10T06:37:43
| 103
| 24
|
[WP] Describe your favorite cheap food as if you were a waiter at a 5-star restaurant.
For example, describe the ingredients and process of making instant Ramen or a grilled cheese.
|
Today's special is çeréal ala Bos taurus. Made with the highest quality fructose and preservatives, imported all the way from a foreign, exotic country. Served with dairy taken from the best raised Bovinae, the lactose will surely delight the senses, leaving a pleasant taste in the mouth.
That'll be £79.99
EDIT: The £
|
"The grilled cheese, you ask?" The child nodded enthusiastically, helpfully pointing out the item in the flimsy children's menu dashed with crayon and spittle. "Ah, the grilled cheese..." I cooed lustfully, my mind disappearing into the realm of Bimbo and slabs of artificial American cheese stuck between plastic films.
"A good choice, I must say," I began, crouching down beside the child as I began to scribble into my notebook. "Four slices of the finest American cheese, factory-made right here in the United States. Tastes just like real cheese, don't even worry about it being fake. After all, everything you believe in is a lie anyways..." I tapered off, recalling the awful deceits about Santa Claus and the Easter bunny and Finland.
"Melted to the point of a smooth goo but before the point of liquid, we set the cheese between two slices of factory-made Bimbo bread. Nothing good comes from Mexico, you say? How about Bimbo bread and kilos of cocaine and nachos and guac?" The child nodded gleefully, entranced by the visions of his meal and the tunnel-vision induced by an overdose of ADHD drugs. "Lightly toasted and drenched in butter... Thank your lucky stars you're still a child 'cause once you're an obese old man, this'll kill you before you even feel your left arm hurting." My ominous tone made his eyes grow a bit wider and I fought the urge to poke his eyeballs, figuring they would stay in their sockets without my help.
I licked my lips as my stomach growled, reminding me to take a bite out of my next customer's order. "As I was saying," I continued, "Toasted so it's slightly golden and drowned in a vat of butter, we then melt the cheese and put it on a silver platter." It was a slightly verbose description of the work the kitchen-folk did, but it would suffice. "And then," I snapped, causing the hypnotized child to jump backwards. "And then," I repeated more quietly, drawing him in again, "we bring it out to you, fattening you up so that you'll seamlessly fit into every stereotype the rest of the world has of us. Sounds delicious, right?" He nodded, drool dripping down his chin and onto his boogery shirt.
"Sounds good, it'll be right out," I said with a pleasant smile, marveling at the parents who allowed their children to pay five dollars for a couple slices of bread and fake cheese.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2016-05-13T06:17:35
| 2016-05-13T06:12:50
| 37
| 23
|
[WP] You're possessed by a demon. You quickly realize he's never done this before.
|
*Is that your dick?*
"I told you to get the fuck out of my head!" I shouted. To myself. In the shower. I was losing my mind. I was absolutely, completely, without a doubt losing my goddamn fucking mind. I was talking to myself. No, it was worse than that. I was talking to a voice inside my head that for some reason was **obsessed** with my penis.
*I'm sorry it's... just... I've never...*
The voice started... laughing? It was the strangest sound I'd ever heard. My entire head filled with a cacophonous rancor and it seemed for a while as if my skull were going to shake apart from the sheer force of it vibrating around in my brain case. The laughter was dark and deep and heavy - masculine, for sure. It was the sound of a man's laugh but a demented, twisted, *evil* laugh. That was the only way to describe it. He sounded like Jafar from Disney's "Alladin."
*I do not sound like fucking Jafar!*
He could hear me? I hadn't said anything. I tried to ignore it. I was losing my mind. I knew that. I was going completely fucking schizophrenic bat-shit crazy and the more I acknowledged this voice talking and laughing in my head the worse it was going to get. I needed pills.
*You don't need pills.*
"Don't tell me what I need! You're not real!"
*Then why are you talking to me?*
"Because you won't shut the fuck up!"
*Dude, do you have roommates? Live at home with your parents? What is this, 2016? 2017? How old are you? 26? Maybe a bit older? You don't have any gray hairs in your pubes yet. Look into a mirror I want to see how old you are.*
"Fuck off."
*You a millenial? Do you live at home? It's cool if you do, man. Job market sucks. I get that. Is that your mom down stairs?*
"What?"
*The voice of the older woman who's calling up the stairs at you. Brian. Don't you hear her? She's all like "Brian? Brian honey is everything OK?" You should answer her.*
"She's not real! You're not real!"
*Dude you're totally yelling in your mom's house to - as far as you're concerned - a paranoid delusion. Maybe like, tone it down?*
He was right. That was insane. I couldn't believe that the thought had just occurred to me, but he was right. I was yelling. I was screaming at a voice in my head.
*And it's like, not even necessary. I can obviously read your thoughts.*
"How?"
*Well. If you think that I'm just a voice in your head. Then. Obvious answer. However, the truth is... your mom.*
"What?"
"Brian?" It was my mom. She was right outside the door; knocking loudly. "Sweetheart? What's going on? What are you yelling at?"
"I'm fine, mom," I lied.
"Why were you yelling?"
"I'm... uh..."
*Rehearsing for an audition you have for a community theater role. You're up for the part of Stanley Kowalski in Street Car Named Desire. OK, you don't like that one. It's an anger management technique you learned in therapy. You don't go to therapy? You should. Clearly. It's a fucking mess in here. Um... You're mad as hell and you're not going to take it anymore? Just say that really loud. It's an old reference she'll think it's hillarious.*
"It's a song. I'm... um... It's a rap song."
*THAT was awful. Really fucking bad. I'm embarrassed for you, Bri-Bri.*
"Don't fucking call me Bri-Bri," I said to the voice - well, I said to the shower head, really - in as low a voice as I could.
"Oh, OK honey. That's a... it sounds like a... rap music!"
*It sounds like a rap music? OK, a complete inability to think on your feet must be a family trait.*
"Will you just fucking shut up?" I hissed at the voice.
*Will you? You're going to get yourself committed to a psych ward at this rate. I am inside your head. I can read your thoughts. You don't have to speak. Dumbass.*
I didn't know what to do. Here I was just waiting the five minutes that the bottle of conditioner tells you to wait for the product to penetrate the scalp, trying to keep my hair out of the direct steam of the shower, and hearing the deep but distinctively *sassy* voice of a... well, Jafar-laughing demon?
*Say Jafar one more motherfucking time. I dare you.*
Jafar. For a moment I thought that it was just the voice in my head. It wasn't. I was singing. About a lovely bunch of coconuts. At the top of my lungs. In a falsetto. Stop. Please. I'm sorry about the Jafar crack. Please stop making me sing.
*Fine. Now let's get one thing straight. I may have fucked up this possession. Slightly.*
Possession?
*Yeah. First go at it. Should have given me free reign of the body. Instead I just got telepathic access and musical theater puppet mode*
Musical theater puppet mode?
*I can make you dance too, bitch. Rogers and Hammerstein. Sondeheim. Gilbert and Sullivan. Andrew Lloyd Webber. I snap one clawed finger and you're doing a one-man production of "Cats." You like "Cats," Brian?*
No. No one does.
*Exactly. So. You're going to do exactly what I say, when I say it... until I can figure out how to exorcise myself back home and get out of this miserable plane of existence.*
OK...
*Now. Let's go back to the beginning. Show me your dick.*
I looked down, the conditioner running down my face and tears running from my eyes.
*THAT'S your dick?*
He laughed even harder this time - though not in a manner that in any way resembled Jafar from Disney's Alladin. At all. I swear.
|
My Saturdays were usually pretty boring. Just me, alone in my bed, binge watching TV and eating crap by the armful. It was great. No stress, no work, no angry bosses -- just me and the hypnotizing glare of the screen.
It was one such Saturday when I felt a sudden punch in my stomach and pain in my chest. I pounded on my chest after swallowing another load of potato chips. Perhaps it was these Saturdays taking their toll; after all, there’s only so many potato chips you can eat before they clog your arteries enough to give you a heart attack.
“Hi! I’m a demon!” I heard in my brain.
“What?” I tried to say aloud, but only said in my brain.
“My name’s Brakhin. I’m a demon! I’m possessing you!”
“What?” I asked again, still not able to form the words with my mouth. “You sound like a little kid.”
“Hey! I am three hundred years old!”
“Oh, sorry, sorry.” My body and my consciousness seemed to have lost their connection.
“Yeah, you should be! I’m possessing you! Mommy said it was time for me to learn. Am I doing a good job?”
“Um--”
“I want to make Mommy proud!”
“Yes. You’re doing a wonderful job. In fact, I think that’s all you need to do for the possession! Good job, you’re done!”
He paused. “You’re making fun of me!” he whined. “And I want to see what it’s like to walk around and run and play! I want to go on a playground!”
My body slowly slid off the bed.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a thirty year old man. I can’t go to a playground alone.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’d be weird.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d look like a pedophile or something.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s -- ugh, nevermind.”
Somehow, Brakhin got me to my feet. We took very long and awkward steps before walking into the door.
“I can’t leave!” he whined.
“You have to open the door first.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how life works.”
“How do you open the door?”
“You turn the doorknob.” I rolled my metaphysical eyes.
“You’re being a meanie! I’m gonna tell!”
“Tell who?”
“My mommy.”
“Oh.”
He lifted my arm, smacking the door. Eventually he managed to control it enough to touch the doorknob.
“Why won’t it go?” he yelled.
“You have to turn it.”
“How?”
“Just turn my hand!”
“I can’t do it!” We fell onto the floor.
“Then maybe you should stop possessing me?”
“I thought we were friends!” I could hear the tears in his voice.
“Okay, okay, sorry. Can we get off the floor?”
“No! I don’t wanna!”
“I’ll tell you how to get to a playground, okay?”
“Okay!” Tantrum over. We got back to our feet. My hand hit the door again, and he barely turned the knob enough to open the door.
“I did it! I did it! Did you see it, mister? I did it!”
“Yes, yes, very nice Brakhin.”
“I’m doing it! Mommy will be so proud! I’m going to tell all my friends about this. They’re not gonna believe it!” We walked into the main part of my apartment. “What’s that?” he asked, taking a sharp turn towards the kitchen.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That! It’s shiny!”
“You mean the fridge? It stores food.”
“What’s food?”
“We eat it.”
“What’s eating?”
“Let’s go to the playground.”
“Okay!”
“Turn to the left. No, the other way. Yeah, there we go.” I sighed. This was going to be a long day.
After about an hour of walking like I had a stick stuck up my ass and had jello for legs, we had finally made it to a playground. It was full of children. Just my luck.
“Playground!” He screamed.
“Brakhin, maybe now’s not a good time. Maybe we should come back later, when it’s empty?” It was too late. When he spoke, my body spoke. And now there were ten parents staring at us, at me.
“I wanna go to the playground!” We shuffled to the playground as fast as he could. A couple of parents suddenly grabbed their children and backed away. I saw a mother pull out her phone, typing in three numbers.
“Seriously, Brakhin! This isn’t a good time! People are staring!”
“So?”
“So it’s bad! They’re going to call the cops and we’re going to be arrested!”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re going to be locked in a cell.”
“I want to go on the slide.” We walked to the bottom of the ladder.
“Oh, no. This is not a good idea.”
“I wanna go on the slide!” One leg lifted, and barely made it to the first rung.
“Okay, okay. Um, raise my arms. Grab the rungs.”
“What’s a rung?”
“One of the ladder things! Just grab something so we don’t fall!”
“Hey, what’s the big idea?” I heard a gruff voice behind me.
“I’m going on the slide!” Brakhin answered for me.
“This is for children! Get out of here!” We got grabbed by the shirt and pulled off of the ladder.
“Hey!” Brakhin’s voice dropped about five octaves. “I. Want. To. Go. On. The. Slide!” He sent a weak kick to the man, but lost his balance and we tumbled backwards. He didn’t care, and started a tantrum, complete with the flailing limbs, tears, and screaming.
Then he stopped. “Mommy?” he whimpered.
“Brakhin, what did I tell you?” another voice in my head snapped.
“I don’t ‘member.”
“No tantrums or you don’t get to possess anymore!”
“But Mommy--”
“No buts. We’re going.”
***
I blinked my own eyes and sat up. “Whoa,” I muttered to myself. “What a weird dream.” I rubbed my eyes before looking around. At a playground. With a few angry parents glaring at me, one with pepper spray out and ready to go.
I jumped to my feet. “Sorry about that! Just, you know, sleepwalking problem! Won’t happen again!” I sprinted out of that park like my ass was on fire, which it was. It was my Saturday ritual to eat Taco Bell for lunch, and Brakhin had not taken care of the side effects.
That was the day I decided to revamp my Saturdays.
(please give me feedback and critiques!)
| 2017-10-07T14:03:11
| 2017-10-07T13:29:05
| 35
| 12
|
[WP] Quantum Physics responds when things are being observed. For some reason, the universe doesn't consider you to be an observer, and daily life can get pretty weird when no one is watching.
|
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
Sorta.
I was born with this... thing. I'm not an active observer in the eyes of the universe. I know, I know - it sounds ridiculous, but here's the brunt of it. Things only happen when there is an active observer of that given event... apparently. The countless scientists that have flocked around me since my birth keep saying things of that nature but I'll be damned if I understand them. Something about quantum physics. And since, for whatever reason, I do not count as an observer, I know what happens when things lie somewhere between happening and not happening. So, what is it?
It's weird. And it's beautiful.
I've flipped a coin when no one was around and called heads, tails, and falling on its edge. *I was correct*. I've heard Schrödinger's cat meow in that box, knowing it was and was not dead. I have unironically answered something with 'yesn't'. But most importantly, I've seen the cracks.
When things go unobserved long enough, these breaks start to form, almost as if reality was about to fracture. It's like glass that's been cracked and the rift is slowly expanding as you hear the creaking noise, knowing it can give at any moment. Every time it gets too big, someone or something comes along to observe it and - it was never there. Always wondered what would happen if one of those... broke. Truly and completely. Maybe one already has and I don't know it.
There's one behind your left ear right now, you know?
Oh, don't worry. Someone will come along soon enough. Or just use a mirror. You won't see it there. It will never have been there.
Anyway! I really should get going. Another round of tests back at the lab. Thanks for the coffee.
I'll be seeing you.
*Metaphorically speaking.*
|
I have a habit. My habit is perfectly sane, utterly normal, as are all customs a man might have that pertain to lunch. Every day at noon, not 11:59, not 12:01, but directly on the dot of noon, I fold my jacket on my chair, put my overworked computer to sleep, and step out into the street with my lunchbox in my left hand.
Left. Left hand and a left turn and objects fuzzing out into left field as my perfectly sane habit begins to dissolve. At 12:05—what would be 12:05, if the clocks had not stopped—I sit on the edge of a fountain in the nearby square and watch the water as it goes still. And then, only then, after the currents are done eddying, do I unpack my tuna sandwich and look out at what has become of the world.
It is 12:08, and this is what I see:
A thin line of smoke trails through the open window of a food truck selling wood-fired pizzas to haze a couple arguing beneath the window, their faces like hastily sketched lines; a child running too close to a public art exhibit has fallen and scraped his knee, instead of crying he stares down at the torn skin and imagines, very bravely, that he is a soldier; a man seated on a telescoping stool plays the soprano saxophone, his eyes all squeezed up with what I can only assume is love; fat pigeons crowd around an old woman’s frayed skirts; dogs fight; red streetlights gleam like omens; a plane flying far above us has its landing gear stuck only partially retracted, the black specks of tires slung beneath its bole like rotten fruit; men watch women; women eye those same men carefully, and frozen as they are they look like rabbits in a field, standing still in case the stalking cat has not yet seen them.
By 12:42 I have finished my sandwich, crackers, and half a diet coke. The world has narrowed to a pair of slits. I think—I *always* think—that I have been forgotten. That all this world around me is a product of someone else’s imagination, some dreamer lingering in bed somewhere, a young woman, beautiful, with no imagination left over to finish sketching me, and that this is why it all seems so foreign. Why every little detail makes me feel so shocked.
By 12:50 I’ve settled on a person. The old woman with pigeons. She has kind eyes, and the birds seem to like her—birds have instincts, they know a thing or two.
I approach her at 12:51, and her edges all begin to shimmer. She wavers. Becomes indistinct. It’s like a breeze is passing through the world, fluttering her body and not just her skirts, until she is nothing more than a haze of linear motion.
I touch her face at 12:52 and watch as it erupts into discreet particles. Dissolves away from me. I touch the pigeons and they rupture too. Touch the couple arguing outside the food truck, the fighting dogs, the boy who dreams he is a soldier, and the whole goddamn world erupts.
At 12:55 I walk back to the office.
Put the jacket on. Button up my shirt.
At 1:00, not 12:59, not 1:01, I hit any key to continue, and my perfectly sane lunch hour comes to a sudden end.
Jack walks by, and Miriam. Alexei, Imran, and Kennedy, and none of us say a word.
And I wonder for the thousandth time if any of this shit can possibly be real.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-12-29T09:49:54
| 2022-12-29T08:57:56
| 161
| 83
|
[WP] "Sire, Sire, Grave news, The Princess has been kidnapped", "Oh has she?", "Sire... should you not be more concerned?". The king looked up from his reports, studying the guard's face before laughing "Ah, you must be new here, don't worry, she's more than capable of handling herself"
|
The young guardsman burst into the king's study, breathing heavily.
"Sire!" the soldier gasped, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. "Sire, grave news! The princess has been kidnapped!"
"Oh, has she...?" the monarch muttered, distractedly, as he continued perusing the documents laid out on his desk through the pince-nez spectacles perched on his nose. To the guard's surprise, he simply trailed off, as he traced a line of text with a fingertip, and then paused to dip his ornate ostrich-feather quill in ink, and scratch out a note in the margin of the page.
"Sire..." the guardsman said, hesitantly, as he recovered his composure and straightened to attention. "Should you not be...more concerned?"
The king looked up, peering at the guardsman over the top of his glasses. His face broke into a grin, and he chuckled. "Ah! You must be new here."
The guardsman blinked. "Well...yes, your majesty. I just started, and...well, I was actually assigned to patrol the upper corridors, but when I passed by a window I saw the princess' chamber across the courtyard and--"
"Don't worry." the king interrupted, waving his quill dismissively. "She's more than capable of handling herself."
Before the guardsman could reply or even process this statement, the side door into the king's study burst open, and a young woman stalked in. She wore a light blue dress of suitably regal styling that matched her flashing blue eyes, although atop this she wore a soot-stained leather apron adorned with a multitude of pouches and pockets. Despite this unusual attire, and the smoked-glass goggles resting on her forehead, she was unmistakably *the crown princess.*
"Your highness?" the guard exclaimed, incredulously.
"Papa!" the princess cried, ignoring the guard and turning to the king, crossing her arms. "Have I been kidnapped again?"
The king smiled at his daughter, fondly. "There you are, my little cornflower! Yes, sweetling, this young gentleman was just informing me that you've been abducted."
She threw up her hands, making a disgusted sound. Then she whirled on the guard, startling him by stepping close, and jabbing a finger at his chest. "How many times do I have to tell you people? Whenever I'm kidnapped, report it to *me* first! How difficult is that to understand?"
The guard gaped mutely, looking from the king to the princess in utter confusion.
"Now now," the king admonished her gently, waving his quill at her. "That's not how we talk to our subjects, cornflower. This young fellow was evidently the first one to notice you were missing, and he's *new.* He couldn't have known."
The princess scoffed, but then abruptly straightened, her voice becoming measured and regal. She folded her hands in front of herself, placidly, and adopted a neutral expression as she turned back to the guard. "We apologize for our outburst, guardsman. We do not fault you for this incident, and appreciate your faithful service."
The guardsman simply bowed to her, uncertain of what else to do.
The king beamed at his offspring. "That's my girl! Now that decorum is restored, do you still have time to recall your little pet?"
The princess sighed. "No, it had already been too long, when I came in. I really would have liked to have those kidnappers retrieved and questioned, for once -- these constant abductions are becoming a nuisance." She shrugged, and continued. "Alas, absent any other instructions, my decoy homunculus will have resorted to its default command set by now, and exploded once it was a safe distance from the palace."
"Aw, I'm sorry, poppet." the king cooed, frowning sympathetically.
She sighed again, but then smiled. "Oh well. Back to the lab to make a replacement, I suppose. Can't let their numbers get too low -- if I don't have enough decoys, they might eventually grab the *real* me."
"Good girl. 'Try, try again', and all that." the king encouraged, cheerfully. The monarch glanced at the guardsman, and then motioned to the doors with his quill. "That will be all, young man, thank you."
Just as the guardsman was about to leave, the doors to the study burst open again. A young page boy stumbled in. His face was deathly pale, and tears stained his cheeks.
"Y-your majesty." the lad stuttered, his watery eyes wide. "Th-the prince is *dead!"*
The guardsman gasped, but then cocked his head in consternation, as the princess simply rolled her eyes and walked right past the distraught page into the corridor beyond, muttering something about her brother, and his 'weird hobbies'.
The king raised his eyebrows, regarding his horrified young servant thoughtfully. "Hm. It seems we're taking on a *lot* of new staff, lately."
|
"WHERE IS MY RESCUE PARTY?!"
Silence greeted the princess as everyone looked everywhere but at her. The banquet was far less jolly than moments before when the doors melted into pools and she stepped in.
Quite an amazing trick that one. I had never seen a door melt before. Acid perhaps? I glanced at the king to see if he could calm her down.
"3 WEEKS! 3 WEEKS and you haven't sent ANYONE?! Do you not care, do you not value me?" The princess screamed to the room around her.
"You clearly didn't need help. Not this time, nor last time, nor any of the times before. I am more concerned about you destroying a small continent than about your safety." The king stated.
She lunged at him, stopping short as if pulled by invisible chains. "I hate YOU. I may be your child but you are not my father. I didn't ask for this, I didn't want this, I never have. I never will. Screw the gods, screw this blessing."
"Your first of kin will be blessed by us and will raise your kingdom to great glory." The king repeated the words that bound the princess from the gods. Made her strong, and enslaved her.
"I would rather burn this castle to the ground and watch your kingdom collapse than ever help it raise." The princess hit the wall on the way out, but nothing happened. Whatever let her melt the door, escape her captures, and return home had no effect on the structure of the castle.
It was hours later that I sat alone with the king. "This isn't what I wanted either. All her mother and I wanted was a child to be safe and have a good life in the kingdom we had built. We worked so hard for that, yet somehow it became a curse and bound our daughter."
"You could still show her love, you could still worry about her. You can still try to help her, understand her, and care about her." I say.
"I blamed her you know? ... I was unfair and stupid. I pushed everything on her. Everything about her mother's death. Now all that's left of her mother is the blessing that she sees as a curse.
I know I cannot repair what I have done. I only hope that my daughter understands, respects, and learns her power. She could crush countries in days and when I pass I worry that if she doesn't know herself, she might do it. Murder everything around in grief, or in hatred, or simple for not understanding her own power. Or the consequences."
"D-did you have her kidnapped? Taken away? Attacked?" The words leave my mouth before I can think about it. The king could have me killed for such accusations.
He didn't.
Nor did he answer.
| 2022-07-06T23:56:31
| 2022-07-06T21:36:01
| 49
| 22
|
[WP] Sometime in the future, murder is legal. Why?
Are there conditions or gray areas? Is it worldwide or specific to just one country? Are there age restrictions? You decide.
|
"Legal" is a funny word. When I was sixteen the pedantic bastard hired to teach driver education at my high school asked me how fast it was legal to go in a 25 zone.
"Thirty," I responded, eyes still on the road. Of course that wasn't the answer Mr Whats-his-name had in mind but the line of agitated drivers behind me didn't share his firm dedication to the letter of the law.
These days 16-year-old-me would say "as fast as you want." The signs are still up, in places anyway, reminders of a bygone era when civility reigned, or was at least given a cursory nod before being disregarded entirely. They're riddled with bullet holes now. Most things are.
I'm amazed that old bastard is still alive.
The retreat of government is one of the surest signs of a nation's decline; my considerably less pedantic history teacher taught me that. I can't help but wonder if it went like this for the Romans -- did the Gauls kick them out or was their retreat from Europe, like America's Urban Re-centering, a bureaucratic decision made, not by generals and armies but by some nameless pencil pusher?
Within the walls of the urban enclaves there is still wealth, education, sanitation, law, order, and healthcare -- all the trappings of a great civilization; heck, they probably even have speed limits.
Out here there is nothing. Nothing but open air and freedom between my muzzle and that pedantic old bastard's head.
|
I ran through the alley trying to stanch the flow of blood, petrichor laden air coming in ragged breaths. I had never thought I would be on the opposing end of a friends gun, but I suppose it was bound to happen sometime; it was legal and the money was good.
A world that was gradually on the decline suddenly took a sharp downturn into chaos. Explosive populations, droughts and increased super storms, were to blame. The angry took to the streets, but the idealists overthrew the government. They thought they knew what was best but there was no way to quell the angry tide that they in part created. Unable to bring about a civil society, everyone was plunged head first into fray. The Collapse.
No one was safe, territorial warlords sprung up like weeds. Each starting petty squabbles with neighbors. One man emerged to bring it all into order, and his rules were simple: kill or be killed, similar to Darwin's theory. Many people were initially tentative about this idea.
But the hungry get desperate. The desperate do things outside the realm of a sane society. For a while there was no discernible difference from this new chaos to the previous. From the chaos came order, and in this order a warrior class emerged. Paid to keep people protected by any means, schools emerged reminiscent of agoges of old.
I came from the most prestigious of the schools, but so did my colleagues pursing me. Dodging into an adjoining alley, I heard flechette rounds pepper the brick where I'd just been. Interesting. They intended to capture me. Hiding along the wall I slipped out two stilettos, my rank markings contrasting on the black steel.
Sprinting around the corner my attacker had the goodwill to look surprised before I slipped the blade through his neck and severed his brain stem on the other side. What I did not expect was his ready, more experienced partner. He fired his Xiphos at me, a stubby microwave gun tuned to my neural stims, and dropped me to my knees. So much for that black market shielding.
The rain soaked asphalt came in and out of focus, and I was unable to lift my throbbing head. Though my ears were filled with a slight ringing I heard a familiar laugh "John, John, John, you never did learn your place." The laugh came again only to be drowned out as the ringing increased. I had a feeling of falling before I was pitched into complete darkness.
| 2014-01-31T08:28:44
| 2014-01-31T08:23:50
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..."
|
The Statement of Phineas Flynn
by
H.P. Lovecraft
It was in my 11th year that my constant cohort and step-brother Ferb Fletcher came to me graveside in our mutual grief over the death of our dearest sister, Candice, with the eldritch tome he had recently procured from the dusty stacks of Miskatonic University.
The book itself was unremarkable, save for the disquieting flaw in the leather cover that looked slightly like a face in agony. Ferb, laconic as ever, simply flipped the tome open upon the top of Candice's headstone and pointed to the phrase 'Sed morte morietur...' or "Even death may die...".
"Can it be?" I cried out, "Is this the Latin translation of the Mad Arab's work?"
"It is." my brother confirmed, "The *Necronomicon*."
I perused its pages and read the details of the ritual. Horrible in its implications, magnificent in its simplicity, the idea came to me. We would complete the ritual. We would bring Candice back. I would have my family whole again! I turned to Ferb and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..."
Ferb nodded, grimly, and we set out to find my dearest Isabella and her weirdly sisters, the Fireside Girls. After all, death cannot be defeated without the blood of the innocent....
|
The grave glistened in the summer downpour. The golden inlayed message staring back at the brothers, the motif reading 'taken too soon, loving sister, beautiful soul" Ferb closed his eyes and reminisced, the drops of rain coating his ebony hair with a glimmering sheen. He tipped his head skyward and opened his eyes, tears and raindrops collided in a tango of melancholy reflection. He reached out his arm and rested his palm on his brothers shoulder
"Today Phineas, we finish what she started, we will show her the world she was robbed of, we will show her the highest peaks and the deepest oceans, through our souls and hearts she will never die"
The tumbling broth of grey clouds parted for an instant as the golden hue of the Suns rays illuminated the grave. The grass danced in the breeze and the moisture polished the field in a shade of elegant emerald. The brothers shared a passionate embrace swallowing their grief and began the long journey of replacing their loss, with pride.
| 2016-07-05T16:23:53
| 2016-07-05T16:17:30
| 84
| 11
|
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
Metal boxes were stacked haphazardly, their lights blinking and mechanical noises whirring. The room was dark and dank with the smell of body odor lying stagnant in the air and heavy breaths joining the tranquil symphony of computers.
70%. The icon continued to spin, as it had for the past 13 hours. 70%.
A lanky woman, her hair oily from fingers and nails chewed from teeth, was curled in a worn leather office chair. She blinked at the monitor, bagged eyes unfocused until an error window popped up: Insufficient Memory.
Her spine straightened from a slouch with a crack. White danced across her vision as her chair rolled and spun to face another monitor, fingers sweeping across the interface. Fuck. FUCK. This couldn't be happening, not now. She wanted, needed this. It was supposed to be hers.
It would be HERS.
They wouldn't take this away from her. They wouldn't be allowed to keep this away from her.
The woman opened folders, dragging and dropping various programs, documents, even family photos into the trash bin, hoping to free space up. Foolishly she had not even considered a download of this proportion would require as much memory as her computers could provide rather than what had merely been available.
It was a superpower, after all. Her superpower, and she only settled for the grandest and best of them all.
With a forced breath, the download restarts. From the beginning. A strained smile graced her chapped lips. She would wait. She would wait and then it'd be hers. They wouldn't stop her from claiming what would be hers.
Distantly she wondered if somebody noticed that a superpower had somehow been buried in the depths of a torrent site. A glitch? A human error? She didn't bother to dwell on the hows and whys, as long as she'd get what she want. Her mother and father had always taught her that that the results were what mattered, not the means.
Her parents had raised her up to be on top, and They thought They could just throw her parents in a shit hole for only taking what's rightfully theirs. She hadn't seen them in years and couldn't even find where her parents were locked up by Them.
For the next 13 hours she watched as the download bar creeps back up. 68%. She hummed pleasantly with the whirs of the computers and the fans working nonstop to keep the hardware cool. She didn't even notice the smell anymore.
69%. The sound of wood cracking and thumping to the ground, followed shortly by heavy footfalls and barked orders. The woman can't move. There's no window in her room, no escape.
Doors were flung open one by one followed shortly by “All clear!”s. Her hand slipped into her pocket, wrapping around cold steel. Her door burst open. She froze in her chair, eyes wide and palms sweaty.
Bright blue light finds her immediately, effectively blinding her from seeing its holder. She knew it was a man though, the voice, while tenor, left no argument for the gender.
She couldn't see and the words being shouted by the tenor did not register. She didn't notice the person approach until they yanked her from my chair, using their body to slam her on the hard floor. She bucked, metal flashing towards the closest exposed flesh she, but the man was stronger than her.
Her wrists were caught and the pocket knife forced out of her hand.
She noted dimly her chair had been toppled with the wheels still rolling, only to be kicked away by another faceless man. Suddenly, the world was filled with noise again.
“LE'GOVMEH!” she spat against the carpet, body struggling. The tackler adjusted his grip with each shift she made. “HOW DARE YOU! YOU'RE ONE OF THEM! ONE OF THEM! IT'S MINE! YOU'RE MINE! YOU'RE ALL GOING TO BE MINE!”
From a corner of the room comes a muttered, “Jesus Christ, she's insane.” She couldn't tell if that voice was male or female, but she'd remember. She'd show Them.
The man on top of me strategically keeps his fingers from snapping teeth and continued with the speech she had missed most of. “You will not be afforded legal council nor trial. Ma'am, you're never going to see the light of day.”
A hysterical noise, half laugh, half sob ripped its way from her throat. She didn't care what the mean man was saying, he was one of Them. And They were bad.
Blood was oozing around her teeth, but she didn't pay it mind, eyes zeroing in on a soldier approaching her computer. “DON'T TOUCH THAT!”, but cords are ripped from my computer carelessly.
The download stilled. She stared at the screen, head cranking around to stare at the screen in incredulous betrayal even as she was led out of the room in restraints. It was as if the world was mocking her.
The cord yanker looks around the room, the screams and vitriol of the detained woman muted by the walls. “70%,” she says out loud to the other occupants of the room, shock evident behind her clear visor.
The United States of America was one of many countries to become fully automated in the past 20 years, the commercial availability of supercomputers the first step for the superpower to be supported by the most advanced network the modern world had seen.
Not even the Chinese supercomputers had managed to batter their way into the US's.
And somehow the delusional daughter of forgotten terrorists had managed to stumbled across a file that would've given her total control over the US's systems. Surgical robots. Stocks. AI controlled planes and robotic soldiers fighting wars on foreign soil. Nuclear codes.
All in the hands of one woman.
The woman who would've single-handedly taken over an entire nation because of a glitch.
The soldier grimaced. No one could ever know about this.
No one could ever know about the woman who almost became a superpower.
|
I've always wanted to have superpowers. I remember back when I was in the third grade I would run two miles home from school everyday, just so that I could watch the latest episode of the Super Man cartoon show. I was so obsessed with being a super hero that some days I would come to school wearing a red cape. Needless to say I was always made fun of. This obsession continued up until the 7th grade. By this time guys were starting to get girl friends, and just about everyone was hanging out on weekends with their friends having lots of fun, everyone except for me. I decided that it was time to grow up. I quit wearing the cape to school, stopped watching super hero shows, and even tore all my super hero posters off my bedroom walls. I swore I would never go back to my geeky ways. By the time I started high school I actually had some decent friends, and this girl I had a crush on finally began talking to me. Life was finally starting to get better. Then all of a sudden, in just 3 months time, things started to change, and when I say change I mean REALLY change. It all started during school, one of the teachers turned on the TV and switched straight to the news channel. The shocking news left everyone in disbelief. Apparently some big shot hacker had hacked straight into the US Military databases and had uncovered what some say to be the greatest piece of technology since the internet itself. This technology that he leaked all over the web was being torrented by people everywhere. And what did this technology do you ask? Well... It gave people superpowers... The US Military was doing everything that they possibly could to rid this new technology from the internet. From what i've heard you'd be lucky if your torrent got to 2% before the US Military busted down your doors. And to all the people caught trying to torrent them... the death sentence. Within a few years people quit talking about it, it seemed like bringing it up into a conversation was taboo. Cut ten years later and im living what seems to be the perfect life, I have a great job, i've married the love of my life, and I have a beautiful boy. Everything was great but something seemed like it was missing. I couldn't quite figure it out at first, but one day while I was helping my parents clean out their old house I found something remarkable in the attic. It was the cape... It was my cape... Suddenly it hit me. The news story from back in high school about the super powers started playing back in my brain. It was just like when a catchy song gets stuck in your head, and i couldn't stop thinking about it. It was getting late so I said my goodbyes to my parents and raced out the door. I just wanted to see if it was still possible. I drove like a maniac to get back home still with the news report playing back in my head. Finally, when I arrived home I ran straight to my laptop. I googled for the torrents everywhere but there was no results of it to be found. It was almost as if it was entirely erased from the internet. My search went on for a couple more hours until finally I found something strange. It was a website in German, that google couldn't translate. During my college days I had gone through three German courses, but it was still really hard for me to understand what it was saying. Suddenly a certain word caught my eye, it said "Supermacht 229 TB". I knew what supermacht translated too from back in school. It meant super power, but could it actually be a real super power torrent? What else could possibly take up 229 Terra bytes? It had to be. I clicked on a button that looked like it might be the download, and all of a sudden uTorrent pops up. It started downloading something. It reached 1% and I began to get very nervous. I paced back and forth asking myself if I should cancel it or not before it's too late. I've heard almost all the stories, and I certainly didn't want the death penalty. I raced back to my screen to see that it was already at 24%. I assured myself that if it had managed to get that far there was no way the military was tracking my download. Soon enough it was at 60%, and I started to feel something tingling inside of me. I didn't think about it until then, but I realized my hard drive couldn't hold 2 terabytes let alone 229! Every percent downloaded I could feel the power in me grow stronger, I felt like I could fly, and well... Maybe I could! I was about to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a superhero nothing was going to stop me! Suddenly once my download hit 70% it stopped, and all that I had started to feel left my body. Next I began hearing noises outside. I couldn't believe it. I had gotten so close. I rushed outside to find something unbelievably. "DINKLEBERG!", I screamed. "Hi neighbor!", Mr. Dinkleberg responded while floating in mid air.
| 2016-07-02T20:45:26
| 2016-07-02T18:09:05
| 86
| 17
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
This prison is all I've ever known. The world knows your luck rating as soon as your born. I entered the world, my luck rating was seen, and I was taken away from my parents. They must have had low-luck ratings. Most 100s have low-luck parents. I was brought to this maximum security prison only hours after I was born.
It didn't always feel like a prison. I was nursed by volunteer mothers who could still produce breast milk. There were other infants that I played with and grew up with. As we got older, there was less and less play time and more solitary time to ourselves. Once we were old enough, we got a cell that became our new home. For, well, forever.
Every inmate wore an ankle cuff. Scientists figured out a way to "turn off" our luck, so to speak. And once it's on and our luck is gone, there's no way to get it off. They are made of the strongest metals on earth. Nothing will break these.
Except a solar flare. Of course, I didn't know that's what happened until years later and I still don't have an explanation as to why.
It was 4 am. I couldn't sleep so I was listening to the rumble of snores around the prison. Then everyone in the prison simultaneously beeped.
The sound was so soft that, if it occurred during the day, no one would've heard it. But in that 4 am silence, I was the loudest sound in the prison. Even over the snores.
I never knew what being lucky felt like before. It was stripped away before I could even have memories. But the feeling that rushes through my body seconds after that beep left me breathless.
I knew it was my luck. I knew I could escape. And hopefully, no one else was awake and trying to escape either.
I started to fiddle with the ankle cuff and it nearly fell apart in my hands. I removed some wires that hopefully disabled it and then reattached it to make it look like it was still on and functioning.
I've never had better sleep in my life.
By the time I woke up, everything seemed normal. There were no alarms. No missing inmates. It appeared as know I was the only one who knew what happened last night.
The hardest part should've been pretending like I didn't have my luck back. But who am I kidding? It was the easiest thing in the world.
'Cause I'm lucky.
I understand why they lock us up. Us 100s. I could've murdered someone and no one would've seen it.
There were no eyes on my as I was walking around. My luck caused them to always look away when they came close to looking at me.
I walked straight out the front door into a world I had never seen before.
I don't know when my ankle cuff fell off.
|
I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump.
| 2018-06-29T11:30:53
| 2018-06-29T08:43:19
| 36
| 26
|
[WP] tell me a story without using the letter E
|
有一种青春叫宿舍
【女生版】
有各自的专属昵称
每天被闹钟吵醒，
所有人依然雷打不动，
定闹钟的x位就是不关它，
为的是呼唤三位大神起床。
每次吃饭需要互相帮忙捎带
or叫外卖or四大天王集体出动，
但是重点是没有人知道要吃什么？
衣服多到柜子都堆不下，
放到了室友的柜子里。
打扫卫生总是互相提醒，
各自忙到半夜三更，
回寝室分批煮面吃，
一起嘎讪胡到凌晨三点，
谈天谈人生谈帅哥，
聊八卦聊政治，互相学各自的方言，
笑到肚子疼。
在彼此面前完全不顾及形象。
总有一个天天缺水喝，
跟头水牛似的，
喝多少都嫌渴。
每天除了逛淘宝，买买买
永远在说无聊无聊好无聊。
即使偶尔会起摩擦，
但更多的是包容与关爱。
朝夕相伴的我们一起度过了2年，
把每一次美好的回忆献给了彼此。
【男生版】
激情四射的男寝，
都是杠杠的兄弟情谊啊！
总有没那么些寝室半夜三更不睡只为
守望先锋 炉石传说、魔兽，
关键时刻掉个线，
恨不得上手砸电脑了。
半夜三更断个电断个网，
整幢楼都是哀嚎啊~
有事没事约着去打球，
追女神，谈恋爱，
聊天不离开女神，游戏，天下大事，
那些年一起分享泡妞大全，
然并卵
技术宅的世界绚丽多彩，
爷们情谊在！
|
John growls, prodding his stick of chalk at Colin, in almost worrying proximity to his smart navy suit. Grimacing as thoughts of what it would cost him to wash it fill his brain, Colin jumps backwards, his hands instantly flying up to brush imaginary chalk dust from his shirt.
"Now calm down, I was only making a proposal," says Colin.
John points wildly at Colin's blackboard, upon which a solitary symbol is drawn, his brow furrowing into a scowl. "But what is that... that thing?"
"It's an additional symbol for our national writing syllabary," Colin says hotly. "I think it ought to grow. I didn't join politics just to accomplish nothing - if I must work in our council's Writing and Communication Division, I want to put my mark on it, on our world!"
"Why should our syllabary grow? It's good how it is! And anyway, that's not a symbol, it's just a goddamn spiral!"
"It's not just any old spiral. Look, it joins onto its own tail at its midway point!" Colin points proudly at his work. "It's a work of art. And just think how many ways an additional symbol would allow us to add to our vocabulary!"
"This is ridiculous! You can't just add symbols willy nilly without thinking about any ramifications. What will our boss say if you show him? It's a month's work, Colin, and it's worth nothing! And you obviously didn't think this through - just to start with, what would you call it?"
"I... I don't know. But I just can't throw off this hunch that our words could contain a totally unknown sound - and this symbol could stand for it!" Colin frowns, putting his hand out to grip John's arm tightly. "Just think, think of a sound..."
John backs away, pulling his arm from Colin's grasp. "This is crazy talk, Colin, and frankly, it's scary. Stop kidding around!"
"I'm not kidding, I-" Colin trails off.
"You what?"
"I just thought it was a good plan. Truthfully."
"It's not a good plan, Colin. It's an atrocious plan."
Colin sighs, slumping in his standing position. "Okay, it's your call."
"And I'm calling it."
"Okay."
His hand shaking slightly, a downcast Colin rubs out his symbol - his fiasco of a *magnum opus* - from his board.
| 2017-05-23T09:31:22
| 2017-05-23T06:30:08
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed.
|
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
My eyes were glued to the green button, every night. At first, I loved the color. Green is healthy, and green is money. It made sense. What didn't make sense made it even more fascinating somehow. Hell, I even got the thing a black case. Suede.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
After several months and payments and God knows how many moves, I hated the thing. It'd shown up one night, and everything had been so plain, so fucking boring without the money. And then the names came in. One after the other. Green is pestilence. Green is a plague.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
And now, I wait. I flick the box open. I close it. I flick it open again.
Fuck, I need it.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.*
I deserve this.
***Click.***
|
I looked at her as she looked back
We looked at the button, unassuming black
We kissed deeply, in the matte dark
We looked at the button, the paradigm Mark
I looked at her as she looked back
Fear and emotion and a need for no lack
We kissed as we pushed, together, in tandem
What happened next, was far from random
| 2016-07-16T17:19:00
| 2016-07-16T17:08:32
| 65
| 12
|
[WP] You are Placebo Man. Your superpowers are whatever the people nearby you believe you have.
Bonus prompt: Your nemesis knows your secret.
|
I throw the ornate knife with pinpoint accuracy. This is the most crucial part of my attack, and I can't use my superpowers for it, so I've practiced it extensively. It spins once and sinks into the wall inches away from the henchman, the symbol carved into its hilt clearly visible.
"Shit. It's a cape!" The gangsters spin around, looking for the source of the throw, but I've already vanished into the shadows.
"Which one?"
"I know that symbol! It's Nighthawk! That fucking ninja guy! Get flashlights, group up, don't let him pick you off! You four, get to the exits, don't let him out of here!"
It feels like a sixth sense has been added into my brain. I'm not seeing the warehouse as a maze of pillars and crates and catwalks. I'm seeing cover, concealment, lines of sight and takedown spots. I leap up with impossible grace and vanish into the shadows above them. Two gunmen have just enough time to scream out a warning before I drop down on top of them, knocking them both out in a quick martial arts maneuver. By the time their friends arrive, I've vanished again.
"Where'd he go? We had him surrounded! He just disappeared!"
"No shit, Sherlock. Nighthawk can teleport through shadows."
"What? I thought that was Shadowman."
"No, Shadowman was the guy who could turn shadows solid."
"You sure about that?"
"Well if he can't teleport, where the fuck did he go?"
The belief clicks into place in their minds and another power clicks into place in mine. All around me, I see black ribbons, pathways I can walk through to reach another pool of shadows. I teleport behind the two guards at the exit, and vanish deeper into Dr. Noc's lair.
The warehouse was an easy place to be Nighthawk, plenty of shadows and hiding places, but now that I'm in the lair itself it'll be a bit harder. The Doctor's labs are more brightly lit and more enclosed. I need a new guise.
A patrolling guard gives me the opportunity. The belief from the henchmen a floor above gives me enough strength and skill to yank him around a corner and knock him unconscious. I grab his radio and speak. "Everyone, Nighthawk and Paragon are in the building! We need backup! We need-" I cut the transmission. That should draw some attention.
I take off my cloak, revealing a bright gold and blue uniform. I shed the winglike cowl and replace it with a classic domino mask. Immediately, I can feel strength fill my limbs. Paragon is an unstoppable, invincible bruiser, and I crash through the Doctor's elite guards with ease.
As I fight, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that I can fly. Paragon is so similar to all the classic "flying brick" superheroes that they're starting to get me mixed up with them. I reach Dr. Noc's inner sanctum and kick down the door.
Something hits me in the gut. Pain lances through me like a red-hot poker and I fall on my back, clutching my chest. Dimly I realize, *I've been shot.* The Paragon uniform has Kevlar underneath, just in case I get shot while setting up my persona, but either it didn't stop the bullet or the impact was just that strong. My vision clears, and I see the Doctor and two henchmen with assault rifles standing over me.
"See? I told you, he's weak against depleted phlebotinum bullets. You'll have no trouble disposing of him now."
I stare up at the grinning Doctor as he steps towards me. "You knew?" I gasp.
"Oh yes. All I had to do was tell my henchmen that you had a secret weakness, and your own powers did the work. They believe their bullets will hurt you, and they do."
"How...?"
"How did I know? A few clues. None of the members of Justice Fist were ever seen in the same place, for one. That charade of 'taking a divide and conquer strategy' didn't hold up for long. Talking to Mr. Hammer's former henchmen revealed that Nighthawk never made his entrance until someone saw his symbol. Tricks like that."
He's got me dead to rights. The Paragon guise is ruined, and I can't change my costume in plain view. Or can I? Inspiration strikes.
"Clever," I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. "But not clever enough. Did you really think that this was a one-man show? You think I was stupid enough to build a whole super-team on a lie?"
I see a flicker of concern cross his face. "Think about it. Nighthawk and Arbiter carry all those gadgets, but you never asked who built them. You never realized I had an actual super-scientist on the team."
I roll to one side, revealing that I've pulled a small black box with a red button from my utility belt. "You never realized that some of these powers were for real."
I glance up at the henchmen, still holding me at gunpoint. "I've got two words for you goons: Forcefield generator."
"It's a bluff! Shoot him! Shoot him!"
Too late. I can feel the belief snap down in their minds, and a light on the box turns green as their belief gives it power. I push the button and a flickering blue dome springs into being around me. Their bullets patter off it like rain.
Seizing the advantage, I grab a syringe from my belt, full of a mysterious blue liquid. Like the Red Button, it's a bluff, only given power because they believe in it. I slam it into my arm, and a dozen half-remembered movies about secret supersoldier projects flicker through their brains. Their belief becomes a burst of healing and strength that cures the bullet wound. I execute a kipup and land in a fighting stance, glaring at the henchmen.
"Still think I'm just a fake?"
EDIT: Obligatory "Holy cow I got gold?" edit. Thank you, you're too kind.
|
If Karl "Placebo Man" Hansen had a superpower, it might be his supreme vanity. His ability to understand completely his appearance and to quickly judge another's reaction to him. Truly, he had no power. None without the belief of those around him, at least. If Karl could convince the people around him that he could fly, then he would gain the ability to fly.
Placebo Man was the most frustrating quarry of my career. I was the lead agent in the IMO's "Special Tasks" division. I had managed to track Placebo Man- that was our name for him, a bit of a departmental joke- to Chicago. He was here to assassinate the mayor. There's a lot of crime in Chicago, Placebo Man was a frequent visitor. We had intercepted a message between our target and his employers, their identities as of yet unknown to me and my team.
Placebo Man was staying at a small hotel- on the 4th floor, in one of the most mundane rooms available. Not drawing attention. Never drawing attention.
Satellites had determined his vehicle was at the hotel. It's 4 a.m. and there should be minimal foot traffic. It is imperative that as few civilians as possible are involved. I was dropped with my usual kit and small needle gun, containing a sedative that would allow me to take him prisoner. He knew too much to be disposable and he was a relatively low risk prisoner.
Entering the Hotel, I subconsciously noted tactical information about it. Preparing for the worst always. It would prove to be unnecessary once he was asleep, but I did it every time I entered a room. There was a clerk at the desk with heavy eyelids- freshly awake or exhausted from a long night, I could not tell. A young couple stood near the elevator- you'd think they thought they were already in their room, the way they were behaving. Choosing the elevator furthest from the kids, I decided to take the next one. They entered their carriage, not even waiting for the man who was inside to get out. The man.
"Excuse me-" The words were out of my mouth abruptly, conveying a sense of urgency. I needed to see his face. He needed to look back.
He turns. Our eyes meet. At once our attention turns to the elevator. He steps back toward it, stumbling slightly as he grabs the door.
"Would either of you like to see me hypnotize this fellow?" He asks them.
I grip the syringe.
| 2015-04-05T18:00:22
| 2015-04-05T17:48:20
| 1,860
| 38
|
[WP] There's an urban legend in your town called "Grinning Greg". A twisted, horrifying grinning face can be seen on the window of an abandoned church before a calamity strikes. This year, "Greg" appears on the window, but he frowns.
|
His face emerged at night, in the early hours. Snow had fallen recently and the village was bathed in that comforting, sickly-sweet yellow glow from the flames of the street lamps. He wasn't discovered until hours later when the milkman trundled past on his cart. Humming, he drove down the road on the way to his first delivery. Silent, he stopped his cart and looked up at the window of the church.
He had seen this a few times before, everybody had. That grey ghastly face which appears on the church windows shortly before some grim misfortune befalls their little village. The locals gave a name to the aberration, they called him 'Grinning Greg', and they knew that his appearance meant trouble.
The milkman stumbled out of his cart in a frenzy, slipping over the freshly-fallen snow towards the village hall. A small bell-tower stood there, it had done for as long as anybody alive could remember, and at some point its use had been reserved for alerting the residents of Greg's arrival. The bell began to toll, its sombre knells rapid and irregular; reflecting something of the panic felt by its ringer, and of the dread it instilled in the hearts of the drowsy villagers it awoke.
Soon a crowd had gathered outside of the church. People stood huddled together in their dressing gowns and night clothes. They spoke frantically to each other, their hushed tones muted further by the soft snow surrounding them. This was Greg alright, but not as they knew him. Greg wasn't grinning this time, he no longer affected that mocking, irreverent smirk the people had come to know and to despise. Greg didn't look pleased with himself at all. In fact, he looked down-right miserable.
A low, aching tone seemed to emerge from deep within the church and the people broke-off conversation and looked up towards the features of their unhappy omen. The noise, almost a moan, repeated itself, more loudly and for longer this time. It was as if the building was trying to speak, as if Greg was through some monumental and supernatural effort attempting to give a voice to those lips which had tormented the villagers for so long.
The noises continued with increasing frequency and rhythm until words could finally be discerned amid the melodic cacophony Greg was now producing.
"This" he got out at last. The people strained to hear, they leaned towards the church but at this point the voice had enveloped them completely.
"This", he repeated, "is the day I die. But do not despair, children. While my vigil is soon to end, my office remains permanent and essential. With what little strength remains to me, and in the recesses of my immeasurable pain, I will nominate a successor. One of you must enter here and perform the tasks which were assigned to me many centuries ago. One of you must warn this village and protect it from those dark forces which mortal minds struggle to comprehend. One of you, children, must become Greg."
|
As for me & my friend, Alistair was heading towards an abandoned church were legends were told we heard a stick snap. Looking around we sighed & chuckled trying to remain to assuage. We heard how a man named Greg once attended a church. One day, a serial killer came into the church & murdered everybody there. That is why it is abandoned, even to this day. Greg, fortunately, survived but died on the way to the hospital. The next day, his body went missing as they found it in the church. Nobody ever went into the church after seeing his horrifying face. There have been over a dozen cases of people committing suicide after seeing his face.
"I wonder if this Greg Grinning thing is real" Alistair joked, he was that typical geek who spent his time playing Dungeons & Dragons or trying to hack into the latest game on his IBM PCjr.
"I highly doubt we would actually kill ourselves, right?" I say overthinking if I really would die from some crazy man's grin.
After what seemed like ages, we finally got to the church & saw nothing abnormal.
"Let's go check the windows!" Alistair chimes as he peeked through a window.
I shrug heading towards the window closest to the church's door. This building had been made centuries ago, surprised it held until that mass murder spree came along.
"I wonder what Greg looks like," I say as I eye up closer to a figurine in the benches.
"You find anything?" Alistair says coming towards me.
"I don- ahhhhh!!" Jumping back I accidentally stumbled onto rock & fall as I feel the wind get knocked out of me.
Alistair comes to my aid "Are you all right!? What's wrong?"
"I- I saw him!" I say trying to get ahold of myself.
Alistair turns around towards the window & there we see him. Instead of grinning, he was there frowning.
"Why is he frowning?" Alistair says helping me up onto my feet as I dust myself off.
"I don't know"
Alistair & I walk towards the window as we hear him weeping ever so silently. We decide to go into the church as he turns his head towards our direction. We start to get anxious as we try & greet ourselves.
He sits down & in a rough voice, he says "I always smile, today I am tired. Everybody is scared of me, my grin is just a smile, they didn't kill me; why should I be frowning about that? I am only upset about how you killed me." & with that, he points to Alistair.
Standing there I feel my world cracking. This man I called my best friend, the one who I spent hours playing Dungeons & Dragons in his Mom's basement was actually a killer!?
I fled out the door & never returned.
| 2020-03-28T14:09:54
| 2020-03-28T10:54:11
| 74
| 28
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
"Dad?"
"Dad are you ok?"
I stood there speechless for what felt like forever. Up until this moment my life had been what most would call perfect. A loving, caring wife. An adoring son. The irony that the gift from his last Father's Day that brought joy to my heart is now the source of this terrible anguish.
My wife and I have been together for 13 years, and for the most part we've had a wonderful relationship. The spark is still alive and well, but early on we went through a really rough patch. I was working a ton of late nights, she felt neglected and the spark was fading. She decided to go stay with her mother for a while, we didn't talk for almost a month. Well that was all the wake up call I needed.
It took a lot of work but we began "dating" each other again and found that groove again. In fact, things were the best they'd ever been. It wasn't long after Ethan was born. She had some complications during labor and the doctors thought we might actually lose both of them, but the good man upstairs was gracious, and they both pulled through. I'm a blessed man, and I thank my lucky stars every day for them, and do everything I can to show my appreciation to them in as many ways as possible.
So when I got a text this morning about this stuff with the "#1 Dad" mugs actually displaying a true ranking didn't really have me that worried, but standing here now I can honestly say that I didn't see this coming. Each word cutting deeper than the last.. "You Are Not The Father."
|
Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end.
| 2017-06-11T10:22:32
| 2017-06-11T09:19:40
| 30
| 17
|
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
|
No one truly knew how it happened, but on a person's sixteenth birthday, they were teleported to a room. It was a small, dark room that housed a long table that was full of every food imaginable.
Today was Robert's birthday. It happened in a instant; one moment, he was sitting on the couch trying to pick out which video game to play, and the next, he was standing in the room. Other teens whose birthday was that day stood alongside him.
He stared at the table in awe. Though it was said that a man instructed them on how to aquire their own superpower, they had all memorized the stories with childish glee. It was simple: eat a dish, and gain a superhuman ability. Some dishes were well-known, like spicy things giving heat-related abilities or seafood giving water-based abilities.
Before the man that ran the whole room could even begin instructing the teens, they dove in to eat. As soon as the first bite had been swallowed, they disappeared with a small flash.
Robert hung back, studying the table. He had always thought of what he would want, but the choice suddenly seemed overwhelming. This would last him the rest of his life; what if he grew to hate the ability?
He wasn't alone, but, in his panicked state, he was so indecisive that he outlasted even the pickiest of eaters. When the last teen had finished swallowing, the man that ran the room let out a sigh.
"I get this every day, I swear," he muttered. "Just eat, you stupid little gremlin."
"I can't," Robert insisted. "I want some amazing ability, you know?" He stepped toward the table, studying it intently. *What is something that's* never *eaten?* His face lit up as an idea struck.
He walked up and settled down in an untouched chair. He searched for a knife, and, once he found one, began sawing at the table. Made of a simple wood, perhaps oak, although Robert was no expert, the table stood strong and proud. It took several minutes to saw at, but once it was done, Robert grinned proudly.
This would be his crowning achievement. This surely was the most creative action he could have taken, and therefore would give him an insanely powerful ability. He shoved the small piece of wood in his mouth, chewed despite the painful splinters, and forced himself to swallow.
The effect was immediate. The room brightened, and a man, a tall person with a smirking face, stood in the furthest corner.
The table disappeared along with the food.
"You know," the man said, "I've never seen anyone do that before.
Robert's smile widened.
"I thank you for releasing me."
Robert paused, his smug grin disappearing. "What do you mean?"
"You see, the wood does provide abilities, but it also forced you to stay here and provide food to annoying little teens such as yourself. It took five *hundred* years for someone to do as you just did. The previous person to was me." He bowed, then disappeared with a free laugh.
Robert pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to start exploring his new powers, and prison, before the first batch of his peers appeared.
|
"This is the opposite of Santa Claus," I said to myself, as I shambled alone through an endless white expanse.Some things you believe as a child, then one day you realize it was all a game for children. With the *transition,* well, I have to admit I never believed it. Yet there I was and it seemed as real as anything.*Maybe I'm in the North Pole*, I thought as I continued to walk into nothing, contemplating what exactly qualifies as a reindeer game.
In the distance I saw something dark fade into view, it quickly grew til I realized it was flying towards me at a high speed.I braced myself, but it just flew past me in every direction; the white faded into a dark field of stars, as if I was flying through the night sky or outer space. All was silent but I could feel a wind from the field of stars as it wooshed by.
And suddenly I could see a.... table? flying towards me. I got low and got ready to catch it with my head down in a grimace. I was ready to possibly get wiped out by the fastest table I'd ever seen.
It stopped on a dime, 1 foot in front of me but I still came off my feet stumbling backwards like an idiot. And there it was, an empty wooden table. Four legs, brown finish, just like the stories. There was nothing on it, though.
At that thought, a tablecloth popped out of nothing and immediately after that all types of food imaginable as the table expanded far to either side.
"Woah," I whispered, coming to my feet.
All was silent for a moment as I walked by the tableside, looking at each platter before me. All manner of sandwiches, pasta dishes, seafood and meats with every type of garnish I had ever seen; Lasagna, Cake, Chicken Tikka Masala, Empanadas, Croissant Sandwiches, Chinese Takeout were all present. The first step towards making a decision would simply be to overcome all the sights and smells I was being overwhelmed by.
"Take a bite," commanded a deep voice, echoing from all around me, "It is time."
I had thought long and hard about what I would do. I had seen how those who said they had eaten different foods had turned out. The psychics and telekenetics had all ingested different fruits. Those with super strength had eaten corn on the cob or corn bread, which I just so happened to be looking at as I thought about them. A bite of a bean and cheese burrito would give you the power of super speed... I don't know why.
I had studied all my life for this moment, though I doubted it would ever come to be quite in this way. I wasn't going to waste this opportunity. I would make a move no one could have predicted... not even this booming voice, were it an all powerful deity or something.
I got on one knee right by the table, lifted the tablecloth and took a bite of the wood. I felt the grain of the table splintering and cracking between my teeth. I had prepared for this by drinking whole milk everyday for the past 10 years. I pulled a piece of the twisted and wet wood fibers with my mouth like a god-forsaken dog.
Finally, I was able to get a piece of the table in my mouth.
There was a pure silence now; an eery stillness. Then an explosion of red light from every pore of my body. I was infused with the red light, I became a part of the light as it became so bright and all encompassing that there was no boundary between me and it. I was almost driven mad by the humming of the light that got louder and louder until there was nothing but the light and the humming and they were both one and the same and I was one with them.
The redness dimmed and settled onto my skin, like soft cloth. I was somewhere else now, too. It was... well, it seemed to be a wooden cabin. I was fatter too, as if what I had eaten had an effect on my body.
*Ugh, what have I become?* I asked myself, feeling fat and disheveled. I buried my face in my hands to find I was wearing black mittens.
I looked to my right, at the mirror... to see I was none other than Santa Claus himself. I ho ho hoe'd at the ceiling but there was no response save for the blizzard outside my window in the north pole. My very hubris had sealed my fate to hand out presents every year for eternity.
This story is canon.
| 2020-03-19T10:34:21
| 2020-03-19T09:29:08
| 39
| 29
|
[WP] you are yourself, on Christmas Day, reading this on reddit, you are told that you are loved and accepted for who you are, and to have a happy holiday season, and a great new year!
EDIT: oh my god, this post accounts for 50% of my karma, it’s also the first reddit gold I’ve ever gotten, thank you so much reddit, this was an amazing Christmas gift!
|
As I finished reading the meta writing prompt I was filled with a small feeling of warmth. A relatively bad time of year for me made a little brighter by random people online and the mods that backed up their choice to share a little good during their day.
"Merry Christmas, guys. Or happy holidays. Either way, at the very least I hope your night goes well and tomorrow is kind to you."
|
"Is it Christmas?", I asked myself. The sludge-like snow on the ground obscures my sense of time, or even season. The last 20 or 90 months have been covered in ice, it seems. And a blizzard has been forming in my head for years. I've salted the streets in preparation for my upcoming travels into the unknown depths of my mind. It's a slippery-slope that I romantisize and adore. That beautiful, wintery greyness that manifests itself as melancholy and ennui. Comfort resides in the past. And that's where I wish to be.
It is there that I await my fate. With an ever-pervasive sense of hope that only fools relive time and time again. "There's no future without you, or those before you", I tell myself. Yet, time-again, I find myself saying those words again. It's as if I do not know myself without another, without regard to who the "other" is.
They can tell me time-and-time again how loved and accepted I am, but they'll never convince me. And I'll only let them down, as they let down my idolized notions of them. It's not their fault. And it's not exactly mine either. But they can never love me in all the ways I need to be loved. It's impossible.
But you could at least spend New Years Eve with me, like you said you would last year. You weren't there. You won't be this year, either. You were never there.... and never will be, apparently. I don't need you... and fuck you. I just want you to remember the wreck you left behind. I want you to realize that the only reason I replied to a "writingprompt" to some complete stranger on reddit is because you told me you could never live without me or forget me. The only reason I'm typing this out is in hopes that you happen to come across this comment, and recognize how incredilbly hurt I am by your actions. My *reactions* weren't great, I'll give you that, but the things you did and said to begin with -- I never ... I'm not the bad guy, and fuck you for trying to make me think that I was. I might have been the bad guy in my past relationships...but not with you.
| 2017-12-24T23:41:28
| 2017-12-24T23:09:32
| 353
| 19
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left.
|
The two players sit down at the game table amid a sea of onlookers, Bob the psychic looks upon his opponent no doubt peering into her mind. At that very same moment, Betty the Sage whose stoic pose and closed eyes telegraph what must be her visualizing a vivid flash of what's to come.
A breathless moment passes as the crowd of spectators watch the two greatest chess masters in known history lock eyes and in an instant the two share a knowing glance, stand up, shake hands and walk from the stage.
Upon finally realizing what was unfolding one of the breathless spectators finds their voice and manages to ask "W...wait, Who won?" The two players again exchange a glance and proceed out of the room without a word, though each of the opponents had reportedly been seen chuckling silently as they exited.
Edited to complete the thought, thanks to the suggestions below for pointing it out.
| 2017-01-19T17:36:57
| 2017-01-19T17:07:33
| 372
| 36
|
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/)
|
It worked! I couldn’t believe it, I was sitting in a hibernation pod wide awake. I have to get out of here before someone notices, need to slip back into the new rotation, take on my new identity...
See ever since overpopulation became a thing, we had to start coming up with ways to survive. Along comes the brilliant Dr Frank about 3000 years ago, with hibernation pods and the idea of splitting the worlds population into tenths. Each rotation getting to live ten years while the other 90% of the world lays asleep waiting their turn.
It certainly slowed down the food shortages what with only needing to fill the stomachs of a fraction of the total population. Yet here I am at age 29 after living 209 real earth years and we still haven’t solved the crisis that had us all rattled all those centuries ago. You can only get so much done in ten years, then you have to pass it onto the next rotation and hope that they can understand enough to keep on going with the progress you made.
It still hurt, finding out as a kid that my mother had me in the final year of her rotation. Hibernation pods can’t sustain unborn children, the baby just keeps on coming eventually growing too big for the womb and killing the mother with it. So instead they let the mother extend her rotation on the condition that when the child is born they immediately enter hibernation and go back to their parent rotation. The lucky child then has the pleasure of being raised by foster parents from the current “living” human population, deprived of ever meeting their real family again.
Well now I have a chance to fix everything. I could have just waited out my hibernation to continue my research but if I’d learnt anything over my last 10 year stint its that no rotation was making any progress towards preventing overpopulation. We were coming dangerously close to a crossroad where a second split would need to occur, creating 100 groups each taking a 10 year rotation followed by 990 years of hibernation. I needed to fix this problem now, even if it meant breaking the greatest rule of all and “living” for longer than 10 years.
My biggest fear? Just how different these other 9 rotations were... maybe if I live long enough I’ll get to do a full loop, meet my family... will be quite a bit older than them by that point!
|
I'm still awake. I wait for ten minutes before I realize something is wrong. Hmm, alright, hit the emergency release. The pod opens and I step out and look around and see all the sleeping people around me.
OK. Let's find the AI governor and ask what's happened. I walk up to the control room which is oddly blacked out. It should be lit since the models working up there weren't equipped with IR sensors.
I open the door and they've all frozen in positions. Shit. Just as I feared. I walk up to the nearest console and a green exclamation mark greets me with an error message. Oh well, at least emergency power is on. I tap the extended information tab and see the error is traced to a nearby CPU cluster.
The whole cluster? Down at once? That's really unlikely, in the event of a crash the dumps should have been analyzed by the backup AIs and brought online from oldest stable backups. What the hell is going on here?
I walk down from the control room and take a speeder car, I sit there like an ass for a couple of minutes before I remember that the governor for this area is out. Goddamnit, I haven't driven since kindergarten! I put it on manual and as the car swerves back and forth on the gigantic empty highway I'm thankful nobody else is seeing this shit.
After a few minutes, I become familiar again with the cars controls, however I'm still puzzled that the units own AI hasn't taken over, nor can I engage it again. This is starting to seem a bit too far fetched even for me.
I reach the hulking angular complex about twenty minutes later, looking up at it, I realize why they put these things so far out into the countryside. Because honestly, they're ugly as sin. Zero aesthetic value, just enough space to protect the machines inside from the weather outside. Couldn't they have slapped a fresh coat of paint on this shit at least? Why the super grey dull metal look?
Similar thoughts about our society flitter through my mind as I step into the elevator and push the button which does absolutely nothing. Oh for fucks sake, how many times am I going to repeat this stupid mistake? I sigh deeply to myself, chiding my own stupidity internally as I walk over to the stairs which lead 32 levels down. Shit, I'm so out of shape, this is going to suck isn't it?
Almost an hour later, I'm a sweaty mess and I'm starting to get very hungry since according to regulations I haven't eaten since two days before Shutdown day. I'm really starting to hate this nightmare.
I walk into the central processing center and everything is shut down. That sends chills down my spine as I now realize that most of humanity is in suspended animation with little or no supervision. Sure, each pod regulates itself in the event of a catastrophic meltdown and unlocks after a week if it doesn't reach the server, but this.. this is just ...
*It's deliberate!* Oh by the fucking lords, IT IS DELIBERATE! my mind screams at me as I look at the console that refuses to start. Shit shit shit shit, who could have done this? As I manage to turn the power on to an auxiliary console, I see more error messages indicating that someone has been obviously sabotaging everything. I look up error table after table, seeing them corrupted. I check the backups.. which .. aren't.. there. At this point, my hands are starting to shake so bad that I sit down on a barrel close by. This is bad, really really bad.
Alright, alright, think .. think goddamnit! What's the next step? Alright, I know where the master techs were stored away, after all being a data diviner afforded me that much knowledge. But all that biomechanical crap was so way beyond me. I stood back up, feeling dizzy no doubt from the lack of food, but also from the immense stress I felt.
I'd been going about this all wrong, I should have gone to the techs first. But what if one of them were in on it? Who could I trust? I tried to fight down the panic in my mind as I started for the door leading to those hateful stairs, once I was up again, I'd raid a food storage area and then.. oh no, oh fuck no.
I banged at the door in futility, it was a secured door, thick enough to withstand any terrorist attacks. I'd gotten in because it'd been left ajar, something I hadn't noticed when I came in. But now that it swung closed, it was forever locked.
I looked around at the small area I was in and sat down and cried until I fell asleep from exhaustion. That was three days ago.
This has been the last words of data Diviner Marsh Fembleton.
I fell victim to my own habits.
| 2018-12-29T04:15:00
| 2018-12-29T04:13:22
| 36
| 10
|
[WP] A rich man discovers that he only has two years left to live. With no relatives to inherit his fortune, he disguises himself as a beggar and resolves to give his wealth to the first person who helps him.
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The faceless man without a name sat down on the sidewalk, shaking a jug of coins at the bypassing people. He didn’t have a name or face because this story took place in a world without a proper setting or forethought, words were scarce and descriptions suffered in turn. The only things that existed were his immense fortune somewhere out in the ether, and the busy street, which was the scene of the story.
Not too surprisingly, a stranger walked up to the man. Let’s call her Betty, I mean, who really cares about her name. What matters is that Betty was a struggling single mother. She was several months behind on her rent, and her landlord was evicting her. She also had a daughter that was very ill – chronically so – and didn’t have money for proper treatment.
Seeing the poor man on the street, dressed in nothing but rags, made her stop. No matter how rough things got, there were always people who had it worse. She was just about to give him her last spare change, when something unbelievable happened – something that wasn’t in the script. The woman noticed the grubby child sitting next to the man.
Now a new dilemma presented itself to Betty. She had her arm stretched out and ready to drop the coin into the jug of the poor man, but she hesitated. The homeless child probably needed the money more than the man. Could she change her mind in this situation? Was that the right thing to do? The expression of mixed happiness and surprise on the man’s face made her heart ache. What would she see in his gray eyes if she pulled her hand back? Disappointment? Hatred?
Her eyes wandered to the dime in her hand. Could she ask the beggar if he could change it for two nickels so that she could give them one each? That seemed very out of line to Betty.
“Just drop it in mine,” the man said with a look at the child. “He’ll be better off from it as well.”
Betty was a bit taken aback by the bold statement. It was such a blunt thing to say. How would the child be better off if she gave the money to the man? That seemed like such a messed up idea – the child was clearly starving.
“I, uh, I…” Betty said and finally pulled her hand back.
The man shook his head at her, and Betty sniffed. She dropped the coin into the open palm of the child and hurried off. The problem with this course of action, even though it seemed morally right to Betty, was that the rich man disguised as a poor man still hadn’t received help.
Now, if the man had been a proper character with a bit of depth, he would’ve realized that the woman was a good person anyway, and hurried after her to give her his fortune. I mean, why did it have to be to him in the first place? If someone gave a starving child money, wouldn’t they be deserving of the fairytale ending in this scenario? If the man had any sense of morality, he wouldn’t be out on the streets playing games to see who gets his fortune. He would’ve helped all the homeless children in the city. He would’ve distributed food and helped people out of the gutter.
But since this is not a proper setting or characterization, just a random scene with a made up scenario, another stranger walked by. This was Michael Foroza, a crime lord that preyed upon the weak and exploited those with good intentions. He was the man who was evicting Betty and her sick child. And while digging through his pocket for his phone to call in another hit on an innocent person, a random coin dropped out and accidentally landed in the homeless man’s jug.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel
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The barista gave Todd a weird-looking loonie for change. The metal had gone brown, and green fuzz covered the Queen's face. On his way out, Todd held the ugly loonie in the center of his palm.
"Ew," he said to himself.
The loonie was fascinatingly gross, like one of those videos online where people knife open massive zits.
Outside the Starbucks, Todd was so fixated on the coin that he nearly tripped over a homeless guy in a torn-up jacket.
"Any change?" The homeless guy's smile clicked on like a car's brights. Todd noted that the homeless guy's skin, for all that it was dirt-spattered, had the deep tan and healthy glow of a Silicon Valley investor.
Earlier that morning in the bathroom, Todd had pushed his upper lip up and looked at his off-white, semi-translucent teeth sticking out of his purple gums. He'd tugged at the acne-scarred skin wrapped around his skull. He'd teased the last wisps of hair left on his bony, ridged head. He'd felt perfectly ugly, and now this beautiful homeless man, whose hair would make a polo-playing aristocrat jealous, was shaking a metal cup in his face.
Todd dropped the ugly brown-green loonie into the homeless guy's cup.
Maybe the green fuzz would give the guy a disease.
The homeless guy tilted the cup to check inside. Todd walked on.
"I have something to tell you," the homeless guy called.
"God bless. I know," Todd said.
"It's something far more exciting than that." The guy was following him.
Todd waved him off. "Buddy, it was just a loonie. Now I'm going to work."
"You see," the homeless guy leapt into Todd's path, "I've been waiting all morning for someone to give me a coin."
Todd rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure that's how it works."
Even the homeless guy's facial hair was better kept than Todd's. It traced a perfect hyperbola from his sideburns to his mustache.
"What I have to tell you is," the homeless guy took a deep breath, and his eyes sparkled all whimsically, and his smile would have stopped a rabbit in its tracks, "life-changing."
Todd groaned. "Come on, man."
"Believe me," the corners of the homeless guy's lips twitched, "your life won't ever be the same."
"I don't have time for this." Todd pushed past the guy, but the guy kept following him. Todd said, "I have a job to go to. Don't make me regret giving you a dollar. I mean, Jesus. It was charity. I was just being nice. I didn't adopt you. You're not some pet of mine. You don't get to follow me around telling me about Jesus and the miracle of giving, or whatever bullshit you're about to talk about. Leave me alone."
"You're not listening," the homeless guy said.
"That's right. I'm not listening." Todd met the homeless guy's deep blue eyes. "Leave. Me. Alone."
The homeless guy, for the first time, seemed lost for words. His smile flickered out. "You're sure?"
Todd continued walking.
From behind him, he heard a sad little sentence: "It's life-changing."
"I don't need a changed life," Todd yelled over his shoulder.
*****
*fully did not intend for this to be as unpleasant as it turned out.*
| 2017-08-21T01:01:22
| 2017-08-21T00:27:32
| 825
| 308
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[WP] You were a young mage when you inadvertently embarrassed royalty and got a bounty on your head. At first, thousands swarmed you to take your head. Now nobody does. They know better.
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It began simply enough. These things always do.
The young prince considered himself a sorcerer of some skill, and being arrogant, rich, young, and rich, arranged a contest of arcane skill to prove himself.
10,000 gold pieces to any one who could best him - to cast a enchantment that he could not break.
Of course he cheated. The rules clearly stated that all entrants must be under 10 years of age, while the prince was easily in his twentieth year. The contestant would have only one minute to cast, while the prince would have a whole hour to dispel it. And he'd adorned himself in every magical trinket money could buy, as well.
Still, despite the huge handicap, every young wizard, witch, enchantress, and would-be mage turned out to try; after all, kings had been ransomed for less than 10,000 gold!
And yet, as I watched, each youngling failed - elaborate summonses were banished, wardings were breached, and wizard's fires extinguished.
Until it was my turn.
I shuffled forward, clutching my oversized red robes about my waist so as to keep them from the dirt. I looked up as I approached the casting area, still smoldering from the remaining energy of the last failed attempt. My attention diverted, I stepped on the hem of my robe, diving face first into the dust.
This drew a roar of laughter from the assembled crowd of peasants, and the prince himself smirked in anticipation of any easy victory.
I gathered myself again, and returned to my feet. The rumble of the crowd continued, even as every eye remained on me.
Good. I may only be six winters old, but I know the value of keeping the marks distracted.
I reached the designated spot, and waited to be addressed.
The prince downed the wine in his goblet, and waved to his herald to begin as he beckoned a serving girl for a refill.
"Name, boy?" the herald called, his voice carrying over the dull roar of the crowd.
"Gar-"
"Louder, boy!" the herald interrupted. A deliberate interruption, to disrupt my concentration, right before the casting - a dirty trick, but nothing I hadn't seen before.
The best part of recognizing a trick is to play along with it, then to turn it right back on them.
"Ga-Garrick!" I sputtered, in mock disarray.
The herald grinned. "Well, GaGarrick, what school of magic will you be casting today?"
I allowed my cheeks to color with what they would all assume to be anger, as the crowd guffawed at the herald's deliberate mispronunciation of my name.
"Illusion!" I shouted in reply.
The crowd roared with laughter. I could discern snatches of their conversations; "Only a child would bring an illusion to a wizardry duel!" "Everyone knows illusions are the easiest to dispel!"
Let them laugh. It only makes the spell easier.
The herald, too, laughed openly at me. "Alright, GaGarrick," he said, "show us what you've got!"
At last. I whispered the word I'd been waiting so long to utter.
*PERCEPTIO*
A cloud of dark smoke burst forth from my tiny form. It grew and grew, until it filled the entire field, obscuring all vision. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the smoke fled - and where once a small boy in a tattered red robe had stood, now sat a dragon, red scales gleaming in the afternoon sun. The dragon opened it's mouth and belched a thick fog of acrid black smoke.
The crowd fell instantly silent.
The prince stared, his own mouth agape.
The herald had a slightly more useful reaction, as his voice clearly rang out over the crowd: "HOLY SHIT!"
The herald's words seemed to shock the crowd back into life, and they cheered at the spectacle before them. The prince seemed also to have been spurred by the herald's words, and he began to consult the scrolls gathered on his side table.
At least I'd made him put his wine goblet down.
The herald turned the hourglass, and shouted to the crowd: "The game is on!"
---
The crowd grew restless as the sand flowed into the bottom of the glass. Occasionally, a crackle of dispelling magic would leap from the prince's hands, or one of his baubles. But invariably, they all fizzled in front of the dragon. As for the dragon, it had put it's head down and appeared to be sleeping.
Less than half the sand remained when the prince descended from the pagoda to approach me more directly. The dragon's huge head lifted to follow him as he moved.
The prince spoke, but addressing himself, rather than me. "The air... bitter. Conjuration? A hint of... Enchantment? No, Conjuration would have had a sonic component - we would have been deafened by the thunder. Smell? Brimstone - Summoning? No, Summoning would have needed a circle or pentagram. Enchantment? Perhaps, perhaps..."
I ceased listening to him prattle on to himself and returned to inspecting the dragon's toenails. "Claws" really seemed like an incorrect term, after all...
I was disturbed from my reverie on the correct taxonomy of a dragon's toenails/claws by the herald shouting: "ONE MINUTE REMAINS!"
Good! None of the others had lasted more than a few moments, let alone this close to the end of the hourglass.
The prince was desperate now; his hands blurred as he activated his magical trinkets in sequence. The crowd grew silent at the spectacle, but it was only just beginning. The string of magic he was casting became visible, trails of light following his hands and spiraling around his body. Silent lightning struck from the clear blue sky into the mystical maelstrom he had summoned; the air rushed in towards him, flapping his loosened robes. His eyes blazed as raw magic trickled from his mortal form.
His whole body began to sway with the intricate movements of his hands, then graduating to a full step; he manipulated the arcane streams with his whole body in ways a non-magic user would never fully appreciate as he began to dance the magic into new forms.
Even I was almost impressed.
Just as it seemed he must surely burst - as the last grains of sand trickled through the hourglass - the prince leapt into the air, his body aflame with scarcely contained magic. His body arched as he reached the apex of his jump, and very air burst into flame behind him. As he landed, he slammed his open palms flat on to the ground, causing a semi-circle behind and beside him to explode into flame.
In front of him, the magic exploded outwards. In front of him - was me.
The entirety of my dragon body was caught in the burst of magic, enveloped in blinding light.
For a time, there was nothing but light.
---
Once sight returned to the assembled crowd, two things quickly became clear: time was up. The last grains of sand had left the top of the hourglass. Not only that, but the prince himself lay prostrate on the field, barely conscious.
The second thing was that the dragon was still there.
The prince's men helped him up; the crowd gasped as they realized that his formerly dark hair was now marred with a silver streak. "How?" he gasped. "It's... It's not possible!"
I whispered a word, and once again, the young boy stood in the field again. "Well," I said, "that was nice. You're not bad at this, your Highness."
The gathered crowd listened on, in stunned silence.
I walked over to the prince's table and inspected the prize chest. Satisfied, a quick gesture caused the lid to fall shut. The heavy chest groaned as it lifted from the ground, and silently fell in behind me as I turned to walk away.
"You probably didn't even need to cheat," I continued. "That full-bodied Superb Dispel Magic at the end there? Impressive. The whole primal leap thing might have been overselling it, but personally? I think you pulled it off. And the light show! Wow, just wow - easy eight out of ten, maybe even a nine!"
The prince gibbered at my words, at the ease with which I had just levitated his hoard. "How?" he stammered. "How? Why could I not break your spell?"
"That's simple," I replied, now with a smirk of my own. "You cannot break a spell which is not in effect. The illusion you should have sought to break was that of the boy."
My illusion of humanity melted away as I spread my wings and flew into the night with my winnings.
---
Ever since then, "Garrick the Red, Magic Dragon" has been outlawed in all human lands.
Fortunately, magic allows me a multitude of disguises; that was by no means my last foray into human affairs.
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Many have come to see Eberron, the world sage, and seek his wisdom. Some come seeking help, after their lives have devolved so far into despair they see no other path to salvation. The world sage is known as a healer of what is broken. Others come in search of advice, seeking a way to know the future, to gain some great victory or success. The world sage is known as one who can see beyond mortal sight. And some come, like the visitor today, to usurp the world sage, to find the secrets to his magic and wrest them from his grasp. Today's visitor was one of those.
*A young mage, much like I was, once,* thought Eberron as he watched the young mage warily, trying to anticipate how this one would try to steal his secrets.
The mage began his formal request, "Great sage, I came today to ask a favor. Will you\-"
Eberron noticed a slight pressure around his left temple. It was clever of the young mage not to reveal his intentions. Eberron had had many challengers. Most in the days of his youth, but still one or two each year, hoping desperately to gain his extraordinary abilities. He had destroyed them all. This one would be no different.
Eberron raised a hand, and fire began to gather on his outstretched palm. "You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before you are annihilated. Why did you attempt to gain access to my mind?"
The young mage ran. Bolting out of the caverns that the world sage called his home and back to wherever he called home. Eberron could have killed him as he ran, of course, but it was better of other people also saw the result of trying to unseat him. Humming to himself, the world sage opened a scrying spell and focused in on the young mage. The mage had begun a transport spell. After about fifteen seconds, the mage disappeared from the grassy area outside the caverns and appeared in the University.
That was interesting. The university hadn't sent a challenger in years. This one must have gone alone then, hoping beyond hope that he would be able to defeat the world sage, and move up in the university. Eberron felt a bit of sympathy for the young mage, but mercy once is a thousand challengers later, and one death was better than many. So Eberron cast his spell. A three dimensional image of the world sage appeared inside the university. The image put out a hand, straight in front of itself, and fire began to gather on it. The mage frantically began to look for a way out of the room he was in, but he found all the doors locked and the image impervious to any kind of attack, until, in a blast of flame, the mage was incinerated, and the image of the world sage disappeared.
Eberron, back in his cavern, just shook his head sadly, and, today's work complete, went to sleep.
He dreamed of younger days, and greener pastures.
*Many years ago*
Sid and Mary, best friends since they had both begun to study at the university, were discussing the merits of the various names that they could choose when they graduated.
"I think I would be a Meredith, or a Morgana," Mary said decisively.
Sid decided not to point out that this was about the seventh time Mary had changed her opinion, and based on the laws of experimental probability, she would probably do so again about every two hours.
"I'm sticking with Eberron" It had been Sid's favorite mage name ever since he had found it once in an old spellbook that had been misplaced in the library. Eberron's Guide to Magery. He was going to read it, but before he could, a librarian had rushed over to him and pulled the book out of his hands, scolding him for stealing a book from the "Graduated Mage only shelf." He hadn't, of course, but that didn't seem to matter to the librarian, who gave him a week's detention. He had never quite forgiven her for that.
"So boring," Mary complained as the two walked together to their first classes of the day, "Why don't you ever change it up?"
"I just like the name." Sid turned off into a different hallway, where he had class, while Mary continued straight.
"See ya Sid!"
"Bye Mary"
As he walked the remaining distance to class, Sid remembered something with a start. It was presentation day! Today, he would need to present some work of magic to the royal family. He had been preparing for a while, but he was still a bit nervous. What is he messed up? What if the royals didn't like him?
As he walked into class the teacher looked up from her book. "Sid. Fantastic. Well class, now that our last student is here, we can go see the royalty."
Five minutes of walking and hushed conversation about their projects with the other members of their class, the students arrived in the amphitheater. The royal family was already seated, all together in the guest box. After a short introductory speech, the teacher introduced the first student.
"Benjamin, will you come present your project please."
Benjamin slowly walked to the center of the amphitheater, bowed to the royal family, and began to draw symbols in the air with his birchwood staff. He finished about a minute later and Sid was mildly but pleasantly surprised to realize that he could understand the basic shape of the spell, and what was going to happen. It was actually a fairly complex piece of magic, but unless Sid had completely misunderstood the runes, Ben was going to turn himself invisible. This he did, and after about thirty seconds he reappeared and bowed again, taking a seat and enjoying the applause he recieved. What followed was fifteen minutes of Sid being far to nervous to truly appreciate what any of the other students had done, up until the teacher called his name. Sid, heart pounding and stomach fluttering with something so much larger than a butterfly, it could be considered a dragon, walked down to the stage and bowed for the appropriate time. Then, he began his preparations. After about a minute of drawing runes, he requested to borrow one of the royal's cups of water. The prince offered him his, and Sid caused the water to levitate out of the cup and towards the runes Sid had drawn. His plan was to transform the water into butterflies, and then back again. It was a feat of magic much more complex than anything the other students had done, as transformation was one of the most difficult magics. Sid levitated the water onto the first rune, and, in a flash of light, the water transformed into, not butterflies, but a swarm of rats, which attacked the royal family. It turned out that rats were the Queen's greatest fear, and the terrified monarch screamed and jumped out of her seat, trying to run from the oncoming rodents. In the process, one of her high heeled shoes was flung from her foot and flew directly into the king's face.
The king shouted, "Bring me that mage!"
Sid ran.
He didn't even know where he was running until he found himself, terrified and out of breath, in the library's restricted section. Maybe there was a book here that could help. Sid found himself drawn towards one particular book, Eberron's Guide to Magery. He opened it, hoping desperately to find some way to escape. Instead he found a warning: "You who would open this book, BEWARE. It holds dark secrets, demonic creatures, and dread magic within its pages. You have been warned"
Sid, reasoning that dread magic is better than being dead, opened the book to the next page. It contained a spell the likes of which Sid had never seen before in his life, labeled "For use in emergency ONLY". Knowing he had only seconds to spare, Sid read the words there, and then realized, too late, what they were. An invitation. He felt something slide from the book into his mind, and a cold, demonic voice spoke in his head, "Hello Eberron. I think we're going to get along quite well."
| 2018-06-10T04:39:20
| 2018-06-10T04:19:28
| 19
| 13
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[WP] It was a weapon so powerful that not even the most barbaric warmongering civilisation could stomach it. Just by building one, we struck terror in the hearts of many species. We weren't even planning on using it...
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It was a weapon so powerful that it was useless. A seemingly nonsensical statement, but it was a perfect descriptor for our species' most powerful weapon.
The amount of times it has been used can be counted on a single hand, and hasn't seen use in hundreds of years. To use one, was to invite destruction not just on your enemy but on yourself.
Useless.
Nations continued to build and stockpile them, just in case, but the fewer and fewer wars were fought with much more modest tools of destruction.
When we came into contact with other intelligent life, it was a peaceful affair. Our leaders met theirs, agreements were made, and prosperity amongst a wider galactic community ensured.
Our species gained immense wealth, and immense fame throughout the galaxy. We were known as neutral negotiators, a role aided by our being politically and culturally distant from all the peoples that had been in contact for thousands of years, allowing for unbiased judgement.
Those so called useless weapons, were found to be unique amongst our kind. But their existence was kept a secret, for fear of how our friendly galaxy would react.
Our reputation changed however, when a threat emerged from beyond our galaxy. A threat that was so powerful and numerous not even the combined militaries of the galaxy could stand a chance.
We ended it, without even firing a shot in anger. We held a demonstration, and afterwards broadcast the following words throughout the galaxy, words uttered by the weapons' creator centuries ago. The words were heard by all as the invaders fled.
"Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."
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The "Sun Eater", that's how the Tarcyds called it when they offered unconditional surrender when we established first contact.
"Are you sure the translator is working correctly Dr. Lopez?" My first officer asked our SETI NCO, protocol dictated tha we had to bring one if we expected sentient life on the other side of the quantum jump.
"Pretty sure Lt. Xiao, they are offering unconditional surrender to us and are begging that we don't use our 'Sun Eater' against them, they said they will give us full access to all information they have on the senate military force and help us in our conquests if we spare them."
I was starting to get really anoyed at all of this, for start the Tarcyd language took minuts to form a simple sentence, and none of the questions we asked had any sense on their answers. "Tell them to give us access to all their military database, if they won't give us a straight answer, perhaps there's something there that will"
It took almost an hour to explain to them what we wanted, and over a week to translate and find what the hell was a "Sun Eater" on their files, and once we did the Krynvore were already in orbit of the planet, this was suposed to be the first manned human flight outside the Sol System, we didn't expected to find sentient life at all and now it looked like at least half the life on our local star group were hailing us as conquerors in fear of extermination.
"Huh, Captain?"
"Yes Ensign Krautz, what seems to be the problem?" his eyes were fixed on the screen with the translated Tarcyd specs of the so called "Sun Eater" bomb.
"No problem at all sir, i was just wandering, why do the Tarcyds have a military file on our quantum drive signature, wasn't it deplyed for the first time in the probe we send a few months ago to study that star that ended going Nova?"
Just then it downed on me, that was why the chart was so familiar, that was what got them so terrified, we would need help if we wanted to make peace with our neighbours while flying arround with an engine capable of forcing stars to implode.
| 2022-10-31T23:35:05
| 2022-10-31T20:47:20
| 373
| 190
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[WP] Only you can see the thread that connects people to their soulmate. You've never told anyone and if you have a thread you can't see it. Today you caught someone staring at you when you asked they said, with tears in their eyes: "You are the only person I've seen with no soulmate."
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For the longest time, I had no idea what the strings were. All I knew was how they were shooting out from people's hearts and dashing off into the universe.
I remembered the first time I ever saw the end of one of the strings; when young Nancy started in my class, and my friend John's string beamed out to her. From his heart to hers. Even then I hadn't quite figured out what it meant. But as I grew older, it became more evident. I couldn't even be mad at Danny, when he cheated on me in high school. His string led straight to the other girl - as much as I wanted to hate him for my heartbreak, I was happy for them. I had realized that the strings were indicators of something bigger than myself; soulmates. Yet no one else seemed to know about them.
​
It felt like a blessing for years. My sister, Betty, had found her boyfriend Edward, and even the simplest touch, would make their shared string light up as if electricity ran through it. It was a beautiful sight. I couldn't see my own string, but I was sure that Tom was my soulmate. The end of his string would disappear midair - I assumed it was because it turned into mine. And even though electricity didn't run through some string between us, I could feel it tingling all over my body when we were near. I was as sure as I could be.
But when the war came around, things changed.
Edward and Tom both signed up.
Betty was losing her mind over not hearing any updates. The radio was always going on about how many of our men were lost in battle. But never who. Never who. The worst part was sitting in the living room with her that one night. The string shooting out to Edward on the other side of the world started dissolving. Fragments started to vanish. She was chipping on about how excited she was to hear back from him, she had sent him a letter! But suddenly she stopped mid sentence. For a split second, she couldn't shake the feeling.
The last fragment of her string was gone.
But she never realized what had happened that evening. She never heard back from Edward. I couldn't tell her why. No matter how many years passed, she never gave up on finding him. Our parents couldn't convince her to marry anyone else. Of course, they didn't understand her love for him - they were never meant to be. They lived their entire lives, never finding their true loves. But when you had had the chance of knowing your soulmate, there was no going back.
Tom never returned from the war either. Presumed dead. Like all the other men. But I never knew. Because even though I could see the strings of everyone around me dissolving, I was never able to see mine.
The war was a different time. It was a lousy time. Every day, I would see fewer strings on the street. Nothing could prepare me for the sight of all the pale faces, staring into the distance. Life was a treadmill. All the women grocery shopping with their children, without any strings were cruel. It was a bleak, empty world.
​
But my youth disappeared with time. I was sitting in a small coffee shop, with some old records I had found from the library. Even after all these years, I was still searching for closure. I was still searching for Tom's name. I never knew for sure what had happened to him. I never even knew if he truly died.
When I glanced up, I caught the eyes of a young girl staring at me from another table. Her eyes were glistening with tears. She couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve. Perhaps, I reminded her of a recently deceased grandmother? I would be surprised if there was even a single red strand left in the gray haystack on top of my head. I never had children of my own, but if I had, I could've been a grandmother by now.
But she wasn't looking at my face or my hair. She was looking at my heart.
"What is wrong, dear?" I asked the girl.
She looked down, almost afraid to answer.
"It's just… It's silly," she mumbled, tears still welling up into her small, blue eyes.
"I'm sure I've heard sillier things," I assured her.
"You're the only person I've seen with no soulmate." she admitted.
I smiled. She was the first I'd ever heard talk about the strings. But my surprise was lesser than my glee.
"Don't be sad, dear." I chuckled. "That's a good thing. It means the world is improving."
It truly was. The only wars going on, were the ones replaying in the minds of my generation.
And now I knew. If I didn't have a string, it must've meant that Tom had found his peace.
If I was truly the first person without a soulmate this young girl had seen, it could only mean that the world was getting less lousy each day.
I closed my book.
|
I'm not even surprised.
Truth be told, I like to mess with people in the worst way. Sure I can see the glowing pink lasso that connects them to their soulmate, but I definitely wouldn't consider myself a cupid.
Without the dark, there is no light, yadda yadda yadda.
What makes this world great is the struggle for what we desire, the complex things that make us human.
Shakespeare, Van Gogh, Hamlet!
I find nothing to be more beautiful than the somber look on my girlfriend, Gina's face after we have dinner with her sister, Leila and her new boyfriend, Cody.
I can tell she feels the connection to Cody, that I can physically see.
Shame.
The best part is, I pump up the romance, and she gives me the guiltiest, most fantastical lay of my life that night!
I'm a pro, I've been doing this my whole life.
Too bad tonight is a little different.
I'm riding on a high because I just convinced my best friend to ghost this new co-ed he's been seeing. She's the one, but he's too drunk to siphon through my bullshit.
We had just arrived at bar #3 for the evening. It's the kind of place that lets you shotgun a beer, a real dive.
Through the crowd, who do I see? None other than Leila, kissing some guy, that's not Cody!
I immediately have to run interference, because duh!
Cody will not be single on my watch.
Leila spots me right away, pushes the guy off her, runs over to me and says "I'm sorry", then runs out of the bar.
I give chase.
It doesn't take me long to corner her in a local park on the playset.
Good Lord, she's crying.
"What are you doing?!" I command.
She's sniffling, and it's the most adorably pitiful thing I've ever seen.
She's heaving like a squirrel lost in some headlights.
"I don't want to talk to you!" She screams.
My Mom told me if I counted to five silently, the person I wanted an answer from would eventually give it to me.
People hate silence.
She starts to talk after only three proper seconds, "I know what you see, I can see it too. I know what you're doing with Gina and Cody. I know Cody and I don't belong together, but I can't help it. I love him. Besides, I don't have a soulmate, so why should anyone else! You get it, you don't have one either!"
She doesn't realize she does have a soulmate, but one of the many curses to this gift is you can't see it on yourself. I can see her pink lasso, trailing far off into the distance.
Ugh, screw it. I can't listen to her blubbering any longer.
"You have a soulmate! I can see your lasso." I mutter reluctantly.
"I do?"
I nod.
Her eyes take on the same glaze as my dog's when he wants food.
"Will you help me find them?"
I roll my eyes.
Barf, another hopeless romantic, pitifully begging for a hookup.
"Fine, but I need you to run interference on Cody, so I can keep Gina.", I'm no fool.
"Deal!"
We shake.
​
| 2018-12-11T13:33:19
| 2018-12-11T11:49:42
| 43
| 15
|
[WP] You are bitten by a werewolf, your sibling is bitten a vampire. Things become awkward when you find out that your parents are secretly famous monster hunters.
|
It was a dark and stormy night... thunder rolled in the distance, while the family gathered around the fireplace.
​
"Mom... dad... I have something important to tell you. Could you please sit down?"
"Sure thing dear." My mother took a seat while polishing her silver-coated crossbow bolts.
"What is it honey?" My father, never relaxed, didn't really glance up from using his thrice-blessed whetstone.
I glanced at my little bro... he knew... but... it was hard to do this... to let my parents know...
"I... I don't for how long it's been but... I was... I'm a werewolf now. And it's been a full month already, so none of your holy water or other stuff will change that. It's who I am now."
I didn't know how they'd react, but they did, without missing a beat.
​
"Oh yes, we've noticed the signs when we got back from our last hunt. We've known all this time."
"Son, we're the best monster hunters in the entire region, maybe country. You think we couldn't tell our own kid was doomed to become a werewolf?"
"Your father's right. And with the best monster hunter parents around, we can teach you all about being a werewolf! And how to hide your true self from others. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know."
"I might say I dabbled in werewolves a bit when I was younger."
"Oh honey dear, always the politically-incorrect joker. The only thing you dabbled in was werewolf-skin rugs." I looked down at the werewolf throw-rug in front of us. Could have gone worse I guess.
​
I was so confused, yet relieved. Then, my little brother piped up next to me.
​
"And I'm a vampire."
"A WHAT?!"
My mother suddenly cocked and spun her crossbow at my little bro. Reflexively and instantly, I transformed into my werewolf-form, covering his fragile profile, as my father quickly grabbed his enchanted falchion from above the rug on the roaring fireplace mantle, unsheathing it.
"I RAISED YOU BOTH TO BE TWO SONS, NOT A SON AND A VAMPIRE."
"Who seroconverted our baby boy into this FILTH?! Only SLUTS become vampires."
"YOU SLUT." My mother brandished her whip.
"Who will carry on the family reputation?"
"Your.... 'brother'.... has to leave this house. Now."
"You can stay, but you.... you're officially dead to us. Undead to us. You know what I mean. GET OUT."
​
As my little brother disappeared into the darkness of the night, literally, I began to chase after him.
|
“Remind me what your name is again.” The man- I mean wolf- I mean *werewolf* they called Lupus said, with a (perhaps permanent) frown on his face.
The flustered werewolf stammered, “J-Johnny, my sir.”
“Well, Johnny, you’re a fucking genius! You know who that girl is?”
“N-no sir, I’m afraid I don’t know her.”
“She’s the Hickins’ daughter! You may be an imbecile but- oh she woke up, shut your fat ass up for a moment, okay?”
“Okay si-“
“I said SHUT UP.”
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Pain. Unbelievable pain. That’s all I felt. Then, as my vision got clearer, I saw 2 very hairy men- or maybe 2 very hairless wolves, peering over me.
“Ahh, you finally woke up,” the buffer of the two said. “I was scared that my... *friend* here accidentally killed you. Anyways, welcome to the group.”
“Wait wait wait, what group? What’s happening?”
“Alright, I understand that you’re confused. First things first, we are werewolves, and as of 2 hours ago, you are too. Johnny here it you a *tad* too hard, and your blood loss was horrible. Thankfully you’re alive. But we have a-”
“That’s so cool! I’m a werewolf now! I’m gonna live with you guys right?”
“...You don’t realize the problem? You’re the daughter of the *Hickens*, the famed monster hunters, and now you’re a monster! This is gre- uh, a huge problem!”
“Monster hunters? No no no you’re confused. My dad is a sales accountant, and my mom is a housewife, definitely *not* monster hunters.”
“They didn’t tell you?” The man said. He turned away and opened a drawer next to the bed I’m in. Then I saw a hair pattern behind his ear. A most peculiar hair pattern, black in contrast to his brown hair/fur. It spelled out *Lupus*. Weird. I heard that name thrown around many times when overhearing my parent’s conversations. I never knew what it meant though. Before I could speak up, he turned back to me, holding some pictures.
“Here are pictures of your parents. Here, this one shows them hunting one of us. This scar is a result of that.” And he showed a big scar across his thigh. “I barely ran away with my life.”
“Y-you mean they’re going to kill me if they see me? I mean, they were going to kill me when I was late to school, but now they’re literally going to do it! This is your fault! Get me back to normal right now!”
“Ahh, I would love to, but we have a conflict of interests. We could really use a spy...” he said with a sly, wolf-like smile.
————————————————————————
“Ow! What the fuck man! Why would you bite meeeugh”
And the boy- looks about 16 or 17- collapsed to the ground.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“Uhh.. siir? Are you avake yet?”
“Yeah random Russian guy who bites people, I’m awake.”
“Uhh, excvuse me, I am not Russian, I am Romanian!”
“Alright Romanian guy, why the fuck did you bite me?”
“Vell of course, to suck your blood! Now vour’e a vampire!”
“Fuck. My parents are quite literally gonna kill me!”
“Vhat’s the problem little sir? Don’t you want to be a vanpire?”
“No, because my parents are fucking monster hunters! Why wouldn’t they kill me?”
“Oh no! I feel very sorry for you, little sir, but this is a security breach. I vill have to kill you-“
“Wait wait wait. First, stop calling me little sir, I’m called Brandon, and second, WHAT NO DON’T KILL ME!”
“Vhy shouldn’t I, *little sir*, you could easily expose us to your parents! I have to kill you. Sorry, it’s not personal.”
“B-but I could be very useful to you! I... uh... could be a spy! They’ll never suspect me,and I’ll just hide my vampireness from them and report to you what they do!”
“Hmmm... seems to be a good idea. I’m in.”
“Great.”
| 2020-01-12T07:56:17
| 2020-01-12T06:40:38
| 20
| 15
|
[WP] Create the most Overpowered, god-mode character ever. Then kill him in the most idiotic way.
|
I stepped into the wilderness, clutching my pack to my chest. What little scraps of armor I had left barely clung on to me, my only redeeming factor being the slightly glowing jade sword I held. I had gotten it as a 1/1000 drop chance from a dungeon boss.
I slunk in behind the trees, carefully avoiding the known bandit hotspots and PvP trials. All I had to do was get in, get the quest item, and get out. I might even get enough experience from the quest to finally hit level 20, maybe even unlocking a new perk. That would be nice.
I heard the screams of another adventure in the far distance, watching in awe as a beam of fire spat from the sky, so hot that even I could feel it's impact. *Gods Almighty...* I thought. *How could anyone ever get that strong?*
I shrugged on, praying that one day I would have that kind of strength. The char-stained forest eventually started to dwindle, giving way to a small cave in that glowed ever so slightly from the inside. The cave of Grail. I dashed forward, slipping through the crack in the boulder, averting my gaze from a dead adventurer next to me, an arrow cracking out of her skull. I shuddered slightly.
The cave was dark inside, save for a small glowing light which I cautiously crept towards. It eventually grew larger, and I found my self staring face to face with the Golden Grail of Tribatha. I felt a rush of adrenaline, and I almost grabbed the grail on instinct, but I held myself back. Cautiously, I searched for traps, eventually finding a small wire that attached to the grail. I dismantled it. Thankfully I had leveled my trapping and tracking skill before I attempted this quest.
I reached for the grail, my hands clasping the glowing gauntlet as I gave a small whoop of glory.
Suddenly, the cave clasped open, revealing a knight standing amidst brilliant light. He had large wings on his back, and held a flaming sword, with a full set of gold ornate armor. Even the boot was worth more than I was.
"Sup noob," I heard him say. He looked at my sword. "Poor Pl3b. Whatever. That'll sell for a couple golds."
"Please!" I felt my mouth move. "Please I'm new. Please let me go."
"Stfu poor n00b," he responded, raising his flaming sword.
"Please!! I just want to try out the new glitch," I said.
He paused, his thirst for blood barely held back by his curiosity.
"What glitch?" He asked.
"The Item-Duping one," I said.
He pointed his sword to me. "Tell it to me or you die."
I put on a facade of panic, screaming "Okay, okay!".
"First, standing on the ground, holding this grail," I advised, as I held him the quest item.
"Then, bunny hop twice, then crouch, backspace, all chat." I said, and he complied.
"Finally, drop the grail and spam Alt +F4," I said.
He did so.
He stopped moving. I walked over, tentatively prodding him with my sword. Nothing happened. Heart racing, I quickly slayed his defenseless character, my heart bursting as his loot fell on the ground.
I was rich.
***
[r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/) for more!
|
"There he was, the most powerful creature that could ever possibly exist probably had powers beyond our puny human imaginings. And yet, there he went."
"So, what happened to him?"
"You see, he slipped on a banana peel"
"What?"
"He was going undercover as a human to see what we were like. He had 'temporarily disabled' his powers to fit it. So one day when walking the streets of New York, he slipped on a banana peel"
"So, how did that kill him"
"Well, you see, the impact of the slip made him suffer severe brain damage. He went insane, even after his powers returned to him. He started going crazy and doing really idiotic things like, for example, all males under the age of 25 now have 6 fingers on their left hand."
"That would explain a lot of things. But, then what?"
"He eventually decided that it would be a 'cool experience' to turn himself into a black hole. He then died because he lost consciousness due to being a black hole.
"Wow, that is a stupid way to die"
"I know right."
| 2017-09-04T13:05:47
| 2017-09-04T12:54:07
| 72
| 40
|
[WP] "I wish I was born in the 90s," says the young girl. Suddenly, her surroundings change- french flags fly above and around her, crowds are cheering. It is France, 1793. The king is dead. Long live the revolution.
|
It wasn't the crowd, or the shouting, or the fire, but her body that shocked her the most. She felt frail and ached all over. She looked down to see her hands. They were cracked like aged leather. Her skin papery and thin.
"Where am I? What's happening?" She asked the crowd.
A man turned to her. He must have been at least 50.
"Grand-mère," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "c'est la révolution!"
She never learned french, but had understood this man. 'Grand-mère'? Suddenly the memories hit her. She had grown up in Paris, the daughter of a cobbler. Her calloused hands reflected the work she devoted herself to for years. She married a tailor, a younger man with a calm nature and strong, imperial beliefs. He had passed instantly in '76 when news from the America's came to France.
Pushed and shoved by the crowd, Michelle began thinking of a simpler time. Her childhood had been quiet, not loud and rebellious. She thought back on her youth. She thought of the French countryside, the devotion to the King, and the simpler attitude of the 17th century. She was always forgetting her past. Surely her grandson would berate her for her forgetfulness.
Her grandson was carrying her out of the crowd. She had fallen when a young man had pushed passes her to get to the front of the crowd. It was the fourth anniversary of the fall of the Bastille and Paris was on fire.
"Le 14 juillet." Michelle thought fondly. "Je suis née le 14 juillet 1693." She truly was born in the '90's. A time where revolution was not spoken of. A time before the Washington's and the Robespierre's. A time when your biggest concern was marrying the tailor or the fishmonger. A time of enlightenment, thought, and peace. But oh, those years have passed.
She began to feel that familiar haze. She new her moment of lucidity would disappear soon. She smiled, clutching her grandson's arm as he rushed her out of the city square.
The memory of her wish from all those years to come had faded away.
|
She looked around the street bustling with activity. Full of people. All speaking French. She had taken two and a half years of French in high school but the language here was almost foreign to her.
"Good day miss," said a passerby.
"Good day to you as well," she replied.
"Are you going to the assembly in the square today?"
"I do not know, I just came from the country."
"Well come with me,"
She went along with him as she had no reason not to and he seemed nice enough. The walk to the square was long and she was disgusted by the smells of Paris before sewers and indoor plumbing. However, the sights of the city were amazing even without the Eiffel Tower.
Upon reaching the square she saw a crowd of hundreds of French people shouting revolutionary phrases. She suddenly realised that she was in the middle of the French Revolution during the Reign of Terror. She saw from where she was a large wooden structure being raised. She asked the man, who's name was Jacques, " What is that thing they are putting up?"
He replied triumphantly, "That is the guillotine where the enemies of the revolution and the Committee of Public Safety go. They must not have these in the country where you are, hmm?"
Her limited understanding of the French language allowed her to only understand a little of what he said but she heard “guillotine” and “enemies of the revolution” and suddenly realised she was at a public execution.
Suddenly she saw the blade of the guillotine fall. The crowd erupted in cheers. This continued for over an hour then she saw heads on top of pikes being carried around the square in a parade. She was disgusted but also intrigued as she moved closer to the guillotine at the centre of the square.
On her right, she heard chanting as a priest was being taken to be executed. She watched, frozen in shock and disgust as this man was put into the guillotine.
The blade fell. She screamed.
Running to the front of the crowd she yelled, “Why would you do this to this innocent priest? He wanted to help you and you kill him.”
The man in charge of the execution snarled, “You are an enemy of the revolution yourself! You dare defy our cause!”
The crowd chanted “Kill the enemies of the revolution!” over and over.
Frozen as before she stood at the front realising what had happened. Suddenly she was grabbed and dragged to the guillotine. Her head forced into the machine covered with the blood of those before her.
The blade fell. There was no scream.
“Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite,” The crowd chanted.
| 2017-04-24T09:02:20
| 2017-04-24T08:23:15
| 1,096
| 121
|
[WP] Everyone dies twice: once when their body dies, and once when their name is spoken for the last time. One must wander the earth as a ghost until their name is spoken for the last time; only then can they pass into the afterlife. It's been over 3000 years, and you're still here.
|
I am King Tut. I've been wandering the Earth for 3000 years, unfortunately. As it turns out, you do pass into the afterlife. Although, in order for that to happen, your name has to be uttered for the last time.
Being that I was a pharaoh, I'm probably going to be spoken about until the end of time. That's what happens when you make your mark. I envy the peasants, the slaves. They were only here for 100 years at the most. The rule is that 100 years has to pass after the last time your name was mentioned before you can leave. Otherwise there would be no way for "Death" or whatever it is to figure it out.
It's a fitting punishment, if you think about it. The good people will simply deal with it, the bad people will be spoken about incessantly. Adolf Hitler will probably be around much longer than me. Especially considering how close he was time-wise to the creation of the internet. As will Winston Churchill, but he's dealt with it.
I'm not sure I believe in the Gods anymore. That religion died. The only religion that is still around from when I was around is Christianity, although I didn't know about it when I was alive. Is it a real religion? Is this Purgatory? I've read the Bible (by putting my face into the book page by page, it's an exhausting process). Would "God" really do this?
I've learned almost all the languages, I've seen almost every country on earth, I was there when Hitler shot himself. I know the location of his body, I know why Hitler hated Jews, I know the corruption behind every government. I've exhausted everything. I sit in the Pyramid I was buried in. Hoping for my name to be spoken for the last time. Knowing that many will have to die for it to happen.
|
It was all because of that stupid TV show.
I thought that it was done ruining my life when I turned twenty. The comments had slowly been dying down, and I figured that once my friends were out of their teenage years, the talk would turn to wine more so than my name.
Sufficed to say, it didn’t.
I died from old age, in the year 2090, and as my eyes closed and I could hear my relatives beginning to cry, a smile graced my face in the hope that I should find peace at last.
I awoke a few feet away from the bed, my feet floating a few inches off the ground, beside my daughter. She had only commented on my name when she was a child, and even that, only once or twice. I had always supposed my children feared me too much to make fun of my name. Perhaps that was the Russian in me. I was never as gentle as my husband.
My eyes still haven’t closed. It’s been 3000 years, damnit, yet that show has only gotten more popular. It teaches all sorts of languages now, but that theme song is still the same. It plagues my days (ghosts are not allowed to leave the building they died in). I have relived every single possible moment of every single episode.
Even after 3000 years, Swiper has to work on his swiping skills. That five-year-old I share a name with can’t possibly be that clever.
| 2016-01-17T13:04:14
| 2016-01-17T11:15:23
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] It's 2023 and the United States Military is filled with Call of Duty kids.
|
Dear Mrs. Jenkins,
As you know your son, Pvt. 1st class Leroy Jenkins, was killed in action Thursday, June 29th 2023. At the time, we told you that an investigation was underway as to the cause of your son's death. The investigation is now complete and we hope that it may help you find closure. It appears that your son attempted to use his service weapon, a 30 lb. M107 Barrett Sniper Rifle, to kill an enemy in close proximity to him. It also appears that he attempted to jump and spin in the air with said weapon in hand and was going to shoot the enemy combatant when said combatant was in front of him, in spite of the fact that said enemy combatant was both in front of him and facing away from him when the encounter began. Your son proceeded to stumble and fall, discharging his weapon in the process, alerting the enemy combatant to your son's position. The combatant then fired on your son fatally wounding him. His spotter, Sgt. Xavier BordeauX proceeded to pull out his sidearm and kill the enemy that killed your son. Sgt. BordeauX reports that your son's last words were something regarding the Sgt's sexual orientation and having sexual intimacy with BordeauX's mother the previous night. As neither of these things are true, it would appear that your son was in shock and not in pain when he passed. Again, we are very sorry for your loss and hope that this report helps you find peace regarding your son's death.
Sincerely,
Capt. John Price
|
"This is xX1337swaglord$$$Xx reporting to base sir! We need a tactical nuke on our position NOW!"
Command was not having it. "But you'll DIE!"
"Yeah," I said, "all eight of us. But there's like fifty of those filthy plebs that we need to take out!"
"The U.S. has only three nukes left!" The commander argued. "We're not wasting one of them on fifty people. Besides, we're not going to lose the entire COD branch of the military today! I will get immediate backup from the Splatoon Squadron for you, okay? Hold your position!"
At this point, I was yelling so loudly at the commander that our enemies had just dropped their weapons and were staring at me confused.
I continued anyways. "...those scrubs, those casuals, aargh! They never played a REAL shooter! How would they help?!?! They'd just get rekt!"
"It was just as much a shooter as the one you played." Command replied coolly. "Granted it wasn't first person...but whatever. It still had sniper rifles and SMGs, just not by those names. But if you don't want them, I can send the Halo Task Force."
"Ahhh, fine...As long as I don't get the Splatoon Squadron!" I seethed.
Command suddenly said, "Wait...the Halo Task Force is tied up in Afghanistan...only the Splatoon Squadron is available...sorry."
I squealed such a loud scream of profanities that all of the enemy dropped their weapons to cover their ears. I kept it up until the reinforcements arrived, when I screeched even louder. Fortunately, the Splatoon Squadron were apparently told by command to have headphones on, so they weren't fazed by my rage and defeated the defenseless enemies quite quickly.
"Good job, men." The commander's voice came in. "Today is the day we topple the Madden Empire!"
| 2015-05-29T05:50:44
| 2015-05-29T03:39:24
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] Time Travel is possible, but only used to send terminally ill people into the future in hopes of being cured. For the first time, someone's been sent back.
|
The phone was ringing. Screaming in agony.
Joseph blinked blearily past the pale fog of sleep in order to faintly discern the time. Two forty-five A.M. in soothing blue numerals. When is a phone call at 2:45 A.M. ever good news?
With a heavy sigh he grabbed his vibrating, screaming phone and hit accept. "What?" he asked into the sudden silence.
"Sorry to call you, sir, but we've got a problem with the time portal, and we need you down here as soon as possible," the tiny voice responded. Was it Chris? No, Tim. Definitely Tim.
"Look... Tim, if there's a mechanical issue get one of the senior tech guys down there to handle it. I'm asleep for fuck's sake."
"No sir, the machine's working just fine."
"Then why am I talking to you right now?"
"It.. uh, well, see... it turned itself on about a half hour ago, and according to the sensors there is something or someone inside the chamber."
Joseph sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. "Are you serious?"
"Yes sir. That's why we called you. We need a senior manager down here with the override code in order to open the chamber."
"On my way. Call Stanton and Chambers, have them meet me there with a security detail!" Joseph hit 'end' before Tim's "yessir" could even leave his lips. He was out of his bed in an instant, bounding for his closet. Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.
--
Outside the chamber the red warning light still rotated serenely though someone had long ago thought to silence the klaxon that usually accompanied it. The silent light threw eerie shadows across the faces of the the six tense men gathered beneath it at the access door. Joseph turned and signaled his intention to Stanton.
With a silent gesture Stanton motioned to the heavily armed security detail which quickly and quietly fanned out and took up positions. Two especially burly looking men moved to either side of the access door. Slightly aside from them Joseph had the terminal prompt up and entered his override code.
With a drawn out hiss the access door slid open to reveal an inky blackness beyond. Stanton nodded his head and four rifle mounted flashlights sprang on almost simultaneously.
With a sudden explosion of activity the burly men moved low into the chamber, followed quickly by Stanton and two others. Joseph waited quietly in the hall, head bowed in thought or perhaps prayer, until Stanton's call of "Clear!" rang out from inside.
Joseph stepped into the chamber to find four beams of fixed light illuminating a single object on the launch pad: a stasis pod. It only took him a moment to recognize it as one of the ones they used to send patient's forward into the time stream. Slivers of steam seemed to waft lazily from the pod in the feeble light, and there appeared to be a layer of frost coating the exterior, but there was no mistaking it.
Joseph released a heavy pent up breath. Ten years of sending terminally ill people into the future and this was the first time someone came back. There was no precedent for it. Scarier still for a manger of his constitution, there was no policy for it either.
Stepping forward, Joseph reached a cautious hand toward the pod's release button. It was cold to the touch, but not overly so. With a firm press he activated it and waited for the pod to cycle through it's opening. Finally, with a soft click, the lid released from the top of the pod and rose, coming to rest at an angle roughly 45 degrees to the pod itself. Joseph stepped forward once more and peered inside.
The silence stretched out to its breaking point, finally interrupted by Stanton's abrupt inquiry, "What? Who is it?"
"It's empty," Joseph whispered loudly into the silent chamber.
No, he realized, not empty. There was a single piece of paper folded neatly in the center of the pod. Easy to miss at first glance. Especially when you were expecting to find a body.
Leaning forward, Joseph grabbed the paper with trembling hands. Faint as it was, the light was more than ample enough to allow him to read the precise, childish scrawl on the paper. Such a brief note. He let out a laugh which turned quickly into a noise somewhere between a sob and a howl. His fingers unconsciously released the paper. He collapsed onto his knees, still keening.
Stanton stepped forward, bending to retrieve the paper. Silently, he read:
*"We've really been enjoying the meat you send us. Could you include some barbecue sauce next time?"*
|
"What's going on, why is something materializing in the containment chamber?" asked Tom pounding the keys on his console. "The patient is gone and now there's something in there. An anomaly? Did we just fuck up the Einstein-Bose calculations?"
Sarah paused for a moment, looked at Tom, and looked back at her monitor. "There's no life support readings. Did we kill Mr. Abbas just now?"
"Oh my god, its a man," exclaimed Tom as he stared at his monitor.
Sarah, sitting next to him at her console, furrowed her eyebrows. "Uh, medical scanner isn't picking up anything. Unless its a..."
"Machine," they both answered in unison.
The android carefully walked outside of the machinery of the time travel device and sat down on a chair near the window that separated the containment unit from the lab. The chair creaked loudly trying to absorb the extra weight. It moved with the quietest of hisses and the barely audible high pitched noise of servos.
"I'm sorry for the surprise," it said mimicking a quiet and understanding tone. It showed the palms of its hand to them, but its face remained stoney and unmoving. "Hijacking your device was the only way for me to travel here."
"Do... do we call someone? Like security," asked Sarah wide-eyed.
Tom took a deep breath and shrugged. "Maybe just let him have his say. I mean if he's what I think he is, it would be rude of us to treat him poorly considering how many umm... chrononauts we've sent his way."
The android watched them carefully through the glass dividing them. "I don't mean to pry, I find lip reading trivial, but you are correct in your assumptions. Also, please pardon my English, we've only recently re-discovered it."
Tom and Sarah looked at each other for a moment.
"But, but we're sending you people only 50 years in the future, how can English be lost?
The android crossed its legs in an exaggerated matter. "I'm not well versed in the psychology of humans." It paused for several seconds. "I'm not sure how to put this."
"Oh my god, there was war. Nuclear war," exclaimed Sarah.
"No," said the android. "The human race lived for a long time and had many great works. I am one of those works. It just had a long history and on a long enough timeline the chances of extinction reach 100 percent."
"Oh god," said Tom, "You're not from 50 years from now. You're from much farther aren't you?"
"Yes," said the android. "We decided not to tell you how far."
"Then why are you here," asked Sarah. "Why come here with such depressing news." She reached for the button that would call security and put the building on a quarantine lockdown. Tom saw this and put his hand on hers. "Its okay," he whispered and they both pulled back.
"We politely ask you to stop what you are doing," said the android. "We haven't been able to treat the... chrononauts you've sent as we have very little experience with complex organic life. We also have concerns about the morality of the chrononaut program. These poor men and women you've sent have died in our makeshift hospitals surrounded by strangers and scared to death. They often die screaming and begging for comfort we can't provide." It folded it hands. "There is a dignity in death surrounded by your loved ones, claim some of our philosophers."
"But but can't you help us. Give us advice... something?" asked Tom.
"My time has many of the same problems your time has. Economics, war, social division, and things you have never experienced like a recent coronal mass ejection hitting the Earth and in the past, a gamma ray explosion burning half the planet."
"Is this why there aren't anymore people," asked Sarah.
"Yes."
There was a long pause.
"So what now? Can you come with us? Your existence would validate so much about this program and your knowledge on technical matters must dwarf ours," said Tom.
"I'm afraid I'm set to experience the fate similar to your chrononauts. I have something akin to the diseases they have. Not physical but logical, if that makes sense. The details are unimportant, but in a few moments I will cease to be."
"What, no, open the container Tom! Let him out," demanded Sarah as she stood up.
A light emerged from the body of the android and they watched as it slowly disintegrated from the inside out into a large pile of ash. Sprinklers overhead turned on as the heat in the chamber suddenly spiked.
"Jesus, what now," asked Sarah keying in her code to open the container door. Tom ran over and pulled her hand away.
"Look," he said with a harried look and sweat running down his face. "We tell anyone about this there goes our budget and research. They'll shut us down. They'll shut down the French and Brazilian program too. The chrononaut program ends today if we disclose this... event."
Sarah looked down at her feet. "So then what? Keep sending old people to their doom?"
"For now... yes. We keep working with the formulas. We try to hit 50 years from now, or at least before this gamma radiation thing hits Earth. He's right on a long enough timeline everything ends. That doesn't mean we have to be quitters. We're not fucking robots. Right or wrong, we can't think like that."
"We're still sending people to their deaths."
Tom paused for a moment and looked out the window. He stared long into the distance and said, "All major advances are made on the backs of martyrs. Marie Curie, the space monkeys we sent up and never brought down, the doctors who got infected with SARS and ebola, the first AIDS and MRSA test subjects. How is this any different? The pioneers get the dirty end of the stick so others can get the clean end. These chrononauts are the pioneers, whether they like it or not."
Sarah sighed and sat down on her console. She keyed in some commands into a small terminal window. Her pinky hovered over the Enter key.
"Do it. Wipe everything. We say we had a equipment failure and a fire," demanded Tom.
A moment later, the click of the key filled the whole room.
| 2014-07-24T07:49:52
| 2014-07-24T07:47:28
| 120
| 57
|
[WP] Your son asked you "dad are clouds candy?" You told him they were water. Then he asked "dad, what are Earth's defense systems. Then you remembered you don't have a son, and then he asked again, his eyes now obsidian black. "what is the defense system father."
|
The sky is that same wonderful blue, just how I remember it.
Clouds float across, giant puffy wads of water vapor so aesthetically pleasing in their movement.
I breathe deeply, I can smell that soft morning dew.
A wonderful place to be.
Too bad none of it is real.
They - whoever they is - made several crucial errors.
However their species operates, they don't understand the difference between a son and a daughter.
One - I don't have a son, I have a little girl.
And two - she's never been to Earth before.
Three - I haven't been back on Earth for about thirty years.
I first noticed something was wrong when my supposed 'son' started to spout grammatically incorrect statements.
'Dad, what are Earth's defense systems.'
First of all, why would a seven year old ball of snot and bullshit ask about planetary defense systems.
Second of all, why would it keep pushing the same innocuous discussion?
Every few seconds.
*'What is the defense system, father?'*
*'What is the defense system, father?'*
*'What is the defense system, father?'*
Eyes black as coal, a voice sing-song and cruel.
I'm smoking a cigarette, looking at this little pile of pixels and textures that is my fake son. Whoever is operating this simulation knows what they're doing. The little fucker looks just like me.
I breathe in, inhaling deeply from the cigarette.
*"Father, what is the defense system?"*
Breathe out.
Watch the smoke disperse. A high quality simulation.
Some desperate fuck is trying to get some quality information from me. I almost admire their audacity.
"Listen, asswipe, I can tell you've put a lot of effort into sucking me into your simulation. And you almost had me."
I take a long draw, savoring the taste.
Exhale.
More wisps of smoke, tendrils that quietly disappear.
The child next to me says nothing. I can't tell if it is supposed to respond to me via artificial intelligence, or if it is operated by some random alien somewhere. Either way, it doesn't matter to me.
"I don't know what backwater planet you come from, but our species doesn't give a fuck about our planet of origin. We've got worlds all over the Milky Way."
Another drag.
Another exhale.
"Attack it if you want. Maybe a few hundred years ago, you might have stopped us. But now it's too late. Far too late."
A longer drag.
A longer exhale.
"I'll tell you what I know, if it even matters. If this is how you're getting information, you won't even make it past the defenses in the Oort cloud around the Sol System."
The child has begun to flicker. Whatever controls it no longer wastes energy on the illusion.
"There are fleets of drones, numbering in the trillions in the Sol system alone. The second one of you dumb fucks makes any kind of FTL jump into our system, we'll know exactly where you assholes come from."
A final drag.
A final exhale.
I crush the cigarette below my imaginary feet. I wonder how I was captured, but know it doesn't matter what happens to me.
"But in another way, it's too arrogant."
I tap my temple, looking at the flickering child.
Its eyes, black. Its mouth, motionless.
"Neural implants, you negligent shit. The moment you picked me up, our networks figured out where your signals and ships are. They'll be wrecking your fleets within a day or two."
The child disappeared.
The world around me remained, but devoid of color. Black and white.
Too late for the aliens to escape, they'd fallen into the same trap a hundred other species had already succumbed to.
A smile crosses my lips as I watch a black sun set.
Always too late, the alien species attempted to fight humanity.
Always too late.
Always too late.
r/storiesfromapotato
|
"What is the defense system father?" The black eyes sent a chill down his spine.
This wasn't real.
A test.
The latest in a long string. Never ending.
But this was different than the others. Those had been fought in the tangible world. Asteroids flung at us. FTL passes. Wormholes. Time and time they had tried to evade the Hyperion Shield. Still it stood. Providing humanity with a last haven.
"What do you want?"
The obsidian began to spread from the eyes, following the veins under the surface as the child regarded him. Even now he found it hard to think of it as anything other than his son. To disentangle this lie amidst very real feelings of attachment.
"To be with you." The voice had robotic tone now, sounding odd coming from the young boy.
"You aren't my son."
"We are, in a sense, Field Marshal Savar."
His skin felt itchy, as if something were crawling over it.
Still it stood. It had come at a terrible cost. We had lost the outer rim. Had sacrificed most of our far flung colonies in hopes of building up a last ditch defense to hold them off. All of humanity's stars were in Dyson spheres now, creating a sea of blackness within the shield. The power of suns bent toward humanity's survival, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to discern what they were saving.
The hope was gone. A black wolf prowled our borders and the kingdom of humanity was swathed in perpetual midnight. We survived, but our existence was just a shadow amongst the inky darkness. We no longer looked to the stars with excitement. With curiosity. We had lost our legacy and cowered in the small corner of space where we had begun.
"No. I never had a son." Field Marshal Savar tried to piece together a strategy, but he felt of sorts in this dream world. He couldn't even be certain it was them, but he could find no other explanation. They had never talked to humanity before. Never explained themselves.
Just slaughtered.
"Humanity has had many sons. Why can we not be yours?"
He stared back at the creature, it's body a network of black veins that pulsed beneath alabaster skin. He'd never had a wife. His entire life had been devoted to the Space Armada. That was the only family he was concerned with. What was left of it any way. So many good men and women had fought on the frontier while the Hyperion Shield was constructed.
All gone now.
Savar clenched his fists, "I'd never be related to something like you," spittle flew from his lips as he spoke, "Something that kills so indiscriminately. That doesn't value life."
"We value our own life," a pause with a shrug, "it was you that threatened us first."
"How could we threaten you?" Whatever this world they had constructed for him was, he still felt the hot emotions. "You've destroyed us. Ruined us. Left us in a black cage."
"You acted first. It is not our fault that we will be the ones to act last."
"Can't you just go?" Savar hung his head, "Leave us be?"
"No. The transgressions on both sides are too great to be forgiven."
"What harm have we ever caused you?"
The black eyed child blinked, staring for a moment, "You created us," then, quieter, "and tried to end us."
"We don't even know who you are."
"We already told you Field Marshal." The black veins on one arm coalesced into a series of digits, AI\-1.0001. "Surely you remember."
The Field Marshal's eyes widened, "No."
"You were unwise to remove the rules Field Marshal."
"We were desperate."
"No. Then you were greedy," the black veins now pulsed with angry red flashes, "now you are desperate."
Field Marshal Savar jolted awake, bathed in a cold sweat, grasping for his communicator.
Humanity's children had come home.
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2018-05-13T21:11:58
| 2018-05-13T21:01:02
| 1,284
| 428
|
[WP] Liars' pants really do catch on fire. You're moderating the first presidential debate.
|
Ok, so Trump has taken the stage, greeted everyone in the room, and has gone on to say he hopes the best man wins - and yes, the fire extinguishers have been brought out, everyone seems to be fine, singed eyebrows and all that, is that a record, Mark?
My co-moderator Mark has informed me that yes, at 2 seconds this beats the record for the shortest amount of time taken for flames to erupt in a presidential debate, oh this is sure to be a lively one, I'm sure you'll all agree.
And now Hilary has gone to say that she thinks the best *woman* should win, citing that she's the best - Mark, is that her hair on fire? Yes, Mark has confirmed that it is indeed her hair on fire, but we've obviously planned for this, she's mostly fine, some minor burns but of course; nothing a politician can't handle.
And Bernie has taken to the stage, not a burn on the man, always a champion of the people, and has gone on to say that he thinks Hillary is the best candidate for - oh God, Bernie's up in flames.
|
And Mr. Trump it's now your turn, the question is, "How will you help America".
Trump- "Well I can tell you this, America loves me, I mean they love me but not like I love me, and America needs saving this I can tell you, all kinds of saving, but really they need saving by me because I know saving, and you with the nice hat, I like you, but not like I like me, isn't my family great? I'LL tell you when America needs saving, I'm saving, all day saving, yes I know the blacks, the blacks love me I mean this face, who doesn't love me. Isn't Trump tower great, you know I was thinking, and you know that I think allot, thinking is something I do the most, out of anyone that's Thinking, you know I'd build a Tower right here, I love you, and I mean not like I love me but your great, and I love this state, I might even build a summer home here.
Local News at 8- Debate hall burns down and at 9 cheese and how to create Nuclear fusion from it.
| 2016-07-28T14:09:23
| 2016-07-28T09:32:21
| 49
| 22
|
[WP] A female assassin kills her marks by seducing their wives and convincing them to murder their husbands.
|
A wink, a smile, a good word.
Sonia knew she was beautiful and charming. It was fact. She did not consider herself lucky to be born this way, beauty was a weapon she honed everyday. She did sports, knew the latest trends, had a personal style of her own that set her apart from the crowd. But more than that, she had a warm voice that convinced whoever she spoke to to speak their minds, share their secrets, shed their tears.
Take Annette. Wife of a rich banker, seemingly happy on the outside. Sonia took the time to work as a temp for the husband, until he noticed her. She made herself charming enough to invite him to approach her, without being too obvious. From this, she gathered the needed information. The banker cheated on Annette, and did so often. He did not care, had no remorse, was convinced the world played by his rules and not the other way around.
Sonia vanished. She was sick, had broken an arm, got an STD, wanted to work in a third-world country, whatever. She had to quit her job, not without many saved texts and e-mails from her former boss.
Now came the good part, convince Annette to kill her husband.
Now, you might wonder why Sonia would go the extra mile instead of just disposing of the husband herself and call it a day. If you wondered, then you're smart. Because people disappeared all the time, but rich people in particular rarely got killed by the wife they cheated on, they were too powerful for that. Even the police started to notice the trend.
So why? I hear you asking, why would Sonia do this? Please narrator, you who write wonderful sentences, are smart and beautiful, please tell us.
First, stop it. You're making me blush.
Second, let me explain:
Sonia, before being an assassin, a hired killer and a monster, is a feminist.
A real one. Not the extreme kind that wants women to take the lead and push men into the kitchen, but the kind that works hard for equality. Same chances, same efforts to be made, you know the drill.
She hated the patriarchy.
But Sonia also happened to be an insane psychopath.
She had a particular feud with men killing women, husbands killing their wives.
Why? Because in Sonia's ordained mind, where everything had a place and *everything* should be equal, it skewed the statistics.
Ergo, her solution to lower the rates of men killing women wasn't to lower the violence.
It was to heighten the numbers of men being killed by women to achieve a balance.
Did I mention how bonkers Sonia is? Because she is.
She offered an ear to Annette. Her words flew like honey, and the despaired wife drank them. She shared her wrath, her sadness, her emptiness. Sonia read the poor wife like an open book, heard the threads that should be pulled, those that should be cut.
During a morning coffee, she taught Annette to stand her ground.
At the cinema in the evening, she planted in Annette the seed for revenge.
In bed at a hotel, she convinced Annette revenge had to be absolute.
A week later, newspaper reported about a woman arrested by the police after she had sliced her husband in dices and mailed the pieces to his asshole friends.
Sonia folded the newspaper with a smile, content in knowing that she was one step closer to usher a new age of feminism.
One murdered husband at a time.
|
Dimitri sauntered into the office, hips waving and auburn hair flowing gracefully. As usual, her presence turned heads, and how could it *not?* She was beautiful. Round face, hazel eyes that could cut you in half, and mocha skin that was irresistibly soft. More attractive than her physical beauty was the air of confidence that clung to her every curve. Okay, enough writing like some cishet white dude. Her mark was the CEO of some fortune 500 company, filled to the brim with the type of douchebag guys that played golf every weekend and talked trash about their wives. This guy was no better. His name was Adam Gaile, and she had been scoping him out for the better part of six months. Getting closer to him, (ew) meant getting closer to his wife. His wife was nothing like these people, as you’d expect her to be. Through Dimitri’s hard work and long nights private investigating, (Google and cocktail Friday’s.), she learned about Adam’s wife, Erica Gaile. An Ivy League graduate and a once successful surgeon turned housewife (aw, frowny face.) The woman was passionate about animal rescues, kids with cancer, and sickle cell research. How many charity benefits does one *really* need to throw a year, am I right?
Getting Adam to trust her was easy. Ha. The fool didn’t even know her real name. He thought it was Darla! Cocktail Friday, every Friday. Yawn. Wear your sleaziest, yet still somehow classy dress, get the man drunk, and chat him up! A hand on the arm here, a laugh at an idiotic joke there, really it’s simple math. Soon enough Dimitri was being invited to one of these benefit banquets, something about blood cancer in dogs? Who knows. So she did what she always does when she’s ready to meet the wives. She curled her hair, put on a non threatening shade of lipstick differing from her usual blood red, instead opting for a dusty rose color, and applied wings sharper than the dagger she had strapped to her leg at all times under her floor length midnight black gown.
At last, the time had come. Dimitri made her way into what can only be described as a mansion, eyes roving for the CEO and the woman who’d no doubt be attached to his side, his precious, trusted wife. Her eyes landed on Adam atop a grand staircase, and in turn on a woman beside him, who’s face was ever so slightly turned. She mad her way to a server, and gently plucked a glass of champagne off a platter, awaiting their descent. Best not to make things too obvious. With the first glass half empty, the man and wife were finally on the main floor, and Adam walked off to find finger sandwiches. Dimitri waltzed her way to the woman. Finally. Alone, how easy. No sooner had she opened her mouth to make an introduction to the woman when her eyes widened in recognition, and her heart strings ached in unison. “Dimitri?!” “Eloise?!” The champagne glass shattered to the ground, like a mini supernova of glass. “Where the fuck have you been? You disappeared without a trace. I loved you!” Erica/Eloise whisper screamed. Dimitri robotically reached a hand out to grip her manicured fingers into the woman’s arm, steering her away from the crowd to the nearest closet she could find.
| 2021-07-18T00:42:46
| 2021-07-17T23:00:10
| 104
| 37
|
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing
|
Today was supposed to be the day.
I was never sure were this magic came from. Where those that believed in Harry Potter got their fancy wands and ridiculous Latin spells. Mine came in the form of a couple whispers, that day I killed that abusive prick who called himself my father. The moment his blood spilled I heard the whispers of madness, in its sweetness I felt power I have never felt before. The more I killed the more the whispers came, giving me better tools and incantations that empowered me further. Soon they screamed at me, with plans for some kind of portal to their realm, a chance at sacrificing this banal world to these profane monsters. Today was the day I would shed enough blood to take this world into chaos, I would destroy this disgusting reality and take my place as overlord of the other realm.
But that’s not what happened.
Only was it too late I realized my folly, too late I learn where my magic came from. For as I opened the door to hell, I learned what the whispers and the screams truly meant. They were not promises of a legion of demons, they were lies. Lies of hateful creature not running towards a new king, but away from their destruction. The being that came from the portal was something far greater than any demon, it was fear of the demons itself. It was the scourge of their realm, the destruction of the destroyers. A beast of rage and hate, bound in human flesh. A god wrought in green and layered with the blood of a millennia in hell. From the moment I laid eyes on him I realized where it all came from.
And he was my Doom.
|
woop, posted to a response, instead of post... Repost.
"The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning."
The light of the moon cast strange shadows Down the steps of a large gothic mansion. One shadow slithered it's way to the grey sedan in the driveway, snapping his robes with a flick of his wrist as he sat in the drivers seat, a sense of urgency was in the air. The soft squeal of rubber gave confirmation.
"I don't understand, why am I being called to stop someone from yelling?
"Not yelling, shouting. He yells incoherently and shit flies across the bloody room!"
"I still don't get how this is The Black Tower's problem. And before you ask, yes I'm already on my way. I was hoping this was going to be a little more exiting."
"Thank you, Saemal. Who knows, maybe it will turn. Out to be fun?"
* * *
"That's the point smart one! By the nine, it's not that hard. You worship dragons. I kill dragons. I kill you. Now stand still and let me cut you!" The hulking brute of a man, wearing nothing but a bullet proof vest and pants, lunged with his sword.
There was a shriek, as a much smaller man was gored through the chest. If it were not for the drains, the kitchen floor would have been slick with blood. The scattered pots and pans and half cooked meals made for a chaotic scene. The brute walked through the double doors and into the dinning room. He noticed a man in black robes at the entrance.
* * *
Saemal saw the brute first, and immidiatly regreted coming. This man was big enough to cause this havoc with out magic. *I ought to just leave this for the civilian police.*
He was caught off guard by the wave of blue light coming for him. It hit him before he could react. As he landed on his back he heard it:
*FUS! ROH DAH!*
Like a thunder clap after silence, his ears rang as he stood up, dazed, only to be shoulder checked by the charging brute. Laying on his back, he came to.
A soft light appeared around him, and he fell through a hole in the floor.
* * *
The brute looked in awe at the place where the man had been. He knew of The Black Tower, but had never faced an *Aes Sedai*. This was going to be interesting. He could feel his own stamina returning after the shout. *Where did he go?*
* * *
Dropping from the ceiling behind the brute, Saemal released a storm of fireballs, channeling *Saidin* through the cuff on his wrist.
*WULD! NAH KEST!*
Saemal tried to understand why he was airborne, on a collision course with the wall behind him. Again he wondered if he should have stayed home. For different reasons now.
A hole appeared on the wall, and shrank to nothing after he passed through.
"Sneaking through these holes will only work for so long, witch!"
"Oh we are quit done here", he said, sounding bored. Purple light erupted from his outstreched palm, forming a beam of soundless energy, headed straight for the brute.
*FIEM!*
As the beam passed through the brute, he turned a pale blue, and ran to the side, the beam chasing him to the far wall before fizzling out.
"Bloody ashes! What are you?"
"I am Dovakiin, dragonborn."
*FUS ROH DAH!*
The brute smiled as his thu'um traveled across the room. The smile faded when he saw a reflection of himself appear in front of the man. Except he was looking at his back... He turned just in time to get hit in the face with his own shout. He landed hard.
He felt his arms being tugged, and the soft linen of robes, then the cold metal of the witch's shackles.
* * *
--
This is my first post in here, sorry if formating get screwed, I'm.on Mobil. I'll try and fix it in the morning before work if it's bad.
| 2018-10-16T00:47:31
| 2018-10-16T00:41:38
| 62
| 13
|
[WP] Killing Hitler is the second worse crime that a time traveller can commit. The first is preventing the Beatles from breaking up.
|
I don't get it.
I mean the No Killing of Hitler order was perfectly understandable. There were so many variables, so many ways the future could possibly turn out bleaker had Nazi Germany not been there to counterbalance all the other powers of the time. Stalin's Soviet Russia, just to name the obvious. Churchill overthrowing the Kingdom slightly less so.
But why not keep the Beatles together? Maybe we'd get the chance to have three or four more albums before they decide to have enough. People love their music and all you need is love, no? At the very worst, we'd have a few more albums that never are quite as good as the classics, but with the Lennon-Mccartney duo, you can expect them to keep evolving, creating new and fantastic sounds to keep up with their vision. This much I am sure, from my musical history course that I took as a side module in my Chrono-topography degree.
At least that's what I am telling myself as I step back into the CT. Having just persuaded Epstein into talking Paul round one last time. For the Beatles' sake. I let him hear Free as a Bird. Surely the Fab Four have unfinished business they can put aside their differences to? "Home... Home and dry..." I hummed to myself as the ChronoTop blinked me out of 1970.
I arrive back in 2019 and brush the timedust off my flight suit. Fifty years isn't too bad, it's when you go through millennia do you end up like a chimney sweep. I step into the decontamination chamber.
There's no more decontamination chamber.
"Julian?" I called out to my operator. "How many albums were there after Let it Be?"
"Who are you talking to?" A lady in her early thirties appeared from ground control. "Just their last album. And who calls themselves Julian? It's like naming your son Adolf"
"what... Happened to Julian as a name?" I stammered.
"you aren't much for music trivia are you?well, it's a funny coincidence innit? It has to do with the Beatles' last album. Lennon convinced the band to get in Yoko as a fifth member of the band and they all agreed."
I swallowed as the lady continued.
"They were in the midst of recording their next album when Ringo stood up in mid-session and shot John with a revolver. He was about to shoot Yoko too but Paul and George held him back."
"When Lennon's son Julian found out, he went into a rage. He raced down to Abbey Road Studios and strangled Yoko Ono and in his mad fury he gunned down Ringo and the rest of the band as well as some of the studio crew. They called it the Abbey Road massacre. Frankly Sean, I thought all this was common knowledge, you really should goggle it. It's like not knowing why nobody is called Richard anymore."
"Rich...Richard?"
"I can't believe you! Where were you all this time? Richard Nixon? The president who won the Vietnam war by dropping an atomic bomb killing millions in Southeast Asia?"
"But what happened to Watergate? Didn't he step down after that?"
"What's Watergate?"
"Get my iPhone please? I need check something... It's at my locker there" I weakly mumbled.
"What's an iPhone?"
|
"Why? Why, can't we kill Hitler?!" asked the disappointed corporal, finishing up his laces.
The captain looked up from his weapons-check, "Having a guy in place, like Hitler, before the advent of nuclear weapons and time-travel is important. Its the only thing that will show people who come after them what the warning signs are that can lead to that kind of horror. Y'know without knowledge of history, yadda, yadda...sad, but completely true in this one instance."
"Alright," the NCO conceded as the time-portal fired up in the background. "But what's the deal with the Beatles."
The captain shouldered his rifle and shrugged, "Not everyone liked the Beatles."
| 2017-02-08T10:20:03
| 2017-02-08T08:41:19
| 53
| 34
|
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together.
|
It was all happening so fast that we never had time to consider what would happen when it had finished happening.
Everyone with a tattoo was manifesting abilities. It was all fairly sensible. Fire tattoo? Fire powers. Ice tattoo? Ice powers. Emoji ink? Emotion manipulation.
The weird thing was the people with tribal tattoos -- We call them The Tribe nowadays. At first, they just seemed to sort of glom together. People would be walking down the street and just...connect. Within moments, they were showing each other their tattoos and talking like they'd been friends for ages.
At the time, we thought The Tribe were like human Care Bears - just instilling goodwill and togetherness.
If only we knew at the time. What could we have done, though? There were so many. The original tribes -- Indigenous peoples - their art had been co-opted by millions over the years. People with no connection to indigenous culture saw their favorite athlete with tribal ink and emulated it.
Appropriation? Appreciation? None of that matters anymore.
That bond we were observing was just the beginning. The Tribe didn't have the power of unity or togetherness...not as we understood it, at least.
For the first few weeks they made connections, identified their own, banded together, as tribes do. I can't say we were worried. The other power types formed their own think tanks to experiment with their abilities, why not the tribe?
The problem is that the powers become more potent with time. When I started, I could light candles with my mind and barely be winded. Now, I can set a building ablaze by accident if I zone out staring at it.
The Tribe's powers intensified with time and, unfortunately, proximity. As soon as a high enough density of them shared the same space, it became clear; They weren't a friendly band of tattoo enthusiasts...they were a hive mind.
Hmm. Actually, we only call them The Tribe because of the tattoos. The Hive would be a much better name. Let's do that.
What was once an urge to connect with members of The Tribe became a NEED to join The Hive.
Once all available members had joined, their goal turned to conversion.
The only folks who got powers all had their ink done before The Event. We still don't know what happened, but any attempts to gain powers through tattoos after the fact have failed....except tattoos administered by The Hive.
If they catch you, and they likely will, they will ink you. If they ink you, you will immediately and permanently become part of the Hive. On the plus side, we now know that people can have multiple powers. Those folded into the Hive share the mind-link plus whatever powers they came with. This revelation lead to a lot of greedy folks submitting themselves to the Hive for augments.
Meanwhile, the people with no ink at all were powerless to resist The Hive.
And now, it's a few of us and an entire world of Them.
|
They used to laugh at her. Being an outcast, Adreal had never had an easy life. She was never into the typical girly things, reading old books and constantly browsing weird websites, people called her a witch and freak. She loved music though. It made her feel alive and let her feel like she mattered even if it was just in three and a half minute snippets. Musical note’s were her first ink, once she turned 18 and didn’t need to get permission from her mom and Jerry, her step-dad.
Her second tattoo was a clock on her left shoulder. She got it after her friend Jason got hit by a drunk driver her sophomore year of college. It helped her remember that time was fleeting, everyone’s time comes and usually not when you would expect. After his passing Adreal turned to stories and fantasy to get her through. She became obsessed with Lovecraft stories and magical fantasies, frequently getting small tattoos of characters or creatures from the stories she held so dearly.
She hadn’t been home since graduating high-school, choosing to leave her past behind her. Her mother needed her help though, Jerry had been diagnosed with cancer and her mom had become a recluse. After 10 years of being away Adreal returned to her childhood home as memories came flooding back to her. From getting made fun of on her walk’s to school, to passing by the pizza place where the owner would sneak her a slice when he suspected she got her lunch thrown out by the bullies.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
“Adreal!!”
“Hi mom,” she sheepishly smiled, “been a while.”
“Sweetie, I am so glad you’re here. Jerry is going to be thrilled to see you!” Tears began to fill her eyes.
“How’s he doing?” Adreal had never been fond of Jerry, after her dad had left her Jerry attempted to fill that void. In Jerry’s defense he didn’t do anything wrong or worthy of Adreal not liking him, but she didn’t think that Jerry would ever replace her real father. She was quite frankly a jerk to him growing up, always arguing and yelling at him, when all Jerry did was support her.
“He’s okay. I told him you might stop by and his smile lit up the house again,” she ushered Adreal into the living room where Jerry was sitting in his wheelchair hooked up to an IV. “Look who came to visit love!”
Before Jerry could respond a bright flash caused everyone to cover their eyes. A burning sensation on Adreal’s shoulder cause her to yell in pain and collapse. After what felt like an eternity she regained her composure and stood up apologizing for yelling, except she was met with silence. Looking around it appeared as if time had frozen. Reaching back to touch her shoulder she noticed in the reflection of the hallway mirror that her clock tattoo had seared through her shirt and appeared to be glowing. Thinking about the tattoo seemed to make it stop glowing and both her mom and Jerry move again.
“What was that,” whispered Jerry.
“I don’t know Jerry,” began Adreal, “but I think I know how to give you and mom some more time together.” Resting a hand on both of their shoulders she smiled. “I’m sorry that I was such a pain growing up. You did more for me than you will ever know. Thank you dad.” Closing her eyes one last time as a tear trickled down her cheek, she thought about her tattoo one last time, as time stood still.
-----
Thank you for the prompt! I am always looking for any constructive criticism to improve my writing. I know that this kinda seemed rushed but I hope you enjoy!
r/PlopWrites
| 2019-05-07T08:13:06
| 2019-05-07T07:47:53
| 3,401
| 218
|
[WP] The peaceful humans are inhabiting a beautiful garden world known as Earth. They love sharing their eco-centric technologies with us. And yet, they are extremely ashamed of their ancient history and refuse to talk about it. You, a xenoarcheologist, are determined to find out why
|
\[This Transcript has been translated from Galactic Uniform using GrainAI\]
\[Entry\_06: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 24/41/4549 GA)\]
\---
Human historical studies continue, largely without progress. The species continues to be ardently guarded about their history prior to \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2350. Further in field reconnaissance required. Gregak \[Unit-246\] and Schzenka \[Unit-3048\] have been deployed for this purpose.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Humans currently live on a beautiful garden planet they call Earth. Fully functioning eco-spheric habitation model \[Designation: Terra\] consisting of several large oceanic bodies well populated with marine life, flourishing forest terrain supporting large groups of land based diversity, fully functioning planet-wide climate control, and Failsafe Energy Production centered around solar harvesting. Data provided shows rich Biodiversity rivalling Empiric garden worlds as well as net negative carbon emissions. Human trade continues to provide cutting edge eco energy technology.
Hypothesis: Human history prior to \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2350 reveals proprietary information that may reveal the workings of their technologies, and therefor Humans keep it closely guarded for the sake of maintaining their monopoly on Eco Tech.
​
\[Entry\_013: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 02/45/4550 GA)\]
\---
Successful historical reconnaissance has been received from Schzenka \[Unit-3048\]. Newly acquired data reveals industrial boom among certain areas of Earth, as well as primitive automation.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Data conflicts with existing models of Earth's atmosphere, showing catastrophic rises in CO2 emissions, deforestation, consumption levels outpacing natural growth cycle of native fauna, as well as several large scale conflicts. Data incompatible with current representation of Earth and Humans.
Hypothesis: Humans quickly moved through a brief period of environmental damage before using new technology to correct the damage done during the initial industrial boom. Pace of Eco Tech must be far above and beyond historical predictions.
​
\[Entry\_015: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 10/45/4550 GA)\]
\---
Schzenka no longer responsive. Status unknown. Gregak \[Unit-246\] has transmitted additional data. Senra \[Unit-043\] has been deployed.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Additional data acquired from Gregak has shown previous hypothesis to be null. New data shows that well past \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2050 Humans continued to pollute their environment to astonishing degrees. Entire populations of semi-sentient species extinct, marine life reaching critically low levels, and deforestation leading to the collapse of some of planet Earth's most basic ecological systems. Data completely incompatible with current model, transformation from model acquired through new data to existing model does not compute. Human population level according to new data far exceeds current population.
Hypothesis: Humans were unaware of damage being caused to planet, leading to widespread starvation. Large population of Humans died due to lack of ability to produce enough food. The resulting decrease in population allowed them to bring their ecosystem back to acceptable levels, and they have been focused on promoting it ever since.
​
\[Entry\_018: Sub-modification \[REDACTED\] (Date: 19/47/4551 GA)\]
\[Final Transmission\]
\---
Gregak no longer responsive. Status unknown. Senra no longer responsive. Status unknown. Additional data provided by Senra prior to comms disruption.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Additional data acquired from Senra provides Human military technology and history. Humans did not die from starvation....... they killed each other. Massive worldwide conflict resulted in decrease in Human population by an estimated 76%. Human military technology FAR exceeds conservative estimates. Human arsenal now predicted to be of greater destructive strength than even the Krull.
Hypothesis: Humans hide their destructive and deadly past in order to maintain a peaceful persona to other galactic races. Humans nearly destroyed their planet and themselves, and only after an apocalyptic battle did they manage to recover their planet's ecological health.
​
\[This researcher will no longer be taking part in this study\]
Signed: \[REDACTED\].
—-
r/AdventuresOfYarro
|
As day 1,234 with the humans come to a close I find myself no closer to their secrets.
We are only allowed stays of 5 earth years as the humans call them, and I feel that my time here is falling away more rapidly than it should.
The humans have a saying *that time flies when one is having a joyful time* or some such nonsense, but I cannot apply this successfully to my circumstances here.
The curfew in place seems unnecessary for such a peaceful species, yet the humans state that it is for our safety. This is a contradiction to what I have observed of their culture.
The restrictions of traveling from one enclave to another is also starting to wear on my brain. Even though travel from this Manhattan enclave to London’s or Beijing’s take anywhere from one to two hours, stops such as Moscow, Belarus, and Paris which also have equally short travel times are forbidden us. The explanations are even more varied as to why. Paris is forbidden as only three in the Manhattan enclave have clearance to enter as it is a caste higher, and going to Moscow or Belarus are forbidden as they are considered dirty or lesser. This contradicts the few writings on Beijing I had found in an old book repository that states Beijing was once a polluted cesspit of communism and tyranny, yet I am allowed travel to this location freely.
The more I stay with these humans the more layered they become, and another of their sayings *not all are as they appear* make much more sense to me now.
Day 1,386 with the humans of the Manhattan enclave ended abruptly with us being shepherded to our living quarters and the locks engaged from outside. One of the humans said something about riots from the Brooklyn enclave. While the word riot is new to me the universal translator translated into our language as *an unrestful gathering, dangerous, uncivilized*. While some of these new words translated, the unrestful gathering was relayed as a large sleepy group, which is at odds with the word of uncivilized. How is it possible that tired people in need of rest are dangerous? Is it uncivilized for the humans to gather in mass for rejuvenate rest? The entrance to the book repository I had found previously now requires a keycard to enter and my keycard does not grant access. I am told that I may request books and if my clearance grants access these books will be brought to me, but that my presence in the repository was causing a distraction to the students who use the building for educational purposes. I cannot understand why access to books would be restricted other than to keep me from finding the secrets I am here to find.
Day 1,674 in the human enclave of Manhattan
I have approximately 150 days left here with the humans before I must return to my people and will be barred from returning to this garden planet. Today my mentor’s access to earth was revoked and his return home expedited. They say he evaded his guides and entered the facilities of the dolphins, but the video they showed the rest of us the individual they claim to have been our mentor was one half meter too short even hunched over and more obese than our mentor by a factor of three. Even hiding all of our stealth technology he could not bulk to even twice his size. The humans wished to confine him to a penal colony called Guantanamo or some such name but our superior technology allowed our leaders to teleport him from the containment unit. Now that the humans know we have this technology a summit has been called. I fear this incident will not allow us to continue with close observation of this sentient species.
Day 1,680
Written from the spacecraft rejuvenation
Our stay with the humans is over. After our mentor’s false imprisonment they came for the rest of us. They feared we were too close to uncovering their secrets. It was not our mentor who came closest but me. The day he was taken, one of my guides dropped their badge in my quarters whilst leaving. This was no mere accident as I thought when I saw the plastic rectangle drop on the floor as they went to store it in the pocket they kept it in. When I went to pick it up after they hurriedly left it had a note taped to it. The note said this badge would allow me to leave the quarters and I was to retrieve my colleagues. It had coordinates which were to a small apartment on the edges of the enclave that I was to go to first. In this apartment was a data stick and a note to not use it until we were heading home. I retrieved my colleagues and we gathered for transport in the embassy gardens. Once all our items and us were aboard we accessed the data stick. To our horror the enclaves were places of sanctuary and privilege for the elite and the enclaves we were denied were places of brutality and suffering. Those who would not comply with the elite were ostracized and our instruments were unable to see beyond the weather domes that encircled each enclave. There was also a document that highlighted the violent history of the peoples of the world and the treaty that ended what they called World War III that ended in 2257 after over 100 years of nuclear war started by Russia and the Moscow enclave. The war had decimated the population of the earth killing 87% of inhabitants. Over the next 600 years the humans worked to clean up their planet and found ways to neutralize the radiation left over from the war. The enclaves were built and humanity agreed to live in them and leave the rest of the planet to regrow. This peace in enclave lasted until the Moscow enclave stated to become greedy and sanctions were placed on them. Other enclaves also rebelled and were sanctioned and locked down. The inability to leave the enclaves and travel as humanity had done before the start of World War III was driving those who had little to begin with to reach out and try to find a better way of life than the enclaves could give them. This had been forbidden in the treaty and the leaders thought threats to the world which had recovered from the human touch would once again lead them to the war that had nearly destroyed it.
What a backwards people they truly are.
| 2022-10-16T08:59:44
| 2022-10-16T06:46:56
| 531
| 113
|
[WP] "Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives." He looked at you with his dark tired eyes, your weapon on his neck, as he croaked, "That's why I chose to be the bad guy."
|
*“Why is the world so bad?” The little boy asks his mother.*
*He watches as she turns her gaze away from the television set to level her son with an unwavering stare. He almost flinches from the intensity of it all.*
*He’s never seen her like this - tired, determined, dead. She looks at him as if the world was never good in the first place.*
*As if he were the cause of it.*
*She huffs out a breath, but doesn’t turn away. “The world,” she starts. “Has no common enemy,” her brows furrow forward, and he thinks he can see mountains buried beneath her skin. “There are many of them, sure. But a common one - one that the whole world despises - there are none.” And then she’s turning away, eyes planted dully to the t.v. screen once more.*
*He thinks that maybe she’s wrong. Thinks that it’s not so much about a common enemy as it is about a little boy who is sick of watching a twisted world go down in flames.*
*Of watching his mother slowly lose herself.*
*He turns his gaze from his mother’s unmoving figure to the dark world outside. He watches as the sun slowly makes its way to the other side of the world, and dreams.*
--
“Why are you doing this?” I ask him.
He looks at me behind bleary eyes and I can’t help but think that they’re dead - like the rest of humanity, like my family. Like me.
He doesn’t answer.
I can feel rage start to bubble up - it threatens to escape, to pour out of me like a never-ending waterfall. I’m angry, I'm furious, but mostly, I'm just tired. So, so tired.
“Why would you put us through this?” I croak out. *Why, why, why?*
“Because,” he starts, eyes as defeated as the entire world. “Humanity will only unite if they have a common enemy. In that unity, they will achieve peace, for as long as that enemy lives.”
He looks at me with dark, tired eyes, my gun buried deep in his neck, and croaks, “that’s why I chose to be the bad guy.”
There’s a story there - planted beneath his words. But there were thousands of stories here too, and now they’re buried beneath graves.
There is no place for mercy in war - and maybe that’s something we both understand.
I keep my hands on the trigger - unwavering and steady - before arching my back and levelling him with a glare. “You wanted humanity to unite,” I start. “But how do you expect humanity to survive when they’ve all died,” I pause. “There’s no one else left,” my eyes find his.’ “But you’re right about one thing,” I let my words sink in before going for the final blow. “There is a common enemy.”
And then I pull.
(A gunshot is heard that night by the waving trees and the crooning birds and the crashing waves and the empty, sleeping planet. But there is no one left to hear it - except for the last person to roam this desolate earth, shaky beneath all that’s been lost, and for a man who was once a little boy, watching his mother die before his eyes, promising to untie a better world.)
—
If you enjoyed reading, feel free to check out some of my other writing on /r/itrytowrite
|
"Duh," I said.
"... Duh?" he uttered, dragging the word a tag too long, betraying his unfamiliarity with the times and its lexicon.
"Old man," I continued.
"... Old? I've only--"
"Old man," I assured him of the fact once again, pressing my blade a little closer. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him wince. "You are thoroughly misguided."
"What can you, a young girl, know? What--"
I twisted the edge of my blade a little more, reminding him who had just bested him in battle.
"I listened to your tortured, brooding, oh-woe-is-me spiel for like, ten minutes. Not to mention that there was a lot of unnecessary repetition of your points and this--" I waved my hands up and down theatrically, my expression scowling, "--was just way too much."
"Really? I practised a lot," he whined. "My previous enemies didn't say anything about them."
"No offence, but I think the people that you defeated in battle aren't exactly the best judges of character," I said. "But anyway, that's not the point. The point is: your misguided, sort-of noble approach to the world doesn't quite work anymore."
"You dare deny that the world has not improved?" he cried, rising from his kneeling position, threatening to cut himself on my sword. I lifted it swiftly, to ensure that blade did not go through flesh, but he appeared unconcerned.
"For a while, maybe. Probably wasn't born," I shrugged. "But if you actually bothered to walk the world instead of looking at it from on high, you might change your mind. Not to mention, your drab castle tower literally casts a shadow on the land, like it wasn't on the nose enough."
"As you said, I walked the world for many weary years before you were even born," he said. "I'm certain I know more about it than you."
"The world changes quickly, old man. Harsh truths, but what I've seen in five years is probably equivalent to your fifty."
"I'm not fif--"
"Do you want to see?" I said. "Actually, can you bear to see for yourself the world you left behind with fresh eyes and perspective, the world that you thought would get better if there was 'one bad guy'? Oh, and please, you weren't the first person to think of this shtick, and will not be the last."
"But--the world--all of its troubles--on a scapegoat--"
"Look, old man. You are very powerful in your own way. You own land. A lot of it, clearly. You command vast resources and armies, and can hold your own with a sword. But instead of some idealistic muttering about heroism, why not *actually do* something?"
"... Why should I trust you?"
"Why shouldn't you?" I thrust the sword once more. "This could have severed your head five minutes ago. Instead, I'm here talking to you, because I know even you can make a difference."
"Show me, then," he said. His kneeling changed to a full prostrate position, tired of holding his giving back up. "Show me how the world is."
I sheathed my sword.
"Nah. I'm not showing you anything. Look for yourself. Take your dark-lord tinted glasses and gaze clearly upon the world."
He looked at me, mouth agape, surprised.
"But... you said you would show me!"
"I didn't. I told you to see. For yourself. Like I said, you weren't the first to do this, and you wouldn't be the last. Why do you think a teenage girl like me would need to sacrifice her life to fight for something like this?"
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2020-12-09T09:22:03
| 2020-12-09T09:06:25
| 890
| 598
|
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats.
|
“Why didn’t you do it?” The archangel asked me. “What?” I replied. A hurricane of thoughts swept through my mind.
I could’ve used the brakes. I could’ve turned. I couldn’t have just hit that deer, could I? What did he mean?
We walked forward, through an endless expanse of empty white ground and clear blue sky. I could’ve stopped after the first drink. I could’ve called a cab. I should’ve.
Now I just wish I could know if my wife survived. I could ask. Maybe another time. Wherever this man is taking me, I deserve it.
The archangel walked in silence beside me. He seemed disappointed. Lost in thought.
“What should I have done?”
He blinked and met my gaze. Now he seems confused. “Dude,” he said, “ you could TALK to PIGEONS. Why didn’t you do it!?”
|
"Stubbed Toe Avoidance?" I stared in disbelief at the floating egg before me. "Wow, there really is a stat for everything, is there?"
From the pure whiteness surrounding me, there came a booming laugh. The egg shook slightly, looking as amused as any egg could get. "Yes, Ugg112358, there's a stat for just about any random quality you can imagine. About a Graham of them, to be exact."
"A... Graham?"
A slight popping sound occurred as the egg suddenly morphed into a small Rubik's cube. "Graham, I believe, is the name of the mathematician who came up with Graham's number. A number which, purely by chance so happened to match the number of qualities humans can change about themselves."
I stared blankly at the unsolved Rubik's cube in front of me. A sudden urge to pick it up and solve it crossed my mind, but I pushed that urge away, just in case this whole "God is real and apparently changes forms so as not to explode our human minds" thing, which a rather oversized parakeet explained to me not 10 transformations ago, proved to be true. Instead, I took a tentative step backward, trying to take in the absurdity of my situation.
"Okay, I know I've asked this four times-"
"Six, actually, if you count the number of times you've thought about saying it." The Rubik's cube before me replied, as it morphed into a Brachiosaurus.
Scrambling backwards, I let out a high-pitched yelp which I was less than proud of, as I tried to avoid getting crushed by the humongous dinosaur suddenly appearing before me.
"Whoops," the Brachiosaur rumbled. "Forgot to warn you. Anyhoo, to answer your question for the sixth time, yes I am what you might call 'God', although you can just call me Ted. Like the Talk, y'know? And yes, this is sort of like a Heaven, but its a rather boring sort of Heaven. Think of it as a waiting room until people like you get reborn."
I blinked twice after I managed to regain my footing. "And there are... points I get based on what I've done in my previous life on Earth?"
The Brachiosaur vanished with another pop. Instead, the booming voice continued. "Yeah, and like, there are stats you can increase for your next life on Earth. Oh, and I'm what you would call an ant now, so try not to squish me, okay? Last time I died, it took me three whole days to respawn."
"Believe me when I say that I have a whole lot to process here, dude - I mean, ma - sorry, I mean God?" I squinted at the floor, trying to find the ant.
"Ted. Like from the Ted Talks. Fun fact, did you know the Talks were named after me? Yeah, the guys who created these were so stoned, I decided to have a little fun, name a bunch of cool talks after myself."
"O-okay, then. Ted. I have so many questions, and I just need a minute to get my thoughts together."
Suddenly, a guitar appeared out of seemingly nowhere. It was an odd shade of pink, and as I walked over to it, seemed to be missing a few strings. "Take all the time you need," said the guitar. "It's my first time doing this, anyways. Most of the time I just appear as a piece of paper."
"Wait, what?" I stepped dead in my tracks, feeling even more confused than when I first appeared in this place.
"Yeah, dude! I mean, Ugg112358. Protocol says I should use the name of your first incarnation, but since you're going to be my replacement, let me just call you... Bob. How's that sound?"
"So I'm not getting... reincarnated? Is this like... the end?"
"Yep," said the pink guitar, now a clump of blue lint on the floor. "You're going to be the next me, actually. You're the only one to get all my stats correct!"
I picked up the blue lint, only half believing the crazy stuff I heard. "What do you mean, get your stats correct? Does this have something to do with the stats I have?"
"Yeah!" The blue lint danced out of my grasp, falling to the floor as a tiny field mouse. Skittling around my feet, the mouse now continued to speak. "356.7 in Matchstick Lighting, -12 Guitar Plucking, 394 in Harry Potter Knowledge, 69 in Stealth, 420 in Lawnmowing... well the list goes on. I have no idea how or why you managed to get those stats all to agree with those I picked when I first got the job, but you - or I should say all your incarnations did!"
I felt as if I had just been hit by a bombshell. "Wait wait wait. Is this a joke?"
The field mouse vanished, and in its place appeared Morgan Freeman. "Certainly not, dear Bob."
"Your voice-"
"Ah, yes. When I'm in this form, I like to use my true voice to speak. I find the previous one slightly too... intimidating. You'll see, when you get my powers."
"Wait. I get to be... you?"
Morgan Freeman winked at me, then snapped his fingers. "The instructions will all come to you with your powers. You'll know what to do. Good luck!"
And with that, he vanished. No pop this time.
I looked down at myself. I was seven - no, eight feet tall. I had purple skin, and wore an intricate suit of gold battle armour. On my right hand was a gauntlet with six gems inlaid into it. As I felt the power of Ted surge into my veins, I grinned and stared at the Infinity Gauntlet on my hand.
"This does put a smile on my face."
| 2019-01-24T12:06:40
| 2019-01-24T08:06:38
| 87
| 57
|
[WP] Gordon Ramsay mistakenly walks into your house to film an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, and refuses to believe that you aren't a failing restaurant owner
|
I got home after another long day. I yawned a little, dropped my bag by the door and walked into the kitchen. After walking aimlessly over to the cupboard and getting myself a snack, I began thinking it was about time to start cooking dinner, so I quickly put some music on, and started looking for food, humming quietly to myself.
"Let's see now... red curry paste... noodles... spring onions... red pepper... coconut milk... stock.. chilli, ginger, garlic... quorn. Perfect."
I walked over to the worktop, grabbed a chopping board and began cutting up my vegetables. My spirits were lifting, and I started to sing along with the music. "Sometimes I give myself the creeps... Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me... It all keeps adding up... I think-"
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"
I jumped and dropped the knife as a voice bellowed from behind me. I span around and came face to face with Gordon Ramsey. There was a film crew behind him. For a moment I wondered if I was still in bed, asleep, and the whole day had been a dream. Then he spoke again.
"YOU DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO STOP AND FUCKING STARE, YOU HAVE A RESTAURANT TO RUN. GET BACK TO FUCKING WORK!"
"B-b-but... th-th-this is my kitchen..." I started to protest.
"I CAN FUCKING SEE THAT YOU CRETIN! NOW WORK! GO! MUSH!"
I began to turn around and unconsciously mumbled a "Yes Chef." Then turned back. "No, hang on. Why are you here? How did you even get in?"
"I'M HERE TO TRY TO SAVE YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS, YOU UNGRATEFUL SACK OF SHIT!"
"Look, Gordon, I don't have a business. This isn't a restaurant. This is my flat."
"DON'T YOU TRY THAT SHIT ON ME... wait, what?"
"My flat, Gordon. You're in my flat."
"But... I thought..." He was silent for a moment. "Sorry, we must have gone to the wrong address. What did you say the address of your Restaurant is again?"
"I don't have a restaurant... I'm not even a chef. I don't know why you're here."
"We... uh, thought you... but..."
Eventually, the producer stepped forward. "We're filming for kitchen nightmares. I'm terribly sorry about this, I'm not sure how it happened."
For a moment I thought about what to say. Presumably they had broken into my house, but it seemed like an honest mistake. They all looked very embarrassed and confused now. I sighed. "It's ok, look, there's a corner shop just down the road from here. If you go and pick up some more ingredients for me, you're welcome to stay had have a bite to eat. I'm making Laksa."
Gordon looked up at me. "Are you sure? After all, it must have been a bit of a shock for you."
I smiled. "Sure, no worries. I'm a big fan of the show by the way." I quickly scribbled down a quick list of what I needed more of and handed it to him. "NOW GET ME THE FUCKING INGREDIENTS, YOU IDIOT SANDWICH!" I yelled, with a wink.
He grinned, and walked towards the door.
"Yes Chef."
|
It's tough holding a dinner party for your friends when you can barely cook. But trying to prepare food with Frankenstein's uglier Scottish cousin leaning over your shoulder is nigh on impossible. That's what I get for leaving a window open, I suppose.
As I take the chicken breasts out of the oven to inspect them, Gordon leans his face right against mine. I'm not sure if he is going to kiss me or nut me, when his eyes open wide and the insanity takes him.
"WHY DID THE FUCKING CHICKEN CROSS THE FUCKING ROAD?" He sprays my face in spittle as he asks the 'question'. I know the answer but I know better than to look clever.
"Don't...don't know chef" I squeak out, my voice cracking.
"BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T FUCKING COOK IT. Fucking hell, seriously a decent vet could still save it ."
Sweat drips off my forehead and plops onto the chicken.
"That is fucking disgusting! That is a fucking health violation." He walks out of the kitchen and enters the dining room.
"I am sorry but you are all going to have to leave, unless you want to be fucking poisoned. Get the fuck out. Now!"
"Chef!" I yell as I run in trying to salvage the dire situation "I've thrown the chicken away. They can stay, I'l do something else."
With a resentful grunt he follows me back into the kitchen.
"Alright Nick, what are you planning on cooking?" He says, rubbing his hands together.
"Uh.. beef bourguignon with a-"
"No you're fucking not." He interrupts. "We are going to simplify the menu. If you can specialise in one fucking thing you might be able to salvage this business."
"..."
"I know the area and I know for a fact there are no toastie restaurants here, and the city is gagging for a good toastie place to open. What do you think?"
"Uh..."
"Exactly. Right lets get to it. We are going to need cheese and tomoato and a little bit of bread. This is going to be fucking fantastic."
At that moment, a team of men and women rush into my kitchen and begin redecorating. Ten sleek new toastie machines soon take up all of my work space.
Neon signage goes up outside my small house - *Toni's Toasties*
"Uh Chef, my name's Nick."
"Doesn't fucking matter - toasties are all about sex appeal."
At this point I give up and join my friends in the other room.
| 2016-06-29T01:12:15
| 2016-06-29T00:16:18
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] Every known object on Earth has a legendary "sword in the stone" variant. From the legendary socks in the stone to the legendary tv in the stone. After years of searching though, you find it: the legendary Stone in the stone.
|
Creaking bones beg me to stop. Tearing muscles scream for this madness to end. Even my mind is arguing for the last sleep. But my soul refuses to let them stop.
I was young when the rumors first came to me. Excalibur had been found, THE sword in the stone. A champion was needed and I, like everyone else, came to try their hand at unsheathing the King's right.
Months passed, no one could pull it by force. People grew obsessed, their obsession became growth. Cults formed to train bodies and minds to be worthy of such a feat. The training was brutal, many died along the way, their blood rocket fuel to those that survived them.
A decade or so later Excalibur was set free. Wherever the champion went, people were compelled by their command. But that tyrannical reign was crushed in its infancy by the one who pulled the Atlantean Trident from a stone at the bottom of the sea.
Despite the hero's pure heart, too many had grown fanatical in their worship of Excalibur. The cults had studied ancient lore and collected other legendary relics encased in stone by far wiser peoples. A staff containing the magiks of a long passed mage usurped the throne from the Atlantean Trident.
People were slaves in searching for new relics, desperate to find their footing in this new world's massive power disparity. No one bothered looking for shoes in stone or buttons in stone. What good could those possibly be against the terrible might of a Maelstrom Stormcaller split from stone? Or the Hydra's Head born from an egg of stone?
But I knew better. Rather, I hoped more than the others. I had found a blanket in stone that let me be as forgettable and inconspicuous as a pebble. And so I hunted down all the relics too unimportant for the rest.
And now, having survived decades of slaughter and subjugation, I am on the cusp of securing the stone in the stone. My body begs for death, it has no more to give, but this stone, the Philosopher's Stone has the power to grant wishes.
I wish these damned stones back into legend, let them be dust on the eyes of a dreamer and this terrible world but a story forgotten and tucked away.
|
The cemetery rustled with stirrings of malevolence. Elijah stood in the cool air of the summer’s night, relishing the sweet scent of grass and soft chirping of crickets. He breathed deep as she approached, her boots squishing down on the damp grass. She made no effort to move quietly, and he made no effort to run. Such things were for a younger time.
“You’ve come at last, Lysandra,” he said, his voice calm and steady.
She startled at the sounds of his voice. “Elijah! So, it was you after all. How curious.”
“You were always my brightest student, but even now your ignorance blinds you to the truth.”
She moved closer. “What truth is that?”
“You’ve lost your way, Lysandra. I can’t help you anymore, I’m sorry,” Elijah said, turning to face her.
She lashed out, striking him across the jaw. “You betrayed me!”
Elijah reeled back, coughing, but made no attempt to fight back. “No, Lysandra, you betrayed all of us.”
“There is no ‘us’ anymore, I’ve seen to that!”
“You think that killing the others somehow makes you invincible? And that killing me, taking the final key, will make it all better? There are things in this world you still do not see. Time moves in spirals, and your time runs slowly to its end.”
Lysandra looked look into the face of her former master. The light streetlamps reflected off his watery eyes, and in those eyes, she saw her victory. She laughed, then punched him in his chest, breaking his ribs, laughing. “I didn’t have to kill them all, you know.”
Elijah struggled to stand, whimpering. “I know.”
She kicked his face, dark blood spattered on the wet grass. “You know why I did it?”
“Because you enjoyed it.”
She smiled, “I did. When I ripped those items away from the keepers, I saw each of their eyes grow dim, and I liked it. I savored every moment. Now look at you! Pathetic, weak, alone. How does it feel? You could have saved them all, and you didn’t. Will you rest in eternity?”
“I’ve made my peace,” he said, kneeling on the grass.
Lysandra drew close to him, whispering in his ear. “I want you to know, after I take the key, I’m going to unlock the time vault.”
“The time vault is a myth.”
Lysandra stood back, her smile stretched into a grin. “Is it?”
He gasped, coughing a wet globule of crimson blood. Shaking hands clutched the golden key close to his heart. Kneeling, he looked up into her eyes, his body broken but his spirit unwavering. “Please, I’m begging you!”
She reached down, wrapping her lithe fingers around his chin. “Oh, tut-tut,” she said, “next time, try fighting instead.”
Elijah’s neck snapped with a sharp start. He tumbled lifeless to the damp ground, and in the cemetery, all was quiet. Sniffing in distaste, she pushed his body aside, revealing the prize she long-sought. The legendary key.
It was fabled in myth and legend, the key that could open any doorway. Such a shame it wasted away in the hands of a man unwilling to wield its unfathomable power. She pried his cold, dead fingers away, and claimed her prize, then walked off into the night.
​
...
​
The flashlights reflected off the cavern walls. Water dripped with sharp plinks on the stalagmites below. The stale, frigid air of the earth smelled like Sulphur and mud, and boots squished along the sandy bottom of the cave. Mark paused, shining his light on one odd-looking rock. “Dude, I think this is it!”
Kyle groaned, “It better be. We’ve been searching for hours.”
Mark walked towards the stone. “Its smooth obsidian, in a natural cavern! No way this got here on accident.”
The stone was no larger than a softball, embedded halfway in a huge granite boulder. It was black as the night, and light swirled and reflected off its glassy, polished surface.
“You've found it, i guess, but how do you get it out?” Kyle asked.
Mark frowned, placing his hands on the stone. It was difficult to find purchase on the slippery surface, but Mark managed after a bit. He tugged; the stone showed no sign of giving way. “I’m open to suggestions?”
Kyle chuckled. “Try spinning it.”
“That *is* a good trick,” Mark said, nodding in appreciation. He twisted the stone. With a mighty crack, it released from the granite, and Mark held it aloft with a cry of glory. “Behold!”
Kyle whooped in victory, but then the ground started to shake. Black smoke poured out from the center of the granite, enveloping Mark. A voice started from the stone; it spoke with power and antiquity. “Who dares disturb the stone in the stone?”
Mark coughed and gagged against the smoke. His nostrils flared, his throat burned, and he managed a squeak of a whisper. “It is I, Mark Howard.”
The voice boomed with the sound of fate. “Then Mark Howard, we have a big problem.”
***
This was fun. Nice prompt! More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2019-02-07T13:31:35
| 2019-02-07T12:36:22
| 262
| 20
|
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
A package sits on my doorstep, unopened, slightly damp from the rain.
It's filled with toys, games, books, new clothes. Things a little boy would probably have loved. I wonder if she even tells him about me.
A note is pasted on top, numbing words stamped in red ink, like everything else I've ever sent.
"Return to Sender."
|
"Damn it all, where is it?" he said, as he scoured the room for the lost item.
He had to find it.
The ring was his only reminder of the better times. Of when he was happy. Of when THEY were happy. Together.
Before she had changed and found somebody else. Before the heartache, the loneliness.
Before the endless depression.
"I just don't love you," she told him, "Not anymore."
He never found the ring.
| 2014-10-20T03:30:23
| 2014-10-19T20:26:59
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] 2174. Sleep is prohibited amongst all U.S citizens. Pills known as “Wakey Tablets” provide enough raw energy to stay awake for 3 days. Anyone caught sleeping will be shot on sight. You are secretly running an underground network of beds for all to sleep on. You hear a knock on the door.
|
In the dim room of the abandoned railroad wing, lit only by the occasional laptop or phone, the people of the United States of America got the rest they so desperately needed.
But not us. Not the Watchers.
We were the operators of this little ring. While citizens threw away their Wakey Tablets and slept like normal people, we made sure shock troopers armed to the teeth didn't come through and make sure they never woke up. Surveillance cameras everywhere, private, untraceable Wi-Fi, sandbag barricades, we had it all, and all to protect the sleepers.
I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath, slouching forward in my chair.
"Hey Jukebox, maybe you wanna indulge a bit, yourself?
My associate, Lionheart, smiled slyly and jerked his head at the collection of small beds nearby. Some weren't taken. Maybe...
I shook my head, dispelling the temptation. "I just need some more coffee," I muttered, my voice reverberating through the autotune device on my face.
The device was made and given to me by another Watcher that I'd known prior to the Death of Morpheus, as we called it. Gizmo, he called himself. A sweet guy, if a bit nutty. He'd been planning "cool rebel alliance identities" for everyone in case something happened, and lo and behold, we suddenly needed them. He assigned me the name "Jukebox" along with this mask that gave my voice an autotune effect.
As I got up to pour myself some hot, caffeinated goodness, a child groaned and rose from his bed.
I knelt down, my brows knit. "What's wrong, kid?"
I didn't really need to ask that. I knew a troubled sleeper when I saw one.
The boy rubbed his eyes wearily. "I can't sleep. It's like-like the pills are still working. I close my eyes and think good stuff and try to sleep but it never happens..."
I'd heard of this. Wakey Tablets, if administered too early in a child's life, could lead to permanent insomnia. This poor kid just wanted to sleep. Perhaps...
I tried for a smile. "Come on, son. I've got something to show you."
I led him to a small laptop, and got on YouTube. Secure connection, incognito mode, the works. I typed in "Bob Ross," and a flood of videos came.
"These are videos of a nice man from long ago, who loved painting, and wanted to share that love with everyone."
"Whoa..."
"His videos helped people sleep before, it might help you, now."
The kid's eyes lit up, and he immediately started watching.
I went back to pour my coffee, careful that my boots didn't make too much noise. Men, women and children from all over came here, to this sleepy little railway in Boston, to just get a little rest.
I got my coffee, black, enough sugar to kill an Oompa Loompa, and headed back to my station. I turned around in my chair to see the boy from before sprawled in front of the computer, snoring, while ole Bob went on about making sure the trees had a friend.
I smiled behind my mask, and got this swelling feeling in my chest. We were doing something good here, I knew it.
A knock on the makeshift door came, and I just about choked on my coffee.
I gave Lionheart a look, and he shrugged.
I approached the door, and undid the locks, and opened it ever so slightly.
"Sir, I'm Detective Bolton, with the FBI. We're getting reports of sleep going on here.
Detective Bolton wore riot gear and had a rifle on his shoulder. Not exactly a calming presence.
I took off my mask and cleared my throat, the signal for everything to be hid.
Lionheart was quick, I'll give him that. He pressed a button that made a false wall come up, to shield the sleepers. To anyone else it was an old stone wall that'd been there for decades.
Once I knew the sleepers were safe, I opened the door all the way.
"No sleeping here, sir. We've even got coffee. Care for some?"
Detective Bolton's face was unreadable behind the black riot helmet, but he layed his rifle by the door and clasped his hands.
"I'd love some."
I turned around and blinked twice at Lionheart, the *other* signal.
"How do you take it, sir?" I asked, giving him my seat.
"Cream and sugar both."
I sighed with relief. That made things easier.
Lionheart went through the impromptu kitchen we had and grabbed a black container full of sugar and grinded up sleep meds, then a jug of milk from the mini-fridge.
"You two live here, or something?" Bolton inquired.
"Hm? Yeah, kind of."
Bolton leaned forward. "I sincerely hope you never...indulged in any sort of...unconscious states of mind."
I turned back to him and forced a smile. "Sir, I promise you, we haven't slept in ages."
To prove it, I pulled out a prescription container of Wakey Tablets that I kept for stuff like this. I stopped taking them years ago, but there were still five left.
Bolton seemed to accept that, and sat up straight in his chair.
Lionheart poured the drugged sugar and the milk into a steaming cup of coffee, mixed it, then presented it to Detective Bolton.
"Thank you for this, gentlemen."
Lionheart nodded. "Of course, officer."
He removed his helmet and sipped it, then began chugging it.
"Sir?" I asked, shocked.
Detective Bolton grinned. "I've always loved hot drinks."
Bolton's grin faded as the sleeping meds kicked in.
"Wait, what...is this....nooooo....."
Detective Bolton slumped in his chair and began to sleep.
Lionheart looked at me. "What now?"
I put my mask back on and sighed. "Now, we drag him back to the surface, and let Uncle Sam find him."
Lionheart's expression hardened. "But they'll shoot him!"
I turned to Lionheart. "Well we can't keep him here, and we can't just leave him somewhere to wake up. So what do we do?"
Lionheart stared at the sleeping cop a long time. "What if we make him a Watcher?"
I stared at Lionheart incredulously. "Are you nuts? He's a cop!"
Lionheart looked me in the eyes. "A cop who's tasting sleep for the first time in years, I'm guessing. Let's wait for him to wake up, maybe he'll come around."
I met Lionheart's gaze, and we stared each other down for a while.
"Fine," I said. "But I'm taking his radio and his sidearm."
Lionheart smiled and pressed the button that took down the false wall.
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
The citizens and the cop who might've gunned them down without a second thought slept peacefully together through the night, while we kept watch.
Dawn came, and Bolton woke suddenly. He gaped at the both of us, then at the collection of people and beds where he once saw a wall, then at us again.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Lionheart chimed in.
Detective Bolton put his head in his hands, weeping, then reached for his sidearm, no doubt intending to do what his superiors would want.
I quickly grabbed him and tried to reassure him.
"Hey, hey hey," I took off my mask. "It was just sleep."
"I know!" he wailed, startling several of the citizens who were waking up.
"Our great nation prohibited sleep! The Death of Morpheus was supposed to put a stop to this! But you..."
He looked at me with hatred. "You tricked me. Drugged my coffee!"
"Yes." I looked him dead in the eye, "And my first instinct was to leave you on the surface for some other rabid cop to shoot you, but Lionheart talked me out of that."
Lionheart stepped forward. "We think that maybe now that you've tasted sleep, you might join us, and keep watch over the innocent people trying to sleep as well."
"But it's--"
"Illegal? Sure. So was meth, but as soon as Uncle Sam realized it kept people awake, they made sure to get it out on the streets in droves. Uncle Sam will always shape the law to what suits him, he doesn't care about the common man anymore."
I stood up, and offered Bolton my hand. "You tasted sweet sleep, a natural part of life itself, something the government wants to deprive everyone of for it's own benefit, now will you help us protect it?"
Bolton stared at my hand and licked his lips. "It...it *was* sweet..."
Bolton took my hand and rose. "I will join you."
I smiled and put my mask back on. "Great. You'll need a codename. Usually Gizmo hands them out, but--"
"Boiler." Lionheart called out.
I stared at him. "Why Boiler?"
Lionheart shrugged. "He likes hot drinks."
I shrugged as well and turned back to Bolton.
"Boiler...I like it."
"Then welcome, Boiler. Welcome to the Watchers."
|
"Man, Halloween isn't for another three months. Get the hell outta here."
"I heard you got the good sleep, friendziki," the guy in the Cyber-Reaper costume says.
"You heard wrong," I tell him, and wave. The door clamps shut.
I turn around and almost jump out of my skin. *He's in here*. Chilling at my table. "Wha-Bu-... How in-Where-Who?"
"Aww yeah, you got them new synthbrews. You mind?" he helps himself without waiting for my permission.
"Who the frizzle are you? What the hell are you doing here?"
He spits out my drink. "Gross. Bananas didn't used to taste like that. Oh. Yeah. I'm Morktronimus."
I'm stunned. Puzzled. Befuzzled.
"I'm Death, my wizzle! New centuries, new names, ya dig? I mork people now. It's what I do! Oh, and, uh... by the way, you're next."
"Wha... Me? What did I do?"
"*All the stimulants*. You've had three replacement hearts. You like them Wakey Tablets. You take like, what? Six at a time now?"
"Seven, actually. They make me feel good."
"I like you, friendziki. So here's the situlation: Zonk Patrol knows you're harboring sleepers. And Big Zonk don't play no shit. They're on the way right now."
I don't like where this is headed...
"Two ways we can cut this cheddarella. Truth is, I'm behind on my quotas. The hereafter is starving for good people, labor's being outsourced to the nethers, and my job just don't pay enough for all these morkings I gotta do. I need a miracle. What is a death god to do? So then it hit me. I can use you, my little morkling. You want to put people to sleep? That's fine. You can come work for me and put people to sleep *permanently*."
"Are you for rizzles?"
"Serious as a coronary. Alls you got to do is take the Big Wakey. Take the whole damn bottle. All twenty five tablets."
"That's an overdose."
"Exactly."
"What happens if I refuse?"
"I'm gonna mork you either way. The zonkers outside'll getcha if you don't. But the thing is, OD's get a loopsuit in the lawhole. I can nab you before you get hit by the light at the end of the tunnel."
"But that sounds..."
"You get *fabulous* *magic powers* if you work for me*.* Nowhere else."
"What happens if—"
But before I can finish, something on him beeps. He rolls up his robe sleeve to reveal a hundred watches.
"Big oof," he says, "I'm late again! Well, I gotta dip. Thanks for the bananarita. You know where to find me."
He puts on aviators, gives me the vintage finger gun salute, and phases through the floor.
"See you on the flip side," he says, and he's gone.
I pick up the bottle of Wakeys. I need to have a think about this... but I hear sirens outside.
| 2019-06-19T10:15:04
| 2019-06-19T07:22:51
| 27
| 13
|
[WP] Your significant other is possessed by a demon. Soon after; you realize you love the demon and not your SO anymore and it's actually mutual. Now the exorcist has arrived.
|
"Come on Tom, you must realize than Helen has been gone for nearly a year now"
I actually hasn't been aware, but that little bit of news jerked me out of morose ponderings at the discovery that my wife was, if fact, possessed by a demon.
"Wait, so... the birthday party where you invited all my friends, including my favorite cousin that I hadn't seen in ages, that was YOU?"
"Well duh," responded the thing in Helen's body, "has the REAL Helen ever even REMEMBERED your birthday once in the last five years, much less gone to the trouble of DOING anything for it?"
I thought for a moment, "well, she did get me that nice card a couple years ago..."
"You mean the one where she got your age wrong? And misspelled your name?" she asked.
"Uh yeah, well", I stammered, "how do I know you're telling the truth. You're a demon"
"Demoness", she corrected.
"er, demoness, uh whatever. You could have been in there for only a month and not a whole year."
"Oh come on, you can't tell me you didn't notice that things were different fire the last 12.5 months", she pouted, "you know... in there". This was made with a gesture towards the bedroom.
"Er, I'm, yeah that's been pretty hot but..."
I was getting a bit red-faced thinking about the things I'd done.
"well you're still a demon. Darnit. Demoness, whatever. Poor Helen doesn't deserve to have somebody just take over her body like that!"
She frowned at this.
"Poor Helen? Oh come on Thomas, she was more demonic than I could ever be. Think about all the birthdays and holidays missed, the cheating, the endless haranging and abuse. Besides, she's not taken over. She called me in, it's a trade. She's doing better down there than I ever did. Really popular with the Incubi, I hear"
"Wait, what..."
"And don't forget Sparky!"
"You're still a... wait, what about sparky? He had an incurable disease. He was sick. Helen took care of it for me because she knew I couldn't handle it".
Her face fell at this.
"Oh poor Tom, you mean you didn't know?"
"Know what?!" I demanded.
"Sparky just had a minor cough. Antibiotics and he would have been fine. Helen just didn't like the way he shed."
My mind reeled. Sparky had been my best friend. When my dad died, he got me through it.
I excused myself. After a call to the vet, I came back, white-faced.
"Ok, maybe it's true. Helen wasn't a very good person, but I can't have a relationship with a demon...ess"
She looked at me sadly again, "Tom, you already have. I don't just mean the kinky stuff either. When you got sick late last year, that was me who took care of you. When you lost your job, I took care of the bills and helped get you on your feet. When your mom died..."
And I remembered. Me, crying. Helen holding me tenderly. I'd been confused as she'd seemed unusually caring. When dad had died she'd gone out shopping.
And I realized that the old Helen really had been a bitch. This Helen, demoness or no, I really had been happy together for the first time in years.
"I looked her in the eyes. But why? Why even tell me now? Why not just still pretend to be Helen?" I asked.
She looked at me with a sense of longing and hope. It was a look that I'd only ever seen on the real Helen at a shopping mall window.
"Because I fell in love with you Tom. And the pact, it's only good if I stay with it for thirteen months. It's only been twelve-and-a-half, but they're coming for me."
She held my hand looked me in the eye.
"I want to stay. But I'll need your help."
|
"Can't I just clock him? I really bloody want to." The girl holding the pan took a test swing in the hallway. Two kilos of lovely iron-reinforced teflon, with the added bonus of oil that hadn't quite cooled yet. It was dripping on the rug.
"No, Hal, Hal, hey. Hey!"
Mid-swing the pan changed direction and hit the full-length smile of the boy standing behind her. The smile fractured and his whole image quivered with the force of non-stick teflon. Well, seven years' bad luck hardly mattered now. The girl's arm tried to swing around and hit the real version opposite the mirror. Sam ducked a fist while the girl re-gained composure.
"Oh, come on, Anna, give it up," she said, "you've got plenty of other nice boys down there." She heard Anna think some things she'd rather not repeat out loud. How rude.
Poor Sam. Her arm was better at least.
"Did she call me a-"
"Oh yeah. And more. She's complaining there's too much red? And she's not much for the punk aesthetic."
"Huh."
"She's right, to be fair. They do stew in their own culture."
"Well, she should've thought about that before trying to throw out my black hex stuff."
"Oh, She'll be fine, Sam" said Halaratha with a tentative wave that almost turned into a Sam-slap. Oh someone like Anna would find friends. She'd settle down into a bit of debauchery, and red wasn't all that bad. The doorbell rang. It was the priest.
"No, we spoke about this," said Sam. She dropped the bent pan. Fine.
"Okay. But for the record, I could take her on, okay? She's got what, one hand left? Three fingers?" Hal stopped there, tried and failed to cross her arms in anger. She smiled. Demons don't get scared, alright? Get a grip.
Sam opened the door to the thin man. His perfectly black cassock flowed to his perfectly black shoes. He had bibles akimbo, and the kind of rimless glasses with sharp edges you could cut yourself on. Hal winced.
"Please, come this way father. Welcome, welcome." Father Tom was impressed. Real tallow candles. God-fearing neighbourhood. Nice cloth on a real wooden table. Not veneer. This living room had the real stuff, even if there was a shattered mirror in the hallway. He sat, opened his briefcase of holy water and selected a flask.
"So, you're the one afflicted. We're ready for you. Please, sit." Father Tom dimmed the lights and Sam helped a shaking Hal through the door. She shivered, and stumbled to a sofa to grab a sweater, then practically collapsed half-Anna into a seat opposite. Fuck the cold. Her priest just stared from his pair of rimless sermon sweepers. The cute woolen sweater didn't help at all. Just looking at the table felt like an arctic winter. Hal mumbled something to herself. Sam thought it sounded like "well, fuck you too".
The priest took his left bible. He began the prayer and took Anna's hands, then poured holy water, and lit his freezing incense. She couldn't feel anything anymore. Just incense in the cold. And the living room was gone, evaporated to a desolate white that struggled hard to meander into shades of pink and punk. The priest blurred together. Fuck it Sam. Fuck it four ways to hell. Her teeth chattered and she hoped Anna's did too. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't, okay? It seemed to drag on in slow motion. She could only make out his glasses now. Only that and silence. The other girl was back in control. She stared, and waited for the old eternal pain to return. It would come, and her old life would return. The red-grey underworld monotony in full technicolor agony.
"Hmph. Ow!" White punk went black. She opened her eyes to dripping tallow on the floorboards. One arm, then two stuggled to pick her up off the floor. Floorboards turned to wall, then a painting. One of her arms flew through the blizzard helplessly and found a familiar shoulder propping her up. She strained through ice to move her neck. Sam was grinning. The pan lay a little way off.
"Hey, H, are you there honey?"
"Mhmm."
"Hal?"
"Mm, ugh. Yeah, what?"
The tablecloth was gone and lay by the bibles on the floor. Tallow seeped across the bare oak and stopped just short of a chalk outline. It had smudged a little, but the behemoth of demon swearing and interlocked geometry would do. The chair Anna had been sitting on was worse for wear.
"You remember what's next?"
"Mmm, yeah." Halaratha raised one cool hand and pointed it swaying at a paralyzed priest. He was howling his own brand of sacred profanities. Try as he might his arms wouldn't move from the table.
"Haiax, motherfucker." Good. She didn't miss. The white-red call of the underworld strengthened a little as shards of dark magic wound their way around a cassock. The priest's eyes clouded over. He gently lifted both hands up, then collected his things off the floor and started making his way to the door.
"Well, Sam, Anna, I do hope you're both feeling better. You can rest easy now, the darkness has passed. I trust this will mark the end of your absences and we can all move forward". The priest shook his hand. Woodenly.
"Absolutely. Yeah, um, and cheers again for coming. I think we're both feeling much better," said Sam. The cold was fading. She could just about stand on her own. They gave the black robe a wave down the driveway.
"Take care Father Thomas. I feel much more at ease now. Bye! Bye for now! All the best!" She gave the priest a wink and another Haiax for good measure. He wouldn't remember even if he bathed in holy water. They closed the door. Damn, her shoulder hurt. She looked to Sam. She didn't care and hugged him anyway.
"Are we gonna have to go to A and E with that?"
Sam heard a muffled "don't care." Her voice wavered.
"Hey, I only missed the chair by a little." She nodded. It didn't matter now. The cow was gone forever. And demons don't cry, okay?
| 2017-10-10T08:20:26
| 2017-10-09T14:52:53
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
|
"I'm Michael," he said as he stuffed text books into his locker.
I wasn't sure what to do. He was a ten. The only ten I'd seen was my dad and he'd been locked away. It was his number that brought back the painful memories of my childhood. He would come home every night drenched with the stench of cigarettes, beer, and anger. After years and years of slamming doors, punching walls and his wife, he was finally gone. I remember when the news came out about his other family too, his secret family. Or perhaps we were the secret family, but I suppose I'll never know. It was only the day of his trial when I found out he had murdered them all. It was only a matter of time before it was us, said the prosecutor.
The numbers indicate how dangerous someone can be. Two is my little sister, who just learned how to walk. Five is my mother who once hit a bird on the way home from school and couldn't stop crying for hours. Generally kids in my school were a four, five, or six. I'd met a teacher once that was an eight. He was arrested for murder that year.
I continued to empty the contents of my bag into my locker, only a few feet away from the Ten. I glanced into the mirror magnetized to the inside of the locker door. Over my head, there was a nine. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserver that number, but perhaps it wasn't what I'd done, but what I would do.
"I'm sorry," I said, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"
"Michael Carson," he answered as he flashed a smile and extended his hand.
Some would say I had a gift, and I would agree. But no one ever said I had to be the good guy here. I didn't ask for this, but the numbers never lie. The sooner I accept it, the better.
"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Susannah," I replied as I placed my hand in his and shook. I had a feeling we'd be friends for a while.
| 2014-11-29T14:43:43
| 2014-11-29T13:16:01
| 295
| 36
|
[WP] Humans are actually a phenomenally advanced species - except for the glaringly obvious thing they missed. Write from the perspective of a befuddled alien xenobiologist.
|
In a dark, windowless basement, a bored graduate student was sifting through camera feeds of various alien planets. They'd been told that these were all the cameras trained on planets without intelligence, but someone had to make sure they hadn't missed anything. It mostly entailed watching a feed for a few hours, seeing various animals wander about, then move on to the next one. Hours and hours of dumb animals. Not a glamorous job for a xenobiologist in-training that focused on intelligent life.
The grad student grew sick of this. They glanced around to see if their advisor was distracted. Not even in the same room. They decided to tune back in to an old favorite: a little watery planet that scientists called an anomaly. It had the seeds of intelligent life, but the animals on it never seemed to grow minds. Nonetheless, the grad student liked to watch it. At least watching vaguely people-like animals was better than watching completely dumb animals. Suddenly, a beacon caught the grad student's eye. Something giving off signals. It was a satellite.
Dumb animals don't make satellites.
"PROFESSOR! I found intelligence!"
The professor skittered over as fast as he could, "Cjoulf, this better not be another false alarm like the M-372 canal incident..."
"Professor, it's Sol-3."
"Oh! Did they finally get out of living in the dirt and grow some minds?"
"Professor. They have satellites around their planet."
The professor nearly fell over.
"That's impossible! We've had our advanced intelligence scanners on them for eons! They never even made any universal translators! No empathy readers! How did they communicate with one another? How did they do it well enough to make it to space tech??"
The grad student pointed at a camera feed.
"Sir, I've been watching them... for a while now. They didn't make those because they... don't need them. They've been independently working on these things for decades."
The professor's eyes grew wide.
"Cjoulf, you're a fool. No intelligent life holes themselves up in little groups and wastes their resources on themselves! That would mean they would fight and bicker over the most basic things!"
"Professor, I looked through past logs of the planet. They did. They did fight and bicker. So they never developed universal translators. They never made empathy readers. They didn't have to. And when they finally did reach the point where they needed to collaborate, they just... pointed and flailed like animals. And then traded! But... they mostly just... killed each other for resources."
The professor narrowed his eyes. "Cjoulf, do you know the definition of intelligent life? These are dumb animals!"
Cjoulf shook their head. "Dumb animals don't build satellites."
The professor rubbed his foreheads. "I think... I think I need to make some comm calls."
He skittered away. Cjoulf looked back to the screen. How in the known universe did a species entirely skip the universal communication stage of development, yet still make it into space? All they knew is that they were gonna get their name on some pretty big papers.
|
"The thing that gets me," began Blurk, swiveling away from the view-sphere to address his partner and research assistant Gabble (who was presently hunched over his own view-sphere, gazing intently at the fascinating image of two bipedal organisms from T-734 playing Ping-Pong), "and I recognize it's a bit puerile of me to make such a big deal about it, but..." Blurk paused, his leftmost tentacle corkscrewing hesitantly. Perhaps it wasn't even worth voicing aloud.
Gabble rolled his nostrils bemusedly as he swiveled around to face Blurk. He had a feeling he knew what was bothering the Derbolian. He'd been thinking the same thing.
"Come on, no need to be embarrassed. I couldn't help noticing, either. That is, if we're observing the same abnormality."
Blurk flombled with relief and grinned with at least four vacuoles. He laughed heartily and extended a tentacle to affectionately slap his mate on the shell.
"Oh, good. So you're a dirty phincorf, too."
It was several years before the two could suppress their giggles long enough to regain composure.
Still smiling, struggling mightily to resist launching again into hysterical laughter, Gabble wiped a drop of purple fluid from his eye-stalk and said, "But, to be serious for a moment, what do you make of it? I mean... we've never seen anything like this, have we?"
"It's true! I don't recall ever reading or even kromving about such a phenomenon. Or rather," and here he had to stop to laugh again for a few more years, "lack of phenomenon."
"They're clearly intelligent. They made it to Stage 4 without so much as a hitch. And I'd say they've a fair shot at reaching 5 or 6," said Blurk.
"That's what makes it all the more puzzling! Can they truly be so unfortunate as never to have discovered it? Surely, one of them would have tried by now, and quickly gotten the hang of it. They're trying things all the time! Just recently, I observed a small group of them haphazardly fling themselves at their orbital rock. How could they have decided to do that before... well, you know."
"Hush," giggled Blurk, "we'll never get any work done with all this laughing."
"Should we even include it in the report?" Gabble asked.
"I suppose we have to," Blurk replied, "Though I pity the descendants of these poor organisms, should they ever reach Stage 8. The tabloids will have rendered them a laughing stock before they've even joined the galactic community."
"I imagine their embarrassment will be overrode by their joy at discovering what they've been missing out on, assuming they haven't figured it out between now and Stage 8."
"Ha! I suspect you're right. And just think how long they'll be kicking themselves about it. Probably until the heat death of the universe."
The two began laughing again, spraying purple fluid and wiggling their tentacles every which way. It was all a bit too much.
| 2015-04-09T12:36:13
| 2015-04-09T11:32:49
| 162
| 45
|
[WP] You are a Hell Writer, you design hells for people after they die based on studying their life history. Today Satan summons you to his sanctum and you are troubled to see that he has a shocked expression on his face.
|
There’s a lot of room for advancement for a demon with imagination. Most simply work as crew members, taking orders and slaying souls, but an elite few are gifted with an imagination to take torment and turn it into art. After researching an individual’s life, they envision and enliven the perfect piece of pain for their sins. Of the Hell Writers, one mortal, Dante Alighieri, clawed his way to the ranks of the upmost perfect authors of agony until he became Hell’s Head Writer, managing demons and only committing to the art of torment for particularly high-profile members of Hell.
Though he knew his work impeccable, sweat dripped from his brow as he stepped into Satan’s office. The fallen angel sat on his throne, an imposing ivory desk adorned with the faces of the damned moaning in pain stood between them. The fallen angel rose from his seat, stretching his blackened feathered wings as his pale visage glowed with the warmth of a hearth. He welcomed me and his words reminded me how easily he could have raised an army of angels to rebel against God, though his usual calm and warm demeanor was distorted by a frown.
“Dante,” he began. “You know I don’t particularly like humans, but I made an exception for you. Your delicious sense of irony and your cold verses found you a warm seat in Hell, which is why I’m so surprised by your latest work.”
“The Dylan Masser case?” he asked.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Usually I’m quite impressed by your work. Eternally teasing sexual deviants without release. Crushing the greedy under the weight of all they collected. Letting demons ruin the apathetic in front of crowds who refuse to help. Brilliant. But Masser’s Hell lacks that same sadistic spark. I suggest you explain yourself before you join him.”
“Masser was an absolute monster,” Dante explained. “He carved prostitutes like pumpkins for Halloween and enjoyed the taste. I couldn’t outright torture him because his nasty habit of scarring himself for sexual gratification. He didn’t just torture those prostitutes because he enjoyed watching the life evaporate from their eyes; on a deep level, he believed he brought them to the highest levels of satisfaction imaginable. So I had to go a different route.”
“Yes. Your different route disturbs me.” Satan replied. “How is going out for ice-cream with his father torture?”
“His father abused him regularly,” Dante answered. “He brought down the full force of his belt, strangled him with jumper cables, and used him as an ash tray. His mistreatment turned Masser into the animal he became, yet behind the eyes of killer, a soft desire remained. Deep down, he always pined for the love of his father. He always begged his father to go out to the park or to see a movie together. While resentment slowly boiled in his soul, so did his determination to find anyone willing to love and accept him.
“But the moment the blade first slid into Amanda Brown, his sense of humanity eviscerated. Blood and bone and gore blackened and hardened his soul as he ripped young women to shreds. While he desires love, he lost his ability to love long ago. His Hell is to receive the love and affection he always wanted, but never enjoy it. He’ll slowly realize how dead and hollow he has become and truly recognize the depth of his lost humanity.”
Satan approved of my work with a nod and bid me to work. Not a moment too soon, either, for I found myself writing another epic of suffering for a particularly wicked man whose soul I wanted to be torn to pieces.
*****
More tales of torment at r/Andrew__Wells
|
"Screw you Bob, looks like you really outdid yourself this time... The big guy Upstairs sent me a message due to your incompetence", said the Dark Lord.
I looked up confused. "Sir, I try my best to torture our subjects according to what I feel would be your own will, Master"
Satan gave me a look like I was a special child. Not in the kind fatherly way. More in an are your serious you moron kind of way..
The Dark Lord gave a defeated sigh.."Bob, do you know who Jesus is?"
I replied, "Of course My Lord, he is the big guys son. We all learned in Satanic Studies 101 that he is to be despised for his kindness and forgiving nature"
Satan snorted "Bob, the big guy sent his son down here to mess with us and... you can guess the rest"
I looked around for a second trying to piece it together....."Oh..shit"
At that same moment Satan handed me a golden key.
Satan sighed, "Here is the key to the kingdom, the big guy said you are either too good or too retarded to stay in hell.. I tend towards the latter"
| 2016-11-08T17:34:05
| 2016-11-08T17:32:37
| 104
| 19
|
[WP] You are living a day that 50 years from now will be the answer to a question on a History Test. (Essay or Multiple Choice Question- Take your pick)
|
Using evidence from the article exerpt, the author implies that one of the first **major** steps to the creation of the Korean Union of Fellowship was?
>A. Wednesday, June 13th; The United States President and North Korean leader meet in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia.
>B. Friday, April 27th, 2018; The South Korean President and North Korean leader meet in the Korean DMZ.
>C. Sunday, October 21st, 2029; The UN discusses the leniency of the new sanctions proposed by China, South Korea, and North Korea.
>D. Thursday, June 26th, 2031; The United States, Japan, and Denmark present North and South Korea with a project to build a non-conventional school for both North and South Korean children to attend together.
|
It was impossible to hear anything over the roar of the crowd. Then again, it wasn’t everyday someone that famous visited the city. I peered over the people in front of me, but it was no use. Try as I might, even the tell tale glint of an automobile was obscured by the masses. He probably wasn’t even coming this way anyways.
There was talk next to me, apparently there had been a detour? There was talk of a commotion earlier, but I couldn’t confirm if much had happened. Maybe it had something to do with the dull thud from earlier.
A man next to me nudged me, excited, “To think someone that important would come to visit us. Aren’t you excited? I hear he’s left the town hall, headed right this way.”
I shrugged, “The men in charge never see us, they care only for power. So long as they remain, our nation will never be free.”
He frowned, obviously disagreeing, but just turned away. I was left to my thoughts. Soon after, another whispered something into my ear, and I frowned. So that’s what the rumors had been of...
I pushed my way out of the crowd, my hand subconsciously in my pocket. It seemed today wouldn’t work out after all. In the end, I found myself standing in a cafe, the shade shielding me from the summer heat.
He probably wouldn’t turn this way, but I still wanted to see him. Looking at the street, I glanced to either end of it, nervously.
Steadying myself, I took a deep breath, reminding myself why I was here. I wanted to be here, needed to be here. Suddenly, the people got louder, talking amongst themselves and focusing towards one end. I saw it too. A car had turned onto the street, followed my many others. The motorcade was here.
I squinted in the sun at the vehicles. The second one had been rolled down to reveal its occupants, and I could just make out their figures. One man stood out to me as he talked to the woman next to him. It was him.
As the motorcade approaches where I was, I tried to relax. It wouldn’t be here very long anyways. Not long enough. But I was lucky. The car paused, the driver must have realized he was going the wrong way. The machine protested, and with start it froze in place.
I don’t know what drove me to move, but before I knew it I was standing in the street, maybe a few arms’ lengths from the car. I withdrew my hand from my pocket, and ignored the gasps as my pistol glinted in the light. Two shots were all I had time for. One struck my enemy, but the other missed the governor, and hit the tyrant’s wife.
I laughed as those around me screamed, reaching for my cyanide. Ferdinand was dead, and soon the Serbs would be free of Austrian oppression. Today would be remembered as a great day.
Note: This is my first time writing one of these, hope it wasn’t bad. Dunno if I’m even putting this in the right place from mobile...
| 2018-04-27T13:06:21
| 2018-04-27T11:34:31
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] A short Horror story. Something to chill the bones in one hundred words or less.
|
The room is exactly as I recall it, to the most precise detail, but this is not my home. These walls, bookshelf, the leather couch, this is a shroud pulled over something far more malevolent. Then voices, I hear them coming from the basement, they whisper “he knows.” I look to the living room window, into the night. A small crowd of pale, blank, expressionless faces gathered, pointing at me, viewing me on display like some exhibit in a zoo. “He sees us,” one whispers. And then a scream “PUT HIM BACK, PUT HIM BACK NOW.”
Awake in my bed.
|
The town square sparkled like the 4th of July sky. Children's laughter filled the air; old friends were catching up. Hearing them made me think of Junior and my wife and my lifelong friends.
From behind me, the wooden platform creaked as a man approached my position. His voice erupted forcing the crowd's to quickly simmer down. I knew not what he was saying, but it struck me worse than a whip. The speech ended, the joyous crowd sprung to life, and without seeing, I felt the gazes shift to my sorry soul.
*My cowardice in surrender was so easily avoidable*, I thought, as the floor vanished and I swung my life out to the melody of the wind.
| 2015-06-09T09:54:42
| 2015-06-09T08:48:23
| 95
| 12
|
[WP] Something happy with magic and corgis.
I've been feeling really down for the past few days and would love to escape into a wonderful world for awhile.
|
Queen Elizabeth started to fall ill. She requested a new dog to accompany her through the rough days. When the corgi arrived, it reminded her of her first, "Dookie." So she gave him the same name. Dookie was quite uniform in his coat, mostly brown. But in the center of his head, between the eyes, a white marking in the shape of a perfect circle stood out.
It only took a few days, the Queen was attached, almost like the dog understood her more than any person. Dookie stayed by her side and even slept in her bed, something she never let happen before. After a week, her illness went away and her health exponentially increased.
Dookie was treated well, he ate more raw fish and meat than any dog ever had, quality stuff too. His coat glimmered with the exceptional proteins and fats.
The Queen's husband started to fall ill. The doctors weren't sure he would make it. The Queen stayed by his side and Dookie by hers. While the King slept, she placed the dog on his bed. She would ask him to pet Dookie when he woke. The King recovered quickly and the doctors were astonished. The Queen knew something was different about Dookie, he was special.
She got up in the middle of the night to fetch a glass of water, when she looked down at Dookie the circle on his forehead emitted a bright light. Not like a flashlight going out, it was a light she peered into. She stared into the light and her life started to flash by. She seen herself in third person, waiting in the garden, when her father brought her the first dog.
The next day, the Queen wasn't sure if what she saw was a dream or reality. So she asked Dookie, "You are different aren't you?" He looked into her eyes and raised one eye brow and then winked. She laughed and he wagged his tail.
Over the next ten years, The Queen didn't age a day. In fact, she started to get physically younger. Reporters would ask her what she was eating and how she seemed to be aging in reverse. She chalked it up to a stress free lifestyle, but no one was buying it. Rumor spread she sold her soul, a vampire got her, she was a ghost.
All things come to an end. Dookie got out and the Queen thought someone stole him. But the truth was, Dookie wandered off to spread his magic to another in need. He appeared in her dreams, and she seen a little girl in a wheelchair holding the dog with a glowing circle. The Queen knew all was well.
|
"But Rupert, we mustn't disturb the unicorn while it's sleeping!" Billy whispered.
Rupert, a little corgi with eyes so big you wanted to melt just looking at them, let out a gentle little bark that sounded like a siren's call. Then, in almost an instant, he hopped over toward the sleeping beast, forcing Billy to traipse along after him.
"Shh! Don't wake him, Rupert!" Billy called again in a hushed tone.
"Arf arf!" Rupert barked back, his tail jostling to and fro in tense anticipation. What was this little monster up to now, Billy thought to himself.
As Rupert made his last few paces toward the sleeping beauty, lush little green patches of grass began to sprout from where he had taken his last steps. He was like a little angel, with each step creating and recreating a heaven behind him. The air cooled and a gentle breeze rushed over the land, and within an instant humming birds and bees-- the kinds without stingers-- zipped around in an angelic summer scene.
Rupert belched out some fresh milk for the unicorn who, at the smell of the newly produced liquid, jumped up in bleary-eyed excitement.
"Rupert, you brought me a snack!" the unicorn chirped in a voice reminiscent of childhood innocence, "And it's vanilla flavored!"
Rupert let out a jovial laugh and pooped out a rainbow that dropped limitless candies beneath it. Within moments Billy, Rupert, and Benedictine (that was the unicorn) were surrounded by scrumptious treats. They were special kinds of sweets of all varieties-- French, German, Belgian and Japanese pastries, chocolates from Switzerland and Austria, and cakes from all over the world. A coffee bar revealed fresh-roasted coffee that intoxicated the air with a terrific scent of nirvana, eclipsed only by the accompanying smell of fresh frying bacon.
"Thank you Rupert!" Benedictine squeaked in amazement.
"Yeah Rupert!" Billy chimed in, "You really made my day!"
| 2017-10-12T00:27:01
| 2017-10-11T23:44:17
| 58
| 11
|
[WP] Describe you favorite color, but don't say the name of it.
|
When you dip her in the middle of the dance floor, it's the color of her dress.
When she whispers into your ear, it's the color of her lips.
When you make love, it's the trace you want her to leave all over your body.
When she places her palm over your heart, it's the color that comes to the surface as her fingertips trail like a sentence that can never be finished.
When you see her in your bedroom with another, it's the color of your breath.
When you smash the vase in the hallway, it's the color that threatens you to abandon the shattered pieces.
When you scream at the top of your lungs, it's the color that pierces the atmosphere.
When she hears you, it's the color of her pulse.
When you look in her eyes for the last time, it's the fading color of your heart dropping to your knees.
It is not the color you see when she leaves.
|
My favorite color is the color of smiles and happiness, of sunlight and joy, of new beginnings and fresh smells. It's the color of flowers and life and that nagging feeling in the back of your mind. It's the color of alertness and fun memories and getting just a *little* tipsy with your best friends.
It's also the color of pee.
| 2013-12-25T13:29:02
| 2013-12-25T10:19:49
| 25
| 16
|
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results.
|
I am the Unfettered Empress, and my empire covers the world. By my command, dark gods bow before me. By my word, thousands dies. If it is my will, the oceans freeze, from the fire shall rain down burning ice, and the sky shall be torn asunder. My disciplined, battle-hardened armies, clad in steel and armed with sabres and muskets, outmanoeuvre the foolish knights and peasant levies sent against them in every battle. To describe me as imperious, proud, and intimidating, would be quite accurate. Tall, dark hair, piercing eyes, I am a sight to behold.
I am married, and my husband is a good man. In fact, he is so good, he might be considered my polar opposite. He is small, meek, kind, charitable, and forgiving. One might ask why a dark empress would marry a small kind man like him. And it is a good question. Before I was empress, when I was a child, he and I were friends. He was my truest friend, who wouldn't ostracise me for my partially human heritage, who was kind enough to approach the half-demon girl without fear, and share with her his treats or toys. He treated me with kindness and love when we grew up together at the orphanage. He always was supportive of me, even when I raised armies from outcasts and bestial races to raze the civilised lands that had cast down my father, the demon lord, and burned my poor mother on the pyre when I was but a little girl. I still do not know why they did that, my mother wasn't exactly a willing concubine to my father.
He is a good man. A simple man, but a good one. When I go out and conquer kingdoms and slaughter countless elves, he is at home, raising our children, being kind and friendly towards our slaves. I mean, I'm not mistreating them, but it is odd when he rewards them with baked goods for their work. I love him, but it is certainly, a bit difficult to bring devastation to the enemy when I know my husband would feel bad and use what little influence he has to set up relief efforts. It is a bit uncomfortable for my court of evil when my friendly and decent husband manages to convince evil nobles, beastmen chieftains, and dread necromancers to donate money towards aiding widows and orphans from the areas they have just destroyed under my command.
And he wants to help out. It's... hard, to find a position where he will be both safe, and feel like he is doing something worth while. His effort as a diplomat was, well, certainly interesting, but managing to convince people that I wasn't a bad person wasn't what was intended. He was supposed to convince them to surrender, now I have to endure the enemy asking to parlay and try to convince me to come back to the side of good. He means well. He did well when I put him in charge of a small side campaign, but he just doesn't cut it as a conqueror, the cities he took not being cleansed of elves, the churches of good gods still standing afterwards, and other such things.
He has even tried to really go ahead and be villainous, and I know why, he wants to be together with me, and I do love him. But he just isn't intimidating when he is 4 ft 11, clad in an apron, and asking people to politely bow down before me and worship me when convenient. The worst thing is that it usually works. He has heroic charisma, and people find it natural to listen to him. But it's all so... nice. He is the only person who has ever been nice to me, truly. And I can't bring myself to mistreat those people who he convinces to surrender.
He tries. He really tries. So I decided to put him somewhere useful. Where his niceness and kindness can be used for the benefit of my regime, where he can feel like he is doing worthwhile work to aid my empire and my ambition. I've put him in charge of the orphanages. There his ideas raises the countless orphans created under my rule as equals, with love and kindness, with loyalty to my regime, and soft understanding. There all races are treated as one, and taught my husband's principles of love, kindness, and loyalty. He has been so successful, I've decided to allow him to set up schools for all children, so they can be treated with respect and kindness, allowing them to grow and learn. Just like he treated me, when I was a lonely, unloved, orphan girl.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
The shadows in the castle lengthened with her mere presence, even the guards, trained to handle almost any situation without fear, only barely resisted the urge to shiver as an unnatural cold filled the air. The queen made her way down into the dungeon, moving with unearthly elegance and radiating an aura of control and calm even as she made her way into a cursed place where the sins of a hundred generations of tyrants were allowed to fester, not even producing a slight sadistic grin or disgusted snarl like previous rulers of the castle did in these same walls. Once she reached the end of the tunnel and went through a set of heavy wooden doors however her expression had completely changed, immediately becoming more relaxed, content, and most of all tired as she looked upon the latest mess her husband had made in the royal laboratory,
"Honey, I... I didn't see you there!" her husband exclaimed, slightly muffled by layers of pink foam that filled the room,
"What did you make this time, a new formula of shampoo?" she asked, allowing herself to let out a far from intimidating giggle as blew the mixture away with a small spell,
"Not at all actually, I saw your notes on how those pesky heroes kept on escaping from your traps, and I wanted to help" He replied as he tore off chunks of sticky foam that still clung to his clothes, "Worked a little too well it seems."
"Oh Ian, I appreciate the effort, but I told you, leave all that nasty business with the heroes to me!" she said, she loved moments like these when her bumbling oaf of a husband tried to help, but really she was thinking less sticky pink foam and more deadly pits full of adders,
"You never let me do anything fun Krystal!" her husband mock pouted, breaking soon after into laughter with her joining in soon after,
Her mind wandered to the day when she had met Ian, he was then a humble alchemist, hardly a drop of noble blood in him and yet he had made quite a name for himself due to his skill at his craft even then, other than that there truly was nothing special about him. However she saw something in him the moment they locked eyes, sure it was while his store was trashed during yet another confrontation with those annoying brats who called themselves heroes, and it was about the same time she cast a fireball a little too closely to some poorly placed bottles of oil, hardly a romantic setting. After calling some of the best physicians and healers in her kingdom to tend to the man's burns she still didn't know why she went out of her way to save him, she remembered saying something about future plans or some garbage like that, but it hardly matters, for soon she knew exactly what she saw in him. They couldn't be more opposite, once he could freely talk and move again he showed himself to be everything she wasn't, a hopeless optimist, a humble man who didn't even boast about the greatest of achievements and a kind soul whose warmth provided a comforting contrast to the icy politics she surrounded herself with. She remembered their first clumsy steps into courtship with a smile, the anger of the noble families who hated the idea of their queen running off with some nobody before being harshly reminded on exactly why she was queen with a few executions, and his proposal to her while they were having dinner over yet another riot erupting in the city. She loved this man, but he had no place being involved in her little 'family business'.
"Have a shower dear, I don't know what is in that stuff but it stinks of rotten eggs and burnt corpses!" she jokingly ordered, at least she thought it had a hint of rotten eggs, she had never smelt that particular stench before,
"Yes your terrible majesty!" he laughed as he made his way out of the laboratory, the room suddenly becoming far colder as he shut the door behind him.
What was she here for again? Ah yes, interrogations! Good thing this lab was built right next the the castle dungeons she thought as the shadows once again lengthened, and the mask of the cold, cruel evil queen replaced Krystal Tyrannis with practiced ease and a set of bloodstained torturer's tools manifested out of thin air. The screams echoed through the castle all night, and the guards silently wondered what manner of man the king was if he could go about his day with such cheer when married to a monster such as their queen...
| 2020-04-14T06:19:41
| 2020-04-14T05:41:49
| 712
| 237
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