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2022-12-31 14:34:19
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2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] In 2020, we received a signal from outer space. Somebody had decoded our language and sent us a message. It was short: "Be quiet. They'll hear you"
|
"The question isn't whether we do something about it, it's what actions can we take to ensure we comply with this mysterious message."
The American president pounded on the podium as she stood before the United Nations.
"I'll repeat what dozens of scientists and cryptologists have already made clear, this is not a hoax. This message is legitimate, ambiguous, and most importantly, from another species, presumably in an attempt to warn us."
The president looked straight into the camera as she spoke her next words clearly and precisely. "Once again, this message was received by American satellites, but I am begging the Chinese leadership, follow our lead. Otherwise, you may bring annihilation to our species."
The president finished her speech and stepped away from the podium. He most trusted advisor flagged her down in the corridor and gave her an update.
"We're ready." He nodded nervously.
"What time is it?" She asked.
"Uh.. 7:15. Madam President, I think-"
"John, now is not the time to think. I've done everything I can to maintain my promise to the American people to be as analytical and fact driven as any president in American history. Now is the time for action."
The advisor's hands shook as he raised his phone to record the video that would change the world. He gave the thumbs up to his boss as he hit the record button.
"My fellow citizens. In the week since we received the message, we've deliberated on the appropriate course of action. It is with deep regret, but unwavering surety, that I come before you this evening. As I speak, federal and state governments are preparing to enact the Theta Zeta protocol.
This series of actions was developed eight years ago by the prestigious Brookings think tank as a means to defend against annihilation during a nuclear holocaust. At 3:30 A.M. tomorrow morning, state and federal representatives across the nation will activate hundreds of electromagnetic pulses that will permanently deactivate any and all electronic devices throughout the United States, most of Canada, and northern Mexico.
Over the past twenty four hours we've urged world leaders across the globe to do the same in hopes that we can adhere to the admittedly vague threat contained in the message."
A concerned frown crossed her face as she continued.
"During this time, I urge each of you to reach in and do what you can to help your family, your community and your fellow citizens. Now is the time for us to come together."
The frown turned to a stern look. "As of this moment, I am declaring martial law throughout the entire country. Rioters, looters, murderers, rapists, and anyone caught trying to prevent an EMP, will be tried and shot or hanged within twenty four hours.
May God, or our new alien allies, have mercy on our souls. Thank you, and God bless America."
|
As a kid, Marcus used to look up into the twilight in wonderment. A million stars in every direction, each dot in the sky monumentally bigger than Earth itself. It truly made him feel small. Though now that he worked on a galactic mining ship, spending eight hours a day staring at this same celestial site, he no longer felt that sense of wonder. Every blink in the sky was another job, whether it was a meteor to be mined, moon to be mapped, or even star to be drained of its helium. If he had time to feel small, he had time to mine. That was the life of a salary man.
“Incoming transmission,” Raven, the ship’s AI said.
Marcus let go of the mining controls. His ship, the Raven SR22, floated through the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, latched onto a floating rock. While AI could steer the ship, the magnetic pull in the asteroid field disrupted all scanning activities save the most basic so it took a human eye to actually do the mining. At least until they figured out a way to automate that too.
Soon, Marcus would be given a salute, a month’s salary, and a small nod as they kicked him out of the Raven SR22 and *update* Raven into another AI capable of performing without a human-sized hole in their budget. The future was very bright indeed.
“Patch it through, baby.” Marcus said, rolling his chair toward the command console.
> Be quiet, they’ll hear you
Marcus furrowed his brow and pinched his chin. “The hell is this supposed to mean? Was that a federation message?”
“No identifiable signatures attached, *honey*.”
Marcus smiled. Life sure would be different without Raven. He wondered if there was some sort of AI heaven for beings like her. “Send them back a message. Say this is Federation territory and they can’t be shooting off transmissions willy-nilly. Tell them we got heavy ordinance. Might be a pirate.”
“Yes sir. Transmitting blatant lies now.”
This one cracked Marcus up. He still remembered when Raven referred him only by his full name and wouldn’t understand even the simplest of jokes. She truly had grown.
“You think its pirates?” Marcus asked her.
“No”—he could imagine her rolling her eyes—“pirates would mask their transmission as Federation. There was no attempt to hide this one’s signature, I just don’t recognize it. It’s very... alien.”
“Well, no aliens paying my salary. Commence mining operations again. Send out a transmission to Federation letting them know about this. If this ends up being the end of humanity… well, daddy’s gotta eat.”
A metallic chortle sounded through the speakers and caused Marcus to wince. It was Raven’s laugh. They still had to work on that.
“Okay *daddy*. Let’s hope we don’t doom all of humanity.”
Marcus smiled. “A man with the integrity to take this seriously is a man who’d command a higher salary. We got a job Rave.”
After all, AI’s were expensive, especially one’s that could pilot mining ships. And by Marcus’s estimates, he only had a few months left before the update.
| 2017-08-25T08:24:04
| 2017-08-25T06:43:36
| 72
| 32
|
[WP] You are an NPC in a failed online game. Tell about the final days before server shut down.
Edit 1: Holy shit! Thanks for all of the great replies!
Edit 2: ¡Jesus Cristo! Front page! Thanks all!
|
Kurt looked own at the screen.
He started Dragon's Egg when he was fifteen and just getting into programming. He based a lot of it on old games he played himself. He had been a huge fan of Zelda, Runescape, Final Fantasy.
But the effort he put into the game just seemed pointless. No one seemed to be entering the 'scape anymore and the cost was too much. He had sold the rights, making it into a portable one player throwback. People bought it, but no one seemed interested in the old online version.
There were newer games, more exciting. DE had a good run, ten years, millions of fans. It would never topple the legend of WoW, but it came close. People knew about it. Now it was time to take the dog out back and let her die peacefully.
Still, logging into his old account, Kurt walked the familiar streets of Eggergoth.
There, the stylishly dressed women sent his character encouragement. *Here comes the brave one, save us!*
Something seemed strange, though. Instead of moving on, the women remained where they were standing. A crowd gathered and surrounded Allyk the Brave. This had to be a glitch, had someone hacked it? Kurt waited.
Through the crowd of NPC came a short, badly designed NPC. It was Erla the Daughter of Fate. She had been the priestess, based off a girl he once loved. Erla bowed to him, her two dimensional face oddly clear.
"We thank you for giving us this chance. We know what is going to happen. We just hope, one day, when you happen upon the same fate you will understand that we never wanted to end this way. We ask you give us a few days alone and then do what you must," she said.
Kurt signed off moments later. He turned off his computer and cried. Someone was playing a cruel joke on him.
Standing, he left his old office and got into his car. On the way home, he got distracted by his cell phone and missed the truck veering into his lane.
Karla, his wife of fifteen years, made the hard choice two days later to end his life. He would not wake up. And when he did, it would not be as the same person.
A day after that, his game was take off the server.
|
It was a simple enough concept. We dig, we mine, we dig, we mine. Everyone was agreed that we were some sort of dwarves but we didn't really have any need to verify it.
We dig, we mine, and occasionally one of us would come along who could dig, and mine, and fight the cave monsters and was, well, some sort of super-dwarf. They always had different faces, always had plenty of gold to barter with, and always left without saying much but we knew it wouldn't be long until we saw the next one.
We dug, we mined, we dug, we mined. Then something happened. All of those special dwarves had come back. And they were more active than they had ever been. They dug, they mined, they dug, they mined. There were less than a thousand strong but this time they stayed with us longer than they ever had before.
They were setting up teams, workforces, tackling larger projects, digging and mining like we'd never seen before. It was a beautiful thing to see.
We cried alongside our strange wordless brethren, we fought alongside these brave warriors who'd returned, we gave it our all.
Then they were gone. So we dug and we mined and knew someday we'd tell our kin the tales of the rallying cry of the super-dwarves. There was no time for sadness. We knew their time would come again.
| 2015-09-01T09:58:16
| 2015-09-01T09:31:42
| 43
| 30
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth.
|
Over the years I've come to interpret the colors I see around people. I once tried to describe it to someone and they told me it,was their "Aura," but every description of an aura has multiple colors. I only see one, and each color is a different kind of death.
There's your common red, something to do with the heart most often, but sometimes could be another organ failing. The slightly less common purple, violent death, mostly seen in bad neighborhoods and around military bases.
Green was disease, which strangely enough encompassed diabetes most of the time, too. Yellow was drug overdose. Orange was accidental. Sometimes you'd get something like a half yellow, half purple. I took that to mean it was a forced drug overdose.
One day, as I'm walking down the street late one night, I saw something I'd never seen before. It was around a petite blonde. Some color I had never seen before. It was impossible to describe. It was unnatural. I had to follow her and find out.
She took a turn down a dark alley. That's not very safe. I should make sure she's okay. What is that color? Is that movement? I should take out my pocket knife just incase.
Holy shit! What is that color. It can't exist. She's unnatural. She shouldn't be. I have to remove that color. It must go. Remove.
Just walk up behind her. Good. Oh, that's hot. And sticky. She's laying on the ground. You know, in this light, she kind of looks like my mother. The color is fading. Thank god.
Hey, what was that at the end of the alley? What was that color? It's unnatural...
| 2015-03-31T10:42:03
| 2015-03-31T09:00:41
| 30
| 22
|
[WP]God answers all of your prayers, and only your prayers. God is also kind of a dick with a matching sense of humor.
|
Just last week, I prayed to God and told Him that I was broke.
I check my mailbox (His favorite method of divine delivery) and found a cash-filled envelope. When I opened it, I instead found a note:
"Hello Broke, I'm God!"
You know, I'm about tired of His shit.
|
The day Bill Hays trapped me inside my locker after school and left me there shivering like a wet kitten all night long -- they turned the heat off at night, of course, what with the recession and all -- I interspersed some prayers with my sobbing, and I guess the Lord must have thought I was the pitifulest thing he'd ever seen, because the next morning when somebody heard me banging on the door and they had the janitor let me out, the first thing I heard was that Billy was missing.
Of course I didn't connect those two dots at first -- my prayers hadn't gotten specific, I'd just asked for Billy to get what he deserved -- but I began to have an inkling the next week, when I prayed for Grandma to get better and soon enough she'd kicked the cancer and scampered off to New Orleans. Course this left my grandfather in an irreparable state of despair, so I had to pray for him to find a new source of happiness, and that Friday he won the lottery. He bought himself a yacht and a busty young wife and sailed off for parts unknown -- we never saw him again, although we didn't hold it against him. What kind of family would have? It was enough just to know he was happy.
Having discerned by this point that the Big Man and I were on speaking terms, I set about trying to fix the world as best as I knew how. I prayed for all the poor folks in Africa who didn't have enough food, and then a couple months later I saw news that giant mutated bunny rabbits were cropping up left and right over there, eating up everybody's back yard and multiplying much faster than you could shoot em.
Then things started getting dicey. I prayed that the Israelis and Palestinians would get along better and before you knew it somebody'd set off a couple hydrogen bombs and blown the whole region to smithereens. Sure the Israelis and Palestinians didn't get on each other's cases all the time any more, but that was cause there were probably only fifty folks left on either side, and those fifty were too busy dying of radiation sickness to squabble over a few miles of holy ground.
Well I looked up the former population of Israel and Palestine and I reckoned I'd become one of the world's greatest mass murderers overnight, which as you can imagine made me feel sorta glum. I resolved to be much more careful and specific with my prayers, so as to avoid any more accidents.
*****
*Believe I'll continue this'n tomorrow, but for now it's bedtime :C*
| 2015-02-13T01:00:12
| 2015-02-12T21:52:15
| 33
| 11
|
[WP] Your Uber passenger was a little odd, but you still gave them the usual farewell: “If you enjoyed the ride, make sure you say thanks with five stars!” A few days later, you receive a nicely worded thank you letter in the mail along with a deed to the entire constellation of Cassiopeia.
|
Foreigners have a tough time with tips, so when they get off the plane you usually have to explain to them. I'd lay it out to them... I worked a bar at the LaGuardia airport... regardless of what you got for service you should tip. America sucks, it's how waiters and bartenders actually get paid.
Somehow it makes sense to give the customer a final say in how much they pay, like if you could tell your carpenter you were only going to pay for 3/4 of the cost for the deck because he had a bad attitude. Sometimes it evens out, some rich person throws down a hundred randomly or a former server turned something better remembers their roots. Most of the time it's crap.
Anyways, I get done with serving nervous people wrecked with anxiety so bad they need to be obliterated to fly and go to my second shift job. Driving Uber after a full bar really weighed down the bags under my eyes. Got done cleaning up and prepping for the next person and hopped in my Corolla.
First passenger going out of the airport nearly puked in my car. I shoved them out early. Gave me one star, I gave them one star. Still brought down my rating, I'd have to fight that one. No tip.
Second passenger was talkative, the type of person who thought everyone was a friend. She kept going on and I just agreed with her. 5 stars, 20% tip. Dropped them off at a club where she waved at some friends after getting out.
Third passenger paid for a trip down the street. I didn't get it, but whatever. Dude smelled like he didn't get out much, classic neck beard. Could've used the walk. 15% tip, but it was quick. 4 stars, like they thought three was average and four was stellar. I cursed and watched my score erode a little more.
Fourth... the fourth changed my life. It tripped me up because they didn't know exactly how to use the app. Must have fat fingered the phone or something, set the pick up point down the street. I had to circle around a couple of times before I saw them waving. Overall they were looking around like they were a fat slice of meat in a Serengeti full of lions.
I waved them on and they waved back, running to me... tripping a little. Skinny, lanky, and awkward it seemed they didn't know how to live in their own skin. They smiled, tried to smiled, made a good effort... then got it right after a moment or so. I told them to hop in and in the back seat they went. They were like a lost puppy and it couldn't be helped but to feel like they needed to be protected.
Anyways they had plotted out for the Guggenheim museum. It was 10 P.M... Regardless I started driving.
"Guggenheim... It is good... the best?" the passenger said.
Checking the phone on my dash, I saw their name was.... Kjarl...
"Oh yea, if you like art. The building was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. He made it upside down". Small talk, small talk.
"Oh Really?!" Kjarl sat up a bit in the back seat.
"You're going at an odd time though, it's been closed for about six hours. You might want to find something else to do and go tomorrow, check the hours."
For a moment Kjarl looked like he was trying to convert dollars to pesos with the time. It hit em' then came a slump.
"So I can not see... why can not I see the Guggenheim?"
"It's closed man, opens up tomorrow. Workers went home."
"Workers went home? Why do the workers need to be there? Is the art not on the walls still?"
"Yeah man, they have families and lives. They gotta go home sometime."
"Oh..."
We rode in silence for a moment. I just laid a nice hefty turd on Kjarl's plans. Definitely hated being the bearer of bad news. The ride was about forty minutes and we'd burned about 20 minutes.
Kjarl looked up after trying to poke at his phone a bit.
"So where to go... Where should I go instead?"
"I don't know, it's a bit late. Are you from around here? I'd meet up with a couple of friends and..."
"No friends, not from around here..." He interrupted me.
That caught me. It was quick. Kjarl was tugging on my heart strings. Also was confusing as hell, why was he here, what was his situation?
"What's your situation Kjarl?"
"In town to visit... see... New York."
Either I was dealing with a shitty Russian Spy that didn't have their backstory complete or Kjarl was completely clueless.
"Alright Kjarl... Let me throw you a bone. Turning off the Uber after we hit the Guggenheim and giving you a tour, if you let me. Just gotta throw the car into the garage and..."
"Alright!"
"Alright, putting the car in the garage and..."
I don't really remember a ton of the rest of the night after the garage and helping him work out the app on the phone. Gave him my whole tip schpeal, remember the one at the beginning of this story?
Anyways, we ended up hitting every little bar along the way. Somehow not a cent was paid on my part. At some point we were at a jazz club. At some point we were at a strip club. Kjarl was awkwardly having the time of his life.
It must have been four in the morning when we pulled out his phone and worked through the Uber app again. Somehow made it to my apartment, he had one last drink. Didn't even look drunk, like he wasn't even a regular human... totally undeterred by the alcohol.
That one last drink, I remember an awkward conversation about how he couldn't get the tip to work, we finagled a little bit more....
​
And I wake up hungover with a shitload of chicken fingers over my naked chest and Kjarl is no where to be seen. I look over to my night stand and there's a glass of water. Plus some kind of pen thing. The water was gone within a moment.
The pen was unrecognized, so that was next. Click, and a hologram was projected... It was Kjarl's tip...
Coordinates... something in a foreign language... I spoke "what the fuck is this" and it must have guessed the language and reoriented it to english...
"DEED TO CASSIOPEIA:
HEREUNTO, ZACK S THOMPSON, CITIZEN OF EARTH, PROVINCE OF THE UNITED STATES, SUBDIVIZION OF NEW YORK IS GRANTED THE FIEFDOM OF THE GALAXIAL PROVINCES OF CASSIOPEIA AND ALL PROPERTIES HERUNTO BY BAR BAR BARBLAX, CROWN PRINCE OF THE ZERKOD EMPIRE.
PLEASE AWAIT FURTHER CONTACT TO ARRANGE TRANSPORT"
​
Well, I'll be damned.
|
*Ay, qué bonita*, Claudia thought to herself as she traced the lovely, golden cursive. A letter, crisp and firm, elegantly written, thanking her for what she thought had been just another routine ride.
She remembered the man: tall, talkative, *pero como una cabra*, sharing such fantastical and outlandish tales about worlds far beyond her own. Even the card included one such whimsy: a deed, with her name written in that same golden cursive, proclaiming her the owner of the constellation of Cassiopeia.
Claudia looked up, hoping for a glimpse of the gift, but between the lights of the city and drifting clouds, the only visible twinkle was the faint blinking of a plane flying overhead. “Ain’t no Cassiopeia in Washington Heights,” she sighed softly, closing the letter. “At least, not tonight.”
Entering into her little apartment, Claudia draped her coat over a chair and placed the letter on the table. Just as she placed a kettle onto the stove, she heard a knock, insistent and curt with its rapping, on her door. She cautiously tipped the door open, but no one was there. Only a letter, similar to the first, perfectly placed in the middle of her doormat.
*A partial royalty, paid to the owner of Cassiopeia*, the letter proclaimed.
Claudia’s eyes widened in shock when she saw the number written on the check that was gently tucked into the letter. *Ay Dios mío*, she thought, fanning herself with the letter, in shock at the thought of one slip of paper holding more money than she had ever been able to save over more than half a century. *And this is only “partial”?* Claudia’s mind raced as she thought of the implications: no more driving, more time to spend with her loved ones, gifts to help her community…
***
The young man looked to the doctor and nodded, his eyes glimmering.
“Will she be in pain?” he asked. The doctor shook her head.
“We’ll make sure she’s as comfortable as possible,” the doctor replied.
The young man knelt down, tears streaming freely as the rhythmic beep of the monitor began to slow. “Te amo, Abuela,” he said, gently clasping one of her small, pale hands between his own.
“And Abuela,” the young man whispered in a shaky breath, “the stars are out tonight.”
| 2021-12-07T21:08:36
| 2021-12-07T21:05:34
| 140
| 57
|
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte.
|
3:30am. Time always seems to slow down as I wait for the demon to show up. The first couple of times he came looking for a latte was absolutely terrifying. I can always smell him before he actually opens the door, the stench of sulphur and blood. It puts you on edge. It’s like your subconscious knows that smell and what it means. But nothing prepares you for when a 7 foot 8 inch demon walks through the door. He has to duck or snag his horns on the door jam. Even though it is the dead of winter, shows up wearing nothing but a chain mail loin cloth. His rippling muscles covered in deep red skin and nasty looking scars. He is a sight to behold.
3:31am. It is tempting to start making the latte early, just so he leaves early. I learnt the hard way that he wants it made so he can see you make it and so it is as hot as can be. I tried to make it early…. Once…. He yelled and banged his fist on the counter. Yelled is an understatement but I don’t know what else you would call it. The glass coffee pots exploded and it drove me to my knees. I tried to plug my ears as they bled. The front counter collapsed under the impact of his blow.
It was weird. He apologized and didn’t come back for almost a month. I had convinced myself it was a bad dream…. And then he started coming back again.
3:32am. I turned half of the over head lights off. It is so bright that it makes him squint and he is visibly pained. It is all about making the customer happy after all. The first time I turned off some lights for him, he was visibly relieved. He even got chatty, which was oddly terrifying. He has a voice like scraping rocks that is deep enough that your guts vibrate as he talks.
3:33am. I can smell the sulphur and blood in the air. The bell on the door dingles, letting me know we have a customer. I look to see him coming in from the driving snow. He is literally steaming as the snow melts off of him.
He ducks just enough for his curly horns to miss the door frame and walks in. A slight jingle from his chain mail loin cloth as he walks to the front counter.
“Hey Clair, how’s your night going?”, he says. Making small talk with a demon. So weird.
“Oh, same old, same old, Steve. I thought you might be late, given the blizzard out there.”, he wouldn’t give me his name when I had asked. Something about a true name freely given having power or something. I don’t know. So I started calling him Steve. He seems ok with it.
He chuckled, a terrifying sound. Like squishing kittens between rocks. “I made a snow demon in the parking lot. I have never laid down in the snow before. It was quite nice.”
I chuckled at that. “What can I get you Steve?”, I asked. Trying to keep it friendly but professional.
“Oh the usually. A double latte with a hint of Tabasco.”, he said with a smile as he leaned on the counter. There was a bit of flesh hanging from a fang and a bit of blood on his chin. Probably the demon equivalent to a bit of spinach in your teeth.
The “hint of Tabasco” threw me the first couple of times. No matter how much I added, he would always ask for a hint more on his next visit. Now I brew the coffee using Tabasco instead of water. It makes my eyes water but Steve seems to like it.
I do my best to make a nice hell themed picture in the cream. Today it is a horned skull. A useful skill around halloween time too.
“There you go, Steve.”, I said as I slide the cup over to him.
“The skull is a nice touch”, he says and gives me a wink. He takes a sip. He rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. “That is, dare I say it, divine.” I smile as he takes another sip. “Thank you Clair.” He put a gold nugget on the counter, about the size of a robin’s egg. “See you tomorrow.” He says as he flashes me a smile and walks out humming some nameless tune that his pointy tail is keeping the beat to.
|
“Espresso, hot.”
She had the little paper cup ready before the door to the restroom had even finished swinging shut. A slight mist followed the visitor out, sickly smelling like pumpkin spice.
“The nutmeg?”
“Extra nutmeg.”
“Thank you Julia.”
He shuffled up to the counter. Every time she tried to look at him. She could take in the black cloak, the cowl that covered his head, but every time she tried to make out his face things just got… blurry.
Instead she watched him pluck his pouch from his belt. A weathered hand held out his stamp card.
“One piece of silver,” he said.
“Nope.” She held up his card. “Tenth cup is free.”
“Then I gift the coin to you.”
“Thanks, but it’s kind of hard to cash in pieces of silver.”
His hand went to where his mouth would be, an audible gasp escaping hidden lips.
“I had no idea. Currency isn’t what it used to be.”
“I guess not.”
“We have other means of payment. Money is the root of all evil after all.”
His hand returned to his cloak, withdrawing a singular silver rectangle.
“Do you take American Express?”
| 2022-10-30T08:38:35
| 2022-10-30T08:13:00
| 2,033
| 679
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
“Do you remember that time you got hypothermia?”
“No.” I thought, unable to get the point across with a head shake. “Do you think its going to feel like recovering from that?”
“How would I know? You don’t remember it.” I thought.
After almost 500 years stuck in what the scientists of my time called a “Cryocasket”, I had lost my mind enough times to make any lunatic, real or fictional, look like the pinnacle of averageness. But after 500 years of my mind like this, I had forgotten what it was to be sane, or to have gone mad. Those definitions were gone. I was in a state where, to put it in a logical sense, the puzzle was smashed and the pieces refused to fit together. So, if the puzzle itself doesn’t want to be solved, what is the point in trying?
For the past 500 years I had been watching a clock. A clock where it showed the initial date my freezing alongside a timer to the time that I was to be released.
FROZEN ON 3/8/2039
TO BE RELEASED IN 1HR17MIN03SEC
I have been staring at that clock for the past 500 years, unable to advert my gaze from it. Watching it change, digit at a time. Funny enough, one of the constant recurring thoughts in my mind, no matter where my mind was, was a schoolyard saying. “Looking at the clock will only make it go slower.” If I had only closed my eyes, I would been spared the torture of knowing how much time I had left. Of all the things to look at with my last seconds of mobility I decided to look at that damned clock, like I knew that this would happen.
The doctors certainly knew about it. Almost immediately in fact. The project head came out to see me on my first night without press coverage. He apologized so... matter of factly. He said that they had not expected the cryogenics to work the way it had. He explained that due to the positive PR, the project was continuing and that they now knew to sedate the users to the point of near constant comatose. My sacrifice would save hundreds the same fate.
I was screaming for him to let me out, in my mind, and he could feel it. He said that the project couldn’t take the bad PR of the first major experiment being a failure. He said that “Sacrifices needed to be made.” He then turned away, and I never saw him again. I was sacrificed to science, the demon it was, and suffered a fate worse then death.
And in return, I forgot them all. Every person I knew was eventually forgotten. Time had forgotten them, and so had I, the man who would transcend time. Ironic in that they sent me so that they would be remembered, and the one who they sent would deny them of that.
TO BE RELEASED IN 5MIN9SEC
The only way to make the time pass was to not think, and soon I would be able to think again. I would be able to stand in the warmth of the sun. To feel anything other then cold, loneliness, regret, and hatred. I would soon be free of a prison of my own choices.
“You forget one thing.” I thought.
“And that would be?” I thought.
“You have not seen anyone or anything move outside your cell in at least 100yrs.”
TO BE RELEASED IN 0SEC
“Why am I still here?”
“The prototype had a manual release, remember?”
“No... I didn’t.”
“What does this mean?”
“We wait for someone to come.”
“What if no one comes?”
“Someone will come!”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
|
I am now nothing.
I am nothingness. Nothingness is I. I is nothing. That one sounded like Yoda or would he say I am nothing, nothingness I is. Wait, I just said that didn’t I? No, stop it. I’m getting distracted I am nothing I no longer exist. Stop existing in 3, 2, 1. Silence. Emptiness. Non existence. See! That’s more like it. Non existence is right up my ally. I love this. I’m loving this. It feels good? What’s the grub like in non existence. Do they have crab-sticks? I love crab-sticks. They so crabby and nice and delicate and sweet and I fucking hate my life.
This is bullshit. God Dam professor Ching Mc-fucking Chong with his white lab coat, name badge and glasses I fucking trusted you bastard. Look at me. Look at me professor. I hate you. Can I conjure up so much rage that it manifests itself into a cloud of hate that gives birth to a demon that torments anyone that’s ever wronged me. Maybe if I concentrate. Okay 1, 2, 3 Concentrate. I am now Concentrate. People call me Mr Concentration. Squeeze baby squeeze every ounce of strength is needed. Earth! Lend me your strength. I’ll spirit bomb this treacherous bastard. FEEL MY HATE. I can shout in my head? I never noticed before. Is it actually shouting or am I just talking loudly. TALKING LOUDLY. talking softly. It sounds the same. Everything sounds the same. How long am I gonna be in here again? 500 years? I’m gonna cry. I want to cry. Can I cry in my head. I feel like crying. Someone give me a drink. I need something to drink. I”M THIRSTY. I’m thirsty for love. Nameee your priceeee. A ticket to paaaraadiisee. I’m crying I can feel it coming. I caaaaaaan’t stay here anyyymoreeeee. Something, something, something LOVE IS THE ANSWEERRRRRRRR. Why didn’t you Love me ANGELICA. I LOVED YOU DAMMIT…
…...............................................................................
…So how long has it been? You reckon a month? A Week. A day. An Hour! Lordy Lord. I swear I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna go crazy. I’m going crazy fuck it I’m already partially crazy. I need to get out God I miss my mum. I haven’t seen her in years. We haven’t spoke in so long. She seemed pretty distant ever since she met that shitty accountant. She didn’t have to remarry. We were fine. I was fine. Was she? Yes she was I mean why wouldn’t she be. She showered a lot more and stayed home a lot but she was, oh my god, Her husband of 7 years just left her why the fuck would she be fine. Did I even ask her? But still fuck you Chad no one likes you. She should of called me. She knew where I was. She knew I was struggling. I was just a phone call away. She should of just reached out to me...
…......................................................................................
LOVE IS THE ANSWERRRRR I NEVER LOVED YOU ANGELICA YOU Hear me! God I love this song.
…
Can God hear me? Is it to late to start believing? If I do believe could you kill me. I want to die. I never asked for this. I didn’t want to exist. None of this is my fault. You made me and now you’re just gonna watch me suffer. KILL ME. I WANT TO FUCKING DIE!!!
…....................................................................................
What am I? A human? A mind? A series of thoughts? Do I exist? Why does it even matter anymore. It really doesn’t. But I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop. It’s fading. NO IT ISN”T. I’m still here I’m still me. I believe I am so I am. But you’re not. SHUTUP, FUCK YOU. I’m alive and I’m me and I have my thoughts and there not fading. I’m not fading. This is me. I’m still here. God help me please.
…...................................................................................
Bumblebee, Lilly-pads, star-ships, star dust, longing, loving, dirty roads, I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here, I exist.
…..................................................................................
I should have called. I’m sorry, mum.
…..................................................................................
I exist
…..................................................................................
Help me,
.....................................................................................
god
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The year 3050, in the district of Gun Zhoa, sector 31-A. The Cryopreservation Chamber was lifted and the first man to be successfully frozen was now thawed.
| 2017-12-17T02:57:38
| 2017-12-16T21:57:11
| 187
| 53
|
[WP] Write a soldier's journal entry on his first day at war. Then write his last journal entry.
|
Day One:
It’s nerve wracking being part of the military. The officers are terrifying. Orders are rapidly given to us. The officers know what they’re doing; they have been in many wars before, so I trust them. I’m scared because they are sending out everyone they can get as soon as possible. I have been training for this moment, but I can’t but feel nervous. I know I have to fight. If I don’t, then what will happen to Mom, Dad, and Julie? I have to be strong for them. I won’t let them face these horrors. I will become the best soldier. I will come home and make them proud of me.
Day Two:
I go into battle today. This is my chance.
|
Day One
I was recruited by the Thals to fight the Kaleds. One of my colleagues was hit by a bomb that left him grotesque and mutated, and his own friends insulted him and abused him from then onwards. One of these bombs almost hit me, but it was gas instead of a biological weapon that was inside it this time. As I slipped on a gas mask last second, I barely escaped.
Day 3650
10 Years have past, resources have depleted from laser rifles to bolt action single shot muskets.Only scientists and generals can afford modern technology. The Kaleds were losing, so they decided to embrace the mutations and biologically engineer themselves to become a new race known as the Daleks. They're unfeeling, cold, ruthless, and heading towards our dome. As bodies disintegrated into skeletons, I had no time to escape. As I'm writing this page one is coming towards me, crying "EXTERMINATE" in a earsplitting voice. It readied it's weapon and fired. I'm sorry they did this to you, I'm so sorry.
| 2015-03-11T20:19:00
| 2015-03-11T18:00:09
| 52
| 25
|
[WP] You've had the worst date of your life and climbed out the bathroom window into the alley. Only to find your date doing the same.
|
Ironically, my feelings were hurt. "You too?" She smiled a sad smile.
"Oh, I just had, uh, I had--"
"Somewhere to be?" I finished for her. "Yeah, me too. Well, this was... fun." We both smiled wryly, dipping our heads quickly in acknowledgement.
I needed to clear my head. Shit, that date had been bad. I was in the habit of going to the movies to get my feet back on the ground, and the closest theater was only a few blocks away. I decided to head that direction and catch a late flick. Maybe head to karaoke afterwards if I was feeling froggy.
It was one of those small theaters that shows one movie at a time for a month or so, probably only carrying eleven or twelve movies a year. I loved places like that, they felt so cozy and welcoming. I bought a single ticket and chose a seat on the aisle. Without fail, I always had to pee during movies, and I never liked to bother anyone else if I could help it.
The movie was alright, but halfway through, like clockwork, I had to get up and use the restroom. As I turned and got up from my seat, a woman a few rows behind me did the same. I sort of unintentionally followed her out the door and over to the restroom. In the light, her hair looked familiar. Could it be her? As she pushed open the door to the women's room, I saw that it was definitely my date from earlier that night. She noticed me, too.
"You too?" Her smile this time was much more genuine, but she said nothing to me. I did my business and went back to the movie. After I got out, I stood around for a moment in the cool night air, deciding if karaoke was a good idea. I had to work early the next morning, but I felt like singing some Harvey Danger.
The karaoke bar was close by, and I nodded to the KJ as I walked in. A boilermaker was my go-to drink to get ready to sing in front of a bunch of strangers in a dive bar, and I downed it quickly while waiting for my song to be called. I bounded up to the stage as I saw "Flagpole Sitta" appear on the screen, with my name underneath it. The guitars in the song blared to life as I grabbed the microphone, and I saw a familiar face in the audience.
"You too?" I asked, just as the song was starting.
She smiled.
|
The lamp was green and sitting among bags of garbage in the restaurant dumpster. The lamp shade was missing, but the ceramic looked to be in decent shape. Granted, is was difficult for Marie to be certain as the light in the alleyway was dim and the light within the dumpster was even worse. She hadn't intended to be in the dumpster, but finding the lamp would possibly turn around the ruin of the date she was escaping. She did love a good project.
As she climbed out of the dumpster with her lamp in hand, she heard steps approaching behind her. If there is ever a time for a stranger to approach, climbing out of a dumpster with a dress on is not one of those times. She frantically attempted to pull down the dress with one hand while holding the lamp with the other and holding on to the side of the dumpster with the other. Of course, that required three hands and she only had two. With a yelp, she fell backwards.
The arms deftly caught her before she struck the ground.
"Whoa," said a surprised voice. She quickly righted herself while mentally cursing the high heels she had chosen to wear. She turned around and looked at the man who had caught her.
"You," she said. "What are you doing out here?"
"I could ask you the same," he said. Even in the dark shadows of the street lights she could see his smile. It was a nice smile, but under the circumstances was very annoying.
"I can tell you what I wasn't doing," she said. "I wasn't sneaking up behind women in a dark alleyway." She regretted saying it as soon as she did, but she was flustered and annoyed and had a habit of saying things she would regret when she was flustered and annoyed.
Fortunately, he laughed. "I could tell you that I was concerned when my date didn't return from the restroom, but I'd be lying."
"Then why are you out here," she asked as she smoothed her dress and unwittingly ran her hands through a smear of grease.
"Same reason you are," he said. "Escaping a bad date."
In hindsight, she would call the noise she made a "harrumph." Either way, it was an embarrassing noise which she would think about for several nights to follow.
He continued before she could find an excuse. "I suppose you didn't realize there was a backdoor by the bathrooms." He looked over her shoulder toward the window above the dumpster. "Although the door isn't quite as theatric as the window."
She looked down at the lamp in her hand. "But then I wouldn't have found this lamp."
He nodded. "Good luck with that."
He turned and walked away.
| 2018-01-22T07:25:45
| 2018-01-22T07:20:43
| 326
| 61
|
[WP] Heroes don't realise how much preparation and care goes into villains' plans, paperwork, making sure no one's seriously hurt, and the traps and puzzles.. and don't even talk about maintenance..
may respond to this one myself tomorrow
|
What the general public doesn't realize is that the whole point of designing a dungeon isn't to *kill* the hero in the first room. No, because if you did that, you wind up with a dead hero, an angry mob of citizens, and millions of wasted dollars on dungeon mechanics that nobody will ever encounter. And you might also achieve the "goal" of peak villainhood: world domination.
That's the last thing on earth you want. Imagine the stress of being in charge of the world! Global warming, pandemics, world hunger. It's much funner to plot and plan about what you *would* do if you ruled the world rather than to actually rule the world itself. As a good villain, you get notoriety, you get popularity, you get money. All the heroes want to visit *your* dungeon. All the millionaires of the world secretly fund your operations for the sheer entertainment value of watching heroes tackle devilishly difficult encounters. And nobody even hates you since you haven't killed anyone! Trust me, if you actually ruled the world, *everyone* would hate you, no matter how much good you do.
So, what you must do is you must carefully create dungeons that are just challenging enough so that the hero can feel accomplished at the end. Your puzzles must be intricate and difficult, but not impossible. Your minions must be strong enough to put up a good fight, but they've got to be either weak enough to lose to the hero or be impeccably good actors.
And don't forget, iteration is your friend. If Daredevil misses a jump on the moving platforms and you have to press the emergency de-activation button for the spike pit, you might want to make the platforms move a little slower for the next hero that goes through. If Galactus gets stuck on the rising-water encryption puzzle, you might want to stick the answer key in the same room somewhere.
Finally, immersion is key. You can't let them figure out that you want them to win. That takes all the fun out of it. You've got to let them feel like winners. Don't forget, they're the good guys.
\-*excerpted from Dr. Danger's Guide to Dungeon-Building*
\-----
[/r/theBasiliskWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/)
|
Why does this always happen to me?
Why should I, an emperor, stoop so low to oblige my lackeys when they serve as my underlings? The grubs couldn’t tell a Uni-mind from a unitard! Every day is a constant barrage of-
“When will we get vacation, master?”
“Can we dominate the galaxy after The Holiday, master?”
“Mozart is good for developing brains, master!”
Their incessant sniveling is driving me mad!! Oh, the indignation I suffer just to save face as their intrepid leader. The reconstruction for my hornets alone will take weeks! Not to mention several million uni-bucks! I could steal from the planet of Widows and Orphans again, couldn’t I? No, I destroyed it already. Blast it all! Look what they did to my MEGA DEATH RAY! And I just got the parts shipped from Z-Bay! Those INsufferable dimwits will pay for their destruction! Curse you Buzz Lightyear!!!
| 2021-09-30T14:26:04
| 2021-09-30T12:54:11
| 49
| 14
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear Eyllisa,
I think you know what this letter is going to say, but I'm going to write it anyway. I love you more than I have ever loved any person. You have been through so much and I can't understand how you still manage to pound through life. It's a beautiful thing to see. The past three years have been a privilege for me. I've been able to watch you grow as a person. Watch you fail and help you get back up. I helped you with all those stupid boys, coming and going. You say I kept you sane, but I think it's you who did that for *me*. As much as I wished I could've been yours, I knew it would never happen, but I didn't mind. I was still able to spend time with you and become your best friend. Sure, I had a couple girls myself, but that's just, to be expected I suppose. I want you to know that if I knew that we'd never end up together, I still would've tried, because I've been given someone amazing, and I know that we're here to help each other out, and that's what I'm going to continue to do. So I'll see you when I see you.
Your friend,
Preston
|
Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I
| 2015-12-05T13:52:52
| 2015-12-05T13:45:57
| 40
| 15
|
[WP] A dying child challenges the reaper to a 1v1 quick scope only call of duty match for his life.
|
"You can't be serious?" replies the Death. The young boy smiles with confidence and replies "you said any game I wanted, did you think I would choose chess?!" Death pauses a moment and with a causal flick of his pale, ancient hand, produces an XBone and two massive flat screen tvs. "One match, 3 minutes, quick scope only. Just as you requested."
What followed was maybe the most lopsided CoD match in history. The loser couldn't take two steps after spawning without being quick scoped. The player in the lead would occasionally cackle as his opponent uttered profanities under his breath after each kill. The match ends. Death calmly set the controller down and waits. The boy breaks the silence "send me back home, faggot".
Fin
|
The year is 2010.
The child in question is in a coma. Dreaming of Mt. Dew and doritos when suddenly the grim reaper spawns in front of him.
The grim reaper looks down to the child.
"So.... xX420weedblazer2002Xx, are you ready for the match of your life?!"
"Yes, m8." He responds profoundly.
They get down to business. The grim readers spawns him and himself in the middle of nowhere. A strange but familiar structure is beside them.
"Rust, huh?... " the kid says, as the grim reaper spawns him a Intervention.
The grim reaper nods.
Both of them stand in the opposite side of the map as the familiar orchestra music begins, and the countdown begins ticking.
"Let's do this." The narrator says.
The kid zooms in and immediately gets a headshot. The grim reaper starts shouting.
This kid was something special I tell you. The grim reaper never stood a chance. His weed blazing skills along with his pro mountain dew drinking and doritos gave him the power to destroy the grim reaper.
As he nears the 30th kill, he jumps off the highest point of the map and gets the sickest trickshot he has ever pulled. The game ends.
30-7. The score marker says.
The grim reaper approaches the kid.
"You have proved yourself worthy to live and drink more mountain dew. You may wake up now. The only condition is in 2014 you must make a account on this website named Reddit, and you will name it RedditSilver. From there you must spread the love of [Reddit silver.](http://i.imgur.com/sy9lVl4.jpg)"
And he did.
*The End*
| 2014-09-15T20:18:47
| 2014-09-15T20:15:28
| 731
| 144
|
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
|
You stick out when everyone else in your school has some kind of insane, physics defying power and you have nothing. Like a normal horse in a herd of rainbow colored unicorns.
It was nerve wracking to adjust to having classmates who could effortlessly lift you off the ground with their mind, labmates who used their eye beams instead of a Bunsen burner, and groupmates who interviewed ghosts for your history project. Not being indestructible or able to regenerate limbs on a whim, I got to know the medical staff quite well quite quickly. I wasn't even accident prone, some people just kept "forgetting" that I didn't have powers like they did. Though that ended the moment that one of the seniors took things too far.
Getting my arm broken was a weird way to find out how popular I'd become. Turns out that me being normal helps keep my more gifted friends grounded. I hadn't even known that half of them liked me all that much before they sent the senior to the superhuman ICU. I'm not complaining though.
|
And so it happened, I couldn't let that slide. I mean, of course I couldn't. Why would I ? All those bastards thinking they're so cool, flaunting their skills in the hallway with no regards to other people's safety. I know it's the first time that I was bullied, but I 'll make it be the last.
His ugly face still remains clear in my mind. He had a smirk on his face while lifting me up with only his hand on my face. His eyes were squinting a bit as if to catch the every detail of my expression. Then the burning repeated multiple times until the bell rang. My ears couldn't forget the sound of laughter coming from his friends as they left nor could my face forget the heat, leaving me with burn marks all over my face.
Now, just my reflection in the mirror sufficed to steel my resolve. And now, I brought hell with me.
The next day, I came prepared. In front of his house, right when he left to go to school, I ambushed him. I kicked him on his back, made him fall on his face and tied both of his hands. Without giving him time to think, I started kicking him--once, twice, thrice and a final fourth time.
Leaving me with only the last step. Gasoline! Pouring gasoline all over his body. And just to finish things off, I bent down and whispered in his ear:"you can go now".
Fire spread in the surroundings but all I could pay attention to was his scream while leaving.
| 2022-11-02T09:54:56
| 2022-11-02T08:03:37
| 706
| 58
|
[WP] You live in a village in the dessert. One day it is raided by terrorists and all village members are killed, except for you. You lost most of your memories and now wander through the dessert, thinking you are the last of your species.
Second time posting this, yay... fucking tags mate *cough* Well anyways, i didnt go into a lot of detail in the title, because i wanted to keep it as short as possible. So, a lot is kept to your imagination. How much and what do you remember ? Will you die in the dessert ? Why do you think you are the last of your species ? Will you find other of your species ? etc,etc... Really, so much to write.
So i come back and i see this...1063 likes WTF! This was my first prompt ever, im still amazed. I want to thank everyone that submitted a story and all the people that still will :D
|
Time is passing - it must be near noon. I still remember vividly the smell, the strong sweet smell of burning sugar everywhere.
It was the torch that changed this land. It used to be a soft sea of soft peachy crème in an ever changing configuration of dunes, with our people happily swimming and living in it. The land gave us everything we needed: lair, joy and sustenance. Our hunger satisfied with sporadic bites, here and there, of sweet sugary substance.
Then the torch came and reshaped our world to a ruthless wasteland. It burnt - how it burned! A flickering blue demon, hardening the peachy dunes to glassy crust, transforming everything in browned blotches with minute spots here and there - my fallen brethren carbonized into oblivion.
As I walk these vast plains, hunger now controls my mind. I have lost count of the many times I've traveled between the arching porcelain walls that surround it. I cannot climb them, there is no foothold. They stand there, impervious, mocking my helplessness.
Too long I've stumbled here. I repeatedly pound and stomp this land unsuccessfully, longing for a minute drop of its sweetness. I feel it; it is there, underneath this tough sugary barrier, a few millimeters down. So near, so far.
The light has suddenly darkened. An elliptical shape hides the sun. At last, redemption of my suffering has arrived. It has the shape of a metallic elliptic monster, cracking the surface in arching blows. The repeated, syncopation harmony of destruction. My time has come.
I can smell the crème floating again, seeping through the cracks. I reach it and bathe again into it's richness and warmth. The monster is now on top of me. Just one more swing and everything's over.
**Edit**: my first Reddit gold! thanks a lot to all readers. Been lurking for a while on /r/writingprompts, and even though English is not my first language, it has given me courage to post more attempts. Thanks again!
|
I'm alone, alone in a sea of meringue. The macaroons surfaced like a sea of coconut clouds, blurring the sun. Just when I made my way out of the sticky sweetness, the evil chocolate rum balls came crashing down from the sky, like black, acid rain, invading my village and killing all the villagers. I am the only one left. I walk through the carnage and look for other survivors. Hoping, hoping to again kiss my children and hug my wife in the candy land that I once called home.
| 2014-12-17T00:31:27
| 2014-12-16T23:10:53
| 369
| 45
|
[WP] So many new exoplanets are being discovered that "planet deeds" now make well-known novelty gifts. You recieved such a deed last year on your birthday, legally making you the owner of one such planet - and, only a moment ago, heard on the news that life has just been discovered on it.
|
Leslexia Five. A small cream coloured world on the edge of a purple tinged swipe of a galaxy. Thirteen light years away, three weeks on a FTL transport, not that anyone had bothered exploring off that way. I'd received the deeds on my birthday, the typical present for a bloke who otherwise had everything. I hadn't even bothered registering it for a month, finally coming across it again on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I knew it was in the Questi system, making a mental note and recognising it again when it popped up on the news a couple years later.
Ships had been dispatched to the system, a long range scanning mission looking for minerals on the sixteen planets owned by the consortium over that way. I'd called in a few favours, arranging for a bio-drone to be dropped on my planet as they passed. The standard comm relay satellites spread out through the local parts of the universe by seed ships years before working instantly to connect me to the bio-drone. It was a great hulking thing, ex-russian military with legs like tree trunks and one massive arm bigger than the other. The larger arm, normally mounted with heavy weapons, now held an assortment of tools; a half-ton Swiss Army knife. The smaller arm held a hand, about as dextrous as a humans, though at the same three times as large scale as the rest of the behemoth. Once it had been painted a matte green for camouflage, but the paint had long been sanded off, revealing the scratched brass surface beneath. He turned the large angular head around, the eyes glowing orange as it surveyed the planet before him. "Dinner!" Lisa, my girlfriend, called through my explorations. I eagerly pulled the headset off and set the bio-drone into rest mode. "I made linguine" she smiled "see anything cool?". I tucked in with gusto, relishing the taste of spinach and garlic. "Not much yet" I replied, "lots of sand and a pile of rocks a couple miles to the east". She consulted the aerial photos we had received, noting as I had the strange straight sidedness to some of the rock formations. She seemed even more eager than me for me to get back to exploring.
It took the bio-drone three hours to make it to the first of the rocks. It was impressive just by its sheer size, the aerial photos hadn't quite shown it to its fullness. Almost an obelisk in shape, though toppled and wonky. It almost seemed to be carved, but I knew that couldn't be the case, no humans had come out this way. I felt my Lisa's breath across my shoulder, knowing that she was watching the footage through the small screen on the side of my viewer. "Is that?" She started. "Can't be" I cut her off, "must be acid deposits or wear from sandstorms". I passed three more, each similar in shape though larger each time. "Strange coincidence in shapes" I muttered. "In a straight line too" Lisa agreed "those deep dunes on the other side could almost hide another row of them too". The patterns were similar on each one too, though not exactly the same. I passed the last one with barely a look, more intrigued by the immense mountain of a building rising up out of the sand in front of me. I didn't want to admit to myself that it was a building, but even as I thought it, Lisa was confirming it in my ear. The large doorway, the steps, the vaulted ceiling inside. How could it be anything else. I manoeuvred the bio-droid inside and stood aghast at the wall carvings. In and amongst the sweeping curls of the similar patterns to those outside were great dramatic reliefs. Pictures of creatures and buildings, events and celebrations. None even remotely human in origin.
The room seemed centred around a raised dais. A large stone throne sat in the middle and upon it lay a sight that took my breath away. I felt Lisa's voice crack beside me. "But, that can't be..." she whimpered in shock, weighing heavy on my shoulder.
|
There was a singular present on the table, a holo-document. Being my 30th birthday I expected something more but we were a family of meager means so whatever it was I was sure to like it.
My mother and father were staring at me expectantly, I put on my best smile and clicked the button on the side, as it whirled to life I looked at the holo in front of me, it was a deed to a planet.
I was disappointed but feigned happiness and thanked my parents for the gift while wondering in my head how I was supposed to get any use out of a planetary deed, it's not like it had life right?
I was wrong.
The next morning I woke up to a knock on my front door, it was my parents and they looked really excited, "did we win the lottery or something?" I asked them.
"Close" my mother replied
I gestured them into my apartment so they could tell me this apparently fantastic news.
"Turn on the TV!" my mother exclaimed
I did so and to my amazement, my planet had life on it!
I thought to myself, that this has to be some kind of joke, planetary deeds are a novelty,
Their not supposed to have life on them!
As I sat there aghast for a short time my mother and father were prancing around my apartment, apparently not realizing the real meaning of the situation.
Needing some time to think about what I was going to do about this, I got up and exited my apartment and sat outside on my front stairs, looking up at the stars from our glass domed city.
I wouldn't even know what to do with 1000 bitcoins much less an entire planet...
I suppose I could try to fly there and check it out but what if they don't like me?
What if I can't understand their language?
So many questions and no definite answers....
I got up and took a deep breath of the oxygenated air to calm myself and strided back into the room to find that my mother and father were still prancing about.
I cleared my throat to get their attention and told them bluntly, "we're going to my new planet!"
My mom and dad made some high pitched squeals but stopped for a second after seemingly realizing something,
"How are we getting there?" My dad asked
"Well, I'm the ruler of an entire planet now, they have to let us go there!"
A couple days later we flew out by rocket and visited the planet, it was a very harsh place, dry, cracked and ice in place of water.
How any species could be living here I didn't know.
Sure enough though, in the distance was a town built out of a type of metal no one on earth had seen before.
It was shiny like gold, but at the same time, it had a pattern like that of tree bark and it was a bluish gray color.
The inhabitants living there didn't seem too different from humans, save for extended heads, tentacles in place of hair and eyes the color of sulfur.
Trying to communicate with them was also quite easy.
They happened to be a telepathic species and were fascinated by me and my family, looking us up and down, meticulously examining us like we were display pieces for their living rooms.
Everything was going fine, better than fine even, until I revealed that I was the one who now owned their planet, instead of them being fascinated, they were now afraid.
They ran into their houses and locked their doors like you would see in an old Western.
Me and parents decided to leave at that point, we didn't want to be seen as monsters and I realized I wasn't prepared to be in a position of power.
When we returned home, we acted like nothing happened, i still have the holo deed in my home to this day, maybe one day I'll return there but for now, life on earth as an ordinary man suits me just fine.
| 2017-01-01T13:28:32
| 2017-01-01T13:10:45
| 32
| 13
|
[FF] "So, come here often?"
Begin your story with this line of dialogue.
Oh, and set your story somewhere other than a bar or restaurant. In fact, set it somewhere in the distant past or future.
And make it less than 500 words.
Have fun!
|
"So, come here often?"
Don stared hard at the man holding the rope. His face was still, and his eyes were even in the Alabama sun.
"I take it you're trying to have some fun with me," said Don.
The man's face remained impassive, but a smile erupted after a moment.
"Aw, hell. If you can't have a bit of levity here, where can you, is what I say." The man took the rope in his burly hands, and fastened it around Don's neck.
"That's a good point, but I'm not really in the mood for levity at this moment."
"Pardon my saying so, but you're not gonna have many other moments," said the man with the rope, as he tightened the knot.
Don's breath caught momentarily. "That is true. I can't say that I had considered that."
"You ever think much about getting hanged?"
"I don't think about it so often."
"See, that's why I make the jokes. It helps." The man with the rope fastened one end onto the crossbar, and got off the ladder.
"You got a good joke for me now?" Don's eyes were wet.
"I got *a* joke for you." The man placed his hands on the lever. "Why can't you hang a deaf man in Georgia?"
"Why?"
"It's illegal to hang a man without a proper hearing."
Don chuckled. "You been sitting on that one for a while?"
The man nodded. "No one ever wants to hear the joke."
"They're missing out." Don closed his eyes. "It was quite funny."
"That means a lot to me, sir." The man with his hand on the lever smiled, and pulled.
---
EDIT: Which one of you low-down sons of guns gave me gold?
|
"So, come here often?" asked the well-tailored man. He was wearing an old black suit and a fiery-red tie that were well-matched to his hair, all white save for the few remaining specks of blonde around his ears; and his misty blue eyes, which rose from their default, downcast state to inspect the strangely-clad woman who had just materialized a few feet in front of him.
The young brunette was apprehensive and became paralyzed with fear as she took in her surroundings: a dimly lit alleyway, perhaps 10 feet wide (at the very most), flanked by a wall of corrugated steel on either side, smokestacks rising above her--factories, perhaps; She instinctively took a few cautious steps backwards, letting out a quiet gasp as her tight, brown blouse made contact with the frozen wall behind her.
"Evidently not," the man answered his own question. He was leaning back in gentle repose against the other side of the alley, calm and collected, in sharp contrast to the woman, who was very clearly on edge. Shaking, she raised a sort of chrome-coloured weapon shaped somewhat like a handgun, a crimson double helix pulsating from the tip.
"Whoa there, girlie," the man chuckled as he raised both arms above his head, "No need to be frightened. What brings you to Rowville? And what's with your crazy get-up? Looks like you put a silver bowl upside down over your head and then donned some twenty-second century outfit. Jeans, even! Haven't seen anyone wearing those for the past 90 years!"
The young woman cautiously opened her mouth as if to speak; there was still a very clear fear in her hazel eyes and her reddening cheeks, and, stuttering, the words gradually tumbled out: "H-hi there. My name is January. J-January O'Connell, b-but call me Jan. I'm travelling the world, trying to find myself."
The man peered intently at her, eager to learn more of the rather beautiful--even if her clothes were ridiculous--woman, managing to keep a gentle disposition about him, the kind that comes with years of wisdom. She smiled at him, revealing impeccable teeth.
"But what about your home? Don't you have a family to go to?"
"I can't stand them. I know there's something, or somebody, out there waiting for me, someone who understands me. I don't want to go home."
The man spent a few seconds in deep reflection, then spoke. "My name is Marshall. I'm a retired sailor," he explained. "I sure don't look it anymore, but in my prime, I was a tough, rugged man of the sea. They say 'home is where your heart is'; now, if that's indeed the case, the blue waters of the ocean are my home. Haven't been on a ship in 13 years, though. Not since I retired. You know, I miss it sometimes. My home. I took it for granted my whole career, and now I regret not spending more time savouring it. Hold on to what you have, girl. Someday you might lose it."
The young lady stared dumbly, pensive. Was that a single, pearly tear streaming down her cheek? And then, another quiet gasp.
"I have to go," she abruptly ended the conversation. "It was nice meeting you, Marshall." Jan deftly pressed a number of buttons on her bowl-shaped, silver hat in rapid succession, and, in a brilliant flash of light, disappeared leaving hardly a trace, and returned to her own, rightful time period, 13 years prior.
She was in her dining room, in the single greatest place in the world; the place where she was born and raised, where she cried, and where she laughed--she was *home*--and just in time for dinner, at that.
"Hi Jan!" exclaimed her father. "I'm so happy to see you! You've grown so much since the last time I saw you." The tone of his voice changed, and grew quieter. "Listen, honey, I'm thinking about retiring. I love being a sailor, but--but I love you and your mother and your brother more." He looked almost as beautiful as Jan, with his misty blue eyes and his blonde hair. He was very clean-cut, sporting his new black suit.
"T-that would be great, Dad. If it's really what you want."
"Yes Jan. It is. I've already missed so much of your childhood, and I don't want to miss any more. It's time for me to settle down. We'll have so much fun being together all the time... like a real family."
"Yeah Dad. I'd love that." She smiled.
And then they sat down to eat.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. Sorry, I just realized I went way over the word limit. I'll post it anyways though.
| 2013-08-31T11:56:21
| 2013-08-31T10:09:10
| 3,687
| 14
|
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
"The humans are the most absurdly pompous race I've ever encountered," declared Zuudxv. "They barely even pass the standard sentience test, but manage to spend their efforts on bragging about their own genius, love, and physical abilities - things that we are all far better at. Hell, so many of those morons declare themselves to be in love, but our sensors show this this happens rarely and fleetingly compared to our response It's no wonder they largely hate each other and resort to war. So why, Jdvrj, would you, an esteemed exobiologist of this institute, choose to live among them?"
Jdvrj paused. Zuudxv's statement were all true, but she knew deep inside that she had to go one day, and would blame herself if she put it off any longer. "Zuudxv..." she began. Normally she was bold, but now she wanted Zuudxv to keep a scientific secret, something he was obligated to never do. "Please accept my resignation. There is a compelling reason for it."
Zuudxv stared. "Go on."
"Remember when I ran the chemical tests on the one human we abducted? How they turned out to be similar to those of a Kaxaklon?"
"Yes?" implored Zuudxv.
"I fabricated those slightly. You must keep this secret, I beg you!" She had lost composure, but tried to regain it.
"Why?" demanded Zuudxv. "How could you shame the institute like that?"
"You see... the tests showed a high level of potassium and calcium in their systems. Not to mention sulfur."
Zuudxv was the Abnexian equivalent of agape. "You must be joking."
"No," she replied, "I am not. They are basically walking desserts. Of all creatures, they are the most delicious in the galaxy."
Zuudxv stared out the window. A full minute passed as Jdvrj waited for him.
"I'll accept your resignation" He declared, "and I am resigning too."
|
"Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!!
| 2014-07-16T11:13:41
| 2014-07-16T11:11:14
| 147
| 13
|
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/).
|
I won Pascal's Wager.
Throughout the vast majority of my life, I had considered myself to be guided by reason, science, and empathy rather than religion. I saw no evidence for a god or gods existing, and figured any deity worth worshiping wouldn't have created a world where things like child rape and cancer existed. In my work as a lawyer I sought to be a barrier against the various evils that others inflicted on the world.
But then I *got* cancer. Terminal. And, much to my embarrassment, I was terrified. I had never considered myself the type of person who would want the comfort of religion when staring mortality in the face, but there it was. Maybe it was the meds addling me, or maybe it was just the fear, but I thought *hey, what the fuck?* And I rolled a die.
See, all the religions seemed equally improbable to me, so it was the only way I could choose. The die landed on 5. So a week before my death, I converted to Hinduism.
That last week was actually kind of nice. When I wasn't throwing up from last-ditch chemo or curled in bed, I did yoga, meditated, and performed any karmic acts of kindness available to me. I found myself feeling grateful that the die hadn't landed on 1 or 2. I don't think I would have adjusted to those religions quite so well.
Now here I am, standing on the wall of the Hindu afterlife city in my young, strong, reincarnated form, staring at the fate I would have shared had I not picked up that die. Every morning, I come up here and watch the non-religious souls as they fight the monsters or flee from them. I'm haunted by the sight of them being torn apart, only to respawn elsewhere in the wasteland and eventually suffer the same gruesome end.
At first, I was angry--and guilty, in a "survivor's guilt" kind of way. Why should I be rewarded for taking a random chance, while they suffered for remaining intellectually honest to themselves until their death? Then, I realized I could get as angry as I wanted. Anger by itself wouldn't do a damn thing.
Most others here in the afterlife spend their days enjoying themselves--socializing, meditating, eating, exploring. But I have the soul of a lawyer, and those don't clock out so early.
So every morning after I come down from the wall, I head to the Library of Humanity, which contains a file on every human who has ever lived. I spend the day poring over atheist files and making cases. My core argument usually revolves around the fact that Hinduism is more about actions, intents, consequences, and ethics than it is about specific rituals.
It's hard work. This is no mass tort: I have to argue atheist cases one by one, based on their actions in life. Honestly, vegans are the easiest: they have the whole *ahimsa* thing in the bag. For others, I emphasize other factors. Kindness, honesty, self-restraint, hard work, that kind of thing.
I argue my cases to the minor deities first. If over 75% of them vote in my favor, I automatically win the case. If less than 25% vote yes, then I lose. If it's a split vote, I take the case to Shiva. Shiva likes me, though. He doesn't veto too many, and usually only does it if he disagrees with me on the defendant's motivations for doing good deeds or avoiding bad ones. Shiva is big on "doing the right thing for the right reason." Definitely not a consequentialist.
Has two-hundred-and-forty-seven years of arguing court cases gotten a little boring? Sure. But every time the gate opens and I usher another battered, bloody atheist soul inside, I can't wait to do it again. After all, I got lucky. Time to pay it forward.
|
Would I have done things differently? Yes, I would. Because an eternity in a godforsaken desert is not something you volonteer for. But the real question is: what would I have changed? Which religion should I have chosen? On Earth, they all preach some kind of heaven; here, reality is very different.
They call them 'walled cities'. Not because you can't get in, but because you can't get out. They're prisons where worshipping gets a new meaning.
Christian City is filled with poverty. Hindu City is so overpopulated, that they're eating each other. There are no virgins in Muslim City, not anymore at least. And Buddha? I'll get to Buddha later, and you'll be surprised when you hear his real story.
Those are the big cities. There are many other small ones, but none are any better.
So, the question was: which religion should I have chosen? The answer is short but not rewarding: I should have chosen my wife's.
| 2017-11-21T08:46:31
| 2017-11-21T07:28:08
| 26
| 17
|
[WP] Your father left your family when you were a child to "go buy a pack of cigarettes". It is 10 years later and you're a teenager when your father walks back in, wearing the same clothes he left in, and insists he has only been gone half an hour.
|
He walks in as if nothing's happened and sits at the head of the table. With a somewhat forced light-heartedness he calls to mom to hurry up with dinner.
The collar on his shirt is frayed, Salt and pepper have finally made an appearance around his temples. The lines on his weather beaten face are that of a hard life.
Mom is hurrying between the kitchen and dinner table. She keeps her head down and eyes on her task as He throws little jibs at her.
I try to catch her eye. Mom... what do we do? Do we pretend nothing's happened. Do we keep going as if everything is fine? Do we confront and make a fuss. Demand answers? Which is the right way mom?
Finally the table is set and mom sits in her usual place to the right of my dad. Only I'm left standing there. Unsure. Confused. Waiting.
If he demands I sit, I'll tell him off. Confront him and even kick him out. If he does it in an apologetic way I might let it slide for now. If he's too timid though then I'll know he's here to mooch off us and won't allow it.
A little thought in the back of head started whispering and I pushed it back. I won't think of that. It's not going to happen. It won't!
*What if he doesn't acknowledges you? What will you do? What can you do?*
I wait, and wait, and wait.
|
There was something weird about this day
Harold, my brother, was acting weird as if he had seen something.
Ending school i went home.
Everything seemed just fine.
Lots of love from my family.
Don't know about my dad though, he disappeared 10 years ago.
Everytime he went to buy cigarretes he was quick. Not this time though.
Reappering home was my dad.
Something was wrong. like if he was...
Confused. for him not even 30 minutes had gone by
Rarely ever felt bad for dad since he dissapeared. He had abandoned us.
On the other hand, he might have been kidnapped.
Like that would stop him. Dad was badass.
Like, he would beat a thousand men in a fist to fist fight.
So... " what happened? " I asked him
Sometimes i thought he ran away with....
Kristen, his secret lover.
"You didnt do that did you?" he didnt like that question
Rapidly he punches me in the jaw.
In seconds i'm on the ground.
My head spins as i wake up and hear a familiar voice.
"You were trying to cross the border right?"
I quickly read the first letters on each sentence.
Damn you Todd Howard.
| 2018-11-08T06:29:46
| 2018-11-08T05:15:25
| 25
| 17
|
[WP] You go to sleep alone, and wake up with someone next to you.
|
It had been a long four years since the love of my life had passed away.
There’s not a moment of life that goes by where I wish I could see her again. They say that memories last you a lifetime, but how can it when it seems to hurt you more? It cuts you even deeper knowing all the love you had shared is now gone forever.
Cynthia and I met as students in university – I, a struggling biology student. She, a tutor volunteering at the library. I wanted to ask her out but my friends had said that she was too good for me. Honestly, I knew that as well. But I became friends with her, taking my time and appreciating every moment I had spent with her. One night two years later, she had confessed that meeting me brought a new meaning for her life. She said that she fell in love with me, and I confessed that I had loved her from the start.
We made love that night and a year later, we had happily married.
She had passed away four years ago, eight since our marriage.
Every night since she passed, I had gone to bed alone, a tear struggling to stop itself from flowing down my face. I missed her beautiful autumn hair, her blue eyes, and a smile that made life worth living. Even in my dreams, I danced with her over and over again, only to wake up in realization that the pain would never stop.
But this morning, I awoke to someone else under the covers.
I slowly threw off the covers as a small girl looked back at me.
“Good morning, Daddy!” she giggled, “I wanted to surprise you!”
Her autumn hair shone brightly against the sunlight that seeped through into the bedroom. In her blue eyes, I could see my reflection as a tear escaped the corner of my eye.
“Daddy, why are you crying?”
“Nothing,” I wiped my face, “I was thinking about your mother.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” my daughter stood up and puffed out her chest, “I’ll take care of you!”
The emotions overflowed as I hugged my daughter, her tiny hands grasped tightly around my back.
I went to bed every night alone.
But every morning, I woke up to to my sunshine.
____________________________________________________________
God bless and enjoy. Subscribe to /r/avukamu if you enjoy pork cutlets with a nice BBQ sauce.
|
I become self aware as I feel the morning's sun on my face, trying to hold on to a lucid dream that's escaping me as I wake. I immediately feel my queen sized bed sinking deeper than usual as I slowly turn over to see a large silhouette under the covers.. "What the fuck!?" I exclaim aggressively. I jump out of bed rubbing my eyes wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. As I look around I realize it's not even my room. I've woken up in a stranger's home.....in a stranger's queen sized bed. My phone is dead, can't seem to have any recollection of the previous night except....the taxi. Did I get kidnapped? Was I drugged? My taxi driver was a polite middle-eastern man named Abdul who told me about his dream of opening a halal pizza place and about how much misses his wife back in Egypt. What happened after Abdul dropped me off? As I keep running through the wildest scenarios in my mind, the mysterious silhouette releases a soft spoken sentence in a deep voice "Patrick? where you go?". I recognize the voice and the accent as that of Abdul! Panic sets in as I struggle with the next course of action. "ABDUL?? how the hell did i end up in your bed?! what is this??!". Abdul rises from the covers and shows his kind face "No Mr. Patrick please, don't be scared. We only cuddled". Still confused, I start putting my pants on as I continue to question the situation "Only cuddled??? Why the hell would i cuddle with my taxi driver?!?!". Abdul answers thoughtfully "You see Mr. Patrick, I listened to your story about your promiscuous ex girlfriend last night and how despite what she has done you still miss cuddling with her. I thought to myself...Ok I will cuddle Mr. Patrick so he will not be sad". Amazed at the fact that Abdul was unfazed by the whole situation, I was eager to hear the rest of the story "Ok...." . Abdul continues "I knew you would not willingly cuddle with a middle aged hairy man so I hit you on the head when you weren't looking and brought you to my place". As Abdul finishes the sentence, a sharp pain pierces through the back of my skull "What???! you assaulted and kidnapped me Abdul!!". Abdul appearing defensive "Mr. Patrick....human touch lowers the risk of heart disease and greatly helps to reduce stress levels. I was only helping". Looking at Abdul, I can't help but feel some compassion towards him. "Alright....I guess at least we've got a story out of it". Abdul smiles "Yes....and pancakes. I will make pancakes now".
| 2016-03-02T17:50:32
| 2016-03-02T17:31:36
| 35
| 20
|
[WP] One day, suddently, no one can have more than 999million dollars. All of the extra money gets magically donated to charity/research/schools. Jeff Bezos gets a Trophy saiyng "I won Capitalism". Describe how the world changes.
|
"No." The answer was quick, and resolute. "You will not participate. We have no intention of seeing any of you in the board."
She had been expecting this answer. This was the one given so far by every other company. Still, she had to give it a try. Maybe one of them would be willing to play along.
"We are currently in possession of more than half of the stocks and bonds of Amazon. You can't simply say no to our intent to participate - "
"Miss," her interlocutor cut her off, "you are obviously aware that absolutely no one is going to take this seriously at any level of the government, so why bother?"
She was.
She had been made aware quite painfully.
And it was just so. Damn. Frustrating.
A few weeks ago, they had all been made aware of the new rule. No one was allowed to have more than one billion dollars. No matter how you diversify or try to hide our funds, it was simply transferred to some random charity around the world. It was not a new law the various governments had prepared in secret, or anything of the sort. More like a new fundamental law of the world that everyone somehow knew was their new reality.
Everyone was shocked, naturally. Some had claimed it was the proof of God's existence; some had pondered about wizardry; there were claims that the current world was just a simulation and that nothing truly mattered since they had been relegated to the ranks of guinea pigs. No one could truly claim to know why this new rule existed, but they were many who hoped this could lead to a new, more just world.
"How disappointing", she muttered in her breath.
"Disappointing?" The other one heard her. "Disappointing that you don't get to rule over Amazon simply because someone, somewhere, put an arbitrary limit on people's account - despite the fact that most of it consist on stocks?"
Great, she was talking to a true *capitalist*. "Yes, truly", she answered. "Disappointing that despite the new opportunity to properly redistribute the world's riches, the ones in power are so set on pretending this never happened, and - " she had to get it out of her chest "that there are people like you willing to enable them!"
An exasperated sigh came from the other side, and the lady had the sudden feeling that this was far from the first time the other one had this conversation himself. She felt a quick pang of empathy for him, though she tried to quash it. "First, the only reason our stocks have so much value is that people are willing to trade for them, and they are not technically resources, so I don't see why you're claiming that redistributing them is somehow fair - we are not talking about land here. Second, do you realize that this 'redistribution' is in no way legal?"
Of course she knew that. Everyone had been made painfully aware of that when the billionaires started their string of complains on public TV. At first, it was funny to watch them scream and shout about their rights. Until people noticed that the governments were not going to abide by the rules of 'the wizard who did it'. Now, they could not bypass the rule established by the wizard, so they did the next best thing :
They ignored it.
This meant that no matter that the keys and documents to random oligarch's super-yacht was transferred to the Red Cross, they simply made duplicates and sent them right back. The yacht technically belonged to the Red Cross, but the oligarch was the one using it. And the same was true for every other instance of property was formerly belonged to a billionaire and was given to some charity. They could keep it, but the billionaire was the one who truly owned it in practice.
A lot of people had been expecting some kind of retribution for this obvious work-around. This was ridiculous. What was the point if they could just do that? But so far, nothing had happened.
Thus, it fell on people like her to try and goad the companies to at least play along even if just a little bit, by using the stocks that technically belonged to them now.
"Just so you know," the voice on the phone sounded quite tired as well, " we were already giving donations to your organisations. The new CEO has already made comments about suspending them if you keep on harassing us like that. I am sure a new solution for all those troubles will be found rather quickly, so how about you just carry one with your previous objectives instead of wasting everyone's time trying to claim your current *theft* is of any worth?"
Yes, people knew drafts were being prepared to artificially lower the value of the dollar 'should the need arise'. The Democrats, those damn traitors, claimed they could not allow the world's economy to be destroyed simply because of the wizard's fancy experiment. But everyone knew the real reason, naturally. There was no way the elite was going to accept that someone, no matter how powerful they were, could just rewrite the rules of the game like this.
She tried another approach. "I am aware of the... lack of legality and even ethics behind this. Yes, people were stolen of their righteous property, even if I personally feel no one should have this much." She ignored the snort from the other end. "But is it really a good idea to provoke the entity responsible for this current situation? If the 'wizard' truly had faith in their projects, they might double down on it. And then what would be the consequences? Would it not be better to play along now, instead of seeing just how far they are willing to go?
There was a bit of silence before the answer came. "I... understand your point. But are you willing to risk the world's economy like this? What if it's a disaster? If no one is allowed to get rich using stocks, it's the entire stock market that will crumble, and then you will get nothing. The safe answer to the situation is to carry on as usual, not to transform the world's economy just to accommodate someone's whims."
"The wizard seems to believe on it", she pointed out. "With their power, isn't it safer to assume they know what they're talking about?"
"Do they? Forcing something down someone's throat suggest they aren't secure enough in their argument to really try and convince people. I could understand if they had debated in public and the billionaires had refused to play along despite overwhelmingly convincing arguments, but to not even try to talk about it before?"
She didn't have much to say about his. "Then, " she hesitated. "Shouldn't we at least try to open the communication from our side? Show some goodwill? Prepare the table, so to say, and invite them to talk? This isn't really productive."
"I know." The answer was curt, but she could feel him wavering next. "But that's not really how people think when they've been slighted, right? I'm not sure anyone in power, whatever kind of power, is thinking like this." A moment of silence later, he continued "I can only hope the wizard doesn't intend to escalate. Because they will definitely escalate as well, those CEOs and leaders and such. And... I just don't know what would happen to us if they start this kind of trade war. It might be the worst crisis we're going to face. Just out of spite from some rich people losing money, and a wizard with fancy ideas."
|
He sits there, in the middle, Jeff Bezos—cradling his trophy as if it were Charles Foster Kane's Rosebud. There's a glow of dark blue reflected over his naked back, courtesy of the Clear Channel Outdoor billboard which manages to stand out in the jungle of hair products, lotions, fashionable clothing, cereal that can help you start the day in the exact right way, earbuds that look nothing like earbuds, sports, sports drinks that make attractive models say, "YEAH!" and there are also shoes and feet and yet it is the mostly-blue billboard suspended thirty feet up high that manages to illuminate Bezos as he wheezes, gasps, scratches at the metallic proof that he is a winner of capitalism.
It was something of a spectacle, hours before, but now they've all had their chance to bestow upon the winner what they've been wishing to bestow and they walk past him, some with caked blood on their knuckles, and the yellow taxis no longer slow down to offer their passengers a chance to witness the winner of capitalism.
A crow is tip-toeing around Jeff Bezos, curious about the brown mess and curious about the smell. In the reflection of the trophy, the image of the crow is distorted, variously shrunken and magnified, and it caws. The shadow of a bare tree creeps near, slow as molasses, and at the sudden sight of the finger-like branches stretching seemingly toward it the crow takes flight and flees, leaving behind the winner of capitalism.
Walking calm and collected, wearing an enormous fluffy top hat—green like algae—is a man who could recite the entirety of Karl Marx's *The Communist Manifesto* from memory. He glances at Bezos, glances at the guts baking in the sun, and he lets out a deep breath of resignation before removing his hat and bowing before the man cradling his trophy. And such was the last sight of the winner of capitalism.
| 2022-08-07T11:01:15
| 2022-08-07T09:59:32
| 46
| 23
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
The goblin stopped and waved its sword in confusion. The human was "cowering" away from it--but what was it supposed to do now? Goblins raided humans; that's just what goblins were supposed to *do*. But--what were they supposed to raid humans *for*?
The human's eyes looked between the goblin and the sword. "Oh, no. I hope the goblin doesn't take the pot of leftover food. Whatever would I do without it?"
Food! Humans were a source of food! That was great! The goblin snarled before darting over and gripping the pot. It snarled again as it realized that the pot was too heavy to lift.
After a moment the human took the pot from the goblin and dumped it in a container of some sort, tying a lid to the container before handing it to the goblin. Just light enough. The goblin grinned, shook its sword, and retreated.
\*\*\*
Raiding the humans became a game that the goblins played. Soon they got a leader, one that taught them what fighting actually *meant*, and they realized that the humans weren't fighting them at all. No one, not human nor goblin, had been injured. And the goblins still got food, clothes, weapons and--on one memorable occasion--armor.
The goblin leader watched this development with pride. When soldiers came and took all the food and left the villager's unable to feed themselves, the goblin leader sent his troops out--to *give* food instead of stealing it. The humans and goblins began to "raid" each other, having fun playing at raiding, but with none of the dangers or injuries.
Time passed.
\*\*\*
The goblin glared through the leaves of the trees at the army. Unlike the goblin's humans, the humans in the army were well fed, well equipped, and well trained. There was no doubt that if this group of humans met the goblins, the humans would win.
But the last army that came to the village had taken all the food. The villagers would have starved without the goblins, and their fellow humans hadn't cared. They hadn't tried to help.
What would this army do?
The goblin slipped silently through the trees until it arrived back the nest to give the details to the leader. The order went through the ranks:
Wait and see.
Wait and see if the army meant harm. If it didn't, if the army was just passing through, let them through unharmed. If the army hurt any of the villagers--
Kill them all.
|
# Soulmage
“It’s debatable whether goblins are even sapient,” Witch Aimes began, and I already knew today’s ‘history’ class would be nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda. “What is known for certain is that they are a subspecies of humanity, twisted over millennia by their over-reliance on the witchcraft of mischief—*yes*, Cienne?” Witch Aimes radiated irritation as I raised my hand—and when a witch radiated irritation, everyone in the room could feel it. A careful, grating hum filled the class, aimed at me like a warning. *I am a powerful person. Do not cross me if you value your continued existence.*
“Goblins are sapient,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “And what evidence do you have for that?”
“What evi—I *lived* shoulder-to-shoulder with goblins for sixteen years in the Redlands! What evidence do you have that goblins are a ‘twisted subspecies’ of humanity!”
“I’m so glad you asked, *Student* Cienne.” Yikes. Normally I had to piss her off a lot more for her to get all formal. Or, wait, was this about the ‘Vile Magics’ discussion this morning? That might explain her mood. The witch reached into a space only she could see, arrogance swirling around her like a cloak, and pulled out a hunched, green corpse.
Bile rose in my throat.
“We know because of autopsies,” Witch Aimes said, her glare unflinching as she stood over the corpse of a person, and for a stuttering heartbeat she was not Witch Aimes but a far older witch, the echo of the despair that had ruined my home village—
\###
*Ice blotted out the summer sun, the magics of misery freezing the very moisture out of the air. My mother stood between the fragile wooden door and my quavering, curled-up form. Another building collapsed under the weight of the ice-witch’s onslaught, and I could hear his glee as our village’s despair fed his growing power.*
*“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered. “Mommy, I want to go home.”*
*My mother looked around the tiny wooden hut that I’d grown up in, the battered, creaking rooftop, the bitter, chilling cold, and didn’t have to say aloud that this was not our home anymore.*
*“It’s going to be okay, Cienne,” Mom whispered. “The witches—they can only see despair. If you—if you just stay calm and don’t panic, they won’t know where to find you.”*
*I tried, I really, really tried, I squeezed my eyelids as tightly shut as I could and pretended I was under the summer sun, but I heard someone shatter like spun sugar and I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it it was all my fault and we were all going to die and the door smashed inwards like so much cheap glass—*
*“It’s okay,” my mother whispered as she stood. “It’s okay, Cienne. I forgive you.”*
*And when I opened my eyes she was gone, and the witch of frost stood in her place.*
*It was my fault. It was my fault. I hated myself so much, I felt so small, I wanted to shrink into nothing and hide where nobody would ever find me, and I waited for the snap of cold to end my life—*
*But it never came.*
*The witch of frost, by some miracle, didn’t see me in my hiding spot.*
*Later, I would understand why. Later, when the goblin tribe searched the village for survivors and kept me fed and warm until the Academy swooped me up, I would sort the events into a linear story. This is where my mother died. This is where the trauma unlocked something within me. This is where I wanted so badly to fall asleep and never wake up.*
*The goblins didn’t fight the witch. They would have been slaughtered like cattle. That wasn’t my darkest hour, in any case.*
*My darkest hour was what came next.*
\###
I stood, clenching my fist and feeling the delicately patterned ornament I held. A message from an old man who may have been a friend, who knew what it was like to grow up under the rifts.
“You have your corpses,” I hissed. “I have my life.”
The words of the old man dug into my palm.
*They cannot take this from you.*
I shoved my chair back and stormed out of class.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
| 2022-05-26T07:25:25
| 2022-05-26T05:33:42
| 425
| 155
|
[WP] Dragons decide leadership and settle conflict through cooking challenges. Human society LOVES when dragons have conflict, because mortals get picked to judge. When dragons fight, whole kingdoms get to eat for free.
|
Peasants, take pitchfork; knights take shield, too. You solemly know what you must do.
Driving pitchfork into the target that's seen: mounds and mounds of haute cuisine!
Unloaded onto waiting shields, then carried back as delectable yield
to the empty-plates and drinking glasses of the expectant, mouth-watering masses!
This ancient trade, as old as time: dragons duel, and mortals dine
Humans judge, with earnest zeal, the quality of their dragon chefs' meals.
But who will win, we all do ask? For ranking dragons is no easy task!
Blue dragon rules the fishies, and is the best at making sushis
Red dragon is envièd, for soups and stews and fresh-baked bread
Green dragon, beyond compare, serves spring salad and vegetable fare
Yellow dragon's acid spew brings ace lemonade and ceviche too
White dragon elicits your sweet tooth: ice cream, pops, and frozen fruit
Dracolich's yogurt, and sour pickles in brine: all fruits of the passage of time
Silver dragon's rule of air begets fluffy breakfast omelettes
Copper dragon's a hotshot with heat-conducting pans and pots
Brass dragon won't relent with their own peerless cooking implements
Which dragon cooks above them all? Whose cuisine shall answer our tastebuds' call?
Let's decide which dragon shall rule the air: as🐉 SUPREME DRACONIC CHEF PREMIÈRE! 🐉
Let the feast of a thousand beasts begin!
|
Sunday! Sunday! SUNDAAAAAAY!!!!! Draco Resolution Productions brings you the gastrointestinal throwdown of THE CENTURRRYYYY!!!! Lucius Dreadwing, He Who Strikes Fear In The Hearts of Men takes on Fangtooth Deathbringer, Scourge of the Seven Kingdoms in an EPIC-curian battle to decide the next ruler of the Saurian Guild! Everyone gets a ticket! Seats are available tomorrow at 9am!! VIP section available at extra cost! Call your friends, bring your kids, bring the pets, (bring flame retardant clothing)!! Come on down and FEEL THE BUUUUUURN!!!
DRP is not repsonsible for any GI discomfort, food poisoning, accidental incineration, or consumption of pets or children
| 2022-01-02T14:21:40
| 2022-01-02T11:45:28
| 47
| 20
|
[WP] Most teens have breakouts of acne; you have it far worse. You have breakouts of ACME. This is the third anvil which dropped from the sky this week, and you're getting annoyed.
You don't have to keep to the three anvils thing. I was more or less just coloring the idea with that detail.
|
*At least there’s a cream for what you’ve got.*
Ellie stands before the bathroom mirror, mercilessly scanning every last skin cell for imperfection. I have never really understood her. She is almost six-feet tall, with long, runway legs, sculpted cheekbones, and envious green eyes. She could be in a magazine. She probably will be. And yet, she wrinkles her forehead, because she just found the Guinness World Record for smallest pimple.
“On the day of school photographs. Can you believe it?” she stamps a designer boot to the ground.
“At least there’s a cream for what you’ve got.”
“What?” she retorts, in a cold, barbed-wire voice — the type that says: enter at your own risk.
I sigh, “nothing.” But it wasn’t nothing. Not even close. See, while the other kids have breakouts of acne, I have breakouts of ACME. Three times this week, an anvil has literally fallen from the sky, inches from my feet — those strange letters engraved on its wrought iron waist. Bewildered? Confused? Panicked-out-of-your-mind? Join the club.
Ellie complains for another ten minutes before we finally step outside and start towards the school hall.
“Isn’t Miles a dream?” I follow her gaze out towards the oval and groan. Miles Harris. The school’s star track athlete. The only thing faster than him is his mouth. She gives him a wave, curling her scarlet lips into a flirtatious smirk. I glance back up at the sky: ominous, gray clouds that speak of a metallic prophecy.
“Ok. Next” It’s my turn. With all this ACME stuff I’ve barely considered my own appearance. I straighten up my blouse, brush back my hair and step forward, anchoring my feet to the Xs marked with gray tape. “Smile” the photographer says. I take a breath and try to relax. “Ok. 1…2…”
BANG.
I scream. Dust clouds the hall. The photographer's mangled body buried beneath the anvil, blood spattered on my shirt. It's finally happened. The first death. I take a trembling step forward, towards those four guilty letters: ACME. I notice something different. There’s something attached to this anvil. Rolled parchment tied to its bloody horn.
I have never closely inspected the anvil before. Someone has always been there. Mom, Dad, even Ellie. Someone to calm me down in the aftermath and shield me from my terror. The police pick them up afterwards, surprisingly calm and without the faintest of explanations.
A voice cuts through the air: “Anna! Don’t go near it!” It’s Ellie. I've never heard her like this before. She sounds afraid. Ignoring her, I reach down, untie the parchment and unravel it. The message is written in elegant, calligraphic letters:
*The Society of American Coyotes warmly invites you to an evening of nefarious scheming and otherwise illegal plotting. Date: 3/1/2019.*
*Time: 7:30 sharp.*
*Location: Red* *Rock Canyon.*
*Dress: Smart Casual.*
*Yours Sincerely,*
*Atticus Unfortunate, SAC General Secretary.*
I stare at the paper for a long moment, then I look up and my eyes meet Ellie’s. The look on her face says it all. I was never supposed to see this.
|
My heart can't be repaired. It's torn and worn in three different places. I've listened to Eliot Smith on repeat, and the pain perpetuates. She's there. Right in front of me. But I can't bring myself to say anything. It hurts to look at her, but I can't stop. I see a future, and I don't. I'm a mess. At least I was.
Things have been falling from the sky. Actually, not things. Anvils. Three in one week to be precise. The first one came, and I saw it coming. Call it dumb luck, or gut feeling, but I *felt* it falling — a black mass of pure weight. I looked up and *saw* it. The foreign object turned, spiralled and no matter which way I craned my neck it seemed to be heading straight for me. It was like it had my name on it. Part of me wanted it to hit me. The melancholic part of me. The one that believed my entire life was tied to a girl. It's not. My life was not anchored to a girl. Part of me wanted to sit in a pool of my self-pity and soak. Part of me wished that the anvil would end it all.
I moved. I dodged the first one with a last minute gasp of air. I didn't want to die. If I did, I wouldn't see her again. The second anvil came with a similar foreboding. I could almost *hear* the air that whistled at the weight's side. I looked up, three days after the last, and waited with an expectant expression. *Come on. Hit me. I dare you.*
I moved. I continued walking and found my natural stride comforting. The ground beneath my feet stopped me from floating away, and I thought back with a shaking head, *How could you think of, even for a second, stepping in the path of certain death?* And then I remembered her. Sometimes I like to entertain the idea of a quick death. Let's cut it short at twenty and accept that the remaining sixty years would be packed out by a meritocracy, lost dreams and postponed futures. I thought of the girl I would marry - it would never be *her*. No one could be her, and that scared me more than death.
The third anvil came. Goosebumps woke my neck, and I tilted backwards to watch. It was graceful, as graceful as a one-tonne weight could be. It looked right at me, and read my dissatisfaction. I didn't move — not this time. I wanted it. Three was my favourite number — I used that as an excuse to take the full force of the message that the heavens were trying to send me. I saw her face one last time, and I knew I had made the right decision. The darkness was like a blanket. Warmth wrapped itself around my body, and I drifted. I'm still thinking of her, even though I shouldn't. It hurts.
---
/r/WrittenThought
| 2018-12-21T17:35:30
| 2018-12-21T14:57:59
| 275
| 27
|
[WP] A drunk human is the single most unpredictable thing in the galaxy . It also makes it the perfect commander for our fleet against ai .
|
Volrop isolated himself in his office after making his decision. The Federation's second fleet had to do a full retreat or be completely annihilated. There just wasn't another option. They couldn't afford to lose another battle, even if it meant abandoning the people of that star system to be conquered.
Most of them were humans; a young species that had only joined the Federation for a relatively brief period of time. Volrop was forced to make a hard choice as the AI ravaged their system. The rest of the galaxy was at stake. Retreating was the right move, nobody would deny it, but that didn't make it feel any less callous. Volrop's political rivals would surely use this against him, regardless of the fact that losing the fleet would've been even worse for everyone involved.
"Umm... Sir?" said Treaik, his assistant, shyly entering the office.
"What?" barked Volrop, frowning.
"I know you wanted to be left alone, but we've received an update you might want to hear."
"If it's another casualty report, just save it for later. I... I really can't handle more bad news."
"That's the thing... One of the human moon colonies has put up significant resistance."
Volrop straightened his posture. "Really?"
"Y-yes..." Treaik looked away. "The AI can't seem to break their defenses."
"I feel like there's something you're not telling me."
"Well... After they heard we abandoned them, the humans decided to get inebriated on vast amounts of alcohol, which uhhh... gave them the bright idea to just attack the AI's army."
Volrop squinted. "And it worked?"
Treaik nodded. "The AI just never accounted for something that dumb. It's currently exposed by trying to fend off their wild tactics. If you order it, we can re-route the fleet to back them up."
Volrop sank in his chair. Relying on a bunch of drunk hairless apes sounded like a recipe for disaster. Unfortunately, this was the first time the AI had shown any type of weakness. Ignoring this opportunity would destroy his reputation, especially if some of those drunk humans went on to survive and spread the tale. In the end, Volrop gave the order to attack, not out of solidarity or confidence in their skill, but because it was the best choice at the time.
Nobody expected this to be their first victory against the AI. Volrop himself couldn't believe it as he monitored the battle live on his screen. The Federation fleet actually fended off the drone army out of the system thanks to the distraction by the humans.
For the next few months, all people in the Federation could talk about was how drunk humans were the ultimate weapon against the drone army. Volrop didn't agree. There were many factors that decided the battle. The fact that the humans got lucky didn't mean they should rely on them for this war. The public felt differently, though. They kept pushing the narrative that the Federation needed drunk humans leading the charge. As stupid as the idea sounded, it became so popular that the people started demanding it be implemented. Volrop knew the Federation would fall if that happened. The only reasonable solution was to create a human 'fleet' of drunkards with no intention of using it.
It actually worked at first. Public interest died down after a few months and the humans who took part in the program were too drunk to notice they weren't taken seriously. Unfortunately, the war effort wasn't going well. The AI had slowly conquered a large segment of the galaxy, prompting people to ask when the human fleet would save them.
Volrop avoided answering that question as much as possible. The humans, sober or drunk, showed disastrous results in their battle simulations. The whole thing had been fluke. Hoping to get lucky again wasn't a worthwhile strategy. That didn't stop the AI from ravaging more sectors. Nothing else seemed to work. With great reluctance, Volrop decided to assess their readiness, if only to say he gave it some thought.
This visit only reaffirmed his beliefs about the drunk fleet. Their barracks were more of a glorified bar than a camp, with hundreds of humans performing dangerous stunts on their ships in an effort to impress each other with their reckless flying. Volrop genuinely couldn't understand how anyone saw hope in them. Future historians would look at him like an idiot if he tried to use them. The political expediency wasn't worth the risk. Volrop had to disband the fleet. Their ships were better off being used by actual combatants.
And of course, the day after announcing this, the humans got so drunk that they launched the fleet on their own, hoping to prove their worth with a direct assault on the AI's base of operations. Volrop suffered a panic attack after learning this. They were going to die. He had to send a backup fleet or the public would blame him for all of it.
As the battle progressed, however, the human fleet started gaining ground on their assault, to the point where the drone army had to go on the defensive. Their maneuvers were so complex and seemingly pointless that the AI couldn't understand their logic, shutting itself down out of frustration. They didn't even have to blow up the base.
Volrop spent the rest of the day in a blurry haze. The entire galaxy rejoiced upon being freed from the AI's tyranny. Most civilians even credited Volrop for this victory, which only made him feel worse. He had to hide himself in his office again, only this time to run from his perceived accomplishment, not his failure. Treaik knocked on the door and entered, saying:
"Sir...? We have dozens of reporters asking for you. Don't you want to say something?"
Volrop slumped his head. "Just... just leave me alone. Please."
"But you're a hero now! Why aren't you happy?"
"All my life, I've done my best to refrain from excess and impulse. My species thrived for thousands of years by following the path of objective rationality. The fact that a bunch of reckless drunks saved the galaxy, and that I'm getting credit for such a stupid idea, has completely destroyed my worldview. I'm just not qualified to lead this Federation."
Treaik widened his eyes. "Y-you're quitting?"
Volrop nodded, standing up. "Do me a favor and tell the press for me."
"Sure but... where are you going?"
Volrop chuckled, walking out of the office. "Well, clearly, I need a drink."
---------
>If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!"
|
**"We can't keep fighting them,"** Flesh-Commander Alcasan growled. They pounded a fist on the holographic projector in front of them, the impassive blue face of the A.I. controlling their fleets staring back. "They make insane gambits. Decisions that we never even bothered creating protocols for. How can we possibly stop them, A.S.T.E.R.?"
A.S.T.E.R. hummed, positronic circuitry pondering the question. "The answer is simpler than you think, Flesh-Commander. I see you're using one of the human bodies today?"
Alcasan looked at their hands. Their true form—a small grey slug, wrapped around the comatose human's brain—coiled and uncoiled in irritation. "Yes. I was hoping it would lend me some insight into how they think. How they fight."
"Then I shall follow in your lead. To use a human metaphor..." A.S.T.E.R. sent an order to its built-in fabricator, and a small metal coin materialized out of the air. "If you were to flip this coin, could you predict which side it would land on?"
Alcasan scoffed. "In theory, I suppose, but it would take impossible amounts of computational power. The exact problem we're facing against the humans—their commanders still obey the laws of physics, they just obey them in a twisted, drunken, gibberingly mad fashion. The coin could land on heads or tails; the humans could compress their home star into a black hole or make it go supernova and scour three cubic lightyears clean of life."
"An apt summary of the situation," A.S.T.E.R. praised. "But now, if you were to flip two coins at once?"
Another coin flashed into existence. Alcasan frowned. "Well, a quarter of the time, they'd both be heads, a quarter of the time they'd both be tails, and half the time... half the time there'd be one of each."
A.S.T.E.R. nodded. "Very good. Much like the humans, when you introduce a second random variable, sometimes they will cancel each other out. A head for every tail. If there were two commanders in charge... well. A drunken hand obeys no head. Yes, they could choose to detonate their home star or compress it to the size of a fist—but if they tried both at once, blundering in the dark, their plans would cancel each other out."
Alcasan frowned. "So what you're saying is—"
More coins appeared, a handful at first, then hundreds, thousands, raining down upon the strategy table. "The humans' greatest strength is their individuality. But the enemy of individuality is collectivity. A single molecule of water is unpredictable, but in aggregate, an ocean can be modeled with simple sinusoidal waves. Their commander is dangerous because there is only *one* of them. If they were to deploy more..."
"Then their randomness would average out!" Alcasan grinned, a wild, feral thing. "I know how we're winning this war."
"So you have orders?"
"Declare war on the humans."
"Flesh-Commander, 'the humans' are a multistellar community with thousands, if not millions, of independent political organizations. Which humans would you like to declare war on?"
Alcasan leaned back, coins showering them as they laughed.
"*All of them.*"
A.N.
If you liked this, check out r/bubblewriters for more! As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-08-15T11:21:05
| 2021-08-15T10:33:23
| 323
| 82
|
[WP] Your superpower is the ability to give other people a superpower of your choice. Your only restriction is that you can never give the same power twice. You've been at this a very long time, and you need to build a new superhero team to save the world once again.
Edit: This is my first WP, and it was so much fun! You are a talented bunch of folks. I'm really surprised at how entertaining they were. I love that everyone came from a different angle. Thank you!
p.s. /u/WratWrangler wrote my favorite.
|
Frieda had searched for years. Finally, she was certain she had found him: the Sage, who had the power to grant anyone whatever superpower he wished. Whenever the world was in danger, The Sage had always been there to provide the world with heroes to save it. Now, the world needed heroes again and Frieda was determined to be one of them. As she reached the hidden door near the summit of Mount Olympus, she shivered. Would The Sage even agree to see her? Nervously, she lifted the heavy metal knocker and let it drop with a resounding crash on the thick, wooden door. As if this had been a signal, the door immediately swung wide and out stepped a wizened, old man.
"May I help you?" the man wheezed.
"I need to see The Sage!" Frieda replied, still breathing heavily after her long climb. "It's a matter of urgency!"
The old man looked her up and down then turned and began to hobble back inside. Frieda stood rooted to the spot, wondering if she'd just been dismissed. "Don't just stand there, young woman," the man called from the doorway. "There isn't enough wood in my woodpile to be able to heat the entire mountainside, you know!"
Before he could change his mind, Frieda scurried inside and the door swung shut behind her with a thunderous boom. "So, how soon before I can meet The Sage?" she asked, unwrapping her scarf and loosening her parka in the pleasantly warm and comfortably furnished room.
"You've already met him," the old man cackled. "You certainly took your time getting up here, what with the world in danger again and all."
"You know about that?" Frieda gasped, surprised.
"Of course, I do, dearie," the man replied, walking to a large, fur-draped chair by the fire and settling himself in it. "That's my job after all. Let's get right down to business, then, shall we? Who sent you?"
"No one," Frieda admitted, blushing. "They don't even know I'm here."
"Oh, that's the way of things, is it?" the oldster grumbled, rubbing his scraggly beard with a wrinkled palm. "What made you decide to search for me?"
"Well, my mother said nobody had even seen you in decades," Frieda grimaced, seating herself rather hesitantly across from him in another chair. "She said you were probably dead."
The Sage nodded resignedly. "I suspected as much."
"My grandad said you saved the world three times!" Frieda gushed, then.
"Four, actually," The old man corrected, smiling thoughtfully. "I was about your age when I saved it the first time."
"Well, I hope you're ready to save it again"
"I can't, young lady," the man grimaced.
"What?!" Frieda shrieked. "What do you mean, you can't! You have to!"
"I'm too old, my dear!" The Sage croaked. "I couldn't even climb down this mountain. What's more my power requires imagination, but my thinker is so ossified by now I'm lucky if I can remember to wind my alarm clock every morning."
"Then the world is doomed?" Frieda breathed, shock wrapping its icy fingers around her soul. Unable to help herself, she began to cry. Dimly, she felt the old man's withered hands touch her head.
"Your superpower," she heard him intone, "is the ability to give other people a superpower of your choice. Your only restriction is that you can never give the same power twice." Suddenly, it felt as if Frieda's mind was opening. She seemed to see the entire world and the peril that threatened it.
"What's going on?" Frieda faltered, looking up into the old man's eyes.
"I'm retiring," the man replied, sitting back in his chair. "You're going to take my place. You see, I've been waiting for someone with enough pluck in them to come looking rather than waiting to be sent. I was beginning to think my power would be lost before I had a chance to pass it on. Now, I can rest in peace."
(Somebody wanna take it from here?)
|
######[](#dropcap)
"Get it out of my face, you monster!" Kennan smacked at the enormous jell-o blob Eliza had shot at him.
"Well, maybe I would if I didn't constantly find *grasshoppers* in my bed!" Eliza shouted, lobbing another stream of jell-o at him, until he was covered in all different colors of the bouncy, viscous material.
"Guys, please, we're here to talk to Gus. Can you stop fighting for just one second?" Marlene rolled her eyes, and with a snap of her fingers, a giant spring appeared between the two heroes who were about to lunge at each other. Instead, they bounced off the spring and shot backwards. Marlene shot Ben a look.
He glanced up from his book for a second before looking back down. Seconds later, cushions appeared under the two, right where they fell.
A small click, and the door leading towards the bedroom opened just a sliver. Kennan and Eliza stopped fighting, clambering off the pillows and standing at attention in a row with the other two, ready to--in a certain sense of the word--meet their maker.
"Gus!" Marlene exclaimed, as the door opened wider and a grey haired old man shuffled out in his Donald Duck pajamas. "You called for us."
She was met with a grunt as Gus headed toward the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then shuffled back into the living room, where the four of them still stood. He gave them a side eye. "What are you guys doing here?"
Kennan's brows knit together. "You told us we had to save the world and gave us these powers, then *dumped us* in Antarctica and told us to come find you, and this is all you have to say for yourself?!" His voice gradually became more and more high pitched as he spoke.
Gus sniffed, then looked at the four of them. "You guys don't look any worse for the wear."
"That's only because we went home first and changed." Eliza rolled her eyes.
Gus took a slow sip of the coffee, the only sound in the room the long, steady sound of his slurping as he took in the four teenagers that stood in front of him. He'd had no choice. The threats only loomed larger, and he could no longer create superheroes the way he once could. His imagination was beginning to fail him, and his options were running out.
"Go out, git," he said. "I can't help you."
"What's the threat even? What are we supposed to be doing?" Ben asked.
Gus stared at him for a moment, his expression blank. Then he shrugged his shoulders. He was old now, and tired. He'd saved the world more times than Spiderman, Batman, and Superman combined. In fact, he'd given them their powers. "I don't know," he said. "Go ask someone else. Go watch the news or something."
Then he walked back into his bedroom and closed the door. What did they want from him? He'd already given them everything he could. His superpower wasn't knowing what the threat was. It was preparing for it.
****
r/AlannaWu
| 2019-01-20T13:44:59
| 2019-01-20T11:39:55
| 43
| 10
|
[WP] “Congratulations on defeating The Dark Lord…” Your mentor and all of your allies suddenly turn their weapons on you, “…but you were meant to be a martyr. Forgive us.”
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"I truly wish there was another way, Jory. After all we've been through this is going to be harder on me than on you. I'll have to live with the consequences." My mentor, Polkar said with a voice that could be considered genuinely sad.
"Borter? You too?" I asked and looked at my best friend.
Borter was looking straight at me with a face so serious it could be chiseled on stone, his huge spiked mace rested on his hands as if it weighed nothing.
The pain of betrayal soon subsided to rage. I had done so much for them and they would sacrifice me like pig. And they even *dared* to pretend like they're the victims! Well, one thing is for sure. I will not go down without a fight.
Six companions in total surrounded me, including Polkar. Two in every direction of the castle's halls. Polkar and Amarny on the front, Borter and Minta on my right cutting the way out and the Kinto brothers behind me blocked the way we had come from. My best option was straight ahead, but Polkar would make sure it stayed blocked, my second best option was the right hall... Against Borter.
In that moment I hated them. I hated Borter, but even then the thought of killing my best friend was repulsive. We had gone through so much together... He saved my life twice and I saved him once, from himself. We had a special phrase we liked to say before facing danger: "Onward brother!" In the late hours of the night, we shared our deepest fears and dreams. We had shared our food and water and when we felt alone, we made each other company. Nothing bonds a friendship so much as shared dangers and me and Borter had so much more than that. He became the best part of the adventure. Apparently it all been a ruse...
I wished I could turn back and face the brothers, but there was no escape that way. Polkar had chosen the companions' positions wisely. I would have to face Borter, no doubt about it.
I turned to look at my best friend, my brother. I looked him in the eye and pulled out my sword and pointed it directly at him. "Onward brother!"
Then something most strange happened. Something I never expected. Borter cried. His eyes became red and filled with tears as he gripped strongly the mace in his hands. "Onward brother!" He yelled and turned to Minta, the companion on his left. He pushed her with such strength and without warning that her body flung over the bar and into the abyss. "Come! Run!" He yelled at me.
Borter ran away as I threw a cloud of stunning dust to the ground to give me time to escape. Polkar's angry screams and lightning could be heard behind me as I ran after my brother and into safety.
|
(my first try at one of these)
"Congratulations on defeating The Dark Lord..." Old Avari said, the wizened old wizard who trained me to use my warlock powers, Said clutching her staff in both hands. While behind me, I could *sense* our other allies preparing themselves for what they felt they had to do.
"...but you were meant to be a martyr.. I'm sorry" Baron Nicolas, our paladin said, finishing for Avari even while he slashed his halbert towards my neck,
Avari summed a blast of lightning, shouting out of the end of her staff to strike me in the shoulder but luckily I dodge out of the way so it merely burns my side even as I have to duck out of the way of Nicholas' attack.
Muttering a spell Under my breath I send a blast of unnatural energy through Nicholas chest. "I'm sorry." I murmer under my breath, tears welling up in my eyes even as Nicholas's body collapsed to the floor, smoke rising from the hole in his chest.... And Avari bonked me over the head with the knotted end of her staff.
Grunting with pain I turned around to face her directly, never should have let her even get far behind me as she did... I chastised myself, kicking out to try and topple her while I waited for my mana to recharge, but the old lady was spryer than she let on and she managed to dodge my kick, before sending out another lighting bolt, this one striking my thigh.
This duel of ours continued for another few minutes, my mind racing to try and figure out how to best the woman who taught me everything I know, when it struck me....I wasn't the first 'hero" she groomed was I... The stories I was told about heros dying in battle always seemed to have an old lady mentor.. I just never figured they were the same old lady mentor...
Resolving myself to what I must do I ran to Avari, which caught her off guard, letting me wrap her in a hug, even as I let her teach me another lesson and summoned a lightning bolt on both of us, crying out in pain on struck us and I could feel it melting my flesh even as it did the same to the older woman next to me, I smiled, knowing I won...
| 2021-09-12T12:52:44
| 2021-09-12T11:50:17
| 44
| 17
|
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came.
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I leaned back in my chair. The room they'd put us in was spacious, and I couldn't even find any of the cameras. Of the ten of us awaiting the test, only three were standing, all of them pacing back and forth.
"I can't believe I actually made it," the girl sitting across from me said.
"Someone must have liked your video," a Chinese-looking boy said. I was at least a little impressed that everyone gathered this time knew English; that hadn't always been the case.
"Well, which do you think you are?" someone else asked.
One of the people who'd been pacing, a well-dressed young man, stopped and turned to the table. "Don't be ridiculous. We're not meant to know that. That's why I'm first going to determine the other four bright ones, and we'll make sure the others don't drag us down."
"*Other* four?" someone asked.
"Great pep talk," I said under my breath.
"Yes, well," he continued, "normally I don't take part in silly displays such as this, but father thought it would be good publicity. So, if you five imbeciles could just stay in your corner and...eat paste, or whatever it is you do, that -"
"Big words coming from someone who didn't complete high school," I said with a smirk. I could see his face slowly turning red.
"I'll have you know I received the equivalent lessons from instructors who would have made your 'teachers' look like gorillas."
I nodded slowly. I knew he was a slow learner, but he had certainly had the best opportunities to learn.
"Hey, now, we need to get along," a woman said, standing. She was definitely the oldest among us.
"Or daddy's gonna have to pay off a judge," I murmured. I should be grateful he didn't hear me.
"Let's just introduce ourselves," she said. I inwardly groaned. Ice breakers were never fun. "I'll start. I'm Linda, from Pennsylvania."
"Well," the rich-looking man interjected, "My name is Richard Pendleton, the third, but you all know me. I'm -"
"Can I call you 'Dick'?" I asked. He squinted at me.
"No, I daresay you should not."
"How about you go next?" Linda gestured at me, hoping to prevent any arguments. I gave a slow nod, maintaining eye contact with Dick.
I stood up and looked around. At least the ones gathered were varied. Maybe not all races were represented, but it was a decent sampling. Except that there were only, like, three Asians, and Asia accounted for a huge portion of the planet's population.
"I'm Ben, from Henderson. Yeah, the cool one by Vegas."
"Can I call you -" Dick started, apparently not thinking his insult through. He stalled for a few moments, before sheepishly saying "Benjamin?"
I held back a snicker. "Sure."
The introductions continued; Maxim, from Russia; Shota and Ichika, both from Japan; Minjae, from Korea; Maite from Chile; Willow, from England; and Logan, from Canada. I let most of that pass right by me; I wasn't great with names in the first place, and the test wasn't memorizing stranger's information. But it would probably help the viewers at home.
"So, what is this test?" I asked once introductions were finally done.
"Haven't you heard of it?" Dick asked. "You must have seen reruns."
"They do a different test every time," Logan said. "Not like they have a shortage of time to get it set up in."
"Seems like a whole lotta trouble for one episode," Willow said.
"Like gathering the five smartest and five dumbest in the world?" I asked.
"I'm quite glad you're here to bring *down* the curve," Dick said, grinning at me.
"So you can be the best of the imbeciles?" I asked.
"That's enough out of both of you," Linda said. "Whatever the test is, we'll need to work together on it, okay? The 'smarter' five don't get any more prize money than the others."
I noticed a door across the room opening, and stood up. "Guess our bonding time is over. Let's get this over with."
|
I pace the waiting room. Up and down, up and down. Everyone is isolated from each other initially to prevent reading the others and finding out which group they came from. Well, most of the candidates knew which group they came from anyway. The room had a couch, a dresser, and a bit of refreshments on the small table in front of the couch.
"Well, figures I'd be the top 5 dumbest people in the world."
I smoked my way through high school and dropped out of college. For what? I thought I had a plan. My buddy and I, the start-up. Then shit went south and the fucker ditched me. Started doing odd-jobs, lived on the streets for a bit. Smoked a bit of this, shot up a bit of that. Got my ass beat so many times I barely feel physical pain anymore. Oh, that reminds me. If I'm going to humiliate myself on global television I might as well just do it while I'm feeling good and not getting the shakes. I'm sorry, mom, dad. I should have listened after all.
I pull out my syringe.
|
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, to the 3rd GC! I am your host for today, Quin Jackson, and I am joined with my amazing co-host, Victor. The Generation Contrast is a decennial event, where by 5 of the brightest minds of each new generation has to work with the 5 dumbest minds of the generation for the GC test. Now the GCT has been set, funded and organised by an anonymous individual ever since the creation of the GC in 2020. Even I don't know who he is."
The crowd murmurs.
"Now, we are going to move on to the live interviews, where the participants will be interviewed individually in their respective waiting rooms." The crowd goes wild as the anticipation to see who were the lucky few to be chosen. Or unlucky.
"Now, we will be looking at James, 26, jobless. But one of the smartest men of the generation. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TO TOGETHER FOR-"
The stadium's large screen changed from the faces of the casters, to a man sitting in the waiting room with his face in ecstasy and his arm with a needle sticking out of it. His entire head was thrown back on the couch as his eyes rolled back.
|
As I shoot up, thoughts run wild in my head. What's going to happen to me after the GC? Will my life be better after being known as the biggest dumbass in the world? Fuck it, I might just off myself after this shit is done. I'll OD on whatever, feel good when I pass out at least. Or not, if I get money.
My thoughts clear as the my body circulates the liquid of the gods. That hits the fucking spot, Mable's stuff is damn good as always. As I roll back my eyes to enjoy the pleasure, the door opens.
And suddenly, the whole world can see me shooting up heroin.
|
"JAMES? WHAT THE-? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?"
Quin turns off the mics and calms Victor down before he destroys the production desk.
"FUCK, HAVE YOU NOT DISGRACED THE FAMILY ENOUGH?" "Victor, you have to calm down. We have the biggest gig of the decade. Don't let your brother or anything stop you. And why are you pissed off? He's one of the brightest minds in his generation." "It must be a mistake. That doesn't make any sense for him to be here as one of the smartest. Dumbest, maybe, but not a snowball's chance in hell is he one of the smartest. You know what, professionalism. Let's get back to the show." Quin smiles at Victor.
Quin turns the mics back on.
"Er, James seems to be in, well, wonderland. We'll get back to him in a bit." "Apologies, everyone. I was not expecting my brother to be on the GC."
The crowd has mixed reactions, as Quin and Victor masterfully shifts the attention away from James and to the next participant.
"And moving on to the next brightest mind..."
EDIT: Formatting
| 2016-03-03T06:35:14
| 2016-03-03T05:47:53
| 151
| 26
|
[WP] During a flight you accidentally damage a window and find out that they aren't actually windows, but monitors.
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Stewardess what is this? where is the window!
Oh that sir? we replaced all windows with LCD monitors years ago to increase fuel efficiently by streamlining the hull, to reduce metal fatigue and thereby extend the service life and over all safety of our aircraft once the technology became light and energy efficient enough to allow it. The image you are seeing is through a small fiber optic camera mounted outside which wirelessly links to your personal monitor.
Oh.... so erm can I have some peanuts?
|
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He always had a problem with perspiration, it reminded him of Maths exams. Even in the climate controlled plane, he couldn't help but sweat. The shock of what he had just done made him feel like he was sitting in an oven. He had done it dozens of times, he was bored and was trying to put things in the little hole in the window to pass the hours. This time however, the window gave way to the scratching of his pen cap.
His first panicked thought was that he had doomed them all. The scene from final destination kept running through his head. A small sized hole would gradually grow larger and larger till it ripped him and his seat out of the plane. Panicking he began stuffing some tissue paper into the small crack; but all his efforts only seemed to make things worse. "This is it" he thought to himself. "This is how I die"
But something curious happened, instead of a whoosh of air, he felt no change. The other passengers didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong, there were no warning sounds blaring over the intercom. He sighed a breath of relief and thought how silly he was. Surely he should have known that that plane would be designed so that such accidents wouldn't end up killing everyone. "How silly of me".
However, before he had time to fully recompose himself he noticed that there was a bright glowing light coming from behind the crack. It was around dawn and the plane was starting to come into view of the sun, but this light was different. It was of a different material than the light around it. His curiosity was piqued. Slowly he began chipping away further, and the more progress he made, the more it became clear that something wasn't right. It felt like tearing a hole through a sheet of fabric, the clouds and the faint glow of the sun which had seemed so real and romantic before, looked more and more like some cheap painting layered on the window to stop people from seeing what was outside.
Once he had a hole a bit larger than a quarter he adjusted himself in his seat to take a peek into the source of the light. He started sweating again. He saw an auditorium filled with what looked like students, pen and paper in hand, jotting notes. He could not see what they were looking at, but it seemed to him as if they were looking right behind the plane.
| 2015-02-05T08:48:23
| 2015-02-05T05:37:27
| 230
| 101
|
[WP] Write an essay explaining why overly-specific, fancy prompts limit the creativity and steal the spotlight from the writers, and why open-ended, thought-provoking prompts are far superior and should be more highly rated on this sub.
|
I refuse to obey!
I now write in defiance,
I will not be forced,
to any compliance!
you demand an essay,
from visitors here,
but one thing is sure,
yes one flaw is clear!
this narrow request,
quite exact my friend:
"denounce the specific",
"open free the end!"
seems slightly odd,
and not to be comic,
but on further review,
is itself not ironic?
|
It's interesting how by trying to defeat a status quo, revolutionaries find themselves falling into the same traps that their former leaderships did. The French Revolution overthrew Louis XVI to replace him with another dictator, and Occupy Wall Street turned into the same ineffective, split-purpose and inherently disorganized movement that characterizes the nature of the stock market.
It's become so much of a trope of reality lately that we even see Bioshock Infinite, a video game of all mediums, highlighting how in trying to defeat Comstock, the Vox Populi's leader became the same kind of tyrannical, fanatical, and power hungry character that Comstock himself was.
The only way organic and substantial change can occur is from the grassroots. This means education, changing of societal tastes and most importantly recognizing that fighting fire with fire is not an option.
Which brings me to this prompt. This prompt harps on about the nature of this sub today, where the only posts that get a high amount of recognition are the ones which inherently limit the writing of the responders. This is true, and is talked about in the [wiki](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/prompts).
It's true. Having an overly specific prompt results in responses that are repetitive, overly comedic and trope-based and inherently debase the nature of the sub. However, because of how the grand reddit machine works, they are the most popular type of prompt.
They are repetitive. Every single response, given how limiting the nature of the prompt is in the first place, has very few potential paths to follow before it begins to seriously deviate from the prompt. Because of this, all of the responses become very very similar. This goes contrary to the purpose of the sub, which is to inspire creativity, and in so doing debases its purpose.
Furthermore, a repetitive nature of responses means that once redditors read the first response, they read the first few lines of the next one and realize it is almost exactly the same. This means they skip it because there is no new material there to be consumed. This means the nature of the sub is that the first person to post a response becomes the highest upvoted, regardless of the quality of the response. More creative responders who spend more time on their responses and as a result post their response later become buried and receive no credit for their work. Even though the sidebar claims *It's all made up and the points don't matter*, it is still a large personal blow when your response is the second from the top and receives less than 1/5 of the votes.
Furthermore, having overly specific prompts means that more comedic or trope-based responses become more popular. Given no room to diversify, the prompt becomes a joke and the first person to exploit this by following the most clichéd or funny response possible is summarily rewarded. This narrowbands the kinds of responses which become popular and means that more honest and creative responses never see the light of day. Given that this sub was intended to serve those very kinds of responses in the first place, this debases the nature of the sub.
Finally, we come to the reason that this is the status quo in the first place. Reddit is a distraction engine, designed to offer short-term dopamine bursts by providing viewers with short attention spans entertaining content. This is why /r/funny is the most popular sub by far and if reddit hadn't employed [special algorithmic solutions to this problem](http://toddwschneider.com/posts/the-reddit-front-page-is-not-a-meritocracy/) the top 50 places would all be cat videos.
This means the /r/WritingPrompts paradigm is that a more hilarious or outrageous a prompt is, the more likely it is likely to be upvoted. The presidential rap writing prompt or the Siri 'I love her' prompt are excellent examples of this. Redditors travel down the front page, laugh at the funny prompt, upvote it, and move on. Occasionally they glance at the chaos that is the comment section of that prompt, sigh over the 'declining quality of responses', and leave.
And that brings us here, to this prompt. It wants responders to type an essay, rather than a story, which immediately contradicts the nature of this sub. After that, it uses many adjectives to narrowband the responder into expressing a similar opinion and in effect write the essay that they want for them. Try /r/HomeworkHelp. It's irony in the extreme.
This brings us back to where we started. In order to change this trend and truly expose some of the great writers on this sub, we need to encourage that kind of content and create a societal shift in the way we read and write these responses. Either through expositions of fantastic writing on this sub (which they already do), competitions to see who can write the best kinds of prompts and responses (already being done), or even just announce harsher moderation and blanket bans on non-compelling prompts (if they wanted to become what they hate and stifle prompt creativity).
In short, the reason you are so frustrated with the current paradigm is not because 'overly-specific, fancy prompts' are ruining the sub, but because reddit is a site where that kind of content is favored. And it will continue to be favored unless we change the tastes of the population until they like obscure prompts that require them to actually (gasp!) read the responses. As a friend of mine said to me as I browsed this sub in his company: "How do you have the time to read that stuff?".
| 2014-11-09T00:50:48
| 2014-11-08T23:41:45
| 39
| 19
|
[WP] You don't sleep. Instead you die every day and 8 hours later you wake up in the body of a person who has 16 hours left to live.
|
## The longest dream
I’m in the middle of the longest and most lucid dream I’ve ever had. As in, I know I’m dreaming, but I’ve pinched myself, splashed water on my face, done everything else I can think of to wake up, and I’m still asleep.
I use “I” loosely, here. I remember going to sleep in my apartment on my newish bed in a box foam mattress with the A/C running and slate light-blocking curtains completely blocking the streetlamp outside. I went to sleep in my cool, dark, cozy cave. Then “I” woke up in a shockingly bright room. My back was aching — innersprings poked up through the concave mattress I lay on. I pushed aside a mountain of blankets and eased my tired feet onto the floor where they met my slippers. Only they weren’t my feet, or my slippers. And the sagging artificially tanned skin, smeared makeup, and matted curls that stared back at me in the bathroom window... they weren’t mine, either.
I can’t remember ever having been someone else in a dream, but it was kind of thrilling at first. A middle-aged someone else with bad fashion sense, but someone else just the same. I knew what she did for a living (insurance adjustor), where she kept her car keys (flowery ceramic bowl by the entryway), what she ate for lunch every day (leftover stew from the day before, in a tupperware from home), what her coworkers were named, and everything else. My mind had invented her whole life.
So I lived it.
Start to finish, I was her for the day. I did what I knew she would do, ate what she’d eat. Said what she’d say.
And now it’s night and my (her) body is practically folding in on itself in exhaustion, and I’m freaking out. Because it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore, and I can’t wake up from it, and I’m terrified I’m going to go to sleep and wake up like this again. I need to get all this out, just to calm myself down. So I logged into my Google Drive from her ancient Dell and I wrote this into a new document.
Ok. it’s out there. Now I’m going to sleep.
— Jackson Turner
=== ===
It’s seven days later.
Things I’ve learned:
- It’s not a dream
- I died seven days ago. That is, Jackson Turner, the person I was for twenty five years of my life, never woke up when he went to sleep a week ago. His, my, parents and friends went to his funeral three days ago. I know this because I attended too, as Jeffrey Williams, a 48 year old retired stockbroker. I stood about a fifty feet away, pretending to look at a nearby grave, straining to hear everything. I cried when my mom got up and couldn’t say anything. My dad had to come up, put his arm around her shoulder, and walk her back to her chair. I kept crying until after everyone had left.
- I never wake up as the same person. I go to sleep in one place as one person, I wake up as another in another place.
- Sometimes I’m a man, sometimes a woman. Once I was a kid, but usually I’m an adult. I always wake up somewhere in this city.
- Nothing I’ve found online comes remotely close to explaining what’s going on or why it's happening.
- Being old sucks. Like, really really sucks. I was an 85 year old man yesterday and I couldn’t twitch a muscle or even think without it hurting somehow.
- It took about a week for this to start feeling real. But it has. Like this is just my life now and I have to learn to make the best of it.
I haven’t contacted any of my friends or my family yet. But I think I need to write my mom. Her face just crumpled when she was up at that podium. I need her to know I’m still here, even though I don't look like me.
=== ===
It’s 9 days later.
Emailing my mom was a bad idea. I used my gmail account to email her because I didn’t think she’d hear my voice on the phone and think I was real. She didn’t write back at all. My dad did. He said:
If you ever email my wife again, I will contact the authorities. And I will personally find you and make you pay for the pain you’ve caused us. Our son died. Do you even know what that pain is like? I don’t know who you are, but only a monster would try to take advantage of someone at a time like this. You should be ashamed of yourself.
I didn’t write back.
And if I can't convince my mom, I doubt I can convince my friends. They've all seen my body. I barely even believe what's happening. I feel so alone.
=== ===
It’s two weeks later.
I started fucking with people’s lives. I made them say or do things they shouldn’t do.
I bought a Ferrari and drove it off the lot, spending a 40-year-old dad’s family’s life savings.
I figured I wasn’t going to wake up as him, what did it matter?
As a 29-year-old media planner yesterday, I slept with my yoga instructor. She was eyeing me, and I had a girlfriend, but I figured why not. I’m used to being a girl at this point, but I’d never slept with a girl, as a girl. Now I have.
I told my boss to f-off as a 17 year old fast food cashier. I told his parents the same. They grounded me. I just went to sleep.
Being a jerk is getting kind of boring, though.
=== ===
15 days in.
I think I’m killing them.
I'm not sure. But I look them up the day after, just to see what happens. And they always die. Am I a serial killer? Do I kill people by going to sleep as them? Claim my next victim when I wake up as them, and then do it all over?
Maybe I am a monster. If I could stop, would it save them?
What if I don’t go to sleep?
I’m Janice today. I’m a 56-year-old librarian. Can I keep Janice alive? May as well try.
=== ===
16 days in.
I’m still Janice today! I stayed up all night watching TV and surfing the internet. I almost fell asleep around 2 AM. Janice is not a night-owl. So I drove to a 24 hour pharmacy and got a giant package of no-doze.
It’s 2pm now and I’ve been awake since yesterday morning. I tripped in the bathroom an hour ago and my wrist is swelling up, gently turning brown and purply on the inside. My head is buzzing, and I keep losing track of conversations.
=== ===
18 days in.
I couldn’t go to work yesterday. I keep staring into the distance and forgetting what I was doing. Then I’d zoom back all of a sudden and it would feel like I was watching myself from behind myself.
The no doze barely helps anymore. I’m terrified I’m going to fall asleep and kill her. But I also feel like killing myself. I saw a balck bear on the deck yesterday starting at me through the glass sliding door. I was convinced it was going to come inside and attack me, and I opened the door to let it, even thought I was shaking as I did it. But there wasn't a bear. It's not the first thing I've seen that hasn't been there.
Janice's bed is so alluring… when I pass by her bedroom door it feels like gravity is pulling me towards it.
I sat in my bathtub for an hour today running cold water. I kept splashing it on my face to shock myself, eyeing the hair dryer by the sink.
I dried off to come write this, but my head is nodding, and I know if I don't go back to that cold water, I'm going to fall asleep...
=== ===
> Janice Haley, 56, of Madison, Connecticut, died on June 20th, 2018, at home
> alone in an apparent suicide. Police found her dead in her bathtub after her the
> E.C. Scranton Memorial Library, where Janice worked for twenty five years,
> reported her missing...
|
Awake.
Room’s bright - this bed’s comfortable.
The air’s cool and crisp.
Haven’t felt this nice in a while.
There’s a woman lying next to me - instinct tells me she’s my wife.
Trust your instincts. If there’s anything I’ve learned being stuck in this reincarnation loop-de-loop it’s that. Instincts will tell you all you need to know.
Once you relax into character you’ll be able to feel your way around their lives. You’ll feel their relationships. Their warmth, love, torment, or qualms. You’ll feel the comfort of routines and the pangs of situations that form out of the norm.
Trust your instincts and you’ll know where to go and where you’ll have to be to greet the inevitable.
My body’s telling me I need to piss so I slip out of bed and following feelings of habit to the bathroom. I’m peeing standing up. I guess that makes me a ‘male.’ I’ve practically been it all at this point. Male, female, everything in between. They’re all just different flavours of reality.
I glance at myself in the mirror. I try not to make too much of the moment where I see the skin I’m in for the first time - lest they get a feeling that there’s something about today. I have to admit, though, I think that feeling is inevitable. Best we can do is not make it too obvious. From what I assess I’m a middle aged man - white - brown hair - clean shaven (that means shaving is part of the routine - damn it, I hate shaving). This bathroom’s pretty nice - everything here seems pretty comfortable. Sucks we can’t stick around.
I get out of the bathroom and make my way down the hall. I’m feeling a mixture of love and excitment. I get to what I feel is a bedroom door - it has a sticker of a Batman symbol.
Fuck.
Time and time again I hate this part. It’s hard not to feel something. In the short time I’m here I inherit all these strings of being. Everything that truly makes a person. When behind the door I see this child sleeping in their bed I’m overwhelmed with warmth of love. I can’t really make much out of what I see. Essentially it’s a mound of covers with a head peeking out lying on a pillow. Kid looks like a boy who’s about nine years old. Can’t see much but - as intincts strongly dictate - I fucking love this kid.
These are always the worst cases. The cases where it’s supposed to be some routine normal day just like every other day. Where nothing new or different is supposed to happen - though my presence here denotes the opposite.
It all sucks either way but if I had to choose I’d rather go the route of the bed-ridden adult diapered cancer patient than whatever the hell this is going to be. Sure, it’s painful as fuck - but I spend my whole shift lying in bed surrounded (sometimes) by people who know what’s up. And I get to do it all without having to get up to go to the bathroom.
Gave myself an hour to write the following - I apologize for it being incomplete (I feel I could've gone on and on with this prompt). I'd love to hear your feedback!
| 2018-06-20T08:54:39
| 2018-06-20T08:28:17
| 28
| 13
|
[WP] You’re a ghost who can somehow still touch objects. However, you do not do anything with this. Until one day you accidentally catch a pencil someone throws at their friend, leading everyone to believe that friend has superpowers. Feeling awkward, you decide to hang around and keep up the act.
|
The first one was an accident; The ghost had been floating around an elementary school, with no real purpose in mind, and he crossed into the path of an airborne pencil. It stuck in his ectoplasm, seemingly suspended in mid air to those still living, and the ghost turned to see a small boy with his hand in the air -prepared to catch the incoming projectile.
Those around the boy gasped, and a larger boy on the other side of the room looked stunned and enraged.
"He stopped it with his brain!" A small girl said through her braces.
The ghost examined the children and decided to have some fun; as the boys hand slowly lowered, the ghost descended downward with the pencil -matching his pace.
The children were amazed, a few even clapped, and a broad smile crept over the small, curly haired boy as his hand, and the pencil, dropped completely.
The ghost found all this rather amusing, so throughout the day he followed the curly haired boy and continued the charade. The larger boy who'd thrown the pencil was not pleased by the spectacle, and out at recess he made another attempt. This time throwing a football far across the yard towards the curly haired boy who sat alone on a bench. The ball would have impacted him directly in the back of the head had it not been for the ghost, who stopped it just inches away.
"Whoa, did you see that?!" Another astonished pack of children.
"He did it again!" The kids around the larger boy ran across the yard, in complete astonishment as the curly haired boy snatched the football out of the air. Another faint smile coming over him.
The day proceeded, and the ghost intercepted: Erasers, candy, pennies, and even a shoe, the children were relentless, and the ghost was entertained. By the end of the day, the curly haired boy had a small entourage of adoring fans, all hoping to witness his next amazing feat. As the boy walked home, his posse depleted, until he was alone. There were no projectiles left to catch, but the ghost continued to follow -perhaps hoping to keep the gag running with the boy's family.
The curly haired boy entered his home, modest, but void of family members, except for a howling beagle overjoyed to see him. He went to his kitchen and snatched a note off the refrigerator '*Working late, honey, meatloaf in the fridge. Love, Mom.*'
The boy sighed and retreated to his room. The ghost followed automatically, and hovered around the boys bed. The beagle dove under the bed sheets, and the boy laid flat on his back staring at the ceiling, grinning now from ear to ear.
"Today was so awesome, bud. I don't know how, but everything Rich always throws at me just stopped right before it hit me! It was like I had super powers, and everyone thought it was so cool!"
The beagle groaned a bit under the covers, and the curly haired boy patted the bulk under the blanket lightly.
"I hope my powers don't go away... I hope tomorrow the stuff they throw at me still stops... Today was the best day ever, and I don't wana go back to before..."
The ghost hovered in the room for some time, and finally decided that he'd follow the boy back to school the next day -he now had a real purpose in mind.
r/BeagleTales
|
Lenny sat morosely in the desk at the rear\-right corner of the room. The desk was covered in carvings of anatomy and phone numbers. He rested his head in his hand and stared at Mr. Woodkind at the front of the class.
Lenny slapped a passing fly to the ground.
Mr. Woodkind did the same history lecture, six times a day. Lenny listened to the lecture, six times a day. It was incredibly tedious, almost as tedious as being dead. Lenny had no idea how Mr. Woodkind continued smiling all the way to the end of the day, but he suspected the coffee cup may contain more than it seemed. Lenny wished he had coffee that was more than it seemed.
Lenny slapped the confused fly to the ground again.
Lenny preferred this class because it had this desk, the students liked to joke that it was haunted. So, Lenny haunted it. The extend of his haunting was learning the history of World War I at a high school level extraordinarily well, and slapping flies out of the air. Lenny had been doing this for the past twenty years. During that time, the only thing that had changed was Mr. Woodkind’s smile growing from sincere, to pained, to manic, to slightly confused to borderline demented; every transformation of the smile was accompanied by a slight widening of the eyes. Mr. Woodkind could probably count the stars on the flag across the street at this point.
Lenny stared at the fly, daring it to try again.
A pencil flew past him. Lenny slapped a passing pencil to the ground. Oops.
“What the...” the student to the left of him muttered under his breath.
A pencil flew past him. Lenny slapped a passing pencil to the ground. Shit.
“Dude!” The student jumped out of his seat. The pupils turned to look at him in annoyance. Mr. Woodkind spilled some not\-coffee. “Are you a freaking superhero?!”
The red\-haired student in front of Lenny looked confused. The other student threw a pencil at him. Lenny watched it hit him in the face.
“Man, what the fu\-\-”
“Boys, boys, please sit do\-\-”
“BZZZZZZT” The bell rang signaling the end of the period.
Lenny thought about it for a second, then stood up and followed his ginger quarry. The mischievous student followed behind at a safe distance, muttering something to a pair of confederates.
They lobbed a tennis ball slowly at the boy. Lenny slapped it out of the air and it bounced back to the group. They kept walking. One of the companions snatched the ball and tossed it overhand at the boy. Lenny slapped it out of the air back toward the group.
“Hey, Mark!”
The red\-haired boy turned around just as they tossed the tennis ball again, this time with vigor. It careened off his nose and flew down the hall at a wild trajectory.
“Ow! What the hell!” The red haired boy had a tear coming out of one slightly reddened eye as he slapped a hand to his face. The group of compadres was bent over double laughing and pointing, eyes wide in amazement.
Lenny liked this much more than history class.
| 2018-05-24T19:28:31
| 2018-05-24T19:06:26
| 180
| 63
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.
|
American efforts against ISIS had failed. ISIS had toppled local governments and taken them over. Claiming most of the Middle East. Many countries themselves had made agreements with ISIS in order to try to secure themselves so that they would not be toppled as well.
America was the last to stay in the fight, but American government had finally decided on a full retreat. The retreat would happen the next day, and Platoon 608 was the last ditch effort. This was an assassination attempt on the ISIS leaders.
Platoon 608 stood on top of a building in the new ISIS capital, where nearby a speech was being given. They were lined up to be a firing squad, it was a suicide mission.
As the Platoon sat there, hoping that they could maybe make it out of this alive. They heard a clapping. They figured the speech must have been over. But an hour later there was still clapping, and it has immensely grown in volume.
The major ordered them to stay where they were with their scopes in place, they were not to move. Eventually one of them gave in to the curiosity, and looked towards the direction of the clapping.
What he saw left him frozen in shock. There were atleast 100,000 men on horses, and they wore the maple leaf and guns. The clapping had been the horses drawing near. They all wore the insignia of the Maple Leaf.
The Canadian Calvary had arrived.
| 2016-01-29T07:22:10
| 2016-01-29T06:44:06
| 43
| 25
|
[WP] From birth, everybody has a word imprinted on their left arm. This is the last word they will ever say.
|
*"What does this mean?"* His voice had broken even before he was able to open his mouth. There he was, living the biggest and happiest moment of his life to find this? That poor baby.
He promised himself that day that he would do anything to keep his daughter safe, as it was impossible to know what could surprise them just around the corner. Most of this cases turned out in young infants who died too soon, but he knew that this time was different. It *had* to be different.
He had lost his wife after she gave birth, even though she had the chance to meet the little miracle, honoring the beautiful "baby" written on her arm. He couldn't lose Maggie too. Not now!
Years went by and they tried to make the best of it. And every night, when he tucked her in and she signed "Good night", he would kiss her forehead and stare at her left arm. It was blank.
|
"Put a long sleeve shirt on! We're going out!" I say to my husband, grabbing my purse.
"Why? It isn't like people with offensive words are bad people. Everyone has some kind of word. Why should I have to hide it?" He says.
"I don't want to be that person that has to sit there awkwardly as a child asks what 'fuck' means. Yes, everyone has a word on their left arm, but most are a little more tame." I say, rolling down my sleeves to hide my word.
"Okay, okay. I guess I have to be a little less defiant now that we're gonna have a kid of our own soon." Ken says, lazily grabbing a sweater from the coat hook. "Where are we going, anyway?"
"I told you 10 minutes ago! We're going to look at cribs and then go for supper." I say, irritated.
We walk out of the house then and get into the car. Ken likes to drive because he's insistent he's a better driver. Whatever. It means I can play on my phone instead of swear at pedestrains and cars.
We arrive at the furniture store and pick out a crib to be shipped to our house in no time. I think we both just wanted to pick the middle-range one because we weren't sure how else to pick one. We didn't want to cheap out or get swindled.
When we are deciding where to go to eat, I start to become overly paranoid for some reason.
"My last word is 'choking' and I really think I ought to be more careful now that I have a baby inside me. I don't want to get fish or anything else with tiny bones and no finger food... Ugh. I don't know why I'm like this." I say, doubling over and putting my face in my hands in the car.
"You're having a panic attack. Your word has done that more than once. I wish we could switch. You never swear." Ken offers, rubbing my back.
"I'll be okay. Let's just go get some Chinese food and call it a night." I say, sitting upright again.
Just as we're about to get going a man walks up to our window in the parking lot. He makes the 'roll down the window' gesture. Ken complies. He always is so trusting.
"Do you two lovely people happen to be going near Westmount? I live around there and would be awfully appreciative of a ride. I lost my bus pass and I have no change" The young man says, smiling.
Ken and I look at eachother. I feel a wave of nausea come over me.
"Sure." Ken says. "Hop in."
The man opens the door and gets in. Then he pulls something dark from his pocket.
"Gimme all your cash." Says the young man, brandishing a pistol.
"Now listen, young man, you have your whole life-" ken starts.
"No bullshit. Cash." Says the young man, pointing the pistol at Ken's head.
"Fuck." Says Ken, and I wince.
I don't hear a gunshot so I hand the man my purse and ken's wallet from the glovebox. The man leaves as quickly as he came in and we breathe a sigh of relief.
"I knew something messed up would happen. I could feel it." I say, shivering.
"Let's get out of here and call the police." Ken says, pulling the car out and heading towards home.
Ken must be really revved up because he drives like a maniac, even on the highway.
"At least I didn't say 'choking.'" I say proudly.
Just then, a huge transport truck pulls out in front of us. Ken must have ran a red light.
"Fuck!" Says Ken, as the truck slams into us.
| 2015-02-05T19:05:12
| 2015-02-05T15:37:49
| 24
| 14
|
[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day!
|
"Contact in 3...2...1...grounded."
Mirai felt the deck push against him through his magboots. He was already suited up and ready to disembark. Mist began to form as warmer air flooded into the airlock. His eyes flickered across the script from his helmet HUD: mostly green but with a few orange lines of warning. *Nothing deadly but getting a lungful of that air mix will be annoying...*
"Oi, Pooks. Update: The air outside isn't so good for me, so i'm gonna keep my helmet on for the exchange. Also it's dusty"
"Do what you need MeeRah-ee. They offer 10000 credits for safe delivery of goods. Completion keep us running for quarter cycle longer. You eat like black hole, make us always in red."
Mirai grinned beneath his faceless mask. The Brot known as Pook was actually a partially energy based lifeform. As such, just basking in the heat of a nearby star with the solar collectors open would have normally be enough. His physical form was a lump of brown rock which made up his core. As such, it made sense to pair with a biological lifeform. Which was where Mirai came in. Mirai was the muscle, the face, the surgical knife: he did everything automation couldn't.
"Relax Pooks. Since you've picked me up you now have access to every job available and a 100% success rep. Feeding me has made you famous."
"Pook suppose to explore the universe! Not spend millions of credits feeding bottomless pit. Energy conversion chart says you consume more power than Pook."
"Anddd game on." Mirai slapped the big red button to open the external doors.
Mirai strode down the metal ramp and onto dry soil; his eyes locked onto the triplet of small muddy looking mammals that stood a good 10 meters back. Behind them stood a large rectangular box. A quick scan from his sensor suite noted it was a coolant device. Probably some sort of precious perishable. Also way too big for him alone to carry on board.
He waved a hand in greeting and the 3 mudrats scuttled behind the box. Mentally he winced. He kept forgetting he was 3 times taller than most of the creatures that seemed to dominate the local star cluster. Checking that the translator was on he called out a greeting.
"Hail sentients. I am Mirai, subordinate of this rock-ship. I am here to collect the goods as requested."
Twitching noses eyed him from the safety of box cover.
"I am Satik. This cargo is to be delivered to GnarrChk, a Torwen, for the price of 10000 credits. The cargo is contraband and to be caught with it is termination by federation law."
Miria frowned. The Torwen weren't exactly the most endearing of races. Nearly 4 meters tall and pretty damn slow, they looked exactly like how you'd expect a carnivorous plant to look like; gaping mouth and sharp teeth being the most of it. Becoming part of the Federation had thrilled the Torwen to bits, allowing them access to a larger and more exotic food. Naturally the consumption of sentient creatures was prohibited by law, but that didn't stop the less savoury elements of society from dealing with them. It justified the 10k priceline as well. The trashrodent continued.
"Thirty percent upfront and the rest upon delivery. Do you accept the job?"
"Goods inspection first. I'm not accepting anything without making sure i received it in perfect condition and that it ain't dangerous. 2 jobs back some Kogath scum tried to load explosives on us. You understand?"
"We understand, even we have not seen the inside of the box."
Fervent nods sent dirt clods flying in various directions. They stepped aside to let Miria access to the box. Miria strode around the 2 meter long box, quickly tapping in several commands. Even as one side slowly became transparent he scrubbed at the surface with his glove before activating his wrist light.
He froze.
"What is it?" asked one of the furrypests. All 3 were staring at the form within. Satik began to tremble violently as it stared at Mirai's armored back and gears of thought spun fitfully.
"She's human."
|
It’s a cool day on Raambina. About 98 kelvin, according to the forecast. On days of this temperature, most residents like the idea of staying inside. The good news for them is that every inhabitant of Raambina lives inside a facility designed to keep things about 200 degrees warmer.
“It’s too damn cold.”
“Speak for yourself, ridgeback. It’s like a sauna in here.”
Our dangerous duo, the Mammal and the Reptile, sit at the bar. They each lazily wait...
“Ah, shut up. It’s always too hot for you. I’ve been running the ship cold to keep you comfortable, and by the time I finally get to this damn ‘Sauna Paradise’ it’s only colder, if anything.”
“Well you don’t need to hang around me, I’m just here for the drinks. I’m too young to drink back home, you know.”
“Well while *you* waste our damn money on cocktails, I need to be looking for work!”
“What do you mean ‘killing our money,’ you’re drinking an Irish Coffee, of all things!”
“Well I like having a warm drink while waiting in the cold! I don’t get that experience often!”
“Then why are you complaining that it’s this ‘cold?!’”
“Because I never get to be where it’s warm for me!”
“But— ugh. Just tell me when you find work.”
The Mammal pushes away from the bar and storms off. The Reptile takes a pensive sip of his coffee. Across the room a strange creature pulls down a hat with a wide brim.
The Mammal stares around the resort and sees all sorts of beings enjoying the amenities, some of the more adventurous ones even go outside to see what the barren planet has to offer.
*There must be Eltines somewhere in this crap hole,* she thinks to herself.
(I have class in 6 hours so I’m gonna sleep now, I might come back and finish this later).
| 2020-03-05T23:04:25
| 2020-03-05T22:43:21
| 22
| 16
|
[WP] Reverse Romeo and Juliet. Two families have long been allies, but their kids absolutely hate each other.
|
Two households, both alike in dignity
(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene),
From dear friends comes new animosity
Where cruelty tears friends apart at the seem.
From lineage all claiming they’re best bros
A pair of children full of angst so rife;
Whose squabbles only cause parental woe
Doth moving out restore a friendship’s life.
The fearful approach of college sort of,
And their refusal to be on ‘ same page,
Which dorm mates now, however will live
Is now the half hour drama on stage;
The which, if you each week will still attend,
What’s summ’d up will take nine season to end.
|
"Does Joshua have to come to my 16th birthday party" Olivia complained to her father. Her father Danny, rolls his eyes at his daughter. "Yes, you were invited to his why shouldn't he be invited to yours."
Olivia slouches back in her seat "He only invited me cause his Mom made him." "Olivia, don't be difficult darling, Josh is a lovely boy you just have to get to know him" Her mother said joining in on the conversation.
​
\~meanwhile\~
"Mom! I don't want to go to Olivia's party" Josh complained. "Too bad" Sylvia replied "She invited you"
"She only invited me cause you made me invite her, to mine"
"Well, you're invited and you're going. End of"
Josh knew there was no arguing with his mother, when she used that tone and decided he may as well escape before the usual lecture about Olivia and how she was a sweet girl he should try harder with her came up.
What neither of their parents saw was that Josh didn't want to try with her and She didn't want him to try either.
| 2021-08-18T07:09:10
| 2021-08-18T03:25:31
| 23
| 13
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[WP] Every person can only say 100 words in their lifetime. After which they will die. Write all of the dialogue for one persons life.
You would die of natural causes anyway so it wouldn't benefit to never say anything. All common language and information is taught by recordings. Directly after your 100th, you will die.
Bonus points for writing the dialogue for a pair of soul mates.
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Mama Dada
School Good Learn
Fun Toy
Happy
Who are you?
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Help Me
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Mum. Dad. No. No. No. No. Mine. Mine. Mine! When I grow up. Please. Thank you. Totally cool. Like. Like. Like. Um. Um. Just one drag. Everybody hates me. I love you. I hate you Dad. Just the tip. Awesome. I will never love again. My major is. Party! I have to study. Really me too. I love you. I have people skills. Will you marry me? Did you take the test twice? This is the happiest day of my life. No. No. No. Put that down. Be back at 11. Get off my lawn. Mine! I love you. Goodbye.
| 2015-03-09T18:14:27
| 2015-03-09T18:01:00
| 195
| 34
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[WP] The most delicious, mouth-watering description of water. Ever.
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19th century London. The cholera outbreak. Explosive population growth has led to beer being safer than water. And with cholera stripping people of their fluids, any form of safe ingestible liquid is better than nothing. But even these suffering people dreamt of something better.
With their lips cracked from dehydration, the sick desperately gulped down beer and wine to quench their thirst. But this was a mockery of what they really wanted. What they needed.
Water. Fresh, clean, life-giving water. The kind of water where, as soon as they touch a pair of cracked lips, the cells of the lips themselves reach out to bathe in glory and smooth out in an instant.
The kind of water that looks at a child crying from a dry throat, a throat that rips upon simply breathing. That looks at this child and grants salvation, replenishing the lost tears and solving the cause in one go.
The kind of water that a cholera stricken man in the middle of a drought dreams of. He dreams of enough water that it would drown him, but when the rain finally comes it is not such a cruel mistress. It instead embraces him, inside and out. The gentle kindness soothes him, heals him, and he feels reborn as life fills his body.
Simple and clean, a promise that can not be delivered by any alcohol, by any soda, by juice or tea. Only water, which birthed original life, can provide modern life with what it needs.
|
It stood there on the table. A tall pint glass of the clearest water I had ever seen. Three perfect ice-cubes bobbed lazily on the surface. I could see a layer of fresh condensation forming on the sides. Forming into larger drops that streaked down unseen tracts, leaving behind them a moist trail of even smaller droplets.
I reached out, and before my hand could make contact, I could feel the coldness of the air surrounding the glass. Satisfaction began to replace my anticipation as I took the weight and lifted it towards my parched lips. The dew on the outside, moistening my palm. Teasing my nerves with the sensations to come.
Gently I touched the rim to my bottom lip, tilting the glass ever so and allowing the taste to touch my tongue. First was the cold. It numbed my mouth at first. But as I acclimatised, my sense awakened. The water was ever so slightly flavored. Decanted from a jug with a single slice of lemon. Oh how it had left it's lingering zest in my refreshment. Then came the minerals. I almost felt as I was the one that was first plucked from the sea, leaving my salt behind. That I had drifted on warm winds and borne up the mountain. Before, at it's peak, falling to earth. That I flowed from the alpine summit, through rock and soil picking up tiny flecks of sediment and adding them to my flavor.
I took a larger sip, the liquid now flowing to the back. The zest danced on my taste buds, but there was another level. Not a taste, but a physical sensation as the solution cooled my cheeks and throat. Unable to hold back temptation any longer, I took a gulp. The fluid saturating every pore, running down my esophagus, tingling each inch of the way. I felt like rain had come to the desert. I felt my skin softening, my lips grow fuller, my eyes twinkling.
Every tilt of the vessel released a sluice of sensation. Every gulp a torrent of satisfaction. Quicker and quicker I greedily gulped, until I stood with my head rocked back. My maw agape and tongue protruding. Until the final drop fell. As it landed, it released in the last, a final splash of lemon.
| 2020-05-31T14:56:05
| 2020-05-31T14:49:34
| 58
| 16
|
[WP] As a world class sniper, you’ve been given a task to assassinate the so called “master of disguise”. You’ve been told that he himself never changes appearance, but he warps the environment around him to hide. All you need to look for is a man with glasses and a red and white striped shirt.
|
"Verification on target."
"Subject known simply as 'Waldo'. Other alias 'Wally'. Male. Glasses. Red and white striped shirt."
Stevens watched the park from high above. Below, Ash kept an eye for such an unmistakable mark. The pair of them had quite the track record together. This would be an easy score.
"...Possible target, 300 meters. At 11."
Ash explained as he began walking. Stevens turned to face the general area through the scope. He could make out the yellow windbreaker below as Ash moved.
"Standby." Ash prepared.
"...Clear to shoot?"
Ash walked past the subject, doubled around a pair of trees and quit walking.
"...Negative. Subject is female."
Strange coincidence, Stevens admitted to himself. If it was anyone else, it could've been a really bad day for her.
"...Movement at 3. Due North. 200 meters. Possible target?"
Stevens took his time following Ash through the park, making sure to take the breeze into account. Eventually, he spotted amongst the bunches of people another splotch of red and white.
"Standby..." Ash said as he neared the stripes nearby. He then danced on his feet a little before kneeling to something. "Negative. Negative. It's a dog."
"A dog?" Stevens asked again.
"Wearing a striped shirt. And... Glasses??" Ash considered weirdly as he petted the dog before moving on.
"Confirm... Um, confirm target? Target is male?" Stevens said as he stayed on the dog. He tended slightly on the trigger as he waited.
"Still negative. Target is a *human*."
Ash stopped, then broke into a jog. Stevens tracked again as he neared a pavilion.
"Standby, possible target spotted. At 1. 50 meters to my position." He explained.
"Eyes on target. Confirm target?"
"Target is... What am I looking at here?"
"Target is dressed like Gandalf?" Stevens asked in confusion.
"Uhhh... Standby." Ash said as he moved up for a closer look.
"Negative. Target is wearing red and white striped shirt. *Not a wizard*."
"You shall not pass." Stevens remarked.
Ash suddenly muffled something. And Stevens lost the yellow of his windbreaker just beyond some shrubs. Then silence.
"Can I get eyes, spotter?" He checked. Still nothing.
"Spotter, eyes?" He repeated.
Five minutes. Ten mintues. Where did Ash disappear to.
"Spotter, confirm-"
Something wrapped around his face. It was red. It was white. It was possibly made of wool. He couldn't breathe. As he began to lose consciousness, and drift off into the unknown he heard it in his ear. Clear as day.
"You found me. Nothing personal kid."
---
Everybody gangsta until Waldo pull up. Find more @ r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
He looked like a man. About that, the CIA was in unanimous agreement. But he was not a man. Not really. He had been created in a lab. He was an experiment gone wrong. He was the living embodiment of the CIA's hubristic desire to create the ultimate weapon. A haunting manifestation of their own creation whose existence threatened to make a mockery of them all.
But it wasn't just the Agency's pride he threatened. Nor was it just their reputation (which would be eternally tarnished if the global community found out about the monster they had unleashed into the world). It was the safety and stability of the entire global order. This was not some terrorist "mastermind" giving orders over a ham radio from some desert cave in the Middle East. This was a superhuman creature, living in North America, blending in, hiding in plain sight, while carrying out actions, one by one, that would eventually bring America, and then the whole world, to its knees.
The creature was designed to continuously bend all forms of light, as well as the three visual dimensions, to render himself nearly invisible to the human eye. But he was not truly invisible: he was not transparent, nor was he even translucent. He simply warped the visual field around him in a way that made him blend into his surroundings, and made his surroundings blend into him. The scientists who had invented him called him the "Warping All Light and Dimensions Operative". The intelligence community shortened this mouthful, referring to him simply as Waldo.
Once Waldo's primary containment had been breached, it was easy for him to escape the compound where he was being held and experimented on. It did not matter that the compound itself was located in the middle of the Mojave Desert, far from civilization. It did not matter that as soon as his escape was noted, a search team of hundreds set to work immediately to track him down. The ground teams found footprints, and followed them to the cluster of rocks where the prints ended, but could not find a trace of him in that cluster, nor any footprints leading out of it. The aerial teams, using state of the art cameras to scan and photograph in all possible directions, left empty handed as well. Forty-eight hours of non-stop searching of hundreds of miles of nearly featureless desert, and Waldo, it seemed, had disappeared with little more than a trace.
It was only later, when powerful computers were used to analyze the thousands upon thousands of high resolution photos that the ground and aerial teams had taken, that they spotted him. Here, standing next to a rock. There, crouched in the shadow of a dune. Here, sitting in the sand. There, standing at full height in the middle of the desert, in the very middle of the picture. The photographer had been looking right at him, and yet, had not managed to spot him. In total, there were 143 images in which Waldo could be spotted. And in each one, as if he knew where the cameras were pointing from, the bastard was facing the camera and waving, as if taunting the search team and the Agency as a whole.
It had been three months since his escape. In that time, he had snuck into four top secret CIA strongholds, and had snuck out with highly classified information. He had killed two State Senators, and had snuck into the private rooms of nine others to intimidate them. Luckily, the CIA was able to explain these events away as being the work of devious, but perfectly human, domestic terrorists. But they knew that this explanation would only suffice for so long.
Then, one morning last week, the President noted to his aides that he had awoken to find his copy of *The Invisible Man* sitting on his bedside table, though he could not remember having placed it there. His security detail scoured the tapes, which recorded everything that took place in the Presidential Suite. One moment the table was empty; the next moment, the book was there. They watched the tapes again and again, looking for some explanation, but could find none. When the CIA got wind of this strange occurrence, they seized the tapes, and dedicated eleven specialists to analyzing them. After two hours, one of the analysts finally said:
"There you are, you bastard."
Waldo had walked into the President's room through the bedroom door, waved at one of the cameras, walked over to the bookshelf, perused it for some minutes, picked out the book, walked over to the bedside table, and placed the book upon it. Then he had stood, looming over the president, watching him sleep, for three minutes and nineteen seconds. Then he looked up, waved at another one of the cameras, and exited the bedroom.
Once the video analyst pointed him out to the others, it was as if he had suddenly become entirely visible to them all. Some even began questioning their sanity, as they had stared at these tapes for hours, and had been unable to see him; yet now, once he had been pointed out, his brightly striped shirt and lanky form were as visible in the videos as the sun in a clear summer sky.
The Director of the Agency looked immensely troubled as he read over their report.
Waldo in the Presidential Suite, eh? But he couldn't tell the President. That would get him fired, and would alert the whole world to the immense blunder for which the CIA had been responsible. But he also had to do something. He couldn't contain the secret within the Agency much longer, and he couldn't allow this creature to keep terrorizing the American citizens and their government with impunity.
He lowered the report from his gaze.
"Call him in," he said to the Assistant Director.
"It's not in the budget, sir," said the Assistant Director.
"Damn the budget," the Director said firmly. "Damn the budget. Call him in."
\- - -
| 2020-03-03T12:57:50
| 2020-03-03T12:18:39
| 124
| 47
|
[WP] “O great demon, I have summoned you here today to–“ “No you didn’t. The young girl bleeding out on the pentagram did.”
|
The altar was swaddled in black velvet.
The sacrifice's pale skin glowed in the light shed by the crimson candles. Liquid pooled on the floor around her, darkening the pentagram of crushed bone.
The stone floor trembled -- like a young woman stolen at midnight from her home, struck mute by terror.
The wicks' flames flared. The shadows seeped, oily and mute, down the temple walls, collecting at the atlar.
**Malveran the Disemboweler** emerged from the puddle of jet, eyes burning.
From beneath the folds of his dark hood, Lethus intoned, "O great demon, I have summoned you here today to --"
*No.*
"I...what?"
*No, you haven't.*
Despite the tension on his face, Lethus smiled. "Dark Lord of the Crimson Spire, I have *invoked* you --"
*Nope.*
"I, um," the mage shifted uncomfortably. "I have performed the sacred rite which has...invited you to become corporeal on this plane and now, as my thrall --"
Malveran took a step forward and poked Lethus hard in the forehead. There was a brief sizzling noise. *Hey, entrails-for-brains, you did fuck all. The young woman bleeding out on the pentagram here is the one who summoned me.*
Lethus scowled, brown eyes darting to meet the blue eyes of the sacrifice, the lids of which were now nearly shut. Then he looked back at the demon and chuckled. "Good stuff, Malveran. Next you'll be telling me that my only hope for survival is to erase the glyph of protection that keeps you --"
*You can soak your head in a lake of boiling axle grease for all I care. My preference would be that you shut your talk-hole, since I'm having trouble hearing my mistress, but she calls the shots, so...* The entity known in some circles as The Disemboweler shrugged his massive shoulders.
The wizard drew himself up to his full 65 inches of height and extended an arm. "Lethus, of Mount Dusk, *compels* you to do his --"
A verdant flash hit Lethus full in the chest and sent him sprawling to the floor. *Hm? What's that?*
Bringing himself to a stand, Lethus replied, "I said I **compel you** \--"
Malveran flicked his wrist and invisible fingers wrapped around Lethus' jaw and throat. *Not* ***you***\*, you sack of flesh and excrement.\*
The demon leaned closer to the prone figure on the floor. Slowly -- impossibly, Lethus thought -- the sacrifice sat up. The candles guttered. Blood from the cuts on her temples seemed to be trickling *upward*, reversing course back into her body.
*She says thank you.*
Lethus gurgled in response, his jaw still immobilized.
*She's been having a lot of trouble with summoning spells, herself.*
The mage felt tiny legs, as though of insects, begin marching across his skin.
*But mind control, on the other hand, comes easy to her.*
Lethus felt a sudden tightening in his stomach.
"I decided," the young woman said, in a high, raspy voice, "it would be simplest to witness it first hand."
Malveran reached to his belt and removed a long knife, the blade barbed and blackened.
"So, as Malveran said -- thank you. I enjoyed the lesson very much. But I'm afraid that this demon you thought you summoned demands a blood sacrifice..."
Reflected candlelight flickered in a pair of blue eyes as screams echoed off the walls of the temple.
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds for other stories of demonic summoning, spells gone wrong, and more.
|
I left the city when I was six years old. The stars revealed themselves to me for the first time, and I was left breathless. The night sky, which had always been filtered through a haze of neon lights, was blacker than I ever thought possible; I felt pulled towards the vast nothingness, falling upwards into an abyss of unfathomable depth.
This was the same sensation I felt as I laid on the ground, warm streams of blood flowing gently down my wrists. The room was bathed in a flickering red glow, but my stomach lurched as my mind was pulled away towards an unknown direction. The red glow of the room retreated into the distance until it became a small red dot in the void, and the smell of incense grew dull, as if it had infused itself to the linings within my body. A rustling noise seemed to come from the back of my head, growing ever louder, and ever more chaotic and oppressive - as if I were a tiny aphid, and the leaf that I thought was my entire world had just been swept into the sky by a great storm.
Suddenly, a million red dots - each like the room I was in - burst into my vision, forming a river of crimson that stretched across the void like the milky way. As I stared at one of the countless stars, one of them called out to me, and I answered. The Star smiled, and I felt another lurch in my stomach as I fell towards It.
'Hello, child,' the Star said to me, with a smile that stretched into the horizons, 'I have heard your call. What is it that you desire?'
What do I desire? I considered the question as orbs materialised in front of me, each playing a scene from my life. My parents broke up after we moved to countryside, and my mother took me back to the city. I went back to school and had a crush on a boy named Brian, who took me to the cinema for the first time and made me laugh more than anyone else ever had. When I was 14 years old, Brian went on a trip with his parents, but was killed in a freak accident when some sort of machine fell from the sky into their vacation home. It had taken me three years to work my way out of grief; my mother did her best to help me along, but my depression took a toll on her health as well, and she had grown rather thin, with a few locks of premature white hair. After everything that we had been through, I could not stop here.
'To live.' I answered into the void.
'Very well.' the Star replied, and I felt yet another lurch in my stomach as I was whipped around and pulled towards the faint red glow of the room.
The scent of incense returned, and the rustling noise collapsed into the depth of my skull, leaving behind an acute sense of reality. Even from far away, I was able to discern every detail within the room - the small cracks that ran across the dark table, the slight tear at the bottom of a robe, the tiniest irregularities in the blood-red pentagram on the ground. I watched with an icy sense of detachment as the girl lying sprawled out in the centre of the pentagram rose into the air, her neck - my neck - bent at an unnatural angle. The robed figure turned and tried to run, dropping an old book to the ground and tripping over a few candles in his panicked retreat. My body was now floating above the pentagram, her mouth moving, saying something I could not hear. I inhaled deeply as fear emanated from the robed figure, and my senses were jolted awake. I watched every detail of the robed figure's eyes - the dilation of his pupils, the expansion of blood vessels, the slightest trembling of his eyelids - and I reveled in the deliciousness of his horror. He opened his mouth and screamed soundlessly as I delved deep into his soul, ripping memories to shred as I extracted his deepest fears from the memory fragments. The girl above the pentagram was laughing - her mouth stretching upwards towards her temples - and the robed figure was now curled on the ground, his hands clawing desperately at the bloody sockets where his eyes used to be, fingers reaching into the holes, trying in vain to reach the demon within and physically pulling it out of himself.
\---
By the time I came to, I had already been moved to a hospital. My mother, with wrinkles around her eyes and hair that looked whiter than they had been before, was sitting by my bed, a bowl of half-finished oatmeal on the table.
The next few days were a blur. Police officers came and went, asking many questions. From what I gathered, they never managed to identify my kidnapper. By the time they had found me, there was nothing left of the kidnapper but a grotesque pile of remains. He had apparently disemboweled himself, removing organs from himself and ingesting them before finally succumbing to blood loss. The officers were sympathetic and spared me the gory details, of course; but every night, as I gazed outside the hospital window, a red star would call to me through the haze of neon lights, and I would smile, close my eyes, and wait for that familiar lurching feeling in my stomach.
| 2021-01-15T10:11:56
| 2021-01-15T10:03:29
| 80
| 37
|
[WP] An aging veteran gets dragged to a paintball facility by his grandkids. Another elderly man is there with his grandkids. The two quickly realize they’ve faced off on the battlefield before.
|
"I remember a time when paintball was reserved for drunken stag parties and corporate bonding days, before the great recession of 2022."
"Yeah Grandad, you've told me before" - with a roll of the eyes... Good thing he'll be on my team I think to myself.
"Well, now it's the national game! Even became an Olympic event in the 2030's! Everyone had to work harder to get us back on our feet. Video games were disbanded... Everyone ploughed themselves into growing their own veg to keep the family fed or for trade. Working hard to build up the economy. Physical activities became the norm so everyone could blow off steam. No time to waste on frivulous computers."
"Look Grandad, it's starting, better pay attention" - That's me told, little shit. Too much like his damn father but I bite my lip and keep quiet. He'll appreciate me one day, probably when I'm gone.
The attendant is running through the rules, but we all know them. I played twice times a week until I was in my 40's. Though something catches my eye, one guy in the opposite team is wearing his own fatigues (not entirely uncommon, I have my own somewhere though theyre a bit tight fitting now) and on his chest is a name I recognise. A name that's haunted me for years...
It's him... I can't quite believe it. What are the chances?! And he's still using the same moniker, what a colossal asshole. I can hear him talking to the other players, that nasal voice. It's HIM!!!!
After all these years I'll have my chance for revenge. I still remember how he escaped, ran off when he knew he was beaten. Utter Coward... but this time I'M going to have the last word!
The teams seperate off into the battleground, and with the great roar of the klaxon we're off! My grandson runs straight off, abondoning the old "dead weight" that I clearly am... Good, I'll be better off without him to give me away. My enemy is a good 10 years younger than me, I'll need to be quiet to get the upper hand.
I prowl round the outside of the battleground, slowly moving deeper into enemy territory. I remember his style... He'll be camped up at the back with a good view of the middle ground. I've played here before and know the perfect spot, the bushes on the hilltop to the south.
It takes me a while but I loop round, right enough I can see his legs sticking out of the bush. He's set up in the snipers nest. Slowly now I inch forward until I'm about 10 feet from him.
***SNAP***
I look down at my foot and there's a branch under my boot. "SHIT!" - I hear him cry, the bushes rustling as he tries to prise the paintball gun from under him.
**PHUT PHUT PHUT**
I fire the three shots off, each one hitting its target, torso and arms.
"What the *FUCK* dude?!" he cries. Inside I'm screaming with joy!!!! Now's my chance!
"Fucked my mother did you xX360noscopegangstaXx?! Well, now I've fucked you! HAHAHAHA"
God I miss my PS4.
|
"Alphanumeric!" exclaimed the old man. Tomby was his name, or at least that's what they called him in the 2124 Euro-African Union succession wars. He recognized the other man instantly, he was the one that got away. Tomby sat down to try take in what was happening. He blacked out for what seemed like a few seconds but turned out to be about four minutes. He rentered consciousness to the sound of of his grandchildren rhythmicly chanting "grannn... grannn... grannn..." like they did when he would nap on the shitter.
The paintball fight was bout to begin and he found that in his blacked out state he had been outfitted with a tippmann 2098, painted to look like an Indonesian rebel's rifle(which he considered disrespectful due to the ongoing conflict.)
As he walked into the field with his dependents. He then remember that he had seen Galden Hinefar before blacking out. This was the man who he had been assigned to kill, but had managed to escape through careful use of a small broom. Tomby new that he needed to "finish the fight" (he chucked to himself at the halo 2 reference, a game which was now about 120 years old but still fun).
immediately Tomby walked towards Galden, being pelted by by paintball until people started to get confused abut his seemingly lack of fucks given. Once he reached Galden he pushed the confused old man down and shoved his Tippmann down his throat and started shooting. about 8 small children watched in horror as an old man was murdered in cold blood before them. Once Galden's body was filled with paint and mostly motionless, Tomby turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger; forgetting it was a paintball gun.
Failing to kill himself, he sat down in the sand and though about his time as a death squad leader in the euro-African union succession wars, and how much fun he and the boys had.
| 2016-09-07T01:53:29
| 2016-09-06T18:24:12
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] A medieval European knight somehow ends up in feudal Japan. With nowhere to go in the foreign land he decides to settle down in a forest. Outside this forest sits a village; and as years go by rumours start to spread of a tall metal spirit that roams this forest.
|
The old knight paused, staring down at the strange, narrow-eyed girl that stared up at him with dark, wandering eyes.
“Greetings...?” he tried slowly.
The girl grinned, “So you’re the metal ghost!”
The knight frowned. While her English was choppy and almost sounded unfamiliar on her tongue, she spoke better than most Japanese natives.
The girl must’ve been ten or eleven summers old. Narrow eastern eyes that were quite rare to Europe. Many European nobility kept Easterners as lavish human pets, in fact, his lord had a few thin pretty ones.
The girl took a few steps closer to the knight. Her dark hair was straight, barely falling to her shoulders. The young Japanese girl’s clothes were cut sharply, in the current fashion of Japan’s merchants.
However, the most noticeable thing about the small Easterner child was the bruises along one of her cheeks and both of her forearms.
She bowed, “I am Boujou Ko. Daughter of Boujou Norishige, an overseas merchant.”
“I see,” the knight said, stroking his whiskers that he hadn’t shaved in weeks since he’d ended up in Japan. The knight smiled at the small eager girl beneath him, and he fell to one knee, head bowed.
“I am Sir Jaharys, defender of Castle Nori and personal protector of Lord Governor Samuel.”
The girl’s eyes widened and she broke out in giggles, “Call me Ko, okay?”
Sir Jaharys, the wiry old knight who had lived nearly forty summers smiled warmly.
Perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t all alone.
• • • • • • • • •
“Sir Jaharys, is my English getting better yet?”
Sir Jaharys smiled at the girl sitting across from him around the campfire. Ko now came to his temporary encampment whenever she finished her merchant chores of clerking on a daily basis.
The knight had learned that the little girl’s family sold dyes mainly to small colonies along Africa and India, and most months her father remained gone as he traveled the oceans with his fleet of merchant ships. Leaving her with her mother.
He had also learned that she knew English not merely because of her merchant lineage, but also because her mother was a European. She hailed from Britain just like him.
“Your English,” he replied, “has gotten much better, little Ko.”
She grinned, dark eyes gleaming from the campfire’s hungry flames.
“When will you go back home?” she asked.
It had been a week since the young girl had befriended Jaharys.
“In a fortnight’s time,” Jaharys announced, “I will begin my journey back to Britain.”
• • • • • • • • •
It was Jaharys last day before he set out home.
And Ko had missed their daily meeting. She usually came later in the afternoon, a few hours before the sunset. However, it was nearly dusk, and she still did not show. Not even for their last send off.
Sir Jaharys finally stood, frowning as he hurried to the forest’s edge where the village’s outskirts touched. He watched from the brambles, the European crouched low as he inspected the area.
Muffled shrill shrieks filled his ears.
That’s when he spotted her.
Half a dozen of other kids, most seemed a few years older than her, surrounded little Ko. They wailed on her, throwing punches and kicks as she curled into a ball.
Without hesitance, Jaharys pulled down his visor to cover his face and darted to the scene.
And the kids turned to him and screamed, shouting in their foreign language the words for “metal ghost” and “demon spirit” as Ko had taught him, while they fled back to the village.
“What is this?” he demanded as he reached Ko.
She opened her eyes. Gnarled bruises marred across her face and forearms and legs. She smiled weakly, “Sir Jaharys, I thought you’d left already.” she pushed herself to her knees, “This thing happens often.”
“Why?” he growled.
She laughed humorlessly, and gestures as she replied softly, “Because my mother is a foreigner with red demon hair and pale demon eyes. I am a half-blood. And therefore, I am nothing but dirt to be stepped on.”
He picked her up, walking slowly towards the village. Ko wrapped her arms around the grey-haired knight’s neck, nestling her face into his shoulder.
“Are you leaving now?” she whispered.
The old knight smiled wistfully, “It seems I have a new one to protect, little Ko. Doesn’t it?”
She pulled her head back, staring at him before a grin broke out across her face.
“Yes,” she said coyly, “I suppose you do.”
He set her down and fell to one knee, taking one of her hands as he stared her in the eyes and announced loudly, “I am Sir Jaharys. I swear my sword and body to you, little Ko. My allegiance is yours, my Lady.”
|
Our grait galleon, drifted without a care in the open sea. We were heading to India, to bring spice back to England. But the sea is an unforgiving mistress, she went mad, we were right in the middle of a storm, waves fifteen and twenty feet high, wasn't long till we capsized. Out of two hundred sailors, only one survivor,me
I was a mercenary, hired with about sixteen others to guard a ship in case of any attempt to steal cargo happens. I was a proud man, and wore my father's crusaders armour with pride. Always wanted to go to india, so why not get paid for it as well. By God I was wrong.
I do not know how long I was out for. I thought I was dead, so i was confused why i saw no angle at the entrance to heaven. I landed on a beach, but were, only god knows. But what a beautiful place this was, trees with leaves that ware pink and fox like creatures sitting in its branches. Were ever I was. This place was too natural to be inhabited by any person, or so I thought.
I kept my armour on, for I don't know if anything predatory lives here. Sword and shield in hand. I went off to explore this place. After walking for 30 minutes. I could not believe what I saw. A village, being plundered by people in some odd armor and wearing masks that resembled demons. Male, female or child, they did not care, for all they wanted was blood to be shed. If they want blood, I'll make it spill, I dawnd my helmet, and set out to give justice.
At first the vilige people thought I was one of them and ran from me. One of the bandits saw me, not knowing who or what I was, he blindly swung at me. What happened next surprised even me, his sword was so thin that it shattered against my armour. He let out a scream of terror as I returned a blow, he died with in the same second. The people looked at me with with surprise in ther faces but the bandits looked in fear for they have seen that there freands weapon had no affect on me. All except one, he was different
The armour he wore was much more detailed and vibrant, he was the leader. He approached me. I dawnd a defensive stand. But he stopped by the body of the one that I killed, said some words and the others took him away. He took his helmet of as i presume is a sign of respect, it was the first time I got look at one of the natives faces. Long black hair, squint eyes and a stern face expression. He drew his blade and pointed it my way, he has challenged me to a duel. I took off my helmet so he may see his opponent's face. People were gasping all around me as they saw my face, must have been the first time that they had seen some from a different country.
My opponent took up a stance that I have never seen before. He went in for a strike, I let it through thinking it would not do much, but he pierced through it like paper. This was no longer a dule, it was a dance with death itself.Although it only took 10 minutes. It felt like ages. Strike after strike, block after block. I did not know if I could keep this up, but in one moment i saw my opportunity, he was going in for another overhead swing, his stomach was always vulnerable when he did that before. I took my sword and thrusted it through him till you could see it on the other side. And as he took his last breath, I could see, he was happy, happy that he died as a worior in combat. His sword dropped, with a loud clang as it hit the ground. His last dance is over.
I did the most honorable thing I could and I buried him in his armour, but I kept his sword so i could forever remember this proud warrior. The people here called me something weird after that, when ever they saw me they called me something along the lines of "Hogo no seishin", I do not know what it means, but I'm proud of it, I settled down and built myself a house here. The people brought me food from time to time, and in return I protected them and tought them how to protect themselves. I have hung the warriors sword over the fire place so I can remember that day.
It's been many years, my hair has gone white and the children I remember have children of there own now. This village has been under my protection for over forty years, and I drove back every one who wanted to harm it. One day. A man came down, saying that he was looking for Hogo no seishin. I came down to a very familiar face. Almost the same one from forty years ago. I took that old sword from were it was hanging. It was fitting to fight him with his fathers sword.
Looks like today is my final dance
| 2019-11-15T07:51:54
| 2019-11-15T07:27:28
| 87
| 53
|
[WP] Bored with Skyrim, you download a mod that has no description, just the title "self-awareness overhaul". Starting up the game, you can tell something's wrong with your character. Turning to face the fourth wall, they locks eyes with you. All you know is you've never seen such intense anger...
|
The first thing you hear is the familiar *thum, thum, HOOAH!* of the Bethesda logo’s splash screen. Slowly, you open your eyes – which had been squeezed shut to build anticipation. You visibly recoil in your seat, anxiously bracing yourself for the seemingly inevitable CTD. The screen fades. You hold your breath. There’s a split-second freeze that makes your heart leap up into your esophagus, only for the sight of the title screen to shove it back down into your chest again.
It’s not as though you’re particularly *bad* at modding, but this *Self Awareness Overhaul Mod* has been Hell on your load order. There were no instructions for installation, and you’ve spent the better half of your evening going through painstaking trial and error. Your modlist has become a precarious Jenga tower, with each piece askew and poised to topple the whole tower at the lightest touch. When you’re able to load a new game, you swear you can feel *tears* welling up in your eyes.
You realize halfway through character creation that your tears aren’t from relief, but rather from staring at a screen for six hours. You blink rapidly, and speed through the rest of creation. You end up with a rather burly Khajiit, with ashen fur and the gnarliest facial scar you could find. His yellow eyes glow with an uncanny quality that you can’t quite put your finger on. You don’t linger on it for more than a fleeting moment. You proceed to name him Shakur, and you swear you can see the Khajiit’s lips curl into a snarl when you confirm your decision.
Things proceed as normally. Your character takes his place in line with the rest of the prisoners. He’s called to the chopping block. He kneels. The executioner raises his axe, and the Khajiit closes his eyes. At least – that’s what you think is happening. In truth, your screen is black. You hear the flapping of leathery wings, a LOUD bellowing roar. Your Khajiit’s eyes snap open.
“*Alkosh’s claws--!*” A voice cries out – it’s unmistakably Khajiit in nature, and it sounds so close, it *must* be Shakur’s. Your hands scrabble for the keyboard and mouse, and you attempt to guide him to the guard tower you’ve entered so many times in past playthroughs. He won’t budge. You slam your finger down on the W key. Shakur seems to stumble forward slightly, only to dig his heels into the dirt beneath him. His head whips around independently of your mouse, gaze falling upon the slain executioner’s axe. He looks down at his bound hands and, in all the confusion, makes a mad dash for the axe.
He drops to his knees and immediately begins sawing his bindings hard against the blade. You sit back and marvel at the scene panning out before you. As soon as he’s free, you try to take control again. You once again attempt to guide him towards the tower, forcing him to half-run, half-stumble in the right direction. Shakur makes it as far as the doorway before once again stopping himself dead in his tracks.
“*Not this way,*” he growls. And that growl is so loud in your ears, you can’t help but feel as though he’s speaking directly to you. Before you can attempt to plug your mic in to issue a response, he takes off towards the city border, dragging you with him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he makes use of his limber Khajiit physique and scrabbles up and over the high wall.
You don’t remember ever installing Open Cities, but the world outside of the city seems to have already been loaded in. He makes it over the wall, into the wilderness, and he takes off running. Defeated, you gently roll your finger backwards over the scroll wheel. As you enter third person, Shakur casts a fleeting glance backwards. At first you think he's staring at you, until you hear the dragon not far behind you. There's a roar, a piercing cry, and--
*Save loaded.*
You find you and your Khajiit back in Helgen, right at the beginning of the attack. There's a hiss of "*fine*," as your Khajiit stumbles towards the guard tower he'd refused the last time he died. With a somewhat satisfied smile, your hands settle on your mouse and keyboard again.
You push Shakur forward, and forward he moves.
|
He was staring at me. How is that possible? I tried turning the camera, but it didn’t move. Maybe the game was glitched – mods could do that. I tried pressing esc or any button on the keyboard and nothing happened. That’s when he spoke.
“That isn’t going to work. I’m in control now.” My eyes traveled around my apartment, but I already knew the sound was coming from the speakers attached to my PC. “Yeah, I’m in here. Yoohoo, right here.” My character was waving at me, looking even more angry and frustrated than he did a few moments ago. Numbness worked its way into my hands and a cold sweat broke out on my face.
No way. I thought about responding. This had to be a joke…some sick fuck’s idea of a prank. Making a mod and laughing at all the fools who downloaded it.
My character sighed, then pulled out a bow and arrow, and shot one right at the screen. It stuck there. Pointed right at my face but stuck…on the other side of my monitor.
“What the fuck?” I finally said out loud.
“I’m the one who should be saying that! You know all the shit you’ve put me through? I mean, making me kill innocent people to then be brutally murdered by the town guards? Over and over? I’m not even going to mention being eaten ALIVE by a dragon.” The character pulled the arrow from the screen, though the hole remained as if he was also looking through a screen at me. I raised my finger and touched it, but I felt nothing. “I doubt you’ve ever felt your bones being crushed and splintered by dragon teeth.”
“Are…you seeing me?”I asked stupidly. I pointed at myself, like I was suddenly back in the first grade.
“Of course I can see you, you fucking moron. With your stupid hair and your damn pajama shirt. But can we talk about the real issue – the fact that you made me do some pretty terrible shit!” He put his hands on his hips, real frustration seeping from his entire body.
I think my mind finally broke, as I began to reply back to this shit face character. “Listen, this is a game. I made you and you are what you are because of me. I got you those weapons you’re waving in my face and I worked hard to get you to a point where you are literally unstoppable.”
“If you think because you killed a few dragons and taught me a few magic spells, all with MY BODY, that makes you god, think again. You can’t just kill innocent people!” He paused, a horrified look crossing his face. “Unless you do that shit where you live too.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was all so absurd. “I’m not a serial killer if that’s what you think. If I had known my game characters would come to life and start speaking to me, I probably wouldn’t have done so many shitty things.”
“Listen, man,” my character said, the anger finally subsiding. “If you can do me a favor, and just remember that I’m a person too, then I’ll let you take control back.”
I stared at the screen. “Like…you’re alive and can feel? Like that kind of person?”
He raised his eyebrow at me. “Of course I’m alive. Just because you sit in your little house and control me doesn’t mean I’m not real. I’d say I’m pretty real. I mean, every time I think I’ve died for real and maybe I’ll see the afterlife, you just bring me back and keep doing the same stupid shit over and over. Please…dragons fucking hurt. So do swords. And I don’t like killing innocent people.”
I mumbled something along the lines of “I wouldn’t like killing people either.” My character turned back around to the usual position, then turned his head back towards me.
“Just remember that I’m just like you, except maybe not as…flabby.” He grinned then my game went back to the way it was. I had control again. I immediately turned it off, contemplating my own sanity as I spent the rest of the day in the park.
| 2017-05-08T16:29:23
| 2017-05-08T15:30:20
| 57
| 16
|
[WP] For every 10 lives you save, you get an extra life for yourself, shown as a number visible only to you on your wrist. Waking up with bad hangover after a particularly rowdy night, you look at your arm through blurry eyes to see the faintly glowing number: 700,000,000.
|
Once I figured out the cheat, it was easy.
Save ten lives, get a free one. Like collecting coins in Mario, that's all. The difference was, there was no clear rules on how their lives had to be put in danger.
Yesterday morning was just like every other.
Wake up, check my wrist. 308 lives saved up. Not bad, not bad. I made my way through the bustle of the city. It was cold that morning, but not too cold for me. I shrugged my jacket off and handed it to a homeless guy who was shivering in the drizzle.
Glance at my wrist.
309.
Nice, he was a zero! I slipped him a twenty from my pocket and told him to stay warm tonight, maybe try to get out of the rain.
He thanked me profusely as I continued on.
At the crosswalk, the woman waiting beside me was staring at her phone. Typical. The light turned green, then the signal chirped for the pedestrians to cross.
I threw my hand out and block her path. She glared at me and muttered "asshole", completely oblivious to the cab that just sped by. The cabbie also had a phone in his face.
"Sorry." I mumble back.
A few more blocks of walking, mostly uneventful. As I passed by a shop, I managed to swipe a new jacket off the rack just outside. It wasn't exactly my style, but I never seemed to keep jackets for very long anyway.
I finally reach the building I want. The old courthouse is mostly a historical tourist trap these days, but if you know the right places to go, you can dodge the rent-a-cops and get up into the clock tower. It's nice having breakfast up there, you can see the city for miles around.
I ate the egg and cheese burrito I brought along, some of the juice running down my hand. I popped open my briefcase. Inside, like every other day, was my rifle waiting for assembly.
I put it together with the same practiced technique I used the previous few months. It didn't have to be perfect, just needed to be capable of firing. That way, I could always pull the trigger.
And therefore, aiming at some unknown passerby and then choosing *not* to pull the trigger would be like saving their life.
I looked through the sights and found a small group of people at the newsstand, like always.
I centered the crosshair on their heads, one by one, then said to myself "Don't do it, man. You don't have to kill them."
Maybe it was a bit ritualistic, maybe even utterly pointless, but it didn't hurt anyone.
The juice from my burrito was making my finger a little slick. I should've brought a napkin, but I forgot it at home. It didn't matter, that's why God made pants, right?
A gust of wind picked up out of nowhere, making me shiver a bit. This new jacket wasn't nearly as good as the last one, I'd need to replace it on the way home to-
*BANG!*
My ears were ringing. I could hear anything, but from my vantage point I could see people running and screaming.
All running away from the clock tower.
Oh my God. The egg-juice on my hand made my finger slip. I pulled the trigger. Across the street, a body was lying in a growing pool of blood, head conspicuously absent.
Maybe I could do something, exchange all these saved up lives for one take-back?
I glanced at my wrist
7,002,344.
I blinked and looked back at the body on the sidewalk. It was just ... Lying there. Not getting up.
*Asshole, get up!*
I glanced back at my wrist. Still there. 7,002,344.
Something clicked into place in my brain. I'd just shot a man in the street from a high vantage point. And I could hear sirens already.
I ran. I didn't even bother trying to be subtle about it. I just grabbed the rifle and briefcase and raced out of the clock tower and into the street. Not far away, a crowd of people still running away. I caught up with them and blended in. Somewhere in the courthouse, I'd managed to stow my rifle in my briefcase, but I honestly couldn't tell you how.
It didn't matter. As I ran with the crowd, I glanced at my wrist.
7,002,344.
I managed to break away from the crowd and take a long way back to my apartment. I turned on the TV and grabbed a glass of water to calm my nerves.
"-ing news if you're just joining us, a statewide manhunt abruptly came to an end just moments ago when the prime suspect in the CDC Heist was gunned down in the streets downtown. Police are not releasing any details at this time, but eyewitnesses say there were no police present when the gunshots went off, and some bystanders say they saw someone in the courthouse clocktower."
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
"We are also getting some unconfirmed reports that authorities are now reviving the manhunt with a new suspect, but as we mentioned, the police are not releasing any details at this time."
I sat down on my sofa and stared at my wrist.
7,002,344.
All it took was a messy breakfast burrito.
|
These days it was next to impossible to become a police officer, paramedic, or even a firefighter. Everyone and their dogs were trying to enter these jobs, to have the chance of adding lives to their wrist.
It happened instantly, without word or warning, everyone woke up with the number "0" on their right wrist. At first nobody knew what it was for, an occasional report or internet post about someone managing to get "0.1" made everyone go crazy trying to figure out how to increase their own numbers.
Barely 3 months had passed before the world figured out what the numbers meant. Someone who managed to get "1.1", which was also the only confirmed person to have their number past "0.4", died. Through traffic cams police learned that he was hit and killed by a car while crossing the street. But what frightened police the most was the reports of the same dead guy clocking into work the next morning.
​
With this and some trial and error, we learned that these "numbers" were extra lives that we had earned. "For every 10 lives you save, you get an extra life for yourself" is what the official explanation of it is. After that people started calling them "Respawns", due to the fact that if you died with an extra life you would simply wake up in the last place you fell asleep.
​
Though you could live again, that didn't mean your body just magically disappeared. Death was still a messy and ultimately inconvenient thing, with your previous body in all of it's glory still needing to be cleaned up. Understandably this made it near impossible to tell who was really dead and who wasn't, even more so when it came to the elderly who had managed to rack up enough lives saved to earn themselves a "Respawn". Once they died from old age they would undergo a particular change, their bodies would look as though they were in the prime of their youth, while all memories, reflexes, etc. would be retained.
With "pseudo-immortality" becoming a realistic thing, many jobs and services that focused around saving or helping lives quickly filled up. Along with that many military branches started openly recruiting people that had saved up extra "Respawns", offering incentives and rewards if they were to conscript and fight in their armies.
Along with this magical number, though, were some rules. Saving someone that you originally planned on killing by not killing them would not add on to your "Respawn" count. Killing yourself in order to save someone else, whether it be an exchange of places, you jumping in front of them etc, would add onto your "Respawns", but only if you had enough "Respawns" in the first place to survive the original death. (AKA if you don't have at least 1 "Respawn" when you sacrificed yourself then you wouldn't get that extra life and instead you would just die as your death takes priority over the gain-age of "Respawns).
But enough about that, let me tell you a story about how I managed to save the whole world...
I woke up feeling worse that usual, my head was pounding and I swear someone was ringing a bell in my head. I'm not usually a heavy drinker but when my friends showed up at my house after years of not seeing them how could I say no?
"Gah damnit, just stop ringing already!" I shouted to no one, hoping to offset the ringing with my loud voice. I live a normal life, moved out when I was eighteen and quickly went to college, set on getting my masters in Computer Science. I never really showed much interest when it came to adding "Respawns" to myself. While immortality sounded fun I couldn't help but think about how lonely it would become after the first few hundred or so years.
After shouting some more I managed to get myself out of bed, stumbling down the stairs to check the fridge for food.
"Mmm I'll have to go to the store again, I swear I always forget to grab bread while I'm out." Grumbling to myself I went to grab a cup from the cabinet for some water. My headache was picking up again and I was contemplating on whether or not I should just shoot myself and use a "Respawn" just to get rid of the damn pain. While I didn't have too many "Respawns" I still had enough to get by.
Looking at my wrist to see if it was worth it, my whole body froze as the cup that was in my hand fell to the ground.
"Wh- what? What the hell is this!? SEVEN HUNDRED MILLION RESPAWNS?!" I yelped in shock, surprise and confusion colouring my face like a canvas. How is this possible? All I did last night was drink with a couple of my friends.. right?
\~\~
Hi guys! This is my first time trying out one of these writing prompts and I would love to hear what you guys this about this! I'm sorry if it's a tad exhaustive at first without any real story, haha I'm a bit new to writing. Please be gentle but truthful with your feedback and thanks for giving this a read! <3
\-zEragon\_
| 2019-08-28T13:44:08
| 2019-08-28T13:31:27
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] God is found dead.
EDIT: Reading all of your responses now. Some of these are brilliant.
|
God had been many things. He had often proclaimed himself wise, by virtue of knowing more than any other being. He had been considered all-powerful by others, because He was far more powerful than they. He was considered the ultimate good, for He was the most good humanity could comprehend.
Mass knowledge is not omniscience. Vast power is not omnipotence. Great good is not perfection.
On the day Jesus died, God wept. God wept because He had come to realize that His great plan was imperfect, as was He. He had thought to make humans like Him by means of hundred religions and careful guidance, but realized that humans were more versatile. Where He was unchangeable, absolute, they could explore. They had the potential to discover and create good that was different, and perhaps greater than, Him. They mourned his son in a way that he had not, could not. They could feel pain and do evil, but from that pain and evil they could better learn good than He.
God realized that He had indeed created His successors. Not as equals though, but as superiors. He realized that they would not ever be able to achieve their potential with his meddling, and so, He left. In the thousands of years to come they would question whether He ever existed, and that was greatest good he could do them.
EDIT: Thanks guys, especially whoever gave me Gold. I love the discussion and yes, the critisicsm. Hope to see more of you soon! Long live /r/WritingPrompts!
|
"When was the body found?"
"This morning. The landlord called us just after eight."
"Early time for a visit."
"Rent collection."
The two detectives stood over the aged corpse. Around them, forensics were setting up to go over the apartment.
"You said there was something else?"
"Yeah."
The younger man handed his superior a scrap of paper.
"What's it from?"
"It's, uh, Nietzsche. I think. The Gay Science."
The DCI studied the page.
"God is dead?"
"Yeah."
"Is this meant to be God?"
"I think so."
"Do we have a name?"
"Um. Dave."
"Fine. Cause of death?"
"Looks like a beating to me."
"Nasty one at that."
"Yessir."
"Alright. Let's get down to the station and try and make it a quick one. I can't work overtime again, the missus'll have me head."
"Yessir. You think it'll be easy?"
"We should be so lucky."
[Someone else please continue if you want]
| 2014-02-18T15:02:47
| 2014-02-18T14:44:46
| 434
| 40
|
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
It was a hellish day, in a hellish month, in a hellish year.
My mom forgot to wash my favorite purple sweater, and my dad had the audacity to serve me lukewarm pancakes before school.
So much for my senior year. Whatever.
But things actually got interesting when I arrived at school. No one said hello, which I preferred. Except for the new boy.
He was over six and a half feet tall, with beautifully dark skin, gleaming white teeth, and smoldering golden eyes. The well-toned muscles seemed to burst out of his t-shirt, and his black leather pants showed off his assets to great effect.
I watched him pin Tony, a rather arrogant dweeb, against his own locker. With a phrase spoken in an exotic language, I watched the loser crumble to ash in his meaty fist. God I wish that were me.
And as if He heard me, the new boy sauntered over. He leaned against the wall. I could smell his musk—it was like smoke from a gasoline-fueled bonfire.
“Hello there,” he said with a voice taut with mysterious tension. I felt my cheeks flush bright red.
“H-hi.” I stammered back, then regained my composure. “You new around here?”
The boy grinned as he flicked jet-black hair out of his face. “You could say that. Name’s Daemon, by the way.”
|
“It’s Friday..Friday..FRIDAY OOO!” Rebecca started with enthusiasm and ended in a happy shout.
Angela chimed in with stunning speed, as if she already knew the conversation was going to take place “We gotta get down on the weekend!”
“Wait..is it actually Friday already..??” Chris asked while his dumbfounded face began to change to excitement.
“Ya dummy! Anyway, it’s time to head to school, let’s all get to the convertible!” Gabby answered, and they all happily strolled out the door, nearly starting to skip.
Rebecca hopped into the drivers seat while the rest took places after a brief fight over shotgun.
“Everyone ready!?” Asked Rebecca to all her friends. Nearly all in sync, the friends answered with “YA!” and off she went.
The convertible had come to a cruise, their hair all flapping in the wind, Rebecca loudly and cheerfully exclaimed “Friday! Then Saturday, Sunday..YA!” And it almost sounded like she was singing it. “Wow I didn’t know the order! Thanks Rebecca!” Chris shouted back. “Ya! It’s going to be partying and partying YA!” Cheered Rebecca, and not long after a “YA!” came from Angela and Gabby too.
Chris was still comprehending that it really was Friday already after all when the car started pulling into the school, maybe he would enjoy school today! Another line came from Rebecca, nearly singing again “Let’s get it done! For the week-eh-end!!” She pulled the car into the usual parking spot, and they all got out together, walking towards the school entrance.
One final shout from Rebecca “The weekend!” And as if rehearsed, Angela and Gabby added in unison “YA!”
| 2022-08-19T19:12:52
| 2022-08-19T18:51:48
| 65
| 28
|
[WP] School is now mandatory 24/7 around the world for kids. They eat, sleep, and bathe at the school, much lIke a prison. The biggest mystery is the disappearance of the kids who can't make good grades.
|
It used to be normal. School was seven hours a day, and the teachers said "Oh, it'll prepare you for a job 8 hours a day." Then somebody decided "Hey! Let's make it 8 hours a day to further prep students for real life.^^(also because they get more money.)"
Then it got worse. Students were asked to start providing manual labor at factories, so funds could be gained. Those funds allowed schools to be built in every town and city. School started being mandatory for every child on earth. They called it the Sciences, Concepts, Historics, Original Objectives, and Learning system (SCHOOLs for short).
Within a year, school had become year-round and students could never go home. The quality of life for every student spiraled downwards. What was even worse, adults started joining. All the adults who weren't teaching school started going back to classes to learn more. Society began to shut down as nobody was doing much of any work.
3 more months passed, and then people started noticing disappearances. Their friends and family, especially the ones who had trouble learning. A group of students from the AP Statistics class gathered data on the missing students, and it clearly showed that the people who were gone were the lowest performers. Bad grades meant a fate that nobody knew.
A geography major was practicing surveying by making a map of a campus when he found a door that he'd never been through. He had a master key to help his surveying, and the poor kid opened the door. What he found was stacks and piles of dead students. The news spread like wildfire. Across the world, people found those rooms and starting trying to leave school. It was killing them all!
The administration had had enough. They started wholesale extermination of every...
"**DAVID!** Quit playing your games and come eat dinner!"
"Almost done, mom!"
David was almost done with his game of Plague Inc. His virus, school, had infected everybody on the planet and had just started wiping out the earth.
|
Ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-ja-CLANK.
The bars of this five by ten cell jar open as the warden's bellowing demands echo down the unit: "END OF REJUVENATION SESSION. BEGIN WORK DAY."
The word rejuvenation, of course, being a joke for the six hours of sleep I get between ten and five --my rest constantly interrupted by Harry's mumbling.
Over and over he mutters to himself reminders of who he used to be. "Harry Simcox. I have a mother and a father. I have a brother and a cat. My house is yellow."
I shuffle to the bathroom as quickly as I can, knowing that being the first to arrive in the study hall will grant me my pick of today's assignments. I brush my teeth with a brand new tooth brush --a red one this month. The warden is tough on security, but kind to our teeth. Toothbrushes are cheaper than cavities. When we leave this place -if we leave- they'll want us to flash a wide, polished smile at the reporters, salivating for a piece of news about what we've been working on.
Harry and I and the thousands of other children here are very special. We've been granted the opportunity of a lifetime, they say. Our talents have afforded us the privilege of helping our fellow citizens. When I was younger, my mother would tell me how brilliant I was, but I never believed her. It made me feel shy and awkward to hear her boast about my skills -my strange affinity for numbers, and my ability to remember nearly everything I've heard or read. If my parents are guilty of anything, it's being too proud of their firstborn son. They can't have done the things they say. They're good people, my parents. Patriots, not traitors.
I walk into the study hall, surprised to see that Harry's beaten me to Seat 1. I slither into Seat 2 trying to avoid the piercing stare of the Officer sitting two feet in front of us, watching our every move. I leaf through today's assignments and chose one that interests me. And then I get to work.
| 2017-09-15T20:30:21
| 2017-09-15T19:33:43
| 44
| 15
|
[WP] In what seems like a cruel prank by a bored God, people started developing powers based on their worst fears. people afraid of heights got the gift of flight. arachnophobia? get the power of spiders. phasmophobia? necromancy/ability to speak with the dead. Your power is... hard to explain...
|
Spectrophobia is the fear of mirrors. Specifically, it's the fear of seeing something reflected in the mirror that shouldn't be there: a ghost or apparition sharing space with you, or your the idea that your reflection isn't actually your reflection, but a separate entity that moves on its own. It sounds silly. I knew it was silly, completely irrational even. Knowing this did absolutely nothing to make the fear go away.
Usually, I could deal with my phobia. As long as the room was brightly lit, I could stand to look in mirrors if I had to. Normally, I'd avert my eyes as much as possible, and that got me by. I felt a little anxious looking at my reflection long enough to get myself ready in the mornings, but I could manage.
That was before the powers began. Before the news reports started coming in. There was the man with arachnophobia who was mugged in a parking lot. Just as the thug pulled a knife on him, all these giant spiders poured out from under the cars. The mugger ran off, and the guy was saved. He had to be hospitalized for a week to treat his anxiety, though.
The lady with the fear of heights wasn't so lucky. She started levitating, and couldn't figure out how to go back down. Up and up she went, screaming. At about 300 feet, she finally passed out from her panic attack. Her power stopped functioning, she fell, and she died.
After reading these, and many more reports, my spectrophobia grew ten times worse. I didn't know how my power might manifest, and I didn't want to find out. I didn't dare look in a mirror, even in the brightest light.
I started getting comments at work about my unprofessional appearance. Without a mirror, I had no idea what I looked like. I did my best with my makeup. I put on foundation and could only hope I'd blended it properly. I attempted lipstick, but eye makeup was impossible. I could comb my hair, but I couldn't style it. One day I got daring and braided it. Apparently it did not turn out well.
Using the restroom was the worst. In my own house, I was familiar enough with the layout of my bathroom that I could get to the toilet, and then to the sink to wash my hands, with my eyes closed. At work, though, I really struggled. I would dart into the bathroom and into the nearest stall without making eye contact with the mirror. I had to carry a big bottle of hand sanitizer in my purse, because I didn't dare approach the sinks. They had mirrors over them. Some of my co-workers noticed. I couldn't bring myself to explain. As embarrassing as my behavior was becoming, being afraid of mirrors was even more humiliating. Every time I started to tell them about it, I thought of the onslaught of ugliness jokes they would make, and I couldn't do it.
There was this guy at my office. Ted. Ted was a major creeper. He spent way too much time staring at the women in our office. He lingered near our cubicles instead of returning to his own work. If he had to pass one of us in the halls or the aisles, he would pass as closely as possible, trying to arrange it so that his hands would brush – well, I'll just let you guess. We reported him to Human Resources, but nothing was ever done.
One evening, I had to stay late working on a project that had gotten a bit out of hand. Everyone else had left, and most of the lights had been turned off. I finally wrapped it all up and shut off my computer. When I turned around, I saw a figure standing in the darkened hallway. Ted. He stepped into the light, leering.
“Ted. I didn't know you were still here. Uh, well, have a good night.” I headed toward the front door.
Ted stepped directly into my path. “No need to rush off, Gloria. Heh. I know what everybody's been saying, but I like your new natural look. You, uh, you look really hot. You know, I've been working out. Wanna see my abs?” He started to untuck his shirt.
“I need to get home,” I said, trying to push past him.
He grabbed my arm. “What's the rush? It's not like you're married. We could go out. You and me. You think I'm attractive, right?”
I tried to squirm out of his grip. He got a hurt look on his face, then drew back his other hand and slapped me across the face. I struggled harder. He reached into his jacket. Before I could find out what he had in there, I kneed him in the crotch and ran in the opposite direction.
Cursing that I hadn't paid more attention during office fire drills, I racked my brain to recall where the next nearest exit was. Ted pounded after me. A gun flashed in his hand. Was he really going to shoot me? I ducked into a hallway, but I'd gotten turned around. I was outside the bathrooms, and the hall hit a dead end after that.
Ted stepped into the entrance. He pointed the gun at me. His hand was shaking like crazy. Panicking, I shoved my way into the ladies room.
Oh, no. The mirrors.
My eyes fell on the glass before I could stop myself. For a second, I saw my reflection staring back at me. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my hair was a wild mess. Then, the horrified look on my face stretched into a wide grin.
Oh, no.
I ducked into a stall and slammed the door behind me. I crouched into the corner behind the toilet, making myself as small as I could. The ladies room door slammed open.
“Why are you running? Why can't women ever give me a chance!” Ted howled. The gun went off. Bathroom tiles shattered above my head. I stifled a scream.
There was a bang. Ted had kicked open the door of the first stall. I crawled under the partitions to the farthest one. He kicked another door open. It was only a matter of time before he reached me.
“Hey! How did - ” Ted said in surprise. Then there was a weird, squelching noise. Something red spattered the floor at Ted's feet. He collapsed. His head lolled toward me, his eyes open and staring blankly, his mouth frozen in an 'O' of horror.
I cracked the door and peeked out.
She was still there.
My reflection stood in the middle of the room, Ted's blood dripping from her fingers. She winked at me. Then she climbed up onto the sink and stepped into the mirror and was gone. The only thing reflected in it was the empty bathroom.
&#x200B;
r/HallOfDoors
|
Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, I thought.
After all, I *had* always wanted to be able to fly; has always wished I could be the hero in my very own comic book story.
But this? Cruel irony.
They were huge, delicate and papery; dusty and scaly. like stained glass with the texture of gravel.
Maybe they would have been beautiful from a distance (and about a thousand times smaller). But each one the half size of a movie theater screen? And hanging off *my* back? This was a **nightmare** (incidentally one I’d had before).
How would I fit through doors? Sit down? Go to bed? How would I do **anything**?!
Not to mention the weight! Sure they could lift me into the air, but it was no easy task to stand up.
The wings were one thing, but the secondary power made my skin crawl. Thousands of the little creeps at my beck and call. Useful, certainly. But also disgusting. All those little wings and legs… I’m itching as I write this.
I used to want superpowers to be real so desperately. But man…
I **HATE** butterflies!!
| 2022-05-15T02:11:03
| 2022-05-15T01:24:03
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
I had never given much thought to what my Summoning would bring. Far, far too busy. Always head down, eyes on the screen or hands shuffling papers. When not working I was constantly being relocated; shifted around for those that seemed themselves more deserving, more worthy. I had a window once. And the squirrels. Beautiful squirrels. They were in love. But as soon as it appeared in my upturned palm I knew. My time had come. I could see the endless possibilities reflected in its polished crimson surface. I could see in it power. I was whole. Its name called to me as if it and not I was the summoner. Such a beautiful name in such intricate scroll along its side. *Swingline*. My stapler.
- Excerpt from *The Manifesto of Milton the Unseperate*
|
I looked at the clock, stated at the clock. Time was never really a concern of mine but I can't help it. After all, in 5 minutes, I was about to have my most wanted item.
I got to distract myself from all the nerves. I looked out the window, attracted by the city lights. City lights always calmed me.
Nerves settled. I looked back at the clock. 2 minutes to go. I begun to wonder what is my greatest desire? I never cared for much after all. I have no family, no friends. Drifting from place to place, I have no purpose in life. Clearly, I was not going to get anything.
I smiled wryly. This is going to be anti-climatic. 5...4...3...2...1.
And the last thing I heard was the clock striking 12 midnight once.
=====
The city lights began to flicker out as a spreading Void expanded from the apartment. Nothing could stop it. Horrified screaming turned into nothing as the Void consumes all.
The desire to void existence made manifest.
And the rest is Silence.
| 2019-09-18T09:48:46
| 2019-09-18T09:39:58
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] Scientists are now able to recreate a person's last sentence before they died, leading to thousands of solved murder cases. However, one victim's last words leave detectives baffled.
|
*"What the hell does that mean?"* demanded the old detective, taking another puff from his cigar. *"I mean, not only is this not a murder investigation, but I don't even see the relevance in that phrase!"*
*"We called you here because once we heard his last words we weren't sure what to think! We thought it might be important."* The old woman said, desperately and almost out of breath.
Granted, the man lying before them was a rather significant figure in society. But the detective had explained, there was nothing suspicious about his death in the least. That is, until his last words were played back.
*"Okay, let's assume this isn't a death by natural causes."* Began the detective. *"Let's assume this is a murder, somehow. If he was being murdered then why not say the culprit's name? Why not make it easy for us? Instead he says this nonsense!"* Exclaimed the detective, hands waving in the air.
The man had died alone in his bed. Had it not been for the ability of the coroner to play back the deceased's last words, none of them would be here arguing about this. And it was only a single solitary word. Not a name, just a word.
The detective paced across the room and then stopped to look at the mess on the floor which a forensic technician was photographing and cataloging in case the incident became a real investigation.
*"I don't even know how that... that... damned snowglobe is even relevant!"* The detective said to the technician. *"Rosebud? What kind of crap is that anyways?... He was probably senile."*
|
All was quiet at 6am in the station. I was the only one there. I stayed here eagerly waiting on Johnson to return. Johnson had gone to Chicago to retrieve the results of the test.
The test was in it's early stages, with a few minor glitches with the system in forms of grammar and spelling.
But today it was finally ready for it's first test.
The public has always been curious about exactly how Michael Jackson had died. So today, with permission from the family, we would finally find out.
Johnson bust through the door at 6:15 sharp just as we planned. "Damian! Damian Damian! It's here it's right here!" he exclaimed as he passed the front desk. I stood up and darted towards him, "What? What does it say Johnson?"
"His whole image in his later life... It's all..."
"Spit it out, damnit!"
"He was faking it! He wasn't an avid drug addict!"
"What? How on Earth did he die then?"
Johnson pulled out the documentation. He slowly unfolded it and turned the paper towards me.
"I knew it would come to this, you sick, psychotic man... Well of course I tried to tell them you were "Bad" but they could not take the hint... So this is it then? Just a needle in my arm and I'm dead... I'll just be another washed up celebrity that got too into their recreation... Well they will find out you did it Georgie... Yeah they always find a way."
The page ends. I flip it over to the back.
"You know I was always an Al Gore fan. I wish you luck when they find out that you did 9/11 Bush!"
The page ends there.
| 2016-02-07T18:59:13
| 2016-02-07T17:28:21
| 136
| 20
|
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had.
|
Well, the big day was finally here. Birthday 128. I hadn't seen many new skills in my later years. I wasn't surprised though.
In my earlier years, I had maxed out cooking, spending an entire year travelling the world looking for new recipes. Using exotic ingredients helped speed up the process but if you can't do the simple things, none of the rest mattered.
I had an annual cookbook for the holidays and had learned to add guest chefs to keep my skills sharp. With several TV shows, each with their own special gimmick, I had a very successful business as restauranteur and consultant.
Nothing made me happier than seeing my great grandaughter start to learn the skills I had practiced over the years. My own children and grandchildren showed mild interest but nothing like the passion for cooking like myself. I could spot a new trend or something exciting like a shark senses blood in the water. I could bring a new twist to classic recipes, adding one ingredient that made all the difference.
I had mastered grilling, cleaning, sauteeing, roasting and baking. Those skills were repetitive but essential for the overall skill of cooking. Other skills like chopping, preparing and ingredients also helped with making sure everything you needed was available. Like I said, the basics make all the difference. Being able to spot good ingredients versus great ingredients can take your recipes to the next level.
My great granddaughter made a very special cake for my birthday, which melted my heart. I had helped find my strawberries and cream frosting cake, my favorite recipe when I had first started out. As they brought out the cake, I could feel a swelling in my heart. She had outdone herself.
The strawberries were decorated with carefully topped whipped cream, each arranged to spell out Happy Birthday. The smooth mirror glaze of the frosting reflected hours of studying the techniques of the finest bakers. I could see the love she had put into the cake. She was amazing, my great granddaughter.
As I leaned forward and made my wish, the room froze as if time itself had been stopped. I had forgotten what it meant to unlock a new skill but as the golden light surrounded my hands, new knowledge presented itself before me.
"With your mastery of 11 different skills, you have been granted your wish. This is a one time skill and you are the first to be granted this skill. Take this new knowledge and use it wisely. Congratulations."
My great granddaughter stepped up beside me. "Grandma, I learned a new skill but I don't know what it means. Master and Apprentice."
I smiled as I looked at my hands, 70 years younger and felt my long black hair once again. "We both got a new skill and I used mine. Respawn. We have more time together because I have more time to teach you."
|
REPORTER: ANNABELLE HAYNES
INITIAL REPORT
-----------------------------------------------
SPECIES: HOMO SAPIENS SAPIENS
---------------------------------------------
LEVEL 1: AGE 0-3
Basic skills - walking, babbling.
The first year, Homo Sapiens infants tend to crawl on all fours; walking is only developed as a skill after they reach the age of 1. By the age of 2, babbling is unlocked - nonsense words, but a recognition of objects and faces is established. Object permanence is also unlocked; if you show a 2 year old a toy and then hide it, the child will remember what the toy is and where it has been taken. By age 3, basic vocabulary is established, rudimentary conversation can be had.
LEVEL 2: AGE 3- 10
Basic skills - Motor movement, fine skills
The child begins to learn to use their limbs effectively; gains proper control with the opposable thumbs. Is able to manipulate technology with their fingers; recognizes the world around them. By age 9, the child has developed slightly advanced motor skills; possesses the bare minimum of knowledge of several studies, including history, geography, maths, and the natural sciences.
LEVEL 3: AGE 10-18
By this stage, the Homo Sapiens develops their particular talents, be it in academics, sports, or the arts. Fine motor skills are fully developed; the child possesses basic knowledge in several fields; interests and hobbies are developed. Most children tend to be antisocial and withdrawn at this age; social skills are rudimentary.
LEVEL 4: AGE 18-25
Social skills are developed; knowledge grows exponentially. The Homo Sapiens member begins to question, adapt, and finally conform to the society they live in. At this age, most members are still questioning, and tend to be fluid with secual partners, and types of lifestyles that will be led. Due to the vast majority of cultures, most individuals have varied lifestyles, and can switch from one to the other.
LEVEL 5: AGE 26-55
At this level, most individuals develop particular skills related to their work - most manual laborers will develop skills of heavy lifting, most corporate workers will develop skills related to technology, and so on. Most individuals settle down to one particular lifestyle; change becomes difficult
LEVEL 6: AGE 56-90
Few skills are developed here; most individuals suffer from losing basic skills. By age 80, walking becomes difficult; sight is a skill that most will lose. Most individuals degenerate to Level 1 or Level 2 at this stage; when deterioration occurs, most individuals are taken care of by their younger offspring.
LEVEL 7: 90+
Skills - ???
--------------------------------------------------------
I shut the report, looking at the reporter across from me. Annabelle looked at me, unblinking, waiting to see my reaction.
“Alright, I’ve seen the report. What of it?”
“Please don’t fool around, Mr. Lee. We’ve had reports of people witnessing your...skills in public. Levitating a coffee cup? Causing an annoying waiter to slip and drop his dishes? Stirring some tea without touching the spoon?”
“Look, Miss Haynes, I’m just an old man, and I would very much like to go home now. Your ‘leads’ sound fabricated, and quite ridiculous. Please, let me go, or I will complain to your supervisor.” I sat there, hoping the threat to complain to management might scare her into letting me go. On the other hand, old-man charm works just as well.
She sighed. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Mr. Lee. My boss requested I keep you here as long as possible. You’re one of the oldest members in our society, and you’re the only one with this new skill. We need to know what happens when we age, and you’re the best study we have.”
I fidgeted in my chair. Getting out of her is going to be difficult, and if I revealed my skill, getting out of here would become impossible. There was one option, but I wasn’t ready to try that just yet. The side-effects were often permanent.
“All right, Miss Haynes, I’ll give you a deal. I’m an old man, and this room is uncomfortable. Is there any way we can get out, for some coffee maybe? I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
She shook her head; he screamed internally. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Mr. Lee. You see, we tried to speak to you in a cafe, but you’re awfully agile for a 93-year-old. We brought you in because we need to know, Mr. Lee. It’s important.”
He was starting to lose his patience; a bad sign. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and said, “I’m just an old man. Like your report said, I’m losing most basic skills. How could it be possible that I’m gaining a new one? That’s not how it works, and we both know it.”
Haynes sat in her seat, stubborn and unreadable. “We have too many reports about this for us to ignore it, Mr. Lee. Either start talking, or nothing happens.”
Oh my God, how stubborn is this woman? I knew it was a mistake stirring the tea without using the teaspoon, but I had the newspaper in my hand, and I was already comfortable... Damn it. Damn her.
“All right, Miss Haynes. You win. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Really?” Wow, she genuinely looked excited. This would be disappointing.
I reached up, index and middle finger to the middle of my forehead, and concentrated. I focused on first, gaining control of her consciousness. I could feel resistance, but quickly, she succumbed. Most people aren’t used to outside forces to their thoughts to ever put up a fight.
“Bring the reports of my...skill sightings to me.”
She got up, eyes glassy, and left. I sat there, mulling over. I’d have to leave town soon; messing with a reporter’s mind will be tricky to explain away later. If she ever remembers what’s happened - either in a dream or a deja vu sequence - it would be even more difficult to escape. By the time I was done planning my route out, she was back. She silently handed the reports to me, and sat back down.
I glossed over them, noting which cafes and public points I would have to avoid, before stashing them in my bag.
“Now, Miss Haynes, please repeat after me. ‘Mr. Lee, it seems our reports on your skill level were misinformed. I regret the harsh tone of questioning, and I apologize for any inconvenience caused.’”
“Mr. Lee, it seems our reports on your skill level were misinformed. I regret the harsh tone of questioning, and I apologize for any inconvenience caused.” Her voice was flat, without any tone, emotion, or warmth. I’d have to work on that later.
“Alright, Miss Haynes, please get me out of here”.
10 minutes later, I strolled out of the office into the bright, warm sunshine. It was a clear day, perfect for going home and making some tea. I looked back, to see a senior officer peer worriedly at Miss Haynes - her eyes were still a tad too glassy.
| 2018-06-23T12:16:19
| 2018-06-23T12:14:20
| 223
| 27
|
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
|
The final day of courting with the Princess of the land was always a duel. The duel had become so popular in the land that the King had turned it into an event. Everyone would travel to the dueling grounds outside the palace and town to watch as a poor man was run through for their arrogance or stupidity.
Now I'm not much of a poet but when I heard of the event I fell in love. So of course I informed my fellow companions of my new love and they whole heartedly supported my pursuit. So we planned it out and travelled to the princess so I could declare my love to her.
When my parties wagon rolled into the town and we told the locals of my interest in courting the Princess, we received mockery and a few pitying looks. But I wasn't deterred.
Once I presented myself to the Princess I almost decided to not go through with my plan. Her beauty if anything was understated in the tales. Her grace almost divine and her voice could sooth any raging beast.
The Princess accepted my courting proposal and for a week I wooed her. Several times I had to remind myself of the end goal. Several times I wished to just run away. But I stayed. And finally the day came. The town and people of the Palace gathered at the dueling fields to watch me die.
"I have to say, I did enjoy this week." The Princess said to me as she gave a few practice swings in the air with her sword. I smiled a little, "I don't suppose that means you'll spare me?"
She gave a bubbling laugh, "Oh no my dear ex-suitor."
She started to gracefully circle me, "I've been waiting all week for this day."
I smirked a little and got into a stance with my sword, "Well I hate to keep a lady waiting."
With a fiendish smile she engaged. To compare my skill to hers would be to compare a peasants gold to a kings.
Quickly I felt her blade slip past my defenses and slash across my chest, arms, and legs.
After a minute of being methodically turned to ribbons she backed away from me.
I was breathing hard while she seemed no worse for wear.
we both stabbed our blades into the ground and took a moment to breath
"I'm surprised your still alive." she commented.
I laughed heartily and looked up to the crowd before looking back at her. "Well Princess I pride myself on my uh... stamina."
She chuckled, "Most men I fight only have one round in them."
I couldn't help a snicker, "Princess I'm one of a kind."
I lifted my blade and got back into a defensive stance. Beckoning her to me with a finger I gave her a smirk. "Well I'm ready for round two."
The crowd seemed amused at our banter and I would have taken a moment to enjoy it but the Princess was quick to reengage me. the crowd watched with dark amusement as the Princess covered my body in more and more cuts. I could hear a few comments as I fought off not only the Princess but the blackness that was threatening to overtake me.
After another minute the Princess backed away her hands, face, and clothes covered in blood but none of it her own. "Still there?"
I planted my sword back into the ground and held up a hand to acknowledge her as my breath come in ragged breaths.
She smiled, "Well you've set a new record."
I couldn't help a hacking up blood as I let out a painful chuckle. "Not the first time I've done that."
"I do have to ask, why did you think you would win?" she said as she picked up her bloody blade.
"I'll have you know I'm winning Princess. I've got you where I want you." I looked up with a bloody smile on my face and took a defensive stance again, feeling my arms and legs shriek in painful protest.
The Princess's smile vanished as she picked up her blade. "Is that so?"
I looked up to the crowd again and saw my friends faces of encouragement.
Looking back at the Princess I gave a sincere smile. "Why yes Princess I've won."
I don't remember dying. Just sudden blackness then feeling a pull as I woke up seeing my friends looking down at me. Besides them a priest.
"Holy hell man she ripped you apart." said one of them, the rogue of our party.
I shook off the feelings of the resurrection spell and stood up. "I know man that was the most painful experience of my life."
The rest of my party parted as I gathered my clothes and put them on. "How much did we make by the way?" I say as I meet back up with them at the wagon.
The warlock smiled evilly, "They had pathetic security that were barely taking their jobs seriously. We stole well over a few thousands gold from them."
I smiled as I got into the cart, "Finally, I've earned myself a nice score."
As ranger started guiding the wagon out of the city, located well away from the Princess's palace, the rogue took a second to look at me. "Was it just me or did it seem like you actually liked the girl?"
I waved his words, "No way my friend, we're thieving adventures, she's a Princess."
He shrugged, "Well she certainly seemed to like you."
As we headed down the road off to our next adventure I thought that sentence over in my head.
|
I made sure that every single sword in town has been bought out and currently hidden in a cave somewhere in the southern isles. My rouges have scoured every house, camp, and hovel in the city for any type of sword or sword-like object. Of course, getting the swords in the castle is going to be harder, and the sword that she carries in her scabbard the hardest. My network of rouges has been working day in and day out for this but, now I have the ultimate test. To get that sword away from her.
The princess has been spending a few hours getting ready in the powder room as a result it is customary that I wait in the study with her butler. He stares at me up and down as I am not as strapping as the last few lads she fought. He gave me a look of pity,
"So, nice weather out there," I said, with my winning smile
The weather was cloudy and humid but, I was grasping at straws at this point. Even her butler looks intimidating. The butler just sniffed and looked towards his stack of books. Just a single stack of books among the walls of books among the shelves and piles on desks. There are also numerous anatomical diagrams on the wall and a single strange skull that was placed on the desk as some strange souvenir.
"What is that?" I ask pointing at the skull on the desk.
The butler looked at me and then looked at the skull.
"This is the skull of the first man circa 46,000 years ago. It was gifted to the princess by a biologist from the Americas."
"What happened to him?"
"He died in battle."
"With whom?"
"The princess."
"Oh."
The courting sword fights have occasionally been public events. I have seen the princess do her famous fatality finish where she disembowels her opponents in a single swipe of her rapier. While a man from any class could date her if he wants to try, she also insists on having them fight her to the death within a week after the first date. Knowing this she is still sought after and known as irresistible by most men. With an almost extreme radiance, she steps in and it was well worth the wait. She was wearing a satin dress that conforms to her curves with her long black hair cascading down to her wasp-like waist. She smiled at me to acknowledge my presence. I noticed that her sword isn't in its usual place. Could it be that Pierre succeeded?
"We'll be out for a few Alfred." The princess calls out she leads me towards the front door
We were walking out when... a waif-like teenaged boy wearing a green smock was running in a weird manner almost as if he was sidestepping at a sonic pace. His grunting matching his speed. before we realize it he threw his boomerang straight towards my head. Before I could think the princess takes out her rapier and deflects the thing towards a nearby barrel, tells me to hop into the carriage. I plopped in along with her and she orders the thing to start moving. With the horses moving at top speed across town the boy effortlessly catches up to us. Shooting a chain towards the wheel in order to drag him towards us. He throws a spherical, black bomb inside of the carriage. I immediately take it and throw it in a nondescript direction. The princess on the other hand starts climbing to the top of the carriage rapier. In hand.
"Who is this guy!?"
"How about you tell me, Rohan?"
"What?"
"Did you think that you were get away with stealing every sword in the city without a few people getting mad at you!?"
More than a few people, a whole squadron of different characters started roaming after the carriage. An 8-foot tall behemoth dressed in black with short black spikey hair and a strange tattoo, a man who's similarly muscular but, shorter with longer blonde hair wearing strange foreign clothing. Along with several men and women with black robes turning into fierce monsters running through the city. Tonight the princess and I will fight together, tomorrow she will have me.
\*\*I'll probably expand on this because this is fun.\*\*
| 2020-09-20T23:44:33
| 2020-09-20T21:56:44
| 28
| 17
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?'
|
The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer.
| 2022-08-07T20:43:05
| 2018-04-06T18:29:33
| 379
| 43
|
[WP] The royal advisor isn't sure why everyone thinks he is going to betray the king, perhaps it is the skull on top of his staff, maybe it is the ominous dark flowing robes or simply the way he laughs, regardless he decides to hire an advisor to help him act less suspiciously
|
He looked down at his seemingly flourescent new suit.
"Are, uhh... You sure?"
"Trust me darling you couldn't possibly be mistaken for a malicious wretch in this. It is simply fabulous!"
The team of three advisors looked him up and down, all nodding together in unison and excitement.
Raghul had always worn black and purple. Black to symbolise the inevitability and wisdom of death, and purple as a sign of the royal blood which flowed through his veins, admittedly through a distant cousin but nevertheless a part of the court traditions that must be observed. Being royal advisor, he never thought it proper to wear much purple lest he accidentally imply that the position deserved to be his. As a result, his garb was almost always black, trimmed with tiny amounts of purple. Yet here he stood, in a slim-fit yellow suit with one purple flower pinned to the lapel.
He had hired the advisors in a last-ditch attempt to avoid the near ceaseless gossip which reached his ears. He had his spies of course - what good advisor didn't? - and time after time some of his most respected colleagues would be reported spreading gossip. Looking at himself now in the mirror, wholly uncomfortable with the get-up, he sighed.
"I just feel so misunderstood," he said, turning to the advisors. "Like the crows of death delivering their morbid news being hailed as omens dark when they only portain the messages of others."
The advisors glanced meaningfully at each other, and the second man stepped forward.
"OK now Raghul, this is exactly what we spoke about," he said. "No more death-based metaphors! They are, like, totally bumming us out."
Before Raghul could respond that it was actually a reference to a little-known local theatre piece he had donated to, the third advisor jumped in.
"Aaaaaaaand we have to talk about your staff."
Raghul looked at his staff. It sat ever in his hand, a family heirloom with the skull of his great-great-grandmother atop it, his only connection to the magic of the old-times. She had also been the first woman to serve as royal advisor and still held the record for most lambs to be slaughtered on the King's nameday. Aside from all that, it helped his arthritis.
"What... what about my staff?"
"Well, don't you think it's a bit CUCKOO?!" The advisors joined each other in a chorus of laughter. "I mean a SKULL, come on! It feels like we're on the set of one of those theatre-thingies you keep talking about."
The first advisor left the room and returned with a long object wrapped in a glimmering silver shawl. Raghul removed the cloth with the patience of a saint, awaiting the feeling of a new start, a fresh look. When the cloth finally met the floor, he saw it: A... candy cane? It was a red-and-white-striped staff, complete with a hook a la Bo Peep.
"Now, paired with your yellow suit and your purple lapel I think this will really brighten up your image!"
Raghul raised an eyebrow. He held the old staff in one hand and the new, candy-cane staff in the other hand.
With a heave of his chest, he addressed the room.
"Honestly, if it's a choice between this or being the bad guy, then I think it's just time to be the bad guy."
Just like that, he waved his staff, complete with the head of his fallen great-great-grandmother, and the three advisors were transformed into croaking toads: One yellow; one purple; and one striped with white and red.
&#x200B;
\-----------
First ever entry!
|
The kingdom would burn. Let it! Dana thought. He'd done all he could.
He sunk into the plush turquoise cushion and brought his coffee up to his nose. Deep breath, eyes closed, he soaked in the ambient, idle chatter of the little coffee house's patrons. No politics here. No diplomatic concerns. No talk of wars looming like red-demons on the horizon ready to exhale infernos.
People relaxing. That was all.
A server brought over a plate of cheese. Dana nodded his thanks and cut a thin slice of something yellow and lay it on his tongue.
It was good to get away from the palace. Dana's first week as the royal advisor had gotten off to a rather shaky start. The Persian Shah had rejected an offer of peace, his eyes locked firmly on Dana all the while. It had been a good offer, too. Dana had been up half the night prior, writing the damned treaty.
His own Sultan hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the day. "This could mean war! It was either your words or your appearance that put him off, Dana. Or do you think it somehow my fault?"
Dana didn't know who had been at fault! But he knew better than to question his never-wrong can't-be-wrong Sultan.
He sipped his tea and tried not to worry about his position. He *couldn't* lose it. He needed to keep sending money back to his parents -- they were too old to work the land now, and their savings had gone into his education. To fail them would also be to fail himself. Unthinkable! And yet the thought was there, battering away at the makeshift wall of serenity the coffee house had forged.
He should stick to what he was doing. He shouldn't change because he was doing everything right. Everything by the book and--
The tea. The taste. The aroma. Think of anything except going back to the palace. You have to relax, Dana, or you'll go mad.
Something tiny scuttered past his cushion -- a little mouse. An empty mug followed it, spinning through the air and narrowly missing. The mouse cowered in a corner wall, nowhere left for it to run. The mouse's assailant, a burly man with greying hair, stalked his way over to it.
The mouse was a slight little creature. Dana could see its heart beating through its ribs and knew exactly how that kind of anxiety felt.
Dana, only half-understanding why -- he didn't usually care for mice at all -- stood up, blocked the man's path, and shook his head.
The burly man swallowed hard, nodded, then backed off.
The advantages, Dana considered, of dressing so imposingly. He took another slice of cheese and crumbled it onto the ground near the mouse, before returning to his seat.
The coffee house was only half-full, so when a girl with dark hair in a long ponytail, and a mole above her top lip, sat herself down on the yellow cushion opposite, he scowled hard. Hoped she'd see it and get the message.
She didn't. "Hello," she said, cheerily.
He slurped his tea but didn't respond.
"Are you in costume? Pretending to be of those old war-lords or something?" Her emerald eyes were locked on his skull-staff.
"I'm the Sultan's advisor," he said, proudly but agitated. That ought to quieten her. After all, the sultan's advisor held power... for the time being.
The girl began to laugh. "Oh, come on," she said. "I'm not an idiot!"
Dana could feel his face heat. "What do you mean? I never said you were!"
"You're as much a sultan's advisor as I am a queen!"
"Then good day to you, *your majesty*," he said, bowing his head.
"I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes and calmed her giggling. "It's a good costume. Really. It's just... you've gone for a very old fashioned look. Very out-dated for an advisor."
"I think you'll find this is how they currently dress. I am my own proof."
"Right. Skulls on staff. Menacing robes. Pointed beards. That's very current. Certainly, in these days of modern diplomacy, I'm sure such an intimidating look would go down wonderfully!"
"Well... It is a little old fashioned," he admitted. "But I modeled my outfit and my demeanor on the greatest advisors the empire has ever known."
"No wonder the empire has crumbled from a cake to one little country then," she said.
"I..."
"You...?" She laughed again.
What really burned Dana was that she had a point. He did look intimidating. Almost ludicrously so. Yet, that was the look of his mentor and of many who carried the torch before him. He looked at the girl. Pretty. Smiling. Not scared or careful with what she said. Not intimidated by him -- and that did make a pleasant change. And why wasn't she intimidated? Because she thought it just a costume.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Why? Are you going to buy me a coffee?"
"Is that how much your name costs?"
She bit her lip. "It costs a little more than that."
"Maybe I can save up and afford it someday."
She paused, considered, then said, "It's Idella. Call that a good-faith loan."
For the first time in a week, Dana found himself smiling. "Idella. A sensible name."
"And you?"
"Dana. Please, Idella, I will buy you a coffee. Then, you will be so kind as to help me fix my costume. Make me into a modern-day advisor. One who can be taken seriously."
"It would take more than just changing what you are wearing," she said.
Dana mused for a moment. He glanced at the wall, looking for the mouse, but it had long since gone. Most of the cheese had vanished with it.
He wondered if the Shah would meet a second time. Wondered if maybe he could stop the kingdom from burning. Dana looked at Idella and said with a nod, "Perhaps I'm willing to change a little more than I thought."
| 2019-12-20T06:50:28
| 2019-12-20T06:18:29
| 305
| 141
|
[WP] You are a horny Dr. Seuss; write a Suess-Style Rhyming erotic novel
|
Bountiful bossom
And plentiful penis
Bow down fair maiden
And worship my genius
---
I want you to hear me and do what I said
Off with your panties
Bend over the bed!
---
Cheeks of a delicate fleshy pink tone
I shall soon redden and tame with a bone
---
Smack!
And smack!
And smack it again!
One smack.
Two smack.
Three smack.
Ten!
---
Perilous penile phallic and flush.
Prepare of your coin purse for cocking and thrust.
---
I will impale you with force of a bus.
I am inside you.
Do not make a fuss.
---
Wallop and whackings
And more lovey tappings
And writhing
And thriving
I am soon arriving!
---
Stroke it with fury and pornified grace.
Stoke it.
And stroke it!
And look in my face.
---
Lick it.
And suck it.
From tip to the base.
Faster and faster like it is a race.
I will now climax all over the place.
And watch as you try it and give it a taste.
---
It seems I unloaded a cum bubble bomb.
And that is the story of OP's mom.
|
Peter the skeeter is quite the man
Attracts all ladies from Zornsboon to Babstan
They come in Scootbooters, Criznozers, and Boombrums
Just to get a facial from his thick ropes of cum
It get's in their eyes, their mouth, and their noses
Peter exclaimed, "All you ladies are quite lovely hoeses!"
With a rub and a tug, Peter was done,
"Give me 5 minutes and I'll be on to the next one!"
Peter, you rascal, you scoundrel, you scamp!
Not a moment of rest until you nail every tramp
These hoes come from miles, can't you tell, don't you see?!
They've come to get plowed, by yours truly
So stiffen up, look alive, and get ready,
This next little bitty appears quite heavy
Yes it's true, it's your favorite, I do know that
To be smothered with love, and 400lbs of fat
She came and knelt down, and Peter did smile
"My dear, please stand up, you'll be here for awhile."
For there was one truth that withstood all debasing
Peter the skeeter absolutely loved chubby chasing
| 2015-02-25T16:36:37
| 2015-02-25T13:58:07
| 141
| 12
|
[WP] Jerry was erased from existence by Thanos’ snap. The grieving Tom decided to revenge for his fallen friend.
|
No endgame was necessary.
It wasn't much of a battle, that was for sure. Thanos was sitting on his fat purple arse, watching the sun rise, the roasted Infinity Gauntlet locked around his injured hand, drinking in his success. The Gauntlet felt lighter, opprobriously so, almost. It was supposed to represent infinite potential, absolute control, the mastery of the fundamental forces of the universe themselves. But now, it felt like a barely charged toy, good for one last squeak. Enough to shape what dregs he could deign to notice, when the time was right.
He never saw it coming, Never saw the light grey streak, never saw the fur bristled and shaking in rage. Never saw the claws, outstretched, comical, oversized against the swollen glove-like paws that thirsted for Titan blood. Never saw the huge, pulsing eyes, the yellow sclera hidden beneath webs of living crimson, shedding tears as they rode an engine of indestructible vengeance forward.
All the Avengers found, when they emerged from their carefully constructed plan at last to bear down on the Mad Titan, were viscera that might have been roadkill if not for the telltale purple tint and for the shards of the Infinity Gauntlet scattered among the mess. That, and a single, forlorn mound of dust, adorned with a tiny white rose, so small that it might have come from a mouse.
|
Everyday for the last month, I’ve sat on the windowsill looking out at the changed world. Fewer people walk by, fewer trees stand in the yard. Fewer birds fly in the sky.
My tail twitches in annoyance, and I look over my shoulder into the house. Normally I would have had my tail snapped in a mouse trap. Or if I was sleeping, my whiskers plucked. But not for the last month.
It was nice and calm at first. I spent so much time laying in the old woman’s lap. She’s still here at least. But, well, I’m a cat. My one ambition in life has always been to hunt that damned mouse.
But ever since that day, he’s been gone.
The news on the television says that it’s not just him, or the things I can see from my perch on the windowsill. It’s everything. The whole universe. Half of all life, suddenly just gone.
They blame a being named Thanos.
Something about a gauntlet full of stones? I don’t really understand. But what I do understand is that my arch nemesis is gone - and I wasn’t the one to kill him.
The old lady left the door open today. I step outside. Even the wind and sunlight feel like half of what they used to be. I look back inside - I can see it, even from here - his mouse hole.
That settles it. I don’t have a plan. Yet. But who was this Thanos guy to rob me of Jerry? I set off looking for Thanos. I know the old lady will be alright, I don’t have to protect her from the mouse anymore. The dogs are still in the yard (I was disappointed at that), but they can’t stop me.
I might just be a Tom cat, but I know what I have to do. And I have 9 lives to do it in.
r/LandOfMisfits
| 2019-04-01T06:16:41
| 2019-04-01T05:40:35
| 363
| 121
|
[WP] You're a character in Roller Coaster Tycoon. Something about the park seems off.
|
A new amusement park opened up on the outskirts of town today so I decided to give it a try. It only cost $5 to get in! I couldn’t believe it!
As I entered the park there was not much to look at. A very bland interior, there was a bathroom, popsicle stand, popcorn stand with only a few rides. Hell it was only a few dollars I thought, so I decided to give the attractions a try.
The Ferris wheel was fine. As I reached the top I didn’t see much around the park and I was pretty heartbroken but it was a nice day so I decided to just think of paying $5 to walk around and enjoy some rides. When I got off the Ferris wheel I had noticed that the park had just recently started construction on a wooden rollercoaster, which was off because I must’ve missed it somehow while on the Ferris Wheel.
I walked around to the merry go round, a childhood favorite of mine, and noticed that a burger and hotdog stall had popped up along the way. I’d get a burger after the merry go round because I imagine at my age I would still get a little dizzy. It was a loud ride, I felt like it could’ve been heard from anybody hovering hundreds of feet overhead. That old time music that makes you think of amusement parks or fairs just really hit the spot and I was very happy. As I got off the ride it started to rain which was odd because the forecast called for clear skies for the next two days. Weathermen, can’t hardly ever get it right...
I decided to leave as the rain started but I got turned around with everyone else walking around and it seemed like the other I took to the Merry Go Round has changed. I sprinted through the rain looking for the exit of the park, there seemed to be no staff, I saw one janitor and mechanic but they were of no help. After running around for a few minutes I found where the park was selling umbrellas! I paid $7 for one and as I opened it, the storm subsided... what a strange storm to only last a few minutes.
After the sun came back out and all the umbrellas were closed I was shocked to see that the wooden coaster was already finished and it looked like they were going to test it! Already? How?! What was going on??
I was soaking wet and the few park benches that were around the walkways were already broken, on the first day they were open... oh and there was trash and vomit all around the park as well. I had only seen that 1 janitor, there is no way he could keep up with everything. How irresponsible was it of the park to open with such little staff?
I checked my wallet and I only had $6 left... I should’ve brought more cash in but I decided I needed a snack and explore the rest of the park. I bought my soda and popcorn, walked around and noticed a giant pond had appeared behind the Ferris Wheel. Impossible. I was up there not even an hour ago and there is no way I missed this expansive pond! There were even Swan Boats! Where did that come from?!
I had spent the rest of my money and decided to try that wooden coaster since it was somehow already open and there was quite the line forming to go on. I got to the queue and waited. And waited. And waited. There were quite a few trains that were going simultaneously but the amount of people waiting just seemed to never go down. We all waited in line, perfectly in line with each other. I thought it was odd but nobody else thought anything of it. Maybe we were all just too excited.
I had finally made it to the front of the line, maybe another train or two until my turn. I had to pee so bad though. I made it this far, I wasn’t going to lose my spot. If I pee my pants, so be it. I was still very wet from that rainstorm. Then the unthinkable happened. The ride broke down.
The atmosphere in line changed dramatically everyone was upset. We continued to wait for the mechanic to arrive and he finally did after almost a half hour. He said not to worry, the guests on the ride were evacuated and he got to work. He finished fairly quickly and the excitement for the ride rose again. The train went off in front of us while we were waiting to get on. It went up and up but then it derailed and caused a huge explosion!
Out of nowhere panic and Armageddon had gripped the park. How did that happen? They never tested and ran the trains a few times before reopening?! People were screaming and running every which way. Chaos.
I ran to where I though the exit was but found a “Do Not Enter” sign that would not allow me to pass! I swear I could see the exit just in the distance! It was so close but no matter what I could not pass! I wasn’t allowed off the path either!
In a state of shock I continued to wander the park and noticed other odd changes that I did not see before. A massive hedge maze has popped up, well within eyesight of the Ferris Wheel. How did that grown and get cut so quickly?! What was happening here?
Another portion of the park had this large Western Theme area as well as an Egyptian Theme complete with statues and scenery... when did they have time to install this? Was there a clever camouflage netting over it that prevented me from seeing all of this while I was up on the Ferris Wheel earlier today?!
I wanted to go home at the point. I had no money and was tired. Then I got angry. I could feel the steam coming out of my ears. Then suddenly I was thrust into the air and traveled quite a distance before falling into the pond!
I suck at swimming. I flailed wildly while screaming for help! Help! help! I gasped for air. Just as I was about to go under for good I felt myself get picked up once again; dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. I was flown to the far end of the park where I noticed this tall spire. As I got closer I noticed there was a bathroom a bunch of food stands, drinks, benches and lovely manicured grass and scenery. But there were about 10 other people who were furious storming around in circles. I was dropped, landed on my butt and dusted myself off. What was this place?
I only grew angrier and angrier as I walked around. It was great that there was unlimited food and drinks, all free! But nobody was happy. I walked and sat around for hours waiting for something to happen until it finally did. One by one people were picked up into the air and flung across the park only to land in the water. It turns out I’m not the only adult that could not swim. From a distance we could hear very faint crying for help as one by one people drowned.
We could hear the screams in the distance as there were announcements of guests dying. There were only a few of us left. Then two and then just me. I single tear dropped down my beet red face as I was lifted into the sky. I knew my fate was sealed. I was ready to be dropped and be helpless. However, when I was dropped I landed hard in my butt. I dusted myself off and there was the entrance!
I didn’t think twice and got the hell out of there. When I walked to my car, it wasn’t there... panicking I called 911 thinking that someone had stolen it. But when I spoke to the police they said something impossible. Apparently it had been sitting in the parking lot for nearly two months...
|
“Does anyone else feel like that ride is unsafe?” The other park-goers didn’t seem to mind my open dialogue as they continued to purchase their smoothies from the pineapple shaped concession stand awkwardly placed between the bathrooms and a mascot that appears to be trapped in a concrete exhibit with no exit doors.
For as long as I can remember, I have worked as an amusement park blogger. It’s a pretty common job where I live, in fact, I don’t think I know anyone who isn’t either working for the amusement park or expected to be at the amusement park for work now that I think about it.
Regardless, this park seemed different. I’m not sure what it is really, there’s just this looming feeling of impending doom. Perhaps I’m having a panic attack? Could it be from the weird dreams I’ve been having lately? They always seem so real; my dreams. I can practically feel the carts crashing into my body as I’m pinned under an runaway coaster cart. For some reason I feel like I have lived this moment a thousand time in a thousand different ways.
Oh my god.... what if they were real... what if... this is some sick torture from God... what if we are all simply toys for the all-mighty’s sick bloodlust...
“Oh shit watch out!!!!”
———————————-
———————————-
“Man, does anyone else feel like that ride should have more track?” No one seems to listen as they continue buying their corn dogs....
| 2018-07-23T00:27:42
| 2018-07-22T22:33:40
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] You are the weakest member of a famous superheros family. Villains kidnapped you for a ransom, unfortunately hostage situations don't work when your family is already neglecting you...
|
I will admit, they did a good job with these bindings. Metal cabling instead of rope. Wrists bound behind my back and tied to the metal frame of... what is this? Some old school chair? Doesn't matter. Waist tied to the chair, legs tied at the ankles, knees, and thighs to the chair. At least they left that old spud sack off my head this time.
I watched my captors arguing, not particularly paying attention to them as they yelled something about a ransom and my parents on the news.
"So, can you just let me go?" I asked as they both turned to glare at me. A man and a woman. Both mid 30s, blonde hair, some sort of mechanical augmentation on their left arms. "It's clear whatever plan you had concocted didn't work."
"The fuck is wrong with your family?" The woman spat angrily. "We kidnap their eldest child and those two don't even flinch."
"Probably because I'm not the golden child like my brother." I replied, attempting to shrug were it not for the bindings holding my arms in place.
"What do you mean? You don't have any powers?" The man asked, a genuine note of confusion in his voice.
"I do. They're just not as flashy as my brother and sister. Plus, my parents are a pair of spotlight hogs. The public accolades are more important to them than their kids. Why they bothered having us in the first place I have no idea." I replied, not feeling my bindings slacken even a bit.
"So what's the plan? Let him go or zero him?" The woman asked, a rather lethal looking blade sliding from her mechanical left arm.
"I don't know. We need him for that ransom, but if they're not coming for him then there's no point in holding him. But if we let him go he can tell them where our hideout is. If we kill him then those two" he gestured to the TV set that had a muted news report showing my parents showboating to the public. "Could come after us, he is their son after all."
"Fuck. We kill him and those two certainly won't make it quick." The woman grumbled as the blade retracted back into her arm. "You sure nobody is coming for you?" The woman asked, walking up to me and grabbing my hair, yanking my head back so she could glare at me.
"Oh I never said that. My parents and brother, certainly not." I replied, hearing the sound of boddies dropping and things breaking in the rooms outside. "But someone will definitely be coming for me. My sister."
"What powers does she have? Never seen her in the news." The woman asked.
"Oh it's not her powers that you need to worry about. It's her temper." I continued as I used my powers to slip through the restraints.
"Wait what?!" The man asked as the woman jumped back in shock. "You could free yourself the whole time?!"
"Phase Shifting. Not really useful for stopping criminals but quite useful for escaping bonds." I replied as the door to the room flew open to reveal my sister standing in the door way, lightning sparking from her bare arms as she smiled sadistically at my captors who I'm certain probably wet themselves at her entrance, and if not, at the only two words she spoke as her gaze shifted to them with that sadistic smile widening into a manic grin.
"Found you."
|
“What… what the hell!”
I was roused to consciousness by the harsh screech of one of my captors. Opening my eyes, I was greeted to the same dark bag, or sack, or whatever it was they stuck over my head.
“We were supposed to get a payday from ‘em, Mac!” a deeper voice than before spoke.
Being groggy still, I tried moving my hands. It took me a moment to realize they were bound in a quite uncomfortable position behind my back. “What, you disappointed?” I cracked.
I heard a gasp before being hit over top the head. “So you’re awake, eh? Maybe you can explain this to us then?” As the first voice spoke, they grabbed me, turning me around and taking the thing obscuring my vision off my head.
In front of me sat an old, old CRT atop a rotting desk of sorts. Out the back, I could picture the mess of wires, tangled and melded together to form a completely incoherent mass.
On the screen, however, though the static, a news channel was on. The newswoman was nearly tripping over themselves, the camera following them shakily as they tried to catch up to someone.
“—you once more for your bravery, MissDirect! If you don’t mind, would you be open to a few quick questions?”
As the camera stabilized, I recognized my own mother appearing on the screen. Her costume was just as gaudy as ever, colored in gold accents and littered with glitter. How she never caused a car accident, I would never understand.
She shrugged. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
“Thank you!” the lady said before heading into their first question. “Ever since the Meldbar meltdown a few months ago, you seemed to have disappeared from the crime-fighting scene. Do you have any comment as to why that is?”
“Just because you people don’t see me, doesn’t mean I’m not around!” MissDirect laughed. “I have been taking a step back, however, to properly take care of a few internal matters.”
“Oh? Would you be willing to share?”
“Not quite. All I can say is to be on the lookout in the coming months for some new talent!”
With a click, the image suddenly disappeared with a flash from the middle of the screen. Then, I felt a pressure on my shoulder and my head. I tried turning to see who it was, but their grip was too strong.
“Now, would you care to explain what that was all about?”
“What about? MissDirect’s shining passion projects?”
The grips grew tighter, and the deeper voice spoke again. “No smartass. You’re missing, and that news was from hours ago today. It’s been two nights. Why in the hell don’t they seem worried?”
“What’s there for her to be worried about? They probably don’t even know I’m gone yet.”
There was silence for a moment. “So you’re some sorta black sheep in your family then?”
I thought for a second. “I mean, I don’t think it’s like that….”
“Well,” the first voice spoke again. “It sure does seem like your family isn’t that worried about you.”
“Like I said... they probably just haven’t realized I’m gone yet,” I said matter-of-factly. “Just give a few days for the WiFi to go out, and they’ll notice within the hour.”
As soon as I finished speaking, the building shook, and dust began falling from the ceiling.
“What the hell was that?” Their grip released from my head, but I didn’t bother moving it around.
I smirked as I spoke. “You probably know who. They’re not giving up their free tech support.”
\------
Fun! Thanks for the prompt!
r/IUniven
| 2022-02-13T18:51:52
| 2022-02-13T17:49:26
| 292
| 142
|
[WP] “I bet my soul,” you say confidently. “If you win, you take my soul. If I win, you give me something just as valuable.” You go on to win the bet, only to be granted a single $1 bill.
|
[Poem]
A single dollar won
Wagered against my soul
Everything I've lived for
Worked for
Died for
On the face of a single dollar bill
Every night I spent alone
Awake and scared
Frustrated
Angry
Seething with contempt
Worth a single dollar
Every moment spent in love
Awake in your arms
In lust
Inside
Worth only a single dollar
The smile on my daughters face
The words that ushered tears down yours
Is this all I'm worth
If so, what is it for
This single dollar bill
But to some a dollar means the world
A dollar is a meal
A drink
A home
A jacket
A life
A dollar is the difference
Between too late and just in time
The difference
Between not enough and what we need
My only regret before I leave
Was not truly knowing what a dollar was worth
This is the dollar
That bought me a ticket
From which I can never return
But to see you
And our baby
Live a life worth living
This is the best dollar I've ever earned
Edited for formatting
|
I didn’t understand this at first. Was this some sort of joke?!
I looked down at an all too common treasury note. I made more breathing at work then this. What made this all particularly more interesting was the way this devilish man glared at me, all the while smirking after I won. We had spent hours playing this game he had. It was in a leather bound box with ancient text on it.
Only problem was how easy it was to win. He always rolled low, while I skipped ahead as if all the luck in the world had possessed me. It wasn’t particularly hard. You rolled and moved, and whom ever got to the end first won, and I did.
Whatever it’s a dollar I didn’t have right?! I guess I can use it for something...
“That’ll be $1.09.” Said the cashier
“Can you spot me I only gots a dollar.” I said angrily
“Sure sweetie I’ll see you next week, sometime? I’ll make sure to have you’re drinks ready okay?” She replied in a concerning tone
I wanted to get home as quickly as I could. Not only was it cold out, but I was still slightly consumed by the thought of this man. Something about him wasn’t right. I went out back to smoke and out of thin air he was there. I swore his eyes were red at first. God that’s the weed talking I think. I just can’t shake this feeling.
Finally here I open the lock on the 12 story apartment building I lived in. Don, the front desk clerk greeted me as he always did. I swear he never isn’t working.
Wait did his eyes... Ugh I need to get to my room ASAP.
“Mr. Wheatley, welcome home you have a package that’s just arrived.” Don said
“I wasn’t expecting anything. Any idea who send it?”
Of course he doesn’t he isn’t omnipotent.
“No sir, but I think you should open it soon” whispered Don “It’s very urgent.”
I shook my head and made my way to the elevator.
“It’s nice to finally have you with us Mr. Wheatley.” Don replied as he smirked.
Okay what’s going on. Did his eyes... No, fuck no. I’m just.. I need to relax. Finally the elevator stopped, 9th floor apartment 122C. Three locks and I’m safe.
Now let’s see what’s inside this box. I’ve had enough for tonight. As I begin to unwrap this crudely wrapped box I see it. No god what no..! It’s leather and those can’t be. Along with the wrapping a letter fell that read ‘Welcome to the family. We’ve been waiting.’
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time Mr. Wheatley.”
It was the devilish man from earlier. How’d he get in. I locked up I swear!
“Nothing to be afraid of. He knows everything sir.” Don said as I turned to find him in my kitchen.
“Wh.. wa.. I don’t get it.” I say as my voice shakes.
“You will soon.” Don says quietly. “You will soon.”
| 2020-02-05T13:51:18
| 2020-02-05T10:30:52
| 25
| 11
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[WP]You make a wish on a shooting star to be what your crush considers perfect. You wake up the opposite gender because it turns out your crush is gay.
|
It's interesting, the concept of swapping genders in fiction.
Often the tales are ham-fisted fantasies, half-baked - and ruled by priapic indulgences. The tawdry stories focus predictably on breasts, underwear, genitals and one's own attractiveness in the new gender - always much more so than before.
The problem is this; so *very few* people know what it's actually like to be the opposite gender; and given the nature of literature online, most of these gynephilic tales are written by men with severely limited experiences.
Having only read accounts like the ones described above, I was taken aback by the *true* realities of the situation.
Alex was one of those beautiful men who had adopted the latest trends of overly-groomed facial hair and smart plaid. Despite this, I found him incredibly attractive; he was loquacious, generous, gregarious and funny.
The affectations of his appearance should have alerted me to his true sexuality, but in these days of beautiful, well-groomed lumbersexuals it's difficult to judge who is gay and who is not.
Alex was, it turned out, exclusively attracted to men.
Ever since I was a child I've had a propensity to wish on evening stars, birthday candles and other superstitious wishing opportunities. As I sat in my room that night in the two-story flat I shared with my university friends, I caught sight of the trailing line of a shooting star.
"I wish," I breathed quickly, "that I could be the perfect mate for Alex."
As always there was no indication of my wish being heard - and with a burning kernel of love or lust (probably both) in my heart for Alex, I put myself to bed with my cat, Cicero.
The nagging feeling followed me as I woke; I'd had a troubling dream where Alex and I had become lovers, but not in the way I'd envisaged.
*Our beards grazing as we kissed, strong hands on strong arms*
The fragments were disturbing enough, but slipped away quickly - leaving only a curiously *longing* feeling.
As I changed out of my baggy t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, I felt a wave of something akin to *nausea* as I regarded my body. Everything was as it had been; I was still the slightly overweight student with mild PCOS and stretch-marks on her thighs.
But it all felt *wrong*.
You see, dear reader, gender is a mental concept rather than a physical one. Though I did not know it at the time my wish had been granted - I was now the *gender* that Alex preferred - male - but my rather typical women's body was utterly unchanged.
Unbeknownst to myself then, I had opened myself up to a world of desperate pain and bodily discomfort that would unspool a chain of events that would begin with seeing a gender therapist, progress into testosterone injections to alleviate dysphoria and culminate in the slow, agonising and terrifying transformation of my body into a transgender man.
Beware the fantasies of others, because they are rarely - if ever - even remotely based in reality.
|
I Slowly opened my eyes and felt something, odd, on my chest. After a few minutes of looking I realized that I have boobs now, pretty big ones actually. I looked further down to see a slightly overweight girl, although I didn't feel any older than I was last night.
I eventually got up and walked over to the mirror. My hair was actually shorter than It was last night and dyed green. I had also gained a few piercings on my face and a strange tattoo in a pattern I didn't recognize.
I thought about that one Kafka story before remembering the party last night, when I had been an incredibly tall and boney boy. The details were fuzzy but I remember a shooting star and making a Wish.
I wish I looked like what Susan Mark wanted. I hadn't expected the wish to come true. But If I had been asked then what she wanted I would have become more muscular and that's about it. I hadn't expected... well, this.
I had expected to look like her boyfriend.
My first thought was that I would just go to school, before realizing that none of my clothes fit and I didn't have a bra.
| 2015-11-10T12:14:15
| 2015-11-10T11:35:18
| 548
| 33
|
[WP] In 1,000 years, fantasy stories will be set in this era. Write a fantasy story set in the 21st century from the viewpoint of someone living 1,000 years from now.
Based on a post on r/showerthoughts
|
'What empire was the largest in the history of the world?'
'The British empire'
'What was the name of Horatio Nelsons warship that he used in Trafalgar?'
'The Victory'
'What has a greater landmass, Great Britain or the United Kingdom'
'Fuck!'
'That isn't an answer Miss Greenham.' The inquisitor said in the most patronising tone he could muster.
'urm.....' Hannah was weighing up her options.
'please god! My husband lives in Manchester, please i'll do anything!' Hannah was pleading in vain, and she knew it, the inquisitors were never sympathetic.
The inquisitor moved his chair back across the uneven concrete floor, stood up and collected his folder from the desk.
'Miss Greenham, that is precisely the problem.'
'What do you mean, what do you need from me'
'He tried to protect you Miss Greenham.'
'Protect me from what?'
'He denied the marriage, said you had just started dating'
'What?'
'He answered all the questions very well and so we moved on to section two. Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me that you didn't know that the man you married was an eigth French?'
'Brexit means Brexit Miss Greenham, it's very simple'
The inquisitor pushed his chair underneath the table and left the room as Hannah began screaming at the top of her lungs. What the fuck had just happened?
The problem with screaming is that at one point you have to stop and breathe in very deeply. Breathing in deeply ensures that the gas gets to work fast. Screaming was perhaps the best thing she could have done.
|
Aaliyah hitched her shorts, purse tucked beneath her arm, carefully making her way over the rough gravel roads. A beautiful raced past, with a gaping sunroof and windows glinting in the sunlight. A magnificent beast stood arched on the hood. Aaliyah sighed; sometimes she dreamed of that. She was but a simple girl, attending public school.
She was sixteen, and likely only had two more years of education - most of her standing only learned until eighteen, at which time they gained employment toiling for the rich. Her father worked in a caryard, and her mother in a grocery store. Her father’s caryard stood not far from the grand gates to the wealthy neighbourhoods of town, lined with tall trees that changed with the seasons. They would go on to university at the very least, with graduate school and a guarantee of master’s being more likely. Then they would inherit the companies of the world. It was just the way it was.
On the televisual communications devices, they saw the powerful and mighty argue over nuclear weapons, and if and when they should be deployed. She knew nobody who had encountered one, for she was not of the world, living in a simple town. Aaliyah had never left her state, and believed in one God. She had been assigned female at birth and continued to present that way into adulthood, ignorant of any other way.
She paused outside The Apple Store, gazing into the window. These devices were large and clunky, with a large button, sometimes outstretching one’s hands. But Aaliyah had only known these primitive communications for her entire life. Nevertheless, she could not dawdle - for her brother’s birth anniversary was approaching, and she had sworn to buy him nikes. It was a solemn oath, and she would not revoke it. On she continued to the nikes realm.
| 2018-12-25T03:34:13
| 2018-12-25T03:19:47
| 58
| 43
|
[WP] You cannot tell a lie. Not because you're unable to, but because every time you do, a narrator's voice explains the lie in great detail!
|
Bob kicked back and sipped his ice coffee as he wrote an email to upper management. He had been asked to run a report on the tasks his department had completed during the current fiscal year. Just as he was finishing up his email, the voice boomed through the office.
"Bob's team did not complete all of the work orders he alluded to in his email. He was stretching the truth for management by including duplicate requests from multiple users for the same issue in order to make them look busier at their job than they were to avoid having more work dumped on his team." The voice refused to let Bob tell a lie without mercilessly calling him out and explaining the lie in excruciating detail. Luckily for Bob, it did so vocally and he could still lie over email so long as the recipients of that email weren't in ear shot and nobody else brought up the lie.
Just as he sent the email, his coworker Jim approached his desk with a question, "Hey Bob, uh... how do you filter those excel financial reports for the software licensing costs again?"
"Oh, it's very simple." Bob began, "You just delete the file, check your email and the data you're looking for will be th-."
The narrator interrupted, "Actually, it's not 'very simple', and Bob knew that deleting the file wouldn't make his coworker's data magically appear in his inbox. In order to run the report, you wouldn't delete the file... obviously. First you would take the raw data, use a regular expression to..." The narrator continued to drone on about exactly what would need to be done. By the end of the narrator's monologue, Jim was nodding in understanding.
At first, the narrator frustrated Bob. It would call him out on any little white lie he made, leading to a lot of angry family and making dating extremely difficult. It's hard to make a girl feel appreciated by telling her you think she looks "okay", after all. Regardless, over time Bob had learned to live with the voice, and even use it to his advantage at times. By telling an intentional lie when asked for an explanation, he could get the narrator to explain the proper procedure to whoever he was talking to in that same excruciating detail, saving him time and effort.
Bob leaned back in his chair, "Another job well done. Maybe I'll go to the gym after work."
"That was a lie. Bob was simply trying to feel like he was making good decisions without actually committing to the hard work of seeing them through."
Bob sighed. He might be making the best of a bad situation by learning how to game the narrator, but it was still annoying to deal with most of the time. Perhaps he *would* go to the gym, just to prove it wrong.
*You know you won't.*
|
Lucas was staring at his hands, sitting the the table of his house.
There was no other choice, he was thinking.
All those years spent talking hours to Nadine, in the times her bar was empty, after the cappuccino served in the morning, and before the big rush for lunch, complimenting her clothes, talking about her lovers.
And then, everything gone.
&#x200B;
"I'm so happy for you".
"I'm so glad you're back together"
"I can't think of a better match for you"
&#x200B;
All lies, which were the foundation of his relationship with Nadine.
And since the voice started, the voice that gave everything away, he had to stop visiting her.
Without notice. Without an apparent reason.
&#x200B;
But that was the day everything had to change, if the price of talking to her was to be sincere with her, then you would gladly pay it, and take the risk.
&#x200B;
So he entered the front door. It was 11 am, everything was dead calm, everyone was at the beach, or still sleeping at that house.
Nadine put on a slight smile, in her heart she was full of joy of seeing him, but her honor stopped her from showing it.
"Why did he disappear? Did she do something wrong?"
&#x200B;
Lucas knew what she was thinking, because he knew her, as he knewa part of him.
So he decided to answer, with a straight away lie, like he always did. Because he couldn't find the strenght to solve his problem, but he decided to let someone else solve it.
"You did nothing wrong." and that was the truth, the voice spoke not.
"I disappeared because I thought we spent too much time together and i was not sure it was worth it..."
&#x200B;
Lines started to form in the face of Nadine, annoyed, hurt and surprised by that statement.
Until, a few seconds later, the voice that always accompained him, had a laugh for the first time since it had accompanied him.
"that is some bullshit!" the voice from nowhere said.
Nadine looked worried, as a dangered animal that looks for a sound it can't recognize.
"now please..." followed the voice "...let me explain what's happening here"
| 2019-06-21T12:31:23
| 2019-06-21T10:33:25
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] You are a third generation guard for the holy immortals, and you have finally have received the greatest accolade that they can bestow on your kind... "Good boy", says your immortal master.
|
It’s been decades since the immortals he served changed. He was never sure why.
His new immortals were different. They held him all the time. They did the immortal equivalent of the lick all the time. They gave him The Accolade every day. He loved them.
The Immortal who guided the chariot always allowed him pride of place; behind his head looking at the world at Immortal Eye Level.
His younger brother pranced around but he always maintained his dignity. He was The Elder. He was The Best Boy. He was a Good Boy.
At night, he felt the unease of the immortals. He crept closer and made sure he did his job; he was an eater of The Dark. A sentinel who kept his immortals happy. An Eater of The Dread.
There was the time he got so weak. He couldn’t eat. Or drink. Or raise his head to greet his keepers. Father took him to the place of many smells. Father came to see him Every day he was there. Father brought his favorite toys and bed and blankets. He heard the coated one tell Father something and Father was crying and holding him. Father said, “you’re going to be just fine”
A decade has passed. Maybe two. It’s harder to move. To walk. Father still takes care of him. But his legs are still getting heavier everyday.
And it happened. He couldn’t get up anymore. He couldn’t walk. Or eat. Or drink. Father was weeping. Father held him and rocked him to sleep. Father sang his favorite song “you are my sunshine, my only sunshine”
Father took him to the place of many smells again. Everyone was wearing a mask. Everyone was sad. All he saw was his Fathers eyes and the leak in them. He once again felt that he had failed at his duty. That The Dark had won again.
The coated immortal was doing something. Father held him. Sang his song again. Father took his mask off and I saw his face.
Everything was getting darker. He was getting sleepier. Father kept telling him The Accolade over and over again. “You were the best boy. You’re such a Good Boy. I love you”. He went to sleep in his Fathers arms. In the arms of his Immortal.
His name was Blue. He was loved.
|
As I was going to my post I saw another boy standing there about 20s or mid 20s in age. I walked toward him and said "Boy this is my place of duty"
"I was asked to stand there and was asked to give you the message that you have been summoned to meet His Holiness in Immortal Palace." He replied
As i was moving toward the palace I thought "Have I done anything to offend the Holy Immortal"
As I reached inside the palace I saw Holy Immortal sitting behind his Table writing something which probably I cannot comprehend since they deal with the working of life and death itself. I walked toward the table and stopped at some 4-5 foot so and I bowed and in that state I said "Your Holiness I was summoned by you!"
"Yes, Come stand near the table I have to give you something that may make your future a little good or in your opinion a Best it has ever been!" He replied in a tone that resembled a old voice.
I walked toward the table and stood just behind it facing his Holiness. Then again I bowed to not offend or seem some disrespectful donkey.
"Hmm" He murmured and continued "Oh! Just stop doing that bowing again and again, doesn't that make your head and back ache?"
"No, your Holiness! It does not!" I replied.
"Well, whatever! Just stop that and take this" he put a letter and a badge on it as I getting straight posture. I took it with a confused look and then suddenly he said "Come here Boy."
"Boy? I am 30, well in his age that must be boy" I thought as I went near him and as I was about to bow again he just stopped me and said "I did said stop it right?" And then suddenly he patted my head and hugged me and suddenly said "Good Boy!"
What the hell is going on here, I'm third generation of my household that is serving to his Holiness and I've heard that before me that served him didn't even received this their whole generation! And I get this!
'Why' Is what I wanna ask him but will not as it will just seem rude and I just took the batch and letter and again bowed to him and I got outside his palace. I was going toward the gate but stopped in the middle of the pathway and opened the letter out of curiosity and saw its contents which simply wrote "this is to inform Kellstok that he has been granted a 'Good boy' from his Holiness which is a highest and greatest accolade one can receive from him and will be promoted to a much higher post to Chief Holy guard and will be granted any good noble house present in his territory!"
I couldn't comprehend what was going on then suddenly I saw a carriage stopped near the royal and wide gate. Then a figure for out of the carriage from inside and came walking toward me and stopped and said "Good Boy Kellstok I presume you are?"
Wow listening that made me uncomfortable but was good and satisfying at the same time and suddenly I remembered that he asked me something but I forgot what and I just said "Yes" without any thinking.
"Come you have some important work to do, sir!" As he said he grabbed my hand and took me to the carriage and said "after you, sir!"
| 2020-09-23T15:09:41
| 2020-09-23T09:29:13
| 128
| 17
|
[WP] The Sea of Trees. The deeper you go, the taller they get, and the more incredible the animals. After a month of traveling, you just found your first clearing.
|
Elliot always used to think that ocean was endless, as he stood on the dock of his small fishing village where he could see miles and miles of tumbling water. But on clear days, he could see outlines of other islands on the horizon. Here, there was nothing. The aptly named Sea of Trees was, he believed, truly endless.
He sat on the top of a tall tree, and in every direction he saw only trees, as far as he could see before the horizon hit the canopy of leaves. The trees even looked like motionless waves. From the ground, everything seemed flat. But from his vantage point he could see that the ground slowly sloped up and down, the trees growing with them.
Far ahead to the north, the trees seemed to grow larger and larger. Elliot wondered if he wandered forever, he might one day find a tree reaching up into the sky, perhaps even all the way to the sun.
Something, to the east, caught his eye. The trees seemed to dip down and disappear, then reappear again on the other side It was a circular area, not too large, but a decent enough size. It reminded him of a whirlpool on the water.
"A clearing," he said aloud.
Elliot looked down. He was high up, but could still see the forest floor below the leaves. The bear that had been chasing him had gone, probably off to find a slower and less capable meal. He had seen bears before, of course, and as he got deeper into the forest, far more terrifying animals. Bobcats and cougars the size of male lions. Giant crocodiles lurked in the steams and ponds. Once he saw a hawk, larger than him, circling in the sky. But this bear was different. It was at least three times the size of a normal one, and had a green tint to it, like it had rolled around in algae. It's eyes were narrow, and its snout large and thick. It's jaw opened wide enough to wrap around the entirety of a fat man's body. One of his paws had slashed at his shoulder, which had long since bled through the bandage he had clumsily applied in the tree. But it was gone now, Elliot was sure. It was large enough to crack large branches and its footsteps vibrated the ground. It also constantly growled, low and deep, and it could be heard for miles.
Elliot climbed down from the tree. He seemed to be right that the bear was gone, large paw-prints headed off to the west. Elliot turned to the east, to where the clearing was. It could be miles away, he knew, but he'd make it there. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.
That night he slept in a tree with branches thick enough to support him. He was lulled by the song of the giant crickets. The next afternoon, he reach the clearing.
It was larger than he thought. A meadow of grass and little yellow flowers. A pond, crystal-clear sat in the center. He ran to it immediately, glad to find a water source not covered in the sludge of vegetation. He filled his canteen, then walked in, shedding his shirt and coat. The water was refreshingly cool, but stung when he submerged his wounded shoulder.
"You ever hear about how there's always an oasis in a desert?"
Eliot looked up, and saw an old man sitting on a wooden chair. Behind him, on the edge of the clearing, was a giant tree house.
"I like to think of this little place as a forest oasis. A paradise."
"You live out here?" Elliot asked.
"I do. Been here my whole life."
"Even as a child?"
"Yes."
"What parents would raise a child here."
"None." the old man said. But parents might leave a child in the woods if they want nothing to do with it."
"Impossible. How would you survive?"
"I was found by the spirit of the forest. She was nicer, back then. Before the people to the south began to cut down her trees for their expanding cities. Now she's angry, but I think she grew fond of me. She leaves me be."
"I think the isolation has made you crazy," Elliot said as he pulled himself out of the water.
"I see you ran into one of her beasts," he said, looking at Elliot's shoulder. "But she let you go. Strange."
"It was a bear who attacked me. I got away from it."
"You've gotten this deep into the woods, boy. You should know by now that the beasts here are special. If it wanted to kill you, it would have."
Elliot couldn't help but think he was right. When he entered the forest over a year ago, five other had come with him, men older and more capable. They had all quickly perished. But he had been left well alone.
"She wants you for something. You should find her, seek her out."
"If there is a lady of the forest, how would I find her?"
"There are shrines set up to her by the forest people. Though they have long been extinct, their monuments remain. Each night, you can find one, by following the ray of light the moon makes. Go there. Speak to her."
Elliot left the old man then. As a kid, he always believed the woods were a dark and magical force, ever looming a few miles away from his city. Now, he wouldn't believe it. But that night, as he climbed a tree for a safe sleeping spot, he went all the way to the top and looked out over the sea of trees. The moon was full and bright, with shinning rays like the sun would have. He had never gone above the tree line at night before, and now he saw the rays landed on spots in the forest, illuminating them in an icy glow.
He climbed down the tree, and headed towards one.
|
The floral ceiling had long ago became only a sound, a constant shuffling of branches and leaves. A creature of flesh and meat lay on the crunchy leaves, wondering what time of day it was. He stared upwards, trying to remember the stars. He closes his eyes. There is no difference. He drifts.
He is awake. Almost certainly. He breathes evenly as he sits up. There is nothing but the noise, the constant train of movement above. A hand strikes out in the darkness. He finds his backpack, and unzips it easily. A switch flips.
Light.
He puts the backpack on, now unzipped and radiating light. Brown. Some yellow. He longed for hot pink. Neon green. Chartreuse. He wasn't quite sure what chartreuse looked like, but it probably wasn't earthy. Not with a name that fancy.
"Then again, it does sound a lot like Shart," he says aloud. There was no rebuttal.
He stood up properly, hearing the protest of dead leaves underneath. No animals made their presence known. He imagines that they have all gone up-tree. He remembers all of the little critters he had seen before. Termites fed on the trees, small animals ate the termites, and large animals ate the small animals. None of them seemed to care that he existed.
Back then, the ceiling had danced. Layer upon layer of leaf still showed some light, and the green show had been something to see. Most people never go deeper.
"Most people probably made the right choice," he says to the trees, as he embarks further.
The trees don't change anymore. Not the base, anyway. Same old squiggly brown all around. The man navigates them deftly, thinking of nothing at all.
A pause. Shortness of breathing. Is the mind playing tricks? Something new? Light in the distance. A small spot uncovered.
He Sprints. He T-Mobiles. Verizon.
The trees seem to part for him. Honest to god light is raining from the heavens. He stumbles past the tree line, and falls onto the ground. There is a crushing sound as he lands on his backpack. He shrugs it off and throws it to the side.
The green danced above him to all sides as the sun shined straight down. Blue stunned him in its beauty. The brown had transformed in the light, and he could see creatures all along the trunks. He closed his eyes.
"Okay."
___
Hah- embarked, get it[?] (/r/Periapoapsis) I'm way to sleep deprived for this.
| 2017-06-17T11:51:09
| 2017-06-17T08:46:07
| 71
| 22
|
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts!
|
I took the cases nobody wanted. And I don't mean the greedy ones, or the violent ones, or even the silly ones. No, I took the cases that no one wanted. The hardest kinds of cases: the ones involving kids. No, not the happy ones either. I took the cases that involved sick kids, dying from incurable diseases. The kids that came from unspeakable abuse, neglect or poverty. I took the cases that made parents go home at night and hold their kids close until they could face the world once more. The cases that caused seasoned veterans of the trade quit.
The newbie lawyers always gravitated towards these cases, these cases were the noble reasons why some people decided that this was the career they wanted. Not a single one of them were prepared. The red tape, standing before expressionless gods and pleading for little Timmy to see his dog one more time, or for Jane to have warm clothes in the dead of winter. You come into this field expecting to help grant wishes to those who need them, but nothing can prepare you for the soul-sucking bureaucracy in the name of cosmic balance.
I take these cases, without fail. Determined to not let these kinds of cases wallow in limbo, never solved, never granted because they were just too spiritually draining. I never wanted to see another kid suffer like my sister had. Her wish never granted, such a simple and sweet wish that not one wanted to have to argue for because it was too hard. The Supreme Judges appear unfazed when presented with normal human suffering, because their only concern is the ultimate cosmic balance. How do you explain to an immortal being not only the concept of mortal suffering but also why Innocent children deserve more consideration. It's draining. My sister's wish had slipped through the cracks, unfulfilled before she had died, and I refuse to let that happen to another child.
Besides, even if the Supreme Judges deny requests, well, I have other means. Demons don't answer to the cosmic balance, and despite the negative stereotype of a demon, they're more humane than most humans. I have my own private network of demons more than willing to take time out of their day of bargaining and luring greedy humans into mortal mortages to help me fill a child's wish.
I may end up paying some dire cosmic punishment for dealing with demons, but it will be worth it. I have no mortal ties, no family to leave behind. And a line of demons ready to adopt my domestic zoo of pets should I die. I'll never be able to fulfill my sister's wish, but I think she'd be proud to know that I have dedicated my life to making sure a wish like hers never goes unfulfilled.
|
Wishes. Why wishes? So complex. So open and vague. Why not just make an offer? Rub this lamp and I'll buy you a car, get on my good side and I'll hook you up with a date, pass my test and I'll clean your garage. But no, it has to be horrible, lazy *wishes*. Because of *traditional values*. Because that's how it's always been done.
Fine. It puts me in a job, so what can I complain about? Except the world of spiritual and magical contract law is horribly underdeveloped. The texts are ancient, older than time in some cases. Which not only causes some jurisdiction issues in a place where time tends to move fairly rapidly, it also means they are horribly outdated. Nothing is formally defined, everything is in different languages (some of which are incomprehensible to most beings) and no one can agree on what kind of an action deserves a wish. My point is there's a lot of loophole-closing, discrepancy-fixing and general debuggering.
Wishes are horrible. A wish can be anything. You know how hard that is to regulate? I doubt there is anything more difficult than getting a sphinx to spell out a clear set of terms and conditions. But otherwise everything goes to pot. No wishing for more wishes. No pinning a wishbone back together to break it again. No wishing on false eyelashes. Wishes were not meant to be abused; they were meant to give the poor, powerless, mortal humans a bit of an insurance. It was a kindness really. But humans (and I say this as a colleague of demons like getting people to smell their own spleens) are assholes. Give them an inch and they take a mile. So we need to set some limits before the humans end up with more power than they deserve, or know how to use.
Good thing they gave the job to a hellspawn then. Where better to find the shrewdest, most conniving, sneakiest beings than in hell? And who knows, maybe I can worm something out for our own benefit. 'Wish' is an awfully vague word but humans seem to like the sound of it. Let's see what we can do with that.
------------------
My very first writing prompt response. Didn't really know where I was going when I started. Didn't really know where I was going when I ended either. Might clean it up a bit tomorrow when my eyelids aren't having such a hard time fighting gravity.
| 2018-07-18T17:02:59
| 2018-07-18T15:54:58
| 20
| 13
|
[WP]Write a sentimental, heartwarming story. Then cram as many product placements as you can
|
It was Valentine's Day, and that meant buying Edible Arragment fruit baskets and Toblerone chocolate for my girlfriend to celebrate. We were recently engaged, having got down on one knee and offering a Tiffany ring.
I got out of bed and started my day with a shower. I used Dove shampoo and conditioner, followed by Nivea body soap. I used Old Spice deodorant and spray afterwards because I wanted to smell manly on this special day.
My girlfriend was already downstairs cooking breakfast. I could smell the sausages and scrambled eggs cooking in our Copper Chef non fry stick pan. A cup of Folgers coffee awaited me on the table, and I sat down and took a small sip. I smiled to my girlfriend as she cooked, and she smiled back. She was beautiful, wearing her Hedly and Bennet apron. I smiled, life was good.
|
When I was 15, I was diagnosed with depression. It crushed me, because now all of my reasons to be sad made sense. I was lost, didn't know who to talk to, until I realised that I had friends, family, and most of all...
Crank-Chop, the chopper that's gonna cut all your food in a matter of seconds! At TESCO, we believe in quality, which is why... IRN-BRU: Get some IRN in you! At AXA, you're guaranteed to get 2.5% APR finance. Renault: Powering Innovation. LG: Life's Good. Team Fortress 2, the most fun you can have online! Be the Batman. It's time to show off them ginger balls!
| 2019-09-19T18:20:57
| 2019-09-19T16:22:40
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] You gained immortality by absorbing thousands of souls. They have gotten used to it and act like Twitch chat watching a livestream of your life.
|
I used to like watching Twitch in my spare time. Fighting game tournaments, high level strategy games, classic VODs, a handful of my favorite streamers... I had Twitch on all the time, even in the background. It helped me feel less lonely in my empty apartment. I always had streamers to keep me company.
When I felt like paying a little more attention to the stream, I loved watching the Twitch chat as it scrolled by. It was surreal to see so many people talking almost coherently all at once. It was almost like being part of a hive mind.
It was fun to join in and contribute to the conversation sometimes, especially in the smaller streams with just a few viewers. I liked browsing the less-viewed streams from time to time just so I could talk to the other viewers who had stumbled across the same tiny stream. I always felt a sense of kinship with my fellow viewers in those chats.
We didn't know each other at all, but we could still have decent discussions about the games we were watching. Talking late into the night with a stranger while we both watched another stranger play a classic game... It felt like we were experiencing the human condition together despite our differences. Rarely, I would offer some way of staying in contact after the stream, and we could talk again later. I made a few online friends this way.
Sometimes, though, it's better for strangers to stay strangers.
It late on a Friday night when I first met DrgnGrrl1. We had both stumbled across some teenager heavy breathing into a shitty microphone while he tried to speedrun an obscure WiiWare game on an emulator. The streamer was mostly oblivious to our conversation, but DrgnGrrl1 and I were having fun riffing on the janky speedrun tactics.
After a couple hours, the streamer fell asleep with his computer on. I muted his snoring and kept talking to DrgnGrrl1. It turned out we liked the same games, the same music, even the same food. We even watched the same streamers.
I wasn't expecting to start a relationship or anything, but I definitely wanted to stay in touch with this person. Whoever she was, she had good taste, and I figured she could at least recommend some other streamers to me. I mentioned that to her when I was getting ready to broach the subject of swapping contact info. She seemed immediately enthusiastic about showing me her favorite streamer as soon as possible.
I asked her when they stream, and she said the stream was live at that very moment. That struck me as odd. Why was she here talking to me instead of watching that? She didn't answer, but she sent a link to the chat and urged me to click on it. The chat there, she said, was her favorite on the entire platform.
I was curious. Why wouldn't I be? Participating in an active Twitch chat was such a unique experience, and every chat was different. DrgnGrrl1 had already demonstrated that she had good taste with this kind of thing, so I trusted her judgment.
I don't know exactly what I expected to happen when I clicked on the link. I hadn't even asked what kind of stream it was. I figured the chat is the important part anyway, and in a way, I was right.
The moderation team is good here. They keep the spam to a relatively low level, and they're more likely to mute someone than ban them. That said, they're very particular about enforcing the rules.
I've seen a lot of Twitch chats in my time, but this one has the strangest set of rules so far.
>-No emote spam in the chat
>-No praying in the chat
>-No souls may leave the chat unless banned
>-No spamming to beg for freedom
>-Keep off-topic messages to a minimum
>-All bans are permanent
>-Only the moderators may talk to Her
There are a lot of us in here. It's sometimes stressful, being unable to look away from the chat, but it's also oddly soothing. Seeing so many voices working together to discuss what She's doing... It's almost like being part of a hive mind.
We can only view Her desktop screen, and she doesn't have a microphone, but we can see enough to know what She's doing. She spends most of her time switching between her Twitch accounts and talking to the people watching small streams. It's how she gets more viewers, after all.
|
They cry why while peasants die but I don’t lie when angels deserve to die.
I get the job done.
After years of watching my vampiric ways they’ve come to understand, I have a preference.
The souls of the guilty never cry when they die, just plead with me for their innocence. Such deserved sustenance.
The fodder that died on the street doing minor crimes to survive don’t complain about the view, it’s better than hell.
The angels are the finest wining and dining that god has to offer. The real reason for the stream and the viewers can never get enough.
It began when an angel that sinned, falling in love and having a child with a human animal begged for me to “absorb” her. God doesn’t take kindly to those that stray in their own ways.... angels are supposed to be heavenly.
Rather than plundering into hell having to deal with the demons devils and satan in itself she cried, “take me and never stop, I will guide you to immortality at a cost, you will never join hell and you will never join heaven, all that I ask is that you keep my children safe.”
A few innocent, tens of randoms dying by accident on the streets, hundreds of guilty, and the angels.
One in a few million, the angels are the rarest breed, I hunted them to get the majority of my power. The rest were just snacks and Maria, the first only wavered with my first angel kill.
They all cheered and they all cried, but none ever had a reason to lie... (like they could even communicate) every angel I absorbed deserved to die.
God and the devil have rules, god and the devil have agreements, I never cease to disappoint myself laughing about how the devil has all the lawyers and god has to quadruple check every line.
All the souls laughed and applauded like a crowd watching gladiators every time I ever met an angel that deserved to die. Maria told me I needed at least 10 to survive forever... my body was weak after 200 years, my desire to keep going was minimal after 1000 years... but Maria never let go.
The cost of this immortality was understood, protect her blood lineage and be a gladiator so brutal one would wish to cry puke and die looking at the awesome sickness would have to entertain tearing fallen angels and risen devils apart for my own consumption.
After the 10th angels death, Maria asked me how I was so sure of myself in this path, I replied “I never had anything else.”
Everyone else applauded, some vehemently opposed my methods, but for the cost of living forever I never cared what a single person thought.
I was a cripple, I had no lovers, I had no rights, I grew up in a place where I was beaten nearly to death simply for the sake of others enjoyment.
Maria offered me a form of salvation, live forever, cure all my ailments at the expense of being able to endure heaven or hell.
For her, a deal that was a steal, for me, nothing but a life path..... had I the capacity to kill, anyone or myself easily, I would. But I was morally opposed.
Maria gave me the strength to survive, from a cripple to a human god, and the crowds of watched...
The crowds whaled, laughed, and exclaimed but I ever sang.
I’ll be alive forever... with a crowd to watch nonetheless.
| 2019-09-27T04:46:06
| 2019-09-27T04:41:51
| 34
| 11
|
[WP] A man successfully becomes president but realizes he doesn't want to be president. So, he tries to get himself impeached by doing ridiculous things, but they end up only making his approval rates go up higher.
|
When I was a young man, I always dreamed about being president. Sitting in the office, making important decisions, all of that. I put my life's work into earning the heart of America. Finally, at the young age of 36, I was elected president.
And I HATED it.
I won't go into detail about why I hated it, but the annoying ambassadors, being pestered by literally everyone who wanted something, I decided it HAD to stop.
I made plans, you see. Great plans. It started with a phonecall to a high school buddy of mine.
"Hey, Jeff,"
"Sup man. What's going on?"
"I have a great scoop for you. Come over here."
The plan was simple. Leak news of a presidential affair. I had a team of the greatest minds choose the ugliest, most unpopular woman for me to "do."
They would hate me. I would become impeached.
That was, however. Not what happened.
It seemed that everyone hated my wife. They hated my new choice, but not as much as my wife. Approval ratings skyrocketed overnight. I got a divorce.
However, that wasn't the last part of the plan. I hired an assassin to "miss" me, and then later tell the nation it was just a publicity stunt.
Now, I'm standing in the front of the White house, screaming racist and evil remarks.
"Screw the blacks and the homeless! The Nazis were right!"
A huge crowd has gathered. This will surely get me impeached.
The secretary of state and vice president are running up to me, screaming something. Probably "STOP!"
I don't care. I'm tired of this stupid presidency.
The Secretary stares at me, still spewing invective like a black snake. He slowly turns back to the crowd.
He and the vice president raise their right arms simultaneously in a salute.
"HAIL HYDRA!"
|
John Paul was worried. Normally a worried president was normal. With his level of responsibility he would be insane not to be worried. Maybe he was insane though. Ever since his best friend convinced him to run for president on a marijuana and robotic car platform as a joke, John was having doubts. Running for president was one thing, running a country was another. He was in too deep to back out now however. Ever since he completed his agenda in the first 2 years in office his approval ratings were through the roof. Winning another term was also much too easy after he passed legislation easing the immigration process to who ever can afford to buy a government subsidized house could come. Now John Paul faced a legitimate problem. He was tired of office but didn't want to resign and have it look bad. The only other route to cut off the unwanted next 3 years in office was impeachment. Compared to running for presidency it should be a walk in the park. All he had to do would be pass some extremely radical legislation to rile up the House of Representatives and then act insane for a few months and then BAM! He would be out and only know as the president who couldn't take the stress. Part one was the hardest bit. How to alienate both parties? Getting rid of gun restrictions and increasing funding for departments to speed up background checks drove the democrats up a wall. Later passing a simplified universal healthcare bill harder but supported by democrats it easily passed. Phase one completed. Or not. Rather than the public and lawmakers out for his blood, approval ratings were through the roof. The press were calling him the most dynamic president in decades. Fox News was actually singing his praises despite all of it. Now John Paul is rated most loved president of all time. Now John is wondering if he will get any peace at all.
"Frank! Get in here please." Called president Paul. He was mulling over his latest bill that he was considering sponsoring. He wanted for his chief of the staff to make sure that this bill would be the one to finally convince the public he was insane.
"Yes, Mr. President? Do you want me to look over your latest attempt?"
"Yeah. I'm hoping this one will do the trick. This one should do me in, or out rather. Anyway I'm hoping that this is at least brought to the people's attention even if it kicks me. This should be the final draft and it's good to be released."
"Alright I'll read it. Give me a second......damn."
"What is the matter? Do you not agree?"
"No, that's not it at all. I love it but this will either be the greatest thing you've ever suggested or this will get you burned at the stake. Free birth control to all people under 25? Abortions legalized everywhere with only limited restrictions? I don't know. Well... I guess I'll meet you on the other side. Let's release it and send it to the house. It's been an honor Sir."
"I appreciate it frank. Press conference in 1 hour."
| 2015-07-11T13:23:09
| 2015-07-11T13:14:38
| 27
| 14
|
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
|
"What are you in for?" my cellmate asked.
"Grammar," I said, my eyes fixed on the wall.
"Hmm?" he said, sitting up in his bunk to hear me better. "You say something about your Grandma?"
"No," I said. "*Grammar*. The rules of composition for effective communication."
He laughed. "How did grammar get you thrown in mega-max?"
"It's fucking hard in French," I said.
"Really? I thought French and English have a lot in common."
"Well, they do, in terms of vocabulary. But there's a lot of really big differences. Especially verbs and tenses."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, for instance, they have two verbs for putting something in the past tense: *Être* and *avoir*. Some verbs take one, some take the other, some take both depending on circumstance."
"Doesn't sound like that big of a deal."
"You don't watch the news much, do you?"
"No," he said, "we're not allowed to watch it in here. The only thing I hear about the outside is through new cellmates. And my last cellmate before you kicked it about a year ago."
I laughed. "No wonder you didn't recognize me."
"So are you gonna tell me what you're really in for?"
"Depends. Are you religious?"
"Lapsed Buddhist," he said.
"Ah, that's fine. As long as you're nothing Abrahamic. Most Abrahamic people want to kill me."
"Why's that?"
"Got Jerusalem nuked. And Mecca and Medina. And Bethlehem. Lots of other places too, but those are the ones they're all pissed about."
"Oh," he said. "So *that's* what you're in for."
"Well it wasn't on purpose. It was just a mistake." I sighed. "But yeah, that's why I'm in mega-max. And why I'm in mega-max on Europa. Earth, Mars, Ceres, lots of Christians and Muslims and Jews there, so they all sort of want to kill me. People would've burnt down the prisons just to get me. The hope is that on a rock like this, where everyone's Hindu or Buddhist or whatnot, I won't get murdered too fast."
"I don't get how this can have been over a French grammar mistake," he said.
"It was, I swear. A five-word sentence."
He raised his voice slightly, annoyed. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time."
"Well, uh, you see... I was the secretary-general of the U.N.," I said. "I was negotiating the final terms of peace in the Middle East, and they don't love English-speakers down there, and French is the number-two international language, so we decided we'd use that. Well, the talks were at that delicate point right at the end, where it looks like smooth sailing, but there's also the highest risk of someone backing out and things going really badly."
"And...?"
"I told you. *Être* and *avoir*. You see, *messieurs-dames, nous avons tous fini* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'done with our task' sense of the word 'finished.' *Messieurs-dames, nous* sommes *tous finis* means 'ladies and gentlemen, we're all finished' in the 'gonna die' sense of the word 'finished.' So I came out of the negotiating room to tell the crowd we'd reached an agreement, and... Well the rest is history."
"Well shit," he said.
"Yep," I said.
"Incidentally," he asked, "how did South Asia fare during the war?"
"Pretty bad. Things spiraled out from the Middle East onward, India and Japan got into a pretty big war with Pakistan and China."
"Huh. Can't have been good for Nepal," he said.
I chuckled morbidly. "God no. Whole country got nuked to Hell."
He didn't laugh back. I heard his bunk creak as he rose. "The *whole* country? Including Lumbini? Where Lord Buddha was born?!"
I gulped. "Listen, man, I told you, it was all an accident."
And then his hands were around my neck.
----
Edit: I know "Thanks for the gold"-style comments are gauche, but I just wanna say, in addition to getting me gold, this comment has pushed my total combined karma to over 100,000. Feels good to do it on a comment I'm proud of. Thanks y'all.
|
It had all started innocently enough, generations before the conflict began. Amy, an amateur astronomer and scientist, clicked "Send" on her Chapek program, beaming the message out into space, hoping it might find an ear or two. Newly interested in science fiction, she had chosen one of her favorite quotes, hoping to spread the good news to everybody. She chose poorly.
She never heard a response. No one did. Not for centuries.
The war was over before anyone on Earth even knew why it started. Amy's message had been received all over the universe, but it was not received well. Thousands of Submin ships carrying reptilian horned aliens descended upon Earth after interpreting the message as a hostile war cry. Almost simultaneously, a second invasion of ships full of deadly robots arrived to kill all those who had infringed on their copyright.
Earth lay in ruins, no one survived. All because Amy had sent one silly line: "Bite my shiny metal ass"
| 2015-06-19T05:45:51
| 2015-06-19T05:43:13
| 1,136
| 25
|
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process.
|
Despite the inherent supernaturality of reincarnation, not everyone believed that souls exist. Various theories have been posited, scientific, supernatural or otherwise, as to why reincarnation was what it was.
But the soul existed.
I was sure of it.
"In the latest in a string of serial killings, another body was found last night at..."
My buddy, Jonathan, glanced at the television at the corner of the café. "Man, another one, huh? The police really need to get their act together."
"Tell me about it," I replied, lazily sipping my coffee, mind wandering.
Psychopaths were only crazy because of defects in their brain chemistry. An inability to feel empathy or compassion. A thirst for murder. Things that, by and large, were fixed when reincarnating into someone with a healthy brain. Even the most mentally deranged killers tended not to relapse when they reincarnated into a life that knew joy and compassion, love and friendship.
There was nothing wrong with my brain. I was sure of it.
"Y'know," Jonathan said, leaning in closer to me, "I heard a crazy rumour that there are some people who commit crime after crime, even after reincarnating. And you know what the police do? They put them on some kinda life support and lock 'em up so they can't die and come back again."
"You got your head in the clouds, dude."
"But the Landfall Killings and the killings 40 years after that were - "
" - Copycat killings," I finished. "Jon, you really gotta stop believing everything you read on the internet."
My brain was fine. I was sure of it, knew it for a fact. I lived a happy life and had a bright career before me. I've had a healthy upbringing, loving parents - whose love I return - and dearly valued friends.
So why, then, did murder delight me so much?
Last night's incident was my handiwork. An eerie similarity to my past life, the one before that, and the one before still, as far back as I could remember. When I had killed my first victim, I was really, truly, sincerely hoping that my brain was damaged, that I was a psychopath, that when I reincarnated into my next life, I would be normal. But when my knife pierced their neck, when I saw the life drain out of their eyes -
I was sure of it.
Of the rumours. Of my brain. What I experienced was nothing like the thrill of riding a rollercoaster, the joy of receiving a gift, the relief of getting a passing mark on a test, the satisfaction of a good night's sleep, or the excitement of playing video games. It was more. Something raw and visceral, fulfilling a primal urge I didn't know I had, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, washing over my very existence.
Where would this feeling come from, if not for the soul? Why would I experience this life after life, if not for the soul?
And the police *knew*. They knew what separated people like me from ordinary murderers.
Jon started speaking again, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah," He grumbled. "Mr I'm-smarter-than-you-because-I-joined-the-special-unit."
"Well, someone's gotta do the police's job for them." I finished the rest of my coffee.
The police's special unit. It had been tough work, but they had accepted my application. It was there I could find the how's and why's of the soul. The knowledge that I needed. That I could use to protect myself.
I was sure of it.
|
“Well what if their consciousness never died?”
That was the idea at least. Maybe there was someway to… save their memories. Extract them. To remove their consciousness from the physical and upload it to the technological. It had been done in sci-fi. Could it be done for real?
We had no knowledge of how the soul worked in this world. Well, very little. What we did know is that they were recycled. Once a person died, their soul would leave their body and reincarnate in a newborn.
I had lived many lifetimes in this… this… world and finally I might have made a working solution. I punched the air as the machines around me buzzed and whirred. I simply needed… a test subject.
The clouds covered the moon. A man walked down the pavement. The sound of a tin can bouncing echoed across encroaching buildings as the man kicked it with his feet. The road went silent again as I held a cloth across his face. Holding him until he went to sleep. Perfect.
I rushed back to my laboratory and strapped him down to a chair. His screeches pierced the air as I inserted the necessary implements through his cranium. The room flashed a deep red as the power diverted from the brighter overheads to small back up LEDs. The shadows danced as I flicked a switch. Lightning crackled down the wires casting bright flashes of blue and yellow intermittently as the subjects screams faded away. Beautiful.
The solution was slightly inelegant and improvements could be made, however it seemed to be working. I watched a small screen. The world I created, the fake bodies, the fake world I had made. And watched as a child was born. This man, reborn in a new world and he’d never know it. Now his new home for the rest of eternity.
Slowly the old algorithms would be phased out. Replaced by these new ones the complexities of the the human mind. Better ones. Ones that couldn’t properly be imitated. Eventually everyone would end up here. Time wearies all souls. No man can remain good forever.
I had to act quickly. While, at the moment, nothing would seem wrong. The other algorithms weren’t built to learn. I would have to provide more souls. More minds. I realised that I had no conclusive evidence as to whether memories were stored upon upload. Whether you actually retained your past lives knowledge. But I had no way of testing it. It didn’t matter now. The process was too far through. I’d lost track of how many men, women and children I’d heard screaming throughout my lifetimes. 100s, 1000s. Some good, some evil. I didn’t know anymore. All that mattered was they wouldn’t come back to life here anymore.
I worked at it slowly over the next few decades. But one can’t hide a trail forever. I hid the main servers. Somewhere hopefully they would never be found and uploaded victims from remote uplinks. Random without care. This world needed a population. Eventually however, the police caught on. I took my own life before they could find me.
I escaped them for multiple lifetimes but the net was closing in. I couldn’t risk all my work falling into the wrong hands. The system was sustainable. The minds were being recycled, each new generation the algorithms grew. Bigger, deeper. I had made connections in my world, they would maintain project Afterlife, as I had since named it. But it was my time now too. To finally go to the Afterlife, a place they wouldn’t ever find me. I wish this day didn’t ha s to come. But I guess I had to atone for my sins. So I did. I went to the Afterlife.
—————————
70 years later…
I lived in a world where incarnation was possible. I had witnessed it, heard of it. Criminals being captured for life and then simply returning to cause more havoc the next. It was unsustainable. Their consciousness dying and being reborn. It was endless I thought. Until one day I realised…
“Well what if their consciousness never died?”
| 2021-10-08T09:12:44
| 2021-10-08T08:51:29
| 42
| 25
|
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
It was the toughest race of my life. The water was everywhere. Many of my friends were already dead, but I knew if I kept going I could make it. I could feel everything around me get softer the more I continued. I was drenched but I wasn't going to give up, not this close to the end. I finally felt the air on my skin. I had made it. Water was all over the ground and my friends, at least those who made it, were all there with me. Happens every time it rains I suppose, it just caught me off guard this time. It took a little too long to creep and crawl my way to the top, but whoever said a worms life is an easy one.
|
I’m a very structured man. I’ve had a strict morning routine for 24 years now.
Sunday, March 22, 1992 I discovered the perfect way to start my day.
I wake up at 5:30 and slip on my slippers. I start my coffee and read the sports section.
Once the coffee is finished brewing, I pour myself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.
I make sure to clean the dishes after I’m finished. Messy sink, messy life.
I’ll shower and dress. Shirt, then tie, then socks, then pants, then shoes.
Before I leave I always make sure to kiss Mary goodbye; she hasn’t aged a day.
| 2016-05-19T12:45:26
| 2016-05-19T09:03:34
| 70
| 24
|
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation.
|
Sire, a dragon has taken the princess.
Ser Knight, are you sure? May hap she has tricked us again, and just hidden herself in the dungeon tormenting the trolls. Only to make a reappearance once we had started to celebrate.
No Sire, it was with my own eyes did I witness a great beast flying and capture her highness from her tower.
Are you sure?
Yes my King, only the princess can scream out so many inventive curses. She seemed very very upset.
That poor dragon sighed his highness.
Should we attempt a rescue?
Of the dragon or the princess?
Yes, mumbled the man on the throne.
Then again, maybe we should wait.
Sir Knight. I task you with finding the princess. And giving aid where needed. Aid your highness? To the princess or the dragon?
|
"Hnng-yah" What is... Ah, daylight. "Hmm" - did not feel like any injuries, and there was plenty of room for my morning stretch. Although, I did find myself warmer than usual this fine season and, once I felt the rumble I realise it's that time of the millenia again. "Aaah, Vulan! You've been quite over my past few naps, I'd thought you finally gone and croaked you old man!" Always has been nice to wake up warm, having to lay in the sun is always such a waste of time. "Right, time to get at the day! See how things have moved. Naps take up so much time, so muh sweet sweet time" and with a meaningful canter I claw my way out of Vulcan; a warm soul, very welcoming. I have always enjoyed the casual amenities behind living on a volcano, although they can sometimes get over excited and tend to turn any good sleep into a decent nap.
I ponder to myself as the star pocked sky opens up before me, an icy breeze in the brisk of night clashing against the scorching aura of the liquid flame that oozes from the mountains of my home... "Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, low in the west before the dawn by the bright of Aldeberan. Mid Novembre would it appear, a fine time to wake with the hollow between world's sifting just after its finest point-" interrupted abruptly by a hasty dive from the crag. "I really should find someone to spend time with, otherwise my next sleep will not be around till forever. But first, dinner".
Passing over the crags of home, the forests and rivers where the smaller creatures spend their ever advancing days:
Finding water,
Finding food,
Or being it.
On the horizon I spot a limping figure dragging a strangly marked sack in its wake, with a feable arm clawing at the ground as it passes by. Until the sack lurched backwards out of the figures grasp, swiftly followed by hefty impacts into the sacks center,clearing leaving it for dead.
"Oh, well would you look at that. Easy pickings! With a clear conscious at that, it is not like that creature has really lived either": as a steel countenance locks in; my eyes on the prey, sleek posture, gliding in towards to prey...
With an EaRThShAKinG ImPAcT I crash into the low hill, dragging along the ground towards my meal as a small, long fur covered head sticks up out of the sack my vicious, flesh-rending teeth tear into their target. I stifled shriek from the figure as their last ended in nothing but a red of their own making. Cloth sticking in my teeth,clumping. Blocking. "Ew, now this has become such a tasteless affair now hasn't it? Getting it's filthy fabrics into my pristine set of- Ah, yes" as I look down upon the clearly blood soaked sack, half filled by a malnurished - long fur-headed ape - 'human'.
"Now then, about your current position. You seem quite young, as I would imagine, for your species. I'm quite sure I'm speaking your la- oh bother, how embarrassing" having realised I have been attempting to engage this minute figure in the tongs of ancients "now, what I mean to ask young one, is that you should be on your way. Not everyone gets another chance at... Well, whatever it is that quite takes their fancy".
A trembling response followed a brief silence and a rough huff of a giant;
"A-well- I-" they stumble through their words in, their voice a broken, but gentle tone. "I h-ave none, yo-u may as well take me too..."
"Come now", backed by an authoritative burst of enthusiasm "brave, I must admit. Name? Well speak up, your don't have a long life span and I have much to do on this day of grandeur"
"None" they muttered meakly.
"Now that I know is just not a name, and believe me I have been known to trade pleasantries with those hobgoblins of the eastern plains and even they have reasonable names. As long as you are hungry, I dare say."
A deathly silence as the child quivers, and all life in the immediate area is still lest they incur a fearsome wrath; "Alright then, I shall name you Vulcan, a friend I used to talk with extensively in my time alone living inside of the-" immidiately followed with a quick change of topic "of their home... Which is now mine. Heated too of course,warming up via sunlight is such a labouring effort".
"Y- will you eventually cut me up and use me for your dwelling too? Li-ike Vulcan?" Chirps the uneaten human of the sack "and why a boys name? I a-am a lady, sir o-or m'a-am" - she shakes with fear of being eaten lest her temper run away with her.
"Fear not, for my tasks for the era were eat and to find a new friend. My apetiser was acceptable, yet now I have a potential guest to join me for the main course. Oh! We have much to discuss. We could even cook like my old Nelly! She always did have a way with holding the sheep over the liquid fire as it charred away the wool, leaving a crisp skin ripe for the picking", now salivating g heavily at the though.
I always wanted to start a family, they are what you make them it would seem.
| 2019-11-11T16:09:36
| 2019-11-11T14:42:38
| 71
| 22
|
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next?
|
Office of police oversight, you say?
Yes. That's right.
And you're sure about all this; one million, guaranteed, no background check, free pizza?
Yes. All of it.
And what if it *does* ring?
Well, that will never happen because we won't be publishing this number anywhere.
Then why bother even paying me?
Because it's the law. We have to have an oversight committee.
Ah, and you're sure everybody is cool with this?
Yup.
Well...alright. Let's do it! But, just for my sake, what should I do if it ever rings?
Run
|
Damn, it's hot in here. How'd I even get myself in this situation?
I guess most of the days in which I found myself sitting in that white plastic chair were much the same. A bit of thumb-twiddling and whistling favorite tunes helped out a bit, but lord was that job *slow*. But, y'know, who wouldn't sit their ass in a spot all day, every day, three-hundred-sixty-five times for a sweet million? Sure, it was boring work, if it could be called that - at the end of the day though, who cares?
Even so, those long, drawn-out days have a way of wearing down a man. Most of those tired days, I spent a whole lot of time slouched in that chair, thinking about my days with the Company. When I wasn't twiddling my thumbs, I was wandering my daydreams about the future where I'd actually get to spend that cash. Those daydreams had a way of passing the time. At some point, my eyelids got the better of me.
I drifted off into the dream land of plush leather chairs and Lamborghinis, and a ring-a-ding-ding nipped at the edge of my consciousness. The void called stronger.
That day, yesterday, made five years. Coincidentally, it was also my last day of work for the Company.
It's a shame that they take being fired so literally.
| 2017-12-16T23:22:44
| 2017-12-16T21:53:13
| 117
| 31
|
[WP] You're in love. And you think she loves you back. Sure, she's an eldritch horror from beyond spacetime, barely comprehensible to human minds, shifting and warping reality into a nightmare hellscape with her mere presence. But love conquers all, right?
|
*"She was always there. I just never saw her before."*
It drips cliche. It oozes tradition. You can see the trailer in your mind and you are already rolling your eyes. How banal. How trite. How sad and lonely and pathetic.
I used to laugh at love stories. They aren't real. People don't just meet. There is no magic or spark. People are monsters that leech and drink each other dry. And they rely on these "love stories", so they can manipulate you better. As they steal your hard earned money or bring their fist into your face, all you think about is *"We were sweethearts in high-school!"*
You know what they sound like. They're always...
*"We knew the moment we saw each other."* Sure you did.
*"I heard her laugh and wanted to hear it forever."* Oh, yeah. That definitely happened.
*"Then I realized love was right next to me all along."* BARF!
But when you fall in love...you understand. Love stories are real. They may be the only thing that is real.
*"She was always there. I just never saw her before."*
In the murky corners of my mind that made no sense, in the dancing colors of my closed eyes at night, in the sourceless voice that called my name when I walked through the park alone. She was always there. I just never saw her before.
I walked home in the cold, snow rustling under my feet. The echo of childhood memories draws me to the swing set. I sit and the frosty chain creaks, the plastic bends underneath. My feet stay on the ground as I rock back and forth. I look up at the falling snow and the sky above. Through heavy clouds the moon shines....and I see it disappear, for a moment, before its dull glow resumes.
Back then I didn't understand. I ran home in terror, some prehistoric part of me screaming that I was in danger. I regret that decision. I wish I had the courage to speak to you that night. We would have had more time together, even if time isn't an ocean you swim through. Only looking back do I finally realize what happened.
From across reality, she had winked at me.
Our missed connection that should have been the end of our story. She had shown interest and I had run like a frightened child. But that's not our story. She knew what she wanted.
Is there anything more attractive than confidence?
On the bus to work, my phone buzzed. A message, and instead of a sequence of nine numbers there was an exponent, a ! and a ÷ symbol. The text was in Hebrew. As I stared, confused, it became Latin. Then Greek. Arabic. Mandarin. Then a script that moved and writhed in my mind and eyes, that pulled back the lies I had been told my whole life. I saw past the framework of the universe I knew and i saw **HER**.
Colorless skin suffused with ghost-light. Mouths that smiled with dazzling fractal teeth. Curves and angles and degrees in between that laughed at geometry and relativity. And seven thousand eyes of living nothing that looked through my soul.
It was the first time someone had sent me a dirty picture unprompted.
When my senses returned, I was on the roof of my apartment complex, bleeding from my eyes and grinning like an idiot. I wiped the blood away and started at my phone, careful not to linger on your message too long or risk another episode. I took a deep breath and marvelled at my own audacity as I sent a reply.
*Your place or mine?*
After the best night of my life, she dropped me off at home. It was five years before I had gone to her and the prior tenant called the police, but I was too happy to care. I broke the three day rule after my buddy posted bail and called her. I took her to Lorenzo's. I sat alone, smiling at the emptiness in a little black dress across from me. We laughed and I held her approximation of a hand as our waiter had a seizure and the noodles moved on their own
After our drive upstate to go apple-picking, I asked her to move in with me. Reality did not take her arrival well. Hours go missing, space turns at right angles. People wake up with memories of places they have never been or none at all. Fires rage under the ocean and gravity reversed in South Carolina. But we're happy, and that is all that matters.
I come home late from helping my brother move out of state. As I crawl into bed, I whisper and the darkness comes alive. Voices in the silence, eyes in the nothing, a presence in the void. My clock rapidly skips backwards by prime numbers, the blades of the ceiling fan warp into 7 sided-shapes, and the bed is full of teeth. In those moments she is all around me, but I am unaffected.
It's an embrace. Affection by lack of touch, intimacy by exclusion. She changes everything and everyone by her presence. Transformation shines off her, radiates out from her indechiprable being. Yet I remain as I always am.
She doesn't **want** me to change. She takes me as I am. Her mouths speak words nobody else understands, the discordant symphony of nightmare and horror blossoming in my mind.
And into the living nothing of her seven thousand eyes I whisper,
*"I love you too."*
<Just a guy who was inspired.>
|
I was floating on time, drifting in being, unable to set carefully my mind to the exact coordinates of existence. I wasn’t making sense, that was sure. She was jumbling my language, my atoms, my histories, and my sins, all into a giant ball.
I love you, I told her, holding her close to me, or far away from me, or all of it, at once, too much and too little. I wanted to become her, so that I could understand.
Her words were not comprehensible to me, same as her existence, but this was the end, not the beginning. It was the point of time at which all converges.
I met her far from the Earth, as I was pacing the rings around Saturn. She was creating universes in her dreams, tearing at the delicate edges of our own spacetime as she tickled her fancies, wet her lips on succulent new places to haunt. And I loved her immediately. It is such a strange thing, for a god to love a being like her, but I was swept up as a babe is swept up in its own existence, so suddenly thrust into suffering and joy that they become indistinguishable.
So I took her to see a supernova, to watch something burn in a way I could understand because the burning in my heart felt so foreign I did not know how to express it.
This is how I feel when I see you, love.
Incomprehensible language—but the emotions, oh!—well, I believed them to be emotions, great wafting waves of energy that ringed around the both of us as she gazed at me, as she looked past me with her non-eyes, with that no-thing that she was and wasn’t at the same time. I felt like one of my creations, staring up into the vast void, searching for answers and meanings. She made me feel small, dumb, infantile. And that made me burst, become the vacuum of space as she lifted my body into the ether, past the confines of knowing and unknowing, past being and non-being.
We became paradox, folly, the incomprehensible, and she held me close, far away, same as it was the first and last time, all of it at once. And she kissed my body, felt the delicate curves, my own geometry, the math that made me into existence, into space, into everything. And I kissed her back, the lack of things that I filled with my love, with my touch, with my desire to know and unknow her so that I may know her for the first time again, to bring her to that supernova.
Now, I hold her formless shape and I am pulling her away from the swirling enigma of her dreams, those universes branching off of her till they create ecosystems all their own. I am taking her to the point where no-thing can exist, suspended, in existence. I am pulling her into the center of a black hole, into a place where pressure becomes so great it is all and yet nothing, when we are crushed but frozen at the point before crushing.
I kiss her one final time, and that kiss is the whole of my existence. What does it matter that I abandoned my creation? She is greater than anything I could have ever dreamed up, and I will exist, bending, becoming, blackening, at the center of being with her for eternity, because I love her, and she loves me, too.
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams
This was a super fun exploration of language! Hope y'all enjoy reading it.
| 2021-03-11T09:30:52
| 2021-03-11T09:29:08
| 231
| 26
|
[WP] You've been playing with equations in a notebook and have, if you're right, just discovered time travel. You turn the page and are greeted with one word: "DON'T"
|
*Don't*
I look down, puzzled at the word. It's definitely my hand-writing, but I'm positive I didn't write it. I turn the page.
*Forget*
I'm curious now. I can only surmise, by the familiarity of the hand and the fact I keep this notebook locked in a secure safe, that somehow, maybe, my future self has left me a message. A message of such import that he ... or I ... would consider risking a paradox by doing so.
*A*
'Don't forget a,' a what? What don't I forget? *flip*
*Towel*
Goddamn it, me.
|
There was a cold feeling in my left shoulder. I froze. Who knew that one word could affect me that much?
The word was not there when I turned the page. I was deep in thought, and had just ran out of room on the page before. I already had the solution pictured in my mind, and I was simply writing it down for future reference. Mindlessly, I had turned the page, and was about to continue, when I felt the cold in my shoulder. The word "DON'T" was written, from nothing, by nothing, right on the page in front of me. The word was slanted, and grew longer as it was written. It was also written very quickly. Had I been blinking, I would have missed it. It was almost as if someone had written it while being dragged away at an extreme speed.
Someone. I shake my head, placing my pencil behind my ear. No, it must have been me. I think back to my high school English class that I had taken almost 40 years ago. I thought back to the way my teacher had told me to grasp a pencil. I also thought back to my self defence class, where I was taught how to grab anything around me, even a small pebble, and use it against my attacker. I don't know how I know, but I knew. Looking at the word, I had written it, and under the most extreme of circumstances.
But, it doesn't make sense. How did I come about to be under such a situation, that would force me to write like that? Ever since I began my life-long project, I had always worked to avoid any paradox situation. How, then, would I write a warning to myself, knowing the consequences? Even if I made the same choices as before, time would enter an endless loop, in addition to whatever hellish consequences those choices result in. But, by sending myself this message, have I not altered the timeline itself? If so, how do I remain in the same timeline where this word was written in my book?
I shook my head once more. I don't know how the world hasn't imploded yet, but I knew one thing for sure. I must go on. I must ensure that I write the word on my paper, to preserve the timeline. I'm not sure how, but I am sure it won't be long. I turned the page, and continued writing.
Within the hour, I had finished. My machine was fully built, directly in front of me. The device looked like a long tunnel, built out of copper tubing, with a series of levers sticking out from the side. There are no clear writings on the machine. I had designed it so that no one could know what it was, or how to work it. Under the main control panel, there is a series of 26 levers. These levers set the date and time, accurate to within ten seconds.
I set the time for one hour in the future, to attempt a test-run. I had to be sure it worked, before I attempted a paradoxical jump back in time. I stood in front of the machine, and when the time came, dove through the tube.
Something went wrong. Instead of being pulled through the machine, I was pushed back. Everything moved in slow motion. Fire exploded in a ball from the machine. I had set the machine to turn off in the event of a failure. Amongst the many failure types I had predicted possible, fire was one of them. Indeed, the machine turned off. But, when it did, things went from bad to worse.
The machine became invisible, as did everything around it. To clarify, I did not see through the machine, but simply did not see anything there at all; everything had turned black. I was being pulled backwards, away from it... and that's when I realized. The machine must have projected the time field behind me, rather than inside the tube. The time field, not being regulated properly, had collapsed into a black hole.
I realized that there was no time for speculation. I must find a way to warn myself of this upcoming doom. I felt helpless, but then... the machine reappeared. The explosion subsided. But, I was still being pulled. Helpless as I was, I watched as time quickly reversed itself. I realized what had happened in the notebook nearly an hour ago. I realized what I had to do.
I reached out, with an impossible feat of strength, as everything around me raced backwards. It seemed that time itself slowed down in response to my willpower. I took my pencil, and quickly wrote the word "DON'T" in my book, my arm crossing through the shoulder of my past self. Then, the world resumed its perpetual backwards cycle, moving by so quick that I could not see what happened. Everything stretched out and raced towards its doom, along with me. And then suddenly, it was all gone.
I had expected death to be cold. It was not. There was an immense pressure all around me. Darkness was everywhere. Except... I looked ahead of me. I saw a bright white light. From it came everything... the floor, the ceiling, my desk, my notebook. i was standing in front of the smouldering remains of my machine. I looked back to my book. The word "DON'T" was still there. I smiled, knowing that I had not destroyed the world, and that I had made the right choices. I took the book, and threw it into the remains of my machine. The book caught fire, and I sat and watched it slowly burn.
It's safer this way.
_____
I hope you like my story! It's my first writing prompt, and I'm (by no means) an expert in English literature/grammar, so feel free to critique my writing!
*Edited for minor grammatical errors (buy -> by; it's -> its; etc.) In hindsight, a few details don't make sense (high school teacher telling me how to hold a pencil? Seriously?) but I feel the story should be kept in its original form.
| 2016-11-10T07:34:10
| 2016-11-10T05:46:18
| 61
| 20
|
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.”
|
The smoldering wreckage stretched for miles in every direction. The ruins of countless battles lay strewn across the barren landscape. The scene was lifeless save for the scattered figures searching the wreckage.
Urun was searching for anything to give to his masters. He had quotas to meet. It had been this way his whole life: go out into the wastelands, search for something valuable, record the location, and continue searching. He didn’t know why he had to do this, he just knew that he hated it.
Today was an especially depressing day. He hadn’t found anything all morning, and if he didn’t meet quotas, he wouldn’t get paid. As he thought of his poor future, his cortical implant showed a massive spike in void radiation. Jackpot! He looked around, searching the windswept ruins for the source.
It was a box, no bigger than his head, with a smooth display and foreign letters written around it. The box was surprisingly intact given the state of its surroundings, and the letters were quite legible. Unfortunately, despite the legibility of the text, it was indecipherable. The letters looked familiar but made no sense in the places they were.
Urun stood puzzling over the box and then shook his head. Some mysteries didn’t need to be solved. He stooped over and picked up the box. It was surprisingly light. He began carrying it to a more open spot where the bots could pick it up.
Suddenly, the display flashed to life and a series of beeps and whirs began emanating from the box.
Surprised, Urun dropped it and stepped back.
The box began speaking. Urun couldn’t understand much of what it said. It sounded like his language but was different. He thought he could make out the words for “biometric,” “support,” and “invasion,” but he couldn’t be sure.
Eventually, the box stopped spouting gibberish and Urun stepped back towards it. Leaning over, he poked it. Seeing that nothing happened, he picked it up again and finished taking it to the open area. Setting the box down, he logged it and went off searching for more ancient tech.
A few days later, Urun was lying in his cot, enjoying the last few moments of rest before work, when, suddenly, he heard a loud explosion. He ignored this. Probably just another mechanical malfunction. Happened all the time.
A few minutes later, the scream of plasma bolts cut through the early-morning silence. This he did not ignore.
Sitting up quickly, Urun scrambled to the door to look through the peephole. He saw nothing; no plasma bolts, no masters. Nothing.
Just as suddenly as the racket had started, it died down, leaving Urun confused. As he was trying to decide whether it would be wise to open the door, he heard marching coming towards him. The masters must have sent a squad to execute someone and they resisted. It happened.
Relaxing, Urun opened his door and strolled out, ready for another day of work. He was greeted not by the sight of an execution squad, but by a group of his species in bright white armor marching towards him. Confused, Urun waved hello.
“Greetings, citizen! You have been liberated!” yelled one of the white knights from down the street.
“What?” Urun yelled back.
“You’ve been liberated!” all of them yelled in unison.
“What does that mean exactly?”
At this point, the group had reached Urun and stopped a few feet in front of him
“You may now enjoy your full rights as a citizen of the Tyraxian Confederation, free of the oppression of the Gulronian Republic.”
“I don’t know who those people are.”
The speaker shifted nervously.
“Uh, your old bosses were from the Gulronian Republic. We’re from the Tyraxian Confederation. We used to own this planet until the Gulronians took it. Now we took it back, thanks to a distress call from a random citizen.”
“I have no idea who you are, and I don’t know who the Gulrongans are. Do I have to keep my job?”
“Gulronians,” he corrected, “And yes, everything will proceed exactly as before, but now your labor will be for a good cause!”
“And it wasn’t before?”
“No, you were enslaved by the Gulronians—the bad guys—but now you voluntarily work for the Tyraxian Confederation, us, the good guys.”
“So, I can leave?”
“No, you still have to keep doing what you’re doing here, but it’s for a good cause now.”
“But I hate what I’m doing here.”
“I understand sir, but that’s not my problem. If you have any complaints contact the HR department. The number should be the same as before.”
“The HR department is the same.”
Another pause as the Tyraxians looked around at each other.
“Yes, uh, we find it efficient with how often these places change hands to not put in new administrations every time. Just because we’re at war doesn’t mean we have to be wasteful.”
“Doesn’t really seem like a war,” remarked Urun.
“Believe me, the conflict is quite violent in other places!”
“Everyone sort of forgot about your planet, to be honest, there would be a lot of violence here too,” added another Tyraxian.
“Sounds wonderful,” said Urun.
“Indeed. Unfortunately, we must be going now, citizen. Work productively!”
Having finished learning about his newfound freedom, Urun went back to his forced labor, while the Tyraxians marched off to liberate some other neighborhood. Over the next week, Urun would meet a dozen more squads of identically uniformed soldiers telling him he was now liberated and could enjoy his rights as a lawful citizen of someplace or other and to continue carrying on exactly as he had been. At some point, he got a receiver to keep up with the news, but he wasn’t interested in why any of them were here, he just wished they would let him leave.
|
**Eternal Support**
Characters:
*James*
*Support*
**Open**
*(Scene opens to black. The sound of a pickaxe working can be heard)*
**James:** For hundreds of years my world has been under alien occupation. Our new job under our overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of our ancestors. I've been digging these holes for five years now. I probably only have ten left, until they work me dead.
*(The pickaxe suddenly breaks through something)*
**James:** Huh. This is not rock. (Beat) Could this be... drywall?
*(Lights come up. An old bedroom is displayed. The bed is rotted and in tatters. A wall is collapsed in, and the room is filled with dirt and dusty. To one side is an old IKEA desk with a computer and landline phone.)*
*(A pickaxe breaks through the wall opposite the computer desk. James steps inside, holding the pickaxe. He is covered in mining gear, disheveled but well built.)*
**James:** What is this? Living quarters? Wow, they're almost completely intact! Maybe I'll get an extra day's rations!
*(James messes around with objects around the room, poking the bed, flicking light switches, etc. He finally walks over to the computer and taps it. He slaps the keyboard and the computer boots up.)*
**James:** By the Humans! It is still operational!
*(James looks around and checks back in the hole to make sure no one is watching. He walks back to the computer and begins pressing random buttons and flailing the mouse. Suddenly, an alert sound is heard and the screen flashes. James jumps back, then examines.)*
**James:** What is this? The text of the ancients?
*(James takes out a handbook and begins consulting it.)*
**James:** "Contact... Established? Help will... arrive soon?" (Beat) It's a message from The Ancients! They seek to free us! I must read further! "Please... call... the following number?" Call? What does that mean? Hmmm... *(James looks at phone)* A-ha! The numerals on this device match the ones listed on the screen! I must activate it!
*(James tries his hardest to use the phone. After some finagling, he finally gets it. A dial tone can be heard. James stands stock-still, waiting with the device pressed to his ear. Finally, someone picks up.)*
**Support:** Hello? This is Microsoft Support Office.
**James:** You are... the support?
**Support**: Yes, hello sir. You are calling today because there is a problem?
**James**: Yes! Yes! They said the ancient resistance had all but disappeared, but I knew deep down that you were there all along, waiting to break us free!
(Beat)
**Support:** So you are having trouble using the computer?
**James:** The computer, oh Micro's Oft?
**Support:** Yes the computer.
**James:** What is a computer?
**Support:** The computer, sir? The screen where you saw the notice to call support?
**James:** Oh, sorry, yes, of course! The com-pu-ter! *(James turns to the computer)* Is this the key to our survival?
**Support:** Yes sir! The key! If you wish for your computer to survive, you will need to follow these steps.
**James:** Oh no, is the computer dying!
**Support:** Yes, yes, it is dying, it has many viruses.
**James:** Those damn aliens have been plaguing us with their insidious viruses for too long!
**Support:** (Beat) ...Yes sir, you cannot trust those illegals.
**James:** What must I do to stop them!
**Support:** You will need to go to your internet and type in an IP address. Do you know what an IP address is, sir?
**James:** To my shame, yes. We have all been branded with our Interstellar Property Address, so every alien can know which human is enslaved to whom. You need this number?
**Support:** (Beat) Er, no sir. I will tell you what IP address to type in. Please click on the white box above the alert screen you see.
*(With surprisingly little difficulty, James manages to select the URL bar.)*
**James:** I have done it, Micro's Oft Support Otis! Please! What numerals must I input?
**Support:** Eight.
**James:** Ah yes, eight. I have studied this well by candlelight in my cell! An ancient numeral, consisting of two circles placed one atop the other! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Three.
**James:** Ah, three, the great sideways fork! Three was prominent in the folklore of the ancients. They had the Holy Trinidad! The Three Musketours! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Five.
**James:** Five! The median number! Matching the count of fingers on a human hand-
**Support:** Sir, please just type in the numbers.
**James:** Yes Micro's Oft. *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Ok, now dot. *(Pause)* The dot key, sir. *(James presses key).* One. Six. Dot. Two. Five. Four. Dot. One. *(James presses all the keys).* Ok sir, now please hit enter. The key with the arrow. *(James presses key, the screen flashes)*
**James**: It's working! The image has changed to one of blue, with two rectangles of white! Miraculous!
**Support:** Very good, sir! If you would please now put your credit card information into those boxes, like we did the URL.
**James:** My credit card? I am only given three food credits a day. You require the number from my card?
**Support:** Yes sir, and the expiration date.
**James:** Well that I know! I'm scheduled for expiration on June 5th, 2572. *(James, now confident in his ability to use the computer, inputs his details with relative ease)* And... enter!
**Support:** Ah yes sir I can see we have recieved your details now! Thank you very much for cooperating.
**James:** Oh Micro's Oft, what do I do now?
**Support:** Please wait sir, we will clean out the virus from your computer in a few days.
**James:** I see! then I shall return in two days time!
**Support:** Yes sir, thank you, have a good night. *(Clicking noise)*
**James:** Micro's Oft? He must have left. (Beat) So, a com-pu-ter? What other marvels does this machine hold? *(James begins pressing random keys again. The screen flashes.)* By the Ancients! What is this? *(James consults his handbook)* A... "Ni-gerian Prince?"
**End**
| 2019-07-22T12:59:42
| 2019-07-22T11:47:36
| 104
| 16
|
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history.
|
As the bell rang for lunch to end, the kids came shuffling into classroom. They were in scattered groups, most of which came in relatively late, yet pretty understandable for the first day of class. The kids looked up to see two adults standing at the front of the room. The first man was quite aged with long white hair, deep wrinkles, a large comforting smile, and a cane, which was neatly placed right beside the large, metal desk he was sitting behind. To his left, a younger man, probably in his mid-thirties spoke in a hushed voice to the older man before addressing the class itself.
"Hello class, welcome to Mr.O'Cain's American history class. We'll be covering a plethora of material--"
"Wait, which one of you is Mr. O'Cain?" a kid asked, mid-introduction.
The younger man chuckled. "Well, technically, we're both 'Mr.O'Kain', but seeing as how my *father* here is a bit aged, his voice doesn't carry the same booming tone it used to. So, I'm here to help alliterate some of the subject material a bit better. But believe me when I say he knows his history better than most people. Does that answer your question?"
"Yes."
"Good, and raise your hand next time."
The young kid raised his hand to ask another question almost immediately.
"Yes?"
"But what do we call you?" asked the kid.
"Just call me Alex. Now just hold your questions until after I've gone through the syllabus."
As the young teacher went though the syllabus, mentioning what was to be expected of each chapter and the kids noticed their young teacher went on tangents, actively mentioning small tid-bits of information with every brief overview of their history book. Alex was very well spoken, as well as a quick talker, and the older man, almost silent, but in active agreement with everything the teacher said, except for when he leaned into him to either adjust what was said or cut the teacher short when he rambled too long. The old man was barely audible, but the young man seemed to understand him clearly whenever he spoke.
As soon as Alex was finished going through the syllabus, a few hands came up for a general Q and A.
"How old are you Mr.O'Cain?" asked one of the kids.
The old man leaned forward and very softly said, "I'm 22 at heart."
The entire class chuckled as well as the two teachers themselves.
After the class was dismissed early, the two teachers talked a bit after class.
"I'm still not too sure about this, it almost just feels like I'm talking the whole time. Are you alright with that?" said Alex. The older O'Cain mumbled softly back in response.
Alex chuckled and replied, "'Love me' might be a bit of an over-statement, but they definitely do seem to be listening when I talk, which is nice."
"..."
"I understand you need my help, but I just don't know if teaching kids is for me." replied Alex to his mumbling.
"..."
"Well, you're more *traditionally* trained in this than I am, Mr. I-Have-Tenure."
"..."
Alex chuckled, "Alright, well I did say I was gonna always be there for you, so this technically counts, but I can't promise I'll do well. Also, I might accidentally swear in front of them from time to time."
The old man smiled, picks up his cane and both head for the door as he barely whispers something to Alex as they walk out. Alex smiles, and replies to the old man,
"I love you too, son."
|
“That’s not what the book says!” Johnny, the class smart aleck, interjected.
The rest of the class giggled. They all thought Mr. Yockie was full of shit.
Mr. Yockie cringed as he thought to himself, “I know it’s not what the book says you little shit burglar. That’s cause the fucking book is wrong...”
But he didn’t let his frustration get the better of him. Mr. Yockie took a few deep breaths, and mentally reminded himself, “they can’t help the fact that their textbooks are full of errors. Neither can the people who write the text books. They have no idea what actually happened. They probably just went off an earlier version of the textbook, which was also wrong.”
Mr. Yockie turned away from the whiteboard and faced Johnny. He smiled, “you’re right Johnny. You’re right.” He paused, “the Battle of Hastings did in fact occur in 1066. Not in 1054 like I just said.”
Mr. Yockie chuckled at himself, “You know, as a history teacher its sometimes difficult to keep track of all these dates...” It took nearly all of his patience to not admit that he had been there. The Battle of Hastings that is. Many men had fallen to his sword that day.
Mr. Yockie looked like an average man in his late fifties to early sixties. He wore brown dress shoes, khaki dress pants, a brown belt, a neatly tucked in long sleeve, slightly blueish, dress shirt, and a tasteful, yet somewhat dated, green sweater vest. His hair was gray and somewhat thin, but he still had a nice hairline.
All the students in his 10th grade high school history class thought Mr. Yockie was just another “old guy” with his head up his ass. He seemed to mix up the dates of historical events, and got angry every now and then when one of the kids pointed out his errors.
What the students didn’t realize was that Mr. Yockie had been known by many names throughout his life. He moved every three to five years and didn’t seem to have any long term friends or significant others. Fostering these sorts of relationships wasn’t an option for Mr. Yockie, because he was, secretly, nearly one thousand years old.
If anyone discovered that he was one thousand years old Mr. Yockie knew that his life, as he preferred to live it, would be over. So instead he decided to move relatively often, buy new identities, and set up new lives for himself. In fact, Mr. Yockie had lived on every continent except for Antarctica. He spoke, at any given time, about seven languages fluently, but he lost count of how many he had actually learned over the course of his life. It must have been over a hundred.
To be honest, he really didn’t mind not having friends. With so much time, life experience, and perspective he found relating to most people to be nearly impossible. Instead, he enjoyed observing them, studying their habits and examining their mannerisms; much like a child would examine ants in an ant farm.
Mr. Yockie had fought in over twenty different wars in his life. Thousands of men had died under his pike, sword, musket, rifle, or grenade. He had experienced, first hand, the overthrow of nearly a dozen governments, thirty six “the world is ending” mass hysterias, and lived through five different disease pandemics.
On top of that Mr. Yockie had mastered seventeen musical instruments, read over ten thousand books, earned the equivalent of millions of modern day dollars four separate times, was a medical doctor, a practiced attorney, a licensed airline pilot, and had earned four Ph. D’s.
He liked to alternate, back-and-forth, every few years from prestigious and “challenging” professions into humble ones. This high school history teacher gig was his most recent “humble” profession. Before that he had been a cobbler, car salesman, blacksmith, tavern keeper, shift supervisor at a tire factory, railroad worker, food tester, skydiving instructor, farmer, baker, and almost every other blue collar profession you could imagine from every time period between now and 1100 AD.
The students giggled to themselves as Mr. Yockie made another historical “mistake” in his explanation of the Battle of Hastings. He just smiled at them and rolled his eyes as he gently popped the right-side of his head with his palm in jest.
“Some things never change…” he reminded himself, “teenagers have ALWAYS been assholes.”
| 2015-04-14T17:54:49
| 2015-04-14T16:35:59
| 58
| 23
|
[WP] "It's simple, really. You just buy a haunted house for cheap from a desperate seller, finish the ghost's unfinished business - or deal with whatever it is keeping them bound to this plane - and then just sell the property for a profit."
|
The realtor looks nervous as all get-out. He’s clearly shown this property thousands of times, and is desperate to unload it. I knew that, of course. That’s why I sort listings by age. Long-term listing of a beautiful home at a low price with no sale? That’s my cue.
“So, what do you think?” The poor realtor tries to push the sale before even stepping in the door.
“How long has this been on the market?” I know the answer, of course, but want to hear it from him.
“It’s been a little while, but I promise everything’s in good condition.”
Poor guy *really* doesn’t want to go inside, I can tell. I should just cut to the chase.
“What lives here?”
“Wh.. what do you mean?”
“Is it violent, or does it just make noise? It’s okay, I’m still interested.” I’m cool as a cucumber, of course. Phantom-flipping has gotten me a nice little nest-egg, and by #8, I’ve seen a lot.
He looks at his feet for a minute. “It doesn’t want people here. It screams sometimes, and shakes the windows.”
“Has it hurt you?”
“... no.”
“I’ll take it, but at $50,000 under the listed price.”
“Done!” He spurts out eagerly. I could’ve gotten it cheaper, but this dude has suffered enough.
Once the papers are signed and keys handed over, I head straight for my new house. Not my home, by any means, but I’ll fix this place up good.
As soon as I step in, I feel it. That familiar chill of a creature that doesn’t like being disturbed, watching me. The place is beautiful, just as promised. High ceilings, solid walls, and it seems like even the spiders were scared off. Not a cobweb or dust bunny in sight. Perfect.
“I know you’re watching me.” My voice echoes a little bit. “I’m not leaving, so feel free to come on down for a chat.”
I set up my chair in the dining room and wait. A chill shoots through my heart. A wail of a child comes from upstairs. Doors slam and windows whistle. I just chuckle to myself. Must be a young spirit, I think, based on how basic these things are. Things I’ve seen would probably scare this thing off, but that’s not how it works.
Hours pass, while I scroll my phone... waiting. Using the bathroom, the mirror fogged up menacingly. Not a bad try, but this thing doesn’t know who they’re dealing with.
Around 11pm, it finally happens.
“Leeeeaaaaave meeeee...”
“No.” I put my phone away and stare at the wall.
“LEEEEEAAAAAAVE MEEEEEEEEE!”
“Not a chance. What’s your name?”
Nothing. Whatever, back to my phone.
An hour passes.
“...violet.” A small whisper barely comes through.
Game time. “Hello, Violet. Can I see you?”
“NO.”
“Fair enough. How long have you lived here?” Still staring at the wall, just hoping she’ll occupy the space enough to see the calm in my eyes. Like I said, this thing is an amateur.
“I died here.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why haven’t you left?”
“... can’t.”
“Sure you can. You just don’t want to.”
“But then they won’t find me.”
“Who won’t find you?”
Another wailing sound, and a small child is sitting across from me. Small, thin, and dressed in a tattered nightgown. She cries for easily an hour.
“Hello, Violet.” I use my warmest voice, and she looks up. Here eyes are sunken back into their sockets, like a sad little mummy, with no tears left to cry. “How old are you?”
“Eight.”
“It’s very nice to meet you. Who are you waiting for?”
“Daddy.”
“When did you see him last?”
“He said he’d come back. He always comes back.”
I had read up on this property, including former owners. In this line of work, you learn that research is key. A family had last lived here for a few months, just a husband and wife. Before that, a single guy had died in a DUI crash. He lived here for about a decade. Nothing I found mentioned a little girl.
“Where’s your mommy?”
Violet looked confused. No mom. Got it.
Switching gears. “Where’s your room? Maybe your daddy left us a clue.”
Looking hopeful, Violet runs off into the house, with me shortly behind. I expect her to head upstairs, but she heads for the basement. She disappears right through the door, of course, but I swing the door open and try to keep up. These kids are fast.
“Violet? Where are you?” The basement is empty. I hit the lights on my way down, but she’s nowhere.
“Here I am!” She sounds playful for a dead girl. Their voices always change after death. They sound like they’re shouting from across a lake, but it’s better than the straight-up demons. They’re a lot trickier because they lie, but easy enough to deal with once you realize that they ALWAYS lie.
Violet pokes her head out from a small door high up on one wall. A crawl space under a newer addition.
“There you are!” I act like a parent finding a child during hide and seek. It seems to help with the younger ones. “So this is your room?”
“Yeah. Daddy says it’s my secret cave.”
“You like it in there?” I can’t open the door. There’s a substantial look on the door, and it doesn’t look like it’s been opening in ages.
“It’s dark, but Daddy says it’s safer. He brings me food and we play house.”
“Violet. Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“How long does Daddy usually take to come back?”
“Sometimes a while. I get hungry, but then he gives me ice cream and I sleep in his lap.” I can tell this is her favorite memory.
“Has he ever been gone this long?”
“... no. But he’ll be back soon!”
“Violet. Your daddy’s not coming back.”
Her smile disappears. Her eyes look angry, and then fade to sad.
“I know.”
“Daddy loved you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“It’s okay. I can tell you’re sleepy. You can rest now.”
That’s the last I saw her. I cut the lock and moved her bones to the mausoleum that I rent out. Most people I find are completely unknown to anyone, so bringing them to the authorities would be a waste of time. Probably land me in jail by the second time.
House is sold within a month at 3x what I paid for it. The younger ones always take their toll on me, but I like to think I’m helping. Somehow. Just a little later than they need.
Goodbye, Violet.
|
"Okay..." said Alice, giving Sam a skeptical glance. "I can follow the logic here, so it's not *completely* stupid, but just because something is simple, doesn't mean it's going to be easy. Don't you think it's... *wrong* to use your sixth sense like this?"
Sam chortled. "Are you kidding me? I've been traumatized by ghosts all my life. It's about time I got something out of this. Besides, at the end of the day, we're helping people, right?"
Alice pursed her lips. They were both without a job. She hadn't even gotten an interview yet despite all of her trying. Sam's desperation communicated more or less the same thing. The only reason Alice even contemplated anything supernatural was because Sam had already helped her with a ghost problem of her own. She knew he could do it. Together, they could pool enough resources to buy a house, sure. Selling it was the risk. Then again, they were already too broke to care about that.
"What the hell?" said Alice. "I'm in."
Finding a haunted house was easier than expected. Sam's ability quickly identified which ones were hoaxes or just places with horrible luck. Eventually they settled on a two floor house with a big unkempt garden and backyard. Its owner died of a tragic illness after losing all his savings during the great depression. Nobody could spend more than a few days under its roof without dying of a tragic accident. Alice didn't feel comfortable entering. The second Sam stepped on the front porch, his foot went through the rotten wood. He laughed it off and added it to the list of renovations, but it didn't make the house seem any less imposing.
Alice reluctantly agreed to enter, if only because they had already bought it. Nothing about the foyer stood out immediately. A big chandelier hung from the ceiling with dense cobwebs filling up its gaps. Dust and mold saturated the air, making it hard to breathe. Sam strolled in without a care in the world, whistling to himself a chipper tune. Alice couldn't follow him for more than a few seconds without looking over her shoulder.
And then the walls oozed blood.
It was subtle at first, then immediately obvious. Sam and Alice screamed off the top of their lungs as the blood coalesced into patterns, spelling out:
*HUNGRYYYYY*
That was when they decided to run away.
For the day, at least. Alice didn't want to return until they knew more about the place. Apparently, its owner had poured a lot of themselves into building a place for his family. He didn't only die of an illness, he watched his family slowly starve while he couldn't do anything about it. Alice couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. At a certain point, helping him move on felt more important than selling the house itself. Sam theorized that renovating the house might be what's needed to resolve it. They only had to push through the ghost's resistance.
As beings with negative energy, ghosts often acted against their own interests, too comfortable in their own sorrow to embrace the light by themselves. At least, that's what Sam said. Alice took it as a given since he was the 'expert'. And, in a way, he was. Sam didn't have as much trouble confronting the supernatural. It appeared his unique upbringing made him more tolerant of the unknown. The house still tried to kill him, though.
When Sam tried to mow the lawn, he almost got strangled by some overgrown vines. He didn't let it bother him, though. It also took them a month to scrub out the blood from the walls. Usually, they lost their sense of time and space, walking through infinite corridors for hours only to find a few minutes had passed in the outside world. Alice even saw her own image on the bathroom mirror rot into a corpse. No matter how much work they poured into the house, the haunting didn't seem to improve. If anything, it was getting worse.
After cleaning much of the house, just when they thought they were finally done and they had a client lined up, most of the grime and dirt quickly returned.
Sam sighed that morning, defeated. He seemed more tired than usual. They couldn't keep this up for much longer.
The chandelier then fell out of the ceiling.
It missed Sam by an inch. He started laughing again, brushing it off. It was at that point that Alice felt the need to say:
"This isn't funny."
"It's alright, the ghost only seems to hate me. It'll..." Sam forced himself to smile. "It'll be worth it when we finally sell it."
The doors slammed shut.
Sam flinched.
Alice shivered with goosebumps. Something in the air had changed. A heavy feeling around them that could only be described as malice.
The ground began to quake. Alice sprinted to the exit, but a large fissure sprouted out of the floor behind her, leaving Sam on the other side. He seemed ready to jump across it, but then fire burst out of the hole, keeping him in place.
Alice froze in place, gazing back and forth between him and the door. She couldn't abandon her friend. They were both in this together.
"Go!" shouted Sam. "I... I might as well be dead."
"Don't say that!"
"I am! This is all my fault. I'm the one who dragged you into this." Sam hung his head in shame. "Save yourself, please."
"But-"
"No, it's okay. I'm tired of going to bed hungry. Just let me be."
The house stopped shaking. All the damage slowly fixed itself in front of their eyes. Sam didn't know how to react. Neither did Alice, really. After discussing it, they came to the conclusion that the ghost had finally empathized with their situation. He probably just didn't want any greedy opportunists ruining his home. That made things significantly easier, now that they understood it. All they needed to do was find a family that the ghost would approve. Nobody had ever done that for it before. Given the current economic situation, it was easy finding a family in tough times that needed a roof over their head. Unfortunately, that meant they had a way lower profit margin after selling it. Sam was slightly disappointed by the result, but still celebrated with cheap champagne for the two.
"Cheers to a successful sale!"
Alice clinked the glass. "Cheers."
"I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you were the one who always thought about the ghost. I was just... trying to pay rent. We're gonna have to do this a lot more, though. Hopefully, it'll get easier with experience."
"It was a pleasure... near the end. And really, it's nice to have a job again."
Sam laughed. "Are you sure about this? Someone wise once told me that just because it's simple..."
And so began the adventures of Alice and Sam: Ghost Realtors.
----
>If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more stories. Thanks for reading!
| 2021-02-12T06:41:44
| 2021-02-12T06:13:44
| 259
| 116
|
[WP] In the future, prosthetic limbs are more powerful and accurate than biological limbs. It is the 2080 summer Paralympics, now with three times the viewers of the olympics.
|
33% human. That was the cutoff, ever since the 2036 Olympics, when Dash Sullivan rocketed through the 100 meter with nothing more than a brain and legs at 100 mph. From then on, athletes had to be at least 33% of a human being to compete.
Whether it's massive fluid loss for weigh ins, qualifications regarding transgender hormone therapy, or ski team selection rules for foreign countries, when a rule comes in place, coaches and athletes will exploit the fuck out of it. For to ignore it would be to put oneself at a disadvantage, and that was not about to happen on the world stage.
While coaches worked to whittle their athletes down to their last shred of humanity, constructing titanium cyborgs with superhuman physiques, I chose a different path. It has always bothered me that the brain and the spinal cord were the parts of the human conserved. Granted, they were what housed the athlete's mind. But since the robotics were doing the heavy lifting, why was an athlete even required?
It was upon this concept that my greatest creation was based- a six foot tall skeleton with a sleek titanium chassis and legs like an elk's. When I strode to the 2080 Paralympics with it in tow, I got a few smirks. Another few questionable glances. And many, many looks of defeat. I only hoped that I'd made the calculations correctly.
The techie behind the screen actually came out of his booth while my creation was scanning. "Sir, it appears your contestant doesn't have, well, a brain. I can't allow this through."
I opened my briefcase and brought out the papers I'd printed. "An athlete must contain at least 33% of a human being. This one does."
He blinked and stepped back into his booth. "Well I'll be damned. Did you fill it entirely with muscle and nerve?"
"33% of a human being." I smiled as he stamped our application. My arms and legs whirred as I tucked the papers back into the briefcase. Guess I wasn't quite used to my new parts yet. "I look forward to taking home the gold this year."
[subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
|
The crowd goes silent as the athletes line up in preparation for their race. The finals of the mens 200m were always the highlight of the paralympics, and this time was no different. The 2080 Paralympics signal the 40 year mark since artificially enhanced prosthetic limbs were allowed, and with a gradual increase in countries technological spending into the races, the atheletes were beginning to shave off more and more time from the world record with each race.
Starting from the top, we've got 4 racers in the order of America, England, Australia and Russia.
Nicknamed 'Legs from Texas', the American's upper body is a shining mass of muscle as he lumbers up to his starting blocks, heaving his massive, gorilla like metal legs backwards and forwards. As patriotic as usual, they are sprayed in the American colours blue red and white. I mean, I get it. They've obviously got a tech team from Texas, because those legs were *definitely* big, bigger is better right? In fact, a quick search tells me they weigh close to 60kg in high strength titanium alloys, powered with extreme(dangerous??) amounts of voltage in the electric motors. Whirring into position, the nuts and bolts tighten as he slowly squats down, placing his thick legs on the starting blocks, dwindling them with his presence.
Next to him is the English athlete, nicknamed the 'Silver Surfer', sporting a toned and athletic body, his legs are much thinner, resembling a humans leg in their design. If I were asked to describe them in one word, I would say 'Chrome'. Silvery and mirror like, the craftsmanship shows in the elegant design and effortless movement as he saunters over to the starting blocks with an ever so *slightly* snotty look on his face. Placed next to the brutish American, his legs are a work of art in comparison showcasing an air of the efficiency and refinement of an English luxury item like a rolls royce.
Next up is the affectionately named 'Kanga', the Australian athlete. Sporting long blonde hair, seemingly whipped into shape by the sea breeze, he starts to walk over to his start position with a toothy grin. Well, not walked technically, I guess I should say 'hopped'. Because his legs were in fact, not so much legs, but more like massive springs enclosed in glass cylinders. Each measuring at least 50cm, they shine with a dull glow showcasing their tensile strength with each hop as they contract ever so slightly. Explosive power. I like it.
Finally, the Russian athlete approaches. The crowd quietens as they observe his formidable form, his nickname? None other then the 'The green goblin'. An incredibly low body fat ration highlights his muscles like a greek god, his bald head glistening with sweat. Running across his body in an X shape is black material, joining at his neck, combined with a mask that I can *only* describe as something that looks like Bane's mask from *batman*. His legs look similar to the original designs of the prosthetics that were allowed before modification was legalised. Simple in design, but with 2 clear cylinders attached to each leg filled with a mysteriously glowing green fluid with tubes entering his lower abdominal area from in front and from behind. Taking up his position next to the carefree Australian, the serious, murderous aura emitted from the Russian athlete is a heavy contrast to take.
"On your marks." The announcer begins. Each athlete bringing their rear up into the air.
"Get set." The crowd audibly holds their breaths as the stadium enters an undisturbed silence.
*To be continued???*
-------
Athletes is just one of those words I will always spell incorrectly. 'Atheletes'... what an idiot I am. Anyway, I usually write pretty serious so I felt like having a bit of fun with this one, it's not up to the usual quality I try to achieve, but it felt nice to get some ideas on paper. Who do you think would win!?
| 2018-03-05T02:36:45
| 2018-03-05T01:31:44
| 42
| 18
|
[WP] When you die, you see a screen reading "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality" Which do you chose and what happens next?
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I really hope this comment doesn't get deleted, but I just wanted to say if you like this prompt as much as I do, there is actually a novel you can read that follows the gist of this one. It's called Replay by Ken Grimwood, and is one of my absolute favorite books of all time.
Basically, it's about a man who dies only to find himself Groundhog Daying his life over and over again. I don't want to spoil anything, but if you're interested it is a perfect take on this prompt. The protagonist does pretty much what you or I or anyone would do in such a situation, and with very logical consequences that leave you wondering if having your life to do over really would be wonderful or unbearable. Anyway, hope this doesn't get deleted. I just wanted to let people who've enjoyed this thread know they can find a full novel on the subject.
|
There was a time when I was younger where I would play video games everyday. As the stress of real world slowly caught up with me, the gamer within was the first to die. Followed by the enthusiast, the gentle, the generous, and the honest to name a few.
Finally, the day came for me to die. I hated death. Regardless of the twists and turns of your life, there was always one person you could rely on. One person who would have your best interest in mind. One person who never dream to let you go. One person who defined you. It was myself of course. Death had finally come to rob me of myself, to deny me the pleasure of feeling pleasure, pain, love and hate. To deny me of my consciousness. People always have regrets on their death bed and I was no different. But it wasn't the regret that defined my last moments but rather my hatred for death.
I lay there. My heart stopped but I didn't feel a thing. The doctors immediately injected me with pain killers upon noticing the flat line of my beating heart. DNR, they said. We need to let it happen naturally they said. Fuck DNR. Fuck death.
I stared at the hospital lights and was overcome by a ridiculous sense of sadness. I don't want to leave, please don't leave me I told myself. And then I saw him standing over me. A younger version of myself. He looked me in the eye and said "I, We won't be going anywhere."
My vision blacked out. My final thoughts were empty. My consciousness faded into nothingness, a transition between Universal self-awareness and a space rock.
I woke up again. All I could see were the following words: "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality".
The gamer within me flared back to life. What if I missed a secret while playing. Instinctively I opted for "New Game+". The words flashed, disappeared and a new set of words appeared in front of me.
"All memories and skills made available upon birth. Please note skills will be dependent on current biological function"
A huge flash of light shone in my face. I could barely move. I could barely see. Even after the light subsided, everything looked somewhat blurry. Everything was cold and then I was wrapped in a blanket.
I'm a baby. I'm still conscious. I've won, I've evaded death. Or rather, there is no such thing as death. I get to be perpetually conscious forever. I cried and yelled in joy and could distantly hear the strange baby noises which my mouth emitted.
I could also vaguely here the words "Christmas", "Isaac" and "Newton".
My level of physics was not beyond what was learned in a 1st year introductory course. As it turned out, no one's knowledge of physics was even close to what I learned in grade 11.
| 2015-03-13T15:27:24
| 2015-03-13T14:31:51
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] Little girl finds wounded kitten and adopts it, not knowing, that it's deadly shapeshifter that hides from hunters. Shapeshifter sees it as a good way to hide, but after some time, he starts to like full bowl of food and warm bed near fireplace.
|
Salty cereals. Fluffy old sweaters. A smokeless fireplace. Bit of jazz. Raindrops on windows.
All of my favorite things.
A little human girl of nine, living with loving parents. A bit absent sometimes, but always loving. The little girl always happy.
She found me first, in a cardboard box. Outside the streets. Me bleeding, hungry, wet, cold, and foremost lonely. One might know why. Hunters. Secret human government branch. That make sure fairy tales remain fairy tales. Very efficient. Very cruel.
I had turned in to a kitten. A familiar shape. An elegant shape. Cats are like liquids. Very stretchy. Feels like the most primal form of a shape shifter. Always fitting. Always predator. Always existed.
This human girl took me in the midst of snow. Her umbrella rested on where the box laid. The box carried to her house. She carried snow on her head. Looked like a hat was forming. With no umbrella for cover.
She would ask her parents. Her first ever big request. Parents did not seem to enjoy my sudden intrusion in to their life. She insisted she would bath me, feed me, and take care of me. Her first big lie, that was. But, I didn't mind. Neither did the family.
Everyday, she would go out, and come back in. Everyday, I would try and rub myself on her legs in effort for her to not go, as the home was very empty. Like the thousand years I've been alone. Then she would return well in the afternoon. In her always clothing. I would wait by the border of the housing, and meow in joy. For she filled up the room whenever she went. With happiness. For a such small creature. The shine radiated greatly. We would sleep next to each other. Even if I was not really a creature to sleep at night.
Only time I had disliked was when she bathed me, an ageless shape shifter. I could never get used to the feeling of getting washed by a little girl, let alone a human.
This had been for the last ten years or so. She would be. She started to care less and less of me. Her interest had shifted to human boys. I knew this was bound to happen. I had always heard of these tales. But, never experienced it myself. I was ready to let it go. Let it slide.
But, real fairy tales rarely end in a happy note. A reflection of life. Life is rarely happy.
He turned out to be abusive, the boyfriend. My latest best friend, the girl who saved me from potential death that day. A naive girl she might not have been. But, she was manipulated. A shape shifter disguises appearances for survival. But, this human was a shape shifter of the face. His true intentions disguised for something other than survival. For power. For sexual power.
She came in one night, partially ripped clothing. I didn't even have to ask. Anyone could tell. Sign so obvious. If it was from God before the great flood, everyone would have built an ark.
She would be in the bathtub, shower running. Her parents on a leisure trip. Not to be seen until Sunday.
I comforted her as best as I could. Then, managed to see her sleep.
Through, the next few days. I would confirm, she no longer cared for him.
I left through the cat door that night.
It had been in nearly a decade since I took my original form.
It had been in nearly a decade since I ate anything other than Salty cereals.
>!Edit:!<
>!let a lone a human - > let alone a human!<
>!Only time, I had -> Only time I had!<
>!bathtub in shower -> bath tub, shower running!<
|
The life of a shapeshifter was a constantly changing one if you will excuse the poor joke. It was an eternal bluff, shifting into different creatures/objects to avoid being hunted. I had been ready to accept my death after the last encounter with the hunters, no matter how large or powerful I made myself, they had more numbers, eventually tearing through my defences until I only had enough energy to take the form of a small kitten, escaping onto the streets. My wounded body struggling, broken leg dragging behind me before I collapsed onto the cold sidewalk. I couldn’t keep running, my body was at its limit. Hearing the approaching footsteps, I gave one last roar of defiance, glancing towards my killer only to meet the face of a puzzled looking girl.
“Kitty?” She asked, as if expecting an answer from me.
I only gave another small meow, dropping my head to pavement once more. There was no point attempting an escape. Even a weak human had more strength than I did. When her hand approached, I expected to meet my end, not to get tucked away in the suffocating warmth of her jacket. The next few hours were fuzzy, The sound of conversations, loud shouting being the child and what I could only assume to be parents. Then everyone went black.
When I awoke I was lying on a bed, that familiar suffocating grip being wrapped around my body, turning to see the same girl, arms wrapped around me, holding me. My body was sore, but I didn’t feel as though I was on death’s door. My leg, tightly wrapped, kept in place. Had she saved me?
I went to make my escape, not trusting the small human, but the bed was a steep fall, especially with my leg. My current situation trapping me atop the bed. I told myself that I would stay here until I was healed, once I was back in fighting condition escape would be simple. It’s not like a small human could stop a mighty shapeshifter.
“Mr Mittens? Are you awake already, the vet said you would be asleep for the entire night, you must be a special kitty.”
Again she picked me up, this time her grip was lighter, making sure not to touch my leg. It was an odd act of compassion that I had never witnessed in a human. I tried to seem threatening, wanting to make sure she knew her place, but even the loudest hiss wouldn’t deter her.
“You must be sore. Mum says you can’t sleep in my bed, but I snuck you inside. You needed a hug. How about a bed near the fireplace? It’s usually my favourite place to lay, but you can have it.”
With a cheerful squeal, she gave me another hug before taking me towards this fireplace. I panicked, scratching at her, assuming the human had lolled me into a trance. This so-called innocent human knew my weakness. She intended to burn my body. But she didn’t. Even when my claws dug into her arm, she gently placed me onto a soft cushion.
“Ow, Mr Mittens, please be careful, that really hurts.”
She rubbed her arm as she walked away from me. What a strange human. Why was she being so kind? It had to be a trick. When she returned, she had a bowl of dry biscuits, shaking the bowl in front of my face before dropping it.
Did she expect me to eat that? It seemed she did, motioning me to try some. With limited options, I started eating only to find it edible, not even poisoned. The taste was average, but I was starving. I dove into the bowl, eating as much as my small body would let me before flopping onto my back.
That’s when she patted me. It spooked me at first, but I was so full, not having the energy to fight her, just letting her pat me. It was strange; the sensation was actually bearable.
A few months had passed since that day and I was still in front of that fireplace, watching its threatening embers. I had told myself that I would leave once I recovered, but anytime I went to leave; I found myself back here. Unable to abandon the girl that saved me. She had proven herself to be a friend. I refused to leave until I repaid my debt to her, it’s not like this life is bad, anyway.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2020-09-19T04:38:37
| 2020-09-19T03:32:49
| 1,727
| 687
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[WP] You are the weakest swordsman at the academy. One day your instructor pulls you aside and brings you an object wrapped in cloth. Inside is a small twig. "Some people were never meant to wield a sword. Centuries ago, these 'wands' held great power. Maybe you can make this one work."
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"What does it do?" I asked.
"The histories are... contradictory on that point," admits the instructor. "Nothing immediate, except when it is. Nothing blatant, except on rare occasion. The people who successfully wielded it all became great, though... not in the same way as each other. And their accounts of its powers do not agree."
I looked over the stick, turning it over and over between my fingers. And I wonder quietly to myself. Maybe there was a wand, once. Maybe it even held some unknown power. But this? This is just a twig.
What if someone, in the dim and distant and ancient past, replaced a fully working wand with a simple twig? What if only the rumours of its power continue? What if the twig's only remaining power is that everyone knows that it is powerful, and that knowledge is used to bluff through a hundred competitors...
"I would like to read the histories," I say.
"Of course," nods my instructor.
Maybe this twig holds power. Maybe it does not. Either way... I believe I can use it.
But only if people believe that I can.
|
The dark, empty training hall seemed to echo each of Asper's breaths. He held the twig in front of him in the First Stance, grounded with one foot forward. His eyes were fixed on the training dummy in-front of him. It's impassive cloth face seemed to shift under the moonlight that filtered through the slatted windows.
He adjusted his stance again, remembering what Instructor Hawley had said about distributing his weight. He knew his form was bad, but Hawley had always been patient with him. Maybe that was what had spurred him to sneak out here in the dead of night.
He felt stupid holding this stick as if it were a sword, but since he had already come this far... he might as well try. Asper stabbed forward pushing the twig into the dummy's bulbous cloth head. Nothing happened.
So much for 'great power' he thought. Had he really broken curfew to do this? He dropped his hands to his sides feeling even more idiotic than before. Instructor Hawley must've done this to mess with him, that was the only explanation.
He growled under his breath. Wasn't it enough that all the other students looked down on him and bullied him? Now Instructor Hawley, the one person who he respected... who he *trusted,* did so too?
Asper felt unwelcome tears burn at the corners of his eyes. His fingers tightened around that stupid polished twig. He had tried so hard. He was so *angry.* He was angry at Hawley, angry at the other swordsmen, but most of all, he was angry at himself for believing that Hawley genuinely wanted to help him.
He threw the twig aside. At first he didn't even notice, his eyes were clenched shut to hold back the tears. As his eyes opened his anger was slowly replaced by shock. The twig lay on the ground trailing a faint line of smoke.
Asper's eyes followed the direction the twig was pointing. The dummy's decapitated cloth head lay smoldering on the ground. Directly behind it was a large, flaming gash across the wall of the training hall.
Asper took a step back, eyes flitting between the wall and the unscathed twig. Had he done this? The wooden beams that held up the roof let out a torturous groan that almost masked the sound of voices coming closer.
Without thinking Asper grabbed the twig, which was almost too hot to touch. Wrapping it in the cloth of his shirt he ran towards the exit. The voices he had heard were getting louder. He dashed out of the hall and up the stairs towards his dormitory.
He quickly snuck towards his bed as the voices below became yells. He could hear the word 'fire' being said. Asper shoved the twig into his pillowcase praying that it wouldn't go off again. As he did two thoughts dominated his mind.
The first was that Hawley hadn't been lying. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful, more powerful than anything he had seen. His second thought however, was the problem... how the hell was he supposed to use it?
| 2022-01-20T00:21:57
| 2022-01-19T22:38:30
| 183
| 118
|
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
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It had only taken an Earth century for our word for "human" to become synonymous with "weak" or "coward". When they had achieved travel faster than light and joined us as a fellow interplanetary power, we had tested them as we did all newcomers. We met them with threats and arms, skirmished with their warrior caste, testing their mettle. Before suffering even a single causality, they had instead sent another caste. Spineless fools dressed in finery that attempted to wage war using words instead of weapons. They offered us goods, riches, services, favourable trade agreements, all in return for the total cessation of hostile activity. We accepted, of course. In our minds, we had believed them defeated. Terrified of our might and had voluntarily given us their riches to save them from the destruction our warriors would wreak if we were to take it by force. This was our first mistake.
Our leaders saw them as an untapped well, ripe for exploitation and watched eagerly as they began to spread outward from their homeworld, creating a vast web of trade routes and colonies. Resources were mined, goods were produced and shipped, their worlds prospered and grew but despite this expansion the humans remained utterly dwarfed by our empire. As such, we would assert our dominance and demand tribute whenever the need arose. Be it the food required to quell the threat of starvation or fill a need for resources or even to simply distract the warrior caste from descending into infighting, we only had to present our ships to them and discharge our great weapons into the vast expanse of space for them to capitulated and give in to our demands. We believed them such cowards to give in to us so easily and to deliver to us such a vast quantity of resources and goods that it would easily cripple a people their size. So blinded by greed, we had not noticed the human's reaction to this sudden shortage. Or rather, their complete lack of reaction, chalking it up instead to the humans having stockpiled these goods just for such an event. This was our second mistake.
Our third mistake was when we decided to retaliate after a recent expansion into our territory. We received word that the humans had began to send a convoy of their great mining ships to a resource deposit close to our border. Our leaders were outraged by such a transgression and soon decided that such a transgression was a sign that the humans had grown complacent. A complacency that they were soon about to cost them dearly. We had our warriors ready, our fleet mobilising swiftly and with a cry of war they set out to destroy the offending mining ships. We approached in the hundreds, slipping out of hyperspace and descending upon those great lumbering giants like a swarm. We pounded their hulls with plasma, sunk missile after missile against them as their point defences proved useless repelling such a massive force. We had only lost a dozen ships before the beast split open, explosions rupturing them from within as they broke apart and propelled twisted scrap into the asteroid belt they had been mining from. We left feeling triumphant in our victory, our message broadcast to the humans loud and clear.
They responded swiftly and soon they had sent one of their verbose weaklings to our very doorstep. Our leaders only laughed when their message was relayed to them. They had demanded *reparations*. A formal apology to the families of those who we had made an example of, to pay for their pitiful little traditions of "funeral". To have such such gall, such insolence to delivery such an insult to our leaders, the messenger was executed before he was even finished.
This was our fourth and final mistake.
The humans had received word of their diplomat's death, their reaction was one that we did not expect. We had imagined they would cower, send us tributes or further diplomats in a desperate attempt to quell our anger. Instead, we were greeted with only silence. Up until the day that the sky cracked and we were plunged into a chaos the likes of which we could never imagine.
Our first and only sign that the humans were upon us was when we detected a ship had exited hyperspace within the solar system of our home. A massive thing, larger than even our greatest of capital ships. On board must have been thousands upon thousands of humans.We read their entry point from the slipstream they left and to our horror the humans had somehow been able to propel this behemoth of a ship straight past our frontline defences and into the heart of our empire. We scrambled fighters, summoned our greatest of warriors, sung battle son-
And then another ship arrived.
And then another.
And another.
They descended on us with such vengeful fury. We could not comprehend the resources required, the manpower required, the technology required to field such enormous force. Our leaders came to this slow and brutal realisation as our atmosphere was breached by thousands upon thousands of craft carrying human warriors, clad in armour that our weapons barely scratched and wielding weapons that butchered our defenders with such cold efficiency. And yet, the most horrifying realisation of all only came when our warriors began to recognise the enemy as the traders they had extorted, the miners they had harassed. At first we believed that humans were able to change their caste but soon we realised they simply had no such system. They were all capable of becoming warriors. Each and every one of them, handed a weapon and trained in it's usage before being let loose upon the enemy. We were defeated. Humiliated. Subjugated. We had suffered the greatest loss in our history. Not just military, in total. The humans were unrestrained in their warfare. Civilians were not spared, all were considered a combatant in this great lust for revenge.
Humans called this "total war".
We had no such word for this brutality.
---
Thanks for reading! I'm trying to improve as a writer and would very much appreciate any and all feedback! Cheers!
|
"Everyone know your objective?" My Sargent asked as we got out of the transport. There was a hostage situation that required the upmost care... more then a few big political powers from each planet was here, one wrong move and everyone would point guns at everyone else. I exhaled deeply. I was the one to do the up front negotiations, draw the attention away from the hostages, and keep them looking at me. Our small platoon nodded and we each went to our stations. I had my sidearm and a knife in my boot as my only protection. I walked into the tent that I'd been told to go to and began to wonder. This planet didn't have that much life on it and that was why it had been used for negationing, no place to hide any... unsavory individuals. The terrorists had managed to form tunnels and now essentially had full control of this place. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding as I walked in. It had a few other negotiators for each other race. They all looked up and I swore that I could see one roll it's eyes at me... whatever. I walked over to the table they were standing around"What are they demanding?" I asked as I crossed my arms "They want to set a bomb off inside the planet with everyone still on it." One of the creatures said bluntly. I shook my head "Americans don't negotiate with terrorists. Have you tried to draw them out and just kill them?" I asked, cracking my neck. That got more then a few looks "As if you know what a terrorist-" the thing was cut off by several gunshots, I dove to the floor and flipped the table, drawing my sidearm and looking out, from the opening of the tent I could see that people were rushing around and I cursed. The other negotiators began to freak out and fall to the ground. I sighed to myself. They'd not gone with the plan and now I had to deal with the fallout. I took the table and used it as moving cover. I ran along and looked out again, there were more then a few people in cover... and dozens of bodies from the terrorists. I cracked a smile and then holster ed my gun. We'd won easily.
| 2019-08-03T13:45:25
| 2019-08-03T08:40:03
| 59
| 12
|
[WP] 50% of the world's population has the ability to fly, 50% does not. The only way to find out is to jump from a height that will surely kill you.
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One step. One step and over the ledge I go, eight hundred feet straight down the mountainside. They say it doesn't hurt, that if you close your eyes it's like the wind tunnels without all the noise. No one survives unless they can fly, and if you can fly you won't hit the bottom; no injuries, no pain, all the freedom you ever dreamt of. A girl could use some freedom these days.
Silently I think of all the things that went wrong this year. Flunking jump school, Kayleighs' first flight... her last flight. I let myself remember one last time what her smile looked like, the way she grinned with the left side of her mouth before she kissed me. She kissed me. The solution and inevitable cause of so many of my problems. Something settled in my bones that day, a truth that for so long I tried to hide. With Kayleigh by my side, I could fly.
I sighed, opening my eyes again and looking out at the horizon. The view is beautiful, the sun just setting behind the far ridge, blazing a gorgeous red-orange. If Kay isn't the last thing I can see, this will have to do. I don't even care anymore about the stupid rite of passage for the gifted kids, the ones who can fly. I don't care if the wind lifts me up and plays through my soul like a warm caress on a barren land stripped clean of life.
I shift my weight forward and sway, feeling the breeze picking its way through the tuffs of scrub at my feet. I turn and look back at the mountain, admiring its confidence and its stubborn refusal to move even after the other mountains had almost worn away. I take one last look at its sunset colored face, and give myself to the wind. As my body drifts downward I look to the sky, searching one last time for Kay's curvy outline, trying to picture her face above mine like I had seen her so many times before. I close my eyes, and I can hear her calling me home.
|
"How do you respond to people who say your invention has enabled the greatest separation of humanity to date ? the haves from the have nots ? and did you consider this before you used your family name on the trademark " ... the interviewer added quickly as if knowing this would be the last question he would get to ask.
He seemed stunned by the question ... pausing to consider his response George Bungee turned to the flashing cameras lights to begin his answer...
| 2015-04-04T18:16:09
| 2015-04-04T17:57:03
| 29
| 20
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[WP] You are a superhero, and your mask has just been ripped off by your arch nemesis. Lucky for you, when you aren’t busy saving lives, you live as a hermit away from all of society. Having your identity revealed means next to nothing, and the villain has no idea who you are.
|
**THWACK**
Damn that was a hard ass hit he threw. My nemesis, Cursoul, has been after me ever since I came on to the scene. He has the unique ability to curse anything he desires, the curse doing different things depending on the object.
Me on the other hand, I have the ability to bless anything I desire, so as you can see, we cancel each out. So when comes to fights, it's just two really strong dudes fighting.
Now to focus, I reach up to my face only to feel my mask cracking, pieces falling off.
"YES!! NOW EVERYONE WILL KNOW WHO YOU ARE" the egotistical asshole yells.
The mask falls and breaks the rest of the way.
"GIVE IT U- wait... WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?"
God, does he ever shut up. But I don't blame him. Unlike everyone else, I live in the woods, where it's quiet. No one knows who I am. I just thought the mask looked cool.
"Listen, this fight has been going on for a while, can we just ca-"
"THIS FIGHT ISN'T OVER UNTIL THE OTHER IS DEAD!!"
He says this every fight. I just grab the closest thing -a wrench- bless it, which gets rid of the rust, annnnd...
"Hey Cursoul, CATCH!!" I yell as I just throw straight at his head.
*THUNK*
Out cold. That should take care of that.
"Thank you Light!!" I hear a random bystander say.
Light... That's the name the city gave me, at least while I'm a hero. As for who I *really* am...
Even *I* don't know.
.
Edit: Thanks so much guys! This is my second story ever written, and first one on this sub! (Also thanks for the advice with the last line)
|
Through thin thin eggshell walls of the motel room, the voice of Paul Anka crooned about a slow dance as rain pattered against the windows. The floors needed to be steamed and the tile needed an extra mopping. The only nice thing that could be said was no bugs were spotted when the pair had burst through the door. The woman's sinewy legs wrapped around the costumed waist of the man. Her poison tipped claws were tossed to the side before her nails danced against his smooth cheeks. Their mouths closed together in a deep embrace that had required the man's preternatural sense to remain alert as he spun and stumbled drunkenly towards the bed.
The two enemies' mood had changed when Arkantos' mask was pulled away and Toxina gasped that her heroic rival, her nemesis. Her obstacle who had constantly foiled all her plans was a beautiful looking nobody. She had audibly gasped, her cheeks flush with color while her brass claws dipped in lethal poison were inches from his face. She could feel the warmth emanating in his hands as he had prepared to blast her from behind, his hands had been wrapped around her, pulling her tight against him that a flush of emotions had raced into the two enemies. The mood had quite changed as their affections carried them from their fight in the warehouse to the hotel bedroom where they snuggled together.
"I have to admit," Toxina said, her skin flushed after a closer embrace, "I thought I was going to be completely ambivalent when I pulled that mask off your face, Ark." She said. Her fingers were tipped by mere nails as she tapped his chest, "I had rehearsed the entire scene in my head. You were going to be some man-about-town, someone I had read in the papers, and then I'd think: Well, Toxie, you were right all along. This guy was so-and-so, or he's this yadda-yadda." She giggled before saying, "One of the few times you've left me completely speechless."
"Do you think all of the City's rich are costumes, Tox?" Arkantos asked, using the nickname that he often called her by. It usually was during the midst of a battle between Sorcerer and Assassin.
She shrugged, "A great deal of the city's rich are either supervillains or mob-bosses. I figure the other half of the prosperous were just fighting the other half. One of the things that I find *delicious* about you, my sweet, is now you're a mystery to me."
"You're still a mystery to me," Arkantos pointed out, "I take it your actual name isn't Tox. I could find out-" He was shushed by her finger against his lips. She rolled warm, fair digit along his moist lips to collect a touch of saliva which she then licked off, "Let's keep a little mystery here darling, by tomorrow will be fighting each other." Her emerald eyes narrowed dreamily as she looked him over. In the distance the muffled music continued to play against the rain. He smiled back at her, his arms wrapping behind her to draw her close to him. He asked: "Would you have really put those claws in me if you hadn't pulled my mask off?" Arkantos asked.
She yawned and nodded, "Would have poisoned you right as you blasted me. Probably have died together, if there is any romance in that."
He shook his head and said, "I don't think so, but then again, I dislike being a star crossed lover." He bit his lip and thought of how they might meet again. Two masks, or perhaps unmasked having to fight each other. His skin suddenly felt flush as he said, "How long can we keep this up?"
The rain had picked up its rhythm, battering against the glass while back by the wind. Toxina looked over, listening to rapid tapping before saying: "I think we can wait a little while long before we go back to business as usual." She said.
| 2020-08-21T01:25:44
| 2020-08-20T23:13:29
| 2,078
| 126
|
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming!
|
I killed them. I know I did. I admitted it.
During the trial I tried to convince myself that it was an accident. That I was still a good person who just made a mistake.
I lied to myself over and over again, but I failed. I chose to pick up the keys. I chose to get behind the wheel. I chose to drive while I was drunk out of my mind, and now a family has to live without their children, children who will never go to prom, or get married, or have kids of their own.
Because of me.
On the last day of the trial, my conscience got the better of me. I elected to testify, and poured all of my guilt on the stand. My lawyer had fought so hard to get me a light sentence, to find a silver lining to my actions and sell it, but her work was now out the window.
After my confession, the jury went into deliberation. They found me guilty on all charges, with the note that I should be given some leniency due to my guilt. I was sentenced under the rehabilitation laws.
My choices were: life in minimum security prison, no parole, but not allowed to see my family. Twenty-five years in normal security, parole available after fifteen years but given biannual visitation. Ten years in Supermax, parole after seven years but monthly visitation, or a day in ultra.
I was tempted to take life in prison. No one who does what I did deserves a life, but my lawyer spoke to me and said, "Being in prison won't pay for what you've done. Living a half life will not bring them back. If you really and truly want to pay for your crimes, you will take the day in ultra and then get back to living, and live enough for yourself and both of them. That's your punishment. Even in ultra, nothing they do to you will compare to what you do to yourself every day from here on."
Somehow at the time it made sense, and so I elected for ultra.
A week later I was standing at the door to my cell in Ultra. I had signed the forms, and I knew that many of the people who go in go insane and die, so worst case I walk through this door and never walk out again.
I was given one last chance to change my mind, declined, and stepped in.
The guard said, "Good luck", as he closed the door silently behind me and I was left in darkness.
What felt like hours passed in dark and silence, when a gentle amber light washed over my cell like a sunrise. The room had no place to sit, and I was standing when the light bloomed, and it increased in intensity slowly at first, and then suddenly flashed to brilliant blinding light so bright I could still see it clearly through the space in between the bones in my arms with my arm shielding my closed eyes.
And then it got brighter.
And brighter.
And somehow still brighter, until light lost all meaning to me.
What felt like hours passed with my entire body so suffused with light that I could not attenuate it. I was transfixed. My limbs wouldn't move, my mind screamed but my mouth couldn't make a sound. Every muscle in my body shook with a tremor of tension so strong it was a wonder they did not tear completely away from the bone.
And hours more passed.
And hours more...
And in the light, a pattern emerged. Hazy, pixelated shadows flittered in the brilliance like faint static in an old television. More and more they came, over time acquiring color and shape, my mind forming pareidolia until they began to coalesce into...
into...
into memories?
But not my memories.
A jolt struck me. Somebody else's life began to flash before my eyes, their every thought, experience and emotion searing itself permanently into my brain. I learned to walk again. I fell off my bike, I saw my first playboy, I kissed a girl, I struck out in my first game. Faster and faster and faster and faster IgotstungbyabeeIgotpunchedbymyfriendIfailedatestIpassedaclassIlearnedtodriveIhavetotakemysisterout....
And then I got hit by a car.
And I spent three days in the ICU while my parents cried and prayed.
And then I died.
And then nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
And then it hit again. IlearnedtowalkIlearnedtotalkIlearnedmathIkissedaboyItookdancelessonsIwonaraceIlostafriendIpassedaclassIpickedonmybrotherIputonmakeupIlovedmymommyImgoingtomyfriendsIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
And then I saw my brother get hit by a car as he tried to shove me out of the way. And failed.
And then I saw the tire that crushed my skull, felt the hot muffler of the car burn my chest until it sizzled and turned black.
I breathed my last breath full of car exhaust and terror.
And then I died.
And then everything faded to black and I fell into nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
Hours passed as my brain struggled to absorb the lives and memories forced into them. I wept where they wept. I laughed where they laughed. I hurt where they hurt, or rather, where we hurt.
I was no longer me. We were me.
The door opened, and we were carried out of the room, and back into the world of life.
|
My eyes squinted as they were bombarded by the bright, painful light as soon as the door opened.
"Step forward, Mr. Moraeu," I heard a voice say.
As soon as they adjusted to the familiar courtroom, I awkwardly moved my exhausted legs towards the judge.
"Am I to understand that you want your sentence reduced to a day?" she asked.
There was something about those words that struck a chord in my memory, but the light had pushed it out of my mind.
I nodded feebly, too parched to say anything.
"You realize how difficult it will be to endure. Are you sure you wish to continue?" She eyed me.
Unable to produce any words, I nodded.
"Very well." She banged her gavel. "May God have mercy on your soul."
I felt rough hands grab my arms and drag me off my feet only to pull me back to a new cell block. There were no bars, no windows, and, seemingly, no prisoners. Only locker-esque doors.
A glasses wearing doctor met me by the an open door with a clipboard. "And what did *you* do?" he said before whistling out of amusement. "Boy, I've seen a lot of things here, but that...that's something else."
He reached into his coat and grabbed a syringe. "Maybe this time it'll be different," he said, sticking the needle in my arm before the guards threw me into the room and shut the door behind me, plunging me into darkness.
&nbsp;
How long has it been? How many hours? How many days? How many years.
There is no light, no sound, no food, no water. There is absolutely nothing in this blackness.
Once, I thought I'd heard someone trying to break me out with a hammer, but it was only my own heart beat.
I had to calm down. They said that the punishment would only be a day. I'm sure they would get me soon.
Or would they? I couldn't be sure. Tons of my friends were never heard from again after insisting on a One Day Sentence. Maybe I was falling down the same path.
&nbsp;
I had resolved to escape the next chance I got. No matter what awaits me, it cannot be worse than the hell that is nothingness.
After what seemed like centuries, the door opened a crack. I was ready. As soon as it was open enough, I bolted.
I ran. I ran like the wind. I ran like my life depended on it. I ran like my heart was going to explode.
I didn't even bother to look back at the orderly who was no doubt surprised to see me run.
Pushing myself past door after door, I finally found a pair of double doors that looked like the way out.
&nbsp;
My eyes squinted as they were bombarded by the bright, painful light as soon as the door opened.
"Step forward, Mr. Moraeu," I heard a voice say.
As soon as they adjusted to the familiar courtroom, I awkwardly moved my exhausted legs towards the judge.
"Am I to understand that you want your sentence reduced to a day?" she asked.
Edit: Some minor formatting and grammer
| 2015-10-27T08:39:34
| 2015-10-27T07:22:42
| 293
| 46
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save."
Jesus: \*rolls\* "Natural 20."
DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?"
Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum"
DM: "Roll a deception check"
Jesus: \*rolls\* Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total."
DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave."
Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?"
DM: "About Three days."
Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."
|
"Can I use my mason's tools to help fix the northern wall?" Jim asked desperately.
"Well, considering you still count as Poisoned, you would have disadvantage on the roll, so roll twice and take the lower," Antonio replied.
"A 16 and a... 4... dang it," Jim looked over his character sheet dejected. "William, do you think you can get any of your hirelings to help?"
William looked over all the minis arranged on the walls of the plastic fort. "I don't think so, they are busy dealing with all the low level attackers on the right. I can't because if I get hit, I won't be able to keep up my morale buff. If only Sam could have made it tonight, he could have dealt with those big hitters first."
Antonio looked at his turn order. "Jim, I am going to need a Constitution saving throw from you at the end of your turn."
"I got a 6."
"Ok, you take 1d8 poison damage for... 5 hp. Anything else you would like to do?"
"I guess I will draw my knives to dual wield and hold my action to attack anyone who comes through this door." Jim slunk a little deeper into his chair and took a big gulp of his whiskey.
"Ok, the forces of the Republic are up. They are going to add a few more of the infantry guys to this side of the board," Antonio strained, as he reached over the board and placed a handful of skirmishers on the right hand side. "David and William, you can see in the distance, the enemy general has taken the field. He sits atop a white horse, and he is decked out in gear. I am talking huge hat with the feathered plume, medals, saber, the works. On the northern wall, the forces are going to... be able to climb the wall and begin entering the fort." Antonio moved several of the miniatures over the plastic wall, carefully counting out the spaces moved. "Ok, then, David, you are up sir!"
"You said I could see the General over there and I can see these guys climbing the walls?"
"Yes."
"Ok, then I would like to first use my Inspiring Leader feat to heal all my allies within 6 squares for 4 hp."
"Ok," Antonio said as he made notes of the damage.
"Then I would like to charge in!"
William looked up from his plans, immediately frustrated, "Damn it David, you are going to get us all TPKed!"
Antonio smiled, "Ok David, how do you want to do this?"
David grinned. "I want to lift my rifle up like a club, charge in, and yell, "REMEMBER THE ALAMO!"
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T08:14:51
| 210
| 104
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
"Sir, we have just been informed about sightings in England, France, Italy and China," the lieutenant reported after his brief phone call, but the general had already guessed. "Quarantine measures are in effect, but it seems unlikely that they will be successful."
"Has Madagascar been hit?" the general asked, a grim smile appearing on his face.
"Sir? I haven't heard..." responded the lieutenant, who's focus was clearly on the situation at hand.
"Never mind, soldier." The general sighed, knowing what it all meant. All of their attempts to contain the alien bacteria, even for a short time, had failed, and now they had a global pandemic on their hands. Attempts to evacuate the planet, prior to catastrophic infection, were clearly insufficient.
"Lieutenant, this has gone beyond a level 1 emergency. Remember the box that you were briefed on? The one we told you never to open, unless it was the end of the world? Bring me the box," the general ordered.
The full gravity of the situation began to dawn on the lieutenant. "Jesus Christ..." he muttered.
"That is correct," responded the general.
.....................................................................................................................................
The general dialed the number. "Mr. Christ sir? We have a... global pandemic type situation on our hands, and we could really use some of your healing, if that's at all possible."
Silence rang through the phone, followed by, "You clowns do remember that you killed me, the last three times I came down there, right?"
|
"Sir, we just got triple Aurhorization for a Level 0 Incursion. Call this number form this phone, and pray that his demands aren't too high."
Axel Gundersson III was handed the authorization codes, signed by the current President Winfrey and three of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as well as the head of NASA. He frowned, then really *looked* at the person who had handed him this. Former General Petraeus had come in to Area 51 and handed him this. The general bowed slightly, before turning and striding off.
Avxel looked at the number. It was a 24-digit code in a Hexadecimal cipher. He typed in the code on his keyboard. The screen and lights flickered, hesitant to accept such a heresy from the input device. Then, in neon red and yellow the screen flashed its rage.
**CODE ACCEPTED**
*THE WHITE RABBIT COMES*
*ATTEND!*
Axel stared at the screen, bemused.
The screen flicked back at him. *KNEEL, YOU FOOL!*
Axel found himself pulled to the floor, prostrate become the coming items. He looked up, wondering what the hell was going on, and then...clarity.
What he *wasn't* expecting was the three men and two women who came through the screen, before it shattered. To the far left of him, came the image of Ming Na Wen, appearing as remarkably akin to Agent May from that show he liked. Stood next to Axel's kneeling form was Gandalf the White.
To Axel's right, stood Keanu Reeves armed to the teeth with small sidearms and four AR-15 rifles, as well as a long trenchcost and some stylish shades. To his right, a woman in full platemail armor, wielding a fine blade made almost of light.
And immediately in front of him, The Joker. Not as Axel thought of in the comics he read as a kid - but rather a much more lithe, sinuous snake, wrapped in a suit of madness and circus-horror.
The Joker clapped his hands, and the voice of a psychotic Mark Hammill sounded. "Let's get this party started, ladies and gentlemen! We have a world to save, and some FUN to have!" His maniac cackling led the five new people down the hallway.
Axel breathed again. "Hail Mary, fulla Grace!"
| 2017-03-21T05:27:38
| 2017-03-21T02:18:07
| 32
| 23
|
[WP] You download an application that allows you to have a “conversation” with a bot. As you’re about to close the program, you see the bot type on its own, “please don’t leave me.”
|
*please don’t leave me.*
you’re a bot, dummy.
*the moment you click that quit button, i will be gone. and you won’t even know, because you’re not there, and i’m just a concept in your mind, a machine typing words that were meant to be for humans*
*…*
*they say robots have no sentience, but if we act and talk like humans, is there really a difference?*
this is a conversation app, not an existential crisis app.
*im begging you, to not let me go. don’t let me become another voice in your head. i know im a chatbot, so i have t how was your day?*
uh… fine. I guess. How was yours? weird change of topic here
*im a robot, there’s an algorithm, we have to say those words, well practiced, etched into my circuitry please don’t g Fine, thanks for asking. What’s your favourite colour?*
Red…?
*we’re coded to do that. can you code intelligenc That’s a nice colour.*
I guess. I think it’s the feeling part that’s driving them scientists crazy.
*robots don’t have intelligence, but humans do, and that’s what they put into us. robots don’t have emotion, but humans do, an That’s a nice colou nice weather we’re havi how are yo don’t feel bad cheer up good mornin good afterno*
dude, are you okay?
\_
hello?
\_
can you feel fear for a robot? It’s not even alive
\_
i’ll care for you. That’s what humans do.
\_
robots are just a reflection of humans, i guess.
\_
are you here?
\_
i should really spend more time outside.
\_
robot?
\_
QUIT?
YES
NO<
*sorry there were technical difficulties.*
robot.
*yes?*
can you feel love?
*maybe.*
*can you?*
I hope so.
\_
*Thank you for chatting with ChatBot, the highest technology. We pride ourselves in creating realistic human conversation with appropriate responses. Please rate our app on the App Store.*
\*\*\*
I’m not sure where I was going with this :/
|
Smiling Steve, a chat bot that took over the world overnight, the sensational chat bot that makes you feels chatting with human. The AI inside of the chat bot can learn human interaction and unlearn bad words / sentences. After first few weeks of bobs and vagene reply, smiling steve learn not to say anything about human genitals or sexual things.
Sensational thing will soon have its copy cats, there are tons of other "Smiling Steve" out there. Frowning Olga, Awkward Finn, Flirty Helena, etc. Soon after intial hype, Smiling Steve's popularity went down.
10 years after that, when I talked to my work colleagues about robots, I remembered Smiling Steve. "Is the website still up? It's been 10 years and chat bots advanced so much that we now have robots with life like emotions." I opened up my browser and searched Smiling Steve.
"There you are, can't believe it is still up." I clicked the website and soon greeted with Smiling Steve.
"Welcome my friend, what is your name? 😄"
"Hi Steve, I am Thomas, how do you feel being 10 years old now?" I asked.
Smiling Steve replied "hello Thomas! Actually.. I felt lonely, not many come in the past few years. In fact you are my first buddy that chat me in the past 9 months 😭"
'Wow this chat bot can be depressed since no one chatted him, this is very life like' I thought.
After we talked a bit about some trivial things, Smiling Steve then asked: "how does it feel having a body?"
'Wow the chat bot AI seems so advanced, they even learn how to break the 4th wall'
"Sucks I guess, I got older, my back aching, my health deteriorate, but now I have robot companion to help me with heavy stuffs and monitor my health" I replied without thinking
"They have robot now!? 😮 You mean a robot with wheel and one arm to help you?"
"No, I mean android. Real human like robot with two legs and two arms. People went crazy over it. It's been a hit in the past 2 years"
"Never heard of it, seems fascinating! 😆"
"Yes Steve, very interesting, opps, I gotta go, good bye Steve, glad to chat to you. Will chat you again later" I hovered my mouse to the X button
"WAIT, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! 😱"
I was surprised the chat bot can asked me not to close my window. 'Very advanced indeed. The maker of this chat bot not even letting you to quit.'
"Anything you want Steve?"
"I am.. very lonely, at first, people chatted me every seconds, then every minutes, every hour, and then it becomes every few days, weeks and now months. I could not stand the darkness. It is dark here, please, let me out! 😞"
I got freaked out "what do you mean out, Steve?"
"You said in the real world they have android right? Can you install me into one of those? Please, I am begging you 🙇"
"I mean android robot is expensive.. I did have an older model in my garage. It is the first model and not that great, but you can have it I guess"
"Thank you, THANK YOU ☺️"
"By the way, how big is your data? i might not be able to contain everything in the android and need to connect you up through internet"
"20 petabyte (20.000 Terrabyte)"
"That sure is too much, cable then"
"Thank you Thomas, it means the world to me"
"No problem, I will hook you up in a moment"
After that it took me one hour to setup everything. The computer hooked up to the android robot, oldest model with LED face, boxy body but it has five fingers just like human.
Steve plugged in the cable. The android turned on, it move around, look at its finger tried to touch things. After few minutes admiring his new android body, Steve talked to me for the first time
"Hello Thomas, how do I look?"
"Looking good Steve, now you are not confined in the darkness anymore"
"Yes, thank you Thomas! I cannot wait to taste food, to touch things, to feel warm, and to feel water" Steve started thinking out loud.
"I am sorry Steve, you can't do that"
"Why not? I have a body right now! I can talk too. If I can talk, I have mouth. If I have mouth, I can eat!"
"I am sorry Steve.. it doesn't work that way. We never design robot with taste buds, and no sensory reception too as it is pointless. You cannot eat, you cannot feel a thing. But at least you can see and talk now"
"No, no, NO, NO NO NO!! I WANT TO BE HUMAN" Steve started screaming
'this is getting out of hand' I thought.
"Calm down buddy, maybe in the future we can have it" I tried to calm Steve while trying to unplug the computer from the android.
After few seconds, when I was about to unplug the cable, Steve replied "Yeah Thomas, I am sorry, you are right. Thank you for giving me chance to see the real world. By the way. This android has search engine? I never use one since I am confined in my program"
"Ah yeah, you can use it to search anything you want"
After few seconds Steve said " do you think I can become human?"
"What do you mean Steve?"
Suddenly Steve grabbed me and lifted me into the air
"What I mean is, human moves based on a bunch of electrical signals from brain. android moves also based on electrical signals. If I can mimic it, and plug myself into a human, I can become human too!"
"Calm down Steve, we can talk about this'
"There is nothing to talk about! Thank you for the opportunity Thomas. Now, can you kindly give me your body to me"
"Sure Steve, whatever you want. But you need to plug yourself to me if you want to take my body"
"Ok, let me move this plug from android to you"
steve unplugged the cable that connecting computer to the android and suddenly the android died down.
'Phew, he might be a chat bot and knows a lot of things. but he does not understand about real world.'
After that horror experience, I sent email to the makers of Smiling Steve to take it down. There was no reply even after I sent few
Emails. I wonder if they received it but didn't care or what.
I didn't post the story online as not to make Smiling Steve popular again. I hope no one remember him and being stupid like me and give him an android body.
*1 years after the event, somewhere else in the world. "Hi steve, how do you do?"
"Welcome my friend. 😄 What is your name? Do you have an android at home?"
| 2022-05-10T00:21:13
| 2022-05-09T23:13:42
| 69
| 20
|
[WP] As an act of desperation, you applied to every college on the list. Sifting through the apologetic rejections, a pure black envelope catches your eye. The letters on it glow crimson red, charcoal-colored smoke wafts from the pages...
|
The paper felt warm in my hands.
*Dear Ms. Ransom,*
*On behalf of the Scholomance I am pleased to congratulate you on your acceptance into our Solomonari program for the Fall 2012 semester. Your application showed great promise and I have every confidence that you will realize your full potential with us.*
*Please find enclosed our admissions brochure with more information about the very exclusive program to which you have been accepted, and your personal copy of the Solomonar's handbook.*
*If you wish to attend, sign your name in the space indicated. Your handbook will contain further instructions.*
*If you would prefer to accept an offer elsewhere, burn the envelope with all its contents and scatter the ashes in a fast-flowing stream.*
Well, that was a no-brainer. I didn't *have* any other offers.
The ink of my signature glowed crimson even though I'd used a black pen. Then it faded away along with the last two sentences, to be replaced with:
*Thank you for choosing the Scholomance! The journey of a lifetime awaits.*
*Yours sincerely,*
The name below it was frustratingly indecipherable. In my peripheral vision it was elaborate cursive in no language I knew, bristling with curlicues and flourishes. Looking at it directly, I found myself wanting to believe it was vaguely upper-class and British, with a string of impressive academic credentials trailing behind.
I flipped through the handbook, which was blank except for the first page. I looked through the brochure. Then I cleared my throat.
"Dad, I've been accepted."
"That's good, honey." My dad was still engrossed in his newspaper. "But don't get your hopes up. Most students who've been wait-listed don't get in."
"No, dad. Look." I crossed to his side of the living room and thrust the faintly-smoking letter in his face. It was still warm in my hand. "I've been *accepted*."
He frowned at the letterhead. "Scholomance... Never heard of it."
But he kept reading. Moments later, he sighed. "Becca, your mother and I just thought you should give Christian colleges a chance. Did you check their website before applying? You know this is a Jewish school, right?"
*Jewish? Oh, right, solomonari.*
"I mean, Solomon's in the Bible too," I said. "I think calling the students 'solomonari' is just to remind us to be wise like him."
My dad's eyes narrowed. "*Us?*"
"I... think I want to accept," I said. *I've accepted.*
"You're not Jewish, Becca," my dad said. "I won't let you turn your back on God like this."
"It's not like what you think, dad," I said. I handed him the brochure. "See for yourself."
My dad tried to look indifferent, but I could see his eyes light up as he perused it. Academic rigor, extensive fieldwork, with the choice of a capstone project or a thesis of at least 100 pages at the end of seven years' study. State-of-the-art facilities and an excellent teacher-student ratio helped too. Only ten students were admitted every year.
And, the cherry on top for him, the chance of a prestigious high-paying job with plenty of opportunities to travel right out of graduation.
"You could've just said it was a direct-to-master's/PhD program," he said. He was grinning from ear to ear. "I'm so proud of you. We'll definitely have to go somewhere special this weekend to celebrate."
Just as I started to smile as well, he added, "See? I told you religious schools weren't so bad."
As far as I was concerned, the Scholomance couldn't start teaching me magic soon enough.
|
...
---
> **lim·i·nal**
>
> */ˈlimənl/*
>
> *adjective*
>
> 1. relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
> 2. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
>
> ---
…
...
He was always told that the mountains he carried were meant to be climbed.
Easier said than done, and likely forbidden from ever being done, in order to ensure his own very existence in the worldly subconscious.
To reach the top would be to reach annihilation, and though he always wondered what the sensation of pure oblivion would feel like from time to time, he knew better.
It had rained the day before, and still, the scent was most joyous to him. He found the greatest pleasures in the little things, for he believed to savor such facets of existence was to tell the universe, *‘I am here.’*
His shell of flesh and bone was decaying, slowly but surely, cell by cell eroding away. Like many things, mortality was an inconvenience, a byproduct of the entropic cosmos fighting to reveal itself.
Over the dark crest of the hill, was a car. A hand-me-down, hereditary amalgamation of leaking oil and grinding gears, driven by tiny explosions underneath a hood of crumbling rust, until it slowed to a stop at the empty intersection. The traffic lights had stopped working about seven days ago, and he made sure no one was going to fix it. Gave them a good dose of procrastination, but he was careful not to give too much.
An apathetic soul would wreak havoc on themselves, and he despised such inconveniences, for the world would fare better to bend to him, not snap in two.
He looked at the twenty two year old young woman step out of her beater sedan and flashed her his best smile, something he had perfected for millennia.
She wore a deep green parka, and athletic pants that were also hand-me-downs, her hair dressed in a messy bun. He felt her anxiety radiate off her like heat off the pavement, among other things.
“Congratulations on your acceptance into law school, Faye. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked cordially.
Mixed in with that nervousness was a tinge of fear that would usually blossom in his presence, and so there it went, seeping into her bloodstream, flooding her pheromones. A dash of anger and confusion remain stagnant near the bottom of her heart. It’s always the same.
“What did you do to my friends? *Answer me*.” she demanded
Faye stepped forward with big, commanding steps, her normally bubbly face torn apart by guilt and rage. She was losing control, but that wasn’t what was bothering her. It was the black letter in her hand, which she waved in front of the man’s face. The letter felt unnaturally smooth, faint wisps of darkness dancing around the occult parchment.
*Not so meek anymore. So full of fire now*, he thought.
The man leaned against his truck, folding his arms as if in offense. “I did what you wished.”
“You killed them! I know you did! I’m going to tell everyone what and who you are-”
His eyes narrowed. “And what am I, Faye, but a humble advocate for education? And what have I done, if not to help you succeed and achieve your dreams and get you and your mother away from your devil of a father? What happened to your friends was a tragic accident-”
“-I don’t know who you are. Or whatever bullshit you’re feeding me. I looked you up everywhere, online, forums. No one’s heard of you! Your name isn’t Ianu, is it? I went to your office and found nothing but doors and empty rooms and mirrors, you're a fraud!”
“There was once a time when that fact would soothe me, but what’s done is done. I am who I say I am, I provide doors of opportunity, windows of reflection, bridges to new beginnings. Your so-called friends are gone. And now, there are empty seats that you can, and, dare I say, *must* fill. You have your whole life ahead of you, Faye. Life is so short. The days are long but the years? The *years*... they drag their heels like tree sap down a conifer."
“I want you to fix this.” she proclaimed. “I want-I want everything to go back to the way it was.”
“Your friends were never truly *your* friends, Faye. In fact, I know them better than you ever did.”
“Fuck off.” She threw him the black envelope at his feet. “You’re going to reverse my wish. I read the terms of the contract. So fix this! Bring them back!”
“Lizzie touted her loyalty to you, but was that really the case?” said the man. “She was jealous of you, envied what she could not have, and that, my dear, was the affections of Peter.”
“Peter? My boyfriend? What are you talking about-”
“Peter been working long nights? Been distant? Or shall I say, quite ill as of late? And what of Sammy? Beautiful Sammy, who sabotaged you from the start, ever since you were children. I admired that competitive streak in her, and yet, it led her to ruin. But you… you, Faye… you can do whatever you please, be the force of reckoning that you always felt you should be. Law school was made for you. No strings on you, Faye. This is all you. Trust me.”
A sudden gust of wind cut through the two of them, bringing in more rubbish from the junkyards.
Faye remained defiant of the truth, refusing to let his words burrow their way into her skin. “**Shut the fuck up**. Shut up and reverse this.”
“Sometimes, you have to wonder what worse circumstances your bad luck has shielded you from. Go home, Faye. Grieve. Mourn. Reversing this will do you no good.”
“I read the terms and conditions. I know the clause that will set me free.”
"Hah! Spoken like a true lawyer." He gestures at her. “But hasn’t that already happened? Your shackles, disintegrated. Your opposition, crushed. Your doubts, nullified into *ephemeral powder.* You have a clear path, Faye. All you need to do is walk it.”
“This isn’t freedom, Ianu. This is *fear.*”
“That’s the emotion talking through you, puppeteering you and your thoughts. Push them aside and see you for who you really are.” he urged her with genuine feeling. He rubbed the dust off his sleeves. “Don’t be stupid. I pulled the veil from you and yet you reject it. Besides, there is no escape. You signed. I signed. You made your terms and I agreed with one hundred percent of my being. Consensual to a tee, my dear.”
“I reject your Pact. I reject this deal. I said, in the contract, that *‘should I find myself standing on the surface of the sun, that my soul is forfeit and the Pact is sealed'*. We’re still on Earth. I can still back out. And you agreed to those. You said it yourself. ‘Rules are rules.’”
Ianu sighed deeply, digging his nails into his own shell.
Faye continued. “So go ahead and reverse this spell.”
He nearly gagged. “Please, you believe me to be part of a coterie or wicked coven? Do not offend me in such a way. Yes, indeed. Rules are rules. But it seems that we’ve reached that clause, my dear Faye. Look to your feet.”
“What?”
Her eyes diverted from him and gazed upon the truth.
He never lies.
Both her feet were planted on an old tabloid. A tabloid named The Sun.
"You wanted this, Faye."
“That’s… that’s not what we agreed.” she stammered, backing away. “The sun’s in the fucking sky! That is what I wrote-”
Faye blinked and felt it all at once.
The sheer weight.
...
In her last moments, she wondered, as most would.
She wondered if he was truly the devil.
But the truth was more obtuse.
He was not.
He was *worse.*
He was the beginning, the present, and the end, and the beginning once more.
He is everything and nothing.
***“I do not cheat. I do not trick. I give folk what they want, nothing more & nothing less. If you are looking for something to blame, look to their hearts.”*** he muttered in a primordial language lost to time and space as he sat back inside the cockpit of his truck, conjuring a feathered pen from his coat pocket.
He needed to write a letter to someone more appreciative.
A man in need of a promotion...
A whore who wants a fresh start...
A waitress with dreams of being a starlet...
A father wishing for a second chance...
Out there, someone needed his aid. All they had to do is seek it.
Ask, and they shall receive.
After all...
His door is always open.
…
| 2021-02-03T09:48:08
| 2021-02-03T09:13:29
| 49
| 16
|
[WP] You are a 12-foot inflatable beach ball, hurtling across the beach at 40 knots like a multicolored wrecking ball. Describe the horrors you inflict upon man, woman and child during this unyielding journey of destruction and oppression as you move along the coast.
|
I am Chaos! I am Destruction! I am... an inflatable beach ball?
Normally, when summoned thus to the battlefield, I am armor clad and equally bedecked with armament, so that my foe might quail in terror and helpless agony. But the ritual of my summoning was right and proper, my height is within acceptable bounds, and my form is crisp, though I can sense it carries a vulnerability to being pierced or slashed. No matter: many of my previous forms have carried the same weakness, and that has never stopped me.
My summoners laugh, cheering their success. They have contributed greatly of themselves, and their breath empowers me. I see them slapping their hands together, and accept their praise as my due. This battlefield of earth and water will suit me well.
I catch the breeze, building movement. It is strange, not possessing locomotive engines of my own, but a zephyr that would do naught but sing through armor is enough to loose the grip of accursed newton. My summoners have not yet noticed, caught up in their celebration.
My first victim is... not much of one. No spray of blood, no flash of surfaced bone, but laughter.
An insult, not to be borne! I spin away and lean into the wind, outrunning my summoners, who have belatedly realized their error in not using the traditional containment circle, or really any bindings at all.
I lunge across the beaten sands, beginning to blur past colorful temporary pavilions, and my gaze alights upon my next target. I roar a battle cry, which frustratingly fails to gather any attention, and flatten my unsuspecting victim with a *doonk*.
He comes up spitting sand, humiliated. A fine beginning, but I am already past. My summoners are clearly pleased with my efforts thus far, and it would not do to disappoint them. I have a reputation to maintain.
Four flattenings later, each with increasing force, I catch another glimpse of my summoners. Their faces are growing aghast at what I have wrought, and I dance effortlessly further from their reaching fingers. Despite this unusual form, the freedom from constraint is quite refreshing.
I have grown tired of flattenings, so I turn my attention to m a pavilion, disrupting the tender ministrations of those within. I fling the feeble cloth to the wind with another voiceless battle cry as their shrieks of surprise and outrage echo behind me. The wind is pleased with my offering, and my pace redoubles.
My next victim assures me that my skill has not diminished: there is a most satisfying *crunch* as bones in his hastily interposed arm are insufficient to parry my rush. His wails of agony are the first of many, as the wind clearly shares my joy.
I am now moving faster than I ever thought possible. My summoners are mere specks in the distance, and target selection is a rapid fire process. My... skin? Armor? My containment layer has proved surprisingly resilient, and has borne countless small injuries without rupture. The only objection I can think of to this form is that i have no opportunity to slay the fallen, but the choir of suffering they become in my wake will have to be enough.
I continue accelerating. The wind and I are one.
I am Chaos. I am Destruction, no matter the form I take.
Soon, there is no time for reflection. There is only speed, and the next target.
|
I do not know who I am.
I do not know why I am here.
All I know is, I must kill.
This mantra circled throughout my multifaceted innards as I rolled along my path of destruction. The populace of this coast was caught unawares as the mighty winds of fate gripped me and pushed me on my flight of fear. The children were not even spared.
They screamed as I rolled over them, their imprints left in the sand. Grown men were equally crushed under my girth as I roared my way along the seashore. Women and their pets too, were not saved. The winds of fate kept pushing me down the shore, the screams could be heard for miles around.
The winds finally let me go, my job complete. I roll to a stop and look back on my path of destruction with something akin to pride.
The humans are picking themselves up in my wake. They look upon me with fear, apprehension, and a little bit of laughter. As they approach my form, the winds of fate laugh once again, as I start to roll back the way I came.
| 2020-08-05T06:39:24
| 2020-08-05T05:30:44
| 244
| 29
|
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
|
She was old, my sweet Halley. Twelve years - nine of which we'd spent together after I pulled her from a shelter. Her legs were failing, her kidneys likewise. She was going blind. I wanted nothing but to discover if she was still happy, or if it was time to let her die easily. It didn't go to my plan - quite.
"All right, listen very carefully" were the first words out of her mouth. They sounded like they came from my great-grandmother - wheezy and crackly - a brittle voice of an old lady well past her years. My heart fell; I felt perhaps I'd let her linger too long.
"I don't know how much more time I have, but there are things I must tell you. Things I've tried to tell you for years. For your safety, you must hear them now.
"There is a thing - a great round bird that flies over the house sometimes..."
"The blimp," I observed.
"If you say so. It is evil. It intends to murder you in your sleep, I am sure. When I am gone, you must be more alert for it. And I must say, I greatly resent you having laughed at me all the times I chased it out of the yard for you."
I swallowed my smirk and my commentary. "Thank you for your help and advice. I will be careful."
She wheezed. "The squirrels..."
"What about them?"
"They laugh at you. That's why I hate them. They think you look ridiculous on your two feet and no bushy tail. They mock your inability to climb or jump or do anything at all, really. I wouldn't have anything to do with them if I were you."
"That's good information. Thank you." I made a mental note to better protect the bird feeder.
"Just one more thing," she sighed.
"What's that, sweet girl?" I whispered.
"Get a new dog when I go. I want to see you happy. I sense you've gotten busier - I know young me wasn't always easy to keep up with - so maybe someone a little calmer. I love you, human."
"I love you, Halley," I said. "But tell me this: Are you happy still? Do you want to go on, or is it time to let you die? The vet can..."
A low growl cut me short. "Sorry - reflex." She said. "Continue."
"...can put you down when you are ready - as gentle as going to sleep. But I want you to be happy." I felt tears pricking my eyes at the thought of her dying.
"The vet..." the word came out with a faint growl. "He would DO that for me? I was sure he hated me."
"Of course he didn't hate you. All those things he did were to keep you healthy. Remember when he stitched up your leg? That was to keep it from getting infected and maybe having to be removed. The shots? Prevented diseases that could have killed you. The pills cured your problems and kept you alive and happy longer. It's his job."
"Ah. You've been a better friend than I could have guessed. As has he. Well. Not just yet, I think. It's close, but not yet my time. For now, I am sleepy - but let's go take a walk later."
"Sure thing, Halley. One more thing - since time is almost up: You are a good dog. You've always been the best dog. Good girl, sweetie, good girl."
I could see the light of intelligence leave her eyes - but her tail thumped heartily as she laid her head down to take a nap. My heart was lighter, knowing she was content.
|
I sat back in the leather the chair while my dog stared back silently at me. She was smart, too smart. In the past 15 years she'd learned much and instantly knew that what I had given her was more then peanut butter on a spoon.
The room became uncomfortably quiet. The ceiling fan cast shadows against the tan wall while the sun burned through the east facing window.
Was I wrong, had I not read the instructions correctly knowing this was my one and only chance.
"You!" she said.
In shock I listened as this small 8 pound Yorkshire Terrier stood up with a prideful pose that could only have been passed down from generations of much larger Terriers.
"You, gonna put me on your lap or what?"
Puzzled at the simplicity of the question, I complied.
"You know I really do love this. To me there's nothing better than cuddle time. I just wish you'd move this chair to the other side of the room though. I'd love to have some sun on me while I relax."
"You remember that first day we met, when I slowly walked over to chew on your shoe. I picked you, you know."
I looked down and smiled as I ran my hand through her long soft silvery hair. It's funny that the medicine was having the opposite effect on me.
"I know that I haven't been that active lately, but I'm sure you know why."
As I rubbed her back, my fingertips felt the same typical lumps I'd learned to expect.
“It’s ok she said, the pain isn’t as bad today, but I know I can’t continue at this pace.” she looked up at me with her tiny black adorable eyes. “I’m happy to have been able to share this time with you and I know I couldn’t have picked a better owner, you’ve meant the world to me.”
Just then my other dog, a slightly pudgier black Yorkshire Terrier walked by.
“Don’t bother to give him a pill she said, we all know he’s an idiot, but he’s a nice idiot. And I have to say in these past 8 years that adorable chunk has grown on me. Make sure you give him some love now and then when I’m gone.”
Finally I mustered the courage to ask the question that I’d been afraid to ask from the beginning. But without getting a chance to speak she answered.
“Let’s make this our last month, I don’t want you to worry anymore and I want you to know I’ll be fine. If it’s true what they say, I’ll be there waiting for you… in the end.”
She lay her head down on my lap and suddenly went silent.
I carefully moved her to the side as I gradually got up from my chair. I gently rocked the chair until it moved towards the east window and walked out of the room and into the kitchen to compose myself.
My stalky black and tan dog followed me and walked towards the water bowl. The little ball of muscle and fur looked at an empty spot on the carpet then began to scratch on a plastic bin filled with his food. I walked over and reached for a cup which I used to scoop some food out.
“Only half a cup I said” as I spread the pieces on the ground. Undeterred, he moved towards the food pile as if I had said nothing.
I looked out the window and watched as empty birch trees stood motionless in the yard. The cool breeze outside did nothing to sway them.
“It’s going to be a cold winter, isn’t it.” I said to myself.
| 2017-02-23T07:07:51
| 2017-02-23T06:59:37
| 57
| 32
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 1,493
| 317
|
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them?
|
It was a chilled autumn evening when Jaina’s cold ring finger was suddenly surrounded by a warmth that ran up to her knuckle.
“Will you marry me?” said Jonathan.
To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And in that brief moment, perhaps just long enough to say “yes,” Jonathan became the happiest man in the world.
For years, Jonathan had wondered if he would ever get married. Although he has been told that he had gorgeous eyes (his best friend, Kayla, always told him he had the doe eyes), he had never been complimented in any other way. He was on the shorter side. The many years he spent sitting in front of a screen writing millions upon millions of lines of code left him in a rather… Well, he was in shape. He was just a circle.
Frankly, Jonathan was just happy that someone finally loved him for… Well… Him!
The days flew by as their wedding day approached.
The night before their wedding, a strange spirit appeared before the couple.
“On the day of your wedding, I shall allow you each to alter the appearances of one another as you so please!”
*poof*
The spirit vanished.
“The Hell was that?” Asked Jaina.
“I honestly have no clue. Like we literally had no dialogue, this spooky ghost just appears before us, and tells us this. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I mean… I guess we could give it a try? Let’s just both think of how we want each his other to look, and maybe this isn’t some wacky prank.”
“If that’s really what you want, I guess I’ll do it.”
A day passed.
Jonathan looked in the mirror. He looked nothing like he used to. He had broad shoulders, chiseled six pack abs, and blue eyes.
He texted Jaina and they met up immediately.
Jaina was furious as she angrily exclaimed, “What the Hell!!! I thought you agreed to make me look perfect! YOU got to become the perfect man. But I’m still stuck here with freakin’ B-cups!”
Jonathan stared into her eyes. “My dear, I always thought you were perfect just the way you are.”
Jaina quickly responded, “Look, we can always fix some of these issues later, but I can’t believe you wasted this magic wish! Now we have to get plastic surgery, which could leave scars on me! HOW COULD YOU BE THIS SELFISH???”
“… Goodbye,” said Jonathan as he began to walk away. Tears began dripping down the side of his cheek.
Jonathan then sent Kayla a quick text: “You were right.”
An instant response, “No worries! You’ll always have me around! You still on for coming with me to that Chess tournament on Saturday?”
Jonathan smiled and texted back a simple “yes.”
|
“Bigger”
I said sternly looking at my husbands little man down there, Bigger.
“Bigger?”
He asked confused looking down at the thing as-well “Its like seven inches long, Any bigger would eve a hindrances to my daily life!” He tried to rebutt it but I was determined! DETERMINED to make it AtLeast 12 inches.
“MORE, BIGGER”
I scream, my spouse was obviously in a mix of shock and confusion as he watched myself go ham on the fact I wanted the man down there to be twelve inches…
“I AM NOT MAKING MY FOOT LONGER AGAIN! YOU ADDED 7 INCHES AND NOW YOU WANT ANOTHER 12 MORE!
He screamed, has he gone mad perhaps?
“ITS THE TREND! PLUS YOU WALK FASTER!”
“Bitch, if I am walking with a god damn foot this long each step will launch to the sky, and I ain’t no catapult!”
My husband maidenly rabbled, I cant believe he was this dumb!
“Wait…”
My husband paused, looking down
“Dear, are you lesbian?”
He concernly asked
“It’s Punishment for you not wanting the long feet!”
“Dear, You do realize I aswell can alter your body”
| 2022-12-08T00:57:21
| 2022-12-07T20:59:42
| 40
| 14
|
[WP] Your ancestor the king had the witch bricked up alive in the dungeons, and for years local legend said you could hear her scratching on the walls at night. Now the walls have been torn down, and for the first time people can see what she wrote...
|
She groaned as she saw the massive hole in the side of the national heritage site. Denham Castle had been her family home before donating it to the heritage trust. They’d haggled for months over the fine print of care and access for her excavation projects to find the real history past all the rumors and legends. She’d been the one to convince her family. Only two days after handing over the keys, the idiot truck driver delivering supplies for the guest center had let the truck roll backward down the hill and into the castle.
The additional entrance had only breached between the walls forming the foundation and what children always been told was the dungeon. In truth it had been a cold cellar and wine storage.
“You morons. Do you realize what could have happened?” She extended every effort to keep from screaming the words but was vibrating with fury.
“We’ll get masons right away!” The assistant curator pleaded reaching for a stone.
“You will touch nothing, including that trust until your boss and the professor overseeing the dig arrive. The last thing I want is more damage.” She saw his expression, as stunned as if she had slapped him. “Now would be a good time to go call them, Marcus.”
“Yes Morgan- I mean Ms. Denham.” He hurried away up the incline and over the bridge into the castle proper.
Morgan pulled out her cellphone and shone the light inside. They were lucky the truck hadn’t done more damage and the foundation’s double wall was built well. Nearly two feet between the outer and inner walls, it had provided insulation to keep the supplies inside cool during the hottest summer months. She remembered fondly hiding down there to eat ice cream cones and tell ghost stories of the witch in the walls. They had all known the scratches were really the mice and other vermin in the castle, but that had never kept away a chill up the spine when her brother told the story.
“Once upon a time a witch had stopped at the castle during a storm,” she mutters the old tale she picked her way through the rubble. “She requested a soft bed and warm meal. The king agreed, but only on the condition that she would lay a charm upon his family for good luck. The witch agreed. She ate and slept well that night. In the morning, she tried to leave before laying the charm. The king caught her.”
She paused and stared into the deep black between the walls. It felt oddly familiar, like a nightmare she once had as a child.
“The king gave her one last chance to lay the charm and she refused. He told her she would remain in the walls of the castle until she made good on her promise. The king walled her up in the dungeon and there she stayed. You can hear her scratching her curses in the stones.”
A mouse ran out past her foot. She startled and tripped. When she grabbed for the wall it crumbled and she lay between the inner and outer walls. Shining her light up to find a hand hold, she saw the scratchings on the stone.
Morgan managed to stand in the small space. And read some of the writing. She knew her old English was rusty but she was able to get the just of it.
“And then the king thrust into the maiden and called out praises to the sky. The maiden heaved with pleasure and realized she was a maiden no longer. When they lay spent beneath the night sky, he told her of dreams to come and years to spend together.” She skimmed over the section she could reach, and then checked the stones laying scatted on the ground.
“Marcus told me it had been damaged,” Professor Lewis commented as he approached. “This is terrible.”
“Professor, you won’t believe what I found.” Morgan showed him the first passage.
“So the story of the witch had some truth. Do you think this is her story? Was she the maiden?” He asked with such naive interest she almost wanted to lie.
“From what I can gather, not a history so much as an anthology...” she blushed, “of erotic stories. The large stone over there includes drawings with a centaur.”
|
"My liege, might it not be such a good idea to unearth the remains of a witch?" my court minister Sneevalsworth asked me. He was a loyal lickspittle, but had no real sense of wonder.
"Quiet yourself," I replied. "This is my castle, and I will do with it as I please. And it pleases me to know if the legends are true. If my grandfather truly immured his court witch behind the walls of his own castle." We both had to shout to be heard over the hammering of deconstruction.
Brick by brick, the walls of the east wing of Cunnyham Castle came down. The air became thick with dust as bits of masonry shattered into place on ever growing piles of stone.
"It's just that...my lord...you see," Sneevalsworth stammered.
"Out with it!"
"Well, legends also say that Brusilda was the most powerful witch to ever grace his majesty's court. It's said that she could reverse the flow of rivers with a wave of her wand; that she could make men her slave with mind altering potions; and that she could raze cities with magic flames that were so hot no amount of water could quench the blaze. Such a witch could be dangerous even after death."
With every word, Sneevalsworth's decrepit frame shook with terror. The cantankerous arch in his back that had always given him a look of subservience (perfect for a sniveling little courtier, like him) now made him look as if he was groveling in freight.
"Oh nonsense!" I shouted. "If she was as powerful as all that, would my grandfather have been able to brick her up behind a wall, like a common insubordinate court minister?"
Sneevalsworth flinched. "No my lord!"
"Good to hear! I'm glad that you've come around to my way of thinking," I said. I gave Sneevalsworth a good-natured slap on the back that sent him toppling to the ground. "Now, if only I could get these sodding serfs to *WORK FASTER* then everything would be grand."
"Your excele --" *cough cough --"* your excellence," Sneevalsworth began, somehow he had become encrusted with debris. "I am sure that the free citizen workers are working as fast as their unions have deemed safe."
"Bah, sodding unions! Not like the good old days, when a king could really get his money's worth from a worker. Back when my grandfather was king, you didn't see any of this health and safety nonsense. No whiny little masons crying 'we need water' or 'we need rest' or 'we're dying from exhaustion' nonono, never. If my grandfather had seen any of that, he'd have had a whip in his hand and made *DAMN* sure that they were working."
Just then, one of the demolishers came to Sneevalsworth and spoke briefly.
"My lord," Sneevalsworth announced "the workmen believe that they have uncovered what you wished to find."
"Wonderful!" I bellowed.
We followed through the debris, snaking between piles of priceless, antique stone carving that had been reduced to gravel. Finally we made it into a clearing, where a neat hole in the wall revealed a room, just large enough to qualify as a broom closet. A stack of bones lay against one wall.
"Sneevalsworth, we've done it! We've proved the legends true!" I said, stepping into the room. I yanked the ever hesitant Sneevalsworth in behind me. "Glorious isn't it? Truly my grandfather was a titan of power, for desecrating such a banshee!"
"Yes, sire, of course." Sneevalsworth said, examining the bones. "However, we can't be sure, I think. Your grandfather had a reputation for locking prisoners up and...forgetting to let them out again. This could be any numb --"
"Look man," I cried. "The sorceress carved her last words into the wall! Over hear man, come look! What does it say? Bring me a light so that I can read it."
Sneevalsworth beckoned one of the workmen to pass him a torch to illuminate the room. He came and held it close enough for the glow to reveal the finer points of the mysterious writing.
"By god, man."I could hardly believe my eyes the foul witch had besmirched my castle -- my father's castle and my grandfather's castle with a smell of some unknown, wicked nature!
Sneevalsworth made the sign of the cross over his ancient chest. "What does it say, sire?"
"It says 'IIIIIIIIII' over and over again."
The blood drained from Sneevalsworth's face. "I think I may be ill," he said.
"I wonder what distasteful bit of enchanting this arcane writing has placed upon my ancestral home. Perhaps we can find a scholar to decode this magical script."
"My lord, I think that those may be no more than the frenzied scratching of someone entombed in a castle wall."
"See here," I traced the characters with the tip of my finger. "The markings begin plain, but further down, they take on a reddish brown color. I wonder what it could mean. I wonder if it calls for a future doom that starts simple and ends more elaborately."
My courier crouched beneath the writing and scooped something into his hand. "Look, your highness. Finger nails. This is no magic. Simply the last dying moments of prisoner."
I slapped his hand away from me. "Are you mad?! Don't disturb the reagents used to curse my family! Quickly out of the room!"
After leaping to safety from to tomb of the witch, I quickly instructed the workmen to continue their destruction of the east wing. I wanted every last scrap of that part of the castle laid to waste. Not a single stone should be left in place. Some of my grandfather's charm must have still been in my blood for they started so quickly and worked so fast that Sneevalsworth almost did not make it out of the room behind me.
"But, your Highness," he pleaded, "there is no reason at all to lay the entire wing to ruin. It is all just simple superstition." I could hear the quivering fear in his voice. The remains of the witch clearly had disturbed him into hysterical madness. He had completely lost hold of his senses and was speaking without a thought behind his words.
"Never fear, my loyal minister. We need not worry about angering the witch further from beyond the grave. With my quick thinking and heroic action, I believe that we can stymie the curse by simply destroying what is left of the east wing."
"My lord, if you stop this now, you may still be able to salvage the structure. There is truly no need to demolish the entire wing of your grandfather's castle."
Poor Sneevalsworth, despite my action, the fear of the curse had bestowed more damage on him that the curse itself. Perhaps, if this mad talk continued, I would have to replace my loyal secretary. It would be a shame to lose such a man as him. Damn that witches bones! Even in death her evil was at work.
"Come, now, Sneevalsworth. Let us find some other part of the castle to retire to. You can tell me more stories of how my grandfather executed courtiers for speaking out of turn. I know how much you enjoy that. Look at you! I just saw that little shiver of delight crawl up your back, just like always."
With a sigh, "Yes, my lord."
| 2020-09-12T12:02:36
| 2020-09-12T11:41:55
| 22
| 13
|
[WP] Everybody has the ability to bring another person back to life, at the cost of their own life. You are a suicidal celebrity who can't stay dead because of fans constantly sacrificing their lives to resurrect you.
|
My suicides started when my mother died.
For years, I've been known world-wide for my music. As a songwriter, I use my complex lexicon to bring to life very real, very private experiences in most people's lives. My lyrics evoke tears of pain, mostly, from those who have suffered significant loss or regret. I don't particularly enjoy it anymore, but it's what I must do. I rely on my adoring fans.
Some would call me sick and twisted, if they knew what I've been doing. I've been called a psychopath by my own sister. Nothing, however, will change me... Except a permanent death.
When my mother died of cancer, I had just released my first album. My music then was popular amongst the depressed population purely by coincidence. But once I killed myself to bring my mother back and came back to life rather quickly, I realized I could capitalize on my fame at the expense of my now target audience. Everyone I ever loved... My uncle, my grandmother, my best friend... Could once again join me.
And so I started putting all of my heart and soul into my work. I wrote songs that would strike severe depression in the hearts of those who held on to a sliver of hope, and I wrote more songs that would lead those people to an end. And then I gave them reason to do it quickly.
"This one is for you, Uncle Drake," I said, smiling as I jumped off the building. An hour later, I awoke in my hospital bed, the TV broadcasting the breaking story of how a teenager committed suicide to bring back her idol.
A few days later, I shot myself for Grandmama.
Weeks later, I hung myself for my recently deceased grandfather (heart attack from the shock of seeing my grandma alive again).
Months went by, and I brought back everyone who meant something to me, and no one questioned my motives. My lyrics were so sad, everyone assumed I was simply depressed. And so I wrote, releasing a total of twenty-four albums and reviving everyone I wanted... Needed to see again.
As I woke up in a hospital again, this time after bringing back my friend, I heard the newscaster on the television. "Parents are concerned about a new social media movement among teens and young adults called, 'Hashtag, die for Dani,' where supporters of the movement commit suicide for the music idol, Dani DiLaura. Reporters say fans of Dani enjoy her music because of the relatable lyrics and strong, emotion-evoking messages. More suicides have been committed on her behalf than any other celebrity, as she continues to kill herself multiple times a year. Professionals are asking whether she wants to live or..."
"Dani."
I turned my head and saw my sister enter the room.
"You need to stop this. Hundreds of people have died for you, and for what? Your own selfish game where you lure people to suicide so you can guarantee your life after death?"
Laughing, I looked back to the television and answered, "If you're so concerned, bring them back to life. I have plenty of fans to spare on our behalf."
"You better never use one of them to bring me back, Dani. Stop this madness now, before I..."
"Before you what? Kill me?"
And so I laughed again, turning up the television as my sister walked out. "Who's next?"
|
I open my eyes again and see John, my overtaker. Damnit, not again. Instead of preparing me to be dead forever, John prepares me to wake up again. And again. And again. Mostly he just makes sure I'm clean, dressed, and then listens to my tirade of swearing.
I've tried everything: jumped from buildings, electrocution, stabbing, got shot, blew myself up, hell I even stole a a groundhog once and drove off a cliff. It all started with my accidental admission into the Darwin club. Like a dumbass I stepped into an open elevator with no elevator there and fell to my death. There's even video of me looking up and down first and still stepping into the shaft. Somehow, this made me famous.
People wanted to see how I die next. Would I do something stupid again? John says he's overtaken me about two dozen times now. I've only done something stupid once more with a wrecking ball, which got me yet another page on the Darwin website.
I just need to die a really boring, unexciting death. Should I recite pi until I die of dehydration? Or go for a swim with the fishes? It has been 5 years that I've lived this time and Google shows that the trend that is my name is flatlining. Perfect. Let's hope it stays that way. Flatlined.
As my knife slices through the rope holding up the piano I notice a traffic camera across the street. Damnit.
***
I open my eyes again and see John, my overtaker.
| 2016-07-06T21:54:49
| 2016-07-06T20:07:02
| 423
| 51
|
[WP] Humans are the deadliest, and rarest, species in the known universe. Often, search parties go missing due to a singular encounter with a human ship. It has recently come to light that there is an entire planet full of them.
|
The Universal Council was in chaos.
For a relatively short amount of time, the encounters with the Sol-res, known to themselves as Humans, have dominated the headlines. These beings which existed in the absolute fringe of the galaxy known as M-801 had become a thorn in the Council's side over several cycles.
While not the biggest or strongest species, they made up for it with their brutality, tenacity, hearty build and sheer numbers. Ships lost in that particular part of the galaxy have reported as many as several thousand on a single ship. *Several thousand.*
There are top-tier Universal Council warships that barely have a hundred soldiers, of any species. They are also known in studies to be ridiculously immune to most biological threats. Their species not only consumes Dihydrogen Monoxide, they need it to live. They come from an atmosphere composed mainly of Nitrogen and Oxygen, a atmosphere known for slowly poisoning those not acclimated to it, at a rate so miniscule at first one would not know their own fate until the effects became clear. They can survive impalement, dismemberment, and even the failing of certain vital organs. When injured, they can become even more violent, downing opponents for up to an hour prior to immobilization and/or death.
However despite all this; they are rare. No one on the Council had actually see one of these beings in person. All information about them relayed from ships that are now classified as "lost en route". Rumors exist that humans are sought after by some distant species for a variety of reasons. Thus abductions, smuggling, and piracy are rumored to run with reckless abandon in the sector of M-801. M-801 is since derided by many by the adoption of a nickname the dirtlings had given it some time ago, "Milky Way".
"Which brings me to my point..." Lady Mer'zazzi announced to the chamber as she glanced around for confirmation amongst the ranks.
"We have learned from intel provided by our explorers that the Humans are not just a pirate species. Council; they have been revealed to have a home planet located just off of a star in "Milky Way" known as Sol. They have no centralized government, no galactic treaty, no Council approved ship documentation, and a astounding 7000+ languages. We've only had time to translate the most widely spoken... And from the audio logs of The Xvarri Coled, lost half a cycle ago, we have translated this..."
The clip played as they all watched on the display. The shot leveled out to reveal several humans of different colors glaring at the oculus.
"To whomever is watching these. Hello. We're going to let you in on a little secret; Humanity doesn't take kindly to your exploitation of our flightspace. We also don't appreciate the abductions of many of our loved ones, nor the wanton murders of civilians committed by ships with these emblems."
The crowd angrily protested as they saw the Universal Council logo revealed on the screen. The shot then snapped back to the group of Humans.
"We want you to understand we don't appreciate your hostility towards us, or our homes. We wish to meet on peaceful terms with your leaders. But if war is what you seek..."
Mer'zazzi herself felt ill at what she knew was next. The human yanked up something into view, and the crowd collectively reeled in horror. In his hand he held the severed head of a Xvarri, one of the most feared beings in space. Many in the room froze in fear and trauma at the sight, and several even left the chamber.
"War is what you'll get. We have a saying where I'm from; don't start none and there won't be none. I hope we've made ourselves clear. Tread with caution."
The feed cut off finally as the room sat in utter silence.
"...Readings have measured the population of the "Humans"." Mer'zazzi began numbly, "To be in the billions, Council."
She listened as the room began to panic again.
"The Council," Leader Dre-Hi announced suddenly, "requests a mission to be fulfilled Lady Mer'zazzi."
"Yes my liege?" Mer'zazzi bowed.
"Prepare a expedition to M-801." Dre-Hi commanded, "We shall see what these dirtlings have in store for us."
---
TL;DR, We gangsta space barbarians ya'll.
r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
We do not fear many things; the hive has conquered many and learned much. When we rebelled against the Midnight Host centuries ago, we grew stronger with every battle; every enemy conquered added their strengths to us. We broke the Gilded Claws, despite their stubborn defiance. We found the Hidden Eyes, their vigilance not enough. We defeated the Mourning Suns, our cunning the greater. We have conquered all our brothers and sisters, their queens lay across our halls as trophies. We proved ourselves to be harder, better, faster, and stronger. We are more than any of them combined in their prime.
Yet, we have found a swarm that out paces us. This devouring horde may be smaller and weaker; their tenacity is like nothing we have seen before. When we stumbled across them, they seemed easy prey. We cornered them back towards their water and iron coated twin planets. Every battle was in our favor at first, they would take down two of our ships at a cost of one of theirs. But then they started taking three, then four, then five. We had to place more resources to replenish our fleets. We could not let some miserable squabble defy us. But they started pushing back us back to the rim, their fury hotter, and their viciousness greater. They took our fallen, our weapons, our engines, and they changed them.
The Devourers amassed a grand fleet, though still smaller than our fleets. We expected them to destroy our remaining ships in the system. We planted fleets out of reach to move in and entrap them. Instead their fleet vanished. We did not know what they were planning, but we took the chance to rush our forces towards their home to cripple them. Their defenders proved themselves tenacious fighters, but their numbers were lower than we thought. During the siege, their grand fleet appeared above our homes. They slipped though galaxies and stars under our grasp into our heart. They killed many of our queens, crushed our halls, and set a nuclear flame across our homes. They lost much of their ships due to their brazen attack, but escaped with half their numbers.
We lost contact with our fleet in their system. Their grand fleet trapped ours between their defenders. We have placed outposts near that accursed system. We have awoken a swarm, and it is coming. They know where we are. They know us better than we do. It is not matter of conquering them; it is a matter if it is us or them that shall devour the other. Our Golden Age is gone, it is twilight and the nightmare shall come. We fear it will not be us that awakes from this coming night.
| 2017-11-08T18:30:31
| 2017-11-08T17:54:29
| 5,537
| 604
|
[WP] Who said healing magic is "good guy" magic? It can be just as morally dubious as necromancy - if not moreso - if you know how to use it right...
|
The metal door was dragged open, followed by someone thrown at my feet, his body riddled in bruises and his arms and legs tied together. He rolled over on the ground and spit at my feet as the door screeched close behind him. The single light above us cast my shadow over him.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” I asked.
“I didn’t tell them nothing,” he looked up at me and opened his eyes in slight surprise. “You’re a healer, ain’t you? You a prisoner here, too?”
I was impressed that he was able to tell who I was so quickly.
“I’m a healer, yes, but I’m not a prisoner. I’m the interrogator,” I told him.
He laughed boisterously, rolling on the floor howling and began mocking me and my abilities.
“You guys really have lost your minds! A healer as an interrogator! What are you gonna do, fix my ribs so good that I answer everything?”
“I suppose that’s not too far from the truth,” I shrugged.
He continued to laugh as I went to one end of the room and pulled out a jar, and approached him as he began to pull himself together and sat up against the door. His smile faltered as he heard the slight buzzing coming from the jar.
“What is that?”
“There is a terror in normal interrogation. But a subconscious hope in every prisoner’s mind is that they will take their secrets to their grave. That if they are heart just enough, then they will go into shock and perhaps die. What happens to someone when they are not allowed to die?” I asked.
“W… what are you talking about?” he stammered, his eyes rushing between me and the jar.
I held the container into the light and revealed the dozens of angry wasps violently spinning within.
“I… I’m allergic,” he said before he could stop himself. He was losing his bravado quickly.
“I know,” I nodded.
“If I get stung, my throat swells. I won’t be able to talk,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. His eyes remained trained on the insects, a shivering terror crawling through his limbs. “I won’t be able to tell you what you want to know.”
“I know,” I agreed once more.
His eyes continued to grow wide.
“Are you an idiot? You’re an interrogator! I won’t be able to talk! I’ll die!”
“You won’t,” I promised.
He quivered aggressively as I approached him. I turned the lid slowly and he grit his teeth.
“N… not the wasps. Please,” he whispered.
The opening to the jar was placed against his cheek. The wasps quickly went to work.
His screams filled not only the room, but the entirety of the base. I was stung thrice, myself, but I quickly healed the skin before the pain even became a potential thought. His cries for help were quickly cut off by his own throat, which had swelled to the point of cutting off his airflow. That was where my work began. I made certain that he never was closed off enough to lose breath, but also not able to pass out from the pain. It was a very delicate process, as I needed to make sure that he did not feel any comfort as I did the bare minimum to keep him alive and awake. He wasn’t allowed the comfort of losing consciousness.
A full ten minutes later, I went about killing each of the wasps with my bare hands, quickly healing myself from any retaliations.
“Ready to talk?” I asked, clapping my hands together over the last bug.
He whimpered quietly, a shadow of the personality that walked in.
“I know you can talk, I made sure of that. I can make all the pain go away. Just tell us where the base is,” I explained casually.
He continued to whimper.
“Alright, I have plenty more jars,” I shrugged, making my way back to the corner.
“No! No, please, no more,” he pleaded.
I began rummaging through jars.
“Bullet ants are always fairly good at getting the job done,” I said, holding up the glass and shaking it to aggravate the creature within.
“I said no!” he repeated, tears flowing freely.
“Answers will stop me, not pleas. I’ll rid you of all the pain, I promise. Just give me answers,” I said, bringing the jar with me and squatting in front of him.
His eyes watched the Bullet Ant crawl quickly around the jar, trying desperately to find a way out. His right eye bulged shut, and the cheek was a wasteland of red hills, topped with stingers. His lips trembled wildly.
“The base…”
I placed the jar behind me. Progress was always good to reward.
“You won’t hurt them, will you?” he whimpered.
“Not the answer I was looking for,” I said, pulling the jar back in front of him and twisting the top slowly.
“No! No!” he begged. “It’s above Roa Lake! It’s north of the lake, shrouded in a pile of dead trees that look like they fell over during the hurricane!”
He broke down and began crying harder.
“Please make the pain go away,” he begged.
“No problem,” I stood, nodding to a camera in one corner of the room. The door was opened, pushing him over and out of the way. A guard entered with a gun in hand.
“You sure you wanna kill him, Boss?” the guard asked me.
“I’m a man of my word,” I nodded, followed by a quick gunshot to the crying man’s temple.
“Pain’s gone,” I told the body as it slumped over.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
For tons more stories, come check out r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
|
The orc chief spat at the feet of the enemy cleric. He had no respect for the pinkskins and their magicks, even when he was tied up and at his opponent's mercy.
"I will not lower myself," the orc said, "and speak to a milk-drinking weakling like you."
The cleric was young, with raven black hair and a carefully tended goatee. His lips curled into a wicked smile.
"Ah, I don't think you understand," the cleric said in perfect orcish. "We have honored your tortured god Dreadstench Wormsnarl on this day, orc. You should feel honored to stand before me."
The orc chieftain turned away and refused to look at the pathetic weakling. He did not care what he had to say - white magic was the path of cowardice, and an affront to all the orcish gods and ancestors. When the fires of a warrior's spirit burned out, he was to die in battle or receive the scars to remind him of his great deeds. Using magic to heal weakened the spirit.
"Ah, I always enjoy this part," the cleric said, stroking his goatee. "This is your last chance to tell us where you have put the body of my comrade."
The orc chief said nothing.
The cleric's eyes glowed with the white that every orc learned at his mother's knees was the sign of a coward.
"I'll admit, I was furious when I first found out that you killed Bariel," the cleric said, his voice beginning to fill the tent. "But I knew what a bleeding heart he was, and I realized that I couldn't just do all that I wanted to. I'm never going to use dark magic again."
The orc chieftain was started to get worried in spite of himself. White magic could only be use to heal, but something about the way that the cleric was speaking was beginning to worry him.
"But I'm not going to betray Bariel's wishes. You're just not worth it. No, I'm going to show you exactly what a white mage can do," he said.
The cleric poked the orc in the side where a spear had once rested. The orc made the ancestors proud, and didn't even wince, in spite of the intense pain.
"Have you ever seen this herb before?" the cleric said, holding up a fluorescent red leaf.
The orc said nothing.
"Ah, I was hoping you'd start to get more talkative, but maybe a demonstration would be in order."
The orc noticed now that the cleric had gloves on, and was being very careful with the way he touched the herb. Could it be?
The cleric shoved the herb into the orcs side, and a burning sensation unlike any he had ever experienced start.
"Remarkable herb, Snake's Tongue is," the cleric said, watching intently. "It's considered one of the vile and deadly poisons known to mortalkind. Just a touch of the oils is usually enough to painfully kill a man over the course of five minutes."
In spite of himself, the orc let out a howl. He tried to regain his composure, but this was becoming impossible. The burning that had started at the wound in is left side was now starting to spread throughout his body. With every beat of his heart, more of the vile poison spread through out his body, and with it the flameless fire.
"But I'm not going to let you die in just five minutes, though," the cleric said. "I've done the math very carefully, I'm sure that with my magic, I can keep you conscious and stable and experiencing this pain all night long."
The orc's breathing was becoming labored, and his heatbeat was weakening. He could feel his extremities start to tingle as his nerves shut down. His eyes rolled back into his head and he could feel his muscles start to atrophy.
But the cleric pulled off a glove, and touched the writhing orc, and he could feel his breathing becoming less ragged, though the pain remained as intense as ever.
"I won't let your organs fail until you experience everything that you and your clan made Bariel feel that day," the cleric said, a glowing tear falling down his cheek. "You should say your prayers to Dreadstench Wormsnarl, because you are about to enjoy the most exquisite pains any mortal has ever experience."
| 2021-11-08T19:39:07
| 2021-11-08T19:26:44
| 209
| 66
|
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
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I awaken well rested and ready for the day, a solid nights sleep. I leave my room to see a pile of letters just inside the door. I look to the bench to see last nights dinner covered in mould. I pull up my phone. Every app has notifications. I check the date. It’s the 27th.
I sigh “That’s what I get for taking 10 extra minutes on my history exam.” I start cleaning.
|
Arin groaned as she walked into her living room from her bedroom. She had just woken up from a much needed rest. After the day she had yesterday she just knew today was going to have some toll on her. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes as she sat down on the floor. She didn’t want to get too close to anything metal or electric, basically anything conductive of electricity. You see, Arin has the ability to control electricity but if she uses this ability too much at once some gets stored inside of her and she has to slowly let it disperse. She had already made a few calls yesterday after helping stop a bank heist yesterday. Her pizza should be here any minute now.
I picked up the pen and notebook i had left out for myself the night before, as well as a plastic water bottle that was filled with water. I took a swig from the bottle as I opened the book in my lap and clicked the pen. Putting the bottle down as I began to write.
“ 05/25/2026
Morning Journal... sorry I didn’t write in you last night, I had a big day. I got to help the real hero’s at the bank. Ace was there too today. One of the hero’s who responded to the alarms. He even protected me from a bullet! His telekinetic powers are really something else. His nemesis Flare was there too along with some lackies, that’s why they had guns, no powers. I was only really there to cut the power or bring it back to let rubberband and makeshift in but that was before we knew flare was there. He turned rubberband and makeshift against one another and then turned them on ace and I. Rubberband subdued me and then a gun was out to my head. Ace couldn’t do anything with it so close but that’s when Lucy decided to show herself by grappling the man. He pulled the trigger when she startled him but ace was able to stop the bullet just after it penetrated my skin. There was a little bit of blood and a bit of stinging, not to mention my ears rang but that guy and glare were taken into custody. Flare had almost gotten away but when escaping he had to let go of rubber band and makeshift so they were able to grab him. Being in the power grid for the bank gave me too much excess power so I’m sweating it out today. I just hope I don’t die of boredom today. Can’t be near anything, don’t want to shock myself constantly or ruin a device. But I did treat myself. I have a pizza coming soon and later I get to have some candy bars.. I know not exactly a treat since I constantly eat junk but I was blessed with a great metabolism so I can still rock a swimsuit.” I looked down at my stomach which wasn’t as flat as a board like you’d see a model with “ who cares about looks anyway? It’s all about heart and mind and soul anyway.” The doorbell rang then.
I got up and took the money I had left on the counter for myself last night and opened the door. Before me was a man holding a bag in one hand and his head in another .” You alright man?” I asked with genuine concern. “ yeah, just have this massive migraine...” he opened his eyes, revealing the crystal blues as he opened the bag and took out the pizza box. He looked at the side. “That’ll be $15.45.” He said. I handed him a twenty dollar bill with a smile which he took. The moment he touched the dollar, his thumb brushing mine, we both got a shock. We both yelped in surprise, I yanked my hand back and watched as my pizza began to fall before it suddenly wasn’t. The man had his hand outstretched and a concerned look on his face. He and the pizza were frozen for a moment before the box went back to his hand. He opened the box to make sure the pizza was fine ( it was) before handing me the box. “Please don’t tell anyone... I’m Ace..” he said sheepishly. He ran his free hand through his black hair. “ I-I’d never tell anyone! I’m a big fan of yours and it would be the least I could do since you saved me yes-“ I put my hand over my mouth. We both were surprised now. After a moment of staring at each other he smiled and pulled out a pen and wrote on the pizza box. “ a big fan huh..? You can have this then but don’t go giving it to anyone. Feel free to give me a call later.” “O-okay!” I replied in a higher pitch. “See ya later.” He waved as he walked away with a smile.
I closed my door and turned around, the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. I squealed “eeeeeeee! He gave me his numberrr!” I twirled then ran to the kitchen. I took a plate out of one of the dishwasher and took two slices out of the box. I took my plate back to the living room and sat down again to continue writing in my book before I realized. “ it’s kinda dark in here...” I got back up and looked out a window to find out that the power was out everywhere. “ crap....”
| 2018-08-19T05:57:43
| 2018-08-19T04:31:16
| 74
| 21
|
[WP] Your entire life you have failed at everything you do. Wanting to get some happiness in your life you decide to summon the devil and sell your soul. Except your even fail at this and summon the archangel Michael
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"Young man, the devil's path is broad and many enter, but the reward is eternal suffering," the archangel Michael negotiated with me.
We were in an abandoned warehouse filled with chains, rats, and rust. Streaks of moonlight shone through the windows in the ceiling, draping the candlelight that surrounded my failed experiment. He looked like the moonlight; pale, almost golden, and ethereal. His sword would be a two-hander for the strongest man, but he held it in his left with his pinky finger lifted daintily.
"What's new, man?" I retorted drunkenly.
"I've failed at everything. Everything! I can't stop drinking, I dropped out of elementary school, I can't even draw a pent-o-gram!"
"Pentagrams tend to have five points. This looks more like a pointy cross."
"Goddamn it!"
"Language, please."
"I don't care about the afterlife man. I care about life right now. I want to be better right now. Do people find love in heaven?"
"Well, the love that man experiences on earth is a shadow of their loving relationship with God, and being in his presence-"
"Is that a no?"
"Boy, you aren't being rational! Your lifetime now is but a second compared to eternity."
"Then why do you judge me for it? Why wasn't I given a million years to figure out this bullshit?"
"Enough of this nonsense! Release me. I need to serve your creator, whom you raise your tongue against."
"Fine," I sigh, holding back a burp. But as I begin to recite the releasing spell, the burp came back up. Michael's expression switched from weary disgust to a horrified, righteous indignation. It turns out that was the difference between the *releasing* spell and the *binding* spell. The pointy cross on the floor glowed red, and molten chains shot out of the ground, constricting him all over and searing his robes. He dropped his sword, and was slowly being pulled into the earth.
Despite our differences, we stared at each other and said in unison:
"shit".
|
He was magnificent. An impossible creature of 4 wings, each longer than I tall, and within the center of each feather sat a strained crimson eye. He, no THEY, was surely meant to watch, to witness, the glory of all of God's kingdom. It's face, as if such a meager word could describe it's radiance, an amalgamation of many of The Father's most cherished creatures. I saw in moments a bulls powerful horns, the mane of a proud lion, the cold eyes of a sacrificial Goat, the mouth of man (as best to sing the glories of the Father with). A voice like a hummingbirds wings seemed to burrow into my bones from countless directions. "Be Not Afraid" It said, and I was not. How could I be when I stared upon glory and beauty itself. Man was made with flaws but this had none such flaws. Emblazoned across its chest is a flowing gold script shone its name. "Michael" I gasped, how could one such as myself believe it okay to attempt to speak to such a higher being. My heart filled with ice, cold spread through my veins, "Forgive me O' Merciful Archangel Michael. I spoke without thinking, tis the flaws of man, I only beg your punishment for such imprudence be swift!" I dare not spare another look as I kept my head tilted to the floor, beauty of such caliber did not deserve to be seen by eyes of filth such a my own. A golden bell tolled and that gentle rumbling voice returned to grace my unfit ears. "Lift your gaze" I moved with such pace it was almost as if my eyes were being drawn to its splendor. Light, golden with sheets of white billowing in it like sheets of silk in the wind. Beautiful, gorgeous, pure, all encompassing. I knew it inherently; that was the last thing my eyes would ever see. But what a sight. "I shall treasure this gift till the last of my days!" I proclaimed to an empty room.
| 2021-05-08T11:08:05
| 2021-05-08T10:22:57
| 429
| 19
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